The Star’s Cradle

by LadyoftheLounge

A little one off, a bit of an imagined Epilogue to The Shooting Star. Tintin has returned safely with the meteor, but in the stillness that follows, a few truths come to light.

The Star's Cradle

The men all stared in astonishment at the piece of metal - that piece of metal they had sailed so long for, searched so thoroughly for, fought so hard for, that piece of metal that had just inflated a large mushroom and blown it up in their faces, and knocked them all sprawling to the deck. It was a circle of bewilderment and silence.

"Is everyone alright?" Exclaimed the pilot of the sea plane as he rose up out of the cockpit. He had turned his back to do some housekeeping on the controls, and missed the fantastical mushroom emerging then combusting from the meteorite. He saw for himself that everyone was alive if frazzled, but concerned for what may have caused the ruckus, he stayed where he was; the Peary, after all, had made many attempts to thwart the Aurora's expedition, so who's to say they weren't still at it?

"Thundering typhoons, what was that?" Muttered Captain Haddock, rubbing his neck. He had smacked it on the side railing in his attempt to get clear of the strange swell.

"Yes, heavens, what's the meaning of this?" Followed Phostle. They all turned to Tintin, who still lay on the plane's wing like a warily sunning lizard.

"Yes, well, er," he began, trying to figure out how to explain what he had observed on the meteorite without coming off as a total lunatic. "While I was there, I saw things grow."

"Grow?" Asked Haddock.

"Yes, grow. There were mushrooms, and a spider, a moth, and some enormous apple trees sprouted too."

"You're sure they were apple trees?"

Inquired Phostle.

"That's the question you're asking?" Exclaimed Haddock in astonishment.

"Yes, it was an apple tree, it had apples that all fell off. One hit me in the head, too, I think. I wondered if I'd dreamt it all, but... I guess not."

"Remarkable... and you're sure the trees were not already fully formed? They grew before you?" He said, as he and the other scientists rose to their feet. Haddock rose as well, and helped Tintin off the plane wing.

"I'm positive. I think they came from the apple seeds in my provisions."

"And how big were these apples?"

Tintin showed a quick estimate of the circumference with his arms.

"Extraordinary. Truly, extraordinary! Rapid growth of organic matter - what's more, unusually large growth too! Think of it, we could use this to end world hunger!"

"Or start wars!" Shot Haddock. "You're not telling me you're thinking of sending the starving children of the world exploding apples! Wait a minute..." he slowly edged away from Tintin, "you touched it, you're not telling me you're going to grow and explode?"

"Oh, crumbs, I hadn't thought of that!"

"HIT THE DECK!" Exclaimed Haddock, and he and the other scientists, save for Bolero, dove away, Tintin himself crouching into a little ball as if he could contain his own blast. The seaplane pilot ducked into the cockpit.

"Gentlemen, Señors, be reasonable!" Chuckled Bolero. "Tintin, did anything else explode?"

"N...no," said Tintin, everything from the top of his nose to his tip of his quiff poking up from his little ball. "Only the mushrooms, I suppose"

"Señors, it's simple! Many varieties of fungi explode to distribute their spores - I've never heard of people doing that! This enlarged mushroom simply retains the attributes of its smaller form! Besides, the process doesn't seem take too long, si? If Tintin were to combust, it would've happened by now!"

"A-ah, yes, I see." Said Phostle. "Yes, that does make sense." The men all returned to standing, their faces flushed in embarrassment. Haddock burst out laughing.

"Ha-ha! What asses we've made of ourselves!"

A little trepidatiously, the other men chuckled along. Tintin still stared down at the metal, even when the laughter around him grew comfortable and whole-hearted. Haddock slapped him on the back, and he gave a small smile, without breaking his empty, solemn forward gaze.

"Incredible! Phenomenal!" Phostle crossed over the meteorite and shook Tintin's hand with both of his. "This could be the greatest scientific discovery ever! I cannot thank you enough!"

"Oh, it was nothing." Said Tintin, breaking from his blank stare to give a nod and a smile.

"When we get back home, I say, we'll have a mighty celebration! A great party! Jolly merrymaking!" He hobbled into a jig around his rock, the other scientists joining in with cheers and claps.

"If it's put on by a bunch of scientists, I doubt it'll be much of a party." Haddock murmured to Tintin. "Go to a party of sailors, and, well, that'll be something to remember. Or not remember, depending on how much you drink."

