Rematch
This is another of my betteronvicodin fics.
Genre: AU!Fic 21
Summary: [Bible AU] A burning bush talks to House. House tells it to STFU and goes to find a pitcher of water. Then he gets pissed when he can't extinguish it, and it still won't STFU.
Ship:House/Wilson established relationship (implied)
Warning: I went to a very religious secondary school (it used to be run by nuns, although by the time I got there they had all moved out) and there are only two ways to deal with that: take God extremely seriously and lose any sense of humor you might have had on the subject, or believe that God is perfectly able to take a joke and in fact probably has a very active sense of humor. If you still believe in God, that is.
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to House or Wilson, alas. God could be said to own everything, including House and Wilson. And David Shore.
Supplementary warning: As cracky as a cracked thing on crack.
Advisory: Contains shrubbery. Ni.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2,494
Thanks to: Many thanks to deelaundry for betaing (especially for asking the Big Question that fixed my writer's block on where this was going) and to my f-list for the discussion.
By the time House got out of bed, Wilson had long since left for work. House went through his usual morning routine, ending up - as usual - by shuffling into the kitchen in search of coffee. Today, though, was different; he was stopped in his tracks by the strange sight in front of him.
There was a potted plant on the kitchen island, which in itself was not unusual - Wilson occasionally bought one for House as a gift, because he still hadn't learned not to do that, and House then proceeded to neglect it to death. This particular plant, however, was unusual. It was on fire.
"Take off your shoes. This place is holy."
House could have sworn that the voice came from the plant. No, can't be. Stupid neighbors have left their TV on again.
"Take off your shoes. This place is holy."
Ah, so it was one of Wilson's tricks; he was trying to get his own back, again. House rummaged in one of the kitchen cupboards and found a pitcher, musing all the while over how Wilson could have got the whole setup to work. He filled the pitcher with water, still pondering, and threw it over the burning plant. The water failed to have any effect on the flames, although it did form a reasonably sized waterfall as it flowed off the side of the counter.
"Take off your shoes. This place is holy."
"Yes, very funny, Wilson. Change the record," muttered House, inspecting the plant - from a safe distance - for any signs of a speaker, gas jet, or any other contrivance that might indicate how it was working. He couldn't help noticing that the plant appeared to be undamaged, despite the fact that it was burning and had been doing so for at least - well, since whenever Wilson left for work, and that had to be at least an hour. He looked a little more closely, and ascertained that it did indeed appear to be a real plant. Hmmm.
"Take off your shoes. This place is holy."
This was getting ridiculous.
"I'm not taking my shoes off just because a plant tells me to, and I'm an atheist."
"You being an atheist doesn't mean that I don't exist."
House sighed in disgust, then grabbed the plant - carefully - by its pot and pitched it into the sink, preparatory to running water on it. The plant landed upright. Still in its pot. Still burning.
House flipped the faucet wide open and watched with huge satisfaction as the flames subsided.
He turned the faucet off, feeling smug.
The plant coughed.
And burst back into flame.
"Shoes," it said cheerfully.
House decided that he must be hallucinating, although he didn't remember getting shot any time recently, or opting for any new pain treatments. Unless Wilson had been secretly drugging him again - some anti-depressants could cause hallucinations, after all.
"Wilson has nothing to do with this," said the plant. House narrowed his eyes at it.
"You would say that, whether it was true or not, so it probably isn't. Everybody lies, and all that."
"I'm God. I don't lie."
"Well, that's a lie, for a start."
"Any normal person would be turning their house into a shrine by now. And you really should take your shoes off."
"Atheist, here, like I said. And I'm not taking my Nikes off for anybody. Well, maybe Wilson."
"I could turn your cane into a snake, if you like," said the bush.
House glared at it. "That would be really helpful if I didn't want to walk anywhere, yes."
The bush had nothing approaching a face, yet it was somehow wearing an expression of deep thought. "How about this?" it asked.
House watched with great interest as his hand turned white and shriveled.
"Cool! Leprosy!" He admired the hand for a while, and then it struck him. There's no way Wilson could do that unless he did put a hallucinogen in my coffee, and after the 'Wilson in a sequined pink tutu and tights' incident, I'd know if he did that again.
The plant looked smug.
"So, even if I admit that there is a possibility, however vanishingly small, that you are actually God, why are you in my apartment? Wouldn't it be a better use of your time to go and bother some God-fearing person who would fall down at your feet? Well, apart from the fact that you don't have feet at the moment."
