Chapter Thirteen
Winter Wonderland

December 25th

The sun was pouring through Tintin's bedroom window when he awoke.

It was a soft, pale-gold light, almost tangible. It trickled through the curtains, pouring through the frost-covered glass, drenching the entire room in a soft glow. The sky was that same colour that it had been on the 22nd, the day when he had tried to run away. He leaned over and opened the window, feeling the cold wind wash away his early-morning drowsiness.

Running away. It was something he had been doing for 15 years. Running away from his family. Running away from foster homes. Running away from his orphanage. But give him thirteen days with Captain Haddock, and that was all in the past. The mask was gone.

He'd spent the past two years escaping criminals. Now, he felt as if he had saved himself from... himself.

Would he still need the mask? Maybe. But it wasn't like it had been before. Because the Captain knew who was underneath now. Now, Tintin was nothing more than a nickname. It wasn't something to hide beneath, to bury himself under.

For the first time, he actually felt free.

Closing his eyes, Tintin took a deep, trembling breath, and then slowly exhaled. With it, his tension and fears slipped away. He could feel them going, fading into the light that was now washing his room with a golden glow, like a bird set free, and soaring into the sunset. He felt like he could stay here forever. In this room. In this hall. In this life. In this tiny, beautiful moment. In this fragile piece of calm and rest and light. This was a dream. It had to be. How could anything this beautiful be here? How could he be feeling this, in the midst of the pain and chaos of cold, bleeding reality? This was a dream. He knew it was. And he never, ever wanted to wake up.

"Tintin?"

Tintin's heart leaped when he heard the Captain's voice, coming from right outside his door. "I'm awake," he responded, wincing with pain as he slowly sat up. "Come in."

Grinning eagerly, like a little boy on Christmas, the Captain poked his head through the door. "Get dressed and meet me out front," he whispered. He winked, and closed the door.

With one last wistful glance out the window, Tintin slid out of bed and slowly, painfully dressed himself in his plus-fours and white dress shirt. After a moment of indecision, he pushed his blue pullover aside, opting for a crimson jumper: it looked more festive and anyway, why not? After pulling his socks and shoes on, which was near impossible with his right hand bandaged and his left arm in a cast, he opened the bedroom door. He located his tan overcoat and a plaid scarf, and then stepped out of Moulinsart Hall and into the world outside.

The yard was cold, but the same golden light flooded down. It sparkled on the ice-covered snow, on the tree branches, on the Hall's stone gates. The Captain was there, in his heavy blue overcoat, naval cap on his hat and pipe between his lips. His eyes lit up when he saw Tintin approaching.

"You're here," he said, taking his pipe out of his mouth.

"Of course." Tintin shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step down the front stairs. His vision immediately swam with pain, and he swayed forward, almost losing his balance.

"Steady there." The Captain reached out and grabbed Tintin's arm. "Let me give you a hand."

"Please do." Tintin wasn't used to feeling this weak, but for whatever reason, he didn't mind it. Maybe a couple months ago, when he had been more of a loner, it would have bothered him that the Captain was having to help him down the stairs. But now, he was just glad to have someone be here to help him. And besides: it was the Captain who was helping him. How could he possibly mind that?

They made their way down the stairs, and then to the gravel drive.

"So, how's your Christmas been so far?" the Captain asked.

"Wonderful…" Tintin looked like he wanted to say more, but his voice trailed off after the one word.

The Captain waited for him to expound, but he didn't, so he just said, "Good."

Tintin didn't know where they were going, but the Captain didn't explain. They just kept on walking, and he guessed that Haddock would say where they were going when they got there. He didn't care; it was beautiful outside. The destination didn't matter; he could have walked the grounds for hours.

They trudged over the gravel driveway, and then to the withered rose garden, bare bushes covered in a generous blanket of snow. It was so quiet and still. A bird sang, from far away, and there was the distant sound of a train whistle. Besides that, all was silent.

"So, er, Tintin…what was there?" the Captain asked, quietly, when the silence had begun to stretch. "You know. Back in Ostend?"

"The apartment?" Tintin's eyes closed, and leaning against the Captain's body, he took a shivering breath. "I'd never forgiven my... family... for what happened. I had to tell my father that everything was okay now."

"And is it?" the Captain asked, quietly.

