Salvete. Uh, yeah, I'm baaaack! I was never gone, I was just trying to figure out what to do next. I've decided. After weeks, possibly months, of panicking over this and trying to figure out whether to publish or not, I figured, why not! You have to encourage me to update though, or else I'll just be super lazy and forget. That's not good because I seriously need something to do this summer.
The Bones part takes place anywhere after the season 4 finale. This is to prevent me from getting confused.
WARNING! PLEASE READ: Seriously, this is going to be confusing, but I PROMISE you that everything will be explained! It's sort of an AU type thing, but not really. I can't say anything right now or it will give everything away. Please, just keep reading anyway. It will get better.
Disclaimer: Clearly, I don't own Artemis Fowl: a brilliant Irish man does. (God bless him; seriously, he's a genius.) I don't own Bones, either.
The man sat at the bar alone. Under his dark bangs, blue and hazel eyes were glaring into his drink. He'd been sitting there for some time. Joining him, suddenly, was a rare beauty. Auburn curls, same eye color. She ordered a glass of wine and sipped it, glancing over occasionally. He never moved.
"Are you waiting for it to jump and do tricks then?" she asked drily.
The man is annoyed. "Hardly. I was thinking, and you have rather rudely disrupted my train of thought."
"Excuse me for trying to start a friendly conversation," she muttered darkly. "You don't have a lot of friends, do you?"
"Oh, and how could you tell this?" He looks up with his harsh glare. She doesn't flinch.
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Booth leaned against the desk, waiting while his boss explained his assignment: mentor a newbie. This was going to be agonizingly painful. New FBI agents were really annoying. "Ah, here she comes now," his boss said.
A girl with short, curly hair came in. Her eye color was strange: one startling blue eye, and one cheerful hazel. They exactly matched the eyes of the new lab assistant at the Jeffersonian. The remarkable thing about her eyes, though, was the spark of determination. Her mouth turned upwards in a smile as she held her hand out to shake. "I'm Holly Short," she said.
"Special Agent Seeley Booth," he replied. "Let's get going; I have to pick up my partner."
Her curls bobbed in a nod, and she followed him out the door. Brennan would love this one, as long as Holly was careful about her word choice. . .
Holly's heels were completely silent against the tile floor of the Jeffersonian. Booth wondered how she could walk and run in them. She caught him staring at the heels and chuckled. "I've got it down to an art by now."
Booth turned away and quickly texted Brennan to be sure the whole team of squints was there when he brought Holly in.
"Is this your intern?" Brennan asked, gray eyes flashing.
"Yup. Bones, this is Holly. Holly, this is my partner, Dr. Brennan," he introduced.
"I'm surprised you don't wear a contact. Do a lot of people make fun of you?" Brennan asked.
Holly laughed. "They do until they realize I'm FBI. That shuts them up pretty quick. And anyway, I like it. It's different."
Brennan nodded, barely impressed that Holly wasn't intimidated so easily.
"Right then, this is Dr. Hodgkins, he's our bug and dirt guy, but don't say dirt. He doesn't like it," Booth said. "That's Angela, she does facial reconstructions. Cam, our boss, and. . .Where's Arty?"
"Right behind you. Please don't call me Arty," came the cool, detached voice of Artemis Fowl, the new assistant, who was having a sinking feeling in his gut. "I'm assuming this is the intern?"
"I do have a name you know," Holly said, spinning around, preparing to challenge him with her flashing eyes. He met hers steadily, betraying none of the shock. "Oh my God."
"You didn't tell me you're an FBI agent," he said, shaking her hand.
Their hands lingered together for a moment.
"You didn't tell me you were a scientist," Holly said. "I never thought I'd see you again."
"Fate, then," Artemis joked.
"You two know each other?" Booth said.
"We met once," Holly said, glaring at Artemis, warning him not to tell. He gave an amused snort and shrugged nonchalantly at Booth.
Another man joined the group.
"I'm Dr. Lance Suites, the psychologist," he said, shaking Holly's hand briefly. She introduced herself.
"Well, then, now that everyone knows each other, shall we get going? Bones?"
Brennan nodded. "Artemis, come with me. Your first crime scene."
No joy showed on his face, no sense of accomplishment. He was busy remembering when he'd first met Agent Holly Short. A hint of a grin twitched at his lips.
