"D'you think he's bluffing?" Haddock mused aloud.
"Hm?" Tintin turned, startled from whatever his own thoughts had been.
"Do you think…is it possible we truly will lose our memories to that ostrogoth?"
The boy nodded immediately. "Yes, I do believe he has the capacity; we've seen what he can do already, and it's never wise to underestimate your opponent."
"Is he our opponent? He did save our lives," the Captain reasoned.
"Assuming he's not our opponent is underestimating him," the redhead shot back. "We have to be on our guard more than ever now."
It was strange, in a sense, to hear such a cynical remark come from someone like Tintin…but then, Haddock figured, it was a wonder he was usually such an optimist after all he had been through in his life. Only twenty-two years old—and his small stature and round face meant he could easily pass for seventeen or so—but he had the insight, maturity, and undoubtedly the emotions of a man much older, in spite of his outward stoicism.
"If we are in fact going to forget all of this," Tintin murmured thoughtfully, "I suppose there wouldn't be any consequences if I, say…acted on an impulse?" He glanced over to his friend, as if expecting a response.
"I think that would depend on what, exactly, you were going to d—" The Captain's nervous attempt at rational wisdom was cut short once two soft, tender hands cupped his rough, sweaty face and pulled him in tight, into something as passionate and comforting as he had hoped but dared not imagined in detail.
This, this was Tintin, Tintin the wonder-boy, Tintin the hero, the one who had saved him and saved him over and over again, the one who owed him nothing, the one whose mere friendship he did not come close to deserving, the one he could not help but fall for but could not possibly expect reciprocation from…
Tintin, Tintin, Tintin was kissing him, and all he could do was stand there, utterly stupefied, perfectly spellbound by this boy—no, this man!
And in an instant it was over. The instigator stepped backwards, regaining his characteristic composure, a crimson tinge on his freckle-spattered cheeks the only evidence that his companion had not simply been hallucinating, drunk off the heat and his hopeless lust.
"Tintin—" Haddock gasped, breathless, and two silvery-blue eyes flickered in his direction. He spluttered. "—w-what was that?"
"As I said: an impulse." The youth dipped his head down towards his feet, the red in his face brightening with his embarrassment.
I'm an idiot. This means nothing, Haddock thought, infuriated with himself for leaping to conclusions on the basis of his insatiable infatuation. He's young…he's feeling the heat…Thundering typhoons, I should be grateful we'll forget all this, that I won't have to deal with the humiliation and neither will he…
"I…" Tintin glanced up again, regret in his gaze, enough to tear the Captain's heart in two. He cleared his throat.
"…all I know is," he said, "my heart stopped when you were hanging over that lava, as it has every time I've seen you in danger or even remotely close to it. Maybe I wanted you to know how much you mean to me, if only for a moment. I've cared about people before, of course, but this, this is…you are…oh, confound it, I can't even speak!"
Tears and perspiration mingled on his face, his brow wrinkling with frustration and exhaustion. He breathed deeply and began again. "Yes, I've cared about people before…but I've never needed anyone the way I've come to need you. I've never felt so safe or so trusting with anybody else. For the longest time, I believed I'd always be completely independent, but now I find I can no longer imagine living a life without you by my side.
"I started traveling to escape, all right, but now it doesn't matter where I go or what I do. At last I've found my home…and I'm always home, because home is you."
Haddock had never seen Tintin look like that, somehow so distressed and so at peace at the same time. It was obvious that the young man sincerely meant every word he spoke, and in that moment the Captain saw just how blind he had been.
The poor lad had fallen in love with him.
Him, he who was almost twice his age and easily half his virtue, who had done nothing but thrust him into even more danger than he would get into on his own, who would do nothing but wrench his innocent trust. What he could possibly see in him was a mystery.
