Thanks to... well, nobody yet. I haven't really given you chance.

Shout up if you're there, folks. I like hearing from you.

In typical, Wolfy fashion - here we go off the deep end...

Tis the season, after all.

Deep breath.

WARNINGS: the usual - violence, guns, bloodshed, threat, strong language... etc. etc. etc.

CHAPTER ONE

'BANG ON ABOUT'

Definition: going on and on and on

The Gaiety Theatre, Dublin

"Pa?"

Stood behind and just to the right of the Butler boy, Alexandr's dark eyes cast his way with a flicker of annoyance. It was hard enough to keep watch over the group without his grandson pestering him. He tried not to get irritated with the boy. It wasn't his fault they were in this ridiculous situation; although he had beamed so widely when he had been given the suit he was wearing, his grandfather had had no chance of changing his mind to the more sensible solution once more. Muttering about 'a right real Cinderella story', he had instructed him to change into it and warned him to behave even more impeccably than usual. Which was why this interruption was irking him more than it should. None of the other guards appeared to be doing much, but he noted that at least his son wasn't distracted. He was stood, taciturnly-faced and stubbornly unimpressed the show going on on the stage below, his stare passing across the room in steady, but unpredictable patterns, just as he had taught him, long ago now.

The Fowls were engrossed in the performance, Artemis perhaps less so, but at least he had thus-far got along well with the Simmons girl – so much so that he had asked if he could move to be seated next to her after the interval. That had annoyed the giant bodyguard as well. He had told the young sir the answer was a firm 'no' and possibly been branded as a cantankerous old coot by the pair, but he didn't care; people were seated where they were seated for a reason. Or standing. He had had to glare disapprovingly at three of the practically reclining Simmons guards until they felt so uncomfortable they had gotten up. Some of the other guards had also gone so far to suggest finding somewhere to 'get a brew' whilst the show played, which the Butler patriarch had almost had to smack them around the heads for on the spot. Luckily the one bodyguard with a little more nous – although admittedly less years under his belt – had suggested they had better stay. One of the older guards had had an answer to that, too; 'Ah come on, Bates – there's two Diamonds in this box, we're just overkill' – to which Myles had curtly responded that bullets passed through people just as effectively if they had proper training than if they had had substandard training and the other security team had fell silent whilst they worked out whether or not that was a rather thinly veiled insult. The bodyguard-talk had passed over the heads of the charges, but Xandr had been forced to refrain from rolling his eyes; his son didn't play nice with others. But then he supposed he had himself to blame for that.

"Pa," Dom whispered again, more urgently, almost going as far to tug on his jacket but thinking better of it at the last moment.

"Chto eto?" the giant muttered under his breath at last, tilting his ear towards the boy to hear the hushed response.

And that was it.

He knew no more.

And Dom would never forget the sound of the giant body hitting the floor.

Someone screamed first and then the box erupted into movement.

The first on the go was The Major, of course.

Which was fortunate, as the next bullet was meant for him and thudded into the wall he had stood in front of half a second before.

He hurled himself towards the Fowls, toppling all three from their plush theatre chairs and onto the floor. There may be a few bruises in the morning, but that certainly beat getting a bullet in the head like…

Stop thinking. STOP. THINKING.

It was imperative that he silence his thoughts; shut everything down but the essentials.

No emotion. No sentience. Nothing.

Training would take over.

The entire thought process took place in the bare milliseconds he was falling through the air.

"GET DOWN!" he roared, as though that wasn't entirely obvious by the fact that over one hundred kilogram of Butler had landed almost directly on top of them. Still, Artemis attempted to raise his head and his bodyguard planted his palm firmly onto the back of it, pinning him to the carpet and lunging forward desperately with the other arm.

He was not about to lose them both at once if he could help it and Dom had made the near-fatal mistake of freezing in horror at the sight of his grandfather crumpling to the carpet as swiftly as a puppet with its strings cut.

"Pa!" he cried, leaping to his feet.

His uncle's outstretched hand hooked his ankle, pulling back sharply and the boy too, crashed to the floor; the wind knocked out of him. Though that wasn't the reason he couldn't breathe. His breath had already caught in his throat the moment he had seen…

Pa, Pa – No! He couldn't… He couldn't be…

He clamped his hands either side of his head, covering his ears like he had been taught to do in a firefight – taught by Pa – and buried his face down into the carpet, teeth gritted against a barely restrained scream of anguish.

Tat – tat – tat – tat – tat! Tat – tat -tat! Tat!

Bullet's peppered the ornate coving around the box, covering them with dust. But more worryingly were the ones that hit the carpet. Someone was shooting from across the room on their level, but also from opposite and above. The gunfire from the box mirroring themselves across the hall could easily been negated by crouching below the thick wall of plaster surrounding the balcony of the box, but those from above were much more difficult to defend against.

