(Doctor Who/House) A Scene In a Bar for luc_darling
Title: A Scene In a Bar
Author: momentarylapse8
Fandoms: Doctor Who/House
Characters House, Wilson; Tenth Doctor
Pairings: None
Rating: G
Wordcount: 2422
Spoilers: House, 6x08 (Ignorance is Bliss), Doctor Who (Waters of Mars)
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and House belong to their respective creators
A/N: Thanks to robinj for the great beta - any remaining faults are my own
Summary: A conversation in a bar, nothing more - nothing less
It had been a particularly trying day for House, sure he had solved the case (and it had turned out to be mildly interesting in the end) but the whole affair had left him cold. The patient he had saved was no doubt a bona fide genius, one of the greatest minds of his generation and quite possibly the one before, but it had brought him no pleasure or gain. All he had wanted was to escape to the comfort of a 'normal' life where he had a wife who loved him and a job he enjoyed despite its seeming triviality. Part of House envied him as he handed over the bottle of cough medicine, such a simple solution would return his patient to a life of domestic and professional happiness. However, a much larger part of House despised the man; he had a gift, a talent, but he was willfully and deliberately throwing it away. It made him angry to see it, but he couldn't vent his frustration in front of any members of his team. They would all assume he was drawing parallels to his own life and they would either end up pitying him even more or they would try and convince him he was wrong and he really couldn't handle either right now.
The situation with Cuddy and Lucas wasn't helping his mood either. He had told Wilson that if they came through his interfering unscathed he would leave them alone. But was he really capable of that? Wilson would try and hold him to it that was for sure - and that was another conversation he was eager to avoid. His friend was all about 'feelings' and 'emotions' and all that other girly crap. House knew how he felt about Cuddy, he had known it ever since he sobered up, he just didn't need to talk about it.
No, he really didn't need to talk to anyone right now. So with that thought in mind House picked up his back pack and headed for the door - next stop the nearest bar and a few hours of solid drinking. That should right the tempers and make the whole crappy day fade into a blissful haze with the promise of blessed unconsciousness later on.
---
House only had to walk for a few blocks before he stumbled across a bar that looked perfect; it was small and quiet and to the best of his recollection was not somewhere he had ever heard any of his minions talk about. He gave it a final appraising look from the outside before heading in the door and straight to the bar.
Inside it was dimly lit and smaller than it had seemed from the outside, but it was well kept and the optics looked to be varied and well stocked. It was also empty of other customers, save for one man propping up the far end of the bar. In short, a more perfect place to lose a few hours could not have been presented to House.
He limped up to the bar and took a seat on a stool at the opposite end of the one other patron. He was starting to feel the pain of the walk from the hospital and the transferred pain from the stress of the day, so he ordered a bourbon with a bourbon chaser from the bartender and sunk them both in quick succession. As he finished the second he took the chance to subtly appraise the other drinker. He was tall and wiry, wearing a decent looking suit and battered sneakers. He was nursing a bottle of beer, into which he was staring with an intensity that seemed to suggest that at the bottom of that bottle lay the answers to some of the world’s toughest questions. All of a sudden the stranger looked over at House, drew in a loud breath, snatched up his bottle, downed the contents and slammed it back on the bar with a great thump.
"Another beer please barman and another for my friend here,” as he said this he gestured to House with his now empty bottle.
"I'm fine, thanks,” House was not in the mood to humour random strangers right now.
"Oh come on, it's a free drink, not many of those in this life."
"Really, I'm fine, thank you,” his perfect bar was rapidly losing its charm.
"Right, fine, of course - sorry - didn't mean to disturb you."
With that the man settled back towards the bar and accepted the bottle handed to him by the silent bartender. House ordered himself another drink as well and drank it slowly as he observed the other man as discreetly as possible. All his previous animation had instantly melted away and he was staring at this beer just as intently as the last.
Eventually he began to speak again, but this time his conversation was directed only to the bottle and he didn't seek to engage House at all.
"All I wanted to do was the best I could. What is the point of having all this knowledge, all this...this power if I can't even use it? If the people I try to help won't accept what I am trying to do - what is the point of keep trying? I keep being told my time is running out, I feel like I am waiting for the end and I am not sure that when it has come and gone anyone will even care. What have I done to make this world better? Or any world for that matter? Everything, everyONE I touch seems to be doomed."
