The first part of this was supposed to be at the end of the last chapter, but it was already pretty long so I decided to save it for this one. I hope it seems to fit well. It might, because the last chapter was mostly about conversations whereas this one is more about action. Everything is going to fall apart before it gets pieced back together again.

I'll go ahead and say this now, so no one's totally confused: even though Bailey came to Boston in the first place to help Cody, her being there is actually going to have more to do with Zack. You'll see what I mean. ;)

This chapter is a heart-wrenching one (though the sadness it contains is much more subtle than in previous chapters), but please read. And feel free as ever to review.

Disclaimer: As everyone knows, I don't own The Suite Life.

As Jenny Kroft was escorting Cody from the visiting room, Cody thought intensely about his conversation with Dr. Maps. He had known, ever since his release from the hospital, that he would see him again. How could he not? The man was his medical doctor, and he had a horrendous scar that was still in the midst of healing. But whenever he had considered what they would talk about, all that came to mind was yelling. Yelling and harsh words, like before.

But this…this had been different. Cody felt pride swell in him at the notion that Dr. Maps had admitted to making a mistake. He knew well enough that the mistake had been in no way malicious; Dr. Maps was noticeably a very compassionate man. The thing that gave Cody a streak of pleasure was the fact that a doctor—a professional—had admitted to being wrong. How often did that happen? As far as Cody knew, practically never. Doctors tended to think their years of education made them faultless. They had an authority that nobody else had because nobody—not even the president of the United States, or the Supreme Court—could truly override them.

As Cody's mind wandered, he and Jenny approached the men's restrooms. Its door opened and out came a patient unaccompanied by a nurse…which was odd, considering nurses were required to stand outside the door and wait for them. Jenny felt it her duty to know why he was alone when he wasn't supposed to be, so she told Cody to stay put and came up to him.

The patient was a big man—two hundred pounds easily—with short, curly hair, a round face shadowed by dark stubble from the cheeks to the top of the neck, and a mass of biker-looking tattoos running down his arms.

Apparently, Jenny knew his name. "Where's your escort, Mr. Willner?" she asked kindly.

"Outside smokin'," the patient—Mr. Willner—said. His voice was rugged and hoarse. Cody could have sworn, simply by hearing him talk, that he was a smoker.

"Smoking?" Jenny clarified, alarmed. "Right now?" Now was not luxury time. The nurses could only smoke during break, and break didn't come until later.

Mr. Willner nodded and looked down at the floor, shuffling his right foot against the white tiles.

"Well…" Jenny continued. She glanced at Cody and then back at Mr. Willner, not knowing if she should take charge of a patient who wasn't her responsibility when she was already supervising another. "I suppose I can't go and leave you here, can I?"

She took Mr. Willner by the arm and said, "Come with me." Her voice was soft and, for an unmarried woman without children, motherly. "I'll take you to your room."

Suddenly, as if struck by a revelation, Mr. Willner looked down at her hand—the one clutching his arm—with an unnerving expression. His eyes widened and his lips parted, and a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a wheeze escaped his throat. At first, Cody thought the man was having a heart attack, but that proved not to be the case when he grinned mischievously and placed his own hand over hers and began to caress it.

"Now, now, Mr. Willner," Jenny warned him. "You know you're not supposed to do that."

Mr. Willner took his hand off of hers. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice so scratched it came out sounding more like "iorry." He didn't seem very sorry though.

"That's alright," Jenny assured him. "Let's just go back to your room, okay?"

She slightly pulled on his arm, encouraging him to move.

He took two steps, and then stopped. He started caressing her hand again. This time, more affectionately.

"Mr. Willner," Jenny said firmly, "what did I just tell you?"

Again, he moved his hand.

Jenny let go of his arm. Trusting him. She turned around to lead him back to where Cody stood waiting.

