This is sort of a follow-up to Silvanis' Y2K, but written in a very different tone. Serious, even. C'mon, have you guys ever NOT known me to dig for angst when there's a potential to be found?

Disclaimers and further notes at the end. Rated PG-13 for swearing.

God, she wanted a cup of coffee. Badly.

Failing that, a shot of vodka and bullets made for a very tempting alternative.

Her walkie-talkie crackled into life. "Situation, Pezzini?" Bishop rumbled, his normally calm bass sounding ragged and tired.

The brown-haired detective swept a hand across her brow and replied, "Logan's trying to get through to five people caught in the elevator." "One of them's claustrophobic -- and an untrained telepath. Any of our teeps around?"

"They are... needed elsewhere." Bishop sighed. "Subreality Hospital was hit badly. They have the back-up generators running, but the psychiatric ward need every help it can get."

"Oh God. Is it bad?"

"Three Jokers made it to the Villain's Bailiwick before they were apprehended. One Sabretooth is still out there somewhere, but Garibaldi's quite sure we caught the rest." There was a pause, and then he asked, "How are you holding up?"

"I haven't slept in more than 24 hours, Bishop." She knew her voice was rising, but did not quell it. "I've just seen the worst riot in Subreality since that mecha free-for-all, and for once I actually wish a Writer was here. What do you goddamn THINK?"

Silence fell, thick and angry. "I'm thinking that we all feel the same," the former X-Man said quietly, before signing off.

Sara Pezzini cursed under her breath, wearily getting to her feet. When she joined Subreality PD, they promised her interesting adventures. Well, they got the adventure part right. She felt like hitting something. The Witchblade growled softly in her mind, reacting to her frustration with a sharp command.

To protect is your obligation.

"Shut the hell up," she nearly snapped, but was distracted by something moving in her line of vision. Moments later a well-loved aroma assailed her nose and the sight of her partner, Detective T.C. McQueen, holding a steaming cup, soon followed.

He looked disheveled and there was a large purpling bruise on his forehead, but calm. Pezzini remembered him being in the thick of the riot, holding his own against a mob of shapeshifters.

No super-powers, and he still looked better than she felt. At that moment, she decided she hated him.

"Is that coffee for me?" Well, almost.

"Yes. I thought you could use some." McQueen handed her the cup, noting the bloodshot eyes and the stiff way she held herself. "You're no use in this condition, Pezzini. Go and rest -- I can handle it from here."

"Not while the Writers are offline waiting out January the first." She scowled at her partner. "As if you're any better."

"I'm the Marine, not you."

"Was."

He shot her a level look, and she knew she hit a sore spot. "I won't play your childish game, Detective."

"Sorry," Pezzini mumbled, not particularly repentant.

The silver-haired man could have been carved out of marble, but there was a trace of gentleness in his voice as he added, "More to the point, I'm an In-Vitro. I was created to be stronger than the average human."

"And the Witchblade can only go so far," she finished for him. "Fine. I'll take a nap. But you wake me up if anything happens."

"I will."

The cold floor of the apartment building was uncomfortable, but with her jacket as a pillow it was tolerable as a bed. A single glowlamp provided the only illumination, an oasis of light surrounded by darkness. Pezzini lay on her side, watching McQueen contacting the various Subreality PD ops teams scattered around Subreality. He still seemed vaguely uncomfortable in civilian clothes to her, missing the flightsuit that was his armour for decades.

"Shantytown's quiet so far," Officer Aletta Munroe reported, her clear voice echoing in the corridor. "The technology use here is low enough that they weren't be hit badly. We're not expecting any trouble except from the usual ferals. Now, if we can keep the other denizens away..."

"Keep Bishop posted. He can't do much, but identifying them would do for now."

"Well, he won't be happy to hear about fictives joyriding into Shantytown to scare the natives," she sighed. "I'm not sure if the Writers will care, though. Munroe out."

"They will," Pezzini murmured. "Subreality is their creation." She chuckled bitterly. "All that creativity and they can't Write up a disaster relief team for Y2K. If only the collective consciousness didn't think the world's going boom..."

"A certain stranger was hastily seeking a home, so a friend took him to a house in ruins. 'If this house had a roof,' he said, 'you could live next to me. Your family would be comfortable here, too, if there were another room'," McQueen quoted softly. "'Yes,' he said. 'It's nice to be next door to friends, but my dear soul, one cannot lodge in "if".'"

Pezzini digested that in silence. "Please tell me that wasn't by some Eastern philosopher," she finally said, "because I have had it with your Sun Tzu and--"

"Middle East, actually," he interrupted. There was an amused gleam in his blue eyes at the familiar precursor to a long-standing argument. "Jaleluddin Rumi."

She covered her eyes with a hand. "That's great, Queen Six. It really helps." A strangled laugh escaped from her throat. "Subreality's going to hell, and you're quoting a guy who's been dead for centuries."

McQueen's battered control snapped.

"Listen, Pezzini. Yes, all of us would be happier if we weren't the only soldiers holding the fort. But that isn't the situation here." Intensity hardened his face. "Our duty as the police force is to keep the order and we will do it. You can either live with it or get out, because if there's one thing we don't need, it's a cop who can't hack it."

His partner jack-knifed into a sitting position, glaring at him. "Are you questioning my abilities as a cop?" she snarled through gritted teeth. "I've been in the force longer than you have, Mr. I-am-a-Macho-Marine, and I don't have to hear this kind of shit from--"

"I've been through two wars and I've seen this happen to more people under my command than I care to remember," he countered harshly. "The despair will wear you down, little by little, until one day you wake up and think too long about the razor--"

"I'm handling it just fine!" Rage coursed through her like adrenaline, rapidly making her lose control. "You're the one who doesn't understand. I need this anger -- it drives me on past the point where my world crumbles around me and there's nothing I can do about it." Her face changed as his expression registered in her mind. "Or maybe you do."

They were now standing face to face, and she could see the clearly the biting coldness of his eyes. What it signified, however, was something she could only guess at.

"You're out of line, Pezzini."

"I don't think so."

Stand-off.

"Detectives!" Officer Philip Drake's voice snapped them out of the staring contest, and they turned around to see his worried countenance. "Logan managed to cut through, but the telepath's freaking out -- I think you should come see this."

"We'll be right there." McQueen spared one last glare at Pezzini. "We'll talk about this later."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm looking forward to it."

END

Disclaimer: Subreality is the creation of Kielle, aided and abetted by enthusiastic writers. All hail. I don't know who created Subreality PD, but I owe that person a big thanks. Neither do I know who founded the Villain's Bailiwick. Shantytown was first discovered by Seraph.

Sara Pezzini (Witchblade) is the property of Top Cow/Image, while T.C. McQueen (Space: Above and Beyond) was created by Glen Morgan and James Wong. The Joker belongs to DC. Sabretooth, Logan and Bishop belong to Marvel Comics. Garibaldi (Babylon 5) is the creation of JMS. Aletta Munroe and Philip Drake are my creation, so ask first if you want to use them.

A round of heartfelt gratitude does out to Silvanis, for allowing me to explore his concept.