Computer. Homework. Bitten by a whitetail spider. Still no excuse.

DISCLAIMER: Not Eoin Colfer.

The Sue Slayers: The Twelve Fics of Christmas

Chapter Seven: Do We Have Any Wrapping Paper?

In which James Patterson is accidentally emulated, there are Shippers, Fangirologists wage pointless war, things are said like 'genocide,' and Artemis goes into McDonalds.

December 14

Long story short, he let me out of the closet eventually. No, I don't want to discuss such trivial matters.

I got my day off and left in a serious huff, arriving back in Melbourne at ten past eight, just when most of the recruits were having breakfast. Most Slayers holidays begin on the twentieth so there were plenty of Artemis/Holly shippers stringing tinsel up around the place and giving me various evil glares. I returned all of them and because I outranked them, they scarpered.

There were, however, three incidents that were the veritable highlights of my day.

1. A Discussion With Darcy

"Clare, lunch?"

"Later."

I turned back to the computer screen.

"Lunch?"

"Later."

"I've been waiting for an hour, Clare."

I looked up from my computer, eyes dry and hot. "What time is it?"

"Half past one. This is probably the last time I'll see you before I head back to New Zealand."

Alex did draw a hard bargain. He leant against the doorframe while I grabbed my mobile and wallet. It was drizzling up in Fed Square – I know, I know – so we shared an umbrella.

"Where are we going? My only rule is no seafood."

Alex narrowly avoided a tourist. "No seafood? Italian?"

"Cool."

We walked in silence for a while, avoiding the hordes of grim faced Melburnians.

"We can't go anywhere near Burke Street." I said, when Alex tried to turn. "Myer Windows, remember?"

"Right."

We turned down a different street and into a laneway, where there was an overpriced, if good café.

"What did the Commander want with you this morning?"

I signaled for a waiter. "Nothing, really. Just abusing her power, as usual."

"I've been meaning to ask, and please don't hurt me but did you know a bunch of Artemis/Holly shippers have started a hate campaign against you?"

The waiter did a double take. I smiled at him, mouthed 'crazy,' and took my menu. He ran off and I started looking at pizzas.

"Do I need to remind you about the top-secret organisation thing again, Darcy?"

"No."

"Good. But I did know about the hate campaign. I met with one of the protesters this morning."

December 15, back in the land of the leprechaun.

"How was Australia?"

"How's your face, Artemis?"

"I need your help."

That made me pay attention. I whirled, and glared at him suspiciously. "I'm not killing Minerva for you."

"Who?"

I sat at the kitchen table and wrapped my hands around my cup of tea. "What's up, then?"

Artemis studied his porridge. "I need to buy Holly a Christmas present and-"

"Oh sweet baby Jesus."

It was his turn to glare. "Butler has advised me to get her something she would like, as opposed to something she would find…useful."

"No jewelry."

"Do you have any advice?"

"No jewelry."

"I take it Australia wasn't all that nice to go back to."

"It was raining. It's December. I was looking forward to sun. Doo doo doo doo."

"Indeed."

"I don't know, Artemis. Usually I get people books or something. A DVD box set of NCIS?"

"She has that."

"…Oh. I suggest a nice Celtic Woman CD then."

He stuck his spoon in the porridge. "Please be serious. Will you come to Dublin with me and help me find something?"

I took a sip of tea. "Yeah, I guess. Where will Holly be?"

"With Butler, exercising."

He said 'exercising' the same way some people would say 'genocide.'

"Right. Ring a taxi, or a bus, or a centaur. Let's go."

2. The Trouble With Thomas.

I'd only just unlocked my office when I had a poster stuck in front of my face. Coincidentally, it had my face stuck on it. It was the kind of photo they show on Crimestoppers – I was covered in dirt and blood, swinging a pipe at something out of frame. Possibly a Sue, possibly Matt, possibly a Fangirl.

"Get a new picture. My Facebook has tons." I said, pushing open the door.

The poster was again thrust in my face. "Read the writing!"
And so I did. 'MAJOR MARTIN MURDERS MAIN SHIP.'

Oh alliteration. What fun.

'Major Clare Martin has seized a mission from the assigned recruit and taken off to the Artemis Fowl fandom, hellbent on destroying the Artemis/Holly ship. This, a blatant attack on an innocent pairing and-'

I'd had enough. I'd had enough, and it was seven-fifteen. I scrunched the paper up and faced the kid who'd made it. I'd never seen him before.

"Right." I sat down at my desk and frowned. "Shut the door, take a seat. Name, rank, study."

The boy slid into the seat opposite me. He was a short kid with glasses and messy blonde hair. He glared at me.

