Unbeknownst, to most, Haddock absolutely loved the morning.
Well, besides the waking-up part.
What he did like was seeing the sunrise through his window on this fine spring morning, sunlight pouring through the green leaves, the flowerbox on his windowsill overflowing with beautiful perennials. It was like one of those paintings at that fancy-pants museum Tintin kept going on about. Well, that's what Haddock thought anyway. He'd never really been a museum person, or at least not one for paintings (he liked maritime-themed one by Brussels with the aquarium and the giant anchor in the front lawn).
Getting back on topic, Haddock admired the spring scene outside his bedroom window at Marlinspike, slowly panning his eyes to take it all in. This was a much decided improvement to the gloomy rain and cold of the sea, he thought. The skies were blue, the sun was bright, the birds singing was like cello music to his ears.
Wait, cello…?
"What the blistering barnacles…?" Haddock asked himself, climbing out of bed and following the music down the hall. It sounded like it was coming from…
He slowly creaked open the door to Tintin's bedroom. He was slightly surprised when he saw the redhead seated on a stool, a mahogany-hued cello standing proudly beside him. His delicate fingers tickled the cello's neck as he strummed across its chest with his bow, emitting an overwhelmingly beautiful melody. Snowy sat next to his human, apparently enraptured by the music as well.
He never told me he could play the cello, Haddock thought, keeping quiet as not to disturb his friend as he continued with his private concert. The captain felt a smile tug at his lips at the boy's purely blissful expression. As Tintin went on playing, however, neither had become aware that Haddock had the door almost completely opened and he was now standing—just standing there— right at the opening like some gaping idiot.
Tintin took a second to look off to the side when he noticed the captain standing at his door with a vacant expression. He quickly drew his bow away, causing the large instrument to let out a sharp hiss of strings.
"Captain!" He almost shouted, slightly embarrassed. "Good morning…I didn't wake you did I?"
Haddock's brain took a second or two to get him to move. He walked over to Tintin, taking a seat on the foot of his bed. "Don't sweat it, I was already awake," he finally replied with a chuckle. "So, you…play?" He managed to get out, pointing to the instrument in question.
"Oh um, well yes," the redhead answered with a shy nod. "It's been a while, so I thought I'd play a song or two, for old time's sake."
"You're really good, boy!"
Tintin turned slightly red, smiling. "Thanks. I'm afraid I'm a bit rusty though. I haven't played too much since…" he trailed off, a sad look in his eyes.
"'Since…?'" Haddock heard himself ask.
Tintin let out a large sigh before beginning his story.
"I was ten years old. My parents had decided to take me to a concert for my birthday. There was this cellist as the opening act. He was absolutely amazing; the music he played was like pure poetry, like he was letting his music tell a story. I felt so many emotions just hearing him play the way he did, and I was positively drawn in.
"After we left the concert hall I told my parents that I really wanted to learn to play the cello like the man at the concert. Nothing they could say would change my mind, I was one-hundred percent sure of it. My father kneeled to my height and told me that I could, much to my excitement.
"The very next day he took me to this store where they sold all sorts of instruments like trumpets and harps and even a huge grand piano. It was there that I found this"—he briefly paused to pat the cello's side for emphasis—"and I remember telling my father, 'This is it! This is the one!' Father said I could have it, but only if I practiced hard and stayed dedicated to it.
"And that's exactly what I did. I practiced every single day—after school, on weekends, whenever I had the time. Sometimes I remember getting in trouble with my mother for playing at night while everyone was asleep, or when I tried to play when I was sick from school," he paused for a small chuckle.
"It wasn't easy, though. Sometimes I'd be practicing a song and just get so fed up at not playing a certain part correctly. Sometimes I'd get so frustrated that I just wanted to quit. But then I'd remember that I promised my father that I'd keep playing and get better, so I'd always pick myself up and kept trying.
"But eventually, with all that practice, I got fairly good at it. Relatives and friends would always ask me to play for them at parties and gatherings. They'd usually just ask for me to play simple songs, ones that a lot of people who play cello know, no big deal. "
The redhead paused for a moment, finding a place to continue his story.
"There was this song. It was the same song I had heard that cellist at the concert play so many years ago. One day, after doing my research, I headed down to the music shop and purchased the sheet music for it. I planned on learning it, and I wanted to play it just as well as the cellist had.
"It was probably the hardest song I had tried to play, I can tell you that confidently. It really took me a while to finally get it down, it had given me such a hard time, but sooner or later I got into the swing of things. I refused to give up until I played it perfectly.
