Disclaimer: I hear they're selling House at the local auction house this Saturday. Let me break open my ceramic pig here and see how much I've accumulated. Yeah, that may do it. I'll let ya know . . .

(Uhum . . . Idon'townHouseM.D.oranyofthecharactersfromtheseries.)

A/N: I must say: I'm disappointed. When I patted you all down at the door, I found pocket-fulls of fruit on three of you. No throwing in the theater! I just swept the damn thing. If you have soggy persimmons on your person, please discard of them in the review bin after the show is over.

Gun It, Baby

His playroom was a mess. His toybox even messier.

Game Boy. iPod. Magic eightball, tennis ball. He pushed them all aside. Then he shut the drawer and moved on to another one, grumbling at the sudden inconvenience. His newest plaything was missing. A brand new, bright orange squirt gun, that only Doctor House could misplace.

He shuffled through each drawer of his desk and ended up back where he started. Bored. And now his favorite toy was missing. Lost and found, without the found. Story of his life, indeed.

It was simple, really - how a cheap, plastic water gun could capture his childlike attention. There would always be music and Game Boys, always aliens and time to defeat them. But a squirt gun was far more amusing - and far more effective in enforcing his point. He'd lift his shirttail and showcase the weapon; all eyes would fall to its beauty - its terror. Its neon color spoke volumes of danger. No one would talk and no one would dare to. The floor was indubitably his.

He had actually squirted Cameron with it yesterday. She'd dared to make a diagnosis after he'd shushed her pretty little lips, and immediately he'd drawn the pistol from his jeans and threatened to pop her a cap. She'd rolled her eyes, sealed her fate, and yelled at him a wet leg later. He really needed to work on his aim.

But now it was missing, and now he was bored, and now he couldn't fend off Cuddy. She marched down the hallway and through his glass door, commanding that he go to the clinic. He poked a finger outward from the stomach of his T-shirt in hopes of scaring her away. A 'cut the crap' smirk and the clunking of her heals, and she disappeared down the hallway once more.

For the rest of the day, it was one crisis after another. Enthralling sore throats and annoying parents. An unexpected speech from Wilson and another round of bitching from Cuddy. Foreman and Chase even payed him a visit - tried to talk him into a case. He expected Dr. Cameron to follow suit, but she never showed up to bug him. He didn't see her all afternoon. In fact, he hadn't seen her all day.

It wasn't until ten that he finally got to leave - and without his squirt gun, at that. He moped from the hospital and into the parking garage, toward his bright, red car in the dark. The air was warm and curious. It tasted of a pleasant mystery. Something in his senses predicted a change, but to pinpoint that change was beyond him.

The dim-lighted structure was more quiet than normal. A ghost was lurking and spying. He swore he heard a skeleton breathing, from behind a column nearby. Nighttime had its fair share of wonders. He hobbled and shuffled and the echos resounded. Tonight he would go home and sulk. Talk with a ghost. Maybe bury a skeleton or two . . .

He was two feet away from his '65 Corvette, and right as his finger touched the doorhandle:

"Ah!" His hand flew to the back of his neck and he dropped his leather satchel, spinning around on his cane and his heel. His eyes skimmed across the garage as he brought his hand down from his neck to look at it. Water. At least it wasn't blood.

"Funny!" House called out. He was mocked by the resounding echo. "Try that again!" he challenged. "I'm armed and dangerous!" he lifted his cane - his eyes still scanning the parking structure, his ears now on full alert.

"So am I," came the response. Behind him. Directly behind him. "Lift 'em."

An amused grin crawled over his lips, and House lifted his hands into the air. Submission was the key. He slowly turned around, the grin still firmly in place, and peered over his car at Cameron. She stood in an empty parking space, bright orange gun in her grasp, held chest-high and outstretched before her like she knew exactly how to use it. And she was smiling. Mischievously.

"What do you think you're going to do?" he almost laughed.

"You're at the business end. You tell me." And her grin turned even viler.

"You forgot to cock the hammer," he pointed out. He couldn't help but find some imaginary problem with everything Dr. Cameron did.

"It's a double-action," she informed with a sly smirk matching his own.

Ooh. Impressive. "Exactly what did you have in mind?" House swung his cane up to drop it on the roof of the car. He kept his hands in the air.

"Give me your keys," she instructed.

"My keys!" he twisted his face in surprise, his amusement growing stronger. "That's a high price you demand."

"Do you challenge me?" Her grip grew tighter on the gun.

"What if I do?" he played with fire.

"I may be forced to punish you." She dared him to do something defiant.

House's eyebrows went up at the suggestion. "Ooohoo," he shivered, feigning fear, then stepped to the side - his hands still in the air - and shuffled to the bumper of his car. Cameron held her ground. "I see we're unevenly matched," he nodded to her gun, then to his own lack of a weapon.

"My game, my rules." Cameron stated.

"My gun, my rules." He corrected.

"My gun."

"Wrong answer." House hobbled forward - one slow step, then another. Nobody steals his playthings.

Cameron didn't know whether to stand and fight, or toback up and fire sucker shots. "Keys, please," she reminded him, rubbing the thumb and fingers of her left hand together.

"Come get them." He kept walking forward, straight toward her. He knew he was asking for it.

"One step closer, and you're going to get it," she warned.

"You have a limited supply of ammo there. I'd be more resourceful if I were you . . ."

"I guess I should be grateful for my aim." House stepped rebelliously closer, and she perched her finger on the trigger.

That's when he lunged for her. But she darted out of his range, squealing all the way. Squirt! Right below his ear. The water ran down his neck and dripped into the collar of his shirt. "Some aim," he mumbled, not sure whether he was scoffing at her or commending her. He regained his footing and looked around. Cameron was cleverly out of sight - once again hidden in the shadows.

