Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

i. 

ancient rome, 79 AD



Percy has a splitting headache when he awakens.


The cause for said headache is alcohol, for yesterday was Vulcanalia. The festival honoring the fire god was lively as always, wine flowing freely, laughter uproarious while bonfire flames leapt towards the star-speckled sky. Of course, Percy drank heavily, and is now facing the consequences.


He moves about his insula sluggishly, changing into a clean tunic and strapping on his sandals. He fixes himself a breakfast of bread and porridge, then leaves his humble abode for work.


The market is full of life this morning. Voices ring out from street corners, horses whinny, and fountains splash. Percy weaves through the bustling town towards the fruit and vegetables stall where he is employed. His employer is a temperamental man and will surely not be pleased if he arrives late.


Percy pauses in his progress when the ground begins to quiver, knocking over barrels and clanking carts. The commotion around him halts momentarily as everyone stares up at Vesuvius, the great mountain looming high above the Pompeii streets.


According to legend, a fierce monster, the belua, lives underneath the mountain. On occasion, the monster awakens, filled with rage, and shakes the city. It's a compelling explanation for the tremors, which have been increasing in frequency as of late.


After another few moments, everyone resumes going about their day, and Percy hurries the rest of the way to work.


The fruits and vegetables stall is small and rickety, tucked at the far end of a plaza. Bunches of grapes and dried rhubarb hang from the ceiling, while barrels and baskets filled with lentils, figs, apples, and artichokes line nearly every inch of floor and shelf.


As Percy approaches the stand, the harried vendor is haggling the price of a basket of onions with a customer. The vendor waves his fist at Percy when he sees him arrive.


"Perseus! You're late."


Percy wants to make light of the situation, but senses it won't go over well, so he murmurs an apology and ducks behind the stand.


"Pardon me for one moment." The vendor says, turning his back on the customer to speak to Percy in a low voice. "Make yourself useful and deal with this maiden, boy. We're about to receive a large quantity of lentils from Farmer Georgiou and I must oversee the delivery."


The vendor rushes off, muttering under his breath about "incompetent street riffraff" and leaving Percy to handle the patron.


"I apologize for that." He says, looking up from the ledger book at the young woman. Her beauty is disarming. She has hair like spun gold and eyes gray as the goddess Minerva's. Percy blinks at her, slightly beside himself.


The young woman frowns, evidently frustrated. "I told your employer, and I'll tell you now; I refuse to pay any more than 20 denarii for these onions."


Percy rests an elbow on the stand. "You'll find they're worth every last denarii. Finest onions west of the Mediterranean." The words fall from his lips easily, having recited them countless times. He doesn't even know if this is true, but the vendor says it's what he should tell buyers if they doubt the quality of their produce.


A smirk appears on the woman's face. She is amused.
"'Finest onions west of the Mediterranean'? Not a chance. This one is bruised." She points to one of the onions in the basket.


Indeed, there is a large brown spot on the vegetable. Percy plucks it from the basket and replaces it with a non-bruised onion. Problem resolved. "There. Are you satisfied?"


She wrinkles her nose. "No. All of these onions are mere hours from rotting. They smell foul and are far too soft. I'll pay eighteen denarii and not an ass more."


"They do not smell foul."


She grabs one of the onions and places it beneath his nose rather forcefully. "It reeks."


Admittedly, it does. Onions never smell very pleasant, but this one's odor is especially displeasing.


Percy sighs. "My boss will slaughter me if I don't sell these to you, and I can't die right now because I work at the amphitheater tonight. I'll…get you good seats to watch the gladiators fight if you buy the onions for thirty denarii."


The young woman's frown deepens. "You support gladiator fighting? You condone it?"


"I don't like it, but I need the money and working at the amphitheater pays well." Percy says, crossing his arms.


"It's inhumane! Animal cruelty, human cruelty, the sickest form of entertainment."


"It's unfortunate, yes, but–"


The ground trembles beneath his feet again, rattling the whole stand. The woman stumbles forwards with a cry, but Percy grabs her arm to keep her from crashing into a barrel. Her skin is soft under his fingertips.


"Deus meus!" she curses, righting herself.


Percy looks up at Mount Vesuvius, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The monster beneath the mountain is restless today. "Vae!" he remarks. "The belua is quite angry. Perhaps he did not sleep well last night either."


The woman looks concerned. "Very angry." she agrees.


"You know, I haven't seen you around this part of town before." Percy says as he flips through the ledger pages idly.


"I hail from Herculaneum. My father has a villa there. I'm traveling through Pompeii to see my brother."


"Intriguing. You must be a Patrician, then."


"I might be."


Her cryptic answer heightens his curiosity. "How long do you stay here?"


"You're terribly interested in a complete stranger you've only just met." she says instead of making an answer.


Percy's face warms. "Perhaps you're just an interesting stranger."


"Perhaps."


Percy wipes his hands on the back of his tunic and picks up the basket. "I concede. I'll sell these to you for your price. But…I'd like it if you went to the amphitheater tonight. If not to see the gladiators, to see me."


Her lips quirk ever so slightly. "Never for the gladiators. But for you…perhaps I will."


She pays, and he hands her the basket. Their fingers brush and eyes lock. Gods, her eyes really are incredible. Dark gray like the sky just before it rains.


"I'm Perseus." he says as she turns to leave.


She pauses. A smile slowly spreads across her face. "Annabeth."


He watches her go. There's something about the young woman, Annabeth, that makes him a bit short for breath. He's never considered marriage before, but he can picture himself marrying Annabeth. What a lovely spouse she would make.


"Stop smiling like an asinus and get to working."


The vendor has returned. At the sound of his voice, Percy swivels around. "I apologize."


Percy works diligently for the next hour, so exceedingly diligently that his employer agrees to let him take his midday break early. Percy pilfers an apple from the stand and sinks his teeth into it, wandering off.


He strolls around the town square, taking in the sights of his city. A group of children chasing each other run past, giggling and squealing. Two women make conversation as they wash their laundry in the waters of the fountain. Shopkeepers sweep the debris left behind from Vulcanalia last night.


Percy's eyes find Annabeth, the beautiful blonde, among the crowd, as if on their own accord. She's talking with another young woman, but notices him looking, meets his gaze, and waves.


An invisible force seems to pull Percy towards her. It doesn't even occur to him that she might view him as overeager. He wants to talk to her, walk arm-in-arm with her, see that smile transform her face again.


Before Percy can reach Annabeth, there's a deafening boom.


The ground shakes so forcefully Percy is knocked off his feet. He crashes into the edge of the fountain, his cry of pain lost in the raucous. The fall steals the air from his lungs and he lays gasping in the dirt.


A cloud of rubble and ash shoots into the sky from the mountaintop. Heat like nothing Percy's ever experienced before sinks into his bones. Agony claws at his chest. He feels the belua's fury and its wrath makes him welcome death with open arms.


Then everything is dark.

Chapter Text

ii.


europe, 1359



…it is with a heavy heart and the utmost regret that I inform you our dear friend Thalia passed on. The mortality consumed every bit of life from her, to the point where she became unrecognizable. She is in a better place, Annabeth…


Annabeth cannot bear to read any more of it. Luke's condolences may be her demise. Is it possible to die of a broken heart?


She sinks to the floor, head in her hands, the letter fluttering from her fingers. Sobs wrack her body. This must be confirmation she is destined to walk alone.


How much longer does she have until the Black Death takes Luke's life?


How much longer until it finally, blessedly, claims hers?


For what may be minutes or may be days, Annabeth weeps. She weeps for her father, who plague took from her first, nearly a year ago now. She weeps for her brother, filled with life until his final breath. She weeps for her friends, who all perished at the hands of the Black Death within weeks of each other. And she weeps for Thalia, her dearest friend, now taken from her.


It is an injustice that Annabeth should feel such profound loss at her age. She is still in her youth, yet she is an old woman, hardened and marred by pain. Her misery is not a feeling but a presence, looming over at all times, filling every bit of space in her home, taunting her when she is awake, producing nightmarish hellscapes when she is asleep.


After quite some time, Annabeth forces herself to carry on. She cooks herself a meager meal that leaves her insides aching with hunger after she's eaten every morsel. She puts on her kirtle and cyclas, laces her boots, and braids her hair. She cleans her dwelling. Its size was once suitable for her family, but now it is much too large to house solely her. The only slight brightness is she doesn't have to pay tax on it, as the collector passed away some time ago.


Annabeth has no desire to, but she knows she needs to find food. Allowing starvation to be her demise seems like cheating, painless in comparison to the suffering everyone else had to endure. With this in mind, she leaves home the morning after receiving Luke's letter. Perhaps she'll find some stale bread in the bakery. The baker perished two weeks ago, which is unfortunate because he delivered fresh bread to all the living townspeople every day out of the kindness in his heart. That bread staved off hunger for months.


It isn't just the tax collector and the baker; the majority of the town has died off. The once-bustling streets are empty, save for the bodies. There aren't enough people alive to bury them, so the lifeless forms lie in the middle of walkways, crumpled against the sides of buildings, hastily stacked outside the doctor's. As she walks to the bakery, Annabeth has to step around the corpses blocking her path. She avoids looking at bodies, as they are a sickening sight, skin covered in black boils still oozing pus.


Annabeth cringes at the sight of a young child resting outside the grocer's, still alive, but barely. He sits in a pool of his own vomit and excreta, deathly pale, eyelids fluttering. His mother, father, and family must already be gone. The thought of the poor boy spending his last moments of anguish alone makes Annabeth's heart constrict.


Does the same fate await her?


She won't indulge in these thoughts any longer. She's nearing the bakery.


The inside of the bakery still smells like fresh-baked pastries, but it's cold, lacking the usual warmth from the giant ovens in the back. The shelves are still partially stocked with loaves of bread. Annabeth pulls one off the shelf, then another, then another. Perhaps she's being greedy, but how can one be greedy in these circumstances?


She breaks a chunk off one of the loaves of bread and devours it. It's terribly stale but quite flavorful.


Annabeth's halfway through the loaf when she hears a loud crash from behind the shopfront. Her senses go on high-alert. Looters? Convicts? Or worse?


She crouches behind a tall barrel of flour, clutching the bread to her chest. Clomping footsteps draw closer and closer, and then the door opens with a creak.


It's a man about her age, eighteen. She doesn't recognize him. She surely would remember a person as handsome as he. Raven hair, green eyes, facial structure like a statue.


"Not those damn looters again." He mutters, bending down to stare at the footprints her boots left in the fine layer of flour scattered on the ground.


He traces these footprints directly to her.


What a fool she was. She should have thought of the flour.


The young man peers down at her and the bread in her arms. "You didn't have to steal it."


She looks up, ridden with guilt.


"The bread." he elaborates, mistaking her expression for confusion. "I would've given you some."


"I'm sorry. Who are you?" Annabeth asks, crawling out from behind the barrel.


"Jackson. Perseus. I worked for the baker."


"Oh, christ...I'm terribly sorry for your loss. The baker was a kind man."


The man, Jackson, looks at his boots. "He was."


"The mortality's going to get us all, in time." Annabeth says, backing away from him instinctively. Best to steer clear of everyone these days.


"Isn't that right."
Annabeth drags the toe of her boot on the floor, tracing lines in the flour. "It's dreadful. I feel as if I'm just waiting for my time to come."


Jackson sighs. "I often feel that way as well."


"I suppose you've lost everyone you care for to it as well, haven't you?"


"Unfortunately."

They stand there in silence for a long moment, until Jackson clears his throat. "Do you want to go upstairs? I'll find something to drink with that bread."


Annabeth considers his offer. If catching the plague is inevitable, she may as well spend her dwindling days in the company of another. That prospect is certainly more appealing than the alternative: isolation.


"Alright."


She follows him up the squeaking back staircase. The derelict living quarters above the bakery are cramped and tight, with low ceilings and floorboards that groan underfoot. A threadbare quilt is spread over the bed. Annabeth unceremoniously drops the bread onto the scratched tabletop and sits down on one of the rickety chairs.


