Piper McLean has always loved to dance.


Piper is four when she first starts.

Her father is still young, and his smile is pained as he leads his daughter over to the store. "Come now, Pipes," he beckons, and picks out a pair of pastel flats. Even then Piper wrinkles her nose in distaste.

"But dad," she protests, blinking those multicolored eyes. "I don't like pink." Tristan shakes his head in acknowledgement and holds out the bag for her to take. She peers inside-lace; the very best. Of course.

"Those were the only color they had, Pipes," He informs her, taking her small hand in his. "You have lessons today."

She doesn't remember, even then, the last time she and her father were alone like this. Her shoes scrape against the sidewalk as she skips along, tugging Tristan's hand with her. He catches up easily and laughs. Her father's laugh is contagious, the kind that makes her want to laugh along. Her hand is held firm in his.

"Will you be taking me everyday?" If so she is excited, because she hates hates hates Jane, that hag of a woman who stole her father away from her so many hours a day. But she should have known better. His work is more important. His work is always more important.

Her father's head shakes and her heart falls. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he says, almost like it's a required line. "Jane will take you. There is so much work to be done, and I wish to earn a decent living." Even then she knows it is a lie.

But she grits her teeth and bears it. She will be dancing soon-that's all that matters.

Dancing is like flying. Her arms are extended, little ringlets of brown hair bunched around her head. Perspiration dots her face but it's the best thing she's ever felt, and all she wants to do is leap and leap and touch the sky. She wants to grab a star and hold it, and wish upon it. She knows she will wish for her father to want her.

The ceiling extends so high above her and she makes it her goal to touch it. They teach her to do splits and stretches and finally some spins, and she does her best to mimic what she's seen on television. The dancers there look like they are happy and she wants to be happy, so she jumps and spins, and clasps her arms above her head. Everyone else is turning and falling over but no, she's not dizzy and she could spin forever because now she forgets…

All too soon the class is over. The teacher smiles at her, brushing a hand over her hair in a gesture of affection. "You will do great things, Piper," She says. "Keep dancing."

Her father waits outside the door, his eyes fixed-like usual-on his phone. He doesn't even look up when he sees her, but still takes her hand. "Come on, Pipes," he greets, and finally tucks the device into his pocket. "Let's go."

"Did I do well?" She asks, beaming. He smiles; so wistful.

"You have your mother's eyes," he remarks. "You danced like her."

She skips all the way back home.


Her first steal is a ballet dress.

Of course. Jane would not buy it for her, and so she took it. There was nothing wrong with it, after all, as far as she could see. "Can I have it?" She asks the cashier, and he nods yes. She does not see the way his eyes glaze.

A trait from her mother, her father has always told her when she tells him about this 'ability.' He does not see the truth. She almost does, and maybe somewhere she wishes her mother was still here. Maybe then she could be loved.

"Where did you get that?" Her father asks, and she can see the way he is suspicious, see the way he eyes her like she's done something wrong. She clenches the dress tighter in one little hand.

"I asked for it, Daddy," she whispers. "I asked for it and the man gave it to me."

She knows her father doesn't believe her. How often does a child ask for something, and an adult gives? But it is true, so true, and she can never show him. "Come here, Pipes," he says, and then follows it up with a lecture on stealing.

Stealing. So that is what it is called, and now that she knows it will get her father's attention all she wants to do is to do more of it. Maybe then, she thinks, her father will notice her. Maybe then she will be able to spend time with her-even if he was angry.

Piper has always been selfish.

She steals more and more, and when she turns ten she realizes what she is doing does not meet the criteria for stealing. But who is she to complain? Free items, and no fuss. Only from her father. It is what she wants, isn't it? She wants him to love her, and maybe to her this is his way of showing affection. She wants his affection.

Her father is disappointed but never hovers on the subject long and Piper becomes frustrated-why is his work more important than her? She wants him to love her, to care for her like all the other fathers do. She sees the kisses the other children receive, the tender brushing of hair from fair skin. She wants to be like them. She wants to be loved.

Of course, the others have a mother. She begins to resent her mother for leaving, for leaving her with riches and everything she should have wanted but never does. Her mother is a traitor, and she hates her for abandoning her family.