"I remember still when I played the song for my parents for the first time, how my father's eyes lit up like starlight hearing me play it. My mother loved it too, of course, but my father had been completely enamored by it. Seeing that smile on his face, the greatest feeling washed over me," he smiled warmly at the memory before continuing.
"He'd always ask me to play it for him, and I always did. I had to have played it several times in one day at one point. It'd frustrate me a little that he asked so much, but I don't think I could ever say no to him. It was good practice too, after all, and I loved seeing his expression when he heard it."
Haddock noticed Tintin's expression slowly shifting from warm joy to silent sadness before he continued speaking.
"My father was a police officer, and a very good one. He always stood up for people and wanted to protect them from crooks. He really loved his job, and he loved Brussels."
The captain had heard enough sailor stories to understand where this was going. "What…happened to him?" He asked.
"I remember that day like it was just yesterday. I was sixteen. It had been a normal day like any other, or so it seemed. I was in my World History class taking a quiz when I was called to the office suddenly.
"That day, a small group of thugs had been harassing a college student on his way to class. My father had caught them while he was off duty. He always had lived by the saying 'Do at least one good deed every day.' I know he couldn't just stand there and let some innocent person get hurt, he was just that kind of person.
"From what the witnesses had claimed, he went in and pulled the thugs off of the young man, giving him a chance to run to safety. They apparently went into a full-on brawl, and Father had had the upper hand, or so it had appeared.
"One of them had feigned unconsciousness when he had hit them. So while he was attempting to subdue the other, the thug sneaked behind him and shanked him in the back. He stabbed him several more times while he was down and left him. He… he didn't make it to the hospital, the doctors said."
Haddock felt his eyes grow misty. Thieves! Ectoplasms! Rotten-fleshed snakes! he yelled in his head. Regaining his composure, he put a comforting hand on Tintin's shoulder.
"I'm…so sorry, Tintin," he uttered.
The redhead's eyes were also glistening, but he kept a brave face. "If he hadn't been there," he said with a shaky voice, "that student would have been killed. My father died doing what he lived for, to protect others. I'm…really proud of him when I think about it…
"After that," he suddenly continued, "I didn't play that song for quite some time. By that time I couldn't stand to play it for anyone else. It had become his song, something sacred between the two of us.
"I missed him terribly. The house just seemed so much quieter and emptier with just Mother and me. I missed his smile, his laugh, the way he ruffled my hair… I was quite miserable without him…
"It eventually became too much to bear. They say that, when you miss someone very much, it's best to remember the times that you had together that made you the happiest. And nothing, I knew, made him happier than when I played that song for him.
"And I did just that. I played the song; I made sure that it was to the utmost perfection. I wanted to make him proud, wherever he was. I played hard, and loud, and perfect. And it was all for him.
"I felt the biggest wave of relief wash over me then. Like a weight being lifted from my shoulders. I had finally found relief from my pain. I think…I think my missing him is like him asking me to play the song. So I'd play it whenever I missed him, whenever I got so lonely I couldn't stand it."
At that moment, it finally clicked in Haddock's head. "The song you were just playing…was that…his song?"
Tintin barely managed a tearful nod before the captain pulled him into a comforting embrace, his large arms holding the slight young man tightly.
It all made sense now, Haddock thought. It was why the boy was always putting his life on the line for people. It was why he'd go half-way around the world to save his friend on the mere whim of a dream.
It was why he'd help a depressed and drunken captain reclaim his honor and finally make something of himself.
Choking on his own restricted sobs, he said quietly, "I think if he were here, your father would be very proud of you."
Tintin silently sobbed into the captain's chest for a minute more before finally sitting up and picking his bow up from the floor where he dropped it earlier.
"What are you doing?" Haddock thought out loud.
"I think," the redhead began, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist, "he'd like an encore."
The captain took this as a cue and stood up to leave. "I-I guess I'll be going then—"
Haddock felt himself stopped by a gentle hand squeezing his shoulder. He turned to Tintin.
"N-no, it's fine," he spoke up, a small smile showing on his lips. "I don't think he would mind. After all, I haven't played for anyone else besides him and Snowy for a long time."
The younger man began playing again, now fully concentrated on the music. As he played himself into his own world, Haddock sat back down in his spot, listening in just as much awe and pure amazement as he had earlier.
It was an absolute honor to share their song.