His forehead furrowed a bit, but Tintin nodded. "I've spent my entire life running away from…back then," he explained. "But I'd been running for so long, it turned into running away from you, and that was something that was never supposed to happen." His voice became quieter, and he opened his eyes, looking up almost sadly at the Captain. "Running away only hurts. Both of us. And I won't do it again. Not anymore, I promise."

"I know. But if you ever change your mind, I'm coming after you, like it or not."

Looking down at the snow-covered ground, he grinned softly. "Don't worry. I won't mind. And, Captain, thank you. I—" He was about to continue, but then closed his mouth, cocking his head, a curious look in his eyes. "Do you hear that?" he asked, after a moment. "It almost sounds like…bells. Not church bells. Smallish bells."

"Sounds like it's coming from near the field," the Captain observed.

Tintin thought for a moment, and then said, "Maybe it's gypsies?"

Haddock shook his head. "No, we don't get those around here often. Come on, let's see."

/

They walked for a good three minutes before they saw it.

The path through the Moulinsart woods was like a fairyland.

On the snow-covered branches arching over the white path, were ornaments. Pinecones dangling on silver strings. Small paper snowflakes. Simple glass balls, catching the gold light of the sun. Clumps of ivy, merrily dotted with holly berries. And, of course, the tiny, silver bells. They created a soft, musical ringing that blended into the sound of the pine tree's whispering, as the cold December breeze drifted through their heavy green boughs.

"Captain..." Tintin whispered, swallowing hard

Snow slowly fell to the ground from the branches, beneath the pale gold sky, drifting onto Tintin's upturned face, as he slowly let go of the Captain's arm and took a shaky step towards the path. His lips moved, but he couldn't seem to speak.

The Captain quietly began, "Tintin, I wanted everything to be perfect for you, and..."

But he stopped when he saw Tintin's expression. The boy wasn't crying. It wasn't that. The look in Tintin's eyes was something so powerful, Haddock didn't think he would ever be able to understand, let alone feel it. Pain? Joy? Longing? He couldn't tell. And it didn't matter.

He didn't hold Tintin close, like he had back in the hospital. But he reached out and touched the boy's arm, and once again he could feel that fragile heartbeat, letting the Captain know that he was still there, still alive. And that was enough.

"Everything is perfect," Tintin choked. "It's all so wonderful… I… I just can't…"

He couldn't finish his sentence, but it was okay: Haddock knew what he meant.

"Here," he said, gently taking Tintin's arm. "I can show you around."

/

The world was white.

Everything was covered in a beautiful blanket of clean, quiet snow. Save for the sounds of birds, the ringing of the bells, and the wind in the pines, it was completely silent. They walked through the thick, green pines, beneath the paper snowflakes and dangling pinecones, beneath the bare, majestic oaks.

"How long did this take?" Tintin wondered aloud.

"Ah…well, you know, Nestor helped put the ornaments together…"

"But is this where you were all that time yesterday?

Haddock nodded.

"It's so beautiful…" Tintin whispered again, taking in a deep, shivering breath. "It's gorgeous. It's like nothing I've ever seen before...and that's saying a lot."

"I thought you'd like it. Want to sit?" There was a snow-covered bench on the side of the pathway, and the Captain gestured towards it.

Tintin nodded and stepped towards it. The Captain brushed snow off the seat. Leaning on the arm of the bench, Tintin slowly sat, wincing with pain.

"Easy, now," the Captain said, taking Tintin's arm and letting the boy lean against him. "Don't strain your back. You just dislocated half your spine."

"Two vertebrae," Tintin corrected.

"Yeah, well," said the Captain dismissively—for all he knew, two vertebrae were half a spine— "you could have died from it either way."

Settled himself into the seat next to Tintin, he put his arm around the back of the chair and sighed contentedly. They sat there, silent, for a long time. Tintin was still exhausted, drained—physically, mentally, and emotionally—from the past couple of days. So he was content to just sit there, his head tilted back, listening to the soft chiming of the bells, feeling snowflakes slowly drift from the pine branches, brushing against his face. And the Captain was content to just sit and rest. To be in a beautiful place… on Christmas day… with his best friend? It didn't get better than that.