Jackson pours a mug of ale for her, then one for himself. Annabeth takes a drink from her mug as she fumbles for something polite to say, grimacing at the ale's bitter taste.


She settles on, "This is a...lovely dwelling you have."


Jackson chortles. "It's not much, but it's better to live here than live on the streets."


"Tell me about your family." Annabeth says, taking another sip from her mug.


"There is not much to tell. Father went when I was an infant, so Mother is–was–all I really had. She worked as a seamstress. Married a man by name of Gabe Ugliano. He was scum and deserved to perish. Eventually he received his miserable death. Mother held out longer, but the mortality claimed her too, in the end."


Annabeth touches his hand with her gloved one. "That's wretched. My mother left me as well. I was young. I can't say I remember much of her. And Father was a merchant. We came to this town last spring, Father, my brother, and I. Father and Malcolm didn't live to see this spring."


Annabeth feels numb thinking of it now. She's adapted to the pain by feeling apathy. She supposes she has to. It's the only way to sew up the wounds.


"Would you like something to eat? Other than hard bread?"


"If you can spare me anything."


Jackson walks over to the chest beside his bed and opens it. "I have beans and cabbage, and a bit of sausage. Would that be alright?"


"That would be fine. Thank you."


"Of course."


He starts a fire in the hearth with a bit of flint, then returns to the table.


Neither of them speak. Jackson squints appraisingly at her as she drinks the remainder of her ale.


"You seem oddly familiar," he says at last. "Are you certain we have never met before?"


"I don't believe so. Not in this life."


They both fall silent again. The only sounds are the crackling embers of the fire and the wind shattering against the exterior walls.


"We should leave this town."


Annabeth isn't sure where these words come from. Perhaps some source deep inside of her. They spill out before she properly considers them.


"Where would we go?"


She likes how Jackson doesn't question the proposition, just the logistics.


Though she did not think about it beforehand, Annabeth immediately finds she has an answer. "Anywhere. Everywhere. We'll see the world."


"Why?"


"Why shouldn't we? We're going to die. For all we know, we already contracted the Black Death. I'd much rather die on a grand adventure than all alone in this miserable place."


"I quite like that idea."


He stands again and places the beans in the iron cauldron. Annabeth watches him stir the beans, add the sausage, then the cabbage. His shoulders are broad and his arms are strong.

Is this what life would be like if they weren't trapped in this reality? Preparing meals for each other, spending time together, sharing the most mundane of details?


Since she's been around Jackson, her misery has diminished. It's like he dispels Misery's presence just by being in the vicinity of her. Though he's nearly a complete stranger, she would spend the rest of her life–however much of it she has left–with him.


Jackson places a plate of food before her. They make affable conversation, planning their travels, discussing mutual acquaintances. Annabeth smiles more than she has in a long, long while. There's an ease in talking to him, an ease she's never felt before with a person she doesn't know intimately.


Once the both of them have cleared their plates, Jackson rises. The planes of his face are especially well-defined in the orange glow of the firelight.


"Care for a match of chess?"


"Challenging me to a chess match is an error on your part. I never lose."


"You must have never played a worthy opponent. That will all change tonight."


"We shall see."


Jackson draws a battered chess set from the chest beside the bed. While Annabeth arranges the pieces on the board, Jackson lights a candle.


The game commences. Jackson is a perfectly acceptable chess player, competent, but nothing extraordinary. He lacks the foresight to predict how she will counter his moves. Annabeth's strategic mind makes her uniquely skilled at the game, so after some time, she cries out, "Checkmate!"


Jackson scowls at the board. "That last move of the bishop was all luck."

Annabeth grins at him. "Simple for you to say when one of us is the victor and the other is not."


"You have such a maniacal glint in your eye. Gloating does not suit you, miss."


"My name is Annabeth."


"Well, then, you have a lovely name, Annabeth."


She brushes a strand of hair which escaped her plait behind her ear. "Thank you. Yours is quite wonderful as well. Perseus. Is it from Greek mythology?"
 He nods.

"My mother chose it for me because Perseus was one of the few heroes whose story didn't end miserably."


His eyes look beautiful in the candlelight. Dizzyingly, incredibly green.


"Annabeth is an unusual name." Annabeth says. "I often believe my mother and father couldn't decide between Annabelle and Elizabeth, so they named me both."


Jackson smiles. "An unusual name for an unusually beautiful woman."


"You are terribly handsome yourself."


"Why, thank you."


Now they both are smiling. Annabeth begins to put the chess pieces back into their wooden box.


"We ought to begin our travels in the morning." Jackson says. "Time is of the essence."


"How much of it do you think we have left?" Annabeth cannot help herself from thinking like this, though she wishes she doesn't.


Jackson ponders this for a moment, then says, "I do not know. It doesn't do to dwell on things of that sort."


"I would like to kiss you." Annabeth says, impulsively. "Not now, but soon. I feel as though I've known you for ages. It may sound odd, but I'm falling in love with you."


"I feel the same way." He moves closer to her, takes her hand, and gently removes her glove. He laces his fingers through hers, and there they sit, on the grimy carpet, in a momentary state of bliss while a disease rages around them. For while Perseus Jackson is holding her hand, she forgets her loss and her misery and her pain.


But good things cannot last forever.


Jackson's elbow bumps the candle.


"Oh, god, no, no, no, no…" He lunges to right the candle, but the action is in vain. The fire spreads across the carpet, the fibers only serving to fuel it. Then the bed bursts into flame, sending embers bursting into the air. Annabeth's never seen such a large fire before, never one so unwieldy, so out of control.


The inferno devours the nightable and the chest with a ravenous appetite. Annabeth backs against the wall as the blaze grows in size.


"ANNABETH! RUN!" Jackson screams.


Annabeth has turned to stone, unmoving, too shocked to flee. Jackson latches onto her wrist, his nails digging into her skin.


"WE'RE GOING TO DIE!"


Annabeth stares, transfixed, at the fire. The flames dance, twisting and curling, turning the walls to ash, destroying everything in their path. Hauntingly beautiful.


Jackson grips Annabeth's shoulders and shakes her forcefully. "Annabeth, please!" His whole body is drenched in moisture. The temperature is rising rapidly.


Misery comes creeping in, filling Annabeth's lungs with tar, bringing her to her knees. Her face is wet with tears and perspiration. "We're dying."


"Annabeth, no–"


The flames race across the floorboards.


"We will die. We can't escape."


"Don't say that–"


Annabeth feels unbearable, wicked, hellish heat envelope her body, and then she feels nothing at all.

Chapter Text

iii. 

france, 1796 

Percy's time is dwindling.

His crimes haunt him, for he has committed the worst of offenses. Not larceny. Not homicide.

Treason.

Funneling his fortune into the rebellion is a violation punishable by guillotine. Every franc he gives to the cause is another reason for the Crown to execute him, and he inherited a large sum of money from his late father which he intends to donate.

The Crown has their suspicions. They know Percy has a role in the revolution. It won't be long before they convict him and sentence him to death. He owes it to himself to spend the remainder of his days experiencing all life has to offer.

This is why Percy agrees to attend Jason's masquerade ball at his chateau north of Paris. The invitation arrived in the mail a fortnight ago.

The honor of your presence is requested at Jason Grace's Masquerade Ball at his estate in Oise.

27 October 1796

Répondez s'il vous plaît!

Percy would, under usual circumstances, never attend such an event as this, regardless of his impending demise. However, he's willing to make an exception for this particular event, as his close acquaintance, Monsieur Grace, is hosting.

Percy dresses for the masquerade in a suit of velvet, donning a cravat and silk mask to augment his ensemble. His carriage awaits him outside, and after he is seated in the rickety cab, the journey to Jason's estate begins.

Oise is not a far distance from Percy's home in Aisne. Still, when he arrives at Jason's, the party has already begun. Percy's chauffeur drops him at the porte-cochère, and a member of Monsieur Grace's household staff ushers Percy inside and through a set of doors into the ballroom.

Percy feels out of place upon entering the masquerade scene. Everywhere he turns there's swirling skirts and champagne toasts and hors d'oeuvres offered on silver platters. Music played by a string quartet floats through the air. Monsieur Grace stands in one corner of the large space, greeting his guests. Perhaps Percy should've stayed home. 

"Bonsoir."

A voice anchors him to reality.

Percy turns around to face the young woman who spoke. She is tall, with golden hair in a twist at the top of her head, and wears a gown of exquisite cerulean silk. A silver mask partially obscures the lady's face, but the features Percy can see are delicate and beautiful.

"Good evening." Percy replies.

"Je suis Annabeth." The lady says, extending a hand. It's slightly unorthodox, but he shakes her gloved palm nonetheless.

"Je suis Perseus, Viscount."

She smiles quite prettily. "Have we met before? You bear an uncanny resemblance."

He shakes his head. "I simply have that sort of face."

Lady Annabeth gazes around, fluttering her fan in front of her face. "This masquerade is quite something, wouldn't you agree?"

"I know the host, Monsieur Grace, well, but I feel a great sense of discomfort tonight."

"I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps a dance would ease your discomfort?"

"That is a bold offer. Traditionally it is the man who asks the woman to dance." Percy says, raising an eyebrow.

"Gender roles are but a societal construct."

"Then we shall dance."

Lady Annabeth is a proficient dancer. Percy is considering asking her to share a second dance, the sauteuse waltz, when another young man approaches them. He lifts the lady's hand to his lips, then bows.

"Lady Eugénie! May I entreat you to a waltz?"

Lady Annabeth's eyes dart from Percy's face to the young man's. "Lord Castellan, I would love to, but I've promised Viscount Perseus all the remaining dances."

This is, of course, not true. However, the odder curiosity is the name Lord Castellan called Lady Annabeth by: Eugénie.

Lord Castellan goes away, irritation scrunching his face. Annabeth audibly sighs, relieved.

Before Percy can ask her his questions, she touches his shoulder. "Shall we dance again?"

"I would be honored, but I didn't promise all my remaining dances to you. Do you have other gentleman you wish to share the floor with as well?"

"I wish to waltz only with you."

"Then you shall only waltz with me."

Annabeth and Percy dance until the lady complains of blistering feet. Percy finds a place for her to rest, and the pair of them drink champagne until they're both pink in the face. Percy's discomfort has indeed melted away.

"Would you like to step outside?" he asks Annabeth.

"Yes. The fresh air would be divine." 

She takes his arm, and he leads her out of the ballroom. The corridors of Monsieur Grace's home are a maze to navigate, but after a short while, they step out into the moonlit evening.

Lady Annabeth breathes in deeply. "It gets quite hot inside, doesn't it?"

"Suffocatingly so."

They stroll around. There are lush, exotic plants and marble statues to admire, and at the center of the courtyard there's a fountain of crystal waters.

Annabeth sits down on the edge of the fountain. "The stars are beautiful tonight."

She removes her mask, and for the first time, Percy realizes the full extent of her beauty. Lady Annabeth has gray eyes framed by impossibly long lashes, cheeks soft and round, full lips, a wide smile.

"The stars are not the only beautiful sight."

He picks a white rose from a bush to the left of the fountain and places it in Annabeth's hand. "For you, Mademoiselle."

Annabeth tucks it behind her ear, smiling. "Thank you."

Percy desperately wants to ask her his questions now, but isn't quite sure how to broach the subject.

Fortunately, Annabeth speaks first.

"I would like to explain why Lord Castellan called me Eugénie, but I fear you will see me differently if I reveal to you the true reason."

"You're…enthralling, Lady Annabeth. Nothing you say will make me think any other way."

She fiddles with her gloves, unwilling to meet his eyes. "At the very least, you should no longer refer to me as 'lady.' I am no noble, and I am certainly no gentlewoman. As for Eugénie–"

Loud voices echo into their ears from somewhere nearby. Annabeth falls silent.

"...his carriage is here. The viscount must be in the ballroom..."

