This is something I wrote when I was considering going in a specific direction with this story. I changed my mind. But I already wrote it. So I'm posting it anyway. Because I have nothing better to do. Consider it AU from the main story.

WARNING: peripheral character death.

Conversation between House and Nolan, about Alvie.

Sad

"You're here. Of course you're here. You're like the plague."

"James let me in."

"Don't pretend to be glad to see me. Don't pretend this is a social call."

"I never said it was a social call."

"..."

"How are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm absolutely fan-fucking-tastic."

"Clearly."

"..."

"Why don't we talk about why I am here."

"I'm not doing this. You'll have to find another head to shrink today."

"You don't want to talk?"

"..."

"Alright. I'll just sit."

"He was just a kid."

"He was twenty-eight years old."

"A kid."

"He was a grown man."

"He was a kid."

"If you say so."

"They needed his dental records to identify him...dental records."

"Yeah."

"Who the hell sets themselves on fire? Who the hell does that? Doesn't anyone just hang themselves anymore? How hard is it to go down to the hardware store and buy ten feet of rope?"

"I honestly don't know, Greg. I can't say why he chose that particular method."

"He probably saw it on Myth Busters."

"I don't think this was the result of some kind of experiment gone awry. And it definitely wasn't an accident."

"You don't know that. He didn't leave a note."

"Perhaps he had nothing to say."

"Are you kidding? He couldn't stop talking for five seconds. I'm surprised he even came up for air."

"..."

"I should have called him."

"Why would you have?"

"He gave me his number."

"Doesn't mean you were obligated to use it."

"I should have called him."

"I think you're looking for reasons to feel guilty. Don't."

"I never…I don't think this is my fault. I'm not an idiot. I know it's not. He had issues to begin with. I know he wasn't exactly right in the head. But still…I should have called. I said I would. I said I'd call him. I mean, I was saying that just to shut him up. But I should have called. I should have at least checked on him once. I should have just called to say hi."

"Are you in the habit of calling people, just to say hi?"

"What do you think?"

"How often have you called your own mother in the past ten years, just to say hi?"

"..."

"None of us saw this coming, Greg. When we discharged him, he was doing well. He was voluntarily taking his meds. He was coping. He showed up to all of his follow up appointments, participated in therapy. We had no reason to believe he was in trouble."

"Maybe you're all idiots."

"Maybe we are."

"..."

"Would it help you to be able to blame this on someone? If we can prove that it's my fault, or Dr. Pope's fault, or Dr. Medina's fault, will his death be easier to bear?"

"Just shut up...stop patronizing me."

"His mother said she found his prescription bottles in his room, that he'd missed nearly two weeks worth of pills."

"Nice of her to keep track."

"..."

"He crashed."

"That's what I'm thinking."

"..."

"And he's done that before."

"Yeah, except this time he didn't end up back at Mayfield. He doused himself in gasoline and lit a match and took out half the building."

"No one else was hurt. His mother and sister were both at work. His nephews were at daycare. The firemen got everyone else out in time."

"Wonderful. So relieved that everyone else was fine."

"He's tried to kill himself several times. He's overdosed twice on over the counter medication and camped out on the ledge of his uncle's apartment, until the paramedics talked him down. I caught him trying to suffocate himself with a pillow once."

"Well, by all means you guys should set him loose to do it again, until he gets it right."

"Greg."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? I know it's not your fault."

"I know it too and I know that you don't mean these things that you say."

"…"

"I do want us to deal with this."

"I am dealing with it."

"How are you dealing with it?"

"I don't care."

"Uh, no...I don't believe that."

"No, I mean...I don't care. It won't change anything. I know it's completely self indulgent. I have no reason to be…right now, I just want to be."

"Be...be what?"

"You know."

"No, I don't know."

"..."

"You're angry?"

"No."

"You're...sad?"

"Do I need to actually say it?"

"No. You don't have to say it."

"..."

"That's exactly how you should feel right now. I'm glad you're letting yourself feel sad. It hurts. But it's healthy."

"You mean this is normal?"

"Yes. This is grief. An often confusing sense of loss and potentially overwhelming urge to cry, is grief."

"Well screw normal. Normal sucks."

"It's okay."

"Stop saying that. I swear to God if you say that again, I'm going to deck you."

"Really."

"Sorry."

"..."

"I'm an asshole."

"No, you're not."

"I'm such a dick. No wonder everybody hates me."

"Stop it."

"..."

"I refuse to allow you to talk that way about yourself."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. You are not a dick and everyone does not hate you. James doesn't hate you. I don't hate you and Alvie most definitely didn't hate you."

"Well I guess we'll never know."

"I could list off more people who don't think you're a dick, if you need more proof."

"..."

"You're looking to find some kind of connection between Alvie's death and Kutner's. Because you're the only common denominator and that way it would be your fault."

"I know it's not my fault."

"Do you?"

