Author's Note:

I'm indulging my passion for abstruse puzzles once again: Twelve Days follows the plot pattern of Ye Olde Barde's Twelfth Night. That means I've projected the characters and basic plot elements onto my story. Each scene that I write has to contain the characters corresponding to the ones in the play and the associated plot elements. I took the liberty of eliminating a few minor characters and inserting one OC, but that's about it. In addition, I imposed on myself the restriction that the plot has to take place within a time span of twelve days, with at least one scene per day. (No, you students of English Literature, don't bother telling me that the play was named thus because it was performed on the Twelfth Day of Christmas and not because the action takes place in twelve nights – I know!) I've inserted one quote per Shakespearean scene, so you can see where we are in the play by following the quotes. If you can't figure out who's who, ask me and I'll send you a cast list. (Little hint: House's character is female in the play.)

For those of you who don't know or care about the play: it shouldn't really matter. However, it does mean that House only turns up in person on Day 5, because in the play his character doesn't turn up till Act 1, Scene 5.

My original concept from before the season finale wasn't Huddy and assumed that House would have a relapse in time for the hiatus. That didn't happen, and since I'm a strict adherent to canon, I was in a bit of a bother. I can't say I'm particularly happy with the Huddy element in this fic – although it's my favoured pairing and I like playing with the possibility of it happening, I really don't like writing Huddy consummated. It hampers my imaginative process. I hoped that the plot problems this created would solve themselves during the writing process, but they didn't really. So while concrit is welcome as usual, don't even bother telling me that House acts oc towards the end of this fic. I know!

The action takes place parallel to the end of Season 6. The basic assumption is that the Trenton crane disaster takes place on the evening of Day 2, the scene in House's bathroom in the early morning of Day 3.

A big thanks to my indefatigable beta Brighid45, who finds the time in between her own fic to correct my stuff and write me words of encouragement. Check out her Treatment series!

Enjoy!

Duke Orsino:
How now! what news from her?
Valentine:
So please my lord, I might not be admitted;
But from her handmaid do return this answer:
The element itself, till seven years' heat,
Shall not behold her face at ample view;
[Twelfth Night, Act 1 Scene 1]

May 16, 2010: Day 1
(The day before the crane disaster in Trenton)

Four pm

The sight and smell assails one's senses the moment one comes outside into the open - lilacs, white and purple, the blossoms vivid against the darker green of the leaves. They are late this year, delayed by the long, harsh winter, but it is as if the longer period of latency has encouraged the plants to give their all. The sweetness is all-pervading, shouting 'spring' louder than the chorus of bird calls that augments the impressions to a cacophony of the senses.

Nolan isn't much of an outdoor person; he's always felt more at home indoors with his nose in a book than exposed to the raw elements, but even he can't deny the pull that these first warm days of spring exert on everyone in the institution. As he rounds the corner that hides the recreational area for inmates from the severe front façade of Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital, the sounds of a riotous basketball game are added to the more natural background noises of the vast parkland surrounding the institute. The more mobile inmates of Ward 6 are engaged in a match that seems to follow few defined rules, but is carried out with astonishingly little acrimony under the watchful eye of Dr Beasley. Nolan watches for a moment, letting the scent of the lilacs carry him back in memory to a similar scene. Is it already one year ago that he stood almost in the same spot watching one patient reduce an afternoon basketball session to a hopeless shambles within minutes of joining in the game? How much has changed since then, at least for Greg House!

He unlocks the door in the fence around the enclosed area, locks it carefully behind him and strolls over to the bench to choose a seat beside Dr Beasley. They sit in companionable silence, enjoying the afternoon sun and the relative peace of afternoon recreation time.

Finally Dr Beasley, eyes on her patients, breaks the silence. "Don't you normally see Greg at this time?"

Funny that they should both be thinking of him. Then again, it isn't really odd that he should be thinking of Greg, because she is right - it is the slot that is normally reserved for House's therapy session.

"I do, but he didn't show up today."

"Oh. Is he alright?" Her voice carries polite concern for a patient who has missed an appointment due to sickness or other untoward circumstances.

"I have no idea."

Dr Beasley turns to look at him. "Isn't he normally reliable in keeping his appointments?" She knows about Greg's progress in general terms because they discuss current cases in their weekly team meetings, so she is aware that he has been punctual and cooperative so far.

