Chapter Ten
I'll Be Home For Christmas

December 22nd

I'm killing myself inside.

Tintin sat at the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

This was going so wrong. Everything was wrong. He'd wanted to forget. He'd wanted a happy Christmas as much as anyone.

But he just couldn't make himself.

It was early morning; the sun was up, but there was still a faint golden tint to the sky that was reflected on the blanketed lawn outside his window. He glanced out, past the frosted glass, at the world outside covered in a layer of perfect, beautiful snow. There were the tracks from Haddock and Chester shooting two days ago. The snowman Tintin and Haddock had made on the 19th, after coming home from the village. Snowballs still pockmarked the snow.

My first snowman, Tintin thought. My first snowball fight. Of course, he hadn't said it to the Captain—not after the say when they'd gone sledding. Because he… well, he didn't want questions. Not again. He couldn't take it. It would just break him.

He found himself opening up his diary and flipping open to the first fresh page he found. Taking a pen from the desk near his bed, he wrote in careful script, on the left-hand corner:

22 d'Décembre.

I'm killing myself inside, Tintin thought again. The thought drifted through his mind, like a message inside a bottle, floating gently, untouched, on a sea of thought and hurt and memories.

Tapping the end of the pen against his lip, he looked at the paper for a long time, as if mere staring could cause words to appear. After a moment he took a deep, quick breath, like a man about to dive underwater, and began to write.

/

"Tintin?"

Haddock knocked gently on Tintin's door, but received no reply.

"Tintin, are you there?"

He had to have been in there somewhere. Was he just ignoring the Captain?

"Tintin…lad… please let me in. Look, I—I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry… I… please."

No reply.

Jaw clenched, he said, very calmly and rationally, "Tintin, please. Open. Up. Or I'm going to tear this door off its hinges."

The idea presented itself that this wasn't the best way to try to make peace with him. But it wasn't an idle threat. The Captain's anger and exasperation were building up in his muscles, causing them to tense and strain against what self-control he had.

He tried the handle.

Unlocked.

Hands crossed behind his back, the Captain walked slowly through the room, glancing around, trying to see where on earth Tintin could be. He was on the verge of giving up when his gaze fell on the book on Tintin's desk.

It was open. And it had just been written in.

But no, he couldn't do that to Tintin. Could he?

But I have to.

It didn't matter what Haddock wanted, he realised. He would find out what was wrong with Tintin if it cost them their friendship. And he would heal Tintin if it cost him his life.

It took a second for his brain to translate from French to English, but once he got going, he began to understand what he was reading.

December 13th. Today I'm going to the Captain's house. My first Christmas with a family. I don't like to say it, but I'm scared…

December 15th. Acting like everything's normal for two days now. But I know inside that it's not…

Frowning, Haddock glanced over the page, and then flipped over, his frown deepening as he struggled to understand both the words, and the boy behind them.

December 17th. Can't even look the Captain in the eye anymore. Not after last night… I don't want him to hate me. But I don't like where this is going…

His eyes flew over the words; he was reading now almost frantically.

December 18th. Chester here today. I guess I shouldn't be upset; I'm not much company for the Captain, not like Chester is. And it's unfair of me to think that it's wrong for the Captain to be acting like he's back home in England. I guess it's just that… I don't know… I want him, all of him, to be here. With me. Oh, I don't get it… I should just stop writing now…

December 21st. I can't even describe what a wretch I feel like. I bailed out of the Captain's party, and just got mad at him… and I know he wants to help. Why won't I let him? I can't believe myself… I wish I could just die…

"No," the Captain whispered. "No, Tintin…"

He fell back into the chair, his eyes staring vacantly at the wall for a long, long time.

Taking a deep, shivering breath, he looked down. And realised there was one more page.

It took Haddock a long time to gather up the courage to read it. But he couldn't. He couldn't just ignore it.

December 22nd. I'm killing myself inside. That's what the Captain said, and I know it's true. And I can't take it any longer. I just can't—I can't do this anymore. I can't lie and pretend to… I just… I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything I've done… I just wish I could tell the Captain… that I'm sorry… and thank him for everything… but I… I can't. I just can't. So… Captain… goodbye.

Goodbye.

The one word hung in the air, sick and heavy. It punched Haddock in the gut, left him nauseous and gasping for air.

The Captain stared at the words—it could have been for a minute, it could have been for an hour. Time was irrelevant. He could feel his heart constricting each time he read over the one, small paragraph, as if re-reading it would prove that he'd translated it wrong.

He knew he hadn't.

Heart thudding, the Captain threw open the door and stumbled down the stairs, pausing only to locate his coat and car keys. He tried to formulate a prayer, but only two syllables came into his mind: God, and No.

Snowy tried to get into the car, but the Captain slammed the door in his face. He didn't care. His mind was one, big, angry blue, hazy and clouded and ravaged by bewildered pain.

No.

The garage door was open. Haddock's brain registered that the bike was gone right before he pulled out, swerving out of the driveway like a teenager in a Corvette, tires crunching over snow and kicking back gravel as the car ripped down the drive.

"Please don't be dead…" he muttered through gritted teeth. "Please… please be okay…"

Where would Tintin go? Back to Brussels?

He wouldn't try to… it wasn't possible that…

No.

White-knuckled hands clamped around the steering wheel, Haddock bit his lip and forced the thought from his mind. Tintin wouldn't try to hurt himself—not Tintin. He wasn't capable of that. Notthe brave, intrepid, dogged reporter who fought crime and had been through so much and always came out on top—

The boy's words from yesterday morning cut suddenly into his mind. 'Tintin' is a lie!

