Green-Eyed Monster
Percy Jackson was undeniably good-looking. Handsome, even, and handsome was not a word that Annabeth used lightly. This was not something that he seemed particularly aware of, but for Annabeth, watching him, it was impossible not to notice the various girls and occasional guys sneaking looks when he wasn't looking. For this reason, when she started dating him, she assumed that her primary competition for his time and attention would be other prospective romantic interests.
She was wrong.
She was wrong for a number of reasons, not least of which was that Percy Jackson was entirely oblivious to the tastes, intentions and advances of the twenty-something-and-surrounding-ages female population of New York, but even this was dwarfed by comparison to the main reason for her mistaken assumption, which also happened to be an obstacle in itself.
The biggest obstacle to her relationship with Percy Jackson was made up of about fifty percent hair and fifty percent tongue; was impossibly cute; was roughly the size of Mount Olympus; and was called Mrs O'Leary.
Percy called her Missus for short, and was pretty certain that she, at only a year of age, still had some growing to do.
She was an English mastiff, with black fur and eyes that were a green-y brown if she would stay still long enough for you to check. Her defining character trait was that she was madly in love with Percy Jackson, and didn't think that anyone else should get any time with him at all.
"Love me, love my dog," Percy had joked when they started dating. Perhaps he should have told the dog 'love me, love my girlfriend'.
It was quite clear that Mrs O'Leary didn't think a great deal of Annabeth. Whenever she tried to spend time with Percy, to watch a movie or to have a meal, his knee would be nudged persistently by a wet black nose, or his thigh would have a large and mournful head rested upon it until he took notice of the dog.
Whereupon Mrs O'Leary would lick her nose and rub the side of her head affectionately against him, with her gaze turned towards Annabeth as though to taunt her.
Annabeth knew that she was not perfect. Annabeth knew that, for instance, sometimes she could be proud, hubristic even. And Annabeth knew that her pride did not react well to competing with a dog for Percy Jackson's affections. To be honest, it stank. Not to mention that it forced her to work twice as hard to have any social contact with him, when to be honest, she wanted the time she spent with her boyfriend to be the easy bit. She needed her downtime, just like anybody else.
Annabeth's pride was also somewhat dented by the fact that despite having spent large quantities of time with him, she couldn't read Percy Jackson very well. She knew when he was hungry, because he said 'I'm hungry', and she knew when he was sleepy, because he yawned loudly and forgot to cover his mouth.
She even knew when he wanted to watch a movie, because he said 'Let's watch a movie.' But finding a movie they both liked? Nigh impossible. It probably didn't help that Annabeth's films of choice were generally directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer or Abbas Kiarostami, and Percy hadn't heard of either until their third date. Perhaps their tastes in film didn't exactly overlap.
But the worrying thing was that movies weren't the only uncertainty in Annabeth's life when Percy was around: she didn't know his favourite food, as it seemed he'd eat anything, and she didn't know his moods, as he never seemed cross or angry, though she was sure he must sometimes be. And if he ever had to pick between the two of them, Annabeth didn't know for certain if he'd choose her or the dog, but he sure as hell never looked at her with the adoring expression that came over him when he was stroking Mrs O'Leary.
Needless to say, all this was somewhat troubling.
Lovely as Percy's Mom and stepfather were whenever Percy and Annabeth had dinner with them, when Annabeth had asked about the dog, Sally had simply laughed and said "That boy loves his dog more than his own mother," a statement which forced Annabeth to come to the uncomfortable conclusion that the key to Percy Jackson's heart lay somewhere inside Mrs O'Leary's doggy brain.
Annabeth knew for a fact that the layers of fur and cuddliness were simply masking a selfish and malevolent soul. This probably meant that her only option was to bribe the animal.
So, when Percy wasn't looking, Mrs O'Leary had scraps tossed to her. Pieces of chicken, cheese rinds: any leftovers that wouldn't poison her made the swift journey over or under the kitchen table and into the large dog's slobbering maw.
Which had the net result of making Mrs O'Leary divert her attention away from Percy for about three seconds, before returning her head to its place on his lap.
