Archive of Our Own

In the summer, Camp smells like pine.

Thalia always took a second or two to smile when Percy hinted that Camp smelled like her in the summer, so Annabeth would never confess any of this to her; summer, however, was still the time Annabeth missed her most. During that season, even the scent of the air was a constant and painful reminder of her spirit, of her protection, of her love.

Of her absence.

Now, Thalia is in Louisiana with her Hunters. Now, Grover is in Colorado on another mission. Luke is still possessed by Kronos. And Annabeth is sitting by the lake.

Alone.

A little grumpy, a little annoyed, a little hurt in a way too hard to elaborate manner.

In a swift movement, Annabeth reaches for the little ziplock in the pocket of her sweater. 

That spot by the lake is truly stunning. The trees provide a lovely shade, they form delicate patterns on the earth, they let the sun pass through very gently. The wind blows softly against her face. Even the naiads are chill, today.

It's nice. It's pleasant. So Annabeth settles herself more comfortably on the ground. She zips up her sweatshirt. She ties her braids into a loose ponytail.

She takes a deep breath. One. Two. Three times.

The reconstructions have been going well. She managed to sleep for three full hours last night, she only heard the Labyrinth voices five times and she managed to organize this week's patrol schedule with the Ares guys without any major problems besides the standard squabble between Ellis and Agatha.

All of this shows up as a list in her mind. Small advantages, small points.

Still…

Annabeth doesn't even want to open that stupid little bag, she doesn’t even want to look at it. She does, nonetheless.

Those damn blue cookies are there.

And then Percy. Out of the blue, pun intended. Appearing in her mind uninvited. Just blue eyes, messy blond hair and trouble.

Percy. His hands on her waist, her lips on his, his eyes that are so, so beautiful. His kindness, his charming remarks, Westover Hall before everything.

And then his silence.

The time away. The mortal.

“Gods,” Annabeth sighs, annoyed, tempted to throw those idiotic cookies into the lake. But they’re so good. Sally makes them with so much love; she wrote her a little note in a careful handwriting that vaguely resembled Percy’s scribbles.

Percy. Again. With the mortal. Making an easier choice. Opting for humanity, for the safe, everyday simplicity that she lacked.

The wind blows against her face, lifts up some of the loose braids against her temples.

Gods. She is so blue.

Annabeth resigns herself to eating one of the cookies. She breaks another one in half and offers it to the naiad near the shore.

"Want one?"

Her blue hand touches hers with a giggle and a polite nod, which Annabeth returns.

But the naiad leaves anyway. Annabeth is left alone, once again.

Irritated. With that loneliness gnawing at her bones, those eternal dreams of abandonment, the feeling of the asphalt streets of San Francisco before Thalia and Luke.

Annoyed. With that thing. A terrible thing that has reappeared recently, after the Labyrinth, as if it had turned all the earth from her entrails and removed all of her worst fears; Insufficiency. Abandonment. Loss. War.

War. The word echoes, seeps into her soul.

War screams and screams in her mind. Because of the war, Athena's blood is restless. Lately, Annabeth can hardly stop seeing all the timelines, all the infinite possibilities that each tiny decision can entail. Her mind no longer seems to understand the concept of rest when her divine blood only calls for stratagems and negotiations and battle plans, when her human blood only calls for bridges and security plans and anything that could protect her loved ones.

Her eyes close. The Labyrinth creeps into the edges of her mind.

"And this is Annabeth. She is Head-Counselor of the Athena cabin. That is kinda fancy. It's like being president of like, Harvard, I guess."

Annabeth didn't even hear Chris Rodriguez's light footsteps until he was right beside her, accompanied by a new kid.

Suddenly, because she sees way too much lately, there's a fear running down Annabeth's spine, there’s something stealing her breath.

Chris Rodriguez. Who spent ages in the Labyrinth, who got his soul crushed by Minos wickedness, who had hurt Clarisse once. Who left with Luke.

Chris smiles at her.

Chris, who helped her organize supplies just yesterday. Chris, who has been holding hands with Clarisse, who stole Salt and Vinegar Pringles for her last week.

She stands up abruptly, brushing the dirt off her pants. Someone had said that Lucil would bring a new kid. Maybe Chris himself, maybe Malcolm.

"Hey, guys, how's it going? I'm Annabeth."

But the boy says nothing. Moves nothing. He just stands there, with his sweater torn at the arm, the mud on his pants, his coily hair covered in monster dust.

Annabeth and Chris exchange an uncomfortable look.

“She’s the one I was telling you about, the one who got back the Bolt and the Golden Fleece. She held up the sky and everything. She’s cool,” Chris says, nudging the boy with his arm. Omitting the Labyrinth. Trying to make a connection, seeing that empty look in his eyes and sort of despairing because his carefree charm doesn’t seem to be working well. Chris makes a face  before laughing in a somewhat disconcerted way. “This is Moises, Annabeth, he just got here with Lucil. From New York.”

