Spoilers: S1 (not based on any spoilers for S2)
Disclaimer:I own the idea, everything else belongs to NBC

Adaptation
Part 1

In Dillon, the hottest day of the year isn't the longest. And it isn't a long, lazy Sunday in late July. It's the first day of fall football practice, when you've got 50 pounds of gear on your back and the sun is baking you like an egg of the sidewalk.

Tim can barely focus against the heat wavering off the astro turf. When the new head coach barks a play in his ear, he winces and feels every one of last night's beers. His feet are cement blocks in his cleats, but he plods out on the field with the rest of the offense and runs play after play until his chest burns and he wants nothing more than to fall down and sleep right there on the 50 yard line.

The bench hits his ass when he finally takes a water break and he shakes the sound of Mac screaming at Smash out of his head. The water is cold, but it feels like steam on his skin—doing little to ward off the heat. From the corner of his eye Tim sees Saracen jogging up to him. Matt takes a seat on the bench, still looking as fresh as if he just rolled out of bed.

"Man, Street is all over me today," Matt says.

Tim opens his eyes a little wider and looks over to where Jay is hollering at the back-up quarterback to follow through. On your toes, point your fingers, be the ball. Tim scoffs and drags his eyes back to the grass at his feet. He knew Jay was here; he saw him in the dressing room and heard him yelling from the sidelines. But Jay hasn't shot any orders in Tim's direction and that's just fine with him. It was one thing to get yelled at by your QB when you missed a block and cost him 10 yards. But Jay's not playing anymore, and Tim's not sure he can see his drinking buddy as his coach.

The second half of practice is even harder than the first. When they line up to run a play, it's Jay screaming from the sidelines and Tim has to close his eyes to shake the image of Jay standing only five feet to his left, calling the same play.

There's a movement to his right and Tim pops up a second too late. When Bradley catches him unaware, his bones rattle in his skin like a bird fighting to escape its cage. Tim stops still on the field, tries to hang on, then falls to one knee. His breath is coming in short gasps and for the first time he thinks that football might actually kill him someday.

There is a rush of activity around him when he doesn't get up fast enough. He's fine; just a hard hit. He fights to shrug off the arms helping him to his feet, but his legs wobble when he stands and he falls against the closest player. Smash.

"Watch it, Riggs. You gotta save some for the season, man."

Tim tries to smile although he's sure it comes out more like a grimace. The bench is a mile away but somehow he makes it and collapses hard against the wood. He's bent over, taking shallow breaths and willing his ribs to rise back into place, when he sees the wheels.

Jay's parked right in front of him. There are only two things Tim can think of that Street will offer him—concern over how bad he's hurt, or a kick in the ass to get back out there. Neither of which are welcome.

"Tough hit."

Jay's voice sounds far away, like maybe Bradley hit Tim's ears too.

Tim nods and focuses on the grass. It's amazing how lifelike it looks, but real grass feels soft beneath your skin, astro turf is like razor blades—Tim's got the burn marks to prove it.

"You need a trainer"

Tim's head is foggy; doesn't the trainer always come anyway? He looks up slowly, eyes open just enough to see Jay's form in front of him. Jay's mouth is moving, but Tim can't make out what he's saying. When Jason points down the bench, Tim manages to turn his head long enough to see the trainer hovering over some JV-recruit that probably forgot to stretch before he came out here.

There should be a pre-pre-football training camp just to weed out the imbeciles.

Turning his attention back to the ground and its fascinating intricacies, Tim shakes his head and mumbles, "S'okay."

Jay seems to hesitate, or at least his chair does a little rocking motion back and forth like he's not sure if he should leave. Then Tim feels a fist thump lightly on his back. "Good man. Take five and get back out there," Jason, the assistant coach, orders.

As Jay pushes away, Tim swears that he'll take six or ten or as long as he wants, but not exactly five solely because it's what Jay instructed. He's not sure why, but taking orders from his best friend is pissing him off more than even being here.

