Chivalry
An Adventures of Tintin Fanfic by SouthernImagineer/ecto1B
(A Modern Retelling)
Seven.
Save for the occasional rock song on the radio, the car was relatively quiet as it wandered down the road towards the small town of Gurley, Alabama. Captain Haddock, in the midst of a frantic game of Angry Birds, sat in the backseat with Snowy, who was dozing in his lap. Every once in a while, the captain would grunt in disapproval at a poor shot, but for the most part, the game kept him busy. Annalise, who was driving, and Tintin, sitting beside her in the passenger's seat, had been silent the entire ride, which was surprising, given the fact that they were so easy to converse before. Tintin believed it was her nerves that kept her from talking. The very moment they'd entered the rental car, her hand had dove for the radio, eager to find some subtle ambience.
Now, as a Tom Petty song wafted through the speakers, Tintin brought up the courage to speak. He removed his gaze from the scenery outside (which amazed him. There was so much empty, clear land, unlike much of the European countries he'd visited. It was absolutely beautiful!) and turned to study the woman seated beside him.
"When we spoke at the restaurant, we only discussed the situation with Noah." As he spoke, he saw Annalise's eyes briefly divert to him. "I never got a chance to learn about you."
Without removing her hands from the wheel, Annalise shrugged. "I'm not a very interesting person, to be perfectly honest."
Tintin leaned his elbow on the dashboard, now fully facing her. "I'd like to hear some. Just to get a good visual picture of Miss Annalise Crane. I've heard a lot about Noah, but not about you, and a bit of knowledge would help on an assignment such as this one. Do you work?"
"I did," she responded. "Coming out of college, I had a job as a clerk at Barnes and Noble. But when Noah and I moved to Louisville, I had to quit. I haven't been able to find a job since."
"What did you major in?"
"Public relations. I want to be an event coordinator. Apparently I host the best parties." Briefly, she smiled, but it faded as she continued. "Noah loves that about me. I met him at college, when we ran into each other—literally—while heading to our classes. He was the best student in the whole school, so I threw him a graduation party. He loved that."
"Where did you two go?"
Another grin appeared on her face, this one wider than the other. "Dartmouth. I'm originally from Vermont, and he's from Kentucky, but he wanted to go all the way to Dartmouth for their engineering program. It's exceptional."
Tintin leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms across his checkered button-down. "Obviously he's a talented engineer. DEMCO doesn't hire just anyone, as far as I'm aware." Realizing that he was straying away from the topic he'd opted for, he swallowed and tilted his head. "What else is there to know about you? What about your family? Where do they live?"
The stoplight ahead boasted a red light, and Annalise slowed the car down. "My family's not an interesting bunch. My parents and grandmother still live in Vermont. I have cousins in California, a sister in Maine, and an uncle somewhere in Montana, but that's about it."
The light changed to green, and the car lurched forward.
"Do you keep in touch with your family?" Tintin asked. "Do they know about what's happened to Noah?"
Much to his surprise, the woman shook her head. "I know it's really awful of me to say, but I haven't spoken to any of them since Friday, so no, they have no idea. And I usually call my mother up Monday mornings, so she must be pretty worried." She bit her lip and nibbled the skin there. "I don't… I don't even think Noah's father knows."
"His father?" Tintin quirked an eyebrow.
"Noah's alone, besides his father and I. His mom's somewhere in Australia, I think, but he hasn't talked to her in years. She and his father didn't split on very good terms."
A surge of a certain feeling, tasting somewhat like discomfort, pervaded Tintin's tongue. He swallowed it back. "Again, Annalise, I do not mean to pry. You don't have to tell me these things if they make you uncomfortable."
Before she could open her mouth to respond, a bump in the road caused the car and the group to pitch forwards awkwardly. Haddock cried out in surprise in the backseat, losing his grip on his phone. The device made a loud clunk on the floor of the car when it hit.
"Thunderin' typhoons!" Out of the corner of his eye, Tintin watched the captain retrieve his phone from beneath the seat, wiping the screen with his black jacket and blowing away dust from the frame. "Watch where yer drivin', eh, lass? Or at least let me know when ya see a bump!"
Annalise giggled, knowing his tone was anything but angry. "I'm sorry, Captain. My mistake." She adjusted her grip on the wheel and lightly drummed her fingertips on the leather seal. "You can go back to your game."
