-Internationally Wanted Criminals-

Chapter Four: An Explosive Trip Down Under

Thursday 11thof April

Sydney Airport, Australia

The day started out fine. Gokudera had received his new mission from the Tenth the day before and spent the night going over the details. That morning he had jumped on a jet to Australia and, a little tired from his night researching, spent the flight napping while his team finalised the details of the mission.

Unfortunately, due to the lack of a Vongola base in Australia and Tsuna's orders to be discrete preventing them from using the Cavallone's runway, when the Vongola jet landed in Australia it was to the hustle and bustle, and the strict security, of Sydney airport.

Which led to Gokudera's current predicament.

Gokudera and his entourage had gotten through the metal scanners just fine but then he had been pulled over for a random explosives residue check. Already following the staff, it took Gokudera a second to remember something vitally important that he had forgotten in his mad planning and later sleep deprived haze: Gokudera had left Italy wearing his usual quota of dynamite. Unfortunately, he had been so busy sleeping he hadn't secreted it away in the plane like he usually would.

Somehow he didn't think the staff would appreciate him coming into the country with enough dynamite on his person to explode a small city. Neither would the Tenth when he received the report about this incident…

Oh shit, the Tenth!

Now more worried about Tsuna's response than his current predicament, and knowing that resisting would have looked suspicious, Gokudera decided to go along with the check. It would work out somehow, right? Right?

Gokudera stepped into the stall-thing the guard was directing him to, trying to surreptitiously slide a mini-dynamite in his sleeve back into place. Unfortunately, the guard chose that exact moment to turn around. He saw the suspicious shape under Gokudera's sleeve, shouted and hit a panic button.

Several security guards quickly materialised around Gokudera. Unfortunately Gokudera reacted on instinct, settling into a fighting stance and barely refraining from palming his dynamite.

Of course, that just made it worse.

A guard behind Gokudera told him - quite loudly - to stand down. Gokudera, now in fight-or-flight mode, spun quickly to face the speaker, only for more of the guards to start shouting at him. Annoyed at himself and the situation (and how mad the Tenth was going to be), Gokudera started shouting back. Thankfully he remembered his cover story at the last second - a representative of an Italian export company visiting Australia for business - and used mostly Italian with some bad English thrown in.

Thankfully, one of the guards had the sense to call for a translator and start shushing his fellows when Gokudera did nothing but stand there and swear at them. Soon a lady arrived, poised but looking a little shaken, who quickly took control by introducing herself in Italian as ''Maria', reciting some speech about Gokudera's rights, then asking him rather politely if he was carrying anything illegal.

Gokudera had used the minutes while the translator was speaking to consider the situation. The probability of this being a setup were small but not insignificant, considering how low the chances of him having been randomly selected for an explosives residue test were. However, the number of people who knew Gokudera was heading to Australia was very low and (at least so far) the airport staff's responses seemed genuine. Therefore, Gokudera concluded that his luck really was just that bad, and this was all an accident.

Unfortunately, that didn't help him get through this situation. He ran through several options, including fighting his way out or continuing to play along, but in the end it came down to one thing.

What would Tsuna do?

The answer of course was to play along and be as truthful as possible. Admittedly that wasn't something Gokudera was all that good at, but he was a genius so it would be fine!

Somehow, his response of "Dynamite," didn't have quite the intended effect. But then, what else could he have said?

The translator stepped back in shock and the guards tensed, the word similar enough in both languages that there was little mistaking what Gokudera had said.

A heated but quiet argument broke out between a couple of the guards, one of them (who was probably the leader since he spoke first before too) taking a few steps back to talk quietly into his radio, while the rest eyed Gokudera warily. Their nervousness only increased as the standoff dragged on and Gokudera's scowl deepened, but eventually the probably-the-leader guard came back. He exchanged quiet words with the translator, who was fiddling with her ring and probably wishing she hadn't come into work today. After a minute she nodded, visibly steeling herself, then turned to Gokudera.

"Please allow the guards to escort you to an interview room so we can sort this out. It's in everyone's best interests that you cooperate. If you don't, the guards may be required to use force. Do you understand?"

