Chapter Text
Fool, she thought. You absolute fool.
Whether she was referring to herself or Percy was a mystery, even to her.
Black ink, almost obsidian in the moonlight, coated her fingers. Splotches and blobs ruined hours of work as the snapped pieces of the pen rolled off the table and disappeared somewhere beneath the chair.
The Big House was empty.
The fire had done nothing but bother her all night. Its incessant snap and crackle kept dragging her back to the funeral after the battle, the flames licking at crumpled sheets of absolute, utter garbage that she'd concocted and thrown into the fire. She had watched them burn and imagined linen instead of parchment. A shroud instead of paper. Haunted by the image of Percy's beaten and bloody body, covered with cloth and consumed by flames, she had stared and stared and stared.
Percy's shroud.
Her mind had been doing this for a month now.
Ever since she'd first grasped the fabric with broken, cut-up fingers, shredded from clawing at the hot lava and rock left behind in the wake of Mount St. Helens. Later, she had sat in this same chair for three nights straight, weaving until her hands could no longer move, until the shroud was finally something she deemed worthy.
She'd been covered in grime and hadn't even twitched once other than to scream when her tears had dried up. Michael had had to drug her the second she'd put down the fabric, because of the state she'd worn herself into. She hadn't even noticed.
They'd kept her under for almost a week.
A mercy, she'd thought when she'd woken up clean and healed, because Percy still hadn't returned. The last glimmer of hope she'd been holding onto, even while being comatose, had finally died then.
The camp had sent search parties. They had tried spells, prayed to the gods, done everything they could think of.
Nothing.
Nothing.
There had been no body.
No proper rites.
Only the stupid shroud.
She had been prepared to fight the war that followed without him by her side, if only to avenge him. To fulfil what he'd started. And then that idiot had sauntered back into her life two weeks later.
Two weeks.
Two weeks of everyone thinking he was dead.
Two weeks of Annabeth thinking he was dead.
In the days leading up to the burning, her brain had tortured her by playing the same memory over and over again: the soft press of his blistered lips against hers.
And then he had walked in.
As if she hadn't kissed him.
As if she hadn't mourned him.
As if nothing had happened.
After that she'd found out about Calypso.
It'd felt like her heart was trying to maul its way out of her ribcage.
He hadn't chosen to leave her. She knew that. She knew it in the rational, logical part of her brain that had somehow survived the sheer trauma of the last month. (She's surprised too.)
It didn't make the image any less unbearable.
Two weeks.
Two weeks while she had been grieving him, while she'd sat in the Big House and woven a shroud for a body that would never have come home.
As the fates would have it, Percy had been somewhere else.
On an island.
With a beautiful girl.
It wasn't like that, some part of her insisted.
But then what was it like?
Anger overtook her, Annabeth falling prey to it's easy, reliable allure.
Oh, and how could she forget Rachel?
He had dragged that mortal into her quest.
Never mind that they'd needed her. Never mind that Rachel had been useful. Never mind that Annabeth herself would have made exactly the same decision if the circumstances demanded it, if she'd been any less prideful.
For Percy to look at her like that—to follow her, to trust her, to find comfort in her—it cut deeper than Annabeth wanted to admit.
Perhaps she really would never be enough.
Not for anyone.
Not even for Percy.
Fool.
A sweet hum filled the room, alongside the crackle of the hearth. It took her a moment to realize.
The hymns she'd heard at the pyre had risen unbidden in her mind. She continued humming them, remembering only the melody, trying desperately not to imagine herself singing them over Percy's body when it inevitably lay in front of her. She knew she'd have to lead the camp in the mourning rituals as was custom. The meager thought of it had Annabeth wanting to puke her guts out, to sob and screech and curse the world for everything because
it. was. just. not. FAIR.
(who was she kidding, nothing in any demigod's life could be described as fair.)
They were living on stolen time, and Kronos would be here soon too punish the theft and collect his dues.
She abruptly tossed the spoiled parchment into the fire and watched the orange and red slowly eat through the fibres. She stared, and all those cruel thoughts kept coming back, everything pricking at her skin until a thousand tiny wounds opened and let the blood seep out.
A sharp knock startled her upright.
Her throat felt as though it were packed with gravel, grinding against eachother as she spoke.
"Come in."
She waited for the door to shut. Eyes screwed tightly shut, she exhaled.
"I'll get it done by dawn, Chiron. I promise. Don't worry."
