It was a chilly October morning, the coldest they'd had all year, when Fredrick Chase found himself sitting on the end of his seven year old daughter's bed, reflecting on her role in his life. Annabeth had never been an easy child to cope with, he'd been far from ready for her when she'd come into his life and at times his serious eyed daughter had seemed more the parent them he had. By two she preferred it when he read her Charles Dickens instead of Curious George, whom had been Fredrick's favorite, and by four they'd moved on to Dante's Divine Comedies and the odd book on architecture that she begged him to get her from the library. That was where their best memories lived, in their books, in those precious few minutes before bed when there were no worries about work and money and whatever trouble his little girl had stirred up that particular day. He and Annabeth lived for story time.

The stories had stopped when Fredrick married Lilian. Not all at once, but so slowly he hardly noticed, the more Lilian needed his attention, the less time he had for Annabeth and the more resentment grew between the two leading ladies in his life. As if that wasn't enough, Bobby and Mathew's birth seemed to take the tiny crack that was forming between his daughter and the rest of his family and drive a wedge into it. His sweet, studious, golden haired girl seemed to retreat from the family, or perhaps she was pushed out. She fought with her step mother on a daily basis, sharp tongues and iron wills clashing like sword blades and he never stepped in, believing they needed to sort out their differences themselves. And when his daughter screamed in terror at night, waking the twins and bringing Lilian's wrath down on her, he didn't have the energy to come to her defense.

Looking back, there were so many things he would do differently, but then, he wasn't sure anything he could do would make it better for anyone. If she were to turn up on his doorstep in a golden cradle tomorrow, would he be ready for her? No. Somehow he doubted there would ever be a time when anyone was ready to deal with the storm of strength and intelligence that came behind those sharp grey eyes.

Annabeth had never and would never be easy to cope with, unwilling to change to make things easy for anyone else. But then it didn't matter, he thought as his eyes searched the soft blue walls of her room, gliding over drawings far too complex for a child of seven, returning to the bed that held the sick truth he was struggling with, it didn't matter that he wasn't ready or that she wasn't easy. Nothing like that mattered anymore because Annabeth Chase was gone.