Chapter Text
The first thing Annabeth noticed was the purple.
Not Percy.
Not the sea-green eyes she had spent years trying to forget. Not the white streak in his black hair. Not even the scar along his jaw did she recognise.
It was the cloak.
Deep Tyrian purple fell from his shoulders in heavy folds, trimmed in gold thread and fastened with a polished imperial gold brooch shaped like an eagle. Roman armour wrapped around him seamlessly — not costume-like, not borrowed. Worn. Earned. The segmented plates fit him like they had been forged specifically for Percy Jackson.
Like he belonged in them.
The forum of New Rome parted around him instinctively. Legionnaires straightened as he passed. Veterans saluted with closed fists against their chests. Senators lowered their voices.
Praetor Percy Jackson crossed the city like a man entirely certain the ground beneath him was his.
Annabeth hated how wrong it felt to see him there.
And how much worse it felt that he looked right.
Jason stepped forward first. “Percy.”
Percy stopped near the Senate steps.
For a moment his face remained unreadable. Then he inclined his head once toward Jason — precise, Roman.
“Praetor Grace.”
No grin.
No sarcastic comment.
No “Hey, man.”
Annabeth felt dread settle heavier in her stomach.
Then Percy looked at her.
The world narrowed sharply.
Gods.
She remembered those eyes.
She remembered them underwater in the River Styx. Across campfires. Half asleep at three in the morning while he listened to her ramble about architecture because he liked hearing her voice more than he cared about the subject.
For one terrible second she saw all of it again.
Then Percy’s expression cooled.
“Annabeth.”
Not Wise Girl.
Not even daughter of Athena.
Just Annabeth spoken with polite distance, like a memory he no longer trusted himself to touch.
The restraint hurt more than anger would have.
Beside him, Reyna stood silent in matching praetor armour. Her own purple cloak brushed Percy’s shoulder slightly in the breeze, and the movement was so familiar — so practiced — that Annabeth immediately understood something she hadn’t prepared herself for.
They stood like people who shared space constantly.
Not awkwardly.
Naturally.
Reyna noticed Annabeth noticing.
Her expression didn’t change.
“Welcome to New Rome,” Reyna said smoothly. “Though I admit the timing of your arrival is inconvenient.”
Leo blinked. “Wow. Nice to see you too.”
“We received reports about the Argo II days ago,” Percy said. “Rome has been preparing.”
Rome.
Not Camp Jupiter.
Not the legion.
Rome.
Annabeth folded her arms tightly. “You knew we were coming and didn’t bother sending word?”
Percy’s gaze shifted back toward her. Calm. Controlled.
“There was no tactical advantage in announcing Roman awareness.”
The answer sounded rehearsed.
Roman.
Annabeth stared at him. “Seriously?”
A faint tension appeared in his jaw.
“Things are different now.”
“You disappeared.”
“I accepted praetorship.”
“You vanished for four years.”
The forum had gone completely silent.
Roman legionnaires were openly staring now, especially younger campers who probably grew up hearing stories about Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase.
Heroes of Olympus.
The legendary Greek couple.
Annabeth suddenly wondered what stories the Romans heard instead.
Percy exhaled slowly. “Camp Jupiter required stability after the Titan War.”
“And Camp Half-Blood didn’t?”
Something dangerous flickered behind his eyes then.
“You survived Manhattan,” he said quietly. “Rome spent years surviving the aftermath.”
The temperature in the forum seemed to drop.
Jason frowned. “Percy—”
“No,” Percy interrupted. “You want honesty? Fine.” His gaze swept across the Greeks. “Olympus abandoned both camps after Kronos fell. But New Rome adapted while Camp Half-Blood rebuilt the same broken system and pretended victory fixed anything.”
The bitterness in his voice startled even Annabeth.
Percy had always been angry at the gods sometimes. But this wasn’t irritation.
This sounded personal.
Deeply personal.
Like disappointment rooted in ideology.
Piper shifted uneasily. “Okay, this is getting intense.”
“It should be,” Percy replied.
Reyna touched his arm lightly.
The motion was casual.
Instinctive.
Percy glanced at her immediately, and Annabeth’s stomach twisted violently because she recognised that look. Not passion. Not infatuation.
Trust.
The kind built slowly over years.
Whatever this relationship was, it wasn’t temporary.
Percy’s expression eased slightly under Reyna’s hand.
Then he looked back at the Greeks. “Guest quarters have been prepared. The Senate will convene tonight regarding the alliance.”
Alliance.
Not reunion.
Annabeth swallowed hard. “That’s all we are to you now?”
For the first time since arriving, Percy hesitated.
