Chapter Text
His palms were sweaty; nerves were getting the better of him. This was indeed the most trying encounter he'd ever had. Gangs of thugs, master minds, thieves, all this Tintin could handle easily and without his heart falling into his stomach. A pretty lady was turning out to be his Achilles' heel.
It wasn't as if he loved her, far from it, he wanted this date to end as quickly as possible. He wasn't even sure how he had ended up alone with the blonde at this cafe'. She was beautiful, Tintin noted, as she gazed at him longingly, heaping praise on his adventures and articles in a fashion that indicated she admired the journalist far more than his writings. Any man would consider himself in the best of company, any man but Tintin.
This situation was new to him, being a lone with a girl of his own age, a girl that others would find interesting, but of whom he cared little for in a romantic sense. Tintin was a kindhearted individual and that made rejecting her all the more difficult. He wanted to like her, his nature indicating he should be kind and social to her, please her. But he couldn't find an attraction to her. He could not fancy her the same way she seemed to be fancying him. He wondered why he could not find the feeling. It was obvious that he SHOULD be attracted to her. She was funny and interesting, a recent graduate of a prestigious college where she had majored in English literature. She was attracted to him and this disturbed him to his core. He realized what this was meant to be; all planned carefully by the girl's mother. It was only to be dinner with the girl and her family, now suddenly he was alone with the young lady and he wasn't quite sure what to do. His hands folded politely in his lap as he nodded along with her conversation, even as her own hand lay on the table waiting to be grasped by his, her form, thin and lithe leaning across the table in interest.
“Am I boring you, Mr. Tintin?” The bite in her voice had awoken Tintin from his thoughts. He blinked at her in surprise; apparently he had missed a question.
“Oh, no, Miss. DeLise, however, I should say that...well...I think your mother may of made a mistake.” The young woman seemed to not understand and Tintin himself was having a hard time explaining it to her.
“I...I am not interested in a romantic relationship. Not that you aren't a very nice girl. It's just...I thought we were having dinner with your family.” The father in particular had been his aim, for her father was a leading member of an archaeological team and Tintin was trying to catch the story of his latest expedition. The girl blushed brightly. For a second he had thought he got it wrong, Tintin, mystery solver extraordinaire. However, when the girl seemed to sigh and look at the table sadly he knew the idea of romance had been on her mind. He patted her hand with caution in a friendly manner.
“At all, or just with me?” The girl commented scornfully, the color rising even more in her cheeks. Tintin's own cheeks reddened at that. He knew the answer; of course he wanted romance, some day with the right person. But who would the right person be? Certainly not this girl. He had never felt comfortable around the women that would flirt with him, that found him attractive. He was a confirmed bachelor, even at his young age. Tintin lived and worked with many men and rarely sought the company of the fairer sex. This made him wonder if he didn't much care for the company of women, which threw a slew of other questions in to his mind as he sat in panic.
“I...I don't know.” He stated, for it was true. It was not the girl herself he disliked. It was the whole idea of marriage that he scorned. He found himself unable to imagine the type of woman he would be willing to marry. This had always been difficult for him. The idea that he had to marry and produce children had always seemed...awkward and unrealistic.
With that the girl stood up and threw her napkin on the table walking out with her nose in the air, highly offended by his lack of a direct answer. Tintin sighed and paid the bill, walking out not long after her, shoving his hand in his pockets and beginning the walk to the train station. He had planned on staying in the city another evening but now he longed for the green pastures of Marlinspike and the hearty laughter of his dear friend when he told him this story. He could almost hear the captain as he made for the train station at a slow and thoughtful pace.
“I wouldn't of believed it, boy, the only thing that Tintin's afraid of, commitment!” The captain's strong, harsh tone rung in his ears even though the man was far away, comfy and cozy in his hall, no doubt drinking whiskey in front of a roaring fire.
It wasn't entirely true that Tintin feared commitment. He was committed to many things, his dog, Snowy, his causes, his friends, his very dear friends. The captain was one in particular that he was committed to. He stopped in his tracks for a moment to mull that over.
What did it mean when the person you were closest to in the world, the one you would give your life for, would die with if any dying were to happen, was a man? A much older man, though very fine and dignified in his own way. The captain had certainly aged well, his hair still black as night and his eyes giving the only sign that he was perhaps in his late forties.
Tintin shook the thought from his head and began to walk more fiercely, pounding the pavement as he did. It meant nothing, he told himself. These were simply the people he was attached to. He was willing to give much to his friends, being big hearted. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong with him. Perhaps it was just his attachment to the captain that seemed to be nagging at him, his friend who saw him to the moon and back, his friend who always took care of him so well and who never seemed to ask for much in return, following him from Indochina to Peru to any part of the world that the boy sought adventure in. The train station was close and he jogged the rest of the way, trying to escape his own thoughts as he paid for his ticket and found that the next train would be a few hours. He sat on the uncomfortable bench and leaned back into it, cuddling into his trench coat.
Perhaps he did want a relationship. Perhaps he did HAVE one. It was just wasn't the sort others would accept, somehow that stung Tintin. Others were unlikely to accept it. And the captain, what would he think if he knew Tintin was having such thoughts about their friendship? More than likely the captain would laugh at him for letting a simple girl get under his skin.
Still, he couldn't help the thoughts racing through his head, the thought that maybe he did want a romantic relationship and the person he most saw himself gravitating towards, in all cases, was the captain. Tintin sighed, letting his head lull back. There was just one last question.
What was he going to do about it?