"...we shouldn't send forces inside unless we must. Search the grounds first…"

Annabeth covers her mouth. "We must go inside. Immediately." she says, leaping to her feet.

"What are you talking about?"

"Trust me."

He follows her inside, more confused than ever.

"What is happening?" Percy asks her as they re-enter the ballroom.

"Dance. I will explain everything."

Percy places a hand on her waist, and once again they begin to waltz. They're slightly out-of-time with the other dancers.

Percy needs answers. Annabeth's evidently lost in thought, her eyebrows knitted tightly together, but he wishes she'd stop thinking so hard and tell him what is going on. 

Are they in danger?

Is Annabeth in danger? 

Annabeth's heart pounds in her chest.

The officers are here. Why? She was under the impression they would not arrive until much later, as it was supposed to be she who cuffed the felon, Mr. Jackson.

They must not feel she is competent enough to complete the job herself.

This thought both enrages and devastates Annabeth. What does she have to do to be taken seriously in this society? Will she ever be treated as an equal?

Annabeth knows she needs to tell the truth to Mr. Jackson-Percy. Anxiety has turned his face pale and twisted. He's a very handsome man, but this is not a handsome look.

Leaning forward, Annabeth presses her lips to Percy's ear. She'll be brutally honest. There isn't time to beat around the bush.

"They're coming for you. The Crown's officers. They know what you did."

A multitude of emotions pass over Percy's face: first confusion, then shock, then alarm, and finally, hurt. He tries to move away, but Annabeth pulls him close again.

"I'm informing you of this now so you can make your escape. I heard the officers outside. They'll search the grounds first, but enter the chateau next." she says to him, lowering her voice to ensure only he will hear. 

"Do you work for them? The Crown?"

"Yes. Please keep pace."

Percy frowns. "I presume they know I'm for the rebellion?"

"They have known a long while. I believe it was decided this should be the time to attempt to convict you because they assumed you would not be as vigilant at a ball."

"How exactly did they know I'd be here?"

The piece of music ends. Annabeth and Percy stop dancing.

"The Crown has a network of spies. They know everything."

"And you are one of these spies."

"I am."

"How?"

She narrows her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

A flush appears on his face. "Erm…you're a woman, I suppose."

"Does that mean I am less capable than a man?"

"No, no. It just surprises me that the Crown would recruit women."

"I hid my identity during induction. I only revealed my gender after they were aware of my skills."

"Oh."

"We must formulate a plan." Annabeth says, changing subjects as the opening notes of another song play.

They won't stay for this dance. Annabeth takes Percy by the elbow, pulling him out of the ballroom and down a portrait-lined hallway.

She stops him in a shadowy alcove.

"Quite cozy."

"Don't you start. It's the most inconspicuous location I could find on short notice."

Percy spreads his hands. "Please share the plan."

It is a relief Mr. Jackson isn't the one scheming. He's handsome and has a wickedly amusing sense of humor in conversation, but Annabeth's mind is much sharper than his.

"First, we must plant a false trail. If you are to make your escape, we must fool the Crown into thinking you are somewhere you are not. I suggest…" She trails off, her cheeks going pink. "You won't think me a proper lady for suggesting this, but we ought to convince the officers we are passionately in love and running off together."

"Will that not cost you your job?"

"This isn't about my occupation. This is about doing what is right."

He nods. "You are very noble, Miss Chase."

Annabeth carries on. "We will convince them of this by…touching intimately and kissing in the ballroom. Then you will send for your carriage."

"Touching intimately?" Percy repeats with a smile.

She nudges his shoulder . "Be quiet."

"My apologies. Please continue with the plan."

"While everyone thinks we are going back to your estate, we won't actually get in the carriage. I will pay your chauffeur a large sum of money for him to drive off and vouch for us if questioned. Then, while the carriage is off to my home, we will re-enter Grace's home from the servants' entrance and use the wigs and powders in Lady Grace's boudoir for our disguises. After we are thoroughly disguised, we will leave the grounds in a wagon and travel somewhere far off to the countryside."

"I see no flaws in that plan."

There are many flaws. They are taking a lot of risks. However, this is the best plan of action Annabeth can think of.

She sighs. "We just will have to ensure we are not glimpsed when we re-enter the chateau."

"Stealth is one of my strong suits."

"We shall see."

They walk back inside the ballroom and share a few more dances. Dancing with Percy is otherworldly. He must be classically taught, for he dances exquisitely.

Annabeth pulls him close by his shoulders. She knows they need to kiss. She's prepared herself to some degree, but she is still terrified, regardless.

She whispers a countdown beneath her breath for his sake and hers. " Trois, deux, un …"

At one, Annabeth crashes her lips to Percy's, stopping mid-dance. He falters for a moment, then begins to kiss her back with unbridled passion. Annabeth's arms circle around his neck, drawing him even closer, while he holds her by the waist. She's only known him for one night, yet she feels she's wanted this for much longer. 

Kissing Percy is utter bliss, even if it's just for show. 

Annabeth cracks opens her eyes to peer over Percy's shoulder. Just as she hoped, many have turned to look their way. The music continues to play, but only a few couples dance. The men watching are envious, while women look faint, fanning themselves and clutching their partners as they talk of the scandal in low whispers.

Once they've optimally shocked the partygoers, Percy tears himself away from Annabeth, breathing unnecessarily hard for melodrama. "Call for the carriage." He gasps.

Annabeth feigns swooning, clutching her chest. "Why, are you sure?"

"I've never been more certain of anything in my entire life, mon amour ."

" Mon dieu , we must leave for your estate at once."

"I will hardly be able to contain myself until then. I shall send for my chauffeur at once."

They run out, hand in hand, pretending to ignore the horrorstruck expressions.

As soon as they're out of the ballroom and down that portrait-lined hallway, Annabeth and Percy both begin to laugh. The sound bubbles out of Annabeth's chest and all she can think about is how absolutely remarkable these circumstances are.

Once outside, they duck inside the carriage house. Percy promises his chauffeur a large sum of money to follow his pleas, and soon the carriage rattles off down the path. 

Annabeth takes Percy by the hand and leads him back to the chateau. The grounds are crawling with officers. They may not have as much time inside as Annabeth thought. They’ll have to put on their disguises and make their escape incredibly quickly.

Footsteps are approaching. She's had herself and Percy taking a complicated route, mostly using trees and shrubbery as cover, but at the moment they are out in the open. 

Thinking fast, Annabeth pushes Percy behind a tall hedge. She throws herself onto the ground beside him. 

Leaves rustle from the wind. Annabeth doesn't dare to breathe. The footsteps travel farther away, increasing in pace.

Did the officer hear? 

When she’s sure the path is clear, Annabeth and Percy set off again. 

Through the back door they go, then up the stairs. Annabeth isn't quite sure where Lady Grace's boudoir is located, but she follows the scent of cologne until they reach the dressing room.

The room is opulently furnished, but Annabeth can't take long to appreciate it. Her eyes sweep the room, searching for Lady Grace's wigs. She sees them sitting on mannequin heads on the surface of the bureau.

Annabeth pins her hair up and puts on a black wig, then swipes a blonde one for Percy.

"We've swapped hair colors." Percy says with a chuckle.

Annabeth hardly has time for humor, so she doesn't so much as smile at this. "Where does she keep the powder and rouge?"

She opens the bureau's drawers until she finds the containers of rouge and powder. She dusts the powder onto her face with her fingers, then searches for a brush for the rouge.

Percy watches as Annabeth applies the red rouge to her lips.

"Why do women put on makeup?" he asks. "They look much more lovely without it."

Annabeth hums. "I don't know."

Out of the corner of her eye, Annabeth sees a flash of an officer's coat.

"We need to jump out the window." she says, forcing her voice to stay calm. She quickly places the rouge and brush back inside the bureau drawer.

"What?"

Annabeth slips off her heels. "The window. Open it. Now."

He doesn't ask questions, hastening over to the window. Annabeth stands close to him; she's nearly breathing down his neck as he stares at the ground below. They're very high up.

Annabeth squeezes his shoulder. "Make sure to land on your feet. Your body will absorb the fall. It'll hurt like hell, but it's better than landing on your head."

Percy nods shortly, then lowers himself out of the window and to the ground. He lands on his feet, loses his balance, and tumbles onto his posterior.

Annabeth meets him on the ground a moment later. She hears the guards burst through the door in the boudoir, hollering and loading their rifles.

Breathing deeply, she seizes Percy's wrist. "How fast of a runner are you?"

"I should be capable of keeping pace with you."

"Alright, then. Follow after me."

She studied a map of the grounds in preparing to attend this masquerade, so she knows their safest option for refuge is the barn. They sprint down a long path. Annabeth's skirts balloon around her, a constant tripping hazard. She eventually gathers them all in her arms, foregoing decency. Percy seeing her undergarments is the least of her concerns at the moment.

The barn is near the groundskeeper's house and the servants' latrines. As soon as she sees it, Annabeth breaks into a faster run. Looking over her shoulder, she doesn't see the guards. She prays they lost them.

Annabeth throws the barn doors open and leaps inside onto the mound of hay. Percy follows suit.

He sneezes almost immediately upon entering the barn. " Bordel de merde . Hay."

They lay there on their backs in hay, both trying to catch their breath. Every part of Annabeth feels alive and tingling.

"Annabeth, you need to go." Percy says after some time.

She understands why he’s saying this. Her head knows she should run. Her heart, however, demands she stay.  "I'm not leaving you."

"If the officers find us here–"

"You can't think like that." She already is. Worry claws at her insides, tears at her heart. An image of Percy at the guillotine flashes through her mind. 

"They might hurt you. You aided a criminal in an attempted escape."

"I won't leave you here. The officers aren't going to find us. We lost them back at the chateau. We'll wait until morning, then we'll run. We can catch a ride on a wagon, go to the countryside. You need me." She’s acting foolish. She is in denial. Their plan is absurd. She was caught up in the excitement of a masquerade ball and didn’t consider how ridiculous her scheme was. It would never succeed. 

"I need to know you're safe. Annabeth…I know we've only spent an evening together, but I'm falling in love with you."

These words take the breath straight from her lungs. "I feel the same way. That's why I won't desert you."

He sighs. "I'm not waiting until morning. We need to gain as much distance between us and the officers. We leave now."

"Percy, be reasonable. There's nothing we can do. No wagons will depart in the middle of the night."

"We'll walk on foot to the next town."

Annabeth sighs. " Mon dieu. Fine. Allow me to remove this wretched gown first."

Percy stands, brushes the stray bits of hay from his clothes, then extends a hand to Annabeth. She takes it. Warmth spreads through her whole body at the contact.

"Do you require help with the lacing?"

She turns. "It would be most appreciated."

Annabeth feels his fingers nimbly undo the lacing. She slips the gown over her shoulders. Her cheeks flame as she realizes that she's standing in front of him in her undergarments and nothing more.

Percy pointedly averts his eyes.

"What shall we do once we've escaped?" Annabeth asks, averting her attention from her rapid heartbeat. 

"Perhaps we can travel the world. There are so many places I have not seen."

"I would like that."

She hears the sound of hooves clomping outside. 

“Percy?” She whispers, her voice tight. 

“ Oui ?” 

“If we don’t escape…I want you to know that everything that comes after this will be worth it, because I met you.” 

Percy hears the hooves too. His whole face crumples. “It was an honor to meet you.” 

He presses a soft kiss to her cheek, then weaves his fingers through hers. 

The doors are thrown open. Two officers point rifles at Annabeth and Percy. Annabeth's heart sinks to her feet. 

"Pereus Jackson, you are under arrest for treason against the Crown."

Chapter Text

iv.

oklahoma territory, us, 1859

Percy stalks into the saloon, wiping the dried blood from his face, and crashes down on one of the barstools.

"Hit me with a whiskey." He says to the bartender. It's not a question.

"One Coffin Varnish coming right up." The grisly-looking man says, nodding once at Percy.

The bartender busies himself fixing him a cup of the deep brown liquid. Once finished, he sets it down before Percy. Percy wraps his hand around the cold glass and raises the drink to his lips.

