YW/Artemis Fowl crossover: Crossroads (Chapter 1)
Title: Crossroads
Pairing: throughout the fic expect to see variations on Dairine/Roshaun, Dairine/Artemis, and implied Artemis/Holly
Rating: PG
Summary: When things fall apart, sometimes they get put back together again in strange configurations. What else could explain Dairine getting caught up in the life of teen genius Artemis Fowl?
Author’s Note: Usually I flinch from the mere mention of crossovers. But after being directed to some short Dairine/Artemis fics by araine and odette_river, I wound up with this story in my head and it had to get itself out. Hopefully with as few violations of canon as is humanly possible. For the few that will inevitably occur, I apologize far in advance. For people who haven't read Artemis Fowl -- well, you should, because they're good books, but I don't think you need to have read them to read this.
This is only Chapter 1of what will be (eventually) a much longer fic. I've actually written the next two chapters, which only require editing (and may undergo general tweaking dependent upon responses to this first bit) before I post them.
Chapter 1: Partings
i.
They sit together on an old couch that Dairine dragged into the basement during the summer after her sister, home from college, started to complain that hearing the two of them talking in the next room kept her up all night. At the time, Dairine was glad that talking was all Nita had heard. She and Roshaun had fought each other and themselves for long enough that when they finally, reluctantly, begrudgingly came together as partners in more than just wizardry, the result wasn’t exactly quiet.
That first month was a whirlwind as they found or made the time to see each other across what seemed like half the known galaxy. But even for wizards, long-distance relationships are difficult-especially when one of the wizards in question is in charge of ruling an entire planet and the other is applying to colleges in multiple arms of the galaxy.
There were weeks, later on, when at the end of a particularly long day, Dairine gave up her bed in favor of the couch in the basement, hoping that she’d wake up to the slight sizzle and fizz of someone passing through an active worldgate. Sometimes she got lucky. More often her alarm woke her, banishing the vestiges of peace she found most regularly in her dreams.
The visits have been fewer and further between, the last month or so. And when they see each other it’s different, even Dairine’s noticed. Neither of them wants to talk-their problems have exhausted them, and at the end of the day even the company of another likeminded individual struggling with similar issues can seem like too much. They talked about it all, once, but Dairine’s beginning to realize you can only say the same thing so many times before looking for a change.
She’s still awake when he appears, Spot acting the part of dutiful computer and allowing her to work on one more college application essay while she waits. Dairine looks up from her work to see a world-weary Roshaun step through the gate, acknowledge her presence, and sit down on the couch beside her. She hits the key command to save her work, then sets Spot down on the floor, where he promptly scampers off out of sight.
Dairine closes her eyes and lets out a long breath as she leans sideways toward Roshaun until her body is angled so that her head rests on his shoulder. She can feel the tension in his muscles, knows it’s been another hard day by the way that he doesn’t respond to her gesture by putting his arm around her shoulder or leaning his own head against hers in turn. Something is bothering him. She feels a sympathetic stress in the pit of her stomach, halfway between nerve pain and nausea.
It’s a while before either of them speaks, and in the end it’s Roshaun who says, “This isn’t going to work.”
The nausea intensifies. She wants to unlean herself from him but she’s not sure she has the strength. He looks at her briefly, then turns away, as though afraid of how she’ll respond. Maybe he thinks she’ll yell, or cry-that this will be the final straw, the moment that is just too much.
Dairine does not yell, and she does not cry. She feels his words sink through her like a heavy stone through deep water, inevitable motion despite its deceptive slowness, and says, “I know.”
The silence resumes, leaving her acutely aware of his proximity, the warmth of him against the right side of her body. Neither of them moves to break the connection, but they don’t look at each other anymore either, just keep staring in front of them, intent not to lock gazes.
“We’re still friends,” he says, and she’s impressed that he makes it a statement instead of the question that’s lingering on her own lips.
She nods against his shoulder. Although she knows objectively that he has to leave, and sooner would be smarter, there’s something about having someone physically there for you, someone to lean on. “Penpals,” she suggests. She knows herself well enough to know that the only way to end this amicably is if she doesn’t see him at all for a long while. Maybe, Dairine realizes, she doesn’t want to stop touching him because she knows that the next time they make contact it will be as something new, something they’ve never quite been before. They will still be friends, but she can already tell that her body will be long in forgetting him.
“I believe that would be wise.” He shrugs his shoulder ever so slightly, and Dairine removes her head from its customary rest just before Roshaun gets up from the couch and walks over toward the worldgate in the wall. His ceremonial robes swish audibly, heavy as they are with embroidery and expensive fabrics, and for the first time she sees him not as Roshaun, but as the Sun Lord.
He stops in front of the wall, and she sees his neck twitch, as though he means to turn around, to see her one last time, but he masters the desire and steps through the worldgate, deactivating it behind him.
ii.
