Disclaimer: I don't own anything here (except for Al and TJ) and am just doing this for fun and to pass the long months until Season 4.
When Nicky woke up in the middle of the night, Tim sleepily rolled out of bed on what he called baby-auto-pilot and scooped up his crying son. He'd gotten all the way into the kitchen and fixed a bottle before he realized that he could hear Billy's voice. He couldn't make out the words, but he'd recognize the sound anywhere.
He followed the sound back to the TV room. Hanging back in the shadows near the doorway, Tim looked on as TJ watched the highlight reel that Six had made for Tim to send to college recruiters. It was as though TJ's finger was glued to the rewind button, since he kept watching those 15 seconds over and over again. Tim wondered how long he'd been watching it.
Tim took several steps back and then walked toward the TV room, making enough noise so that he wouldn't surprise the boy.
"Hi, TJ. Whatcha watchin' there?" asked Tim casually, sitting down on the couch.
TJ wiped at his eyes. "Noah gave it to me – he said his daddy made it for you so you could get into college."
Tim nodded and looked down at Nicky, who was happily holding his own bottle. Without TJ rewinding the DVD, it soon played itself out. The television screen went grey, casting a sickly light over the room. TJ slouched at the other end of the couch, his feet up on the cushions.
"Why aren't you sleeping?" asked Tim.
TJ shrugged and kicked his heels against the couch. Tim knew he should say something about kicking the couch, but he just didn't have it in him to enforce every little rule all the time.
"Bad dreams?" asked Tim.
TJ shook his head, sending his shaggy hair flying, which reminded Tim that he really should take the kid for a haircut soon. "Just couldn't sleep."
Tim nodded. "You know, Jay and Noah are coming over tomorrow afternoon for tackling practice and I bet Noah's sleeping right now, getting all rested up for it. That's what you should be doing."
TJ peeled himself off the couch and walked toward Tim, pausing only to kiss the top of Nicky's head. At the door, he waved and mumbled "Good night."
Tim breathed a sigh of relief. He'd been afraid another one of those talks had been on the horizon and he just didn't know if he could manage another one. They always felt like he was walking a tightrope while juggling flaming swords since he had to carefully select his words while trying to manage the surge of feelings.
The words were hard, but the feelings were harder, since any one of them threatened to catch fire at any time. Protectiveness toward TJ....Anger at Billy and the situation...Worry over how TJ was dealing...Fear of the worst happening...And, most of all, helplessness because Tim really couldn't do anything to either bring Billy back or take away TJ's pain.
*** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** **** *** ****
The next afternoon, Amber was at her best friend Sarah's house and the babies and Jack were all napping. In the backyard, Tim and TJ were waiting for Jay and Noah to arrive. They tossed a football back and forth while George bounded around between them, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth and his ears flopping with each step. Looking at the dog made Tim smile. He couldn't help it: he loved that big, dumb dog.
Noah pushed open the side gate and Jay wheeled in behind him. Tim was always impressed with Jay's upper-body strength and the way he could handle nearly any terrain. Noah was wearing shoulder pads underneath one of his father's old practice jerseys.
"C'mere, TJ," called Jay, lifting up another set of shoulder pads. "Let's get you dressed."
"Hey, Noah, do me a favor and go ask Al to get one of my practice jerseys. Tell her they're in the bottom dresser drawer and make sure you say 'please' and smile. She's a sucker for a sweet smile."
Noah grinned and nodded, then dashed into the house, emerging with a jersey a few minutes later.
Tim whistled George over to him. "Good boy. Now lay down."
The dog flopped to the ground with a sigh. Tim leaned down and scratched his ears. "Good boy. Stay."
Tim didn't really know if George would stay still. He had been running pretty steadily for awhile, so Tim hoped the dog would be tired enough to sleep. George seemed willing to oblige, closing his eyes nearly immediately.
When TJ was ready, Jay had them both stand in front of him and raise their right hands.
"OK, this is serious stuff, so I need you to make some really important promises. Repeat after me: I solemnly swear-"
"Uh, Dad, you said we're not allowed to swear," said Noah.