I glared back.

He crossed his arms.

I stayed glaring.

He frowned.

I banged my fist down on the table, and he jumped.

"Name." I said, sliding my hand under the table and rubbing it. "Rank. Study."

"Private Thomas Harrison, Fangirologist, ma'am."

"Private? Who's your mentor, then?"
"Captain Katherine Bro-"

"Ah." Fangirologists. Morons. They become the very things they fight. "I don't know where you get your dumb ideas or incorrect information from, but Thomas. If I see one poster saying I'm sabotaging a pairing or deliberately neglecting a fandom, you will never make Corporal, let alone Captain."

I opened a folder. It had nothing in it but my insurance claims, but he didn't need to know that.

He was still there.

"Get out of my sight."

He ran, scattering papers.

Land of the Leprechaun, a shop in Dublin.

"Artemis, you said we weren't getting jewelry."

"Correction," said Artemis, tugging off his gloves and holding the shop door open for me. "You said we weren't getting jewelry for Holly. However, you shot down every other suggestion I had for a present, including the donations to WWF and Amnesty International in her name."

I unzipped my jacket and shook snow from my hair. A tall, slimy looking shop assistant gave me a look. I obviously wasn't their kind of customer.

We were in one of those ridiculously high-end shops, red velvet and gold everywhere, glass cases with little pillows in them, spotlights shining on the thousand-Euro trinkets. Some of the stuff I saw you could get at Diva for ten dollars. Some of it…not so much.

"Very well, Master Fowl." I said. "But no rings."

Artemis made a 'whatever you say' gesture. It was very expressive.

Slimy Shop Assistant oiled his way over at the words 'Master Fowl.'

"Sir, Madam. May I be of assistance? My name is Cyril."

"Of course it is."

Artemis ignored me. "Yes, indeed. I wish to purchase a bracelet or necklace for a young woman."

"This young woman, perhaps?" Cyril nodded at me. I folded my arms and raised an eyebrow.

"No, I'm allergic to ferrous metals. Makes life rather difficult."

"You know the word ferrous?"

"Madam, I can assure you, none of our jewellery contains…iron." Cyril said iron like some would say, 'genocide.' "Unless of course, you are referring to our new iron-based range of chains and watches."

"She is not. I would like to see the gold bracelets."

I nudged Artemis. "Say please, Arty."

Cyril's lip twitched.

"Please."

Cyril lead us into a large room with no windows, lit with a massive, hideous chandelier and started talking about carats, inlays and clasp-types. I trailed a few steps after Artemis, scuffing my Converses on the carpet.

"And we have this, with dozens of charms to choose from."

"Clare?" Artemis asked. "The Pandora?"

I stopped scuffing. Another shop assistant ran out with a Dust Buster and started vacuuming the areas I'd messed up.

"You want to give Holly a Pandora bracelet?"

He gave me a bewildered look. "It's aesthetically pleasing."

"Then no. Cyril?"

He put the bracelet back down on the cushion and locked the case before turning to me.

"Yes, madam?"

"Go away. You're wasting our time."

"Yes madam. Shall I send someone else?"

"No."

He oiled off and I leant on a case with some seriously boring watches. "Aesthetically pleasing? God, Artemis. You want a present that you think she will like having and think is nice…and something that's her. Holly wouldn't wear a charm bracelet, denken Sie an es."

"Ich auch-"

"And bracelets, now that I'm on the topic, not good when you work with weapons. Where are the necklaces? Ah." we began to walk over to another room, with another chandelier. "There was a girl in the Slayers who wore a loose watch, you know the kind? And she was off on a mission in Twilight and a Sue came for her. The watch got caught on her holster."

"Did she die?"

I shrugged and leaned close to a case with a purple cushion. "Dunno. I only got the text this morning. Now. Necklaces, on the other hand-"

"Holly already wears her Book on a necklace."

"We'll get her a chain then. A nice strong one. Lots of carats. Twenty four of them."

Artemis went to the opposite side of the case and looked through at me. "Twenty-four carat gold jewelry is usually too soft to be-"

"Tell that to a dozen of your fanfic girlfriends."

"I wish I could."

"Hmmm."

"Are you going to tell me what happened in Australia or will it come out at a more dramatically appropriate time?"

"These are too weak for Holly. The links will break. I'll consider it."

We moved onto the next case, this one with much thicker chains, with chunky pendants. Artemis walked right past it.

We found something for Holly after almost an hour of searching. The richness of the place had given me a headache, and as we stepped back out into the cold, I rubbed my forehead.

