AN: To explain, this document is going to be a series of one-shots where I try and see if I can actually get into any of these characters' heads. I did it in the form of challenging myself to write a scene between the two people of every "popular" pairing that I saw after a few skim-throughs of other stories. Obviously, some came out better than others.

This story takes place in-between High School Musical and High School Musical 2.

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The recipe called for unsweetened chocolate, butter, eggs, sugar, vanilla, flour, salt, and walnuts. They decided to divide and conquer so, while Gabriella was searching the numerous cabinets, Troy went for the much simpler refrigerator. This wasn't his house, after all, and he felt that digging through a couple layers of cold condiments was easier than knowing which drawer went to what. All the usual things were there: pickles, mayonnaise, ketchup, milk, orange juice. One section seemed entirely devoted to packets of fruit of some kind, most of which Troy didn't recognize.

"So your mom likes to eat healthy, huh?" There was the noise of a half-oiled door opening and at first Troy thought that Gabriella hadn't heard him. He lifted his head from behind the fridge door and saw that she had stopped moving, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Is there something in there?" She finally asked, nibbling on one side of her lip. The motion was small but extremely distracting for Troy and he nearly missed her continuing, "That's probably left-over from our first shopping frenzy. It's so exciting for my mom to shop in a new place so we just go a little crazy, you know?"

"I guess I can get that," he responded, still staring rather blankly at her mouth.

"But you guys don't get fruit fresh here like back in… the door's open." Her switch from conversational to blank fact was enough to make Troy glance all around the kitchen for this offending door. He hadn't heard anyone come in... "Your door, Troy! The fridge door is open!" She was laughing, but maybe that was worse, and Troy's cheeks flushed as he stepped back and quickly shut the refrigerator.

"What a stickler," he teased her and she rolled her eyes,

"My mom just likes to conserve," She pushed away from the counter she'd been leaning against and moved to the center to dump her found items on the surface there. At the sight of the bottle of vanilla and packages of flour Troy remembered why he had been holding the fridge open in the first place.

"Jeez, girl, you are so bad for work!" he mock complained as he moved to the appliance for a second time and swung the door. The eggs were easy enough but it took a little digging to find a whole stick of butter. When he turned back around, Gabriella was already vanished in a crouch. The sound of shifting metal told him she was searching for an appropriate bowl or pan.

"Troy?" She called, "Can you preheat the oven?" Troy made a noise in the affirmative but his steps slowed as he neared the machine. Okay, so, it was time to fess up: his mother did all the cooking; all the cooking that didn't involve a grill, at least, cause that his father approached with dangerous fervor. After a couple of seconds of staring at the dials, he coughed into his fist and abandoned pride for honest confusion,

"All I see is the regular temperatures."

Gabriella was suddenly standing next to him and ovens and their stupid dials were not important. Her dark hair was falling over her shoulders and around her face just… radiantly. Even the saddest look on her face seemed amazing. Right then, however, she just looked as confused as he felt before realization dawned. That was Gabriella, always figuring things out.

"Oh, Troy," she sighed with humor, "That's the same thing. Preheat just means that you're turning the temperature on before you actually put something in." She flipped the oven on, winked at him, and then skipped right out of the room.

Troy spent his alone moment pretending to bang his head against the free counter space, "Stupid, stupid, stupid." There was nothing he disliked more than making a fool of himself in front of her. She always responded graciously and, even when she teased him, he didn't feel like any less of a person – but that didn't mean that he didn't want to spend every second impressing her. It was a pressure comparable to trying to make that last three-pointer just as the buzzer rings.

When Gabriella returned it was with a phone in her hand. She gave Troy an apologetic look that shifted instantly when she suddenly had to say, "Hey, mom!" The recognizable pause followed where the other person – presumably… her mom – had to answer, then, "Troy and I are making brownies but I can't find the larger pan—"

As mother and daughter discussed, Troy turned away and idly began playing with the various magnets on the Montez's refrigerator. Most of them looked like they were from those gift-shops at the airport: "Montana welcomes you!" and that kind of thing. As Troy batted his finger against one in the shape of a pelican, he wondered what it would be like to have to move around so much. He couldn't even imagine leaving his team behind, his friends, and his house. There was just way too much invested there.

