Authors Note: I call this slightly slash, although there is nothing explicit and nearly nothing inexplicit either; I'm just warning any radical homophobes. (From whom, by the way, Iwouldrather not recieve reiews- I write slash if I like, ok?) The bullet (It really needs a new title, help?)
This is my first attempt to publish any fanfic at all, so I know it's probably not very good. Please, if you review, don't just tell me how awful I am, but do try to give constructive criticism. And my first language is NOT English, so if you have any comments on spelling or grammar, please let me know. But anyway, read and review and I hope you like some of it.
The bullet hit a body. Not the one intended, but another which might still serve the cause quite as well as the initial target. This was not the body of the terrified teenage genius sitting helpless in the corner, but the body of the trained killer and protector, who was hurling himself through the air, fully aware what it meant to take this risk. This man had realized his mistake too late, and now had only one chance to guard that which was his to guard.
The bullet hit a body. Not the one of a lonely, defenceless, intelligent child with too much confidence, but the body of an armed man who had emptied the six cartridges of his
Sig Sauer into the forehead of the opponent before he even hit the floor.
The bullet hit a body. There had been one bullet, and it hit only once, but in the mind of the one watching – the one for whom the bullet had been intended – it was an image etched into his mind a thousand times, a thousand bullets hitting a thousand times the body of the man who was paid to save his life. Over and over it hit, from too close a distance for the bullet proof Kevlar vest to offer any resistance; over and over the man fell to the floor.
The bullet hit a body. A man fell to the floor, shielding his charge with his own physiognomy. A few yards away, another man fell with six bullets fixed in perfect formation in his forehead, but that was merely a threat removed for the boy lying crushed beneath the weight of his bodyguard. The boy who did not see the blood staining his white, five hundred-pound Armani chemise. The boy who was glad to have his life saved once again by the man he trusted with his life; the boy who felt confidence sweeping back and made some sarcastic statement to the employee lying across him with a bullet in his chest. The boy did not know that the shot had come from too close, did not see the blood. When he did, Artemis Fowl felt fear for the first time in his life.
And pain, such as he had never known it. Even as his friend turned his head to ask him a last favour, to call him by his first name, there was only pain. He didn't scream then. He didn't scream as the blue eyes were slowly closing, as the last breath leaved the whitening lips. He did not scream. Not then.
One bullet hit a body, and breaking the complete silence in the tranquillity of night in the Irish manor, an agonized cry cut through the air. It was more a sob than a cry, however, and not very loud, at least not loud enough to wake any of the residents of the impressive building, other than the one from whose own sore throat it had come. Artemis Fowl the second was awakened by the sound, which he was embarrassingly aware had come from himself, and he sat upright in his large bed, rigid and trembling, cold sweat dampening the white linen bedclothes that were tangled around the slender body. His chest was aching from the intense pounding of his heart, the heart meant to be hit by the bullet. It had not hit it.
It had hit Butler, and in a matter of seconds, the life of the then fourteen year old crime lord had taken a three-sixty turn for the worse as his best friend had been thrown closer to death than anyone should survive. He had, however, survived, but the image of that bullet soaring through the air in the small restaurant in London had never left the subconscious mind of the young genius, and it was still constantly haunting his dreams.
It was long ago now, nearly three years, and time had healed the visible scars as well as some unseen ones, but at times Artemis still found himself waking up with his ears ringing from his own screams, heart racing, the feeling of terror and loss washing over him.
Not until the moment when he had seen the blood seeping through the black jacket of his bodyguard had Artemis actually realised just how much he needed the man. He had understood in that moment that he was about to lose his best friend, and that he would never survive that.
In some ways, it frightened Artemis to find how much Butler truly meant to him, that he was so helplessly lonely without the man who had been with him since the day he was born, but in some ways he was simply too relieved that Butler was still alive to care about such bagatelles as being too dependant on a person. He could – and would – never deny it, not, at least, to himself. Knowing, however, that the self-effaced guard would find it rather embarrassing to hear, and afraid himself to fully show how dependant he felt, Artemis had never told his best friend of these thoughts, and he considered it very improbable that he should ever do so. He also had always thought the day would never come when he told Butler of the nightmares, for one thing because he didn't want to weigh a troubled mind with such trifles, but also because that would have required his admitting himself in need of help, and Artemis Fowl was not one to do that.
Lately, however, said nightmares had been more frequent and more terrifying than usual, and this was the third time this week he had woken up in the suites of the nightmare of his friend being shot. Of course, Artemis knew full well that he was not supposed to become emotionally attached to his protector, just as Butler was not supposed to care about his protégé in any way other than a professional one, but he could not avoid it. The things Butler had been through with him and for him, and everything they had done together, had brought the guard and the charge close to each other, more so, almost, than family bonds could have brought them. In his earliest years, Artemis knew that Butler had seen him as something akin to a son or a younger brother, and Artemis had himself had some feelings in that direction as well, but now… Artemis didn't quite know what to call it. It was friendship, a deep and heart-felt such, but something else, as well, which was harder to define.
For that reason, and perhaps for something else too, Artemis' resolve not to trouble his friend with the issue had weakened, and now, sitting shaking on the cold sheets in a dark room that seemed to yell out at him how isolated he was, he finally succumbed to the loneliness that urged him on, and he for the first time seriously considered going to Butler. His first intention had been that of simply heading for the library, where the computer and the books were always at hand to occupy his disobedient mind for a few hours. There was, of course, a television in the same room, but Artemis had always despised the sort of programs broadcasted at this hour. MTV and the rest of that noise, no thank you, he could do well without, and a few chapters of Kant would generally get his thoughts on the right track in a much more silent manner.
But tonight, the thought of the large, empty room with its unfriendly shelves and indifferent books seemed only depressing; great philosophers and their remarkable views were too remote and dispassionate; even the vast Internet with the endless opportunities within it held no temptation for the lonesome boy. What he needed, however much he hated admitting it, was company, the calming presence of another human being and the comforting words of a friend. One certain friend.
Thus it was, in the dead of night, that Artemis Fowl swallowed his pride, wrapped himself in a dressing gown and left his bedroom, silently creeping out in the sleeping house. His step faltered from fatigue and not just a little bit insecurity, but he knew the short way well. He had walked it many times at day, but never for at night, and never like this. The door was lightly ajar, since Butler always preferred to be at hand as soon as possible should there be any occurrence where his presence was required. Still, it was not very peculiar that Butler, although attentive by nature and a light sleeper by habit, had not been awaken by the small cry caused by Artemis earlier, for the sound had been rather faint, and there were a few rooms between the chambers of the guard and his charge.
From where he stood, Artemis could hear the regular breathing from the sleeping tenant of the room, and as he inaudibly slid the door open a bit more, he could discern the outline of the motionless figure in the bed, delineated in the faint moonlight shining through the slits in the heavy curtains. He smiled at the sight of the familiar silhouette, a feeling of rather childish relief flashing through the seventeen year old boy's heart. He scolded himself as he recognized the sentiment, but the indignity of it did not prevent him from liking what he felt. For some seconds, he simply stood in the doorway, watching the rise and fall of Butler's chest and taking in the sight with the simple serenity it gave him. Finally, he decided it was much too improper just standing there, watching another man sleep, so he took a few unsure steps into the room.
Being hesitant quite bothered him; it was most certainly not one of the more dignified sentiments he would have preferred, but this situation and these emotions were alien to him, and Artemis felt as if he really couldn't help it. And, strange as it may seem, he didn't so much mind being insecure around the one person whose presence he was at the current time seeking as he would have with anyone else. Butler always had put up with the things that Artemis himself was not too fond of in his personality, and he had even told Artemis some time that he not always had to be so confident. Artemis was not quite sure whether or not he liked this. On one hand, it felt a bit as if Butler was not taking him seriously, as the adult he was in his mind, but on the other hand it actually felt rather good to have someone tell you that they accepted you as you were. The ambiguity of it all mostly confused and disturbed Artemis, but right now he was too tired and lonely to care. Eventually putting himself together and regaining some of his usual confidence, he stole up to the sleeping form.
Coming closer, he stopped some two feet away to observe the tranquil relaxed face, bathed in moonlight. The sharp lines around the brows were smoothed out; the tense lips had softened and were slightly parted. Standing there in the darkness and silence, Artemis regarded his bodyguard with new eyes, as the aesthete regards a striking picture, and he could not but admit that the image before him was a becoming one. Dark hair in a half-inch trim lining the fine form of the head, sharp cheekbones with a light stubble, dark eyelashes resting on the cheeks, all framed in an amiable, although somewhat reserved face that bore the signs of too many years of tension. Yes, it was indeed an agreeable tableau, if not precisely the picture of ideal beauty. Although an appreciator of art and sculpture, Artemis had never seriously thought about to the appearance of the man, who was after all only an employee and a guard. Or – supposed to be so. But still, standing there, regarding, thinking, feeling, Artemis found it difficult to deny the simple beauty in the face before him.
