I was working on my incident report for St. Helen's Hospital and… the events that had led up to it… just now when Jack sidled up behind me. He did that husky-sultry-sexy voice and asked if I was 'writing the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.' I think he's been watching too much American courtroom drama on the telly. I decided to go with the classic, "You can't handle the truth." But, rather than risk a shaky Nicholson impersonation, I did it in my own husky-sultry-sexy voice. I could feel Jack actually shudder up against me. At first I thought his only reply was going to be the, 'Wow!' with which he immediately responded, but eventually he continued, seriously asking if there was something I was planning on leaving out of my report. I really had to stop to think how I wanted to answer that. On the one hand, no, I would never knowingly leave pertinent information out of an official report. However, yes, there were things, personal opinions and analysis, that would never make it in. I must've thought about my response for just that little bit too long. Jack slid around and sat on the edge of the desk and looked at me, 'What?' The tone wasn't accusatory or suspicious, more… concerned. 'What are you leaving out?' How could I tell him? How could I look Jack in the eye and tell him that his office boy questioned some of his decisions, his procedures? In the end I didn't tell him, I simply handed him my mission notes. As Jack read through them, I could tell which one he was on by virtue of the expression on his face. He seemed to readily agree to several of my points and when he got to my notes on his brilliant decision to enter a Weevil-infested church with neither back-up nor the decency to go so far as to even tell one of us where he was going… I could feel the frown tugging my lips and could see it start to show as a reflection in Jack's own expression. We're going to need to talk about this at some point.

Turned in the final draft of my incident report. Jack's got it now. I'm wondering how he'll react to what I've written given that he's already read my notes.

Jack and I just had what I think was just the first of a series of discussions. When I first took him his coffee and he didn't look up right away, I thought I was done for, really. I was just about to leave when he finally spoke. What he said nearly floored me, 'You're right.' I waited, but that was all. I went and sat in my usual spot on the edge of his desk and finally Jack looked up at me. He just sighed. I could tell what he was thinking. Or what I thought he was thinking… I had to move fast or there would be a major Jack melt-down (and it wouldn't merely be him spending an inordinate amount of time brooding on rooftops, either.) As I'd luckily closed the door when I'd entered, and I was fairly certain the others were busy, I took a chance. I pushed Jack back in his chair and straddled his legs. His quick look of surprise moved from smirk to leer in a flash (Step one: distraction.) "I'm always right," I whispered in his ear. (Step two: flirtation.) Running my fingers through the hairs at the nape of his neck, I smiled, just a little. "Jack… I think you need a break." (Step three: management.) And Jack… if you're reading this, yes you do need to be managed and we both know it. (And stop reading my diary.)

Sure Jack resisted… a little. But in the end I convinced him that barring any major Rift activity or world peril, that letting the rest of the team direct itself for a while would be good for all parties involved. He agreed that Gwen could spearhead any investigations that came up between now and her wedding. Tosh was working independently, as usual, on several projects. Martha was busy with trying to figure out Owen (so many jokes there, but I'll let them all pass... for now.) And Owen… well, Owen was still in limbo. I tried to make a case for giving him a project; something to occupy his time besides Martha's pending tests. But Jack was holding firm on that point. I'm worried that he'll pull Owen from active duty completely. I started to make another try, but the look deep in Jack's eyes told me that if I pushed too hard Owen would end up locked in the cells next to Janet. Time enough later. For now, Jack agreed to take a step back. To breathe. Sometimes Jack seems to forget that immortal or not, he still needs to live.

Gwen cornered me in the Archives, jumped out at me from behind the shelving that holds the remains of that sub temporal biostatic transmogrifier that Jack disassembled and still hasn't put back to rights. I thought I was going to have a heart attack or something. I was glaring at her before I noticed that her eyes were red, she'd been crying. Apparently she'd just gotten off the phone with her wedding venue. It would seem that there's been a bit of a problem, well, more than a bit. The place had the ill manners to go and burn itself down. Maybe it's just me, but I don't think 'charcoal' makes for a good wedding theme. Well, after crying at me for a good ten minutes, Gwen begged for my help. Literally. How could I refuse? Especially after she went on about how she and Rhys just want to be a happy couple and how they need everything to be perfect.