Gokudera's scowl grew, knowing that whatever happened next was going to take forever, but he grudgingly nodded.

He was led to a small room with only a table, chairs and a computer where they took down his details including why he was there (he kept to his cover story of course) and they even scanned his fingerprints. Gokudera assumed they were matching the information he gave against their database of passengers, trying to check he was who he said he was. Unfortunately, there was one small problem with that.

Usually when any high profile Vongola member was travelling the tech team were meant to have wiped any information the relevant authorities had on that person(criminal records, international warrants, that kind of thing) and replace it with harmless data. Unfortunately the team had only just finished wiping Gokudera's information from the system when they discovered an intruder in their network. The techs had gotten distracted repelling the attack, and hadn't yet gotten around to replacing Gokudera's data. This was compounded by the fact that Gokudera's plane had landed early, and the techs had run out of time once they stopped being distracted by the attacker.

Hence, when the airport staff tried to check Gokudera's records, they found something worrying: he didn't exist.

And of course, Gokudera had no idea.

By this point the guards were in a panic. They had a potential terrorist with no identity carrying who knew how much dynamite. Gokudera was mostly ignoring the hushed conversation in the corner, oblivious to the failed computer check and busy planning what to do next.

Eventually the guards came to a decision, and Gokudera was taken to a room with nothing but a solid metal table in the centre and a security camera in every corner. The translator, who was now stuttering in a manner reminiscent of a younger Tenth, asked him to remove all the dynamite from his body and place it on the table.

Gokudera froze for a moment (during which all the airport staff got progressively more nervous) and weighed the pros of cons of obeying the guards. Obeying them would hopefully prevent chaos and therefore lead to being able to leave the airport quickly, which was the course of action he knew the Tenth would prefer.

Whatever the guards had expected, it was not what happened next. Gokudera had, despite the warm autumn weather he was travelling towards, worn a long sleeve shirt, jeans, and a zip-up hoodie. He removed the jumper first, pulling the whole thing over his head, then shook it out over the table.

A good half a dozen sticks of dynamite fell out on the first shake, and another twenty or so were slowly added as Gokudera rooted around in every pocket (all eight of them), nook, cranny and hem of the jacket. Then he placed the jacket on one end of the table.

Next went two belts that had been slung diagonally across his chest, holding roughly another thirty dynamites[165] each, in all different shapes and sizes, then the leather belt that had been around his waist. Two pouches were hidden on the inside of the belt and placed so that the extra space was taken up by the hollows of his hips, each containing a miniature dynamite and a small paper packet of plain gunpowder. The buckle also doubled as flint, should Gokudera ever need an emergency lighter, but he didn't see the point in telling the guards that.

Shoes were next, small dynamites being pulled from the toe, heel and four from the detachable sole. Both socks were shucked with little ceremony – apparently even Gokudera couldn't think of a way to fit more dynamite there, or at least couldn't be bothered – then Gokudera paused.

By this point, around a hundred sticks of dynamite lay on the table in front of Gokudera, and, frankly, the guards were scared for their lives. When he stopped, they had all breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that was it. Unfortunately for them, it wasn't.

"Is it alright for the ladies to be here?"

The translator jumped, lost in a daydream of the pay bonus she should get for this job, and stared at him in shock and incomprehension. "P-Pardon?"

Gokudera 'tch'ed and waved a dismissive hand at his torso. "The rest of the dynamite is under my clothes."

Silence stretched on for a moment as the lady tried to process Gokudera's statement. When, eventually, what he had said sunk in, she squeaked and ran from the room, dragging the female guard with her.

The men who were left behind stared after the door as it slammed shut, confused and slightly scared. What had this strange terrorist said to cause the translator to run!? Especially without explaining why she was running.

Fortunately, they didn't have to wait long as Gokudera carelessly tugged his shirt off. Another belt was placed on the table, this time a type of cummerbund, placed around his waist to hide the shape of the dynamites. Added to the pile were two armbands, one from each wrist and each holding a couple of small dynamites , and an under-arm holder, carrying his newest invention, "Pistol Bomb" – similar to the Rocket Bombs, except that the second ignition fired the central, smaller bomb towards the enemy like a bullet. It was the closest thing to a gun he carried, and it had the added bonus of being invisible to metal detectors.