So long as there's food, I'll be happy! Thought Snowy. Congruently, Tintin's stomach roared quite loudly, enough so that the red of embarrassment returned to his face. The rest of the scientists, who were prodding and examining their treasured meteor with great enthusiasm and chatter, ignoring completely the rest of the world, didn't pay much mind to this, but of course Haddock noticed. He returned down from his bantering into sensibilities.

"Right, I'm sure you'll need some good recuperation." He suggested.

Tintin gave a small smile. "I'm alright, mostly. Just a bit peckish, I'll admit."

"Really? You seem exhausted too." Indeed, Tintin's eyes were ladened with dark circles, that clung to the bottom of them like water drops selfishly clinging to twigs after a long-worn rain. But in response those same eyes blinked and smiled as if they were of a sunny day, as Tintin said, "no, I'm fine." Their practiced charming glint was so perfectly reassuring that Haddock began to wonder if his mind was playing tricks on him, and the weariness he saw so definitely was nothing more than an illusion.

But it was very real. It was no secret that Tintin hadn't slept well on the boat, either due to its tossing about in Haddock's "light draught," or, what regular folk would call it, a tempest, or due to the frequent interference from their rivals the Peary. But what was not quite so public knowledge was, not only had he missed good quality sleep while marooned on the meteor, but also leading up to the trip, before the ship even set sail. It started when the hurtling star first emerged in its unobstructed sky, he of course didn't sleep well through the sticky heat, fear over the end of the world, and strange, calamity-soaked dreams. But even after doomsday passed as no more than a false alarm, and in the wake of the discovery of Phostellite, Tintin still worked tirelessly to prepare for the trip. He had to get approval from his boss, the head of Le Petite Vingtième, the newspaper he worked for, to go on the expedition, and had to stand by and monitor very quietly the process of getting the ship and crew; as much faith as Tintin had in Haddock, it was still up in the air how much of his life he'd gotten back together. Scientists are a very paranoid bunch, and demanded great scrutiny out of Tintin if they were to use his new friend, his formerly drunkard and reprobate friend, his let-his-whole-crew-smuggle-drugs-under-his-nose friend, as their captain. As much faith as Tintin had in Haddock, that faith was not something he could share, so he nonetheless had to make sure everything went perfectly. As he predicted Haddock had everything under control, but it was nonetheless his burden to double-check everything.

So no, Tintin was not "quite alright." He was tired and stressed, and expecting even more sleepless nights to come. Regardless, he affirmed his friend of the opposite.

Haddock frowned. He didn't really get Tintin yet. He hadn't known him long enough, so despite the warm and welcoming front the young man always had up, Haddock suspected some other aspect of him that was hidden away. Tintin just seemed perfectly poised, carefully controlled in character; Haddock in curiosity had tracked down newspapers with the articles he'd written about his adventures, and he was so articulate, so daring, so inquisitive. Haddock knew there had to be something else going on - of course quite a bit of this just stemmed from his own self-doubt, the seed he'd planted, the question as to why someone like Tintin insisted on extending a hand to someone like Haddock, who was such an absolutely useless mess in their first encounter. He didn't once consider there was some malicious intent on Tintin's part, far from it, it was only that doubtful surprise we all feel from time to time in the face of unprecedented compassion. But it still wasn't Haddock's insecurities that were noticing that Tintin, all the time, seeping through the youthful energy, had an air of sadness. But Haddock didn't know where it came from, or if it even existed at all, and wasn't just him projecting his own little rain cloud on someone else's day.

All Haddock could say was, "Well, let's get you some breakfast then."

.

.

.

It was about a week later; the Aurora was still on her homeward journey, pushing along through the cold sea steadily and reliantly. Everyone had gone from a singular unit, fully cooperative and compatible in its one goal of reaching the meteor, to being sequestered off and separated, retreating into their own little circles. There was quite a bit of secrecy, though certainly no tension, everyone just had distinct business to attend to, that was neither the concern nor care of anyone else. The scientists were all glued to the piece if metal like dogs to a forthcoming biscuit, and Haddock and the crew, not the types eager to be babbled to by a bunch of academics, kept to the chores of the ship, which the scientists had neither the stamina nor fortitude to participate in. It was a mutual agreement that everyone would just stick to what they were good at, and there wasn't much room for mingling in that arrangement.

Tintin particularly seemed outside of things, despite the uviversally wandering observer he was. He could go about and talk to everybody on board that day and still have no place amongst it all. Quite frequently he was hidden away in his own room for hours, then he'd emerge, take a walk upon the deck, clearly lost in thought, only to retreat once again.

