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Annabeth’s head rocks against the car window as they drive through the city. The glass is cool against her bruised jaw. If the roads prove to be bumpy enough, marred by cracks in the pavement and potholes, then maybe she can ignore the uncomfortable feeling of gauze stuffed in her mouth. She can taste the iron of her blood in the back of her throat; she swallows it down. The traffic lights and street lamps of the early Friday morning bleed on the glass, rain washing over the car. The New York she drove through at age six was larger than life, all flashing billboards and noise. The New York she drives through now is a quiet residence, a second home nestled in the corner of her heart.
Annabeth can’t help feeling adrift, no matter where she resides. Richmond, Long Island, San Francisco, Manhattan… Annabeth never much had a home, but she had people to attach herself to. Even when she was seven, and home was made in stolen tents and library dens.
Where her father goes is the worst of all. That singular, innate urge to connect with him disappears the moment she finds herself in the same room as him. But she doesn’t like thinking about that. When Frederick goes weeks without calling, Annabeth convinces herself it’s what she wanted anyway.
With Annabeth living in New York for the school year, Sally Jackson was named her emergency contact. With such a responsibility that Sally took great attention to, she made sure Annabeth was up to date on all medical necessities. She didn’t much care for Annabeth’s explanation that the Apollo kids in the infirmary were well trained, given that the head counselor is fourteen years old. Various doctor’s office visits and trips to Walgreens later, the only thing that really affected Annabeth was the need for wisdom teeth removal.
Surgery wasn’t something she knew. What was familiar was doses of ambrosia or nectar and a week in the infirmary. But Sally assured her there was nothing to be worried about.
The car grates to a stop, the sound of rain pattering gone completely. Annabeth is still foggy from the anesthesia, so Sally helps her up to the apartment. It feels like blocks of cement are tied to her ankles.
Annabeth walks down the hall to Percy’s room, ignoring the clutter she finds inside. She’s sure Percy will get reprimanded by his mother for the mess when he gets home. The curtains are closed, allowing only a strip of gray light through. Annabeth rifles through Percy’s drawers, looking around for clothes that don’t feel shrouded by the atmosphere of a sterilized medical office.
Sally knocks twice before entering, carrying medicine, a glass of water, a towel, and more gauze pads.
“The pills will probably make you sleepy, but you need to rest anyway.” She drapes the towel over Percy’s pillow, no doubt for all the blood that will inevitably find its way out of her mouth. Annabeth can’t find it in herself to be embarrassed; she’s so exhausted, but she has no idea why.
“Thank you.” Annabeth swallows the medicine. There’s something about the domesticity here, about the absence of godly remedies that settles a piece of her soul into place. Sally leaves, Annabeth changes her clothes. She burrows herself into the soft sheets smelling of home, sleep already fogging her mind, the sound of rain against the window a soothing melody.
Annabeth feels a shock throughout her body, and her eyes fly open. Something colder than freezing is being pressed against her cheeks, and a dark figure looms over her. Her brain somehow registers it’s Percy, and he’s holding ice packs against her cruelly.
“Asshole! What the fuck is your issue?” Her hands slap his away. Sometimes she’s jealous she can’t get him back, given the Curse.
“Morning, sunshine.”
She attempts to shove his face, but given the air that rushes between her fingers, she misses him by a mile. Annabeth brings her hands to her face to get rid of the cold, and her eyes widen at the swell she feels. She’s almost scared to look in the mirror, for the puffiness her jaw is sure to sport.
“You better have had a shitty fucking day if you felt the need to do that.” Her words are muffled from the gauze still in her mouth.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Percy amends, but she can hear the amusement in his voice. “And my day was actually fine. I don’t think I failed the chem quiz.”
She watches him carelessly throw his backpack near his door and toe off his sneakers. “Good to know those five drachmas worth of Iris Messages didn’t go to waste,” she grumbles, turning to remove the soaked gauze in her mouth and replace with a fresh set.
