Chapter 2: Pack Your Bags!
Tom's earlier predictions proved true – he was currently wearing an oversized coat that admittedly made him more comfortable past the token warmth. A certain kind of security enveloped him as surely as the apparel engulfed him in its overlapping layers. When a familiar, roughened hand pushed a plate of food further towards him, Tom immediately looked up with appreciation, but objected nonetheless.
"Are you sure it wouldn't be rude if I startin' eatin' before they all got here?" Tom asked, already feeling he had been selfish enough. His league-mates had taken turns to draw him out of his blue mood, and now Allan had called an early dinner/meeting to discuss what could be done about the trip. What if the others didn't want to go?
"We could both get second servings by the time they arrive, letting them think we waited. Then Mrs. Harker won't have to worry about the propriety of our dining etiquette," Allan lightly remarked, his fork-holding hand not hesitating over his own full plate. He gave an approving chuckle when he saw his protégé was convinced, and had already started stacking food between two bread slices.
"Still," Tom said between large bites, "I feel I owe them somethin' after having put up with me today."
Allan set his fork down. "No one was putting up with you today, lad. We're a team, and they know you'd do the same for them. We did it before when Skinner wanted in on that gambling tournament, or when we went to those medical conferences because Mrs. Harker and Jekyll were interested. It's your turn now."
"Well, what about you?"
"I don't need to visit Africa anytime soon." Allan went back to his meal.
"No, I meant…" Tom chewed slower. "You're okay with this?"
"Well, I better be, since I talked to the President about it," the hunter huffed with humor. However, his comment seemed to deflate Tom somewhat. "Alright, enough of this moping. This isn't charity, lad. You can think of how convenient this will be for everyone."
"Convenient how?"
"Why don't you tell me?" Allan prompted warmly, drinking his coffee and raising a lofty eyebrow.
Tom knew this game – the one Allan invented so the boy would counter-argue his own doubts. Tom rolled his eyes at the ploy.
"Well, I guess they'll like the weather – plenty of buyin' and sellin.' I could definitely see Mina spending money, Dorian haggling to cheat someone into losing money. And Skinner," Tom laughed a bit, "he'd be excited to see so many pockets and purses in one place."
Allan grunted in response to the probable premonitions. He was glad to see the excitement stirring and building in Tom's voice again. The American had also gone back to eating greedily.
"But what good is the plannin' of it, if we're – "
"Going," Allan interjected. "Yes, Thomas, the President wished us a happy weekend – we're going."
"Really?" Tom nearly spat out his food. "As in, 100 percent sure? I mean, I get if there are emergencies, we'll have to go. But if he calls us over, wantin' a second opinion on whether or not his tie matches his socks…"
"Lad," Allan warned. "I'll remind you of three things…" He continued when Tom gave a contrite smile. "One – we are going. Two – the President doesn't intentionally waste our time. And three – your table manners are atrocious."
After an initial perk, then duck of his head in accordance with the first two items of Allan's list, Tom coincidentally stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth as Allan said the third.
The hunter sighed dramatically. "I really think you need lessons on this sort of thing. Maybe Dorian is the man for the job."
A lazy glare parried Allan's jab, a stuffed mouth too busy to come up with a proper retort. The older man couldn't help but think the young man had a rather childishly endearing expression at the moment. It helped that above all, the hazel eyes were lit up with nothing but excitement now that Allan confirmed the trip.
Suddenly, Tom jolted and started coughing on his food.
"Sorry there chum," a chipper voice came from behind Tom. "It was just a congratulatory slap on the back, supposing we have good news in store – didn't know you were full of food."
"Skinner!" came the irritated growl, followed by the hunter's rise out of his chair. Moving to an adjacent table, Allan carelessly swiped an old coat off the top and tossed it roughly until a muffled ow signaled the thief had 'caught' the item.
Allan rounded the table to face Skinner. "And where is everybody, exactly? I thought the announcement of a vacation would be something worth having tea over…"
"Vacation? I thought so." Tugs at the coat stopped altogether. He looked over at Tom, glad that the young man got his wish. Skinner smiled when he also noticed the agent's coughing had subsided, with the aid of unconscious pats on the hunter's behalf. In fact, Allan was grumbling to himself and looking at his watch, his other hand still soothingly attending the American.
"Yeah, but you should all get to vote," Tom finally vocalized, looking over his shoulder at him.
"Don't know, mate," Skinner ambled to a chair and plopped down. "With ol' Quatermain running the show, I don't think I have any democratic rights left."
"You'll be cut off from your human rights soon enough, Skinner."
Before the thief could make a snappy comeback, the other four members arrived, sporting expressions ranging from annoyance to piqued curiosity. Allan, one arm poised over Tom's tall backrest, grinned at the assembled group.
"Well, everybody – pack your bags, we're going to Virginia for the weekend."
Tom gave a sigh of relief at the lack of protest. Even more, the group seemed to relax at the news; Dorian had a 'well, whatever' look, but that was honestly more than Tom had expected. He felt a familiar hand lean down from above to tousle his hair in its own congratulatory fashion. Much gentler than Skinner.
"I have to hand it to Quatermain." The uncomfortable coat was surreptitiously disposed of. "He knows how to make orders sound pleasant."
TBC…