Daughter of Athena

He doesn’t necessarily have the right to ask whether it’s a lie – or to delve deep into what 'alright’ means between the two of them. But he wants to. The fact of the matter is this: Percy can’t. He doesn’t want to face that asking just might turn around on him, and result in a discussion he can’t afford to have. So be it. 

'Alright’ it is. But he doesn’t know if agreeing with her next point is something he can deal with, either. They may have been struck down by death and much worse, sucked dry by misery and tortured by gods with namesakes that people use to describe their worst fears, and darkest truths. The curse follows them through and through, a waking breath stuck in their lungs like a wood chip swallowed by accident. Tartarus. Tartarus. Tartarus. A living and breathing creature that almost stole their lives - had every intent to, in fact. But couldn’t, because of outside factors.

Those factors remind him that he didn’t die before going to hell. That he walked and crawled through death’s worst with waking nightmares that don’t leave him alone – all while still alive. He wasn’t a reanimated corpse, and that capacity to harm someone who threatened Annabeth (not excluding anyone else that he holds dear)? Yeah, that was him. Just because he would’ve known when to stop, and that he was capable of doing so doesn’t make it any less true.

He doesn’t oppose her when she makes the excuse. Scaring her any more on it seems like three steps back for the one they just took forward. Negating their progress would be on his shoulders – oh, how the pressures just don’t end. 

But he knows silence won’t help them, either… particularly not when she’s seeking reassurance with physical contact, forehead resting gently against his shoulder. “Yeah… Me too.” But it’s not just talking about it that he hates so much - more along the lines of, well, everything.

He hates what it turned him into. He hates what it made him realize about himself. And he hates the hectic storms that the ocean brings about when they’re inside him.

“Sometimes, it’s all we’re gonna be able to do. Bring each other back. Doesn’t mean back there… Just back to the same place, where we can figure it out from wherever.” She’s right, though; it doesn’t matter where they are so long as they have each other. There’s just a bit of a delay when he weighs in how on earth she could feel safe when he reveals parts of him that she doesn’t want to understand. Parts that he doesn’t want to, either. “So even if it doesn’t feel right, you have to be able to do that… To take me with you.”

A fraction more insightful than he intended to sound, Percy swallows hard at the break in her voice. Hearing the daughter of Athena like this – shaky, unsure… it binds him, not unlike Sisyphus, to a boundless impossibility.

What if he isn’t enough? What if his strength will come apart before her, and turn into something she finds worth more fear than security? Even if this is what breaks them – what if it’s what tears them apart, too? (But he can’t think like that. He can’t lose her. He won’t. He won’t let himself be the reason for her agony any longer. He won’t.)

“You’re not… Trust me, wise girl.” Her nickname, in turn, slides off his tongue less coldly than any of his other thoughts have so far. “You couldn’t make me get lost if you tried.” And he leans in to kiss her, all very natural – for good measure.

She thinks about what he’s said. That she has to be okay talking about this, bringing him with her. And, well, can she be? Can she be alright with knowing that every time she has a moment of weakness (which is more often than she’ll ever want to admit) she’ll be bringing him with her too?

Her hands curl into tight fists and she squeezes her eyes tight when she thinks, Yes. 

She thinks it yet again. They survived two great prophecies, and so many quests before that. They fell into Tartarus, faced that Night, and pulled their broken bloody selves out of the pit. Together. She can do this. Whatever this is called they can do this. 

It doesn’t have to be right now. Nothing has to be right now, and it can’t be. As much as everything in her wants this to be like a math problem where all she needs to do is find the mistake and fix it to get the right answer, this is nothing like that. This will take time. She cannot think her way through this. They need time to sort though all the dark things that came out within themselves down there. They don’t have to make any make big decisions. All they have to do is help each other -- which is what they’ve been doing since they first met.  

She nods then. Quick. Sharp. Decisive. Just as a daughter of Athena should be. But she stays where she is when Percy finally answers her question. She’s thankful for the honest answer and even more so for the kiss.

