A/N: Call this getting payback on myself for only giving you peeps half of what I normally would in the last chapter. Also, it's about time things got less PWP and more SLS (Structured Love Story), so I couldn't stop myself from carrying on.

This time, it's totally in Haddock's POV – I was quite tempted to go back to writing in the third person, but my suicidal brain wouldn't let me. Yet, I'm sure now that this story will be continued!

Also, huge warning for what's up ahead; this chapter probably won't be pretty, and certainly not in the way you'd be happy to read about.

Chapter Three – Death Warrant

"I still say ya shoulda let me pick me pet name for myself."

"You were in the can; what was I supposed to do?"

"Yes, well… it's hardly an accurate representation of my person."

"It is, Beef Cake!" Tintin said, throwing his arms around my [fully clothed] waist.

"Well then, Sugar Muffin, I guess we're even."

"On what count?"

"For nearly giving an old man a heart attack, that's what."

Tintin rolled his eyes, and spoke quite freely of our 'exploits', "But you loved every minute of it."

I sighed, quiet enough that he wouldn't hear. I was still a bit unused to this carefree, sexual side of Tintin and it would take a monumental effort to understand his openness.

I wrapped my arms around the lad, realizing that, had we never met, I'd be lying in a ditch somewhere or in the dark alley of a docking bay, no doubt drunk off my arse and twice as washed up. I could thank god for sending me this blue-clad angel with hair a mixture of auburn and gold, that I could rustle only to watch that perpetually upright quiff spring back into place – but then I still wouldn't be thanking Tintin for all he's done for me.

"Say… have you got any new stories on the go, of late?"

"I'm actually quite tempted to go on holiday."

I stared at Tintin like he'd grown another head.

"Of course you need a holiday. You're clearly in need of a psychiatrist if you're admitting it!" I exclaimed, putting my free hand to his forehead, "Are you feverish? Maybe it's–"

He began to laugh in my face and I scowled, "No, Captain, nothing like that! I was just thinking… aren't all relationships about compromise? I know you'd rather take a week of respite at Marlinspike than go on another adventure."

"Blistering barnacles, boy! I know you'd rather be gallivanting off on some treacherous adventure than spend a second letting yourself rest, but… it's not really where ya go or why, but who you go there with. You understand?" I was beginning to think I didn't.

Tintin beamed, and I knew I'd at least made some headway with his stubborn self, "I understand perfectly, Captain."

I couldn't think how I'd gotten us into this mess; namely, the Thompsons twins and old Calculus (still none the wiser about our last 'escapade') were coming with us, and to top it off, Bianca Castor-whatsit and her lackeys were going to be in the same area as part of some world tour.

The sooner this week ended, the better.

We had made a compromise; we'd go somewhere to relax, where there were still cases abound for Tintin to quench his thirst for a good story. I'd point-blank ordered him not to overdo it on the working, but if I knew him he'd be holed up in his hotel room all day, every day with his laptop and a dozen corresponding leads. He'd bleed the free wi-fi dry before half the week was done.

I'd taken up the task of booking our rooms since he was preoccupied with packing his regular journalistic arsenal, along with toiletries and Snowy's worming treatment. An idea popped into my head, and I'd smirked conspiratorially while hanging on the line.

He drew me out of my reverie, and I quickly switched said smirk for a smile while looking down at him, "Getting a bit sleepy, lad?"

"It's the motion of the plane." he quipped, yawning, "Very curious, never sent me right off until now."

"That'll be love for you." I replied, "If it doesn't make your heart flutter it'll make your brain shut down quicker. Just you let it, m'boy."

"I don't think it's quite safe for me to…"

"For you to what? Get your eight hours? We're on a packed flight, I highly doubt a criminal mastermind will be flying coach."

"Ooh MY BEAUTY PAST COMPARE!…" after this, the clatter of trays crashing to the floor could be heard.

I gritted my teeth together and sank further into my seat, nearly perking up when Tintin sank with me, "I sit corrected!"

I looked down at my boyfriend (yes, boyfriend, I could gladly think), and saw that he'd dozed off before the Castafiore whack-job had begun her tirade. "Good for him," I muttered to no-one in particular.

"Doubly good!"

"What Thomson means to say is, goodly double!"

I looked up at the detectives with a bitter gaze, "You two better not wake him up with all your tomfoolery."

