-1Title: Four times Troy and Sharpay never met, and one time they actually did

Rating: Teen

Summary: Four times Sharpay and Troy might have met, but never did, and the one time they did, that counts for the most.

Warnings: Some adult situations or themes, but as long as you know where babies come from, you should be fine.

Notes: For anyone reading my other fic Once in a Moment, never fear, it is still alive. I've actually been completely revising it, as I'm dissatisfied with how it's going. This was a way to work through that writer's block, and get back on track with it.

Four times Troy and Sharpay never met, and one time they actually did:

Wherein Troy is a firefighter, and Sharpay is far from helpless:

Troy Bolton charged up the fourth flight of stairs with unmatched strength and practiced stamina, breathing in liberally the oxygen the tank on his back supplied to him and gripping the ax with his name carved skillfully into the handle with ferocity. There was little time to waste, and no moment to spare, and even as his muscles burned in exertion and he longed to stop, he persevered.

When he reached the fifth floor, his designated zone, he began dashing about the hall, banging his heavy fist on the doors that lined the hallway.

"LAFD!" he shouted, his vocal cords straining at the extra strength he needed to broadcast in order for his voice to reach through his mask to the people beginning to open their doors. "Fire! You need to evacuate the building immediately! Don't take anything, don't stop for possessions, leave now."

It was all too common, Troy had found in his first six months of having graduated to the position of fulltime firefighter and not merely the rookie apprentice he had been, that even in the face of danger, people were incredibly materialistic. While he could excuse the children who raced for the family dog, and the old women who refused to leave without their cats, he had little patience for stubborn tenants who risked life and limb for their Prince CD collection.

With the sound of children crying in the background he moved to the end of the hall to take in the chaos in front of him. A leader had emerged among the people in the hallway, providing the others with directions as how to safely exit the building in their numbers, sparing Troy from having to play sheep herder. Instead he was able to take into account the number of doors unopened. Two.

He banged his fist again on the nearest one. "LAFD! There is a fire in your building! Leave at once!" He waited, precious seconds ticking by, before hunkering down and bringing his foot up against the door as hard as he could. The door wavered, telling Troy it was held in place by perhaps only a deadbolt. The action exposed the wood's weakness, and with his new information, Troy readied his ax.

In less than half a second he'd brought it down, and nearly stumbling into the apartment, he found it to be deserted.

He abandoned the apartment at once, banging on the second of two doors that hadn't opened the first time. "LAFD!" He brought his ax down swiftly, tearing through the door with strength he had earned through long hours at the gym and a training schedule intended to weed out the incapable potential firefighters.

He dropped the ax, throwing himself to the side as a metal bat came flying at his head, the force indicating the swinger intended to do more than maim.

"LAFD!" He heaved himself up off the floor and readied his ax, feeling only a bit foolish when he spied the woman in front of him. Had he not witnessed the strength of the swing of the bat, he would not have thought to match the owner up to the vision in front of him. She was hardly the tough, angry man he had thought she was, perhaps not even half the size of the person he had expected. Instead a young woman, of average height, thin and looking quite angelic due to the color of her hair, despite the bat in her hands, greeted him.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, leveling the bat to strike at him again.

"LAFD. Your building has a fire. You need to leave at once. It's on the ground floor. If it spreads too far we'll be trapped up here. Ma'am, drop the bat and leave with me. You're the last on your floor."

"I want some identification!" she demanded. "I've seen the news."

Troy groaned. Loudly. There had been several criminals over the past few months masquerading as firefighters in order to gain access to apartments in order to loot and assault. They had yet to be caught, and the news had been advising people to check for identification before opening the door.

"Lady, I just broke down your door with an ax."

"Identification or I start swinging now!"

They didn't have any time. Troy had spoken the truth when he'd told her about the location of the fire. He had been told by the captain himself before entering the building that there was little time. If the fire spread to encompass the entire first floor, the chance of survival for anyone trapped above, would severely diminish. Troy for one, did not want to have his name and picture added to the wall of honor located at his fire station for those who had died in the line of duty.

