Author's note: This is a poem fic. You've heard of songfics? Well, this is the same principle, except using a poem, as opposed to a song. This poem fic is called 'If', rather obviously due to the usage of the poem 'If', by Rudyard Kipling, in this fic. The poem in its entirety is listed here for your convenience.
Wow. Looking back at this fic, it is easily the longest one shot I have ever done, two times over, I think.
My last fic was removed, due to improper rating. I have since re-uploaded it. I must say I am curious about who reported it, but that question will probably be filed away along with 'crop circles' and the like, since I highly doubt the reporter will 'fess up. No biggie.
Well, enjoy the fic, people, and please leave me a review, as I would appreciate it.
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
-'If', by Rudyard Kipling.
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
Julius Root cradled his head in his hands. A failed mission. Twenty dead officers. All his fault. A fatal wrong decision had resulted in this catastrophe. It was ironic that one of his first acts as Commander had resulted in a tragedy. No penance could make up for this error. Holly and Lopez could go on all they wanted about it not being his fault and no one blaming him, but one look at the average angry face of a sibling or a friend of a late officer in the Police Plaza dispelled any wishful fantasies he could have about being completely absolved from all guilt.
His guilt was unmitigated, unable to be forgiven or overlooked due to any extenuating circumstances. It glared at him, mocking him, taunting him, abusing him. The accusing stares that greeted him as he walked down the LEP headquarters' corridors were almost more than he could bear. Several times he felt tears threatening to find their way down his cheek, but he took a deep breath and steadied himself.
He lifted his chin. He would face the world bravely, valiantly even, even if his heart lay like stone in his chest.
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
Artemis regarded the assorted officers of his late father's criminal empire with an imperious stare. Only he, however, could know that his cold, unperturbed arrogance was but a façade, a veneer to cover up his anguish, his sorrow, his grief.
"I assure you, I am fully capable of overseeing my father's business," Artemis said frigidly.
The officers noted the lack of insertion of the word 'late', but kept any sentiments or opinions to themselves. The young Artemis Fowl already had a reputation, even at this callow age.
"With all due respect, sir, you are merely an adolescent, intelligence notwithstanding. And your judgement will be clouded by your grief, if you will excuse me saying so. Perhaps for the time being we could manage the empire-" one of the braver officers suggested delicately.
Artemis straightened. He would fight tooth and nail to retain possession of the Fowl Empire. He would not lose control of it for even a moment. The reason, however, was not your typical Napoleon syndrome, nor was it a lust for control. The reason would have surprised everyone in the room, perhaps Artemis included.
Keeping himself busy with administrating the Fowl Empire was the only way he could ignore the glaring fact that his father was de- No. He would not admit it. He would never admit it. "I will take over the empire, gentlemen. Dismissed." A maverick tear trickled down his cheek, quickly wiped away, noticed but not commented upon by the numerous grown men standing around him.
But make allowance for their doubting too,
Artemis cradled his head in his hands. Doubt gnawed at his soul. Could he, perhaps, not be the best? He heard the jeers and boos as he faced his opponent, Grandmaster Karshiev, who had a smug smile on his face at the moment, confidence positively radiating from every pore. And why not? Winning the game, and up a queen, no less.
How could Artemis be losing? He, whose mind could calculate possible scenarios faster than the average person could even think about possibly getting up to use the bathroom. He, whose creative and daring plots and schemes had toppled empires.
He moved his hand to his king, to tip it over perhaps, to forfeit the game, to consign to defeat.
Maybe, maybe, they were right, he thought of the shouting crowd. Maybe he wasn't the best.
A stray knight caught his eye. He smiled then, a terrifying movement of the lips that didn't quite reach the upper regions of his face. A faintly malevolent glint entered his eye.
"Check," he said, moving his rook.
Grandmaster Karchiev shook his head. The boy must be mad, he thought. He duly took Artemis's rook with his queen. Down a queen and he's sacrificing a rook?
Artemis's grin did not waver. He moved his bishop. "Check," he said softly.
The grandmaster stared incredulously at the piece. He resisted an urge to chuckle. Madness, that must be it, he thought. Driven to the edge of sanity by his imminent loss, the boy is making irrational mistakes. He moved his rook to take the bishop.
Artemis leaned back and exhaled a peculiar little sigh. He moved his knight. The crowd gasped.
A glint of teeth greeted the shocked Karchiev.
"Checkmate."*
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Artemis stared at the computer screen, his blue eyes holding no emotion whatsoever. It had been five weeks since Artemis Senior had disappeared. Butler entered the room and gently laid a hand on Artemis's shoulder. CNN played on the screen.
"Artemis, I don't think your father is coming back," he said quietly.
"He will, Butler," Artemis's reply was curt, rude even.
"It has been five weeks, Artemis," Butler reasoned gently.
"I will wait as long as it takes."
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
A large pouch of gold dropped on the floor.
"It can be yours, Root," came Cahartez's voice, wheedling.
"I do not want it. Take it away," Root replied coolly.
"All you need to do is to release my son. He is an exuberant boy… Things have a way of happening. You understand, don't you?" Cahartez was desperate.
