Author's Note: Hello my beautiful readers! Finally, I got my lazy bum down to finish the next piece in the series. I am so sorry you had to wait so long, but I hope the wait will be worth it! I've got fluff, action, and possibly some humour. So, without further ado, please enjoy!

Many thanks to my truly amazing beta readers, Alhaira and solskur, who helped improve my writing manifold.

PS: If you are new to this series, Diamond Blue and Cinnamon Gold, I have popped the order of the series on my profile. You don't need to read the series in order, but if you want to follow Butler's and Sofia's story from the start, you can. ;-)

Disclaimer: Eoin Colfer owns all the characters from Artemis Fowl. I only own my imagination and the characters I have created, in this case a castle filled with posh people, Tadgh Fowl, a Butler bodyguard, and the lovely Dr Sofia Massetti.

Walking a Tightrope

Butler finished his rounds later that night after a particularly thorough sweep of Fowl Manor's grounds. Nobody could accuse him of taking his job lightly. In fact, Artemis had commented with some annoyance on the extra precautions and security measures.

Butler nodded grimly, hanging his jacket into the closet and loosening his tie. He had spent even more time in the gym than necessary, resulting in his shirts pinching him around his biceps.

He couldn't afford any carelessness, he told himself, but deep down, he knew he was trying to prove everybody wrong. Above all, Madame Ko.

You cannot serve two masters at once. It is a bodyguard's main objective to keep his principal alive. Everything else is meaningless.

And he would do that. He was doing that. He wasn't just keeping Artemis safe, but his entire family. He was doing the job of a whole security team; he should get a tiny breather for a few hours. Especially since he wasn't even leaving the premises.

He dropped into his armchair and picked up his phone, almost defiantly dialling the familiar number.

"Ciao," Sofia answered a moment later, her lilting voice soothing every knot in his shoulders. "Which story are you going to tell me today?"

Butler put on his most intimidating voice. "You know, the more I tell you, the more likely it is that I'll have to take you out one day?"

It was an empty threat, and they both knew it. Sofia tried to sound solemn but failed.

"I'll take my chances," she said, and his heart did a little somersault.

By now, he was used to it. He had deluded himself long enough, but he was a Blue Diamond, after all. He had to accept at some point that he was healthy as a horse, and that heart palpitations weren't the likely cause for his pounding pulse whenever he talked to her. Or that he wasn't lying awake at night, thinking of ordering a security bar for her flat door, because New York was a dangerous place.

Acknowledge your feelings and let them go. Move on.

If he was clever, he'd stop the calls. Tell her he was too busy and draw a line under the whole thing. It wasn't too late for that. But he enjoyed the nightly calls. He shouldn't, but he did.

They would never have a future together, anyway. Not with her in New York and him in Dublin. Didn't mean they couldn't be friends, right? Of course, he would never let his work performance suffer from this, which had resulted in his recent "overbearing madness" as Artemis had called it, only reinforcing Butler's determination.

"You can choose between how I threw Juliet's first girlfriend over the hedge, or the time Artemis's first outing almost caused an international incident," he said, returning his attention to her.

The sound of a liquid hitting a glass filled the ear piece. Red wine, no doubt. Italian, for sure. He remembered how she'd swirl it in a wide rimmed glass once before taking a sip from it, subconsciously biting her lips as if to keep herself from smiling.

"As much as I would love to hear how you terrified an innocent girl–"

"She wasn't innocent," Butler interrupted her, patting the armrest as he remembered the incident. The girl in question had it coming with all her macho talk. She had been way too crude for his baby sister, anyway.

"You're her big brother. Of course, you'd say that. My brothers did the same when I was in high school."

"Even the priest?" Butler asked, curious.

"In a way. Marco and Guiseppe tried to intimidate my boyfriends. Dario quoted the Bible, which was even more successful."

Butler chuckled. "I need to remember that. The other story then…"

"Maybe I want to come too," Juliet told the three men, all twice as tall as her. The Captain gave his brother a pointed look, not bothering to answer his niece's request.

