Whiteotter's fanfic and original fic

Writing Meme!

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 12:25:01 GMT

Oh, why not... ;)

The "You Should Write..." Meme!

Whiteotter's thread here

Heh. I have to admit, I am curious. :)

It's not fic, but...

Wed, 29 Aug 2007 17:23:17 GMT

I've just finished my first SPN vid, and I hope you like it. :)

The Story So Far

Tue, 08 May 2007 11:01:33 GMT

Welcome to my headquarters for all original and fan-based fiction. Links to my more widely-read stories follow below. Enjoy your stay!

Connections, the series that got me writing fanfic again. Friday Night Lights, Tim/Jackie/Bo, G to PG-13, set immediately after "Extended Families". The series consists of the following chapters (in order): Tim Riggins, Babysitter Extraordinaire ; Long Time Ago ; Bruised ; Momentum ; and Chances.

Got You. FNL. Tim, Smash, Tyra, Landry, MamaSmash, Billy. Post-"Mud Bowl". R.

The Off Season, another FNL series, was a too-ambitious project, sadly. I hoped to update it every Tuesday, but real life (and an obsession with Supernatural) got in the way. The first two installments are still quite decent, though, IMO. The first installment is titled New Beginnings; Tim/Jason/Lyla/Tyra, PG-13. The series is set post-"State", and follows the citizens of Dillon through the end of this school year and the summer before the second season (and the Panthers football season) starts again.

Consent, Part I. FNL, Tim/Jackie. Post-"Mud Bowl". Mature.

For those of you interested in my writing roots, my first and most exhaustive piece of fanfic remains The Polar Novel, a Roswell-based Michael/Liz fanfic - I seem to just have a passion for Jason Katims' work (or at least for the first year of his projects). The 58-chapter fanfic series totals well over 1,000 pages and won the "Supreme Award for Best Fanfiction Ever" and "Best Unfinished Fic" awards from the Roswell Undercover Ultimate Fanfiction Awards. It was translated by fans outside the U.S. into various languages, including Polish, and even inspired some fans to create fangear for the project. While it is still unfinished, I do aspire to complete the project one day.

The Off Season, Part II: Blind Spot. FNL, ensemble.

Mon, 23 Apr 2007 23:57:43 GMT

NOTE: New readers should begin with the first chapter, New Beginnings. This is the second in an ongoing weekly series, covering events of the remaining school year and summer after "State". New installments are posted every Tuesday.

Title:

The Off Season, Part II

Blind Spot

"Alright, settle down now - hey. Mac."

"Yeah, coach."

"You wanna get your damn feet off the table?" Coach demanded, his gum popping. Mac rolled his eyes and set his feet down. I ducked my head, smiling.

"Thank you," he snapped. "Now, we got a lot of territory to cover. We're losing a whole slew of guys this year -"

All the coaches nodded, grumbling.

"- but almost all the key players are coming back, Saracen, Smash, Riggins, Bradley -"

"We lost our kicker," Crowley said.

"I know it," Coach muttered. "Get me a name by the end of the day."

"You got it, coach."

"Alright, before we get too deep into things, there are some administrative matters to deal with. It appears that we have a new student representative for the fundraisers this year - I know, I know, bear with me, now," he said, raising his voice over the groans. "I need a volunteer to meet with 'em every week."

"I get enough of 'em during practice," someone else muttered.

Coach flipped a page on the notepad on his desk. "Tuesdays at noon, it says here," he said. "One hour around noon, in this office."

"Screw that," I heard Mac say quietly behind me. "Dr. Q's new show starts at 11:30 -"

"The new student representative," Coach said, "is Tyra Colette."

There was a pause. Someone let out a low whistle, and then several hands hit the air.

Coach stared at the room. "You all are a bunch of damn perverts," he muttered. "Street! Thank you for offering your time."

I stared at him. Both hands were in my lap.

"Next, I wanna talk about -"

"Coach," I said, wheeling forward a few feet to his desk. "Coach, I'm workin' with Saracen during lunch."

He stared at me blankly. "He won the damn game, son. I appreciate your commitment, but I think you can meet with him another time once a week," he muttered, flipping some pages absentmindedly.

I wheeled closer and lowered my voice. "Coach, it's, uh - it's kind of complicated."

He looked at me. "Complicated? Really? Well, I'm sorry, Street. I had no idea. Do you mean complicated like planning a 200-mile commute to and from your new job?"

I heard someone snicker behind me. I glanced back and saw Mac reaching for the bag of chips, a blissful expression on his face.

"Nossir," I said, looking back at him. "That's not what I -"

"Do you mean complicated like raising a teenage daughter from four hours away?" he snapped. "Or do you mean complicated like getting one person to meet with a promising young girl -"

"That's one way of putting it," someone mumbled behind me.

"- who I think very highly of, by the way, for trying to better her situation, who is volunteering what little free time she has to help this team, once a damn week?"

I stared up at him and closed my mouth.

"Tuesday?" I mumbled.

"Yes. Tuesday, Street," he practically yelled. "Here in my office."

"Okay," I said quietly, and wheeled back a few feet.

"Thank you," he snapped, chewing on his gum so hard I thought his jaw might explode. "Next!"

*****

I took a deep breath and jerked the locker room door open, and the wall of sweat, dirty clothes and idiotic jocks nearly knocked me down.

"Hey, Tyra," someone called.

"Hey," I called over my shoulder, trying not to breathe in and moving quickly toward the office -

"Tyra!" Bart said, half-jogging over to me. "How's it goin'?"

"Fine," I said. "Excuse me -"

"You want to go to the movies Saturday?"

"No. Thank you," I muttered, walking around him. "Gotta see Coach -"

"Coach's on the field," Tim said, walking up to us. His hair was pushed back from his face and he was half-covered in sweat. He stared at the defensive lineman. "Bart," he said, his voice flat.

"Riggins," Bart said dully, and moved away.

I tilted my head. "That wasn't necessary," I said.

He shrugged. "It was fun," he said. "What d'you need Coach for?"

"It's against my better judgment, don't ask," I said, and then I frowned. "Wait. What're you doin' here?"

"What's it look like?"

"Like you're working out on your lunch break," I said, looking him up and down. "Don't you get enough of football at morning and afternoon practices? I mean for God's sake, Tim -"

"Let's go out Saturday night," he said, smiling at me lazily.

I stared at him for a second and sighed. "Tim -"

"I'm sorry about the state tickets," he said gently. "I misunderstood. I thought you really didn't want 'em, and I gave 'em to Bo."

I snorted and rolled my eyes. "Please. You gave 'em to the old -"

He moved closer. "I gave 'em to Bo," he said quietly, looking right into my eyes, and I felt my breath catch -

"C'mon," he said, closing his eyes and smiling at me. "Let's just hang out."

"It's not gonna be a date," I said, shaking my head.

"Okay."

"And not this week. Next week," I said suddenly. "I've got studying and -"

"Next Saturday."

"It's really not gonna be a -"

"I got it," he said, smiling.

"Alright," I said, stepping back quickly. "Well, I'm gonna wait in the office. You wanna sit with me, or -"

He glanced at the office and his expression darkened. "No," he said, turning away and walking toward the field. "I'm goin' anyway. I'll get Coach for you."

"Alright," I muttered, surprised. I turned to the office and opened the door -

"Hey, Tyra," Jason said, looking up from the desk. "We were supposed to meet at noon, right?"

I stared down at him. "Oh hell no," I snapped, twisting around and flinging the door open. "Coach!"

*****

"I'm afraid I'm still not exactly clear on what the problem is," Coach said, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

"I can't work with him," I said. "That's the problem -"

"Why?" he asked. "Why? Why, Tyra, why can't you work with Jason."

I stared at him, incredulous. "Coach Taylor," I said. "I know Tami talks to you -"

"She does, yes, my wife often talks to me."

"So you're aware that Lyla and I - she's my tutor, and - you cannot seriously ask me to -"

"I'm sitting right here, Tyra," Jason said sharply.

"I know you're here, I'm just choosing not to talk to you," I snapped at him.

"Tyra, I appreciate your time and effort, I do," Coach interrupted. "But Jason volunteered, he wanted the assignment, and it's been voted on and decided and such, he's our rep. And I know he is personally very, ah, very much looking forward to working with you and making this project a success."

I stared at him, open-mouthed, and then glared at Street. "You volunteered?" I demanded. "To meet with me."

He stared up at me, and then he glanced at Coach -

"You see?" I said, pointing at him and whirling back to face Coach Taylor. "Right there. He didn't volunteer."

"Could I speak to you alone for a second?" Coach asked, taking me by the arm and practically marching me back to the A/V room. He closed the door behind us and turned to face me. "What has gotten into you?"

"Coach Taylor -"

"My wife is over the moon about you, Tyra," he said, his hands on his hips. "She is so damn proud of you it's like you're - she believes in you. And when my wife believes in you, and hear me when I say this, you can do anything, and I think you know what I'm sayin' to you."

"All I'm sayin' -"

"I also think you know that she has gone above and beyond the call of duty to support you, to tutor you, to make sure that you get every chance possible. And my daughter and I may have our differences, but one thing I know more than anything else in this world is that she is a great judge of character. She is a great judge of character, and integrity. And you are her closest friend, Tyra."

"I'm just -"

"So what I'm wondering, Tyra, and I want to be real clear that you understand just how deeply my family cares for you and how much they believe in you when I say this," he said pointedly, "I'm just wondering why you're standing in my office making a scene about working with Jason Street like he's just stolen all this year's cookies from the local girl scouts!"

I blinked and looked down at the floor.

"Now you know my family's under a lot of pressure at this time, so I would consider it a personal favor if you could set aside whatever differences you may have with Jason and be the professional, responsible, dignified young lady that my wife, and my daughter, know you can be."

I chewed on my lip. He was just staring at me, hands on his hips, waiting -

"I'm sorry," I finally said, not looking at him.

"That's alright," he said gently.

"I get... protective," I said.

"That's good," he said. "You're a strong girl. A real strong girl. There's nothing wrong with being protective."

"I'll apologize to Jason," I said quietly.

"I appreciate that," he said, nodding his head at me.

"Thank you," I said awkwardly, walking past him and reaching for the door -

"Tyra?"

"Yeah," I said, turning back to face him.

He stared at me, squinting slightly, chewing on his lower lip -

"We are all of us proud of you," he said deliberately. "I hope you know that."

I stared at him, and felt my eyes start to burn -

"Yessir," I said hoarsely, quickly opening the door. "Thank you."

*****

I opened the door to the office. Jason looked up at me from his wheelchair like he was going to snap at me, but then he looked concerned and -

"Sorry," I said, swallowing. "That was - unprofessional."

He frowned. "That's okay -"

"No. I shouldn't have yelled," I said, walking into the room and closing the door behind me. I tucked my hair back behind my ear. "You volunteered."

His eyebrows went up a little. "I really didn't," he said, smiling slightly.

"Okay, well, you got roped into it, whatever," I muttered, sitting down on the couch and waving my hand at him before burying my face in my hands. "You showed up."

"You alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah," I said, letting my hands drop and looking out the window. "I just..."

"He gave you hell," he said, smiling.

"No," I said, and frowned. "Wait. Maybe."

He smiled broadly and started laughing. "Yeah, he did."

"Does he always do that?" I asked.

"Make you feel two inches high?"

"Yes!" I said, leaning forward. "I mean -"

"It's impressive," he said wistfully, like he was talking about the way someone threw a damn football. "You gotta give him style points."

"- all that talk about how much he believes in you, and he's proud of you -"

"Wait a sec," he said, shaking his head. "I think you got the halftime speech."

I frowned. "What's the other speech?"

"The practice speech," he said. "We're not good enough, we're arrogant and lazy, we'll never beat the other team because they're motivated and better organized and have better teamwork and commitment..."

"Huh," I said, leaning back against the couch. "I like my speech better."

He laughed. "Yeah, well, you got a different version."

"Really."

"We don't usually apologize to the other team in the second half."

"Shut up," I muttered, and smiled at him.

He smiled back, glanced down at the table, and looked back up at me. "I, um. I tried to get out of it," he said.

I stared at him.

"I didn't want it to be awkward," he said quietly. "I know you and Lyla are -"

"You know what, let's - not talk about Lyla," I interrupted. "Alright?"

He stared at me and then looked down. "Yeah," he said quickly. "Okay."

"I just - you know, we have to work together."

"Right."

"I think it'll be easier."

"No problem."

"But I just wanna say one thing for the record," I said quickly.

He sighed loudly, shaking his head and waving one hand at me. "Alright. C'mon," he said.

"I just - don't roll your eyes at me," I said. "I just want to point out the irony that I, the former town..." my voice trailed off.

"Vixen," he suggested.

"...vixen, thank you, I just find it ironic that out of all of us, I'm the only one who didn't cheat on someone," I said, shrugging and reclining back against the couch. "And that's all I have to say on the subject."

He stared at me for a moment and then nodded, pursing his lips. He swung his wheelchair back and reached for the office door, jerking it open.

"Saracen!" He yelled.

"God, don't any of you ever eat?" I muttered.

Matt came running over and stood in the doorway. "Yeah, coach?" he asked, glancing over at me and back at Jason.

"Get Smash for me, wouldja?" Jason asked, turning and staring right at me. "Tell him I need him to clear something up for me."

I sat forward. "Stay right there, Matt," I snapped, glaring at Jason. "Don't you move."

Matt looked from Jason to me and back again, shifting his weight.

"Saracen, why're you twitching like a damn ferret," Jason asked, not taking his eyes off me -

"I'm, uh. I'm tryin' to figure out which one of you's scarier," Matt said nervously.

"Well I'm your damn coach, Saracen -"

"And I'm the one who watches Lorraine, Matt," I snapped.

I saw the corner of Jason's mouth twitch up, and then he smiled at me serenely. "Never mind, Saracen," he said, and I gritted my teeth at the damn politeness in his voice, that made it worse - "I think I made my point."

Matt nodded and then frowned. He started to turn away, and then glanced back at me -

"Yeah, git," I muttered, waving my hand at him. He ran off and Jason let the door drift closed behind him.

"Alright," I mumbled. "Fine. We just focus on the project."

"Fine with me," he said graciously, and I really was gonna strangle Tami the next time I saw her -

"So, the first fundraiser," he said, pulling one of the pages toward him and looking over at me. "That's the pancake breakfast, right?"

*****

"Last set," Bradley said, looking down at me. "C'mon, Riggins."

- thirty-four. Thirty-five. I gritted my teeth and pushed the bench press up for the last time. He caught it in his hand and guided it over to the rack, and I let my arms drop -

"This ain't your usual weight," he commented.

I grunted and pulled one arm across my body, stretching the muscles.

"You and Tyra goin' out again?"

"Shut up," I muttered.

"Not bad, man," he said, throwing the towel at my face. I caught it in one hand and smiled.

"Riggins!"

I looked over. Six was wheeling toward me. "Yeah," I said loudly, and nodded at Bradley. "Thanks."

"Sure," he said, walking away as Six wheeled up.

"What's up?" I asked, standing up and turning away.

"Meet me in the A/V room after school," Six said.

"I thought we were training," I said, adjusting the weights on the bar.

"We are," he said. "We're goin' over game tapes."

I turned and looked down at him. "I've seen the tapes -"

"Not ours. Theirs. Sixteen games of sixteen teams, and that's just this past year," he said, smiling. "You're gonna be watching a lot of film. And bring a notebook, you're gonna take notes."

I closed my eyes. "Okay," I muttered, walking past him and sitting down on the bench.

He wheeled around. "You alright?"

"Yeah," I said, wiping the towel across my face.

There was a pause, and then he moved closer. "Is it Tyra?" he asked, lowering his voice. I shook my head.

"'Cause she seemed okay, actually," he said. "Definitely in a better mood after Coach talked to her -"

"I'm fine," I said, and threw the towel to the floor.

He paused. "Tim, if you want to talk –"

"I said I'm fine," I repeated, glancing around the gym. Bradley was halfway across the room. "Bradley!"

He turned around. "What?"

"You gonna spot me or what?" I demanded.

He frowned. "You did 'em, man. Three sets -"

"I got one more," I said, scowling at him. "C'mon."

He blinked at me. "Alright," he shrugged, walking back.

Six just stared at me. I lay down on the bench without looking at him and planted my feet.

"See you after class," I muttered, and reached up for the bar.

*****

It must be Tyra, I thought, letting the film fast-forward. Maybe she'd blown him off or something.

For all the talk about wanting to go pro, he had a funny way of showing it. He hadn't said more than five words since he'd shown up an hour ago. Hell, he hadn't said five syllables. And the notebook and pencil on his desk hadn't moved since we started.

I shook my head slightly and tried to focus on the film. I'd only watched it five times last night, scribbling down jersey numbers and googling these guys, just so I could work with him today and answer any questions. Not that that was likely, it was like working with a brick wall -

Let it go, I thought. God himself couldn't make Tim talk if he didn't want to.

It was just that he usually wasn't that way with me -

"QB's Michael Torres," I said. "Junior next year. His family moved out here from Atlanta. His older brother's a kickboxer, semiprofessional. Probably been showing him how to move since grade school. He uses it, too, look how fast he is on his feet."

We watched as two linebackers rushed him. He zigzagged around one and dodged the other without breaking a sweat. "Those guys are seniors," I said. "They went to the semi-finals last year."

He shrugged his lower lip, impressed. I paused the film. "So how're you gonna get him?" I asked.

He exhaled and leaned back, folding his arms across his chest -

"Alright," I said, putting the remote down. "You know what, if you weren't gonna be up for this, you could've told me -"

"I'm watching the film."

"It's not a lecture, Tim. I'm not doin' this for the fun of it. You wanted to know how to get it done, this is how you get it done. It's not just running faster or lifting more weights, it's research. It's homework."

"I know," he said sharply.

"Well you're not acting like it," I said. "What is up with you?"

He glanced over at me, started to say something, and then he looked away -

"You know what?" I said. "I don't care. You can't bring that in here, Tim. You want this, you've gotta leave everything at the door. You've gotta be focused every time you come in here, or we're wasting our time."

He shook his head slightly, closed his eyes -

"Fine," I said, reaching for the wheels to back up -

"I'd rush him from the side," he said quietly, and looked over at me.

I stared at him for a moment and turned the chair back to the screen, picked up the remote and pushed play. "Not a bad choice," I said.

We watched as a third linebacker rushed Torres from the side, hoping the QB would lose him in his blind spot. The guy launched himself at Torres and the the kid sidestepped him without even a backwards glance, ran ten yards and then threw a perfect spiral for twenty yards, and I heard Tim breathe out loudly next to me -

"...and yet totally wrong," I said, shaking my head.

"This is from last year?"

"Yep. And he doesn't just move fast. See how he's turning his upper body? He's checking his blind spot all the time," I said, glancing over at him.

He scribbled something on the paper in front of him, put the pencil back down and looked back up at the screen, leaning forward.

"You gotta watch his hips," I said, turning back to the film. "That's the only way to tell where he's gonna go."

*****

"You have got to be kidding me," I muttered, looking at Lyla.

"Look, my mom's at book club. She'll need at least an hour to sober up once it's over, so she won't be home until midnight," I said. "My brother and sister are with - they're not here. And it's quiet. We can work without a bunch of noise, or runnin' into - whoever, or having a waitress interrupting us every five minutes -"

"We actually call that providing service, Garrity," I said.

"- and I've got wine coolers," she said hopefully.

I shook my head. "That's your pitch?" I asked. "That's just sad."

She sighed. "Alright, fine," she said. "Another night of bad decaf. Wonderful."

"No one's twisting your arm," I said. "If you've got better things to do -"

"Right, like I'm gonna bail on you," she said, rolling her eyes and heading back into her house, letting the door drift closed behind her. "Just wait two minutes."

I stared after her. Like I'm gonna bail on you...

I nudged the door slightly with my foot. It swung open a few inches and stayed there -

I took a deep breath. "Alright, Colette," I mumbled. "Into the lion's den."

I leaned forward and craned my neck in -

It was spacious. Of course. And it had huge ceilings, of course, and a kitchen larger than my bedroom, of course. And nice furniture. And a fireplace.

I pursed my lips and crossed the threshold, balancing my textbooks on my hip, glancing around. And then I noticed the pale squares on the wall of family pictures, and realized that the only faces smiling back at me were Lyla, her brother and sister, and her mother -

"Ready," she said, coming down the stairs, shrugging a jacket on. "Let's go."

I turned around and stared at her.

"What?" she asked.

I squinted at her and pursed my lips. "What kind of wine coolers?" I asked.

*****

"...Westerbee," I said, drumming my hand against the frame of the passenger side window. "Twenty-seven."

He shook his head and glanced to his left, turning the steering wheel.

"C'mon, Tim."

"Gimme a sec," he muttered. "Two hundred fifty-five pounds. Favors his..."

"Right side," I said.

"Wouldja let me finish?"

"Sure," I said. "Go ahead."

He glanced back to the road. "Right side," he muttered, and I started laughing.

"I just watched the damn film, Street -"

"Oh, that's great logic. Sorry, I just watched it an hour ago, I can't remember -"

"Got his weight right."

"Yeah, you did," I said. "You paid this much attention to your classes, you might actually get a scholarship."

He snorted. "That's classes," he said, pulling up to my house and parking the truck next to my driveway. "That's different." He got out, pocketed his keys and walked around the truck, getting my wheelchair out of the back. I glanced in the rear view mirror.

"Rattlers," I called out. "Number 8."

"QB 2," he said shortly, carrying the chair over to the driveway and locking the brakes down. "Sophomore."

"And?"

He opened the passenger side door and rested his hand on the back of the seat. "He likes strawberry ice cream, Street," he said dryly, and I snorted and cracked up.

"And cats," he said. "Not much of a dog person."

"You're hilarious."

"His sister's smokin' hot, though," he said appreciatively. "Redhead."

"Shut up," I muttered, pulling one leg toward him and then the other.

"She's a Pisces and likes watercolors."

"Shut up," I laughed, and reached one arm out to him. He smiled and leaned in, giving me room to put my arms around his neck. I raised my head, letting him wrap his arms around my body. His chin settled against my shoulder and we stayed that way for a second -

"Ready?" He asked.

"Yeah," I said.

He pulled my body toward him and up, and I felt the dead weight of my legs drop down, stretching what was left of my spine, laughing at him when he groaned at the weight of me.

"Hey, no one told you to do extra reps today," I said.

"You ever think of havin' one of those salads you keep talkin' about?" he grunted, turning the both of us around. "Jesus -"

"Lift with your legs, Timmy," I said. "Gotta build 'em up."

