Chapter Text
When I first met you, it just felt right
It's like I met a copy of myself that night
I don't believe in fate as such
But we were meant to be together that's my hunch
"To be honest, I don't really want to be here."
To Annabeth, this seems fairly obvious. She just won a three hour long match against an opponent with the strongest backhand she'd ever met. She's exhausted. These tournaments are tiring enough without having to face the press after each and every game. But the journalist looks surprised by Annabeth's response. He laughs uneasily. "Really?"
From where she sits alone behind the long table, Annabeth rubs her face tiredly and appraises the group of journalists before her. With their tape recorders and notepads at the ready, eager to note down their next quote from her to write her up as an angry bitch in their reports. Well, Annabeth thinks, she may as well live up to the image.
She lets out a pained sigh. "Really. I'd actually much prefer to be in my bed right now than answer another question about whether I'm ready for my next match."
There's another round of nervous chuckles which Annabeth does nothing to encourage or ease.
"So, um..." The journalist consults his notepad. "Are you ready for your next match?"
Annabeth concentrates all of her efforts on not hurling her bottle of water at him.
Fifteen excruciating minutes later, Annabeth steps down from the stage and comes face to face with a scowl which could rip the hairs out of her scalp. Piper McLean has a reputation for charming even the most stingy person on the planet into some sponsorship deal while leaving them thinking they’ve gotten the better deal, but few others than Annabeth get to see her less than charming side. She looks like she wants to throw Annabeth off a cliff.
She is also Annabeth’s Public Relations representative and one of her closest friends.
"You know,” Piper says in a tone far too light to match her expression, “if you hate me, I'd rather you just tell me instead of making my life a living hell."
Annabeth glances sideways at her as they walk together from the press hall, offering a wry smile. "Where would be the fun in that? You know I like to keep things interesting for you."
Piper tapped her chin with her clicky pen. "Ah yes. What would my life be without Annabeth Chase there to keep it interesting."
Ignoring her sarcastic tone, Annabeth shrugs. "Exactly."
Once they get away from the press hall, they are mostly left alone. Annabeth is Piper's only client who's made it through to the quarter-finals of the Australian Open, so she rides with her back to the hotel and makes sure her attention is wholly devoted to her needs. Annabeth likes Piper, might even love her as the close friend she has become after five years of being her PR rep, but she could really do without all the attention.
She must fall asleep in the back of the car because the journey seems to take far less time than usual and Piper prods the side of her head with her pen at the end of it. Piper walks her through the hotel all the way up to her room, chirping instructions to her which Annabeth barely listens to.
"And your dress for the benefit is hanging up in your room. I had to work my charm on the tailor to get it finished early."
Annabeth stops in the process of unlocking her door. "Come again?"
Piper looks up from her beloved clip board and blinks at Annabeth's blank expression. "The Sport For All benefit tonight? Raising money for kids to get involved in sport at a young age? It falls in line with the tennis tournament every year. Annabeth, I've told you about this. Several times."
Annabeth rubs her face. "You tell me a lot of things."
Piper looks like she's praying for strength. "Annabeth, please."
She can tell Piper is about to go into a long rant about how she never asks her to do anything and they have an agreement for three formal parties a year and Piper goes through so much as her rep and Annabeth owes her.
Annabeth saves them both the pain and holds her hands up in surrender. "Alright. I'll go."
Piper looks so happy that Annabeth almost gets excited at the prospect of going. And then she remembers how much she dislikes these parties and being subjected to the efforts of ego-driven male - and some female - tennis players.
"But I’m leaving at eleven.”
“Twelve,” Piper counters.
Annabeth narrows her eyes. “Half eleven.”
She shuts the door before Piper can make a counter offer.
Annabeth hasn't always hated these events. Eight years ago, at the tender age of seventeen, when her career was really starting to take off, she had been excited to attend the glamorous parties with all the players she had looked up to for so long. They say never meet your heroes, and Annabeth couldn't agree more. There's nothing more disappointing than finding out that the Greats are just regular people, with awkward small talk and egos bigger than the room.
