The morning light crept into the villa, soft and golden, filtering through the linen curtains that fluttered with the breeze. James stirred, the scent of lavender and the faint sweetness of Madeleine's perfume pulling him from sleep. She was still curled against him, her head resting on his chest, her breath soft and even.

For a moment, he allowed himself to simply lie there, his hand absently trailing up and down her back. The villa was silent except for the distant call of birds outside and the occasional hum of a passing car. It was peaceful.

Too peaceful, a small part of his mind whispered.

He forced the thought away. Not today.

Madeleine shifted beside him, her fingers curling against his chest as she stirred. When she looked up at him, her blue eyes still heavy with sleep, she gave him a small smile that made his chest tighten.

"Good morning," she murmured, her voice soft and warm.

"Morning," James replied, his lips curving into a faint smile of his own.

She propped herself up on one elbow, her hair tumbling over her shoulder in soft waves. "You slept late," she teased lightly.

James raised an eyebrow. "I thought honeymoons were supposed to be for relaxation."

"They are," Madeleine said with a soft laugh, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to his lips. "But you don't strike me as the type to sleep in."

He smirked against her mouth. "Maybe I'm learning."

Madeleine pulled back just enough to study him, her expression softening. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, her gaze lingering on his face as if she were searching for something.

"What?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Nothing," she said quickly, though the slight edge to her voice betrayed her. She smiled again, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm just… happy."

James wasn't sure he believed her entirely, but he let it go.

Later, they found themselves on the villa's terrace, enjoying a breakfast of fresh bread, fruit, and strong Italian coffee. The view stretched out before them, the rolling hills bathed in sunlight, the rooftops of Matera glowing like gold in the distance.

Madeleine was quiet, though she'd been stealing glances at James all morning. He noticed—of course he noticed—but he didn't press her. Not yet.

When she finally spoke, it was almost hesitant. "James… I need to tell you something."

The way she said it, her tone soft but deliberate, made him pause. He set his coffee cup down, leaning forward slightly.

"What is it?"

She hesitated, her fingers fiddling with the edge of the linen napkin in her lap. "I've been trying to find the right moment, but I don't think there's ever really a perfect time for this."

James frowned, his mind immediately jumping to the worst-case scenario. "Madeleine—"

"I'm pregnant."

The words were simple, but they landed with the force of a bomb. James blinked, his mind momentarily blank as he tried to process what she'd just said.

"I—what?" His voice was quieter than he'd expected, rough around the edges.

Madeleine's expression softened, her hand reaching across the table to cover his. "I'm pregnant, James. A few weeks now."

For a long moment, he said nothing. His gaze dropped to her hand, her fingers warm and steady against his. Pregnant. A child.

He felt like the ground beneath him had shifted, like the world had tilted on its axis. He hadn't thought about children—not seriously. Not in his world. It had always seemed… impossible. Too dangerous.

"James?" Madeleine's voice broke through the haze, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand. "Say something."

He looked up at her, his chest tightening at the vulnerability in her eyes. She looked worried, even a little scared, and that—more than anything—pulled him back into the moment.

"I…" He swallowed, forcing the words out. "I didn't think this was something… I didn't think this would happen."

Her smile was small, a little tentative. "Neither did I."

James exhaled slowly, his free hand running through his hair as he leaned back in his chair. "A child," he murmured, almost to himself.

Madeleine nodded, watching him carefully. "I don't know the gender yet. We'll need to see a doctor in a few weeks. But I wanted you to know. I couldn't… I didn't want to keep this from you."

James' eyes flicked to hers, his thoughts a tangled mess of fear, confusion, and something else he couldn't quite name. "Madeleine, I don't… I don't know if I can do this. I've never thought about bringing a child into this world. My world."

"You're not in that world anymore," she said gently.

"Aren't I?" he countered, his voice sharper than he intended. He saw the flicker of hurt in her eyes and immediately regretted it. "I just… I want them to be safe. I want you to be safe."

"We will be," she said firmly, her hand tightening on his. "Because we have you. And I know you'll do everything in your power to protect us."

