Here Comes the Rain
AN: So I'm in a bit of a morbid mood, and I thought of this oneshot. I know that it's a very common idea, but yeah… I wanted to try my hand at tragedy.
Disclaimer: Do I need to write this? I don't own High School Musical or I'd probably have fainted from joy… or something… but yeah, you get the idea
She would never forget that day. Never. It was imprinted in her mind like someone had taken a brand and burnt the memory deep into her brain.
She should have been worried when the rain started. Rain in March, in Albuquerque? A freakish deluge that didn't stop for several hours? It was wrong, and she should have been suspicious. But Gabriella Bolton had been too happy to notice. Her husband was coming back from his longest basketball tour yet – she hadn't seen him in almost eight months.
So she sang blithely to herself and cuddled her two-year-old, Daniel Bolton, the exact image of his father. Sandy brown hair, brilliant blue eyes, an obsession for basketball even at his young age. Gabriella had been a little disappointed that he hadn't inherited any of her own looks, but it didn't matter anymore.
She couldn't concentrate on any of the household work and ended up sitting next to the phone, twisting her wedding ring around her finger in anticipation. Troy and she had been married for four years, and the thrill of high school love still hadn't faded from them. Every time she heard him say, "I love you", she'd blush and go weak at the knees, like she had when she had first met him in high school.
She twiddled her thumbs, trying to push down the tide of worry that rose inside her. Troy had promised he would call as soon as he got to the airport… his plane was due at 9:30 pm. Surely it hadn't been delayed so badly? She chanced a glance at the clock and couldn't hold in a gasp of panic. It read 10:23.
Maybe he had forgotten? She twirled a stray curl of her brown hair around one finger nervously. No, Troy never forgot. Never. His plane just must have been late. She sighed and got up slowly, her brown eyes dejected. She would put Danny to bed and then resume her vigil.
Her son giggled and raised his arms towards her, refusing to walk over. She had been concerned at first when he didn't walk for so long, but the doctor had told her that some children were just hesitant. Gabriella cooed at him, picking him up and holding him close. "How is my little Danny boy?" she whispered, kissing his forehead. Danny flailed his little arms gleefully. "Daddy's coming home today, Danny boy! Daddy's coming home!"
Danny cocked his head but decided that was a good thing and gurgled happily. She kissed his nose and made her way upstairs, towards her and Troy's room. Danny's crib was in their room, since he was scared of the dark and wanted to be near them. She laid him down amongst the soft blankets and tucked him in lovingly, leaning down to press a final kiss on his head. He sighed softly and closed his eyes.
How big he had grown, Gabriella thought tenderly. Troy would be so surprised! She pushed away a stray strand of sandy blond hair from his eyes and watched him for a few minutes, enthralled with his minute perfection.
The ringing of the telephone jerked her out of her trance. Her eyes brightened and she turned, hair flying, as she rushed down the stairs, pouncing on the phone in the hallway. Eagerly she held it up to her ear, her voice breathless. "H-hello?"
However, it was not the comforting voice of her husband on the other end. A curt, clipped voice replied, "Ms. Gabriella Bolton?"
Gabriella's heart sank. She hated it when her full name was used. It usually meant something bad had happened. "Calm down…" she told herself sternly. "It's probably some reporter or something stupid like that. Troy was probably ambushed by the media…" She grinned at the thought, but remained silent, which earned a cough from the other end.
"Ms. Bolton? Wife of Troy Bolton?" She frowned and nodded slightly, then remembered that this was a phone conversation and the other person couldn't see her.
"Oh… yes, I'm here. Yes, I'm Gabriella Bolton." She began chewing her bottom lip in anxiety, waiting for the other person to respond.
"Ahh, all right. I'm Thomas Marley," the man replied. "I have some news for you, concerning your husband, Mr. Bolton."
She nodded again and whispered, "Y-yes?"
"I'm… I'm very sorry to tell you this, Ms. Bolton. Your husband is dead."
Dead. Dead. The word echoed in her ears, her mind. She dropped the phone, with the voice of Thomas Marley still issuing from it. The world swam around her and she collapsed into the chair beside the phone, suppressing a wail. Surely the man was joking? A prank call of sorts, maybe? She retrieved the phone and held it to her ear again, but her movements were wary, as if the phone might unexpectedly jump up and bite her.
"Mr. Marley? I'm afraid you must be mistaken. Troy… Troy can't be dead." Her voice broke, and her words became shrill and hysterical. "He can't. He can't, I tell you!" she cried into the receiver.
His voice was tinged with sympathy. "Ms. Bolton… if there's anything I can do… personal friend of your late husband's manager…"
"No!" she managed to choke out. "No, Mr. Marley, you've… you've done enough. T-thank you… but… h-how…?" She regretted asking the question the moment it escaped her.
