the constant in this forever moment
They all say it's the greatest achievement of his life. The 'so far' doesn't quite make it past their lips like it does with the other guys and he just grins bitterly because, honestly, who could expect anything much from Tim Riggins anyway?
He's nothing more than a drunk, a kid flunking every subject under the sun (except English, but only thanks to Landry), with no potential in life besides football, and it's only because he's a Panther that anyone gives him the time of day. He knows that's not entirely true; Jason still talks to him and maybe one day things'll go back to the way they were before he screwed up, and he guesses that Smash is probably someone to consider a friend now although he's loath to admit it. Even Saracen is slightly less annoying than he used to be. But none of them really give a damn about his life, and why should they when they have their own problems to worry about? One of the joys of living in Dillon is that everyone's as damn selfish as each other.
He sees his brother standing with Bo and Jackie by the fifty yard line and he's tempted to run over, let Bo shower him with praises only a star struck little kid can provide but it seems wrong somehow. Besides, Jackie and Billy are standing closer than normal for two people that are barely more than strangers, and she's laughing at something he's said which confuses the hell out of Tim 'cause he's pretty damn sure his brother's never been remotely funny. He thinks maybe he should be pissed or defensive or something but he just can't bring himself to care.
He grins as Coach Taylor slaps him on the back and shouts something that sounds like a 'well done' over the noise from the stands. He thinks that the Coach is probably proud of them all on an equal level; he's not the sort to play favorites (at least now Jason's out of the game and Matt's dating his daughter).
It's supposed to be one of his supreme moments, right here, right now, basking in the short lived glory of something that'll last until they next lose a game and everyone will begin blaming everyone except themselves, especially if they don't actually have anything to do with the game. Texas and football go hand in hand, except he wonders sometimes why people believe they're always the superior authority when they have fuck all to do with the game in the first place – he supposed its human nature and ego and all that.
Whatever it is, the elation he knows he should be feeling isn't anywhere near close to showing itself, and he forces several smiles at the people who pat him on the shoulder, people he wouldn't let anywhere near him under normal circumstances, trying not to give away exactly how empty he's feeling. Nobody would get it.
Well, that's not quite true.
One person would get it.
His eyes scan the crowd, searching for Tyra in a sea of people who are all suddenly best friends, except she's not there, he's be able to find her if she was (he's always been able to), and so he looks for a way to escape.
It's not easy but he manages it, using Smash and his booming recollections of a game they all just witnessed ten minutes before as a decoy, and slipping behind the bleachers before jogging briskly out of sight.
He knows she was at the game; he saw her with her mom and sister and Landry (which is a whole question in and of itself) when she was asking for the tickets, tickets he knows he should have given her but he's useless and selfish and didn't even think that maybe a promise is still a promise even after you've broken up. Still, he knows she stayed regardless, and maybe this way he gets the best of both worlds.
He finds her out by her car, leaning against the bonnet and staring off into space, balancing a can of soda against her hip and looking just as beautiful as she always did. She knows he's there before she sees him, offering him a smile which her eyes soon follow.
'Good game,' she says, taking a sip from her can and offering it out to him. He takes it gratefully, glugging back several mouthfuls before handing it back, but she just shakes her head, letting him finish it.
'Yeah,' he replies, not elaborating but knowing he doesn't need to.
'Yeah,' she echoes, looking forward again, out away from the road, her back to the flow of cars and people all way too excited over something that's finished in a matter of hours (or perhaps it's never finished, and perhaps that's worse).
'So, Landry?' he says casually after a couple of minutes, staring straight ahead.
'Sorta,' she replies, sighing and jumping up so she's sitting on the hood of the car. He follows her example.
'You could do worse.'
'I already did,' she replies with a teasing grin, nudging him playfully in the ribs and he grabs her arm before she moves it away. She lets him, leaning in and resting her head on his shoulder.
'I don't know why I'm not happy,' he confesses, looking over towards the stadium and wondering if anyone's noticed he's gone yet. Probably not.
'I know,' she whispers, and he really thinks she does. They may be destructive and hurtful and a thousand other things that mean any relationship between them is bound to end in heartbreak and chaos, but they really do get one another. Nobody else does. He's not sure he cares as long as she's around.
They sit in silence for a while, longer than they should, before he sighs heavily.
'I should be getting back.'
'Probably,' she says, sitting up and he's suddenly aware of her not being there, and he doesn't really like it all that much.
They both stand up, Tim crushing the soda can under his foot into the dust whilst Tyra watches, both stalling for time.
'Congratulations anyway,' she tells him, leaning up and kissing him softly, briefly on the lips. It's sweet and gentle and the Tyra he remembers from time spent alone, away from the prying eyes of family and team mates and school kids, and he's really kind of missed it, missed her.
'Thanks,' he offers, and they both know he's not just talking about the praise.
He walks away, back to the slowly diminishing crowds and beaming Panther's, and he realizes with a jolt that he's already feeling happier, lighter. Typical Tyra, he thinks, grinning at Matt who's looking overwhelmed and ecstatic as he spins Julie Tyler around in him arms.
And standing at the side of the field, watching the celebration going on around him, he thinks that maybe she was (is?) his greatest achievement. And he doesn't want to add a 'so far'.