She was surprised he hadn't come earlier, really.
"Ouch. When did I grow hindquarters?"
Damn it all to Tartarus.
This had to be some cruel joke by the Fates.
An emergency recon mission tomorrow, after the disaster that had been yesterday. She had no solid plan, and no time. And the one person she couldn't bear to see had apparently decided to show up and douse every little pinprick in citric acid.
“Go away, Percy.”
She didn't bother turning around. Her feet felt glued to the floor.
"No can do, Annabeth. You've been in here all day. You haven't eaten anything."
His footsteps came closer.
"It's literally one in the morning right now, you know that?"
"That leaves me with five hours, Percy. Go away and let me work."
She scrubbed her eyes. Her head felt like it was splitting open.
"Wise Girl, please."
Percy was right behind her now.
"Everyone is worried."
The nickname made her eyes sting and she willed the tears away.
"I need to get this done, Seaweed Brain. Please. Just let me finish working so what happened with Alpha Two doesn't fucking happen again."
Her voice sharpened at the end, and her migraine pulsed violently behind her eyes. She crumpled back into the nearest chair, her vision swimming. Through the haze, she saw Percy appear in front of her. He hesitated for barely a second before reaching for her face, his fingers gentle as he turned her head toward the light.
And then his expression changed. The softness vanished.
"Annabeth, what are you doing?"
There was anger underneath his voice now, the same anger she'd heard him trying to swallow a moment ago.
"You have ink all over you. There are pages everywhere. You haven't eaten. You haven't had a sip of water. You haven't even stepped outside."
His thumb brushed something near her temple.
She flinched.
Percy's eyes narrowed.
"And now I find out you have a cut on your head?"
His voice rose.
"Have you lost your mind?"
So that was the pain.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Father. I was unaware you were meant to be kept updated on my wellbeing."
She knew she was being callous but she didn't have the heart to care.
Percy flinched back at the comment, knowing all the history that poisoned her words.
It didn't satisfy her.
"Annabeth, don't be dumb." He stepped closer again. "You aren't getting anywhere by torturing yourself, godsdammit. You don't even have an outline for tomorrow's plan."
this bitch
"Fuck you, Percy," she spat out as the tension behind her eyes peaked.
She folded forward with a gasp. Percy's hand caught her shoulder before she could fall. For one second, neither of them moved.
Then his voice changed, as he ground out the words,
"At least let me help you, Wise Girl."
She could hear the exhaustion in it now.
"Take a minute. Rest. I'll help you plan after that. We'll get it done by sunrise."
He inhaled, desperate to get her to have to his whim. If only he knew, she thought bitterly.
"Just let me help."
Was that regret in his voice?
Annabeth didn't want to know.
"Fine." The word came out harsher than she'd intended. "Gods, fine. If it'll get you off my back."
The intended effect of her ire was ruined by another wave of pain. She gasped softly. Percy's hand tightened around her shoulder as he cursed again, then eased her back into the chair before straightening.
Annabeth missed the warmth of his body beside her almost immediately.
She hated that.
He disappeared for a few sullen moments, returning with a small mug of water in one hand and a plate of bread and berries in the other, apparently scavenged from gods know where. He set them down beside her, then reached for her face again.
Annabeth's breath caught.
For one treacherous second, her heart skipped, her woozy mind letting go of every reservation she had just long enough to imagine it: Percy leaning closer, his mouth against hers, as natural as breathing, as though this was something they did, as though it had always been something they did.
She was greeted with a sharp sting instead.
Annabeth hissed as Percy swiped at the cut on her temple again with a cloth soaked in disinfectant.
"Stay still."
His voice was hard, but he paused just long enough for her to adjust her head before continuing, his touch a little gentler this time.
Annabeth clenched her fists but complied.
Finally, Percy pulled away.
"Here."
He motioned for her cup and she handed it over.
He grabbed a small vial of nectar from the table and added a few drops to the water, the barest tip of his tongue poking between his lips in concentration.
Annabeth had absolutely no idea why she suddenly found that interesting. The way she bowed her head had nothing to do with her injury.
She took a slow sip, relishing the way heat spread through her from the inside out, the taste of lemon cake settling warmly over her tongue. The pain in her head eased almost immediately, and she could feel the skin at her temple pulling itself back together.
It hardly hurt anymore.
Then, without warning, Percy pressed a strawberry against her lips.
Annabeth glared at him.
She opened her mouth anyway.
