I do not own Fowl, and probably wouldn't want to if I did. Everything else though, is owned by this Alias-loving girl.
NOT a Mary Sue, I repeat. Not a Mary-Sue. I am one of those who'd like to see all Mary-Sues who take themselves seriously killed, and all parody ones to be held up and hailed for their divine genius.
Artemis tapped his fingers on the table. He'd places to be, really. Butler had just left to visit his friend in Limerick to find out about the lenses and Juliet had just taken the first plane to America. He was now left with his parents.
Who insisted that he return to school.
This wasn't good at all.
However, upon arrival at the school, a man from MI5 had shown up at the school with two options for him: go with them and help them a little bit, or his father would spend the next few years wearing the most non-suiting color neon orange.
No matter how he felt about the new version of his father, he couldn't allow it; his father had put his past behind him and he should be able to continue to do so.
The middle-aged man who probably slept on his mother's couch sat across from his now, waiting for Artemis' answer.
There were phone calls afterward, and then packing, and then Artemis found him self shuffled off to an airport. Everything happened in a sort of dream like state.
Suddenly he found himself in the middle of defense classes, espionage lessons, and all around exhausting training. Although the whole routine was far from what he'd have picked for himself, he had to keep reminding himself that he was doing this for the sake of his parents, who, Agent Reese had promised, would not know.
Finally, after six grueling weeks, Artemis arrived back to his sparsely decorated room to see a plane ticket and sadly, not first class.
He was going to Paris.
Agent Reese drove him to the airport.
"I'd like to thank you for all you've done for the agency. We assure you this whole ordeal will be over shortly enough."
"It's not an ordeal, Mr. Reese, it's a choice I made. I'd rather you didn't make it sound like I've been made to do this against my will."
Reese's shoulders sank a little, as if that fact took away from the power trip he'd been going on so far.
"A man with a Rugby scarf will be wearing green sneakers."
Artemis raised an eyebrow.
"He will be your ride to your apartment. Be nice to people."
That last comment caused a strange tweak at his stomach, as though someone he used to know sounded like that. No one he could think of talked like that.
The apartment was on the top story, in an old renovated warehouse. The entire place gave off a cold, sterile feeling. He didn't like places like that for the most part. No character.
There was a steel elevator, the kind that was drawn up by hand. Instinctively, he stepped aside for Butler to do the honors, forgetting the manservant wasn't there. Placing his bags down, he pulled, not expecting to make it budge. Surprisingly, it worked. In no time he was to the top story.
The key that Scarf-man had given him worked, and the hallway on the inside led into a hallway. On either side, there were rooms. To the right was a kitchen, stainless steel; full of pieces of equipment Artemis barely knew how to use.
To the left was a living room. Cold and bold.
"My, you were quick getting up here," came a voice down the hallway. Artemis turned his head, now realizing that the apartment took up the entire top floor. A long hallway of rooms was behind the kitchen. A dark haired girl about his age came out from the hallway.
"I take it you are my partner?"
"Correct." She stuck out a hand. "Barbara Damphirski."
"Artemis Fowl."
She took one of his bags and brought it down the hall, stopping in front of a closed door and putting the bag down.
The bedroom was decorated in walnut and burgundy colors, and he liked it very much. A row of books were on the opposite wall, although he was sure none of them would last the entire span of his stay.
The field kit he had been given created a bit of a problem as to where to hide it. However, he settled upon the bathroom. Beneath the sink was a little cabinet, and it's bottom lifted off with only with only a slight bit of effort. The perfect hiding place.
The plan had already been hatched, as far as he could see. It was made even easier when he saw a web cam was set up on a computer in a study down the hall. He'd be skipping out the next morning.
Barbara was sitting at the small table in the kitchen, reading the local newspaper. He walked in and started over to the refrigerator.
The little bits of wood and gray matter on her knees, contrasting against the black, caught his eye. Turning to the opened fridge, he allowed a momentary smirk to pass before realizing something.
There was a ton of food, but no sign of help to prepare it. He turned to the girl at the table.
"Whom, may I ask, will be preparing the food?"
She looked up for a moment, blinking, before answering. "We will, I suppose."
"I'll be the first to admit I am lacking in the field of culinary abilities."
Barbara smiled. "I suspected so. You did have live in help, at least that's what I've gathered."
"Yes." He drew out a water bottle, checked it for pricks or an opening, and opened it. "So I can't say that-"
"I'm not that great of a chef, but as long as they have Kraft at the supermarket, I can assure you that you and I will be having macaroni and cheese quite a bit."
"We could eat out."
Barbara put down the paper and took a bite out an apple in her had. "They told you our cover story? And you wouldn't mind putting on a show every night? It'll get old, after a while."
They were able to find, surprisingly, a box of macaroni and cheese, as well as two cans of caviar. They each remembered being asked about foods they enjoyed.
Properly fed and exhausted from anxiousness, they each retired to their rooms. Artemis set his alarm early.
The shower woke him up. Creeping out of his room, he now saw that the door to the bathroom was closed and hers was open.
