DISCLAIMER: As much as I would like to say that I own the characters here, I only own a handful – Please don't hate Jack. He can't help himself.

"Jack ," Greg said, reaching for his drink, "I can't believe you showed up."

A slow grin started across Jack's face. "I almost didn't."

"Then why?" He played with a stray piece of dark hair that had fallen on the other man's forehead.

Jack, thought for a moment, propping himself up in a mirror image of Greg. "I don't know, actually."

"You're a liar, Captain Jack Harkness." And he was. He told Susan that this was about business, and the closest they had come to talking about anything having to do with Torchwood was when he had accidentally called the other man 'Ianto' in a fit of passion.

"So are you, Gregory Farmer," he shot back. "What did you tell Matt?"

Greg's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Told him it was top secret. Classified." A little chuckle followed. "Though he'll probably find out when he talks to Tam. But that's a risk I'm willing to take."

Jack sighed and fell back on the bed. "I don't think I am."

"What do you mean? You showed up, knowing full well what I wanted." He walked his fingers on Jack's arm.

"And it was a mistake. I need to go." But he didn't move, other than to throw his arm over his eyes.

"You don't seem to be moving too quickly, Captain."

"Shut up, Greg." He hated him right now. He hated himself right now. He hated this situation. He knew he should just get up and go – find someone else to fill in for him – and that was the bitch of it.

"Takes the concept of 'getting inside the Captain' to a new level," Greg muttered sleepily.

"What was that?" Jack was brought out of his thoughts.

"Advice Nigel gave me-" He fixed his face to look like his boss's stern look. "Greg-in order to run Three as tightly as Harkness, you'll need to really get inside the Captain..."

Jack could feel his mouth turn sour. "I don't think this is what he meant at all."

"But it works. I know why they trust you – they all love you." He reached to caress Jack's cheek, and, to his surprise, Jack jumped. "What?"

"I can't. I have a family to get back to." He was up and searching for his clothes, hoping no buttons were missing.

"Give my regards to the missus."

The look Jack gave him would have caused anyone else to shrink back, but not Greg. That bastard merely grinned a charming smile that made Jack, against better judgment, rush forward and capture his lips one more time. "I'm not doing this again," he growled when they broke contact.

"I understand."

"I can't, Greg."

"Yeah, yeah...I know. Family and all..."

"It's more than that – so much more," Jack tried to explain.

"If it were more, you wouldn't have come here at all."

"You can't begin to understand."

"Oh, I understand, Jack."

"Shut up, Greg."

"You already said that.

"And I meant it both times."

"Okay." He was silent for a moment, watching Jack get dressed. "Same time next week, then?"

"No. This is not happening again." Jack looked up from buttoning his shirt, suspenders hanging from his pants.

"Okay." But Greg knew, just like Jack, what the truth was.

"I mean it." He was shouldering his suspenders now.

"Fine." Greg smiled in spite of himself.

Jack walked to the door and opened it without looking at Greg. He was most of the way out when he stepped back. Greg was still watching him. "Wednesday." And then he disappeared.

"Hump day." Greg laughed to no one as he fell back on the bed and looked at the ceiling, smiling.

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Susan was sitting at the table when he came in. She had her laptop in front of her and stacks of notecards all around. Her coffee mug was within reach and she only paused briefly to look at him over her glasses. "Hey." She said the one word and Jack stopped smiling.

"What?" he asked, taking off his coat.

"Nothing. And hang that up." She started to type again.

"Something is bothering you." Jack slid into the chair across from her.

"Nothing. And you smell like honey again." She never looked up from the keyboard. "Where the hell are these meetings, anyway?"

"At a pub." He steepled his fingers on the table and looked at his hands for a bit, listening to the sound of her typing, noting that she was doing a lot of sighing and backing up. "Susan, what's wrong?"

"Nope, nothing wrong. You might want to get to bed – I know you guys start early in the morning." More typing and backspacing. Jack wondered what it was that she was working on with such a passion that she couldn't spare him even a look.

But he didn't move, he began to stare at her, knowing that she could feel his blue eyes watching her every movement, wondering if he should dare a slight smile to seal the deal.

"Jack, knock it off. I'm not in the mood."

"You're watching your hands. I had no idea that you didn't touch type."

"Shut up." She stopped and spread her hands over the keyboard.

Jack knew an invitation to start or stop a fight when he heard it. Why he chose the former rather than the latter, he didn't know. "Why?"

"Jack, you aren't being honest with me." She took off her glasses to rub her eyes.

"What do you mean?" He went pale at the thought of her knowing where he had been; knowing why he left the hospital. "How am I not being honest?"

Placing her glasses back on, she closed the laptop and glared at him. "Care to explain Andrea?"

Jack visibly sighed. This was something he could explain – and easily. "Do you remember the night I showed you all those pictures?"

She nodded. "The ones of you."

"Right." He reached for her hand, and found it, but she didn't clutch it back as usual, hers stayed limp in his. "Well, when I said my daughter went into the family business – this was what I meant."

Susan sighed. "But she's not that much younger than you. She should be an old lady now. I am not understanding this at all."

"Tosh and I rescued her. Brought her here. I set her up at Torchwood Four." He felt her take hold of his hand.

"Jack, why do I have the feeling that for as long as I know you, I will never fully know you?" She sounded tired and came around the table to stand by him.

"I've lived too long to tell it all." He played with the skirt she was wearing – it was one of his favorites (the one with the giraffes) – as he talked. "Hell, there are parts I don't remember. Don't feel bad." He pulled her onto his lap. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah a little." She laid her head on his shoulder. "But where is that honey smell coming from on you?" She inhaled deeply. "If I didn't know better, I would think it was those pheromones you talk about." She looked him in the eyes, but he was making his surprise at a correct guess. "But, I know from experience that those smell more like chocolate..."

"Chocolate? Really?" He smiled and kissed her neck. "So, is that a bad thing?"

She laughed at him. "Not even! Chocolate – and not diamonds like that song implies – is a girl's best friend!" She smacked playfully at him. "Now, what do you say to going to take a shower and coming to bed?"

"I say yes." He watched as she stood from his lap and walked down the hall, her skirt flowing in a way that made her look as if she were floating. He sighed and got up, pushing the chair in as he stood and making his way to the shower. On the way, he stopped to check in on Joey, who was fast asleep – and Jack had missed their nightly rough-house. He felt like such an ass. How could he tell her about Greg? He couldn't. And that the honey smell was the one that he reserved to use on men he was attracted to. He would call Greg tomorrow and cancel it all. It was not worth losing all of this.