Rating: T

Warnings: Language, violence, Obito whump, moral greyness, gratuitous destruction, sap, cheese, etc.

Word Count: ~17000 overall, ~5000 this chapter

Pairings: Kakashi/Obito

Summary: Sequel to Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. "Well, it's only noon and I've already been shot twice and had a flower vase broken over my head. I'd hate to see what the rest of the day has in store for me." (Or, the continuing adventures of Obito the eco-warrior/somewhat-reformed terrorist and his besotted boyfriend Kakashi.)

Disclaimer: Hah. I want some of whatever Kishimoto's been smoking, but Naruto's not mine.

Notes: Another prompt from Tumblr, the bastion of bad ideas. This fic was, at various times in its creation, titled "On Knights, Damsels, and Princesses, and Why Obito Will Never Be the Latter Fuck You Very Much", "Obito's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day", "Love In a Time of Assholes", and "How Not to Propose (Or That One Book Kakashi Clearly Never Read)". I think that says a lot more about the plot than the summary ever will. Title is, as you probably guessed, from Smash Mouth's I'm A Believer. I regret nothing.

This fic is complete in four chapters, but I'm going to be posting them every other day to give me more time to edit my ridiculousness. Comments are, as always, totally loved!

Only True in Fairy Tales

1. love was out to get me

"Tenzō! I didn't realize you'd gotten out of jail already!" Obito says brightly, waving at the tall, brown-haired man just collecting his coffee.

Kakashi blinks across the table at his boyfriend, long and slow.

With a friendly, slightly sheepish wave in return, Tenzō detours to their table, carefully setting down his ceramic travel mug and slinging his messenger bag over the back of the chair. As he takes a seat, he gives Kakashi a curious once-over, then nods to his friend. "Hey, Obito. Yeah, they're not pressing charges this time, which is probably good. I think Sai was going to quit if he had to bail me out one more time."

"Should I take my badge off for this conversation?" Kakashi wants to know, casting a slightly wary glance between Obito and Tenzō. Obito just waves him off.

"Not unless you're opposed to peaceful protests," he says dismissively. "Cops are assholes sometimes."

Kakashi makes a wounded, deeply offended sound into his latte (not organic, no matter how Obito had needled him, because he's an incurable cheapskate). "No offense?" he suggests, raising a brow.

Because he can, and because he has never denied being just as much of an asshole, Obito just gives him a toothy grin. "Sorry, sweetheart, offense totally intended. You forget my entire family is on the force. And you're not doing much to change my opinion, either."

"Which reminds me," Tenzō cuts in, and Obito drags his gaze away from Kakashi, who's doing a decent impression of a pout. "Shisui in Booking wanted me to say hello for him."

Before Obito can answer, Kakashi makes a noise of disbelief. "You get arrested so often that you're on a first-name basis with the Booking officer?" he asks dryly.

Obito laughs, because he's known Tenzō long enough to be aware of how the man looks—like a laid-back hipster professor, mostly, and this is a common reaction to finding out about his record. "And most of the beat cops," he chimes in. "And a good portion of the riot troops as well. Haven't you heard of Yamato the protester?"

Kakashi's face smooths into perfect blankness, and he takes a careful sip of his coffee, deliberately not answering. Then, after another moment, he offers, "You look…different, with all of your clothes on."

For once, it's not what it sounds like. Obito remembers that protest, if only from the video footage an entirely gleeful and slightly petty Sai sent him while he was overseas. He also remembers the way one brave soul had tackled Tenzō with a blanket and then dragged him away in cuffs. Odd, that he hadn't connected the wild silver hair with his boyfriend until just now. It makes him swallow a snicker, hiding his grin in the froth of his cappuccino.

Tenzō just smiles politely. "Officer," he returns. "I'm Tenzō Yamato. It's good to officially meet you."

"Detective now," Kakashi corrects. "Detective Kakashi Hatake. Good to…meet you too."

