Untouchable: An Interview

"Even to this day I sometimes sit and think about why I let Artemis take the hit that day in the Artic. The thought occurs more frequently than you would think, and I've developed several tricks to fool myself and force my attention on to another task, even if I have to make one up to move away from it. I will speak out loud so my inner thoughts are overpowered by something tangible—a voice, sound waves—that replaces them. I will hum quietly, but only if no one else is in the room, or I will force another thought over the top of the memory and effectively drown it out. I can almost anticipate when the thought is coming now. It suggests itself almost routinely when I am checking the rebound shock-locks on the windows. They were Foaly's design, and he allowed me to install them here. Anyone who tries to open a window from the outside when the locks are activated will be met with a burst of compressed fission atoms. They are specially engineered to divide upon contact with oxygen, creating quite a wave of pure fission energy that could potentially leave a grizzly bear lying flat on its back for a few hours.

Anyway, usually on my third check on the upper corridor the memory materializes. At that time humming has proven to be the best option seeing as the Fowls are in bed, but I must admit I think Artemis heard me once a while ago as I passed his door. He looked at me strangely the next morning, and conversationally mentioned how delightful the birds were when they sang outside his window. It was winter. There were no birds, as they had migrated for a time and would not be back for a few months. I realized this, of course, and shot him a look. He grinned and said that he would have to purchase a bird feeder. He was such a nuisance as a teenager.

The humming usually takes care of things when I do not want to be distracted…but on occasion, such as last night…I let it in, and at once the snow returns to my mind's eye. I remember it was so white, almost blindingly so. The sky was white, the ground was white, and in the middle white wind blurred the horizon, and the division of earth and sky no longer seemed evident. I do not remember the cold, but I know my face felt numb and my fingers felt swollen. Every part of me had turned to ice—the ground seemed to have sucked the warmth out of me—but in the memory it is not so. The cold, I think, is too unreal to reproduce in any memory.

But the blindness returns, and I can see the scene as it happened in front of me. Well, first I remember the finger. Holly's finger came through the door and hit the Commander in the eye. But that was before…while there was still the possibility of being crushed by a train full of radiation. Well, I came down through the train's upper hatch door when it was time to get off after making sure those goblins had gone. I can still remember the one who shot the other two in the back. At first, I was not sure if I accepted it, and wanted to find that goblin later and show him a thing or two about honor and loyalty. You cannot simply shoot your partners in the back…I thought about what Ko would have said about it, and then realized that she had never gone through a mission where my teammates were goblins with jet packs…so to this day I'm still not sure about it.

We made it off the train. I carried the Captain. I could tell Root was worried we would run out of time, or the sealed acorn she had—she always had one even though it was against regulations—wouldn't work. Seeing that spark…coming up from Holly's hand…when I was so sure that we had lost her finger. It is a moment of renewed happiness in that memory amongst the confusion. Even her slightly alarming reaction to the magic made me glad.

…Now I sigh because this is the difficult part. Holly was lying on the ground for what seemed like forever before she suddenly shot up. Artemis ran to her, and oddly, touched her. I remember thinking how strange it was to see him anxious and voluntarily offering some kind of comfort. In fact, he was generally concerned. I had not seen him look that way in a long time, and I was stunned, which is part of the reason—no, that's only an excuse. In all honestly, I knew when the Captain raised her hand what was going to happen. I discerned it in her eyes.

You see, everyone's eyes get a certain way when they are about to inflict pain on someone. Holly was fully aware of what she was doing, and her eyes told me that. They glinted, and she was aware of what Artemis had done, accident or not. Of course, other elements of his cruelty to her played into her expression. It was a glint, a rather bright one in the corner of her eyes. Her body tensed and she drew her newly repaired hand into a fist. Artemis did not move. I don't think he had the slightest idea about what was about to happen to him. How could he? He had never been hit like that in his life. And I let it happen.

How I let it happen, I don't know. I trained for so many years to be ready to protect my charge. I learned how to fight, to shoot a gun—almost every gun on and not on the market—then, even a bazooka. Although I never really gathered where Ko thought I would be where there would be bazooka's lying around, the bazooka training was especially exhilarating. Several times I had the privilege of destroying various cars, trucks, and—with the more powerful military models—entire buildings. I was taught that nothing mattered except my charge, that I had to take every hit to ensure my charge stayed alive. So where did all of that go?

I had enough time. I remember now, thinking how easy it would be to prevent Holly's strike and break the two apart. I guess it was…I was just so amazed it was actually happening…I didn't want to stop the momentum.

I can say now that Holly deserved to even the score between them for the previous year's fiasco. Artemis had made her a prisoner and had used her to strip the knowledge away from her people, making their secrets vulnerable. I do not blame her for wanting to hit him. I would not have blamed her if she had tried to kill him, because I know she wanted to. In fact I'm pretty sure the entire fairy community—population—wanted him dead—and me, too, "the giant"—in those first years. Of course I would have prevented that…but if I can prevent his death, why then did I not prevent this small blow?

I remember thinking as Holly drew her arm back ever so slightly that this hit was going to be significant; a considerable mile-marker in young Artemis's life. At the time I did not have it all worked out in my head, but I feel I do now…and this is why:

Artemis, I think, had developed the notion that he was untouchable. Although he always despised making excuses or any sort of justifications concerning his age, I believe his youth played a part. He had seen, unfortunately, many things before age ten that no child should ever have to see—but he had never seen a child, a boy like himself, being hit, or in any way, harmed. There had never been any direct attempts on his life up to that point, but I am sure many were prevented simply by my presence at his side. While his father was with us before the crash, he was good to Artemis, and even though my charge had seen too much, he was sheltered. No one, he reasoned, would harm someone as young as himself.

This conception, I believe, derived from his lack of understanding. You can say Artemis Fowl the Second was the most intelligent young man of today, but go back a few years into his past and you will see that you were wrong. When Artemis was younger he did what he wanted, with no consideration of the emotional collateral damage he would cause. Physical aspects, yes, he could calculate them. Financial aspects, yes, along with material aspects as well. But Artemis had no grasp on emotion. He could tell you the definition, as he memorized the dictionary when he was nine, but ask him to dive beneath the surface of the word and he could not do it. Words were still superficial to him then. He said what he wanted.

Consequences—he never had any. In those early years when we first got involved with the People, I never thought to try to advise him. I warned him on occasion, but I never made it my business to know everything he was planning. He would not tell me, and I never pressed him. Angeline had boarded herself in her room and slowly began to slip away...I do not blame her for anything, but there was no authority there. Because I was always at his side, I know he was never scolded—not once. Artemis, I think, believed he could do no wrong…or, rather, do wrong, and always get away with it.

His intelligence made him invulnerable, too. Even if he had considered possible retaliation from any one of his earlier victims, he probably never thought any of them capable of inflicting any damage upon him in any way. He had me. Always had me…and always had a plan. No one could get near him without my glare, and no one could harm his estate as long as he continued to out-smart them, and outwit them all. I truly believe he nearly lost control.

Now I know it's going to sound tacky but…then along came Holly. Well, actually, along we came and captured Holly—which I do not regret so much at all. I regret the circumstances of course, but Holly has done so much that I'm glad we met and have become, as remarkable as it sounds, friends. I think Artemis owes all that he was to her, and I even think he realized—as much as he does not want to—that Holly had fixed his greatest mistake. She was everything that is right in areas where he was wrong. She was his greatest enemy and, in a way, his saving grace.