James stared at her, his throat tight. He wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that he could be the kind of man she thought he was. The kind of man their child would need him to be.

After a long moment, he nodded, his hand turning to clasp hers fully. "Okay," he said quietly. "We'll make this work."

Madeleine smiled then, her relief evident as she leaned across the table to kiss him. James met her halfway, his hand slipping to the back of her neck as he kissed her with more tenderness than he thought himself capable of. It wasn't just a kiss of agreement—it was a promise, quiet but resolute, that no matter how unprepared he felt, he would be there. For her. For their child.

When they pulled apart, Madeleine's smile widened, and she let out a soft, relieved laugh. "You're really okay with this?"

"I don't know if 'okay' is the word," James admitted, his voice wry but warm. "I'm… trying to wrap my head around it."

Madeleine nodded, her hand still resting on top of his. "I understand. It's a lot to take in."

"That's putting it mildly," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He glanced out at the horizon, the golden hills shimmering in the morning light. "I just… I didn't think I'd ever have this."

"Neither did I," Madeleine said softly. "But maybe… maybe we deserve it."

James didn't respond right away. He wasn't sure if he believed in what they deserved, but he did know one thing: the woman sitting across from him, her cheeks glowing in the sunlight, was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing as he shifted his attention back to her. "You're not… you're not sick or anything?"

Madeleine's lips twitched into a faint smile. "I've been a little tired, and mornings are a bit rough, but it's normal. I'm fine, James."

He wasn't convinced. "Have you been eating enough?"

Her smile grew as she leaned back in her chair. "You're already starting to sound like a father."

James raised an eyebrow. "Just answer the question."

"Yes, I've been eating enough," Madeleine said, a playful lilt in her voice. "Though now that you mention it, I am starting to feel a little hungry again."

James pushed his chair back and stood, gesturing for her to stay put. "I'll get you something. Stay here."

Madeleine watched him as he walked toward the kitchen, her smile lingering even after he disappeared inside. There was something different in his demeanor now—not a complete transformation, but a shift. She could see the wheels turning in his mind, the weight of the news settling on him. And yet, he hadn't pulled away. If anything, he seemed more present, more determined.

When James returned a few minutes later, he was carrying a plate of sliced fruit and bread with a small pot of honey on the side.

"Here," he said, setting it down in front of her. "Eat."

Madeleine laughed softly, shaking her head. "You're not going to let me do anything for myself now, are you?"

"Not if I can help it," James replied, his voice firm but edged with dry humor. "You said you're eating enough. Let's keep it that way."

Madeleine took a piece of bread, her fingers brushing his as she did. "Thank you," she said softly, her eyes meeting his.

James nodded, sitting back down across from her. For a while, they ate in companionable silence, the morning sunlight warming their skin and the sound of distant church bells drifting through the air.

But even as the peace settled around them, James couldn't stop his mind from racing. The idea of being a father felt overwhelming, foreign. He'd always assumed his life would be one of solitude, defined by the missions he carried out and the blood he spilled. The thought of something as fragile and innocent as a child entering that world terrified him.

And yet, as he watched Madeleine take a bite of bread, a soft smile on her lips, he felt a spark of something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years: hope.

"We'll need to see a doctor soon," Madeleine said after a while, breaking the silence.

"Here in Matera?" James asked, his tone instinctively cautious.

Madeleine hesitated, then shook her head. "No. I'd rather wait until we're back in Norway. It feels… safer there."

James nodded, silently relieved. Norway was remote, secluded. A place where they could breathe.

"We'll go whenever you're ready," he said. "Until then, just… tell me what you need."

Madeleine smiled, reaching across the table to take his hand again. "Right now? I just need you."

James tightened his grip on her hand, his chest tightening at the simplicity of her words. For once, he didn't feel the need to argue or deflect.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said quietly, his voice steady.

And in that moment, he meant it more than he'd ever meant anything in his life.

As the morning stretched on, James found himself hyper-aware of Madeleine—every movement, every expression, every small sound she made. The news of the pregnancy sat in his mind like a steady hum, never fully leaving his thoughts, but he kept it buried for now.

