#frenchswissborder

It had been a lot of fun. Estelle had been delighted by every color, sound, and smell, and was eager to practice her third grade Spanish. Which, honestly, wasn’t even half-bad, and clearly endeared her to many a shopkeeper about town, though nearly all of them also spoke English when it came time for an adult to pay. Hazel, having medaled and finished, was happy to relax the entire day, and Nico had even shown up with the new Mythomagic Switch game as a present for his youngest cousin.

No one asked him about Annabeth, though Percy was pretty sure Paul was dying to. He could see his stepdad physically swallowing down a cavalcade of questions every time he so much as looked his way, which was appreciated. The other day, he’d had a very short conversation with Nico and Hazel at dinner the night after the phone call, and an even shorter phone call with his mom, and between the three of them a general feeling of ‘don’t ask’ had been gently enforced over the last few days. 

Instead they had talked a lot about his race. Which was much, much better.

Paul said he’d been praying to every god he could think of for Percy’s success, and his stepdad taught a world mythology unit to freshmen, so it was a lot of gods. Luke, who didn’t always have time for Paul’s supreme earnestness for reasons Percy liked to not think about, promised he was bypassing the bullshit, and sent all his requests straight to Nike. 

All six of them planned to get front row seats for his race today, though front row on an open ocean sailing event was a bit of a misnomer. 

And even with his nerves, he felt confident. Scared witless by his first Olympics, but confident that there was not one else on the water who had his skill with a boat. 

How could they?

Still, he hoped Rich did well. He was a great guy, and they got on well. The other American was racing in the Men’s Finn medal event later today, and it was obvious to anyone with eyes that he knew what he was on about. “What about your family? They coming?” 

“My brother, Ed, he’s taking a red eye from Chicago. Any luck, he should be here in an hour or so.”

They chatted aimlessly for a while after, about their families and the weather and even the food. They didn’t directly touch on the race, or anything else of substance. And then, with an unspoken agreement and a mutual nod of well-wishes and good luck, it was time for them to go out to the water.

And if on his way to the marina, Percy said his own little prayer to Nike and Poseidon, and maybe even Zeus, who the Olympics were supposed to be dedicated to, well, that was his own business. 

***

Annabeth seriously considered pulling a Roman Holiday. Well, not a real Roman Holiday, but a fake one. She could tell everyone she was sick, so she couldn’t attend her events. She wouldn’t even go out and smash anyone’s head in with a guitar, even though she really, really kind of wanted to. 

She could lay in bed, and do her best not to think about today's events. But then, that was why she had to go, wasn’t it. 

Today was Percy’s medal race. But Sweden had their own people in it, so she had to be there anyway. She was expected, and if she didn’t put in an appearance, what might people say? What would they think of her? Probably that there was some problem with the two of them. Which there wasn’t. They’d made up. 

They were going to be friends. More than that, they were going to date. Percy had promised her. After the Olympics was over, they would see each other again. 

She very carefully did not think about the promise she’d made herself, about what else she’d do when the Olympics was over. And how well a new boyfriend might fit into such a plan. 

How perfect Percy Jackson would look next to her at a state dinner. 

She swallowed, and considered the outfit Helen had selected for her: a pale, almost colorless blue dress, long-sleeved (in this heat? How?) with a pair of delicate gold earrings, and Annabeth’s favorite charm bracelet, which luckily just so happened to match. Short, blocky, nude heels and a wide, chic, straw hat. Enough to evoke the idea of a flag, but not enough to confirm it outright. 

Her blow out from the previous day would probably not withstand the seaside conditions, but it should be fine for at least the first few hours, which was more than enough time for the photographers to do their business. And her make-up needed only a little refreshing. 

And then she was ready to go and see the sailing event. 

Technically, there was more than one, a fact that she kept mentally repeating to herself as Hans drove them over to the harbor. Percy Jackson was just one man among the throng. She needed to remember that. There were other athletes at play, other people to consider.

She’d promised him until the end of the games, and she meant to fulfill that promise. 

Mind racing a mile a minute, she only half-listened to Helen explain the day’s races and the relevant persons she had to greet as Hans drove them to the harbor. There were three medal events for sailing today, two men’s and one women’s, but she was only truly obligated to stay through the first two, Men’s Laser and Women’s 470, as Men’s Finn didn’t have a Swedish athlete participating this year. “You’ll have some time to speak to Mr. Holmgren, Ms. Cederström, and Ms. Söderlund before the start of Men’s Laser, as well as their coach. You are only obligated to wish them luck, on behalf of the royal family.”

Annabeth nodded, flexing her foot in her shoes. Was she getting a blister on her heel?

“Unless there is a massive upset, unfortunately, Ms. Cederström and Ms. Söderlund are unlikely to place in the Women’s 470. Mr. Holmgren, however, can earn at least bronze today, provided he finishes in the top five.” 

“So can–” Percy, she nearly said, and then nearly smacked herself for it. 

“The protocol is very simple,” Helen went on. “Should Mr. Holmgren medal, you are only obligated to shake his hand, and congratulate him on his victory. We will handle any and all details regarding the athletic reception later this week.” Then, she flicked her eyes to the front of the car, at the back of Hans’ head. “And… if you wished to congratulate any of the other winners as well…” she trailed off, meaningfully. 

Annabeth frowned. 

“For example… the American…” Helen shrugged, tapping away at her iPad. “Well, I suppose that wouldn’t be inappropriate.” 

She could only stare, mouth open and speechless, as they pulled up to the marina. Helen never went back on her words. She never admitted she was wrong, or even partially incorrect. “I… thank you,” she said, stunned. 

Her PA said nothing in reply, only slipping on her sunglasses and opening the car door into the bright sunshine. 

***

The marina was a bustle of activity this morning, as a whole small city’s worth of athletes, spectators, and press descended on the little, curved harbor north of Mérida. Percy counted at least twenty different languages being shouted around him, all thirty-six participants in the Men’s Laser going through their good luck rituals or getting some last minute advice from their coaches, and it was only Percy’s quick reflexes that let him both hear, spot, and catch Estelle before she bowled him over. “Hey, squirt!” he laughed. “Good to see you!”

He picked her up and swung her around, Estelle squirming and giggling in his grip. “Percy!” she shrieked. “You’re racing today!”

“Sure am!” He set her down, holding onto her hands. “What do you think? Is it looking good for me out there?” 

Twisting around to look over her shoulder, Estelle studied the calm, gentle waves, then squinted up at the clear, cornflower blue sky. “I dunno,” she said. “It looks like there’s a sea monster out there.” 

He glanced back, scanning over the water, and then shot a look at Luke and Nico. Both of them shrugged. 

So Percy turned back to his sister. “Monsters, huh? Are they gonna gobble up all the boats?” And then he poked her in the belly, watching as she fell into a pale of giggles. “And I suppose you’ll be there to save the day?”

“Yep!” she chirped. “With THIS!” And she waved her Switch case about. 

“Hey, careful with that thing,” said Luke, ruffling her hair. “It cost good money, and you don’t want to break it.” 

“You’d buy me a new one,” she said, and the look on Luke’s face made it clear he would.

“No he won’t.” Percy said. “We all know Luke would do it. But Mom already thinks he spoils you enough as it is. She’d tell you no, if you broke that one.” Though in truth, she wouldn’t if Estelle broke it doing something stupidly brave. Not that Estelle had much need for that kind of thing. And hopefully never would. 

“Besides,” Nico said, “You only just unlocked Hestia in Mythomagic. And she’s one of the most important characters, if you can figure out how to play her right.” He shifted, lowering Estelle’s hand, and Percy noticed that there was some gauze wrapped around his left bicep that had not been there the night before. Percy caught his cousin’s eye, and nodded towards it. Asking a silent question. 

He got an affirmative nod. 

His follow up questions, just being formed in a way as to not freak out Estelle, were interrupted by his mother’s arrival. 

She’d been pointing something out to Hazel, but now she wrapped him in a big hug of her own, squeezing him to her chest. “Hey, ma,” he murmured into her shoulder. 

“Hi, baby,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. I’m feeling really good today.” He pulled back. “Where’s Paul?”

“Securing our seats,” said Hazel. “He’ll be over in a minute.” 

“Big day, cuz!” Luke lightly punched him in the arm. Was he favoring his right side? “Feeling good?”

“Definitely.”

“You should,” Luke said. “You’re just a few hours away from your gold medal!” 

He kicked at a stray pebble on the concrete. “You know, I might not even win gold.” 

Luke raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Percy saw it reflected in Nico and even Hazel. 

“I’m serious!” he said. “My head’s in the game today. I’m going to put my full body into it. And so I might not win gold.” 

A beat, and then Hazel chuckled. “That’s the spirit,” she said, slapping him on the back. 

“It's silly,” Nico grumbled. “You could win gold and set records without breaking a sweat.”

“Yeah,” Percy agreed. “But if I wanted to do that, I might as well have stuck with swimming.”

“Hey, swimming’s loss is sailing’s gain,” said Paul, appearing from his side. “Good to see you, kiddo!” he said, drawing Percy into another hug. 

“You, too.” It had been so long since he’d been surrounded by whole family. Hazel’s presence had kept him grounded, daily texts with Luke and calls with his mom had just barely managed to stave off the worst of the loneliness, but to have them all here with him, a mere hour and a half before his first Olympic race… Well, he was just glad that he was good at stopping himself from crying. 

Estelle grabbed her dad’s hand when he was done squeezing his stepson. “I’m gonna fight a sea monster!” she said, with all the same enthusiasm she had previously shown for her brother’s race.

“Uh huh?” But Paul wasn’t looking at her. He was looking past Percy, over his shoulder. “Sounds like fun.” 

Luke scooped her up, then, easily transferring her into a piggy-back. He was just a little bit taller than Paul, and quite a bit stronger thanks to all those genetic advantages Paul lacked, and Estelle was maybe getting a little bit too big for her English-teacher father to carry without too much effort. “No monster-hunting without your favorite brother, though.” 

“Nico?” she asked. 

“Very funny,” he grumbled. “He’s only an in-law.”

Paul was no longer listening, staring slack-jawed at something behind Percy, who sighed. He was pretty sure he could guess what–or who–Paul was looking at. “Wow,” he managed. “She is so much more gorgeous in person… uh…” He glanced at Percy. “I mean… never mind.” 

Her presence confirmed, he swore he could feel it, like he suddenly had a magic compass, pointing directly to the most beautiful girl in the world. “It’s okay,” he said. Because it wasn’t like she wasn’t. 

Taking his shoulders, his mom filled his vision, drawing his attention back from somewhere behind him. “This is your moment,” she said, soft, serene, and spellbinding. “You don’t have to think about anything else but this moment. And no matter what, remember, we are all so proud of you.” 

And then she drew him into one final hug, before being swiftly joined in by his siblings, cousins, and stepdad. Enveloped in the knot of his family, Percy let his shoulders relax, and for the first time in days, felt his thoughts slow down. 

He was ready. He could do this. And do this the right way, not the easy way. 

He was meant to be on the ocean, on a boat. He had known that since he was eight, and Luke had stolen that sail boat in the Westport Marina for them to take a joyride. And now he was meant to be an Olympian.

He gave a little snort to himself at the thought. 

And then there was some organizer there, ushering people to the viewing area, and athletes to the staging area. 

Percy got a round of back slaps and quick hugs, and then he and his family were separated. He looked out at the ocean, breathed in the scent, felt it in his veins. 

And tried not to catch a glimpse of the princess of Sweden as he headed to his boat. 

Paul was right. In her pale blue dress and with her golden hair, she was beautiful.

***

“It’s an honor to have you here, your highness,” Sweden’s sailing coach was saying, shaking her hand a touch too vigorously. 

“The honor is all mine,” she responded, smoothly. “On behalf of my family, we wish you all the very best of luck today.” 

The greetings went by quick enough, Annabeth shaking hands with the coach, the two assistants, the handful of support and admin staff whose jobs Annabeth was not quite sure she understood, or even knew, and then, finally, the athletes themselves: Adele, Marie-Sofie, and Loke. The women were perfectly gracious, and pretty obviously eager to get out of there and get organized, even though their race wasn’t until much later that day. She could appreciate the pre-event anxiety, though. 

Loke’s grip was strong, yet gentle, and he dipped his head. “Your highness, it is very good to see you again.” 

“And you,” she replied. “I understand you are likely to medal today?”

“Aiming to bring home at least a bronze,” he said, proudly. 

“I look forward to it.” She shook his hand again. “Best of luck to you.” 

But as she made to leave, he kept a hold of her. “My deepest pardons, princess,” he rushed out, “but… if you would like, I can pass on your well-wishes to Mr. Jackson.” 

Sharply, she inhaled, momentarily speechless. And as he stared at her, and she continued to not graciously demure, his smirk only grew. 

“Your highness?” He prompted. 

She swallowed, turning off the part of her brain which told her what a colossal mistake she was making. “If… if you happen to see him,” she said, “please feel free to wish him luck. On my behalf.” 

“Is that all?”

A million thoughts raced through her head, some highly inappropriate, and at least one about how she was always happy to see a Yalie loose, the context of which would probably go straight over Loke’s head. 

She forced her most polite smile. “Of course,” she said. “I look forward to seeing you both race. But I am hopeful to see you on the podium.” 

He stared at her just a little longer, clearly wanting her to say more. She didn’t. And then Helen and another facilitator were there, and she was being brushed away towards the viewing area where she could sit and sort of watch the race, even though sailing wasn’t exactly ideal for in-person spectators. 

Aggressively, she kept her eyes forward, her field of vision narrow, her gaze straight ahead, as she martialed all of her faculties into not looking for anyone in particular. She was so distracted, she nearly jumped out of her skin when something bumped into her, and looked up at Hans in alarm. He was way too well trained for this. But then again, so was she. 

Hans only winked at her, and then tilted his head at ten o'clock.

She turned, and there was Percy Jackson, in a sinfully skin tight wetsuit, speaking to the American coach, Larry Peterson, whose name she had looked up on wikipedia. Because she was not the only person who had a page. Though Percy’s was much shorter, and mostly just had his stats on it. 

The two men wandered out of the staging area, and again Hans nodded, this time to a group of people walking about twenty meters in front of them. A little girl was sitting on a man’s shoulders.

“I can do that if you’d like, princess,” Hans offered. “Give you the best seat in the house.” 

“I am armed, Hans, and I will not hesitate to use force if necessary.” 

He chuckled as they kept walking to the dignitaries’ box. And she tried not to look back at Percy Jackson.

***

He was close to the water, now, close enough to really know what kind of day it was going to be. And the answer was a very good one for sailing. 

It should have calmed him down. In some ways it did. But it also hyped him up, the anticipation of a coming race. Once weeks and months and days away, not mere minutes. 

He kind of couldn’t believe it. 

On the one hand, he knew without a doubt he was really, really good at sailing. He was meant to be in control of a boat. He was meant to sail across the ocean. And he’d been proving that since he was a kid. 

But on the other hand, sailing, as a sort, still sometimes felt like an old boys’ club he couldn’t believe he’d been allowed to join. And the Olympics had felt so far off and distant. Like they might as well have been resigned to ancient Greece, not as accessible as modern Mexico. 

He might have been shaking a little. He kind of wanted to jump in the ocean to chill himself out. 

He figured Coach wouldn’t appreciate that much. 

Percy was mostly listening to his last minute instructions and advice. Some of it, like the tactics of the other sailors, was helpful. But he knew the conditions of the ocean perfectly well. 

“Just make sure you watch out for those accidental jibes,” Peterson reminded him, and then laughed at his own joke. That had never happened as long as Percy had been working with Peterson. 

That had never happened to Percy, ever. 

Even thinking that made him feel like the fates were laughing at him, suddenly. But he shook it off. 

Nerves were normal, and once he got on his boat, in the water, it would be fine.

“Good luck,” Peterson said, clapping his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Percy replied, proud of how his voice didn’t shake. 

And then it was time to really get ready. 

He ran into Loke as they were towing their boats out to the water. “Good luck out there,” he told him.

“Thank you, my friend,” Loke responded. And then paused, and said, “You know, I just spoke to Princess Annabeth.” 

“Oh? I mean,” he coughed, “cool. That makes sense.” For a brief, fleeting moment, he thought maybe she might… But, then he reminded himself that she likely would not mention him as part of her official duties as a representative of Sweden. Or would be allowed to see him. Besides, they had agreed to wait until after the Olympics. 

Two weeks never seemed so long. 

But then Loke turned his world upside down. “She asked me to give you a message.” 

Percy nearly tripped over nothing. “She did?” He meant to keep the shocked awe out of his voice. And he failed. 

“She did,” Loke said. He laid a hand on Percy’s shoulder, and leaned in. About three inches out, Percy realized he was puckering his lips. 

“Dude,” he ducked, stepping back. “Come on. You don’t have to lie to me.” 

“Hey, got to get my pranks in now before you end up as my Prince Consort!” 

