Author's Note – I know that her name does not mean 'hope' but I needed the dialogue exchange that goes with it, and the options for that meaning are few and far between. Please don't drown me with meanings and options – I used a WIP name for too long and got fond of it... :P You'll have to forgive me. Or not :D

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ZIPPER

The hallway of their apartment held the usual chaos of shoes and coats and "going outside" accessories. He'd found his boots – each one at opposite ends of the narrow stretch of non-living space – and now that they were firmly laced onto his feet, he was gamely trying to get her ready to leave.

But she was understandably excited, and kept twisting away to run around their tiny apartment. Despite the fact that he had a schedule, Ames couldn't get mad at his little girl – right now she was the only thing that made getting out of bed worth it. Except for Sundays, when she'd crawl into his bed and they'd both snooze until he went to the kitchen and brought pancakes in and they'd see who could get more syrup on their face. She always won...

"Daddy, dance with me!" she begged.

He wasn't averse to underhanded tactics so he stood with a tiny sigh and found her in the lounge, took her hands, moved where she said to go.

And then scooped her up, a wriggling giggling bundle, and carried her back to the hall, sat her on the little chair that was hers, and brought a shoe toward her left foot.

She obliged. Which surprised him and put him on guard for a sneaky attack. But she calmly accepted her shoes, swinging her now booted feet as he sat back on his heels.

A figure loomed in the doorway. Ames glanced up.

"What do you want, Riley?" he growled.

"Gatehouse has you and the whelp listed for today."

Ames glared at the security officer. "So?" he shrugged, "It's her birthday; we're going somewhere nice." he scowled, "I got permission."

Riley pulled a face as though he'd smelled something nasty.

"Better not go to the zoo; you might take the wrong animal home..."

"Do you mind!" Ames made quite the picture of outrage, even though he was on his knees zipping up her jacket with a squeal of plastic teeth. The little red parka was a birthday present and a couple of sizes too big for her, but Ames knew she'd grow in to it fast enough – if recent evidence was anything to go by.

"How old is she?" Riley asked.

She opened her mouth to tell him and force her way into the conversation about her, that was being conducted over her head; but Ames squeezed her arm, a silent warning not to get involved, and she trusted her daddy so she obeyed.

"Four." Ames said tightly.

"My youngest is four," Riley sounded almost friendly. And your oldest is in her class. Ames thought savagely, warm with paternal pride that his little girl was so advanced, so unique. "'Course they'll never let you breed again, so you won't get the pleasure of watching several grow up and play each other."

Ray... Ames' heart tightened before he mastered the reaction. He didn't let himself think about his first child; had convinced himself to consider his son as dead, so that the urge to throw away years of boot-licking and a safe future for his daughter to go bang on the Transgenics' walls and demand Ray's location wouldn't cripple him, wouldn't keep him awake at night, wouldn't make every day hurt.

"I manage..." he growled in reply. Riley's mouth opened for another taunt but he found himself stepping backwards as Ames rose to his feet, barely contained anger obvious in his tense movements as he urged the other man toward the door.

Relief began to slid through Ames as his unwelcome visitor opened the door, and stepped out. But the man paused on the threshold,

"Behave yourself, sweetheart," Riley called, turning to leave. "Maybe you can show your Dad how it's done..."

After the door had closed, she shuddered. "I don't like him." she muttered with feeling.

Ames narrowed his eyes, studying her. "Has he ever hurt you?" he demanded, worried.

She shook her head firmly enough to set her curly brown hair bouncing. "But he's not a nice man..." she declared.

"No sweetheart, he isn't." Ames agreed sadly, remembering past and painful encounters with the man; he pulled her in for a hug. She threw her arms around him – tightly, as if she could squeeze all her love for him into him.

Standing, Ames lifted his jacket from the peg in the wall.

Shrugging in to it, he took her hand, leading her out of their apartment. He locked the door and they walked down the hall, ignoring the elevator that almost never seemed to work, Ames swinging the fire door open so that she could pound down the stairs like always.

It was so hard to smile at her command of "Chase me, daddy!" but he managed it; managed to conceal the anger still simmering from Riley's visit.

