Thanks to: Fowl Fox, Hartemis Shipper, Jolinnn and Steinbock.

WARNINGS: Gruff!Fluff. Much of it. Also, this is the penultimate chapter. Only the Epilogue to go. Last chance to get your name on the reviewer roll call before Wolfy goes back into posting hibernation once more...

Apologies for entirely miss-timing this fic. I could've lined it up properly with the real-life dates if I had got my act together, but alas, I'm not that organised.

Enjoy some more classic PG!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HOUSEKEEPING

Definition: The management of household or business affairs to facilitate productive work

The Grounds of Fowl Manor, Dublin

"Now then, my little demon," she said, as they walked across the wide, snowy expanse together towards the woods.

He smiled up at her. "Yes, Granny?"

He was young and innocent. It wouldn't last and, though she wouldn't admit it, she found it almost…endearing.

She sighed and he cocked his head at her. Then again, she had just spent the past ten-minutes throwing a ball for him to retrieve, so she could hardly blame the boy for acting a little dog-like.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I need to ask you a favour."

Dom frowned. A favour? Him?

"Anything," he said, with such utter honesty that even her stone heart rattled a little. He meant it. She would have to hone that absolute loyalty. In the wrong hands it would cause him a lot of trouble in the future.

"I'm going to tell you a secret and I need you to keep it. I need you not to tell your mother, not to tell Pa and definitely not to tell your Uncle Myles. Do you understand?"

He nodded, confused, but well-trained enough to wait for clarification rather than start asking countless questions.

"Do you believe in magic, boy?"

Dom paused before he answered. Was this a trick question? Should he say 'no' so that he seemed more grown-up? Or should he tell the truth? She had always taught him to tell the truth. To her, anyway.

"Answer me honestly. You know I can't abide liars," she warned, in timely remindence.

"Yeah… a bit," he mumbled.

"And why is that?" she asked.

"Well… nothing's ever proved to me it ain't real," he shrugged.

"Very good answer," she nodded, pleased.

"And…" he started, but faltered, realising he hadn't been asked to provide further explanation.

"Go on," she said.

"And well… Uncle was properly gonna die. I could tell. Nobody told me, but I knew it. Mam and Pa talked about it and I listened in on them. And Uncle was all… weak. Like his energy was all leaking out of him. Like flooding out. And nobody could stop it."

"You're a very perceptive little soul, Domovoi," she said.

Dom wasn't sure if that was a compliment, but he continued anyway.

"And he's not like that now. He's all better. And I wished it for my Christmas wish – from the pudding, you know?"

"Well you are partly right," she said. "But it wasn't the pudding."

"Oh," he said, confused. "Well what was it then?"

"A combination of comings-together and a few people that owe me favours," she said cryptically.

"It was you?!" he gasped.

"Not as such. I'm no witch – although your father and uncle may beg to differ at times – but there are some things that most people cannot understand. Those things need to be kept hidden. They need to be kept out of sight or they will be exploited, do you understand?"

"What's exp… explited?" he asked, frowning.

"Exploited, Little Kingdom. And in this case, it means they will be hunted down, have their technology stolen and ultimately be wiped out."

"Oh. OK I get it," he said, although that was a loose statement at best.

"Not entirely, you don't," she said. "But one day I will not be here to act as guardian and someone must be there in my place."

"Guard what, Granny?" he asked.

But she didn't answer. Instead she strode on towards a great oak – quite possibly the oldest organism on the grounds – her grandson trailing in her wake.

"Sit for a minute, child," she said, once she reached the base of the huge trunk, folding her legs under herself, despite the cold ground. There was no snow here, only dry leaves and frozen mulch.

He flopped down beside her, obediently, with the strangest feeling that she had picked this exact spot above all others on the grounds. They sat silently for several minutes, until Dom closed his eyes and listened to the birds and the wind in the trees and felt so drowsy he thought he could hear the distant thudding of drums… Probably his heartbeat in his ears. Right?

He looked over at his grandmother. Her eyes were closed and he wondered if she was meditating. Pa did that sometimes. Said he needed to 'recharge more often now the batteries are getting on a bit'. He taught Dom how to do it too. Not quite sleep, but rest. For the mind and the body. The boy had not quite mastered it yet; he always heard something or thought of something too intriguing for him to stay still for long. So for now he looked at his grandmother instead. She looked no different to when he had last seen her; though he didn't see her very often. The last time she had visited he had been almost five. Before that, he was three and a half. He didn't remember the first time she had seen him – he had been only a baby. But he did remember meeting Artemis's grandparents for the first time and thinking they were vastly less interesting and unusual than his own - and that he was grateful for that fact.

