Work Text:
i.
November 21, 2009
St. Catherine of Alexandria Prep, New York City.
Annabeth Chase was no quitter.
School work and projects for her internship and Olympus reconstruction and Camp Half-Blood cabin designs had absolutely nothing on her, because Annabeth Chase was no quitter.
She repeated that fact to herself now, squinting bleary-eyed at her clock. 4:27 AM. Far too late and a bit too early to go down to the guidance office to throw her ugly uniform in their face—especially the sourfaced secretary who would swear Annabeth was the devil's spawn herself—and tell them she was going to drop out because she was better than any gospel-laced education they claimed was the best in the state. It was her favourite recurring fantasy.
4:28 AM. She'd have enough time to finalize Nike's cabin and Asclepius' temple before her alarm went off, maybe even get started on her stupid APUSH essay.
Chiron had gently suggested pausing construction at camp, worried she was taking on too much. She had no clue what he was talking about.
"You should be asleep."
Annabeth felt her stomach burn at his voice. Her grip on her pencil, already too tense, tightened at the sight of him on her fire escape, eyes narrowed and head tilted to the side
"What are you doing here?"
He ignored her, getting up from her windowsill to walk around her room, picking up her things and setting them down in the wrong places. She'd scold him about it if she didn't feel so bone tired. He looked the same as he did when she'd last seen him a few weeks ago—a smudge on the beach from the Big House porch—messy hair and bright eyes, dressed in loose sweatpants and a hoodie.
"I was in the area," he finally said, sitting down on her bed. She thought she was going to be sick. "So, when's the last time you've slept?"
"Olympus is a long way from here," she replied. She wondered when he became bold enough to show up in her dorm just to lie to her.
"You need to sleep, Annabeth." He sounded concerned and Annabeth felt her blood boil.
"Don't act like you care," she snapped. "Don't you have turtles to save, Lord Perseus?"
"You're not—" He gave her a hard look and Annabeth willed herself not to crumble. "Annabeth, that’s not fair."
"I'm not being fair?" She was just awake enough to be aware of how delirious she sounded, not enough to reel herself back in.
He didn't say anything, his face closed off, but Annabeth could see him thinking. If she was a weaker person, she might have begged him to let her into his head. He'd always been unknowable to her—more capable than anyone gave him credit for—but now he was in a different realm altogether, one she couldn't force her way into.
He looked tired, Annabeth noticed, almost hollow in his skin. She wondered if this form of his, born of a mortal life, was too small for him now, if it was bursting at the seams of his divinity.
"We're friends, Annabeth. I care about you." There was no fire left in his words. He always did care far too much, for far too many.
She stared down at her hands, smudged with graphite. It was too late and too dark and she knew she'd say things she'd regret if she held onto her fire.
"A couple of days ago."
"What?"
"You asked when the last time I slept was. I got about six hours a few days ago."
"Jesus Christ, Annabeth, how are you alive?" Like he was one to talk. With a clarity that was slightly unsettling, she could recall the bags beneath his eyes that grew in the time leading up to his sweet sixteen. She'd never asked about them, they felt too precarious for that kind of casual concern.
She picked up the mug on her desk. “My dad got me an espresso machine. Late birthday gift.”
“Ease up on the caffeine, your heart is going to explode.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” She rolled her eyes at him.
A beat, then, "I came because I missed you. That's what I'm doing here, I guess."
If there was more room in her small dorm for the words to get lost in, Annabeth would've pretended she never heard them.
Instead she shrugged, picking at her nails. "God stuff, I get it."
She'd never been able to fully get under his skin, never able to truly feel the full weight he'd been sinking under since he shouldered the prophecy at 14. She'd never gotten it then and she'd be a fool for believing she'd get it now.
"I’m sorry I haven’t been around," he said, sounding earnestly apologetic in a way that made Annabeth want to throw up her microwave dinner.
"Whatever." She never knew what to say around him, what would make things easier for them. They usually chose the wrong things, but it was easier like this; to let the wrong words hang in the balance and bury what they really meant.
She looked at the clock, watching the second hand tick both too slow and too fast. Being with Percy was a mix of wishing time would speed up to get her out of her misery, or hoping it would stop altogether so they'd have nowhere to run. It was even worse now.
"You really should sleep, you know," he said.
4:33 AM. Annabeth figured nothing really mattered there, right then.
"The nightmares have been getting worse," she confessed. Did he even remember what it was like to dream?
He was silent for a moment and Annabeth glanced at him. His eyes were downcast and his shoulders tense, like he was still carrying the weight of the world.
"I think about them too," he said quietly. "All the time."