"Oh, that's cool. Nice to meet you, Moises."

Moises has very dark eyes, a perfectly blank expression. He's the kind of child on whom the gods leave no obvious marks. Eleven years old, tops. And Moises has something that Annabeth has seen before; the defensive posture, the carefully placed emotionless face, the quick way he moves, how he stands very, very still, as if he barely exists.

Moises has seen way too much of the world already.

If Luke had been there, perhaps things with him could be going a bit more smoothly. Perhaps Moises would already be smiling or hitting someone, or perhaps shouting, insulting the gods and giving a name to that rage that vibrated around him. Perhaps he would already feel safe enough for that.

Now, however, Moises simply doesn't move. Annabeth smiles a tight, encouraging smile. 

The silence is a little awkward. Dealing with newcomers could be tricky. Dealing with newcomers in the middle of a war could be brutal.

Chris obviously needs help, but Annabeth can barely tell if she really ate anything last night or if the conversation she had with Silena happened yesterday or three weeks ago.

Her mind is too muddled to decipher Moises. She looks and looks, but no blood of Athena calls to her.

So Annabeth falls silent. And it doesn't seem to be a calculated silence, but one made of emptiness, of lack.

It’s awkward.

Chris places a hand on the kid's shoulder.

"Yo, why don’t you go ahead to our cabin? Think you remember the way? I'll be there in a minute, I just need to check with her that celestial bronze thing I told you about."

Moises walks away without any reaction, without any response, without even flinching at Chris's hand. Just firm, quick footsteps, exactly back on the right path.

“Wow. That was rough,” Annabeth comments, quietly. “Where’s Travis? I thought he was the one dealing with the new kids”

“He’s got the cold, the dumbass,” Chris replies, squeezing his eyes shut with his hands. “I thought it was bullshit to get away from this, but he’s allegedly pretty sick, according to Will. Katie even stopped by to drop off some tea and all that.”

Chris stayed. To talk to her. Annabeth tenses up, but he seems fine, now. Gossiping idly about his siblings's love lives, looking at her with a focused gaze. He reminds her of Luke. That bitterness in his bones, the blood of Hermes leaping out in every one of his words, the easy charm. An excellent thief, an excellent politician.

However, Chris was also an unclaimed demigod, one who had just banished the Labyrinth from his mind, a demigod who had just returned from Luke's army after getting swallowed by his own anger. Chris was now having to introduce Camp to a new kid, who would certainly be claimed before him. 

He was trying too hard, he was too worried. Annabeth's head hurts.

In another timeline, Hermes claimed Chris. In a different one, he says no to Luke. In a third, he kills Clarisse. In another, they met before Camp.

Annabeth has been silent for a while now, she notices. So she takes another deep breath. That reality settles more comfortably at the edges. She tightens the zipper of her sweatshirt against her body.

Chris stares at her with the gaze of a poker player who reveals nothing.

“Bad timing, huh,” Annabeth finally says, clearing her throat. “But I don’t think he’s mine, sorry. Maybe we can try something with Aphrodite’s kids, maybe he’ll open up a little more with them. The first days are rough, but we’ll find him a place eventually, don’t worry.”

"Yeah. You're right. It's just that he hasn't said anything since yesterday and I can't really be fucking anything up. I'll figure something out, though, don't worry, I appreciate it. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

Talk.

Annabeth was a good Head-Counselor, once, she supposes. She was wise. That was her thing, she was known for being wise. She guided and she listened, and she knew what to say, a while back. She knew the personal dramas of each of the campers.

Annabeth still knows. 

She knows that Dora likes to crochet, that Mark reads manga in secret, that Samantha of Apollo kissed Samira of Hephaestus behind Poseidon's cabin the day before yesterday.

That's why Annabeth gets apprehensive. Because she knows Chris Rodriguez doesn't really go out of his way to have talks with no one else besides Clarisse, his siblings and maybe Beckendorf. Silly chats, yeah, always, with everyone, all the damn time. Not talks.

Annabeth doesn't even see when her hands begin to run down her arms, nor does she see when her shoulders rise high, tense, bracing for some kind of blow: another casualty, the end of the ambrosia supply, people switching sides, the wrath of some minor god.

“The Labyrinth,” Chris announces. His voice is very low, very gentle. Annabeth remains alert, expecting what would surely be asked of her. A kind of map, perhaps. Her opinion on the architecture. The empousai, the dracaenae, Luke. “I wanted to talk because, I don’t know, not many people understand what it’s like to be there. So I wanted to know if you’re okay.”

A pause.

The wind blows, warm and gentle. The sun filters through the trees.

And Annabeth hadn't anticipated that move from Chris.

