Dream #3
(Warning: Violence and death inflicted on children. Kisame's a teenager here--probably somewhere between 16-19 years old.)
There is one man posted at each potential exit point of the house, standing with a watchful eye directed towards their doors and windows. Kisame glances at a window and nods absently to his comrade as he is glanced at in return, more interested in studying his face in the reflective glass; it is pale and wraithlike in his mask, a fierce phantasmal dragon slashed and whorled with brilliant blue. He thinks he looks menacing in it, cold and terrible like a vengeful god or malevolent spirit, or possibly a souless, inhuman force of nature, far removed from petty mortal affairs. Like a tsunami, perhaps. The thought is comforting. It belies the way his stomach churns and the way his hands want to shake, if he would only let them.
"They're cunning, remember that. They'll fight you with everything they have--and their illusions can be terrible."
"I know." Kisame confirms as he returns his attention to the mission leader, sounding more put out than he had intended to be. "I was assigned to this mission because of my practice against genjutsu, Boar-san." That was the official rationale, anyway. He's certain that was barely a factor in why he was placed into this raiding party. The thought coils like an acid-serpent in the pit of his stomach, trying to wind its way up his throat. He swallows it down.
His superior nods, laughs quietly at Kisame's irritation, tusked mask bobbing as though the man were rooting for truffles. The boar masks have always vaguely displeased Kisame; they give him the sense of their wearers being stolid and phlegmatic, apathetic whatever their orders. "Right, right. I'm just making sure you're prepared, Dragon-san. They'll know you're coming, and they will fight, and they will run. They'll hide, too--you can't trust to sensing chakra in this case, not when they can so fully mask themselves. Leave no room unsearched. Just remember, these people are like rats--this is a simple but potentially dangerous extermination job."
"Yes, sir." Kisame snaps out the words with a salute, biting back a snarl; he isn't laughing in return. He thinks this leader might not know exactly who he's talking to--strange, considering that Samehada should be a dead give-away. But he is decked out in full ANBU gear, and that leaves only part of his feet and narrow bands of his upper arms exposed, just enough to show his tattoo. Other than that, not a single scrap of skin is exposed, and then, such a small amount isn't something that most would pay attention to--it's entirely possible the man didn't even see that he was blue. He would hope so, anyway, considering the way his temporary leader was referring so easily and casually, so humorously to these people as vermin. He might have been tempted to punch Boar-mask in the face if he knew that he was saying such things to him on purpose, and that wouldn't have ended well at all.
But the gear reassures him--being covered so fully makes him feel safer, in times like these, and he wishes that their gloves were a bit longer, or that their shirts at least had sleeves, and that they could wear closed shoes.... He would have liked to be able to just disappear within all that gear, let Kisame drift away for a while so he could be just Dragon.
The briefing is finished not long before they reach the back door, the point of entry they had been assigned. It is smashed open without trouble, and the pair spring in, going their separate ways to cover the most ground. That arrogant bastard Boar-mask had been right about one thing, if nothing else--this was a big house, with a big family, and they fought. Fought desperately, as he had known they would from the beginning. (Kisame had expected and hoped for nothing else--though he had never met them, these are his people, his kin. He is their brother, cruel though this mission makes him. He prefers to see them live and fight with dignity, and die with honor, if they have to die at all.) Because what could be more desperate than a fight to save your own life, and that of your family?
Each drop of blood spilled is (precious, treasure, irreplaceable, sin, tragedy) tainted with the unnatural power of their kekkei genkai. Each man, woman, and child who bears that blood flowing through their veins has to die. Anyone who bears any unnatural blood has to die. (Keep your head down and keep your mouth shut. Do as you're told, you sorry bastard, or they might decide to rescind your living privileges after all. How much would it take to set them off? You're replaceable, after all. Expendable. You're not even fucking human. Do you really expect to have any rights? You've got to earn them, tear them from others' cold dead fingers, pay for them thousands of times over in blood.) They are, after all, the troublemakers of the country. They say the wars are because of them--and there have been many, many wars, even just within Kirigakure itself--, that people are jealous and possessive and vindictive because of them. They say that those with kekkei genkais are too willing and eager to fight.
