Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Oh, who are you hiding? White Russians and dirty diamonds,

You fake your shining-

I just wish that I could see through you

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   In his mind, smoking was an atrocious habit.

   A mournfully common one, it seemed. Cigars, cigarettes, even those new e-cigs he saw the younger gentlemen brandish in rebellion of their elders- whatever push had all but eradicated the addiction in other realms of the social world, the elite he found himself among resisted. Perhaps it was a matter of tradition- his own father had smoked like a chimney. He could still recall the dim glow of it, a little pinprick of light that served as both a beacon and a warning. The hacking cough as the man had grown older. It turned voices to gravel and the living into the dead.

   It was an atrocious, awful habit. A remnant of previous generations, of the dying breed of old money, older empires. For once, Fowl Senior (or Tim, as he preferred to be called these days) was glad of a tradition’s slow decay. At least he could be thankful he never inherited that from his father. 

   It was these thoughts that came to mind as he snuck away from the near-suffocating air of the banquet towards one of the Manor’s balconies and noted with a sigh the telltale point of light. 

   Still, it was either stay inside and listen as individuals he tangentially knew talked his ear off about environmental endeavors, or tolerate the bad company in favor of getting some air, smoke-tinged as it may be.

   The figure didn’t turn as he approached- his presence was acknowledged by a subtle shift of the shoulders, a deep drag of the cigarette. As he set foot onto the stone, the individual dropped it to the ground, the spark vanishing as he ground it out beneath his heel. In one fluid movement, he had another to his lips- he lit it, and the twisting flame briefly illuminated a narrow, cunning face. Just like that, the light was gone again, and it was only then that the man turned, leaning against the railing and regarding the Fowl patriarch with eyes half-lidded. 

   “Not one for parties either, eh?”

   The hiss of the stranger’s voice startled him- Tim blinked as his vision adjusted to the dark. “Not these,” he stammered, without thought. He paused, ruminating. “These are… my wife’s inventions. I’m merely here to play host, support her. All that.”

   There was a huff, the strange man’s eyes gleaming with something approaching humor. “Well, isn’t that sweet?” There was a faint ripple of light as he shifted, the wink of gold on wrist and finger- bracelets and rings clattered like a rattlesnake’s tail. A warning, perhaps. “I suppose that makes you Artemis Fowl the First?” 

   Tim straightened. “Yes- though most call me Tim.”

   This brought a tilt to the other partygoer’s head, a curious lilt in his voice. “That’s not what I heard- in the old days, anyway.” He coughed. “Still, Tim’s fine. I’m Jon.”

   Tim winced at the mention of his former life. Of course, it was inevitable that he would eventually run into someone else from those glory days. He stepped closer, suddenly cautious- old instincts died hard, no matter how steeply the fairies’ magic had whittled away the man of before. Warily, he eyed the other man. “ Jon... Spiro. You run a tech company over in America?”- his eyes narrowed, some spark of recognition taking root. He could recall Artemis mentioning the name before. 

   Jon nodded- cigarette smoke curled through the air as he spoke. He didn’t seem to mind. “Correct.” Then, as if sensing Tim’s discomfort, he grinned, disarming, the gleam of gold even in his teeth. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met. You disappeared for a bit, right? Came back a new man.”

   That set Tim aback, both the recognition and the brazen manner in which he spoke- then again, as far as he could recall, Jon was American. Not quite old money- the manners that governed that world didn’t apply to that of the new. At least, as far as he was aware.

   He was quite out the loop these days.

   “In a manner of speaking, I suppose.” It was true enough- the magic of Artemis’s fairy friends had changed him beyond recognition. He still wasn’t sure how, though in all fairness he tried not to ruminate on it. The longer he did, the more out-of-touch he felt with the world in which he found himself. Somehow, the galas and renovations and environmental affairs confused him more than the days of old, though he refused to admit it. At least back then, it had been enemies he could see . 

Jon stepped back, giving him room to lean against the balcony as well. Tim was grateful- both for the retreating smoke and the support to lean against. His leg was beginning to ache. 

   “It seems you’ve got enough of a good thing going here,” the American muttered, gesturing vaguely at the party before them. The orange tip of the cigarette traced patterns in the air as he did. “Nice wife, big parties, plenty of money-“ he glanced upwards at the expanse of the Manor’s walls. His brow quirked. “A nice house.”