"Sue me for all I care," he told her, dropping his ax and moving so swiftly towards her she was startled and unable to make a move. He wrenched the bat from her hands and flung it to the side, then gripped her around the waist and threw her over shoulder. She screamed, naturally, but he was already out the door and heading for the staircase.

After exiting the building, he set her down. "The paramedics are right over there." He pointed to newly arrived EMTs. "I suggest you let them look you over." He left her side then, ignoring the rage in her voice as she called after him, favoring her side where she'd been slung violently over his shoulder.

They hadn't lost anyone, firefighter or resident, and as Troy settled down into his bed early the following morning, hoping to catch a few hour before the next alarm sounded, the beautiful blonde from the fire came into his mind again. She'd haunted his dreams that night, and the several nights afterwards, and for Troy it was all he could do not to call up a few of his high school buddies who worked at the police department and try to find out her name and new residence.

"You're looking tired," Chad, Troy's best friend and fellow firefighter remarked to him one stiff morning, both men nursing coffee mugs. "More tired than usual," the other amended after a minute.

"Can't sleep," Troy snorted into his coffee mug.

Chad leaned back in his chair. "Dreaming about miss July again?" he referenced the politely hidden Play Boy magazine under Troy's bed.

Troy yawned, "Hotter girl." He downed the rest of his coffee. "And much meaner."

Chad raised an eyebrow, silently demanding to know more. Troy told him as much as he dared, feeling foolish as the words escaped him. After all, the girl had been more than angry with him, physically violent towards him, and his chances of ever seeing her in a city the size that LA was, seeming highly improbably. Plus, he had sweet little Gabriella who worked part time at the bakery down on First and Bryant if he ever wanted to experience mixed company. Gabriella wouldn't come at him with a bat.

And in a sick and strange way, that was why Troy didn't want Gabriella. He couldn't explain it, and from the look on Chad's face, his friend couldn't understand it either.

"Is there a Mr. Bolton here?"

Troy looked over to the main entranceway to the firehouse, his seat in the kitchen affording him a proper look at the front door.

"That's me." He flagged down the man in a suit who held a briefcase to his side.

Without a word the man retrieved a folder from his case, set it into Troy's hands, and left by escort of the Chief.

Troy popped open the folder and leafed through the contents, eyes growing wide.

"What?" Chad demanded.

"I told her to sue me," he said almost breathlessly, "if she didn't like how I got her out of her place."

"Yeah, so?"

Troy slid the papers towards Chad. "There's my preliminary court date."

Suddenly Miss July was looking far more appealing again.

Troy groaned and smashed his forehead against the breakfast table.

Wherein Sharpay is a world class figure skater and Troy has two left feet:

Troy couldn't honestly imagine how he'd gotten talked into coming with Gabriella to take care of her errands on his one day off. In fact the very day off he'd been savoring and looking forward to for three weeks, being knee deep in his senior project and terrified of his upcoming graduation.

His plan had been to lay around his dorm room, drink obscene amounts of coke and a beer or two, catch up on his sports team, maybe not get dressed at all, and with his roommate Chad gone out of town for the weekend, maybe have Gabriella over and do more than just explore their emotional connection. After all, he liked her brain just fine, but he was a growing boy with needs, and she most certainly had been too distracted to meet them like any good girlfriend would. If he was a less honorable man, he would have acted already, especially with the cute red head who lived one building over and gave him the eye every other Wednesday on his way to meet his advisor.

Instead he found himself tagging along after her at the sports rink that she spend weekdays practicing at. She was a late bloomer to the world of figure skating, and therefore had no chance of actually making a name for herself, that much was utterly clear, but she liked the thrill, and Troy encouraged her. He came to her amateur competitions, and rooted her on no matter where she placed, which was usually very low, but all in all, he was fed up with ice in general.

He was a New Mexico boy. He liked the heat and humidity, and sweating, like a real man. He liked to do a hard days work and come home to air conditioning, a rerun of The Simpsons, and maybe listen to a few classic rock cds. Instead lately he found himself subjected to watching figure skating on TV, listening to Gabriella talk about it, and having to cup his balls and back away quickly whenever she suggested that he try it out, and that they could take up couples.

