Zayne obediently followed Bodie to his locker, where the detective pulled out a shirt and a pair of shorts from the mess inside. The younger man's words were still ringing in his ears, teasing out a timid want within the musician's heart. His legs still felt weak, but Zayne knew it wasn't from the heat stroke. Something inside him craved what Bodie was offering. The need to be cared for, to be protected, was a drug running through his veins.

He never realized how lonely he was until Bodie refused to listen to his lies. Over the past few months, Zayne's vocabulary had diminished to a few choice phrases to reassure everyone else that he was fine. The words he wanted to say and the words he wanted to scream were not the ones people wanted to hear. So, he kept those locked away so they couldn't hurt the people around him.

After rooting through his cluttered locker, Bodie handed the clean clothes to Zayne, who graciously took them. The detective also pulled out fresh clothes for himself and began undressing. He slipped his wet shirt over his head and began drying off his chest when he suddenly stopped.

Zayne's eyes were locked on him, an innocent hunger burning within their sparkling depths. It was a look rapidly pushing Bodie towards the edge of his self-control. He had to do something quickly, or the musician would find himself slammed against the cold metal lockers. Unfortunately, his horny libido refused to deny itself a little fun.

Removing his belt slowly, Bodie couldn't help but snicker at the piano player's deepening blush.

"What? You've never changed in a men's locker room before?"

Zayne's eyes looked down at the clothes he was holding. "Yes, but I...it's just..."

"Fine," Bodie said, turning around to give Zayne privacy and himself a break from the unobstructed view of the musician's mostly naked body. He continued changing, trying his best to respect the musician's wishes and not sneak a peek. But damn, it was hard not to look.

Zayne quickly removed his wet shorts and boxers and replaced them with Bodie's athletic shorts. They were a size smaller than he typically wore, and the risk of developing a wedgie was high. He also burned red, knowing that he was free-balling inside the detective's shorts.

Bodie kept his back to the musician. He wanted to turn around. More than anything else, he wanted to turn around and see Zayne wearing his clothes. But if he did, he was pretty damn sure there'd be no way he'd be able to maintain his professional demeanor. While they changed, he had caught an "accidental" glimpse of the musician wearing his shorts that were hugging Zayne's shapely round ass perfectly. Bodie's own pants instantly became uncomfortable as he imagined what he would see if Zayne turned around. So, he did what any honorable officer of the law would do.

He ran away.

Zayne let out a slight cough to let Bodie know it was alright to turn around, but the detective did not respond. Bodie was already walking towards the exit, leaving Zayne like a lost sheep. He picked up his wet clothes from the floor and jogged over to where Bodie was waiting for him by the door.

"Bodie, I think..."

"Don't tell me. Not yet." Bodie pulled the door open, and he led Zayne down the hall. "The captain and Porter should be present so we can all hear the same thing," Bodie explained as they walked through the station to Captain Harris's office.

"Oh, okay." he said nervously.

To Zayne's delight, the keyboard the officers found for him was not a toy but an elaborate electronic one. He dropped his forgotten clothes on the floor by the door, which Bodie closed behind them, and rushed over to the desk holding the instrument. Standing before the keyboard, Zayne let his fingers drift across the keys as his eyes scanned the settings. He turned the switch on and heard the soft hum of power, bringing the device to life.

"Can I see the drawing Bodie did of the letters?" he asked, his eyes dancing up and down the black and white plastic keys.

Detective Porter handed him the piece of paper with the outline of Bodie's hand on it. Zayne held it in his left hand and studied the letters written at the tip of each finger while his right hand lined up with the center of the keyboard. He played the notes in order one by one but wrinkled his nose when they didn't produce a logical answer. He continued to play various combinations while the other three men stood back and allowed him to play with the puzzle pieces.

Bodie stared patiently as Zayne carefully listened to each letter combination, searching for a melody familiar his trained ears would recognize. An unexpected feeling of pride swept through him. This selfless man would help regardless of the pain he suffered, a man he could respect. Maybe even one he could...

Without warning, Zayne froze, all the blood draining from his face.

"Zayne?" Detective Porter asked cautiously.

"I know what it is."

Zayne's voice was small and far away. His fingers hovered shakily over the keys, his body paralyzed with mind-numbing fear. His heartbeat pounded so loudly in his ears that he thought he would go deaf. The air in the room thickened, and he started choking on it.

Instantly, Bodie moved next to him and murmured, "Breathe."

Unable to resist the detective's soothing voice, Zayne obeyed and took a slow, deep breath. His mind drifted back to the aquarium when he drew in his next breath. He remembered all the brilliantly colored fish swimming weightlessly in the water, the way the light shimmered on their scales, and the look of Bodie's face under the ocean blue luminescence. One by one, his fingers moved. They pushed on the plastic keys in the proper order, revealing a song that was familiar to all of them.

"I know the tune but I can't remember the words," Captain Harris admitted.

Zayne took another deliberate, oversized breath. Playing the notes again, he added his voice to the music, singing words that burned his throat and poisoned his tongue.

The words were ones they had all heard before. Even Harris and Porter recognized them once they listened to Zayne breathe life into them. They were the lyrics from the beloved children's animated movie Toy Story, which spoke of friendship and reliability through the toughest times. They were words meant to bring happiness and inspire loyalty to those who heard them.

