Chivalry
An Adventures of Tintin Fanfic by SouthernImagineer/ecto1B
(A Modern Retelling)
Four.
Reluctantly, Tintin opened his eyes, blinking back the midmorning rays of light glaring from the window. He laid his wrist across the bridge of his nose, groaning, stretching, and wiggling his toes beneath the sheets. Stomach pains, matched with an obtrusively sharp stinging at the back of his esophagus, forced the young man to groan again; this time considerably louder.
Water. He needed water.
With some urgency, the redhead peeled back the covers and let his bare feet sink into the carpet. He rose, taking into account the parts of his body that ached as he did so, and treaded to the room's armoire. A half-empty water bottle sat there, beside his laptop bag and iPhone. Hastily, the cap was ripped off, the bottle squeezed between pale fingers, and the clear, frosty liquid sent trickling down his throat.
"Ahh." Tintin finished the water bottle in one chug. He gently wiped his mouth with his forearm, tossed the plastic container into the nearby trashcan, and wandered back to his bed, where Snowy lay, fast asleep. With light fingers, Tintin grazed the spot behind the dog's ears, making him snuffle in his sleep. Tintin smirked.
"You keep sleeping, Snowy," he murmured. "Good dog."
His gaze left the terrier and traveled over to the other bed. Haddock was absent. The sound of running water in the bathroom signaled the captain was in the midst of a shower, and this forced Tintin to rummage fervently through his mind. How long had Haddock remained awake to watch over him? How long had the two spoken about Tintin's newest assignment? Tintin vaguely recalled waking up at two in the morning to deal with his sickness, and at that very moment it was only nine. Had he kept the captain up all night, worrying about him?
By chance, Tintin's eyes now caught the bedside table. A small, tan phone sat there, evoking a state of deep contemplation. That was the phone he'd answered yesterday, the one that had caused this turbulent apprehension. That was the phone Miss Crane had contacted him from, in tears and panicked. That was the phone that had brought about this feeling of vulnerability within him, a feeling he utterly abhorred. And as Tintin thought further, he had to ask himself: was the food he'd consumed to blame for his sickness, or was it the abruptness and uncertainty of his newest assignment?
Tintin mused on the dialogue they'd engaged in the day before. It was surely one he would not forget.
"Hello?"
"H-Hello. Is… is this Mr. Tintin?"
Her words had been jumbles, weakened attempts at sentences. Pauses were plentiful. A thick, dry hoarseness bubbled in her voice. Of course Tintin inquired about it. He would have been stupid not to.
"Yes, this is he. Are… you all right, miss?"
"Honestly… no, no sir, I'm far f-from all right. My name is Annalise C-Crane, and I need to speak w-with… with you, urgently. I believe I have… a good st-story for your newspaper…"
He knew this would happen. He knew someone in America would come to him, seeking help. The Daily Reporter had let it slip to the news stations in America that he would be vacationing there, and they'd obviously picked the story up. How else would this young woman come to know of his presence?
"Do you? In that case, Miss Crane, you have my full and undivided attention."
What else was he to say?
"Well… m-my fiancé… he… h-he is…"
She had been in tears. She could not get the words out, could not force them from her tongue. Tintin frowned and moved the phone to his left hand.
"Miss Crane, there is no need to cry. Everything will be all right. I am listening to your story, and I will help you. What's wrong with your fiancé? Has something happened to him?"
"He's… he's in danger. I th-think he may be hurt. He won't answer his ph-phone. He doesn't respond to texts, either."
At that point in the exchange, Tintin had felt his heart drop and his expectations sink. This was not the type of case he liked getting into, and it was not his place to look for missing people. That task still fell with the police.
"Have you spoken to the police about this, miss? This seems like a job for them to handle. File a missing person's report? I'm sure they'll—"
"No, you don't understand, Mr. Tintin. My fiancé… my fiancé w-works for DEMCO…"
Tintin remembered their phone conversation word-for-word. He had to, to help him wrap it completely around his head. DEMCO was an incredibly important company to the United States. A missing employee was huge, especially if it was thanks to a rival business. Miss Crane had been right that it was a big story; Tintin couldn't wait to see how his employer at the Daily Reporter handled such an enormous article. It was definitely front-page material, not unlike the other stories he'd handed in during his career. He would surely get paid bundles for the article.
But it wasn't just about the article. Tintin valued the scenario just as much. His thirst for adventure—like Haddock often put it—was simply unquenchable, and embarking on such an exploit was sure to appease his restless mind. Though a bit mind numbing and irrevocably vague, it made his fingertips tingle at the mere thought of it.
A voice broke Tintin from his thoughts.
"Morning, landlubber." Captain Haddock exited the bathroom dressed in a crisp t-shirt and jeans, his waterlogged hair sitting erratically rumpled atop his head and falling across his forehead. Water droplets trickled down his face, some sliding down his massive nose.
"Morning, Captain." Tintin wrapped his arms about his chest and flashed a friendly smile at his companion. "Have a nice shower?"
"I did, thanks for askin'. Did ya just wake up?
"Yes." Tintin paused to glance at Snowy, who was yawning and stretching atop the bed. "I think I'll take a shower, too."
"It's all yours. Are we meetin' with the woman today?"
Tintin, who had started towards the bathroom door, stopped. "We're meeting her down at the city park at noon."
"To talk?"
"Yes, to talk, and to plan when we'll leave for Alabama."
Haddock made a face. "I've heard of tha' state. Alabama. Isn't that where those people called rednecks live?"