As soon as her back was exposed, Mr. Willner came up behind her and grabbed her around the waist. She shouted: "Mr. Willner!" But he didn't let go. He tightened his grip and squeezed, causing her body to straighten and her back to arch. Her head leaned back, her face tensed, her legs kicked violently. "Let me go!" she begged, but he did not let her go. He lifted her petite form off the floor and held her up, suspending her. To anyone who had not heard her screams, it would have looked like he was giving her one of those "bear hugs" that people gave their close friends who didn't mind the brief discomfort.

That, however, was not what he was doing. Not even close.

The forcing of her intestines inward had rendered her body weaker. When he finally put her back down and she gasped for breath, he took the opportunity to knock her down. Just one shove against the shoulders sent her sprawling to the floor.

She quickly tried to get back up. He didn't mind her on her hands and knees, but when she tried to bring herself to her feet, he wouldn't have it. In one swoop, he brought his body down upon hers, his bulbous stomach pressing against her spine, and brought his hands around in front. Grabbing her breasts. He whispered in her ear, his rancid breath blowing in the direction of her nose. "Don't even think about getting up, darlin'. You look just fine right where ya're."

Hopelessly, she tried to pry his hands away without showing him her fear. Fear in a nurse gave a patient power—something they could use.

But Jenny was unsuccessful, and Mr. Willner was enjoying it. That is, until he felt two arms from behind him hook themselves around his chest, diagonally from each side of his neck to each side of his rib cage. And pull. Pull forcefully.

Mr. Willner rotated his head ninety degrees and peered over his shoulder, seeing that Cody Martin—who'd recently been standing in disbelief and shock—had sprung forward and was attempting to get him off of her. Mr. Willner grunted in annoyance and elbowed him in the lower stomach. Cody reeled backwards and collapsed onto the floor; his stomach and ass began to throb.

While he was down, Mr. Willner removed his hands from Jenny's breasts and worked his way down to her waist, fastening his fingers inside the pants of her uniform. Jenny tried desperately to pry them away, fully aware that he planned to pull them down.

Cody saw this and felt his blood boil. He scrambled back to his feet and attacked again, this time gripping the collar of Mr. Willner's shirt and yanking on it for all he was worth. Choking him. He knew that he could kill the man if he wasn't careful, but at that very second, he couldn't have cared less. The fucker deserved to die.

He held his breath and leaned back for support. Anger surged through him, flowing out of his pores in beads of sweat.

Blended with the anger was a sort of reckoning—similar to an epiphany. Cody had never felt this much passion before. Nor had he felt this much rage. He'd been angry plenty of times but anger and rage were two different categories. Two different levels of the same thing. One could lead to the other, if so directed. However, not necessarily. Cody had never known it was possible to have this much ferocity bottled up. When he saw Mr. Willner he saw—or at least wanted to see—a manifestation of everything that tore his life apart. Everything that made life a joke to him, and not worth living. He told himself that that's what he saw. It seemed truthful enough.

After all, he knew exactly what Mr. Willner had in mind with Jenny. And scum like that were the reason the world was ugly.

Cody pulled and pulled. It was almost mechanical, the pulling. Almost robotic. He wanted to wipe the scum off the earth. To make it pay for what it did to him. For what it did to Dr. Maps. For what it did to his family and friends. And everyone else he'd ever known and ever cared about. Mr. Willner was not responsible for the suffering of everyone; Cody knew that. But nonetheless, he had a burning desire to heap all their well-deserved retribution onto him.

Finally, the constriction of breath and blood flow became too much for Mr. Willner and he released Jenny's pants and shot upright, his hands immediately going to his collar. "Jenny!" Cody shouted while she had the chance to get away. "Go!"

Jenny crawled forward and managed to stand up. As soon as she reached a safety zone, she turned around and looked at the scene. Dumbfounded, she backed up against the far wall, crying as though what just happened had finally hit her.

Mr. Willner, furious, reached towards the back of his neck and grabbed Cody's hands. Without much difficulty, he jerked them away from his collar and then reeled around, facing him. Ready to pummel him. Cody froze with fear. This cannot be the way I die, he thought. He refused to let it be. Instinctively…with more force than what may have been necessary… he kicked Mr. Willner in the left shin and sent him bowling over in pain, cupping his hands around the area right below the knee.

