In my heart there was a kind of fighting that would not let me sleep

Artemis woke (rather late in the morning) with a buzz in his chest. An excited buzz. It was the delight at waking and feeling good for once. He had things he wanted to achieve in the day, side tasks he could be concurrently pursuing, problems he wanted to wrap his mind around. His freshly woken eyes flicked straight to the whiteboard he and Butler had abandoned at around 4am. The floor was littered with printouts of news articles, stories and fairytale excepts. The board had barely any white remaining, alive with colour. Some notes had fluttered from where they'd been stuck and now rocked in the breeze of the aircon. The next thing he had to do today was a meeting with the Mayor of London at 3pm, which would roll into an evening dinner party after a short break for changing. It was currently half past ten – a very late start for Artemis, but he'd needed the sleep and thankfully, his body had granted him the rest without fit. Slipping out of the bedsheet and padding barefoot across the carpet, Artemis stretched upwards like a cat and yawned. He felt well-rested. When was the last time he'd slept so peacefully? He slid back the door to his ensuite and began to undress. Once his nightwear was in his hand, he caught the reflection of his pale ghost in the mirror.

Maybe he should start exercising.

The sort of scrawny charm of a growing teenage boy had been lost and now had the same frame but with a man's face. He ran fingertips over last night's stubble. Butler would have a fit if he showed an interest in exercising now. There was no good reason to talk himself out of though – he should start looking after himself. His father had never abandoned his exercise routine, despite keeping an underworld empire alive. The doctors had said that part of the reason his father had survived the Arctic ordeal was the healthy and resilient state he'd maintained his body in. By no means were any of the Fowls athletes (bar Beckett, he supposed), but his father had made sure he kept moving even at his current age. If Artemis could put some muscle on this boy-like frame, perhaps he would feel less conscious about himself. Moreover, even despite his 'world-saving days' being officially "over", the threat of serious injury to his body would never really pass. Over his short lifetime, he had made many enemies – not all of which were visible to the human eye. If he were to be attacked some day or part of a serious accident, he owed Butler some reassurance that his body would not implode in on itself. A sharp intellect did not save you from internal bleeding.

On reflection, he was considering a 'tomorrow'. How stark the comparison of this morning's mood to yesterday's. Perhaps reaching such a low was the pivot point, the catapult to regain. He would mark yesterday as the end of that era of his life. Now for change.

"Better late than never, and better now than tomorrow," Artemis declared to himself. He had plenty of time remaining in this morning to start making a lifestyle change. It would start with borrowing some of his father's exercise clothing.

He surprised Butler with the announcement that he was going to the apartment gym, ignored the look of shock as best he was able, and hid the rose in his cheeks by focussing on the plate of poached eggs he was chewing on. Butler silently left to change into something gym-like and less conspicuous than a suit and then appeared to hover in the band of sunlight by the window which glinted with morning dust. Artemis did not ask Butler to help train him, so when they reached the gym, they went their separate ways (or as separate as Butler allowed). Knowing Butler was watching his painfully novice movements on the weight machines and itching to intervene, the start of the workout was far more tense than he would have liked. The place was more or less empty, so eventually he came to enjoy the thinking space. He found his mind able to wander between sets, dropping in and out of topics, running circles around the knots in his brain until he was able to smooth them out, and then moving onto the next concern. Almost therapeutic. He would not be telling Butler as much when the question was inevitably braved later on, "how was it?". Like a child finally cleaning their own dishes, "Not so bad after all, was it?"

A hot shower, light lunch and quick change later, Artemis had locked himself away in his workspace – the sixth room of the apartment. There was the kitchen/ living area, his parents' room with ensuite, Artemis' room with ensuite, Butler's room with ensuite, his mother's yoga and meditation room, and finally the office could immediately tell that his father had been the most recent occupant of the office space. The pair of them worked completely differently and preferred polar environments. Though Artemis never liked to interfere too much with how the room was laid out (it was his parents' apartment, after all), he couldn't help but rotate items into slightly straighter positions, lower the standing desk back down to a normal desk height, and hideaway any horrendous memorabilia. For example, the taxidermy Asian Palm Civet which had been a gift from some Vietnamese ambassador. It was more difficult to move the wall-mounted tiger-skin. Artemis usually covered it with a tablecloth instead. He was only thankful that his mother hadn't used the space last. Getting rid of the cancerous whiff of incense sticks and candles was more challenging than throwing a sheet over a box.

