A/N: Yeah, so when I reviewed this chapter it was a hard slap to the wrist. It is completely out of Tintin's character to drink, and I fully understood that, and yet here I am publishing a 1,000 plus word chapter with Tintin getting tipsy. It was fun, and I have had my fun writing it, but it is very out of character. I will let you as the reader decide whether I should delete this and stay with the revised version or not, but below is the original(Also, hello! I'm not dead, are you? Let me know by dropping a comment!). I put the revised section(non-alcoholic version) at the very bottom.

/*/*/*

And the scene was set: red carpets, glossy white marble floors, mile-high windows dressed elegantly in red drapery. Anya looked up until her neck couldn't move any further; above her stretched a ceiling of pastel paintings of naked babies with harps. She heard a chuckle, and brought herself down to earth, realizing her mouth was hanging open. Tintin was amused.

"Do you like it?"

"It's...It's beautiful…"

"Yes, it is."

Anya smiled back at him, keeping her mouth in a puckered form. He held her gaze quizzically for a moment, then looked away. Anya frowned. What's up with him?

"Mister Tintin! And Miss Anastasia! You both look divine!"

Like a shadow, Castafiore was onto them once again. They smiled, feeling bashful under the heaps of praise she offered. She directed them to the bar with a generous wave.

"Drinks are on me. Go ahead; you must behave like Americans tonight."

"Thank you kindly, Madame. We are very grateful," Tintin replied. Anya followed his lead, flashing Castafiore a kind smile, and they continued to the bar. Tintin, trying to be a gentleman, awkwardly pulled out the bar stool for Anya. She laughed.

"I don't think I would win if I had to wrestle my dress over that! I'll stand; you must sit."

Tintin shook his head. He wouldn't feel right doing that, and she knew. Anya leaned against the counter next to him.

"I seem to be the only unattached lady here," she commented. It was true; most of Castafiore's female friends and fans were attached to the arm of a gentleman. Tintin shifted closer to her as a man grabbed the stool next to them.

"You're with me tonight. How could you say that?" He feigned offence. Anya laughed again.

"Monsieur, you must know I'm joking. Now, I must know; what do you drink?"

Tintin rubbed the back of his neck, flushing slightly.

"I...well, I don't drink. Or smoke. I try to stay focused on my work."

"You're aren't working now, are you?"

Anya's eyes looked alive tonight. Perhaps it was the energy from the crowd, or the jazz music that tiptoed around the edges of the theatre.

"Well, I want to drink. And I want to do it well. Order me something."

"A drink for the lady, yes?"

The bartender popped up from under the counter. Tintin stuttered.

"I...uh...she will have…champagne, please sir. And-and I'll have one also."

"Carbonated or flat?"

"Flat, thank you."

The bartender slid two glasses toward them in a moment. Anya took hers and sipped it tentatively. Tintin noticed the curve in her neck as she tilted her head back; his gaze dropped involuntarily to her bare shoulders and he looked down at his drink, taking a swig. Anya watched him with narrowed eyes.

"It's my first time in a bar."

"You hide it marvelously well. You'd like Haddock; he's a drunk."

They both snickered into fist and napkin. Already, Tintin was beginning to loosen up. Anya finished her glass and another one appeared. The time seemed to slide by. Finally, Tintin told the bartender they had had enough. He took Anya's arm and they walked out into the center of the room.

"I feel like people are staring. Is there a reward out for you?"

"Perhaps they suspect you are hiding something in your skirt. Is that a barstool behind you?"

They giggled, smothering their mouths with their hands again. They slipped outside. Tintin took his jacket off and draped it over Anya's shoulders, rubbing his temples with his fingers.

"I haven't drank like that in a long time…"

"We should have eaten something first. I couldn't fit dinner into this dress."

"Ridiculous. Women's clothes, I mean. You look wonderful."

They sat down on the stone patio bench. Anya exhaled into the silence.

"What are you thinking?"

"A diamond. My father gave my mother this...this fist-sized diamond, to get her to stay with him. She didn't want it; she didn't love his money or his job. He was too far gone by then, and we all knew it. That diamond was so beautiful," she murmured.

