CHAPTER FOUR: Complexity

HAVEN CITY; NOW

When Artemis stepped outside for some fresh air (as fresh as the air ever gets below-ground), the sun-lamps on the cave ceiling far above were dimming. It was early evening, Haven Standard Time, after all.

Though he had promised his two on-hand guardians he would not stray far, he set out to do exactly that almost immediately. He wanted to be away from the city center, away from the stares and glares of its denizens. There was likely to be no such place as long as he was in Haven, but he had no better idea than to walk. Perhaps the sight of a singular Mud Man wouldn't be so upsetting as three of them.

He was, of course, mistaken. The stares followed him with as much apprehension as if he were the six-foot-plus Eurasian bodyguard, wielding his firearm in plain sight and snarling. Due to this, he kept to the main streets, making sure an LEP officer was always within his line of sight. This was a simple matter, as they were posted everywhere throughout the city. Even these regarded him as a threat, but they did not attack or shout at him, or even stop him for questioning. They merely stayed stock still in a state of heightened awareness.

A few of the street signs were familiar. He puzzled over why this could be for a few moments before he remembered: one of them was a cross street of the address where Holly Short hung her helmet. At some time or another, she must have mentioned this, despite the low likelihood that it would do him a bit of good.

Never say never, he thought, turning down the street.

Five minutes brought him to the other street, and a few minutes of pacing in circles prompted the flash of recall filling in the number. When he reached for the doorknob, a straggly elf in oversized clothing was just leaving.

"Pardon me," he said politely, holding the door open as he stepped aside. The man gaped at him, open mouthed, but decided not to confront such a towering, fearsome individual and fled. As Artemis stepped in, he noticed the call buttons on a plaque; this lucky coincidence had saved himself the trouble of being buzzed up.

Try as he might, he couldn't seem to bring the apartment number out of his memory. This turned out to be moot, as only one door had the acorn crest of the LEP logo hung just below the keyhole. This was probably to ward off any vandals or thieves who weren't brave enough to tangle with the police so directly. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the doorbell.

Nothing. That is, he heard a muted ring on the other side, one that reminded him of wind chimes, but no one unlocked the door to greet him warmly. Had he misremembered the address and merely happened upon the apartment of another LEP officer by mistake? Twice more he rang, waiting precisely one-and-a-half minutes between each push. No dice. Deciding she must still be at the office, he had only just turned a single brown loafer away from his friend's address when the metal portal was swung open by great force.

"For the love of Frond, did you have to drop by at a time like- OH!"

"AH!"

Artemis found his heart thundering from the instant his occipital lobe had worked out that he was staring at a sopping-wet Holly with a bath towel wrapped around her torso. The furious expression hadn't quite faded, somehow overlapping with a shocked one as she clutched at the corner of the towel in the center of her chest. For three seconds, he took in the sight of her shining shoulders, tapering legs, and the sporty auburn hair plastered to her scalp. Then, just as he met her eyes again, he realized what he was doing and clapped a hand over his vision.

"I'm s-sorry," he began, amazed that he'd been driven to stuttering for perhaps the second or third time in his life. "You were- if I had known, I wouldn't- this m-must be something of a-"

And then the door slammed in his face.

"Right," he said miserably after a few seconds, heart still pumping more blood than necessary to his extremities. "I... should have anticipated that. Very well, perhaps I'll call again at another-"

The door opened the barest crack. Nothing happened for a few moments as he hesitated, hoping for a clue as to what his next course of action should be so as not to further anger the elfin captain. He got exactly that when she said in a low voice, "Do me a favor, and, uh... count to fifteen. Then you can come in – but not before. Got it?"

Shrugging, he began doing so, opting to say the numbers aloud so she knew how far along in the count he was. Listening as he spoke, he caught the sound of sliding drawers, something crashing to the carpet, and then another door slamming. Opting to try his hand at a joke, he imitated the young children playing in the yard at his old primary school and sang out, "Ready or not, here I come!"

When he entered the small abode, he was first struck by the fact that Holly was not there. Shielding herself, perhaps? No; there was light coming from under a door in one wall. He noticed a few of the drawers in her bureau were only half-closed, unknown articles of clothing peeking out. A shattered vase that had been filled with flowers was slowly leaking onto the floor.

