( the poseidon cabin is usually empty during the winter. this year was supposed to be different — and it was, briefly, until it wasn't. good things aren't made to last or some shit like that, right? clarisse thinks, more likely, the gods are stirring shit up again (her father isn't one to let go of a grudge, and considering recent developments, she wouldn't put it past him to do something about it; then again, that would also require him to give a shit about clarisse's love life, so maybe she's giving him too much credit). or maybe they're just cursed. what hero among them could confidently say they're happy? the fates are never kind.
after just a day, the only things left in the poseidon cabin to prove anyone had been there at all were a backpack and a worn out pair of sneakers.
after three days, annabeth practically shoved clarisse down half-blood hill and told her to go do something productive instead of destructive (clarisse had already decimated the training dummies in the arena, along with most of the other training equipment, scaring most of the new campers and forcing chiron to reschedule combat training until further notice while repairs were made) — and to take grover with her. the satyr had been crying for probably forty-eight straight hours, wailing about an empathy link or something and how percy was just blaa-ha-ha gone. clarisse could have protested, but she already knew that was a battle with annabeth she couldn't win.
after eight days, the so-called son of jupiter announced to the counselors around the ping pong table at the big house that if percy was anywhere, he was probably at the other camp: the one he'd come from, the one for roman demigods — which, conveniently, no one else had ever heard of, except for chiron, who apparently never thought the concept of roman demigods was relevant to anyone before now. fly boy couldn't even seem to remember the location of this roman camp or what it was called. clarisse hadn't been convinced by jason's switcheroo theory, but annabeth had. that small sliver of hope — even with the huge caveat that if percy was alive, he probably didn't remember who he was — got them through the next few days, their search continuing with renewed vigor now that they had some semblance of a lead. an actual location would have been better, but annabeth seemed certain jason would remember in time. (how much time? they must have both been thinking. annabeth may often be better than clarisse at masking her emotions, but even clarisse could see the apprehension taking root in her expression then. how much time does percy have?)
after twelve days, and a silent glance shared around the campfire, clarisse sneaks out of cabin five in the dead of night and creeps into cabin three, the interior walls awash with iridescent light that makes her stomach twist, her chest aching as she quietly breathes in the sea-salt air that lingers even still, feels the gentle breeze rolling in off the long island sound through the half-opened windows. percy's backpack and shoes are right where they were twelve days ago. neither clarisse nor annabeth have had the heart to move them.
the door creaks open behind her. she turns, offering annabeth a strained smile, like she's still trying to convince herself that this will all be okay — not just sneaking into percy's cabin, but everything else too: the great prophecy, hera's supposed exchange and the dangerous plan the goddess has set in motion, along with whatever else might be brewing on the horizon. she steps forward, taking annabeth's face into her hands as if to steel them both. we're going to get through this. together. then, without any hesitation, clarisse pulls annabeth into a kiss, their lips meeting with the same kind of wild desperation they've felt since the first morning they realized something was wrong — percy wouldn't just leave, not after everything it took to get here. not after the three of them had finally decided they'd rather all be together than apart.
last spring, something had happened between clarisse and annabeth while they'd been working together trying to solve the labyrinth — something neither one of them was prepared to acknowledge, even if they'd only kissed in the heat of some stupid argument. it hadn't meant anything then, clarisse convinced herself, except that she hadn't been able to get the kiss out of her head, or the way annabeth's face flushed like a ripe strawberry, her gray eyes stormy with bewilderment and maybe even humiliation, like clarisse had done it on purpose just to be mean. (she hadn't. couldn't really explain why she had until much later, after she'd spent many long hours confiding in silena about why she was pretty sure annabeth hated her guts again despite how far they'd come over the long months between summer sessions. silena had laughed, not unkindly, and told her the course of true love never runs smooth. clarisse hadn't understood what shakespeare had to do with anything until annabeth had confronted her about the kiss. shakespeare might have been a son of apollo, but he surely must have had his dalliances with children of war to be able to write such a poetic truth.)
percy was harder (but somehow also easier) to figure out. clarisse had known, in some way or another, that her feelings had begun to take root the day percy had helped her retrieve her father's stolen chariot. this, she largely remained in denial of, but every now and then a glimpse of him fresh from the beach would make her cheeks flush, or a joke would catch her off-guard and she'd find herself choking with laughter, or they'd be sparring and she'd have him cornered until it felt like she was reeling from staring too long into his sea-green eyes. all of this, she knew, was ridiculous. they weren't supposed to be friends, let alone anything more than that — but they were friends, so long as no one else was looking. percy had seen her at her lowest and chosen to encourage her to fight her own battles, to stand up to her father. percy had seen her grief over the loss of silena and chosen to defend her, to declare her a hero just as clarisse had. percy, despite the bad blood between him and ares, never once called her spear lamer or whispered horrible things about her behind her back. they understood each other, in a way not even annabeth could.
