Hey people! So this is Stolen from Ty's perspective. Not the most original concept but I had fun doing it and thought you might enjoy it. I followed the book exactly, keeping all the dialogue but have interjected my own idea of what Ty was thinking. Please review if you want me to write the next chapter…

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Stolen, Ty, Gemma or the dialogue in this – it's all Lucy Christopher's

THE COFFEE SHOP

I couldn't see you. I knew where to look for you but you weren't there yet. It was the first time in fourteen hours you'd been out of my sight.

I'd watched you arguing with your parents. You had been mad, they had been mad. You'd said you would see them in twenty minutes. They didn't even say bye to you.

That one gesture made me sure I was right. How could I let you be around people that wouldn't even say goodbye to you? But the fact was, I knew I would never say bye to you.

I knew you were coming for the coffee shop. I'd heard you ask someone where it was. So I'd ducked ahead to make sure I could be there when you showed. I suddenly grew worried that you'd gotten lost or turned back to apologise. Had going ahead ruined everything?

But you showed up then. Just in time. You always were.

I could see the relief on your face when you spotted the beige coffee cup on the sign. I watched you come in through the dusty window-pane. I wanted to be closer. But I didn't want to freak you out at the same time. I couldn't afford that. What would happen in this shop would determine the rest of our lives. I couldn't risk screwing it up.

You caught my eye as you went to line up and I thought for second all was lost. That you would some how be able to read my mind, see what I was planning. I jerked my head away, not wanting you to know. I hoped that you would come up with some reason as to why I'd been looking at you. Something about being a rude person or zoning out. You turned back to the approaching counter. I leaned forward slightly, trying to see if your face was white with horror. It was ghostly white but there was no horror in your eyes. You knew nothing.

Someone was leaving the bench now. You moved up and lent into it, giving your order to the uni student behind the counter. You fumbled through your bag for the money. The student was back with your coffee before you'd found it. You let out a sigh and pulled your bag open to let the light shine through. That helped because a second later you were counting out coins on your hand.

I could tell from my seat that they were British coins in your hand. I could see the edge of the fifty pence glinting. I knew this was my chance. I got up from my seat. The student from behind the counter by now had noticed your coin problem too.

'We don't take British coins,' he said, stopping you mid count. 'Don't you have a note?'

You shook your head. There was a sort of pleading tone when you tried to justify why you didn't have one, 'I used it in London.'

The student didn't bend to your will through. He'd probably heard that a million times. Almost as if he were programmed to do so he offered, 'there's a cash machine next to duty-free.'

This was my opening. I reached into my pocket, pulling a note from it as I sidled up to your shoulder. I was so close, closer than I'd ever been to you.

'Let me buy it,' I said. It felt good to say something to you, knowing that you could say something back. You looked up to me, straight into my eyes. My soul. Your eyes stayed there, considering. But just as soon as you'd turned you were turning away. You made room for me to move to the counter. I took it as a yes and handed the note over. You were silent as I took the cup, clasping it a little too hard with my nervousness.

'Sugar? One?' I asked, filling the gap. I'd seen you make your coffee a million times but thought I should ask nonetheless. You nodded, confusion still hanging over your face.

'Don't worry, I'll do it. You sit down.' I tried to sound comforting. I pointed to the little table I'd been sitting, showing you where to sit. It had two artificial palms on either side. Like our own little paradise.

You didn't move towards the table. You were scared of paradise. I knew you would be. I reached out and for the first time touched you. Even through the cotton of your shirt you felt good, right. Thinking back, my patting you on the shoulder probably didn't mean anything to you. It was monumental to me. The shock it sent through me was like nothing else.

I had to focus, get you on my side. Trick you. I didn't want to. But I had to.

'Hey, it's OK, I won't bite,' I said as gently as I could. A chaotic family caught my eye. There was a spare seat next to them. 'There's no other seats anyway, not unless you want to sit with the Addams family over there.'

