Hang in there, duckies, we're getting close… I don't own Tintin!

It took less than an hour to clear up all the misunderstandings. Several people at Qorikancha spoke English and could serve as translators, and as soon as they realized that Tintin and Haddock had not come to dig up their ancestors' graves and transport their bodies far away, but were merely seeking their friend, they relaxed. They even told them they could leave in the same traveling party with Qoya, if they so desired.

Qoya had been claimed immediately by a few older women who washed her, fed her, and clothed her in a simple white dress that made her look… Tintin had to look away. They exchanged nothing but pleasantries during the next few days, and certainly didn't touch each other.

Professor Calculus, it turned out, had come with them quite voluntarily, eager to see the wonders of Peru and especially Qorikancha, so near the equator, during an upcoming eclipse. He was in a library now, with several Quechua scholars, examining new and old charts and maps of the sky and questioning them about celestial wonders (they knew much more about astronomy than he), when Tintin and Captain Haddock entered.

"My dear friends! How wonderful to see you again," he enthused when he saw them. "Have you come to learn about the eclipse too? It's amazing, what these researchers have taught me. You know, I have an offer from the Syldavian government to work on some sort of... celestial project, I can't remember the details, but this is making me more and more interested…" The Captain interrupted with a tirade ("You couldn't leave a note? Or take the time to telephone? All for an eclipse?"), to which the Professor responded: "No, no, for an eclipse! Oh, and, I'm sorry I couldn't reach you by telephone; I kept getting someone named Cutts."

He might as well have been underwater, for all that Tintin could pay attention to them. He felt sluggish, in a stupor, for the first time in his life. It was the most anticlimactic end to any of his adventures, but it left his head–and heart–reeling in ways he'd never before experienced.

He would die for her. He'd said it.

The days went by. He gained several bruises walking into furniture.

As the entire population of Qorikancha traipsed outside to view the eclipse, Tintin found himself walking in step with Qoya. She didn't notice at first, and when she did accidentally catch his eye, her face fell, along with Tintin's heart.

She immediately peeled off to walk with a group of girls. Tintin watched her go, and promptly walked into a boulder. "Excuse me," he mumbled to it.

He'd said he'd die for her. And she'd heard him.

Tintin was angry. Why had he been led to believe that it–whatever it was–would be pleasant? He kept thinking of that time he'd nearly fainted in Syldavia, after going without food to track the King's scepter for two days straight. The lightheaded, disoriented, what-is-happening-to-me feeling was exactly the same. And nothing about it was pleasant.

Why did he always remain calm in the face of almost certain death, but lose control when faced with this one girl? Why hadn't years of knockout blows and concussions, real physical traumas, prepared him at all for the–feelings–that he was experiencing now? How could his body serve him so well through so many years of literal poundings–and then turn on itself, his heart racing, his skin clammy, his lungs begging for more air during the mild panic attacks that continued–all because of a piece of work named Qoya? How could he allow her and her hair-trigger temper to have such power over him? Power that she hadn't even asked for?

He wasn't calm, or in control, and she did have power over him. He hated that. No, this was not a pleasant feeling.

And yet… and yet… whenever he tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that soon she'd be gone from his life, he remembered how she'd looked at him, while the Captain was sleep talking to the anteater, and whispered "this is joy in its purest form."

He remembered her face, shining and radiant, after she'd rescued him from the avalanche.

He remembered how they'd looked at each other–then quickly away–when the llama had attempted to eat Captain Haddock's beard.

He remembered what it felt like to kiss her lower lip.

And he remembered the first time he saw her, when she'd shaken the pebble from her shoe without losing balance of her tower of oranges.

What he felt, when he remembered these things… that was pleasant.

The panic set back in. Why? She wasn't even in his line of vision. Why was he panicking when she wasn't even near him?

And if he was panicking at the mere thought of her now… what would stop him from panicking after they parted ways? Could he be sitting in Marlinspike Hall next week and suddenly find himself unable to breathe?

Perfect… now he was panicking over the idea of future panic attacks.

A question formed at the back of his mind. He pushed it down. It rose again.

Could it be that his panic stemmed not from his fear of being trapped with Qoya, but of being separated from her?

