FNL Fic: Stranger at My Shoulder
Stranger at my Shoulder
Incredibly short! Unbeta'ed.
Jason doesn't waste his time thinking about Tim. There's usually more important.
Jason used to worry about Tim a lot. Things just started that way, he guesses. Way early on, this kid, Tim, came sidling onto the field, nose running. He lifted up his shirt to wipe at it and he asked, "Do you need another?" and Jason straightened up before Derek Walter could open his mouth, said, "Go wait over there. We'll rotate you in."
He just noticed the kid around a lot after that. Always raggedy. Always looking in need of a bar of soap.
"What's going on with that Riggins kid?" Jason asked his dad, once, and his pops, he shook his head. "Jason, I borrowed these game tapes; we're not gonna have them forever--" and Jason said, "No, don't pause it. I'm sorry, sir, it's just that who's taking care of that kid?"
His pops pointed at the screen, "You see that? You see the way he dropped back, found some time? You look for opportunity, Jason, you don't lose your head."
Jason nodded. Later, over dinner, Jason said, "Tim Riggins, he's been playing ball with us on the weekends."
"Oh yeah, sweetie?" his mom said.
Jason spoke through his mouthful of mashed potatoes. "He's pretty good," he said.
And then his dad looked up.
****
Life just got rosier. Things were real easy and Jason never questioned it. Why shouldn't it happen that way? He had a gift.
Tim started drinking for real at thirteen, but he went out of his way not to pop a tab in front of Jason until the day he turned fourteen, when Jason laughed, handed Tim a beer from his own hand.
He didn't want to be the golden boy everywhere and all the time, right? He didn't want to be that guy who made Tim feel bad about who he was, but maybe Tim could have used that. Jason used to wonder a lot, but probably it wouldn't have made a difference. Probably it would have happened just the same, whether Jason watched him drink that beer or not. Tim was gonna be a drunk.
****
Anyway, everyone lucky needs a screw-up sibling, and Jason got one. Even though he was an only child! That's how gold Jason was, 24 karat, shine a light.
****
They were friends. They used to get rumors floating around, usually after the Panthers had stomped another team into the ground. That Tim was Jason's bitch. That the two of 'em shared jockstraps. Stupid shit like that. Reeked of poor sportsmanship.
The closest it got was Jason hugging Tim after a good game, Tim's sweat just getting everywhere.
****
After Jason broke his back, him and Tim, they went through a rough patch. Tim's not real good to lean on. Or he wasn't anyway. For anybody but Lyla, maybe.
But Jason spent a whole night, a long time ago, chewing over every detail of that first year after the accident, and then he packed it away. "QB, you need more than one look," Herc said, once. "That's some repressed shit if I ever heard it."
Jason gripped the wheels of his chair, forced it to a stop. "It was a real long look," he said.
****
That hot second he spent coaching the Dillon Panthers, he pulled Saracen aside and said, "You watching out for Tim? You're QB 1. You're QB 1."
Saracen looked at the ground, looked to the side. Who knows what at. "Yeah," he said. "I've kinda got a lot on my plate right now. Besides, Riggins doesn't really seem like the kind of guy who wants a keeper--"
"On the field," Jason said. "Goddamn, Matty."
****
Lyla, she said, "Tim's not a fuck-up. Everybody thinks he is--"
"--I don't think Tim's a fuck-up--"
"--Everybody thinks he is, but he's not, Jason. He just--He doesn't think to say no to anything he can grab a hold of."
Jason put his hands between his legs, leaned forward. "So you're saying my best friend--your boyfriend--is dumb. That's what's happening here. Behind his back--" and Lyla smiled despite herself, tilted her head back like her ponytail suddenly gained five pounds, said, "No, I'm not saying he's dumb. God, Jason."
She held Jason's hand, looked down at their interlocking fingers. "He wants what he can get," she said. Simple as that.
"He wants copper wire?" Jason asks.
****
Tim spent a lot of time waiting around when they went to New York. Jason let him have one of the suits he bought. "You look sharp, Timmy," Jason said, and Tim tugged on the lapels, looked down at Jason. This smile on his lips.
That's what he can see best of Tim from that trip. The rest of the time Jason barely remembered Tim was there.
****
Life is pretty great. But Erin. Jason's still getting used to her sometimes. He likes to bend over backwards for her, but at some point, he told her tonight, he'll run the risk of breaking his spine in two places.
She laughed, and towered over him, and told him that she wasn't going to talk to him when he was like this. She was going upstairs, and it was all Jason could do to hold onto the rims of his wheels, to not force her to sit down.
After she goes, Jason pulls his phone out of his pocket, lets it sit in his hands. He's not sure who to call. He's gotta talk the mean out, but Herc would tell him to fuck Erin, take the fruit of his loins and come back to Texas.
He calls Lyla, but Tim picks up. "Six?" Tim says, scraped out of his throat.
"I'm sorry," Jason says. "Y'all were sleeping. I'll call tomorrow."
"Hey, hold on," Tim says. Rustling. "Why? What's going on?"
"Nothing." Jason stares at his toes, curls his fingers into his palm, into the pad.
"Um." Tim breathes in, clears his passages. "How's life on a coast?"
"I'll call back, Tim. It's--I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it was."
"Jason," Tim says. "Jason. Come on. Lay it on me." He sounds like he's standing up, maybe. At a window. Rocking back and forth on his heels. "Jason," Tim says.
Jason puts his hand over his eyes, squeezes his temples. He lets out this long breath and it creaks out of him, his shoulders unlocking. "Hey, I'm okay." I feel small tonight, Jason wants to say, but he doesn't.
