Author's Note: I've had this idea since the show ended on DirectTV and with tonight being it's finale on NBC, I thought I'd post it. While the finale is amazing in every possible way, I needed some closure for one of my favorite couples. So, here goes...

I think of you whenever life gets me down
I think of you whenever you're not around
And you rest your bones somewhere far from my house
But you still pull me home

Think Of You - A Fine Frenzy

Chapter 1

Ten months was all it took to change Tim Riggins life. So many people and things had tried; Billy, Coach Taylor, football, acceptance to college, Tyra, and Lyla. Each had their own motivations and desires behind wanting Tim Riggins to make it, but none of them could change him. None of them could make that careless, drinking, brooding, didn't give a damn teenage boy into a man.

At least Tim could thank prison for something.

For a man that had made no regrets his motto and whose life centered on making memories, it was ironic that he was left with nothing but regrets and a meaningless past.

The Tim Riggins that had walked into the local jail that fateful day was not the one who left the prison he'd been sentence to staying in. That kid was nothing more than a memory, a figment that had once existed. He sure as hell wasn't the Tim Riggins standing behind the bar at Buddy's, a damp towel draped over his shoulder as he filled pilsner glasses.

This Tim Riggins showed up on time, smiled at folks who recollected his glory days for the Dillon Panthers, and went home to a trailer on a plot of land he had first attempted to buy with stolen money. This Tim Riggins didn't look back fondly at everything that was and not care about what could have been. All he saw now was everything that could have been and wasn't; his academic career, football, relationships with women who saw him for something more than what he was. And he had thrown it all aside – but for what?

"Tim." His eyes rose from the bar at the sound of Buddy Garrity's voice. "Did you change that keg?"

It was the same question his boss asked him every single day around this time. "Yes, sir," he muttered, dragging the towel off his shoulder and tossing it down on the bar. Curling his fingers into the damp material, he wiped it along the bar, the same repetitive motion he found himself doing anytime the bar slowed. "And I know how to change it."

Questioning whether or not he could change the keg was Buddy's second question of the day.

Relieved, Buddy grabbed his pilsner from the bar and held it up toward the flat screen television that was mounted on the wall. "Can you believe Smash?"

Even though Tim wasn't surprised that his former high school football teammate had recovered from his knee injury and was tearing up football fields across the nation, he shook his head. Sometimes it was best to go along with Buddy, especially when he was talking for the sake of talking.

"Alright," his boss sighed, tipping the glass backward and swallowing the last bit of his beer. "Gotta get to a meeting about the Lions. I'll swing by and check on you later, Tim."

"See you later," Tim sighed, grabbing the glass and gently tossing it into the bus bin that was tucked beneath the bar. His gaze followed Buddy across the room until he disappeared out of the bar. He hesitated to let his eyes slip back to the television, but something inside him couldn't look away. Thank God the recap of Smash's five touchdowns from his last game was ending.

Tim bit back a chuckle as he grabbed the towel and started wiping down the bar again – the old Tim Riggins rarely thanked God.

Lately, that was all he seemed to do.

Coach, someone he looked up to more than anyone else in the world, had come through for him. Buddy Garrity, the last person he expected to speak on his behalf, had given him a job. And he still had his land, a trailer, and his truck. Despite what had happened life was still good.

"Can you see yourself in the bar yet?" His hand stilled as his eyes rose again, prepared to question what Becky was doing here so early in the day, but he had learned a lesson when it came to questioning her life. If she thought she knew everything, he wasn't going to try and tell her otherwise. She would learn well enough on her own. "Look, I know we're kind of in a fight, but I miss you, Tim Riggins. I missed you the entire time you were in prison."

"I don't want to fight with you either, Becks," he sighed, tossing the towel over his shoulder and bracing his hands against the edge of the bar. "But when I asked Billy to look out for you, I didn't mean that he should let you start working at The Landing Strip."

"I was just waitressing," Becky argued, too young and innocent to see that it was one step away from getting on the pole.

"Yeah, and you're half dressed and flirting with men twice your age," Tim argued, lowering his voice when a patron at the end of the bar looked over at him. "What's the difference really? You can sell your body while your clothes are still on."

Her lips parted at his harsh tone, but no words formed on them. It was a low blow, maybe too low considering the mistakes he had made. He never wanted to hurt Becky, but sometimes the truth did just that.

