Archive of Our Own

The first night home from the hospital, Annabeth doesn’t sleep.

She tries to. Really, she does.

Warm and comfortable in the familiar circle of Percy’s arms, eyes on the bassinet on the other side of the room. She’s bone tired, and still so, so sore, and far more relaxed than she ever was in the cold, stark hospital room. Her eyes drift shut, but just before sleep can pull her under, she’s hit with a sudden, violent rush of fear.

She’s out of bed in a flash, heart in her throat, almost stumbling on her way over to the cradle. When she looks in, hot tears are already gathering in her throat. Her panic feels like a living thing, its sharp claws embedded in her abdomen and her rapidly beating heart.

Even when she sees the sleeping face of her tiny daughter, this wriggling, squealing thing that she’d made somehow, this miracle of a child, it doesn’t go away. Even as her husband runs soothing hands down her arms and looks at her with the kind of concern in his eyes that used to make her want to run for the hills and straight into his arms at the same time, it doesn’t go away.

“Hey, hey. I’m here, baby. We’re both here, it’s okay. Talk to me.” He’s swiping tears away with this thumb, taking the hand she doesn’t have hovering by the baby and pressing it to the base of his spine, the spot that always reminds her that he’s still here, with her.

We’re both here.

She knows he means it to be comforting, but it makes another spike of fear break through her carefully constructed barriers, built through a near decade of no trouble, no close calls , no fresh traumas.

Annabeth inhales sharply, shaking her head a little. “I thought she was gone. I thought I’d look and she wouldn’t be there, she’d been taken or hurt, or maybe she’d never existed in the first place and..” she says, voice breaking into a sob halfway through her sentence.

Percy pulls her into his arms, but he doesn’t cradle her head against his chest like he usually would, he just lets her lean against his shoulder, shushing her, one hand on the still rounded swell of her stomach.

“I can’t go back to bed,” she whispers, after her sobs have subsided. “I want to keep watching her.”

“Okay.” he says softly, kissing her hair. "We can do that. We can watch her for a while.”

Annabeth wants to tell him that it’s alright, he doesn’t need to stay up with her. He can go back to bed. But she knows by now that there’s really no point. They were in this together, like they’d always been, always will be and he wasn’t about to let her forget that.

He switches a lamp on, drags the chair from the vanity over, and shushes her when she tries to argue, gently coaxing her into sitting down.

“Don’t you want to sit?”

“You’re the one that went through labor two days ago, Annabeth. I can stand.”

And stand he does, right by her side, hand in hers. Watching Celeste. Watching their daughter.

“Do you want me to wake my mom?” He asks, softly, after a few minutes of silence. “We could take it in shifts. So you can get some rest.”

Sally was staying in their spare room, and would be for the next couple of weeks. Annabeth had been reluctant to accept the offer, insisting that she had her own daughter to take care of, her own life. They wouldn’t want to uproot her like that, and she was only a few blocks away if they really needed her.

Part of her still hated admitting that she couldn’t do everything alone, that it was okay to accept help sometimes. That it didn’t make her inept, or weak, or lacking in something.

Part of her still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that she’d had a family long before her and Percy found out they were expecting, long before they’d even exchanged rings, and it wasn’t biological or mythological or coincidental.

Her friends had chosen her, Percy had chosen her, and his family had chosen her too.

“They say it takes a village, right?” He’d said to her, a week out from her due date. “And we have a village, Wise Girl. Shouldn’t we make use of it?”

“I spent so much of my pregnancy wishing I didn’t feel so alone,” Sally had told her, at an ultrasound Percy had almost missed when he’d gotten stuck in traffic. “I never, ever want you to feel like that.”

Annabeth had nodded, both times, clamping her lips together so she wouldn’t cry, squeezing their hands too tightly, feeling all for the world like a little girl again.

You’re not alone in this. You have a village. You have a family.

“No,” she says now, too quickly. “We shouldn’t disturb her. I want to.. I want to watch her myself.”

She can see Percy nodding out of the corner of her eye. She hasn’t taken her eyes off Celeste’s sleeping form. He kneels next to the chair, one hand on the cradle, the other in hers. Lifts her wrist to his lips, pressing a feather light kiss to her pulse point. “You won’t even let me take a watch?”

There was no accusation in his voice, just the slightest, barely detectable hint of hurt. No one else but her would’ve been able to hear it.

“It’s not that, I just… I can’t sleep either way, Percy. I’ll just be worrying about both of you. I know it doesn’t make any sense but-”

“Hey, hey, no, don’t do that, Beth. It makes perfect sense.” He runs his thumb over her the peaks of her knuckles. “You remember, after Tartarus, when we’d sneak into each other’s rooms and everyone felt too bad to give us any shit for it?”

Annabeth feels a smile creeping onto her face. The memories weren’t good, not entirely, but they weren’t all bad either. There was always a sense of warmth when Percy was involved, no matter how cold, no matter how awful it had seemed at the time. The steady, solid shape of him at her back, the way his breath would fall into sync with hers before they fell asleep. When she’d wake up screaming, inches away from the edge of the bunk, and hear his familiar voice, feel the safety of his arms around her and the erratic beat of his heart under her ear.

“I used to check your pulse every time I woke up, just to make sure you hadn’t died on me in the night.”

She turns to look at him. He gazes back at her. Those blue eyes, wide and open, and so full of earnest, unyielding love. She can no longer remember a time before he looked at her like that. She doesn’t want to. He looks at Celeste like that too, like he was just bursting at the seams with it. Overflowing.

“I worry about the both of you, too,” he carries on, quietly. “All the time. Whenever either of you are out of my sight. Even when you’re right here, sometimes.”

She can read between the lines of what he’s saying, as easy as anything. You’re not crazy. I feel it too.

Annabeth exhales. “I know you do. We’re lucky to have you, Percy” she tells him, softly, squeezing his hand.