"I'll just... see to this, then," he announced, closing the front door behind him before rushing to the vase. He moved with slow precision, trying his best not to cut himself on the earthenware, but still he managed a slight nick. He quickly rinsed it off, leaving the pieces of the vase on the counter, before laying the flowers on the other side of the sink. Looking around, he at last found a hand towel, and he began mopping up the water with his uninjured hand, squeezing two fingers together to prevent further bleeding. He was just wringing the towel out when the backlit door opened.

"Don't laugh," she said in a subdued tone as she peeked around at him. "Promise, okay?"

"What?" he asked, startled into dropping the rag. "I... why would I laugh?"

"Just promise."

"I solemnly promise."

When Holly crept out from inside the lit room, he saw why she had asked this of him; instead of her usual uniform, she was wearing a billowy black skirt with white flower patterns along the hem, and a red, loose-fitting blouse with a plunging neckline. She was also wearing a mortified, uncomfortable scowl.

"Ahh," he said with an uncertain grin. "A paragon of pulchritude. And that's Artemis talking, not Orion, in case you worried."

"Shut your pie hole," she grunted, a touch of her irritation returning. "This wasn't what I meant to grab, I thought I had ahold of my jogging outfit. Is it... are you sure I don't look like an idiot?"

"Of course not," he soothed earnestly. "An unexpected ensemble on you, as I've rarely seen you in civilian dress to my recollection, but... not altogether unwelcome."

"Maybe if somebody hadn't interrupted my shower, I'd have had time to actually dress myself without panicking," she shot at him. "What are you doing here, anyway? Can't you call first?"

"I fancied a walk," he began, trying to decide if he was allowed to leave the kitchenette area. From the look of things, the People didn't believe in full-sized eating rooms at all. "Fresh air, stretching my legs. Said legs brought me here."

"How do you even know where I- wait, forget I asked," she grunted as she hurriedly stuffed some clothes back into a drawer to make it shut. At the last second, it dawned on him that some of said garments may have been delicates, and his cheeks took on a slight glow. "The great Artemis Fowl knows all and sees all."

"Well, yeah," he began, then cleared his throat. "On the other hand, you told me yourself, so it didn't take a great deal of detective work."

"Right," she breathed, more to herself than to him. "I did. Um... so, you thought you'd drop by and say 'hello'? No harm in that, I guess. And, uh, even though it was your fault, thanks for cleaning up the mess I created as I tore around my apartment like my head was alight."

"It was no trouble," he said, gesturing to the vase on the counter – needlessly. Why did he feel like a bundle of nerves? "I figured the sooner it was taken care of, the less damage done to your carpeting."

"Oh, no," she said, padding toward him. "You're bleeding."

"Just a scratch."

Calmly, she took his hand and squinted at the cut. "Yeah, but no sense letting you ooze onto my floors – that will do more damage than the vase." After a moment of concentration, she whispered, "Heal," and one or two blue sparks drifted from her fingertip to his, sealing the cut and forcing a few drops of blood back inside.

"They're blue again," he said in a surprised tone as he rubbed his fingers together. "I... had thought they'd turned amber."

"They had," she said with a slight smile. "But No1 did some kind of warlock aura-cleansing song-and-dance, and then I actually completed the ritual instead of stealing his magic for once. Fully-charged and running hot, except for this quick jolt for you, and it's like I'm about five years younger. It was probably just all our zany adventures catching up with me, making me feel like I was hitting my second century."

"That's great, then. I'm glad something could be done about it."

For what seemed like several hours, they stood there, his hand still held by her two smaller ones, smiling at each other. Now that she was dry, he was surprised to note that her hair, though still of a nominal length, wasn't as closely cropped as remembered. Had his psychosis prevented him from being even that observant?

"Your hair..."

"Hmm?"

He shrugged, suddenly nervous about addressing her appearance again. "Well, I was only going to say I like what you've done with it. But that sounds trite."

Holly's fingers curled around his as she squinted up at him. "You know, if you only trotted out your compliments without following up with a snide remark, you might get somewhere with girls."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Fun, huh?" She glanced down. "The way your shirt says 'Fun-O-Rama'?"

