A/N: I took a some liberties in this chapter with regards to New Jersey laws. Which is a writerly way of saying that I don't have a clue and was too lazy to do the research, so I just made it all up. :)

I'm not really fond of flashbacks as a plot device... but as writers say, it's better to show than tell, and in this case I need to give my dear readers information that our friend Cuddy doesn't yet have.

Thanks for all the reviews. And I promise the penny really does mean something – it's not just House messing with Cuddy's head. ;) It all came to me, in a very J.K. Rowling way, while I was writing the previous chapter.

-----

November 2008

"I'm not drunk," the blonde man slurred.

"Nope," the older one said, "Me neither."

Peter returned their licenses, but dangled the younger man's car keys on one finger. Hecrossed his arms and looked from one man to the other, shaking his head in amusement. Most drunks were either violent or passed out, but these two were actually pretty entertaining. He eyed the taller one's cane warily. The man looked strong, solidly built, but tired. Neither of the two seemed belligerent, but you never knew.

"That's your car?" Peter pointed toward the only vehicle left outside the bar besides his own cruiser. The younger one nodded.

"Seriushly," the taller one said, leaning heavily on the cane. His breath made puffs of white that glowed in the light of the streetlamps. "You gotta let us go," he gave a charming half-smile, "or people're gonna die."

"House," the younger man rebuked, and then turned back to Peter. "He din't mean it that way. We really" - he hiccupped - "we're doctors. We gotta go, he just got paged."

"Serioshly," 'House' repeated. He extended his hand, the pager resting in the upturned palm. "See? It'sh buzzing. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....."

God, Peter thought, these two are like something out of a sitcom. "You're drunk in public," he informed them flatly. The pager was indeed buzzing, though.

"Well, I don't know about drunk," the blonde said affably. "Have we had a few? Sure."

"Aw, tell the truth, Wilshon. We've had more than a few."

"Will you shut - " hiccup - "up? I'm trying to get us out of night in jail. And, what the hell?Now you want honesty?"

"Meh. It wouldn't be the first time, for either of us." He turned back to Peter. "In jail, I mean."

"I gathered," the officer answered dryly.

"Yesh but it was one or the other of us," Wilson said. "Ushuly not both."

"So what?" His voice echoed across the open square, rebounding off the cobblestones.

"Sooooo...." the blonde stumbled slightly, "soooo, You Know Who would have to bail us both out this time."

The one called "House" sobered visibly. "That would be bad."

"Yesh, that's the last thing you need tonight."

"'You Know Who?'" Peter asked.

"'She Who Must Not Be Named,'" Wilson told him dramatically.

"Also known as 'Medusa,'" House said.

"Right." Peter pocketed Wilson's keys and reached for a small case on his police belt. "I'm going to need to administer a Breathalyzer test on each of you."

"What?" Wilson asked incredulously. "But we weren't driving, we're just walking. Just hangin' out, getting fresh air, talking--"

"Uh huh," Peter said, pulling the cap off the small device. "And I guess you were just going to walk right home from here? You both live miles away and there's no nearby bus stop. You're drunk and disorderly and you were headed for your vehicle."

"We're not dish... dishorderly," Wilson insisted.

House shifted his leg and winced. "Jus' let 'im do it," he advised. "Trusht me, it's better to cooperate."

Wilson looked sobered now, himself. "Oh, right. Okay. Sorry."

Having already checked their records, Peter understood this reaction. He gestured toward the shorter man. "Blow into the end until I say stop... And, stop." He glanced at the readout. "Point one-oh," he announced. "Over the legal limit. Afraid you won't be getting your keys back tonight, sir."

"Lightweight," scoffed his companion.

Peter switched the Breathalyzer mouthpiece and stuck it into House's mouth. "Aaaand... stop." He frowned. "Well, what do you know? Point oh-four."

"See?" Wilson laughed. "Told you we're not drunk."

"You are. He isn't, though." He looked at House through narrowed eyes. "You're sure acting like you are."

Wilson laughed again, louder this time. "Well, he didn't have as many as me but I'm sure the combination of alcohol and Vi--"

"Violence!" said House quickly. " We saw a bar fight earlier. Violence gets me hi—um, off. You know, the ol' testosterone." He offered what he seemed to think was another winning smile.

Peter sighed. It was going on four o'clock and it had been a long night. "All right, look. Mr. House--"

"Doctor," House corrected.

