Burning Cosmos {A Torchwood Story Three}

12. Adam

Even my cappuccino with extra chocolate flakes doesn't perk me up as I sleepwalk from our flat to work.
"What are we doing today again?" I ask Owen, and beside me in the lift he shrugs.
"Just paperwork; I'll cover for you if you go have a nap," he replies, and I love him for that.

We walk into the Hub, squeeze Toshiko's hand as I pass her desk, step up to my own - and find a blonde man at it.

My hackles rise and I restrain myself from aiming my gun, because if he's inside Torchwood there must be a reason, but he just smiles at me like we're old friends.
"Morning Evelina," he says casually.
"How do you know my name?" I ask firmly, and as he walks past Jack looks at me curiously.
"Eve, don't worry; Adam's already given you the work from the crash."
I blink. Adam? Who's Adam? What crash?

The guy stands up with a chuckle, and places a hand on my shoulder.
"Come on Evelina, the crash can't have given you that big a concussion," he says, and in a split second all these images come into my mind forcefully. But... where did they come from? They look like scenes from the Hub, the day before but with a crash and this Adam guy; but they... weren't yesterday? Yesterday we just caught up on paperwork and played basketball. Badly. I still don't think Ianto's forgiven us about the handmade mugs.

I move to take the guy's hand off my shoulder, always wary of strange men, and I catch a small frown before he smiles casually again.
He nods at Jack and shrugs, telling him, "I guess it really was bad; should she be in work today?" and my mouth falls open in indignance.
"Jack, this is my desk," I say, instead of asking who the fuck is this, and both of them look at me like I'm mad.
"Evie, I really think you should go see Owen for your head. And no, not that kind," Adam winks, and I'm taken aback. Who the fuck kinda stranger winks at me about my sex life? How does he know about my sex life?

Jack nods nonetheless. "Adam's right, I'm getting a little worried. You go - go on, shoo." He pushes me gently towards the autopsy room and starts talking to Adam like they're besties. I stumble on the grates as I walk - what just happened?

Nevertheless I walk down to the autopsy room, and Owen pauses his work and looks up at me.
"What are you doing? Did I take your moisturizer again?" he asks, and I shake my head dumbly.
He puts his hands on his hips. "Then what is it?" he says impatiently, but I can't really speak. I just point to my desk which is apparently this Adam guy's now.
Owen moves his hands from his hips into the air and starts coming up the white steps. "Right, what is it?" he says impatiently, ending up in front of me. After a moment, I tell him to go over to my desk. So he does, and I see through wires him and the guy talking.

After a few minutes he comes back, tucking in his tee as he walks back down the steps. Owen? Tucking in his shirt?
I lean over the railings and call to him, "Meeting the Queen are ya?" He shakes his head with a corner smile, walks over to the cabinet of spares - Tosh pulls a Velma at least once a month - and puts on a pair of glasses.

I frown. Owen has perfect eyesight - what is he doing?
"Hey Owen," I ask, "you all right?"
He nods and speaks to me with his head in his paperwork. "Yeah, why? And, uh, while I was over there Jack and Adam said something about the concussion getting worse, so come down here will you? I'll have a look."

I frown again but walk down and hitch myself up on the gurney. Owen puts down his paperwork, spins to look at me in my usual spot when in the room, and blinks like a deer in headlights.
"What are you doing?"
"Waiting for you to look at this concussion I apparently have."
We both frown and say at the same time:
"I always sit on the gurney."
"You usually sit on the bottom step is all."

I frown deeper, an added line on my forehead. "I think you're the one that needs their head examined; I've always done this."
He shakes his head. "Only Tosh does that. Whatever - let's have a look."
He studies my head, making me do all sorts of tests, then concludes that I indeed have a concussion.
I snort derisively. "Are you serious? Is this just so we can go home and shag?"