"I just wonder what that child is up to some times." Said Phostle once, in one of his few conversations with Haddock. "But I fear I'd hurt his pride if I asked. He seems so bright, yet so much of him doesn't shine through."

"I suppose." Was all Haddock could say in reply.

"I haven't the faintest where he's really come from, and who is looking after him. This boy just showed up out of the blue, he was nothing but a concerned and curious stranger, the type who passes through my doors all the time. Yet he latched on to one of the greatest scientific expeditions in history like it was nothing, like it was just a trip to the grocery store he had to get done. Most normal people would've had a life that kept them on land, away from this, but this is his life. Curious, he seems so young."

Haddock let out a thoughtful hum. He hadn't thought of it like that before. He looked disengaged, and to tell the truth he was busy trying to chart the course, and the professor was distracting him - though not by making conversation itself, but by putting thoughts in his mind about the reporter that were puzzling and demanding attention, swarming around in his headspace like a rogue housefly.

"Tell me, Captain, how long have you known him?"

"Not very."

"Has he any family?"

"None that he talks about."

"I see." Phostle turned quite suddenly. "Captain, you'd better look after him, then!"

Haddock blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Someone's got to do it. I get the impression that boy'll someday break his neck or something, because no one was there to keep him from leaping off into danger."

Haddock was flummoxed at the sudden request. In truth Haddock did care for Tintin, though at this point it was out of gratitude for saving him from his slump; he didn't think he even had the capacity to take on such a guardian role, but even then the question of if it was even necessary put some indigence in him on Tintin's behalf.

"I don't know," he bellowed, "he seems to be doing fine on his own. It would be unreasonable of me to meddle in his life like that."

"Oh, you're right." Said a dejected Phostle, who was as well aware as anyone that his people skills were not what they should be, and so was quickly won over with the thesis that he was in the wrong.

And yet, that night, it was all Haddock could think about, as he steered his vessel through the windy surging sea.

He's his own person. He thought. He's doing just fine! As a matter of fact, he's far more successful than I was at his age.

But despite this self assurance, Haddock couldn't justify it against all the questions he had. Why was Tintin alone? Why had he cared about this at all? Why had he chosen this profession, his way of doing it, that was so dangerous, and put his life on the line when he had so much of it left to live?

"Blistering Barnacles!" He shouted out loud. He felt ridiculous. As a sailor, you never questioned the people who came aboard your ship. The only question was if they could follow orders, if they could do their job, and past that any old secret could wallow there and nobody would give it mind. You didn't ask your crew where they came from, you didn't ask your passengers where they were going, you just sailed.

But Haddock was beginning to see that way of thinking was what got him in that dark hole, what let Allen and the others go behind his back, what forced Tintin to come in and fix it all.

But he wasn't forced to do anything. His thoughts interjected. So why?

"Typhoons, At the very least I can check up on him."

Haddock signaled for another crew member to take his place at the helm, and he lumbered off to Tintin's cabin.

This is pointless, he thought, knocking at the door anyways. He'll be asleep, and I've just woken him up.

But Tintin was not asleep. He wasn't even in his room.

"Where has he gone to?" Haddock exclaimed.

He hustled about the misty and rocking ship, looking for Tintin. Eventually he found him in the dining room; it was dimly lit, only granted warm clarity by a single lantern. In the gradient darkness the table seemed to stretch beyond its natural length, lined along its warped sides were chairs now empty of any souls who had used them before. Not even ghosts could be imagined occupying them, as unquestionably bare and eerily and neatly tucked beneath the table they were. Tintin seemed so very small at the far end of the table, hunched over a typewriter with various papers spread in front of him, pinpricked as a lone orange ornament upon the sheet of darkness that backed him.

"Tintin!" Haddock said. The reporter looked up, surprised.

"Oh, hello Captain."

"What are you doing here this late? Shouldn't you be asleep?" He said, crossing the shadowy room.

Tintin stretched. "I wish I could be."

"Where's Snowy?"

"Sleeping in my cabin."

Haddock huffed. "The dog's got more sense than his master then. But why are you up?"

"I've got quite a bit of work to do."

"What work? The expedition's over, you've got nothing to do but relax." Haddock pulled out and sat in the chair to the left of him.

"Not for me, unfortunately." Tintin said. "I've got my articles to write. My editor wants them back as soon as we dock, and, well, I couldn't work on them until all the fuss and confrontations were over, because I had to focus on what was going on around me."

"But articles are short, aren't they? It shouldn't take too long."

