A/N: Aggh! Real job and deadlines delayed this a bit. Part One of The Truth. Thanks for your patience and for reading.

I never did show Casey the disk. Instead, I told Casey that Graham had asked me to send it to him in Washington. Casey just grunted and moved on. I knew he really didn't like Graham all that much, and as may be apparent, neither did I. I put up a more neutral front, at least at this point, although I brought Casey farther into my confidence against Graham as time went on. I told Graham the disk was destroyed, taking a risk, based on a hunch, that he had shared nothing with Beckman, and was never planning on fully disclosing what he knew to her. I ended up being right, and for thus, my double, double cross was never detected. I wasn't really lying per se. The disk was destroyed, just by me, after the fact, not in the process of recovering it.

Knowing the way intelligence was transferred in the CIA, I have no way of knowing for certain if Graham knew Chuck was test subject 0326. He may have had his suspicions, knowing what he knew of Bryce after that time. I do know that Magnus was after Fleming's intel not just because it had the identities of recruits to the CIA–but more specifically, because it was supposed to have the interview with test subject 0326. Fulcrum, a shadow group that existed within the CIA of which I had only heard whispers, knew all about test subject 0326. Magnus was in fact working for Fulcrum, although we never knew this until after Fulcrum was completely defeated, about two years later.

Looking back, I wish I had shown Casey the disk and told him everything I knew about the Omaha Project, Graham be damned. For one, Bryce's return a few weeks hence might have gone a different way, with far less shooting involved. I think also it could have warmed Casey to Chuck a little earlier, allowing him to see the potential in Chuck that I could see, despite the mishaps and inexperience we witnessed along the way.

I think wishing things in the past were different is probably the largest waste of energy and thought that there is, but sometimes I know, one just can't help it. However, there are literally hundreds of points in time that I could go back to, looking to see how things might have changed had things gone differently, had alternate things been said or done. Whenever I find myself doing that, it's usually Chuck who tells me that everything happens for a reason, even painful things, and that whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger. He is right about both points, but it took some time before I believed that for myself.

Four more days went by and Bryce was on my mind more than I wished he would have been. It was definitely caused by curiosity, a desire to find answers to those questions Chuck and I had asked out loud after we saw the video on the disk. I spent too much time during those four days wishing the past to be different as well, for all the good it did me, which was none.

Chuck told me Ellie had invited us on a double date with her and Devon. We were going out for sushi. I told Chuck that I did like sushi, even thinking it would be fun. He was sarcastic, saying, "Yeah, tons." He was weary of the fake dating, and understandably so. Contrarily, I found myself living for opportunities for us to be on a fake date, even just so I could be close to him and pretend, however briefly, that the date wasn't fake. What made it fake? I would argue with myself. Only the premise, the very specific premise, that we were boyfriend and girlfriend. Other than that, as much as he may have thought otherwise, every time we were on a fake date, I wasn't behaving any differently than I would if it was real. Just leaving out the body-guarding aspect.

The date was scheduled for four days later. I told Chuck we needed to pretend to have had another date between coming back from Stanford and then. Dating for two months required more semblance of together time and it was a difficult balance, making it look real.

I told him to meet me at the Wienerlicious on his lunch break so that we could go over the specifics about the date we had supposedly been on, in case Ellie asked…because Ellie always asked. There were a lot of customers in the restaurant at lunch time, far more than usual, and I knew if Scooter saw me talking to Chuck while it was busy, it would cause problems. The moment Chuck was inside, I pulled him behind the counter when Scooter wasn't looking and then into the supply closet, shutting the door and locking it.

He was nervous about getting all the details correct. He was practicing lying, which he hated, which also contributed to that feeling of unease. I tried to keep him calm and just go over the facts again. We were standing very close to each other, wedged between the extra condiment rack and paper supply storage shelves. My Wienerlicious uniform shoes were flats, and standing that close to him, I had to look up at him while we were talking.

I told him the plan was we had seen a movie the night before. He asked me what was his snack of choice. I replied without hesitation–Milk Duds sprinkled over his popcorn. I knew about this because I had seen him do it once at his apartment on another fake date. Then, we had been pretending to watch a movie at home because Ellie and Devon were due home half way through the night, and I needed to show him a series of photographs of CIA substation locations to see if anything made him flash. I commented because it was strange. He told me it was the sweet mixed with the salty…like kettlecorn, only gooey-er, with a higher risk of dental intervention for a loose filling. I remembered because then I had laughed until I had tears in my eyes…a newly enthralling way for me to feel.

