Chapter Text
They had some time to rest in Charahbang. The porters were making preparations for the journey back to the monastery, where Tintin hoped his friend Tchang would be able to regain some health after his terrible ordeal on the mountain. From there they could join a caravan back to Nepal and the airport. How wonderful it was going to be to see Marlinspike again after all of this!
Tintin helped one of the village boys deliver a hot meal to his friend and left him to eat, tired and bright smiles on both their faces. Outside, he ran into the Captain, who was rocking back on his heels and puffing absently on his pipe.
"Feeling much better, is he, your Son of Heaven?"
"Much," Tintin replied. He gave the Captain an appraising look as the older man nodded gruffly and fiddled with his pipe. "Your mood seems to have improved a great deal since we nearly parted ways at the monastery, I must say."
"Parted ways?" Haddock blustered. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I followed you. I - I had to give you back your camera."
"Captain," Tintin admonished, giving him an impatient stare.
Haddock's face turned glum. "I only said I was leaving because I hoped you'd give it up without me. But of course you went on in spite of that. And after we'd nearly died on that God-forsaken mountain, too. I couldn't leave you to go alone into more danger, could I?"
"Clearly, you couldn't."
"And you rescued the boy after all, so I can hardly hold it against you now."
"It?"
"Your mad determination to challenge hopeless odds, you cheeky old hero," Haddock grimaced. "You'll be the death of me, you know. Nearly were this time."
Tintin's eyes hardened. "I never asked you to come with me."
"I can't do otherwise," the Captain replied fiercely.
Tintin knew he was being quoted. He'd said the same a few days ago, begging the Captain to understand that he couldn't abandon his search for Tchang. He looked at the ground, a little ashamed. "My apologies, Captain."
"It may be that the Grand Turk had a few words with me as well," Haddock admitted.
"Words?" Tintin asked, wondering what sort of wisdom the Grand Abbott might have managed to get across to the old sea dog.
"He seemed to think that I might have been a wee bit jealous of your dedication to your lost friend."
Tintin blinked. The thought had never occurred to him.
"So I may have been a little grumpier with you than you deserved," Haddock concluded.
"Jealous?" Tintin repeated.
Haddock coughed. "Well, you know, I care for you a great deal, old fellow."
Tintin blinked again, trying to sort this out. Wasn't it obvious that he cared for the Captain as much as anyone? Wasn't it just a few days ago that he'd said straight out that he'd rather they die together than let the Captain die alone?
"Captain," he said softly, and when the Captain met his eyes he saw how dangerously watery they were. "Let's - let's go for a walk, shall we? Just enough to stretch these tired limbs of ours."
They stayed near enough to the village, though out of sight, Snowy trotting ahead and back to them again over the rocks and grass of the calm valley. Without their heavy packs, it was nearly as lovely as hiking in the Alps, before Tintin had got Tchang's letter.
But in the Alps Tintin had been alone except for Snowy. The Captain had waited for him at the hotel. He didn't really approve of mountains. Tintin looked back at his old friend, but the Captain didn't seem particularly put out at the moment. In fact, he seemed to be humming. Catching Tintin's eye, he smiled up at him.
Tintin reached out to help him climb onto a boulder in their path. His grip was strong and it felt good to take some of the captain's weight, in confidence and safety. It was such a stark contrast to that day on the mountain, the rope wound round him all that separated the Captain from a death dashed on the rocks far below. And Tintin had not been able to pull him up. And Tintin's heart had pushed ice through his veins, knowing his determination to save one friend had killed another. In that moment his dedication to Tchang had evaporated. If the Captain must fall, Tintin would fall with him. There was no question. Death would be preferable to living with that.
As Haddock stepped up beside him, Tintin didn't let go. Instead he pulled the Captain close and hugged him hard, burying his face in his shoulder, breathing him in. Haddock's arms closed around him as well, hesitantly at first, then crushingly.
"I almost - I almost-" Tintin stumbled though his words, his throat tight.
"Ah, Tintin. We made it all right."
"I never took the time to be frightened for you," Tintin apologised.
"That's all right, that's my job, eh? And it's no picnic, let me tell you, being frightened for such a little daredevil as you are."
"But I must remember what you mean to me before I put you in the danger I don't mind facing myself. I can't lose you, Captain. I can't."