Before he could attempt to force feed her another, she snatched the rest of the fruit from his hand. Percy blinked as she ate it herself.
"Remember when the roles were reversed?"
His mouth quirked.
"Can't believe you fed me when I first came here. I mean, talk about a lack of bedside manners."
His smile wasn't fake, but it wasn't entirely wholehearted, either.
Annabeth stuck out her tongue.
"Well, you were unconscious. What exactly was I supposed to do?"
"Apparently interrogate me."
"Come off it. I was desperate, and you were practically the only option I had left."
"Man, you wound me." Percy clutched at his chest.
Annabeth felt her face relax, a lazy smile pulling at her mouth. It lasted barely a second. Then she remembered, and her mood immediately soured.
She shoved the rest of the fruit into her mouth, chewing heavily before forcing herself to swallow.
"Enough wasting time." She reached for the papers. "I need to get this plan done."
The sudden change of pace threw Percy off, but he regained footing quick, and rolled his eyes.
"You mean we need to get this plan done."
Annabeth pinched the bridge of her nose before conceding. It wasn't worth the exhaustion that would come from picking this fight.
"Fine."
She unrolled a fresh sheet of parchment beside the map and reached for another pen.
"I've already gone through all the possible vantage points. The north leaves us completely exposed. No chance there." She pointed to the northern edge of the map before moving south.
"The southern approaches are only marginally better, but they're too close to the grounds where the team is stationed. Too much risk of compromise." Her finger moved up to the right.
"East was what fucked Alpha Two. So that's out." Then to the left.
"And the west is its own beast. It's open ocean. Not exactly ideal for spying."
She glanced at him. "Not even for you, Seaweed Brain."
Percy snorted.
"Air isn't possible for obvious reasons. And underground isn't an option either. How exactly would that work?" She leaned back, feeling her eyes water from sheer exhaustion pushing heavily at her bones. Every possibility was a dead end. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Percy frowned.
"Wait."
Annabeth looked at him.
"Why not underground?"
Percy's eyes had already gone distant, his mind moving faster than his mouth as he leaned over the map and pointed to the various positions, placing figurines on the spots.
"The Demeter kids could help with that. With the druids, they could form reinforced tunnels beneath the site. Alpha Three could land underground at different points, giving us multiple vantage points. We could listen in on different areas without putting anyone on the surface."
Annabeth stared at the map, mind firing up all its cylinders as she mulled over all the possible vantage points that being underground could give us access to, when aided with the information from her scouts. Percy continued on, warming to the idea.
"And if we're precise, we could get some of the other Alpha Three members in by Pegasus. Drop Greek fire once we've got our hands on the stuff we need."
He looked up at her, glee and determination simmering in his blood.
"They're going to relocate soon anyway, after yesterday’s shit," His troublemaker smile lit his face up.
"Might as well rush it. Force them to fuck up."
The idea was—
Damn him.
She picked up her pen.
"That's not entirely stupid." Percy was one of the most brilliant minds she knew, not that she’d let him know that. She had a feeling he knew that she respected that about him either way. Everyday she cursed her bleeding heart, and it's inability to disguse emotions in front of those it had accepted.
Percy grinned. "High praise."
"Don't get used to it."
"Wouldn't dream of it." He replied, tossing her the soldier figurine.
They worked for two hours straight.
The plan was finally finished sometime around four in the morning. Annabeth stared down at the final version, surrounded by crumpled drafts and half-empty cups of water, the map a mess of ink and annotations beneath her hands. Percy had accumulated an impressive collection of crumbs on his side of the table, along with saggy dark circles that suggested he was every bit as exhausted as she was. She traced the tunnel routes with her eyes one more time. It was decent, but she itched to -
"Stop staring at it."
Annabeth glanced up. Percy had sunk so far into his chair that his head nearly rested against the back of it, arms folded over his chest. "I'm only checking it over again."
"You've done it at least six times by now."
"Five." She said, petulantly.
He gave her a long look, and she turned back to the map before the corner of her mouth could betray her. Percy let out a long, suffering sigh and declared them done. She told him they weren't, that they hadn't gone through the contingencies. He exasperatedly pointed out they had three, his hands flailing wide. (New Yorker at heart wasn't he?) She said three wasn't enough but the he pointed out it was four in the morning, like that settled anything, as if normal people being asleep had ever applied to either of them.
She reached for another pen. He was faster though, snatching it off the table before her fingers closed around it.
