milliways_bar | (no subject)

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As it turns out, Vinnie wasn't responsible for the bar in my house - that was just some strange happenstance of the space-time continuum. He did try to steal my biology paper though, but, as it turns out, he learned his lesson and ended up writing the paper himself. Sometimes those life lessons do get through.

"And sometimes I end up walking into a bar instead of a patient's room. What is with this place?"

Seventeen year old doctor wearing his lab coat and carrying a clipboard looking mildly annoyed at his re-entry to Milliways.

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"This place," House looked over at the kid, a regular mini-Wilson. He couldn't stifle a laugh. "This place," he repeated and gestured with a hand at the bar at large, "is your own private version of hell."

"You know, I was wondering when someone was gonna be straight with me."

He narrows his eyes at the laughing though.

"Rule the first, kid," his eyes deliberately scanned from head to toe, "don't ever accuse me of doing the right thing."

First thought for reaction is to snap 'I'm not a kid. I am a doctor.'

So, he does: "I'm not a kid. I am a doctor."

He has paperwork to prove it and everything.

"How old are you? Twelve?" At least he went higher than the eight year old he was often accused of being.

He blinks, astonished.

"Seventeen, thank you very much."

"Seventeen," House repeats. Whos' astonished now? "And you're a doctor. Right. Where are you from? Mars?"

"And a genius. Graduated medical school at fourteen. How old are you?" He doesn't want to know, he's just being a brat.

"Old enough to be your father," House sneers.

"You could be him, you know. My dad's a doctor too."

Now he's having too much fun with this.

A genius kid, already a doctor at 17, House could go for that. If he had a kid. Except not.

"Nope. Kept close tabs on where I've put my genes." Or rather, where he hadn't put them.

He shrugs.

"If you want to pretend, you can buy me a car and some other little trinkets."

House likes this kid. He'd never admit it, but he likes his sense of humor.

"Keep dreaming, son."

"I am beginning to notice that."

"Hello," says Jack, with a smile.

"You have been here before, then?"

"Just one other time so far."

"And do you like it?"

A pause.

"Jack of the Frost, by the way."

He frowns a little. "I haven't decided yet."

He holds out a hand - it's polite.

"Doogie Howser."

Jack's fingers- thin and aristocratic- take Doogie's.

They're cool- slightly cooler than room temperature.

"I have been here a year."

"Cold hands. Have you thought about having a doctor look into that for you?"

"Jack Frost, remember?"

He shrugs.

"I am of ice."

"Right. Someone should put that in your chart." He grins. "Are summers rough for you?"

"They are very horrible."

He sighs.

"But I survive."

"How? Do you lock yourself in a freezer?"

This truly is intriguing information.