The city had woken up bright and calm, the kind of ordinary morning that gave no hint of anything unusual waiting inside it; everyone across Paris was moving through their routines with the same practiced ease they always did.
Dr. House, meanwhile, hadn't had a moment resembling calm all morning.
As president of one of Paris's most prestigious universities and its attached hospital, his schedule rarely allowed for anything close to stillness. Files needed writing, approving, filing again. Surgeries needed overseeing, sometimes performing personally when a case demanded his particular expertise. Charity programs needed promoting, new interns needed training, and on top of all of that, his lecture schedule at the university never seemed to shrink no matter how many semesters passed.
This morning had followed the usual shape of things. He'd been seated behind his desk since well before sunrise, working steadily through a tall stack of paperwork, signing his name so many times over the past two hours that the motion had become almost automatic, barely requiring conscious thought anymore. A budget proposal for the pediatric wing. A research grant application awaiting his signature before it could move forward. Three separate personnel files flagged for his final review.
He set his pen down briefly, rolling the stiffness out of his wrist, and reached for the next folder in the stack, already skimming the first line before he'd even fully opened it.
That was when his body jolted, sharp and sudden, his head snapping toward the door before he'd consciously registered why.
A moment later, a soft knock followed, and a blonde nurse's voice came through the wood. "Can I come in, sir?"
House composed himself instantly, setting the folder aside, and let a warm, easy smile settle over his face, his voice smooth and gentle when he answered. "Yes, come in."
The nurse stepped inside, and House noticed immediately the faint hesitation in her posture, something slightly uncertain in the way she held herself as she approached his desk.
"Um... sir," she began, "there's a man outside who'd like to adopt a child from the nursery."
House's brow furrowed slightly, more out of mild confusion than any real concern. The hospital's adoption program had been running for years now, something he'd championed personally in its early days, and it had thrived initially, boosted by his own reputation, generous advertising, and a strong support system offered to every family who came through the doors looking to adopt. These days, interest had cooled somewhat from those early peaks, though a steady trickle of hopeful parents still came through regularly.
Nothing about that should have warranted this particular look on her face.
He opened his mouth to ask for more details, but the nurse spoke again before he could get the words out, her cheeks visibly coloring now.
"He's also asked to meet you specifically, sir," she said, something reluctant, almost embarrassed, threading through her voice.
House studied her for a beat. Her blush hadn't faded at all. If anything, it had deepened.
Something about that small, telling detail settled uneasily in his gut, a faint, wordless premonition that whatever waited outside wasn't going to be an ordinary morning meeting after all.
He rose from his chair anyway, offering the nurse a small, polite smile, and gestured for her to lead the way. She nodded and turned left down the hallway, House falling into step behind her.
They walked together through the familiar corridors of the hospital, past the usual morning bustle of staff and equipment carts, until they reached the nursery wing, the soft, muffled sounds of infants drifting faintly from behind the glass observation window where a handful of nurses moved quietly between cribs. Outside the nursery door sat two simple silver steel benches, standard hospital furniture, unremarkable in every way.
Except for the man sitting on one of them.
House's entire body locked up the instant his eyes landed on him.
He stood there frozen for a full second, genuinely startled by his own reaction, something he couldn't remember ever happening to him before, not over the mere sight of another man sitting on a bench.
The stranger sat with his right leg crossed neatly over his left, posture effortlessly composed. His skin was pale, almost startlingly so, set off by dark black hair and a pair of sky-blue eyes that caught the light like polished gemstones. A closed black umbrella hung from his right forearm, resting there with an easy, practiced familiarity. His clothing was immaculately tailored, all black, paired with a black tie, the whole ensemble radiating a kind of refined elegance House rarely saw outside the wealthiest social circles. A silver cross-shaped earring hung from his left earlobe, small and understated, yet somehow perfectly completing the picture.
House had spent his entire adult life being complimented on his own appearance, told more than once that he could have made a career modeling if medicine hadn't called to him first. Looking at this man now, he found himself, for possibly the first time in his life, quietly conceding the point to someone else entirely.
Hmm.
He was still standing there, frozen mid-thought, when the man turned his head away from the nursery window toward him, breaking the spell just enough for House to remember how to move his own face into something resembling composure.
The stranger's mouth curved into a warm, easy smile the moment their eyes met properly. He rose smoothly from the bench and crossed the short distance between them, extending one hand in greeting.
"It's very nice to meet you, Dr. House," he said, his voice carrying the same effortless warmth as his smile. "I'm delighted you could find the time to come see me."
