Author's Notes: Although I started with the intention of keeping true to the Friday Night Light series, I found that it wouldn't work, so I've made some changes that are relevant to the path of this story. Therefore,

1) This is AU and characters will be out of character.

2) Tim Riggins never had a serious relationship with Tyra or Lyla and Julie Taylor never had a relationship with Matt Saracen.

3) Julie goes to Linfield College in Portland, Oregon (I needed her to be on the upper west coast for a reason).

4) Eric and Tami Taylor don't leave Dillon as seen in the last episode of season five and Eric continues to coach the Dillon Panthers.

5) This is written in first person, mostly through Julie's point of view. But I will often switch to Tim to fill in some relevant gaps in the story and to provide a different perspective. If the POV is changing to Tim, I will label it at the beginning of the chapter or section.

6) The first few chapters contain some flashbacks, some are from the show and some I've created. They will be labeled "Flashback" at the beginning of the chapter or section.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing related to Friday Night Lights or its characters.

Chapter 1

The morning started out bad and little did I know it was about to get worse…much worse.

After showering and drying my hair, which I tied in a ponytail that sat high at the back of my head, I applied the required heavy makeup. My work uniform, three different sets, hung in my closet. I pulled a clean set out and began to dress.

The outfit consisted of a black and white plaid mini-skirt that was extra short and hung low on my hips; a black bra; a short white top tied together just below my chest and open enough to show the bra; black stockings; and black, thick-soled, high-heeled boots that reached just below my knees and had six buckles all the way up the sides. I went to the mirror and checked myself as I donned the accessories: black leather wristbands and collar.

I absolutely loved this outfit. It was one of the reasons I had gotten a job at Gothic Treasures. It was a restaurant that catered mostly to male customers for obvious reasons. I got great tips, which was enough to cover the rent for an apartment I shared with someone else. Despite that, my parents usually sent me money every month, in case I needed it.

In actuality, if my mom or dad knew I worked at a place like Gothic Treasures, they would freak. Even at twenty-one, I was still their little girl. To spare myself their wrath, I told them I worked as a waitress at Longhorn Steakhouse, wearing conservative black slacks and a polo shirt.

I walked out of my bedroom and found my roommate, Henry, moping around in the kitchen, still in his pajamas. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?" I asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get ready in a minute." He sat down at the island.

I made toast for myself and drank orange juice and Henry stared at me like I was a complete stranger. Six months ago he had asked me out and I awkwardly told him I needed time to get over someone I had left behind in Dillon. But maybe I was being melodramatic. I had lived with Henry for three years and it was time I put the past behind me and moved forward. Unfortunately I wasn't so sure that Henry Pelican would be anywhere in my future. "What?" I asked as he continued to stare.

"Why do you have to be so goddamned cheerful this early in the morning?" he bickered. "It's sickening."

I frowned at him. Mr Debbie Downer. "First of all, it's 11:00 and not that early and second of all, it's not my fault you're cranky in the morning."

He put his hands on the sides of his head. "Shut up! Just shut up!"

I ignored his irritable attitude and went right to the issue I knew he never liked talking about. "Did you get paid yesterday?"

"No."

"Henry, I need you to give me your half of the rent."

"I don't have it, alright?"

"Well, what're you doing with all your money?"

His eyes went to the clock on the wall. "We'll talk about it tonight. You're gonna be late for work."

I grabbed my purse and angrily left the apartment without saying goodbye. Maybe I needed to move out or find another roommate. Henry Pelican was beginning to get on my last nerve.

I drove to work and went to the back room to clock in.

"Hey, Julie. How's it going?" asked Bridgett.

I didn't reply. Bridgett Michelson was not on my list of favorite co-workers. She liked to steal the spotlight whenever she could. And she often stole my regulars.

"You'll have to take my section today," she continued.

I turned to her, noticing that she wasn't dressed in her work uniform. "What for?"

"I have to leave," she said with a smile and an exaggerated sigh. "Family emergency." She turned and walked out the back door.

The lunch crowd at Gothic Treasures was insane. But taking on four more tables wasn't the end of the world. Plus it gave me an opportunity to steal some of Bridgett's regulars. I could flirt just as well as she could.