"Leave off my clothing," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Mother insists I dress down from time to time, as 'normal boys' don't wear Armani. A grave injustice."

A slight crinkling at the bridge of her nose gave away her mirth, though she stopped herself from laughing directly into his face. "Well, you almost look... oh, what is that Mud Man slang... 'cool', I think."

For some reason, though she had spent half of their relationship calling him "Mud Boy" or "Mud Man," this time it set his nerves on edge. He heaved a deep sigh, withdrawing his hand from hers, and stuffed himself into an elf-sized chair near her television. "Right. Mud. Cool."

"What is it?" she asked, more than sharp enough to catch his sudden mood swing. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Yes," he said first, then amended, "not that you meant to. If I say I've had a bellyful of the People's anti-human stance today, would that put you in the correct mindset to guess at what stories may follow?"

"Oh boy," she gusted as she plopped into a nearby seat, crossing her bare ankles as she leaned back. "Let's have it, both barrels. Face full of goblin dung? Rude graffiti on your Vespa?"

"As if there are Vespas down here," he mumbled. "No, nothing so outright or sensational. Simply a refusal of service at one of your fine dining establishments." "Chez Cheez kicked you to the kerb, huh?"

His eyebrow hiked. "How did you know? Did Foaly call?"

"Oh, it's a well-known fact that the head chef hates humans, and has been for years. He's not an exception to the rule, either, just more militant; anyone spouting pro-Mud sentimentality there is usually overcharged, or asked to find another chuck wagon."

"Chuck wagon, both barrels. Have you been watching American Westerns?"

She pouted slightly. "There might have been an all-week marathon on Mud TV."

"Mud TV, even!" he blustered. "Compared to Mulch Diggums, we are the Mud People? I can't begin to fathom the logic."

"You know, I'll give you that," she laughed aloud. "Never heard anyone make that point before. But come on, it's not as if it's-"

"Not as if it's derogatory? Look me in the eye – the one that once belonged to you, even – and tell me you honestly believe that."

Holly folded like a house of cards, staring down into her lap. "We don't mean anything by it – I don't, anyway. It's just... what you are. Gnomes are gnomes, centaurs are centaurs, and Mud Men are Mud Men."

"It implies we're too intellectually-stunted to pull ourselves up from the mud. Which we have; perhaps we're a step or two behind the People's timetable, but that doesn't make us primeval ignoramuses. We're getting there."

"But you're destroying the only planet we have in the process," she said bitterly, unable to keep her true feelings from her voice. "Asking the fairies to forget that is asking too much."

"Indeed," he said, pulling at his hair. "But slurs won't improve the situation. Perhaps you've been isolated from our race so long that it's been easy for fairies to be comfortable using the term; after all, if no Mud Men find out they're being called Mud Men, then it's a victimless crime. But it speaks volumes to state of mind. We're a flawed race, that much is plain, but we're not completely without worth, are we?"

Holly didn't answer.

"Are we?"

"No, of course not," she finally said, a hitch in her voice. "You only ask that because you know my answer has to be 'no' with you sitting across from me. But you're talking about millennia of resentment, Artemis – over what we lost, over what we can't prevent from happening on the surface! That doesn't fade away overnight, you know!"

"There are those of us on the surface who are trying to roll back the progress of pollution," he pressed. "I'm sure you know that; not I alone, but other groups, other individuals. On the other hoof, there are plenty of dwarfs and goblins and other fairies who still eat animal flesh, who don't use proper waste receptacles, and also those who have no qualms about selling out their own people just so they can become queen of the earth."

"By all means, judge the entire population based on Opal," Holly snapped. "That's completely fine. Shall I turn to a Hitler or a Hussein in your own history?"

"But that is exactly my point. No one race of people – or People – can be judged based on the actions of individuals. Even judging a race as a whole is setting yourself up to fail. Look at the demons and imps. Most of them are bloodthirsty savages, but what of the others? Are they to be lumped in with the dross based on their gray skin and red markings?"

"Why are you grandstanding to me?" Holly shouted from nowhere, leaping to her feet. "I actually like you, if you haven't picked up on it! So go grab a soapbox and plunk it down in Westside Stadium if you have to, but don't screech and moan in my apartment until I start crying, which I am now real close to doing!"