"Young fool. Maybe you think I can lose you? Let's sit down, my feet are tired as mules."
Tintin sat beside the Captain, leaning against him, letting the words sink in.
"So... I showed more care for Tchang than for you. And that hurt you."
"I'm only human," Haddock complained.
"You don't need to be jealous, Captain," Tintin said resolutely.
"Why's that?"
Tintin put his hand to the Captain's face, his cold fingers sinking into the rough beard. He felt his heart pound, waiting to see what the reaction would be. Haddock's eyes closed and the man took a long breath, leaning into that hand. Tintin smiled, brushing the Captain's cheek with his thumb, until the man opened his eyes again, meeting Tintin's with guarded hope. "Because I love you," Tintin said, his heart thundering like he was going to the moon as he leaned forward and caught his old friend up in a long-awaited kiss.
Haddock was at a loss for how to react. He was hardly going to push the boy away - it was far too lovely for that - but they would have to have a good frank talk the moment the kiss broke.
Except that it wasn't breaking. Tintin was practically climbing into his lap, wrapping his arms around Haddock's head and kissing him ever more passionately. In the end, several minutes went by and hands were well up shirts before they were interrupted by a curious yak.
Haddock had to laugh at the vile scowl Tintin gave the stupid beast. "It's just as well, Tintin," he chuckled. "This rock is freezing my backside - let's get back and see how the porters are getting on."
"But Captain..."
Haddock slid back down the boulder, his feet crunching in the scree beneath. "Coming with me, aren't you, lad?"
"Of course," Tintin agreed, sounding more than a little bewildered, and looking at the Captain's arm after it had been thrown jauntily around his shoulder.
"I must say, if you wanted to improve my mood, old fellow, you've done a marvellous job of it."
"I - just - didn't want you to feel like you had to compete with Tchang. I love him but not the way - not the way I love you, Captain."
"Are you sure you know what you're saying, Tintin? I'll be grateful if you do, but I've hardly seen you stretch your romantic muscles in all our adventures."
"Of course not. I've been too busy clinging to you."
"Really? Is that why? Did you ever plan on leting me know?"
"I hardly dared," he said, in the smallest voice the Captain had ever heard him use.
"Afraid to lose me, eh?" Haddock guessed, with a quiet smile, and the boy nodded. "Well you've not lost me. Not by a mile."
"But do you, Captain - if you were jealous - if you were afraid I was forgetting you - does it mean what I want it to mean?"
"Gracious, lad, what do you think I was doing up on that wee rock, humouring you?"
Tintin looked at the ground, chewing his lip. Haddock shoved him, laughing. "Not so glum, Tintin! You'll break my heart! I love you to pieces, you foolish boy. To bits. With all my sodden old soul. You understand?"
"But the thoughts I have about you," Tintin hissed, his eyes burning holes in the path ahead of them.
The humour drained from the Captain's face, replaced by a fierce blush. "Thoughts, eh?" he said, his voice roughened, so much that Tintin looked up at him curiously. Their eyes met in heat and darkness, something deep crashing through both of them, and they looked away again, taking ragged breaths.
"I do my best to forget about them," Tintin continued, his voice a little strained. "I usually can. Being so busy, and in so much danger, often as not."
"It's a lonely thing, always to forget them," the Captain said in sympathy, and Tintin nodded. "But you needn't forget them any longer, Tintin."
"I can hardly believe you."
"Blistering barnacles! What'll I have to do to convince you, old man? Shall I tell you about how I've dreamed of you raking your nails over my chest, of wrapping my hands about your waist and frotting my old arbor vitae against your flat belly?"
Tintin had turned an amazing shade of red. "All right. I think I can believe you now."
"Ah. I hope yours haven't been too much tamer than mine. Wouldn't want to frighten you."
Tintin coughed. "No. Not much tamer. Just... Um. Yes. Quite."
"And where does this leave us, you're wondering?"
"I am."
"Ah, but don't you realise, my dear old Tintin," Haddock grinned, looking fondly down at the boy, "that nothing has really changed at all?"
"Nothing but what I plan to do with you when we get home," Tintin announced slyly, and Haddock knew that everything was going to be just fine.
When they left Charahbang a few hours later, the Captain found himself singing.