“And we’re just as lucky to have you, Beth.”

She closes her eyes, just for a moment. Are you?

When she opens them again, Celeste is still here. So is Percy. Her family is still here. With her. But there’s a lump in her throat again.

She looks down at Celeste. Her tiny chest rising up and down, the soft, unblemished skin of her face. Percy insists she already takes after her. Annabeth doesn’t see it.

She’d been so safe, nestled in her mother’s womb, surrounded by her father’s element. She wonders, faintly, if she would’ve been better off staying there. She wonders if she’s already a bad mother for even letting that thought take form.

“We’re born with all our eggs, did you know that? They’re with us from the moment we’re born, before that, even.” She reaches a hand into the cradle, hovers it over the sleeping form of her daughter. “She’s been with me all along. A part of her would’ve been with my mother too, in a sense. But I wasn’t born that way. I wasn’t born at all.”

“Annabeth…” Percy says softly, in that tone he always takes when she talks like this. When she reminds him that she can’t always love herself as much as he thinks she should. As much as he loves her.

“I don’t know if I know how to be her mother, Percy. I never even learned how to be a daughter.”

She’s crying again, and he’s holding her again, and whispering platitudes and assurances that she can't get a solid grip on, they drift away from her, melt into thin air. It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before, a thousand times. She falls apart, and Percy puts her back together again.

“And what do you think I know about being a father?” He says, into her hair, once the sobs she’s muffled into the warm skin of his chest have started to subside.

Annabeth raises her head. “You had Paul,” she gets out, shakily.

“Fourteen years too late,” he retorts, with a bittersweet smile. “It was always a little too late for us, Annabeth.” His hand cups her damp cheek. “It won’t be too late for her though. We’re gonna do better, right? Be better.”

She doesn’t have the chance to respond, because suddenly, someone else is crying, the loud, ear-ringing kind of crying that can only come from a creature too small and too new to the world to communicate her discomfort any other way.

Annabeth is scooping her up, shushing her, rocking her gently, praying that somehow the sight of her parents’ faces will be enough to calm her down.

It’s not.

“I think she’s..” Percy starts, and then trails off, because Annabeth is already handing her over to him so she can tug down the strap of her tank top. In the hospital, it had only taken a couple of tries for Celeste to latch on and feed, which Annabeth had been incredibly relieved about. She was already stressed and exhausted and sore and the thought of a stranger touching her and instructing her how to do something her body was designed to do was too much to bear.

And much to her relief now, their instincts were both right. He hands Celeste back over, and she soon quiets as Annabeth positions her, and she recognizes her food source and latches on.

“She’s a hungry girl,” Percy says, resting a hand on her bare shoulder, his voice taking on that awestruck quality she’s been hearing a lot over the past two days.

“Wonder where she gets that from,” Annabeth teases.

“Hey, I’ve seen the way you devour my mac and cheese, don’t put this all on me.” He pauses. “How long until she can eat mac and cheese?”

“Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth admonishes, as fond as she is exasperated. Celeste is still at her breast, suckling away without a care in the world.

“See? I already suck at being a father. I’m hopeless.”

Celeste pulls her mouth away and Annabeth sits her up to burp her. She shakes her head at Percy. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re a really good mom, Annabeth,” he says, seriously, nodding at her at she cradles Celeste against her chest.

She finds she can’t meet his gaze. “You can’t possibly know that. It’s too early to tell.”

“People used to say the same thing to me when I told them you were the love of my life,” he says, softly, and suddenly she can’t look anywhere but him. “They were wrong about that, and you’re wrong about this.” He leans in, and presses a feather light kiss to Celeste’s head, and then to hers. “Should I move the bassinet over by the bed, and then we can watch her from there?”

Annabeth wants to protest. She wants to tell him that she’ll be far too tempted to sleep if they’re back in bed, that her eyes will close and her conscience will drift and she will wake up terrified again, sure that some malevolent force has taken her daughter from her, and maybe her husband too. But she also wants to be comfortable. She can’t keep a watch like this.

She nods her assent, and he picks up the cradle and carries it over, depositing it by her side of the bed. She follows him, holding Celeste close to her, against her heart. Her tiny fingers are grasping a braided curl of hair, and Annabeth can’t bring herself to pull it out of her grip. She can’t bring herself to put her back to bed either, not quite yet, so she settles on the edge of the bed. Percy joins her, reaching out to push the strap of her top back into place.

“It’ll get easier, right?” Annabeth says aloud, as much to herself as to Percy, pressing a single finger to the soft skin of Celeste’s cheek.

“We’ve only been doing this for two days,” Percy murmurs. His hand is on her back, tracing circles between her shoulder blades. “We’ll be professionals in no time.”

Annabeth snorts. “Professionals, huh?”

“Yeah, for sure. Everyone will be asking for us for parenting tips within the year.”

“Within the next eighteen years, maybe.”

“You have such high hopes for us.”

Annabeth looks over at him. “I just don’t want to get ahead of ourselves. I don’t want to.. I don’t want us to think that just being here is enough, just because our parents weren’t.”

He searches her face for a moment, and then he nods. “I get it. You don’t want us to be complacent,” he hesitates for a moment, looking at Celeste. “I see that a lot. Parents getting complacent. Missing things, forgetting that their kids don’t stay the same forever. Thinking that because they can walk and talk and take care of themselves, that means they don’t need them anymore.”

Annabeth doesn’t interrupt him, just leans into his touch slightly, closes the barely there gap between them on the bed. They don’t talk about his work all that much, at least not the bad parts of it. At best, it’s depressing, and at worst it’s downright triggering, especially for her.