The Major crouched low. "Next time, Yulchonok."

Juliet pouted. "Maybe I don't like it."

Her uncle chuckled. "I know you don't. But you need to look after the Manor while we're gone. Can you do that?"

"Of course. I'm Batman!" she exclaimed and took off, fighting crime, and jump-scaring the staff of the house.

"I know you put that ridiculous idea in her head," the Captain said, giving his nephew a dark glare.

"What idea?" he asked innocently, but the Major waved his brother off. He had an even bigger soft spot for his niece than her brother, and was the last to insist that she joined the dangerous family business. Plus, they had other things to worry about.

Tonight, they would drive the Fowls to the yearly charity ball at Dublin Castle. It was an important event for several reasons.

One night per year Ireland's high society pretended to care about the poor and spend tidy sums for the good cause. Surrounded by the media, who would record every second. It was also the first time Angeline and Artemis Fowl were going to present their firstborn to the world. Which meant that it was Butler's time to shine. Or rather, not to. If anyone took notice of him, it would be because he had to take out an overzealous paparazzo or an assassin. God knew the Fowls had enough enemies.

"You made yourself familiar with the layout of the castle?" the Captain asked as they waited in the main hall, while the Major brought the Fowl Bentley around.

Butler nodded.

"Watch out for the paparazzi. They have a tendency to get too close and they play dirty."

Butler nodded once more, looking up as the Fowls came down the stairs. Artemis and Tadgh Fowl, both in expensive evening suits, were engrossed in the latest business deal, while Angeline Fowl followed behind them, carrying her sleeping baby on her shoulder. Butler wasn't sure why she had insisted on bringing him along. artemis Jr wouldn't do any tricks for the audience present, although the high society ladies would go wild over the fancy suit Claire had dressed him in.

The Captain took the lead, opening the front doors for Tadgh and Artemis, while Butler walked behind Mrs Fowl. She turned, beaming up at him. "Don't worry, Butler. Arty and I will make your job as easy as possible today."

Butler inclined his head. "Thanks, ma'am."

"Between the two of us," she told him conspiratorially, "I've been dying to leave the house. If I had fit into any of my dresses, I would have left sooner."

"Of course, ma'am," Butler answered politely, listening with only half an ear. He doubted he could add to the conversation of postpartum bodies, nor was he interested in that subject unless it impacted his job that night.

Thankfully, the Captain let him drive in the front seat with the Major, saving him from any more details Mrs Fowl felt like sharing.

"Do not leave your post," the Major said on the way to the castle, sharing some last-minute tips with him. "Remember to keep an eye out for concealed weapons. Don't engage in any unnecessary conversation."

Butler knew all this, of course. He nodded regardless. While he had trained and collected enough experience in the army, he knew his uncles had to be on edge with him accompanying them, as this event was of another calibre altogether. Because the people attending were all civilians. They would act unpredictable whether they were intimidated, or drunk, or happy, or agitated. It was going to be a big bag of surprises, and none of them welcome.

"Your earpiece is working?"

"I checked it earlier and got a spare in my jacket."

The Major made an approving sound. His scowl, however, deepened as they approached Dublin Castle.

It was a nightmare to protect their charges here, as Butler knew. Countless buildings scattered about a field of over eleven acres. From the countless blind spots on the buildings' battlements to the many randomly distributed trees in which hitmen could hide in, it was an impossible to monitor area, especially for their small three-man team. The Major had reached out to the castle's head of security two months ago to discuss any extra measures.

Much to his chagrin, though, he found out that the castle's personnel had changed since the last event. The newest Head of Security, Eamon McKenna, was a boisterous young man from the North, with a head full of wild curls and a big mouth. He refused to talk to any of the Butlers, claiming that "a charity event is a safe business. Who would want to attack our sponsors?"