"The people I knew helped me," she said, suddenly. "Because I helped them once. And to an extent, I help them every day. It's a very hard job, because I must tell nobody about it. Not even your grandpa – and that is hardest of all. But I will tell you one day, my little house demon. I will tell you. You are my chosen one. You will be the next to guard it."

"Guard what, Granny?" he asked again, even though it meant repeating himself, which she hated.

"This, dear boy," she said, patting the ground between them. "This."

"Oh!" he said, his face lighting up. "I get it now!"

"You do?" she raised an eyebrow, quite surprised at his certainty and perceptiveness.

"Yeah. You mean, like guarding the Earth?"

"Sort of," she sighed. Maybe not.

"Did I get it?" he asked, face hopeful.

"You will," she said, with a rare smile.

He grinned at her and for a moment she saw only her sons as little boys and wondered, as all mothers do – even she - if she had done right by them.

"Can you throw the ball for me again now, please?" he asked. "My legs have gone cold."

She looked him straight in the eye for a few more moments, seeing him for himself, now. Her grandson; a mix of everything she held dear – and a little extra. His eyes were just like that of his father's – and his uncle's, of course – and his grandfather's before that. He was young and ready for life.

"Go on then," she said, launching the ball into the undergrowth.

He raced after it, as happy as a spaniel and she sighed. He had so much to learn. But she would be there to teach him. He would not always be aware of it, but she would be there.

And although he never asked again about his uncle's miraculous recovery, or of magic, or of mysterious guarding duties, he was endowed with a knowledge not to ask and a lingering belief of the out of the ordinary which would serve him very well in the future.

Him, and quite a few others indeed.

Theresa wandered the grounds. She was not 'searching' so much as she was 'looking', but her heartrate had begun to speed up a little when she did not find her son in any of his usual haunts.

Finally she found footprints - a pair of, she thought, though there was one set running all over the place. She followed them in the crisp snow towards the woodland where she - not being trained in the art of tracking, that was - lost the trail and stood, listening for a moment to the few birds that had braved the cold to sing in the leafless trees.

"Looking for something, Autumn girl?"

She jumped, inhaling sharply at the voice.

"What are you…" she began, then spotted her son asleep in the lap of the woman who was all but a stranger to her. "Dom!"

"Hush," Maud said, raising a finger to her lips. "He's sleeping."

"Did you give him something?" she accused with a frown, stepping towards them over the leaf-litter.

Maud gave a small snort. "Is that you talking? Or my dear youngest?"

"Both – he's told me enough about you," Theresa said, somewhat grimly.

"Yet I have heard little more of you, than the fact that he holds you in high regard," the older woman mused. "Who are you, Theresa Brady?"

"I'm the mother of your grandson," she said, cagily. "What did you give him?"

Maud eyed her, as though she was about to reprimand her for her woefully incomplete answer. But she relented. The girl had caught her in a soft mood.

"Exercise," she said, simply. "He's just worn out. No doubt in an hour he'll be bouncing around the manor again like a frog on springs. Now what is it you wanted to ask me?"

"What? Nothing. I didn't come to ask you anything; I came looking for Dom."

"Yes. And now you have found him, and subsequently myself, and now you wish to ask me something. Now sit down. Don't lie to me, girl; it is futile."

"Yes," Theresa sighed, lowering herself to the ground next to the pair. "Myles told me that, too."

Maud almost chuckled at that. "And rightly so."

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Dom snuffled slightly in his sleep and Theresa reached over a hand to smooth his forehead.

"How did you do it?" she said eventually.

"Do what?"

"You know what I mean," she said, giving the Butler matriarch a sideways glance.

Maud did know. She shrugged.

"Would it help if I called it witchcraft?"

"No," said Theresa. "I'd prefer the scientific explanation."

"There isn't one," she said, simply. "Magic, is the answer."

"I'm never going to find out, am I?" she sighed.

"I doubt it. In fact, I would hope against it. And if we can come to an agreement now that that will be the case, then I would be much more content to leave this place."