She has made friends though, over the years. People whose humour is close enough to hers for their arrogance not to bother her quite so much. After all, Annabeth is no humble Saint, it's rare that professional sportspeople are. A certain drive and belief in oneself is needed to succeed as she has. But this doesn't stop her disliking others with similar personality traits to her own.
One of those less antagonising people is her practice partner, Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano. They were matched together two years ago and have been practicing together ever since. Annabeth finds it easy to get on with Reyna, mostly because she is straight to the point about everything and she won’t hesitate to call people out on their bullshit. But they’ve never quite become friends, instead teetering in an odd zone which allows them to casually discuss American politics but not to know each other’s parent’s names.
“I swear, if my rep makes me go to one more of these functions I will strangle her,” Reyna says, swiping a glass of prosecco from a passing waiter.
Annabeth smiles, sipping her own drink. “I assume you’ve been persuaded into attending, too?”
Reyna gives her a withering look over her glass. They stand together near the edge of the room, observing the party from a distance. Outside of these settings, Annabeth knows they probably wouldn’t choose to spend time with one another, despite practicing together for almost three years. Their partnership is born of convenience and avoidance of unpleasant male tennis players and agents who think they are the shit but are, in fact, not. Regardless, Piper was Annabeth’s closest friend in this world.
Don’t make friends in tennis. It’ll only be your weakness.
Reyna had been the one to tell her that.
So they pass the time by discussing their matches and exchanging disdainful comments about the other party-goers. Not even ten minutes later, their shared agent finds them.
"Good evening, ladies."
Jason Grace is dressed in a clean black suit, looking as professional as ever even without a phone pressed to his ear.
"Jason," Annabeth greets him warmly, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. "How are you?"
He gives her a placid smile before breaking eye contact to kiss Reyna's cheek.
"I'm glad you're here," he says in a calculated tone.
Reyna laughs darkly. "I take it you've pissed him off more than I have today?" she asks Annabeth.
"Honestly, Piper overreacted."
Reyna's eyebrows are halfway up her forehead as she hides a smirk behind her glass. "Did she really?"
Annabeth rolls her eyes and turns to Jason. "I didn't throw anything at anybody this time, did I?"
Reyna tilts her glass at Jason. "Well that is an accomplishment."
Jason rolls his eyes. "You're lucky I have other things to deal with." He turns to Reyna whose face fills with dread.
Annabeth pats her friend's arm and leaves them to it. She makes her way over to the bar, feeling like she needs something stronger than prosecco, though she knows she'll regret this in the morning. She orders a gin and tonic and sighs when the liquid hits her tongue.
"Long day, huh?"
Annabeth looks over to see a guy her age standing at the bar wearing a navy suit and holding what looks like a Seven Seven in his hand. He's a little taller than her, with dark unkempt hair and a deep tan that looks native. His eyes dart over her frame briefly and Annabeth straightens, expecting an obnoxious smirk and a bad chat up line to follow. But he just smiles, and it's not completely innocent, but it doesn't make her want to smack him. He visibly swallows as well, and that makes her feel a little more comfortable. Intimidating people is Annabeth's forte, she can roll with this.
Besides, she knows him. Or at least knows of him. They've run the same circuit and played for the same country long enough for Annabeth to know who he is.
"Percy Jackson," she says and doesn't ask, holding out her hand.
His eyebrows pull up as though he's surprised she remembers who he is. He shakes her hand with a warm grip. "Annabeth Chase," he says.
"We've met before," she tells him, taking her hand back.
"A few times," he agrees. "I feel like we haven't had a chance to talk."
"We haven't. Although last time we ran into each other I did see a great deal of you."
Blush runs up the sides of Percy's neck. "Right. I was hoping you would have forgotten that." He takes a swig of his drink.
Annabeth holds back a grin. “Oh, a girl doesn’t forget something like that so easily.”
He raises his eyebrows at her, still blushing. “You’re a lot more suave now than you were then.”
Annabeth splutters.
He grins. “I mean, to be fair, if I’d walked into somebody else’s hotel room while they were showering I probably wouldn’t have been all that cool either.”
“You looked pretty deer-in-headlights yourself.”
