FNL Fic - Aftermath, Pt 1
Title: Aftermath
Author: treeHero
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Featuring: Tim Riggins, Eric/Tami/Julie Taylor, Smash Williams, Matt Saracen
Disclaimer: All characters who appear in this story are the sole property of NBC Universal Television Studios, Film 44, Imagine Entertainment, and their creators. This fic is for entertainment purposes only and in appreciation of a truly shiny show.
Summary: Tim Riggins' truck is smashed to pieces while he's in it. Wouldn't that leave a mark on you?
Spoilers: This was written after the airing of 1.09 "Full Hearts" and contains no spoilers for future episodes.
AFTERMATH
Part 1
Glass explodes. Showering, showering him with bits of glass that sting and bite like bugs. Like bees. Like pissed-off conscience cockroaches.
Riggins ducks and covers. This is it. The start of it; the end of it.
“Go away!” He screams into the leather seat. But he’s afraid to inhale glass. He moves anyway because the truck is rocking now because they’re bashing the doors with the bats.
Smash! into the door right by his head. “Stop!” he screams into the seat.
“Cheater!” “Prick!” “Traitor!” “Son of a bitch.”
Hate feels like this. Betrayal feels like this.
Street hates me.
The glass keeps raining and it slips down the cloth on his back. From under his arms he can see it dribbling onto the floor. A little river of glass that jumps like those Mexican jumping beans, whenever a bat hits the side of the truck.
“Coward!” “Traitor!”
“You’ll always be a coward, Riggins!”
“Jason?”
Silence. Until he hears a small piece of truck hit the driveway.
And he hears people moving away. Car doors slam and a bat hits the pavement.
Slowly sitting up, he feels pieces of glass grind behind his back. It’s in his hair. How does he get it out?
The night is dark. Windows are gone.
Reaching carefully through the glass covering the inside of the truck, he pops the door and steps outside. Reaction floods his system and sweeps his knees into liquid state as he leans back against the side of the cratered truck. It’s like the rush he feels after a Win, but this sucks the life from him instead of stuffing him full of it.
********
Morning. Riggins makes a phone call.
“Can you give me a ride, Tyra?”
“What’s wrong with your truck?”
“Busted.” The day’s busted, too. All steely gray with funny things around the edges.
“All right. Almost there anyway,” Tyra says.
A minute later, she drives up. Was her truck always gray? Riggins squints to push back the fuzz. She swerves up in the dust and leans out the driver’s side.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” he grunts.
Tyra studies his face. “You okay? You look like …”
“I’m okay.” Riggins shuffles around to the other side and climbs in. Tyra finally sees his gaping, battered truck in the driveway.
“Holy shit, Tim. What ..?”
“Never mind, it’s over. Let’s just go.”
Tyra stares at him.
“I’m okay, Tyra. Really. Let’s go.”
She swears under her breath and, with one last glance at the destroyed truck, shifts into first and peels away from the curb.
* * * * * * * * *
Finally, afternoon practice.
In spite of the sideways looks and glaring glances, Riggins is glad to be here. In spite of the echoes of shattering glass, he’s glad to be here. This is his world. “Just suck it up,” he says to himself. Kind of like what his Mom used to do after a rough night. Suck it up and keep moving. Don’t complain. It was mostly his fault, anyway. He was just getting what he deserved, really.
Out on the field, there are still funny looks and there are hits after hits after hits. And he’s down, his face into the ground, cheeks squeezing out around the edge of his helmet.
“Riggins!” Coach Taylor strides across the field and yanks him up by the shoulder guard. “Get up. Good hit. Get up. Then do it again.”
Taylor hesitates and looks Riggins in the face.
“Can you see me clear, Tim?”
“Sure. Yeah.” But Riggins is pretty sure he hears glass breaking.
“Well, do it again.” Taylor gives him another long look. “But take five first.”
Riggins heads for the sideline. The fuzzy ring to the day is still there. And now his head hurts. And he has a brief nightmare vision of pieces of glass working their way through his scalp into his brain, cutting into the pink spongy stuff.
“Water?” Smash hands Tim a bottle and watches him tug off his helmet.
“Sure, thanks.”
“You okay, Rigg?"
“Yeah, why?”
“You look funny.”
“No, I’m okay.” Tim rubs his face.
“Heard your car got totaled.”
“Sure did.” Glass breaking. And now a piece has found its way through his brain to stick behind his right eye.
“I didn’t have any part of that, Rigg. I want you to know that, bro'.”
“I know. Thanks.”
“Three minutes left on your five!” Smash shouts as he runs back out to the practice.
Tim looks up and around. No cheerleaders today. Billy’s out of town for work. That means he'll have to bum a ride after practice, too.
“Coward!”
He grabs the bench. He sees Jason’s fist flying into his face. He feels the blow, the shock, the split second of nothingness which was basically bliss. And then Jason’s face. Hate. Pain. Disgust. Crushing knowledge.
I can’t do this. I can’t be here. What’s that song Tyra likes? "He's such a beautiful disaster ...”
“Riggins! Where you going? Your five’s up.” Coach is next to him, right next to him, up against the bench and talking through the ring of fuzzy.
“Son, I asked you where you’re going.”
Riggins blinks and wonders if he should tell Coach that he has really clear green eyes, that they look very cool and that that color green would feel really good against Riggins’ face right now because it'd feel like the cool green water of the swimming hole at the quarry. And it'd feel like the cool green grass on the field that he’ll feel if he goes back to practice.
“Back to practice, sir,” Riggins mumbles.
“We’re just about done,” Taylor assures him. “Be sure you get some good rest tonight, y’hear? Some good rest, son.”
“Sure, Coach.”
Taylor and his green eyes go back to work. Riggins moves onto the grass and imagines the coolness seeping through his cleats, into his flesh and bone.
