Epilogue

Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light - Helen Keller

Groaning softly, Tintin opened his eyes. White, was his first impression, and for a moment he wondered if he was dead. It wasn't a bad thought – he wasn't afraid or anything – and it was rather a nice feeling. He didn't hurt at all now, and he felt quite floaty and nice. Then his memories came back and he sat up, realising he had just been staring at the ceiling for the last fifteen minutes.

He was in a hospital bed. He vaguely remembered getting into an ambulance, the Captain with him every step of the way (and sitting on a hypodermic needle by accident), but he couldn't really remember anything after that. He was in a good sized room with a small bathroom off to the right, the door standing slightly ajar. The windows were open and a soft breeze washed over him, and he could hear the familiar sounds of a city. A black television was mounted to the wall at the foot of the bed: Clarkson and the rest of the Top Gear crew were messing about with a formidable looking Hilux jeep, but the sound had been muted.

That it was Top Gear was strangely comforting: it was the Captain's favourite television show.

He took stock of himself. His left arm was in a light-weight, dark blue cast. Lifting his t-shirt – a fresh black one that looked brand new – he could see that his old gunshot wound – or Ol' Woundy, as he was starting to fondly think of it – was freshly bandaged. He had a few choice bruises and cuts, but they looked to be healing now too. A drip was attached to his right wrist, feeding fluid into his exhausted body with each steady drip.

The door opened and a kind-faced woman wearing a smart set of nurses' scrubs came in. She smiled happily and spoke in rapid Flemish. "Ah, you're awake at last! Everyone will be so pleased. Let me just call Doctor Stone for you." She crossed to the bed and he found himself scooting warily away as she leaned over and pressed a red button that hung from a cord above his head. She smiled reassuringly and went back to the door, and leaned out. "Captain Haddock? He's awake now," she said, switching to English.

Tintin's heart soared and his smile returned as the Captain appeared at the door. They grinned at each other, happy but curiously shy. "Oh Captain!" Tintin said at last, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "I thought I'd never" –

"Less of that!" The Captain hurried to the bed and laid a comforting hand on Tintin's shoulder. "Never think like that, lad. It's bad for the soul."

"But how did you even find me?" Tintin asked.

"Nash told Akass everything. Then Akass told us in return for a deal."

"What deal?" Tintin asked sharply.

"Relax: he's going to jail for a very long time. But he'll spend his days in an American prison so he can be near to his own family."

"American? I thought he was Greek?"

"Nope: he's from New Jersey. Look, here's the doctor now."

"But how did you find me?" Tintin asked again.

"Hush up and I'll tell you in a minute."

"Good to see you awake again, Mr Tintin!" The doctor was a tall man with a good-natured face and a round body that reminded the Captain of an old Toby jug. "My name is Doctor Stone: I've been treating you. Now, I want to take your temperature. Stay still for a moment."

Dr Stone produced a digital thermometer, and Tintin stiffened as he pushed it into his ear. They stayed like that for about minute, until the doctor pulled the device out and read the small L.E.D display. "Good! Back to normal. Another day or so and we can discharge you, I think. It was touch and go for the last twenty four hours – you certainly had us all worried; it was quite a bad infection – but the antibiotics have done their job and cleared it up. Congratulations, Mr Tintin! You have the constitution of an ox! I've seen grown men suffer less, and almost break under the strain."

"He's too stubborn to give up," the Captain said proudly. He reached out and ruffled Tintin's hair and immediately felt like a bit of a tit.

"I just need to take one more sample, and then I'll leave you two alone." Dr Stone pulled a small, white plastic cylinder from his pocket. He opened it and pulled out what looked like a swab. "Open your mouth, please."

"What is that?" Tintin asked, curious.

The Captain looked uncomfortable, and tugged at his ear. "Is this necessary?" he asked worriedly. "Surely he gets a say in this?" He pointed at Tintin.

"A say in what?" Tintin asked warily. "What's going on?"

"Nothing for you to worry about," Dr Stone said heartily. "Open up wide – good man…" He ran the swab over the inside of Tintin's mouth, along each cheek. "Like so! And it's over. Now, how's your appetite? Are you hungry?"

"Starving!"

"Good! You're well on the mend. I'll have something sent up to you. Try and drink some water too." Dr Stone replaced the swab in its plastic container and slipped it back into the pocket of his white coat. Wishing them good morning, he left.

"What was that about?" Tintin asked as soon as he was gone.

"Er, it's a bit complicated." The Captain brought a chair over and sat next to the bed. "Akass gave us the name of Nash's first victim" –

"Madeline Gascard?" Tintin asked.

"Exactly. That statue, the one called 'Mother'… Well, her parents have positively identified her. D.N.A. testing will confirm it. We got a court order this morning demanding that you do one too. That's what Dr Stone was doing just now."

"Is that even legal?"

"Well, technically you're still a minor…"

"I'm seventeen in a few months."

"Actually, if you're really Madeline Gascard's son" –

"Captain," Tintin said flatly, "I'm seventeen at Christmas."

"Fine. Ok."

"Who ordered it?"

"The Gascard St Clare family."

"That was fast."

"I have a feeling they move fast when their money's at stake. I've already talked to my solicitor – she thinks they'll just get you to sign something saying that you won't go looking for any of Madeline Gascard's share of their fortune."

