The Invisible Served
There were a number of things you just couldn't do to the Captain. Not a lot, mind you, but there were a few things that could be quite dangerous. The Captain had high blood pressure and a dicky ticker, coupled with a short temper. When his blood was up, it was right up and everyone knew about it. The Captain liked to say it was because he was passionate, but Tintin believed it was because the Captain was a bad-tempered old git. He let the little things get to him (example: he banged his head) and let the big things go unnoticed (example: he banged his head because the plane he was in got hijacked and said highjackers were attempting to land said plane on a runway that was far too short and there was a good chance they were all going to die). It was as though he solidly and stubbornly refused to see the bigger picture.
Although for such a bad-tempered person, he was surprisingly sweet natured. Beneath the gruff, hard-drinking, loud-swearing exterior lay a heart of gold; a staunch supporter when nobody believed you. A man that would trek halfway across the world, more than once, for a cause he didn't believe in. A man that would willingly sacrifice his own life for that of his friend.
A man that would get up early to set up an obvious-looking tripwire, but spread baby oil on the other side of it.
A simple thing; such a simple thing.
It had happened that morning. Still yawning, Tintin had left his bedroom to let Snowy out for a morning wee. It was the same thing he did every morning. He was still only wearing the t-shirt and pyjama bottoms he'd worn in bed, but at least he'd managed to slip on a pair of socks to keep his feet warm.
He'd gone into the corridor. First of all, he'd seen the Captain. That had been disconcerting by itself. The man had been standing at the top of the stairs, facing down towards Tintin. His grin had been almost maniacal: sinister. The tableau was decidedly creepy.
Zombie? Tintin had wondered, the thought slipping into his head unbidden. Or maybe he's finally gone mad and flipped out.
Then he had seen the 'tripwire'. How the hell was he supposed to miss seeing the 'tripwire'? It was made of thick, blue twine. It was more of a triprope.
What happened next was imprinted onto Tintin's brain, seared into the back of his eyelids. He could see it again, replaying over and over, every time he closed his eyes.
He had been smug. Too smug, he realised now. Ah, Captain! I have caught you out! You cannot out-smart me! I am greatest! I am far superior! He had been thinking these thoughts as he stepped over the clumsy tripwire. He was invincible. He was unbreakable. He was Tintin, motherfu-
Oooooooooooooo!
His foot had slipped. He had been unprepared for such a thing. It had all happened so fast. One minute he was standing up and the next he was going dooooooown and there was sudden, blinding pain. He hit the ground in an impromptu splits and tried to scream, but no sound came out. Just a small explosion of early morning snot and tears.
He'd keeled over on his side, his mouth shaped into a perfect 'O' of surprise and agony, and watched through wide, bulging eyes as the Captain, his friend – let's face it, his family – had collapsed onto his knees with laughter. He'd laughed so hard he'd ended up with a stitch in his side.
Even now, in the darkness of the closet, he could feel his cheeks burning in humiliation and his balls throbbing with the pain of remembered violence.
Yes, there were a few things you couldn't do to the Captain. Sudden, loud noises for example. Or jumping out at him unexpectedly. That sort of thing could cause a heart attack. But you could let him come to you. There was nothing in the rule book about not letting the Captain come to you.
x
The Captain ran a hand through his hair and whistled at his reflection. He was looking good. Although he needed a bit of hair cut. Oh well, that couldn't be helped now. He patted through his pockets, searching for his belongings. Keys, wallet, phone… Where the hell did I leave my keys…
He had everything else. He just needed his car keys… Where could he have left them? He thought back a few hours. He had been in the village early this morning. Ah, but he had been wearing a proper coat because it had been raining.
He went to the hall closet and opened the door.
"Boo!" said Tintin.
"Jesus!" squeaked the Captain, slamming the door shut in fright.
x
In the darkness, Tintin smiled. His balls would rest easy now.