Nobody is immune to self–destructive cycles! Not on my watch!
A/N im aware they don't have a car. just go with it.
WARNING for some descriptions of drinking, throwing up/vomit, implied suicide/suicidal thoughts.
Lucy knew what she was doing.
Just the same way Lockwood always looked to the bottom of the grimy Thames as a solace, she swirled around her own vice. She's lost track of what she was meant to be tasting by now—could barely even see it in the dim light of the pub. It might been some kind of midnight–dark wine, swishing and swirling and flies buzzing and the pull of the bone glass. The other side. She downed the last of it. Any taste slipped away quickly, leaving just the lump in her throat.
It hurt when she lost that burn. the only thing that could soothe death–chill of nightly exorcisms.
A voice close to Norrie's chastised her. "That's enough, Luce. You know how this ends if you don't go home soon," she said, muffled by the aching of her head. Soon wasn't now, though.
There was a line, a point of no return before she could guarantee how she'd wake up the next morning. Curled under the seats of some bus stop, or a park bench somewhere. No money. Just a long hungover walk home. A look from George when she got there that told her he knew where she'd been, and that it had to stop. She always told herself it would. It didn't sound like a lie at the time.
Eventually the temptation would be too strong. To feel nothing if only for one night. This night.
This night, nothing was different. Of course, it didn't feel good. God knows that ship had sailed a long time ago. It was like she was nobody at all, which made it easier to pretend she was someone else entirely. Someone who her mum would see, sucessful and strong all on her own, and wish was still her daughter. She hated herself for feeling that way, for craving that approval even now.
"Luce? Lucy!"
Maybe one more glass would do it.
Her reactions were sluggish, and her head seemed to spin as she turned, only to find Lockwood's face altogether too close to her own.
"You don't even know how worried I was. George, too." He was too earnest, too relieved. Genuinely relieved, to find her not completely gone. Her lip quivered. "C'mon. We're getting you home."
Evidently, that 'we' was just him. He hooked her srm around his shoulders as she staggered. Dead weight, she thought. They made it out onto the dark street, where her last drink or two made their reappearance into the rusted gutter. She watched it drip down slowly. What would she give to follow it into that deep blackness?
All of a sudden she felt a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles and then pushing back her hair as she spat out the last of it. The warmth of him through her blouse, and his quiet reassurances and how he pressed his handkerchief—the nice one he only carried for appearances, not even the ratty one—into her shaking hands got overwbelming very quickly. She felt those sticky, tarry feelings making their way out of her grasp again. She wiped away her sick onto the handkershief, leaving a dirty smear. Lockwood took it off her.
He helped her get into the passenger side of the car first, then went round to the driver's seat.
"Is there anything you need before we go home?" He looked at her when he was met with silence, seeing the little shake of her head 'no'.
Lucy let out a shaky breath as the familiar grumbling of the engine started. He started home, slower than usual. As to avoid jostling her when she was so out of it.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to kick and scream and for Lockwood to shut her out before she got pulled any closer to him. How could he be so kind when she was set on drowning out her feelings? It was like he knew, and was making things difficult on purpose. She pulled her mouth into a taut line and tried to stay silent, watching the streaming rain running down the window.
I'd have had to walk home in that if Lockwood hadn't got me, she thought. Hot tears were making their debuts now, down her face and into her lap.
It hurt a lot to think of crossing back over the threshold of 35 Portland Row again. Taking off her shoes. Was she going to be able to take them off herself? Was she going to be able to make it up all those stairs? She didn't think she could stand it if Lockwood helped her all that way up to her room. His room. He heard one of her sniffles.
"Luce? Christ, are you okay?" He looked at her twice, three times, while they were stopped at a red light. She shook her head furiously.
"Lucy. Talk to me here. What's wrong?"
She choked up a response, realising how long it'd been since she last spoke. "I want to go home."
"As in, your family? That town—I keep forgetting the name, sorry—"
"No, just..." What was she talking about? "You."
"I'm here. What do you need me to do?"
"Nothing. Forget it." They were only a couple of minutes away, and she could go that long withoutbreaking down completely. She willed it.
"Hey, don't do that. What do you need?"
"Forget it."
"Luce—"
"I said forget it, Lockwood. What part of that doesn't make sense?"
"Shit. Sorry."
Thy arrived in silence. It took her a minute to shimmy her shoes off, and another two to get up to her room. She washed her mouth in her sink, grimacing at the shit rinsing off her teeth, the underside of her tongue. There was no way she was looking in the mirror. That might just do her in.
Of all things, her own reflection.
Sometimes she thought she might go to sleep and never wake up. Slip peacefully and quietly away. No ghost. No nothing. That was selfish of her. She fell asleep, hating herself as much as ever.
