Thanks to: Jolinnn and Spencerblue for your reviews. Tough chapter, I know, so thanks for letting me know what you thought of it.

Well, it's the very early hours (minutes, even) of Christmas Eve here, so have an early present on me. Except if you're from Germany and any other country I have not yet been informed opens their presents today... In which case, have this on time haha

WARNINGS: Back to the gruff!fluff

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"UNRESIGNED"

Definition: the opposite of 'resigned', not giving in

Fowl Manor, Dublin

"Junior?"

There was no response, but he hadn't been expecting one.

"Your grandfather won't be pleased with you if you put a dent in the plaster doing that," he tried. "Although I have to say, your repeated accuracy is quite remarkable."

The younger boy continued to bounce the ball off the floor, onto the opposite wall and back into his hand as though it was drawn there by a magnet.

Thud, thud, smack. Thud, thud, smack. Thud, thud, smack.

"Of course, I wouldn't expect any less of you," he said, hitching his trousers up slightly from above the knee and sliding down the wall of the corridor next to his friend.

Thud, thud, smack. Thud, thud, smack. Thud, thud, smack.

Still, the young Butler said nothing. Artemis sighed.

"I hear your uncle is awake. That's good news, is it not?"

Thud, thud, smack. Thud, thud, smack. Thud, thud, smack.

"Father won't allow me to visit yet. Says I have to give your family some privacy," continued the Fowl boy. "I don't see why. I was as close to The Major as anybody. Am, I mean."

Thud, thud, smack. Thud, thud, smack. Thud, thud, smack.

"Junior? It really is rather hard to hold a conversation when the other party doesn't contribute, you know?" he said, trying to catch the boy's dark eyes as they bored a hole in the wallpaper more effectively than any tennis ball ever would. "Your uncle always said…"

Thud, thud…

Somehow he missed the ball. Artemis flinched away as it bounced off the wall they were leaning on and escaped, rolling along the carpet and down the corridor.

The bodyguard-in-training rose silently and went after it.

He didn't come back.

Christmas Day - Fowl Manor, Dublin

It was a privilege to be sat at the table with the Fowls. He knew that. His grandfather had told him, for one. Not that he had needed to; Dom had never been invited to sit with the family before and he doubted he ever would be again. But it was under exceptional circumstances. Exceptionally bad, that was.

They had already done the traditional walk to Orion's fountain on the far side of the manor grounds that morning. Dom had gone, along with his grandfather, but Theresa felt as though she would be intruding. Apart from that, the little boy's untimely death in infancy, was the only reason she had ever even had the opportunity to meet the man who had been intended to be his lifelong bodyguard. Without the loss of Artemis's twin, she would have never met Beckett. There would be no Domovoi. And no one would ever have known there even could have been. She felt as though mourning the Fowl boy would be mourning all of that. It didn't feel right for her to grieve for someone when in reality she owed him only the utmost of gratitude.

The Simmons family had decided to accept the Fowl's offer to stay for the festive period. It was not for the jovial atmosphere, though Vivienne Fowl tried her best to keep the company upbeat and it was she who had insisted that Butler, to the best of his ability whilst he still remained on duty, join them for Christmas dinner, cordially extending that invitation to Theresa and Junior as well.

And so, after exchanging their own Christmas gifts in a mutedely grateful manner, they had joined the Fowls and the Simmons at the great, long table in the dining hall.

Dom was still determinedly trying not to notice the way his eyes felt hot and prickly at the thought of the gun holster he had unwrapped. It had been from his uncle, of course. His mother had rolled her eyes and said she had hoped he had been joking when he'd told her what he had got him for Christmas. His grandfather had snorted in amusement and simply told her it would come in useful. Theresa had sighed and ruffled her son's hair, but the comment hadn't sat easy with her at all. She was far too aware that one day her little boy could be lying in a hospital bed in the same condition as his uncle. And that was only if he was 'lucky'...

