A/N: Sorry it takes me a while to update. This is the busy season in my profession.

A heartfelt thank you for all the encouragement and kind reviews!

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For a couple of weeks, I carried the penny in my pocket. Then one day I absentmindedly dropped some spare change in with it – thank God I'd looked at it closely before, or I never would have been able to sort it back out from the rest of the coins.

"I've been keeping it in a plastic bag, but that seems a little impersonal," I explained to Wilson over lunch one day.

He nodded, his thoughtful brown eyes scanning the cafeteria. We both knew House could show up at any moment. "You should get a special container for it or something." He grinned sappily. "A locket."

"It's a penny, not a lock of his hair," I said skeptically, stirring my bowl of frozen yogurt.

Wilson's eyes twinkled. "He might as well have given you a lock of his hair..."

My teeth clenched. "Are you ever going to explain all this to me," I groaned, "or are you just gonna leave me hanging?"

"Much more fun to leave you hanging. Besides, it's not my place to explain it."

"You're enjoying this," I accused.

"Damn right."

Maybe if I pretended to be sad, worked up some alligator tears, I could get him to crack. No, I told myself, that wouldn't be fair. Wilson's a sweet guy; I couldn't take advantage of him that way. "Wanna bet?" laughed my increasingly rebellious inner voice.

I looked down at the table sadly. "Whatever this is, I'm sure it's very sweet," I sighed softly. "I just wish for something a little more solid. The slightest hint that this isn't all some big joke."

Wilson's brown eyes flickered and I saw the sympathy there – replaced quickly by amusement. He spends way too much time with House. "What do you take me for?"

"It was worth a try," I said sheepishly. "Can't you at least give me a tiny hint?"

He considered. "Ask me ten yes-or-no questions."

"Okay... Does this specific penny have sentimental value for House?"

"Yes. Well, as 'sentimental' as House gets, anyway."

"All right... Does the year on the penny have significance?"

"Not really."

"Does its condition have significance?"

"Um... lemme see it for a minute."

I retrieved the baggie and handed it over. Wilson smiled slightly as he examined it up close. "I don't think so," he said and gave it back.

I pocketed it and asked, "How did he get it?"

"That's not a yes-or-no question."

"Fine... Did he get it back as change?"

"No," he said, but his eyes flashed oddly.

"Did he... find it in a parking lot on an important day?"

"No."

"Did he steal it?"

"Mmmm... not really. Well, I mean... it's a just a penny. One could argue that it wouldn't really be theft... Okay, if by 'steal' you mean forcibly take from an unwilling or unsuspecting owner, then no."

"Did you give it to him?"

"No."

"Did another person give it to him?" I asked, suddenly anxious. What if House was like those men who break off engagements and then give the same ring to the next girl? I don't want a secondhand penny, I said to myself unreasonably.

"No. And you have two more questions."

"He said it was a 'lucky' penny. Is luck, chance, somehow involved here?"

"Um... define 'involved.'"

Wilson would've made a good lawyer. "Did the circumstances by which he obtained this item involve him having good luck?"

"No. Last one."

"Okay... Were you there when House got it?"

"Yes. And that's all you get for today."

"Well, it's not very helpful," I grumbled.

"Sorry."

"I am going to find out, you know."

"I have absolutely no doubt of it," he replied merrily.

"Can't you just--"

"Red alert," he muttered suddenly.

Before I could grasp his meaning, a hand struck out from behind me and stole my spoon. House pushed his way into the booth beside me, forcing me over. The seat was really designed for one, so his large frame sandwiched me against the wall. "Oh, hell yes!" my inner voice giggled gleefully.

Side note: Apparently my inner voice really needed to get some. Remember me saying, fifty percent lust, fifty percent "other?" My inner voice would be the first one. I realize that for most people the primary inner voice is the subconscious, the quiet proddings of intuition. Not for me. For me she's just a perv.

"Mmm," House hummed, licking the spoon lasciviously. "Strawberry."

Oh, to be a spoon. "It's raspberry," I corrected him.

He turned and looked me in the eye, running his tongue over the spoon again. Daaaaamn..."Whatever. It's yummy."I was certain he could see my face flush.

Wilson obviously could. He sighed from across the table. "Why don't you two just get a room?"

"That's okay," House told him, then turned back to me. "We don't mind if Wilson stays, do we, Cuddy? We'll just grope each other under the table. He won't even notice, as long as you can keep the moaning to a minimum." He gestured lightly at Wilson with my spoon, giving me time to compose myself after his lewd suggestion. "Carry on, then. What were you talking about?"

I snatched back the spoon and slid my bowl over. "Nothing. Just small talk. Beautiful weather we're having, and all that."

Now House was munching on Wilson's chips, leaving a trail of crumbs on the tabletop. "Sounds boring."

"Sorry," Wilson said sarcastically. "Next time we'll let you proofread our script first."

"Actually, I already have a script you can use--"

"We're not going to re-enact one of your pornos," Wilson quipped.

Wilson had beaten him to the punch, but House recovered smoothly. "Damn right you're not." His arm went up and around me, his hand tugging playfully on my hair before settling on my shoulder. "This is my territory."

I felt my eyes widen in astonishment, but this bizarre twist was interrupted by the buzz of Wilson's pager. He looked at me apologetically and pushed his tray across the table. "911, gotta go. Here, House, you can have the rest of this."

I expected House to move into the absent seat, but instead he just pulled back his arm and picked at Wilson's sandwich. After a moment, he turned toward me with a complete change of demeanor. "Still have it?" He looked... my God, he looked shy, a little worried even.

Startled, I could only nod.

A ghost of a smile passed over his lips. He nodded once. "Good." Before I could respond, both House and the sandwich had vanished.

---

I lay in bed with the antique sterling locket between my breasts, watching it glow dully in the light of the waning moon. I'd wrapped the penny in a scrap of cloth to keep it from clattering against the pendant's metal.

At first, I'd felt silly about taking Wilson's suggestion. But really, what harm is a little occasional feminine sentimentality? Clearly this meant something to House, and therefore it meant something to me. In case you hadn't guessed, the "other" fifty percent also had a voice – a voice that was getting more and more insistent.

I dreamt, again, of blue eyes and a genuine smile.

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A/N2: I might end up having another yes-or-no Q&A with Wilson and Cuddy, so I'm open to suggestions for questions...