He was wearing the same look that had clouded his face after the Battle of the Labyrinth. They'd spent most of their time up until that point wrapped up in a medley of mixed emotions, seemingly choosing the worst things to say to each other at every point, so she'd forgone words altogether and steeled herself enough to wrap her arms around him. He'd stood frozen for a second—long enough for her to feel icy fear that she'd messed everything up and he was going to go running to the hills—but then he'd hugged her back, arms tight around her. She couldn't quite imagine anyone in Poseidon’s undersea court was big on physical touch.
For a moment, she thought about telling him about her other dreams, of the eagles and wolves that haunted her sleep, but she knew their limits. Him being here was already pushing it.
"Think it'll ever get better?" She pushed closer to him in her rolling chair, keeping her eyes down on the rug one of her sisters had woven for her as a parting gift.
"I don't know."
Annabeth wanted to ask if he even ever wanted it to, but she could already feel them sinking. "So, no Prince of the Sea duties to take care of?”
He didn't roll his eyes at her like she expected him to, instead looking at her with a strange solemnity. "I had to see you." His words were careful, measured.
"Couldn't wait a couple hours? The last thing I need is your dad pissed at me for distracting you."
He didn't respond and Annabeth felt something churn within her at his silence.
"I won't be able to see you for a while," he said almost cautiously.
Was he being serious right now?
"Right, well, it's not like you've been around much lately anyways."
"Things are getting busier with my dad, he needs my help." His eyes were shifting and his fingers were jittery against her cotton sheets.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing." He looked away from her and she was almost glad he didn't have the nerve to lie to her face. "Just lots of work on Olympus." Fine, then.
"Whatever, go deal with your godly stuff, then." She waved her hand at him, leaning back away from him.
"Annabeth," he started, looking as exhausted as she felt.
"You should leave."
He searched her face and Annabeth hoped he couldn't see that she didn't mean it, but he just nodded stiffly. She wished she could yell at him for running away..
"Look," he said, placing his hand on top of hers, pressing something cold and smooth into her palm. She felt like she was burning under his touch. "If you need me, throw this into water. A sink, puddle, river, wherever works."
She kept her eyes on him, trying to remember how to breathe as she curled her fingers around the small object. "Bye, Percy."
He looked at her for a long moment, as if memorizing her features, and then the room was empty.
She looked down at her palm and the small seashell he'd left behind. It was a white scallop shell. She ran her fingers along faint pink lines extending from the edges, tracing the small hole punched into the centre. The sides were jagged and rough against the pad of her thumb.
Annabeth crouched, scrounging around for the large shoebox she stored under her bed. She opened the box, fishing out the camp necklace she'd shoved in months ago with teary eyes and a set jaw. With careful fingers, she undid the knot and strung the seashell next to the bead of the Empire State.
She looped the leather cord around her neck, her chest feeling light under the weight of it. She pressed the shell to her lips and took a shaky breath, smelling the brine of the ocean and feeling sea mist on her skin. They'd make their peace, eventually. They usually did.
ii.
May 10, 2010
Berkeley Marina, Berkeley.
Lupa had warned her about the monsters, but Annabeth hadn't realized how big of a nuisance they'd really be.
The Wolf House was brutal. Training in the sticky humidity under Lupa's evercritical eye left Annabeth going to bed every night in the same state of confusion, exhaustion, and hunger. Somehow, the feeling didn't seem completely alien. When Lupa deemed her ready for this Camp Jupiter of hers, Annabeth had hoped things would become easier. She was sorely mistaken. Sonoma Valley was nearly 60 miles from the camp, and Annabeth had spent half her time fending off the gorgons.
Stheno and Euryale were her shadows, stalking after her since she'd first left the Wolf House. It was a neverending cycle; they'd leave her with a nice gash to remember them by, she'd send them to Tartarus, then repeat in a couple hours if her luck was particularly bad. Conquer or die, Lupa had said. Annabeth thought it was a bit harsh.
She felt just a little guilty when she'd hot wired a car in Petaluma, driving down route 101 and hoping she wouldn't get pulled over. In the rare downtime between gorgon attacks, she wracked her brains, trying to dredge up any memories and pushing down the hot frustration when she'd inevitably come up empty. She'd hot wired the car with a concerning amount of ease; she wondered who taught her, if they were the same person that taught her how to drive. She'd been the subject of a few road rage attacks she would never admit were justified. Once this was all over, she resolved, she'd have to find them and demand her money back.
It didn't take long before she ran out of gas and the gorgons caught up, ending up at a waterfront in Berkeley after following the tug leading her east. It wasn't particularly crowded, but she wanted to get as far away from the mortals as she could. She'd ditched the car and sprinted down the long pier, ignoring their tacky taunts—probably Stheno, always some unoriginal quip about her memories that Annabeth got sick of hearing after the fourth time.
"Where are you going to run, little demigod?"
"How ironic, Wisdom's daughter herself running clueless." Damn Stheno.