In fact, instead of increasing security, he had reduced it! Not only that, unlike any other year, he insisted on parading the sponsors on a red carpet to the State Apartments. It was as if he was asking for an ambush.

"Berezhonogo bog berezhot," the Major murmured and stopped the car, getting out first and handing the keys to a valet. The middle-aged man–a trustworthy castle employee who was also on the Fowl's payroll–exchanged a few words with him. Only then, the Major nodded. The sign for action.

Both Butler and the Captain got out of the car. They moved with practised ease. When the Major moved a step to the side, the Captain would fall back a step. When the Captain lifted a finger, Butler would draw nearer. The movements were too subtle for the untrained eyes to follow. Not that anyone tried or even cared to.

The cameras were trained on the Fowls. The event was a treasure trove for all kinds of magazines. Political journals wanted to get shots of Tadgh Fowl for an article on his illegal weapon trade fuelling the conflicts in Northern Ireland. Several lifestyle magazines were paying enormous sums for pictures that either proved or disproved that Artemis Fowl was a loyal husband, while the tabloids were keen on Angeline's sparkling designer dress as well as checking if her baby boy looked anything like his father.

Butler knew every single photographer by name. He had spent the last week memorising the complete attendance list of the press. He knew the tabloids would be the most persistent. They didn't dare to push past the Major or the Captain, but they hadn't met Butler yet. One photographer, a young man around Butler's age, scurried forward, egged on by his older colleagues. Butler snorted. Cowards.

He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"That's close enough," he said.

The photographer lifted his camera regardless, and Butler was almost impressed. He pushed the camera down.

"Don't, Jim."

Jim paused, but before he could process that this giant knew his name, Butler already motioned towards the men behind him.

"You'll have more fun investigating Morgan's affair with the director's wife."

Jim blinked, decided to trust this huge stranger, inclined his head, and dashed off.

Butler caught the Major's critical look and resumed his position, walking down the red carpet that had been rolled out between the brick buildings. He had assumed that the hardest part of the job would be over once they passed the pillars and entered the State Apartments.

When he was met with even more cameras pointing in their direction, he knew he had rejoiced too soon.

"Tadgh!"

A stocky man hurried over with outstretched arms, taking Tadgh's hands without waiting for permission. Tadgh made a face as if he had bitten into a lemon.

"Mr Carter. How do you do?"

"Splendid, splendid, old chap. And you brought your son, too? Artemis, isn't it?" he asked, before his eyes fell on Angeline and the sleeping baby.

"And oh, oh! Is this your boy? Lovely, lovely. Mrs Fowl, congratulations, con-gratu-lations! You must be so proud, Tadgh, so proud."

He grabbed Tadgh by the arm.

"Come, come, my friend. We got so many things to talk about. The charity event is a colossal success. We positioned photographers throughout the building. Imagine all the photos and publicity. The publicity! It's genius, isn't it? Isn't it?"

The Butlers accepted this new piece of information without batting an eye. On the surface. Mentally, they went through all escape routes that would be overrun by paparazzi or assassins. Butler had a strong inkling about who they had to thank for this unacceptable breach of security. Not only had the head of security not communicated this change in protocol with the Butlers beforehand, he had probably suggested it, too.

Fully alert, a small icy ball of anxiety nestling in the pit of Butler's stomach, he followed Mrs Fowl into the brightly lit ballroom. Close, but at an acceptable distance for the other ladies to ooh and aah at her sleeping baby. Keeping an eye and half an ear on the ladies —"Is he sleeping a lot? Are you bottle-feeding him? Of course, you are. How often do you have to get his nappies changed?"— Butler observed the rest of the ballroom.

Tadgh Fowl was in deep conversation with another businessman, gesticulating wildly, while Artemis downed his martini, rolling his eyes at one of his associates. Butler was about to turn away when something made him stop. Later he couldn't recall what it had been, but there was something not sitting right with him. He scanned the crowd of photographers when he noticed how one had pointed his camera lense at the Captain.