Next went Gokudera's pants - the lower half, at least. Gokudera unzipped the detachable lower section to reveal several bands of dynamite, all cleverly hidden by the loose and heavy material. The explosive cylinders ranged from full size – four around each ankle – to the ten miniatures hidden on the band just below each knee. These were all added to the swiftly growing pile of dangerous goods on the table, before Gokudera finally removed his pants completely.

After stripping down to his boxers, Gokudera placed the last few bands of dynamite onto the table, and stood to the side, a slight redness creeping over his face despite his neutral expression.

The guards, meanwhile, were in shock. Roughly two hundred sticks of dynamite of every size, shape and description sat innocently on the table. Not one of them could even begin to comprehend how the young Mafioso had managed to hide so many explosives on himself, despite having just watched him remove them all. The logistics of it were insane. The danger to them, and indeed the entire airport, was massive. The shock to their minds, though, was preventing them from doing anything about it.

Luckily for them (and their jobs), the female guard the translator had dragged out with her had had the time to get over her (much lesser) shock, and had rung the airport management to order an evacuation and lock-down of the airport. At that very moment, as Gokudera returned to planning his mission and the guards tried to assimilate the knowledge that there was someone in the world insane enough to use their own body as an explosives store, thousands of people were being rushed from the airport, security systems were being activated, and the local police, secret service, and bomb squad were being called in.

A buzzing noise caused every guard in the small search room to jump, one of them eventually realising the noise was coming from his radio. He answered, paling as the situation outside was explained to him, before replying with a short, "Yes sir." Silently bemoaning his lack of a translator, he gestured at the pile of Gokudera's clothes in what he hoped was an order to redress.

Relieved, Gokudera went to grab one of his leg-bands of dynamite, only to be stopped by a shout and frantic hand-waving and head-shaking. Gokudera stared (glared) at the guard for a moment, who quailed under the intense gaze, before sighing and moving to dress minus his dynamite. It seemed they wouldn't let him keep his weapons.

Gokudera was led back into the first room. He sat in the same chair as before, opposite a guard and the translator, and answered the same questions all over again. Once again Gokudera gave the same replies, and again the computer check failed to recognise him, the system's network having been locked down when the security alarm was triggered, unwittingly blocking now frantic attempts to update Gokudera's profile.

Ten minutes later, having been asked the same questions in different ways several times each and being stuck in a room with a snappy, obviously stressed and annoyed guard and a rather scared translator, Gokudera was losing his patience.

So, in a split-second decision that was the only non-violent alternative Gokudera could think of, he reached across the desk and snatched up his phone, which had been sitting in a tray beside the computer. The translator squeaked and the guard gave an indignant yell that might have been an order to freeze, or stop, or something along those lines. But Gokudera ignored them.

It was the work of a few seconds to bring up the Tenth's number, then Gokudera slammed the phone back down on the desk.

"Ring that number. They'll explain everything."

The translator stared at him in shock, jabbering out a quick translation when the guard snarled a question at her. The guard, in turn, stared at the phone, then grabbed his radio and rattled off a quick query. The answer that came back was fuzzy, but he seemed to understand. He snapped at the translator again and, unwillingly, she picked up the phone.

The loud sound of ringing filled the small room then a small click as the call was answered on the other end. Yet there was still silence for several more seconds before the translator, at the prompting of the impatient guard, asked in Italian, "Hello?"

It took a moment, but eventually a hesitant and wary voice filtered through the line. "Hello, who is this?" She was surprised by the slight accent on the Italian – it wasn't the other party's first language either apparently.

The translator blinked, surprised at the young-sounding voice on the other end (having expected a middle-aged boss), before collecting herself as best as she could.

