![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
This popped into my head when I was doing the drabble about Zelenka not feeling at home. No spoilers.
Stray Cat
There's no mud in sight, and his boots are clean, but he feels as if he's tracking dirt everywhere.
The bed they've given him is soft. Too soft.
The water he washes in is hot. Too hot.
The food is soft and hot and his teeth ache for the stringy tug of meat, cool and bloody.
They all look at him, too.
He's about to leave when Weir announces: "We have an alien in the city. It's killed two people. Stay where you are --"
And he's moving fast, running, through the corridors of a place that suddenly feels like home.
Stray Cat
There's no mud in sight, and his boots are clean, but he feels as if he's tracking dirt everywhere.
The bed they've given him is soft. Too soft.
The water he washes in is hot. Too hot.
The food is soft and hot and his teeth ache for the stringy tug of meat, cool and bloody.
They all look at him, too.
He's about to leave when Weir announces: "We have an alien in the city. It's killed two people. Stay where you are --"
And he's moving fast, running, through the corridors of a place that suddenly feels like home.