"You've done nothing except freeze me out since you got out of prison," Becky said, her lips shaking as her eyes welled up with tears. "I wrote you every week and came to visit until you asked me to stop. I supported you, Tim Riggins, and that's all I'm asking for in return." She stuffed her hand into her jacket and pulled out the small snow globe he had given her before he went away. Her hand trembled as she sat it down on the bar and looked up at him, a tear slipping down her cheek. "We used to be friends, remember?"

"And when I broke your trust and did something wrong, you let me have it," Tim reminded her, one part of him wanting to take it easy on her because of everything she had been through and the other knowing that was a reason to be even harder. "Maybe no one was around to remind you of how good and valuable you are while I was in prison, but you're better than The Landing Strip, Becks."

"Just like you were better than running a chop shop," she hissed, shoving the snow globe across the bar as she backed away. "Maybe we're not that different. Did you ever think of that?"

"You're smart. You've got a nice boyfriend. You could go to college or settle down with Luke if that's what you want, but – but you're bigger than Dillon," he replied, snatching the snow globe from the bar. It felt good to have it in his hands again; it felt like he was close to his mother. "And you know what that means, Becks?" He passed the snow globe between his hands. "It means you and I couldn't be more different."

There was no other town like Dillon, Texas anywhere else in the country. Lyla Garrity hadn't seen all of it – or much for that matter, but she knew that Dillon was one of a kind. She knew it when she packed her things and left town and was reminded of it when she came back to visit. That was why she had only returned once, why she made her father drive up to Austin when she flew in for the weekend, and why she spent her long breaks with her mother in California.

Dillon, Texas was just too much for a weak girl like her to bear.

Yet, here she was, driving the dusty roads through town, the smell of warm dirt thick in the air. She slid her sunglasses down her nose as she glanced out the windshield and pressed the break, smiling at the familiar downtown strip. So many things had changed; the Alamo Freeze had gotten a new digital sign, Panther memorabilia mixed with Lion, and the old Garrity car lot no longer carried her last name.

Instead, her father's name was written high in the sky on a pole above the parking lot of his new business venture – a bar. It seemed fitting given how much he loved sitting around with men and drinking beer while they talked football, but it was a long way from where the Garrity family used to be.

Lyla slowed down even further when she saw her father pulling his SUV from the parking lot, his cell phone pressed against his ear. She honked the horn of her rental car and held up her hand, but he was too caught up in his phone call to notice her. It was probably Coach Taylor – someone or something related to football. She started to press the gas and follow him when her gaze drifted across the parking lot. It was half filled, fairly crowded for the early afternoon, but it wasn't the customers that caught her attention. It was the black Chevrolet truck parked near the employee entrance that stole her focus, and it was that very truck that caused her to turn into the lot.

Every fiber of her being told her to drive back out, but she didn't. She pulled up right next to the truck she had ridden through this town in countless times, a front seat where she had laid with a boy she loved so much, and windows that had heard countless fights between them.

Sliding the key from the ignition, Lyla undid her seatbelt and climbed out of the car, looking for some kind of sign in that Chevy truck that Tim Riggins had changed, too. There had been a time when she knew everything about him – his thoughts, his dreams – or lack thereof for that matter. She had known Tim inside and out and he had known her, but she wasn't sure if they knew anything about each other anymore.

Still, Lyla loved him.

It was an emotion she couldn't control, something she felt without trying. Just looking at his truck stirred everything up inside her. What would happen if she saw him?

Her legs moved toward the employee entrance before she could stop them, and her hand had pulled the door open without her thinking. The gruff sound of his voice drifted through the bar and made her chest ache. She missed it more than she realized, more than she ever wanted to admit.

"…you're half dressed and flirting with men twice your age…"

The door eased closed behind Lyla as she crept up behind the bar. She saw his shoulders first, wide and stoic; showing her that he still looked the same.

"I wrote you every week and came to visit until you asked me to stop. I supported you, Tim Riggins, and that's all I'm asking for in return."

Now that stung.

