If Kakashi had been able to, he would have snarled the nastiest invective he knew at the retreating medic. But the assistant had done something -- pressed a handful of cold chakra to his throat -- and his vocal chords were locked tight. His growl was gone; his voice was gone.

Which was a damn shame, because stitching without anasthesia was an experience that generally inclined its sufferer towards swearing.

He lay on his back, head tilted towards Genma, and felt his hand throb with bright pain. His chest lifted in unsteady, rage-choked breaths. Genma's eyes were wide, showing whites all the way around, half obscured by the long strands of hair that had slipped across his face. He'd been curled into the recovery position, with one hand pressed up beneath his cheek and the other flung out towards Kakashi, palm up and fingers open. Almost like a beseechment, except that as far as Kakashi knew, Genma never held out his hands to anyone.

He smelled like someone had tried to skin him. Like panic and pain and choking bewilderment -- which was probably almost exactly how Kakashi smelled, minus the fury -- but there was no blood. No fresh injuries Kakashi could see. And even as he watched, the dead white pallor of Genma's skin faded back, replaced by something a lot closer to his normal gold-brown tan. The acid-bite scent of new hurts slipped away. Those tea-coloured eyes brightened a little.

Genma actually looked better.

If that had been Iwa's version of a healing visit, Kakashi was going to laugh until he was sick. And then maybe beat his head against a wall until things made sense.

Before he could expand on that thought, the cell door clanged open again. Konoha's stranded ninja couldn't tense, but Kakashi saw the flash of alarm in Genma's eyes -- and Genma had a slightly better view of the cell, with his head tilted down. As Kakashi watched, the faintest puzzled crease appeared between Genma's eyebrows.

Which was the exact moment the scent of cooked food hit Kakashi's nose.

"Don't make yourselves sick, guys," said a mellow, unfamiliar voice, and the door banged closed again. Silence came back, heavy and strangling, and Kakashi wondered how they were supposed to do anything. The tortorous aroma of cooked meat and roasted vegetables drifted on the air, and he ammended that thought: he could probably drown in his own saliva. Especially lying flat on his back.

That was actually becoming a real concern -- along with all the others -- when something like a chakra surge blossomed through the walls, scraping raw over Kakashi's high-strung senses, and the paralyzing jutsu snapped. He drew one full, deep breath, like a whole-body gasp, and electrified to his feet.

Staggered. Fell.

Shocked muscles took a moment to reorient themselves. Kakashi landed awkwardly on his hands and knees next to Genma, snatched his newly stitched, rebandaged right hand back off the floor when it howled agony at him, and managed to stop himself from grabbing his mission partner. Genma was already struggling upright.

What did they do-- Kakashi tried to say, and stopped dead. His mouth opened, his lungs worked just fine. But his throat felt like a block of ice. No sound broke past his lips.

Oh, for the love of god. He slammed a frustrated-past-the-point-of-tolerance uninjured hand against the stone floor, gave up on talking, and waited for Genma to tell him. Or shatter apart. Whichever came first.