"Where's the fun in that? I wanted a challenge. And some intelligent conversation."
House conceded that the plant had a point, there. He had always found that it was much more fun messing with people who didn't know him, and he could quite understand God finding most of the human race just plain stupid. He waved the leprous hand at the bush.
"Any chance I could have my old hand back?" He watched, fascinated, as the hand seemed to melt and then solidify back in its usual form; then he assumed an expression which Wilson could have told God meant Trouble. With the capital letter.
"If you really are God, how about you provide me with further proof? I might not be totally convinced."
He hadn't really expected that to work, but clearly the bush was prepared to humor him. "Hmm. I could turn water into blood, if you like. Just fill the pitcher with water and put it on the counter."
House sighed melodramatically. "Yes, that would be fine; just what I need, a pitcher of blood. Why can't you do something useful and turn water into beer?"
"Very well. Fill the pitcher and I will do just that."
House did so, and observed the water as it changed color and developed what appeared to be a good frothy head. He sniffed at the 'beer' - it certainly smelled right - and then dipped a finger into it. No burning, nothing unusual; he extended his tongue and took the tiniest possible sample from his fingertip. Beer. He took a cautious sip from the pitcher. Very good beer.
Despite himself, House was impressed. He fetched a glass.
****
Ten minutes later, House was ensconced on the couch, with the plant parked on the coffee table. He was midway through his third glass of beer, and feeling very pleasantly mellow (for him).
"So," said the bush. "What shall we discuss?"
"Well, there are several things I'd be interested to know," said House, "but first of all, what should I call you? God, Lord, Yahweh, Jehovah, Father? The Great God Om? Keith Moon? Something else?"
"It doesn't matter what you call me. I am that I am," said the bush, serenely.
"Okay, God it is," said House. A thought struck him. "You don't sound how I'd imagine God to sound. You know, all booming and as if you were just in the mood for a good smiting."
"LIKE THIS, YOU MEAN?"
House grinned. "Yep, that's exactly it." He looked a little wistful. "I wish I could do that when people annoy me."
"SINCE EVERYONE ANNOYS YOU, YOUR FRIENDS MIGHT GET A LITTLE FED UP WITH IT."
"Hmm. I suppose that's true." House was not entirely convinced. "It would be fun to try, though. It would annoy my lackeys - well, it would annoy Cameron and Foreman. Chase would think it was great. Hey, speaking of Cameron, she's an atheist too. You should come to the hospital one day while we're running a differential, and confound her when she tries to deny you."
"I am already at the hospital," the bush reminded him. "I am omnipresent."
"Okay, you should manifest at the hospital. Cameron thinks that trying to understand you would be like us trying to explain nuclear physics to a penguin, apparently, so you should be sure to speak to her in a language she doesn't know, like Urdu or Icelandic. Then I could tell her she was right all along - she'd like that; it's not something I tend to do."
Somewhat disconcertingly, the plant chuckled. House was - all right, had been - a confirmed atheist, but had anyone asked him prior to that day, he would have been of the opinion that God didn't chuckle.
"Oh, and you should tell Wilson that I enjoyed his impersonation of me," said the bush. "Most entertaining."
House grinned at the memory and finished the last of his beer. "Wilson, eh? So, what he and I get up to in our downtime doesn't bother you? Not so much with the 'Lying with a man as with a woman is an abomination unto the Lord', and all that Leviticus stuff, anymore?"
The plant sighed. "Those were rules for another time. Sometimes I wonder at the tenacity of the human race - I gave those rules to Moses many centuries ago, yet still people cite them as an excuse for their own bigotry. You have noticed how some of the rules are disregarded, while others are taken as sacred holy instructions, not to be broken. 'Thou shalt not commit adultery' is a case in point; that one is so important that I put it in the Ten Commandments, yet it gets broken thousands of times each day. I sometimes wonder whether it would have worked if I had said to Moses, 'Treat others as you wish to be treated yourself.'"
"Didn't Jesus try that with his followers? It didn't work then and it still wouldn't now; people can always find ways to justify their behavior."
"Sadly, that is true. Free will is a double-edged sword. However, I have no problem with your relationship. You and Wilson are both consenting adults, and whatever you do with him is between the two of you. Including the maple syrup thing, which I must say was very inventive."
House narrowed his eyes at the bush. "You've been watching? Kinky!"