Five seconds passed as Artemis got a good look at his friend, and at the blotches near her eyes, the shiver in her spine. All the day's inconveniences had bubbled to the surface as soon as she mentioned the words that set him off, and he had let it, glad of the release. It was too high a price to pay.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, standing nervously. "That was... Good Lord, I only wanted to get it off my chest, but I should have realized there was no need for you to endure the brunt of my frustrations. I apologize."

"Apology not accepted," she growled through her teeth. "Poor humans crawling all over the surface of our world, while we grow mold in caves! Poor humans walking around in broad daylight, while we have to shield ourselves to avoid being bagged and tagged by your governments! Maybe you have a point, maybe we shouldn't be using those words, but somehow I don't think you're being slighted nearly as much as we have been for centuries!"

"I know," he said, bending over her chair. For a moment he expected her to lash out and punch him in the gut, but instead she folded her arms as she sank into the material, eyes cast in any direction but his. "I... it's awful. If only there were some way to reintroduce you to Homo sapiens without starting an inter-species war, to bring you out of these caves, I would be all for it. Who knows? Perhaps I'll pioneer it someday."

"It's like a raw, open wound. Every time I think about the lives of freedom we could have if only you had been shunted into this miserable pit instead of us, I feel so cold. So angry."

"That wouldn't be any better and you know it. Nobody should have been forced into hiding. Racial supremacy is inefficient and nonsensical." His fist struck the arm of her chair. "I'd apologize on behalf of my people if I thought it meant anything, but the naked truth is, it doesn't. All I can do is make some pathetic reparations for myself and hope others do the same."

"I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

"For... for calling you Mud Boy all the time," she whispered wetly, still not meeting his eyes. "I guess I didn't realize you were offended by it. Which means I wasn't thinking."

"Forget about it. I... I don't mind. I'll probably miss it if you stop."

"No," she said, swiping at the streaks on her face. "No, you were right. Even as a joke, or among friends, at its heart it's a hateful term. And I need to quit using it. Ignorance only works as an excuse until you wise up."

Now Artemis was stricken by his own foolishness. He should never have come, not in the mood he was in. Everything was going wrong, and would probably continue to degenerate in his presence.

"So... I'll be leaving now, I think. I didn't mean to ruin your evening. Goodnight."

But when he made to stand, her hands latched onto his forearms – and he knew better than to tug away. Her strength was far greater than his. "Don't go yet."

"Why would you want me to stay?" he sighed. "I'm being my usual boorish self, right on schedule."

"I missed you. Seriously, I wanted to come by the clinic all week, but I felt like I couldn't. My last visit was..."

"Surreal?"

"Surreal. And every time I got halfway down the street in your direction, I'd run back home or along to work with my tail between my legs. Like a coward."

He shook his head. "It's not cowardly. Sometimes... people need space. In this case, it was you. One of the many fine platitudes I've learned from Dr. Argon, most of which sound just as smarmy."

The laugh she allowed herself sounded so much more sad than the crying somehow that Artemis was wrapping both arms around her before he realized he'd even moved. It wasn't as comforting as it normally would be for him, as he could feel her flesh and sinew more easily through the thin material of her clothes, when it was normally shielded by the armoured plating of her flight uniform. Given their patchy history, this felt more than a hair inappropriate, but on the other hand, it was only a hug.

However, she seemed to share this notion. "It's soft; your shirt, I mean. So different from the usual inch-thick suit jackets you wear."

"I confess myself a tad chilly," he said lightly, happy to be talking about anything besides mixed-up feelings and conceptual fairy-human treaties. "I'm too accustomed to the multiple layers."

"I could help you warm up."

When he drew back to gape at her, she coughed, trying to pass this off as the reason her cheeks were tinged with pink. "Er, that is, I've got a few blankets. And tea, if you want some tea."

"I'll make a pot for us," he volunteered, feeling he'd imposed plenty without asking her to wait on him hand and foot. So this is just what he did, bustling around the tiny kitchen while she retrieved a few blankets from the chest hidden beneath her coffee table-top. Once they were draped in them and sipping away, facing each other in her only two chairs, a silence thick with discomfort settled over them. Where did they go from this point? It was a tricky transition.