Then he backed up and watched Mr. Willner intently.

Neither he, nor Mr. Willner, nor Jenny noticed the nurse who had recently rounded the corner of the hallway and stood there gaping. He was a male nurse—one of the few at Fairoaks—and personally in charge of Mr. Willner. He'd defied the facility's rules by sneaking out a back door to smoke a cigarette, and had returned just in time to see the last bit of the showdown: Cody tugging on Mr. Willner's collar, Mr. Willner pulling his hands away and then whirling around… and Cody kicking him brutally in the shin.

The nurse made a quick judgment as to who the guilty part was, and then came running.

Cody had no clue what hit him when he felt a pair of strong arms grab him from behind and haul him onto the floor again, this time on his side. His heart skipped a beat and his fragile chest pulsated with pain. "Hey, what the…?" was all he was able to say before he felt a sudden sting in his upper arm. He turned his head and saw a man he didn't recognize holding him in place while piercing the skin of his arm with the needle end of a fluid-filled syringe and pumping the liquid into his muscle tissue.

Jenny shouted "No, stop!" at the nurse, but it was beyond too late.

Cody only had time to gasp and shoot the man an indignant glare before succumbing to the fast-acting effects of the drug. Drowsiness took over him; his eyesight blurred; his mind went blank. And sooner than he realized what was going on, his head drooped and he began to sink…down…down…down. Into a blackness that was similar to sleep but deeper.

More like death.

…

The sun was setting as Zack drove his car down a street he hadn't seen in what felt like months. Realistically, though, it had only been a matter of days. Bailey sat in the front passenger's seat, mindlessly picking at one of her fingernails, refusing to meet Zack's eyes. She was afraid he'd be angry at her; this was her idea, after all. She was the one who'd suggested that this was what he needed, and though he had fervently denied it, here he was…doing exactly what she wanted. If there was one thing he couldn't deny, it was that Bailey knew how to make a damn good argument. She'd convinced him.

Or at least, that's what he told himself.

But perhaps that wasn't the case. Perhaps he'd also convinced himself. He'd often thought about doing this on his own, before Bailey had even brought it up, but he'd always shaken the idea off. Used any excuse he could think of to avoid it. He just never felt ready enough to manage it. It was such a big step.

The deal-closer was what Bailey told him at the end of their tiff: "If you don't do it now, then when? I can't force you to do it, but keep in mind that the longer you wait the harder it's going to be." And he had to admit, for all his pride and dignity, that she was right. He could feel how right she was in the pit of his stomach. He had to do this. Sooner or later.

He'd told her his decision an hour after making it, and she had given him a smile and a hug. "I'm going," he'd said simply. "I know it'll be hard, but…you were right. I've got to do this at some point. Otherwise I might never." He still wasn't sure about it, but the warm beam she gave him and the tight embrace were enough to erase all his doubt. At least, for the time being.

But now the doubt was coming back. And it was coming back with a painful wrath. He wasn't angry at Bailey, not at all. Even though earlier he'd acted like he was. He was just scared. And tired. Both at the same time. He was scared of what he would see—blood stains? Memories?—as well as what he would feel.

Overall, he was more afraid of what he would feel.

And he was tired of the hurting. Sick of the pain that had been growing within him like a weed. He'd allowed it to grow for too long and now it was colossal and encompassed everything. It imprisoned him without mercy. He'd become a slave to it. He could feel it driving him mad—rooting out logic and reason. All that was left was emptiness. Cold, vast emptiness…there to taunt him. To remind him of everything he'd lost. Everything he wanted but could never have.

The heart can only take so much. Then it's had enough.

And his heart was on the brink of having enough.

Zack was well acquainted with pain by now. He was almost to the point of liking it. He had to like it; there was no way out of that. He had to at least tolerate it. If not, he might slip. He might try to take the easy way out, just like his brother did. But he couldn't let himself do that. That was stupid. That was arrogant. So the only other option was to befriend the pain. He figured, when it's been your companion for so long, eventually it'll have to become your friend. You invite it into you like a guest and let it stay there. You don't object when it makes itself at home.

