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Tobirama's mind was fuzzy with fatigue.
But sleep would not come to him no matter how long he waited.
The noises of the Uchiha compound were quiet this late at night, but not absent. The sounds that remained filled his head with a white noise that made his thoughts all the more consuming in comparison.
There were a thousand crickets with a thousand rhythms, a hunting owl's distant call, the steady breathing of a warm body by his side, the rustling of bushes as the Uchiha Clan's Ninneko slunk around in search of prey...
A baby's cries were quickly soothed to silence somewhere in the compound.
Each layer of noise compounded into a song that belonged to the night.
He stared up at the ceiling above him, one hand idly rubbing his barely distended stomach as his eyes played tricks on him, turning the knots and whorls of the wood overhead into pictures that he knew weren't there.
Underneath his palm lied two sparks of life.
One he knew, one he didn't.
He had never gotten the chance to meet the eldest Uchiha brother, the original heir of Tajima who had been laid low during a battle with the Hyuuga Clan.
And the other... He'd felt it when that soul had grown weak, had dwindled to smoldering ashes before being doused altogether.
He'd caused that to happen.
Was it really alright to play with the life of a man he killed this way? To drag him back when he was the one who struck him down? Izuna... He'd respected Izuna, acknowledged his strength, admired his tenacity and his honor. Who was he to play with the soul of a man who had once matched him stride by stride as they grew stronger on the battlefield?
Would there be resentment?
As the memories returned over the years, would he begin to hate Tobirama?
Could Tobirama live with that? Live with a child born from his own body looking at him in horror as memories of his own mother crossing blades with him day after day and battle after battle continued growing bloodier until the day he would witness his own death?
Tobirama sat up, careful not to disturb Madara's sleep as he slid from under the covers, bare feet silent on the tatami as he crept out of the room, the shoji door closing behind him without a sound.
The engawa's wooden floors were cold enough to send a shiver down his spine, not helped in the least when he slid open the outer amado, letting in the cool night air. He sat, letting his feet touch the pebbled ground outside as he gazed into the darkness of the yard.
Phantoms of children played there, so clearly visible in his mind's eye. Would Izuna look the same? Did souls have effects on one's body in that manner?
He knew there was a connection between body and soul, it was why Izuna and Togakushi's souls would've been near impossible to attach to a baby not of their blood. Summoning and sealing their souls into the developing life inside of him had been a smooth process, much smoother than the first time-
(He didn't want to think about the first time, the violent rejection that had occurred from the mismatched soul chosen at random and the fetus from an unknown sperm donor that had ended with the smallest grave he'd ever dug being hidden among the flowers of the garden Hashirama had grown for him)
It had only taken one mistake to identify the need of genetic ties to reduce the strain (one mistake too many, for the soul he'd felt cracking under the pressure, and the agony in his womb as the life it grew faded. The life faded first, and the soul slipped away into the pure lands once more. The rest of the week had been spent in a haze, work done by rote and mind whirling with guilt. If he had stopped the jutsu quicker despite the shocking pain, could the life he had carried for all of three weeks been saved?)
He wished he'd thought to grab another layer, but the numbness in his toes as they brushed the cold stones below felt like a fitting punishment for his melancholic thoughts.
Something thick and warm draped over his shoulders, almost enough to make him jump. A haori.
"If you are stargazing, I would suggest looking up rather than down." The voice of Madara was still gruff with sleep as the other man sat beside him, close enough they pressed thigh to thigh.
Tobirama didn't respond for a long moment before he finally lifted his eyes from the ground below.
The village was dark, this late at night, especially so far into the Uchiha compound. What few lights that may remain lit stayed hidden behind shuttered doors, allowing the stars to shine without competition.
The universe hung above them in a tapestry of light, invisible patterns woven there by unknown means. Whether created by god or by chance he didn't know, but their mere existence was always a breathtaking sight.
"What bothers you tonight, mine?" Madara asked, his terms of endearment as possessive as ever, but spoken softer than Tobirama could recall ever hearing it said before.
"The children... Will they be given new names?" Tobirama said. It wasn't the answer to Madara's question, but he didn't know how to vocalize the pressure he felt about bringing life into the world, life he had no right to touch. Life that he might still ruin... Again.
"Why?" Madara asked, easily letting him slip by the question.
"It might help them." Tobirama's voice was low, a sound that could've vanished into the night's music if Madara weren't here to listen. "Separating the memories of the past and the present would be easier with different names." (Is it fair? Is it fair? Tobirama wondered, is it another injustice, to steal the name of a man he killed, even if done with the best intentions?)
Madara's voice recalled his wandering mind. "We could, I suppose," Madara said, shuffling a bit, "but not too different."
Tobirama didn't startle when Madara's head landed in his lap, nuzzling into his stomach gently.
It was oddly calming, to sit here in the dark, the steady breathing of Madara warm upon his skin through the fabric of his thin sleeping yukata.
The silence was broken a few minutes later by a word from Madara, "Izuya..." He muttered, the sound muffled by cloth..
"One katakana off from 'Izuna', I presume?" Tobirama asked, running a hand through Madara's wild mane of hair. It always surprised him how soft it was, or rather how soft it became once Madara started taking proper care of it again, about a week after they'd started sharing a bed.
There was an affirmative hum.
The Uchiha Clan were odd like that, sometimes preferring names to be in katakana rather than kanji or hiragana. Technically Madara's name could be written out in kanji meaning "Spots", but those weren't the characters his parents had used to spell his name.
"Togakoshi?" Tobirama suggested a few moments later.
Madara nodded, rubbing his face into Tobirama's stomach again as he did so.
Tobirama had to wonder, not for the first time, if the Uchiha clan's connection to their Ninneko had any impact on their behaviors. The way Madara often chose to rub or press against him was certainly a cat like trait.
Tobirama sighed, eyes drooping closed against his will. The morning would be here soon, but only now did sleep beckon him.
The cold spot on his stomach was uncomfortable, enough to cause his eyelids to flutter open again in search of Madara, ready to reprimand him for moving away. But before he could, arms wrapped around him.
He had gotten used to the feel of these arms, ones corded with muscle only gained by shinobi who wielded heavy weapons. The only marring of the smooth skin were the scars left behind by a jagged graze of a mokuton branch that had snuck past his guard at an unexpected moment. A sign of his near unmatched skills in battle.
He didn't fight the hold, going limp as Madara carried him back to their bed. The sounds of night growing quieter again as the doors slid shut behind them.
The bed was cold, bereft of another body. The low noise of displeasure he let out was soothed away by a press of lips upon his brow.
A familiar figure pressed against his back, warmth radiating through him. A hand held his where it laid over his stomach, a thumb rubbing absently against his skin.
Tobirama finally slept.