His expression valiantly attempts to remain gracious and friendly. Just for making the effort, Obito is entirely willing to forgive the faint twitch of one eye that belies it.

"Do you have classes today?" he cuts in, much to Kakashi's evident relief.

Tenzō checks his watch and winces. "Yeah. Sorry, I should head out before I'm late. Otherwise Sai will stare at me all day with his serial killer smile, and I've got the freshman classes this term. They don't need to see that." Standing, he slings his bag back over his shoulder and bobs his head to Kakashi, then smiles at Obito. "I heard we got enough signatures on that petition to bring it in front of the city council. Are you going to be at the meeting?"

"Have I ever missed it when I was in the country?" Obito waves him off. "See you Friday."

With a quick wave back, Tenzō ducks through the dwindling crowd and out the door into the chilly winter morning. Kakashi watches him go, eyes almost unreadable, and then says, "I heard he's been arrested more times than any three other people in the city."

Obito attempts to recall the number, fails miserably, and shrugs, swiping his finger around the rim of his mug. "It's possible. Tenzō tends to get involved in pretty much every protest or movement that happens. He's definitely a social crusader. Most of it's for small stuff, though, like hanging up signs where he shouldn't or—"

"Or picketing a clothing outlet naked to protest sweatshop conditions?" Kakashi finishes dryly, but his eyes are fixed on Obito's finger as he lifts it to his mouth.

With a laugh, Obito surrenders the point. "Or that," he agrees, and just to be cheeky takes extra time licking the foamed milk off his skin. The low, hungry sound Kakashi makes is extremely gratifying.

"I don't suppose I could just call in sick today?" the other man asks, slightly plaintive.

Obito doesn't bother to hide the way he laughs at him. "No," he says mercilessly, if slightly regretfully. "You have paperwork to do, and I have errands to run. Besides, your shift starts in ten minutes and—" He gives the man staring holes in Kakashi from the corner a cheerful wave "—Uncle Fugaku would be incredibly suspicious if you made it all the way here to have breakfast with me and then skipped out on work."

To Kakashi's credit, he doesn't flinch under his boss's intent gaze, though his shoulders do slump slightly. "Is everyone in your family rabidly overprotective?" he laments, but drains the last of his latte and rises to his feet. Obito rises with him, and when Kakashi reaches out with an undeniably fond expression he takes his hand without bothering to protest.

"Walk me to work?" Kakashi suggests winsomely.

It would take a harder man than Obito not to smile back. "Sure," he agrees, and as Kakashi turns to lead them out the door he shoots his uncle a warning glance. Fugaku winces a little in acknowledgement and nods his understanding. Should Mikoto learn that Obito is dating, Obito will have no compunctions telling the Uchiha matriarch that Fugaku has been exceeding his one-cup-a-day coffee limit, and vice versa.

Blackmail is truly a wonderful thing.

January in Konoha is miserable, and as they step out into the wind Obito wastes no time zipping his jacket all the way up to his chin, then huddling into his scarf. His hand is warm, at least, because Kakashi doubles as a mobile heater, and Obito presses just a little closer. Kakashi smiles at him from behind his own scarf and drapes an arm over Obito's shoulders. Reaching up, Obito tangles their fingers, and lets himself relax just a little. It's still something he needs to get used to, this closeness, the idea of actually being in a relationship again. He and Nagato were never this touchy-feely, either, though Kakashi always excels in being a complete sap.

"Dinner tonight?" Obito asks as the station comes into view. Somewhere in the city, over the noise of the morning traffic, a church bell starts to chime the seventh hour.

"I could go for Italian," Kakashi says agreeably. "Want me to pick it up on my way? There's that new place on Atlantic, between Ninth and the park."

Vaguely, Obito recalls seeing a grand opening sign somewhere in that area, but Kakashi always seems to have a better memory for that kind of thing. Obito remembers streets and alleys; Kakashi notices the landmarks.