But theres something about that kiss he leans in to give her that finally makes the tears in her eyes spill over. One or two drop against his shoulder too quick for her wipe away and she sniffs. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, so unlike herself. She sits up and wipes her cheeks. She’s only ever cried in front of him once, and it wasn’t her proudest moment, but this is different in a way she can’t put her finger on. Something about doing it again right now feels big and important. She hopes he understands. She think maybe he does. He’s always been more perceptive than he lets on.

Still, she shakes herself of it. “If I can’t be afraid of bringing you back with me, then neither can you.”  She combs his hair to the side, off his face. It won’t lay flat, but it’s never laid flat and somehow it elicits a swell of affection in her. “Let me help you, okay? You don’t answer me sometimes, and sometimes I can see when you’re not telling me the truth. You can’t shoulder both of us.”

She smiles at him, soft and gentle. This time it does reach her eyes. It’s a strange thing to be doing right now, after such a terrible nightmare and during such a terrible topic, but it also feels like the right thing somehow. She touches his cheek and brushes his thumb over his cheekbone. Percy held up the sky for her. She can chase away the dark and lift him back up.

All the while, he remembers the train of thought that filled him up to the brim. Even if it may have been no more than a survival instinct, an impulse that granted them a few moments to collect themselves, it’s not one that he asked for. It’s not one that he wants anything to do with. 

He doesn’t consider the circumstances when it all weighs down like an anchor and chain wrapped around both his feet. Not the fire they swallowed, not the glass that cut through their flesh and their minds and scourged any semblance of stability for the rest of their lives as they’d know it. 

(A memory fogs his head: the way Chris Rodriguez looked post-labyrinth; how sad it was to see him like that. And wonders if people feel the same way when they see him… tattered and lost between two realms that twine too often for him to always know which is which.) 

His body responds to the sound of Annabeth’s voice before his mind. Pieces of him are still thinking about how badly he wanted Akhlys out of their way, to quit tormenting them, to be left alone for one second… 

But his eyes are blinking two times fast, ears quirking up and his heart rate slows. Her touch eases him into pressing his back into the ‘safety’ of his (now their) mattress, and he complies without thinking. 

The thought of something pending makes his throat go cold, not unlike the ice-burn of the River Phlegethon. The thought of her having to think about all this… and the thought that it’s his fault press on his chest. Makes his ribs want to cave just underneath.  

That pressure comes to an abrupt halt when her lips graze over his hammering heart. She knows – and she trusts his word. It fills him up, this time with warmth and reassurance and with everything that’s made his stomach light for the last couple years of their lives together. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think this is one of her greatest strengths: easing his mind. Any mild throbbing that started moments ago ceases, and he can think clearly again. 

After craning his neck to press a soft kiss against her shoulder, he leans back. A wobbly smile tugs at the corners of Percy’s mouth, and his nose tingles. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, and runs a hand through her impossibly silky curls. “For making you think… anything else. Even for a second.” He can (unfortunately) relate to feeling beyond uncomfortable with having witnessed a darker side of himself. 

“It’s alright, Seaweed Brain,” she says, using her favourite nickname for him that has persisted so many years. She gave it to him when they were young, but not free from harm. Even at that age they had already been exposed to the harsh elements of the world. “It was just...” she trails off.

Usually she’s so good with her words, always speaking in crisp, clear, sharp, sentences. But here, now, she finds it hard to explain. Tar -- that place, it was an illogical a problem she couldn’t solve. She knows if the Doors of Death hadn’t been down there, if Percy hadn’t been with her every step of the way, that if Nico hadn’t spoken to Bob, that if things weren’t exactly how they were, she would have never made it out. It would have been only a matter of time until she died and even then there would be no escape. That place is a prison and her soul would have never made it out.

“I know you, Percy Jackson, and that was...it wasn’t you. You were a corpse brought to life with a vengeance, and --” she stops then. Her mouth presses into a thin line. Of course he knows that it scared her, but how can she tell him that despite everything they had been through in that moment she felt like she didn’t know him?

