A/N: Thank you again for the reviews. The "story" as such starts to get going from this point onwards…
Also to readers of "FALLING INTO YOU" my Zanessa story that got deleted, there are 2 new chapters up on The Music in Me. The link is in my profile.
Sensing a presence opposite her, Gabriella closed the file that she was reading in an attempt to act nonchalant: nobody knew about her 'attachment' to the particular documents contained within it. It was funny how one 5mm thick wad of papers could symbolise so much and yet represent so little. It simultaneously signified the end of her life – or at least of any possible 'normal' life- whilst also serving as a constant reminder of the essential 'nothingness' surrounding it. Almost ten years on, all that Gabriella had was a name and a history that seemed to stop a week after her parents' deaths. According to all evidence, "Johnson" had practically died; but Gabriella knew that he couldn't have: he was too good for that.
"Come on, Gabriella," Taylor chided. "No need to be pouring over files for this one. It'll be nice and easy: in, bang-dead, out, cocktails…"
Gabriella cocked an eyebrow: not because of the candour with which Taylor was speaking to her, something that had grown increasingly normal, but because of the zeal with which Taylor was speaking. "Cocktails?"
"Of course!" Taylor practically squeaked in her happiness.
"Somebody's chirpy…" Gabriella said with a wry smile, her questioning of the cause implicit in her remark.
"I like weddings…" The reply of her friend was almost defensive.
"And…"
"And nothing, Gabriella. Why does there have to be a nothing?"
"You're a terrible liar. Your eyebrows get really pointy and high. And the wedding isn't for another week, in any case."
Damn it, Taylor thought. She was busted. "Well, you know, I am the maid of honour…"
Gabriella allowed her head to sink to the table. "Oh Lord…no, no, no…"
"But, Gabriella, how often do you get the chance to have a hen party in Las Vegas?"
"Hen party?" Gabriella groaned into her folded arms. "We're here to work," she added as she narrowed her eyes at Taylor.
"It's tradition." Any attempt made by Taylor to appear casual dissolved into a plea. "Just a few cocktails for congratulations on a job well done and, you know, the obvious impending wedding…"
"I don't know," Gabriella sighed. It couldn't do any harm, she supposed. It was ever so slightly unprofessional, though 'Gabriella before Troy' would be turning in her proverbial grave. On the other hand, their target was low risk with no security detail to worry about.
"Come on, Gabriella. The Bellagio is right across the street. My cousin Drew works for their event organizers and has even got us VIP access to the bar and club. What could go wrong?"
As Gabriella weighed up the possibilities, carefully calculating the risks and negatives of a post-mission hen party, she played with the file in front of her; an action that Taylor was not oblivious to. The dark-skinned girl narrowed her eyes upon noticing the discoloured, worn item for the first time since she had taken a seat opposite Gabriella. Whether Gabriella was aware of the fact or not, her constant perusing of the documents contained in it did not pass unnoticed by the rest of them: there was only such much that you could hide from someone in their profession.
"Okay."
Taylor whipped her head back to Gabriella's face when her boss spoke.
"Okay?" she asked distractedly. "Oh, okay! Excellent. I can't wait! And you'll be dressed perfectly for a bit of partying…"
"Reserved, sensible partying…"
Taylor looked at her friend disbelievingly. "Of course we'll be respectable."
Gabriella smiled somewhat shyly at the girl sitting opposite her. "I…" she paused, not quite sure what she was trying to say and even less certain of how to word it. Suddenly the simple two words that she was searching for hit her. "Just, thank you." Beginning to play nervously with the edges of the file again, Gabriella avoided Taylor's eyes. "It's a long time since I've had a friend. And I probably don't deserve it…after all this time. But I'm really glad that you are here."
She was startled by the pressure of another hand resting over hers. "Don't sweat it, Gabriella." Taylor took a deep breath. "And I'm going to say this as a friend:" she removed her hand from Gabriella's and took hold of the file sitting between them. "You need to let whatever is in here go."
Frowning in confusion, Gabriella lifted her head again to look at Taylor. "How…I don't know what you mean?"
Shaking her head, Taylor smiled sadly. "Every day, at least once but sometimes twice, you sit and read through this file. Every time that you close it you have the same look of frustration and annoyance on your face. You've been doing it for five years: of course I noticed."
Hesitantly, Gabriella pushed the file towards Taylor. "It's about the guy that killed my parents. He was their rival. He disappeared off the face of the Earth about a week after their death. I need to find him and…get closure."
Slowly, Taylor nodded. "Do you not think that it's time to move past this obsession? It isn't healthy to be stuck in the past; especially now."
"But I owe them…"Gabriella muttered softly, her head sinking again as she avoided eye contact.
