Chapter Text
She had imagined this moment a hundred different ways.
Sometimes it ended with her driving her spear straight through his chest before he could even say her name. Sometimes she punched him hard enough to knock that stupid smirk off his face and walked away before he could explain himself. Once or twice, usually late at night when the camp was quiet and her anger had burned itself down into something duller, she imagined just standing there, letting him talk.
Clarisse La Rue had planned it like a battle.
The moment Chris Rodriguez got his mind back from the labyrinth’s curse, she would be ready.
She had gone over it step by step with Silena and Annabeth like they were preparing for war. It had started a few days after she returned from Arizona with Chris barely conscious and muttering nonsense, his mind twisted from the Labyrinth’s magic. The stress of the journey and the helpless fury she’d carried the whole way back had nowhere to go once he was safe. So she’d taken it out on the training arena.
The girls had found her there.
Clarisse had been hacking apart dummies for hours. The sand of the arena was littered with splintered wood, straw stuffing, and broken limbs from practice mannequins. One dummy’s head had been cleaved clean off and rolled halfway across the floor. Another had been split down the center like firewood.
Clarisse herself was drenched in sweat, hair sticking to her neck, chest heaving from exertion. Her spear whistled through the air again and again, each strike landing with enough force to crack wood.
By the time Silena and Annabeth had walked in, Clarisse was in the middle of absolutely obliterating another poor dummy. Silena leaned against the arena railing and watched for a moment before wincing.
“Okay,” she said. “That dummy definitely died five hits ago.”
Clarisse didn’t stop.
Annabeth crossed her arms, analyzing the destruction like it was some architectural disaster. “You’ve been out here too long.”
The spear slammed down again.
Finally Annabeth marched over and grabbed the shaft mid-swing. “Break. Now.”
Clarisse glared at her like she might shove the spear through both of them.
It took a while.
Clarisse refused snacks. Refused to sit. Refused to admit anything was wrong. But eventually exhaustion caught up with her, and she dropped onto the arena steps with a bottle of water in one hand and a bag of chips in the other.
And then it all came spilling out.
About Chris. About the Labyrinth. About how stupid he was for going in there alone. About how she had dragged him halfway across the country while he babbled nonsense and barely recognized her. About how angry she was. And how scared she had been.
Annabeth listened with that calculating look she always had when piecing together a strategy. Silena mostly just nodded and let Clarisse rant.
At some point Percy Jackson showed up when they ran out of snacks. No one had asked him to join the conversation, but apparently he had been recruited as the official snack runner. He returned with more chips and a bottle of liquor he definitely wasn’t supposed to have. Clarisse had glared at him.
“Don’t ask,” Percy muttered, handing it over.
By the end of the night, the group had formed something resembling a plan. Not that Clarisse would ever admit it out loud.
What she’d say. What Chris deserved to hear. What she’d do if he tried to joke about it. It had all seemed perfectly clear at the time.
Now?
Now she couldn’t remember a single word.
Because the moment had arrived and nothing about it felt like the battle she had prepared for.
Earlier that afternoon Clarisse had been running a training class for some younger campers from the Demeter and Hephaestus cabins. She’d had them running laps around the arena and practicing weapon drills until one of the Demeter kids turned pale green and started throwing up in the sand.
Clarisse had sighed, called off the rest of training, and dismissed everyone early.
Which meant she had unexpected free time.
Normally that would mean going back to the Ares cabin and enduring the chaos of her siblings-loud arguments, wrestling matches, weapons clanging against walls. Today she just wanted quiet. Peace. Maybe five minutes where no one needed her to be the toughest person in the room.
So she headed back to the cabin alone.
The Ares cabin loomed ahead like a squat bunker—dark red paint, barbed wire along the roof, and the faint smell of metal and sweat permanently hanging around it.
Clarisse reached for the door. Before her hand even touched the handle, it swung open.
She froze.
Chris Rodriguez stood inside.
