Rating: R-ish

Warnings: SPOILERS up to Chapter 699, language, Obito being awesome but emotionally constipated, Kakashi being an angsty tricksy asshole, Rin being a cheeky matchmaker, shameless mother hen!Genma, mook deaths, etc.

Word Count: ~6200

Pairings: future Kakashi/Obito, past one-sided Obito/Rin and Rin/Kakashi

Notes: Omfg, I hate Kakashi. He's ridiculously hard to write in character, and I'd forgotten this. Never again. Argh. But Genma is awesome.

And now I want to write a Gai/Genma fic. Shut up, okay? I know.

Go find your heart (take it back)

"You know, Hokage-sama, it would be easier to protect your ungrateful ass if you actually took the assassins trying to kill you seriously."

Genma is annoyed. Kakashi counts this as something of a personal victory, because it's very, very hard to get Genma riled up even under the direst of circumstances. For the most part, he has a joke or a dry quip in response to everything, and it's only now, six months after Kakashi's appointment brought him sharply into the world's focus (and crosshairs), that the man's temper is starting to fray.

Taking into account how in those six months roughly fifty people have attempted to kill the Rokudaime now that he's entirely public and mostly stationary, Kakashi is honestly impressed. He's always known Genma had a level head, but this is above and beyond his expectations.

As it is, Kakashi slouches a little further into his big, squishy, obscenely comfortable chair and plasters on his most earnest expression. "But Genma, I am! Can't you tell? This is my serious face."

Genma gives him a look that would send lesser men to their knees, begging for forgiveness. "I wouldn't know," he drawls pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest. "As I've never actually seen your face, Kakashi."

Kakashi looks him over, head to toes in a long, deliberate sweep, and then beams. "Well," he offers languidly, "if we're lobbying for the removal of clothing, I really think you should go first. I've always been a fan of instant gratification."

From where he's slouched against the far wall, Raidou makes a noise that's just a hair too polite to be a threat and straightens, very casually dropping one hand to rest on the hilt of his poisoned sword. He doesn't say anything, but the faint narrowing of his eyes somehow abruptly brings the wide swath of scars on his face into sharp relief. ANBU is rife with legends as to how he got them. A suspiciously large number have to do with a captured Genma, pools of acid, several dozen dead Kiri jounin, and the fact that anyone who flirts with Genma mysteriously gets assigned missions in the ass-end of nowhere. Circumstantially, of course.

Even though he's Hokage and technically their lord and master, Kakashi can still tell when a strategic retreat is in order. He looks away, playing at casualness, and his gaze settles on Yugao, who's watching the scene with a distinctly unimpressed air. "Ah, Yugao!"

The trouble, Kakashi thinks as he watches her transfer that flat gaze to him, with working with his old comrades is that they tend to know all his tricks before he can even pull them. He misses the wide-eyed little recruit she used to be, all "yes senpai" and "no senpai" and eager-to-please personality.

"Yes, Hokage-sama?" she asks politely enough. He can't see her brow arch behind her cat-mask, but he can imagine it.

"That ANBU, the one who noticed the attackers. Who was it?"

She goes still for a moment—a long moment, far longer than it should be, given the simplicity of the question. That makes Genma look over at her sharply, lean frame subtly tensing, and Kakashi raise his head, uncovered eye narrowing. "Yugao?" the tokujo asks tersely.

Yugao shakes her head. "I can't find him," she says, sounding frustrated. "He was wearing a dog mask, and he used a spear of some sort, but I didn't get a close look at either him or his weapon. No one else seems to know who he was, either. I've put out the word for whoever it was to come forward, but so far there's nothing."

Kakashi looks away to hide his frown, dropping the pretense of geniality for the moment. That's…unusual. ANBU might be an anonymous organization from the outside, but from within they're all just as quick to claim their accomplishments as the next shinobi, and spotting an attack on the Hokage—both frontal and covert—is hardly a little thing.

"Bloodlines?" Genma asks. His voice is even, but Kakashi has known him since they were children. He was Gai's squad-mate as a genin, Minato's bodyguard when Kakashi was a jounin, and then one of Kakashi's more frequent teammates in ANBU. Right now, Genma is concerned, suspicious. Despite his laidback nature, he takes his position as Commander of the Hokage Guard Platoon seriously. "Any sort of abilities we can use to identify him?"