But in this room, they only created suffering and fear. They were another piece of the puzzle made up of dead bodies and grieving families. And now, they would be words that would haunt Zayne's dreams.

The four men stood silently, lost in their thoughts. Zayne's sanity was rapidly slipping away, his body trembling uncontrollably. With a terror-filled scream, he pushed the keyboard off the desk with an unforgiving shove.

"How the fuck is this going to help us catch him? I don't want to be his friend! I want him dead! This...this can't be real. This is just another one of my dreams, right? It's gotta be. I don't...I can't..."

Suddenly, Zayne couldn't catch his breath. He gasped for air, but his lungs wouldn't expand. His chest hurt, and his vision blurred. Images of the woman's carved fingernails pried through his chaotic thoughts. His head snapped up, his eyes pinning the captain with a desperate look.

"Shit! Did any of the other victims have letters on their fingers?Did they?!"

Zayne's anger and frustration roared inside the room. His face lost all its color, turning even more ghastly white than when he arrived. His breaths were becoming more shallow, and his hands shook violently as they rose to his head.

Bodie took a step towards him.

"No! Stop!" Zayne snarled, spittle flying from his lips. His eyes were those of a frightened animal as he pointed to the young detective. "I can't...don't tell me...to breathe, goddamnit!"

Bodie could hear the sheer despair in the piano player's voice, and his heart broke. Yet, he didn't stop moving towards Zayne. He was not about to let this man suffer alone, not when he knew he could help. He couldn't just stand there doing nothing while the musician lost whatever sliver of hope remained in his terrified mind. Not when he understood that what Zayne was really screaming for wasn't for them to leave him alone but for someone to save him.

Detective Porter calmly raised his hands. "Zayne, we just want to help you."

Zayne turned his fury onto the senior detective. "You keep saying that but you haven't done shit! That maniac is still out there, still killing people, still stalking me. He's still in my head. Why can't I get him out of my head?"

Harris and Porter, realizing what Zayne had just confessed, glanced over at Bodie. Thankfully, the young detective's expression was unchanged. Bodie had no idea that the musician had just revealed his secret. All he knew was that Zayne was losing himself to the madness of a serial killer.

Realizing that the situation was deteriorating faster than he could resolve it, Bodie changed tactics. If he couldn't talk Zayne down, he was damn well going to make sure the piano player didn't leave in his current fragile state. He moved towards the door with slow, cautious steps.

Like a cornered animal, Zayne's bloodshot eyes watched every micromovement Bodie made. He knew the detective was up to something. His muscles tensed, ready to do whatever was necessary to leave this room, this moment, this nightmare he was trapped in. All of the trust he had gained with Bodie seemed lost in the tempest of the musician's shattering mind.

Right now, Zayne was beyond rational thinking. The musician's emotions were at a critical level and in complete control. The possibility of Zayne hurting himself or one of them was rising exponentially, and Bodie's chances of breaking through the musician's broken mental state were quickly decreasing.

"Zayne, you need to..." Captain Harris started to say.

"Fuck you! Fuck you! Don't you dare tell me to...to calm down or...pull myself together! That song was for me! What the hell was that? Some kind of a sick friend request? I don't want it! I don't want any of this! I quit! Do you hear me? I...fucking...quit!"

Zayne howled and stormed towards the door. As soon as he touched the doorknob, Bodie's hand wrapped around his aggressively, stopping him from turning the metal knob. Gray eyes flashed angrily at the young detective, but Bodie refused to let go. In fact, he squeezed Zayne's hand even harder.

"Is that hatred I see in your eyes, Mr. Matthews? Is it? Let me tell you something. If you walk out this door, HE wins. Not us. Not any of the people he's killed, not any of their still grieving family members, and certainly not his next victim. Do you want him to keep killing or do you want to see him die a horrible death for the lives they've taken? For what they're doing to you?"

Zayne's brows furrowed, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching. Color returned to his face as rage filled every crack of his tortured heart. His warring emotions each fought for control inside his reeling mind. Hatred for the sick fuck doing this to him. Grief for the victims and their families. Frustration because he had been unable to stop the killings even with his gift.

But most of all, there was fear for his own life and sanity.

Zayne looked into Bodie's golden eyes, and suddenly, his world stopped spinning out of control. Shockingly, those mesmerizing orbs reflected everything he felt back at him as if he were looking into a mirror.

Zayne stopped trying to open the door and surrendered to the man holding his hand because somehow...

Bodie understood. Bodie understood precisely what he was going through.

But how?

Zayne relaxed his grip on the knob, mourning the loss of the detective's warm hand as it slipped away. He stood tall and took a deep breath.

"Yes," he answered with a voice that did not sound like his own.

"That's what I wanted to hear. Partners?"

The young detective held out the same hand that had stopped Zayne from running away. Zayne stared at it. That hand offered both hope and hell. If he accepted it, there was no going back. But, at least now, he knew he wasn't alone. Now, he knew someone would fight with him, not just for him.

Grasping the detective's hand in his, Zayne gave it a firm squeeze.

"Partners."

"Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath." - Eckhart Tolle