For a moment, time seemed to stop.
Her eyes swept over him once. Then again. He looked… different.
The wild, fractured look that had haunted his eyes ever since the Labyrinth was gone. No twitching. No frantic, unfocused movements. No muttering nonsense under his breath. Instead, his gaze was sharp. Alert. Mischievous. The unmistakable devilish gleam every Hermes kid seemed to carry. He looked healthy. Whole.
Chris stood there awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. His body was still—no strange vibrations running through him like before. A crooked grin tugged at his mouth as he opened it to speak. Then he closed it again. The words apparently disappearing somewhere along the way.
Clarisse felt something twist violently in her chest.
She snapped out of it before the feeling could settle.
Without a word she slammed her shoulder into him as she walked past, knocking him slightly off balance as she entered the cabin.Her spear came off her back in one fluid motion.She tossed it onto her bed with a heavy thud. Not because she didn’t want it. Because for a split second the thought of driving it straight through him had crossed her mind.
Behind her, Chris cleared his throat. The cabin door creaked shut as he stepped inside and cautiously moved a few paces closer. Clarisse could feel his presence behind her. The heat of his body. The nervous energy rolling off him. She turned around sharply.
Before he could say anything—
Her hand lashed out.
Crack.
The sound echoed through the cabin.
Chris’s head snapped to the side as the slap landed hard across his cheek. The skin instantly flushed red beneath her palm. Clarisse’s hand recoiled, fingers curling into a fist as she fought the urge to hit him again.
Her voice came out low and furious. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Chris slowly straightened, rubbing the side of his face. For a moment he didn’t look angry. Just… stunned.
“I just came here to talk,” Chris said.
Clarisse scoffed, the sound sharp and disbelieving as it left her mouth. The idea of him just coming to talk felt so absurd that for a moment she couldn’t even process it.
Talk.
Like this was some normal conversation. Like he hadn’t disappeared into the Labyrinth and come back half-mad. Like she hadn’t spent weeks by his bed while he muttered nonsense and clawed at invisible things. Like he hadn’t left her wondering if he’d ever come back at all.
Rage surged back through her chest so quickly it almost made her dizzy. She could practically feel it ignite behind her eyes, hot and violent. Her shoulders tensed, her hands curling into fists at her sides.
Chris saw it immediately.
The shift in her expression. The way her entire posture changed, like a warrior preparing for a fight. He took a careful step back, boots scraping softly against the cabin floor. Both of his hands came up instinctively, palms facing her in surrender so she could see he wasn’t reaching for a weapon.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, the words stumbling over each other as he rushed to get them out. His voice was softer than she remembered, less cocky, less sure of itself. “I know that’s not what you want to hear right now, but—”
His words faltered. Chris swallowed. For a second he looked down at the floor, like he was trying to gather the courage to keep going. The familiar smirk he usually carried had completely disappeared, replaced by something far more uncertain. “I remember the nights.”
Clarisse’s eyes narrowed.
He lifted his gaze again, meeting hers, though there was hesitation there now. A flicker of something vulnerable.
“I remember pieces,” he continued, voice rougher now. “Not everything. But… enough.”
He shifted his weight nervously, running a hand through his dark hair. His shoulders were tight, like he expected her to interrupt him at any second.
“How you took care of me,” he said quietly. “How you stayed with me.”
Images clearly passed through his mind as he spoke. The long nights where the Labyrinth’s curse twisted his thoughts into nightmares. The way he’d woken up shaking and disoriented, sometimes shouting, sometimes trying to run. And every time—Clarisse had been there.
“I didn’t deserve it,” Chris admitted, the words coming out slower now, heavier. “Not after everything I put you through.”
Her eyes stayed locked on him, studying every inch of his face like she was searching for some kind of lie hidden beneath the surface. Her mind was racing, trying to process what he’d just said. This part hadn’t been in the plan. In all those practice conversations with Silena and Annabeth, every angry speech she’d rehearsed in the arena, none of them had talked about what she was supposed to do if he apologized.
