Fic post! "To Make Matters Worse"
Title: To Make Matters Worse
Author:
miri_away
Date: July 26, 07
Type: Fanfic, Artemis Fowl
Genre: Angst, Gen
Rating: PG-13 for mention of character death and mild language, human and otherwise.
Summary: It was normal to be accused of this or that, but never with so much finality, and never so unfairly…. He’d made friends worth fighting for. After the battle, there is a meeting held in LEP HQ in which Captain Holly Short is made the fallboy for the entire mess that is the Opal Deception and Artemis struggles to be there for her while he can. Post!Root’s death and Pre!Holly’s resignation.
AN: I wrote this early one morning while I was on a role and wondering when Artemis would hit puberty. I looked around and found out he'd been wondering the same thing, had been quoted saying the words "Holly" and "puberty" in the same phrase. Anyway, though it's not my flavor to have them romantically, I do adore their relationship. I realized I hadn't read anything with them and definately nothing that wasn't a spoiler, so I decided to write on the last thing I remember. It might be a bit wordy and circular, but it made me happy towards the end.
--
To Make Matters Worse
miri_away
Holly’s pompous new boss was about to get punched in the face.
It was familiar, debriefing. Reports, always dealt with as impersonally as possible, and the usual questions that bordered on accusations, a comforting routine after a hard mission, easy to fall back on.
This time, though, there was barely a chance for her to tell her story of how her… how Root died or how she had to go rogue to save the entire world (again, d’arvit!) because her new boss was an insecure idiot who had no faith in the truth and insisted on force over covert. This time, it was all her fault. The casualties, the property damage, and the decrease in morale when it came to allowing females into the force, all of it was being pinned on her. Her normally sharp tongue had gone numb somewhere between duty and disbelief and she wished she didn’t feel so drained, wished she didn’t actually start to buy into it.
Though it did not usually go so badly, a debriefing was a familiar ritual of the higher-ups asking and then telling what happened and the officer finding the best way to compromise the situation just enough to keep their career. It was normal to be accused of this or that, but never with so much finality, and never so unfairly.
It was not familiar, however, to have two humans and a convict present who, for all intents and purposes, had more of a right to be smug, be furious, be the ones wielding the Neutrinos and orders around than the fairies posted around the room. Granted, she’d been officially dead for the better part of the conspiracy, but even in that rogue state she’d ensured that lives were intact and her world hadn’t collided with that of the humans; how had the LEP let themselves be sucked into this mess? Holly had never lost so much faith in her own kind before, least of all the precinct she’d dedicated her life’s work to.
It was a joke that had spread throughout all the underworld that she’d jump at the chance to be pitted against the human boy who had caused her so much drama, even to the point of agreeing with him just to get close enough to clock him, and she struggles to remember a time when it was ever funny. When she’d thought it true. Now she was being told that he, Artemis, the born again hero and friend, was good for nothing, and she, even through a haze of technicalities, could not hold in the urge to gag. She didn’t want to hurt him anymore, not even when he smiled at her new commanding officer.
She’s seen that smile before. Under the circumstances, it could do nothing to damage her apart from taking the opportunity to humiliate the new commander out of her hands. For a teenage human, Fowl was quite adept at this.
Under threat of pummeling, the Lower Elements Police department allowed Butler and Artemis to attend their savior’s ‘hearing’. The dwarf shuffled in between them, protected and thoroughly adamant of speaking out. Under pretext of listening, Holly thought of all the ways she was grateful to them.
The dwarf, Mulch, voiced all the objections she, as a dutiful soldier, could not, though with choiceier words, and made all the right threats. He didn’t even mind the buzz baton that eventually knocked him unconscious because, as he vehemently proclaimed, even though no one deserved backlash, she definitely didn’t. Fade out. Artemis kept a firm glare at the fairy sentencing her, and she only knew this because of the disconcerted look of the fairies around him; at times, she felt the warm of his hand on her shoulder, an unfamiliar and slightly awkward touch. Even with his new-found ‘enthusiasm’ to learn how to be a friend, she doubts the support is of a comforting or even emotional brand just yet and guesses it is his way of assuring her he’s there and will see to it that she behaves herself, while, she’s sure, implanting the suggestion in everyone’s mind that if anything went wrong he’d make sure they’d pay. This comforts her more than it should. Butler, cramped in the small room though he was, had manipulated the seating arrangement through sheer scare tactics to ensure that Holly got close to the door and far away from the guards with heavier artillery. Soldier-minded as he was, he knew the threats would be protecting the boss, not her, and he could see the strain, she was sure, settling in. Ever protective, he’d want her exit to appear steady at best, instead of the hobbling shock-induced breakdown they all knew it to be. With them there, it was bearable to hear her name dragged through the mud.