then, she'd thrown the happy couple into the lake. maybe to wash her hands of feeling anything about percy jackson, maybe to let go of whatever she thought she had with annabeth. )
We'll find him, ( she promises annabeth now. it's like a mantra these days. they have to find him. no one wants to find out what would happen if they don't. especially not jason grace.
she lifts a hand and brushes a few stray curls out of annabeth's face. this close, she looks like she's been crying. clarisse isn't surprised. percy and annabeth had only started dating officially in august (unofficially? they'd been dancing around each other in the most annoying tango of all time since long before then). it's december now, and clarisse is still trying to figure out where she belongs between the percy and annabeth of it all — what had started out as weekend trips into the city to visit friends (to be reminded that she wasn't alone, to soothe the grief ricocheting in her chest, threatening to send her into a spiral if she spent too long at camp haunted by the absence of the girl who taught her to love) had quickly, easily developed into something else, like the three of them were always meant to be together, healing some ancient rift as old as the trojan war — but she knows this, annabeth, is the only thing keeping her sane. despite being a child of war, loss isn't something that comes easy to her. )
Have you eaten recently?
( knowing annabeth, food was probably one of the last things on her mind. clarisse hadn't seen annabeth at dinner — she probably hadn't arrived back at camp until shortly before the campfire; she'd gone up to visit sally again to give her the weekly update (to apologize, no doubt, for not having percy home for christmas). clarisse could have gone with her — probably should have, only they haven't told percy's mom about ... well, this new thing between the three of them yet, and in some ways clarisse still feels like she's intruding on what percy and annabeth already had, meeting the mortal parents included — but chiron had asked clarisse specifically to accompany (chaperone) jason and leo into town to retrieve something or other for the ship leo was building. a quest! chiron had announced, then decided a different phrase might be more appropriate when rachel had leveled an unimpressed stare at him and said something like i am not issuing a prophecy for a wii controller. chiron had respectfully agreed but allowed them to set off on their field trip nonetheless.
after the giant scorpions attacked, clarisse realized why chiron couldn't have sent just anyone with the sons of jupiter and hephaestus. she'd fought these scorpions once before, back when daedalus was masquerading around camp as their new swordmaster quintus, but the whole monsters not staying dead thing made the rematch a whole lot more annoying. seriously, five monsters just for some stupid video game remote control thing? (what was even the point? leo had convinced chiron, somehow, that it was absolutely necessary for outfitting the argo ii and it'll be on sale! it's a feliz navi-deal! chiron and clarisse both hadn't known enough about video games to dispute this. rachel was probably laughing her ass off in her stupid oracle cave the entire time clarisse was fighting for her life.) she hadn't even completely believed jason actually was the son of jupiter (she'd been absent from that particular display at the campfire the day he'd arrived) until she'd seen him blast all five scorpions to temporary dust with a lightning strike so powerful it could have split a thousand-year-old redwood in half.
she imagines annabeth's trip had gone much smoother. surely sally fed her before she left or packed her with something to go. the trip back to camp is at least four hours from the upper east side on public transit, and that's on a good day. nevertheless, clarisse smuggled in some of annabeth's favorite snacks and a few sodas just in case. they'll either be up all night or they'll pass out on percy's bed and pray their dreams don't turn sour. )
[ the greeks are arriving, and percy has never been more anxious in his life.
well, he thinks. he can only clearly remember a few months of his life, some fuzzy memories — more like intuitions — from before that. juno had promised all of his memories would return with time, smiling indulgently even as he'd threatened to drown her in the little tiber. the truth is, he doesn't have any choice but to believe her...and they both know it. frank's tried to lift his spirits with some awkward jokes, and hazel hovers close, putting a hand at his elbow every time he gets dangerously close to spiraling out. he is unspeakably grateful for their friendship, for the home that the romans have given him. it feels awful to suggest that they haven't been enough for him, when they've gone so far above and beyond to watch his back and be there for him.
but there's been a hole that makes his chest hurt, makes his head hurt, with the depth of it. he knows he has a family out there somewhere. he knows he has friends. he even has the vaguest sense that he has a girlfriend, but her face and voice have been elusive. he's pushed himself to dizziness and nausea, trying to reach into that hole and take his memories back — divine influence be damned — but there's no use. he does his best to prepare the romans for the greek incursion, to make them willing to welcome the argo ii peacefully. he spends a lot of time pacing, trying to blow off steam in spars and swordplay. and when the day comes that the greek ship is arriving?
