Sally sighed as she got out of the car. She had suffered through another long day at work, riddled with nervous glances and more than a few angry glares whenever she did something wrong - which was often. Her workmates knew something wasn't right, but they also knew better than to ask her about it. She couldn't focus, couldn't keep her mind from wandering, and as a result she often slipped up. She had been like this for months, ever since - but no, she mustn't think about that. Not here, in the middle of the street where you never knew who might be watching you.

But it was so hard not to be reminded of him, not to worry constantly, and even as she struggled to distract herself from this dangerous line of thought, something blue caught her eye on the other side of the road. Nothing special, just an advertisement for 20% off sale at the shop down the road. Nothing that should have triggered any kind of flashback or emotion. But the colour blue, even the dirty, faded blue of the cheap cartridge paper, suddenly brought on a wave of memories; blue waffles for breakfast before school, the blue candy they had always loved and shared together, blue birthday cake on a warm summer night...

Her hands shook as she unlocked the door, fumbling and almost dropping the keys. She threw herself inside almost violently, needing to be away from the scrutiny of the rest of the world so she could get a grip on herself. The lights flickered when she turned them on, rebooting after spending the day out of action while the power was out. The bright light they cast seemed too harsh, violently illuminating the scrupulously clean kitchen - which was the result of needing distraction from the many thoughts constantly crowding her mind.

"Paul?"

No answer, only the silence that was now a frequent and familiar guest in her home. A note had been stuck to the kitchen bench - a lousy replacement for her husband's soothing voice.

Sally,

Going back to the school for a minute to pick up some papers, back soon.

Love Paul.

A sense of disappointment filled her; she had been relying on seeing him the instant she got home, relying on his arms waiting to embrace her as soon as she walked through the door. But she couldn't let it drag her down. She had to get a hold on herself, be strong.

For her son.

Sally made her way further into the kitchen, dropping her bag by the door as she went. She passed the landline phone set firmly in its base, dusty from lack of use - the power had been out all day. But that wasn't why it was used so little by the two occupants of the apartment. The news Sally was waiting for wouldn't arrive through a phone line.

Paul did his best to support her, but he didn't understand, not completely. Of course he felt the loss. But not like she did. He had tried more than once to ask her about organising a funeral, or some sort of memorial for her son, even though there was no body to bury. Despite her best intentions she would easily become aggressive, angrily repeating what Annabeth would tell her every time they met: he was still alive. Sally knew that Paul didn't deserve the anger - he only wanted her to have closure, to lose the awful uncertainty she had been feeling for months. But she couldn't do it. Holding a funeral would be equivalent to giving up on her little boy, her only child, chasing any possibility of his return out of her life. She told herself time and time again that he was alive, that she was his mother and she would know if he had di- no, she must never use that word. Passed on. But every day that hope became harder and harder to cling to. She was losing faith. She knew that eventually she would crack, and the part of her son that resided in her heart would be gone. But that day had not yet come. She wasn't going to give in just now - she was still fighting.

As she gripped the kitchen bench in an attempt to steel herself, something caught her eye. A flashing red light by the wall, throwing a faint red glow onto the ceiling above. The answering machine? Nobody called the apartment; if they were after Paul they called his cell, and no one had called (the mortal way) to speak to her in months. She extended an arm, having to painfully stretch her exhausted muscles to reach the necessary button. Paul's voicemail echoed loudly through the lonely kitchen, making her wish he were home even more. She let her head droop onto the cold stone of the bench, too tired to correct her posture.

"Mom,"

Every muscle in her body froze. Her breath ceased. Her heart skipped a beat, then another, and another.

"Hey, I'm alive."

Alive. One word. That was all it took. Suddenly her whole body restarted, full of energy and life. For a moment, she thought he was actually there, in her kitchen. But it was only her ears deceiving her. The voice came from a machine, and her son was nowhere in sight. But he was alive.

"Hera put me to sleep for a while, and then she took my memory, and..."

A tear made its slow descent down her cheek, to be followed by another close behind. She heard, as though through earmuffs, the fuzzy, muted sound of keys in the lock, her husband calling her name. The soft flurry of sound as the papers he had been carrying fell to the floor as he, too, heard her son's voice echo through the room.

"Anyway, I'm okay. I'm sorry."

Sorry. He was sorry. The thought was so absurd, that he should have to apologise for being kidnapped by the queen of the gods. She felt Paul's arms around her, holding her to him as they heard her son - their son, speak to them for the first time in so many, many months.

"I'm on a quest - "

She smiled, turning her face into Paul's shirt and soaking it with salty tears as she heard the almost unnoticeable wince on the other end of the phone. Her son. He knew her too well, knew what she would think about his being on a quest. The whole quest situation should have raised so many questions - when he had started it, where he was, who gave him the quest and why - but at that moment she didn't care.

"I'll make it home. I promise. Love you."

She mouthed those last two words quietly back, as though he could hear her. She wished with all her heart to be able to see him, say them to him in person, but for now this would have to do. She willed the words to find him, wherever he was, willed them to find their way into his heart so he would know: she knew he was alive. And she would do whatever it took to bring him home.

Love you too, Percy.