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phykios · 1 year

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Holding Out For A Hero, co-written by @darkmagyk [read on ao3] [written for the @pjo-hoo-bigbang] [thank you to @ashilrak for the absolutely stunning art!!]

[part 1/2]

---

At twenty-seven years old, Annabeth had had enough. Truthfully, she’d had enough at seventeen. And at seven. But at twenty-seven, she had enough bravery and arrogance to refuse the next time a god came to her with a quest that needed taking. Even when it was her mother who offered.

“You will not take it, then?” the goddess asked.

Annabeth nodded. “I will have to decline. Respectfully.”

There was a beat as Athena appraised her, gray eyes calculating. They softened, then, apparently finding Annabeth worthy. “You have become very wise, my daughter. The hunger for glory has brought the downfall of many a hero; I am glad that it will not take you as well.”

“It’s not about that,” said Annabeth.

But Athena ignored her. “Fear not, Annabeth. I am not disappointed–rather, I am proud. You have done very well.” And then she rewarded Annabeth with a rare, sincere smile, a queen bestowing her favor. Even a few years earlier, Annabeth would have flipped for joy. She would have fallen to her knees and begun to weep at this display of motherly affection.

“Thank you, mother.”

It was just too bad that Annabeth no longer cared.

---

She didn’t think she had taken a breath all day. Something was going to go wrong; she just didn’t know what yet. She watched the movers, carrying her things, telling them how she wanted her new house to set up. It wasn’t very much stuff. Her apartment in Boston had been so much smaller than the house in Maine. And she didn’t want to fill it up yet. She’d bought the place, more crumbling manor then one woman’s starter house, because she wanted to build it and shape it to be everything she needed.

It would be great if she could figure out what that was.

But she was starting with a house. She was an architect after all, even though she’d sold her firm.

This was supposed to be her oasis. This was supposed to be her retirement.

So, something was bound to happen. She scanned all of the movers. Looking for a flick of a tail, the clump of a hoof, the shimmer of scales, anything that would give the game away.

She knew that monsters stopped bothering demigods as they got older, but they didn’t normally completely leave them alone. She’d killed a lot of monsters in the last decade. And she couldn’t imagine moving into her new home, her quiet retirement, without one last great battle.

She felt for her knife, tucked into her waistband. Ready for her, always ready for her.

But none of the movers turned into monsters all day. They just unloaded her things, unwrapped and unpadded things, deposited boxes in the rooms as marked.

And then they left, without attacking, without breathing fire or raising a weapon against her. For dinner, she pulled out the phone book and rooted around for the pizza place, and lamented that there was only one in town, and that her house was barely in delivery range.

When she settled into her new house, in her new bed, with cold Dominos in the fridge. And no one tried to attack her.

Annabeth Chase, Daughter of Athena, Hero of Olympus was almost thirty years old, and she was trying to figure out what you did, when all the best and worst things that could ever happen had happened to you, happened before you were eighteen.

She tried not to feel like the protagonist of a shitty romcom, but it was not like she was making it easier for herself.

Helena, Maine, was very small. It felt kind of ridiculous to say that Annabeth was feeling culture shock. But it was just so small, and Boston had been home for so long. She swore that she would miss the colors, the skyline, the crush of souls. She had promised up and down at her goodbye party that she would miss it all…

And yet.

The smell of sea air was much, much stronger here, and somehow even more intense inside of the fixer-upper she had recently acquired, the salt smell soaking and permeating every pore of the wooden beams. It was a beautiful piece of property, a couple blocks away from the shoreline, placed neatly between the evenly-spaced trees of the neighborhood and the wilder, more overgrown forests as the land stretches inland. She didn’t really want to know what happened to the previous owner, or when, how, and why the gods of Olympus decided to try their hand in real estate, but a house in Nowheresville USA was a small price to pay for years of blood, sweat, and tears, she supposed.

It had a little downtown area, which was just a mainstreet with local grocers, a beauty salon, a couple of restaurants that all claimed to have the best lobster, a diner that did have the best pie she’d ever had in her life, the most historic building, now a hotel that she’d helped restore, had more or less sold her on the town, a little gift shop and tour right next door that advertised historic district walking tours, sun set cruises, and the best whale watching tours on the East Coast, a clothing store she’d bought some new sandals from, a coffee shop, a record store with a decent selection, and a little book store that had already told her they did not have anything in ancient Greek, and was therefore useless to her.

The arts and craft store was actually a little ways out, but they had some great wool and she’d already stocked up.

She was retired. But she was still planning on taking the occasional consulting job, or even a few independent design projects. But not yet. She wanted to give herself some time to sit and relax, and let the sea air soak into her veins.

And she’d knit while doing it.

Oh, she did a lot of other things too: she compared all the lobster restaurants in town, ordered a full pie a week from the diner. She bought new leggings at the store. She bought Into the Gap and the Footloose soundtrack at the record store. She broke down and bought Firestarter because the guy in the bookstore wouldn’t stop talking about Stephen King. She had lunch with the hotel manager and talked about architecture, and she went on walking tours, the Blueberry Tour, and even the ghost tour. She walked on the beach, and on the little docks.

She went back to Boston, too, sometimes. They had not yet finished the renovations on Magnus’s shelter when all the paperwork from selling her company and buying her house came through. And she liked to visit her dad, too. She was always worried about him getting out and talking to people, after the divorce. Sometimes she wondered if her dad had ADHD, too, given how he could go for days, absorbed in his books.

She was shocked, twelve weeks in, when she drove back into town on Monday, after her fifth trip to Boston, and found her shoulders loosening as soon as she spotted Main Street. She rolled down her window, and breathed in the sea air.

And she felt herself relax. Really and truly relax, for the first time since she was five or six.

No monsters or Harvard admissions or deadlines hanging over her head. Just home.

One day, she drove into town, and got dinner in the little hamburger place near the boat docks. It was the third best hamburger in town, but it was the only restaurant with a window onto the ocean. The patio was closed for the winter, but it was still a phenomenal view.

She ordered a glass of wine, automatically sending a prayer of thanks to Dionysus, and made herself a pair of leg warmers in between bites and sips.

“Those are cute,” said her waitress, Sarah, who went to the local high school, and worked every Monday, Wednesday, and alternate Saturdays. She had a boyfriend who was more serious about their relationship than she was, loved Danielle Steele, and was ambivalent about college unless it could take her someplace romantic like New York, or Los Angeles, or even some magical, faraway place like Paris–if she got really lucky.

You learned too much about everyone in a small town. Privately, Annabeth thought it was kind of delightful.

“Thanks,” she said. “Honestly, this is the fifth pair I’ve made this month.” She considered them. They were a bright purple. She liked the color, but probably not anymore than the blue and gray ones she’s been wearing.

“Fifth?”

“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.”

Sarah’s eyes flashed. “Uh huh?”

“Yeah, just–it’s been nice to get back into a hobby and everything.”

“So, do you… um…” Sarah twirled her pen around her fingers, looking decidedly left of Annabeth’s cheek. “What does your boyfriend think of them?”

“Oh, I don’t have one.” And thank all the gods for that. And may the gods curse the lot of the male heroes for their idiocy.

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t? What about an ex?”

Annabeth shook her head.

“Never? But you’re so ol–I mean… uh…”

Annabeth shrugged. She wasn’t that old. “Never had the time for one.” She blinked away the flash of sandy hair and angry blue eyes, and took another sip of wine.

“O–okay.”

If Annabeth hadn’t been retired, maybe she would have taken more notice. Maybe she would have correctly clocked Sarah’s interest in her newfound free time as more than a little concerning. Maybe she wouldn’t have forgotten the conversation after she went home, snuggling down into her bed after another half a glass of wine, drifting off into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

Then again, what was the harm? Annabeth was new, and interesting, and her lack of things to do was just a little bit of small-town gossip to pass around. Gods knew they needed some kind of excitement in their lives.

Big mistake.

It wasn’t two more days before Brenda, Sarah’s mother and co-owner of the dive, made her move.

Which was a damn shame. Annabeth really liked this grocery store.

“Oh, Annabeth!”

Brenda’s bright, brown eyes were ringed with blue in a way that she imagined Silena might quietly approve of, and at least today, they had all the laser-focused intensity of a Gorgon stare as she came barreling towards Annabeth in the cereal aisle.

She acknowledged Brenda, but didn’t quite smile. Smiling sometimes gave people the idea that these interruptions were desired.

This had never been a problem in Boston or New York. You could go on fifty shopping trips, and never run into someone you know. That was a big drawback of small towns, all the people.

“I’ve seen you at the restaurant a lot lately,” Brenda said. “And Sarah has, too.”

She nodded. “I love your patio.” Because she did. It reminded her a little bit of her own back deck. Except for someone else cooked, and then cleaned up at the end.

“I’m glad,” Brenda said, “but several of us have noticed that you always eat alone.”

That was true. In her five months here, her dad had visited four times. And she hadn’t taken him to Brenda’s place, because that would involve way too many questions. “Yeah, I feel like I always run into someone I know at the restaurant.” She said.

“How long have you been in town now, Annabeth?”

“I moved here in September,” she said, cocking her head to the side, unsure of where this was going.

“And do you think you’ve really settled into the community?”

“Um…” What kind of question was that? “Yes?”

“Because I worry about you.”

“Oh Brenda,” she sighed, “that’s sweet, but…” But she could already see where this was going. She’d had this conversation four or five times with a few of her neighbors. She looked Brenda up and down and wondered if she was Catholic or Lutheran or whatever Presbyterian was. Also, if someone was ever going to explain to her what the differences between all those things were.

“I’ve spoken to some of the others, they say you eat at one of our restaurants nearly every night.”

Oh… well, that didn’t seem like a lead up to invite her to church, at least. And it wasn’t like it wasn’t true. “I can’t cook.”

Brenda frowned. “And how does your boyfriend feel about that?”

Again with the boyfriend stuff. “Well, I don’t have a boyfriend, so nothing.”

“Yes,” Brenda nodded, “Sarah mentioned that. And so, I was thinking, there are a lot of great guys in Cabot Cove. And with you being so new, me and my book club might be able to help you out.”

“Out… with a guy?”

“Yes,” She smiled, “exactly.”

