Twenty One: 'You're Safe Now'

A/N: Set between 'Red Rackham's Treasure' and 'The Seven Crystal Balls'.

Even though these kidnappings were almost a daily part of Tintin's routine, they never got any less frightening.

If anything, they had become something of a nuisance. It was becoming quite irritating trying to run errands or spend a day at the market when he kept getting chloroformed or knocked on the head. It's a wonder I don't have brain damage by this point.

Letting out an irritated sigh, he shuffled irritably in his bonds. Even though the knots around his wrists weren't as tight as he'd initially expected, the ones that restrained his chest to the pole were enough to ensure he wasn't going anywhere. He was quite cross at how these kidnappers had treated him, considering what he'd been subjected to previously. At least the others had the decency to offer me a chair! Plus, these are probably the scratchiest ropes I've ever been tied with.

Part of him couldn't believe he was actually criticising his own kidnappers. I really need to stop getting into these situations.

He'd been glad that these kidnappers hadn't gagged him straight away, for it meant he actually got a rare opportunity to interrogate them further. Unfortunately, once they'd decided to phone the police and demand a ransom, then the tape had been magically produced and roughly forced over his lips. He could taste the residue on his tongue, and it made him nauseous. Can't believe I'd prefer a handkerchief…

With his method of bargaining taken away and no one willing to talk at him, he'd resigned himself to leaning idly against the pole, trying to ignore how his legs gradually began to protest holding his weight for such a long period of time. They weren't very exciting kidnappers, either; they'd been seated on upturned crates on the far side of the warehouse playing a game of poker ever since they gagged him.

For a while, he wasn't even one hundred percent sure why they'd abducted him - he'd been so busy helping the Captain to move into Marlinspike and settle the legal documentation that he hadn't had the time to investigate any gangs for months. Just my luck, isn't it…

But as soon as he saw Allan walk through the side door to the warehouse, his heart froze.

Allan had given him a very detailed account of how he'd come to be there, though Tintin did miss most of it due to trying to regain his breath after being repeatedly punched in the stomach. From the little information his brain had managed to obtain, Allan's drug-smuggling business was beginning to go under, and this was a last-ditch effort to rid himself of his remaining stock in order to begin a new, undisclosed scheme.

"You completely destroyed my enterprise, young man," Allan emphasised his words with punches to Tintin's stomach and groin. "All those years of planning and meticulous secrecy, gone in an instant because you couldn't help yourself, and had to figure out what was on my ship!"

Your ship?! Despite being in an indescribable amount of pain, Tintin had still been offended. I think the Captain would have something to say about that…

He was grateful that Allan's attention was quickly diverted from using him as a punching bag, with the man himself disappearing into the bowels of the warehouse while his henchmen had continued their game of poker. It had taken some time before he felt he could breathe normally again, and he slouched against the pole in relief.

He desperately wished he could look at his watch, though he was pretty confident it was now late evening. Surely the Captain would've noticed he was missing by now-

BANG!

A gunshot from outside the warehouse drew his attention. He turned his head as far as he could, trying to see what was going on. I hope that was a police gunshot-

A door slammed as one of the kidnappers sprinted inside, desperately holding a hand to his shoulder that Tintin noticed was dripping rather profusely with blood. It took the man a moment to form his message around the pain he was experiencing: "Coppers!…They've found us!"

Everything seemed to happen at once. The injured criminal was dragged aside by one man, whereas another two withdrew handguns from their belts and jogged towards the door, only to start shooting once it had been knocked in by a group of police officers. A fourth kidnapper jumped over a crate in front of Tintin, sticking his hand above the lid to fire a shot at the police.

Tintin cringed as the gunfire began to spray across the room, praying that it would miss him. Why did he have to hide there?! The police'll hit me! He heard the cries of injured men, both police and kidnappers, as they collapsed onto the ground, the sounds of wet splats of blood making him feel ill. Please please please, make it stop!

"Tintin!"

The young man opened his eyes, though they quickly widened at the sight of a baby-faced police officer sprinting to his side. "Hang on, son. We'll get you-"

The officer never got to finish his sentence, for a bullet quickly sliced through his throat, ripping his carotid artery into pieces. A shower of blood instantly exploded from the wound, jettisoning in spurts towards Tintin and splattering across his sweater.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

Tintin instantly retched; it took all of his strength to ensure his stomach contents were going to remain where they currently were. I'll choke with my mouth taped like this!…Mon Dieu, sauve l'âme de cet homme.

The anxiety became overwhelming. He squeezed his eyes shut and allowed himself to sob, the anguished cries of injured men sounding magnified in his ears. He leaned back against the pole and kept his eyes focused on the ceiling in the vain hopes of ignoring the body that lay at his feet, blinking away the tears that dripped onto his cheeks.

He tried to ignore the wet sensation of the officer's blood that now decorated his front, but found that the nausea only kept building as he felt it soak through the fabric and onto his skin. I don't even know his name…

Fingers were dancing along the bottom of his face. It took him a second too late to realise that someone was ripping the tape from his mouth. "ARGH!"

"It's alright, Tintin," A second officer discarded the gag, setting to work on the knots that bound him to the pole. Spots of blood were visible on the side of his head, some dripping from the brim of his hat. "You're safe now, son. We've got 'em."

Tintin didn't answer. His body trembled uncontrollably; his gaze was glued to the deceased officer, and the puddle of blood that encircled his body.

"Tintin? You with me, son?" The officer placed a hand on the younger man's cheek, turning him away from the dead man. "It's alright, Tintin. You're safe."

Although he said nothing, the police officer seemed to understand.

Once his bonds were released, he took a few minutes to regain feeling in his legs before he shakily walked out of the warehouse, refusing to look back on the carnage behind him.

I'm not safe, officer. And I never will be.

A/N: Mon Dieu, sauve l'âme de cet homme = My God, save this man's soul