"Omnipresent, yes? 'All knowing, all seeing' means everything that happens, not just selected highlights." The plant waited while House refilled his glass, then spoke again. "Is there nothing else you wish to ask me?"
House sighed. "The trouble with being able to discuss things with you is that you're omniscient, seeing as how you're the Supreme Being and everything. It's no fun debating with somebody who knows all the facts and has the evidence to prove them."
"I'd have thought that you would appreciate the opportunity, since you are always seeking answers."
"Well, yes, in some ways," agreed House. "But on the other hand, it's much more entertaining arguing with, say, an evangelist about the meaning of the Bible and whether it's meant to be taken literally. They have no way of proving anything, so the argument can carry on for as long as I want it to."
"Hmm. I take your point," said God. "Very well. I think that it is time for me to be going. I will leave you this plant as a parting gift."
"That's very kind of you, but I should warn you that no plant has ever survived my pathetic attempts to nurture it," said House.
"Oh, this one will do fine," said God. "Farewell, Gregory House."
The flames around the bush began to roar impressively, then grew higher and higher, until they were licking at the ceiling. Finally, they disappeared in an instant, leaving what looked like a perfectly normal potted plant sitting on the table.
House chuckled to himself and poured the last of the beer into his glass.
****
Wilson arrived home after a long day filled with a great deal of stress. As he approached the door of the apartment, he thought he heard singing. It sounded like House, but it didn't sound like his usual taste in music. Wilson opened the door, and stopped, shocked, as he realized just what House was singing.
"...the glory of the coming of the Lord, He is trampl- Oh, hi, Wilson!"
Wilson gathered his scattered wits. "Why weren't you at work? I've been calling you all day. Why didn't you answer? And since when do you sing hymns?"
House stretched luxuriously. "I've been visited by God, Wilson."
Wilson threw up his hands in disgust. "Oh, that explains it. I knew there was a rational explanation."
"That was originally a burning bush." House gestured towards the plant on the coffee table. "It was amazing. I thought it was you, at first, but it turned out to be God. Turning water into wine, and all that stuff. Well, turning water into beer, in this case."
"Of course you had a burning bush in here, House. How much have you drunk and how many Vicodin have you taken?" He moved towards House, intending to take a closer look at the size of his pupils, but House waved him away.
"And you'll be pleased to hear that God approves of our relationship, dysfunctional as it is."
Wilson now had his hands on his hips. "Oh, of course he does. That's obviously the burning question of the day. I was worried about you, although God knows why."
House smirked. "Apparently he does, and 'burning' is exactly the right word. Maybe I should have asked him why you're such a nag." He pulled one of his more annoying faces.
Wilson dumped his jacket on the couch, narrowly missing House's legs, and stalked into the kitchen, thoroughly peeved.
"Don't you believe me, Wilson?" came the rather plaintive cry from the direction of the living room.
Wilson got himself a beer from the fridge and joined House on the couch. "Oh, I believe that's what you saw. I just don't believe that God was here or that the plant was on fire at any point."
House was looking at the beer. "Where's mine?"
"I don't think you need any more alcohol for the moment," said Wilson, sitting back and relaxing. He grinned at the way House was pouting at him. "You want to order pizza?"
House brightened a little. "If you're paying."
Wilson sighed. "Don't I always?"
House reached for the phone.
****
After some months, Wilson had to admit that there must have been something about the bush, because it simply refused to die. House forgot to water it for weeks at a time, then had a fit of conscience and ended up drowning it; the plant often ended up looking a little frayed around the edges, but it always recovered. It even survived House pouring coffee-and-pee onto it, which had been the last straw for the spider plant - Wilson had been quite impressed at that; he had previously believed that they were indestructible.
From time to time, he arrived home to the sound of House serenading the plant with loud and enthusiastic singing; House still claimed to be an atheist, but Wilson couldn't help noticing that his repertoire now included the occasional hymn.
Eventually, he gave up wondering about it and settled for thinking of it as just part of the 'fun' of living with House.
****
House left the bush to Chase in his will, with no explanation.
Notes:
There really is a burning bush. Dictamnus albus is a plant which exudes resin, and which can tolerate being set alight. Another name for the plant is Bastard, according to botanical.com.
The story of the burning bush, in the Bible (in proper 'old' language): Part one and Part two
plus http://www.ebibleteacher.com/children/lessons/OT/Exodus/burningbush.htm which is apparently a link for Sunday School teachers, and which I thought at first said EDIBLE teacher. That would have been much more interesting.