/tbc/
Author: treeHero
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Featuring: Tim Riggins, Eric/Tami/Julie Taylor, Smash Williams, Matt Saracen
Disclaimer: All characters who appear in this story are the sole property of NBC Universal Television Studios, Film 44, Imagine Entertainment, and their creators. This fic is for entertainment purposes only and in appreciation of a truly shiny show.
Summary: Tim Riggins' truck is smashed to pieces while he's in it. Wouldn't that leave a mark on you?
Spoilers: This was written after the airing of 1.09 "Full Hearts" and contains no spoilers for future episodes.
AFTERMATH
Part 1
Glass explodes. Showering, showering him with bits of glass that sting and bite like bugs. Like bees. Like pissed-off conscience cockroaches.
Riggins ducks and covers. This is it. The start of it; the end of it.
“Go away!” He screams into the leather seat. But he’s afraid to inhale glass. He moves anyway because the truck is rocking now because they’re bashing the doors with the bats.
Smash! into the door right by his head. “Stop!” he screams into the seat.
“Cheater!” “Prick!” “Traitor!” “Son of a bitch.”
Hate feels like this. Betrayal feels like this.
Street hates me.
The glass keeps raining and it slips down the cloth on his back. From under his arms he can see it dribbling onto the floor. A little river of glass that jumps like those Mexican jumping beans, whenever a bat hits the side of the truck.
“Coward!” “Traitor!”
“You’ll always be a coward, Riggins!”
“Jason?”
Silence. Until he hears a small piece of truck hit the driveway.
And he hears people moving away. Car doors slam and a bat hits the pavement.
Slowly sitting up, he feels pieces of glass grind behind his back. It’s in his hair. How does he get it out?
The night is dark. Windows are gone.
Reaching carefully through the glass covering the inside of the truck, he pops the door and steps outside. Reaction floods his system and sweeps his knees into liquid state as he leans back against the side of the cratered truck. It’s like the rush he feels after a Win, but this sucks the life from him instead of stuffing him full of it.
********
Morning. Riggins makes a phone call.
“Can you give me a ride, Tyra?”
“What’s wrong with your truck?”
“Busted.” The day’s busted, too. All steely gray with funny things around the edges.
“All right. Almost there anyway,” Tyra says.
A minute later, she drives up. Was her truck always gray? Riggins squints to push back the fuzz. She swerves up in the dust and leans out the driver’s side.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” he grunts.
Tyra studies his face. “You okay? You look like …”
“I’m okay.” Riggins shuffles around to the other side and climbs in. Tyra finally sees his gaping, battered truck in the driveway.
“Holy shit, Tim. What ..?”
“Never mind, it’s over. Let’s just go.”
Tyra stares at him.
“I’m okay, Tyra. Really. Let’s go.”
She swears under her breath and, with one last glance at the destroyed truck, shifts into first and peels away from the curb.
* * * * * * * * *
Finally, afternoon practice.
In spite of the sideways looks and glaring glances, Riggins is glad to be here. In spite of the echoes of shattering glass, he’s glad to be here. This is his world. “Just suck it up,” he says to himself. Kind of like what his Mom used to do after a rough night. Suck it up and keep moving. Don’t complain. It was mostly his fault, anyway. He was just getting what he deserved, really.
Out on the field, there are still funny looks and there are hits after hits after hits. And he’s down, his face into the ground, cheeks squeezing out around the edge of his helmet.
“Riggins!” Coach Taylor strides across the field and yanks him up by the shoulder guard. “Get up. Good hit. Get up. Then do it again.”
Taylor hesitates and looks Riggins in the face.
“Can you see me clear, Tim?”
“Sure. Yeah.” But Riggins is pretty sure he hears glass breaking.
“Well, do it again.” Taylor gives him another long look. “But take five first.”
Riggins heads for the sideline. The fuzzy ring to the day is still there. And now his head hurts. And he has a brief nightmare vision of pieces of glass working their way through his scalp into his brain, cutting into the pink spongy stuff.
“Water?” Smash hands Tim a bottle and watches him tug off his helmet.
“Sure, thanks.”
“You okay, Rigg?"
“Yeah, why?”
“You look funny.”
“No, I’m okay.” Tim rubs his face.
“Heard your car got totaled.”
“Sure did.” Glass breaking. And now a piece has found its way through his brain to stick behind his right eye.
“I didn’t have any part of that, Rigg. I want you to know that, bro'.”
“I know. Thanks.”
“Three minutes left on your five!” Smash shouts as he runs back out to the practice.
Tim looks up and around. No cheerleaders today. Billy’s out of town for work. That means he'll have to bum a ride after practice, too.
“Coward!”
He grabs the bench. He sees Jason’s fist flying into his face. He feels the blow, the shock, the split second of nothingness which was basically bliss. And then Jason’s face. Hate. Pain. Disgust. Crushing knowledge.
I can’t do this. I can’t be here. What’s that song Tyra likes? "He's such a beautiful disaster ...”
“Riggins! Where you going? Your five’s up.” Coach is next to him, right next to him, up against the bench and talking through the ring of fuzzy.
“Son, I asked you where you’re going.”
Riggins blinks and wonders if he should tell Coach that he has really clear green eyes, that they look very cool and that that color green would feel really good against Riggins’ face right now because it'd feel like the cool green water of the swimming hole at the quarry. And it'd feel like the cool green grass on the field that he’ll feel if he goes back to practice.
“Back to practice, sir,” Riggins mumbles.
“We’re just about done,” Taylor assures him. “Be sure you get some good rest tonight, y’hear? Some good rest, son.”
“Sure, Coach.”
Taylor and his green eyes go back to work. Riggins moves onto the grass and imagines the coolness seeping through his cleats, into his flesh and bone.
/tbc/