Work Text:
The sun was bathing the vast field. His Father’s work. It was something she would never fully be comfortable with— something she couldn't wrap her head around. Her father, the same father that had left her and her mother years ago. The one that for some reason never could look at her in the eyes each Solstice she visited him in that intimidating palace built of marble and power. Full of beings that had the easy way out of life.
Sometimes she wonders if he was just as ashamed of her as she was of him.
“A drachma for your thoughts?” A soft voice came from amongst the trees. Brontë.
The smile crept on her freckled cheeks before she could stop it. Alison closed her eyes, basking in the sunlight. “Why? Yours have already bored you?”
The Athena’s girl steps were barely recognizable, you must really pay attention to them or else you’ll miss it. It was something Alison had always envied Brontë for, she had a grace and agility Alison could only dream of. The redhead was pure chaos and clumsiness. It was really spot on for her to have healing abilities, the Gods know she'll be walking with bruised limbs for the rest of her life otherwise.
“Not bored. But yours must be much more entertaining than mine.” The Apollo counselor felt a nudge in her left shoulder where Brontë had sat down next to her.
The closeness made something weird explode in her stomach. Something she didn't want to name. Something she was afraid to. Talking about feelings wasn't Alison’s favorite topic. Talking about her feelings took a whole lot of bravery she doesn't possess.
She lies then. Even if she knows Brontë doesn't buy it. She peeks at the sitting girl next to her through squinted eyelids. “I was thinking that we can't practice your aiming on the archery field, you almost hit the forges last time.” The older girl gasps so loudly at offence that they both burst out laughing before keeping the act.
“Oh! Since you are sooo good at hand to hand combat!” It's Alison’s turn to feign annoyment. It wasn't a lie per se, even with Brontë’s patient teaching she can't hold the dagger she gifted her properly. “Now get here you lying Carrot!” The two girls set off on a chase. The strawberries around them blurred into a red and green background as their giggles and fast feet took them wherever their hearts told them to. Alison felt happy. Truly happy. And she knew it was all Brontë's doing.
Her red hair was blowing freely with the wind, and she blames it for making her stumble on a rock she didn't notice in the ground. Tumbling and rolling wasn't as fun as running, she can assure you. Grunting in pain she tried to fix her kicked dignity first. Why does she have to be this stupid in front of Brontë of all people? She must think Alison was an idiot.
“Ali! Are you okay?!” The brunette's brow was knit in a worried frown, those grey eyes of her scanning Alison's form quickly. The archer tried to nod and give her a smile but she guesses it turned out more like a grimace. Brontë dropped to her knees in an instant, her slim hands flying to brush Alison’s scraped knee. The girl looked with awe as Brontë's hands moved over her body. Athena's kids did everything with a millimetric precision, thinking their moves a thousand times before performing them. Brontë did that too, but now she was less methodical.
The taller girl brushed away the dirt and rocks sticking on her pale skin. The touch was so faint Alison didn't register the pain of it. The difference of skin tones was obvious, the freckles on her legs a shark contrast with Brontë's brown tanned skin. And that, too, made weird things to Alison's blood pressure.
Alison raised her gaze slowly, appreciating each detail she found on the other girl’s body. Her strong yet delicate arms, the Camp’s t-shirt stretching with each flexion of the muscle beneath it. Her slender and long neck decorated with that stupid necklace they all wear. Three beads, she counts, one less than the one encircling her own neck. A sharp jaw, a vein pulsing in the side of it as Brontë tensed it. Would it cut her if she grazed it? It sure looked like it could.
Her eyes jump to those plump lips. Plump, shiny rose lips that must definitely taste like strawberries… Or cherry? Alison tilted her head analyzing the options. She wasn't sure. Brontë loved both fruits. Too busy weighing her options she completely ignores how those lips she's thinking about are moving. Talking. Saying something she doesn't hear.
“Alison! Are you listening to me? Have you hurt your head?” Biting her lips, the Athena girl leaned over to get a hold of the ginger's head. She was about to inspect the green eyes thinking it could be a concussion when Alison responded.
“Huh? I- What?” Blinking furiously, Alison tried to retract her thoughts. Why was she thinking about Brontë's lip? Who cares if they taste like cherries, strawberries or melons? (She did) Putting some space between them, Alison got a good look of the girl's worried state. “I'm fine! Don't worry! Happens all the time to me, y’know? I'm such a klutz!”
The following nervous chuckle made her die inside. Why? Why is she being this awkward self? Maybe she had hurt her head. But again, it might be Brontë's fault. Brontë who has no reason to be this cute when concerned about an idiot like Alison. Brontë who’s smart and beautiful and her friend. Maybe it's the light surrounding her like a divine halo. It's her Father's doing perhaps, another way of ruining her life.
“I can take you with Chiron if you wa-”
“Let's practice!” She burst out before the words were properly filtered in her brain. She didn't want to end whatever this was. Blame her!
The redhead’s heart almost melted in her chest when her friend tilted her head and blinked at her slowly. Like a little confused owl. It was not fair! “Right now?”
“Yes!” Alison stood up with more excitement than what she truly felt. Grabbing Brontë’s hand with ease, she began tugging her towards the hill they had run from. “My bow is right there! C’mon!”