He settled me into the chair and crouched down next to me. "I got it," I said, putting one leg in the footrest and reaching for the other. He stood up with his hands on his hips, watching me unlock the brakes.

"I want those game tapes back by Monday," I said, catching my forward momentum in both hands.

"Okay."

"I'm gonna quiz you, and there's gonna be drills if you don't know 'em."

"Fine."

"I mean there's gonna be drills anyway," I clarified. "I just mean there'll be more of 'em."

"I got it," he said, smiling a little and shaking his head at me.

I looked up at him. "And whatever's bugging you, Tim, you can talk to me about it," I said.

He looked at me, licked his lips and glanced at my house. I watched him for a minute and then turned away. "Alright," I shrugged, backing the wheelchair up and turning up the drive -

"I ran into Lyla the other night," he said suddenly, his voice quiet, and my hands froze on the wheels.

I turned around slowly, staring at him.

"That's it?" I asked, my voice low. "Are you kiddin' me?"

"She was a mess," he said, shaking his head. "She was drinkin' alone, and I mean the hard stuff -"

"You really want to talk to me about Lyla, Tim?"

He pressed his lips together and turned away.

"'Cause I thought we were doin' pretty damn well, all things considered, but if you want to talk about -"

"She said somethin' about a girl in Austin," he interrupted.

I stared up at him in disbelief and then twisted away, staring down the street -

"What're you doin', Jay?" he asked softly, and he actually looked fucking disappointed -

"What were you doing?" I snapped, wheeling toward him. "When I got hurt, what was goin' through your mind? What, is this about the two of you? Now that she and I are broken up -"

"That's never gonna happen, and you know it," he said flatly.

"- I know I lost my whole life on that field, Tim, and I needed you, and you weren't around. You were gone. You were with her. And don't say it was different, it wasn't any different, so don't look at me like that and ask me what I'm doin' when you were in the same damn place and you did the same damn thing."

He didn't flinch or turn away, he didn't even blink, just stared at me. And then he nodded, and his gaze fell to my chair -

"You're right," he said, and I almost breathed a sigh of relief that it was over, I'd said it and he'd taken it and now we could forget about it already and just move the hell on -

"Except you knew how it felt," he said quietly. "First-hand."

I stared at him and opened my mouth to say fuck you, you don't get it, you can still play and walk and everything else, you don't know what it's like, and he looked up, his eyes burning into me -

"Chair says you win, right?" he asked, his voice rough. "Every time."

I blinked, and whatever I was going to say died on my lips -

He shook his head and turned away. "I'll bring you those tapes Monday," he said, walking around the truck and jerking the driver's side door open. He started the engine and pulled away slowly, checking the street before he pulled away from the curb.

I sat in the chair, my fists clutching the wheels, and watched his truck turn the corner and disappear out of sight.

*****

I leaned back and took a long drink from my wine cooler. She erased something and scribbled new numbers down, re-checked her work -

She sighed. "So the answer's... is it twelve?" she asked hopelessly.

I smiled. "Good work, girl," I said.

Her jaw dropped. "Shut up."

I finished the wine cooler and nodded. "Yep," I said. "Done with that section."

"You are kidding me, Garrity! This problem was - like, three pages long," she said, flipping through several pages covered in pencil.

"How's it feel being an algebra aficionado?" I asked, getting up from the dining room table and heading for the fridge.

"Yeah. We're startin' the verbal next, smartass," she called after me.

"Alright," I smiled, holding a wine cooler up to her. "Want one?"

"Yes," she said, pushing the pages away. I got two bottles out and carried them over, twisting the tops off and tossing them on the kitchen counter as I went.

"Cheers," I said, handing her one.

"God, I'm exhausted," she said, clinking her bottle with mine and taking a long drink. I sat down and put my feet up on the chair across from me.

She glanced over at me. "Y'know, I went to that football thing," she said. "The fundraiser."

"Yeah?"

She paused and fidgeted with the wine cooler label. "I'm... workin' with Jason," she said, looking up at me apologetically.

I looked at her and then down at the tablecloth. "Oh," I said, keeping my tone light. "Okay."

"I tried to get Coach Taylor to get someone else."

"It's fine," I said, shaking my head. "Really. It's a project."

"Well, I just wanted to tell you," she said. "Y'know. Keep you informed."

"You didn't have to," I said. "What Jason does is none of my business."

She looked at me and smiled. "You really are done, aren't you?"

"I am stick-a-fork-in-me done," I said, grinning and taking a drink of the wine cooler, and she burst out laughing. "One of my favorite uncles used to say that."

"Also -"

"What?"

"Tim asked me out."

I raised my eyebrows. "What'd you say?"

"I gave him hell for givin' my tickets away," she said nonchalantly, tossing her head so her hair fell to the side.

"Uh-huh."

"Especially to the old lady," she muttered.

"And her kid," I said, pointing the wine cooler at her.

"Oh for God's sake, why does everybody - yes, and the damn kid," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Continue," I said, waving the wine cooler.

"I told him it would under no circumstances be a date."

"Mm-hm. And when are you going out?" I asked.

"Next Saturday," she said, smiling. "Thought I'd make him wait."

"Fair enough," I said, feeling the weight of the bottle in my hand. I looked over at her. "You ready for that?"

"You mean a non-date with Tim?" she asked, shrugging. "Yeah. Of course," she said, and then she frowned and her smile faltered -

"You can always change your mind," I said quietly. "Come by here if you want to."

"If the choice is Tim or the SATs, Garrity, I think Tim wins," she deadpanned.

"No, I just meant - we could rent a movie. Or go out and do something, whatever. If you change your mind."

She stared at me with one of her sidelong glances. "I think you should come hang out with Julie and me and Lorraine," she said.

I blinked. "Matt's grandmother?"

"Now that is an idea," she said, raising the wine cooler to her lips.

"I didn't know you liked her so much."

"Oh, words fail me for the joy that is Lorraine," she said, grinning. "We get drunk - I mean, not really, just a bottle of wine, nothin' serious - but we hang out, give each other pedicures. Well, I give her a pedicure, really, 'cause she's -"

I smiled, recalling the chocolate smudge all over her mouth during the trip to state.

"- well, you know, she's old," she said kindly. "But I just love her. She's so funny."

"Or we could go to a gun range," I said thoughtfully, and she raised her eyebrows at me.

"Drinking with Lorraine is probably a better idea," I said quickly.

"Yeah," she snorted, looking at me like I was crazy. She took another drink and looked down at the bottle. "Y'know, these peach ones aren't bad."

I nodded and stared down at the table, and then I felt her gaze on me. "Somethin' on your mind?" she asked.

C'mon. Like a band-aid. Just rip it off...

I took a breath. "I got drunk a couple of nights ago," I said. "I took a bottle of southern comfort out to the lake."

She paused, swallowed. "My mom drinks southern comfort," she said softly, setting her drink down, and I decided not to tell her where I got the bottle -

"I was by myself, and... Tim showed up," I said.

She tensed, stared at me.

"He took the bottle, got my keys out of the ignition and wouldn't let me drive home. I crashed in the bed of his truck, he slept out on one of his lawn chairs, and the next morning I woke him up and I drove back home." I paused. "I just wanted to tell you."

She tilted her head. "And did anything -"

"No," I said quickly, looking right at her, shaking my head.

She watched me for a moment, and then she rolled her eyes and I breathed in again -

"God, Garrity," she smiled, picking up her bottle and tipping her chair up onto its back legs, just like my mother hated, and I loved it. "You're so melodramatic sometimes."

"Oh, okay," I said, smiling.

She paused and lowered the bottle. "Wait - you were out at the lake?"

"Yeah."

"By yourself?" She asked, leaning forward, and the chair hit the ground hard. "Are you stupid, Garrity?"

I frowned. "What -"

"You can't just go off in the middle of nowhere and get drunk," she snapped. "Anything could've happened -"

"It's the lake," I laughed. "I've been goin' there since -"

"Yeah? Well what if somebody - you know what, next time you want to go get plastered, call me," she snapped. "Call Julie. Don't sit out by the damn road where anybody could -" She paused. Her voice was shaking.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"I'm fine," she said, swallowing hard and setting the bottle down. "I gotta, um. Use the restroom."

"Down the hall," I said, pointing. "Second door on your right -"

She pushed herself away from the table and stood up, walking down the hallway quickly. I saw her put her hand out against the wall when she turned the corner and was about to ask her if she felt alright -

The doorbell rang and she started moving again. I stood up, glancing after her, and heard the bathroom door close. I walked to the front door and opened it -

"Hi," Jason said.

*****

I sighed and shook my head. "Go home, Jason," I said, and started to close the door -

"I want two minutes," he said quickly. "That's it, and I won't come back."

I paused and held the door, looking down at him.

"Two minutes," he repeated.

"And you won't come back."

"No," he said. "I promise."

I looked up at the sky, took a deep breath, and let it out. "Fine," I said, folding my arms. "Go."

"I was a jackass," he said. "I lied to you, I kissed her before I came back from Austin and I lied to you about it. I should've told you and you would've been pissed but you would've understood or you would've tried to understand, and - maybe part of it was payback, I didn't think that it was, but if it was then that's on me too, because you don't forgive someone and then make them suffer for it.

"Maybe I understand a little better what you were - going through, when I got hurt. And just because I'm in a wheelchair doesn't mean that I get to be an asshole. 'Cause if I do that, then I'm just gonna be in a wheelchair with no friends, and I don't want to be that guy, Lyla. I need friends. I need my friends.

"And I'm not telling you this because I want us to get back together, because I don't deserve that and a lot's happened, so I don't even know if that's possible. But you've been one of the most important people in my life for as long as I can remember, and I've got to earn it back and there's no guarantees but I want that. I want you. As my friend. So even though you don't want that now and I don't blame you, someday you might, and if you do, I want you to know that I was wrong and you deserved better than that and I want to earn your trust back however long it takes and I'm so fucking sorry, Lyla."

He paused for breath and swallowed, and I stared down at him.

"So - that's what I came here to say," he said.

I took a breath and nodded. "Okay."

"Okay - what?"

"Okay, I heard you," I said.

He started to say something, changed his mind and nodded. "Alright," he said, starting to turn the wheelchair around, and then, "Thank you."

I watched him wheel down the driveway and into the night, and felt Tyra come and stand next to me.

"What the hell was that?" She demanded.

I shook my head. "I have no idea."

*****

I opened the door to Coach's office.

"Hey. C'mon in," Jason said, not looking up from some papers on the desk. "The others should be here soon."

I frowned and opened my mouth to say what others -

"Hey, Coach," Matt said, walking in and standing in front of the desk. Williams followed him in. "Riggins," he said, smiling faintly, and I glanced back at Six -

"Well now you're all finally here, I want to talk about after practices," he said.

"What - what're those?" Matt asked, glancing at me and Williams.

"You got morning and afternoon practices with Coach Taylor and the other coaches for the rest of the year. Your lunch hours and your evenings are gonna be after that," Jason said. "With me."

"Aw, man -"

"Sorry, Smash, I didn't hear that."

"Street, I got a girl with issues, I got a job -"

"You want to go pro in four or five years, Smash, you gotta work on speed, strength, dexterity and agility," Six said.

Matt stepped forward quickly. "Coach, I don't mean any disrespect, but I need that paycheck -"

"Which is why all of our research and studying will be done at the Alamo Freeze. I've been there on a Tuesday night, Saracen, I know hardly anyone's comin' in. Neither one of you are gonna have to change your schedule, so relax. Smash, you're paired with Riggins on weights," Six said, glancing over at me. "The two of you are gonna spot each other, and I want both of you twice as strong and twice as fast by the end of the school year."

"Street, c'mon, for real -”

"You want me to spot you, Smash?" Six demanded. "Didn't think so. You're gonna take it easy because I don't want either one of you gettin' carried away and pull a muscle that'll set you back. So I'm gonna draw up the weight regimen and the two of you're gonna follow it, and I mean to the letter. I don't care if you feel like you can push yourselves to do more, you stick with the plan.

"I also want all three of you doing dexterity drills. Smash, Riggins, both of you are gonna be catching with your non-dominant arm during these practices. Am I clear?"

Williams sighed and nodded. "Yessir," he said.

I glanced over at Williams, back at Six, and nodded.

"Alright then. This is effective next week for the two of you, so that's all for now," he said, nodding at Williams and Matt. "Tim, stay a minute."

Matt darted out and Williams followed him. "See you in the weight room, Riggs," he said as he walked by.

"Close it," Six said, wheeling out in front of the desk. I shut the door and turned around, resting my thumbs through the belt loops in my jeans.

"You were pretty pissed the other night," he said quietly. "You still up for this?"

I stared down at him, and then I heard the knock behind me and the office door opened -

"Oh. Hey. Sorry," Lyla said awkwardly, looking from one of us to the other. "I didn't realize you guys were talking, I'll just -"

I looked back at him. Jason stared up at her, stunned, and I saw the start of a smile -

"We're done, actually," I said, taking the door from her.

"Okay," she said. "Thanks."

"No worries," I said, and walked through the doorway, closing the door behind me.

*****

"Hey," Jason said.

"Tyra had some papers for you," I said, putting them down on the desk.

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know," I said, looking at him. "I wanted to talk to you, so I volunteered."

"Okay," he said, wheeling closer to me.

I took a deep breath. "What you said the other night -”

"Yeah?"

"- I'm not ready for that."

He stared up at me and then looked away, down at the desk. "Oh. Okay," he said.

"I'm not ready for that," I repeated, struggling to say it, weighing the words in my mouth before I said them, "Right now."

He nodded, and then he paused and looked up at me.

"Not now," he said carefully. "But -"

"I don't know, and I'm not gonna promise anything," I said, shaking my head. "We're not friends, Jason. We're - civil. That's all I've got."

He stared at the desk.

"But I... appreciated it," I said carefully. "I wanted you to know that."

He half-smiled at me. "Okay," he said. "Thank you."

I stared down at him, and nodded. "You're welcome," I said.

*****

"How long's it been?" Matt asked.

"Three minutes," Williams muttered, glancing at the clock. "Riggins, stop jiggling your damn legs, you're shaking the whole bench."

"Don't you guys have girlfriends or somethin'?" I muttered, standing up and pacing the length of the bench.

"Yeah, but Wavy's got Spanish right now," Smash sighed, lying down on the bench and lacing his fingers behind his head. "And watching you act like a girl is more fun."

"Julie's in newspaper class," Matt said, glancing up at the clock. "She's out in ten minutes, though."

"I heard Tyra was in here the other day," Williams said, craning his head up. "You two gettin' back together?"

I ignored him and paced back, staring at the office door.

Matt looked up. "Four minutes," he said.

"And eight seconds," Williams said sarcastically. "Man, would the two of you just relax? Be cool."

I shook my head and started to say something, and then I heard the snik of the doorknob just before the door opened -

I jerked my locker open and stared at the jersey hanging inside.

"- so what I'm sayin' is, you gotta read the coverage, Matty," Williams said loudly.

I closed my eyes. I could practically hear the gears grinding in Seven's brain. "What's that got to do with -"

"- and hit the breaks! That's important, Matty, you gotta hit the, uh, the breaks. Let's go lift weights," Williams said quickly, and I heard the two of them leaving -

“Hey,” she said, standing next to me. "Can I talk to you?”

I closed the locker and turned around. "Sure," I said.

She glanced after Williams and Saracen. "Subtle as a heart attack, the three of you," she murmured, heading out of the locker room.

I glanced into the office as I walked by. Six looked up at me from his chair and waved his arm for me to go after her -

I rolled my eyes and followed her out.

*****

"Look - I just wanted to say thanks," she said, tucking some hair behind her ear. "For the other night."

"Sure."

"I was kind of out of it the next morning," she said. "I didn't really say thank you."

I blinked, vaguely remembering someone shaking me awake and a sudden abundance of God-awful bright sunlight.

"It was stupid of me to go out there alone," she said. "Tyra was pissed. She made me promise I wouldn't do it again."

I frowned. "Tyra was pissed," I said slowly.

"Yeah. We're sort of - we're friends. It's kinda weird. But good." She paused. "I told her you found me out there and wouldn't let me drive home."

I sighed, closed my eyes and let my head fall forward -

"No, Tim - she handled it really well," she said quickly. "She's not upset about it. I just felt like I should tell her."

I licked my lips, shook my head and looked up at her. "Okay."

"She said you guys might be going out next week," she said quietly.

"Yeah," I said, wondering how the hell that was gonna go over now -

"I think that's good," she said. "You and Tyra."

"It's not a date," I said.

"Right," she said, smiling faintly.

"What's that supposed to -"

"It means don't screw this up, Tim," she interrupted, grinning at me.

I stared at her. "Well as long as we're talking about relationships -"

She shook her head and twisted away. "See, I knew I was gonna have to do this -"

"- what's goin' on with you and Jay?"

"There is no me and Jason," she said firmly, turning back to me. "And I don't want you interfering, Tim."

"Who's interfering?"

"I mean I don't -" she looked away and sighed. "He came to my house last night. And he said some things that were important. But I don't want him thinking that he and I are gonna get back together, and I don't want you telling him that, either. Jason and I aren't even friends at this point, and I don't want you stirring things up. Do you understand?"

I stared down at her. "No," I said.

She stared at me in disbelief, her mouth open. "What d'you mean, no?"

"I mean you were drinking straight out of a bottle, Lyla," I said, shaking my head. "You were wasted. You're still -"

"You do a lot of things when you're hurt," she interrupted, staring up at me. "You know that, Tim."

I stared down at her for a moment, and then looked out over the football field. "Alright," I muttered.

"But it's nice that you care," she said gently, and I looked down at her -

"Friends?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

I laughed. "Jay tell you about that?"

She frowned. "Tell me about what?"

I paused, shook my head, looked away. "Nothin'," I said quietly, looking back at her. "Yeah. Friends."

"Alright," she said, smiling and walking away. "See ya."

I nodded at her and watched her walk into the parking lot. The sunlight illuminated the curve of her body as she turned the corner and walked out of sight -

I turned and walked back into Coach's office, closing the door behind me.

*****

"You alright?" I asked.

He stared the stack of papers on the desk and nodded. "I went to see her last night," he said quietly. "After you left."

I walked over to the chair facing the desk and sat down. "Must've said something right."

He shook his head, didn't look up. "She doesn't want to see me," he said. "That's what she came here to tell me."

I looked down at the floor and remembered her pulling me aside in the hallway, saying I don't feel anything for you, it will never happen again, and then seeing her on the bleachers at practice and then later that night -

I closed my eyes and the memory faded. "She showed up, Jay," I said. "She still -"

"I heard you and Tyra were talkin' again," he interrupted.

I stared at him for a moment and scrubbed my hands over my face. "Yeah."

"Is she over the thing with the tickets?" he asked, and I couldn't figure his tone out -

"Hell if I can tell," I muttered, shaking my head.

"Well, do whatever you have to do. If you want her, you want it to work, make sure she knows it." He looked up at me. "Don't let her push you away, Tim."

I held his gaze for a moment, and then he looked away -

"You done your reps already?" he asked, moving some papers around on the desk.

"This morning," I said. "Came in early."

"Well, I'm gonna run the numbers for your weights."

"Okay."

"You can hang out if you want," he said casually, not looking at me.

I nodded.

"Sure," I said, watching him, leaning back against the chair. "I got time."

To Be Continued

Previous chapter: New Beginnings

Author: Whiteotter
Setting: Friday Night Lights. Set after the Friday Night Lights season one finale.
Rating: PG
Characters: FNL ensemble, but specifically Tim, Jason, Tyra and Lyla.
Author's Notes: Similar to the great body of work that Reunion and other similar fanfics are turning into, I wanted to write my own serial version of events. This story is set in the remaining school year and summer after "State" (Episode 1.22). New installments are posted *every Tuesday*. Check back for them, won't you? :)

Special thanks go to Whirling Girl for being such an enthusiastic, thorough and time-efficient beta.

Feedback is candy-coated validation, and I like candy.

The Off Season, Part I: New Beginnings. FNL, post-"State". Tim, Jason, Tyra, Lyla.

Sun, 22 Apr 2007 22:45:20 GMT

Title: The Off Season, Part I:

The Off Season, Part I

New Beginnings

"I hate this," she snapped, and threw her pencil across the room. I flipped the pages of my magazine and waited.

"A little assistance would be nice," she said sharply.

"You don't need my help."

"You're my damn tutor!"

"Yep," I said, turning the page.

"Just - tutor me already!"

"You got all the examples right when we did them together. You know this," I said.

"That was - that was different," she said.

I let the magazine drop into my lap. "Is this how you lost your last tutor?"

She stared at me, opened her mouth and closed it again, lifted her chin. "Never mind," she said, grabbing another pencil from the mug.

"I'm not gonna be there when you take the SATs," I said patiently. "We studied for two hours. You know how to do the problems."

She rolled her eyes, but also looked a little pleased.

"You just need to work on your confidence," I said. "Just finish the problems on that page and - then we'll go over your answers."

She looked over and shot me one of her not-entirely-fake smiles. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you, Garrity," she said.

I glanced at the checkerboard curtains and the wood-panel walls, thought about it for a second, and then I smiled.

"Yeah," I said, reaching for my Coke and crossing my feet on the coffee table. "I am."

*****

I walked up the ramp, adjusting my shirt before I rang the doorbell.

"Tim!" Mrs. Street said, opening the door. "It's nice to see you -"

"Hello, ma'am."

"C'mon in, hon," she said, ushering me in. "That was a great game, Tim."

"Thank you," I said, smiling.

"We are so proud of you, hon. Especially Jason," she said. "He keeps watching the game tapes."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said. "He did a great job with Saracen."

She leaned in and lowered her voice. "He did, didn't he," she murmured, leaning back. "Hey, have you already had dinner? We've eaten, but I can heat something up for you -"

"I'm fine, ma'am, thank you."

"Well, he's in his room. Go on," she said, nudging me and turning back to the kitchen.

"Thanks," I repeated, and walked down the hallway, passing the long line of pictures.

I stopped at Street's quarterback picture from peewee football. His arm was thrown back, ball in hand, jaw set, eyes blazing. Even at ten he knew what he wanted. I glanced to the right and saw the shot of the whole peewee team, Street and me sitting together in the middle, small and scrawny -

I stared at the past, and then I walked down the hall.

*****

I leaned forward in my Panthers-blue wheelchair, watching the figures run backwards across the small TV screen, and released the rewind button.