"Why've you been feeding Mrs O'Leary so much?" he asked.
Annabeth's mind shut down. How long had he known for? Was he annoyed? When did he notice?
"Um," she said, intelligently. "You noticed that?" she asked, guiltily.
Percy raised his eyebrows. "Uh-huh," he said. "You've been throwing your scraps across the table, and then there's this snap as she catches it, and then she chews about once before swallowing. It would have been hard not to notice." Then he paused and frowned. "Was I not supposed to notice? Are my girlfriend and my dog conspiring behind my back now? Am I accidentally third-wheeling you two?" he asked, grinning.
"Ha," said Annabeth. She might actually have laughed if the whole thing wasn't so depressing.
Shortly after that incident, Operation Bribery was shut down for good. Mrs O'Leary's devotion to Percy and indifference to Annabeth never wavered, outside of the digestive tract.
Annabeth went on walks with them too, hoping that exercising the giant dog would help it warm to her. That generally went something like this:
Percy: So how's work?
Annabeth: Pretty good, actually. You know that library in Chicago?
Percy: Yeah, you mentioned it, uh, what, last weekend?
(She'd actually been on about it non-stop for the last two weeks, but that wasn't important. It was nice to know her boyfriend had a bit of tact.)
Annabeth: Well, guess who's been put in charge of the designs?
Percy: No way? That's great! I swear, Wise Girl, you'll be CEO at Olympia before the year's out. Everyone's gonna know that you're the best at architecting.
Annabeth: Architecting?
Percy: It's a word now. Definitely
Annabeth: Sure it is. And when did you take charge of the dictionary, too?
Percy: Last summer sometime, I think. (Annabeth laughs)
Annabeth: If you say so. Anyway, how are things with you? How's the aquarium?
Percy: Oh, you know. It's a good place, and they know what they're doing, but everyone thinks I'm just there 'cause of my Dad, so I never get to do anything. I don't get to do 'aquariuming'.
Annabeth: (Laughs again) Have you thought about -
Percy: NO! MRS O'LEARY, DROP! DROP! NO, PUT IT DOWN, YOU – ah, stupid dog – COME HERE! HERE, MRS O'LEARY! Good girl, now drop. Drop! DROP IT! Yes, good girl – ah, that's disgusting, isn't it? Aren't you a disgusting Missus? Aren't you? Who's disgusting? Yes, it's you, you are. Yes, you are a vile creature, I know, good girl, good girl. Now, come on – no, don't go back for it, NO, MRS O'LEARY, DROP!
In fact, every single time Annabeth thought she was about to get somewhere in a conversation with Percy, the dog did some new stupid thing to distract the boy. Small dead animals, leftover food, and one time a couple having sex in a secluded corner of the park all drew Mrs O'Leary's interest, sending Percy running after her to try and keep her nose away from unwanted places.
He was never even that angry with the dog for its various misdemeanours. He just told her off once and then, when she looked even the tiniest bit bit guilty, thawed out and began to shower her with love and affection and treats again.
Perhaps Annabeth should have chosen a boy with a cat.
Then again, a cat wouldn't bark with all the sound and fury of Vesuvius erupting just because the pizza delivery girl started flirting with Percy. The first time it happened, they both thought it was a coincidence, that something had spooked Mrs O'Leary at just the wrong moment. The second and third times, only Percy thought that.
On the other hand, she kind of ruined Face/Off (a compromise between Percy's thirst for action and Annabeth's desire for critical acclaim in a movie) by barking every time either Nicolas Cage or John Travolta came on-screen. Annabeth could only guess that she meant to woof at the bad guy, but got confused by the whole face-swapping plot. Or it might have been malice, because when Percy and Annabeth started paying more attention to each other than the film, Mrs O'Leary came over and sat on the sofa between them.
"I didn't expect to be chaperoned by an Everest-sized ball of fur tonight," commented Annabeth.
Percy, damn him, just laughed and mussed up the hair on top of Mrs O'Leary's head.
She even found herself talking to the dog sometimes, which she was pretty certain was a sign of madness.
