namaste

Title: Changing the Game
Author: Namaste
Summary: House and Wilson's teams are losing in the NCAA pool, but that doesn't mean they're out of luck. Fluff and friendship. About 750 words. Sequel to March Madness, Sweet Sixteen and Final Four

Sample: "Bring beer."

"What if Memphis wins?"

"Get over here, and I'll tell you." House hung up the cell phone, tossed it on the table.

The phone rang again two minutes later. House ignored it, turned up the volume on the TV.

It rang again five minutes later. House picked it up.

"I can't leave," Wilson said, "not yet."

"Your patient's going to die whether you're there or not."

"And UCLA's going to lose whether I'm there or not. Difference is, no one's dying over at your place."

House groaned as another UCLA shot bounced off the rim. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"How bad is it?"

"Memphis is up three at the half," House said.

Wilson grunted. House heard voices in the background.

"I've got to go," Wilson said. "It probably won't be too much longer," he said said softly.

"Bring beer."

There were five minutes left in the game by the time Wilson got there. He set the beer on the table, then put a bottle of Jack Daniel's next to it. "I checked the score," he said.

House held up a glass. "I'm ahead of you." He took a sip, ice cubes rattling as he put it on down on the table.

Wilson unzipped his jacket, tossed it on the chair near the door then went into the kitchen. There was pizza on the counter. He opened the box. It had already cooled down, a grease stain spreading out on across the cardboard. He shook his head but put two slices on plate, put the plate in the microwave.

He took a glass from the cupboard, walked back into the living room. "Thirteen points?" He poured himself a shot.

Memphis hit another shot. "Fifteen now," House said. He took a beer from the six pack.

The microwave beeped and Wilson went back into the kitchen to get his plate. By the time he made it back to the couch, there were less than thirty seconds to go. "Eighteen points?"

When the whistle finally blew, Memphis had won, 78-63.

Wilson shook his head. "No way we can win now," he said. "Right?"

"Nope," House said. He sat back against the couch. "We needed both UCLA and North Carolina in the championship."

Wilson took a bite of his pizza, washed it down with beer. He looked over at House, then at the screen again where Memphis was celebrating its victory.

"So why are you smiling?" Wilson asked.

House looked at him, raised his beer to his lips. "Kutner picked Memphis."

Wilson leaned forward, glanced to his left and his right. "Does Kutner know this?"

"He can't hear you," House pointed out, "and no, he doesn't."

"Has anyone else picked Memphis?"

House's smile grew wider. "No one with enough points to catch him."

Wilson grinned, bit off another piece of pizza, watched as the Memphis celebration faded and North Carolina and Kansas took the floor.

"So why are you telling me? Why not just take Kutner's money and run?"

"I'll need someone to pick up his winnings," House said. "If I go ..."

"They'll figure it out as soon as they see you," Wilson said.

Kansas took the first points of the game.

"It's easier to have you pick it up then try to explain the ways of the world to Kutner," House said.

"Do I have to ask what's in it for me?"

"You haven't done any work."

"Think of it as carrying charge." Wilson leaned back. "I'll make it easy for you -- twenty percent."

"That's a hell of a tip."

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "What are your alternatives?"

House looked at him, then looked over at the TV screen where North Carolina was falling further and further behind. "Fine," he said. "Twenty percent."

Wilson nodded, finished off his pizza. He winced as another North Carolina shot bounced off the rim.

House put his feet up on the coffee table, pointed at the screen with his beer as Kansas extended its lead to twelve points, then fourteen. "This is why you should never bet on a sure thing. They get comfortable, and then they screw up."

"I wonder why I ever picked them."

"Because you suck at picking teams."

"Do I have to point out here that you're the one who actually picked them?"

"I was trying to make them think I was you," House said. "I had to cover my tracks."

Another North Carolina shot, another miss. Wilson leaned back. It didn't matter who won the game. Not anymore. He grinned.

"Memphis," he said. "I like Kutner's chances."