"I rescued a diamond like that in India. It was concealed in a little wooden voodoo doll. I was meaning to save both of 'em, but the smugglers fell into the sea with the diamond and the doll was left with me."

Anya turned her shoulders to him.

"That's odd...what sea was it? My father said the jewel came from the Red Sea. And the thugs that went down with it, one of them survived."

Tintin perked up.

"That's...that's fantastic...I lost the diamond in the Red Sea. What were the thugs' names?"

"Names are...sort of sworn off in my father's business."

"I see."

They sank back down, letting it rest. Anya spoke again, after a moment.

"When my mother died...my father changed. When I was a little girl, my mother told me of the way he was before…"

"He...he must have hurt you. I've noticed the scar along the base of your neck."

Anya stood up, and moved to the stone barrier, resting her crossed arms over the surface. Her breath was shaking; she felt so vulnerable, and yet completely safe. Tintin moved beside her cautiously.

"You can tell me, Anya. But you don't have to."

"I trust you. And I want you to know."

She swallowed.

"You know my father is very powerful. I told my father once that...I wanted out. I told him that I would never stop resisting him, and he knew I meant it. He was used to be being invisible, I guess…

"He...he just gave me to them…"

A touch on her hand. A soft voice.

"Who?"

"His...his men. They could have killed me that night...I was so frightened, Tintin…"

"Did they…?"

"They beat me. They handled me like an animal. I will never underestimate the strength of men. And the scar on my neck...well, it was an accident. One of them decided to joke around, and held a shot glass against my neck. Perhaps to leave a funny-looking bruise. They were quite drunk, you know….the glass pressed harder and harder until it just shattered...I felt it cut into my skin. I'll never forget. I fainted so quickly I didn't remember fainting. My father had them killed."

She realized she was crying. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, breathing in.

"He just...left me alone after that."

As she said it, she couldn't speak anymore past the lump in her throat. She realized she had felt guilty, blaming herself for her father's silence. She had almost wished he would beat her like he used to; at least then he was alive in her mind.

She felt Tintin's fingers touch the nape of her neck, tracing the scar where the skin clumsily healed together.

"You can't come back," he whispered.

"What?"

"You can't come back to Brussels. You know too much by now. They would kill you."

"But we have to go back."

"I mean you have to stay here, Anya."

She fell silent.

"But...my home is in Brussels."

"You have family. You have an uncle, don't you?"

"I...yes, but I haven't spoken to him in years. My father made sure of it. All I know is that he lives in the States."

"What's his name? We can find him. I can go back to Belgium alone and expose your father's mafia, once and forever."

Anya pulled away from his touch suddenly.

"You...you're trying to get rid of me."

"Anya, no-"

"You always must work alone. You never take anyone's help!"

"Anya, this is my job. I need to do this for...there's a greater purpose here! I can't believe...Everything we've done, we've been working towards this point, Anya! And we are so close. I need to go back and finish this."

He was baffled by the fury in her eyes.

"You've been using me."

He took her hands, forcing her to face him.

"You've been a great help, Anya, but that's not...I mean…"

"I suppose you're more than happy to dump me here and leave! They'll kill us both if you use anything I've told you, don't you understand?!"

"Anya…"

"You're just like the rest of them!" She resisted him, her vision blurring with tears. "Everyone uses me and then leaves me behind them. And I thought you were different. I hate being a girl! I hate i-!"

He kissed her in one movement. She felt every piece of emotion and anger inside her blanch and fade away, forgotten. She was lifeless as he moved away from her, and then her face jerked forward to his, kissing him with the same passive intensity. His hands on her cheeks felt unreal, foreign. Their lips parted slowly, and Anya realized her hands had attached themselves to his collar. She let her fingers relax, trying to smooth the crinkled fabric. Tintin moved his hands to hers, bringing them down.

"I...I don't want to forget you."

She exhaled heavily into his chest, but the moment was over. They both were moving back, their dazed minds recovering from the alcohol and exhilaration.

Tintin stepped back, running a hand through his ginger tuft.