"Exuberant? Exuberant? Chairman, he raped and murdered a child as she was walking home from school!" Root's furious countenance was accentuated by his angry voice.
"People make mistakes, Commander! He was dead drunk! That should count for something! He wasn't in full control of his faculties! All he needs is a second chance…" Cahartez looked imploringly at the monolithic features of the Commander.
"Well, he won't get one here. The trial shall commence, and he shall face the mandatory death penalty." Root refused to look at Cahartez's eyes.
"Julius, he is my son." Tears flowed freely from the chairman's eyes. "I can't let him die. I can't!"
"Then perhaps you should have spent more time at home and taught him to do the right thing." Root's voice was quiet and regretful.
Cahartez's face transformed into a mask of fury. "You will never make it into the council, Julius! Never! You will rot in this hellhole they call the LEP! Mark my words, Commander!" He spat. And he stalked away, forgetting his pouch of gold.
"But I'll have a clear conscience, Cahartez," Root said softly as he watched his former friend leave.
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
It would be so easy…
whispered Butler's mind.One shot. That is all it would take. One shot.
No one would know.
He raised his gun and aimed it at his adversary. His hand was stuck on the trigger.
He killed your parents! He hired the gunmen to take them out in cold blood! Do not dishonour the memory of your father and mother! Do it. Kill the bastard. Kill him.
Domovoi's hand shook violently as he wrestled with himself. His would be victim whimpered softly.
After a few soundless moments, he lowered his shaking hand and spat in disgust. He took out his cell phone.
"Police? I'm here to report the murderer of Francis and Jamie Butler."
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise
Foaly kept his head low. He was discriminated against for being a centaur and a genius. Students, resentful at his intelligence, took every opportunity to persecute him and make his life a living hell. He had suffered torrents of abuse. His limped whenever he walked. His face was lined with cuts and bruises, and his left hand was in a cast. Yet he continued. He closed his eyes.
Maybe, maybe if I keep a low profile, they'll leave me alone…
he thought desperately. He clutched his books closer to his body. Maybe.*
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
Artemis shook his head. His dreams still stood out vividly, as though he was merely remembering something that had happened in times of yore.
Dreams of fairies, elves, centaurs, leprechauns…
Fanciful dreams.
Yes, fanciful. He had better things to do with his time. Rob another rich fool's bank account, maybe, or topple another corporation.
Yet he remembered a face. Coffee complexion, a sharp nose, high cheekbones, full lips, a stunningly beautiful face…
But what he remembered most was the eyes. The eyes that spoke of determination and fire so intense he shivered.
And for nor apparent reason, his gaze shifted to a Holly leaf which floated outside his room.
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
"How do you come up with these ideas, Foaly?" Lopez eyed the centaur with something approaching awe.
"They… come to me."
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
Artemis had won. Again.
But yet, it seemed to hold no joy for him. He only felt a hollow emptiness, something that had perhaps been exacerbated by his father's disappearance.
Artemis tried to find the pleasure in victory, the joy in winning.
But try as he might, he just felt the same emptiness.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Root did not blink an eye when the verbal abuse was heaped on him. He did not show any outward sign that the words had registered at all.
Cudgeon had, once again, manipulated Julius Root's statement for his own convenience. But Cudgeon wouldn't do that deliberately. They were friends.
Yes, they were friends. Cudgeon wouldn't use Root so coldly, so heartlessly.
Would he?
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;
Foaly gathered the crushed remains of his invention sadly. It had been destroyed by school bullies, callously ripped apart with as much emotion as you would show sweeping the floor. His project for the science fair was decimated, with no possibility of repair. It had taken him five months to painstakingly perfect the invention.
The fair was in a week.
Slowly, sadly, as if he were burying a kitten, Foaly threw the scrap away and started work on a new one.
*
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
Adrenaline pumped through Artemis's veins.
Why… not?
Analysts said the stock would go down. But Artemis thought differently. The company's PE ratio** was high, certainly, which was somewhat dangerous. The stock had been on a decline for a few months now, but recently prices had begun to soar. They would be announcing their results today, and Artemis had reason to believe they were good. Japanese investors were looking for new markets, and in recent days had been buying up the stock like there was no tomorrow. And so what if the US currency was devaluating? His profit would more than make up for it.
Analysts could be wrong. Artemis was never mistaken.
Never.
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
A fatal miscalculation. One fatal miscalculation. That was all it took for a good portion of the Fowl fortune to disappear faster than a second hand car salesman.***
The Japanese investors had been manipulating the stock price, creating demand and driving the price up. When they had made their fortune, however…
Like all things which had outlived their usefulness, the stocks had been thrown faster than a burrito from the stomach of a seasick wayfarer.***
Butler walked in.
"Anything wrong, Master Fowl?" Artemis looked paler than usual.
"N-Nothing, Butler. Nothing."
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
Butler panted as he ran. He felt… old, for some peculiar reason. Old and weak.
Artemis was in danger.
He distantly wondered why he felt this peculiar fatigue. Why was he so sapped of energy? He felt like he was almost sixty. Any speculation was inconsequential at the moment, however.
Artemis was in danger.