But Kisame thinks that's just an excuse. People have always hated him--he knows that better than he knows almost anything in his life, that he is worthy and deserving of hate--, feared him, distrusted him.... but they also watched him. Wanted him. His Academy teachers loved how quickly he had learned, and ANBU had been falling over itself to snap him up. They had sent him into battle early and often, thrown him into the thickest parts of the fray, shooed him into the frontlines wherever he would fit. Kisame doubts he would have fought nearly so much or so hard without such incredible encouragement--not that it went entirely unappreciated--, but he also wonders if part of it was just so that he would fight for them in place of other people. Maybe they had been hoping that he would die.
Kisame refuses to die. He doesn't know what he's staying alive for, or why--just what is the point of struggling so hard, really?--, what purpose he should have in mind or what he should hope to achieve. Maybe it is just survival for survival's sake.... The dream that he and Kasumi shared feels so far away and unlikely that it seems unreal. Maybe the wars will never stop. Maybe there really is no end to all the hate. Maybe monsters like him will never have their justice, or their peace.... After all, it isn't as though they still have their pride. His own burns like he's been flayed alive, or perhaps branded the way they do cattle.
He had hardly started his search in earnest before he had to fight--unlike some slinking, skulking rat, the man who had first challenged him had flown in with eyes blazing and blades flashing, an urgent offensive that Kisame had guessed was meant to distract and hopefully drive off. That clash had been brutal; the man hadn't stopped fighting until he was physically incapable of moving at all. He probably had been their first line of defense; Kisame had almost envied him, possessing such bravery and honor, having such a deeply rooted urge to protect. He had been besieged almost immediately after by a pair of young men swooping in to assault him--identical twins, it seemed. They had complemented each other fiendishly well, pulling devastating combination attacks as easily as they covered for each other's weaknesses and distractions; their eyes had blazed with a crimson glow the entire time, proof of their unnatural blood. (He could have called them his brothers....) But though his mind still reeled from their genjutsus, he had dispatched them too in the end, until he could no longer tell their remains from one another.
And through it all, he and Samehada had ravaged them. Devoured them whole. He had taken their chakra into himself, because it was the only part of them that he could save. It was almost like freeing a soul, he thought--allowing it to become one with his. Maybe they would live on with him, in some small way. It was a reassuring thought, because his body armor and mask were growing uncomfortably sticky with such powerful blood.
He's deeper into the house, now--much deeper, and searching more quickly, half-hoping he'll miss something, but honestly just wanting to get the job over with. Once or twice, he hears footsteps. A bathroom door has been left ajar; he pushes it open, spots the little girl standing on the toilet and trying to climb out the window; she's breathing hard with the effort, hushed gasps shuddering with forcibly repressed crying, pigtails hiding her face as they stream down her back. They're on the second story--she would break an arm or leg trying to leap out there, or worse. Hell, she might even fall right onto one of the ANBU outside, and what then? Kisame slashes at her, hearing the curtain rod tear off as it catches on Samehada's scales. The girl screams as she's knocked from her perch, high and shrill like a ringing alarm bell.
Obviously she's not a ninja, but she might be in Academy, by the looks of how she picks herself up and darts off like a shadow beneath his blade, in spite of the gashes torn in one arm. Kisame swears heartily and gives chase as she bolts down the hall. He catches her just in front of a bedroom door, and she shrieks again as he brings Samehada smashing down before she can let go of the knob and run. It's a hard blow, and Samehada is a heavy sword; she crumples instantly, head crushed and face ruined beyond recognition. Kisame catches himself whispering to her as he frees the soul from her body, though the fresh rush of chakra pouring through him feels too loud to let him tell what exactly he'd been trying to say.
He opens the door the little girl had been trying to escape through, and carefully steps over her corpse as he enters, pausing to check behind furniture and beneath the large bed; he's about as deep into the house as he can get, now. But there is nobody there, and so he opens the closet before leaving, just in case. It's just large enough to walk into, and the rack is full of clothes. But the air seems.... dusty, here. Almost like there's a reddish haze hanging in suspension, too fine to settle on the ground just yet. It seems to be coming from past the clothes; Kisame carefully shuts the door behind him, and pushes them aside.
There's a woman kneeling back there in the middle of the haze, eyes shining like spilled blood and cradling a baby against her breast. She's rubbing it to keep it calm and quiet, but she's obviously been weeping, and her shirt is wet, soaked through with mother's milk in her terror. Kisame doesn't see a hitai-ate, but that doesn't mean anything, and she could have always given it up for a while to be a mother. She probably was a shinobi at one point, he guesses, if only because it occurs to him that he hasn't been able to feel their chakra at all. That's probably what the haze is for. This family can see through walls, he remembers too, and guesses that she's probably watched him coming--watched him kill the others, too. If she had chosen a slightly more secure hiding place, maybe he would have missed her entirely.
