Disclaimer: I do not own Artemis Fowl (we've already discussed this and if I have to say it again I will be very sad, depressed enough not to update…). I do not own AOL or AIM. I do not own Yahoo. Any email/AIM references that actually coincide with real AIM/email are purely coincidental (except in the case where I used my own email address TeenTypist@yahoo.com).

I have decided that this will not be a little 5-chapter ficlet. This will be a full-grown fic! I'll try to update soon but my finals start in 1 week! Eek. So that explains any lack of update.

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            Artemis had done everything he could think to do. Now that all his work was out of the way, he could play. It was the only way he could prove to himself he wasn't desperate.

            Finally he signed online. He downloaded AOL instant messenger. AIM. He had to have some way to talk after all. After it had downloaded, he chose a name. RavenhairedElf. He thought it was quaint. He added Ruler_of_the_Universe to his newly formed Buddy List and waited. And waited. It was a good two hours before the name appeared on the screen and in the whole two hours, Artemis did not move once.

            Butler had checked on him several times, peering through the crack under the door. The boy didn't move.

            Now that the named had appeared, he hesitated. Then he thought, Who cares? I'll talk. It won't kill me. Probably.

            "It's me," he typed in.

            "Artemis?" she typed back.

            "Yes. How are you, Alyssa?"

            "Not bad. You?"     

            "I'm fine, thank you."

            "Stop being so stiff!" she typed back.           

            "Stiff?" He could see her face in his mind's eye and picture her laughing at him. He didn't like it.

            "You don't need to be this mannerly."

            "Funny. Normally people tell me my manners are atrocious."

            "LOL."

            "Lol?"

            "L. O. L. laughing out loud. Even you've got to know that one, Artemis."

            "No, I'm not familiar with it."

            "Hey, you never told me your last name when we met at the museum."

            "You never told me yours."

            "If I told you mine, would you tell me yours?"

            He hesitated, "Not yet."

            They changed topics and Artemis found himself to be much more at ease than he'd honestly thought he'd be. They discussed politics, music, and the museum. Finally she typed, "I have to go."

            "Will you be online later?"

            "No. It's my brother's turn to use the computer."

            "Oh." He bit his lip. "Wait! Just a moment." Come on, brain, he thought. Have you started hating me? WORK! "Can you give me a call later?"

            "Sure. If you give me your number."

            "Not yet." He didn't trust her that much. "I'll give you one digit every time we talk."

            "I get three for our talking at the museum and one for talking today."

            "Deal. 555-3###."

            "What about area code? That shouldn't count as part of the number."

            He typed in the area code.

            "Thanks. Call me later?"

            "You didn't give me your number."

            "555-2287."

            "Area code?"

            "Take your area code, dived the third number by a factor of three and double the first two numbers. I'll track you down yet."

            "Don't count on it. I'm more slippery than you'd imagine."

            "I heard someone mention an Interpol file. You can't be that slippery or there'd be no info. I'll be hacking into the system bright and early tomorrow."      

            "You're sure enough in your skills that you can boast before you've even started?"

            "Yes. You have a problem with that?"

            "No." He smiled.

            "Send me a picture of you and I'll send you one of me."

            "Goodbye, Alyssa."

            "Goodbye, Artemis." He left the computer and Internet on in case she came back. He sighed and looked at the clock. They'd been talking for some time. He showered and changed into his monogrammed silk pajamas to go to sleep.

            He dreamed of talking to her again and seeing her.

            When he woke at 5 the next morning, he checked his mail immediately. Even though he'd only just downloaded instant messenger the day before, he'd had Internet service for quite some time. He'd given her one of his many email addresses the day they were at the museum. He checked the mail for one of his Yahoo accounts. Menace_of_the_Manor@yahoo.com.

            There was e-mail from TeenTypist@yahoo.com

To my dear Artemis Fowl,

           You're not as slippery as you'd like to think. You live in the famous Fowl Manor. You are Artemis Fowl the Second. You are a criminal mastermind with the highest tested IQ in Europe. You seem to have a fetish for gold. You father appears to be attempting to go legitimate. There have been strange reports of you being sighted all over the world in a single day. You have one of the equally famous, or maybe infamous, Butler bodyguards that have guarded the Fowls for generations. I am approximately halfway through your biography and I am beginning to doubt the existence of Doctor [insert phony name Artemis used to write about himself]. Psychology reports I have been able to dig up indicate that you have a severe lack of respect for anyone who must still rely on breathing (something I've noticed in my own observations of you as well). Did I leave anything out?

Yours truly,

Alyssa Stone

            She had nailed him. Dead center. Artemis realized he now knew what it was like to be totally laid bare in a single glance (something he had often done to others but no psychologist had ever been able to do to him). It was unnerving to say the last. And that salutation "To my dear Artemis Fowl" he could see her sneer as she typed the words. She'd used his last name to reveal that she knew just who he was, and the "my dear" was probably sarcastic.

            He started a reply.

Dearest Alyssa,

I commend your efforts. You are more observant than you appear, but with a face like yours, it would be almost impossible not to be. I am pleased to inform you that you left out several things, things that you will not be able to discover through a web search, no matter how extensive. You obviously failed to discover my favorite novel, Butler's favorite weapon, and the names of all the psychologists I've driven out of St. Bartleby's. And you didn't mention a thing about the fairies. The next digit is 6.

Until we meet again,

Artemis the Second

Hmmm. He certainly liked the line about her face. He smirked. The salutation and closing had both been difficult to decide on, but he felt they were acceptable. He pressed send and got on with his day.

            Artemis checked his mail again and found a reply soon after lunch.

Junior,

Fairies? Can I take this to mean that you, the infamous, Artemis Fowl II, still retain a childlike interest in such fancies? I'm rather disappointed; it doesn't sound at all like you. I sincerely hope you don't believe in such nonsense. You're less acquainted with sanity than I'd thought. Butler's weapon of choice is the Sig Sauer.

Obviously superior to you,

Alyssa

            Artemis smirked. She couldn't find out his favorite book. He was certain that she must have raked through his biography. Junior? That was uncalled for.

            He was just about to start a reply when she logged on.

            He instant messaged her, "Greetings."

            "Hello, Junior."

            "Please refrain from calling me that."

            "I don't think I want to. What's your obsession with fairies? Is leprechaun wealth an offshoot of your gold fetish?"

            Artemis laughed; not a sinister chuckle, but a genuine laugh. He laughed loud and hard. Butler, Juliet, and Mrs. Fowl were passing by and stopped dead when they heard the laughter coming from Artemis's room. The look they gave each other said, "When was the last time we heard that from him? I'm not sure I ever heard it. What's he up to?"

            Artemis continued to laugh a little more. If she only knew how right she was . . . He typed, "But of course it is."

            He waited some time for a response.

            It took nearly a minute for her to decide to write, "Yes, I'm sure that's it. Monday through Friday you spend your nights toppling major corporations and on the weekends you run around chasing rainbows for the fun of it."

            They exchanged banter for a while; until she said she had to leave again.

            "What's the next number?"

            "9."

            "I'll talk to you soon. Will you be online later?"

            "If I'm not too busy." He didn't want her to think he had no life.

            "Good. I'll take that as a yes." She logged off and didn't come back all night.