Genre: AU!Fic 21
Summary: [Bible AU] A burning bush talks to House. House tells it to STFU and goes to find a pitcher of water. Then he gets pissed when he can't extinguish it, and it still won't STFU.
Ship:House/Wilson established relationship (implied)
Warning: I went to a very religious secondary school (it used to be run by nuns, although by the time I got there they had all moved out) and there are only two ways to deal with that: take God extremely seriously and lose any sense of humor you might have had on the subject, or believe that God is perfectly able to take a joke and in fact probably has a very active sense of humor. If you still believe in God, that is.
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to House or Wilson, alas. God could be said to own everything, including House and Wilson. And David Shore.
Supplementary warning: As cracky as a cracked thing on crack.
Advisory: Contains shrubbery. Ni.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2,494
Thanks to: Many thanks to deelaundry for betaing (especially for asking the Big Question that fixed my writer's block on where this was going) and to my f-list for the discussion.
By the time House got out of bed, Wilson had long since left for work. House went through his usual morning routine, ending up - as usual - by shuffling into the kitchen in search of coffee. Today, though, was different; he was stopped in his tracks by the strange sight in front of him.
There was a potted plant on the kitchen island, which in itself was not unusual - Wilson occasionally bought one for House as a gift, because he still hadn't learned not to do that, and House then proceeded to neglect it to death. This particular plant, however, was unusual. It was on fire.
"Take off your shoes. This place is holy."
House could have sworn that the voice came from the plant. No, can't be. Stupid neighbors have left their TV on again.
"Take off your shoes. This place is holy."
Ah, so it was one of Wilson's tricks; he was trying to get his own back, again. House rummaged in one of the kitchen cupboards and found a pitcher, musing all the while over how Wilson could have got the whole setup to work. He filled the pitcher with water, still pondering, and threw it over the burning plant. The water failed to have any effect on the flames, although it did form a reasonably sized waterfall as it flowed off the side of the counter.
"Take off your shoes. This place is holy."
"Yes, very funny, Wilson. Change the record," muttered House, inspecting the plant - from a safe distance - for any signs of a speaker, gas jet, or any other contrivance that might indicate how it was working. He couldn't help noticing that the plant appeared to be undamaged, despite the fact that it was burning and had been doing so for at least - well, since whenever Wilson left for work, and that had to be at least an hour. He looked a little more closely, and ascertained that it did indeed appear to be a real plant. Hmmm.
"Take off your shoes. This place is holy."
This was getting ridiculous.
"I'm not taking my shoes off just because a plant tells me to, and I'm an atheist."
"You being an atheist doesn't mean that I don't exist."
House sighed in disgust, then grabbed the plant - carefully - by its pot and pitched it into the sink, preparatory to running water on it. The plant landed upright. Still in its pot. Still burning.
House flipped the faucet wide open and watched with huge satisfaction as the flames subsided.
He turned the faucet off, feeling smug.
The plant coughed.
And burst back into flame.
"Shoes," it said cheerfully.
House decided that he must be hallucinating, although he didn't remember getting shot any time recently, or opting for any new pain treatments. Unless Wilson had been secretly drugging him again - some anti-depressants could cause hallucinations, after all.
"Wilson has nothing to do with this," said the plant. House narrowed his eyes at it.
"You would say that, whether it was true or not, so it probably isn't. Everybody lies, and all that."
"I'm God. I don't lie."
"Well, that's a lie, for a start."
"Any normal person would be turning their house into a shrine by now. And you really should take your shoes off."
"Atheist, here, like I said. And I'm not taking my Nikes off for anybody. Well, maybe Wilson."
"I could turn your cane into a snake, if you like," said the bush.
House glared at it. "That would be really helpful if I didn't want to walk anywhere, yes."
The bush had nothing approaching a face, yet it was somehow wearing an expression of deep thought. "How about this?" it asked.
House watched with great interest as his hand turned white and shriveled.
"Cool! Leprosy!" He admired the hand for a while, and then it struck him. There's no way Wilson could do that unless he did put a hallucinogen in my coffee, and after the 'Wilson in a sequined pink tutu and tights' incident, I'd know if he did that again.
The plant looked smug.
"So, even if I admit that there is a possibility, however vanishingly small, that you are actually God, why are you in my apartment? Wouldn't it be a better use of your time to go and bother some God-fearing person who would fall down at your feet? Well, apart from the fact that you don't have feet at the moment."
