A/N: An explanation on this one might be helpful. While watching LXG, I noticed the initials for American Secret Service, and being the deranged person I am, this fic was born. Short, silly, not to be taken seriously, it ignores the fact that Quartermain is dead. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Don't own it, just enjoy manipulating it.
With Tom Sawyer in tow, Quartermain strode into his favorite Kenyan bar and breathed deeply. It was good to be home again. Everyone looked up to see who it was, and smiled at the old adventurer.
"How ya doin' Allan?" the old barman asked. Quartermain merely smiled.
"Who's yer friend?" someone else inquired.
"This here is Tom," Quartermain announced. "My young American apprentice."
There was a murmur of interest, and the crowd pressed forward to stare at the Yank and the hunter.
"What do you do, Tom?" someone eventually asked.
Tom smiled happily. "I'm an A.S.S.," he announced.
"We know," someone else called, "but what do you do for a living?"
Tom looked confused. "I already told you, I'm an A.S.S." He glanced over at Allan for help, only to see his mentor laughing. Thoroughly confused now, he responded to the next several inquiries about his profession in the same way. It was only when the entire bar was rocking with mirth that Quartermain calmed down enough to explain that his trainee meant that he was a member of the American Secret Service, not that he was a donkey, and to explain to Tom what he'd been implying. He was about to try and break up the crowd so that Tom didn't have to suffer anymore, but the look of growing horror on his young apprentice's face was too much, and he collapsed again.
Finally, when everyone had drifted off to their own amusements, though still chortling, Allan turned to a thoroughly embarrassed Tom.
"Tom," he said simply, "you really are an ass."