SPD HQ, Z & Syd's Quarters, Sunday Night

Z had her headphones up to eardrum-damaging levels and she could still hear Syd whining at her agent about some event she was supposed to go to, but she had patrol. Z seriously did not care. One, saving the freaking world was more important than watching musicians congratulate each other and two, the day of the ceremony or concert or whatever the hell it was happened to be Z's day off. Z would be giving up her day off over her dead body. It also happened to be Ghost's day off, and they hadn't had an actual date in way too long.

"Don't you think so, Z?" made it through the bass line thumping directly into her ears. Z kept her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. She was too smart to engage. "Z? So anyway," and then the chatter resumed without any input from Z whatsoever.

She could not kill her roommate. She could not. They lived in a police station--sort of. She would totally be caught. And as long as she kept telling herself that, they might all live to see tomorrow.

None of the boys had to share a room. Stupid Bridge, being married. Stupid Ghost, being red Ranger. Stupid Sky, being...Sky. Syd was still talking.

Z sat up suddenly. "I have to get out of here."

"But we're on call!" Syd protested.

Z held up her communicator. "So call me. I have to get out of here." And she fled. She didn't know where she was going, but the other options were bloodshed and screaming. Syd made her appreciate Luke so much more.

((Establishy!))