They had planned for arguments. For yelling. For Chris making some stupid joke that would give her an excuse to punch him. But this? This quiet, sincere apology?
Her rage still burned through her chest, but now it felt tangled with something else. Something heavier. Something more confusing.
“I shouldn’t have brought you back,” she said coldly. The words came out before she could stop them. Her voice was low, almost flat, but the bitterness behind it was impossible to miss. “I should have let you die.”
Chris reacted like she had hit him again. His whole body jerked slightly, the words clearly landing harder than the slap had. The hurt flashed across his face before he could hide it. He looked down, shoulders drooping a little.
“You’re right,” he said quietly.
Clarisse’s head snapped up. Her eyes flashed. “Don’t agree with me.”
The words came out sharper than she intended, slicing through the space between them. Chris blinked in surprise.
Clarisse dragged in a deep breath, like she was trying to wrestle control of the storm raging in her chest. Her fingers moved to the leather cord around her neck, grabbing onto the string of camp beads hanging there. She started fiddling with them restlessly, rolling them between her fingers. Her thoughts were racing too fast to keep up with. Words kept tumbling out of her mouth before she could organize them.
“Don’t agree like your life doesn’t matter,” she snapped, pacing a few steps across the cabin before turning back toward him. “Like it’s nothing.”
Her hands moved wildly as she spoke, agitation making her movements sharp and restless.
“Because it fucking does,” she continued, voice cracking with emotion she clearly hadn’t meant to show. “It fucking matters to me.”
Clarisse froze slightly after saying it, like she hadn’t meant for those words to come out.
Clarisse’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her breathing uneven from the surge of adrenaline and emotion crashing through her. And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, she had stepped closer.
She hadn’t noticed when it happened, but now there was barely any space left between them. Chris hadn’t moved away. If anything, he had unconsciously leaned forward too, drawn in by the intensity radiating off her like heat from a fire.
Now they were practically nose to nose.
Clarisse only realized how close they were when she tilted her head slightly and her gaze lifted to meet his. Chris stood a little taller than her now. Not by much, but enough that she had to look up slightly to hold eye contact. The difference was subtle, but in this moment it felt significant.
His dark eyes searched her face carefully. Like he was trying to read something written between the lines of everything she hadn’t said.
Chris’s hands lifted slowly, almost unconsciously. He hesitated halfway there. They hovered just inches from her shoulders, his fingers flexing slightly like he wasn’t sure if touching her would make everything explode. His eyes flicked between hers, searching for some kind of sign.
Her glare had softened into something else entirely. Something conflicted and intense and a little vulnerable in a way Clarisse rarely allowed anyone to see.
His hands finally settled on her shoulders. The contact was gentle, so much gentler than anything Clarisse usually experienced that it almost startled her. His palms were warm through the thin fabric of her shirt, steady and grounding. Warmth spread slowly from the point where he touched her, unexpected and calming. He just rested his hands there, like he was reminding both of them that she was real, that he was real, that neither of them had imagined the last few weeks.
His voice came out quieter now. “Clarisse…”
Her name sounded different coming from him like this. Softer. Careful.
Clarisse swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close his face was to hers. If either of them moved an inch closer—Her gaze flickered down for the briefest moment. The air between them grew heavier, charged with something neither of them had expected when this conversation started.
Clarisse’s heart was beating harder now, though she’d rather die than admit it. Chris’s thumbs shifted slightly against her shoulders, the smallest movement, but it made her breath hitch.
Anger still lingered. Hurt still lingered. But something else had crept in between them now—something uncertain and electric.
Clarisse’s jaw tightened like she was fighting a battle entirely inside her own head. Chris leaned forward the tiniest fraction. Not enough to cross the line. Just enough that the possibility hung there between them.
Then—The cabin door slammed open.
Clarisse’s head snapped toward the sound so fast it almost gave her whiplash.