Percy mentions a time where there were doubles of people running around the Hive and how he wants to know how she is. It almost makes her want to laugh because this is her Percy. Her brave, sarcastic, sometimes oblivious, and self-sacrificing boyfriend.

She presses her forehead against his shoulder for a moment just to gather herself. She’s not okay. There are still flashes of it behind her eyelids. There will come a time, maybe months from now, maybe years from now, where they will both be okay. But right now they’re still licking their wounds.

She doesn’t let herself think about the possibility that maybe they’ll always be licking wounds that will never heal.

“I hate talking about it,” she says honestly. “I hate bringing you back there with me, but you’re the the only one who gets it, and I don’t know how else to process it. I mean, just thinking about it is almost impossible, and I can’t imagine trying to explain it to anyone else.” She’s not letting Percy out of answering her question, but she knows how he can be. “I just know that with you it’s not as bad. When I’m with you I know you’re safe, and if you’re not I’m there to have your back.”

That line of thought strikes something in her. It makes her throat constrict in a way she isn’t ready for and her voice comes out thick and watery when she says: “I couldn’t lose you.”

It’s true. She couldn’t lose him. She never wants to break up with him because she knows she wouldn’t be able to look at the world the same way ever again. Manhattan would be a place to avoid, the sea would only make her heart break all over again, and the blue food colouring would make her want to laugh until she cried. If a break up affects her like that, she doesn’t want to imagine a loss any greater than that.

Shaking her head she wipes her face even though there are no tears. When she finds her voice again it comes out much more even and she asks again,

     ❝Yeah,❞ Jason says, nodding and rubbing at the side of his neck some more.  ❝But…Leo’s either from a different time than we are, or he doesn’t remember dying; and Nico’s just AWOL. I’m really worried about him. Especially since…,❞ He glances at Annabeth quickly, then away,  ❝uh. The last I’d heard, he…kind of…said something important to Percy that he’d been meaning to tell him for awhile, and I want to know how it went over.❞

He doesn’t want to say exactly what it was Nico said, in case Annabeth is from a slightly different time and doesn’t remember when the son of Hades came out; frankly, Jason was shocked to hear it happened so abruptly, and he’s been worried Nico said it on impulse and has since come to regret the way it happened. Jason doesn’t have a hell of a lot of experience with issues like this – after all, he’s never felt it necessary to come out to anyone, seeing as how he’s probably bi or something and therefore has it easier. Piper doesn’t even know what he’s about, but he has the sneaking suspicion she won’t care when she finds out (and the not-so-sneaking suspicion that she’s in a similar boat as him, honestly).

But Annabeth suggests a party and Jason’s eyebrows rise slightly. He tilts his head. 

      ❝You want me to do it?❞ He can’t stop himself from puffing up a little in pride.  ❝Wow, Annabeth, thanks. I won’t let you down. And, hey, you’ve got a point there; I mean, I love Piper, but she’s similar to Percy in that organized activities aren’t exactly her forte. We seem to have similar taste, you and I.❞

“Percy hasn’t mentioned anything to me about Nico,” Annabeth says. “Maybe that means everything went alright?” There’s hope in her voice. 

She laughs when Jason says the must have similar taste. “Apparently.” Honestly, Annabeth can’t wait for Piper to show up. She fondly remembers her first meeting with Piper and hoping she would be a daughter of Athena. 

   Now he began to bite his inner cheek in concentration, as pulling by the sides gave some sort of release… there only left one way. As Annabeth encouraging words held some sort of clue which is stating that he’s getting ‘hotter’ towards the ‘treasure.’ And then, the moment of truth finally came around. After a few thought-provoking minutes, he is sincerely hoping that this was enough to break free from this cage. 

“It was all you, Frank,” Annabeth says, though she’s still feeling a bit of pride from the fact that she did give him the hints that lead to him figuring it out. “Now you know for next time.” A funny thought she thinks, because she’s not sure how there could be a third time. Then again there was a second, so you never know, she supposes.

     Jason sighs briskly and rubs at the back of his neck, gaze drifting to scan the horizon. She’s right. Jason knows as much. Still, it feels weird, being here, wondering how well his new family will hold up without most of the key players in action. 

Jason glances at Annabeth, searches her face. There’s so much about her that makes him more uneasy than he’s ever cared to admit. It’s taken her some time to warm to him, and even if that isn’t her fault, it makes Jason wonder where they stand. She knows things about him that he isn’t sure he’d care for her to know; she’s seen him falter in the face of his mother – his mother –

Jason takes in Annabeth’s silhouette, her blonde curls and bright eyes, and averts his eyes sharply. An uncomfortable pang of something spikes his pulse.

This is stupid.

Annabeth is…important. She’s important to Percy and Piper and so many others; she’s important to Jason, too, even if they’ve never particularly gotten the chance to connect on the level he’d like. So when she tells him they should stick together, he feels the truth to what she’s suggesting like it’s resonating through his very core. Finally, he smiles at her.

She catches Jason looking at her and gives him a small, yet tight, smile. Even if he’s got his friends with him to help its probably going to be tough until he finds Piper. She gets that, she does. She couldn’t keep herself from worrying about Percy even though she had Thalia by her side --

Thalia.

She’s Jason’s sister isn’t she? For his sake Annabeth hopes she returns.

“Leo and Nico are here?” Annabeth asks in surprise, her eyebrows shooting up near her hairline. Leo...gods, it’s such a relief to hear he’s alive again. She has fond memories of talking with him about machinery aboard the Argo II. And, though she and Nico had had an interesting history, to say the least, she hadn't yet had the chance to thank him for leading everyone to the Doors of Death.

Her shaking breaths leave a part of him hollowed and brittle and thin. He might guess it’s a lung, because inhaling feels like a knife is lodged somewhere inside, but Percy knows it’s not true. He has to know that (or at least tell himself as much; he’s done a lot of that lately). 

I’m fine, he thinks again. I’m fine.

So long as they’re alive, it’s all he can afford to tell himself. And things are all right— really, they are. The hive is a lesser evil while she’s around, and the others are pouring in, too. It’ll never be easy to ignore the sinking feeling that follows Camp Half Blood’s absence, but… right now, he’s fine. Annabeth needs him to be fine, so he is. It really does have to be that simple. 

Percy’s fortunate that it’s not a weight on his shoulders. It’s more of a gift.

Sure, he works well under pressure, but he excels when it comes to sacrifices for others.

He shifts a little, propped up on one elbow and resting a cheek in his palm to brush a few loose strands of tangled blonde away from Annabeth’s face. Her eyes are the same storms he’s always known, and to him, just as bright. Maybe because they’ve both seen fire so close… it doesn’t really matter that there’s flecks of ashes in their eyes. 

When she presses into him, time slows. He’d argue that might be in a literal sense, but there’s probably no way. The air is lighter and gentler on his head that’s still aching, spinning from the abrupt shock to consciousness. All he can think is that he should be used to this by now. 

Her words of reassurance, though, ease him into stillness. But then anything tranquil about the next few seconds between them falls like a hailstorm. Without thinking, Percy recoils and his face contorts – ‘off guard’ doesn’t come close. 

“Would I have–” In the same instance that it’s insulting, it’s just as disappointing. Immediately, he wants to believe it would’ve been a natural response… to stop. He wouldn’t get pleasure from hurting someone! There’s no way he would’ve gone as far as to kill a god. 

Could he? “I…" 

The smallest doubt creeps under his skin and pulls, a parasite with an ear for even his most minute insecurities. The ones he thought were swallowed by good deeds years ago: a uselessness, a helplessness, and a darkness. All of which, he very closely recognizes as his own. And when his gaze falters, pupils dilating when he shuts his eyes to avoid any harsh, black light flashbacks, he hates that he has to think about it. 

