"I remember everything now."
It had been years, now, since he remembered. Years since he spoke those words to dearest Tintin.
Years had passed and in all that time, Tintin had yet to realize exactly what those words had meant. For Tintin, he remembered nothing. Precious, darling Tintin could only listen to the old sailor's tales, with awe rather than recognition glowing in his eyes.
The last tale had yet to be told. The last secret of the ill-fated Unicorn Archibald Haddock held close to his heart, for fear of it escaping onto harsh, disbelieving ears. He had hardly believed it himself—it was the stuff of fairytales, on par with the nonsensical ramblings of a street-corner fortune-teller.
Fate. Destiny.
Magic. Spells. Curses.
Rebirth.
It was all a load of utter poppycock. It had to be. His granddaddy's stories had more than likely gone through a great deal of embellishment, even before they sparked the imagination of a rebellious young boy. It had sounded so deliciously exciting, back then: a pirate's curse, a line of descendants bound to the unfinished business of their ancestor. But Archibald was a man now; he should know better than to believe in sorcery and spellcraft and the like.
And so he had dismissed the ridiculous, drunken-headed notions he had conjured up when he first recalled the old legend. After all, who would be be kidding? To equate himself with the great Sir Francis, the loyal servant of the King, the conquerer of pirates, the strongest-hearted of men…it would be selfish! That was all it was—overly-hopeful, adrenaline-fueled egotism!
He had managed to toss it all from his mind…but then that final battle came, and feeling took over from logic. Suddenly he knew he was part of something bigger. He knew he was finishing what he himself had left undone centuries ago. When he looked into the eyes of Ivan Sakharine, he saw Red Rackham the pirate lord staring back, and when he returned to the dank cellars of Marlinspike Hall, he felt the fog had been lifted at last.
There was no mistake. His late grandfather, incredible a storyteller as he had been, could not possibly have described the sensation that came over him when he placed that dusty old feathered hat upon his head.
The visions, the memories, the dreams…all that had been haunting him for as long as he could remember: it all was real. More than real. More than tangible.
It was more than a story he was regaining. It was the life he'd left behind.
But one mystery still remained unsolved.
He never would have found anything were it not for Tintin. He would have wasted away into nothingness on the Karaboudjan. And Sakharine—no, Rackham—would have failed as well. It took Tintin to find that last piece of the puzzle and to finally bring everything together. Without him, both sides would have faded into the dark abyss of time. With the last descendants of their respective lines gone, the saga of the Unicorn would have been lost forever.
So what did that make Tintin, exactly? Where did he fit in to this whole cycle? For a time, Archibald had wondered if the young man was his ethereal guardian, an angel heaven-sent to help him fulfill the task that he could not do himself in his drunken, cursed state.
He was to be proven wrong again. Through many an adventure leading up to one single, spellbinding kiss, he learned that the lad was in fact human after all. They fell in love, as those tied together by fate are prone to do.
The first night they slept together—Tintin's head against Archibald's neck, their hands gently overlapping, Snowy slumbering at the foot of the bed—the Captain had a dream. It was no ordinary dream, nor was it a whiskey-sodden delusion. He knew the instant he awoke: this was his last memory.
"Tintin."
Haddock reached for his partner's hands across the couch and clasped them in his.
"What's wrong, Captain?" Tintin inquired with concern. "You've seemed…I don't know, sort of…off, all day."
"There's something I need to tell you, lad. But I don't know if you'll believe me, because it sounds insane, and blistering barnacles, I never—"
"Captain, Captain, great snakes, you're shaking! What on earth's the matter?" The journalist removed his hands from between Archibald's to scoot over to him, take him by the shoulder and peck his temple. "You can tell me anything," he said. "I hope you know that."
"I just…" Haddock sighed, heavy tears threatening to spill from his tired eyes. "I can't believe you don't remember. I know it was so long ago, but I remember, and if I can remember everything even through being cursed and all…then…thundering typhoons, why don't you?"
"Cursed?" Tintin furrowed his brow in confusion. "Do you mean…the Haddock family curse? Red Rackham's curse? What about it? What exactly don't I remember? That all was ages ago…Come on, Captain, tell me!"
"That's what I'm getting at. Well, sort of, I…that is to say…"
The older man gulped. There really was no other way to put this, was there?
"Tintin, my love…I'm Sir Francis."
"B-beg pardon?"
"I am Sir Francis Haddock. I mean, I'm…I'm me, I'm Archibald, but I used to be Sir Francis. Back then. We have the…the same soul. I was reborn…descended…unfinished business…" He trailed off, unable to form coherency.
Seeing Tintin's stunned, silent face, he decided to begin again. "Okay, okay, let me backtrack. You remember when we met in this life. You remember all we went through to find the Unicorn treasure."
The younger man nodded slowly, still without speaking.
"You remember I would go off into sort of a stupor, you know, and I'd start rambling, filling in the holes of my granddaddy's story?"
Another nod.