"It...it must be close to eight by now. We should go find our seats."

The space between them felt strange now, cold. Anya couldn't meet his eyes, refused to, but she felt his blue eyes heavy on her all the same. She lifted a trembling hand to her face, as if she could wipe the kiss from her mouth.

"Let's go, then."

She moved past him briskly and into the hall, out of the cold. Some of the crowd was making its way toward the bar for a final drink.

"Mr. Tintin and Ms. Anastasia Shan?"

A small man in a shimmering black suit approached them, holding a white card.

"That's us," Tintin replied.

"Would you please come with me? I have reservations for you."

"Yes, thank you."

He offered his arm to Anya, who received it silently. She felt strange to be paraded into a fancy theater to a reserved seating, and stranger still to be attached to the arm of a gentleman in a suit. It was magical and surreal at the same time, like something out of a movie. She stared at his hand, at the crinkles in his sleeves. It didn't feel like this was the same hand that held her so carefully just a moment ago.

"Here are your seats."

The seats were plush leather, and a shade of red deeper than blood. Anya found herself digging her nails into her palms as the performance began, feeling both excited and anxious. Tintin seemed to notice her jitteriness, glancing at her with a look of concern every few moments. He finally said,

"You know, Haddock never used to...particularly like Castafiore's performances."

"Really?...I'm sure she's just lovely…"

"That reminds me...I wonder how Haddock is faring? I'll have to call Marlinspike Hall later tonight."

She swallowed, forcing herself to relax. The curtains opened, and a tall, plump woman in a silky red dress slipped into the spotlight. Castafiore practically glowed, her face radiant as the spotlights that were fixed upon her. Then she opened her mouth. The performance seemed to fly by after that, and as Anya and Tintin rose to give a standing ovation, something caught Anya's eye. Or rather, someone.

She turned her head slowly, the sound of applause bleeding together in her mind to a dull hum. A face, both familiar and strange, was moving towards her from behind dark sunglasses; the cut of his chin and the shape of his nose didn't strike a chord in her memory, yet the way he moved through a crowd of people like a snake gave him away almost instantly to her seasoned eyes. Time suddenly seemed to stop.

He was only 15 feet away now, and Anya could not move. He moved his left hand out of his pocket, concealing something small inside the palm of his hand. Anya felt her head spin as she watched the hand, merely feet away now, reach toward her. She closed her eyes, as a child would pull a blanket over his or her head, and willed the monster away.

What happened next send a shock of electricity through her veins. The hand pressed against her forearm, and a cold bolt of pain shot up her arm. She flinched away, snapping open her eyes. The man had disappeared into the crowd.

"Anya?"

Someone was calling her name.

"Anya?"

She blinked, forcing herself to focus. The noise in the room came back to her, and she realized she was the only one in the room standing. Tintin was staring at her with concern. She quickly sat down, feeling too overwhelmed to be embarrassed.

"Are you sure you're feeling up to this? Castafiore would understand if we left early…"

"I...no, we should stay. I feel perfectly fine."

Her left arm had no feeling in it. She brushed her fingers over it, feeling something hard sitting on her forearm. It was a curious black square. She gingerly pulled it out of her arm as the crowd went into another round of enthusiasm.

"Merci, merci, and thank you New York!"

The black square came free from her arm, and the two deep puncture marks underneath them began to pool with blood. Anya tried to swallow back her nausea, as the square fell from her trembling fingers to the floor. The crowd around her rose to their feet, and conversation bubbled to life. She stood, letting them flow around her and push her to the exit, like a river of hats and coats.

She didn't stop walking until she realized Tintin wasn't behind her.

/*/*/*

Tintin had also found a familiar face in the crowd. Two, actually.

A familiar sea captain's cap and snow white terrier caught his eye first, and, he thought, it couldn't be.

But it was. Tintin dashed to the aisle, clambering over multiple crossed legs and leather purses, attracting snarls of annoyance.

"Haddock!"

His old friend turned to look at him with surprise.

"Tintin?!"

They shook hands eagerly, Haddock slapping Tintin on the back a little too enthusiastically.