But she can see it sometimes, the toll it takes on him. When she asks him about his day, and he gives the slightest shake of his head. When he comes home with the same look on his face she’d seen in the aftermath of battles, or in the depths of Tartarus. He has almost just as much reason to worry about raising their daughter as she does, even if it’s not for the same reasons. Even if he’ll try not to show it, for her sake. She loves him for that, but it worries her a little, too. She doesn’t want him to keep a lid on his feelings just to protect hers.

“I don’t want us to be like that, either. I don’t ever want her to feel like we’re not there for her, no matter how old she gets.”

Annabeth kisses his cheek. “So we’ll be there for her. Both of us, together.”

He leans in, presses his forehead against hers. “Together,” he repeats, softly.

“So you’re flying home in a couple days, then?” Percy asks, spearing a piece of chicken with his fork.

He’s gotten a little too good at playing nice with her parents. Looking at him, making perfectly cordial conversation with a woman who he’d once drunkenly declared ‘would’ve fit right in with those nasty fucking hags from the Underworld’s armpit’; it was almost hard to reconcile the confident man making small talk at dinner with the impulsive teenager who’d so often said the wrong thing to those that could, and would, kill him.

But he’d grown up a lot since then. They both had. And they both knew better than to start an argument on one of the rare occasions they actually had to interact with her side of the family.

“On Tuesday morning, yes,“ Her father, Frederick, says with a smile, sipping at his wine. It was a mid-range red that she remembered him favoring, and she hated how proud she’d felt when she saw him beaming when he recognized the bottle. She wasn’t sure she’d ever grow up enough to stop craving validation from her parents. Maybe no one ever could. Maybe it was just permanently ingrained into your DNA. Though she didn’t technically have any DNA from her mother, and she still longed to make her proud, even if she’d given up on living up to what Athena expected a long, long time ago.

“But we’re not going anywhere,” her brother, Matthew, chimes in, grinning at his boyfriend, Paolo.

“Sounds like he really, really wants that babysitting gig,” his twin Bobby, adds, which earns him what sounds like a hearty kick under the table.

“We’d love to babysit, Annabeth, really. Matt’s just a little scared.” Paolo adds, giving her an incredibly genuine smile across the table.

Annabeth grins back at him. She likes Paolo. She likes Matthew and Bobby now, too. It took a few years, but once she’d realized they weren’t to blame for their parents flaws’ any more than she was, bonding with them had been surprisingly easy. And since Matthew had started college at NYU, they’d been spending a lot more time together.

He had in fact, promised his services once Celeste was a little older. The offer had moved Annabeth more than she’d been willing to admit, even to herself. They really did have a village, and it was bigger than she could’ve ever imagined.

“Hey, we’re both terrified too, but that’s half the fun, right?” Percy jokes, raising his glass.

Annabeth shakes her head fondly, leaning back in her seat. Under the table, Percy’s hand is on her knee, thumb moving in rhythmic, soothing circles. She was grateful for it, especially because she could feel her Helen’s gaze on her, and that was always anything but relaxing.

Her relationships with her father and her brothers may have been somewhat repaired, but she wasn’t sure that would ever be the case with her stepmother.

“So,” Helen says, conversationally. “When will you two be going back to work?”

Annabeth curls her fingers around her glass. She takes a careful sip of water before she speaks. “We both managed to use some of our unspent PTO, so Percy’s going back at the end of May. And I’ll probably start working from home in July.”

Helen makes a surprised noise. “I thought you’d be more eager, Annabeth, being the career woman that you are. Surely not all that extra time is paid?”

Annabeth can feel her face growing hot. She lets a single, shaky, breath, and Percy’s hand tightens on her knee.

“We can afford it,” he says, and she can tell he’s trying to keep the anger out of his voice. “For a little while, anyway. Annabeth loves her work, but we both know how important it is to bond with your children, especially at this age.”

It’s easy to forget how much she really loves Percy, sometimes. It’s so ingrained into her person that it feels as much a part of her as her blood and bones. But in moments like this, the fact of it hits her like a freight train. She loves him so much it feels like the breath has been knocked right out of her, and all she can do about it find his hand on her knee, turn it over and lace their fingers together. She can feel his pulse against hers, steady as a war drum.

“I couldn’t agree more, Percy,” her father says, with an unmistakable tone of regret in his voice. “Spending time with your family should always be a priority.”

Annabeth feels Percy stiffen, and she squeezes his hand three times, in quick succession.

Stand down. It’s okay. I’m okay.

The baby monitor goes off then, and Annabeth gets up immediately, glad for the excuse to leave. “I’ve got her,” she tells Percy, holding onto his hand for a little longer than strictly necessary.

“I know you do," he says, smile a little bittersweet. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

“I’ll come help,” Matthew offers, standing up from the table and giving Percy a reassuring nod. “I should get some practice in right?”

He hooks his elbow into Annabeth’s as they leave the kitchen diner. “Thank you,” she tells her brother, sincerely.

“It’s the least I can do. I’m sorry that my mom’s still so..”

Annabeth shakes her head. “It’s not your fault, Matthew. You’re a good brother.”

“Yeah?” He grins, looking so much like their father when he was younger it’s a little spooky. “Hope I’m a good uncle too.”

“Probably won’t be the favorite, but you know. You can give it a shot.” She tells him, pushing open the bedroom door and making a beeline for the crib.

“Hi, baby. It’s okay, mommy’s got you,” she coos, scooping Celeste up.

“There’s no way she’ll like Bobby more than me,” Matthew says with a scowl, and then wrinkles his nose.

“Not Bobby, Tyson,” Annabeth corrects, bouncing Celeste. She nods to the dresser. “Could you grab me those diapers?”

Matthew looks almost as distressed as Percy did the first time they had to change her, and Annabeth can’t help but laugh at the look on his face. “It’s good babysitting practice, right?”

Celeste won't stop crying.

Annabeth wasn’t too worried at first. She figured if she wasn’t hungry, or needing a change, that she probably just needed a little attention, and she was more than happy to give it to her. But she still wouldn’t stop.

