Ten: Aftershave

Holly yawned and stretched out her spine, luxuriating in the silk sheets and comforter that encased her in a cocoon of warmth. Grey light oozed in through the curtains, but she didn't mind the dreary weather when she was curled up inside. No, she thought with a contented sigh, she didn't mind one bit.

The sound of running water caught her attention and she shifted beneath the blankets, angling herself until she could see into the bathroom, whose door remained ajar. Artemis stood at the sink, like a marble figure for his all his paleness, save the pair of red boxers he sported.

Leaning on one elbow, Holly pulled the blankets around herself and watched as Artemis squirted a glob of shaving cream into his palm and began to spread it over his jaw with slow, circular motions. Once he'd covered his face in cream, he reached for his razor and began making long, even strokes down his jaw with the kind of calculated precision that characterized everything he did. After a few strokes, he dipped his razor into the water in the sink and then began again.

"Good morning, Holly," he said, without even looking her way.

"Good morning, Arty." Attention focussed on his reflection in the mirror, he let the razor slide down his throat. As he dipped the blade into the sink again, he paused to glance at her with a raised eyebrow. "What is it with you and red?" she asked.

"I like red," he replied, and even with white cream plastered on his face that smile looked dangerous. "Did the shower wake you?"

"No, I was already awake. I heard you in your study. I thought you were talking to someone but it was just one of your diary recordings, wasn't it?"

"Yes," he said and brought the blade down in a long swoop.

Holly titled her head and continued to observe the morning ritual. Fairies had very handy portable lasers that could remove unwanted facial hair in a matter of seconds with no risk at all. The idea of running a naked blade over one's skin was not one Holly relished. "Why do you keep a journal anyway? Seems like a huge security risk. Not very Fowl-like at all."

"It's well encrypted. I began keeping it after you returned my father to us. I was disturbed by the change in him and began the diary as a means of reflecting on the situation. I was quite conflicted at the time." He raised the blade to his face but then paused. "I kept it up even after the mind wipe."

"What do you talk about?"

He took a few more long strokes down his neck and then, "Whatever catches my interest." His eyes were fixed on the mirror as he reached for a spot just below his jaw. Two more strokes and he paused to wash off the blade. "But I suspect what you really wish to know," and here he glanced in her direction, "is whether I talk about you."

"Well do you?"

"Yes."

She didn't ask him what he said about her in these recordings; she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. "Who do you record them for?"

"Hmm?" he murmured, making a few extra passes at the area below his chin.

"Don't people always have an imagined audience when they keep journals?

"It's hardly a journal in the conventional sense." He stretched out his neck and ran his hand over the skin, checking for any neglected stubble. "Originally, I had myself in mind as a prospective audience, as I thought a recording would be an effective remedy in the face of an LEP mind wipe. Once I was in fact mind wiped, I decided it would be useful to document my ideas for my future progeny." Holly shifted, goose bumps on her skin in spite of the warmth of the covers. "Now however–"

"Now neither of those is likely," she cut in, the smile gone from her face.

"Yes," he said, taking quick swipes at his chin. How he could manage this feat without cutting himself was a mystery to her. "Now that the twins have relieved me of the responsibilities associated with being sole heir, I no longer have to concern myself with such matters."

"Liar," she whispered, her gaze distant. She looked up at him again as she heard a hiss and a muttered curse. Artemis was dabbing at his upper lip with a tissue. Holly huffed and rolled out of bed. "You and your primitive Mud Men rituals," she grumbled as she rubbed at her bare arms and crossed the room to join him. "Don't you have electric shavers yet?"

"They don't cut as close to the grain and the result is that one has to shave more frequently. Very inefficient."

"Here," she said, holding out her hand. "Let me." He bent down on one knee so that she could reach his face. She lay her fingers on his skin and whispered, "heal," to summon a single spark. It danced over the cut for an instant and sealed it. Artemis's lips twitched, nose wrinkling. "What?"

"It tickled," he said, and the gravity with which he made the reply could not but bring a smile to her lips.

She let her fingers wander down his still damp cheek for a moment. "Artemis?"

"Yes?"

"You wouldn't nick yourself just to distract me, would you?"

He straightened. "I would think you of all people would know that I'm hardly a glutton for physical discomfort."

"True," Holly said, fingers trailing down his arm. "But you knew I would heal you."

"Such machinations first thing in the morning? Really, Holly, I've not even had my morning coffee."

She rolled her eyes. "Artemis–" But her sharp retort died on her lips as he smiled and held her gaze. She wondered sometimes if he had elf blood in him to be able to her hold her attention that way, with only the force of his stare.

"You seem to be under the impression that I harbour regrets about the limitations our relationship places on us. I can promise you that that's not the case."

"You're young."

He sniffed. "My age has little bearing on my intellect and the breadth of my knowledge and experience. Surely you have a better argument than that?"

"You're still trying to distract me."

"As you wish. The journal. I haven't decided yet what to do with it. Perhaps I'll destroy it eventually, or I might use the recordings as material for my memoirs one day."

"Memoirs?"

"I could have them published posthumously. Don't you think they would sell well among the People?"

"You'd make a killing. You wouldn't be around to enjoy your profits, though," she said soberly.

"Obviously I would leave the royalties to you. Without you there would have been considerably less subject matter."

And because it hurt too much to imagine a time when he might not be there, Holly pressed her lips to his.

Only to draw back a moment later with a grimace. "Ugh. Shaving cream."

"Holly!" he called after her as she turned and made for the door.

She paused. "I'm going down to get some breakfast. I'll see you later when you don't taste like soap."

Artemis was almost certain that he heard her mutter something about 'primitive Mud Men rituals' as she left.