“Um…” That mostly sounded like a headache and a half. “I don’t know if… that’s… the best idea…” In fact, she knew it wasn’t the best idea. It was, plainly, the worst idea anyone had ever come up with. Never mind the fact that daughters of Athena didn’t date on principle–dating a mortal sounded like a very particular brand of Tartarus. And she had tangled with enough of Tartarus to be wary.

Undeterred, Brenda powered through. “Oh, that’s fine!” she said, patting Annabeth’s arm. “The book club is usually just for us girls, anyway.”

Annabeth chuckled, weakly. That didn’t make it sound any more appealing.

“So will we finally see you on Thursday?”

Internally, she sighed. Brenda and her entourage–Denise from the bookshop, Susan the grocery store clerk, and Linda, the receptionist at her contractor’s–had been gently hounding her to stop by their book club for weeks now. Annabeth already didn’t particularly enjoy hanging out with many people her own age. The fact that she was officially invited to the realm of forty-year-old mothers with too much time on their hands didn’t sit well. What she wouldn’t give for Clarisse and Chris and a no-holds barred beatdown to let off some steam right now.

Brenda’s eyes were wide, the bright blue making them look even wider, a pleading look that was wildly out of place.

Maybe if she went once, it’d put them off for at least a few weeks.

“...So, what are you guys reading?” she asked, finally, withholding most of the skepticism from her voice.

Brenda cheered, giving her a hug.

Which was how Annabeth–a known dyslexic–found herself in Denise’s living room at 8 PM on a Thursday night, reading some new romance novel called Snow on the Beach by Sally Jackson (where had she heard that name before…) after choking down some of Linda’s cheeseburger pie which did not at all pair well with the cheap Chardonnay Susan brought with her.

At first, Annabeth had been worried, as dyslexia did not exactly make her an avid reader. Luckily for her, it turns out none of the other women were avid readers either, preferring to spend most of their book club time drinking and talking shit on their husbands. It almost reminded her of being in college, only a little bit sadder.

Right down to gossiping about cute boys.

“I’m telling you, ladies,” said Susan, throwing her wine hand a little wildly, her third full glass nearly tipping over. “There’s no way he uses mousse. His hair just looks so touchable all the time–and the way it whipped in the wind!” She sighed, her eyes fluttering.

Apparently everyone’s favorite hunk had given a presentation about local marine life to the town’s boy scout troop, and they could not shut up about him.

“You know,” chimed in Denise, “I heard from Karen who heard from Nancy that he rescued little Jennifer Woods’ cat from a tree just last week!”

They all broke down, cooing.

Annabeth just barely contained her eye roll.

She was almost glad when the talk turned to the town doctor and his recent divorce.

“I could see it coming from a mile away,” said Brenda, taking a sip of water. “I have some experience with that, after all.”

“I just can’t believe it happened so soon!” Susan said. “They had only been married for, what, two years? And he’s still so young!”

Linda tutted. “How could a woman who landed a man like that–a doctor, of all things–just give that up?”

Susan leaned in. “I heard,” she whispered, conspiratorial, “that she ran off with some childhood sweetheart of hers. Joyce lives across the street, you know, and she said she saw a strange car pull up to their house in the middle of the night, before taking off! It was such a racket, it woke up her yappy little dog, oh, what’s-his-name–”

“Have you ever met him? The doctor?” Brenda asked Annabeth, obviously sensing her disengagement with town gossip.

She blinked, stupefied for a split second. “Oh–uh, no, I still go to my doctor in Boston.” Her doctor being her cousin with magical healing powers, or either her ambrosia supplier when she could get a hold of him.

As one terrifying, multi-voiced entity, they all shrieked. “He’s so handsome!” Susan cried.

“And he’s so sweet!” said Denise. “My sister works at the front desk part time, and he always gives her a smile and a ‘good morning’ every time he comes in!”

Wow. A smile and a good morning? What a keeper. “I’ve only heard good things about him,” she said, attempting to shrug off the attention. “I’m sure he’s a very nice man.”

Which was when Linda decided to make her move.

In hindsight, Annabeth really should have seen this coming.

“You’re not seeing anyone right now, right, dear?”

All that attention she had hoped to avoid was now all focused on her. She hadn’t felt this intently watched since she had taken on those gorgons last year.

“Um…” she began, intelligently, her mind racing. No, but they didn’t need to know. Also, she was going to kill Sarah the next time she saw her.

“That’s perfect!” crowed Denise. “I’ll talk to Katie, and she can get you two set up on a date!”

“I–”

Brenda and Susan cheered. “Oh, you two would make such a cute couple!” Susan said, taking another very large sip of wine.

“But–”

“And I’m sure you’d be a much better woman to him than his bitch ex-wife–”

“And your kids would be just adorable! With his brains, and your beautiful hair–”

“Hold on!” Annabeth finally cut in, face hot. “I am so not interested in kids right now!”

“Well, you’re not getting any younger,” Linda said, her voice just a little too sharp to be entirely friendly. “But you don’t need to bring that up on the first date.”

All her cleverness and strategy, and somehow, she couldn’t figure out the right combination of words to get these old ladies off her back. “I just think that–”

“I think it’s a great idea, sweetheart,” Brenda said. “Why don’t you just give him a chance?”

Which was how Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena, hero of Manhattan, Harvard graduate magna cum laude, ended up on a blind date with some doctor from some podunk New England beach town in the only bar for miles.

Jack’s Bar operated out of the town inn, appropriately named the Helena Inn. Presumably unable to recoup its costs with just the few out-of-towners, it was open to the general public until well into the early morning. It had an interesting kind of energy–with the low ceilings, poor light throw, and creaky floors, you could certainly feel the age of the eighteenth-century building. But the exposed beams gave it an interesting charm, and no one could deny that they made a damn good lobster roll.

Despite herself and her low expectations, she had dressed up for the occasion. Her outfit was an older one, but it still fit her, even if it didn’t exactly fit the bar’s atmosphere. Her black skirt was long, and a little bit faded, but it still mostly matched her black suspenders, and any wonky coloring would be hidden by the contrast of her gray sweater. Sitting at the corner of the bar, she pulled her skirt down, even though it already fell below the knee, feeling distinctly out of place among the blue jeans and stretched sweaters of everyone else around here.

“What are you having?” said the bartender.

“Some wine, please,” she said, softly. “White.”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. “You from out of town, or something?” he asked, pouring her a glass.

Her shoulders sagged. “No. I actually live down on Meetinghouse Circle.” Gods, she stuck out like a sore thumb. This was a mistake. “I just… haven’t gotten the chance to stop by yet.”

Her bartender just nodded. “Just wondering, since you seem a bit too dressed up for a little old place like mine.”

Jack’s Bar. “You’re Jack, then?”

He shook his head. “My dad. I’m John.”

Annabeth stuck her hand out. “Nice to meet you. Annabeth.”

Shaking her hand, he didn’t smile exactly, but his face relaxed in a way Annabeth found pleasing. “So you’re the mysterious newcomer I’ve heard so much about.”

“Guilty.”

“You meeting up with someone?”

She nodded. “Brenda and her friends set me up on some stupid blind date…”

“Excuse me,” came a smooth, deep voice from behind her. “Are you Miss Annabeth Chase?”

She turned.

He was wearing well-fighting trousers and a clearly expensive unbuttoned Izod button down–she could almost sense the tightness of the stitching. On his broad nose was a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, resting delicately atop his prominent cheekbones, and his dark gold hair swooped gracefully across his forehead.

Also, he wore his lab coat.

Oh, brother.

“Dr. Martin Stasiovsky,” he said, holding out his hand. “And may I say, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

So he was that kind of guy, huh. “Me too,” she bit out, shaking his hand.

“Shall we?” He held out his arm to her, brows raised expectantly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John suppress a laugh, disguising it as a cough.

And then he led her to a sticky wooden table, pulling out a chair with a cracked leather seat, before sitting himself down opposite her with a flourish, as though his lab coat were a cape. He rested his elbow on the table, placing his head in the crook of his palm. In the dim light, you could certainly call his features handsome, even seductive–or at least they would be, if he hadn’t already advanced to playing footsie with her under the table.

She pulled back her feet, tucking them beneath the rung of her chair.

“So,” he said, undeterred. “Tell me about yourself.”

She tried. Gods of Olympus, did she try. But every time she began a sentence about herself, he would swiftly interrupt her, going on a barely-related, irritatingly erudite tangent. For example:

“I’ve lived all over, but I actually grew up in Boston for a bit–”

“Ah, Boston, yes, you know it was the staging ground of the Revolution? When I was younger, I was able to correct the tour guide at the Old North Church on a thing or two–”

Or:

“I work at an architectural firm–”

“Oh, architecture is very important. Do you know, it was famed nineteenth-century skyscraper architect Louis Sullivan who said the iconic words, ‘Form Follows Function,’ which has become something of a motto of mine–”

Or even:

“No, I don’t really see my family–”

“My family and I tend to summer in southern France every year, though we recently had the opportunity to visit Vienna–an absolutely marvelous city–”

The thing that finally got him to shut up was: “I did my undergrad and grad school at Harvard.”

He stiffened, nose wrinkling like he had just got a whiff of something really bad. Maybe it was the gross-ass whisky he ordered. “You,” he said, absolutely dripping with patronizing disbelief, “went to Harvard?”

“I did,” she replied. “And I graduated magna cum laude.”

A pause, and then he laughed, short and ugly. “No, you didn’t.”

“Um… yes I did.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “A pretty girl like you doesn’t have the head for Harvard.”

Anger began bubbling up in her, like lava in the pit of her stomach. She clenched her fingers around the stem of her wine glass, and tried to breathe through her nose. “And where did you go to school?”

He pulled back, frowning. “Well, I mean–I went–my first choice was Harvard but I ultimately settled on–”

So he didn’t even get in. She didn’t even let him finish. “Ah, that’s a shame. Must have been one of my girlfriends who took your spot.”

“Well, when I was applying to school,” he sniffed, “they knew better than to let girls into Harvard.”

“Wow,” she whistled. “Fifty percent more spots, and you couldn’t even get in then.”

Leaving him sputtering, nearly speechless with shock, she stood up, downed the rest of her wine, then walked over to John to pay her tab.