She was shushing her desperately, pressing soft kisses to her little head, mumbling incoherent reassurances. Percy had gone to get groceries, and Sally was just working in the spare room, but Annabeth didn’t want to disturb her.

She could do this. She could take care of her daughter. It was what she was made to do. Biological imperative, her godly mother and the circumstances of her existence be damned.

But she wouldn’t stop crying, and she was starting to get frustrated. She was trying to remember the books she read, articles she’d perused in her brief stints on the internet, but her mind was blank. It was failing her. The one thing she was supposed to rely on, and it couldn’t even help her be a decent mother.

Her eyes felt hot with swelling tears.

Maybe it’s Hera.

The thought turns her stomach. She hates how much sense it makes. She’d had the same anxieties leading up to their wedding day, and if it wasn’t for the pure giddiness of being with the love of her life, her fears might’ve ruined the happy occasion. But even so, it hadn’t been until she was lying in bed that night, wrapped in Percy’s arms, in her husband’s arms, sated and exhausted and incandescently happy, that she really believed they were free of the goddess’ wrath.

But maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was here now, in full force, following in their wake of their firstborn. Maybe she would take her daughter from her.

Annabeth clutches Celeste closer to her, trying not to let her panic overtake her.

The door opens. Sally enters, crossing the room in three quick strides, with the kind of single minded efficiency that reminds her of Percy.

“Are you okay?” she asks, with such gentleness it just makes Annabeth want to sob even more. But when she reaches for her granddaughter, Annabeth takes a minute step back, shaking her head.

“She won’t stop crying and I just-”

Sally shushes her, laying a placating hand on her arm. She doesn’t try and take the baby again. “It’s okay, you're okay. It happens sometimes. You’re not doing anything wrong, honey.”

Annabeth stares at her, disbelieving. “How do you know?”

Sally smiles, a little sadly. “I always thought I was getting it wrong with Percy too, and he turned out just fine. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Celeste’s wails increase in volume just then, making Annabeth wince. Suddenly, it seems like admitting defeat is her only option. “Can you take her?” She asks, a little desperately.

Sally nods, and reaches out, careful as anything, pulling Celeste into her arms. “It’s okay,” she says, softly, and Annabeth isn’t sure if she’s talking to her or the baby. “Everything is okay.”

Annabeth just stands there, feeling utterly helpless. She blinks rapidly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Annabeth, sweetie,” Sally says, raising her voice to be heard over the cries. “Could you get me a glass of water?”

Annabeth blinks at her. She wants to ask questions, but she also wants to daughter to calm down. So she just nods, rushes out the room. In the kitchen, the noise is muffled, distant, and she feels like she can finally breathe. She braces her hands against the counter, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath in. Holds it. Lets it go. Pauses, and then breathes in again. Her therapist had taught it to her years ago, back in New Rome when she was still getting regular panic attacks.

Once her breathing has slowed, she gets out two glasses and fills them both, draining one herself.

Celeste is still crying when she walks back in, second glass in hand, and she can’t decide if she’s secretly glad about it either. Maybe it’s not entirely her fault, if even Sally couldn’t calm her down. The woman in question smiles at her when she sees her again, looking wholly unperturbed by the continued noise.

“Do you want me take her?” Annabeth asks, holding the glass of water in front of her like an offering.

Sally shakes her head. She shifts Celeste in her arms, holding her so Annabeth can see her more clearly. Her squalling face, her tiny little fists balled up as she squeals in displeasure. “We just need to sprinkle a little water on her head,” Sally says, casually, as if that’s a totally normal suggestion people make to get babies to stop crying.

But Annabeth isn’t normal, and neither is the father of her child, so it stands to reason that their daughter might not be either. She’s seen too much, been through too much to question things like that anymore. So she just does as instructed, tilts the glass, wets her fingers, and gently caresses Celeste’s head. The crying slows down for a moment. She sprinkles more water on her.

Within moments, the baby has quieted entirely. Annabeth stares down at her in amazement.

“How did you-” she starts,

Sally smiles, rocking the now quiet Celeste back and forth. “I had the same problem with Percy. It was a desperate measure, but it worked.”

“How’d you do it?” Annabeth whispers softly. “How did you raise him by yourself? I can’t imagine doing this alone.”

She doesn’t state the obvious, doesn’t bring up the man that was more like a monster under the bed than a father, that could’ve been raising him if he wasn’t more interested in drinking and gambling and treating his wife like the dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

Sally swallows, and Annabeth thinks she looks like might be about to cry. “I didn’t have a choice. I just did the best I could.”

Annabeth nods. “What if I can’t?” she says, in a small voice, looking down at her beautiful wonder of a daughter. She blinks up at her with wide brown eyes, the exact same shade as her own. But somehow, they seem to resemble Percy’s more. Oceans deep, shifting like the tide. “What if my best isn’t good enough?”

Sally makes a sympathetic noise and takes the glass of water from her, moving away to put it down on the dresser. When she comes back, she shifts closer to Annabeth, passing Celeste over to her. “I used to think the same thing, you know. Every mistake I made, every tantrum and skinned knee and bad school report and fight he got into. Every time I had to wonder if he was even still alive . But I just kept trying, and then one day I looked up and realized I didn’t have to try anymore. He was okay. He was more than okay. And I couldn’t take all the credit for that, but it felt like enough. For him to be alive, and healthy, and happy, and kind. That’s all you can really hope for.”

Celeste’s tiny fingers wrap around Annabeth’s much bigger one. “It feels like a little too much to hope for that, sometimes. It feels like I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Sally put an arm round her, rubbing her back reassuringly. “I know, sweetheart. I don’t blame for you being scared, or worried. But that means you’re doing something right. You’re already doing a stellar job, believe me.” And then she kisses her temple, smiling down at her grandchild.