He thought about this as he drove, the silence permitting his thoughts to wander.

It wasn't until he'd been driving a good twenty minutes or so that the silence was finally broken. He had just stopped at a traffic light and had one hand on the wheel and the other on the bottom pane of his opened window when Bailey spoke up. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to," she said.

Great, Zack thought, now she tells me. "It's okay," he replied. "I need to. I should have done it sooner."

"I'm glad you feel that way. It's just…I don't want you to think I'm forcing you to do this. Cause believe me, I'm not."

"I know that." Zack turned and gave her a pretended look of confidence, even though he was feeling anything but confident. "Trust me, it's fine."

Bailey heaved a sigh of relief. "Good to know," she remarked. "Cause I thought you'd…you know…be mad at me."

"Why would you think that?"

Bailey looked back down at her nails, searching for something to pick at. To keep her eyes from having to meet Zack's. "I don't know. I guess because it was my idea. I thought you'd hold me accountable for…everything."

Zack snorted. "You know I wouldn't do that," he said. "Besides, I've had it in mind to do this for a while now."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I knew I'd have to eventually."

"Then, why did you wait until now? Why not sooner?"

The traffic light changed from red to green and Zack moved his foot from the brake pedal to the gas pedal. Lightly, he stepped on it and sent them rolling again.

He didn't answer her immediately. "Because I didn't think I could handle it," he admitted after a short pause. "Not until I'd seen him at least. You know? Not until I knew, for sure, that he was alive. I know that sounds weird, but…how do I say this? The time that he and I spent in the hospital, it felt like a mirage. Or a dream. I felt like I was an onlooker in a nightmare. And after he left for Fairoaks, I instantly missed him."

Bailey nodded in agreement. "That makes sense," she commented.

"You don't have to humor me," Zack said doubtfully. "I know it sounds weird, especially since I was perfectly fine with him going there in the first place. I was just so certain that he needed it; I figured if he was crazy enough to do what he'd done, getting professional help was the best thing for him. But when he was gone…I don't know, it was like something in my brain just clicked. And I missed him more than I ever have before. Even more than I did when he went away to college, and that's saying something."

Bailey had to smile. It wasn't like Zack to get emotional about his brother around girls; he'd gotten very emotional in front of her when he'd visited Cody, but that was different. That was a different situation altogether. For one, he was in an asylum—a place known to be a very emotional—and for another, most of what he'd said (with the exception of his criticizing her for her behavior) had been directed solely at Cody, without paying attention to whoever was listening.

Zack continued as though he didn't notice Bailey's sweet smile: "That's when he became alive to me. I mean, I already knew in my head that he was alive but, for some reason, my heart didn't believe it. After he was no longer with me…it seemed like reality was staring me in the face, and there was nothing I could be sure about anymore. Everything just changed all of a sudden. It felt like waking up."

"I understand," Bailey told him, and on some level, she did. "And I'm not just humoring you; I'm being honest. Everything feels unreal when your life suddenly changes."

"I guess that's it," Zack considered hesitantly. When Bailey gave him an inquisitive expression, he added, "Look, I'm still in the dark here. This is still confusing the shit out of me."

"Well maybe…maybe you're just trying to analyze it too much," Bailey suggested. "Maybe you just need to let it be."

Zack shook his head. No. No way in hell. "I can't."

"Why not?" Bailey was clearly getting a little annoyed now. "God, Zack, why do you feel the need to know everything? You weren't like this when we were younger. Why can't you just leave this alone? Huh? Just let it take its course."

The answer to her question was so simple that Zack almost laughed at her for asking it: "Because I'm not who I used to be, Bailey. Everything's changed. Everything. Even me. I'm not who I once was, and I'm never going to be that person again. Ever." As soon as he said them, he realized just how truthful those words were. And it wasn't simply because of the two identities residing within him—the old Zack and the new; it was every bit of him. At his very core, he was different. Different in more ways than one—more attentive, more analytical, more skeptical…but also more scared. One could even say he was paranoid. He was constantly afraid.