"You look pretty roughed up." The bartender remarks as he drags a wet rag over the bartop.

Percy is quiet. He only shrugs, idly swirling the whiskey.

The man carries on. "Castellan again?"

Percy scratches his chin. "Bastard was asking for it."

"Ain't he always? Never keeps his damn trap shut."

Not even seconds later, the doors swing open, and in walks Luke with his posse.

"Speak of the devil." The bartender mutters.

Luke's band disperses throughout the saloon. A few of his men begin to throw darts, while some commandeer the billiard table, and three more approach the bar with Luke.

Luke tips his hat to the bartender. "Beers. First round on me for all these gents."

"Yes, sir." The bartender says.

Luke sits down at the bar, turns, and sneers at Percy. He takes a puff from his cigar and exhales, blowing smoke directly in Percy's face. "Well. Jackson."

"Howdy." Percy deadpans.

"Come here to lick your wounds?"

Percy doesn't say anything, just takes a long swig of whiskey.

"Just get out of here." Luke snarls, slamming his hand on the bartop.

"Public place, Castellan. You can't make me go anywhere."

"I'm tired of your smart mouth. Go join your family. In the cemetery."

Percy clenches his fist. "You'll regret saying that."

Luke smirks. "I'll pay the gravedigger."

Percy jumps to his feet, whipping his gun out. Luke saying these things directly after their brawl at the general store is like a blow to the gut. "Let's have a shoot-out. Then we'll see if that cocky smile is still on your face."

"That might be your last mistake." Luke says, then turns.

"Put those bottles in a line on the table." he instructs two of his minions. "Jackson and I are having a shooting contest."

The minions do as Luke says. Percy and Luke both get their weapons ready.

"Ladies first," Luke says, gesturing to Percy.

"Oh no, you go first."

Luke shrugs. "What the hell." He kneels down so he's eye level with the tabletop.

Luke hits the neck of the first bottle. It's a pathetic shot, really. A highly unskilled amateur would scoff at it.

Percy snorts. Luke scowls.

"Your turn, Jackson. I bet I won't see you do any better."

Percy doesn't crouch down like Luke did. He fires and manages to nail the bottle on the far left. It shatters onto the floor. Nothing impressive, but a far cry from Luke's failure to even fully break his bottle.

"I'm not so bad after all, now am I?"

"Don't even–"

"Is that really the best you boys can do?"

Luke and Percy both spin around.

Standing in the doorway is a woman. There's a Colt revolver strapped to her hip and golden curls tumble down her shoulders.

"An infant shoots better than you fools." she drawls.

The saloon descends into whispers. Percy has never seen this woman before, but evidently, she's made a name for herself here.

Luke doesn't appear to recognize her either. "And who are you, lovely young lady?"

She pulls her gun from her hip and cocks it. "Lovely young lady?"

"Do you even know how to use that?" Luke asks, moving to take the pistol from her hand.

The woman aims the revolver at a lantern hanging from the ceiling on the far side of the saloon, about thirty feet away, and pulls the trigger.

The glass bursts into pieces.

"Does that answer your question?"

"Anyone could make that shot." Luke says, though his impressed expression doesn't match his words.

She aims her gun again and fires. The bullet goes clean through the top of one of Luke's minions' hats. The man, Ethan, yelps and whips his hat off to inspect the damage.

Percy lets out a low whistle. "Damn, miss. You're a good shot."

The woman grins. "You should see me with a rifle." she says, then smooths her face. "You two gentlemen need to stop fighting like children and get your act together. It's a pathetic look for you both."

A wide smile spreads across Luke's face. "Care to go to the dancing saloon with me, miss?"

"Excuse me? No. I'd rather go out with a troll." She snorts. "And the troll probably has better manners than you."

The smile slips from Luke's face. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Did you say no to me? I'm Luke Castellan. I can take out anyone. I'm the most feared man in this town."

"You're kidding yourself." Percy says, rolling his eyes. "Do you get yourself off on these crazy fantasies?"

"You've got no right to talk like that to me, but I'm leaving you alone for now, Jackson. Just know, I'll get you one of these days. I'll have you at my mercy."

With this, Luke walks off, relighting his cigar.

Percy peers at the woman. She looks mildly interested. Perhaps she was somewhat intrigued by his and Luke's exchange. Or perhaps she just thought they were acting like schoolboys fighting after class.

She's quite pretty. More than pretty; she's a knockout. Percy knows men who would leave their wives and children for a chance to be with a woman who looks like the one in front of him.

Percy takes a breath. He may as well ask. "I know you've just rejected Castellan, but would you be interested in going dancing with me?"

She considers this. "Are you asking to pull one over Castellan, or because you actually want to?"

"I think you're one of the most beautiful and talented women I've ever met. You show a fierceness that a lot of women try to conceal. It would be a shame to not humbly ask you to spend time with me."

"Alright, then. I would be honored to go out with a handsome gentleman like yourself."

Percy grins. "I'm Jackson. Percy Jackson."

"Annabeth Chase."

He offers his arm to her. Annabeth takes it, and they set off. Percy's skin feels like it's on fire where Annabeth's touching him. He's never felt so instantly drawn to a person. He wants to be close to her all the time and frankly, this desire scares him. While the only priority of most other men he's met seems to be getting women, he's never cared to find a wife. But now...

The dancing saloon is a short walk away, so Annabeth and Percy soon arrive. The saloon is loud with voices. The air is warm. A few musicians strum on banjos and guitars, while another plays piano. The dancing tune is merry and energetic, punctuated by stomping feet and clapping hands.

"Shall we dance?" Annabeth asks, trying for a British accent but failing.

Percy chuckles. "I would be thrilled. Just don't attempt an accent again."

So they dance. Percy doesn't know how exactly to, but he moves his body in rhythm to Annabeth's and the music, and it's enough.

After several songs and one small mishap of Annabeth losing her balance and falling into his chest, (They stood there, in the middle of the floor, staring at each other while they tried to catch their breath, and Percy had never felt more attracted to anyone than he had to her at that moment) Annabeth's face is flushed bright pink.

"I've never had more fun my entire life!" she cries, throwing her head back as she laughs.

Though he knows it can't be possible, Percy has the uncanny suspicion of having been in this very same position before. Dancing in a crowded room with a wickedly beautiful woman, a little drunk and so alive.

Percy could stay in this moment forever, but it must come to an end. Hand in hand, he and Annabeth slip out the back door into the cool evening.

"I should get home. It's getting quite late." Annabeth says. Her voice is soft.

"I'll walk you."

They stroll along in the direction of Annabeth's tenement in silence, until Percy clears his throat.

"So, Annabeth Chase, what brought you out west?"

"What brought you out here?"

"I'm like a tumbleweed, never settling in one place. The world is out there to see."

"Ah. You have an adventurer's spirit."

"You could say that."

"My feet are awfully tired. Can we stop to rest?"

Percy shrugs. For more time with Annabeth? He'd do just about anything.

Annabeth sits down on the curb, swinging her feet out in front of her. Percy lowers himself beside her. The stars speckle the night sky above them, twinkling, bright.

"Can I try on your hat?" Annabeth's smiling, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"My hat?"

"Actually, never mind. You probably have lice."

Percy makes a face. "That wasn't very kind to say."

"I'm simply being careful. You probably haven't bathed in weeks. I mean, you're a cowboy."

"I'm not a cowboy. I'm a cattle rancher."

"So you're a cowboy."

"You say that like it's an awful thing to be."

She shrugs. "My husband was a miner."

Oh. "Husband?"

"I'm, uh, a widow." She murmurs, staring down at her skirt.

Oh. "My condolences."

"He died in an accident in California. We never struck gold, and he was a foolish man, thinking we could."

"You're not originally from here, then."

"Yes. I was born in Boston."

"Annabeth Chase, a Yank. I wouldn't have guessed."

"Oh, don't tell me you're a southern sympathizer." Annabeth sighs.

"No. No. As far from that as one can be. I'm a New York native. I voted for Frémont."

She raises her eyebrows. "You certainly don't act like a northerner."

"Well, I wouldn't get far out here acting like a Yankee."

"I suppose that's right."

"What do you think of the war?" Percy asks. He knows that war isn't exactly the sort of thing you're supposed to talk about with a lady, but Annabeth is no polite society lady. She has opinions. He wishes all women were allowed to think and vote as they choose, but of course, law forbids it.

"I think war's long overdue." Annabeth says.

"What do you mean?"

"They've been making compromise after compromise for years, since before you and I even came into this world, just trying to prevent conflict, but it was always inevitable. We've got maybe three years before the south begins to secede."

Percy nods, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Makes sense. There have been rumblings about secession in Carolina. I wouldn't be surprised if they finally left. And honestly, I hope they do."

"I want to travel back to the North and fight in the war. I know that as a woman, I would have to disguise myself if I wanted to join a regiment, but I want to be a part of it."

"I respect that."

The sound of boot heels on the ground makes them both look up.

"Well, well. Jackson."

Luke steps out into the road, his face cast in light from the dying flicker of a streetlamp. Percy's heart sinks. It seems all too fitting that Luke would interrupt them.

"If it isn't Percy Jackson and that lovely young woman from the saloon. You two look comfortable."

Luke moves away from the light, cloaking himself in darkness. There's the telltale click of him cocking his revolver.

"Go to hell, Castellan." Percy says, standing up. Annabeth stays close to his side. Percy doesn't doubt that she could defend herself, but she's got to be a little scared. It's nighttime and the streets are always filled with ruffians at this hour.

"I expressed my interest in that woman, and you turned around and went dancing with her." Luke sounds very angry and very drunk.

"I'm not an object to be stolen." Annabeth says, her voice unwavering.

"Don't speak. Nobody gives a rat's ass about what you've got to say."

Percy takes his own revolver from his belt holster. "Shut the hell up."

"Make me."

Luke shoots. Percy ducks out of the way, pulse leaping. The bullet flies harmlessly to his right.

"How could you–" Annabeth gasps.

"Jackson, I'll aim for your heart next time. I'm so sick and tired of you gallivanting around like some cowboy crusader just because you saved a couple Cherokees from a Yankee soldier out for blood."

Percy inhales sharply. "I saved countless lives that day, including yours. You'd do well to remember that."

"I ain't got to remember anything."

Percy steps forward. "You know what? I'm sick and tired of you acting like the best goddamn thing since the revolver was invented. This whole town is sick and tired of you and your gang of bandits parading around like we should all worship the soil your boots touch."

"Shut your mouth, Jackson."

Luke fires again. Percy manages to jump out of the way just in the nick of time. Annabeth cries out.

"Luke Castellan, leave Jackson alone or I'll…I"ll shoot."

She points her own revolver at Luke, a hard, defiant look on her face. Percy thinks he's never seen any woman look quite as beautiful.

A frown contorts Luke's face. "A lady shouldn't even be in the possession of a weapon like that. Just because you're a widow doesn't–"

"If you dare speak ill of my husband–"

"BE QUIET!" Luke roars over her. He stumbles towards her, his steps wild and uneven. Percy can smell the liquor on him from several feet away.

"Don't you try to come near me." Annabeth says, backing away.

Luke pulls out his gun. "I like you. You're a spirited one. I'd like to have my way with you."

Percy dives for Luke. "Castellan, if you lay a finger on her–"

"What are you going to do, Jackson? Call for the sheriff? Chiron's asleep."

Still smirking, Luke pulls the trigger. The bullet narrowly whizzes over Percy's head. He's about to breathe a sigh of relief when he hears a pinging noise come from behind him. It takes another moment for the error of the situation to register.

The bullet ricocheted off metal. Its path has been redirected straight at him–and Annabeth.

A second too late, Percy dives for the ground, screaming to Annabeth to get out of the way.

Her mouth opens in shock just as the bullet sinks into her back.

