A/N: A very short update with an apology and the promise of more soon, as in most likely this weekend. I've been tied up the last 3 1/2 weeks on a musical project that really pushed me and swallowed every possible spare second, and it had a firm deadline, so it had to claim priority. But it's finished, all over except the actual singing of it this weekend, which will be pure fun. With that challenge out of the way, updates will come faster now on this story.

I have been doing a lot of writing during these weeks mentally, which I can do while driving, really digging into Pain. That's the story two out, and it delves into House's pain, physical and psychological effects of it, from all sides. I'm getting truly psyched about that story. Lots of Jensen, lots of angst, a major House/Cuddy disagreement, and more. So I know the series is good for two more at least, a fluffy one shot and Pain, long and involved, and I have glimmerings of a third story beyond that, as yet unformed but coalescing.

Meanwhile, back at Process. Upcoming we still have several Kutner scenes, the egglings and decisions, the conference with the Cuddys, some Wilson and Thomas, and the last chapter, which is one of my favorites in this one. Again, sorry so short, but more soon, and thanks for your patience.

(H/C)

Julia and Richard Kutner sat in the chairs beside their son's bed, anxiously looking at his face. There was a clear difference now from 24 hours ago, even to medically untrained eyes. He was improving. Still, Julia knew, she wouldn't be able to completely let go of the tension until he was awake and she could speak to him.

She looked over at her husband briefly, then quickly back to her son as if something might have happened to him in just that second. Richard gave her hand a squeeze. "The medicine is working," he tried to reassure her.

"But we still don't know . . ." She sighed. No point in reminding him what they didn't know; she knew he was as aware of it as she was. "I can't believe something as small as a mosquito did this."

Richard nodded. "The bug it gave him was even smaller. You're right; it doesn't seem fair somehow."

"Why would he go to India?" she asked.

"How did he pay for going to India?" His mind latched onto the logistics sooner than hers. "That must have cost him thousands. He never asked us for help."

Julia sighed again. "He didn't want our help. He didn't want us to know, that or last week either one."

"It must have just been something he had to do alone. He knows we would help him if he asked. We gave him that much stability growing up."

"Yes."

At that moment, Kutner stirred faintly in the bed. Julia hit her feet faster than her stiffened muscles wanted to, but she wasn't even aware of the discomfort. "Lawrence?" She put a hand on her son's arm. Richard closed in nearly as quickly beside her, both of them waiting. "Lawrence?"

For a couple of eternal minutes, he didn't move again. Then finally came another twitch, pulling slightly away from the grip that seized his arm. Julia tightened her fingers, staying with him. "Lawrence? Can you hear me?"

He was still for several more seconds, and then his eyes popped open abruptly, staring. Those eyes looked fevered still, impossibly weak, and like they were watching a horror movie projected onto the ceiling.

"Lawrence? Can you hear me, son?" Richard leaned in over the bed.

Kutner turned his head, looking at him. There was no recognition at all, just confused dread, as if he were waiting to be attacked. He shrank back a little into the pillow.

Julia picked up his left hand, squeezing it tightly in hers. On some distant level in the background, she heard the beeping of the monitor and was aware that it was faster than before, but she never looked away from her son's face. "Lawrence, it's Mom and Dad. It's all right, son. We're here."

That drew the strongest reaction so far. He studied her with a fierce intensity, and his brow furrowed. "It's Mom and Dad," Julia repeated. "Everything's going to be all right."

His fingers twitched for a moment in hers. "Mom?" His voice was soft, barely audible at first. "Is that you?" Tears welled up in his eyes. "But you're dead. I saw . . . LOOK OUT FOR THE GUN!" He jerked up, trying to sit upright, and his weakness, his adoptive mother's hold on his arm, and the multiple monitors and leads all prevented him. His inability to move as he wanted seemed to panic him, and he clawed frantically at the lines.

All at once, two nurses were there, holding him firmly while being as gentle as they could, keeping him from hurting himself. He fought them momentarily, but there was no strength available for it, and his eyes rolled back. He lay completely still again, the tears visible on his face, and the monitor's urgent beeps steadied and slowed. One of the nurses carefully straightened him out, checking all the attachments, as the other turned to the Kutners.

Julia was sobbing softly, collapsed against her husband's chest. His eyes met the nurse's over his wife's back. "He was trapped back in the past when he woke up," he said. "He didn't know us at all."

"I'll page Dr. House," the nurse said. With a sympathetic touch on Julia's shoulder, she left the ICU room.