But… Butler was so tired. So, so tired. His second wind had long since gone. His reserves had been sucked dry. It was almost medically impossible for him to continue at this pace.
Artemis was in danger.
Butler couldn't go on. A short rest, he told himself. That's all I need. A few seconds, maximum. Just a short rest. Artemis could wait for a moment…
Artemis was in danger.
Butler took a deep breath and ran on, drawing on his third wind.****
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
"Please, Butler, don't go," Artemis sobbed.
"Artemis… call me Domovoi." Butler's eyes were closed, perhaps in peace, perhaps in resignation. Either way, they were closed, soon to be so for eternity.
Butler's hand dropped. He was gone.
"Butler!" Cried out Artemis in despair and anguish.
Through his grief, a brainwave sparked. A single word flashed through the mire of Artemis's mind,
Cryogenics.
As he dragged Butler's inert form to the trolley, he whispered, "Hold on, Domovoi. Hold on." *****
*
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Root removed his helmet.
"Good mission, men! And women," Root added, gesturing vaguely at Holly's general direction upon seeing her raised eyebrow. "Let's go for a drink! On me!"
The team grinned broadly at those magical words and headed for the nearest bar, singing a rather off key rendition of 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow'.
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
"Frankly, Lopez, I don't give a damn," growled Root as he ground his cigar under his boot.
"Root," Lopez said acidly, "I thought you promised to stop watching 'Gone With the Wind."
They both laughed heartily at that.
"Come on, Lopez. Let's go get a drink," Root said merrily, slapping Lopez on the back.
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
News of Artemis Senior's probable death had filtered through to his son. Artemis Fowl the Second stared blankly at the wall.
Artemis was not emotionally equipped to deal with pain. He avoided it at all costs.
He closed his eyes as he pondered on how to make himself impervious to grief. A random neuron lit up as something sparked.
This way,
the darker part of his mind whispered sibilantly, nothing can hurt you. Friends, foes, loss, what of them? You'll never have to feel pain again. Never.Almost imperceptibly, he nodded. He closed his eyes as he prepared to take the step which would perhaps alienate him to the rest of humanity.
He hardened his heart, maybe never to feel again.
If all men count with you,
"I know I can depend on you, Captain, oh, sorry, Commander now, isn't it?" Lopez grinned as he handed Julius the badge.
The soon to be Commander Root nodded slowly. Resolve coursed through his features.
"Yes. Yes, you can."
-but none too much,
"Now, now, Julius, don't be too hard on yourself…"
"People depended on me. I let them down." Root's gaze was flinty and unforgiving. "There can be no excuses. Never any excuses."
"Not everything is your fault," Lopez told him gently.
"Maybe. Maybe not."
Lopez patted Root softly on the shoulder before heading out the Operations Booth, leaving Root with tears glimmering in his angry eyes.
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Julius was at his desk. The clock registered eleven AM. Most fairies worked a nine PM to five AM shift, but then again, Commander Root wasn't most fairies.
Holly appeared at the doorway, as silent as a cat. No one could ever anticipate her arrival. "Still working? Everyone else has gone home, you know," she told him.
To his credit, Root's countenance did not reveal surprise, not much anyway. "I have a lot of work today, Holly," he told her patiently.
"You have a lot of work every day, Commander." She rolled her eyes. She knew Julius Root, incorrigible workaholic. The light suddenly caught Holly's face, and Root was reminded of just how beautiful she could be. She reminded Root in some way of his beloved wife, long since dead, a victim of a fatal disease that even magic could not cure.
"A commander has to do what a commander has to do." Julius rubbed his red eyes and leaned back on his chair, pouring himself a drink, perhaps in an attempt to erase the painful memories which had been stirred by Holly's presence.
"You should take a break sometime," Holly said, leaning on the frame of the doorway.
"I am on a break, Holly," he said, no hint of humor on his face.
She rolled her eyes again. "A five minute rest while you try and get yourself drunk doesn't count, Root."
"It doesn't?" Root's features feigned surprise.
"I meant something more along the lines of taking a week or two off, seeing what life has to offer. You know, what normal people do," she remarked.
"Well, right now, life is offering me more work, and I'm not about to turn it down just because I feel-" he yawned.
"Tired," Holly completed, a delicate eyebrow raised. "Well, I'll be going off now. Don't work too late," Holly reminded sternly.
"Me? Wouldn't dream of it," Root replied, his face a picture of angelic innocence. Not too hard to do, considering his uncle was a cherub.
And Holly disappeared as silently as she came, leaving Commander Root all alone in the desolate Police Plaza.
"Hah. Take a break, she says," he muttered to no one in particular.
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
* A smothered mate, a rarity among the higher echelons of chess circles. It is done by sacrificing your pieces in order to draw your opponent's pieces to surround his king, checkmating by using a knight. The king, of course, is 'smothered' by his own pieces.
**Price to Earnings Ratio.
*** I like inventing strange metaphors, okay?
**** Yes, I do know there isn't such a thing medically, but oh heck.
***** And yes, I know the passage isn't exactly from the Eternity Code, but I don't want to copy wholesale, and besides, I don't have my copy right now.