The car ride was mostly silent, save Brennan and Booth's arguing. Suites had insisted on coming, squashing Artemis and Holly together, so that their knees were touching. Holly played with a ring on her finger, and Artemis unashamedly stared at her auburn curls.
"Just curious, Fowl, but why are you staring at me?" Holly asked, without looking up.
"Oh, I'm reading your mind, of course," Artemis said sarcastically. He paid for his sarcasm with a light elbow in the ribs and not-very-well hidden chuckle.
They finally arrived at the farm. It was gigantic—there were at least four fields in sight. The first was of primary concern. In the middle of it was a circle of scorched earth. A cross stood in the middle of the circle. Tied to it was a single burnt body, hanging in the same position as Jesus. Booth scowled. He could already smell the religion arguments this would bring.
Artemis touched Holly's forearm. Her mouth was open in a perfect 'O.' "Sure you can handle this?" he whispered, leaning close.
Holly snapped her mouth shut and drew her arm away from him. Artemis smirked. She was being much less open to him now than she had been when they had first met.
Brennan circled the body, eyes skimming over the details. Her eyes snapped back to Artemis.
"Fowl, you want to tell me some basic details?"
Artemis nodded and stepped forward to examine the body, not at all phased by the rotting flesh.
"Victim is Caucasian female, late twenties, early thirties. Hold on. There's something in her mouth. . ."
Brennan took over here and opened the victim's mouth. She pulled out a small card. It was Greek/Roman art and depicted a woman in a white toga holding a pair of scissors and cutting a piece of thread.
"Atropos," Artemis said, glancing over the anthropologist's shoulder. "She was known as Morta in Rome. She was the Fate that cut the thread of life."
"How do you even know that?" Booth asked, ready to tease Artemis if he was also an ancient history nut.
"My cousin was obsessed with Greek mythology," he said dismissively. Booth was disappointed at the loss of opportunity.
Suites cut in. "Our killer might consider herself Atropos."
Artemis acknowledged this thought. "Perhaps. If so, there might be a possibility that this isn't an isolated incident. We could be looking at a current or future serial killer."
"Where did Holly go?" Booth asked, suddenly realizing that his intern had disappeared.
Artemis scanned the surrounding fields and caught sight of a flash of red dart into the door of the barn about half a field over. "There!"
Booth took off running. The rest followed but at a considerably slower pace. Booth reached the barn way before them. He entered gun drawn, surprised at what he saw.
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When Holly saw the body, she wondered about her intentions to work in homicide. Did she really have the stomach to handle this? Yes, her core of steel said. You can handle anything. But was that really true? She would just have to make it true.
A loud crash interrupted her thoughts. Her hand flew to the gun on her hip and she whirled to the barn. Her companions, a backwards glance told her, were all bent over something in the victim's mouth. She sprinted, which was really not easy in heels. She banged open the door. "FBI!"
It was dark, but she could see fairly well. Just as she was holstering her gun—there was no immediate threat that she could see—something landed heavy on her. Her face landed against a rock. That would leave a mark. Her attacker's hand was forcing her face into the dirt. She prayed it was a boy and jerked her elbow back. She heard a very masculine groan of pain and used the distraction to push him off. The man stumbled, but a second later, he was running for the door. She followed and pounced, landing on his back. Holly may not weigh very much, but she had velocity on her side. This alone brought him to his knees, and from there face down in the dirt. Holly was now straddling the man. She brought his arms back and held him there. Curse the FBI for not giving her handcuffs! A shadow fell over her, and she glanced up to see Agent Booth. Only a few seconds later, the rest were behind him.
"What happened?" Artemis asked, starting toward her.
"Handcuffs, I need handcuffs," Holly said. Booth tossed them to her, and she cuffed his wrists together. "I heard a crash in the barn. When I came to investigate, he attacked me."
"I didn't hear anything, and I have remarkable hearing," Dr. Brennan said. "How did you hear it from across the field?"
Holly shrugged. "You were probably focused on the body."
She got up and looked at the groaning man lying on the ground. He didn't look like a murderer. He looked more like a hung-over hobo. Looks could be deceiving, though.
End Notes: I know right now, you're wondering something. What the heck is going on with Holly and Artemis? Yeah, that's one of the things that you will find out. Please review and let me know what you think. Any suggestions or constructive criticism is welcome. Thank you for reading my story!
Holly Marie Fowl