Tim, he stays on the line. That's Jason's friend. His very oldest, shine a light.
Incredibly short! Unbeta'ed.
Jason doesn't waste his time thinking about Tim. There's usually more important.
Jason used to worry about Tim a lot. Things just started that way, he guesses. Way early on, this kid, Tim, came sidling onto the field, nose running. He lifted up his shirt to wipe at it and he asked, "Do you need another?" and Jason straightened up before Derek Walter could open his mouth, said, "Go wait over there. We'll rotate you in."
He just noticed the kid around a lot after that. Always raggedy. Always looking in need of a bar of soap.
"What's going on with that Riggins kid?" Jason asked his dad, once, and his pops, he shook his head. "Jason, I borrowed these game tapes; we're not gonna have them forever--" and Jason said, "No, don't pause it. I'm sorry, sir, it's just that who's taking care of that kid?"
His pops pointed at the screen, "You see that? You see the way he dropped back, found some time? You look for opportunity, Jason, you don't lose your head."
Jason nodded. Later, over dinner, Jason said, "Tim Riggins, he's been playing ball with us on the weekends."
"Oh yeah, sweetie?" his mom said.
Jason spoke through his mouthful of mashed potatoes. "He's pretty good," he said.
And then his dad looked up.
****
Life just got rosier. Things were real easy and Jason never questioned it. Why shouldn't it happen that way? He had a gift.
Tim started drinking for real at thirteen, but he went out of his way not to pop a tab in front of Jason until the day he turned fourteen, when Jason laughed, handed Tim a beer from his own hand.
He didn't want to be the golden boy everywhere and all the time, right? He didn't want to be that guy who made Tim feel bad about who he was, but maybe Tim could have used that. Jason used to wonder a lot, but probably it wouldn't have made a difference. Probably it would have happened just the same, whether Jason watched him drink that beer or not. Tim was gonna be a drunk.
****
Anyway, everyone lucky needs a screw-up sibling, and Jason got one. Even though he was an only child! That's how gold Jason was, 24 karat, shine a light.
****
They were friends. They used to get rumors floating around, usually after the Panthers had stomped another team into the ground. That Tim was Jason's bitch. That the two of 'em shared jockstraps. Stupid shit like that. Reeked of poor sportsmanship.
The closest it got was Jason hugging Tim after a good game, Tim's sweat just getting everywhere.
****
After Jason broke his back, him and Tim, they went through a rough patch. Tim's not real good to lean on. Or he wasn't anyway. For anybody but Lyla, maybe.
But Jason spent a whole night, a long time ago, chewing over every detail of that first year after the accident, and then he packed it away. "QB, you need more than one look," Herc said, once. "That's some repressed shit if I ever heard it."
Jason gripped the wheels of his chair, forced it to a stop. "It was a real long look," he said.
****
That hot second he spent coaching the Dillon Panthers, he pulled Saracen aside and said, "You watching out for Tim? You're QB 1. You're QB 1."
Saracen looked at the ground, looked to the side. Who knows what at. "Yeah," he said. "I've kinda got a lot on my plate right now. Besides, Riggins doesn't really seem like the kind of guy who wants a keeper--"
"On the field," Jason said. "Goddamn, Matty."
****
Lyla, she said, "Tim's not a fuck-up. Everybody thinks he is--"
"--I don't think Tim's a fuck-up--"
"--Everybody thinks he is, but he's not, Jason. He just--He doesn't think to say no to anything he can grab a hold of."
Jason put his hands between his legs, leaned forward. "So you're saying my best friend--your boyfriend--is dumb. That's what's happening here. Behind his back--" and Lyla smiled despite herself, tilted her head back like her ponytail suddenly gained five pounds, said, "No, I'm not saying he's dumb. God, Jason."
She held Jason's hand, looked down at their interlocking fingers. "He wants what he can get," she said. Simple as that.
"He wants copper wire?" Jason asks.
****
Tim spent a lot of time waiting around when they went to New York. Jason let him have one of the suits he bought. "You look sharp, Timmy," Jason said, and Tim tugged on the lapels, looked down at Jason. This smile on his lips.
That's what he can see best of Tim from that trip. The rest of the time Jason barely remembered Tim was there.
****
Life is pretty great. But Erin. Jason's still getting used to her sometimes. He likes to bend over backwards for her, but at some point, he told her tonight, he'll run the risk of breaking his spine in two places.
She laughed, and towered over him, and told him that she wasn't going to talk to him when he was like this. She was going upstairs, and it was all Jason could do to hold onto the rims of his wheels, to not force her to sit down.
After she goes, Jason pulls his phone out of his pocket, lets it sit in his hands. He's not sure who to call. He's gotta talk the mean out, but Herc would tell him to fuck Erin, take the fruit of his loins and come back to Texas.
He calls Lyla, but Tim picks up. "Six?" Tim says, scraped out of his throat.
"I'm sorry," Jason says. "Y'all were sleeping. I'll call tomorrow."
"Hey, hold on," Tim says. Rustling. "Why? What's going on?"
"Nothing." Jason stares at his toes, curls his fingers into his palm, into the pad.
"Um." Tim breathes in, clears his passages. "How's life on a coast?"
"I'll call back, Tim. It's--I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it was."
"Jason," Tim says. "Jason. Come on. Lay it on me." He sounds like he's standing up, maybe. At a window. Rocking back and forth on his heels. "Jason," Tim says.
Jason puts his hand over his eyes, squeezes his temples. He lets out this long breath and it creaks out of him, his shoulders unlocking. "Hey, I'm okay." I feel small tonight, Jason wants to say, but he doesn't.
Tim, he stays on the line. That's Jason's friend. His very oldest, shine a light.