A/N: My friend wanted something that would make her sad, so I came up with this. Hope you enjoy it! Are we all ready for Mark of Athena? I picked up my copy of The Demigod Diaries finally, last night. I'm on a Percabeth high.


She was brave.

That was always one of his favorite things about her. No matter the circumstance, Annabeth wouldn't back down. Whether her pride wouldn't allow her, or she wouldn't associate herself with the words weak or coward, Annabeth Chase would not let anyone stand in the way of something. Never shedding a tear, never letting a miniscule problem ruin her day, Annabeth Chase was brave in every sense of the word.

And the first time he saw her cry, it brought him to his knees.

She was only seventeen. She shouldn't of had to endure this, yet there she sat, indian style and clutching a pillow to her chest. Her cheeks were tear stained, something he wasn't even sure she was aware of. Her gray eyes were the color of thunder clouds and terribly bloodshot, staring at the same spot on the wall for an hour now. If she even knew he was sitting on the edge of her bed, she'd didn't lead on.

Until she finally broke the silence. He almost didn't hear it, her voice sounding so unlike her. Where she normally spoke with confidence and extensive knowledge, her voice was now fragile. Eminently broken. A girl who'd went through the ringer the past seventeen years, and the girl who'd finally decided to accept it.

"He thought I hated him," she breathed.

Partly in shock that she'd spoke, he raised his eyebrows. His hand found hers without even realizing it, engulfing it like a blanket. Unlike most girls he'd brushed hands with, hers weren't soft. They weren't scar free. Proof of the strength that she radiated, even in her darkest of hours. Unbeknownst, his lip quivered, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand.

He scooted closer to her. "You know that's not true," He soothed, his free hand now brushing down her wild curls that were usually tamed by a ponytail. She didn't have the strength to object like she usually would if he attempted to run his fingers through his hair. Instead she reached up, lightly grasping his wrist, cuddling it.

"I ran away when I was seven," she explained, her voice still soft and hoarse from crying. "I never even wrote him until you showed up, Percy." The blonde sniffled, her lip quivering slightly. Percy's heart was already breaking for his girlfriend, but he refused to let her know that. Even in this moment, she needed to feel strong, when she was so close to her breaking point.

"He knows you loved him, even if you didn't always show it, Annabeth," he said.

She didn't respond. Her eyes were locked with his, finally moving from the vantage point on the wooden wall. The sight of him made her feel better, a warm rush surging through her body. Because he was there for her, stroking her hair and letting her cut off the circulation in his wrist. Because he cared. Because he was Percy, and if not for him, she might not of been able to mend her relationship with her father before he died in any way whatsoever. She didn't want to let him see her like this any longer, afraid that he might think less of her. It was impossible, of course; Percy would never think anything less of the girl he loved because she shed a tear at the death of her father. He'd be worried if she didn't, even if he'd never actually seen her this upset over anything before.

Turning over, Annabeth pulled Percy's arm, encouraging him to lay down with her. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him, their bodies molded perfectly together. "I love you," she said softly, already drifting into a light sleep. He pressed a chaste kiss to her head, rubbing circles on the back of her hand.

Only after he ensured that she was asleep did he let the tears fall himself, his heart breaking for his beautifully brave girl who was finally allowing herself a moment of mourning.