He changes his jeans for sweatpants. “I’ll pay you back. But hey, I’m your star pupil, so maybe cut me some slack?”
“My other pupils are eleven years old.”
Percy crosses the small room to sit at the edge of the bed, turning towards her. Annabeth sits up so they can be even with each other. “Oh, so we’re all at the same level then.”
“Just about, but the big kid’s study session usually takes double the amount of time.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because he likes to tomfool.”
Percy gapes. “I never tomfool.”
“He refuses to go to the library,” she continues, ticking off on her fingers, “he can’t keep his hands to himself, and in doing so he takes advantage of his helpless tutor.”
“You are full of shit. I’ll go anywhere with you, maybe you should stand your ground more often.”
The nerve. How is Annabeth supposed to tell Percy what to do when he gives her that look? The look that makes her insides soft, that makes her brain turn to mush, that makes her abandon all objections of what they should be doing. Where his brows scrunch together, and his eyes sparkle like they hold the constellations within them. Sometimes Annabeth fears she’s too transparent, and he knows what that look does to her. But she’ll never admit it.
Instead, she says, “See? Taking advantage.”
“Smartass. I brought you tea, by the way. Like the thoughtful boyfriend I am.”
Annabeth perks up. “Chamomile?”
“Obviously.”
Funny, how he can be so insolent yet so kind at the same time. She supposes the duality comes with loving Percy Jackson. Love is funny and strange within itself. The word has frequented her mind more and more recently. They haven’t said it to each other yet, but sometimes Percy stares at her with such fondness when she speaks, Annabeth has to force her voice not to waver as warmth blooms through her chest. That must be love, right?
The rain has settled down, and the gray light peeking through the curtains has dimmed significantly. It’s probably around five now, but nearing closer to winter means the sun says goodbye terribly fast.
Percy rests his warm hand against the side of her neck, stroking her bruised jaw with his thumb. Percy looks at Annabeth like she’s holding a star in her hands; her breath catches. When he opens his mouth, she almost thinks he will spill the very words in her mind, but he teases instead, “Shall I take you to the garden before the consumption takes hold? Or do you prefer the seaside?”
“Fuck. Off.”
She’s relieved that he didn’t take it seriously when he laughs, warm and familiar. The kind of quiet laugh, just for her, that sets her heart thump thump thumping. She needs his laugh like she needs air to breathe. She needs his acceptance, she needs his joy, so selfishly. Maybe if she can pocket just a drop of his beauty, then she can become enough to see herself as enough. She can’t lose the best person she’s ever known. It would break her.
His carefree joy is like witnessing the sun shine through a rain shower; you can’t help but stare at the simple beauty. There’s something so easy about having Percy in this way. Even when he interrupts her dreamless sleep just to piss her off.
“I got blood on your pillow.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time, but the towel was a nice attempt. You doing okay?”
“Percy, why are you not letting your girlfriend rest?” a voice inquires. Sally’s silhouette leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed.
“She likes my company.”
“Hate, actually,” Annabeth counters.
Sally raises an eyebrow. Percy places a hand on his heart, feigning a look of betrayal. Annabeth doesn’t fight the wide grin on her face. Maybe any other day she would be annoyed with how easy he makes her laugh, but she blames her weakened defenses on the loopiness of the day.
“Out, young man.”
“No, no, he can stay.”
“He can be a real pain.”
“I’m right here,” Percy says flatly.
Annabeth shakes her head and pats the spot next to her on the bed. Percy swings his legs over and crawls up beside her.
“How are you feeling, sweetie? Do you think it’s time for more medicine?”
“No, just my jaw is sore. I’m good, thank you.”
“And the bleeding?”
“Minimal.”
“Highest pain tolerance I know,” Percy interjects, nudging her shoulder. “Bet you could shatter your ankle and walk it off like nothing.”
“I don’t like that,” Sally says.
“It’s a compliment,” he defends.
“Annabeth, don’t be afraid to kick him out.”
“Never,” she grins, brain fuzzy with gaiety.