"It wasn't…just…a story. The visions I was having, they weren't just 'cause of the heat or the booze or the old tales. They were memories, laddie. I was flashing back to my past life, which I had forgotten for so long, buried under generations of the family curse."
Tintin's jaw hung slightly agape, and his eyes were wide as full moons. He held one hand to the side of his head, in shock but not complete disbelief. "Unfinished business," he echoed in a whisper.
"It's…it's incredible," he murmured at last. "Fantastic. How is it possible?"
"I don't know." Haddock shook his head. "Whatever magic, whatever fate, whatever the hell it was, something wanted us to come back and finish what we started. That's all I can say."
"Us?" Tintin blinked. "Who's us?"
"Well, there's me," Haddock said, gesturing to himself. "There's Sakharine—Rackham," he continued, waving his hand to note he who was not present. "And there's you."
"Me?" The smaller man leaned backwards, partially ejecting himself from the intimate touch. "M-me?" he repeated.
"There's Nestor, too, actually, he was Francis' first mate back then," Haddock babbled. "Nichols, he was called, he swore he'd protect the treasure from the pirates and he kept that promise, a good man, he's always been—" He was finding it easier to spew words than to meet his lover's gaze or answer the questions that were surely burning within him.
"Captain, who was—who am I? Why have you never told me any of this?"
"You really don't remember?" the Captain said somberly. "Not a thing, still?"
"No, I don't. I need you to tell me. Let me know what I've been missing." Tintin peered directly into the other man's eyes, blue meeting blue, ocean flowing into ocean. "Please."
Tintin was rarely one to put his desires on display, let alone to plead for them. His partner was trapped, trapped in that gaze, that voice, that soul he had loved for so long.
"I…I can't."
Tintin's head tilted to the side a few degrees, and he stared back with a look of upset and confusion. The sailor felt his heart was splintering to bits, and he could do nothing to help himself nor the recipient of ages of affection.
"It'll mean nothing if I just tell you," Haddock reasoned gently. "You have to remember it for yourself, or else it'll be nothing more than…than a story." He sighed.
"If I haven't remembered whatever it is by now, I doubt I ever will." The young man frowned.
"Well, I mean, I thought the same nearly all my life, and I was wrong. I guess we have to just give it time." Haddock shrugged. He was beginning to regret bringing the subject up in the first place. Better to keep it to himself and quietly deal with his own turmoil than bring the stress down upon Tintin as well.
"No." Suddenly Tintin sat up completely, and Haddock could practically see the cogs in his brilliant mind turning, the way they did whenever he made a breakthrough on a case. "Wait a minute. If what you tell me is all true, there was always something that triggered those memories. Something that called you back to the past. If we could find something like that for my side of this tale, then…"
The lad had a point, but the last thing the Captain wanted was to re-expose him to those intensities of violence, threats, intoxication, dark magic, and death. They both had had enough of all of those things for many lifetimes.
"Or," Tintin went on, "I do know a thing or two about hypnosis as used to enhance memory. The induction of a trance state, combined with proper suggestion—not unlike what happened to you in the Sahara, sans the influence of alcohol and the heat—could perhaps bring about some result…" He cupped his chin, lost in thought.
The Captain was keen to blurt out, Hypnosis? Impossible! He stopped himself, however, when he realized that comparatively, the prospect Tintin was posing seemed far less outlandish than what they already knew to be the truth.
Tintin had faith in the words that Haddock spoke, that might have sounded oblique and absurd to anybody else. Now it was the sea-captain's turn to once again trust in his partner.
Right on cue, the ginger looked over to the man beside him. "Well," he said, "shall we try this out?"
"Try what, exactly?"
"Well," Tintin explained, "I have enough practice from my morning meditation to be able to willfully relax my state of consciousness. And if you were to relate your story to me at the same time…"
Haddock relented, as he was beginning to have an idea of what to say. "Couldn't hurt to give it a shot," he admitted.
"That's the spirit." Tintin grinned. "All right. I'm going to lie down here…You speak to me from over there, if you would?" He pointed to the upholstered armchair opposite the sofa.
"Right-o, lad." The Captain did as he was told. Once he seated himself down, he looked back at Tintin; already, the younger man appeared almost as if he were asleep. Only the light fluttering of his eyelids gave him away. He truly was good at this stuff, eh?
Here's hoping this works, the Captain thought to himself. I don't think I could bear it otherwise.
"Alright, now," the last Haddock began, "my dear, let me tell you a story…"
It all started five days after the great ship Unicorn left Europe for Barbados. Morale was high among its crew, and all seemed well. That is, until its stalwart captain found a little surprise hiding away amongst its cargo.
"And who might you be, eh, pipsqueak?" Sir Francis demanded of the man whom he had discovered hiding in his hold. The lad knew he had been caught, and he came crawling out from between the barrels; but it was a look of defiance rather than remorse on his freckly ginger face.
"Call me Remi," the lithe youth said with a shrug. "Oh, and this is Milou."
Before Francis could question, a small white dog padded its way to the light and sat down obediently beside its master. The captain was stunned. How had this stowaway managed to lurk here for nearly a week without being spotted? Both anger and awe were dancing in his head.
