Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the last chapter of this story. The rest will be put in another story called Ripper, which will continue to the times of our favorite, and the hottest, Watcher, Wesley.

Sicily, Italy, July 1882

Leaning back in his chair at the breakfast table, Jack took another drag of his peppermint and tobacco cigarette, and sighed. Things had been tense, lately. The baby was late, Lena's mood swings were almost out of control, and Jack was on edge because of both. Not to mention Lena's parents, especially her mother, never giving the couple a moment of privacy.

"Jack, dear, you really should eat something."

Coming back from his thoughts, Jack met Sonora's, Lena's mother, deep brown eyes, just like his love. They also shared the same black hair and olive skin, her father, however was fair, with brown hair and light skin, for he was half-English.

"Oh, I was going to, I just was thinking."

"Oh, dear, I know that look. It's the look all father's get before their wife is due. Do not worry, Jack. The child will come, it just takes time."

"It's overdue, though, mother. One whole week!"

"Lena, dear, calm yourself. Perhaps you should rest after breakfast. You'll need your energy."

Pushing her chair back from the table, Lena stormed out of the dining room in one of her mood swings. Jack knew he'd have to calm her, and quickly made to follow, only to be stopped by Sonora's thick Italian-accented voice calling his name.

"Jack, let her go. She's just having a mood swing, like most pregnant women. Though darned be, she never wanted to be told to do anything as a child."

"I know, but I don't want to leave her upset. It doesn't matter how stubborn she is."

"Oh, nonsense, that girl spent most of her childhood upset with one thing or another. If you haven't learned by now, my boy, there is no pleasing my daughter."

Concealing a glare, Jack smiled, politely, and returned to his seat at the table, across from Sonora. The only reason Jack didn't pack his and his wife's things, and take a train back to London was Lena's will to have the babe in her homeland. When she wasn't upset with him or her parents, she talked about all the wonderful things they would do when they were parents, and had even began mentioning names for the child the night before, to Jack in bed.

"Perhaps we should leave her awhile, and go into the market."

"Frances, you are impatient with her, I know, but the babe might arrive while we frolic."

"The servants know how to call upon a doctor, do they not?"

"They do, yes."

"Then, I do not see why we cannot enjoy ourselves. What do you say, Jack, my boy?"

"I say I am sorry, but I will have to turn you down on your offer, as tempting as it is. I must write to my assistant in London, he is operating my clinic, and I would like to inquire how he is handling it, and tell him that the babe has yet to arrive. Have a lovely time, though."

With that, Jack left the table, hastily as to leave no time for arguments from Frances, and ascended the staircase that led to the hall, and then to the lavish bedroom he shared with his wife, who was lying on the bed, stroking her stomach.

"How are you? I know your mother somehow upset you, but you cannot be storming. . ."

"Don't!"

"Don't?"

"Don't."

Pointing her finger at him as a warning, though not even opening her eyes, Lena sighed, letting Jack know he'd better not start anything or else he'd be dealing with a very agitated, very pregnant woman. She was not going to stand for anything just because of her condition.

"All right, my love. If you need me, I'll be over here, where I'll be completely silent and not irritate you."

"Good."

Smiling, despite himself, Jack collected some paper, a pen, and bottle of ink from the desk in the corner of the room, and then, sat on the leather in front of the bed, which he found rather uncomfortable, but more so than the hard-backed chairs that were his other option.

He had learned quite a lot of Lena's parents from the way they furniture their home, or rather house, for Jack could not imagine warm feelings coming from anyone who could endure the pain of a stiff back, much less inflict it upon others.

As he began to write, he noticed his wife drifting to sleep, her hand placed protectively on her stomach, which she allowed no one, save Jack, to touch for fear it might harm the babe. It was all rather irrational to him, but he indulged her, letting her believe what she wished. It did not matter to him if her many aunts and uncles did not get to feel the babe kick, for in their bed, one of the only times they were alone, he was allowed to feel the kicks and think of names and plan plans of sailing and birthday celebrations with his wife.

Letting his important messages find their way to the wooden floors, Jack leaned back on the sofa, his hands behind his head, his thoughts on a boat in the English Channel, a small cottage on the Isle of White, and a beach near Florence, his wife and nameless child near him. Being a father-to-be was exhausting, and soon he drifted to sleep like a boat on the tide.

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"Jack!"

Drowsily opening his eyes, finding the midday sun pouring through the windows, Jack glanced at his wife, who was reaching for him, wearing a frantic look on her face.

"What's the matter, Lena?"

"The bed's wet."

"The bed's wet? The bed's wet!"

Standing, quickly, Jack ran to her to make sure she was mistaken, and quickly felt his heart drop in his chest, the bed, indeed, was wet. Grabbing his shirt and her stomach, Lena closed her eyes against the pain that was searing through her body, greater than any pain she had ever experienced before.

"Doctor! I need a doctor to deliver the babe!"

"The babe! It's coming?"

"What do you think!"

"Oh, Lady Madonna!"

Rushing out of the bedroom, Jack ran downstairs, hoping to find some assistance, or at least someone to give him a good slap and bring him to his senses. Dashing down the staircase, nearly breaking his neck as he stumbled down the last four stairs, Jack looked about but could find no other soul than Phelize, the hired girl, polishing the bookcase.