Grumbling ludicrous obscenities and fighting a smile beneath his beard, the captain obeyed, just as a classic Journey song appeared on the radio.
"So, what about you?" Annalise wondered, now directing herself at Tintin. With one hand, she lowered the volume of "What's the story behind the world famous boy reporter?"
Cracking a smile and sitting up in his seat, the redhead replied. "There's not much to tell, really."
"Oh, come now. I want to learn about you."
A recollecting glint emerged in his eyes, one he feared she recognized. "Trust me. You don't want to hear it."
If she detected his insecurity, she paid it no mind. "But Tintin, I've shared my story with you. I want to hear yours. Everything I know about you comes from the articles you write, and that's not even much to go on. I want to learn more."
He shook his head. "It's not a very decent story."
"That doesn't mean I have no desire to hear it." She ran a hand through her hair and flashed him a pout. "Please? I can't work alongside you without knowing at least something. Were you born in Belgium?"
Steadily, he nodded, mentally pleading that she would not go where he most dreaded. "Yes. I grew up there, as well."
"In Brussels?"
"Yes. I never left until I was seventeen or so."
"And what about your family? Have they remained in Belgium this whole time?"
Shit. She had to ask.
Tintin recoiled and quickly fabricated a reasonable answer. "The captain," he said after a moment's hesitation, "is my family, and the only family I'll ever need. I'm lucky to have him."
Annalise seemed unsettled by his reply. She stole a glance in his direction, but made sure to keep her focus on the road. "I thought you two were not related by blood."
"We aren't."
"Then…"
"I was an orphan," he said, letting the bitterness finally emerge and singe his words. "A nameless, unwanted child. Found on the doorstep of an orphanage in Brussels when I was but a month old. They claimed they were never able to locate my kin," his gaze grew solemn, hardening and fastening to the car's carpeted floor, "but I think they only told me that so I wouldn't make a fuss. They'd been able to find other families in the past. Mine must've died out or something. The entire deal was very under wraps." He paused, reminiscing. "When I was about eleven, I submitted a piece I'd written at school to the local paper, and, to my luck, they accepted it. Days later, an older gentleman showed up at the orphanage and declared that he had been astonished by my work, and that he was going to pay for me to attend college. After all, I was two grades ahead of other children my age; I deserved it. I graduated college at seventeen and was immediately hired by The Daily Reporter." Another pause surfaced, giving the man a moment to grasp composure once more. The story was difficult to tell, but he believed Annalise needed to hear it. She had to trust him, after all. "You probably know the rest of the tale. My fame sprung up around that time."
The car came to another intersection, halting just before the white line on the pavement, and briefly the vehicle sealed into a gentle tranquility. Tintin identified the silence as sincere rumination, and, to be polite, he permitted Annalise to contemplate the story. Perhaps she required a bit of time to fully absorb them. Or perhaps she was recalling her own life, comparing the both of theirs.
Finally, she spoke, and her words were sad, dirtied with sympathy. "I… I'm sorry. I should not have intruded that far into your life." Still stopped at the red light, Annalise looked at him, stared at him, as if Tintin's entire childhood, every bloody scar, every hunger pain, every night spent curled in a dark alley, was written across his face in black, permanent ink. Tintin stared back as she scrutinized him, almost displaying a sense of defiance, hoping she would not judge him for this truth on his face. Annalise was not dumb; he knew. She was capable of filling in the blanks, visualizing the amount of turmoil his childhood had conquered. And he could tell that was what she was doing right then. The only thing that mattered was how she translated the information. How would she view him now? Like so many, would she baby him because of this knowledge?
He prayed that would not be the case.
"Even though I don't believe I was ready for that information," she continued, "I can tell you this, Tintin: I trust you more than I did previously. Thank you for disclosing such sensitive details to me. I appreciate the gesture."
Tintin wrenched his gaze away from her. "Of course. You are entrusting me with this pivotal task. It is only fair that you learn to trust me." The faintest of smiles manifested from his frown as he noted the friendship forming between them. "You don't have to apologize for gaining my trust."
A noisy AC/DC song blared through the radio next, terminating their conversation. Tintin watched Annalise mouth the lyrics and lightly bob her head while driving. Her blonde hair bounced as she did so.
Tintin wasn't sure about the mission ahead, or anything pertaining to it, for that matter, but one thing was certain. After such a powerful conversation, he could now call the woman beside him a friend, and that, he knew, was the greatest advantage of all.