But for now, Dom was sat on a straight-backed chair next to his uncle's charge and he found it didn't suit him to be sat amongst the upper class. Although to be fair on the rich boy, Artemis did try his very best to make him feel at ease. Sophia hadn't been much fun to be around either since that fateful night at the theatre, though at least she was speaking. It had in the end been her and her mother's unease at returning to their own home with much less than a full company of security that had convinced Mr Simmons to stay with his business partner. Although they were assured the main threat was neutralised, there was still the question of who had hired the group which The Major had almost single-handedly managed to decimate… So far, that had been left unanswered.

"The best bit is next," Artemis whispered, once the turkey and all the trimmings had been cleared away and new plates set out at the table. "Father lights the Christmas pudding and then Mother cuts it…"

Dom nodded. Artemis was telling Sophia, mainly; he already knew how the pudding serving worked, after all. He'd been a part of making it. It was a fact not known to the Fowls, but the eldest Butler of the manor took charge of making the Christmas pudding – not the manor's baker-in-chief. The process started way back in November – or early December, whichever Sunday was closest to St Andrew's Day. The mix would be made and everyone in the household – servants and masters alike – would take turns to stir the bowl three times whilst making three wishes. The theory was, that for one of them, one of them would come true.

"… and then," Artemis continued. "Whoever gets the silver piece, gets a to make an extra Christmas wish."

Dom would perhaps have asked what happened if the knife hit the silver piece, but he didn't feel like talking. He knew about the cake and the wish. He didn't much care. He only had one wish and it wasn't going to come true.

"You OK, honey?" his mother, who was sat just next to him, asked quietly.

He nodded. Though he wasn't. He didn't want to be sat at this silly table with the stupid fire-hazard candles and lacy doilies. He wanted to be in his room. No, not in his room; the gym. Or the gun room. Or cleaning his boots in the kit bunker. He wanted to be doing something – anything – to distract him from the fact there wasn't enough places set at the table and a very large hole had been torn in his family. He wanted to ask when they would be visiting his uncle. But he didn't ask. He didn't say anything at all.

There was much polite cheering from the adults when Eugene Fowl lit the brandy-coating of the enormous Christmas Pudding and even Sophia gave a gasp of awe and smiled and clapped with the others. Dom stayed sullenly silent. It was only a pudding on fire, after all. In another circumstance it would be a cause for much swearing and drama. Instead he watched his grandfather, who was eyeing the potential baked-goods-inferno carnage with his usual, serene vigilance.

As Artemis had predicted, once the alcohol had burned off, Mrs Fowl took a large knife and carved the pudding into several pieces. There was still some left, which of course meant there was no guarantee of anyone getting the pudding charm. Regardless, she repeatedly warned everyone to cut into their slice carefully before eating any and Dom watched as his grandfather seemed less than relaxed until his charges had each announced they had not found the silver token. Impromptu Heimlich manoeuvres could rather put a downer on Christmas Dinners, after all.

Theresa squashed her fork down on her piece. She wasn't much of a fan of Christmas Pudding, if she was honest, but seen as though Pa had made it, she thought she best at least try the dessert.

"Nope, me neither!" she said.

"Nor I," Sophia echoed.

"What a shame," Eugene said, holding the plate with the rest of the cake aloft. "Perhaps it's still in the rest of the pudding..."

He put it down rather swiftly when upon tilting it towards the light, he tipped some excess brandy onto the previously pristine tablecloth...

Everyone began to tuck into their pudding, exclaiming with great appreciation how good it tasted.

Dom scraped his fork along the dark, crumbling mixture and something just below the surface glinted in the candle light. He raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise and his grandfather, noticing as always, smiled across the table at him.

"Hold it up, lad – let's see what you got."

Dom did as he was told, picking out the silver wishbone charm and holding it out on his palm.

"Oh wonderful!" Vivienne said brightly. "Everyone - look! Junior found the pudding charm!"

