Shisui was a ghost among men, moving at a speed even the wind couldn't keep up with. At one point, he'd gagged two men just before Adela pulled them down. A punch to the teeth and then a piece of clothing or really large stone shoved in their mouths. Every single one of them was going to have to see a dentist, though. Every single one of them was forced to swallow their own teeth and taste their own blood.
Shisui was hoping and praying for the same, opening up containers with great alacrity and searching the hostages for Ami. He was slightly appalled at how many people there were inside, and had to pause to send another message to Konoha to please send for more back-up having explained the situation. Boxes upon boxes: some of them had tea, others had semi-conscious bodies. People. Scared. Trembling. He couldn’t leave them be, either. So with every new person he unearthed, he had to take the time to cut their bonds. And they wouldn’t let go so easily either. Some burst into sobs, others retched, some others were mute. He couldn’t talk to all of them, couldn’t sit there telling every single one of them to calm down, that things were going to be alright. He couldn’t.
There just wasn’t enough time.
“Have you seen a little girl about this tall, long blond hair, green eyes, lots of frills?” Some shook their heads, and he only bowed in return, pulling out more people out of their boxes while he could. Some were so out of it they were barely breathing. One of them seemed completely unresponsive, even after CPR.
Somebody informs them about a drug, and Shisui spots a pipeline leading into every box—one which he decides not to cut right through for fear of unleashing the gas on everyone else in the space alongside himself. Instead, he hurries on, quiet.
Little by little the stronger ones began to help out, and Shisui looked back in the hopes of catching Adela, trying to discern if she’d found Ami in the vehicle she was investigating.
Eventually, his mind swimming with all sorts of worst-case scenarios while he fought to keep his hopes up, Shisui comes across a box under a crate of tea. It’s small. Smaller than the others, and there’s that ugly hope—twisted because he doesn’t want it to be her, stuck inside a crammed box. But he also wants it to be.
He badly wants it to be Ami.
And it’s almost as if the heavens finally heard him because the moment the dim light shone on its contents when removed the lid, he could make out the frilly outfit and the long blond hair.
“Ami!” he breathes, reaching right in and ripping the gag out. “Adela.” It’s murmured. He’s forgotten how to yell.
Shisui is already picking Ami up, his tanto unsheathed as he makes quick work of her binds before pulling her to his chest. "Adela.” Still clawing for a voice.
Until finally—“Adela! I found her! Adela!"
He gathers Ami in his arms, checking first for a pulse while he pressed her head to his chest, his own face buried in her hair while his fingers alternatingly clutch at her locks, then stroke them. "Ami.” She’s breathing. “ADELA!!!”
God damnit his voice was hoarse.
He doesn’t realize he’s pressing his lips to the top of her head like he would have done to his own child had she been his. He’s almost rocking, holding her, waiting for Adela. Waiting for Adela to come and tell him he wasn’t dreaming.
“Ami—“ More whispers. They’re all he can manage right now. Relief doesn’t cut it. Still twisted up in agonizing guilt, fingers clutching the little body pressed against his chest to still his trembling hands. He wants to apologize. He wants to explain. He wants to lay it all out for her, to promise her it’ll never happen again, to promise her that he’d be more forthcoming in the future. But now wasn’t the time. Now wasn’t the time and he knows it.
He doesn’t know if he’d get another chance to say it though. He doesn’t know if she hated him.
He doesn’t know what the hell she’s gone through. He doesn’t know if he wants to know what they’d put her through. One of the other hostages they’d freed had informed him that whatever this was was a human trafficking ring. Human trafficking for what sort of thing? What would they need with a little girl?
He knew what, but he didn’t want to think about it. Shisui could taste bile at the very thought of what might have happened to Ami had they not found her in time. It made his blood boil. It made the sharingan flash dangerously in his eyes, red spinning like livid embers. He wanted to go out and kill them. Every single one of them. He wanted to tie them up and hang them where it hurt the most, listen to the pops as their joints dislocated. He wanted to hear them scream when he gutted them. Like cattle for the slaughter. He wanted them to feel despair. He wanted to listen to the sound of their tracheas weeping when he sliced right through them.
But Ami—
He realizes that the ominous thoughts swimming through his head and burning in his veins might upset her—one didn’t have to voice them for them to be made known.