After breakfast, they cleared the table together. Madeleine had always been methodical in the way she worked, rinsing plates with an efficiency that made even something mundane look elegant. James, on the other hand, was far less graceful, scrubbing at the cutting board with perhaps more force than necessary.

"You don't have to be so aggressive with it," Madeleine teased, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"I'm making sure it's clean," James replied dryly, his tone betraying a hint of humor.

Madeleine shook her head with a soft laugh, drying her hands on a towel before stepping closer to him. She rested a hand lightly on his back, her touch warm and grounding. "It's clean enough," she said gently. "Come on, let's go outside for a bit."

James glanced at her, pausing mid-scrub. "You sure? Shouldn't you—"

"James," Madeleine interrupted, her voice firm but kind. "I'm pregnant, not sick. I'm fine."

He sighed, setting the cutting board aside and wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Alright. But if you start feeling dizzy, we're coming straight back in."

"Deal," Madeleine said with a grin, taking his hand and leading him out to the terrace again.

The sunlight was warmer now, the day fully awake. A light breeze rustled the leaves of the olive trees that dotted the hillside below. James watched as Madeleine moved toward the edge of the terrace, leaning against the stone railing to take in the view.

"You're going to hover over me now, aren't you?" she asked without turning around, her voice light with amusement.

"Probably," James admitted, stepping up beside her.

Madeleine turned to him, tilting her head slightly. "You know, I think I'm going to like this side of you."

"What side is that?"

"The one that worries," she replied, a teasing smile playing at her lips.

"I've always worried," James said, his tone soft but serious.

Madeleine reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers. "I know," she said quietly. "But I think this time, it's going to be different."

James didn't respond, but the weight of her words settled in his chest. He wasn't sure if he believed it would be different—his world, their world, wasn't exactly forgiving. But he knew one thing: he would do whatever it took to keep her safe.

They spent the next hour walking the narrow streets of Matera, the cobblestones warm beneath their feet as they wandered without a destination in mind. James had always been hyper-vigilant, his eyes darting to every corner and shadow, but today, he forced himself to relax.

Madeleine stopped occasionally to admire the small shops and stalls lining the streets. She pointed out a table covered in hand-painted ceramics, her fingers brushing lightly over a delicate blue vase.

"Do you think this would look nice in Norway?" she asked, glancing at James.

He shrugged. "If you like it, we'll take it."

Madeleine smiled, shaking her head. "You're too easy to convince these days."

James smirked, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I'm saving my arguments for the important things."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Like whether or not you should be carrying that vase back to the villa," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Madeleine laughed, setting the vase back on the table. "Fair enough."

As they continued walking, James noticed her pace slowing slightly. She wasn't out of breath, but there was a subtle shift in the way she moved—less energy, more deliberate steps.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low but laced with concern.

"I'm fine," Madeleine assured him, though her smile was faint. "Just a little tired."

"Let's head back," James said immediately, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Madeleine sighed but didn't protest, allowing him to guide her back toward the villa.

When they returned, James insisted Madeleine rest while he made lunch. She didn't argue, settling on the sofa with a book as he moved about the small kitchen.

The villa wasn't particularly well-stocked, but James managed to put together a simple meal of pasta with olive oil, fresh tomatoes, and basil. It wasn't fancy, but it would do.

Madeleine looked up as he set the plate in front of her, her smile softening. "You're really taking this whole 'taking care of me' thing seriously, aren't you?"

"Someone has to," James replied, sitting down beside her with his own plate.

Madeleine took a bite, humming softly in approval. "This is good."

"It's edible," James corrected, though there was a faint glint of pride in his eyes.

They ate together in comfortable silence, the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows and casting warm patterns across the floor.

After lunch, James took Madeleine's plate to the sink, brushing off her attempts to help with a firm shake of his head.

"Go rest," he said over his shoulder.

Madeleine crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway. "I'm not an invalid, you know."

"No, but you're pregnant," James shot back, rinsing the plates.

Madeleine rolled her eyes but smiled. "Alright, fine. But don't think I'm going to let you boss me around forever."