"Come up with something new!" She called back, brandishing her dagger. Sometimes she wished she had a sword or spear instead, something with a longer range and didn't make her feel weirdly empty at the sight of it.
Stheno pounced at her and Annabeth swiped, cleaving her claws off. She howled, snarling at Annabeth before she drove her dagger into her face and slashed deeply into the gorgon's chest. She pulled away from the shimmer of gold, turning to the other monster.
The bay was unsettled, churning behind her, when Euryale dove towards her with a screech. Annabeth slashed at her, managing only a small cut in her leathery arm, when her talons dragged against the base of her neck. She clutched at the wound—hopefully not too deep for ambrosia—and felt slippery blood as her necklace slipped into the water.
Euryale shot back down for another swipe when the bay seemed to erupt, the pier shaking beneath Annabeth's feet. A large wave crashed over the gorgon, wrapping around her and dragging her away from shore. Euryale thrashed against the water before she was tugged under the whirlpool.
Annabeth stood staring at the spot she went under—what on earth had just happened? She wanted to call out to whichever water spirit had decided to help her, but she knew time was sprinting away from her. She'd been done a favour and it would do her little good to question it.
She patted her pockets for the small supply of ambrosia Lupa had allowed her to take, breaking a small bit and tossing it into the waves before swallowing some down herself. She hoped it would be enough to tide over whichever being of the sea was out there.
"You dropped this," someone said behind her and Annabeth jumped around, her breath catching as she looked at the boy.
He seemed to be around her age, dark hair unruly in the wind as he stared at her. His eyes matched the turbulent water beneath them as he almost drank her in and Annabeth realized she was doing the same. There was something about him that sent her reeling. He seemed powerful in a way she hadn't encountered yet and Annabeth felt as though she should have been more scared. Looking at him, she felt something warm blanket over her for the first time since she'd woken up freezing, all those weeks before. She should know this boy, she was so sure for the first time since she'd woken up, that it made her chest well up. It took her a moment to recognize the beaded necklace hanging from his fingers.
"Who are you?" She asked, snatching the necklace from him. She pressed the small shell hard between her fingers.
The necklace and the clothes on her back were the only things she'd woken up with. Lupa said it was a liability—in all honesty, it probably was, a monster with at least one brain cell could easily choke her with it—but the thought of not wearing the necklace sent spidery chills down her spine. The beads, with their weirdly colourful paintings, had to mean something to her, a roadmap back to the person she once was. Not having them with her felt like losing herself a second time.
He looked pained for a second. "It's not important."
"It is to me. Did I know you?"
"I'm a god, so." He forced the words out, looking away from her.
Annabeth stared at him. The only thing she was sure of right now was that she knew this boy, apparently a god. She wasn't going to let him slink out of her fingers.
"I know you," she stated, feeling satisfied as this nameless god squirmed under her gaze. "I do, don’t I? So you can help me, then, right?” She leaned towards him.
"Lots of people know me, doesn't mean I can help all of them. I wish I could, but I can't. It would mess everything up." The words sounded rehearsed as he winced his way through them.
"Mess what up? Nothing is making sense, I don't—" Annabeth knew she sounded desperate, but she didn't think he'd care very much.
The water churned violently and she was half-expecting Euryale to emerge back up again.
"I have to go. I've… been away for too long," he said shortly and Annabeth felt anger rush up within her. With the same surety that she had met him in her past, she knew she wasn't going to see him again, for a long while.
"Well, thank you for your help, my lord," she said stiffly with enough venom that she wouldn't be surprised if he turned her into seaweed.
"Annabeth, I can't–I wasn't supposed to see you, but I–" she felt a flame ignite within her at the sound of her name on his lips. For a second, she wondered if they'd taste salty.
He gave her a long, resolved look. "Look, we're friends, but I can't get you your memories back. I've tried, but it's–it can't be me, Annabeth, it's got to be from you."
She wondered what kind of girl she once was, to be friends with a god.
"I don't understand." It hurt her to say the words and she searched for his disappointment.
He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. "Go to Caldecott Tunnel, they'll help you there. Then I can too." He sounded hopeful and it lit up within her too.
This was all that could be coaxed out of him, she knew. She nodded, clenching her jaw tight as she gripped her necklace.
"Don't die, Annabeth." It sounded like a goodbye.
"I'll try."
iii.
July 23, 2014
Woodbridge Hall, Columbia University.
Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck were racing around Rome on the back of a Vespa when he showed up.
"One day you'll remember how to knock," Annabeth commented mildly, turning away from her TV to see him arms-crossed, leaning against her bookshelf.
"One day you'll get tired of that joke," he replied.
She shrugged, extending the bag in her hands towards him. "Chips?"
He shook his head, shifting her feet into his lap as he sat down.