And so Shisui’s voice softens, calloused fingers push back locks of hair from her face as he looks down at her with almost fatherly concern. “Sensei’s here, Ami. Sensei’s here.” Shisui didn’t miss the tear stains on her face either, and the pad of his thumb rubs away at the wet stain.
no subject
Shisui was hoping and praying for the same, opening up containers with great alacrity and searching the hostages for Ami. He was slightly appalled at how many people there were inside, and had to pause to send another message to Konoha to please send for more back-up having explained the situation. Boxes upon boxes: some of them had tea, others had semi-conscious bodies. People. Scared. Trembling. He couldn’t leave them be, either. So with every new person he unearthed, he had to take the time to cut their bonds. And they wouldn’t let go so easily either. Some burst into sobs, others retched, some others were mute. He couldn’t talk to all of them, couldn’t sit there telling every single one of them to calm down, that things were going to be alright. He couldn’t.
There just wasn’t enough time.
“Have you seen a little girl about this tall, long blond hair, green eyes, lots of frills?” Some shook their heads, and he only bowed in return, pulling out more people out of their boxes while he could. Some were so out of it they were barely breathing. One of them seemed completely unresponsive, even after CPR.
Somebody informs them about a drug, and Shisui spots a pipeline leading into every box—one which he decides not to cut right through for fear of unleashing the gas on everyone else in the space alongside himself. Instead, he hurries on, quiet.
Little by little the stronger ones began to help out, and Shisui looked back in the hopes of catching Adela, trying to discern if she’d found Ami in the vehicle she was investigating.
Eventually, his mind swimming with all sorts of worst-case scenarios while he fought to keep his hopes up, Shisui comes across a box under a crate of tea. It’s small. Smaller than the others, and there’s that ugly hope—twisted because he doesn’t want it to be her, stuck inside a crammed box. But he also wants it to be.
He badly wants it to be Ami.
And it’s almost as if the heavens finally heard him because the moment the dim light shone on its contents when removed the lid, he could make out the frilly outfit and the long blond hair.
“Ami!” he breathes, reaching right in and ripping the gag out. “Adela.” It’s murmured. He’s forgotten how to yell.
Shisui is already picking Ami up, his tanto unsheathed as he makes quick work of her binds before pulling her to his chest. "Adela.” Still clawing for a voice.
Until finally—“Adela! I found her! Adela!"
He gathers Ami in his arms, checking first for a pulse while he pressed her head to his chest, his own face buried in her hair while his fingers alternatingly clutch at her locks, then stroke them. "Ami.” She’s breathing. “ADELA!!!”
God damnit his voice was hoarse.
He doesn’t realize he’s pressing his lips to the top of her head like he would have done to his own child had she been his. He’s almost rocking, holding her, waiting for Adela. Waiting for Adela to come and tell him he wasn’t dreaming.
“Ami—“ More whispers. They’re all he can manage right now. Relief doesn’t cut it. Still twisted up in agonizing guilt, fingers clutching the little body pressed against his chest to still his trembling hands. He wants to apologize. He wants to explain. He wants to lay it all out for her, to promise her it’ll never happen again, to promise her that he’d be more forthcoming in the future. But now wasn’t the time. Now wasn’t the time and he knows it.
He doesn’t know if he’d get another chance to say it though. He doesn’t know if she hated him.
He doesn’t know what the hell she’s gone through. He doesn’t know if he wants to know what they’d put her through. One of the other hostages they’d freed had informed him that whatever this was was a human trafficking ring. Human trafficking for what sort of thing? What would they need with a little girl?
He knew what, but he didn’t want to think about it. Shisui could taste bile at the very thought of what might have happened to Ami had they not found her in time. It made his blood boil. It made the sharingan flash dangerously in his eyes, red spinning like livid embers. He wanted to go out and kill them. Every single one of them. He wanted to tie them up and hang them where it hurt the most, listen to the pops as their joints dislocated. He wanted to hear them scream when he gutted them. Like cattle for the slaughter. He wanted them to feel despair. He wanted to listen to the sound of their tracheas weeping when he sliced right through them.
But Ami—
He realizes that the ominous thoughts swimming through his head and burning in his veins might upset her—one didn’t have to voice them for them to be made known.
And so Shisui’s voice softens, calloused fingers push back locks of hair from her face as he looks down at her with almost fatherly concern. “Sensei’s here, Ami. Sensei’s here.” Shisui didn’t miss the tear stains on her face either, and the pad of his thumb rubs away at the wet stain.