Story: Last game he won. Yet this one is a tad more interesting…
Author's note: Yeah, I know, I've done it again. Hook someone of my McLachlan clan up with a TV character. And that with me being a total Hameron-girl… shame on me. I hope you like it anyways… I know I do ;-)
Author's note 2: I think I'm going to make an experiment out of this. Hey, I'm a biologist, we do such things. And since House got me addicted to The Rolling Stones and The Who (necessarily followed by Pink Floyd), I'm going to find out how many of you I can addict to my story…
Author's note 3: I'm german. I do speak english, really, but most of the time it's scientific stuff, and I never ever really was into learning the grammar, most of the time it was right by feeling, in all of the languages I speak (which would be bavarian, german, english and italian, since nobody does latin anymore, thank God…). So typos come from typing too fast and the grammar I just don't know…
Warning: NC-17… actually one of my first tries. You just can't write a decent NC in german, that doesn't work… oh, and House might be a bit OOC, but then, he was civil around Stacy when they still were together, wasn't he?
And I'm planning already on a sequel, but that is going to be a cross over with my JAG 10th season… actually in the 8th episode I'm planning, and since I haven't even really started on the 5th yet, you might have to wait a bit…
Disclaimer: Not mine. The McLachlans are, House is not. What a pity.
Date:29.05.07 – 25.08.07
Games against God
Chapter 1: The game begins
Last game against God he won 4:3.
Almighty bastard didn't seem to like that.
He couldn't come up with another explanation for the weather not allowing him to ride his bike and he had to use a cab in order to get home.
He couldn't come up with another explanation for the fact that there was this bloody idiot standing in front of him demanding his money.
He couldn't come up with another explanation for the fact that it even seemed to rain more than five minutes ago, cold water dripping down his neck.
The creature in front of him kept waving his knife.
Who the hell was trying to rip off a cripple? He was asking this question as loud and as arrogant as always, thrusting the rubber end of his cane down on the cold dark asphalt, watching dirty water soil the trousers of the other man.
Who the hell wanted to rip off a cripple, who knew that there was a crumpled 20 bucks somewhere in the pockets of his jeans and whose real wallet was called James Wilson?
The guy didn't seem to mind. At least he was getting a bit nervous looking around himself to make sure nobody was disturbing them.
Maybe he was smart enough to get going without showing Gregory House that God was always winning. One way or the other.
Yet the dumbass kept demanding his money which left him rolling his eyes before searching his clothes. Finally producing a handful of change he held it right under the nose of his fearless robber who, dumbstruck for some seconds forgot to even wave his knife. For many others this would have been the chance to make an escape.
So, that's why you ripped off a cripple. Didn't try to run away that easy.
The genius still didn't get it, remembering to wave his hand again.
He was just leaning on his cane, burning holes with his cold-blue eyes into the guy, waiting for him to realize that he wouldn't get a penny. If it was not the refuse of the slightly disabled person in front of him, then the silent click of heels not far away must at least tell him that they were not alone anymore.
Genius still howled somewhat surprised at the pain that was caused by his thumb being pushed into the wrong direction sending him to his knees. The knife was falling to the ground ceasing to be a threat.
House found himself staring at a pair of long, well toned legs in high heels that came out from under a very business-looking skirt. He let his gaze wander up over nicely shaped hips and a slim waist, not being able to see more because of the umbrella his lifesaver was holding in her left hand as if she wasn't forcing a man at least twice her weight to his knees with the other one.
When she finally lifted her umbrella she looked him directly in the eye and made him forget that he had intended to catch a look at her 'funbags'. She had pale skin, full lips and auburn hair which he all abandoned while looking into her eyes.
They were black under the streetlight where he had stopped.
Pitchblack.
"So. What are we going to do with our friend here?" she asked, tormenting the thumb of this waste of skin a little bit more.
"Steal his wallet? I hold him, you beat him up", was his sarcastic suggestion while he congratulated himself for being one of the few males that were able to do multitasking. He could check out a beautiful woman, be sarcastic and breathe at the same time.
She had the ability to curl one corner of her mouth upwards while looking thoughtful.
"I think we should let him go. I don't think there will be any more thieves with broken thumbs around here", she said, yanking his thumb back into the right direction.
House looked at the man who right now wasn't dangerous anymore. He looked as if he would faint any second and House hoped he wouldn't. He didn't want to end up helping this little creep.
Finally the guy got back to his feet and hurried of.
She grabbed the knife on the floor and let it snap together with an elegant motion.
She didn't ask if he was alright.
"I should have told him that he needs to see a doctor with his hand…"
"Don't worry. He'll be back right tomorrow in the clinic stuttering something about a badminton incident. Taxpayer's going to pay for it."
He didn't thank her.
Instead he realized an obese female visitor taking the last cab and sighed.
An umbrella appeared over his head with her adjusting easily to his steps while they were walking towards her car in the visitor's parking lot.
The ride to his home was silent except for his directions.
He didn't invite her in for coffee. Since Wilson moved out he wasn't sure he would have any.
Nevertheless she followed him.
House 1, God 0.