"Look," she said, "how about when I'm on top of my work at the firm, I design a nice big kennel for you? Once I've finished the library I'd be able to pay for it, and it wouldn't take long. You'd like that, wouldn't you girl?"
The dog gave her a look. It was impossible to detect the emotion behind it.
"It would have plenty of room, so you could move around in it, and lots of toys for you," said Annabeth, scratching behind Mrs O'Leary's ears as she'd seen Percy do before.
Mrs O'Leary's eyelids drooped calmly.
She leaned into Annabeth's hand.
She even sort of purred a little, giving Annabeth an absurd sense of accomplishment. "We could even soundproof it," said Annabeth, getting into the flow now. "So if you were barking no-one would mind, or if there was thunder then you wouldn't get scared. Wouldn't that be good?"
Suddenly, the mastiff sat up and froze.
"Hey, hey," said Annabeth, softly. "Don't worry, I'm-"
Then Percy opened the door, and it was as if Annabeth wasn't even there.
Mrs O'Leary, abandoning any sort of connection the two of them might have made, embarked upon a one-canine stampede towards the door, ploughing straight through Annabeth and bowling her over in her excitement that Percy was home.
"Whoa, hey Missus, hey there girl!" Percy practically shouted, greeting the dog with open arms.
Then he looked up, seeing his girlfriend face-up on the floor. "Oh, hi Annabeth," he said. "You okay?"
She smiled wearily, nodded, said "Yeah," and he grinned that crooked grin of his at her before doubling up as Mrs O'Leary barged into his stomach.
"Oof! What was that for? Silly girl, silly Missus!"
Mrs O'Leary's jowls flopped happily around as he buried his hands in her fur. Annabeth suppressed a sigh.
Options:
Annabeth frowned at the word she'd written down on her notepaper, and decided it wasn't helping.
She crossed it out.
It wasn't positive enough. She chewed on her tongue as she tried to find something better, twisting her fingers around the pen.
A word came to her, and the pen scratched against the paper again.
Solutions:
The pen kept going.
1) Dump Percy
2)
3)
4)
5)
She grimaced at the list of one. Dumping Percy wasn't really an option. Solution. Either way, she liked this boy. This was only Annabeth's second serious relationship, and after only a few months it was going a thousand times better than the first had ever been. Most couples dream of their biggest problem being a dog. It wouldn't be fair on him, and it wouldn't be fair on her.
Besides, the whole point of this list was to save the relationship, not end it.
So she needed a better idea.
She had four empty slots, and had decided not to move until all were filled, or until one showed her something actually helpful.
It took an hour.
A whole. Freaking. Hour.
Part of that was because, in the interests of neatness, she started the list again on a new page, but all in all, the effort still took about 59 minutes and 50 seconds.
Solutions:
1) Dump Percy
- Solves nothing
2) Kill Mrs O'Leary
- He'd never forgive me
3) Accept the dog's superior hold over him
- This is not a solution
4) Jump off something tall because the dog is the devil and I can't think of any more solutions I hate this list why do I do this to myself? It's not as if I'm coming up with anything good. Die. Help. Argh.
5) Some kind of shared custody scheme (in which case I want him at weekends, because dogs don't have to work on weekdays).
As its wielder sighed the sigh of a dying woman, Annabeth's pen sliced all five solutions in half with neat black lines.
It was at least better than some of the other ideas she'd had, but bearing in mind that her foe was a dog, leaving it on its own every weekend would probably lead to the same end result as solution two.
But it was better than some of the other solutions…
Knowing that it was her only choice even as she wrote it down, Annabeth added a final point to the list:
6) Truce.
It would have to do.
Life went on as normal, or as normally as it can when you're sharing your boyfriend with his pet.
Percy's apartment, at which Annabeth was spending more and more time, was carved up by competing empires: the hall and half of the living room closest to the door were Mrs O'Leary's territory, while Annabeth kept Mrs O'Leary out of the two bedrooms. The other half of the living room was a battleground, as was the kitchen. There, whoever got to Percy first was generally able to keep him. Moreover, Annabeth managed to mount a pretty strong defence of the furniture, making the beds especially into impenetrable strongholds, but on the lawless open carpet, she was at the mercy of the dog.