"What is it?" Artemis – who had memorised most of the more common pudding charms over the years.

Dom showed him, handing it over for the Fowl boy to spin in his fingers and analyse.

"Oh it's a wishbone! An obvious, if useful pudding charm. I was hoping it would be a more obscure one so that I could…"

"Give it back to him now, Artemis," Eugene said, gesturing. "He has to make his wish. A wishbone is twice as lucky, Junior."

Artemis seemed a little embarrassed at being chastised at the dinner table, but he handed it back. Dom wanted to say he could have it if he wanted it. That he didn't believe in wishes anyway. But he took it back all the same.

"Make a wish, young man," Eugene said, and had he been a less demure man, he may have rolled his hand to chivvy him.

"You could tell us, if you like," Vivienne said, with an encouraging smile. "Use your voice!"

Dom kept his mouth shut and Theresa gently shook her head. She knew the other mother was trying to help, but if Dom was going to speak at all, it would not be in front of a table of people, nor sharing something as private as a wish. Not that it was overly difficult to guess what he would wish for.

He closed his eyes, squeezing the pudding charm so hard it left indentations in his skin.

There was only one thing the young Butler boy wanted this Christmas.

Undisclosed Hospital, Dublin

As much as Artemis wanted to see his bodyguard, he had no doubt the Butler family were merely being polite when they said they didn't mind the Fowls coming along. The Simmons then jumping on the bandwagon – so to speak, in actuality they were taking two cars – to come and pay a visit to Bates.

"His family have been made aware of the situation, but they aren't able to come over to visit him. I feel it would be quite unfair of us not to at least make sure he's not alone at Christmas," Thomas Simmons explained.

There had been talk of sending Bates home in time for Christmas, but the hospital staff had eventually decided he was not quite fit enough for the journey back to Scotland. There had been no such talk of sending The Major anywhere. Except down for another surgery – and even those were delayed given the time of year and the bodyguard's condition.

The nurses – already understaffed and overworked due to the day – did not seem best pleased when a total of ten people; the Butlers, the Fowls, the Simmons family and their last remaining fit-to-work bodyguard, arrived at their ward for visiting, but Mrs Fowl presented them with a massive hamper of gifts and food and made such a palaver over thanking them, that they didn't really have the heart to decline the group.

They split down the middle, the two bodyguards silently acknowledging sole responsibility for their party from hereon forth until they rejoined at the end of visiting time. Dom heard Bates welcome them in a surprised tone and felt a pleased that he sounded very well for a man who had been shot in the chest. Bates was nice. He deserved a nice Christmas.

Alexandr paused at his son's door, addressing the Fowls.

"He'll not be expecting you," he said. "So don't expect too much yourselves. He's under constant mild sedation and on a lot of analgesics."

"We understand, Butler," said Eugene, taking his wife's hand, who in turn took hold of her son's. Artemis let her. He wasn't really the hand-holding type, but although he would never admit it, he was quite afraid to see what lay – quite literally – on the other side of that door.

Xandr nodded and pushed the door open.

"Visitors for you, Major," he said, using the title to inform his son before he even opened his eyes, who the 'visitors' would be.

Myles, who had been attempting to read the novel Theresa had brought him before he had nodded off (again, how irritating… damn sedatives), closed it and attempted to push himself up on his elbows.

"Ah right," he said, trying to focus his brain on speaking 'properly' and cursing his father for not pre-warning him of this. Unfairly, he realised when he thought later. The Fowls rarely made their jobs easy by pre-planning anything. "Good… what time is it?"

"Afternoon," Eugene said, taking the lead after his bodyguard. "And don't bother yourself sitting up, old chap – we just wanted to come and see how you were."