   Tim followed his gaze. The stone battlements stood dark and foreboding in the darkness. A king and his castle. “It is a nice house,” he agreed, after a moment.

   Jon shrugged, smirking. “Not nearly tall enough for my tastes.”

   He paused, then. For a second, Tim thought he caught a flash of anger in the man’s expression, a curl to his lip- the sudden shift in demeanor surprised him- and then, as quick as it had come, the restlessness vanished, and the lax expression returned to his face. How strange.

    Must have been the nicotine .

   After a second, Jon spoke again. “Heard your kid’s pretty smart too. Takes after his old man?” He took another drag from the cigarette- Tim watched, mystified as the purplish smoke wound through the air. 

   When he was finished, he ground that one into the stone as well. Thankfully, he didn’t light another.

   Tim turned his gaze back to the party, the dull chatter too faint to make out. He considered the question. Strangely, he found himself frowning. “No.” He shook his head. “Not at all, actually. Artemis is… something else.”

   Whatever came back, anyways. You buried your son. 

   He banished the traitorous thought from his mind. Artemis was still Artemis, as much as he had been changed by his experiences- and hadn’t they all come back a little different? He himself barely recognized the man he saw staring back in the mirror each morning. “He’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant- but he was never built for the life I expected of him. And I’m not built for the life he wants for me, either… I think he resents me for it. Perhaps I resent him in kind.” 

   Jon’s eyes narrowed as he listened, intrigued. Tim wasn’t quite sure why he had felt the need to say that- perhaps the stress of the evening had wound him too tightly, or perhaps it was the company he was in. It wasn’t as tumultuous, speaking to a stranger. Jon was pleasant enough to talk to- he seemed… friendly. That was the word. 

   The silence stretched on- Jon shut his eyes, as if in thought. Or perhaps he was just listening to the music that could be heard trickling through the windows and doorway. The low notes of Sinatra’s ‘My Way’ . Tim liked it well enough- the ideal it presented felt ironic, given the circumstances. 

   The quiet was welcome after such a bustling evening, though the air still smelled of smoke. 

   After a few minutes, Jon shifted- the closing notes of the song faded away. “If you don’t mind me asking…,” he eventually drawled, dark eyes gleaming. They were bluer than his own. “Why did you change your mind?”

   Tim startled, snapped back to reality. “Excuse me?”

   “This,” Jon explained, gesturing vaguely around him. “This life- good, philanthropism, happy family and all that. You used to be a cutthroat businessman. What changed?”

   That gave the Fowl patriarch pause.

   There was an obvious answer- his ordeal in the Arctic. Call it the trauma, call it a change-of-heart, call it the stark reminder of his own mortality- easily enough to warrant his shift towards the life of a family man. That should have been the answer- but even as he thought back to the minute he awoke in the hospital, he knew differently. The man that had sank into the Arctic waters had been the same that had left on The Fowl Star- what had come back, however, was not the same man. Something fundamental had been changed, something he couldn’t put his finger on. Altered, warped by magic he couldn’t hope to understand- there had been no choice in the matter. 

   “I… I don’t know.” He muttered, strangely disappointed in the revelation. 

   It was a poor answer, a paltry excuse, and he knew it-  Tim loathed the fact that he couldn’t give a better explanation. He wanted a better explanation, for himself. Something to make him feel less at-odds with the life his new morality suited. Something that made him feel like he had any agency in the matter. 

   As poor as it was, Jon considered the answer. His eyes were alight with a strange curiosity- for the first time, Tim felt like the man was actually looking at him. He wasn’t sure what to think about that.

   “Maybe…,” he muttered, that same disarming smile returning to his face. “Maybe this isn’t what you want, then?” 

   He sounded… sympathetic. What a welcome change of pace. However, before Tim could give any consideration to answering, a new voice broke through his thoughts.

   “Timmy?”

   Angeline was searching for him. It was poor timing, but he nevertheless turned to excuse himself- he attended these parties for her, after all, and he considered it his duty to be at her side when she needed him. To his surprise, Jon was already waving him away.