Fortunately, he never brought the dog over when he came round to Annabeth's, so there was no such drama there.
And if there was no drama at Annabeth's…
7) Politick
"Do you feel like having Movie Night at mine next week?" she asked.
She was tucked into his side, so couldn't see his face, but could imagine the confused frown that appeared on his face in the moment of silence before his response.
They were watching John Wick, which Annabeth had thought they might both enjoy based on the positive reviews it had received and the reputed high death count. Unfortunately, it was turning out to be less than engaging, and when Mrs O'Leary had plopped herself down on the end of the sofa (damn, her defences had been breached in a momentary lapse of vigilance. And seriously, did Percy give that dog any limits?) Annabeth's mind had begun to wander.
"Why?" he asked.
"Just thought it'd be nice. Mix things up a bit." She neglected to mention the fur-ball currently sitting on her feet.
"Mrs O'Leary would miss you. She pines whenever you're not there."
The dog in question looked over at them, as though complaining that they were ruining the film.
Annabeth laughed. "Yeah, right."
"I'm serious. She sits at the door and whimpers after you leave."
"Very funny, Percy. Any real problems with it?"
"Well, I wouldn't be able to stay over," he told her.
"I don't mind," she said.
Another pause now, though she wasn't certain what the cause of this one was.
"Is something wrong?"
Annabeth hadn't exactly been mobile, but those words eliminated any chance that she would start moving any time now: she froze. "What?" she asked.
She felt his body shift uncomfortably next to hers, heard him forget to breathe as he fumbled his way around the problem. "Did… did I do something?" he asked.
She relaxed, a little. He didn't know it was the dog. "No, you didn't do anything. It's just – you know what, forget I said anything. It was stupid."
He turned to look at her. "I doubt that."
She took a deep breath. "Percy, leave it. Please. We'll have Movie Night at yours, and it will be wonderful."
"Do you want to pick the movie next week?" he asked.
"Your turn, isn't it?"
"I get the feeling you're not enjoying this one that much, is all. So you should get to choose something else you'd like more," he said, shrugging, as Keanu Reeves picked off three enemies in quick succession on-screen.
She couldn't say that she was particularly invested in the character's story, that was true. She wasn't feeling very charitable towards dogs at the moment, so maybe that was the problem.
"Mad Max?" she asked.
Percy cracked a grin. "Which one?" he asked.
"I fully intend to educate you on the history of the series, because it's criminal that you haven't seen The Road Warrior," she told him, "but next week, I think I'll be in the mood for Fury Road."
He nodded. "Good choice."
"I'll cook, too. Something nice."
Stunned silence. If it hadn't been for the gunshots on the TV, Annabeth was certain she would have been able to hear a pin drop.
"You'll cook?" asked Percy.
"That's what I said, Seaweed Brain."
"You never cook," he said.
"I do, too."
"No you don't. I mean, you do, but not 'something nice'."
"Excuse me?" she asked, offended, punching his arm. "Don't you like my cooking?"
"No, no, that's not what I meant," he said.
"Then what exactly did you mean, pray tell?"
"I meant you never do anything… you know."
She laughed. "No, Seaweed Brain, I don't actually. What did you mean?"
"You never do anything, like, fancy."
"Well," she started, considering his words. It was true, she rarely did anything more complicated than a lasagne or a pasta bake. That didn't mean she couldn't, though. "I feel like it. I'll finish my work off early, get home, and when you're done at the aquarium, you'll get home and it'll be all ready."
"That… that sounds great," he said. "Thank you."
"I'm just in a generous mood," she told him.
"I'll have to give you my turn to pick a movie more often," he said, smiling.
She was about to tell him not to expect her to do 'fancy' cooking every time, but then Mrs O'Leary decided that she didn't want to be sitting on the end of the sofa. Instead, she wanted to be sitting in the middle, right between Percy and Annabeth.
It would have been endearing if it didn't happen every. damn. time.