Chapter Text

v.

r.m.s. titanic, 1912

Annabeth's heart skips a beat as she steps onto the ship. Her European travels have been filled with adventure and breathtaking sights, so it only seems fitting to be making the final leg of her journey on the Titanic, the world's largest and most impressive vessel.

"Miss Annabeth."

Annabeth turns to face her maid, Piper. "Yes?"

"Get a look at all the people who've come to see the ship off. Unbelievable, right?"

Annabeth stares down at the cheering crowds lining the dock. "Jesus. It's so incredible to think that we're on the Unsinkable Titanic."

"It truly is." Piper agrees. "And on her maiden journey, no less."

"I heard that this is Captain Smith's final voyage. Isn't that fitting?"

"Oh, very."

Annabeth's lips curl in a sly smile. "Edward Smith's quite handsome too, in a silver-fox sort of way." 

Piper starts to giggle. "Good god, Annabeth, he's at least fifty years our senior!" 

Annabeth laughs as well. Piper may be her maid, chaperone, and traveling companion, but more than any of these roles, Annabeth sees her as a friend. She's always good for a laugh, can charm just about anyone with a smile, and has helped Annabeth escape punishment for her mischief on several occasions.

The ship begins to pull away from land, and Annabeth's pulse quickens. She always feels a sort of anticipatory excitement every time a journey begins, but this time is special, because she's on board the R.M.S Titanic. The grandest ship to ever grace the waters of the Atlantic.

Annabeth watches as the shore shrinks farther and farther into the distance, as the sky slowly turns dark. The salty sea air sprays her face, and she closes her eyes, her heart aching because there's a bittersweetness that comes with her passage on this ship.

She's returning home after her trip abroad, much too soon for her taste. Annabeth's thirst for adventure and excitement has hardly been quenched, but she knows her world travels will most likely end here. When she arrives in New York, she'll be marrying Luke Castellan, and then she'll be the woman of their household, taking care of future children and acting as a good lady in society ought to.

Her and Luke's union is solely to merge their equally affluent families, bringing more wealth and prestige to both the Castellan and Chase names. Annabeth will live comfortably, hosting parties and wearing expensive finery, but all the money in the world won't bring her happiness.

Still, she must go through with the marriage. Perhaps, in time, Annabeth will grow to love him.

After all, love is a difficult thing found and a more difficult thing kept.

Piper touches Annabeth's elbow, startling her. "It's nearly time for dinner. We'd better go to your quarters and dress you in your evening wear."

Annabeth nods. "Of course."

The interior of the ship possesses even more grandeur than the exterior. Lavishly furnished and exquisitely decorated with the finest materials, every area Annabeth passes by simply drips opulence. She and Piper step into one of the elevators, which deposits them onto the B Deck, where their joint cabins are located.

Annabeth's gown is made from deep blue velvet and silk. Piper tightly laces the bodice while Annabeth fastens on a diamond necklace and matching earrings. Silk slippers go on her feet and her hair is pinned up.

She was looking forward to eating supper in the first-class dining room, but she soon realizes she doesn't care to associate with the other snooty passengers. The food is delectable, however.

A few older ladies gawk at Annabeth while passing her and Piper's table. It isn't necessarily proper to dine with your maid, but Annabeth has never been one to do what's considered proper.

"Look at how unattended she is. Here only in the company of her maid," one of the women says, aghast. "An utter disgrace. In my day…"

The other women fan themselves as they walk out of the dining room, presumably to the writing room or the lounge.

Annabeth rolls her eyes, snorting. She raises her voice and plugs her nose to sound nasally, then mimics the woman. "In my day, that just wasn't done!"

Piper covers her mouth to conceal her laughter. "Annabeth, you're so rude!"

"That woman was an old snot. And besides, this is a time of progress! Women will be getting the right to vote any day now. If a lady can vote for president of the country, then she can surely travel by herself."

Piper seems torn between admonishing Annabeth for calling the lady an old snot or giggling. In the end, she does both.

After the meal's conclusion, they go to the first-class lounge. Piper takes up a table and begins writing letters. Annabeth tries to read, but the rocking of the ship is giving her a headache. She stands.

"I'm going out to the deck to get some fresh air."

Piper glances up from her paper. "Alright. Just don't get too close to the railing. Your father would about murder me if you fell overboard."

Outside, there's a chill in the air, and goosebumps prickle over Annabeth's skin. She rubs her arms, wishing she'd thought to bring a shawl. It's most unfortunate that her favorite fur is back in the cabin. 

The moon hangs in the sky unobscured by clouds, glowing creamy yellow, and the dark waters of the Atlantic churn against the sides of the ship. Annabeth can only imagine how cold the ocean is; hypothermia would be imminent if one were to fall in. It's a great comfort she's on the Titanic, top-of-the-line in luxury and safety.

Annabeth walks closer to the railing, ignoring Piper's warning. Piper can be such a spoilsport sometimes. As she looks over the edge, she's surprised to see a man on the deck below, doing the same as her. The style of his hat is current, the cut and fabric evidently of good quality. She'd guess he's young, judging from his posture and clothing.

"Hello!" she calls down to him, before she considers if she should be making conversation with strangers.

He turns to look behind him, then tilts his head up. "Oh, hello!"

He speaks with a British inflection, and he's quite young, probably about the same age as her, eighteen. And he's rather handsome too. 

"Wonderful night it is, yeah?" Annabeth remarks, talking loudly so he's sure to hear her over the crashing waves.

"Yes, the moon's a sight. I'd say it's a full!"

"I believe so!"

They both start laughing, because of the absolute absurdity of the situation. Annabeth's tempted to go down to the deck so they can have an actual conversation, but he says, "I'm coming up so I can talk to you, alright? It feels awfully rude to be hollering at a lady."

Annabeth goes to sit down on one of the deck chairs while she waits for him. Within five minutes, he appears before her, out of breath.

"Why, hello, again." Annabeth says.

"Hello. I'm Percy."

"Annabeth."

He drops down onto the chair beside her, folding his legs up to his chest. "You're even prettier up here." 

Annabeth smiles, fanning her face. "Thank you." 

She likes Percy already. She can tell he comes from wealth, like her, but she can also tell he has the same adventurous spirit as her. 

"So, how do you feel to be on the magnificent Titanic?" Percy asks. 

"I've never been on a nicer ship."

He nods in agreement. "Nor have I, and I love being on the ocean. Always on a boat of some sort. My dad's half convinced I'm part fish, that's how suited I am to water."

"Oh. Well, I hardly know how to swim." Annabeth says. "I can tread water in a swimming pool, but put me in the ocean and I'd surely drown."

"You really ought to learn. There's a pool on board the ship, you know."

"Really?"

"For first class passengers only. I'd offer to teach you, but men and women aren't allowed inside at the same time. Still, you can visit the enquiry office if you're interested. I think there's a charge to use the pool."

"There really is every luxury on this ship, isn't there?" Annabeth marvels.

"Sure is."

Annabeth rests her hand on her elbow and stares at Percy thoughtfully. "You know, for a stranger, you're remarkably easy to talk to."

"I like to think I'm a fairly amiable person, but I feel the same way about you."

An idea occurs to Annabeth. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

He considers this. "I've toyed with the idea, but I'm just not certain I can say one way or another."

"I think I believe in it. Now, I don't know if there's a god or divine spirit or anything like that, but something has to be piloting the universe."

"If reincarnation were real, I'd say we met before."

"Yes, I quite agree."

They talk for almost another hour before Annabeth turns into her cabin for the night. Her head's spinning and her stomach's full of insects. She wishes she could blame it on the sea, but it's that gentleman, Percy. She met him no more than two hours ago, and yet he's already managed to burrow himself deep into her consciousness.

Annabeth spends the next three days almost constantly in Percy's company. They read books in the ship's library, take walks on the upper deck, explore every nook and cranny of the ship. They somehow even manage to sneak up to the Crow's Nest.

The sun's just beginning to rise, turning the sky vibrant shades of orange, pink, and red, the twinkling stars fading into distant pinpricks. Percy daringly puts his arms around her, and they're silent, soaking in the view.

"This is incredible." Annabeth whispers. Her whole body feels it's on fire where Percy's touching her.

"We're on top of the world. Don't you feel infinite?"

Instead of replying, she takes his face in her hands and kisses him.

In her entire life, she's never been so swept up by feeling and emotion and sensation and romance. How is it possible that she's kissing Percy, whose surname she doesn't even know, when she has a fiancé back home waiting for her to be his dutiful wife?

Luke Castellan can go to hell for all she cares.

But what about her family? What would they say if they could see her right now?

With effort, Annabeth pulls away. "Percy–I can't. I'm engaged."

He doesn't look angry or upset, just confused. "Why would you embrace me if you love another man?"

"Because I don't love him."

"If you don't love him, then how are you engaged to wed him?"

"We've been essentially betrothed since birth. It's for our families."

Percy drops his head onto her shoulder. "I don't understand how you could agree to such a thing."

"My whole life, I thought marriage was supposed to be a thing of convenience. But now...now I'm starting to wonder if there's something to getting married just for the hell of it. Because you love someone, and you want to try and see if you can't make forever work."

Percy stares at her through his eyelashes. "You're not going to go through with your wedding once you get home, are you."

It's not even a question. He knows she isn't going to be able to, not after she met an almost-complete stranger who makes her feel more things than her husband-to-be.

"I don't think I can." Annabeth whispers. "Not after…this."

"Don't decide for me. Decide for you." he says, then straightens. "We'd better get down from here. The lookout will be arriving any minute now."

Annabeth thinks of his words that morning, while she's getting dressed for breakfast, while she tries to make conversation with Piper over the meal, in the lounge that afternoon as she reads a novel.

"You seem quite taken with that Percy." Piper comments, looking up from her own book.

Annabeth sighs. "I could fall in love with him, I think."

"Be careful, Annabeth. You know Mr. Castellan's waiting at home for you."

"I don't want to marry him, Piper."

Piper raises her eyebrows. "You're not about to throw away your entire future and infuriate your family for some boy you've only just met, are you?"

"It isn't like that at all, Piper. I haven't wanted to be with Luke for quite some time now. I'm only just now realizing."

"If you're not going to spend the rest of your life with him, then what is your plan?" Piper isn't being judgmental or critical, simply curious.

Annabeth shrugs, leaning back against the cushion of her seat. "I don't know, and it's the most thrilling thing. I want to travel. Experience all life has to offer, before I even consider settling down."

"And when you go on all these adventures, where will I be?" Piper asks, a teasing lilt to her voice.

"You'll be right there beside me, of course. You're my dearest friend."

"Who also happens to be your maid."

"Actually, I've been thinking about that. When I break the news to mother and father, they'll surely remove me from the family fortune. I don't know if you're planning on staying in their employment, but...I was hoping you'd stay by my side. As my friend, not as my servant."

Piper smiles. "I'd very much like that."

For the rest of the afternoon, she and Piper read. They eat a scrumptious meal consisting of several rich courses, and then Annabeth retires to her room, quite tired and full. She writes a few letters in her cabin, addressed to various friends she made during her travels, then changes into her nightclothes and slips into bed.

Annabeth falls into a deep sleep, only to be awoken by a loud crash.

"Did you hear that?" Piper asks, poking her head into Annabeth's room a few moments later.

Annabeth nods, wringing her hands nervously. "What do you think it was?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps a problem with the engine?"

"It sounded like it came from outside the ship."

Voices ring out in the hallways. It seems Annabeth and Piper weren't the only ones startled by the noise.

Annabeth puts on a bathrobe and slippers. There's no way she'll be sleeping, not until she learns the source of the concerning sound. She tries to pick up her book, but the words on the pages do nothing to ease her mind.

There comes a sharp rap on the door. It's one of the ship attendants. He appears calm, but Annabeth notices the way his eyes dart back and forth, signaling inner turmoil.

"Ladies, please don't panic, but we ask you to put on your life jackets and report to the upper deck."

"Whatever is the reason?" Annabeth asks.

The man hesitates, but Annabeth glares at him until he answers with a long sigh. "I believe the ship came in contact with an iceberg."

