Of Crab Tins and Diamonds

Chapter 3: Of Telegrams and Fridays

"Have you picked a radio boy yet?"

Surprised, Allan looked up, mouth full of sandwich. "Hmm?"

Tom rolled his eyes. After picking up after their booth, (and abruptly tossing a few of the most useless applications away) the pair of companions went out to lunch, stopping at a cafe not too far from the port. The sailors were the only ones sitting outside on the warm afternoon, the cool shade provided by their umbrella a real lifesaver. Ever since they sat down, Tom noticed the quiet aura of concentration around him and Tom had a feeling something was up.

"A radio boy. You know, the reason we sat out in the hot sun all day long today. Ring a bell?"

Allan rolled his eyes, mouth still full of sandwich as he shook his head.

"What about that Tintin boy? He seemed promising."

Allan chewed slowly, downing the last bits of his sandwich with a large gulp, "He was the only one with a lick of sense."

"Like me," Tom grinned.

Allan paused, staring at Tom to see if he was serious. "Uh, yeah. Sure, Tom, like you..."

Tom nodded, a satisfied smile plastered on his face.

Allan rolled his eyes again; man, he was starting to get dizzy. "Anyway, to answer your question, no, I have not picked out a proper radio boy."

"Well, why not? You have plenty of options!"

"Yeah... I guess so." Allan murmured, picking at the crumbs left on his plate with his fork.

Tom recognized the look on Allan's face and Tom's smile fell, his expression suddenly determined. "Allan. You know we can't stay here forever."

"I know."

"I get it, it's where we grew up, you don't want to go again." There was an uncertain pause, "I-It's where you met Adel-."

"I know darn it! You think I don't know?!"

Tom flinched as Allan's fist slammed on the metal table, the empty coffee cups sitting on the table clattering together. A waiter and a young couple looked up at the commotion, their eyebrows furrowing in confusion before quickly turning away from Allan's heated gaze.

Placing a hand over Allan's clenched fist, Tom looked pleadingly into the sea captain's muddy brown eyes. "Please, Al. I know you're upset, really, I do, but, remember what the boss did last time we were late?" Tom lowered his voice with his head, "He broke your nose."

With a scowl, Allan jerked his hand away, clenching his teeth, "And gave you that ugly scar on your face."

Tom glared at Allan, annoyance seething into his eyes. "That's not funny, Al. This is serious."

Allan smirked at the change of Tom's carefree attitude, "When did you become Captain all of a sudden?"

"Captain?"

"Yeah, Captain, any brilliant ideas?"

Tom rubbed his temples with a tired sigh. He knew he should've asked Doc for an aspirin. "For Pete's sake Allan, I-I don't know. Let's just pick someone and be done with it, alright?"

Allan snorted in disbelief, "Yeah, but who? The man who claimed his wife was a mermaid? None of those men we interviewed today worked for us, Thomas! None of them."

"No, Al," Tom retorted in a soft voice, pulling the stack of papers out of his bag, "We still have one..."

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