So, she understands when Percy jerks away from her when she poses her question, but that doesn’t stop the hurt from flickering across her features. It’s irrational, but it pulls her eyebrows up, and makes worry appear at the corners of her mouth, pulling it down into a frown. 

She lost him for eight months, and scoured the country looking for him. She’s faced the end of the world twice with him, and fought beside him to escape the pit. Though its a constant, nagging thought in the back of her head that they never escaped, that all that they’ve been through won’t bring them together but instead tear them apart, she hopes against it. This won’t break them. Oh, how she hopes.

She waits for Percy to respond and her fingertips worry their way to comb through the hair at his temple. “I’ve got you,” she says again, in a voice barely audible even in the silence.

Eventually Percy opens his eyes and cups her cheek in the palm of his hand. She presses into it like it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to do when he asks if she believes that he would have stopped.

Her eyes haven’t left his face this whole time, but her expression changes as  she fixes him with a look. Gently, she urges him to lay back. She hovers over him, searching his face. 

She sees him. His messy hair from sleep, and bright green eyes. The spots where dimples appear when he smiles. His body is covered in scars but, ah, here where her fingertips rest, is that long scar of his that runs over his collar bone. 

She bends to place a soft kiss where the scar ends, just above his heart. Annabeth lingers there with her eyes closed and lips just barely ghosting over his skin. She focuses on the beat of his heart, steady and sure, and she thinks: I know him.

“Yes,” she says, sitting up to look Percy in the eyes, so that he knows she means it. “I believe you.” She gives him a soft smile before moving to kiss him slowly, her hand resting against the junction between his shoulder and neck. “Just needed to hear you say it.” She pauses, and worry seeps back into her expression. 

A lot happened in the pit, and while she’s got long list of things she needs to talk about again and again to even begin properly processing it, she isn’t the only one. Percy needs this just as much as she does.

Gradually her limbs are freed from their bonds, and its only reluctantly that she lets go of the sheets. A hand touches her shoulder, soft and careful, brushing her skin like there’s something delicate about it even though it’s more marked up than the average person’s. It makes her hiccup. 

“Hey, hey— you’re okay… I’m right here.” Is whispered.

The same hands, calloused and rough from years of fight, wipe away the tears that slip down her cheeks. She can’t help but turn her face and press into them. She takes a deep breath and smells the sea. Slowly, she starts to calm and find her way into the realm of awakening. 

“Right here, Annabeth. We’re all right.. I promise you.” 

Annabeth opens her eyes slowly, blinking any lingering wetness in her eyes away.

The first thing she picks up on is how dark it is still -- nowhere near that dusty early morning grey she’s come to recognize. Shapes come next. She can see the night stand beside the bed, and just beyond that the outline of the closet door. It isn’t until she turns her head and sees Percy lingering over her, ever so slightly, that she remembers where she is.

She rolls into him, pressing close against his warm skin. Though her eyes are squeezed shut, and though she’s still seeing flashes of that place, she feels like she’ll come out the other side. Maybe she’ll be battered and a little more broken, but she’ll make it. As long as she has him.

Yet, at the same time, she hates feeling like this. She hates feeling small. Hates feeling weak and vulnerable. She’s daughter of Athena. She’s supposed to have her head on straight. It was a dream. A dream shouldn’t reduce her to this. 

“I’m here,” she whispers to him. It’s directed at both of them. They’re here. They made it out after all. “You’re here. I’ve got you.”

Then, after a long moment of silence that Annabeth spends tracing loose patterns over Percy’s skin, she pulls away to look at him unwaveringly, with her eyebrows pinched together.

“Percy...,” she starts, slowly. They haven’t approached this subject before, but it’s important. Even if she fears the answer she has to ask. This is Percy. Percy, who she’s known since she was eleven; Percy, who she knows has a heart of gold; Percy, whose head is full of kelp but always tries to do the right thing. She has to know. 