I asked him what I was wearing. The name of the movie and the plot were probably more important, when I listen to myself recount this. I liked to cover my bases and not be surprised, but really…would Ellie have asked Chuck what I was wearing? It seems silly when I say it. He was also very quick to reply, mentioning a blue top I had worn before with these very tiny faux buttons at the neckline. He had made a joke about those before too, about my miniature buttons and how someone could sew something that small.

But it was the way he described the blouse–his voice softened and his nerves were gone–that made me ask him if he liked that blouse. His face softened even more when he said he liked them all. Those words created that now familiar sensation of my insides turning to liquid and rushing down to my feet. He was about to ask me the important question…what movie did we see when we heard the door handle jiggle. Scooter's voice, irritated that the closet door was locked. He did have the key.

I had to think fast. I opened two buttons on my already low-cut uniform blouse, grabbed Chuck by the front of his shirt, knocked him down on his back, and jumped on top of him, straddling his hips and leaning forward. Objectively speaking, I could have just kissed him, or pretended to kiss him, hug him, something relatively benign, but needing to think that quickly brought out the more impulsive, unpredictable side of me. He murmured, asking me what I was doing, heaving a breath as he hit the floor.

I could feel my breasts pressed against his chest through my clothing. The pressure of my weight against him the way I was sitting aroused him, even as quick as that interaction was. I could feel him through his pants, hard against the thin layer of fabric of my underwear. My mind hyper focused on that feeling. I told myself it was just for show, but I kissed his cheek and then his neck on his right side. He smelled delicious, his cologne absolutely intoxicating that close up. Chuck was always a gentleman, though, and even in that situation, he made sure his hands were nowhere near touching me.

I put on the show for Scooter, trying not to laugh as Scooter made a few ridiculous comments. Something about not being paid to make out with my boyfriend on my break. Technically, I wasn't being paid to cook corn dogs and sausage, either…but…anyway, I digress. It didn't occur to me until after Scooter left that he had seen all the way into my half-exposed cleavage. I apologized to Chuck and buttoned my blouse. He was still in shock…and, like I said, always the gentleman, he never looked down at my wide-open blouse.

He was awkward and embarrassed after that incident. He left to go back to the Buy More without another word.

I called Chuck and let him know I was meeting him at his apartment. Devon was driving and it was easier than him having to drive across town to get me, then drive me back, when I could just drive myself.

Chuck wore a dark blue button down shirt and jeans. It was probably the dressiest he had looked on a date with me, real or fake. He was always very attractive to me, despite what he thought, but when he wore dark colors, it complemented his olive coloring, his dark hair and dark eyes. His hair was getting long, and his curls were hanging down over his forehead. It took every ounce of strength I possessed to not touch his hair, move it with my fingers. He told me I looked nice…and I knew he was being sincere…and it made me blush.

We sat at the bar in the restaurant, the four of us side by side, which was a little easier in terms of conversation and where it was directed. Chuck ordered for me, I think just to be cute, but he knew my order and ordered it perfectly. I think he was just trying to show his sister and Devon that we knew each other as much as we should have. I gave him an encouraging smile. I called him Sweetie, and he said it back, even if he was a little reluctant. It was only the second time I had used that term with him.

Devon was quick to comment on Chuck, calling him old-fashioned. He thought Devon was referring to him ordering for me. No, in his surprisingly bold way, he told us he meant about our sex life…or more importantly, our lack of said sexual interaction. Ellie was horrified, and she admonished him right there for not being polite, probably to me. I laughed, nervously, shocked that he would say something like that. As Chuck said later, it was definitely not awesome. Chuck looked like he was going to throw up. Devon kept going, which made it worse. Ellie basically told him nicely to shut up…but the night was essentially ruined after that. Another ruined fake date.

Ellie and Devon probably didn't think the date was ruined. They were very affectionate and sweet with each other. She spilled soy sauce on her lucky sweater, a designation Devon agreed with because she was wearing it when he met her. Ellie repeated the line he said about the color of her eyes. I remember wondering right then if people really talked that way to each other or if he was just teasing. The more affectionate they were with each other, the more I understood that they really did talk that way—no pretense needed. They were a nice, normal couple in love. They represented everything that I felt I had forfeited to live the life I was living…everything that I wished I could be with Chuck, if I was being honest with myself.