Percy rolled his eyes, and didn’t let the thought make its way fully from his brain to his heart. 

Loke just laughed. “She said to tell you good luck. And though she said the same to me, I didn’t see her offering such wishes to Wilson, or anyone else. Interesting, no?” 

It was interesting. But Percy could not let his thoughts go there right now. So instead he looked past Loke, towards Wilson, who had a pinched, constipated scowl on his face, and let that vague animosity clear his mind.

He wanted to win. He wanted to beat Wilson. He wanted to out-sail him, to control his boat with his body, to harness the winds and show he had all the skills needed. 

And was going to do just that. 

Percy Jackson was about to race in the Olympics. He was going for the gold.

And he was going to get it. 

And then he’d worry about getting the girl, too. 

***

She could spot Percy at a hundred paces. Or however far away they were. And however far a hundred paces were. In the box, Helen by her side but Hans waiting in the back, surrounded by people, she could see Percy Jackson. 

Sadly, Annabeth wasn’t close enough to pick out details. She couldn’t make out the lines of his nose or the set of his brow or that jaw that could cut glass, and was delightful to suck on. But she could see his bronzed skin, and his black hair. And she could imagine his sea green eyes, not so dissimilar to the color of the water on which he was about to race.  

The black wetsuit did not show off all the definition in his arms and chest and legs. It did not give a detailed look of all the ridges and veins that Annabeth had rubbed and scratched and licked and kissed up and down. But you could see the shape of him. Broad, strong shoulders. Trim waist. Powerful arms. And thighs she couldn’t wait to be between again. 

Gods, those thighs. She’d watched some of his races online. And they were so, so strong in action. She’d seen them up close into a very different action, and could attest to their majesty. 

But despite the muscle, and the strength, they were an absolutely wonderful place to sit. So soft and comfortable. So close and…

She swore under her breath, though not as quiet as she’d have liked. Helen didn’t know the word, but the minister from Greece, who was two empty seats away from her, did a double take when he realized it came from her.

She wondered what he’d look like if he knew what she was thinking about. 

She wondered what Helen would think. She was pretty sure Helen was married. Though she spent so much time ruining Annabeth’s life, she couldn’t imagine she had time for her husband, as well, let alone vivid sex fantasies in broad daylight, brought on by the outline of a handsome man a very long ways away. 

Oh, how she wished she could have pulled an Audrey Hepburn today. 

She tried to look away, to watch Loke, or any of the roughly forty other sailors stepping out for this event. There were so many of them. A bunch of men of all roughly the same shape and size. She’d read an article about that once. Or maybe Piper had mentioned it? Swimmers didn’t get their body from swimming; they were good at swimming because of their body types. Sailors were cut from a similar cloth. 

And yet even among them, Percy stood out. Annabeth couldn’t help but watch him as he climbed on his boat, pulling at ropes and settling in, before pulling out from the harbor. 

It wasn’t even the race yet, but there was something gently enticing about watching him weave under his sail, pull and shift and sway. He was getting further and farther away from shore, but she could still imagine every inch of his body as he got out there.

There was a piercing horn blast from out on the water, which meant that there were five minutes left for the sailors to get in formation at the start line. Percy Jackson was shrinking from her sight. And yet, the heat in her cheeks, and beneath her skirt, was going nowhere. 

It might have been getting worse. 

From this far away, she could see that he was jockeying with the sailor from Australia. He was an old hat, apparently, and having almost as good an Olympics as Percy. 

She glanced around for Loke, hoping for some national pride to distract her, thankful that the Swedish flag was so distinct from the Red, White, and Blue of both the Americans and the Australians, but alas, Loke was making his way to the starting line at a much lazier pace. 

The anticipation was killing her. 

Why couldn’t Percy have done something more mainstream, like swimming? She could be closer, then, and not have all this horrible anxiety building up in her chest. Waiting, waiting, waiting for it to start. 

Maybe her mother was right, with the whole hating the ocean thing. This was so horribly stressful. A dozen folk songs about wives waiting on shore for sailors suddenly made a lot more sense. 

And all the stress wasn’t doing a damn thing about her horniness. 

Fuck. 

***

His heart was thumping in his chest. His fingers would have been raw from the grip he had on the rope if he weren’t wearing gloves. He was sweating, not that you could see it beneath the sea spray.

It was here. It was time. 

Oh gods. 

Mentally, he ran down his list of people to watch out for, one final time. Xanthopoulos had a habit of stealing swells. Takeuchi had some of the tightest turns Percy had ever seen. Wilson was–well, he was Wilson. The guy already hated him. 

If Percy placed second today, he would win gold. And he had every intention of placing first. He could feel it in his grasp, and he gripped his rope even tighter. 

The boats floated together, bobbing gently in a line. Percy closed his eyes, and sent up a final prayer, breathing in the salty sea air. 

He frowned. Something was off. 

Beneath the smell of salt, of sunshine, of the remnants of his morning coffee and the damp wetsuit, there was… something very wrong. The stench of rotten fish, wet garbage, and old blood. A dull, but heavy scent, skimming just beneath the surface of normal. Nearly undetectable. 

But still there. 

His eyes snapped open, and he whipped his head around, attempting to locate the source of that awful smell. But the seas were just as calm as they had been all morning. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. The fleet of boats bobbed calmly on the surface, each of Percy’s competitors completely, blissfully unaware that something was deeply, deeply wrong. 

But then the start horn blasted, a short, sharp warning. 

Cursing, Percy turned his sail. While he’d been distracted by that horrific smell, he had drifted out of position.

Whatever it was, it was probably nothing. Stress maybe. A random act of biology. 

And if it was something, it could very well wait until after his race. 

The horn blast sounded again, and they were off. Percy snapped his ropes, wind catching his sail instantly, drawing him quickly out of the crush of sailors, sending him into an early lead. 

Yes. This was what he lived for. The wind in his face, salt spray in his hair, and the thrill of the competition: it was almost all he needed. 

***

Annabeth had spent the last week reading up on the history of Olympic sailing. She had studied videos of games past, made glossaries of terminology, even tried her hand at calculating the statistics herself before giving up and letting the professionals run the numbers for her. 

In the abstract, it had all been very exciting. 

But now, she was fucking bored. Her binoculars could only tell her so much. The small flags got lost in the sea of white sails.

And somehow, she was still horny. 

“I need to run to the bathroom,” Annabeth muttered to Helen after fifteen minutes.

“Now?” she hissed.

“Yes, now.” She glanced around. The race was lightly attended by both press and dignitaries. She wouldn’t be missed. She was sure of it. 

And if she was, well… that was a risk she was willing to take. 

If Percy was bothered later, she’d just tell him the truth: that the mere thought of him out on the water made her too horny to concentrate. 

And if anyone else asked, well, she was just a lady who needed to relieve herself. 

She stood up, picking up her large bag with her, and slipped past the glaring Helen. Hans met her at the back. “Are you alright?” 

She nodded. “Just need to run to the bathroom.” He stared at her, and she got the distinct impression he was taking in her extremely flushed cheeks. And maybe the beads of sweat that were starting to form at her hairline. But he just motioned for her to lead the way.

The dignitaries had their own bathroom: a nice, expensive one, large, with gleaming white sinks and stalls with doors that reached the floor. And no one else was around. Which was great. She could hear race commentary being piped down the halls, as someone in rapid Spanish and then someone in rapid English detailed all the thrilling action of Olympic sailing. Jackson wasn’t technically in the lead at the moment, but he’d caught a good wind, and was looking to be speeding up. 

She took a deep breath, and sighed when she found the ladies’ room silent. And empty. Just her, white tiles, and the sound of the air conditioner kicking on. 

Walking to one of the sinks, she rested her hands on either side, looking in the mirror, and tried to regulate her breathing. To make the redness in her cheeks dissipate. She took a deep breath, in and out, and then another. Half a dozen fighting masters over the years, and with the exception of the Berserker, all of them had preached a little something about meditation–not that she was any good at it. A curse of ADHD, the world was a constant stream of stimuli around her. 

Here, though–here she could be alone. And she could be calm. She turned on the water and splashed some on her face. And only tensed up a little when she heard the door open. Other people could use a semi-public bathroom at a crowded Olympic event, of course.

She bent her head, hoping that whoever it was would be so preoccupied with doing their business wouldn’t notice her.

But then the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. There was a smell like wet earth and old blood. 

She grabbed her ax before she was fully conscious of it, a grounding presence in her hands, as she turned to face the intruder. 

***

Nothing was wrong with the water. And the winds were easy as could be, and almost irrelevant. 

But the antsy feeling hadn’t gone away. Which he did not like twenty minutes out and a couple laps into the race.

Selden from Australia was next to him, clearly trying to steal some wind. Joke was on him. No one could play dirtier than Percy, when he got down to it. 

But he wasn’t going to do that. He was going to lean back, and get his boat under control. 

Percy was leaning off the starboard side, his back an inch from the ocean’s water, pulling on his lines and spreading as fast as he could towards the first turn, the farthest part out into the sea. It smelled like salt, the wind blew through his hair. It was perfect. 

It should have been perfect.

But something was still wrong. 

He swung under the sail, adjusting his grip on his rope, and re-situated himself as he prepared for his turn.

And then he saw the tentacle. 

***

For a split second, Annabeth was worried she made a mistake. 

Then the blade of her ax hit the monster, and she had a whole new set of things to worry about. 

She landed a hit on the monster's arm, and immediately realized her mistake from the way the woman hissed, her snake-hair wriggling in mild irritation, instead of crying out in pain. “What in Tartarus was that?” she growled, her ugly voice scratching against Annabeth’s eardrums. 

Annabeth didn’t answer the question, eyeing the blood, and asking one of her own. “Who are you?” 

The monster grinned, showing off her boar tusks. “Stheno, of course!” Her long, painted claws clicked together, ready to rip her to shreds, like the world’s most demonic administrative assistant. “And you must be the one who killed my sister!”

Annabeth swore in ancient Greek. Which was fitting for the moment. She just wished she’d figured it out a few moments earlier. Her ax was made of bone steel–great against trolls, huldra, and all the other monsters that ran up and down Yggdrasill. 

“I didn’t kill anyone,” she said, knowing it would do nothing to deter her. “You’ve got the wrong woman.” 

Stheno only laughed, her claws outstretched, and leapt. 

***

Long, black, and graceful, the tentacle twisted out of the water, curling elegantly before it wrapped itself around the edge of his boat, and pulled, hard, toppling Percy’s perfect balance. 

Letting out a curse, Percy and his boat went sideways, dropping him into the water. He let go of the boat as he splashed in, willing it not to move very far, and turned to face the monster.

He didn’t recognize it off hand, but the ocean was full of sea monsters, ever since his dad had sent those first few to eat Andromeda and Troy. 

Stupid Poseidon. And stupid Greek mythology. 

Right now? During his gold medal race? And how the hell did an ancient Greek monster even get this far south in the first place?

The tentacles numbered a dozen, and one of them whipped towards him, landing on his arm. 

He hissed in pain, though luckily the ocean water began healing him as soon as the tentacle was gone, and vowed to worry about the issue later. 

So it was a venomous monster. Which was probably the second worst thing. The worst was fire breathing. But luckily, there weren’t a lot of fire breathing sea monsters. 

He took control of the currents, pushing himself back out of range while he felt against his clothes, aiming to grab Riptide. Damn these tight wetsuits. 

From the dark water, a tentacle shot forth through an opposing current, just slow enough for Percy to dodge. He felt, rather than heard, it snarl, a low, menacing hum which vibrated around him. 

He definitely saw it lunge towards him, though. 

Percy ducked once more, finally managing to get the zipper on his wetsuit undone, and he had his sword out in a flash, the bronze blade gleaming in the gloomy water, turning to face the monster. 

And… it was gone. 

“The fuck…?” He muttered, letting out a spray of bubbles. 

He swam up towards the sun, sword in hand, breaking the surface next to his boat. The waves were just as calm as they had been earlier, enough that Percy thought for a split second he had hallucinated the whole thing after getting smacked in the head by his sail–until he saw a dark shape, spines breaking through the foamy crests, headed straight for the far-off knot of Percy’s competitors. 

Towards Wilson, languishing at the back of the pack. 

Percy groaned, and pulled himself up onto his boat, banishing the water from the deck. Before he had even grabbed the ropes, he was already tearing off in the direction of the monster. 

It wasn’t sixty seconds before something burst forth from the waves beside him: a hippocampus and rider. “BROTHER!” the rider called. “Hello, brother!”

Percy nearly toppled over. “Tyson?”

The cyclops beamed, the skin around his single eye crinkling. “It is good to see you!”

“You, too, big guy, but–” he ducked under the jibe, tacking back into the wind, “I’m a little busy right now!”

“Need your help!” he went right on. “Monster!”

Percy figured. On cue, the creature surfaced for a moment, its swell nearly knocking over Egypt’s sailor Fadel. Percy gritted his teeth, willing just a few more knots out of his Laser. “Yeah, I see it.” 

“Father sent me,” said Tyson. “I am here to help!”

How kind of him. If he really wanted to help, Poseidon could have reined in the damn thing himself. “Okay, big guy–help me lead it away from the course!” 

“I will!” The hippocampus descended, taking Tyson with him. 

Percy was never any good at throwing knives or spears, but as he hurled Riptide at the monster, it sang through the air, hitting its target and sinking through the skin. The monster groaned, writhing, sending little waves out, hitting the boats and causing them to wobble, their sailors shouting in confusion. There was a perfect gap between Holmgren and Armenia’s Hovakimian; if Percy stayed the course, he could slip between them both, and retake his lead. 

Instead, cursing a certain ocean related deity under his breath, he took a hard turn right, following the dark shape which headed further out to sea. 

So much for his gold. 

***

Somehow, Stheno had managed to clock the fact that Annabeth was currently without her better weapon, and was able to keep her attention forward so she wasn’t able to turn back and grab her purse. Which would be impressive, and a rare stroke of intelligence on a monster’s part, if it weren’t so fucking annoying right now. 

Stheno was a Gorgon. Greek. Bone steel would hurt her, clearly, but it wouldn’t be able to manage a kill unless she got her in just the right spot. And maybe not even then. 

Magic was weird, particularly across pantheons. 

With celestial bronze, she’d have more leeway to kill. And she did have celestial bronze. She wasn’t stupid; she might spend half her time in Sweden, from where the vikings had set out to raid Europe, returning with spoils in Odin’s name, but she spent the other half in New York, where her mother and that side of the family dwelled these days. And even a drakon or god could make its way to Stockholm if it really tried hard enough. 

Her ax made itself useful as a little charm that hung on her watch. Always in easy reach. Her bronze knife wasn’t that far behind, in general.

But it was in her purse. Which was sitting on the sink, a meter away.

“Stand still!” Stheno screeched, swiping at her.

Annabeth swiped back, hissing as a stray claw caught on her sleeve, tearing the fabric. 

“Stop that!” 

“Make me,” she shot back, running her mouth a little to give herself some time to think. 

Stheno seemed to take that as a challenge, charging directly at Annabeth with a ragged roar. Dodging left, slashing out with her ax, Annabeth swallowed a frustrated growl as it bounced off again with barely a scratch. Without a bronze weapon, she was toast.

Okay. Time for a new strategy. 

Gods, this would be so much easier if she had her hat. But Hans hated it when she disappeared on him. And she hadn’t thought she would be fighting a monster today. 

She just needed a distraction. 

Annabeth was just considering the merits of flinging her shoe at the monster, when there was a knock on the bathroom door. “Princess?” came Hans’ voice. “Are you alright?” 

Stheno whipped her head around, a vicious snarl pouring from her lips. 

Gods bless Hans Gunderson!

Quick as a flash, Annabeth turned behind her, snapping up her purse. “Hans!” she yelled, smacking Stheno upside the head with it, who fell to the floor in a heap. “Code kleos!” 

Hans barreled through the bathroom door, cursing under his breath. Not in ancient Greek though, because he was a viking, and beyond that Byzantium thing, vikings weren’t really tied up with ancient Greece. 

He drew his sword–bone steel, same as her ax. He couldn’t land a killing blow any better than Annabeth could. But he could engage the monster for her while she managed to dig the knife out of the bottomless pit of her purse. 

Her uncle often lamented how small the inner circle had gotten, how few of the king’s court worshiped the old gods and respected the ancient ways. She, in many ways, was proof of that. Her father had a child out of wedlock. But it was with a goddess. And after many years of the nine worlds becoming seemingly further and further away, even a Hellenic demigod was enough to be celebrated. 

Though, when Aunt Natalie had romanced Frey and then given him a son less than two years later, the whole family probably had some regrets. And she knew that there were those in the wider circle who hated her father for his re-marriage almost as much as she did. 

Now three of Frederick’s little princelings stood in the way of Magnus. And another son of Frey on the throne. 

She tried to concentrate on that when she brought out her bronze knife as Hans dodged. He really was wasted as a bodyguard. He should have been helping her pillage Palm Beach all along. 

