togas look better on the ground

by pineappleking

Summary:

When Clarisse attends Coach Hedge's wedding out in California, one thing leads to another and she accidentally saves New Rome from a monster attack. The praetors insist on honoring her with golden laurels and a fancy ceremony, even though Clarisse tries to get out of it.

She's shoved into a toga, forced to reckon with her jealousy of the Roman camp, and revisited by old friends and flames from Camp Half-Blood. When Silena shows up to support her old friend, the girls discuss what happened between them so many years ago. And maybe, just maybe, they rekindle an old flame.

Notes:

I really wanted to explore Clarisse's reaction to Camp Jupiter and New Rome, which is why I set out to write this fic. I wanted it to be sort of silly, but still filled with the jealousy, anger, and trauma the demigods have experienced in their lives. I hope you enjoy!

Clarisse didn’t hate being around other people—let’s get that straight. 

But she didn’t like it, either.

Being close to people allows one of two things to happen. One: they hurt or betray you. Two: they leave or die. So. After moving to college and getting some space from Camp Half-Blood (and the people there she loved), she realized it's so much easier to just be alone. Being alone means you can't get hurt. 

Unfortunately for her, Clarisse was spending the entire weekend in California, of all places. Surrounded by people and creatures and demigods. Yippee. 

She wasn’t even supposed to be in California when the horde of arai hit. She was supposed to be on a plane to Arizona for her senior year of college. She’d somehow managed to survive the first three years without too many monster attacks in the dorm, and this year was her last one. 

She was in California for a destination wedding—Coach Hedge and Mellie’s, to be exact. The couple got married in Reinhardt Redwood State Park like the nature-loving freaks they are. Clarisse was honored to get an invitation; she thought they would be reserved for the big world-saving apocalypse-ending heroes. Instead, she arrived at the wedding to find herself an honored guest surrounded by friends.

Hedge was the satyr who found her back when she was a kid and brought her to Camp Half-Blood. They’d gotten pretty close during the numerous monster attacks and late-night travels. Hedge was as close to a father figure as a goat could get. 

Clarisse cried during the ceremony while Hedge and Mellie’s kid, Chuck, sat in her lap. As the baby goat’s official godmother, she was all too excited to see him again. 

“I, Mellie of the cloud nymphs, do take you, Gleeson Hedge, to be my goatly husband,” Mellie said, tears welling up in her eyes. 

Hedge, who’d already been crying for ten minutes, sniffled and said, “And I, Gleeson Hedge, the luckiest goat in the world, take you to be my wife.” 

Chuck kicked his little hooves and let out a bleat of excitement, making his parents laugh up at the altar. Piper McLean, who had a special connection to both Mellie and Hedge, was the officiant and pronounced them husband and wife (“goat and cloud”). 

Hedge reached up—for he was at least a head shorter than his bride—and pulled Mellie down into a romantic (albeit scandalizing) kiss. The crowd cheered, Clarisse included. Baby Chuck bleated and kicked his hooves again; Clarisse promptly put the kid on her shoulders so he’d have the best view. 

The reception was anything but tame—centaurs, satyrs, fauns, and all variations of nymphs and dryads were there, and they knew how to fucking party. Twinkling fairy lights were strung up in the forest, children of Dionysus were overseeing the bar, and the talented children of Apollo were playing music on lyres, drums, and guitars. 

Will Solace was not one of them. He pursed his lips as he watched his young golden-haired siblings strum their various instruments and sing. Their soft, harmonic voices lifted into the air, melding together beautifully. 

“Show-offs,” Will muttered. Though he tried to look irritated with his younger siblings, Clarisse noted the flicker of pride in his gaze. 

“Want me to break a finger real quick so you can show off your healing abilities?” Clarisse offered. 

Will grimaced. “No, thank you. Please keep all your phalanges intact.” 

“What the fuck is a phalan—” Clarisse cut herself off when Piper McLean sat down at the table opposite her. The daughter of Aphrodite smirked at Will, who had promptly turned a shade of red.

“Sup, Solace?” Piper said. 

“Hi. H-how are you?” 

Clarisse’s eyes darted between the two of them as she tried to decipher the awkward tension. Piper certainly looked smug. In her light pink dress, tattooed arms, and shaggy haircut, she looked pretty, too. 

Not Clarisse’s type, though. 

“How’s Nico?” Piper asked casually. 

That only made Will flush a deeper color. Ah. The son of Hades, Nico Di Angelo, was Will Solace’s long-time arch-enemy (more like a frenemy) and most certainly long-time crush. Clarisse snorted as Will fumbled for words. 

“How would I know? Is he even here?” Will asked with a fake roll of his eyes. Then, “Wait, is he?” 

Clarisse and Piper laughed at the son of Apollo’s eager expression. 

“Yeah, he’s talking with Reyna at the drink table. Hiding behind her, more like. She asked me to come and let you know,” Piper smirked. 

“What’s up with you and the former praetor?” Will asked. 

It was Piper’s turn to blush. 

Clarisse was a little too preoccupied chasing down Baby Chuck to listen to Piper and Will taunt each other, but when everything was said and done, she was pretty sure Piper and Reyna were hooking up and Nico and Will should be hooking up.

As the evening grew later, Clarisse (mercifully) was taken off godmother duty when Chuck was put to bed. She loved the little satyr, but gods was it exhausting chasing him around all day. 

“You’re surprisingly good with kids.” 

Clarisse looked up from her beer to see Annabeth Chase watching her, arms crossed over her chest. There had been a time when she and Annabeth had hated each other; they were both too proud to acknowledge each other’s brilliance. Now, as adults, they’d grown into something very closely resembling friends. Annabeth was a few years younger than Clarisse, only just now starting her years at college in California. At New Rome University, actually. Percy was starting there this week, too. 

“Yeah, well, when you grow up as the oldest in your cabin you learn how to handle all sorts of situations,” Clarisse said. 

“Malcolm was the oldest when I arrived at Camp. He was the same. Always knew how to calm us down, to keep us from crying at night. I guess I’d never thought about how useful a skill it is.” 

Clarisse shrugged. Neither of them commented on the fact that Annabeth was now the oldest surviving child of Athena—that Malcolm and many others had died in the battles over the last few years. 

Grief was common amongst the Greek demigods.

Will Solace watched his siblings die in the Battle of Manhattan; Clarisse lost her siblings to the very same battle. She lost even more to the war against the giants. Loss and grief were very familiar to the people of Camp Half-Blood. 

Clarisse sat with Annabeth and Percy for the remainder of the reception, until they were all waving Hedge and Mellie off. The newlyweds planned to travel to Rome (the real Rome) for their honeymoon; Baby Chuck was going to stay at Camp Half-Blood with Mellie’s many sisters. 

As their limo pulled out of the parking lot, Clarisse couldn’t help the smile that rose to her face. Hedge was weird, sure. He was violent and loud and annoying (especially when he tried to tell Clarisse what to do), but he was still her favorite satyr in the world. Ares wasn’t much of a father and Clarisse’s mother never married; Hedge was the closest thing she had to a dad. 

With the wedding and reception officially over, most of the guests started to leave and clear out. Clarisse lingered, looking for one more beer before heading out—

Piper and Reyna were standing near the beer cooler practically undressing each other with their eyes. Clarisse snorted and approached. “Sup, losers? Have you finally finished match-making tonight?” 

Reyna smirked as Clarisse approached, a careful sort of mischief waiting in her dark eyes. In their (very few) encounters, Clarisse couldn’t recall the former praetor of New Rome cracking a single joke. 

“No idea what you mean, La Rue,” Reyna said evenly. 

Piper just grinned. Where Reyna was all cool and collected precision, Piper was wild and charismatic. It was strange to see how well they fit together; how Reyna’s quiet complimented Piper’s boisterous laugh. How Piper’s sarcasm excellently played off of Reyna’s sharp, witty humor. Love and war; war and love. Clarisse didn’t know they could fit together so well. 

She’d hoped, one day, that she and a different daughter of Aphrodite…. 

Well. It doesn’t matter anymore. She’d fucked that up a long time ago. 

“Whatever you say, punk,” Clarisse snorted, rolling her eyes. She pointed at the cooler. “Mind if I grab one of those?” 

Reyna swallowed thickly and handed her an ice-cold beer. A pink blush had broken out across her cheeks in Piper’s presence. The daughter of Aphrodite wasn’t fairing much better. Clarisse was this close to cracking a joke when she heard the rustling of leaves. 

All three women went completely still, their training kicking in. 

There—a rustle in the bushes. A breeze in the branches of the trees so high above them. It could be brushed off as just the wind or a rabbit in the thicket, but Clarisse knew better. They all did.

“Something’s out there,” Clarisse said quietly. 

Reyna nodded her agreement—a spear had already appeared in her hand. Piper cracked her neck and reached for her knife, which hung at her side despite her pink dress. 

All the other partygoers had gone. Will, Katie, Nico, Chiron… even Annabeth and Percy had already left the park, perhaps eager to get back to their room in New Rome. Most people would be staying at Camp Jupiter tonight and returning to Camp Half-Blood tomorrow. 

Clarisse was not one of them. Reyna had offered to set her up with a spare room, but Clarisse had turned her down. She didn’t want to be surrounded by that many Romans. She was Greek, through and through, and she didn’t care to be surrounded by the annoying Romans who had stolen some of her best friends from her.

Instead, she’d booked a hotel in San Francisco for tonight. Tomorrow she would fly home to Arizona and start her senior year at Arizona State University.

If she made it out of the forest alive. 

Clarisse narrowed her eyes and scanned the redwood forest around them. Large, tall trees. Dark shadows. The sun had long since set, but Clarisse was used to scouting things in the dark. Even now, in the thick dark of the forest, she noticed trails and tracks. 

She was so busy checking the ground for signs of a monster that she forgot to look up. 

+++++

“Fucking run!” 

