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Thursday, waiting in the hotel. - tw_gwen_cooper
Thursday, waiting in the hotel.
In quiet moments like these, I wonder where he went. His mothers? Dav's? One of those motels his work keeps for out of town employees? I know he can't have gone too far -- I know he's been home once or twice when I've been at work, gotten fresh clothes and the book he was reading.

I wonder if he listens to the messages I leave on his voicemail, or if he just deletes them? I wonder if he know's I've been gone a week now.

I'm trying so hard not to think about it. I really need to be here right now. My heart pounds everytime I think about what we're about to do, about the risks we're exposing ourselves to. But this afternoon is slow. Frustratingly slow. All our plans are laid, and now we're just waiting for Lopez to organise things at his end. There is nothing we can do here now but wait.

Owen went for a walk an hour ago, which is just as well, because another five minutes cooped up in this room with him and I would have used one of our newly aquired guns to shoot either him or myself. 

I wonder what Torchwood would tell Rhys if I got caught over here? The truth? That I went ballsing of on my own mission and ended up in a foreign prison? Unlikely. Torchwood seems to have an inability to tell the truth, even when it's to their own benifit.. Most likely they wouldn't tell him anything. Like all those poor families we deal with so often. He'd never know the truth.

What if I died on the job? Would they make up some story, that I died protecting Queen and Country? Against who? Spies? Terrorists? Drug Lords? Communists? Train ticket dodgers? They wouldn't even get my body for the funeral.

"Keep your normal life," Jack told me once. Keep Rhys and a life outside of Torchwood. But Torchwood isn't just a job, is it? It's a lifestyle. And I can't even keep the pretense of a normal life with Rhys, because every word I say to him is a lie, and he knows it.

I don't want to lie to him; I love him. I wish I could tell him that again just now.
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