AN: This is pretty AU, so I'll help explain things as the story goes along... Troy, Gabi, and Chad grew up the best of friends in Albuquerque. Gabi always had a crush on Chad and was BFF with Troy and as of now Gabi and Chad are dating, but I promise it will end Troyella. The three musketeers are roomies and Troy is a doctor, Gabi a lawyer, and Chad's an NBA player with hopes of becoming the next big Hollywood thing...
The Moments that Count: Chapter One
When Troy arrived home, the apartment was silent and dark.
The fact that it was eight o'clock at night and house shouldn't be silent and dark alarmed him. Usually, when he got home at eight o'clock at night, the lights were on, the television was blaring with a sitcom or the news, depending on who was at home or had won control of the remote, and the kitchen was filled with the warm, delicious scent of dinner.
Instead, when he shoved the front door open - it kept sticking - the apartment was pitch black. Troy stumbled and tripped over a pair of Chad's shoes. He tried to regain his balance by grabbing onto the hallstand, but knocked it over, sending coats, scarves, umbrellas, and hats flying everywhere. He fell along with the clothing, knocking his knee on the sharp edge of the still-open front door. Releasing a string of curses, Troy groped around for the light switch.
Light illuminated the scene.
The hallway, except for his prone body, the mess of clothing strewn across him and the floor, and Chad's offending shoes, looked the same as it always did. Rather than righting the stand and picking up the clothes, Troy stood, vengefully kicked the shoes out of the way, dropped his bag by the front door, and continued down the hallway.
Passing by his bedroom, Troy winced at the mess. It was probably about time for a clean up. Passing Chad's bedroom, he noted how beautiful and tidy it looked, with everything in its place, no dirty clothes on the floor, the bed crisply made, no washing to be put away or any other clutter across the surfaces.
Gabriella's room, Troy knew from experience, would be similarly neat.
The bathroom, which was opposite Chad's bedroom, was really an amalgamation of all of their personalities. In compromise, they'd put two of the Lakers posters up – laminated of course – and Troy, just to annoy Chad, had blown up a picture of he, Gabriella and Chad when they were about seven, dressed in costumes to go trick or treating for Halloween. Chad was Shaquille O'Neal of course, but Gabriella and Troy, in deference to their mothers' wishes, were dressed as Sleeping Beauty and Prince Phillip.
Chad hated that picture.
Troy remembered with amusement that Gabriella and he had complained endlessly about being cast as Sleeping Beauty and the Prince. Gabriella had ripped the skirt of her dress, Troy used his fake sword to steal candy from younger children, Gabriella had stolen his hunting hat with the feather and pretended to be Robin Hood, and he'd taken a portion of her skirt for a cape and pretended to be a superhero.
They'd ended up pitching and catching a baseball on the Danforth's front lawn, under the porch light, at nine at night, arguing about whether Superman or Wonder Woman was a better superhero, whilst Chad divided their rather large and immorally commandeered candy haul.
Otherwise, their bathroom was relatively neat, although relative meant different things to all three of them. The basin was mostly clear of any clutter, with only shaving cream, Troy's razor – which Gabriella used for her legs anyway – and Gabriella's box of hairpins visible. But the shower caddy was overflowing with half-used shampoo and conditioner bottles, sample sachets, shower gels, body washes, a collection of face washers, and a rubber duck that Troy and Gabriella had found at a garage sale, hanging off the end.
The hallway opened up into the wide living area. The living room, dining room and kitchen all ran together.
The living room was the most used room in the house, with its well-worn, comfortable green couch, the two armchairs that they constantly fought over, and the coffee table Troy and Chad had built with left over wood left. Gabriella had painted it in bright orange, deep red and sunny yellow in imaginative patterns.
Today's New York Times was strewn haphazardly across it, along with various magazines, a notepad, a few pens and pencils, yesterday's half-finished crossword, the weekly TV guide, one of Gabriella's thick case files, Troy's spare stethoscope and the cordless phone, which was beeping to say it was low on battery.