James glanced at her, his smirk softening into something warmer. "We'll see about that."

As the last traces of sunlight disappeared behind the hills, the air cooled, carrying with it the faint scent of lavender and rosemary from the garden below. The stars began to emerge, pinpricks of light scattered across a deepening indigo sky. James tipped back the last sip of whisky from his glass, savoring the familiar warmth as it slid down his throat.

Madeleine had leaned her head against his shoulder, her tea forgotten on the small table beside them. He could feel her breathing, slow and steady, and the quiet weight of her against him was grounding in a way he didn't quite know how to articulate.

"You're quiet," Madeleine murmured, her voice soft and low, almost drowsy.

"So are you," James replied, his tone equally quiet.

She smiled faintly, her fingers idly toying with the edge of his sleeve. "I'm thinking."

"About?"

Madeleine tilted her head slightly, her cheek brushing against his shoulder as she looked up at him. "About us. About everything that's about to change."

James let out a soft hum, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. He wasn't sure what to say. The weight of what she'd told him earlier still sat heavy in his chest—not in a bad way, but in a way that made him feel like he was standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable.

"I can't stop wondering what they'll be like," Madeleine continued after a moment. "If they'll look like you. If they'll have your eyes."

James glanced at her, his expression softening. "I hope they don't inherit my temper," he said dryly.

Madeleine laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine. "Your temper isn't as bad as you think it is."

James raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

"I've managed to survive it so far," she teased, nudging him gently.

He smirked, but the smile didn't last long. His gaze dropped to the small, almost imperceptible swell of her stomach hidden beneath her dress. He hadn't noticed it earlier—not really—but now that he knew, it was all he could think about.

"Do you… feel anything yet?" he asked, his voice quieter than before.

Madeleine's hand moved instinctively to rest on her stomach. "Not really. It's still early. But sometimes…" She paused, her smile growing softer. "Sometimes I feel… I don't know how to explain it. Like there's a little spark of something. Something new."

James didn't respond right away. He watched her hand, the way her fingers rested protectively over the place where their child was growing. The thought filled him with a strange mix of emotions—fear, wonder, and something dangerously close to hope.

"You'll tell me if you need anything," he said finally, his tone more of a statement than a question.

Madeleine looked up at him, her smile tinged with affection. "Of course."

James nodded, though a part of him didn't entirely believe her. Madeleine had always been fiercely independent, and he knew she'd likely try to downplay anything that might worry him.

Still, he would keep watch.

Later that evening, after the stars had fully taken over the sky, they retreated inside. The villa was quiet, the soft glow of the table lamp casting long shadows across the stone walls. James stood in the small kitchen, rinsing out his glass while Madeleine settled on the sofa with her book.

It was a routine they'd fallen into easily over the past few days—comfortable, domestic, almost absurdly normal. But tonight, the weight of the news lingered between them, unspoken but ever-present.

As James dried his hands, he glanced over at Madeleine. She was curled up on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, one hand resting idly on her stomach as she read. The sight of her like this—so calm, so utterly at ease—was enough to make something in his chest tighten.

"Madeleine," he said, his voice breaking the quiet.

She looked up, her expression curious. "Yes?"

James hesitated for a moment, his hands braced against the edge of the counter. "Do you… do you think I'll be a good father?"

The question hung in the air, vulnerable and raw.

Madeleine's gaze softened, and she closed her book, setting it aside. She stood and crossed the room to him, her bare feet silent against the floor.

When she reached him, she placed her hands on his chest, her touch light but steady. "James," she said softly, "I wouldn't have told you if I didn't believe you could be."

He let out a quiet breath, his hands settling on her hips. "I've spent my whole life in a world that's…" He trailed off, struggling to find the right words. "It's not a place for children. For families."

"You're not in that world anymore," Madeleine reminded him gently. "You said so yourself."

James searched her eyes, his jaw tightening slightly. "I'm just scared. Scared I won't be enough. Scared I'll fail you. Fail them."

"You won't," Madeleine said firmly. "You won't because you care. And because I know you'll do everything you can to keep us safe."