Smash dug his legs in for the tenth time, stretching his arms out, desperate to get the ball over the line, two of the other team's guys trying to drag him down, and then the ref's arms went up and the whole place exploded. Tim ran and practically tackled Smash in a hug, and Coach Taylor ran out to Saracen, and a flood of people wearing blue and gold flooded the field -

It was Smash's moment. He'd played through a dislocated shoulder, he brought everyone together in the final play, he earned it. And I was in there somewhere, on the sidelines, waving to my parents. My contribution was getting Saracen up to speed. It was an important job, and I'd done it well. I knew that.

I looked down at my useless legs. And sometimes it still just wasn't remotely enough...

I pressed rewind again and watched Smash run backwards for the eleventh time -

"You're gonna wear that tape out, coach," a low voice said from the doorway and I twisted, startled, and Tim stared down at me -

I twisted back immediately and turned off the TV, hoping he hadn't noticed, hoping that he thought I was being an overzealous rookie coach instead of missing being on the field, being able to run into the end zone with everyone else -

"Hey," I said, trying to keep it casual. It came out strained and I swallowed, wheeling around and smiling. "What's goin' on?"

"I can, uh, come back," he said, and I knew I'd blown it, knew he could tell -

"It's fine," I said, shrugging. "Just - wanted to ask Coach some questions tomorrow."

"Right," he said, licking his lips and looking down.

Change the freaking subject, stupid... "So what's up," I asked.

He stared at me, opened his mouth, and shrugged. "Let's go get drunk," he said quickly.

I stared at him for a second and then burst out laughing. I could swear I saw relief flicker across his face, and suddenly I knew why he was here, and I shook my head -

"Okay," I said.

"Yeah?" he asked, starting to grin.

"Hell, yes," I said, tossing the remote on the bed. I was tired of feeling sorry for myself anyway. "Let's get out of here."

*****
I leaned forward, pushing Street across the field in his wheelchair.

"Remember to pick up all the beer cans before we leave," he said, cradling the case of beer on his lap.

"Yessir, coach," I said, rolling the chair to a stop at the fifty-yard line and taking the case from him. I set it on the ground, tore the cover open and handed him a cold one.

"Shut up," he grinned, and popped the top. I got one out for myself and swallowed twice before lying down on the grass and staring up at the stars.

"It's weird not having a game tomorrow night," I muttered.

"Yeah."

"Hey, who you think they're gonna -"

"I told you, I don't know," Six said. His voice sounded tired.

"Still can't believe he's not gonna be here next year," I said quietly.

"Yeah. Well," Six said. "Can't blame him."

I swallowed. Any one of you got an offer to TMU, you'd take it...

"You talked to Tyra lately?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Nah," I said. "She was pretty pissed after I gave the state tickets to Jackie and Bo."

He laughed, shook his head, and raised the beer to his lips.

"Well how was I supposed to know?" I muttered, propping myself up on my elbows. "She told me she'd have to think about it and see how she felt that day, and then she waits until the damn bus is leaving?"

"Yeah," he said sympathetically, and snorted. "You're an idiot."

"Yeah, I know," I said, smiling, and the silence settled between us. I took a deep breath -

He cleared his throat. "Lyla's, um. She's not talking to me," he said.

I kept my eyes on the lights for a moment and then glanced over at him, not saying anything. It was still too raw, talking about her, we never talked about -

"So, you know. You're not the only one screwing up," he said wryly, shaking his head and raising the beer to his mouth.

I nodded and stared back up at the sky, thinking.

"Alright. That's the team and girls," he said. "What's up, Tim?"

I frowned, looked over at him. "What're you talking about?"

He waved the beer at the football field. "This. You and me. Tonight."

I sat up, shrugged. "Nothin'," I said, finishing my beer and tossing the empty can to the side. I reached into the case and held one out to him. He shook his head. I stood up, popping the top of the beer, turning my back to him and staring at the goal posts -

"Timmy," he said.

Fuck. This was a bad idea...

"You wanna go pro," he said quietly.

I laughed sharply and didn't turn around, taking a long swallow of beer.

"You saw that stadium," he said. "You got into that locker room. You saw your name over your locker -"

I shouldn't have gone to his house. I should've left as soon as I saw the look on his face. I shouldn't have brought him here -

"- and now you want it," he said. "College ball, going pro, all of it."

I took a deep breath and turned around to face him. "Even if I did -"

"You do, Timmy," he said, smiling a little, eyes sad. "You want it."

I looked away, staring at the bleachers, and didn't say anything.

"Ask me how I know," he said, looking down at the field, his hands resting on the wheels of his chair. I closed my eyes and for some reason remembered the hospital just before the away game, his hand clutching mine, and where the hell you been -

"Lemme guess," he said. "You didn't know how it was gonna feel. Being there, out on that field."

I stared down at the beer in my hand, shook my head. "Six..."

"Yeah," he said quietly. He drank the rest of his beer and tossed the empty can to the side, and I opened my mouth to say sorry but it felt so small and worthless and fucking stupid -

"Well, you're good, Tim," he said suddenly, rolling over to the case of beer. "But you're not that good." He reached down, snatched a beer in his hand, smiled up at me, and I almost breathed a sigh of relief -

"I know," I said, the beginning of a smile tugging at my mouth.

"I mean, you'd have to start working. Really working. You're doing good work for Saracen and Smash and you're working with the team, but you could be doing more," he said, popping the top of the can and taking a long drink. He leaned his head back and stared up at the lights.

"Not to mention your grades suck," he said.

"There is that," I said dryly.

"So you're gonna need a scholarship," he said, frowning, pursing his lips. He leaned forward, hands clasped together, staring up at me.

"Okay. Here's the plan. What classes d'you have for next year?"

I frowned, shrugged. Next year? "I dunno. Depends on whether or not I pass 'em this year."

"Oh - you're passin' all your classes," he said firmly. "Find out about next year. Ask Mrs. T. And then order the books for 'em at the beginning of summer. You're gonna complete all the reading for next year over the summer. And I mean you, Tim, not the rally girls."

I swallowed wrong and coughed. "You been talking to Mrs. T?"

"No. Why?"

I swiped my hand across my mouth, pursed my lower lip and shrugged. "No reason," I mumbled, raising the beer to my lips.

"There's no way you're gonna go pro if you fail outta college your first semester. And you and I are gonna do drills every night. Yes, every night," he said, seeing the look on my face. "You're getting sloppy with your blocking."

This time I actually choked.

"You're leading with your shoulder," he said. "You've been doing it since the semi-finals. You hurt your left shoulder when you put Junior Silverio down in Gatlin, and because you're pig-headed and stubborn and you can get away with it most of the time, you've been leading with your right every game since, instead of digging your legs like you're supposed to. I've seen the game tapes, Tim. Tell me I'm wrong," he said, eyebrows up, glaring at me.

I opened my mouth and closed it again.

"That's a good way to get hurt," he said. "You need to build up the strength in your legs, Timmy, and if I know it, you can bet every other damn team in Texas knows it. And they're gonna try to rip you in half next season. 'Cause if they get to you, they get to Smash or Saracen, and that's the whole ball game."

"Can I say somethin'?"

"What?"

"This coaching thing's really gone to your head, man," I said, grinning.

He stared up at me and sat back in his chair, folding one hand on top of the other. "Why'd you bring me here tonight, Tim?"

"I thought you might like a drink, but -"

"You want me to coach you," he said. "You want my help. Right?"

I shifted my weight, stared down at him. "Yeah," I finally said.

"Well, you're my best friend, Tim. But my bein' your best friend is not gonna help you get to the pros. We do this, I'm not gonna hold your damn hand. I'm gonna be ridin' your ass every day. So let's start with the truth of it," he said, leaning forward. "And I wanna be real clear on this.

"You have been coasting since JV. You showed up half-drunk for all of sophomore year, half of this year, Coach put you in the damn ring the first day of practice. You're leading with your shoulder, you hate digging your legs, and you're still one of the top players on the state-winning team. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I looked at the bleachers and back at him. "No," I said. "Are you sayin' I can't do it?"

"No, that's -" he shook his head, exasperated, and when he spoke again his voice was quieter. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that you're barely even trying, Tim. You just started trying this year. The last time you really tried was -" he stopped short and turned, staring at the goal posts across from me.

Homecoming, I thought, and wondered when the fuck this was gonna get any easier -

"- I'm saying you're not trying," he said, turning back and plowing through the tension, batting it away with his hands. "You're working with the team, which is an improvement, but I don't know what you're capable of, 'cause we've barely seen how you play when you really want it. And if you really want this, I'm not gonna let you slide. It's not gonna be you and me hanging out in the back yard and Saracen throwing you the ball. It's gonna be work, and it's gonna suck -"

"I know."

"- so you better be sure you want this, Timmy -"

"I want it."

"- and at the end, there's still no guarantee that we'll be any better off than when we started."

I stared down at him, and suddenly the we in that sentence registered -

"Six," I said gently. "I want it."

He stared up at me, glanced at the lights, and then looked back at me.

"Tell me one thing," he asked, and this time the coach was gone and it was just Six and me out on the field, under the lights -

"Tell me why."

I frowned, staring back at him, and fumbled for an answer. Because I feel alive out there. Because I like to put the sonofabitches down, just so we both know I can. Because I like being part of something, and I like charging the field and the roar of the crowd and the adrenaline and the afterparties and the sex and we're gonna get that goddamn huntin' ranch if I have to put a thousand linebackers down to get it -

"I just want it," I said hoarsely, and waited.

He looked at me again, looking through me like he'd done his whole damn life, to see what I really meant -

"Alright," he said, shaking his head and smiling a little, and I felt all the tension in me dissolve into nothingness. "But I'm gonna have to split my time between you and Saracen, and that's gonna make me -"

"Pissy as all hell?"

"I was gonna say focused."

I nodded. "Right."

"And motivated."

"Sure."

"Not to mention incredibly demanding."

"For a change of pace."

"Just so we're clear."

I lowered my head and licked my lips, grinning.

"Yeah," I said quietly, looking at him. "We're clear."

*****

I walked down the hallway and leaned against the doorway. "Hey," I said, smiling.

She turned in her office chair, tossing her hair slightly to the side. "Hey, girl," she said, beaming. "How're you doin'?"

"I'm okay," I said, walking into her office. "How're you?"

"I'm good. You got any big plans for this weekend?" she asked, rifling through a stack of file folders.

"Just studying. Again. Some more," I said. "I got a note you wanted to see me..."

"Yes. Hold on. I got some transcripts I wanted to talk to you about, an' I got some brochures on some community colleges... hang on..."

I sat down on the couch and waited. The sunlight was pouring in through the slats in the blinds, catching the dust motes in the room so they glittered like tiny diamonds -

"Here we go," she said, turning back to me. "Okay. Your test scores are up, and that's great news -"

"Thank you," I said proudly, grinning.

"- but we need to build up your extracurricular activities," she said, looking up at me.

I stared at her. "I don't have time for extracurricular activities, Mrs. T," I said.

"I know."

"I'm gonna lose my job if I cut back my hours anymore -"

"Sweetie -"

"And Lyla Garrity is just great, by the way, thank you so much for setting that up -"

"Tyra, I don't know what happened between you and Landry, and I don't need to. You told me you needed another tutor and I got you one."

"There wasn't, I don't know, anyone else?"

"I don't know, I didn't go to the tutoring pool. I just asked her," she said.

"You did?"

"Yes. And given that she dropped out of every leadership role in every organization on the books as soon as state was over, I think she would've said no if I'd asked her to tutor anyone else. Now listen to me," she said, leaning in. "I know this is hard, I do. But you are doing really, really well, and I just want you to be as prepared as possible for the future -"

"What does what I do in my free time have to do with -"

"Colleges pay attention to that," she said simply. "They just do. It shows community involvement, and selflessness, and contributing to the well-being of others, and it can be the deciding factor for admissions or for scholarships. And it opens up a whole world of opportunities as far as partial scholarships are concerned. I know it seems insignificant, but doing this will, I promise you, help to get you what you want."

I sighed. "Mrs. T, I don't -"

"I already talked to your mom," Mrs. T said. "She said we'd figure something out. And I think I found something that will work within your schedule, you can do it here at school in your spare time."

"I don't have spare time," I said. "You've got my schedule booked solid."

"What if I told you I found some time?"

I threw my hands up in exasperation. "Fine. Tell me when I have time to build a damn homecoming float or whatever it is."

"You have... time on your lunch break," she said casually.

"My lunch break," I repeated.

"Mm-hmm," she nodded. Her fingers twirled a lock of hair absentmindedly.

"Here at school."

"Uh-huh."

"Mrs. T, does this have anything to do with football?"

"Now, I know what you're gonna say -"

"No way," I said. "No way -"

"- but a little bird told me that you're great at organizing parties and such," she said, opening a file folder.

I scowled. "Who told you that?"

"Julie," she said breezily. "She said somethin' about a homecoming party? And look, I know you hate football -"

"Only with the passion of a thousand supernovas," I muttered.

"See? A month ago you wouldn't even have known what a supernova was. You go girl," she said. "Now, the Panthers need someone to help organize their fundraisers this year. That means scouting locations, being in charge of scheduling, negotiating with caterers, selecting a menu -"

"Mrs. T?"

"Yeah, hon?"

"Who did this job?" I asked, glaring at her. "Previously?"

She stared at me blankly and blinked. "Well..."

"I knew it," I snapped.

"Alright. It was Lyla. But honey -"

"I am not gonna be this year's Lyla Garrity, Mrs. T. That is not who I am -"

"No one ever said you were, or that you were gonna be," she said soothingly. "You're you, you're Tyra, and you are completely different from Lyla. You are a different person and we all know that."

Damn skippy, I thought, glaring at the wall.

"But... in the meantime, honey, you know, she left a lot of positions open when she dropped out of everything after the state game, and some of 'em are gonna look real good for you," she said. "Look, you don't have to do it her way. You can do it your way. But it's minimal hours, you know the people and they really need your help, it's something you can do here at school without interfering with your job, it'll have you home at night with your mom, I know it's something you'd be good at... where's the downside here, honey?"

"No way," I said, crossing my legs and folding my arms. "I'm not doin' it."

She stared at me, sighed, and leaned back in her chair. "Well, okay," she said finally, turning back to her desk. "I'll find something else for you."

I stared at her suspiciously. "Really?"

"Well sure, if it makes you uncomfortable, sweetie."

"I didn't say that."

"And if you and Lyla aren't gettin' along, you know, I can certainly find someone else to help you."

"It's not - she's fine, actually, but -"

"Well then what is it, hon?" she asked, turning back to me.

I stared at her for a moment.

"Tell me," she said, her voice intense. "Tell me and we will work together to straighten it out."

I blinked. "This is reverse psychology, isn't it," I said.

She smiled. "You do get smarter every day, girl, and I love that about you."

I sighed, rolled my eyes and held my hand out for the file. She beamed at me like it was Christmas damn morning, and I almost wanted to strangle her.

"I took the liberty of setting up a meeting for you this Tuesday at noon," she said sweetly, placing the folder in my hand. "Will that work for you, sugar?"

*****

I got into my truck and stared down at the list Street made for me. Two percent milk. Whole grain bread. Bottled water. Turkey. Spinach...

I shook my head. Billy was either gonna freak out or jump for joy, I didn't know which.

I'd laughed out loud when Jay said I should give up drinking. He said he was serious and that it wasn't a good sign he was already questioning my commitment, and I pointed out that I was gonna be a senior in Texas, for fuck's sake, and that I'd almost rather give up football than drinking, and that I was half-sorry I'd ever brought the damn subject up in the first place. He'd sulked about that until I agreed to give up the hard stuff until the season was over, and even then he grumbled the whole way home.

We were both grinning when I dropped him off at his house.

I leaned forward, popped the glove compartment open, and tossed the list in. It fell next to the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels.

It was too early to go home. Billy was gonna have nothing but questions once I showed him the grocery list. He did say we were starting training tomorrow...

I smiled, turned the key in the ignition, and backed out of the drive.

*****

I heard the music ten minutes before I reached the lake. Five minutes before, I saw the headlights. I nearly kept going until I recognized the car.

The doors were flung open, her headlights were on, some chick was wailing about some guy who'd done her wrong on the radio, and damn if Lyla Garrity wasn't sitting on the hood of her car, belting out the lyrics in the most god-awful, off-key noise -

"Hey," I said loudly, getting out of the truck. "What're you doin'?"

She stared at me blankly. "Oh, good," she said, rolling her eyes, the bottle of Southern Comfort dangling from her hand. "A football player."

"D'you mind?" I yelled over the noise.

"What?"

"Forget it," I muttered, crossing to the driver's side and turning the radio off, breathing out when silence returned. I shut off her headlights to keep the battery from running low, noticed the keys dangling from the ignition, and grabbed them while they were within reach.

"Hey," she complained. "I was listening to that -"

"Fish are tryin' to sleep," I said, standing up and pocketing the keys.

"Screw the fish," she muttered, taking a swig from the bottle.

"No chaser?" I asked, circling around to the front of the car. She rolled her eyes at me and tried to brush some hair out of her face. Her hand missed completely and fell to her side.

"You are wasted," I said, grinning down at her.

She waved her arms at the lake. "Tim Riggins, drinking expert, ladies and gentlemen," she said.

I stared down at her. "You don't drink alone," I said. She barely drank beer. She drank those fruity wine coolers. Six and I had to cross two damn counties once finding 'em for her -

"Yeah, well, I'm trying the hard stuff for once," she said. "That okay with you?"

I shrugged, nodded. "Sure," I said, sitting on the hood of the car next to her and lying down, knotting my fingers behind my head. "Knock yourself out."

She stared down at me. "I can take care of myself, Tim."

"Yeah," I drawled, shifting my shoulders, relaxing against the hood of the car. It was still warm. She hadn't been here long.

"I don't need a baby-sitter."

"Obviously."

"I'm just having some fun, okay?"

I looked over at her. "Sure," I said.

She stared at me for a second and then looked away, rolling the bottle in both hands. "It's just been a lousy year," she mumbled, and stared out at the lake.

I watched her for a moment and then sat up, staring at the water with her.

"This got to do with you and J fighting?" I finally asked.

She rolled her head back. "God, Tim -"

"What?"

"Can we not talk about Jason, or the Panthers, or football? Is that possible?"

"Okay..."

"Because I don't want to talk about him. Or me. Or anything. Can we do that?"

"Sure," I said, nodding and looking out at the water again.

She paused. "You took my keys, didn't you," she said.

"Little bit."

"Fuck," she said, falling back against the hood of the car. The bottle clunked against the hood and I smothered a laugh.

"That's gonna leave a dent," I said.

"Shut up, Tim."

"Shutting up," I said, smiling.

She propped herself up on her elbows and stretched out her hand. "Gimme my keys," I said.

"No," I snorted, sliding down the hood of the car. "We're staying here until you sober up."

"Jesus Christ, Tim," she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

"Relax," I said, turning for my truck. "I got lawn chairs. I'll make a fire."

"Oh, good," she snapped. "Because I was hoping that a football player would show up and save me and build me a goddamn fire!"

I felt my eyebrows go up and turned around slowly. "Okay," I said cautiously. "You're a little wasted -"

"It's not about a freaking campfire, Tim!"

"Gimme your cell phone," I said.

"What? Why?"

"I'm gonna call Street."

"No!" She snapped, getting off the hood of the car and storming toward me. "God, why don't you ever listen -"

"The two of you just need to talk -"

"He cheated on me, Tim!" she yelled.

Her words hung in the space between us, and then she started pacing to the car and back again, the bottle dangling from her hand -

"With Suzy," she mumbled. "The stupid tattoo girl. They were making out outside his house. After he came back from Austin."

I stared at her, and suddenly remembered the four of us on the field after he didn't make the quad rugby team, the way his eyebrows quirked up the next morning when he said Texas Forever -

"The best part? Was when he looked right at me and said 'It's not what it looks like'," she said, laughing bitterly and taking another swig from the bottle.

Fuck. I closed my eyes and looked away.

"Go ahead," she prompted. "Say it. We had it coming, right? I had it coming -"

"I wasn't gonna say that," I said quietly.

"- well, we did. I did. And I threw the stupid ring at him, and it's done," she said, walking back to the car and leaning against the hood. "And my parents are splitting up because my father's a lying, cheating bastard who hasn't been faithful to my mom in ever, and don't get me started on the ironies of that, and I quit cheerleading and left all my stupid, useless clubs along what few friends I had left, and guess what? I didn't have that many to begin with, which means I'm pretty much alone now.

"So unless you have any problems with it, Tim, I'm gonna sit here and get completely fucking wasted."

I watched her raise the bottle to her mouth and swallow twice, wiping her other arm across her mouth. She caught me watching her and twisted away, her face crumpling, staring over the lake. I almost turned away and said I'll get some firewood, and then I saw her shoulders shake -

"Hey," I said, crossing to her and standing in front of her. "Hey. Don't."

She hiccupped and shook her head, twisting back to face me, her face splotchy and red.

"Why the fuck not?" she asked quietly.

I stared down at her, not knowing what to say, and then I reached for the bottle. She started to jerk it away and then flinched, letting the weight of it fall into my hands. She put her boots on the car bumper, folded her arms over her knees, and rested her forehead against her arms.

I looked at the bottle and sat down on the hood of the car. I set the bottle on the ground, on the far side of me, and rested my boots on the bumper next to hers.

I looked up at the stars. There were millions of them out here, away from the lights of Dillon, and it was so damn quiet out here you felt like you could breathe a little easier...

I cleared my throat. "Southern Comfort, huh?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Your dad's stash?"

"I thought the least he could do was give me a damn drink," she mumbled.

"You know..."

"What?"

"This particular bottle is 100 Proof," I said.

She stared at me, eyes wide. "Really?" She said weakly.

I nodded, and she started laughing. She hiccupped again and covered her mouth. "No wonder it tastes awful," she murmured.

I smiled and shook my head. "You're such a rookie, Garrity."

"I thought it wouldn't be so bad -"

"You're just not used to it."

"Yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "Well. I'm no Tim Riggins."

I thought about Six and the football field. Me either, I thought.

She put her face in her hands, sighed, and then looked up. "I quit cheerleading," she said.

"I know."

"And every other damn organization I've been in since freshman year," she said.

"Yep."

She stared at me. "'Yep'?" she said. "That's it?"

I shrugged. "You had a suck year," I said. "I can understand checking out for a while."

She shook her head and laughed a little.

"Plus, don't you have a perfect grade point average or something?"

"Three point nine two," she sighed.

