She looked so small sitting there, all alone in the nght.
Each step Butler took was accompanied by an unpleasant squelch that he felt more than heard; his movements were drowned out by wind and rain and angry splatterings against cheap plastic, and it still didn't make him any less cautious in his approach. He'd underestimated this opponent once before, and that was enough - you had to be a fast learner if you wanted to survive in his line of work.
And if nothing else, he had to survive.
There was a moment when he could have sighed heavily, and he watched it just pass him by. There were more important things to do.
He wasn't a fan of mud, but it seemed like he was the only one - there was only a sea of muck as far as the eye could see, in more shades and viscocities than he had thought possible. Storms like this never ended well, these days, because-
At best it was going to destroy his shoes, at worst it would slow him down, and inevitably it was going to be tracked through shag carpets on tiny, heartless feet. The thought was enough to make a grown man cry, except that man was Butler.
He kept walking.
He reached his destination, came to a stop, and waited. The figure on the hill waited, too. The wind was starting to ease now - maybe catching its breath? - but it was too little and far too late. This encounter could hardly be explained away with a crazy coincidence and casual evening strolls now, but still he was tempted to try.
He discarded the idea.
"Nice night," Butler remarked, not trying to raise his voice over the elements. Holly tilted her head, and a flash of lightening in the distance revealed how low her wings drooped. Just imagining Foaly's reaction was enough to make him grimace.
And he was probably wrong about the expression he just saw, right? It was dark enough that he couldn't be sure she was even really there, and- and trusting his eyes would be a slippery slope indeed. Trick of the light, definitely. The setting was far too dramatic to take anything seriously.
"Didn't look like it was going to rain," the fairy suggested, lacking any real conviction. Butler crouched, holding the umbrella - covered in cheerful puppy dogs in yellow galoshes, if anyone was curious - towards her. The rain didn't hesitate to take up this kind offer and promptly began finding new ways to torment him, and new places to slap against.
His discomfort hardly mattered, he thought - it was worth it when the damsel in distress was just as likely to be saving you the next day.
"Came on fast," Butler agreed - a believable lie. Myles and Beckett had watched the rain pound down with growing interest all day - nothing their parents could say shook their conviction it was their doing, them and their new machine, and by dusk, even Butler was starting to reconsider his stance. "I would have met you," he added, as an afterthought, careful to look straight ahead.
"It was a spur of the moment trip," Holly was too quick to assure him, shifting in the mud. He didn't know if she looked at him as she answered, but experience taught him the answer was probably no.
He considered speaking, but the topic had run its course and companionable silence came more easily. These kinds of visits weren't unusual - sometimes she showed up spontaenously, sometimes on official business, sometimes just to see his face when she appeared from thin air to greet him. (She had to know by now he wasn't that easy to startle, but she sure did find entertainment in trying.) Less commonly he didn't even know she had been until the next day - but he understood, because it wasn't always about seeing him.
Butler told himself he didn't mind. He certainly wasn't going to try and stop her.
But tonight she'd just flashed up on the security feed, unmoving and covered in mud, and less than a minute later he'd been traipsing out into the storm like this was completely normal. Nope, no rushing for this man - he always went frolicking around in storms in the middle of the night with nothing but a child's umbrella and a desire to see how many types of pnuemonia he could catch. It was practically his favourite hobby now he-
The Fowls hadn't questioned him. They hadn't said so much as a word as he walked out, lest they make the wrong sound and wake the elephant slumbering fitfully in the corner. They moved around one another in a tenuous dance, and he was smart enough to understand why.
He didn't bother telling himself he didn't mind, when it came to that. He didn't bother pretending he didn't need this - just the two of them, alone, because then it wasn't so hard. Then it was okay to flit his eyes to the side, to glance at the beast over his shoulder and make sure it hadn't faded away while he wasn't watching. With her - with Holly - it almost felt like there was going to be an end to the limbo he was stuck in.
Between the two of them, it was maybe okay they couldn't forget the way everyone else seemed to.
Butler had never told her this, not explicitly - he didn't want to burden her with it. There were fairies working on solutions and fixes and solving problems, and she was a part of that. She kept him updated, kept him in the loop, went out of her way to do it - and in return, he never considered trying to pull her down. They both had their roles to play and if they both faltered, who was going to be there to greet the victor when he returned?
And he didn't want her to be alone there in the dark, with only a looming mud-man for company. No point in them both being there.
"I still haven't found it." Holly spoke again, turning her head towards him - the motion caught his eye and he shifted, instinctively facing her. She didn't look away, and he paid no mind to the sensation of sinking slowly down into the hill below.
Only as a way to pass the time she had been quick to add, the first time he asked what she was thinking about. I couldn't actually go back, you know.
I just want to know when I should have seen it coming, she elaborated - a frown on her lips, gaze not meeting his. I just want to know when I failed to notice his plan, she didn't say - when I failed him. No-one would ever send me back to stop it, and I'd never risk it, anyway. Everything will work out, right? He has a plan. He always has a plan.
