Drops of Lily

By Shahrezad1

Disclaimer: I don't own HSM, although I do live where it was filmed. Still, a certain obsession for certain actors named Chris Warren Jr. and Lucas Grabeel doesn't exactly entitle me to the show, or the characters. So saying, please don't sue.

Summary: She sat at the table, forlorn and small. A single cup of ginger tea resting within hands tiny and pallid, the heat unable to touch upon the oppressive gloom that surrounded her.

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She sat at the table, forlorn and small. A single cup of ginger tea resting within hands tiny and pallid, the heat unable to touch upon the oppressive gloom that surrounded her.

It had been the waiters that had first noted the petite blonde form, once lustrous hair limp and tangled while clothing of the finest quality had been worn to a threadbare state. They had pitched in their tips to cover the drink, pity carrying where arrogant demands had failed in the past. And still there she bowed, long after the lunch crowd had disappeared into the memories of their minds, looking what would have once been called, 'Genteel Poor.'

He hadn't become aware of her existence until his lunch. A working lunch, as it was, one hand still stirring at some important person or other's sautéed mushroom sauce even as the second hand was busily shoveling an egg salad sandwich into his mouth, along with cookies. The realization that his current assignment was likely to burn should it remain upon the stove, moved him to set the sandwich aside. And it was in this process that he caught a glance at pink through the kitchen door's single transparent window.

Bedraggled, silent, and wounded as a twice-kicked kitten; drowned by rain and life. A single carry-on bag sat at her feet, carrying all her worldly possessions in faded paisley. She was penniless, without a friend in the world, and, most depressing of all, devoid of makeup.

Familiarity tugged at his heart strings, but it wasn't until a certain flick of her hair, lamp lighting upon her features pale and angular, sent the truth back to him in the visage of an angel.

Ten minutes later a simple plate had been laid before the anguished figure, causing eyes of warmest brown to fill with shock and surprise. The waiter merely nodded and smiled, ready to leave her to a meal of Chicken Spinach Alfredo, with a side of red potatoes in light gravy, and cookies.

Pumpkin, white-chocolate chip cookies; a combination she had only ever seen created once, specifically for her.

Thin hands, slim and graceful even in sadness, reached for the waiter's form, a soft cry of, "wait!" halting him in his steps. But before she could even phrase her query, his words took the breath from her.

"Compliments of the Chef, Miss."

Too stunned to speak, she instead ate in thoughtful silence. Slowly, carefully, as one who hadn't eaten for quite some time, and knew that she would have to acclimate herself to the unfamiliar experience. Savoring each bite as a dozen individual tears wet her hands and face. Reflecting the light of hope being rekindled.

And watching from afar, Zeke Baylor couldn't help as his eyes filled. The usual hustle and bustle of the kitchen was subdued in respect, coworkers looking at him with new eyes.

When he got off shift, she was gone.

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"Please! Take it," multiple bills, careworn yet precisely folded, were thrust within the host's resisting hands. For the third time in as many minutes, they were placed back within the young woman's grip.

"As much as I would like to, Miss, I have no record of a meal like that on account yesterday. We don't even carry that dish on our menu, much less that dessert," he looked as helpless as she felt, and standing there in her last 'good' dress and mismatching shoes, Sharpay could feel the tears coming on, for once anything but fake. It was this opening of the floodgates that finally gave the goateed man the incentive to act.

"Look. One of the chefs may have shared their own meal with you. Why don't you take a seat in the back, and I'll see what I can do. Does that sound satisfactory?"

The stubborn set to her jaw nearly frightened him in its ferocity, before it abruptly softened along with the set of her shoulders, and the shadow of a girl in shabby rose nodded, backing down. She was seated with neither fanfare nor menu, which was fine in her opinion--she wasn't there to eat.

Minutes turned to hours till her head bobbed in time with the pattern of footsteps, patrons taking their places both near and far.

And having entered via back door, Zeke remained unaware. Working himself through an extensive sanitation effort, followed by the snug fit of clothing white as flour and twice bleached. Ignoring the whispers habitually, he was oblivious of the glances until the hovering of a specific individual forced him to face the music or risk the loss of a digit in the process of cutting.

Confusion colored eyes of dark brown, brows furrowed, "what is it? What's wrong?"

The words were barely a whisper amid a flurry of noise, yet they fell like a 40-ton weight. In response the head waiter cleared his throat, looking half anxious and half knowing as all he could say was, "we think you should see something."

"What?"

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In a dim haze of sound she could seem to hear what translated within her mind as arguing, voices rising louder by the second. It was the word 'Music,' however, that cleared the fog from her view.

"Have our lawyer contact hers, that good-for-nothing Drama Queen! That's a breach of contract, I'll have you know!"

"Yes, I know."

"But…what are we gonna do? We've got impatient customers out there who came to see a show, and all I've got is a microphone!"

"I know, Charlie. But what can we do? It's not like some fairy tale, or a movie, where poof! A replacement appears and saves the day. Life's not a musical. We're just going to have to cut our losses, and find someone bigger to fill the vacancy later. I say we should--."

His sentence was cut off as the set of double doors before him swung open to reveal a form disheveled yet confidant in her own abilities, tattered dress only emphasizing more fully the show-stopping smile on her face.

"Gentlemen. I believe I have a solution for your problem. If you can cover the dress, and possibly some shoes," a nod at her own mismatched pair followed by an ironic smirk explained the need shortly, "I may be able to save your evening."