"And those AP classes."

"Yeah."

"So screw it," I said, shrugging. "Not like you can't get into any damn college you want anyway, six months down the road. If that's what you want."

I felt her gaze on me and looked at her. "What?"

"Nothing," she said, and then, "Thanks."

"Sure."

She took a deep breath, looked out at the water, and let it out slowly. "So," she said casually. "Can I have the bottle back?"

I cracked up and shook my head. "No."

"Okay," she said, sighing, and then she lunged for it, reaching across my body. I caught her by the shoulders and pulled her up, and she was half-laughing and I was grinning and suddenly we both froze -

We were close, too close, we hadn't been anywhere near this close since that day on her porch, and I felt my hand tighten on her shoulders and she looked from my eyes to my mouth and then we both twisted away -

"Sorry -"

"It's okay -"

"I didn't mean -"

"I know."

We sat there, staring at the ground in front of the car, our hands palms down on the hood.

"Tyra's been good to me," she said quietly. "Since state."

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and something inside me twisted and started to ache -

I opened my eyes. "I just got him back," I mumbled.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her bite her lower lip, and then she nodded.

"I know the feeling," she whispered, looking over at me, and then she started crying.

I curled my arm around her and pulled her toward me, stroking her hair with one hand, holding her hand with the other. Her finger still had a thin groove from the ring she didn't wear anymore.

When she was sick an hour later I held her hair back. She had longer hair than Tyra and I fumbled with it at first, pulling it back in a makeshift ponytail, losing my hands in it. She apologized and I told her to shut up, got her some water from her car. We sat out there for hours, even after she finally passed the touch-your-nose sobriety test. I think she knew I lied when I said she was still too drunk to drive, but she didn't fight me on it. She was too damn tired to drive anyway.

She didn't mind my making a campfire when the temperature dropped.

She slept in the bed of my truck on top of some extra blankets I had in the back, her jacket balled under her head for a pillow. I sat in a lawn chair across from my truck, rolling the neck of the bottle of Southern Comfort in my fingertips and not drinking it.

The campfire burned between us, and when the fire got low I nudged it with my boot, sending up a fountain of sparks. I stared at my truck until I finished the Jack Daniels.

I shrugged the sheepskin collar of my jacket up on my neck and stared at the stars, waiting for morning.

Next Chapter: Blind Spot

Author: Whiteotter
Genre: Friday Night Lights, post-"State". Tim, Jason, Tyra, Lyla.
Rating: PG.
Author's Notes: Similar to the great body of work that Reunion and other similar fanfics are turning into, I wanted to write my own serial version of events. This story will be set in the remaining school year (post-"State") and summer before the next FNL season begins (DEAR NBC: RENEW THIS SHOW. ahem).

Until I run out of steam or ideas - and I'm hopeful I won't, since I have the next two installments outlined - new weekly installments will be up every Tuesday, beginning May 1st. Check back for them, won't you? :)

Special thanks go to Whirling Girl for being such an enthusiastic, thorough and time-efficient beta, and DevilC for encouraging me to run with the project.

Feedback is candy-coated validation, and I like candy.

Consent, Part I. Tim, Jackie, Bo. Through "Mud Bowl".

Thu, 05 Apr 2007 16:58:56 GMT

I feel a little weird posting this after the angstfest that was "Best Laid Plans", but... perhaps we all need a smokin' hot and humorous distraction. So here you go.

I open my eyes and blink at the alarm clock. It's six-thirty; I've overslept.

His arm's draped across my body, curled around me so tightly it's almost underneath me. I can feel his mouth resting against my shoulder, his breath warm and even and regular. I close my eyes, consider saying screw it, feeling the urge to burrow back against him, turn around, and wake him up with my hands and my mouth -

Except Bo's gotta get ready for school, and I try not to think that Tim does, too, and the last thing I need is for Bo to come into the bedroom because he's wondering where I am.

I need both hands to pry Tim's arm out and away from my body, slide out from underneath him, and reach for my robe. He's such a heavy sleeper that he barely notices - just rolls forward, his hand sliding under the pillow, his hair falling forward on his face.

I stare at him for a moment. The moment I walk out that door, I'm Mom -

The minute on the clock rolls over to the next one, and I close the door softly behind me.

*****

The day Tim dropped Bo off at the bank, Laurie came up to me as soon as he left. "How do you know Tim Riggins?” she asks, watching him walk out to his truck.

"Oh, he's my neighbor," I said casually. "He and Bo are friends."

"Girlll,” she says, purring the L slowly, and I know what's coming (of course you do, you thought it yourself), but I feign confusion anyway and ask her what, and she says If I were fifteen years younger in this cryptic way that's not remotely cryptic, and I laugh, feigning disbelief, and shove her playfully, scandalized.

It's a lie, of course. No teenager knows what to do with a Tim. The people who would look at us - at me - like I'm an awful, sick woman for sleeping with a seventeen-year old kid, don't realize that. I didn't even realize it at first.

He's the one who showed me.

*****

After the first time he kissed me - when I threw him out and told him to go home - I cleaned half the house.

I threw away magazines, organized bills, put away Bo's toys, sorted my books. I was mortified and shocked and wondered what the hell you say in a situation like this, what I'd say the next time I saw him, and then I was laughing and flattered and felt bad for yelling at him.

Then I looked at the clock, and was stunned to see it was three a.m.

I brushed my teeth (shaking my head at my reflection, smiling ruefully), got into bed, closed my eyes, took a long breath, let it out, and -

All I could see was him, smiling at me in the hallway, closing his eyes and saying no worries just before he leaned in and backed me up against the wall, his mouth open and warm, his tongue sweeping gently into my mouth.

I paced the room. I argued with myself. I twisted the queen-size sheets around my body as if cocooning myself would help.

When it got really bad, I went into Bo's room and watched him sleep.

And every time I pulled the sheets over my body, every time I closed my eyes to go to sleep, I remembered the taste of him, the way he lifted Bo up like he was nothing and carried him to his bed, and this ache spread out from the center of me and swelled and centered itself between my legs, like it had found its place, like it was home.

I noticed his truck was gone when I took Bo to practice. Bo talked about him all the way across town, even when I asked if we couldn't please (please) talk about something else, anything else, and when he asked me why, I didn't have an answer.

I sat on the bench outside my house like a kid, like I was seventeen, and pretended to myself that I was going to talk with him. Just talk. Just explain. Until I caught his fingers in mine and he looked down at me and I remembered that second in the living room the night before, right before he kissed me, when the world shifted and the impossible happened, and everything was going to be different and possibly better, just for a while.

*****

We kissed all the way back to my room, and he tasted awful – Jack Daniels and beer, I think he told me later, and I didn't care. He had his jacket off when we turned the corner in the hallway and my fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt until he brushed them away, doing it himself and shucking his arms out of the sleeves, his hands slipping under my shirt and pulling it off over my head -

The back of my knees hit the bed and his body rocked against mine, one hand in my hair, the other unsnapping my bra like he'd done it a thousand times. We fell back against the bed and his mouth left me, traveling down my neck, sliding open-mouthed over me, sucking pink-pebbled skin into the hot wetness of his mouth. His tongue flicked the taut skin once, twice, and when all the breath left my body because it felt so damn good he pulled me up from the bed, sucking harder, his hands unzipping my pants and sliding them and my panties off at once, and I felt exposed and vulnerable and missed the taste of him -

"C'mere," I whispered, pulling at him, and he rose up and settled against me, his tongue slipping back into my mouth, moving one hand under my head and shifting his weight, sliding his other hand down my chest, teasing the nipple still wet from his mouth with calloused fingers. I moaned into him and he crushed his mouth against mine, slid his hand down -

He groaned suddenly, breaking the kiss. "What," I whispered, leaning up, wanting his mouth back. "What -"

He looked right at me and slid my hand down my body, pressing it between my legs, and I gasped.

I'd never been so wet in my life.

"Oh," I got out, looking up at him, and he moved sharply, sucking on the hollow of my neck, his tongue sliding up to just underneath my ear as he unzipped and shrugged off his jeans, and I felt a rush of common sense and panic -

"I don't," I whispered, planting my hands against his chest. "I don't have any protection -"

"I do,” he breathed, raising the crumpled pile of demin, kissing me until he had to turn away and actually search through the pockets for his wallet. I stared at his body as he twisted away from me, my fingertips crumpled up in his hair, the other tracing lines on his back and those arms, they were art, they were sculpture -

He found the condom and kept it in one hand, rolling on top of me again, crushing me down against the mattress. He slid his body up, brushing his chest against my nipples, pressing my legs apart with his knees, his breath coming more ragged. I let my palms slide down his chest, took him in my hands. He kissed me harder when I curled my fingers around him, and I felt his teeth on me when I ran my thumb across the tip -

He tore the wrapper on the condom and we rolled it down the length of him together, our hands slick with lubricant and sex and sweat and I twisted beneath him as he pushed himself up, slid my legs up his hips, rising up to kiss him and then he slid into me and oh, God -

He groaned and half-collapsed against me, sliding back and taking my nipple in his mouth, and I moaned when he rocked into me again, wrapping my arms around him, pulling his hips and body closer. He slid inside me completely (Jesus) and wrapped one arm under my back, pinning my body against him tight so we stayed together as he rolled us over in one movement -

I looked down at him. "Wow," I breathed, and smiled a little.

He grinned up at me and then his gaze shifted to my mouth, and I felt my breath catch when he moved his hips up sharply. I planted my hands on the mattress and shifted my weight, sliding up the length of him slowly, slowly, watched his eyes close and his breathing change.

He slid his hands up my thighs to my hips and pushed me down hard, grinding me against him with one hand, the other pulling my hands up from the mattress and over his head so he could kiss me. His tongue teased into my mouth, and I felt his lips sucking the tip of my tongue into his mouth just as his hand slid across my thigh, down to where our bodies joined, and -

I gasped against his mouth and ground my mouth and hips against him, our breath ragged and fast, my teeth grazing his lip and sucking him into me, my hips moving faster as his fingertips slid over wet, warm skin. He sat up suddenly, pushing my body back so I was sitting straight, his hand caught between us as he sucked my nipple into his mouth and I felt the graze of his nails on my back, crushing me against him and oh. Oh -

I reached down, trying to kiss him, and he pulled back. I tried again, and he twisted away, burying his mouth against my throat, sucking on the muscle at the crook of my neck, and I felt hurt and self-conscious and closed my eyes and my mouth, focusing on the orgasm that was coming God any second, and then I felt his fingertips at the corner of my mouth, forcing my lips apart and I didn't understand -

"I want to hear you,” he whispered fiercely against my mouth, forcing my body down against his, his breath almost panting now. "Lemme hear you -"

I gasped and turned my head, sucking his fingertips into my mouth, heard the frantic pace of my breath and a deeper sound underneath it I'd never made before, something primal and rough, and heard the growl slip out of his throat. He kissed me and held me close to his mouth when he broke the kiss, both of us breathing each others' air as his hand crushed my hips down over and over and over and oh, God -

I collapsed against him and he fell back, pinning my body to him and rolling us over, pushing my hands back over my head and thrusting into me through my orgasm, coming just after I did and his hands were crushing my wrists and his mouth was hot wet teeth against my neck and then he shuddered and collapsed and we lay there, trying to remember how to breathe.

His hands released me and he slid back and I shook when he left me -

"Did I hurt you,” he asked, crawling up my body.

"No," I whispered, and flexed my wrists a little.

His gaze went from my eyes to my mouth and he smiled. "It'll be better next time,” he said.

I felt my eyebrows go up. Next time. "Better," I repeated.

He smiled, closed his eyes, and shrugged his lower lip at me. "Much,” he murmured, licking his lips, moving down to kiss me. "Gimme ten minutes."

*****

Two nights later he came over for dinner. It took me twice as long to make the lasagna because my hands kept shaking. I changed my clothes three times and finally settled on a girly, white V-neck blouse and some jeans, because I didn't want to look like I was trying too hard.

He knocked on the screen door at six o'clock, right on time, and I felt myself blush as Bo ran pell-mell to let him in. "Hey Tim Riggins!"

"How's it goin, Bo,” he said from the hallway, and I swallowed hard. His voice alone was hot honey through ten years of ice -

"Hey,” he said, turning the corner to the living room and smiling at me.

"Hey," I said, smiling back, and we were taking too long, look away, damnit, Bo was gonna notice -

"You brought your backpack," Bo said. "D'you have homework?"

"Yep,” he said. He looked down at Bo and I exhaled, ducking my head to hide my face, turning and slipping the oven mitts onto my hands.

"I thought we might as well study together," I heard Tim say. "Since you got that big history test this week."

"Okay," Bo said, and I heard the grin in his voice.

I shook my head, smiling, and set the lasagna on the counter.

*****

"What're you studying, Tim Riggins?"

"Chemistry,” he said distantly, turning a page in his book.

"Is it interesting?"

"Parts of it," Tim said. "How's that history?"

Bo rolled his eyes. "It's boring,” he said. "Can I read yours?"

"No can do, little man," Tim said, tapping on Bo's book absent-mindedly, not taking his eyes off his own. "History's... important."

"Bo, leave him be," I said from the kitchen. "I want you to go brush your teeth, please."

"Alright,” he muttered, pushing his chair away from the table. "Be right back, Tim Riggins."

"Okay," Tim said, watching him run down the hall. He stood up, bringing his textbook with him and setting it on the kitchen counter, and then he was cupping my face and leaning in and God, that mouth -

I broke the kiss, twisted away, glanced at the hallway. I could hear the water running in the bathroom sink. Thank God I'd bought him one of those electric toothbrushes that ran for two whole minutes.

"So," I said, stepping back. "Chemistry, huh?"

He licked his lips, leaned against the counter on one arm. "Yes,” he said, smiling lazily.

"I hated chemistry," I said wistfully. "Couldn't remember all those numbers and stuff."

He shrugged and slid the book over to me. "You're just lookin' at it wrong,” he said, nodding his head at the book.

"Please," I said, shaking my head and flipping the book open to his bookmark. "I remember..."

A few seconds passed before I trusted myself to speak. He breathed in deeply and stood up, moving behind me, settling his hands on the counter in front of me and exhaling slowly -

"Tim," I said faintly.

"Yeah,” he murmured, and I felt his hands settle on the front of my hips -

"Tim, this is not chemistry."

"It's not a textbook,” he said, glancing down at the book and reaching around me, turning it ninety degrees. "But that is chemistry."

"What is this?" I whispered, pulling the book out of the handmade, paper-bag cover with CHEMISTRY written on it in bright blue marker. "Tim - what does 'Our Bodies, Our Selves' have to do with -"

"It's educational,” he said, nuzzling my ear.

"Where did you - what is this," I breathed, flipping through the incredibly explicit diagrams and drawings and -

"Someone at school mentioned it," he said, moving to my right side and looking down at me. "So - how old are you, exactly?"

I raised my eyebrows and stared at him.

"Because if you're in your thirties, then you're in your sexual prime,” he said, his gaze going from my eyes to my mouth and back again. "D'you know that?"

I rolled my eyes. "Tim. Stop," I said. "Don't mess with me -"

"Page 48, second column, top right,” he said, moving closer to me, and all words failed me.

"Did you know that?” he asked again, his voice quiet.

I stared at him, shook my head. "No," I said weakly.

He looked away, nodded, smiled a little. "For guys, it's seventeen-eighteen,” he said.

"And I'm seventeen, so..."

His voice was soft, not like we were about to tear each others' clothes off but different, like when he stood in the living room and said no worries, soft, almost gentle. He looked down at our hands resting on the book and twisted my fingers into his, took a deep breath, closed his eyes.

"So I was jus' -"

"Thirty-two," I whispered.

He paused, looked at me, and then his lips broke into this warm smile and he shook his head a little, and the dimples, they were killing me -

"Okay,” he said softly.

He kept my fingers intertwined with his, closing the book with his other hand and taking it with him, not letting go of me until he turned the corner and my arm fell back against my body.

"All finished," Bo called out, running all the way down the hallway back to the kitchen table.

"C'mon, Bo," Tim said, sitting down at the table with him and opening his book, smiling over at me. "Knowledge is power."

Author: Whiteotter
Setting/Spoilers: FNL, through "Mud Bowl", ep. 1-20
Pairing: Tim/Jackie
Rating: Mature. Extremely.
Disclaimer: I worship at the altar of Peter Berg and Taylor Kitsch, and hope they accept my paltry tribute.
Special thanks/Acknowledgements: For Devilc, who demanded to know where all the "Burn Your Face Off" fics were about T/Jackie and her finding her inner sex goddess. I hear, and I obey. :) And big thanks to DevilC for beta-ing the project.

Feedback is candy-coated validation, and I like candy.

Got You. Tim, Landry, Tyra, Smash, SmashMama. Through "Mud Bowl".

Thu, 05 Apr 2007 16:57:57 GMT

"Thirty-three," Someone called out as I stepped out of my truck. I vaguely recognized the sunburned cheeks and wide smile as he walked toward me, but couldn't place him.

"Helluva job Friday night, son," he said, clapping me on the back. "Helluva job."

"Yessir," I said, smiling a little.

"You do the same at state, now," he said, shaking my hand, and I felt a soft crumple of paper in my palm. "And if I can do anything to help, you jus' lemme know."

"Yessir. Will do," I said, nodding at him as he walked off, waving.

I glanced down at the twenty. Nice, I thought, stuffing it in my jacket pocket. I'd put it with what was left of the $200 and spring for pizza at Jackie's later tonight. I walked to the burger joint and jerked open the door.

"Riggs!"

"Hey," I said, nodding my head at the table of O-Line players.

"Move over, man. Riggs, c'mon, sit down -"

I shook my head a little and walked over. You made the right block in the final play of a game, and you were king for a week.

I was halfway across the room when I saw Tyra and Landry through the window. He was facing her, holding her arms and she was twisting away, shaking her head, looking upset -

I frowned. "Hold up," I told Bradley, and walked outside.

" - it's okay. We'll go back," Landry was saying. "It's okay -"

"Hey," I said, walking toward them. She caught a glimpse of me over his shoulder and bolted, moving away from the windows to the back of the restaurant. What the hell?

Landry looked back and saw me coming. "Hey Tim," he said, trying to intercept me. "That was a, um, great game on Friday -"

I brushed past him and caught her by her elbow. "Tyra. Wait -"

She snatched her arm away like I'd burned her and let out a half-muffled wail, covering her face with her hands, and I stared at her, shocked.

Tyra didn't cry. She never fell apart. She got pissed and gave you hell, she didn't -

Her back hit the wall and she looked up, her eyes darting on the ground like she was cornered. "Hey," I said quietly.

Landry tried to stop me, catching my shoulder. "Tim," he said. "Don't -"

I shook him off and closed the distance between me and Tyra, cupping her face in my hands, and blue eyes - eyes that I'd seen fierce, passionate, protective, and often pissed - looked into mine.

She looked broken.

"What happened," I muttered.

She blinked, shook her head and then her face crumpled completely. I pulled her close to me and her hands gripped me, bunching my jacket in her fists, and then I felt her body jerk in a sob.

I looked over at Landry, who swallowed and looked away, and something in my chest shifted and turned to stone.

"Landry," I said quietly, my voice low.

He took a deep breath, turned away with his hands on his hips, twisted back. "C'mon," he said suddenly, jerking his arm. "I'm over there."

"My truck's right here -"

"No trucks," he said sharply. "Jus' - c'mon."

*****

She was curled up on her mom's bed, her body turned toward the window. From the curve of her arm I knew she'd pulled the blanket up under her chin in a fist. She always hogged the blankets. Not that I cared.

That's my girl in there, I thought, and then, No, it's not.

I pulled the door shut softly. Landry stood with his back against the wall to the room.

“What did he look like.”

He took a deep breath. "White," he said resignedly. "Medium height. Middle-aged -"

"I need specifics," I snapped. "Scars, marks, anything -"

He grabbed me by the arm and half-pushed me down the hallway. He might not play football, but he wasn't weak. "She can hear you," he hissed. "The doors are thin."

"I don't care about the damn doors -"

"She doesn't need to hear you!" He barked at me and then twisted, his hand moving over his mouth, looking back at the hallway and the bedroom door before turning back to me. "Look. She doesn't - it's hard for her to talk about - what happened. She can't even drive her truck because..." His voice trailed off.

"She doesn't even like to go outside. It took me half the day to convince her to go get a burger. And I've tried to get her to go to the police, but..."

I swallowed a laugh, scrubbed my hands through my hair. But between her history with me and Smash and being Angela Collette's daughter, they'd laugh at her, and she knew it.

"Tell me everything you know," I said.

He sighed. "She fought back," he said. "She got him with the cigarette lighter, and she slammed his hand in the door -"

"Where'd she get him with the lighter?" I demanded, and thought for a second I might be sick. "I mean - where -"

"His face," he said quietly. "His right side. Near his eye."

"Which hand?"

"I don't know," he said.

"But she slammed it more than once?"

"Four or five times, I think."

That's my girl, I thought again, and then I remembered something -

"Okay. That's enough," I said, walking past him.

"What're you gonna do?" he demanded. I didn't answer.

"I wanna go with you," he said behind me.

"No," I said, shaking my head, turning back to face him.

"Hey, I can handle myself -"

"She trusts you," I said flatly, nodding at the hallway. "You've been with her since it happened, right?"

He stared, nodded. "Yeah."

"Then she wants you here. Best thing you can do is stay with her."

He opened his mouth to protest, looked down the hallway, and closed it again, looking down. "Okay," he said. "How're you going to -"

"Don't worry about it," I said, jerking the door open. "I'll be back tonight."

*****

I double-checked the number next to the door and knocked, looking down into brown liquid eyes when the door opened.

"I'm looking for Smash," I said.

"Brian," The girl yelled without turning around. "Football player's here to see you." She left the door hanging open when she left. I heard heavy footsteps upstairs and then he was descending, his speed slowing when he saw me.

"Riggs," he said, frowning.

"I need a favor."

"Hello to you too," he said, suspicious, his hand resting on the front door.

"You remember the QB's car," I said quietly. "Arnett Mead?"

He stepped outside with me, closed the door behind him. "What about it? And keep your voice down."

"I need to know if your contact can get information on someone with specific injuries. Like if he went to a hospital or something."

"What the hell you talkin' about, man?"

"It's important," I said. "I'll pay him. Everything I got."

He blinked, looked closer at me, and paused. "This ain't for no rivalry," he said.

I shifted my weight and looked out over the desolation of a yard.

"You want my help, Riggs, I gotta know what it's about."