He had to act fast. His eyes skimmed the room, looking for the corner it'd be under. There; the back left one. There were a few splinters sticking to the bottom of the wall.
The shower turned off and he bolted out of the room and back into his room.
The address was in the business section of town; the building was a modern one. Artemis was suffocating in his clothing. The shirt was tighter than he'd have wanted and he was wearing a leather jacket, of all things. With some reluctance, he died his hair to a red color, and had put in brown contacts. It had been in his orders. He was now John Dixon, genius fund-baby turned Russian mafia fledgling who just so happened to have hit it off with Damphirski's daughter.
Who was sitting next to him, as bejeweled as any old widowed millionaire he had ever met. Of course, it wasn't out of personal choice -neither was quite happy with what they were wearing- but because some of the jewels were actually cleverly cut camera lenses, and the rest were some of the best imitations he'd ever seen. The heavy metal settings they were in would set off any alarm, and they both-as well as those who had created them-were hoping that that would be a good enough answer.
"I really do hate fur."
He glanced sideways. They had both already seemed different; Artemis was trying his best to act as debonair and sly, like a character in one of those completely fictitious organized crime rings. Rubbish they were.
Barbara was pouting and slouching next to him, one pointy-heeled foot tapping against the side of the car. She really was acting the part of a spoiled mafia princess, which she was.
They made their indifferent entrance in. Fortunately, their prayers were answered, and the answer about the jewel's setting was satisfactory.
"His name is Dimitrov Henski. He's been wiping out MI members one by one," she said in hurried Spanish.
"So that's why they're risking us?"
"In this case, non. He's my Uncle. My godfather Dimi."
Artemis couldn't help but crack a smile.
"Catarina! Настолько хорошо увидеть вас!•" Barbara came forward and gave him a kiss on both cheeks.
"This is John, Uncle."
Artemis gave a smirk and swaggered over, a hand out in front. "Nice to meet you."
"From the States, I see."
"Hell, yes." On the inside he cringed.
They sat down in the dark leather chairs that really didn't go with the rest of the room. Barbara crossed her legs and leaned towards Artemis a little, playing with a lock of hair in a fashion that looked scarily like one of Juliet's signature moves.
"So what brings you here."
The pout increased. "Daddy got mad with me. He's being a bastard, really, Uncle."
The man wagged a finger at her. "Watch your mouth."
Artemis leaned forward, hands steepled. "We want to bite him in the ass."
Barbara gave a little huff, making sure that the camera ring was aimed at Dimitrov. "He cut me off. Got remarried."
"I know about that."
"Again." She slipped off the couch and examined the fish tank. "He's disowned me, and I know that he annoys you. It could work."
The man sat for a moment, hand on his mouth thinking. "I'll have to think about it."
Artemis stood up; he hadn't seen the telltale twitch. They had him, hook, line, and sinker. "Call this number when you've made up your mind."
And they left.
"Did he buy it? I was trying to get a shot of the rest of the building so I couldn't see his face. No shoulder twitches like he usually has, though." They were on their way back to the apartment. Surprisingly, it was still easy. There'd be enough time to catch a train and be back to school…he was amazed to find he wanted to be back there.
"He's ours."
They arrived back to the apartment and Barbara called for the first shower. The only thing it seemed that the apartment was lacking was another bathroom. It worked to his advantage.
The moment she started the water he entered her room and popped the floorboards up and took out the box. Then all he had to do was lie in wait.
"Do as I say and I won't shoot you."
Her head snapped up, and he nearly regretted doing this, they way she looked in the robe. Not betrayed, just…
Delicate.
He pushed it out of his mind and focused on the task at hand. He met her eyes and he could see they were devoid of emotion; she was planning. Artemis took that moment as the choice one to hold up her field kit.
"You're unarmed, and a pawn. Go sit down in the living room."
Barbara did as she was told, and he followed her with the gun still pointed at her.
She rounded the corner before him, and he realized that was a very bad thing the same exact moment that a leg whipped out and brought him crashing to the floor.
"Obviously, you're not as smart as you think you are, Mr. Fowl."
He squinted for a moment in confusion, and then realized, with that accompanying empty feeling, that he was staring down the barrel of a gun. A Glock 26.
"Oh, fuck."
Suddenly she didn't look so delicate. Barbara now resembled one of the photographs of her father that he had seen. Her brown eyes still were stoic, but her mouth was set in a firm line, her hair dripping on him from were she leaned over him.
"One, I am definitely not unarmed. Only a dumbass stashes their gun in such an obvious place. Two," she paused and took a breath, the effects of adrenaline wearing off, "I am most definitely not a fucking pawn. Your little plan wouldn't have worked, since my father disowned me. You'd have gotten no response from either MI5 or my father. Hell, he'd probably have played you to kill me. No more shit, Fowl."
She helped him up and walked back down the hallway.
They had lunch in silence.
Dinner was the same.
The cell phone had been left on the kitchen counter, so when it rang at three in the morning, they both scrambled into the kitchen.
"'Lo?"
Artemis frowned at the next question. "No, Mr. Henski, you didn't interrupt anything." Barbara rolled her eyes at that, crossing her arms, and perching herself on the counter.