Minutes slipped by, in their quiet way, hardly felt. The Captain began to think that Tintin had fallen asleep, and was just beginning to worry—after all, somebody who'd just lost litres of blood shouldn't be sleeping in the cold—when the boy suddenly laughed quietly.

"What is it?" Haddock asked, curious.

"I was thinking…remember when we were having that snowball fight? Not yesterday, I mean, the one before that…"

"Of course," he replied, chuckling in turn.

"That was fun."

"That it was."

"I wish I could…" But he didn't finish the sentence. He frowned a little and stopped speaking.

Haddock was silent for a moment, and then began, "So, Tintin… I thought that, since the old bike is kind of totalled…"

"I'm so sorry about that!" Tintin said quickly, looking up with wide eyes to meet the Captain's gaze.

"No, no," the Captain returned, waving his hand dismissively. "That old thing was a piece of crap anyway. I was thinking, you know, since you obviously have a thing for motorbikes, and I have all this money…blistering barnacles, lad, you know exactly what I'm thinking, don't you?" He grinned at Tintin's dumbfounded, barely-daring-to-hope expression. "Yes, Tintin: I'm offering you a new bike."

"For me?" Tintin gasped, his eyes wide with shock.

"Well, sure." He chuckled softly. "By thunder, don't stare at me like that; I feel like I must look like a freak or something. And besides, I mean, it's practically your money, considering you kind of found it and all."

"But—but I don't deserve it—"

"Yeah? And? That's what Christmas is about, isn't it?" The Captain took a long drag from his pipe, and then blew out a steady stream of smoke. "God coming down to the world for undeserving people. Dying to heal them. They didn't ask him to come, but he came anyway. Yeah, I'd say Christmas is all about people being undeserving. Not," he added affably, "that you are. Because if any fifteen-year-old deserved a motorbike, it would be you."

"Captain, I… I don't know what to say."

"You could start with 'Thank you'," he pointed out.

Tintin continued staring blankly ahead of him for a full ten seconds before his overwhelmed brain could process what the Captain had just said. "Of course!" he replied, snapping back to life. "Thank you, Captain! Great snakes! Thank—thank you!" But just as quickly, his face fell. "But… oh."

"'But oh' what?" the Captain asked, aware of something like disappointment in Tintin's voice.

"Well, it's just that…" Wetting his lips, Tintin swallowed hard, his gaze flickering down to his hands, folded in his lap. "It's just that, I don't think motorbikes are allowed in my flat."

"Oh, that's not a problem."

"Oh, yes it is." Tintin laughed grimly. "You don't know Mrs Finch."

The Captain shoved his hands into his pockets and blew out a long stream of air, watching the cloud slowly dissolve into the cold December breeze. "It doesn't have to be, you know."

"Doesn't have to be what?"

"A problem."

"What?" Tintin frowned, looking up to meet Haddock's eyes.

"Well, I was thinking…" He grinned sheepishly, gesturing back towards Moulinsart Hall. The mansard roofs were just visible through the bedecked branches of the oak trees. "I mean, this is a mighty big hall for two people, three if you include Nestor…"

Tintin stared at him for a moment. "Are you… are you asking what I think you are?"

The Captain's grin widened, and he winked cheekily at Tintin. "Depends on what you think I'm asking."

"No. Ha, no. I mean, really… you didn't just…" Tintin blinked and shook his head rapidly. If the offer of the motorbike had overwhelmed him, this had thrown him entirely off the edge. "You mean…you… me, stay?" He opened his mouth to continue, but his voice faltered; he took a deep breath and tried again. "What?" he choked. "You… you want me?"

The Captain stared at him a little. "Who else?"

"But… but why?"

"Well…" He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "It's a bit of a long story…"

"Is it very simple, but at the same time rather complicated?"

"You better believe it. Well, okay, so, it started when I was in the shipping company. I was drinking in my cabin—"

"—As usual."

"As usual," he agreed. "And then, so, this little, 14-year-old Belgian kid with weird, crazy hair, just, I don't know, for whatever reason, he just pitched himself into my cabin."

"And your life," Tintin added, smiling a little.

"Yeah," said the Captain, scoffing, "and I couldn't get him out of either."

Tintin laughed. "Mon bonté! Tenacious little dastard."

"Yeah… he is…but you know—you know, I think I liked that. There was something sort of, I don't know, so sincere about it."