"Right, forgot you don't eat this anymore," she lied. "Want me to burn it for you?"
He rolled his eyes at her, the hand around her ankle tightening. "You're so annoying," he said, sounding equal parts annoyed and endeared.
She looked at him properly. His hair was its usual mess, sticking out all angles and she fought away the urge to smoothen it down. His white tee and dark jeans were stained with gold. He looked real, solid. She wondered where else he existed at that moment, who else was taking up his time.
"Lose a fight?" she asked innocently.
"Think I lost? Ouch," he replied.
She kicked him lightly. "Mhmm. I think you're just here to nurse your ego."
"You're the only one that bruises it," he said, placing a hand on his chest in mock anguish.
"Good, keep it that way."
They sat in silence, she’d gotten good at pretending he wasn't there, that she wasn't sinking under the weight of his gaze.
"Annabeth," he started, a low rumble.
She hummed, keeping her eyes on her small, almost defunct TV.
"I've missed you." Sometimes she wished she could hate him, just a little bit.
"Maybe you should come around more often then."
"You know I can't."
"There's nothing stopping you." She shrugged. They were never ones to follow rules. "Haven't knocked me up yet."
"Annabeth." He was crumbling, she could feel it.
"You can't keep doing this," she said, before he could say something she'd lose sleep over.
"Doing what?"
"Showing up here, Percy!" She snapped, moving away from him. "You can't keep expecting me to drop everything and run into your arms everytime. I have a life to deal with, school, work."
"I don't expect you to drop everything, I don't expect anything from you! You're my best friend, I just–" he started before she scoffed. "I stay away from you, you get pissed. I come visit you, you get pissed. What the fuck do you want from me?"
"Nothing. Continue your big monologue. Tell me all about how great our friendship is."
"If you have something to say to me, Annabeth, then say it."
She looked up at him, felt herself get caught up in his maelstrom, and the fight drained out of her. "I'm not doing this with you again, Percy."
"What are we doing?"
"Fighting! You show up and it feels good but it's not–it's never real. Then I have to sit here and watch you leave again and again every time. It's impossible, it's pathetic, I don't–" she faltered. "I'm too tired for this."
"Not real? You know that's bullshit. What do you even want me to say? Just tell me and I'll say it." They both knew he was lying; they'd resent her if she tried.
She felt his hand, wide and calloused, brush against her cheek, then heard his voice, rough and almost desperate. "Fuck, no, I'm sorry, Annabeth. Don't cry, please don't. Not over me."
Annabeth hadn't realized she was. No one else could cleave her into two in the same way he could. Sometimes she hoped he could splinter in the same way, that all his forms that existed in that instant felt the knives she'd driven into him. She thought she was just a little bit pathetic, crying over boys who could never help her through their mangled divinity.
She watched him swallow, jaw tight as he looked at her. She grabbed his hand and cradled his gold-stained fingers in her palm, wondering absentmindedly whose ichor it was.
"I finally finished the plans for your temple. On Olympus." Her voice was thick as she brushed her thumb over his knuckles. P was far enough down the alphabet that she didn't have to worry about designing it fresh after her losses in the War. When she eventually got to it, she'd tucked away his file below the king of the gods and pretended she hadn't seen it. As work and school and her internship piled up, she pretended it was easy to forget about the last god on her list. She had ended up designing it in a night in his childhood bedroom, after staying late enough after dinner for Sally to insist she should just stay the night. Her hands, which had once held his own shaky, blood-stained fingers, drafted a temple for the greatest hero of their generation, maybe of all time. A place for his naiad groupies to worship him all day, all night. She was going to be sick.
"I don't want to talk about my temple." He clutched at her hand, tightening his grip, but holding back. Always holding back.
"Okay, let's talk about you not calling last week." She let go of his hand, watching it twitch in his lap.
He ignored her. "Did you get my present?"
"No," she lied, the coral pendant burning against her chest.
"You're such a shitty liar, Annabeth."
She thinks she's going to go mad if he says her name one more time.
"Fuck you," she muttered, pushing him hard against her leather couch as she crawled into his lap. She looped her hands around him, scratching his neck, not unroughly. "I hate wearing red."
"I know. It still looks beautiful on you," he said, his hands tightened around her waist.
"Whatever." She shifted in his lap and let herself feel satisfaction as his head fell to her neck. "I look good in every colour."
She didn't let herself do more than softly move her hips as he laughed into her skin. His move.
He raised her head to look at her and Annabeth wished she didn't have to breathe. "I'm sorry I didn't come see you."
"Where were you?" She loosened her hold around him, leaning back.
Why didn't you? She would not be desperate, she would not beg. He is of the sea and she has long learned that she cannot restrain him. When the time comes, she tells herself, she will let him loose as gracefully as Sally Jackson once did and then she will breathe. Until then though, she'll pretend he was being honest with her. She's fooled herself into believing worse delusions.