Anger and frustration were natural emotions for her. And so, she thought of it all. Of her place in succession, of her father’s marriage, of her mother making her and then abandoning her, of her overbearing boss’ snide comments about princesses, the racist minister from the Teams call from hell, Teams calls from hell in general, and of course, the fact that she was here, in this stupid bathroom, fighting a stupid Greek monster, and not lounging on a boat with Percy in the Florida sunshine, surrounded by their piles of loot. 

And she drove the knife into Stheno’s back. Right here her heart was. 

***

“Tyson!” Percy yelled across the waves, turning his Laser around. “You still with me, buddy?” They were a solid ways away from the course now, far enough that none of the mortals were in any real danger anymore. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what the Mist was doing to the spectators. For all he knew, the crowds were still watching some kind of Percy-Jackson-specter as he raced for the gold. 

He resurfaced, waving his favorite club, dotted with sharp-looking barnacles. “Here!” 

“How’s it looking down there?”

“We’re ready!” 

A quick, panicked consultation with a local school of fish had led them to the waterlogged remains of one of those big, industrial fishing nets, caught on the rocks. The fish confirmed that it was glued on good, one end of it stuck there after years of algae growth growing over the plastic. Horrible for the local environment, yeah, but with any luck, the monster wouldn’t like it either. “Good. I’ll lead it to the rocks and then we’ll–”

A roar cut him off. 

“Time to move!” Sticking his pen between his teeth, Percy dived off his boat, plunging deep into the Gulf of Mexico. Tyson whooped, following right on his heels. 

The waters were dark here, a deep, inky blue, like the night sky without any stars, only briefly punctuated with muted wafts of murky light. He could sense, though not really see, the line of ocean floor as it sloped up and down, the tall, sharp rocks, whittled down by centuries of currents into knifelike points, the gentle swaying of the plants, disturbed only by the movement of the odd fish. It was peaceful down here. 

Well, Percy thought as he uncapped his sword. Emphasis on was. 

The creature shot towards him, as unerringly and unswervingly as a torpedo, mouth open wide. With his heightened senses, Percy could see every single gleaming, serrated tooth. 

Oh good. He didn’t need to get its attention. 

“Hey, ugly!” he shouted anyway. “Come and get it!”

The monster screeched, the shockwave chasing Percy as he swam for his life towards the gap in the rocks. Tyson would be there, with the free end of the net, ready to catch the creature, and hold it. He just had to be fast enough. 

But Percy hadn’t been a six-time swim team champion for nothing. 

He shot through the gap in the rocks, helped along by a rerouted current, and grabbed one corner of the net. Seconds later, the creature slammed into it, and Percy nearly lost his grip–but it held. The monster screeched, extending the tentacles snagged in the plastic, trying its damndest to grab him. 

Percy pulled back his sword arm, ready to strike. 

The monster thrashed, and the other end of the net was ripped clean off the rock. It swam right through the opening–pulling Percy and Tyson along with it. Percy lost his grip on his sword, Riptide floating away into the deep as the monster hurtled towards a large, spiky-looking outcropping. 

With a groan, Percy managed to pull hard enough that they avoided the rock altogether. They had it for now, but he could tell, he wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer. “Tyson!” he growled through gritted teeth. “Can you call Rainbow?” 

Tyson brought his hand to his mouth, whistling as best he could. Percy couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it as the vibrations carried through the water. 

He could feel his grip weakening with every passing second. “Can you–woah!” Bringing his feet up, he just barely missed smacking them against the dunes. “Can you and Rainbow bring this thing to the surface and hold it there?” 

Whatever answer Tyson may have given, Percy didn’t get a chance to hear it. The monster shook him off, sending him careening into the depths. 

But when he finally managed to right himself, he saw Tyson and the hippocampus, wrangling the creature in an upwards direction. And he had to be ready to meet them. 

Summoning a current, he shot towards the surface, aiming for his Laser, bobbing calmly on top of the waves. He could feel Riptide reappear in his pocket as he climbed onto the boat. Percy took off, speeding towards the dark shape of the creature as it rose higher and higher. 

Percy was about a hundred meters away when Tyson and Rainbow surfaced, the monster pulled tight between them. 

Gods bless his brother. 

Sword in hand, Percy leaned over the side of his boat, his hips pumping as he sped towards them. Like some kind of weird, aquatic knight in a weird, aquatic joust, Percy struck, using the wind and the speed and his frustration over being interrupted during his gold medal race to plunge Riptide deep into the creature’s… well, he didn’t know if it was a chest area or not. But it seemed to do the trick; the monster screeched, a high-pitched, agonizing sound, like nails directly against his eardrum, then went limp, its limbs dissolving into sea foam. 

Percy slowed, turning around, and pulled up alongside the cyclops. “You okay, big guy?”

Tyson nodded, flashing him a grin and a thumbs-up. “We are all good!” 

Rainbow made a noise, disagreeing much to the contrary. 

Still, Percy couldn’t help but chuckle. “Glad to hear it. Make sure dad gives Rainbow here a big treat, okay?” 

That made him perk up, giving a watery whinny. 

But Tyson frowned. “You are not coming with me? I know Father would like to see you.” 

Percy gripped the edge of the hull. “I’m kinda in the middle of something here.”

His brother pouted, single eye drooping. 

Playfully, he sent a water jet into Tyson’s face. “I’ll stop by soon, I promise! I just gotta finish this race–” 

“Yes! Your race!” Tyson interrupted, his eye shining. “Father told me to tell you: he has blessed the winds today in your honor!”

That… He…

Swallowing, Percy twisted the rope around his hand. “I’m sorry, big guy, but I really gotta go.” 

Mounting Rainbow, Tyson waved at him. “Of course! And good luck, brother!” 

Then they disappeared beneath the water. All was calm. 

Including the wind. 

Percy took a second to breathe. In, out, in, out, in–and on the third out, the wind picked up once more, filling his sail almost to bursting, and sending him speeding back to the course. 

***

The world between her and Hans erupted into golden dust. And she had to duck again, to avoid Hans’s own swing with a blade.

She stood back up as he apologized profusely. “It’s fine, Hans.” It wouldn’t do for a viking warrior to kill his princess anymore than a normal bodyguard. 

She shook it off, and then frowned down at the dust. Using glamor to hide monster messes wasn’t really either of their strong points. And though Helen would never guess they were covered in monster dust, she’d probably rip Annabeth a new one for getting dirt on herself. Like Annabeth was a four year old at the park, and Helen was her put-upon mother. 

Not that Annabeth had ever had a mother care if she had dirt or monster dust on her. 

Then she noticed the cut on her arm. “Helen is going to kill me,” Annabeth groaned. It was a small thing, barely even bleeding, but the slice in her sleeve was unmistakable. 

“Allow me, your highness.” Hans reached into one of his secret spy pockets and pulled out a little plastic pack, opening it and pulling out a single-use disinfecting sheet and a band aid. He was careful as he cleaned out her wound. She knew gorgon blood could be poisonous, but the wound seemed to be just the physical mark. Which was good. She had a small bit of Greek nectar and ambrosia at her hotel, but she didn’t travel with it. And Magnus and his Frey healing magic was way too far away. 

It stung as he wiped at the tiny bit of blood, but not anymore than a normal, human wound might sting. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, her shoulders relaxing. 

Hans chuckled. “A fair bit more exciting than the race, hm?”

“I’ll say.”

“Speaking of,” he said, “it looks like your Jackson had a bit of an accident out on the water.”

She gasped. “No!”

His face twitched. “Nothing so serious. The commentators said there was an… accidental jibe?”

“Is he okay?” An accidental jibe was serious. Last night, Annabeth had spent a good eighty minutes watching some of the most frightening videos she could imagine, of boats nearly capsizing and sails going haywire, but the scariest one might have been the boom swinging wildly and knocking its sailor clean off the boat. 

“He’s fine,” he said. “He managed to right himself pretty quickly, but he lost a substantial lead.”

Something on her face must still be registering her concern, because he dug around in his secret pockets again, before pulling out a small, blue, plastic box, placing it in her hand. She opened it, automatically, not quite registering what she was seeing at first. 

“For your sleeve, ma’am,” he murmured. 

She blinked, then pulled out the little spool of white thread.

“There’s about fifteen or so minutes of race left,” said Hans as she sewed up her sleeve. “More than enough time for him to make up–”

“And Holmgren?” She cut him off, frowning at her stitches. Not some of her best work. 

“Holding the line, last I heard.” Sleeve repaired, dust (mostly) brushed off, he went over to the bathroom door, and held it open for her. “Shall we?”

By some miracle–Greek or Norse or maybe some other hitherto unknown pantheon–Helen didn’t comment on how long Annabeth had been gone when she and Hans made it back to their seats. She was leaning forward, her hands folded in front of her face, focusing intently on the little figures on the water. 

After a few minutes, Annabeth could see why. 

It was exciting, far more than she had expected. Ironically, thanks to Percy’s misfortune, the race was much tighter than it would have been originally. But he was gaining ground, and quickly. Annabeth tracked him through her binoculars, quietly stunned at how quickly he was moving. Where other sailors struggled to change direction against the wind, he was fluid, practically soaring through the course. Even moving with the wind, it seemed to fill his sail more fully, seemed to push him along that much more efficiently. 

But as the minutes ticked on, it was clear that the real race was somewhere else. Percy–and Loke, she reminded herself–only had to finish in the top five to medal. But the contest everyone was watching was between Australia’s Selden and Mexico’s Treviño. 

If Selden finished first, he could take the silver. But if Treviño finished first, he could take the whole thing. 

And Annabeth found herself on her feet for the final lap, swept up in the energy of the crowd as Treviño pulled ahead by mere meters, and Greece’s Xanthopoulos slipped in right behind him as they crossed the finish line.

Treviño, Xanthopoulos, then Selden, and then there was Percy, cruising through the end. She could see the broad grin on his face as he finished, winning the silver. She smiled when he let go of his ropes, pumping his fists in the air, and she allowed herself a little jump for joy. Though the excited squeal escaping her mouth without her permission was unintended. 

Loke Holmgren finished fifth, winning the bronze. Annabeth applauded politely, but traded in her professional smile for a wide, happy one. 

In short order, the podium was assembled, the medals were handed out, and the flags were raised. After a rousing rendition of the Mexican national anthem, the crowd singing along with Treviño, who had tears in his eyes, the winners descended, going off to mingle with their teams and families. 

Annabeth managed to keep her footing as Hans led her down to where the Swedish team was congregating. She shook Loke’s hand, and his mother’s, who was weeping openly. 

And then, as she stood back to let them celebrate properly, she saw him. 

His hair was dripping wet, curling around his ears, and he had his arms full of a little girl, who was giving him a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek. 

Annabeth could sympathize. 

It was only when she watched him put the little girl down that she realized, somehow, she had walked the forty feet which separated them over to him without her even knowing it. He was matching her, stride for stride, until they met in the middle. 

“Annabeth,” he breathed. “Hi.”

“Hey.” From the corner of her eyes, she could see his family watching them from afar. She was sure they weren’t the only ones. 

“You’re here,” he said. 

Annabeth tried not to frown. “Should I not be?” 

He started, shaking his head. “No, of course–I mean–of course you should be here. For, uh, Loke, right?” 

She resisted the urge to look behind her. “Yeah. He did good.”

“He did.”

“You did, too.”

His mouth twitched. “Oh, yeah?”

“You were amazing,” she said. “The way you managed to make up that lead, it was–that was incredible.” 

Percy went pink, looking down at his shoes. “You… saw that, huh.”

Gods, he was so cute. Literally what the hell. “It happens. And you got the silver.” Without thinking, she reached out to the medal around his neck, taking it in her hand. It was surprisingly cool to the touch against her skin. “You should be proud.”

He shrugged. “Well, there’s always next time.” 

“So, I’ll see you in Athens in four years, then?” 

“Gods willing,” he smiled at her, shyly. 

She swallowed. Then she realized she was still holding his medal, and she dropped it. “Um, anyway,” she cleared her throat. “I–I just wanted to congratulate you.” 

Percy moved forward, and Annabeth, in an unacknowledged panic, stuck out her hand. For a handshake. From Percy Jackson. The guy who was more intimately familiar with her privates than anyone else in the last five years. The man who had occupied a not insignificant percentage of her waking and unconscious thoughts. The guy that she had named her vib–

Bemused, he took her hand, shaking it. 

That was probably a mistake. 

His touch electrified her, sending licks of fire through her skin, which was a bad sign for her future. She couldn’t even shake his hand without feeling like he was kissing her neck. 

It was horrible.

It was amazing. 

And from the way his pupils dilated, the way his flush deepened, and the way his eyes couldn’t help but drop to her mouth… it seemed like he might have been thinking the same thing. 

“Listen, Percy…” 

His eyes snapped up to hers. 

“I…” Maybe unconsciously, she rubbed her thumb against his. “I know I said I’d give you until the end of the Olympics, but…” But he was so handsome. And so close. 

An Olympian. A real one. Not related to the old Olympians by birth, but a modern hero, made through grit and hard work. 

“Yeah?” He asked, and he was so so close.

“I want to kiss you. I really, really want to kiss you right now,” she said.

She watched him take a breath, watched the rise and fall of his chest, and he… he squeezed her hand. “I’d like that.” 

“Are you sure? It’s not exactly private out here.” She didn’t have to look around to confirm what she already knew, that everyone’s eyes were glued to them right now, the hottest source of gossip in a long, long time. She didn’t have to tell him that he was standing at the threshold of a whole new world of harassment, scrutiny, and hate. “This world I live in, it can be scary, and hard, and sometimes even dangerous.” And that was before you got the two different pantheons of gods that sometimes tried to kill her. 

But he smiled that beautiful smile of his, wide and crooked with just a dash of trouble laced through it. “You know, I really don’t think I mind. I think you’re more than worth some danger.” 

Later, she would discover that there were, in fact, cameras everywhere. And her fears of their wonderful moment ending up on some royal watcher blog somewhere were entirely founded. But when he pulled her to him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his, there wasn’t much else that she could think about–not the flash of cameras, not the reporters calling their names, not the fact that Helen had almost certainly fainted at this blatant, unapproved display of public affection. Nothing but Percy, his wet hair, his salty lips, and his arms around her. 

“You met a girl! You met a real girl! And now you need my help!” Hands fluttering, she took a deep breath, centering herself. “Okay, we definitely want to make sure we lean into the ‘hot shot athlete’ thing and away from the ‘Instagram model’ thing. There are women who would be into that, but I don’t like them for you. Also, you cannot tell her that your cousin is making you talk to women, or that your only friends are your cousins. Let me get my coffee, and we can talk about how you’re going to approach her.” 

He let her go, jostling his leg beneath the table, grinning to himself. 

The village was emptier than usual this morning, as the games were really starting to pick up. There were medal events in baseball, golf, track and field, and plenty more today, but Percy and Hazel both had a little more downtime. 

“Okay,” Hazel said, sitting down across from him. “Wait–what about the girl from New York?”

Percy smirked. “It’s her.”

“What!”

“She’s here for the Olympics.”

She screamed again. “Are you kidding me!”

At this rate he might pull a muscle in his face from smiling. 

“Who is she! What’s her sport!”

“She’s not here as an athlete,” Percy said. “She’s here on vacation.”

“People actually do that?” She squinted, suspicious. “They just… go wherever the Olympics are being held for vacation?”

“Yes,” Percy said, “they do. But also, this is a major resort destination. There's a lot to do.”

“I guess.” Hazel shrugged. “So, what’s our plan with…?”

“Annabeth.”

“What’s our plan with Annabeth?”

“That’s where I need your help,” Percy said. “I don’t know where to go from here.” 

“Okay,” Hazel considered him. “What’s happened so far? I need a more detailed recap.”

Percy nodded, and then launched into the story: the club in New York, and the club in Mérida, and the most perfect girl in the world who was funny and beautiful and smart, and also an exceptional lay. 

That last part resulted in Hazel fanning herself, her embarrassment clear on her face. “You’ve already…” 

“Slept with her? Yep.” He wouldn’t go into details for Hazel–she was his little cousin first and foremost–but he wasn’t ashamed or anything. He always found it interesting, the way her old fashioned Catholic upbringing sometimes still reared its head in surprising ways. She didn’t want much to do with a church of any time, and she’d curse like a sailor when the situation arose (and Percy knew sailors). But sex outside of marriage always seemed to shock her. Even though it wasn’t like she wasn’t born via sex out of wedlock. 

Nico had, if anything, been raised more Catholic than Hazel, and he didn’t have this issue. 

“So…” Hazel looked caught between embarrassed and interested. “Our goal isn’t to… get her into your bed.”

“No,” Percy agreed. “It's to make her like me. And for us to have a good time.” The goal was for him to see that little half smile she made and her sparkling gray eyes outside of the mood lighting of a club. They sure were a sight to behold that morning at Luke’s place. 

“What do you have planned?”

“I’m taking her out to the marina,” he said. “I’m going to rent a boat, and we’re going to have a picnic out on the water.”

