Disclaimer: Own nothing that belongs to Heel and Toe, but owe a lot to everyone else. Tried my best to research the place and period, but may have stretched a few points or went with a best guess. My apologies for any inaccuracies.

A/N: This is a standalone, but is the second installment in the past life series, Redux and Reiteration.

Beta: The incredibly fast and ever helpful hwshipper who offered many valuable suggestions.

To get the story rolling, I'm posting the prologue, parts one and two, at the same time.

New Jersey – Current Day

An evening spent in blissful comfort on the recliner sofa watching porn proved to be an excellent foil for House's insomnia. He had fallen asleep and never heard Wilson's key scrape the front door lock. Slowly waking, he kept his eyes closed as he swept the back of his hand along his jaw up to his ear. Acceptance laced his disappointment when he returned his hand to his side. The wet kisses he imagined were from his porn induced dream.

He feigned sleep in the hopes of hitching a ride back to slumberland, but he heard footsteps draw nearer. His body jiggled as Wilson sank into the couch cushion with a contented sigh, snapping the footrest into place.

Except Wilson never used the footrest, and the sigh did not sound like Wilson. House cocked open an eyelid to find out why.

He pushed the chair to attention, and blinked when he spotted a dark navy suit and a captain's hat. The trim on the cap gleamed like fool's gold, and the hair shone like a silver dollar.

"What the hell, Tritter! Someone busted you to uniform after losing your case against me? You have no right or reason to be here. Your dream came true, I went to rehab, I'm drug free. Now get out of here before I report you for breaking and entering."

The light blue eyes gleamed with a warmth that House had never seen before.

"You're still the same antagonistic fool, Gr-, House." Tritter stroked his uniform, patting stray wrinkles into place. "Of course, I heard. That's why I'm here, in the capacity of a wiser and much older friend."

House pulled out his phone. "Sticking to me like glue and harassing me doesn't qualify you as a friend. You have until the count of 9-1-1 to get out of my home."

Tritter stood up and moved directly in front of him, towering like the Empire State Building. "Wilson never told you about our meeting, did he?" He rubbed his finger over his chin, but his sober expression gave away nothing. "Knowing Wilson the way I do, I should not be surprised." He appeared to talk to himself. "But I did tell him to forget. That must have suited him just fine."

He roused himself out of his private discussion and stared at House. "I'm not Tritter. Look at my clothes. Does any of it look familiar to you?"

With his hand in the air holding onto the phone, House eyed the long blue serge single-breasted jacket, matching vest, uncreased pants, tall collar with turned down dog-ear corners, thin ribbon bow tie, and a twinkling pin lodged in a lapel. He'd seen such clothes a long time ago at a riverboat museum his father once dragged him to. The historic house and grounds stuck in his mind because of the sudden nausea that overwhelmed him halfway through the tour. His father was disbelieving until House heaved on the first rosebush that came into his sight as he stumbled down the porch steps.

He staunched the rising queasiness in his stomach and answered tersely. "Nineteenth century riverboat captain."

"Close, but no cigar. Steamboat pilot. You're looking at a 'Tr-iteration,' if you will." Tritter stood ramrod straight. "I'm Tressiter, Martin Tressiter, pilot of the S.S. Andrew Jackson, at your service."

"Halloween is long gone. Your 'Trit or tracheotomy' doesn't scare me."

"It is not supposed to, House." Tressiter shook his head. "I'm here to help you understand who you are. Doesn't that interest you?"

"I have a psychiatrist to do that and an over-concerned friend."

"And how's that working for you?" Tressiter clasped his hands behind his back and walked toward the window. His voice was devoid of asperity—the model of reason. "It's not, is it? Living one day at a time sounds good, but you want to know more, don't you? Like what makes you tick? And not just you, but why Wilson is the way he is."

House was intrigued, but did not show it. "Why bring Wilson into this?"

"The two of you are a package deal." Tressiter turned away from the window, his eyes a more intense blue than House remembered—blue as the sky, engulfing him, hypnotizing him.

"And the three of us weren't always at odds, you know. One time, you might say, we traveled along the same path, floated along on the same current…