"So I saw you on the news," he began.

"Really? Oh... the suicide bomber. Yeah, fun day in the line of duty, almost getting blown sky high."

"You were dashing as always."

"Don't try getting on my good side, Mud B- Master Fowl," she said forcefully. They both smiled hopefully, and when they noticed they were not alone in doing so the tension that had flared up abated. "Going to have to retrain myself."

"All things in good time. So, as you were saying about me buttering you up?"

"So you admit that's what you were doing, eh?"

He shook his head. "Perish the thought; merely credit where credit is due. An asset to the community, that's Holly Short."

"Asset? Maybe the first half of the word." She grunted, leaning back and holding her body so straight that she was almost sliding into the floor, heels scarcely preventing it from happening. "Trouble chewed me out for at least half an hour for doing that, even while a steady stream of other officers dropped by to congratulate me on my 'daring deed', to quote his little brother Grub."

"Sounds like a long day."

"Yep. We can't always be stopping molten iron from gouging out half of Haven; some days, you just walk the beat. Which I did, from morning to about an hour ago - moment of glory notwithstanding."

"Sorry," he apologized after taking a sip of her tea; it reminded him vaguely of Darjeeling... "I ought to have reasoned that even if you were home yet, you would have only stepped in from your job moments before I arrived."

"No harm, no foul, Fowl," she joked. "The shower did wonders for my disposition, even if my feet are still killing me. I could do without the peace summit as late night entertainment, though."

"I have wondered about that, if you'll pardon my prying; shouldn't your sparks be taking care of any residual aches and pains?"

The corner of her mouth turned up as she breathed in the aroma from her cup. "Nah. I could do that, but then I'd be riding a surface shot to Tara for the ritual every three days or so – which is more often than the moon is full. No, it's more economical to tough it out so I still have magic when it counts."

"Maybe so. But I think I could, perhaps, do something about it, if you'll allow a beginner to try his hand?"

"Hmm?" She watched, bemused, as he scooted his chair closer, set their teacups aside on the table, then reached down and picked up one of her ankles. "Oh, no you don't, Mud Boy; trying to get frisky isn't going to net you any bonus points."

Frisky, he reflected, snorting. "Hardly. And I thought we were working on our language? There are young ears in this room."

"They don't get much younger than yours, Artemis," she said, placing the emphasis on his name to make it known that she was, indeed, working on it. "But you'd better explain yourself before that leg you're holding causes you unspeakable pain in places you don't want pain."

"Dr. Argon authorized spa treatments for his patients, especially the ones who seem to be recovering smoothly," he explained himself. "This was, in fact, a first for me, as I've always seen relaxing in mud baths to be a waste of time – and here I will permit you a Mud Man joke if you so wish, as the irony of my insisting earlier that we do not dwell in mud has not escaped me."

"I decline," she said airily.

"Very well, your loss. At any rate, I found this to be immensely beneficial, and I've studied the technique, but... well, as I said, I'm a novice, so bear with me."

"Bear with you? I can't even follow your train of thougHAAAHhh..."

The instant his thumbs dug into the tender flesh of her sole, every part of her tensed; he could feel it beneath his hands and observe it easily. A few seconds after this, the exact opposite happened; she melted like a Mars bar in the summer sun, head lolling to one side as she moaned weakly. He noted the lack of callouses; it was to be expected that anyone who spent as much time in police-issue boots as Holly Short would have them in spades, but apparently the fairies (or most likely Foaly himself) had designed the footwear to be so tailored to the needs of their physiology that none had developed. Artemis made a mental note to ask Foaly for his specifications.

"So," he asked tentatively after several minutes of naught but the occasional moan. "How am I doing?"

"Oh gods, Artemis," she called out, voice quavering. "That's so... it's like being back on Cominetto with their world-class masseuses. Can I keep you forever?"

"You can have me on loan, I suppose. I was worried that I'd missed an important step in the process, only having observed it twice, but perhaps there's not as much to this as I'd worried there m-"

"AAIIIEE!" she squealed when his fingers moved up to her toes. "Wow, how are you doing that? This ought to be illegal!"

Artemis smirked; was she putting on a show for his benefit, or was it truly what she'd needed most? "You know, I am reminded of something our legally-challenged friend Mulch told me about the soles of the feet. That there is a part of them that correspond to every area of the body."

