Set early in season four, before any of that icky jail plotline.
A/N: I realize FNL ended several years ago, but thanks to my trusty pal Netflix, I watched the series for the first time only a few months back and I can easily say I've found my new obsession. And as much as Eric and Tami were the heart of the show and Matt and Julie were too cute for words, Tim and Lyla cemented themselves early on as my tried and true OTP of Dillon.
This one goes out to Tim Riggins, who's held my heart since the pilot and probably will for the rest of time.
Texas Forever, indeed.
-FNL-
It's pouring rain on a Wednesday evening at the start of May when there's a pounding at his trailer door. The sound causes him to drop his issue of Sports Illustrated over his face and groan, because if nothing else in the world could keep Becky away, he was sort of banking on a torrential downpour being the one exception.
"Go away," He grumbles loudly, his words garbled beneath the magazine pages and doing nothing to calm the incessant knocking.
"Alright, alright. I'm comin'." Finally giving in to the noise, he swings his legs off the unmade bed and rises to pry open the small door.
"Look, I know you said you'd bring Skeeter back tonight, but I think a monsoon is a fine reason to just wait until the morn-" The previous words die on his lips the instant his eyes land on the soaking wet figure standing before him.
"Hi."
Tim stares at her for a moment, shock still controlling his ability to function. "Lyla?" he breathes finally. "What the hell- what are you-?"
"Can we talk?" she cuts in quickly. "I really need to talk to you. I know I just showed up without any notice and I look like a mess and probably smell because I've been in the car for over fifteen hours, but I went to your old place and Billy told me where I could find you and it's kind of important." She rambles, before pausing briefly and then adding a soft, "Please?"
He doesn't know what to say. What are you supposed to say in a situation like this? It isn't like he was expecting her tonight, much less ever. Still, after several beats of silence he takes a step back and lets her inside the small space if for no other reason than to get out of the rain.
Grabbing a towel from the floor and passing it to her without a word, Tim finds himself averting his eyes as she pats away some of the water dripping from her skin.
"Thanks," she says softly.
"Why are you here?" His words are abrupt, but that shouldn't come as much of a surprise. He's never been one to beat around the bush and he isn't going to start now. Besides, he hates small talk and he's bad at it anyway. It's always been easier for him to just cut to the chase, even when he isn't all that excited to talk.
Lyla shuffles a bit on her feet for a moment before responding.
"I'm home," she eventually answers. "For good."
"What?" This is news to him. Back for good? What did that even mean? Why the hell would she be back in Dillon, much less permanently?
"I don't get it." He informs her with a shake of his head. "Did somethin' happen?"
"Not really… I don't know. Kind of." She replies, and the vagueness of her answer combined with the stress of her sudden appearance damn near causes him to scream.
"You can't- what the hell does that even mean?" he demands.
"It means I'm not going back to Nashville." Her words are unwavering now, as she speaks with complete certainty in a tone he knows means she'll sooner cut off her leg than change her mind. He still has no clue why though.
"This doesn't make any damn sense," he mutters, running a hand tiredly through his hair. "Lyla, what the hell is going on? You show up here out of nowhere- do you hate Vanderbilt or something? Because it sounded like you loved it there."
"No, Vanderbilt is great." She says quickly. "My roommate and the dorms and my classes and life in Nashville- it's all incredible. You know that."
Of course he knows it. She'd told him all about it in her letters last fall. He knows all about her roommate, a redhead named Amy from North Carolina who wants to be a pediatrician and is one of the kindest people ever to walk the planet. He knows that the dorms aren't exactly palaces, but they're a lot less disgusting than expected and the campus in general is beautiful. And her classes, despite being difficult, are great, because she loves being challenged academically. And he knows that almost everyone she's met has been welcoming and friendly and Nashville is a great place to be.
He knows it all. Which is why he doesn't have a clue why she isn't still there; why instead she's standing in a sardine can in Dillon when she could be living her great new life.
Tim lets out another sigh and drops down onto the bed, his gaze now looking up at her as he opens his mouth to voice this opinion when Lyla cuts him off.
"Vanderbilt isn't the problem." She says gently, eyes falling to the floor as she speaks. "The problem is that I'd go to a party or get an A on a really crazy test or I'd meet someone interesting or see something new and the first thing I wanted to do was tell you about it."
Her confession brings a small frown of confusion to his face, his eyebrows scrunching together as he tries to understand why on Earth she's telling him this. She shouldn't be here. This was never part of the plan. She left and he made his peace with it. She was destined for bigger and better things, and that was what he wanted for her. Honest. Hell, it was the only reason he was able to let her go in the first place.
But she was never supposed to come back.