Yugao considers it, then shakes her head. "He was fast," she offers. "Almost as fast as Kakashi-senpai, but he only used taijutsu that I saw, and his…I think it was a staff of some kind. He had scars, though, I believe. On his right arm."

It's Kakashi's turn to narrow his eyes, because even if he's been out of ANBU for years he still keeps up with its members, since they're generally more of a challenge in a spar than the regular jounin. And as Hokage, he has a full roster at his disposal, so he should know the identity of every shinobi currently serving. But to the best of his knowledge, there are only a handful of people who can rival him for speed. Genma is one. Yamato is another. The rest he's more distantly familiar with, but he does know they were all out on missions, more or less to a man, when the attack happened. None of them would have disappeared so quickly, either, especially without claiming credit.

"But he stopped them," Raidou points out, low but certain. "He took out three attackers where we could see him and two more we didn't even suspect were in the village. After that he merited at least a face-to-face meeting with the Hokage, but he didn't stick around to acknowledge it. I…don't think it was done with bad intentions."

Genma snorts, but his posture is easing and there's mirth creeping back into his eyes. "Mm. Maybe he's just shy," he drawls, flipping a senbon through his fingers and then tucking it into the corner of his mouth. Kakashi absently hopes that it's not a poisoned one. Genma has been known to forget to check, if only occasionally. Luckily Raidou is as good with antidotes as his partner is with poisons. "Given the circumstances, though, Hokage-sama, I think it would be best if you took the rest of the night off. We'll make another sweep of the village and reinforce the perimeter patrols, but I'd like you safely out of sight while we do so."

Kakashi arches a brow at his friend, silently asking him if he's forgotten just who Kakashi is. Kages are some of the strongest shinobi in their village, and Kakashi is certainly no exception. There are very, very few assassins able to get the drop on him, and even fewer who can maintain their advantage for longer than a couple of seconds. He has quite literally faced down gods, and there aren't many who can say the same. Most of those who can live in Konoha, and the worst they'll do to him is steal his Icha Icha. Granted that's still fairly terrible, but Kakashi is confident he'd survive. And get suitable revenge, of course.

After a long moment, Genma huffs out a sigh, rolls his eyes, and waves a hand. It could be either the dismissal of a private thought or a slightly weary acknowledgement, but Kakashi chooses to take it as the latter. Given that concession, he's content to nod and rise from his chair. "All right. Who am I to say no to an early night with no plans?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go home and cuddle your porn, Hokage-sama." Genma waves absently and beckons Yugao forward to accompany their leader, even as he heads for the window to speak with one of the other ANBU.

Kakashi is tempted to make the obvious joke, but Raidou is just a little too close for comfort, and pissed-off goddesses have nothing on Genma's overprotective partner. Kakashi lets the thought go with a wistful sigh and waits for Yugao to proceed him out the door before heading down the stairs himself.

The Hokage Mansion is empty and echoing, almost morbid in its lack of occupation. It was built for Hashirama and his family, for a man with a wife and children and grandchildren, but Kakashi is alone. He uses a handful of rooms out of the many standing open, kitchen and office and sitting room and bedroom, but he always feels a little like a thief, slipping in and squatting where he doesn't fit and isn't wanted.

Because there's no one watching, no one to impress or awe or be polite to for the good of the village, Kakashi sighs gustily and flops back onto the ridiculously uncomfortable couch, hiding a wince as his spine immediately protests. He's getting old, as much as he doesn't want to face it. Shinobi always seem to die young; those who can make it past middle age tend to be like the Sandaime, or Tsunade—awe-inspiring and breathtaking in their power. Kakashi doesn't delude himself into thinking he's either of those things. Powerful, yes, and more than able to hold his own, but he's not…

Kakashi snorts. He's not a Hokage, not really. A placeholder, stuck into the position because Tsunade is too old and Naruto is too young. Everyone knows it, Kakashi more than most, but he had accepted the assignment regardless, because it was his duty and Kakashi knows duty. He has since he was six years old. There is no one better suited to hold the village together until Naruto can take the reins, and so Kakashi wears the hat he never wanted, plays diplomat even though he's terrible at it, and waits for the real Hokage to get out of his teens so Kakashi can finally retire.