For a moment, Kisame stops in his tracks and just stares. He might get in trouble for this, but they're in an enclosed space, and it isn't as if anyone else would know.... Kisame pushes his dragon mask up, reveals his unnatural face and blood, bares the monster within. She stares back at him for a long, long moment, eyes shining with tears, but also with the tottering, shaky beginnings of hope at this small glimpse--not of humanity, because neither of them are human, are they?--of recognition and common ground. Help me. Please.
Kisame smiles weakly and finds himself sinking to his knees, kneeling before them, reaching to touch her hand with his gloved one, the one that isn't holding the sword. She shrinks back against the wall as he moves, but there's no choice but to trust him, now--she clutches his hand with a sudden, startling intensity that makes pain flare through it to the wrist, and he feels the small bones protest such a tight grasp. But she's crying again, and her child is nestled securely between their chests as she buries her face against his shoulder, and Kisame loops his free arm around her as she breaks under the strain. (Because somehow, he feels sure that she understands it all, everything. Maybe she even understands what has to happen now, whether she wants to believe it or just keep hoping. He's not sure whether she's sobbing in despair or some sort of withered, helpless relief.)
She's older than he is--much older, on the order of what's surely at least twenty years. But he holds her close anyway, and presses his lips against the top of her head, and whispers that he won't let the others touch her. This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you, I promise. But only for a little bit--I won't let them hurt you anymore. They'll never be able to hurt you again. Samehada is leaning against the wall because of how tight the space is in here, propped up as he holds the woman reassuringly tight. He allows Samehada's chakra to thread through the woman--she looks up at him as she feels the touch, and they lock eyes for an instant--and her child, and pulls.
The end is swift, silent, and seems to be mercifully painless; either the baby doesn't hurt at all, or it has no time to wail, he isn't sure. But the woman only stares, and he watches the tears slide down her cheeks as the light fades from her eyes. The red haze in the air fades as well, and she feels feather-light in Kisame's arms as the chakra rushes into him; they're both safe now, too. They'll walk out of this compound as free as he is. But their bodies....
They'll bury or burn them--Kisame's not sure which. There'll be a lot of bodies. But they certainly won't do it with any real care, and he doubts they would give them proper rites. They would taint this tainted blood with their blood-soaked human hands.
So Kisame pushes her back and stands up, gently. And he brings Samehada down. Over and over. Over and over, until his muscles ache from the repetition, and there's little left of either of them beyond what's splattered on the floor and on him and on Samehada. I said I'd never let them touch you.
Their blood mingles with the others', as does their chakra inside him, and he's grimly satisfied to know that they've been reunited; Kisame doesn't bother wiping the blood from his face, simply replacing his mask to let it dry in secret. The door opens as he turns to leave.
Boar-mask again. He wants to cut him in half. Wonders if it would be disrespectful to the inhuman blood that's already been spilled over Samehada. It probably would be, and he refrains for that reason almost as much as because the man is his superior. Still, his grip tightens on Samehada, and Boar-mask nods in approval, taking the gesture as wariness. "Dragon-san. You ready to go?"
"Yeah." Kisame takes a deep breath and steps out, following the leader down the stairs.
"That was an awfully tight space--I'm surprised you were even able to swing that monster in there." The nod Boar-mask gives is towards Samehada, now propped up against his shoulder; Kisame smiles bitterly under his mask, because obviously the man doesn't know him well enough to know that he's far more a monster than Samehada will ever be.
"I'm used to it." He says instead, and dips his head in acknowledgment as they step outside. It looks like the man is about to ask more questions, so Kisame interrupts with one of his own before they can go any further. "Are we finished here?"
"We'll be a while, sorry." Boar-mask sighs wearily. "There's a whole compound to go though today, even if we aren't the only team on the job here."