Tintin was still smiling, but the smile changed. It went from being an amused grin to something far more deep—more tender—and yet, at the same time, almost sad. "But then you found out that he was a lie," he said quietly.

"And then I found out that he'd been lying to himself for quite some time," the Captain corrected. His voice was even softer than Tintin's had been. "7 years," he said. "7 whole, entire years. And there was nobody there to tell him that it was okay. No father. No family. Nothing. Just him and his lie. And that was when I decided… I decided that I had to do something about that. Because, you know, I can be a tenacious little—well, big dastard, too."

"What do you mean?" Tintin asked. His voice was almost a whisper.

"Tintin..." Feeling his heart thudding, the Captain reached over and took Tintin's hand. Just say it, Haddock. "Tintin..." He stopped and swallowed. "I'd like to… be your father."

Tintin's eyes were wide. "What…?"

"I don't mean adoption," the Captain said quickly. "I mean, not if you don't want it. I just mean… well, you deserve to have a father, and lad, there's nobody else in the world I would rather have for a son. I care for you like you're my own flesh and blood, you know that. And—and I know I don't deserve you—not at all—but I swear to you, even if you won't have me, I will always, always protect, and love, and care for you."

"I know," Tintin murmured. "But… I…"

For a long, sickening moment, the Captain thought that Tintin was going to say no. That he didn't want a father. And least of all Haddock.

But then he realised that Tintin's lips were trembling. A tear was slipping out from inbetween his long, blonde lashes.

"It's too much," he choked. "I don't… I don't deserve any of this. I just can't…"

The Captain was silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Then he took Tintin's other hand and said, as softly as he could, "I want you, Tintin. The one I've been through life and death with." Time seemed to slow as he reached up to Tintin's face and rested the back of his hand against the boy's cheek. "You," he repeated.

"My…my father," Tintin whispered, and suddenly broke into small, heaving sobs. The Captain wasn't sure how to react, but Tintin acted instead, burying his face into Haddock's chest and clutching his collar. But the crying didn't stop.

"Shh," the Captain hushed, stroking his hair, wrapping his arms gently around him. "It's okay. It's okay… don't worry, it'll be a grand old time."

"It will?" Tintin gasped. But the question seemed to have been rhetorical, because it didn't really matter.

He had a father.

And to Tintin, that was all that could possibly ever, ever matter.

Eventually, his tears subsided, and Tintin pulled back a little—not enough to lose his hold on the Captain, but enough so that he could see the Hall. He gazed at the Hall for a long moment, joy mounting in his clear grey eyes. It slowly built up, growing stronger and stronger, until his entire face seemed to shine.

"Everything's perfect," he said, softly.

Laughing softly, the Captain reached out and rumpled Tintin's hair, and then pulled him closer for another hug.

"Blistering barnacles, lad," he said, over Tintin's shoulder, "you know exactly what I'm thinking, don't you?"

"I like to think so," Tintin responded happily, laying his head more comfortably against the Captain's chest.

The Captain smiled, but didn't say anything. There was no more room for words.

Warm, safe, and content, they looked at the Hall together. And for the first time, it seemed less like a Hall and more like a home. And not only a home. Here, with the golden sun raining down, the falling snow around them, and having his father right here beside him, Tintin couldn't imagine any place more beautiful.

Sighing happily, Tintin wrapped his arms tighter around the Captain, and smiled, letting his eyes drift close.

"Merry Christmas, Captain," he said softly.

"Merry Christmas, lad," the Captain replied.

The End

"The only way love can last a lifetime is if it's unconditional. The truth is this: love is not determined by the one being loved, but rather by the one choosing to love." ―Stephen Kendrick

Author's Note: And Merry Christmas to everybody reading this, too. :)

What an amazing journey through the 12 (well, 13—oops!) days of Christmas! I hope you've loved this story as much as I have… because then you would have adored it. :) Hey, you know what an awesome Christmas present for me would be? A review! Leave a review, and I'll give you one, too. Christmas presents all around! And besides, if you've read this story and haven't reviewed yet, you have to admit, that's not very nice. :3 But don't worry- I love you anyway! :)

So, before I go and eat Christmas breakfast (Belgian waffles! Yes!), once again, Merry Christmas! And have an an awesome New Year!