Author's note: First Tintin fanfic, hope you enjoy! Please, please, please, leave constructive criticism! I am always interested in what you think!
Tintin and the Epidemic of Death
The impervious, gray, cumulonimbus clouds that lingered over Brussels threatened a devil of a storm, if not within the next ten minutes, surely before the hour was up. Rumbling with impatience and thunder, the obscured sky spat tiny droplets in preparation for what was coming. Harsh winds whipped through bushes and trees, tearing leaves from branches and causing the trunks to groan with the strain of the forceful gale.
Captain Haddock hated storms. No, that was not true. He hated storms while he was at sea. Cocooned in the warmth and solidity of Marlinspike Hall, he actually was amused by the uncertainty in the atmosphere, the bulkiness and majesty of the massive thunderheads and the way time seemed to freeze. Haddock decided there was nothing quite like being buried beneath a fuzzy blanket by a massive, roaring fire with a mug of black coffee in his hand, just waiting for the first torrents of pounding rain to announce it's presence on the window panes.
With an explosion like that of a bomb, the sky was wrenched apart at the seams. Lightening sizzled in a jagged arc across the clouds and illuminated the grounds and water poured out of the atmosphere. Thoroughly entertained, the Captain settled back to watch the dazzling lines of electricity and tuned into the symphony created by the rain and thunder.
Supper came and went, and Captain Haddock's stomach began to flutter with something other than hunger: anxiety. At first he chalked the feeling up to the violent storm and lack of food in his belly, but then he recalled the true explanation for his nervousness. Tintin was supposed to stop by and eat lunch with him, and the boy was either uncharacteristically late, or a dreadful misfortune had befallen him.
By the time dinner rolled around, the Captain decided the latter was most likely and resolved to search for his ginger-haired friend. Before he could act upon his plan, however, the doorbell chimed throughout the manor, leaving behind an echo.
With a tint of hope in the back of his mind, Haddock bolted from his armchair and hustled into the dark entryway. He was surprised to see that Nestor, the butler, wasn't at the door already, but then Haddock remembered he'd given the hardworking man a well-earned vacation. Throwing the colossal oak doors wide, he was greeted with a welcome sight.
Soaking wet and shivering, Tintin marched in, silhouetted by a flicker of lightening and flanked by his trusty white terrier, Snowy.
"Ten thousand thundering typhoons, boy!" Haddock exclaimed. "You look like a drowned rat! Forgot your umbrella again, I assume?"
"You know me too well, Captain," Tintin beamed, shoving the doors closed and locking out the flood. "Sorry I'm late."
Haddock frowned. "You had me worried sick!"
Tintin laughed and hung his sopping wet trench coat on a stand. "I can't take care of myself, Captain, but I appreciate your concern. How about I fix dinner as an apology?"
Haddock grumbled something inaudible like, "hours late…barnacles…" but Tintin raced off, and the captain followed him to Marlinspike's spacious kitchen.
Within minutes, Tintin whipped up a bubbling pot of potato, onion and sausage stew that reminded the boy vaguely of goulash, minus the cabbage. He served a steaming portion to Captain Haddock and took a more adequately sized bowl for himself. After dog food was procured for snowy, the group trooped into the luxurious dining room. It wasn't until Tintin had settled himself across the table from his companion that the captain noticed a dark spot on Tintin's cheekbone.
"Barnacles, Tintin! Where'd ya get tha' shiner?" Haddock gasped, squinting at the mark.
"Oh, this?" the young journalist replied nonchalantly, brushing a finger over the purply yellow bruise under his right eye. "Merely an occupational hazard, my old friend." He really didn't want to talk about this right now, so Tintin acted like it was no big deal. Besides, troublemaking schoolboys had such blemishes all the time, and if they could take it, so could he.
"Trophy? Occupational hazza-OLD?" Captain Haddock roared. "Not another story already? You only finished typing the last one over the weekend! Oh, I need a scotch…"
"Ah, ah, ah, Captain! You are forgetting something!" Tintin waggled a finger at his friend. "You gave up alcohol for lent, remember?" Captain Haddock's jaw dropped.
"I-I did?" he stuttered. Tintin nodded, a grin plastered on his pale face. Snowy yipped in agreement.
"Well, blow my dress up! I suppose I did at that!" The captain reclined in his seat, quite bemused.
They finished their dinner in contented silence, Snowy included. The heat from the soup in Tintin's belly calmed him, and he began to nod off. His chin dropped to his light blue sweater.
He was so cold, so alone. The scrawny puppy he clutched tightly to his chest, white as snow, was barely keeping him from crying. His mother pleaded with his father in the next room; the closed door and paper-thin walls did nothing to block out her sobbing, her screaming.
Something crashed to the floor and shattered, and he flinched, nearly dropping Snowy. His mother went quiet. He squeezed his eyes shut as the knob began to turn on his bedroom door-
"Tintin! Lad, wake up!" Captain Haddock shook the whimpering boy gently. Gasping and perspiring, Tintin broke away from the dream. He barely registered Snowy's head resting in his lap, gazing up at him with concerned black eyes.
"What? What is it, Captain?" He tried to control his voice and his shaking, but only succeeded in sounding more frightened.
"You fell asleep, lad. You must be exhausted, what with all that reporting," Haddock politely left out the moaning and begging he'd heard emanating from the boy to spare his pride and his feelings.
"I-yeah- I mean, yes I am," Tintin answered truthfully. "I'll be getting home now, I suppose."
Haddock shook his head. "Nonsense! I've got plenty of room here, and you're welcome to stay anytime."
"But Captain, I couldn't-"
"Tintin, that's one Hell of a storm out there, and it wouldn't be decent of me to turn you out at this time of night," Haddock argued. Maybe it was because Tintin knew there was no point arguing with the captain at this point, or maybe it was because he was too tired to object, Tintin accepted.
Captain Haddock cleared the dishes away and led Tintin and Snowy to a well-furnished guest bedroom on the second floor. After starting a fire in the hearth and heating up the room, the captain bid the two good night and took his leave. Tintin stripped to his boxers and undershirt, switched off the lamp, and tucked himself into the plush four-poster bed. He reached down and lifted snowy into bed with him; the skinny dog he clutched to his chest, white as snow, was barely keeping him from crying. The captain was so good to him, and the boy knew he didn't deserve it…
Finally, Tintin slipped into dreamland, the remaining embers in the fire just illuminating the wiry figure outside his window…
