Chapter Text
"Blistering Barnacles! Not again!" was the first thought that crossed Captain Haddock's mind when he regained consciousness, while his still clouded memory painfully tried to recall the events which had led him to find himself flattened against a porthole in the corner of an airplane cabin after yet another forced landing.
It had started off so well, and for a few hours, he really had believed that for once, they would be entitled to a real vacation - and they needed it, after Ishia's debacle, as the captain insisted on calling their last adventure. Yes, they had successfully dismantled an art trafficking network, but at what cost! The terrible death of Rastapopoulos and their almost-double-hanging kept pursing them in their nightmares – and, even if Tintin pretended otherwise, the young man had been so shaken by his near-death experience in Ramo Nash's tank that he had developed an aversion to everything sticking, including mud, in which Snowy liked to drag himself. It was a dreadful thing to watch the lad, usually so much in control of himself, losing his composure whenever his shoes got stuck in sludge while recovering his dirty dog from a gully.
When they had come back home, Nestor had been thoroughly upset by their general state of exhaustion and so had been Calculus – he wasn't always that oblivious, you see. The old dear had then taken upon himself to phone his friend and ask if he could borrow again the pretty villa by the artificial Lake of Flechizaff.
Haddock had to admit that he had had mixed feelings when he had learned of the professor's project: sure there was the unforgettable memory of an hilarious golf game with the Thom(p)sons and he had to admit that apart from their cheese from Hell and their damned mineral water, the Syldavians really knew how to party… but he feared that coming back there would only remind Tintin of the enemy who had stood against him for the last time during the Alph-art affair.
But the young reporter’s face had lit up and a spark of life had brightened his eyes for the first time in weeks, as he was listening to the professor describing the arrangements he had made.
- "We'll get see Niko and Nouchka again! How long has it been since we were there last time? Two, three years, already? They must have grown up a lot… And good old Gustav will be there too, isn't it, Snowy?"
The dog, who was under his master's chair, enjoying a cup of coffee drizzled with brandy and a butter croissant, had barked enthusiastically. He probably hadn't heard the rest of the sentence.
- "We won't be able to go for a swim in the lake, given the season, but I'd be glad to go for some hiking in the Zymylpathian Mountains! I heard they're magnificent… and we hardly saw anything of it whenever we were in Syldavia."
Well, of course, they had been running away from goons most of the time.
Haddock had groaned. Everything was settled, then, even if he would have preferred Tintin to stick to playing chess, reading in the swing or strolling with the kids, rather than climbing piles of rocks… How was he not yet disgusted with mountains after Tibet and Peru, that was something of which the old sailor couldn't made heads or tails... Bah, at least hiking was a lot better than that crazy moto biking the young man lost himself into whenever he needed to think or to let off steam (he had not yet broken his neck with this dreadful machine, but it would surely happen soon enough).
So said, so done. The captain had only insisted for Nestor to come with them - he did not want to repeat the experience of a Madame Vleck - and Tintin had called the Thom(p)sons to ask them if they were free: without the two police officers, the gang would not have been complete.
Sometimes, Haddock wondered what they were exactly: a clutter of friends or some sort of unusual family? One thing was certain: over the years, he had learned not to worry about gossip. What mattered, what he wanted to protect, what he refused to give up even when his old demons came back to whisper to him that he was not worthy of so much happiness… was this home to which one could come back after long wanderings, the feeling of being part of something bigger that came with knowing Tintin and sharing adventures with him, his gruff affection for the young reporter, the infuriating friendship he entertained with Cuthbert, his complicity with that faithful brigand of Nestor and even the strange paternal feeling growing on him whenever he thought of these two mannered and clumsy old bachelors who by an unknown miracle had managed to become police.
They had faced danger together (Thousand thundering typhoons, that had even led them to the moon!) so yes, they would go together spend what was left of winter at Sprok Villa, whatever the rest of the world would think of it.
Their luggage packed, they had taken a taxi to the station, the train to Brussels, then a plane to Klow and finally, after a short stopover - just enough time for an excellent sauerkraut sprinkled with, well, quite a tasty white wine indeed - they had found themselves in front of the infamous small private airplane which Haddock had not remembered soon enough (otherwise he would have taken action) and at which he had glared, blocking everyone at the bottom of the ramp.
- "I hope this flying nightmare will get us there safely, this time", he had groused.
- "Woof!" Snowy had chimed in, feeling just as suspicious.
Thomson had whined even before his colleague, distracted by Nestor who was inquiring why his master's mood had suddenly darkened, could say a thing.
- "Come on, gentlemen, one would almost believe you were superstitious!"
Tintin had laughed at them, while Calculus was muttering something about his pendulum.
- "Welcome aboard, gentlemen", the pilot had said in a deep grating voice, pulling on his large mustaches like the one who had done them the dirty blow of abandoning them in the sky aboard a sabotaged aircraft the previous time. They had barely managed to land and would have fallen off a cliff if it hadn't been for Niko and Nouchka's help.
Tintin had stopped the captain before the man would launched into an outraged rant intended to warn the fellow that there was no way they would renew such a stunt.
- "Leave the poor man alone, he's no spy, come on."
Haddock could have sworn that a spark had lit for a moment in the pilot's dark eyes, but he did not want to ruin their holiday upon a stupid reflection of the sun, so he had allowed himself to be led to his seat and had buckled his belt, grouching, soon joined by Snowy, who was just as grumpy as him and had dropped at his feet with his tail between his hind legs. The dog had been scolded by his master: he had flatly refused to board the airplane and Tintin had been running after him for five minutes before capturing him at last.
The Thom(p)sons, not very reassured, had chosen to sit again at the back of the cabin, fiddling nervously with their bowler hats. Calculus was telling Nestor about their vacation from the previous time: it was quite a peculiar version of it. The scientist kept chuckling every five minutes as he remembered "the good trick" played on Rastapopoulos, the messed up program of the machine reproducing objects in 3D. The poor dear had probably never realized how tight the game had been under the lake…
Haddock, scowling, had given up correcting the story. There was no need to put Nestor into a state of panic retrospectively or to make the professor feel guilty. It was all behind them. And Tintin was right, they shouldn't see evil everywhere. The pilot was probably an exemplary man and this vacation was going to be very good.
Well… the pilot had indeed been bought by one of their enemies and he left the plane exactly like the previous one, abandoning them without a parachute in a plane diving in the middle of a storm of dark clouds crackling with electricity.
Then it all went very quickly. Tintin rushed to the cockpit, shouting at them to brace for impact while the indistinct shape of a mountain grew bigger and bigger in front of them; the captain grabbed Snowy who was hollering, sliding on the sloping floor; the Thom(p)sons hugged each other; a terrified Nestor clasped his hands in prayer and Calculus widened his eyes in surprise as he looked up from his book when a flying suitcase cast off his green hat - then, in a maelstrom of snow, broken glass, sparks and torn metal, the plane crashed.
And then everything went dark.
TBC