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The night before he is to leave for Europe, Tintin finds himself wishing that time would slow down a little.
"I suppose … things will be different now," Chang says hesitantly like he's afraid of speaking it into existence, standing by the window with his eyes fixed on Tintin's mostly-packed luggage.
"… I suppose," Tintin answers, although there's no supposing: he's sure things will never be the same for him either. Moving on from an adventure has always been so much simpler.
"This looks wrong," Chang says, gesturing vaguely. The room is in an odd halfway state, scattered but strangely empty with most of Tintin's belongings packed up. It does feel foreign: Tintin didn't realise how much he got used to the sight of his clothes and stationery littering the place. He likes to be organised, normally, be prepared in case he has to travel on short notice. But during the week his arm was out of commission and after, he let traces of his presence build up in the room like he belonged here, like he wasn't just passing by like he had with every place he visited before.
Chang clasps his hands behind his back and takes a shaky breath. He held himself together for most of dinner, but he seems very tired now. "I just... I hate it, you know? That things don't last."
Tintin has an idea what he means. He talked briefly about his family once, whispering revelations Tintin hardly knew how to react to across the room in the dark, one of the nights when they were stuck in the house after Tintin was shot. Once again not knowing what to say, he stands up to join Chang by the window and puts a hand on his shoulder.
"I understand why, it's just —" Chang swallows and rubs his eyes, trying to smile. "But I suppose it's a lot kinder this time. At least ... we got some time, yeah?"
"Of course," Tintin says immediately. "I ... I hate to leave you too, but I'm grateful." He never knew, never had a chance to know how nice company can be, even in the middle of chasing mysteries. Now that he has seen how it is, to have someone at his side — a friend, not just an ally like Mr Wang or the Maharaja of Gaipajama, have two-way conversations about the facts of a case instead of just talking at Snowy until everything makes sense, confiding and processing for the first time so much about himself because Chang had hundreds of questions about his life — he's so very grateful.
"So," Chang says with an effort at lightness, "is it back to more of this for you? More adventure?"
"I hope so, yes." Technically he's supposed to take a break from travelling after he goes back home, but when he imagines being on his own again … he doesn't think he's capable of resting for too long. The week recovering after being shot was bad enough, even with Chang there.
Chang nods and looks away, speaking haltingly. "You know, for a moment — before, I — I considered asking you if I could just go with you. To your country."
"Oh?" Tintin looks at him, surprised at the sudden admission.
"I mean … I couldn't really, I just … I didn't have anything to stay for. Or anyone. But that's crazy." He seems to shake off the hesitancy and turns back to Tintin again, reaching out to squeeze his hands. "It — this is best for us both, probably. Say, Tintin, you'll take care of yourself, won't you? You did say the time at Hukou was not the first attempt on your life."
(…He did say that. Chang was so concerned then, but not in the way that Mrs Finch always was when he returned home at odd hours, pursing her lips and offering brandy and painkillers that he politely declined. Tintin was glad Chang understood why he had to live the way did.)
"… I'll try my best?"
"Of course you won't," Chang shakes his head, chuckling.
"Well," Tintin starts to say, but doesn't deny it.
"You should still take my advice though," Chang says with mock seriousness, but Tintin is glad to see mischief in his eyes again. "Go on strike so they stop sending you on life-threatening assignments."
"Yeah, I'll be sure to do that …"
Chang laughs with him, an abrupt but welcome distraction, then sobers. "I think — I think I'll be okay," he says after a moment of silence, the earlier fragility back in his voice. "I think at least I can stop feeling like … like nothing matters, and it's because of you, so —" he swallows.
Tintin doesn't quite know what to do with that much admiration. He didn't know when soon after they met, Chang said — way too lightly for a confession of that sort — that Tintin made him really want to live again. ("You never told me you saved his life in China," the Captain would say years later, guardedly as he always would be in matters of Tintin's past. Tintin would deflect with "He thinks too highly of me. He survived a lot on his own.") He doesn't know what to say, so he remains silent.
"I know you'll be okay," Chang breaks the silence instead. "Won't you?"
"I'll try," Tintin says, sincerely this time. He has always been okay on his own. He will get used to being alone again.
Chang nods, attempting a smile but his eyes shine in a way that's almost hard to look at. "Yeah … I think it'll be all right."
"I'm sorry, Captain," Tintin says quietly. His mind is full of swirling thoughts in spite of the gaping emptiness in his gut. Normally when he's troubled by something he can't immediately act upon he isolates himself with Snowy and talks at him until it calms down. But not this time. He owes it to the Captain to say it, at least. So he drags Snowy closer to him, weaving his fingers through his wiry fur, and makes himself get the words out, glad the dim light inside the monastery is obscuring his face. "I — I shouldn't have made you come with me."