“How are my girls doing?” Percy asks, when he comes in ten minutes later, arms full of groceries. Annabeth takes a bag from him, tilting her face up so he can kiss the corner of her mouth in greeting.

Sally follows her in, taking another bag and pressing her own kiss to her son’s cheek. She shares a smile with Annabeth. “They’re doing just fine.”

“Your daughter takes after you,” Annabeth tells him, placing the bag on the counter.

He raises an eyebrow. “Does she now?”

“She finds water calming.”

“Huh,” Percy looks contemplative, staring into an open kitchen cabinet. “Should we start taking her to the beach already?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Seaweed Brain.”

It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon at the Blofis-Jacksons. The kind of afternoon that used to make her panic a little, worry that she was a broken cog in the well-oiled machine of their family, the same way that she’d been in her own.

But she wasn’t. She knew that now. She’d learned it a long time ago, during that awful stretch of time without Percy, when she’d been here at least once a week; crying in Sally’s arms or doing her homework at the kitchen table with Paul or sleeping in Percy’s bed and convincing herself the sheets still smelled like him. The place that he’d made for her in his life hadn’t gone away with him, quite the opposite.

And now she bakes cookies with his mom and his little sister, and smiles smugly at him when Paul agrees with her choice for movie night. And watches his parents fuss over their granddaughter with an innate sense of calmness spreading through her that her teenage self would've thought impossible.

She sighs, contentedly leaning back against the table as Estelle take Celeste from Sally, and she feels a startling sense of déjà vu.

Its nine years earlier, and she’s standing under stark, white hospital lights, watching Percy holding his baby sister for the first time, and feeling her heart swelling with joy, knowing that the scene in front of her could become familiar, that this could be her future.

And she’d been right. She’d fought for it, tooth and nail, they both had. And now she gets to watch her sister-in-law holding her niece like she was the most precious thing in the world, and it’s easy to forget how scared she is, how easily something that delicate can be ripped away from you.

“What are you thinking about?” Percy whispers to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side.

She smiles up at him. “How lucky I am,” she says, softly, eyes still on Estelle and Celeste.

Percy hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m luckier.”

Annabeth huffs a laugh, ready to protest, but her attention is quickly diverted.

It only takes a moment. A single, heart stopping moment where the world seems to slow down entirely, right before it shatters every beautiful, good thing, into a million pieces.

Estelle’s grip falters, and it seems like Celeste is about to slip right out of her arms, and Annabeth doesn’t pause to think, she just acts. Her baby girl is in danger, and everything else just falls away.

She’s there in a second, reaching out for her, but it’s unnecessary.

It’s fine.

Celeste is still in Estelle’s arms, still safe, and Percy and Sally and Paul are reaching out for her just as Annabeth was, a circle of protection around them. Annabeth is there first, shushing her now crying daughter.

“You’re okay, you’re okay sweetheart. You’re all good.” She mumbles to her, kissing her soft head. Percy is at her side, cradling Celeste’s head.

“She didn’t mean to,” he says, softly.

Annabeth stares at him, not comprehending what he means for a moment, adrenaline still buzzing through her veins.

“I’m sorry mom, I thought I had her and then-" Estelle breaks off into tears. When Annabeth looks over, she’s wrapped in her mother's arms, face buried in her shoulder.

Annabeth feels a hot rush of guilt. She remembers the first time she’d been scared of failing a child, seventeen and wanting to refuse Sally’s offer to hold her newborn daughter. She remembers recovering from a panic attack on Christmas Day, the way a three-year-old Estelle had crawled into her lap and started singing her a lullaby. She remembers one of the photos Percy kept in his wallet, of her dancing with Estelle to ABBA at their wedding reception, matching flower crowns on their heads.

Estelle disentangles herself from Sally’s embrace. “Annabeth, I didn’t mean to. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Annabeth blinks back tears, and hands Celeste over to her father, beckoning Estelle with a hand. She looks reluctant, wiping away her own tears with the sleeve of her Little Mermaid sweater, but she comes to her, taking her proffered hand. Annabeth gives her a little tug until she’s in her arms and then she’s hugging her, clutching onto her tightly. They’re almost the same height now, which makes her smile. She wonders if Celeste will be, too.

“It’s okay,” she says, into her hair. It’s a soft, curly brown, the same texture as Percy’s. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her mother shows up when Celeste is exactly two months old.

Annabeth didn’t expect any differently. Poseidon had beaten her to the punch, just barely, randomly appearing at their front door last week, bringing his congratulations and leaving a briny, salty scent that clung to Celeste for days after he’d left. Percy said it felt like a blessing of some kind, although he didn’t sound too sure. The next time he’d kissed her, he tasted more like saltwater than he had in years.

“She favors you,” Annabeth’s head whips around. She was sitting on a bench in Central Park, waiting for Thalia to come back with their drinks.

Athena is sitting on the other end, looking at her granddaughter with the kind of analytical observation you would give a scientific specimen. She was dressed in a simple white blouse and dark slacks, an outfit not too dissimilar to the ones Annabeth favored for work. It was a little disconcerting. When Annabeth blinks at her, she shuffles a little closer.

“I don’t think she really looks like anyone, not yet,” Annabeth says, slowly. She tries to remember the last time she saw her mother. Maybe the day after they returned from their honeymoon, and Athena had told her that Hera had actually blessed the marriage. Her and Poseidon had made sure of it. She’d made a face when she’d said his name, and Percy had stifled a laugh that had earned him a glare.

Athena tilts her head, gaze moving from Celeste to Annabeth and back again. “Not to your eyes, perhaps.”

Annabeth settles a hand on Celeste’s pram, and doesn’t say a word.

Athena folds her hands in her lap. “I came to congratulate you.”