The weird-looking harpies descended on them from the treetops. There had to be over two dozen of the female birds from hell; all of them had elongated talons, sharp teeth, and leathery wings. But they didn’t look like normal harpies…

“Don’t kill them!” Reyna shouted, leading Clarisse and Piper out of the forest. 

“Why?!” Clarisse demanded, her grip tightening on her spear. Reyna didn’t answer. Sure, there were over two dozen, but she’d faced worse odds. She’d be willing to bet Piper and Reyna had, too. Between the three of them, they could totally take two dozen winged bat ladies out.

Fuck it—if  Reyna wanted to run away from some harpies, that was her own decision to make. Clarisse could make a stand. 

She turned on her heel and stood firm, twirling her spear through the air around her. The first demon to dive-bomb her got a spear to the face; she crumpled into gold dust immediately. 

Clarisse grinned triumphantly—then staggered. None of them had touched her, yet—but fuck, her chest felt like it was on fire. She felt like she had been sliced in two from throat to crotch—a mortal wound she’d once given a siren in the Sea of Monsters. 

“Fuck,” Clarisse wheezed. 

“Clarisse!” Piper hollered from yards away. 

That’s when Clarisse realized these monsters were not, in fact, harpies. 

They were arai, the daughters of Nyx, personification of Night. Clarisse swore again, smacking one of the winged demons with the flat of her spear. The arai, Clarisse remembered, release curses on those who kill them. 

So that’s why Reyna had wanted to run. Smart girl. 

Clarisse turned and began to run after Piper and Reyna—but she’d wasted a lot of time. The arai were nipping at her heels and scratching at her back already. 

“I told you to run!” Reyna growled as Clarisse caught up with them. 

“Yeah, well, I thought you were being a wuss,” Clarisse muttered. “My bad.” 

The three of them barreled out of the woods and onto the road. Clarisse had no idea where she was, so she was infinitely grateful Reyna was with them. The former praetor was immediately able to determine where they were and which way they needed to go. 

“Camp Jupiter is only a mile away,” Reyna said between deep breaths. “We can make it.” 

“You want to run all the way to New Rome?” Clarisse grumbled. 

“Any better ideas?” Piper snapped in defense of Reyna. 

Clarisse raised an eyebrow at the two girls (funny, how everyone here was queer) but said nothing else. She briefly thought of her hotel, wished she was there, and then nodded to the two girls before her. Run it was. 

Piper and Clarisse sprinted behind Reyna, allowing the Roman to direct them to her camp. Clarisse was all at once thankful for her years and years of combat training—the running still sucked, but at least she was in shape. 

As they neared Oakland Hills, near San Francisco, Clarisse realized they weren’t going to make it. The arai were at their heels—and what were they going to do once they reached Camp Jupiter’s gates? Simply slip inside while the horde of curse-bearing demons waited? 

No, they needed to buy themselves time. Clarisse came up with a plan. 

“We aren’t going to make it!” Clarisse yelled. “We need a distraction!”  

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Reyna hissed, looking over her shoulder at Clarisse. 

“Giving you a chance,” Clarisse replied. “Go in a different direction while I draw them away, and meet me at the entrance, okay? We’re going to need volunteers to cut these things down—or, better yet, get Nico! He might be able to banish them back to the Underworld. One… two… three!” 

Shockingly, Reyna and Piper listened to her orders. On Clarisse’s cue, they all split up, drawing the arai in separate directions. Clarisse slammed the blunt end of her spear into a few of the winged bitches, then promptly threw her body to the right, crashing into underbrush and trees. 

The arai screeched as they dove into the forestry after her. Clarisse didn’t mean to fight, but one of them had gotten dangerously close to her, and it was instinct to pull up her spear and shove it into the demon’s eye. Ah, fuck. 

As the arai burst into golden dust, another curse descended upon Clarisse La Rue.

She staggered, her right knee nearly giving out beneath her. Probably from Ethan Nakamura—an enemy demigod she’d fought during the Battle of Manhattan. She hadn’t killed him, but she had put a sword through his knee during the battle. He must have hated her enough to curse her as he died. 

We serve the bitter and the defeated, said the arai. We serve the slain who prayed for vengeance with their final breath. We have many curses to share with you, daughter of Ares. 

“I bet you do,” Clarisse growled. She swept her spear in a wide arc, forcing the spirits back. 

The spirits bared their fangs. More arai gathered in the black trees, flapping their leathery wings. One eager demon launched at Clarisse—and what could she do but kill it?

Clarisse cut her in two, but as soon as she vaporized, Clarisse’s left eye flared in pain. Her vision went blurry, tears leaked down her face, and she stumbled back, clamping her hand to her eye. When she drew her hand away from her face, her fingers were covered in blood.

“What the fuck?!” she asked, voice wobbly with pain and fear. “Who—” 

The answer dawned on her immediately. 

The drakon. 

The Battle of Manhattan. 

She’d killed the drakon without any armor, with only her spear and rage. She’d watched Silena Beauregard scream and fall, and Clarisse had snapped. She’d finally killed the monster by driving her spear through its eye. The memory made her knees go weak—not the drakon, but the memories of Silena's screaming. 

Yes, the arai whispered. Feel the pain you inflicted upon the drakon, the mightiest of monsters. So many curses have been leveled at you, daughter of Ares. You have always been wet with blood. 

Somehow, Clarisse managed to stay on her feet. The blood dripped down her face, and her left eye was completely useless to her, but Clarisse still managed to glare at the gathered arai. 

“I’ll take down every single one of you if I have to,” she threatened. “You want to die today?!”

Her spear arm was heavy and weak. The curses she’d already received were killing her slowly—her chest ached, her knee was wobbling, and her eye was bleeding. 

Which curse will you die from? they called. Will you be blinded like the drakon? Disintegrated like the gorgons you slaughtered in the labyrinth? You have no skeleton soldiers to protect you now, daughter of war. 

The winged hags pressed in, their breath sour, their eyes burning with hatred. Clarisse was in serious trouble—she’d faced a lot of enemies. She’d killed a lot of monsters. It wouldn’t take long for the years of curses to kill her. 

The arai attacked, and this time Clarisse did not fight them. As they launched at her, talons outstretched, Clarisse fled. She used her spear to slice through the air, clearing a path. She probably brought down a dozen curses on herself as she did so, but she didn’t feel them right away, so she kept running.

The pain in her chest flared with every step. She wove between the trees, aiming for the valley where Reyna had promised the entrance to Camp Jupiter was. By now, Reyna and Piper should have made it. They should be there, waiting for Clarisse, with help. 

Clarisse could see the Caldecott Tunnel, now. Inside, she knew, a secret service tunnel would take her to Camp Jupiter. 

She pushed her body to the limit. Leathery wings beat the air above her. Angry hissing and the scuttling of clawed feet told her the demons were close. Clarisse closed in on the tunnel entrance, but as she approached the door, she saw two guards fighting off their own arai. 

“Fucking hell,” Clarisse growled. Where were Reyna and Piper?

Clarisse slammed into the new arai at top speed. She, along with the two winged spirits, went sprawling on the ground. Before they could get up, Clarisse finished them off, bringing two more curses down on herself. 

“Who are you?” one of the guards asked, eyes wide with apprehension. 

“Helping,” Clarisse gasped the word out, every breath causing her a new kind of pain. 

“Why—” the girl never got to finish her sentence. An arai slammed into her back, talons ripping through the girl’s neck. Blood spurted across Clarisse’s face as she stumbled back. 

“Lydia!” the male guard cried. 

“Don’t,” Clarisse said, pulling the boy away from the girl’s body. 

She didn’t recognize the slain girl, nor the boy who was still alive. 

Clarisse looked at the door to the valley of Camp Jupiter. She looked down at the girl’s broken and bloody body. She looked into the eyes of the remaining guard. She looked back at the descending horde of arai. And Clarisse made her choice. 

She would not open the door. She would not lead these monsters into a haven. She would not let this kid die in vain, either. 

She stood her ground, leveled her spear, and waited for the demons to catch up. 

“We can’t lead them into the valley,” Clarisse told the boy. “When they reach us, try to maim them instead of killing them, okay? Aim for their wings and hands, but if you can, don’t kill them.” 

He looked ready to pester her with questions, but a fast-flying arai approached at that exact moment. The demon latched onto the boy, attempting to lift him out of the air as she sunk her talons into him. 

He screamed and kicked out, but he was in no position to fight her off. So Clarisse threw her spear, and it sunk into the arai’s eye, and Clarisse was hit with another curse. She could feel it settle on her shoulders; a burning, grating feeling in her lungs. Like she’d never be able to breathe again. 

Though he was bleeding, the boy looked okay. Clarisse, however, was decidedly not okay. She promptly threw up on the ground before her; it felt like fire in her throat. 

“I thought you said we can’t kill them?!” the boy said, looking from Clarisse’s eye to her spear in the arai’s face. 

“You shouldn’t,” Clarisse agreed, voice hoarse. “Any monster or enemy you’ve killed who might have cursed you—that’s what’s waiting for you when you cut one of them down.”

“But—I’ve never killed anything before!” 

Clarisse blinked. She looked away from the oncoming horde to look at the boy. He was, what, eighteen? Maybe nineteen? Younger than her, sure, but not young. How could he have survived this long without facing a monster?

“What do you mean—” 

“Clarisse?!” 

She spun around to see Annabeth Chase standing in the service tunnel, eyes wide. In the time it took Clarisse to recognize the daughter of Athena, Annabeth had already assessed the situation and spied the group of arai. She paled significantly, perhaps remembering her own encounter with the monsters in Tartarus. 

Right as the first arai reached for Clarisse, Annabeth grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her into the service tunnel. The boy was right behind her. The door slammed behind them, and the angry screeches of the monsters filled their ears. 

“What the fuck happened?” Annabeth was asking. “Is Piper with you? She and Reyna still haven’t come back from the reception. Percy figured they were making out in the barracks, but they weren’t there—” 

Clarisse dropped to the ground, unable to hold herself up any longer. 

