Disclaimer: Any characters/situations recognisable from the Artemis Fowl books belong to Eoin Colfer and his publishers. Not me.
Warning: Nursing Home-ness.

6. Blue (704)
Juliet rested her head on the side of his bed, old herself, but he was so much older. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, feeling unsatisfied; wishing for the time when it hadn't been like this, even though it always had been. He'd always been 22 years older than her, and he always would be. It was just that she'd never considered the prospect of Domovoi Butler in a nursing home, being feed tasteless mush by unconcerned women in pale blue and pink uniforms.

He wasn't gone yet; he wasn't gone at all. It was just there didn't seem to be as much of him left as there once was.

Juliet could hear the half-hearted, pretend celebrations through the half-open door; no one would really celebrate a new year - a year closer to death and a year further from life - in a place like this. It was New Years Eve, 2046, soon to be 2047. And it was so long ago that he had spun her around as a 7-year-old; so long since he'd laid a comforting hand on her shoulder as she planned to leave Ireland for training, travelling by herself; it was so long since she'd been young, and so much longer since he'd been what she always remembered him to be.

There was a view of nothing from the window. She closed her eyes again, trying to block out time, the scene, the place, the smell of stale lives and disinfectant that was infecting her nostrils.

Domovoi's hand moved from the bed sheets, slowly, painfully. And on top of her head it rested, heating her mind with its warmth. At least he was still warm, which was more than could be said for the world.

"Somewhere over the rainbow," he sang, his words low and incredibly soft, "bluebirds fly. Birds fly over that rainbow, why oh why can't—" Butler broke into a fit of coughing, forcing himself up in to a sitting position. He clasped a hand to his emaciated chest where the stains of the Kevlar fibers were showing through the skin once more, his unique tattoo.

"--why, oh, why can't I?" Finished Juliet, smiling a smile without happiness.

"How've you been, Juliet?" he said, speaking in Russian.

"I can't complain about anything much. You?"

He shrugged, pain evident on his face as he did so. "The food is shit. It's New Year's, right?"

She bit her lip and nodded, thinking of the celebrations and invitations that were flying around like so many aeroplanes outside this place.

"What's your resolution?"

"I haven't thought of one yet." To be less selfish, her mind whispered. To come here more often. To live, while I still can. "Yours?"

"I think I'd like to die this year. It's something I haven't tried yet, not properly, and something I still have the power to do."

Juliet felt the tears welling in her eyes, stinging at the corners. She bit her lip once again to keep them inside.

Domovoi lay back on the pillows, shifting slightly. He lightly ran his hand through Juliet's silver-streaked hair once more.

Juliet didn't let the tears leave her eyes, keeping them inside so as to not upset her brother. Here she was, being selfish again; she shouldn't be crying, he was the one who had to live this life. She closed her eyes, just listening to her brother's heavy, hard-won breathing. She heard the celebrations in the block opposite, sighing.

A firecracker went off. And it was all so fast.

"GET DOWN! GET DOWN!! Juliet, get down!" Domovoi pushed himself up from the bed, rolled off it and pulled her down behind him, shielding her with his thin, shrunken body.

Juliet was crying. "There's no one here, Domovoi. There's no one shooting at us. There's no one you have to protect. The war's over."

Domovoi paused, his breathing heavy with adrenaline, his mind trying to work out what was real and what was fake, and what was God's sense of humour.

He rolled off her body, collapsing on the floor. Not paying any attention to his useless, paralysed legs. Juliet wrapped her arms around her brother and, for the first time, realised her hands could meet up properly behind his back.