Not a very nice time for our young man…

…

Immediately he found a very worried Snowy right outside. The dog rushed in and opened its mouth to give a concerned bark and then stopped. Tintin could swear the animal's eyes crossed a bit, and Snowy gave a couple of dry coughs.

"Yeah I know, smells rather bad, doesn't it?" he whispered in apology. Stepping into his bedroom he made sure to shut the bathroom door firmly.

Crossing over to the small hallway between his bedroom and the living room he stood there a moment. Peering around the corner, he found his friend sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fire place. Shutting the bedroom door and then the hall door, he moved over to sit in the adjoining chair.

"How you feeling, lad? You definitely are lookin' rather pale." The older man asked, giving Tintin an appraising gaze.

Tintin replied with a shrug, pulling his lips to one side. "Made it to the sink, but barely. Should be done though, since I got rid of everything." Glancing up at his friend from beneath his eyelashes, he hesitated for a moment. "And I do mean everything. As you can see, I'm wearing just a towel. My clothes are…well, soiled. I didn't just…throw-up."

"Ah. I see. Hmmm, you don't have a change of clothes here, do you?"

"No. Everything's at Marlinspike Hall. Probably should have kept something here for emergencies, but never thought this might happen…"

Smiling back at him, Haddock reached out a hand and patted him on the shoulder. "Tell you what my boy, I'll run home, grab a set of clothes and then come back quick as a whistle, how's that sound?"

"Like a plan, Captain!"

"Do you want me to pick you up anything else, laddie?"

Tintin gave it a thought, but he was sure he'd be fine.

"No, I'll be okay."

He wasn't okay. Within a few minutes after his older friend left he was back in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet and craning his neck to throw up in the sink. And twenty five minutes after that he was doing the same thing.

Even though his stomach was practically empty, it was determined to clean itself out to the very last ounce. Over and over his abdomen cramped, his lower belly doing the same.

On the third go round, he decided he might as well get the bucket from under the sink and take it into the bathroom, as his neck was beginning to develop quite the kink in it. Apparently this illness wasn't over yet and was just going to have to run its course.

Between the bouts of sickness, he curled up on top of his bed. He knew how long it took to get from town to the estate, and the Captain wasn't due back for at least another half hour if not longer, depending on traffic. And if his illness continued at the rate it was going, there was no way he'd be able to make the drive from his apartment back to Marlinspike without becoming sick again in the car.

So that meant he'd have to stay here. Sighing, he wondered if he could have the landlady go out and get him something to drink. Water wasn't going to cut it and he had nothing with which to make tea. Though actually what he really wanted was a lemon-lime soda, warm and flat. Nothing settled a stomach so nicely. Some crackers would be nice, too.

As he lay there he felt the by now familiar tell-tale signs of another round. Curling his lip he stubbornly refused to move. He was sick of being sick. Maybe if he just lay there and didn't move…

A minute later and he was moving.

After flushing the toilet and rinsing out the pail, he stepped back into the bedroom only to hear a voice from the other room.

"Tintin? I'm back my boy."

"Captain! That was fast." He replied, entering his living room.

"Aye! Might have driven a wee bit faster than I should. How are you feeling? Any better?" The older man's blue eyes peered at him with worry.

Tintin shrugged. "Not really, still being sick. Something's got a hold of me but good."

Stepping close, Haddock laid the back of his hand against Tintin's brow. "Hmmm, no fever, that's a good thing. You have a headache at all, laddie, or feeling weak?"

Sitting in the chair, the youth shook his head. "No, a bit tired, that's all."

"Well, you just go get changed and I'll get you back home." The Captain replied assuredly.

Smiling lightly, Tintin shook his head again. "No, I don't think so. I've been sick pretty regularly, seems to be about twenty five minutes apart. And since it's still coming out…er…both ends, don't think I really want to be too far from a bathroom. If I was just tossing up, maybe – could pull over – but instead…"

"Ahhh, understand." His friend stood there for a moment. "Perhaps I should have brought you your pajama's instead."