Suddenly, that icy ball in his gut exploded, his instincts confirming the truth before his brain had caught up processing all the pieces of information. The photographer? Kieran Collins. Magazine? The Female Health & Lifestyle Magazine. Why would he want to take a picture of a bodyguard?

A bead of sweat ran down Butler's forehead. He might be wrong. The surrounding noises became faint. The blood was roaring in his ears. There were many people around. Perhaps the man was interested in somebody else. He might be wrong. The gems on the chandelier caught the light lazily and blinded him. He might be wrong.

There were protocols for such instances, of course. 'Possible sharpshooter' or 'Suspicious individual at 10 o'clock' would have been acceptable. Even 'Danger'. In that instant, however, the only thing Butler could bellow was "Dyadya!"

The Captain turned towards his nephew, his eyebrows lifting, surely mortified about him making a scene. Not a second later, he staggered. An invisible force knocked his head back. Blood gushed from a wound on his head and he collapsed on the parquet floor.

For a second, the entire hall froze in shock. Then a woman screamed and chaos descended over the event.

The Major dragged Artemis and Tadgh Fowl to the floor, shouting one word into his mic. "Ubiraysya!"

Get out!

It was enough for Butler's brain to snap back into gear. He whirled to Mrs Fowl, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her from the chair. Woken up by the chaos, Artemis Jr wailed in his mother's arms.

"What's happening?" Angeline asked, trying to look back. Butler pushed her head down and pulled her out of a side entrance, while the Major, together with Artemis and Tadgh Fowl, ran in the other direction and out the main doors of the ballroom.

Leaving the commotion and noise behind them, Butler had crossed half the corridor when Angeline screeched, "You're scaring me!"

Butler reluctantly stopped, all too aware that they were presenting themselves as perfect targets, Artemis's cries offering the acoustic beacon.

"Ma'am," Butler said, trying not to growl. "There is a sharpshooter in the building, so please trust my expertise until we get out of the castle."

Angeline clenched her jaw, tears of rage in her eyes. Eventually, she swallowed and nodded. Artemis, however, who hadn't been given any attention since the beginning of the attack, cried louder.

"Ma'am," Butler said, trying not to growl. "There is a sharpshooter in the building, so please trust my expertise until we get out of the castle."

Angeline clenched her jaw, tears of rage in her eyes. Eventually, she swallowed and nodded. Artemis, however, who hadn't been given any attention since the beginning of the attack, wailed louder.

Butler gave the baby a stern look. "Hush… sir."

Artemis paused, looking at the behemoth with a judging wrinkle of his nose as if he was figuring out if there was any merit in overspending his lungs. He seemed to decide against it and dropped his fists. The critical expression never diminished, though. Instead, Butler had the distinct feeling his performance was now being judged by the infant.

Breathing a sigh, although not one of relief, Butler placed a hand on Angeline's back and hurried down the corridor.

If the assassins were professionals, they knew the castle layout. The forged layout, that was. The original plans, together with its hidden escape routes, were at Fowl Manor.

It had been a petty crime, after the Fowl's request of acquiring the castle had been denied–the building being an important national treasure–Seamus Oisin Fowl had spent his energy in buying every single map of Dublin castle (and afterwards destroying them except one), while exchanging the public records with his forgery.

Thanks to the Fowls' ancestor, Butler knew of one secret flight route and was heading towards the Record Tower in the East Wing.

"Shouldn't we wait for the others?" Angeline asked, giving Butler a dirty look.

"The Major will choose a different escape route."

"Where are we going then?" she asked.

"A hidden route leads to–"

He stopped himself when a woman in a waitress costume came around the corner, a plate with hors d'oeuvres on her hand.

Butler moved instinctively, zooming past Angeline and attacking the petite woman. The plan had been to eliminate the threat with a quick jab to her carotid artery. Silent, clean, easy. If the opponent didn't expect the attack.

The pale woman with a face full of freckles did.

