It's the silence that's the key. They both learned at an early age that to be silent was to not be noticed, and to not be noticed meant not being the recipient of drunken rages and thrown vases, angry words and angrier fists. With Lee, being silent means learning and secrets, and Zak is slowly becoming a master of secrets and, though Lee doesn't know it, of Lee himself.

There is also a trick in innocence. Lee refuses to see Zak as anything but his baby brother, and so everything is attributed to something or someone else. It amuses Zak even more, because no one should know better than Lee that people who seem innocent are anything but. Lee is all those things that people brand him, all those good and glorious names they lay at his feet - Adama's son, Apollo, brilliant, decisive, a leader - but he also has his darkness. Lee simply hides it better than most, keeping it caged like a monster until he's alone in the darkness, and then he lets it out to roam free, to feed until daylight drives it back inside.

Lee closes his eyes in the dark, as if he's afraid of what he might see, as if the beast inside him is something real. Zak keeps his open and watches from his hiding place, following Lee's actions with rapt attention. He's felt the same urges. He knows them well, the ones that drive Lee to the sounds he makes, writhing on the bed. Zak touches himself as Lee pants and moans, arching off his mattress. Lee whispers words Zak can't hear, doesn't understand, but he knows they mean something, they mean something to Lee.