"That's very kind of you, sir," Myles inclined his head to him with a slight smile and Theresa suddenly realised something she hadn't really paid any consideration to before; Eugene Fowl, as intimidating and businessman-like as he was, had in fact grown up alongside Myles and Beckett just as his own son was growing up with Dom. She realised she had never really asked what it was like, working for what may well have been your childhood friend. One day she'd be able to ask Dom, she guessed. The pair of them sidled into the room behind the Fowls, standing by the wall.

"And how are you?" Vivienne asked him, genuine, rather than manufactured, concern painting itself across her slender features. Theresa watched her eyeing the various dressings, tubes and machinery their son's bodyguard was wired up to and realised that although she herself had been immediately heartened to see there was less than when she had last visited him, the Fowl woman was seeing all of this for the first time – and perhaps realising the lengths to which the Butler had gone to to protect her son. Her hand tightened on Artemis's and he squeezed back in a rare moment of reassurance.

The Major pulled the bedsheet up slightly to cover the Frankenstein-esque scene that was his chest, covering the movement with a cough. It was not out of self-consciousness, but out of concern that his charge's usually pale complexion had almost jaded somewhat at the sight. He considered had he known the Fowls were visiting, he would not have declined the hospital gown he had been offered after his dressing changes this morning. As itchy as the bastard things were, Fowl vomit flying around the place was unlikely to lighten the mood any.

"The doctors tell me I'm… doing better," he said, bending the truth only slightly. He was not yet dead, after all, and if he was not heading in the direction of 'better', then he had only a short way to go 'worse'. "Thank-you, m'am."

"Well, that's good to hear," she said, searching around for a seat. Butler provided her with one and she took it. Artemis breaking her grip to stand closer to the man he owed his life to… again. But even though he had thought about this moment since the last time he had seen his bodyguard – when Butler had pulled him and Sophia out of the Bentley and they had seen The Major strapped to a gurney with paramedics all around him barking statistics and requests – he suddenly had no idea what to say.

Seeing his uncertainty – his awkward discomfort in the face of something he had not experienced before, his bodyguard helped him.

"Hello, Artemis," he said, evenly. "Merry Christmas."

"Thank-you, Major," the Fowl boy blurted. "Ahm… I mean hello to you too. But also thank-you, I mean, I owe you more than a 'Merry Christmas', really – the way you acted the other night was nothing short of extraordinary! And how you got us all out safe and well and the fact you're even alive is a miracle and…"

Myles knew smiling would probably be impertinent right now but he was beyond caring about trivial things like propriety.

"That's quite alright, young sir," he interrupted the boy's babbling. "It is the reason your father employs me, after all."

"And speaking of such; I refuse to accept this quite dramatic debacle as you tendering your resignation, you understand, Major," Mr Fowl said, with a wry smile.

"I think 'just doing my job' is quite preposterously humble on this occasion, Major!" Artemis protested. "I know it is what you're employed to do, but even so, I believe you went above and beyond the terms of your employment when you left the vehicle to take on a dozen men single-handedly…"

"Really, sir - I think it was only about seven or eight…" his bodyguard said, unpretentiously.

"Regardless, I admire your bravery and your selflessness and I understand that Madam Ko's Academy educates you very highly on such things but I don't think I ever really understood in full terms what…" he rolled his hand, trying to find the words. "You so fearlessly faced what could have been your own death in defence of myself and Junior - and Sophia, who by all rights was not your responsibility at all - and… we all owe you our lives, Major."

"Courage is not the absence of fear, but the judgement that something is more important than it, sir," The Major told him, glancing over at his nephew. "It was an easy call to make on that night. Life would not have been worth living had I survived and you three had not. It is not hard to be brave under those circumstances. Not to me, at any rate."

Artemis was struck by a rare moment of speechlessness and his father took advantage.

"I think you've made your point, son," he said, not unkindly. "Perhaps The Major would like to hear about your Christmas gifts?"

The Fowl boy talked the most in the next hour, though the others chipped in. Except Dom, of course. He said nothing at all.

