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The instant Percy woke up, he realized he'd made a critical mistake: he'd fallen asleep on the couch. A shooting pain in his lower back caused him to wince before he had even opened his eyes. The sound of the Community rerun playing on the TV taunted him, rubbing in the fact that he'd dozed off after convincing himself he wouldn't.
Percy's Achilles spot hadn't bothered him for ages, but over the past year the sensitivity had returned with a vengeance. He was certain that the curse itself hadn't returned, so he didn't have to worry about death-by-demented-massage-chair. But if he pulled a muscle back there or slept on it weird, the most agonizing ache zeroed in on the base of his spine. Percy grumbled as he sat up and adjusted his position until the pain was somewhat tolerable.
Outside, it was a blustery November day. Sleet sprinkled from above, dusting their yard with an unsatisfying, inconsistent layer of white. Percy and Annabeth both had the afternoon off, a rare occurrence, and they had the house completely to themselves.
"You fell asleep, didn't you?" Annabeth asked, her reading glasses peeking over the top of her book. She sat in the reclining chair by the window, her feet propped up on a pillow, as always. Her bad ankle, which had never properly healed after her solo quest in Rome, acted up just as often as Percy's back. Her hair had been graying since her first semester of PhD studies, so much so that the old gray streak in her hair was almost unnoticeable. Half a dozen thin lines stretched across her forehead, like arrows on an elaborate battle plan. She was as beautiful and radiant as ever. She was also as blunt and hardheaded as ever. Gods, he loved her.
"Yes," Percy gave a delayed response, still feeling groggy from his nap and upset with himself for napping on the couch in the first place. He reached across the couch, grabbed a long cylindrical pillow, and placed it behind the small of his back. He leaned back in relief, exhaling slowly. The ache was still there, but this was a dramatic improvement.
"Tea with nectar?" Annabeth suggested. She got up slowly from the chair, her legs not quite as flexible as they once were. "I was kind of needing some anyway," she continued as she headed into the kitchen.
Percy was fully aware that he sounded like a whiny, helpless kid as he murmured a small, "Yes, please."
It was a trick they'd learned from one of the Apollo kids. A few drops of nectar worked wonders for chronic pain, but they still had to be careful with the dosage to avoid that dreaded spontaneous combustion.
Annabeth placed the kettle on the burner and busied herself with some dishes that had been left out to dry. She moved to place a stack of bowls on the top shelf, stifling a grunt as she stood on her tiptoes. Percy took on a tentative tone as he asked, "Ankle bothering you?"
Annabeth grimaced, looking down at a pan instead of meeting his eyes. "Yes," she admitted. She was always reluctant to confess when her leg hurt, as if walking through hell and getting out with nothing worse than minor joint problems was a personal shortcoming of hers. ("I went to Tartarus and all I got was this lousy ankle," he'd joked once. She hadn't found it very funny.) "Honestly, it's been getting worse lately."
"It's this weather," he complained. "Something about cold weather and joint pain or... something like that."
"Very profound," she replied. The water started to rumble inside the kettle. "But you're right. Sudden changes in barometric pressure and humidity can aggravate joints and scar tissue."
"You always have to one-up me, don't you?"
Annabeth shrugged. "It's what I do."
It had to be related to the weather. After all, they weren't that old, only in their late thirties. On a good day, Percy did a quick 100 laps at the local pool, Annabeth worked on home repair projects that any sane person would consider quite laborious, they hiked nature trails and slayed the occasional harpy. But there were plenty of bad days and, though they recognized that minor aches weren't the worst problem to have, it was certainly an annoying reminder that they weren't the sprightly, resilient half-bloods they once were.
The kettle exhaled a shrill whistle. Annabeth poured the water over the tea bags and continued putting up dishes while the tea steeped. As she worked, she hummed the Community theme song, which made Percy smile.
Over the past few years, things had gotten quite comfortable around the house. The gods hardly bothered them anymore, save for a few exceptions. Of course, Athena and Poseidon visited occasionally for family stuff. Aphrodite or Apollo would sometimes pop in to catch them up on the latest Olympian gossip (despite their insistence that they simply weren't interested). When a sock or cell phone charger mysteriously disappeared, they tended to blame Hermes, though they had little evidence to back this up. But in general, the gods seemed to have newer interests, fresher demigods to pick on. Not that Percy and Annabeth were complaining.
Annabeth reentered the living room and set her mug on the coffee table. She ruffled Percy's hair, where his own gray streak was slowly expanding, thin strands of silver rippling into a sea of black. He lacked the worry lines that Annabeth had developed, but a few creases branched out from the corners of his eyes. ("Probably from laughing at your own jokes too much," Annabeth had once suggested.) When he went too long without shaving, he looked eerily similar to his dad. Sometimes he even looked older than his dad, but when one's father can shift his appearance to his liking, it's best not to take that kind of thing personally. Annabeth handed Percy his tea and sat beside him on the couch.
Percy, ever impatient, did not wait for the tea to cool down. (It's kind of impossible to burn your tongue on nectar, anyway.) Taking a sip, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the flavor complimented the nectar this time. It only tasted like his mother's chocolate chip cookies half the time now. Some days, it was the soup Annabeth made when he wasn't feeling well. Some days, it was the incredible beignets they'd tried during a trip to New Orleans. Today, it tasted exactly like the strawberries at Camp Half-Blood.