"You didn't," the Captain says gruffly, but Tintin can hear the hint of something else in his voice and doesn't look at him. He doesn't think he could bear to see his expression right now. "I came with you because I'm as much of a fool as you, Tintin."
"But —" it's all his fault. He doesn't regret putting his life on the line for Chang, no. He's still not ready to give up, he would do it all again right now if he just had a clue where else to look for Chang.
But. The rope. The brandy. If the Captain went through with it — it would all be my fault one of us surviving makes no sense don't you understand? "I wouldn't even make it without you," he thinks out loud. He miscalculated this time. He got too comfortable with the Captain always escaping even in space even after the moon but what if he didn't this time what if the knife didn't slip what if the rope didn't hold —
The Captain takes a long time to answer. "That's why I'm here, lad." He sounds hoarse. Tintin swallows.
"I know," he says. His throat is like broken glass. Snowy whimpers at his feet. The cold is getting under his skin and into his lungs. "I just — I stopped writing back to him," is what comes out, of everything crowding the back of his mind. It's hardly the most pressing concern now but it hasn't stopped tearing him up since he read about the plane crash.
"Why?" Captain Haddock says after a pause, and he sounds so gentle. Tintin really doesn't want to cry now. He hates it, that the ache in his throat has been near-permanent lately.
("You'll write, won't you?" Chang asked him once, hesitantly, when he was preparing to leave for home. Packing was such a drawn out affair the time he left China. That is what sticks out in his memory now. He had had plenty of practice packing, always on the move since he was barely a teenager, quick and efficient at shoving whatever belongings he had that hadn't beeen destroyed on the adventure in a trunk and not leaving a trace. But the thought of leaving Chang made it daunting. Made him want to put it off for as long as possible.
"I'll think of you always," Tintin said earnestly at the time. But you'll write, won't you, Chang didn't ask.)
"I don't know," Tintin says, almost in a whisper. It's not like he hasn't tried to explain it to himself. He tried to stay in touch at first, he really did. Then it got too much — too many things crowding his life, and he let the letters pile up, and then they ceased coming. He doesn't know why he did it. He has grown a lot since China, but the end of the day, he learnt to fire a gun before he learnt to pet his dog. Maybe he was just never meant to have good things, to have people who love him. It's not surprising that he hasn't really changed much, if he could take the Captain's steadfast unconditional support for granted the way he did.
"I just wish I could have told him, —" there is so much. Maybe the Captain will understand, if he can explain just how much he was hoping to apologise when he found Chang (and it was always when, never if), to tell him how much he missed him and it was all his fault he left things incomplete.
(The thought of writing to Chang that he was moving out crossed his mind when he packed the wall hanging from Shanghai among his belongings to be shifted to Marlinspike. He marveled at how much he had accumulated over the years since his return from China, in what was once a sparse, practical apartment. Books and papers piled up on desks and chairs and every available surface, keepsakes from his travels scattered all over, newspaper cuttings with pictures of himself and Snowy that he stuck on his pinboard for no reason except that they were good pictures and made him smile. The thought of writing to Chang was buried in a flurry of cardboard boxes and more immediate matters to be taken care of.)
"I never —"
("I just don't think it's fair that you never got to have a family," Chang told him. "You deserve it more than me."
"Why do you look down on yourself?" Tintin said immediately. "You deserve it. And I — I don't mind that I was never adopted. I like being independent, I think it turned out well for me."
"And don't you ever … wonder about your first family?" Chang asked quietly.
"I don't know," Tintin said uneasily. "I think I'm fine with not knowing them. It's ... less painful?"
Chang was silent for a moment before nodding. "I admire that about you, but I — I don't think I could ever think like that. It's ... where I come from is all I have, you know? I'd rather remember and live with the pain than not know them at all. I've been on my own for so long, but I can't, I don't do well on my own. I — need people even if it hurts."
"And you deserve to have a family," Tintin said emphatically, wishing Chang would see it the way he did. "You deserve to be happy so much."
Chang shrugged. "You do, too. I know you're fine with how you are, but I really think you deserve more.")
".... I never told him that I found a family."
He sees the Captain turn to him abruptly out of the corner of his eye and instinctively looks up at him, immediately self-conscious. Was it too much? He would have automatically uttered an apology, but what he said is true, even if he would never have said it if his emotions weren't so raw and frayed. He has known since after Bagghar when the Captain mentioned, forcibly offhanded, the he might look for a place in Brussels and it briefly made Tintin panic for some reason.
"Tintin," the Captain says when Tintin has let the silence stretch, and Tintin looks away quickly, trying not to notice how gentle he sounds again. "You've done more than enough. You always do, and I'm —" his voice catches. "I'm sure Chang appreciated that. But you can't always control everything, lad."
"I guess so," Tintin quietly concedes, too tired to persist in a losing argument like he normally would.
Even though his mind still wants to feebly protest against the use of the past tense.