"Well, well, my boy! I thought we would never find you in this godforsaken rut!"

"I'm so sorry...I just-how did you-?"

Haddock's beard moved upwards to suggest a grin.

"I was walking past Houston Street and Snowy suddenly bolted with his sniffer to the ground...I followed him right to this theater. They weren't going to let me in, but Madame Castafiore let them…She said you were here."

"You can thank your lucky stars she did!" Tintin scolded, but his eyes were warm with joy.

"When did your plane land? Where have you been staying?"

"The old bird landed yesterday morning. Nestor had given me the address of some family he knew in New York, and I'm staying with the Patels right now."

"Oh, that reminds me; I have someone for you to meet."

He turned around, looking back into the row they were sitting in for a head of wavy brown hair, but the seats were empty. He leaned down to tousle Snowy's head, trying to see past the wall of people.

"He must have gone into the hall. We might catch up with him faster if we take the back door and go around," Haddock said. Tintin looked to where he was motioning.

"Alright, then."

They moved quickly. Tintin felt overwhelmed as he weaved through the crowd, searching the face of every woman with a white dress. There weren't many.

"This must be the biggest audience she's had so far," Haddock grumbled, getting down on his hands and knees to retrieve his cap from the floor. It had been knocked down by a lady's oversized feather hat.

"Hey, what does your friend look like? And what's his name? We should split up to find him faster."

"Well, that's the thing, Haddock...it's not really a 'him'…"

"Not a him? What does that mean?"

Tintin looked back at Haddock, who was crawling after him spiritedly. He offered him a hand.

"It's more of a 'her', Haddock."

Haddock pushed his cap low on his forehead as he stood up, his dark eyes reflecting surprise.

"A lady? Why?"

Tintin's face turned slightly red, in spite of himself.

"She's a friend. And you don't have to act like I'm helping her for any other reason than that."

"You know what trouble women are, Tintin. They are difficult creatures to please, and-why are you looking at me like that?"

Tintin's face was screwed up in anger.

"She's just a girl, Haddock. And I expect you to be courteous and behaved around her, do you understand?"

Haddock's expression went from one of frustration to fear.

"D-does that mean I-"

"Yes, Haddock. I need you to stay away from alcohol for a while."

Tintin's attention was stolen from Haddock's unpleasant expression by a flash of white some yards in front of the refreshments table. He hastened toward the white figure, recognizing a red ribbon trailing down the back.

Anya.

/*/*/*

The room around her was a blur of laughter and lights. She felt fear building with every step she took. I just need to get outside….some fresh air will clear my head….

She felt claustrophobia with the side effects of whatever the hell was in that strange black device; even now, as she clamped her hand over the stream of blood starting down her arm, she felt like the room was closing in around her. A gloved hand pressed against her back. She looked up at the figure beside her; he smelled strongly of aftershave.

"Come with us, miss….a cab is waiting for you outside."

The quiet voice sent chills down her spine.

"I don't need a cab," She mumbled, trying to turn away. The hand pressed harder, biting hard against her back; she realized there was a blade concealed within the gloved palm.

"Don't worry, miss. You are in safe hands…"

"Hey!" A voice.

The man suddenly was rushing her through the doors, into the street. The evening air was chilly, and Anya wished she could pull her dress over her bare shoulders.

"Hey! LET GO OF HER!"

Anya's knees suddenly buckled from under her. Tintin rushed through the doors, his jaw set. A small white dog tore after him, barking ferociously. The man that forced Anya outside swung his elbow back at the boy's stomach. Tintin dodged cleanly, ramming his fist into the thug's chin. A cab swung up alongside the scene now, and there was another man in a suit rushing out of the vehicle. Tintin was wrestled to the ground, and all that was left to see of him was a pair of swinging fists. Anya was rolled into the back of the cab unceremoniously, and she blacked out with her cheek pressed against the worn leather of the seat. The groan of the engine drowned out Tintin's yell.

"ANYA!"

/*/*/*

Haddock held his cap against his head as he made his way through the crowd, in the direction Tintin disappeared.

