"Good morning, handsome!"

That cheerful trill was uplifting as always—one of the few sounds truly welcome to the ex-sailor's ears at this hour. That voice could convince him that perhaps it was a good morning, that maybe all mornings were good despite his many grumbles upon awakening and the unholy effort it took to get out of bed. That voice, laced with undying faith and filled with love, could make him believe on even the worst mornings that maybe he was handsome, even though he had thought the polar opposite for most of his life.

After all, what sort of relationship could they possibly have if he thought his dear Tintin was lying to him every single day?

"Good morning, beautiful," Haddock hummed in response at last. He smiled in spite of himself as he sauntered into the sitting-room. Tintin was reclining cross-legged on their favorite couch, a mug of coffee in each of his hands. Snowy and the cat lazed in a patch of sunlight just beyond his feet.

No matter how many times they greeted each other like this, Haddock would always find himself struck by the wonder of it all. The thought of a pair of lovers exchanging warm hellos might be mundane to some, but not to him, not anymore. How could it be, after all that had happened between them?

The Captain reached for one of the cups as he approached, but Tintin was quicker. He swiftly set aside the steaming drinks, placing them atop the nearby side-table. "Ah-ah," he tutted, holding a finger in the air. Before the elder man could make a further move, the younger leant forward and pulled his partner into a hearty kiss.

"Now, that's more like it," Tintin said with a cheeky smile once their lips parted. He handed off the coffee Haddock had been anticipating and lifted the other one to his own mouth, his dimples still visible beyond the rim of the mug.

The Captain seated himself down next to his companion and took a gulp of coffee himself. "Aaah," he sighed, smacking his lips. It's no Loch Lomond, of course, he thought privately, but it's plenty good all the same.

"You're just full of surprises, eh, Tintin?" he commented. "You've always got something up your sleeve. Trekking 'cross the world, knocking out gangsters twice your size…and now getting outta bed at the crack of dawn on a Saturday just to make coffee for this old man."

"You're not old."

Oh, that voice again. Those words were so often attributed to the dynamic between irritated teenagers and their middle-aged parents. But here, they sounded like the deepest of endearments.

"And I can't take credit for the coffee," Tintin went on. "That was thanks to Nestor, proficient as always. I was merely the deliverer of said beverage."

"Ach, don't sell yourself short, my boy!" Haddock nudged the redhead playfully, and both of them chuckled. Within the next few moments, Tintin swallowed the last of his drink and promptly fell into the Captain's lap. The fabrics of their robes and pajamas swished against each other as he did so, only adding to the sense of warmth between the two.

"Well, then, what've you got planned today, my darling?" Haddock asked. "What's on the agenda?"

"Hmm…nothing much, really," Tintin murmured back, absently tracing the anchor pattern on the Captain's dressing-gown with one finger. "Surprising you was the main reason I got up early…But I suppose that now that I'm awake, I could try and get some work done before I meet Mademoiselle Martine this afternoon."

"'Get some work done'," Haddock echoed with a scoff. "You're always working, always rushing every which way to fulfill one task or another. It's the weekend, by thunder! Do you never relax?"

As the they grew closer, the Captain had grown to accept, even admire, every one of Tintin's mannerisms, just as the journalist had never judged him for his own awkward habits. And it was true that Tintin had settled down a great deal since he first moved into Marlinspike; it had been quite some time since they last left the country on a high-speed chase. Even so, the youth seemed to be always occupied, always busy, always anxious underneath his outward composure, and sometimes Haddock had to worry.

"I relax!" Tintin protested huffily. "You know that; I practice yoga, I meditate, we take our walks in the woods, and—"

"Fine, fine," Haddock relented. He knew when there was no arguing with Tintin, which was, admittedly, rather often.

"Wait a minute," he said in sudden realization. "D-did you say you were going out with that lass Martine? Martine…Vandezande, was it? The girl from the art gallery?"

"Why, yes," Tintin answered, unconcerned. "I was going to share lunch with her later. Didn't I tell you that already?"

"No, I don't right think you did!"

"Maybe I did, and you just don't remember."

"And maybe you're just a scatterbrain," Haddock muttered under his breath.

"I heard that, Archie!"

"Oh, for goodness' sakes—what I want to know is, lad, why on earth are you taking her out?"

