Fic: My joy that shakes the house (FNL)
My joy that shakes the house
Friday Night Lights
for honey_wheeler, to cheer her up. I hope my woefully inadequate knowledge of canon doesn't show through. Title from the poem For the Moment by Pierre Reverdy. Post-season 1.
"Hey! Hey Tim Riggins!" Bo says. He's hanging off the passenger side door of Tim's truck, fingers hooked in the open window, climbing up the side with bare feet, then dropping back to the driveway.
"Hm?" Tim says absently from underneath the truck. His oil's needed to be changed for three months now.
"Do you wanna hear a joke?" Bo says, then launches into it without waiting for an answer. "What happens when you cut open a frog's stomach?"
Tim makes a noncommittal noise, and Bo drops from the side of the truck to crouch on the driveway and peer under the truck at him.
"All the flies fly out!" he says, and laughs uproariously at himself, falling backwards onto the bleached grass at the edge of the driveway.
Tim grins to himself in the dimness under the engine.
"Good one, Bo," he says.
**
The day after they win the championship, Matt wakes up to someone pounding methodically on his window. It takes a while for him to figure out where the sound is coming from. Landry, snoring in a sleeping bag on the floor, mumbles something and rolls over.
When Matt stumbles over to the window in his boxers and pulls open the blind, it's Street, football in his lap.
"What're you...?" he says, and Street holds up the football.
"Saracen," he says. "Look alive." When Matt blinks dumbly at him, Street tilts his head. "I'm sorry, did you think that just because it's the off-season you know everything there is to know? Planning to rest on your laurels all summer?"
Matt feels himself starting to grin.
"Okay," he says, "let me just, uh--"
"There is no just," Street says. "Get your butt out here. Preferably clothed, but I don't really care all that much either way."
"Yeah, all right," Matt says, and lets the blinds drop.
"And get Landry's lazy ass out here, too," Street calls.
**
Julie's been sitting on this blanket to watch the fireworks as long as she can remember, and every year it's just as itchy as the last. It scratches the back of her knees as she slides down to lie beside Matt, who has his arms behind his head, looking up at the almost-all-the-way-dark sky.
It's been three days since Julie's parents called her into the living room for a Talk.
"Don't tell me it's going to be twins," Julie muttered, and her mom gave her the look that meant 'I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that'.
"Well," her dad had said. "Well, I thought you might like to know that we're not moving after all. We're staying. Your mother's right, it's not good to uproot you, and--"
Julie shrieked and launched herself at him for a hug. Her dad looked so startled she'd have laughed if she weren't too busy thinking about how she had to tell Matt, how she had to tell him in person so she could run at him hard and he could pick her up and swing her around and kiss her. Which is more or less what ended up happening, even if it was a little clumsy.
Now she edges closer to Matt, until she can feel his leg hair prickling against her skin. She's full of lemonade and potato salad and there are little kids running all over the field shrieking. It's funny to think there's going to be one of them in her house soon. Maybe it'll be a girl. Maybe it'll be someone who actually listens to what she has to say for once.
"Hey!" her dad says suddenly from the next blanket. "Lying down is no way to watch fireworks. Sit sit sit."
Matt bolts upright right away, but Julie makes a face and sits up as slowly as possible.
"You two are lying down," she says.
"Well, that's the privilege that comes with age, sweetheart," her father says, and winds his fingers with her mom's. Ugh.
Luckily when the fireworks start, Matt sneaks his arm around behind her to rest on her waist, thumb brushing the skin between her shorts and tanktop. Julie inches closer, tilts her head back and watches all that exploding, falling light.
Friday Night Lights
for honey_wheeler, to cheer her up. I hope my woefully inadequate knowledge of canon doesn't show through. Title from the poem For the Moment by Pierre Reverdy. Post-season 1.
"Hey! Hey Tim Riggins!" Bo says. He's hanging off the passenger side door of Tim's truck, fingers hooked in the open window, climbing up the side with bare feet, then dropping back to the driveway.
"Hm?" Tim says absently from underneath the truck. His oil's needed to be changed for three months now.
"Do you wanna hear a joke?" Bo says, then launches into it without waiting for an answer. "What happens when you cut open a frog's stomach?"
Tim makes a noncommittal noise, and Bo drops from the side of the truck to crouch on the driveway and peer under the truck at him.
"All the flies fly out!" he says, and laughs uproariously at himself, falling backwards onto the bleached grass at the edge of the driveway.
Tim grins to himself in the dimness under the engine.
"Good one, Bo," he says.
**
The day after they win the championship, Matt wakes up to someone pounding methodically on his window. It takes a while for him to figure out where the sound is coming from. Landry, snoring in a sleeping bag on the floor, mumbles something and rolls over.
When Matt stumbles over to the window in his boxers and pulls open the blind, it's Street, football in his lap.
"What're you...?" he says, and Street holds up the football.
"Saracen," he says. "Look alive." When Matt blinks dumbly at him, Street tilts his head. "I'm sorry, did you think that just because it's the off-season you know everything there is to know? Planning to rest on your laurels all summer?"
Matt feels himself starting to grin.
"Okay," he says, "let me just, uh--"
"There is no just," Street says. "Get your butt out here. Preferably clothed, but I don't really care all that much either way."
"Yeah, all right," Matt says, and lets the blinds drop.
"And get Landry's lazy ass out here, too," Street calls.
**
Julie's been sitting on this blanket to watch the fireworks as long as she can remember, and every year it's just as itchy as the last. It scratches the back of her knees as she slides down to lie beside Matt, who has his arms behind his head, looking up at the almost-all-the-way-dark sky.
It's been three days since Julie's parents called her into the living room for a Talk.
"Don't tell me it's going to be twins," Julie muttered, and her mom gave her the look that meant 'I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that'.
"Well," her dad had said. "Well, I thought you might like to know that we're not moving after all. We're staying. Your mother's right, it's not good to uproot you, and--"
Julie shrieked and launched herself at him for a hug. Her dad looked so startled she'd have laughed if she weren't too busy thinking about how she had to tell Matt, how she had to tell him in person so she could run at him hard and he could pick her up and swing her around and kiss her. Which is more or less what ended up happening, even if it was a little clumsy.
Now she edges closer to Matt, until she can feel his leg hair prickling against her skin. She's full of lemonade and potato salad and there are little kids running all over the field shrieking. It's funny to think there's going to be one of them in her house soon. Maybe it'll be a girl. Maybe it'll be someone who actually listens to what she has to say for once.
"Hey!" her dad says suddenly from the next blanket. "Lying down is no way to watch fireworks. Sit sit sit."
Matt bolts upright right away, but Julie makes a face and sits up as slowly as possible.
"You two are lying down," she says.
"Well, that's the privilege that comes with age, sweetheart," her father says, and winds his fingers with her mom's. Ugh.
Luckily when the fireworks start, Matt sneaks his arm around behind her to rest on her waist, thumb brushing the skin between her shorts and tanktop. Julie inches closer, tilts her head back and watches all that exploding, falling light.