She skipped next week’s book club. And the one after that. She tried to tell herself it was because she was mad at them for setting her up with such a douchebag, and not because she felt that she had somehow failed at being a proper girl.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide forever in a town as small as this one. Once again, she was accosted in the cereal aisle by one of the well-meaning but perhaps a touch over-bearing town ladies.

Maybe she should just stop buying cereal.

“Oh, Annabeth, dear,” said Susan, setting down her green plastic basket. “It’s so lovely to see you! We’ve missed you at the book club.”

She had only gone once. “Yeah,” she replied, for lack of anything else to say. “You know…”

“And I was so sorry to hear about your date.”

Annabeth bit her lip. “Oh?”

Susan nodded. “Denise’s sister told us all about it. May I just say–how rude!”

Annabeth looked away, rubbing at her arm. Sure, she had been a little forceful, but he had kind of deserved it.

“The nerve of that man, to say you weren’t smart enough for Harvard!” Susan took her hand, patting it. “Don’t worry: I have a first cousin who lives in the next town over, she has a son who’s single, and you will love him.”

“That’s really kind of you, Susan, but I don’t really think–”

“Nonsense! He goes to Dartmouth, working on his PhD. He’s an intellectual, dear, and he’ll be able to appreciate just how smart you are.”

Despite herself, she found she was a little bit interested. “What is he studying?”

Susan frowned, thinking. “I believe he’s a historian of some kind,” she said. “He studies something very old. I think the Middle Ages?”

For a split second, Annabeth was worried she would say that he studied World War II. That would have been a little too close for comfort. But she did like history, and people with multiple degrees, so… why not?

“When is he free?”

He ended up being free that Friday night. Annabeth and Malcolm met up at Jack’s Bar, only this time, Annabeth had chosen to tone down her outfit, opting for a brown, blue and white striped sweater, with a pair of nice black jeans instead of a skirt. “So, Susan tells me you’re studying the Middle Ages?”

Malcolm nodded. “I’m writing my dissertation on the 1204 Sack of Constantinople.”

Ooh, a siege. “What about it?”

“How it directly led to the eventual collapse of the Byzantine empire,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “The Latin invaders, by destroying Constantinople, left it wide open for the Ottoman empire to come riding in and capture one of the key military bases in the Mediterranean.”

Gods above, he sounded just like her dad. Strangely enough, she didn’t seem to mind. “Win the battle, lose the war, huh?” she offered. Every tactician worth their salt knew that way failure lied.

“More or less,” Malcolm agreed.

“Reminds me of a paper I wrote in college, actually, in a history class. About the civil war, and how the confederates had aimed for a lot of splashy victories, but not a cohesive strategy,” she said.

“I’ll admit, I haven't focused much on US history in recent years. But I’d love to read it.”

She felt herself blush. “I mean, it was just an undergraduate paper in a history survey course,” she told him. “It wasn’t like it was written with publication in mind.” Though it had made her professor more or less beg her to become a historian.

“I mean, you clearly had a lot of interesting ideas. And I’m a TA, I read undergraduate papers for a living. I’m sure yours would be a breath of fresh air.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because my dad felt the same way, and kept a copy. So I might actually be able to read it. I can maybe have him fax it to you sometimes.”

“I’d like that,” he said.

“But you’ll have to share some paper from your past, too. What was your master’s thesis about?”

“The repurposing of Athena as the Madonna in Medieval art.”

Annabeth had already been paying attention, but she felt herself lean forward. And she thought some battle strategy was her kind of research. “That sounds amazing,” she said. “Now I have to read it.”

“Did you do art history as part of architecture?”

He remembered what she did! Her opinion of him went up a few notches. “Yeah, but more than that I’ve always had a… an interest, you could say, in Athena.” That might be putting it mildly.

“Me too,” Malcolm said.

“But you aren’t a classicist?”

He shook his head. “This is going to sound weird, and maybe kind of arrogant, but… the classical world always almost made too much sense to me. Everything I ever learned, I got it, I understood it. It made researching it… almost harder. It was hard to form questions, because everything felt like it had an answer. That’s why I like the Medieval period. It's almost like taking some of the puzzle pieces from the classical world, and some new ones, too, and trying to figure out a new picture. Like… Christianity. No accounting for Christianity. And that makes learning it so much more interesting.”

“Not a church every Sunday kind of kid?”

“No, my moms,” he paused, coughed, and cleared his throat. “My mom wasn’t really for it, and so it wasn’t a part of growing up. That a problem?”

“Oh gods, no,” she said.

Malcolm seemed nearly as invested as she was, they’d both leaned forward, and he had a clear view of his gray eyes. They were nice eyes, she thought. Intelligent and maybe a little dangerous. She thought maybe she’d seen them before. “But, we’ve talked too much about me. Tell me about your work.”

And so she did.

“...and I like the idea of Neoclassical, but it always seems so flat to me. I feel like what it’s missing is color. I want more color in architecture in general, I think, but all that white marble is grating.”

“Have you ever been to the Parthenon?” He asked, with an almost breathless reverence in his voice.

“I have,” she said, smiling, “my dad took me as a graduation present.” Or, really, more of a one-two punch, graduation present for her, divorce present from him. Visiting Athena’s holy place seemed fitting for both reasons.

“What was it like?” He asked. “I’ve never been able to go, but gods, I want to. More than anything.”

Malcolm got it. Malcolm got the Parthenon and Athena.

And so maybe, Malcolm could get her. Maybe Malcolm could understand a child of Athena.

She looked at him. He was handsome in a way. His chestnut brown hair, his clear gray eyes, his…

His gray eyes.

His moms.

But gods, he’d said.

He was looking at her now, and frowning.

“You’re a child of Athena!” They said at the same time, accusatory, surprised.

They leaned back and looked at each other for a long moment.

“Well, damn,” Annabeth said. “I think we might be siblings.”

“I… yeah.”

“Um…”

Just her luck. Here she was, actually enjoying herself, having fun with this guy, and it turned out he was her half-brother.

“That sounds about right,” Annabeth said. “The first guy I can stand, and it’s because he’s my little brother.”

“Sorry,” he said.

She sighed.

“So… I guess our date is over?”

She thought of her home, quiet and lonely, and sighed. “No. I’d rather not go back to my place just yet. Besides, if I left early, Susan would never let me hear the end of it.”

Malcolm laughed.

“But, tell me more about your research,” she said, resting her head on her hand. “I’ve never spoken to another child of Athena before. Lay out the battle for me, and the strategy for Byzantium going forward.”

She saw her dad the next weekend. He came up from Boston, excited to see the progress she’d made on her house. And for the first time in a long time, recounting her new friend Malcolm, she had something to actually update him on other than the contractors finding termites or the pipes needing to be replaced.

She was actually excited, until she said the words “Turns out having a half brother is actually pretty fun.”

Cause she’d tried half brothers before, and it hadn’t really worked out.

But her dad just smiled, said he was so excited for her, and then complimented her on all the structural work she’d gotten done, before they both got distracted by a discussion of the tactics of the Germans in World War I. Her dad was kind of awesome. It was so much fun to talk to him.

She couldn’t really explain to Susan and Brenda and everyone that she and Malcolm were half-siblings, and so she would not be entering a relationship with him, but they did start spending a lot of time together, and so she endured just a little bit of teasing, and figured it was alright.

She and Malcolm plotted out the siege of Constantinople half a dozen times, trying to find the perfect strategy to defend it. They broke out swords and knives and sparred in her backyard. She even had lunch with his mortal mother, and heard someone else’s reminiscences of Athena, which was much more fun, and less desperately sad then her Dad’s.

It made his return to Dartmouth in early March a new kind of struggle. So much so that she not only returned to book club, she asked about another date.

She brushed them off when they asked about a break up, but she did find herself enthusiastic when Brenda suggested a new person. A firefighter and beloved local hero. He volunteered with kids and saved kittens from trees and “He’s just so handsome, Annabeth.”

She was actually kind of looking forward to going on this date, especially when Brenda called her to tell her excitedly that he was going to take her on one of the world famous whale tours they had in town.

Annabeth showed up all ready for water and whales. It was an unseasonably warm March morning, so she had on a yellow shirt, an older pair of overalls with monster claw marks in the knees that she had successfully disguised as deliberate rips, and she looked through her sunglasses for the dark haired man in the Fire Department shirt.

She found him. He was broad and stocky, with a fire department shirt under a light washed denim jacket. His hair was dark and clearly gelled and hair sprayed into its perfectly coiffed place.

He was probably two inches shorter than her, and she could see his face drop when she introduced herself.

After some brief, stilted small talk, they followed another couple and a family of five onto the boat. And the man at the front, driving the boat, announced that he was a replacement, that the normal tour guide was out this week, but that it would still be just as fun.

And if that was the case, Annabeth vowed that she would not be coming back for the regular guy. They saw one dolphin far off, and found themselves sprayed with the water as the speedboat choppily stopped and started, sending her stomach roiling angrily.

Graham, her fireman friend, complained every ten minutes, and then every five minutes, and then every other sentence out of his mouth.

She couldn’t get an answer on what movies he liked, or his family, or his work. He asked her questions, but looked angrily at the ocean while she answered.

She gave up, and sat on the gloomy boat, in the hot day, and listened to the tour guide swear they’d see something interesting soon.

They didn’t. And Graham was uninterested in dinner, as they had originally planned, whining that he needed to go home and change.

Annabeth let him go. And skipped book club again.

And again.

“You should go back,” Malcolm told her on the phone. “A date might do you good.”

“Fuck off,” she said, leaning her head back against the wall. “Children of Athena don’t do romance.”

“I would like to remind you, I also went on that date. And I even had fun. Companionship is nice. Even mom knows it.”

Clarisse said something similar when they chatted about her upcoming wedding. Which was infuriating.

Clarisse, of all people.

It was enough to raise her hackles, and to complain about it to Malcolm, again.

Which led to him getting invited to his mom’s house for lunch. Which led to Polly Pace proving she could replicate Susan and her friends' notions of how to get Annabeth a proper boyfriend.

“I might have a few ideas.”

She groaned. “Polly…”

“Look, sweetheart,” Polly said. “So many of those women around have one or two young men they have their little crushes on, and they are never going to give up that hope. So they try and live vicariously through you.” She rolled her eyes. “But I promise, I want what’s best for you. Let’s just have one more try.”

Annabeth couldn’t believe she agreed, but she did. And here she was. Polly swore up and down that this one was the most handsome man in Helena and that Susan had been trying to entice him for something like an affair for weeks.