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The soft piano was what caught his attention first, a simple melody punctuated by the still of the audience. And then she appeared, a single figure draped in nostalgia and pale blue, head swept down as the first words rang clear and serene into the evening air.

"When somebody loved me, everything was beautiful. Every hour we spent together, lives within my heart. And when she was sad, I was there to dry her tears. And when she was happy so was I, when she loved me," a delicate hand was used to punctuate each phrase with care, the sheer simplicity of her tone and actions a contrast to her naturally flamboyant nature. If anything, it only emphasized the changed that had occurred; changes he was sure would take him years to fully understand.

A pang came to his heart, throat closing with all the emotions he couldn't possibly express.

"Through the summer and the fall, we had each other, life was all…just she and I together, like it was meant to be. And when she was lonely, I was there to comfort her. And I knew that…she loved me."

A smile, sweet and clear, shone from the stage to the hushed audience. And at his side, the head waiter sent the chef a gentle nudge, chin motioning forward toward the tableau.

"So…what do you think is her story? The song--I don't recognize it."

"It's from a kid's film; and you only watch action flicks," a cough cleared his air passages enough to whisper a short remark, but only for a single minute, "it's about a doll. Being forgotten by the girl who loved her."

"Okay. So what does it mean?"

Sadness came over the pastry-cook as pieces slowly came together within his mind. The forlorn figure, the bedraggled pink dress, and her expression of loss of love before the world, "she's talking about her life on the stage. Public opinion turned, and she lost it."

"What?" confusion and bewilderment distorted the twenty-something Irish-Italian's features into a macabre of dual expressions, "how do you get that," a hand rose as though to flick a piece of lint from Zeke's face, then turned more eloquently toward the forsaken pixie, words almost a sigh, "out of that."

The taller man ignored the irritation that suddenly itched at the back of his mind, rationalizing that punching one's coworker for no reason was probably a bad idea. Still the desire to nip his friend's interest in the bud made him speak, "we went to school together. And performed together. She was in drama, and I was basketball, but we were in the same social group. I would bake for her…when she wished it."

"Artists. The only ones who understand you are each other," the words were harsh, callous even. Yet the smile his longtime friend sent him softened the blow, while reassuring him that he had caught the undercurrent of Zeke's words. The cook couldn't help but smile in return--it was just the way that their relationship worked.

"So the years went by. I stayed the same. She began to drift away, I was left alone. Still I waited for the day, when she would say, 'I will always love you.'"

Head bowed, a lone tear glittered in the halo of light illuminating her; a single pearl of soft warmth streaking down her cheek in a display he knew was unfeigned. Just as abruptly, she was turning her face into the light to reveal a single emotion. Hope.

"Lonely and forgotten, never thought she'd look my way. She smiled at me and held me, just like she used to do. Like she loved me, when she loved me."

"When somebody loved me, everything was beautiful. Every hour we spent together, lives within my heart. When she loved me."

Unable to hold back his emotions any longer, the man returned to the kitchen. Bypassing all questions in order to find refuge within the cooler, and once doing so wept like the child he had once been, surrounded by a coffin of ice. And it was because of this act that he missed the slow-building applause; the pure joy of being able to work on the stage, followed by searching eyes. Only to have them fall in confusion and sadness, as the only person she saw watching was the server from the day before.

…the server from the day before.

Waiting for the furor to die down, and her curtsies to become less and less noticed, the marginally more confident performer stepped from the stage, and made her way to the back. Then, utilizing every once of Evans 'presence' she had inherited, sweetly demanded a request of the startled maître d'.

His only response was to point, uttering a single word only as she was halfway through the doors labeled 'staff only.' Then, when she was fully out of hearing, whistled slightly at the predicament his friend would soon be in; at the poor sucker who'd fallen in love with the tempestuous dame, no longer so helpless.

The diminutive actress passed by steaming meats and bubbling sauces without thought or notice, the curious eyes of Sous-chef and Head chef not even phasing her as she headed for her destination. Then once there, swung pulled it open only wide enough to fit within, and slammed it closed once more. Much to the occupant's tear-stained surprise.

And then they were face to face, with nothing to say. Frozen, every word she held in her heart died upon her lips. Even as his hands twitched from controlled energy, the desire to reach for her tearing him apart, until she finally sobbed out his name.

"Zeke," every ounce of sorrow and regret colored the one word, emphasized by a downcast face, arms hanging helplessly at her side.

"Sharpay…" his mournful, questioning tone in response soon turned to surprise as she leapt into his arms, wrapping her limbs around the neck of someone she'd long missed.

Of someone that she realized, through her own folly and misdirection, that she cherished. Someone she had long taken for granted, but whom she had, in her darkest hours, held within her heart as a guiding beacon of hope. Tied with a knowledge that somewhere out there one, so very wonderful, person loved her.

And now that she was in his arms, and wouldn't be letting go any time soon.

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AN: So. I don't know where this came from--it's not exactly my usual writing style. It probably just resulted from me listening to Jordan Pruitt's remake of "When She Loved Me," on my Disney Mania #5 CD.

That as well as the realization that a relationship like Zekepay would only work if there was plenty of life to humble Sharpay first with. Not enough to break her spirit, mind you, but just enough to help her realize that even she's human, and that it'll take a lot of work and effort before she deserves Zeke.

I love the two of them, I really do. They are definitely fun to work with. :) Even if the end result comes out looking like a cross between an episode of "Louis and Clark: Adventures of Superman", and "No Reservations." XD