IN WHICH TINTIN ACTUALLY MAKES AN APPEARANCE AT HIS PLACE OF EMPLOYMENT
"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," someone remarked when Tintin appeared in the doorway.
"Pleasure to see you too, Alexander," the ginger chirped, weaving his way through the maze of desks in the bustling news room and reaching his own to discover it had, much to his distaste, apparently been used as a makeshift break table in the time he was away. Nobody had even bothered to clear any of his old reports or trinkets.
"Oh, dear," he sighed, placing his bag on the floor. To be fair, it had been 14 months.
14 and a half, to be exact.
As he slung his coat over the back of his chair Alexander reappeared from the cluster of ever-pacing and chattering bodies, casually perching himself on the one clean edge of Tintin's desk and placing his hands in his pockets. Alexander was a few years younger than Tintin; a charming, sharp lad with an equally sharp nose who wore his dark hair slicked back like some sort of American gangster; and Tintin always thought he actually would make a rather good gangster were it not for the generosity and sincere earnestness that he kept tucked under his facade of perpetual snark. No, Alexander had not changed one bit.
"Everything should still be in order," the younger man confirmed, "Been watching it like a hawk."
Tintin raised an eyebrow and a dirty mug in his direction, the bottom of which stuck to a manilla folder firmly on all sides.
"A busy hawk," Alexander said sheepishly, placing a cigarette in his mouth. Tintin swiped it from between his lips as he struck a match.
"Is it not possible for you to do that elsewhere?" he demanded, holding it up.
"Fine, fine..." Alexander shook out the match and reclaimed the cigarette, snapping it in half pointedly and tossing it in the wastebin.
"That's a very becoming attitude, I'm to guess Jasper is still around?"
"Yes," Alexander replied through gritted teeth.
"And he's still keeping you from that managing editor position, isn't he."
"Am I the managing editor?"
"I don't know, are you?"
"I'm not."
"So yes?"
A bitter smirk appeared on Alexander's face.
"You've really got to stand up to him one of these days, I figured you will have at least been doing something other than assisting the opinion editor by now," Tintin grumbled, gently steering a precariously large pile of coffee-stained paperwork through the air, the middle section of which thwarted his efforts by slipping out and spilling across the carpet. "Drat-!"
Alexander leapt from the desk and stooped to help him. "Hey, it's not easy, you know, we can't all be like you... and, hey, speaking of you, what have you been up to all year? Enjoying your honeymoon?"
"Pardon?" Tintin's voice cracked and he nearly faltered again at the word but managed to successfully reassemble the pile and drop it into the cabinet drawer. He dusted his hands off and set about clearing the cups, refusing to look at his coworker.
"You know, with Commodore Whatshisface."
"You mean my friend, Captain Haddock?" Tintin had a handle of a mug hooked around each of his fingers and was busying himself with lining them up on the radiator.
"Yeah! How's life been with Captain Hardcock?"
"Alexander!" Tintin suddenly turned on him with a defiant scowl, cheeks luminous with mortification. "Watch your language!"
"Oh, everyone knows, you don't have to be coy!" Alexander tapped on his own ear and leaned closer expectantly. "Fess up."
"It isn't like that - wait, everyone?" Tintin hissed. "It's not true! And- and I can't believe you'd call him that-"
"You two shacked up together, didn't you?"
"Well...yes, but he has a very large manor..."
"I'm sure he does!" Alexander quipped merrily.
"No! Stop!" Tintin slammed another stack of year-old copy into his lap twice in frustrated emphasis, even as a smile tugged disbelievingly at the corners of his lips. "It's easier to get my work done when I don't have an apartment to look after!"
"Okay, woah, cool your heels, alright..." Alexander placed a hand on Tintin's shoulder in sympathy, only to shove him again playfully. "...but why all the secrecy? I stopped by your place awhile back just to make sure you hadn't kicked the bucket or something and Finch said she hadn't seen you in months! What's that all about?"
