"It's worse some days than others," Joan admits, touched deeply by his kindness. "My memory comes and goes. Sometimes I lose a few hours, other times it's years. Sometimes I know Arthur, sometimes I don't. I know him today, and my notes say that he's my husband. In my mind, he is only a very attractive colleague." And I'm still in love with my dearest friend.

"I tried to keep it from him for awhile, but it's difficult to fake being in love with a man you've never met." Even for a gifted covert operative; one of the Agency's top assets. "And even harder when you've been dividing your time between marriage counseling and murderous rage."

She sighs and passes a hand over her face, ashamed of being so labile when her emotional control is far better than this, especially as, to her, he's a perfect (although perfectly kind) stranger. "I apologize that I don't know you well enough to be the friend you seem to expect from me. I don't mind listening, but I can't imagine it's much of a comfort."