   “Sounds like someone’s calling. Better get going.” He didn’t seem to be offended by the interruption. If anything, the spark of humor had returned to his eyes- Tim was relieved. “Wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

   “Perhaps we’ll meet again?”, he offered, extending a hand for the other man to shake. Jon took it- his jewelry rattled as the two shook hands. 

   “I’d like that.”

   With that, Tim made his way over to his wife. She was beaming, having a wonderful time- staring out at the faces he couldn’t recognize and the harsh lights of the chandeliers, he couldn’t quite share her enthusiasm. Nevertheless, he let her lead him by the arm towards the next group of guests, summoning a winning smile. 

   Out on the balcony, Jon lit another cigarette, all traces of nonchalance gone- his eyes watching all the while. 

Chapter Text

Lift up the receiver, I’ll make you a believer... 

...

Things on your chest that you need to confess?

I will deliver, you know I’m a forgiver...

—————————

   American restaurants, as it turned out, were quite noisy.

   Of course, such statements were all relative- Tim was sure that, by comparison, it wasn’t actually all that loud. No one was speaking above polite whispers (the exception being the large group of what he assumed were very intoxicated bridesmaids some distance to his right), but the soft chatter and murmuring still struck him as fundamentally odd ‘white noise’ for a business meeting. When he had been younger, such things were typically tucked away behind office doors- discretion was of the utmost importance, especially if such business had carried the risk of violence. 

    Then again, he considered, staring around at the contented faces around him, the gauzy white light lending an ethereal quality to the peaceful scene. This isn’t exactly dangerous business, is it?  

   There were no weapons or bodyguards in sight- just calm, contented people enjoying their meals. The net worth of everyone in the room was likely incredibly exorbitant- he had no doubt he was sitting amongst those whose riches or bloodline placed them on a similar scale to his own. And yet, as strange as it seemed, he could sense no simmering hostility, no casual arrogance or age-old grudges about to boil over. Everyone seemed perfectly at ease. Nothing at all like the galas he attended, or his business meetings of old. 

    How perplexing. 

   “-alright, Tim?”

   The sudden grate of Jon’s voice startled him out of his thoughts, and Tim blinked in surprise. “I beg your pardon?” He stammered, embarrassed to be caught lost in his thoughts.

   Jon’s head was tilted, an expression of languid curiosity on his face. His bright blue eyes glimmering with amusement. “I asked how you were doing,” the man repeated, the glass in his hand tipped forward and vaguely towards Tim in gesture. Wine sloshed and threatened to spill- like with most things, the American didn’t seem to care. “Not a fan of the food?”

   Jon had already wolfishly devoured his own, and Tim realized that his plate, still-half full, might be taken for poor manners. Glancing down at what remained of his steak, Tim hurriedly shook his head, forcing himself to focus and resume the lunch as intended. “No, no- it’s lovely. Forgive me, my mind is prone to wandering.” As an afterthought, he added, “Angeline and Artemis are beginning to favor vegetarianism- in all honesty, I’m finding this little reprieve a relief. I haven’t had a decent steak in far too long.” 

   At that, Jon barked a laugh, all glimmering gold and mirth, and shrugged. “They certainly seem the type.” Sensing his little joke may have struck a nerve, he paused- when no rebuke came, the man straightened, head still inclined in question. For someone so relaxed, Tim noted, his stare was unusually intense and piercing. 

    “So, back to business- what do you think about what I’ve been telling you? I know Fowl Industries is still pretty new to the scene, but, to be frank, I think you have some potentially incredible tech at your disposal, given what you’ve shown me so far. Whoever’s designing these things for you must be some kind of genius.”

   Tim paused, unable to stop the brief furrowing of his brow, as it often did when his son was brought up in conversation. “Artemis.” He muttered. “Artemis designs them.”

   Spiro’s brow quirked, intrigued by his sudden discontent, though something in his eyes suggested that Tim’s answer had not surprised him in the least. “Well, either way, consider me interested, though I’m curious as to what you’re thinking here.” As he spoke, he began to drum his fingertips against the soft tablecloth with a restless sort of energy-  it occurred to Tim that he might be wishing for a smoke, though whether by the rules of the establishment or his own sense of mannerisms, he didn’t light one. 