"Sounds good to me. You know what I like." With a small smile, he ducks out of Kakashi's hold, turning to face the taller man and giving his hand one last squeeze. "Call when you're on your way?"

Kakashi leans forward, eyes warm, and kisses him gently. It's not a statement, has nothing to prove; just a goodbye, a quiet 'I'll miss you' and 'I'll see you soon', clearer than any words could be. For just a moment they're a stationary island in the stream of pedestrians going by, and Obito feels a little like they're caught in between seconds, suspended in the grip of a warm, happy memory, and he can't remember a time when he enjoyed anything quite so much.

When Kakashi finally steps back, Obito has to clear his throat before the words will come, and when they do, they're rough with emotion he hasn't felt in a long time. "Go on," he chides. "You're going to be late. And since you dragged me out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn to have breakfast with you, you needy loser, I might as well start being productive."

Three months of dating means Kakashi is familiar enough with Obito's habits that he just chuckles. "We're pretending you don't wake up before I do, now?" he asks fondly, eyes crinkling with humor.

Obito huffs at him, crossing his arms over his chest (and he will forever deny that it's to recapture a bit of the heat that left with Kakashi's hand). "We can't all be lazy assholes," he retorts. "Go to work. I'll see you tonight."

Kakashi smiles at him, leans in to steal one last glancing kiss, and then turns on his heel and saunters up the steps, waving over his shoulder as he goes. Obito watches until he's through the precinct's wide doors and out of sight, and rubs at the stubborn curl of warmth that refuses to leave his chest.

Yeah, okay, he thinks, smiling to himself in the middle of the street like a fool. Early hour or not, that's a pretty damned good way to start a morning.

Even in Obito's fairly busy neighborhood, the grocery store is all but deserted at just after seven. Since he's spent the last few months—with a handful of notable exceptions—employed solely as Mikoto's gofer, and is used to getting groceries in the afternoon when the entire world seems to be made up of screaming children and harried mothers, it's a nice change, if a little eerie. Obito keeps his head down and his eye on his list, thankful just to be shopping for himself and Kakashi for once.

Just as he's making his way to the self-checkout, his phone rings. Obito huffs a sigh and slaps at his pockets for a moment before finding it, swearing to himself that if it's Kakashi texting him more cat pictures, someone is going to die. Of course, it could also be Kakashi's partner Iruka, trying to find the bastard; Kakashi has a bad habit of wandering off between the station's doors and his own desk. Sometimes Obito has less than zero idea of what he sees in the lazy jerk.

Finally finding and retrieving his phone—after the ringing has already stopped, because that's just how his life goes—Obito pulls it out and only just manages not to beam dopily at the picture on the lock screen. It's him and Kakashi, mugging for the camera, and…okay. Maybe Kakashi is kind of cute. Just maybe.

Obito totally doesn't brush his thumb over Kakashi's face as he types in his password. That would just be ridiculous and corny. He doesn't.

But when the call log screen finally comes up, Obito stops in his tracks, frowning. It's an unknown number, an uninterrupted string of digits that shouldn't mean anything at all. Most people would glance at it and assume a telemarketer, or maybe a wrong number.

Except for the fact that Obito recognizes the opening of a code that no one in the world knows, beyond himself and eight others.

Right on cue, his phone buzzes again, this time with a text. Another unknown number, but a different one, and the only thing to the message is a long string of numbers without breaks. Obito stares at it for a moment, shopping basket hanging forgotten in his hand, and narrows his eye. It's easy enough to decipher, given his experience, but once he's puzzled it out he almost wishes that he hadn't.

Keep your head down, is all it says.

That is…the singularly most unhelpful message ever. Obito's hand clenches around his phone in frustration and he growls softly, a spark of his old anger flaring up again. He's gotten better, this last year and change, but he's always had a problem with his temper. Already he can tell that this isn't going to help.