Crack! The sound of something smacking against the hard kitchen floor shocked him from his thoughts. Curiously, Troy looked around until he noticed that the small sad shape near his feet was the bottom half of a pelican. His head jerked up and he saw that the head was still morbidly frozen on the fridge. His horrified look went next to Gabriella whose mouth was caught in surprise.

"Gabriella, I—"

"Nothing, mom, just one of the magnets got loose again." He realized, then, that she was still on the phone and Mrs. Montez had been privy to hearing something in her house being broken – broken by him.

He was still cursing himself when Gabriella shut the cell-phone, stuffing it into her pocket and heading over to the fridge to see which state-representation had taken the fall. She bent to retrieve the pelican's body and Troy jerkily flopped down to try and get to it faster. They lightly knocked foreheads but Gabriella still came up with the broken magnet piece while Troy was trying to come up with an apology,

"Gabriella, I'm so sorry. I didn't think it was just going to—"

"You're not the first person to break a magnet." His girlfriend reassured, turning and flashing him a pleasant smile, "But if you'd given me a concussion down there, I would've really hated you!" It didn't seem physically possible for there to be malice in Gabriella's voice, so the threat was null immediately.

"Yeah, well," Troy tried to defend his embarrassment, "It's just not a great impression to make." But they both let the subject drop and were soon digging through the cabinet Gabriella's mother had claimed held the pan they needed. "Your mother's crazy," Troy analyzed, his voice muffled by pots and plastic containers, "She was just playing you, wasn't she?"

"I guess it just doesn't get used that often," Gabriella giggled from the other side. Two different doors open into the same cabinet space and Troy had amused himself in the first couple of minutes by reaching inside and seeing if he could give Gabriella's shoulder a shove. After the attempts had started a war between them, they had managed to displace not just a couple of larger pots in one large waterfall of clattering metal and that soon ended that.

Not all of the dishes had made it back into the cabinet yet, and Troy eyed these suspiciously to see if any of them looked "nine by thirteen" to him.

"I've got it!" Gabriella's voice came to him and she victoriously pulled her head from her side to show him a pan he was pretty sure looked like every other one ever. Oh, well, if it made brownies better then he wasn't about to argue the case. She stood to "grease the pan" and he entertained himself with stealing sponges off the counter and shooting them inventively into the sink. He was spinning around and doing the hoarse "ahhh" of fake cheering when he spotted Gabriella staring at him. He froze, she grinned.

"Ready for some real action, superstar?"

Troy honestly doubted that throwing some things into other things could beat the thrill of baskets, even sponge-related ones, but this was what he was here for, after all. Besides, you know, the obvious one of wanting to be around Gabriella. He was about to let the flour flow when she blocked him with a hand, "Not there," she instructed patiently, "We've got to melt the chocolate first."

"In our mouths?" Troy asked cheekily and she batted him on the shoulder before moving to the other side of the counter and producing a pot. "What's that for?"

"Melting," she placed it onto the stove and began fiddling with the knobs until a light blue fire sprang up underneath the intended grill. "Bring the chocolate annnnnd the butter over here."

He obediently retrieved both requested ingredients and watched her unwrap both and let each measured quantity plop onto the bottom of the pot. She seemed satisfied with this work and moved away. Troy stayed behind to stare expectantly at the two blocks of food. A curious glance showed him that the fire was set very low; no wonder nothing was melting yet. Troy twisted the dial under the flames flared hungrily and he could visibly see the chocolate wilting away and mixing with butter pools.

"Hey girl," he greeted, sliding over to where Gabriella was reading the written recipe and putting his hands on her upper arms, "What else have you got planned for us this evening?"

"Weelllll," she grinned but was distracted by the sound of something popping and fizzling. Her head whipped up and she twirled quickly out of his grip when she saw the blue flames licking at the edges of her saucepan. "Oh, jeez, how did that happen?" Troy lingered guiltily behind her as she turned the heat back down and watched the chocolate-butter bubble and gurgle excitedly. "I've never actually made these by myself," she explained as she turned and pulled out her cell-phone. A couple of seconds after dialing and she was saying, "Hey, mom, it doesn't matter how hot the chocolate gets, right? …. No, it's just… fizzling some… I wasn't sure if that meant it lost anything. Let it co—okay, yeah, okay."