Standing in the doorway were Mark and Sherman. Mark had clearly been in the middle of saying something before he walked in, but the words died instantly the moment he saw them. His eyes locked onto the scene in front of him—Chris standing inches from Clarisse, his hands still resting on her shoulders.
His face went completely still. Clarisse watched the emotions flash across it in rapid succession.
First surprise. Then confusion, his brow furrowing like he couldn’t quite process what he was seeing. And then—Rage. Pure, explosive rage.
“Rodriguez.” Mark’s voice was low and dangerous.
Sherman stepped into the doorway behind him, his eyes widening as he realized what was about to happen. “Mark—”
But it was already too late. Mark jolted forward like a bullet fired from a gun, his boots pounding across the cabin floor.
“Wait—!” Sherman lunged after him, reaching out to grab the back of his shirt. His fingers barely brushed the fabric before Mark tore free.
Chris didn’t even have time to react. Mark grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward with brutal force. In the same motion, his fist came swinging up.
CRACK.
The punch landed square across Chris’s nose with a sickening sound. Chris’s head snapped backward as the force of the hit rocked him off balance. Pain exploded across his face as blood immediately began to pour down from his nose.
Clarisse screamed. “Stop!”
Her hands shot out instinctively, grabbing at both of them as they stumbled backward. Chris tried to regain his footing while Mark reared back to swing again, fury burning in his eyes.
“You think you can just walk in here after everything—?!”
Chris tried to block the next hit, grabbing Mark’s arm before it could connect again.
“Wait—!”
The two of them crashed into one of the bunks, the wood frame rattling violently from the impact.
Clarisse shoved between them, trying to wedge herself in the middle. “STOP IT!”
But Mark was beyond listening.
Sherman finally caught up, wrapping his arms around Mark’s torso from behind in an attempt to drag him backward. “Mark, chill the hell out!”
Mark struggled violently against him, trying to break free.
“Let me go!” he snarled, still reaching for Chris. “I’ll kill him!”
Chris wiped blood from his nose with the back of his hand, breathing hard as he tried to stay on his feet.
Clarisse planted herself between them, shoving Chris backward while glaring at Mark. “Have you lost your mind?!”
“You’re defending him?!” Mark shouted back, disbelief flashing across his face.
Before anyone could respond—The commotion outside finally caught someone’s attention. Footsteps pounded across the dirt outside the cabin. A second later Percy appeared in the doorway, Annabeth right behind him.
Percy took one look at the chaotic scene inside, the overturned bunk, Chris bleeding, Sherman wrestling Mark, Clarisse trying to keep them apart, and immediately sighed like this was the least surprising thing he’d seen all week. “Oh for—”
Mark lunged again. Percy moved instantly.
He rushed forward and tackled Mark from the side just as Sherman lost his grip. The three of them slammed into the wall with a loud thud that rattled the weapons hanging nearby.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Percy grunted, grabbing Mark’s arms. Sherman helped pin him there, pressing him firmly against the wooden wall. Mark thrashed violently, still trying to break free.
“Get off me!” he shouted, glaring past them at Chris. “He deserves it!”
Percy tightened his hold.
“Yeah, maybe,” Percy said calmly, “but you’re not turning the Ares cabin into a murder scene today.”
Annabeth stepped fully inside now, quickly assessing the situation with the practiced efficiency of someone who had broken up a hundred camp fights before.
Her eyes flicked to Chris’s bleeding nose.
Then to Clarisse.
Then back to Mark.
Chris leaned back against one of the bunks, still catching his breath as he wiped more blood from his face. Clarisse stood in the middle of the room, chest rising and falling, adrenaline still surging through her.
And Mark, still pinned against the wall between Percy and Sherman, glared murderously across the room at Chris like the fight was far from over.
Annabeth folded her arms.
Because if her instincts were right, and they usually were, this wasn’t the end of the fight.
This was the beginning of a much bigger one.