A Doll Month || Tom Holland Fanfic

Chapter 5: I'm Spiderman

"A bodyguard?" Tom asks, confused.

"Yes. She's here for your protection."

"But I don't need protection. I'm... I'm spiderman." He says, ducking his head.

"Yes you do. Death threats are no joke. Ms. Larson is very skilled at what she does."

Tom huffs and sits down across from me, sulking in his chair. Honestly, you would think he was a six year old who'd just found out he can't watch anymore TV.

"Tom, don't do that. It's only for 10 months." Charles reassures.

But this only seems to agitate Tom more. Shooting up from his chair, he looks down incredulously at the man sitting next to me.

"Ten months?? How is that supposed to make me feel better? I have to be followed around 24/7 for ten months by this random stranger? No offense," He adds, turning to me.

Offense very much taken but alright.

"Tom, sit down, you're making a scene." Aldridge instructs, his tone crisp and quiet, but firm all the same.

Reluctantly, Tom sits down, alternating between glaring at Charles and Aldridge.

"I just don't see why I need a bodyguard." He mutters grumpily.

"You need one, and you will accept one without any more fuss." Aldridge says cooly, taking a sip from his drink.

"But-"

"Shall I call Robert?"

"Fine, fine," Tom says hurriedly, accepting defeat.

"Well," Charles starts, clapping his hands together, "Now that that's settled, shall we see what's on the menu?"

We all follow suit, and pick up our menus, scanning the items. The Bruschetta looks delicious and I decide on that.

"Are we ready to order?" The waiter asks as he arrives at our table.

"I think we are, what would you like Ms. Larson?" Aldridge asks, motioning for me to place my order.

"Uh, I'll have the Bruschetta, and some ginger ale please."

"All right, and for you sir?" The waiter asks, looking at Tom.

"I'll have the penne vodka pasta please."

The waiter turns to Aldridge who chooses a dish that is basically oven baked vegetables with a side of mashed potatoes.

"And a scotch neat please," he adds.

"Alright, and for you?"

"I'll have the lasagna, and bourbon please. Oh and waters for everyone," Charles says, and the waiter hurries off to place our orders.

The minute the waiter is gone, Tom turns to me. "Ginger ale? Ginger ale? Are you sick or something?"

"No, I'm not sick, but thank you for caring."

Tom just rolls his eyes. "So why would you get ginger ale?"

"Because," I say simply.

"Because is not an answer, it's the beginning of an explanation." He grumbles. "Why did you order it?"

"It really is of no consequence to you what I order though, is it?"

"No, but I still want to know. I'm curious. So why?"

"No reason, I just happen to like ginger ale. Is there a problem with that? Do you want to maybe check my temperature while you're at it?" That seems to shut him up, and he busies himself with his phone. I look over and think I see the ghost of a smile on Aldridge's lips, but it's gone as quick as it came.