Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.
~Carl Sagan

Annabeth's name shows up on Percy's caller ID one afternoon in mid-September. He lets the first call go to voicemail because he's grading papers (and she's probably just going to yell at him for forgetting to take her business clothes to the dry cleaners again).

But then she calls again – she never does that; she knows that if he doesn't pick up he's either fighting a monster or teaching or in a meeting – and so he excuses himself and steps out into the hallway.

"Annabeth?"

"You have to come home right now." Her words come out in a rush and Percy can't process her tone.

"Um, if this is about the dry cleaning—"

"What?" she sounds distracted. "No! This has nothing to do with— Just come home as soon as you can."

"Is something wrong?"

"Perseus Jackson, if you don't hang up the phone and get on the subway home, so help me—"

And so Percy all but sprints out the door.

Annabeth opens the door to their apartment before he can even slide his key into the lock and crashes her lips against his.

He responds and his ADHD almost lets him push her up against the wall, even with the door wide open like this, but he manages to pull back, close the door, and ask, "Uh, Annabeth?"

She just smiles at him.

He wonders if maybe she's been possessed by something – not that he minds the sudden enthusiasm – but then she's shoving something into his hands and smiling even wider.

At first he thinks it's a thermometer, but there's no numbers, just two pink lines and—

"Uh…"

"Oh my gods, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth mutters. Then she lowers her voice to a whisper, "I'm pregnant."

"You're…"

And then he tries to sweep her off her feet all romantic-like but misjudges the distance between them and they end up falling over onto the couch, which is just fine by him.

Percy kisses her gently and then sits up, realizing something.

He slides a hand down to reach under her shirt and splay his fingers out across her stomach.

"You're pregnant."

"We've been over this," she says, her voice taking on the borderline-condescending tone she sometimes uses when he says something dumb.

"But… there's, like, a thing in there."

"That 'thing,'" she uses air quotes, "is your future child."

"I know," he says, bending down to kiss her again.


The doctor squeezes this weird gel onto Annabeth's stomach and Percy decides, for maybe the fortieth time, that pregnancy and everything involved in it is the single weirdest thing on the planet. And that's including all the monsters and gods and decaf coffee (because really, decaf?).

But then the doctor does something and the screen behind his head lights up and there's—a thing moving on it.

("Your future child," he hears Annabeth scolding in his head).

It doesn't look much like a child, not yet at least, but the doctor points out the heartbeat and the head and then—

"Do you want to know the sex of your baby?"

Annabeth is only at twelve weeks and Percy is left completely unprepared for this (for gods sakes, he's still referring to his unborn child as the thing) and then he makes eye contact with Annabeth – they haven't talked about this at all – and he doesn't even know if he's ready for that kind of information yet.

Ever since Tartarus Annabeth has been able to tell when he's stressed or anxious and her eyes flash toward him for a brief second.

"No," she says. "Let's keep it a secret."


"What are we going to do about a name?" Annabeth asks in bed one night.

She's just barely starting to show, but the baby is taking over every waking moment of their thoughts.

Percy flicks the light on and reaches across Annabeth for the notebook she keeps at her bedside "just in case." He tears a sheet of paper out and draws a line down the middle, labeling the two columns "B" and "G."

Annabeth sighs next to him.

"I didn't mean right this second," she mumbles. "Turn the light off. We can think about this in the morning."

"We can think about this now," Percy says. "You're three and a half months pregnant and we haven't even started to think about a name." He pauses. "We're going to be terrible parents."

Annabeth leans close to him.

"You're going to be an amazing father," she whispers.

He thinks it's a little bit ironic that growing up he never really had a Dad. Mr. Blofis – Paul, whatever, it was still weird – might fill that role now, but growing up it had been just him and his mom. Poseidon may have made a contribution, but he had never really been a father.

And here Percy has less than six months to get his act together.


"No," Percy says. "No. Absolutely not."

"Come on," Annabeth pleads. "We could have a driveway. You could drive to work."

"No," he says again.

"And a swingset in the backyard…"

"I said no."

Annabeth comes up beside him, pressing her lips against the spot of his jaw right below his ear, whispering in what she knows is a dead sexy tone of voice, "We could get a house on the shore. Right by the ocean."

It takes every ounce of self-control Percy has not to give in then and there and just make out with her for hours. Annabeth must know this; she's already smiling like she's won something.

But Percy puts his foot down.

"Absolutely not," he repeats. "I don't care how much you want to live in the suburbs. My child is not growing up in New Jersey."


Six months pass in a blur and Percy is teaching his seventh graders when he gets the call.

"Annabeth?"

Thirty students stare up at him in shock as though they can't imagine a teacher using a cell-phone in class.

"I'm having contractions," she breathes.

"I'm coming."

Percy hangs up and uses the landline the dial the front desk, shoving his papers into his bag with his free hand.

"Hi, can you send someone to watch my students in room 312?" he pauses, listening to the secretary on the other end of the line mutter something about needing advanced notice for this kind of thing. "My wife is having a baby." He says the words in a rush, slamming the phone back down and turning back to his students.

"You guys can have a study hall for the rest of the period," he says. "I'll see you on Monday."

Then he sprints out the door.

"Go Mr. Jackson!" one of his students yells.


They take a cab to the hospital. Annabeth's hand is clamped around Percy's so hard he's worried he might lose circulation. His thoughts are full of imaginings of the future – teaching a daughter to swordfight, a son to swim.

And then they're in the hospital, and the doctor – he introduces himself as Dr. Thompson – is coaching Annabeth through some sort of breathing technique, and Sally shows up, and Paul, and Annabeth's dad and stepmom call to say they're boarding their flight, and Percy has this weird moment where he's both excited and terrified at the same time.

Annabeth is just about screaming her head off (and Holy Hera her grip on his wrist is tight) and then, suddenly, she's quiet, and Dr. Thompson holds up… a baby.

Percy's baby.

Holy crap this is real.

The baby is covered in this weird gunky reddish whiteish stuff, but a nurse wipes it off and then – "Here's your son."

Annabeth reaches her arms out, wiping the sweat off her brow and then taking the baby like it's no big deal, like she's just killed another monster, not pushed an eight pound human out of her vagina.

Dr. Thompson has a birth certificate. "Have you decided on a name?"

Percy glances at Annabeth. She nods.

"Charles," he says.

They'll call him Charlie. After Beckendorf. Middle name Frederick, after Annabeth's dad.

Dr. Thompson lets Percy hold Charlie for a minute before they take him into another room to run some "routine tests," and he's surprised by how easily his arms cradle the infant, as though they were built to hold his son.

"Congratulations," Sally says, kissing Percy's cheek. Paul claps a hand on his shoulder. Jason and Piper and Hazel and Frank and Leo and his girlfriend-of-the-week and Thalia and probably half of the Hunters and Rachel all rush in.

After nearly an hour Dr. Thompson walks back in and hands Charlie to Annabeth.

"May I speak with Mr. and Mrs. Jackson alone, please?"

"Is everything okay?" Sally asks, suddenly looking panicked. Percy has no idea why – Charlie is safe in Annabeth's arms – but somehow Dr. Thompson ushers them all out of the room with a simple, "The baby is fine."

He turns to Annabeth and Percy. "Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, you should know – and there's no need to be alarmed – but I'm afraid your son failed the hearing test."

Percy can barely process the words. He hears Annabeth's quick intake of breath beside him.

"What?"

"Your son is deaf."

A/N: To be continued when I get a chance.