It was quick, almost invisible. Percy only noticed because he had known her for so long. “That sounds great!” she said.

He frowned. “You don’t think so.”

“Of course I do.”

“You hesitated!”

“No, I–” She huffed. “I didn’t hesitate. I just…”

“Just what?” 

To stall for time, Hazel took a sip of her coffee: black, with no sweeteners, because she believed in the power of bitterness to balance out her day. “I think… I think the ocean is definitely your comfort zone.”

Um… yeah. That was sort of why he was here. “Is that a bad thing?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“So what is it?”

“I just wonder if you’re trying to make up for something.” 

Percy’s frown didn’t let up. “What does that mean?”

Hazel chewed her lip, considering her words. “You’re not a different person on the water,” she said, slowly, “just… more intense. Like all your qualities are exaggerated. Does that make sense?”

All his qualities. His best… and maybe his worst? Sure, he could get competitive during a race–but that was just the nature of the game. The ocean was his favorite place, one of the few places in the world he felt really settled in himself. “I mean, I’ve met her at two clubs so far,” he pointed out. “I probably should show her my comfort zone, right? Like, isn’t that how relationships work?” 

“Do you want a relationship with her?”

Her words caught him off guard. He had only spent a handful of hours with her at this point–probably less than twelve overall. All he really knew about her was that she wanted to build things, and that she had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Was that enough to want a relationship?

Percy thought of her sharp gray eyes, laughter dancing in them even after he made a fool of himself. He thought of the way she bit her lip when she was trying not to smirk, keeping her snarky side at bay. He thought of the way she flushed, everything from her pale cheeks to her taut abs turning the most flattering shade of pink. 

And he thought of the way her whole face lit up when she had described the Hoover Dam to him (and what a wonderfully meandering conversation that had been). He thought of the way she avoided talking about any pertinent details about her life, like her father, and her work. He realized that he wanted to know those details. And not just out of simple curiosity. 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I want to try, anyway.”

“Then I think the boat sounds perfect,” Hazel replied with a smile. “Just don’t lose your head out there, okay?”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. Hazel having his back was a great relief. “Can do.” 

“So when are you meeting?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Hazel nodded, steepling her fingers. “Any dietary restrictions?”

“Not that I know of.” 

She tapped her fingers together, her eyes narrowed in thought. “Reyna found us this little shop towards the equestrian track which does some amazing tortas.” 

Well, you could never go wrong with a sandwich. “Do you remember what it was called?”

“I’ll have to ask her, but I’ll send it over as soon as I can.”

“You,” Percy took her hands in his, squeezing, “are the greatest cousin ever.”

She smirked. “Sorry, didn’t catch that?”

Percy stood up, leaning over the table, and took her head in his hands, kissing her forehead. “You,” kiss, “are,” kiss, “the greatest cousin ever,” kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss. 

Hazel squirmed out of his grip, rubbing her forehead. “Alright, alright, already.”

True to her word, Hazel sent over the name and info later that night. Scrolling through their menu pictures on Google, Percy’s stomach was already grumbling, especially when he saw…

Oh. Oh, that was perfect. This date was coming together like it was destiny. 

Only one final step. 

Strictly speaking, he didn’t have to do this. Everything was already arranged. But it would make him feel a lot better about his plan. 

New York was only one hour ahead of Mérida, so Percy wasn’t entirely sure why Luke’s phone was going to voicemail. It was way too early for him to be sleeping. He should be over at their parents’ place for dinner, like they did every Thursday. And even if he weren’t, he always answered his phone. It was very important to them to be contactable.

Frowning but undeterred, Percy tried his stepfather next. 

He picked up after the second ring. “Hey, kiddo!”

“Hey, Paul.”

“It’s so great to hear from you! How’s it going down there? Practice going well?”

Paul’s dogged enthusiasm never failed to make him smile. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“We’re so excited for your event! How are you feeling?” 

He nodded, even though Paul couldn’t see him. “I’m feeling good! The wind isn’t too bad, and the waves have been super agreeable.” In the list of things which were giving Percy anxiety, his upcoming race ranked pretty low. “I actually wanted to talk to Luke, is he over? He didn’t answer his phone.”

“Luke? No, he said he couldn’t make it today. Something about working late, I think.”

Working late? Luke had never worked more than he had to a day in his life. A suspicion began forming in his head. Either Luke had gotten wrapped up in a video game, or… He didn’t even want to think about the other thing. “Well, I’ll try him again. Sorry to bother you.”

“Percy, please, you know we always love hearing from you. Seen any celebrities, yet? I heard the princess of Sweden is there!”

Percy chuckled. His stepfather, probably as a consequence of teaching too much Shakespeare, had a minor obsession with royal lineages. “I’ll keep an eye out,” he said. “I’m gonna give Luke another try. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Sure thing. Love you!”

“Love you, too, dad.”

Waiting a few minutes, Percy tried Luke again. If he knew his cousin–and he did–’working late’ was absolutely a euphemism for something else entirely. At least he hoped it was that, and not… something else, else.  

When Luke answered this time, Percy heard the telltale noises of monstrous grunts and slashing swords in the background, then the blood-curdling shriek of some otherworldly creature. Luke swore, viciously. 

Sure enough, Percy had interrupted him in the middle of an Elden Ring session. “Hey, cuz,” said Luke, even-tempered. “What’s up?”

Luke’s voice eased in him something he didn’t know was clenched inside of him. “Paul said you weren’t at dinner.”

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to beat this–stupid boss all day–” 

“I tried calling you earlier.”

“You did?” A pause as Luke checked his phone. “Oh shit, I didn’t even hear you. My bad.”

He sighed, relieved, but still a little annoyed. They had the contactable rules for a reason. “I should have guessed you were fighting monsters.”

Luke’s grin was audible. “Guilty. So what do you need?”

Percy drew circles on his pajamas with his finger, a slow, meditative motion. “I need your advice on something.” 

He could hear Luke settling back into his couch, falling into their familiar rhythm, even separated by space like this. “Yeah?”

Best to come right out with it. “I have a date.” 

Luke paused. “I’m sorry–what? You have a date?”

“Why is everyone so surprised?”

“You have a date? A legit, actual date?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s awesome! What are you going to do?”

Percy detailed his whole plan: the marina, the picnic, even the topics he was planning to discuss with her. “You know, it’s actually with that girl from the club.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah, she’s here for the Olympics.”

Over the phone, Luke whistled. “Nice catch, bro. She was seriously hot.”

“You have no idea,” Percy said, because he couldn’t help it. And then, “I kind of can’t believe she wants to see me again.”

Luke scoffed. “Are you kidding me? You’re hot shit! You’re an Olympian hero!”

Percy blushed, but he couldn’t dwell too much on the compliment. “So… what do you think?” 

At this hour, there wasn’t much Percy could do to change his plans. He could cancel the boat, but he’d be out the rental deposit (though it was on Luke’s credit card) and they could always pick up the food and go somewhere else. But he was rather attached to his plan. Like Hazel said, the ocean was his comfort zone, and he was in dire need of some stable ground after he had fallen off that table in front of her. 

He valued Luke’s opinion, too. A lot. 

“I think it’s good,” Luke said after a little while. Percy pumped his fist. “Just don’t tell her that your last date was your freshman year of college, and you should be fine.” 

“That wasn’t that long ago,” he said. “Besides, I think her bigger issue is that I’m a Yalie.”

Luke groaned. “Don’t tell me she went to Harvard.” 

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect.”

Maybe not, Percy thought, but he was willing to bet that she came pretty damn close. 

***

“Do you have sunscreen?”

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Phone?” 

She held it up, dutifully.

“Knife?”

“What are you, my mother?” 

Hans didn’t laugh, deadly serious. “I don’t like this.”

“It’s just a date.”

“On a boat, in the middle of the ocean, where I can’t get to you.”

“It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “This is what you trained me for, right?”

“I trained you to fight your enemies, not some pretty boy who tries to get fresh with you.”

Oh, she would have paid good money to be recording the moment her big, beefy, stoic bodyguard said the words “pretty boy.” If nothing else, Magnus and Alex would have found it as hilarious as she did. “Well, if the pretty boy tries to get fresh with me in a way I don’t like, then he’ll become my enemy, and I’ll take care of him. Just like I was taught.”

That seemed to placate him, enough that he finally unlocked the car door so she could leave. She gave him a jaunty little wave, then headed off towards the pier, slinging her big bag onto her shoulder. She could feel the knife at the bottom, safely wrapped in its sheath, buried beneath a towel, emergency granola bars, a few condoms, and a small bottle of extra strength sunscreen.

Always be prepared–that was her motto.

For a second, she realized that Percy hadn’t told her the name of the ship they were going to go on. Had he texted it to her? 

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him, a little ways down the dock. Percy was leaning against a boat, his smile flashing in the morning sun, a pair of nondescript sunglasses splashed across his face. He wore a white shirt, which was somehow still dry, despite the fact that she could see the surf lapping at the bottom of the vessel, splashing onto his sandals. Very casual for a date. 

Hopefully she wasn’t too overdressed in her blue sundress and floppy hat. 

“Hey!” He waved her over, grinning. “Glad you made it.”

“Glad I saw you,” she said. “I wasn’t sure what I was looking for.” 

He gave her a quick, respectable onceover. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she replied, wishing he had been a little less decent about it. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

She was rewarded with a light blush, peach dusting his cheekbones. 

They stood there for a few seconds, equally awkward. 

He cleared his throat. “Sorry,” Percy chuckled, a little uneasy. “It’s, um, been a while since I’ve gone on a date.”

“Me, too.” In fact, she wouldn’t count any of her previous encounters as real dates. Come to think of it, her last date was probably in her freshman year of college, with that anti-monarchist. That had been an interesting experience. “So, shall we?”

Like a nineteenth century gentleman, he supported her as she stepped onto the boat, his arm flexed (yum) and his hand steady for her to cling onto. 

It was a nice boat, she thought, maybe a bit small as far as boats go, and a bright, gleaming white, though she probably wouldn’t really be able to grasp the subtle differences between good and bad boats anyway. She stepped onto the back–the prow? Was that the word?–and he was up behind her in an instant. “Get comfy,” he said. “We’ll be off in just a moment.”

She settled herself down on one of the seats, next to a set of stairs which led down into the cabin. Peeking in, Annabeth could see a table, a sink, and the edge of some kind of couch. On the table, she spotted a bottle of white wine. She flushed, and not from the heat, which was already beginning to crank up. 

Suddenly, they were off. Annabeth had missed the whole thing. Turning to look at Percy, he had a pair of ropes wrapped around his fist, angling the wide sail which snapped above her. He looked confident, in control of every last movement of the ship. Again, yum.

They made their way out from the dock in relative silence, Annabeth twisting over her shoulder to watch as the shoreline got smaller and smaller. No doubt Hans was out there, tracking their progress with his binoculars. “How far are we going?” she asked.

“As far as you want.”

As far as she wanted, huh? “I’ll tell you when.” He grinned, and pulled the sail tighter. 

After a few minutes, Percy eased up on the sail, and they drifted to a relative stop. The ocean glittered beneath them, sunlight like diamonds on the surface of the water, the white shoreline of Mérida thin and small in the distance. 

Perfect. 

“So,” Percy said, going down into the cabin. “Lunch?” 

The inside was paneled with a light-colored wood, reflecting the natural light which came in from the windows, making the whole place seem a lot bigger than it really was. Annabeth could appreciate the efficiency of design, the well-organized and multi-functional space. Tucked away towards the other end of the cabin, she saw a bed nestled into some kind of nook.

Way too early, Annabeth. “How about we eat up top?” she asked.

“Sounds good.” He grabbed the wine and the plastic bag full of food.

“Is there a bathroom in here?”

He pointed behind her, “Take all the time you need, no rush,” and walked back up to the deck.

Now, Annabeth had already done her business prior to coming to the dock (again, preparedness) but she had a few more things she needed to do. She unbuttoned her dress, letting it hang off her shoulders like a robe, and revealing the powder blue one piece which lay underneath. She may not have been altogether blessed in the bust department, but she was hopeful that the cut outs would still make a statement. She set her bag down on the couch, fishing out her sunblock, as there wasn’t much shade on deck, and another layer would definitely be required. Curse her viking ancestry. 

Five minutes later, her sunscreen absorbed into her skin and one hand on her hat, she ascended the steps to the deck, trying to pretend like she wasn’t gripping the rail for dear life. The gentle rocking motion of the boat was much easier to handle without her shoes, but a princess did not trip or fall. It was unheard of. 

Percy was seated on one of the benches, his arm slung over the side of the boat, their food placed on a table which had apparently appeared out of nowhere. His face was turned out into the sun, eyes closed, the wind whipping his hair into a perfect disarray. He could be a painting. “So what’s for lunch?” she asked. 

His eyes snapped to her. In the sunlight, they perfectly reflected the color of the water around them for just a moment, before she saw them visibly darken, his mouth actually dropping open. He started from her ankles, dragging his gaze up her legs, settling for a moment around the cut outs at her waist, before finishing with her plunging neckline, up to her throat and face. Entirely indecent.

That was more like it. 

“I… brought us sandwiches,” he said, after a moment, his voice nice and deep.

Pity. Maybe she should have suggested herself for lunch instead. 

Confidence bolstered, she slid down next to him, crossing her legs, her foot almost brushing against his calf. 

He swallowed. “Some wine?”

“Sure.” From the depths of the plastic bag, Percy pulled out a pair of cups, cheap and easily discardable. “No fancy glasses?”

“Glass is a hazard out here,” he said, pouring them each a healthy portion. “Don’t want anything falling over and breaking.”

They clinked their plastic cups together, and drank. Mm. Annabeth was no stranger to wine, but this was a good one, fresh and fruity, with a hint of minerality. 

Percy handed her a warm takeout box, scribbled on in a black marker. “Here you are,” he said. His fingers drummed on top of his own box, but he made no move to open it. 

Her eyes narrowed. “What is this?”

He grinned. “Lunch.”

“What did you do?”

“Me? Nothing.” 

Gingerly, like she was defusing a bomb, she lifted the lid, peeked inside, and saw… 

She stared at her sandwich. Then she stared at him. “How.”

“How what?” He smirked. 

Annabeth held up her sandwich–a normal, delicious looking torta, with pork and lettuce and tomato and all the good stuff, except for the fact that the bread was, somehow, dyed a bright, neon blue. “How is this possible?”

His shit-eating grin was almost too bright to look at. She wanted to kiss it off his face. “I’m just that good.” 

She held his gaze, unimpressed, until he broke down into laughter. “I cannot believe that you just happened to find a blue sandwich in the middle of Mexico,” she said.

“Me either,” he chuckled. “I got them at this shop near the Village. You know Cruz Azul, the soccer team? Apparently they just won their ninth league championship.”

“So they made their sandwiches blue?” Annabeth held it with two fingers, as if he were radioactive. 

Percy laughed again. “Here, you can have mine.” 

Thankfully, he had gotten a normal-colored sandwich, and Annabeth dug in, eagerly. What a gift it was to be able to eat without worrying about making a scene! “What’s with the blue food, anyway?” She asked.

With relish, he swallowed his blue mouthful. “It’s something my mom used to do when I was a kid,” he said. “I wasn’t the easiest kid growing up: trouble in school, being the only brown kid in white bread Connecticut, that kind of thing. And Luke… his mom was sick for a long time, and he went about as feral as you can go, growing up among the colonial houses and seven figure salaries of Westport, if that makes any sense.” 

To Annabeth, the perpetual princess runaway, it made perfect sense. 

“It was about little miracles, you know? With blue food, my mom was saying that magic existed, even in suburban Connecticut. If food can be blue, Percy can pass fifth grade, and Luke can not get pulled over for speeding again. Things like that.”

Parts of this were really hitting home. “I had something similar with my dad,” she said. “But instead of blue food, it was Dunkin Donuts.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She took a sip of her wine. “My dad is from Sweden, but he moved to Boston for his undergrad. That’s where I was born.” And hadn’t her grandfather just loved that. Being born abroad might have been a bigger shock than the affair with her mother. “We didn’t stay long, but when I was little, whenever there was a Dunkin Donuts, he made a big deal of stopping and getting me a donut. They don’t have any in Sweden, and he used to joke he didn’t want me to forget my heritage.” She sighed, more sad than wistful. “He stopped when he got married–remarried,” she corrected quickly, though she knew that particular party line was not one she needed to spout to Percy. “We were in the US a lot more then, and there are Dunkins everywhere.” For a long time she wondered if he thought Dunkin had lost its novelty. Or if he thought she had instead. “When I moved to Boston for college, knowing that we both drank the same coffee to pull all nighters… that was something we could both relate to.” It had made her feel a little better–not great, but a little better–to know that he had had the same mixed feelings during college that she had. 

Percy’s eyes were intent on her. Years of official engagements, meet and greets, speeches and stare dinners had taught her the difference between looking at someone and not just paying them attention, but listening. Percy was listening.