"Ah, yes. I'm from the security detail at Sydney International Airport. We're currently interviewing a young man – a… Hayato Gokudera." Here she glanced at said teen, bit back an 'eep' at his glare, and shakily continued, "He was arrested by security for the possession of… a lot of d-dynamite. We have been questioning him for quite some time now, but as he… doesn't turn up on our database, it is hard to, ah, decide what to do with him. He suggested ringing you, so, if you have anything that could help us…"

There was silence on the other line for a minute, before a breathy laugh sounded. "Gokudera? He… what-" The voice cut itself off (Gokudera tensed, waiting for the verbal punishment he surely deserved for letting these people bug the Tenth – why did he think this was a good idea!?), then continued with a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry, I hope he hasn't been too much trouble. Well, I guess…"

The translator twitched as the voice trailed off into muttering, flinching when she chanced a look at the crazy terrorist and saw a maniacal gleam in his eyes that she hadn't seen there before. Scared, stressed and just generally so over this entire situation, she rushed out, "Is there anything you could tell us that would help? He doesn't show up on any of our records, and carrying that much explosive is… highly suspicious."

"Ah, well, I… I really don't know…" Silence for a moment more, then there was a muffled yell – something that sounded like a name, despite the hand covering the mouthpiece – and muttered conversation that could be heard as nothing more than mumbles.

Eventually, the voice came back, apologetic laughter ringing throughout it. "Sorry. Anyway, I'm not the best person to be talking to." There was more muffled conversation in the background – a quiet shout and a thud – before the Tenth continued, "I can give you a number though – tell them Tsuna sent you, and that you're looking for Basil. He should be able to sort this all out. That alright?"

The translator, lost in trying to figure out what was happening, and still in shock from everything that had happened that day, stuttered out an agreement before she could think about it. She reflexively grabbed a pen and paper when Tsuna started rattling off numbers at her and muttered a quick thanks in response to the Tenth's, "Alright. Bye. And sorry!"

Silence filled the tiny room once the Tenth had hung up. Gokudera was inwardly berating himself for causing trouble for the Tenth, the translator was still trying to process what had just happened and the guard was waiting, rather impatiently, for someone to tell him what was going on.

Eventually, the translator passed the message on to the guard who snapped at her to just ring the bloody number already.

Barely two seconds after the translator dialled the number the ringing stopped.

"Ciao. Lal Mirch da CEDEF."

The translator froze. She tried, "Uh… hello?" except it came out in English. She stuttered, brain suddenly not working as she tried to remember Italian but she was cut off by a sigh.

"Hello. Who are you and what do you want?"

The guard had perked up at the sound of English, the voice echoing in the small room. He glared at the phone, then at the translator when she didn't respond fast enough.

"Ah, hello. I'm from the security detail at Sydney International Airport. A few hours ago we arrested a Gokudera Hayato. He gave us a number but when we rang they passed us on to you." The translator fumbled with the paper she had been jotting notes on. "He said to ask for Basil?"

Silence. The translator stared at Gokudera as the guard stared at her and Gokudera stared at his clenched hands, still berating himself for troubling the Tenth. Finally, sick of waiting, the translator hesitantly mumbled, "Hello? Are you-"

"Who gave you this number?"

The voice, sharp and low pitched, made the guard sit up and narrow his eyes. They sounded dangerous. The translator, in contrast, squeaked and dropped her notes. "Ah- That would be… um- Tsuna?"

There was an intake of breath on the other end of the line, then the sounds of a muffled conversation and a brief fight over the phone. Soon enough, a new voice was answering the phone, politely rambling away, a computer clicking in the background.

"Tsuna sent you, miss? I apologise for the curt greeting, but security is tight here. Now, how can I help you…"

Soon enough, Basil had the whole problem sorted. Gokudera was handed the phone for a minute so Basil could confirm it was him, then arrangements were made for Gokudera to be held in custody until someone could bail him out. Basil arrived the next day via a private Vongola jet, papers confirming Gokudera's position as an explosives expert at the Vongola Ore Mine, Italy, in hand. Gokudera left with Basil, supposedly on a flight back to Italy while his team continued on to do their job (whatever that was) and the airport staff – particularly a very shaken translator and several stunned security guards – were very glad to see the back of him.

