A/N: I know…I know…baaaad truffle. :glares at self: It's been a while, huh? Between vacation and school starting, I just haven't had any time. I'm very, very, very sorry. At least, eventually, I got something up. Hence the reasoning behind this skeleton of a chapter.

Disclaimer: No own HSM. Or Sports Illustrated. Or the Café Soleil, which is actually a made-up place, but as there is probably one somewhere in The World, don't sue.

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Chapter Ten

Breaking The Habit

"So, kid," Jack said to a gurgling Evangeline, trying to remember what he'd done for fun with Troy at this age besides basketball-related things. "We meet at last."

Evangeline sucked happily on her fingers.

I'm going mad, he assured himself. What was I thinking? I don't even know this child…

He strapped her into the provided stroller. She struggled against her seatbelt, but it held firm.

For one to be a grandfather one must first be a father; to defy this rule, one would not only be breaking all natural laws, but would also be attempting an impossible task.

These words were written on a fridge magnet, which Jack had received from Lorna when Evangeline was born. Never before had he even considered them. In retrospect, he'd only really gotten around to taking Troy out in the stroller three or four times. So it felt rather awkward to be walking down the hall now with Evangeline.

The elevator took a while to come, but when it did, he found that it was already occupied: a young couple stood inside. He carefully wheeled the stroller in. The woman was looking oddly from Jack to Evangeline, and he could practically see the gears working in her mind, pieces tumbling into place.

"Jack Bolton," she said finally, phrasing it as a statement rather than a question.

Deciding on the spur of the moment not to lie, Jack nodded. "That's me."

She nudged the man next to her. "Arthur," she said in a stage whisper, "that's Troy Bolton's father. You know, the one who didn't even--"

"Do you mind?" Jack said loudly, feeling anger rise up at her words.

She looked taken aback, like he had insulted her. "Excuse me for defending the poor boy," she snapped. "I feel so sorry for the pair of them--and this little one, too." Evangeline made a face at the woman and giggled.

"I don't think that's any of your business," he said brusquely.

The elevator slowed down at the fourth floor and the couple exited quickly, with the woman staring, apparently horror-struck, at a seething Jack before the doors closed.

------

Troy and Gabriella took seats at their usual table by the window, and sat in silence as each one soaked up the familiar atmosphere again.

"I loved to People Watch from here," Gabriella said finally, "when I was waiting for you sometimes."

He gave her a funny look.

"Look at all the people around us. Sometimes, I watched the people sitting at the bus stop and named them. For example…"

She pointed at the bench right outside, where a young girl and a middle-aged man were sitting. The girl had shockingly pink hair, very pale skin and wore a black miniskirt over black pants, and a black-and-pink striped top with lace adorning the bottom. She was smacking on a huge wad of gum and had heavy amounts of eyeliner on. The strap of a black purse with a white skull on it was looped through her arm.

The older man had on a business-like expression and a tweed suit. Several wrinkle lines creased his forehead and he looked like he'd been working the midnight oil away the night before. A briefcase was perched next to him. He was eyeing the girl with a look of distaste, as if she was some sort of lower life form he'd found squelched on the sole of his shoe.

"Hmmm… That girl's name is Anidora, but she hates being called that, so her friends call her Ani," Gabriella said, scrutinizing the odd pair. "She's seventeen years old, and she's really smart, but she doesn't like school. She wants to be the bass guitarist in a band when she grows up.

"And the man…well, his name is Blair, and he works at a bank. He's paid well but he lives alone…he's forty-five but most people think he's older. He's never been married and he doesn't have children." Gabriella looked sad for him.

"That makes sense."

Pause.

"Did you ever come here with Evangeline?" he finally asked.

"No. Once I found out, I…I stopped. It reminded me too much of you."

"Oh." Troy felt sorry that he'd asked.

Part of the reason why they'd chosen the window seats at all was that they were secluded from all the hustle and bustle of the tiny café. It was nice, like Troy's old rooftop discovery during the years at East High. A way to sit back, watch the world go by and find new ways to view things.