"It'll just be a couple of minutes," Gabriella told him fleetingly as they entered the large complex. She tugged at the zipper on her heavy coat, several bags thrown over her shoulder. Their presence alone told Troy that she wouldn't just be a minute, and that he'd soon find himself in a seat in the stands, and sadly without a copy of his favorite magazine to hold him over while she did twirls and spins on the ice in a way that made him too dizzy to watch.

"Why am I here again?" he asked, throwing his arms behind his head.

"I need to talk to my coach. I can't make practice next week, you know I'm worried about my physics final. I have to get some extra study time in."

Troy hung his head. That meant he'd be going even longer without warm company in his bed. And she'd do just fine with or without the extra studying, or naturally he was peeved.

"I'll wait in the stands," he told her, breaking away when the reached the division of locker rooms.

Hands thrust deep in his pockets he entered the arena, stepping down the massive staircase that led to the lower seats.

And he froze, surprised to see the figure on the ice. He was sure the rink was closed Saturday mornings, at least that was what Gabriella had told him. Apparently the owner used that time to do maintenance on the rink and clean it up for the group lessons that were held Sundays, and the private lessons that were given on the week days.

So who was on the ice, and what were they doing there?

It was a girl, he identified, moving closer. The blur of pink gave her gender away almost immediately, though Troy stopped to briefly note he'd seen a few boys in the sport wear pink. But he couldn't hold a color against a guy, because through and through ice skaters were athletes, and a man didn't lose his masculinity just because of a color, or at least that was what the progressive male in him claimed.

She was beautiful.

Troy wasn't picky when it came to the female gender. All women were good women, with rare exceptions. He liked dark skin as much as light, brown hair as much as red, blue eyes and green, and girls taller than him or shorter. All women in his eyes were beautiful, no matter what they looked like, through granted some were more attractive than others. Maybe it was a byproduct of having been raised by his mother and with four sisters, but Troy couldn't deny he wasn't picky.

But the girl on the ice, she was more than just attractive. More than beautiful and appealing. She was-- he didn't know what she was, but she was it.

She executed a perfect jump, landing gracefully as if no effort had been needed, and kicked her heel up into a tight spin.

Troy had seen Gabriella practice and perform more times than he could remember, and he'd never been anything more than mildly amused. But this girl on the ice she was undeniably captivating. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the twists of her lithe body, the flexibility she exuded, the way her blonde hair gleamed under the harsh lights of the arena, the soft contrast of her pale skin to the pink outfit she wore.

She was mesmerizing, and he was pressed against the safety glass before he knew what he was doing.

"This is a private session," she said suddenly, catching his attention. Her voice wasn't angelic, or soft, or expectantly feminine, but powerful and raw, and he liked it on the spot. "The rink isn't open to the public on Saturdays."

"Yeah, I know," he said, moving over to where the glass broke and he could talk to her without the glass barrier. "So what are you doing here then?"

She approached him closer, skidding to a stop with a small spay of ice. "I have permission to be here. Nationals are in two weeks."

"You're a professional figure skater then?"

She huffed loudly then, crossing her arms. "What does it look like? I'm not out here skating for fun."

He decided in that moment he liked her angry the best. Serenity was overrated. With the fire and passion in her eyes that she bore onto him while angry, he could do without sweet talk and pleasantries.

"You any good?"

His mouth was running away from him and he was being blunt and brash, but he couldn't help himself.

"Maybe you want to get out here and find out?"

She was flirting with him, he realized with a spark. "I don't skate."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

She put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. "You've got a nice build," she said, and he prayed he wasn't blushing, "you'd make a decent partner."

When Gabriella had suggested he take up the sport he'd been cautious, but suddenly the idea wasn't so bad, especially if he got to put his arms around the striking creature in front of him. "I'd prefer just to watch you."

She did blush then, and he felt a rush of pleasure through his body.

It was interrupted in a moment when Gabriella's voice echoed throughout the complex almost shrilly.

"The old ball and chain?" the female skater asked, a smile pulling at her lips. "The missus looks awful angry. Better go tend to her. Come back and see me when you're ready to put those muscles of yours to good use." She pushed away from him then, gliding backwards. Then she was back to practicing her routine, seemingly forgetting that Troy was still staring after her.