"On the contrary," the young man replied calmly, "she was the one who invited me. And ever since the Alph-Art case we've become good friends. Really, Captain, I don't see what the big deal is. If I were going somewhere with Chang, or with the Thompsons, you wouldn't say a word!"

"Chang lives halfway across the globe, for one thing…and I doubt you would be nearly so enthused over a spot of tea with those two daft monkeys," the Captain said flatly.

"That's true enough." Tintin sat up and shrugged. "But with all due respect, my dear, this doesn't really concern you, does it?"

"It concerns me if you're going to be seeing other people," Haddock stated, bluntly though not unkindly.

Tintin flinched at the comment. He crossed his arms defiantly as his facial expression twisted from contentment to something much more sour. "I'm offended, Archibald," he said after a moment of deadly silence. "Even after everything we've been through, all our promises to one another, you can somehow accuse me of being deliberately unfaithful."

"No, no, no, that's not what I meant!"

"Wasn't it?" A cold glare came into the reporter's eyes, his ire far harsher than any hangover. "It seems to me that's exactly what you meant."

"Blue blistering barnacles, Tintin, I wasn't calling you a cheat! Not by any means! I'm sorry, I didn't quite word that the way I should've, and—"

"Then what, pray tell, are you so upset over?"

"This lass, Martine…now, to be fair, I haven't spent nearly as much time with her as you might have, but…"

Tintin raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"…darlin', I'm fairly certain she's got it bad for you."

"What, you think she's in love with me?" Tintin was almost laughing, now. To him all of this was utterly ridiculous.

"Not yet, of course." The Captain frowned. "But after the sort of life I've lived, I know a wench with a diehard crush when I see one."

"Oh, come on, now. I might not be as experienced as you are in such matters, but I'm not some naïve, clueless fool!" Tintin stood up and smoothed out his clothing, averting his gaze from his partner.

"You've also never consorted with women," Haddock pointed out.

Tintin sighed deeply, regretting his bitterness. He turned back to his lover and gave him a peck on the forehead. "Why would I," he said, "when I have you?"

"Oh, aren't you cute." The older man smirked, straightening his own posture. "All right, all right," he said at last. He could have gone on and on about how the lad was acting stubborn and shortsighted, but somewhere within himself he knew it would be pure hypocrisy. "You can do what'cha like. I'm nobody to tell you otherwise. Just…" He looked upon Tintin with genuine care and concern. "Just be careful."

"Of course I will." A smile and nod accompanied Tintin's reply. "Just as always."

With that, he waltzed up the stairs to bathe and dress for the day.

It was around half-past-one in the afternoon that Tintin made his way to the foyer, ready to leave the Hall and make his way into Brussels. He had donned the russet jeans that had as of late taken the place of his old plus-fours. Replacing his usual blue sweater was a dapper yellow vest and tie.

"You look nice."

Tintin turned his head. Coming up from behind him was the Captain, of course, followed closely by Snowy.

"Er…merci," the reporter said as he reached for the coat-hooks.

"Headin' out?" Haddock's voice was tentative, cautious.

"M'hm." Tintin nodded. "Look, Captain, even if you happened to be correct in your assumption, it'd be absolutely impolite of me to cancel on her now. We're just going to have a meal and chat, nothing more."

"You're too much of a gentleman for your own good, you know that?"

"I'm going to choose to take that as a compliment." Simpering, Tintin bent down onto one knee to scratch the head of his loyal terrier. "Be a good boy, Snowy," he instructed. "Take care of the Captain for me, all right?"

Snowy replied with a friendly yap. Though the little white dog was growing older and much less interested in ever leaving home, his devotion to his master was as plain as ever.

Haddock merely grunted. His internal protests of I can take care of myself and Mark my words, this'll be more trouble than it's worth were cut short once his partner's lips met his.

The kiss broke as quickly as it had begun, and Tintin then placed his soft, gentle hands on the Captain's shoulders. "You worry too much," he said, simply and affectionately.

The older man found he no longer had the strength to argue, not when he was up against that same voice and that same old spark in those silver-blue eyes. Framed in the face of the man he loved were the eyes of the boy he would follow anywhere, and though he would not be following this time, the faith he had in that boy still remained.

"I won't be gone long; I'll be back for dinner at the latest." Tintin pulled on his brown tweed jacket and reached for the door handle as he spoke. "Love you, Captain! Au revoir! À tout à l'heure!"

No sooner had Haddock uttered his own scratchy "je t'aime" than the door clicked shut once more.