     Ah. Jason’s own smile slips and falls clean off his face when he hears what Annabeth has to say. ❝Ah, okay. No worries. Probably for the best that she isn’t stuck here, right?❞ 

He laughs, somewhat hollowly. Yeah, sure, this place is awful; and yeah, sure, he figures Piper is better off if she’s somewhere far away from it. Still, though. Everyone else seems to be popping up, and yet Piper’s nowhere in sight. Neither is Thalia. Sure, Leo’s supposed to be around, but Jason’s not sure if that’s a rumor or not; and Nico hasn’t really talked to him since he’s gotten here. He feels a little out of place, a little like everyone’s got someone here they want around, a little like he doesn’t fall on anyone’s list yet.

Which, of course, is stupidly selfish.

There’s something that doesn’t sit right with her about this place and she intends to do something about it.

Jason mentions Percy and Annabeth nods her head. “Yeah. He’s got an apartment so I’ve been saying with him instead of --” she stops mid-thought when another occurs to her. “Where are you staying? Somewhere better than Epsilon, I hope.”

She gives him a look thats filled with more worry than she intends to show. They may not be under the threat of kindly ones, but Hive City presents a different kind of danger. Though she knows they’re all more than capable of looking out for themselves, if something were to happen it makes her feel ill at ease to know they’d be scattered around the sectors.

   While his own demeanor may differentiate from his personality and characteristics drastically, he hasn’t received any witty remarks or anything of the sorts about it in awhile. Frank learnt to accept that this is the way he is and there isn’t any ways around it. 

   Digits continue to fight against the tide, or in this case the casing, struggling and trying to overcome this difficult obstacle. Minuscule droplets of perspiration began to trickle down his forehead as his eyebrows still maintained its position of hugging each other. 

   The upbringing of the statement allowed his mind to be cleansed, an orb of understanding churning within. He took it into consideration and began to fill in the missing pieces towards the solution. 

Actually, now that she mentions the other praetor of New Rome, Annabeth has to wonder if she’s here but Annabeth just hasn’t run into her yet. Sure, their relationship started pretty rocky -- she and Percy did blow up their home when they were only about thirteen -- but they’ve grown close since then. It would be good to see her and have everyone get together.

She lets Frank continue with his struggle for a moment longer. It really is taking all her will power to keep from just telling him how to do it, but he puts her clue together and pushes his fingers together instead of pulling them.

For a second she thinks he has it, but in the end he ends up still trapped. Oh, and he was so close too. So close.

“Thank the gods is right. He can be a handful at times.” She laughs.

She never thought her friends would show up in this city after so many months of being alone, but slowly but surely she’s running into them all. Although, this friend in particular causes her to feel a pang of guilt. So many of her initial interactions with him before had been fuelled by her worry for Percy, making her less than warm towards him.

It’s true that since seeing the prophecy through to the end they she began to trust and rely on him more, but still she’d like to get to know him better without the end of he world hanging over their heads.

Her smile falters when he asks about Piper.

But she has a moment after she says that which makes her stomach churn uncomfortably. They might have survived, not one, but two Great Prophecies, and Percy might have taken a dip in the River Styx once, but they are demigods. They aren’t exactly known for their long life spans.

She squeezes Percy’s hand tight for a second. 

Tartarus has scared her more than she’ll ever admit.

She laughs when Percy mentions the Eidolons. “Gods, no, thankfully. Though, I’m not sure Epsilon is much better. It’s this bunker-turned-library. It’s musty and old in the worst way. Sometimes the shelves collapse and the staircase to get in and out makes me feel like I need a hospital visit just thinking about it.” She’s spent far too many hours down there in the cold dampness as she tried to find busy work for herself.

Their connection goes farther than what their years should permit, having done plenty more than nearly died on several occasions. The look on her face is haunted, even if just for a second… and he can sense it. Maybe it’s because when she remembers, he goes with her.

In her mind’s eye — wherever.

The fact is, Percy won’t let her slip off on her own. She should never have to deal with that by herself. They went through it all together, and they’ll come out of it stronger that way just the same. But the short silence spares him a splitting ache in his temple and his brow creases in response. Not like he expects Tartarus to be fond memories and a warm belly, but still.

