Dr. Owen Harper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
beat_death) wrote2015-02-16 06:33 pm
beat_death) wrote2015-02-16 06:33 pm
2/14
Owen's been dreading the day more than most others.
And no, it's got nothing to do with the fact that it's Valentine's Day. The red and pink decorated stores with their giant paper hearts and candy displays have been an afterthought for him, these days.
His birthday, however, isn't. Owen's perfectly aware that he shouldn't get another one of these. It's the third one he's gotten so far, in Darrow and every year, it's a reminder of that night he was shot, of waking up on an exam table with the glove pressed to his head and Jack standing over him.
Loads of them shouldn't be here, but Owen more than most.
He should be grateful for it. Most of the time, he is. But other times, times like today, the last thing he wants is to even think about it.
Lucky for him, he's got something to keep his mind off it.
He's buried himself in work at The Station, in tests he likely doesn't need to do on the Weevils. He knows they're not from Darrow, that they've traces from somewhere else he won't be able to pinpoint— at least not until someone else from his own dimension turns up, and he's pretty sure he's always going to be shit out of luck when it comes to that— but there's still more to work out.
And he's been thinking about running tests on them, on the KIRIN pill Faye slipped him a while back.
But it's all busy work. He's not out, saving lives. Not today. Today, he's keeping his head down.
That is, at least, until he heads out for coffee mid-day. He's out of grounds for the coffeemaker at The Station, and thinks it's probably easier to just go out for a cup. He's always hated making the coffee anyway.
But what happens at the coffeeshop, he hates even more. It's his own fault for signing up for one of their membership cards on a whim months back. He's handed it over and is pulling a few dollars out of his wallet when the woman behind the till speaks up.
"Hey! it's your birthday? Why didn't you say so? It's on the house," she says, and Owen pauses, for a moment considering paying for the cup anyway before he sighs and puts the bill away.
"Yeah. Right. Cheers," Owen says, wishing he'd just stayed in.
Another year of bollocks. Happy fucking birthday.
And no, it's got nothing to do with the fact that it's Valentine's Day. The red and pink decorated stores with their giant paper hearts and candy displays have been an afterthought for him, these days.
His birthday, however, isn't. Owen's perfectly aware that he shouldn't get another one of these. It's the third one he's gotten so far, in Darrow and every year, it's a reminder of that night he was shot, of waking up on an exam table with the glove pressed to his head and Jack standing over him.
Loads of them shouldn't be here, but Owen more than most.
He should be grateful for it. Most of the time, he is. But other times, times like today, the last thing he wants is to even think about it.
Lucky for him, he's got something to keep his mind off it.
He's buried himself in work at The Station, in tests he likely doesn't need to do on the Weevils. He knows they're not from Darrow, that they've traces from somewhere else he won't be able to pinpoint— at least not until someone else from his own dimension turns up, and he's pretty sure he's always going to be shit out of luck when it comes to that— but there's still more to work out.
And he's been thinking about running tests on them, on the KIRIN pill Faye slipped him a while back.
But it's all busy work. He's not out, saving lives. Not today. Today, he's keeping his head down.
That is, at least, until he heads out for coffee mid-day. He's out of grounds for the coffeemaker at The Station, and thinks it's probably easier to just go out for a cup. He's always hated making the coffee anyway.
But what happens at the coffeeshop, he hates even more. It's his own fault for signing up for one of their membership cards on a whim months back. He's handed it over and is pulling a few dollars out of his wallet when the woman behind the till speaks up.
"Hey! it's your birthday? Why didn't you say so? It's on the house," she says, and Owen pauses, for a moment considering paying for the cup anyway before he sighs and puts the bill away.
"Yeah. Right. Cheers," Owen says, wishing he'd just stayed in.
Another year of bollocks. Happy fucking birthday.