For everyone who likes my usual style, you’ll probably hate this. It’s nasty, gritty, and downright OOC. But for such an explosive and occasionally violent relationship as Artemis and Holly’s, surely they wouldn’t have a nice, normal break up and remain good friends afterwards. But what can I say?

You’ll just have to decide for yourself. - Smidgie

Disclaimer: Eoin Colfer + Artemis Fowl ownership. Me + Artemis Fowl drabbles.

Here, again?

Well, you know I’m always one for a challenge, Artemis. And I really don’t mind that you want to play this game again. Just let me take off my wings, Foaly will kill me if I bring them back all dented like last time.

So how’s your trophy wife? I hear she’s pregnant again. That would be your fifth brat by now, wouldn’t it? Yes, I’ll take off my shoes before I step onto the carpet. Wouldn’t want the wife to notice the mud stains, would we, Mud Boy?

Oh, you don’t like that nickname, you never did. Still, I’m not the one who beats up women, am I? All that repressed anger of yours, Artemis, have you considered therapy? Perhaps there’s some insane doctor out there who can shrink even you down to size – reduce you to a set of values, isn’t that what you said? Make you as small as me?

Artemis, by the gods. You threw a decent punch. Finally, it’s only been thirty years since we’ve met.

You still fight like an old woman. Come on, Artemis, I’m a hundred-odd and I’m still quicker than you. Is your arthritis playing up again?

No, I don’t know why I’m here. Do you know why you’re here, what you get out of beating me up aside from whatever sick kicks you always used to get from my pain? I remember that cell, you know. I remember everything.

Does your wife know you’re with me? Admit it, you put more passion into hurting me than you do screwing her. I bet you don’t even touch her aside from to give her more children to keep her busy and distracted so you can do what you like.

I bet you touch me more than you touch her. I bet your sex life is practically non-existent. Well, ours wasn’t. Do you remember back then, Artemis? Do you remember screwing me on top of your father’s desk in his study?

You had passion then. Where did it go? Did the trophy wife steal it all away with her boring bedroom behaviour?

Come on, hit me again, you bastard.

I’d rather you break my bones than my heart. But you couldn’t even do that. You hate it that I’ve moved on and you can’t.

Bye, Artemis. Gotta fly.

Maybe next time you’ll actually have the balls to kill me.

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