“Gods, Clarisse, are you okay?” Annabeth tried to help her up, but Clarisse’s body was no longer responding to her. “What—oh gods, what happened to your eye?”

“She just showed up like this!” the boy was saying. He looked on the brink of a panic attack, now, and he kept forgetting to put pressure on his wounds.“She said something about curses and not leading them into camp, but—”

“Shut up,” Annabeth snapped at the unhelpful boy. He did. “What happened, Clarisse?”

“Killed a drakon,” was all Clarisse could say before she passed out in Annabeth’s arms. 

+++++

Clarisse woke up in a bed, which was nice. She’d woken up in worse places. 

Only this bed wasn’t familiar. It wasn’t a cot at the Camp Half-Blood infirmary (which she was very familiar with) and it wasn’t her bunk in the Ares cabin nor her dorm at ASU. So where the fuck was she?

She propped herself up on her elbow, groaning and blinking up at a fluorescent light. Oh, good, she could see. She reached a hand up to her eye tentatively. There was a small cotton bandage over it, but when Clarisse peeled it off, she could see out of her eye. 

“Thank fuck,” she muttered. It hurt to blink, and it hurt to see, but at least she could. 

“Thank me, actually.” 

She grinned. She knew that voice. Clarisse sat up a little further, glancing around the unfamiliar room. It was a hospital of some sort. Empty beds, medical machines, and white surfaces. But it was big. Far bigger than the infirmary back at CHB. 

Will Solace was stretched out in the bed next to her, hands folded behind his head in a makeshift pillow. He stood up, now, and leaned over Clarisse’s bed. 

“How you feeling?” 

“Like I got hit with a dozen curses in one fight,” Clarisse muttered. “What happened? Are Reyna and Piper alright?” 

Will swallowed heavily. “They’re fine. Made it to a different entrance—hidden one only praetors know about. But—let’s not talk about that right now.” 

Clarisse wanted to argue, but when Will shoved a bright light in her face and told her to follow it with her eyes, she couldn’t deny him. He did a few other tests on her to make sure she was healing before helping her out of the hospital bed. 

“Where are we?” 

“A hospital in New Rome,” Will murmured. “It’s smaller than mortal hospitals, but it’s… well, you can see. It’s nice.” 

There was a bitter note to his voice, and Clarisse understood it all too well. 

“The kids on guard…” she said. “Are they…?” 

“Lydia’s dead,” Will nodded. “She was a legionnaire in the Twelfth Legion.” 

Clarisse didn’t know what that meant. She probably should have, considering she was the child of the war god, but she’d never bothered to learn about Roman rankings.  

“And the other?” 

Will snorted. “He’s fine. Terrified and blabbering to anyone who will listen, but he’s fine. His name’s Jeremy.” 

“Guessing he’s not a legionnaire, then.” 

“No, he’s a probatio. Don’t ask me what that means—I don’t know,” Will grumbled, massaging his temples. “Damned Romans and their labels.” 

Clarisse stayed quiet as Will led her out of the hospital. They passed rooms full of strange machines; closets packed with ambrosia; and a fully functioning hospital cafeteria. A gods-damned cafeteria. 

“Reyna said the praetors want to talk to you,” Will said. “But we can stop and get you cleaned up before then. I’m staying at Hazel and Nico’s place near the—” 

“Just take me to them.” 

“You might want to take a look in the mirror, ‘Risse—” 

“Will, just take me to them. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can go home.” 

When they stepped outside, Clarisse was immediately hit with blazing sunlight. She blinked and raised her hands in front of her eyes, tears streaming down her face.  

“Fucking hell,” she muttered, blinking the tears out of her eyes. When her body finally stopped being so dramatic, she got her first look at Camp Jupiter. 

When the Seven had told her about the Roman camp, Clarisse had imagined a place just like Camp Half-Blood, but instead of orange shirts, they wore purple. She knew there were more people at Camp Jupiter; she’d been told about aqueducts and forums and buildings. 

But as she gaped at the rolling valley around her, Clarisse realized she’d had no idea how much larger the Roman camp was than the Greek. 

Camp Jupiter was huge. 

It wasn’t just a camp—it was an entire city. The hospital behind her was just one of many buildings sprawled on the hillside. Huge marble buildings dotted the landscape around her, with the whites and golds catching the sun in brilliant, reflective patterns that made her recently healed eyes water.

The gates shimmered in the sunlight. They were bigger than anything she’d ever imagined—bigger than the cabins at Camp Half-Blood, bigger than any fortress she’d ever seen, bigger than the Argo II. The gates were bronze, thick, and solid—impenetrable. Exactly the sort of place she’d expect a bunch of Roman demigods to call home.  

Clarisse couldn’t decide if she was impressed or pissed. 

Will led her through the gates and further into the city, his hands shoved in his pockets. Soldiers swathed in Roman-style armor marched the streets around them. Clarisse clenched her fists, instinctively reaching for her spear, only to find it wasn’t there. And it hadn’t been at the hospital, either. The Romans must have taken it after she passed out on their front doorstep. 

At least they’re smart enough to disarm a daughter of Ares, she thought, smirking. 

The stone buildings in New Rome were tall and solid, arranged in neat rows, their columns shining like polished marble in the afternoon sun. Statues of Roman gods littered the city. The whole place felt… safe. Ancient and imposing, sure, but it still felt safe. 

Clarisse hated it. 

A group of demigods—or legacies, she corrected herself—in matching armor jogged past her, their armor gleaming as they moved in formation. They didn’t look like the battle-weary, scrappy kids from Camp Half-Blood. These kids were carefree, even as they practiced their formations. Their arms were unblemished; no scars or wounds from monsters. Clarisse, in contrast, was covered in jagged scars, burns, and stab wounds. Battle scars. 

Will led her to the center of the city—to the Principia, the headquarters of the camp. Clarisse tried not to gape as she approached the white marble building. 

Inside, a gathered group waited for her. She recognized most of the people—Percy, Jason, Annabeth, Reyna—but there were plenty of older people she’d never seen. Some looked to be in their thirties, and others looked to be in their fifties. 

Clarisse had no idea demigods could live that long. 

“Clarisse La Rue, daughter of Ares!” 

Clarisse stuffed her hands in her pockets, suddenly wishing she would have taken Will up on his offer to change and clean up.

“What you did yesterday will not soon be forgotten,” Hazel Levesque, the new praetor, said. She was wearing a purple toga (it looked like the toga was wearing her, honestly) but she smiled kindly at Clarisse despite the position of power. “You saved dozens of lives. If the arai had broken through the gate—” 

“She didn’t save Lydia.” 

The room went silent. Clarisse scanned the crowd, looking for whoever spoke. 

“Jeremy, now isn’t the time—” Frank Zhang, the other praetor, sighed. 

“She just showed up with a horde of monsters at her back! Lydia might still be alive if she hadn’t,” Jeremy, the boy on guard yesterday, said. His arm was bandaged up, but other than that, he looked relatively fine. 

“Look here, kid,” Clarisse growled. “Those arai were headed here anyway. You think this many demigods in one place was going to go unnoticed? The wedding reception was like a beacon for an all-you-can-eat buffet. They would have sniffed out the camp within hours.” 

“You don’t know that,” Jeremy pouted.

Clarisse grit her teeth. A few years ago, she would have pummeled the punk just for daring to speak to her. These days, she’d been trying to get a grip on her anger and pride. Blah blah blah. She clenched her fists at her side, forced herself to take a deep breath, and looked back at the praetors. 

“Am I in trouble? Or can I go home?” 

Hazel’s eyebrows disappeared under her dark bangs. “In trouble? No, Clarisse, we’d like to honor you. We’d like to present you with golden laurels and name you a protector of the city. If not for you, we know what would have happened. Reyna said as much.” 

Reyna, the former praetor, winced from her position on the sidelines. But when Clarisse looked at her, she nodded. 

“It’s true. Clarisse allowed Piper and I to run ahead, to get help, while she took on the brunt of the arai. If not for her, I don’t know what would have happened to the three of us, or Camp Jupiter as a whole.”

“Pfft,” Jeremy grumbled.

Before Clarisse could smack the kid, Reyna turned her eyes to him and said, “You owe her your life, probatio. Arai are not normal monsters—you cannot kill them without injuring yourself. If they had descended upon New Rome, there would have been far more casualties than those we currently mourn.” 

Jeremy finally had the good sense to look ashamed of himself. He bowed his head and placed his hands behind his back, “Sorry.” 

Reyna rolled her eyes, motioning for Frank and Hazel to continue. 

“Fine, yes, I accept your golden laurels,” Clarisse said. “Now, crown me and give me back my spear so I can go home.” 

Hazel’s lips quirked upward into a smile. “I’m afraid it’s a bit more procedural than that. We will have an augur pray over the selection of the laurels, then our craftsmen will create the wreath for you. It will take three days. We’ll host a city-wide celebratory feast on the third day, at which you will receive your laurels.” 

“And then I can go home?” 

“Yes, then you may go home,” Hazel laughed. “Please forgive our… fancy way of doing things. Most of it is required because of tradition. It’s not meant to anger or irritate you, only honor you as a warrior and protector.” 

Clarisse sighed heavily. She looked to the familiar faces in the room—only to see Percy smirking and giving her a thumbs up. Clarisse fought the urge to flip him the bird. Annabeth simply nodded, as if to say just accept it, Clarisse. 

“Fine,” Clarisse muttered. “Thanks, I guess.” 

Frank looked very comforted by her acceptance. “Great! We’ll, um, get you set up in a spare apartment in the city. Someone will stop by to give you the schedule of events, but please, rest up and heal. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to—” 

Clarisse didn’t bother listening to the rest. She turned on her heel and left.  

+++++

Things got weird after that. 

As promised, Clarisse was shown to an empty apartment in the middle of New Rome. It was small, sure, but it was still far bigger than her dorm room or her bunk at Camp Half-Blood. It had a full bathroom! And a TV! 