"No, mine are usually on the lengthier side. I have to chronicle the whole adventure! Besides, I'm also... a bit of a perfectionist."

"Really?"

He chuckled. "It's not a great combination, I know. I just want to get everything right, it's almost compulsive"

"Why?" Haddock finally asked. "You just like impressing the public?"

"No, I-" Tintin's smile dropped. He sighed. "I just... well, there was one expedition I went on, to the Congo."

"Yes, I read that one."

"I - well, I went in with a bit of bias. The newspaper wanted me to fly in, report on how well the colonies were doing and give nothing else, and, well, I did. But I missed so much of the bigger picture, I know I saw that they weren't nice places after all, but I never wrote about that. It didn't bother me until after the fact, after I left and couldn't do anything about it anymore - how many people I just affirmed that bias in, how many people would never know or never care because I never told them to. So now, I don't leave anything out, or get anything wrong, or, I try to anyways." He flared his nose and sniffed it. "I know it's probably unreasonable of me, I don't think I'm all that well known or influential. It's just... someone's got to tell it how it is, and I think that's me."

Haddock was a bit lost for words. While he had no definitive predictions he never thought that would be something on his new friend's mind, and yet Tintin was not hiding it, but instead being quite open on the matter. It wasn't him being secretive or reclusive, it seemed he simply had no one before to talk to.

"So you haven't rested at all?" Haddock asked.

Tintin sat and thought about it. "I've taken a walk or two to clear my mind, and I'll have a shut-eye every so often, but no, I don't think I've taken a long break."

"That can't be good for you. You might faint again, or something!"

Tintin shrugged. "I work well all in one go. I'll be able to rest once we're on land and my article is turned in to be published. Although, Phostle will want me at his party so there's that too."

Haddock frowned. He wasn't the type to tell someone they didn't know what was best for themselves, regardless of how much he disliked their modus operandi, but he was all in all unconvinced by Tintin's remarks, that what he was doing was somehow fine. He could see in the boy's eyes, their flickering strain, the glassy reflections that coated them like a consuming frost, that regardless of what was best for his work ethic, Tintin was wearing himself thin.

"Would you like to take a break now?" Haddock proposed, as the only solution he had the power to produce in this situation.

Tintin blinked. As Haddock was unused to mediating, Tintin likewise was unused to being mediated, and even though this was offered as a rather casual question, it did strike him to be in that form. Tintin did not want to take a break, he had a lot of work to do, some still self-imposed, but nonetheless equally important in his mind. Had Tintin known Haddock better as he would in times to come, he would have stubbornly retorted, "do I have a choice?" But the appeal was so unexpected and genuine, that in Tintin's mind the rejection of it would just be rude, because if Tintin didn't grasp entirely how he personally wanted to respond, he defaulted on rules of politeness, and if a friend was offering some company, and your only protest was your own figment of an agenda, it was not very cordial to refuse them.

"I suppose I could take a minute off." Tintin thus said. "My neck has gotten a bit stiff, I'll admit." This was true, but it was something Tintin normally would've ignored until the work was done. He did his best to stretch and keep fit, but there were just some stress-born cricks and knots that such regiments could not wring out.

"Well then, we'd better get you out of those wooden chairs, then!" Boomed Haddock, admittedly feeling elated that his words had their success. He leapt up from his chair.

"Captain, don't you have things to do?" Tintin asked, following Haddock in rising, though a bit less enthused.

"Like what?" Asked Haddock, in a brief bought of blankness.

"Steering the ship?" Tintin asked acerbically.

"Oh, no, I stationed someone else! They're fine with taking command for now." He said. Despite never exercising it before, being a friend was suddenly feeling very natural to him, even if half of it was the excitement at the novelty of being good at something like this. Haddock half expected Tintin to lash out at his recommendation, so having him go along, however skeptical, was a pleasant victory to Haddock. After discovering Allen's treachery he had begun to doubt his ability as a captain to bring unquestioned unity and camaraderie in a group of people, and while this expedition had eased his mind on that matter, it was like a second consolation to discover another, more individual way of connecting with someone, a power he neither knew he possessed nor needed before. So he lead the way in high spirits, Tintin close behind, feeling almost as cheerful as he did when the news came in that Tintin and the sea plane pilot survived their ordeal and safely secured a piece of the shooting star - if not, even more so.

.

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.

"Captain! What about the S.S.S?" Tintin admonished Haddock as he pulled a bottle of whiskey from his cabinet.

"Eh, I got a telegram, they're gonna kick me out once we return to land." He said nonchalantly, unscrewing the cap and pouring a glass.