Once on-board and hidden in a windowless cabin, Gokudera's double slumped back into a well-cushioned chair and groaned.

"How does he always get into these situations?" the double whined.

Basil just smiled politely. "These things happen. Thank you for coming with me on such short notice though."

The Gokudera look-a-like just tiredly flapped a hand. "S'not a problem, 's my job. Don' like planes though so gonna sleep now."

Standing, still smiling, Basil nodded and headed out to the main cabin, saying, "Good night," as he shut the door.

—-

Friday 12thof April

Back Room of the 'Little Italy' Restaurant, Sydney, Australia

There was one thing that always annoyed Gokudera when visiting other famiglias – they reminded him too much of the family he had been born into. All the posturing, roughhousing and scheming behind each other's backs drove him insane. There was very little of it in the Vongola, thankfully. In the upper ranks anyway.

"Welcome!" called a loud, overly-jovial voice. It was followed by a big man, tall with a muscle-bound body that had probably seen better days, who strolled through the back door of the room like he owned the place. Which he did, actually: this was Franco Rossi, the boss of an Australian branch of an Italian famiglia. He was joined by Liam Greco, another boss, and both of them were being shadowed by a dozen or so men. Gokudera had five standing behind where he was sitting at the small square table, the rest of his entourage scattered around the surrounding buildings. One was sitting in the car outside and another playing taxi in case Gokudera needed a quick, unsuspicious getaway.

The other two bosses responded enthusiastically - though their sincerity was doubtful – and the next ten minutes was spent by the two bosses chatting away, Gokudera gradually getting more and more annoyed. Eventually – the bosses were talking about the weather of all things! – Gokudera got sick of it and slammed his hands down on the table.

Rossi and Greco froze and several of their subordinates around the room shifted towards their weapons.

"Enough!" Gokudera snarled. "We're here because you have information I want, not to chat."

Rossi grinned, the jovial façade still in place (he was starting to remind Gokudera of Santa which was just creepy), but Greco's expression did a very quick one-eighty from content to scowling. While Rossi looked creepily like Santa Claus, complete with facial hair, Greco was wiry, tattooed and at least twenty years younger than Rossi.

"Vongola has a point," Greco agreed after a pause, leaning back in his seat. "I have other work to do after this. My first question though is what is this meeting about? I just got a 'polite' invite and was told to be there."

Rossi nodded. "I had wondered that myself. It is, after all, rare for one of the big Families to come for a visit, especially the Vongola. And to send the Storm Guardian, the Vongola Tenth's right hand man… It's enough to make a man wonder."

Gokudera was still scowling, annoyed at how long it had taken to get started, but nonetheless tried to be polite.

"The Tenth sent me personally to ensure the information he received was accurate." Gokudera could read between the lines and had realised it was because the Tenth didn't trust the normal lines of communication to be totally secure, but the other bosses didn't need to know that. "He asked you all to attend because we believe you might have information on several people we are currently trying to track down."

The Storm Guardian waved a hand and one of his men stepped forward – again, everyone else in the room tensed – and handed Gokudera a stack of folders which he then distributed to the other bosses, keeping one for himself. He didn't bother to open it though – he had memorised the contents on the plane.

There was silence for a few minutes while the bosses flipped through the profiles – seven in total, all assassins of a rather high calibre and all based in the Pacific. Rossi had just flipped back to the first page when Greco snapped his closed with a muttered curse, one hand rising to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

"You sound like you know something, Greco." Rossi was staring at his fellow boss, perpetual smile now rather dim. It seemed to be the closest to serious he could get.

Gokudera fixed his attention on the young boss as well, and the tattooed man shifted in his seat. Then he sighed and reopened the folder, sliding the second-last profile out so they could all see it. "This man – George Walker – was one of mine."

"Was?" Gokudera made sure his tone stayed even, but inwardly he was excited. Now they were getting somewhere.

Greco nodded. "Two weeks ago he said he'd gotten a good deal somewhere overseas and just left. Packed up all his things in one night, called me to tell me he was going then poof. Nobody's heard from him since."