"You're leaving?"

"Not so much 'leaving' as I was only ever 'passing through'."

"But Pa – Butler, I mean – he misses you."

"I know," she said, as though that was the end of it.

"He misses you…" she paused, not quite willing to admit the thought to the strange woman. "He misses you the way I miss Beckett."

"And how is that?" she asked, seemingly interested for the first time in their conversation.

"Like… Like I'm scared he's never coming back. Like the only thing that could put things right is to be back in his arms. Like I know he's out there somewhere, but I'll never know where..." she petered off, breathing the icy air so heavily through her nose it stung. "Need I go on?"

"Touching, that you care about my son that way," Maud said to her. "But I really don't think Sasha is quite so poetic about it."

"He still misses you," Theresa said, stubbornly. "And you're not even dead."

"Nor is Beckett, as far as we are aware."

"Would we know?" she asked. "He's been gone a long time."

"Seven years is not such a long time."

"That's easy for you to say when you'd have only seen him, what, twice in that time?" Theresa said hotly. "He's legally dead."

"He's not dead," Maud said with such certainty that it riled Theresa.

"Are you telling me you know he's alive somewhere? Because I swear, if you know where he is, I'll…"

"You'd what, girl?" the Butler matriarch seemed nothing but amused by her outburst.

"Sorry," Theresa mumbled after a moment. "It's just… a touchy subject."

"I know. Don't think you're the only one who has been searching for him all this time."

Theresa sniffed, rubbing her hand across her eyes. "How do we even know if he's alive?"

"I would know if he wasn't," the man's mother said, staring out over the manor grounds.

"But how?" she asked again.

"Wouldn't you, if it were Domovoi?" Maud said, simply.

Theresa said nothing, but her fingers pressed a little more heavily into her son's hair. She'd like to think so.

"The matter still at hand," Maud continued, as though there had been no subject switch. "Is whether you, with all your science and knowledge, are able to… how shall we put it? – 'let this one slide', in terms of finding an explanation for Myles's miraculous return to health?"

Theresa was silent; thinking. The question had caught her off-guard and her head was still filled of thought of the other Butler twin. Of her Beckett.

"And if I don't?"

There was a sudden and well-timed 'crack' in the undergrowth and she sat up, stiff with the alertness of a spooked deer. Maud eyed the dusk like a predator with a growl just caught in its throat, waiting to warn off the intruder. No more sounds came from the bushes.

"I cannot say," she said, looking away. "But I really would prefer you to just be thankful and move on. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Have you spoken to Myles?"

"Of course."

"And what did he say?"

"Much the same as you, actually. Are you sure he wouldn't be a fair replacement for Beckett?"

"Mylo? No," Theresa laughed, softly. "Believe me, I've... I've actually tried."

The admittance made her cringe a little, but there was no such embarrassment on the older woman's face, only simple examination of the facts. This was good news in her utilitarian viewpoint.

"Then maybe you should try again," she said simply. "You're very good for him. As he is for you."

"I know," Theresa agreed with her. "And honestly I think I'm ready to... move on sounds so harsh but..."

The Butler woman said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

She took a deep breath and did so: "Myles is just too… He's too…"

She waved her hand with a huff of frustration, appealing to the older woman with a facial expression somewhere between exasperation and disappointment.

"You needn't find the words," his mother sighed in return. "I know their meaning."

They sat together in silence once more, contemplating the impossible enigma that was a Butler.

"What are your beliefs on love?" Maud said, after a little while.

"Oh," Theresa said, taken aback by the strangely worded question. "I don't know... I..."

"For example, do you believe I love my husband?"

Theresa stalled slightly. "Yes?"

"Was that a statement, or a question?" Maud said, quirking her mouth slightly.

"I mean, you must - right? He clearly loves you."

"That he does," she agreed. "And it is returned. I am not so cold-hearted as you think; I love Xan very, very much. But in my own way. As Myles loves you, in his own way."

"Oh, I don't know..."

"Believe me, Autumn Girl. I know my boys inside out, no matter how unreadable they believe themselves to be. He cares about you very much; he loves you."

Theresa sighed. "Well I wish he knew that."

Maud actually let out a chuckle. "If he would let himself, I at least believe he would not be such a bad replacement for his brother."

"But if... when... Beckett comes back..." she stumbled over the sentence.

