The dark-haired beauty turns around, tears leaking down her gorgeous face. She shows no sign of surprise at the sight of him. He wants so badly to run to her and take her in his arms, to tell her how much he loves her. "Why did you leave me?" she whispers, her voice so weak and hurt that it pains him to hear. The gray sky above them rumbles in warning before releasing tiny drops of moisture. A man walks up, waiting in the distance. Troy can't see his face, or anything that may identify him. Gabriella turns back around, walks away from Troy towards the faceless man. Troy opens his mouth to call out her name, to plead her forgiveness, to beg for her to come back. She doesn't hear him as she walks up to the strange man. He puts his arms around her. She makes no move to return the embrace, but then again, she doesn't refuse his. Troy can see the look on her face, a look he has never seen. Her face has no emotion, but he can see the pain hidden in her eyes. At least, she thinks it's hidden. And even though Gabriella's face is perfectly clear to him, the man's face remains hidden and it is impossible to recognize him. Then Troy realizes: it doesn't matter who it is. It doesn't matter if he's one of the random guys down the street who used to check Gabriella out whenever she and Troy walked around, hand in hand. It doesn't matter if it's the guy who moved next door to Gabriella and can bake almost as well as she can. It doesn't matter if it's Chace Crawford. What matters is that the man holding her isn't him.

Troy shoots up, sweating.
Looks around.
Feels his heart fall for the something-th time. He's lost track of how many times his heart has broken. In fact, it surprises him that his heart still has the strength to keep him alive. At times, he wishes it wouldn't.

It's been more than a year, he's sure of that. More than a year since he held her. More than a year since he told her he loved her, and felt his heart skip a beat as she reassured him that loved him too. More than a year since he walked home after a night full of laughter with his beloved girlfriend. Laughter – it's been more than a year since he's laughed. He's not sure he remembers how.

It's also been more than a year since they took him.
Since he was tossed carelessly into a van.
Since he was blindfolded and gagged.
Since he was driven to this location, which has remained unknown to him.

It's been more than a year since he felt the breeze ruffle his shaggy chestnut hair. More than a year since he felt the sun warm his entire body. More than a year since he felt his knees go weak at the sight of her.

It's been more than a year since he's felt anything but pain.

From being whipped and beaten mercilessly. From being underfed and neglected. From being taken away from his friends and family, and her.

Her.
Her long, luscious hair. Her warm, chocolate eyes. Her dazzling smile that could weaken the knees of every male in the room. Especially his. Her dainty hands, running through his hair as they share a kiss that could've lasted forever. That should've last forever.

He wants to feel her touch him again. So badly. To feel her caress his skin as they lay in bed after making love. To feel her massage his tense muscles before a basketball game. To feel her gently wrap her arms around his neck as they slow dance in her backyard. He's so weak. The last time he had food was about a month ago. The last time he was beaten was about an hour ago. If he's gonna die, he wants to feel her one last time. He has to.

Suddenly, he notices something. Something huge. It's a chance at freedom, a chance at a reunion. It's a crack in the door.

Gathering whatever is left of his strength, he rams into the door. Success. It crashes onto the floor and he sprints out of the room in which he has been imprisoned for so long. He stops short near the corner. If they catch him, he's done for. To his immense relief, they have left the house – a risky move for such wanted criminals. He grabs the phone laying on the dusty counter, uses shaky fingers to press down on three significant buttons. He holds the phone up to his ear. They pick up on the first ring.

"911, what is you emergency?" the operator seems somewhat bored, half expecting the call to be from a mischievous six year-old.
"I have the location of Emerson Bond," he manages to say, his voice raspy and almost foreign to himself.
This catches the attention of the operator. Emerson Bond has been on FBI's Wanted List for seven years.
"What is your name?"
Troy ignores the question. He doesn't have time. "He is at…." He pauses. He had no idea of the address. He contemplates going outside to see the address of the house. What if they're outside? If he can get outside, he can leave, he can run. He can see her. But if they're outside, returning from whatever they set out for, he'll be killed slowly and tortuously. He bites his lip.

