Sports Fic: Final Four
Mar. 30th, 2008 07:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteTitle: Final Four
Author: Namaste
Summary: Something's always at stake when House and Wilson watch the NCAA basketball tournament -- even if it's not money. Fluff and friendship, about 1,000 words. Sequel to March Madness and Sweet Sixteen
"What's wrong with cheering for Davidson?"
"What's wrong with cheering for Davidson?"
House turned to Wilson, the beer bottle stalled halfway between the table and his mouth. "You actually have to ask?"
"Yes." Wilson angled himself on the couch so he could keep one eye on the TV screen and one eye on House. "We're tied for the lead in the pool no matter who wins this game, so why shouldn't I cheer for Davidson?"
"Because they're a cliche," House said. "The Cinderella team, David versus Goliath." He finally took a drink. "They're boring."
"I thought you said picking North Carolina over UCLA was boring. So how is picking the underdog boring?"
"The underdog," House said, "another cliche." He pointed the bottle at Wilson, took another drink.
"You're just pissed because you didn't put any money on Davidson to make the Elite Eight, never mind the Final Four," Wilson said. "It drives you nuts that you can't fit them into some mathematical formula and predict how they're going to do on any given day."
"Consistency is a virtue," House said. "A good team shouldn't have to depend on luck for a win."
"Curry's got twenty points for Davidson so far. He's been the best player in the tournament. How, exactly, is he a fluke?"
House turned away from him, looked at the TV. "Better question is, how come the Bitch let you out of the house for an entire afternoon -- an afternoon over here?"
"I don't need Amber's permission to hang out." Wilson shifted on the couch, looked at the screen again, winced as the ball rattled inside the rim for Davidson, then popped back out again.
House looked over at him. "She left for the radiology conference already, didn't she?"
Wilson took a drink. "That has nothing to do with it. We're adults, we each have our own lives. She understands that."
House snorted, but didn't say anything.
A commercial came on and House got up, went into the kitchen. Wilson could hear him pulling out a drawer, hear silverware rattling. It had been a good day. He loved Amber, loved spending time with her, loved seeing the way she could shed her armor, become someone in private that no one ever saw outside the walls of their apartment.
But this ... he'd missed this. Missed just hanging out. Missed talking about nothing, and everything, and nothing again. Even missed hearing House bitching about whatever was on TV. He still saw him just as much at the hospital, but there was always something going on there, always some interruption hiding just around the next corner. It seemed like they never had enough time, but today, they had time and there were no patients, no medical or moral crises pushing at them, making life hell. There was just them. And a game. And a couple of beers.
"See?" House walked back into the living room with a sandwich in one hand, his cane waving at the TV as Davidson missed a shot. "A consistent team would have gotten that basket."
"You could have offered to make me a sandwich while you were in there," Wilson said.
"Why? You know where everything is if you want one."
Wilson shook his head and watched the game. There were three points separating the teams with three minutes to go. House cheered as Kansas stole the ball.
"I'll give you good odds that Davidson won't make it," House said.
"Pass."
"You haven't even heard the stakes yet."
"You've had me catering your dinners and lunches once a week since January. I finally pay off that bet next week. I'd like to actually be in the clear for a few days." He took a drink. "A few hours at least."
"They're good," House said. "Sure you don't want to hear?"
"You're going to tell me what they are even if I say no, aren't you?"
"Davidson wins, and I'll stop calling her the Bitch."
Wilson shifted, looked at House. "For how long?"
"Two weeks."
Wilson studied him, saw the way that House was perched on the edge of the couch, could tell he wanted to bet on something -- on anything. And he knew that House could tell what it would take to tempt him. "And what do you want from me?"
House looked at the TV, looked at the score again. Kansas was up by five points now. "Half your winnings from the pool."
"We haven't won the pool yet," Wilson pointed out.
"We will."
Wilson looked away, watched Curry shoot for Davidson, watched it fall short. Davidson probably wouldn't win. Of course there was no guarantee that they'd win the pool either. It could just be a moot point. But if Davidson pulled it off... He looked at House again. "Four weeks."
House hesitated.
Wilson nodded toward the TV. "Odds are in your favor," he said.
House nodded. "Four weeks."
Davidson hit one basket, then another. Wilson leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, applauding as Davidson pulled within three, then within two.
Amber would laugh if she found out about the bet. She'd see it as a personal victory every time House said her name. She'd love Wilson for taking it, and House ... maybe House would just get used to calling her by her real name, rather than the one he'd given her. Maybe it'd stick.
Seventeen seconds and Davidson took possession. All they needed was a three-pointer to win, or a simple layup to tie the game, force it into overtime.
Ten seconds and Curry was driving past the half court line, trying to shake himself free. House wasn't saying anything, just watching the screen, his posture matching Wilson's -- elbows on knees, leaning forward, taking in every move.
Five seconds and Curry was being double teamed, with nowhere to go. Two seconds and he passed it off to a teammate. One second and Davidson shot, the ball soaring through the air as the buzzer sounded. The ball was high in the air, then dropping toward the basket, falling.
Wilson held his breath.
The ball hit the backboard to the left of the rim, bounced away. Nothing.
Wilson sank back against the cushions.