Annabeth decided to go just to see what it looks like.

But she opted not to dress up for this one.

Annabeth slid into her usual spot at the bar, dressed in baggy jeans and a faded pink sweater on the last cool night of the spring, her back as close to the wall as physically possible. Wordlessly, the bartender slid over a glass of the house red, with a sympathetic smile. “Another date?” he asked.

She grumbled, taking a sip.

John just laughed. “Word on the street is Brenda’s declared you the most eligible bachelorette in town. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has half a dozen more dates lined up for you after tonight.”

Groaning, she resisted the urge to slam her head against the bar, settling instead for digging her palms into her eyes.

She felt, rather than heard someone come up beside her. “Evening, John,” said a male voice. A… sort of familiar voice.

“Hey, kid,” he replied. “Haven’t seen you here in ages! Still not drinking beer?”

The mystery man chuckled. “You know it. A coke, please.”

Annabeth frowned into her hands. Where had she heard this voice before? Was he a news anchor or something?

John tsked. “I don’t get you, kid. Why come down all this way if you’re not even going to have a proper drink?”

“What, the pleasure of your company isn’t enough?” Mystery man laughed again. “No, but I’m supposed to be meeting someone here.”

Annabeth’s ears perked up, attention fully grabbed. Was this…?

“Oh?”

“Yeah, a friend of Polly’s, or something.”

She jolted back, as though she had been shocked, and turned to face her blind date.

He was tall and broad, with tanned skin and messy black hair. He had gotten taller, she thought, and she could see the lines of his pecs where the muscles had developed under his plain black t-shirt and denim jacket.

His voice was deeper, but the timbre was the same.

And then he turned, his sea green eyes widening, and she had no doubt.

Percy-fucking-Jackson.

Oh dear gods. Percy-fucking-Jackson, son of Poseidon.

She had her knife in her grip before she even registered she had taken it out.

He swore in Greek, and then his sword was out in his hands.

“Whoa!” John yelled at them from behind the bar. “You gotta take those outside!”

Annabeth glanced around. Him, and all the other patrons, were staring at them, eyes wide in fear. “Huh?”

“No guns in my bar!” She glanced down at her knife, and could see, out of the corner of her eye, the mist swirling around, coalescing into the flicker of a gun. “Either put them away, or get out.”

Why did the mist have to pull this shit all the time?

“Sorry,” Percy said. He shot her a glare, like this was all her fault, as though she were the one who had apparently stalked him to fucking Helena, Maine of all places, and then he tucked his sword away, turned his back on her, and stomped towards the door. Like she wasn’t a threat. Like she didn’t matter.

Fuck him very much.

She didn’t put her knife away, but she did chase after him, out into the gravel parking lot. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

“You know, Chase,” he said, “I was supposed to have a really nice night.”

He had his sword raised again as he glared at her from under the one streetlight in the parking lot, which made her feel much better about not putting her knife away. “Well, so was I.”

“And now, some girl is going to think I’m an asshole who stood her up, all because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.” He eyed her knife, like he was funny.

“Newsflash: I was the girl you were meeting,” she said, “Gods, I can’t believe Polly thought I should go on a date with you.”

Percy scoffed, looking her up and down. “Well, you really turned out all the stops for your date.”

She gritted her teeth, too angry to flush. “I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d known it was you.”

They glared at each other. And then, again, infuriatingly, Percy put his sword away.

“Stop doing that,” she nearly growled.

“Doing what?”

“Putting your sword away.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am a threat!” Annabeth pointed her weapon at him. “So, pull your sword back out, and act like it!”

He looked blank for a long minute, and then he smiled. “Annabeth Chase, you are absolutely a threat,” he agreed, “but I don’t think you’re going to attack me.”

“I could so attack you.”

“You absolutely could,” he agreed, and nodded at her knife, still out, clutched tightly in her hand. “But you know better than to start a useless fight. It's a waste of resources and energy, and you’re too smart for that.”

She glared, and pretended she didn’t enjoy being called smart by him. “You don’t want to fight?”

Shoving his hand in his pockets, he sighed. “It’s been a long day, Annabeth. I don’t feel like getting my ass kicked and wasting what little nectar I have left on your knife wounds.”

That, more than anything, caused her to pause, and lower her knife. She didn’t put it away, though.

Percy Jackson wasn’t just a demigod hero. He was the demigod hero. He’d fought gods and lived to tell the tale. He raised storms or probably armies, if he really wanted to.

When Kronos had risen, Percy Jackson had been at the head of the defending army, an army cobbled together from the handfuls of demigods spread across the country.

Annabeth had been by his side.

To hear him say that she was a threat, that she would kick his ass. She… found herself blushing. And hoped that in the darkness he could not see.

But she still kept her knife out. “What are you even doing here?” she finally asked.

“Same thing you are–living here.”

“You live here? But you’re a New Yorker.”

“And you're a Bostonian,” he said, and then he sighed. “I’m tired, Annabeth. I thought I might be able to escape. To relax. To retire.”

Well, that was relatable.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Yeah, I get that.”

They stared at each other again. But it was less charged, now it was almost lost. That day, on the 600th floor of the Empire State Building, she had been so sure she was never going to see Percy Jackson again. So very sure she would never again hear his voice, roll her eyes at his stupid jokes, fight with him, laugh with him. And why not? He had been offered the most priceless gift the gods could offer.

And then he had refused the gift, and fucked off.

“Why Helena?” She asked, her teeth gritting despite her best efforts. “You could have stayed in New York.” Or gone literally anywhere else.

“You mean, ‘Why did I decide to follow you to some little beach town in the middle of nowhere’?” He sneered, and she glowered. “If I had known you had moved here, too, I would have already left town.”

She rolled her eyes. “When did you show up then? To intrude on my quiet retirement.”

“It will be two years in June,” he said, and she clenched her mouth closed. She hadn’t even been here six months. By all accounts, she followed him here. Fuck. “Never thought I’d find you in a place like this.” He glanced around, but there was nothing around them. “Not a lot of skyline here to add to.”

She was surprised he remembered. She did not remember what his career goals were. “What do you do? I haven’t seen you around before today.”

Percy… suddenly looked away. “I give whale watching tours.” There was something so awkwardly earnest about his statement, she almost felt bad that she burst out laughing.

“Of course you do,” she said. “I went on one of those world famous whale watching tours, you know. Honestly? Not impressed.”

“When the hell was that?” he said. “I’m pretty sure I would have recognized you if you came on one of my tours.”

“It wasn’t with you, it was some other guy, but–”

He scoffed. “Annabeth Chase, surely you know that a child of Poseidon would make a better tour guide to the wonders of the ocean then some mortal.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Just for that, I’m going to take you on a tour.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m taking you on a whale watching tour,” he said. Ordered, really. “Tomorrow. Meet me at the east docks at three, and I’ll show you.”

“You’re… serious?”

“Of course. My honor as a tour guide has been besmirched.” In the darkness of the parking lot, she couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. “And I’m going to prove to you just how amazing I am at it.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that, so she just rolled her eyes one last time and turned towards her car. She didn’t put her knife back in its sheath until she was half way home.

She had no intention of showing up the next day.

She knew that, and Percy knew that, and the gods knew that, and no one expected anything differently of her.

Which is why it was so strange that she found herself driving towards the East Marina at 2:30 the next day.

Why? She could not say. It was so dumb.

Percy didn’t actually want her to be there. He’d probably just laugh if she showed up. This wasn’t even where the last tour had set off from.

Fucking Jackson. If this was all an elaborate prank to get back at her for accidentally… okay, maybe accidentally-on-purpose leading him into Clarisse la Rue’s secret safehouse so she could ditch him that one time, she was going to kill him.

She was stupid to come out here, she was stupid to even entertain this, she was…

“Annabeth,” Percy Jackson called, from where he was leaning against a wooden post at the edge of one row of boats. “I’m so glad you came.”

And he sounded like he meant it, too. Or at least that he hadn’t been dreading her presence.

He was not dressed so differently then he had been last night: acid wash jeans, a gray henley which was starting to thin around the shoulders, hair again looking like it had never seen a brush or comb in his entire life. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed and straight onto the dock. And yet he was still disgustingly handsome.

It made her even angrier. She had spent all morning trying to tame her stubborn curls so that her hair looked nice, and he couldn’t even be bothered. Prick.

“Yeah, well,” she said, crossing her arms as she came to a stop in front of the boat. “You better make it worth my while.”

She looked at the boat, it didn’t look like the one from her last whale tour. It had a small deck surrounding the steering. And then what looked like a door going down to somewhere. On the back, in blocky letters, it said Little Star.

“Come aboard,” Percy said, “welcome to the Little Star.”

“Different boat from the other one.” Annabeth said.

“Well, yeah, that was the tour company’s,” Percy said, “this is a personal matter.”

“Personal, huh?”

“My honor has been challenged,” Percy said. “So have a seat while I blow your mind.”

“I’m hard to please, Jackson,” Annabeth said, “so we’ll see.”

She sat in the seat he offered, a little white bench. And watched Percy lean over to the dock to untie the rope.

She had a clear view of his ass. He probably was doing it on purpose.

Asshole.

“Annabeth Chase,” he said, grinning as he turned back to her. “You, unlike every mortal I have ever taken out, know that I can do anything on the ocean. Once we get far enough out, we can even do our own private scuba diving tour.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare cheat.”

“What?”

“You can’t just… charm me with the temple of Poseidon or whatever,” she said. “You have to give me what the mortals get.”

He paused, a flash of disappointment crossing his face, but then he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He didn’t touch the wheel as the boat headed out from the dock, just sat down in the captain’s chair and turned to look at her. “So.”

“So.”

“How long have you been in Helena?” He asked.

“I moved in September,” she said.

“Was it because you heard through the grapevine I was here, and you couldn’t resist?”

“As if.” Annabeth said, making a face.

“Well, if you’re not stalking my every move, what are you doing here?” Despite his tone, she thought she should be offended. But she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad.

She shook her head. “It was like you said, about wanting to retire, relax. I just…” Annabeth sighed. “I just wanted to get away from the monsters, the gods. The expectations.”

“This is a nice place to disappear, I think,” Percy agreed.