We finished and Devon paid the whole bill, which I thanked him for. Chuck had offered, but Devon made a comment about Chuck's job, which made him feel even worse. We left, lingering on the sidewalk. Ellie and Devon were deep in what Chuck would call a PDA, hugging and kissing. She thanked him for dinner as well. Chuck and I were conspicuously not touching. I twisted my lips to the side and grabbed him around the waist, resting against him. He was stiff and awkward, but he put his arms around my waist just the same. Even though his grip was half-hearted, it felt nice, hugging him that way.

Devon left to get the car. He had only been gone for a few seconds when a stranger, obviously quite ill and incapacitated, stumbled into our path, falling onto the sidewalk in front of us. Chuck and I moved, but Ellie was faster, her medical training in full control. She knelt beside him, asked someone to call an ambulance, and tried to get the victim to respond. She found his ID and handed it to Chuck to check for allergies. She stayed at his side until the ambulance arrived, and after briefing the paramedics, she boarded the ambulance with the victim. Chuck was so proud of her, and he had every right to be.

His pride soon changed to fear after he flashed on the ID Ellie had handed him just as the ambulance was pulling away, with Ellie inside. Chuck was a wreck after that. I tried to keep him calm, telling him we would check as soon as we possibly could, but that Ellie was in public and whatever it meant, she was just doing her job. Hiding that inner panic from Devon was hard for him. I had to explain to Devon what had happened while he was gone getting the car.

I decided to stay at Chuck's apartment while they were waiting for Ellie to return. Devon was fine, exercising, not the least bit concerned. Chuck paced back and forth and wrung his hands for hours, calling the hospital to check on his sister at least ten times. Devon made yet another comment about whether or not I was staying the night. No matter the late hour, I was planning on going back to my hotel. The ruse from a few weeks ago obviously hadn't worked, since they seemed sure that we weren't having sex. Two months into a relationship, this lack could present a problem. It had started nagging at me, in between trying to keep Chuck calm and reassured.

I left them to go make some coffee. I could hear Devon talking to Chuck while I stood with my back to them while the coffee was brewing. More talking about sex, or, this time, Devon seemed to be trying to boost Chuck, maybe thinking the lack of intimate relations between us had to do with Chuck's lack of confidence after his college break up. We had to do something to seriously assuage their suspicions, something that would show them Chuck and I had a normal relationship. I think, hypothetically speaking, I wasn't wrong about the cover. However, I was honestly not self-aware enough to accept how badly I wanted to explore that situation and what it entailed. Our roles were clearly defined in the asset-handler relationship, but being in his room…in his bed…I wanted that more than I realized I did. At the same time it frightened me, because I wasn't sure I could maintain my control, not based on the long string of dreams and fantasies he'd starred in while I slept alone in my bed.

Chuck overreacted when Ellie finally came home, but he recovered quickly, modifying his own reaction so as not to seem suspiciously nervous. The fact that Ellie's victim died…and they suspected poison but couldn't pinpoint the actual problem, compounded with the fact that Chuck had flashed on the man, made me suspicious. We would definitely need to alert Beckman in the morning.

The moment Chuck and I were alone, he freaked out again. This time it was because he felt he was getting too comfortable lying…and that his spy life and his real life were in conflict. I understood that probably better than he knew that I did, despite the fact that my real life was so close to nonexistent that the parts that did overlap were specific and more compartmentalized. I just kept reassuring him, and he did calm down. For what it's worth, I was almost always able to talk Chuck down from wherever it could be that his nerves elevated him. At this point, I told myself it was because I was his handler and that was my job. The truth was more complicated…that he trusted me, just like I'd asked him to do on that first night, but with an absolution that I hadn't fully comprehended yet.

Unfortunately, the moment I had talked him down, I had to bring up the same issue Devon had been harping on all night. We needed to have sex…or to pretend to, phrased correctly. I know I used the words "make love," ironically, considering what I was proposing was the farthest thing from that as possible. Also, because it was never how I ever thought about sex before, in any possible way. My first partner as well as my random unknown shadow encounters had been just physical. With Bryce, it was different, but certainly nothing that had anything to do with love. I don't know why I said those words to Chuck, unless it was some subconscious wish I was speaking out loud. He almost choked on his coffee.