"Troy!" Gabriella called again, gesturing frantically to him.

"What?" he asked shortly when he reached her side and they left the building together, Troy fighting desperately to forget the figure on the ice.

"What were you doing? That was Sharpay Evans!"

"Evans?" His eyes moved of their own violation to the bold letters on the outside of the rink as they braved the cold. That was where the name sounded familiar from.

"You could get me in big trouble for talking to her. She doesn't like to be interrupted when she's practicing, and so close to nationals. Oh, Troy, if Mr. Evans kicks me out of his program I'll never be more than a beginner. Please don't talk to her anymore. She can be really temperamental."

He wanted to say that he didn't think she'd minded talking to him, and in fact she'd seemed to be enjoying herself with their mild banter. He wanted to tell Gabriella that he planned to turn around and march right back into the rink and demand Sharpay Evans teach him to figure skate.

Instead as Gabriella latched onto his arm tightly he sighed and said, "Want to come over today?"

Gabriella shook her head. "I promised Taylor we'd study for our Stats final. We'll spend some time together later, okay?"

"Sure," he said, keeping the hurt from his voice. "That's just fine."

Wherein Sharpay's daughter attempts to join the boys basketball team and Coach Troy doesn't like it one bit.:

Troy had been teaching high school basketball for damn near a decade and a half, just like his father before him, and his father's father, and his father's father's father. The Bolton men, be they in Arizona, Florida, Texas or presently Washington, taught high school basketball.

Naturally his dream hadn't always been to teach high school basketball. Neither had it been the dream of any of his forefathers, but dreams were just dreams, and reality was a cruel and harsh place everyone actually lived within. A college ankle injury had ended Troy's hopes of playing in the NBA, and with a baby on the way and a girlfriend expecting a ring on her finger, Troy had taken the only route he'd known would be available to him upon competition of college.

But teaching high school basketball wasn't without its perked. Troy got to live vicariously through his students, watching them not only live in their dreams, but break free of them. He got to push them hard, be the bad guy, make them regret joining the team, until that one moment that all the hard work became victory, and he wasn't Coach Bolton, the evil tyrant from hell, but Coach Bolton, the one man who wouldn't give up and settle for second.

And for nearly fifteen years things had gone according to plan. He'd moved his family to Washington, bought a house in a nice neighborhood, and joined the PTA. There had been picnics on Sunday, anniversary cruises with candlelight dinners, and the marking of his son's height on the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. Even more, his son had shown more than an interest in basketball. Even as a freshman, the kid was performing near better than the captain of the team, and Troy was sure by the next season he'd be able to appoint his son captain of the team and have no player contest it as favoritism.

But then of course his wife had left him, sighting irreconcilable differences that only too late Troy found out meant she had a girl waiting for her across the Atlantic and a job promised to her at Oxford. The house suddenly felt to big with only two people, but their new one felt cramp with just as many, and with budget cuts hitting the entire school district harshly, Troy wasn't sure he would be able to afford a slightly larger one, or if he'd even be able to keep the one he had. His bank account, which his wife had so graciously emptied upon her exit from the marriage, had been his backup for just the budget cuts that he had come to expect from working as a high school basket ball coach.

And then came Allie Evans.

It was the twenty-first century, and Troy considered himself to be hip with the times. He believed in equality, be it on the basis of race, sexuality or gender, and discrimination for any one of those reasons was simply unacceptable.

But Allie Evans was a girl. And she wanted to join the basketball team--the boys basketball team. And that was unacceptable.

Maybe that made Troy a hypocrite, he supposed it did, accepted that it did, but basketball was precious to him. Basketball was the one thing in his life that wouldn't turn on him. It wouldn't suddenly become a lesbian, or decide that it hated him because it couldn't stay up until midnight watching channels that Troy didn't even know they got with their current cable plan. It certainly didn't send bills his way, or cut his salary, and it didn't decide that it just wasn't ready to have a relationship just yet.

"She's good, Coach," his son had tried to tell him, being uncharacteristically bold when Troy was Coach Bolton, and not dad. "She's much better than any of the other girls on the girl's team. She's better than most of the guys on this team."