“How many monsters have bothered you?” Annabeth asked. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of one, even out of the corner of her eyes, but she was not ready to be so relaxed from the constant fear that had plagued her since she was a little girl. She’d been told that they would become less insistent once she reached adulthood, and strictly speaking, that was true. But that had been saying that the biweekly occurrences had trickled down to once a week, and after many more years, twice a month or so. And she dreaded to know just how long this peace might last. Or not last.

“I’ve never been bothered by any out here,” Percy said. “A few when I was in the city, visiting Ma, but that’s it.”

Annabeth let out a breath that she maybe hadn’t known she had been holding for months. “Oh.”

“It has been a relief.” He said, “Nearly fighting you was the most exciting thing I’ve had in like a year.”

“It's not too late,” she offered. She did have her knife on her. Some things would never change.

“Do you want to fight me on the ocean, on my boat, Chase?” He raised an eyebrow. “Because you’re good. You’re very good, but I don’t think you’re that good. And it seems like a waste of a good architect.”

“Whatever,” she said, because it was easier than admitting he’d kick her ass in a boat, on the ocean.

He took her acquiescence with grace. Which was nice. He was much much too smart to not know what was happening. “So, what have you been up to? Did you decide you wanted to build your monuments somewhere untouched?” He glanced behind them, and the shape of Helena.

And she could admit to seeing it, to seeing the temples and palaces she could build there. But Maine had no place for temples and palaces. “I bought a big old house,” she said, “1870.” Over a hundred years old. Only the Helena Inn was older. “And now I’m trying to renovate it.”

“I bet it will have ionic columns, over-designed pediments, and domes out the wazoo, huh.”

“Not sure that goes with the Victorian style.”

“You’re a great architect, you can invent your own style.” He was being much much too complimentary of her talents. She needed to get them on a better footing, tease him properly.

“Where are you living?” She asked.

He gave her a slightly lopsided look, that twisted into his dumb, troublemaking smile. “Here.”

She glanced around, trying to figure out how literal he was being. “You… bank out at the bottom of the harbor?” She finally asked.

He let out a laugh. “No, I live in my boat.”

She glanced around. “This isn’t a houseboat.” Unless it was. But she’d seen some before, and they seemed to have more space. More everything.

“No, it's not, but it's got a cabin below.” He motioned to the door. “Galley, table that turns into a bed. Even a bathroom. I can hook her up to utilities on the dock. But houseboats don’t normally move that much. I wanted mobility.”

She glanced around, and tried to reassess the fact that she was in Percy’s house.

“You let me into your house.”

“It isn’t that big a deal.” He said, “I mean… I trust you. And the boats for the tour aren’t mine. So, welcome aboard. We’ll be reaching our final destination momentarily.”

He looked uncomfortable, and for the first time, turned his attention to the wheel in front of him. And Annabeth did not know what to say. So she turned away, too, looking out at the view.

It was pretty, she had to admit. The murky water of the Atlantic expanded out before them. She thought she could see some scattered schools of fishes beneath the waves. “No cheating,” she said again. “I want the mortal experience.”

“I cheat with the mortals basically all the time.”

“Bullshit.”

He walked over the edge of the boat, leaned over the side, and grinned. “Hey, they pay for the beautiful ocean life, and I am happy to provide. I’d have taken you on a Poseidon Adventure, if you wanted, but everything I’m doing now is stuff I’ve done in front of a hundred mortal tourists.”

“So, what, the whales just hang around and wait for you to come out?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“And the other guy?”

“What the whales do with the other guy is not my business.”

They hid from the other guy, if Annabeth’s experience was anything to go by. “Well, you’re not allowed to–to talk to them or anything. No summoning sea creatures.”

“There’s really not much summoning on my part, anyway,” he said, turning them alongside the wind, taking them further out of the bay. “They sense me coming, and then…”

From behind her came the sound of something breaching the waves. From… close behind her.

He grinned. “They come out to say hi.”

Twisting around in her seat, she nearly shrieked at the sight of an enormous, fifty-foot-long humpback whale, not more than a handful of meters away from the side of the Little Star. Its large, dark eye was fixed on her, peering into her soul, before gently blinking, bobbing its head up and down so its bumpy nose caused little swells to rock the boat.

“That one’s Tiffany,” Percy said. “She’s waiting for you to say hi.”

Annabeth swallowed. “Um… Hi there, Tiffany.”

The whale blinked at her, slowly. Like a cat.

“It's really nice during calving season when all the babies are just born. They come so I can bless them. And people go wild for the babies.”

She almost couldn’t tear her eyes away from the giant frickin’ whale that was close enough she could spit on it, but she managed it, turning back to Percy. “You… bless sea creatures?”

“Of course.” And he sounded almost surprised by her question. Like most people just… blessed baby whales as part of their day job.

“Does it help?”

“I mean, I’m no Poseidon, but yeah, a little bit.” He looked at her for a moment. “Has no little owl chick ever asked for your blessing before?”

She reached out, and kicked him. And though it connected with his calf, he laughed.

Asshole.

He didn’t just show her the sights, he talked her through everything, offering a collection of facts about whales and dolphins, the Atlantic Ocean, and even Maine history. She knew she was getting the tourist spiel, but it was also pretty interesting. For instance, did you know that once lobster was considered food for only the poorest of people, and laws were passed so that even prisoners wouldn’t have to eat it every meal.

“How did that change?” She asked, almost despite herself.

“Businessmen started selling it as a delicacy on railroads.” Percy said, “It was cheap, and not available elsewhere, so they were able to turn a big profit, and position it as exotic.”

He did tell her other things too, mostly, he pointed out different dolphins they ran into by name: Lana and her son Todd. Betsy and Chaz and Anna. A school of fish who he said operated as a collective named David. He gave a little bit of a running commentary on most of them, including explaining how he named little Sally himself, earlier this year, when her mother asked for a blessing.

She tried not to think that it was really, really cute that he named her after his mom.

After last time, she really hadn’t been expecting much, but the day ended up being really fun. And beautiful beyond belief. She was really regretting not bringing her camera, or her sketchbook. She’d used so much of her drawing skills for blueprints and designs, but perhaps she could capture a different kind of beauty.

Maybe he could bring her out here again sometime. Let her take in the shoreline or the horizon.

“So, have you seen enough?”

She blinked, and then looked at him. “What?”

“Have you seen enough to know that I am the person in charge of the best Whale Watching tour on the Atlantic? Are you dazzled and amazed by my charms and natural beauty?”

“In your dreams,” she snapped. That was dumb. This was dumb. This was about him proving a point to her. And she hated that he was succeeding. She didn’t want to encourage him. Or give him any more credit then she had to. She wasn’t going to come out here again.

And she certainly wasn’t going to think about how nice it was to spend some time with him again.

They didn’t talk as he guided the boat back into port. He actually used the steering, this time, hands on the wheel, not looking at her, or really anywhere but the shoreline.

When they got there, she watched the easy way he tied the knots, almost missing it when he offered his hand to help her onto the dock. She just gave it a scathing look.

He laughed a little, and she nearly stomped her foot in indignation.

It was spring, so there was still enough daylight left at 6 PM. Maybe she could sit on her porch and sketch in the natural light. Try to remember what she’d seen today.

“Do you want to get dinner?” She looked up, and he was smiling at her, cocksure grin, hands in his pockets, body totally open to her.

“Are you serious?”

He shrugged. “Well, I figured that neither you or your siblings had developed a way to inject sustenance directly into your veins, and therefore still needed to eat. But if you don’t want to eat, no skin off my nose.”

“I think I’ve had enough Seaweed Brain for one day, thanks.”

Something flashed on his face for a second, but it was too quick to know what it was, and then he rolled his eyes. “Well, I hope you’ve become a better cook since high school.” He said. And then turned around and walked away from her.

Which was a pretty profound statement, given that she was standing next to his house.

She let out a breath, anger or annoyance or something else, and then jogged over to her car, in time to see Percy walking down the sidewalk, and turning towards main street. A place he could get dinner, without her.

“Asshole,” she said it out loud this time, if only to herself. And then she drove home.

She had some leftover lobster mac and cheese in her fridge, between the blueberries and the half-empty bottle of maple syrup. The freezer at least had a couple weeks worth of TV dinners. The rest of the fridge was empty. Just like the cupboards.

She ate the mac and cheese cold. It was still pretty good, but she couldn’t help thinking, as she chewed on meat once considered fit for only widows and orphans, that it was pretty fitting.

The loneliness was certainly the same.

Her dad came up the next weekend. School was officially out, his grades had been sent to the registrar's office, and he’d decided to start his summer visiting her. It was nice to see him. And the fact that he brought a box of Mike’s Pastries cannolis and a separate box of lobster tails brought her no end of joy.

He brought her a couple of other things, too. At her request, he’d picked up the order she’d called into her favorite yarn shop in Wartham. It was run by her half-sister, apparently, as Malcolm had told her, an expert weaver who no longer had an eye for quality, because at age eighty-eight, her vision had started to go, but she still knew everything but texture and touch.

He’d also gotten the other things, the painting and sketching supplies she’d battered Alex Fierro with questions on ravens wings about.

She was going to embrace the beauty of this town.

And she needed more to fill her days.

You could only make one hundred pairs of leg warmers before your craft got a little boring. And they had passed sweater season a while back. And she’d redesigned the entryway about seventeen times in three weeks, before her contractor had told her he needed to be elsewhere for a month while she finalized her plans.

Ironically enough, it ended up being Brenda’s idea. Despite having sworn to never return to book club, she found that her Thursday night TV dinners were becoming just too interminable to bear alone. The other women hadn’t commented on her long absence when she showed up at Denise’s house with a blueberry pie that Susan had seen her purchase, only poured her a glass of wine and made room for her on the comfortable couch.

It was nice. It was really nice.

And it was that nice mood that must have made her more agreeable to Brenda’s suggestion.

“Sarah talks about your knitting all the time–she says it’s better than some of the store-bought leggings that the girls like to wear these days.”

“Thanks,” she said, weakly, not wanting to admit that knitting, by itself, wasn’t really that hard… though she did certainly have a significant advantage.

“Have you ever thought about starting a business?”