"What? If I'm okay?"

"Yeah."

“Well,” Annabeth hesitates. No immediate answer comes to mind. Only another question: “Why wouldn’t I be, Chris?”

“Cause I’m not, I guess, cause Clarisse isn’t nor it’s Percy, and for sure not anyone who’s been there. The shit we saw there, Anna… it’s hard to let go. I don’t know. I just wanted to check. We’re worried.”

Chris rubs his neck, looks around. A tell. A stronger wind shakes the treetops.

"We?"

"Yeah, we. Everyone. Me, Silena, Charles. Connor, Travis, Will, Katie. Everyone."

“Chris.”

“Clarisse.”

There's the confession. Clarisse. Annabeth lets out a long sigh. Her eyes roll slightly.

On good days, Clarisse is great. She is her home, she is her family, she braids her hair with Silena, she understands strategies, and she knows how to talk about the gods, about arenas’s architecture, about real-world music, about all the other campers. Percy included.

On bad days, Clarisse is the last person she wants to see. She talks way too loud and she's unpredictable in a way that muddles realities in Annabeth's mind and, in all honesty, she's kinda intrusive when it comes to personal space.

On bad days, Annabeth remembers that Clarisse has known her for far too long to be avoiding her in the way she seems to be doing lately.

Therefore, Annabeth crosses her arms.

Chris adjusts his behavior to hers, like the excellent mirror he is; he starts to try to convince her. His body leans gently towards her. His speech will be quick, Annabeth knows, it will flow like a gentle current of air, it will sound like undeniable truths being presented.

"She didn't ask me to do this, though, I'm just really worried, too, Annabeth, because sometimes I think you're seeing way too much. It’s an Athena thing, the timelines deal, I know, but I also know the Labyrinth makes it worse. And it’s not that I have the right to tell you what to do, but I think you need to talk about these things, about the Labyrinth or whatever it is that's bothering you. Maybe it would help you organize what's inside. I know it would be better if she was the one to come over to talk to you about it, and it’s kinda weird that’s me, but Clarisse doesn't really like to talk about the Labyrinth. And I spent a lot of time there, so, I don't know, I think I can listen better. So, if you want or need anything, I'm available. I’m right here."

Finally, he smiles, a little awkwardly. Annabeth has no answer, again. She smiles back, a little, nods as they start walking back to the cabins.

"Do you like it? Talking about the Labyrinth?," she asks, offering the bag of cookies to ease her own discomfort.

“Hell no. No fucking way,” is Chris’s immediate reply, his eyes widening as soon as he notices his sharp type of swearing, which makes Annabeth laugh. He accepts one of the cookies, laughing as well. “Sorry. It’s not right to swear in front of you, you’re a princess, I gotta be on my best behaviour. It’s probably Clarisse getting into my head. But no. I don’t like talking about the Labyrinth. But I don't object, necessarily, because sometimes I need to, since I think about it a lot. I think It saved me, it brought me Clarisse, but it killed me, it destroyed me. I became a beast there and I came out like a different thing. It saved me, nonetheless. It’s fucked up. My bad, again, but there’s no other way to put it. It’s like I'd rather not think about it, but since I think about it so much, I choose to talk about it to make it less shitty.”

The anguish dripping from his words evokes a turbulent wind, summons the whispers of the Labyrinth around them.

Chris smiles a sad smile. There's a lot of pain in everything he says; he suffers across many timelines. Just like Luke does. 

Luke. Who also left Chris.

It hurts, a little, to be there with Chris. Just the two of them, when Luke used to be between them; Chris was the one that had taught Annabeth to recognize the tells Luke gave when he was cheating at Mythomagic.

But all of that was a long time ago. Now, Annabeth and Chris are forever scarred by Luke's bitterness, by the shadows of the Labyrinth.

Their steps are very slow.

Annabeth remains quiet for a bit. 

"Yeah, that makes sense. It's better to talk about it. You...?," Can you really listen? Did you mean it? Do you really want to know? Can I talk right now?, Annabeth asks, in her eyes widening, in her face searching his. Chris nods. “I think it… changed the structure of my mind, a little. It’s strange, coming back from that reality to this one, it’s strange that a place like that existed for ages just below us. It changed the way I see… ‘being safe’, I feel, the way I deal with people,” Annabeth words falter. She shivers, a bit, with that truth, she sees the corners and the walls and the screams and her loneliness. “Because I know now that if I were there alone, I… I don’t know. It would’ve been bad. It changed me because now, I don’t want to be alone anymore. Sometimes I think I can’t be alone, that I won’t survive it. But I can’t tell if it’s a real feeling or if it’s just a weakness that’s still been exploited by it. I don't know if it's a trick or a fact, if it is a flaw, a trauma, a reflected truth. I don't know what it did to me, either."