I licked my lips, shook my head, looked at him. "I swear to God, Williams, if you ever tell anyone about this -"

"I ain't no gossip," he said evenly.

I stared at him, deciding.

"It's not me," I said finally. "It's Tyra."

And then I told him everything.

*****

"Mama!" he yelled, throwing the front door open.

"What, baby?" A large woman looked around from the kitchen. "Tim Riggins," she said, pursing her lips, a ladle in her hand. "Never thought I'd see you in this house."

"Ma'am," I said, glancing at Smash and back at her.

She peered at me and then relaxed. "You got a nice right hook, son," she said. "Although I don' know if punching a guy in the facemask is the best way to get your point across -"

"Mama, I need to talk to you," Williams interrupted.

"Alright," she muttered, frowning, putting the ladle in her hand down on the stove. "What's got you so worked up?"

"You still know the manager over at the ER?" he asked.

"Of course I do," She said. "Why you askin' -"

"I need you to call her. And then I need you to call the other hospitals," he said, taking her by the arm and pulling her toward the stairs.

"Boy, you lost your damn mind?" she asked, twisting out of his grip. "I'm cookin' dinner here -"

"It's important," he said.

Her gaze went from him to me and back again.

"I think you better tell me what foolishness you boys are about to get into," she said quietly.

"It's just me, ma'am," I said. "He's not involved."

"Like hell I'm not," he said, glaring at me.

"Williams, don't even -"

"Hey!" She snapped. "You fools are in my house. I wanna know what's goin' on and I mean right now!"

*****

"So that's your plan," she said, eyeballing me from her seat at the kitchen table.

"Yes ma'am," I said evenly.

"That is a damn stupid plan, boy."

"Yes ma'am," I said. "But it'll work."

"You're asking me to endanger the future of my son and my family," she snapped.

"No ma'am," I said quietly, moving toward the kitchen table and resting my hands on it. "I'm asking you to help me get justice for someone I care about. And she's not gonna get it any other way.

"And I think you know that," I said, looking at her.

She stared up at me.

"All I want is a name," I said. "I'll deal with it on my own."

She pursed her lips. "Naw," she finally said, and I fought the urge to hurl the kitchen table across the room -

"He's goin' with you," she said, nodding at Williams. "You are gonna keep this one in check," she said, jabbing a finger at my chest. "You hear me, Brian?"

"Yes ma'am," he said, looking at me, a proud smile coming up on his face.

I looked from him back at her, licked my lips. "It's not gonna be pretty," I said.

"Shoot," she said, rolling her eyes and standing up, coming around the table to me. "We seen worse in Gatlin, and my boy can take care of hisself. No one deserves what he did," she said. "No one."

"Thank you," I said.

"She needs anythin', anythin' at all, you tell her she can come see me," she said, staring at me. "You got that?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good," she said, looking me up and down. "C'mon, Brian. We got calls to make."

"Williams," I called after them. "Cell phone."

He reached in his pocket and lobbed it toward me.

Twenty minutes later, we had a name.

*****

He walked out of the bowling alley, tossed the empty beer bottle to the ground, and wandered over to his truck, fumbling with his keys. He put it into the lock and jerked it open -

Williams was lying on his back in the front seat and kicked him full in the chest once he had a clear shot. He fell back and hit the ground, gasping for breath, clutching his chest. Williams jumped down to the ground and kicked the guy twice, slamming the truck door shut behind him.

"What the fuck," he gasped, trying to crawl away. Williams grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the passenger side of the truck, facing the wooded lot behind the bowling alley. I walked out from the edge of the lot with Bradley and two other O-Liners. We didn't need the whole line for this one.

Williams threw the guy toward us. He stumbled and pushed himself upright, eyes darting right and left. Bradley and the others stood around him in a wide circle. Williams blocked his way to the truck.

"What d'you want," he spat.

"Here's how it's gonna work," I said, my voice low, walking into the circle. "You're gonna come with me to the police station, where you're gonna make a full confession."

His mouth curled in a sneer. "I haven't done shit," he said. "An' I ain't goin' nowhere -"

"Or," I said, reaching into my back pocket, "We'll take turns."

He glanced around the circle at the others. Bradley adjusted his grip on the baseball bat. Mike wrapped the end of a length of chain around his hand. Williams just folded his arms.

"And I really hope you say no," I said, fixing the brass knuckles to my right hand. "'Cause I'm first."

He swallowed and started to nod but I saw his right foot shift back. His swing went wide and I backhanded him with my left, slamming him to the ground. He yelled, his fingers covering his bleeding mouth. I kicked him in the kidneys twice and he rolled, moaning a little.

"Get up," I said.

"Stop -"

"Get up."

"- don' know what -"

I lifted him up from the ground by his collar and dragged him over to the side of his truck, his hands scrabbling at me, eyes wide. I grabbed his bandaged hand and slammed it down hard on the edge of the truck bed, elbowed him in the mouth when he screamed, slammed his hand down again, and let him fall to the ground. He coughed up blood and I heard the faint ting of enamel hitting pavement.

"That's a new scar," I said evenly, staring down at him. "Where'd you get it?"

He twisted his head and looked up at me. "Fuck you -"

I felt the flicker of a smile dance across my mouth, and then I was pulling him up and backing him up hard against the truck, grinding the heel of my left hand down against the swollen, half-moon of a blister, the other hand covering his mouth to cut off the scream.

"You picked the wrong girl," I hissed. "She fought back, didn't she?"

He twisted his head to speak and I held on for a minute to make sure he meant it before I released his face, keeping him pinned to the truck with my arms -

"Stop. Please," he mumbled, and I nearly crushed his windpipe with my forearm -

"That's funny," I snarled. "Please. Say that again -"

"Hey. Hey," Williams said, suddenly right next to me. I paused, not taking my eyes off the bastard -

"He needs to be able to talk," Williams said quietly.

I blinked. He was right. This needed to be methodical.

Or I'd never stop, and that wasn't what she needed...

I dropped my arm, took a step back. After a moment I felt Williams move away.

He moaned, cradling his mangled hand, crying. I looked down at the row of metal on my hand and adjusted the fit, let my fingers curl around it in a fist.

"What's it gonna be," I said quietly.

He swayed slightly, paused, and shook his head no.

"Good," I said, smiling tightly, and threw the first punch.

*****

"Evenin', Sargeant," I said, shoving the guy down onto the lobby bench.

"Jesus, Thirty-three," he said, standing up, brushing a few crumbs off his uniform. I glanced at the video camera hanging from the ceiling.

"Yeah, that don' work," he drawled, following my gaze and looking back at me, smiling. "Loose wire or somethin'."

"He wants to make a statement," I said, nodding at the bench.

He looked over at the bloody mess, raised his eyebrows. "Thought you said he wanted turn hisself in," he grunted.

"He said that," I said, looking at the sargeant. "Coupla times."

He paused, then smirked and shook his head. "Alright," he said, picking up the phone and dialing. "Rowe? I got a walk-in for ya. Yeah. He came in alone." He looked up at me. "He'll be down in a minute."

I leaned against the counter, slid a piece of paper across it. "Full confession," I said quietly. "Call me when it's done."

He grinned, sunburnt cheeks rising in a wide grin. "You better git, Thirty-three."

"I owe you," I said, turning away.

"You jus' pay me back on the field," he called after me.

******

I stood on the porch, thought about trying the door, and rang the doorbell instead. After a few minutes Landry opened the door, his eyes going wide at the blood on my shirt.

"It's not mine," I said.

He stepped out to the porch, closing the door behind him. "Tim, what -"

"They're booking him," I interrupted. "He made a full confession."

He blinked. "Are you - are you sure?"

"I got the call ten minutes ago. It's done," I said. Twenty had grinned like we'd just won state when I'd handed him back his cell phone and told him.

He stared at me and smiled suddenly, turning for the door. "Well come on in," he said.

I shook my head. "No. You tell her," I said, turning and walking down the yard of dirt to my truck.

"Tim -"

"Jus' tell her, Landry," I said, jerking the door open and starting the ignition.

He was still standing under the porch light when I peeled out of the drive.

*****

I closed the front door behind me and winced, flexing my right hand. Billy took one look at me and got up from the couch. "Tim, what the hell -"

"I'm alright," I said, my voice tired. "It's not mine."

His eyebrows went up a little. "You okay?"

I closed my eyes, swallowed, and nodded. He stared at me for a moment and then shook his head, turning back to the couch. "Well, I hope the guy deserved it," he muttered, picking up the remote and flipping the channel.

I walked past him, grabbing a change of clothes from my room. "I'm gonna take a shower," I said.

I walked into the bathroom, closed the door behind me, and caught my reflection in the mirror. I unbuttoned the bloody shirt and started to throw it on the floor with the other pile of dirty clothes, held it in my hand for a minute, and then threw it in the garbage instead.

I turned the water on and moved the faucet to scalding, giving the water pressure time to kick in. I sat down on the edge of the bath and pulled off my boots, set them to the side. I stood up and unzipped my jeans, letting the denim fall in a heap on the cold tile. Steam started rising from the shower and I twisted the knob, heard the hiss of hot water from the showerhead.

I slid the curtain back, pulled it closed behind me as I stepped in. I took a deep breath, shifting my position under the liquid heat, feeling the familiar, burning ache lingering in my knuckles and muscles -

It's hard for her to talk about -

The first punch slid off the slick tile. The second punch cracked it.

She can't even drive her truck -

The grout shattered and slivers of tile ricocheted off my skin as they fell. I vaguely heard Billy yelling something from the living room and ignored it. I'd fix it, tomorrow or this weekend, I'd fix everything -

I shut my eyes and saw the sonofabitch on top of her, jerking her by her hair, screaming at her to shut up -

The sob rushed out of my lungs, choking me, and I braced myself to keep from hitting the ground.

*****

I pulled the T-shirt over my head, walked into the living room, and stopped dead when I saw Landry getting up from the couch.

I blinked at him. "What're you doin' here," I started. "Why aren't you -"

He glanced over his shoulder at my bedroom, the door hanging open. Tyra was sitting on the edge of my bed.

"She asked me," he said quietly, looking back at me.

I stared at her and looked back at him, nodded once. He watched me for a moment and then smiled faintly, walking to the front door. "'Night, Riggins," He said, and closed the front door behind him.

I took a deep breath and walked into my bedroom, shut the door behind me. "Hey," I said.

She looked up at me and didn't say anything. I walked to the bed, sitting down next to her, trying to gauge how far was too far, how close was too close.

I glanced over at her and then down at my hands in my lap. We sat there for a minute, neither of us moving, and then I felt her hand taking mine and turning it over, her fingers tracing the edge of my bloody knuckles -

"I shoulda been there," I whispered.

She tensed, didn't respond.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, and looked down at her.

She looked at me for a minute and then finally nodded, just once, and I felt her fingers lacing into mine. I swallowed and looked down at our hands, felt her hair against my shoulder first, and then the weight of her head against the curve of my neck -

I wrapped one arm around her back and wound the other under her legs, gathering her up and pulling her whole body into my lap. She curled against me and buried her face in my chest, one hand touching my neck, the other covering my hand on her shoulder, and then she started crying -

"I'm here," I murmured, knowing too little, too damn late, but saying it anyway, smoothing her hair down, brushing her hair back from her face.

"I'm right here," I said. "I got you."

Author: Whiteotter
Setting/Spoilers: FNL, through "Mud Bowl", ep 1.20, Tim POV.
Rating: R
Disclaimer/Thanks: I worship at the altar of Peter Berg and Taylor Kitsch, and hope they accept my paltry tribute. Thanks to DevilC and Whirling Girl for being such attentive and efficient betas.

Feedback is candy-coated validation, and I like candy. :)

J/T Slash: History, Part I

Thu, 05 Apr 2007 16:56:18 GMT

This is how it works now: I wake up, haul my body out of bed, work out in the garage, drag myself into the shower, jerk the rope on the front door behind me when I go to meet Matt.

Working with the kid makes me feel better (and worse, at the same time), but I sidestep his awkwardness and insecurity and focus on how freaking huge these guys are gonna be. He's right to be terrified. They're monsters and everyone knows it.

And it's better to deal with monsters you can dodge or hit than those you can't.

*****

Second grade. Dad finishes his pharmaceutical degree and we buy a two-story house in what mom calls "a better neighborhood" across town. I'm zoned to a new school, but I don't care - Dillon's so small that I know pretty much everyone, and it's always easy to make friends. Mom packs me lunch in my shiny new Superman lunch box, and Dad drops me off at school. It's got a new paint job, pale gold and with blue trim, the Panther colors.

My teacher, Mrs. Reynolds, introduces me to the class, and they all chorus "hello" when she prompts them. I recognize Bobby and Shane from Sunday School, and they wave at me.

First and second graders eat outside for lunch at the playground. I open my lunch box and groan - Mom's packed two sandwiches, one of them baloney, and an apple. I really wanted oreos.

Yelling from the edge of the lot catches my attention. There's a circle of kids, clustered tight together. I squint and scramble down from the table, wander over, nudge my way through the circle. One kid's wriggling on the ground, trapped under a bigger, stronger kid, his hair loose and falling in his face. A brown paper bag lies on its side next to their struggling bodies.

"You're gonna get this every day," the big guy growls, rubbing the kid's face in the dirt. "You understand? Useless, stupid -"

"Let 'im go," I hear myself say.

The big kid freezes and then does a slow turn of his head, keeping the other kid pinned the whole time, fixes me with burning eyes. Kids on the other side of me edge away and back up behind me, and suddenly I'm in the circle with the two of them -

"Yeah?" He drawls, squinting up at me, a sneer on his lips. "Says who?"

The little kid, who's gotta be in first grade he's so small, looks up at me hopefully. I remember my dad saying, When you have tough choices to make, son, remember: you can lie down, or you can stand up.

"Me," I say, shifting my weight and moving my right foot back slightly, the way Dad taught me.

He spits to the side lazily and climbs off the kid, who snatches his brown bag and runs. He stands up, staring at me, and cocks his head slightly. "You?" He growls, and gets closer. "What're you gonna do about it?"

He shoves and I shift my weight, pivot my body slightly, and the push glances off me. He stumbles a little and the circle of kids laugh, seeing the bully caught off guard -

He tackles me before I know what's coming and we hit the ground, his arms wrapped tight around my body. He lands a few punches but they go wild and don't really hurt, it's just the two of us scrambling in the dirt, shoving while the kids around us cheer and yell, excited that it's an actual fight and not just a bully and a helpless kid, and then they go quiet all at once -

Mrs. Reynold's hauling him off me by his plaid collar. "Well, you have finally done it, Timmy Riggins," She says sharply. "Three fights in one week. You're getting suspended, young man."

He twists in her grasp. "Don' care," He snarls, wiping his arm across his face to get the snot and a little bit of blood. I stand up, brushing dirt off my clothes, but no one's looking at me, they're all watching her drag him back toward the school. He twists around with those burning eyes, looking at me, and there's a scratch above his eyebrow that wasn't there before, his shirt's buttoned wrong and his jeans are patched -

"We weren't fighting," I call out, and everyone turns and stares at the blatant lie.

"Hon, what do you call -"

"We were rasslin'," I say, looking right at her. "I was jus' showin' him some moves, ma'am."

She pauses, licks her lips, lets go of him and comes toward me. "Jason, I don't know what you're tryin' to do, but -"

"It's the truth, ma'am," I say as earnestly as I can, and God himself would have believed me. "We were just messin' around."

She stares at me, takes a deep breath, and stands up. "Alright," She says, and turns back to the group of kids who are openly staring. "What're you starin' at?" She demands, shooing them away. "Go on, now, there's only ten minutes left. Jenny Mae, get down from that slide..."

Five seconds later everyone's gone, and it's just me and him.

"You're new," He finally says, glaring.

"Yeah," I say. "Jus' came over from the other school. You play peewee?"

"Naw," He mutters, making a face. "Football's stupid."

I blink, 'cause no one's ever said that to me before, just like no one's ever said God doesn't exist. "I'm gonna be quarterback," I finally say. "You should play. You'd be a good blocker."

He squints, shuffles his feet a little. "How'd you do that?" He asks, nodding his head.

"What?"

"When I pushed you."

"I pivoted," I say, placing one foot back and twisting my upper body. "See?" He frowns and nods, even though I'm not sure he gets it.

"You like baloney?"

Scowl, lazy squint, shrug.

"I don't," I say. "My mom packed a PB&J and a baloney sandwich. You want it?"

"No," He snaps, like I've just insulted him. Maybe I have.

"OK," I shrug. "But I'm jus' gonna throw it away."

I walk past him and trot up to the picnic table, and after a second I hear the sound of shuffling feet behind me. I open the lunch box and hand the sandwich to him. He practically swallows it whole, dirty hands and all, and I wonder if he was taking the other kid's lunch because he didn't have one of his own -

I chew the PB&J and we watch the kids on the playground laughing and chasing each other. I reach for the apple and pop it open, my thumb splitting it where Mom cut it into four quarters that morning, and hand him half. He takes it without saying anything.

We eat on the picnic bench, swinging our feet, until Mrs. Reynolds calls us all in to the classroom. I grab my lunch box, snap it closed and jump off the bench to face him.

"I'm Jason," I say.

"Timmy," He says, pushing his long hair out of his face, and then he smiles at me a little.

When I run for the classroom, I can hear his footsteps right behind me, keeping pace with mine.

*****

Mom wasn't sure she'd like Timmy. I told her I'd never seen him or his parents at church. But the first time he biked over to our house, Mom took one look at his grubby face and patched-up jeans and told him to call his parents to see if he could stay over for dinner.

Dad watched us throwing the ball out back that night until it got so dark he called us in. A week later, Timmy showed up for peewee with a uniform, cleats, and the biggest grin I'd ever seen. He's over all the time - Tuesday night dinners, Saturday morning cartoons, throwing the ball out back.

Fourth grade. I'd told him to come over Christmas morning so we could play with the new football training net I found in the attic two weeks before, but he never came. I was confused at first, and then hurt, and then worried when I called the house and his mom didn't answer. She did that sometimes, Timmy said, just forgot to pick up the phone, which I didn't understand. But still.

Three days later at peewee practice, Timmy showed up in a new black truck.

"Hey," I said, happy to see him, out of breath from running to the truck. "Where you been?"

The driver's side door jerked open, and a guy got out. "You must be Jason," He said, walking around to the passenger side. I wrinkled my nose at the faint smell of beer.

"Yeah," I said, looking back at Timmy. He didn't even look at me.

"I'm Billy," The guy said, opening the side door for Timmy. "Tim's older brother." Timmy climbed down silently, pads in his hand, and said nothing.

"Hey," I said. Timmy'd never even mentioned a brother. Billy closed the side door with a slam, stared down at Timmy with his hands on his hips.

"I'll be back for ya," He said. "Okay?"

Timmy nodded, didn't look up. Billy mussed his hair, which Timmy always hated, but he didn't squirm away. Billy got back in the truck, started the engine, and Timmy started walking toward the field.

"What happened?" I asked, walking alongside him.

He shrugged.

"I thought you were comin' over," I said, feeling hurt again. It was fun throwing the ball with Dad, but I missed Tim. He never got tired, never wanted to stop catching my throws, even when the sun had gone down and we were playing in the floodlights in the back yard. He said it was good practice for when we were on the field for varsity.

He kept going and I reached for his arm, pulled him to a stop. "Hey," I said.

He stared at the ground, kicked at the dirt.

I peered at him. "You okay?"

He shuffled his feet, pursed his lips, and when he glanced up at me the look on his face almost knocked me backwards a step, because he looked so sad -

"Sorry," He mumbled, and looked away.

I blinked and shrugged. "S'okay," I said. "Can you come over tonight?"

He looked up at me, surprised, and gave me that slow half-smile, and then Coach yelled that we were lollygaggers keeping everyone else waiting and we ran for the field, grinning at each other.

Timmy made seven blocks for me that practice, caught two passes and ran for a touchdown. When Billy showed up twenty minutes late to get him, we were still playing catch on the field.

It wasn't until six years later that Billy told me about Timmy calling him from the hospital. He'd been there with his mom for two days, after Walt had thrown his mom through the sliding-glass door out back and walked out.

Tim had called the ambulance and refused to leave her, kicking and screaming and biting at anyone who came near him, until they started talking about custody and foster care. Only then had he called Billy for help. Timmy wouldn't even talk to him when he got there; Billy had to put everything together based on what the nurses and the paramedics told him. Billy told them he'd take care of the kid, got him home and put him to bed.

When they went back to the hospital the next day, his mom was gone. She'd woken up and checked herself out.

"We came back to the house and waited for her, but she never came back," Billy said six years later, the half-empty beer bottle dangling from his hand, glancing over at Timmy passed out on the couch.

"He didn't say two words 'til after he went to that damn peewee practice - just shake his head yes or no to whatever you asked 'im." He shook his head and raised the bottle to his mouth, draining it.

I stared at Tim, draped on the couch, his chest slowly rising and falling with each breath. He looked peaceful when he slept. Tyra said he looked like an angel when he slept, and always added, which just goes to show you.

"I mean, what mother does that to her own kid?" Billy asked, reaching into the cooler for another beer, and I didn't know how to answer.

So I shouldn't have been surprised when he couldn't come to see me, no matter how much it hurt.

Timmy hates hospitals.

*****

The first time I noticed was at the lake, before I knew about him and Lyla, before it all went to hell in a handbasket. I looped my arms around his shoulders and he picked me up, making that gutteral, shrill groan of a noise, complaining about me not being in game shape, and I laughed and said something about carrying the team while I was thinking, we'd never been this close to each other before.

I mean, buttslaps on the sidelines or pileups after a touchdown was one thing, but we were guys. We were Texans. Texans don't hug, man.

But Texans don't pick their quadrapalegic friends up out of wheelchairs, either, or carry them down a dock, or set you down so hard it knocks the wind out of you, and kneel down all worried that they've hurt you until you remind them I'm paralyzed, dumbass, I can't actually feel anything, and then break into this warm, lazy smile that reminds you of summer nights throwing the ball until long after dark, and you almost feel happy that your legs don't work -

Lyla started to step down to the boat, and he automatically turned to help her come on board, and I glanced down and noticed that I was hard.

I snatched her to me as fast as I could, pulling her forward so she stumbled a little, covering the awkwardness of the moment with a laugh when I pulled her back against me. She tensed a little when she felt me pressing against her back, and I nuzzled her neck.

"I'll get the cooler," Tim said, turning away sharply. At the time I thought he was giving us privacy.