Then, upon realizing what his brain was telling him, the genius all but slapped himself. What was he thinking? Butler was a bodyguard, a friend and companion, and not even remotely interesting in any other respect. His looks were not important. And yet… Artemis regarded the face once again. There was something definitely appealing in the softness of the lips, the half-smile playing in the corners of the mouth and the fine contrast between the dark brows and the light skin, left pallid in the modest Irish sun. Of course Butler was also in possession of rather an acceptable body, considering the years and years of exercise it had taken to bring him through the demanding Body Guard Academy under the strict supervision of Madame Ko. He had been eighteen years of age then, the youngest ever to graduate, and now he was some-and-thirty but looked considerably younger. Artemis had barely believed him when Butler once commented that all people knew him as a nearly forty-year old. In Artemis' eyes, the man could hardly be more than thirty-two or so. Of course, the fairy-healing after the would-have-been fatal shot had taken a few years from him, and his physical age should be around forty-five, but all the same, the remainders of that healing were very scarcely visible now, and Butler looked the same healthy although tried athlete he had been in his not very distant youth.
Once more snapping out of his reverie, Artemis scowled at the path his mind was taking him along. Growing quite irritated with the tendency his mind had to slip from its trail, he excused himself with the lateness of the hour, but he somehow could not fully put the thought from his mind. Butler was handsome, it could not be denied, and the seventeen year old hormone bomb knew it full well why he considered it to be so. No matter how much he disliked it, he knew where his mind went some times at night. And he knew that in those secret, awkward ramblings of his mind, girls were not involved. Not that the thing in itself mattered to the criminal genius; if boys were his preference, that was no major issue; no, the true problem was that he preferred anyone at all. Up to puberty, his perfectly controlled mind had shown no difficulties in keeping course on whatever plan, experiment or cryptogram was his object, but then something had changed. It had been a subtle change, not overnight, but eventually an unprepared Artemis had found his thoughts heading in completely different directions than had been the intention. Suddenly his mind just slipped, and all out of the blue his gaze was heading for the enticing silhouette of a passing boy, the deep black eyes of the charming Italian waiter or the soft-looking hands of his tall, slim tailor…
Distractions of the kind disturbed the young genius, but he still knew better than to fight it, knowing how futile it would be. But to think of Butler that way… no, that was simply not possible. And yet here he was, standing like a fool before his oldest friend, unable to let his gaze leave the finely-chiselled countenance. Feeling utterly confused, and not only a little annoyed with himself, Artemis shrugged and endeavoured to get back to his usual rational self. Butler stirred in his sleep, which caused the dark satin cover to slide down from the muscular shoulder beneath the fabric, exposing the skin beneath. Artemis, in spite of himself, drew a sharp breath at the sight. The white skin looked so smooth, so soft and vulnerable. Not quite certain what he was actually doing, or how he could ever have let his senses slip so far from him, he reached out to grip the cover, carefully pulling it up over the shoulder again. He should not have.
At the light touch, Domovoi Butler, trained to perfection in every art there was of swiftly causing pain, immediately woke up, every sense suddenly on full alert. Upon realizing that someone was standing less than a yard from his head, the bodyguard recognized the situation as exceedingly dangerous and instantly reached for the revolver beneath his pillow. The Sig Sauer was drawn, unsecured and aiming at the head of the intruder in a matter of moments; a bodyguard could not waste time when their charge might be in danger. Butler's finger was firm on the trigger, but not pulling. The room was dark, and Butler would not kill someone he could not see, since he could not be certain it was in fact an enemy. An instant later, he would be glad for this habit.
"Who's there?" he demanded sharply, his hand not faltering for an instant.
"It is me, Butler, I… I apologize…" The silent, hesitant answer in the all too familiar voice caused a whole series of sudden emotions in the expert warrior.
A flash of relief was one; it had not been any threat against the security of his charge or the rest of the family in which he served. Another was that of utter horror, what if he might have hurt the one he was seeking to protect? A third one was that of complete blankness, what in the world was his charge doing here?
And also another thing came to the guard's head, which brought only concern to his mind: had something happened which was the reason that Artemis was standing in his bedroom at – he glanced at the digital clock on his bedstead – half past one in the morning?
