Football Fic: Tailgating
Oct. 13th, 2007 08:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteTitle: Tailgating
Author: Namaste
Summary: More fluff of the football variety. House and Wilson bet on -- and bitch about -- the football at House’s alma mater. Minor spoilers for “97 Seconds.” And I guess it’s a series now. This follows Go Blue and Hail To The Victors?
About 1,100 words.
“Why am I here?”
“In the philosophical or physical sense?”
Wilson narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath before he answered. “It’s early and I haven’t had enough coffee yet, so I’ll go with physical.”
“Coffee’s in the kitchen.” House put his legs up on the coffee table, leaned back into the couch. “And you’re here because you lost the bet.”
“I did?” Wilson asked. “Wait, what bet?” He shook his head and walked into the kitchen. His favorite mug was on the second shelf, like always, and he poured himself a cup.
“Michigan beat Eastern Michigan.”
“Yes, and …”
“You owe me lunch.”
Wilson leaned against the doorway and shook his head. “No, since Michigan won, that means you don’t owe me money. I don’t remember any food entering into the equation, especially any food that I was somehow responsible for.”
“Last week, third quarter,” House said. He picked up the remote control, switched on the TV and started clicking past the stations. “Eastern gets a touchdown, comes within two points of Michigan.”
House left the TV on ESPN and put down the remote before picking up his mug. He kept his left hand still and in his lap. Wilson tried not to stare at the discolored skin on the back of House’s hand, the red marks that spread out from the palm.
“With you so far.” Wilson unzipped his jacket.
“Don’t bother getting undressed,” House said. “You’ll need to go out for supplies.”
Wilson took off his jacket, tossed it onto a chair and sat. “You haven’t convinced me yet that I actually owe you anything.”
“Third quarter,” House repeated. “You were so busy figuring out how much money I’d owe you that you said if Eastern won, I’d be paying for your lunch for the next four weeks.”
“You would have owed me two hundred bucks thanks to the fact that Northwestern is in the Big 10, so therefore doesn’t count in your unranked teams category,” Wilson said. “At ten bucks per lunch …”
“Ten bucks?”
“If I’m using your money, I’m not eating cheap in the cafeteria,” Wilson said. “So at ten bucks, I’d be eating for free for …”
“A month,” House said, “if you only count weekdays.”
“I am.” Wilson took a sip of coffee. “And I’m still waiting for the point where I owe you lunch.”
“Third quarter,” House said.
“You already said that.”
“Didn’t want you to get lost. The score’s sixteen to fourteen, you’re already counting your money …”
“After watching the Appalachian State game can you blame me?”
“Forget about the Appalachian State game.”
Wilson shook his head. “Don’t want to. Too much fun. I downloaded the highlights. Want me to send you the link?”
“Sixteen, fourteen,” House repeated. “You’re busy counting the money that you’ll never, ever see, and say that if Michigan wiggles out of this one you’d eat your hat.”
“It’s ... it’s a saying,” Wilson said, “and I’m not eating any hats.”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t take it literally.”
Wilson took another sip of his coffee, not entirely certain that House wouldn’t produce some kind of a hat.
“In fact,” House continued, “I even offered that you could eat whatever you wanted to cook, within reason, as long as I got some too.”
Wilson shook his head. “That’s not a bet,” he said. “We never set any terms. And besides, that’s ... that’s just trash talking.”
House held up his right hand and extended his index finger. “One,” he said, “I can’t believe you’re looking for a loophole, and two,” he raised his middle finger, “you need some serious education on what constitutes trash talking.”
Wilson rolled his eyes.
“And three,” House raised his ring ringer to join the other two, “you can’t expect me to fend for myself. I’m injured.” He lifted his left hand briefly, flashing the damaged palm in Wilson’s direction.
“It’s self-inflicted,” Wilson said, “and you’ve come to the wrong place for pity this time.”
“You gave me drugs already,” House said. “A little home cooking seems like so little to ask.”
“Make yourself a sandwich.” Wilson said. “That shouldn’t be too complicated even with just one good hand.”
“But I’m hungry.”
Wilson reached over and grabbed the phone. “This works,” he said, holding it to his ear. “Something wrong with your regular delivery guys?”
“You expect me to carry a pizza box with this hand all the way from the door?” House cradled his left hand against his chest. Wilson was pretty sure it was mostly an act, but looked away after a minute. He took another drink of coffee then stared at the TV. Chris Spielman was busy running down the list of highlights expected during the day’s games.
Wilson turned back to House. “I’ll cook,” he said, “for a bet on the bowl game.”
House stared at him. “What kind of a bet?”
“We’ll make it easy. If Michigan loses their bowl game, I get two hundred bucks, double the winnings you owed me after the Oregon game.”
“That’s if they even make it to a bowl game,” House said. “What if they don’t?”
“Then I get nothing.”
“And what if Michigan wins?”
Wilson looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then at House. “You tell me.”