“Justified, I think.”
She takes a sip of her drink, smirking at him. "I thought you would yell or something, but you just stepped out and stood there, dripping."
"Yes thanks," he says, running a hand over his face. "It's burned into my memory, I really don't need reminding."
She does anyway. "I've never seen anyone take so long to get a towel."
He looks up at her then. A lot of guys might sound defensive but Percy is almost laughing. "And what was it you said? 'Goodbye, and may I say, good body'?"
Annabeth shrugs, though she'd been mostly mortified at the time.
"I meant it," she tells him.
He smiles into his drink, a blush spreading over his high cheekbones. "Thanks."
Annabeth watches him, feeling a long-forgotten pang in her lower belly. She’s been dedicated to her career for as long as she can remember, prioritising weekend lessons and extra sessions with coaches after school and meeting agents and training, training, training over everything else. Including relationships. And Percy is looking at her with a dangerous smile and his body is long and lean in that sharp suit and she’s laughing, feeling lighter than she has in a long time.
“I stand by my earlier statement,” she tells him later, between panting breaths and the silk sheets of his hotel bed.
Percy turns his head on the pillow, frown pinching his eyebrows together. “Come again?”
She raises an eyebrow at his choice of words and he rolls his eyes.
Annabeth grins and looks up at the ceiling again. “‘Good body.’”
Percy chokes out a laugh. “Thank you?”
“You're welcome.”
She crawls off the bed, not bothering to take the sheet with her. Instead, she uses her free hands to pour herself a glass of prosecco and pick up a strawberry from their deserted picnic. She pops it into her mouth as she admires the suite.
“This place is fucking ridiculous,” she tells him frankly.
Percy laughs, pushing up onto his elbows as he gazes openly at her, raising one eyebrow.
“You're saying yours is smaller?”
She scoffs. “Mine is a fucking shoebox, but I can't really blame anyone else for that.”
“Oh? And why’s that?”
She rolls her eyes at herself as she walks back to the bed, handing her glass off to him and picking up his discarded shirt to stick her arms through and wrap around her torso. Annabeth sits on the end of the mattress and faces Percy, who’s now sitting upright with the sheet pooled around his hips.
“I'm one of those really superstitious athletes,” she confesses. “I can't change shit up during a tournament, so when I was initially assigned that room by mistake, I couldn't get it changed.”
“I mean.” He takes a sip of the prosecco. “You could have.”
Annabeth nudges his leg with her toe. “Don’t act like you’re any different. I’ve seen your shuffle dance.”
He chokes a laugh. “My what, now?”
Annabeth smirks as she watches him fidget nervously. “Before you serve, every single time, you do that shuffle with your feet and twist your racquet.”
Percy blushes but he raises an eyebrow too. “You’ve been paying attention.”
She takes her glass back from him. “Research.”
“Sure.”
“I’m serious.”
Percy plucks the glass from her hand and leans over to place it on the bedside table. She watches the muscles of his back shift under his skin and blames the prosecco for how her gaze lingers. For how she reaches for him immediately as he turns back to her, and how she hums when he pulls her against him, into his lap.
His hands are on her skin, pulling the shirt off her body and kissing her again and again and again. Until she feels dizzy with the touch of his skin on hers, the heat building between them again. She opens her eyes and watches him beneath her, the pink of his cheeks and panting mouth and the brilliant blue-green of his eyes beneath dark lashes.
Her mind flashes back to earlier in the evening, when they had stood to the side of the party gently mocking their colleagues and opponents. Hiding laughter behind champagne flutes and creating inside jokes which felt like they had been shared years before. And Percy had not looked at her with a predatory gaze, he hadn’t leaned down to whisper in her ear that they should get out of there, he hadn’t presumed or pushed or devoured. He had blushed when she leaned up to brush her lips against his ear, he had nodded with bright eyes and a smile , he had placed a gentle hand on her back and followed.