"Where's the fun in that? I wanted a challenge. And some intelligent conversation."
House conceded that the plant had a point, there. He had always found that it was much more fun messing with people who didn't know him, and he could quite understand God finding most of the human race just plain stupid. He waved the leprous hand at the bush.
"Any chance I could have my old hand back?" He watched, fascinated, as the hand seemed to melt and then solidify back in its usual form; then he assumed an expression which Wilson could have told God meant Trouble. With the capital letter.
"If you really are God, how about you provide me with further proof? I might not be totally convinced."
He hadn't really expected that to work, but clearly the bush was prepared to humor him. "Hmm. I could turn water into blood, if you like. Just fill the pitcher with water and put it on the counter."
House sighed melodramatically. "Yes, that would be fine; just what I need, a pitcher of blood. Why can't you do something useful and turn water into beer?"
"Very well. Fill the pitcher and I will do just that."
House did so, and observed the water as it changed color and developed what appeared to be a good frothy head. He sniffed at the 'beer' - it certainly smelled right - and then dipped a finger into it. No burning, nothing unusual; he extended his tongue and took the tiniest possible sample from his fingertip. Beer. He took a cautious sip from the pitcher. Very good beer.
Despite himself, House was impressed. He fetched a glass.
****
Ten minutes later, House was ensconced on the couch, with the plant parked on the coffee table. He was midway through his third glass of beer, and feeling very pleasantly mellow (for him).
"So," said the bush. "What shall we discuss?"
"Well, there are several things I'd be interested to know," said House, "but first of all, what should I call you? God, Lord, Yahweh, Jehovah, Father? The Great God Om? Keith Moon? Something else?"
"It doesn't matter what you call me. I am that I am," said the bush, serenely.
"Okay, God it is," said House. A thought struck him. "You don't sound how I'd imagine God to sound. You know, all booming and as if you were just in the mood for a good smiting."
"LIKE THIS, YOU MEAN?"
House grinned. "Yep, that's exactly it." He looked a little wistful. "I wish I could do that when people annoy me."
"SINCE EVERYONE ANNOYS YOU, YOUR FRIENDS MIGHT GET A LITTLE FED UP WITH IT."
"Hmm. I suppose that's true." House was not entirely convinced. "It would be fun to try, though. It would annoy my lackeys - well, it would annoy Cameron and Foreman. Chase would think it was great. Hey, speaking of Cameron, she's an atheist too. You should come to the hospital one day while we're running a differential, and confound her when she tries to deny you."
"I am already at the hospital," the bush reminded him. "I am omnipresent."
"Okay, you should manifest at the hospital. Cameron thinks that trying to understand you would be like us trying to explain nuclear physics to a penguin, apparently, so you should be sure to speak to her in a language she doesn't know, like Urdu or Icelandic. Then I could tell her she was right all along - she'd like that; it's not something I tend to do."
Somewhat disconcertingly, the plant chuckled. House was - all right, had been - a confirmed atheist, but had anyone asked him prior to that day, he would have been of the opinion that God didn't chuckle.
"Oh, and you should tell Wilson that I enjoyed his impersonation of me," said the bush. "Most entertaining."
House grinned at the memory and finished the last of his beer. "Wilson, eh? So, what he and I get up to in our downtime doesn't bother you? Not so much with the 'Lying with a man as with a woman is an abomination unto the Lord', and all that Leviticus stuff, anymore?"
The plant sighed. "Those were rules for another time. Sometimes I wonder at the tenacity of the human race - I gave those rules to Moses many centuries ago, yet still people cite them as an excuse for their own bigotry. You have noticed how some of the rules are disregarded, while others are taken as sacred holy instructions, not to be broken. 'Thou shalt not commit adultery' is a case in point; that one is so important that I put it in the Ten Commandments, yet it gets broken thousands of times each day. I sometimes wonder whether it would have worked if I had said to Moses, 'Treat others as you wish to be treated yourself.'"
"Didn't Jesus try that with his followers? It didn't work then and it still wouldn't now; people can always find ways to justify their behavior."
"Sadly, that is true. Free will is a double-edged sword. However, I have no problem with your relationship. You and Wilson are both consenting adults, and whatever you do with him is between the two of you. Including the maple syrup thing, which I must say was very inventive."
House narrowed his eyes at the bush. "You've been watching? Kinky!"
