A/N: I'd appreciate good thoughts for my family over the next few days. A former family member died yesterday. There is very complicated background here, and this is going to bring up very mixed feelings and old traumatic memories for several of us. As Kutner has learned, forgiveness frees you, but it still doesn't remove the past.

This is the second-to-last chapter of Process. I don't really consider this ending a cliffhanger, because where it's heading from here has been set up extensively and shouldn't be in doubt, but I'm really looking forward to the last chapter, which is one of my favorites. Hopefully it won't be too long, but that depends on how the weekend goes. A lot is going on. Enjoy 59!

(H/C)

After Cuddy left Diagnostics, House sat there numbly for a while, sipping his coffee, feeling the tiredness settle around him like a heavy winter coat. When he caught himself nodding after a few minutes, he stood up with determination, coming down a little too hard on his leg and using the pain to wake himself back up. Ah, yes, that got the adrenaline flowing again.

He refilled his coffee cup and then turned the whiteboard around again and studied the differential on Kutner. That task didn't last too long, either. The remaining questions were not ones he could write down, and he had already guessed at all possible multiple choice answers. He needed more data straight from Kutner himself to know which guesses were correct. Thinking about it in the meantime was just repetition.

Abandoning the conference room, he walked into his office and sat down, appreciating the softer chair. He was afraid to sit down in his Eames chair, but even his desk chair was a great improvement over the ones around that table. He let his mind wander as he took a swallow of coffee now and then.

The old man. Something had changed there in attitude with Cuddy's parental units, something even from the beginning of this morning's meeting. They were still pissed off at being kept in the dark and being prevented from casting their votes, but their opinion of him beneath the ruffled feathers was slightly changed. And last night, the old man telling the room about Jet's mishap, that had been in some subtle way directed at them.

House jerked himself back awake as he nodded again. This wasn't going to work. He was too tired to run a new differential right now. He'd have to think about his out-laws when he had a little more sleep. His leg was also aching fiercely, and his ribs were hurting more than they had in several days. Maybe that PT session should have been put off to start tomorrow, when less was going on. He pulled out his meds and took a Vicodin.

Meanwhile, he had to keep himself awake. If he fell asleep up here, assuming he didn't wake himself up toppling out of the chair, he'd miss his 6:00 attempt at talking to Kutner. Even more, he'd miss seeing the girls tonight, and Cuddy would worry. She was already worried, but she'd have real reason to worry if he was a few hours late. Just in case, he set the alarm on his cell phone for 6:00. That wouldn't wake him up if he got sound asleep, but it would interrupt a brief nod-off.

Coming back to his feet, he went over to open the balcony door. The air was nicely warm, a pleasant spring evening. His leg was hurting too much for him to stand long, but he propped the door open, moved the desk chair over in front of it, and picked up his ball. Sitting down with the gentle breeze on his face, he bounced the ball off the balcony wall, catching the rebound. A nice, steady rhythm, keeping him physically alert but not requiring much thought.

The traffic on this floor of mostly offices always thinned out quickly after 5:00, and the silence settled in, broken only by an occasional page on the PA. Once or twice, he heard someone walk by behind him, but other than that, the halls were deserted. As for the passing hospital staff, his reputation stood him in good stead. None of them would dare disturb him while he was thinking.

Thump, thump. The ball bounced out and returned. House wasn't asleep, but he still jumped a mile when the cell phone went off. He'd lost track of time. Catching his ball and silencing the phone, he stood up and headed for the elevator.

The Kutners were down in the ICU room, of course. The hospital ought to start charging them rent at this stage. They looked up as House limped in, and Richard came to his feet. "He seems to be just sleeping soundly now, Dr. House."

House looked over at their son. Temp was down to 99 even, and Kutner did indeed look peaceful. Good. Now, to get rid of the third and fourth wheels here. "I'm about to leave for the night," he started, "but first, I want to run a few more neuro checks on him."

A shadow of concern shaded Julia's face. "You said this afternoon he seemed to be all there and that you thought he'd recover well."

"He also said he hadn't quite finished testing," Richard reminded her. "He's just clearing up details, dear. Go ahead, Dr. House."

"But he's asleep now," Julia noted.

"That's one of the tests," House said. "This time, we actually try to wake him up instead of just letting him decide to. Could you two leave us alone for fifteen minutes?"

They didn't like that at all, Julia standing up now and both of them moving protectively closer to their son. "Why can't you test him while we're here?" Richard asked. "You did earlier."

"Because as we get into harder questions, you might throw his answers off," House replied. They definitely would throw the answers House wanted off.