“Delegates from Camp Half-Blood will arrive tomorrow,” Reyna told her, standing in the doorframe. “So you’ll see some familiar faces soon.” 

“Thank fuck,” Clarisse muttered. “Is Piper staying with you? Will said he’s shacking up with the praetor and Nico.” 

“Yeah,” Reyna said, flushing. “McLean’s with me, Will’s with Nico and Hazel, and everyone else has their own place.” 

It was strange to think that Percy and Annabeth had something permanent here, even if it was just for college. Clarisse decided not to think about it. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours?” Reyna asked. “We can get pizza and give you a tour of the city—” 

“Sure, fine, whatever,” Clarisse said. “Now get the fuck out so I can get out of these blood-stained clothes.”

Reyna never took offense, which Clarisse appreciated about her. As a former politician, soldier, leader, and fellow daughter of war, maybe Reyna understood Clarisse in a way no one else could. She backed out of the apartment with her hands held up in mock surrender, a smirk on her lips. 

“Fucking spoiled Romans,” Clarisse grumbled as she stepped into the shower. 

Even the soaps were fancy. 

She ate dinner with Percy, Annabeth, Reyna, Piper, Will, and Nico. The food was good, and Clarisse felt comfortable around her peers, but it still wasn’t enjoyable. She would have much preferred being alone, on a plane, headed home. 

When the others finally shuffled out of Clarisse’s temporary apartment, Will lingered. He looked longingly after Nico di Angelo, but even as the son of Hades smiled and waved goodbye, Will stayed. 

“He’s practically begging you to follow him and make out with him,” Clarisse snorted. “What are you still doing here?”

Will, who now looked red as a tomato, huffed and slumped onto the couch next to Clarisse. “You’re relentless, you know that? My love life is my own.” 

“Your lack of a love life is entertaining,” Clarisse countered. “What the fuck are you doing here? Go after him!” 

“My lack of a love life? What about you? Have you even tried dating anyone since—” 

“No.” 

Will sighed dramatically. “How… how are things between y’all? I saw her last week at camp. She seems to be doing a lot better, now. I think if you just—” 

“No, Will.” 

It hurt to think about. It hurt to wonder about. 

Silena Beauregard didn’t want Clarisse, and Clarisse was still trying to find a way to live with that. 

“Besides, if I had a hot girl pining after me the way Nico is pining after you, you wouldn’t see me sitting here on this couch,” Clarisse said, ready to change the subject. 

Will harrumphed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m hanging out with a friend. And right now, that feels more important to me.” 

Clarisse thought about arguing or teasing him. She thought about saying we aren’t friends. Or maybe even you’re an idiot. But she couldn’t get the words out of her mouth, no matter how she tried. Will Solace was right. They were friends. And it wasn’t something new, it was old. A friendship built through years of counselor meetings, war preparations, capture the flag, and battle. 

“Sentimental loser,” Clarisse finally muttered. There was no bite to the words; they just made Will smirk. 

“Want to get wasted in New Rome?” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Clarisse said. 

+++++

So Will and Clarisse got wasted in New Rome. 

They stole a bottle of some fancy-looking wine from Reyna’s apartment (the Roman seemed very preoccupied staring at Piper, it wasn’t even hard).

They parked themselves on top of some old Roman building—a basilica? Clarisse didn’t know. She saw a ladder leading up here, and at the time, it hadn’t seemed like a bad idea. She’d dragged Will up here and they’d split the bottle of wine—turned out, it tasted more like nectar than wine. It was delicious and sweet, and Clarisse knew it was going to give her a hangover. 

“Does it bother you?” Clarisse whispered after a while. 

“Yes,” he answered immediately, not needing an explanation of her question. “They have a hospital. A gods-damned hospital. Do you know how many…” He trailed off, dragging his scarred hands through his golden hair. He looked up at the sky. “Do you have any idea how many people I could have saved if we had something like that?” 

It was like a knife to the chest. And Clarisse would know, because she’s taken a knife to the chest before, thank you very much. 

Clarisse watched a tear leak out of Will’s eye and fall down his face. He rushed to wipe it away, but Clarisse would never dare tease him for that. She understood. 

It hurt to be here in New Rome and see all of the things they had, knowing so many people had died at Camp Half-Blood. Clarisse has never met a demigod older than 24. They all seem to leave or die before then. 

She will be 23 soon. She’s scared of her birthday. 

But here, there are grandparents. There are children. Earlier today, Clarisse watched little demigods and legacies chase each other through the streets of New Rome, giggling and kicking a soccer ball. 

It made her nauseous. 

All she could think about were her half-siblings. All the children she’s seen come and go at Camp Half-Blood. All the shrouds she’s had to weave for her siblings, for her friends, for her peers—

She cleared her throat and wiped away her own tears. Will pretended not to notice. 

They kept drinking. 

+++++

The following day, the delegates from Camp Half-Blood arrived. 

It was good to see familiar faces after meeting so many strangers in New Rome. The Stolls hugged Clarisse as they walked into Camp Jupiter, all wide eyes and open mouths. Clarisse tried to punch them for hugging her, but the Stolls were experts in avoiding her fists. Nyssa Barrera merely smirked and rolled her eyes affectionately at Clarisse. 

The last person to enter the camp slipped in without Clarisse noticing. She was quiet as she entered the unfamiliar city. Clarisse turned, eager to see who else flew out to California for her stupid Roman honor thing—

“Oh.” 

Silena Beauregard stood there looking as beautiful as ever, a wide smile on her face. She looked good. She looked healthy. Her dark hair was long again, thrown over her shoulder in soft beach waves. Her face was dotted with makeup, though much less than she used to wear as a teenager. She was dressed in simple blue jeans and a Camp Half-Blood shirt (dyed pink, of course). Clarisse helped her dye it a few summers ago. 

“Hey, you!” Silena said happily. “Heard you’re supposed to be named some Protector of Romans, huh? How’d that happen?” 

Clarisse just gaped at her, unsure what to do or say. 

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Silena continued. “You always end up the hero wherever you go, don’t you?” 

“I don’t—I’m not—I’m no hero,” Clarisse managed. 

Silena rolled her eyes, that damned smile still on her face. “Whatever you say, La Rue. Show me around?” 

Silena was acting so casual, so friendly… had she forgotten that conversation from years ago? Sure, they'd talked and interacted since then, but... had Silena forgotten what Clarisse had said, what she’d done? Surely not. Clarisse certainly hadn’t. But then… if Silena was acting so kindly, maybe Clarisse hadn’t fucked things up as badly as she’d thought?

Clarisse just continued to stare at her, unblinking and unmoving. The others had already left them behind, Will acting as a makeshift tour guide for the Greek demigods. 

“I… um…” 

Gods, Clarisse, get it together. 

“Yeah, I can show you around. They’ve got a lot of fancy shit around here,” Clarisse finally said. 

Silena smiled again. 

Gods, Clarisse had almost forgotten what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that smile. Almost. 

Silena roped her arm through Clarisse’s and dragged her into the city, eager for a tour. 

Clarisse was so completely and utterly fucked. 

+++++

Clarisse showed Silena around the city, though it was sort of pointless considering Clarisse had no idea where she was going or what any of the buildings were. 

Clarisse wasn’t the type to admit when she was feeling envious. It wasn’t in her nature—especially not in front of others. She tended to bottle everything up and then explode in a training ring. But as she walked alongside Silena through the wide, polished streets of New Rome, she couldn’t help but feel a stab of something deeply jealous. 

New Rome, in all its polished grandeur, was just objectively better than Camp Half-Blood. All of the buildings were made of white stone that gleamed in the midday sun. The streets were immaculately swept, as though no single speck of dust was allowed to tarnish the perfect image of the place. 

Clarisse glanced at Silena out of the corner of her eye. The daughter of Aphrodite looked effortlessly beautiful, as always, her dark hair catching the light. But there was something about the way her brow furrowed that told Clarisse she wasn’t entirely content either.

“What the fuck do they need a bathhouse for?” Clarisse muttered under her breath, half to herself, half to Silena. 

“Mmm,” Silena replied, her voice smooth but laced with something bitter. Her gaze settled on the gorgeous bathhouse across the street. She shook her head, an almost disbelieving chuckle escaping her lips. “Do you think they… you know … in there?” 

Clarisse snorted, folding her arms over her chest. It felt good to laugh with Silena again. It made her think that maybe, just maybe, they would be okay again one day. 

“Oh, fuck yeah they do,” Clarisse grinned. “Bet that’s where Will and Nico sneak off to when they think no one’s paying attention.” 

“How romantic,” Silena mused. 

“Better than Zeus’ Fist back home, I reckon,” Clarisse snorted. 

They kept walking. 

They passed a Roman centurion who gave them an appraising look, his armor gleaming in the sun. Clarisse didn’t return his gaze—she was too busy glaring at a nearby statue of Mars, its chiseled features mocking her every step. 

“Will said they have a hospital here. Is that where they patched you up?” Silena asked as she glanced at Clarisse. 

Clarisse nodded. “Yeah. They’ve got everything in there—closets full of ambrosia and nectar, machines, beds, a cafeteria… ” 

Silena scowled. “Is it petty of me to be angry about it?” 

“I’m right there with you, trust me,” Clarisse grumbled. “That kid on patrol—Jeremy—he said he’s never killed a monster before. Ever.” 

“Fuck,” Silena muttered. 

“I wish I…” Clarisse trailed off. She wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it. “It makes me angry. That he’s never had to kill anything. And I know it shouldn’t, I know I should be glad there are demigods out there who haven’t had it as hard as us, but… fuck, Silena, all I can think about are my kids. They’ve been killing things since they were ten. Some even earlier than that.” 

Clarisse killed her first full-grown monster when she was seven. She has never known a life without fear, without bloodshed.  

Her kids—her half-siblings, that is—act as the first line of defense at Camp Half-Blood. They’re the children of Ares, the most powerful warriors at camp. Since they can master just about any weapon with ease, the children of Ares always stand on the front lines. 

It’s why so many of Clarisse’s siblings have died. It’s why she’s so good at weaving burial shrouds. 

“Trust me, I get it,” Silena said. 

Clarisse had forgotten how good Silena was at understanding people’s emotions. She’s not sure if it’s an Aphrodite thing or just a Silena thing, but Silena has always been good at understanding Clarisse. She was the first person to make Clarisse feel normal. 

“You don’t have to justify your anger to me,” Silena said, scowling at a passing centurion. “I get it.” 

Silena knew what it meant to be scared, to be desperate. Years ago, she’d sided with Luke Castellan and helped him raise Kronos from the dead. She’d tried to back out, to make up for her mistakes, but she’d still done it. She’d betrayed Camp Half-Blood because of her anger at the gods. 

When Silena had almost died in the Battle of Manhattan, facing off against that damned drakon, Clarisse had felt true fear. She’d watched Silena fall, screaming, acid burning her face—and Clarisse had snapped. 

She doesn’t remember much about that hour after Silena fell. People told her she killed the drakon; she remembered that. People told her she glowed, her eyes blood-red. They said she screamed like a demon and killed any monster who dared approach her. They said she challenged Kronos himself; demanded he face her. 

Clarisse didn’t remember it, but she did remember every single second of Silena’s scream. She’ll never forget the fear that gripped her heart when she thought Silena was dying. 

Clarisse swallowed the lump in her throat and glanced at Silena again. 

Her face was still scarred from the drakon, but it wasn’t swollen or red anymore. The years had been good to her, and the continuous healing from the Apollo cabin had done a lot to help repair the severe damage the drakon had done. 

Better than that, though, Silena looked alive again. Those months after the battle had been bad. Really fucking bad. Silena was not only fighting for her life and healing from her injuries, but she was also suffering from intense guilt and shame. It was a dark time. Clarisse sat at her bedside for months straight, trying to convince Silena that she wasn’t a traitor. That she’d done the right thing in the end. That she deserved to live, to laugh, to find joy again. 

Clarisse fucked it all up in the end, though, like she always did. 

She decided not to think about that right now. She shoved her hands in her pockets and jutted her chin toward the city square. 

“Want a bite to eat?” she asked casually. 

“That sounds nice,” Silena said with an easy smile. 

The two of them fell into an easy rhythm as they continued walking through New Rome. The sounds of the bustling camp faded into the background, but the tension between them lingered like the summer heat. Clarisse wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but it felt like Silena’s hand brushed against hers more than once, each time sending a jolt of electricity through her.

“Annabeth said one of the arai cursed your eyes.”

Clarisse blinked, thrown off guard by the comment. She grimaced as she thought about the attack, about the wound. “Yeah. Just the left one—started bleeding and shit. Figure it was from the… from the drakon.” 

“I’m sorry,” Silena said immediately. 

“Not your fault,” Clarisse shrugged. “Besides, I lived to tell the tale. No damage done.” 

Silena scoffed. “I’d say there was some damage done, Clarisse. Will said he worked through the entire night patching you up—said he counted at least a dozen different curses.” 

Gods, it felt good to hear Silena say her name. She’d forgotten what her name sounded like on Silena’s lips. 

“I've had worse. We don’t have to talk about it,” Clarisse said gruffly. 

Silena stopped walking, turning her lovely face toward Clarisse. Her eyebrows were drawn together in confusion, her lips pursed, and gods, Clarisse was sure she’d never looked prettier. 

“We should,” Silena said. “Talk about it.” 

They both knew she wasn’t talking about the drakon or arai. Clarisse swallowed heavily; she wasn’t sure she could take Silena’s rejection again. She wasn’t sure she’d survive it. So instead of talking, instead of doing the grown-up and responsible thing, Clarisse just grinned. 

“Listen, Beauregard, I killed the drakon all those years ago and I killed a dozen arai a few days ago. I think I’m pretty much invincible at this point, don’t you? Achilles himself would be jealous. Don’t worry about me, pretty girl. I’m good. But if it helps you sleep at night, you’re more than welcome to find me a bodyguard.” 

Silena just snorted, shaking her head even as a smile came to her face. Clarisse kept walking, leading her to the square where a pizza shop awaited. As they turned a corner, Silena said, “You haven’t called me pretty girl in a while.” 

Clarisse felt the blush rise to her face and tried to fight against it. A decade ago, when Silena and Clarisse had been little kids full of anger and confusion, they’d hated each other. Clarisse was a bully, Silena was a pompous brat, and they’d agreed to be enemies forever. Clarisse coined the nickname Pretty Girl, but it had never been a compliment. In retaliation, Silena had called her Nasty Brute. 

Somewhere around sixteen, the anger faded and something like friendship developed between them. They stopped teasing each other and started teaming up; they never looked back. 

Clarisse purposefully kept her eyes on the road before them as she said, “Yeah, well… you’re welcome to call me a nasty brute, if you feel like it.”

Silena laughed softly, her eyes dancing with amusement. “We’ll see.” 

 +++++

“It’s not that bad, Clarisse.” 

“Easy for you to say! You’re not being forced to wear a tablecloth!” 

Clarisse tugged at the toga wrapped around her, trying to make it feel less like a dress and more like anything else. She hated dresses. 

Reyna and Piper had appeared at her door early this morning talking about toga fittings, and the next thing Clarisse knew, she was being dragged to a store and shoved into a toga. Luckily, Silena had accompanied her sister Piper, and thus Clarisse, to the fitting. 

Silena was the sole reason Clarisse hadn’t killed someone yet. 

“Turn around and let me see the back,” Reyna instructed. “It’s important that you wear it correctly. Drape this piece of fabric over your left shoulder—good, yes, like that—and bring it around your body under the right arm. Good, now back over the left shoulder again. See these pleats? It keeps the fabric in place.” 

Clarisse scowled at the former praetor, but Reyna was an unshakeable force. She wasn’t scared of Clarisse at all. It was sort of impressive. 

Piper and Silena were sitting in chairs on the side of the room, giggling as they watched. 

“Your left arm should be mostly covered by the fabric while the right arm remains free for movement,” Reyna explained. “And the toga should fall to around knee length; traditionally, no pins or fasteners are used to secure the toga, but since you’re not used to wearing one, we can use safety pins. Hold still.” 

Clarisse bit her tongue and held still, allowing the Roman to do what she needed to do. This whole thing was bullshit, anyway, but no matter how many times Clarisse said that, nobody bothered listening to her. 

When it was all said and done, Clarisse was properly wrapped in a white tablecloth and looked exceptionally stupid. She glared at her reflection in the mirror. She could barely move in this thing! What if a monster somehow broke into camp and attacked during the ceremony? How was she going to fight? 

“Where do I put my weapons?” she asked. 

Reyna winced. “Um… you won’t have any.” 

“What?!” 

“Well, togas were primarily worn by politicians, not soldiers, so they didn’t carry weapons—” 

“I’m not an ancient Roman politician,” Clarisse growled. “I need my spear. And my sword. Come to think of it, no one has bothered giving them back to me since I saved this fucking city!” 

Reyna pursed her lips, perhaps weighing the pros and cons of arguing. “I’ll get them sent back to you tonight. And I’ll see what I can do about the toga.” 

Clarisse sighed. She knew none of this was Reyna’s fault. Reyna was actually the only Roman who bothered to explain things and help Clarisse—she deserved thanks, not agitation. 

“Thank you,” Clarisse muttered. Reyna gave her a small smile, then rejoined Piper in the corner to discuss something or other. 

Silena approached Clarisse next, eyes dragging up the toga until they met Clarisse’s gaze. 

“You look good,” Silena said. “And you know I’d never lie about fashion.” 

Clarisse’s heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t let it show. “Yeah, well, I feel ridiculous.” 

Silena was always good at cheering Clarisse up. She used to tell stupid jokes in the middle of counselor meetings just to get a laugh out of Clarisse. Back then, Clarisse didn’t recognize how much she depended on that stupid humor. It wasn’t until it was gone that Clarisse realized she adored it; needed it. 

When she saw Silena’s eyes light up with that familiar teasing glint, Clarisse’s heart stuttered in her chest. 

“You might feel ridiculous, but I promise you don’t look it,” Silena said, stepping even closer. “Besides, you’ve always looked good when you’re angry! Just keep up the frown—yep, that one right there—and you’ll have everyone tripping over their togas to congratulate you on your big honor.” 

Clarisse rolled her eyes, but the frown had long since left her face. She was smiling, now, despite her best efforts not to. 

“I’d look better in armor,” she shot back, meeting Silena’s gaze with a look of her own. “Or something practical. These damn Romans! In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly the type to sit around on my ass, dressed in a tablecloth, and look pretty.”

“And thank the gods for that,” Silena laughed. “I can get used to this for now, but I definitely prefer you in armor—you look good in your armor.” 

Silena was smiling at her again—but it was a different sort of smile. Coy, teasing, and… and flirty? Was Clarisse reading this right? She wasn’t sure. She gaped at Silena, unsure what to say or do or think. 

Luckily, she was saved by one idiotic son of Apollo. 

“Yo, where’s Clarisse? Hazel and Frank need to ask her about—whaaaaat the fuck are you wearing?” 

Clarisse scowled at Will Solace as he barged into the dressing room. “A tablecloth.” 

“Nice,” Will grinned. “You look ridiculous.” 

+++++

After meeting with Frank and Hazel to discuss the ceremony where Clarisse will receive golden laurels and a key to the city, or some shit, she was given the rest of the day off. 

Clarisse walked the streets of the city, aiming for her temporary apartment when she spied Percy Jackson lounging next to a fountain in the middle of the city square. He was just lying there on his back, one leg dipping into the cool waters, an arm draped over his face to block out the sun. 

Clarisse snorted and approached him, intending to push the son of Poseidon in. Unfortunately, she never got the chance to follow through, because as she approached he said, “Don’t you dare.” 

“Damn it, Jackson,” she huffed. She lifted a hand to her face, blocking out the worst of the sun’s rays so as not to go fucking blind in the landscape of white and gold buildings. 

“I thought that was you, La Rue,” Percy said, pushing himself into an upright position and offering her a tight-lipped smile. “How’s the ‘savior of the city’ doing on this sunny day?” 

Contrary to popular belief, Clarisse never hated the dweeb. Sure, there had been those first few years he’d been at Camp Half-Blood where she’d wanted to kill him, but she’d never hated him. He’d saved her life—and vice versa—so many times now. They weren’t kids anymore, trying to one-up each other in the arena. War had aged them, in some places more than others. She liked him (but she’d never tell him that). 

“Fucking hate it here,” Clarisse responded, as blunt as ever. She sat down next to him. 

“I don’t blame you,” Percy laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “It took me a while to figure out how this place works.” 

Percy looked down at his arm, at the thick black tattoo that was now permanently inked into his arm. He brushed a few fingers over it, perhaps thinking back on his history with the Roman camp. As much as Clarisse adored pestering Percy and making fun of him, she respected him far too much to tease him about it. He’d gone through hell and back, quite literally, over the last few years. 

“I wish we had things like this back home,” Percy said, motioning to the shops and restaurants around them. A few kids ran past them, giggles escaping their lips. “This city is so beautiful. It gives me hope.” 

Clarisse scowled, “Yeah, well, I like Camp Half-Blood just fine. I don’t need fancy buildings and marble streets to be happy.” 

“I don’t give a fuck about fancy buildings,” Percy said softly. “You know what I’m talking about, Clarisse. Don’t pretend you don’t. I can see it in your eyes when you look at this place.” 

Alright, scratch everything she’d said about Percy Jackson. Clarisse hated him, in that moment. She hated how right he was. They’d fought on the same front lines too many times to pretend they didn’t understand each other.

“When Juno stole my memory, she took everything. Well, almost everything. I could still remember a little bit about Annabeth,” Percy said. He didn’t blush or stutter as he said it—everyone knew how much he loved her. He’d never been scared of owning up to that fact, and that was another thing Clarisse admired about him. He wasn’t scared of love. “...I couldn’t remember Camp Half-Blood, but I knew there was something else out there. I knew Camp Jupiter wasn’t the only one. And now that I can remember it all, I can’t help thinking that Camp Jupiter is a… an example of what we could become.” 

Clarisse understood. She really did. It was incredible to think about a Greek version of this place; a home where demigods could grow up, learn to fight, and live. They could live full lives, surrounded by other people who understood the world they lived in. They wouldn’t have to venture back out into the mortal world unless they wanted to—it could be their choice to stay or go.  

“I’m so jealous of them,” Clarisse muttered the words under her breath, ashamed to even say them aloud. “I’m so jealous of the life they can live here. That boy, Jeremy, had never killed a monster before the arai showed up. Can you believe that?” 

“No,” Percy grunted. “It makes me so angry. Not at Jeremy, or the Romans, or anyone who lives here. It makes me angry at the gods.” 

Clarisse just nodded, because that’s exactly the way she felt. Though, if she was honest with herself, she still harbored a little bit of resentment against the Romans. Percy was too good of a person—Clarisse wasn’t. She had no problem holding grudges. Somewhere in the last few years, Percy Jackson had grown into a leader who knew the depths of loss and grief—and yet he still chose to be hopeful. 

“If the gods knew about this place, they knew there was another way of doing things,” Clarisse said. “They could have helped us create something like this. A place where their kids could survive.” 

Percy nodded and sighed. They sat that way for a long time, just ruminating on the gods’ pride and flaws. There were layers to it, of course, since the Roman gods couldn’t very well tell their Greek counterparts about Camp Jupiter. It would have caused the Roman and Greek versions of the gods to war with each other, and they would have imploded, or some shit. Clarisse didn’t care to think about it. She just knew she was angry and jealous and so, so tired of death. 

“I don’t want Camp Half-Blood to be just like New Rome,” Percy finally said, breaking the prolonged silence. “But this place gives me hope. It gives us a goal to work towards.” 

Clarisse thought on that for a while. There were a lot of things about Camp Jupiter she admired—the safety, the city, the organization. She appreciated a lot about this place, but there were things she didn’t like, too. But Percy was right. They didn’t need to turn Camp Half-Blood into New Rome 2.0. They just needed to take inspiration and guidance from the Romans. They needed to know it was possible to survive. 

“I hate admitting when you’re right,” Clarisse grumbled. Neither of them would ever admit it, but the other was probably the only person who really got it—the grief, the rage, the weight of being one of the ones who had lived.

Clarisse’s taunt seemed to brighten Percy’s mood. Their banter still had bite, but it was more ritual than rivalry now—something familiar to hold onto in a world that had changed too fucking fast. He grinned at her, bumped his shoulder into hers, and said, “You know you like me, La Rue. Deep, deep down.” 

Clarisse snorted. In one quick movement, she slammed her arm across Percy’s chest and knocked the younger boy backward into the fountain. He yelped and splashed into the shallow waters before glaring up at her. 

“Don’t press your luck, Jackson,” Clarisse teased. 

“You never learn, do you?” Percy grinned. 

The water in the fountain began to swirl around his feet. Clarisse swore. 

+++++

Thirty minutes later, she arrived back at her apartment, sopping wet.

She pushed open the front door, intending to change her clothes and smoke a little weed before reuniting with her friends for dinner. Instead, she opened the door to find Will Solace and Silena Beauregard chatting on her couch. 

“The fuck?” Clarisse asked, eyeing the doorknob and the keys in the lock. “Did Reyna give you guys keys to my apartment?” 

Will held up a hand, “It’s not your apartment, it’s the praetors’ to do with as they please.” 

“In other words, yes, she did,” Silena said with a grin. “What happened to you? Did you get in a fight with a water fountain?” 

“Yes,” Clarisse grumbled, not yet ready to admit Percy had bested her again. 

Will and Silena laughed as Clarisse walked further into her apartment, leaving a wet trail behind her. She ducked into the bedroom to change into some clothes—choosing an orange CHB muscle tank and shorts—before joining her Greek friends on the couch. 

“Open a window, will you?” Clarisse asked. 

Will did as asked, opening one of the apartment windows and letting in the abysmal Californian heat. Silena opened her mouth, likely to complain, then caught sight of the joint Clarisse had taken from her pocket. 

“Oh no, nuh-uh, I hate when y’all smoke,” Will muttered, pushing himself up off the couch. “That shit stinks.” 

“You liked it well enough at Travis’ birthday party last summer,” Clarisse reminded him, thinking of the night they’d both gotten stoned out of their minds. 

“Once was enough,” Will said, grimacing. “It’s so bad for your lungs, ‘Risse. Seriously. You ought to think about the health risks, and the—” 

“I think the arai and monsters are bigger risks to my health than a little plant,” Clarisse cut in with a grin. She flicked the end of her lighter and sucked on the joint, inhaling deeply. 

“Silena, come on, back me up here,” Will said, looking to the daughter of Aphrodite for camaraderie. 

Only, Silena Beauregard wasn’t the one to turn to when it came to anti-partying speeches. Silena grinned and accepted the joint from Clarisse. She took a hit from it before turning to Will, “Who do you think got Clarisse into smoking weed?” 

“You two are ridiculous,” Will muttered, making for the front door. “When you get the munchies in a few hours, come find me at Nico’s!” 

“No!” Clarisse hollered after him, grinning. “Go take that scrawny goth boy on a date!” 

“Oh, don’t get me started on that—” Silena agreed, her grin widening. 

“You two are the worst!” Will said, cheeks red as a tomato. “Ugh!” 

He tried to make it sound like an insult, but Clarisse could see the mirth in his eyes. Try as he might to deny it, everyone knew Will and Nico were hardcore crushing on each other. Will rolled his eyes at the girls one last time before walking out of the apartment, a fed-up smile on his lips. 

Clarisse sucked on the joint again, enjoying the way the drugs chased away the remnants of pain in her sore muscles. Silena plucked the joint from her fingers, reclining further into the couch as she smoked. 

Clarisse was more than content to sit there and watch Silena smoke; she made it look like an art form.

When Silena passed the joint back with a soft, knowing smile, their fingers brushed—and this time, neither of them pulled away. Clarisse’s skin tingled where they touched, her body betraying her calm facade. She didn’t look away. She couldn’t.

She still remembered the day she’d ruined everything. It had been cold and grey; the first winter after the Battle of Manhattan. Percy was missing, Annabeth was going insane, Clarisse’s siblings were dead, and Camp Half-Blood was quieter than Clarisse had ever seen it. 

But Silena Beauregard was doing better. She wasn’t doing good, but she was doing better. She was eating in the pavilion with her siblings, she was sleeping through the night, and she was no longer calling herself a worthless pile of shit every day, so… things were better.  

And then Clarisse fucked it up. 

She confessed her feelings to Silena one night under the stars, just the two of them, out by the canoe lake. She told Silena everything. About the years of secret crushing, the jealousy when Silena dated Beckendorf, the self-hatred she’d felt when Beckendorf died. The despair and rage she’d felt when Silena stole her armor and fought the drakon. 

She told Silena everything. She couldn’t hold it inside much longer; she was bursting at the seams. She’d started to feel hopeful for the first time in months; Silena was smiling again! Maybe one day they could really be something. It had felt like the perfect time, and yet… 

“Clarisse, I can’t do this. Not now. Maybe not ever. I can’t—I won’t—I don’t know how to do this."  

Silena had gotten up and walked away from Clarisse before they could even talk about it. Clarisse knew it was her own fault. She knew the timing was wrong. She knew it wasn’t the time to be thinking about romance or the future, but she couldn’t help herself. The rejection hurt more than she could have ever imagined. It felt like she’d jeopardized everything worthwhile in her life—for nothing. 