Movie Night was always on Friday, and this week was no different. Annabeth had it all planned out: she'd been working a little overtime from Monday to Tuesday, which should probably have bought her an extra couple of hours in total. She'd leave work early so she could go shopping, then get back to Percy's with plenty of time to spare. When Percy got back from the aquarium, every single thing would be perfectly ready.
Fate, it seemed, had different ideas.
That Friday was her first day working on the plans for the Chicago library, meaning that she had to Skype with the commissioner in charge of the project at the Chicago end. It turned out that the commissioner in question knew nothing at all about architecture except that there was something called the gothic style, and this was how he wanted the library to be designed, meaning that Annabeth had to spend her morning explaining to an increasingly angry man that
a) his end hadn't offered the budget for that;
b) she wasn't as much of an expert in the gothic style as she was in many other areas, because literally no-one built anything in gothic anymore; and
c) why would you even want a library to be gothic? It's not as if you want to scare potential readers away.
He refused to see reason, and eventually hung up on Annabeth, leaving her
a) relieved that she hadn't just lost the contract (and therefore, her job), and
b) furious that she was being forced to deal with such an imbecile.
After that, she began some preliminary drafts of the plans themselves. It was just a rough outline of the building at this point, but she was happy to finally be at work. It was, after all, a dream opportunity.
Then, she had a team meeting with the junior architect who was working with her, along with the intern that someone important had seen fit to assign her.
The junior architect turned out to be Dan, the most obnoxious employee of the company, a womaniser without the charm necessary to succeed as a womaniser, and a man who might be described as an asshole if it was not for the fact that all assholes serve a vital purpose for human life. Dan, as far as Annabeth could tell, served no purpose at all, although he did produce an awful lot of what might be best described as dung.
Annabeth initially thought that she might like the intern – a girl called Sophie who claimed that architecture was a lifelong passion she was desperate to pursue – until it became clear that she was a total novice without even the most basic understanding of… well, anything.
Annabeth was well aware that this wasn't the girl's fault: everyone has to start somewhere. She was also aware, though, that Sophie had no business working in a team of trained architects and should instead be shadowing someone for the moment, and some idiot middle-manager seemed to have somehow missed that.
And with the way her day was already going, Annabeth had to work harder than usual not to snap at the poor girl.
Then Sophie dropped her coffee all over Annabeth's lap, and she snapped anyway, sending the girl away in floods of tears.
"Time of the month?" asked Dan, sympathetically.
She managed not to kill him, but did dig in to some of the less ladylike parts of her vocabulary to tell him just what she thought of that question, before heading off to the toilet to try and sponge up the mess.
She'd just got back to her office, having spent most of her lunch-break trying to dry herself off, and was finally about to get working again, when Thalia – the girl working opposite her, whose life goal was to put spikes on everything, and to whom that idiot commissioner should really have spoken if he wanted a gothic library – knocked on the door and called her name.
"You know that girl?" asked Thalia. "Soph?"
"Sophie," corrected Annabeth. "The intern?"
"Yeah, that's the one. Listen, you should know – she's the boss' granddaughter."
Annabeth blinked. Mr D, the head of Olympia Architecture, was a grouchy old drunkard with no volume control and no soul. If Sophie was his granddaughter…
"I've told her you're sorry, but you should probably go say it in person if you can. Sorry."
"Right," said Annabeth in a small voice. "Thanks."
"No worries," said Thalia, and departed.
Annabeth looked down at the hasty sketches on the paper in front of her, then further down at the coffee-stain all over her clothes.
She sighed and got up to go and find Sophie.
"TOT'LLY UNACCEPTABABLE!"
Mr D was, unsurprisingly, drunk. He swayed as he bellowed, and she could smell the stink of alcohol on his breath from across the room. The half-empty glass of ale wobbled as he slammed it down on the desk.
"Mr D, I understand, but I –"
He stood to tell her "BUT NOTHIN', ANNABEL. YOU NEED T'LEARN THAT YOU CAN' JUS' GO AROUN' SHOUTIN' AT LI'L GIRLS!" Then he realised he wasn't sober enough to stand safely on his own two feet, and landed with a thump back in his chair.