It was very late, almost after one in the morning, so I just said a quick goodnight and got ready to leave. I hated that he looked almost relieved when I left.

In the morning, I touched base with Casey. We had a briefing with Beckman in his apartment. She clarified the information that Chuck had flashed on. The man was not a threat, but a victim. He was most likely poisoned in an attempt for some bad actor to extract the codes to access the U.S.'s nuclear facilities. She ordered us to check to see if the codes were still on his person. She told Casey to bring Chuck, and asked me to search the body for clues. I went to the Buy More to retrieve Chuck for the mission.

When I got there, I saw him with Lou.

When spoken aloud, I probably sound contemptuous when I say her name. It has nothing to do with her, and everything to do with me. Lou was the first of three women, a trifecta as Chuck would call it, although he wouldn't joke about this topic, who came between us, however loosely I could define "us" as nomenclature for something.

Her name was Lou Palone, short for Louise, although as a young woman, she never went by her full name. She owned a deli in the same plaza as the Buy More. Chuck fixed her phone, much in the same way he fixed mine, although her repair was legitimate and took a bit longer. Chuck met her the day before when she dropped off her phone; neither Casey nor I were there for that. I know for a fact she had been in the Buy More before. Casey and I had seen her in the store before. She had just obviously never needed the Nerd Herd services previously. Chuck had also never noticed her before, although, as observant as I am, I know she noticed him before.

The reason Chuck had probably never noticed her noticing him was that same lack of confidence that Devon had been talking about the night before. His default mode was to believe himself undesirable. He was tall, dark and handsome, as the fairy tales say. Moreover, he was extremely charming, warm, and sweet. He was like a walking dream, and I don't think I'm introducing my bias here, although, truthfully, I can't really separate it anymore.

What I witnessed was their second encounter…Chuck presenting her with her repaired phone. She brought him a sandwich and gave him a hug. He smiled, that beautiful smile that I loved more than anything else I knew…at her. The beginning smoldering of jealousy that I had felt stirring when I'd seen Chuck interacting with Carina were now an outright inferno inside my chest that I could barely contain. Carina was one thing–a spy, 0 to 60 in three seconds, intimidating to Chuck and not what he was looking for in any aspect of his life, considering meaningless sex was undesirable to him.

This girl was…normal. She had a normal job, probably a normal family, and normal friends. She was genuinely interested in Chuck. She was everything that I was not, everything that I wished I could be…everything that he wanted in a girl and in a relationship. I told myself that I needed to go throw a wet blanket on that interaction fast, before it got out of hand. Chuck was not the cheating type…and his flirting with another girl would only create suspicions and questions about what was going on with me…or us. I told myself that all the way across the store, as I had to practically restrain myself from stepping in between Lou and Chuck as I approached.

I had taken off my jacket, leaving a half-sheer tank top as my main outfit. I leaned against his back and introduced myself before he could say anything. My smile was wide, but it was phony. I think Chuck was too flummoxed to tell. Lou was unhappy when she saw me. She asked Chuck who I was…and he stuttered over the answer. I told her I was his girlfriend. Inside, I was dying, sure that his reluctance to call me his girlfriend was because he was interested in her.

I don't know how it took almost two months before an actual date presented itself to Chuck while we were cover-dating. The CIA had him pegged wrong…they still did at this point, but they were learning. He was not the man in his profile. A man like that, who they thought he was, would have reveled in our fake relationship…because a real one was unattainable and nothing was as appealing as the semblance of something better, even though the truth was the opposite. Serving in the CIA meant I had signed away my right to a normal life and a normal relationship. What about Chuck? He hadn't chosen any of this. Was he supposed to just give up his hopes and his dreams because of what Bryce did to him? It didn't seem fair…although, no less fair than what had happened to me.

The difference between us here…Chuck had hope. My hopes were long dead, dead before they had ever really lived.

For good measure, against my will and my better judgment, I felt them die yet again inside my chest as I watched that interaction. I cursed myself for allowing my own self-delusion.