"Wouldn't think of it! Would we, Thompson?"

"Think of it, would we? Pfft!" Thompson laughed, "We're officers of the law, sir! We should not harm a hair on his head nary wake the lad up after he's just nodded off."

"It's not the thing to do in these situations, right Thompson?" Thomson continued.

"Right you are, Thomson!" on the way to their seats, they tripped over their own feet and fell into the arms of a large man (American, I had already conceded, if his own loud-mouthed antics were anything to go by) and I chuckled, being sure not to jostle Tintin around too much.

I curled my arms further around his slack frame, and brought forward my own smile when his only became brighter.

My lover had the curious ability to brighten the atmosphere in any room – be it a gang hideout or a overloaded charter plane. I slipped back more comfortably into my seat and pulled my jacket around myself, falling into sleep easily and dreaming of Tintin.

Even forgoing the well-placed gap between our seats, our legs had somehow become entangled in the night.

My hand had become glued to his buttock in our sleep, I noted, and his right hand dangling over the nape of my neck. I smiled again, removed myself from the web of limbs we had become, and walked in the direction of the lavatories.

I looked around; even Castafiore was asleep, thank god. People need to be woken up by a rooster, not a harpy.

I made it, but something told me I'd need to go back as soon as I was finished.

"Captain!" I'd only just finished washing my hands; not a bad time.

"Captain Matlock, come quickly!" it was Castafiore who came for me, but I knew the person who called was one of the men, "It's Bread Tin! He's…!"

All my plans of treating Tintin to a whirlwind romance of a holiday were quickly dashed. "What is it, where's Tintin?"

"One moment he was fine and he just started convulsing!" I heard Cuthbert shout, but my mind couldn't comprehend his meaning.

"Is there a medic in the plane?" Bianca shrieked, but I ignored her; I couldn't think, couldn't speak, and the sight of Tintin's writhing body made my stomach crawl.

And all of a sudden, he stopped. Like a flickering light had finally been turned off.

"What do you mean there's nobody here with any medical training! A young man's life is at stake!" I overheard one of the Thompsons yell, though I didn't care to ask which.

"Tintin, please…" I didn't know quite what I was asking of him. To speak, to admonish me for my silliness, just some sign of life. I couldn't think of my life without him; surely I'd be nothing, less than nothing without my love by my side.

I remembered, that as we'd boarded the plane he'd told me he'd been feeling a bit queasy, but we both put it down to pre-flight jitters. Well, I did. Could I have caused something, even prolonged it? I didn't want to think, that I could have killed him before we had truly begun to learn our feelings towards one another.

"Tintin, please wake up…" I placed his gangly limbs back in their proper places, so at least if he were to wake up he'd be comfortable.

"Tintin…"

As soon as we reached our destination, the ambulance arrived.

"Twenty-two year old male, in a convulsive state before complete comatose. Signs of a toxic substance having entered the body…"

"And what relation are you, sir?"

I blinked back the tears and finally found my voice, "Please, I'm the only one he's got."

The paramedic at the front seemed to think about it for a moment before saying, "Hop in."

I turned back to our bereft entourage once more and spoke to the Thompson twins one last time, "You two'll bring Snowy to the hospital – and you better not cock it up!"

Both detectives looked taken aback, but nodded.

I sat in one of the cold chairs affixed to the wall as the doors closed and the sirens sounded, and I saw the paramedics jamming electrodes into every which way and orifice while Tintin, usually a light sleeper, didn't make a sound.

A/N: Not as long a chapter as I would have liked, again, but… I'm evil, aren't I? The whole plotlessness of it all was getting to me. I'd actually been expecting Tintin to become intoxicated in this chapter, not poisoned! But a game of Upwords (anyone who's played it should know what I mean… it's kinda like three-dimensional scrabble, but with less daft rules) ruined that idea and suddenly the plan was to make our favourite Ginger bombshell sick to high heaven.

For about half an hour after I finished this chapter I just went around saying I'd killed Tintin. That's how cool with the idea I weirdly am.

RANDOM UNEXPECTED CHARACTER AILMENT. I don't think we ever learn what country they're actually visiting, but I'd think that allot of time would be spent in the local hospital.

In the next chapter, I'll probably go back to alternating POVs again, and then maybe give Tintin an entire chapter in his POV. See? My brain's started whirring on the side of good again.