"Give me that."
"Rest then maybe."
"You're not my mother."
"Thank the gods."
"Give me the pen."
"No."
"Are you twelve?"
"Are you?"
“Percy.” She stomped her foot down.
He had the gall to laugh at her.
“Annabeth you have a migraine, just go and rest!” He pressed.
“It went away Percy, I’m perfectly fine.”
He pointed at her temple, the most annoyed expression on his face. "You're literally rubbing it right now."
Her hand stopped mid-motion. She lowered it slowly. "I don't see how that's relevant." Percy just looked at her, patient and maddening, I know you're lying and I'm going to let you dig the hole anyway.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm an invalid."
"I didn't say you were."
"You don't have to."
Rage flickered across his face, brief but sharp, and her own temper rose to meet it. "Whatever," she muttered, and started gathering the papers into a pile, her hands moving automatically, straightening pages that were already straight.
"You're doing it again," Percy said. "Getting pissed off and pretending you're not."
"I'm not pissed off."
"Right." He snorted, disbelieving.
She shoved the papers into the folder harder than necessary. "Gods, you're exhausting."
"I came here because you were sitting alone in the Big House at one in the morning, covered in ink and bleeding from the head, trying to kill yourself with work."
"Don't be dramatic." She scoffed.
"You're being impossible." He looked ready to tear his hair out.
"Then go away."
The words left her before she could stop them, and she immediately wished she could take it back. The room dropped by several degrees in temperature. The look on Percy's face made her wish she could stab herself. Why couldn’t she just learn from all her mistakes. The little warmth he'd been carrying just drained out of him, leaving a hurt look on his face that very quickly morphed to irritation. He pushed himself out of his chair.
She should have let him go. That was what she wanted, wasn't it, for him to stop hovering, stop looking at her like he could see through every mask she'd thrown over herself tonight. So why did her chest seize the second he actually moved toward the door?
"You're really good at that." She called out, begging the gods to just stop her from talking before she could cause irreparable damage.
He halted. Turned back. "Good at what?"
She looked down at the folder she was fidgeting with. She hadn't meant to say anything, but it was too late now.
"Leaving."
The word parted a canyon between them.
"That's not fair," Percy said.
"Isn't it?"
"Annabeth, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
There were too many answers pressing behind her teeth, begging her tongue to release them. You left me. You came back. You’ll leave again. None of them were said, not even with the darkness of the night giving her a shroud, a leeway to speak her fears into cruel existence. No, she couldn’t say that.
weak
"Forget it." She sighed
"No. You don't get to say that and then tell me to forget it." He demanded.
"Why not?"
"Because you keep doing this. Throwing something at me and running before I can figure out what you're talking about." Percy nearly yelled at her.
"That's funny." An incredulous laugh bubbled within her.
"What?"
"Nothing." She snapped the folder shut. "Just go, Percy."
He didn't move. "No."
"No?"
"I'm not leaving. You're clearly upset. I wanna know why." He crossed his arms and started tapping his foot impatiently, as if expecting her to grant to want.
"I'm tired." Her words were a breath above being a whisper.
Percy didn’t accept that as an answer. He pushed.
"You've been like this for weeks. One minute you're screaming at me for breathing wrong, and the next you're—" He stopped himself.
Her eyes narrowed. "The next I'm what?"
"It doesn't matter." Percy pleaded.
"It matters enough for you to bring it up." She glared at him.
"Annabeth."
"Finish it."
He dragged both hands through his hair. "You're all over the place, okay? I don't have an explanation. I don't know what I’m meant to tell you."
"Clearly."
"Back off! You’ve been a Καριόλα all week!"
The sharpness of it made her flinch. Καριόλα. Bitch. It was what some of the younger campers called her when they thought the senior counselors weren’t listening. Percy was the last person she had ever expected to hear it from. Her mouth fell open as furious tears pricked at her eyes.
Percy’s ire dropped away as fast as it had risen. The anger lingered behind, but regret soured his face. Annabeth stepped back, hugging herself, as she drew herself up with a heavy breath.
"That's not what I meant."
"You don't have to explain."
"I wasn't—"
"Stop looking at me like I'm some problem you have to fix! Like I'm a mess you're stuck handling and cleaning up after."
Percy went stock still. Annabeth's breathing ran uneven, and a part of her recognized, distantly, that tonight was turning into a parade of things she hadn't meant to say.
"I'm not trying to do any of that. I don’t think that Annabeth." His words sounded like pity.
