Warnings: Hints of SLASH-y goodness in this chap, and that's about it. Enjoy!
--
Air vents were a funny subject. In movies, Leonardo DiCaprio used them as his primary method of travel. Gotta take a smoke break? I'll just duck in this ole' air vent and pop out with a Camel in one hand and a drink in the other.
Artemis had come to the conclusion that this was a false representation of the air vent. He had also come to the conclusion that the air vent was probably the most frustrating invention on the face of planet Earth.
After spending a good five minutes sitting in a cubicle waiting for a father and his two sons to leave, Artemis had found - as he knew he would - a ventilation shaft on the ceiling above the last stall. There was - as he had also expected - bolts on the vent. For Artemis, this was not a problem.
What was a problem was that he was stuck in a very small, very dusty passageway and his Armani suit was undoubtedly ruined by now. Damnit.
After carefully replacing the cover and bolts, Artemis crawled through the tunnel. It was a dignified sort of crawl, he tried to tell himself.
Sliding one leg past the other as quietly as he could, Artemis felt his way through the passageway, a vague sense of claustrophobia creeping in. Artemis doubted if there would be enough room to turn around if he made a wrong turn.
Artemis didn't need to turn around though. If there was one mastermind planner, it was Artemis - and he knew it. Left at the first turn, straight, stay straight, and a right. Artemis crept to the slated light illuminating the tunnel. He lowered his ear to the grates and listened.
"I don't know how you can expect him to call you after that little fiasco. I didn't think a five-year-old could throw that kind of a tantrum."
"I'm sorry, I thought it would be expected my boyfriend could stop ogling the waitress's chest for about two minutes and hold a conversation with me!"
"Mimi-"
"What was I thinking?"
A door slammed and the voices cut off.
Women. Artemis rolled his eyes, but kept his ear pressed against the cold metal. No sound.
Artemis dug out a thin, metal device from inside his suit. To the security guards, it looked, even under x-ray, like a pen. Artemis thrust his fingers through a slat in the shaft and angled the object so that its tip connected with a bolt.
Whiz, and the bolt landed on the floor with a tiny clink. Three more times, and the vent was ready to be opened, until Artemis heard door hinges creak.
Artemis flung back against the wall. Voices floated into the tunnel, only this time it wasn't two female voices. One was male. Giggling reached his ears, the sound of clothes rustling, and Artemis felt something sink in the pit of his stomach.
Damnit damnit damnit.
There was no way he could wait for Jack and Jill down there to finish up their...whatever. Artemis chewed the inside of his cheek. This was one of the few subjects outside of his expertise, but he had a pretty good idea that they would be taking more than - he glanced at his watch - the six minutes he had left to board his plane.
Damnit. Artemis slammed his foot on the ventilation shaft anyway and maneuvered himself to the washroom floor.
A few stalls down, he saw a toilet, two pairs of legs, a bra, and something that looked like a charred cucumber. Artemis could only be thankful they hadn't decided to do it on the sink. At his entrance, the legs froze.
"Is somebody there? Hello?" A woman's voice called.
Artemis didn't respond and focused on getting the cover and bolts back on.
"Hello? Who's there?"
A blonde head peaked out from under the stall.
"Hey! What d'you think you're doing?"
Careful to keep his face turned, though he doubted the woman could pick out her mother's face in a line-up, Artemis brushed off his suit and stepped into the airport.
--
Fifteen minutes later, Artemis was reading in a plush first-class seat on Continental and sipping a vodka. How he had procured said alcoholic beverage had gone something like this:
Artemis, flagging stewardess down: "Excuse me."
Unsuspecting stewardess: "Yes, sir, what can I help you with?"
Artemis: "I'd like a drink."
Stewardess: "Sure! We've got apple juice, orange juice, soda-"
Artemis: "Something stronger. A vodka. On the rocks."
Confused stewardess: "Sir, alcoholic beverages can only be served to those twenty-one years or old-"
Annoyed Artemis: "Do I look under the age of twenty-one, ma'am? A vodka."
Stewardess: "If I could just see your I.D. please..."
Artemis glared.
Stewardess: "I just need an-"
Really-Pissed-Off Artemis: "Do I need to call for the pilot, madam? Do you want that? Because apparently one of this airline's best customers is being taken for a lying, idiotic child, and I assure you that if said pilot catches even one whiff that I have been treated this way, he'll-"
Scared-Shitless stewardess ran off to retrieve requested drink.
Artemis, grumbling: "It better be cold..."
After that incident, it had been approximately forty minutes since a stewardess had last passed by his row of seats. A shame, really. Artemis would have loved a filet mignon right about then.