Several minutes later, Artemis snapped the phone shut with satisfaction.
She looked up from the orange she had been playing with.
"What did he say?"
He couldn't help but smile. "We're to go over to dinner and then come with him to a business transaction in two days."
Barbara grinned and then nodded solemnly. "I'll make the call to headquarters."
They were dressed to nines, which, coincidentally was the same time that they were expected for dinner. The other company was all people of questionable backgrounds, and afterwards they found out each and every one of them had a criminal record, including the chef.
Afterward they followed to the basement. They were shown a mess of wires in a Plexiglas bubble.
"What is it?"
He already knew. A bomb.
"Something new," the Russian grinned. "We've already begun making them in bulk. It has multiple sensors."
Barbara leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "For what?"
He made an impatient face. "If you are holding someone hostage, and you set up a bomb. You leave. Bad luck and they'll be able to somehow disarm it or something." He held it up and pointed to one part. "Motion sensor. Get too close and boom. Sound sensor. Heat sensor. Pretty good, huh?"
"Pretty bulky."
Artemis poked it.
Barbara came over and draped an arm over his shoulder, looking up at her uncle.
"How are we to help you? Sell it, I mean?"
He smiled. "I know you can make people feel inclined. Does your boyfriend have the balls to, though?"
Artemis straightened up. "What are you getting at?"
"Could you kill somebody? If asked?"
"Yes."
Dimitrov smiled. "Good. You fly to Ireland in two days. Until then, your welcome to go home or look around or…"
"We'll find something to do."
They took the elevator to eleventh floor. He led Barbara down the hallway to a closet, and then closed them in.
"What the fuck are you doing?" she hissed.
He pulled out a PDA and a small piece of plastic. "Watch and learn." He fished his way into a set of wires and, finding the one he wanted, placed the piece of plastic on it.
"Brings new meaning to the word 'hacking."
He uploaded everything he could find. He'd just hit the end key when she yanked on his arm. "Someone's coming."
Hastily, he jammed the PDA away and nestled the wire, plastic still in place, back in the mess of wires. And then, without a moment's hesitation threw his arms around her.
The door flung open and the security officer saw a tangle of limbs.
"Oh my I-"
Artemis led her out by the hand, and she gave the guard a nervous smile. She punched his arm when they were a safe distance away from the building in the car.
"Quick thinking, but next time, consult me first."
Somehow, when she had given him a hand to get up, a strange friendship had been created. Neither had talked of it, but it now was a little easier to talk while eating. It turned out that she could cook, well enough, and that they pizza place a few blocks away had reasonably good food.
The created a routine, for normalcy's sake. They'd get up at six and after warming up, jog. As much as he hated it, Artemis knew he'd have to stay in shape. They'd changed their route every few days, learning the streets better than what was shown on maps they had by now memorized; where good hiding places were, where not to get stuck if followed.
Half an hour into their routine the next day, they were taking a stop when Artemis saw the reflection of the car.
"Don't look back, but-"
Talk about cliché.
"Keep jogging," she said through barely parted lips quietly. "We'll stop at the pizzeria.
Five minutes later they walked into the air-conditioned restaurant, and it amazed him that although his mind was working quicker than he could really discern, there were people lazily slurping up spaghetti.
The selection menu was against the window, and it gave them a change to dart a glance at the car now pulled outside.
"A rookie, obviously," she whispered in Russian.
"No," he said slowly still thinking. She voiced her opinions.
"They wanted to be seen."
The car peeled away after a while, and she cursed under her breath, pizza midway to her mouth.
"Government car," he said quietly, sopping up the perspiration from his soda. "Bastards are keeping tabs on us."
They finished their food, tossing most of it due to lack of appetite.
He collapsed onto the couch, covering his face with his hands, trying to keep the migraine at bay. Something plastic hit the side of his head and Artemis grabbed it. Aspirin.
"Thanks."
She walked across from the kitchen and curled up on the loveseat, biting her thumb thoughtfully. "I can't wait until this is over, can't you?"
He nodded.
"Don't lie, I saw the twitch."
He exhaled. "It's better than being in that God awful place I call school. No one there seems to even be on the same evolutionary level as me."
"Ever thought of changing to a new school?"
Interesting idea.
"My father wouldn't let me."
"Twitch."
"Damn."
For a while they each sat in silence, brooding, and Artemis took the time to try to identify something that'd been bothering him since the beginning; her accent. Russian when angry, but over it was…
"You were schooled in England."
She looked up, eyebrows raised. "What? Oh, yes. Still being schooled actually. My mother's sister's paying."
"Does she know?"
Barbara laughed. "She couldn't care less."
"They forced me into it. Jail just doesn't seem to pleasant for two Fowls."
She nodded. "It was this or go to jail."
He eyed her. "For what?"
"Well, juvee, at least." She suddenly became solemn. "It's amazing what people do when they grow up in a fairy tale."
The conversation dissolved into silence, and after a while, sleep took over.
Artemis was only happy to oblige.
•= "It's so good to see you!"