A/N Here is my second story. This was inspired by a line from Duran Duran's song Ordinary World. I hope you like it. It's set pretty soon after the infarc and Stacy leaving.

Again I don't own House but I wish I did. Written for my own amusement.

Enjoy!

When Wilson walked up the two steps leading to House's apartment Friday evening, he was concerned to hear a massive amount of noise emanating through the door. What is House up to now? He was surprised the neighbors hadn't called him. The noise level amplified as he turned the key and opened the door, walking into a veritable wall of cacophony.

"House!" He yelled, barely able to hear himself over the sound of the TV blaring, the radio at full volume and the expensive stereo and record player all blasting different songs resulting in a mangled symphony of clashing cords.

"House!" Wilson yelled again. Where was he? He wasn't sitting on the couch, his usual nest of blankets and bottles of alcohol and medication were resting without him. Wilson made his way into the back bedroom, turning off appliances as he went. Luckily, there weren't too many places he could be hiding. The small apartment that Bonnie had found at short notice for him when Stacy had moved out had only two small bedrooms, one bathroom, living room and a kitchen. Perfect for House's newly re-attained bachelorhood status, all on one floor for his cripple status.

Wincing at even thinking that word, Wilson made his way into the bedroom. Gently pushing the door open, he braced himself for whatever he might see. Inside the room, he sighed in relief. There were no curling bodies trembling in agony, no blood, no broken bones. His friend was lying calmly on his bed. The right leg was propped up, but relaxed, so the pain wasn't too bad. House had his eyes closed, his MP3 player headphones in, playing so loud that Wilson could hear the strains of Duran Duran from where he stood in the doorway.

"House!" Wilson shouted again, moving forward to be in House's line of sight. Still, only when Wilson touched his shoulder did House react. His blue eyes popped open and he started visibly. Wilson stepped back, as House rounded on him.

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" He yelled at Wilson, it seemed an overreaction to a slight start. He was obviously spooked, his face a little too pale.

"Are you alright?" Wilson asked him, not reacting to the attack. His hand reached out and felt a slightly clammy forehead. "Is it the leg?"

House knocked his hand away. "I'm fine," he said. Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Oh yes, obviously, cause it's perfectly normal to play every source of noise in the house at top volume." House looked studiously at the ground for a moment, before grabbing his crutches and levering himself off the bed, brushing aside Wilson's helping arms. He limped out to the living room, with Wilson following. After heavily slumping down onto the sofa, he turned on the TV at a more livable volume level. Wilson sat beside him.

"So you want to tell me what's going on?" He ventured after a few minutes.

"You want to tell me what you're doing here?" House countered. Wilson sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It's Friday night," he shrugged. "I'm alone, you're alone. I thought we could watch a movie or something."

"So you walk in without knocking." House said.

"I knocked! You couldn't hear me." Wilson turned towards House, raising a finger. "Which again brings me to the point of why you were trying to disintegrate your eardrums?"

House glared at the TV. Wilson rolled his eyes as it became apparent that House was not going to answer his question. He started stand, intending to get a beer, when a quiet sigh stopped him.

"I heard her voice." House admitted quietly. Wilson's eyes widened.

"Stacy?" He asked. House nodded.

"I thought she was here. When I realized she wasn't, I turned everything up so I couldn't hear.

Wilson sat stunned, and House stared at the TV. Wilson started to speak.

"House—"

"I'm fine. I don't hear it anymore. I'm not hallucinating. I was just imagining something that is suddenly missing from my life, after being there every day for the past five years. Call it phantom limb syndrome."

House sounded very matter-of-fact, but Wilson could see the strain on him. He continued to stare at the television, but his eyes were glazed over. Suddenly House glanced over at Wilson.

"Topic closed. Go grab me a beer."

"You know you're not supposed to have alcohol with the Vicodin." Wilson scolded as he stood.

"Because of the risk of respiratory distress. Oh look! There's a doctor right here. Get me a cold one." Wilson laughed as he walked into the kitchen, laughing at House's tirade. "Actually there are two doctors here so…."

A/N Hope you liked, drop me a line. Thanks!