Quick as a cobra, she hurled tiny canapes at him as she wielded her tray to hit him over the head with it. Butler brought his arm up and kicked at her legs. The woman jumped back. She was a trained fighter, her movement sleek, and calculated. Butler watched her, trying to find a weakness, before more attackers showed up. He could have shot her, but the noise would draw more unwanted attention to them.

The blonde threw a look at Angeline, tossed her tray away, and reached a hand behind her back.

Butler reacted in an instant, throwing himself at her. He used his momentum and tackled her to the ground, knocking her head hard on the floor. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, and she went limp. Jumping up, Butler waved Angeline closer. When she didn't move, he hurried back, grabbed her once again by the arm, and dragged her with him.

"That woman," Angeline panted. "She was Irish, no?"

Butler nodded.

"Why would she attack us?"

The bodyguard didn't answer. What could he tell her? That her father-in-law had been fuelling the Troubles in Northern Ireland for the last ten years by sending weapons to both sides? That they were most likely targeted by nationalists and unionists? Hell no, Artemis could do that himself. He wasn't getting involved in their family business.

"Why, Butler?"

"I'm not in the position to answer, ma'am."

Angeline broke away from him.

"And why aren't you?!"

Butler took a deep breath, rattling off the memorised lines Madame Ko had taught him.

"Ma'am, I'm only a servant. I'm not involved in the Fowl business. I know nothing, I'm here to protect you."

He immediately realised his mistake when Angeline and Artemis both stared at him, their eyebrows furrowed almost comically, as if they weren't sure if he was making fun of them. Artemis babbled, which seemed to wake Angeline from her shock. She squared her shoulders.

"Very well. Protect us, Butler."

She recoiled when he placed a hand on her elbow. Gritting his teeth, Butler stepped in front of her and moved forward. They hurried along the portrait gallery, countless former Irish viceroys following them with their eyes.

Butler had just opened a set of double doors when the lights went out. Pushing Angeline to the side, he paused until his eyes had adjusted to the darkness before he carefully stepped back into the corridor.

It didn't take a security expert to realise that the evening had ended in a disaster. He didn't know what was worse. That the Captain was possibly dead, him and the Major straying through the castle with their charges or the fact that Angeline Fowl would fire him if they ever made it out alive.

Butler entered the Gothic Room, his eyes shooting up to the one big round window in the ceiling, letting in some light whenever the moon wasn't covered by thick clouds.

"I just don't understand how any fellow Irish would want to attack us," Angeline said thoughtfully. Butler didn't react. Partly because he didn't want to have this conversation with her, partly because he had seen the glint of a gun barrel pointing at him from across the room.

"Can you not?" someone asked. "How about I enlighten you then, Mrs Fowl?"

Angeline jumped, startling Artemis and causing him to whimper again.

Butler automatically reached for his Sig Sauer, but the man who stepped out of the shadows shook his head. "No sudden movements, please. I won't hurt you as long as you don't give me any reason to."

Angeline bristled, her voice thin. "And why is that?"

"Because unlike you, he isn't involved."

"Involved in what?"

"In the murder of innocent people!" the man shouted, his curly hair trembling with rage.

"Eamon," Butler said calmly, recognising Eamon McKenna, the Head of Security, and lifting his empty hands. "This doesn't have to end in bloodshed."

Eamon smiled humourlessly. "You are right, friend. This is just the beginning. First, I am going to take out the wife-y, then the kid. And then, once I have taken care of Artemis and Tadgh has suffered the same way my family has, then it'll end."

Angeline had paled, holding Artemis close to her chest.

"I-I don't understand," she stammered.

The man snarled. "Of course, you don't. You just take, take, take. The money? Who cares where it comes from, huh? Just want to spend it all, do you?!"

