This sucks a lot more than usual.

Who: House and Cameron
What: A night at the theater
Where: All over town
Warnings: No telling at this point


House only owns one tie. The severity of his neckwear drought had never bothered him before, especially when he had lived with Wilson and it had been Tie-O-Rama whenever he'd needed one. Now, trying to fit the faded, moth-eaten tie through his collar, House kind of wishes that he'd retained a couple of Wilson's ties for prosperity. He tugs the ends of the thing from around his neck with a grunt, balling it up in his fist. Forget it. Leaning forward in the mirror he skims his knuckles over his thinning red-gray hairline. 'Winces. This is what getting older amounts to: wrecked ties and bald spots. Someone'll probably see he and Cameron at the theater and think that she's escorting him around on behalf of a senior citizens charity.

He shoves his feet into a pair of sneakers and slides his keys into the pocket of his trousers. No tie, but a white button-down oxford open at the collar, silver-studded belt around his hips. He's even got his "dress cane" at the ready -- it's not coattail weather, but House probably wouldn't look too bad in a top hat.

'Quick check of his watch. It's almost seven. He slumps into the living room to wait for her to finish getting dressed. Connor attends him from his place on the floor, chewing contentedly on the oversized dog bone Cameron let him unwrap early.

He glances at his watch again. 'Turns a look over the back of the couch.

"At this rate, we'll be seeing The Iceman Goeth. What are you doing in there?"

'You like Eugene O'Neill?