Well this could be interesting. This didn't sound like the usual sort of drunken ramble, but House didn't want to be seen to be interested - the man might still turn out to be boring after all. As the man put down the bottle he was drinking from and dragged his hands across his face House took the opportunity to take another look at him. He looked tired and he was hunched over the bar like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Then suddenly, for no reason he could fathom later when he thought about it, House changed his mind.
"Hey, I'll take that beer now."
This produced an immediate reaction from his new drinking partner, who sprang up from his seat and bounded across the small space to where House was sitting. He was grinning hugely as he extended his hand to House in greeting.
"John Smith, pleased to meet you."
"Greg House,” House took the man's hand as he introduced himself. He wasn't prepared to match the other man's enthusiasm though and he was well aware of the fact that this was showing clearly on his face. "And I'll have my hand back now if you don't mind."
"Sorry, sorry of course."
House was presented with his beer and he took a good swig of it before placing it back on the bar in front of him. Before he had a chance to think what he was going to say now that he had made contact the other man began to talk.
"So what brings you to this little bar on a Monday evening, Greg House? Drinking your sorrows away, celebrating, avoiding someone, meeting someone - what's your story?"
"Just having a beer, no story. A quiet beer, that's all."
"But there is always a story Greg, even if you think it is boring there is always a story. There are so few truly random events, everything happens for a reason. Everything is connected somehow."
"Okay, so if everyone has a story then what's yours? Why are you drinking alone in a bar in Princeton? Date stood you up?"
All at once the man's whole demeanour seemed to change. The manic grin subsided and for a second House caught a flash of something in the stranger’s eyes that troubled him for reasons he wasn't sure he could explain. Which only added to his sudden unease. The next second he seemed to compose himself again, but the trace of sorrow hung over him still.
"Simplest story ever, I'm here to forget. Alcohol, such a wonderful invention, most worlds have their variation on the theme. But nothing seems to hit the spot like good old fashioned grain or hops can."
"Okay, so what are you trying to forget?"
"Well you see it does make it rather hard to forget it if I talk about it, don't you think?"
"Fine, don't tell me. Whatever. It was probably a boring story anyway." House had to admit this was a bit petulant, even for him, but if the stranger wouldn't have the decency to be interesting then he wouldn't have the decency to be polite.
As the man leaned against the bar on House's right he let out a small sigh. Before he began to speak again he drained his drink and motioned to the barman for another.
"What do you do? For a living I mean?"
"I'm a doctor."
"Ha! Snap! Well anyway - are you good at what you do?"
"The best."
"Right. Me too. Anyway, Dr Greg House - have you ever been in a situation where you know the right thing to do for a patient medically, but you choose to do the right thing emotionally? Which conflicts with the first thing but is the right thing anyway? But no-one else knows it’s the right thing they just think you are doing the thing that makes you happiest, without considering that maybe you know your...things? OK, lost it a bit there - but do you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll bet every doctor does."
"Right, okay - so imagine that - but bigger. Imagine that choice magnified to affect the whole world, the whole universe, possibly even the very fabric of time itself! Now what choice do you make?"
"Erm, I don't know - perhaps the choice to stop drinking?" So engaging the man had been a mistake. Easy one to make, this guy didn't look half as crazy as he sounded. Which was cheating in House's opinion, crazy people should look crazy - it would make it so much easier for everyone else to avoid them then.
"OK fine - bad analogy, sorry. Sorry, start again - if you had a time machine..." House wasn't prepared to even let this particular conversation start, let alone finish.
"I wouldn't kill my Grandfather - right, yeah, I know this one."
"What is it about you lot and killing your Grandparents? That's the first thing you all say - why would you even want to? What did they ever do to you? Crazy race you really are sometimes. No, what I was going to ask was - if you could change something in your past, would you? Without being able to see what difference it would make in the future, would you take that risk?"
"Yes."
"You can't be so sure about that."
"Of course I can. Yes, if I could go back and make certain changes I would."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Wow. Very definite. I like that - straight to the point, 'yes'. Very interesting."
"So would you?"
"Oh for sure, you can't always just watch as things happen around you. Sometimes you have to take a stand and be prepared to suffer the consequences."
"Right, you say that like it has actually happened."