She had given speeches to hundreds of people. Important speeches about things she was passionate about. And she wasn’t sure that she had been listened to as well as she was now.

“And has Dunkin made things better?” 

She thought of her Dad having someone go to Denmark to get some for their movie night, with all of their favorites: Roman Holiday, Clash of the Titans, Legally Blonde. Touchstones from her childhood. “Yeah. It has.”

Then he had to go and ruin it. “What about your mom?” he asked. 

Annabeth tried not to clam up too visibly. “I’d… rather not talk about my mom, if you don’t mind.” She had been getting too free with her information just now. She really didn’t want her mind to wander to the memory of sitting with her dad in the original Dunkin Donuts’ location during her orientation week, learning all about how he had sat in this very restaurant with her mother as she helped him with his dissertation. 

Percy nodded. “Of course. Tell me more about college?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s your turn to disclose personal information, don’t you?”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged. “I majored in classics.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So that party trick with the Iliad wasn’t just to pick up chicks, then?”

He grinned. “Oh, I have way more impressive party tricks. I only reserve ancient Greek for the nerds.” 

“Are you calling me a nerd?”

“Yep.” He popped his ‘p,’ insufferably attractive. “Like calls to like, after all.” 

She kicked him, lightly, her foot nudging up against his bare calf. Her skin tingled where they touched. “I don’t know if I want to be lost at sea with a nerd.”

“How about a nerd who wrote his thesis on the history of the Athenian navy?” 

Oh, dear lord, he was even a historian. Her dad would love that. “So,” she coughed, to clear her head of any unsavory thoughts, almost wishing he would say that he wanted to abolish the monarchy so she didn’t have to imagine him in… specific situations, “how does one get from classics to the Olympics?”

“Excuse you, the Olympics are classics,” he proclaimed. “Besides the Olympics, the ancient Greeks had a bunch of different athletic festivals: there were the Panathenaic Games, the Heraean Games, the Pythian Games at Delphi–”

“Do the other jocks in the Village make fun of you for being such a nerd?”

He pouted. On impulse, Annabeth kissed his cheek. When she pulled back, it was delightfully pink. 

“But for real, why sports?” she asked. “Do you ever think about going back to graduate school, or something?” Internally, she cringed. She would love it if she could stop channeling her father for five minutes. 

“Sometimes,” Percy said, rubbing the back of his head. His cheeks were still flushed. “Maybe after… all this. But, I don’t know. School was always hard for me, even though I really liked the stuff I was studying by the time I got to college. Sports came a lot more naturally.”

“You do other sports?”

“Not professionally, not so much any more. But in high school and college? Sure. I did polo, fencing, sailing,” he ticked off on his fingers. What was this, a tailored list of European royal pastimes? He winked at her. “Other water sports.” 

She could not resist the giggle that burst from her. Or the heat that curled in her belly. Feigning innocence, she stretched her legs, gratified in how quickly his eyes snapped to them. 

Then they lit up. “Well, well, well,” he said. “Look at this!” Without asking, he grasped her left leg, pulling it onto his lap. He ran his fingers over her tattoo, his touch light enough to send shivers down her spine. “I didn’t get to get a good look at this before–that’s an Athenian drachma, isn’t it?” 

“It might be.” It was, in fact. She had copied the design from an actual drachma that her dad had: a stylized owl, with three letters surrounding it. “My mom was from Athens.” 

“My dad is Greek, too!” he said, his face lit up. “And so’s my mom! Well, she’s Greek and Hawaiian. Which basically just means that we have really good food all the time.” Then he smirked, his bravado suddenly increasing. ”Once you try my mom’s stuffed tomatoes, you’ll want to marry me, just to lock that shit down.” 

Butterflies erupted in her stomach. She threw herself at him to kiss him, just to get him to shut up. 

Unfortunately, her sudden movement met the force of the wind, and her floppy hat was knocked off her head. She gasped, in spite of herself. 

Percy made a gallant effort as the wind carried her hat away, reaching and leaping for it like the athlete he was. It made no difference. “Stupid wind,” Percy grumbled, leaning over the side. 

“It's alright,” she promised. It had been a cute hat, but she didn’t have any emotional attachment to it beyond the fact that she had chosen it herself, instead of Helen just acquiring it for her. And that she’d worn it on her first date with Percy. 

She felt herself blush at the very thought that this might feel significant down the line. 

But she was jumping the gun. She kept doing that.

She looked back at Percy, in the here and now, just in time to see him dive over the side of the boat. “Oh–”

It was too late. He entered the water with barely a splash. 

The day before, she’d talked to the one swimmer Sweden had sent, and spent a few minutes watching him at the pool, alongside a camera and some reporters. She didn’t know anything about swimming, really, but she couldn’t help but wonder at Percy’s form. It looked a lot like what she had seen yesterday. 

Water sports indeed. 

Though now, she felt like an idiot, sitting alone on the boat. She couldn’t see Percy, or her hat, which wasn’t worth getting all wet over, anyhow. 

He was good in the water: both good at boats, and an accomplished swimmer. There was nothing to be concerned about. And yet, concerned she was. “Your phone still has a signal,” she muttered to herself. “Vikings crossed the Atlantic to get to North America. And Percy isn’t going to leave you out here.” She took a deep breath. “And he is going to have questions, when he comes back, about why you aren’t talking to yourself in English.” 

“Huzzah!” Came a voice from the waves.

Carefully, she picked her way to the side, and leaned over the railing. There was Percy, his head poking up out of the water, her hat held aloft like a prize. His smile was more beautiful than the sun, or a cup of Dunkin Coffee after an all nighter. 

Annabeth had learned a princess’ smile from her aunt, and had reluctantly started using it at sixteen or so. But now she and Percy grinned at each other like idiots. It almost hurt her face. But she didn’t stop as he climbed up the side ladder, and heaved himself on board, sloshing water onto the deck. “My lady,” he said, bowing, and laid the hat at her feet, sopping wet. She was so distracted by the drops of water that peppered her legs, so caught up in her own laughter, that she couldn’t even be properly worried about the form of address, or the bowing. 

All the things she didn’t want to have involved with Percy. 

“You’re all wet,” she complained as he leaned in towards her, though she leaned forward too, not quite close enough to steal a kiss. 

“Well, this is an equal opportunity ship,” he said, “so we should take care of you, too.” 

He rested a wet hand on her waist, and she did not miss the double meaning of his words. And she had no problem with it, even if he was covered in salt water. 

She met his eyes, ready to tell him as much, when a shape caught her eye. 

She blinked. Leaned back, and then blinked again. 

And then she burst into another round of giggles, even while she reached her fingers up and ran them through his hair, coming away with a clump of green-black seaweed.

He wrinkled his nose, the moment clearly killed. But then he broke into a smile as well.

He was hot as hell, even all wet, and the moment could be gotten back. But there was something special about just giggling with him over something as silly as seaweed. 

“This is so embarrassing,” He groaned. But his green eyes were still full of delight. 

“I should have known you were full of it.” 

“What–full of devilishly good looks?”

“Seaweed.”

He laughed. “Did you know the ancient Greeks had a word for that? Full of seaweed, I mean?”

“Spouting random trivia? You’re definitely a nerd.”

And then, he kissed her, to shut her up.

When they were done, she put her dress back on, the fear of the sun on her pale skin, even in the afternoon, too much to be risked. 

Percy was slower about it. When they’d been undressing, he’d actually taken a moment to lay his shirt out on the other end of the boat in the bright sunshine with her hat in hopes that they would dry quicker. 

He went to check on their clothes, even though she didn’t mind the view at all. She munched on their dessert, a very expertly fried churro, and closed her eyes, feeling the gentle movement of the ocean beneath them. 

After what could have been hours or minutes of blissful peace, she heard the creak of the deck as he came up next to her. “Hey.”

She hummed. 

“How are we doing?”

She shrugged, making a noncommittal noise. 

“What do you think about heading back?” 

“What if we ran away instead?” 

It was a testament to her good mood that she didn’t immediately throw herself in the ocean after saying something so egregiously stupid. 

Percy laughed. “That would be nice, but I only have this boat for another hour.” 

Annabeth sighed, melodramatic. “Fine.”

Her ears followed the sound of his chuckle as it faded away. Smoothly, almost imperceptibly, Percy turned the boat around, the new direction of the wind making her shiver. 

Too soon, they docked at the marina. Annabeth had made herself presentable again, buttoning up her dress and putting her shoes back on. As before, he disembarked first, steadying her with his arm like she was descending from a carriage. At the end of the pier, she could see Hans’ nondescript black car, waiting for her. “My ride’s here,” she said. “But this was nice.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I had a really good time.”

“Me too.”

His smile was soft and gentle, not at all like the cocky smirk he had worn earlier. She enjoyed both, to be sure, but, if she were being honest, she might have preferred this one. 

But all too soon, the moment was broken. “Your hat,” he said, holding it out to her. 

It was bone dry. She was glad; she had been worried that the water might have ruined it. “Thanks.” 

He said nothing, just looking at her with those green eyes of his, like the ocean they had just made love upon. 

It was entirely too much. She was not meant to be this sweet and sappy. She was not a fairy tale princess, she was a real one. But, damn, was he amazing. Annabeth swallowed, clearing her throat. “Well, phykios,” she said, filling her voice with as much snark as she dared, “do you want to do this again sometime?” 

Percy grinned, a little of the sauciness from earlier poking back out. “How can I say no to a girl who insults me in ancient Greek?”

She kissed him on the mouth, one last time. When she pulled back, there was that beautiful blush again. She wasn’t sure she would ever get tired of it. “I’ll text you.” He nodded, a little dumbstruck. 

Annabeth almost had a skip in her step as she walked over to Hans’ car, slipping in without much fanfare. “Princess,” he said by way of greeting. “Did you have a good time?”

Absently, she nodded. “Yeah.”

He started the car, pulling out of the lot. “You’re lucky I scared the paparazzi off,” he said, after a moment. “Otherwise they would have had a field day with that kiss of yours.”

Reflecting his mood, the waves churned around him as he brought his boat back into the marina, tying it off at the dock. His coach was already there, a broad grin across his face. “I don’t know what kind of meditation regimen you have,” he said, “but whatever it is, it’s working like a charm!”

“Meditation?”

“With times like that, that gold is ours, no question!” He went on, ignoring Percy entirely. “And when you cut off Ohlsson–ha! Did you see the way he was glaring at you?”

It was hard to miss. “No, sir,” Percy mumbled.

His coach clapped him on the back, rough in his enthusiasm. “Well, I’m glad to see that whatever shit you’ve got going on with that girl isn’t bringing down your times.”

Classic Coach Peterson. Great sailor and a great coach. He was pretty understanding about things with women, but this late in the game, he only really cared about Percy’s times.

“Just keep your head in the game, Jackson,” he said again, “and we’ll sweep this thing.”

Keeping his head in the game was the exact opposite of what was going on, but he wasn’t about to let Peterson know that. “I’ll do my best.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.” And then he went down the dock to the next American sailor, Rich, with an uncharacteristic pep in his step.

Percy was hoping to avoid every other athlete on his way back to his room, where he could hide under the covers and pretend he didn’t exist, but he could spot Wilson from Team UK at the end of the dock, his ears steaming and looking ready for a fight. Taking a page out of Luke’s book, he slowed his gait, keeping his eyes trained on Wilson until something distracted him, and lunged behind a boat, ducking out of view as soon as his gaze was turned.

With any luck, Wilson would get bored, and wander off, finding some new unfortunate soul who hadn’t yet been subjected to his story about his ill-fated romance with Princess Beatrice of York.

He waited there, couched behind a boat. As one minute slowly turned to two, hoping for something to get Wilson away from him. 

“Jackson?” From behind him came a confused, lightly accented voice. He looked up to see Loke Holmgren squinting down at him from behind his sunglasses, a bemused smile on his face. “What are you doing there?”

“Uh…” Percy sincerely hoped that he could blame his flush on the bright sunlight. “I… dropped my pen.” 

Loke blinked. “You mean the one sticking out of your pocket?”

Percy rose, said pen gripped triumphantly in his fist. “Never go anywhere without it.”

The other sailor chuckled. “You can relax,” he said, even as Percy craned his head around to look at the end of the dock. “Wilson’s gone off.” 

Percy groaned. “He’s been trying to corner me with that stupid story of his all morning.”

“Well,” Loke offered, “he doesn’t have anyone to commiserate with. Who else here can say that he has slept with a princess?” 

Who indeed. Percy just hung his head, patently miserable. 

But Loke smiled. “Come, come. Lunch on me,” He said, clapping Percy's shoulder. “Let's go.” 

Lunch was not at the Village, which Percy sincerely appreciated. It had been barely eight hours and already he was sick to death of all the gawking. Instead, they walked down the marina, stopping for a couple of fish tacos. One of the perks of a coastal city–the seafood was always great.

Loke seemed to agree, chewing down with gusto. The food was so good, Percy was thoroughly distracted when Loke finally started talking to him. “You know,” he said, conversationally, “you stole my girl.” 

Percy sputtered around his mouthful of pico de gallo. “Excuse me?”

“When I was eight years old, I swore up and down to my grandmother that I was going to marry Princess Annabeth.” He was frowning, a kind of seriousness Percy only saw on Loke whenever the man was navigating a particularly difficult turn. “And then I met her a week ago, and she was beautiful and kind and I knew we were meant to be.”

“Sorry…” Percy said, not entirely sure of the cultural faux pas he had just performed. “We’re not…” 

Loke shook his head, and let out a heartfelt, world weary sigh, his hand pressed to his chest. “It is alright. I just hope you can sleep at night, knowing that you have broken my poor grandmother’s heart.”

Percy looked at him, sure the distress he felt was clear on his face, while Loke stared back, solemn as the grave. And then he broke into a peal of laughter. 

“Your face!” Loke guffawed. “Look at you!”

Shakily, Percy exhaled, his heart re-approaching something resembling a resting rate.

“Good for you, my friend!” said Loke as soon as he got his laughter under control. “Me and every other school boy in Sweden have long dreamed of marrying our princess royal. And here is the lucky bastard who gets to!” 

Face red, Percy huffed a weak laugh of his own. “I’ve been on five dates with her, and given how the last one ended, I’m not sure she’ll want to see me again, let alone marry me.” Percy sighed, “And to say nothing of what people on Twitter think of it.” 

Loke smiled in sympathy. “Don’t take it personally. People on Twitter are terrible. And we are very protective of our princess, too. She’s very beloved.” He turned serious again–sincerely, this time. “I don’t know how much you know about our royal family, but we lost King Randolph’s daughters far too early. And Princess Annabeth has been deeply beloved since then.”

“I suppose,” Percy said, “I knew the other Princesses died, and then Annabeth…Princess Annabeth’s,” he corrected himself, “Mother died shortly after she was born.” 

Loke nodded, “Honestly, I think one of the reasons people are so excited about the prospect is the excitement of a proper royal wedding. Prince Frederick had very quiet marriages both times. The first was in the United States, and the second, it is widely speculated, was because the King made him, after he decided not to marry, so there might be more people in the line of succession.” He shrugged. “And then Princess Natalie never had a proper one either when she got married. So now it's down to Princess Annabeth or Prince Magnus. And Princess Annabeth will be queen, so she’s the one everyone wants. ” 

“So no pressure?” 

Loke clapped his shoulder. “None at all, my friend! Only the weight of my ancient country and their ancient royal family. I’m sure you can handle it.” 

What a way to end lunch. Though Loke was friendly in parting. And asked for an invitation to the wedding. Asshole. Percy liked him. 

Adele had made a similar ask earlier. And Percy was tempted to text back that she could come, only if she brought Loke as her date. Just to start some shit. 

But the drama levels were already so high, he wasn’t really in the mood to raise the stakes. He was pretty sure they were going to climb regardless of what they did.  

He was finally in a position to hide a little. To sit on his bed and pretend all this was not happening to him, before an interview scheduled for a few hours later. 

Which meant it was just the right time for his manager, Alice Miyazawa, to give him a call. 

“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me you were hooking up with the crown princess of Sweden.” Were the first words out of her mouth. But she was always blunt and to the point. It wasn’t at all something he liked about her. But it made her good at her job. 

“She’s not the crown princess,” Percy said, and hated that now he knew what that meant, and what the difference between that and what Annabeth was, was. He wasn’t Paul, and it would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t horrifying. 

“Whatever,” she said. “Point is, your relationship has opened up a whole new range of opportunities for us.”

“For the billionth time, we are not in a relationship.”

But she went on as if she didn’t hear him. “You’ve gotten tons of new sponsorship requests–and we’re talking six figures here!”

“I’ve gotten six figure offers before,” he pointed out. 

“Yeah, for months-long deals. We’re talking six figures for a single post! So I’ve gone ahead and turned down the offer from Lelo for you, because it doesn’t really fit your brand–” 

“Lelo? The sex toy company?!”

