Work Text:
Viggo had finally gotten used to Sean's knitting. Actually, it was almost meditative, watching the needles flash back and forth, the light clicking, the pattern unfolding row by row.
"Vig?"
He started, realizing he'd been drifting on the colors and the sounds. "Huh? Sorry, what?"
Sean grinned, and started another row. "Turn on the telly, would you? I want to introduce you to the *other* major British pastime."
"What, after knitting and sex?"
A crocheted sheep, a gift from one of Bean's girls, hit him in the head. "Silly idjit. It's beer and football, at least for most folk. Me, I'm odd, I took up with an American, and it's never been the same since. No, I'm talking about the Doctor."
Viggo could hear the capitals. "The Doctor?"
"Mmm, yep. Just... well, just watch."
Forty-five minutes, uncountable Daleks, and only three rows of the whatever-it-was in-progress later, Viggo was still no wiser about the Doctor. But the look on Sean's face, and the complete absorption he'd shown in the story of "a madman in a box" to the exclusion of his knitting, was worth any confusion.
Give him enough time and he'd figure it out, well, as much as he'd figured out football, anyway. Never mind that he had a head start before meeting Sean on that one. Hm. Maybe it was time to do a little research.
But for now, he'd just watch Sean watch the Doctor. And try and figure out *why* in the world Sean would be knitting a ten-foot scarf, with stripes.