"Would you like lunch here?" Artemis asked, Holly's present in his pocket, gift wrapped. I'd wanted Rowan Atkinson to show up and do it, but to no avail. We'd gotten Cyril.

"Yes, because if we were at home I'd probably cook."

"There's an excellent Italian restaurant-"

"I had Italian yesterday. Can I pick?"

"I suppose."

"You're going to love this." I jumped down the stairs and hurried off down the street, Artemis doing his best to keep up.

"You want us to eat at McDonalds?" he said 'McDonalds' the way most people would say 'genocide.'
"McDonalds."

3. An Altercation With Amelia.

"Major Martin-"

"Molly, it's Clare. I've known you for ten years."

"Yep." The Canonist giggled. "The Commander wants to see you, now."

I shut my folder. "Really – now? It's nearly lunchtime."

Alex stuck his head around the door.

"Clare, lunch?"

"Later."

I sent the pair away and made my way over to Amelia's office – it was, of course, higher than mine, bigger and with ridiculously comfortable chairs.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Mm-hmm." Amelia was squinting at her laptop.

"Did you ever make that appointment with the optometrist?"

She shook her head, and closed it. "I don't have a glasses face. And you never wear yours."

"Well, I barely need them. Only when I'm tired. What's up?"

Amelia smiled. "I'm nineteen next year."

"I'm sixteen. What's with that? Like, the Earth going round the sun, I know. It's weird."

"Clare."

"You said you'd never pick me. You wanted Elliot."

"I wanted you and Elliot. Elliot for in here, you out there. But now Elliot's leaving, and you're…I know you want to leave, because of the stuff that happened in Twilight-"

"Stuff? Paralysis is st-"

"I'm leaving next year, Clare, and I want you to be Commander."

I'm not proud of what I said when that sentence came into the world. Amelia gaped. "How'd you learn to swear in Hebrew?"

"…You promised I would never have to-"

"I was just warning you so when you get a letter you don't spontaneously combust."

"A Big Mac?"

"Eat it. For the love of God, I paid."

"I'd rather have…what are you eating?"

"It's a Chicken Caesar salad. I just wanted to see your face when confronted with the meal of the Great Unwashed."

Artemis picked out a few chips and ate them delicately. "These have absolutely no nutritional value whatsoever."

I sipped my milkshake. "If you don't eat it all the time, it's OK. God, we're not American, Artemis."

"Australia is currently the fattest country in the world."

"Well, yes. But…eat your goddamn food, Artemis."

Artemis smiled like a vampire. A real vampire. "I will if you tell me something. What happened in Australia? You've been in a terrible mood since-"

I sighed. "Well, Amelia wants me to be Commander when she leaves next year."

"Isn't that a good thing? Advancement in the workplace-"

I shook my head. "Can you see me running the Slayers? Besides, the Commander gets stuck behind a desk ninety percent of the time, and gets one hundred percent of the blame when something goes wrong. Well, eighty percent."

Artemis steepled his fingers. I copied him. Thankfully the top floor of McDonalds was almost empty, so no one noticed.

"The Majors share the last twenty percent. I mean, I deserved it the last time a blame needed to be shared, it was my fault, but I can't deal with it…more of it, anyway."

"Good." Artemis took a small bite of hamburger and chewed carefully. After swallowing, he smiled. "That isn't that bad."

I smiled back. "So, I'm saying no. I'm happy with being Major. More than happy."

He took another bite. "What was your fault?"

I unsteepled my fingers and clenched them into fists.

"Quid pro quo, Doctor Lecter." I muttered. "You know Matthew Carney?"

"Vaguely."

"He was the star of the American Slayers. Founder of the Sue Snipers, highest kill rate in two decades-"

"Sexual tension with any female who looked his way? Even you?"
I choked on some lettuce. "What makes you say that?"

"Ah, especially you. I've been doing some research, Major Martin. Now I'm 'media aware' as some would say, I'm rather…'genre savvy.' I've been studying your genre quite closely."

"I don't have a genre." I said. "I'm real."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, we are not having that conversation. Seriously."

"Moving on, then. What has become of Mr. Carney?"

My mouth twisted. "He's paralysed from the waist down."

"How-"

"Explosion. My fault. He was trying to help me get away from a Troll. I want a sundae, do you want a sundae?"

More to come. My friend is lending me her laptop while she goes on a camping trip, so I should be able to update within a couple of days.

The Myer windows are astoundingly enough, a set of windows that the department store decorates every Christmas. The past few years they've been quite lame, but I went and saw them a couple of days ago (they get taken down on the seventh, I think) and it was the Nutcracker. Seven out of ten.

Yes.

Sorry for being so late and the spotty review replying.

-Nicola.