"There's line for a reason. The girls have their teams and the boys have theirs. That was everyone remains equal, no one gets pushed harder than they should be, and everyone gets the same breaks."

His son had shook his head then and replied, "She's an Evans, dad."

Troy hadn't known what he'd meant. Troy had learned fast, however, as only one day after telling Allison Evans that he would not have her on his exclusively male team, and making his point made crystal clear with the principal, Allie Evans' mother, Sharpay Evans, paid him a visit.

Maybe she'd planned it that they'd have it out during practice, in front of the entire male basketball population, and Troy wouldn't put it past her. She was a far more skilled opponent than he'd initially realized. After all, he'd expected to be met with some overweight, balding father who smelled of tobacco and believed fiercely that his little princess could do anything she wanted, especially with daddy's checkbook backing her. Sharpay Evans, looking professional and near deadly in a tight but respectful suit, blonde hair pulled back in a stylish French braid and briefcase in one hand, was the last thing Troy Bolton had expected.

"Coach Bolton?" she asked, barely looking at him as she advanced on his position with a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

Troy spied Allie Evans lurking behind her mother. "Mrs. Evans?"

"I hear you've got a problem with my daughter joining this school's basketball team."

Troy shot the members of the team sitting near them a dark look, pleased when they jumped up and moved to the opposite end of the gym.

"No," Troy told her, "I have a problem with your daughter wanting to join the male team. Mrs. Evans, this school had a female basketball team, more than capable one, I might add. Your daughter has led them spectacularly this season, and that's where she should remain. It ensures all parties involved here and treated equally, but kept separate."

Sharpay narrowed her eyes. "Equal but separate? Now why does that sound familiar?"

Troy glowered. "If you would speak to the principal, you would find that he agrees with me in this aspect, and so will the board."

The blond woman cocked her head to the side. "Mr. Bolton--" She paused when he interrupted her with "Coach Bolton, Mrs. Evans" to which she responded, "Miss Evans, Mr. Bolton" and then continued, "you'll find that if you speak with the principal a second time, you might be interested to learn that he's had a change of heart. Imagine, all I had to do was remind him that something as scandalous as discrimination based on gender could very well take down this school, especially amidst the budget crisis it's experiencing right now."

His mouth fell open as she continued, "And the board, which I might remind you is made up of equally male and female members, are fully aware of the last time a discrimination suit was filed against the system, and the outcome of the case. I wouldn't hold my breath that they're willing to risk national publicity of the negative kind, especially with the tight connection the high school board has with the college board, and how little they'd suddenly have to do with each other if this got out to the public."

"This is a boy's basketball team!" Troy said, voice rising. "There is a girl's basketball team! She can't join."

"My daughter happens to be better than most of the boys on your team, and she has a right to play on whichever team suits her skill level, be it the girl's freshmen team or the boy's varsity. And, Mr. Bolton, I've read the rule book, cover to cover, and it says absolutely nothing about you or your prejudices prohibiting my daughter from playing on your precious team. Take me to court on this, Bolton, and I'll not only get my daughter a spot on your team, but lose you yours. Push me, Bolton, push me."

And in that moment, furry on her face, and her fists clutched down at her sides, she looked prettier to Troy than his own wife on their wedding day. Which he found really disturbing, consider she was pushing him into a corner, destroying his basketball conceptions, and personally insulting him.

"But I'm a reasonable girl," Sharpay said, peering at him with eyes that made his chest hurt. "So I'm willing to make a deal with you."

"A deal?" Troy crossed his arms, moving forward into her personal space. "What kind of deal?"

"Your son and my daughter. One game, one on one, and no fouls. She beats him, she gets a spot on your precious team. He beats her and we won't ever bring this topic up again."

Troy peered over at the blonde teenager. "You agree to this?"

"I think," the girl huffed confidently, "that you'll be begging me to play on your team in less than five minutes."

Troy peered at his son out of the corner of his eye, the boy having been standing close enough to hear the conversation the whole time. "You agree?" he asked him, his voice full of his own brand of confidence in the boy he'd trained since childhood.