The two of them head off first, while the others in their team fall into a loose order behind them; Kisame spots a flash of streaming purple hair out of the corner of his eye, a drift of red haze as a woman makes a silent dash for a bank of bushes; Kisame imagines there's probably a crawlspace in there, some ridiculously tight hole under the compound wall, dug by a rebellious genin to avoid parental restrictions. He hardly even thinks as he reaches up to adjust his mask, arm forming a suitable visual block as he moves right up beside Boar-mask. His teeth grit, but he's able to make his frustration and disgust sound rough and ready instead, and he's glad of it--it sounds a little like he wouldn't mind another fight, rather than like he wouldn't mind sticking Samehada into the man's gut. "Well, I guess you know what they say; if you see one rat, there's probably forty more hiding in the woodworks. I guess we'll be here for a while, huh?"
"No kidding. You look like you got in a few good kills."
Kisame looks down at his thickly blood-smeared outfit. "Yeah, they put up one hell of a fight." He wonders what his own mother would think, if she knew about all of this. He wonders who would have killed him--the only faces he can come up with are his next door neighbors, and a few of the medics in the hospital, which seems vaguely unsettling; if he had been born recently, after all, they probably would have just smothered him or broken his neck once they'd cleaned the birth-blood off. Or certainly after they had found out about his gills....
He doesn't know any of these men, and he doesn't know whether it's a comfort that he has to do this with total strangers, or a curse that he's deprived of the company of his friends and teammates, who would be much more perceptive about the whole thing than any of these people were. Whether they'd be any more sensitive about it, he doesn't know.... Ultimately, it's probably a good thing they're not here. If they had treated it like Boar-mask did, he might have tried to kill them--he doesn't like the idea of what few friends he has acting like that.
Boar-mask had said something while Kisame wasn't paying attention, it seemed--all the humans are laughing. Kisame's not sure about what, but he decides to laugh too, just in case.
[Kisame's eyes snap open in the dark, and he lets out a long breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He's shaking a little, and he can't quite seem to stop--he just wants to hit something. Anything. It'd take his mind off of things. He wants to do something comforting and familiar, but he'd rather not worry Valeria, or wake her up if he can help it....]
[He remembers seeing a smith's shop somewhere in Konoha; he could probably find his way back there, if he tried. It would be a good distraction. With that thought in mind, Kisame presses a gentle kiss to Valeria's forehead as she sleeps, before carefully sliding out of bed and getting dressed to leave. The Hitomi is pointedly ignored; it turns itself off as he leaves, quite simply because it reappears in one of his pockets for the journey]
There is one man posted at each potential exit point of the house, standing with a watchful eye directed towards their doors and windows. Kisame glances at a window and nods absently to his comrade as he is glanced at in return, more interested in studying his face in the reflective glass; it is pale and wraithlike in his mask, a fierce phantasmal dragon slashed and whorled with brilliant blue. He thinks he looks menacing in it, cold and terrible like a vengeful god or malevolent spirit, or possibly a souless, inhuman force of nature, far removed from petty mortal affairs. Like a tsunami, perhaps. The thought is comforting. It belies the way his stomach churns and the way his hands want to shake, if he would only let them.
"They're cunning, remember that. They'll fight you with everything they have--and their illusions can be terrible."
"I know." Kisame confirms as he returns his attention to the mission leader, sounding more put out than he had intended to be. "I was assigned to this mission because of my practice against genjutsu, Boar-san." That was the official rationale, anyway. He's certain that was barely a factor in why he was placed into this raiding party. The thought coils like an acid-serpent in the pit of his stomach, trying to wind its way up his throat. He swallows it down.
His superior nods, laughs quietly at Kisame's irritation, tusked mask bobbing as though the man were rooting for truffles. The boar masks have always vaguely displeased Kisame; they give him the sense of their wearers being stolid and phlegmatic, apathetic whatever their orders. "Right, right. I'm just making sure you're prepared, Dragon-san. They'll know you're coming, and they will fight, and they will run. They'll hide, too--you can't trust to sensing chakra in this case, not when they can so fully mask themselves. Leave no room unsearched. Just remember, these people are like rats--this is a simple but potentially dangerous extermination job."
"Yes, sir." Kisame snaps out the words with a salute, biting back a snarl; he isn't laughing in return. He thinks this leader might not know exactly who he's talking to--strange, considering that Samehada should be a dead give-away. But he is decked out in full ANBU gear, and that leaves only part of his feet and narrow bands of his upper arms exposed, just enough to show his tattoo. Other than that, not a single scrap of skin is exposed, and then, such a small amount isn't something that most would pay attention to--it's entirely possible the man didn't even see that he was blue. He would hope so, anyway, considering the way his temporary leader was referring so easily and casually, so humorously to these people as vermin. He might have been tempted to punch Boar-mask in the face if he knew that he was saying such things to him on purpose, and that wouldn't have ended well at all.