Another smile clicked onto Tintin's face. "We won't know until we get there. DEMCO has a huge facility there in an area known as Cummings Research Park, and another one inside the government's military base, Redstone Arsenal. Mr. Woodcraft was meant to be working at both locations, traveling to and from each site to speak with officials. According to Miss Crane, he was supposedly attending a meeting at the Research Park, so we'll start investigating there." He placed his finger against his chin. "It still baffles me, though."
The captain raised an eyebrow. "What does?"
"If one of the rival companies did kidnap him," Tintin began, focusing his gaze on the floor as he spoke, "they would be risking their reputation." He hesitated. "Why would they do that? Why would they jeopardize everything to detain Mr. Woodcraft? There has to be something more."
"More?"
"Another motive, perhaps." Sighing, Tintin continued to walk to the bathroom. "It's… complicated. I'll think it over as I shower."
"Good. I'll start packin' my stuff, I guess." Haddock lumbered to his suitcase, which sat at the foot of his bed. "We won't be here fer long, so I might as well."
Tintin watched the captain begin refilling the luggage with his multiple sweaters and coats. He noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes, which squinted with fatigue. At this observation, Tintin frowned, noting the truth. Yes, Haddock had stayed up with him as he vomited. Yes, he'd stayed by his side until he collapsed with exhaustion. And yes, Tintin was about to drag him on another whirlwind adventure, one without much sleep, one with danger at every corner. In all honesty, Tintin felt rotten for doing this to his friend, but it was unavoidable now. The adventure would proceed.
With another sigh gripping his lungs, Tintin wandered into the bathroom and shut the door.
"You're kidding, right?"
"Eleni, why would I kid about something so serious?" The young woman gripped the cordless phone tightly up to her ear, wincing, noticing how painful it was to do so. Her earrings made it difficult to speak on the phone; the M&M sized buds were designed with a long, sharp back. As she pressed the receiver harder against her head, the keen point prodded the skin beside her jaw. However, this was no accident. Annalise often used this technique to signify when she needed to hang up. When the conversation worsened, her instincts were to constrict her fingers, and that generated pain.
This conversation was no different.
"You hired some foreign guy to track down your fiancé? Are you kidding me, Anna? Really, are you kidding? You ignored my advice and went to some man instead of the police. Anna, you're not this stupid! Why did you do this?"
Annalise squeezed the phone so hard, she yelped. Her earring almost drew blood.
"Eleni, listen to me. I did what I had to do. He's going to help me. He's going to get Noah back." Swallowing thickly, Annalise fought the urge to curse at her friend. She knew Eleni meant well, so she held her tongue. "The police would take ages to find him, but this journalist… I think… I think I can trust him."
"You think you can trust him. You only think you can. Anna, please listen to me. This is not right. One man can't help you track him down. Noah is too important to the government for this to be left up to a frickin' reporter."
"Journalist," corrected Annalise, biting her lip. She'd made the same mistake last night when they were meeting at the Hard Rock. He hadn't hesitated in correcting her, so neither did she. "And I know. Noah is important. That's why Tintin's going to help me. He's been on countless adventures around the world, and he's uncovered hundreds of illegal secrets, drug rings, and ancient temples. He's smart enough and perfectly able enough to help me."
"You refer to him as if he's the lovechild of Indiana Jones and Sherlock Holmes."
"In a sense, he very well could be."
Eleni huffed. "You're planning on staking Noah's life on this ginger kid, then?"
"He's not a kid, he's twenty-three. And yes, I think he is capable of finding Noah."
"Anna, he's baby-faced, he walks around with a white dog and a drunk sea captain, and he dresses like a metrosexual. I see no reason to trust him with such a significant task."
It was obvious that Eleni would not see her reasoning, no matter how long she pushed. The undertaking was pointless.
"Eleni, just… forget about it, okay?" She ran her free hand through her hair. "I have to go, anyway."
It took Eleni a moment to respond. "You're meeting with him, aren't you?"
"That's not your business."
"Anna!"
"So what if I am? We're going to find Noah!"
"Anna, the police have to be involved." Her voice rose as she spoke, and then instantly dropped into practical silence. "If you don't call them, I will."
Annalise's eyes widened. "No, Eleni." She sat up in her chair, panic streaking across the lines of her face. "Y-You can't. Please don't."
"And why not?"
"Eleni, trust me. Don't call them." She took a breath. "I'll be honest. If we called the police, DEMCO would be… furious."
Silence. Nervously, she prodded at her earring.
Finally, her friend tried again. "You won't call the police because of his business?" Eleni asked.
"Yes."
Another sigh came from Eleni. She sounded tired of the whole argument. "Fine. Fine, Anna, fine. You put your trust into a spineless European journalist. You trust him to find your missing fiancé. Don't call the police. But mark my words, you'll come crying to me when you find Noah dead in some alley, I swear."
Annalise tried to keep composure as her friend went on. "Call me when you find him. I want to hear just how well this thing carried out." A loud gulp echoed from the receiver. "Bye."
With that, the line went dead.
Instantly, Annalise cried out. "Ow!" Blinking back tears, trying to gain a sense of strength to look past her friend's harsh words, Annalise glanced at the phone and noticed the faint redness dotting a few of the numbered buttons. Her earring had finally broken her skin.
Wounded twice in one sitting, she thought grimly. How nice.
Author's Note:To clarify the whole journalist/reporter deal, in the novelization of The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn, it pretty much states that Tintin prefers to be referred to as a journalist instead of a reporter. My example is this quote from the beginning of the book:
"I'm a journalist," Tintin corrected him. Reporters ran around yelling for quotes. Journalists hunted down stories and unraveled clues to uncover the truth. Tintin thought this was an important distinction.
(Copyright 2011 Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved)