Day Sixteen: Thanks (9th of August)

Emily thanked the cab driver, making sure he got an extra pound for his troubles. The driver grumbled audibly with a, “One lousy pound? Now my kids can go to college!”

Emily swiveled around, glaring at him. “What did you just say?” The driver curled his upper lip and avoided her heated gaze. “Nothin’, miss, have a good day.” Emily nodded in response, her glare never wavering. Chivalry is dead, no matter what people say, she thought angrily, slamming the car door. She ignored his startled Hey! and followed the gravel pathway leading towards the front doors of the manor. Emily pushed the doorbell and took a cautious step back, fiddling with her fingers.

Church bell like chimes sounded from all across the manor, making Emily take another step backwards. She shifted her gaze from the double wooden doors to the towers looming over her. The manor looked like a picture cut straight from one of her folksy fairytale books, trap doors and all. She didn’t feel very comfortable staring at it; it was just so big and proper. Suddenly her caprice jeans and faded Beatles shirt seemed out of placed- it felt like she didn’t belong here. Emily crinkled her nose and chided herself for being so intimidated by something that needn’t be intimidating.

She heard a distant, “No, no! I’ll get it!” and relaxed. Just because Myles and his lot lived in a place like this didn’t mean they needed to act so superior and judgmental around those who lived in places more... humble. I mean, thought Emily, chewing her lower lip, there was Beckett at least. He was normal- well, as normal as a Fowl could get anyway.

The double doors swung open and a woman with a mane of auburn hair peered at her, looking a bit confused. She was shorter than Emily (six inches shorter, actually) and she wore something that greatly surprised her.

She wore ratty jeans and an old band shirt, just like Emily. The woman opened her mouth and then closed it. Emily extended her hand uncertainly, cocking her head to the side. “Err- Juliet, is it?”

The woman broke into a pleasant smile, revealing two rows of straight white teeth. “Oh no- Juliet is somewhere in Mexico, she-“ the woman cut herself short, looking as if she were trying to remember something. “Nope. I can’t remember why- something about wrestling?” She smiled apologetically at Emily, who was thoroughly disgruntled (the nipping cold could do that to a person). “Just one sec,” she told her. Emily coughed into her hands, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The woman laughed, wincing. “Sorry! Sorry! Come in, you’re Beckett’s friend, aren’t you? That idiot is somewhere around here. Come in! You must be freezing!”

“Thanks,” Emily said, looking at the strange American (her accent didn’t go unnoticed, mind you) woman gratefully. The woman ushered her inside, and Emily was soon engulfed in a dry warm haze. She let out a satisfied moan and dusted the snow lightly from her shoulders. The woman lead her into a series of several different staircases and hallways, giving Emily’s head an excuse to swirl with perplexity. How did I get up here again?

They halted at an ordinary wooden door and the woman twisted the knob, gesturing Emily to slip inside.

Emily arched an eyebrow. The room was huge.

It was actually multiple rooms squashed into one big living area. A large television screen dominated an entire wall, the news blaring through the speakers. A miniature stainless steel kitchen was nestled behind a bar counter, countless whiskey and scotch bottles lined up against the black marble wall. Emily then noticed the woman’s dirty apron. She peeped around, trying to spot Myles’ or Beckett’s familiar heads. Someone was sitting on one of the couches, staring grimly at the screen. He was pale all over with shocking black hair, and his face was inches away from the screen, his dark eyebrows knitted together in uninterrupted concentration.

“Arty? Someone’s here. It’s-“ the woman turned to her, “What was your name again?”

“Emily,” she replied, smiling a bit sheepishly. The woman nodded, giving her a small smile. “Emily’s here- for Beck, I think.”

Artemis broke his concentration and turned his gaze to Emily. “Good evening, Emily,” he greeted her smoothly, despite being surprised by her presence in his home.  She smiled in return, tugging at her ponytail.

“Love, this is Emily. Myles’ Emily,” he said after turning his full attention to the American woman. Love? Maybe this person was Artemis’ fiancé? Maggie something? Emily racked her brain, trying to think of her last name.

