Seventeen: Reluctant Caretaker

A/N: Not a huge focus on the 'reluctant' part, but more so that this is from an early point in Tintin and Haddock's friendship.

Set during 'The Shooting Star'.

It was turning out to be one of the most miserable experiences of his life.

Tintin considered himself a strong man, both in the physical and mental definition. He'd been shot at, kidnapped, tortured, concussed, chloroformed, tied up; it was becoming easier for him to list off the things he hadn't experienced.

And yet of all the things that he'd encountered, he was surprised to find sea sickness as being the one thing that brought him to his knees and begging for mercy. If this is what a pregnant woman experiences, they are truly the most impressive creatures alive…

He'd long forgotten why he'd agreed to come aboard this godforsaken tub when all it seemed to do was threaten to send his stomach contents flying all over the walls. The excitement of collecting a piece of the meteorite was at the far corner of his mind; right now, all he could focus on was remaining conscious.

He forced himself to lift his head from the dining table, having been left as the solo occupant after the other professors and sailors had departed when their bodies could no longer tolerate the vertigo. It seemed as though the ship had been tossing for hours. Every wave that they passed over sent his stomach rolling violently, and he bit on his tongue more than once to stop the bile that threatened to fall out.

He wanted nothing more than to stay in his current position, for the thought of moving sounded like torture. Yet he knew he couldn't stay here forever; after all, a table was a poor substitute for a pillow. Guess I'll try and get a move on then.

Removing himself from the dining table quickly turned into a very delicate operation. He began by slowly turning his head so his forehead was no longer lying on the chilled wood, though this action alone was enough to leave him in that position for another few minutes as he waited for the ship to finish crossing the latest wave. Putain d'enfer, this is ridiculous!

When he felt physically and mentally prepared, he gingerly lifted his head from the table, cringing as the vertigo seemed to double in intensity. Intent on carrying out his plan, he thrust his head upright and braced against the dining table, his knuckles white with exertion. He swallowed hard as the remains of his dinner threatened to creep back up his throat. At least I'm upright for the moment. Now, to get back to my bunk…

He waited for the latest wave to pass before sliding his rear across the seat, focusing all his strength into his calves as he delicately pushed himself to a standing position. A small sigh of relief escaped his lips. Bien! This is a good start-

Of course a sudden wave decided to rock the boat at such a crucial moment. It sent the young man tumbling to the floor, screaming in pain as the back of his head violently smashed into the dining chair. "Mon Dieu!"

"What's going on in there?!" The sharp voice of the Captain rumbled from outside the dining room, who quickly gasped as he caught sight of the reporter sprawled across the deck. "Tintin?!"

"Captaine!" Tintin cried, clutching his head in his arms. "Please, help…I can't-" Oh, mon Dieu, make it stop!

Haddock took a sharp breath in. Although he hadn't known the young man for very long, he'd found himself having parental instincts towards him. Every time Tintin had rung him up and casually mentioned what peril he'd been subjected to that day, he'd instantly panic and lecture him as if he was his own son.

But he's not my son, he would tell himself. He's my friend.

He pushed his thoughts to the side as he focused on the present, his heart aching at seeing Tintin writhing in misery on the floor. "Oh lad, you're not used to such rough seas, are ya?" He knelt next to the young man and hoisted an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, let's get ya back to your cabin."

"…Merci beaucoup," Tintin mumbled, fighting the urge to vomit.

For a man of the Captain's age, Tintin was surprised how agile he actually was when he wasn't blind drunk. He hardly needed to carry any of his own weight, for the Captain was somehow able to support them both. This made the journey to his cabin much quicker than it would've been had Tintin been a solo traveller.

"Ahhh, here we are! Take it easy, lad," Haddock spoke softly as he helped the young man into his bed. He watched as Tintin all but collapsed onto the mattress, his face whiter than the sheets. "Have a lie down on the bunk, there. Let me go find some biscuits-"

"No!" Tintin cried, holding his stomach. He was embarrassed by his sudden outburst, and fumbled to correct himself. "…I-I mean, please, no, no food-"

"Of course, lad, that's okay," Haddock answered. "Eatin' something doesn't always help, to be fair."

An awkward silence passed between the two men, interrupted by a cough from the Captain. "Erm…anything else I can do to help, lad?"

"Non, I don't think so," Tintin whispered. He forced himself to turn his head to look at Haddock, a grateful look in his eyes. "Thank you, Captain."

"Anytime, lad," Haddock gave the young man a quick pat on the arm as he turned to leave the cabin. "If anything, you're to be commended! I've had sailors spew their guts out in far quieter conditions - you've got a stomach of steel."

Tintin gave a quiet laugh as the door to his cabin was closed, only for it to turn into a melancholy sigh. He crossed his arms across his stomach and snuggled deeper into the blankets. If only you knew what I've been through…I have to have a tough stomach for this job.

Exhaustion quickly won over the reporter and he found himself fast asleep, soothed by the same rocking that had been torturing him for hours.

A/N: Putain d'enfer = bloody hell

Bien = good

Merci beaucoup = thank you very much