Tim covered his grin with a hand and tried to stifle a laugh.
"Different kind of swearing, Noah. You're not allowed to curse. This kind of swearing is just promising, okay?"
Noah nodded and Jay continued, "OK, then, repeat after me: I solemnly swear..."
"To only practice with my team or with Uncle Timmy...."
"I promise to never, ever use tackling for evil or fighting..."
"And, most importantly, I promise to always, always, always, ALWAYS keep my head up..."
After Noah and TJ finished the pledge, Jay looked at Tim. "Okay, Timmy, they're all yours."
"You guys both right-handed?" Tim asked, pausing long enough to see both boys nod. "OK, then we're going to tackle with our right shoulders today. You'll learn how to tackle from either side. It's just easier to learn one side at a time."
Tim broke down the basics of tackling into separate parts and had them practice each part before moving onto the next. They began with the starting stance – a low crouch with their backs straight and their heads up.
When Tim was satisfied that they were able to do that, he showed them how to come off the line of scrimmage, taking a short step with the left foot and then exploding into the second step while bringing the shoulder into an imaginary defender.
"OK. You know how to start, you know how to get to the guy. Now's the part where you learn how to hit the guy," said Tim, dragging over the tackling dummy.
TJ and Noah looked at each other with wide, excited eyes.
Tim moved slowly, talking through everything he was doing – drive the shoulder, keep your eyes open, keep your head up, slide your head away from your tackling shoulder, grab the arms, lift and snap, keep your legs moving.
He demonstrated the tackle several times, speeding up each time until he was finally hitting at a decent speed. It had been several years and Tim had forgotten how good, how freeing, it felt to hit something that hard. Slightly out of breath, he picked up a shield and crouched down in front of the boys.
"You ready?" he asked.
Both boys nodded and TJ stepped back to let Noah go first. Noah's first try was tentative, careful.
"Not too shabby. Good job keeping your head up, just come a little faster next time," said Tim.
TJ's first try was a solid hit, but his chin dipped when he made contact
"Good solid hit, but you gotta make sure you keep your head up. I'm serious about that, TJ," Tim said.
TJ nodded and stole a look at Jason, who caught him looking, smiled and said, "One broken neck is enough, don't you think?"
Noah and TJ took turns, improving each time. Tim was focused on preparing for each hit and then praising and correcting. He soon lost count of the number of repetitions, his mind slipping off into football-land where adrenalin and physical activity blocked out all thoughts.
It was exactly that state of mind that allowed George to get a tackle in. The dog had apparently had a good long nap and was ready to join in the fun. Tim had just taken a hit from Noah when a large grey blur smashed into his chest, knocking him to the ground.
He looked up at George's lolling tongue and grinning face and had to laugh, which caused TJ, Noah and Jay to laugh too. Tim got up off the ground, grabbed George's collar, and walked him over to the sliding glass back door. He slid the door opened and let the dog trot inside, then he quickly closed it, trapping George on the other side. To avoid looking at the dog's mournful eyes, Tim turned quickly and headed back to where the boys were waiting.
"What do you think, Six, are we done here for today?" Tim asked.
Noah and TJ pleaded for more practice and Jay pretended to consider it for several long seconds before saying, "Maybe a few more."
Since he was getting tired, Tim kept careful track of their tackles.
"OK, boys, last one. Make it count," he said when they came up on their fifth turns.
Noah lined up, waited for his father to call for the snap and then burst forward toward Tim, knocking him off balance.
"Love it! That was great, Noah," said Tim, smiling.
Tim watched as TJ lined up, an intense look on his face and then suddenly, he was flying toward Tim, before Jay had called the snap and before Tim was ready for him.
Tim's breath was knocked out of him as TJ crashed into him and then kept on driving, exactly as he'd been instructed. It was over in a second. Tim hit the ground hard, TJ falling on top of him, the boy's bony shoulder whacking Tim in the mouth.
TJ rolled over and looked at Tim, who was trying to laugh but hadn't quite gotten his breath back.
