Annabeth’s breathing is low, laborious. The manticore’s poison shouldn’t be enough to kill, but she took multiple hits. Spikes peek out of her left side, poison seeping into her shoulder, side, hip, and calf. It darkens her veins in an eerie spiderweb pattern she would hate. 

All at once, Percy is back on the Williamsburg bridge. There she is at his feet, looking up at him through cloudy eyes and dying. Percy made a promise then: no one touches her. Another bullet point on the long list of promises he couldn’t keep. 

Annabeth’s chest shudders with a raggedy gasp. “Perce?” She asks it like she isn’t sure it’s him. Percy wonders how much pain it takes to plant the seed of doubt that he would be anywhere but at her side right now.

Smoke billows from his lungs instead of a response, thick and choking in the wake of extinguished anger. There is only fear now, and after fear, there is nothing. 

This is the bit Percy can never stomach or sit through no matter how many times Chiron tries to drill it into his head. He sees Annabeth struggling for breath and wonders each time if this is the cruel trick the Fates planned for him all along. Percy never expected to live long, but he always expected Annabeth to live longer. From the moment he learned of the Prophecy, not having to live without her was the one certainty he held close to his chest. 

He fumbles for the emergency ambrosia in his pocket and cups Annabeth’s face, telling her he’s here. They don’t need words for this. She turns into the soft embrace of his palm and sighs, her lungs steady for that single exhale. He slips the ambrosia into her mouth and watches her chew carefully. 

“Tastes like you,” she croaks, gripping his wrist. “Your smile at Montauk.” 

That rallies Percy. Annabeth has kissed enough of his sea-born smiles to recognize the taste. He owes her a lifetime of them. 

“Annabeth. Baby, I’m here. I’m gonna get you safe, alright?” 

Her grip tightens on his wrist. “I love you.” 

Percy has to look away from her then. He can’t watch her say those words like they’re going to be her last. Like she wants them to be her last. 

“I love you too. But tell me that later, yeah? When you’re patched up. Please just let me carry you.” 

One of the newer campers runs over the hill, a son of Apollo who stays year-round. His eyes widen at the scene before him, and Percy wonders if this is going to be his first taste of real grief. 

“Will isn’t here,” the kid squeaks. “He’s gone for the weekend. Our next best healer is...” 

Percy is tired, but not unkind. “Spit it out, kid.” 

“Me.” 

A bit of Percy withers, both for Annabeth and the child shouldering an impossible burden. Percy has no choice but to carry them both. 

Determination solidifies in his bones, fortifying him in the wake of an unbearable weight. He gathers Annabeth in his arms and stands, feeling the burn of loss in his muscles. He is weak in the wake of a life without her. 

His feet carry him, perhaps on autopilot, to the creek running through camp. The son of Apollo senses his urgency and runs to iris message a more capable healer they don’t have time to reach. Annabeth is dying, and the poison waits for no one. Percy can feel her life force drifting away like a tug at the base of his spine. If he loses her, he will spend the rest of his life adrift. 

The cool creek water soaks Percy’s shoes, and he folds. By some miracle, he is steady as he lowers their bodies into the stream, thankful to the shallowness for not allowing him to sink. He holds Annabeth in his lap, lets her head tip back just enough for the stream to color her hair darker. It tugs at her curls like a loving hand. 

This is all Percy has left: a prayer that the water will recognize Annabeth as part of him. She is his life. If the water wants to save him, it will start with her. 

He makes the tough choice and pulls the spikes from her body. She is already dying from the poison. The risk of bleeding out is outweighed by the hope that the water will leech the death from her blood. Hope is all Percy has left. No smoke, no ash. The fire is gone. He is nothing but a body holding his bleeding heart in his hands. 

“I love you,” he chokes out, holding her limp neck in his palm. “I’m here. I’m right here. Stay with me.” 

Percy thinks of his dad watching from above, doomed to outlive everyone he has ever loved. The point of refusing immortality was a life full of love at the cost of length. He thinks of every Montauk kiss, how healing has always tasted like home, and how that somehow because synonymous with Annabeth. If she dies here, healing will taste bitter. He will never be able to eat ambrosia again. He will never want to. 

“You promised.” The current of the creek quickens, painting their clothes a darker color. Annabeth’s blood swirls in the water before disappearing downstream. The ground beneath them begins to shake. “I fought, I burned, and I yielded. For this. For her. Heal her.” 

Poseidon answers. The current reverses, washing over their bodies like a baptism, a rebirth. Annabeth’s veins fade back into her skin and the wounds knit shut. With each passing second, a bit of Percy’s heart returns to his chest. He can feel his fingers again. He can feel. Love and light have not died. 

