jirou ships bakuraka, y'all. who knew?

also, note: i think hatsume's the shit.

ch2: context clues a-fucking-plenty

"What're we up against?" Jirou chimes from behind her. Ochako hums pensively as she continues adjusting the focus knobs and fine-tuning the lenses on Mei's newest spy-tech 'baby,' the so-called 'Materialization Specs,' trying and failing to recall from the tutorial hologram how to optimize the magnification from roughly fifteen hundred meters out. Eventually, she manages –by accident—to work out the correct configuration, and nearly takes a step backward when the image comes into full focus, because her vision suddenly insists she's standin' in the immediate vicinity of their two –no, three targets, instead of nearly two kilometers away, cloistered on the top floor in a building roughly a fourth the size of the monolithic structure that houses the Quirk Registry Office. It's an unsettling, outta-body kinda feeling that wrenches her guts in a way both familiar and foreign.

Still, the up-close, right-in-your-face effect of the Specs is pretty spectacular. She wonders if this 'baby' in any real capacity approximates Mei's quirk.

Ochako recognizes two of their marks from the briefing: a tall, handsome boy not much older than herself, whose general air of mysterious charisma is ruined by the fanatical expression he's wearing –Wareru Retsu*, aka Fissure Freak, whose quirk allows him to catastrophically rupture any non-organic material he touches for seven, uninterrupted seconds. Slightly beside and behind him, a short, wiry young woman stands stooped and shiverin', and though her previously long, lovely hair's been buzzed down nearly to the scalp, it'd be hard for Ochako to forget the ice blue eyes of the O2 Maven, Toru Sanso**, whose picture's been flashin' non-stop on news bulletins across the country for weeks now. The Maven's abilities are as diverse as they are deadly: she can manipulate the molecules in oxygen, to devastating effect. The third member of their party, however, is a complete mystery. All Ochako can determine from here, even with Hatsume's Specs, is that she's a stocky, sharp-eyed woman who manages –bizarrely—to be totally nondescript in a pink-and-turquoise dragon kigurumi. Beyond that, both her identity and her abilities are a big, glarin' question mark.

"Fucking well?" The irritated voice of her erstwhile classmate turned comrade-in-arms, Bakugou Katsuki, menaces from directly beside her. She pulls the binoculars away and off-handedly turns them over to him, slippin' back into her actual visual reality just in time to register the prob'ly-accidental yet somehow intentional-feelin' brush of his fingers over hers. She sets the (definitely wrong) intuition aside in the space of a single, weird-lurchin' heartbeat.

Double-tapping the comm in her helmet and addressing her teammates at the same time, "Uravity to Deku: enemy cell located, imminently engagin' Targets J-4 and O-2, plus one Unknown. Sending coordinates; request backup." Ochako slides a glance sideways at by far the most volatile of her mission partners, the once and future 'King of Explodokills,' who's too busy sizin' up their enemies to notice. When he finally disengages the binoculars and hands them off to Kirishima at his back, she sees he's got that familiar, manic gleam in his eyes –the one that, in her experience, always foreshadows epic property damage. "Recommend evacuation of Eisley*** Quarter."

Deku's voice, much-changed since their time at U.A., sounds in her receiver, "Shouto and Deku, enroute. Ingenium, Cellophane, and Creati will handle evacuation protocols. We're on the way –be there in twenty!" Predictably, this elicits an immediate comeback from Bakugou, who reaches up to tap his own comm.

"Don't forget your fuckin' dust pan, Deku." The insinuation bein' that clean-up duty's all that'll be left to handle by the time the rest of the team arrives. Ochako chuckles quietly and throws a look over her shoulder at Earphone Jack, who rolls her eyes and elbows Red Riot for her own turn at the Specs.

Deku again: "Let's keep the mayhem to a minimum, eh, Kacchan?"

"Eat shit and die." The poison and volatility are there, same as always, trademark Bakugou, but the exchange is more barbed banter than the screaming combat it once was, and she can't help but marvel at how transformed they both are, at how far they've come together. The fraught, desperate antagonism that once defined their every interaction has given way to a deep, mutual respect –still definitely underscored by hostility, just…no longer exclusively.

Bakugou abruptly slaps his comm off again, automatically snappin' out a rage-furled, spark-poppin' hand in Kirishima's general direction, apparently sensin' the other boy's amused expression and –as always—disapproving that it's at his expense. Kirishima, more than used to this kind of demonstration –and impervious even before that, doesn't even acknowledge the implicit threat.