"It has."
That declaration seemed to take the wind out of the other man's sails, and it left House quiet too. He really didn't seem like a nut job, but clearly he was. Yet he said everything with such conviction, it would be all too easy to believe he was telling the truth and he really was some master of time. Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach wasn't such a good idea.
"I guess there are some things you can't change though. I'll bet there are times when you could change every damn thing apart from the outcome. Some things aren't meant to be."
House wasn't sure where this had come from, but he believed it. Right now he believed he could move heaven and earth, change the alignment of the stars or kick a 10 year drug dependency and things would still be the same. People would still be the same. He would still be the same, which was the real problem. Some things you could change, your face, your hair, your dress sense, even your IQ - but some things seemed set in stone.
"It's other people, you can't rely on them to change with you."
"You know, Greg, I think you might be right. Some people will always be who they are no matter what you try and do. Fixed points in time they are. Even I can't seem to change that. Maybe I shouldn't try, but where's the sense in that. Where's the point in me being me if I can't change things? I can't believe I am meant to stroll through all this as a casual observer. No, I won't accept that. No more running. He wants the fight, well I'll bring it to him. I can still change my own destiny at least. Thanks for the company Greg, you've been...interesting."
With that the stranger grabbed his coat and ran out of the bar as though the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels.
---
"There you are, I tried calling your cell like 20 times. This was the last bar I could find in walking distance from the hospital. Why did you take off like that?".
Wilson nannying him again, the very odd Dr. Smith was right, some people were incapable of changing. What did he call them? 'Fixed points in time', that was it - well if such a thing existed Wilson was one of them for sure. A fixed point of nagging. A fixed point of babying. But a fixed point nonetheless which, House would concede (but only under extreme duress bordering on torture), was good to know in these confusing times. No matter what he had gone through in the past few months, or what was still to come, it was a comfort to know that one thing would never change for long.
"I want Chinese. You're buying."
With that House stood up and walked to the door, leaving his friend to pick up his bag, his bill and the Chinese food on the way home.
-END-
Prompt:
Harry Potter/Dr. Who: There’s something in his eyes that tells Harry this man knows about loss, so he buys the stranger at the bar a drink. (But with a different choice of crossover)
Author: momentarylapse8
Fandoms: Doctor Who/House
Characters House, Wilson; Tenth Doctor
Pairings: None
Rating: G
Wordcount: 2422
Spoilers: House, 6x08 (Ignorance is Bliss), Doctor Who (Waters of Mars)
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and House belong to their respective creators
A/N: Thanks to robinj for the great beta - any remaining faults are my own
Summary: A conversation in a bar, nothing more - nothing less
It had been a particularly trying day for House, sure he had solved the case (and it had turned out to be mildly interesting in the end) but the whole affair had left him cold. The patient he had saved was no doubt a bona fide genius, one of the greatest minds of his generation and quite possibly the one before, but it had brought him no pleasure or gain. All he had wanted was to escape to the comfort of a 'normal' life where he had a wife who loved him and a job he enjoyed despite its seeming triviality. Part of House envied him as he handed over the bottle of cough medicine, such a simple solution would return his patient to a life of domestic and professional happiness. However, a much larger part of House despised the man; he had a gift, a talent, but he was willfully and deliberately throwing it away. It made him angry to see it, but he couldn't vent his frustration in front of any members of his team. They would all assume he was drawing parallels to his own life and they would either end up pitying him even more or they would try and convince him he was wrong and he really couldn't handle either right now.
The situation with Cuddy and Lucas wasn't helping his mood either. He had told Wilson that if they came through his interfering unscathed he would leave them alone. But was he really capable of that? Wilson would try and hold him to it that was for sure - and that was another conversation he was eager to avoid. His friend was all about 'feelings' and 'emotions' and all that other girly crap. House knew how he felt about Cuddy, he had known it ever since he sobered up, he just didn't need to talk about it.
No, he really didn't need to talk to anyone right now. So with that thought in mind House picked up his back pack and headed for the door - next stop the nearest bar and a few hours of solid drinking. That should right the tempers and make the whole crappy day fade into a blissful haze with the promise of blessed unconsciousness later on.
---
House only had to walk for a few blocks before he stumbled across a bar that looked perfect; it was small and quiet and to the best of his recollection was not somewhere he had ever heard any of his minions talk about. He gave it a final appraising look from the outside before heading in the door and straight to the bar.