He looked away. "The Pacific. My father needed a favour."
She scoffed, pretending she didn't know he was lying. "Didn't know you were his errand boy now."
She let her hand run down his spine, brushing her fingers against the small of his back. She felt him shudder.
"Annabeth," he warned, his grip tightening.
Good, she thought. Leave a bruise.
"Do you wear it?" He brought a hand to cup the back of her neck, thumb pressing the clasp of his stupid necklace into her skin. He wanted to hear her admit it, she knew, but she'd never make things easy for him.
When she first opened the dark blue package, she'd flung the pendant out of the window and tossed the accompanying letter out. It took her about seven minutes before she dug through her trash to read and reread the letter, then rushed outside and picked around her street to find the necklace. She'd kept it clasped around her neck since, through day and through night. She let her friends think it was a gift from the boring boy she'd let take her on a couple dates.
"You'll see if you take off this shirt." She raised a brow at him.
His eyes shifted over the letters emblazoned on her shirt, noticing the text for the first time.
New York University
"Transfering?" he asked, eyebrows raised. As if that was something she could slip past him.
"It's a friend's," she replied. Once upon a time, she recalled, she'd pestered him about college long enough for him to tell her he wanted to attend NYU. He had explained that he was going to train hard at the pool, so they'd have no choice but to offer him an athletic scholarship. That dream fell into the Styx a couple years later, but gods never had much use for university degrees anyways.
"Think your friend will care that I'm here?"
"It's none of his business."
He looked at her for a second, cold hand resting on her face as he rested his forehead against hers. He was too close, she could feel herself drowning.
"Tell me to stop, Annabeth," he whispered and she could feel the words on her lips, "and I'll stop."
It always went this way; he’d beg her to stop them, she never would; they'd drown in each other, then the tide would recede.
She thought about responding, but then he slipped his hands up her shirt and dropped his lips from hers to the side of her neck and she couldn't think in the warmth of the hearth.
They've been burnt, over and over, and this time will be no different. Annabeth figured their skin was tough enough now.
iv.
September 12, 2017
Astoria, Queens.
Annabeth was about to be $50 poorer. Fucking late fees.
She'd drowned in the hell that was rush hour on the subway, pushing through throngs of exhausted 9-to-5ers and oblivious tourists, to snag a spot in the overcrowded car, only for her to miss her transfer. She'd seriously contemplated calling down the Gray Sisters cab, but she didn't think her stomach would've been able to handle it.
“Sorry for the delay. Rush hour,” she said by way of explanation. She hoped the smile she gave the secretary was pitiable enough for her to waive the stupid fee. “Annabeth Chase, for 4:30?”
The secretary scanned her screen. “Oh, Annabeth! Your partner let us know you were running late. Just have a seat, dear, we'll call you up when we’re ready for you.”
Annabeth was sure she was going to go mad.
The waiting room was nearly empty, save for the jittering man at the back, hands white against the arms of his chair.
“Percy,” she sighed, slipping into the chair next to him, tensing against the uncomfortably cool plastic.
“Took you long enough." He smiled at her, entirely too shaky and nervous for it to be genuine.
"How'd you know about this?" She asked accusingly.
She remembered when she first found out he'd been keeping tabs on her, a few weeks after the war. They hadn't spoken much; she had pushed him away each time he tried, the wound on her shoulder too fresh for her to look at him. Grover had let it slip and Annabeth couldn't hear him try to backtrack through the storm that brewed in her head. She'd screamed at him the next time she saw him, up on Olympus, and felt a weird rush of satisfaction when he finally yelled back. They hadn't spoken for a month or so afterwards. He'd eased up on it, instead showing up once in a while at her apartment or work. He fit into the category of nuisance gods fairly easily.
"Saw it on your calendar," he confessed, not sounding guilty.
The last time he'd been in her apartment was a couple weeks after she'd first taken the test. She remembered the trembling pit in her stomach when she showed him the little stick with the pink plus sign. He had been grimfaced the entire time and she held herself back from asking if he already knew. She'd broken down; his arms around her, warm and tight, did nothing to ease the fear that spread through her nerves. Afterwards, when she could look at him without crying, they'd sat in her small kitchen and he'd made her hot chocolate, far too rich for the hot summer afternoon. They had drank in silence before he pressed her hand to his lips and told her he loved her hoarsely, and Annabeth finally let her nerves settle.
She still felt the pit now, slowly crumbling around the edges, as she looked at the baby pictures hung up around the cold waiting room. It was just a bit unsettling, looking at the bright, wide eyed stares. She remembered how cold the hospital had been when she visited Sally all those years ago, how small and fragile Estelle had felt in her arms. Sally had been exhausted, looking at them with shining eyes as Paul wrapped a steady arm around her shoulders. Annabeth had cried a bit, looking down at the baby, wondering if she'd get this, who would be with her if she did. Things always seemed to loop back to him.