"That's terrible!" Tintin said. "You think they weren't keen on all those whiskey crates you had hauled on at the send-off?"

"Maybe? Who's to say. I was going to quit anyways, so I didn't really mind."

"What happened to getting sober?" Tintin asked, though more from curiosity than accusation. Haddock seemed to be doing alright, besides, in a weird way, Tintin was fond of the habit, since Haddock gained an heap of courage whenever he had alcohol on his breath.

"I don't think drinkin' was my problem." He said boldly.

"What was?" Tintin asked. Haddock gestured to a second glass with the bottle, wordlessly asking Tintin if he wanted any, which he too silently declined with a raising of his hand.

"Well, that's more complicated, I guess." Haddock said, sitting down across from Tintin. "When you first set out on a boat you're as happy as can be. I still remember myself, the young sailor I was, pacing the deck and staring out smiling upon the sprawling sea. But," he paused, and furrowed his brows, "if I'm being blunt, you get bored so easily. Don't get me wrong, lad, I love the sea, and I always will, but there's only so much she can offer ya when you're out with her for months on end. And the crew themselves - faces come and go, disaster strikes, and you... lose people, so you can't get attached to anyone. Soon it just becomes the same routine in the same scenery with faceless strangers; you can go mad if you don't find something to do."

"So you drank."

Haddock scoffed with the indigence of his seafaring heart, as the whiskey lightly took hold. "Oh, I've always drinked!" He protested.

"Drunk." Tintin quietly corrected.

"What did you call me?" He asked, in good humor but with no less intensity.

"No! I was... it was your grammar, sorry."

"My grammar makes you think I'm a drunk?"

"No, no! It's... drunk is the past tense of drink, I was just... forget it."

Haddock laughed and laughed until he sighed, sinking into his chair. "Yes, I drank. I drank too much. I drank because I was bored, I drank because I was alone, I drank because... I trusted Allen."

Tintin raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't like him, or anything. Of course, I didn't dislike him either. But he was a good worker, a salt-of-the-earth type, so I thought, and I was over it all, so..."

"You let him take over." Tintin said, quietly.

"My problem was I'm a fool." He put his head in his hands. His voice became deep, gruff, sad, like that of a weary, worn old man with many more years than he had, one not too far off from sinking to the bottom of the sea to rest with long since submerged and decaying vessels. "I'm a terrible fool, who's easily shaken and quick to go complacent. I'm not... fit to be a captain."

"Don't say that, captain!" Tintin said. "You did a first-rate job here!"

Haddock chuckled. "Yes, this was the best I've felt in a while, I'll admit. It was like I was that young sailor all over again." He breathed deeply and smiled with his eyes closed, as if he were feeling the sea breeze on his face at that moment. But then his eyes opened back up to the quiet scene, and in catching Tintin's sympathetic expression, he regained his casual energy. "I don't know what changed for this one."

"Maybe it was traveling with someone you knew?" Tintin asked, though his eyes widened soon after, not wanting to have arrogantly taken credit for Haddock's recovery, and added on, "or, it was the excitement of the scientific discovery!"

Haddock let out a thoughtful humph, and a light chortle at the thought of how excited those scientists had been over that rock. But then his thoughts were spurred on by the first question.

Maybe it was traveling with someone you knew.

Haddock looked at Tintin, and some power came over him - maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was the whispers of the mischievous surging sea - but he finally spoke what had been on his mind.

"Tintin, why am I here?" He asked.

Tintin stared at him blankly. He thought it was perhaps a second wave of self doubt, and not that old one that had been churning for so long. "Why, you're the captain of the ship! It's you're occupation, it's-"

"But why this ship? Why this expedition?" He leaned forward over his arms, which were folded upon his knees. "Why did you bring me here? How could you trust me for this?"

Tintin was taken aback, and was unable to produce words, so Haddock carried on.

"I was a miserable wreck when you found me. I had no honor, no dignity, no stability at all. I had no part in the defeat of Allen, I stood by and shriveled while you carried the load, and yet you've brought me here. So why? Did you... pity me?"

"No! No, no, no, heavens no! You pulled yourself back together so quickly, it couldn't be!"

"Then what was it? If I was all better, and that case was all closed, why did you stick around? You've traveled the globe beyond the seaports, have seen incredible things, will see more in your long lifetime, so why have you stuck by a man like me?"

Tintin had gone from stunned befuddlement to quietly and carefully contemplating the reasoning. He came upon an astounding revelation.