"The body," she panted, arms flopping uselessly over the arm rests as her neck elongated.

"We humans call it reflexology, but I'm sure there's a fairy term that-"

"Oh, shut up and knead," she half-laughed, eyes squeezing shut. "I've never felt this good in my entire life!"

She commanded, and he obeyed, silently pushing into her aching joints, grinning at her near-theatrical movements and sounds. Intriguing how the dainty little appendages could be in so much agony that the release was this monumental. The instant he ceased, about to ask if she wanted him to continue, her other foot was suddenly hovering in his face; time to switch, he deduced. As soon as he started in on that one, the first dropped away as she convulsed all over again, laughing and moaning and, if he wasn't mistaken, sweating. Or perhaps she hadn't been entirely dry from the shower? He couldn't be one hundred per cent sure either way.

"Artemis!" she moaned, a hand playing across her collarbone. "Yes, Artemis, yes! More, give me more!"

Now he knew his ears and face were reddening; the noises issuing from her throat were sounding less like contentment and more akin to... excitement. His experience in such matters was literally nil, however, and he forced himself to continue his sacred duty without thinking too deeply on it.

Then, to his confusion, her now-neglected foot was jabbing at his hand, trying to separate it from the other. Making an educated guess, he began using a thumb to rub each sole, and Holly Short lost it entirely.

"Yeah! That's it, that's it riiiight there! Oh, yes, Artemis, make me feel good, good all over!"

"Eh?" he couldn't help sputtering out, but she wasn't through; as he looked on numbly, she rolled slightly to one side, thighs squeezing together, hands gripping her upper arms. She shivered and bucked, laughing the most gorgeous, carefree laugh he'd ever heard from any creature, then utterly deflated.

"Hahh... hahaha, that was... special..."

"Holly, are you, er, well?"

"Mmm," she mumbled, eyes glazed over when she opened them to stare at him. "That was so amazing... where did you... Dr. Argon? Remind me to send that man a fruit basket; he's a gem!"

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," he said, amused. "Honestly, Holly, all those exaggerated actions... you were having me on, correct?"

"Having you... on..."

And his mighty brain flew directly out the window when she sprang from her own chair and into his, lips mashing in, suckling, kissing him so deeply that he was instantly whisked away to the last time this had happened nine years in the past. As then, she draped her body over his, embracing him, cooing into his mouth with unadulterated want.

"Holly!" he gasped, pushing her a few inches backward. "Are you... what is this? Why are you doing this now?"

"To thank you," she whispered, bending at the waist and granting him a better view of that plunging neckline. He did his best to avoid it. "That... I know you thought I was hamming it up or whatever, but that was all me – no, scratch that. It was all you. Nothing's made me feel that good since I graduated the academy, and I mean it, I so mean it – it was... wait..."

"Was?"

Her eyes were brimming with fresh tears as she stroked his cheek. "Do you remember? You and I in the time tunnel?"

His heart skipped over a beat. "I do. It blended every atom of us together as we traversed. We were one."

"Since then. That was the last time I've felt this... whole."

Against all his personal wishes, he cleared his throat and whispered, "Holly, I do want you to understand, and to ponder for a moment. What you're saying has... implications."

"I don't care," she sighed, snuggling into his neck. "That's what's been holding me back up until now, the implications, the stigma and the worries and all that other junk. And I'm through, because now I know what I want. And it's you."

"What?"

"Hearing loss, at fifteen?" she chuckled. "Come on, don't play dumb. Or I guess that would be playing deaf, not dumb..."

"No, I m-mean..." His face was entirely flushed, but somehow he couldn't quite be horrified or disapproving. Nervous and anxious, and more than a little perplexed, but with her soft, heated form curled up in his lap, it was impossible to dismiss the idea out of hand. "But y-you told me my elf-kissing days-"

"Bah," she said, swiping her hand at the air as if her former words were hanging there. "Pretend I never said it. Your elf-kissing days are just starting, Artemis. Every day can be elf-kissing day! That is... if it's what you want, too." She sat back, eyes wide, lip quivering as the color drained from her face. "Is it? I m-mean... D'Arvit, it's all coming back to me now, the reason I was so wishy-washy. Because I couldn't be sure of your feelings. B-but it's too late now, I've already put myself out there. Oh, gods, what have I done, what if you hate me for ruining the solid thing we had g-"

"No, no, don't feel like that," he rushed ahead, mind clouded with a haze of Holly. Even so, though he knew he wasn't using his higher reasoning, the instinct he largely ignored told him that this was proper and worthwhile. Never before had he ached to listen to it so much. "The kiss, it was nice. This is nice. How could I regret it when I feel so... jubilant?"