Annabeth raises an eyebrow. “Thank you, mother.” She stiffens, feeling suddenly like she’s horrendously out of her depth. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, and one she’s found herself frequently trying to avoid for the better part of a year, but it hits her again today with a vengeance. Her strenuous relationship with her mother wasn’t the only reason she’d been terrified since the moment she saw the double lines on the five different tests, but it was undeniably a part of it.

Athena had never carried Annabeth. She’d never nestled in the warmth of her womb, never survived off the nutrients only a mother could provide her child. There’d never been a cord binding the two of them together, one that outlasted the physical, tangible one. She may have sprung from her mind, may exist solely because Athena had willed it so, but she’d never have the kind of bond with her that Percy had with Sally. She’d accepted that a long time ago.

But maybe that didn’t have to mean she couldn’t have that bond with Celeste. Maybe it was the opposite.

“Is that all?” she asks, feeling a million miles away from the goddess sitting within arm’s reach from her.

Divinity had seemed far closer to Annabeth than mortality, once. Safer, even. She understood the rules of the gods. There was logic to them, even when they were cruel. It wasn’t until that day on Olympus that she’d fully realized she didn’t like it that way. When she’d felt the cold grip of fear that the boy she’d loved, the boy who had seemed more innately, beautifully human than anyone she’d ever met, would choose godhood over a life with her, with anyone. She’d never been so glad to had been proven wrong.

Athena opened her hand, and stretched it out towards Annabeth. Seemingly out of nowhere, a gold ring had appeared in the palm of her hand. It was shaped like the leafy branch of an olive tree. It brought to mind an old memory, of an island spa and a gold wreath placed upon her head. A distressed admission of devotion that had been as terrifying as it had been breathtaking.

Annabeth takes the ring. She can feel the power radiating from it, the divine light emanating from the metal. Celestial Bronze.

“For your daughter,” Athena, tells her, quietly. “And any other daughters that follow in her wake.”

She doesn’t look up at Athena right away, eyes still on the gifted ring, passing it through her fingers. She can’t help but compare it to the others she wears, day in and day out. The engagement ring set with an amber stone from the depths of the sea that looked like the sun itself when it caught the light. Percy said it reminded him of her eyes. And the wedding band, made of an alloy of Celestial Bronze and regular gold, forged by her cyclops brother-in-law with help from some of the old residents of Cabin Nine.

“What does it do?” she asks, at last. “And why just my daughters?”

“Does everything need to have a use?” Athena says, furtively. Her eyes flick to the rings on Annabeth’s fingers. To the second question, she just lifts her shoulder in a delicate shrug. “I do not know if you’ll have sons.”

“But you know I’ll have more daughters?”

“That’s out of my hands, though not entirely out of yours, I should think.”

Annabeth looks from the ring in her hand to Celeste, snoozing away contentedly in her pram, blissfully unaware that her maternal, divine grandmother was sitting right there with them. “I don’t even know if I want more kids.” she says, quietly. And she realizes, with a jolt, that this is the first time she’s voiced that thought aloud to anyone but Percy. But she keeps talking.

“I don’t know if.. if I have enough to give, even for just her.”

I still don’t know if I’m enough.

She clamps her mouth shut then, still in disbelief that she’s venting to her mother, of all people.

Athena doesn’t reach out to comfort her, or even contradict her fear. She just stands up, abruptly, gazing down at Celeste. Her hand hovers, as if to touch her, and then she draws it back. “What does Perseus think?”

That leaves her speechless for a moment.

She blinks at Athena. “Since when do you care about what Percy thinks?”

Athena waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t. But you do, daughter. And I’ve found that the views mortals hold of themselves are not always so reliable, even for one as smart as you are.”

A decade ago, even half that, she might’ve preened at the compliment. Now, she just takes it and files it away in the back of her mind with the million other confusing things that make up her relationship with her mother.

So she just nods, and slides the ring into the pocket of her jeans. Athena lingers, like she’s waiting for something.

Annabeth stands up. She nods to the stroller. “Her name is Celeste, if you were wondering.” She knows she probably already knows that. She says it anyway.

Athena nods. “I haven’t had a mortal granddaughter in many years, and never one that I share with..” she trails off, looking uncomfortable, and Annabeth tries not to smile.

“I thought as much.”

Athena nods again. “Make sure she gets my gift, when she’s old enough.”

Annabeth doesn’t ask when that’s supposed to be. She was nine when she’d been gifted her Yankees cap. That seems unimaginably young to her now. She wonders what Celeste will look like at that age, if she’ll be all awkward angles and tripping over her feet like Percy must’ve been, if she’ll have the same gap toothed smile Annabeth wore whenever her team won Capture the Flag.

Old enough.

Was she ever old enough? Will Celeste ever feel old enough? Will she always see her daughter as she is now, helpless and fragile? Her father certainly hadn’t seen her that way. Her mother clearly hadn’t either.

Someone clears their throat behind them, and she turns to see Thalia approaching, two steaming hot drinks in her hands. She looks at Athena, eyes unreadable.

Athena inclines her head. “Lieutenant.”

Thalia raises an eyebrow. “Athena.”

Athena turns back to Annabeth, looking like she wants to say more. “Daughter,” is all she says, before she inclines her head again and walks away, giving only the briefest glance to Celeste.

Thalia hands her cup over, settling down next to her. “Well, that seemed..friendly.”

Annabeth snorts, blowing on her tea. “For her, it really was.”

Thalia doesn’t speak for a moment. Eventually, she reaches out, gently taking Annabeth’s free hand. “You okay?”

Annabeth nods, though she’s not sure that’s an entirely accurate word for how she’s feeling. “She gave me a ring,” she says. “For Celeste.”

“Huh,” Thalia leans back against the bench. “What does it do?”

Annabeth sighs. “I really don’t know.” She feels like she doesn’t know a lot, these days. Answers keep eluding her and she’s not even sure what question she’s supposed to be asking.