House's gaze remained fixed on the man's face for a beat too long, the words barely registering at all, some part of his mind still simply cataloguing the sheer, unreasonable handsomeness of the man standing in front of him. It was only when the extended hand actually entered his field of vision that the meaning of the words caught up to him.
House took an involuntary step back, eyes widening slightly, caught off guard for the second time in as many minutes.
Ah, he thought distantly, a flicker of something like understanding dawning behind the surprise. So this is why she was blushing.
House let out a slightly embarrassed laugh, shaking the offered hand with more enthusiasm than he'd intended. "No, no, it's no problem at all, dear sir. My apologies for the startled look; I wasn't expecting quite so distinguished a visitor this morning." He straightened his coat with his free hand, composing himself properly now. "I take it you already have a particular child in mind? I'll personally see to the paperwork myself, and I can arrange for some additional benefits on our end as well."
"All of that can certainly be discussed," Eric said smoothly.
On the surface, Eric's expression remained exactly as warm and easy as it had been since House first laid eyes on him, his smile effortless, his posture relaxed and gracious, radiant with the kind of charm that had already visibly worked its way into both the doctor's composure and the blonde nurse's flustered cheeks.
Beneath that surface, his mind moved considerably faster and colder.
Dr. Murphy House. Auri Nova, Instinct pathway. His abyssal eyes carry a calming effect on people's emotions.
Eric had gathered this much before ever setting foot in the hospital, courtesy of Edward. He wasn't the type to walk blindly into any situation, no matter how harmless it looked on paper, and he'd made sure to inform Edward of his plans ahead of time as an extra layer of insurance. If any of the other great bodies tried anything while he was here, exposed and vulnerable in the middle of an ordinary hospital, Edward would have every reason and every opportunity to intervene on his behalf. The other Hypernovas would know about that arrangement too, through whatever quiet channels they used to track each other, and that alone would be enough to make most of them think twice.
This is the advantage of having more than one patron, Eric thought. Things are different now than they used to be.
He hadn't expected another Aura user to be embedded in this particular hospital when he'd first started planning this visit. Edward's information, once it came through, had been thin, more of an outline than a full picture, but enough to work with.
House, for his part, felt something faintly unsettling stirring at the edge of his awareness, an old, familiar sensation he'd learned to trust over the years.
Hmm. Why do I have this strange feeling right now?
He'd carried premonitions like this before, plenty of times, the sensation always vaguely the same: something like a calm, glassy ocean stretching out in front of him, deceptively still, and yet somehow capable of birthing a tsunami without a single second of warning, one that could swallow whoever happened to be standing too close to the shore when it finally broke.
Eric, still smiling pleasantly at him from across the small gap between them, continued turning the man over in his mind.
Dr. Murphy House. Instinct pathway. This pathway's core authority revolves entirely around premonition. Among every pathway that exists, Instinct users are the most sensitive of all, carrying the strongest and most varied range of premonitions anyone can develop.
Some come slow and quiet, building over days before the actual danger ever arrives. Others hit instantly, violent and sudden. Advance far enough in this pathway, and a user can even glimpse fragments of anyone who so much as thinks about harming them. Aura users like this are notoriously difficult to hunt down for exactly that reason.
Too bad for him, though. He's only an Auri Nova. Nothing close to what this pathway can actually become at its peak.
I'd have killed him already, honestly, if he weren't already being courted by the Truth Seekers. His Precision Aura makes every single motion he takes exact, flawless, and paired with his pathway's uniqueness, it's no real mystery why every surgery he's ever performed has gone off without a single complication.
None of that thinking showed on Eric's face at all. He simply answered House's earlier question smoothly, as though he'd never paused to think of anything else in the first place.
"There's no rush on my end," Eric said warmly. "Actually, I've heard quite a bit about you, that you're a kind man, a religious one too. I was hoping I might trouble you for a bit of advice, if you have the time."
That immediately caught House's full attention, pulling his focus away from the lingering, uneasy premonition still humming somewhere at the back of his mind.
House had always considered himself a fairly upright, principled man, someone who despised dishonesty and manipulation in almost any form, which was likely why he'd never had much patience for politicians in general. But there was another, older reason buried underneath that principle too, something rooted deep in his own childhood, an instinctive fondness for people who carried themselves with gentleness, patience, and clear moral conviction.
Eric, standing in front of him now, practically radiated all three qualities in effortless abundance.
Most of the credit for that particular impression, of course, belonged entirely to Truth.