Butler didn't move a muscle. He kept his gaze lowered, his eyes jumping from side to side. The secret flight route was behind the fireplace on his left, but he didn't know how long it would take for the mechanism to be activated. He had taken the woman out about five minutes ago. The hit to the head should keep her incapacitated. He couldn't count on that, though. Worst-case scenario, she'd wake up in another ten minutes, attacking from behind. He had to get them out of the building by then. So far, Butler was standing at an angle that made it impossible for Eamon to shoot Mrs Fowl without hitting him, too. He had to use the man's code of honour.

Eamon turned to Butler. "Leave."

Butler shook his head, shifting his weight to shuffle to the right. "I can't."

"Sure you can. What do those criminals mean to you? I read about what you did in Colombia. You are a good person."

"So is Angeline and her baby. They have nothing to do with this," Butler said, shrugging as if to make a point. In reality, he turned his wrist, trying to loosen his cufflink and waiting for an opportunity to reach for his pistol.

"Neither did my little sister and brother. They were five and seven," he said, his voice breaking. "They did nothing wrong either."

"I am sorry, Eamon," Butler murmured and, ripping the cufflink from his shirt, threw it at the man.

Eamon pointed his pistol at the flying object, giving Butler the distraction he needed. He grabbed his Sig Sauer, aimed it at the attacker, and shot him in the knee.

Eamon went down with a scream. Butler was at his side in an instant, grabbing his pistol and wrenching it from his hands. Securing the weapon, he dashed to the fireplace, searching for the opening mechanism. He grabbed one of the torch mountings and pulled at it. Stone grated against stone as the fireplace moved.

Eamon's screams had turned to sobs, but Butler couldn't acknowledge them at that moment. They would haunt him much later and for much longer. He manoeuvred Angeline down the stone steps, closing the fireplace behind them, leaving the howling Irishman and the last bit of light behind.

A damp old draught descended over them. Artemis's scared wails turned into terrified screeches in the absolute darkness echoing from the stone wall. Forced to hold on to Butler's arm, Angeline followed as he felt his way down the stairs.

"Why didn't you kill him? He tried to shoot us."

"He would be a martyr, ma'am. I don't think this would help your case."

Angeline was silent for a while.

"You knew," she said reproachfully.

Butler didn't answer, focussing on the wet stones underneath his fingers. He wished she'd just let him do his job, and not expect him to solve every single one of her problems. When Angeline squeezed his arm, he sighed.

"Perhaps you should discuss this with your husband, ma'am," he said over Artemis's crying.

As if coming to his rescue, the wetness under his fingers suddenly vanished, and he felt wooden planks. He buried his hands in the cracks between the soft and rotten beams, pushing the board away.

He would have to come back one night to replace the door, he thought absentmindedly, as the fresh air cooled the sweat on his forehead. Angeline stumbled out behind him, frantically looking around.

They had come out the back of the Clock Tower, which Butler knew was close to the stables, the spot where the valet had parked the family's Bentley. He saw it the same instant the Major and Artemis dashed out of the car.

Angeline hurried to her husband, bombarding him with questions before he had even reached her, while the baby in her arms continued his screeching. Butler followed after them, protecting their back. He caught the car keys the Major threw him.

"Drive," he said, wasting no time.

"What about–"

"Drive, malchik," the Major said and ran back inside.

Clenching his hand around the keys, Butler steered the young family towards the waiting car, sliding behind the wheel.

He threw one last look into the side mirror, watching his uncle disappear in the building, before hitting the acceleration pedal and driving off with screeching tyres.

Sofia was silent for a long time, digesting the story.

"What happened to… your uncle? He survived?"

"He recovered," Butler said. "Tadgh Fowl died about two years later. Cardiac arrest. My uncle went back to Russia after handing all duties as Head of Security over to the Major. He died a few months later. Probably because of boredom."

Butler stopped, remembering the last time he saw the Captain with his signature dark stare. Fun had been a foreign word to him.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. The Captain was a workaholic. I bet he was annoyed that Tadgh didn't get him killed in his line of duty," Butler said lightly. "Anyway, which story are you telling me tonight?"