Her words are woven like a web. They are intricate, clear, but full of meanings that Annabeth cannot yet fully understand. Not right now, with the war in her bones.

But she talks. It helps, a little.

“Yeah. A lot of things can be true at the same time. Maybe the Labyrinth was saying that in many ways. In loud ways. Truths. But in cruel manners,” Chris whispers.

And it doesn't hurt that much, that talk. Chris uses the blood of Hermes well; he extracts truths with great ease, he knows madness well enough to listen to all things that resembles it with ease. 

They reach the cabin area.

“Thanks, Chris, really. I appreciate it. Meant a lot. I'm not doing great, but I'm not doing too badly either. Both can be true, I suppose. And it's just not just the Labyrinth, I guess. It's more than that.”

They maintain a new silence. It feels less burdensome now. It feels like one of honesty.

“Yeah. It is like that a lot. The offer still stands, though. For the Labyrinth or for the more than that part. You don’t have to be alone when you don’t wanna be, Anna, for real. I’m always around,” and, once again, Luke’s absence fills the space. Chris will be around because Luke isn’t, because Luke left them. Annabeth knows it. Chris knows it, too. So they exchange a tight smile. “Alright. Gotta run. I gotta show things around for another puppy.”

"Oh, yeah, go. He's really quiet. Maybe let Beckendorf take a look at him?"

"Oh, for sure. Good idea. Appreciate it."

However, what Annabeth really thinks about Moises remains a secret in her mind.

Because there is another person who is known for their exceptional handling of newcomers.

"Why did Chris Rodriguez just offer to talk to me?"

That's what Annabeth asks in a low voice as soon as she gets close enough to Clarisse La Rue's grumpy figure. She's polishing her armor in the armory, sitting on one of the wooden stools. Mark is there with her, as always, organizing a shipment of arrows on the shelves.

He leaves when Clarisse raises her dark eyes toward Annabeth.

"I wouldn't know. Only Dionysus can speak well about the mind of a deranged person."

Clarisse. With her impeccable braids, which Silena and Mark worked on for hours last week. Silena and Mark. Not Annabeth.

Clarisse. Who had spoken a few words with Annabeth at dinner about the mission in Jersey, at breakfast about one of Beckendorf's inventions. Nothing about the Labyrinth. Nothing about anything real. Nothing about her feelings, nothing about the Sea of ​​Monsters, nothing about Minos, or Chris, or Percy.

Clarisse. Who might also be leaving her.

"Why did you send your boyfriend to give me a pep talk, Clarisse?"

Annabeth's tone is still very low, but it's already projected as an order. And it sounds like a complaint, a demand. It is ridiculous, it is childish. It wasn’t even a pep talk, it was a real talk, she enjoyed it, Chris was sweet.

But she wants to hurt Clarisse.

Annabeth gets annoyed. Embarrassment clings to her shoulders. Her arms cross and she sees that Clarisse noticed her pout from the surprise on her face.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Your Highness. I'm so, so sorry if I hurt your feelings, Princess,” Clarisse would say, in another reality, one in which they are still very young and Clarisse is still very cruel.

In another, she laughs in a wicked, perverse tone. In a third, she hugs her.

In this one, Clarisse stands up. Uncomfortable. Somewhat irritated. Awkward, as she always gets when a real conversation is required. She becomes agitated, and a light smoke escapes from her skin, but her eyes remain kind.

"He's not my boyfriend. And I didn't ask for shit, he was the one who wanted to go."

Oh. So she doesn't care. It's great.

Annabeth turns her back to hide the sudden tears in her eyes. Clarisse, however, in a somewhat gentle way, holds her shoulders, turning Annabeth to face her.

"Are you crazy? Where are you going? We're talking."

"No, it’s fine. You're busy. You didn't ask Chris to talk to me. Got it."

"Annabeth. C’mon. Don't do that.  Just sit down."

Clarisse's hands are still on her shoulders. Her tone is commanding, one that only softens in the final words, as they really look at each other.

They exchange a long, intense look.

Annabeth sees the sad fire in Clarisse’s eyes, sees her blood flowers scattered around her, sees a similar weight in her soul. So she sits down. Clarisse fusses through the mess on the table until she finds a chocolate bar, which she shoves into Annabeth's hand.

An awkward silence settles in. The arsenal is very fiery, very messy, very… Clarisse.

“Sorry, Annabeth. It’s just that I don’t know what to tell you. Ever. I can’t talk about… that fucking place. I can’t talk about anything that happened there, about anything I saw, about anything I experienced there. It’s just a fucking mess. Eat. It’s really good. It’s the one you like. Caramel. Right?”

Clarisse spits out her words with some difficulty, with some reluctance, even. She barely looks Annabeth in the eye. When she does, however, there is vulnerability that disconcerts them both.