Annabeth’s laughter tugs him out of the momentary discomfort, and he lets it wash off his face like the current. They’re here now, and they’re okay. Sure, sometimes he has the occasional dream where this is all fake, and it’s some trap where they’ll wake up on glass again, but… well, he’s learned that avoiding said thought is for the best. “Bet you had some fun there, though. Did you read anything worthwhile?” In a way, she lucked out. Despite how aware Percy is that she can handle herself, it had to have been an architectural opportunity to stay in a library. Ruins and all. 

“But I’ll pass on chancing you getting stuck under one of those shelves trying to figure out how they built the Golden Arches – so I guess you could stay with me.” He says, as though he’s reasoning with himself. The smile overtakes Percy too quickly to play it off any longer, and he pulls her hand so that their arms are closer. “Come on, I’ll show you.” 

Parts of him unwind, worries and frustrations falling to the floor like hail that’s come too early at the contact. Because that’s right, she’s here. And it doesn’t matter how many times people will try to tear them apart from the seams, as they just come back stronger (debatably a little more ticked off, but still). His stomach does a flip, and there’s a halfhearted attempt to steady his dizziness before blinking.

“Wherever that is, I doubt it. I was in Alpha. I don’t even think barely scraping by with Lupa on the highway streets had it as bad as those huts.”

Somehow, it’s easier to talk about serious dissatisfaction with Annabeth. Blowing off steam to her is almost too easy, reminding him a little more of home the longer they don’t move. He doesn’t want to. He hates that it happened here — that they couldn’t have seen it coming, that he couldn’t…

But she has a moment after she says that which makes her stomach churn uncomfortably. They might have survived, not one, but two Great Prophecies, and Percy might have taken a dip in the River Styx once, but they are demigods. They aren’t exactly known for their long life spans.

She squeezes Percy’s hand tight for a second. 

Tartarus has scared her more than she’ll ever admit.

She laughs when Percy mentions the Eidolons. “Gods, no, thankfully. Though, I’m not sure Epsilon is much better. It’s this bunker-turned-library. It’s musty and old in the worst way. Sometimes the shelves collapse and the staircase to get in and out makes me feel like I need a hospital visit just thinking about it.” She’s spent far too many hours have been spent down there in the cold dampness as she tried to find busy work for herself.

So instead of lying to the girl and her obvious interest in the subject, the brunet gave a slow shake to his head. “Nah, I definitely need to start small. Maybe a picture book before I get onto this crazy stuff?” he admitted with a cheeky smile on his face.

“With all these fancy buildings around, it’s hard not to feel out of the loop, y’know? No way could there be houses as tall as the clouds back where I’m from.”

Still, she shoots the man her own cheeky smile. “This is sort of a picture don’t you think?”

When he mentions not having tall buildings Annabeth blinks in surprise. “Really? Where are you from?” she asks with genuine curiosity. Of course she knows that small villages would have no need for sky scrapers but she thinks that there might be more to this story than just a small town guy.

Its abundantly clear that the people of Hive City aren’t from her world, and it’s just in her nature to want to know more.

   Chinese handcuffs were the epitome of Hades’ backside, while it was also a pain on the rear. There must be some kind of special mechanism… which would lead to a special solution, but… but what was it exactly? He could easily recall conversations which occurred in the past, with the exclusion of the one with Annabeth. How great! 

   Now here he was, making an embarrassment of himself again in front of the public and a good friend. ❝Aw shucks… did my face show my uncertainty? I need to work on a better poker face…❞ a digit tapping his chin intelligently, his heads in the clouds momentarily before returning to reality. ❝I think I can find the solution myself… maybe…❞

   His hands tugged at varying angles and maneuvers, all failing one way or another. Before he knew it, Frank found himself being on the verge of being frustrated and throwing out curse words like gosh darn it. Eyebrows pinching together in concentration, a tongue slipping out betwixt his lips without himself nothing. Though as several minutes went by, he still had no luck.