"Well, she's not exactly little, but I apologised –"
"'NOUGH! YOU'RE FIRED, ANATOMY! YOU'VE GOT AN HOUR T'CLEAR YOUR DESK AN' THEN SOMEONE'LL BE ALONG TO ESCOR' YOU OUT!"
Annabeth didn't even have the strength to tell him that 'anatomy' wasn't a name.
Her desk was cleared in five minutes, and she didn't bother waiting for whoever Mr D was sending to see her out. She said goodbye to Thalia and the others at the other offices down the hall, before picking up her bag and leaving.
Dan wasn't at his desk for some reason, so she spat in his coffee before she went, and didn't even feel bad about it.
The subway was closed for some reason, and she had to get a taxi.
Annabeth found cooking therapeutic after the day she'd had.
Maybe it was the repetitive nature of the various actions.
More likely, it was the feeling of slicing things up with a Very Sharp Knife. She liked to imagine that the mushrooms were various parts of Dan's anatomy. Well, one very specific part of it, actually.
Whichever it was, after letting herself into Percy's flat, dumping her bag in his room, and spending her time slicing and dicing, she was much calmer than she had been, aided by the added bonus that Mrs O'Leary spent the whole time snoozing quietly in the corner. The final ingredients went in to the dish, along with a foil covering, and the dish went into the oven.
Annabeth, exhausted after such a day, collapsed onto the sofa and turned the TV on, where Gordon Ramsay was busy swearing at various people.
She watched it until she dozed off.
She was woken up by a faint burning aroma taking up residence in her nostrils. Her eyes flickered open, and she lay there for the seconds it took for her brain to kick into gear.
A contestant on TV was just presenting a perfectly cooked beef Wellington to the judges of whatever show this was now.
The clock over the mantelpiece said 7.30pm. Percy should have been back by now.
Then she realised why she was smelling burning.
Mrs O'Leary looked up in mild interest as Annabeth sprinted into the kitchen, seizing the oven gloves and flinging the oven itself open.
Smoke curled out.
Annabeth waved her hand through the smoke to clear it and prayed that it wouldn't set any alarms off.
As the back of the oven swam into visibility, her heart sank. She pulled the small black dish out and set it on the side, where she peeled off the foil covering to reveal a charred black mess, not even recognisable as ever having contained anything edible.
She turned the oven off.
She breathed in deeply.
She considered her situation.
Then she stepped back into the living room for a moment, searching for something soft. She found it in the form of the cushions on the couch, which seemed to be just right for her purposes.
She looked down at them for a moment.
Then she started punching them. Hard. And repeatedly. As hard as she could and as many times as she was able to, in fact, pausing only to wrench one of them off and fling it across the room before resuming her attack on the other, until she dissolved into tears and lay there on the floor, sobbing and occasionally swearing under her breath.
So sue her – it had been a difficult day.
After a while, footsteps approached.
"Go away," she said.
Whoever it was took no notice, and came nearer still, until she could hear them breathing.
Then they licked her in the ear.
She jerked reflexively away, turning to see that the culprit was none other than Mrs O'Leary, tongue lolling from her mouth and bright, intelligent eyes gazing soulfully at Annabeth.
The dog stepped forwards again and nuzzled into Annabeth's side, as though trying to comfort her.
"I'd have thought you'd be happy that this went wrong," Annabeth told her. "That's what you want, isn't it? For me to die miserable and alone?"
The dog rested her chin on Annabeth's shoulder, and gave her a look, as if to say that she should stop feeling so sorry for herself.
Annabeth gave Mrs O'Leary a scratch behind the ear, and the dog leaned into her hand, watching her all the time with those eyes that seemed to penetrate right to her soul.
"Are you trying to tell me you don't hate me or something?" asked Annabeth. Even if talking to a dog was a sign of madness, she really didn't care at this point.
Mrs O'Leary didn't act as though she was behaving like a madwoman, though. Instead, the mastiff shifted position so that she was nestled into Annabeth's side.
"Or do you think you've defeated me so you just don't have to bother fighting me anymore?"