Something painful crossed his face so quickly she almost imagined it.
Then the mask returned.
“That depends on whether the Greeks are willing to evolve.”
And gods, that sounded exactly like a Roman politician.
He turned to leave.
Reyna fell into step beside him immediately.
Not behind him.
Beside him.
Equal.
As they crossed the forum, Percy leaned down slightly and murmured something too quiet to hear. Reyna answered without looking at him, but the corner of her mouth curved faintly.
Tiny.
Intimate.
Annabeth felt sick.
“That was horrifying,” Leo announced the second they entered the guest villa.
“No,” Annabeth said quietly. “That was worse.”
Jason rubbed his face tiredly. “He’s changed.”
“He’s Roman,” Piper corrected.
“No,” Annabeth muttered. “He’s something else.”
Hazel lingered near the doorway uncertainly. Frank looked equally uncomfortable.
Annabeth noticed immediately.
“You knew.”
Hazel winced.
“You knew they were together.”
Silence answered her.
That was enough.
Piper looked between them. “Wait. Percy and Reyna are actually—”
“Yes,” Frank admitted carefully.
The word hit harder than Annabeth expected.
Not because she thought Percy would wait forever. She wasn’t stupid.
But because some part of her — some awful selfish part — had always believed Percy would come back eventually.
That no matter how long passed, there would still be something unfinished between them.
But Percy hadn’t stayed frozen in time waiting for her.
He’d built an entirely different life.
Hazel sat slowly across from Annabeth. “At first he talked about Camp Half-Blood constantly,” she admitted softly. “Mostly about you.”
Annabeth looked away.
“But after a while…” Hazel hesitated. “Things got bad here.”
“How bad?” Jason asked.
Frank answered this time. “Monster attacks increased after Manhattan. The Senate kept losing people. Olympus promised support that never came.” His expression darkened. “Percy got tired of watching legionnaires die for gods who didn’t even bother learning their names.”
Annabeth remembered Percy after Beckendorf died.
After Silena.
After Luke.
Percy had always carried deaths personally.
Too personally.
“What changed him?” she asked quietly.
Hazel and Frank exchanged a glance.
“Reyna,” Hazel admitted.
Annabeth stiffened.
“She didn’t manipulate him,” Hazel added quickly. “It was more…” She searched for the words carefully. “She understood him.”
Frank nodded. “Most people saw Percy as this unstoppable hero. Reyna saw how exhausted he was.”
“And she agreed with him about Olympus,” Hazel finished.
Annabeth leaned back slowly.
Of course she did.
Reyna had spent her entire life carrying responsibility while the gods ignored the consequences.
She and Percy probably fit together frighteningly well now.
That realisation sat ugly in Annabeth’s chest all evening.
It got worse later that night.
Because when the Senate session finally ended and the praetors returned to escort the Greeks through New Rome, Percy looked tired for the first time all day.
Actually tired.
The sharp Roman control slipped slightly around the edges.
And without even thinking about it, Reyna reached up and adjusted the clasp of his purple cloak where it had twisted beneath his armour.
The movement lasted maybe two seconds.
Percy leaned automatically into the touch.
Annabeth nearly stopped walking.
Nobody else reacted.
Which meant this happened often.
Something hollow opened in her chest.
Percy noticed her expression immediately.
His face closed off again.
“Your quarters are through here,” he said evenly.
Annabeth laughed once under her breath. “Gods.”
Reyna’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Annabeth—”
“No, it’s fine.” Annabeth crossed her arms tighter. “Really educational actually.”
Percy looked exhausted suddenly.
Not angry.
Not defensive.
Just tired.
“Can we not do this publicly?”
The quiet honesty in his voice made it worse.
Because he wasn’t dismissing her feelings.
He simply didn’t have room for them anymore.
Later that night, unable to sleep, Annabeth wandered through New Rome alone.
The city felt fundamentally different from Camp Half-Blood.
Older.
Disciplined.
Built to last.
Roman architecture rose around her in marble and gold, aqueducts gleaming beneath moonlight while distant patrols crossed the streets in organised patterns. Even the peace here felt militarised.
Annabeth found Percy eventually on a balcony overlooking the city.
Of course she did.
He stood without his helmet now, dark hair curling slightly in the night breeze. The purple praetor cloak hung loose around his shoulders.
For a moment he looked almost familiar again.
Then Reyna stepped onto the balcony beside him carrying two cups of steaming tea.
The sight rooted Annabeth in place before either of them noticed her.
Reyna handed Percy one automatically.
“You skipped dinner,” she said.
“I was busy.”
“You’ve been busy for three straight days.”