When it came to leaving, the Fowls bid their goodbyes and, once Alexandr had checked the corridor for anything more threatening than an unamused matron, allowed the Butler family a moment to themselves.

"We'll wait just here," Eugene assured them. "Tom and Sarah will be out in a moment I'm sure, and McKinnon won't let us come to harm."

Myles wanted to ask which of the remaining Simmons guards 'McKinnon' was, but he must have been half-decent at least, for his father allowed them to leave.

"Your charge can't half talk," he said, once the door closed.

"It was good to see him," Myles replied, sinking back onto the bed in relief. "They're all well, I take it? And Bates? To be honest I'm still surprised he made it."

"So was he," Alexandr nodded. "There was a man with him. Gary, I think he said. I... asked him a few questions. Nicely, of course. Without him Bates would be a few floors down in the morgue not a few doors down up here, for sure."

Myles felt a weight he didn't know he had been carrying lift. He hadn't managed to ask about the younger bodyguard yet beyond learning the man was alive and for that he felt guilty, but for now it was his own recovery - or lack thereof - that was at the forefront of his mind, not anybody else's.

"But he'll survive," Butler continued. "A minor miracle in itself. If you hadn't got one of those new pads on him he'd have been a gonner though, for sure. Good to see they work. I'll have to send a message over and tell them they passed the field test we put them through."

"Hmm," The Major nodded. One day he would get around to telling his father the full story of everything that had happened after he'd hit the floor in the box that night. But for now, he had neither the time nor the energy to do so.

"Butlers; serving up minor miracles since the dawn of time, eh?" Theresa grinned, checking her friend's charts once again.

"Well I refuse to attribute it all to 'sheer dumb luck'," Myles said with a snort. "Any news on who sent the hit team?"

"Not yet. I'll keep you updated," his father said. "I've got people on it."

Myles nodded. Of course he did. It would not be long before they found out who had ordered the hit and heaven help whoever stood in the wrath of Alexandr Butler when he did. The giant may have quite the reputation of a teddy bear amongst his family, but that was as far as it went. To his family. To anyone else, he was nothing less than the great 'Butler' - a name that struck fear into the hearts and cast shadows on the dreams of the hardest of men.

"Ah come on, less of that," Theresa interrupted. "It's Christmas! I don't want to hear about plots of revenge today. What do they class as food in here?"

"Fuck knows," Myles shrugged, comfortable enough to share his true views now there was a door between him and the Fowls. In reality, he was not nearly as chipper had he had faked for his employers and the effort had exhausted him almost completely. "I slept through lunch. Though it's no matter; I suspect I'll get whatever it was for tea."

"Well, good luck to you on that," Theresa chuckled. "Hey – guess what happened at Christmas dinner at the manor today?"

"Someone choked on the pudding charm?" he guessed, drily.

"No, but kind of right…"

"Someone choked?" he frowned, concerned.

"No – not that. But the pudding charm – do you want to tell him, Dom?"

Dom kept his mouth shut, but he rooted in his pocket momentarily and brought out a closed fist.

"You found the charm?" his uncle said, beckoning him over. "Come on, let's see it then."

It was his father who chose the charm that went in the pudding, so Myles genuinely had no idea what it might be. Dom unfurled his fingers, pinching the piece of silver lightly and placing it on his outstretched palm.

"Well look at that," Myles said, holding it up to the light. "A wishbone. I hope you didn't waste it."

He offered it back, but Dom shook his head and took a step back; he wanted him to keep it.

"Dom?" he said, his tone changing slightly. "Come here."

His nephew shuffled closer and his uncle grabbed his hand, placing the charm in it and folding his fingers back around it.

"You keep it. Put it somewhere safe."

The boy nodded, feeling the steadily returning strength in his uncle's grasp. 'Steadily', being the word in question. The man had many more surgeries and weeks - months even - ahead of him before he could be classed as 'out of the woods'.