Nolan's discomfort is like a tangible mass between them, but he knows that what he now has to tell her will come out sooner or later anyway, so he might as well get the unpleasant task behind him. "He left the last session after stating that he was done with therapy. It seems that he meant it."

Nolan can't help grimacing. The incident (a euphemism for what is a therapeutic catastrophe of the first order) is too fresh not to sting mightily. It his personal Waterloo, a faux pas of the same order as the one Greg committed when he let Freedom Fighter jump off the parking deck. Dr Beasley shows admirable reticence; she refrains from prying verbally, but she can't help sending a questioning glance his way. He doesn't blame her; in her position he'd have done more than just look.

He elaborates. "The session didn't go well. I got trapped into playing the little games he usually plays with me," here he exchanges a rueful smile with Dr Beasley, who knows those games only too well, "and omitted to read the subtext to what he was telling me. He was upset, rightly so, and walked out on me. He phoned administration earlier this week to cancel all future appointments."

Dr Beasley ponders this before she returns her attention to Nolan. "You're worried about him," she surmises.

"Yes. His supportive network, if one can call it such, is crumbling, his pain level is on the increase, and he himself has admitted to drinking too much. 'Go, figure,' as Greg would say."

Dr Beasley sighs. "There's nothing you can do if he refuses treatment."

"There is, unfortunately, something that I do have to do if he doesn't take it up again, and that is inform his superior that he has ceased to participate in ongoing therapy. It was part and parcel of the conditions imposed by the board of his hospital when they agreed to take him back into their employment. They would only reinstate him if he agreed to a partial suspension of patient confidentiality: I am obliged to report anything that threatens his mental status. They were primarily concerned about relapses, but they also included a refusal to continue with out-patient therapy as grounds for a dismissal."

Dr Beasley's eyes widen. He doesn't have to explain to her what Greg's job means to him, nor does he need to protest how much he hates having to report to the powers that reign at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Patient confidentiality was implemented to prevent this kind of a scenario, but the restrictions imposed by Greg's speciality are such that Nolan allowed himself to be coerced into agreeing to treatment conditions that his concern for his patient's well-being would normally have made him refuse unequivocally. Greg, however, was adamant about returning to diagnostics, a discipline that doesn't seem to exist outside the microcosm of PPTH, while the dean did her best (and probably a bit more) to persuade the board to take him back, hence agreeing to those demeaning conditions seemed the the best option at the time. Now Nolan wonders whether he shouldn't have bargained harder.

Knowing what he does about the dean of PPTH after a year of treating Greg, it seems unlikely that the conditions were her idea. Furthermore, she sounds like the type of person who is in high mettle when confronted with Herculean labours; had she been convinced that the only way to get Greg House back on her staff was to persuade her board of governors to waive those conditions, she would probably have risen to the challenge.

"He'll lose his job," Dr Beasley summarizes unnecessarily.

"If I report him," Nolan affirms.

The choice of 'if' instead of 'when' is not lost on Dr Beasley. "You don't intend to do so?"

"Not yet. I think I can afford to give him some time to change his mind."

"How long?" After a moment she adds, "He won't change his mind. We both know that."

"I could also inform the board that he has progressed to such an extent that continuing his treatment is not strictly necessary."

That draws a gasp from Dr Beasley. "You can't be serious!"

"He has progressed enormously. Perhaps he can manage by himself now. Who are we to say he can't?" Nolan reasons, playing the devil's advocate.

"You just told me that he's in a fragile situation. How can you now say that he'll be fine?"

Although Dr Beasley knows Nolan well enough to be aware that he can't be serious about this, she feels obliged to contradict him. It's almost a game - he bounces ideas off her by making outrageous statements, she forces him to rethink his approach by pointing out the flaws in his logic - but their trigger is too serious a matter to warrant frivolity in dealing with it.

"I think it's an approach worth considering. Greg has not ceased to amaze me this past year with the amount of energy and dedication he has put not only into staying clean, but also into changing his attitude to some basic issues in his life. He's not a person who does things by halves. But be at ease - I won't suggest anything to his employer that is not founded upon firm convictions on my part. Convictions based on observation, not on wishful thinking," he adds when she looks at him with undisguised scepticism.

"How do you intend to observe him if he doesn't continue his treatment?"

"Unconventional patients, such as Greg, call for unconventional methods," Nolan says meditatively. "I'll take a page out of his book and set a PI on him."