   The Fowl patriarch paused, considering the question. In all truth, he wasn’t much of a company man, and certainly not much of a ‘tech’ professional. Already within the conversation alone, he had heard at least three terms he didn’t recognize, and the mercurial nature of the communications world as a whole had already made quite the impression upon him. Fowl Industries was primarily an experimental undertaking, a distraction- the idea of taking it beyond a pet project was as daunting as it was intriguing. “I’m not opposed, certainly,” he eventually muttered. “Though, I’ll be honest, I am not half as knowledgeable in these matters as my son.” His frown deepened. “He’d probably be the one to talk to.”

   He waited for the inevitable questioning, about where to find Artemis, when to meet him- these days, he spent a good portion of his conversations outside of the family answering after his son. Everyone wanted a chance to do business with the genius of the Fowls, even if Artemis continuously made it painfully clear that he was not interested in such matters. It wasn’t surprising- but it was disheartening. Tim wasn’t used to being deferred away from in favor of another. Sometimes it seemed like he had already become obsolete, one of the last of a dying breed of businessman. It was a very lonely feeling.

  Instead, to his surprise, Jon only blinked, as if considering something. Absentmindedly, the man fiddled with one of the thick golden bands adorning his wrist, the metal etched with a chevroned pattern resembling snakescales- it clattered against its neighbor. “You know,” he eventually said, tone softening slightly- in sympathy or deep thought, Tim couldn’t tell. “I’m hosting a dinner soon- a little gathering I have every year. Most of the board will be there, as well as a few of my tech professionals.” He nodded towards Tim, brow raised. “I’m sure they would explain it better than I ever could.” 

   His voice dropped to a whisper, all humor returning. “I’m not much of a ‘tech guy’ myself. I still have my old Walkman- somehow, it’s still kicking.” 

   Tim didn’t answer, still trying to process exactly what Jon was saying. “Is this… some kind of meeting?”

   Spiro must have taken his confusion as hesitance. “Oh, no, no, nothing like that,” he blustered. “It’s a celebration. A little something I host every year on the anniversary of the Needle’s completion. It’s like… one of your house parties, I suppose? It’s not a business affair, if that’s what you’re thinking, but the people there might be more suited to explaining the whole ‘communications’ bit than I could. Then you can make informed decisions.” His voice lowered again, as if coaxing a startled cat down from a high perch. “Besides, there’s gonna be loads of alcohol… if that’s your thing, of course.”

    Then you can make informed decisions. The offer felt unusually generous- some of that old suspicion returned, and Tim fought to keep his features lax, mirroring Jon’s own. “So, you’re inviting me to a… party?” It seemed so informal- a strange way to go about such discussions. Normally, in Tim’s mind, it was better to do business one-on-one, on home territory if possible (and neutral territory if not). An exercise in power.

   For a second, there was an odd gleam in Spiro’s eye, the flash of a much cleverer creature than Tim had originally given him credit for. “Is a show of wealth really all that different from a show of power?” he challenged, peering across at Tim over the rim of his glass. The light reflected red against the gleam of his golden teeth. “These days, it's a lot more worthwhile to make friends than enemies, I assure you. Easier, too- if you know what you’re doing.” 

   Tim felt something within him stir at the sight. A sudden realization, perhaps, that the type of man he was talking with wasn’t all that unfamiliar- he had certainly seen a similar gleam in the eyes of both former friends and enemies alike, back when he had been at the height of his own power. And yet, he didn’t feel like he was being threatened. This wasn’t a snarl, a baring of teeth- merely a smile that showed them, and he found himself suddenly intrigued not in the business that he had come here to discuss, but the other man himself. 

   This… this was something he knew.

   But before he could ponder it further, the moment passed, and Jon’s face slipped back into an easygoing smile. Humor returned to his gaze- his tone turned to one of gentle teasing. “Besides, if I’m being honest, Tim? You look like you could do with a good party.” 

   Tim blinked, mild irritation snuffed out by the uncomfortable realization that Jon’s quip likely wasn’t all that far from the truth. He felt miles away from the man from before, who gladly indulged in the finer aspects of a life of riches, without worry or guilt- providing it didn’t interfere with his reputation. 