They respect him, of course. They bow and smile and wish him well, but Kakashi knows the truth of it, knows and hates it. Were he an ounce less devoted, an inch less masochistic, he'd have told them exactly where to stick the hat and all the ceremony that went with it. But instead he had looked at the Hokage's desk, at Tsunade's sympathetic smile, at the pictures of her predecessors on the walls, and said yes.

Because Obito wanted the position. Because it was the dream of a cheerful, kindhearted, loyal boy who died and went mad and then saved them all and was killed for it.

(Sometimes, when the nights are especially dark and long, Kakashi lies awake in bed and imagines a world where Obito hadn't saved him, either from the cave-in or from Kaguya, and tries to believe that it wouldn't have been better that way.)

He's not like he once was. There's no overwhelming guilt, no unwavering devotion to a collection of faded ghosts. Kakashi looks around himself and sees, sees his people and his team and his friends, and it's…good. It could definitely be far worse, and Kakashi has been a shinobi long enough to know when to count his blessings. There's nothing he wants desperately to change, but that's hardly the same as saying he has no regrets. He has so many regrets that they can't be counted, from the smallest things right up to the biggest, but regrets are by their very nature already part of the past. They can't be changed, and at this point Kakashi knows better than to dwell on them.

Most days, what he has is enough.

(Not always, but isn't that the same for everyone?)

It seems like the worst sort of irony, that he has more reason than ever before to visit the Memorial. All of those who came back to life are dead again, and those who were never really dead are now the same. Everyone he has ever lost, from his mother right down to Obito for the second time, has a name engraved upon the stone, and perhaps that says something about their world, that of the handful of close friends and family Kakashi has the majority of them are dead, and died in action. Died too soon, too late, for good reasons or bad, but they died all the same.

Kakashi…regrets.

If I had been faster, he thinks. If I had been better. If I had opened my eyes, if I had seen, if I had looked past myself and my own hurt, what would have happened then?

He closes his eyes, leans his head back against the couch, and—

Vertigo. Strange, sliding pixels, like a water-warped computer screen attempting to create a functional picture, and suddenly Kakashi is looking at the outside of the Hokage's Mansion, through the window at the back of a silvery head.

At his own head.

There are no words to do justice to his bewilderment.

Kakashi opens his eyes, blinking as the other image fades—seen with both eyes, this time, rather than the single eye he's had this happen with before, and that makes no sense, either, but nothing about this situation does—and stands. There's no killing intent, no taste of aggression or threat to the air despite the weight of someone's attention on him, and Kakashi strides boldly across the room, in plain view of the windows. A little voice that manages to sound like Genma's bellows at him for caution, but Kakashi has long had practice ignoring his common sense and forges on regardless, throwing open the double doors and stepping out onto the second floor balcony.

The attention never wavers, and Kakashi looks straight out at the tall, spreading peach tree growing in the middle of the garden. The ANBU perched comfortably on one of the branches stares right back, apparently unconcerned at being caught out in the open. It's a man, not overly tall unless Kakashi misses his guess, with shaggy dark hair and a dog mask. The mask is familiar, even from this side of the porcelain; Kakashi wore the same kind for over ten years.

Kakashi's sharp eyes are just able to make out the dark shadow lying on the wide limb beside him. A spear or staff, most likely, and together those are more than enough clues to know who this stranger is.

"I hear you're the one responsible for saving my life earlier," he drawls, crossing his arms on top of the wrought iron railing and leaning forward casually.

The man just watches him for a long moment—so long that Kakashi thinks he isn't going to answer at all. Then, just when the Copy-Nin is mentally switching tracks, the ANBU shifts slightly, settles more comfortably against the tree, and says blandly, "I wouldn't have wanted to interrupt your paperwork, Hokage-sama. I'm sure you have quite the backlog."