he sleeps in.
it's up there for one of the stupidest things he's ever done, though admittedly has to rank below That Whole Bet With Phineas and Stepping Into Muskeg. he's willing to blame some kind of divine interference, and not just because it makes him feel less stupid. it's the worst sleep he's had in months, all nightmares and visions and memories that slip away the moment he reaches out to touch them. he wakes up with a start, shouts a curse to empty barracks, and dresses as fast as he can, sprinting out to the forum. he skids to a stop as introductions are being made, breathing hard, and
and
doesn't realize how deeply he'd been hoping for a spark of recognition until he finds that there's none. he doesn't know these people. or he as good doesn't. it's so frustrating that he wants to scream. but he doesn't. he lets introductions be made, watches people drift off to eat and meet and greet, and only realizes at the last minute that one of the girls from the other camp is approaching him. there's something about the way her curls catch the sunlight that makes his throat tighten, but he
doesn't
know
why.
he says, hesitant, ]
Um, hey —
i'm....so sorry this got so far away from me.....sobs
which, for demigods, is nothing new - between their visions in the form of dreams, or nightmares of the monsters they've faced, or simply because their brain and body won't turn off, sleep was a difficult thing to grasp. usually, the best course of action to obtain it was sheer exhaustion, which - for better or worse - was usually pretty easy to find. and annabeth was exhausted, from the lack of sleep and the waiting. it had taken two days since tyson and mrs. o'leary had sent back word from new rome. two days until leo got the argo ii up and running well enough to take. days where there was nothing for annabeth to do but think and worry and strategize and-
well. not pray. not that her mother would hear her.
two days, and then it was time to take leo's baby across the united states of america. two days, until annabeth was faced with the very real and very humbling fact that was new rome. she had spent the entire trip pacing the deck, the burning behind her eyes a symptom of the days, weeks, months it's felt like since she's been able to rest - but also the knowledge of what was to come. her pacing only stopped when they were close enough to see it, close enough that jason had stiffened where he was on the bow, where leo had leaned over the railing to catch a glimpse. for a moment, it had almost taken annabeth's breath away - seeing the planned city, the neighborhoods, the buildings. a city was presented before her, and all it did was make her chest ache - there were no wooden buildings here, no temporary camps or homes. this was roman made, roman built, to last and to make it known.
part of her ached at seeing it, at knowing this had existed without her ever knowing, but the larger part of her focused - solely, singularly. percy is down there. the thought echoes over and over in her mind, drowning out any other observation, any other bodily need. it apparently takes over more, judging from the way annabeth jumps at the hand on her arm, sees piper's concerned expression. annabeth shakes her head, shakes it off, I'm fine. because she is - or. will be.
it takes too long to land, the whole ordeal with the statue and the protectors of the city and the soldiers that all come to meet them. it takes too long to make it to the city, to the crowd that has gathered to meet them. too long, too long, and annabeth feels every passing moment like a weight bearing down on her shoulders. she can't help but compare it to the sky, to atlas, to the time she had held this all together and waited, known that percy would be the one to find her, and now-
piper and jason take the lead with the discussions, because while annabeth walks at the front of the procession, her attention could not be further from the woman who greets them. she meets her eyes, recognizes something familiar in the pulled back shoulders and lifted chin, but annabeth doesn't care. annabeth meets the look with one of her own, frustration and anger and panic and desperation making the very air of this beautiful place feel toxic, and then annabeth is looking for someone else.
he is here, I know he's here, I know he's alive and he's okay and he's-
all she caught was a glimpse, barely a fraction of an image, of a figure with dark wind-swept hair in the crowd and she knew. her vision tunneled, her focus singular, and without warning or even words she pushes her way through the crowd. distantly, she hears the woman, the leader of these romans, say something about going to find food and talk some more and welcome one of their own back, but annabeth doesn't really hear it. doesn't care. because right then, the only thing that matters is that there is too much distance between her and him. that faces keep walking in her line of sight.
even his name catches in her throat. her lips move, all that she's been feeling bubbling up in her throat. percy! percy! here! percy, we're here! percy percy percy- but no sound comes out. finally, after what feels like lifetimes (but really only amounts to a few moments) she's able to make it through, close enough that she can see him, really see him. he's turning to her, too, and there is a physical weight that is lifted from her at seeing his face, his eyes.
part of her wants to laugh, wants to cry, wants to reach out and grab him and kiss him until they both pass out from lack of oxygen. he meets her eyes and her expression lifts, her body nearly lifts, and her mouth is open. ]
Per- [ percy. he's here. he's alive. he's alive and she's found him and-
and it is wrong.