He'll take his chances.

He runs down the hallway, towards the front door. Grips the handle. Turns it quickly, before he can turn back. Darts outside, onto the old porch. And gasps.

The trees, the clouds, the air. It's all here. It's been so long since he was exposed to the outside world. He recognizes the area – it's a poor and run-down part of town, one he was warned to stay away from when he was young. Suddenly remembering the operator on the other line, Troy cranes his neck to look at the street name, then swivels around to ascertain the address number.

"They're at 8493 Blackbird Ave."
"They?"
"He and his……." What does he call the men who assisted Emerson in his abduction? His posse? "……..gang." That sounds lame, even to Troy.
"Stay there, we are sending officials immediately." Troy is glad the operator realizes the urgency of the situation. But he will not 'stay there.' Not while he has his freedom. Taking advantage of the momentum of the moment, Troy begins to sprint down the street. That is, until his exhaustion catches up with him, about two minutes later. Months without food, harsh beatings and sleepless nights have taken a heavy toll. He staggers to a stop, when he realizes that he is in plain view of everyone. He darts behind the bushes, and continues his journey using the bushes and trees by the sidewalk as a shield. He knows where he is – about an hour away from home. By car, that is. On foot, especially with his weak conditions, he will be lucky to get there by nightfall. He stumbles along, half dead, but praying to arrive on her doorstep alive, if only for a few moments. Each hour, he feels himself getting closer to succumbing. He distantly wonders if Emerson and his crew have returned back to the house yet. And if so, how they felt to find the police waiting for them. By this time, it has to be around 9:00. Troy has been walking for more than seven hours. He glances up to look at the street sign. His vision is getting blurry and he desperately hopes to see her before he dies. He can just barely make out the words on the sign. Woodcove Drive. His tired heart trips over a beat as he registers that he is one block away from Seashell Court. From her. Through his legs scream in protest, aching and searing in pain, he pushes himself forward. He needs to make it. He needs to.

And he does.
He limps, he trips, stumbles and staggers, but he makes it. He stands on her doorstep, suddenly unsure. What if she's moved? What if she doesn't recognize him? What if she's moved on? The last question stings the most. He raises his hand and knocks, wincing in pain. His knuckles are bruised from all his punches and attempts at defending himself. Failed attempts, that is. No one answers. Troy's world is on the verge of shattering. He is on the verge of giving up, of succumbing to his pain and exhaustion. But an idea pops into his head – when Gabriella's mother was out on business trips, as she often was, Gabriella never answered the door after dark. Perhaps this was the case? Clinging onto this last strand of hope for dear life, Troy creeps around her house into her backyard. His arms tremble as he pulls himself up onto her balcony. Through her glass doors, he can see into her room. All the lights are off, except for the small lamp on her bedside table. There she is. His angel. She is facing away from him, her body shaking as she cries. Looking around her room, Troy sees a small calendar on her wall. Troy squints. Today is August 17th. The day he had been taken. Unable to hold back anymore, Troy pushes on the handle, only to find that it is locked. But the noise does not go undetected by Gabriella. She whips around. Troy is unsure how long his legs will be able to hold up. His little energy is diminishing rapidly. But he has done it. He has gotten here, and seen her face. Her face will be his last memory before the darkness overtakes him.

Gabriella shoots up from her bed, unsure not of the man on her balcony, but of herself. Was this a hallucination? Was she crazy, had she finally lost her sanity? Was the man outside a criminal who happened to possess a striking resemblance to her lost lover? Against the warning playing over and over in her brain, she gets up and creeps to the door.

Just as Troy collapses.

As Troy's head hits the floor, the moonlight finds his face, highlighting his features in a ghostly white.

Gabriella shrieks.

It's him.

Wrenching open the door, she flies onto the balcony and sinks to the floor by Troy.

"Troy," she sobs. His name is all she can say. His eyes slowly open. Fill with tears. There she is, by his side. "Oh, my Gabi," he chokes.