Annabeth turns her attention to the bar. The brand, the flavor, the family size. 

"Yeah. I like this one."

“I’m sorry. You know I… I suck at this. But I see you. I know you’re not okay. Everyone knows. I just don’t know what to do to help you. I don’t know. I’m afraid. I don’t think I can listen to you talk about… the Labyrinth. For fuck’s sake it, it’s bad, I’m fucking coward in that sense, but I don’t like thinking about you over there, about you holding up the fucking sky thanks to Dumbass Castellan, about you… hurting. Never. I don’t think I can handle it. I’m really sorry. And I guess I  wanted to believe you’re okay. Because you’re sleeping better, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you walking around late as fuck anymore. You’ve been eating well. You still don’t  answer right away when we talk, but…” Clarisse interrupts herself. Her face is burning, and it has little to do with the fire in her eyes. Just with shame, just with that kind of slurred, weird, confession. “And I thought you wanted peace and quiet, to be left the fuck alone, that I would make things worse because I can’t listen and I get riled up, so I didn’t reach out. And Silena wouldn’t get it, nobody who wasn’t in there would get it. I couldn’t think of anyone else who could help you. Rodriguez… he just talks better, he listens better. He can handle it properly, whatever it is that you say to him. I don’t know. I was being a little bitch, I guess. But I care about you, Annabeth, the fuck, I just chickend out for a bit, we won’t talk about this shit anymore, I’ll be around, legit. I didn’t send him to talk to you, though. I just… talk about you a lot. And he has eyes, he cares about you, he was the one who decided to go. I didn’t send him.”

It's a long monologue. Clarisse was awkward in that flustered, rushed type of way. She kind of rolls her eyes before taking them back to Annabeth.

Which makes her want to laugh. Clarisse is blue in the face and all. 

Annabeth giggles a bit with relief. With that warmer sensation enveloping her shoulders, her chest.

Clarisse doesn't hate her all that much. She’s not leaving her. She's just a little messed up in the head, too.

"So you just happened to have this kind of chocolate laying around?," is what Annabeth decides to say.

"Tsc, not too much. I just saved it for you. In case you showed up."

It's cute.

And Clarisse doesn't always listen to the ways she declares her affection. But Annabeth does.

"Yeah. I guess I didn't show up much, either. But you didn't even call me to do your hair."

"Yeah, can you believe this bullshit? I had to really believe you wanted some peace and quiet, cause I resorted to Mark. He doesn't have half your talent, but he’s committed. And big on details. So it took a whole fucking day and he and Silena wouldn't shut up. Is it too bad?

"Nah, it's cute."

Annabeth's hands carefully reach for Clarisse’s braids. She lets her, she tilts her head towards Annabeth and everything. It's the biggest statement; Clarisse is famous for punching anyone who touches her. But she lets Annabeth do it.

"I thought you ran out of gel."

Clarisse's face flushes again. Annabeth feels a smile stretch her cheeks. 

"Well. Good thieves exist."

"Yeah, well. People in love exist. Going to the city to get hair gel for someone and everything."

“Gross. It’s not forgiveness,” Clarisse proclaims, polishing her armor again. “It’s not ‘being in love,’ either.”

"No. Of course not."

"And what about Sea Twerp, Annabeth? Not that I wanna know, not that I miss him or anything. But he's been there.  Why isn’t he around to trauma bond with us?”

Sea Twerp.

With the mortal. The blue eyes, the kiss, Jaws.

Annabeth takes the ziplock to offer Clarisse a cookie.

"I don't know." Her sharp, sulky tone makes Clarisse look at her again with the pensive attention of a general.

"I know it’s not that stupid mortal thing again."

Before Annabeth notices, she's standing, pacing back and forth in the armory.

“Sea Twerp doesn’t like that annoying ass girl, Annabeth, he just wants to get away from here, from his dumb prophecy,” Clarisse exclaims, with the tired air of a repetitive conversation. “He likes you, he is obsessed with you. There's no one else. This so-called problem of you guys isn't even that mortal, she's just a distraction. And it's not you either, because he's obsessed, he's mentally ill over you. You don’t see it, but he is such an annoying little crashout whenever you go missing. That boy loses it, he gets evil as fuck. So there’s only you. There's no such thing as mortals. There's only that loser trying to escape his divinity, his prophecy, this fucking war."

"If I'm not part of the problem, where is he? We're having a break over here, things are going smoothly this summer, he could take a breather from the prophecy, but he never shows up. Especially not after…”

Annabeth cuts herself before she says too much. Clarisse looks up.

The kiss. The stupid kiss. In the stupid Labyrinth.

"After what? What? No. Deadass? Did you kiss Sea Twerp in the fucking Labyrinth?

Annabeth's silence speaks volumes. She pouts even more. 