his eyes are a bit wide as they stare at her, not out of recognition, not out of excitement, not out of sarcasm or pranks or even heightened surprise. annabeth has spent a lot of time looking into those sea green eyes over the last few years, and the last time they looked like that had been the first time they'd spoken. when his eyes had opened in the infirmary. when she'd looked down with jealousy and disdain and had told him you drool in your sleep.
it stops her in her tracks, the very moment he says um, hey — and annabeth is very nearly certain her heart stops beating. hey. hey. ]
Percy...? [ she says, she finally gets out, despite the dry, painful scrape of her voice in his throat. she feels that familiar panic well in her gut again, bubble and surge, from the pit of her stomach. but there is also a voice in her, hard and stubborn, that says no, no, it's fine. you've found him, it will all be okay. and that voice is the only thing that keeps her standing, only a few feet from him now, as she searches his face.
it has to be there - the answers, the problems, everything she'll need to fix this. everything that juno or hera or whoever had taken from her. it's all right there, so close, and yet all she can't move. ]
What is it? [ her voice is hard when she speaks, covering the fact it very nearly shakes. she won't let it, won't let anyone know until she can figure out how to make this better. ] What's wrong?
[ she says his name, and it feels like an electric shock goes down his spine.
she knows him. she knows him. she expects him to recognize her, and he's...what? he doesn't feel nothing. he feels the yawning chasm of emptiness more than he ever has before, the gap where something should be, used to be, has to be. he looks at her and feels so viscerally that there is something important that's been ripped out of him. that someone he should know, someone he should know is standing in front of him, and it should mean something, and it can't because a goddess stole his memories and his life and his identity for some greater good. ]
I...
[ for just a moment, her expression is blinding; and then it begins to collapse into uncertainty. disappointment.
(it feels horribly familiar, that expression. how often, he wonders, has he disappointed people? just based on this moment, just based on the last week or so, he has to think that the answer is frequently.)
and by the time she speaks again she sounds stern and angry, she sounds like he's wronged her and she's come to collect, she sounds —
no.
she sounds upset. except, she doesn't. but if he knows his own name, he knows that she sounds upset. ]
I'm sorry. [ holds his hands up, drops them, unsure what to do with them. ] I still can't remember much. Do I...
you turn, say to me "you're happy and you're actually seeing somebody" and you're both so proud of me but now inside my heart starts to scream.
( years go by in slow motion and blur all at once. he finds someone he would willingly go to tartarus with — someone who lights every dark spot he touches. an equal, a boy that can make him feel idiotically like, maybe, he belongs somewhere. ( when he's always felt an inexplicable pull elsewhere. ) someone who is beautiful, and wonderful, and fucking fantastic, okay? will is ... perfect. he's gentle where nico is unrelenting, strong when nico is weak, smart when others ( not him, of course ) are foolish, and beyond everything else: accepting. when he has every right to cower in the face of the depths of nico's darkest thoughts; his most vindictive, where justice turns to punishment. he is somehow, all at once, everything nico needs from a love after his first. he is true and unafraid of confrontation because he doesn't see a disagreement as something horrible, something potentially scarring. maybe that comes from not being a child of the lord of the dead. you don't see shadows in every downcast expression, every turn of a back.
( biance had walked away. percy ( and everyone else ) often forgot him and his contributions, after the fact. after he risked everything he had to help. )
but when nico and he grow up, grow apart; he goes to college — he's in his first year — things dissipate over distance and time, and the realization of how young they were when they fell in love and the different things that they want. will is always going to be a part of him, someone he checks in on, someone he'll love but he isn't ... he isn't happy. that's what nico tells himself. will isn't receiving enough, everything he deserves. and maybe two things can be true simultaneously, that they love each other, but neither one of them is fulfilled. not anymore. and nico chokes on this like indigestion for months, warring with it, wrestling it, challenging it until the iris messages are less when they're fixed, and the handwritten letters are sparing, and neither one of them really touches a cellphone, so. certainly not nico, who rotates out crappy burner phones when he has to ( for hazel or frank, or annabeth, who he has kept in touch with for all these years ).
nico takes the old-fashioned way via the interstate to get to san francisco, which isn't unusual. his only living sister and frank are in california. they're his family. why would it be weird that he takes his summer break somewhere different than new york? it doesn't mean anything. how would he know, still, to this day, that percy and annabeth are living happily in new rome? that they visit professor chase, that percy spends every holiday whittling at paul and sally to make the move so he can be there for estelle. it's not like he's gambling to see them with every bone in his body, as if bones can even be traded. hah, yeah, weird.