"I told everyone I was moving! I even had my assignments redirected to Moulinsart! I am ninety-nine percent positive it is on file in Mr. Neuray's office right now, you can go see it yourself. It's no big secret! Perhaps nobody saw fit to tell you. Or Mrs. Finch, apparently..."
Alexander looked a bit hurt for a moment but then snapped his fingers, smiling with smug resolve.
"Right, fine then! Victor said he saw you two going to a movie together! Ain't that right, Vickers?"
" 'Who do you think you are, ordering me about?'" A tall, lanky brown-haired lad with a very prominent jaw cried in an overtly feminine voice as he sauntered by with a coffee in his hand and the next day's test run of Vingtième tucked under his arm.
" 'I'm the Captain, that's what!'" he growled before disappearing into the Editor-In-Chief's office, and though his Rose Sayer had been absolutely dreadful Tintin had to admit Victor did do a rather good impression of Charlie Allnut.
This was beside the point, as he was now completely scarlet on his face and probably everywhere else as well. "I happen to like Humphrey Bogart," he said shortly, trying several times to unsuccessfully wedge a stack of envelopes that was definitely not going to fit into an already overflowing tray by his typewriter.
"Yes, but what of the Captain's Humphrey Bogart?"Alexander whispered.
"What is that even supposed to mean?"
"Oh, give it up, Cinnamon Sally!" Alexander circled the desk and sat back down on it fully, resting a foot on the chair beside the ginger's leg and effectively cornering him. "You can tell us!"
"I know I'd like to hear all about it." Tintin jumped as Victor slipped into his peripheral vision, placing his coffee on Tintin's desk and leaning against the wall by the window, arms folded with a friendly but knowing glint in his eye.
"Would you - quit that? This isn't a break room." Tintin handed him back his mug. "How many times do I have to tell you gentlemen that the Captain and I are not - we're not involved, alright?" It was true, he certainly wasn't lying - though he still laughed incredulously, a bit too hard. "Perhaps if you didn't read so much questionable literature you'd be able to get that through your heads! Nothing has happened between us! For the final time, Captain Haddock is NOT my-"
"Your boyfriend is here."
All three of the boys looked up to find Niels, the regional columnist, pointing at the door.
Niels was nearly thirty; a well-built man who always came to work in an equally well-pressed white shirt no matter the day and hardly ever spoke with anyone. He had also gained a reputation at the papers for having absolutely zero tolerance of gossip, humor, or fun of any sort as it seemed.
Tintin swallowed. If Niels thought Captain Haddock was his... Great snakes
The blonde with horn-rimmed glasses was still pointing soberly at the entrance, his mouth an unreadable, straight line.
As strange as it was for Tintin to be back at his old desk after so long it was even more bizarre to see his friend standing patiently at the entrance to his office, grasping his hat in one hand and a paper bag in the other as he shyly scanned the room, likely for any sign of a certain red quiff. His inky beard, which the lad knew was peppered with little white strands up close, nonetheless stood out solidly noir; made him appear more rugged and mature-looking than most of the women and gents who strode by him - however his short hair had been parted to one side with care (had he gotten it cut?) and he donned a casual yet smart vested shirt, jacket, and coat; a small teal kerchief folded into his breast pocket the same hue as Tintin's sweater.
Yes, he looked very mature indeed. And yet younger somehow, younger than many of the higher-ups; the men with large bellies who smoked cigars and stayed late at the office arguing about budgets and politics and the church - it hadn't occurred to Tintin until this moment, now that he had something to compare the sailor to, just how fit Haddock had become since he had first met him; how much of an impact his active lifestyle had turned out to have on the older man.
Tintin swallowed again. Inches from his left ear he discerned kissing noises.
"Enough!" he snapped at Alexander ardently. Victor cupped his hand over his mouth, putting his mug back onto Tintin's desk and doubling over, heaving quietly. Niels raised an eyebrow and walked away, blatantly disinterested.