"Omnipresent, yes? 'All knowing, all seeing' means everything that happens, not just selected highlights." The plant waited while House refilled his glass, then spoke again. "Is there nothing else you wish to ask me?"
House sighed. "The trouble with being able to discuss things with you is that you're omniscient, seeing as how you're the Supreme Being and everything. It's no fun debating with somebody who knows all the facts and has the evidence to prove them."
"I'd have thought that you would appreciate the opportunity, since you are always seeking answers."
"Well, yes, in some ways," agreed House. "But on the other hand, it's much more entertaining arguing with, say, an evangelist about the meaning of the Bible and whether it's meant to be taken literally. They have no way of proving anything, so the argument can carry on for as long as I want it to."
"Hmm. I take your point," said God. "Very well. I think that it is time for me to be going. I will leave you this plant as a parting gift."
"That's very kind of you, but I should warn you that no plant has ever survived my pathetic attempts to nurture it," said House.
"Oh, this one will do fine," said God. "Farewell, Gregory House."
The flames around the bush began to roar impressively, then grew higher and higher, until they were licking at the ceiling. Finally, they disappeared in an instant, leaving what looked like a perfectly normal potted plant sitting on the table.
House chuckled to himself and poured the last of the beer into his glass.
****
Wilson arrived home after a long day filled with a great deal of stress. As he approached the door of the apartment, he thought he heard singing. It sounded like House, but it didn't sound like his usual taste in music. Wilson opened the door, and stopped, shocked, as he realized just what House was singing.
"...the glory of the coming of the Lord, He is trampl- Oh, hi, Wilson!"
Wilson gathered his scattered wits. "Why weren't you at work? I've been calling you all day. Why didn't you answer? And since when do you sing hymns?"
House stretched luxuriously. "I've been visited by God, Wilson."
Wilson threw up his hands in disgust. "Oh, that explains it. I knew there was a rational explanation."
"That was originally a burning bush." House gestured towards the plant on the coffee table. "It was amazing. I thought it was you, at first, but it turned out to be God. Turning water into wine, and all that stuff. Well, turning water into beer, in this case."
"Of course you had a burning bush in here, House. How much have you drunk and how many Vicodin have you taken?" He moved towards House, intending to take a closer look at the size of his pupils, but House waved him away.
"And you'll be pleased to hear that God approves of our relationship, dysfunctional as it is."
Wilson now had his hands on his hips. "Oh, of course he does. That's obviously the burning question of the day. I was worried about you, although God knows why."
House smirked. "Apparently he does, and 'burning' is exactly the right word. Maybe I should have asked him why you're such a nag." He pulled one of his more annoying faces.
Wilson dumped his jacket on the couch, narrowly missing House's legs, and stalked into the kitchen, thoroughly peeved.
"Don't you believe me, Wilson?" came the rather plaintive cry from the direction of the living room.
Wilson got himself a beer from the fridge and joined House on the couch. "Oh, I believe that's what you saw. I just don't believe that God was here or that the plant was on fire at any point."
House was looking at the beer. "Where's mine?"
"I don't think you need any more alcohol for the moment," said Wilson, sitting back and relaxing. He grinned at the way House was pouting at him. "You want to order pizza?"
House brightened a little. "If you're paying."
Wilson sighed. "Don't I always?"
House reached for the phone.
****
After some months, Wilson had to admit that there must have been something about the bush, because it simply refused to die. House forgot to water it for weeks at a time, then had a fit of conscience and ended up drowning it; the plant often ended up looking a little frayed around the edges, but it always recovered. It even survived House pouring coffee-and-pee onto it, which had been the last straw for the spider plant - Wilson had been quite impressed at that; he had previously believed that they were indestructible.
From time to time, he arrived home to the sound of House serenading the plant with loud and enthusiastic singing; House still claimed to be an atheist, but Wilson couldn't help noticing that his repertoire now included the occasional hymn.
Eventually, he gave up wondering about it and settled for thinking of it as just part of the 'fun' of living with House.
****
House left the bush to Chase in his will, with no explanation.
Notes:
There really is a burning bush. Dictamnus albus is a plant which exudes resin, and which can tolerate being set alight. Another name for the plant is Bastard, according to botanical.com.
The story of the burning bush, in the Bible (in proper 'old' language): Part one and Part two
plus http://www.ebibleteacher.com/children/lessons/OT/Exodus/burningbush.htm which is apparently a link for Sunday School teachers, and which I thought at first said EDIBLE teacher. That would have been much more interesting.