Chapter Twelve
Twelve Typewriters-a-Typing

December 24th

"Now you just keep your eyes closed…" the Captain told Tintin, taking his arm as they slowly made their way towards the stairs. He put his hand over Tintin's eyes for a moment, letting the boy feel his hand over his eyes before taking the first step.

"What?" Tintin sounded suspicious, but his voice betrayed a hint of amusement. "Where are we going?"

"Down the stairs, can't you tell? Watch your step."

Grinning widely, Tintin cracking open one eyelid just enough to shoot a shrewd look in the Captain's direction. "I can't watch anything right now."

Gasping in feigned shock, Haddock speedily slapped his hand back over Tintin's eyes. "Hey! No cheating!"

"Sorry!"

"Cheeky beggar. I can't trust you as far as I can throw you."

Tintin started to laugh, but stopped, hand on his back. "Ah, don't!" he gasped, wincing in pain. "It hurts to laugh."

"Oh. Sorry," the Captain said awkwardly.

"No, no, it's okay. Sorry, but I think you'll have to hold off on the throwing; I don't think that would be really good for my spine."

"I'll control myself, don't worry," he promised. "And…ah, here we are. Last step."

Still keeping his eyes shut tight, Tintin raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Can I look?"

"Okay…" said the Captain, slowly removing his hand from Tintin's eyes. "Now."

His eyes opened. And widened.

"Great snakes…"

The entire foyer was Christmas.

Garlands were draped over the front door and wove their way down the railing on the staircase. Ornaments hung from the chandelier. Golden ribbons were twisted and looped all around the doorways. The end tables were covered in holly, ivy, and pine, with candles and ornaments and pinecones. He could see a fire roaring in the parlour, and when he took a step, there was a new rug at his feet. From the kitchen, Comfort Ye My People from Handel's Messiah slowly drifted towards them, the familiar strains so beautifully like home. But the centrepiece was the tree. At least 15 feet tall and covered in crystal, crimson, and golden ornaments. A string of cranberries wound its way up, followed by a twisting golden ribbon.

"When did you do this?" Tintin breathed, unable to think or say anything else.

"Well, Nestor did quite a lot of it yesterday. I phoned him from the hospital."

"All of this?"

Haddock admitted, "Well, I did a lot of it this morning."

"But you hate getting up early."

"I know." He grimaced a little, but his expression quickly turned into a cocky grin. "Don't worry. It was worth it."

"Great snakes," Tintin murmured again. "Great… wow."

"'Great wow'? Haven't heard that one before."

Tintin pinned the Captain with a glare even as he laughed, "Captain! Vous gazon peu!"1

"Don't get too mad at me. You're stuck at my house for Christmas, whether you like it or not."

Fingering the garland next to him on the railing, Tintin turned to Haddock and smiled. "Don't worry," he said softly. "I love it."

And that, Haddock thought, was Christmas present enough.

/

Tintin stood, hands on his hips in the Hall's backyard, watching as his breath formed a cloud in the bitter December air. The trees stood tall and monumental around him, covered in snow, and from somewhere, birds were singing. "It's so gorgeous out," he breathed. "Everything so peaceful. Isn't it, Captain?"

He turned to where the Captain was, but there was nobody there.

Oh, please.

"…Captain?"

Something white flashed in the corner of Tintin's vision. There was a split second of sheer adrenaline, and then white, powdery coldness burst all over his face. It was so unexpected that he stumbled and fell backwards, landing hard in the snow. Pain shot through his back and arm, rendering him breathless for a moment.

"Captain!" he finally gasped.

"Wha-at?" Haddock shouted back, poking his face out from behind a nearby elm tree. He was laughing so hard he looked like he was about to fall over. "Did you see that aim? Wow! Come on, come at me!"

"Any other time! But I'd really rather not completely snap my back! If it's not too much trouble!" He tried sitting up but winced in pain, grabbing his back, and couldn't. Oh, great. When he glanced over at his hand, which was stinging for some reason, he saw a drop of blood leak out from the bandages and slip out onto the snow. Must've reopened that cut. He was beginning to think he should have stayed in the hospital…But no. I would rather be here any day.

"Can you get up?" the Captain was asking, walking near Tintin. He had another snowball in his hands, but dropped it into the snow as he got closer. "Need a hand?"

"No thanks… I think I'd rather sit."