Andrew Bolton, maybe a little too short for a basketball career, gulped visibly. "Can I forfeit ahead of time?" When Troy glared hard at him, the teenager replied, "She's an Evans."

Sharpay smiled pearly white teeth. "Smart boy."

Five minutes later, as Troy picked his pride up off the floor and his son took Sharpay's daughter over to meet her new team, he was beginning to see basketball in a new light. Maybe a better light.

"She is good," he admitted, "really good."

"See?" Sharpay asked, "was that really so hard? You're growing up, Coach Bolton."

He brightened when she used his title. He felt some of his courage return. "How about we play one on one some time?"

"Sorry," she told him, in a tone that made Troy think maybe she wasn't so sorry at all. "I play on an only girls team."

And that was when Troy considered giving up women all together.

Wherein Troy is getting divorced and Sharpay is his legal council, not his moral:

One year. One year and three months.

Troy had honestly thought they'd last longer. After all, they were high school sweethearts. They'd gone to college together, and lived together and dated for more years than most of their friends thought humanly possible. They knew each other inside and out, were supposedly best friends, and Troy had thought forever had meant forever.

Their May wedding had been a traditional one, in her Catholic church, with her priest. They'd exchanged the traditional vows, and she'd been in a white dress with so many layers on the way to their honeymoon it had taken the both of them to get it off. Both of their moms had cried, Chad had been his best man, and when they had sworn forever just after their vows, he had thought the both of them meant it.

Apparently not.

Because it was one year and three months later, and she was gone, and he was alone, and they were going to court to decide who got what, and which house belonged to her, and what car to him, and to fight over the immense wealth they'd managed to acquire over their short marriage.

"Troy Bolton?" The door to the room he had been waiting in at the firm his Uncle had recommended to him after the man's fourth wife opened and in stepped a striking woman. So striking, Troy lost himself for a moment.

"I'm Sharpay Evans," the woman said, reaching one delicate and soft hand out to him. "Unless you should find me incompetent or unsatisfactory, I'll be your legal representation for the duration of this case. I suggest you buckle down tight. I've reviewed your case with several of my colleagues and we're in agreement that this case is going to cost you heavily, in both time and patience."

And, Troy figured sourly, his checkbook. The firm he'd hired to win his case for him was the best in the state, and being the best came with a high price.

Sharpay settled down in the seat across from him and began spreading out important documents on the table in front of them. "You've been married just over a year, correct?"

"One year, three months."

Sharpay sent him a sharp look. "Then am I to understand that it was not your choice to proceed with the divorce."

"No," Troy stated bitterly, "but I didn't do anything to stop it. She cheated, I cheated, and we wrecked the best thing either of us could have ever had."

She retrieved a pair of glasses from her briefcase and Troy thought they suited her. She was the picture of maturity without them already, but they gave her a distinguished air of capability. When he looked at her, eyes quickly scanning pages worth of information, Troy could imagine her winning his case for him.

In a moment of weakness he could also imagine her splayed out on his bed, skin slippery and appealing, sated after a night in his bed.

But the thought was totally inappropriate, so he pushed it from his mind at once. Just because she was attractive, and clearly intelligent, and without a ring on her finger, didn't mean she'd share his interest, or that she'd be willing to risk floundering into the rebound category.

"How much are you looking to walk away with when all is said and done?"

He snapped from his thoughts and took a moment before responding, "Everything that's mine."

His wife had crushed his heart, stolen a year and three months from him, cost him an extravagant wedding, and an even more expensive divorce. He wanted everything, and he wanted to make her feel it in every way possible, especially with her bank account.

A smile lit up Sharpay's face and Troy felt himself melt.

"Then you're in luck, Mr. Bolton. Here in the state of California we're very familiar with the concept. You'll have to split everything you've accumulated over the course of your marriage down the middle, but everything else is fair game, and what you consider yours, is merely a question of interpretation. I'm sure we can find a figure that you consider to be wholly what you are entitled to."

His lawyers willingness to destroy his wife's financial security disturbed Troy at that moment, even though he had possessed such thoughts mere seconds earlier.