But the gear reassures him--being covered so fully makes him feel safer, in times like these, and he wishes that their gloves were a bit longer, or that their shirts at least had sleeves, and that they could wear closed shoes.... He would have liked to be able to just disappear within all that gear, let Kisame drift away for a while so he could be just Dragon.
The briefing is finished not long before they reach the back door, the point of entry they had been assigned. It is smashed open without trouble, and the pair spring in, going their separate ways to cover the most ground. That arrogant bastard Boar-mask had been right about one thing, if nothing else--this was a big house, with a big family, and they fought. Fought desperately, as he had known they would from the beginning. (Kisame had expected and hoped for nothing else--though he had never met them, these are his people, his kin. He is their brother, cruel though this mission makes him. He prefers to see them live and fight with dignity, and die with honor, if they have to die at all.) Because what could be more desperate than a fight to save your own life, and that of your family?
Each drop of blood spilled is (precious, treasure, irreplaceable, sin, tragedy) tainted with the unnatural power of their kekkei genkai. Each man, woman, and child who bears that blood flowing through their veins has to die. Anyone who bears any unnatural blood has to die. (Keep your head down and keep your mouth shut. Do as you're told, you sorry bastard, or they might decide to rescind your living privileges after all. How much would it take to set them off? You're replaceable, after all. Expendable. You're not even fucking human. Do you really expect to have any rights? You've got to earn them, tear them from others' cold dead fingers, pay for them thousands of times over in blood.) They are, after all, the troublemakers of the country. They say the wars are because of them--and there have been many, many wars, even just within Kirigakure itself--, that people are jealous and possessive and vindictive because of them. They say that those with kekkei genkais are too willing and eager to fight.
But Kisame thinks that's just an excuse. People have always hated him--he knows that better than he knows almost anything in his life, that he is worthy and deserving of hate--, feared him, distrusted him.... but they also watched him. Wanted him. His Academy teachers loved how quickly he had learned, and ANBU had been falling over itself to snap him up. They had sent him into battle early and often, thrown him into the thickest parts of the fray, shooed him into the frontlines wherever he would fit. Kisame doubts he would have fought nearly so much or so hard without such incredible encouragement--not that it went entirely unappreciated--, but he also wonders if part of it was just so that he would fight for them in place of other people. Maybe they had been hoping that he would die.
Kisame refuses to die. He doesn't know what he's staying alive for, or why--just what is the point of struggling so hard, really?--, what purpose he should have in mind or what he should hope to achieve. Maybe it is just survival for survival's sake.... The dream that he and Kasumi shared feels so far away and unlikely that it seems unreal. Maybe the wars will never stop. Maybe there really is no end to all the hate. Maybe monsters like him will never have their justice, or their peace.... After all, it isn't as though they still have their pride. His own burns like he's been flayed alive, or perhaps branded the way they do cattle.
He had hardly started his search in earnest before he had to fight--unlike some slinking, skulking rat, the man who had first challenged him had flown in with eyes blazing and blades flashing, an urgent offensive that Kisame had guessed was meant to distract and hopefully drive off. That clash had been brutal; the man hadn't stopped fighting until he was physically incapable of moving at all. He probably had been their first line of defense; Kisame had almost envied him, possessing such bravery and honor, having such a deeply rooted urge to protect. He had been besieged almost immediately after by a pair of young men swooping in to assault him--identical twins, it seemed. They had complemented each other fiendishly well, pulling devastating combination attacks as easily as they covered for each other's weaknesses and distractions; their eyes had blazed with a crimson glow the entire time, proof of their unnatural blood. (He could have called them his brothers....) But though his mind still reeled from their genjutsus, he had dispatched them too in the end, until he could no longer tell their remains from one another.
And through it all, he and Samehada had ravaged them. Devoured them whole. He had taken their chakra into himself, because it was the only part of them that he could save. It was almost like freeing a soul, he thought--allowing it to become one with his. Maybe they would live on with him, in some small way. It was a reassuring thought, because his body armor and mask were growing uncomfortably sticky with such powerful blood.