what's weird is that you can drive three hours and be in the desert and stay still in san francisco and end up with something milder, wind off the coast chilling the sticky, summer air. the noise never stops, which is a relief in that it strikes close enough to nostalgia for manhattan and long island that nico can't really be all that bothered that he's hundreds of miles from "home". sure, home is complicated. home is bianca's green cap, her laugh, her heart. it's the earth. it's dirt. it's percy jackson and his ability to shake everything out of sorts, beyond hatred, beyond resentment. it's annabeth chase, her storm gray eyes, her resilience. it's the people he thinks only tolerate him at camp half blood. it's the underworld. it's new rome. it's a compilation of all the people ( percy, annabeth, hazel, jason, reyna, will ) that have shaped him. it's everywhere and nowhere. home is where you know your convictions.
he's a mess because while he knows what he believes in, he doesn't know why. he says he doesn't know who he is anymore. he wanders. that doesn't include shadow-traveling himself into a ghostly shell, an illusion, a shade. he actually has to show up on annabeth and percy's doorstep, the gross way, the mortal way with his knuckles rapping on the door. percy isn't home unsurprisingly. the man has a tendency to be elsewhere when nico comes calling, wears his heart on his sleeve and goes tending to every minor inconvenience to well, anyone.
annabeth is there in lounge pants and a hoody over her sleep shirt, her dagger tucked into the double, connecting pocket, he's pretty sure. she recognizes him immediately and he doesn't know what she's thinking, but they somehow end up on the balcony, overlooking some garden, talking. nico holds a beer bottle he hasn't sipped.
she is ethereal in her essence, her movements, her bare face, her hair — he's never been able to overlook the reasons why percy loves her, from the surface level to the inner workings. her undeniable strength, her strategy, her ability to support an entire camp, to uplift her boyfriend when really she should have been the single-handed hero of the prophecy all on her own with how interwoven she was within it. sometimes he thinks about the things annabeth chase could have accomplished with the curse of achilles, by going toe-to-toe with luke, but he never gets very far because reality is what it is. )
I missed you, ( he says, with his arm bumping into hers casually. he doesn't flinch from the contact, doesn't scatter across the room to the farthest point on the balcony in a rage. he sits with her quietly in the physical contact, completely sober because the gain of hazel and reyna, and the loss of jason, has solidified him within his own self. nico di angelo can be vulnerable. ) Will and I broke up. Months ago. I've had time.
( time to conceptualize why, to grasp at every thread of what if. )
I know why.
( and it's only now, who knows how long into this sitting, that he takes a long pull from his room temperature beer. )
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after just a day, the only things left in the poseidon cabin to prove anyone had been there at all were a backpack and a worn out pair of sneakers.
after three days, annabeth practically shoved clarisse down half-blood hill and told her to go do something productive instead of destructive (clarisse had already decimated the training dummies in the arena, along with most of the other training equipment, scaring most of the new campers and forcing chiron to reschedule combat training until further notice while repairs were made) — and to take grover with her. the satyr had been crying for probably forty-eight straight hours, wailing about an empathy link or something and how percy was just blaa-ha-ha gone. clarisse could have protested, but she already knew that was a battle with annabeth she couldn't win.
after eight days, the so-called son of jupiter announced to the counselors around the ping pong table at the big house that if percy was anywhere, he was probably at the other camp: the one he'd come from, the one for roman demigods — which, conveniently, no one else had ever heard of, except for chiron, who apparently never thought the concept of roman demigods was relevant to anyone before now. fly boy couldn't even seem to remember the location of this roman camp or what it was called. clarisse hadn't been convinced by jason's switcheroo theory, but annabeth had. that small sliver of hope — even with the huge caveat that if percy was alive, he probably didn't remember who he was — got them through the next few days, their search continuing with renewed vigor now that they had some semblance of a lead. an actual location would have been better, but annabeth seemed certain jason would remember in time. (how much time? they must have both been thinking. annabeth may often be better than clarisse at masking her emotions, but even clarisse could see the apprehension taking root in her expression then. how much time does percy have?)
after twelve days, and a silent glance shared around the campfire, clarisse sneaks out of cabin five in the dead of night and creeps into cabin three, the interior walls awash with iridescent light that makes her stomach twist, her chest aching as she quietly breathes in the sea-salt air that lingers even still, feels the gentle breeze rolling in off the long island sound through the half-opened windows. percy's backpack and shoes are right where they were twelve days ago. neither clarisse nor annabeth have had the heart to move them.
