The sound of the cartoons in the background were all she could hear besides the occasional laughter or sound of toys falling and crashing. As she sat on her desk, locked away in her study for the fourth hour straight, her back ached and the side of her head throbbed from the stress and the intense glare of the computer screen before her. She sighed and leaned back onto the softness of the leather and played with the pages of her post-it pad. Among some forgotten phone numbers and note-to-selfs, there were little drawings and scribbles from her daughter. She smiled.

Every ten or so minutes Heloise would purposefully pass by her door pretending to head to the bathroom or the bedrooms... She knew better. It was a perfectly fine Saturday evening and they were both locked up in this apartment. It was mid-October and the leaves were reddened and bountiful on the ground. Her favorite season... probably because there was always the promise of rebirth in spring. Rebirth was a thing she'd grown good at.

Heloise had been born on a rainy spring day, tiny, premature and sent straight to the neo-natal intensive care unit. They had practically lived in the hospital for two months, but it had been worth it. Four-years-old and she was the brightest, healthiest little girl. She also had the tendency to fifty per cent of the time drive her mum mad. But a mother's love was a funny, limitless thing...

…

They sat by the window at the back of the café, having just left the theatre across the street. Heloise drew on the paper tablecloth as she on the other hand people-watched, deep in her thoughts. At the corner of her eyes she spotted the silver flash of his car and smiled slightly to herself. It had taken her almost two years to woo him with that tremendous ego of his. Another worthy sacrifice as she'd never felt so... content. It felt good to be loved and to make love. It felt good to have a home and something that resembled a family. It felt good to have James again. It was good to have her life.

…

She sat between his legs on the bed, back leaning on his chest and her head buried in the curve of his neck. He smelled of scotch, leather and something spicy, yet fresh. She couldn't name it, the scent, but it made her feel warm and utterly attracted to him. He was half-asleep, just arriving from Honduras, a relatively smooth mission, but that had left a deep and painful gash on his right leg. He'd kissed Heloise as he always did at the café, tickling her on the side and sat across from her mother without so much as a kiss or touch. He wasn't too keen on publicizing their affair, especially in front of the child—but in bed, at night, they made up for all of those agonizing hours of distance.

"You're awfully quiet today... not even judgy." He mumbled, caressing her arm and dotting her shoulder with light kisses.

"I'm tired, worked on the progress reports all day and the house was a mess..." She sighed. It was difficult having to do it all alone most of the time. These were the woes of being deeply in love with an agent, the woes of a supposedly single, working mother. The never-ending worry and stress. She worried he wouldn't return home one day.

Heloise would ask about his scars... Especially the perfectly round one right on his heart. She counted. He always would tell it was a birth mark, but the little girl knew better. Every month James showed up with some new, even if minor injury. A scratch, a scraped elbow, a split lip or a purple bruise on his side.

"My James works on a quidditch field." The little one would always say.

They laughed because it would be interesting to fight terrorists perched on brooms. Deep down they were both always afraid, praying to someone, something out there to protect him. Them. They were both orphans and they wouldn't allow for Heloise to suffer without her mother or her James. He loved the little girl—and she wasn't even his. She saw it in his violet-blue eyes. She loved him even more for it. Heloise had chosen him, there was no other explanation for it.

"They want me to begin thinking of retirement. Apparently no double-o has ever survived passed his fifties..." His voice trailed off unemotionally.

"Do you want to?"

"There's nothing else I know how to do. And there's you and the girl..." He trailed off, staring off at the wall instead of facing her questioning gaze.

"I'm sure your retirement will be generous..." She sat up facing him and held his chin so he'd look at her. "But that's not what bothers you."

"Of course I'll miss it. The adrenaline, the lack of a routine... feeling useful." She nodded in understanding.

"I see. It's your decision James..."

"Except it's not anymore, Vesper. It's ours... and their's."

"You know how I feel about your mission, the constant risks to your life and the consequences it can bring to all three of us—but I want you to be happy and not feel like any of this is a duty. I want you to know you always have a choice." He was silent, just staring into her eyes for a long moment, until she pulled him into her arms and let him be comforted on her shoulder. She loved how his armour was off again. Hers was too.

…

As they lay in the dark, neither one actually sleeping, they heard the door softly open and the light from the hall invade the room. A small little thing quickly made her way onto the bed in between them. Turning towards the much older man she tapped his shoulder gently. She smelled of lavender and was all dark curls, softness and baby powder. He pretended to be asleep.

"James?" She whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Happy father's day."

"It was in June..." He retorted, half-asleep.

"You're my dad everyday. Deal?"

"Deal." Was the reply as he wrapped his arm around her little frame and already knew what his decision would be.

…

He had to admit he was tired. He had to admit that he had reasons to stay at home. Bond was no longer lonely, depending only on Her Majesty's secret service to feel needed and belonging to something. He had Heloise and he had Vesper—the mysterious, alluring, loving one who had returned from the dead. Their relationship was a peculiar one.

Wives and husbands were always known to live in love/hate situations. He and Vesper lived in love. The hate had stayed in the past, along with those feelings of betrayal, disbelief and anger—It was a huge waste of time. It had taken them two years to reconcile. He had been resistant, with reason, to fall into her web again. She was different than the Vesper he'd met eight years ago... Sometimes he did not recognize her. Vesper's clothes were different, her manneurisms had changed. That mischievous glimmer in her eyes had disappeared. She was a mother and her hair wasn't always so impeccable.

The Vesper he knew and was with now was perhaps more compatible to him, but at the same time they clashed in any ways. She had that elegant, bourgeois way about her and he was just a Scottish gruff. She played the piano and cooked things life boeuf bourguignon. He knew just about everything of weapons, self-defense and football. She loved Russian literature and devoured Garcia Marquez and Isabel Allende's books. He read the newspaper and books about birds just because they were a great distraction from the everyday violence. Vesper had even presented him with a book by an ornithologist of the same name as he.

She had her reasons for having stayed away so long and everyday his understanding of the anguish and the guilt she still felt heightened. He should've always known that evening stars are relentless little things. They don't seem present during the day and sometimes you forget about them as the Earth orbits around the sun, time passes and people tend to ilude themselves. At night the stars always return. Sparkly, distant, contrasting in the dark horizon. You see them and then you don't feel so alone anymore. Against all odds his star was right here next to him. Against all odds she'd survived in Venice and returned to London to be with him. She loved him and he loved her too.

The next morning he called M.