The woman glanced at Emily, startled. “This is Emily Faucet? The same Emily Faucet who gave Myles a reason to sulk in his lab and-“

Artemis rushed over to his fiance’, giving her a look that told her to be quiet. Maggie, please don’t say anything.

Her eyes flashed, annoyed, and she arched both her eyebrows. Why? She’s making him miserable and she could do with a good telling off.

Artemis barely shook his head, a gesture only Maggie was able to pick up. Don’t.

Emily felt her neck burn, and she stared at the ground. The same Emily Faucet who gave Myles a reason to sulk in his lab?  What the hell did that mean?

The doors suddenly flew open, and Beckett barged in the room, his t-shirt a muddy mess. “That was brilliant. Arty, I need your help with this old motorcycle I found lying around the storage. I think it was dad’s, not really sure, but-“

Maggie coughed, interrupting Beckett’s excited chatter. “Beck, Emily Faucet is here,” she snipped, jerking her head slightly towards Emily’s direction. Emily frowned. This person suddenly seemed to not like her very much.

Beckett looked like he just noticed Emily, his face splitting into a wide grin. “Em, hey!” he said warmly, walking over to her. He suddenly stopped, frowning. “Erm- let’s talk? Outside?” Emily titled her head to the side, more confused than ever, but nodded nonetheless.

Beckett closed the door just after Emily came out. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” he began, sounding uneasy. Emily raised a questioning eyebrow. “You mean Myles?” Beckett nodded, and then pointed at a nearby spiral staircase. “Just keep going down, okay?”

“Right. Yeah. Whatever,” she said, waving a careless hand. She rounded up on him, willing him to meet her gaze. With some difficulty she managed it. “But that’s not the point. Beckett, what’s wrong? Why does that woman hate me?” Beckett’s frown deepened. “You mean Maggie? Oh, uh, she’s like that with newbies, is all.”

Emily shook her head, and crossed her arms stubbornly. “No. She was nice when she opened the door. Now she stares at me as if I killed her brother,” she argued, sighing testily. If she has a brother, that is, she thought offhandedly. “She said something about me being the same person who ‘gave Myles a reason to lounge around his lab...?’  Why is he so upset?”

Beckett ran a quick hand through his fair curls, avoiding her stern gaze. “Let’s just go down the stairs, and you can talk to him.” Emily grumbled, annoyed, but she grudgingly obliged.

They reached the bottom of the stony steps, and Beckett flipped the switch. Dozens of torches flickered to life, illuminating several different paths that lead towards several different places. Emily kneaded her brows together. “Is this the same passageway we were in two weeks ago?” she asked, sweeping her gaze at the rough stonewalls. “Yep,” he nodded, turning left. “Everything’s underground here. This place is really, really old. My ancestors used to hide out here whenever a natural disaster came along or that time when Ireland was being invaded by outsiders or whatever,” he continued, brushing his fingers against the walls.

Emily didn’t want to admit it, but suddenly the place felt more ominous. More mysterious. The Fowl family was older than she thought. She suddenly imagined a Victorian aged version of Myles and Beckett and the rest of them hiding out here, dressed in puffy shirts and gray wigs. Emily cracked a smile at the thought. There was nothing to be scared off.

They reached Myles’ lab door, and Beckett rapped the door loudly. “Myles! Myles! Myles! Myles! Myles! Myles! Myles!”

The door swung open, and a very disheveled looking Myles peered out, looking vexed and not at all in the mood for anything. “What?” he snapped, playing the sulky teenage boy. Emily did a double take. Myles rarely ever snapped at Beckett, even if he was being annoying. Beckett ignored his brother’s unnerving tone, and smiled. “Emily’s here,” he said simply. Myles turned to look at Emily, his eyes briefly flashing hurt. “What is it?” he repeated more quietly, his lips curling into a sneer.

Emily raised a surprised eyebrow at the older twin. “We haven’t talked in two weeks, that’s what,” she said clearly, folding her arms defiantly.