She seemed to sense this in him and said, "I'm here to be your legal council, not your moral. I don't care if she was Suzie Homemaker and made you the best darn brownies form here to Reno, or that she fetched your slippers for you when you got home faithfully. She can be the nicest little wife in the world for all I care, or the most vindictive bitch to ever grace this planet. I'm here to represent you and your interests, Mr. Bolton. My personal feelings have no place here. Don't for a moment assume I have an emotional stake here, only an economic one. I'm employed by this firm to make sure you win your case, and that all parties involved on this side are properly compensated."

"Translation: you get paid when I get paid?"

"Got it in one," she said, clicking her tongue at him.

Did she have some nickname like the Ice Queen, he wondered.

"Close enough," she said, and he hadn't realized he spoken aloud. He blushed then, terribly embarrassed. "Don't be ashamed. I get paid to do an excellent job, and in doing so I find it absolutely necessary to check my feminine charm at the door. I'm your lawyer, Mr. Bolton, not your friend."

But god he wanted her to be something more.

"Now it says here you have vacation house in Italy and on the big island. Which would you prefer to keep?"

Sharpay had been telling the truth when she'd warned him the case would stretch out for far longer than he probably had the stamina to deal with, but her presence at his side soothed his frayed edges that were ruffled every time he met with his wife in front of a judge.

Before long he found that he had been in court against he far longer than he'd actually been married to her. And his attraction towards his lawyer had only grown, as they spent many sleepless nights reviewing his case, and many early mornings soaking up several cups of coffee at the café nearest the firm's location.

Then it happened before he could control himself. They were discussing the contents of the safe Troy and his wife had acquired over the duration of the marriage when Sharpay leaned particularly close into his personal space and he smelled her perfume. The fragrance was of sweet strawberries, and he leaned in to kiss her before he could stop himself.

It was brilliant, and electric and terrifying all at once, but it was wonderful, more than anything else. And so very wrong.

"I'm sorry," he apologized profusely. "I didn't mean to."

"You kissed me," she stated.

"It was wrong of me to do that. I should never have crossed the line of professionalism. I'm your client. I promise it won't happen again."

"You kissed me," she repeated in an exhausted tone, "and it damn well took you long enough." He stared at her wildly. "Mr. Bolton, I told you, I'm not your moral council. And while I certainly can't initiate anything, there's absolutely nothing preventing me from returning any affections."

He choked out, "Call me Troy. I just kissed you."

Then she kissed him, and two years later Troy found himself legally divorced, and planning a second wedding. This one, he assured himself, would most certainly be forever. He had seen Sharpay's ferocity in the courtroom, and there was no way he was having her against him. Ever.

Wherein Troy's mom forgets to pack him a snack and Sharpay shares her crackers with him, but not her peanut butter:

Troy, being that he was a very intelligent and observant young boy, understood that his mommy was a little busy with the new baby. His new baby brother, while squishy and fun to hold, cried, a lot, and Troy knew his mommy got even less sleep than him at night. And frankly, Troy was a big boy. He knew how to brush his own hair, pick out his own clothes, wash his face, and make sure his backpack always had everything it needed. He was four and a half, not some baby. But there were some things, like making food, that Troy knew he wasn't allow to do on his own, even if his mommy wasn't watching him so closely anymore. He'd gotten swatted good on the butt by his daddy the last time he'd played around in the kitchen and tried to make his own sandwich and accidentally cut himself, so he left that stuff to the adults.

So his mommy had forgotten his snack, and he could understand, but it didn't make his tummy hurt any less. And his eyes pricked with moisture as he sat at hid designated table and watched his friends go through their bags and munch on their snacks. Instead he tried to keep himself busy by coloring the paper in front of him, having given up on locating his teacher in the big room that served as the main kindergarten center.

Suddenly a pink flash entered his line of sight and plopped down into the chair next to him.

"You're Troy, right?" the blonde girl asked him, leaning her palm on her chin.