Entirely despite himself, Kakashi blinks. That was…an insult, if a subtle one. Most ANBU—outside of those, like Genma and Raidou, who knew him as a brat—are properly subservient and awestruck. Those who aren't Kakashi can count on one hand, and number among his closest friends as well. And that voice…

It's familiar. Very familiar, but at the same time ever so slightly off. Kakashi narrows his eyes warily, wondering if this would be a good time to go for some of the kunai hidden in the decorative curls of metal making up the railing. Because shinobi are trained extensively to recognize concealed threats, and to be able to identify comrades working undercover. Kakashi has had decades of experience, and he's inclined to trust his gut when it tells him something isn't quite right with the world.

It doesn't matter that he can't identify a motive. The fact that something is off is more than enough to put him on edge.

But the stranger makes no move beyond tipping his head back to look up at the spreading branches above him. Kakashi stares at him, and he looks away, and Kakashi can't feel anything more threatening from him than a vague preoccupation. It's…disconcerting.

Kakashi can handle outright threats. He can deal with subtle attacks, because even then, the driving factor is clear. Hate or love or money or revenge—those he can understand, and withstand.

But this man—not an ANBU, regardless of what his tattooed shoulder and mask say—seems to feel none of that, seems to be fending off these attacks with no reason that Kakashi can pick out, and it's very close to worrying.

The stranger glances at Kakashi one last time, then rises smoothly to his feet on the gnarled branch, staff in hand. Kakashi tenses, brain ready for an attack despite what his instincts tell him, but the man simply flips one hand in a halfhearted wave and vanishes in a swirl of leaves.

Nevertheless, Kakashi has no doubt that he'll be back.

"I still don't understand why we're doing this," Obito mutters to his ghostly companion, hardly bothering to keep his voice low. He waves a hand to make a stand of trees reach down and swallow the intrepid assassins trying to get a drop on Kakashi this time. "These people are all incompetent. And have I mentioned I hate the smug bastard?"

Rin laughs at him, because of course she does. No you don't, she tells him, and that's…well. True, unfortunately, but then Rin has always, always been able to see right through him, and never more so than when he doesn't want her to.

Still, that doesn't mean he has to admit it.

"He's a prick," Obito points out, shifting his glare to the still figure of the Copy-Nin where he stands in front of the Memorial Stone. "And—and he's a prick. You have awful taste. And so do half the women in Konoha."

Obito, Rin scolds, though she still sounds amused. That's not a nice thing to say. He cried for you, you know. Both times you died.

And that—that makes something low in Obito's stomach burn. Gratitude and guilt in equal measure, shot through with regret and fondness, thankfulness and admiration, that Kakashi can still like him after all he's done.

His feelings for Kakashi have always been complicated. Kakashi was the genius, the prodigy, Minato's pride and joy. He was the emotionally wounded, handsome jerk with a bleeding human heart that every teenage girl loved to fantasize about fixing, and not even grounded, sensible Rin was immune. Obito could never understand it, that they could look at Kakashi and see something worthwhile, while they looked at Obito himself and only saw a talentless clown. Two masks, but only one registered.

Perhaps one of the things he always hated most was that he and Kakashi weren't actually all that different, where their backgrounds were concerned. Both orphans, both marked with shame—Sakumo's for Kakashi, and for Obito his own lack of Uchiha temperament—both weighed down by legacies too big for them. Obito was trying to live up to the clan he so desperately wanted to be part of, and Kakashi was trying to live down his father's suicide. It was their ways of handling the pressure that differed: Kakashi closed himself off, and Obito acted the fool, because then if people were laughing at him he could just pretend they were laughing with him, and that was a thousand times easier to bear.

Even when they were at their very worst together, Obito always wanted to be Kakashi's friend.

He sighs and reaches up to rub his hands over his face, only to hit porcelain instead of skin and grimace. Because he's still that stupid clown-boy, isn't he? That boy who only wanted people to look at him, the real him, and not through him the way everyone except Rin did. But most of all he wanted Kakashi to look at him, to acknowledge him, to see that there was something worthwhile hidden away behind bright smiles and goggles and immature posturing. That the boy who tripped and choked on candy and couldn't even manage a Grand Fireball jutsu was a valuable teammate, someone who could be depended on, a friend.

But Kakashi never had, not until those very last moments.