Sally nods in approval, then pushes off the door frame. She leaves the door cracked a few inches, the opening creating a triangle of light in the dark room.
“I can leave if you want.”
She moves closer to him, and his arm wraps around her waist. “No, I’ve been sleeping all day. Talk to me.”
“Mmm… oh!” His face lights up. “There was a fight.”
“No one is shocked.”
“It was kinda crazy though, like, I was just minding my business walking down the main hall and then I look down the other hall and these two girls are ripping each other's hair out.”
Annabeth rolls her eyes. “So did you continue to mind your business?”
“I stopped for a second wondering what the hell I should do, and if I didn’t do anything, then that would be caught on the security cams and they would nail me for ignoring it.”
“You’re supposed to tell a teacher, Seaweed Brain.”
“Yeah, whatever. So as I was contemplating my morals, a teacher showed up and broke it up. Nothing special.”
“So no one else saw it? No ring of kids shouting fight, fight, fight? Boring.”
“I know, right? But I wouldn’t count out a shaky video in 240 P circulating around in the next day or two.”
“You better show it to me.”
“Duh. You can critique their fighting technique.”
“Duh.”
“In other news…” Percy starts in that light tone, the one that immediately sets Annabeth on high alert. It’s the tone he uses when he’s about to say something that she won’t like. “Mom told me your dad called.”
Her heart stutters, her mood instantly dropping. “Excuse me?” she asks, voice small.
He looks like he regrets saying anything. “You were asleep. It was for Thanksgiving break. I think it was more so you made sure to buy a plane ticket before they got expensive. If you wanted to go, that is.”
“No, why would I?”
He nods, like her answer was expected. Before Annabeth can think too much about that, he asks, “So you’re coming to Montauk then?” His eyes shine with a flicker of hope, but his face reads as nervous.
Annabeth rolls the clay beads on her necklace between her fingers. “If that’s alright.”
He grins with that sunshine smile. “Hell yeah, it is.”
The easy acceptance into the Jackson’s home may never fully settle for Annabeth. She feels like her seat at their table—the one with a short leg that rocks back and forth when she adjusts—is temporary. If she stays for too long, it’s only a matter of time before they find her to be an annoyance, taking up their space, inserting herself into their family. She prays when the day comes, it won’t kill her. But she knows it will.
She has to protect herself before she can be broken down without her permission. Annabeth Chase does not rely on anyone. She cannot afford to. But Percy has blinded her.
Percy steals his mom’s laptop so they can watch The Two Towers (Extended Edition) for the umpteenth time. Annabeth never fails to cry by the end, but she hopes one of them will be asleep by then to miss it. She’d almost feel bad for taking up Percy’s space, but she likes being with him too much to care.
He offers to braid her hair, and they situate themselves so Annabeth is sitting with her back to his front. The gentle tugs on her scalp have her eyes growing heavy, where Percy is probably getting more keyed up from the developing plot in the film. Percy constantly needs to be doing something with his hands. Whether it be tapping his fingers on his thigh, twirling his pen, or braiding her hair, all his energy seems to be focused on his hands.
It came to be only a brief surprise how comfortable Percy was with physical affection. When they were figuring out what friendship was, there was the general awkwardness of hugging and the like. Then they got older, and shoulder bumps and side hugs and headlocks became natural occurrences. But now Annabeth and Percy are more, and that means her face is held when he kisses her, his arm has a natural way of finding her waist in any situation, and her hands frequently find themselves carding through his golden curls like she has a goal of untangling every knot.
She loves him she loves him she loves him.
In growing up, they grew together. Maybe their dynamic hadn’t changed at all, which just makes Annabeth embarrassed in retrospect because gods, they were already acting like a couple, weren’t they? A couple of terrified kids anticipating the death of their friends and even each other, but nonetheless a team. A partnership. That’s how it’s always been.
