Fandom Clinic, Friday 4/30

[stykera]

The idea of walking back to his apartment, alone, in the dark had been too much. Who knew what was out there? There were times, like now, he missed having easy access to weapons. Maybe, once this was over (if it was ever over, the longer it went on the less certain he was that it was going to be over) he would look into that. He hadn't wanted to leave because he didn't want to take the risk. And something might have happened to someone here or elsewhere. It was better to stay at the clinic, just in case he might be needed or at least helpful.

So Stark had slept at the clinic last night. Not that he'd slept well, or for long. A not entirely familiar setting and the pervasive and oppressive feeling of wrongness wasn't conducive to a restful night.

He'd woken early, considered going out in search of breakfast or at least coffee but decided against it after looking outside. Was the ash even heavier today? It seemed heavier. There was a coffee maker here. They could make do.

He hoped today would remain quiet. He didn't think it would. The emptiness of the clinic was only contributing to the feeling that something worse was going to happen.

Then he heard the radio message. Plants? That couldn't be good. Not that anything about this week was good, so far.

The alien was still in, still tired, and still anxious. But he'd do his best to help if it was needed.


[Very open, should anyone need attention! Work-related SP disclaimer until 3:30 EDT or so.]