There didn't seem to be any severe damage, so Troy didn't comment on this incident and instead just offered to help extra when eggs needed to be broken and sugar poured. He found out that letting a couple of shell pieces fall in was easier than admitting you'd messed up and vanilla didn't taste half as good as it smelled, but otherwise everything went by accident-free.

After this session of intense concentration, Troy was feeling anxious to get his arms around Gabriella again. She had hopped around the kitchen giving him instructions ever since the pan problem, so he wondered if she was taunting him for messing that up. But, finally, it seemed like there was a step where they would have to do some waiting – the electronic mixing.

He hurriedly shoved the beaters into their slots and wiggled the bowl into place. The recipe had quoted "high speed" so he cheerfully selected the highest number visible and watched the mixer come to life. That was supposed to continue for some minutes; Troy figured they would have a little private time to enjoy themselves. So he snuck over to where Gabriella was studying the recipe book and slapped his hands over her eyes, "Guess whoooo," he joked, more so because, well, there was seriously no competition for whom he was. She giggled a second but then gasped,

"Troy! The mixer—?"

"On," he assured, "I turned it on." But she was already trying to twist out from behind his hands,

"You shouldn't leave it unattended, how fast did you start it?" At her words, there was suddenly a stone in Troy's stomach – or maybe all of his organs had suddenly dropped into it. He hadn't realized that the settings on the mixer were all that important. As Troy dropped his arms and spun to check it, he felt the quick splatter of something wet but lumpy against his cheek. Slowly, unbelieving, he lifted a finger and wiped a bit from his face. Two of his fingers were smudged brown as the goopy mess trailed down their lengths and then plopped in a self-satisfied manner on the otherwise clean floor.

"Ooh, ooh, ooh!" Gabriella ducked under the shocked Troy's arm and hurried to where the mixer was whirring predatorily at them. It flung one defensive glop at Gabriella before she was able to slam the speed button and slow it to a duller spin cycle. She also had to make sure the beaters were locked into place; they weren't. When she wasn't looking, Troy ducked down and scooped the fallen chocolate mess off the floor with the same fingers and stuck it into his mouth.

"Well, we know it tastes good," he affirmed as optimistically as possible, "And would kick anyone's butt in a food fight." She grinned for his joke and he gave an inward sigh of relief. Usually Troy prided himself on being able to take any situation and roll with it but never before had he been the reason for all the disasters like this.

As he watched, Gabriella retrieved her cell-phone from out of her pocket. The customary moments passed before someone answered, "Hey, mom," she greeted, this time an ounce more sheepishly than last, "Uhh… yeah, still with the brownies—say, what's a safe setting for the mixer so you don't have to—oh, yeah, heh, okay. No, no problem." She flashed Troy a thumbs-up and he shot one back to her.

When the conversation had ended, he braced himself and asked, "So?"

"We have to watch the mixer, sorry," she admitted, moving back and double-checking the beaters before pressing the mixer back up to full-speed, "She says it isn't necessary as long as the beaters are set, but that it's always a good idea."

Troy huffed an overdramatic sigh and dropped himself onto a nearby stool. He was mostly teasing her, but he also had a great itch to get himself out of this kitchen. Doing anything with Gabriella always sounded like a good idea, but he was swiftly discovering that baking brownies wasn't the laidback bonding time he had hoped it would be. Apparently, some kind of work went into this.

The time in the mixer was followed by the blending of the rest of the ingredients into the dish. Troy let Gabriella do this and followed up by stirring in the nuts. Then they held the bowl together in order to pour it into the pan. With Troy still holding, Gabriella let go and used a spatula to scrap any lingering batter into place.

"Over!" She chirped, claiming the filled pan. Troy gave her a theatrical bow and then skipped over to the oven and jerked it open. His first impression was of a blast of hot air and he was immediately not endeared to the oven for the second time that afternoon. Gabriella giggled at what he presumed was the look on his face and carefully maneuvered the pan onto the first shelf.

