Title: Living By Your Rules
Summary: Down in Mexico...
Pairing: Lyla/Jason/Tim
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 620
AN: For luciademedici, for the current drabble offering.. Prompt song: Candidate by Joy Division. Set after FNL episode 2x05.

Lyla laid on Tim’s bed in the hotel room, cheek pressed against the pillow and staring at the mussed covers on Jason’s bed a few feet away.

She’d been so glad that Jason was alive and okay and wasn’t going through with that ridiculous surgery, and the music had filled her with confidence and...

Tim’s eyes hadn’t left them, the whole time she’d danced with Jason and perched on his lap. Jason’s eyes had been on her and Tim when he’d kissed her, pressed tight to her on the dance floor.

Their eyes had been on each other when she’d fled, saying something blithe and hiding in the room, trying to... trying to think of sermons and morality lessons and remembering what had happened the last time she’d let herself be impulsive.

She couldn’t tell if the swooping, strange feeling in her stomach was happiness or fear or something else entirely.

She heard scuffling in the hallway, the unmistakable sound of Jason’s wheelchair, and she squeezed her eyes shut, taking slow steady breaths. She didn’t want to talk to either of them right now, and especially not both of them together.

Jason’s laughter was familiar in her ears, especially with Tim’s chuckle mixed in like that, and Lyla could almost pretend the past year had never happened.

“Need help?” Tim’s voice was a low rumble, and Lyla was brought back into the present, because a year ago Tim never would have offered to help Jason.

“Fuck you,” Jason replied, and she could hear the scraping noise of him dragging himself out of his chair onto the bed.

“Why, Jay, I didn’t know you felt like that,” Tim teased, and Lyla’s grip on the pillow tightened.

“Only for you, Timmy,” Jason said, and his voice wasn’t nearly as light as it had been a minute ago.

They’d both been drinking. Too much, Lyla judged. Enough where you started making dangerous decisions.

She kind of wished she had been drinking, too.

Tim laughed and flopped down on the bed. Lyla cracked open an eye. There wasn’t enough room for them both on the bed, not really, and in the dimness she could barely make out where Jason ended and Tim started.

“Thank you,” Jason said, so quiet that Lyla could barely hear the words.

“I couldn’t let you do that,” Tim shrugged. “Not you, Six.”

“Thanks,” Jason breathed again, and the way he tilted his head...

Lyla only managed not to gasp when they kissed by cramming her fist in her mouth, biting down hard enough to taste blood.

“Jay,” Tim said when they pulled apart, voice cracking.

“Don’t be a girl,” Jason said, gripping onto the front of Tim’s t-shirt and pulling.

Both of Lyla’s eyes were wide open, and she pulled her fist out of her mouth, licking the tooth marks absently.

The dim light from outside - the flickering florescent sign of the whorehouse across the street, Lyla thought dimly - caught onto both of their jawlines as they flexed and pressed together. She couldn’t look away, and half-sat up in Tim’s bed, leaning closer, hoping to see...

When they broke apart, they were looking at her.

“Well, Garrity?” Tim said.

“Well what?” she said, trying to force herself to sound prim instead of breathless.

“You gonna stay over there all night?” Jason said.

“Plenty of room,” Tim said, patting at the nonexistent free space on the bed.

Lyla knew better than to go with her impulses, but they were her boys.

*

/>The next morning on the ride back to Dillon, no one talked about it.

Lyla rested her head on Tim’s shoulder and her hand on Jason’s thigh, and was content.