III. Fovea
"How was this done?" Itachi muttered.
This was an unhealed cut, but there was no sign of an underlying condition, nor would an infection explain an old laceration . A dozen ideas flew through his mind for how to achieve it.
"Scalpel," she gritted out.
He activated Sharingan. The chakra flow to the eye was almost entirely absent. Most likely someone with knowledge of medical ninjutsu did this. The damage, however, was beyond his scope of knowledge to repair.
"You're probably not going to see from it again."
Itachi expected Hokori's initial non-reaction to the announcement. She nodded, muttered an affirmative. There was no weight to it. Then she grimaced.
"It fucking hurts," she hissed, after a few seconds.
He summoned chakra to his fingertips to perform a healing jutsu. It was basic, but the pathways at the cut were reconnecting already. It would be enough for it to heal normally. So he took a square of gauze, and some tape, and was done. Their eyes locked.
"It seems likely that was the intent of the person who did this." Belatedly, he added, "I believe this was a cut augmented with chakra."
Itachi sighed. She slid off the table. Her legs held steady, but her hands gripped the edge like a lifeline. Eventually she made her way to the bed. He sat down.
He turned his eyes to his unfinished report. Composing one was a walk along a knife's edge at best to begin with. There was no obvious sign of this mission requiring a lighter touch than usual, but he felt a need to tread carefully regardless. Kisame would tell him not to concern himself too much, especially if the client is paying that much for an absolute nobody. His lips twisted in amusement. There was a reason Kisame had him write the reports.
He wrote "successful capture" at the top of the page, in cipher.
Was she nobody? Interrogation was written all over her. She had old scars. She was around year younger than him. The way she carried herself, her posture, painted a picture of someone skilled in combat, possibly black ops, but at least a well-trained jounin level. There was also the matter of her dossier noting that her chakra patterns would be completely unregulated. He was initially unsure. Anyone running empty on chakra would have dysregulation; it was natural.
Her aura, as her reserves replenished themselves, was fractured. Almost cracked in appearance.
The specific directive to deliver her unharmed was a major, immediate, wrinkle in the mission. If her chakra was indeed noticeable for someone without the ability to directly see or sense its nature, it was likely she had some sort of bloodline limit. And, if this theoretical trait was uncommon enough, certain parties would have a special interest in procuring it. The number of people he was aware of who might fall under that umbrella could be counted on one hand.
"Don't break your pen," Hokori chirped.
Itachi checked his hand. His knuckles were white. He turned his head, sharply, to look over.
She was sitting at the edge of the bed, resting her cheek on her fist, cross legged. The other hand - splinted - rested in her lap. "I guess your captures don't usually talk."
The pen slipped out between his fingers. It hit the table. "No."
"I must be in bad shape if I'm not in cuffs, huh?" The sneer softened into something else. "No seals or traps here, either."
He swallowed. His throat was dry. He couldn't tear his eyes away. Nothing he could respond with would pacify her. So he said nothing.
"That would have been the first thing. Seals at every entry point," she continued, almost coldly conversational. "So this was unplanned. You wouldn't have stopped if I hadn't been so fucked up." She snorted. "Surprised you actually agreed not to use genjutsu."
His mind grabbed at the very first straw. "Who...are you?"
She straightened up a little. Her lips parted. "Thought you would have had a file."
"Yeah," he allowed.
"Record incomplete?"
Being on the defensive, engaging someone who is, in deed if not word, a prisoner, were not things Itachi should be doing; a prisoner wasn't supposed to provoke him or glibly criticize the security of their current location, either. He turned his attention back to his report and touched pen to paper. She huffed, loudly. A line drew itself between his eyebrows.
This would do for now:
Successful capture. Serious injury. Delivery will be delayed until full recovery. No ETA.
He rolled it up, sealed it, and tucked it into his satchel. He would send it via hawk in the morning, from a more secure location.
"What do you want to know?" She asked.
He rubbed his temples and ran his hand down his face. Start simple. "How did you break your wrist?"
"I didn't." Her lips were a thin, straight line. She crossed her arms. "My old teammate did."
"To what end?"
She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Politics."
She yawned, fingers cupped loosely against her mouth. Her body unfurled as she laid down, still facing him. Surely exhaustion was lowering her inhibitions. There was little other reason to offer him this sort of leverage, this sort of ammunition on a silver platter.
"It was a frame-up," she mumbled, closing her eyes. "Mayb..."
Asleep.
He dragged himself to the window and placed an exploding tag trap on the latch. He did the same to the door and the vents. It would have to do. He collapsed back into the chair and allowed himself to rest.
It always began in this way:
Hokori couldn't have been older than four.
Mother's wailing pulled her out of sleep. It was after midnight. There was a new moon and a dust storm outside her window. It was too dark to see. She stumbled on the small step up to reach the main hallway and spilled out into it, crashing against the opposite wall like a wave. Her head cracked against the sandstone, and then she collapsed to the floor, stunned.
The crying stopped.
"Is...is it..who's there?!" Mother yelled. She never yelled. "Yokuchi? Sajin? H-hokori?" Her voice cracked with each name, louder and louder.
Her oldest sister's name was missing, but she was out on a mission. Hokori rubbed at her eyes. She wanted to go back to bed, but there was something wrong in Mother's voice. She shuffled closer to the front room, so she could be heard.
"It's me," she announced. Her hands were shaking.
"Go back to bed. Now!" Mother growled.
"Wh-what's going on ?" She squeaked.
Then Mother appeared in front of her, hair pulled back, in a green silk robe. Her eyes were glowing white, cheeks wet. There was something in her hand. She was wheezing.
She fell again as she tried to run back.
Hokori hiccuped out a little sob. "You're scaring me!"
Mother collapsed, dropping whatever she had been holding. Her knees banged the floor so loud it echoed. She closed her eyes; when she opened then again, they were like normal. She took Hokori's face between her hands.
Her expression twisted like she was in pain. "I'm sorry," she whimpered, drawing her into an embrace. "I'm sorry."
She woke up with a gasp.
AN: im alive, probably. got put on ritalin and have been focusing a lot on a huge original project for the most part recently. life is going pretty ok for me right now. hope yall enjoyed reading this! thank you for being the most patient audience in the world
val