As I started to head down the corridor toward the dining room, I thought about some flirty things I could say. But I never made it there. Someone grabbed me from behind and a hand covered my mouth, preventing a scream. Strong arms kept me from using my own arms to fight back, but I kicked and squirmed as much as I could.

The assailant dragged me into the office, barging through the door.

My boss, Larry, jumped out of his chair and that's when I saw the gun as the man behind me pointed it over my shoulder at Larry.

I was roughly tossed against the desk and the gun barrel quickly went to my cheek. My eyes flew up. His face was covered with a ski mask. All I could see were eyes as black as night. I froze. The steel against my cheek was ice cold and I could smell gunpowder, like the gun had recently gone off.

The dark eyes went to Larry. "Open the safe or she dies."

"There's nothing in the safe," Larry nervously stammered.

"I said open it!"

I cringed in fear as he pressed the gun barrel harder into my cheek and I wondered if anyone had ever survived being shot in the face. It wouldn't be pretty. It would ruin my friend's wedding if one of the bridesmaids showed up with half of her face gone.

Gloria suddenly appeared. "Larry, have you seen my…"

The assailant turned and the gun was pointed toward where she stood frozen in the doorway. He was going to shoot her, the sweet old woman who made sure the kitchen ran smoothly and made sure none of the customers got too fresh with us girls.

I couldn't let that happen. I squirmed beneath his hand and it got his attention for only a second, but it was enough time for Gloria to vanish before a gun shot went off and struck the wall outside the office where she had been standing. Hopefully she was on her way to a phone and calling the police.

The gun barrel was back on my face and the assailant clenched his teeth. "Stupid girl!"

"Hey," yelled Larry. "I'm opening the safe! Just take it easy!"

I couldn't see behind me, but I heard Larry's movements and heard the grinding of the knob on the safe as he turned it.

The masked man produced a cloth duffle. "Fill it!"

There was more shuffling and it was taking a very long time. How much money could Larry possibly have in the safe? And then I was yanked up on my feet.

"Give it to her," said the robber.

Larry came in my sight and he looked into my eyes as he put the bag into my arms. I saw the look of terror on his face. The gun left my cheek and it smashed into Larry's nose. He went down to the floor with a cry of pain.

"Move!" the robber yelled in my direction.

He pushed me ahead of him and before I could go in the direction of the dining room, he grabbed me and shoved me the other way down the corridor.

Outside the back door was a white van, as plain and nondescript as could be. With his hand on my shoulder and the gun to the back of my head, he maneuvered me toward the van. If he forced me inside of it, I knew I was dead. He would never let me go.

As I held tightly to the extremely heavy duffle bag full of money, I slid my hand into the small purse clipped to a chain around my waist. My fingers closed around a can of mace I kept.

While the assailant was momentarily distracted by the van's doors as he pulled them open, I spun around and sprayed the mace directly into his eyeballs. He let out a girlish scream.

But I didn't stop to analyze it and ran like hell. I heard gunshots behind me and when I briefly glanced over my shoulder, he was shooting in every direction because he still couldn't see. The back door could only be opened from the inside, so I bolted around the side of the building, intending to go through the front entrance. One more glance over my shoulder revealed the assailant had recovered from the mace and was coming after me. I made it through the door and quickly turned the door lock just as he rushed up and tried to pull the door open.

"Open the door!" he shouted.

I shook my head and backed away.

His gun came up and he fired it.

I screamed as the glass shattered and rained all over me. A hand grabbed me by the back of the neck and when I looked, I saw he had reached through the broken glass panel. In a last ditch effort to push him away, I grabbed at his head and somehow ripped off the ski mask.

And I saw his face. It dawned on me that I had seen him before. He had eaten here a couple nights ago. I was his waitress and we flirted with each other.

When he grabbed for the bag of money, I quickly threw it behind me. "Stupid girl!" he shouted and punched me in the face.

I flew backward and saw the gun come up. He aimed right at me and pulled the trigger. I flinched, wondering how much pain a bullet would cause.

Click…nothing. His gun was empty. It was a miracle.

He roared like a wild animal. "You're dead!" He disappeared around to the back of the building.

I covered the side of my face where he punched me. My entire body was shaking, wondering why he had let me go. Then I heard the sound of sirens coming closer. A minute later the white van came into view and raced away down the street and was gone.

Everyone came running to my aid, helping me up on my feet. I walked to the bag of money and picked it up.