The youngest of the Simmons' guards – Bates, as he had introduced himself as earlier – grabbed his young charge by the arm and pulled her straight out of her chair and into a bear hug – it had been a good job the elder Butler had refused to let her move, for otherwise she would be lying on the floor with the Fowls and Myles would have a fifth person to be responsible for. He slung her through the archway that lead to the corridor beyond and as she went she tripped over the huge arm lying like the bough of some great, felled tree on the floor. There was no reaction from the person attached to it.

"Pa!" Dom cried out again, raising his head minutely to look for any movement, any sign that he might not be... "Pa!"

"Hush!" The Major barked, brutally unsympathetic. But he had to be. He had to be.

Dom knew not to answer back, but he was trembling uncontrollably and his pupils were blown wide. He mouthed wordless horror, shaking his head over and over and The Major had to stop himself from reaching for him and holding him close, just to hold him together.

"Roll to the front," he ordered, shoving him roughly instead. "Stay there until I tell you."

He didn't have time to stop and see if his nephew obeyed, he just knew he would. He had to believe it. With him tucked tight against the front of the box, he'd be safe from gunfire. For now.

Below them, the seating area had erupted into chaos. The screams ebbed and flowed with every fired shot as people scrambled over eachother to the exits. If they just moved in a calm and orderly fashion there would have been no injuries and everyone would have been able to leave quickly and safely, for the rest of the theatre-goers needn't worry about the gunmen – they were aiming solely at one small target area.

Which just so happened to be exactly where the Fowls were.

Myles turned to his charge – charges, now – it was doubtful all three of them would make it out of this, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to die trying.

"Oh Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ!" Eugene Fowl was repeating over and over and The Major had to refrain from telling him to shut up too. "Major, what do we…"

Myles didn't let him finish, eyeing up their chances for a clean exit and making his decision. The longer they sat still, the longer the shooter could reposition for a better shot at the targets.

"Doorway – crawl. Now – all of you!" he said, breaking it down simply for them.

Mr and Mrs Fowl, who had probably not crawled a metre since primary school gym class, began to scramble forward down the aisle between the two sets of chairs, almost over the top of their fallen bodyguard in their attempt to reach the horribly small door that was the exit. The other security team, or what functioning members were left of them, had started to react properly now – fucking finally, The Major thought, viciously – in some semblance of a trained response and had the Simmons covered. Not that they were his responsibility anyway, but less bodies on the floor made for a cleaner exit. They pushed them in a belt-hold movement, almost upright for the corridor – idiots. Bullet spattered into the group, at least one of the bodyguards was winged, another falling toward the archway, landing heavily – the only way The Major knew he wasn't dead was that his voice was suddenly added to all the screaming. At least they were providing canon fodder and buying the Fowls another few precious seconds to make it to the corridor.

Pa had said the narrow exit was a security flaw. He had warned them…

It doesn't matter now.

Stop thinking.

Just go.

They crawled as a group. The Major pushing them on.

"Stay low – stay down!" he instructed, pushing Artemis on ahead of him and shielding him with his body. Although if something happened to him, the entire family were on their own now.

On their own, that was, but for the idiotic security team of the Simmons – the worst injured one of them still entirely blocking the exit as he lay on the floor.

The shooting had stopped. Which was not necessarily a good thing. The sniper was re-adjusting their position, as he had suspected. The shots would come again any moment – and perhaps with even more deadly range.

"Let me past!" he snapped at the Fowls and crawled forwards, pressing himself up onto his elbows and hauling the prone guard to one-side.

"Artemis; wait there. Sir, M'am – make for the exit!" he rattled out, pushing his charges past with his other hand. "Don't look – just go!"

Vivienne and her husband managed to squeeze past him, Eugene unable to stop himself from glancing just once at the prone and bloodied form of his bodyguard, before making the safety of the corridor.

Presumed safety.

He turned back for his charge, beckoning him towards him. Artemis scrabbled towards him and Myles slung him underneath his arm and made for the exit once more.

He didn't actually know if the corridor was safe at all, he realised grimly.

But anything less dangerous than in direct line of fire was an upgrade from their current situation.

Speaking of which…

He grimaced as he felt the heavy impacts slam into his back, his bullet-proof vest holding for now. He ducked his chin close to his chest and pulled Artemis along under his armpit.

The shot guard had lolled back in the absence of his hold and then began to drag himself forward. He didn't make it far one-armed before he stopped to collect himself.

"Move!" The Major snapped.

He panted, shaking his head.

"I can't…"

The Major growled – he didn't have time for this.