Learning that Tim was going to jail hadn't been easy. It sure was the last thing Lyla expected to hear when her father called and said he had bad news. She had never felt so helpless, disappointed, and heartbroken. Some days she considered coming to Dillon to see him, but she never quite made it that far. It wasn't as if she could do anything. From what her father told her, everything that could have been done was done. Tim had done a crime and had to pay the price.

"Son of a bitch," Tim hissed, flinging the towel he had draped over his shoulder down on the bar. He spun around, clutching something Lyla couldn't see in his fists, and glaring at whatever issues Becky had stirred up for him.

That was when he saw her.

His eyes slid down over the rows of bottles and settled at the edge of the bar, his brows arching in surprise before his eyes narrowed. It looked as if he questioned seeing her, as if he wasn't sure she was really there. After a few seconds, his lips curved in a smile, "Lyla Garrity."

"Tim," she whispered, inching toward the bar. She curled her fingers around the edge, anchoring herself to it.

The way his smile widened as he stepped up in front of her caused something inside her to snap. The fury that she had been carrying for over ten months had capsized. She didn't have to carry these feelings around anymore, and she damn well wasn't going to when he deserved what she was doing to say.

"Your hand isn't broken," Lyla murmured, dropping her gaze to his hands and realizing he was clutching a snow globe. He used to keep it on his dresser in his room at Billy's. She lifted her eyes back to his as her jaw tightened. "And you can talk, so I assume you still know words. Did you forget how to write? How to spell?"

That was all it took for his grin to fade. "Lyla…"

"I saw that you were talking to Becky," she said, taking a deep breath when she felt tears sting the corners of her eyes. Crying in front of him would only make her feel pathetic. She dug her nails into the bar as she narrowed her eyes at him. "You wrote her. You let her visit you."

His hands tensed around the snow globe as he sighed, his eyes falling to the floor. She knew that look so well and had fallen for it so many times. "Did you come all the way to Dillon just to yell at me?" His eyes drifted back to hers. "I guess I should feel touched."

"I didn't come here for you," Lyla spat, offended by the mere idea that he would think he had some kind of control over her after all this time. "I'm here to see my dad because…" Her hand rose as she shook her head. "It's not really any of your business."

"Well," Tim sighed, setting the snow globe down on the bar between them, "you just missed him."

That was all he had to say for himself after all this time. "Still as selfish as ever, I see," she hissed, looking down at the snow globe and wondering what made it so significant to him and Becky. Clearly a lot of things were significant between them, especially if he let her come and visit him. He probably responded to her letters, too. "I would've thought prisonmight have helped you grow up a little bit."

The corner of his mouth lifted, the start of a sarcastic grin she knew all too well. "Trust me, Garrity, you don't know anything about prison and what it does to a man."

"A man?" Lyla asked, tipping her head to the side as she glared up at him. "Could have fooled me. You still you look like the same boy."

"Boy, man, whatever," Tim shrugged, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, her bitterness was getting to him. "I'll tell Buddy you stopped by. If you want to go find him, he's at the high school." He reached out and picked up the snow globe before backing away. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Just like that Tim Riggins was going to walk away from her; no explanation, not attempt at trying to make her understand. She felt herself snap all over again, the rush of emotions, a mixture of resentment and heartache making it hard for her to form words.

By the time Lyla did, his back was to her as slumped over the bar. She watched him for what felt like hours, searching for a sign of the boy she had loved. And after a while, feeling her eyes on him, Tim finally turned around, braced for whatever she was going to throw his way.

"Do you know what it was like for my dad to call me and tell me you were going to prison?" she asked, her vision blurring as her eyes fluttered closed. She refused to cry in front of him. She simply refused. "Or that my dad appeared at your parole hearing and you still couldn't write me?"

"I doubt that was as hard as it was to be in prison."

"You don't get to do that," Lyla argued, shaking her head as she blinked back tears. "You don't get to make me feel sorry for you. I did that already. I did that for ten months when I wrote you twice a week. And you couldn't write me back? Not even once?" She swore under her breath when her face crumpled. After holding it in for so long, it was only natural that she broke. She shook her head when he started to step around the bar, a poor attempt at comforting her. "Don't. You just – you go to hell, Tim."

His jaw slacked as she turned away, leaving him there with his shoulders slumped, at a loss for words and helpless. "Garrity," he called after her, the familiarity in his voice causing her to tense up. "Don't you realize I'm already there?"