Once Artemis had sat himself down at the computer, Butler knew better than to hover. He busied himself in the kitchen somewhere, the shak of metal more than likely the sound of a pistol being taken apart for cleaning. Thankfully, Artemis' father hadn't interfered with the music player and a simple click of play began the classical ensemble Artemis was after. He dove into his work and for the first time in far too long, the outside world faded out of existence. He could see only the inside of his mind, hear only his internal monologue, smell nothing at all; even his body shut off from sensations. His legs had long since cramped before he remembered to move them.

He grumbled to himself as he shifted his position to let the blood back into his tingling feet.

"Perhaps if this component was slightly less aerodynamic," he mused, dragging his mouse ever so slightly to widen the object on the screen. "And therefore, slightly more robust…" The AI system ran his invention back through the virtual testing site again and a new set of errors blipped on his screen. He hummed in discontent and flicked the screen to an open PowerPoint. "Many human stories echo early sentiments of the faery beliefs, so perhaps our fear of the banshees is not unique to humankind." He flicked through the notes section, amending a few typos, and then flipped back to the design suite. He changed a few parameters of the wing dimensions once more and clicked run. "I wonder if this AI test is even valid," came the frown when again, an error arose. "The efficiency isn't increasing at all… When I begin the presentation later, I should add in the statistics from the latest waste disposal inquest in Brazil. Something hard-hitting. I really don't know what more I can do on this design to counter the weight of the solar panels." Some more clicks. Perhaps a renewed attempt at the design with Perovskite solar cells instead of silicon." He opened a tab in the background and then closed it again as a reminder for when he had time. "I must tweak the waste disposal PowerPoint first. No more distractions."

"One thing at a time, Artemis," his manservant called through from the kitchen.

"Doing my best, Domovoi," Artemis called back.

"You will probably need to start getting ready soon," came the reply and a final sounding shaaak, click, dumf; the pistol was now reassembled and ready for business.

"I've got plenty of- two o'clock?!" He gaped at the clock in dismay. "It feels like I only sat down ten minutes ago."

"I've cleaned through the entire armoury, Artemis. You've been sat there longer than you realise. I don't think you really looked up when I came through with that tea." A quick glance to the side confirmed a cold drink left abandoned by Artemis' left hand, full to the brim.

"I'm rather peckish," he mumbled.

"I did ask. You said you were fine."

"Would you be able to put something together for me?"

"There's a sandwich ready out here. I was waiting for you to come out of your mind palace and back into the real world where hunger exists."

"You do more for me than I ever deserve, Old Friend."

Artemis reluctantly saved all his work and closed the computer down. He grabbed the sandwich off the side, Butler sat expectantly and clearly ready to depart imminently. All Artemis' bags were packed by the door, the car keys were in Butler's hand, and there was even a fresh scent of cologne.

"I'll be ten minutes."

Within ten minutes, Artemis was glancing at himself again in the mirror, smoothing down his suit. He opened his mouth to ask if his dinner jacket had been packed and then closed it with a smile. Of course it would be. He looked grand. Suits were absolutely his style. Jeans made his skinny frame look childish, but in a suit, the long straight trouser leg pooling at the second lace of his shoe gave the perfect impression of height. The confidence oozed from his collar: tall, slim, refined. "The suit's rather fine," he heard in his head again and couldn't swallow the smirk erupting across his face. Would she like it if she knew how arrogant the boy inside the suit was? With great effort, he managed to return his face to a curt expression. Ready for business.

"Let's go, Old Friend."

