Here is the second chapter. U'm about 6 chapters deep into this story, but having trouble getting it to solidify. So bear with me as it's a little slow getting up. Please feel free to leave a review to tell me what you think I'll appreciate it!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Adventures of Tintin

Early the next morning, although not as early as Tintin was used to, the red-haired haired boy was upstairs in the vacant flat, pulling up old and rotten boards. Although it was fairly hot in the stuffy little room, with the windows open, a breeze blowing through and a small electric fan in the corner, Tintin felt great. He hadn't felt this well rested and ready for a day's work in weeks. After having gotten just under 8 hours of sleep, he had woken up at 7:30 and had been ready to start construction at 8:15. He knew he could finish the floor by 5 and was looking forward to turning in for an early evening; something he hadn't experienced in awhile.

Tintin was in his element. He had always had knack for fixing things and he felt like this was more on his level, compared to the various jobs he had reluctantly picked up on the docks and in the market area. These jobs were varied, but not limited to braiding ropes as Mrs. Finch had pointed out, swabbing the cargo ships that ported in the small village docks, scrubbing the dock itself and cleaning the sewage pipes leading to the ocean. That had been his least favourite and definitely the most degrading; ironically it had paid well, but he had had to quit after the stench made him faint. The jobs he had obtained at the market had been slightly more elevated. He had stitched up canvases for store fronts, swept inside tiny stores, been a errand boy for the large open air farmers market. Although the job had been excellent, Tintin had been expected to do much more than he was being paid for and had finally quit out of frustration. Anything else he took was minimal pay and even more degrading. His whole experience over the fall and winter months had been one of constant disappointment and limited income. His job for the paper had sly but surely diminished. Because of his need for fast cash, he had to devote his time to working more and less to looking for a story to sell. While being journalist had earned him enough to live on, the money was not going to get Tintin where he wanted for his next adventure.

With his hope beginning to distinguish, the date of his stated sail off was sinking further and further into impossibility. Tintin was beginning to think that he would have to wait another full year before he would actually be able to purchase a ship, let alone pay for a crew to maintain it. If anything, he would get a sailboat and nothing else.

Shaking his head, Tintin refocused on the floor boards before him. The wood was horribly rotten and he was surprised his flat did not look like this. His constant use was somehow keeping the wood young. He shrugged his shoulders back heavily as he pulled yet another crumbling board out of the foundation. He had brought out over ten and knew he couldn't take many more out. Fortunately it was only one main spot where the rotting was occurring. If he could replace those boards, the stability would increase greatly and he could cover the rest of the planks in a solid plaster to seal the cracks in the board before staining the wooden. The walls were easy, there were some minor water stains, but nothing that he couldn't easily plaster. Painting was easy, he wanted a to lay down a rippled wallpaper down before painting, it always gave the walls a more textured look. He knew that it would take him a good five days to complete everything, but Mrs. Finch had confirmed the young lady wasn't coming for a week, so Tintin had more time that he had originally thought, which was good. He wanted to give the flat a personal touch. A young girl would be used to fancy fixings and expert decoration. The flats offered here were much too rough and thrown together for most women, Tintin had no doubt. Although he couldn't fix it up with any kind of women's touch, he wanted to make it soft and subtle, maybe painting the walls a light blue to highlight the sunshine that shone off the walls at the perfect angle. The stain for the floor would be a dark cherry colour, the flat would look better than Tintin's. He wondered briefly if after all the mess with the sunken ship and when the lost treasure was recovered if Haddock would give him a big enough portion to fix up his own place; if not get a bigger and better flat.

Speak of the devil, Tintin suddenly heard the loud stamping and near on impossible to misplace voice of Captain Haddock himself. He must have been talking to Mrs. Finch about Tintin's whereabouts, but his voice was unnecessarily loud. Tintin frowned, had he been drinking?