"Then what are you doing?" She spat at him.
"I don't know!"
"Exactly." He had no idea how much power he held over her. No idea how deeply his obliviousness tortured her. He didn't know how she had mourned him, and he sure as fuck didn't know he was a dead man walking. Or maybe he did, and he was choosing to ignore it. A scream caught in the back of throat.
She turned away, pressing her palms flat against the table's edge. Behind her, Percy exhaled slowly, as if trying to will the situation away.
"What do you want Percy?" The question was spoken softly, her gaze weary in his direction.
He fell silent. When she turned, he was looking at her—really looking—with that open, helpless confusion that made something inside her twist. As if searching her face for an answer, one she knows she can’t give, as if the right words might somehow undo all of this. She hated it. Hated the tenderness in his eyes, hated how badly part of her still wanted to drown in it. After everything tonight—the softness, the help, the care—they were still standing on opposite sides of the ravine, close enough to try and reach for each other and too broken to bridge the gap.
"Well?"
He opened his mouth. Nothing.
Her laugh came out brittle. "That's what I thought."
"Annabeth, wait, you're not listening to me."
"You have to say something for me to be able to do that Percy. I’m trying."
"You're not."
"Then tell me." Her voice cracked through the room.
“I did Annabeth, I want you to tell me what’s been bothering you!”
“Really Percy, You really want to go there?” Annabeth couldn’t have sounded more drained if she tried.
“Θεοί, Annabeth, yes!” He cried out.
She spun around he was standing in the middle of the Big House with his fists loosely clenched, his face raw with something dangerously close to fear.
The answer surged up so fast it nearly escaped. Stay. Don’t die. Her throat closed around the words like a noose, refusing to let them slip free.
"I don't know," she whispered instead, throwing his words back at him and meant it more than she'd meant almost anything in weeks. She didn't know what she wanted from him or from herself, didn't know if she wanted him to hold her or leave her be, didn't know if she could survive one more conversation about the war and who wasn't going to make it home. To ruminate on the fact that he wouldn’t.
"I don't know either," she said, sound thinner now. “Maybe I just want you to acknowledge how screwed up everything is. You act like everything is fine."
"I don't." He rebutted, but it was a weak defense and he knew it.
"You joke about everything."
"Because what else am I supposed to do Annabeth? Talk about the war? About who's going to die?"
"Stop." She pushed weakly.
"Isn't that what you want?" His body was coiled tight, the vein on the side of his neck popping out.
"No."
"Then what?"
"I don't know!" The words burst out of her, and her vision blurred before she could stop it. She turned away, furious at herself, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. She would not cry in front of him. Not after everything.
"I can't do this with you," she said, so quiet she barely heard herself.
"Do what?"
She shook her head. "Any of it. I can't keep doing this."
He moved closer. "Doing what?"
A dull laugh escaped her. "You really don't get it."
"No," he said, and the honesty of it, immediate and unguarded, almost sent her to her knees right then and there. He had no idea.
"You want to know what's wrong with me? Fine." Her voice trembled. "I'm terrified, Percy. All the time. Every time you disappear, I think about Mount St. Helens. Every time you don't come back when you're supposed to, I think about it. I wake up thinking about it." She pressed a hand flat against her own chest, wishing she could cleave her bleeding heart out. "It doesn't leave."
His face had gone pale. She watched understanding dawn upon him.
"You don't get to do that, come back from that and act like nothing happened." The anguish in her voice surprised herself, and placed a gut wrenching look upon Percy’s face.
"I never—"
"You did. You do. Every time you joke about it. Every time you act like you're invincible."
"I'm not acting invincible."
"Then what is all of this? You said the camp is worried about me. Have you ever realized they’re even more concerned for you? What will it take Percy?"
"I don't know," he said, the words worn thin from repetition, his voice cracking around them. For the first time all night, he looked young—not the boy who had fought monsters and Titans and gods, but just Percy, exhausted and scared and trying desperately to hide it.