He could hear the grin in her voice. "Did I ever tell you how I freed the Devil from his eternal prison?"

"I think I heard that story somewhere before. Try again."

"How about the time the Major punched me in the face?"

Butler winced. "He did?"

Sofia paused, taking another sip of her wine. He imagined her rubbing her nose at the memory.

"Oh yes, I didn't even see it coming. Fell backwards over the coffee table and hit my head on the couch armrest. Knocked myself out in an instant and got a nasty nosebleed. He insisted he wanted to check my reflexes. Probably true, too, or he would have broken my nose. Needless to say, I didn't impress him."

Butler snorted. "I can imagine. He never believed in the weaker sex. Apparently he only agreed to marry his wife after she fought him in hand-to-hand combat."

Sofia giggled. "Who won?"

Butler grinned.

"My money is on my aunt. She is a scary woman. You wouldn't want to meet her in the dark."

"So," Sofia asked after a moment. "Is that how you choose your partners? You fight them, like in Tekken?"

Butler squirmed, heat rising up his neck. "Ah no, my uncle was special. Since he protected a Fowl, he got a pass on his 'demand'. Usually, the head of our family decides the, uh, marital matters."

He rubbed a hand over his face, knowing exactly what she was going to ask next.

"A-are you married?"

Clenching his eyes shut, he made a face, trying to make his voice as even as possible.

"I dodged the bullet so far."

Sofia laughed. It sounded strained.

"When will you be tied down, then?"

The Sergeant, head of the Butler family, had been trying to do that for quite a while now. Butler's privileged position of protecting Artemis allowed him to have some say in the matter. Plus, he had become a master in coming up with reasons not to marry over the years. He was too busy. The Fowls weren't likely to have any more kids. Artemis was too young to start a family anytime soon. His cousin, Dima, was perfect bodyguard material. So was Juliet, despite the Sergeant's reluctance of letting women 'do a man's job' and Butler's own of getting his baby sister into danger.

Of course, he couldn't tell the Sergeant that he would prefer to marry someone he cared for and had more in common with than just the need to procreate. It didn't help that he was getting too attached to a certain someone halfway across the world, either.

He cleared his throat.

"There is no demand for new Fowl bodyguards at the moment, so I'm counting on getting too old for anyone to bother."

Sofia made a non-committal sound. They fell silent.

"Are you… with someone?" he eventually asked. "I mean a relationship," he added needlessly, rolling his eyes at himself.

"I've been on dates," she said quickly, "but it didn't go beyond that."

Butler knew he should stop there. He should have said something superfluous and hung up, but some cruel part in him had to go on.

"Do you want to have kids?"

"At some point, maybe." Her voice became grave. "Just with everything that has happened? I'd stay awake all night, knowing what was lurking out there. Do you?"

Butler was about to say how it was his duty to produce a new generation of Butlers. And changed his mind.

"Probably not," he admitted. "I'd want my kids to play in the woods and worry about scraped knees rather than having to teach them martial arts so they can one day protect their charge with their life."

"I think you'd be a great dad," Sofia whispered. A second later, she made a sound as if she had choked on something. "As in,"–she spluttered–"you did an okay job with Artemis. Any kid of yours will be a piece of cake."

Butler opened his mouth, but no coherent sentence would come out. To his eternal shame, he let out a croak that might have been an entire sentence mumble-jumbled into one word.

He felt his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Black spots danced in front of his eyes. He ordered himself to breathe, coughing to buy some time. Eventually, he had himself almost under control again.

"If that's your strategy of getting another story, it won't work," he said hoarsely.

"Guilty as charged." Sofia laughed nervously. "I better let you go to bed. It's late."

Butler hummed, his brain still lagging.

"What happened after my uncle hit you?"

"Ah, well," Sofia let out what sounded like a relieved laugh.

"He said that I was obviously too weak. He told me and I quote "to bulk up" and start weight, strength and cardio training, mixed with martial arts and firearms training. Then he looked into my fridge and told me to buy red meat and fish and to get rid of all the "fat-free rubbish"."

