Disclaimer: Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © Hergé.

xXx

Melody

One problem the Captain had with visiting the theater in the evening was the timing of the shows. The select few performances that he specifically wanted to see were usually spread throughout the night, so to see them all he would have to sit through a number of various other acts which were often boring, or painful, and very tedious. But nevertheless, being the stubborn man he could be, the Captain would sit until the program had followed through until the end. On this one particular evening the program had been more inconvenient than usual, so by the time the Captain had returned to Marlinspike from the theater it was already long past 11:30pm. He stood outside the house in the cold air and soon found himself stuck with a minor problem that should have been obvious before he'd left earlier that day.

The Captain had gone out alone for once, so he hadn't had the common sense that was Tintin with him, which meant he hadn't had someone to remind him to take a spare key before stepping into the car and driving off.

'Why must these things only occur to you when it's too late?' he thought, scowling and rummaging around his pockets anyway. After not finding anything he dropped his hands and stared at the doorhandle dubiously, unsure with what to do about his situation and suddenly wishing they did what everyone else did where they'd simply hide a spare key under the pot plants or doormat. He ran over possible solutions in his head, trying to figure something out.

The chances of anyone being awake at this time were fairly low which meant if the door was locked, which it usually was at this time, he'd have to find another way in. Breaking into his own house wasn't something he wanted to try, but he didn't want to wake everyone up by knocking either.

"Blistering barnacles. This always has to happen, doesn't it?" he muttered irritably, reaching out to try turning the doorhandle, deciding that if he was going to find alternate ways in he might as well try with the simplest methods first. For the sake of security, Nestor or Tintin would often take the responsibility to make sure that the doors and windows were locked once it got dark so it was to his pleasant surprise that the door swung open, and the Captain was able to make his way in.

He shut the door silently and glanced around to make sure he hadn't disturbed anyone, frowning when he noticed a faint warm glow coming from the lounge room. The fireplace must have been left alight and the Captain could tell by the mellow flickering that the fire hadn't been looked after for a while and was slowly dying down.

What had previously been a presumption of just very good luck quickly turned into worry. They locked the door for a reason and now that the fire wasn't seemingly being tended to either, the Captain started to consider whether this sudden apparent carelessness might be because something had gone wrong. He crept up to the room and peered inside cautiously, making sure to be quiet. His eyes widened at what he saw. He hesitated briefly, debating whether he should interrupt, before stepping inside.

From the light of the fire he could make out the silhouette of his young friend who was standing in front of a tall music stand with his back to the door. Why the lad would be choosing to stand next to the armchair and not turn the light on made no sense to the Captain, but he'd learned not to question the strange habits Tintin would surprise him with. The Captain wasn't even sure if Tintin had noticed he'd returned home and, as he came closer, he could see he was focused on what was being written on the paper. Occasionally Tintin would bring his hand forward and make a few markings on the lines before returning back to staring contemplatively at the sheet, lightly chewing the end of the pencil. He would then read over it a few times, hum quietly, stop to write again, and then continue to concentrate on what he could be writing next.

"Tintin?"

The young boy gave a small smile, finished writing the next few lines and then glanced up, indicating he knew that the Captain had returned without acknowledging it beforehand. "Welcome back."

The Captain nodded, making his way more quickly to the chair and settling down next to where Tintin was standing in front of the fireplace. When his friend picked the stand up and shifted it to the left so there'd be more room he caught a glimpse of what Tintin had been writing on the paper; there were a series of musical notes on the lines and small words written above them.

"I didn't know you could sing, lad!" he said, sounding surprised.

"Yes, that's because I can't," Tintin replied evenly, although not sounding entirely truthful.

"What's this, then?" he asked, looking pointedly at the music sheet on the stand.

"I'm just writing."

"AH, composing."

"I wouldn't quite call it that yet, this isn't even my music. That's not to say I can't compose, I just haven't tried before," he added.

"Wait, not your music? You're writing it, aren't you?" The Captain frowned.

"The melody isn't mine."

"Oh."

"I'm trying to recreate a song I used to know from years ago. It's been caught in my head for a while, so I thought tonight I'd try to write the sheet music from what I can remember," he explained, pointing with the tip of the pencil.

"Oh, I see." The Captain peered over at the sheet on the stand. "So, what song is it?"

"That's the problem. I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"My mother used to sing it to me when I was a child, before I'd go to sleep every night," Tintin said, pausing to write a few more notes. "For some reason I can remember the melody and the words perfectly, but I can't remember what it was called." He looked over at the Captain. "You wouldn't happen to know what it is, do you?"

"I don't recognize it," the Captain said, sounding a little apologetic.

"That's okay." He went back to staring at the sheet thoughtfully. "I'm sure I'll figure it out once I've completed it."

"How does it go?"

"Just a second, I just need to finish this line."

Tintin read over the sheet and hummed the tune as he followed each note, adding a few more once he had reached the end and then repeating the last bar. "It's almost done," he said finally, pleased with what he'd figured so far. "There isn't a lot left to go, I think I should complete it within the hour."

The Captain looked up at him. "Do you mind if I stay here while you finish it?"

He smiled. "Of course. It'd be nice to have company while I do this," Tintin assured him, turning back to the paper.

They sat in silence for the next 40 minutes, save for the light scribbling and soft humming from Tintin and the occasional question from the Captain.

The title of the song never did come back to him, but in the end it didn't really matter so much.

A/N: I must give credit to my reviewer Herring, who gave me this prompt about a decade and a half ago. Sheer, unadulterated stress and desperation has also made me upload 2 other Tintin stories since: The Meretricious Dispossession of the Valentine PART 1 and 2, and Russian Roulette.
Especially for the latter, constructive criticism would be particularly appreciated, and also any reviews. One is light and humourous, the other is an attempt at suspense, and quite different.

The Prompt:
Herring: maybe you could write, like, a song? i dunno. or a drabble about tintin singing? yes. yes. lets all hear tintin's lovely voice. although personally, i have a feeling that he's actually very bad at it. yes. i don't know. whatever.