The dinning table separated the living room from the kitchen; it was all an open, sunny space, painted in a creamy color that made the room look larger. It had been a dingy room when they'd first moved into the apartment, nearly six years ago. The table was an old Bolton relic that had seen far better days; but Gabriella and Troy loved it and refused to get a new one, although Chad was always complaining about its rundown appearance and offering to buy a new one.
Placing the cordless phone on its charger near the microwave, Troy checked the whiteboard on the fridge where they left each other messages. There were four new messages; one written in Troy's sprawling script from breakfast this morning, two in Chad's wide handwriting, and one in Gabriella's unmistakable hand.
Chad, who'd just finished this season with the Knicks now had the luxury of sleeping in until lunchtime. Chad's minor sports fame quenched his thirst for real fame and he's slowly trying to break into Hollywood. Since that's worked so well for other athletes.
Gabriella, an Assistant District Attorney, held down a regular job like Troy, although neither could say they had especially regular hours. Gabriella was often called to crime scenes at three in morning, and working in a hospital came with horrendous shifts that were slowly beginning to abate as Troy moved further up the chain of command. He read over the messages.
C – Robbie Tratoria from your agency rang at 8:00 this morning…you were asleep of course. Says he's looked over a new script. Wants to do lunch. It's so Hollywood in New York…pretentiousness abounds – T
T – Your sister rang just before lunch…she woke me up. I told her you were at the hospital. If she didn't get hold of you there, she just wanted to ask about your mother's birthday present. PS – Sorry, I know you have three sisters…it was Stella – C
G – I won't be home tonight, so it'll be just you and T for dinner. Don't wait up…I'll be in late. Robbie and I are doing dinner instead of lunch. No pretension on the menu, Troy – C
T – I'll be home at about seven or eight…I have a meeting with a witness. So, I'll take a risk, put my life in peril, and ask you to cook dinner. There's ground beef in the fridge – I suggest your famous spaghetti. Kisses. PS – the kisses bit was pretension – G
Troy sighed. He'd have to call Stella – she hadn't found him at the hospital, and he'd also have to start dinner. His shift had been a nightmare: an endless parade of sick, dying people; drug overdoses, too many gunshot wounds to count, and worst of all, a kid who'd been severely burnt in a fire. The kid had died ten minutes before Troy's shift ended.
He was about to pull the beef out of the fridge when he heard a noise from Gabriella's bedroom. While Troy and Chad's bedrooms were at the front of the house, Gabriella's was at the back of the house, leading off the living room. She claimed it gave her the privacy she deserved as the only female in the apartment. Troy knew she'd just wanted the view from the window: it overlooked the street.
The sound, Troy realized, crossing back around the dinning room table and through the living room, was the sound of someone crying. More specifically, it was the sound of Gabriella crying.
"Gabriella," he said carefully, worried about Gabriella. She rarely cried, which mean it was serious. "It's me. Can I come in?"
"Troy," Gabriella said, her voice thick with tears and surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Uh, I live here, honey," he reminded her, and then, considering that he'd known nearly all his life, and had seen her in just about every state before, including tears, he opened the door.
She was sitting on her bed, curled up in a ball, tears streaking down her face. "Go away, Troy."
"Sure." He sat down next to her, and pulled her knees away from her body, so that he could put his arms around her. "What's wrong Gabriella?"
"Nothing," she said, as his arm circled around her waist, pulling her head into his neck, where her tears wet his collar.
"Yeah," he agreed sarcastically. "That's why you're curled in the fetal position, bawling your eyes out. You're Gabriella Montez. You almost never cry. Except at the end of Stepmom."
"Even you cry at the end of that movie," Gabriella protested. "And I hate to disillusion you, but I do cry. I'm not infallible."