Viola:
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
For such disguise as haply shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:
[Twelfth Night, Act 1 Scene 2]

May 17, 2010: Day 2
(The day of the crane disaster in Trenton)

Eight pm

ACROSS:

8. Big cousin to the violin (5)

Lucas chews on his pencil. Could be cello. Or viola. He sighs. He hates crossword puzzles, but he's already completed the sudokus in the magazine. He needs one letter in the word, preferably not the fourth one, to decide which one it is to be. Down 10, that starts on the last letter of Across 8, reads: River running through Shakespeare's birthplace (4). He scribbles AVON rapidly, then VIOLA into Across 8.

This is way too easy, he opines, tossing the magazine aside. Casting an irritated glance at the door of the house opposite his ice-cream van, he decides to decamp if nothing happens within the next fifteen minutes. If his target hasn't arrived by then, chances are that he won't visit his lover tonight. The incriminating photos will have to keep for another evening - Rachel is waiting and, even more pressing, he was supposed to have taken over from the babysitter five minutes ago.

His cell phone rings. He considers letting it ring - odds are that it's Lisa checking on him. She called an hour ago telling him that she'd be stuck out in Trenton for the rest of the night and asking him whether he could go home to look after Rachel. Control freak that she is, she probably doesn't trust him to make it back in time. Okay, she has a point. He'd promised her that he'd make it before eight so that Marina won't be pissed off . . . yet now he will be late, but hey, he'll sweet-talk or bribe Marina into a better mood when he gets home. As for Rachel, he can deal with her bedtime routine; there's really no need to keep checking on him and telling him stuff that he must have heard a thousand times by now. Kids are tough; millions of them survive every day under far worse conditions than those Rachel has to endure. He can understand, sort of, that Lisa worries about her in a special way - lose her, and Lisa's last chance at motherhood will have ended in a complete screw-up - but why worry about something that isn't likely to happen?

He knows Lisa won't let up once she's decided that there's something he absolutely has to know, so he reaches over and picks up the cell phone from the shelf that's supposed to hold ice-cream cones. Much to his relief the display reads 'Pete'. He's a colleague - they do each other favours every now and then.

"Hey, Pete."

"Lucas, how're you doing?"

"Great, absolutely great." He'd like to elaborate, but if he does, chances are he'll still be here in an hour, which will enrage Marina to the point that she'll report him to Lisa. "What can I do for you?" Pete doesn't call unless he needs a favour of some kind.

"Got a client here in Philly who wants to have a guy in Princeton observed. You still live there, don't you?"

"Yeah," he says, but without much enthusiasm. His schedule is more than full already, while Lisa undoubtedly harbours some sort of expectation that he'll be home every now and then as befits his newly established status as husband-and-father-to-be.

"Well, are you interested?"

Lucas hesitates. "Depends," he says. "Why aren't you taking the case?"

"I'm headed out with the old girl on vacation tomorrow. If I call it off, I won't be married much longer." Both men laugh wryly. "Don't worry, the client is above-board. He'll pay."

That is music in Lucas's ear. There is the slight matter of the engagement ring bought on credit. He's exceeded his budget by far, but there's no way he could have got some cheap, garish rock for Lisa. He may not be one of her bright young doctors, but he knows enough about the other sex to judge what a woman of Lisa's standing and tastes can be expected to wear. While money will not be a problem in the foreseeable future, he can hardly ask his fiancée to pay for her own ring.

"I thought of you," Pete continues, "because the target works at Princeton-Plainsboro. Isn't that where your girl-friend works too?"

"Yeah. Fiancée, actually," he corrects as an afterthought, the word gliding off his tongue as he rejoices inwardly at this windfall, this heaven-sent excuse to loiter around the hospital. Of course, Lisa mustn't get wind of what he's up to - she'll be livid if she finds out that he's targeting one of her precious lambs - but he can drop in to see her on paid time so to say, combining work with pleasure while implying that she's important enough for him to find the time to visit her despite his work load. It's a win-win. Plus, he gets to keep an eye on her, which'll help him to figure out what's been stressing her lately. She's been oddly silent about her work these last weeks. It's not that he ever listened all that attentively when she talked more about PPTH, but her reserve of late has been noticeable. And somewhat worrying. The name 'House' has disappeared from her active vocabulary altogether, and while he used to believe that he'd welcome the day when that happened (if it ever did), he now finds that not hearing about House any more is much more of a threat to his inner equilibrium than a daily dose of being wised up to his latest antics.