Hands at his waist, "So, what's the plan? Should just be a skeleton crew of night janitors and security personnel in the building, and it doesn't look like they've taken anyone hostage, so: pair up? Split the difference?" Jirou finally lowers the Specs, owl-eyed for a moment at the drastic perspective shift. Then, she indicates Kirishima and herself with her thumb.

"I'm assuming we're on evac duty?" And then—"You want Uravity, yeah?" This latter question comes pointedly aimed at Bakugou, and feels somehow charged with more-than-surface-meanin'. Judging by the dangerous, simmerin' Look he sends back at her, Bakugou knows exactly what Jirou isn't saying. Ochako and Kirishima exchange puzzled glances.

"Wanna fucking go, Earlobes?" Bakugou challenges, stance suddenly low and both hands now kicking out a series of miniature explosions. For the life of her, Ochako can't figure out what's set him off this time. Jirou's cedin' the combat opportunity to him –he should be happy!

Jirou, unimpressed with his tantrum, "I'll take that as a yes." Then, because she enjoys poking combustible bears—"Feel free to continue protesting too much, though." Ochako grimaces as Bakugou fumes (literally) and swears, while Jirou flatly ignores him in favor of tucking the Specs into her hip pack and chuckin' her chin toward the door with her eyes on Kirishima. Recognizin' this as his cue to follow, he flashes a wink at Ochako and a thumbs-up at his blast-happy best friend, and trails along after Jirou.

"Save us some action!" He calls back.

Fully tunin' out Bakugou's obscene tirade, Jirou makes a half-turn at the door, "Give us five for a head-start, then green-light the sector alert." Ochako nods in agreement and waves goodbye –except Jirou's still standin' there, lookin'…smug? And lookin' smug at her. She frowns, the frustration of bein' so deliberately left in the dark beginning to wear on her. "You kids have fun –but be safe about it." The suggestive tone is unmistakable, but also confusing. What the heck's she missin' here?

Bakugou, meanwhile—"I will plug my FIST INTO YOUR FUCKING FACE, YOU SOCKET-FUCKING-!" She imagines he'd have continued, but he chokes off with a roar of wordless fury when Jirou blows him a kiss and promptly leaves the room, closin' the door behind her. "That FUCKING BIT—MMMF!" Ochako smacks a hand over his mouth and scowls up at him in disapproval. The blessed silence this generates lasts precisely as long as it takes for her to break contact. Then—"YOU WANT SOME, TOO?!" She rubs her temples, exasperated.

"What was all that about?" The fell expression he's wearing falls abruptly away, leavin' him looking hunted, and sour-surly. She waits for the inevitable, colorful 'Fuck you,' followed by an even more imaginative 'Mind your fuckin' business!' Oddly, neither ever comes.

Instead, Bakugou reactivates his comm to relay Jirou's parting instructions and slides open the room's only window, and even before he hops up onto the sill and fearlessly dangles his legs over the ledge, twenty-some stories above street level, she realizes he means this to be their exit point.

Ochako ain't the type to break people down and analyze 'em like Deku, and she doesn't have the singular-specific kinda insight into Bakugou's mind Kirishima unquestionably does, but she's worked alongside him for long enough that she's pretty good now at readin' his cues, 'specially in the field, where they've always shared a certain, remarkable compatibility. A couple years back, when they were still employed at separate agencies, a chance tag-team encounter demonstrated how much they'd both grown since high school, and how unexpectedly complementary their respective skill sets could be in a fight. She and Bakugou've teamed up countless times since, as sparrin' partners and inter-agency collaborators and even test subjects for a group of JAXA scientists researchin' anti-grav explosions.

All of which make Jirou's cryptic insinuations so baffling: Bakugou usually wants her to partner up with him. 'Cause he acknowledges her abilities, n' 'cause they work well together, n' maybe also 'cause she tolerates his generally unhinged disposition better'n most –or so she thought. But if Jirou's hintin' at there maybe bein' other reasons—

"Oi, you comin', or you good there with your thumbs up your ass?" With a silent, strangled whimper, this disturbin' line of thought –and her escalating panic— promptly terminates. Jirou's chasin' ghosts.

/-/

Katsuki doesn't offer his hand or indicate in any way what he wants from Uraraka (at this present moment, for this particular fucking situation, and fucking fuck, wiseass fucking Earlobes is in his fucking head, 'cause who the fuck else is he justifying himself to?), because she's not a toddler and she can figure it the fuck out for herself. He's halfway out the window on the top floor of a high-rise, for fuck's sake –and this is far from the first time they will have taken the 'high road.' There're context clues a-fucking-plenty.