------

Jack had never liked downtown. He made up excuses to not go there, not only because of all the riffraff types hanging around, but also because it had nothing to offer him. Now, he found himself weaving (with considerable difficulty) through the Saturday-afternoon throngs, trying to maneuver the stroller's wheels to avoid rolling over someone's foot. He'd done that with Troy once, and the man nearly punched him. Troy, however, had simply found it very funny.

He strained to see over people's heads, which wasn't difficult owing to his height, and glimpsed the glowing white 'walk' sign across the street. If he could just make it in time…

Apparently it was too late. The annoying hand sprung up out of the blue and halted him in his tracks. He was left standing at the very edge of the crosswalk, surrounded by likeminded people.

A girl, five years old by Jack's estimation, was clutching the skirt of a motherly-looking woman. "Mommy, look at the cute baby!" she said shrilly. "Can I say hi?"

"Of course you can," came the warm reply. Jack found himself hating her.

The little girl adjusted her pink winter jacket importantly and walked awkwardly to Evangeline. "Hi. My name is Cassandra. What's yours?" she asked, sounding very serious.

Evangeline giggled. Cassandra gave a toothy smile and reached into her pocket.

"Here," she said, withdrawing a small gummy and a tiny plush fish. "The candy's only one day old."

"Fank yoo," Evie trilled, taking the items. Cassandra looked enthralled.

"Mommy, look, mommy! She's gots manners just like me!" Cassandra squealed.

"Yes, sweetheart, but remember, it's got, not gots."

Jack was watching the interaction with such fascination that it took him several seconds to realize that the tiny form of a man in mid-walk had replaced the blaring hand. He hurried to catch up with the rest of the crowd, feeling like that little girl had been more of a grandfather to Evangeline than he could ever be.

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"Look! Look, Mrs. Jones, ma'am!"

"My word, is that Troy Bolton?"

"And there, with him, I could swear that's the Montez girl, ma'am. You know, the one they had photos of in the paper…"

"Lord…in my café…"

"Good God! Melisa Jones, why, you never told me!"

"I never even noticed them, Alan…here you are, then, one Heineken, on the rocks…"

"Mommy, can I get his autograph?"

"My, no, Carol dear, it's not polite."

"Let me through, Mr. Morton, I just need to ask a few questions--oh, where is my pen, at a time like this!"

"Sienna, stop staring and serve them! Here, here's a tray, put the drinks on that."

Both Gabriella and Troy pretended not to notice the strained whispers as a petite redhead, who looked around her early twenties, served their decaf lattes on a tiny tray. As she lowered Troy's cup onto the table, her fingers accidentally brushed with his when he reached for the cup. She gave a little squeak and bustled away.

"I touched him!"

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

"I touched his hand! Wow…I'll never wash my hands again…"

"You do that and you are out of a job, little missy. I won't have unsanitary workers in my establishment."

"Move over, Mr. Morton, I am on business here!"

Gabriella groaned inwardly as an entertainment reporter, whom she knew as Yvonne Labelle, scurried over to their table.

"Would you two mind if I asked you a few questions?" she asked breathlessly.

"Actually, we were just leaving, so if you don't mind…" Troy responded coldly.

Apparently Yvonne wasn't giving up that easily. "It'll be very fast. So tell me, Troy, how did you receive the news that your--" she paused to lay sarcastic emphasis on the next word "--girlfriend had kept something such as this from you for--"

He stood up and Gabriella followed suit. While Troy looked angry, Gabriella had that expression that only Gabriella could master, a sort of cross between being confused, frightened, upset and uncertain all at once.

Troy brushed past Yvonne and began striding for the door, but Gabriella caught his arm.

"Maybe we should just give them an interview," she said reasonably, adding in a whisper, "Just so that they don't make up all sorts of stories about us. Yvonne can twist anyone's words around."

Yvonne was hovering near them, pen at the ready, straining to catch their words but apparently hearing nothing. Troy sighed exasperatedly and turned back to her.