Judging by the contents, the warning is from Sasori, who's a taciturn bastard on the best of days. Or it's from Hidan, and he's trying to fuck with Obito. Possibly Konan, who has a bad habit of mothering (especially bad considering that eight vicious, ruthless convicted terrorists do not generally appreciate being reminded to do laundry regularly, or eat their vegetables). Or it could be from Kakuzu, and the man simply can't presently be bothered to write anything more comprehensive.

Maybe Obito needs better friends.

Taking a breath, Obito deletes the message, wipes his call history, and tucks his phone away. One of the store clerks is giving him a wary look, so he forces himself to smile at her, then busies himself scanning his groceries and arranging them in his recycled cotton shopping bags. As quickly as he can, he gets out of the store and into the open, where the workday crowd is starting to thicken and grow. The visibility itches at him, like eyes on the back of his head, but Obito makes himself keep a steady pace, rather than bolting for home the way his subconscious wants him to. He's had practice shutting out his self-preservation instincts, after all.

The day is bright, for all it's chilly, and Obito glances up, judging the position of the sun and resulting shadows. He's thinking of snipers, of cold, impersonal bullets fired from a distance and a spray of blood within the crowd. A small, particularly morbid part of him wonders if his case will end up on Kakashi's desk, if assassination is something that his boyfriend would be assigned to. He hasn't asked—has mostly kept his nose as far out of Kakashi's work as possible, since he hasn't exactly been forthcoming about his own occupation. The regret niggles at him now, just a small thought in the back of his mind as he scans the street.

Keep his head down. Well, Obito has hardly been doing anything else these last few months. Almost two years now, since he got back from the Middle East, weary and aching right down to the core of him. He hasn't left the city much, has hardly left this area of it even, and the only people he's kept in contact with are his teammates. Even Rin's mandatory check-ins have stretched out to just about every month, rather than every week. Obito hasn't gone anywhere, hasn't seen anyone suspicious, hasn't done anything questionable beyond using his missing eye to blackmail Kakashi into walking to work rather than driving.

Honestly, if his head gets any lower, it will be in a grave.

He wonders, distantly, a little guiltily, whether he should feel bad for the faint thrill down his spine when he thinks of the current danger.

Technically, he should stop right now, call Rin and inform her of the situation, head back into the city and wait for whatever team she'll doubtless send to whisk him away to a safe location. That's the protocol, but…

But the threat is vague, hardly even a threat at all. Just a warning, and Obito isn't some twitchy two-bit criminal jumping at shadows. (He's not actually a criminal at all anymore, but he blithely ignores that fact.) He's hardly about to shatter almost two years of hard-won, well-earned peace on the off chance that the message he got wasn't one of his friends being an asshole. And if it is a real threat, well—Obito is more than capable of surviving just about anything the world can throw at him, and has proved it many times over.

He takes a breath, squares his shoulders, and keeps walking.

His apartment is well back from the busy shopping avenues, close to the quieter parkway that's frequented by joggers more often than any heavy traffic. The building is old, with an elevator that works dubiously when it works at all, but the apartments are large and spacious for what they cost, and the other tenants keep to themselves. Obito makes his way up the stairs, minding his steps out of more than just habit for once, and contemplates leaving his bags at the landing while he does a sweep of his rooms. He's daring, not stupid, after all. And—

With his key an inch from the lock, Obito pauses, holding his breath. Silence, the murmur of the couple two floors below him, more silence, and then—

A creak. Soft, barely audible over the rumble of a car going by on the street, but nevertheless distinct. Footsteps over the creaking floorboards within his apartment, when there shouldn't be. Obito's not an animal person, doesn't have a cat, and while he has no doubt that Kakashi would sneak an animal into his home just to mess with him, he's seen Kakashi's level of attention to the little things. It's amazing his plant with the stupid name has survived as long as it has. Besides, they left together this morning, and he had no chance to come back.