"Uncle Timmy, you're bleeding," said Noah, anxiously looking at his dad. Tim brought his hand to his mouth and could feel the blood, not a lot, but enough to frighten two young boys.
TJ's face went red and Tim could see his eyes filling up with tears. Tim struggled into a sitting position and brought his knees up so he could rest his forearms on them.
"It's okay, TJ. I'm fine. Really. I must have bit my lip when I hit the ground. That was an awesome tackle," said Tim, still a little breathless.
"Really?" asked TJ.
"Yes, it was awesome and yes, I'm just fine. It was partly my fault anyway, I should have been more ready. But there woulda been an offside flag on that play. You can't come off the line before the ball is snapped."
Tim stood up and held out a hand to help TJ up. Then he grinned and gave each of the boys a fist bump. "Good work. You guys have any questions?"
Noah looked at TJ and shrugged. TJ looked up at Tim, a strangely fierce expression on his face.
"Is my dad still alive?"
Tim felt like a swimmer surprised by a riptide. He knew if he fought against the current of the conversation, he'd become exhausted and start drowning in it. Best to swim parallel to shore and hope to get free of the worst of it.
"I think so, TJ. I don't know any more about where he is than you do, but I believe he's alive," said Tim, his anger with Billy simmering in the back of his mind.
"But you don't know for sure?"
Tim shook his head. "I don't. Remember when I told you that I'd always tell you the truth? Well, sometimes, the truth is that I don't know anything. I know that's not great to hear, that you'd feel better if someone knew something, but that's just the way it is right now."
TJ nodded, his face pensive as he considered Tim's answer. "Do you think he's going to come back?"
Tim crouched in front of TJ and put a hand on his shoulder, which felt foreign, too wide and plastic due to the shoulder pads.
"At a certain point, you might have to let yourself think that he might not come back. And I know, believe me, I know exactly how much that hurts. But sometimes, you have to take a hit and keep moving, do you know what I mean?"
"Keep driving. Keep moving your legs," said TJ slowly, like he was repeating a gospel truth.
"Exactly. I don't know what all is going to happen, but I can tell you this: you and your brothers and sister, you will always be taken care of, whether its me and Al, or your dad. You don't have to worry about that. We clear?"
TJ nodded. Tim straightened up and took a deep breath. "Now, when I let George in the house, I happened to spy, with my little eye, a certain curly-haired aunt making what seemed to be cookies. But, you know what, I couldn't see what kind they were."
TJ grinned. "Me and Noah could go find out."
"I was hoping you might be willing to do that. You go in there and tell her you're quality control and you need to test the cookies."
"Do you think that will work?" asked Noah.
"I think it just might," said Tim as he waved the boys off toward the house.
"Man, Timmy," said Jay in a low voice after the kids were gone.
"What?"
"Nothing. It's just....That right there? That was something."
Tim put his hands on his hips and looked down. It didn't feel like something to Tim. It felt like another conversation, flailing around and feeling helpless because he couldn't comfort his nephew.
"That," said Jay, wheeling over so he was directly in front of his best friend, "was like that touchdown pass you threw to Saracen at State. Completely unexpected, a bit unorthodox, some hitches in the form but, somehow, an amazing thing of beauty. A perfect pass."
"So, what you're saying is I didn't say the wrong thing?"
"Correct. Honestly, Tim, I don't think I've ever heard you talk that much at once."
"Sure you have, Six. Don't you remember we'd stay up all night in that rickety-ass treehouse, putting together fantasty football teams and making plays for them?"
"No, that was different. That was just talking. This, this was talking. About real feelings and stuff."
Tim sighed and looked Jay. "Thanks, Six. Most of the times, it feels like nothing I say is ever going to be enough."
"No, Timmy, it's probably not. But you're there for him and that's enough."
The sliding glass door opened and Al stuck her head out. "If you want some cookies, you better come in here before your quality control experts eat them all."
Jay grinned and began wheeling himself toward the door, Tim trailing behind him.