"Here one second, gone the next," he grumbled. He heard a distant shout weakly rising above the conversations in the room, and hastened towards the doors. The cool night air was a slap to the wrist, and his breath turned into a thin cloud on his lips.

"What in tarnation is going on out here?!"

The man had shoved Tintin to the ground and stepped back to ditch his coat, a trickle of blood racing down his cheek. Tintin groaned, pulling himself to his knees. The stranger was upon him again in a second, beating him right back down into the dirt.

"Hey! Get off'm, you brute!"

His aggressive yell was cut short by the sound of a black cab starting up. He swung at the man, enjoying the sound of his surprised cry. The three of them were in a bunch one moment, and suddenly dispersing the next. Another black cab pulled up, and the man jumped into it quickly.

"That's right! Get away, ya toad!"

Tintin was crouching on a hand and a knee.

"Don't let'im get away!"

"Wha-"

He turned to look back at the cab, but it was too late; the vehicle shot down the street with a roar. Tintin sprinted after them for a few yards, but stopped short, clutching his chest. He doubled over, vomiting. Haddock dashed after him.

"Blistering barnacles...Jellyfish!...Bullies!...Rapscallions! Miserable earth worms!"

Tintin stood up, wiping his mouth. He was holding a crimson-stained handkerchief against his face.

"'Addock, they took 'er."

"Thundering Typhoons...they got you right in the beak, didn't they?"

He pulled a big handkerchief out of his back pocket, offering it to Tintin.

"Come back inside, won't you? Your face needs more medical attention than my liver."

"This wa'nt s'pposed to 'appen. This wan't supposed'a 'appen…"

Snowy limped up to Tintin from the direction the car disappeared, his front left paw tucked away. He whined, pressing his nose against Tintin's knee.

"'Good try, 'thnowy."

Haddock lead a battered Tintin and Snowy back inside, mentally preparing himself for the unwanted attention they would receive.

"You two better start looking after yourselves, now...I don't think I can find replacements anywhere in the world."

/*/*/*

REVISED SECTION:

"Monsieur, you must know I'm joking. Now, I must know; what do you drink?"

Tintin felt oddly self-conscious.

"I...well, I don't drink. Or smoke. I try to stay focused on my work."

"You're aren't working tonight, are you, Monsieur Tintin?"

Anya's eyes looked alive tonight. Perhaps it was the people, or the jazz music that tiptoed around the edge of the theatre. She smiled, relaxing into her seat again.

"You never fail to amaze me, Tintin. I admit, I've never had alcohol before, but I'm very suspicious of those who can't handle their alcohol. With my past, of course...you understand."

Tintin internally relaxed; he was nervous she would pressure him to drink, and she could be very a very convincing woman.

"A drink for the lady, yes?"

The bartender popped up from under the counter. Tintin stuttered.

"No, thanks. We're okay."

"Just tonic waters, please," Anya piped up.

The bartender slid two glasses toward them in a moment. Anya took hers and sipped it tentatively. Tintin noticed the curve in her neck as she tilted her head back; his gaze dropped to her bare shoulders and the curve that swept down from her armpit and he looked down at his drink. Anya rested her cheek in her palm as she lazily looked out into the room.

"It at least looks like we're drinking. Look, I've already developed a deep addiction to tonic water."

"You hide it marvelously well. You'd like Haddock; he's a drunk."

They both snickered into fists and hands. Tintin loosened his tie a bit. The time seemed to slide by. Finally, Tintin, they decided they were bored of sitting. He took Anya's arm and they walked out into the center of the room.

"I feel like people are staring. Is there a reward out for you?"

"Perhaps they suspect you are hiding something in your skirt. Is that a barstool behind you?"

They giggled, smothering their mouths with their hands again. They slipped outside. Tintin slipped his jacket off and draped it over Anya's shoulders, rubbing his temples with his fingers.

"I'm already feeling tired, and we've barely begun."

"We should have eaten something first. I couldn't fit dinner into this dress."

"Ridiculous. Women's clothes, I mean. You look wonderful."

They sat down on the stone patio bench. Anya exhaled into the silence.