   Perhaps that was why he found himself not feeling the slightest hint of hesitation upon answering. “Consider me interested,” he said. In a quieter tone, he muttered. “At least it’s not another fundraising gala.” 

   “Yeah, no offense to whoever planned yours, Tim, but it sucked ,” Spiro snickered, his face brightening in surprise when Tim only huffed a laugh in agreement. “Champagne and ‘polite conversation’ doesn’t cut it- I have never seen a more boring room of people in my life.” He threw his arms backwards. “And I’m old, Tim.” 

   For the first time in his recent memory, Tim found himself struggling to hold back a laugh, Jon’s good humor surprisingly infectious. “That… that is true, yes,” he nodded, ignoring the other man’s huff of mock-indignation. “Oh, I do loathe those things- for all the ‘connections’ they offer, I always find myself wishing I had spent the evening elsewhere.”

   “Why have them, then?” 

   Tim’s face fell slightly, the jovial mood suddenly withering as he let out a brief sigh. 

   “It… It makes Angeline happy. I want to see her happy.” He glanced upwards- Jon was staring at him, curious at his sudden shift in mood. “They’re an unfortunate necessity of the life I live now.”

   Considering his answer, Jon’s eyes narrowed. There was a subtle shift to the air, the lighthearted tone of their former conversation fading into something almost… contemplative. “You know, you never did answer my question.”

   He leaned forward, arms resting against the rim of the table, and tilted his head. “How does a man like you decide that he wants to change- so much so that he upends his entire life to do it?” A strange intensity sparked in his eyes, lent force to his movements. Gold glittered as he spoke. “Don’t tell me it was your wife- don’t tell me it was your kid, it wasn’t. Don’t give me that ‘I nearly died’ bull either. A man like you, who had what you had, wouldn't have lost that power for anything, come hell or heaven- so what was it?”

   Tim blinked, the question burning in his mind no less frustrating than it had been the night of their first meeting. It was such an irritating realization, to come to recognize that the reason he had nothing to answer with served as the same force that had irrevocably interwoven itself into the very fabric of his life. It always came back to the People, and Artemis, and the convoluted series of circumstances that had ended with his own resurrection- and left him a stranger to himself. 

   Their influence was maddening and never-ending, it seemed- he had no explanation, and so he found himself offering the only answer he had, as ridiculous as it sounded. 

   “I suppose one would call it magic.”

   It struck him, then, just how ridiculous of an answer that was. Who in their right mind believed in magic, these days- outside of those that had been particularly unfortunate enough to encounter the People? He winced- he may very well have just lost the respect of the only person he had felt was taking him seriously since his plunge into the Arctic Ocean. 

   “Magic? So you’re the superstitious type?”

   Spiro’s voice, to Tim’s surprise, didn’t have a single hint of mockery- only curiosity. He stretched, lion-like, and blinked. “You and me both.” he whispered, winking.

   Tim’s mouth moved before he could think to stop.

   “It’s not superstition.”

   He said it with such burning conviction, surprising even himself. For a second, there was silence, Spiro’s brow rising at the statement- his eyes flickered with a glimmer of belief, like something had just been proven to him. The corners of his mouth twitched into a wide, toothy smile. 

   “Oh?” Languidly, he leaned forwards, looking for all the world like a cat that had finally caught sight of a particularly elusive mouse. “By all means,” he purred. “Enlighten me.”

   Later, Tim would grow to regret this decision- the weight of what he had done would finally catch up with him, and he would realize that he had not only betrayed what small scraps of trust his son had hesitantly given him, but that of the People as well. He was exactly what the fairy folk feared- a man with the power to wreak horrific destruction, if the knowledge he shared found its way to those who would use it for evil. 

   But in the moment, all Tim felt was the glorious, overwhelming relief of being believed- and a small, dark satisfaction at the idea of the secret Artemis had left him to bear being no longer his alone. The People had already nearly revealed themselves, by the hand of one of their own, on the day his world had stopped spinning- given all the harm they had wrought to his family, all the deception, all the death…. What obligation did he have to keep their secrets? 

   Who said Artemis alone got to choose who knew and who didn’t, the terrible truth of what lay beneath mankind’s feet? 

   There was no one around to stop him- Jon looked so eager, something like awe in his eyes-

   Before he could stop himself, Tim began to speak.