Title: God Be Praised! (Or: The Lengths House Will Go to Get Rid of Religious Zealots)
Author: Dani (mystictwilight)
Pairings: Implied H/W pre-slash
Word Count: 2,229

Rating: PG for mano e mano kissing, some pokes at religion (nothing worse than anything that's been said on the show though, I don't think), and discussions of a particular view of homosexuality.
Author's Notes: First and foremost, I owe this entire fic to the wonderful Sandpiper, who poked and prodded me into writing this while I was stuck in almost a year's slump of writer's block. Thank you SO much for the motivation, encouragement, and wonderful feedback. This wouldn't exist without you. You rock, despite your… shippings of the HouseCam variety. (Hehe, you know I'm just kidding, dear.) Also thanks to Penny (savemoony) and Monty Python and the Holy Grail for the title and the coolness, and to the movie Saved! for… unknowingly lending me the phrase "unnatural perversions."

God Be Praised!

(Or: The Lengths House Will Go to Get Rid of Religious Zealots)

It was Friday, approximately 1:00 pm, and the oh-so-dreadful-and-familiar "CLINIC" sign was rapidly approaching. Due in large part to the third observation, Gregory House couldn't help but to bring up the first two.

"And to think, Jimmy. It's a Friday, it's one o'clock. I was so close to escaping the torture of clinic duty for the entire week. Why the hell don't I have a case today?"

"Because you solved a case yesterday," Wilson answered tiredly.

House gaped at him, "Is that your philosophy of medicine? Save one dying person a week and leave the others out in the cold? No wonder cancer is one of the leading causes of death in today's world."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "If you're only going to accept the incredibly rare cases, this is just going to have to be something you learn to deal with. You can't expect them to just fall into your lap every day. It would negate their classification as 'rare.'"

The duo came to a stop before the doors of the clinic. House took a quick survey of the good people of New Jersey sitting eagerly in their plastic chairs, each most likely anticipating their fatal news. Each can only possibly have one question on his mind: Exactly how long does one have to live before being stricken down by the ruthless clutches of a hiccupping cough?

House groaned slightly and leaned his head on his cane. "Let your Italy-loving former roomy babble all she wants, but there cannot possibly be a God. Were there any being controlling this universe with a shred of humanity in him, he would not forsake me; he would send me a sign, a way out, right now."

"Dr. Gregory House? Excuse me, but there's a matter I'm most interested in discussing with you," a man's voice announced cheerfully.

House popped his head back up and blinked at the sight of a bright red tie, emblazoned with an even brighter yellow cross. "That'll work," he muttered. Then he offered the wearer of the blinding gentile tie (a tall, plump man with a stretched out grin and a horrible comb over) a lopsided smirk. It was the least he could do, the man being his savoir and all. "Yes, I'm Dr. House. And I'm sure your 'matter' is in fact 'most interesting,' but who exactly are you?"

"Ah, forgive me, I completely forgot my manners! Gordon Barton," he stuck out his hand, "and I am here representing the Plainsboro Baptist Ministry. It's our goal to spread the gospel of our Lord and Savior throughout New Jersey, and in doing so--"

But that's as far as House managed to listen. He was still chuckling to himself over the rather unfortunate matter of being named "Gordon Barton." Imagine having to go through life branded as one "Gordon Barton." No wonder this guy had turned to the church. If they can make virgins pop a baby out and bring men back to life after being nailed full of holes and left to starve, certainly they can offer salvation to poor bastards whose parents inflicted upon them the name "Gordon Barton."

Holy shit, good ole' Gordy was still talking. House glanced at Wilson, who had lifted his clipboard and was busying himself filling in various charts and forms. Some best friend he was. Only finding a distraction for himself.

"—Anyway, we thought it might be beneficial to have the support of such a well respected doctor, such as yourself."

Oh. Did he now? House popped a vicodin and rubbed his forehead.