"We can be quiet," Julia insisted.

"It's an issue of physical feedback. By looking expectant or anxious, you send him silent cues. I know you wouldn't mean to, but you couldn't help it, and he couldn't help noticing you. He knows how worried you've been about him." House tried to keep the growing annoyance out of his voice. "He's perfectly stable now, and I'm just asking for fifteen minutes. Go get a cup of coffee at the cafeteria or something."

Richard gave in first, though he still shot a backward glance at his son as he started for the door. "Come on, Julia. Lawrence is going to be all right."

She sighed and reluctantly joined her husband, and they exited. House went over to the door of the ICU room and closed it, then approached the bed. A quick physical exam confirmed the monitors. Now then, for the first test, and it really was a test. That hadn't been a lie. "Kutner," he said, starting softly. Three times, increasing volume, though not yelling. Kutner shifted on the third, and House noted the level that reached him. Not too bad. He reached out and put a hand on his fellow's arm, adding tactile stimuli now. "Kutner. Wake up."

It was a bit of a climb to the surface but not nearly as steep of one as they had described before. "You're in the hospital," House said as Kutner's eyes opened.

Kutner looked over at him. His eyes were clearer now, though still weak. "I remember," he said. "How am I doing?"

"Pretty good. Just a few more questions." House saw Kutner looking around. "I kicked your parents out for fifteen minutes."

A sheepish look crossed Kutner's face. "You already called me an idiot right in front of them."

"I was just warming up. This time, it counts." House sighed. Go in order of priority, he reminded himself. Kutner was probably going to hit the limit of strength again and before fifteen minutes were up. "I know what you did last week and also why you went to India," he said. "I cracked the laptop. But nobody else knows, and nobody else will."

Kutner gave a weak, relieved smile. "Thanks, House."

"Do you realize what the EPA would have to say to you about that stunt?"

"Good thing you aren't telling them, then. Not much risk from that little bit of water. Too dilute."

"Yeah. We'll keep an eye out for anything popping up in California, but I agree with you." He moved on from reassurance to point two. "About your parents getting killed in front of you." Kutner tensed up. "Do you . . . I mean, when you don't have malaria, if you. . . you know, talking to people can help. Or sleep meds to help the nightmares. If you need them. You don't have to deal with reliving it alone." That sounded so sappy he had trouble making himself say it, even though he'd mentally rehearsed.

"I know. It's not usually that bad. I have seen a shrink years ago for a while. But that few days of being trapped there . . ." Kutner shivered, and House tightened his grip on his arm, then moved his hand quickly so that he was checking the pulse instead of just holding on. "That was just being sick. It was hell, but that's not the norm. I don't have trouble sleeping. Dream about it once in a while, of course, but only a few times a year at this point."

"If you do need to see somebody, we can work it out on the schedule so the others wouldn't know."

Kutner's smile was just as weak that time, but it had such genuine affection in it that House had to look away. "Thanks. But I think I'm okay. I'll always remember, but I'm not locked into it." He shuddered again. "I'd hate to repeat the last few days, but it's over."

"Yes. Back when I was in the car accident, in a coma, I . . ." House stopped himself, startled. He hadn't meant to go there. But Kutner was looking curious now, of course. Too cruel to leave him hanging. Still, he didn't ask. After a moment, House continued anyway. "I was in hell with John. Over and over. Stairs, ice, different things. Just a circle I was trapped on." Kutner shook his head in silent sympathy. "It was my grandmother who finally led me out," House told him. Well, Cuddy had started it, but he left that detail to himself, himself and Jensen and her. "Her name was Abigail."

Kutner straightened up a little in bed as the information registered. "You named Abby after her. That's why."

"Yeah." House pushed himself back on track. Kutner was visibly getting tired. One more point on last week, just satisfying his curiosity, then to the big one. "Why did you want to see the killer?"

Kutner looked down at his hands, then over at the monitors. He clearly wasn't sure if House would mock him on this. "I wanted to tell him . . . that I forgave him."

Even confirmed by Thomas and Jensen, it still sounded odd. "You forgave him?"

"Long time ago, actually. I did that in therapy. It . . . helped. It was for me. Helped me work through it. But I decided to tell him so in person. I was doing so much last week with the repeat funeral and all. Thought I'd add it to the list."

"Hit all birds with all stones as long as you were there," House commented. "You already had a tough week planned. Ever hear of moderation?"

Kutner choked, and they lost a few moments while House gave him the cup of water. After Kutner took a final swallow and was breathing normally again, House went on. "So what did he say to you?"