She cries.

He cries.

They lay on the balcony, desperately clinging onto each other, shaking as they cry. "Troy…"she whimpers into his neck. "Gabi….Gabi, my Gabi….." he murmurs into her hair.

The feeling is so overwhelming. To finally feel her in his arms. To finally feel her touch him. To finally feel.

Half an hour later, they are still laying on the balcony. Still crying. Still holding each other. And Troy is still alive.

When he was back in the house, or on his way here, even as he stood at her door watching her cry, Troy simply wanted to be with her before he died. And he would accept death after seeing her one last time. But that changed as he held her, crying and murmuring into her soft hair. Now Troy can't die. He can't leave her alone, after seeing her so broken. Troy Bolton needs to live.

"Food," he croaks. "Food, Gabi, please."

She removes her face from his neck and looks up at him. For a moment, his breath is taken away. She's so beautiful. She lifts herself up to properly look at him. He's lost so much weight, and his eyes look so…..dead. It dawns on her how vital nutrition and care is for him. It hits her hard, that her lover may die just hours after reuniting with her. She stands up frantically, and offers Troy a hand, which he accepts. It is only when Gabriella pulls him up that she realizes just how much weight he's lost, and it alarms her. She helps him inside and assists him onto the bed. With a slight groan, he lies down, reaching out for her. "I'll be…..," she can't finish her sentence as she chokes on her tears and rushes downstairs. Troy feels empty. He needs her in his arms. He has a burning desire to live, to be able to spend the rest of life with her. But if he is going to die, he wants her to be in his arms. He waits anxiously for her return, seconds passing by like hours. Two minutes later, she scrambles up the stairs and flies into the room, her arms full. She sweeps everything off of her bedside table, except for the lamp, and begins to lay out everything she brought : Crackers and cheese, a plastic up and a gallon of milk, a first aid kit, various other foods. She takes a glance at Troy's half-lidded eyes and her panic level increases. "Troy, baby, please stay with me. Please," she cries, begging. He turns his head to look at her. Even through her sorrow and fear, she is gorgeous. He needs to fight, for his life, for their love, for her. "Baby….," he whispers. She climbs onto the bed and helps him into a sitting position, so that he rests against the headboard. She turns to grab the foods off the table, and drops them onto the pillow beside Troy. "Please eat, Troy," she pleads. He nods and reaches for the crackers. She reaches them before he does, and opens the package for him. She then opens the cheese and offers it to him. "Troy, you need the protein….." He nods again and takes it from her. After the first few bites, Troy begins to pick up speed, wolfing down the food and finishing the entire package within three minutes. "Troy, can you take your shirt off?" she whispers gently, watching him. He reaches to remove the clothing, wincing in pain as he lifts it over his head. She gasps as she looks at his chest. It is almost completely covered in bruises and scratches. The sight incites fresh tears to drip down her cheeks. She hands him a banana and allows him scarf it down as she gets the first aid kit and begins to work on his chest, cleaning cuts and rubbing cream on bruises. One particular cut catches her attention – a deep gash on his stomach that is still bleeding. It'll need stitches. Biting her lip, she reaches for the needle and thread.

Two hours later, it is near midnight. Troy has finished all the food that Gabriella brought up, and has had all of his cuts cleaned by Gabriella. He's going to live, he's sure of it. And it's all because of her. They sit on the bed, simply staring at each other.

And then it dawns on him. It was her all along. When he was being beaten, thoughts of her helped to ease the pain. The idea of having her in his arms was the only reason he hadn't succumbed to pain. And when he had lain on her balcony, he realized he didn't want to die. And the one reason he wanted to live ended up being the one reason he did. "Oh, baby……"he croaks, fresh tears gushing down his cheeks. She whimpers and throws herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around him.
She cries.

He cries.