"They don't have to worry about that," Tintin promised. He lay back against the pillow, unsure of how he felt about all this. "I don't want anything from them."

"They could be your family, you know," the Captain pointed out quietly.

"I already have a family."

They smiled at each other, until the Captain ruined the moment. "Fist bump?"

"Bros for life." They looked around, making sure nobody was lurking outside, and fist bumped.

"We're dorks," Tintin said. "So how did you find me? Was it very simple, but at the same time rather complicated?"

"No, not at all." The Captain clasped his hands over his stomach and took a deep breath. "Madeline's family didn't know a Ramó Nash, but they knew a Ramó Col, and Ramó Col owned an apartment in Paris and a house in the middle of the boonies in Flanders. Both places were checked, but the apartment had been abandoned a long time ago – a couple of hippies were squatting in there, I believe – and the house in Flanders seemed a dead cert, considering all the history you both have there. Did you know Nash and Madeline had run away to live there, when she found out she was pregnant?"

"He mentioned it," Tintin said, rolling his eyes. "He told me everything. Is it all true?"

"It's true that they lived there, and it's probably true that he killed her there. I have a feeling that our Mr Col has a hard time letting go of the past."

"So what happens now?"

"Now? You get well and we go home."

"So, what was wrong with me?"

The Captain shifted his chair so that he was facing the television, and reclined, planting his feet on top of the bed, beside Tintin's legs. "A blood infection. It was pretty bad," he admitted. "I guess it didn't help that you were bloody exhausted."

"Oh. Well, I feel ok now."

"Yeah, that'll be the morphine. You had one of the worst cases of Saturday Night Fever I've ever seen." He put one hand on his hip and jabbed at the air with the forefinger of his other.

"Aaah! Captain! It hurts to laugh!"

"Sorry."

"Where's Snowy?"

"Back at the hotel. We're still in Flanders. In Oostende," he added. "If you like, I can smuggle him in for you later."

"In here?"

"Yeah!"

"In to a hospital?"

"Yeah!"

"Where there are sick people?"

"Uh, yeah…"

"A dog?"

"Um."

"Perhaps not?"

"Perhaps not."

The Captain pressed a button on the remote control and they settled back in silence to watch Simon Cowell take a Suzuki Liana around the Top Gear race track. It was a repeat: they both knew he'd beat Jimmy Carr's time. It was nice, Tintin realised, to just sit and relax. It was a change of pace, and both were glad of it after the preceding few days.

"So," he said eventually, "did I miss anything?"

"Like what?" the Captain asked.

"I don't know. News? Where's my phone?"

"Your phone?" The Captain rolled his eyes. "Blistering barnacles, I don't know how many times I had to answer your phone. You don't half get a lot of calls, do you? I had to turn it off, eventually. It's in the car."

"You turned it off?" Tintin exclaimed. "But I never turn my phone off! What if someone rang with a tip-off or an exclusive?"

"Do I look like your P.A.? Tintin, I was a bit busy trying to find you! If I wanted to spend my days answering your phone, I'd demand a wage. And a title."

"Fine, I'll call you 'Lord Haddock'. Can I have my phone now?"

"No. It ran out of battery, you cheeky sod, and I don't have a charger for it. I'll get it for you later."

"When I'm discharged," Tintin said happily.

"Thundering typhoons, like hell!" the Captain said with a snort. "As far as I'm concerned, you're going to do exactly what the doctor ordered this time, and stay in bed!"

x

Two hours later, Tintin checked himself out of hospital and had an emotional reunion with Snowy. Then he, along with the Captain and Snowy, started the journey back to Moulinsart and Marlinspike Hall. It was, he knew, a welcome journey; possibly the most welcomed journey of his life so far. They left Oostende behind gladly.

Ramó Nash would be going to jail for a very long time now, and the families of the dead girls would finally receive closure, the Gascard St Clare family among them. it would be a long, thankless job, trying to identify each of the bodies, and Tintin knew realistically that not all of them would be claimed. But for now, that was a job for someone else and for another day. All Tintin had to do now was sit back for the next hour and let someone else do the driving.

"Blistering barnacles, that sodding air conditioner!"

"Can I turn on the radio?"

"Whatever, just keep the volume do-arrrrgh! My ears!"

"Sorry, Captain. Ooh! Cheryl Cole!"

"Turn it down, you baubeling probationer, you!"

"Sorry! Kind of like that song, though. It's catchy."

"Ha! She got fired off The X-Factor U.S.A."

"No way! Crumbs, Cowell, you fool!"

"Yup. She's gone back to England. She didn't get her old job back either."

"If she needs a place to stay she can live in my bedroom. You won't mind that, will you Captain?"

"Pfft! Get in line, kid; get in line!"

Fin

Author's Note: And thus ends my first ever fan-fiction! I have been completely over-whelmed by the response you guys have given me. 100% of the comments/reviews have been constructive and wonderful, and the Tintin community in here is amazing. Much thanks, from the bottom of my heart, to every person that took the time to read and review this story. Some of you have stuck with me from the beginning, some of you we picked up along the way, but all of you have encouraged me to finish this so much. Thank you all.

Er. Considering the ending... Modern!Tintin will probably continue. Maybe with a story set in Hong Kong. With Chang. That might already be half-written. Probably after Tintin in Paris and The Crab with the Golden Claws are finished. *slinks back into the shadows*