"Seriously though, if you don't want him, I'll have a go," Alexander said, and Tintin's eyes bulged as he struck him in the leg with his elbow hard.
"Nobody is going to - to be 'having a go' at him!" he sputtered, his ability to construct a full sentence very rapidly deteriorating as the he caught the Captain's eye and the latter began to meander his way toward the reporter's desk.
"Somebody's possessive!"
"Sapristi," Tintin growled, covering his face with his hands. "Oh...oh crumbs..."
"Look at him! Red as a cherry!"
"If he's still got a cherry he ain't gonna have one for much longer-"
"Ha ha! Alex, you're such a cad!"
"Ahoy, lads," came a gruff voice from above that, while was just as familiar as ever, suddenly rumbled Tintin's foundations something dangerous with its sudden proximity. Thankfully, it didn't appear like he'd heard any of the disturbing chatter. "Sorry I didn't bring enough to go around."
"Oh, that's quite alright, as long as our friend here gets a little every once in awhile, ay Tin?" Alexander said.
The reporter carefully removed his hands from his face, breathing in through his nostrils whilst trying his best to pretend his coworkers didn't exist and graciously accepting the sandwich from his friend, who was now looking very perplexed.
"Thank you, Captain." Tintin smiled warmly.
"Yes, thank you, Captain," Victor mused. His cup was back in his hands and he was wavering his head slightly, suggestively.
"Er," Haddock narrowed his eyes at the display and when he returned to looking at Tintin the ginger felt as if he were under a spotlight in front of millions of discerning, handsome bearded strangers. Without a speech prepared. In his undergarments.
"Er, so," the Captain changed the subject hastily, clapping his hands together. "So this is where you work, eh?"
"From what I hear he does most of his work at home," Alexander butted in.
"Copy work, yes," Tintin amended. He wasn't going to go down without a fight quite yet, though every nerve on his face was tingling with a variety of shame he had never quite experienced before. It was not wholly unpleasant and it made him feel quite giddy inside if he had to be perfectly honest - however, when Alexander turned back to him from where he was still sitting partially on Tintin's desk and chair and said, "Come now, it's bad manners not to introduce your friends!" his stomach took a nose-dive.
"Um, oh - yes, I'm awfully sorry. Captain,this...this is Alexander, and - and..."
The four of them sat in silence as Tintin dully pointed to Victor and stared at him, until the latter's expression turned sour and he said, "I'm Victor."
"Right," Tintin said. "Victor."
"You've known me for five years-" Victor whined quietly, but Alexander held up a hand to silence his complaint.
"So what do you do for a living, Captain?" he said, and Tintin heard mirrored in his voice an overstated gibe on his own usual enthusiasm.
The Captain seemed not to notice. "Well, I'm actually technically retired, but -" he raised an eyebrow roguishly and the redhead's breath hitched. "- I still do go out to sea every so often. Mostly to keep up with this rapscallion," he smiled at Tintin affectionately and the boy could only stare, still clutching the same stack of paper he had meant to put away ages ago to his chest. "I usually sail the Aurora nowadays and I've leased my other ship out - the Karaboudjan, you may have heard of it - I've leased it out to a more respectable bunch and as long as I keep all the paperwork on my end in order, they keep her in commission."
"Ah, yes, the Karaboudjan," Alexander said. "We've heard plenty about the Karaboudjan."
"Didn't you two...meet? On the Karaboudjan?" Victor appeared to be feigning an unclear memory, and Tintin prayed his own mistake of memory concerning Victor's name would not illicit greater humiliation from him. Sadly this didn't seem to be his day.
"Fell right into your bed, didn't he?" Victor chuckled.
Tintin uttered a little earthly curse, a real one this time; his front teeth barely grazing his lip as he mouthed it.
He forced himself to look at the Captain who was now appearing fairly embarrassed as well, tugging on the collar of his shirt before good-naturedly saying,
"Well...he fell right out of it just as easily."
