A/N: Hopefully, this fic will go on FOREVER. It totally can, and you know it.

Warnings: Insanity, slash, crossover, utter lack of any timeline whatsoever, except for the obvious.

Disclaimer: Unless otherwise specified, NOTHING BELONGS TO ME.

Chapter One:

Ten meets the Blancmanges

In this episode we cross: Doctor Who, House MD, and Monty Python.

It was a bright, sunny day in New Jersey, and the Doctor was doing something that was probably going to save the world, or the universe, or the ice planet Hoth, or something. It was Ten, in case you were wondering- the one with the hair that poufs up in the front, the snazzy suit, and the classy trench coat. He was wearing his glasses too, but they kept sliding down his nose and he would have to put down the pile of papers he was carrying to fix them every couple of minutes. It wasn't like he couldn't have tightened them with the almighty Sonic Screwdriver, but he was rather in a hurry. Whatever choice female he was supposed to have with him had died rather suddenly in a tragic ballooning accident a little while ago. He had cried inconsolably for about a week, but then duty had sent its resonant call his way, and he had soon forgotten good old what's-her-name among the millions of others. The only problem with this was, he was now in need of a Companion. These papers were ridiculously difficult to carry around whilst looking Doctor-y, and if the Doctor couldn't look Doctor-y, then God knew what would happen to the Time Vortex. Or something.

Anyway, he had come to Earth to go find someone to replace his previous girl, preferably someone who wasn't blonde- not for any particular reason, it just seemed rather repetitive is all- and had immediately gotten involved in some attempt or other to foil the plans of an Evil that threatened to take over the world. This foiling, apparently, involved much paperwork. The Doctor was beginning to think that it always had, and the Companions had always just kept it from him so the glamour of universe-saving didn't wear off. It was a rather discouraging thought.

Lost in thought as he was, the Doctor stepped off the curb and was nearly run over by a passing vehicle.

"Oh my God!"

The voice came from his left, and the Doctor spun to meet it, putting on his best "I'm the Doctor, betches" face. It involved a lot of eyebrow work. "Yes? What do you want?"

The owner of the voice who had just recently taken the Lord's name in vain opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to get the words out upon seeing the Doctor's mind-boggling face. "I- I- um…" The Doctor took the time that the other man was using to try and articulate himself to study his features. He looked harmless, with thick hair that parted on the left side of his face, and a slightly receding hairline. His face was oval shaped and handsome, with an expressive, lopsided mouth and thick eyebrows. "Are you- are you okay?"

He had a modern American accent. Ten adapted his dialect to match. "Yeah, I'm fine. No worries… dude."

The man turned his head slightly and gave the Doctor an analyzing glance. "Right…" Ten turned to leave, but the man put out a hand and grabbed the sleeve of his trench in a forward manner. "You've- you've got a lot of papers there. Can I help?"

The Doctor stared at him, not bothering to hide his incredulous expression. "Whaaaat?!"

"Help you carry them!" the man explained, going slightly red and putting his hands up in an instinctual display of harmlessness. Humans were so evolutionary. "You don't seem to be able to handle them very well- I- I- mean, I could take some and then you could…"

"Sure, thanks." The Doctor dumped the pile of papers into his new acquaintance's arms and started walking swiftly in the direction of a certain bakery, thoughts returning to his case. Innocent people were being turned into Scotsmen when they ate these certain blancmanges. Scotsmen! It was terrible. He was pretty sure he knew what was going on, though. A plan was nearly solidified in his mind when he was interrupted by that man again.

"Uh, my name's Wilson, by the way. James Wilson."

Ten raised his eyebrows in that particular way that he had. "Riiiight. I'm the Doctor." He turned back around and started walking again.

"The Doctor? Doctor what? Because I work at Princeton Plains-"

Ten sped up. He did not want to talk to some stupid human right now.

~?~

Gregory House leaned on his cane with an exhalation of impatience. He had been waiting by the bus stop for Wilson to get back to PPTH from his little lunch excursion for at least half an hour now, and was getting pretty peeved. He may have been blessed with an intellect and wit greater than most, but patience was something he decidedly lacked. It was, in his opinion, one of his best qualities.

"Wilson?" he shouted again, and again got at least thirteen Looks from passers-by, all of which he responded to with a bright and chirpy dirty-old-man grin. "Wilson, I'm waaaaaiting! Come on, Wilson!" He banged his cane on the ground, making a few people go from Looks to Glares. "Why are you making me wait? I'm in pain here!" This wasn't actually a lie. The old thigh wound was flaring up again. Not three hours earlier had he remarked to Chase that it was definitely going to rain that day, despite the sunny weather, because he could 'feel it in my leg'. Chase had just banged his newly-shorn head against the wall about fourteen times. Maybe fifteen, but who's counting? House tried again. "Wilson! Are you here?" Why, oh why, had he forgotten his cell phone... because he had thrown it at Cuddy, of course. The game (which he had made up himself) awarded five points for making her jump, twenty for actually hitting her, and a hundred points for landing it in the Cleavage. Anyway, back to the task at hand. House rolled his shoulders back and let out a particularly loud "WILSOOOON!"

"He's not there, honey." A woman in a pink tracksuit who looked about seventy eight but still spry gave him a sympathetic look. "You might want to try wherever he works." Leaning in closer, she whispered: "Just take him out for a nice dinner and apologize, he'll come around. Might do a little more than that, even, if you're lucky…" She winked and started off down the road.

House was actually a little surprised. The jogger bint had thought he and Wilson were dating? Why did that tend to happen so much? She hadn't even seen Wilson yet! House didn't look gay, did he? Surely not!

~?~

"So these blancmanges are being made in a factory…" mused the Doctor, scratching his chin absentmindedly, "And the company producing them is called Skyron Enterprises. I think I know what's-"

"What's this?" James held up the all-important Sonic Screwdriver and shook it a couple times, brow furrowed as he tried to figure out how it worked.

Ten jumped in his chair and shook his head vigorously, holding out a hand to stop Wilson's virgin exploration into the technology of Gallifrey. "No- no- no- don't touch that- James- no- stop- bad idea- not good- no- stop-"

James ignored him. "It looks cool, but it doesn't seem to- hey, what's this do?"

He did Something, and the box of baked goods he had reflexively bought for House, situated on top of the stack of papers he had placed on the rickety ironwrought bakery table, exploded.

End Part One of Chapter One!