Percy accepted the tea with a quiet sigh. “The western defenses needed inspection.”
“And the Senate survived without you for one hour. Miraculously.”
A faint smile touched Percy’s mouth.
Small.
Real.
Annabeth had forgotten what it felt like seeing Percy smile at someone else.
Not flirtation.
Not charm.
Something quieter.
Domestic.
Reyna noticed Annabeth first.
Her expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
Percy turned.
The softness vanished immediately.
Annabeth hated herself for noticing.
“Sorry,” she said stiffly. “Didn’t realise this was private.”
Reyna studied her for a moment, then handed Percy her own cup too.
“You haven’t slept properly in days,” she said calmly. “Drink both.”
Percy looked like he wanted to argue.
He didn’t.
Annabeth stared.
Percy Jackson — who once fought Ares at twelve out of pure stubbornness — accepted the order without complaint.
Reyna touched his shoulder briefly before leaving.
As she passed Annabeth, neither spoke.
But Annabeth understood something then with painful clarity:
Reyna wasn’t insecure about her.
Because Reyna already knew Percy chose Rome.
And Percy had chosen Reyna with it.
Silence settled heavily after she left.
Percy stared down at the city below. “You shouldn’t wander alone here at night.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know.”
The immediate answer hurt unexpectedly.
Annabeth moved beside him carefully. “You love her.”
Percy didn’t respond immediately.
Then quietly: “Yes.”
No hesitation.
No guilt.
Just truth.
Annabeth looked away before her expression betrayed her.
“How long?”
“A while.”
“That’s vague.”
Percy rubbed tiredly at the white streak in his hair. “It wasn’t intentional.”
Annabeth almost laughed at that.
Because of course it wasn’t.
Percy had never fallen in love carefully.
“What happened?” she asked.
For a long moment he stayed silent.
Then finally: “Rome happened.”
Annabeth frowned.
Percy stared out over New Rome. “After Manhattan, Camp Jupiter was collapsing. Constant attacks. Political infighting. Casualties every month.” His voice grew quieter. “I kept waiting for Olympus to help.”
“But they didn’t.”
“No.”
The bitterness in that single word felt ancient.
“Reyna and I were handling everything alone most days,” Percy continued. “Senate disputes. Border patrols. Funeral rites. Reconstruction.” A humourless smile crossed his face. “Turns out shared exhaustion is weirdly romantic.”
Annabeth swallowed hard.
“It wasn’t replacing you,” Percy said suddenly. “At first.”
That almost hurt more.
Because she believed him.
Percy looked toward the temples towering above New Rome, and Annabeth saw anger settle into him like something permanently embedded beneath his skin.
“I used to think surviving wars meant things would get better after,” he admitted quietly. “But Olympus just moved on. Like they always do.”
“And Reyna didn’t.”
“No,” Percy said. “She stayed.”
The words carried more weight than they should have.
Annabeth realised suddenly that Percy valued presence now more than promises.
Rome had changed what mattered to him.
“What about us?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Percy closed his eyes briefly.
When he answered, his voice sounded genuinely pained.
“We were sixteen, Annabeth.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.” He looked at her finally. “It’s the truth.”
The honesty hit brutally hard because Percy wasn’t belittling what they had.
He was mourning it.
Like something beautiful that simply didn’t survive.
“I loved you,” he said softly.
Loved.
Past tense.
Annabeth felt her chest tighten.
Percy looked away again almost immediately, like he regretted saying even that much.
Then distant horns sounded across New Rome.
His posture changed instantly.
Praetor again.
Cold focus replacing vulnerability in seconds.
“What now?” Annabeth asked.
“Eastern gate breach.”
Percy set both untouched cups aside.
As he turned toward the stairs, Annabeth grabbed his wrist instinctively.
He froze.
The contact lingered painfully.
“You still care about me,” she whispered.
Percy stared at her hand around his arm.
“Yes,” he admitted quietly.
Hope flared stupidly in her chest.
Then he shattered it.
“But not enough to become who I used to be again.”
The words landed like a knife slid carefully between ribs.
Percy pulled away gently.
Not cruelly.
That almost made it worse.
Then he disappeared down the stairs toward the sound of alarms while New Rome erupted into organised chaos around them.
Annabeth remained alone on the balcony long after he left.
Below her, Roman legionnaires flooded the streets with mechanical precision while bells rang across the city.
And somewhere beneath all the grief twisting inside her was a realisation far more frightening than Percy falling in love with Reyna.
Percy Jackson had stopped believing Olympus deserved loyalty.
And unlike Luke, Percy wasn’t angry because he felt powerless.
He was angry while holding the loyalty of an empire.