“You’re already better than them, you know.” Thalia, says, quietly. “Percy is, too. You both are.”

Annabeth stares at her. “What do you mean?”

Thalia squeezes her hand. “I think you know.”

Annabeth understands why people say you shouldn’t bother with big birthday celebrations for children who won’t be old enough to remember it. She really does.

But she thinks that those people probably didn’t find themselves on the streets at the tender age of seven, or spend their teenage years risking their lives for their divine relations, or find themselves falling for a boy who by all rights, should've been dead at sixteen. She thinks those people probably weren’t clinging to a distant, impossible vision of children chasing seagulls around a Roman forum to keep themselves sane as they stumbled through a hellish landscape.

She thinks that those people might’ve held their first born child to their chest and thought they were a miracle, but it probably wouldn’t be true for them the same way it had been true for her. And it probably wouldn’t still wouldn’t feel like a miracle, a full year later.

Annabeth has a half-full glass of wine in her hand, and she’s just finished laughing at a bad joke her father-in-law made, and she’s wondering how long it’ll be until her husband makes those same kind of awful dad jokes, or if maybe he’s been making them all along, and she just loved him too much to notice it.

She looks for him, standing across the room, knowing he’ll feel her gaze, like he always does, and smile back at her in that way that still gives her butterflies. Their daughter, their one year old daughter, is making grabby hands at him, clearly bored of being held by her Uncle Grover.

It’s hard to believe that it’d been a year. A whole year without the world crumbling in on them. It didn’t matter that they’d already gone nine without being drawn into another world-saving quest, or that she could count on one hand how many times they’ve had to fight off a monster since they moved back to New York.

Once their daughter was in the world, a squealing ball of life that they’d made, together, somehow everything seemed freshly terrifying. Everything seemed as dangerous as taking on gods and titans and primordial beings. She worried about SIDS. She worried about her fragile immune system. She worried about her delicate, barely formed skeleton. She worried about cars and plug sockets and colic and developmental difficulties. She worried that she wouldn’t be a good mother, that she was already failing Celeste, that she just didn’t have that maternal instinct everyone else seemed to take for granted.

She didn’t worry about Percy though. She knew he’d be a good father, and he was. He was steady and unwavering, staying strong enough for the both of them, a solid rock in the undulating sea of fear she often found herself trying not to drown in. He kept both of them afloat, even when she knew he was every bit as scared as she was. She loved him for that.

You okay? he mouths now, across the room filled with bright streamers and too many balloons and all of her favorite people in the world.

She nods, holding his gaze until Piper nudges her, and she looks away, from him, from Celeste. It doesn’t feel as difficult as it once had.

“Do you really need to be making eyes at your kid’s birthday party?” her friend asks in low voice, disapproving.

Annabeth frowns at her, glancing at Paul who’s standing on her other side, but he’s busy chatting animatedly to Nico and Will. “We’re not ‘making eyes’, Piper. Just checking in on each other.”

Piper raises her eyebrows, taking a sip of her own glass of wine. “Sure, sure, whatever you say. I’ll try not to act too surprised when you tell me Celeste’s got a little sibling on the way.”

Annabeth holds up her glass and gives her a pointed look.

Piper rolls her eyes. “Come on, you know what I mean. I always thought you guys would end up having enough kids to make your own soccer team.”

Annabeth barks out a surprised laugh.

“Who’s making a soccer team?” Hazel has joined them, looking between the two of them with curiosity.

“Percy and Annabeth,” Piper says, matter-of-factly. “With their gaggle of offspring.”

Annabeth opens her mouth to protest, but Hazel is already lowering her voice, frowning at the glass in Annabeth’s hand. “You’re not..?”

Annabeth shakes her head vehemently. “No, I’m not. Piper’s just being a nuisance.”

Piper shrugs, feigning innocence.

Hazel tilts her head. “So you’re trying?”

“No, we’re not.” She hesitates, licking her lips. “Not yet, anyway.”

“But you’re thinking about it?”

Annabeth shrugs. “I mean yeah, I guess. We haven’t really talked about it in a while. Celeste’s been enough to handle, and I’ve had a lot going on at the firm. And we don’t really want two under two, you know?”

Piper hums in understanding. “So you do want more? At some point?”

Annabeth can’t help it. She looks for Percy again. He’s not where he was before, but she finds him easily enough, making his way over to her, bouncing Celeste in his arms, and something in her melts a little at the sight.

“Yeah,” she says, softly, lips curling up into a smile. “I think we could handle it.”

Percy falls into bed that night with an arm dramatically thrown over his face, looking every bit the picture of an exhausted father, and she loves him so much it hurts.

“What?” he asks, when he catches her staring.

Annabeth shakes her head. “Nothing.”

He narrows his eyes at her and stretches out, curling an arm round her and pulling her into his side.

“Hi,” he says, quietly, cupping her cheek.

“Hi,” she whispers back.

“What’s going on up there?” he asks, tapping a finger gently against the side of her temple.

Annabeth catches his hand and presses her lips to the cool metal of his wedding band. “Do you think Celeste liked her party?” She asks, changing the subject.

Percy raises his eyebrows, clearly aware of her avoidance but not wanting to call her out on it. Not yet, anyway. He interlaces their fingers. “I think she enjoyed everyone fussing over her, even if she didn’t really understand why it was happening.”

“She likes you fussing over her best.”

Percy grins, wide and smug , and it makes her stomach swoop. “You think she’s gonna be a daddy’s girl, huh?”

Annabeth sighs. “I think she already is.”

Percy turns serious suddenly, smile dropping, thumb tracing the ridges of her knuckles. “She loves her mom a lot, too, you know that, right?” And then he drops a kiss to her wedding band. “She’s really taking after me, in that sense.”

“I know,” she says, softly. He holds her gazes, eyes searching her face, like he’s just double checking that she’s telling the truth. That she believes what he’s telling her as much as absolutely as he does.

