M: Language, sexual situations.

G House/S Collins/J Wilson

Summary: In which a shooting at a paintball tournament marks the beginning of House and Stacy's 5 year relationship.

Part One of The Five Year Trilogy (Part Two in progress)

***A retooling/cleanup of the very first fan fiction piece I ever wrote. Having written several others since then, and being perhaps too fond of picking my own nits over the minutiae, I can't just leave well enough alone.

A/N1: I realize this isn't the most popular of pairings, but just how House and Stacy went from a disastrous first date to her moving in with him a week later remains, to me, one of the great mysteries of life. I hope this goes a short way towards answering the question. It's also my first attempt at writing fan fiction, aside from some scribbled ideas on Post-It Notes 10-15 years ago that never went anywhere, so consider yourselves duly warned.

A/N2: Canonical References:
Honeymoon S1E22 (Lawrence Kaplow, John Mankiewicz)
Son of a Coma Guy (Doris Egan)

A/N3: I am a firm believer in canon, but since we have no reference to Stacy's maiden name or background I had to take liberties. I will always be grateful to Doris Egan for writing Son of a Coma Guy. The buraku story belongs to her. Hearing it is one thing, but reading the words made me realize that House is really a buraku of his own making. The episode also provides the backstory for the beginning of this one.

A/N4: I fudged a bit on the electronics. The iPod did not exist in 1994, but I just couldn't see our characters having to deal with unwieldy portable CD players. And as far as medicine is concerned, while it has always been something of a hobby of mine, and I was a Nationally Registered EMT for 5 years more than half a lifetime ago, everything you read here comes from research or my own experience with some liberties taken here and there. I've tried to keep things as close to accurate as I can without making it too complicated.

A/N5: I owe a deep debt of gratitude to HouseOCDfan and Stathies for the reading and input along the way and to BlossomYoung42 for the editing. I swear, a person should not be allowed to have as much fun together online as we've been known to have! Reviews and comments gratefully accepted. All mistakes are my own

A/N6: Standard disclaimer. I have no connection whatsoever to these characters other than a deep and abiding fondness and respect for them. My unending thanks to David Shore for creating one of the most unique and memorable television characters of our time and to Hugh Laurie for breathing life into Gregory House, making him so much more nuanced and human than the one-dimensional pain in the ass he could have been. 50 years from now when we have all returned to the cosmos, they will still remember. And they will continue to write fiction about him.

Spring 1994

Princeton, New Jersey

Sunday

Down on one knee and positioned behind a large maple tree, Dr. Gregory House sighted through the scope of his air rifle and took aim at a short, rather awkward looking guy crouched behind a rock. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, taking out his third opponent of the day, House suddenly found himself sprawled face down in the dirt with a sharp stinging pain in his ass. He cursed emphatically at the unseen cause of the pain as he writhed on the ground. The awkward looking guy looked back at the sound and took off from his hiding place, relieved to have avoided being shot.

Groaning loudly and rubbing the area on his ass where he'd been hit, House gingerly got to his feet. He wondered how he'd been spotted in the first place. He had been so sure his spot behind the tree hid him from all sides. He turned around, looking for the sneaky bastard who'd found him out, and found himself face to face with a strikingly attractive woman. She was slightly taller than average, about his age, with warm caramel-colored eyes and shoulder-length deep brown hair covered by a ball cap. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow at his plight. House found himself momentarily speechless, but quickly found his voice.

"You shot me!"

The woman laughed, a sound House found he liked a lot and wouldn't mind hearing again.

"Who left his ass exposed? By the way, it looks good in pink." She laughed again and raced off, air rifle in hand, in search of her next target. House watched as she left, admiring the view, and decided that this woman was someone he very much wanted to get to know better.

Out of the competition, House wandered over to the picnic table where there were several coolers filled with cold drinks. He grabbed a bottle of beer out of one, popped the cap, and took a long pull of the cold liquid. Several other competitors, all with telltale pink or green splotches of paint on their clothes, wandered the area socializing amongst themselves. Never one for idle conversation, House stood off to the side alone with his beer. He was lost in thought, absently drinking and wondering how the woman who shot him was faring when he heard her voice nearby. Spotting her, he watched her lay into one of her teammates for losing them the tournament to a bunch of doctors. She had several bright pink splotches on her clothes, as if someone's air rifle had gotten stuck in the automatic position. House chuckled at the view, noting that she'd been shot by a member of her own team and was likely going to be very uncomfortable and rather bruised once the adrenaline from the game wore off. I wonder if that's the guy who shot her. That's got to be embarrassing.

Stacy Collins heard a deep and hearty chuckle as she walked away from the idiot who'd lost the tournament for the lawyers. She turned to see the guy she'd shot in the ass laughing at her. He was tall, with a rather lanky athletic build and short unruly light brown hair that looked like it hadn't been decently cut in...well...ever. He was clean shaven, but still managed to look scruffy. His clothes were as dirty as hers from hiding in the woods. What struck her most though, was how very blue his eyes were. She didn't think she'd ever seen anyone with eyes that blue. She had to admit she liked the sound of his laugh, but the vaguely lecherous look on his face told her that he was probably a jerk like most of the guys she'd met lately. She shot him a glare that made it very clear she wasn't interested before turning to grab her duffle bag and walk away.

House watched as the woman grabbed her gear and headed out of the park. He noticed her sizing him up, guessing that she'd taken him for a jerk the way her face clouded over before turning away. Determined not to let her leave without at least knowing her name, he grabbed his own duffle bag and took off at a jog after her. He caught up with her as she was putting the bag in the trunk of her car.

"Hey."

Stacy turned to face him, surprised that he'd actually followed her. She raised an eyebrow and allowed herself to look him over again. She had to admit she liked what she saw, even if he was a jerk.

"Hey."

House stuck out his hand. "Greg House."

Stacy shook the offered hand. "Stacy Collins." She found that she really liked the way his hand felt in hers.

"First time? I haven't seen you at one of these things before."

"Yeah. This is the first year I've been able to make it. Usually I'm working." Stacy suddenly realized that their hands were still clasped, and reluctantly pulled her hand away. They eyed each other in awkward silence.

"You work here in Princeton?" House couldn't remember when he'd ever had such a difficult time talking to a woman. He wanted to make a good impression, yet couldn't help but wonder how he would manage to fuck this up.

"I'm at Hargrove and Shaw. What about you? Do you have a practice here in town?"

"I'm on staff at Princeton Community." He shrugged. "It's a job. Listen, you want to go somewhere? Get something to eat?" The words came out of his mouth before he realized what he'd said.

Stacy regarded him with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. She was still convinced he was a jerk, but it had also been a long time since she'd been on an actual date rather than just out for drinks with people she worked with. Why not? she thought. It's just lunch. Jerk.