"A heads up would've been nice," she commented, crossing her legs as they stared at the wall in front of them.
"Sorry," he said, not sounding very apologetic.
"Didn't keep you waiting too long, did I?"
"Nope. Made friends with Marjorie." He nodded towards the secretary who rolled her eyes at him. He had that effect on people, Annabeth was unfortunately well familiar.
She ignored him, focusing on a vase of small yellow daffodils in the corner of the room. Nothing felt real yet.
They sat in silence for a long moment, he'd already been jumpy when she'd arrived, it wouldn't take long for him to burst, she knew. He'd never been good with quiet between them.
"I'm terrified," he confessed.
"Me too," she replied quietly. "I've been pestering your mom all the time, she's so sick of me right now."
He laughed softly. "She'd never get sick of you."
She looked down at his hands, still white against the plastic. She placed her hand atop his, running her thumb against the bronzed skin. "You're going to break the chair, baby."
He turned his hand over, interlacing her fingers with his. He raised their hands and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. Annabeth felt warmth flood through her.
“It’s normal to be scared.” It was in the doorstop of a parenting book Clarisse had gifted her—partially a gag gift, but she read it from cover to cover anyways. Something about their situation felt a bit unique, though, so she hadn't fooled herself into thinking it could offer any true comfort.
Annabeth placed a hand on her stomach. Me and you, she thought.
“We’ve faced worse,” he sounded as if he was convincing himself.
“You know you can’t be there.” Never in the way he wanted to be.
He nodded stiffly, glaring at the wall in front of him. She wondered if the ground was truly shaking.
She reached for Percy’s hand, holding it to her stomach, where hers once was. He was trembling, his touch soft over her dress.
“It’ll be okay, Percy. I’ll be fine.” She lost track of how many times she’d said a variation of the words in the years since the Titan War.
“I’ll be there for you, both of you.” It sounded like an oath and Annabeth bit her tongue back from reminding him of the other ones he’d sworn.
He kept his hand in hers when they called her name. She gripped it tightly through the discomfort of the cold gel on her stomach. It felt it shake in her grasp when the tech pointed out the limbs and the head and when the strong heartbeat echoed so loudly Annabeth wasn’t sure what exactly was making the room thump.
It was easy to pretend things were normal when they left the clinic.
They’d gotten two copies of the scan, she'd placed hers carefully into her purse and she was sure his became wrinkled in his hand on the long, long walk back to her place. They stumbled around the city for a while, entering stores selling overpriced shit she never really needed and leaving empty-handed while he raved about gentrification.
He pretended he didn't falter in front of a children's store before Annabeth dragged him inside. They parsed through the onesies with bad jokes printed on them and double-taked at the price of carseats. She ended up buying a small pair of shoes Percy's eyes had lingered on for a moment, light yellow sandals with dinosaurs on the straps that made her eyes well up.
When they got back to her small apartment, he watched her stick the scan to her fridge with a slightly tacky magnet Reyna had gotten her from India. They put on a bad comedy flick and gorged on the godly Chinese food from the shop down her street. She complained about how swollen her feet were already starting to feel and he rolled his eyes as he massaged them anyways. She felt his gaze heavy on her that night as she fell asleep, finding comfort in the weight of him next to her. He’d be gone when she woke, she knew. It was harder to pretend, in her bed.
In the hazy seconds before sleep, she wondered where he would put the sonogram.
v.
August 16, 2019
Upper East Side, Manhattan.
A small part of Annabeth secretly hoped the noises echoing from her son's nursery were from a monster, but she never found herself having that kind of luck.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorjamb. The sunlight lit the room up blue.
"I know," he replied, keeping his back turned to her.
"So why are you, Percy?" She sighed. How many times had she said those words, she wondered.
He turned to look at her, cradling Theo closer to his chest. The sight made her teeth ache. "You've been working yourself to the bone, you need a break."
"Here to be a parent, then?"
"You told me to leave, Annabeth," he replied, eyes stormy.
She remembered screaming at him, telling him she didn't need him around, didn't want him around. He knew her well enough to see right through it and Theo teething so there wasn't a second he wasn't crying and everything made her all the more angrier. He couldn't find it within himself to disagree when she brought their son into it and so she drove him away, as far as he would go. It never seemed to be far enough.
"So why are you here?" She repeated, letting her head fall into her hands.
Theo started fussing in his arms, his soft whines cutting through the air. So small, but already so capable of tugging on her heartstrings. Sometimes she looked at him, tucked into her side, and felt fear like she never had before. Her baby, hers to take care of, hers to raise, hers to not fuck up.