Suddenly, that warning is looking a lot less vague.

Another creak, this time from behind him, and Obito reacts on instinct. He drops his bags and throws himself forward, even as the muffled crack of a gun with a silencer shatters the quiet. Shots pepper his groceries, shattering a glass bottle and sending egg exploding out over the hallway. More hit the door, following just behind Obito as he dives, rolls, and comes to his feet, still moving, aiming himself at the drafty storm window at the end of the hall.

Another shot, just behind him, and Obito would swear if he could spare the breath. Another, and he knows it's probably the last in the magazine—9mm Glock 17, by the sound, and Obito's trained himself to hear such things, 17-round capacity unless it's a modified magazine, muzzle velocity of 375 meters per second, effective range of 50 meters—which means the shooter will have to reload unless he's carrying another gun. The shot clips his shoulder in a splatter of blood and a sudden blaze of agony, but though a cry tears from Obito's lips he doesn't pause.

The window is old, two thin panes rather than the modern style of thick, heavy glass, and Obito hits it with his good shoulder leading. It shatters under the force of the blow, shards exploding outward, and Obito goes after them. He hangs, for a breathless moment feeling untouched by even gravity, before reality reasserts itself. The glass falls like deadly rain, but Obito grabs onto the edge of the fire escape and lets it redirect his momentum. A jerk as he crashes into the metal, fire spreading across his side from the graze, but Obito ignores the pain and kicks off the grating, dropping down to the next level of the steps. There's a curse from above him, a rush of footsteps, but Obito doesn't pause to get a look at his attackers. He throws himself down the outside of the fire escape without care for the pain, hardly heeding the drop, and hits the ground in the tiny, weed-choked garden already moving. Ducking between the half-rotten slats of the high wooden fence, he dives left, dodges around the neighboring building's tiny water feature, and squeezes down a narrow alley that just barely fits a bike rack and several garbage cans. Then he's out in the street, moving fast as he heads for the park.

His shoulder aches and burns, throbbing fiercely, but Obito grits his teeth, ignores the startled jogger he cuts off as he bolts across the path, and rips his scarf from around his neck. The trees are thick, if not quite thick enough for Obito's peace of mind, and he wades directly into the densest stand of them, putting his back to a particularly wide trunk and stripping off his jacket with a few rough motions. His head is buzzing, full of greyscale panic that's quickly shading into cold calculation as he ties his scarf tightly around the graze and pulls his coat back on to hide it. The arm doesn't want to move, and Obito already feels a little lightheaded from blood loss, but it's nothing he hasn't dealt with before.

Grimacing, Obito drops his head back against the mossy bark, trying to think. Attackers in his apartment, but only two—either they're underestimating him or they didn't want to cause a scene. Given the fact that the second person had no qualms opening fire, even with other people present in the building, Obito is willing to assume the former.

It makes him grin, all teeth and no humor. Underestimation he can handle.

Pulling out his phone, Obito stares at it for a moment, then unlocks it and opens one of the innocuous apps Sasori had made sure all of their phones had. It looks like a generic racing game until Obito types in his password, and then a simple number-pad appears. Another second to recall their code, and Obito inputs his message and hits send.

Tobi on the move. All hands, sound off.

Even though the entire team will give a message like that an immediate response, Obito slips his phone back into his pocket and starts moving again. He can't waste time, and this spot is far too close to his apartment for comfort. While there were only two people waiting for him, Obito has little doubt that those two have allies they can call on—after all, even if they're underestimating him, anything less would just be stupid. And if they managed to get past the security system Nagato upgraded himself, they can't be complete idiots.

Right now, he needs cover, a safe place to go to ground as soon as he finds out that the rest of his team's okay. Barring that, he needs to get somewhere busy, and let the crowd swallow him while he puts distance between himself and his apartment. He's absolutely certain that someone in his building or the next one over called the police—silencers don't exactly make guns silent, after all, no matter what action movies might claim—which adds another complication: Kakashi.