But I still need to know when I could have saved him.
Butler hadn't believed her for a second, but it never crossed his mind to tell anyone - he guessed she didn't either, because nothing was ever said. Maybe the fairies just didn't think she'd confide in him - or maybe they thought she had, and that he'd take her side? Trying to predict fairy politics gave him a headache.
He prayed she never found the moment she was searching for, though - until she did, there was still a chance she'd realize it wasn't her fault.
"There's still time," Butler reassured her - the same answer he gave every visit, no matter what. One day she'd laugh.
Holly stared at him for a minute longer, then looked away. The shadows swarmed and flickered so he couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw her slump in on herself just a little more. Wrong thing to say, mud-man - and without thinking he shifted closer, lightly touching her shoulder.
"We're talking about Artemis," he reminded her, not for the first time and certainly not the last. He tried to keep his voice light and easy as he always did, but the name stuck in his throat, and the following words afterwards stuck like barbs. They were hot and bitter on his tongue, but he choked past them without skipping a beat. "He would have just found another way to get into trouble, like he always did."
From anyone else it would have been criticism, but for better or worse, Butler had the right. There was no denying the sheer dedication the Fowls had - all of them, the whole trio - for getting into Awkward Situations, and he never tried to. The fairy made a sound that might have been a laugh, but didn't respond otherwise. She didn't speak, she didn't place her hand on top of his, and she didn't pull away. He didn't move.
It didn't convince him that she said nothing. He knew better than to assume silence meant agreement.
There was never any doubt who held her accountable - the fairies dismissed the notion, Butler never let her imply it without reminding her how wrong she was, and even the surviving Fowls were unable to comprehend her logic. Artemis himself would have been horrified by the accusation, but none of this mattered - the only one who had ever blamed her was Holly herself, and that was plenty to keep it alive.
She and Artemis were more alike than either of them wanted to admit, but he was never going to tell her that. He'd grown rather fond of the way his head stayed attached to his shoulders.
"Come inside." Butler rose, tugging gently at her arm - she moved reluctantly, pulling free with a slorp that was entirely inappropriate for the somber atmosphere. He felt a momentary flash of concern when he saw how badly her wings drooped now, almost in tattered without the ground to prop them up, and stamped down on the worry that something had happened to cause such damage. "It's cold out here."
"Raining, too," Holly agreed, and he discovered he could hear her voice.
"Is it?" The bodyguard feigned surprise from miles above. "How can you tell?"
Despite herself, she played along.
"Heightened Fairy Senses," she confided, tapping the side of her nose. "We're very in tune with nature."
He made a sound, as if enlightenment had slowly dawned. He'd heard that noise on a movie once, and he was fairly confident he had mimicked it accurately.
There were smiles there, maybe, but neither could find them. He took a step and was surprised when she struggled to move, almost stumbling - had her boots sunk that far in? It wouldn't have been impossible to match her slower pace, but-
"Butler?" The attempt at protest quickly became alarm, and he was amused in spite of the situation. The fairy could hardly be blamed for this reaction, but it was nice to know he could still surprise her even after this long.
"Holly?" he answered, straightening. Scooped in his arms she had no choice but to tumble with the shifting ground, flopping against his chest - but now the umbrella was out of place, and both of them were getting drenched. What a fun game this was, to see who would notice first.
"I can walk." With her hands on his chest and her hackles rising, Holly tensed as she prepared to jump back to the ground - but she made the mistake of glancing down to judge the distance, and it seemed much further away than she remembered.
"Yes," the Eurasian agreed, without the slightest trace of sarcasm. He paused in place, shuffling his load about and tumbling her back into him as he adjusted everything, and when he was done at least their heads weren't getting wet anymore. His hands had already shifted from painful to numb, and he turned until he found the manor in the distance and began to traipse forward, his steps quicker than usual. "But this makes me feel useful," he added, glancing down.
Holly paused. It was hard to tell why.
"What if we're attacked?" the fairy challenged suddenly, appealing to his common sense. There was a distinct undertone to her words, as if she thought him backed into a corner by this flawless argument, but it was too subtle to be heard over the storm.
Besides, he wasn't so easy.
"That would be why you have a gun, Captain Short."
It was true he hadn't seen it, but it was a safe assumption to make. She didn't argue, so he was clearly right.
"That doesn't make this any less undignified," she informed him.
"I won't look," Butler assured her. She still didn't smile, but this time she was louder about it.
He knew when to stop talking.
"Are you trying to lull me into a false sense of security?" she demanded, changing direction sharply enough that he felt genuine bemusement. She was wearing a terribly innocent expression, and nothing could have been more suspicious. "Wrap me in a blanket, set me in front of a fire - maybe make a cup of cocoa before you strike?"
He waited for her to elaborate. She didn't. She seemed awful interested in that cocoa, though.
"Holly," Butler rumbled, squelching along. He tried to sound serious, but could only muster confusion. "Would that work?"
This time the expression she made was almost more like a grin than a grimace, and he decided it didn't matter. That was almost close enough.
...Almost.