"Actually, a robe would have been nicer. Wait!" he announced, stopping the man as he turned around. "The towel's working fine; you don't need to go all the way back to the estate. But there is something you can get for me, if you'd like?"

"Of course, of course, anything you need, my boy, just tell me."

A minute later and the older man had left to go to the grocers. And a few minutes later Tintin was once more in the bathroom.

…

Tintin sipped at the drink in his hand. It was a bit fizzy, but at least it was warm. And wet. Deliciously wet. Putting down the glass he nibbled on another cracker.

Haddock had returned with Tintin's required soft drink, saltine crackers and tea, along with dog food for Snowy. And a robe. Tintin had laughed at that, trust his friend to go above and beyond.

He had thrown up once again before the older man had come back, and had decided that perhaps something in his stomach might settle it. He had taken the glass of soda and box of crackers to his table and was sitting there eating and drinking slowly.

Swallowing a bite of saltine, Tintin suddenly sat up straight, his eyes widening. Once more he found himself running to the bathroom and this time he didn't quite make it. Obviously putting food in wasn't the answer. At least this time he'd only thrown up.

Wiping at a spot that had missed the sink, he heard a noise behind him. "Here, let me do that lad. Why don't you go lay down for a bit?"

Tintin bowed his head. He was tired and lying down sounded good. But he'd made this mess…

"Go on, son."

"Thank you." He murmured and made his way to the bed. Pulling back the covers but keeping his new robe on, he slid in. Closing his eyes he hoped he'd fall asleep and stay that way. Hearing the Captain finish he followed the sound of the older man tiptoeing across his room and then gently pulling the door until it was slightly ajar.

Twenty five minutes later…

And twenty five minutes after that…

And two and a half hours later…

Tintin flopped down on the bed. Lord but he was so tired of being sick. He just wanted to fall asleep. That was the worst part – the time between bouts was just enough to allow him to almost fall asleep, only to be brought back to full consciousness by the knowledge that he was going to be sick again. Sometimes he got out of bed right away, but there were other times when he tried to talk himself out of it, only to leap out of bed before he vomited on the sheets.

At least one good thing had occurred. His lower end had finally shut itself off. But even though his stomach had nothing in it, it was still heaving up the thin orange bile. And was giving no indication of stopping soon.

Sighing with frustration, he levered himself up and trudged out into the living room, to fall into a heap in the chair.

Haddock looked over at him from where he was reading a novel. "How you doing my boy? Sure you don't want me to get a doctor?"

Tintin shook his head. The Captain was becoming quite concerned with the longevity of the youth's illness and had tried to convince Tintin that perhaps he should be examined. But Tintin had stubbornly refused. From time to time the older man had come in to his room, to check his forehead for a fever or to gently rub Tintin's aching back – sore from throwing up so much.

"This will pass…eventually. Surely I can't throw up forever." He stated tiredly, making a lame attempt at humor. A large yawn took control of him.

If he could just sleep, he'd be fine. That and drink, he really wanted to guzzle the left over soda, knowing it was now at the right temperature and flatness, but aware his stomach would rebel most ferociously.

"If you insist, but this goes much longer and I'm over-riding your obstinate need to be in control. You're sick lad, very sick."

"Mmmm." Tintin agreed listlessly. Shifting his position, he leaned his head against the corner of the chair. On one hand he wished to be alone and suffer through this on his own. But on the other hand he was quite grateful and rather touched that his friend had stayed with him. There wasn't much for the man to do, but knowing he wasn't alone was rather comforting.

Opening his eyes he noticed Haddock observing him, his expression anxious, blue eyes narrowed and brows furrowed.

Rousing himself a bit, he managed a smile. "I'll be all right, Archie. Thanks for staying with me. You really don't have to, you know."

"Barnacles boy, do you think I'd leave you like this?" The Captain growled, scowling at him.

"No-oo."

"All right then. Nothing you wouldn't do yourself if things were reversed, now – would you?"

Tintin had no choice but to nod, of course he'd stay if it was the other way around. Sighing with contentment he settled a little further into the chair. Only to rouse a few minutes later to return once more to the bathroom.

God he was so tired of throwing up.

…