It's Lyla's damn idea to visit Jason in rehab before the Arnett Mead game in the first place. Lyla who talked to Coach, and convinced the bus driver, and is still going for the role of Best Supporting Girlfriend, even though Tim had her up against his bedroom door not even three days ago.

It isn't that Tim's pissed that she doesn't want him, not really - he doesn't even like her that much half the time (except when it's early in the morning or late at night, and she's kissing him with syrup on her lips). It's that the whole time they've been screwing around, she's acted like she has nothing to do with it. Jason's in the hospital and Tim won't visit him, and it's raining, and she's crying, and Tim kisses her, and "it's a mistake." She comes to his house, eats his waffle, sleeps in his bed, and when he tries to talk to her about school, she brushes him off and says he doesn't care anyway. She hopes she doesn't go straight to hell, this can't happen anymore, Jason can never find out, blah blah blah…and the next minute they're in his truck, and she's pulling him closer and whispering his name, and his brain is shorting out, and somehow that's his fault, too.

Everything's his fault with Lyla (with everyone, really), and Tim's just…scared.

He doesn't want to see Jay because he's scared he'll have a look in his eye and Jay'll know everything.

He doesn't want to see Jay because he doesn't know if he can look at his best friend lying in a hospital bed without remembering that this, and not whatever's happening with Lyla, is all because of him – because he was too hung over to pay attention to what was happening on the other side of the field.

The thing about it is, Tim doesn't cry. Ever. But dammit, seeing Jay in this bed, with tubes everywhere and a neck brace and legs that are like weights against the mattress, freaks Tim the hell out. He doesn't want to be here, in this place. It feels too much like a hospital, smells too much like a hospital, and if there's one thing Tim hates most in the world – more than vegetables and losing games and Mom – it's the hospital.

He almost doesn't go inside at all – hangs back while everyone else files around and leans against the wall for a second to catch his breath. The nurse at the wide, circular desk separating this corridor from the next one over gives him a small, sympathetic smile when he accidentally meets her eye. She's wearing pale pink scrubs with splotchy yellow flowers and a pin in the shape of a happy face over her heart. Probably, she thinks Tim's out here because he doesn't know Jay very well and feels uncomfortable. Or maybe she thinks he's just giving everyone else a chance to say hello before he goes in – maybe she thinks he's thoughtful and polite and quiet, the kind of kid who lets old ladies cut him in line, and would never think of doing any of the things that he actually does on a regular basis.

Tim sort of wants to set her straight. (Sort of, but not completely.)

He's just pushing off the wall when the team starts filing out through the door. "Shit," Smash is muttering to Saracen. Tim can almost see the wheels in Saracen's head turning, picturing the right way to tackle, making sure he remembers so this doesn't happen to him, too.

"Your turn, Riggins." Coach is there all of a sudden, giving him a look that says, 'Go ahead, son,' and 'Hurry the hell up, we're gonna be late for the game,' at the same time. "We'll be out at the bus."

Lyla's backed against the curtain separating Jay's bed from his roommate's when Tim steps inside, arms folded like she's nervous and doesn't know how else to protect herself. It's almost silent in the dim room – the monitors humming in the corner only draw attention to the fact that no-one's talking. Usually Tim likes silence, but this isn't the kind he can really control. This isn't him, working on his truck alone in the driveway, or standing by himself at the bluff, lobbing golf balls as far as can. It's not voluntary or comfortable.

This is Tim, shoving his hands in his pockets like a guilty four-year-old who's just stolen his mama's cookies, fighting back tears, mumbling hey, like maybe it isn't that big a deal, and hoping to hell that that's true. This is Tim saying "I miss you, Street," like maybe Jay will forget that the reason Tim can miss him in the first place is because he's never come to visit.

This is Jay, pissed. "Where the hell've you been?"

Tim thinks that maybe, if he says something smartass back, Jay'll forget he's mad and remember that they're best friends, and that Tim's an asshole sometimes, but not because he means to be. "You know. Around," is what he thinks of saying, and also what slips out before he has a chance to think about it more.

He stands there for a second, holding Jay's curved fingers in his hand, grinning a little like an idiot and waiting for the tension to break like it always does. There's a moment when he's sure Jay'll give in, but then it passes and all that happens is that Jay starts looking like he wants to cry, and like that makes him angry, his lips pressing together into this tight, thin line, and Tim's chin starts shaking and he sniffs, once, on accident.

"Go," Jay bites out, pulling his hand away from Tim's and looking up at the ceiling. Then Lyla's moving in to give him a kiss goodbye, and Tim's turning around and wiping his eyes and clearing his throat because it sounds more manly than the sob he's holding back.

He walks out the door and heads for the parking lot.