Annabeth’s chest steadies and she gasps, the life returning to her in one fell swoop. She gasps I love you into Percy’s chest like those are the only words she knows, the only ones she’ll have him hear. He crushes her to him, their shirts sticking from the water, and whispers the same into her shoulder. I love you I love you I love you. 

Their grips don’t loosen. They don’t relax. They just cling to each other, fearful of letting go in the face of another brush with death. This is their life; this is why they hold each other so tightly, even in times of peace. 

“I’m sorry.” Annabeth’s voice is too small, detached. Percy pulls back to look at her and finds her staring at his chest. 

“I didn’t mean to get blood on your shirt.” She frowns. “This is one of my favorite shirts.” 

Percy sees the faraway look in her eyes and puts a finger under her chin, ducking until she locks on him. “Hey, easy. It’ll wash out.” He swallows thickly. “I love you.” It sounds like it’s okay. I love you, and you are still here, so it’s okay. 

But storm Felicity has already arrived. “Annabeth! Look at you, look at that dress! Who knew you could scrub up so well? And this must be the mystery husband, look at you! No wonder you’ve been hiding him.”

“Um, hello. I’m Percy.”

“Of course you are. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She goes in for the cheek kiss which Percy, bless him, takes in stride before retreating back to Annabeth’s side. She tucks a hand behind him and pats his ass like she’s calming a startled horse.

“Hi Felicity,” she greets amiably. “Yes, this is my husband.”

It’s been nearly a year now, but she still gets a little giddy introducing Percy with that title.

“Gorgeous,” Felicity says with her usual unashamed boldness which Annabeth can’t decide if she hates or loves. Right now, she is feeling a little possessive of how good Percy is looking in her suit and so decides on hate.

“Remind me how long you two have been married?”

She knows exactly how long because she seems to ask Annabeth about her personal life in every meeting they have. Either she is incapable of retaining information - which is highly unlikely given how many times Annabeth has seen her tear the rug out from underneath men who have underestimated her - or she is hoping to get more information by asking the same question in slightly different ways each time.

Annabeth is certain it’s the latter but she lets Percy answer the question anyway.

“It’ll be a year in a few days time.”

“Oh, of course. You did the Christmas wedding. How unusual. You had the terrible storm to deal with, yes? Have you redone the whole thing yet?”

“No, Felicity. Just the once was enough.”

“You say that now, darling. I’m on my third.”

“Sorry, your third wedding?” Percy asks, all innocence. Annabeth isn’t sure why, she has told plenty of tales about her manager over dinner.

“Third husband.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, you’re a darling. Look at your face. Don’t worry, I’m sure you two will make it stick.”

Annabeth has long grown used to this tone, but she forgets it’s the first time Percy is hearing it so she’s momentarily taken aback at the firm grip of his hand on her hip and the edge to his voice when he replies.

“Well, I proposed knowing that I would only be doing it only the one time and I take marriage vows pretty seriously, so I’m pretty confident we’ll make it work, Felicity.”

Felicity raises her eyebrows and Annabeth knows she is readjusting her first impression of Percy.

“Well, you’ve certainly told me.” She looks at Annabeth and leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. “I like him. Merry Christmas.” The latter part it said to them both before she swans off to find another employee to harass.

Annabeth takes her time turning to Percy, enjoying the flush of his cheeks as he downs the rest of his drink.

“You’ve changed,” she tells him.

“What?”

She laughs as she reaches up to pat his cheek. “Look at you, all fired up. For you, that was basically you telling her to go fuck herself.”

Instead of leaning into the joke, Percy’s frown deepens and she feels his jaw tick under her palm as he clenches his teeth together.

“I hate that cynicism you know?”

Annabeth nods, she knows Percy’s distain for people who went out of their way to put others down. He knew just how cruel the world could be, had witnessed and experienced it more than anyone should, but it had only made him kind. And he couldn’t stand needless pessimism.

“Just because she wants to break a world record for marriages, doesn’t mean we don’t take ours seriously.”

“I know, babe. Try not to take it personally, that’s just how she is.”

He relaxes a bit, looking at her and leaning into her touch. “I just know how some people look at us. We’re young and got married right out of college and people don’t think it’s gonna last.”

“Well, fuck people. We know it’s gonna last. Who cares about anyone else’s opinion?”

That finally gets a smile out of him, one which Annabeth immediately returns.

“Not me,” he says.

“Good.”

She leans up to kiss him, short and sweet and just enough to sustain her for a few more hours until she can get him home and out of that suit.