She packed up her things and left for Arizona State University the very next week. She hadn’t looked back since. In their few meetings since that winter, when Clarisse was back at Camp for the summer, Silena and Clarisse fell into an easy routine. Laughter, teasing, songs around the campfire, parties behind Chiron’s back—but no flirting. No deep talks, no moments alone, no bringing up the past. 

Now, as Clarisse watched Silena smoke and laugh like they used to when they were dumb teenagers, all those feelings of rejection stirred back up in her chest. 

She carefully removed Silena’s legs from her lap and said, “I think I might… nap, or something, before dinner.” 

Silena said nothing as Clarisse got up off the couch and made for her bedroom. It was only when Clarisse opened the door that Silena finally murmured, “I’m sorry, Clarisse.” 

Clarisse turned to look at her. Silena was curled up on the couch, legs tucked to her chest, staring at Clarisse. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you those months after the battle.” 

“You don’t—” Clarisse’s voice cracked, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. You were going through a lot.” 

“So were you,” Silena said. “We all were. But I didn’t care about that. You were so eager to help me, to be there for me, and I let you. I used you. It was selfish, Clarisse. You needed comfort just as badly as I did, but I never gave you any. I just took and took and took—” 

“No, you didn’t,” Clarisse said gruffly. 

She stood in the doorway, her hand still on the doorknob, staring at Silena—curled up, small, like she was trying to make herself disappear. The image clashed so violently with how Silena used to be, all bright smiles and untouchable confidence. Clarisse had always hated how much she noticed Silena. Hated that even now, even after everything, Silena could look at her and unravel her completely.

“You didn’t use me,” Clarisse added, softer this time. “I wanted to be there for you. It helped me just as much as it helped you. Because I—” 

She stopped, jaw clenching.

Because I loved you.

“I didn’t know how to accept the care you offered me back then,” Silena whispered. “Not really. I couldn’t figure out why you didn’t hate me. Why everyone didn’t hate me. I’d betrayed you, for years, and you still came and sat by my bedside every day.” 

Clarisse walked back into the room slowly, as if the floor might crack beneath her feet. She sat on the edge of the couch, just far enough to keep some space between them. Her hands curled into fists in her lap.

“I forgave you for what you did years ago, Silena,” Clarisse murmured. “Luke manipulated you. He used you. And when you tried to get away from him, he threatened you. What happened wasn’t your fault.” 

Silena quickly wiped a tear from her cheek, turning her face to the open window instead of Clarisse. “I know,” Silena agreed. “I’ve taken the last few years to really process everything that happened back then. I still haven’t forgiven myself, but I’m… I’m trying to let people care about me again.” 

“That’s good,” Clarisse said, offering her old friend a smile. 

“I’m sorry I pushed you away,” Silena said, her eyes finally returning to Clarisse’s face. “You were hurting, too, but I pretended not to notice because I didn’t know how to help. That was cruel of me. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that, especially after everything you’d done for me.” 

“I was a mess back then,” Clarisse snorted, her heart racing in her chest at the memory of her confession and rejection. “You weren’t wrong to push me away. I’m sorry that I tried to push all of those feelings on you when we were both dealing with so much shit. It wasn’t the time or the place. I’m sorry.” 

“No,” Silena said, shaking her head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were so sincere about the whole thing—I remember everything about that night.” 

Clarisse closed her eyes and tried to push back the emotion welling up in her chest. The weed was not helping. 

“You were so nervous,” Silena laughed softly. “And I made you feel like shit. I just… left you there by the lake. I’m so sorry, Clarisse. I think about that night all the time. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed.” 

“It’s alright,” Clarisse said, unable to look her in the eyes. “We were just stupid kids.” 

And that’s just it, isn’t it? They were just kid. Just a couple of teenagers who’d fought in a war, watched their friends and siblings die, and had to find a way to keep on living despite it all.  

Silena sighed heavily, apparently not content with where they’d left things. Clarisse wasn’t sure how she felt about it all, but there was something cathartic about saying it all aloud. Letting the memory breathe between them. She took the joint from the ashtray, lit it again, and took a long, slow drag before handing it back to Silena.

Silena took it without a word, exhaled through her nose, and stared at the smoke as it curled toward the ceiling.

“I used to be so angry with you,” Clarisse admitted after a while. “After I went back to Arizona. I told myself I was an idiot, and that you were just like everyone else—afraid of me. But the truth is… I was so ashamed, Silena. I knew I dropped that on you at the worst possible time. I thought I was being brave, but I was just desperate. I didn’t want to lose you, and I thought my feelings for you at the time would be enough to hold onto you forever. I didn’t know what else to do. I just knew I’d already lost so many people I loved, and I couldn’t bear to lose you, too.”

Silena reached across the small space and rested her hand on Clarisse’s knee. Her touch was warm. Grounding. For a wild, stupid moment, Clarisse thought Silena might kiss her. The air between them grew hot and tense, and Clarisse almost leaned in—then she realized what she was doing. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“I think… I think we both did the best we could back then,” she said. “It just wasn’t good enough.”

Clarisse nodded. “No. It wasn’t.”

A pause settled between them. Not uncomfortable—just heavy.

“I missed you,” Silena said, barely above a whisper. “Every day. Even when you came back during the summer, I missed you. I pretended we were fine, but I missed what we’d had.”

Clarisse looked down at Silena’s hand on her knee, then up into her eyes. “You know what pissed me off the most?” she asked, huffing out a laugh. “That we acted like nothing had happened. I came back and we’d hang out and act like I hadn’t set something on fire between us.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Silena replied. “Mom wasn’t exactly a great example to me growing up. I couldn’t face my dad after the war. All my siblings secretly hated me. And then there you were, smiling at me after being gone for months at college. And I just… I couldn’t handle the thought of me bringing up the conversation we’d had—or didn’t have—and ruining the last good thing I had in my life.”

Clarisse let her head fall against the couch cushion. Her eyes drifted closed. “I get that now. I didn’t, back then. But I do now.”

Silena shifted closer, resting her head on Clarisse’s shoulder. It was nice. Comforting. Clarisse ignored the racing of her heart. She could pretend all she wanted that her feelings for Silena died that evening by the lake when Silena rejected her, but that would be a lie. 

“We could’ve been something, huh?”

Clarisse smiled softly. “Yeah. We could’ve.”

Silena didn’t speak, but her fingers tightened just slightly on Clarisse’s knee. It was enough. They passed the joint between them a few more times, their fingers brushing, each touch lingering longer than the last. The smoke hung in the air, thick and sweet.

“Do you think we could ever go back to the friends that we were?” Silena asked. 

“I hope so,” Clarisse murmured. “But I’m still pretty fucked up. I can’t promise you I won’t mess it all up again.” 

“Oh gods, so am I,” Silena laughed. “But maybe we can be fucked up together.”

Clarisse laughed and rested her head against Silena’s. She didn’t know what came next. But for now, Silena’s warmth against her skin felt like a beginning.

+++++

The ceremony took place the very next day at sunset. It was held in the center of the city, where the marble buildings had been swathed in tapestries and banners. Children, parents, soldiers, and friends loitered in the open area, all eyes fixated on the small stage where the two praetors were standing. 

Clarisse stood at the edge of the marble stage, her fingers twitching at the hem of the toga that clung uncomfortably to her frame. Reyna had helped her into the tablecloth only half an hour ago, and Clarisse was already sweaty, irritated, and ready to get out of the damned thing. 

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to ignore the heat of the evening sun and the weight of the toga that felt more like a straightjacket.

"Well, well. You clean up nice.” 

Clarisse turned to find Silena leaning up against one of the marble columns a few feet away, a mischievous grin on her face. Clarisse tried not to smile—she really did—but couldn’t help herself. 

“Fuck off,” she grunted in response. “I swear, if I have to wear this thing for one more minute I might just set myself on fire.” 

Silena laughed softly and stepped forward, fingering the lining of the ceremonial robe. “Oh, it’s heavier than I thought it would be.” 

“It’s ridiculous, Silena,” Clarisse complained, enjoying the way Silena’s lips quirked upward into a smile. “I think I’m dying.” 

“So dramatic,” Silena tutted, circling Clarisse like she was some sort of wolf. “Here, I’ll make you a deal. You go up there and accept your honors with a pretty smile, and then come find me right after and I promise I’ll get you out of that thing.” 

“Oh yeah?” Clarisse pressed. “You promise?” 

Silena flushed, but looked Clarisse right in the eyes as she said, “Yes, I promise I’ll tear your toga off as soon as you’re done being a mighty hero.” 

Clarisse swallowed heavily. She wasn’t sure what was happening right now—was Silena flirting with her? Was she making some sort of innuendo about undressing Clarisse? Was she just… being a good friend? Clarisse had no fucking clue. 

“Right. O-okay,” Clarisse muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. 

Silena chuckled and stepped closer, her hand brushing against Clarisse's. “I think they’re looking for you.” 

Sure enough, Hazel and Frank were on the stage and clearly searching the vicinity for Clarisse. With one last pleading look thrown at Silena, Clarisse stepped out from behind a column and walked onto the stage. 

The forum was packed with demigods, veterans, and citizens of New Rome, all gathered to witness the ceremony honoring her for her role in keeping the arai away from the city. Praetors Frank and Hazel stood beside her, their expressions solemn yet proud. Frank gave her a reassuring nod, while Hazel offered a warm smile.

"Clarisse La Rue," Hazel began, her voice carrying across the plaza. "For your bravery and unwavering courage, we, the Praetors of New Rome, bestow upon you the golden laurel, a symbol of your valor and honor. Without you, the arai would have been at our front door, ready to attack the citizens of our city. Your bravery and sacrifice will not be forgotten."

The crowd didn’t applaud—they looked to Clarisse. 

“Oh, right,” Clarisse said. “Um.. just doing my job. Happy to help.” 

With that, the crowd erupted into applause, but Clarisse barely heard it. Her mind was elsewhere, focusing on the discomfort of the toga and the weight of the laurels. She searched the crowd for Silena and found her standing near the back, with Annabeth and Percy, a grin on her face. Clarisse forced a smile to her own face, accepting the laurels with a small bow so Frank could place them on her head. 