"If something great happened, I wanted to celebrate with you and if I had a horrible day I wanted you to be there when I got home to hold me and tell me everything was gonna be okay." Lyla explains quietly. "Even the most mundane things turned into moments where you were the only thought in my head.
"Like a few weeks ago Amy was gushing about her boyfriend Jackson, who's trying to be a country music singer, and how she wanted us all to go get seafood at this restaurant downtown and my first thought was, 'That won't work. Tim hates seafood.'
"Or last month I was sitting in class listening to my professor talk about Shakespeare, and instead of pointing out how the three main groups of characters from A Midsummer Night's Dream clearly contrast the differences between classical literature, English folklore, and Greek mythology to show the defining visual characteristics of the play, all I could think about was how long it had been since you remembered to wash your socks, because I know you forget a lot of the time and just leave them on the floor," She continues.
"Or whether or not you'd changed the box of baking soda I put in your fridge, because you have to replace it at least every other month so your food stays fresh longer and it doesn't stink up the house as fast; or how you probably really need a haircut because you're really bad about going to the barber, even though you have that weird piece by your left ear that grows funny and sticks out if you don't get it trimmed regularly."
All he can do is stare. "Lyla-"
"No, I know. It's been almost a year and you're not the same person you were when I left. A lot has changed. I know that." She interjects quickly. "And I know you aren't going to school anymore, which is okay. All I really wanted was for you not to screw yourself out of the opportunity. But you tried it and you didn't like it, so you found something you do like and want to do and I fully support that. And I promise that I'll never try to take that away from you- I just want to make sure that you're not settling for anything less than exactly what you want. Because you deserve that, Tim," She says genuinely. "You deserve everything you want in life. You do. You're a good person. You're kind and generous and smart and funny and you love me. It's why you let me go, and I appreciate that. I love you for it Tim, I really do, which is why I did it. I did what you asked.
"I went to Vanderbilt and didn't let you or anyone else hold me back and I immersed myself in college life and tried to move on. I tried to forget Dillon and never look back. I didn't come home for Christmas or New Years or spring break- hell, I even stopped writing to you because I thought maybe after a while the whole thing would just get easier and we'd both be able to move on with our lives. But it didn't and I couldn't and it's been nine months and I missed you every single day of it." She shakes her head, the damp brunette locks sticking to her forehead practically begging to be swept away, but Tim remains still as she continues.
"I have been missing you for 278 days," Lyla says quietly, her voice now hoarse with emotion as she lays it all out on the line. "And you know, we did that dancing around each other thing our entire junior year while we figured everything out and it sucked. So now I just feel like if you're lucky enough to find what you want and what makes you happy, you should do it. Because life is just too short to do what you feel like you're supposed to do. You should do what you love and be with who you want to be with because it makes you happy and really, at the end of the day, nothing else should matter.
"The fact is that I can find a different school. I can find a place to work, I can figure out what I want to do with my future- that's all interchangeable. My whole life I can figure out and adjust. The one thing I want that's constant and never changes is you." she lets out a breath and shrugs helplessly, throwing her arms out before her and finally raising her eyes to meet his own. "So here I am."
Tim nods, stoic. "You done?"
She chuckles humorlessly. "After that embarrassing ten minute monologue, yeah. That's all I've got."
"Alright." For a moment there's silence, the heavy kind filled with tension and unease and he won't lie, a part of him takes a sick pleasure in knowing she's about five seconds away from having a complete meltdown.
"Tim-"
"278 days." A lazy grin appears on his face as he gets to interrupt her for the first time in their conversation.
"278 days," he repeats, almost cocky. "You did the math."
Lyla glares at him. "Shut up!" she cries, her arm reaching out to swat at his good shoulder. "I missed you, okay?"
"You missed me?"
"Yeah, I missed you. Jackass."
He smirks. "Okay."
"Okay? That's it? That's all you're gonna say?" she demands, "After I stood here and rambled on for all that time, all you're gonna say is okay?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"Anything!" Lyla exclaims exasperatedly, her glare only growing more prominent as he takes obvious pleasure at her agitation. "Any words in the English language that form a decent response to me pouring my heart out!"
He goes quiet for a minute.
"I wanna show you somethin'." His announcement, like most things, comes completely out of the blue, his form quickly rising from the bed and moving to the other end of the trailer as she continues to sputter.
"You- that's not-"
"I wanna show you somethin'." He repeats, hands fumbling through the tiny closet before he extracts a stack of large papers. His process of spreading them out on the kitchen table is methodical and well rehearsed, obviously an act he's done countless times before as he places each page in the correct spot, allowing everything to be visible as she comes to stand behind him. He's obviously not going to give her an answer right now, which is annoying, but her interest is piqued by what she quickly recognizes to be blueprints of some sort, though she doesn't know what they're for specifically.
