Disclaimer: I don't own anything here (except for Al) and am just doing this for fun and to pass the long months until Season 4.

Starting Monday, Tim dialed the drinking down a bit. He didn't want to make himself totally sick, but he wanted to stay within that zone where his life was a distant memory. His plan was working great – drinking, hanging out with George, watching movies on the cable, taking only brief forays into the outside world – until Wednesday evening when he landed on a Nicholas Cage film: Leaving Las Vegas. Given the actor and the title, Tim was hoping for some sort of action movie involving casinos.

What he got was a guy trying to drink himself to death in a motel room. Struck a little close to home and shook him up enough that he decided it was time to check his voicemail. He'd left his cell phone on the nightstand plugged into its charger, with the ringer turned off. Every so often, he'd catch a flash on the display and know that someone was trying to get in touch with him. But he'd refused to look at it or listen to his messages until that damn film came onto his television.

Six had called a few times on Sunday, and then once a day since then. His messages swung between angry and concerned. Billy's messages were a lot like Six's, only Billy's started with "Hey, Dumbass", had a lot more swearing, and ended with "Timmy, please. Call me. Or Al. Soon, Timmy, soon."

The two biggest surprises were a single message each from Tyra and Coach Taylor. Tyra's message started with a big, exasperated sigh and then she just said "Tim, you're not this kind of douchebag anymore, so quit acting like one and get your ass home. That girl loves you, Tim. For real."

Coach Taylor's message mentioned that Tami had told him that Tim was unexpectedly out of town and Coach wanted Tim to know that he wouldn't expect him for golf that weekend, but hoped he'd be back soon. Then there was a pause during which Tim could picture Coach's jaw muscles working overtime while he decided whether or not to continue In the end, he did, giving Tim a bit of unsolicited advice: "I don't know what's going on, but I'll tell you what I do know. Son, sometimes how you handle a problem is more important than the problem itself. And once you've found the right woman, there's no problem you can't handle together."

Then there were the twice daily messages from Al. From the time stamps, he reckoned it was the first thing she did when she woke up and the last thing she did at night. Her message was always the same: "Tim, this is Al. Call me please."

The fact that she identified herself by name every time nearly made him smile. Like he wouldn't recognize that husky voice. He listened to each message multiple times, scrutinizing her voice and tone for clues. It was like sifting through the wreckage of a train crash and made him indescribably sad.

He hears fear, concern and worry in the first few messages. Then anger steeled her voice in the next two. The subsequent few just sounded hurt and confused.

But today's message....today's message scared him. She sounded resigned, like whatever was going to happen would happen. Like it was out of her hands He didn't feel like she'd given up on him, exactly. It was more like she'd given up on her own ability to bring him back.

He nearly called her back. He found the number on his phone and was ready to press the green call button, but he just couldn't do it.

He looked at George, who seemed to be growing before his eyes, and remembered what Al said to him on Christmas Eve. How she told him that George was going to be massive. That she knew because she'd seen his parents. He didn't know why that stuck in his head or why the memory came back to him in that motel room, except that now that Al had his father, she likely had figured out that Tim's chances of ending up like Walt were pretty damn high. Particularly when his first instinct when faced with trouble was to leave on a bender.

The walls of the motel room felt like they were closing in on him and he had the overwhelming need for fresh air and a change of scenery.

"C'mon, George, time for a walk," he said as he clipped a leash on the puppy's collar. The sun was setting and the beach was nearly deserted. Tim walked for about a half hour, enjoying watching George trying to figure out how he felt about the water as the waves came in gently around their feet. The waves made Tim feel more at peace than he had in a long time, like the water could just wash away all of his troubling thoughts.

One of the hotels a short distance from his motel had a beach-side bar, a typical tourist trap with tiki torches and wooden huts. He decided to stop in there for a Scotch before returning to his room. At the bar, he grinned ruefully when he saw that his only choices were Dewars or Cutty Sark, both of which would have made Al roll her eyes and ask for a beer instead.

He changed his mind on the Scotch and ordered a lemon drop, then sat down at a table near the edge of the bar, so he could look out at the water. George curled up on the ground and rested his head on Tim's feet.

Tim was only dimly aware of the other people in the bar. He could hear some giggling from a table somewhere behind him, then the sound of footsteps on the wooden planked floor.

"Hi there."

Tim looked up and found a smiling face looking down at him. The woman was probably in her mid-twenties and his first thought was that she had on way too much make up. Like she'd put it on with a paint roller or something.

Tim mumbled a greeting and the woman leaned forward, lightly touching his arm with one hand.

"My girlfriends and I think it's a damn shame that you're sitting all alone on this beautiful night. Would you like to join us?"

Tim looked up to where she was pointing, to a table full of women who looked just like her. He dropped his eyes to his hands, which were turning his glass in small circles.

"That's kind of you, but I'm fine here."

"Oh come on, you'll have a good time. Better time with us than you would just sittin' here alone."

Tim looked up at her and was surprised by the way she was looking at him. It reminded him of high school, of rally girls and parties and easy, meaningless sex. And it was tempting, for sure, but he shook his head.

"Sorry. I'm engaged. Just having a quick drink here before I head back to my room."

"Oh right, well, sorry to bother you." The girl might have been blushing under all that make up, but Tim wasn't sure. He was relieved when she went away. He finished his drink quickly and returned to his room.