So afraid, in fact, that his fear displayed itself on his face without his awareness.

Bailey noticed it. "What's the matter?" she asked, suddenly no longer annoyed.

Zack shook his head, as if shaking could remove the emotion. "Nothing," he said.

Of course, she didn't buy it. "No, seriously," she pried. "What is it?" When he still didn't give her an answer, she got stubborn. "Zack!"

Zack exhaled slowly. She's never going to let up until I tell her. She'll keep hounding me the rest of the way if she has to. "I was just thinking," he confessed, "about how I've changed."

He briefly glanced at her, hoping she'd be satisfied with that. Seeing that she wasn't, he continued: "I'm scared all the time. You know? I'm always scared. When you and I were younger, I used to act like nothing frightened me. But now…now I'm borderline paranoid."

Bailey seemed to take this in. To mull it over and work it out—wondering what it meant. What it could lead to. "Do you know what it is you're afraid of?"

Yes, I know. But I don't want to talk about it, because if I do…if I do I might blow up. Right here in the car. Zack paused for a long moment and let the question linger. He knew he would have to answer it eventually, but he didn't want to. He really didn't want to. The new Zack was threatening to take over and he did not want to risk that happening.

"I'm afraid that he won't be cured," he finally replied. "Cody, I mean. I want to help him—I want him to help me help him—but I'm not sure he will. And that terrifies me. He needs to tell me what's been going on. Not with his ex-girlfriend and all her bullshit, but…the real problem. The reason why he…" He struggled as the new Zack began clawing his way to the surface, heated and vicious as ever. "Why he…"

He couldn't finish.

Bailey felt sorry for him. Poor guy, she thought."It's okay," she said sweetly. "I know. You explained it all during our visit. And for what it's worth, I agree with you. The only way we can help Cody is if he tells us what's really bothering him. We can't do anything with him until he does that…except love him, but that's it. This is all in his hands."

Zack nodded, feeling pissed off all of the sudden.

For the last few minutes of their car ride, they retained silence. Accompanied only by each other's presence, and their own thoughts.

…

Zack felt his stomach tighten when he pulled into the driveway of his house. Before getting out of the car, he took a long look at it through his windshield. The days of his neglect confirmed themselves on the place like a beacon—the lights were off, which gave it an overall haunting appearance, the windows were encased in cobwebs, some animal had left tracks on the front porch, and there were toys, like a yellow truck, a doll, and a shovel, lying in his yard. He reckoned some of the kids from next door assumed he'd moved and decided to use his yard as their playground. It looked older than he remembered it. And smaller. Which made sense when comparing it to the massive Tipton hotel, where he had been staying.

Bailey reached the porch before he did. She opened the door and then stood to the side for him go in first. He walked up the steps slowly, as though it took great effort to get to the top. His gaze was fixed on his feet. He appeared to be counting each step—savoring them. Imprinting them into his memory. When he finally reached the landing of the porch, he stopped. Making no indication of moving towards the door. Bailey, feeling that something was wrong, closed it and came up to him.

She placed her hand on his shoulder. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah," Zack said, as though coming to from a trance. "Yeah, I'm coming. It's just…" he didn't know how to describe it. This porch had memories. Memories of Cody, among others. On this very porch, his brother had come to him, stood at the door, and had apologized. Apologized for the mistake he'd made—a mistake he'd been warned against. What was it he said? Zack asked himself, probing his brain for the exact words. Oh yes—"You were right. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." That's what it was. He also remembered the hug between them—a hug that had been more warm and endearing than most of the hugs they'd shared. He'd embraced Cody like he was the only thing that mattered to him, and then welcomed him into his house.

Into this house.

After a moment of simply standing and thinking, Zack walked—ever so slowly—to the door. Bailey reached out her hand to open it for him, but she was too late. He reached it before she did and swung it open, paying close attention to the shrill noise made by its hinges. Recollecting how they'd made that same noise each time he'd opened the door in the past…including the time he'd opened it for Cody.