"I'm always more relaxed when faeries aren't involved in your escapades."

"You're never relaxed," Artemis countered.

"A fair point."

…

Whilst Foaley sweet-talked Number One into doing the Recon a favour, Holly was already pre-emptively battling the paperwork: and what a terrible pain it was. Just to put up one small spell aimed at one small mudboy, she'd need the council's approval. She would rather chew on her boot laces. She'd already entered her service number at least seventeen times on various sheets of paper. It was the definition of bureaucracy. If they asked her for the address one more time, she'd smack Foaley's head against the desk.

"It would be much simpler to cast the spell against all humans," Number One explained. "Targeting it against one human is like witchcraft. I don't think the Council will be too supportive."

"Let us deal with the Council," Foaley waved a hand dismissively. His hooves clicked across the tiled floor.

"You mean, let me deal with the Council?" Holly chuntered, sourly, flicking over the page of the 'Authority for Overground Spellcasting' and onto the 'Authority for Uncontracted Use of Warlock'.

"You just tell us you're able and willing, we'll sort the rest." She was ignored by the centaur.

"Can't Artemis help us with this? He's helped us before. And he doesn't need to do as much of this," he gestured with stubby claws at Holly's mountain of paper.

"If there's one thing the Council hate more than Holly Short, it's Artemis Fowl."

"Hey-,"

"They'll absolutely want this plan to go ahead. We will all be fired if we let Artemis get involved."

"But if we let Artemis get involved of his own accord," Number One pondered, "we won't be going against the Council and likely, he'll find a solution."

"Whose side are you on, little Demon?" Foaley whinnied.

"The reason is Foaley's pride," Holly said bluntly, taking selfish glee in the stamp of Foaley's fore-hooves in frustration. "He doesn't want Artemis to solve something he can't." And here comes the scathing response…

"The reason is this department gets enough flack for failed operations, cross-species canoodling and overall defiance of policy. We can't afford more."

"Not as cutting as I imagined. You're losing your edge, Foaley," Holly mused, flipping to the next page.

"And she told him they're not friends anymore."

"Really weak. Childish, almost."

"Short, I really am going to lose my patience."

"Okay, okay," Number One sighed, the noise a croaky warble coming from the demon's mouth. "If this is what you think is best, I'm happy to put a spell on the Piper's Stones area to stop Artemis from investigating. How far do you want? One hundred kilometres? Two hundred?"

"Woah, woah," said Foaley, "You want him banned from the entirety of Ireland? There'd definitely be some unworldly backlash from the mud boy if we did that."

"I think he's probably going to want to do something about it anyway when he realises," Holly mumbled, that gut instinct of hers still churning in her stomach to tell her this was a badly thought-out plan.

"The immediate vicinity is enough. I just don't want him reading the stones. Or feeling the magic energy. Or measuring it. Or touching the stones. Overall, very bad. Bad things, surely."

"Five hundred meters," Holly scribbled down as she spoke. "That will be enough."

Number One giggled, darkly. "Make it four hundred. Then he'll stay away." Holly winced at the Atlantis reference.

"Unnecessarily cruel!" Foaly cried in surprise but was cackling, nonetheless. "I like it. Make it four hundred."

"When do we leave?"

"When Holly has gotten a grip of herself and finished that paperwork. How hard can it be, come on." Foaley narrowly dodged the coaster flung in his direction. "You could have done all the paperwork virtually. I'm surprised you had them all printed on algae."

"It's partly a rebellion."

"It always is with you."

She continued, regardless of his chuntering, "I hope the Council see this much physical paperwork and realise just how ridiculous the whole process is."

"The head of the council has hair like a purple pineapple top, and he's never realised how ridiculous that is. I doubt he will flinch at your minor rebellion."

Holly couldn't help but agree. She'd done it now anyway. While Number One and Foaley chatted through the practicalities in the background and Foaley booked shuttles in advance, Holly knew trouble was arranging them a council appointment in the background. Speaking of whom, his face now popped up on Foaley's screen.