Panic seizes Annabeth's chest. It's a physical sensation, her blood curdling, her heartbeat stuttering. She tries to keep her worry inside, but she's sure it's evident on her face.

"We'll do just that, sir." Piper says, her voice only wobbling slightly.

Annabeth moves through the motions as if in a trance. She's always craving excitement, but this is exactly the wrong sort.

On the deck is absolute chaos. Annabeth wants to fall to her knees and cry like a small child. She's so scared. What if the ship capsizes? The Unsinkable Titanic, sinking. It shouldn't be possible, yet here the shipworkers are, beginning to load the lifeboats.

"Come on, get in." Piper says, gently nudging Annabeth towards the boat before them.

Annabeth freezes. Percy. Where is he?

"Piper, get in without me. I have to find Percy."

"Annabeth, don't be ridiculous." Tears are shining in Piper's eyes. She's as frightened as Annabeth is, if not more. "Don't be a fool."

"I said, I have to find Percy."

"Why? Why, Annabeth? I can't let you do this!" Piper cries.

"I need to know that you're safe, Piper. You're my best friend."

"And you're mine! I need to know that you're safe."

Annabeth's instincts are telling her to get in the boat with Piper, but she just can't bring herself to do it.

"I don't understand why you're risking your life to be with a man you hardly know."

"Sometimes it's worth taking a chance." Annabeth says, squeezing Piper's shoulder. "Sometimes you have to try because maybe forever is right now."

Piper sniffles, wiping at her eyes. "That doesn't even make sense."

Annabeth laughs through her own tears. "I'll see you soon, Piper. Very soon. This isn't goodbye."

With this, Annabeth presses back through the frantic crowds. Where would Percy be? He's far too noble to get in one of the boats until every other person on the ship has, so he must be somewhere on the deck.

The wood is slippery from water. Annabeth skids into the railing and manages to not fall over. Her slippers are soaked entirely through, her toes cold as ice. She's going to remember her misery on this night for the rest of her lifetime. 

"Annabeth!"

Percy!

Annabeth breaks into a run in the direction she heard his voice. "Percy?"

He finds her a moment later. "Annabeth, you beautiful, stupid fool! Why aren't you in one of the lifeboats?" he asks, cradling her face in his hands.

She kisses him, hard, then pulls away. "I was looking for you."

"You need to get in one of the rafts. There isn't enough of them for everyone."

Annabeth scrunches her face. "What are you talking about?"

"There's only enough for about half the passengers. Not everyone will make it off this ship alive."

Annabeth opens her mouth to reply, but a loud voice causes the words to die in her throat.

"This is the last one!"

Annabeth knows it's horribly, horribly selfish, but she tugs on Percy's hand and scrambles to their final hope of getting off this ship. "Come on, climb in!"

"Annabeth, there's women and children still...I can't—"

Annabeth pulls as hard as she can, and Percy staggers forward into the life raft, nearly falling on his face. There's such a surge of others trying to board as well that it's now impossible for Percy to haul himself out.

She's going to hell for this, but good god, she needs Percy here to help her get through.

He squeezes her hand. His features are tight, his jaw set. Percy's angry with her, furious, but she did what she had to. Tears pour down her face and she's so, so terrible, but she couldn't leave him on that ship to die. She couldn't. She wouldn't have been able to live with herself if she knew she could've done something to save him and didn't.

Nobility be damned, she's in love, and love makes us all do things we normally wouldn't.

They try to lower the boat into the water, but more passengers are climbing in, throwing themselves over the sides of the ship into the raft. Annabeth's heart is about to burst out of her chest.

"The boat can't bear any more weight! You're going to capsize the damn thing!" she yells, but nobody seems to hear. There's children crying, grown men crying. And the screaming…the screams rip through Annabeth's soul.

Still more people try to cram onto the boat. It begins to inch down towards the ocean, but there's too many people inside. Annabeth grips Percy's hand for dear life. They're going to die they're going to die they're going to die.

She's too young to die. She's young and beautiful and in love and too full of life to die. Yet here she is, on a too-full boat, hearing the wood planks snap. Here she is, surrounded on all sides by people, so many people that she feels she may suffocate. The only thing tethering her to reality is Percy's palm in hers. He rubs his thumb in soothing circles, and she focuses on this, not her impending doom, not the boat, suspended far too high above the water. She wonders if she'll even survive the fall.

"Promise you won't let go." Annabeth croaks out to Percy.

"Never. I would never."

And now she's laughing. Maybe she's finally cracked and gone insane. This is all a cruel joke. Life is a cruel joke. This must be some divine punishment for her selfishness.

"We're going to die, aren't we?" she says, speaking the words she's suspected all along. 

Percy somehow manages a smile for her. "It'll be alright, Annabeth."

She wants to scream at whatever god or gods exist, whoever's pulling the strings of the universe, to take mercy on her. If not her, then Percy. He deserves to live more than she, for bringing her comfort when they're on the brink of death, for smiling even when his face is slick with tears.

Annabeth hears a sickening crack, and then gravity has no hold on her anymore, and then she's cold. So, so, so cold.

The last thing she registers before the ice overtakes her is that Percy's fingers are still intertwined with hers.

Chapter Text

vi. 

indianapolis, us, 1932 

Annabeth clutches her purse tightly in one hand and her umbrella in the other as she walks down the sidewalk. The clouds in the sky above are dark, warning of the rain that’s soon to fall.  

Today was a busy day at work. Annabeth’s an event planner, coordinating weddings for frugal young women who want their ceremony to be tasteful yet inexpensive. It often is a tedious job, especially when ladies who had dreamt of a fairytale wedding their entire lives break down crying upon realizing that they simply can’t afford it. 

Annabeth’s fortunate to even have a job at all, so she tries to be grateful. She could be one of the jobless, crouching in one of the Hoovervilles. Instead, she’s heading home to her apartment. It’s nothing much, just a cheap studio flat, but it’s hers. 

She waits at the crosswalk for the light to change so she can reach the bus stop. Rain’s about to come, the wind whipping signs and leaves around, and Annabeth would like to be on the bus before the skies open up. 

A woman standing on the sidewalk smiles a little in greeting at Annabeth. But when Annabeth smiles back, the woman turns ashen, as if she’s seen a ghost. 

The lady is about forty, with warm brown skin and a rather stylish haircut she’s most likely done herself.  (Who can afford to pay a barber nowadays?) Annabeth’s a little taken aback by how the woman steps towards her, getting so close that Annabeth can see every wrinkle and gray hair. Annabeth’s more taken aback, though, by the woman’s tears. 

Covering her mouth, the woman sighs. Her brown eyes glitter with sadness. “My lord…you look just like an old friend of mine.” 

Annabeth isn’t quite sure how to respond, so she just smiles sadly. “Really?” 

“You really do have nearly the same face. Even the eyes…but your hair is short, and hers was always long…” she reaches out, as if to touch Annabeth’s curls, then draws her hand back, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry.” 

The light changes, and the woman hurries across the street before Annabeth can say anything, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief she extracts from her purse. 

Annabeth crosses as well. She stops at the bus stop and fiddles with her purse strap. Thunder rumbles in the distance. She hopes the bus will come soon. 

There’s a man standing here as well, a cardboard box tucked under his arm. His eyes are red and puffy like he’s been crying. Annabeth doesn’t want to stare at him for long, not wanting to seem rude, but there’s something about this man that makes it hard to look away. 

The first droplets of rain sprinkle from the clouds, and Annabeth curses. She fumbles for her umbrella and pops it open. The man swears as well and shifts the box in his arms. 

“Do you want to stand with me?” Annabeth asks, stepping closer. 

He shakes his head. “I could hardly…it’s your umbrella, and you’re a lady. It would be impolite.” 

Still, he’s shivering. The rain begins to fall harder, pattering on the top of Annabeth’s umbrella and soaking through the man’s jacket. That jacket’s a threadbare thing, patched many times at the elbows and shoulders. 

Despite the man’s refusal, Annabeth offers him the umbrella again. “Please, I insist. You’ll catch a cold.” 

There’s a loud crash of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning. The rain comes down harder still. The man looks from Annabeth’s face to her umbrella and exhales through his nose. 

“Alright, then. Thank you.” 

He moves to stand under the canopy of the umbrella. He smells quite nice and she can feel warmth radiating off his skin. His hair is dark and his eyes are green. 

“I’m Annabeth.” Annabeth says after a silence stretches between them. 

“Percy.” 

She eyes the box in his hands and the tear tracks still faintly visible on his cheeks. He’s likely just lost his job. Laid off, as so many have been. Annabeth’s heart aches with pity. She hopes he doesn’t have a family, a wife and children he provides for. 

And perhaps she doesn’t just hope he isn’t married with children because she worries for their financial status. Percy’s very handsome. She hasn’t dated since high school, but this man before her makes her think of courting someone again. 

She doesn’t say anything else to Percy until the bus pulls up to the stop. She climbs up the stairs and pays the fare, then sits down. Much to her surprise, Percy takes the seat beside her. 

Annabeth wants to say something to him, she really does. She just isn’t sure how to initiate a conversation. 

In the end, Percy’s the one who speaks first. 

“So, Annabeth, what brings you out and about on this dreary afternoon?” 

“Work. I’m one of the lucky few to still be employed.” 

Percy stares at the window, quiet again. Annabeth watches the raindrops slip down the glass as well. The bus rattles beneath her feet and jostles her from side to side as it veers around street corners. 

“You’ve just lost your job, haven’t you?” Annabeth finds herself asking. 

“...yes. This morning, actually. My boss…he can’t afford to keep me on anymore.” 

“I’m sorry. That’s…truly unfortunate.” 

He nods shortly. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I…I guess I’ll have to search for somewhere else to work. Though I’m not sure if anyone is hiring nowadays.” 

The Depression truly is just that. A dark cloud not unlike the ones in the sky today, casting shadows over everything that was good. Turning everything gray with sadness. 

Letting the Depression depress you is easy. Finding cracks of light in the darkness is difficult, but oh-so rewarding. 

“You know, I think they’re hiring at the cinema down the street from my apartment.” 

Percy perks up at this. “Really?” 

“They just put the sign in the window this morning. You’ll have to go today, though, if you have any chance of getting employed there.” 

A small smile brightens his entire face. He’s exponentially more handsome when he smiles, Annabeth decides.

 “I am so very grateful. I could kiss you. Thank you. Your kindness…” 

Annabeth begins to smile as well. “In times like these, sometimes kindness is all you have to give.” 

When Percy gets off the bus, the smile remains on her face. She watches Percy walk across the street, his strides long and determined. She lets her hopes soar. He’s going to get that job at the cinema and then maybe she’ll use some of her hard-earned savings to purchase a ticket from the counter he’ll be working, and perhaps– 

A car plows directly into Percy. 

The breath is stolen from Annabeth’s lungs and that gray sadness returns, snuffing out the flicker of light. 

Chapter Text

vii. 

swiss alps, 1948

The rickety chairlift carries Percy up the mountain. Below him, the snow glitters in the morning sunlight, its glare nearly blinding, and Percy shields his eyes. Beside him, Jason swings his legs back and forth excitedly. 

“I can’t wait to hit the slopes.” Jason says, pushing his goggles onto his face. 

Percy sighs. “We both know I’ll be on the bunny slope.” 

“You’ll get the hang of skiing quickly, Perce. It’s really easy. As long as you don’t fall into a snowdrift and either catch your death or have the cold seep right through your pants and turn your ass to ice.” 

“What a reassuring thought.” 

Percy only agreed to stay with Jason and his family at their winter home because the alternative was spending the holidays with his wretched stepdad. The weather conditions yesterday and the day before were unfavorable for skiing, but they’re perfect this morning, so here Percy is, halfway up a mountain while a bitter chill whistles through the thin air. 

Maybe he’ll get altitude sickness like Leo and won’t have to ski. Leo and Jason’s sister called him a sissy for hesitating when Jason begged Percy to strap on his skis and join him, but Percy’s a little terrified and very much regretting his decision to forgo reading comics with Leo for this. 