"All right, you can interview us," he said. "Just not here."

------

As it turned out, Evangeline had quite a lot of energy. So Jack was surprised when he was interrupted in the middle of Sports Illustrated by her announcement that she no longer wanted to play on the park.

"Why not?" he asked her.

"'Cause," she said firmly.

Jack sighed. "Okay, then. What do you want to do?"

Evangeline toddled around to the back pouch of her stroller and fumbled around in it.

"She likes to play with this." In his very recent memories, Gabriella was holding out the toy, which Evie now clutched in her fist.

"Oh, you want to play catch." Jack set down Sports Illustrated and rubbed his forehead. "Okay. I guess it'd be nice to see my granddaughter be a b-ball champion someday. C'mon, kid."

Evangeline squealed happily and toddled over to the neatly trimmed grass. Jack had barely taken one step off the asphalt before, in a display of surprising strength, Evangeline tossed the toy at him. It ricocheted harmlessly off his shoulder.

"Hey," he said seriously. "That's unfair."

Evangeline watched him innocently as he picked up the orange ball. He surveyed her wide-eyed expression before tossing it gently back at her.

Her reflexes were astounding; with lightning speed she leapt slightly and snatched it out of the air, wobbling triumphantly before plopping back down on the grass.

Suddenly the differences that Jack had managed to build between this child and his son--spawned mostly out of refusal to accept truth--vanished as he saw a one-year-old Troy looking at him in the exact same way, and moving with the exact same athletic grace and ability. For the first time, he found himself gazing at the tiny being whom, mere hours ago, he had wanted so badly to despise, with adoration.

"You're really something, kid. Know that?" he said stupidly, knowing that he wouldn't get a proper response. But rather than inserting a finger in her mouth and making gurgly baby noises, Evangeline studied him for a full minute before slowly transferring weight evenly onto her hands and knees.

Time stood still as she inched closer to Jack. He wanted to back up; maybe pick her up at arm's length and end the day right there. But, in a not-so-shocking turn of events, he failed to aspire to either of these desires. Before he knew it his granddaughter had crawled right up to him and was clinging to his ankle with one hand; the other was stretched up in a plea for affection. Jack, remembering how Troy used to do that, picked her up and held her gingerly.

"Time to go home," Jack said, shattering the fragile moment with four simple words.

------

"Yeah, this is much better," Troy muttered to himself.

"What was that?" Yvonne asked cheerfully.

"Oh, nothing."

They were in an elevator, shooting for the penthouse floor of one of Albuquerque's few high-rises. In no time the elevator stopped smoothly and opened into a wide hallway.

Gabriella breathed deeply as they stepped across the pathway of the sliding doors. He knew she was used to a higher standard of living, just like him, and it had been tough for both of them when they'd had to move out and into tiny, cramped little apartments, and though Troy was now very wealthy, he didn't feel like moving out just yet. The real reason had been to stay close to Gabriella.

"It is nice, isn't it?" Yvonne said, nearly dancing with excitement as she fitted the key into the lock. A chance to interview the two people who had piqued the interest of the populace was, clearly, her dream come true.

The door swung open and Yvonne, who practically fitted right into the atmosphere with her tailored gray skirt and blouse, let the way in.

It was expansive, modern and there was no doubt that you wouldn't find a speck of dust anywhere. Yvonne dashed about, setting her big leather bag down, fussing about the fresh flowers on the kitchen counter, picking up her bag again, dragging chairs around so that there was one facing two others in front of a vast window, like the set of a talk show. Yvonne perched herself in the singular chair and motioned for Troy and Gabriella to do so as well, clasping her bag like it was a precious artifact.

"Well, shall we get started then?" she said eagerly.

Before they had even reached their seats, Yvonne snapped open her purse, withdrew a coil notebook and pen, and began scribbling furiously. After several seconds of this she looked up.

Let the interrogation begin, Gabriella thought with a smile.