Larry pushed everyone out of the way, one hand holding a towel over his bleeding nose.

"Out of the way." He stared with his mouth open when he saw I was holding the duffle bag.

The left side of my face was throbbing painfully. I slowly took a few steps toward him and held out the bag. "I…I got away from him."

He took it and continued staring at me as if I had just walked on water. "Julie, I can't believe this. You saved my money. He could have killed you."

My head started spinning and I felt like I was about to faint, but my body had other ideas. I bent forward and lurched out the contents of my stomach all over Larry's shoes.

(Tim's POV)

I waited in line to get my ticket and my number. There were a hell of a lot of people at this auction. I started wondering if maybe I didn't bring enough cash to win the bid. In my pocket was my life savings, eight thousand dollars in cash. But I had also brought along something I never thought I'd ever give up

What was more important? Something I had poured my blood, sweat and tears into, or something that could make me financially stable?

Well, Riggins, isn't that the reason you brought it with you to begin with? If you have to trade it, then that's what you gotta do. In the back of my mind, I could picture my older brother, Billy giving me that dumbstruck look he always had on his face when I did something stupid. What the fuck, Tim? I had been hearing that a lot lately.

I sighed and prayed I wouldn't have to part with Mad Maxine after all.

The line moved on and I was finally standing at the counter.

"Name?" asked the clerk. He looked totally bored.

"Timothy Riggins."

"Spell it."

"T-I-M-O-T-H-Y R-I-G-G-I-N-S." I watched as he wrote my name down on a form.

He also wanted my address, my phone number, my date of birth and the name of my auto insurance company.

"You wanna know the color of my shorts, too?" I asked with a grin.

He looked at me over the top of his eyeglasses. "Are you paying cash or trading?"

I lost the smile because he didn't look amused at all. "I've got cash and merchandise to trade."

"What's the merchandise?"

"A sixty-nine Chevelle. Fully restored, fully loaded."

"Value?"

"Thirty-five grand."

He wrote it all on the form and then shoved it at me. "Sign it."

I signed my name and he handed me a brochure and a stick with the number 033 on it. My high school football number. Hm…was this fate telling me it was my lucky day? Or was it an omen for bad things to come?

"Next!" the clerk yelled.

I stepped away from the counter and followed the rest of the people into a large tent. As I found a seat, I glanced around at my competition. There was a hell of a lot of money sitting around, just from the looks of their clothes. Tuxedos, long gowns…and hats. This was a horse auction, not the fucking Kentucky Derby.

I opened the brochure and skimmed through the names until I came to the one Foster told me to bid on.

Lot Number: 16

Name: Strike While It's Hot

Age: 4.2 years

Gender: Stallion

Breed: Friesian

Potential: Dressage, Driving

Temperament: 10

I frowned at the potentials. I kind of figured out what Driving was about. Something about pulling a carriage. Yeah, that was self-explanatory. But Dressage? What the hell was that? I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and was about to look it up on the internet when two women wearing enormous sun hats sat down in front of me. Maybe they could help me figure out what the stats meant.

I leaned forward. "Good afternoon, ladies."

They both turned annoyed looks at me.

I charmed them with my most charming smile. "Hi, I'm wondering if you can help me decipher something on this brochure."

Maybe my smile had worked because they looked at each other and then smiled back at me. "Well, certainly," said the one with the pink hat. "How can we help?"

I pointed to the entry on the brochure. "Can you tell me what dressage means? Is that where they dress up the horse for a parade or something?"

They started to laugh. Apparently I was wrong.

The one in the yellow hat smiled wider. "No, it's pronounced dressage and it's a very disciplined equestrian sport, sort of a ballet"

I frowned. "A ballet?" I raised my eyebrows, wondering if Foster had flipped his lid when he told me to bid on this horse. I wanted a cutting horse, not a fucking ballet dancer.

The other woman raised an eyebrow that disappeared in her pink hat as she looked me up and down. "The horses at this auction are English horses. You won't find any cow horses here, cowboy."

I ignored her comment and pointed to something else on the stats. "What about this number here? What does the ten mean?"

"The temperament of a horse is measured from one to ten, one being a very calm demeanor."

I nodded in clear understanding. She didn't have to explain any further. "So ten means…psycho killer."

"Well, yes, that sounds about right."