Beckett hid a smile as he stared from Emily to Myles, waiting for his brother’s reaction. “And why would we do that? Clearly you aren’t bothered with me at all, so why pretend we’re even friends?” he responded coldly, his face utterly composed and devoid of emotion. Emily noticed the dark shadows under his eyes, and it finally struck her how pale he was. Beckett groaned. Taking Emily by the hand, he pried Myles’ hands away from the door and slipped in, Emily hot at his heels.

“Beckett!” Myles yelped, scowling at him. “I never invited you in, if you haven’t noticed,” he scoffed, extracting his rubber gloves from his hands. He dumped it in the trashcan and made his way towards his desk, shuffling a few papers here and there so as to distract him from dealing with the people in front of him.

“Myles- what the hell is wrong with you?”

Myles snapped his focus from the papers, eyeing Emily with great distaste. “Nothing is wrong with me, thank you very much. Everything is sound. Everything is just dandy,” the dark haired twin almost spat, glaring at his papers. Beckett backed away slowly, not liking where this conversation was going. He unnoticeably slipped behind the doors, saving himself from the volcano that was about to explode.

Emily laughed loudly, narrowing her eyes. “Clearly not!” she said, her voice heightening to a shout. 

“Why are you so mad at me! I didn’t do anything!” Myles spluttered, abandoning his papers and slammed his hand on his desk. “Of course you didn’t do anything, because you’re Emily and you never do anything wrong!” he hissed, not daring to meet her eyes. Emily blinked in surprise. What in the world was wrong with him?

“Tell me, Myles. I swear if you’re just p-m-s-ing then I’m going to whip your arse so hard it’ll bleeds,” she said, her eyes vicious daggers. Myles sighed thickly and sat down on his chair, silent. Emily sighed as well and sat down across him, trying to get him to meet her gaze. Myles refused to do such thing, and instead focused on his periodic table desktop screen saver he set up not too many nights ago, replacing his Faucet’s Bookstore background he had before.

Emily reached out and lifted his chin so they were eye to eye, “Myles,” she said more softly, her eyes visibly curious and demanding for answers. Myles finally looked up, hazel locking with olive. He wrested her delicate fingers from his chin and sighed, looking extremely tired at that moment.

It was silent for a few agonizingly slow moments. Emily could have sworn she felt the minutes stretch into hours, but she forced herself to be patient with the man in front of her.

He finally looked up, dropping his tense shoulders. “Two weeks ago I saw you with Grant MacPeterson,” he said his name as if it were acid on his tongue. “And you two were...” he looked helplessly at her, his eyes very vulnerable. Emily raised her eyebrows, willing him to go on. Myles sighed impatiently, and actually squirmed in his seat.

“You two were...” he repeated, grimacing. “Oh. Yes, we were,” she finished for him, not seeing the point of where this was going. Myles curled and uncurled his fingers, clearly agitated with her lacking tone. “You weren’t supposed to,” he said quietly, not looking at her.

Emily quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean I ‘wasn’t supposed to’?” she asked, sounding almost incredulous. Myles furrowed his eyebrows together, anger flashing in his eyes. “You were my date, Emily!” he said, his words rushed.

I was his date?

“How was I your date?” she asked uncertainly, feeling rattled. Myles arched an eyebrow. “At dinner you... held my hand... and you said you were my guest,” he said softly, emphasizing on the word my. Emily nibbled at her lower lip, feeling very uncomfortable as the awkward silence settled in. “I thought you invited me so your mum would quit badgering you about the no guest issue,” she said feebly, refusing to meet his gaze. “I- well- she...” the normally eloquent Myles struggled for coherent wording. He coughed into his fist, hoping he could dispel the heat creeping up his neck and out of his system. 

“You were my guest for the evening, Emily. It started out as a coy to please my mother but then at the lab...” he trailed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “...At the lab we were canoodling-“

Emily suddenly stood up, her breathing shallow. “Canoodling?” she repeated loudly, hiding her face in hands. “We- we weren’t canoodling!” Myles nodded, staring at her skeptically. “You told me to sit down by you and then you did that... thing –Myles winced uncomfortably- with my neck,” he finished weakly.