"He was high up in the ranks?" Gokudera prodded, flipping his own folder open to start taking notes.

"Yeah," Greco muttered. "One of my best. He wasn't just an assassin," he added, looking up at the other bosses. "Most of the time he was just a very good bodyguard. Good guy, too. Only ever took a hit if the target was part of our world, y'know? He'd never hurt a civilian."

Rossi was nodding along even as Gokudera scratched down Greco's words. "Any idea what would motivate him to jump countries like that?" the Guardian asked.

Greco was shaking his head even before Gokudera finished talking. "No, no idea. It wouldn't be money – George liked the simple things, see; never spent much on himself. And he has friends and family here so it must have been something big to get him to move."

"Blackmail?" Colombo interjected. "If they threatened someone close to him…"

"No." Greco was still shaking his head. "He's been threatened before – comes with the job – and he's always brought it to me. He hates threats and never goes into anything without backup. That's what was so weird about him disappearing all by himself."

"But what if he's not by himself?" Rossi argued. "All these assassins, they've all caught the Vongola's attention for the same reason, right?" Gokudera nodded hesitantly. "Then perhaps they're all working together, wherever they are. Perhaps, if Walker already knew some of them he would be willing to call them his backup?"

Greco was finally thinking, fingers playing with the pages of Walker's file. "That could work. I still don't know why he would agree to it leave though. It would have to be something big."

"A cause."

All heads – bar some of the more professional minions – swivelled to stare at Colombo.

Gokudera was the fastest to get his brains back on line. "What?" 'A cause' sounded more… humanitarian than like anything that should be associated with the mafia.

Colombo shuffled through the profiles in his own folder, eventually pulling out two. An older (by mafia standards where reaching middle age was an achievement) man and a woman stared up from the pages. "This man," Colombo tapped the photo, "is known to take jobs based on their… impact. Corrupt politicians, greedy businessmen and fake philanthropists are his favourite targets. And she," he slid the woman's profile forward, "is notoriously hard to contract because she is very particular about who she assassinates. She would never attack a civilian either."

"So we have three very particular assassins with a strong conscience and a history of being particular about their targets," Rossi summarised. Gokudera was still busy scribbling and didn't comment so he continued, "That's starting to sound like a pattern."

"What about you?" Greco asked. "Do you know any of these people?"

"Not directly," Rossi admitted. He pulled a profile from his own folder, laying it in the centre next to the others so that the photo was clear. It showed a scowling, sun-tanned man with obvious Asian heritage. "Kamol fits the pattern though. He works more on the islands up north than on the mainland though so I don't know much about him, but I've heard stories of how picky he is, even dropping a contract half way through if he thinks it will be too dangerous for civilians."

"Oh!" Greco leaned forward to stare at the image closer. "I remember – he was the one that dropped that political job in New Guinea when the target's wife died, making him a single father."

Rossi grinned, nodding. "That's the one. It's not the first time he has refused to orphan kids either."

Gokudera hummed as he finished his notes, glancing over the remaining profiles briefly. "None of you know anything about the other three?"

All three bosses flicked through the papers once more, but were soon shaking their heads. "No," Rossi replied, "unfortunately not."

"Why do you want to know about these guys anyway?" Greco asked. "You only said you were tracking them."

Gokudera frowned, fiddling with his folder while he decided how much he could tell them. "All seven are among a large group of assassins that have been spotted in and around Italy recently, all of them originally based elsewhere in the world. We believe someone is gathering them in preparation for something, but we don't know what yet."

"That's why you're gathering information," Rossi deduced. He suddenly seemed almost gleeful. "The Vongola don't know what's happening and they're worried so they sent you to talk to us in the hopes we measly little bosses might know something that would help!"

Greco barked a short laugh, grin threatening to split his face in two. "Really? That's rich. I'm guessing they sent you because your boss doesn't trust normal communications anymore. Is there a mole in the great Vongola, oh Storm Guardian?"

Gokudera glared, hands twitching for want of his dynamite. Or at least a cigarette (much as the Tenth was trying to get him to quit). "The Vongola is fine," he grit out. "Anyone would be worried about a gathering of high-class assassins, and the Tenth is just taking precautionary measures."

