A/N: I'm very excited about writing this story. Basically what it is is a following of Zack and Cody's lives when they are just out of college and just beginning to try and make it in the Real World. Drama, humor, angst, tragedy, suspense, romance...It'll have a little bit for everyone if all goes as planned. The chapters are named by dates so that you can keep track of where we are at all times. I've decided to make the starting year 2009, even though it may be a little off, so that it's at least somewhat closer to present day. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the show!
Disclaimer: I do not own The Suite Life of Zack and Cody.
Dedication: To Suspension for all her help with chapter one. Thanks again!
The moment that forever altered the course of his life came on May, 29th, 2009. He was Cody Martin, twenty-three-years-old, graduate of Harvard Medical School, and proud recipient of an internship at St. Rose hospital located forty five minutes and thirteen point eight six seconds exactly from Chicago, Illinois.
In his left hand he carried a small briefcase which made him look old and serious, and in his right a cell phone in which the number two was constantly being pressed as the world's next pediatrician tried unsuccessfully to get a hold of his brother. He stepped off the bus (waving goodbye to the driver as was polite) and walked down the pathway towards the hospital.
An ambulance whizzed past, startling him out of his reverie. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs from his mind, he clipped the cell phone to his belt, tightened his grasp on his briefcase, and walked confidently towards the hospital.
It was seven in the morning, so the lobby was almost empty as he walked up to the main desk and through the spinning doors. They reminded him of his adolescence spent living in a Boston hotel, and he smiled reminiscently as he reached the receptionist. "Good morning," he greeted her, reaching into the brief case and finding the letter he'd been sent; certifying that he was in fact able to work as an intern at St. Rose. She took it from him and scrutinized it through pointed glasses.
"Name?" she asked, setting it down and looking through a large book on her desk. Taking out a stamp she sealed the deal on his dream position and handed the manila letter back to him.
"Cody Martin," he said proudly, though the name carried no significance.
"Alright," she said slowly, finding him on the list and highlighting him off. "Cody Martin, you'll be starting out in the ER. Ask for a Dr. Walker."
"Thank you," said Cody, still smiling as he took his briefcase and letter and walked over to the elevator. The buttons weren't labeled, and he had no idea where the ER happened to be. And that was another thing: he wanted to be a pediatrician, not a paramedic. Sighing he pressed the lowest floor above the basement; figuring that was logical.
Butterflies danced in his stomach and his palms were a little sweaty as he clutched the briefcase. This was a big opportunity; the biggest he'd have since graduating college a few months back.
This could very well change his life.
The elevator dinged and with a short, deep breath he stepped out in another lobby. This waiting room was busy compared to the first; mostly men and children looking terrified and excited at the same time. They conversed together because they all shared something in common, Cody could see, and with a quick glance towards the label on the door he saw what. It was the maternity ward.
He ran a nervous hand through his hair and walked up to the receptionist shyly. "Excuse me," he said politely and she turned to smile at him. "I'm starting an internship today in the ER, but I'm not really sure where to find it….?"
The receptionist smiled gently. "Second floor," she said kindly. "Good luck."
"Thanks," Cody said, leaving the waiting room. When the elevator opened yet again he found himself in another lobby, this one clean and rather ugly, sterilized and spelling of anti-bacterial cleaner. He sighed, mustered up his nerve, and walked to the front desk. The lady was dressed in green scrubs, and her red hair contrasted vividly.
"Good morning," said Cody nervously. He handed her the letter. "I'm Cody Martin, and I'm here for my internship with Dr. Walker…?"
She nodded briskly and filed away the paper. "I'm Judy," she said and he nodded warmly. "Dr. Walker's with Dr. Harte. Knock before you enter."
Cody blinked. "Thank you," he said, turning. "Wait-so, where are they?"
Judy didn't look up as the phone rang and she answered. Cody waited patiently until she'd finished taking care of the call and calling out orders to others behind the desks. She looked up, apparently abounding her crusade against acknowledging his presence. "Can I help you?"
"Yes," Cody said, trying not to sound like he had an attitude, because he in no way did. Yet."I'm wondering where exactly I can find Dr. Walker. Which room?"
Judy pursed her lips. "Exam room four." She answered curtly.