So that's how I've spent the majority of my morning, tracking down a new venue for her. I found it. I'm actually rather proud of myself. Yes, it's a bit out of the way, but actually quite lovely. Quite a find, especially given the lateness of the booking. On the day, it's going to be perfect!

Yep, that's how I spent my morning. And how did I spend my afternoon? Why that would be in calling all the fine people on Gwen and Rhys' guest list to inform them of the change. No, it's fine Gwen, really. Not like I have any work to do. Just a side note here: it's confirmed… no one from Torchwood made it on to Gwen's wedding guest list, not even Jack (well, at least I wasn't the only one not invited.)

Gwen cried for another good fifteen minutes about how they want everything to be perfect. What couple doesn't?

I've been thinking, how long has it been since I've seen Jgem'a? I had a look round her usual areas in the Archives, but there wasn't any sign of her. I'll have a look through the CCTV. Maybe Tosh could run a heat trace through the internal scanners for me. While I was down in sub-vault 33C I came across an unlabeled box. Ignoring my 'Don't Press the Button' training from Torchwood One, I went ahead and threw caution to the wind and opened the box. I'm trying to visualize the scenario… why on earth would one of my predecessors feel the need to archive a box of old Tintin books?

I gave Martha a jar of anti-wrinkle, anti-aging cream. She stared at it for a full minute before realising it was just a joke. That really says something about working here, that it was only yesterday that she was prematurely aged with a mobile mortality-magnet metal mitten, and this morning she's already put it out of her mind. I was just starting to worry she either wouldn't get the joke, or that she'd take it the wrong way when she burst out in a fit of laughter I thought might never stop. Then she hit me. Ouch.

Okay, I really am going to make Martha cry. I'm not trying to, really. Back before, we were at a point already where we could tease each other. Maybe not anymore… When I was going 'round with the tray of coffees she looked up at me, expectantly. I told her sorry, but since she'd bruised my arm earlier the tray was just too heavy for me to carry with five mugs. (Martha shouldn't pout. Not an effective look for her at all.) Tosh got the joke, she was sitting there, having a hard time hiding her laughter. I finally broke down and pointed out that Martha's mug was already on the desk in front of her. She must not have noticed me put it there a moment before. She looked at me like I was Houdini. I just smiled and told her to drink it before it got cold and left to deliver Jack's coffee. As I walked away I could hear her tell Tosh that they should put a bell on me. Tosh told her not to say that in front of Jack. Trust me, Jack doesn't need anyone giving him ideas, he has enough of his own.

Gwen has gotten it into her head that I've been spending my evenings going to some book club. A book club? Really? With all I have to deal with around here, when would I possibly have time to actually sit down and read a book? Let alone meet with anyone to discuss it? If he saw me sitting down and reading a book, what are the chances Jack wouldn't have other ideas on how I should be spending my 'free' time? Still, no matter how many times I tell her she's mistaken, she won't seem to let it go. Eventually I had to look at her with all seriousness, and a few furtive glances behind me, before saying that I just couldn't talk about it. She grabbed my arm, all concerned, and asked me why, was I in trouble, was something wrong? It was really hard to maintain the straight face as I confided to her… "that's the first rule of book club: You don't talk about book club." I'm guessing Owen had been eavesdropping, as he chose that particular moment to literally fall out of his chair.

How can we be out of paperclips again? I bought a case last time and that wasn't so very long ago. It has to be Owen.

Now that everyone's gone for the evening the Hub is blissfully quiet. It's that time of day I love where the light must be reflecting off the Bay. Even the little bit of natural light that manages to find its way down here has that golden cast to it. The Rift Predictor is promising a quiet night and Jack has actually threatened to sell it for scrap if it was lying to us. Come o think of it, I'm not quite sure where Jack is at the moment. Not far. I can feel him. Nearby. Anyway, here in the quiet, I was thinking… what would I miss most… had it been me instead of Owen. Chocolate? Coffee? The feel of a breeze in my hair? Blushing? Who am I kidding? Of course it would be Jack. It would be a 'who' I missed, not a what. Jack. Touching him, feeling him, the heat when our fingers brush, the tingle when he kisses me just below my collar, that breath he always takes just before our lips meet… I could go on without anything else, but not without him. To continue to see him every day, but to exist without… what we have now, I simply don't think I could. I'm glad I don't have to.