"I said move it!" he snarled, drawing his weapon from his belt so fast that he friction burned the back of his hand on the carpet, and jamming it under the chin of the unfortunate bodyguard.

The man's eyes were white all around; panicked.

Just like Dom's.

No. Not like Dom's.

Dom would do as he was told immediately because he would have known whatever he was being ordered to do was for his own safety, as well as everybody else's.

Goddamn amateurs.

One day one of these imbeciles was going to get him killed.

Just like they had…

Stop thinking.

Start doing.

He shoved him away by the chin with the muzzle of his gun and thrust Artemis forward by a handful of his suit jacket.

"Go – keep going – I'm right behind you – go!" he told his charge, pushing him forward.

There was another scattering of bullets and why had no-one returned fire yet?

The other bodyguard curled himself into a foetal position, at least smart enough to minimise the target. But he was a sitting duck. He'd die right here on the carpeted floor of the fancy seats.

Just like…

No.

Stop thinking.

Damn it.

"No – you too," The Major snapped, slapping him on the back. "Go! Go!"

The last surviving bodyguard in the box – other than himself – must have decided the threat of the Fowl guard was greater than the pain from his bullet wound and with a great effort, scrambled after Artemis. Myles wasn't all heart; the man made an adequate enough meat-shield for the boy and it saved him doing it.

The second Artemis's loafered heel cleared the wall he turned to call his nephew to him. They were alone now. The last ones left alive in the 'kill box' as it had become.

"Junior – come to me. Belly crawl; stay low."

But he wasn't behind him.

He wasn't where he had left him.

"Junior?"

He rolled, his head snapping back and forth frantically, searching for the boy.

And then he saw him; stretched beneath the chairs – reaching out for his grandfather's right hand, gripping it tightly.

No, not his hand – his wrist.

The boy was checking for a pulse.

Thoughtful, caring… stupid.

"Dom!" he called, reaching for him. "There's nothing you can do – come on!"

He hated how in control he sounded. Hated that he didn't feel anything yet. Numbness. Emptiness. Nothing. It would hit later, he knew. Just like it had with Beckett. No. Stop thinking.

"Domovoi – leave him!"

And that time he sounded a little more desperate than he had intended to.

The boy let go of the giant's wrist, but he didn't stop there. He crawled a little further, trying not to look at the bloodied face and the lifeless eyes, trying to ignore the coppery tang of gore in his nostrils… He slid his hand into his grandfather's still-warm jacket to where he knew the object he needed was kept, unholstered it with care, then began to crawl towards his uncle without a backwards glance.

Not that stupid, then.

"Good boy," Myles called. "Good boy, keep coming – come on."

The carpet exploded in front of him.

"No, no! Back! Get back!" he shouted, but he needn't have. His nephew had already reversed in a hurried scrabble and taken cover under the chairs.

Myles flipped over, pointing his gun up in the direction of the shooter, but he couldn't see them from his position on the floor.

A bullet pinged off the metal leg of one of the chairs; far too close to Dom.

Myles growled in frustration. He'd have to do it. He rolled, making to crawl to the front of the box where he had instructed Dom to lie before. Depending on how good the shooter was, he'd get a few shots off before one of theirs met its mark.

He paused, looking back once at Dom.

"When I start shooting, you start moving, alright?"

But Dom shook his head. He never moved his mouth, but everything about his body-language screamed it.

No, no, no!

"You can do it, I know you can," he said firmly, checking his gun was primed and taking several quick breaths in preparation.

"Uncle…" Dom implored him, even at his young age knowing the risk he was about to take for his sake. "Please…"

Myles stopped. The boy was right. And he didn't need to see two relatives shot in the head today.

"Right. OK. Lie… Just lie still. Let me," he said, trying to come up with another strategy. "Just let me think…"

And then – finally – someone started returning fire from the archway.

There was a second lull in the bullets coming towards them and Myles beckoned to Dom again.

"Wait a second," he said, not knowing whether or not he was drawing the boy into a trap.

Louder cracks of gunfire from closer by kept the enemy at bay he turned to see who their unexpected ally was.

"Get moving – Mister Major, sir!"

It was Bates.

Thank the fecking Lord the young guard had some sense in him.

He began firing at the ceiling opposite and with every shot that left their side of the room, the shots from the other began to cease.

"Sir indeed," The Major snorted, dragging himself across the carpet towards his nephew. "What do you think of that, eh Dom?"

He grinned at him encouragingly, but Dom didn't even crack a smile. He was gripping the chair's mounting as tightly as possible with one hand, his acquired handgun with the other just as firmly.