Inside it was dimly lit and smaller than it had seemed from the outside, but it was well kept and the optics looked to be varied and well stocked. It was also empty of other customers, save for one man propping up the far end of the bar. In short, a more perfect place to lose a few hours could not have been presented to House.
He limped up to the bar and took a seat on a stool at the opposite end of the one other patron. He was starting to feel the pain of the walk from the hospital and the transferred pain from the stress of the day, so he ordered a bourbon with a bourbon chaser from the bartender and sunk them both in quick succession. As he finished the second he took the chance to subtly appraise the other drinker. He was tall and wiry, wearing a decent looking suit and battered sneakers. He was nursing a bottle of beer, into which he was staring with an intensity that seemed to suggest that at the bottom of that bottle lay the answers to some of the world’s toughest questions. All of a sudden the stranger looked over at House, drew in a loud breath, snatched up his bottle, downed the contents and slammed it back on the bar with a great thump.
"Another beer please barman and another for my friend here,” as he said this he gestured to House with his now empty bottle.
"I'm fine, thanks,” House was not in the mood to humour random strangers right now.
"Oh come on, it's a free drink, not many of those in this life."
"Really, I'm fine, thank you,” his perfect bar was rapidly losing its charm.
"Right, fine, of course - sorry - didn't mean to disturb you."
With that the man settled back towards the bar and accepted the bottle handed to him by the silent bartender. House ordered himself another drink as well and drank it slowly as he observed the other man as discreetly as possible. All his previous animation had instantly melted away and he was staring at this beer just as intently as the last.
Eventually he began to speak again, but this time his conversation was directed only to the bottle and he didn't seek to engage House at all.
"All I wanted to do was the best I could. What is the point of having all this knowledge, all this...this power if I can't even use it? If the people I try to help won't accept what I am trying to do - what is the point of keep trying? I keep being told my time is running out, I feel like I am waiting for the end and I am not sure that when it has come and gone anyone will even care. What have I done to make this world better? Or any world for that matter? Everything, everyONE I touch seems to be doomed."
Well this could be interesting. This didn't sound like the usual sort of drunken ramble, but House didn't want to be seen to be interested - the man might still turn out to be boring after all. As the man put down the bottle he was drinking from and dragged his hands across his face House took the opportunity to take another look at him. He looked tired and he was hunched over the bar like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Then suddenly, for no reason he could fathom later when he thought about it, House changed his mind.
"Hey, I'll take that beer now."
This produced an immediate reaction from his new drinking partner, who sprang up from his seat and bounded across the small space to where House was sitting. He was grinning hugely as he extended his hand to House in greeting.
"John Smith, pleased to meet you."
"Greg House,” House took the man's hand as he introduced himself. He wasn't prepared to match the other man's enthusiasm though and he was well aware of the fact that this was showing clearly on his face. "And I'll have my hand back now if you don't mind."
"Sorry, sorry of course."
House was presented with his beer and he took a good swig of it before placing it back on the bar in front of him. Before he had a chance to think what he was going to say now that he had made contact the other man began to talk.
"So what brings you to this little bar on a Monday evening, Greg House? Drinking your sorrows away, celebrating, avoiding someone, meeting someone - what's your story?"
"Just having a beer, no story. A quiet beer, that's all."
"But there is always a story Greg, even if you think it is boring there is always a story. There are so few truly random events, everything happens for a reason. Everything is connected somehow."
"Okay, so if everyone has a story then what's yours? Why are you drinking alone in a bar in Princeton? Date stood you up?"
All at once the man's whole demeanour seemed to change. The manic grin subsided and for a second House caught a flash of something in the stranger’s eyes that troubled him for reasons he wasn't sure he could explain. Which only added to his sudden unease. The next second he seemed to compose himself again, but the trace of sorrow hung over him still.
"Simplest story ever, I'm here to forget. Alcohol, such a wonderful invention, most worlds have their variation on the theme. But nothing seems to hit the spot like good old fashioned grain or hops can."
"Okay, so what are you trying to forget?"
"Well you see it does make it rather hard to forget it if I talk about it, don't you think?"