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When they agreed on a 'study date', Annabeth only heard the 'study' and Percy only heard the 'date'. Someone'd better sort them out, huh?
Spoiler: No–one's up to the task.
a/n im a show fan btw i havent read the books sorry 4 any inaccuracies pls enjoy over and out
You couldn't fault him for being just a little elated. And a generous amount of nervous. This was Annabeth, after all, and it was the kind of thing he'd been hoping she would ask for an embarassingly long time.
"You busy Thursday? Study date?"
"Study date!"
Study date. He was already picturing the picnic table under the tree—her favourite—in the warm afternoon half–sun half–shadow. He didn't need to remind Tyson, seeing as he'd been unable to shut up about it for the last three days. Twice he'd emptied out his bag just to check he'd have everything he needed, and he was still ready twenty minutes early. Twenty minutes to try not to picture Annabeth, Annabeth reading, writing notes, crossing out her notes, frowning with that cut between her eyebrows he always wanted to smooth over. Maybe this time—
Nineteen minutes.
//
Annabeth only had time for a rushed shower after sailing on the lake all morning. There was a deep ache in her shoulders but she knew Percy would have the effect he always did. Holding half the ache of the day, splitting it into fair shares.
Not that he didn't also ache. Just that he always seemed to have somewhere to put it that wasn't his back.
What was she trying to say? Her thoughts jumbles again as she combed her fingers through the last of her wet hair.
She'd already set her textbooks on her desk with her blue–black pencilcase before she left. She scooped up the whole pile and hoped she'd given herself enough time to get there. Not that Percy would worry, just...
She hurried out the door.
//
Percy was already waiting on the picnic bench when she arrived, braids out of place and laces coming loose. He thought she looked best like this, without having to have everything together and comfortable showing it. To him, specifically. Her idea that she needed to have her plan, be six steps ahead didn't seem to apply to him. Just taking the moments as they came. It made him feel special, somewhat. It made him sappy more than anything.
She gave a quick apology as she sat down, not that he needed one. It almost pleased himhow she didn't mind being late, if it was him. If only by a few minutes.
It was peaceful under the trees.
She opened out her books and unfolded the sketch she was working on. It was beautiful, Percy noticed. He didn't say anything, though—he'd found himself feeling shy all of a sudden. Not that this was anything they hadn't done before. It wasn't a date then, though.
Annabeth picked up on anything he was feeling, so hiding it would've been pretty pointless anyway.
"I can't concentrate with you shifting around all the time," she said, really meaning, "What's wrong?"
"You know I'm new to this stuff."
"What? Studying?" Her smile pulled at her lips, which he was pointedly not looking at. She was really going to make him say it.
"A date," he hissed under his breath. Not like anyone was around to overhear it, but you could never be too careful in this place. There was always someone up to something.
He wished it didn't distract him so badly when she tilted her head to the side like that, braids falling over her shoulder—gods, he could never get his head in the game. Something clicked.
"A date?"
"Isn't that what I just said?" There was a plea in his voice to drop it. He was glad that he couldn't see the embarassed flush over his face.
"We're only studying," she said, like that would answer anything.
"On a study date."
"Oh."
She almost laughed at his face but caught it between her teeth. Save him some of his dignity. There was an awkward pause and a "sorry".
"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." What? Give him the wrong idea? Lead him on? That made it sound like she didn't want this to be a date, like that'd be a bad thing. Which wasn't entirely true.
"I think we have different ideas of a study date."
"Yeah," she agreed.
They'd already started giggling by the time she realised she couldn't stop. The kind that reminded you laughter was meant to have health benefits. He'd always heard that—maybe he should look it up. If so, being around Annabeth was probably adding years to his life as fast as battling monsters took years off. He almost cringed at that thought.
A healthy dose of laughter swept away most of his embarassment.
At the same time, Annabeth found herself feeling bold. If she'd managed to ask him out by accident, it really couldn't be that hard to do it for real.
"By the way, are you busy next Thursday?"
"I don't think so. Why?" He had a grin fixed to his face that she would've laughed at any other day, but her heart was already working overtime.
"For a date." She grinned back. "A real one."
"One I can actually be nervous for this time?"
"Suit yourself." And it was tinged with one of those small smiles she reserved for special occasions.
"Yes." He was practically giddy. "As long as I get to ask you out on the next one."
"That's true. I've been doing most of the heavy lifting, after all."
"Shut up."
He hoped nobody else saw the way he looked at her then. There was no bite behind his words, and they both knew that. It made him soft. He was thankful she decided to tease him before he managed to say something incredibly mushy.