But Kakashi had, in those very last moments.

And afterwards, whenever Obito slipped back into Konoha, the odds were good that he'd find Kakashi at the Memorial, talking to him. The first time, he'd been utterly floored, left gaping and nearly trembling, because Kakashi called Obito his best friend. Kakashi called him a hero. Obito had very nearly hated him, because Rin was dead by his hand, but Kakashi was talking to Obito's name on the stone like it was special to him, like Obito had mattered as more than just his dead-last teammate. And that was…

It was everything Obito had ever wanted, and he'd gotten it a few months too late to change anything.

That's the story of his life, though, isn't it?

Obito, Rin whispers urgently, and Obito snaps his head up, automatically scanning his surroundings. A flicker of motion there, in the treetops, and he's already moving as the shinobi launches herself into the air, safely out of the reach of what subtle mokuton he's been allowing himself. A flip, a whirl, and she draws a pair of long, thin daggers as she descends towards Kakashi's stupid, oblivious head.

The ANBU guards are present, but Obito hardly spares them a thought. They're watching the perimeter, giving their Hokage privacy as he mourns his fallen friends, and even if a few are close enough to step in they haven't yet. That's as much of an invitation as Obito needs. He snatches up his shakujo, flips out of the tree, and hurtles himself feet-first at the assassin. They collide in midair, barely a yard above Kakashi's ridiculous hair, but Obito has more force behind his jump and knocks her away. He and kunoichi tumble to the side, and Obito only just manages to turn his fall into a steady landing. The assassin isn't so lucky, and hits the ground like a sack of meat with a yelp and a groan.

Kakashi glances over at them with studied disinterest, then glances back to the Memorial, and doesn't move.

Obito is going to kill him. It will be messy and bloody and gloriously therapeutic.

With twin cries of mixed alarm and indignation, two ANBU spring out of the shadows, weapons drawn. Obito recognizes Namiashi Raidou's poisoned black sword and decides he's hung around long enough. Grabbing the assassin by the collar, he pulls her up from the ground and hurls her right into Raidou's arms, then offers a mocking salute and dives back into the trees.

And if he accidentally manages to whack Kakashi over the head with his shakujo on his way past, well. He's in a hurry. Even Rin can't fault him for that.

There's another shout, this time more offense than anything else, and multiple people give chase. But, like before, the mokuton user isn't on duty, and Obito lets one of the larger trees swallow him without hesitation.

"Happy now?" he mutters at Rin, and she laughs.

I suppose that's progress, she allows, and then refuses to explain what she means, no matter how Obito nags or pleads.

"I hate you. I hate you so much. If I could strangle you without ending up in solitary for the rest of my life, I would do so gleefully, Hokage-sama, do you hear me?"

"I think everybody in Fire Country heard you," Yamato mutters, though—predictably—not loud enough for Genma to catch it. Kakashi is surrounded by cowards.

Granted, Genma's getting his crazy eyes back, and Kakashi had kind of thought that only happened on week-long missions with no sleep and suicidal odds. His uniform is wrinkled, there are ink smudges on one cheek, and tufts of hair are sticking up from beneath the skewed bandana. Notably, Raidou slinked off several hours ago with a handful of completely transparent excuses, and hasn't returned since.

Surrounded by cowards. Really, Kakashi passively loathes them all.

Rubbing absently at the lump the stranger gave him—which, ow, and Kakashi thought the bastard was supposed to be on his side—Kakashi shifts his icepack a little and studies his two commanders. While Genma is more obviously showing signs of stress, Yamato isn't exactly looking as fresh as a daisy, either. He's got bags under his eyes that made Naruto scream when he caught sight of them, and he's quite a bit paler than normal, slumped back against the wall in a way Kakashi would take for languid if he wasn't familiar with Yamato's usual stick-straight posture.

"Maa, you had it under control," Kakashi dismisses with a wave of his hand, just to watch Genma twitch.

"That's the thing, Hokage-sama," Yamato says grimly, crossing his arms over his chest and slouching a little more. "We didn't."

The blunt honesty is something Kakashi should have expected; after all, Yamato has never been one to hide his own failings from superiors. It's the main reason Kakashi made him ANBU Commander when the position opened. He trusts Yamato explicitly, and has for years now.