"No, I keep getting us confused. We can't all be God." When it didn't provoke a sarcastic response or a smile, he knew something was definitely up. Troy tightened his arm around her waist, smoothing her hair away from her flushed and miserable face. "Honey, you look like crap. Tell me what's wrong."
"I...I can't."
He raised an eyebrow. "Is it something I've done?"
"No."
"You don't trust me?"
Gabriella shook her head. "I trust you with everything."
"So?"
She sighed and tucked her head back between his shoulder and neck. "You know how you're going along, and life seems fine? You're happy, and you've got a great job with great people, and you're making a difference, you live in a fantastic apartment in New York, with your best friend and your boyfriend, and you get to buy nice designer clothes, and you managed to get out of Albuquerque, which was so massive for you, because you thought you'd be there forever…and then…bam and other stupid noises…it's all just…nothing is stable or safe, or the way you thought it was before, and even doing things like just getting in the elevator is all wrong and strange, and you can't…"
"Gabriella, what are you talking about?" he interrupted, completely confused by her random, teary babbling. "Unless you translate that incoherent mess, which had something to do with clothes and elevators, into English for me, I won't be able to understand you, sweetheart."
Gabriella took a shallow, shaky breath, and composed herself. "I went to see the doctor this morning."
Troy's blood froze in his veins, and he forced himself to breathe again. "Oh God, Gabriella. You've got cancer haven't you?" His hurried on, trying to reassure himself and Gabriella. "It's okay. It's okay. These things can be treated. I'm a doctor – I see people beat the odds every day. And I'm sure that the doctor got it in time, and…and you'll get treatment – the best treatment available – and you'll be just fine. Just fine. I'll be here, and I'll support you, and…"
"Troy," Gabriella interrupted with the sound of amusement in her voice. "I don't have cancer."
He looked at her stupidly before a relieved smile broke out across his face. "You don't?"
"No." Rolling her eyes, Gabriella wiped her cheeks. "I don't have a life-threatening disease, I don't have a mental illness, and I haven't been fired."
"You looked in the mirror?" he suggested. She elbowed him in the ribs, but she was smiling through the last of her tears. "So…you aren't going to die from some horrible disease, you don't need a stay in a psychiatric ward, although I think we need a second opinion on that, and you're boss still adores you. What's wrong?"
There was silence, her breathing even and calm, and her lips pressing up against his neck. "I'm pregnant."
"Preg – baby – pregnant?" His eyes went so terribly wide, Gabriella thought they were going to fall out.
"No. I'm going to have an elephant."
"A real baby?"
"Yes!"
He looked at her in disbelief. "Wow," he said softly.
"Imagine how I feel about it." She looked down at her stomach like it was something foreign. It felt like something foreign.
"There's a thing growing in there," he realized. "Like an actual, growing thing. It's…a baby."
"Well," Gabriella said, "You never know. It could be an elephant." She twined their fingers together, hers long and white, his strong and brown. "I found out at about ten o'clock this morning. I cancelled all my meetings - I couldn't handle it. And I walked around the park for hours."
Troy turned a discerning eye on her. "So what does Chad think?"
"He doesn't…" she trailed off.
"Think?"
"Know," Gabriella corrected.
Troy raised an eyebrow. "He's the father, Gabriella. I think he should be sitting here with you, in your bedroom, in the dark." He stilled and eyeballed her. "He is the father, right Ella?"
"Yes!" she exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "Unless you count that one-night stand I had with Elvis, or the affair I've been having with Jimmy Hoffa for the past few months."
"So Elvis is the one finished off the milk last week," he joked. "You're scared of telling Chad, aren't you?" Troy deduced. "You're always flippant when you're scared. Why, Gabriella? He'll be overjoyed."
"You don't know that for sure," she said in an ominous tone of voice. She'd been thinking very carefully about how to tell Chad since she'd found out, and the thought filled her with dread. She didn't think the thought should fill her with dread, but it did. "He has trouble committing to me as it is. Say the word marriage and the man runs screaming into the horizon. A baby could make things very sticky between us."