House studied him, then grinned. “So many possibilities,” he said.
“Pick one.”
“You and Cuddy ...”
“Nope,” Wilson said. “This is strictly between you and me. Leave Cuddy out of it.”
House shrugged. “Then I’m not interested. Guess I can deal with pizza for one more day.”
“Too bad. I was starting to think that I could get some steak, marinate it for an hour or so, grill it and slice it really thin,” Wilson said. “Then grill some ciabatta bread, rub in a little garlic, add some good cheese, maybe some roasted peppers, a little horseradish ...” He shook his head. “Would have made a great sandwich.”
“Breakfast, lunch and dinner, all three meals,” House said, “once a week until the start of baseball season.”
Wilson considered it. “Do I have to serve all three meals on the same day?”
“I’ll cut you some slack, and you can break it up throughout the week.”
“Spring training or the regular season?”
“Until the first home game of whoever wins the World Series.”
Wilson stared at the ceiling for a minute, then looked down. “Deal,” he said, and held out his hand. House looked at it for a minute.
“Don’t go looking for any loopholes,” he said, and shook Wilson’s hand. “And hurry up. Game starts in an hour, and you’ve got some shopping to do.”
Author: Namaste
Summary: More fluff of the football variety. House and Wilson bet on -- and bitch about -- the football at House’s alma mater. Minor spoilers for “97 Seconds.” And I guess it’s a series now. This follows Go Blue and Hail To The Victors?
About 1,100 words.
“Why am I here?”
“In the philosophical or physical sense?”
Wilson narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath before he answered. “It’s early and I haven’t had enough coffee yet, so I’ll go with physical.”
“Coffee’s in the kitchen.” House put his legs up on the coffee table, leaned back into the couch. “And you’re here because you lost the bet.”
“I did?” Wilson asked. “Wait, what bet?” He shook his head and walked into the kitchen. His favorite mug was on the second shelf, like always, and he poured himself a cup.
“Michigan beat Eastern Michigan.”
“Yes, and …”
“You owe me lunch.”
Wilson leaned against the doorway and shook his head. “No, since Michigan won, that means you don’t owe me money. I don’t remember any food entering into the equation, especially any food that I was somehow responsible for.”
“Last week, third quarter,” House said. He picked up the remote control, switched on the TV and started clicking past the stations. “Eastern gets a touchdown, comes within two points of Michigan.”
House left the TV on ESPN and put down the remote before picking up his mug. He kept his left hand still and in his lap. Wilson tried not to stare at the discolored skin on the back of House’s hand, the red marks that spread out from the palm.
“With you so far.” Wilson unzipped his jacket.
“Don’t bother getting undressed,” House said. “You’ll need to go out for supplies.”
Wilson took off his jacket, tossed it onto a chair and sat. “You haven’t convinced me yet that I actually owe you anything.”
“Third quarter,” House repeated. “You were so busy figuring out how much money I’d owe you that you said if Eastern won, I’d be paying for your lunch for the next four weeks.”
“You would have owed me two hundred bucks thanks to the fact that Northwestern is in the Big 10, so therefore doesn’t count in your unranked teams category,” Wilson said. “At ten bucks per lunch …”
“Ten bucks?”
“If I’m using your money, I’m not eating cheap in the cafeteria,” Wilson said. “So at ten bucks, I’d be eating for free for …”
“A month,” House said, “if you only count weekdays.”
“I am.” Wilson took a sip of coffee. “And I’m still waiting for the point where I owe you lunch.”
“Third quarter,” House said.
“You already said that.”
“Didn’t want you to get lost. The score’s sixteen to fourteen, you’re already counting your money …”
“After watching the Appalachian State game can you blame me?”
“Forget about the Appalachian State game.”
Wilson shook his head. “Don’t want to. Too much fun. I downloaded the highlights. Want me to send you the link?”
“Sixteen, fourteen,” House repeated. “You’re busy counting the money that you’ll never, ever see, and say that if Michigan wiggles out of this one you’d eat your hat.”
“It’s ... it’s a saying,” Wilson said, “and I’m not eating any hats.”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t take it literally.”
Wilson took another sip of his coffee, not entirely certain that House wouldn’t produce some kind of a hat.
“In fact,” House continued, “I even offered that you could eat whatever you wanted to cook, within reason, as long as I got some too.”
Wilson shook his head. “That’s not a bet,” he said. “We never set any terms. And besides, that’s ... that’s just trash talking.”
House held up his right hand and extended his index finger. “One,” he said, “I can’t believe you’re looking for a loophole, and two,” he raised his middle finger, “you need some serious education on what constitutes trash talking.”
Wilson rolled his eyes.
“And three,” House raised his ring ringer to join the other two, “you can’t expect me to fend for myself. I’m injured.” He lifted his left hand briefly, flashing the damaged palm in Wilson’s direction.
“It’s self-inflicted,” Wilson said, “and you’ve come to the wrong place for pity this time.”