Clarisse tries to fix her expression of disbelief. Doesn't go well. 

"How did you guys even get in the mood for shit like that in there? Gods... Oh well. It’s unusual, that’s all. I thought everybody was fighting for their life in there, didn’t really got the makeout vibe,  but alright. It happens. Adrenaline and shit. That's not a problem."

"If he doesn't say anything after it happened, if he disappears all summer after it happened, then yes, I think it’s a problem."

“But he’s stupid, you’re forgetting that. He’s dumb as fuck. I don’t even know if he knows he should say anything afterwards. We don’t even know if his blood pressure didn’t drop right then and there, or if he just panicked, or if, I don’t know, he’s afraid of having to talk to you about it now that ages have passed. Just kiss him again. Let’s see his reaction.”

Annabeth's hands find a goat figurine lying in the middle of the table. Probably Kalleo's.

“It’s stupid for me to be thinking about that right now. There’s a war going on. I’m completely messed up. Trauma and all those timelines messing my head and everything. Chris is hanging around with a new kid who doesn’t talk. And I’m worried about this kind of thing.”

It's a goat, for real, hand painted and all. It's cute. Her hands start shaking the toy's legs, almost mimicking a trot. It's almost as if she's playing with it. Annabeth remembers Grover, who was good at this kind of conversation, too.

"No, the fuck? You're fifteen. You should be worried about shit like that."

Clarisse watches her intently, her unyielding face seeming to be made of steel. Her eyes are gentle, however, so her attention doesn't make Annabeth think she needs to stop playing. It only makes her want to admit something terrible, right there, while she plays with a toy and feels alone and listens to an older person.

"Yeah. I'm a kid, I think. I'm just… a bit scared. A bit tired. Right?"

Clarisse's eyes well up right away. Annabeth doesn't have much trouble with the truth, no matter how unsettling it can be. Clarisse, in the other hand, shivers slightly, gets closer.

"Right. You’re a baby. And Sea Twerp, Beth, he's the prophecy kid. I don't know if this ever stops weighing on him when he’s here. Even if we're on a break, even if everything is smooth. He must be terrified to be here, the loser. I'm going to give fuck him up anyway."

Annabeth smiles. She gets up, trying to put the toy back, but Clarisse denies it with her head.

"Yeah. Thanks, Risse. Maybe the new kid is yours."

"Nah. He’s Rodriguez."

Annabeth is already leaving. Clarisse has gone back to polishing her armor. Her angular face is turned downwards, her shadows clearly marking the light on the armory. 

Her casual certainty makes something resonate within Annabeth.

"How do you know that?"

"He kinda looks like Luke."

Moises. Trying to merge with the shadows. Quick eyes, sharp chin, anger, sorrow, silence, the Hermes’ blood.

Luke.

Luke had left Clarisse, too. He had abandoned their childish squabbles, their truces in Mythomagic, the war books they borrowed from each other.

So Annabeth leaves without saying anything else. Without any answer.

Only firmer feet, only the shared weight of that abandonment. Luke left more people behind. Which means she also has more people.

"Wise girl."

It's night now.

The weather is nice, the sky is beautiful. The fire burns with a comforting warmth, soothing the weary gazes of everyone, taming the bestiality in their divine blood.

What happens is routine, it's predictable: Clarisse puts her plate down on Annabeth’s lap to tell Michael Yew to go fuck himself for interrupting Kalleo just as he was about to start singing.

Annabeth hears Chris tell Moises he'll be right back before he gets up to intervene in the fight.

Clarisse's finger is pointed at Michael's mocking face, who is saying she's very nosy and Chris is right between the two of them. Clarisse's brothers join the commotion, and so do Michael's.

Annabeth watches everything. As always.

But this time, Moises catches her eyes.

Moises remains in the same place, observing the scene carefully. The shadows of the campfire dance on his expressionless face.

Expressionless. But just until Annabeth sees the glint of amusement in his eyes. The move he makes to reach the marshmallow on the plate Chris made for him.

Holding Clarisse's hand, Chris looks at Moises and gives a thumbs-up.

That Moises repays. 

Finally. Moises even smirks, a bit.

So they could take care of each other. Even without Luke. Moises would be fine. So would her.

She’s eating a marshmallow and it is at this moment that Percy Sea Twerp Jackson appears.

"Wise Girl"

Percy just sits next to her. Smiling and all. So handsome. As always, he smells of sugar, sea salt and a nice, lowkey type of cologne. His hair is messy, per usual. He's wearing his Camp shirt. 

It’s as if he'd never left.

“Percy.”

That's what Annabeth says. She hates the sound of her voice. It's too airy. Too surprised. Too… happy.

Percy smiles more. But he's a little awkward, she thinks, because she is too. No one has made any move to hug. 

They just smile at each other.