"A-and if you don't believe me, or you think I'm insane or delirious or just a rotten fag," Tintin spat, "that's fine. Because we're about to forget all of this anyway, and with any luck everything will go back to normal. All I really want is to be your friend, Captain…or, or so I thought…I—I'm sorry. I didn't intend for this to happen. I don't know what it is, I just—something came over me…" He shook his head, turning away.
"Tintin…" Haddock reached an arm onto his dearest friend's shoulder, bending his knees to match his lesser height.
"Tintin, look at me."
Slowly, painfully, he obeyed. The Captain peered into his eyes again, dawn blue meeting midnight blue.
"Tintin, mon petit, no, you're not—any of those things. You're—you're amazing, you're beautiful…You're my best friend…and…"
Don't pity me, the little reporter's face was saying. I have sinned.
Not nearly as much as I, the old sailor's replied. I don't think you could get out of heaven if you tried. If all that was a sin, darling, then here comes another.
"…I—I love you, alright? I've loved you for a long, long time."
Tintin gasped quietly, his lips quivering as he groped for a response.
"And if you think I'm crazy, or—or anything else…it's just as well, for soon we'll forget this ever happened."
With that, he tilted his head forward and fulfilled his hidden-most desire, what he loved the boy enough to want but loved the boy too much to try.
He was holding Tintin, kissing him, showing him exactly how much he cared…and Tintin, Tintin, Tintin was doing the same. He was no longer alone. Neither of them was alone. After years of an ever-deepening friendship bound by fragile fate, they had finally truly found each other.
"What else have you been hiding from me?" Tintin teased softly, rearing his face back just a smidgen.
"My full name," Haddock offered, grinning playfully. "Archibald Francis Haddock. You didn't know that, didja?"
Tintin chuckled. "Well, then, I guess I could tell you my name…Au—it's Augustin."
"Wait, so…does that make your full name Augustin Tintin? Blistering barnacles, no wonder you just go by—"
"No, no, Captain!" Tintin laughed again: heartier, happier now. "I am a journalist, after all; the name 'Tintin' is, technically speaking, only my nom de plume. I thought you knew that already…"
"Your om-nom de what-now?"
"Nom de plume? My pen name, a pseudonym invented to mask my identity when I began to…Oh, don't you mind it." He waved a hand as if to shoo away his insecurities. "The complications of my career and my identity are another story for a better day."
Though bewildered by his words, Haddock responded with a reassuring nod.
"To put it simply," Tintin finished with a sigh, "Augustin Remi is—or, rather, was—my full name."
"And a lovely name it is. Augustin…" The French-accented moniker rolled off Haddock's tongue. It did not define the man he knew as Tintin, and yet it was endearing somehow, for likely no one else knew it but him. "Might I ever call you that?" he wondered aloud.
"I suppose you could," Tintin said quietly, further captivating the Captain with his familiar Bruxellois lilt. "I don't see why you shouldn't see that side of me. You ought to have all of me—but only you, no one else. No one else would I trust with all of me. After all, you are a part of me as well, and a far more significant part than my childhood ever was. It's as if…as if Augustin Remi is no more, and Tintin Haddock has taken his place."
The Captain was touched by the notion, and he flushed an unseemly scarlet in reply.
The youth smiled. He brought his lips and hands forward to kiss again—more gently this time—and Haddock was happy to reciprocate. The two relished their heightened companionship and intimacy, even in this most unpleasant of circumstances.
"Je t'aime," the journalist whispered, his sentiment even more eloquent in his mother tongue. He ran his lithe fingers through the elder man's coarse black hair as he continued. "Yes. I love you. Je t'aime du tout mon cœur…mon capitaine."
Then he froze. "Captain…A-Archie—"
"Mmm?" The remainder of their predicament was conveniently escaping Haddock at the moment. He gazed at the lad, his lad, with a relieved, blissful smile. Even the nickname he had grown to despise when he was younger sounded marvelous coming from the man he loved.
Tintin stared back sorrowfully. "…I don't want to forget."