NB: First draught, profile WIP:

"Roger, if we both lost our memories, and we met, would we too fall in love?"

My head was reeling, this couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening. It was like my head hadn't caught up with my heart. I could still she her paper-thin lead-heavy figure standing on the edge of the apartment building, her black dress rippling about her narrow legs, her rusty red hair ruffled by the breeze. She looked perfect, and delicate and invincible. No gust of wind could disturb my Dorothy. I never had to be afraid of how close to the edge she was. Her strength and agility alone meant that even if something did cause her to topple over the edge, she would land perfectly and unharmed. Well okay maybe Norman would complain, a few compound fractures here, some brinelling there, but nothing permanent, nothing that money could just magic away.

My mind was reeling, but my heart had already caught up. It was shattering, no shattered, I think it had started breaking when I'd looked up at her from the road, I'd known, felt it in my gut, that something was wrong. She'd never understood that sentiment. She might have said something similar, but it wouldn't have been human. She'd have seen an unusual situation, asked "Why is that person there? They're not usually there." Wondered why they didn't move when I said their name... But of course... She would have seen the damage too far away for my eyes.
My eyes closed, they were so dry it hurt, My legs hurt too, my feet going numb from the pressure put on them, but I wouldn't lay her down on the ground. Slowly I forced my eyes open, but I couldn't look at her again, instead I just gathered her into my arms and eked myself into a standing position, back and knees aching from the strain, and proceeded to stagger down the stairs.
People stared at me as I walked past, a strapping young man staggering under the weight of a petite young woman... And then they'd see why and look away.

I asked someone close by to open the backdoor to the sedan, he barely heard my dry whisper, but did as I asked. Dorothy was laid out on the back seat, neat as a doll, and I closed the door as if I'd just dumped a package and nothing more in the car.

I got into the driver's seat fully intending to take her home, to beg Norman for his help, demand that he help! He had to bring Dorothy back to us! She couldn't be gone, not now, not after everything! But instead I found myself on the coast. Hands clenched around the steering wheel, engine turning over smoothly, pointing out to sea. Wondering vaguely how long I'd been here I twisted in my seat - no longer enjoying the feeling off the cool red leather - to look at her. "Dora..." I said, "Wake up. It's late."
An interesting turn of events, I couldn't have ever imagined it happening, me telling her it was late... My breath caught in my throat and I crumpled over the steering wheel, biting the inside of my cheeks until they bled, glaring at the foot well to stop myself from breaking down. I couldn't believe I'd never wake up to her soulless piano playing, or her grey concentric eyes glaring at me from across the penthouse, I could hear her voice, monotone and yet so warm: "It's late. Your breakfast is getting cold, Roger."
Is it possible to have a heart attack from grief? I swear I felt my heart stop for a moment then, and dear God it hurts... God. Ha! There is no God in Paradigm City. I dragged my eyes skywards and wished all this would stop, why was my world falling apart!? I didn't want any of this! I just wanted to wake up every morning to cold toast and hot coffee and soulless piano music and Norman fussing and clients asking for help, the occasional battle with Big O wouldn't go amiss but only the occasional, maybe against Beck? None of this messy business with Rosewater and the other two Bigs and Schwarzwald and Angel and the end of the whole bloody world... I found myself wondering about that Thing that had fallen from the sky, and the great lamps that illuminated the domes. Could there be greater domes even higher up? The sky outside the domes that we think is real... Is that fake too?
"Am I really one of those 'Tomatoes' like Gordon said...? I... I feel like a real person, real Memories but... Am I? Are they real? Dorothy... Did you know who I am? I wish I'd asked you."

Later on, when I was sitting next to her prone body. Digesting what Norman had said, about how he couldn't bring her back, couldn't recover her Memories. I still found myself lying to her. I walked away cursing myself, but who cares? It's not like she could hear me any more...
Had I ever said a nice thing to her? Or only ever said them?
No wonder she called me a 'louse'.

"You once asked me, if things had been different, and we'd met, would we have fallen in love...?"