"It's... the same as you."

"What?"

"The same as what started your problem."

"But that's not possible, you have a whole different life, a whole different job! You've never been stuck in the nautical world, imprisoned upon the deck of a ship -" Tintin raised an eyebrow, and Haddock remembered what had gotten Tintin to him in the first place, "well, not all the time anyways. You can go see whatever you please!"

"I've never really -" he started, then paused, looking down at his hands, the perfectionist he was, trying to make the right words. "I've always had my foot out the door. It's one location, then on to the next, one adventure, then on to another. Even my apartment doesn't feel like a permanent home, because even though I always return to it, I'm always launching off to somewhere else. I love it, I really do. My editor told me I could stay in one spot and work from there if I wanted, that I was a good enough writer to cover any topic I wanted, however mundane, but I don't think I could. I always have to be somewhere else, I always have to see something new, but..." he looked up. "It's lonely. Instead of others coming and going, it's me. Even if I do befriend anyone, at home or abroad, no matter how..." he trailed off as he remembered someone particular he'd grown fond of and had to leave behind, "strong that bond is, sooner or later I had to move on, and they would became nothing more than characters in a newspaper article I turned in as soon as I got back. But it's selfish, I know, that I... picked you, because, well, I thought if you were a sailor, then you were the first person I might not have to leave behind, because you would be able to come with me." There was a long silence. Tintin looked back down at his hands. "But if you wouldn't want to, of course I understand."

Haddock stared quietly. Once again Tintin's bountiful honesty had caught him off guard, and he realized a big mistake he had made, that everyone was making.

Tintin was a remarkably talented and lively soul. He embarked upon journeys men in their full height and strength would not dare touch, and handled all that came his way with unprecedented ingenuity and sharpness. Haddock, and everyone else, had seen him as this hero reporter, a brave adventurer, an intrepid champion of truth and justice, but that wasn't who was sitting in front of him now.

This was a child. A child who was lonely, tired and lost, who knew much more solemnity and isolation than any old man Haddock's own weathered voice could imitate. He seemed to have more regrets from his few years than any man should in his entire lifetime. It was unsure if that did all stem from his loneliness, or if there were greater horrors he'd endured - after all, one could only imagine how rattled a mind could become after being by yourself on a strange and mutating rock from space, let alone living a lifetime with equal dangerous unpredictability.

At first he had been perplexed by Phostle's interjection, but now it made sense.

Captain, you'd better look after him, then!

"Then it's settled!" Haddock roared, almost more in response to the memory of the professor than Tintin's own speech. Tintin looked almost frightened when Haddock slapped his knee, as if he had instead pointed a gun at the boy. "You've got your problem, I've got mine, seems like we both have the fix for the other's!"

"I suppose."

"Starting - " He stood up. "with getting you some sleep."

"Oh, Captain, no, this break was lovely but I really do need to get back to work."

"Nonsense!" He said, moving across the room to open the door. Tintin too stood up, though mostly from adrenaline-fueled confusion. "You have plenty of time. We've got about a week until we reach port, and I won't have any of my crew fainting until then! You'd better go off to your cabin and sleep, now, or I'll throw you overboard in the morning!"

Tintin blinked in confusion, then laughed, picking up on the jest. "Aye-aye, Captain." He said. Nothing else had to be. It was a steady, singular communication between the two, that spoke, unanimously, let's put our lives back together.

Tintin didn't have to follow Haddock's orders. He didn't have to get a full night's sleep, and wake the next morning with such a refreshed and refined mind that he polished the rest of the article in one day and never touched it again till after they were docked and he was handing it in to the editor. Likewise, Haddock didn't have to stay awake all night in the dining room guarding the enervating typewriter to ensure Tintin would not return in the night. He didn't have to quit the S.S.S. before they could formally lay him off. He didn't have to insist that Tintin forgo Phostle's outrageous party to get some proper sleep, and Tintin didn't have to oblige. But then again, Haddock didn't have to stay a sea captain, and Tintin didn't have to be a globe-hopping reporter.

Like the shooting star that had long since sunk into its oceanic cradle, all the madness and confusion was submerged, and they had reached a basic level of comfort in knowing they finally had one constant in eachother. As the ocean waves will weather the sides of the resting meteor, layers were no doubt poised to be stripped away. Haddock would grow frustrated with Tintin's constant risking of his neck, and Tintin wouldn't care for Haddock's reckless temper in the more delicate situations. But neither of them had to put up with it, yet they did.

Because they were both finally, truly, quite alright.

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FIN