Further recollections of something Tintin would rather forget...
...
Tintin found the strength from that word to drag his conscious self back from blessed oblivion. He grasped onto the knowledge that he was not alone, that there was someone with him that hurt just as bad, was just as horrified. Someone who could give comfort.
Slowly he pushed himself around until he could face his friend. He had managed to calm his sobs somewhat, but as he beheld the Captain's countenance, began to cry again.
Haddock was on his knees, one hand clenched around the bar so hard that the entire skin was white from the bones jutting from the tight flesh. The other hand was stretched out toward Tintin, the hand entreating. But it was the tears that were streaming down the other man's face that caught at Tintin, making his heart lurch within his chest.
He crawled toward that hand, felt it clasp his shoulder, help him to slide closer. Finally he was within the reach of both arms and he lay there, pressed as close to the bars as physically possible and just sobbed, the Captain both sobbing with him and trying to reassure him at the same time. Tintin could feel the other man's hands rubbing and soothing his back, cupping his head, gripping him firmly.
Gradually they both calmed each other, and slowly Tintin began to climb a bit higher out of the pit he'd found himself in.
Sitting up a little, he had given the Captain a very watery smile and received one in return. Feeling a shiver take hold of him, he realized that the cold had sunk to his very bones, every inch of skin covered in goose bumps.
With assistance and encouragement from the Captain, he had managed to crawl over and grab what clothes he could reach, with the exception of one shoe that had been flung to land by the cell door – a distance that seemed like miles.
Again with the older man's help, he began to dress himself, feeling more human with each piece of clothing he put on. Even his tears were beginning to dry.
He couldn't sit, but knelt beside the Captain and began to plan their next step. Only their options were quite limited. They really weren't sure if the warden would care, let alone take any disciplinary action. And though Snowy was loose somewhere, there was no one the dog could go to and get help.
It was with great reluctance that they decided to wait for morning and hope that some salvation would present itself.
Tintin had glanced around the meager confines of his cell and his gaze fell on his lonely shoe, sitting by itself.
At least he could do that – get his shoe back and be his whole entire self again. He began to pull himself up the bars, feeling the Captain's hands supporting him until he was standing on very shaky legs. He recalled the Captain questioning him about the necessity of getting the shoe and responding quite determinedly that he wanted the shoe, he was going to get the shoe and nothing was going to stop him.
Bar by bar he moved toward the front of the cell, Haddock beside him the entire time. He had swayed with each step and more than once he'd started to crumple, but had only grasped the bars tighter, bit his lip and kept going.
When he reached the corner, he stood for some time gathering his strength about him, knowing the Captain wouldn't be there to lend his support. But the other man never stopped giving Tintin his vocal support, encouraging and applauding every tiny movement the youth made as he lurched along until he reached the cell door, getting closer to his shoe.
Both of them cried out as the cell door swung wide, overbalancing Tintin and sending him tumbling out into the corridor. He'd lain there stunned for a bit, then heaved himself onto his hands and knees, turned and stared at the Captain.
The guards had forgotten to close it securely.
…