"Hey," She murmured, twisting her head around. "Cool your jets there, mister."

"Shut up," I mumbled, and pulled her into a kiss.

When I saw them outside later that night, saw her hand fall from his shoulder and press his body closer against hers, it was almost a relief. Now I had a reason to hate him.

The suckerpunch was as much for that moment at the lake as for anything else. Just to get him away from me.

Just to get me away from him.

So I get pissed at the world and Lyla and argue with Herc and play quad rugby until I can barely raise my arms, and I keep moving and dodging and thinking about Beijing and how it will all be better if I can just get to the other side of the fucking world and take Lyla with me and forget about all this -

Until Coach Gumby tells me they're not taking me, and the only place for me to go is back home, and all I can think about his Herc saying you're like a newborn baby, what turned you on before might not work for you now -

I'm a mess of panic and this will not happen all the way home, and at least I can talk to Susie about everything else, and she tastes good when I kiss her, the aftertaste of sugar on her tongue from the soda she picked up at the gas station half an hour ago. But when I break the kiss and she stands up and leads the way to her truck, I look down and there's no response, nothing, and fuck, I want this. I want *this*.

But my body's got other plans. And there's nothing I can do about it.

And then I'm trying to get someone, anyone to sell me a case of beer that the whole town would have happily have bought me on the house four months ago, and of course Tim is picking up two cases. Of course it's him. Sometimes this town really is too damn small, I think, but I'm happy to see him anyway because he's Tim and I'm always happy to see him and because he's Tim, and it's always been me and him and that's pretty much the whole fucking problem in a nutshell, isn't it?

Because the one thing I know, the one thing I am more sure of than just about anything else on this planet, is that Tim Riggins loves women. He loves them. Not like the rest of us do - I mean like I love football. He's got a gift for women and he knows it. Hell, Billy used to take him grocery shopping when we were in peewee and send him out like a damn scout. All he had to do was ask for help getting a box of cereal down off the shelf, or ask them where the milk was. They'd look down at the dimples and the eyes and the ratty hair and then Billy would swoop down and tell Tim he knew better than to run off like that, and Billy'd be all set for Friday night. After a week Timmy wised up and told Billy he wanted an allowance if he was gonna help Billy get dates.

So there's no chance of this, none whatsoever. Even if he wasn't my best friend. Even if we weren't just getting our friendship back. Even if I was okay with whatever the hell's happened to me this time.

There's no chance of anything happening at all.

*****

We're sitting by the lake two weeks after the drunken football practice, me in the chair (always in the chair), him in one of those lawn chairs he always keeps in the back of his trunk. The sun settles gently here, turning the tips of the trees red.

"M'gonna start a fire," He says, stretching his legs and standing up. "S'gettin' cold." He looks over at me. "You alright?"

"I got my jacket, and the rest of me doesn't matter," I say, staring out at the water, bring the beer up. Sipping beer through a straw isn't so bad. You get used to it. When he comes back, he's wearing his sheepskin jacket, and I shake my head and laugh a little.

"What?"

"Nothin'," I say, grinning.

"What," He says, rolling his eyes.

"Your jacket," I say, looking up at him, half-smiling.

"What about it," He mutters, glancing down at it.

"Nothin," I say. "It's just..." Careful. "...remember Smash and Saracen on the football field? 'That's so brokeback'?"

"Yeah."

"Jacket's in the movie," I said, nodding at it.

It takes a second, and then his head drops to the side, a lazy smile on his mouth. "Shut up."

"One of the guys wears it," I say, grinning now.

He rolls his eyes. "Well, it's gettin' cold, man, I'm not takin' it off now," He says, turning away, and I laugh until I hear him say, "Even if it is gay."

I stare down at the beer in my hands. "You never saw it, did ya?"

He's facing me, leaning down to pick up some branches, and just gives me a dry, withering look.

"Right," I say, nodding. "Gay cowboys."

He starts stacking the wood up in his arms.

"Lyla took me to see it," I hear myself say, and the words hang in the air like suspended glass. He freezes, his hand reaching down for another branch, and then the moment passes and he picks it up, tosses into his arms with the others.

"It was pretty good, actually," I say, thinking shut up, shut the fuck up for a thousand different reasons. I raise the beer and take a long draw on it. "Once you got past the gay stuff."

He doesn't say anything, just pouts out that lower lip that can mean anything. He walks to the back of his truck, grabbing the newspaper he brought with us, starts crumpling it up and stuffing it under the branches. After a minute he crouches down and lights the tinder.

"What's so good about it?" He asks, staring at the slowly smoking fire, adjusting one or two branches to get the airflow right. "Once you get past the gay stuff."

I blink, surprised.

"It's... I don't know," I start. "It's about two guys who have this connection that no one else gets. And even when they try to have something similar with - you know, their wives, or work, or a family, there's just..." My voice trails off, and I look back at the beer in my hands. "That's the strongest connection they have."

When I finally get up the nerve to look at him, he hasn't moved. The sheepskin jacket's tugged up on his neck, his body twisted toward the fire, one arm draped over his knee.

"Huh," He says, like we're talking about football, like the time in ninth grade when I told him I thought I was in love with Lyla Garrity, just like that. "Huh."

I don't look up when he rises, brushing dirt and leaves off his knees, and walks back to the lawn chair, half-collapsing in it, exhaling sharply. I keep my eyes on the fire when he scrubs the hair back from his face and his hands rake across his scalp.

"So how's it end," He asks, picking up his beer bottle and raising it to his mouth.

I glance over at him, stare down at the beer in my lap, shake my head a little.

"Badly," I say. "One of them wants - you know, the relationship. And the other one doesn't. He can't deal with it."

He swallows and lets the bottle fall from his lips, pouts his lower lip, stares at the fire.

"They end up alone," I say. "They get together every couple years, but that's it. And one of 'em gets killed by a group of guys, who - you know, figure it out."

His eyebrows go up slightly and we sit in silence for a minute, the flames dancing across our faces.

"What about the other guy?" He asks.

I shrug. "He just - misses him," I say. "The rest of his life. And has to live with it."

He shakes his head slightly and pushes his body back against the lawn chair. "Intense," He says.

"The thing is, they're... two regular guys, you know," I hear myself say. "They weren't looking for it to be like that, it was just...

"Nothing else in their lives even came close," I finally say, and hold my breath.

He doesn't move for a minute, his face glowing in the light of the fire, and then he turns to look directly at me and Jesus, his eyes are so fucking beautiful, how did I never see that, how did I not know -

"I get that," He says quietly, and holds my gaze for one second, and then another, and -

I blink first and look away, swallowing hard, staring down at the wheels next to my body.

By: Whiteotter
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Jason/Tim
Spoilers: Through ~~Crossing the Line~~ "Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes". And if you haven't seen "Brokeback Mountain" there's spoilers here for that as well.
Disclaimer: I worship at the altar of Peter Berg, Taylor Kitsch and Scott Porter, and hope they accept my paltry tribute.

For 1407Greymalkin. I hope you like it.

Like blood for grass, feedback makes the fic grow. Thanks to devilc for helpful beta-input.

Chances (part 5 of 5). Tim/Jackie. Post-"Extended Families".

Thu, 05 Apr 2007 16:55:19 GMT

After last night's brilliant episode, this will probably be the last of my Tim/Bo/NeighborMom series. It's short and written in a slightly different style than the rest of the series, but I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy. :)

Earlier installments can be found here, in the following order: (1) Tim Riggins, Babysitter Extraordinaire, (2) Long Time Ago, (3) Bruised and (4) Momentum.

This is how it works now: I throw the ball with Bo, teach him how to land a punch, and come over for dinner a couple times a week. Sometimes the three of us watch a movie or TV, Bo munching happily on popcorn between the two of us on the couch, and we wait for him to crash against one of us.

I always get him now, pick him up and carry his bed, and feel her eyes follow me every time.

Sometimes I wait, resting my arm on the back of the couch and touching her neck, neither of us looking at each other, neither one of us watching the figures on the TV screen. Sometimes he falls asleep against me and I don't trust myself to move or I just don't want to, and then I feel her fingers lacing into mine or her fingertips stroking my hair away from my face, and it's just about the best damn thing I've ever felt.

I never help her with the dishes.

Because of course I had to see how far I could take it. See if she really meant it. I lasted almost a week after we'd nearly had smoking-hot washer-sex. That was pretty damn good, for me.

I brought the bowl of leftover spaghetti over to her by the sink after I'd carried Bo in to his bed. She'd set it with the other dishes, thanked me for coming over, and told me I could go home.

Like hell. We'd held hands over Bo's sleeping body on the back of the couch for about 30 minutes, fingertips skimming the soft parts of each others' skin. I'd heard her breath catch at least six times, especially when I ran my thumb across the hollow of her palm. She had had this dreamy look on her face and I was gonna explode if I didn't kiss her. There was no way I was going home.

I moved behind her and set my hands on her shoulders. She tensed up and I ignored it, letting my hands massage her neck, hearing the breath slip out of her mouth slowly. Her head dropped forward and I reached up, brushing her long hair out of the way, sliding my hands up her neck and crushing the skin gently, heard her say oh and moved closer, letting one hand drop to the front of her hip, pulling her back against me -

Which is when she threw a full glass of dirty dishwater over her shoulder, right at my face.

I froze as the water rushed down my shirt and dripped off my hair. She twisted around and smirked at me a little.

"Oh," I said, smiling. "You're dead -"

I lunged for the sink of water and she twisted away, running to the far side of the kitchen, hands held out to block the first wave of water I shot at her. She pivoted her body and most of it landed on her side.

"Stop," She laughed. "Don't."

"Don't what?" I asked, slamming another wave at her. She let out a muffled half-shriek that made me want to tackle her to the floor and then she twisted, grabbing at the plates, facing me triumphantly with a handful of spaghetti.

I shook my head. "Don't," I said. "Don't you dare -"

She threw it at me and I dodged. Between ten years of ducking tackles and what I can only call one of the worst throwing arms in the world, it hit the wall behind me.

"Hah. Missed," I said, and a fistful of cold pasta hit my face.

"Alright," I said, sliding across the wet floor, reaching for one of the little tins on the counter. "If that's the way you want it -"

"No!" She hissed. "Tim, please. Put it down."

"Why?"

"It's sugar," She pleaded. "Not sugar, please, it gets everywhere, I'll never get it all -"

I smiled, reached into the bin and pulled out the biggest fistful of sugar I could manage.

"Don't," She said, her eyes wide, and suddenly tried to get all serious. "Tim, I mean it, don't you -"

I half-tackled her to the floor and and rubbed it all into her hair, still wet from the water. She twisted and shoved at me, laughing silently, her body trapped underneath mine -

"Damnit, Tim," She muttered, her hands planted against my chest. "Get off -"

"Say the magic word," I grinned.

"Get. Off."

Okay, then. I sighed and sat up, resting my back against the lower cabinets.

"You're unbelievable," She muttered, sitting up and slapping at me a few times before brushing sugar off her clothes. "Look at this -"

"You started it," I said, reclining my head against the cabinets, feeling the smile creep across my face.

"Only to hose you down," She snapped, wiping spaghetti off her face. "Oh my god," She said, looking up.

I looked around. It was pretty bad, but... "Shouldn't take us too long," I said.

"Oh no," She said, standing up. "No. You started this, you clean it up."

I stared up at her. She reached over to the sink and grabbed the roll of paper towels, held it down to me. I took it without thinking. "There you go," She said, walking off. "Have fun."

"You're kidding -"

"Uh, no," She said, turning around. "I'm not. I'm going to wash my hair, Tim. Maybe you don't mind having marinara in your hair -"

"Hey," I said, standing up. "You threw the spaghetti -"

"You started this, and you know it," She hissed. "So you get to clean it up." She turned on her heel and marched toward to the hallway, her back straight and shoulders squared.

It was just before she turned the corner that I saw her hands clench suddenly, and then shake out, casting the energy off them.

When she emerged from the shower thirty minutes later, I'd cleaned up half the kitchen. She wasn't kidding about the damn sugar, but I did the best I could. She'd rolled her eyes at me, smiled a little and sent me home.

Every night, she does the dishes alone. And I sit on the couch and watch her, and catch her smiling under my gaze, thinking about how close the chance is.

And how neither of us is going to take it.

~ FIN ~

By: Whiteotter
Genre: FNL, Tim POV. Follows <b>(1) Tim Riggins, Babysitter Extraordinaire, (2) Long Time Ago, (3) Bruised and (4) Momentum.
Spoilers: Set after "Extended Families", episode 1.18
Rating: PG.
Disclaimer: I worship at the altar of Peter Berg and Taylor Kitsch, and hope they (and NBC) accept my paltry tribute.

Momentum (part 4 of 5). Tim, Bo, Jackie. Follows "Extended Families".

Thu, 05 Apr 2007 16:54:36 GMT

Happy Wednesday (assuming most of you may not read this late on a Tuesday night)! For a change of pace, I bring you... Timfic. :)

This follows (1) Tim Riggins, Babysitter Extraordinaire, (2) Long Time Ago and (3) Bruised.

I stared up at the underside of my truck. The axle was wobbling again. I'd worked on it all day, and it was probably gonna take the rest of the day to fix it -

"Hey Tim Riggins." Bo slumped on his stomach on the dry, parched grass.

“Hey, Bo,” I said. “Hand me the wrench.”

He reached into the toolbox and I heard the sharp sound of metal hitting metal. “Which one?”

“The big one,” I muttered.

He handed me the monkey wrench. “Here you go,” He said sadly.

I looked over at him. “You’re awful quiet today.”

“Mom’s upset,” he said, pulling at a tuft of dead grass.

“Yeah?" I asked, trying to fit the wrench around the bolt, failing and trying it from a different angle. "How come?”

“Stupid A/C isn’t working,” He mumbled.

I rolled my eyes. It was 110 in the shade. It'd be like an oven in a house with no air conditioning. "She call the landlord?" I asked.

“He hasn't called back,” He said.

I squinted over at him. "What kinda unit is it?"

"I dunno," He shrugged. "She’s been working on it for a while.”

I frowned. “She’s trying to fix it?”

He tilted his head to the side and looked at me with big, expressive eyes.

I looked back up at the axle, sighed, and slid my body out from underneath the truck.

*****

I let Bo open the door. He wasn’t covered in grease.

“Mom?” He called.

“I’m still out here, honey,” She yelled.

I stepped out back. Some plastic porch chairs with the price tags still on them stood on the short concrete porch. The yard stretched about 25 feet back and ended in an eight-foot wooden fence. It looked pretty much like ours, except it had a few trees, and no pool. An old standalone porch swing stood back by the fence.

“Around here,” I heard Bo yell.

I walked around the side of the house and found her crouched down by the unit, Bo standing next to her. The thing was half-covered by dirt and dead leaves.

“I hear you’re having some trouble," I said.

“Hey, Tim,” She said, looking up at me and standing up.

Her hair was jerked back in a rough ponytail and her tank top and cut-off shorts were smeared with dirt. Damn, nice legs, I thought, and then Bo looked up at me hopefully and I crushed the thought.

"Bo, would you get me some ice water?" She asked.

"OK," He said, and trotted off.

“I’m not having much luck with this thing,” She said, frustrated, gesturing at the unit with the screwdriver in her hand.

“How long you been workin’ on it?” I asked, glancing down. The inside wasn’t much better than the outside.

She laughed bitterly and nudged the open tool box at her feet with her foot. “Since it died at ten o’clock this morning,” She muttered, wiping her hand across her forehead. It left a streak of grease on her skin.

I glanced up at the sky. The sun would be down in about an hour.

“I looked at the filter, and aside from the fact that it hasn’t been changed in about ten years, it’s fine," She said. "So I cleaned that out. And then I looked at the compressor, but I think it’s in decent shape. The coil’s a mess, but it’s working...”

I felt my eyebrows go up a little.

"What?"

I shrugged and shook my head. "Nothing," I said. "Just... most of the girls I know don't know how to change a tire."

"Yeah. Well. That's okay for when you're in high school, but in real life, sometimes..." Her voice trailed off and she sighed. "My dad taught me some stuff, but most of it I get from reading the manual."

I pursed my lips, nodded. “Right,” I said, and held my hand out for the screwdriver. “Gimme.”

“No, you know, I think I might check the compressor again –"

“We got the same model at our house,” I said. “Billy and I been workin’ on it for six years.”

She looked over at me and her forehead crinkled. "Six years?" She asked. "Really?"

“Plus, you’re pissed," I said, smiling. “Pretty soon, you’re just gonna kick it."

She made a face at me. “I was thinking about it,” She said, smiling a little. “You sure you don't mind...?"

I rolled my eyes and held out my hand.

She exhaled, shook her head and handed it to me. “Okay. Well, then I’m - gonna shower and change and – I don’t know, make lemonade or something. Lemme know when you're tired, though, and I'll come back to it."

"Here, Mom," Bo said, trotting up and handing her a cup.

"Thank you, sweetie," She said, cupping his cheek in one hand, handing the cup to me with the other. "You're gonna need this," She said.

"Thanks," I said, setting the cup on the ground as I kneeled down by the unit and peered in. "C'mere, Bo."

“What?” He asked, standing next to me. I squinted, leaned in a little.

Nope. Nope. Nope - Found it.

“Is she gone?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

He craned his neck around and looked back, puzzled. “Yeah,” He said.

“Alright," I said quietly, looking at him. "This is gonna take us ten minutes.“

“You can fix it?”

"Shhhhh," I said. "It's gonna be a surprise."

"Okay," He whispered. "So what’s wrong with it?”

“That’s why it’s gonna take ten minutes,” I said. “You’re gonna tell me.”

*****

“So it’s not the compressor.”

“Nope,” I said, leaning back against the fence with my eyes closed.

“And the fan’s okay.”

“Yep.”

“And the belt’s okay.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to get a new one,” I said, yawning a little –

“- but that’s not it.”

“Nope.”

He groaned. “I give up.”

“Keep goin’.”

He sighed. “Filter, freon, debris, compressor, fan, belt, wires...”

I stretched out my arms, knotted my fingers behind my head, and waited.

“Wires,” He mumbled. I could hear the frown in his voice. “Hey, what about the wires?”

“You checked ‘em?”

“No,” He muttered.

“Well, try that.”

There was a pause and a sound of scraping.

“They’re all gross,” He complained.

“Really.”

“Yeah, they’re all, like, gunked up with stuff.”

“Huh,” I deadpanned, turning my face to the sun.

“...should they be all dirty like that?”

I pursed my lower lip out, shrugged. There was a pause.

“...maybe ...we should clean ‘em?” He asked tentatively. “Is that it?”

I opened my eyes, squinted at him.

“Is that it?” He repeated excitedly.

I underestimated him, I thought as I leaned over to show him how to strip the wire and re-attach it. She wasn’t even back with the lemonade yet.

*****

Bo and I stood under the A/C vent in living room as the motor started up outside, closed our eyes, and let the cold air drift down to us.

“I love air conditioning,” Bo murmured.

"Me too," I said, letting my head roll back.

“No way,” We heard her yell all the way back from her bedroom. “No way!”

I smiled. This was gonna be fun -

“How’d you do it?” She called out. “What was it?”

I turned, glanced down at Bo. “It’s a secret,” He called back, smiling at me.

I heard her door open and footsteps coming fast down the hallway –

“You fixed it!” She said with this huge smile, and threw her arms around my shoulders and hugged me.

I stood there for a second and then my arms automatically closed over the little summer dress, dusty blue with little spaghetti straps and tiny white flowers, because she thought it we wouldn’t fix it and the house would still be hot and her hair was still wet, slicked back against her shoulders, and I fought the urge to -

"I'm, um," I said, letting go of her and stepping back. "I've got grease on me."

She stared at me in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?" She said. "It's working, I've been out there all day -"

"- and he did it,” I said, nodding at Bo.

She rolled her eyes. "Tim," She said. Her hands were still on my shoulders -

“No. Really," I said. "He found the -"

Bo kicked me.

"- the problem," I finished lamely.

She looked down at him and smiled. “You fixed it?” She asked. "You fixed the air conditioning?"

“Yep,” He nodded. She picked him up off the ground and clutched him to her in a bear hug, covering his face with kisses. He struggled, but not too much.

“Tim Riggins helped,” Bo said.

“I’ll bet he did,” She said, smiling at me and setting him down. “Thank you so much, Tim -”

“No problem.”

“- I didn’t even make you guys anything to drink, 'cause I didn't even have the chance," She said, mussing Bo’s hair. "Why don't you come back for dinner?"

I stared down at the two of them. Bo smiled up at me.

“Well - okay,” I said. “Lemme just, uh. Go home and change.”

“Good," She said.

“Be back in a little bit," I said, opening the screen door.

"Hey," She said, following me and holding the door open. "Tim -"

"Yeah," I said, turning around. She leaned against the door frame, barefoot, smiling. Her hair was starting to dry and curl up at the edges -

"Really," She whispered. "Thank you."

I blinked. "Sure."

She smiled, looking just like Bo when he caught one of my passes, and practically skipped back to the living room. The screen door began its slow journey to closing.

“I love air conditioning, Bo,” I heard her say.

“Me too."

"So, really," She said in a low voice. "What was it?"

"Told you," He said happily. "It's a secret."

*****

"Hey," She said. "C'mon in."

"Thanks," I said, crossing the threshold. Still wearing the dress.

"Hope you like quesadillas," She said over her shoulder, walking into the kitchen.

Bo bounded over to me. "Wanna play a video game before dinner?"

"You bet."

"Cool."

"After dinner I thought we'd work on your passing arm," I said. "Unless your mom minds."

"Fine with me," She said from the kitchen, smiling.

*****

"Lemme help you with that," I said.

"Oh no. It's okay," She said. "Leave the dishes."

"Okay," I said. "You ready to throw the ball, little man?"

"You bet," He said, running for the back door.

I turned back to her. She had a dirty dish in each hands and was half-way to the sink. "Hey - wanna watch?" I asked. "He's gettin' pretty good."

She glanced outside at Bo, looked at me, set the dishes down on the counter.

"Alright," She said, grabbing a folded blanket off the back of the couch as she walked past me. "Let's see how good you are."

*****

She leaned back on the swing, her legs drawn up, her body wrapped up in the blanket. "This is great," She said. "I haven't been out here much, you know? It's been too hot."

I stood a few feet in front of her, facing Bo.

"Funny how fast the temperature drops here," She murmured.

"Go right, Bo," I called. He nodded and ran left.

"No, your other right," I called, grinning, and he doubled back.