"Tha-,"
Suddenly a gurney whizzed by and a gaggle of paramedics began shouting out terms Cody didn't understand as white-coated men and women seemed to appear out of thin air and nurses in their pink scrubs opened doors and sounded alarms and readied equipment. Through it all, Judy remained calm, cool, and seemingly unaffected by the onslaught.
Cody watched it all, his mouth slightly open and his eyes big and round. When the commotion had quieted down as doors blocked the emergency from the waiting room, he blew out his breath.
"Exam room four?" he clarified with Judy, trying to keep his voice level.
"Exam room four." she answered before answering another call.
He tightened his grip on his briefcase and steeled himself for his first day on the job that would change his life.
The moment that forever altered the course of his life came on May, 28th, 2009. He was Zack Martin, twenty-three-years-old, graduate of NYU, and waiting for the story that would define him as the great writer he wanted to be.
And not just any writer. He wanted to be a newspaper writer. A reporter. A journalist. He wanted to stay in this tiny little cramped desk in New York City writing stories about real life at the New York Times while foul-mouthed men sat around at their computers and a handful of Miss Independents sat around phones and jotting down notes so fast you could scarcely see the cheap faux-gem rings on their fingers. He wanted to forever bask in the excitement of a good story, of a good picture, of a good sell. He wanted his name to be recognized all over the Big Apple, and by the millions of readers nationwide.
He wanted all that and a date, but right now he was just an intern typing away at a little piece about a house fire in Brooklyn with the knowledge that the editor would be very disappointed if it wasn't the same quality work he'd seen from young Zack Martin in the past.
"You going out tonight, Zack?" Charlie, his best friend in this center of the universe and fellow intern and roommate in their little apartment eight blocks away.
Zack shook his head. "Nah," he said. "Just gonna write a little and get pizza. You?" His fingers paused as he thought about a suitable adjective for an awkward sentence, and with mild frustration pressed the Backspace key vehemently.
"Her name's Sasha. And she's got a friend who happens to be single and without anything better to do…"
Zack raised a brow. "So?"
Charlie laughed. "So," he said, kicking his chair away from his computer desk and looking at Zack in exasperation. "How 'bout it, buddy? You, me, Sasha, and Mystery Girl at Dimes tonight at eight?"
The Dimes was a little café Zack was rather fond of. He pretended to weigh his options, correcting a rather hideous spelling error and deleting a useless pronoun as he kept his friend waiting. "I guess," he answered finally.
Charlie brightened considerably and started printing his story. Their desks were on the opposite ends of the aisle, and Zack had to turn in his seat to look at the other intern, but he did so now in bafflement. "You're done?"
Charlie considered the question for a moment before nodding.
Zack gaped at him. "How? It's three hours 'til deadline! Don't you want to check it over and make sure it's, like, okay?"
Charlie rolled his eyes and yanked the papers from the printer. "What happened to the old Zack, man? You never used to care about editing."
Zack wrote in a new sentence. "This is the chance of a lifetime," he explained in wonder. "This is the New York Times, Charlie! This is my dream."
"Yeah, well don't let your 'dream' get in the way of dinner tonight."
Zack laughed. "You paying?"
Charlie snorted. "Let me just pull out my wallet. Count my money. Don't worry; it won't take long. Do you have four seconds?"
He looked expectantly at Zack who shook his head immediately. "Uh-uh," he said. "No, forget it, man. I got a twenty that's supposed to last the rest of the week."
"You got more than that! You have that jar-thing in your room-,"
"-That's for emergencies," Zack told him flatly, reading over a paragraph and frowning as he counted two of the same words in one sentence.
"Okay," said Charlie. "What if I said she's my soul mate, and she'll dump me if we don't pay for food? That enough of an emergency for you?"
Zack grinned and checked a fact. "I can buy us coffee. You good with that?"
"Make it a coffee and some cake and I'm your best friend for life."
Zack chuckled. "We're splitting the cake."
Charlie laughed. "Figures," he said. "Everyone's counting carbs."
"More like counting pennies," Zack said lowly. "This job pays squat."
Charlie rolled his eyes. "But I thought you said it's your dream?"
"It is," Zack assured him quickly, returning his attention back to the story. "It definitely is."
To Be Continued
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