He looked at Helena. At the baby in her arms. The infant was not feeding. Not crying. Not sleeping. The child was sitting. In Helena's arms, supported by her forearm, the tiny body was upright. The head, which should have been too heavy for an infant's neck, was held steady. The eyes, dark and deep, were looking at Viktor.
Not at his face. At him. The whole of him. The child was studying.
Viktor waved. His hand, the one not held captive by Mira's son, moved. The fingers spread. The universal 'hello' gesture.
The baby blinked. Once. Slow. The acknowledgment of a being that had just processed a visual input and categorized it.
Bella appeared at his side. The cat-kin, still naked from the earlier session, had wrapped a towel around his waist. Her small hands tied the knot. The 'let-me-help-you' gesture that was part habit, part devotion. She stepped back. Gave him the towel for the baby.
He took the towel. Wrapped it around his waist. Then reached for Helena's baby.