"A stand-in, then. You would cross that bridge when you came to it, if at all," the Butler said. "There is no point in living for 'maybes'. Live for the now. It could all be over in a moment, surely you know that by now?"

Theresa nodded, silently. Of course she did.

"Besides, if Myles is so squeamish about the physical side of a relationship, he should at least be able to perform his duties once a year or so to further the cause."

"What bloody cause?!" Theresa said, half-amused, half-offended. And cocurrently trying to decide whether or not to mortify her friend by repeating this conversation to him later.

"I need at least another heir - preferably more. And from your genetics would be perfectly acceptable if this little monster is anything to go by," she said, stroking her grandson's head gently.

Theresa laughed - she wasn't quite comfortable with the fact she was clearly being referred to as merely part of a greater breeding program plan of the Butler matriach, but she knew better than to let it offend her. "I'm still learning - but I supposed that's your version of a compliment?"

"Very much so," Maud said. "And really, do you suppose Myles will find another human female he will so much as speak to beyond business terms? No, you are my best hope. Or else Domovoi is my only hope."

"Thank-you?"

"You're welcome. Of course, if Dom was useless we would not be having this conversation. As it is, I merely need a spare. A male would be best, but I would be willing to work with a strong female, it just causes such a delay later on for the next generation..."

"You mean you would have made me and him... disappear?" Theresa said, with a raised eyebrow. "If he was not what you wanted?"

"You are indeed learning," said Maud. "If it helps to settle your mind, you are now under my protection. Permanently. You will have no problems with people from... our world."

Theresa knew what she meant. The Butler family had a great many enemies - a lot of them courtesy of the Fowls.

"Of course, you are free to make as many ordinary enemies as you like. But I can assure you, anyone so much as looking your way because of your connection to our family will be... dealt with."

The weight of that protection was like a heavy cloak. Pa had always promised her the same, of course, but for some reason she believed his wife even more.

She was still uneasy about the memory-loss thing. There was definitely something going on there. But what it was...

"I'll let it go," Theresa said, eventually. "Whatever it is you did to get Myles home and well. I don't even really know what I'm even agreeing to 'let go' of or why, but I will. I won't ask any more questions about it. I'll just be grateful that I still have one Butler twin with me to look out for."

Maud smiled at her genuinely. She had said that the right way around, too.

"Thank-you," she said. "Both for your acceptance, and for looking after my boys. They need us more than they think."

"You got that right," Theresa said, wryly, feeling a warm sense of comradery with the otherwise aloof woman. "I'm sorry I thought you were a... well, you know."

"And I apologise for mistaking you for a housekeeper."

Maud moved, gently but swiftly to her feet, somehow quite efficiently transferring the boy on her lap to Theresa's so that she was trapped by the slumber of her son.

"Where are you going?"

"On," Maud said, beginning to walk away. "I am needed elsewhere."

"You're needed here – you just said it yourself!"

"Yes," she said, turning back with a smile and for a moment the winter sunset lit her up in a way which made Theresa believe for just a moment that maybe the woman was magical in some way after all. "But not as much. My boys will be fine. They have eachother. And, well, they have you."

Theresa felt a strange mix of embarrassment and responsibility.

"When will you be back?"

"Someday," said Maud Butler as she disappeared into the undergrowth.

"Wait!" Theresa said, struggling to her feet much less gracefully than she had.

Something – her shout, her movement – disturbed Dom and he scrunched up his face, rubbing his eyes and blinking blearily up at her.

"Mama?" he said, yawning. "Where did you come from? I was with Granny… where is she?"

"She went," Theresa said, softly, still staring at the place she had last seen the woman.

"Where?" asked the boy.

"I don't know, baby," she admitted.

"Oh," he said, a little sadly.

She stroked his hair.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm good," he said, sitting up.

"Promise?" she said, grabbing his shoulders suddenly. "Promise me?"

He looked at her with those deep blue eyes – eyes which had seen far too much for their years – and smiled at her, a little confused.

"Promise," he repeated, crossing his little finger over his heart.

Argh the gruff!fluff. I did say.

How'd that read? Alright? Maud (aka Poison Granny) and Theresa needed that heart to heart, but I think maybe it should've been shorter and behind the scenes but hey, brutally honest PG strikes again haha

Wolfy
ooo
O

03/01/19