"Did you?"

"Of course not. I took it all to the university and ate it there."

Butler chuckled. "He wasn't completely wrong."

"Hey," Sofia protested. "I'm not that weak! I picked up self-defence classes at my gym."

"No more Bollywood dancing?"

"Stop laughing! It was a lot of fun."

"But?"

"But I figured it is more likely that hitmen will chase me down at an auction house than dancing at an Indian wedding," she said with a sigh.

Butler's hand curled into a fist.

"I won't let that happen," he said with steel in his voice.

"I can't afford to hire you, unfortunately," Sofia joked, oblivious to his concern. "Besides, I have become really good. I can do push-ups and burpees now."

He tried to imagine her working out, and his mood lightened slightly.

"How many?"

Sofia hesitated. "I don't want to tell."

"That many, huh?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"I have just started!"

"So, tell me how many," Butler said, leaning back in his armchair, gloating. He had a lead on her of about 30 years. There was no reason for him to be so ridiculously cheerful, and still, he couldn't wipe the grin from his face.

"Ten!" she exclaimed. "I can do ten… lady push-ups and burpees."

Butler frowned, scratching the bridge of his nose. "What are lady push-ups?"

"It's,"–Sofia huffed–"where you put your knees on the floor to make them easier."

"That's very impressive," Butler chuckled.

"Oh, shut up. I know you do 5000 every day," she said. He could hear her jump off her couch, walking up and down the room.

Now, he snickered, which made her even more flustered.

"I shouldn't have told you! I'm going to bed."

"Don't be upset. I'm not making fun of you," he said, but couldn't hide the mirth from his voice.

"Good night!"

"Wait, can I call you next week?"

"Not sure if I want to," she murmured, miffed.

Butler stopped laughing in an instant. "Well, I want to. I enjoy our calls."

Sofia drew in a sharp breath, and he wondered if he had been too forward. He was about to backpedal when she blurted, "Good. I will practise some more in the meantime. Good night, Butler."

She disconnected the line without waiting for his answer. As usual.

Butler smiled.

"Good night, malenkaya gospozha profesor."

Russian words and phrases:

Yulchonok - A play on words. It's a mix of Yulia (the Russian version of Juliet) and volchonok (little one, cub).

Berezhonogo bog berezhot. – God keeps those safe who keep themselves safe. ("Pray to God but keep the powder dry.")

Dyadya – Uncle

Ubiraysya – Get out.

Malchik – Boy

Malenkaya gospozha profesor – Little Miss Professor

I wasn't sure if I should add a note about the Troubles or not, but if you were wondering:

The Troubles were a conflict in Northern Ireland that lasted about 30 years from the late 1960s to 1998 between Protestant unionists who wanted Northern Ireland to remain part of the United Kingdom, and the Roman Catholic nationalists who wanted Northern Ireland to become part of the republic of Ireland. There is much more to it than that, of course, but that's the gist of it. To get their points across, both sides did some awful things to each other, including bombings, assasinations, roadblocks etc.

A/N: Can you tell how much I love to torture our two not-lovebirds? I'm sure you can. I also hope you enjoyed this instalment of "Diamond Blue and Cinnamon Gold". The next part is currently being written, and it's not a phone call. Wink wink nudge nudge, say no more, say no more.

Also, I realise I made Angeline quite pretentious, but honestly, I have no idea how she didn't notice what her family was up to or how she tolerated it for such a long time… I can only assume that she wasn't much older than Butler at the time, perhaps 24, 25 and just very much in love and a little bit naïve.

Anyway, if you'd like to leave comments (even just squeals, because honestly that's exactly how I wrote it, squealing and getting odd looks from hubby), kudos and/or messages in a bottle, please do. I live to hear from you guys, and I create these stories for your entertainment, so if you want to let me know how entertained you were while reading, I would love to hear it. :-)

Until next time, please take care!