House walked toward the bench with visible eagerness and sat down, while Eric approached at his own unhurried pace, calm and composed, every step deliberate.
"What's your name, sir, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Mike Jackson." Eric settled onto the bench beside him, resting the umbrella lightly against his knee. "I have to say, this hospital is remarkably well run. You must manage it quite carefully."
"Ah, please, it's nothing so grand." House waved a hand modestly, though the compliment clearly pleased him. "So tell me, Mr. Jackson, what line of work has you seeking advice from someone like me?"
"I'm a member of a church here in the city, actually. I quote scripture there from time to time. But my main work is as a freelance journalist. Mostly tragedies, unfortunately. There's been no shortage of material lately, given everything happening around Paris these days."
House nodded slowly, some of his earlier warmth cooling into something more thoughtful. "Noble work, if a difficult one. Though I'm afraid I doubt there's much I can offer someone doing such important reporting. I'm hardly an authority on tragedy."
"Any perspective helps," Eric said easily. "I understand there have been some strange incidents lately. Kidnappings, missing persons, that sort of thing?"
"Yes, all of that, and more besides." House exhaled, leaning back against the bench. "Pregnancy rates climbing unusually fast too, for one. And then there are the reports people keep bringing to me. Ghost sightings, if you can believe it."
"Ghosts?" Eric tilted his head, letting genuine-sounding confusion color his voice. Every note of it was calculated, though even if some small inconsistency slipped through, Truth would smooth it over before House ever noticed.
"Devil-like figures, mostly," House continued, oblivious. "Black bodies, red eyes, a pair of horns. I've had no fewer than a dozen patients describe nearly identical sightings in their own homes at night over just the past month. Details vary slightly from person to person, but the core of it stays remarkably consistent."
Devils. Horns. Red eyes.
Eric's expression didn't shift at all, though his mind moved fast behind it.
Those are pathway creatures. Evil Pathway, cursed spirits. Which means either there's an Evil Pathway user operating somewhere in this city, or a relic tied to that pathway is loose and active. Either way, I need to look into this properly. So, this is where the Curse Spirit that latched onto Ruby came from. I might have to modify the formation around the apartment to also have some defenses against the Curse Spirit, it seems.
He filed the thought away neatly and shifted the conversation without missing a beat. "I wonder, would you happen to have any particular stories worth writing about? Something with real weight to it?"
House considered the question for a moment before his gaze drifted toward the nursery window, landing on one crib in particular. "Actually, yes. Rather recent, in fact." He pointed toward a small baby staring quietly up at the ceiling. "That one there, Voyage. His parents were killed in a car accident, caused, in a roundabout way, by him."
"Oh?"
"His mother was only eight months along, but he was apparently eager to arrive early regardless, healthy as could be, but early all the same, going into labor unexpectedly. It panicked the father badly enough behind the wheel that he lost control of the car." House shook his head slowly. "Tragic, really. The mother didn't survive either."
This man is far too trusting, Eric thought, watching the details spill out with such ease. Truth's passive effect is already working faster than I expected.
"I could pull the file for you, if it would help with the article," House offered.
Eric's mouth twitched faintly at that, an almost imperceptible flicker of amusement he quickly smoothed over. What a convenient coincidence.
"That's truly tragic," Eric said instead, voice heavy with practiced sorrow. "My condolences, sincerely. I hope his parents find peace, wherever they may be now."
"As do I," House said quietly.
They sat together in respectful silence for nearly two full minutes after that, heads bowed, the blonde nurse long since having slipped away to attend to other duties elsewhere in the ward.
When Eric finally lifted his head, he let out a soft, deliberate chuckle, gaze settling directly on the crib House had pointed to earlier.
"I want to adopt that one."
Silence.
House blinked. "...Him? Voyage?"
"Yes."
"...What a coincidence," House said slowly, a faint, disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth.
"Indeed," Eric agreed smoothly. "Quite the coincidence."
House studied him for a moment longer before clearing his throat, shifting into a more practical tone. "If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Jackson, are you married?"
"No, single," Eric answered without hesitation. "And before you ask, no, this isn't about wanting a child of my own to raise from scratch. I'd simply like to give a home to a child who doesn't already have one. That's really the whole reason I came here today."
House's expression softened, something genuine and relatable crossing his face. "I understand that more than you'd think. I'm not married either, if I'm honest. Comes with a certain loneliness at home some nights. Work helps fill the gaps well enough, though." He laughed lightly, waving the sentiment away before it could linger too long.
"Shall we get started, then?" Eric asked, standing smoothly.