She burst into the weak Fall sunlight, fire door slamming against the wall. Reflexes saved Ames from catching its rebound with his face. Watching her scamper across the parking lot to the car, he felt content for the first time all morning; a feeling he struggled to hold on to as they pulled up at the Gatehouse, were made to wait, despite Ames' advance preparations.

And then they were rolling through the gates, the compound's perimeter dwindling in the rear view mirror as Ames guided their car toward the City.

She was silent next to him; ever aware of his mood, she didn't want to ask when he clearly didn't want to talk.

Until he pulled in to an empty parking lot, weeds pushing through cracked asphalt.

When he pushed open his door and climbed out, she did the same, could no longer withhold a question.

"Are we there, Daddy?"

"No, sweetheart," he answered, hating the need for the unfolding subterfuge. "There's a device in the car that tells people where we are and I don't want them to know."

She tilted her head.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see. It's a surprise..." he found a smile from somewhere that didn't look too bad on his face. She didn't notice, excited by this new game, distracted by imagining what she would find.

Twenty minutes later he knocked on a wall that looked like a solid sheet of corrugated metal.

She was surprised when part of it swung open into the street.

An armed squad of teens and a half-man creature were revealed on the other side.

Ames suddenly felt nervous.

"We have an appointment." he said, relieved that his voice held steady.

The creature nodded, once, and gestured the visitors to come inside. The teens gripped their weapons tighter, forming a cordon around Ames and his girl. For whose protection, he didn't have the capacity to think about right now, sidetracked by the forthcoming events.

The escort stopped in front of a building. A teen peeled off and pushed the large double doors open.

Ames swallowed, a fortifying moment, before tightening his grip on her hand and walking inside.

All activity and noise stopped at his entrance. Unnerved by the scrutiny she hid behind his legs, hand tight on his, little body trembling.

Someone stepped forward.

"Max," Ames acknowledged, swallowing as the Transgenic drew closer, suddenly wondering if walking into Transgenic Central wasn't the worst idea he'd had all year.

The X5 stopped a pace away, head tilted as she stared at him, her expression considering.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

He cleared his throat, hating rush of conflicting emotions that assaulted him – guilt, anticipation; brave spark of hope...

"I said on the phone,"

"You said nothing!" she spat. "A bunch of probably meaningless fabrications to con your way in here to sow chaos."

He stiffened at the untrue – although a little justified – accusation. All too familiar irritation rising in his blood as she hijacked this encounter. Anger that just as quickly faded at the tug on his hand. He tried to regain control – of himself and the conversation.

"I said you needed to see something."

He held her gaze even as her eyebrows drew together, as her mouth pursed to spit some new complaint.

"Well?" she snapped.

He stepped aside, animal instincts snarling not to leave his kitt unprotected and vulnerable in the enemy's den. A thought quickly followed – were they really the enemy, when he was so disillusioned with his own? Were they not perhaps today, on the same side, as he purposefully disobeyed his Elders and their plans by bringing his child to this place?

452 was gaping at the girl. He didn't blame her – his little sweetheart was beautiful, even by "cute kid" standards. As though aware of the impact she could have, she tilted her head, brown curls bouncing gently, the red of her jacket making her skin glow, his eyes in her face shining with intelligence – and curiousity.

"Daddy?" she whispered, never looking away from the Transgenic.

"Shh..." he soothed, comforting hand rubbing her back.

Alec appeared at the side of the tableau.

"Who's the clone?" he teased.

Max started as though shot, her stunned expression morphing to one of horror as she began to consider what her sub-conscious had been suggesting.

Alec, seeing the look on her face, backed away a step, mouth opening on an apology.

But White beat him to it, moving forward to put a hand on his daughter's shoulder, drawing her close as he sought and held the Transgenic's wild gaze, so that she would see and maybe accept the emotions tumbling in his eyes as he breathed,

"I'm sorry, Max. I am so sorry..."

Her jaw shut with a click as Max got herself under control. She knelt in front of the girl.

"What's your name?"

"Sophie," her daughter replied. "It means 'hope'." she beamed at her father. "Daddy chose it."

Max looked at White, curious, a little anxious.

"Hope of what?" she asked.

"Change..." Ames replied, voice shaking.