"Really? Congratulations! When's the happy day?"

"Uh, we haven't got that far. I proposed yesterday, and we're moving in together as soon as the new place is clear, but we haven't talked about the details as yet."

"Well, that's terrific. Though I can understand if you haven't got the time for this job, what with your new responsibilities ... she's got a kid, hasn't she?"

"Yes, a little girl. No, it'll be fine - I'll take it." Lucas can sense Pete's meaning. It's the same with everyone he's introduced Lisa to: they can't figure out how a guy like him got a girl like her until they hear that she's a single mom with a career, at which point they assume that he's a glorified babysitter. But it isn't quite like that. There's no denying that Lisa longs for a normal family life, dad-mom-kid, but she's got Marina for the actual child-care stuff, stuff that she'd rather not entrust to him, if truth be told. That rankles, as does the knowledge that he needn't have bothered proposing if it weren't for the disadvantage that her being single is proving to be in the adoption process.

But it isn't in his nature to look at a glass and see it as half-empty. The glass of his future is half-full; viewed from the right angle it even seems closer to three-quarters. This time last year he was just an ordinary sort of guy, doing his job, living in a run-down apartment, hanging out at bars and watching the odd ball game with a friend. Now that he's got the kind of girl he used to fantasize about without ever believing he stood a chance, they're moving into a place with a huge back yard (he'll build a swing and a sandbox for Rachel and they can have a dog, a Golden Retriever or a Labrador), financially everything is looking rosy (he's not the type to go into a brown study because his wife is more successful than he is) and given Lisa's age it's unlikely that the size of their future family will be an issue. It's not that he isn't fine with Rachel, nor would he have objected to a child of his own, but since Lisa is earning the big dollars it isn't a bad thing that they won't have to depend on his income while she pops out one kid after another. Still, the macho part of him resents the implication that he's at Lisa's beck and call. He's his own master, so he'll take this case that promises a reliable cash flow.

"Who's the client?"

"He's called Dr Nolan."

"Nolan?" The name rings a bell.

"N-O-L-A-N. Darryl Nolan. He runs a place called Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital. Here's the phone number."

Lucas notes down the number, his head spinning. Can this be a coincidence?

"You don't know the name of the target by any chance, do you?" he asks cautiously.

"Wait a sec... Here, got it. It's House, Gregory House."

Somewhere up in the heavens a benign deity is smiling down on Lucas Douglas.

Sir Toby Belch:
What a plague means my niece, to take the death of
her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.
[Twelfth Night, Act 1 Scene 3]

May 18, 2010: Day 3
(The day after the crane disaster in Trenton)

Noon

No one is surprised not to see House at the hospital in the aftermath of the Trenton crane disaster. It's not that there is any sort of special dispensation for staff who worked at the site or in the ER the previous night - if there were, then Cuddy would have to close down the hospital for the day. Indeed, she immediately requisitions Chase to help out in surgery, the department that bore the brunt of the disaster. The remainder of the diagnostic department (consisting, at nine am, solely of Foreman, but Cuddy conveniently overlooks that, diplomatically choosing to ignore all issues involving punctuality or lack of motivation due to tiredness) is assigned to clinic duty for the day.

Foreman texts Taub and Remy to inform them that they have clinic duty as he makes his way to the clinic.

Remy turns up at noon.

"Where were you?" Foreman mouths at her as they pass each other at the clinic desk, she to pick up a file, he to pass on his current patient to radiology.

"Physiotherapy," she answers, not quite looking him in the eye.

He knows she's lying, she knows he knows; still, both choose to ignore it. Just as both know that he only asks where she's been because not asking would mean acknowledging that she has reason not to be at work continuously and reliably. So he raises a disapproving eyebrow at her tardiness, as befits his position as deputy head of diagnostics, while she tries for a look of apology and fails.

"Why are we here?" she asks.

"House isn't coming in today."

"Did he call?"

"Cuddy said."

"Is it true that he was at the site all night?"

"He came back with a patient at about 4 am," Foreman says, filling out the form for radiology with more precision than is strictly necessary. He can sense Remy watching him; she's far more sensitive to his moods than he likes.

"What's bothering you?" she asks.

He studies his file for another moment before shutting it and pushing it over to the nurse on duty. Then he looks at Remy with tight lips. She isn't going to like this - she's no Cameron, all starry-eyed and convinced that she knows what's best for House, but she's nowhere near as cold as she comes across to strangers.