the door creaks open behind her. she turns, offering annabeth a strained smile, like she's still trying to convince herself that this will all be okay — not just sneaking into percy's cabin, but everything else too: the great prophecy, hera's supposed exchange and the dangerous plan the goddess has set in motion, along with whatever else might be brewing on the horizon. she steps forward, taking annabeth's face into her hands as if to steel them both. we're going to get through this. together. then, without any hesitation, clarisse pulls annabeth into a kiss, their lips meeting with the same kind of wild desperation they've felt since the first morning they realized something was wrong — percy wouldn't just leave, not after everything it took to get here. not after the three of them had finally decided they'd rather all be together than apart.
last spring, something had happened between clarisse and annabeth while they'd been working together trying to solve the labyrinth — something neither one of them was prepared to acknowledge, even if they'd only kissed in the heat of some stupid argument. it hadn't meant anything then, clarisse convinced herself, except that she hadn't been able to get the kiss out of her head, or the way annabeth's face flushed like a ripe strawberry, her gray eyes stormy with bewilderment and maybe even humiliation, like clarisse had done it on purpose just to be mean. (she hadn't. couldn't really explain why she had until much later, after she'd spent many long hours confiding in silena about why she was pretty sure annabeth hated her guts again despite how far they'd come over the long months between summer sessions. silena had laughed, not unkindly, and told her the course of true love never runs smooth. clarisse hadn't understood what shakespeare had to do with anything until annabeth had confronted her about the kiss. shakespeare might have been a son of apollo, but he surely must have had his dalliances with children of war to be able to write such a poetic truth.)
percy was harder (but somehow also easier) to figure out. clarisse had known, in some way or another, that her feelings had begun to take root the day percy had helped her retrieve her father's stolen chariot. this, she largely remained in denial of, but every now and then a glimpse of him fresh from the beach would make her cheeks flush, or a joke would catch her off-guard and she'd find herself choking with laughter, or they'd be sparring and she'd have him cornered until it felt like she was reeling from staring too long into his sea-green eyes. all of this, she knew, was ridiculous. they weren't supposed to be friends, let alone anything more than that — but they were friends, so long as no one else was looking. percy had seen her at her lowest and chosen to encourage her to fight her own battles, to stand up to her father. percy had seen her grief over the loss of silena and chosen to defend her, to declare her a hero just as clarisse had. percy, despite the bad blood between him and ares, never once called her spear lamer or whispered horrible things about her behind her back. they understood each other, in a way not even annabeth could.
then, she'd thrown the happy couple into the lake. maybe to wash her hands of feeling anything about percy jackson, maybe to let go of whatever she thought she had with annabeth. )
We'll find him, ( she promises annabeth now. it's like a mantra these days. they have to find him. no one wants to find out what would happen if they don't. especially not jason grace.
she lifts a hand and brushes a few stray curls out of annabeth's face. this close, she looks like she's been crying. clarisse isn't surprised. percy and annabeth had only started dating officially in august (unofficially? they'd been dancing around each other in the most annoying tango of all time since long before then). it's december now, and clarisse is still trying to figure out where she belongs between the percy and annabeth of it all — what had started out as weekend trips into the city to visit friends (to be reminded that she wasn't alone, to soothe the grief ricocheting in her chest, threatening to send her into a spiral if she spent too long at camp haunted by the absence of the girl who taught her to love) had quickly, easily developed into something else, like the three of them were always meant to be together, healing some ancient rift as old as the trojan war — but she knows this, annabeth, is the only thing keeping her sane. despite being a child of war, loss isn't something that comes easy to her. )
Have you eaten recently?
( knowing annabeth, food was probably one of the last things on her mind. clarisse hadn't seen annabeth at dinner — she probably hadn't arrived back at camp until shortly before the campfire; she'd gone up to visit sally again to give her the weekly update (to apologize, no doubt, for not having percy home for christmas). clarisse could have gone with her — probably should have, only they haven't told percy's mom about ... well, this new thing between the three of them yet, and in some ways clarisse still feels like she's intruding on what percy and annabeth already had, meeting the mortal parents included — but chiron had asked clarisse specifically to accompany (chaperone) jason and leo into town to retrieve something or other for the ship leo was building. a quest! chiron had announced, then decided a different phrase might be more appropriate when rachel had leveled an unimpressed stare at him and said something like i am not issuing a prophecy for a wii controller. chiron had respectfully agreed but allowed them to set off on their field trip nonetheless.