"I just put him to sleep." She stepped forward, feeling weightless as she took Theo from his arms, tucking his head into her shoulder as she rubbed his small, shaking back. She crooned down at her son, shifting on her feet. "You're okay, baby, Mama's here. I got you."
"Annabeth–"
"You should go," she said, ignoring his hard stare. The baby wouldn't stop crying.
"I'll put him down, then I'll go wherever the hell you want, okay?"
His eyes were wide, eyebrows furrowed, and Annabeth felt like she was 16 again.
She let him reach out to grab their son, pretending she didn't shudder when she felt the brush of his fingers against her skin. He soothed Theo with low murmurs and she wished she could get used to the sight of him like this, soft and gentle. She wondered if their son would ever forgive them.
She slumped into her rocking chair, imported olivewood, apparently. Percy had disappeared for a second then returned the next with a pile of it after she'd spent half an hour deciding between the options at all the baby stores he'd dragged her through. He spent hours sitting in the corner of the nursery, putting his old shop class skills to use while wasting half his time pressing kisses to the swell of her belly.
"I don't know what I'm doing." The words slipped out as she watched him carefully place Theo back into his crib, his hands calloused from the years of slashing and stabbing he'd done by her side.
"You're an amazing mom, Annabeth." She opened her eyes and he was kneeling in front of her, so close she could feel his breathing, slow and steady. She wondered if he really needed the air. "We'll figure this out."
She looked at him, long and hard before taking his hand. It was as rough as hers.
"I didn't get you anything for your birthday," she confessed and he laughed softly.
"I have everything I need, right here." He said the same thing every year, and she rolled her eyes with a smile, the same way she always did in response. "He's starting to look more like you, now."
He was such a fucking liar.
She hummed, it wouldn't quite hurt to keep him in his delusion. "He has your eyes though."
“Let’s hope that’s all he gets from me.”
Sally had wept with Annabeth when she'd seen him for the first time, face scrunched up and swaddled in a white blanket. Theo was Percy's copy, the same dark hair and green eyes—complete with an appetite for pancakes that rivaled his father's as she'd recently discovered. They had the same heart, same compassion, something Annabeth was grateful for everyday. She wasn't quite sure if she should be thankful or upset over how little he seemed to inherit from her.
She still hated herself for nurturing the seed in Percy's head that told him he wasn't good for them. It was months ago, when she told him to leave; that Theo deserved better than what they were giving him. The words still felt fresh on the tip of her tongue. The ugly idea dug its roots through her too, blooming through her skin whenever Theo fixed his bright eyes on her. She wouldn't deserve her son's mercy.
"We miss you, you know." Her voice was hoarse, shaking even to her own ears. I'm sorry.
He bent his head to her hand, clasped within his, and she felt his shallow breaths against her skin.
"How much time do you have?" She asked, absentmindedly scratching the back of his head with her other hand.
"Not enough," he murmured. Sometimes she'd have him for a couple minutes in passing, a smiling face at a conference or steady shoulder on the subway, other times he stayed longer, cooped up in her place. She told her nosy neighbours he was a close friend with a shitty apartment and an even shittier landlord. He didn't deserve their judgement, not anyone's if she could help it. If they were both weak enough, a couple days could stretch into weeks or even rarely, months. It was always borrowed time, never enough. It would do for now, but she didn't know how she'd look her son in the eyes if they kept going on like this.
She sometimes wished she was a more pious woman, holding onto the hope that she'd be blessed with some divine insight. Maybe a god who knew where they could go from there would take pity on the three of them, guide them down a path that wouldn't leave any of them as collateral. But Annabeth knew what happened when gods got involved. She supposed it didn't quite stop her though.
She looked down at the god kneeling before her now—forehead pressed to her hand, his fringe brushing against furrowed eyebrows.
"Stay," she said and he nodded against her. She hated herself, only just a little bit.
i.
June 8, 2027
Upper East Side, Manhattan.
The apartment was empty.
The city's stifling heat wouldn't seep in for a few weeks, but Annabeth already felt like she was suffocating. She thought she could handle it, and she had for the most part.
She'd grasped Theo's hand tightly as they walked over the Hill. Her voice had been stable and her eyes dry as she hugged Chiron. She didn't even break down when they walked to Cabin 11, past the cabins she'd designed all those years ago. Once he was old enough, they'd open up Cabin 27 for him—he was much too young to stay alone now.
Theo, her brave boy, had hugged her tightly for a second before letting go, looking around to make sure no one had seen. She hadn't cried when her son walked into the rundown cabin without a glance behind him. Only nine and ready to take on the world. Sometimes Annabeth wished he could've gotten anything else from her.