"Of course, of course. Right this way."
They moved together into the nursery, and House guided Eric through the process with practiced efficiency. When it came time to actually lift Voyage from the crib, House hesitated for only a fraction of a second, some faint, familiar pressure brushing against his senses the moment he leaned in. It faded almost instantly.
Strange, House thought vaguely, though the feeling slipped away before he could hold onto it properly. Voyage, for his part, had grown far more careful about controlling his own Aura output since his earlier days, and barely a trace of it leaked out now.
House ran through a quick series of routine checkups, murmuring reassurances to himself more than to Eric as everything came back perfectly healthy, before finally leading Eric to a small side office to handle the remaining paperwork.
"Standard form here," House said, sliding a clipboard across the desk. "Name, address, phone number, that sort of thing. Won't take long."
Eric filled it in smoothly, his handwriting neat and unhurried.
"Now," House continued, flipping through a separate folder, "given the circumstances, I'd like to waive most of the standard adoption fees on our end. And there's a supplementary care package we typically offer: formula, basic supplies, a modest monthly stipend for the first year to help ease the transition."
"That's very generous," Eric said.
"Think nothing of it," House replied warmly. "Frankly, given how quickly and genuinely you took to him, it feels like the least the hospital can do. I'll also personally see to it that you have direct access to our pediatric department going forward, skip the usual waiting lines, priority scheduling, that sort of thing."
"I appreciate that more than I can say."
House waved off the gratitude again, signing off on the final page of the paperwork with a satisfied flourish. "Honestly, don't mention it. Call it a professional courtesy. Favors between good people, nothing more."
He slid the completed forms across the desk with a warm, genuine smile.
"Congratulations, Mr. Jackson. Officially, as of this moment, you're Voyage's father."
Eric looked down at the papers in front of him for a long moment, something faintly, privately amused flickering behind his calm expression.
Papa, he thought, to someone who's technically existed for far longer than I have.
He walked out with a full cradle, a stroller, medicine, diapers stacked three boxes deep, more baby clothes than seemed physically reasonable for something so small, and, apparently, an emotional support committee he hadn't asked for.
Voyage, meanwhile, was performing of a lifetime, arms outstretched, pacifier bobbing gently between tiny lips, blinking those enormous dark eyes up at everyone within a ten-foot radius like the single most precious creature to ever grace the maternity ward.
The nurses were losing it completely.
"Oh my GOD, look at his little hands!" one of them wailed, dabbing furiously at her eyes with a tissue that had clearly already given up several tissues ago. "I can't— I physically cannot handle this!"
"Remember when he peed directly into my face during his bath, and I still called him an angel?" another sobbed, clutching her own chest like she was reliving a war. "AN ANGEL, I SAID. Because he IS one!"
"He shat on my scrubs TWICE last week," a third nurse announced through absolutely genuine tears, voice cracking with pride rather than complaint. "Twice! And I wore them home BOTH times because I didn't want to wash away his little goodbye gift!"
"That's so pure," someone whimpered.
"Voyage, baby, sweetheart, precious little demon child," the head nurse cooed, leaning so far into the stroller that her nose nearly touched his, "you screamed at three in the morning for eleven straight nights, and I have never loved anyone the way I love you right now."
Eric stood there, umbrella tucked under one arm, watching six grown, medically licensed adults collectively fall apart over an infant who had, by their own admission, urinated and defecated on multiple members of staff, and somehow emerged from all of it as some kind of sacred, beloved icon.
If only they knew, he thought, keeping his expression carefully arranged into something warm and touched. If only they had even the faintest idea what's actually looking back at them right now.
"Sir." The head nurse rounded on him with sudden, terrifying intensity, gripping his forearm with both hands. "You have to take care of him. Not 'try.' Not 'do your best.' You WILL take care of this child, or I will personally hunt you down."
"I— of course, I—"
"He likes his bottle warmed to exactly body temperature, not a degree hotter; he WILL know, he can tell somehow," another nurse cut in, thrusting a laminated care sheet into Eric's free hand with the gravity of a military briefing. "He hates the color yellow for some reason; don't ask us why. We don't know either; we just know."
"He also," a third added solemnly, "only really calms down if you hum. Badly. Off-key. We don't know why that works either, but it does, sir, so please, embarrass yourself for this child."
Eric accepted the laminated sheet with the same solemn nod he might have given a classified intelligence document.
