Page 78 of Shrapnel

It left Owen feeling anxious and hollow. Was he ok? Last night, while Owen was still stubbornly refusing to admit that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep he wondered where Jamie had gone. He’d been bleeding. Elijah had been at White Sand Mesa for the last couple of days, so had Jamie been alone in their apartment?

Or had he gone to Jackson?

That thought made him grit his teeth and kick off his sheets. Why would he go to Jackson? Hadn’t he been the one to put bruises on his neck? Would Jackson even help him? Owen had paced around his apartment, refusing to allow himself to turn on his computer to research the mercenary. Partly because he had no right, and partly because he was afraid the man might find out and break his neck.

Owen had even checked hospital records for any patient matching Jamie’s description. His heart had been in his throat as he read through the list of patients. Jamie wasn’t there, which was hardly surprising. Jamie wasn’t exactly the type to go somewhere public.

What was surprising was how much he cared. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe that was the least surprising thing out of all of this. Owen cared about Jamie. He just didn’t know in what way.

These thoughts had been on a loop since Jamie had limped away from him.

The elevator doors opened, and he recoiled at the fluorescent lighting. Sucking down the last of his energy drink, he tossed it in a trash can before rounding the corner to his cubicle. He stopped short the moment he caught sight of his chair.

Or rather,nothis chair.

The Chair of Satan was gone.

Instead of seeing the plastic wheeled, Slovakian made terror of office furniture, he was looking at a sleek, non-aggressive looking chair. Black meshed, with lumbar support and well-greased wheels, it was nothing like what he had been fighting with for the last few months. Peering at it curiously, he gingerly poked the arm. The chair gently rotated, silently spinning away from him.

Owen hadn’t complained to anyone about the chair. He couldn’t believe his bosses would just gift him another chair. A brand new, non-biting, chair.

A Polaroid picture was sitting on his keyboard. Nudging the chair aside with his hip, he picked up the glossy photo. Blurry, taken in low light, the picture was The Chair of Satan riddled with bullet holes.

Even if Owen didn’t recognize the field the photo was taken in, he would have known it was Jamie. He had complained to him about his job, chair included, only a few weeks ago. Only Jamie would have remembered something like that. Only Jamie would havedonesomething about it.

Smiling, he dropped into the chair and closed his eyes in satisfaction. It didn’t squeak or wobble at all. He gripped the photo tightly, wondering just how and when Jamie had managed this.

His neighbor stuck his head up over the cloth cubicle wall. “Nice bags under your eyes.”

For Adam, that was as nice of a morning greeting as Owen was going to get. “Thanks, they’re name brand.”

Adam snorted, lowering his shock of lake water green hair to go back to coding. Not for the first time, Owen wondered if the company had intentionally put the two geekiest-looking employees in the same corner.

“Hey, um…can I ask you a hypothetical question?” Owen asked softly, staring at the wall between them.

“No.” Adam’s voice was rough. “Don’t be a pussy. Ask me the question outright.”

Owen groaned and leaned back in his new chair, relishing the way it supported his back. Adam might be the only guy who refused to play nice with societal rules.

“Fine. Can…can someone’s sexuality change?”

A scoff came from Adam’s side of the cubicle. His green head emerged, and he leaned against the wall, dragging a purple nail across the top of Owen’s computer.

“Why ask me?”

“Because you’re the walking prototype of a guy who took gender studies and you love talking down to people.”

Adam stared at him for a long moment, no doubt debating just how vicious Owen’s remarks were meant to be before he grinned. Deciding he preferred honesty, apparently.

“Sexuality is fluid. It’s only confined by labels the government uses to control us.”

Owen wrinkled his brows. “What?”

Rolling his eyes, Adam shifted. He was a short guy and was definitely kneeling on his chair to look over the cubicle.

“Was there ever a food you didn’t like as a child?”

“I didn’t like tomatoes.”