Not making any filthy lucre with this. Don't own Tintin & Company - Moulinsart does.

And more legal gobbledy-gook…Standard grammatical apology, any mistakes are due to fumble fingers, sheer blindness and complete disregard for the English language.

Why do I write so wordy? Is that a word – wordy?

This was to be a simple little one-shot on my take of Tintin falling ill and the Captain taking care of him – yeah – the obligatory illness story. Snort! :-)

Just care and comfort – nothing hot and heavy. Still recovering from ATW…

But obviously this also took on a life of its own and turned into a multi chapter – though just three in all. So grab some popcorn and a favorite blanket, get comfy and join along…

…

Tintin sat up and stretched. It was morning and more importantly – market day! He loved going into town and perusing all the stalls, finding a treasure or two or three to take back home with him.

Looking down he found Snowy lying beside him, tail wagging expectantly. Reaching over he proceeded to give his faithful companion the rubbing of his life, starting at the ears and working his way down to that sensitive spot just above the cropped tail, sending the dog into a fit of wriggling happiness. Flipping the small beast over, Tintin then continued to treat Snowy to a belly rub, further sending the white bundle of fur into a veritable paroxysm of delight.

Finally halting, he stared sternly at the dog and lowered his hand – shaped into a claw – just above the dog's muzzle. Ears back, Snowy responded by opening his mouth and pretended to bite at the hand as Tintin tried to grab onto the snout. Laughter and mock growls quickly ensued.

Stifling a yawn and giving into the urge for another stretch, Tintin flung back the covers. "Ready to start the day, Snowy?" he inquired, but the dog had already jumped off the bed and was standing by the door to the hallway.

Laughing again, Tintin shook his head. "Wait just a moment, have to use the bathroom."

Stepping into the adjoining room, he quickly used the facilities and then wrapped a robe around himself. Even though it was just the Captain, Nestor and himself in the great estate, he still felt a bit uneasy running around with just his pajamas on.

Striding to the door, he opened it and followed Snowy out into the hallway and from there to the kitchen, first to let Snowy out and then to get breakfast…

Ummm.

Tintin frowned as his stomach seemed to give a little lurch at the suggestion of food. In fact…he suddenly found he wasn't hungry at all. Eating was no longer an activity he was remotely interested in.

Still frowning as he entered the kitchen he found it occupied by Captain Haddock, who was sitting there tucking into a large plate of bacon and eggs.

Tintin's stomach gave a slightly larger lurch.

"Morning lad! Still planning on going with me to the market? Looks like a fine day." The older man greeted.

"Absolutely, mon cher. We're leaving at 9:00, correct?"

"Aye, have a bite to eat, get cleaned up and dressed and away we go."

Approaching the table, Tintin again looked at the plate of food and then away. Perhaps a cup of tea would settle his stomach. Getting up he put on the kettle, chose a teabag and began to prepare a cup. He purposefully made it rather weak.

Sitting down he sipped at the warm liquid. He didn't feel sick, just kind of…wishy-washy.

"That all you're going to have, lad? Know you like to keep your meals light, but that's going a bit far…"

Smiling at his friend's concern, Tintin sought to diffuse any unnecessary anxiety. "I'm ok, just not very hungry. We did have a late supper, so I guess I'm still full."

Hearing a noncommittal grunt, he stifled a sigh. He knew the Captain liked to fuss over him and Tintin tried to avoid being cosseted. After all, he was a fully competent young man quite capable of looking after himself.

Finishing his tea, he let Snowy back in who immediately ran to his own breakfast – thoughtfully provided by the ever efficient butler, and then went back to his room to get ready.

…

Tintin sat on the couch in the library, Snowy by his side, waiting for Haddock to arrive so they could leave. As he sat there he tried to convince himself he'd be just fine. He wasn't nauseous - just a little queasy. And yet…for some reason his stomach was a bit rebellious this morning and perhaps getting it done and over with would make him feel better. Getting up he made his way to the nearest bathroom.

Bending down and flipping up the seat to the toilet, he crouched there. He hated to throw up, but then he doubted anyone really enjoyed the experience. For a long moment nothing happened and then he felt the rise of something coming up. Closing his eyes he bent forward and let it out. It wasn't much but at least it was something. Wiping his eyes he stood up, closed the lid, flushed and then poured himself a cup of water to wash out his mouth.

He did feel a bit better. Confident he'd made the right decision, he returned to the library to find the Captain waiting for him.

"Ready lad?"

"Ready sir!"

The drive into town was nice, the late autumn air quite cool in the morning. Tintin was glad he'd worn his sweater and over coat. Once in town they found a parking space and from there began to wander about the market.

