It had been 57 days since Artemis had returned from the dead.
It had been 57 days since Artemis last held a conversation with anyone for more than five minutes.
Domovoi cracked his knuckles, leaning against his chair. The wind held a very emotionless, impersonal chill, but he preferred it that way. The cold kept him awake, alive and ready. And it generally helped to keep him from thinking about anything other than staying warm.
And yet, on this particular night, nothing seemed to stop his thoughts from flowing free.
Nothing was right. Not just the world; the computer crash Opal had caused had been, while immensely surprising and rather horrific, a slight wake up call for a big chunk of the planet, who were spending more time building fuel efficient, productive, nonlethal technology. But Butler didn't really care about that. Maybe on face value, but he had maybe ten, twenty years left on this planet naturally, and he wanted to spend it with the people he loved.
…and yet, the person he loved the most seemed to be fading away.
Artemis refused to come out of his room most of the day. He skipped family events, meals, conversations. He held short, thought pleasant, conversations before politely asking the other to leave, he was just about to break an important equation.
Butler was the only one who smiled at anymore.
Now, that's not saying Artemis was a happy, social butterfly before. But he had the close circle of people he initiated contact with, people he liked. Everyone needs human (or, well, sentient) contact every once in a while, if not for social norms then simply for one's own mental state?
He grimaced. Mental health. Something Artemis had lacked in the past. And he, Domovoi, had even…well, at first, he blamed Artemis. He had failed to protect Artemis from, well, Artemis, and he wanted to blame everyone but the person he should've taken better care: himself. And he knew there'd been damage because of it: whenever his past Atlantis Complex was brought up between them, Artemis was quite wary. It was very subtle, almost impossible to pick up without having dealt with Artemis for years. To Butler, it was blindingly obvious, showing him just how much he'd hurt his charge.
He'd needed him, and Butler practically abandoned him.
But…how did he know if Artemis needed him now?
The door creaked open, and Butler frowned. Mr. Fowl was a little early for his midnight shot. It was only 10 o'clock—late for the boys, early for the adults. At time he usually got to himself. But then, well, see where that was getting him. The vines of self-doubt, something no bodyguard needed. He turned to greet the master.
It was Artemis.
Butler frowned, standing up. This was rare. Very rare indeed.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Artemis cut him off.
"I'm sorry."
Butler could almost feel his heartbeat stop. Sorry. I'm sorry. This wasn't something Artemis said without great, deep meaning. Something he never said until absolutely necessary, when it was the most sincere in form. It was not something that stumbled out of Artemis's mouth.
Artemis laughed, but it was humorless. His voice was weak, soft. Etches of the desire to cry just barely made themselves noticeable in that laugh.
Butler felt a harsher chill run through the room.
"I can't…think anymore, Domovoi." His real name. Another rare, sincere word. "I can't think, I can't talk. I can't function. I can't…I can't do anything right anymore. Or maybe I never did. Maybe I was always a bumbling twat. I just…oh, God."
The smell of alcohol hit Butler at that time. He looked at Artemis's face, a bright red, his eyes slightly puffed. He was…he was drunk. Butler looked at Artemis with raised eyebrows, before crossing the room quickly, holding the younger male upright, knowing that, on his own, he was sure to fall.
"I can't do it anymore, Domovoi. I can't pretend I'm this wonderful person, when I'm just…just awful. As a person. As a human." Another whisper of a laugh, weak and taunting himself. Butler felt like he'd be sick. "I just want…I just…"
Artemis looked up at Butler, eyes clouded, cheeks red, mouth ajar.
Butler felt his whole existence surge when Artemis Fowl, the boy he raised from an infant, stood on his tippy toes and just barely touched his lips to the manservant's.
"I just want to be happy. And you're the only person I've ever been happy with."
He held himself close to Domovoi, wrapping his arms around the man's neck and demanding to be held. Within minutes, he had fallen asleep.
Butler carried him to his room, a place he hadn't been in a while. He placed the young man down gently, and looked at the various bottles sitting upright around the bed. Notes were scattered everywhere, most of them…illegible. He felt a pang in his heart, and he saw one specific paper. A portrait of himself Artemis had started several years back out of boredom, and then shuffled away with everything else.
It was completed. Detailed and specific. On the corner was one simple sentence.
'I miss you.'
Butler tucked In his younger charge and headed off to bed.