"Gabriella." Taylor spoke clearly and determined. "There is a huge difference between forgetting and moving on."
"I don't know how…"
"By looking towards the future; your future with Troy. You can't afford to have anything else stand in the way of your happiness."
In a moment of enlightenment, Gabriella had the courage to look Taylor in the eyes – truly in the eyes- and to see the reality of her situation. If there was something that she had missed in the reports, she would have found it years ago. Gabriella needed to move on. She laid a determined hand upon the file, before forcing it off the edge of the table; watching as the papers scattered across the floor. Taylor was right: the past needed to stay in the past.
- - - - - -
"Woah," Troy exclaimed as he was blindfolded and forced into a car. "Guys, what the hell are you doing?"
"Kidnapping you," Zeke stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Well yeah, I got that. But why?"
The three men glanced at each other before letting out a collective cheer. "Bucks night!"
"Oh come on, I thought we decided against that?"
Chad spoke up before the others got chance to add their two cents. "You decided that. I, however, am best man and in these matters my opinion overrules yours."
"And why is the blindfold necessary?"
"Surprise, duh." Jason responded, climbing into the backseat of Chad's jeep next to Troy.
Sarcasm laced Troy's voice as he replied: "Great."
"Oh come on, loser. What's wrong with a bit of partying to celebrate your last week as a non-committed man?"
"I am committed, though," Troy whined. He knew what his friends were like and feared what they would have planned. "I swear there better not be any strippers."
The three shared a sheepish look. "Psssh, strippers. As if?" Zeke answered hesitantly, waving a finger wildly in front of his neck as an indicator that one of the others needed to cancel 'Candi.'
"Oh crap." It was the only response that Troy could muster under the given circumstances. After half an hour of being driven around literally blind, Troy was beginning to get frustrated with his friends' elusiveness. It was typical that the guys chose that moment to practise exercising their limited willpower and stealth. "Seriously, tell me now or I might do something that we will all regret."
"Troy, dude, you can't menace us."
"Uh, guys," Despite Jason's somewhat vacant nature, he sometimes made a very good point: "Do you think they'll let us put Troy on the plane blindfolded and tied up?"
Troy's spluttered "No way!" became lost in the disappointed groans of the others.
"Damn it," Chad cursed. "We could just tell him?"
"I am here you know…" Troy may as well not have been.
"But what if he won't come?"
"He wouldn't be that boring would he?"
"He's got worse since Gabriella…"
Jason was, however, mainly dense: "I can't believe we've splashed out on a ticket to Las Vegas and he's not going to come."
Zeke and Chad turned in their seats to look disbelievingly at their friend. "Great, dude," Chad muttered as he swerved to avoid passing into the next lane.
"Las Vegas?" Troy chirped skeptically once he was sure that his friends would actually pay attention to them.
"Yeah…" they chorused hesitantly.
"Gabi's in Las Vegas for work…"
"Typical," Chad muttered under his breath. "Well you're ours this weekend. No matter how hot your fiancée is."
"And there will be no strippers. Or drugs. Or excessive drunkenness?"
"If you insist."
"Okay then, I can cope with that."
"Cool. Nice to still you still have balls, dude. Now hand over your phone."
"What? Why?"
"It's the only way to be sure that we don't lose you to the Mrs…"
Troy looked longingly at his i-phone before reluctantly typing a quick message to Gabriella explaining the plans of his crazed friends and handing the item over. He only prayed that he would survive the day.
- - - - - -
The job was easy; Gabriella was pretty sure that she could have done it in her sleep.
An attractive woman sat in a dark corner of a bar, nursing a drink: it never took long for a certain type of person to approach her.
"Would you like some company?" She could have rolled her eyes at the predictability of the question.
"Oh, I'm fine. I'm kind of waiting for someone."
"You've been waiting a while." The target slid into the booth opposite her and immediately entangled himself in Gabriella's deathly snare. "It would be rude for me to make you wait alone."
Gabriella leaned across the table as she spoke, the greasy man mirroring her actions. This really was too easy. Reaching into her handbag, Gabriella tightened her grip on the handle of the gun before sliding it out of the bag and pressing it into his stomach. Before he had chance to react to the cold of the barrel against his chest, she had pulled the trigger; any sound absorbed by the silencer and the chatter of the bar. The job was done; the evidence of the mission's completion slumped over the table: not at all seeming out of place. Gabriella slipped her weapon back into her bag before making a movement to stand.
"Dude, I need a break!"
The heart-warmingly familiar voice and laughter stilled her actions.
"Troy Bolton does not take breaks!" Chad was insistent.
"They'll never let us in if we keep drinking."
"Maybe we should gag him?" Jason suggested.
