Because you are all such amazing people, I've decided to post this now rather than make you all wait a week for it like I had originally planned.

Obviously, this isn't 'Wednesday'. A lot of people commented on that in the reviews - don't worry, that's the next chapter! This is actually part of what spawned this entire fic. This chapter is a variation of a oneshot I wrote a little while ago (hence why it's so long compared to the other chapters, oops), which I posted somewhere else. Just for the heck of it, if anyone knows where I originally posted it, the first person to tell me can request a oneshot. :D I need the practice writing, and I'm curious to know who might actually be able to guess it. 'Cause, honestly, if you know something that obscure you're a pretty amazing person. And no googling. D:

I read/write almost anything (though I've never written crack and don't think I'd do very well), so, yes. It's a competition!

EDIT 27/07/12: Well, not much has changed here. But the competition was won by Miyanoai, and her oneshot ("Army Uniforms and Psychotic Madmen") is now up on my profile, just in case anyone wants to read it. It features Tsuna in the Kokuyo uniform!

The day started out fine. Gokudera had been given the mission by the Tenth yesterday, jumped on a plane to Australia two hours later, and finally read his paperwork during the flight.

There was, however, one little problem. Gokudera had left Japan via a private Vongola airbase. He had arrived in Australia via the very public Sydney Airport. Carrying his usual quota of dynamite.

Somehow, that made airport security think he was a terrorist.

Which lead to his current predicament.

When the initial alarm had gone off and Gokudera had been quickly surrounded by security guards, he had thought that someone had sent mercenaries to lie in wait for him at the airport. After several minutes of confused shouting in Japanese, Italian and English (not by Gokudera though. Tsuna had banned him from negotiating in English after the American ambassador debacle) someone thought to send for a translator, who then explained the issue – you couldn't just walk into a country with enough explosives on you to blow up a small building. Or a large one, if you were sparing enough.

Gokudera had stared, confused, at the poor woman for several minutes as he tried to gauge the possibilities of this not being a set up, before deciding that explaining first, blowing up later was probably the best course of action.

Unfortunately, his argument that he had got on the plane carrying dynamite, so why couldn't he leave with it too, didn't go down so well. The security people seemed to be lost at how he had even boarded the plane in the first place, while Gokudera just wanted to leave, so he could finally complete his mission for the Tenth.

Which was why, when the translator lady had politely (and slightly shakily) asked him to, "Come with me so we can sort this all out," he had agreed. In hindsight, blowing the place up might have been a better idea.

He had been led to a small room where they took down his details – name, date and country of birth, passport number, why he was there (work, of course. Gokudera would never sully the name of Vongola by calling a mission a holiday, even undercover). They even scanned his fingerprints. Then came the first problem.

He didn't exist.

Of course, technically he did. But in preparation for this trip, Tsuna had gotten Giannini and Shouichi to find and delete every record of him that the airport security might find suspicious. That included the warrant currently out on his head, and most of his details. Unfortunately, the plane had landed half an hour early and, unknown to Gokudera, the two tech experts were yet to upload his new profile to the security database.

By this point the security people were in a panic. They had a potential terrorist with no identity carrying who-knew how many kilograms of dynamite. Gokudera, of course, was oblivious to the hushed conversation in the corner, as was he oblivious to the failed computer check they had just run. He just sat there, staring into space and contemplating how best to go about his mission once they finally let him go.

Next Gokudera was taken to a room with nothing but a solid metal table in the centre and a security cameras in every corner. The translator, her timid stuttering beginning to remind Gokudera of Tsuna back when they had first met, asked him to remove all the dynamite from his body and place it on the table. Gokudera froze, weighing the pros and cons of obeying, hopefully leaving the airport quicker and not causing a fuss (which the Tenth would prefer, he knew), or disobeying and having to deal with an entire airport full of people as he fought his way out. Eventually he grudgingly agreed, knowing that the peaceful option was what Tsuna would have expected of him.

Whatever the guards had expected, it was not what happened next. Gokudera had, despite the hot summer weather he was travelling towards, worn a long sleeve shirt, jeans and a zip-up hoodie. He removed the hoodie 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 each, in all different shapes and sizes, then the leather belt that had been around his waist. Two pouches, hidden on the inside of the belt and placed so that the extra space was taken up by the hollows of his hips, each contained 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 dynamites 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 only other female guard with her.

The men who were left behind stared after the door as it slammed shut, confusion and fear clear on their faces. What had this strange terrorist said to cause the translator to run! Especially without explaining why she was running.

Fortunately, they didn't have long to wait 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. A gun without the worries of being caught by metal detectors, basically.

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.

Boxers all that were left of his clothes, 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. He hoped that, now that he had complied with their demands, they would let him go. With his dynamite, preferably, though it wouldn't take him long to make a basic kit once he got in contact with the famiglia he was here to meet. He'd just have to be careful in the meantime.

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, army, 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 walkie-talkie. 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.

Back into the first room Gokudera was led. He sat in the same chair as before, opposite a guard with a computer 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 having been shut down when the security alarm was triggered, unwittingly blocking Shouichi's 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-stress and annoyed guard and a timid translator who was shaking in fear and trying not to cry, 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 the phone that had been sitting in a tray beside the computer. The translator squeaked and the guard gave an indignant-sounding 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 only 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 walkie talkie 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, continuing on for almost a minute before:

"Moshi moshi. Sawada Tsunayoshi speaking."

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, hai. I'm from the security detail at Sydney International Airport. We're currently interviewing a young man – a… G-Gokudera Hayato." 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 l-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. "Goku-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, I was just- yeah, 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 Iemitsu Sawada. Dad 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 – briefly surprised when she realised it wasn't an Australian or Japanese number – 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 just what had 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, lost. "Uh… hello?"

There was a sigh and a brief, frustrated sounded muttering, then, "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, uh, 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 Iemitsu Sawada?"

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.

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

So it was that in the end, all was well. 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 got to continue his mission, albeit a day late, and returned home in the Vongola jet three days later, having left from a private air field to prevent a repeat of the earlier security bungle.

Shouichi and Tsuna were anxiously waiting for Gokudera when he returned home, both taking the time to impress upon Gokudera that he was now an internationally wanted criminal and that he had to be more careful. Gokudera grovelled at the Tenth's feet for a good hour before Tsuna was able to distract him with a mission (tracking down Lambo and Ipin for dinner), and everything returned to normal.

Tsuna tried to assure himself that the lesson had sunk in, for all his Guardians.

It didn't really work.