“I actually have my own business,” she said. Despite being up in the boonies, the fruits of her architecture consultancy was more than enough for her to live on. “I’m really not interested in another one.” What would her lawyer say, if she asked Connor to incorporate her legwarmer business? There wouldn’t be enough celestial bronze in the world. She had been thinking about getting rid of some of her excess leg and arm warmer supplies, but it was so easy to make them, actually making a profit would seem underhanded.

She said as much.

But then, Brenda lit up. “Oh! What about the Flea Market in Norfolk?”

Which was how Annabeth ended up with a corner stall in the Norfolk Outdoor Flea Market, the shadow of a great oak tree protecting her delicate skin from the first truly hot day of summer.

Interest hadn’t been as high as she’d hoped, less because she wanted to make money, and more because she wanted to reduce the pile of knitting that was sitting on the chair in the living room.

But she’d probably sold about twenty pairs, and only managed to knit two more in the time, so she would call it a win.

The market had started at 11, and the crowds had thinned out after 4. She’d gotten lunch at a cart down the little line of tents from her, some of the best falafel she had ever eaten in her life, and that was saying something, since Magnus knew all the best spots in Boston. All the ladies from the book club had stopped by, cooing over her socks and scarves and leg warmers, and even seemed enthusiastic about buying a thing or two. Now, though, it was getting late, and looking over her leftover stock, she frowned at the idea of having to pack it up and take it home.

She had hoped to empty her tub. Maybe she’d price it lower, next time.

“Annabeth Chase and knitting.” She paused, closing her eyes, and resisted the urge to groan. She’d know Percy Jackson’s voice anywhere. “Who’d have thought it?”

She looked over at him. He was in a green and blue color blocked shirt and acid wash jeans. His green eyes sparkled in the late afternoon sun, his black hair looking like he just stepped off his boat.

He probably had.

“That fact that you don’t know anything about my mother shouldn’t surprise me, Seaweed Brain.”

Understanding dawned on his face. “Weaving!” he said. “Right.”

He reached out and picked up one of the few non-fashion items. It was a little fish, of indeterminate species, but rendered in shimmering blue, made, she wouldn’t admit, after their whale tour.

“How much?”

“What?”

“The fish, how much?” He looked at some of the other things, and then grabbed a pair of shocking pink leg warmers. “And these, too.”

She just stared at him, confused. “You need bright pink leg warmers?”

“They’re for my sister.” He said, running the knit between his thumb and forefinger. “These feel nicer than anything I could buy at the mall.”

“Oh.” She said. And was caught out. Not least because she wasn’t sure if she knew he had a sister. It couldn’t have been a sister on the Poseidon side, otherwise Annabeth would have heard about it.

“How much?” he asked again.

“Um…” What had she been charging again? “Three dollars.”

“For which one?”

“For both.”

It was Percy’s turn to say “Oh.” He pulled out an old leather wallet and handed her the money. He gathered his things, but didn’t wander away. She looked at her watch, and looked at the booths around her. And with a sigh, she started to pack up.

“Do you want help?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to fuck off, but then, the pile was large, and the box was going to be heavy, and she could see the muscles in his arms pushing against his shirt. “Yes please, I’m just throwing everything in it.” She demonstrated her haphazard practice. “It’s yarn, it will be fine.”

“How long have you been making these?” Percy asked. Distracted by a green scarf that would match his eyes.

“Since I moved here,” she said. “I mean, I’ve always knitted and stuff, but I’m basically retired now, and I have a lot of time on my hands and…” She shrugged.

“That’s a lot of work in just a few months.”

“I’ve had a lot of time,” she said. “Hopefully it will sell better in the winter.”

“Do you make a good return?”

“I don’t care about the money, but I know I’m not going to stop, so I’d love to get rid of some of it so it doesn’t migrate from the chair to the coffee table or something.” After she said it, she looked up at him, fearing for a moment that he was going to make a joke about how she never had visitors, so never had to clean up her knitting projects. It would have… hit its target.

“Fair enough.” He let her put the lid back on the box, and then he lifted it up, just like she knew he would. She grabbed her bag, and led the way out to her car.

“What are you doing out in Norfolk?” She asked. She didn’t even know if Percy owned a car. For a New Yorker who lived his life on boats, it seemed strange.

“Cindy likes to come up to get for the preserves, and she invited me along.”

Annabeth had no idea who Cindy was, but she found she did not like her. Not one bit. “Oh, where is she?”

He shrugged. “One of the guys selling wood sculptures was her old high school boyfriend, and I’m pretty sure the reason I was invited along. I was dismissed about two hours ago.”

Oh. “Sorry,” she offered, chagrinned. “You’ve been having bad luck on dates, I guess.”

He laughed, and it was such a nice sound, different from his derisive snort. “Cindy driving me here wasn’t a date,” he said. “Though, I guess you’re right. The last actual date I went on did almost end with a daughter of Athena gutting me.”

“That was an actual date?”

“Sure,” he nodded, “most eventful blind date ever. Normally it's all ‘Oh, where are you from?’,’What’s your favorite color?’, ‘What do you do?’”

“New York City, blue, blesser of whales,” she said, automatically.

“See, we skipped the boring stuff and went straight for the throat,” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes. “I see, now. It’s because no one else ever believes you.”

He said nothing, only shutting her trunk with a broad grin.

“Do you need a ride back?” The offer was out of her mouth before she could really think about it. But when she paused, she decided it wasn’t a mistake. It was about a twenty minute drive. And she suddenly realized that she wouldn’t hate spending it with him.

He looked at her for a moment. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to put you out.”

“You wouldn’t be. And this way Cindy doesn’t need to be interrupted in her pursuits.”

“Thanks,” he said as he crawled into the passenger’s seat.

Annabeth closed her eyes, breathing through her nose, then swallowed.

Into the fire.

“Thor, really?” Percy said, about ten minutes later.

They had actually been having quite a nice talk so far, comparing pantheons. Last time Percy was in New York, he had ended up tangling with some kind of Egyptian alligator monster, and Annabeth had plenty to share about the vikings. “It was weird.”

“And how do the Norse gods compare?”

She shrugged. “They’re fine, I guess. No ban on alcohol, so things are considerably less…” She paused, casting about for the right word. “...Contained, I guess, when you get a bunch of them in one place.”

Their own god of wine and madness had been banished to an arcade in New Jersey some time ago, cursed by his heavenly father to a century of sobriety for some infraction or other. The few times Annabeth had run into him, though, he still managed to make her life more interesting than she cared for.

Even without their god of revelry, the few times during the war that the Greek demigod army had gotten together, they’d managed to pull enough of their tattered and tired spirits together to have something resembling a shindig. Maybe throwing a party in the woods of Long Island the night before laying siege to the Empire State building wasn’t the best idea, but after Beckendorf’s death, they needed to let off a little steam. Especially Percy.

Especially Annabeth.

Percy may have been the one on the Princess Andromeda with Beck, but it had been her plan that had gotten him killed.

Pollux and Travis provided the drink. Katie, a daughter of Demeter who Annabeth hadn’t gotten a chance to get to know very well, provided the weed. Austin, Will’s brother, brought the music on his boombox, something hard and loud and thumping.

And Percy and Annabeth, they had spent most of the night together.

Not… not the night, but…

She glanced over at him. His eyes were on her, unfathomable as ever. She wondered if he was thinking about the same thing: kissing the taste of wine out of her mouth the night before they thought the world was going to end.

“Sounds like a party,” he said.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice hoarse. “It was.”

It had been different, exploring the nine worlds with Magnus. Likely because she was only a lost legacy. People, in general, hadn’t wanted too much from her. But it had been pretty funny the few times she had to introduce herself. The Norse were matrilineal.

“Now I want to change my name to Percy Sallyson,” he said after she told him about it.

“You already have her last name,” Annabeth pointed out.

“Sure,” he agreed, “But I could make it better.”

They were almost back to town, almost back to the marina. But she didn’t want their conversation to end. “Do you want to get dinner?” she blurted.

He’d asked her, last time, after they’d gone whale watching. She’d been mean in her reply.

“That sounds great,” he said, without skipping a beat. “Where do you want to go?”

The answer ended up being the Italian place, which Percy promised was delicious, though, “Nico swears it's not authentic and is therefore an affront to Italy. I told him that was only because Helena didn’t have a mob scene worth its salt.”

It was good, but after childhoods in both Boston and New York, she got what Nico probably meant about the lack of authenticity. She’d also never been to this particular place before, it was a little off Main Street, and the few times she’d seen it, it had seemed too fancy for her. There was another, cheaper, greasier pizza joint she defaulted to when she was in the mood.

“So, things are better with your dad?” Percy was asking as he tore the last breadstick in half, handing one of the halves to her.

She couldn’t even believe he remembered that. “Yeah, much better. Charlotte’s still weird about the divorce, but Dad is much happier. And he’s glad to be back on the east coast, too.”

“I saw one of his books on cassette at the library,” he said, “I was thinking of grabbing it and listening to it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I wanted to see if I could spot the hidden demigods in World War II.”

“You’ll have to tell me how it is,” she said, twirling the breadstick around her fingers.

Percy started. “You don’t read your dad’s books?”

“Not anymore.” She paused, then sighed. “When I was really little, he used to read me drafts. But he got busy, and married, and had more kids, and… It never felt right, I guess, to read them myself. I’m not a big reader, anyway. You know that.” Demigods always struggled with reading anyway. If it wasn’t in Greek, it wasn’t even worth it.

“My mom used to do the same when I was a kid,” said Percy, his voice wistful.

“That’s right–she’s a writer, isn’t she?”

“She is. She actually just had her fourth book come out a couple of years ago. I’ve got them all on tape.”

She felt her lips quirk up. How could someone so infuriating be so adorable?

“You know…” She could hear Percy tapping his foot under the table. Their plates were bouncing a little. “If you wanted, I could–I could give you one.”

“A tape?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, dragging his breadstick through the remnants of their communal olive oil. “If you wanted. I think you’d really like her latest book.”

He wanted to give her one of his mom’s books. That meant he’d have to come by and drop it off. And then come by to pick it up. Or she would have to go to him.

She… did not hate the idea. “Sure. What’s it called?”

“Snow on the Beach.”

Annabeth started. And then laughed.

Harder than she meant to.

“What?” Percy was defensive, his arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“Nothing, nothing,” Annabeth chuckled, coming down from her momentary insanity. “I just–I already read it. In Brenda’s book club.”