"Fine, don't tell me. Whatever. It was probably a boring story anyway." House had to admit this was a bit petulant, even for him, but if the stranger wouldn't have the decency to be interesting then he wouldn't have the decency to be polite.
As the man leaned against the bar on House's right he let out a small sigh. Before he began to speak again he drained his drink and motioned to the barman for another.
"What do you do? For a living I mean?"
"I'm a doctor."
"Ha! Snap! Well anyway - are you good at what you do?"
"The best."
"Right. Me too. Anyway, Dr Greg House - have you ever been in a situation where you know the right thing to do for a patient medically, but you choose to do the right thing emotionally? Which conflicts with the first thing but is the right thing anyway? But no-one else knows it’s the right thing they just think you are doing the thing that makes you happiest, without considering that maybe you know your...things? OK, lost it a bit there - but do you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll bet every doctor does."
"Right, okay - so imagine that - but bigger. Imagine that choice magnified to affect the whole world, the whole universe, possibly even the very fabric of time itself! Now what choice do you make?"
"Erm, I don't know - perhaps the choice to stop drinking?" So engaging the man had been a mistake. Easy one to make, this guy didn't look half as crazy as he sounded. Which was cheating in House's opinion, crazy people should look crazy - it would make it so much easier for everyone else to avoid them then.
"OK fine - bad analogy, sorry. Sorry, start again - if you had a time machine..." House wasn't prepared to even let this particular conversation start, let alone finish.
"I wouldn't kill my Grandfather - right, yeah, I know this one."
"What is it about you lot and killing your Grandparents? That's the first thing you all say - why would you even want to? What did they ever do to you? Crazy race you really are sometimes. No, what I was going to ask was - if you could change something in your past, would you? Without being able to see what difference it would make in the future, would you take that risk?"
"Yes."
"You can't be so sure about that."
"Of course I can. Yes, if I could go back and make certain changes I would."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Wow. Very definite. I like that - straight to the point, 'yes'. Very interesting."
"So would you?"
"Oh for sure, you can't always just watch as things happen around you. Sometimes you have to take a stand and be prepared to suffer the consequences."
"Right, you say that like it has actually happened."
"It has."
That declaration seemed to take the wind out of the other man's sails, and it left House quiet too. He really didn't seem like a nut job, but clearly he was. Yet he said everything with such conviction, it would be all too easy to believe he was telling the truth and he really was some master of time. Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach wasn't such a good idea.
"I guess there are some things you can't change though. I'll bet there are times when you could change every damn thing apart from the outcome. Some things aren't meant to be."
House wasn't sure where this had come from, but he believed it. Right now he believed he could move heaven and earth, change the alignment of the stars or kick a 10 year drug dependency and things would still be the same. People would still be the same. He would still be the same, which was the real problem. Some things you could change, your face, your hair, your dress sense, even your IQ - but some things seemed set in stone.
"It's other people, you can't rely on them to change with you."
"You know, Greg, I think you might be right. Some people will always be who they are no matter what you try and do. Fixed points in time they are. Even I can't seem to change that. Maybe I shouldn't try, but where's the sense in that. Where's the point in me being me if I can't change things? I can't believe I am meant to stroll through all this as a casual observer. No, I won't accept that. No more running. He wants the fight, well I'll bring it to him. I can still change my own destiny at least. Thanks for the company Greg, you've been...interesting."
With that the stranger grabbed his coat and ran out of the bar as though the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels.
---
"There you are, I tried calling your cell like 20 times. This was the last bar I could find in walking distance from the hospital. Why did you take off like that?".
Wilson nannying him again, the very odd Dr. Smith was right, some people were incapable of changing. What did he call them? 'Fixed points in time', that was it - well if such a thing existed Wilson was one of them for sure. A fixed point of nagging. A fixed point of babying. But a fixed point nonetheless which, House would concede (but only under extreme duress bordering on torture), was good to know in these confusing times. No matter what he had gone through in the past few months, or what was still to come, it was a comfort to know that one thing would never change for long.
"I want Chinese. You're buying."
With that House stood up and walked to the door, leaving his friend to pick up his bag, his bill and the Chinese food on the way home.
-END-
Prompt:
Harry Potter/Dr. Who: There’s something in his eyes that tells Harry this man knows about loss, so he buys the stranger at the bar a drink. (But with a different choice of crossover)