Emily replayed that night in her mind, flicking the unnecessary memories from her head. She shook her head, biting her lower lip. “I don’t remember that bit, mate.”

Myles sighed long and slow and looked desperately at her, hoping she would remember so he couldn’t be the only one who recalled the memory. “But it happened,” he insisted, nodding his head, “After you met Professor Primate- it happened. You ate the chocolate truffles and...”

Emily could see that something occurred to Myles; he nodded furiously, mumbling things like ‘of course’, and ‘really it was right in front of my face! How couldn’t I have seen that!’

Emily brushed off the sudden realization, trying to get to the point, the real reason she was here. “Grant was being real friendly and you had to knock him  out cold, and that’s a bit inhumane, actually so-“

“Grant was being friendly?! Friendly?!” he repeated cynically, throwing his hands in the air. “He was ravishing you, the pig-“

“Ravishing me? Clearly you’re mental!”

Myles narrowed his eyes now, crossing his arms. “Oh, and I suppose you had a pleasant chat about me, yes? ‘Myles is so pathetic and skinny, he’s not good at sports!’” he spat, his face twisting into a sneer. Emily laughed loudly. “What the hell are you talking about?” she stopped abruptly, staring at him in disbelief. “Is this why you’re mad? Because you thought we were talking about you?”

Myles opened his mouth and then closed it, waiting for her to continue.

She laughed again, her mouth twisting into what could only be described as mockery. “We were talking about his little brother, you idiotic prat! His little brother!” she shouted, slamming her bag on the table, causing the pencils to fall on the ground. Myles gaped at her, startled at this claim. “You were talking about his little brother,” Myles repeated lamely, flushing a brilliant crimson. “Yes, you pig headed idiot! I would never talk about you like that, Myles! I’ve only just discovered your human side! God- you’re just impossible!” She was face to face with him now, her eyes glaring at his.  

Myles furrowed his eyebrows together, fuming. “You know what Emily, you’re just too unpredictable. I can’t do this anymore.”

She rounded up on him, narrowing her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? Can’t do what?”

Myles sighed and looked up, looking at her in a completely new different light. “Grant-“

“Grant is really is nice,” she snapped, rubbing her forehead. Myles laughed. “Pea-brained MacPeterson is a malicious and foul pigheaded prat,” he said with a firm nod of his head. Emily scoffed. “No he isn’t. He’s sweet and he-“

“And he what?” Myles interrupted, “he understands you? Is that what he keeps insisting? He certainly has understood you when he slunk his arm around your... err... posterior,” he finished lamely, staring at her, challenging her to defy him.

“That doesn’t even concern you!” she replied hastily, feeling herself grow red.

Myles nodded, triumphant. “He’s a savage, Emily, a class A dunderhead. MacPeterson bullied me-“

Emily shook her head. “You’re just spiteful because he’s more appreciative than you’ll ever be,” she hissed, jabbing a defiant finger at his chest.

Myles opened his mouth and then closed it, his face a mask of detachment. “Think whatever pleases you, Emily. He was in my high school and not yours; therefore I know exactly how he should behave around girls like you. The founder of Play Boy comes into mind, does it not?”

Emily’s jaw dropped and her eyes flashed in uncontrolled anger. She grabbed her purse and spun around, heading towards the door.

Once she reached it she curtsied low. “Thank you for your time,” she announced sarcastically.

Myles mockingly saluted her and went back to shuffling his papers.

Emily turned around stared at his lanky figure picking up stray pencils. She felt an odd pang at her stomach and sighed, feeling deflated. “Just- just screw you Myles,” she murmured, slipping out of the door and into the passageway, finding Beckett sitting near the door, who stared at her with new hard eyes.

Emily needed to get away from Fowl Manor. She needed to get away fast. 

- left-foot-fowl 

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What a difficult pairing. Sigh I hate seeing them fight. 
Also, Maggie isn't mine, if you were wondering, she belongs to fairyroses. I sort of stole her for my story since I don't ship holly and artemis. Hope you enjoyed it, lovey