"Said I was an idiot," Kutner replied.

House couldn't help grinning. "He has a point."

"Yeah. He did say that he hadn't seen me. I was in an aisle, around the corner. He didn't see me watching, didn't know I was there until he heard about it from his lawyer. He said he had felt bad about that. Didn't say anything about them, but he had felt bad about me." Kutner's voice wasn't as strong as before. He was being pulled back down.

House went for the final point quickly, before he lost him. "One last question." Kutner looked relieved; he knew he was getting tired and didn't want to admit it to his boss. "Kutner, why didn't you talk to me? I would have reminded you about the antimalarials. I would have loaned you the money for that trip. I wouldn't charge 10,000% interest, either. Why didn't you tell me what was going on?"

Kutner wasn't meeting his eyes now. "I just needed to deal with it myself," he said. "Didn't tell my parents, either."

"That's different. Of course you didn't tell your parents." House couldn't help feeling a little hurt. "But at least once the original plan fell through and you had to go yourself, you knew the money was nothing to me, and you had to know I'd probably do it. All you had to do was ask."

Kutner glanced at him as if weighing something up, then back away. "I didn't want to bother you," he said. "You were dealing with enough. You were healing up from being hurt, and your mother had just died, and you've had a tough year with Chandler and all. I thought I could do it myself and didn't need to bother you with something else."

"At insane interest." House deflected into the hard financial details. "You know how much that loan is going to cost you by the end?"

"I was going to pay it off early. Do some more work on the online clinic under your name."

"I'm going to loan you that, and you can pay it off now."

"No. I'll work for it." Kutner sounded firm there, though he was sinking back into the pillows. "I did think about asking you for it back then, House, if that makes you feel any better."

"But you didn't actually ask."

"Didn't want to bother you," Kutner repeated.

"You think all this isn't bothering people?" His tone was getting sharper, all the worry, exhaustion, and hurt spilling into it.

Kutner flinched. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Abruptly, House felt the air go out of him, like a balloon deflating. What right did he have to demand the kid's confidence, anyway? He felt like he had earned it, at least on something as easy for him to handle as a loan, but obviously Kutner disagreed. "We'll work together on the online clinic," he offered. "It will add up faster that way."

"Okay." Kutner's eyes drifted shut, then opened again. "I did want to, House. I just couldn't. Not right then."

"I had broken ribs, not a broken wallet," House shot back. Enough of this. He was sagging against the bed himself, and Kutner's tiny reserve of strength was totally gone. "Kutner, next time something like this happens, at least leave us a note in your apartment where you went, okay? Makes it easier to put the details together later."

Kutner nodded. "I'm . . . I apologize, House. Didn't want this."

"Well, you're going to be okay. Might have occasional relapses, but you can jump straight on them with the meds now that you know, and it won't ever get this far again."

"I will," Kutner promised. His eyes were closed.

The kid still looked thoughtful, even if exhausted. House regretted pushing him on the money. Kutner's choice, after all. He offered some breaking news as an olive branch. "By the way, I hired two candidates. Ramirez and Hollingwood."

Kutner nodded. He had worked with them for a few days before his fateful week of vacation. "Good. Templeton's too . . ."

"Yeah, he is," House finished. He gave Kutner's arm a squeeze. "Get some sleep."

"Two of them?" Belatedly the math struck home.

"Foreman took a position in California. He's gone."

"Didn't think . . . he'd stay . . . much longer." Kutner's eyes stayed closed that time, and House gave a final check of the monitors and turned away.

He met the Kutners returning as he exited the ICU. "He's going to be fine," he told them.

Their relief and gratitude were pathetic. "Thank you, Dr. House." "Now I know why he thinks so much of you," Julia added.

He managed to escape them after a minute, and he leaned wearily against the wall of the elevator as he headed back for Diagnostics. Yes, Kutner thought so much of him. But he still hadn't been able to ask him for a favor that House could have done for him easily. That stung.

Back up in his office, he closed the balcony door, moved his desk chair back into place, and then somehow found himself sitting down in it, even though he hadn't meant to. He picked up the ball and turned it in his hands. He ought to email Foreman and let the stubborn ass know that Kutner was going to be okay, even if Foreman didn't deserve the update. Tomorrow. He was too tired right now to switch on the computer. Needed to stand up, gather his things, and head home. He'd promised his girls. And Cuddy. He started collecting strength for the effort.

A light knock came at the door, and he looked over.

The old man stood in the doorway of the office, smiling at him. "May I come in, Greg?"