I drew my arm back, careful not to put any strength behind it, and focused on the spiral of the ball. It left my hands in a perfect arc, and he ran right to it and caught it.

"Nice, honey," She called out from the swing.

He grinned and stopped short, looking down at the ball to make sure his fingers were on the laces, and turned his body like I taught him before launching it at me. I dodged to the side to catch it instead of having to run forward. He's getting better at this, I thought.

"Alright," I drawled. "I'm gonna throw it farther now."

"Okay," He said, jogging backwards a few steps.

I threw it with a little bit of force, let it spiral off my fingertips. He ran backwards for it and just barely missed the catch.

"Close, Bo," I called out.

He kicked it accidentally and chased after it, rolling along in the grass.

"So, uh," I said, glancing behind me. "I never asked what you're studying."

"Child psychology," She said dreamily, staring up at the sky.

I shook my head a little, looked down. "Wow," I said quietly.

"Should've been an astronomer, though."

"How come?"

"They're just so damn pretty," She said, and I followed her gaze up, staring at an ocean of glittering flecks.

"Here, Tim Riggins!" Bo called from across the yard, throwing for all he was worth. I ran forward about five paces and caught it, circled back.

"Good arm," I called back. "So where do you take your classes?" I asked, lobbing the ball back to him. "We don't exactly have a college campus here."

She shifted her weight, tugged the blanket higher. "It's an online degree," She said. "I go to the library or the high school to watch my classes on the computer. And I send in all my assignments by email, so..."

"Nice," I said, catching another pass from Bo. "So you can pretty much take your classes anywhere, then."

She looked at me. "D'you want to go to college?" She asked.

I choked down a laugh. "Probably not," I muttered.

"Why not?"

'Cause the rally girls have done my homework for the last four years, and I was held back the year Dad left, and... "School's not really my thing," I said.

"Not even to play college football?" She asked.

I turned the ball in my hands. "I wasn't," I started, looked down. "It wasn't supposed to be me. Who went."

I could feel her eyes on me. "For college, or..."

I nodded. "Or going pro."

She paused. "Well... what did you wanna do?" She asked quietly. "Before."

I shrugged my lower lip. No one had ever asked that. "Stay here," I said, looking up at the sky and then turning to face her.

"I was gonna stay right here," I said.

She watched me from the swing as it swayed gently back and forth.

I reached back, and threw the ball to Bo.

*****

"C'mon," She said. "Off to bed."

"But I wanna -"

"Nope," She said firmly. "It's past your bedtime already, and you have school tomorrow. Say goodnight."

"Night, Bo," I said, smiling.

"Night, Tim Riggins."

"I can let myself out," I said, looking at her. "Thanks for dinner."

"Thanks for the air conditioning," She said, smiling. "'Night, Tim."

I nodded, and she walked down the hallway with him. He was mumbling something about school not being more important than football.

I looked through the screen door to my house, my truck sitting in the driveway, the old dead tree trunk standing in the front yard.

I turned back, looked down the hallway at the the door to Bo's room. The door was slightly open.

I circled around again, and saw the table of dirty dishes.

*****

I was walking out of the kitchen when she came back into the living room. "Hey," She said, surprised. "You didn't need to clean up, hon."

I paused. Hon. "It's no big deal," I said, shrugging.

She looked at me for a moment and smiled. "Well, I'm just going to finish up. If you'd like to hang out, though, you're more than welcome -"

"I'll help," I said.

"Tim, really, you don't have to -"

"I don't mind," I said.

She stared at me, shook her head slightly. "Okay," She said.

She came into the kitchen, crossed to the sink. I turned and picked up a plain dishtowel I'd noticed earlier, folded it in half, flipped it onto my shoulder. She glanced at me, smiling awkwardly as I stood next to her.

She reached over and turned on the hot water, poured some detergent into the sink. Suds and steam bubbled up, the heat turning her hands a warm pink. She had small hands, delicate. I could fit them both in one of mine, I thought, and tucked my hair back.

She picked up a glass in one hand and a sponge in the other, lowering both into the suds and twisting before lifting it from the water. "Here," She said.

I took it from her and she glanced away. I tugged the towel off my shoulder with my other hand and dried it quickly, set the glass upside-down on the counter and turned back as the next glass slipped from her grasp.

It was gonna shatter, and she reached to catch it and I lunged -

The glass hit the edge of the sink with an awkward clang and fell, sloshing water almost up to the brim and then spinning lazily in a slow circle.

She stared down at my hand wrapped around her wrist, and I couldn't take my eyes off her, and then she looked up at me, shaking and I felt my breath catch -

I moved toward her and she circled, facing me and backing up at the same time and I followed, the two of us moving in this weird dance, neither of us touching until she'd back up against something, anything that would stop her from running and then -

Her back hit the closed door to the laundry room and I planted my hands against the frame of the door, the only sound our breath rushing out, and when leaned in and kissed her she was open and warm and soft and I let my arms drop and crushed myself against her, felt her arms threading up my sides to my shoulders. I sucked her lower lip in, nuzzled it with my teeth and felt the half-gasp from her mouth against mine, and then her hands were fumbling by the door -

I pressed against her, backing her up, kicking the door shut behind me and half-lifting her up, feeling her arms knot behind my neck, her mouth still on mine when I set her down on the washer. I slid my hips toward her, pressing her legs apart and sliding my hands up her thighs and she felt different, I thought, tracing the inner muscles of her legs with my fingers and listening to the catch in her breath, smooth and soft like girls but more muscled underneath and my fingertips slid to the edge where her thighs turned to hips, found the thin ribbon edge of her panties and -

"Stop," She breathed, her hands on my chest.

I froze. My fingers paused. I licked my lips and looked down at her.

No, I want this, you want this -

"Why," I breathed.

She swallowed, shook a little. "Bo," She whispered.

He was asleep, I hadn't heard his door open, I thought, and then, that's not what she means...

I took in the look of her up close, the warm smell of soap and sex and softness and let go, moving back, pulling the fabric down to her knees as I moved, and put my hands on either side of her on the washer.

Our breath was still hanging in the sudden silence, and after a moment I leaned forward and rested my forehead against her shoulder. I swallowed hard, and then I felt her hand on the back of my head, stroking my hair -

"Tim," She said, her voice shaking a little.

I swallowed. "Yeah."

"Can we," She started, and paused. "Can we talk about this?" She asked.

I closed my eyes, exhaled quietly and slowly, and stood up. She was looking at me with worried eyes.

I nodded.

"Maybe outside?" She asked.

I nodded again, stepping back, and offered my hands to help her down.

*****

She faced me on the far side of the swing, her knees tucked up under the blanket.

"Can I start?" She asked quietly.

I nodded, facing the house. I already knew this part. Cue the music and fade to black.

"I really..." She shook her head. "I wasn't expecting that," She said slowly.

I looked down at my hands and said nothing.

"Tim, if you were older, or I was - or if I didn't have Bo," She said. "Then things might be different. And I'm flattered, I really am..."

I laughed a little and looked away.

"Tim," She said gently. "Please say something -"

"I like you," I said, looking at her.

She opened her mouth to say something and shut it again.

"I like being here with both of you,” I said, looking away. "I don’t understand why we can't–"

"He won't understand, Tim," She said. "He'll get confused about who you are, and what you are to him."

I nodded, turned away. "You need a dad," I said, my voice hoarse.

"No, that's not it," She said, leaning toward me.

"Everything in your life is changing right now. Who you are, what you're going to do, what you want. It's supposed to. And you don't know where those changes are going to take you, no one does. But that's hard for a six-year-old to understand.

"All he knows is that he’s crazy about you and loves spending time with you," She said, glancing at the house. "But I've got to think about what's best for him in the long run, no matter what, and... do you understand what I mean?"

I looked down, nodded.

“I can certainly understand why he likes you so much, though,” She said.

I looked over at her. She was smiling tentatively. “What,” I said, the word almost a growl.

“That was just,” She said, shaking her head, eyes widening slightly. “Whoa.”

I licked my lips, half-smiled and looked away.

“I don’t think I’m gonna look at dishes the same way again,” She said.

“Shut up,” I muttered, swatting at her legs. She shrieked a little and dodged me. I shook my head and looked back at the house.

“So that’s what you want,” I asked. “Me and Bo.”

She paused. “Well, I think it's pretty clear what he thinks about you," She said.

"Yeah."

"And - I like you and Bo. I trust you, Tim. That’s saying a lot.”

I know.

“But I also like talking with you, and I think you do, too,” She said. “And I get the feeling you don’t talk much to other people.”

I didn't respond.

“Maybe – that’s not so bad, to have that. Someone you can talk to," She said.

Have a conversation? Yeah, I thought we might want to try that sometime -

I closed my eyes, shook my head a little and leaned back, rubbing my face with my hands. I guess you get what you ask for.

“So, we’re what, then,” I asked. “Friends?”

She tilted her head, smiled at me, and leaned forward. “Friends,” She said, stretching out her hand.

I looked at it for a moment and then reached out, one hand closing around hers in a soft handshake, the other wrapping around her wrist. I heard her breathe out quietly.

She rested her head against the back of the swing, and a moment later I felt her fingertips on the side of my face, brushing my hair back from my eyes -

“You don’t want to go home,” She asked quietly.

I turned her hands in mine, shook my head no, and felt her eyes on me.

Her fingers clutched mine closer.

“Let’s just sit here for a little bit longer, then,” She said.

I breathed out slowly and pressed against the ground with my feet, setting the swing gently into motion.

Continue to Part 5.

By: Whiteotter
Genre: FNL. Tim POV.
Spoilers: Set after "Extended Families", episode 1.18
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I worship at the altar of Peter Berg and Taylor Kitsch, and hope they (and NBC) accept my paltry tribute. Special thanks to Whirling Girl for being such an enthusiastic, meticulous beta and for her constant demands for more fic.

Like blood for grass, feedback makes the fic grow.

Bruised (part 3 of 5). Tim, Bo, Jackie, Billy.

Thu, 05 Apr 2007 16:53:55 GMT

Happy St. Patrick's Day! I bring you new Timfic. This follows (1) Tim Riggins, Babysitter Extraordinaire and (2) Long Time Ago.

"What the hell," Billy asked, bleary-eyed.

"You seen the fishing rods?" I asked, pulling some boxes off shelves out back.

"It's ten in the morning," He muttered, craning around to look at the microwave behind him. "Fish aren't biting now."

I ignored him and shoved a mason jar of nails to the side.

"Since when're you into fishing?" He asked. "You haven't wanted to do that since..."

I turned away and pushed some stuff above the washer around. I knew they were here somewhere -

"No," He said. "Tell me you're not -"

I moved the detergent over and reached to the back of the shelf.

"- tell me you're not taking the little brat fishing."

My fingertips touched a thin curve of wood, then another. I stretched up on my feet and grasped both rods in my hands, lifting them down. They were covered in dust, but in decent condition. Dad had always spent good money on whatever new hobby he had - high-end golf gloves, fancy putters, handmade pool cues...

My tongue inadvertently touched the tender spot on my lip, and then I shrugged off the memory.

I hefted the rods and eyeballed the taper. We'd have to pick up some fishing line, but at least they'd get used -

"Hey," Billy snapped, stepping outside. "I'm talking to you."

"I heard you," I grunted.

"What're you doing, Tim?" He demanded. "Is this about the Mom?"

I snorted and turned back to the boxes.

"That's a little much even for you, don'tcha think?"

"It's not about her," I said, pulling down the old tackle box and glancing through the hooks. Half of them were rusted, we'd have to get those, too -

"Then what the hell is it?" He asked. "You get 'em tickets to your games, you babysit, now you're taking him fishing -"

"He's just a kid, Billy," I said, closing the tackle box. I looked over at him. He was glaring at me, his hands tense on his hips.

"He's a kid. They don't know anybody," I said, shrugging. "I don't know."

He stared at me in disbelief. "She's a single mother, Tim. She's not some rally girl looking for the Number 33 Maxim experience."

I half-laughed, shook my head.

"She's looking for a dad, Tim. They both are."

I paused, looked at him evenly. "And that's you?" I asked. "Mister 'I know what having a kid is like'?"

He started to say something and laughed instead, sharp and bitter. He closed the distance between us, and I shifted my weight instinctively -

"Fine," He said, staring up at me, his voice low. "Figure it out on your own, like you always do. Like you did with Dad."

I twisted my head, looked away.

"Just do me a favor," He said, turning back to the house. "Don't come crying to me when this blows up in your face."

"When've I ever come cryin' to you," I muttered under my breath.

He paused, his back to me, holding the open door in his fist. Then he stepped into the house, slamming it shut behind him.

I scowled, reached for the fishing rods, and went to find Bo.

*****

"You ready, little man?" I asked, shutting the truck door behind me.

"Yep," He said in a whisper.

"Not hung over today, Bo," I said.

"Okay!" He said brightly. "Are you excited about the championships? What's your shoulder look like?"

I grabbed the collar of my shirt and tugged it down my arm, leaning down so he could see it. The violet splotch that ran halfway down my side was already darkening to a swirl of black and blue.

"Whoa," He breathed. "Does it hurt?"

"This?" I shrugged, standing up. "Nah."

"Are you gonna be able to fish?"

"The fish aren't that big, Bo."

"That was so cool, going to the game -"

"Glad you liked it."

"- the best part was when you just knocked that guy over in the fourth quarter, wham, and then you ran the rest of the way into the end zone, and the whole crowd went crazy -"

I winced a little and turned it into a grin. That guy was built like a Mack truck, and he'd come after me the whole damn game. I still didn't know how I got him off me in that last play.

"Mom thought it was really cool, too," He said.

I paused. "Did she," I said.

"Yeah. Can we go?"

"Okay," I grinned, and glanced up at his house. "Hey, where, uh - where is your mom?"

"Inside," He said, rolling his eyes. "Studying."

I blinked, nodded once. "Huh."

"So can we go?"

I stared at the house. "Yeah," I said. He ran past me to the truck, and I didn't move -

"Hold up," I said suddenly. "Gimme a sec."

*****

"Hey," I said, crossing from the hallway into the living room. She looked up at me from the floor. Open textbooks covered the coffee table.

"Hey," She said, surprised. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I said. "He, uh - he told you we're going fishing?"

She smiled. "Yeah, he's real excited about it," She said. "Thanks for taking him."

I heard the screen door open behind me and swing shut. "Sure," I said, nodding. Damn, those were a lotta books. "Y'know, it's a nice day outside."

"For some of us, maybe," She said, gesturing at the table.

"There's, um. An old picnic table," I said. "By the lake."

She looked at me blankly. "You could study there," I said.

"Oh - no," She said. "That's sweet of you, Tim, but I wouldn't want to intrude, and I have to finish, like, three chapters -"

"Mom, c'mon," Bo whined, right next to me. "You never go anywhere except for class."

She opened her mouth in protest, looked up at me.

"It's real pretty out there," I said, smiling a little.

She tilted her head, looked over at Bo, and grinned. "Alright," She said, standing up. "Gimme five minutes to change."

"Alright!" Bo yelled, jumping up and down.

"D'you want me to pack a lunch or something?" She asked, brushing off her jeans.

I shrugged. "Sure."

"I think I've got stuff for some sandwiches," She said, and headed into the kitchen.

"No mustard," Bo shouted after her, and then he shoved me with both hands.

I looked down at him. "What?" I asked.

He just grinned back at me.

"C'mere," I said, lunging for him suddenly, and he ran away shrieking.

*****

"How long before they start biting?"

"I told you," I said, my baseball cap pulled down low over my eyes, "You scare 'em away when you talk."

"We've been out here forever."

"S'been 20 minutes," I murmured, stretching my body out in the sun, one bare foot resting against the fishing rod at the end of the bench.

"It's hot."

I pushed the brim of my cap up slightly and squinted at him. "You gotta learn to relax, you know that?"

He dropped his head to the side and kicked at the floor of the boat. I looked him up and down for a second, and then sat up.

"C'mon," I said, reaching for the fishing rod at my feet. "Reel 'em in."

"How come?"

"They're not biting," I said, spinning the line up. "We'll try earlier next time."

"Okay," He said, turning around and reeling in his line slowly. I set my fishing rod down on the floor of the boat and looked back to shore. She'd brought every last book with her in that tattered canvas bag, and now they were scattered all over the picnic table...

"You done yet?" I asked, turning back to him.

"Almost," He said. His hook cleared the edge of the boat and I took the rod from him, tucking the hook away and laying it next to mine.

"So we're goin' back?" He asked sadly.

"Nope," I grinned, hands on my hips.

He squinted. "So what're we gonna -"

I scooped him up in both hands and his voice racheted up to a squeal. I clutched him close to me, twisting my body so I hit the water first as we fell off the boat.

*****

"Wow," She said. "You guys are soaked."

"Didja see it?" He asked. "Didja see? We jumped right off the boat!"

"I saw, alright," She drawled, tousling his wet hair. "You two looked like you were having a great time."

"He's a good swimmer," I said, tying up the boat and walking up the slope of the hill. "Better'n I was at his age."

"Yeah, he took lessons back in Knoxville," She said proudly.

"I was really good at diving," He said. "If I wasn't gonna play football, I'd go for the swim team."

"So how's the, uh, studying going?"

"Good," She said, looking up. "It was nice to get out of the house, actually. Thanks."

"You bet."

"It is real pretty out here. D'you come out here a lot?"

I remembered another boat ride, and a campfire, and looked away. The sun was hanging just above the tree line. It was gonna be dark soon.

"Not anymore," I said. "Used to all the time, though -"

"Watch this dive, Tim Riggins!"

I turned around. Bo was standing where the grass met the dock, his legs tensed to run, and then he took off for the end of the dock -

He didn't know how shallow it was. Or about the rocks. The bottom didn't drop off until about ten feet out -

I ran after him in a sprint, snatching him up two damn steps from the edge and hauling him up by his arms -

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yelled, holding him so his eyes were level with mine. "Don't do that, it's shallow here, you can't just dive in headfirst, Bo, you could -"

- you could break your neck.

His feet dangled at my knees. He stared at me, open-mouthed. Scared.

Scared of me.

"Ow," He whispered.

"- let him go," She hissed, pulling at me. "Tim. Let him go-"

Her hand hit the bruise on my shoulder and she grabbed him from me when I recoiled. She crouched down with him immediately. "It's okay. It's okay. He didn't mean it, sweetie -"

The white imprint from my hands was seared onto his arms, fading quickly to red. He's going to have bruises, I thought instinctively, and felt sick. His lower lip was quivering. She was rubbing his arms -

"- it's okay, baby, we're going home," She said soothingly, pushing him in front of her in a fast walk back to shore.

I opened my mouth to say I didn't mean it, I was scared, I'm sorry, and swallowed it when I saw the look of rage she shot back at me.

We rode in silence all the way home, her body rigid and tense next to me, Bo buckled in tight on the far side of the truck.

I didn't take my eyes off the road once.

*****

"Bo, I want you to go inside and start your homework," She said as soon as I pulled into their driveway.

"But -"

"Right now," She said, her voice gentle but stern. "Go."

"Okay," He mumbled. I felt him look at me as he got out, and kept my eyes on the dashboard. As soon as he left the car, she moved over to the far side, watched him unlock the door and close it behind him.

"What the hell was that, Tim," She demanded.

"I'm sorry."

"I cannot believe that you would raise your voice to my son, much less lift him off the ground -"

"Yes ma'am."

"- he might have bruises on his arms, Tim. Do you realize that?"

I swallowed, nodded. "Yes ma'am."

"Do you understand how furious I am with you right now?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Damnit, Tim, stop saying yes ma'am."

"Yes m-" I paused.

"Do you think this is funny?" She asked. "Are you joking about this?"

"No. I don't - I don't know what happened -"

"He's six years old, Tim," She shouted.

I didn't respond.

"You scared him. You scared me. Say something, Tim."

"Yes ma'am," I said desperately, and fought the urge to throw up.

"Tim -"

"I don't," I started. "I don't know what to say. There's nothing I can say. I don't know why I did that."

She twisted her body and jerked at the door handle -

"The lake," I said quickly. "The bottom is shallow. It's not sandy. There are rocks, and I didn't want him to get hurt -"

"You could have told him!" She yelled. "You could've told him to stop. God, Tim, he adores you. He would have turned right around -"

"I didn't - I didn't think -"

"No, Tim, you didn't. You didn't think."

I stared at the palms of my hands, heavy and hard from catching footballs and shoving 250-pound guys to the ground -

She opened her mouth, looked back at her house in exasperation, and rubbed her eyes with her hand.

"Who's Jay?" She asked.

I blinked. Looked over at her. "What," I said, my voice low.

"Who is Jay, Tim," She repeated, turning to face me.

"I don't - what -"

"You called him Jay," She said. "When you were yelling at him. You called him Jay."

I stared at her, shook my head. "No," I said slowly. "No, I -"

"I was right there, Tim," She said angrily. "I was two feet away from you when you said it. Why would I ask you that unless I heard it?"

I faced the steering wheel, and closed my eyes.

"Tim -"

"Jason," I choked out. I could feel her watching me.

- Jason Street's the only one who can stop this guy -

"QB1," I said.

She frowned. "I thought - Bo said the quarterback's named Saracen, and that..."

Her voice trailed off. I swallowed hard.

"Oh," She said softly, and paused. "You were there when it happened?"

I pressed my lips together and nodded once.

"Are the two of you close?"

Yes. No. Close doesn't begin to say it, I thought, and nodded.

I heard her exhale. "I'm so sorry, Tim," She said gently. "I can't imagine what that must have been like for you..."

Like missing an arm, I thought, and then ruefully, or a leg. Or half of me, and didn't say anything.

She took a deep breath.

"The other night - I mean, the first night you came over," She said quietly. "Bo mentioned Hank."

I frowned, nodded.

"Hank was an alcoholic," She said, and her voice sounded fragile. I looked over at her. She stared at the house. Her fingers clasped and released each other nervously.

"He was a mean drunk, is what he was," She said. "I should've left a long time before I did. He was -" She stopped and shook her head slightly.

"He got physical. Once. And I packed up my things, and Bo's things, and we just left, the same night. No goodbye, no note. And we never looked back.

"I stayed with some friends in Nashville, saved up some money doing waitressing jobs, and then we moved here," She said, nodding at the house.

"And Bo - he's happy here, Tim," She said. "He's happy here. The school's okay, and he's making friends, and you're teaching him football and giving him tickets to Panthers games and... my son thinks the world of you, Tim. He talks about you all the time."

I looked down at the floorboards. "I don't know why," I mumbled.