He nearly falls onto his rear trying to get off the ski lift when it deposits them at the top of the mountain. This isn’t even the tallest slope, not by a long shot. It’s only a few steps up from the baby slopes, which Percy refuses to ski, because he does at least have a bit of dignity. 

Still, after he nearly crashes into a tree, he’s forced to rethink things, and the next day, covered in bruises and sore as hell from the previous morning, he approaches the instructor at the damn bunny slope. He can hear Leo and Jason cackling as they travel farther up to try one of the more advanced drops. 

Percy’s the oldest person here, besides the instructor and a few parents. Most of the children are under the age of ten, and they seem to be more skilled than he is, which is extremely embarrassing. Honestly, this whole experience is embarrassing. 

The instructor is a girl about his age. She’s wearing a pink parka and her curly hair is in a high ponytail. This stands out to him because short hair seems to be all the rage at the moment, at least back in America. 

“Hello,” Percy says, clearing his throat. He leans on one of his ski poles and forces himself to make eye contact. “I…can you help me?” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a little old for the bunny hill?” she asks in a posh English accent. 

“I don’t know how to ski, and yesterday went so awfully that I thought I’d be better off starting with the most basic slope.” 

“Oh, I see. Though I don’t understand why you’d come to the Alps if you’ve never skied before.” 

“I’m staying with a friend.” 

“Mmm. So, you want me to teach you?” 

He shrugs. “That would be great. My friends won’t stop poking fun at me.” 

“Well, you’re a teenage boy on the bunny slopes. It’s quite funny.” 

“That's rude.” 

She giggles, and steps closer. “For starters, you’re holding your poles all wrong.” 

Percy looks down. “I am?” 

“You need to keep your wrists straight. Use your arms and shoulders to move the poles.” 

“Oh?” 

“Here, I’ll help.” She comes around behind him and adjusts his grip. She’s wearing thick gloves, but Percy still burns up at her touch. A pretty girl’s never been this close to him before. 

He clears his throat, now tongue-tied. “Thanks.” 

The girl’s gray-eyed gaze is sharp as she gives him a once-over. “Don’t keep your knees locked, either. And make sure your elbows point out.” 

He fixes himself again. “Am I good now?” 

“Better. Yes.” 

Percy fiddles with his goggles’ straps. “Now do I just…push off and go? Because yesterday I just sort of threw myself down the side of the mountain and that didn’t end well for me, so is there, like, a technique?” 

She giggles a little again, then smooths out her expression, voice reassuming that crisp, instructive tone. “You’ll want to make sure your weight is distributed correctly, and don’t lean sharply forward. Also, keep your skis straight and never cross them over each other.” 

“Okay…” 

She reaches out to pat him on the shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll do great. It really isn’t too difficult at all, once you’ve mastered the basics.” She stares at him for a moment, bites her lip, then asks, “So, uh, how long will you be staying here?” 

“The next week and a half, ‘til the fifth. What about you?” 

“I’m actually here all winter.” 

Percy nearly stumbles over his next words. “Maybe…I’ll see you again? Sometime this week or next? When we’re not on the bunny hill in the freezing cold in twenty layers of clothing?” 

His awkwardness draws a full-bodied laugh out of her. It's a deep and rich laugh, like the dark chocolate truffles they sell at the candy store his mother works at. Percy would do just about anything to hear the sound again. 

“I would like that,” she says, and then Percy's smiling like an idiot. 

“Okay, I-” 

A screechy voice cuts through. “Is there an instructor here? My son needs help working his ski poles!” 

“Well, duty calls,” the girl sighs. She grins at him apologetically, then goes off in the direction of the mother who called to her. 

Percy groans, a bit dreamy-eyed. Did he actually just talk to a girl and not make a complete fool of himself? Just wait until Leo and Jason hear about this, then they’ll think twice about calling him a sissy–

There’s a sound like glass shattering, only about a thousand times magnified. Percy looks up in confusion. The sky is bright blue, so it couldn’t have been thunder… 

Screams fill his ears. A white cloud fills up the space behind him. Someone yells, “AVALANCHE!” Percy tries to run, but his skis dig into the snow. It’s like trying to wade through quicksand. He’s faintly aware that he’s going to die. 

And sure enough, the bright white blankets Percy moments later, and then everything around him is absolutely silent. 

Chapter Text

viii. 

ohio, us, 1986 

“Mrs. Dodds, I swear I didn’t cheat on the math test!” 

Mrs. Dodds sticks her hand into Percy’s bag and extracts a piece of paper. Percy avoids looking at her long, crusty fingernails and gawks at what’s written on the paper instead: the answers to the algebra test. 

A smirk spreads its way across Mrs. Dodds’s face. “Care to explain this, Jackson?” 

“I-I swear I didn’t put that in there! Someone must’ve framed me.” 

“Who would go to the trouble of doing that? Luke told me he saw you looking mighty suspicious before and after the test, and now this cheat sheet? It’s all the evidence I need.” 

Percy balls his fists at his sides. He’s never gotten in trouble with a teacher before, especially not for cheating. How is he going to explain this to his mom? She’ll ground him for weeks when she finds out. 

Goddamn Castellan. That smug-faced ass has to be behind this. 

“You’ll have detention with Mr. Brunner after school today, Jackson. And if I catch you cheating again, trust that the punishment will be much more severe.” 

Percy stalks out of the classroom, still seething. Jason and Leo are waiting outside the door for him, leaning against the wall.

“Yo,” Leo says, “who pissed in your breakfast this morning?” 

Percy falls into step beside them as they head towards the cafeteria. “Luke somehow convinced Dodds that I cheated and she gave me a friggin’ detention.” 

Jason jostles his shoulder. “Tough. Dodds is a class-A barf bag.” 

“She’s a total narbo," Leo agrees. "She once took five points off my homework because I forgot to put the date. Can you even believe that?” 

“I just...man, I got detention.” 

Leo snorts. “Don’t worry about it. Detention’s piece of cake. Brunner always has his nose buried in some lame ass poetry book and doesn’t care if you fool around the whole time.” 

“Yeah, it’ll be fine, Perce,” Jason says, reaching out to flick Percy’s neck. 

Despite these assurances, Percy’s still practically shaking in his boots when he walks to Brunner’s classroom at the end of the day. He feels like one of the typical after-school delinquents and it makes his skin crawl. For god’s sake, he’s in the friggin’ AV club! He plays D&D in his basement for fun! His mom shops for clothes for him! 

But detention turns out to be nothing like he was anticipating. Brunner’s classroom is empty, no scary kids in leather and studs baring their teeth at him, just a lone girl sitting in the back row of desks and a note written on the board from Brunner. My niece needed picked up from school, just do your homework and tell Principal Reynolds I’m in the bathroom if he stops by. 

Percy drops his bag on the seat nearest to the door and turns around to study the girl in the back. 

He’s immediately intimidated. A cigarette hangs from her lips. She's got big and tousled hair like the girls in magazines do. There’s black smudged around her eyes and a tattoo peeks out from underneath her turtleneck. 

She is beautiful. She is absolutely terrifying. 

The girl looks up at him. “Hey,” she says, her voice like gravel run over by tires, “you wanna ditch with me?” 

“I don’t think we’re supposed to do that.” 

She takes a drag on her cigarette, exhales, then frowns. “Brunner’s not here. Nobody’ll know.”

“Th-that doesn’t seem like a good idea.” 

“What, scared you’ll get in trouble?” 

Percy glances around anxiously. He’s already in detention…so what’s one broken rule? And he really doesn't want to spend another minute in this stuffy, hot school. 

“Okay, fine.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder and starts for the door. 

The girl starts laughing at him. “We escape through the window.” 

“Oh.” 

She sticks her cigarette in between her teeth and uses both arms to slide the window open. Once there’s a gap big enough to slip through, she steps aside. “After you…?” 

“Percy. My name’s Percy.” 

“Alrighty, Percy. Let’s haul ass before Reynolds catches us.” 

Percy hoists himself through the window and lands in the bushes below with a thump. “Oof.” 

The girl laughs again. Her laugh is even more raspy than her voice, but it’s also kind of hot. 

“What’s your name?” Percy asks her as he picks himself up from the ground.

She raises an eyebrow. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?” 

“It’s only fair, since I told you mine.” 

After a moment of staring at him, silver gaze like a knife, she says, “I’m Annabeth. You can call me Annie.” 

He rubs his arm, which is starting to hurt from how he landed on it. “Well, Annie, why couldn’t we have used the door?” 

“Oh, we could have. I just thought the window was more dramatic.” 

Percy scowls at her, and she smiles, and butterflies erupt in his stomach entirely unexpectedly. 

See, the thing is, Percy’s been with cute girls before. Girls who get good grades and never break their curfews and wear those skirts that only show off a bit of calf. Girls who held his hand during movies and kissed him over pizza dates and sang along to Cyndi Lauper in the passenger seat of his car. 

Annie is not one of those cute girls. She’s the antithesis of them, yet for whatever reason, Percy is drawn to her. 

They walk around to the front of the building, where Percy’s bike is chained up. He pulls it from the rack but doesn’t get on it. 

Annie pulls a skateboard covered in peeling band stickers and permanent marker doodles out of her backpack. “Well, this has been nice, but I’m gonna bounce.” 

“Wait, don’t go yet!” Percy blurts out. 

She pauses, one foot on her skateboard, one foot on the sidewalk. “Uh, what?” 

“I was wondering if…you could teach me how to skate!” 

Annie gives him a skeptical look. “Really?” 

“Yes, I’ve always wanted to learn how, and since we just escaped together and kind of know each other now, or at the very least aren’t strangers, I thought you could maybe show me—”

“Percy, you’re wearing high-waisted jeans and…are those racing flames on your helmet?” 

“And? Those things don’t mean I can’t skate.” 

“You’re a dweeb. You don’t associate with outcasts like me. I’m nothing but trouble. I smoke. I skate. I go dancing. Our paths may have intersected this one time, but that doesn’t mean we can be friends.” 

Percy crosses his arms. “I don’t believe you. You may think you’re all that, Annabeth, but you’re not as cool and rebellious and dangerous as you think you are. Deep down, you’re just as much of a dweeb as me.” 

Annie sighs. She tosses her mane of curls back from her shoulders and rolls her eyes rather dramatically. Percy’s beginning to get the idea she likes dramatics. 

“Percy, if you really want to learn to skate, first you need to buy yourself a board.” 

Percy tries to hide his smile and fails. 

He buckles on his helmet and nudges down his bike’s kickstand. Annabeth sets off along the sidewalk. He pedals after her. 

“Why aren’t you wearing a helmet?” he calls as they both pick up speed. 

“I like to live on the edge!” she calls back. 

They’re both grinning when they reach the mall, hair windswept and eyes bright. The mall parking lot is filled with cars, and inside the large shopping center is equally crowded. 

Annie leads him past the splashing fountains and the neon-washed food court. Percy hums along to the catchy song playing over the mall speakers until Annie turns around to glare at him. 

“This new wave stuff is bogus. You should try listening to real music.” 

“I happen to like Duran Duran,” Percy counters. 

“Barf me out. Duran Duran is hella lame.” 

“I’m sorry your taste in music is probably, like, Metallica. If you enjoy the sounds of ear-splitting screaming and drums like pans clanging together, be my guest.” 

She flips him off, and Percy laughs at her. He wonders what they look like together, Annie like a girl straight out of a punk MTV music video, him in clothes from the Gap with a haircut his mom gave him. 

The atmosphere inside the store Annie corrals him into is very different from what he’s used to (though, to be fair, he’s used to shopping in, like, the discount clothes section of Kmart). He feels out of his element as Annabeth drags him to the back, where dozens of skateboards are mounted onto the wall. 