"And it could be the incentive for Chad to finally get his act together and ask you to marry him. I've been waiting nearly a year for Chad to get the courage up and pop the question. The man's an idiot – you've been together since college, for God's sake. You're his soulmate, and all that other bullshit Hallmark stuff he regularly invokes."
Gabriella sighed. "I just…I know he's going to be scared. I know that a baby, right now, doesn't fit into his whole fantasy plan of being the next Kobe Bryant/Will Smith, and I guess…I'm worried, that he'll…"
"He'll what?" Troy prompted, when she didn't continue.
"He'll…well…okay. What would you do if I told you I was going to have your baby?"
Troy looked at her with a clear expression, and spoke without hesitation. "I'd be absolutely ecstatic. I'd be speechless with joy. It would be like…the best thing that had ever happened to me."
Gabriella laughed softly and kissed his neck gently. The skin under his jaw was warm. "Isn't it funny how you and Chad have completely changed roles over the years? You're so responsible these days. Dr. Bolton, saving the ill, bucking the hospital system, comforting hysterically pregnant women." She tightened her grip on his hand. "I knew, the second I found out, that I could tell you, and not be worried about you freaking out. I know that you'd support me, whatever choices I made. I know that you'd…that you'd be responsible enough for a baby, that you'd want it, if it was yours."
"What makes you think Chad will freak out?"
Gabriella sighed. "You know what he's like. It's all about the next game, the next script. It's not really about me – it hasn't been for a long time. We're convenient and comfortable and good together for all those couple things. We fit each other because we don't challenge each other anymore. And we're sure as hell not ready for a baby."
"Gabriella…" he trailed off, because she was right, not matter how much he wanted to correct her. Chad was remarkably casual about his relationship with Gabriella. He'd taken her for granted for years; he chose dinner with the studios and executives over her; he didn't buy her flowers just because, take her out for dinner, or only remembered their anniversaries with some prompting. He figured that Gabriella would always be around and that she'd always wait for him. In fact, Troy spent more time with Gabriella on a day-to-day basis than Chad did.
Chad was also decidedly not ready for a baby.
Troy knew she was right, and although he wanted to lie to her, and tell that everything would be okay, he couldn't do that to her. "You still have to tell him," he finally said. "You can't keep something like this from him, and you're only making things worse by not telling him. He has a right to know."
"I know. And I will tell him, when I'm ready." She shifted close to him. "I guess I'm worried that he doesn't love me enough to marry me and have a baby with me and…" Gabriella couldn't continue.
"If he doesn't," Troy said slowly, "Then you don't need him. No matter how obligated you feel to him, no matter how much you love him. He's not worth it if he can't support your decisions."
"That's just it," she whispered. "I don't think I love him enough to have his baby, and marry him, and…and spend the rest of my life with him."
"But you…you…"
"I know I spent all that time pining after him, and I know that our relationship when we were adolescents was like a soap opera. But I'm out in the world now. I have a career, I live in New York, and I've grown up." She hesitated. "I think I've wanted something more than Chad for a long time. The baby just made me realize that."
Troy kissed the top of her head, smelling the strong, fruity fragrance of her hair. "Whatever you decide – to stay with him, to leave him, to keep the baby, to not keep the baby…I'll support you."
"I'm keeping the baby," Gabriella said with determination. "From the second I found out, I knew I couldn't get rid of this baby."
"Then we'll work it out," Troy told her, rocking her against him.
"I don't deserve you."
"Yes, you do."
"I don't. But, I'm pregnant, and what I say goes. I want your spaghetti for dinner."
"Pasta a la Troy coming right up. Come on – let's turn some lights on, put some music on, and we can dance, watch bad television, and I'll even give you a foot massage. And, well, I'll drink your share of red wine for you."
"Thank you so much," Gabriella said dryly, taking his hand and leading him out of her bedroom, into the living room.
"Pregnant," he said in a soft voice, and wondered why the word made him ache so badly.