Chapter Text
Adjusting to this new body had been nothing if not an exercise in patience. But patience was something evidently innate, as Artemis the second (third?) kept any doubts well to himself. Butler was the one who oversaw his physical therapy. His afternoons were spent refreshing his understanding of the world in his study. His education came easier than his physical development. It was a reprieve to settle his exhausted body by the fire and dig into a book on physics, philosophy, or classic literature.
And he was hardly without company. His parents hardly let him out of their sight for a good month- to say nothing of the Butlers and the twins. Beckett and Myles treat him like a jungle gym (he understands that this is what big brothers are for, or so Juliet and Butler tell him.) They keep him busy, too, dragging him to the 'speriment table and outside to identify bugs with Beckett. And keeping Beckett from eating too many of them. With his weary body and scattered mind, sometimes The Clone of Artemis Fowl feels ancient. He was quick to exhaustion these days. On more than one occasion Butler had come in to help Artemis to bed, and found him passed out in his recliner with the five year olds in his arms.
High school is one thing he wont budge on. "I'm legally an adult," he tells his mother firmly (and oh, how he hates to be firm with her,) "And there is nothing a formal education could give me now. For goodness' sake, mother, I'm even socializing." He tells her, gesturing to the fairy-com on his desk. Calls from his fairy friends came with some regularity. No. 1 was especially prone to social calls.
But for all he tells Angeline, he is still a fifteen year old. The more he learns of himself, the more frustrated he becomes. As the world slowly rights itself, he's forced to attend with the limitations of treating the human body like a sourdough starter.
Building strength had once seemed like the greatest obstacle. But the tone comes with time, until he's sure that he's surpassed the strength he'd held in his original body. Artemis Fowl would never be a muscle-head, but at the very least he can sprint a few meters without feeling like he's going to pass out. His mother seems pleased, at least.
No, it's the coordination that fails him. There's something with this body of his that doesn't want to listen- at least that's what it feels like. He reaches automatically for the cup of tea on his desk, and his fingers fumble. For a moment it's as if he's trying to will numb sausages to make a fist, and the tilt spills Earl Grey onto his book. Frustrating, but hiccups are to be expected... if only it ended there. It's the fine motor skills he notices the most. Typing usually goes well, as long as he runs a spell checker afterwards. It catches most of his fumbling errors. Sometimes when he's walking he lists too close to a door frame and bruises his shoulder, or his legs don't get the memo re: 'One in Front of the Other.'
It's something he tells himself will get better. He ignores Butler's sharp eyes that catch every stumble. They can't expect him to recover so easily, can they?
He's sitting at the dinner table with his family this evening. He picks at his plate slowly, half-listening to conversation about the farmlands that have been given to the population surrounding the manor. Something was always in development. The Fowls had their own farms, now- more than just scenic orchards or a personal vineyard. On mild days like today Artemis would join his family in tending them, though he was still the first to retire to the air conditioning. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the time together, but it'd been a long day, and really he just wanted to get back to Watership Down. He's considering if translating novels to Gnommish would be decent practice when his ears pick back up on the dinner conversation.
"... could put something new there. I think it's... well, it's unnecessary, isn't it? Outlived its use."
"I couldn't agree more." Angeline rushes to agree with Artemis Senior. "It's been bothering me for a while now; I think it'd be healing for all of us to be rid of it. We could plant something up there, maybe a few trees or a small garden? Some tasteful statues would be welcome. We can close that dark chapter of our lives once and for all."
"I was actually thinking it might be a good spot for some solar panels. We can route the power back to the UV lights in the greenhouse." His father adds.
Artemis notices then how quiet the rest of the table has gotten. Rather, the Butlers have both gone quiet and still. Beckett is using the salt and pepper shakers as dolls, walking around his plate, but Myles' eyes are on their parents... and then slowly turn to his older brother. He's got his Puzzling Out face on- the one when he's encountering a new problem for the first time and is giving it deep thought. But his mouth is in an anxious frown. When Artemis looks at his oldest friend he can see unease on his face. What had he missed? His mother steamrolls on, not reading the room.
"Oh, I wouldn't mind that... Maybe we could still add some shrubs. Just to add a little life." Angeline smiles bitter-sweetly at her husband, who puts a hand over hers. They share a look that speaks of some deep understanding Artemis isn't privy to. Angeline turns her hand over to clasp her husband's.