Here and now, he follows her again. Watches her through lidded eyes as she shifts up and settles onto him. His hands go to her hips and he presses his face into her shoulder and groans, a long guttural thing which makes her feel powerful and wanted. He follows her as she moves above him, as she leans backwards and lands on silk sheets. As she wraps her legs around him and rocks her hips and tugs on his hair and leaves teeth marks on his shoulder. He follows. After she is spent and spent and spent, he follows after, swearing and slumping onto the mattress next to her.
Annabeth pats his chest lazily.
“Damn.”
He pants next to her. “Yeah.”
“You out of breath?” she teases, barely covering her own panting. “We need to work on your stamina.”
Percy chokes out a laugh. “Does that mean we’re gonna be doing this again?”
She stiffens, instinct.
“Because I want to,” Percy follows quickly, either sensing her panic or pre-empting it. “I definitely want to.”
The breathlessness of his tone lets Annabeth feel a little more smug, lets her relax against the sheets, lift her foot and place it between his legs. They’re touching now, in two places. Percy’s hand has lifted to hold her arm where it still rests against his belly, where she’d allowed it to fall. It hits her that she isn’t usually this relaxed after hooking up with someone. She isn’t usually still lying in bed, touching in two places. She’s usually dressed and out the door, down the corridor, calling a cab so that she can sleep in her own bed and be up early for practice.
It strikes her that this doesn’t feel entirely like her previous hook ups.
“Alright,” she says, “but we should make a few things clear.”
“Okay?” Percy sounds unsure for the first time since they crossed the threshold of his hotel room.
She turns her head to look at him and he does the same, following.
“I’m not in a place to start a relationship. It’s too messy with training and tournaments and travelling.”
He takes a moment to respond and she can’t quite read his face as he does. “Right,” he says quietly. “The three Ts.”
“Right. But, I do want to see you again.”
Percy looks at the ceiling. “For sex.”
“Are you cool with that?”
Percy looks at her again, wide eyed, and for a moment she has no idea what he’s about to say.
“Totally. I’m totally cool with that.”
She lets out a breath and turns her gaze to the ceiling. Percy’s fingers close around her wrist gently, thumb stroking the bone. Annabeth withdraws it from his grasp and rolls onto her side, head propped on her hand to look at him.
“We should probably make some rules.”
Percy has regained control over his expression, he looks back with a raised eyebrow and a contemplative expression. “Rules?”
“So this doesn’t get messy.”
“Okay. So, we should be honest with each other, right? No lying or whatever.”
“Right. That includes if we start feeling things.”
“ Things? ”
“You know, like, emotions and shit.”
“Such a way with words.”
“Fuck off. No sleepovers.”
Percy pulls a face at that. “You’d rather sneaking out of hotel rooms at two in the morning?”
She relents. “Okay, fair. No sharing a bed with clothes on.”
He contemplates. Shrugs, nods. “I’m cool with that.”
“Of course you are.” She shifts, getting more comfortable next to him. “We should keep this just at tournaments. No need to meet up in between.”
“Sure. We probably shouldn’t go to each other’s matches either.”
“Right. And no PDA obviously. We should just keep this between us, I don’t need the press bugging me about this.”
“Alright, so it’s just between us.”
“I might have to tell Piper.”
“Your PR rep?”
“She’s basically my best friend. And she’d find out anyway, that lady is a damn bloodhound when it comes to my sex life. She probably knows about this already somehow.”
“Okay if you’re telling Piper, I get to tell someone too.”
“That’s fair.”
He nods. Looks contemplative again. “So how are we gonna organise this? If we can’t go to each other’s games or see each other in public…”
“I’ll give you my number, you dork.”
“So we can text.”
“Yes, but only to arrange to meet up, right?”
“Mhm. And to exchange tennis tips.”
She rolls her eyes and shifts closer to him. “Of course.” She says the words against the skin of his jaw. “So you’re cool with this being low key, right?”
“Sure. Low key.” She feels his Adam’s apple bob under her tongue. “I can totally do low key. I’m all about low key.”
“Grover, why would I say that I’m low key? Have I ever been low key about a relationship in my life?”
His friend grimaces. “You know, Perce, I want to tell you yes.”
