A/N: Back into the Kutner case and the team for a few chapters before we pick up Thomas and the Cuddys. Sorry for any medical errors; research has been done, but I am not a doctor, nor play one on TV. Again, the next few weeks in particular are intensely busy musically. Weather is also finally starting to break, and outdoor activities will increase and take a share of my limited unclaimed time.

(H/C)

House and Cuddy left the office together a little later. Still thinking about Jensen's theory, he wanted his first visit to Kutner this morning to be without the team. A note was left on the conference table: Sit. Think. Diagnose. And sign this in order of arrival. H.

Cuddy followed him to the ICU. The Kutners were there, Julia leaning over her son, Richard looking just as worried but urging her to have breakfast, and both of them subtly working out physical kinks from a night spent in the uncomfortable visitors chairs. Technically, visiting hours in the ICU were limited, but House had given them the exemption the previous afternoon, telling himself that it made medical sense. Maybe Kutner would respond to their voice and presence. At the least, they were hardly likely to tire him out while he was still unconscious. Other than that brief delirious episode, he had not said anything so far that House knew of. House had asked Richard to note down diligently any words, however disoriented, emphasizing that it could be medically relevant.

Both of the Kutners turned eagerly as he entered the room. "Dr. House, do you know what this is yet?" Julia asked.

"Still working on it," he said, sounding sharper than he meant to. "Has he said anything else?"

He got a head shake in stereo. "He just lies there," Julia said. "When will he wake up?"

House clamped his teeth down on the first sarcastic retort that sprang to mind. Richard touched her arm gently. "He doesn't know that, dear. He's doing the best he can. You know how much Lawrence respects him."

House, meanwhile, was looking past them to . . . to the patient. Cuddy came to the rescue. "Mr. and Mrs. Kutner, may I speak to you for a minute while Dr. House does the morning exam?" Her tone was perfect, sympathy and authority hand in hand, and they stepped away from the bedside with a few looks back. House dodged around them. Behind him, he heard her start the standard appreciation of their son, part of the hospital family, and will do everything we can on this difficult case spiel. Then he was focused on nothing except his fellow.

Kutner's fever was no higher, which was the good news, supportive treatment hopefully gaining them that much, but it was still far too high. He was sweating, and he looked as pale as he possibly could with his darker complexion. BP low. Breathing rather fast, even on oxygen. House checked the urine bag. As the nurse had reported on the phone earlier, the volume was increased from yesterday. Still not enough, considering the IV fluids put in so far, but at least output was improving. Hopefully that was indeed due mainly to dehydration and would continue to resolve. The urine had a slightly pink tinge. They knew his kidneys were stressed, but it was another thing to check out as possibly relevant to the differential. They needed to do a UA now that they had enough of a specimen for it.

He looked at Kutner's face. Even now, even after the call to Jensen, he felt the urge to start dialysis, though he was able to brake himself without Foreman having to do it. Did he really consider Kutner as a younger version of himself? He ran one hand down his thigh and caught himself at it a moment later. Annoyed, he pulled the sheet off and compulsively checked distal pulses. Those, at least, were even and fairly strong. He pressed in hard on a toenail, uncomfortably hard. Kutner didn't stir. Switching back up to the hands, though taking a few extra seconds to cover the feet back up, he tried with the thumb nails. Nothing. This was very deep unconsciousness, bordering on a coma.

The whiteboard of his mind sprang to life. Fever. Dehydration. Delirium, then unresponsiveness. White count not elevated. That last was what was making him think viral, that plus the lack of real response to a triple combination of powerful antibiotics so far.

A nurse popped up at his elbow, offering a printout. "The morning labs just got back, Dr. House." He had asked on his first call this morning for a complete new set of blood work, stat.

He seized the pages. "Run a UA, too." No way would that be normal, not such a concentrated specimen from a bag, but there might be some specific abnormality there that couldn't just be explained by the general kidney insult from dehydration, something that might give them a new direction.