"I punched him. You know that I punched him, right? I pounded the shit out of him, right there in front of everyone."

"I know, Greg. I was there."

"I enjoyed it."

"You were angry."

"Not at him."

"Does it matter? Anger is anger."

"I punched him so I could get the nurses to give me haldol."

"I know."

"..."

"You're not the first patient to scam the staff for drugs, Greg. It's practically a rite of passage at Mayfield."

"You don't get it. I punched him for drugs…to trade with another patient for phone privileges."

"Yes."

"I wanted phone privileges, so I could call Wilson, so I could blackmail you, so I could get you to release me."

"I know that, Greg. I knew exactly what you were up to. That's why I called James in advance and told him not to give you any information."

"..."

"Did you think I didn't know what was going on?"

"He let me. He was like…honored. And I was a sick, opportunistic fuck for taking advantage of him like that."

"I know you have trouble with the idea of inflicting pain on other people, which means you must have been fairly desperate to even hatch such a plan. Just like I know that you must be pretty upset now, to be threatening me with violence."

"I don't give a crap about other people. I didn't give a crap about Alvie and I certainly don't give a crap about you."

"Yes, you did...and you do. I know it. You know it."

"…"

"You felt trapped and wanted to gain control over your situation. You wanted out of the hospital and those are completely normal and okay feelings to have. Your methods were dishonest and unethical. But you were desperate. You were only doing what was easy and familiar. You were only doing what you thought you had to do."

"Well, that makes it okay."

"You've made a lot of progress since then, a lot of personal growth. I don't think you realize that."

"I beat the shit out of him."

"I know. I was there, Greg. I saw the whole thing."

"..."

"You didn't force Alvie to participate. He chose to."

"He chose to, because he has low self esteem. Had low self esteem. Now he has no self esteem. He's dead, fucking dead. Oh my God."

"What specifically is bothering you?"

"That's just it. I don't know. I barely knew the kid. He wasn't a relative. He wasn't even my patient. Why the hell do I even care?"

"You slept four feet away from him for over three months."

"So?"

"You formed a bond with him."

"No, I didn't."

"Okay. Assuming that's true, which we both know it's not, you've been in therapy for the past nine months. A lot of your wounds have been torn open so that they can heal, making you emotionally vulnerable. You've learned how to deal with things, instead of running away or shutting down, or drowning yourself in booze and pills. So now you have no choice but to suffer this head on."

"This is just...you don't get it."

"I do get it."

"No, you don't."

"He liked you and wanted you to like him. His participation was motivated by his desire to be liked. How is that wrong?"

"Because I took advantage of it."

"How do you feel, Greg? Tell me what else you're feeling, besides sad."

"Don't. Don't you dare turn this into a teaching moment. This is not about us, or me, or my stupid problems."

"That's not what I'm doing. Your problems are not stupid. And this is as much about you and me as it is about anyone."

"Don't worry about me and what I'm feeling. What the hell does it matter? He's the one we should be worried about. But now it's too damn late."

"I worried about him, Greg. I worried about him as much as I could and he still chose to end his own life. I did my job, to the best of my ability. You're still alive and now I'm worried about making sure that you're okay."

"I'm not going to kill myself over this. Is that what you think? He's the fucking moron. Gasoline. Jesus Christ..."

"So you're angry at him for not choosing a more conventional method of suicide."

"No."

"Then you're angry at him for giving up, without putting up a good fight."

"I'm not angry."

"It sounds like you are."

"He didn't even try."

"He'd been battling a mood disorder for his entire adult life."

"Yeah, how the hell long was that…five minutes?"

"He was twenty-eight. He was diagnosed in the tenth grade. So...a little over twelve years."

"You're saying it's okay?"

"I'm saying that it's not a shock that he'd be willing to kill himself."

"You knew he was going to do this?"

"I knew that he'd be willing to do it, if things got bad enough. My goal was to help him from ever reaching that point. I'm sad to say that I really believed I had succeeded in doing just that. I was obviously wrong."

"You shouldn't have let him go. You shouldn't have discharged him."

"You could be right. This could somehow be my fault, or some other doctor's fault. But even if it is, I will gain nothing by obsessing about it. Obsessing about that failure won't bring him back, or undo anyone's suffering. It won't reverse the damage that's been done."

"How convenient for you."

"I'm not apathetic, Greg. I care very much. I'm sorry that he's dead. If I had any way of knowing that he was planning to kill himself, I'd have done everything in my power to prevent it."

"What makes you think you could have prevented it?"

"I said I'd do everything in my power. That doesn't mean I'd succeed."

"I'm not going to the funeral."

"Okay."

"You don't think it's okay."

"..."

"You think I should go."

"I do think you should go. I also think you should do so voluntarily. Otherwise the experience is pointless."

"His mother called me."

"She said."

"You talked to her?"

"Several times."