Laughing puzzled, Brontë left the ginger guide her steps. What has gotten into her— she doesn't know, but the warmth their joined hands brought to her heart was enough to follow along. Back in the hill, Alison grabbed her bow with trembling hands before passing it to her companion. “Okay. You'll be shooting…” Twirling around in her place, Alison tried to find the right target. “That sign!” A few feet away a sign was hanging from one of the barns, its words were shifting too quickly for Alison to try and decipher what was written on it. “You can do it, Bee! Remember what I taught you! Breathe in… Hold your grasp… Close one eye, and aim.”
The Athena's daughter was trying her best to follow her friend’s advice. They've been in this same position many times before to no avail. Tensing the bow was the easy part, strength never being a problem for a kid of the war. But her aim… As the arrow crossed the air of the field rapidly, the two girls held their breath and followed it with their eyes. Just for it to end up embedded on a bale of hay used for the pegasi.
“Oh for Mother’s sake! I suck at this Ali, there's no point in trying.” Failure and cabin 6 never got along. Brontë felt shame and wrath burn in her throat. She almost broke the bow in half in pure pettiness, like she had broken many before, but stopped herself since it was Alison’s.
Said archer was trying to contain her giggles seeing the girl's dramatism. Rolling her eyes, she stepped closer to the brunette. “Bee, calm down! It isn't the end of the world! Look, you didn't even throw it thaaaat far.” The piercing stare she got was enough response. “Okay it was bad. But I can help. Here…”
Positioning herself behind Brontë she encouraged the girl to grab another arrow to try again. “Your feet are too far apart, close your stance a bit.” Obediently, Brontë brought her feet closer. “Good. You are angling your body wrong too. If you're shooting on your left, your body must mirror it.” Alison’s words and stare were technical, looking for mistakes and how to fix them, she wasn't exactly thinking when she grabbed her friend's hip to gyrate them.
Brontë was thinking. Matter of fact, she was overthinking. Which is why her body tensed, lungs deciding to stop working correctly.
“Your force is good, won't lie about that. And you're holding the arrow correctly. But…” Pressing herself closer, Alison covered Brontë's hand that was holding the bow with her own. She was embracing the girl from behind, her warmth as the sun itself was enveloping the older girl. “You need to guide the arrow with this hand too, Bee. If you close one eye, and move it just a bit…”
“Alison.”
Brontë’s voice was choked. That made the Apollo daughter shake away from her trance. Just then she noticed their position. Her front was pressed flush against Brontë's back, each curve of her body molding together until she couldn't tell when one began and the other finished. And her scent… Olives and old parchment. Something that shouldn't smell good together yet made Alison's head swirl dizzy. “I-”
She tried, she really did. But Brontë had leaned her head just a little and she was looking at Alison with those wide grey eyes that shined with the sunlight just right and she just stood there frozen with the realization that Brontë was the most breath-taking woman she had ever met.
She tried. But Alison never was one for bravery. Luckily for her, Brontë was full of it.
Brontë released the arrow, one that hit her target for the first time. Alison swore that she felt it pierce her heart too. But she couldn't think much of it because soft lips were over hers kissing her senseless. Her hands were sliding down from the forgotten bow to grab the brunette's waist as hers were…
The taste of cherry filling her mouth made her sick.
Alison dropped the magazine on the table. The light-skinned huntress that had started all that melancholy had hurt her enough.
“You can have her next to you, if you want to.”
It was a deep, guttural voice. Sick and twisted and her master. Kronos. Right, she was guarding the Golden Fleece renewing his body. Turning to look at the coffin, she felt a cold shiver in her bones.
“Her siblings were her excuse. Correct? Athena's brats always think they're above us.” Alison felt his humourless chuckle echo in her mind. “Such a foolish reason to deny greatness. And still you want her by your side, stupid girl.” The insult made her flinch harder than the fact that he knew. Of course he would know, Alison was never good at talking about her feelings but was even worse hiding them. “I can grant your desire.”
She almost fell to her knees. How? She wanted to ask. What can I do? What does it take? She wanted to scream and plead but it wasn't necessary to do so with a master as powerful as hers.
“Kill her. Kill Annabeth Chase.” The name brought a snarl to her face. That little bitch. With her wit, and her dagger and moves that Brontë taught her. With her wide wise eyes and that stupid need to be six steps ahead that Brontë had too. With her braid that only Athena's kid can do with their eyes closed. Being the copy of the woman she loves. Of the woman she lost. Playing tricks in her head and making her heart bleed with the aching reminder that she was alone once again. “With no siblings to hold her back, your beloved will open her eyes and bow to me.”
He- Kronos was right. Alison remembers that night with anger and despair, the night she lost her. For them. She chose her stupid siblings over the new Era. She didn't choose Kronos.
She didn’t choose Kronos. She didn't choose Alison. She. didn't. choose. her.
And it was all Annabeth’s fault.
With a new resolution, Alison stood from her place. She picked her bow and arrow, nodding with tight muscles. She bowed her head to the coffin, to the power trapped inside it that had opened her eyes. “Yes sir, I won't stop until she's dead.”
Or she will die trying.