Percy groans, rubbing his face with his free hand. They’re walking to the practice courts so he has to remove his hand from his face after a moment so that he doesn’t walk into anyone. He scrubs it through his hair instead and is reminded sharply of the way Annabeth had tugged her fingers through it the night before.
“This is going to end badly,” Grover tells him.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I just want to be honest with you.”
“Appreciated. But seriously Grover, the fuck am I gonna do?”
Grover places a hand on his shoulder, stopping him on the path, and looks him straight in the eye. “Percy, you’re not gonna fall for this girl. You’re gonna separate lust and love. You’re gonna sleep with her and not get attached and there will be no terrible consequences from this.”
“You don’t believe a word of what you just said, do you?”
Grover lets go of him and punches his arm good naturedly. “Nope, but I said it with meaning, didn’t I?”
“Not really.”
Percy shoulders the wire mesh door open onto the practice courts and walks along the edge, avoiding stray balls, until they find an empty court. They both drop their bags and remove their racquets along with a tube of tennis balls. Percy pulls the lid off and lets them tumble onto the worn grass, heaving out a sigh.
Grover scuffs the back of Percy’s head as he passes. “C’mon, man. Head in the game.”
“Right.” Percy shakes his head and bends down to pocket some of the balls. Watching his friend jog into place on the other side of the court. “Right.”
He has a terrible habit of letting the relationships he’s in distract him from his game. He falls too hard and too fast and overthinks things and ends up falling on his ass in the dirt, sometimes very literally.
Percy takes a ball from his pocket and bounces it once, twice, three times. Lifting his eyes to Grover who is watching him from the backline on the other side of the court, body crouched slightly, ready for his serve. He feels instead of watches the bounce of the ball, tries to focus himself within this moment. Tosses the ball high and lets his serving arm follow, feels the impact of the racquet against the ball, watches as it flies towards the net and clap against it with a depressing smack.
Grover straightens, watching him with a frown and Percy bounces the mesh of his racquet against the heel of his hands a few times, delaying, avoiding Grover’s concerned gaze. He shakes himself off, annoyed that Annabeth has already burrowed her way under his skin, that he can’t focus himself. And then her voice is suddenly sharply in his mind. Come on, Jackson. Get it the fuck together .
He tosses the ball, follows with his serve, and watches the ball fly over the net. Grover returns and Percy has to sprint to get to it but snaps it up with a flick of his wrist. The rally lasts longer than it should and Percy feels alive, feels adrenaline pump through his system and the asphalt scrape beneath his sneakers with each twist of his body, feels the muscles of his legs tense with each burst and sprint. He feels his heart race and his lungs strain for air and thinks of Annabeth’s hand on his chest, We’re gonna have to work on your stamina .
He feels so very present.
“You know this is a practice, right?” Grover asks him when they break. He chugs down some water and gives Percy a wary look as he swallows. “Not the final of Wimbledon.”
Percy shrugs, still feeling exuberant. “You told me to get my head in the game.”
“Yeah, well. Tone it down a little, alright?”
“Struggling to keep up, old man?”
Grover rolls his eyes. “So you managed to get her out of your head then?”
“Actually, I think I stopped trying so hard to not think about her.”
“There’s too many negatives in that sentence for me to understand what you’re talking about.”
Percy chucks his friend’s shoulder. “I think Annabeth got it right. Casual is the way forward.”
Grover looks at him disbelievingly.
“I’m serious! Think about my last two relationships - I was a fucking mess afterwards. They ruined my game and I could never commit to anything because tennis always came first.”
Grover nods like he’s appraising Percy’s argument and counters with a pointed finger. “But neither of them were also athletes. Annabeth is. She gets it, right?”
“Exactly. We’re on the same page.”
“So you’re perfect for each other.”
Percy ignores the childish rush in his chest. “We’re not starting a relationship,” he says firmly, unsure of who he’s trying to convince now. “We’re casual. Neither of us can commit to anything serious with all the travelling and training and tournaments.”
“The three Ts,” Grover recites.
“Exactly.” He points a convincing finger at Grover who bats it away. “This is the only way it’s gonna work.”
Grover lets out a sigh and makes his way back over to the other side of the court. As he goes, he calls back over his shoulder to Percy.