He lies down on the bench and closes his eyes. The sun warms his skin and for the first time today he's grateful for the heat.

It used to be that an ice pack and a cold beer took care of any muscle aches from a practice session. But after three hours on the couch with twice as many beers and two melted ice packs, Tim still can't get his chest to fully expand. He rises slowly, leaning hard on the arm rest for support when he hears the door creak open.

He doesn't have to look to know its Jay. It's the back door. The one with the ramp that he and Billy put in over the summer. It had seemed like a good idea at the time—a free pass for Jay to come in whenever he wanted.

Now he's starting to rethink the wisdom of giving his coach a key to his house.

He grunts as his ribs grind together and he finally makes it upright. Just because he doesn't get up and answer the door or even call out to acknowledge Jason, doesn't mean he's ignoring him. This place is practically home to Six anyway. Tim doesn't need to make an effort.

The bottle of Advil on the counter could be still on the shelf at Wal-Mart for all the good it's doing Tim sitting there. He walks slowly across the room to get the pills, his limp more because he's afraid to push it than any injury to his leg.

"That was a tough hit today," Jason finally says.

He's parked in front of the Advil and Tim finally has to speak directly at him.

"You mind?" Tim manages, gesturing towards the pills. If Jay's asking how he's feeling, that should be answer enough.

Jay's quick to figure it out, skirting out of the way so Tim can finally reach the bottle and work off the cap. He tosses the pills in his mouth without thinking about a drink when suddenly there's Jay's gloved hand and a bottle of water appearing before him.

"You should really think about stocking more water and less beer, Timmy. Your muscles'll never recover if you don't rehydrate."

Tim swallows the pills without water and snatches the bottle a little too roughly.

"Jesus, Street," he mutters. "Were you always this self-righteous?"

Tim knows it was a cheap shot, but Jason's like a little puppy—he doesn't realize that getting kicked in the gut means you should stay down. He follows Tim into the living room and parks near the couch. Tim sinks into the cushions with a hiss escaping his clenched lips. He'd give anything to be stronger than the pain, but right now, he's in his own house on his own time and he really doesn't give a damn what 'Jason Street, Panthers Assistant Coach' thinks about him.

"You know, you could use a few one-on-one sessions. Not with me, maybe Davies or Mac. Build up your stamina. Really lean into those blocks."

Tim eyes him carefully; his tongue licking the corner of his lip in thought. "Is that what coach thinks, or you?"

"Me, coach…the coaching staff. What's the difference?"

"Because I'm not all that into you coaching me when I'm trying to relax, if that's okay with you, Coach Street."

Jason's eyes do that thing, that judging thing where they narrow just slightly, then recover so as not to reveal anything. Tim rolls his back in his head and wonders why he didn't get another beer when he was up. He's pondering the chances of Jay getting one for him when Street speaks up.

"If you want me to save it for the field, Tim, I can do that. I just figured you'd appreciate a little advance notice. Save you the surprise."

"Of what? Needing a private coach?"

"Of hearing that coach doesn't think your focus is good enough. Of finding out that being the toughest guy in the division might have been enough for Coach Taylor, but it isn't going to cut it with the new guy." Jason pants slightly, like the effort of spilling his guts takes something out of him.

The news is a surprise, but Tim has already put too many hours into football for one day. The pills haven't kicked in yet and his ribs are screaming. He wants to shift into a comfortable position, if one exists, but he won't give Jay the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.

Jay's voice is softer when he speaks again. "Maybe you want to change your tough guy act before it gets you kicked off the team is all I'm saying."

"You gonna be the one to deliver that news?" Tim's voice is hard.

"Don't do this, Timmy. I'm trying to help you."

"Well you can help yourself back down the ramp and leave, alright? I'll take my hits on the field just like everyone else."

Tim waits until the door closes behind Jay before he groans and shifts to lie down on the couch. The ice pack is melted, but still cool and he presses it to his side gingerly. Maybe if he lies there long enough Billy will come home and get him another beer. Right now, it's the only thing he can think about.

/tbc/