Nearly

The professor recalls the day he lost his hearing.

They called him a genius.

Oh, that was such a glorious day. Valedictorian of his secondary school, introduced as the resident genius of the area. The applause they gave him, with whistles and cheers. He can remember it so clearly, from the noise the audience made to the stretch of his smile. He remembers seeing his mother, clapping wildly and jumping up and down with excitement. She had never been called "genius." It delighted her to see her son receive such a title.

Calculus can remember his entire speech, word for word. He recalls being terrified; afraid he would stumble over his words or forget them. But that did not happen. He spoke smoothly and clearly, even made a few jokes, something unheard of from him.

He remembers the school headmaster coming forward, announcing Calculus's acceptance to the Oxford University. That was something Calculus had kept secret, even from his mother. He had wanted to surprise her, but in front of everyone in the school, it was the perfect way to do so.

His mother was overjoyed during their walk home, playfully scolding him for keeping his achievement secret. "Cuthbert, you rascal," she laughed. And she slipped her arm around his shoulders and squeezed him.

"Mum," Calculus complained, "we're in public."

"Damn right we are," his mother laughed. "And I want everyone to know that I am the mother of the boy who's going to Oxford." They strolled past a café, with several people taking their evening meal outside. "My son's going to Oxford University!" she shouted.

Mrs. Calculus was well known around the town, and many of the restaurant customers cheered. "Atta boy, Cuthbert!" called Mr. Davies, one of their neighbors.

Calculus tried not to look too embarrassed, but he blushed nonetheless. "Thanks," he mumbled.

They walked happily through London. His mother could not stop grinning. Every person they passed, if they even looked the least bit familiar, was informed that her little Cuthbert was headed to Oxford. Calculus was horribly embarrassed, but he had never seen his mother so happy, and he didn't want it to go away.

This is the part Calculus remembers the most; walking with his mother, seeing the faces of the passerby as they neared the courthouse, with hardly a care in the world. He remembers how, just as they walked by, he heard a noise so very loud.

Then the world burned orange for a brief instant, soon replaced with plumes of smoke and dust. Calculus blinked, trying to figure out when he had fallen to the ground and why there was no noise. People came running up to him, but he could not hear them. He felt dizzy. His head hurt. He tried to move, but he was weighed down with heavy bits of stone rubble.

Mr. Davies was the one who grabbed him, lifted him to his feet. Calculus's ears were ringing painfully, and his head felt too heavy. He could see Mr. Davies's mouth moving, but only the faintest of sounds came out.

"A fight?" Calculus repeated loudly. "No, I didn't get in a fight, I think." He dusted himself off a little and sighed. His graduation robe was in ruin. "Where's my mother?" he questioned. She could fix the tears for him.

Mr. Davies blinked several times. He tried to reply, but no words came. He only turned his head, gazing at the rubble a few feet to the left.

There was a body visible just under all the debris. Calculus's heart stopped. He was immediately at her side, throwing bits of the courthouse off his mother and wiping the dust away from her clothes. "Mum?" he asked tentatively.

There was no reply. Calculus assumed it was because his ears were ringing—he clearly did not hear it. He heaved a particularly heavy block from her head and leaned down by her face. He ignored her blank, dirt flecked eyes and put his ear by her mouth. "Mum," he said again.

Nothing. Not even a breath on his cheek.

Calculus remembers the crying, then. He remembers Mr. Davies trying to comfort him, not hearing a word the man said. Most clearly, though, he recalls his mother's face. Her mouth was barely open, her eternal grin wiped completely from her lips. Dirt and grime on her cheeks, something she never would have stood for ordinarily, with a strand of her brown hair lying lazily across her nose.

On her stomach. Arms splayed. On the street. Surrounded by broken rocks and other debris from the bomb. The back of her head red and wet, matting up the hair she used to tie in a bun, ignorant of whether it looked good or not.

He misses her. There is not a day at Marlinspike where Calculus does not wonder how he could have prevented that awful incident. The tears stopped falling long ago, perhaps because he ran out. For one fanciful period of his life, Calculus dreamed of building a time machine, so he could go back and save her.

But he knows he cannot. Calculus has moved on. He has a family, of sorts: Captain Haddock, Tintin, Nestor, and occasionally Bianca Castafiore. He is a well-renowned scientist, and nearly as happy as he was on that day.

Nearly.

*AN: Face it. Calculus gets like NO love from the fanfic writers. About time he got some. Tragic love, yes, but there you have it.*