"What are you doing here?"
"I boarded this ship looking for freedom. I've a thirst for adventure, you know?" The boy—Remi—still merely shrugged, appearing awfully unconcerned with the whole situation.
"Miserable little wretch," Sir Francis growled. "Sneaky, slippery souse! I ought to throw you overboard!"
"I'd like to see you try," Remi snarked back. "I promise you, I'm stronger than I look, oh Captain."
"Is that so? Then how's about you prove yourself, scalawag? Have at you!"…
…So it went, you see, that this Remi was the first man to ever match Sir Francis in one-on-one sword combat. That, and since Francis was not a cruel man, deep down, he saw no reason to just dunk the lad in the ocean. The only option that remained was for Remi to join the Unicorn's crew.
It proved an impeccable decision—or twist of fate, whichever you wish to call it. Remi was skillful, clever, and brave…and as it so happened, also quite—ahem—attractive.
Neither of them intended it, and nobody else knew of it, but the relationship between the captain and the stowaway sprung to life in ways that were even more unthinkable then than they are now. They were passionate, ferocious lovers, and each swore to protect the other at any and all costs.
But destiny—and a certain gang of pirates—had other plans.
The night Red Rackham and his men attacked the Unicorn, no one on the King's ship was spared. To the horror of many, but his partner most of all, the first to be struck down was—
Tintin jolted upward with a gasp, his breath uneven and pained, his forehead slicked with sweat.
Haddock rushed over to him in a panic. "Tintin, Tintin, are you alright?"
He did not reply. His mind remained elsewhere. In another place. In another time. In another life.
"I thought I was stronger," he was whispering, to someone who was present only in spirit. "Forgive my arrogance, oh Captain, my Captain. Someday I shall make it up to you."
"No," Haddock breathed. Those words he was repeating…those words he had spoken before, so long ago…
"Someday I will come back for you. Someday all of this will fall behind us and we will rise again, even stronger. We will meet again, with time and more to make up for what we have lost. This is not the end for us. I will see you again, my Captain…in another life."
Remi blinked, and he was Tintin once more.
"I remember…" he choked out. "I remember…I remember—"
The Captain touched his shoulder. "Shhh…breathe, darling. Breathe."
Tintin looked up. He gave a light smile to the man before him. "The merciless death of Remi before his lover's very eyes turned Sir Francis's blood to ice," he declared. "For him, and for the honor of the ship and the King, he vowed he would defeat Rackham—even if it would cost him his own life in the process."
Haddock nodded eagerly, and they continued the tale in turn:
"But it didn't."
"No. It cost him something much worse."
"The lives of all of his men, and a curse that would follow his name for generations to come."
"Yes. When Red Rackham placed that last dark enchantment upon the heartbroken captain—"
"—He forgot nearly everything," Haddock said solemnly. "All his adventures, gone in one fell swoop. When he was rescued and returned home at last, everybody he knew blamed his delusion on the bottle. Well, I mean, that was part of it, of course, but…" He let out a sarcastic chuckle.
"With his love for Remi vanished into the shadows of Rackham's spell, Francis wed a woman and she bore him three sons," Tintin said, pressing the Captain to continue.
"Yes, and in hindsight it was a right good thing, for otherwise I wouldn't be here with you today," the elder man murmured. "Hey, scooch over, will you?"
Tintin made room for him on the couch, and they returned to each other's arms.
"As he grew old, the only reminder Sir Francis had of what had happened was his treasure. He willed the inheritance to his sons, who had never gotten along—he hoped the clues he left would not only bring them together but help them to uncover the family's deepest secrets." The bearded sailor hummed.
"They never figured it out."
"That they did not. It took many, many years after that for the secret of the Unicorn to be revealed, to the only men to whom it ever belonged."
There were a few moments of silence and pondering and hugging.
"I remember you," Tintin said at last, tears welling in his eyes. "I remember everything, oh Captain, my Captain. The magic surrounding the tale of the Unicorn, the fates that played it…All of it, it wasn't just about the treasure. Finding the scrolls and the treasure, returning it all to its proper bearer, a true Haddock—that broke the curse, but right alongside that, we had to find each other again."
"And we did." The Captain caressed Tintin's cheek, whilst bearing his own tearful smile. "We did, and now we have time and more to finish what we started."
He finally understood why it had taken Tintin so long to recall his piece of the legend, why he himself had had no idea of it until the previous night.
It had always been Tintin who kept him going throughout that adventure, who pressed him to persevere through the fog of secrets and lost memories when it seemed ridiculous to even try. So it stood to reason, then, that Tintin would only remember his past life when Haddock was the one to urge him onwards. They were each the key to the other's hidden truth.
They were meant to support one another. They were meant to be together. Then, now, and always.
The Captain told him so. Tintin, Remi, the pipsqueak tuft of ginger, his one and only.
The lad gave a kiss to Haddock's cheek in response. Then Haddock was the one kissing him, harder, and they toppled over in a clumsy mess of laughter and warmth and hands and lips and love.