If there was ever to be a day in his life where Aizawa Shouta would sweat bullets, it'd be today — and it'd be deserved. On the outside, cool and collected, dressed in a good D&G suit. Starched black dress shirt. Had his nerves not been so electric on the inside, he might've notice the bookstore clerk's lingering gaze, but in his distraction she was allowed to admire him unobserved. He paid for the books in cash; it was how he paid for nearly everything now.

His nerves had gotten the best of him all day, even after spending the morning in his gym determined to work off the jitters. He'd chain smoked like a devil while he stress-cleaned and detailed his car. A glance at his watch as he left the bookstore told him he had finally run out of time to waste. The small hours had come. It was time to show Momo how much he still trusted her, and hope that bond remained mutual.

He parked his car in the lot of an apartment, and didn't look at his reflection in the rear view as he set up the beige ear piece in his ear. When he did look, it was only to be sure it was discretely covered by his hair. It wasn't. Aizawa took his hair down from its low bun and tied back only the top portion. Now the ear piece was hidden. One last chance to check his pockets then he left his car.

Aizawa headed toward the restaurant first. Momo's notes and maps were sketched in his mind, and from memory he checked off that each predicted vehicle was in place — the raid was still a go. He came around the last corner, to loop past the command van, and there was a woman standing outside it.

It wasn't Momo. It was, however, the woman who'd been at the cemetery with Momo, as well as the cafe. Her name was Harano. She had a paper tray with steaming takoyaki in one hand, her phone in the other. She was dressed in civilians to work undercover — black slacks, and a long, loose coat for the winter. There was a scarf wrapped around her neck. It was clear from her tone she was speaking to children, more engrossed in her explanation than her food. A gust of cold wind came up from behind him, and the cop turned her back to it instinctively while Aizawa passed. He didn't have to wait long; immediately the feed from the transmitter he'd slipped into her coat pocket began relaying her every word in his ear.

"Tosa, bean cake, no. It's to the left. Keep looking down. No, more—"

He nodded to himself, pleased, and headed for Satriale's with Harano in her ear.

There was a camera on the front door, but none on the side for deliveries — a hallmark staple of a business more worried about customer lawsuits than robbery. He had his kit in his breast pocket and it took only a few seconds to jimmy the lock open. In the background, Harano told her daughter goodnight and Aizawa heard her getting back in the van.

Finding the tunnel took longer than the lock had. He'd only heard of it and had never used it before himself. He did, however, find it and not with a moment to spare. Heart palpitations began in earnest as he turned on his phone's flashlight and entered.

The feed from the transmitter cut out while he was underground, and for not quite two minutes he had only the sound of his footsteps and his pulse for company. The old tunnel walls were still dirt, supported by beams that showed their age. Food tins from the war, labels peeled and metal discolored from age and moisture, had been casually discarded so many years before. There was a plain wooden ladder to climb up to the bar by, and signal came back in via the transmitter Aizawa nimbly ascended to the narrow landing.

"Maybe he should be," Harano was saying, and Aizawa rolled his eyes. Glad to have missed whatever her commentary had been on Todoroki.

"Okay, people, look alive," an unfamiliar voice announced. "Five minutes to action."

Aizawa checked his watch and breathed in as deep as his chest would go, and pushed aside the tunnel's exit. It was a storage room; industrial metal shelves stocked with supplies. He slid the panel back into place, and headed into the restaurant.

Music played, casual ambiance that suited the laidback conversations around the room. He paused at the corner to light himself a cigarette, dark eyes scanned quick for where Hanzo, Shinji, and Shoji were seated — then gave them his back as he headed for the bar. He leaned in to the employee on the other side, bracing his hands on the bar top as he did.

"Ume highball."

He'd probably overthought what drink he was going to order. But he'd wanted to pick something he imagined she would like. Something he imagined she would enjoy drinking.

He took cash from his wallet to pay, and nodded when they asked if he wanted a receipt. Aizawa kept his gaze intently focused on his hands as they set both the receipt, then the drink in front of him on a coaster.

Do it. He'd come this far, he couldn't back out now. He drew a pen from the pocket of his suit and wrote in neat English across the back of the receipt: ocean waterfront, high county. His hands were sweating as he put the pen away and folded the receipt onto itself before sliding it under his coaster. A discrete glance at his watch and, at the same time, another voice came across the transmitter.

"Three minutes. Alpha team leader, check in."

"Alpha team ready."

"Bravo team leader, check in."

"Bravo team ready."

Time to fucking go. He hadn't heard Momo's voice, but he felt it that she was there. Like a dowsing rod knowing where to find water. She was out there in the command van with Harano, and he steadied his nerves once more as he glanced up at the top of the shelves over the bar. One of the places Momo's notes had marked out for a camera.

He raised his glass in its direction.

"Delta team ready."

"Move in on my signal."

Aizawa set his glass down on the bar then turned away, shoving his hands in his pockets and slipping away from the bar. Definitely time to go. He rounded the corner to the storage room and hastily stepped inside.

"We good?"

Harano's voice again. He was on the verge of tuning them out, the panel already open and about to step in — where he'd lose service once more — when he finally heard her voice. He froze.

"Just checking for any funny business. We look good though."

Aizawa's jaw locked, but he couldn't hesitate any longer. He stepped in, balancing on the ladder's top rung, as he shut the panel behind him and began the long descent down.


Heads up to the couple people following this, I'm likely going to only continue updates on AO3. It's just a much more streamline process to post there.

AO3 Grippysockssenpai

Work: 48434320