His reaction was delayed by the confusion and perplexity, but after a few seconds the large man gave a deep sigh of relief, heavily sinking back in the bed with his eyes closed, the hand holding the firearm slowly descending.
"Artemis." he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "God, don't ever scare me like that again."
Looking up at the boy at his side, whose face wore and expression of mingled fear, bewilderment and regret, he added in a more gentle tone:
"I wouldn't like to shoot you, you know. That would be such a pity."
He gave a small smile, but it vanished at the sight of his charge. Realising that said charge had probably been as frightened as Butler himself, the bodyguard put the pistol once more in its place beneath the pillow and turned back to Artemis, a look of worry in his eyes.
"I'm really sorry if I scared you, Artemis", he said very carefully, "but you mustn't surprise me like that. Always warn me at a few yard's distance and I'll have the time to wake up, OK?"
Artemis nodded, still remaining silent. Butler could have kicked himself for upsetting his young protégé, and regret flooded over him. It was not the time, however, and he could see that there was something else troubling his employer's mind than just this.
"What's happened?" he asked, his voice giving a way the concern he felt. "Artemis, are you OK?"
Artemis finally snapped out of whatever had been clouding his mind. He truly had been frightened by the guard's sudden awakening, but the major part of it was simply from the surprise. He also was confused, but not for the reason Butler thought, but for his own action. Why of all stupid things had he chosen to awake a sleeping warrior without warning? He knew full well that he must always call Butler's name from a few yards distance before the bodyguard could safely be approached, or exactly this reaction would be obtained. Then why had he let his mind slip, why had he done such a completely foolish thing as this? And why the action in itself? It was too… affectionate to pass between charge and bodyguard, and very much more so when coming from him. Not to himself, and even less to the man whom he had exposed to this strain, could he explain it. The genius once more scolded himself for his complete stupidity, but then remembered his original reason for being here. At this, he felt even more embarrassed than before. Such a childish reason to wake a grown man, and such a stupid way to do it! Artemis felt truly ashamed about himself, but realized he had to take the responsibility for his own actions. Besides, he would only make a bigger fool out of himself were he to stand there without explaining.
Turning his eyes back to the gentle gaze of his bodyguard, Artemis tried to find the words that would bring him to his usual composure and explain this in a neat and simple way, but found to his horror he had none. The dark eyes watching him had only care in them, and yet he was so embarrassed he could hardly manage any of his trademark nonchalance. Finally, he managed a few words of dignity.
"I'm sorry to have disturbed you", he began, but then his voice failed him and he could only stammer a, "but I…" and his voice trailed off.
Throwing formality to the winds, he lowered his gaze to the thick carpet and mumbled, his voice silent and hoarse;
"I had a nightmare."
He could have killed himself for showing this weakness, this childish imperfection, and he reproached himself to no end for how stupid the words sounded. Surely Butler would be embarrassed to see the one whose supreme intellect he knew so well in such an undignified state…
But Butler wasn't. Where there had been concern in his eyes, there was now only a deep compassion, not pity, - for which Artemis was for ever grateful – but compassion from the bottom of the other's soul. Artemis was relieved, but still embarrassed, and looked back at his feet, losing his inner fight for always maintaining eye contact. Butler saw his dilemma, and at first hesitated, then acted purely on instinct. Knowing that what he was doing was rather inappropriate to the proud young man and out of line of his duties to his charge, the bodyguard reached out a hand towards the miserable being standing just the few feet away, and gently grabbed him by the shoulder. Butler feared, when the boy turned his head back up, that there would be irritation or scolding in his eyes for the too friendly gesture, but when Artemis' stunning blue eyes once more met his, their expression was one of deep, heartfelt gratitude and affection. To that, there was something else, which touched Butler's very heart. There was pain. The pain in a child without a friend, the pain in a young man without support, the pain in a lonesome genius who wants nothing but love, the pain in someone who fears to be left alone again. It was too much for Butler, to see the young man he so cared about in such agony. He couldn't stand it.
He knew it was not right when he placed his other hand on Artemis' thin shoulder, but the look in the young man's eyes was not to be misread.
He knew it was stupid when he increased the pressure in the grip he held, but the blue eyes would not leave his.
He knew it was simply wrong when he pulled the boy close in a firm embrace, but the slender arms that slid up around his neck gave no time for hesitation.
He knew he was happy when he felt Artemis sigh against his throat, as the shaking body of the crushed genius calmed at the touch.
He knew what love was when he heard him whisper his name.
"Domovoi".