My ultimatum worked, resolve spreading across your face, 'I only just escaped my family. I don't want another one yet." I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

'Nice work,' I joked, I even winked at you. Those twelve words, the first you'd said to me in six years sounded so good. They filled me with confidence. You were here. Talking to me. Looking at me. 'One sugar it is then.'

I guided you to our table. Ten steps from the seats I let you go and turned to the condiment cart. I watched you as you walked to the table, feeling in my pocket for the vial. It was there. I wrapped my fingers around it and pulled it out carefully. It was only tiny. The size of those perfume samples your mom collected from magazines.

I put the sugar in first. Then looked up to check where your eyes were. I caught them. They were on me. I held onto them as I quickly dumped the vial's powder into the cup. I smiled, knowing I had kept you from seeing the addition to your coffee. You looked away and I grabbed a plastic teaspoon from the cart and stirred in the powder.

I didn't put in that much. There was only a pinch in the vial. There used to be more but I'd tried some on myself. The guy I bought it from had said it would keep you awake but out of it. I had to be sure it would work though, so I'd taken some. It'd knocked me around a bit. I barely remember the day after I took it. I hadn't put as much in your cup. You were half my size and probably had a quarter of my strength. You didn't need it and I didn't want you over dosing on the plane.

My eyes stuck to you as I walked to the table. Your dark hair against your pale skin. The curve of your neck. The freckle on your arm. The top you were wearing let me see a lot.

I put your coffee down in front of you, pushing the coffee I'd had before you arrived to the side. You took it, taking the smallest sip I'd ever seen. I was worried that you had considered the possibility of my plan but then you let out a little breath and I realised that you just thought it was hot.

I picked up the teaspoon I stirred your drink with. I played with it in my hands, trying to keep myself from looking at you. From the corner of my eye I could see you watching me. I wanted to know what you were thinking. I wanted to ask you. Instead I followed social etiquette.

'I'm Ty,' I said, letting it hang there. I wasn't sure if I should offer my hand but I did. I needed to feel you again. You put your hand in my open fingers. I didn't shake it. That would've seemed so… I don't know, like something your parents would do. I just held it. I let the softness of it press against the cracked skin of my palm. I leaned forward, as if prompting you to return the favour. You realised what I wanted and spoke.

'Gemma,' you said quickly. I'd heard you say it to so many people over the years. Heard so many people say it to you. But now you were telling me. I wanted to smile but restrained myself with a question.

'Where are your parents?' Simple enough. You'd mentioned your family a minute ago. I wouldn't set off alarm bells by asking about them. Also, I wanted to make absolutely sure I knew their whereabouts. Sure enough, you thought it was a normal question. I left my hand on yours as you began to answer though. Not wanting to let it go. Ever.

'They've gone to the gate. They're waiting for me there. I said I wouldn't be long – just getting a coffee.'

The irony of that statement got to me. I felt one corner of my mouth turn up involuntarily and let out a small laugh.

'What time does the flight leave?' I asked. I knew of course. But I had to keep you talking. Not only to keep you here but because a change in your speech would be the fastest way to tell if the drugs were working.

''bout an hour,' you said back. I listened close but you sounded normal. They wasn't working yet.

'And where's it going?'

'Vietnam.' I knew that but it still felt good to hear that your parents were headed for one country and you and I were headed to another.

You smiled then. First smile of the day. First smile of the last six years. I wanted to think it was because you were happy at the thought at going with me and not your parents, but it wasn't.

You went on, 'my mum goes there all the time. She's an curator – kind of like an artist who collects instead of paints.'

'Your dad?' I asked, a little too fast. I was on edge now. You should have been about to slump against me not talking about your pretentious parents. Why weren't they working? Were you too strong?

'He works in the city – stockbroker.'

'Suited and booted then.' I didn't know if you heard the disdain in my voice. Both for your dad's job and the fact that you were speaking as clear as day.