As soon as he entered the living room, it was like déjà vu. He saw Cody sitting on the sofa, telling him about Brianna and her unfaithfulness, begging him to not say "I told you so." He saw himself telling Cody that everything would be alright; that he could stay as long as he wanted to. He remembered promising to be there for him. His exact words had been: "…if you ever want to talk when I'm home, I'm here."

But he hadn't been there.

He'd left when Cody needed to talk. He'd been well on his way to work. Miles away from Cody when he should have been the big brother he was supposed to be.

Zack felt the hot tears come. This is no time to cry, Zack, he told himself determinedly.

He tried to pull himself together. Bailey was standing next to him, watching him, and though she did not mention it, she clearly noticed the pools of moisture in his eyes. Her expression was sympathetic.

He looked at the sofa for a long time, remembering what happened before he left: his walking away, his brother's stopping him, his brother's confession of love, and his confession of love in return. Then his eyes shifted down the hall and landed on the door to his bedroom—the room he'd slept in that night. Consequently, the same room his brother had tried to take his own life in the next day. Looking at that door was too much to bear.

Zack turned away, realizing that this was actually the perfect time to cry.

Bailey glanced at the door, instantly understanding why he couldn't look at it. "It happened in there, didn't it?" she said, although she already knew the answer.

Zack nodded.

"This is what we came here for. You know that, right?"

Again, Zack nodded.

Bailey took him by the hand and led him down the hall. When they got to the door, Zack pulled himself free of her grasp and said, "I can do this." Bailey flashed him an earnest look and stepped back, allowing him access.

Zack's breath caught in his throat as he gripped the knob and turned it. The door flung open, revealing a vacant bedroom—just like any other—with an unmade bed, a bay window, a small bookshelf that was filled more with movies than books, and a bureau with piles of crinkled papers and products such as deodorant and cologne. It looked abandoned. A remnant of every day living cast aside. The bureau drawer which had contained the gun was still pulled out, forgotten in the spur of a moment. But Zack didn't concentrate on that.

His eyes went right to the floor. Images began parading through his head—images with so much gravity that he found he had to sit down. He went over to the bed, avoiding the exact spot where Cody had fallen, and took a seat. Bailey followed and sat next to him.

"You okay?" she asked.

Zack didn't know how to answer her. Physically speaking, yes, he was okay…that is, with the exception of his nauseous stomach and his failure to breathe properly. But emotionally...emotionally, he was a wreck. And a train wreck at that. The memories were agonizing. He remembered hearing the gunshot from out in the hall after calling Cody's name, and then feeling an inexplicable burst of pain in his chest. He remembered running as fast as he could into this room…

And seeing him—his little brother—lying on the floor, sucking in short, labored breaths as blood poured from the wound in his chest and soaked through the front of his shirt.

He remembered darting over to him, kneeling at his side and trying to put enough pressure on the gaping hole to stop the blood. But failing. Failing miserably and having to watch, crestfallen, as his brother's blood seeped through the spaces between his fingers and drenched his hands.

He remembered leaving him there to call an ambulance. Speaking frantically on the phone to a woman who kept asking him questions, while keeping his eyes desperately on his dying brother. Hoping. Praying. Sobbing. Withstanding both the shock of what was going on and the breaking of his own heart. Unable to decipher which was worse.

All these memories—and more—came flooding into Zack's mind like a torrent.

As they came, he wept.

He wept for half an hour, leaning forward and covering his face with his palms, before pulling himself back together. He hadn't taken any notice to Bailey's hand stroking his back. When he realized that she'd probably been doing it the whole time he was crying, he said, "You can stop now. I don't think I'm going to cry anymore."

Despite circumstances, Bailey managed a smile. "Good," she replied. "My hand's getting tired." She removed her hand and placed it on her lap.

There was a pause. Zack sniffled and wiped his eyes.

"I've never seen you like this before," Bailey remarked.

"Not many people have," Zack responded. Then he rethought that and snorted to himself. "Actually, take that back. No one has."

Bailey suddenly looked worried. "You really aren't going to be your old self again, are you?"