Her anger faltered, and everything else came rushing up behind it—the anger about Calypso, about Rachel, about all the people who got to stand beside him without knowing what it was like to look at Percy and see, not the boy in front of her, but the body she had already mourned, the shroud she'd woven with her own hands, the funeral she had spent a week preparing herself to endure. All of it rose at once, the jealousy and the grief and the terror and the awful, selfish resentment of everyone who got to have him without carrying the weight of knowing that one day, maybe soon, she wouldn't. But there wasn't room for any of it here, not with him standing in front of her looking so young and so tired and so scared, and she couldn't say any of it anyway, couldn't say Calypso, couldn't say Rachel, couldn't say you or me or any of the names and faces that had kept her awake on nights when even the thought of the prophecy was too much to bear. So she swallowed it all down, every last word, and let it settle back down into the place where she'd been keeping it for months, buried beneath the anger and the planning and the war and everything else she could pretend was easier to survive. It was still there, though. It was always there, underneath everything, waiting, knowing it would never be voiced aloud.
"I thought you were dead," she said instead.
Percy almost keened.
"I know you didn't choose it. I know you didn't walk into that mountain planning to disappear for two weeks." Her voice shook. "But I was here. I had to sit here and listen to people talk about you like you were already gone."
"I didn't know." His voice was rough and clogged.
"Well, now you do." She sniffed, looking away again.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
The question was so earnest it nearly broke her entirely. "What would I have said?"
He had no answer for that either.
Neither of them said anything for a while. The fire popped once, low, and the silence afterward felt enormous.
"I came back," he said finally, like it would fix the ending that was hurtling towards them.
"Yes." The word came out almost inaudible. "You came back."
And she resented him a little for that. For being alive and making her glad of it and making it impossible to finish grieving something that hadn't actually happened. Nothing about it made sense, and she didn't try to make it make sense out loud. Because that would make it more real than it already was.
Percy took a step closer. His hand lifted, hesitated, then found her temple, tracing the edge of the healing cut with a care that felt dangerous. Annabeth closed her eyes and let herself lean into it, just slightly. This shouldn’t be happening.
"You're okay, and so am I," he said quietly.
"Don't say that." She pleaded, ready to collapse from the heartache. She couldn’t get enough air.
"Why?" He gently dragged his fingers down to her cheek, thumbing an old, spiderweb scar.
"Because I'm not." She looked up at him. "And neither are you."
He didn't deny it. He didn't make a joke or reach for some careless promise that everything would be fine; he just stood there, and the silence between them felt closer to the truth than anything either of them had managed to say all night.
His eyes dropped to her mouth. She felt her own pulse stumble, felt the old familiar pull of whirlpool they had circled before and never once spoken of, the danger that lived only in glances and silences, never in words either of them could take back. She didn't let herself think too hard about where it had started, and where it would end. She knew both, and all outcomes would lead only to unequivocal heartbreak.
He leaned in, slow enough for her to push him away at anytime..
The kiss was soft, careful, and for one unbearable second her mind supplied every reason to pull away. Then his hand shifted against her cheek and she stopped fighting it. She closed her eyes, and the room, the war, the plan spread out behind them, all of it fell away. There was only him, warm and solid and here, and the cool aching relief of that.
He pulled back first, and for a moment neither of them spoke. He looked as startled as she felt, as though neither of them had quite expected to find themselves here.
"Good luck tomorrow," he rasped out.
A disbelieving laugh escaped her. "Seriously? That's what you're going with?"
"I don't know what I'm supposed to say."
"Escaped that the first time didn’t you?"
She tried to step back. His hand was still caressing her cheek, and they both noticed at the same moment, his fingers dropping away. The distance that opened between them felt wrong immediately, and before she could think better of it she caught the front of his shirt and kissed him again, not a hint of hesitation this time around.
It lasted only a second longer but it was long enough to feel how easily they fit, how natural it was, how agonizing it was.
She pulled away first now.
"Now we're even," she said, heart hammering. It felt like a hummingbird had made its nest in there.
The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Don't get used to it."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her chest refused to leave. "Go prepare, Seaweed Brain."
Neither of them moved right away. The moment lingered between them, fragile and eerie, hanging between everything they had just said and everything neither of them could bring themselves to say.
"See you, Wise Girl," he said finally, and the name sent her pulse into a flurry. She turned toward the door before he could see what it did to her face.
"Annabeth."
She glanced back. He was still standing by the table, watching her, and for one second she thought he might say something that would force them to name any of everything.
"Get some rest," he said instead.
"That an order, oh captain, my captain?"
"A recommendation."
"Then I'll consider ignoring it."
She stepped through the doorway, craving to run back already. The door swung shut behind her, and that was it.
Percy stayed behind, staring at the closed door for a long time after she'd gone.
Neither of them would mention any of it again. That was the agreement.
Fools.