The sun emerged and the sky became light again, like a cosmic-level, metaphorical joke. When had it been dark? Somehow, he'd managed to miss the entire eclipse.

Suddenly he was shaking, not from panic, but from an inability to live in denial any longer.

He wanted to be with her. He wanted to be at her side. He wanted her to come with him when he left Peru. He wanted her to come with him wherever he went next.

He would die for her. He knew he would. She knew he would. There was no going back from that.

But should he ask her to come with him? Did he even have the… the right to ask something so enormously life-changing of her?

As much as it scared him, the idea also made him feel a deep, warm sense of yes.

The eclipse had come and gone, and he'd barely registered it. Professor Calculus was beside himself, positively jumping for glee, and even Captain Haddock seemed impressed. The Quechua researchers were talking to each other excitedly, comparing their notes and arguing over exactly how long it had lasted.

Someone sat down next to him. The man in blue; the one who'd given him the talisman. Huascar. "¿Puedo hablar con usted?" Huascar asked.

Tintin nodded, then added: "Pero, recuerde que yo sólo hablo un poco de español."

"Si, por eso traje a mi amigo." A second man sat down on Huascar's other side and waved hello to Tintin, who, recognizing him as one of the English-speaking translators, waved back.

Huascar spoke, then the translator: "I want to talk to you about Qoya. I know you are thinking about what to do next, whether to ask her to come home with you, and I have some things to say."

"Crumbs." Tintin would have been offended, if he hadn't had bigger fish to fry. "You dive right in, don't you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What makes you think I'm going to ask her to come with me?"

Huascar furled his brow at the translation. "I said you're considering it. You are, aren't you?"

What did he have to lose? "Yes, but the thought only occurred to me five minutes ago. How could you know?"

Huascar actually laughed. "Oh, my dear boy, really? Five minutes ago? I've known since the day you met her. The day with the oranges."

The translator chuckled and added, "To tell the truth, I knew also, as soon as I saw you together. And your friend Haddock said he knew before he even met Qoya."

"Oh," Tintin said, and shrugged. He wished he could laugh too.

Huascar straightened his face and went on. "The thing I have to tell you is this: Qorikancha is a special place for Qoya."

"A special place?"

"She has been very happy, these past few days. She is in a place where everyone looks like her. It is not exotic for her to look the way that she does–it is normal. There are no Europeans reminding her that she is beneath them, nobody attacking her. I do not know her history, but I understand that this is the first time in her life she's ever been in a place like this."

Tintin tried to imagine what life would have been like for him if he'd been born in Peru, and suddenly moved to Europe as a young adult. But then, he realized, even if he'd stood out in Peru, he wouldn't have been forced to sell oranges; his light skin would have all but guaranteed him a better job. So he tried to picture what it would have been like to grow up at Qorikancha, a place where all decision-makers, all powerful people, had dark skin.

He nodded to Huascar to show that he understood, or at least was trying to.

Huascar continued, "If she comes with you, she will always be strange, even when she's no longer a stranger. People will stare. They will speak loudly and slowly to her, sometimes even people who know she speaks English. You will get stares, if you are together in public. People will ask you what you you're doing with her, or worse. And if you complain about this to Qoya–or try to make her comfort and take care of you in those situations, or try to use anger to show that you're not like them–in short, if you make her responsible for making you feel better… you will hurt her, because however bad it is for you, she will experience worse."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"I…" Huascar sighed. "I knew someone once. I don't anymore. Qorikancha is not perfect, but here I am free of those things."

"Are you saying I shouldn't ask her to come with me?"

"I didn't say that, and I won't. Especially when I saw…" he sighed again. "I see how you look at her." Tintin looked down, cheeks red. "That's not–look at me, boy, there's no reason to be embarrassed. I see how you look at her, and how she looks at you. That's not something to throw away lightly. I'm saying, when you ask her–if you ask her–know exactly what is it you're asking her. Asking of her. Because for her, it's not just the bother of packing and the long plane trip."

Tintin thanked Huascar. They sat in friendly silence for several minutes before both Huascar and the translator got up, shook Tintin's hand, and walked away.

Tintin stayed still, lost in thought, for several more hours, until the sun settled low in the horizon. Then he got up. He knew what he had to do.