"Ah, well… the plane he was on… it was hijacked, Ms. Bolton… crashed into a field on the outskirts of Albuquerque… terrorists…"
She clutched her skirts, clenching her teeth to hold back a furious sob. "T…thank you for i-informing me, Mr. Marley." She slammed the phone down, covering her face with her hands, trying to will her tears to come. But her entire body was numb – her mind was in a state of denial. Troy couldn't be dead. Troy, who had stood in this very hallway almost eight months ago, who had held her in his arms and promised he would be back before she knew it. It wasn't possible.
She waited patiently by the telephone, waiting for someone to call her back, apologize and tell her it was all a misunderstanding, her husband was headed back home even now… waited for the doorbell to ring, for Troy to be there and sweep her up, for some sort of a sign that this wasn't true.
Finally, at 12:03 am, the doorbell did ring. She sprang up as if scalded and streaked over, wrenching open the door, drawing breath to tell off Troy for scaring her so badly.
But the person at the door was not Troy Bolton. A smaller, blonde figure slipped in, one hand on her swollen stomach. Sharpay Baylor sank down in the chair by the door, huffing tiredly. Gabriella looked down at her friend blankly, and asked in a monotone, "What are you doing here, Sharpay?"
"Z-zeke's out of town… Taylor wasn't at home… please, please can I stay here?" she begged. Her brown eyes were pleading. "It's so lonely in the house… I need company… I would have snapped if I hadn't come here!" Gabriella sighed and took her friend's hand, rubbing it comfortingly.
"Of course, Sharpay. You know I'm always here." She smiled tiredly and settled down on the footstool for the sofa in the living, something they never used unless Troy's old aunt came – "her feet are tired" – and usually left in the hallway. Sharpay looked confused at her friend's apparent weariness.
"I didn't wake you, did I?" she asked anxiously. Gabriella laughed quietly, but there was a bitter note to it.
"Oh no, don't worry… no, I've been up for a while."
Sharpay's eyes brightened. "Oh yeah! Troy came back today, right?" She glanced at the clock and giggled slightly. "Or last night, I should be saying. Where is he? Can I say hi?" Her gaze darted to and fro.
Gabriella froze for a moment, then managed to say with difficulty, "So, um, Sharpay… how's the little guy doing?" She nodded at her friend's stomach, not wanting to discuss Troy.
Sharpay tilted her head, a vertical line of worry appearing between her eyebrows. But she didn't question Gabriella's sudden change of topic and grinned slightly. "Zeke insists it's going to be a girl, but I told him no way… he's in me, isn't he? I told him 'Zeke Arnold Baylor, if I say this baby will be a boy, that's that!' And he stopped after that." Her friend let out a soft chuckle of appreciation.
"Still have it, huh Sharpay?" she smiled, looking down at her and Sharpay's hands in the blonde's lap. Sharpay sighed softly.
"Hey Gabs. Come on, what's up? What's wrong?" she asked gently. Gabriella attempted a smile and tried to swat the question away.
"Wrong? What makes you think something's wrong?" she asked, her eyes still on her own hands. "Nothing's wrong, no, nothing…" Her voice faltered. "Nothing…" she mumbled.
Sharpay sighed again and placed her hand under Gabriella's chin, lifting her face upwards. "Gabs. We've been friends since high school. I know when something's wrong." Her voice softened even more. "You can't lie to me, Gabby."
Gabriella flinched. "No!" she gasped. Sharpay frowned.
"What?" she questioned, looking worried.
"Don't… don't call me Gabby…" Gabriella forced the words out. "That's… that was… Troy's…"
Sharpay let out a laugh. "Oh, okay, special pet name huh Gabs? That's okay, I'm sorry." But she cocked her head as she processed Gabriella's words. "Wait…" she said slowly. "Was? What do you mean 'was', Gabs?"
The tears trickling down her cheeks, the story spilled out of her. Gabriella clung to her friend, sobbing brokenly, repeating her husband's name over and over again, "Troy… Troy… Troy…" Sharpay could only whisper meaningless words of comfort, trying to soothe her, her heart breaking in sympathy for her friend.
"Troy…" Gabriella moaned, her head resting on the blonde's shoulder. Sharpay stroked her hair but pulled away gently, shocked at the state of Gabriella's face. It was streaked with tears that still flowed from her eyes and her eyelashes were glued together to form black triangles. Her entire appearance spelled misery.
"H-he can't… can't be…" she said softly. "Tell me, Sharpay… he's… he's not…"
"Oh Gabs," Sharpay breathed softly. "I… I can't say… how sorry I am, honey." She pulled the other girl close again and cried with her into the night.
HSMHSMHSMHSMHSMHSM
The tears had been shed. Now it was time for Gabriella to plan her husband's funeral. For days she sat in her and Troy's bedroom, refusing to come out, staring blankly at the opposite wall. The tears would not come again. Now she was all cold politeness, responding cordially to the numerous calls she received from friends and family. They went away wondering if Gabriella Bolton even had a heart – her husband was dead and she wouldn't even shed a tear!