Zack shook his head. "Things'll get better," he told her. "But they won't ever be like they were."

The worry in Bailey's face increased, combining with another emotion—despair. The despair etched itself in her eyes and stabbed him with sincerity as she looked into his. "That's what sucks most of all," she declared. "There's no going back from this. It's impossible. There's too much hurt…too much anger. In a way, I've lost you. Everyone's lost you."

Her last words almost made him cry again, but this time he held the tears back. "You haven't lost me," he assured her. He began running his fingers through her hair. "I'm right here." He leaned over and repeated that—whispering it into her ear: "I'm right here."

"But you're not the same," Bailey argued. "You're different. I mean, I'm sure the real Zack is still in there somewhere, but you can't expect me to believe that you're the same person you were before all this. You even told me that in the car. You said you're more scared now. And there'll be a part of you that's always scared—that's always afraid you're going to lose him again."

Zack backed away, unable to contradict that. It was spooky how she seemed to know—or figure out by logic—that he had two separate identities living within him now. He doubted, however, that she knew just how accurate she was.

"There'll always be some anger mixed in with your love for him."

That was true, and Zack couldn't deny it. But there was more to it than she knew. "I'm not just angry at him," he confessed. "I'm angry at myself."

Bailey was surprised by that. "Why?"

"Because…" Zack paused, unsure of how much he should uncover with her. He'd already had this conversation with his father. Was it necessary to have it with her too? Why not? I was the one who brought her into this, wasn't I? It's only fair that I be honest with her. "Because…what if it's my fault?"

Bailey stared at him in disbelief, unable to speak.

"What if all of this is my fault?" Zack's voice was filled with dread at the very notion of his words being true. "What if I drove him to…to…?" He couldn't finish. He was going to start crying again.

"Zack!" Bailey exclaimed. "Zack, no! No! How can you say that? That doesn't make any sense!"

It was easy to tell she was getting mad at him. To redeem himself, he tried to explain: "It's just…I was always such a horrible brother to him. I treated him so badly! I used him, and lied to him, and told him I hated him." His voice cracked and he broke down again. "He deserved so much better than me! And I always knew that but I never told him."

"Zack…" Bailey said gently. But she didn't get to say anything else.

Zack exploded. "What if this has nothing to do with him? What if it's all about me? What if I'm being punished for all the times I took him for granted? For all the times I didn't treat him like a brother? He hates me, Bailey! I know he does! He says he loves me, but he really doesn't. He hates me and that's why he tried to leave me!"

Bailey lost it. "Zack, that's not true!" she spat. "Is that what you think his problem is? Goddamnit, I could slap you for thinking something so stupid!"

Instantly, Zack shut up. After seeing her slap Cody, he felt he was in no position to provoke her.

"Look, I don't know why Cody did this," she continued, "or if he'll ever come around to confiding in us. I won't pretend like I know him anymore because I sure as hell don't. But if there is one thing about him that I do know—one thing that would never change—it's that Cody loves you. I saw him tell you that just the other day in the visiting room, and I saw it in his eyes. He loves you, Zack." A split-second of uneasy silence ensued. "And I love you too."

Zack was startled by the last part. He wiped his eyes again and stared long and hard at her. Searching for any sign of deception. There was no reason why she should love him. First of all, she hadn't seen much of him since they'd been in school together. And secondly, she'd once been in a serious relationship with his brother. So there was no logical account for why—or how—she could possibly have strong feelings of love for him. That is, of course, unless she was referring to a strong friendship love. Which was the only type of love he'd ever known from her.

In her eyes, however, he saw only honesty. Raw, pure honesty.

Her eyes seemed to beckon to him, like a signal, and—before he knew what he was doing—Zack found himself lowering his head, tilting his face so close to hers that their lips were almost touching. He stopped himself there, as doubt and reasoning crept into him. Wait, wait…what am I doing? This isn't right. She's my brother's ex! But he didn't have much time to dwell on them because Bailey took his reaction as a sign and leaned in the rest of the way, pressing her lips against his.

