It's his birthday. Jack remembers and brings him a gift - a book about a time machine by a man named Wells and a conversation he doesn't want to have about a man he has long since stopped thinking on. "Personally," Horatio says, drawing out the single word with an exasperated sigh, "I don't give a good God-damn what Mr. Conoy says, Jack ( Read more... )

The situation with Miss Kate, it seems, has been resolved. I took the liberty of instructing Harkness to attend to her. I understand entirely that it was not my place to meddle in her affairs, and she did not appreciate the delicate sentiment and care with which I handled the situation, but something needed to be done immediately and I fear that I ( Read more... )

Apparently I am not as useful to Kate as I should have hoped. I attempted to broach the topic of her recent illness and it went badly; I fear that, despite the affection I feel for her, it was not my place to speak. Perhaps I was incorrect in my hypothesis: observation without the correlation of experience is merely an educated guess, after all. ( Read more... )

I am loathe to find myself still trapped in this nightmarish hell those around me describe as the Nexus. I could not stand the daily torment of being a man with neither form nor purpose if it were not for Kate. While we are both ill suited for the temperament required of fast and easy friendship, I fear I would be forever lost in this place, ( Read more... )