"Precautionary?" Rossi asked. "If it was precautionary I doubt he would have sent you all the way down here for information. Or is he trying to keep you out of the way for some reason?"

Gokudera's chair slid back with a screech as he stood, hands balled into fists at his sides. "The Tenth trusted me to ensure any information gathered was complete and correct, bastard. He didn't send me away to hide anything!"

"Now, now. Maybe we should—"Colombo tried, suddenly looking more alert, but he was interrupted by Rossi also standing up.

"Bastard, is it? Who just helped you work out what all these assassins have in common?"

"That doesn't excuse you mocking the Tenth!"

Greco shook his head and also stood, holding out a placating hand. "He wasn't mocking, Vongola. He was just stating a fact. We did help you—"

"Don't think we couldn't have worked it out without you!"

The hand dropped so Greco could brace himself against the table, his expression falling into hostility. "Oh really? Why are you here then?"

"Like I said," Rossi took a step around the table to better loom over Gokudera with his slight height advantage, "looks like the boss sent you on an errand to get you out of the house, boy." When Gokudera growled, hands twitching again, Rossi added with a smirk, "Is the mighty Vongola Tenth dealing behind his Guardians' backs now? Or is he just tired of you clinging to him like a particularly annoying puppy?"

Snap.

In seconds Gokudera had three small, long fuse dynamites lit and held threateningly under Rossi's nose, the collar of the man's shirt gripped tightly in his other hand.

"You wanna say that again, fuckwit?"

Shouts came from all the subordinates, Colombo and Greco's hurriedly backing their respective boss towards a door, acting as a human shield. Rossi's surrounded the two mafioso but seemed hesitant to come any closer.

Rossi laughed, one hand rising to grip the hand on his shirt and the other falling to where there was undoubtedly a gun tucked into the back of his pants. "You really that insecure, dog? Or was the Vongola Tenth stupid enough to claim a trigger-happy idiot as a Guardian?"

With a push Rossi was stumbling backwards, right into some of his men, with the three dynamites, now with rather short wicks, flying after. Gokudera was itching for a fight but Colombo and Greco were gone and he knew he would only disappoint the Tenth if he got into a fight here. So he turned and ran, the Vongola subordinates closing in around him as he burst through the door into the main restaurant then onto the street. There was a boom – only one, unfortunately, not three – from inside right as two cars pulled up beside Gokudera's and all the Vongola mafioso climbed into their respective transport.

The cars peeled away just as people started streaming out the door, the customers yelling and screaming and Rossi's men – a bit singed but mostly okay – searching for the Vongola men.

Gokudera just sat back, leaving any potential car chase to the driver, huffing as he slid the folder of profiles and notes into the bomb-proof suitcase at his feet. So maybe he hadn't managed the mission entirely without incident but he had gotten the information the Tenth wanted so he should be happy. Once he got the ranting out of his system.

Hi everyone! First, massive apologies for how long this took me. . I honestly expected to have it out a year ago, but that just never happened. Many thanks to those who reviewed here and commented on the doc! I get an email every time, and it always prompts me to at least think about IWC, if not write anything. Everyone's comments and suggestions have been really great too, they helped a lot. Also, I may not have responded to many reviews, but I've read them all and I really appreciate people taking the time to review.

If people remember, when I posted an AN a year and a bit ago, I said I was having trouble with my health. After visiting several doctors, and Emergency once, I eventually found out I'm allergic and/or intolerant to most foods in existence. Wasn't fun. . Anyway, that got fixed, slowly, and I'm now not sick for basically the first time in my life. It's great! Also helped a lot with getting through my thesis, which is another thing I did last year. So, yeah, life has been hectic.

Anyway. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! It took forever, but it is two or three times the length of the previous chapters so there's that? XD As before, chapters 4 and 5 are in the doc linked on my profile if anyone wants to take a look. Comments are welcome! I haven't looked at chapter 5 much yet though, so it may have a few inconsistencies...

See ya,

- Ocearna