Voyage, propped in the stroller, chose this exact moment to reach both tiny hands toward the nearest sobbing nurse, gurgling something soft and wordless around his pacifier, blinking up at her with an expression so devastatingly adorable that the poor woman actually staggered backward, hand pressed to her own heart like she'd been physically wounded by cuteness.
"HE'S REACHING FOR ME," she screamed, immediately reaching back. "HE REMEMBERS ME. HE LOVES ME."
Eric, standing directly beside the stroller, felt supremely, uniquely useless.
He simply stood there, hands folded politely in front of him, while an entire nursing staff collectively grieved the departure of a child they had once described, unprompted and with visible pride, as having "peed on me and I thanked him for the experience." He had no script for this. Nothing in centuries of navigating politics, combat, or manipulation had prepared him for the specific horror of standing quietly beside a stroller while adults wept into each other's shoulders over bodily fluids.
This is somehow worse than facing Hypernovas, he thought distantly, forcing his mouth into another warm, patient smile as one more nurse burst into fresh tears at the sight of Voyage's little waving fist.
Dr. House, standing off to the side with his own handkerchief pressed delicately beneath his eyes, patted Eric firmly on the shoulder. "You have no idea," he said, voice thick with emotion, "the kind of love this child has earned in this building."
"I'm... beginning to understand," Eric managed.
Finally, mercifully, after another full round of hugging, sniffling, and one last chorus of overlapping goodbyes, Eric maneuvered the stroller toward the exit. Voyage, utterly unbothered by the emotional carnage he'd left in his wake, gummed contentedly at his pacifier and gazed serenely up at the ceiling lights passing overhead.
At the door, Eric paused and glanced back one final time.
The entire nursing staff stood there in a ragged, weepy cluster, House among them, all of them waving furiously, tears streaming freely, several handkerchiefs already thoroughly soaked through.
"GOODBYE, VOYAGE!" one nurse howled, waving with both arms like she was flagging down a departing ship.
"TAKE CARE OF HIM OR ELSE!" another added, somehow both threatening and weeping at the same time.
Eric offered one last polite wave, turned the stroller, and walked out into the daylight, Voyage cooing softly beside him, entirely pleased with himself.
Behind them, the sound of collective sniffling continued drifting out through the hospital doors for several minutes more before the nurses, still dabbing at their eyes, finally shuffled back to work.
House realized something a beat too late, already halfway to catching himself. "Oh. I completely forgot to ask, which agency does your work get published through? For the article, I mean, in case anyone from the hospital wants to read it once it's finished."
Before he could call out to Eric, a folded piece of paper simply appeared in House's outstretched hand, materializing between his fingers with no visible source, no flash of light, nothing to announce its arrival at all. It was just suddenly there, resting in his palm as though it had been sitting there the whole time and House had only now noticed it.
House blinked down at it, mildly confused, more curious than alarmed. He unfolded it without much thought, expecting, perhaps, some official hospital memo he'd misplaced earlier that morning finally catching up with him through some administrative quirk.
His eyes dropped to the first line.
From the desk of Sciffor Sunderland.
For one full second, absolutely nothing happened. House simply stood there, the paper held loosely between two fingers, eyes fixed on that single line of text, his brain processing the words with the same flat, mechanical calm it might have applied to any unremarkable piece of correspondence.
Then the recognition hit.
His entire body seized.
The letter dropped from his suddenly nerveless fingers, fluttering down and landing face-up on the hospital floor between his feet. His face drained of color so fast it was almost visible in real time, the warm, easy flush from moments earlier vanishing entirely, replaced by something bloodless and stiff. His breath caught hard in his throat, chest locking mid-inhale, and his eyes, wide and unblinking now, stayed fixed on the fallen letter like it might rear up and strike him if he looked away.
Sciffor Sunderland.
A Hypernova. Of the Truth Seekers.
The name detonated through his mind with the force of an actual physical blow, every ounce of composure he'd built up over the course of this pleasant, ordinary morning shattering apart in an instant. His hands, still hovering in the empty air where the letter had been, began trembling faintly, fingers curling and uncurling with nowhere useful to go.
Why. Why would someone like that—how would he even—
His mind raced through a dozen half-formed possibilities at once, each one worse than the last, none of them making it any easier to breathe properly. He'd heard the name before, of course, everyone in his position eventually did, whispered carefully among certain circles, always with the particular kind of reverent unease reserved for people who existed several tiers above whatever ordinary danger House had ever personally encountered.
House's mouth opened and closed. No sound came out at first.
He couldn't even finish the name a second time. It felt dangerous just holding it in his mouth as he continued standing there, completely frozen in shock and confusion.