He's deeper into the house, now--much deeper, and searching more quickly, half-hoping he'll miss something, but honestly just wanting to get the job over with. Once or twice, he hears footsteps. A bathroom door has been left ajar; he pushes it open, spots the little girl standing on the toilet and trying to climb out the window; she's breathing hard with the effort, hushed gasps shuddering with forcibly repressed crying, pigtails hiding her face as they stream down her back. They're on the second story--she would break an arm or leg trying to leap out there, or worse. Hell, she might even fall right onto one of the ANBU outside, and what then? Kisame slashes at her, hearing the curtain rod tear off as it catches on Samehada's scales. The girl screams as she's knocked from her perch, high and shrill like a ringing alarm bell.
Obviously she's not a ninja, but she might be in Academy, by the looks of how she picks herself up and darts off like a shadow beneath his blade, in spite of the gashes torn in one arm. Kisame swears heartily and gives chase as she bolts down the hall. He catches her just in front of a bedroom door, and she shrieks again as he brings Samehada smashing down before she can let go of the knob and run. It's a hard blow, and Samehada is a heavy sword; she crumples instantly, head crushed and face ruined beyond recognition. Kisame catches himself whispering to her as he frees the soul from her body, though the fresh rush of chakra pouring through him feels too loud to let him tell what exactly he'd been trying to say.
He opens the door the little girl had been trying to escape through, and carefully steps over her corpse as he enters, pausing to check behind furniture and beneath the large bed; he's about as deep into the house as he can get, now. But there is nobody there, and so he opens the closet before leaving, just in case. It's just large enough to walk into, and the rack is full of clothes. But the air seems.... dusty, here. Almost like there's a reddish haze hanging in suspension, too fine to settle on the ground just yet. It seems to be coming from past the clothes; Kisame carefully shuts the door behind him, and pushes them aside.
There's a woman kneeling back there in the middle of the haze, eyes shining like spilled blood and cradling a baby against her breast. She's rubbing it to keep it calm and quiet, but she's obviously been weeping, and her shirt is wet, soaked through with mother's milk in her terror. Kisame doesn't see a hitai-ate, but that doesn't mean anything, and she could have always given it up for a while to be a mother. She probably was a shinobi at one point, he guesses, if only because it occurs to him that he hasn't been able to feel their chakra at all. That's probably what the haze is for. This family can see through walls, he remembers too, and guesses that she's probably watched him coming--watched him kill the others, too. If she had chosen a slightly more secure hiding place, maybe he would have missed her entirely.
For a moment, Kisame stops in his tracks and just stares. He might get in trouble for this, but they're in an enclosed space, and it isn't as if anyone else would know.... Kisame pushes his dragon mask up, reveals his unnatural face and blood, bares the monster within. She stares back at him for a long, long moment, eyes shining with tears, but also with the tottering, shaky beginnings of hope at this small glimpse--not of humanity, because neither of them are human, are they?--of recognition and common ground. Help me. Please.
Kisame smiles weakly and finds himself sinking to his knees, kneeling before them, reaching to touch her hand with his gloved one, the one that isn't holding the sword. She shrinks back against the wall as he moves, but there's no choice but to trust him, now--she clutches his hand with a sudden, startling intensity that makes pain flare through it to the wrist, and he feels the small bones protest such a tight grasp. But she's crying again, and her child is nestled securely between their chests as she buries her face against his shoulder, and Kisame loops his free arm around her as she breaks under the strain. (Because somehow, he feels sure that she understands it all, everything. Maybe she even understands what has to happen now, whether she wants to believe it or just keep hoping. He's not sure whether she's sobbing in despair or some sort of withered, helpless relief.)
She's older than he is--much older, on the order of what's surely at least twenty years. But he holds her close anyway, and presses his lips against the top of her head, and whispers that he won't let the others touch her. This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you, I promise. But only for a little bit--I won't let them hurt you anymore. They'll never be able to hurt you again. Samehada is leaning against the wall because of how tight the space is in here, propped up as he holds the woman reassuringly tight. He allows Samehada's chakra to thread through the woman--she looks up at him as she feels the touch, and they lock eyes for an instant--and her child, and pulls.
The end is swift, silent, and seems to be mercifully painless; either the baby doesn't hurt at all, or it has no time to wail, he isn't sure. But the woman only stares, and he watches the tears slide down her cheeks as the light fades from her eyes. The red haze in the air fades as well, and she feels feather-light in Kisame's arms as the chakra rushes into him; they're both safe now, too. They'll walk out of this compound as free as he is. But their bodies....