He devoured the labs, forcing himself not to jump straight to kidney function. White count was still pretty normal, amazingly so considering the fever. Platelets on the low side. The kidney functions still were not good, though better than yesterday. Liver showing signs of stress, too, no surprise there. The body was fighting hard against whatever enemy was attacking.

Platelets. That value was lower this morning. Of course, Kutner had been so dehydrated yesterday that the blood specimen had been concentrated, so the fact that they had been only slightly low yesterday probably translated to a true reading below the one they'd gotten. He should have thought of that.

An idea tickled at the back of his brain, and he welcomed it. He'd take any ideas right now, even wrong ones if they narrowed the field down. He chased it out, holding up the puzzle pieces to check fit. This one was tight on timetable, would be a hard fit wedging into last week even if Kutner had been infected on the Friday night after he left work to head for vacation. They knew from his condition Monday as well as the cell phone end of communication that he had been feeling ill for several days prior, even if he had just thought at first he had a routine bug, judging from those medicine bottles Foreman found in the trash. It also didn't match with season, at least not in this latitude and continent. But many other things clicked, including the advancing neurological unresponsiveness.

He moved up quickly, cracking an eyelid. The retinas were pale, like the rest of his complexion.

Damn. He didn't like this theory, and it made that delay between onset of symptoms and beginning supportive treatment Monday loom even larger.

He turned around and nearly ran into Julia Kutner. Cuddy had disappeared. Julia still looked anxious, but at least she didn't ask more questions. "Richard is going down to get breakfast," she said. "We've been trying as hard as we can to think of anything that might help about his parents' death, but there's nothing in particular he ever did that day." She sighed. "I wish he had told us whatever he was thinking of Thursday when we talked. He could talk to us. He knew that."

"Some things you just prefer to handle privately," House said quickly. He was itching to get out to the nurse's station. "We'll keep working as hard as we can."

"I know you will. Thank you, Dr. House." She looked past him to her son. "He's a fighter when he has to be. He crawled 20 miles to get into the Guiness Book of World Records."

Unexpectedly, House felt a little reassured himself, even against the medical situation. This would be a lot harder crawl, but the kid did have determination. "I have to get back to my team, but we will keep on this until have the answer." He ducked around her out the door of the room at a quick limp.

Taub was just entering the ICU, looking worried himself. House jolted to a stop, the ideas swirling. "Nice ignoring the note, but that might turn out to be a good thing."

"What note?"

"You haven't been to Diagnostics yet?"

Taub shook his head. "I wanted to check on him soon as I got in." There it was again, the worry House realized he was trying to conceal. This wasn't just a case to him, either. Hell, maybe he thought of Kutner as a younger self, too, one with fresh opportunities without the career and relational mistake baggage.

House closed in and dropped his voice. "I want you to draw a blood sample. Run a smear, and do it yourself. We're checking for P. falciparum."

"Cerebral malaria," Taub echoed. "In New Jersey in early May?"

"It fits. Rule it out. I'm starting treatment immediately until it is ruled out."

They looked at each other for a moment, minds running parallel scans through the statistics. The worst of the parasites that caused malaria and the most often fatal of them. Especially if treatment was delayed. "Damn," Taub said. "That does fit."

"Yeah. Hopefully the smear disagrees with us. But move. And Taub." His voice arrested his fellow after only one step. "Don't say anything to the parents yet. And don't say anything to the team." If he was wrong, he didn't want to distract them from further differential, and if he was right, he wanted to see which of the egglings arrived there first. As for the parents, he'd cross that bridge when there was diagnostic proof of it, a conversation he wanted to put off as long as possible. There might be also the CDC to deal with, and they could definitely wait for proof.

Taub nodded once, not questioning the gag order, and went on into Kutner's room. House limped on to the nurse's station. Hooking the nearest available nurse, he spoke quickly. "Start artesunate and mefloquine, stat."

Her eyes widened, but her reply was coolly professional. "Yes, Dr. House."

House limped out of the ICU, hoping for once that the epiphany was wrong.