Artemis prides himself on innovation and originality, so it’s particularly painful for him to employ clichés, and yet he finds himself facing down Captain Holly Short with nothing under his belt other than the perennial favorite: “That’s just not fair.”
She arches an eyebrow at him, surveying him with her hazel eyes, and even though they’re both standing and he’s the taller one by half a meter at least, something about the gaze makes him feel small. Worse still, it makes him feel young. “You’re the genius,” she says, a healthy dose of sarcasm in her words. “You shouldn’t be so surprised. You know the People could never let a Mud Boy-”
“I’m eighteen now, Captain,” he interrupts, and even through the void of disappointment he finds some pleasure in the look of consternation on her face. “Certainly I at least deserve the title ‘Mud Man’?”
Holly raises an eyebrow at him, with a look that says, Don’t play the age game with me. We both know who wins. And neither of us likes that. “We can’t let a Mud Boy,” she repeats, “gain access to the most prestigious institution of higher learning under this earth. Do you know how much public panic is caused by your mere presence below ground? And you think the LEP is going to authorize you to attend school here, on a regular basis, to learn the secrets of Fairy technology?”
Artemis realizes he shouldn’t be quite so indignant. The LEP responded with the logical answer to a ludicrous request; they did exactly what he would have done if one of his arch-nemeses had approached him and asked for tutelage.
Well, not exactly. The fairies didn’t take Artemis’s play for knowledge as a threat. Artemis would never write off such a request from an adversary. But the People, for all they know, don’t know Artemis as well as he knows himself.
At least, most of them don’t.
Her voice softer, Holly adds, “Artemis-I’m sure that going through polite channels to get into the Lower Elements Science Academy was only your first move.”
Artemis tries his best to project nonchalance and unconcern. But he doesn’t feel it. If anything he feels a gnawing detachment, a gap between how things are and how they ought to be. “And if it is?”
Holly reaches out her hand, as if to touch his arm, but drops it suddenly in the moment before contact. “Go back to the surface,” she says. “Spend some time with your own kind for a while.”
He dares to catch her gaze and hold it as he says, “My own kind are no match for me.”
He expects a response to the backhanded compliment, and he gets one, but it’s not what he expected. She flinches from the words, and there’s a sadness in her eyes as she says, softly, “But I’m no match for you either, Artemis. I can’t be.” She looks away from him and whispers, “Go.”
*
Next chapter: Dairine and Artemis meet! Are you excited yet? Because I sure am.
ETA: Next chapter up here!
Pairing: throughout the fic expect to see variations on Dairine/Roshaun, Dairine/Artemis, and implied Artemis/Holly
Rating: PG
Summary: When things fall apart, sometimes they get put back together again in strange configurations. What else could explain Dairine getting caught up in the life of teen genius Artemis Fowl?
Author’s Note: Usually I flinch from the mere mention of crossovers. But after being directed to some short Dairine/Artemis fics by araine and odette_river, I wound up with this story in my head and it had to get itself out. Hopefully with as few violations of canon as is humanly possible. For the few that will inevitably occur, I apologize far in advance. For people who haven't read Artemis Fowl -- well, you should, because they're good books, but I don't think you need to have read them to read this.
This is only Chapter 1of what will be (eventually) a much longer fic. I've actually written the next two chapters, which only require editing (and may undergo general tweaking dependent upon responses to this first bit) before I post them.
Chapter 1: Partings
i.
They sit together on an old couch that Dairine dragged into the basement during the summer after her sister, home from college, started to complain that hearing the two of them talking in the next room kept her up all night. At the time, Dairine was glad that talking was all Nita had heard. She and Roshaun had fought each other and themselves for long enough that when they finally, reluctantly, begrudgingly came together as partners in more than just wizardry, the result wasn’t exactly quiet.
That first month was a whirlwind as they found or made the time to see each other across what seemed like half the known galaxy. But even for wizards, long-distance relationships are difficult-especially when one of the wizards in question is in charge of ruling an entire planet and the other is applying to colleges in multiple arms of the galaxy.
There were weeks, later on, when at the end of a particularly long day, Dairine gave up her bed in favor of the couch in the basement, hoping that she’d wake up to the slight sizzle and fizz of someone passing through an active worldgate. Sometimes she got lucky. More often her alarm woke her, banishing the vestiges of peace she found most regularly in her dreams.
The visits have been fewer and further between, the last month or so. And when they see each other it’s different, even Dairine’s noticed. Neither of them wants to talk-their problems have exhausted them, and at the end of the day even the company of another likeminded individual struggling with similar issues can seem like too much. They talked about it all, once, but Dairine’s beginning to realize you can only say the same thing so many times before looking for a change.
She’s still awake when he appears, Spot acting the part of dutiful computer and allowing her to work on one more college application essay while she waits. Dairine looks up from her work to see a world-weary Roshaun step through the gate, acknowledge her presence, and sit down on the couch beside her. She hits the key command to save her work, then sets Spot down on the floor, where he promptly scampers off out of sight.