"Christmas is just another day, remember? Just the twenty-fifth day in the twelfth month," he said. "And maybe not this week. Maybe not this year – you know I don't make promises I can't keep, right? – but I am doing my best to come home. Is that good enough for you?"

Dom nodded averting his gaze. Myles sighed. That would have to be couldn't offer him any more, much less promise him.

"Did you like your present?" he asked.

The barest hint of a smile graced the boy's face and The Major took that as a win.

"Good."

"Yours are back at the manor," Theresa chipped in. "Thought it'd give you some motivation to get home quicker."

"As though I need any," Myles shook his head with a dry chuckle. "Besides, I doubt anything you lot got me is suitable for civilian viewing, right?"

His father smirked.

"I have no idea what you mean. If you think I couldn't sneak a box the shape of a heat-sensing, laser sighted, bonnet mounted, 270 degree anti-hostile missile launcher into a hospital if I wanted to, you are very much mistaken, m'boy."

Myles gaped momentarily. "You haven't..."

"No," his father admitted. "'Resa wouldn't let me."

"No - I mean," he grinned. "You didn't manage to get..."

His father shrugged, face belying nothing. "Well... you'll just have to wait and see."

Myles bounced his fist off the edge of the mattress, which was about as close as he could get to knuckling his father on the elbow.

"If you're playing with me, this is about as mean as the time you told me and Beckett we'd see Santa if we sat out on the roof all night under a camo net."

"That training had two purposes," Alexandr defended.

"We nearly got frostbite!"

"Ach, nearly schmearly," he grunted. "You were fine."

"We were eight!"

"Exactly. Domovoi - what do you say to spending a night on the roof next year waiting up for the big man? Your uncle just volunteered to join you."

"I did not," Myles protested. "I'm not freezing my bollocks off waiting out for flying reindeer twice in a lifetime, thank-you."

Dom said nothing, but he shrugged and smiled a little and that was good enough.

"You can help me fix The Bentley when I get back though," he offered. "I think she's going to be a two man job - three, maybe, if Pa will help out. Especially if we've a new bonnet ornament to mount, right?"

"You and that bloody car..." Xandr said, stretching his arms behind his head and yawning. "Anyway, speaking of home; we should be off. Wouldn't do for Eugene to piss off the nurses so much they undo all your hard work getting them onside. I'll see you tomorrow, syn."

"Tomorrow," The Major agreed. "I look forward to it."

Theresa swooped in to hug him, planting a kiss on his cheek; he rolled his eyes, but buried his head in her shoulder briefly, her hair tickling his neck.

"So what are you going to do with the rest of your day, lummox?"

"Oh, I dunno. I think there's a festive line dancing class on zimmer frames later or something…" he said, sarcastically.

"I would love to see that. Do they do pairs? You and Bates could compete together."

"Bugger off," he said, bluntly. "Go on; off you fuck. I've had quite enough of your good cheer and festive bullying, thank-you"

He exuded 'cantankerous', but the reality was, yet again, his family had bolstered his morale; his motivation. He may slowly be resigning himself to a life quite different to the one he was used to, but that did not mean he had lose himself entirely.

"Read your book," she suggested, as Xandr steered Dom gently to the door, talking softly to him about what he was doing in terms of security as they stepped into the corridor.

"I was when you came in, actually," he admitted.

"That's funny," she put one finger to her bottom lip. "Because I'm pretty sure your eyes were shut when we arrived."

"Alright," he sighed in admittance. "But I was reading beforehand. I'm a couple of chapters into it now."

"Do you like it?"

"No," he snorted, picking it back up and finding his page. "Where you got the idea I'd like romance novels from I've no clue. Someone bring me a copy of 'Guns and Ammo' in next time, would you?"

"Merry Christmas, idiot," she grinned, and left the room.

And as Theresa says, with great fondness; Merry Christmas!

Wolfy
ooo
O

24-12-18