Hers were tender and glossy; his were chapped, and rough from crying. But they kissed nevertheless. Kissed like long-lost lovers. Like this part of their lives was a romance in disguise. Like this was the reason they'd come to the house in the first place. Even though it wasn't.

Neither of them knew why they were doing this—whether it was an act of carefully evaded love, a spontaneous moment of passion…or merely a result of pitiful need.

But whatever it was, they went with it.

They clashed like fire and ice. Opposites melting each other. Electrified. Magnetic as the north and south poles.

Bailey clutched the sides of Zack's head and forced his face closer to hers, shoving her tongue into his mouth. Intertwining it with his. Tasting his saliva. Breathing in his carbon dioxide. Slowly, her hands slid from his head to his neck, and from there to his shoulders. She wrapped her arms around his shoulder blades, enfolding him like a child, and then slipped them around to his chest. She undid the top button on his shirt…

And then something inside of him snapped and he pulled his head away from hers. "We should go," he said.

She looked at him. Seeing that the spark—whatever it had been—was gone now. "Okay," she agreed.

They got up off the bed, and then left the room.

…

On the way back to the Tipton, Zack couldn't stop thinking about what they'd done. He kept asking himself, What the hell was that? Hoping that if he asked it enough, the answer would pop up somewhere in his consciousness and he could make sense of it all. He certainly had not seen it coming, and he wasn't convinced that Bailey had either; every time he stole a glance at her, she flashed him an awkward smile. A smile that said, "I don't know if I like what we did, but I'm going to act like I do so I don't freak you out."

The whole thing had been so bizarre. So impulsive. So animalistic.

Zack felt guilty about it, but he honestly couldn't comprehend why. Was it the fact that she was Cody's ex-girlfriend? The fact that they'd kissed in the same place where Cody had shot himself? The fact that they'd found pleasure in a time of grief?

A combination of all three?

Zack considered that idea. It's definitely possible.

Then he was struck with a jolting realization—something that should have hit him before: Come to think of it, probably the most amazing—or at least the most peculiar—aspect in what happened between Bailey and me is that the old Zack had been in charge.

The old Zack, filled with sense and reason and empathy, had been in the driver's seat when he and Bailey kissed. The new Zack, clouded by anger and ruthlessness and impulse, had been nowhere in sight.

I did this on my own. This was me. The real me.

Zack did speak to Bailey before they arrived at the Tipton's parking lot. He didn't mention the kiss, but he mentioned everything else. He thanked her for getting him to come back home and sit in that painful bedroom. And he thanked her also for coming with him.

"You're welcome," she said in return, giving him a smile that was more genuine.

Zack managed to crack one too.

They spoke about other things as well. Things that had nothing to do with Cody or this dilemma—like Zack's construction job, and the new friends he'd made, and adult life in general. Zack told her about his last days at the Tipton before getting his house, and Bailey talked on and on about her little farm in Kansas and the welcome back party she'd been given after graduating "Seven Seas High."

They were acting happier by the time they pulled into the Tipton parking lot. As they walked toward the building, they were even laughing. Bailey was telling stories about her family and Zack thought they were positively hilarious.

He was beginning to think the remainder of the day would go smoothly.

It wouldn't.

His hope of having a good day vanished without a trace when he spotted his father standing outside the Tipton's entrance with a cell phone in his hand and a grim look on his face. No, he thought. This can't be good.

Bailey didn't see Kurt until Zack pointed him out. When she became aware of him, standing there as though he'd been told the world was ending, her happiness disappeared as well. "Let's go," she told Zack, and they both took off in a sprint to meet him, avoiding any on-coming vehicles that were driving across the lot.

"Dad?" said Zack as soon as they got to him.

"Mr. Martin?" Bailey added.

Up close, Kurt's face was even grimmer than it looked from a distance. There were tears in his eyes. "Zack, Bailey…" he said shakily, "I just got a phone call from Fairoaks."

Zack felt horror conquer every other emotion inside him as he already knew what this meant. "Oh no," he gasped. "Cody."

Kurt took a second to compose himself. And then he broke the news: "Something terrible's happened."