Myles is still looking at him with furrowed brows and a frown on his chubby face. Juliette looked tensed to speak, but was holding herself back. She, too, looks over at Artemis like she's expecting something from him.
"I'm sorry," He finally says, looking at his parents. "I think I missed something. What are we renovating?"
You could hear a pin drop. In absence of pins, one could hear the clink of glass as Beckett's shakers danced around his juice cup. Angeline squeezes Artemis Senior's hand again as she looks at him. "We were discussing renovating the hilltop." She says with a smile that doesn't sit right. "Since your recovery, it feels... like a weight, doesn't it? I hate looking out the window and seeing it. My whole stomach turns inside out. I think it's time something was done." She looks a little glassy-eyed even thinking about 'it.'
Just like that, his exhaustion leaves his body. A jolt runs through him as if he's been doused in ice water. Everyone sees him sit up, eyes widening. Timmy is quick to jump in.
"It'd be best to revitalize the area for everyone's peace of mind. Nobody needs the reminder staring them in the face every morning... We should live in the now." He says calmly. Like it's fact. Like they're not talking about-
"You want to get rid of my grave." He says, disbelief plain on his face. His mother looks stricken.
"Arty, that's not fair." She says, one hand rising to her lips. "It's not your grave anymore."
"Like hell it isn't." The metal of his fork is cutting into his white-knuckled hand.
"Artemis." His father says sharply. The tone is something that is unused, but familiar. Like unearthing a journal from his childhood. He knows that tone.
"Butler, Juliet," Artemis the second wills his voice to stay even. "I think the twins are finished eating. Why don't you take them to the kitchen for dessert?"
Slowly the Butler siblings stand, having an entire conversation in a glance. Beckett immediately keys into the promise of dessert and is up and bouncing on their heels. Myles slides out of his chair with an anxious expression, looking between the "adults."
"Artemis should come get dessert too." He says, anxiously wringing his fingers. "Juliet made cake." He'd gotten to lick the spoon that afternoon. His big brother's eyes soften as he turns to look at him. His slender hand tousles his hair, but Myles isn't comforted. He insists on a hug, frowning into his brother's shirt.
"Save me a slice for later." He gives him a reassuring squeeze before Myles pulls away. "I need to talk to Mother and Father."
Myles isn't convinced. "Can you read to us for bedtime? I want more of Despereaux..." He holds onto Artemis' sleeve in the hopes that he'll give it up and follow them. His small hand is covered by his brother's larger, colder one. Arty was always cold.
"I promise I'll be up in time for bed." He gives him a reassuring smile. "Go on, don't keep Beckett waiting."
"Come on, squirt." Juliet holds out a hand to her charge, Beckett behind her is barely allowing himself to be restrained in Butler's arms. Artemis suspects the only reason he's doing so is because he likes being tall. "Let's go get that cake. We worked too hard for it to go to waste." She guides him away and out of the room, their brothers close behind. Before he follows her, Butler puts one hand on Artemis' shoulder. He doesn't envy his charge's situation. When the dust settles he'll do whatever he can to see that his wishes are respected. Artemis had always handled the battleground against his parents by himself.
The quiet is deafening. His parents stare at him. He stares back.
He thinks he deserves an award for keeping his voice calm when he breaks the silence, "We aren't getting rid of my grave."
"Please, think about what we're saying. You've never been an impractical child, Artemis. Surely you can see reason here." Timmy says. "Put yourself in our shoes. Burying you was the hardest thing I've ever done- Russia included." His wife tightens her grip on his hand.
"And I'm sorry for that." Artemis pushes his plate away from himself, all but throwing his fabric napkin onto the table beside it. "I can quite relate, having to grieve the loss of my father at such a young age." He doesn't miss the hurt on his father's face.
"As difficult as that was-" Father keeps talking even as Artemis scoffs. "It is nothing compared to the loss of your child. We lost you, and you came home, and we lost you again. Twice now we've had to grieve you." His piercing blue eyes are full of emotion. It makes Artemis uncomfortable. His father had only ever been stoic in their arguments, growing up. He had been the one to teach Artemis to be steady and firm. Angeline is already crying.
"I died." He shakes his head at them disbelievingly. "You grieved me, because I died. You don't-" He holds up a hand, as if to keep them at bay. "I'm sorry, my answer is no. We aren't bulldozing over my grave. I can't believe we're having this conversation."