"It doesn't bother you?" she whispered, tracing a hand along his cheek. "What I am? I'm an entirely different species. What if we're not even... compatible? You might as well be snuggling with a troll or a rhinoceros."

A smile escaped from within the fog banks. "I daresay you're a more pleasant sight than either of those. As for whether I mind you being another species, bugger that; it didn't seem to bother Turnball, and I'd like to think myself at least as open-minded as that despot."

"But there's so many other- wh-what if we have half-elf babies? Will they be raised here, or up there? What-"

"Babies!" he burst out.

She winced. "Sorry! Sorry, too soon, way too soon, why did I even say that? I am majorly jumping the gun!"

"Babies," he echoed dully, chest heaving. Why did it feel so tight?

"Look at me," she told him, hands on the sides of his face. "No babies. I do have contraception, you know, I... just never had much occasion to use it until now."

Now his chest was tight for a different reason altogether. "Until... now? Right now? We need it right now?"

At that, she snickered, though the uncertainty remained in her tone when she spoke again. "No, not right now, because it seems to me like 'right now' may result in cardiac arrest. But... just tell me, and I'm going to blurt this out before you can suddenly reveal that you're not the real Artemis, or you're selling me to Koboi Labs or something, because even if you were I would still mean it."

"Wh-"

Precisely as she'd steeled herself to do, she overrode him to ask her urgent question. "Could we give us a shot? Am I good enough for you?"

"Are you-" He almost laughed at her. "I'm the one who's a substandard specimen! Brilliant, yes, but miserable in the people skills area! And you are all emotion and fire, while I am cold calculation, and what in God's name are we doing? But if you don't mind those bits about us being polar opposites, then I would of course be the luckiest Mud Man on this stupid mud ball!"

Huge droplets cascaded down her cheeks as she pinched his mouth in her vice-like grip. "Don't call my Arty a mud-anything."

That threatened to rupture his heart then and there. She called me Arty again. HER Arty. And coming from her, it sounds like a radiant song.

Both of his hands slid up the backs of her smooth thighs as her lips pounced upon his again, finding her firm, toned posterior and holding on for dear life as she straddled him, channeling all her previous uncertainty and reservations into attack, tongue finding his and trying to skewer it. He remembered merging with her in the time stream, her hovering over him in the gorilla cage... and it all made sense. Not a part of him questioned this decision anymore.

"But we- what about cardiac arrest?" she gasped when she felt his hand working its way beneath her blouse next.

He glanced up at his elfin goddess, knowing that their ill-fated romance may lead to their individual and collective ruin; he felt like the captain of the Titanic, steering straight for the biggest iceberg the world had ever seen. The two had done quite similar things over the course of their friendship. This might be a more dangerous adventure, but they always had lived dangerously. They reveled in it.

"Damn the torpedoes."

Holly's hand reached for the light switch.

o o o END Chapter Four o o o

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Stars and garters! One thing leads to another, eh? Perhaps you're thinking just now, "Wait, we've already jumped to the good stuff. What gives? Four chapters and that's it?" That's what YOU think. There is plenty – and I stress plenty – more waiting in the wings for our poor, doomed couple. Gracias por los comentarios; I thrive on your input. Fat Lantern: of course Artemis is laid-back. He's just undergone extensive therapy - if he wasn't, then Argon's not doing his job! Yes, the temptation is there to permanently alter him to being a twitchy wreck on the edge of nervous breakdown but I decided that didn't feel right for my story... and also, I figured if Orion was integrated into his own personality, wouldn't that make Artemis less stressed, and (as I've just demonstrated) more passionate about Holly? Hmm, delicious...

Next, the morning after :vampiric grin: