Chapter Seven
The Nightmare Before Christmas

December 19th

Nestor was gone for the day.

And therefore, there was no food.

Anywhere.

Tintin, on the grounds that he was a detective and therefore more clever and resourceful, had been called upon by Haddock to find out what they would have for dinner. Tintin had pulled out a handful of cookbooks and was now searching them for clues.

Haddock's brain was reeling with clues itself.

Tintin's good temper had been so touch-and-go over the past seven days, and he couldn't, just couldn't understand why. It had never been like this before between them—well, maybe when they first met and were running around in Khemed, Tintin hadn't been the happiest camper in the world, but their lives had been in danger then, so it was more or less excusable. This wasn't excusable. It wasn't even explainable. He just didn't get it.

He was aware that Chester was talking to him, something about boats (naturally), but he wasn't even paying attention. He was staring blankly at Chester's face as his mind wandered, going over every base, trying to figure out what was going on with Tintin.

The Captain finally stopped talking to Chester and turned around. "Tintin, is everything okay?"

"Me?" Tintin asked, glancing up.

"Yes you. You've seemed a bit… I don't know. Distracted lately."

Chester frowned. "What? Is somethin' wrong, Tintin laddie?"

"Oh, no, nothing's wrong… it's just… I don't know." Tintin paused momentarily, casting about for the right words. "I've… I guess I've sort of spent Christmas by just myself for… well, I mean, quite a long time."

Haddock was impressed. That had been easy. "Blistering barnacles, so have I. But that doesn't mean—"

"Oh, no, of course not, old friend." He smiled innocently up at the Captain. "I know. I'm looking forward to it. I'm sorry; I'm being a bit stupid, is all. I think I might be coming down with something."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Haddock frowned a little, aware that Tintin was rarely stupid or ill; and if he was, odds were, he wouldn't be that honest about it. But he wasn't going to press it; not now, at any rate. "By the way, I'm going to the village later today. Fancy coming with?"

"Maybe. Is Chester coming?"

"Uh, I don't know." Haddock looked at Chester pointedly. "Is Chester coming?"

"No, he's got to go to the harbour," Chester replied.

"Yeah, he's got work to do," said the Captain. "Come on! You and me. It'll be grand."

"Er… maybe." It did sound like fun. Maybe he should go… but on the other hand, he really just felt like being alone. "I think I'll stay here."

"Well, you rest and think about it." The Captain saluted to Tintin with his pipe. "Don't want you getting sick for Christmas."

Tintin gave him a slight grin and shook his head. "Definitely not."

"Sleep well, lad."

"Goodnight."

/

"Anyway," Tintin continued, shoving his hands in the pockets and staring down at the snow-covered ground, "it's not like my life's in danger that much. I mean… well, yeah, every now and then…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You lead a perfectly normal life," said the Captain, chuckling quietly and shaking his head in despair. "Just keep on telling yourself that, lad."

Tintin pulled a mock grimace at the Captain, but couldn't hold it for long and ended up grinning at himself. He turned and looked up at the clouds, watching as tiny white feathers drifted down from the iron-grey heavens, settling gently on pine garlands on lampposts, on faded store canopies, on top hats and black umbrellas.

"Hey, wake up," the Captain said. "We're on a busy street."

"To your left!" somebody behind them shouted.

His grin widening, Tintin neatly sidestepped out of the way of a passing bicyclist. "Sorry, just daydreaming."

"S'alright," he replied. He looked up, searching the stores, and then he paused, staring at a particular building. "Say, there's the tobacconist. I won't be a minute…"

Tintin waved dismissively. "Of course, of course; go right on ahead."

He watched Haddock leave; drawing a deep breath, he looked up and around at the village around them. It was so beautiful in winter, he thought. The crowds, the lights, the decorations…

At his feet, Snowy began to bark.

"What's the matter, Snowy old boy?" He bent down and picked up the furry white dog, scratching him behind the ears soothingly. "What's the matter, eh?"

"Tintin!"

Frowning a little, Tintin turned to see the Captain running towards him, his eyes wide with—with what? Shock? He couldn't tell.

"Didn't have your favourite brand?" Tintin called out, grinning.

Haddock didn't say anything, just ran towards him, faster and faster, dodging cars and shoppers. Arms outstretched, he took a powerful step and plunged himself into the air, throwing himself at Tintin.

Time seemed to stop. Tintin watched as the Captain got closer as if through slow-motion. He felt the thud of the Captain's body against his own, and watched as the sidewalk got bigger. There was a faint thwupping sound over his head, but he barely heard it. He held out his hands to protect himself, but the Captain's weight was too much, and he slammed against the sidewalk.

It was then—only then—that he realised that the sound he had heard was gunfire.

His heart stopped, but he realised almost immediately that he hadn't been shot. The Captain had saved him. Tintin would have collapsed with relief, but he was on the ground anyway. He lay there, trying to catch his breath, but the Captain was a big man; sandwiched between him and the pavement, it was hard for compressed lungs to draw breath.

"Thanks, old friend," he called. "I think you can get up now."

No reply.

"People will talk," he added, almost teasingly.

Silence.

Frowning, Tintin slowly crawled up until his upper half was supported by his elbows on the pavement. There was a second—just a moment—longer of patient waiting. And then realisation struck.

"Captain?"

Adrenaline fuelled his movements as he struggled out from underneath his friend, pushing the older man off with a strength born of panic.

"Captain!"

He saw the blood now. The crimson wetness, running from the four holes in the Captain's back.

"Oh no. Oh God, God please, no."

Gripping the Captain's shoulders, he shook him, shouting his name, but Haddock didn't respond.

"Captain! Captain, wake up! Don't— don't—Captain!"

Heart pounding, Tintin glanced up at the direction from where the shots had come. He didn't see anybody at first, nobody he recognised.

But then he saw him.

That face. The one he had seen practically every day of his life for almost eight sickening years.

But he forced his mind away. That wasn't important now. Diving to his knees, Tintin straddled the Captain. He placed his hands on the centre of the Captain's chest and gave a push. His body was immediately splattered with sticky warmth, but he barely felt it; he just pushed again. And again. He only had time to scream Haddock's name once more before he clamped his mouth over the Captain's blood-covered lips, pushing, forcing life into the shattered lungs. The man's body wasn't spurting blood anymore, and somehow that was the scariest thing of all. Don't think about that! And now it was back to compressions; a few beats passed as he pushed up, pushed down, let up…

"Please, please, please… Captain, no…"

Tintin stared at the Captain's glazed ice-blue eyes, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. Tintin could feel his mind shutting down, trying to prolong his disbelief for as long as possible. He felt no fear, sadness, pain, only a kind of sick, quiet desperation that there was nothing he could do. His breathing was laboured; his entire body was trembling; desperation gripped him as he move harder, faster. He could feel ribs cracking beneath his frantic thrusts, could see blood trickling out from inbetween cold lips.

It was impossible. He couldn't—he couldn't be—

No. No. Please. No.

"Help! Call an ambulance, somebody! Please!"

Nobody even saw. They just kept on walking. As if the two of them weren't even there.

"Please!"

The pain and devastation suddenly came now, rushing down on top of Tintin like a tidal wave. He felt wetness on his face now. Was it tears or blood? He couldn't tell. "Captain, no…" he sobbed, feebly pushing down on his chest, trying to get the man's heart to restart, secretly knowing that it wouldn't ever start again. "Don't do this to me…"

He pressed his lips to the Captain's once more, trying to push air into him. One last time. But there was no use.

"No…" he choked, burying his face in the Captain's chest, his body curling up against the Captain's as his entire being was racked in sobs. "Oh God, no, please…"

"Captain!" Tintin screamed.

He shot up in bed, his hands tight fists on the sheets, his heart pounding.

"Tintin!" The door slammed open, the wood cracking as it came in contact with the wall, and Haddock burst into the room, his eyes wild with panic, his hands firmly clasped around a pike; he must've grabbed it from one of the suits of armour by the stairs. "Where is…" But his voice trailed off when he realized that nobody was attempting to murder Tintin. "What in the name of heaven is going on?"

Swallowing hard, Tintin forced his body to relax. "It was just a nightmare." But his heart was still pounding, his breath coming fast and wild.

The Captain's body sagged with relief. "A nightmare?"

"Somebody was shooting at me, and…"

The Captain stared at him, disbelief evident in his eyes. "What? But… but you must dream about that all the time! Tintin, you're bloody shaking, what happened?"

"No, no, nothing, it… it was just different this time. I…" He struggled to find the right words—to explain the sheer horror of the dream without revealing what exactly had happened inside of it. "I guess I just wasn't expecting it."

"Ha… guess so." Shrugging his hands into his pockets, the Captain blew out a long breath. "So… you're sure you're okay, then?"

"Please…I'm fine."

"Good." He half turned, about to leave the room, when he paused, glancing back at Tintin, as if to reassure himself the lad really was all right. "You're sure you're—Blistering barnacles! Tintin, what's wrong?"

"I said it was just a dream," Tintin replied, thoroughly confused.

"No, you're, you're…" Gesturing vaguely, Haddock swallowed, obviously hesitant to speak his mind. His fingertips drifted up to his face as he said, "You look like you were…"

Tintin mirrored the Captain's movement and realised that his face was completely wet with tears.

"I'm okay," he said quietly, reaching up and quickly swiping his sleeve beneath his eyes. "I'm fine, really."

There was a long pause. The Captain finally came over towards him and sat down, resting on the edge of the bed. "Tintin, you want to talk about it?"

He didn't sound curious, like Tintin might have expected. No; he sounded like he genuinely cared.

Wetting his lips, Tintin closed his eyes and took a deep, shivering breath. "I—"

"Wha' in the bloody blazes is goin' on?!"

They both jumped, turning to look towards the door. Chester suddenly appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily, his hair all rumpled and his eyes blazing.

"What is it? I heard you calling for me and—"

"No, no, everything's alright," the Captain cut in, not looking at his friend. His eyes were still trained worriedly on Tintin. "It's… it's nothing."

"Nothin'? That was a bloody big row you made for nothin'."

"I'm fine," Tintin said quietly. He suddenly felt as if his personal space was being invaded, and he really wanted these two men out of his room. "Don't worry about me, Captain."

"You're sure?" the two Captains asked, at the exact same time.

They're like the Thompsons, thought Tintin. "Oui. Yes. Completely."

"Well… alright then," said Haddock, turning around to leave the room. Chester trailed awkwardly behind.

Tintin sat there, staring at the wall in front of him for a moment, going over the events of his dream. A few beats passed, and then he made up his mind.

"Captain?" he called.

"Aye, laddie?" Chester called back.

"Captain Archibald Haddock?"

There was a pause.

"Oh, er, me?" Haddock poked his head around the corner. "What's up?"

"I, er…" He fidgeted uncomfortable, leaning over to scratch Snowy behind the ears. "I think I'll be coming to the village with you after all."

"Really?"

He looked so genuinely pleased, it made Tintin want to laugh. He managed not to, but he could feel a smile coming to his face anyway. "Well, why not?"

"Yes!" The Captain punched the air with his fist. "You agreed! When do you want to leave?"

"Sooner than later… but I don't care, whenever you want."

"Sooner is great." Leaning further from behind the doorframe, he winked at Tintin. "See you in the car, laddie."

"Great."

It didn't bother Tintin that Chester had responded to his shout for 'Captain.' It didn't even bother Tintin that he had just been called 'laddie.'

There were more important things to care about, after all.

Author's Note: Right after I finished writing this I realised it could have been an awesome oneshot... ahhh whatever. Hey, but now you can give me a review, just like if this really had been a oneshot! *hopeful smile*