You are the commander. You are the one who keeps everything in order. You have to be sensible and do the right thing. You have to have nerves of steel, or at least you have to pretend you have. Your officers rally around you, but you know that you will always be alone. That is one rule that can never be broken.
And then you look at her, her deep hazel eyes entrancing you, taking a hold of your gaze and your heart and refusing to let go. Then you turn your head, blink, and walk away.
You will always be alone.
The rules don't care if you love her, have loved her and always will love her. Rules are rules, and this particular one is breaking your heart.
You will always be alone.
Many think that you don't have a heart, and the only emotion that you are capable of showing is red-faced anger. They haven't seen the way that you look at the captain, the hurt in your eyes that comes with knowing that you can never stop loving her, but the feeling will never be returned.
She doesn't know how you feel. She wouldn't care even if she did.
Sometimes the longing piles up and you lash out; mostly at her. With every snide remark, every rage, every reprimand, you hate yourself more and more. And when she storms from your office, you remind yourself that this is the way that it has to be.
Rules are rules.
Maybe you should just fire her. No, because then she'd hate you even more. Holly Short was born for Recon.
It isn't fair, but you've seen a lot in your six-hundred and four years, and a lot of that is evidence that life isn't fair. You'll just have to live with the fact.
You sink into your office chair with a sigh and pull out a drawer in your desk. A dangerously large bottle of Irish whisky lies under the paperwork, almost full, and a glass almost as big. You don't bother with the glass, grabbing the bottle straight from the bottom of the drawer, ripping paperwork, and take a huge gulp. And another. Another. Three more. Before you know it the bottle is empty. That amount could make a Mud Man so drunk he'd ask a telephone pole to marry him. Frond knows what it could do to a fairy system.
You find out a few minutes later, when you try to stand up, lose your balance, hit your head off the corner of your desk and pass out on the floor.
It must be a dream, you think. Your eyes flicker open and she's standing over you, shaking you gently, her face so close to yours that you can feel her warm breath on your lips.
"Commander? Are you okay? What happened?" she asks you, grabbing your hand to help you sit up. Her hands are soft and warm to the touch. The alcohol is still affecting you, and you've got a splitting headache, but the magic should sort that out. You look at her lips.
"Sir, what happened?" she repeats.
You stare hard at her lips.
"Sir?"
You want to kiss her. The feeling overwhelms your system, you push your common sense to the side, and all that is left is your love for her and your desire and the hope that she might kiss you back…
You lean forward slightly.
Then the years of following the rules and remembering the rules fight their way back in, and you look into her eyes. They are filled with concern, and you know what you must say and do, even though it will break your beaten heart.
"I'm… fine," you say, and she sighs, standing up, letting go of your hand. "There's… uh… nothing to worry about."
As you watch her turn and leave, you hate yourself for being such a fool, for weakening for a split second. You remind yourself of the fact that haunts your life.
You will always be alone.
End
Well, I don't know if this is angst-y. Romance-y, definitely. Please tell me. I needed to write something. Anything. I don't care if it's trash.
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ARTEMIS FOWL insert witty disclaimer line here
By the way, to all my readers on other stories- I have not died. Fiction has currently enslaved me and will not let me go. Anyway, I doubt I am missed. I do for fanfiction what King Herod did for the Bethlehem Playgroup…