On the drive back to the City, she'd settled on a generic pop station that did well enough at blocking out her thoughts. The emptiness in her stomach had been ignorable until she walked through her front door.
It was too empty, too quiet. No bad action movie playing on the TV, no distorted music blasting from the cheap CD player Estelle had gifted Theo, no lights he'd forgotten to turn off. It was barren and for the first time, Annabeth realized how alone she would be for the next couple months.
She barely had the energy to walk to the kitchen. She cannot tame the sea, she resolved long ago. She could still welcome its waves, for a short while.
Annabeth turned on the faucet, filling up a glass with the immune system nightmare that was New York City tap water. She stared at the cup for a moment. She will drop her anchor then weigh it back up when the ocean shifts, like she always has.
She took off the ring on her right hand—a small saltwater pearl set on a silver band—then dropped it into the water. It was only a second before Annabeth could imagine herself on the beach so vividly behind her closed eyes—hair whipping violently, feet buried in the sand.
She stayed still, breathing in the briny air. It was her move now, the tide was in her hand. She turned around, barely reaching out before his arms were around her, strong and capable.
"You came," she commented softly.
"Of course I did." His voice was low as it flooded through her, arms tightening, "you called.”
She let out a sound halfway between a sob and laugh into his collarbone.
"I miss him so much," she whispered. She felt a bit cruel, saying the words, as if what she felt could even hold a candle to what he did.
"I know." He ran his hand up and down her spine, electrifying her nerves. "It'll get better."
"Will it really?" She pulled back, eyebrow raised, feeling the current beneath her hands as she looked up at him.
"No," he admitted, eyes shifting searching her face.
She didn't need to ask, not really. She still liked hearing him say it, though.
Things never felt easier each time he left to sink back into the sea. She hadn't called for him in a while, the last time had been for Theo's birthday months ago, but there never seemed to be a second that she didn't feel a current pull at her. She saw the riptide building in Theo too. Each time they trekked up to Montauk, she'd felt her breathing come out shaky, watching him play in the water, his father's son.
"Why'd I let you convince me this was a good idea?" She promised she would be stronger than this to her son, years ago when he was still squinting and squirming in her arms, wrapped in a hospital blanket. But now he was at the camp she'd spent years at, crying, hurting, laughing, and her apartment was too empty for Annabeth to care.
"Because it is," he said gently.
Theo was curious—always so curious—and Annabeth's answers were usually enough to satisfy him. But there were some things she couldn't teach him, some things he had to find out for himself. She thought he was too young, but camp was different now. Less a child soldier breeding ground and more an actual summer camp.
Annabeth was grateful they'd seemed to avoid any big monster attacks. She had expected them to be a more pressing problem—Theo's divinity ran stronger than most and even at his young age, he was more than aware of his heritage—but it had been relatively smooth sailing. She had a feeling Percy was playing a larger part in it than he let on, but she couldn't find it within herself to fight with him about godly interference. It didn't make her feel as indignant anymore. What could she complain about, afterall, but that he loved their son?
She sighed into his skin. She'd usually put up some pretense of reluctance before she let herself feel comfort with him, but it felt pointless now. Their son wouldn't get caught up in this storm, not anymore than what he had been born into.
"He'll be fine, Annabeth. I'm watching him," he said into her hair before pulling back to look at her.
"Have you talked to him?"
Percy nodded. "He's a tough kid, like his mom."
Annabeth took a deep breath, feeling the sting of the salty air. "Okay, he'll be okay," she sighed to herself, her foundation stopped trembling.
She focused on the feel of his hand on her back, firm as it drifted around her spine. His lips were quirked up at the corners, his eyes lighting up as if he was remembering something.
"What?"
"Nothing," he lied.
She raised her eyebrow at him and he rolled his eyes.
"He said he wants a sibling,” he said, still biting back a smile. “I told him it was up to you.”
"Not a chance," Annabeth snorted. “You’re not putting me through that again.”
He laughed and she wished she could trap it in a bottle. She wondered how long they'd have this time.
"While you're here," she started, running a finger across his chest.
He hummed low, his hands tightening around her waist as she reached up to brush her lips against his ear.
"The bathroom sink isn't draining." She pulled back, biting back a laugh at the affronted look that passed his face.
"Which one?" he asked, resigned.
Afterwards, Annabeth will probably make him rearrange the entire living room then their bedroom. Then, warm and satisfied, she'll sit on her kitchen counter and watch him fumble around the small counter space and try making the cheap ramen she forgot she bought taste gourmet. He was always too big for the kitchen.
She'll probably fish through her outdated CD collection and put in a movie he'll annoyingly rag on into her ear the entire time. They'll sit right next to each other on her old couch and he'll burn the skin of her thigh.
The cheap wine she'll sip will be too sweet, but the taste of salt on her tongue would balance everything out for a time. If just for a time.