“Oh.” He sounded unsure. “I um… hope you liked it.”

“I loved it,” she said, without hesitation. It had taken a few false starts, but the story of Joanna and Mr. Taylor had been so compelling, she had powered through dyslexia by sheer force of will just to be able to see how they slowly fell in love, despite the regency class pressures that surrounded them.” She felt a slight flush cross her cheeks and she didn’t know why. “Um, please tell her I really enjoyed it.”

But he didn’t comment on it. “I’ll definitely let her know.”

She kept expecting them to run out of things to talk about, or to be forced to revert to the war, to the demigod expectations that always hung over them a little.

But they never did. They made it through breadsticks and pasta bowls with anecdotes about mortal families and movies they’d liked and a little cafe up in Cabot Cove she just had to go to.

They fought over the check, and he won. But they walked out together.

“You were right,” she said as they stepped into the evening. It had been a long dinner, but summer was barreling towards them, so it was still mostly light out.

He blinked, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Me? Right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

But he was still smirking. “What was I right about?”

“Dinner with you was lovely.”

His smirk dropped, and she could see his blush in the not quiet setting sun. “Oh.” He coughed. “Um, yeah, it was really really great to properly catch up. We should do it again sometime.”

“How about Tuesday?” She said impulsively, before really thinking about it.

But the cat was out of the bag now.

“Um…” The hesitation was not what she wanted.

“We don’t have to,” she added, quickly. “If you’re busy, or if you have other plans–”

“Would it be weird if I asked to have dinner at your place?”

“My place? You mean my house?”

“Yeah.”

That gave her pause. No one had ever been to her place before. Ever. Not even Malcolm. And there were boxes she still hadn’t unpacked, painter’s tape she had left on the wall, kitchen cabinets empty of pots and pans… “I mean, we could, but we’d probably have to order a pizza.”

“No, I…” He paused, “I’d cook for you, if you’d let me.”

“You’d… cook in my kitchen?”

He nodded. “My boat has a galley,” he said, “but it can get a little cramped in there. I haven’t had the opportunity yet to make my mom’s famous blue chocolate chip cookies.”

She frowned. “Blue?”

Percy grinned, sly and easy. “Yep.”

“Dare I ask why?”

“They taste better when they’re blue,” he said. “Trust me.”

Trust me. He’d said that to her once before, the first time they’d met when they crashed into each other during a quest to the sea of monsters. She’d been looking for the Golden Fleece to save Thalia’s tree, and her spirit, from dying. He’d been doing it to keep Kronos from getting it. They’d ended up on a boat together, but despite his skill at sailing, she hadn’t wanted to trust him. She hadn’t trusted him. She had wanted to go to the beautiful world then sirens had offered her. But she’d done it, some little spark of her soul had wanted to trust him. He’d saved her from drowning.

And then she’d said those same words to him two years later, when she’d been on Olympus with him and had a knife in one hand, and Luke at his feet.

And he had.

“Alright,” she said. “My kitchen, Tuesday.”

She then spent the next three days summarily freaking out.

She had one, pathetically small sheet pan. Her oven wasn’t clean. Her sink was somehow overflowing, despite the fact that she had less than ten dishes overall. Her remaining bell peppers had begun to grow a brand new colony of mold. The fridge was full of leftovers she never remembered to throw out and the freezer-frozen dinners. And those were just the kitchen problems.

Her knitting had taken over the loveseat and was migrating to one of the end tables. She’d managed to put the leftover items from the flea market right into the spare bedroom she was using for a storage room while she continued to work on the house, but too many boxes had migrated out of it when she’d needed something, and never managed migrate into the recycling or back into the room.

And three days was not really enough ramp time to psych herself up for a major cleaning. And unlike Boston, Helena didn’t have a maid service she could call last minute.

But, she was honestly proud of herself for managing to throw out everything that had obvious mold or smelled really bad in the fridge, get all the dishes in the dishwasher and turn it on, though not unload it, and crochet a new afgan for the couch that matched the picture she’d painted of the ocean, inspired by the tour, that hung in the living room.

The last one probably wasn’t strictly necessary, but it had certainly seemed like it come Tuesday morning.

Annabeth had only just barely finished putting her mop away when there was a knock at her door. “Just a minute!” she called. In quick succession, she straightened the afghan on the couch, pushed in the wooden chair at her kitchen table, and checked her reflection in the mirror, moving a stray curl behind her ear. After some consideration, she had decided on the light blue dress from the back of her closet, pairing it with an old set of owl earrings that her father had gotten her for her birthday when she was young.

There was no hiding the big grin on her face as she opened the door.

“Hey!” Percy was smiling back at her, his eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. His arms were laden with plastic grocery bags, and she tried not to notice how tight the sleeves were of his black, Social Distortion t-shirt.

She stepped back, making room for him. “Come on in.”

“Your place is gorgeous,” he said as he stepped inside.

“Thanks,” She said, “I got it because I felt like it was a real diamond in the rough. I’m doing a lot of work on it, off and on.”

“You redesigned something that could please the gods, I think making a perfect house is something you can do in your sleep”

She blushed, and showed him into the kitchen. “I’m… I don’t have the most extensive kitchen set up, I’m afraid.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “We can make do.”

And make do they did.

Percy had had the foresight to bring all the necessary ingredients at least, though they did run into a bit of a snag after dinner. (Percy had made her beef stroganoff. It was without a doubt one of the best things she had ever eaten. Not that she would ever tell him that.) “So,” he said, plopping his bag of flour on her counter. “Where’s your stand mixer?”

She blinked. “My… what?”

“Stand mixer. We’re going to need one if we want cookies.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t even sure that she knew what that was. “I… don’t have one.”

“Oh.” Percy blinked, taken aback. “You don’t?”

She shook her head. And made a mental note to get one, as soon as possible. Brenda would be able to help her. Or Susan. Or somebody.

He bit his lip, his eyes darting around. “That’s–that’s okay. We can–we can wash out the marinade bowl,” he picked up the dirty bowl in the sink which had held the raw beef, “use that to cream the butter, and then we can mix it by hand. Do you have a whisk?”

“Uh…”

Percy opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it, shaking his head with a rueful grin. “You know what? That’s fine.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He took out the eggs from the fridge. “They made cookies before stand mixers were invented, right? I think we can manage.”

After a brief pause to clean some of the dishes, they were off to the races. Percy had unearthed a wooden spoon from the back of one of her cabinets, and was mashing the butter with the eggs and sugar while Annabeth sifted the dry ingredients together with a fork. She was perfectly aware that Percy had given her the easier task, but from her vantage point at her little kitchen table, she was perfectly content to sit and observe as Percy leaned against her counter, one arm cradling the bowl to his chest while he mashed with the other.

He was a lot taller than she remembered him being. During the war, she was only an inch or so shorter than him; now she wouldn’t be surprised if he had nearly half a foot on her. And he had filled out, too–broad shoulders and big hands and sturdy thighs. He had just the barest hint of stubble on his sharp jaw, and strong brows… one of which was raised as he looked at her, his lips quirked in a smile. “Hm?”

“I said, can you pass me the vanilla and the food coloring?”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat, setting the bowl down so hard that the flour mixture jumped a little. “Yeah, sorry.”

He just chuckled to himself.

“So, what’s the deal with the blue food coloring again?” she asked as she passed the little bottles to him. Their hands touched and she tried not to think about it.

His face dropped, just a touch. “How much did I tell you about my mom?”

She frowned, taking her seat. “Not much, I don’t think. She’s a writer, and…” Screwing up her eyes, she racked her memory for something, anything, any small inconsequential detail he might have shared with her when they were younger. Back then, though, there really had been no reason to talk about their pasts. They didn’t spend that much time together. Not a lot of time for sharing in the middle of a war. “Was she married?”

He nodded. “Twice. Her first husband, he was a real piece of shit.” A scowl overtaking his face, he measured out the vanilla, but dumped nearly the entire bottle of blue into the flour. “I didn’t know at the time, but when I was really little, he would beat on her.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Oh, Percy, I’m so sorry.”

Percy shrugged. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Almost… wow.” He paused. “Almost twenty years.” Shaking his head, he stuck his hand in, mixing the cookie dough. Slowly, inexorably, the color changed: from tan, to periwinkle, to cerulean. “They had this dumb fight–I don’t even remember what. But somehow, the topic of blue food came up. He swore up and down that there was no such thing. But my mom insisted. And ever since then, she would have blue food all the time. Blue tortilla chips, blue candy, blue gatorade–and eventually, she started adding blue food coloring, too. He hated it.” Percy grinned, reaching for a spatula. “Blue food was her way of fighting back. Her one act of rebellion. Eventually, it just became our thing.”

She could picture it, a young Percy looking up at his mother with those big green eyes as she whipped up a batch of blue cookies. “How is she now?”

His face didn’t change much, but it was almost like there was a glow about him, a warm little fire lighting him up from within. “She’s good. She’s working on a new book, and she remarried almost ten years ago.”

Oh, that was right–he had a sister! “You have a sister, yeah? What’s her name?”

“Estelle.”

She inhaled, something clicking. “The Little Star?”

The smile spread across his face, lighting up the whole room with his love. “Yeah. She’s pretty great.”

Together, they spooned out the cookies, fitting as many of them onto her sheet pan as they possibly could, and she settled back into her seat as Percy slid the tray into the oven.

“So,” she said, about six minutes into cooking. “Whatever happened to her first husband?”

Percy crouched, peeking into the oven. “Remember that time we ran into Medusa in Jersey?”

“Don’t remind me,” she said, shuddering.

“Well, I gave her head to my mom.”

“How did you even get–”

Annabeth stopped. She blinked.

“Wait. You gave… she…”

He smirked.

Dang. “Are you sure she’s not a secret viking?”

“She’d never wielded an ax, as far as I know,” Percy said, “but she’s a dangerous one.”

She did have a spatula, which she mainly used to get frozen pizzas off the baking sheet, though the cookies had to wait on a plate, because she didn’t have a cooling rack.

“Oh gods,” Annabeth said, ten minutes later when she bit into a still warm cookie. “Oh my gods. This is the best damn cookie I’ve ever had in my life.”

“I’m telling you, it’s the blue,” Percy said, having already swallowed his cookie whole. “There’s just something missing without it.”