Tintin was standing next to his friend while they searched through a compilation of old books when he felt the same queasiness as he had earlier. Perhaps he should go to a nearby pharmacy and see if they had anything to settle his upset stomach. Or perhaps he should just find a place to sit and rest a moment.

"Captain?" Hearing a confirming 'hmmm' from his friend, Tintin continued. "I'm going to go over by the band shell; I need to sit for a bit."

"You okay lad?" Haddock asked in concern, turning to look at him. "You didn't have anything to eat, and you do seem…a bit pale…"

"I'm sure I'll be fine, just seem to be suffering a bit of an upset stomach. Keep looking, I'll find you if I need anything."

Seeing the other man give a hesitant nod, Tintin wandered over to the nearest bench and sat down. Normally he loved to watch the various people as they walked by, but he kept his attention on his gut, which was beginning to flip-flop in alarming ways.

Oh dear! Perhaps instead of a pharmacy, he should find a bathroom instead. But where? Wait – his apartment was just a few blocks away – perhaps…

Standing up and looking around he tried to spot the older seaman. Seeing no sign of him, Tintin turned to Snowy. "Find the Captain, boy, good dog."

With a yap, the white terrier took off, stopping so Tintin could catch up. In no time at all the dog had searched out the Captain.

"Captain? I need to…go to…my apartment. I think…I'm going to be…sick."

Whipping around, the older man stared at Tintin. "Ahhh - You don't look very good, lad."

"Don't feel very well, either."

Starting to walk away, he spoke over his shoulder. "You can stay here if you like, no reason we both should miss out on market day. Meet me when you're done."

"Hah!" Came an explosive retort. "As if I wouldn't come with ya, my boy."

Walking quickly they left the park and began to make their way to Labrador Road. Neither one considered going back to the car, as it would take less time to travel by foot.

The closer they got to Tintin's apartment, the worse Tintin began to feel. Breaking into a trot as he rounded the last corner, he spotted the familiar green door. Just as he did, he knew without a shadow of a doubt he had only a few minutes to get there.

Tintin ran down the sidewalk, trying to reach into the pocket of his overcoat for his keys. Snowy was right beside him, barking anxiously. He could hear the Captain shouting something behind him. Reaching the door he managed to shove the key in, turn the knob and then was rushing up the stairs, not bothering or caring if the door was shut behind him.

Once more he had to stop to unlock another door, his mind and body in complete distress. Flinging that door open, he sprinted toward his bedroom, tossing his coat to one side. Through the small hallway, around the corner, around another corner and he had reached the bathroom.

But there was no way he was going to make it to the toilet. Even that small distance was too much. Gripping the side of the sink he leaned over and heaved.

And heaved. And heaved. And then heaved some more. It seemed as if his stomach wanted everything that may have been within it out, out right now.

And that wasn't the only thing that needed to get out right now.

His lower half decided to join in as well. And there was nothing he could do about it but stand there.

Hearing a voice in the outer room, Tintin managed to reach behind him and slam the door shut and twist the lock. No way did he want anyone walking in on him like this. He didn't want to be here…

A light knock. "Tintin? Laddie? You okay in there?"

Grimacing, Tintin could do nothing as his stomach still convulsed. The only thing such activity was producing at this point was orange bile though.

Finally the spasms lessened and he could stand up. Taking a deep breath he steadied himself. "I'm...okay. I just was sick and I…made a bit of a mess." Tintin winced. That was putting it lightly. "I'll just be a moment cleaning up. Please Captain, wait in the living room, I won't be long."

Silence for a moment. "Well…all right my boy."

Sighing, Tintin proceeded to rinse out the sink. That clean, he turned to the other problem at hand. Pulling his blue sweater off and kicking his shoes to one side, he worked his pants down, trying not to make more of a mess than there already was. Wrinkling his nose at the stench, he then removed his socks and added them to the pile of soiled clothes, along with his white shirt as the tail was showing marks as well. Last to go was his underwear. If he hadn't already thrown up, he'd do so again.

Disgusted with himself even though he knew there had been nothing he could have done, he stepped into the shower and gave himself a quick once-over.

Drying himself off, he grabbed another towel and pulled it tight around him. Looking down at the pile of ruined clothing, he debated as to whether he should get them cleaned or just toss them.

Much as he'd like to toss them, they really could be cleaned. Wrapping them up in the wet towel, he tied the ends shut. Perhaps he'd take them to the Laundromat later in the day. For now he placed the bundle in the small trashcan, for lack of better place to store them.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

…