I sat back and shook my head in disbelief. I was going to kill Foster. He was a dead old man. I drove all the way from Dillon, Texas in my pickup truck, pulling a thirty foot trailer loaded with a car that weighed over 3500 pounds. And now I was expected to spend my life's savings, and possibly lose the car, to buy a psycho horse.

Not happening!

I got up and walked out of the tent. Mother fucker! Now I'd have to leave empty handed. I dialed Foster's number, mentally preparing myself to give the stupid old ex-drunk a huge piece of my mind.

He answered on the second ring. "Hey, kid, did you get the horse?"

"No, I didn't get the horse. You forgot to tell me he's a ten, Foster. Do you know what a ten means? That's at the top of the temperament scale. I might as well buy a great white shark. Not to mention the nag is only good for Driving or Dressaaage…" I emphasized the word the way that lady with the yellow hat had done.

"All right, Tim. Just settle down. The temperament is not an issue, son. We can work that out of him. As far as the training, I told you I can teach an elephant to cut cows."

I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed in frustration. "I came all the way up here for nothing. Do you have any idea how much I spent on gas alone?"

"Listen to me and trust what I'm telling you. Buy that horse, Tim. Buy him. You won't regret it, I promise you."

"Whatever. I'll call you later." I hit End and wanted to throw my phone across the parking lot. I took a deep breath and stood outside the tent for several more minutes, wondering if I was crazier than Foster to believe him. "Shit!" I kicked at the dirt and went back inside the tent.

The auction had already begun and a variety of horses were brought in one at a time for bidding. I saw a lot of good looking horse flesh, but I didn't bid because my interest had to remain on the spawn from Satan.

When the number fifteen horse was led away, I sat up straighter in my chair.

"Next up is Lot Number Sixteen, Strike While It's Hot."

A huge horse was led in…Or rather the horse was leading the handler. Two others rushed in to help as the stallion reared and snorted and jogged around the pen. He had the longest and thickest mane and tail I had ever seen on a horse. He was as black as infinity and had hooves the size of turkey platters.

The two ladies I had been talking to turned to look at me. Then when they turned away, they both started to laugh.

What in the hell made James Foster think this animal would make a great cutting horse?

"This Friesian is from the Star Preferant stallion Avatar 674 by the Star mare Contessa."

I watched with my mouth open as the handlers tried to get the stallion to stand still, but he wouldn't have it. He bolted and jumped the short rail around the auction pen, taking out the first two rows of folding chairs. Fortunately they were empty. He dragged the handlers by the lead rope attached to his halter. Any other time I probably would have been laughing my head off along with everyone else.

"He…he stands at 16.2 hands and is guar…he's guaranteed to make a fine dressage candidate." The nervous auctioneer quickly backed away as the stallion snorted and whirled his rear end around, nearly knocking down the podium.

The handlers finally managed to coax the stallion back into the pen, but they couldn't keep him from rearing and screeching. He tossed his head, his mane flying all over the place. This horse was a train wreck. He would demolish my trailer to pieces.

I leaned back in my seat and shook my head. "This is so fucked up," I said to myself.

"The bidding will start at four thousand. Do I hear four thousand…" And then he went into the fast talk that auctioneer's do.

I tilted my head back and stared at the roof of the tent. Fine, I would bid, but if someone else bid after me, I was done. I reluctantly held up my number.

"I have four thousand. Do I hear five, five, make it five…" Blah blah blah.

When after a few seconds I realized no one else was bidding, I was getting a little worried. I glanced around and everyone seemed more interested in watching the handlers trying to keep the stallion from bolting again.

My brother's words rang in my head. "Tim, you need to find yourself a hobby that won't cause bodily harm. Even on a well-trained cutting horse, you can fall off and get trampled." It was like he had completely forgotten I played football in high school and bodily harm was in my blood.

"I've got four, make it five, five, can I get five, four thousand going once, four thousand going twice." He slammed his gavel down. "Sold for four thousand dollars to the long-haired gentleman in the back."

I released the breath I had been holding.

Fuck…

Everyone turned around and looked at me like I had just come down in a flying saucer. Yeah, that's right, stare at the lunatic about to transport a crazy horse over 3,000 miles, from Seattle, Washington to Dillon, Texas.

Maybe Billy was right. I needed to find a less dangerous hobby, like alligator wrestling or swimming with piranhas.