You didn't hear my bitterness though and just kept talking, 'something like that. Pretty boring, looking after other people's money…not that he thinks so.'

I could feel a bead of sweat working its way down the side of my head. We were sitting under the air conditioner and it wasn't hot out. I was afraid you'd see it and think something was up. I babbled to distract you.

'So what is it you want to do then? Get a job like your dad? Travel like your mum?'

You shrugged, unworried by my waffling. 'That's what they'd like. I don't know. Nothing really seems right.'

That caught my attention. You felt the same way about your parents as I did. At least it sounded like you did. I pried further, 'not…meaningful enough?'

'Yeah, maybe. I mean, they just collect stuff. Dad collects people's money and mum collects people's drawings. What do they really do that's theirs?' You looked away then, as if you were worried about bagging them out in front of a stranger. But I wasn't a stranger.

I laughed at that thought. How much I knew about you and how much you had to learn about me. You started to glance around the area then. I got scared you were trying to leave so I asked another question, 'what does your mother collect?'

That pulled you back. 'Colours mostly. Paintings of buildings. Shapes. Do you know Rothko? Mark Rothko?'

I frowned. I knew that name. Only because I'd watched you and your mum at everyone of his exhibits. She thought it was art. It wasn't. I knew what art was. You would too soon.

'Well, that kind of stuff. I think it's pretty pretentious. All those endless squares.' You noticed my hand then. Still on top of yours. I knew I had to take it off.

'Sorry,' I said, not really meaning it. I let out a little smile, trying to relieve some of the pressure, 'I guess I'm…a little tense.' I paused for a moment, putting my hand to rest on the table next to yours.

You started with the questions then, 'what do you do? You're not still in school then?' I knew you were nervous after you said that. There was no way you thought I was still at school. I was so clearly not that I wondered if the drugs were starting to affect you.

I answered, wanting to hear your response, 'I suppose I sort of make art too. But I don't paint squares. I travel a bit, garden…build. That sort of thing.' I didn't want to go into details. You would see it all soon enough.

There was a little silence. You didn't reply like I wanted you to. Instead you bit your lip and untucked your hair. Did you want to hide behind it? Were you as tense as I was?

I needed to hear you speak so I backtracked. 'I've never been to Vietnam.'

You replied. 'Or me. I'd rather go to America.'

You didn't sound any different. 'Really, all those cities, those people…' I wanted to tell you that you didn't belong in the city. It was too easy too hide in cities, to get lost with the masses. You shouldn't want to hide. You wouldn't hide from me. With that in mind I reached across the table and tucked the hair you'd let fall behind your ear.

Releasing too late how personal that was I tried to cover it up by apologising, 'sorry, I…'

But I couldn't finish. I was too caught up in the fact that my hand was next to face. Brushing against your skin. I could feel the heat rising in my own cheeks as I moved my hand from your ear to your chin. I moved it so you were looking at me. Only me.

'Wouldn't you rather go to Australia?' I hadn't known I was going to ask that. Something about the closeness, the touch, had made me though and I wanted it to make you say yes.

You laughed. I don't know why. Did you think that was a stupid thought? You wanted to go though, 'sure. Everyone wants to go there.'

Everyone. I didn't like how you said 'everyone wants to go there'. You weren't everyone, you were just one. My one. The way you said it made it sound as if it was just like Fiji or something. It made me realise how serious this was to me and how much it wasn't to you. I heard you say something but kept my eyes on the ground, not wanting to reply.

But then you reached out. To me. You poked my arm, pulling my eyes back to you. It felt good having you want my attention.

'Ty?' you asked. Shivers went up my arm. You had said my name. You had never said it. Except for once last year when you'd asked Anna for a hair tie. It had made my week. Hearing you say it now, actually in context, made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. 'So what's it like anyway? Australia?'

Your voice slipped on the last word and I knew that the drugs were working. I smiled in relief. It was going to work. I was going to save you.

'You'll find out,' I said.