They'll bury or burn them--Kisame's not sure which. There'll be a lot of bodies. But they certainly won't do it with any real care, and he doubts they would give them proper rites. They would taint this tainted blood with their blood-soaked human hands.
So Kisame pushes her back and stands up, gently. And he brings Samehada down. Over and over. Over and over, until his muscles ache from the repetition, and there's little left of either of them beyond what's splattered on the floor and on him and on Samehada. I said I'd never let them touch you.
Their blood mingles with the others', as does their chakra inside him, and he's grimly satisfied to know that they've been reunited; Kisame doesn't bother wiping the blood from his face, simply replacing his mask to let it dry in secret. The door opens as he turns to leave.
Boar-mask again. He wants to cut him in half. Wonders if it would be disrespectful to the inhuman blood that's already been spilled over Samehada. It probably would be, and he refrains for that reason almost as much as because the man is his superior. Still, his grip tightens on Samehada, and Boar-mask nods in approval, taking the gesture as wariness. "Dragon-san. You ready to go?"
"Yeah." Kisame takes a deep breath and steps out, following the leader down the stairs.
"That was an awfully tight space--I'm surprised you were even able to swing that monster in there." The nod Boar-mask gives is towards Samehada, now propped up against his shoulder; Kisame smiles bitterly under his mask, because obviously the man doesn't know him well enough to know that he's far more a monster than Samehada will ever be.
"I'm used to it." He says instead, and dips his head in acknowledgment as they step outside. It looks like the man is about to ask more questions, so Kisame interrupts with one of his own before they can go any further. "Are we finished here?"
"We'll be a while, sorry." Boar-mask sighs wearily. "There's a whole compound to go though today, even if we aren't the only team on the job here."
The two of them head off first, while the others in their team fall into a loose order behind them; Kisame spots a flash of streaming purple hair out of the corner of his eye, a drift of red haze as a woman makes a silent dash for a bank of bushes; Kisame imagines there's probably a crawlspace in there, some ridiculously tight hole under the compound wall, dug by a rebellious genin to avoid parental restrictions. He hardly even thinks as he reaches up to adjust his mask, arm forming a suitable visual block as he moves right up beside Boar-mask. His teeth grit, but he's able to make his frustration and disgust sound rough and ready instead, and he's glad of it--it sounds a little like he wouldn't mind another fight, rather than like he wouldn't mind sticking Samehada into the man's gut. "Well, I guess you know what they say; if you see one rat, there's probably forty more hiding in the woodworks. I guess we'll be here for a while, huh?"
"No kidding. You look like you got in a few good kills."
Kisame looks down at his thickly blood-smeared outfit. "Yeah, they put up one hell of a fight." He wonders what his own mother would think, if she knew about all of this. He wonders who would have killed him--the only faces he can come up with are his next door neighbors, and a few of the medics in the hospital, which seems vaguely unsettling; if he had been born recently, after all, they probably would have just smothered him or broken his neck once they'd cleaned the birth-blood off. Or certainly after they had found out about his gills....
He doesn't know any of these men, and he doesn't know whether it's a comfort that he has to do this with total strangers, or a curse that he's deprived of the company of his friends and teammates, who would be much more perceptive about the whole thing than any of these people were. Whether they'd be any more sensitive about it, he doesn't know.... Ultimately, it's probably a good thing they're not here. If they had treated it like Boar-mask did, he might have tried to kill them--he doesn't like the idea of what few friends he has acting like that.
Boar-mask had said something while Kisame wasn't paying attention, it seemed--all the humans are laughing. Kisame's not sure about what, but he decides to laugh too, just in case.
[Kisame's eyes snap open in the dark, and he lets out a long breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He's shaking a little, and he can't quite seem to stop--he just wants to hit something. Anything. It'd take his mind off of things. He wants to do something comforting and familiar, but he'd rather not worry Valeria, or wake her up if he can help it....]
[He remembers seeing a smith's shop somewhere in Konoha; he could probably find his way back there, if he tried. It would be a good distraction. With that thought in mind, Kisame presses a gentle kiss to Valeria's forehead as she sleeps, before carefully sliding out of bed and getting dressed to leave. The Hitomi is pointedly ignored; it turns itself off as he leaves, quite simply because it reappears in one of his pockets for the journey]