"Never you worry your head good madam, I know which floor Ima heading for, no need to escort me. I've visited Tintin many a time and he hasn't moved so far's I know," His words was slurred slightly and Tintin sighed heavily.

"You may know where Mr. Tintin lives, but he isn't in there today. He's one more floor up working on a vacant room. There's going to be a nice young lady moving in next week and Tintin's been good enough to fix it up for her. It was in terrible need of a restoration and Tintin was in need of the money,"

"Indeed he it! He's saving up for a ship for our great voyage. Paying well?"

Tintin ground his teeth as he heard Haddocks' voice right outside the door; he ignored the door opening and continued puling out another board. He spoke over his shoulder before Mrs. Finch could.

"Of course it's paying well, Mrs. Finch would not have suggested if it didn't,"

He was growling and he knew it. Snowy, sitting not far from him, whimpered slightly and Tintin looked over at him, before finally turning to look at the Captain.

There he stood, in all his glory or lack there of. Weathered, brown skin covered his face, telling stories of his days on the seas and even on land. Blue eyes sparkled from under his puffy cheeks, eyes that were full of story and adventure. Thick black hair engulfed the lower half of his face in a scruffy, dirty beard; it was wet with something or other, Tintin had given up on trying to figure out what.

For some reason he still wore the thick blue turtle neck with the thin ship anchor stitched in the centre, his black jacket looking smaller every day due to his increasing stomach size. For a time, he had been rich enough to afford more clothes, but it had never crossed his mind. The only thing missing was his captains hat or even better the famous hat of his forefather Sir Francis. His large, blunt nose was red as if he had been blowing excessively, a telltale sign that he had been drinking and no doubt crying over some long lost story. He looked a forlorn homeless man.

Though… Tintin couldn't say much more about himself, he wore torn jeans and one of his old blue sweatshirt. His hair was longer than normal and he was due for a haircut, but he couldn't afford to waste his hard earned money on something so frivolous as a haircut. He sighed heavily; him and the captain were in this together and no matter how much the captain took him for granted, he was there for Tintin. He couldn't count how many times the captain had saved his live in the past adventures with Sakharine. Not to mention how his inevitable wealth was going to make them both rich, when and if they found it. So really, he could not blame the captain, he was helping as much as he thought he could and Tintin didn't mind as much as he told himself he did, it was all in his head and he knew it.

Finally, he looked back up at the captain, who was staring absentmindedly at him, his mouth open and his eyes glazed. He definitely had been drinking.

"I'm fixing the floorboards and I hope to get wallpaper and paint on the walls when I get a chance. Fancy going out look for some sky blue paint?"

The captain shook himself slightly and looked at Tintin as if he hadn't heard him. Tintin breathed in and was about to repeat himself when the captain smiled largely.

"Well blistering blue barnacles, bless your heart Tintin! I was just a coming to see how you were coming along and here you are, putting out orders faster than a right old ship captain. Aren't you the smart one?"

Tintin laughed lightly, his mood always changed for the better with the captain's lackadaisical behaviour.

"Well I need some paint and seeing as this floor will take longer than I thought, you might as well help me out, since you're here. As I see you've had nothing else to do other than down another bottle," He looked pointedly at the captain who suddenly stopped smiling and huffed, sticking out his chest.

"I have not touched a drop sir, and I'ma offended you would think that of me Tintin. You know I swore off the stuff until we got us that ship and reclaimed our missing treasure. I comes out of my way to see my dear friend Tintin. And what do I get? Accusations of the dirtiest sort and outrageous ideas. What proof have you got?" Tintin could not help but laugh outright at the captains outlandish antics, his anger melting away more and more.

"Well it could be the terrible smell of whiskey coming from you,"

The captain puffed out again, turning around in the doorway.

"Boy don't know the difference between whiskey and rum," he sighed heavily and Tintin shook his head laughingly.

"So you admit you drank a bottle of rum? What are we to do with you?"