So the next thing she steals is a car-overboard, perhaps, but the item that, in her eyes, catches her father's attention the most. He is furious, and when they go the man there says that she ran off with it-how dare he lie? Piper asked him and he said yes-how dare he?

He says to jail, but Jane-bless the old hag-says Wilderness Camp. "She is only a child," Jane reasons, and the man agrees. The next day she is shipped off to Wilderness Camp, a camp for troubled kids. She isn't troubled, she thinks, only obsessed. She wants her father's love-she needs it, even. She needs what is impossible.

She doesn't belong-she's not insane or crazy or even wrong in the head. All she wants is her father's affection-that was all she could never have.


When she is on that bus, in Wilderness Camp, all she can think of is dancing and how she will be home soon. Soon is four, five months, maybe, but she looks forward to it. She wants to dance, twirl and forget.

She supposes the place is not too bad, especially not with Jason there. He was strict and unyielding and firm-all she never wanted in a boyfriend. She keeps him close to her heart because maybe, in some way, he reminded her of her father.

That night she gets him to dance on the roof is the best she's ever accomplished, and she's so proud it scares her. He joins her and his eyes sparkle like gems; they kiss, and her world sprinkles down around her.

She squeals so loudly inside her mind that she is sure she sounds crazy, and she wants to kill herself for thinking this way. He is just a boy, and boys are like her father, and they will always break her heart.

For some reason, she likes him anyway.

Then he loses his memory, or maybe all those memories were fake. Jason does not know her, and inadvertently she's broken his heart. The look of confusion on her face is like Tristan's when he turns away from his work, only it does not clear with a blink or two.

The venti attack. Screaming as she is, she sees it almost like a dance, a deadly one in which people were killed and lives were lost. A dance anyway, and she wants to fight. she would if she knew she would not be killed.

Flying over the edge is almost like dancing, too-dance has become an obsession, something she needs. It is like a drug that helps her her forget and she needs it, needs to wipe her memory. Now she understands what those addicts on TV mean, when they say they would do anything for the drug they need. She needs dance the same way.

They fly over the edge of the cliff-and she knows she is almost insane when she wants to fall again. But fear takes over that wish and the grips Jason's arm, almost sobbing. She wants to go home. She doesn't want to be special for once in her life.

She will admit it-Piper McLean is addicted to dance.


Her world crashes down on her the instant a Percy and Annabeth plummet into Tartarus. tar. Battle is not dance anymore-now, it is a survival method, something never to be looked at the way she did before. She doesn't remember dance and she doesn't want to remember dance.

She is scared of dance, scared of her addiction. Then she thinks maybe she isn't addicted to dance but her father's attention, because that was what ballet symbolized. His love and affection. She truly was a Daughter of Aphrodite… she wanted someone to love her. To care for her like she was the only one in the world, because that was what Percy had. What Annabeth had. Hades, what Jason had, and why not her?

Dance was her arc, her only savior. Not Jason-oh, he was so, stereotypical hero and he left for Reyna as soon as she could-not Percy, not anyone. D-A-N-C-E dance. It was her savior, and she needed it. Or maybe she needed real love-to her they were one and the same.

Maybe deep inside, Piper McLean was a little bit insane.

She begs for someone to catch her as she falls-her boat is sinking, the waves lapping at her waist and then her chest and almost covering her chin. She waves her arms and screams, and of course only a few hear. She wants only two people to hear-Aphrodite and her father. It is a last ditch attempt and scarily, it is real.

No longer fake. Her desperation has become a real plague, something that eats away at her sanity.

Percy hears. Annabeth hears. Leo hears. Aphrodite and her father do not.

They tell her he's the past, but after all she's done for him? Her father isn't just the past, he is her life. He is her lifeline, and she is sinking like an anchor. Percy and Annabeth and Leo can pull all they want but she is drowning, D-R-O-W-N-I-N-G, and they will never save her. She wants his affection, his attention. She wants to be his world like all daughters are to their fathers.

She is not. She will never be.

Piper McLean welcomes insanity with open arms. Maybe then, she thinks, she can forget.


Piper McLean was an addict-she was addicted to love.

A/N: I do not own PJO. Thanks for reading! This was an Idea that came to me, as Piper was a neutral character to me. I really liked that she wanted her father's attention badly enough to commit crimes, and thus this was born! Did anyone get confused? I did, when I was writing...

~Johanna