If twenty-eight-year-old men could be candy stripers, Lawrence Kutner would've been one. That was his personality. He was an eternal optimist, looking through perpetual rose-colored glasses, never seeing a storm but a sunny day waiting to happen. Kutner was everything that medicine was: tragic, experimental, daring, exciting—and nothing House wasn't. Some people say that his strive for perfection, for solving the puzzle in the most unusual ways just to solve it, made him the perfect doctor.
Those people are idiots. One tends to believe that the perfect doctor's personality wouldn't end up getting him killed.
Kutner committed suicide for an unknown cause. No body really knows exactly what pushed him over the edge, but we know that those same factors will be working on his boss in the weeks to come. They were identical beings, like souls—both were masochistic, brilliant diagnosticians who refused to let anyone else see how much they hurt, how much they couldn't handle, how much their childhoods affected them…until it was too late to do anything.
Kutner killed himself, and he was silently suffering for years. Shouldn't we be worried about the man who suffers on the outside, too?
Kutner died. House is next.