"Ah. Right. Well the truth is, Mr. Barton, that I haven't really been listening to anything you've said. It's a real problem I have, tuning out subjects I have no interest in."

Wilson looked up from his charting and shook his head. Mr. Barton looked momentarily stunned. He smiled nervously. "Oh, well um… alright then. I was saying, it's becoming a considerable problem with today's generation- the condition of homosexuality. It's almost as if it's… a fad with these kids. It's our duty to God and ourselves that we save as many of them as we possibly can from an eternity of Damnation."

House nearly dropped his cane. Was this guy for real? "You know, it's been a while since I've read that best seller you guys dive into every Sunday, but last I checked, there was no medical treatment for an eternity of Damnation. In fact, if you talk to Dr. Wilson over there, he'll probably tell you that big fire hole doesn't even exist."

Wilson shot House a decidedly annoyed glance. Barton looked at Wilson curiously. "Oh. Yes, Jewish, then. You know, there is a place for you in Heaven too, if you accepted--"

"Oh, you'll have to excuse me Mr. Barton, but I promised I'd have these files to the secretary by 1:30," Wilson smiled as charmingly as he could handle- but oh, House could see the true mocking nature of that grin- and walked the few feet to the front desk.

Mr. Barton gave a quirky little shake of his head as he watched after Wilson. "Some will just never see the light. Never will give it a chance, you know? So, Dr. House, as I mentioned, this wave of homosexuality is a real problem. We've been looking into the situation for some time, and it's quite clear that the condition, like any other disease, is highly curable with the right treatments."

House was sure even his cane was twitching with irritation. "Is that a fact?"

"It is. We have years of extensive research, trials, and success cases to prove it. The problem is, and I'm sure you're well aware of it, these liberals today, with their 'avant-garde' disregard for morality. It's dang near impossible for them to accept homosexuality for what it is- nothing more than a neurological disease. This is where you could really do us service, Dr. House."

"Uh-huh…" House said slowly, tapping his cane a few times on the floor. "And… how would that be, exactly? It's a travesty, really, and I keep nagging my boss about it, but we actually don't have an 'Unconventional Sexual Preferences' wing in this hospital. Now if you're thinking a good lobotomy might do the trick, I have always been handy with a screwdriver and a hack saw."

Mr. Barton stared at House uncertainly. House stared right back. After a few seconds, the other man seemed to make a decision about House's comment (yet another to add to a long string of bad decisions made today on his part), and let out a chuckle. "Oh, no, nothing that drastic Dr. House. We won't be asking you to partake in treating the sickly. We would just love your public support on the matter. You have the respect of the entire country as a doctor; your word would certainly earn our mission credibility," he pulled reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a folded piece of paper. He handed it to House. "That's the information for an annual community banquet the Ministry hosts. It's open to all citizens, not just our own members. It would be wonderful if you could make an appearance there, and perhaps give a presentation on the matter at hand."

It was common knowledge that House was a very bitter man. It was clear as day that life in general, and most of the people involved, made him angry. And most were aware that sometimes, he could take the drama of a situation a few inches too far. But this, he knew with absolutely no doubts, was not one of those times. The world hated him and conspired for his misery every chance it got. There was no denying that.

But House was also smart, and he had outwitted the world at its own game on many an occasion. That's all he needed now. A way to get rid of this man; a way out.

His usual snarking wouldn't be good enough. Every sarcastic remark and every irritated glare he'd given Gordon Barton had flown right over his shiny head. And House was never a fan of simply telling a person to get the hell out of his sights, particularly not one who had annoyed him so greatly.

No, this had to be good. This had to be worthy of divine status.

House quickly scanned the room. It didn't take long before he felt the warm glow of a familiar light bulb above his head. He smirked inwardly. He hadn't even needed to look farther than the hospital's front desk.