"But it's not your grave!" Angeline says. "You're alive, Arty. I can't stand being haunted by it any longer. I wont." She wipes her eyes. "I love you so much, my baby, please don't make me live with my son's grave outside my window."
"It isn't your decision!" He shouts, startling all three of them. His heart is racing in his chest. Has he ever spoken to his parents like this? Mother looks afraid of him. It's been years since she's looked at him like this. He almost expects her dinner plate to go flying into the wall. Launched like a glass of cucumber water at her 'servant.'
His hands shake and he grips the tablecloth to steady them.
"For God's sake, Artemis." Father snaps at him, putting an arm around Angeline. "Lower your voice. Do you want the twins to hear?" He hisses.
"You two thought it was a fine topic to bring up at dinner."
"We just want to put it behind us, Arty." Mother begs him. Fat tears roll from her beautiful eyes. He hates making her cry. "The boys have known you as a headstone longer than as their living, breathing big brother. It's confusing enough for them. Let's be done with it."
Guilt and anger pool in his stomach. A moment of self doubt has him questioning if he's being unreasonable. He feels like the rug has been pulled out from under him. 'No. This is wrong. It's wrong.'
"... Have you considered, for even a moment," He finally says, chest heaving even though he's just stood from his chair, "That you aren't the only ones who are grieving my death?"
His mother looks lost for a moment, looking at Timmy and then back to Artemis. "I don't understand. That's what I'm talking about, the boys-"
Artemis runs a trembling hand over his face. The boys. "I can't do this right now." He realizes. "I'm going to go haunt my study, if anyone else needs me. Goodnight." He says with finality, and makes his quick exit before either can stop him.
---
They don't talk for days. Of course, they exchange small pleasantries when they pass each other in the house, but Artemis doesn't miss the way they look at him. Both of his parents seem at a loss for what to do about him. Every morning he leaves his bedroom and looks first outside to their property. A white slab of marble reassures him that he is exactly where he's meant to be.
His kinship to his corpse is something akin to how he regards Orion. They aren't quite him, but are extensions of himself. Or, perhaps in the case of Orion, they were the result of a propagation. 'The same could be said of this body, I suppose.' His DNA had been taken like a plant clipping and grown into what was technically the same plant, but also...
Wasn't.
His fingers flex over his keyboard. All the right length. He wiggles all ten (and only ten) of his toes in his loafers. When he meditates his mind is quiet. It's... fine.
He had his fathers eyes. Both of them, again. But he'd gotten a little used to seeing hazel staring back in the mirror, he thinks. When he passes the fridge downstairs, a portrait of their family stares back.
My Family
Beckett Fowl
Crayon on A4
It's all five of them, and the Butlers. Artemis the second has a black shirt, a very big smile, and two different colored eyes.
In every way, his body didn't know the last fifteen eighteen years happened.
...
Hence the exercising.
Artemis slips into his tennis shoes for a walk. They'd become useful for clearing his head; and Frond, his mind needed airing out. He shuts the door behind him and steps out onto the path leading around the grounds. To the right he can hear the sound of his family.
From up on the steps he can see what the ruckus is. Artemis Senior is on the ground with the twins, wrestling. It still shocks him every time. Artemis' father did not wrestle, or roll in the dirt, or tickle his children until they cried uncle. He didn't bring them outside just to enjoy the good weather. On top of that, for the worst years of his life his mother had avoided the sunlight like a wraith. Yet here she sat in a sunhat, drinking lemon water on a picnic blanket like all was right with the world.
He walks the other direction.
He doesn't have a goal, really. Artemis is lost in thought as his feet carry him around the back of the home. He walks past the thick protective walls of his home and over the green, past the spiral of coral fairy roses. They still bob in the wind there, though he hasn't decided if the influence was magical, supernatural, or simply how the earth grew there now. Maybe he'd find a way to test their resilience and find some answers.
It doesn't surprise him when the hill comes into view, though. He wishes he was only walking up there to test his latest prototype of the solar plane. Much like his investigation of the roses, that project was also on hiatus.
So he climbs.
A desire path has worn itself into the dirt between the manor western gate and this stone. There are dead flowers rotted away in the vase.
Artemis Fowl II
1988-2007
Beloved son, brother, and friend
Gone, but never forgotten
...
He can't stop laughing.