Annie points to one of the boards on the wall and speaks to the cashier in some sort of skater-lingo that Percy can’t make heads or tails of. Then Percy hands over a forkful of money and he and Annie are strolling out of the store, Percy with his new skateboard tucked beneath his arm. It cost a small fortune, but boy does he feel cool holding it.

“We might as well hit up the food court while we’re here,” Annie says. 

“That actually sounds great. I’m starving.” 

They get Burger King and scarf it down in ten minutes flat. Annie insists on ducking in Walden’s on their way out to browse the fiction section, then they head towards the skate park so Percy can put his new board to use. 

When they get to the park, the sky is already beginning to darken. Within a few minutes, it’s streaked with pink and orange, the fluffy clouds lit golden by the sun beneath. 

Percy watches as Annie ties her hair up in a ponytail with a scrunchy. There’s something weirdly mesmerizing about watching a girl do her hair, but especially Annie. She nibbles down on her lip and her face scrunches a bit and it’s overall really cute and hot. 

“I can’t believe I’m about to teach a random boy I just met today how to skate.” Annabeth says as Percy puts on his helmet. 

“This was such a fun day,” Percy says, “That I actually forgot we only met this afternoon.” 

“Huh. Honestly, so did I. You’re pretty rad, Percy.” 

“Thanks.” 

Percy rolls his board back and forth with his foot. “So, what do I do with this?” 

“How about I show you how it’s done first?” 

He wrings his hands. The half-pipe she’s eyeing looks pretty risky, and she isn’t wearing any protection.  “Shouldn’t you put on a helmet or something?” 

“Don’t be such a worrywart, Percy. I’ll be fine. I’ve done this half-pipe a gazillion times.” 

He watches, heart pounding, as Annie walks up to the ramp, props up her board, mock-salutes him, and performs a sort of hoppy-jump-foot-thing that sends her sailing down the half-pipe. She jogs back to him, grinning. 

“See? Told you I’d be fine.” 

Percy smiles. He follows Annabeth's gaze to where a group of boys are fooling around on another half-pipe. One of the boys grabs his board in midair as he goes down the ramp, his feet flying underneath him, and somehow manages to land smoothly. His friends all clap him on the back. 

“Can you do that?” Percy asks Annie. 

She rolls her eyes. “Do fish swim? Of course. That’s just the Ollie grab.” 

“Wicked.” 

“You want to see it?” 

He shrugs. “Sure.” 

“Watch and be shocked.” 

Percy is shocked after her trick. But not in the way she thought he would be. 

He should’ve yelled to her when he saw her grip falter. Instead he watched, horrorstruck, as she landed on the concrete ramp with a sickening crack. Her skull. Cracked.

“Annie!” All too late, he surges forward, face already wet with tears. “Someone call 911!” 

Annie looks up at him blearily through her eyelashes. A puddle of blood is forming around the back of her head, turning those glorious curls scarlet. Percy seizes her hand and squeezes it tightly. It’s stupid. No matter how hard he grips her, the life is going to keep seeping out of her. 

“Why didn’t you wear your helmet?” he asks her, voice breaking. 

“What can I say? I live on the edge.” 

He laughs weakly. 

“I feel really light-headed, Percy. I think I’m dying.” 

No shit, he thinks, but doesn’t have in him to say. He doesn’t get a chance to. EMTs race onto the scene, shoving Percy aside. They wheel out a stretcher, but it’s useless. The wound in her skull is too deep. 

Percy gets a glimpse of Annie through the legs of the EMTs. God, how did he end up on the ground? He can't remember falling. It doesn’t matter, just look at Annie. Face slick with sweat and deathly pale. Eyelids fluttering. 

One of the EMTs comes over to Percy. “Do you know her?” 

“Her name is Annabeth. I...I don't know her last name.” 

The woman puts a hand to his forehead, then touches her fingers to his neck to feel his pulse. “You better drink some fluids. You're looking faint, which is completely normal, considering what you just witnessed.” 

Percy somehow manages to ask, “Are…are you going to be able to save her?” 

He isn’t at all surprised by the EMT's answer. 

It's impossible, but he has the strangest feeling that this isn't the first time he's lost Annie. 

Chapter Text

ix. 

new york city, present day 

Annabeth decided to switch up her walk back to her apartment from class this afternoon, taking a left instead of a right at the flower shop, and boy is she glad she did. The little fruit stand she stumbled upon has the best-looking strawberries she’s ever seen at this time of year. 

“How much is a basket of these?” Annabeth asks the girl working the stand. 

“Five fifty.” 

Annabeth raises an eyebrow. “Really? That much?” 

“This is great quality produce, the best you can get in January.” 

Annabeth ends up buying the strawberries. She contemplates purchasing a carton of blueberries as well and is reaching to inspect them when her hand brushes someone else’s. She looks up. 

The hand belongs to a guy. He’s tallish, with dark hair and the prettiest green eyes she’s ever seen. Annabeth’s knees go a bit weak. He is gorgeous. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs, stepping aside. She eyes the carton of blueberries. It’s the last one. Go figure. 

“You can have them,” the guy says, noticing her eyes flit to the berries. “You were here first.” 

Annabeth waves him off. “No, it’s fine, they’re all yours. I was just looking.” 

“Seriously, feel free. I insist.” 

They both stare at each other, locked in a stalemate. Will either of them end up taking the blueberries? Or will they just peer into each other’s eyes while the world moves on around them? 

At last, the guy shakes his head, looking away. “I swear, I must’ve met you before. Maybe at one of Jason’s parties?” 

Annabeth shrugs. She knows for sure she’d remember a person as cute as he is. But there is something about him… “I don’t think so. But you’re right, we must have crossed paths. Did we have a class together?” 

“I study marine biology at NYU, if that helps.” 

“Oh, I go to Columbia.” 

They both squint at each other, and then - Annabeth just can’t help it - she begins to giggle, softly at first, then uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking. The guy starts laughing too, and then they’re cackling like two hyenas at the utter absurdity of the situation. 

Once he stops chuckling, the guy says, “I don’t usually ask strangers out, but would you maybe want to get coffee?” 

Annabeth smiles at him, so wide that it’s almost embarrassing. “Normally I don’t agree to get coffee with strangers, but I would love to. I mean. As long as you’re not, like, a serial killer or something.” 

“I pinky-swear I’m not,” he says, holding out his little finger. Annabeth hooks her own pinky around it.

She can’t say she’s done a pinky-promise since she was ten and begging her best friend to not tell anyone about her crush, but this feels right. 

Annabeth pays for her fruit and then she and the guy walk to the nearest coffee shop, a little cafe called Jenna’s. After they’re seated at a table with their steaming drinks, Annabeth asks, “So, what’s your name? I’ve been referring to you as ‘the guy’ in my head and I feel like I should know what to actually call you.” 

He laughs again. The sound is deep and rich like a spoonful of honey. “I’m Percy,” he says. “And what should I call you?” 

“I’m Annabeth.” 

They shake hands, and a jolt of electricity shoots down Annabeth’s arm. God, Percy is really hot and has such a nice laugh. Is this a date? She hopes it’s a date. She would totally date Percy. 

Annabeth takes a sip of her vanilla latte. “So, you said you study marine biology?” 

“Yeah,” Percy says, nodding. 

“Are you going to work for, like, a zoo or one of those animal rehab centers after you graduate?” 

“I’m honestly more interested in protecting the ocean and animals and stuff than caring for them. I might actually switch my major to marine conservation so I can specialize in it.” 

“Wow. That’s really amazing.” 

“And you go to Columbia? That’s pretty damn impressive.” He sticks his finger into the whipped cream at the top of his drink and licks it off. Annabeth watches, strangely mesmerized. 

Why does she have an entire swarm of insects buzzing around in her belly? Love at first sight doesn’t exist…or so she’s always believed. 

If Annabeth thought her wide smiling was embarrassing before, then this is a million times worse. She clears her throat. “NYU’s impressive too. It’s not an easy school to get into by any means.” 

Percy nibbles on the end his straw. “I’ll guess you’re a math major at your fancy Ivy League.” 

“Architecture, actually, with a minor in Greek and Roman history,” she says, eyes sparkling.

“That’s mad cool. Does that mean you know about all the gods and goddesses and, like, Pompeii?” 

She winces at the mention of Pompeii. She’s always been especially horrified by that particular disaster. It’s ridiculous to be scared of something that happened so long ago, but sometimes she swears she lived through it once. Why else would she wake up, drenched in sweat, after those recurring Pompeii nightmares? 

“Of course I know about the mythology, though I’m more interested in their architecture than anything.” 

“I bet you’ve been to Greece or Italy to see the ruins.”

Annabeth shakes her head. “Not yet.” 

“Well, maybe when you go, you…you could bring me along too.” 

How is he so ridiculously endearing? How is he so achingly familiar but still so completely new at the same time? 

“I would like that.” 

After they’ve both drained their coffees, Annabeth and Percy stroll out of the cafe. 

Annabeth isn’t ready to part ways with Percy yet. Just like love at first sight, she’s never believed in feeling a spark in a relationship, but there’s a connection with Percy that she can’t deny. Maybe it’s just his stupidly pretty eyes rotting her brain. Or maybe they were meant to meet. 

Percy seems to not want to say goodbye either, because he points to the record shop across the street. “Do you want to check that place out?” 

“I’ve never actually been in a record store before, so why not?” 

The little bell at the top of the door jingles when they step inside. Dust and the scent of must lingers in the air. 

An employee, an older man with a beard and orange glasses, approaches them. “Can I help you two with anything?” 

“Do you have any Led Zeppelin vinyls?” Percy asks. 

“Of course we do. They’re in the back, right this way.” 

“Led Zeppelin?” Annabeth whispers to Percy as they follow the man. “What’s Led Zeppelin?” 

Percy looks horrified. “Annabeth, you…uncultured swine!” 

She snorts. “I’m sorry I don’t know your obscure band—”

“Led Zeppelin is not obscure —”

“—and it’s hardly my fault if my music taste consists of Taylor Swift, Billie Eilish, and One Direction—”

The employee clears his throat. “The Led Zeppelin records are all right here. If you want to hear any of them, feel free to use one of the listening booths.” 

“Thank you,” Percy says, before beginning to browse the section. 

“Are you looking for something specific?” Annabeth asks, peering over his shoulder at all the albums crammed into the shelves. 

He smells really good. 

“Yeah, I want to see if they “Stairway to Heaven.” It’s on Led Zeppelin IV.” 

“Wait, I think I’ve heard of that song. Isn’t it, like, super long?” 

“Yep. Eight minutes.” 

Annabeth frowns. She touches her fingers to his shoulder. “If I’m going to listen to this eight minute song, I think it’s only fair that I get to choose a song to play for you.” 

Percy matches her light tone. “Sounds fair to me.” 

She wanders off in search of one of her favorite albums, Parachute, and manages to locate a copy. She finds Percy waiting in one of the booths and slides onto the seat beside him. 

Their arms and legs are pressed together and Annabeth feels hot all over. She’s never felt more attracted to someone than Percy, but she’s also never wanted to get to know someone more than Percy. She needs to get his number by the time they leave here. 

Percy places the vinyl on the turntable, then grabs one of the pairs of headphones. “Close your eyes and listen,” he whispers to Annabeth, then secures the headphones over her ears. 

The song is actually pretty good, Annabeth has to admit. It might be a little too long, but she can see why Percy likes it. The rawness, the instrumentals, every piece meshes together beautifully. 

Annabeth puts on her song next, “Yellow” from the Coldplay album. This time around, she doesn’t close her eyes, instead watching Percy’s face as he listens. 

How are his lips so perfect? She could kiss him and it would be flawless. 

None of this makes any sense. Why does she feel this way about a stranger? She met Percy two hours ago and she’s already thinking about kissing! But dammit, she could fall in love with him so easily, and she thinks he could fall in love with her too. 

Percy’s palm brushes against hers. A smile slowly spreads across her face.

He opens his eyes and she’s met with that green, glittering like the sea. Her heart leaps.

Boldly, Annabeth takes Percy’s hand, and it feels like a new beginning.