"What's the trouble, Trouble?"

"That doesn't get any funnier if you say it more," the elf grumbled, ears twitching. "You've got an appointment in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?!" Holly cried, incredulously.

"Best I could do. Ten minutes or ten days. There's not that many free slots in the calendar. They had a last-minute cancellation I bagged."

"They're happy for the documents to be uploaded virtually afterwards if they give their consent."

"I prefer to have the Council's exact words in writing," Holly replied, one eyebrow raised.

"I'm sure Foaley can record the meeting."

"That he can," the centaur agreed. "And that he will. I agree with Holly. They're all too willing to swerve responsibility when things go wrong."

"You're suggesting that this may go wrong," the elf sounded apprehensive and scratched the sim-skin patch on his nose. "Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"

"Not you as well," Holly groaned. "If we did nothing, we'd be harassed. If we do something, we're harassed."

"It's not my fault that everything to do with this Mud Boy sets my teeth on edge."

"He's changed."

"So you've told me before. I heard he was flying over the Piper's Stones recently and unwrapped some of your firewalls. Melted like chocolate candy, I was told."

"Precisely why we need the stones blocked off," Foaley snorted before any more reference to lapses in his security systems were mentioned. "We warned him to get his nose off the scent, but you know what he's like."

"A bloodhound, by all accounts. And it'll be faery blood that gets spilled if the banshee spell breaks."

"The breaking is an inevitability, I'm afraid. It's the politics and the media piece that need working on before that happens. The anti-banshee movements haven't caught wind of it yet, but you can bet it won't be long. Protest is one stop short of a riot. Fear is a powerful motivator."

"You speak quite openly of propaganda. After a seat in the council, are we?"

"That was fairly anarchistic for such an institutionalised elf as yourself, Trouble."

"It was certainly more peaceful when we had one enemy to focus on – the humans."

"The banshees aren't our enemies-,"

"Many of the People think they are. And that's what matters."

"Right," Holly interrupted. "Paperwork done. We've not got long. Foaley, you should open up the live link and get us connected. No time for a game plan."

"Before we go ahead with the plan," Number One began carefully, "we might want to find out what Artemis is doing when we cast the spell."

"…Why?" Holly frowned, that churning in her stomach starting again. Foaley looked sheepish, scratching one hoof on the floor while he worked at his computer.

"There's just one side effect to the spell. Nothing I can do about it, really."

"And what would that be?"

"Oh, nothing too disastrous. He'll feel a sharp pain in the back of his neck and might be a bit drowsy for a few seconds. We wouldn't want him to be driving or operating heavy machinery when it goes in, that's all."

"Operating heavy machinery," Foaley chuckled to himself.

Holly was furious with herself. She couldn't believe she had not thought to ask about side effects before she cast a spell on her best friend. "How sharp?" She asked. "And how long will he be drowsy for?"

"Is it enough to give Butler a heart attack? I think that Mudman's had enough scares in his lifetime." Foaley replied. Holly noticed that Trouble had silently hung up the call – he likely wanted nothing to do with any of the guilt that came with knowing these side effects.

"It's a powerful spell coming from a powerful little demon," Number One allowed his lips to turn up into a smug little beam. "Something like that entering your body can't go unnoticed. It's an ancient spell as well, no one has performed one of these for centuries. Fear naught, I wouldn't hurt him in any sort of serious or permanent fashion."

"That sounds rather intense in itself."

"Time's up folks," Foaley chimed in, obviously relieved to cut that particular interaction short. "We're going live in ten seconds. Holly, try not to say too much."

"A sharp pain in the back of his neck," she dropped her head into her hands. "Oh, Artemis, the things you force us to do."

"I'm not going to say it won't give me a small bit of satisfaction." Foaley whinnied, happily. Holly shook her head and let out a wail of frustration a second before the link went through.

…

AN:

What's with the spam PMs from people about art commissions? I've had so many. This site has changed so much in such a short space of time! Back in my day...