The fight continues in the background. Percy stares at her a lot, as always, with that gentle thing, that loving thing, in his eyes.

He is so beautiful. So gentle, so kind. It's been like a spell, lately. Annabeth can’t take her eyes off him.

And then he opens his big mouth.

"I missed you."

Well. And whose fault is it?, the voice in her mind answers, immediately. 

Percy is saying the right thing to say in that situation, Annabeth supposes, objectively and all. Of course he misses her. They haven't seen each other in weeks. 

And, because of that, she's annoyed.

"Well. I've been right here. All summer."

Annabeth smiles, of course, but it's a tight, polite type of smile, a fake type. Because she honestly wants to tell Percy to go to hell.

His eyes dart about her face in an obvious, agitated, confusion.

"Yeah. It was a lot in here, I bet. I wanted to show up more, though," there's a pause. Percy looks away from her face, finally, and reaches for one of the marshmallows on Clarisse's plate. "And I thought… you would come over. To the city."

The city.

And then that misunderstanding, that confusion, that uncertainty reappears between them. 

It’s almost like two different languages.

Annabeth feels her face tense, feels the pout forming from that frustration, feels the sigh of annoyance rising up her shoulders.

Come over to the city. In the midst of a war. It's not impossible. It's just not something she would do. Not without an invitation. Not without a good reason.

"Percy. There's a war going on here."

And she hates all of that. Her tone. The separation between them, the divine and the mortal blood as oil and water, the simplicity with which Percy sees the world never being able to be extended to her.

"Yeah, I know. Sorry. My bad. It's just that I expected, I guess, but only in the sense of hoping you could come. A lot of people went. I saw Sarah, for instance, I saw Aviva. But I know none of them are you. None of them are as needed here as you are. I know. It was dumb."

A heavy silence fills the space between them.

He is sorry. He apologizes. As he seems to be doing a lot, lately.

However, Annabeth missed him so much. Percy, who is kind of slow, kind of clueless, kind of her best friend, is back. So she moves closer to him on the bench, taking a deep breath. Just like Silena had told her to do.

"Samantha and Samira kissed the other day, just behind your cabin."

She decides to take the gossip route. It usually works to mend that kind of bridge.

“What? For real? No. Finally!”

"Right? It was a big deal, because Connor saw it and he told everybody."

Annabeth said something else wrong, it seems. Percy is smiling a fake smile now, Percy seems uncomfortable. Percy runs his hand through his face.

"Connor, huh? Is he still around? I thought he was going to get himself a mission or something."

"Well, he’s a year-rounder. He’s around all the time."

Annabeth's tone is sharp, again. Pointed. Petty.

So they got off to a bad start.

It's good that Percy is Sally's son. He doesn't let these types of things get too out of hand. Even though it's bad, he can bathe any discomfort in a kind of lightness all the time. So he says:

“Yeah, I don’t like this,” he points to the space between them. “It’s weird. Can we talk? Properly? Somewhere else?”

Annabeth's legs are shaking. She's nervous, terrified, tense. Not because of the war, or the Labyrinth, but because she's going to talk to Percy Jackson properly and somewhere else.

So they walk. Very close to each other. Her shoulder touches his arm now and then. Her breathing falters, a bit. Percy looks and looks and he even trips on his own feet. 

“Oh, hell no. No fucking way,” Clarisse growls as they pass her and Chris on the way to the lake. “You’re back? Who allowed you?”

“Hello to you too, Clarisse. Hi, Chris. What a nice evening, am I right? But what are you guys doing here, so far from the fire? It’s kind of weird, isn’t it? I wouldn’t want trouble with Chiron or nothing. Personally, I wouldn’t be so far away, subjected to suspicions of being engaged in shady, suspicious, type of activities.”

Annabeth can't help but smile foolishly. Percy is funny, unfortunately. He gets along very well with the Hermes kids because his tongue is also very sharp, his words are also very cheeky.

He is silly. He's not too ashamed of being a kid. He smiles a big, crooked, smile to Clarisse.

Chris laughs out loud, but Clarisse blushes a little.

“Shut the fuck up, Jackson. It’s me you shouldn't be wanting trouble with, so get the fuck outta here,” Clarisse replies. But she lets it go easily this time. Her left hand is intertwined with Chris’s, but she uses her right one to flip Percy the middle finger. “And don’t take too long over there. We’ll be waiting right here,” Clarisse declares as they walk away.

Her gaze doesn't linger on them for long, though. When they look back, Clarisse is already kissing Chris again.

"Is it 'forgiveness' now?," Percy asks quietly, laughing.

"She said no."

"He cut her down again?," the grimace on his face makes Annabeth laugh.

"No. He went to the city to buy hair gel for her."

"So it's forgiveness."

Forgiveness. 

How well can Annabeth forgive, in the end?

