Chapter Text
The third time finally tears it.
Haddock wakes to what he immediately thinks is the sound of an intruder stealing through in his home. As stealthily as he can, he slides off the bed and draws out a crowbar from under the bed. He crosses the room and presses his ear to the door. There is a faint but unmistakable movement just beyond. Within seconds the sailor is in the hall and ready for anything. He gropes around the edge of the wall for the light switch.
“You bashi bazouk! What are you doing in my house?”
Instantly, the main hall is ablaze with light and Haddock feels his jaw drop open in surprise, eyes clapped on the intruder.
“Tintin?”
Down below, with his hand resting on the brass handle of the front door stands the young man in question; Snowy at his heels and suitcase in hand. Even at this distance his posture is unmistakably stiff as he stands there, motionless. He’s wearing his trenchcoat.
“Oh. Captain. I didn’t think you’d be awake this time of night.”
Haddock’s confusion quickly gives way to suspicious indignation. His arms fold over his chest before he speaks, voice sharp yet rough from sleep. His wound throbs angrily. He ignores it.
“Indeed. Tell me, where in Heaven’s name are you off to, this time of night?” he interrogates coldly. Tintin’s hand doesn’t leave the door handle.
“I apologize for waking you, Captain,” his friend replies easily, in lieu of an answer. He half turns and gives the Captain an infuriatingly apologetic smile. “Something has just come up. I may be gone some time,” he continues, hand already pressing down and shifting the tumblers of the unlocked door. “I’ll wire you a telegram as soon as I arrive. Please go back to bed and-”
“Blistering barnacles, you’ll do no such thing!”
The Captain all but roars and immediately makes his way down the stairs, quickly taking two steps at a time. “Thundering typhoons, what kind of clumsy, ignorant iconoclast do you take me for, you-”
“Captain! Slow down!”
Tintin manages to break the Captain‘s fall, but just barely. The momentum forces them to collapse in a tangled heap of limbs on a freezing floor. They untangle themselves gingerly and before Haddock can so much as properly catch his breath, Tintin locks eyes with him, an expression of mortified worry scanning Haddock desperately.
“Are you alright, Captain? For Heaven’s sake, tell me you’re alright!” Haddock blinks at him, mind suddenly slow and deliberate like a drip of molasses.
“Yes...yes, I’m fine but thundering typhoons, what has gotten into you, lately?” The Captain scowls, but the heat of anger is gone.
He notices how the young man’s hands tremble. How he’s averted his gaze again after confirming his well being.
“I can’t explain it Captain. It’s not...” Tintin’s mouth presses into a thin, hard line. Haddock can see him retreating into himself again. The invisible walls going up, locking him out.
“Forgive me. I can’t explain it. Please understand, I simply need to go away for a while.
They stay like that in silence for a small eternity. An uneasy calm widens the chasm of distance between them. A chasm Haddock has grown increasingly disturbed by since that evening in the library.
Haddock, never a diplomatic man by any stretch of the imagination, decides he is done playing the role he has been assigned in Tintin’s mind. A role where he is a bit player whose only task was to watch helplessly as the most important person in his life gets further and further away.
Over his very much not dead body.
“Follow me,” he says simply, picking himself up and biting back the urge to let the pain radiating in his chest show on his face as he does so. Tintin watches him with wide concerned eyes and is quickly on his feet, offering Haddock a hand which he refuses to take. Instead he walks purposefully away, an idea already forming of how to dispel the distance that has wedged itself between them.
Tintin’s light steps sound off the marble behind him as Haddock makes for the kitchen.
Wordlessly, he busies himself fetching the necessary ingredients for a little experiment he wants to conduct. Tintin stands silently under the doorway, watching him.
Even without turning around, he can already see his friend’s eyebrows furrow in mild consternation and his mouth pulling into a frown as he uncorks a vintage Loch Lomond.
“Captain, this is hardly the time for-“
“It is exactly the time,” Haddock replies sternly, fielding off the accusation and sliding the glass tumbler into Tintin’s hand. The amber liquid gleams as it swirls and settles. Tintin stares at it as if he’s never seen a pour of whiskey before.Haddock leans against the counter, battling fatigue from the medicine he took just a few hours ago.
“You want to go? Fine. I won’t stop you. But you’ll drink my poison of choice before you do.” Haddock outlines his terms, hands curled into loose fists and settled on his hips to convey that this condition is not up for debate.
“Why?” Tintin questions, eyes not leaving the liquid.
“Because you look like you need it,” Haddock replies matter of factly.
He’s about to launch into a robust explanation of why Tintin needs to drink at least some of the whiskey before the young man suddenly draws the glass to his lips and tips his head back, gulping it all down with reckless abandon. Like a man dying of desert thirst. Despite himself, Haddock feels his jaw drop, mind and eyes fumbling to coordinate and explain what’s just happened. Tintin exhales as the now empty glass finds its way back to the counter. His eyes look cloudy. Not quite drunk but no longer fully sober, either.
Haddock obliges, making sure to give him less than half the amount of the first pour. Blistering barnacles, that was a generous portion even by his standards and the lad all but inhaled it as if it were-
“I owe you an apology, Captain,” Tintin says steadily.
Tintin smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
"For the past four weeks. You've suffered terribly on my account," he continues, quietly.
Haddock isn't prepared for the conversation that follows. He knows he isn't.
"Is that what's been filling your mind all this time?"
Tintin doesn't reply. Haddock sighs.
"It's a bit drafty in here. Why don't we talk in the library? I'll get a fire going."
Haddock can almost feel Tintin turning the idea over in his mind before he finally responds.
"Alright, Captain."