“Might I remind you that I’ve been in a happy, stable relationship for five years and I can still play tennis.”
“Well you are a magical being and June is a fucking saint. Not all of us are as perfect as you, Grover.”
Grover blushes but still looks unconvinced. He keeps quiet though, as he prepares to serve and Percy wonders what he's holding back. Part of him understands Grover’s argument - agrees even - but he represses it. He doesn't want to think about he and Annabeth being more than what they have agreed to be, about taking her on a date and kissing her at the end of the night and calling her the next day and becoming something.
It's just sex. And he's happy with that.
He is.
Percy Jackson’s serve is a beautiful thing, but not quite as beautiful as his pre-serve shuffle. The Jackson Shuffle, she’s decided to name it. Two steps forward, two steps back, racquet twisted, held. Then the ball flies from his hand into the air and his body stretches up and arches over, pulling all of those lovely muscles tight underneath tanned skin and blue shorts and polo shirt.
Annabeth is fully aware that she's breaking one of their rules, more specifically, one that Percy had proposed. She's still trying to figure out why he had. Had he thought she'd put him off his game? Had he wanted to avoid having to go to hers?
She closes her eyes to rid herself of these thoughts, safe in the knowledge that Percy won't see her from this spot. She's in the stands behind him, with the sun behind them both, under a platform in the stands. She lets the sounds of the court surround her; the tempo of the ball against strings of racquets and shorn grass, the gasps and cheers of the crowds, the harsh tannoy of the umpire.
These sounds ground her, make her feel comfortable and known. Here, Annabeth is home.
“You are such a creepy stalker.”
Annabeth opens her eyes as Piper sidles up next to her, resting her forearms on the rail.
“I'm not a stalker. Don't be a dick.”
“Then why are you hiding in the shadows watching the guy you hooked up with last night’s game?”
Annabeth isn't surprised that Piper knows, but she is mildly annoyed.
Percy serves again, drawing her gaze back to the long line of his body and the flick of his wrist and the curve of his ass in those shorts.
She turns her back to the court and leans back against the railing as the umpire announces the point to Percy’s opponent, Sitko. Percy is two sets up and has already broken Sitko’s serve in the third set, but Sitko is fighting with bared teeth for every point. Percy rises to the challenge, bouncing and grinning to the crowd with every point won. They adore him, clamouring for every serve and returning every one of his fist pumps and shouts directed towards them.
“We made a rule,” Annabeth mutters, holding herself back from joining in with their cheers.
Piper raises a judgmental eyebrow. Annabeth scowls back. “A rule,” she repeats slowly.
“Well, we made lots of rules. And I may be breaking one.”
“Oh for fucks sake, Annabeth.”
“Look. Before you lose your shit everywhere. Don't. This is fine. I've got this under control.”
Piper is quiet for a moment as she watches the game. Annabeth fights the urge to turn around and join her. She clenches her hands into fists.
“He doesn't strike me as the fuck buddy type,” Piper says, eventually.
“He's cool with it.”
“I'm sure.”
“Piper, for god’s sake. Chill. We're both adults.”
Piper lets out a sigh, letting her head fall forward. “I just hope you know what you're doing, Annabeth.”
Annabeth turns around now, in time to watch Percy sprint from the backline to return a drop shot and win the game. Five games to three. He’ll win this match, she knows he will. His opponent’s backhand is too weak and Percy plays to it every point he can. He's a rookie and his every move is readable ten steps before he makes it. Percy, young himself but far more experienced, reads the kid like a book.
“I do. It’s fine. You’re overthinking this.”
Piper looks like she’s on the verge of saying something but she keeps her lips pressed into a line as she watches the match play out.
“Just…” Piper visibly chooses her words with care. “Don’t break him, Annabeth.”
The words clamour through her like an echoing bell as Piper leaves and she watches Percy Ace his final serve to win the match. The crowd explodes into life and the players shake hands and Percy tosses a ball into the audience and he is exuberant. He’s so full of pure joy and in that moment, Annabeth feels like she could very much splinter him into pieces if she’s not careful.
She won’t.
(But she could.)