"What is this?" she finally questions, her tone soft as she studies the pages with intense curiosity.
"It's a house."
"I gathered that much." Lyla barely manages to refrain from rolling her eyes, her fascination with the plans the only thing that holds her back. "What-"
"It's the house I'm gonna build." He announces. "Two stories, four bedrooms, two and a half bath, decent sized kitchen," he explains, pointing things out on the main paper as he goes. "Pretty open concept, lotsa big windows. Prolly some French doors like right in this area. Here's where I'm gonna put the tool shed out back. And it's gonna have a wraparound porch, see, which will be big as hell so the swing can fit." He finishes, looking up to see her reaction. "What do you think?"
It takes nearly all of Lyla's strength to tear her eyes away from the worn pages, her gaze rising up to meet his own when she speaks.
"Two stories, four bedrooms, two and a half bath, French doors, open concept, and a wraparound porch with a swing." She lists breathlessly. "Why?"
He shrugs. "That's what you always said you wanted, right?"
For a moment, all she can do is stare at him. It's exactly what she wanted. For as far back as she can remember, before Jason and the Panthers and Tim and college, before football games and Friday nights and moments that changed it all, she's always had a vision of the house she'd have when all her dreams, however changing they might have been, finally came true. And the blueprints for it are lying right in front of her- real, tangible, because of Tim.
He did it. He created her dream house.
Eventually she nods, eyes full of tears as she manages to finally murmur, "How long have you been working on this?"
"I dunno." Tim breaks their stare and focuses down at his shoes, slightly pink in the face as he answers, "Started on the drawings right after I left school. Since then it's just been a matter of gettin' the money."
Lyla can barely hold back her gasp. "Way back then?"
He shrugs again.
"Even when you thought there was no chance I'd ever come back," She breathes, her comment not a question anymore, but a statement.
Tim goes quiet for a few moments. "I told you a long time ago that I'd make sure you got everything you wanted." He finally mutters. "Even if you never saw it, I still promised."
She's barely able to process the infinite number of thoughts flying through her head. He's been working on this for months, and planning it for probably a lot longer. And he never said anything because he's Tim and even if there was no possibility of her returning, he'd made a promise. And he never went back on his promises.
"Come on." His abrupt words jolt her out of her thoughts before she can form a decent response, a look of bewilderment crossing her face as he gathers up the papers and shoves them back into the closet.
"Where are we going?" she stutters, accepting the Panthers hooded sweatshirt he thrusts into her arms purely out of shock.
Tim pays no mind to her question, throwing on his own sweatshirt before unlatching the trailer door and heading outside. "Just come on."
"Tim, it's pouring outside!" she cries in exasperation, her small figure following him out into the rain despite her own protests. "And I need to take a shower and-"
After climbing into the driver's seat of his truck, he leans across the cab and thrusts open the passenger seat door, silencing her protests with a simple look that Lyla knows well enough to mean her words are falling on deaf ears.
"Alright, fine." She relents, climbing into the passenger seat with a small huff. It's obvious now that asking where the hell they're going would just be a waste of breath, so for the next ten minutes they ride in silence and focus on the damp streets of Dillon passing by.
When they finally come to a stop Lyla climbs out of the truck wordlessly, the steady fall of rain now the last thing on her mind as she stands with Tim to stare out at the endless open land, taking it all in.
Suddenly she can see it right before her eyes- the front door in a bright shade of red and dark cabinets in the kitchen and a play set out back, along with a smaller house, this one built high up in a tree, added in the years to come. She can hear sound of laughter and dogs barking mixed with the sensation of wild grass tickling the skin of her bare feet in the summer. She can feel the heat from a late night bonfire amidst a handful of close friends sharing stories, reminiscing about times when they were just kids and life seemed so easy, but, despite the fact, they wouldn't trade where they are now for the world.
"It's beautiful," Lyla finally announces, unable to locate any other word in her vocabulary appropriate for the situation.
"It's yours," Tim replies, eyes still out on the vast green pasture before them as he speaks with a tranquility that's almost contagious. "If you want it."
He turns to her, eyes falling to meet the dark brown orbs he'd gotten lost in the very first day they met back in grade school. It hadn't take much more than her bright, "Hi! I'm Lyla Garrity! What's your name?" before it was all over.
"I'm in love with you. Have been my whole life." He says simply. "That's it. That's all I know. Pro'lly won't ever get much better than that. But it's all I got."
And as Lyla stares up into his gaze, she can see it all: the potential, the possibility, the dream. She can see her future.
Her response is probably the easiest decision she's ever made in her life.
"I'll take it."
end.