Haddock, realizing he had been tricked, squinted his eye and glared at Tintin, who in return looked back at him, reminding him gently that he had indeed broken a solemn promise. His complexion changed and his face fell.

"Ah Tin, you know I can't help myself. I found a few pounds laying in my father's chest, beautiful gold pieces and I could not think of a better way to spend it on but the heavenly sweet liquid and before I knew, the bottle was empty,"

Tintin rolled his eyes. The captain was easily his best friend, but he could not help determining he was utterly pathetic when it came to alcohol. But, not wanting to ruin the mood between them, he shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, you've had enough to last you the month, so never again Captain," He squinted his eye playfully at he captain, who in turn stood sternly to attention, his voice dripping sincerity.

"You have my word of honour, Tintin. I will not,"

Tintin rolled his eyes again and waved him off.

"Yes, as good as that is. Now, you can use those left over pounds and go out and buy some sky blue paint and you might find some good rippled wallpaper while you're out,"

Haddock seemed to jump at the chance to redeem himself and saluted smartly, turning around and running straight into the wall. He backed up and started down the stairs.

"Aye indeed, Tintin, aye. I can do that. I'll find the best blue paint and rumply wall paper I can find. Don't you worry your little head, I'll be back before the night is nay!"

"That's rippled wall paper!" Tintin shouted to the disappearing retired captain. Shaking his head, he wondered how long he would have to wait for that paint.

Tintin was presently surprised when the captain was good to his word and came tramping up the steps not a minute before 3 o'clock. The red-headed rover was just beginning to plaster the boards he had replaced; nice, thick and solid planks of wood replaced the rotten planks before it. He had a pan beside him and was carefully brushing the first coat of plaster when the captain interrupted his concentration.

"Thundering tycoons, if this isn't the cleanest floor job I have not seen, then it would be better by ten,"

Tintin smirked at the twisted logical of the old sea captain. Setting down his roller brush, he stepped over the wet mark and approached the captain, who had in tow two cans of fresh sky blue paint and a hefty roll of wallpaper; rippled just as Tintin had wanted. He smiled and took the supplies from Haddock, who stayed in the doorway. Tintin set down the cans of paint and the roll in the corner nearest the small kitchen of the flat. The layout of the little room was similar to his, except for the angle difference in the window. There was a small shatter in one of the bigger windows closest to the kitchen, fortunately Tintin knew a friend who could give him a discount window frame. His project was coming along smoothly and he was excited to see the new flatmate's expression when she saw what he done. He prided himself in leaving a definite personal touch that set apart this flat from any other in the building.

After making sure he had the wallpaper secured between the two cans, so as to prevent rolling, Tintin kneeled down before his pan, picking up his brush to resume. Before he could, Haddock cleared his throat, heralding Tintin's attention. He turned and looked at his old friend, who stood sheepishly in the doorway; his hat, that had somehow magically reappeared to him since Tintin had last seen him, was held in his hands before his stomach and the captain scrunched it nervously.

"Tintin… my lad. I know you've got your heart set on setting sail this spring… ," He began and Tintin felt his heart drop. "But, you don't have the money and neither do I. What's going to happen when you and I's get to spring and we don't have nain a ship?" His voice was soft and Tintin could not help but feel sad for his captain friend. He was still hurting.

The two had originally planned to take Haddock's old freighter ship; The Karaboudjan. The ship had been the old captains pride and joy, for it had been his own; it was not to be though. After everything that had happened with Sakrahine and the race to find the three matching unicorns, Haddock's mates had all but disappeared. Allen, his first mate, had always been a treacherous companion and it had been him all along who'd kept Haddock in his constantly drunken state. Allen had taken over the ship completely by the time Sakrahine had intervened and stolen the ship away from Haddock. After Sakrahine had been sent to prison, Allan too had been jailed. All of Haddock's crew was gone. The Karaboudjan was left at dock until the owner of the doc himself showed up and deemed the ship unworthy of sailing and Haddock unworthy of captaining it. The ship had been dismantled and sold for scrap. Haddock had been lost without his ship, sinking deeper into depression. It had been Tintin who had brought him back out of it, reminding him and encouraging his friend in the fact that he still had enough money to buy another ship, a bigger and better one if he preferred. But before they could, Haddock's party had gone array and here they were. The past months after the ordeal had been hard for the two of them; their relationship had been strained. Haddock still lived a sort of depression while Tintin worked himself down in order to make their dream a possibility. And now, here he was, Captain Archibald Haddock standing before Tintin, doubting him; out of fear.