After that, Hazel and Frank said a few more nonsensical things about bravery, monsters, and the continued friendship between Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood. Clarisse stood there and smiled, counting the seconds as they passed. When the praetors finally stopped talking, Clarisse figured it was time to tune back in. 

“...now we will celebrate as a city, as a community, with a feast!” 

Thank the gods, because Clarisse was fucking starving. 

She was ushered off stage and through the city streets, golden laurels teetering haphazardly on her head the entire way. When they finally made it to an open-air pavilion sitting atop a grassy hill, Clarisse’s breath caught in her throat. It was… well, it was beautiful. 

The city was alive with energy, the sun casting a golden hue over the white marble buildings and red-tiled roofs. A snaking river cut through the valley, sparkling and dazzling in the fading sunlight. 

Air spirits whisked around the pavilion, carrying dishes of food, goblets of wine, and trays of desserts this way and that. Clarisse was, unfortunately, told to sit at the head table with the praetors and some old white dudes she had no intention of talking to. 

Clarisse cleared her plate quickly and happily—one thing the Romans knew how to do was fucking cook. As everyone began to get up, walk around the pavilion, and greet one another, Clarisse started to look for Silena. She’d promised to get Clarisse out of this dress-prison-tablecloth... 

Clarisse waded out into the crowd, accepting smiles and pats on the back from people she didn’t know. She bumped into Annabeth once, which was a pleasant surprise. She found Will and Nico, who were both blushing and stuttering messes. She even chatted with Reyna for a bit, pleased to find the former praetor had procured a goblet full of wine for her (Clarisse was more than happy to knock back the alcohol). 

“Where’s your sister?” Clarisse asked Piper, who was busy looking at Reyna like one might look at a five-course meal after a week in the desert. 

“I dunno,” Piper said, never tearing her eyes off the daughter of Bellona (who was now chatting with Frank). 

“Gods above,” Clarisse groaned. “She promised she’d help me out of this!” 

“What?” Piper asked, blinking a few times and finally looking at Clarisse. “Oh, the toga?” 

“Yes, the damn toga,” Clarisse grumbled. “Fucking straightjacket. Silena promised she’d help me take it off after the ceremony, but I haven’t found her yet.” 

“Ohhh,” Piper said, eyes alight with mischief. “Right. Yeah, she mentioned she was going to… um, never mind. I saw her talking to Annabeth earlier?” 

With that, Piper disappeared into the crowd, leaving Clarisse alone yet again. With a few muttered swears, Clarisse pushed her way through the throngs of people in the direction she’d last seen Annabeth. 

“Over here, idiot.” 

Clarisse smiled before she turned around, already recognizing the voice. And there she was, Silena Beauregard, leaning up against the wall of the pavilion. Her face was flushed, evidence of a glass or two of wine, and her smile was beautiful. 

“Gods, I was starting to think you’d left without me,” Clarisse grumbled, joining her. 

“Want to get out of here?” Silena asked, jutting her chin toward the empty city. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” 

Silena beamed, which was almost enough to make Clarisse forget all about the toga and the ceremony and the eyes that had been watching her today. Silena took her by the hand and dragged her away from the pavilion, heading back down the road into the city. They ran, laughing and stumbling over themselves. When they finally slowed, their breathing labored from the run, Clarisse sagged against a marble wall. 

“Alright, you have a promise to keep,” she said, pointing an accusatory finger at Silena. “Get me out of this thing.” 

Silena laughed. “With pleasure.” 

She approached Clarisse slowly, her hands reaching out for the clasp on Clarisse’s shoulder. She made quick work of the folds and safety pins, her fingers roaming over Clarisse’s shoulders and back. Clarisse shuddered under her touch, trying not to think of Silena’s perfume in her nostrils or how close the other woman was standing to her. 

“Almost…done…” Silena grunted from behind Clarisse. “Aha! There.” 

With that, the toga fell to the ground around Clarisse’s ankles. Fucking finally. She breathed in a breath of fresh air, thankful the weight of linens no longer constricted her movement. 

“Gods, I didn’t even think to ask if you were wearing anything under there,” Silena said, eyeing Clarisse’s outfit of athletic shorts and a simple tank top. 

Clarisse snorted, “Reyna tried to get me to wear a tunic. We argued for fifteen minutes, and then she finally gave in and let me wear this.” 

“You looked really good in it,” Silena said mournfully, glancing at the discarded garment. 

Clarisse grinned, “Togas look better on the ground, don’t you think?” 

Silena tilted her head back and laughed—that laugh Clarisse hadn’t heard in years. Oh, it made her heart race. Clarisse couldn’t help herself from stepping forward, reaching for Silena—to do what? Hug her? Hold her? Kiss her? 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Clarisse took a step back and cleared her throat. “Should we go raid Reyna’s wine collection?” 

“Thought you’d never ask,” Silena said, a flush on her cheeks. 

They continued walking, heading for Reyna’s apartment on the far side of New Rome. The sun finally set as they walked. Lanterns lit themselves on the streets, providing glowing light for anyone walking. Most people were still up at the pavilion enjoying the feast, so the city streets were beautifully empty. 

They nicked a bottle of white wine from Reyna’s apartment (honestly it’s her fault for leaving the door unlocked) and then settled on a soft grassy patch next to the river. Clarisse immediately stretched out on her back, arms crossed behind her head, and looked up at the stars. It felt like being at home—at Camp Half-Blood. 

“This is nice,” she hummed. “I needed this.” 

“Thought you might,” Silena laughed, reclining next to her. “You always were happier out in the woods.” 

Clarisse was suddenly very thankful for the darkness so that Silena couldn’t see the blush on her cheeks. It was weird that Silena still knew her so well—still knew how to make her laugh, how to calm her down, how to change her mood. Even after so many years of distance and awkward friendship, Silena still knew her. 

“Silena, I—” 

Clarisse cut herself off, remembering the last time she found herself in a situation like this. Three years ago, she was sitting next to a body of water with Silena Beauregard and feeling hopeful. And she royally fucked up. Things are different now, of course; they’re healthier. Happier. Not as lost in despair and rage. But Clarisse can’t—won’t—fuck this up again. 

“What?” Silena prompted her, eyes wide and trained solely on Clarisse. 

“Um… nothing,” Clarisse said, forcing a laugh. “Just wanted to say thanks. For coming all the way out here for this stupid ceremony. I don’t know why they insisted on it—I didn’t do much of anything. But thanks anyways.” 

Silena’s grin softened into a smile, “I’d travel anywhere to celebrate you.” 

Silena said it so easily. So honestly. Clarisse clenched her eyes shut; this is just friendship. Nothing more. She could convince herself of that. She wouldn’t lose Silena again. She wouldn’t survive losing Silena again. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Silena murmured, returning her gaze to the stars. “About what we talked about yesterday.” 

Clarisse swallowed heavily and forced a laugh. “What, when we were stoned?” 

“Yeah,” Silena continued, just as earnest. “And I was wondering if you’d… if there was any way you’d want to… try again?” 

“We are trying again,” Clarisse assured her. “We’re friends, Silena, I promise. Nothing will change that, no matter how fucked up we are.” 

“No, I know that,” Silena said, nodding fervently. She propped herself up on her elbow, hovering over Clarisse in the dark. “And that means a lot to me. You have no idea how nice it is to hear you say that—to know that you value this friendship as much as I do. But I… I’ve spent the last 24 hours asking myself if that’s enough for me.” 

“I don’t… I’m not following.” 

“Do you want to go on a date?” 

Clarisse’s heart nearly stuttered to a stop. She stared up at the stars, unblinking and unmoving. Was this happening? Was she dreaming? She wasn’t entirely sure what to do, so she pinched her arm. Hard. Just to make sure this wasn’t some extremely realistic and fucked up demigod dream. 

“Gods, Clarisse, did you just pinch yourself?” 

Clarisse sat up, rolling onto her side so she could see Silena fully. “Um, yeah, I fucking did. What… what did you just ask me?” 

A smile slowly crept across Silena’s face. She was only a few inches away, and even in the dark of the night, Clarisse could make out the freckles on her face. 

“I asked if you’d like to go on a date with me,” Silena said. “I know I screwed it all up last time, and I’m sorry for that. It was never because I didn’t like you, Clarisse. I was just lost in a sea of grief and anger and shame. But I always liked you.” 

“You… hold on… you did?” 

“I thought that was pretty obvious,” Silena scoffed. "I've been flirting with you since I got here." 

“No, it most certainly was not!” Clarisse replied, flabbergasted. “Are you being serious? I can’t tell, Silena, and if this is some fucked up joke—” 

“It’s not a joke,” Silena whispered. She rested her hand on the side of Clarisse’s face, dragging her thumb closer and closer to Clarisse’s lips. “If you’ve moved on, tell me now, and I’ll stop. We can be friends, and nothing more, and I can live with that. Well, I’ll try to. Just tell me now.” 

“Silena…” Clarisse had no idea what to say. She was still halfway certain this was some sort of dream. She was scared if she pushed forward, if she said anything at all, she’d wake up. She didn’t want to wake up from this dream. 

“Clarisse,” Silena said evenly, her breath tickling Clarisse’s face. “What do you think?” 

“I think we’re fucking crazy,” Clarisse muttered, eyes drifting to Silena’s mouth. “I think we’re stupid idiots who are probably going to make a lot of mistakes in the future. And I also think I won’t be able to survive losing you again. So I think we have to be pretty fucking sure if we’re going to do this, Silena.” 

“I’m sure,” she said. “Are you?” 

Clarisse couldn’t help herself. She grinned. “Yeah, I’m pretty fucking sure.” 

Then Clarisse closed the distance between them and kissed Silena Beauregard. And it was pretty much the best moment of her entire fucking life.

Notes:

couldn't help myself. needed to dip my toes back into the canon universe!!! let me know what you think