They lay on the bed, desperately clinging onto each other, shaking as they cry. "Troy…"she whimpers into his neck. "Gabi….Gabi, my Gabi….." he murmurs into her hair. It is just like on the balcony, the desperation and love all the same. There is only difference: Troy is now positive that he will live. Although exhausted and still in pain, he no longer feels pure agony and knows that his strength has been replenished by his angel. For another half hour, they hold each other and sob, releasing the pain that both of them had felt over their agonizing separation. Gabriella pulls the blanket over them, enveloping them in a safe, warm world of their own. Words are not spoken; neither Troy nor Gabriella can find the energy to speak. Besides, the feeling of having the other in their arms after so much….coldness, emptiness…..is such that words are unnecessary. It's all here. Her long, luscious hair. Her warm, chocolate eyes, her dazzling smile – everything he had longed for is here in his arms. It was all he had ever needed.

And with that thought, his exhaustion finally gets the better of him and he drifts off to sleep, his angel in his arms.

Three hours later, around midnight, Gabriella awakes. She doesn't dare open her eyes, for fear that the incredible feelings she is experiencing would be part of a dream. She can feel his strong arms around her, holding her to his chest. She can feel his steady breath in hair. For the first time in a long time, she feels safe, warm, loved and….complete. Slowly, she peels her eyes open to find that Troy is already awake, staring at her lovingly. His eyes light up as she looks up at him. "Baby….,"he whispers, as he tilts his head down to capture her lips in a kiss that sets their veins on fire. She moves her hand up so that she can run her fingers through his hair. He shudders at the amazing feeling she invokes in him. When they finally pull away, they are both smiling in contentment. But Gabriella's smile slowly fades, and a faint trace of pain is threaded into her features. Troy frowns, cupping her face in concern. "What's wrong, gorgeous?" he asks gently. "What happened, Troy? Where did you go?" she whispers, desperate for answers, reasons behind her lovers disappearance. Troy bites his lip. It's a long story. It will be hard and painful to recount, and he may not be able to get through the whole thing. But she deserves to know.

So he begins.

Forty five minutes later, he is done. Both of their faces are streaked with tears. But he feels clean and fresh. Wordlessly, Gabriella sprinkles delicate kisses around his face. He closes his eyes in bliss. Finally, she rests her lips on his, not quite kissing him. "I love you, Gabriella," he mumbles into her lips. He feels them curve into a smile, and she returns the vow with a earth-shattering kiss. "I love you too," she whispers when they pull apart. "I was so afraid you were going to die," she admits, her eyes welling with tears again. He nods and dips his head down to bury his face in her neck. "Me too," he says into her warm skin, "But I couldn't leave you alone. I love you too fucking much." She nods and kisses his hair, wrapping one of her legs around his waist. He pulls away from their tangled embrace for just a moment, to strip his dirty jeans and toss them onto the floor, leaving him only in his boxers. Returning to the safety of their embrace, he tugs at her tank top, implying that he wants it off. He doesn't need sex right now, he just wants to feel her. Understanding this, she peels the tank top off, then her flannel pants, leaving her in her bra and panties. Reverting back to their earlier tangled position, they lay there in comfortable silence. Finally, Gabriella lifts her head from Troy's hair and asks, "Troy, do you want to call you parents?" He removes his face from the crook of her neck to look at her. "I'd understand if you wanted to spend time with them, it has been a year….I can drive you there if you want….."she leaves the sentence hanging, waiting for his answer. She watches as he shakes his head and buries his face back into her neck. "No," he mumbles from there, "I just wanna be with you for now." She smiles and rests her cheek on the top of his head. "It's been a whole year. One damn year away from you. I want to make up for that," he continues, pulling his face out of her neck again. "I mean, you've already changed a bit….but you're still so, so beautiful," he murmurs dreamily, stroking her cheek, "we have so much to make up for…" he says, slurring sleepily. Once again, he pushes his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. He finds himself becoming more and more love drunk, practically drowning in her love, and just barely conscious of the world outside of their warm bed. Before drifting off to sleep once more, Troy presses a kiss to the neck of his savior, his angel, his reason to live.