Troy slammed the oven door shut with one triumphant push and then wiped his hands eagerly together, "Done and done!" According to that recipe, they had a good thirty-five minutes before anything else had to be tended to. Gabriella didn't seem to agree, as she was staring attentively at all of the dishes scattered about. "Later, laaaater," Troy coaxed, coming up behind her again and wrapping one arm around her waist, "They'll still be here when we get back."

Gabriella was about to argue, but she gave into the feeling of being close to him, "Yeah… I suppose so," when she turned, they were staring right into each other's faces and she could feel him release one warm, anxious breath onto her cheek. Sometimes she could tell that Troy was even more nervous than he let on. He expressed himself far better than any of his other friends, but he still hid just enough to make himself part of the male gender, as Taylor liked to put it. She wished momentarily that he would feel comfortable sharing absolutely everything with her.

"Come on," he said with a grin and gently but insistently lead her from the kitchen. He was just really glad to get out of that room! Troy had a new sort of appreciation for his mother whenever she spent all day trying to whip something up – wasn't as easy as he originally believed!

But all thoughts of cooking soon escaped his mind as he had Gabriella give him a tour of the rest of the house. He would rather have not gone through picture albums and examined all of the various keepsakes they had gotten in different states, but Gabriella was enjoying talking about her life so he was glad to listen; anytime where he got to watch her be happy seemed right to him. He was struck with just how… girly their house was. Not that Gabriella and her mother were the cheerleader brand of chic or anything, but there really wasn't a single guy influence in the place. He felt vaguely intimidated so he directed their attentions outside.

The yard was small but serviceable and they played an especially pointless game of tag before rolling onto their backs in the grass and staring up at the forming clouds. Night was coming on so the sky was beginning to darken and a cool breeze eased them after all the running around.

Shifting himself closer to Gabriella, Troy maneuvered his arm underneath her body and pressed his hand against her shoulder. "It's great, huh?"

"It's beautiful," she smiled, a serener expression than when they were just playing games. He knew that, right then, she was appreciating the entire world, because that's just how generous Gabriella was with her friendliness. Maybe that's why he felt so comfortable with her… and yet, kind of dwarfed. She was so nice to everyone, did that really make him that much more special?

But she quelled his doubts by laying her head upon his shoulder and letting a hand rest lightly on his chest. The warmth of even the simplest touch erased all else and they laid there for quite some time. A couple of moments, Gabriella would shift but Troy's hand on her was always there to make sure they stayed close.

Troy was starting to drift off when an especially uncomfortable wiggle from Gabriella made him have to move as well. "Something wrong, beautiful?" he questioned drowsily.

"Bah," she dismissed, "I just got bit by something, that's all." They both started to settle back into place when the same realization hit boy and girl simultaneously. Bugs. Dark. Look at how dark it was outside. Time? How much time had gone by? Brownies! Troy and Gabriella scrambled to their feet in a unbalanced mass of limbs and it was a race for the door with Troy grabbing it open and Gabriella rushing into the open space provided.

A thick stream of brown was pumping menacingly from the top of the oven and the stink of it had already invaded the entire room. Gabriella froze in the doorway and began to cough. As if it would help, Troy went immediately to the oven and swung the door open. Rescue, rescue! Be free little brownies! But all that greeted him was a burst of pent-up smoke and the whiff of what had once been chocolate. He stumbled back and braced a steadying hand against the counter nearby.

"Oh, no, oh no, oh no!" Gabriella was now squeaking quietly behind him, jumping up and down on the balls of her feet and waving her hands to try and get some of the new smoke to clear away from her face. After a moment of this futile effort, she hurried to lean over the sink and crank the small window there open.

Still standing in front of the oven, Troy could now bend more easily over the carnage, "Who knew such little brownies could do so much!"

Gabriella was already fishing for her phone, "Hey, mom…." Her voice was somewhat distracted as she glanced all around the remains of their brownie battle with the kitchen, "Yeah, still—no… you see, there was a—" Gabriella didn't get to do anymore of the talking, she just started to listen to what her mother said and nodded gently to herself. She made one loop around the kitchen before the conversation was over.

"What did she say this time?" Troy asked as the cell-phone snapped shut. For a moment, it seemed like Gabriella wasn't going to answer him but then she turned, her lips pressed together severely,

"She says to get out of the kitchen, she's gonna come home and make us brownies."