He could feel the smoothness of the glass through the black material of his gloves. Outside, in between that and the protective field, he could see the stars twinkling against the midnight black. The Psi's eyes were gray at most times, but tonight they seemed almost lavender, for they had paled as according to his mood. Behind him, he could hear the baby crying.

Slowly, Kiador turned, facing the cradle where the little one sobbed. The pure emotion that rang from her mind was impossible to escape fully -- and the crying wasn't much better. Her pale eyes were bright with tears and bewilderment. The telepath could feel the confusion in her - she was hungry, very hungry, and there was no one here to feed her.

Only a strange dark man with brooding eyes who stared at her when she cried. Who didn't feed her, even though the bottles were only an arm's length away. What kind of cruel person was he?

He resisted the urge to touch her. Child, you have no idea.

White hair fell over her pale eyes, making the red-faced baby seem even more distraught. Soon her wailing would bring all of Babylon 5 down on them, and then, Kiador supposed they would ban him from ever seeing her again. No matter that she cried because she was hungry. She cried in the presence of a telepath - a telepath with little good reputation to his name - and thus it must be of his doing.

Just because he hunted her mother up until right before her birth, and because he was one of the few witnesses to her aunt's murder, suddenly no one wants to trust him. Not that they ever trusted him before.

Kiador studied the girl's face, correcting himself with a click of his tongue. No, that's not right. Some trusted him. It seems that Mr. Allan does now, as well as Ms. MacAllister. Marcus Cole was a puzzling man, but Kiador was at least fairly certain that he trusted him as well, and vice versa.

As much as he could trust anyone, anyway. After all, the last two (three?) people he had trusted were now dead.

Oh. He winced. The baby's cries were reaching a screaming level. Yes, he decided. He'd have to do something. Stifling a shudder, his gloved hands crept inside the cradle and gently scooped the unhappy bundle. At first, it was an awkward struggle to get situated, with his arms refusing to settle the way he wanted them to and the baby shrieking her unhappiness to the uncaring walls. Then everything seemed to fall into place, and Hope stared up at him in temporary muteness, her pale eyes blinking slowly.

Until she started wailing again.

Kiador sighed. "Oh, bother." And reached for the bottle.

He had never fed a baby before, just like he had never held one before. What he was thinking when he asked to be with her alone, he had no idea, and he was too prideful to go and ask for help. So he sat there and struggled until he figured out, and by the time Hope was satisfied, his black uniform was a sopping mess.

Such is life, he thought with a bitter smile as he set the now empty bottle back where he found it. It looked out of place, he realized, next to all the clean, full bottles, but he was sure they'd figure it out somehow. He turned back again, still cradling little Hope, who was quite content at this point.

Kiador looked down at her in bemusement as he headed back to the cradle. How curious children are, he thought absently. One moment they're utter hell. The next they're the most innocent of angels. And this was one angel, he knew, whose innocence he didn't want to see disrupted.

If They ever found out about his thoughts, he would be dead, or worse. A small frown shaped Kiador's lips as he looked down into the baby girl's sleepy eyes uneasily. Micah had even told him of the experiment they had tried on her. By all rights, he should be filing reports right now. So why was he standing her, holding her in his arms, feeding her from a bottle?

Because she has a chance you never had. Because she has hope you never had. And because Coadhi would have wanted her to live this way.

Kiador blinked and stopped, gray eyes wide. What the hell was he thinking? What chance? The chance to have a normal life was denied him from the beginning. Even if he had gone on to get married and have a life, his parents would have never been there. They abandoned him.

That voice made his heart leap to his throat as it always did. The world ceased to exist for a moment as the PsiCop stared into space, remembering for a brief moment the bright green eyes and a laughing smile. He wasn't supposed to remember, he knew, not really. They'd erase him in a second if they ever found out.

It wasn't until after Hope made a soft crooning noise that Kiador realized he was crying.

He choked, looking down again, startled to see splatters of moisture on the girl's face. The baby looked back up at him, cooing softly, her pale eyes bright and sleepily curious. She lifted a hand and batted clumsily at the shiny pin on his vest, then yawned hugely, long eyelashes batting delicately like butterfly wings.

You should've known better, Coadhi. You should have known. Shifting the baby to one hand, Kiador rubbed a glove across his face, drying his face quickly. Stupid to cry. Honestly, you thought he was fifteen again. A whiny oversensitive brat who cried more than he thought.

Kiador looked down at the infant in his arms, frowning to himself. Why he still reminisced, he didn't know. He was so much less then compared to what he was now.

So why was he still thinking about it?

Hope burbled up at him, earning a rueful smile as reward. "You bring out the worst in me, little lady," the PsiCop tolds her gruffly, shifting his hold slightly. In response, she snuggled deeper into his chest, and Kiador blanched. Hells, she'd never go to sleep in her cradle now.

Raw images bubbled up from the little one's thoughts. Content. Sleepy. Full. True happiness from an infant's eyes. Would that everyone could find bliss in such simplicity, he thought with no small amount of dryness. The gray-eyed Psi debated for a moment, then turned away from the cradle, looking towards the window.

Kiador looked down at the nearly-asleep bundle in his arms. "Fifteen and talking about having kids," he spoke suddenly, sounding annoyed. "Gods, we were stupid back then." The infant whimpered at the harsh tone of his voice, and he frowned, realizing she was going to wake up again. He didn't particularly want to leave just yet, but nor did he want to spend more of his time settling her down.

The first word in my dreams
I could clearly see
Planet Eden hide beyond the skies

Startling him, Hope cooed softly, and her pale eyes drifted to a close. The lullaby was a sad one, but strangely soothing to those who didn't understand it. Kiador felt his throat constrict, and he forced himself to look out the window, not at the white-haired infantin his arms.

He wasn't a singer and he knew it. His voice cracked every time he tried to hit a note higher than his voice was used to. But the song, its plunking notes, its wistful melody, were easy to remember. He'd listened to the English translation enough times to have long since memorized it.

Andrew had often laughed and argued that the original Japanese track was far superior.

Hope let out a soft, content sigh, her pale eyelashes flutter briefly as the wistful melody started to lull her to sleep.

Vaguely, Kiador realized the girl's guardians were on her way. An hour had passed, he saw as he glanced at a nearby clock. That was all he had asked for too, a single hour. He'll have to remedy that next time.

"Mr. Clavell?"

"Hm?"

"Your hour is up... If you want more time, I guess.."

"No. That's all right." Feeling something inside him crumble as the physical connection between him and the infant was shattered, Kiador placed the baby into the young woman's waiting arms.

Hope burbled absently as she snuggled into the young woman's arms, the scent and softness familiar enough that they didn't distress her. She batted, half asleep, at the air, then her thumb disappeared into her mouth, a dribble of moisture appearing at the corner of her lips.

Watching the exchange, the PsiCop's expression was impassive. He could feel the young woman's curious gaze as she studied his uniform... oh, yes. He'd forgotten the milk.

"She was hungry," he felt the need to explain. "There was an accident."

A corner of her lips quirked. "So I see."

Kiador nodded as if this was an every day occurance and turned to face the door. Fetching his coat from where he had discarded it over a chair, he moved forward to take his leave.