“–but I’m in talks right now with Hermès to get you to wear their new watch that’s coming out for their Fall/Winter collection, and maybe a couple of their gentlemen’s bags, if I can swing it–which will be a sure thing if this keeps going a little longer. Now, I know that the princess can’t be seen officially endorsing any particular brand, but if you can get her to be photographed with you while you’re wearing the watch–”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” he said. Stopping Alice’s flights of fancy in their path was an old skill. But he was not about to accept an offer from Hermès, of all things. “One, you know Luke would never let me hear the end of a brand deal with Hermès. I can’t believe you would even suggest it.” 

“Luke needs to get over himself,” Alice said. “He should know better with the type of money on the line here.”

But there was a bigger issue here. “And two, Annabeth and I–”

“Annabeth? Who’s that?”

Who–“The–the princess, Alice. Her name is Annabeth.”

“Annabeth? Really?” Her skepticism was not well-hid. 

Percy ignored it. “And we’re not dating. We were just hanging out.”

“Well, make sure you hang out with her again, and soon. People will pay good money if the paparazzi catches you wearing their things.”

“After last time, I doubt we’ll be hanging out again.”

Alice stopped, and he heard her take a deep breath, and then sigh. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

He rolled his eyes. She was most certainly not concerned for his emotional state. “Sorry this wasn’t the boon to my brand that you were hoping for.”

“Are you fucking joking?” This might have been the most enthusiastic he had ever heard her in conversation before. “This is the best thing you’ve ever done for your brand. You could come in last in all your races, now–I’ve already permanently upped your rates. Whatever happens, this was a great financial move.”

As though kissing the most beautiful girl in the world was solely a matter of economics. “You know, at least when Luke gives me dispassionate financial advice, he actually cares about how it affects my mental health.” 

“Then you should be happy you have me to shoot straight,” Alice said. “So, I’m going to start having legal look over some of the contracts and…” 

Thankfully, Percy was saved by an incoming text from a friend. “Listen, Alice,” he said. “I’ve gotta go. And we agreed that I wouldn’t do any sponcon while I was at the games.”

“But if interest keeps up–”

He sincerely doubted it would. “Put a meeting on my calendar for September and we’ll talk about it then. Okay?” 

She sighed, frustrated. He knew she hated it when he got all, in her words, “economically squeamish.” “Fine. But know you’re leaving money on the table.”

“And I am just fine with that.” 

Alice hung up in a huff. Which saved Percy the trouble.

Even though he immediately had to make another call. 

“Thank you so much for getting back to me,” Percy said as soon as she answered. 

“I’ve never heard you so freaked out on the phone before.” Rachel said, “And I’ve heard you going through some shit.”

“Have you checked Twitter?” 

“Some of us don’t make our living via social media.” 

“Well, some of us don’t have rich dads.” 

Rachel cleared her throat, skeptical. Which was not fair. 

“Fine, some of us have dads who never paid child support.” 

“Fair enough.”

“I’m afraid to open it, honestly,” Percy said. 

“Ooh, yeah, probably a good idea.”

“...You’re checking it right now, aren’t you.”

Her silence was more than enough of an answer.

Percy sighed. “What are they saying?”

“Some of it’s good,” she hedged. “Some of it…”

With a feeling of impending doom, like there was a sword hanging over his head, Percy opened the bird app. There, on the trending tab, was his name, in all of its hashtagged glory. Gingerly, like he was defusing a bomb, he clicked it.

The first tweet was an old video of one of his races. He remembered that day, a cold, blustery morning, the spray stinging against his face. The waves had been so choppy that one of the video crews had nearly capsized. Percy had been sailing for his life out there, his back tight as he leaned out over his boat, ropes wrapped his fist, his hips pumping. The last remaining stable videographer had caught it all. He had been so proud of his performance that day. 

But the tweet read: #percyjackson training for his next date with the princess😩💦

Percy swallowed, flushing and vaguely nauseous, and closed the app. “Sorry, what was that, Rach?”

“Oh, I was just saying that I was glad you called me. What do you need?”

Sighing and flopping back onto his bed, he flung his arm over his eyes. “I need advice.”

“On?”

“How to talk about this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like,” he shrugged, “proper forms of address and shit. You’re fancy–you know about this stuff, right?” 

“I didn’t realize it was that serious. You planning on meeting the king sometime soon?”

Percy choked. “No! No, definitely not. I mean, like, talking about it in interviews and stuff.”

“Wait, you’re doing a press run about your relationship?” Rachel asked, sounding even more confused.

“We’re not in a relationship,” he answered, dully, “and if I had my way, I wouldn’t talk about it at all. But I have an interview later, and I’m pretty sure the questions are inevitable.”

“Just tell them you won’t answer any questions about her,” she offered. “It’s not like they’re going to hold you at gunpoint and make you talk.”

“Do you really think that’s going to hold them off?”

“For the next few months, probably. But they’ll get tired of it sooner or later.” 

“I don’t want to have to think about this for months.” 

“Oh,” she said, suddenly subdued. “I didn’t realize it ended so poorly.”

“You didn’t see the photos?”

“No, I know that, I mean–between you and the princess. Without the press. I’m sorry it ended poorly. Was she really mad at you?”

Percy almost snorted, “She better not be,” He said, “I didn’t do shit.” Except for defiling a princess. But she’d seemed really onboard with that.

“You haven’t talked to her…wait, what happened? Is she mad at you? Does she think you called the press?” 

“She has to know I didn’t,” Percy said, “I had no reason to. I didn’t know she was the future queen of sweden.” 

“You didn’t know she was a princess?”

“I did not,” Percy said, “I met her at a club in New York, and then again, at a club here. I found out she was a princess when the paps called out to her.” 

“Oh, damn.” Rachel said, “So, it isn’t that she’s pissed at you, you’re pissed at her.” 

“No… or, yes… or… I don’t know! Kind of? It's weird.”

 “You deal in weird.”

“Not this kind of weird.”

“Well, what I think is weird is that you haven’t talked to her before your interview.”

“Well, given that the interview is in,” he checked his watch, “forty-five minutes, I probably won’t get to. Besides, what would the point even be? So she can break my heart by telling me she never wants to see me again?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa–hold up. ‘Break your heart’?”

Percy swore. He was pretty sure he hadn’t meant to say that. Out loud, anyway. “Look, maybe… maybe there was a point, when I did feel like it could be something,” Serious was in the eye of the beholder, after all. “But that was before I found out she was a princess.” 

“Does that really matter?” 

“Um… yes.” A lot. He wasn’t exactly sure how, but he knew it mattered. 

“So you’ve already decided you’re not worth her time, then.”

She sounded mad at him. “Well… yeah,” Percy said, trying not to rock the boat further. “She’s a princess. I’m just some guy.” 

Rachel sighed, sharply. “You pulled this exact same shit with me, you know..”

“You cannot blame me for us not working out,” he said. “I was all ready to date you, and you pulled the plug before it even started.”

“I think your cousin pulled that plug, actually,” Rachel said. “But I mean before all that. You basically refused to even consider me seriously until it was too late. I had to kiss you, remember?” 

That she had. Percy had been way too awkward to make the first move. Luke, to this day, had never let him hear the end of it. “No offense, but I thought Clarion Ladies didn’t slum it with townies–especially not sons of maids.” 

“Home health care workers,” Rachel rehashed the old argument. “But you’re avoiding the point. I just think that if you think the only thing stopping you from being with her is her family’s vestigial social status, then you shouldn’t count yourself out just yet.” 

Easy for her to say. She’d never dated anybody after him. And they didn’t even date in the first place. “And my family?”

“I mean, can you think of a better father’s day gift for Paul than an audience with the king of Sweden?”

Which was the best argument she’d made yet. “Alright,” he said, “so let's assume, in this fantasy world of yours, that my goal isn’t to avoid her existence for the rest of forever. In that case, I need to know: how do I talk about her, if it comes up?” 

“You don’t really need to fuck around with honorifics,” she said. “Just call her Princess Annabeth.”

“Okay.”

“And Percy?” Her voice was soft and fond, the way only years of friendship born from a childhood crush could be. “Don’t hide yourself from this. For what it’s worth, I have a really good feeling about her.”

Rachel’s feelings were always spot on. He could feel a glimmer of hope in his chest, buried deep, come back to life. “I’ll try.”

“You’d better.” 

***

Annabeth was armed: with her laptop, Twitter at the ready to monitor public response, with a beer, something local and cold and hopefully appropriately sense-dulling, with a bucket, in case her nerves got the best of her. And a shot of tequila. For emergency use. 

“You know, there are people who are paid to do this for you,” said her wonderful, supportive, exasperated best friend. 

“I know.”

She could almost hear Piper rolling her eyes. “You know this was probably set up several months in advance. They’re just going to ask him dumb sports questions.”

“Sure,” she said, “but there isn’t a reporter worth their muckrake who would pass up this opportunity.” 

Annabeth had had Percy’s general interview in the back of her mind for a while, now. At first, it was mostly passing curiosity, an opportunity to learn a little bit more about this guy who had somehow wormed his way into most of her waking thoughts. Usually she wouldn’t be interested in that kind of puff-piece journalism, but the brief, fifteen minute interview with Percy Jackson, sailor for Team USA was likely to provide information which she was… interested in. For reasons. 

Of course, now she was way more invested. For other reasons.

“As your friend, and as someone who has plenty of experience with media scandals, I feel like I have to strongly recommend that you stop–”

“Shh!” Annabeth hissed. The commercial break had ended. 

“Don’t shh me!” 

“It’s starting!”

“You’re the one who wanted me to watch along!”

“SHH!”

The effect was instantaneous. Percy appeared on screen, trim and scrubbed in his dark wash jeans and blue button-up, and the tweets began rolling in, almost too fast for Annabeth to read them. But not fast enough for her to not see the thirst tweets. He’s sooooooooooo hot was a common refrain. Big daddy vibes😍  was another.

Something hot and angry curled in Annabeth’s stomach. He was, but it wasn’t like they had to say it!

“How about we cool it with the jealousy, babe.”

“Wh–I’m not jealous!” Shit, had she really said that out loud? 

“Yeah, and I have a bridge in New York to sell you.”

“Shut up!” she hissed, because Percy was talking, and she really needed to hear him.

“Thanks for having me on,” he said, the husky tenor of his voice immediately sending her heart into a little gold medal gymnastics routine. “It’s a real pleasure.”

“That’s him?” Piper said. 

“Yeah,” Annabeth replied, hoping beyond hope that she didn’t actually sigh. 

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, he’s just kind of unimpressive.”

Unimpre–”Are you blind?”

“Look, he’s not ugly, but… eh.” 

Annabeth wasn’t sure she'd ever been so insulted in her entire life, and just a few weeks ago, her father told her she should give up her succession to the throne of Sweden. 

“I’ve been sailing pretty much my whole life,” Percy was saying on screen. “I grew up in Westport, Connecticut and everyone had their own fleets of sailboats.”

“Did you?” asked the interviewer.

He shook his head. “I was one of the only kids in the area without a boat. My mom was working as a home care health aide, and we just couldn’t afford it, but I still loved spending time at the marina and the beach anyway. So, one day,” he shifted, raising his hands, about to launch into a story, “there was this kid who used to bully me, right? And he was out with his friends on the water, just fooling around with his sunfish. And so my older cousin, Luke,” he paused, taking a breath, “uh, rented a boat for me, and we decided to show this kid how it was done.” The audience laughed. “I mean, we had this impromptu race, and we absolutely trounced him.”

The interviewer laughed, too, a broad smile on her face. “And when was this?”

“I was… oh, probably seven or eight years old at the time. And it just so happened that one of my classmate’s dad’s was a competitive sailor, and was there that day to visit his boat in the marina, too. I guess the guy saw me work, and he could tell I just loved it. And was really really quick to pick it up. And that’s when I started sailing.” 

“But that isn’t the only Olympic sport you ended up excelling in, is it?” 

“No,” Percy said. “I did crew and water polo. I set a state swim record in high school. Anything in the water, pretty much, and I was on the team. Never at the Olympic level, but, yeah.”

“Ha ha,” Piper chuckled over the phone. “He does water sports.”

“Shhhh.” Annabeth said. That joke was old news.

“I did some fencing, and some classic polo, on horseback, too.” 

Annabeth already knew all that, of course. She wanted something else. Something new. Something more. 

“How does it feel to be at your first Olympics?”

“It’s truly an honor,” Percy said, earnest as a schoolboy on his first day. “Coming here, representing the United States, it’s been a dream of mine ever since I was a kid…”

Annabeth didn’t feel that bad about letting her attention wander while he waxed poetic about what an honor and a privilege it was being on Team USA. All athletes said the same shit, anyway, only occasionally swapping out the name of their country. Turning back to Twitter, she aimlessly scrolled for a bit, counting numbers of reaction tweets, both positive and negative. One good, one good, one really horny, one bad, one good, one…

@darthbingus: do u think the princess is watching rn 👀

Annabeth closed the window. And her laptop.

“And will any of your family be joining you here in Mexico?”

“Yes!” Percy seemed to light up, sitting up straighter. “My whole family is coming next week: my mom, my stepdad, my little sister, and my cousins.”

Behind them, on the green screen which had been showing a gently fluttering Olympics logo, the scene changed, to a picture from Percy’s Instagram (she recognized his handle… and also the photo) of Percy, a boy she recognized as Luke, and a little girl, the three of them hard at work on a sand castle on a rocky, white beach. Luke was wearing a windbreaker, and the little girl had a full swimsuit on.

It was a picture perfect scene. A close, intimate family gathering, on a cold beach, immortalized forever. It was a monument to a world she could only dream of.

“That’s so great!” 

“Yeah, my sister’s never been to Mexico. She’s the envy of second grade summer camp.” 

“Is family very important to you?”

He nodded. “It is. I think it comes from not having a lot of it. My mom was a single mom, and I had zero contact with my dad’s side of my family until I met Luke when I got lost in an aquarium and he helped me get back to my mom when I was really little–but we didn’t even know we were paternal cousins until much later. His mom was a single mom, too, and she was sick. My mom ended up taking care of her. It was happy, for sure, but now that I have things like a sister and a stepdad, even extra cousins… I know they aren’t to be taken for granted.” 

“One of your cousins is also on Team USA, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, Hazel Levesque.” He nodded enthusiastically. “She’s an equestrian and she’s amazing! It's incredible to be here with her!” 

Annabetth frowned, he hadn’t said anything about a cousin at the games with him, had he. He’d talked a lot about Luke, not nothing about Hazel. 

Her musing was interrupted by Piper chanting under her breath. “Come on, come on, come on… YES!” She cheered. “YES!”

Annabeth paused. “Wait–are you watching an event right now?”

“Duh. I’m watching the sprinting semifinals. Your boy’s interview is way boring.”

She flushed, even though Piper couldn’t see it. “No it’s not.”

“One, love that you didn’t deny he was your boy,” Piper said, “and two, yes it is. It's all boring platitudes. You should have heard this hot sprinter’s interview earlier. His mother was an alcoholic movie star and his sister ran away from home at ten, and he was talking all about how he grew up in foster care and military school. It was so moving,” she sighed, cripplingly romantic. 

“Sounds like just your type.” 

“And he’s winning, too!” She gave a big whoop. “Plus he’s American, so I don’t have to feel weird about supporting him.” 

Annabeth just groaned, turning her attention back to Percy, who was now doing a lightning round of silly questions from the audience members: 

“Favorite place you’ve ever been?”

He grinned, broadly. “Athens.”

“Favorite food?” 

“My mom’s pastichio.” 

“Favorite Song?”

“‘Thnks fr th mmrs,’ by Fall Out Boy.” Of course he had to have amazing music taste. Ass.

“Craziest thing that’s ever happened to you!”

He paused, looking all of the sudden like a deer caught in headlights. Very clearly nervous. “Um…” 

And then the interviewer took pity on Percy. “Maybe… meeting a certain princess?” 

“Yeah,” Percy agreed, after a moment, red creeping up his cheeks.. “Yeah, that would probably be it.” 

Annabeth went red too, in sympathy. 

“Well,” the interviewer said, music playing them off, “thanks for speaking with us today, Percy.” 

And just like that, it was over, cutting to another commercial break.

“Well?” Piper cut through the heavy rock of the Coca-Cola ad.

“Well what?” 

“Are you going to call him or not?” 

She wanted to. Oh, gods, she wanted to, but… “I think I’ve ruined the guy’s week enough.” 

“Aw, come on, I bet you rocked his world before that.” 

“Ha ha.” Annabeth tried to be as droll as possible, but the truth was, a world had been rocked, and it hadn’t been his. Though she did hope his world had been rocked as well, at least a little bit. “I lied to him, and now Twitter is being super gross.” She had seen the gif making the rounds online of one of his races, his hips thrusting as he cut through the waters on his boat, and yeah, while it was super gross, it was also… no, it was gross, it was gross and rude and he deserved better. From all of them.

“Well, if you’re not going to take my advice, I’m getting off the phone. I have an actual job.”

“No you don’t.” 

“No, I don’t,” Piper agreed, “but I do have stuff to do today. Let me know if you actually want my love goddess magic or if you’re just going to keep moping all day.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” she mumbled. “Go have fun saving the world.”

“Will do. Good luck.” And then she clicked off.

In the back of her mind, Annabeth was aware that she was being frustrating. She didn’t blame Piper for not wanting to stick around and listen to her bitch. 

But she still wanted to bitch.

Maybe she should summon Hans, he was paid to listen to her bitch. Well, he actually wasn’t, but she would totally buy him something nice off the room service menu if he would indulge her. Like this fantastic beer she had. They could drink and bitch together. She bet he had a lot to bitch about.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, shocking her so badly she nearly dropped it. Alex says he’s super hot and you should go for it, was the message from her dear cousin Magnus, in their seldom-used groupchat with Alex and Samirah.

It buzzed again. The follow up: you also think he’s super hot and that she should go for it, from Alex.

Even Samirah sent along her approval, a simple thumbs-up emoji. 

Annabeth let out a breath, loud and shaky. She had her dad, Magnus, and Piper all in her corner. And even the king, who was supposed to be incharge of this sort of thing, had given his tacit approval. Or at least hadn’t given his disapproval. 

She sighed, and thought about the fluttering feeling in her chest. 

He’d called his mom. He’d facetimed Estelle, managing to avoid Paul for royal watcher reasons. Luke was technically at work, but they’d spent an hour or so texting. He’d even IMed Nico about his travel plans.

All his attempts to reach out to Rachel had ended with her asking if he’d called his princess back yet. 

He was basically down to messaging Thalia, who would be rightly pissed if he interrupted her in the middle of something important, or breaking down, and actually calling Annabeth. Just to talk to her. Just to hear her voice.

So he listened to half a podcast on the history of the Byzantine Empire. But he could not focus, barely making it through half an episode on the history of the Fourth Crusade. Not when Annabeth’s phone number waited for him. 

He tried to imagine what she would even say to him, if he called to talk. In your dreams? Thanks for the memories? 

For that matter, what would he even say to her? 

The minutes ticked on. He watched his battery drain, ever so slowly, rubbing his thumb across the screen every time it threatened to go to sleep. It was just after 3 pm when, finally, he hit her name on his contact screen, and listened to it ring. 

After two rings, he was ready to give it up. This was a stupid idea. She didn’t want to talk to him. She was screening his calls. She had something more important to do. She didn’t…

“Hello?” 

And his heart jumped.

He’d almost expected her to sound different. More princess-y? What were princesses supposed to sound like? More European, at least. He still didn’t hear much of an accent from her. 

“Percy?”

Oh, shit, he hadn’t meant to not say hi.

“Oh, did you not mean to call?” 

Oh, shit, he hadn’t meant to swear! “No,” he said, quickly, “no, I just… I didn’t really expect you to pick up.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, sounding… confused. Or sad. Maybe. 

“Cause… I figured you had more important things to do than talk to me,” he said. 

“I always want to talk to you,” she said, simply, and with a palpable conviction, even over the phone. 

He blushed, even though she couldn’t see it. How do you even respond to something like that? “Me too,” he said, then immediately had to physically sit on his hand so he didn’t smack himself. Fucking idiot. 

But she laughed, a tinkling, musical thing. Like stars strewn across a dark sky, pointing the way to shore. 

He let out a laugh too, shaky, but firm. “So… am I going to be put on some government watchlist for calling you?”

She laughed again, a soft chuckle. Gods, her laugh was the same as he remembered it. And so damn pretty. “I don't really know how to tell you this, but they've already run like four background checks on you.”

That was… something. Not exactly surprising. But still not something he’d considered. “So… find anything good?” he asked, partly out of a sense of preservation, because boy, did he have some wacky stuff in his background. 

“We have determined,” she said. Was that the Royal We he had heard so much about? “That you, Percy Jackson, are a sailor, a historian, and an upstanding gentleman who loves his family and his sport.” 

Oh. Well that was nice.

“My dad was very impressed by your academic background, too,” she added.

“Oh.” Her dad was impressed. He had impressed her dad, the future king of Sweden. If Paul were here, he would have had a coronary. “Anything else?” Hopefully he would impress the future queen, too.

“Yes. We determined that you were also devastatingly handsome.” 

“Well… that’s nice.” He had expected flirting even less than the future king of Sweden being interested in his academics.

“Were you expecting them to find something?” 

Talk about loaded questions. He was suddenly extremely thankful for all the times Luke had been there during a run in with the police. No one ever caught Luke up to anything. And some minor larceny had never been Percy’s modus operandi on his own, anyway. “Not really,” he said instead. “But, ah… got any weird holes I might be able to fill?” he offered up, thinking about a rather glaring one, and wondering what her people might have come up in the father-sized void in Percy’s life.

“Yeah, actually.” He thought he could sense a light layer of trepidation in her voice, hidden beneath her casual tone. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to listen to her voice for hours, mining for every hidden meaning and nuance. “Your father? His name’s not on your birth certificate.” 

“So,” Percy said, “before I actually tell you,” sort of, “I want to state, for the record, that it is super weird that you know that.” 

“Sorry.” 

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” he said, sitting up as the tone of her voice dropped. “It’s okay, I totally get it. And I’m sure Swedish James Bond has a gun trained on me right now.” 

She laughed again, maybe a little bit more subdued. “You aren’t that big a deal.” 

“Ouch,” he grimaced. “That is just what my ego needed to hear.” 

“Good. Girls like a little humility, especially from a sports star-turned-influencer.”

“Do they? I thought they were into bad Olympic puns and blue sandwiches.”

“Some of the weirder ones, maybe.” 

“Nah,” he said, “only the ones worth knowing.”

She was silent, for a moment. He imagined her maybe sitting on her hotel bed, a mirror image to him, holding her phone, and smiling down at it. At his words. He imagined her lips as they curved upwards, highlighting her strong cheekbones, little crinkles at the corner of her gorgeous eyes. 

He coughed, dry and useless. “Anyway, um… my dad.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she said, extending him the same grace he had given her earlier.

“It’s okay,” he said. “If it helps, I don’t mind.”

And she didn’t push back against it.

Percy sighed, leaning back against his headboard. “My dad… He’s… I don’t even know how to describe him.”

“What does he do?” 

He had a sudden image of Annabeth at a desk, pencil in hand, bent over and furiously scribbling away in her Percy dossier. It had hearts all over it, and a cartoon valkyrie on the front. The mental picture made him smile. “He’s kind of a bum. He fishes a lot, but other than that… I’ve gone fishing with him a few times, but,” he shrugged, “I’ve really had next to no contact with him.”

She hummed over the phone, sympathetic. “Does that bother you?”

“Not really,” he scoffed. “My dad’s the kind of asshole who had a fling with an eighteen year old girl who was completely alone in the world, and then didn’t even stick around long enough to put his name on the birth certificate.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not. And I don’t need you to be sorry about him, either,” he said. “It’s just… you know when you spend your whole life swinging wildly between cursing someone’s name and wanting nothing more than their acknowledgement and approval?” 

“Yeah,” she said, softly, and with more than a little bitterness. “Yeah, I do know that feeling.”

“Things are good with your dad, though, right?” He prodded, softly. Her dad. Prince Frederick. Future king of Sweden. 

“He’s only about half of it.” 

Ah. “Your mom?” 

“Mmhmm.”

“Wikipedia said she died when you were a baby.” He cringed as soon as he’d said it, as absolutely nothing from that sentence worked on any level.

Annabeth actually snorted in response. “Want to talk about weird? Cite my Wikipedia page.” 

“Well, you were probably breaking down my high school transcript with Maxwell Smart before I even knew you had a Wikipedia page. So there.” 

“Oh, yes, I was very disappointed by that B+ you got in Latin.” 

“That was my teacher’s fault for scheduling the midterm the day before my swim meet.”

She sobered. “Percy, I was kidding. I haven’t seen anything like that. I… doing checks on you wasn’t my idea, I swear,” she said. “It was more a… preventative measure once the pictures got out. I only knew about the thing with your dad because it was mentioned in the debrief.”

“You had a debrief on me, and my calls are still allowed to come through?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said. So damn earnest. His heart skipped another beat. “And I didn’t mean to be weird about your father. I just… I do know what it's like to be missing a parent and to desperately want their approval, and also to hate that they aren’t there for you.” 

“Did your dad ever look at you, and you knew he was seeing your mom, and it kind of crushed you?” Percy asked, quietly. It hadn’t happened a lot, not really. But every time he’d noticed it, he’d felt it in his chest. He’d felt guilty about it, too, which was why he’d never mentioned it to Luke. Luke had so much worse to deal with on the mom front than he did. It hadn’t seemed fair to bring it up. 

She sighed, heavy, world weary, and tinny. “He did.” 

“It sucks.” 

“It does,” Annabeth agreed. “Is… I saw that you had a stepfather. What’s he like?”

In his mind’s eye, he was at his mother’s wedding again, walking her down the aisle, and trying not to cry at the naked love and adoration on his stepfather’s face. “Paul’s amazing,” he said. “He’s just what my mom always deserved.” She’d avoided relationships for so long, devoting so much of herself to taking care of Percy and May and Luke. He couldn’t even really remember her having a lot of friends. He’d been so happy when she’d seriously started working on her writing again, and then going back to school. And then when she’d met Paul, and they’d gotten serious, he’d been absolutely thrilled for them.

“Oh,” said Annabeth, taken aback. “I… I’m glad.”

Oh. “Um… I guess you and your stepmother… uh…” He trailed off, unsure how to continue his thought without accidentally insulting a member of the royals. Somehow, Paul would sense it, and then he’d probably have a heart attack. 

Annabeth sighed. “You don’t want to hear about my messy family politics.” 

“I think family politics for royalty might just be normal politics.” 

“That’s my point,” she said, tiredly. Percy figured maybe she had tread this ground before, maybe even hundreds of times–with her family, with her friends, with her country, even. She had no reason to rehash it, and especially not with him. 

But. “I love my stepdad,” he said, “and he's awesome for my mom. But, also, when I was two, my mom started working for my Aunt May, who we later found out had a relationship with my paternal cousin. I am pretty familiar with weird, fucked up families.” Even giant, old, European ones. Though he didn’t say that part. “So, if you want to vent, or something… I can listen. I don’t mind.” 

She didn’t say anything, not for a long time. But he could still hear the gentle static of the ambient noise of her room. Sitting here, together, in silence, separated only by a phone signal, it was strangely, wonderfully intimate. 

“I don’t really want to,” she said, after a few minutes. 

“Of course. You don’t have to share anything with me.” 

She sighed. “It's not that. It's more just like… I want to talk to you about happier things. Things I actually like. I may not like my stepmother, but I do like you.” 

Percy smiled, slow and creeping, even though she couldn’t see him. “You… like me?” 

“I do,” she said. “Do you like me?”

“I do.” 

And if either of them noticed that those sounded like the responses at a wedding, they didn’t say it out loud. 

“So,” Annabeth said, the noises over the phone making it sound like she was readjusting her position. Maybe she was snuggling into bed, pulling a blanket over her, her hair spread out over her pillow as she relaxed. “What are you up to, today?”

“It's a rest day,” he said. “With the big race coming up, I have to relax at least a little. I have one every two or three days, but my last rest day fell on the equestrian event, so I went and watched my cousin. And my other cousin Nico was there, so we had fun.” He was finally going to get to properly see Nico at dinner tonight, which was good. And Nico hadn’t given him any shit about the whole princess thing. Which was doubly nice. Though, Percy couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t because of the whole countess for a mother thing, or because he’d spend so much time in his father’s court. 

“But not today?”

“Not today.” Nico and Hazel were celebrating her silver together. And he’d been invited, but with that kind of reluctant vibe that made it clear the siblings wanted some sibling time, at least until dinner. “What about you? Don’t you have some babies to kiss, or some war to avert, or some village to sack?” 

***

She laughed, despite herself, her head back against her pillow. “I wish,” she said. “You could come with me. We’d sack up and down the coast.” 

“You think I’d be good in a fight?” He asked, a smile in his voice. 

And yeah, actually, she did. But she wasn’t sure why. “You did mention fencing in an interview, right?” 

“You watched my interview?” 

“Wikipedia,” she quickly responded. That was going to be a good get out of jail free card so she didn’t look like a total stalker. At least for a while.

“Well, I did do some fencing, both standard style and more of a–period style, for a time. People tell me I’m not half bad with a sword.” 

“Neither am I,” she said, “We should have a go, sometime.” 

“Oh, I’d like that very much,” he said, his voice tipping down an octave or so. 

Color rising in her cheeks, she changed the topic. “I was–I was actually thinking about the boat thing. Vikings were seafarers, as much as anything. I bet you could get me to all the most well-stocked monasteries.” 

“Well, I’ll admit I’m better in salt water, then fresh, and I know the vikings liked to go up river.” His voice was so bright, like he was talking to a normal girl, a regular old twenty-something who was chatting up the boy she liked, asking if he were down to do some pillaging. “But I bet I could handle a longboat. I’ve managed a lot of boats in my time. I could get you anywhere you want to go.”

“Guess you should have run away with me that day in the marina. We could be living large by now, viking down the coast of Florida.” 

“I do hate Miami,” he said.

For a moment, she could picture it: him, her, a boat, and the open waters. No shitty family to hold them down. No reporters to trail their every step. No responsibilities beyond each other. “I’m sorry, Percy.” The words tripped out of her, like a runner out of the gate. “I’m so sorry that I dragged you into all this.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not.”

He sighed. “I guess not. But I understand.” 

“You do?” she asked, twisting the blanket around her finger. “You’re… not mad?”

A pause. “Maybe I am, a little bit.”

She swallowed. “Makes sense,” she mumbled. “I did lie to you. I’m really, really sorry. I should have told you the truth from the beginning.” 

He actually let out a little laugh. But it wasn’t his normal, buoyant, grinning laugh. It was wry, instead. A little dark. A little guarded. “That’s not why I’m mad.” 

“It’s not?”

“Of course not,” he said. “Look, I’m not, I don’t think, unreasonable. You had no reason to tell me at the beginning. Honestly, it would have sounded like a line. And as hard as it is for me to believe, we did only just meet a little while ago.” And that was the truth, wasn’t it. They’d only just met, not even more than a month ago. They’d known each other for so little time… but it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. “And I’m not entitled to all your secrets. Just like you’re not entitled to all of mine.” 

“You have secrets?”

“Of course I do, Annabeth. Gods, yes, I have secrets. And I like you–a lot. But I’m not–I don’t want to share them all with you right now. And I’ll always extend to you the same courtesy.” 

“Oh,” She said, a wave of curiosity bubbling up in her. A desperation to know. To find out. He’d learned her secrets, after all. But then again, not all of them. Not even the juiciest of them. But, then… “So, why are you mad?”

She heard him blow his breath out, tinny and staticky. “Because… Look, I totally get not wanting to give me the whole story. I’m sure starting off with ‘Hey, I'm a princess and I have security and sometimes the press follows me around’ would have been intimidating. But we didn’t have to go somewhere so public as a movie theater. Or even just walking around the city. I would have happily kept up seeing you in private places.” 

And then, a second fantasy, even more whimsical than the first. They were walking down the streets of Stockholm together on a bright, sunny afternoon, holding hands. She closed her eyes, willing it away.  

“I’m not mad that you didn’t tell me you were a princess. I’m still scared the Swedish government is going to put out a hit on me, but I’m not mad about that. But I am mad that you put me in a really shitty situation with the paps and Twitter and the world, when you knew better, and I didn’t.” 

“I’m sorry,” was all she could say in response. It was not enough. 

“Me too,” he agreed. “I… I can’t say it's okay. Or that it isn’t a big deal. But I know you didn’t mean to do it. So, that helps. I can take negligence over cruelty any day.”

“Still.”

“Yeah. But I’ll get over it.” 

“Soon?” And it was such a dumb, childish thing to ask. 

“Probably,” he said. “You’re pretty cute.” 

“I thought I was beautiful?”

“That, too.”

“Well,” she said, biting her lip to keep herself from smiling too hard, “if… if you want something private… You said it was a rest day. I could send my driver to pick you up. I’ve got a princess suite and I can get you almost any kind of room service for dining.” 

“Almost?”

“Well, I haven’t tried everything yet.” Or… “Or, if you wanted… Maybe I could give you something better to eat.”

“Oh, yeah?” 

Sense memory reared its head, the tug of his lip between his teeth, the feel of his hair in her hands. “I think it could easily be arranged.” 

He hummed across the phone, vibrating into her ear. “I like the sound of that. Tell me more.” 

“This bed is awfully big,” she said, lowering her voice to match. “And I’ve been in it all by myself for days now.” 

“No other Olympian gentlemen callers?” He asked. 

She shook her head. “No one else would help me sack Palm Beach. What use would I have for them?”