Then Foaly showed up. She nearly broke right then.
An urgent squeeze of her shoulder makes her forget the scenarios she was sure he’d have to have gone under in the passed 24 hours to stay sane, stay smiling. She returned the gesture and nearly broke the mug in her hand. It was all that Sool‘s fault. She could tell from the mocking glint in his eyes that he’d given Foaly hell for being loyal. It was his fault he was a mess, his fault she was losing her title, his fault Root was dead. She began to sound like a sweartoad.
In the next hour, Artemis had made his way opposite her, sitting casually at the table as if he belonged despite the fact it was not a casual move and he did not belong at all. On a normal day the purist inside her would balk at his condescending attitude in a situation like this, or the fact that he, a foreign civilian dare sit at the officers’ table, right next to the Commander no doubt, simply because he knew no one would stop him with his body guard taking up half the room. Today though, today she’s seeing him not as a mudboy but as a human, a being capable of cruel omissions.
She’s never seen him tap so easily into an emotion he’d normally deal with intellectually, but there it is, curling his fingers into his now not-so-smooth palm, making his smile tick, his cheeks flush with the knowledge that he could, had every right to, actually could. It wasn’t a theory anymore and he was, after all, personally invested in causing this man harm: he’d learned that in the passed few years, had experienced near-death, tragedy, fear and the love that came before it. He’d made friends worth fighting for.
She’d seen it before, but never on him.
Holly’s pompous new boss was about to get punched in the face.
--
Of course, she had stopped him.
Artemis could see her choices as if they were words racing across her irises.
A tired glance. Not because she wouldn’t get any satisfaction at seeing him enjoy himself, finally recognizing the glory that was physical action over mind-games, and not because she didn’t want to do it herself, but because it wouldn’t help. And, seeing as how she’d stopped arguing a while ago, she was tired of doing things that wouldn’t help.
--
During the verbal sparring match, she’d realized something. She didn’t need this. She didn't need people on her back about being right, or people being ignorant bastards, besmirching names and glorifying all the wrong ones, and she definately didn't need to be a part of an organization that would allow that. While Artemis tactfully shot down each of the commander’s reasons for arresting his friend, ticking off each chance he’d given the man to redeem himself, he was growing more sure of the fact the man deserved it. Holly almost let him.
--
Butler had answered with two words: be there.
Simple. Elegant almost. Of course, the reason he’d asked was because he had no clue how to be of any use to the woman now that he was out of his element and, though this answer would help anyone else, he still wasn’t good at being…there. For anyone. He’d only cried once since he was a child, and that had been over Butler’s own dying body. Now that he had him back, there was no telling what could trigger such a reaction again; really, he didn’t want to think about what could make him feel that sort of loss, that…helplessness.
She felt it too. He was sure it irritated her just as much, if not more.
Watching Holly stand, wrists cuffed, pointed ears almost wilted, and walk away, tremors and torn suit and all, made him sure of what that something was. He refused to go through that again and hated that she was now, so if being in the room with her was what it took, though he was sure that was not entirely all of it, he’d march right in and …and….
--
They put her in a cell alone and Foaly told her under the scrutiny of Sool’s hard gaze that Mulch would be kept in the same block, as per usual (wink, snort). His hooves and the hollow hesitance made the tips of her ears twitch, made her look up, made her remember how everyone always said women made the worst type of soldiers…made her fight back the tears. He fiddled with folders, actual paper folders, looking every bit as uncomfortable as she felt, and then scoffed, as if finally realizing how ridiculous he was being.
He hugged her, obviously fully aware of how annoyed he was making their new boss if the grin said anything other than, I’m glad you’re back.