Ahem…anyway…so, the question was why did I let Artemis take the hit that day. In all honesty, the boy needed to be touched. His fictional status of existence needed to be blown apart in order for him to feel and act like a human being, and the only way that would happen is if somebody—namely Captain Holly Short—finally reached out and punched him in the face. I really believe he woke up for a moment there, and everything…I think…broke inside of his head. His walls, his beliefs, his essential inner workings…they shattered by means of an elf's fist, and Holly was there ever since to help him piece himself back together. Artemis got a second chance because of that hit, and although he resisted for a while afterwards and still made mistakes, he was no longer completely calloused. He had a lot to learn…and I think he was really afraid of getting hit again. I mean, Holly's aim was right on—right between the eyes. It must have hurt and been rather traumatic, and only in remembering the bruise that later formed am I truly sorry. I did not think he would do anything entirely immoral around her, or without worrying what she will think of him afterwards—or what she would do to him if she did not like what she saw.

It is funny. Now that I think about it, I do not know why I try to avoid this memory so much. I think before I felt like the memory was a failure of mine. I did not earn my salary by letting my charge get punched in the face. I was told I am supposed to protect him with my life and must always be willing to do that…but it was a heavy burden sometimes, especially back before things changed. I lost my morals, I think, too. Yes, even I have them. They are buried deep, but they are there. Artemis did not ascertain them until that day, and it is all because of a missing finger situation gone wrong, and one very unique ally.

Another thing…the last part of the memory is the most clear to me. Their faces…I still see them as if I am standing in the middle of an artic blizzard up to my ankles in a snowdrift. Artemis fell onto his back and stared up at the sky. For a moment, his eyes were blank—I had never seen them that way. I could tell he had lost something of himself, and I wish I could have told him then with what I know now that…perhaps it is good to lose this time, sir. And Holly…she pulled back her hand, a satisfied smile on her face…

She looks at me as if she knows…and winks."

The man was still on the couch in front of me. As the seconds wore on, the light in his eyes that had been kindled throughout his story slowly faded. The wrinkles on his face became heavy again, and a slight frown replaced his smile. He faded from his internal nostalgia and looked at me, his eyes aimed directly at mine. He was an old human again.

"That's why," he said, and nodded to himself, his chin falling slowly into his large palm.

I nodded in turn and extended my arm across the table to stop the recording. The machine clicked loudly through the silence.

"Thank you," I said, reaching numbly for my purse. Again he nodded, but his eyes were glazed; he had slipped in to some other memory. For a moment, as I stood up, I wondered what kind of praise I would receive for this hard-hitting story. In fact, just talking to a Mud Man of this size should earn me a medal…but as I opened my mouth to say thank you again, I found myself looking back into his eyes. They were staring straight ahead and seeing nothing, his pupils dancing behind a welling cloud of moisture.

"I would have liked to meet them," I said. "They're both such remarkable heroes…remembered every day for what they did for Haven and for the People. I…I want to know so much about them."

He did not respond for a long time, but as I waited for words, his face began to lift again.

"Yes," he said in his deep and yet gentle voice. He raised his eyes and moved suddenly, reaching his great arm down to a coffee table situated next to the couch. He retrieved a picture framed in gold and smiled down at it. "I like to remember them like this," he said, and held out the picture for me to see.

A human boy with dark black hair and the most stunning blue eyes stared up at me in surprise and embarrassment, a small trace of a genuine smile on his face. Beside him, a young female elf with auburn hair displayed her teeth to the lens to their greatest extent. She had her face pressed against his, refusing to let him go. Both seemed extraordinarily happy.

I breathed, not knowing what to say.

"Thank you," the Mud Man Artemis Fowl and Holly Short had once simply called Butler said. I tilted my head, and he slowly lowered the picture into his lap.

"F-for what?" I asked.

"For letting me recollect all of this," he replied softly, gazing down at the picture. A smile touched his withered face.

A memory.

A/N: This idea sort of came from a dream I had a little while ago, and I knew I needed to make it something. I hope the reader has enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now review please! Or, as Holly would say, "(Review!) you pasty-faced mud weasel!"