Chapter Text
Tartarus tasted wrong.
The water Percy pulled from the ground was brackish and metallic, but it was still water, and that made it precious. He knelt in the ash and stone at Annabeth’s feet and cupped it carefully in his hands, lifting it toward her face.
“Hold still,” he murmured.
Annabeth did. She was leaning back against a slab of black rock that curved protectively behind her shoulders, tall enough that Percy’s head barely reached her chest even where he knelt. Her long legs were stretched out in front of her, one bent awkwardly at the knee. Blood had dried along her temple and into her hairline, streaking down the side of her neck.
Despite all of that, she smiled down at him.
“You look awful,” she said fondly.
Percy huffed out a weak laugh. “Right back at you.”
He leaned closer, careful not to lose what little water he had, and used his thumb to wipe the grime from her cheek. The water evaporated almost instantly, leaving behind a faint salt residue. Tartarus rejected cleanliness. It resisted gentleness. It made even the smallest acts of care feel temporary.
Percy tried anyway.
Annabeth’s hand came up automatically, steadying him when his balance wavered. Her fingers were long and warm where they rested at the back of his neck, grounding.
He shifted closer, kneeling between her knees so he could brace himself against her. From here, his forehead fit easily against her chest. He let it rest there for a moment longer than necessary, breathing her in.
“You’re shaking,” she said quietly.
He glanced down at his hands like he hadn’t noticed they were trembling. “I’m fine.”
She hummed, unconvinced. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
Her hand slid into his hair, combing through the salt-stiff strands with practiced ease. Even injured, even exhausted, Annabeth moved with the certainty of someone who took up space without apologizing for it.
She bent slightly so she didn’t have to crane her neck and pressed a kiss to his temple.
“We’ll get out,” Percy said, the words heavy with need. “We’ll find the Doors.”
Annabeth leaned her head back against the stone and closed her eyes. “I know.”
Not because she had a plan, Percy could tell when she did, but because she trusted him. That trust sat like a weight in his chest.
He adjusted his position and rested his cheek against her thigh instead, the fabric of her pants rough against his skin. From here, the world narrowed: Annabeth above him, the ground beneath him, and Tartarus circling them both.
“You remember that café in New Rome?” she asked softly. “The one with the burnt coffee?”
Percy smiled into her leg. “The one you insisted on going back to?”
“The pastries were good,” she defended.
“They were… acceptable.”
She laughed quietly, and Tartarus recoiled. Percy felt it in his bones, the way joy here was an act of defiance.
“When this is over,” Annabeth continued, “we’re going somewhere with real food. And chairs. Chairs that don’t try to kill us.”
Percy shifted so he could look up at her face, even though it meant tilting his chin all the way back. “Somewhere with a beach.”
“Of course.”
“And a library,” he added quickly.
She smiled down at him, fond and soft. “Now you’re just showing off.”
He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. It was clumsy but it felt important.
Annabeth’s breath caught.
“Percy,” she said, like his name was something fragile.
She leaned down, ignoring the sharp hitch of pain it clearly caused her, and kissed him. Percy tipped his face up instinctively, fitting himself into the space she made for him like he belonged there.
For a moment, Tartarus disappeared.
There was only warmth and salt and the steady, reassuring beat of Annabeth’s heart beneath his palm.
When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against his hair.
“No matter what happens down here-” she began.
“We’re getting out,” he said immediately.
She smiled at that, small and tired. “I know. I just mean… I love you.”
Percy’s chest tightened painfully. “I love you too.”
Annabeth’s grip loosened slightly as she sagged back against the stone.
“Hey,” he said softly, lifting his head. “Stay with me.”
“I am,” she murmured. “Just… resting my eyes.”
Percy shifted closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and anchoring her upright against him. He tucked himself beneath her chin, listening to her breathing and counting each inhale like it was sacred.
Outside their fragile circle of warmth, Tartarus watched.
Percy held Annabeth tighter and told himself, told the dark, the pit and the impossible, that this was not the place where love went to die.
Not yet.
Not them.