"Oh, did he now?" Alexander said with greater interest. "Though I suppose I ought not to be surprised, our Tintin does end up heels over head more often than not these days, doesn't he?"
Victor stopped playing dumb and looked to Alexander in genuine confusion. "Or was it- wait, I thought it was 'head over heels'-,"
"What kind of sandwich did you bring?" Tintin announced more than asked earnestly, which the Captain appeared to be thankful for.
"Oh, it's uh - a Reubin from that bistro that just opened down the street. Figured your discriminating tastes might give it a go before I write it off completely."
"Yeah, Tintin give it a go," Alexander swiveled Tintin's chair back and forth with his foot. "You might like it!"
"I'll have it on my break," the boy said politely, still quite red in the face but some of the color was mercifully beginning to drain from his cheeks as he gained some confidence. "Perhaps when I've done a good amount of work instead of hanging around gossiping."
"He's right you know!" A voice from behind the group gave everyone a start as they turned to see Mr. Neuray peering from around a corner and looking fairly flustered, abeit for different reasons. "Leave the poor kid alone, he's got a lot to catch up on. And I'm not through with you, Vandenberghe; back in here, now." They watched him march away, one of his suspenders unclipped and flapping behind him as he went.
"You heard Daddy," Victor tipped forward off the wall and stretched. "Twas a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Haddock, I hope to be at the wedding."
"The...whe-?" Haddock babbled as Alexander shook his hand firmly and wandered back toward the Editor-in-Chief's office, saying "Alright, alright," when Mr. Neuray's irritated voice further beckoned him.
"Oh I- I didn't mean to get you in trouble, lad, I best be going," Haddock stammered, turning back to the boy, and Tintin smiled sweetly.
"You didn't get me into any trouble at all, Captain," he affirmed, finally and decidedly placing the heavy stack of paper he had been holding into Alexander's hands before another lewd remark could leave the young man's lips. "If anything, I think there are others right now who have a lot more to answer for than I." He turned his innocent smile on Alexander, who redundantly placed the stack back on the desk and got to his feet.
"I'll show Mr. Haddock out," he said slyly, and Tintin shot him a glare. "Then I'll be out of your coiff for the rest of the day, promise!"
Tintin sighed, and then his grin reemerged, as he was quite thankful - for both the sandwich and the end of this ordeal. "Thank you, Captain, I'm sure it's going to be delicious."
"Don't mention it, lad," the Captain said, and he remained where he was for a moment - Tintin was not sure whether he expected something more until they were already both leaning over the desk, pausing, and then collecting one another in an awkward embrace that seemed a bit more desperate and standoffish than usual all at once; and when Tintin was sitting again his face had returned to a deep scarlet as he exchanged a series of strangely demure looks and little coquettish waves with the older man, who was being hastily dragged away by a very insistent Alexander.
"Look," Alexander said once they returned to the doorway, scrutinizingly regarding a very pent-up looking Jasper as he drifted by and waiting until the (wrongfully employed, if he had anything to say about it) managing editor was out of earshot. "I don't...please don't take this the wrong way. You seem like a really, really great guy. A real man's man."
The Captain gazed at Alexander in bewilderment as he was patted on the arm with affinity.
"Tintin is like a brother to me. Well, a stepbrother. A cousin. No, maybe a half-brother, if my ma had run off with some sort of handsome leprechaun before having me. My point is," he said, looking Haddock squarely in the face, "my point is, I love the kid. And if you make him cry, I make you cry. Simple as that. Capiche?"
"R-right."
Alexander smirked proudly at his proclamation and patted the Captain again, this time on the back, before properly showing him out.
When the Captain reached the atrium to find Milou curled around the base of a bench, the little dog hopped to his feet and barked. Haddock patted his leg and Milou jumped into his open arms, whimpering as the man tucked him into his navy wool blazer with care.
"I can see why Tintin prefers to do his work at home, these people are all insane," he grumbled.