-1Hey all! So this is the final chapter, hope you enjoy. Don't forget to let me know what you think!

Under the Covers

If I could sleep forever

Would you still be in my dreams?

Tyra slips away soundlessly after the funeral, disappearing into the crowd, and Matt wants to kick himself for thinking it would be so simple. She's never made anything easy when it could be difficult, so why would she possibly start with him?

Landry chatters the whole drive home, obviously trying to distract his friend. "I'm tellin' you, man, I almost cried - and that's sayin' somethin', 'cause I'm pretty tough. But when Riggins' brother got up there and started bawling, that about did me in. And I've never seen Mrs. Taylor look so wrecked before."

Matt nods along, not really listening. He's staring out the window, watching all of Dillon fly by, and wondering how in the hell he even got involved with Tyra Collette in the first place. She's damaged and distant, and he had enough on his plate long before she sauntered into his life.

"Landry," he says, interrupting the other boy's rambling. "Do you think I'm wasting my time with Tyra? Could we ... are we too different?"

He clears his throat. "Matt, you're my oldest and dearest -"

"And only, let's not forget only," Matt supplies.

Landry pointedly ignores him. "Friend, so I'll be completely honest. Tyra Collette is so far out of your league, you shouldn't rightfully be allowed to speak her name."

"Thanks," he sighs. "That's what I needed to hear."

"That said," Landry continues, "You're a good guy, probably one of the best, and while I think any girl would be lucky to have you, I think Tyra Collette, especially, might need you."

Matt stares at the friend he's known since second grade, an awed expression on his face. "You're somethin' else, Landry."

"That's what they tell me," he declares, and presses down on the accelerator.

XXX

Matt gets home and decides to sleep off the day's turmoil, crawling under the covers despite the fact that it's not even dinner time. He dreams of Tyra, trapped in the wreckage of a twisted-up pickup truck and calling out for him. He reaches out, stretches as far as he can, but their fingers can only brush.

"Matt." She's saying it over and over, pleading with him. "Matt. Wake up."

He jerks upright and finds her standing over him. "Tyra. What the - what are you doing here?"

"I just ..." She shrugs, crosses her arms. "Wanted to see you."

"Really?" He's hopeful, too hopeful, and he clears his throat. "'Cause you, uh, took off pretty fast this morning after ... after everything."

Tyra hesitates. "Move over."

"What?" Unwittingly, he pulls his bed sheets closer, as if she might suddenly whip them off and expose his plaid-patterned boxers.

"Move over," she insists, nudging his shoulder. He complies, fumbling for the t-shirt he'd discarded before collapsing into bed. She sits down beside him, on top of the covers, but still, she's Tyra Collette and she's in his bed and this has only ever happened in his dreams. Matt swallows hard.

Her eyes wander around his room, lingering on a sketchpad he's left open on the floor. "I've never seen your drawings," she says, almost to herself.

"They're not much," he mumbles when she reaches for the book. She flips through the pages slowly and he can't read her expression but she looks almost ... wistful.

She pauses when she finds her own image staring up at her. He's drawn her in her hospital bed, her bruises mere scratches of charcoal, her eyes gray and defiant. "Not my finest moment," she murmurs, tapping her two dimensional self.

"Hey, I liked you then," he protests, touching her shoulder.

She looks at him for the first time, gives him a half-smile. "Yeah, I guess you did." They're quiet for a moment, his hands still resting on her skin, and then she says, "I'm sorry for leavin' like that, at the funeral. I didn't feel much like talkin' to anyone."

"Oh, sure, I understand," he says, but he pulls away, puts some distance between them. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"The thing is ..." Tyra breaks off, clasps her hands in her lap. "I meant what I said today. I loved Tim. When we were dating, I really did think that eventually we would pull ourselves together and have a shot at things."

"That's -" He doesn't know what she wants him to say. "That's real nice. I'm sorry things didn't ... you know, work out for the two of you."

"Oh, Matt." She chuckles, glances down. "Come on. We both know that it would never have worked out. And Tim knew, too. You know, the night he - died - we talked and we both - I think we both understood that it was over."

"Well, that's good." Matt nods, wets his lips. "Good to have closure."

Tyra flips a page in his sketchbook. It's her again, leaning on the hood of a car, a sun low in the sky at her back. "You really have a talent, you know that? God, this and football. You're a lucky guy, Matt Saracen."

He's never seen it quite like that before. Drawing is something he just does, without thought. And football, well, he works too hard at that for it to be called a talent. "I ... I guess."

"You are," she says again, firmly, and she smiles more fully this time. "You're gonna get out of this town and you're gonna have a damn good life."

"Oh, Tyra, that's ... that's a long way away from here." He chuckles uncomfortably. "You know, I've still got a few years left in Dillon."

"Better than a lifetime," she sighs, and turns back to his drawings.

Matt studies her profile, the way her chin seems to jut out even when she's looking down. "Why'd you really come here tonight, Tyra?"

"I like you, Matt," she finally confesses. It's blunt, brash, but it sounds just like her. "And don't give me that jaw-dropped surprised look. You didn't think I've been spending so much time with you 'cause I needed the A plus in Calc."

"Well, I kind of ... thought was part of it," he stutters, a dazed expression replacing his outright shock. "I mean, I knew ... well, when we were - you know, kissing - I knew there was something, but I thought after Tim, you would ... you would change your mind."

"Oh, I've been tryin' to," she's quick to assure him. "I mean, let's face it, Matt, this will never work. Look at you. I'm serious, you're really gonna go places. And me, I can talk about California all I want, but my biggest fear is that I'm gonna end up just like Mindy and my mom. Kids I had too young and men I'm too old for."

Matt gathers his courage and slides his arm around her shoulders. "Tyra, that's never gonna happen. You're the bravest girl I've ever met."

"Well, that I'm not gonna argue with," she replies, leaning into his embrace. "But don't say I didn't warn you when this doesn't work out. You know me. I'm messy, and bitchy, and I hate being wrong. It'll end badly. I'll probably break a lot of your things - maybe burn them, I don't know. It'll depend."

"On what?" he asks, more amused than alarmed by her prediction.

"On my mood," she says, like it's obvious.

"Well, that all sounds pretty - pretty bad, actually," Matt admits, but there's a tiny grin on his face and it grows as he moves towards her, lips hovering over hers. "Not very fun. Probably a waste of time."

"Probably," she agrees, her mouth only a breath away.

He kisses her then, soft and sure. His hands don't travel over her body to push the boundaries, instead resting warmly at her waist. It's a steady feeling, like she's grounded to something, and it's only then that she lets herself relax and melt into his arms.

Matt pulls back an inch; just far enough to look into her eyes. "You wanna stay over tonight, Tyra Collette? Get a good night's sleep?"

That really makes her smile, if only because no one has ever asked her to stay over and sleep. "I would really like that, Matt Saracen."

The sun sets on the two of them sleeping peacefully, Matt on his back and Tyra with her head in the crook of his shoulder, her open palm resting on his chest above his heart. There are faint smiles on both their faces. When it rises the next morning, they haven't moved an inch.