Three Colors Spell a Good Time
By: Amber
Disclaimer: I don't own League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (LXG) but I guess borrowing it is good enough for now.
Special thanks to Sawyer Fan who has been my ongoing inspiration for this fic, and an idol throughout
Apparently, Skinner wasn't really helping. Sawyer's shoulders drooped even more. A paint-flaked hand was about to settle on the young man's shoulder, but retreated after a second's thought. Allan sighed. Most of the League's members had attempted to liven up the boy's mood, with the exception of Dorian and himself. Then again, Allan's had expressively threatened Dorian to stay away from Sawyer at a time like this. So, there was Allan, about to do what he had initially intended before an impromptu queue had formed for Sawyer's sake.
The older man casually approached his surrogate son, looking from the boy to the setting sun and then back to the boy before he knew what to say.
"It's not too late, lad," he tried, opting for an encouraging tone.
The younger man leaned further onto the rail, arms tightening their fold across a wind-cooled shirt. Allan surmised that this opening statement had been used sometime before when the others had tried their luck. A stronger effort was required here.
"We'll be landing at port soon enough," Allan tried again. "You forget that the Nautilus isn't just any old ship. The weather's cleared up, no more errands or missions to run on the way…" Allan tilted his head to meet Tom's gaze, but the boy angled his own face away. The hunter pulled back, shoulders righted and tense. The lad had no right to sulk! Maybe Allan should compare this situation to the time he wanted to hurry from Africa to reach Tom. Now, that had been a matter of urgency; this was nothing more than an inconvenience.
Still…
Allan's gaze softened as he noticed Tom's head bow slightly, bangs obscuring the downcast face. The date, the trip – it all meant a lot to the American agent. In hindsight, Allan realized he shouldn't have promised the success of this outing and raised the lad's hopes. No rest for the wicked, therefore, no rest for the League. But one pleading look from Sawyer had made an idealist out of Quatermain too. Now if only the same worked on criminals across the world, and the League's royal and presidential employers. Instead, Sawyer's original plans were four hours behind schedule. They would surely not make it in time for the main event, although the hunter had lost taste for light shows after the Venice incident.
"There's more to this day other than fireworks, isn't there lad?" The older man stood next to Sawyer, his back to the rails. He waited to see if his words had the desired effect. Finally, hazel eyes looked back up at him, except they weren't filled with reassurance. Tom mirrored the hunter's posture, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"Thing is – "
And just as abruptly as the agent ended that sentence, his demeanor followed in uniform contrast to the prior glum. At this point Tom had no problem turning towards Allan, hazel eyes loyally cuing the momentum that was building in the youth.
"Yeah, that's right," Tom spoke with awe-founded clarity. "We could have a whole day over there and I could show you guys the ropes!"
Allan had meant to convince the boy that their delay or their more probable absence for the holiday's event could be compensated in one way or another. But now, the prospect was being manipulated. The League's leader was still stuck on the very suggestion of a 'whole day' when he realized the lad was still talking.
"…and like you said, it doesn't look like we're gonna be busy. We might as well – " This time an epiphany wasn't what stopped Tom's train of thought – rather, it was the hand on his shoulder and the level set of dark, brown eyes expressing the familiar hue of fondness and exasperation.
"It's not that easy, son," Allan started, preparing to ease the blow. "The President may have something for us yet. We don't know about tomorrow's plans."
"And if we do get tomorrow off?" The young agent's sails were still billowing with wind.
Allan reluctantly pushed forward with his own doubt. "We'd still need to discuss it with everyone else and see if they want to port in Virginia an extra day."
"But Virginia's not all that bad," Tom protested, drawing a quick smile from Quatermain. "An extra day would'n kill anyone either. And even though we're a day late, there'll still be plenty of fairs n' attractions around." When he saw that Allan still didn't look convinced, Tom resorted to his cheapest trick before his surrogate father could think of another way to say 'no.'
The hunter could already sense the gesture that, under these circumstances with Sawyer, bore a quasi equivalence to a tug on a parent's sleeve. Sure enough, when Quatermain glanced to his side, the puppy eyes shone in full effect. He inwardly sighed and groaned – it seemed this week was not starting well, as far as his authoritative conviction went.
"Now, Thomas – "
"Allan," the boy interrupted, "please."
Yep, the sap was seeping in.
"Lad, there are no promises," Allan said seriously. "… But I'll see what I can do and we can talk to the others about this before we dock."
Tom grinned, already having faith in the offer. Somewhat abashedly, realizing that the hunter really did go to great lengths for him, he put his hands in his pockets again and gazed at his mentor through his fringes.
"Thanks Allan. It means a lot to me."
Reaching out a hand and ruffling the scruffy locks, Allan gave a short laugh. "I can really tell, my boy. I just hope America appreciates all this patriotism on your part." With that, he told Tom he might as well try contacting the President right away and moved to the door.
Once the metal door clanged shut, and Tom was alone again, he leaned against the rails to watch the sunset again. Only, unlike his posture from before, this time his shoulders fell slack with relaxation and contentedness. After a short moment, the sun completely hid below the horizon and the breeze carried with it more of a chill. Even then, he stayed at the rail, enjoying his mental checklist of events planned for the next day.
'Not so much patriotism as much as something I can share with you guys – my team, my family…'
"Thomas!" was suddenly heard echoing from the shaft just beyond the door. "It's nightfall, you know what that means. The stars come out, you come in."
Pushing off of the rails and towards the door, Tom headed to his 'Dad,' conjuring a wish list along with his checklist.
He wished good news awaited him under deck, and he really wished Allan would stop calling him 'Thomas' like that when all of Nemo's crew could hear them. Then again, sometimes the condescension meant the hunter was in a good mood.
His gut was telling him that for this year July 5th would amount to more than its preceding Day of Independence. Tom quickly pulled the latch, speculating with equal measures of annoyance and gratitude that whatever news Allan had for him, it would have to wait until the leader made sure he was warm and fed.
TBC…