"He lost the patient. He amputated her leg at the site. She had a fat embolism on the way to PPTH. There was nothing he could do."

Remy absorbs this, her patient file forgotten on the desk. "Did you talk to him?"

"I tried." It comes out defensively, although he has been telling himself that he has no reason to feel guilty. "He refused to listen. He was tired and he just wanted to go home."

Remy is no fool. "So you let him go."

He doesn't need to defend himself. "Yes."

She rolls her eyes as she turns away.

"What was I supposed to do - tie him down?"

"You know what he's like when he loses a patient! He amputates a leg and she dies. Does that sound familiar somehow? Should that make us worry about how he's taking it?" Her voice is dripping with sarcasm." I know you think he's an utter jackass, but even House has feelings!" She looks around for the nurse. "We should go and check on him."

"I've sent Taub a text message asking him to look in on House on his way here."

She looks pleasantly surprised, which cheers him (although he didn't do it for her), and picks up her file again.

Taub enters the clinic, tugging on a lab coat. "Chris Taub, clocking in at twelve," he says to the nurse, favouring her with a smile.

She doesn't fall for it. "Twelve-fifteen," she notes down pointedly.

He grimaces as he joins Foreman and Remy.

"Did you go to House's place?" Foreman asks.

"I did."

"Did you see him?" Remy says impatiently.

"No, I didn't. He wouldn't let me in." Foreman and Remy exchange a testy look. "He shouted a few choice epithets at me, so he's alive and responsive. If you wanted someone to break in, you should have gone yourself."

"There's a key on top of the door frame," Foreman remarks.

"So I should have asked the neighbour for a chair to help me get at the spare key to the apartment of a person who's yelling at me to go to hell loud enough to be heard two blocks away."

The image of Taub balancing on a chair in front of the door to House's apartment while the inhabitants of the surrounding apartments peer out to watch the fun is so incongruous that even Foreman has to smile.

"Now what?" Thirteen asks.

"Nothing. We let him be," Foreman rules. "This isn't an abnormal reaction for him. He always shuts himself off when he loses a patient. His pain level's up, so he's hiding. He'll come out in due time."

"And in the meantime?"

"We have clinic duty."

"I can't believe I fought for this fellowship only to spend my time diagnosing crotch rot," Taub grumbles.

The nurse overhears him. "Got something really exciting for you. Kid retching in Room 2," she grins, passing him the file.

Duke Orsino:
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
Be not denied access, stand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
Till thou have audience.
[Twelfth Night, Act 1 Scene 4]

May 19, 2010: Day 4
(Two days after the crane disaster in Trenton)

Three pm

"Mr Douglas, sir." The secretary stands aside to admit her companion to Nolan's office. Nolan rises and stretches out his hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Douglas," he says. "Do sit down."

His visitor looks around the office. He walks over to the window and looks out, strolls over to the shelves and scans the book titles, examines the pictures on the walls. Nolan watches, amused at the kind of behaviour that would have him talking about attention deficiency or deflection or compulsive habits if Douglas were one of his patients. Having satisfied his curiosity Douglas sits down opposite Nolan. The objects on the desk are subject of the same intense scrutiny; Nolan can sense Douglas's fingers itching to pick something up.

"You have an assignment for me," Douglas says.

"Yes. I'd like to have someone observed. However, I can't give you much information on the person in question."

"Can't or won't?"

Nolan nods his head in appreciation. Douglas's fidgeting does not inspire confidence in his abilities, but he's probably no fool.

"Pete said it's a Dr Gregory House." Douglas waits for Nolan's confirmatory nod. "Forty-nine years old, resident of 221B Baker Street in Princeton, head of diagnostics at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and a former inmate of this hospital."

Obviously no fool. But what exactly is he?

"I did some research before coming here," Douglas says casually. "You have a problem with patient confidentiality, right?"

"Yes," Nolan concedes.

"That's no problem with me. I've had cases where I didn't even have a name to go on - y'know, finding out who someone is cheating their spouse with - so this is a breeze."

"If you don't need any information from me, how come you agreed to come out here to meet me?"

"Whoa, that's not quite what I said! I said I don't need intel on Greg House as such; I can get at that without anyone violating patient confidentiality. Trust me, you don't want to know any details." He laughed a trifle self-consciously. "What I do need to know is what I'm to look for."