"Yeah," he answered, a little unsure of himself. He couldn't remember her name, though he knew she was in his class. In fact, she scared him a little bit. She always sat at the front of the room, and raised her hand for everything. She never played on the playground, she said she'd get her very expensive clothing dirty, and she'd cried the one time big Frankie had pushed her down in the mud, but then her brother had pushed him, and Troy had watched as a fight broke out among many of the kindergarteners. It was the only fight Troy had seen thus far in his life, and he hadn't liked the way the girl had pulled herself out of the mud, crying horribly loud, and delivered a blow to Frankie's nose that spurted blood.

"I'm Sharpay Eleanor Elizabeth Evans," she said, and Troy groaned inwardly. "That's two middle names," she continued, much to his displeasure, "mommy and daddy couldn't decide on my middle name, so they gave me two. That makes me better, daddy said so. And you know Ryan, he only has one, and it isn't very good either, it's Robert."

"You talk too much," he said earnestly, setting his crayon down. "My daddy said it's better to listen."

Sharpay scowled at him. "Why aren't you eating?" she asked, changing the subject.

"My mommy forgot to pack my snack."

Sharpay's mouth formed an O. "Louisa packs my snack every day," she said proudly, "but I'm sure if my mommy was at home, she would never forget."

"It's my little brother!" Troy defended, hands bawling. "He cries all the time, and mommy has to make him stop, and she doesn't have any time to for me. And she's tired all the time, and grumpy."

"I got a brother, but he's not little. We're the same."

Troy knew that. He'd heard Sharpay give a massive tantrum the first day of class when she'd found out her brother had been placed in a different kindergarten class. To keep them separate because they spent so much time together, being the same age, Troy had heard the teacher say.

"Here."

Troy looked down at the baggie that had been placed in front of him. He spied the crackers in front of him and turned to her with a confused look."

"So you're not hungry," she said, in a tone that was the softest Troy had ever heard her use. She seemed embarrassed, especially with the red tint on her face, and Troy wondered why she was, though not as much as why she was sharing with him. Sharpay wasn't known for sharing, even with her own brother, apparently.

"Louise always packs too much, even though mommy says if I eat too much I'll get fat. And, and, and well, you look sad. I look sad when my tummy grumbles too, so if you eat, then you won't be sad anymore." She hugged a small Tupperware cup to her chest. "But you can't have any of my peanut butter. Louise makes it special just for me, from real peanuts and everything. You can't have any."

He wasn't sure why, but he smiled then, and reached for a cracker. "I'm allergic to peanuts," he told her, even though he wasn't.

"Oh," she gushed, nearly flinging the holder away. "I'm sorry. My nana is allergic too! She gets all red and puffy in the face and she chokes and has to go to the hospital."

He felt bad then, unnerved by the look of true sorrow on her face.

"Its fine," he assured her, then broke the cracker in his hand in two. "Thanks for sharing, Sharpay," he told her with a smile. Maybe she wasn't so scary after all. Though later that day when she kissed him, and was terribly upset when he tried to wipe her cooties away as fast as possible, he rethought the subject.

A decade later, when both Sharpay and Troy were in high school, hadn't spoken to each other in years, and belonged to such radically different clicks they hardly knew of each other's existence, Troy's mom forgot his snack again. Granted, Troy was a teenager, fully capable of packing his own snack, but his mother did so almost automatically when she packed his younger brother's, before Troy walked him to the elementary school.

"Here," a voice said, startling Troy who sat perched on a table out in the school's quad. A sandwich dropped in front of him, and he looked up into eyes he had first seen so many years earlier. "It's ham, not peanut butter and jelly. I know you're allergic to peanuts."

He started at Sharpay, struck by the moment, and the soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. How had she remembered his lie from so many years ago? Why had she?

"You looked sad," she said easily enough.

"Thanks," he said, unsure how he'd found his voice.

She flicked blonde hair over a shoulder. "Well, I gotta go. Darbus is holding tryouts this period for the musical. Eat something, Bolton."

Then she was gone, her brother trailing after her with a distant look on his face.

Troy looked back down at the sandwich in front of him and smiled so wide his face hurt.

He had pushed her away and scrubbed at his face just over a decade earlier when she'd given him her cooties, and he vowed now, if for whatever reason, she decided to give them to him again, he's reciprocate. Sharpay Evans was hard woman to be around under any circumstances, but Troy was up for it.