“Is that all I am to you? Some muscle? A tongue and a pair of thighs?” 

He didn’t sound too put out at the idea. “But what strong thighs they are, and what a talented tongue. I’ll give you a sword, if you want.”

“But I already have a sword.” 

Boy did he. It reminded her of her favorite dagger, actually. It wasn’t the biggest or flashiest. But it could get into where it needed to go. And do all sorts of damage once inside. 

If Percy had taught her anything, it was that the old saying was true: it wasn’t the size of the wave, it was the motion of the ocean.

“I mean, I do really have a sword, but… that’s not what you meant… uh…” And now he was all tongue tied and adorable and he was probably blushing and she was so blindly desperate to see him. And his sword. Metaphorical or not.

“Um,” she confidently began her offer, “I can call Hans, my driver from the other night, to go pick you up. Sound good?”

But she was not met by any more delicious flirting or awkward stammering. Just a long moment of silence that got longer and longer. 

And his voice had returned to its normal, pleasant tenor when he said, “Maybe we should pump the brakes a bit.”

“Oh.” And she knew she couldn’t keep her deep deep disappointment out of it. 

“Not–not for long,” he rushed, “just… maybe until after the Olympics are over.” Another three weeks. She felt her heart jump into her throat. 

It was probably the smart thing to do. She was working. They were both working. But, then again, the idea of waiting on pins and needles for the rest of this pomp and circumstance was not exactly her idea of a good time. “Sure,” she said, eventually. “That sounds good.”

“Thanks.” 

But, she supposed it was worth it, just to hear the relief in his voice. She could give him a little more time to think about it before dragging him down with her into her world. 

“I should probably warn you, while you think about things,” and she hated to do this, but it was only fair. “Things might calm down a little, but speculation, attention, media stuff. It won’t go away. Even after the Olympics. So… you should probably consider that, while you’re deciding if this is a thing you want to get involved in.” 

“I think you misunderstood,” he said. “I’m not deciding about anything. I’ve made up my mind. I am so down to date you.” The grin that broke out on her face could have left a permanent scar, her heart jumping in her chest. “I just… I need some time for my races. And maybe to warn my mom.” 

“You’re really cool with this.” It was kind of unbelievable. It was kind of amazing. 

“Should I not be?” 

“No, I’m just… surprised, I guess. But, pleasantly.”

“Would you believe me if I said that the hot girl I was seeing turning out to be a princess isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me?”

She paused. Because not really, no. And then Piper’s words came wiggling into the back of her mind.

“So, I have to ask,” she finally said, hating every word that was about to come out of her mouth. “Are you a secret prince?”

“...Am I what?”

“Like, maybe of some dynasty that lost its power in the wake of one of the world wars? Or maybe in the German Unification?” 

There was a long moment of silence. 

“Is…” He didn’t seem sure how to respond. “Um… is that a thing that happens?”

“Not in my experience,” she admitted, “no.” But stranger things had happened. 

“I mean… there’s a family legend that my mom’s mom’s family was descended from the Byzantine emperors,” he said. “But other than that… probably not.” 

“Probably?”

“Anything’s possible, right? But really, no. I promise, I am just a Connecticut Yankee in Princess Annabeth’s Court.”

“That’s so fucking cute,” she said. “I hate that.” 

“Thank you. I try very hard.”

“I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Definitely, princess.” 

She shuddered. “Annabeth.” 

“What?”

Eventually, she manages to stumble her way nose-first into the kitchen, following the now entirely familiar scent of pancakes. Ohhh, butter and maple syrup and blueberries, calling her name like a siren.

Rounding a corner, she is greeted by the most beautiful sight in the world.

There is Percy at the stove, in a black t-shirt pilfered from her own drawers that says “Architects do it with Models,” a present from him, cause he thought he was funny. He is humming Stravinsky, something sharp and angular from his current show, smoothly lifting himself up and down on the balls of his feet. He’s wearing his knee brace, she notices with a frown. And there, at their kitchen table, in her high chair, a colored pencil gripped in her pudgy toddler hand, is their beautiful, wonderful, darling little girl, who spots her first.

“Mama!” she calls, reaching her arms out to her.

Percy turns, spatula in hand. “Oh, hey!” he says, striding over for a kiss. “I was just about to come get you. Coffee?”

“Oh, god, yes.” Coffee coffee coffee.

He already has a place set for her next to their daughter, and her favorite mug, the silly white one which her dad had gotten her last year, during his ongoing quest to be ultra supportive, which says “Great Architect, Better Mother” in nondescript black letters. And yes, she did cry over it. Whatever. Everyone’s used to her crying by now.

She leans over, giving her baby a kiss on her forehead. “Good morning, Odessa!”

They had come up with the name together. Odessa--for Odysseus and for Odette. It’s absolutely perfect.

Percy slides his Instagram-perfect plate of pancakes in front of her, giving her another kiss. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“Thank you,” she mumbles against his lips. “Your knee okay?”

“Yeah--just a little stiff this morning. By the way,” he says, turning back to the stove, “I’m picking your dad up from the airport at noon. Thalia’s not coming over to watch Odessa, because it's your birthday and you shouldn’t work. And everyone else will be here for your party at four.”

“I don’t need a party,” she says, “it's not a big deal kind of birthday.”

Percy looks unimpressed, and then gives her another kiss, on the side of her head this time, where a blonde braid rests. “Every birthday is a big deal,” he says, “because you are a big deal.” He turns to their daughter. “Isn’t that right, Odessa?”

She's old enough now to have some idea what birthdays mean. “Yes,” she announces. “Cake!”

Annabeth smiles. “Well, I would never deny you cake.”

She digs in, smiling at the dumb happy face Percy had drawn in blueberries.

Breakfast is incredible, as always. She must have developed some kind of Pavlovian reaction to them by now, but even just the word “pancakes” will set her mouth to watering. But she doesn’t inhale them like usual, instead eating them slowly, methodically.

Of course, Percy notices. “Are you okay?”

She nods, chewing. “Just thinking about how old I am.”

Twenty-nine. The number elicits a strange mixture of apathy and dread. God, she is so old.

“Older and hotter,” Percy says, sipping his orange juice. “My favorite MILF.”

She rolls her eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

It’s kind of sobering to realize just how old she is. Ten years ago she was in college--in college! Christ alive--sobbing on Luke’s couch after a chance encounter at a skeevy dive bar had her convinced she had lost a real connection, and now she is sitting across the kitchen table with the love of her life and their daughter in the fantastically swanky apartment his father had bought them.

Fucking weird where life takes you.

But… if she had to lose the boy in the bar to find Percy, then she guesses that makes it worth it.

It's a quiet sort of day. Sleepy and peaceful. Her dad shows up at lunch, and Annabeth orders out, feeding Odessa Panera mac and cheese, and laughing when she gets it all over her face.

Percy spends the afternoon cooking for her party, because he insists the million dollar kitchen can’t just be for show. But she is banished from the kitchen by old standing rules, so she and her dad play with Odessa in the living room. He is clearly delighted by every move his granddaughter makes. It's astounding and sends butterflies through her.

Piper shows up at three to decorate. And Hazel shows up about fifteen minutes later to hang out with Piper/call dibs on some early pre-fall looks. But they both also succumb to Odessa, and by the time everyone else starts arriving, Percy brings out the appetizers, their decorations are on the couch, and Hazel and Piper are sitting on the floor, playing the princesses trapped in Odessa’s recently built duplo block tower.

So far, it’s been the best birthday ever, and Annabeth tells the assembled crowd as much. “You guys, this has been the best birthday ever. Thank you all so much for coming.” She accepts the paper plate of cake her father hands her, smiling at him broadly. “Seriously. Thank you.”

“Of course, dear,” he says. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” He smiles back at her, almost aggressively, like he’s trying not to cry.

Actually, she feels like everyone has been trying not to cry all night: her dad is sniffling like he has a bad cold, Piper keeps excusing herself to run to the bathroom and fix her makeup, and Thalia hasn’t even punched her once tonight, not even jokingly. It’s disorienting, to say the least. When she brought it up to Percy, he had just shrugged, the motion throwing off his perfect cake cutting rhythm. “Dunno,” he said. “Maybe there’s something in the air tonight.”

Whatever it is, at least Odessa doesn’t have it, and thank god for that. Their beautiful, perfect, wonderful child has been the light of the party, running around and charming everyone with her adorable smile and her tiny pink tutu. She’s been passed around to pretty much every set of arms in attendance tonight, bouncing from Thalia to Frederick to Thalia to Sally to Thalia to Piper, then finally again to Thalia, who practically hissed at Luke when he tried to take Odessa from her. Maybe Annabeth should be worried that Thalia would try and steal her goddaughter, but her arms are empty now, looking between Annabeth and their kitchen doorway with a weird kind of smirk. “Okay,” Annabeth says, when the room has quieted down. “What’s gotten into you all?”

Before anyone can answer, there’s a tiny tug at her skirt. Odessa is looking up at her with her perfectly Percy baby seal eyes, holding out her arms. “Hi, cutie!” says Annabeth, picking up her daughter and bringing her into her lap. “What’s up?”

That’s when Annabeth sees it--a little box, clutched in Odessa’s pudgy grip.

“Is this for me?” She nods, little blonde wisps flying out of her pigtails. “Thank you, sweetie!” She kisses her face, laughing a little as Odessa squirms, then passes her off to her grandfather.

A hush has definitely fallen over the crowd. Everyone is staring at her, identical smiles adorning their faces. “Why… are you all looking at me like that?”

“Probably because we’re waiting for you to open your present,” Piper says, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “So, go on. Hop to it.”

Feeling a flutter in her stomach, Annabeth takes a closer look at Odessa’s gift. It’s a small, shiny cube, made from a red cherrywood, she thinks, with a hinge on one side and one of those little sticky bows on top. She rubs her finger over the smooth surface, suddenly afraid to open it for reasons she can’t quite place.

She turns her head over her shoulder, to the kitchen. Percy stands in the doorway, hands fisted in his little, black “Dance is Cheaper Than Therapy” apron (courtesy of Thalia), his face unreadable. “This from you?” she asks, holding up the box, and he nods, small, tiny jerks of his head.

He’s scared, she realizes. He’s just as scared as she is. And that, more than anything else, makes her brave.

She holds out her right hand to him, and he crosses the room in two strides, linking their fingers together as he hops up on the arm of the couch. With her remaining hand, she flips open the box, revealing the ring she knows is going to be inside of it.

It is gold, and it has a diamond, but that’s about the extent of its similarity to other engagement rings. The band is wide and sturdy, with a diamond nestled between two thick, asymmetrical prongs that jut out like pyramids, reminding Annabeth of the Louvre, or the Liebeskind addition of the Bundeswehr. It’s stunning, cool, and modern. It’s beautiful.

Percy’s hand squeezes hers. She can feel him trembling, the pad of his thumb gently rubbing against her skin. “Annabeth,” he says, voice low, like she’s the only person in the room. He stops, then says her name again, his voice thick. “Annabeth Ingrid Chase, I--”

She doesn’t even let him finish, slipping it on her left hand with their intertwined ones. Their friends are all cheering--Grover and Sally are crying freely--but Annabeth can hardly hear them, lost as she is in the feel of Percy’s mouth on hers, of her hand on his cheek, of the delirious joy she feels.

***

Annabeth goes to bed with her heart soaring, despite the newly acquired weight on her finger. Percy, despite having bought it, can’t keep his hands off it, twisting it between his fingers, rubbing his thumb across the point of the pyramid. “You’re gonna ruin the color,” she admonishes, even as she knows that he knows she doesn’t want him to stop.

“Hazel taught me how to clean jewelry,” he says, cheeky. “I can touch it as much as I want.”

“How long have you been planning this?” she asks, hushed.

He blows out a breath. “Months. Maybe even a year.”

“A year?”

Percy shrugs, deceptively nonchalant. “Probably longer, if I’m being honest. But you were dealing with postpartum, and then you got that job, and then I got bumped up in Firebird, and by the time Odessa’s birthday rolled around, I knew I had to make a move sooner rather than later.” Then he smiles, satisfied. He looks like he has a little light inside of him, glowing. “I’ve been imagining us getting married even before Odessa was conceived.”

Today, Annabeth has achieved some kind of record for dealing with the most emotionally charged moments without crying, and she’s not about to break it now, but damn it Percy was making this hard for her. “Even back then?”

Finally, he looks at her, that light shining on her. “Even back then.”

She wants to tell him that she felt the same. So she does. “Me, too,” she confesses. “Even back then.” At that, he kisses her so hard she can barely see straight, rolling on top of her, sliding his hand between her thighs.

A few orgasms later, she lies on top of him, just listening to the rhythm of his heart as he comes back down to earth. It’s so loud, she almost doesn’t hear him say, “I never thought I’d be here before.”

“Engaged to your baby mama?” she asks, sleepily.

“Mostly the engaged thing. I mean, I never saw myself marrying any of the other people I dated--not even Frank.”

“High praise,” she murmurs into his skin.

“The highest. Frank’s the one who got me the Beyonce video gig. You should know, because of that, he has a standing IOU for a blowjob to be cashed in whenever.” She snorts, relaxing even further into his hold as his fingers start carding through her hair. “I never even saw myself marrying Calypso, and she was my biggest ‘what if.’” He stills, tensing. “You… probably don’t want me talking about my exes, do you.”

She shrugs, shimmying further up his torso to be closer to his face. “I don’t mind. I got the ring, didn't I?” Percy smirks, and kisses her cheek. But Annabeth is curious, now. “I’m really the first person you thought about marrying?”

At her question, he pauses, considering. “Well… you’re the first person I’ve dated that I thought about marrying.”

“But not the first person?”

“Well… there was this girl, back when I was at Boston Ballet.” His eyes are so goddamn green in the low light, gentle and concerned. “Are you sure you want to hear about it?”

She nods. She’s not jealous, not really--just curious.

“I spent that whole year practicing and getting over Eudora that I never actually went out all that much. A bunch of guys and I were living in the North End at the time, and on my last day in Boston, even though I had to leave for Paris at four AM, they convinced me to go out to this bar in Cambridge called ‘Cool Beans.’”

“I remember Cool Beans,” she gently interjects. Her time at Harvard is no longer something they run from, which is nice, because as much as Annabeth loves New York, Boston does carry a soft spot in her heart. “Kind of divey, wasn’t it?”

“Very,” he nods, “but they were notoriously bad at carding. Anyway, so we get to Cool Beans, I get one drink in me, and it’s so dark and warm in the bar that I fall asleep in one of the booths. Like, I probably would have slept straight through my flight.”

She’s listening, intently, casting her mind back to her own memories of Cool Beans. Annabeth remembers it well--southern, Texas-esque decor, cheesy fries with bacon, a killer Cherry Limeade. There’s a few stories she could share about Leo and some flaming shots, or that time she tripped and nearly face planted into a sleeping guy’s crotch.

“I don’t know what god was looking out for me that night, but there was this girl who woke me up around midnight. She was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen--long, curly blonde hair, California tan, legs for days…”

“Glad to see I fit your type,” she says, dryly. He bumps her knee in response.

“I knew immediately that I had to buy this girl a drink, even though I was leaving the country in less than three hours. We only talked for like an hour and a half, but she was the one of the smartest, coolest people I’d ever met. One of the guys tried to convince me into taking her into a bathroom or back to her dorm, but I had that early flight, and she had a roommate, and…” He sighs, curling her closer to him. “The timing was all wrong. But I just wonder what she’s doing now.”

Annabeth hums, reminiscing on her own almost hook ups of days gone by. She’d had her own missed connection at Cool Beans, funnily enough, with the guy who was sleeping.

“I’ll never forget what she said to me, though--I had just woken up, I’m all disoriented from sleeping, and the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen is staring me in the face, and she says to me,” he breaks off, giggling, “she says, ‘You know you drool--’”

“‘You drool in your sleep.’” Annabeth finishes, eyes widening.

He stares at her. “What?”

Memories, ten years past, suddenly come rushing back: a warm September night, a cute guy sleeping in her favorite booth, the greenest eyes she had ever seen in her life. “Holy shit.”

“What.”

“Percy--that was me!”

“What.”

She sits bolt upright. No fucking way. “I was obsessed with you for a year, Percy. I cried about you for three days straight. I skipped two class reviews!”

“You were not.”

“I was! Ask Luke! I spent most of that time on his couch.” Luke had plied her with ice cream and Dunkin and wine to mellow her out, and then took to inviting her to parties with boys who were too old for her in hopes she’d move on. But she’d never had.

And, as it turns out, she’d never had to.

Percy’s eyes widen, misting. “It was you,” he whispers, dumbstruck. “I thought--I thought you were so familiar that morning.” That wonderful morning in Nico’s kitchen. She had thought the same. “But your hair was so different, and I wasn’t sure--oh my god, it was you!”

“It was me!” And she laughs, giddy. Fucking red string of fate shit.

Annabeth Chase and Percy Jackson were meant to be.

It might as well have been destiny.