Genma sighs, running a hand over his head, then grimacing and pulling his bandana completely off. His brown hair swings forward around his face, and he brushes his fingers through it absently. "He's right," the tokujo agrees. "She got past our perimeter, and if the bastard hadn't jumped in when he did, we'd have missed her entirely. These people are getting better, and you'll have to excuse me if the fact that your last line of defense is a stranger no one can identify doesn't comfort me."

"Tell me something I don't know," Kakashi mutters, because he's heard variations of this same lecture every day for the past two weeks, and it's getting old.

Had he been paying attention, he likely would have seen the unholy light kindle in Genma's eyes in enough time to abort the conversation. However, since Kakashi is fully occupied resettling his icepack on the goose-egg the stranger so kindly left him, he misses it.

"Something you don't know, hmm?" Genma taps a finger over his lips, and then says blandly, "I once played tonsil hockey with Gai. It's still one of the better kisses I've ever gotten."

Kakashi chokes, suddenly lightheaded at the horror of that mental image, and Yamato yelps and falls over.

"What?" he demands, voice nearly a squeak.

Genma looks as self-satisfied as a particularly smug cat, and perches on the edge of Kakashi's desk with his arms crossed and one brow raised. "What?" he asks with faux innocence. "Kissing your genin teammate is practically a rite of passage. And my only other option was Ebisu, okay? Besides, Gai is—"

Yamato winces and holds up a hand, cutting him off there. "Stop. Please. We have all heard your dissertation on Gai's brilliance. Many times, because you are secretly a mother hen in a shinobi uniform. But that doesn't change the fact that you kissed Gai."

Genma opens his mouth.

"And if you did more than that, we don't want to know," Yamato adds hurriedly. "For god's sake, Genma, we shared a barracks with the two of you!"

Entirely unruffled, Genma settles back with a faint smirk. "Wimps," he says archly, but thankfully lets it go. The damage has been done, however, and Kakashi winces and rubs at his temples, wondering if he'll ever be able to look either Genma or Gai in the face again without seeing flashes of…that. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised, because Genma likes unique people, likes making friends, and likes sex, and whenever he can get away with combining the three, he's as happy as a clam.

Kakashi tries to add Gai to that equation and gags a little, then firmly shuts the thought away.

"How did the bastard get through the perimeter guards?" he asks, returning to their original subject. Maybe someday they'll have a better name for the ANBU impersonator, but for now, the bastard has stuck, and serves admirably. "I thought you had at least two Hyuuga on shift."

"We did," Genma acknowledges, trading glances with Yamato. "Three, as a matter of fact. I've talked with all of them, and they can't figure it out any more than we can. Either he was already there and we missed him in our preliminary sweeps, or he just spontaneously appeared there after we fell into formation. Your guess is as good as ours."

Spontaneously appeared.

Kakashi just…stops. He freezes in place, remembering the strange vertigo and double-vision he felt after the first time, the thinly veiled dig at his procrastination when he confronted the stranger. Remembers the faint growl as the stranger passed him earlier, the way the shakujo swung unerringly at his skull with just enough force to raise a lump, and that familiar-unfamiliar voice.

But—

But it's happened before, hasn't it? More than once, in this case. More than twice, even, and that's…

It's impossible, but then, Obito has always, always been impossible, hasn't he?

"-sama. Hokage-sama!"

Kakashi blinks, dropping the icepack from his head and looking up at the Guard Platoon's commander. Genma is watching him with narrowed eyes and an assessing expression. His gaze catches Kakashi's and holds it, and something shifts, like surprise and then a sudden understanding. He nods faintly, but doesn't say anything with several ANBU guards still in the room.

At times like this, Kakashi blesses all his stars for surrounding him with people like Genma, old friends who understand him better than any others. He offers a faint smile, which Genma returns with one of his own and a dismissive flick of his hand.

"You're stressed, Hokage-sama," he says, glancing over at Yamato, who inclines his head. "And the porn withdrawals are effecting your brain. More to the point, we're stressed and in desperate need of an evening off. I'm making an executive decision as your chief bodyguard and telling you to go home for the night."

