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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"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."

Doogie's finding that he kinda likes this guy - a little grouchy, but the biting wit works.

"If I'm going to be your kid, shouldn't you know my name?"

House looks horrified. "You mean it isn't Kid?"

He smirks - just a little. "Sorry, pops, we had to have it legally changed becaue people wondered if you had a goat."

House shakes his head. He's amused. And liking the kid more every minute. Which is dangerous.

On the other hand, the kid says he's a doctor. Which means he can probably write perscriptions, which House could definitely take advantage of.

"Interesting. What did you change it to?" He'll go along with it. he'll play the game. Especially if he can get some Vicodin out of it.

"You don't remember?" he looks affronted.

A sigh.

"Douglas. But people call me Doogie."

"Greg House, but you can call me Dad." House smirks.

It occurs to him, he hasn't told Doogie he's a doctor as well. Maybe he won't tell him. He doesn't advertise the fact in the bar anyway.

"Sure thing. And when people ask me where my 'dad' takes me on 'bring your child to work day' what do I tell them?"

This is fun. He might try this with Vinnie some time.

House is an ass. This ia well known fact.

He picks up his cane and taps it on the bar. "Dad's a disabled Vet."

"Yeah, okay, but where did you get your injury? Because that's always the best part of the story. And I have to know these things if you're gonna be my dad."

"In 'Nam, kid." House's mind creates an instant story about a buddy stepping on a land mine, half a dozen soldiers killed. He survived, with shrapnal in his leg, sent home with medals of honor and such. He's playing with his cane through the whole retelling of events that never happened to him.

"Wow!" he feigns amazement.

A snort. "You know I know you're making this up, right?"

At least he's a better liar than Vinnie.

House feigns shock now. "Why would I make it up? I've got the scars to prove it."

"Yeah and my friend Vinnie can actually drink a gallon of Gatorade in less than a minute."