Panicking, and grabbing her arm, he pulled her towards him, much to her surprise.

"Phelize, I need you to run as fast as you can to the nearest doctor's home, do you understand?"

"Yes, Master Jack, but what is going on?"

"Lena's gone into labor! Run!"

As the girl took off, Jack quickly rushed around looking for anything that might help his wife until the girl could get back with the doctor. Hopefully the babe could wait that long. Rushing back upstairs with a towel and some water from the pump, outside, in his arms, Jack found his wife in an alarming state of pain.

"Jack! I need you!"

Placing the water on the bedside table and dabbing her brow with the towel, Jack almost smiled as he remembered the last time he had heard her say that, only then, it wasn't in pain. Quickly forgetting this as she looked into his eyes, her breaths short.

"Jack, it's coming! Where's the doctor?"

"Phelize just ran to fetch him, it should only be a moment."

"We don't have a moment! It's here!"

"No, no, just keep it in there a little longer, only five or ten more minutes at the mo. . ."

"JACK!"

Scared as she grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward, fire in her eyes, Jack knew what he had to do. There was no waiting for another doctor, he was a doctor and he was to deliver his own child, right then, right there. Detaching himself, he lifted her to the sofa, where it would be easier to birth, and propped her up with pillows behind her back.

"Deep breathes, pace yourself, and push."

"Push, it's pushing it's own way out! This is all your fault!"

"Yes, my love, but think how happy you're going to be. . ."

"Happy? I'm in mortal pain!"

"That's just your maternal instinct speaking."

Knowing he was getting the results he wanted by arguing with her, Jack continued. Come Hell or high water, he was going to deliver his first baby, whose head was beginning to appear, something that both scared him and overjoyed him.

"Maternal instinct! Jack Wyndam-Pryce, I'm going to kill you for this! I'm going to hate you for the rest of my life!"

"I know, dear, and I suppose now isn't the time to tell you, but I don't really like your cooking."

Propping herself up on her elbows, and fixing her husband with a glare, Lena stopped a moment later when wailing filled the room, and Jack held a newborn boy in his arms. In fact, she was anything but filled with rage, as tears welled up in her eyes.

"What is it?"

Cutting the child's umbilical chord with his pocket knife, Jack wrapped it in the blanket he snatched from the top of the chest and handed him to her, just as Phelize, the doctor, and Lena's parents burst into the room.

"A lad."

Covering her mouth, and rushing to her daughter, Sonora kneeled beside the couch as Jack sat next to his wife, his arm around her, and the babe in her arms, its mother's lips pressed against its little head, letting him know she would protect him from anything.

"I love you, so much. Have I ever told you that?"

"Maybe once or twice."

Smiling, Jack kissed his wife's cheek, and then, wrapped his other arm around hers that was supporting the quiet babe, who was now nursing from his mother. He never thought he'd be this proud of anything, but there it was pink and slimy, the fruit of his loins, the pride of his life, his heir, his. . .

"What's his name?"

Looking up at his Frances, who was waiting by the door, still, Jack looked back at his wife, then, to Sonora and Phelize, the doctor gone in a bad mood at having his supper interrupted for nothing.

"The first name must be English if he is to be an English lord."

"Albert, after the king?"

"No, he does not look like an Albert, or a Richard, or a Henry."

"Brutus?"

Giving Jack a look that said, 'not in this life', Lena examined her son for a moment, stroking the thick brown hair that covered his tiny head, and his small button nose. So tiny and fragile, yet so willful and strong at the same time. She was sure he would share her rebellious nature, something that would irk her father until the day he died.

"James."

"James?"

"After King James the First. He was a rebellious sort, smart, handsome."

"James, it is. Our Jamie."

"Riccio."

"What?"

"You said the first name had to be English, but by God, that child is a fourth Italian, and Riccio is quite fitting. It was your grandfather's name."

"James Riccio Wyndam-Pryce."

"No, darling, Lord James Riccio Wyndam-Pryce. For one day, he shall be."

Smiling, and kissing her again, Jack closed his eyes, thinking. Had this been what he was imagining when he smothered his father with that pillow all those years ago? If it wasn't, it should have been.

"Jack."

"Mm."

"I think something is wrong with his eye."

"Why?"

Looking at his son, who had just opened his eyes, drowsily, Jack found what had caused Lena's alarm. Even if the eyes were blue, it was quite apparent by the lighter shading of one, that their child was half-blind.

"What is i. . .he is. . .defected!"

"No! He is not!"

Brushing Frances away, Jack stood, a glare fixed on his father-in-law. Pure rage and the urge to use it coursing through his veins.

"Never say that about Jamie, again. He is your better."

"Why you. . ."

"Do it."

Looking at Jack's eyes, Frances soon found himself putting down his fist, and storming out. Something no one had ever seen him do before, back away from a threat. Though, something about the younger man scared him, and he knew he had no chance in his age.

"Jamie is in no way defected. He's perfect, and no one should question that."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ooh, Jack gets a little testy about people threatening his family. What's next? Well, the story starts now that we have the main players. So, next time, look for Ripper. Oh, and please let me know if you like this. I don't know how many do or don't, and I was just kind of wondering. So, please leave a review!