“You might be right,” she said. “Might be.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” But he was smiling, “I’ll just have to keep proving it, blue food. It's the best.”

“What else can you make blue?”

“Lots of things: cakes, bread, pasta, mashed potatoes,” he shrugged. “I like trying new things. And my mom has been teaching me some of our family recipes.”

“Do you take requests?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.” Somehow, despite being taller, he managed to look at her from under his eyelashes. Expectant. Hopeful.

And really, what did Annabeth have to lose out on? Another fantastic meal? “Are you free on Friday?”

He was.

Friday rolled around, and Percy arrived, once again loaded down with groceries. Only this time, he stepped into a full kitchen. “Whoa,” he said, quietly stunned as he opened a cabinet. And then another. And another.

Annabeth felt her cheeks heat up.

“Where did you get all this?” he asked.

“Oh, here and there,” she said.

Maybe one day she’d tell him about driving to Boston on Thursday and practically buying out the Sears kitchen department. But not today. Not tonight.

That night, they made pastichio, and split a bottle of wine Annabeth had picked up from the grocery store.

The next week, it was Swedish meatballs. Then, the following Monday, Percy stopped by unannounced, bringing with him an extra container of vodka sauce for pasta, because he had just made too much and wouldn’t be able to eat it before it went bad. Eventually, he started showing up to drop off a cassette. Then to watch the game. Then just to say hi.

And he always stayed for dinner.

By the end of June, he was over every night, making great use of Annabeth’s kitchen. The fridge was still full of leftovers, but it was leftover soup or pasta or vegetables or to die for chicken. And she wasn’t worried about the onions in the crisper going bad. She even learned what the crisper was for, and what it was called.

She didn’t think she’d ever eaten so well in her life.

“Are you doing anything for the holiday?” he asked, after he had finished the dishes.

Annabeth shook her head, sipping her wine. “Dad’s in Europe, and Malcolm and his mom are visiting family in Virginia. You?”

“Paul’s family is taking a vacation in Chicago.”

“You weren’t invited?”

“I was, but I don’t think the risk of inciting dear old uncle,” he flicked his eyes upwards, “is worth flying out for it.” he shrugged, “and I might be joining my mom the day after, so I’d have to come straight back anyway.”

“Shame,” she said. “But I hear that Fourth of July here isn’t so bad. Apparently the local scout troop puts on a pretty great fireworks show on the beach.” According to Denise, it was quite the romantic evening. Asking a girl to the fireworks show was a very common step in the romantic playbook around these parts.

“So I heard! Polly says that the beach is always packed full of people, so I’m going to take my boat out a little ways away and watch there.”

“That sounds really nice.” She said, before chomping on a bite of the blueberry coffee cake he’d made them for dessert.

When she looked back up, he found him looking at her, half trepidation, half excitement in his face.

Percy took in a breath, and licked his lips. “Would you want to… come with me?”

His eyes reflected the color of the water outside her home, the sea where he lived, this town where they had come together by some twist of fate.

And she nodded.

They were both grinning as she showed him out that night, a sort of youthful giddiness bubbling up inside her when she looked at him.

She shut the door behind him, and as soon as he was out of sight, she felt the bubble pop.

The enormity of what had happened sinking in.

And the absolute imperative she not fuck it up.

She didn’t just go dress shopping, she went to Boston, and spoke to a magical tailor and Blizten had to talk her down four times while he fitted her for a dress for her… date… with Percy Jackson.

Because Percy Jackson had asked her out.

On a date. On his boat. To see the fireworks.

Even thinking about it like that sent a weird shock through her. It made her feel like she was sixteen, instead of pushing thirty. What kind of woman, on the eve of her twenty-eighth birthday, would feel butterflies in her stomach as she thought about going to see some fireworks?

Well, sure, when she’d been sixteen, she hadn’t even thought she’d make it to twenty-eight. But still.

And with Percy Jackson of all people.

Yeah, they’d kissed the night before the battle of Manhattan, and yeah they’d been on Olympus together and saved each other’s lives, and yeah Percy had turned down immortality for… for his mom.

But then he’d walked away. From all of it. From her.

Did he regret it?

Her dress ended up being a light blue with white pinstripes, with a wide collar and a cinched, belted waist, coming down right to the tops of her knees.

She stood in Blitzen’s shop, in front of the three way mirror, while he worked on accessorizing it on July third, and wondered how she was supposed to make it until tomorrow without throwing up from nerves.

But make it she did, and at 8:30 in the evening, she met Percy at the east dockyard, in her blue dress and brown sandals. She had spent upwards of three hours on her hair, teasing and curling and spraying until her hair was as poofy as it could possibly be. The humid ocean air still managed to penetrate the layer of hairspray, however, stray curls escaping at her temples.

“Annabeth, hey!” Percy waved at her from the deck of the Little Star. In the evening light, she could see that he had dressed up for the occasion too, trading in his t-shirt for a white button down and a pair of dark jeans. “Did you get some wine?”

She held it aloft. “Last bottle they had!” The grocery store wine selection had been nearly cleared out by the time she got there, but luckily she had managed to snag the last good red left. It was odd, though–she could have sworn she had walked past that shelf about four times before spotting the bottle. Maybe she had just missed it.

“Great,” he grinned. “Come aboard!”

In short order, she had boarded the Star, Percy had set off from the docks, and they were anchored a little ways away from shore, sharing the bottle of wine over a Greek pasta salad. They were sitting together on a bench at the stern, a blanket thrown over their legs. “This might be the best feta I have ever had,” she said. “Where the hell did you get this? Did you fly it over from the motherland?”

Percy laughed. “No, my mom brought it up from New York last time I saw her. There’s this little grocery in Astoria run by this old yiayia, Sophia, she’s got all the best stuff.”

“And the olives?”

“Same place.”

“Damn.” She picked off another olive, popping it in her mouth, savoring the deep, salty flavor. “If we ever go back to New York, you’ll have to take me there.”

A strange silence fell between them after that.

“Would you… ever go back?” he asked her, quietly.

“To New York?”

He nodded.

Annabeth rolled another olive between her fingers, frowning. “I… I don’t know.”

She hadn’t meant to say that. It wasn’t like she’d been thinking about going back–not permanently anyway. She liked Helena. She liked Brenda, and the little restaurants, and the pattern of people who waved to her during her morning walks on the beach. She liked the quiet, the peace, the space she had to relax and breathe and be, without the threat of monsters or gods. She liked not having to look up at the Empire State Building and be reminded of all her failures.

“Would you?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve been thinking about it. I mean, my whole family is there, you know? My mom comes up every so often but…” He sighed. “It’s hard, being so far away from them.”

Her heart panged.

She liked having him here. She didn’t want him to go.

His eyes flicked up to hers, softening as soon as they met. “But it’s been easier, recently.”

“Yeah?” she breathed.

“Yeah.” He smiled back at her, gentle as a sea breeze. “It’s… I’m really glad I ran into you.”

“Even though I pulled my knife on you.”

“Especially because you pulled your knife on me.”

In the back of her mind, she wondered if her mother would be mad at her. And then she remembered that she didn’t care anymore. “Me, too.”

They sat in companionable silence, drinking wine, watching as the stars came out over the water. Eventually Annabeth dropped her head on his shoulder, scooching closer.

“Are you cold?” he chuckled.

“A little,” she lied.

A pause, and then she felt him rest his head on hers.

“What time is it?” she murmured.

She felt the muscles of his chest shift as he checked his watch. “Almost ten.”

Then, a clap of thunder. Beneath her, Percy jolted. She sat up. “Percy? What is it–”

But out of the corner of her eye, there was a brilliant flash of light, a little yellow star exploding into showers of red and green and blue.

Percy relaxed. “Oh thank the gods,” he sighed, sagging back against the boat. “I thought Zeus was coming to kill me.”

It wasn’t funny, but she started giggling. “For what?”

“Does he need a reason?”

“I’m sure you’ve given him plenty.”

“Hey!” he pouted. “It’s not like you haven’t done plenty to piss off the gods, too.”

“Oh yeah? Who mailed Medusa’s head to Olympus?”

“And who turned her back on Hera?”

“Well, who turned down Zeus’ gift?” she shot back, kicking his shin.

He stilled, shifting closer to her. And he didn’t reply.

“Do you regret it?” she asked, turning from the fireworks to face him.

“Hm?”

“Turning him down.” In all of mythology, there was no greater boon from the gods than immortality. It was the ultimate reward for any demigod. After all that Percy had done–defeating Kronos, saving Olympus–she had been sure he would have taken it. And why shouldn’t he have? Demigods were scattered across the United States. Most of them never even knew that they were special, and how. She could count the number of times she had met her own mother on one hand. Percy had had the chance to live among the gods, with his immortal family, for eternity.

And he had turned it down.

He bit his lip. “Not really.” He looked off, not towards the shore and the fireworks, but out over the ocean, “I remember being just sixteen, and thinking when he made the offer, that I could stay in my prime.” he shook his head, “I don’t know what my prime is, or was, or might be. But I am so sure it wasn’t being sixteen. I… there might be a time I want forever, sometimes having that kind of power… it does have its appeal. But I realized that I didn’t want that.” Then he looked at her. “What about you?”

She almost laughed, “It didn’t occur to me that it would be on the table until they offered it to you.” She shook her head. “I’d have taken it if they’d offered it to me first. I know that. I’m certain of it.” She smiled. “But I am so, so glad they didn’t. You’re right. Sixteen forever isn’t what I should have wanted.”

She saw him open his mouth, and then snap it shut.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, too quickly, with too much force.

“No, really, Seaweed Brain, what?” Between the boom of fireworks, all she could hear was her own heartbeat. They were already so close, but she leaned closer, like they were going to share a confession around a fire while they were camping out during the war. She wished she could roast a marshmallow. “You can tell me.”

“If they’d offered it to you first, and you’d taken it, I wouldn’t have…” She could feel his breath on her face. “I would have…”

Well, fuck. What else was she supposed to do, but close that centimeter gap and kiss him?

The fireworks exploded behind her closed eyelids, but that didn’t matter.

She could feel the sparks on her lips, and smell the sea air all around her.

She kissed Percy Jackson, and it was everything.

#my fic #darkmagyk #pjo fic #pjo #percabeth #pjo hoo bigbang #au #the rivalry ends here #new au woo!!!

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