"I'll put our replacements on duty," Yamato seconds, pushing away from the wall, and they must really be feeling the strain of trying to catch the bastard if they're both voluntarily agreeing to take even a few hours off. "Go home, Kakashi. Maybe if we all sleep on it, we can come up with a plan to catch this asshole."

Somehow, Kakashi has his doubts, especially if it's who he thinks it is, but he studies the two commanders for a brief moment and then nods his concurrence. A large part of being Hokage, he's found, is learning when it's better to give in, and this is clearly one of those times. "Go," he orders, rising from his desk. "I'll use Kamui to get home. You're both off as of right now. Get some rest."

The warping spiral pulls him away before either man can protest, and Kakashi lands in the echoing silence of the other dimension a bare heartbeat later. He straightens slowly, looking around and half-expecting Obito to be leaning against one of the cubes, but he isn't. There's only the strange half-darkness, the odd, carrying hush, and not a single hint of movement anywhere.

And then, with a faint glow, a figure steps out of nothingness and smiles up at him, brown eyes warm. Kakashi feels his breath catch in his chest, and something like guilt or grief or maybe even joy kindles in his gut as he chokes out, "Rin."

It could be a hallucination, or a mental attack. She's see-through, if only faintly, and still looks like she did before she died, bright and sweet and calmly determined, with a spine of steel and no patience for stupidity. And she's smiling at him, just as she always did, a little girl with no future but all the kindness in the world.

It feels real, though.

He wants it to be real. Wants it desperately, dreadfully. Needs it the same way he needs to know if his mysterious guard is really Obito, back from the dead yet again.

Hello, Kakashi, she answers, taking a half-step forward and waving cheerfully. Her voice doesn't echo, even though the faintest noise usually does here. I'd give you a hug, but I think I'd just go through you.

Kakashi reaches for her anyways, couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to. Rin's smile turns faintly wistful, but she stretches out a hand in answer. Their fingers brush, and hers waver like mist, completely insubstantial. It feels a little like watching her die all over again, and Kakashi has to squeeze his eyes shut and focus on his breathing for fear of losing control.

Sorry, Rin murmurs, and Kakashi shakes his head.

"No," he sighs, and if it's rough with the edge of tears, he thinks that can be excused just this once. "No, you warned me. But what are you doing here? Am I dying and you've come to lead me to the other side?"

Rin giggles, bright and happy, as though everything bad that happened to her is so much dust now. Maybe it is. Kakashi wasn't dead for long, that one time Pein killed him. No, silly! she chides. And I don't think it would be me you saw, in that case. I'm not the one you were in love with.

Kakashi winces, but it's true. After all, he's spent the last two decades entirely focused on one person alone, on being as close to them as humanly possible, and given Obito's actions in the Fourth World War, that hasn't changed. Again Obito sacrificed himself for Kakashi, and that's enough to justify it. After all, there's only so long one can obsess without emotions shifting in a way that attempts to make sense out of the fixation, and Kakashi's did just that. He fell in love with the memory of a boy who died for him, and then with the reality of a broken man whose heart won out over the darkness inside him.

"But Obito can't come to get me, even if I am dying," he says carefully, testing a theory, "because he's alive right now, isn't he? He's the one in the mask."

She beams at him, stepping back even as her form wavers like light on a shifting mirror. Maybe, she answers, tipping her head mischievously. You'll just have to catch him and find out, won't you? Good luck! Another step back and she waves, then turns and darts away, image breaking apart and scattering into the shadows.

Kakashi is alone again, surrounded by echoing darkness, with only the double-time beat of his heart to show for their strange meeting.

Obito, he thinks, and closes his eyes, slumping back against the nearest cube. One shaking hand rakes through his hair, and Kakashi laughs, wild and overjoyed, because there's a knot on his head and a powerful stranger with a shakujo driving his ANBU insane, and only one person who could be responsible. One person who isn't dead, or who came back, and that's all Kakashi has ever wanted in this world.

He's gotten more second chances than anyone has a right to, but he's greedy. He's a greedy, selfish asshole, and he's going to seize this one with both hands and never let it go.