In all of this, Annabeth wants to pick Percy’s brain apart. She’s been on this mission since they were twelve, but her intentions have certainly changed over time. Annabeth lives with the feeling of her brain like a busy intersection, with hundreds of ideas and trains of thought passing by with no particular focus.
“What’s your favorite memory?”
“Why?”
“I’m curious.”
He’s silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. The end of one pigtail is tied off, and he parts the small braids on the remaining half of her hair into three sections. “That first summer—it was in the middle of July, I think. You, me, and Grover sitting by the lake, and you were telling us all the stories about the constellations.”
Annabeth smiles fondly. It’s a memory she loves, and often comes back to when she’s feeling nostalgic. “Why that one?”
“It was normal with no life threatening situations. I was genuinely happy for the first time in, like, ever. I mean, I just found you guys, but you were already my best friends. And I think I knew we would be for a long time.”
“I still can’t believe you told me we’d never be friends. To my face.”
He walked right into that one, but Percy has given up profusely apologizing anytime she brings up that moment during their first quest.
“Dude, I was scared shitless about the prophecy. And FYI, I didn’t think you’d ever want to be my friend.”
“Why?”
He ties off the end of the second braid and tugs lightly as a finishing touch. As they settle back down together, his arms around her, he answers, “Because you were smart, and pretty, and you pushed me into a lake.”
“Just to prove my theory. If you think about it, you have me to thank for your claiming.”
“Should I sing your praises? My life would be so much better without Poseidon.”
“But not without me.” She gives him a wry smile.
“No. Gods no. Do not make me imagine my life without you, Annabeth.” He shakes his head, like he’s physically removing the thought. She lazily brings her arm around him, to where her fingertips can trace his spine. It’s a grounding exercise for her.
The human body fascinates Annabeth. The one of a demigod even more so. Whole medical procedures are required for removing a piece of yourself you are born with, but does more harm to your health than good. She thinks of how damage to a singular point of contact can end your life. A knick to the heart, a puncture to the lungs, a blade to the spine. For all the scars that pain Annabeth the most, the raised burgundy skin running down her bicep is the worst of all. Not why she did it, or who she did it for, but for what the mark represents. The string knotted between herself and Percy pulls and pulls and pulls, tighter with each passing day. Annabeth still doesn’t think she has processed the trust Percy has for her, so intimate yet simple. They save each other; it's what they do. Annabeth just isn’t ready to process what all that means, even months after a war that led to the end of days.
“You must think about that, though. If you weren’t a demigod.”
He tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth. “I did a lot… over the summer. But I think we would’ve met anyway,” he assures her. It’s a fear she didn’t even know she had until this moment, a question she didn’t know she needed answered.
“No, we wouldn’t,” she protests, her voice quiet.
“Yes, we would.”
“Percy, I would be in Virginia or California all my life while you were here. The probability we would have met without camp is near zero.”
“But not zero zero. No, I would have met you when you were six on that trip you took to New York with your dad. We would be at the park, and you would bully me for taking so long on the monkey bars, and I would push you off the playset.”
“Violent.” She's vaguely impressed with how quickly he conjured this false scenario. Or maybe he’s thought of this before, the ways he could still know her without the gods. Her heart twists.
“Or in ten years when you’re a big shot architect and your job is rebuilding the New York skyline, and I bump into you on the sidewalk and spill my coffee all over you on your first day of work.”
Annabeth giggles. “I got you watching too many romcoms. A meet cute, really?”
His arms tighten around her. “Hundred percent. We’re tethered for life, Chase. Deal with it.”
Annabeth scoffs, but she can’t help the tug on her mouth, an involuntary smile breaking through that morphs into a stupidly wide grin. The kind that used to have her covering her mouth with her hand, until one day Percy offhandedly said he liked her teeth. The comment was… sort of strange, but sweet. It was exactly like Percy to squash an insecurity of hers that he was completely unaware of.
“Or—”
“You’re just gonna keep going, aren’t you?”
“Yes. We’re childhood best friends—”
“Aren’t we already?”
“I mean, like, best friends since infancy. Our moms met in yoga class while pregnant.”
“Okay, now you’re totally going off script. I seriously cannot imagine my mother being friends with yours.”
“I don’t know, it could work. My mom gets along with everybody.”
“Athena is not a girls girl.”
“What about the after though? What would you believe in if the Underworld didn’t exist?”
“Why?”
“I’m curious,” he echoes her earlier response.
“I think that would be it. No afterlife.”
“That’s depressing.”
Annabeth never thought of it that way. A definite end to life almost seemed peaceful. All things end, one way or another.
“You know the Big Bang?”
Percy makes a face. “Blasphemy. Who even believes in science?”
She gives him a half hearted glare, and he backs down.
“The elements in our bodies were formed in the stars,” Annabeth begins. “I mean, every atom was created inside a star, and that’s before the formation of the earth. The lightest elements were produced in the Big Bang, and the heavier ones from fusions within stars. The heaviest come from supernovas, and those expel the materials throughout space. To get to where we are now, it was through eons of stardust traveling. Sometimes it scares me how unimportant and miniscule we really are in the grand scheme of things. But then I try to think about it in a different way.”
She glances at him, and he’s paying rapt attention, like he’s hanging onto every word she says.
“Stars burn out, they collapse. When we die, we’ll be buried underneath the earth, but the earth isn’t infinite. I don’t know where our souls go, but our bodies are subject to the changes of which we lay. We were made up of stardust before, and we will be again. I think that’s pretty beautiful.” Her voice goes quiet. “I actually used to prefer that theory when I was younger, as opposed to Elysium.”
Percy looks at her. Like, really looks at her. The corner of his mouth is just barely raised, his eyes are crinkled, and there’s a sort of intensity taking over his features. The crinkle between his brows, the determination in his eyes. It’s like he can see right through her. He sees who she is, who she is aspiring to be, who she is trying to never become.
She loves him. He must as well.
“What changed?” he asks softly, like any louder will clear the haze of comfortability that has been found in this room.
For her entire life, Annabeth has been terrified of being found out. She supposes she’s been hiding her whole self. Being known is not something she ever yearned for, but Percy sees right through her. He makes her nervous in the way that he is so intrinsically good, that she can’t help but wait for the day he packs his bags and leaves. If she lost him, she would lose herself. Her heart sinks to her stomach every time she looks at him.
She loves him. It’s her greatest pride and saddest woe.
Maybe it’s the honeymoon phase, as Silena would call it. But Silena isn’t here, and this isn’t a normal teenage relationship. At least, Annabeth doubts it is. She thinks Silena would agree with her if she weren’t beyond this life.
“I found someone I don’t want to let go of.”
A grin slowly breaks out on his face. Holding her in place with his thumb and forefinger on her chin, he leans in to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. It says so much emotion, so much feeling for such a simple gesture.
(I love you.)
She knows Percy taught her how to accept love, even if she is scared to admit just how much she really feels for him. Sometimes she’ll find herself wide awake at night, with nothing but him fogging up her mind. His voice, the way his hair curls, all the ways he subtly proves that he knows her more than anyone. It’s overwhelming sometimes, having him in the way she had dreamed of for so long. Annabeth hasn’t been lonely for years; not since she met him.
The emptiness she feels when she walks the halls at school isn’t so hollow when she remembers she has Percy to come home to.
There’s something poetic and destructive in not knowing what love really is—or not believing it when it’s plain in front of her face. Relationships, of any kind, have rarely treated Annabeth with sympathy. There is a terrible, innate desire within her to be loved. Annabeth isn’t naive, nor does she view her hope as naivete. It’s one of the few things she genuinely likes about herself, how deep her trust runs. Once you gain access to the keys of Annabeth’s heart, you are locked in. Even if you leave her, she doesn’t let go of what once was, of what could be.
Her eyelids grow heavy, and before she realizes it, Annabeth drifts off once more. The dimmed sun keeps spilling light.