"How would he drink?"
"Oh my God," Troy groaned, his head falling almost painfully against the bar. He was helpless and dumb amidst the bantering of his friends. "I swear that if I don't make it to my wedding, I will come back and like poltergeist you all…"
"Shut up, man!"
The corners of her lips twitching momentarily in amusement, Gabriella almost forgot to be concerned by the fact that she was sitting opposite a dead body with a gun in her bag whilst her fiancé was on the other side of the bar. Her eyes widened. Chancing a brief look over her shoulder, Gabriella sighed in relief when she noticed that the group of men had moved towards a booth near the front entrance of the bar: she could easily slip out of the back without being noticed. As she escaped out the rear exit she had to take a moment to compose herself. She waited, against her better judgement, a few minutes with her head resting against the wall; just to be sure that she hadn't been spotted. Convinced of her luck, Gabriella slinked off to meet Taylor.
She was no longer in the mood to celebrate.
How could she fully commit herself to Troy when she was keeping something so monumental from him?
Something had to give.
- - - -
Troy was sure that this kind of thing only happened in movies. He was aware of the movements of his body, and of the chatter and jubilation of his friends, but nothing apart from the figure at the edge of his line of version could be perceived with any clarity. Perhaps if he had drunk one less beer and a few less shots, he could have been certain. It probably would have helped him to be positive had Chad not chosen that minute to nudge him repeatedly trying to get his attention. He would have recognised that face anywhere, though. Everything was a blur of light or sound: everything apart from him. It was a profile that Troy had memorised; a face before which he had shuddered in his nightmares. He was the embodiment of Troy's misery.
And then as soon as Troy had caught sight of him, he was gone.
"Dude…forfeit shot for not drinking that one quickly enough!" Troy's attention was snatched back by his friends when Chad shoved the glass under his nose.
"Man, you look like you've seen a ghost!" Jason cried, spilling half of his own drink down his throat in his excitement.
"I think I have," Troy muttered, trying to shake the cobwebs from his brain and peering towards the back of the bar. Tipping the burning fluid down his throat, Troy was certain of one thing: he really needed to put the whole painful affair behind him.
- - - - -
Numerous hours, and infinite quantities of alcohol later, Troy and his friends stumbled through the door of one of their hotel rooms. It didn't take long before they had begun to pass out, one by one. Somehow, however, Troy had managed to be the last one of them still awake, and he was sure that it had something to do with what, or rather who, he thought he had seen before. How could it be possible that, after three years of searching and hoping that he would get an opportunity for revenge, the person responsible for his brother's death could appear out of the blue; and a week before his wedding? Maybe he'd been imagining things. Perhaps it had been his minds last effort at tricking his sight before Troy truly moved on? He just couldn't be sure.
As Troy started to slouch down to the floor from where he was leaning against the bed, there was only one person that he wanted. Impressively maneuvering his way across the room and over the comatose bodies on the floor, Troy haphazardly frisked Chad; not at all concerned about whether he woke his friend – if it was, in fact, possible.
He smiled drowsily in victory when he located his phone, pressing speed dial and grinning at the croaky response of his fiancée. "Hello?"
"Hey babe," he slurred lazily.
Giggling, Gabriella turned on the bedside lamp. "Are you drunk, Troy?"
"Maybe a little bit or a lot a bit…"
"Did you have fun?"
"Yeah," he yawned; allowing his body to fully slump to the floor with a soft thud. "I think that my liver is probably dead. Will you still marry me without a liver?"
The complete seriousness of his question made Gabriella snort; she'd never really been a witness to Troy when he was drunk. "Of course, baby."
"I hate my friends." His voice was growing increasingly raspy and strained with every word.
"Mhmm, sweetie…." She didn't get chance to say anything else before Troy continued with his slurred speech.
"…cos I had to not see you the whole entire night. And you're here…and I'm here….but you're not here. I want you here, Gabi…" He almost whined the last part of his sentence.
"Do you know which hotel you're staying in?" Gabriella asked; not in the slightest bit annoyed that she had been woken up at 5am: her and Taylor's night had, indeed, been entirely respectable.
"I…no…" Troy pouted. "But I know what room. It's number sixty, no seventy six…"
"Seventy six?" Gabriella repeated, amused.
"Yes seven-six. Seventy six…I'm sleepy, Gabi…"
"You should go to sleep then, Troy."
"I love you, lots and lots and lots…"
"I love you lots too,"
"Okay, I need to pass out now…"
"Okay…Sweet dreams, baby." Gabriella laughed as she heard her boyfriend snoring down the line. "Troy?"
The next week couldn't pass quickly enough.
A/N: Passable? ;-) Let me know!