"Okay," said Haddock. "We can sit too."

"Well, I don't want to ruin your fun." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Know of any fun sitting-down-in-the-snow activities?" He had been expecting the Captain to give him an exasperated/amused look and say something like are you kidding me, but instead, the Captain looked thoughtful.

"There's no angels," he mumbled.

Tintin blinked. "What?"

"I said 'there's snow angels.'"

"Oh. Er. How do you play that?"

"You don't—" The Captain looked as if he were about to say something about Tintin's ignorance on all things Christmas related, but instead opted for a more gracious, "It's just something fun you can do. You lie down on the snow like this…" Opening his arms spread-eagle, Haddock fell backwards into the snow, making a little pretend screaming noise as he fell.

Tintin giggled. The Captain acted like a six-year-old sometimes.

"I don't think those would be great for my back, either," he called out, grinning.

"No, no, no, then you go like this." He began flapping his arms up and down and moving his legs in a scissor-like way.

"You look like an injured bird."

Haddock ignored Tintin's jibe. "And then, when you're done…" He stood up again. "It's an angel."

Tintin looked at the finished result.

"Hmm," he said. "That's neat."

"You give it a try."

"Bien sûr." With the Captain's help, Tintin gingerly lay down, spreading out his legs and arms, and... "I can't do it," he moaned. "Not with my arm in a cast."

"I'll do the other wing for you." Haddock knelt beside Tintin in the snow and stretched out his arm. "Okay, ready?"

"Ready."

Thirty minutes later, the entire backyard was covered in angels. Some of them were big, with huge wings and robes. Others were small, always with one crooked wing that didn't really seem to be attached right.

"It looks like an angel graveyard," observed Haddock.

Tintin laughed. "Or like judgement day. When God throws the fallen angels out of Heaven." They surveyed their work with satisfaction for a moment, until Tintin added, "Guess what? I've never done these before."

"Hmm," said the Captain, wisely deciding against commenting on that.

"It's… kind of a long story, but you know, the reason why I wasn't so happy on the 13th…well, it was because I don't…really… like Christmas."

That was something the Captain couldn't keep quiet about. "You don't like Christmas?" he asked, incredulously.

"No, no! I mean, it's—it's fine. But I'm upset because I've never spent Christmas with a family before. When I was alone, I didn't have to think about it, but, you know, now—"

"Master Haddock!" Nestor called, his face appearing in the opened kitchen window. "Master Tintin! The cougnou are ready!"

"Oh! Yes! Cougnou!" Tintin exclaimed, struggling to his feet. The Captain took Tintin's arm and shoulders and helped him up. "Come on, Captain; we're going to treat you Belgian style."

/

The smell of the Christmas Eve dinner still hung in the warm, cosy air, along with the smell of pine, cinnamon, and the logs in the fireplace. It was both the Captain and Tintin's tradition to open up one present on Christmas Eve. Chester and Nestor were in the corner; Nestor was helping fasten Chester's new cufflinks, a present from Haddock. Thompson and Thomson were here; they had stopped on their way back from the hospital, and were taking careful sips of the Captain's special eggnog. Snowy was lying by the fire, a pink-ribboned bone between his teeth, making occasional soft grunting noises as he gnawed. Tintin was sitting on the hearth next to him, a cup of cocoa in his lap, stroking Snowy's head absently.

"Merry Christmas Eve," said the Captain, stepping up to Tintin, a giant box hidden behind his box.

"There you are," Tintin replied, grinning. "Where were you for the past hour?"

"Oh, you know; here and there."

"You did a whole lot of 'there' and not very much of 'here.'"

"Oh, well, yeah, Christmas secrets and what have you."

"Hmm, I see." Tintin nodded towards the present, conspicuously hidden behind the Captain's back. "I also see that you're hiding something."

"Yeah, I noticed you hadn't opened a present yet." He whipped out the box from behind his back. "So: Merry Christmas."

"Aww! Is this from you?" Tintin reached out for the box, but his movement was hampered by the cast. After a moment, the Captain decided it was too painful to watch and just put the box on Tintin's lap.

Tintin looked down at the present, but instead of opening it, toyed with the yellow ribbon, seemingly disinterested in opening the gift. He didn't exactly take the gift off his lap, but seemed to put it aside mentally. "Captain?" he asked.

"Yes, laddie?"