Frank has the look of the roman solider that she’s come to know since discovering the camp, but as she’s thought before, he’s a huge softie. Not that she thinks having a soft heart a bad thing. In fact, she thinks Frank will be great to fill the role of praetor because of it. He’s empathetic and understanding, yet also tough with a strong sense of duty.

Minutes pass as Annabeth lets Frank try to figure his way out even though she’s just itching to tell him the answer. There’s a lot to say for the process of learning something and not just having the answer handed to you.

Still, she can see how his brow is furrowed in concentration, so she gives and decides to say something.

It’s nothing like Camp Jupiter, where they locked eyes and stole the stage without realizing. In this trap with countless odds and ends, no one cares about their lineage. Where they come from doesn’t really apply – Percy has trouble grasping that fact. 

Primarily due to how much attention he’s had for the past several years, all thanks to being the (favorite? debatable) son of the sea god. But it doesn’t matter who left or what elements he falls to - not when she’s so close, and they’re almost touching. 

His breath is full of her, head spinning and unsure if he’s capable of stopping even if he wanted to. Naturally, he doesn’t. Even a fleeting look would reveal the clench of his jaw: a show of his still-concrete resistance. Percy and authority never went all too well together; even less so when it separates him from those he considers closest. 

The sound of her voice stabilizes him, if just for a moment’s time. She has to be real. If some of the others really are here, and he really is… it’s only sensible (whether or not that’s his strong suit doesn’t count – as of course, it’s anything but). 

His expression dissolves to a warm smile, feeling comfortable and safe for the first time in too long. There’s so much to say, even now – but all he can do is drink it in. 

“I just got here… Sort of.” But then it occurs to him that he only remembers disappearing – not losing her back at camp. Maybe it’s some odd, mishap in a time loop? He wouldn’t know. “It’s been like, a month. But I–” It’s probably for the best not to think back on the huge mess, or the mirror world now that it’s not directly interfering. 

His eyes, his hair, his shoulders that have broadened so much in the years that she’s known him. He smiles warmly and, oh, there’s that dimple of his that she loves. 

Then, because she can’t help it, because she’s so used to having to do it, she starts looking for signs of injury. There are no tears in his shirt or scrapes bleeding just enough to make a mess of Percy’s already scar marked skin. Hive City isn’t like home, where monsters roam freely and being attacked by a swarm of Harpies is just called Tuesday night, but still she has to make sure he’s alright. 

Percy’s thumb traces a pattern into her skin and it makes a swell of affection, much bigger than such a small gesture has any right to elicit, rise in her chest.

“I--” She uncharacteristically stops and has a moment where her throat feels thick with too many words all trying to push their way to the top first. “Where are you staying?” she asks finally. “Somewhere nicer than Epsilon I hope.”

   Though aware of his capabilities of shape-shifting, he felt like his old-self whom was oblivious to his family’s gift which had been passed down from generation to generation. The Frank which was clumsy and did not bear any knowledge about his father, and simultaneously hoped Apollo would be the one. He felt… weak. He felt like he was deprived from something very dear to him– which was what had just occurred now. 

   The loss of his powers of being the Legacy of Poseidon seemed so surreal. If these so-called ‘scientists’ were capable of doing such a thing, they must have been capable of doing more… but what is ‘more’ exactly? The big question which could possibly linger among many minds.  

   But in an instance, these thoughts diminished into the wilderness as a familiar voice rung from afar. A voice which belonged to someone who had willingly assisted him on finding the reasoning of the trap– the trap which still tangled and coiled his fingers together. If he was capable, Frank would cover his face while being completely flustered. Although the only thing he was capable of was allowing his face to turn to a deep shade of red like the breath of a dragons. 

Its her mind that allows her to be such a good strategist, that allows her to buy time for her friends in battle, and that allows her to be such a good puzzle solver.

Granted, she hasn’t figured out the puzzle that is Hive City (yet!), but she does know her way around Chinese handcuffs.

“You don’t sound so sure about that,” she says. “I could show you, if you wanted.”