Later, Chuck was about as freaked out in the morgue as I'd ever seen him, short of defusing the bomb with Irene Demova. Casey and I infiltrated and assimilated, then grabbed Chuck and snuck him inside. He was pale and green around the gills. The smell in the room where we were was pungent, overpowering odors of formalin and xylene. Casey took a blood sample to check for poison. The hospital had run toxicology screens, standard procedure in situations like that, but those extensively detailed reports took months before any conclusion could be ascertained. Casey had a portable mass spectrometer that was designed to detect poison, something the CIA had access to, but not civilians. Casey found that Mason Whitney had been poisoned with a lethal dose of a sodium pentothal derivative, better known as truth serum. I found a bug attached behind the dead man's ear, camouflaged with a skin-colored, rubber adhesive.

I sealed up the bug I found in a sound-proof box. We left the hospital and Casey took Chuck back to work at the Buy More. I changed my clothes and went to work for another hot dog shift.

I let Chuck know that we needed to talk about the plan for the evening, our cover-spending the night together. A few hours later, Chuck appeared at the door of the Wienerlicious. Unfortunately, Scooter was in the middle of counting out the cash drawer at the end of the lunch shift, so he had locked the door to the restaurant. Chuck wasn't allowed in while Scooter had money out on the counter. Instead, I went outside.

I grabbed his hand and led him to the outside table. It was the same grip I was used to for our fake hand-holding. Chuck's palms were also predictably sweaty. It was something that I was used to, and more importantly, something I liked being able to predict about him. I liked knowing him, as a person and not just an asset.

His palms were sweaty because he was nervous about the entire uncomfortable topic. He did tell me, half-kidding, that it had been a while since he'd slept with someone…both the actual sleeping and the euphemistic version. He kept looking away, his eyes moving rapidly as he talked. My unfortunate double-entendre-d list of phrases only made it worse. I tried to sympathize and tell him I knew how delicate the topic was. I was distracted, though, thinking what his definition of "a while" could be. At this juncture, for me, it had been a little over three months.

My mind wandered into very dark places thinking about who he had been with and when, not knowing as much of his past as I could have, or I would have, if I was his real girlfriend. I know, even sitting there while he tried to get me to stop talking, that I had no idea of the actual truth…how many years it had been since he'd been intimate with someone by November of 2007. Once I knew the whole truth, it made sense. I think I was just so attracted to him, both physically and emotionally, I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that someone else hadn't ended up in his bed.

He excused himself again and left after that embarrassing exchange. I was on my way back inside the Wienerlicious when I watched Chuck run across the parking lot, not toward the door of the Buy More…but towards Lou as she approached her vehicle. They had a discussion outside her car. I couldn't read lips, but they were close enough that I could see both of their faces in profile. Both of their expressions were hard to read…but I knew it wasn't just a casual chit chat. He held her car door for her, then shut it and waved before she drove off.

I turned around to go back inside, feeling like my stomach acid was eating a hole all the way through me. I was so out of sorts I don't even remember the rest of what happened during that shift. I do remember something Scooter said to me, thinking he was being his dry, annoying self. "Green isn't your color, Walker," he grumbled. He must have seen me staring across the parking lot.

I was in such a daze I actually thought he was talking about the money he was banding again. He had already bagged that up for the drop safe, though. Green…as in envious, I thought. Scooter thought I was jealous. Damn it, I was jealous, I had to admit to myself. Now that I could put a name to the way I was feeling, it was like naming it gave it power. The thought of him talking to her, making her laugh, smiling at her…wanting to be around her, touch her…maybe hold her or kiss her…it was driving me insane. Different scenes, imagined and remembered kept playing on a repeat loop inside my head.

My cool and rational mind argued with the jealousy the entire time. My rationality put up a valiant fight. It was just a cover. He wasn't my boyfriend. He wasn't…mine.

The only answer the green monster inside me would give when I told myself that…yes, he was mine. He was mine. Looking back, I know I should have been proud of myself then, for letting myself acknowledge that I did want something…that I had a right to want something, even something as beautiful and unattainable as Chuck seemed. Too long I had spent telling myself the things I wanted were things I could never have; it was easier, safer, less painful, to tell myself I didn't want them. But I did. Those things had never seemed closer to attainable to me as when I thought I saw them in Chuck's eyes when he looked at me.

One day, a few harmless conversations…and he was as far away from me as he could be. I wanted him to be mine, but it was becoming more apparent that he wanted to be…not mine. He wanted to be hers. My heart deflated like a punctured balloon.