--
During the hours he was alone, meaning without the fairies hovering uneasily at his side with their miniscule weapons trained on him, he had time to meditate. He could still hear the roar of their monsters and machines, even feel the thrum of under grounded rivers and the jerks that accompanied the nearest lava shoots. The room was built to keep fire-wielding trolls, even powerful wizards, in but they had nothing on him, a genius. He could hear Butler pacing the room, doing the necessary things he, though it was no longer his duty, as a body guard had to do before pretending to relax.
However, he recalled a story Holly-Captain Short-had told him that either involved fish jelly, a day spa, or a brother with a ramshackle house. He found it funny that out of all the things to be thinking about while in a city of technological marvels and fantastical creatures, all he could think about were the quirks that were his two links to this place and how he’d lost one of them to her own people and another to a megalomaniac bent on killing him. But something in the stories, yes, he’d forgotten they were all separate, all in the early days of her career, made him feel warm and cold all the same. The politics of this place were probably not that different from back in Ireland. Her job was not that different from Butler’s; he was reacting this way because he’d become attached and they in turn, betraying a line that was supposed to keep them safe. But none of them were safe now.
Juliet would say he should write a poem to fit the occasion, because she’s a girl and understands such things as sacred life and governments minimizing it. Artemis understands and practices all forms of poetry, can dissect with the best of them, and analyzes them to the bone, but seeing the facts and knowing the truth, he can’t see anything beautiful about what’s happening here. He can’t see anything worth remembering except the fact that it’s not worth remembering.
His headache is back, but he forces himself to sift through the pain. The scar he’d seen on her trigger finger suddenly made sense, made him cringe, smile, and then cringe again. That was another thing he owed her, then. He remembers a coin and the first time he was consciously impressed, and not threatened, with her marksmanship. Though how he could compose a poem about a laser-gun-wielding fairy women seem….warm was beyond him..
And now, he thinks, since he’s thinking of composing contrite poesy, it is time for a nap.
--
She’s been known to hold grudges. She gave her cousin sixty years of cold-shouldering because of a misunderstanding involving career choice and rent. She ranted about Artemis for months before he became public knowledge and vowed to make him pay for the humiliation said knowledge granted her department. She became highly offended when the ambassador of Atlantis told her to stay in her place in the kitchens of LEP HQ and did everything in her power to make his stay at LEP Hotel as miserable as possible, starting with the sea-food buffet. (Granted, that incident almost got her suspended, but the fish were already stolen, in the evidence locker, and the cooks were always up for bribes.) She never did forgive Opal for badmouthing Foaly, no matter how many times she reminds herself that was the least of the mad woman’s crimes. Sins. She feels a hot anger that has nothing to do with magic, nothing to do with Julius leaving her or making her walk away like that. It hurts. She hated hurting, especially since none of the medics could-or would-help her with this.
This new one, however, feels good. It’s a choice, and if it’s misdirected at least she’s going somewhere.
--
It is a struggle, being left out and not retaliating. It is enough, apparently, for her to be allowed to see it happen on a plasma screen. Her hero, her leader, mentor, friend, gone, a hundred miles away, having a ceremony in his honor and she’s not allowed to attend. By association, and partly due to public relations, he isn’t either.
It is tense, not knowing. He’s so used to her being emotive. Loud. Physical. Here was the woman who’d lost a finger for him, taken a bullet for his father, brought his best friend back from the brink of death, cured his mother, the one who had seen him at his most monstrous and made him bleed for it. Here, and he’d forgotten how small she really was. Technically, that wasn’t the point; her kind were naturally diminutive, but she was…shrinking in on herself now, and it left him speechless. It, quite figuratively, rocked his world.
She’s just sitting there and her skin is paler than the sandstone they’d passed three tectonic plates ago. Either it’s dirt and grime, but her hair is a dulled auburn now; some of the edges are singed, ragged, or splotched with something he doesn't want to think about. Her cuts have not healed at all. No one has given her a new uniform. Her eyes are a darker hazel than he’s ever seen them. Butler had warned him this was how it would go and he’d even warned him about how it would not go, but it wasn’t the same as seeing it.
He’d trade all his new traits for the old her, even though that defeated the point and would, in the end, help no one. It’s this new optimism, he is sure, and his inability to take it in moderation. What was he thinking? Did he not get enough sleep?
At last, she starts to shake, and then cry, so he takes his cue and follows Butler’s instructions on how to comfort. If he’s bad at it, she doesn’t say anything out of the ordinary.