"Why did you go looking for me?" he asked.

The Captain looked at Tintin for a moment, going over the reasons mentally. But none presented themselves as the best one to tell Tintin, and he certainly couldn't tell the boy all—that would take ages—so he just said, "Aren't you going to open the present?"

"Oh." He looked down at the box, as if noticing it for the first time. "Oh, of course!" Eyes wide with anticipation, he began tearing at the paper.

"Here, let me help you with that." The Captain reached over and began working at the yellow bow, untying it and pulling it off the box. "Sorry; I wrapped it before you broke your arm."

But Tintin didn't hear.

He was staring at the inside of the box.

"Aren't you going to take it out?" the Captain finally asked, after the seconds turned into minutes and Tintin still hadn't as much as moved.

Without responding, Tintin gingerly slid the typewriter from the box into his lap.

"It's beautiful," he whispered, slowly running a finger down a shiny black side, his eyes wide with awe.

"Runs like magic, too," added Haddock. At least, the lady at the store had told him so. Haddock know nothing about typewriters. All he knew is that whenever he used them, the keys got all criss-crossed and jammed up and all the ink ended up on his hands instead of the paper. "Pretty dang nice. Try it out."

"But… but I can't… it's too…"

"Too what?" He rolled his eyes. "Your articles are world-famous, lad. This is the least you deserve."

Tintin looked like he wanted to argue with that, but wasn't about to say anything that would possibly jeopardise his owning this beautiful piece of machinery. So instead, he placed it gently on the hearth beside him and gave the Captain a hug.

"You shouldn't have," he murmured, "but thank you."

/

"See you later, mate," Haddock said, slapping Chester on the back. He kept his arm around his friend's shoulder as they made their way to the door. "Anytime you fancy a visit, come right on in. I'm always home."

"Always?" Tintin cut in, eyebrows arched.

"Except when you're dragging me away to some horrible country, yes."

Tintin grinned, biting his lip. "Don't lie. You have fun on our adventures."

The Captain rolled his eyes, opening up the door for Chester. A blast of cold December wind flooded the room. "Yeah, heart attacks are a blast."

"Nah-ah-ah," said Chester, shaking a finger warningly. "Now, I want you be good boys while I'm away. No more fighting. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear," said the Captain piously.

"I'll try my best," replied Tintin, giving the Captain a Look. "Uh, so, Chester, I hope you know you're welcome to take any Loch Lomond with you…?"

Chester laughed. "Don't worry, Haddock. I wouldn't dream of it."

"Of course not."

The clock in the hall struck 11.

The three of them stood there, not really sure what to say. And then the Captain finally clapped Chester on the back once more.

"Well, mate... it was grand to see you."

"Grand to see you, too, old friend. And you, Tintin. Take care of yourself, aye? No more falling off of bridges."

"No, I won't," Tintin laughed, though there was a slight pained look to his eyes. "Happy Christmas, Captain."

"Happy Christmas, lad. Goodbye, Tintin; goodbye, Haddock. Godbless."

"Godbless, Chester."

Chester shook Haddock's hand, hoisted up his suitcase, and stepped through the door. Then the door closed, and Chester was gone.

Tintin and the Captain stood there for a long time, unsure of what to do; just staring at the door.

"So…" Tintin began carefully, "next year, we should have him over again. Chester, I mean."

"Really?" The Captain turned towards Tintin, regarding him solemnly. "You really would want that? I know you like your Belgian Christmas, and I think having Chester here kind of ruined that for you…"

"No, no…don't worry about it at all, old friend."

"You sure?"

Tintin patted Haddock's back and treated him to a winning smile. "Of course! Seriously, Captain, don't worry about it."

"Aye, I won't. Thanks for that, lad." The Captain grinned widely at Tintin and took a skipping step, whistling the tune to Wassail, wassail, all over the town…

And Tintin whistled right along.

Author's Note: AHHHH CHRISTMAS TOMORROW! Happy Christmas everybody! So, I do have one final Christmas day chapter, but since I might not get the chance to post it tomorrow, I'll do it either tonight or on the 26th. Either way, I will get it up. And hey, if you appreciate the effort that it will clearly take me (lol) why not post a review? You know I'd love it :) It wouldn't be quite as nice as a shiny new typewriter (which I really, really want, by the way) but would be pretty wonderful all the same.

Translations 1 You little sod!