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It takes a great deal of trial and mostly error, but Kamikaze does eventually succeed in impregnating his wife without her unusual body rejecting the situation, and without her running away as a result. It seemed to be something like a lack of acclimatization, because after the first full term pregnancy, the second arrives without the cataclysm he’s come to expect. Although his world is too far removed from the past for him to know what her occasional references to it mean, if he had done deep research, he would discover that this is not an issue exclusive to himself, but that Kanako, or Helen, has always had trouble reproducing with mortals and demi-gods alike.
Since he doesn't expect the second pregnancy to be any less traumatic than the first, he is consequently amazed when she emerges from the bathroom one morning, glowing. Her face always glows, which is why she protects her surroundings by applying a thick shield of paint to it, but today she glows in a much gentler, less apocalyptic fashion. Although not a man of broad horizons or wide experience outside of his narrow fields of sword wielding and monster killing expertise, Kamikaze intuitively understands that she's pregnant. Pregnant, and feeling very happy about it, her mouth set in a sphinx smile.
He leaps out of bed with the bedsheets wrapped around himself, accidentally evoking a Greek tunic. “Sweetheart…” he says, approaching her while absentmindedly tying his hair up.
“Yes, Sam?” Helen gazes around her walk-in wardrobe, which is split into two, one side for her Kanako persona, the other for the Helena version. Neither one is really her, but who she really is is unknowable, even for her simultaneously much older and much younger husband. For his part, he loves all of her, and he is simple and unchanging enough for them both.
“You're glowing, Hel. Did you slap some sort of golden lotion on your skin?” to check, he raises a hand to her neck, tentatively touching it. It doesn't have the tell-tale sticky feel of lotion, and is instead indescribably soft and smooth and warm. Somewhere in hell, Paris weeps.
“No, dear Mr Samurai. Guess again.”
“You’re pregnant. And it’s past the danger point.”
The young woman continues to smile as her hero smothers her in kisses.