"Doctor House, you are under the legal limit. Even so, I am going to ask you to call a cab and get you and your buddy here back home. One of you has a cell phone, I hope?"

"Yesh sir!" Wilson snapped upright and saluted.

The officer ignored him, still addressing House. "Once he sobers up, he can pick up his keys at the five-one-four. I'm going to get in my cruiser and get back to my patrol. I will be back down this street in an hour. If I see you still here, I will arrest you both – drunk or not. Am I clear, Doctor House?"

House nodded briskly. "Crystal."

-----

"What are you wearing?" House goggled in amazement at my chest.

I looked down. "It's called a 'turtleneck.' Great new invention."

His head cocked from side to side as he peered at me. "But... but you've hidden the twins."

Turning away to hide a grin, I opened a filing cabinet and rummaged through the manilla folders. "It's cold out."

His hand grazed my hip. "Maybe I could warm you up."

"Or maybe you could get back to work." I turned back around and smashed into him. He barely budged, holding his ground. His eyes went from mine, to my chest, and back again. Oh, we were having a moment, all right. "Little Lisa," as I had taken to calling my inner voice, giggled and locked my kneecaps so I couldn't move away.

"I don't have a case."

"Then clinic duty." I was starting to squirm a little under his gaze. "Or, go find a case."

"I'd rather find your--" his eyes slid back south, but settled above my breasts this time. He poked at the disc that laid against my breastbone, raised slightly beneath the black fabric. "What's this?"

I walked abruptly around him and toward the door of the file storage room, my folders up against my chest. "Get back to work," I looked back and ordered, but it was too late. His eyes had narrowed and I could see the gears turning. He followed me out the door.

"What are you hiding under there?" he asked, limping along beside me. "I mean, other than the love melons?"

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere? Go do something productive before I fire your ass." I took a sharp left and made a beeline for the stairs. Don't get me wrong, I'm sorry for his handicap, but that doesn't have to stop me from using it to my advantage when I need a quick escape.

"Ha. You'll never fire me – or my hot ass." He grabbed my arm, pulling me around suddenly as I took one step up. For the second time in recent memory, his entire attitude seemed to shift instantaneously. "Wait a second," he said softly.

The step put our eyes level, for once. I dropped my tone to match his. "What?"

House bit his lip nervously and looked away. He was obviously trying to work up some courage.

I heard my own breath hitch. "House, whatever's going on--"

"I... I can't. Not yet." His eyes met mine and I remembered my dream, when his very soul had been laid bare for me alone. The intense blue bored into me, imploring and fearful. "But soon," he whispered, and it sounded like half plea, half placation. His hand came up slowly and one finger pressed the disc against my chest. His eyebrows raised in a silent question.

I nodded very slightly, smiling faintly. His eyes lit up. He drew back his shoulders as if he'd just dropped a heavy burden. What could have been relief passed over his features.

"Now go find a case," I said firmly. I waited until he was out of sight before reaching up to feel the outline of the locket around my neck.

-----

"I need ten more questions," I said without preamble, slamming Wilson's door behind me.

He looked up with a smile. "Nice turtleneck."

"Yeah, yeah. Come on, are you gonna help me or not?"

"Sure, why not?" His laptop snapped closed with a snick.

"Okay. Question one: Did House get this penny within a hundred-mile radius of this hospital?"

"Yes."

"A ten-mile radius?"

"Yes."

"Question two: did he get it here, at this hospital?"

"No. And that was question three."

"Whatever. Was it indoors, or outdoors?"

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

"For God's sake, Wilson! Fine! Was it indoors?"

"No."

"Okay, it was outdoors then. But not in a parking lot – you said that last time." I thought for a moment. "Did he... oh! Did he take it out of a wishing well?"

Wilson's lips quirked. "No."

I looked at him suspiciously. "Are you lying to me?"

"No. And that was question number six."

"That's not fair, that wasn't part--"

"Next question, please."

I glared, mentally vowing to make him pay. "Does this have anything to do with another woman?"

Wilson looked surprised. "No." He huffed meaningfully. "No, there is no other woman."

I smiled in relief, instantly forgiving him for stealing one of my questions. "Um... Okay, the timing. Did the discovery of this penny happen within the last... five years?"

"Yes."

"Within the last year?"

"Yes. And this is your last question."

I paused. "Does the penny symbolize something? Is this all one of House's convoluted metaphors?"

"That's two questions, to which I will simply answer: yes."

"Yes to which? Or both?"

But he would only smile.