"Alvie told her I was his best friend. Can you believe it?"

"You probably were."

"I wasn't even his friend."

"Well...for some reason, he seemed to think you were."

"That's because he didn't know any better. Trust me, I'm nobody's friend."

"He wasn't stupid, Greg."

"He was an idiot."

"He got an almost perfect score on his SAT."

"You really believe that? He was a pathological liar. He once told me that he'd made out with Gloria Estefan."

"There's a copy of the test scores in his patient file."

"He said he was in remedial classes."

"When he was little, he was. They mistook his oppositional defiance for autism and put him in special-ed."

"I guess they're the idiots then."

"He never went to college because he never finished high school. He was a mediocre student until he was diagnosed. When he was medicated, he had a three point nine GPA, wrestled and played baseball. Middle of his senior year, he stopped taking his meds. He failed most of his classes after that, because he didn't show up."

"He deserved a better friend than me."

"I wish you could see how absolutely untrue that is."

"I don't want to go to the funeral."

"You told me that already. Why tell me that again?"

"I'm just making sure that you know, so you don't drug me and take me there against my wishes."

"I would never do that. But I really do think you'd feel better if you attended."

"Why?"

"We've talked about closure, about Amber and Dr. Kutner and your father. Look at all the progress you've made. You admitted that you regretted having to be forced into attending his funeral, to waiting so long to visit Amber and Kutner's graves. You admitted that you wish you'd had that experience. I'm trying to help you spare yourself some regrets."

"..."

"Would you hug Alvie if he were standing here now?"

"Don't. Why do you ask these ridiculous hypothetical questions?"

"I think it would help you to confront this."

"You're sick. You know that? Can't you wait a few days before you start milking the therapeutic potential of his death?"

"It's a simple question."

"And I'm choosing not to answer."

"I see. Why?"

"Because it's sick. That's why. You're sick."

"How?"

"I'm not doing this."

"Okay."

"And now you think I'm a bastard."

"Not at all. Why would you think that?"

"..."

"I think you're afraid to answer because the truth is too painful to face."

"And yet here you are, trying to force me to face it."

"..."

"You're sick."

"I'm not forcing you to do anything. We're two grown men, having a conversation."

"Right."

"But that doesn't mean I don't think it would be helpful for you to confront it."

"Why now?"

"Why not now?"

"..."

"Not having the opportunity to say goodbye is often one of the most significant roadblocks in grief recovery."

"How the hell do you say goodbye to someone who's already dead?"

"Do you want to recover from this grief? Or do you want to let it fester, until it manifests itself as a physical symptom?"

"Of course I want to recover. I just...want to do it on my own terms."

"As you may have noticed, it doesn't quite work that way."

"Does it give you some sense of satisfaction to goad it out of me?"

"I've hardly goaded you, Greg. You're not doing or saying anything that you didn't intend to do or say."

"..."

"I want you to have the sense of satisfaction that comes from being able to talk about these things, without fear or shame."

"I'm not...whatever. Yes."

"You're saying yes to the question?"

"I don't know."

"So you'd hug him, then."

"..."

"I want you to be able to say it without feeling like it's something you should be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed. It has nothing to do with that."

"Then why not just answer the question?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Yes, I would."

"Would what?"

"I'd hug Alvie. And I'd hug Kutner. And I'd hug my dad and I'd hug Amber too. I'd hug everybody. It'd be a great, big fucking hug orgy. Happy?"

"Is it easier for you to express that through humor?"

"Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?"

"..."

"What would you say to him, if you could?"

"You were wrong."

"Wrong about what?"

"Everything."

"What was he wrong about?"

"He thought...I don't know."

"What did he think? I know he must have told you at some point."

"He thought the system was a joke, that you were all against him, that the medication would only make him worse, that it would change who he was, that you were trying to turn him into someone else, trying to control him and break him."

"And you think he was wrong? You shared some similar opinions, at one point."

"I was wrong too."

"I see. But you didn't kill yourself."

"..."

"You're not angry that he's dead. You're angry that he killed himself, based on false pretenses."

"He didn't even try."

"He tried, Greg. He just failed. You reached a point in your recovery that he simply never reached."

"Why?"

"Because you wanted it badly enough. He didn't. He wasn't ready. Maybe he was never going to be."

"..."

"It's okay to be angry, to think he was an idiot, to think he made a mistake. It's okay to be angry at him for giving up, for not being willing to stick it out. It's okay to wonder why him and not you. Those are perfectly okay thoughts to have."

"If you say so."

"..."

"They needed his dental records to identify him."

"I know that."

"He was just a kid."

"He was twenty-eight years old."

"A kid."

"Yeah."

"..."

"..."

"I'm...I think I'm going to go to the funeral."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I think that's a fine idea."

"..."

"Would you like me to come with?"

"..."

"..."

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything."

"What if someone asks me how I'm doing?"

"Just tell them you're sad."