Now, mind set, he unfolded the paper in his hands and read. "Ah… next Friday night, is it? You'll have to forgive me- that shouldn't be a problem, forgiveness is big with you people, right?- but I have plans next Friday," he wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis, "Big date. But, you know what? Let me double check on that."

"Oh, I see. Well, it's completely understandable if-"

House ignored the beginnings of his comment and turned his head toward the desk. "Wilson!"

His friend snapped around and furrowed his eyebrows, then wandered over. "You beckoned?"

"Yeah. Mr. Barton here was kind enough to invite me to a dinner party next Friday night. I wanted to be sure before I declined, but next Friday night is our Big Night, right?"

Wilson's eyes clouded over. House leaned a little closer. "I was sure it was. I mean, I don't think I'd forget the date of our Big Night, do you?"

The fog still swirled around the brown eyes. Wilson's gaze shifted fleetingly from House's prompting glare to Barton's unsure gaze. Finally, it seemed to click, and the fog cleared considerably. "Oh, of course not. We've been planning this for a month. Next Friday, seven pm," he lowered his voice just enough to make somebody curious, "Just the two of us."

House nodded, not changing his and Wilson's proximity. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mr. Barton begin to fidget. "That's what I thought. Thanks."

Wilson smiled and inched away. "Alright then. I'm going back to my charting. Nice meeting you, Mr. Barton."

Now Mr. Barton looked plenty uncomfortable, but he didn't seem ready to race out the door. It was time for the big finish.

Quickly, House reached out and rested a caneless hand on Wilson's upper arm. Before his friend could display any signs of confusion or resistance, House had pulled him in to meet his lips. He brought the hand up from Wilson's arm to weave it through his hair. A second or two later, after the initial stiffness wore off, he felt Wilson raise his own hand to House's back.

After a moment, House pulled away. He smiled as dreamily as he could muster at Wilson and licked his lips. "Mm. Bye then. I'll see you tonight."

Wilson's eyes were wide enough to take over his entire face. "Y-yeah… tonight." He turned to offer Barton a polite smile, then made a beeline for the desk again.

"Anyway, I'm so sorry I can't make it to your dinner," House turned his attention back to the man beside him, whose face was roughly the color of Wilson's favorite tie. The green one. "Although… hey! Why don't I just bring Wilson along? We can reschedule our original plans for another night."

"Oh… no, no. That will not be necessary. You… you enjoy your…. I'm sorry to have wasted your time, Dr. House," he turned on his heel and hightailed for the front door. A few steps later, he turned back around. "Remember the power of prayer, Dr. House. There is still hope for redemption." And then he scurried away in a fashion that reminded House very much of Steve on his exercise wheel.

House watched him with a smirk on his face. He wondered if Chase was still keeping count. House was relatively sure the score now stood at House: 4, God: 2. (He'd decided God needed an extra point knocked off for recruiting Gordon Barton to do his bidding.)

"I hope you're satisfied with your victory," a voice informed him. House turned to see that Wilson had joined him by his side again, "because I'm now seriously regretting that Reuben I ate at lunch."

House smirked. "Please. You know you liked it."

"Your arrogance continues to astound me," Wilson told him, rolling his eyes.

"It's okay, Jimmy. The Lord can still guide you to the path of Righteousness."

Wilson grimaced. "The only path I want is the one that'll lead me to enough alcohol to wipe this day from my memory completely."

"Hey, don't take it out on me just because you have unnatural perversions and guilt for murdering the Savior."

Wilson just brought his hand to his face, groaning.

House smacked him on the shoulder with his cane, then used it to point to the clock. "Well would you look at that! 2:00. Clinic duty is officially over."

That drew a small smile from his miffed friend. "Tacos and a John Hughes movie at your place?"

"Amen to that."

Side by side, the two men made for the door, the gateway to freedom. House grinned maliciously, "I still say you liked it."

Wilson sighed and shook his head, staring upward. "Heaven help me."

But heaven knows he didn't deny it, and House knew it too.

-End-