Annabeth propped her legs up on the coffee table and placed her arm around Percy’s shoulders. Percy pulled a throw blanket off the back of the couch and tossed it over their legs. He leaned into her soft sweater, and she tilted her head to rest on top of his.
The miniscule dose of nectar worked its magic slowly. Percy reclined farther into the couch, his back steadily growing more forgiving of the relaxed angle. "Look at us," he muttered with a chuckle. Annabeth's only response was a confused stare. He continued, "Talking about how the weather is messing with our joints... drinking nectar like it's some kind of herbal remedy... I need lumbar support, Annabeth! We're oldddd."
Annabeth scoffed into her tea. "We're thirty-eight."
"Yeah, and thirty-eight is almost forty, which is basically fifty. We're old."
"It's not that bad," she said, smiling down at him. She paused, then added, "I mean, we have known each other for over two-thirds of our lives, which is... okay, wow, yeah we're pretty old."
Percy made a garbled sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. He flopped his head back dramatically, sloshing a few drops of tea in the process.
"Okay, silver lining:" Annabeth moved to look Percy in the eye. She had that look on her face like she'd just solved a puzzle. "No more quests or ridiculous tasks from the gods. There's no way they want us running around in this condition."
A mischievous spark of inspiration glinted in Percy's eyes, taking ten years off his face. He chuckled and sat up very straight on the edge of the couch, posturing himself as if on a throne. He lowered his voice as much as possible, going for that all-too-familiar, thunderous tone. "Perseus Jackson, I need you to risk your life swimming to the bottom of the Mariana Trench, where there will be countless monsters of both the mortal and mythological variety, because um... I think favorite watch fell in there. And I want it back."
The sleet picked up outside, an icy downpour that sounded like bubbles inside a soda can. Annabeth fell back into the couch cushions, laughing hard. "Percy, stop," she cautioned, giving his shoulder a light shove.
Percy did not stop. He leaned lazily onto the armrest and continued in his normal voice, "Oh, I dunno, Z-man. My knees pop like all the time these days, ya know? I can't swim like I used to. And we did breakfast burritos this morning, so I've got some serious acid reflux that's gonna slow me down."
"Your knees do not pop." Annabeth rolled her eyes. "And you're a fantastic swimmer."
"It's called hyperbole, Wise Girl. Look it up. Anyway..." Percy straightened his spine and tightened his lips, trying to impersonate the nonchalance of someone who could literally bend the world to his will. He lowered his voice again. "Indeed. Perhaps, instead, you could trek the Appalachian Trail. I suspect Hermes has vandalized a tree with an unsavory message about me, and I'd like you to track it down."
The wind howled outside. The sleet was coming down in droves now, and at this point Annabeth doubted it was a coincidence. She bit back a smile. "Alright, that's enough, Seaweed Br—"
"See, that's definitely not gonna be possible," Percy persisted, shifting his voice and posture to continue the imaginary conversation. "Walking for days with all my belongings in a heavy backpack? My back is killing me just thinking about it. Also, how long do you expect this to take? A week? Because we need to be in bed by ten at the latest."
He returned to the (attempted) booming, godly voice. "Well, I suppose I could find some innocent twelve-year-old to do it. Yes, that's clearly the most reasonable thing to do. Better to put a child's life in jeopardy than to waste an ounce of my godly power because I am a lazy, self-important—"
A crackle of lightning flashed near—too near—their house, and the power flickered off and back on. Annabeth felt like that was a very generous warning. "Come on, man!" Percy protested. "You don't even know I was talking about you. That could've been basically any god."
"You did say Z-man," Annabeth pointed out as the heating system whirred back to life.
"Maybe I was talking about Zephyros," Percy grumbled. "But leave it to Zeus to make it all about—"
"Babe, shut up," Annabeth scolded, much more serious now. "It's practically freezing outside, and I'd like for our power to stay on."
Percy furrowed his brow and sipped his tea. On the TV, one of the characters reacted melodramatically to a paintball bullet wound.
"This show is so dumb," Annabeth murmured, though she smiled anyway. "I'm gonna read." She sat up, and for a moment, Percy thought she would relocate to her chair by the window. Instead, she reached over to grab her book from the side table and reclined lengthwise on the couch, resting her head on his lap and propping her ankle up on the armrest. It felt like a distant memory, something she would've done when they were in college.
"Hi," Percy said, a goofy grin spreading across his face.
She raised an eyebrow. "What?" Her eyes were pale gray in the afternoon light.
"You look really pretty."
Annabeth scoffed, rifling through the pages of her book to find where she'd left off. "Thanks," she said, rolling her eyes. "You're not so bad yourself."
"I would kiss you, but..." he pointed at the pillow behind his back. He may have been feeling better, but bending over that far? Not happening.
Annabeth nodded in understanding. Then, she brought a hand to her lips, kissed the tips of her fingers, and raised them to meet Percy's lips. He grabbed her hand and kissed each finger in rapid succession. "You're ridiculous," he smirked.
"I know," she agreed, then yanked her hand away. "Now let me read."
In moments like these, Percy often found himself reflecting on the prospect of immortality, which he had rejected so many years ago. Sure, he enjoyed "playing god" to get a rise out of them, but would things have been better if he'd accepted their offer of godhood?
He looked around, watching the sleet pitter-patter onto the windowsill. The smell of green tea and strawberries made the room feel warm and cozy. Annabeth's head rested on his lap, silver and gold curls splayed out across his legs. Her eyes scanned the pages of her book as she fiddled with the dust jacket.
No, Percy figured. He wouldn't give this up for anything in the world.