"OK, come on – come to me," Myles said, hauling himself across the gap on his belly. The shots had stopped, but that didn't mean he was going to offer up a bigger target. "Come to me now, lad."

But Dom didn't move.

The Major had seen that look before. Never on Dom, but on hostages. That wide-eyed rigidness of someone who had just seen someone close to them lose their life and had no idea who was going to be next.

"You alright?" he asked.

The boy nodded automatically. It was a stupid question.

"Time to move this time, OK?"

He nodded again.

"Alright. Slowly does it. We'll meet halfway, OK?"

Dom nodded, uncurling himself from the chairs and beginning to pull himself towards him on his elbows.

"That's it," The Major said reassuringly. It wasn't his strong-point, he had to say. He stretched his long arm across the aisle between the chairs. "That's it. Just a bit further. Here – grab my hand, if you want? It's OK."

His nephew nodded and, reaching out to him with the hand not clasping white-knuckled onto his grandfather's gun, he began to crawl determinedly towards his uncle. It went against all of his own self-preservation instincts, but the level of trust he had in the man knew no bounds. If Myles Butler said it was OK, Domovoi believed him.

"That's m'boy! Good lad! Come on then," he smiled, dragging himself another half-arm's length across the carpet, stretching his fingers as far as he could towards the boy.

A bullet thudded through his jacket and he flinched away from it.

"Fuck!" he grunted, feeling the sharp bite of pain as his arm snapped back to his side automatically.

"Uncle!" Dom yelped.

"I'm alright, kid," he assured him, then gestured to their cover fire with the open-handed expression of 'what the…?'. "Damn it, Bates – what are you playing at?"

"I'm on it, sir! I'm on it – just reloading!" the man shouted, darting out from behind the cover for the wall to take another few pot-shots at the sniper.

"Well give me some bloody warning next time – you're going to get us killed!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Bates apologised, clicking a fresh magazine into place.

"Less apologising, more compensating!"

"Yessir!" Bates said, renewing his counter-attack with some vigour.

And then quite suddenly there was an increase in the cadence of screaming from below and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor from a height.

"Got the bastard," Bates grinned. "You're clear to move, sir."

Myles didn't need telling twice. He upped onto his elbows and cleared the space between the two of them in a second. Then he wrapped one hand around the boy's ribs and pulled him in tight against his own.

Together they made for the safety on the other side of the archway, the larger's arm never leaving his nephew's back for a moment.

"Keep crawling, Dom," he said. "Just like training."

The boy took a breath, steadying himself.

"Keep your body flat, boy – do you want to be shot in the backside?"

"No, Pa."

"Although theoretically if you're going to get shot, that's possibly the best place."

"Would you care to be a live demonstration of that, Myles?"

"…no, Pa."

"Then shut your trap when I'm teaching the boy."

"I was just pointing out it's a large area of muscle without much risk of organ damage…"

"And I shall point it out with the business end of a Beretta if you carry on!"

"Dom! Dom – focus!" The Major said, seeing his momentary trip into the past and clicking his fingers sharply. "Look where we're going."

Dom may have nodded or he may just have been that his entire body was vibrating with adrenaline, but he dutifully kept his eyes on Bates's boots as they scrambled towards him. As they neared it, his uncle pushed him ahead, looking back.

The box was clear, but for the body on the floor.

Dom cleared the corner.

Myles looked back.

"Sir?" Bates said, stepping towards him.

"One moment."

"Sir… there's nothing you can do."

He didn't sound unsympathetic. Just… honest.

Myles nodded.

"Right," he said, shortly. "Yep. You're right. There's got to be more than one shooter, Bates. Stay sharp."

"Here," Bates said, offering a hand down to him, his other still aiming his handgun across the theatre.

Myles pushed himself to his knees and took it.

"Thanks."

"The others have gone on ahead. We'll rendezvous at – "

For a moment he thought maybe Bates had overestimated his weight and hauled him too hard, but the man gasped, his hand went limp in his grip and his face went slack in shock as he fell backwards with the impact.

"Shit!"

The Major threw himself forward, landing on the other guard and rolling with him behind the safety of the wall. Bullets hit the plaster for another couple of seconds before stopping. The shooter was efficient. Too efficient.

"Bates!" The Major barked, leaping up off him.

The younger man coughed and spluttered – at least he was breathing - but the Fowl bodyguard's heart sunk when he looked at him.

"Shite… vests," Bates panted, slamming his hand to his chest.

Blood pumped over the lip of his waistcoat, spreading steadily, tracing its shape on the white of his shirt and The Major's brain momentarily faltered as he fathomed if anything else fancied to go wrong that evening.

Pa had had a bad feeling about this job.

And usual, Pa had been right.

Just... bear with me.

I got this.

Wolfy
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