House cheered, then turned, a smile on his face. "You lost," he said. "What a bitch that must be for you."
Author: Namaste
Summary: Something's always at stake when House and Wilson watch the NCAA basketball tournament -- even if it's not money. Fluff and friendship, about 1,000 words. Sequel to March Madness and Sweet Sixteen
"What's wrong with cheering for Davidson?"
"What's wrong with cheering for Davidson?"
House turned to Wilson, the beer bottle stalled halfway between the table and his mouth. "You actually have to ask?"
"Yes." Wilson angled himself on the couch so he could keep one eye on the TV screen and one eye on House. "We're tied for the lead in the pool no matter who wins this game, so why shouldn't I cheer for Davidson?"
"Because they're a cliche," House said. "The Cinderella team, David versus Goliath." He finally took a drink. "They're boring."
"I thought you said picking North Carolina over UCLA was boring. So how is picking the underdog boring?"
"The underdog," House said, "another cliche." He pointed the bottle at Wilson, took another drink.
"You're just pissed because you didn't put any money on Davidson to make the Elite Eight, never mind the Final Four," Wilson said. "It drives you nuts that you can't fit them into some mathematical formula and predict how they're going to do on any given day."
"Consistency is a virtue," House said. "A good team shouldn't have to depend on luck for a win."
"Curry's got twenty points for Davidson so far. He's been the best player in the tournament. How, exactly, is he a fluke?"
House turned away from him, looked at the TV. "Better question is, how come the Bitch let you out of the house for an entire afternoon -- an afternoon over here?"
"I don't need Amber's permission to hang out." Wilson shifted on the couch, looked at the screen again, winced as the ball rattled inside the rim for Davidson, then popped back out again.
House looked over at him. "She left for the radiology conference already, didn't she?"
Wilson took a drink. "That has nothing to do with it. We're adults, we each have our own lives. She understands that."
House snorted, but didn't say anything.
A commercial came on and House got up, went into the kitchen. Wilson could hear him pulling out a drawer, hear silverware rattling. It had been a good day. He loved Amber, loved spending time with her, loved seeing the way she could shed her armor, become someone in private that no one ever saw outside the walls of their apartment.
But this ... he'd missed this. Missed just hanging out. Missed talking about nothing, and everything, and nothing again. Even missed hearing House bitching about whatever was on TV. He still saw him just as much at the hospital, but there was always something going on there, always some interruption hiding just around the next corner. It seemed like they never had enough time, but today, they had time and there were no patients, no medical or moral crises pushing at them, making life hell. There was just them. And a game. And a couple of beers.
"See?" House walked back into the living room with a sandwich in one hand, his cane waving at the TV as Davidson missed a shot. "A consistent team would have gotten that basket."
"You could have offered to make me a sandwich while you were in there," Wilson said.
"Why? You know where everything is if you want one."
Wilson shook his head and watched the game. There were three points separating the teams with three minutes to go. House cheered as Kansas stole the ball.
"I'll give you good odds that Davidson won't make it," House said.
"Pass."
"You haven't even heard the stakes yet."
"You've had me catering your dinners and lunches once a week since January. I finally pay off that bet next week. I'd like to actually be in the clear for a few days." He took a drink. "A few hours at least."
"They're good," House said. "Sure you don't want to hear?"
"You're going to tell me what they are even if I say no, aren't you?"
"Davidson wins, and I'll stop calling her the Bitch."
Wilson shifted, looked at House. "For how long?"
"Two weeks."
Wilson studied him, saw the way that House was perched on the edge of the couch, could tell he wanted to bet on something -- on anything. And he knew that House could tell what it would take to tempt him. "And what do you want from me?"
House looked at the TV, looked at the score again. Kansas was up by five points now. "Half your winnings from the pool."
"We haven't won the pool yet," Wilson pointed out.
"We will."
Wilson looked away, watched Curry shoot for Davidson, watched it fall short. Davidson probably wouldn't win. Of course there was no guarantee that they'd win the pool either. It could just be a moot point. But if Davidson pulled it off... He looked at House again. "Four weeks."
House hesitated.
Wilson nodded toward the TV. "Odds are in your favor," he said.
House nodded. "Four weeks."
Davidson hit one basket, then another. Wilson leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, applauding as Davidson pulled within three, then within two.
Amber would laugh if she found out about the bet. She'd see it as a personal victory every time House said her name. She'd love Wilson for taking it, and House ... maybe House would just get used to calling her by her real name, rather than the one he'd given her. Maybe it'd stick.
Seventeen seconds and Davidson took possession. All they needed was a three-pointer to win, or a simple layup to tie the game, force it into overtime.
Ten seconds and Curry was driving past the half court line, trying to shake himself free. House wasn't saying anything, just watching the screen, his posture matching Wilson's -- elbows on knees, leaning forward, taking in every move.
Five seconds and Curry was being double teamed, with nowhere to go. Two seconds and he passed it off to a teammate. One second and Davidson shot, the ball soaring through the air as the buzzer sounded. The ball was high in the air, then dropping toward the basket, falling.
Wilson held his breath.
The ball hit the backboard to the left of the rim, bounced away. Nothing.
Wilson sank back against the cushions.
House cheered, then turned, a smile on his face. "You lost," he said. "What a bitch that must be for you."