Tintin looked at him, helpless to give a solid answer, for he knew there was none.

"I don't know Haddock… this job gave me a hope that we could do it. But I've seen the total in the end, it's only gong to get me half way," His voice choked and he looked down at the paint brush as if he had forgotten what to do with it. Haddock wrung out his hat a few more times.

"What do we do? There's no wall here to push through," His voice was low and Tintin wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the captains emotion causing it. He looked back up at his old friend. His friend who was doubting his ability without doing a lick of work himself to aid him. Sudden anger overcame Tintin, built up frustration bubbling over.

"Why don't you start pulling your weight and find yourself a job? I've been fighting this for 5 months and haven't seen you so much as lift a finger. I thought we were in this together?!"

Haddock took a step back, Tintin's aggressive voice causing him to quaver. He knew in his heart the boy was right, but it didn't make a difference.

"You know I've tried Tintin, but I can't. The people, all they see in me is the taste of spirits. They aren't interested in hiring someone like me; an old sailor with nothing left to live for, matey. It isn't right,"

"Oh save it! Like I haven't heard that before, an old retired sailor. You're a captain! But right now I can't bring myself to call you even that,"

Haddock backed up against the wall, his head in his hands now, it looked to be sobbing; definitely from drinking. Tintin stood up; as much as he didn't want to admit it, he felt sorry for his miserable friend. He stood still for a moment, composing himself enough to calm down, sighing heavily.

"There's no need for that," He stepped toward the door, but before he could get too far, the captain put up his hands to halt his movements. From inside his black leather jacket, he pulled a silken handkerchief and he proceeded to blow his nose loudly. Tintin stood on, unsure of what to do, other than keep talking; he was not one for awkward silences.

"I know you've tried. But it's all come to nothing. That's why I wanted you lay off the drinking," He smiled as much as possible as the captain looked back up at him, his eyes dazed and his hands up as if he were being attacked. Tintin took a step closer and put his arm on his friends shoulder. "You know I'm only looking out for you, old friend,"

Haddock relaxed slightly, enough to straighten himself up and sigh heavily.

"Aye, I know you're right lad. I know I try, but something is always calling me back. The taste itself is of the heavens,"

Tintin shook his head, turning back into the door.

"I'm sure it is, but it can wait until we get back,"

"If we go at all now lad,"

Tintin whipped around, ready to protest, but the caption simply held up his hands in peace, he seemed calm and docile now.

"You know I speak the truth. You and I are still as poor as two wee church mice. I know you've got your heart set on this grand adventure, but I'm a thinking that it might be nigh on another year or so. Ye can't deny that," Haddock's voice was gentle and Tintin knew this was coming from his heart. He heaved a great sigh and looked down at his now drying plaster. The captain was right and Tintin knew it. Looking back, Tintin offered him a dull smile.

"I know what you say is true captain, but I can't give up now. We will see this through. Just maybe longer than I'd hoped," He sighed again as the captain clapped his hand together and rubbed them briskly.

"There's the spirit now. Don't get yourself in the dumps. We'll get that ship and we'll be rich before your too old yet!" Tintin smiled outwardly at the the now grinning captain. He hoped, in his heart that his, old friend was right. Secretly he doubted it.

There we are, it's a little longer this time around. Read and review!