They sit on the edge of the lake. Just earlier that day, Annabeth was there. Alone. With a bag of cookies. Right now, with him, it seems like she can forgive a lot.

The moon is full, perfectly round, illuminating Percy's stunning face, the lake water, the little flowers that grow on the shore.

They are very close. Percy smells very good. Annabeth is very nervous.

"I'm sorry. I haven't been around much, really."

Percy turns his gaze to her. Annabeth almost wants to look away.

“I really thought you were going to come over, though. I really wanted you to. I have so much to tell you, I wanted to show you that I found a new pizza place and that my mom is planting a new flower that's purple, and I thought you'd find it pretty. And that I got a new haircut.”

Just one breath. Fast, nervous.

Annabeth's hand rises without her seeing it. Her body moves first, as it usually does when Percy is involved. She wants to touch Percy's hair. She probably shouldn't. But her hand is already in the air and he's already seen it and the look they exchange makes her breath catch slightly. 

His eyes shine so brightly. With expectation.

Everything lasts two seconds, but it feels like it lasts forever, ages and ages.

Aphrodite could do tricks like that.

So she touches his hair. It's very soft. Tangled, as always. It’s a nice feeling, as always.

Percy smiles. His gentle eyes are fixed, attentive to her face.

“Looks good,” Annabeth says, her voice sounding very small. She smiles, too, awkwardly, as she puts her hand down. “I wanted to see it. All of it. The pizza place, the flower. Your hair.”

"I know." 

They could argue, Annabeth thinks. They could talk about that misunderstanding, they could act like it was their biggest problem, they could talk about the mortal.

They could avoid war, the Labyrinth, death, and loss forever and ever.

Or they could sustain that silence. One that was only made of presence. Only him, only her, only the lake, only the moon.

“I’m scared. Of being here,” Percy announces suddenly, his words surging like sudden waves on a peaceful sea.

Just like Clarisse had said.

He looks at her. Restless eyes, sea and ocean, divine blood and fifteen mortal years.

Fear, torment. The prophecy resting wickedly on his shoulders.

In one timeline, he's already dead. In another, they kiss. In a third, Percy isn't Poseidon's son and they meet on the New York subway on a Wednesday at four.

Annabeth nods.

“I’m terrified. But I want to be with you. Annabeth, I’m afraid of so many things in this world. You know it. But I met you because of it. So if this is where you are, this is where I’ll be, too.”

Annabeth is almost speechless. Almost.

She listens. She looks and looks.

Something causes the truth to be expelled from her.

Maybe it’s just want.

"I could have called more, I suppose. I could show up to the city, but I'm part of this world. I don't know if you want to remember it when you're over there."

It's a confession. One that it hurts her throat, her soul, but it's the truth. Clean and sharp. 

“And I’m not… one hundred percent, I guess. The Labyrinth got into my head, and the war… it asks a lot of me. So, right now, I just don’t know how to exist without reminding you of this world, Percy, cause it’s who I am. It hurts a little, but I understand, logically, if you want… to take a break from me.”

To take a break. To leave.

She waits. The lake water gets restless. Little angry waves reach her feet. She looks away. 

It's Percy's shocked, almost mad, look that disconcerts her.

"Annabeth, the fuck? I never want to take a break from you. I want to remember you all the time."

His voice is firm. But is it firmer than war, firmer than the simplicity of the mortal? In a few timelines, it isn’t. In most of them, it is so much firmer. 

"Percy, it’s okay."

"No. It’s not. I don't want you thinking that I wanna a break from you. I don't even get exactly what that means, but it kinda sounds exactly like the last thing I wanna do. I want the opposite of it. I want…"

Percy stops himself.

Annabeth wants to know what Percy wants, but, most importantly, Percy doesn't know what it means to take a break. It means to leave. It means to do what Luke did, what Frederick did, what Athena did. 

So she understands it. Logically. The need for the break.

If her heart breaks and her soul shatters and she cries a lot before going to sleep, that's another story.

“The new kid is Hermes’,” she whispers, eyes still glued to the lake. “But now that Luke left, we got…”

"Yeah, Luke left. It sucked,” Percy voice is so, so soft. It feels like a caress. It becomes one, as his hand touches one of her braids with so much tenderness, so much… reverence. She takes a deep, deep breath before looking at him. “But Annabeth. That's not what was happening this summer, that’s not what I will do. I was just being a coward. But what I want is to be with you. It’s all I want. All the time."

Annabeth's heart is beating very, very fast. Percy's eyes seem to drown hers, consuming everything with their depth.

Percy's hand reaches for hers. It's warm, like Sally's, which marked his soul with her love more than Poseidon.

Annabeth intertwines her fingers.

For a second, she sees only that timeline. Only that truth: Annabeth, Percy, their hands, the moon.