The rest of that day was lost, and then I went home to my hotel room to get ready for our mission–fooling Chuck's family into believing we were sleeping together.

The jealousy was in complete control of me, almost like a form of temporary insanity. Crazy things I was thinking were rationalized in my head and I never questioned. What would a normal girl have done? Pack an overnight bag to stay at her boyfriend's apartment with him. Perhaps a little teasing, modeling something sexy that would have been removed in a relatively short period of time. Perfectly normal.

What did I do? I did my hair, curled it and pulled half of it up, which was fairly normal, I'll give that. But here is where the crazy took over. I showed up at the door in a short black trench coat over a sheer, virtually see-through nightgown. What if Ellie saw? I was doing my job, being professional, selling the story, like any CIA officer would do on a seduction mission. This was my job. I argued all of that to him later, just as I'd argued with myself while I was getting ready.

I just left out the part where I chose the sexiest thing I owned to sleep in. I also left out the part where I felt like I was in a competition with Lou somehow, and what I looked like tonight could maybe make a difference, swaying him back towards me. It was desperation, I know that now…but then, it was hard to make sense of.

Ellie gave me a strange look at the door, dressed the way I was, with absolutely nothing in tow, but she was polite and sent me back to Chuck's room. Devon told me it was "awesome" that we were taking his advice, which made me still vaguely uncomfortable. Chuck's bedroom door was ajar and I was in the doorway before he knew I was there.

He lit some candles and put on some soft music using his iPod. His back was to me and he was doing this silly, goofy dance that was so adorable it made me smile until my cheeks ached. He was startled when he saw me, surprised that I had been watching him. I wasn't sure what he had seen on my face…and I worried a little, wondering if it had been too expressive.

I countered with a bit of a rebuke, commenting on the candles and the music. I actually asked him what he thought was going on. Once I said it, I wished I could have taken it back. I was the one dreaming about this, and him, as I had been. He was doing this for the cover…candles and music included. He was exactly right, but I gave him a hard time because it was bothering me how much I liked what he was doing. He shut off the music when I told him we needed to take it seriously. He told me I could change in the bathroom, but I dropped the trench coat right there.

I played it very nonchalantly…but it got the reaction I knew I had been aiming for. He had to practically pick up his jaw and put his mouth back together. He was right again, arguing about my attire choice compared to my complaints. We climbed into bed together.

Chuck always sleeps on the right side of the bed. In that apartment, in our house, in hotel beds, in other people's houses. For the most part, he would sleep on the right, even when he was alone, although I didn't know that, as I'd never seen him sleeping before. For this ruse, he climbed in bed on the left and let me sleep in his spot. How did I know all of this? Because, despite the fresh sheets he had changed before I came over, his pillow smelled so much like him when I put my head down I felt dizzy.

His foul mood, and backhanded comment about me being a prostitute, distracted me from that stupor. He rolled away, turning his back to me and scooting as far to the edge of the bed as he could without falling off. The pain that motion caused in me was fresh, and inexplicable. I rolled away, not sure I could hide the disappointment that was sure to show on my face.

We lay in silence for a while. That silence was disrupted by the muffled sounds of Ellie and Devon arguing…something I had never heard before. They rarely argued, and most certainly not in loud shouting matches like we were hearing. The fact that Chuck didn't pick up on that is a testament to how out of sorts he was about the entire situation. He even said very softly that we were starting to sound like them. We were arguing…but sound like them? Ellie and Devon were sweet and affectionate with each other. I wanted us to sound like them. The kicker was, they were sounding like us.

That thought made me ask him if he was ok…if he wanted to talk to me about something. He brought up the hypothetical dating other people scenario. I felt my stomach turn over when he said the words. I gave the company answer–neither Beckman nor Graham wanted to worry about a civilian dating the Intersect. But I couldn't lie to him; I brought up Lou, saying that I thought he was interested in her, almost daring him to tell me he wasn't. I wanted him to say he wasn't…but he was. The fact that he couldn't just say it straight made it worse. He got so upset he told me he was sleeping on the floor, which was terrible for the cover. What if Ellie walked in?

Chuck blurted out that the last thing Ellie would do was barge into his bedroom while he was in bed with his girlfriend.

True perhaps, when she wasn't poisoned with pentothal. Unfortunately, however, we soon found out…she was.