--
The plane landed in Israel as the sun was breaking, pink and orange rays illuminating the stone streets stretching from one end of the horizon to the other.
Artemis stood on the hill of a busy market street. Even though he had brought no luggage with him (as much as he had wanted to check at least one suitcase for his real flight, he knew any time he spent away from Butler would be, if not impossible, suspicious), he was not concerned. He had 5,000 shekels tucked away in his pants pocket, the equivalent of a thousand U.S. dollars, and he could always exchange more.
Artemis studied Israel's inhabitants and felt slightly out of place. And tired. Bone-tired, really. Being without Butler, one of his few (if only) friends, made the trip lonelier than he had expected. And Artemis had never been very good at making friends.
He descended the hill, sweltering in his clothes, and ambled over to an open-air produce stand. Sharp spices wafted into his nose and his eyes watered. Strange but delicious looking fruits and vegetables were attractively displayed before him. Plump, red globes of something sat temptingly in a hanging basket, and it was these Artemis was eyeing when a hand shot out and plucked one out of the basket.
"Look good, don't they?" A voice enquired.
It took Artemis a good fifteen seconds to realize the voice was directed at him.
His eyes traveled up the speaker's arm to his face and found a young man standing before him. He couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty. He had very strong features - sharp, chocolate eyes, a strong chin, defined nose. He was muscled but lean.
Like a cat, thought Artemis.
There was a predatory look in the other boy's eyes. "New around here, huh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a large bite into the red fruit. He dropped a few coins into the shopkeeper's hand.
Artemis swallowed. He swallowed again. "And you would assume such a thing because...?" Which was ridiculous, really. As if his translucent skin wasn't testament to the fact he hadn't spent more than five minutes in this pounding sun.
Amusement sprang to life in the stranger's face. "Irish, are you?" His voice took on a poorly done Irish accent. "What are ya doin' all th' way o'er here? Are they after ye' lucky charms?" He gave Artemis a toothy grin. "I'm just kidding with you. I like it."
Artemis, for reasons he couldn't possibly comprehend, blushed.
"Oh," said Artemis, the least intelligent thing he had said to a human being since he was two. "Thanks."
"So," the other boy drawled, obviously still very amused by the situation. "Shall we introduce ourselves? This is polite company, after all." He stuck out a hand. "Troy."
Artemis grabbed the hand, feeling Troy's confident grip. Should he use a pseudo name? It was highly unlikely that Valtaro would have his cronies on him already and all the way out here, and Artemis felt compelled not to lie to Troy. So he compromised. "Art."
"Art. The Mona Lisa. Virgin of the Rocks. Graffiti in a London subway. All very subjective," Troy said. "But, I consider myself a connoisseur. I know art when I see it." His eyes crinkled when he smiled. "Well, Art. What're you doing around these piss-poor parts?"
"I..." God, what was he going to say? That he was being hunted by a madman and was on the lamb from his bodyguard?
"You look like a tourist. You're a tourist, aren't you? Can't say this is the place for the five star treatment, but I guess it's pretty cultural, if that's what you're into."
"I'm here for... not any reason, really," Artemis said, and Troy gave him a disbelieving look. "What I mean is, I just needed a change."
Why Artemis had come to Israel of all places, he wasn't sure himself. After hearing of his mother's plan for him, all he knew was that any place was better than Old McDonald's farm. Israel was rich in folklore, ruins, and religion - all of which fascinated Artemis - and he had come with the plan of having an abundance of research opportunities, if nothing else.
"Don't you have a job?" asked Troy.
Artemis thought back to all his thefts, schemes, and forgeries. "Not really." Nothing legal, anyway.
"Family? Friends?"
Artemis thought of Butler, probably half-mad with worry by now. And when Angeline found out...but maybe Butler wouldn't tell her. No, now that he thought about it, it was very likely that Butler wouldn't tell her. After all, it was his responsibility to see Artemis safely to his flight. And besides that, Butler loved Angeline as his own mother. He wouldn't worry her on account of another of Artemis's "stupid plans."
Butler would disown him when he found him, though.
"None that I need to worry about, anyway," Artemis said. Though he did need to call Angeline, sooner than later.
Troy crossed his arms, muscles straining through his worn T-shirt. Artemis stared at them.
"Let's go for a walk, Art," Troy suggested. He slipped an arm around Artemis's back and pulled his coat off, ignoring Artemis's yelp of protest. "You looked hot," he said dismissively, flinging the coat on a wooden fence post. He smiled again - Artemis was beginning to become wary of that smile - and reached out to Artemis's neck, undoing a few buttons on the collar of his shirt. "Now, let's find something to eat, yeah?" And with that, Troy sauntered down the hill.
And Artemis followed.