I don't own any of the characters within this work of fiction, they all belong to Kōhei Horikoshi. :)

This is my first attempt at any form of fanfiction, so please bear with me.

Enjoy!

Kirishima was… nervous? Hell, nervous was an exaggerated understatement. He paced up and down the lobby and back around again. His hands went from shoved into his pockets to clenched at his sides to running through his unkempt hair and then back to clenched at his sides.

He couldn't wrap his mind around his current predicament. He was pacing the lobby of a hospital. He was pacing the lobby of a hospital in America. He was pacing the lobby of a hospital in America, because of Bakugo. The very same Bakugo that he hadn't laid eyes on in two years.

Okay, correction, he hadn't laid eyes on the other in person for two years. Kirishima didn't count the one picture from an obscure social media account that he follows as "laying eyes on" Bakugo. He hadn't seen or heard from the blonde in two damn years! The other boy practically fell off the face of the planet after graduation. Nevertheless, when his phone rang three days ago, he dropped everything and ran.

So here he was, disheveled and ungroomed, pacing the lobby of a hospital in another country, worrying about a boy who couldn't even manage to reach out to his supposed "best friend" in two years. Kirishima abruptly stopped pacing, now lingering in the middle of the hall, lost in thought.

He made you his primary emergency contact. Not his parents or Midoriya or some other person. You.

"But why?" He questioned out loud, not expecting an answer. After all, the lobby where he was wearing a path into the linoleum was completely empty.

He hadn't been told much over the phone, or even in person for that matter. The voice on the phone confirmed his identity, relayed simple and direct instructions, and then hung up. When his plane landed last night, two dudes in business suits were waiting for him. They ushered him into a car and drove him straight to the hospital. They then left him with another dude in a suit who brought him to the lobby, told him to "stay put until told otherwise", and then left. That was six hours ago.

Kirishima was growing more and more frustrated and impatient as the seconds ticked by. He was beginning to wonder if he made a terrible mistake. The American government was notoriously known for poaching other countries' heroes after all. But Kirishima couldn't fathom them going this far.

He let out a loud, frustrated groan and scrubbed his face with his hands before raking them through his unruly red hair. Since Kirishima didn't have the time or opportunity to style his hair into his well-known spikey look, it hung limply around his face, tickling his eyes and nose. After about the tenth attempt to move a chunk of hair away from his face and failing, he spun around and stomped over to the empty bench that held his hastily thrown-together duffle bag.

He yanked on the zipper of his (manly) vintage Crimson Riot duffle and shoved his hand into the disorganized mess, searching for a headband. He continued to grope around his bag, grumbling about his distinct lack of organization, when his fingers wrapped around an altogether different object. He pulled his arm out of the bag to inspect the object enclosed in his hand. To his surprise, the object turned out to be a lightning bolt-shaped hair clip.

"Damnit Denki," he sighed, "how do you always manage to get your crap into my stuff?"

He had caught movement in his periphery while searching for a headband and took that opportunity to grab an additional object from his bag. The object curled into his left hand was also Denki's, but this one happened to be in the duffle because he had put it there himself. With the small disk tucked into his left palm, he slowly rose to his feet and faced the only other person in the lobby.

"Another dude in a suit." Kirishima blinked, thoroughly unimpressed.

The man cocked an eyebrow, seemingly annoyed by the comment, before speaking in perfect Japanese.

"Nice to meet you, Red Riot. My name is Fugishiro. Yugo Fugishiro. Ground Zero's handler."

"Uh… what?" It wasn't his most intelligent response. But, in his defense, he was exhausted, jet lagged, and worried sick about his friend.

"I am Ground Zero's handler here in the states."

"Who?"

"Ground Zero."

"Look man, I don't know a Ground Zero. I'm here for my bro Bakugo."

The man in the suit started at him without blinking and then sighed heavily.

"Ground Zero is Katsuki Bakugo."

Katsuki Bakugo wasn't weak - far fucking from it. But, he could admit (only to himself, of course) that emotions weren't exactly his forte. Especially anything not remotely related to anger. Or pride.

Which is why, instead of manning up and explaining his post-graduation plans, he left Japan without giving anyone a heads-up. More specifically, he left without talking to Eijiro. And, two years later, Katsuki still hadn't managed to explain himself.

Well, some of that wasn't exactly his fault. He was undercover. So contacting a well-known Japanese sidekick would blow his cover wide open. So why'd he feel so guilty?

Bakugo shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Now was not the fucking time to worry about such nonsense. Now was the time to kick some villain's ass. He let a mischievous grin spread across his masked face.

"Get ready to have your world rocked you fuckin' low lives."

The hero to his right chuckled at his excitement and threw him a thumbs-up. Multiple voices sounded off in his earpiece.

"Squad one in position."

"Squad two in position."

"Three - in position."

"Four's ready to rock n' roll.

Their mission leader was the next voice that infiltrated Bakugo's earpiece.

"Alright heroes, this is the day we've been working towards for two fuckin years. Each squad has their specific objective after infiltration."

While the mission leader continued her briefing, Bakugo's already racing pulse picked up its pace.

He was profusely sweating. The night air was hot and heavy with humidity, not that he had any problems with the situation. After all, this was when his quirk worked best.

Bakugo refocused on the voice in his ear, just catching the captain's usual pre-mission speech.

"Remember the three virtues: don't fuck up, don't get caught, and don't fuckin die."

A chorus of voices rang off in his ear, reciting the virtues, himself included.

"We move out in three, two, one - go!"

Bakugo followed the two other hero's in his squad, rappelling down the face of the abandoned warehouse. His team, squad four, had the objective of locating and rescuing those who were being held captive, heroes and civilians alike.

He grinned to himself, knowing exactly where the captives were being held. After two long, excruciating years undercover Bakugo had finally gained the trust of his targets and he planned on repaying them for their so-called hospitality.

Bakugo expertly landed next to Sledgehammer, his squad leader, unhooking himself from his rappelling device. At this point in the mission, vocal communication would prove to be too risky, but luckily for Bakugo's squad, they all learned ASL when he joined the team. He quickly ran through the hand signs, explaining that the captives would be held in the basement. Or, worst-case scenario, the laboratory. Sledgehammer nodded, signing that Bakugo should take lead since he knew the layout better.

Bakugo complied, taking the lead position in their three-man formation. He held up three gloved fingers, indicating to his team that they'd be moving once he reached zero. With three ticks of his fingers, Bakugo deployed his team.