Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer. Disney own the characters. I play with them. Dave Matthews band own the song. I make no money.

THE SPACE BETWEEN

Troy Bolton had always enjoyed routine. He assumed it had been drilled into him during his younger years, training so hard to become the best athlete he could be. The routine of waking up an hour earlier to go for a run, attending training sessions after school, eating particular foods during the peak of the season. In his adult life, he'd fallen into an easy routine – his alarm clock went off, he would lean over and press a soft kiss to his wife's forehead and then head into the bathroom, still somewhat bleary eyed. On that day, she wasn't in bed when he woke up – he frowned slightly, but didn't think too much of it, continuing with his morning routine by heading into the bathroom. After stepping out of the shower, he slung a teal towel around his waist as he slapped shaving cream onto his face, made quick work with the razor and patted some moisturiser onto his skin. He pulled on black slacks and a blue dress shirt – electing to forgo the tie, he had no client meetings planned that day. Heading down the stairs, he found his wife in the kitchen, eating breakfast with their daughter, Isabella.

"Good morning," he murmured, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "You were already out of bed when I woke up."

She nodded. "Izzy has her bake sale today, I had to finish icing the cupcakes we made last night and left to cool."

"Look daddy, they're all finished and perfect!" Isabella declared, gesturing toward the beautiful creations, laden with pink decorations.

Troy smiled and gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead. "They're beautiful."

On the surface, it was perfection.

The surface was misleading.

"I have a meeting after school with the country club committee," she reminded him. "Izzy is going to the after school club today."

"Thursday is movie day!" Isabella cheered, more than happy to be left at the club.

Troy nodded from where he was pouring himself a coffee. "I remember. Don't assume that I forget."

"I don't – but you did last time," she pointed out.

He sighed. "I was stressed, babe, you know I had my big presentation due and..."

"And you forgot to pick up your daughter as we'd pre-arranged."

They stared at each other for a moment. He decided to ignore her tone, and forced a smile. "I may have to work late tonight."

She made a face at him. "Again?"

"You know it's all the Simpson case. Once that's over..."

"There will be another case," she finished for him.

Troy sighed. "I'm doing my best," he said softly. "I'm doing it for you. You're the one who..."

He cut himself off. She narrowed her eyes. "I'm the one who what?"

"Never mind."

"Don't never mind me!"

Fortunately, they were interrupted by their daughter. "Daddy, can you take me to school today?"

Troy sighed, and glanced at Isabella. "Honey, you know I can't."

"God forbid that you spend time with your daughter, wouldn't want to be late for work," she muttered under her breath.

Troy shot her a dirty look, before softening his features and bending down in front of his daughter.

"Iz, today just isn't good. I know I have been really busy lately, but you know I love you."

Isabella nodded mutely, smiling at her father.

With a sudden decision, Troy reached for his travel mug, and poured the mug of coffee in. "I'm going to take this with me."

"What about breakfast?"

"I'll grab something on my way in, from the bakery around the corner from the office maybe."

Without another word, he grabbed his briefcase he'd set down beside his usual seat at the head of the table and strode swiftly away.

The room was silent. Isabella glanced at her mother, who was glaring after Troy.

"Mommy?"

The blonde woman took a deep breath, and forced a smile at Isabella.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Are the cupcakes ready to go in the container?"

"Yes, honey, they are. Why don't you pop them in, and then go get your things together. I'm just going to have a quick shower and then we'll be ready to get you to school."

Upstairs in her bedroom, she took a seat at the dressing table, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The dark roots of her blonde hair were starting to become a little more prominent than she'd like – but she just hadn't had the energy for such a long time to do anything about it. She had no energy for anything beyond getting through the day, playing her role of the smiling wife of the successful sports lawyer without crumpling into a pile.

Her cell phone chimed from where she'd left it on the nightstand, and she rose to her feet to check the text message. It was from Troy. She opened the text.

Shar – I know things have been hard lately but we'll get through, I know we will. I love you. -Troy xo

The space between the tears we cry is the laughter that keeps us coming back for more

She always let him in. He would call her, his tone soft, pleading. She would agree he could come over – and nothing more.

She was standing still in her bedroom, facing toward the full length mirror. She couldn't deny that she was more aware of her physical presence when he was coming over. She slipped on a nicer nightie, pulled on a fresh pair of black lacy panties. She was full of resolve on the exterior, but as soon as he was there, every time, she couldn't resist.

He moved in behind her, body moulding into hers. She could smell the faint smell of bourbon on his breath. That's how he usually came to be there. A drink or five after work, and then he'd stumble into her arms. That day, it only seemed like one drink. A few years earlier, he would drink more before giving into his urges. As the years went on, it seemed he came to her with greater ease, with less regret.

His hands ran down her arms, causing her to shiver ever so slightly. She could not deny the impact of his touch upon her being.

"It's you, Gabriella," he murmured. "It's always been you."

She continued to stand still, not moving. His mouth lowered, suckling on the crook of her neck, hands roaming over her frame. She finally melted, finally relented - she always did, that was the pull that he had over that, that he'd always have over her.

The space between what's wrong and right is where you'll find me hiding waiting for you

Sharpay was lying in bed on her side, facing toward the balcony. It was 3am – just another night where Troy was 'late.' When he'd first started being 'late' he'd been more attentive about it – being no later than 10pm, or calling to check in on her, calling to say good night to Isabella, even before she was old enough to truly understand him. As the years had gone by, he stopped trying.

In every way.

She was awake when he eased into bed beside her. She knew that he thought he was suave. One of Troy Bolton's most endearing qualities was his honesty. He didn't have a lying bone in his body. Even when he tried, the truth was written all over his face. And if it wasn't written on his face, it was tell-tale in the smell of imposter designer perfume which he reeked of.

He'd promised to look after her, to do the right thing, to stand by her and support her and be there for their daughter.

And he did.

But never had he been able to promise to love her completely, to cherish and worship her, fully, wholly, the way that she wanted to be desired.

The way he loved another.

The space between the wicked lies we tell and hope to keep safe from the pain