Dairine closes her eyes and lets out a long breath as she leans sideways toward Roshaun until her body is angled so that her head rests on his shoulder. She can feel the tension in his muscles, knows it’s been another hard day by the way that he doesn’t respond to her gesture by putting his arm around her shoulder or leaning his own head against hers in turn. Something is bothering him. She feels a sympathetic stress in the pit of her stomach, halfway between nerve pain and nausea.
It’s a while before either of them speaks, and in the end it’s Roshaun who says, “This isn’t going to work.”
The nausea intensifies. She wants to unlean herself from him but she’s not sure she has the strength. He looks at her briefly, then turns away, as though afraid of how she’ll respond. Maybe he thinks she’ll yell, or cry-that this will be the final straw, the moment that is just too much.
Dairine does not yell, and she does not cry. She feels his words sink through her like a heavy stone through deep water, inevitable motion despite its deceptive slowness, and says, “I know.”
The silence resumes, leaving her acutely aware of his proximity, the warmth of him against the right side of her body. Neither of them moves to break the connection, but they don’t look at each other anymore either, just keep staring in front of them, intent not to lock gazes.
“We’re still friends,” he says, and she’s impressed that he makes it a statement instead of the question that’s lingering on her own lips.
She nods against his shoulder. Although she knows objectively that he has to leave, and sooner would be smarter, there’s something about having someone physically there for you, someone to lean on. “Penpals,” she suggests. She knows herself well enough to know that the only way to end this amicably is if she doesn’t see him at all for a long while. Maybe, Dairine realizes, she doesn’t want to stop touching him because she knows that the next time they make contact it will be as something new, something they’ve never quite been before. They will still be friends, but she can already tell that her body will be long in forgetting him.
“I believe that would be wise.” He shrugs his shoulder ever so slightly, and Dairine removes her head from its customary rest just before Roshaun gets up from the couch and walks over toward the worldgate in the wall. His ceremonial robes swish audibly, heavy as they are with embroidery and expensive fabrics, and for the first time she sees him not as Roshaun, but as the Sun Lord.
He stops in front of the wall, and she sees his neck twitch, as though he means to turn around, to see her one last time, but he masters the desire and steps through the worldgate, deactivating it behind him.
ii.
Artemis prides himself on innovation and originality, so it’s particularly painful for him to employ clichés, and yet he finds himself facing down Captain Holly Short with nothing under his belt other than the perennial favorite: “That’s just not fair.”
She arches an eyebrow at him, surveying him with her hazel eyes, and even though they’re both standing and he’s the taller one by half a meter at least, something about the gaze makes him feel small. Worse still, it makes him feel young. “You’re the genius,” she says, a healthy dose of sarcasm in her words. “You shouldn’t be so surprised. You know the People could never let a Mud Boy-”
“I’m eighteen now, Captain,” he interrupts, and even through the void of disappointment he finds some pleasure in the look of consternation on her face. “Certainly I at least deserve the title ‘Mud Man’?”
Holly raises an eyebrow at him, with a look that says, Don’t play the age game with me. We both know who wins. And neither of us likes that. “We can’t let a Mud Boy,” she repeats, “gain access to the most prestigious institution of higher learning under this earth. Do you know how much public panic is caused by your mere presence below ground? And you think the LEP is going to authorize you to attend school here, on a regular basis, to learn the secrets of Fairy technology?”
Artemis realizes he shouldn’t be quite so indignant. The LEP responded with the logical answer to a ludicrous request; they did exactly what he would have done if one of his arch-nemeses had approached him and asked for tutelage.
Well, not exactly. The fairies didn’t take Artemis’s play for knowledge as a threat. Artemis would never write off such a request from an adversary. But the People, for all they know, don’t know Artemis as well as he knows himself.
At least, most of them don’t.
Her voice softer, Holly adds, “Artemis-I’m sure that going through polite channels to get into the Lower Elements Science Academy was only your first move.”
Artemis tries his best to project nonchalance and unconcern. But he doesn’t feel it. If anything he feels a gnawing detachment, a gap between how things are and how they ought to be. “And if it is?”
Holly reaches out her hand, as if to touch his arm, but drops it suddenly in the moment before contact. “Go back to the surface,” she says. “Spend some time with your own kind for a while.”
He dares to catch her gaze and hold it as he says, “My own kind are no match for me.”
He expects a response to the backhanded compliment, and he gets one, but it’s not what he expected. She flinches from the words, and there’s a sadness in her eyes as she says, softly, “But I’m no match for you either, Artemis. I can’t be.” She looks away from him and whispers, “Go.”
*
Next chapter: Dairine and Artemis meet! Are you excited yet? Because I sure am.
ETA: Next chapter up here!