-so why the fuck is she just standing there, staring into space like that shitty-ass nerd lord, Deku? Like she's eyeball-deep into parsing the damn riddle of the century?

She frowns at him when he calls her out, but it shakes loose whatever –likely Jirou-induced—preoccupation has her fastened to the spot, so he'll take it. Still with that scrunched, sulking expression, she closes the distance between them, fucking finally remembering they're here to do their goddamn job.

Then- "Ya' don't have to be rude, y'know." It's a low admonishment, murmured directly into his ear, because she's behind him now, pressed against him snug-as-you-fucking-please, arms winding tight around his collar. She smells like a fucking summer meadow. For the hundredth time, Katsuki prepares to leap out a window wearing Uraraka like a skin-tight backpack, and for the hundredth time, he feels superheated, like he's on fire.

"Ready?" He snaps, hating every moment of this on principle. He knows she's frowning again because his peripheral vision works and because her face is right fucking there.

"When you are." And with that, warm fingers at his neck instantly neutralize the totality of gravitational forces working against him, and he begins falling slowly upward. He kicks gently off the sill, giving Uraraka time to lock her legs together over his hips, and then, willfully suppressing the never-pleasant, nauseous tug at his guts (an unavoidable consequence of her quirk), he throws back his hands and chains explosions to propel them forward, and they cleave through nearly two kilometers in a deafening handful of seconds. It's not subtle, but unless Dragon Fucker in there has some truly spectacular support quirk, their marks don't have time to go anywhere. And in any case, fuck subtlety.

A blink before they smash through one of the eight-million windows of the Quirk Registry, Katsuki flings out a hand and expels a charge that vaporizes the layers of reinforced and laminated glass, using the grenadier of his other arm as a shield to protect Uraraka and himself from the wave of heat, and any resulting glass spray. Uraraka, for her part, ducks her head and buries her face against his shoulder, which does absolutely nothing to abate the sensation that he's been chucked into a fucking furnace.

Popping a final blast backward, they sail through the improvised opening into what is clearly a conference room –there's a projection screen on the opposite wall, and a long, wide table at the center of the room, flanked on either side by neat columns of office chairs. Their landing is fucking flawless: he hits the floor at optimal velocity and attitude, peripherally aware of Uraraka's grip slackening, of her fingers steepling to release her technique at precisely the instant after he touches down, so they don't go bouncing around the room like a couple of assholes. He reaches up automatically to grab her wrist and steady her as she decouples and drops to her feet behind him, and she double-taps his shoulder blade to signal he should let her go. He is a level of relieved to no longer be touching her that is fucking ridiculous.

The walls are floor-to-ceiling glass panels, through which he can plainly see Fissure, the Maven, and the dull-faced woman in fantasy fucking footie-pajamas, all staring wide-eyed and disbelieving into the conference room.

Katsuki wastes no time marching to and throwing open the door, knowing without needing to look that Uraraka's falling into step right after him, and that she'll be visually assessing the perimeter while he keeps his focus squarely on the trio near the eastern stairwell, across several rows of already demolished desks and computers.

By the time they're within conversation distance, Katsuki can see none of them are looking at Uravity. All three pairs of eyes are fixed on him. She may as well be Hagakure for all they notice her.

Your fucking funeral, he smirks, lowering his stance and pulling his elbows back, palms up and open and freely steaming -his 'signature pose,' according to Kirishima.

Then: "Who's first, fuckwits?"

i think horikoshi's naming conventions are darling af, and though i have ZERO kanji-bility, and my japanese vocabulary is extremelylimited, i wanted to at least keep with the spirit of things, sooooo:

*wareru - to fissure; haretsu - rupture

**Toru Sanso - to steal oxygen

***eisley - as in mos, from star wars, because this is horikoshi's japan, where all the cities are swars-inspired.
/-/

clearly, jirou is privy to some juicy, secret knowledge...which may or may not be included in the actual timeline of this fic. if it isn't, i'll do a one-off at some point detailing What She Saw, but for now, suffice it to say she is fucking ON TO YOU, my 'splodey son.

there will *definitely* be an interstitial chapter exploring the 'chance tag-team encounter' referenced briefly by uraraka -which necessarily entails some light, linear narrative fuckery, but there's a lot of vaguely alluded-to history here that demands flesh...plump, tender story flesh...

[next chapter: bakgou diplomacizes, fissure monologues, and uraraka counts to seven.]