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The synthetic moonlight slashes the rough cityscape terrain, hardening it until it looks cold and unforgiving, its dismal gray blackened by soot, the ground rusted with blood from one of the other tributes. The Cornucopia shines a sickly silver from where Annabeth looks at it, from an angle through the window. She’s trembling, the pain in her shoulder screaming at her, but she needs to look for Percy. She needs to. Annabeth knows better than to show her face, but it’s the only way to look outside without exposing herself to the Careers. It’s funny, how things have changed since training, since she met Percy. Without him, she would’ve been down there, right next to the Careers, sharpening a blade beside Luke like she’s done for years in the past.
But then she met Percy—insufferably humble, Percy Jackson from District 4, who volunteered in place of his best friend Grover, managed to score a neat eleven on his pre-gaming score, and denounced anything to do with the Careers—and Annabeth took one look at the Careers, at Luke, and ran from them to Percy. Faintly, Annabeth still wonders what he did to piss them off enough to get him a score that would paint him as the target.
No cannons have sounded off in the past three hours since Percy left to go and steal from the Cornucopia. It was probably the dumbest idea she’s had, but she’s willing to argue that being stabbed in the shoulder is not the best for working brain power. Annabeth knows any prospects of getting sponsors died the moment she left Luke’s side and the risk of infection is becoming more and more of a problem, so she offhandedly suggested stealing from the Careers. All the medicine she could ever need is tucked in their greedy hands.
It was a suicide mission, but she was already dying anyway.
But then Percy said simply, “Okay, I’ll go.”
Annabeth gaped at him and she struggled to get up, but he gently pressed her down against the blanket. She just gripped his shirt instead, holding on so tightly her knuckles whitened.
“Percy, no. I’ll do it.” She bite back the, I’m dying as we speak, trapped in her throat. She didn’t want him to worry any more than he had been.
“You can barely stand up without my help,” he argued and there was that righteousness in his tone that almost made her roll her eyes.
“I don’t want to lose you, Percy,” Annabeth snapped. “I-I can’t.”
Percy loosened her grip and held her hand with both of his. He brought it up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. She closed her eyes, but she still felt the tears streaming from her face. “Then you know why I have to do this, Annabeth.” He placed her hand back to her side and gave it a gentle squeeze before he stood up, grabbing his sword. “I can’t lose you too.”
It sounded like a declaration, like something more. Annabeth thinks it was.
And then he left and he’s been gone for hours and she can admit that she’s maybe half an hour away from a panic attack. She manages to stand up after an unbearably long time, but she can’t spot Percy anywhere.
Then, she hears footsteps and it’s almost embarrassing how she doesn’t slide into a defensive stance. How is it she knows Percy’s footsteps after spending so little time with him? Time doesn’t feel real here. Logically, she knows it’s been nine days since the Games started. But, God, it feels like it’s been a lifetime and a half. It’s still not enough, though. Not unless they both live till the ripe age of eighty, it won’t be enough. One of them won’t even make it past sixteen and, going by her odds, it’s definitely and unfortunately ever in her favor.
Percy opens the door, carrying a canteen in his hand, a little worse for wear, but he’s alive. He startles a little when he sees her standing and immediately goes to help her. “What are you—”
She clenches her jaw and says, “Where have you been?”
He gets her down to a seated position and shakes the canteen in front of her. She bites out, “What is water gonna do to help?”
Percy rolls his eyes and gently unwraps her wound. She hisses and grips at his arm. He’s murmuring I’m sorry underneath his breath when he places down the bloodied gauze next to them. He says, “Just… look.”
He opens the canteen and slowly dribbles the water over her fresh wound. She has to scramble and grip at the floor because goddammit that hurts, but then the pain slowly dulls into an ache and she opens her eyes, blearily taking in her shoulder. The wound is stitching itself up right before her eyes.
“The water has healing properties,” he explains, hands gentle as they clean away the dried blood. “I was gonna go to the Cornucopia, you know. But then I remembered on the first day, I scraped my palms on the concrete. I ran away and found a water source. I drank from it—yeah, I know, a little stupid, but it looked fine—and I put my hand in it and it healed everything. I almost forgot about it after… well, after everything that’s happened, because I didn’t even notice I was really hurt that day, but… yeah.”
Annabeth just gazes up at him, a small smile on her face.
“It’s an hour away and I figured I’d have a better chance getting it than fighting all the Careers.” He throws her a soft look. “I knew I needed to come back. To you.”
Percy looks frazzled and relieved and all she can do is throw her arms around him and hold him tightly. She buries her face into the crook of his shoulder and whispers, “Thank you, Percy.” His arms wrap around her waist, holding her steady.
“No problem,” he says easily. Her shoulder is a little sore, but she clings onto Percy like a lifeline. But he holds her just as tightly. Maybe they’re each other’s lifeline in this hellhole.
Annabeth takes in a deep, shuddering breath.
As long as they’re together, they’ll figure something out. They have to.