after the giant scorpions attacked, clarisse realized why chiron couldn't have sent just anyone with the sons of jupiter and hephaestus. she'd fought these scorpions once before, back when daedalus was masquerading around camp as their new swordmaster quintus, but the whole monsters not staying dead thing made the rematch a whole lot more annoying. seriously, five monsters just for some stupid video game remote control thing? (what was even the point? leo had convinced chiron, somehow, that it was absolutely necessary for outfitting the argo ii and it'll be on sale! it's a feliz navi-deal! chiron and clarisse both hadn't known enough about video games to dispute this. rachel was probably laughing her ass off in her stupid oracle cave the entire time clarisse was fighting for her life.) she hadn't even completely believed jason actually was the son of jupiter (she'd been absent from that particular display at the campfire the day he'd arrived) until she'd seen him blast all five scorpions to temporary dust with a lightning strike so powerful it could have split a thousand-year-old redwood in half.
she imagines annabeth's trip had gone much smoother. surely sally fed her before she left or packed her with something to go. the trip back to camp is at least four hours from the upper east side on public transit, and that's on a good day. nevertheless, clarisse smuggled in some of annabeth's favorite snacks and a few sodas just in case. they'll either be up all night or they'll pass out on percy's bed and pray their dreams don't turn sour. )
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well, he thinks. he can only clearly remember a few months of his life, some fuzzy memories — more like intuitions — from before that. juno had promised all of his memories would return with time, smiling indulgently even as he'd threatened to drown her in the little tiber. the truth is, he doesn't have any choice but to believe her...and they both know it. frank's tried to lift his spirits with some awkward jokes, and hazel hovers close, putting a hand at his elbow every time he gets dangerously close to spiraling out. he is unspeakably grateful for their friendship, for the home that the romans have given him. it feels awful to suggest that they haven't been enough for him, when they've gone so far above and beyond to watch his back and be there for him.
but there's been a hole that makes his chest hurt, makes his head hurt, with the depth of it. he knows he has a family out there somewhere. he knows he has friends. he even has the vaguest sense that he has a girlfriend, but her face and voice have been elusive. he's pushed himself to dizziness and nausea, trying to reach into that hole and take his memories back — divine influence be damned — but there's no use. he does his best to prepare the romans for the greek incursion, to make them willing to welcome the argo ii peacefully. he spends a lot of time pacing, trying to blow off steam in spars and swordplay. and when the day comes that the greek ship is arriving?
he sleeps in.
it's up there for one of the stupidest things he's ever done, though admittedly has to rank below That Whole Bet With Phineas and Stepping Into Muskeg. he's willing to blame some kind of divine interference, and not just because it makes him feel less stupid. it's the worst sleep he's had in months, all nightmares and visions and memories that slip away the moment he reaches out to touch them. he wakes up with a start, shouts a curse to empty barracks, and dresses as fast as he can, sprinting out to the forum. he skids to a stop as introductions are being made, breathing hard, and
and
doesn't realize how deeply he'd been hoping for a spark of recognition until he finds that there's none. he doesn't know these people. or he as good doesn't. it's so frustrating that he wants to scream. but he doesn't. he lets introductions be made, watches people drift off to eat and meet and greet, and only realizes at the last minute that one of the girls from the other camp is approaching him. there's something about the way her curls catch the sunlight that makes his throat tighten, but he
doesn't
know
why.
he says, hesitant, ]
Um, hey —
i'm....so sorry this got so far away from me.....sobs
which, for demigods, is nothing new - between their visions in the form of dreams, or nightmares of the monsters they've faced, or simply because their brain and body won't turn off, sleep was a difficult thing to grasp. usually, the best course of action to obtain it was sheer exhaustion, which - for better or worse - was usually pretty easy to find. and annabeth was exhausted, from the lack of sleep and the waiting. it had taken two days since tyson and mrs. o'leary had sent back word from new rome. two days until leo got the argo ii up and running well enough to take. days where there was nothing for annabeth to do but think and worry and strategize and-
well. not pray. not that her mother would hear her.
two days, and then it was time to take leo's baby across the united states of america. two days, until annabeth was faced with the very real and very humbling fact that was new rome. she had spent the entire trip pacing the deck, the burning behind her eyes a symptom of the days, weeks, months it's felt like since she's been able to rest - but also the knowledge of what was to come. her pacing only stopped when they were close enough to see it, close enough that jason had stiffened where he was on the bow, where leo had leaned over the railing to catch a glimpse. for a moment, it had almost taken annabeth's breath away - seeing the planned city, the neighborhoods, the buildings. a city was presented before her, and all it did was make her chest ache - there were no wooden buildings here, no temporary camps or homes. this was roman made, roman built, to last and to make it known.