He could still see him. His angry, wounded face, the words rushing out of his mouth almost feverishly. The Captain had Tintin's face mapped down to the very last freckle, but he'd never seen it look like that before.

Right then, the Captain thought, Tintin had looked capable of anything.

Is that who you really are?

He shuddered and kept his eyes on the road.

Do I even know you? Or did I fall for the lie?

He sped down the street, past ice-encrusted trees, over stone bridges. The sun cast a golden glow over the earth that was reflected on the icy snow.

And if you're not Tintin, then where are you?

Where are you really?

He broke out of the cover of trees and to the giant bridge that spanned the Moulinsart River. The entire thing was covered in ice, and the rising sun made it seem to be a river of gold. He kept his eyes open, searching for a bike, for motorbike tracks, anything, but there were none.

Are you hiding there, beneath that mask?

His gaze wandered to the river as he drove over the bridge. He told himself that it was just the blinding sun that was making his vision blurry.

Beneath the headlines? Beneath the crowds and the cheering and the military bands?

And can I find you?

Or have you hidden yourself so far away that you're lost forever?

"Don't be gone…" Haddock murmured, closing his eyes tight for just a heartbeat. "Please…Tintin…whoever you are…"

When he came beneath the shelter of trees again, he stopped the car.

Haddock sat there, for a long moment, his elbows on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair and looked up, staring out the window, breathing heavily. He put his knuckles against his mouth, closing his eyes, forcing himself to breathe easy.

It was a long time before the Captain could restart the engine and continue his search.

He had to be out there, somewhere…

Oh no.

In the direction of the rising sun, was a thin trail of smoke, scarring the otherwise pale gold morning sky.

Please no.

The Captain parked the car and stepped out, staring, trying to make sure that it was indeed smoke that he was seeing. A beat passed, and then he was back in the car, revving the engine and tearing down the gravel road.

It was a full five minutes before he could smell the smoke in the air, another ten before he knew he was getting close.

He was crossing a bridge over a small gully, and wondering where on earth the smoke was coming from—the smell was certainly strong here—when a thought struck him like a brick to the face.

He didn't dwell on it at all. He simply acted. Parking the car, he leapt out and began half-climbing, half-falling down the overgrown sides of the ravine. He could feel branches lashing out, clawing at his face, but he barely felt them. All he knew was the desperate need to get down.

The Captain stood at the bottom of the gully for a moment, struggling to catch his breath.

And then he couldn't breathe at all.

In front of him was a motorbike.

The motorbike.

Struggling to breathe—to move—the Captain staggered towards it, as quickly as his numbing body would allow him. The bike was a mess, a warped, twisted mass of smoking metal. The snow was melted all around it, and there was a faint hissing sound coming from the engine.

Tintin.

Where was Tintin?

"Tintin!" he screamed, feeling desperation building in his voice. He paused, panting for breath, and then tried again. "Tintin! Tintin!"

The Captain saw the blood first.

It speckled the white snow—an uneven, red pathway to the huddled form, only a few paces ahead of him. Laying lifelessly in knee-deep, blood-splattered snow.

"Tintin…" Haddock gasped. His heart constricted. He throat felt pinhole-thin, his lungs even thinner. "Tintin, no."

Even before he reached the small, limp figure lying in the crimson snow in front of him, the tears started—started from somewhere deep inside of him, gaining strength, until quiet sobs begin racking his entire body. Falling to his knees, he knelt beside the boy in the snow, hands on either side of unmoving body. "Don't… don't die," he choked, letting his head fall, resting it against Tintin's shoulder. "I never… got to ask you…"

A breath?

Haddock slowly raised his head, staring down at him. Tintin's lips parted, slightly, and his chest just barely moved as he breathed again.

Haddock could barely breathe.

"Captain…" Tintin moaned.

"Oh, thank you God, you're okay," the Captain gasped, a hand to his chest, trying to force his pounding heart to calm. "You're okay."

Tintin's shaking hand went slowly towards Haddock's face, fingers brushing against his cheek, his coarse beard, but then fell back lifelessly to his side. He began coughing, but there was no blood, and Haddock knew the boy hadn't been seriously injured. He would be okay.

They would be okay.

"Don't worry, Tintin…" He could barely even force the words out. He was crying even harder, now, but a shivering laugh broke through his tears. "Tintin, you idiot! Why did you go? Why on earth did you… did… I almost had a bloody heart attack…" Burying his face in his hands, he started sobbing, his chest and shoulders heaving with each shivering gulp for air. "I was so scared…"

"Captain, I... I'm sorry," Tintin murmured, slowly sitting up.

Instinctively, the Captain moved to catch him, holding him close, keeping his arms tight around him. He cradled the boy close, one arm under his knees and the other around his shoulders. "Easy now…" he said, gently.

Tintin lay there for a moment. His forehead furrowed; he stared down at the ground, and took in a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh, Captain… I'm so sorry… I was so stupid…" he began. But Haddock didn't let him finish.

"No, Tintin… it's all my fault. It's all my…" His voice shook, and he rested his head on Tintin's shoulder again, taking in a shivering breath. "And I'm sorry," he choked. "I should have…I should have been…Tintin, I'm so, so sorry, please…"

Tintin whispered, "No…don't, please…"

The Captain slowly stood, keeping Tintin cradled in his arms. "But you're safe now, Tintin," he murmured. "You're safe."

Author's Note: Ahhh! Hit me right in the feels just writing it! If you liked, leave a review!