She remembers those first few fragile months of their relationship, and the way she’d grow shy under his unerring gaze, how every time that he told her he loved her it had made her feel a little lightheaded. She remembers the nervousness of their first time, how he’d touched her with reverence, not like she was breakable, but like she was sacred.

Part of her had known she was pregnant with Celeste long before she’d missed her period or bought the tests. There’d been something different in the air after they’d made love that morning, shimmering between them like the visible heat haze on the horizon of that scorching New York summer. He told her he loved her the moment he caught his breath, like he always did, lips against her temple, and she’d laid her head on his chest and counted his heartbeats with the strangest sensation that something in the very fabric of the universe had just changed.

Even then, she’d been a little scared of it. But she didn’t think she was now. Not anymore than she should be.

“So, what are you thinking about then, Wise Girl?”

Annabeth sits up, pulling him with her, and takes a deep breath.

“I was talking to Piper and Hazel today,” she starts, slowly.

Percy nods. “About anything in particular?”

Annabeth shrugs, trying to keep her face blank. “Just you, know. Kids. How nice it would be to have a few of them around.”

He tilts his head, eyes sparkling. “Really? Is Celeste getting some playmates?”

Annabeth can’t hide her grin. “Maybe.” She slides her arm around his waist, tracing her fingers over his old Achilles spot. He inhales at the contact, eyelashes fluttering. “I was talking to your mom, too.”

“At our daughter’s birthday party? Outrageous behavior.”

“She really wants more grandkids, you know. She’s pretty open about that, once she’s had a couple of glasses of white.”

He grins, softly, and she can tell he already knows exactly where this conversation is going. “Yeah, she might’ve mentioned that a couple of times. She doesn’t want there to be any pressure, especially not so soon but-”

“But we’re already so good at this, we might as well try and see if we can replicate our success.”

Percy barks out a laugh, the kind of full body one that she feels in her fingers, that makes her want to kiss him until they both run out of air.

“So what do you think?” she asks, softly, resisting the urge to just swallow up his laughter and keep the conversation light, suddenly feeling very nervous. “Should we do it again?”

Percy just looks at her for a moment. His hand is on her face again, tracing the curve of her jaw. “If you want to do it again, I do too. Again and again, and again, and again.” He kisses her, chaste and sweet. “You know that, baby, come on.”

Annabeth bites her lip. “Yeah, but that was before we had Celeste.”

Percy hums, letting go of her hand to run his up and down her side. “I know, it was a lot for you, for both of us. Learning how to be parents. I didn’t want to pressure you, especially when you said you weren’t so sure anymore. I didn’t want you to feel like we had to, like one child wouldn’t be enough for me.”

He takes her chin, gently, tilting her face up. “Even just the two of us would’ve been enough for me. You’ve always been enough for me, and you always will be. I’d hate for you to ever think otherwise.”

Annabeth blinks back tears, and closes the space between them to kiss him, a little too long and a little too deep for the middle of a serious discussion. But it centers her. She pulls away, resting their foreheads together, taking, slow, deliberate breaths.

"Percy,” she says, quietly. “I love you both of you, so much. And I want to love them, too, whoever they are, whoever they’ll be, whenever we get to meet them. I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

Percy just kisses her in response, softly at first, and then with such enthusiasm she can’t help but laugh, pushing at his chest as he peppers her face and neck with kisses.

“You want another kid?” he asks, breathlessly. “You’re sure?”

Annabeth grins up at him from where his ministrations have left her lying against the pillows. “As long as you are.”

Percy grins again, kissing both her cheeks, then her forehead, then the tip of her nose, until she’s giggling again and pulling him down for a proper kiss.

“Does that seem sure enough?” he asks, against her mouth.

She nods, dislodging him slightly, and grasps his neck, twining her fingers into the curled hair and holding him there, before he can kiss her again and make her lose her train of thought.

“I don’t mean right now, just to make that clear. But you know, in a few months maybe, because I think just over two years is a pretty good gap and we need to get a bigger place-”

He kisses her again, like he just can’t help it, and she wonders where he got all this sudden energy from. But maybe she shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Whatever you want, Annabeth.” His voice is low, and she can feel it in every nerve of her body. “Whenever you want.” He ducks his head to kiss her neck, and she lets out a sigh of contentment. “It’s all you, always.”

Annabeth grins, pressing her body against his. “We should probably start practicing now, though.”

Percy raises his head, managing to school his features into a very effective expression of seriousness. “Of course. Gotta make sure we polish up on those baby-making skills, make sure everything’s in working order.”

Annabeth laughs again, shoving at his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And all your children are all gonna end up inheriting that ridiculousness.”

“Don’t remind me. I might have to change my mind.”

Percy gets that look on his face then, the one that makes her entire body buzz with anticipation, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.

And then the baby monitor goes off.

Percy lets out an audible groan, head dropping to her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll be the one changing my mind.”

“I think it’s a different kind of change we need now,” she points out, biting back a laugh.

He huffs, but gets up without protest, although she can’t help but whine a little as she finds herself in an empty bed.

Halfway to the door, he turns around, smiling softly at her.

“What?” she asks, cocking her head at him.

“You’re such a good mom, Beth. You’re always gonna be a good mom.” His voice is so sincere, so unshakably confident, that it makes her feel a little dizzy.

She sits up and makes a shooing motion with her hand, trying to ignore the fact that she kind of wants to cry again. “You better go and make sure you’re being a good dad, too.”

He salutes her. “Yes, ma’am. Anything for my girls.” He pauses again, right in the doorway, turning to hold her gaze. “I love you.”

Annabeth smiles. “Love you too, Seaweed Brain.”

And then she sits there, waiting for Percy to come back to bed, watching him holding their daughter on the tiny monitor screen, and feeling like she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.