Koeda heard the front door open, and knew that her husband had returned. The smell of ramen wafted in soon after. She felt a flutter in her belly as the baby kicked. "Yes, my dear," she said softly, pressing her hand over the spot, "Let's go have dinner." She never craved ramen so fiercely as since she'd gotten pregnant, and Koeda was convinced that her child was responsible.

The heavily pregnant kunoichi laid down the shuriken she'd been sharpening, and levered herself up to her feet. Pressing a hand to her lower spine, she tried her best not to waddle as she made her way into the kitchen. "That smells del-" she gasped when she caught sight of her husband. "Kajiki, what's wrong?"

The shopping bag of ramen had been tossed haphazardly on the kitchen counter, it contents managing to remain intact. Next to it, the shinobi stood, leaning over the sink, head bowed low. His hands were braced against the edge, knuckles white, as though it was the only thing keeping him upright. She heard him taking shallow, rapid breaths.

Koeda shuffled up beside him. "Kajiki, darling, what happened?" She gently placed a hand on his back and rubbed in soothing circles.

Her husband shook his head, making no other response. She waited patiently, still rubbing his back, until his breathing evened out. Finally he glanced up. "I'm sorry. Let's eat; I'm sure you're hungry."

"I'm fine," she frowned. "What-"

"Nothing," he cut her off. He moved briskly, retrieving two bowls from the cupboard, and pulling the containers of ramen out of the shopping bag.

"It obviously isn't nothing, or you wouldn't be acting like this," Koeda insisted. "Did something unusual happen while getting the ramen?"

"No. I'm telling you, it's nothing."

She bristled, hands clenched, beginning to suspect. "Who got you this upset? Are the Uchiha harassing you again?" He turned his back on her, silently setting a pot of water on the stove for tea. She persisted. "I'm not going to let this go. Tell me who's bothering you, and so help me-"

"Damn it, woman, I said it's nothing!" Kajiki shouted, whirling around suddenly.

Koeda stepped back in surprise, then recovered herself. "I'm only trying to help, you idiot!" she fumed. How dare he scream at her like that? "If you're going to act this way, I'm leaving." She took a few steps toward the kitchen doorway, before tottering back to grab a container of ramen and a pair of chopsticks. "I'll be in our room, when you're ready to have a civil discussion."

Notwithstanding her intense cravings earlier, Koeda barely touched her ramen. Fighting with Kajiki had ruined her appetite. And, despite her own anger, she was still worried about what had gotten him into such a state. Back when they were engaged, they faced a lot of scorn for committing to a mixed marriage. Some of that contempt came from unexpectedly hurtful sources, like her own jounin sensei.

But by this point, over a year later and with their child due at any moment, most people had grown to accept, or at least tolerate, their decision. She hated to think that someone out there may be deriding her husband enough to rattle him.

The sun had long set, and she was beginning to debate whether to go back out and try talking to him again, when the bedroom door opened. Her husband slowly entered, his eyes downcast, and his hands holding a cup of tea like a peace offering. "Forgive me for yelling."

Koeda smiled and patted the space beside her on the mattress.

Kajiki hesitated only a moment before placing the tea on her bedside table. He stepped around and onto his side of the bed, taking care not to disturb the pillows supporting his wife's back against the headboard.

She waited until he was settled, then "Tell me what happened, darling."

He let out a resigned breath that seemed to deflate his body. "On the way home from Ichiraku's, I heard news about a coup in Water Country."

Koeda grasped his hand, her thumb stroking over the back. "Again? Mist is so politically unstable. They go through Mizukage rather quickly, don't they?"

He nodded, and rested his head on her shoulder. "But this time it wasn't the Mizukage. They overthrew the Water Daimyo. It ended a dynasty that lasted five generations."

Her hand squeezed his in a comforting gesture. She knew that her husband was a distant relative to Water country's daimyo, but he'd never spoken about him before. "Were you close?"

He let out a brief huff of laughter. "Of course not. I doubt the man ever knew my name. I told you. It's nothing." His hand trembled in her grasp, belying his flippant words.

"How did it happen?" Koeda asked gently.

"How does it always happen?" Kajiki sighed. "A man in position of power gets it in his mind that he wants more of it. He amasses followers, and plans a convenient time to strike. The Daimyo would be killed first, and then all his kin would be rounded up and systematically executed, alongside all of his staunchest supporters."

The kunoichi stiffened up, finally understanding. "All his kin? Oh, Kajiki...your family…"

"It doesn't matter," he said stoutly. "They were already dead to me."

She shifted around as best as she could with her awkward belly, wrapping her arms around him and planting a kiss into his hair. "You don't have to put up a front for my sake, darling."

"My family was terrible. Do you think I care what happens to them?"

For a long moment, she didn't know what to say. "Do you?" she asked quietly.

His eyes snapped shut, his expression crumbling. Somewhere from the depths of his chest, a great sob rattled up. She clung to him, kissing his head and stroking his back as he wept.

They stayed that way until the tears were spent. Afterwards, Kajiki was so still she thought he had fallen asleep in her arms. But then he murmured, "I'm the last one. How ironic. The runt and good-for-nothing... the last Umino."

"Hush. You were the best one of them all." She took his hand and pressed it against the fullness of her belly. "And you're certainly not the last. Don't forget, you still have a family."

With a shuddering breath, her husband kissed her lips. He scrubbed his face with his sleeve, peeled off his shirt, and lay down beside her. Koeda gingerly scooted downward until she could lay on her side, facing him. Kajiki was still once again, but she could tell that he was nowhere near sleep. Her husband had a tendency to brood silently.

"Kaji'," she said softly, drawing him out of his dark thoughts, "I think, considering the circumstances, we ought to give the baby a proper Umino name."

His eyes flew open. "No. Our son is a Konohan."

"Of course he is. That's not going to change because of a name," she pointed out.

The shinobi hesitated. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he really wanted to do it, but was warring with himself. "It's not a good legacy."

"We'll make it a good legacy," she responded primly. When he offered no other protest, she continued. "Now, how do Umino go about choosing a name?"

Her husband laid a strong, calloused hand on her belly, stroking his thumb over the fabric of her nightgown, the soft material catching on his scars. "There's not much to it. You choose a sea creature with the sort of characteristics you'd like to see in the child. My brother was named for the stingray- venomous, adept at concealment. My sister, the codfish- an underestimated, highly effective hunter. And swordfish are swift, solitary, and always ready to slash at prey. I think it chafed at my father, that I never truly mastered the sword."

She reached up to stroke his face, drawing him out of his memories and back into this moment. "And what sort of characteristics would you want for our child?"

Kajiki leaned into her touch. "I want him to be happy," he said at length, "and to enjoy closeness with the people around him. I want him to be intelligent, to think for himself, but not only of himself. To be gentle, and ready to help others. Yet I also want him to be strong, fully capable of fighting and defending."

Koeda felt the baby move, right under the spot where her husband's hand lay. She smiled and pressed her own hand over his. She loved this man, so much. "That sounds wonderful, darling. But it's a rather a lot to expect from a sea creature, don't you think?"

"Heh. Yes, I suppose it-" His eyes widened and he sat up. "Iruka."

"Huh?" she said, surprised by his sudden motion.

He turned to look at her earnestly. "His name. We could call him Iruka."

"Umino Iruka," she said, testing the name on her tongue, and thinking over what she knew about dolphins. She beamed up at him. "It's perfect."