part of her ached at seeing it, at knowing this had existed without her ever knowing, but the larger part of her focused - solely, singularly. percy is down there. the thought echoes over and over in her mind, drowning out any other observation, any other bodily need. it apparently takes over more, judging from the way annabeth jumps at the hand on her arm, sees piper's concerned expression. annabeth shakes her head, shakes it off, I'm fine. because she is - or. will be.
it takes too long to land, the whole ordeal with the statue and the protectors of the city and the soldiers that all come to meet them. it takes too long to make it to the city, to the crowd that has gathered to meet them. too long, too long, and annabeth feels every passing moment like a weight bearing down on her shoulders. she can't help but compare it to the sky, to atlas, to the time she had held this all together and waited, known that percy would be the one to find her, and now-
piper and jason take the lead with the discussions, because while annabeth walks at the front of the procession, her attention could not be further from the woman who greets them. she meets her eyes, recognizes something familiar in the pulled back shoulders and lifted chin, but annabeth doesn't care. annabeth meets the look with one of her own, frustration and anger and panic and desperation making the very air of this beautiful place feel toxic, and then annabeth is looking for someone else.
he is here, I know he's here, I know he's alive and he's okay and he's-
all she caught was a glimpse, barely a fraction of an image, of a figure with dark wind-swept hair in the crowd and she knew. her vision tunneled, her focus singular, and without warning or even words she pushes her way through the crowd. distantly, she hears the woman, the leader of these romans, say something about going to find food and talk some more and welcome one of their own back, but annabeth doesn't really hear it. doesn't care. because right then, the only thing that matters is that there is too much distance between her and him. that faces keep walking in her line of sight.
even his name catches in her throat. her lips move, all that she's been feeling bubbling up in her throat. percy! percy! here! percy, we're here! percy percy percy- but no sound comes out. finally, after what feels like lifetimes (but really only amounts to a few moments) she's able to make it through, close enough that she can see him, really see him. he's turning to her, too, and there is a physical weight that is lifted from her at seeing his face, his eyes.
part of her wants to laugh, wants to cry, wants to reach out and grab him and kiss him until they both pass out from lack of oxygen. he meets her eyes and her expression lifts, her body nearly lifts, and her mouth is open. ]
Per- [ percy. he's here. he's alive. he's alive and she's found him and-
and it is wrong.
his eyes are a bit wide as they stare at her, not out of recognition, not out of excitement, not out of sarcasm or pranks or even heightened surprise. annabeth has spent a lot of time looking into those sea green eyes over the last few years, and the last time they looked like that had been the first time they'd spoken. when his eyes had opened in the infirmary. when she'd looked down with jealousy and disdain and had told him you drool in your sleep.
it stops her in her tracks, the very moment he says um, hey — and annabeth is very nearly certain her heart stops beating. hey. hey. ]
Percy...? [ she says, she finally gets out, despite the dry, painful scrape of her voice in his throat. she feels that familiar panic well in her gut again, bubble and surge, from the pit of her stomach. but there is also a voice in her, hard and stubborn, that says no, no, it's fine. you've found him, it will all be okay. and that voice is the only thing that keeps her standing, only a few feet from him now, as she searches his face.
it has to be there - the answers, the problems, everything she'll need to fix this. everything that juno or hera or whoever had taken from her. it's all right there, so close, and yet all she can't move. ]
What is it? [ her voice is hard when she speaks, covering the fact it very nearly shakes. she won't let it, won't let anyone know until she can figure out how to make this better. ] What's wrong?
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she knows him. she knows him. she expects him to recognize her, and he's...what? he doesn't feel nothing. he feels the yawning chasm of emptiness more than he ever has before, the gap where something should be, used to be, has to be. he looks at her and feels so viscerally that there is something important that's been ripped out of him. that someone he should know, someone he should know is standing in front of him, and it should mean something, and it can't because a goddess stole his memories and his life and his identity for some greater good. ]
I...
[ for just a moment, her expression is blinding; and then it begins to collapse into uncertainty. disappointment.
(it feels horribly familiar, that expression. how often, he wonders, has he disappointed people? just based on this moment, just based on the last week or so, he has to think that the answer is frequently.)
and by the time she speaks again she sounds stern and angry, she sounds like he's wronged her and she's come to collect, she sounds —
no.
she sounds upset. except, she doesn't. but if he knows his own name, he knows that she sounds upset. ]
I'm sorry. [ holds his hands up, drops them, unsure what to do with them. ] I still can't remember much. Do I...
[ diffident, ]
We do know each other. Right?
canon divergent future au???
"you're happy and you're actually seeing somebody"
and you're both so proud of me
but now inside my heart starts to scream.