She went through the motions of the planning mechanically, her mind not in it. The black dress had to be bought, flowers to be ordered… but what was the use? Troy was gone, gone – they didn't even have his body, it had been burned in the plane crash. A dull glaze crept over her eyes, and her friends worried over her. She would kill herself this way. She had given up the will to live.
Worst of all, she couldn't bear to look at her son. He was too much like Troy. Every time she glanced his way, those blue eyes met her, shining in glee. Troy's eyes. She remembered the last time those eyes had shone at her. "I love you," he had whispered in her ear as he hefted his suitcase, smiling down at her, his eyes aglow with adoration. They had had the perfect relationship – high school sweethearts, then married couple. They were supposed to live together for years! This was all wrong!
Many nights she would curl up on their bed and try to muster tears, but they would not come. And in the daytime, she had to nod gravely and murmur thanks to various people, when all she wanted to do was fling something heavy at them and scream in their faces. Most of them hadn't cared about Troy when he was alive – why were they offering her condolence now? Did they truly care about him now, or were they trying to make her feel even worse? Or did they think of him as some sort of famous hero, dying in a terrorist attack?
When the funeral day finally came, she had affixed on a small sad smile on her face. Her black mourning gown was drab and heavy and dragged around her feet when she walked, but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything anymore.
She held on tightly to Daniel's hand throughout the ceremony and gazed at the picture of Troy that had been garlanded with sweet-smelling flowers. His blue eyes beamed out her and said, "I love you" so clearly, she could almost hear his voice in her head. She dropped her gaze, biting her lower lip, but the tears did not flow.
A light drizzle began at the end of the ceremony and persisted throughout the day. She sat by Troy's grave site the entire time, her dress soaked, her curls plastered against her neck and her eyes closed. In her hands she clutched a bouquet of violets, Troy's favourite flower. He had said so many times that violets reminded him of her.
A soft touch at her shoulder, and she turned and opened her eyes. Sharpay and Taylor stood there, their eyes sad. Sharpay was leaning against Taylor, breathing heavily, but she stared at her friend sorrowfully.
"Gabs…" Taylor finally spoke. "Please. You'll catch cold. Come in?" Gabriella shook her head slightly. The drizzle had stopped. She shivered involuntarily, wrapping her arms around herself. The graveyard was wet and bleak and silent. Taylor extended her hand, a small understanding smile on her face.
"Gabs… please…" Gabriella shook her head again, her eyes suddenly fixed on her wedding ring - a simple golden band. She hadn't wanted anything too fancy, and Troy had agreed. Now memories of him flashed through her head. When they had first met. Their first musical together. Their first kiss.
"You don't know what I'm going through." Her voice was ragged with pain. "Neither of you, no one here… knows…" Her face lowered into her hands and her fingers tightened. "You don't know what it's like. You don't."
"Gabby…" Taylor pleaded.
"DON'T!" Gabriella screamed, her head flying up, glaring at Taylor angrily. "Don't call me Gabby! Only Troy… only Troy can call me Gabby! ONLY TROY!" Her voice rose higher and higher. She clenched her hands into fists, her gaze darting from Taylor to Sharpay.
"You can't know, okay? You can't! So many times I should have told him how much I loved him! So many things I should have done for him! He had wanted eggs the morning he left. He said no one made eggs like me. I was so tired, so I refused. I should have made them for him! If I had known… if I had known…" She choked on her words, scrabbling at her cheeks in frustration.
"I didn't even get to tell him I was pregnant again! I'm carrying his child inside me, but he's gone! What'll happen to this child, Taylor? Sharpay? How will he or she grow up without a father?" Her gaze challenged one of them to reply.
Taylor made a halfhearted attempt. "You might… fall in love again… maybe marry again…?" she suggested weakly, and then regretted it immediately. Gabriella's eyes flashed furiously.
"How can you suggest that? Marry again? Never! NEVER!" she screeched, getting up and shooting a murderous look at her friend. "I'm not just going to marry so my kids can have a father! Troy is the only one I could ever love. I'll tell them about him every day! They'll know everything about him! He'll never be replaced! Ever!"
Taylor cringed slightly. Sharpay spoke up now. "Gabriella, sweetie, we know, don't worry. Taylor just said the first thing that came to her mind. Don't snap at her now, you know she didn't mean any harm."
"THAT'S NOT THE POINT!" Gabriella yelled angrily. "TROY… ME…" Her hands went to her face again and her fury disappeared suddenly. "I… I never…" she sobbed into her hands. Sharpay and Taylor moved closer, embracing her, surrounding her with love and comfort.
"It's okay Gabs," Sharpay soothed her friend. "It's okay."
"It's not." Gabriella's voice was muffled. "It's not. I… I never told him… how much I loved him, Sharpay. I wish I had."
And as her tears fell again, the rain re-emerged, as if the sky too was crying for her loss.
AN: So that was it. I don't think I got the grief well enough… but I really wanted to write this. A death scene is pretty common, I know, but I wanted to explore Gabriella's feelings more deeply, so I came up with this. I hope you enjoy it. :)
-Dream