Her words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, he couldn't bring himself to respond. Instead, he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her in a way that felt almost desperate.

Madeleine held him just as tightly, her cheek resting against his chest.

"You're going to be amazing," she whispered.

James pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his eyes closing briefly. "You have too much faith in me."

"Maybe," Madeleine said with a small smile, pulling back just enough to look up at him. "But I think you've earned it."

When they finally went to bed, the room was dark and quiet, the soft rustle of the linen curtains the only sound. Madeleine curled up against James, her head resting on his shoulder as his arm draped around her protectively.

For a long time, James stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts refusing to settle. He couldn't shake the fear, the doubt—but somewhere beneath it all, there was a flicker of something else.

Hope.

And as Madeleine's breathing evened out beside him, James let that hope carry him into sleep.

The room was steeped in silence, the kind that only came in the dead of night. Moonlight filtered through the linen curtains, casting faint patterns across the walls. James lay on his back, his arm around Madeleine as she curled against him.

She had fallen asleep not long after they'd gone to bed, her breathing soft and even. He could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest against his side, the warmth of her body grounding him in a way nothing else could.

James, however, was wide awake. His mind wouldn't stop turning. Every time he closed his eyes, he found himself thinking about the child—their child. It felt unreal, as though saying it aloud might shatter the fragile bubble of peace they'd found here.

He didn't know how long he lay there, staring at the ceiling and listening to the faint rustle of the curtains. But when Madeleine shifted beside him, he glanced down to find her stirring, her hand pressing lightly against his chest.

"Madeleine?" he murmured, his voice low so as not to startle her.

She didn't answer immediately, her brow furrowing as she let out a quiet groan.

"Hey," James said, sitting up slightly and brushing her hair away from her face. "What's wrong?"

Madeleine shifted again, her eyes fluttering open. She looked disoriented, her hand moving to her stomach. "I feel… strange," she murmured, her voice groggy.

"Strange how?" James asked, his tone sharpening with concern.

"Dizzy," she admitted, closing her eyes for a moment as if the movement of the room was too much. "And a little sick."

James frowned, his grip on her tightening as he helped her sit up slowly. "Is it the baby?"

Madeleine let out a soft laugh, though it lacked her usual warmth. "It's normal, James. Probably just nausea. It happens."

"That doesn't mean I'm not going to worry," he said firmly, his hand resting lightly on her back to steady her. "Do you want water? Something to eat?"

She shook her head, her eyes still closed. "No, I just need a moment. It'll pass."

James watched her closely, his jaw tightening as he fought the instinct to act. He wasn't used to feeling this helpless, and it gnawed at him.

After a few moments, Madeleine opened her eyes and gave him a faint smile. "See? It's already getting better."

James wasn't convinced. "You're pale," he said, his gaze flicking to her face.

"I'm fine," she insisted, though her voice was softer now. She reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. "This is normal. You don't need to call a doctor."

"I wasn't going to," James said, though the thought had crossed his mind. "But I need you to tell me if it gets worse. No hiding it."

"I promise," Madeleine said, her smile growing slightly. "You really are going to hover over me, aren't you?"

"Get used to it," James replied, his tone dry but affectionate.

She let out a soft laugh, leaning into him as he wrapped his arm around her. For a while, they just sat there, the quiet of the night wrapping around them like a blanket.

Eventually, Madeleine spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're going to be good at this, you know."

James glanced down at her, his brow furrowing. "At what?"

"This," she said, her hand brushing lightly against his. "Taking care of us."

James didn't respond immediately, his gaze dropping to where her fingers rested against his. "I hope you're right," he said quietly.

"I know I'm right," Madeleine replied, her tone steady despite the faint weariness in her voice.

James sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Try to get some more rest," he said softly. "I'll stay up for a bit."

Madeleine nodded, settling back against him as she closed her eyes.

James stayed where he was, his hand absently tracing slow circles on her back as he listened to the quiet rhythm of her breathing. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but as the minutes stretched into hours, he found himself hoping—praying—that she was right. That he could do this. That he could keep them safe.