“You gave me drugs already,” House said. “A little home cooking seems like so little to ask.”
“Make yourself a sandwich.” Wilson said. “That shouldn’t be too complicated even with just one good hand.”
“But I’m hungry.”
Wilson reached over and grabbed the phone. “This works,” he said, holding it to his ear. “Something wrong with your regular delivery guys?”
“You expect me to carry a pizza box with this hand all the way from the door?” House cradled his left hand against his chest. Wilson was pretty sure it was mostly an act, but looked away after a minute. He took another drink of coffee then stared at the TV. Chris Spielman was busy running down the list of highlights expected during the day’s games.
Wilson turned back to House. “I’ll cook,” he said, “for a bet on the bowl game.”
House stared at him. “What kind of a bet?”
“We’ll make it easy. If Michigan loses their bowl game, I get two hundred bucks, double the winnings you owed me after the Oregon game.”
“That’s if they even make it to a bowl game,” House said. “What if they don’t?”
“Then I get nothing.”
“And what if Michigan wins?”
Wilson looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then at House. “You tell me.”
House studied him, then grinned. “So many possibilities,” he said.
“Pick one.”
“You and Cuddy ...”
“Nope,” Wilson said. “This is strictly between you and me. Leave Cuddy out of it.”
House shrugged. “Then I’m not interested. Guess I can deal with pizza for one more day.”
“Too bad. I was starting to think that I could get some steak, marinate it for an hour or so, grill it and slice it really thin,” Wilson said. “Then grill some ciabatta bread, rub in a little garlic, add some good cheese, maybe some roasted peppers, a little horseradish ...” He shook his head. “Would have made a great sandwich.”
“Breakfast, lunch and dinner, all three meals,” House said, “once a week until the start of baseball season.”
Wilson considered it. “Do I have to serve all three meals on the same day?”
“I’ll cut you some slack, and you can break it up throughout the week.”
“Spring training or the regular season?”
“Until the first home game of whoever wins the World Series.”
Wilson stared at the ceiling for a minute, then looked down. “Deal,” he said, and held out his hand. House looked at it for a minute.
“Don’t go looking for any loopholes,” he said, and shook Wilson’s hand. “And hurry up. Game starts in an hour, and you’ve got some shopping to do.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 01:11 pm (UTC)Much love for this series. I love watching (reading) them like this.
Typo here: He lift his left hand briefly
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 01:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 01:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 01:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 02:02 pm (UTC)well... only once a year! [although... i'll admit that when i'm behind a particularly... uh... annoying driver, and i note that they're sporting an fsu license plate, well--that explains a lot! ;-) ]
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 01:20 pm (UTC)One thing I noticed: He lift his left hand briefly, should be lifted.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 01:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 01:46 pm (UTC)Such a House's line!
And since ciabatta is my favorite kind of bread, I'll try to make that sandwich. I'm angry now!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 01:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 02:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 02:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 05:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 02:48 pm (UTC)And damn, that sandwhich sounded great.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 05:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 02:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 05:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 04:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 05:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 04:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 05:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 04:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 05:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 05:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 06:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-13 07:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-20 07:17 pm (UTC)Please do! :-D
And thank'ee's for humoring us fen as well... this is so much fun to read!!! Glad it's being fun to write as well.
-Katrina
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-16 12:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-16 01:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-20 07:25 pm (UTC)Just found this today - finally starting to catch up w/myself after my own jauntings off to the Wild Blue Yonder.
Loved it as usual! :-)
"“Why am I here?”
“In the philosophical or physical sense?”
Wilson narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath before he answered. “It’s early and I haven’t had enough coffee yet, so I’ll go with physical.”"
*hee!*
"“Forget about the Appalachian State game.”
Wilson shook his head. “Don’t want to. Too much fun. I downloaded the highlights. Want me to send you the link?”"
Yeah, I can see Wilson enjoying the heck out of the rare opportunity to annoy House in a happy way. :-D
"“It’s ... it’s a saying,” Wilson said, “and I’m not eating any hats.”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t take it literally.”
Wilson took another sip of his coffee, not entirely certain that House wouldn’t produce some kind of a hat."
Yeah, I'm w/Wilson on that one. Wouldn't put it past him, etc. :-P
"House cradled his left hand against his chest. Wilson was pretty sure it was mostly an act, but looked away after a minute. He took another drink of coffee then stared at the TV."
I love the way that you put the bit of somberness in the midst of fun. You have such a deft way w/these things.
Thanks again for writing more in this wonderful series! Looking forward to more as they happen.... :-)
-Katrina
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-23 06:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-30 11:08 am (UTC):D
Cheers,
AE.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-30 05:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-31 12:14 am (UTC)Was the Twenty20 on then? I think it was. That's a cut down version. I just remember that a couple of weeks ago I was sitting in a pub and that was playing on the big screen. And of course the Rugby World Cup.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-31 12:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-31 12:51 am (UTC)