For one brief, half-mad instant, Obito reaches for his phone again, wanting to call to hear Kakashi's voice and assure the man that he's fine, wanting to tell him to get to safety and—

But if the attackers knew where Obito lives, it's guaranteed that they know about Kakashi. More than likely that they're watching him, too, and if Obito calls now it will just put them both in danger. He wants to protect Kakashi even more than he wants to hear his voice, so with a grim thread of resignation twisting at his gut—because what will be left when the smoke clears? If he keeps going what will be left of his relationship with Kakashi when it's all over?—he puts his head down and slips into the midst of a group of people waiting for the light.

One or two of the more observant pedestrians give him a sideways glance, but Obito ignores them, too, fixing his eye on the dark blue beanie sticking out of one man's back pocket. It's the work of half a second to swipe it as the crossing light turns green, and Obito slips it into his jacket and strides down a left-hand side-street as the man goes straight. As soon as he's out of sight, Obito jams the hat onto his head, shucks off his jacket, and stuffs it under a mailbox. The scarf around his arm is more obvious without it, but Obito can't take the chance that the gunman will remember what he was wearing. Better to get a few alarmed looks as he makes for the subway than risk them finding him so easily.

His phone starts to chime as he slides into the crowd and heads for the station that will take him towards the city center. With half of his attention on his surroundings, Obito pulls it out, brushes his thumb over Kakashi's face one last time before ruthlessly strangling the sentiment, and checks his messages. More unknown numbers, more strings of digits, and even as he watches the last four drop into his inbox.

Pein moving. Heading for Point N.

Angel moving. Pein in sight. Meeting at Point N.

Beast stationary. Will convene on Point F ASAP.

Gardener moving. Going underground. Will start weeding.

Puppeteer stationary. Checking strings. Several bites. Will contact with information when acquired.

Zombie stationary. Point F clear.

Bomber moving. Supply check, then will assist Puppeteer.

Priest moving. Will secure bolt-hole. Contact if transport necessary.

Damn, but Obito loves his team sometimes. Almost two years out of any real field, but they still work like a well-oiled machine, either together or apart. That they've already mobilized, just from his text—that's a reprieve he hadn't expected. Letting out a careful breath of relief, he does one more quick check of his surroundings, then answers Zetsu's message. Gardener, my apartment—police info possible.

A hesitation and then he answers Hidan's as well. Priest, need to visit Snake. No transport required. Can set up, Y/N?

Hidan's response is an address, an account number, and Will tell Snake to leave schedule open. Contact if change in status.

Hard on the heels of that comes Konan's second message. Tobi—status?

Oops. That's the downside to their open messaging system, and he'd forgotten. Graze only, Angel, he types back, starting down the subway stairs. Just before he loses his signal, he adds, Will be out of contact—30 min tops. C Train to Broad St, pursuit possible, not likely.

He doesn't wait for an acknowledgement, but shuts his phone off and sprints for the train that's just about to depart, ducking into the car two down from the conductor just before the doors slide fully shut. It's packed with morning commuters, all busy with their phones or papers, and Obito steps back into the shadows of the door between the cars, ducking his head to avoid catching anyone's eye. With his scars and eyepatch, he's a distinctive man, and a beanie can only do so much to hide that. The police will be looking for him, given the scene at his apartment, but Obito can't afford to let them find him. Not when he doesn't know who's after him, or why.

Even more puzzling is the fact that none of the others have been attacked. All throughout their careers, he's made a point of staying under the radar, letting Nagato take the lead in public. From an outside perspective, Obito is smack in the middle of the team's hierarchy, not the youngest, not the oldest, not the most valuable or the least. For someone to see through that act, to figure out that he's the one leading Akatsuki and always has been—that's worrying.

If whoever is after them managed to dig any deeper, to uncover the secrets they've kept buried for so long…

That could be disastrous.