He turned in a circle, goading as he did so. "Come out, come out, wherever you are." Oh, when I find that girl . . . She would not get away with this. He had prepared himself for another blast of water, but heard a slight giggle instead. Following the sound to a dark blue Sedan, he was awarded another squirt to the face. Right in the eye this time.

That was it. He was not going to lose to this girl. His pride just wouldn't allow it. "You are going to pay for that one," he rubbed his eye and blinked to restore his vision. He opened his eyes to see Cameron running away from her position behind the Sedan, and he speed-walked after her retreating form.

They were now at the end of the parking structure, and Cameron was looking for an escape. House was rapidly approaching - a proposal of vengeance in his gait. Why was she running? She was the one with the gun! So she began squirting him ruthlessly - aiming for the eyes, but getting his neck and his shirt instead. She was trapped against the wall now, and House was hovering in front of her. She ran one way - he followed. She ran the other - he blocked her off. He was closing in for the kill, and Cameron couldn't help but giggle uncontrollably at the idea.

House could see that she was clearly enjoying this. But his mission was purely business. His gun and his dignity remained to be salvaged. Cameron stopped squirting, as only a few shots were left, and House stopped dead in front of her, only few feet away. "Isn't this a predicament . . ." he jeered. "You look rather stuck to me, Cameron."

She was hunched over and ready to run, should he attack her at any time. "Stuck?" she questioned, then bolted to the right and sprinted along the wall toward the elevator.

"Damn," House muttered, then swiftly pushed off after her. He got there in time to see Cameron hammering the 'up' button impatiently with her thumb and laughing. She shrunk into the back of the elevator and squirmed to get closer to the wall. House had her right where he wanted her.

He held the metal door open with his palm and stood there for a moment just staring at her. Despite her position, Cameron still clung to the pistol, hoping with empty hope to scare him away with the last two squirts. But there was no way she was going to waste them now. House's face grew evil, and he let go of the door as he entered. Cameron had lost the game, and now it was time to make her pay.

"Mercy!" she begged, sliding into the corner and pressing herself tight against the cold, metal walls.

"No way," he refused. "There's nothing fun about mercy." And he blocked her into the corner with his arms. His tall figure towered over her. It was her turn to be in submission.

"Please?" she smiled, real big. It lit up her eyes - she was turning on the charm as a last resort.

"Uh uh," he shook his head, "forget it." Then he snatched the gun when she least expected it and pointed it straight down her neck. She squealed as he squirted ruthlessly into her shirt, emptying every last drop from the bright orange, plastic pistol. He had her pinned against the wall with his body now; she was writhing against the cold of the water. "Looks like I get the gun and the car," he murmured into her ear.

The metal door closed and the elevator lurched upward. House briefly turned around to press the 'down' button and then resumed to his teasing. But, as fate would have it, the metal floor was slippery and his leg gave way underneath him. As fate would also have it, he pulled Cameron down with him; they slid against the wall to the ground.

"Gah, House. That was cold!" she complained, as she shrugged her shoulders up toward her neck and shivered.

"Then take your shirt off," he resolved, as if it made perfect sense.

The elevator came to a stop and the silver door glided open. Luckily, the hallway to which it was opened was empty; most of the flourescent lighting had gone dim or been turned off. The door slid closed once more and the elevator started back downward.

Cameron remembered her original objective and refocused her attention back to House. "You take it off," she whispered suggestively.

He swallowed and looked into her eyes. He saw lust. And he was sure lust was staring back at her. What was she up to? It didn't matter. Because he wasn't finished administering justice. In a complete lapse of character, he wrapped his left leg over her body. Cameron melted against him, and writhed now for a different reason. "How do you want your punishment?" he breathed in a raspy voice.

"I . . ." she tilted her head back, involuntarily moving closer to him, "Wha . . .?" Damn him. She couldn't think straight.

"I said," he removed his leg from around her and instead pressed it between her thighs, "how . . ." perching himself over her, "do . . ." he moved in closer, "you . . ." he ground against her, hard, "want . . ."

"Ahh," Cameron gripped his hips with her hands and pulled him flush against her, "I . . ." He was moving against her now, and she against him. He was taunting her in a way that made it hard to focus. Cameron gulped. Her hand slid to the front of his jeans, and then down the front of his thigh. Just as House was getting the rhythm –

Cameron pried her way out from underneath him and crawled toward the opening elevator door, jingling his keys all the way. He sighed to the ground below him. She'll never learn. And he grabbed her ankle before she could stand.

Caught in the middle of the doorway, Cameron snorted suddenly with laughter and tried to jerk free. But it was to no avail. House pulled her back underneath him and leaned on his elbows above her. "You conniving, conniving woman," he scolded, then snatched his keys back. "If you wanted a ride that badly, you simply should have asked."

She considered his words for a moment, then asked, "How's your engine?"

"Pristine," he assured her. He knew she wasn't referring to his car. "Would you like to test it out?"

Her face twisted into four different shades of contemplation, and then she snatched the keys back. "Sure!" she glowed. Sliding out from under him, she skipped off toward his Corvette, leaving a disheveled House on the ground.

The corner of his mouth turned upward as he admitted defeat to the floor. That girl would surely be the death of him. Retrieving his water gun, he watched her skip away.Then he pulled himself to a standing position and began dusting his jeans off with his hands. He hobbled toward the car with a foolish grin on his lips. This should be fun.

End.

A/N: Look down. NO, not at your LAP! Gosh . . . That little purple button. Yeah - my friend told me about this. Apparently you can just press it and make somebody's day! How awesome is that? I bet soon we'll have already-made dinners for the freezer and rockets that go to the moon. (Okay, wipe that smirk off your face. They're not FOR the freezer; it just sounded more poetic that way . . .)