Nolan is silent, debating mentally whether this is what he really wants - a complete stranger whose trustworthiness is debatable investigating a patient whom he has come to respect and even to like.

Douglas continues, "See, in my experience, when men want other men observed, it's usually one of two reasons. One, there's a woman - wife, girl-friend, sometimes it's the daughter - involved." He looks expectantly over the desk, but it's bare of personal photos or the sort of knick-knacks that indicate offspring. "In that case I'd have to follow him everywhere, take pictures of everyone he meets, keep tabs on his phone calls ..." He pauses expectantly, but Nolan is silent. "Two, there's money involved. Then I'd track his expenditures, get bank statements, and so on."

"Okay, I get the picture." Nolan makes a decision. Staring out of the window he gathers his thoughts. What does he need in order to decide how Greg is doing? "I want to know how he spends his time, whom he meets, what he spends his money on - in short, anything out of the ordinary."

"That'll be difficult andexpensive. It means round-the-clock surveillance."

Nolan can sense a certain amount of reluctance on Douglas's part, which is understandable. Watching someone 24/7 is uninspiring enough when it's done in eight-hour shifts in comfortable hospital environments. Out in the field in a cramped car parked outside the victim's house, enduring hours of unmitigated boredom in the hope of witnessing that one relevant action, not knowing whether it's going to happen or not, has to be the PI equivalent of scrubbing floors with a toothbrush.

"Besides, nothing about House is ordinary ... from what I've heard," Douglas adds quickly. He dips his hand into his backpack, rather like a magician performing a trick, and draws out two small cylindrical objects which he places on the desk. "I went through the trash at his building and found these. Plus these." Three empty scotch bottles join the cylinders. "Garbage disposal last came five days ago, so these have been in the trash for less than that. The scotch bottles could've come from some other resident, but they were in the same bin as the prescription bottles."

Nolan fingers the vicodin bottles. Their origin is indisputable, being issued in Greg's name. "Were they empty?"

Douglas's laugh is a short bark.

"Doesn't mean he took them," Nolan muses. "They're dated over three years ago, so they might be empty bottles he had lying around."

Douglas shrugs indifferently. "I just present evidence. You're the one who interprets it."

"How is it that you brought this, but not the entire contents of the trash bin?" Nolan asks.

"Head of an institution specializing in addiction issues wants a former inmate with a publicly known painkiller addiction observed. I figured. ... See, it's easy, really. We can do this without violating your precious patient confidentiality. We've narrowed your interests down to a manageable size in a jiffy, haven't we, without you having to say a word." Douglas is downright self-satisfied. "I'll have to monitor his trash at home and at work too, unfortunately, seeing as it's a hospital with an in-house pharmacy, keep an eye on the pharmacy log and another on him after work. How much money were you planning to invest and what time span are we talking about?"

"I can spare about a thousand dollars and I was thinking of a few weeks, maybe a month." He can justify a month's delay in reporting to Dr Cuddy, but not more than that.

Lucas grimaces. "That won't get us far. Can't do much personal surveillance on that amount, just the odd hour or two per week. Okay, what I can do is tap my informants. I can find out what he's up to at the hospital, and if he tries to buy at the illicit drug market in Princeton or Trenton I'll find out - he's pretty conspicuous by any standards. And I can check on him on an on-and-off basis, see whether he's got any sort of social life, whether he's getting wasted in bars, or whatever. Will that do for you?"

"Why are you so interested in this assignment?" Nolan asks.

"Interested?" Douglas tries to laugh it off.

"Yes, interested. You've come here prepared and you've already put work into this." Nolan indicates the assortment of bottles sitting on his desk. "If we don't come to an agreement, your effort will be wasted."

"Google and a short dig through a couple of trash cans." Douglas waves a casual hand. Nolan raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Look," Douglas hastens to add, "this kind of a contract is a god-send. When I track down a cheating spouse, no one gets happy. Can't ever prove that someone is faithful, only that they were so while I was observing them. If I prove they cheated, I have an unhappy client. Either way, he's never happy to pay. Now you: your position is practically a guarantee that you'll pay. And no matter what I turn up on House, it doesn't affect you personally, so you won't get pissed at me."

"Okay," Nolan says abruptly.

"Okay?" Lucas echoes.

"Yes. Observe Dr House and report to me as soon as you have anything of interest."