She stared at me. "You really don't, do you," She said quietly.

I scrubbed my face with my hands and took a deep breath, looked at her house.

"I can't," She paused, started again. "I can't expose him to that again, Tim. I just can't."

My chest lurched.

"Do you understand?"

I nodded and tried to say something. "Yeah," I finally got out. No more going to the park. Or throwing the ball. No more Bo.

Why did that hurt so damn much?

We sat in silence. I waited for her to say it.

"That's why what happened today," She said evenly, "Can never, ever happen again."

I closed my eyes. There it was -

"I want you to promise me that, Tim," She said.

I started to nod, a knee-jerk reaction, and then her words registered and I looked over at her slowly -

"I need you to promise me that. And I need you to keep that promise -"

"I won't," I said quickly. "I wouldn't. I won't do anything to hurt him."

She stared at me for a moment, sizing me up, trying to sense how much I meant it. She finally nodded once, almost imperceptibly. Her eyes were shining a little.

"Okay," She said softly, and I felt all the air rush out of me.

She turned and opened the passenger door. "You know what you're gonna say to him?" She asked.

I glanced at the house, and back to her. "What -"

"You're coming in to apologize to him, Tim," She said.

"But - can I -"

"No," She said firmly, getting out of the truck. "Right now."

*****

I paced in the dim light of the hallway until she came out of his room. "You can go in," She said.

"Okay."

"Just tell him what you told me," She said.

"Okay."

A few seconds passed. "Tim," She said gently. "He's waiting -"

"What if he doesn't -" I started, twisted away, circled back. "What if he -"

She raised her hand and touched my hair, smoothing it down. "Hey," She said, and my face crumpled and I looked away -

"You're not him," I heard her say softly, the palm of her hand resting against the side of my face. "You're different from him."

I swallowed, looked at her. She meant Hank -

She smiled at me a little, and then she pulled her hand away suddenly, folded her arms, stepped back.

"Go talk to him," She said firmly.

*****

The door squeaked on its hinges as I pushed it open, and I made a mental note to oil it. If I ever came into his room again.

"Hey," I said. He was lying in bed, wearing his batman pajamas and holding a football in his hands.

"Hey," He said listlessly.

I walked a few steps into the room and stopped. "I'm really sorry, Bo," I said.

He looked at me and back down to the ball in his hands.

"I messed up. I shouldn't have done that," I said. "That was wrong of me. There's no excuse for it, and I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything. Just turned the ball in his hands.

Tell him what you told me -

"I, um. I got scared," I said, walking to his bed and sitting down. He moved his body away from me slightly, and I froze, tried again. "I was scared that you'd get hurt."

He frowned, stared at the ball. "Like the guy at the park?"

I stared at him, nodded, looked down at the comforter on his bed. "Yeah," I said, and swallowed when my voice cracked. "Like the guy at the park."

"Were you guys good friends?"

I nodded. "Real good friends."

"But you're not now?"

I shook my head. "No."

"How come?"

"I did something," I said finally. "And I don't know if he'll forgive me for it."

He shuffled his feet under the covers. I waited.

"You scared me," He said. "You scared Mom."

"I know," I said. "I should've... told you to stop, or something else, but not what I did. And I'm sorry. I'll never do that again."

He looked at me for a few moments, the same way she had in the truck, sizing me up. "Promise," He said.

I choked out a small laugh and smiled a little at him. "You really are your mom's kid, you know that?"

He didn't crack a smile back. Just waited.

I took a deep breath, shifted my weight on the bed, turned and looked directly at him. "I promise," I said evenly. "And I won't let anyone else hurt you, either."

His eyes flickered and he pursed his lips as he watched me. Then he clutched the football up to his chest and nodded.

"Okay," He said, and smiled at me.

I stared down at him. "Just like that?"

"Yeah."

"We're okay?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yep," He said, letting the football roll out of his hands and stretching his arms out for a hug.

I blinked, shook my head, and picked him up in a half-bear hug. He patted my back twice before letting go.

"Alright," I said, settling him back down to the bed. He squirmed down under the covers and pulled the comforter up.

"G'night," I said.

"'Night, Tim Riggins," He said, reaching for the football. I handed it to him and he rolled over to his side, cradling it under his chin.

I sat there for a moment, watching him, and closed the door behind me softly on my way out.

Continue to Part 4.

By: Whiteotter
Genre: FNL. Tim POV.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I worship at the altar of Peter Berg and Taylor Kitsch, and hope they (and NBC) accept my paltry tribute.
Special thanks: to Whirling Girl for being an enthusiastic, meticulous beta and for her constant demands for the next one.

Long Time Ago (part 2 of 5). Tim, Bo, Jackie.

Thu, 05 Apr 2007 16:53:28 GMT

More Tim-fanfic. Follows Tim Riggins, Babysitter Extraordinaire.

...forty-eight. Forty-nine. Fifty. I gritted my teeth and pushed the barbell off my chest one final time, felt the clatter of it hitting the rack reverberate down the posts. Three sets of fifty was enough.

I stretched my arms back over my head, ignored the protest of my abs. Just for the hell of it, I caught one elbow with my hand and twisted my torso on the bench, felt the protest rachet up to a scream. Nice.

I sat up, grabbed the towel, and reached over to turn the music off.

"- so how're you liking Dillon?"

"- oh, it's nice. We're, you know, settling in, getting used to a new school -"

The hell?

I opened the bedroom door, hair falling in my face, covered in sweat. Billy craned his neck around and grinned at me.

"There he is!" He grinned broadly, leaning against the front door. "We've got company, little brother. Come in, sit down -"

"Oh, no," She said, her gaze taking in red solo cups and magazines. "I couldn't... possibly..."

"It's no trouble. Can I get you a beer?"

"No. Thank you," She said quickly. "And I have to get back to Bo, so..."

"Oh, sure. I mean, I know what that's like..."

For fuck's sake, Billy.

"Actually, I was wondering if I could, um -" She looked over at me, glanced down. "- talk to Tim for a moment."

His face froze for a second and then he turned away, headed for the kitchen. "He's all yours," He said, a little too loudly. "And thanks for bringing the Playstation back," He added, looking right at me.

"Bo really liked it," She said, trying to be helpful. "I'm gonna have to put in overtime now to get him one."

She backed away from the threshold and out onto the porch, glanced over at me. "Tim?"

I looked at Billy, smirked a little, and followed her out. He growled a "shuttup" under his breath as he opened the fridge. I shook my head and let the screen door close behind me.

“Hey,” I said.

"Hi," She started. "Is – is this a good time?"

I stared at her blankly until I remembered how I looked. "Oh. Yeah. I just finished," I said.

Her eyebrows went up a little.

"Lifting weights," I said.

"Oh. Okay," She said, laughing awkwardly. "Well, I – I wanted to thank you again for looking after Bo last night, especially on such short notice."

"Sure."

"He really liked hanging out with you.”

"Yeah."

"He makes friends pretty quickly, um, obviously,” She said. “But it's hard for a kid when he's in a new town, so…”

“Right.”

“Your spending time with him really helps." She paused. "It means a lot to him."

I stared at her, wondered where she was going with this. "Okay."

"And, um." She shifted her weight, looked down. "I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, before, when I came over -"

"No, you were right," I interrupted. "We'll, um. We'll keep it down next time."

She laughed, shook her head.

"No one's ever said anything, in this neighborhood," I said, nodding at the houses on the block. "So."

"Right,” She said awkwardly. “Well."

We stood there, her looking down at the ground, me waiting for her to say something, and I felt like an idiot.

"So, the thing is, I'm gonna be taking that night class every week," She said suddenly.

I nodded.

"And, I know you're busy with football and school and - everything else, but I was hoping, if you were interested - I'd make dinner, and I'd leave written instructions, and I'd pay you twenty dollars a week."

I stared at her, opened my mouth, shut it again. "Uh," I said.

"But if you don't have the time, I totally understand," She quickly, ducking her head and nodding.

"No, um -"

"You're right,” She interrupted, shifted her weight, started to turn away. “Of course, I’m sure you have a lot going on -"

"No. I mean -" Damn, she was twitchy. "I mean I'll do it."

She looked up, startled. "Really?"

I shrugged. "Yeah," I said. Twenty bucks was twenty bucks.

She broke into the same huge smile when I told her he was a funny kid, and it registered that she wasn’t wearing her glasses. "That's great," She said, beaming. "He'll be so excited, Tim, that's great."

"OK."

"Would five-thirty be alright?"

"Sure."

"And I'll fix something. Are you allergic to any foods?" She asked.

"Um. No." Peas? And possibly salad –

"Well - any foods you like, or really don't like?" She asked. "I mean, it's the least I can do..."

I cast around desperately for something. Pizza. Barbecue. Hot Pockets. "The, uh. The taco thing was good," I said lamely.

"Perfect!" She said happily. "Alright. Well, thank you, Tim," She said, heading down the concrete path.

"You bet."

"I really appreciate this," She called back.

I nodded, frowned a little, and wandered back into the house. Billy was standing in the kitchen, two beers knotted through the fingers of his right hand.

"Babysitting?" He snorted.

"Shut up," I said, and caught the beer when he threw it to me.

*****

"Okay. Instructions," She said, picking a 3X5 card off the fridge and showing it to me. "350 degrees, twenty-five minutes." The magnet made a little clacking noise when she put it back.

"'K."

"He's a little hyper today," She said, stuffing some massive textbooks into the canvas bag. I looked out into the living room. Bo was jumping up and down on the couch and yelling something about "the crowd goes wild".

"How can you tell?" I muttered.

"Funny," She said wryly.

Bo threw himself on the couch, yelled something about Miller and Riggins winning the superbowl. Jesus. I liked the kid, but he was acting like he’d just downed a whole box of sugar -

"D'you mind if we go to the park or something?" I asked. "It'd tire him out pretty fast."

"Um – sure," She said, shrugging the bag onto her shoulder. "Which park?..."

"It's a ten-minute drive," I said.

"Yeah, he's got a key to the house," She said doubtfully, opening the screen door and holding it open while she talked to me. "Just – would you make sure he wears his seat belt? He hates it, but -"

"Will do."

"And don't let him stay up too late -"

"You're gonna be late again," I said.

"Right. Okay. 'Bye Bo!" She yelled, letting the screen door fall back behind her.

"'Bye Mom!" He called out, and scampered into the kitchen. "So didja bring the Playstation?"

"Playstation's been confiscated."

"What's that mean?"

"It means Billy put a lock on his door," I said dryly.

"Aw, shoot."

"Pretty much," I said, plucking the card off the fridge. "Okay. First we eat, and then I'm gonna teach you how to run a winning touchdown."

*****

"You tired yet?"

"No!"

"Alright," I drawled, drew my arm back, and threw the ball in a lazy arc.

Bo sprinted across the field at a breakneck pace, and I smothered a laugh. He was fast enough for his size, but he ran like he'd just lost the winning touchdown at state and all of Dillon was after him.

Overshot again. Damn. "You're throwing too hard!" He yelled.

"Sorry."

"You're doing it on purpose," He called back.

"Can't you run any faster?"

"I keep telling you, I'm six," He said, picking up the ball and trotting back. He sat put the ball next to me on the picnic bench and collapsed on the grass. "Jeez," He said. "Football is hard."

"Might as well know it now," I said. I picked up the ball and rolled it in my hands. "You wanna run out again?"

"No," He groaned, and fell back on the ground, covering his face with his arms.

I looked out over the empty field, circled with trees. It was kind of weird to be here. Weird to be sitting here without a beer or a joint in my hands, or with a rally girl or two or three, or catching a pass from -

Fuck. That was stupid. If Bo was good for one thing, it was that he stopped me from thinking about -

"Alright," I said, jumping off the table. "Your turn."

"Really?"

“Yeah,” I said. Running ten yards a couple hundred times might help. "Get up. C'mon. Up on the table."

“Why?”

“Because you need all the height you can get,” I said, tossing him the ball. “Okay. Remember what I told you -"

"FingersonlacesturnmybodyputwhatlittleweightIhavebehindtheball."

"Oh...kay," I said. "I'm gonna run straight out, then run left. So you want to throw the ball and I’ll get there. Got it?"

"Got it," He said proudly, standing on top of the picnic bench, ball in both hands.

"Don't throw it so hard you fall off the table.”

“Okay.”

“’Cause your mom will kill me."

"Okay," He said. I turned to face the field and crouched down a little.

"Okay. Call it," I said.

"Twenty-two. Twenty-two. Hut!"

I stood up and jogged about ten feet, banked left, looked back. His arm was already arched and he threw it so hard he stumbled forward, like I knew he would, and half-fell to the table top. I ran back toward him a few steps and caught the ball easily.

"Yes!” He yelled, jumping up with his fists in the air. “Touchdown!”

“Lemme guess,” I said, circling back to the picnic table. “Crowd goes wild.”

“You know it, Tim Riggins.”

"Not too shabby," I said, lobbing the ball back at him, and he looked like the sun had just broken through the damn clouds or something.

I faced the field, crouched down again. "Do it again, little man," I said.

"Thirty-five. Thirty-five. Hut!"

*****

"... so should I be QB1, or should I be a fullback?"

"You wanna just make the team, Bo."

"Right," He said, nodding. "But after that."

"D'you want to know how to block or not?"

"Yes," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Alright. So you want to..."

"Be ready to move as soon as I hear the snap."

"And -"

"Explode from the stance."

"Leading with -"

"Withtheclosestfoot."

"And -"

"Short and choppy steps. And keep 'em moving. C'mon already!"

"Okay," I smiled, standing up and stretching out my hand. "Hut!"

He leapt out of the crouch and charged me. I caught the crown of his head in my hand and kept him at arm's length. He was yelling something, God knows what, and pinwheeling his arms. I tried to keep from cracking up.

I kept my grip on his head firm and glanced around. The sky was dusky blue, covered in a patchwork of cobalt clouds. The streetlights were coming on. I'd better get him home before she gets back –

Bo twisted his head out of my hands and charged, shoving against my torso with all his tiny, puny, digging-his-legs-like-I-taught-him strength, and I stumbled, caught my heel on a tree root, and fell on my ass.

"Yes!" He screamed, fists in the air. "Yes! I did it! I got you!" He launched himself at me and knocked half the air out of me.

"I tripped,” I muttered. “Get off me."

"Awww, did you trip, Tim Riggins?”

"Shut up. There's a tree root -"

“Did you fall down? Poor Tim Riggins, tripping on the field -"

I grabbed him by his knees and stood up, flipping him upside down and pinning his legs against my chest in one motion. He shrieked in surprise and then started laughing.

"Put me down!"

"No can do, Bo."

"Putmedownplease?"

"Nope," I grinned, walking over to the picnic bench, picking up my baseball cap with my free hand and putting it on. "Hope I don't trip over something and drop you."

I twisted and reached for the ball. Movement caught my eye on the rise of the hill. Two figures in the pool of light under a streetlamp, one tall and slender, the other one -

The other one in a wheelchair.

I froze, the grin plastered on my face, Bo shrieking gleefully in my arms, his tiny feet hammering a drumbeat out on my chest. They stared at me like they'd seen a ghost or were watching a freak show, and for one second I forgot about the accident and the taste of her and the explosion of pain on my face and my hand rose up on almost two decades of instinct and I waved –

I felt like the biggest dumbass in the world for three seconds. Until Jason blinked and half-lifted his hand at me.

Lyla was still staring at me, her mouth sagging open in disbelief -

"C'mon," I said, turning Bo right side-up and dumping him on his feet with one hand, grabbing the football with the other. "Time to go."

"Do we have to?"

"Yes," I growled, one hand on his back, pressing him toward the truck. "Right now."

"Who were those guys?" He asked, craning his neck to look behind us. "Did you know them?"

"Long time ago," I muttered. "C'mon, Bo."

Continue to Part 3.

Author: Whiteotter
Rating: G
Setting: Friday Night Lights
Spoilers: Set post-episode 1.18, "Extended Families".
Disclaimer: I worship at the altar of Peter Berg, and hope he accepts my paltry tribute.

Feedback is candy-coated validation, and I like candy.

Tim Riggins, Babysitter Extraordinaire (part 1 of 5). Tim, Bo, Jackie.

Thu, 05 Apr 2007 16:52:23 GMT

I have not written fanfic in a long (LONG) time. This is my first FNL fanfic. I hope you like it.

"Hi," She said, jerking the door open and twisting away immediately, tugging her jacket over her shoulders.

"Hey."

"Hold on," She said, jerking a canvas bag full of books up from the floor and hefting it over her shoulder. "Okay. There's a tuna casserole in the fridge, it's just 30 minutes in the oven at 350 degrees. And I've made a salad -"

"Hi Tim Riggins!" The kid bounded over to me and hugged me around the leg. Jesus.

"Hey there, Bo."

"- and he can have any kind of dressing except for blue cheese, he's allergic, he'll blow up like a balloon -"

"Did you bring game tapes, Tim Riggins?"

"Uh, no, I couldn't get to the coach's house, so -"

"Awwww."

"- and I know we talked about the beer thing but I really would appreciate if you wouldn't, because I just feel like it wouldn't be a good example -"

"You're gonna be late," I said.

"Can you teach me how to block?"

"You and me," I said deliberately, looking down, "are gonna... do homework."

"Homework? Aww, man..."

"You and I," she muttered.

Both of us looked up at her.

"I'm going, I'm going," She said quickly, pushing past me. The screen door shrieked open and she paused, holding the door for a second. "Thank you for doing this," She said. "When she cancelled, I just couldn't think of anyone else -"

"Really late," I said.

She sighed loudly and half-sprinted to the car. "Bye Mom!" Bo called. She yelled goodbye over her shoulder as she slammed the car door shut and started the engine.

Bo turned around and squinted up at me.

"Homework?"

I looked down at him. "Football homework," I grinned. "I stole Billy's Playstation Football."

"YES!"

*****

"I think it's 650 degrees," Bo said, staring at the gaping oven.

I shook my head. Damnit. She was outta here so fast -

Plus, every time I looked at the flowery pot holder, I felt like a damn girl.

"We could nuke it. Maybe five minutes?"

"Shut up and lemme think."

"Or cook it really, really hot? Like maybe 800 degrees? That should work."

I stood up and nudged the oven door closed with my boot. Folded my arms. "Huh."

Bo stood next to me and glared at the oven.

"We could make popcorn," he suggested.

"It's a sad day when two men can't feed themselves, Bo."

"I'm six!"

"Responsibility comes for all of us."

"What's that mean?"

"I dunno. Coach says it a lot," I said, pushing my hair out of my face.

Bo stared at the stove forlornly.

"Hey, your mom," I said slowly. "She said something about a... salad."

I looked down at an eye-roll and a tilted head.

"Alright," I said, laughing a little. "Sandwiches?"

*****

"You're cheating!"

"Am not."

"Are too!"

"No, I'm not."

"But -"

"I single-handedly took the Panthers to state, Bo," I said. "Can't help it."

"Mom'd let me win," He pouted.

I looked over at him, looking all sad in his Batman pajamas. "Okay, how's this," I said. "I'll just play with one hand."

His face lit up.

"Fair?" I asked.

"Okay." He smiled. "But you better watch out."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, and smiled.

*****

"Tim. Tim -"

I blinked, squinted, scoured my face with my hands. She stood over me, lips pursed.

I glanced around the room at the dirty plates, empty microwaved popcorn bag. Bo's quarterback was still celebrating on the TV screen, spiking the football over and over -

"Um. Sorry," I said, and started to push myself up from the couch. She hissed some kind of shushing sound, and waved her hand at me to stop. The weird weight on my chest finally lodged in my brain -

A blond mop of hair rested on my chest. He was practically curled up on me.

"Um," I said.

"I'll get him," She whispered quickly.

"No, hold on," I muttered. "Sorry, I didn't -"

"It's okay, just let me," She hissed, reaching out -

I wrapped my arms around him and gathered him tight against me without thinking, swung my legs gently down to the floor, kept his body pressed against mine as I stood up. Her hands were half-spread, her mouth open, eyes wide.

His hands twitched, opened, clutched the fabric of my shirt. Her gaze went from him to me.

"Got him," I said stupidly.

She stared at me and we held our breath, waiting for him to feel the change in the air and wake up. The television light flashed manically. His breathing stayed quiet and rhthymic.

This is weird, I thought.

She shook her head slightly. "Okay," She said softly. "C'mon."

She walked down the hallway to his room. I watched her go for a second, and then silently followed after her, trying to keep from jolting the kid too much.

She pushed open the door and bent down, moving toys to make a path to the bed. "Here," She said, pulling his sheets back. "Just..."

I laid his body down above the diagonal line of the sheets, let his back settle against the mattress. He clung to me for a second and I reached up and unlatched his hands from the front of my shirt, placed them on his chest. He mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over.

I stood up and instinctively stepped backward as she moved forward, pulling the sheets up to his chin. She kissed him softly and murmured something against his cheek and I turned away, looked around his room. A Panthers banner hung on the wall over his desk. A football rested next to his closet door -

"Come on," She said gently, next to me. "I'll walk you out."

*****

"So, thanks again. That was really great of you."

"Sorry about the mess," I said. "We just - "

"Oh, that's okay." She said doubtfully, looking around. "It won't take very long."

"We couldn't remember how to cook the thing," I said. "So it's... still in the fridge."

She looked at me, half-smiled.

"'Bye," I said.

"Wait," She said quickly, reaching for her purse. "I need to pay you. How's twenty dollars?"

"No, that's okay."

"Tim, really, you were such a really big help tonight -"

"It was fun," I interrupted.

She looked up at me, a crumpled twenty in her hand.

"Really. I like him," I said helplessly. I shut my mouth, looked down, looked back up at her. "I had a good time."

She just stared at me.

"Good night," I said, pulling the screen closed behind me and walking quickly down the sidewalk to my house. I could still feel her eyes on my back as I jerked the front door open and shut it behind me.

I slammed my back against the door and let out a long breath, smoothing the front of my shirt with one hand. Man, that was -

"Where the hell you been?" Billy asked from the couch.

I stared at him for a second. "Oh, crap," I said. I let my head roll back and fall against the door with a thud, closed my eyes.

"What?" Billy demanded. "Timmy, what's wrong?"

I opened my eyes slowly and stared at the ceiling. "The Playstation," I muttered.

Continue to Part 2.

Author: Whiteotter
Setting: FNL, post-"Extended Families", 1.19
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I worship at the altar of Peter Berg and Taylor Kitsch, and hope they accept my paltry tribute

Feedback is candy-coated validation, and I like candy.