The dog headbutted her.
Okay, it wasn't really a headbutt, but it was certainly some sort of irritated twitch which made contact with Annabeth's face. It wasn't violent enough to count as a proper headbutt, but it still seemed like a pretty clear indication of resentment.
"Okay," said Annabeth. "You don't hate me then. Which means you have some serious explaining to do. Like, why the hell do you always sit between us on the sofa? And I get that Percy's your master and you love him best, but you seem to act like I don't exist half the time. What's with that?"
Mrs O'Leary lay down.
"That's no kind of an answer." protested Annabeth.
Unlikely though it was that this statement would have provoked Mrs O'Leary into verbal response, Annabeth would still have waited to give her the chance, had the front door not then swung open.
"Annabeth! I'm so sorry I'm late, the shark handler didn't turn up and I had to stay and…" Percy trailed off as he reached the living room, where his girlfriend was sitting with his dog in the middle of a dismantled sofa. "…are you okay?"
"Percy," said Annabeth, "Does Mrs O'Leary hate me?"
Percy paused, clearly cottoning on to the fact that something was occurring to which he was not privy. "Annabeth…" he began, slowly and hesitantly, possibly realising that his answer put him at risk of death by irate girlfriend, "Mrs O'Leary's a dog."
"That's not an answer," she told him.
"Well… no? I'm pretty certain she doesn't hate you. She quite likes you, actually. I mean, she scratches at the door after you leave, or watches you go down the street from the window."
"I thought you were joking about that," said Annabeth, and buried her head in the dog's fur.
"...difficult day?" he asked.
"You have no idea," she told him.
"Ah."
"You?"
"Oh, you know, doing two jobs was a pain, but… uh, well, Triton gave me the shark handler job afterwards. Permanently. So, that was nice, I guess?"
He paused awkwardly there, as though he expected her to be angry at that reply. She stayed glued to Mrs O'Leary.
"What was it that happened at Olympia?" he asked slowly.
"Got fired."
"Ah. That's unlucky. Er, why?"
"Shouted at Mr D's granddaughter."
"Oh. That's… unlucky."
"Was stupid."
"No, I'm sure you'd had a difficult day, and she was just… I mean, did she do anything?"
"Spilled coffee on me."
"Yeah, see, that would make me pretty angry too."
"You have a nice dog."
"Well… er, wait, sorry?"
"I thought she hated me."
"Um, no? I don't think so? Didn't we cover this?"
"And there aren't words bad enough to describe Dan."
"Dan…?"
"At work."
"Oh, right. Sorry, having a bit of trouble following."
"Don't worry."
"…you wanna talk about it?"
"No."
"Okay. That's fine."
She heard him moving around and go into the kitchen, where he stopped as he must have come across the remains of their meal for the night.
"I fell asleep," she said.
"That's unlucky," he said.
"You're sounding like a broken record," she told him.
"Sorry?"
"Third time you've said 'that's unlucky'."
"Oh. Well, it sounds like you've had an unlucky day."
"You sure the dog likes me?"
"Yeah?..."
"She always sits between us."
"I think she just likes to feel involved. She's a people person. Er. A people dog."
"Always distracts you when we're talking."
"I mean… she's a dog. Gets excited easily and loves to eat things she shouldn't and… stuff like that, y'know?"
"I guess."
There was a short silence, during which Mrs O'Leary flopped down onto the floor next to Annabeth, before rolling over for a belly-rub. It only took Annabeth a moment to oblige.
"So, there's this new Chinese place down the road," said Percy.
"I'm listening."
"Shall we watch the movie with a takeaway?" he asked. "They'll probably do too much, so Missus could get the leftovers, and she'd be happy."
Before Annabeth could answer, there came a ringing from her bag, where she'd left it in the hall. She tilted a tired head over towards it, reluctant to have to make any sort of movement.
"I'll get it," said Percy.
Thinking about it, as he rustled around for the phone, Annabeth had a pretty cool boyfriend. All things considered.
"Hello?" he said.
She waited patiently for whatever was to come next.
"Yeah, she's just here; I'll hand you over."
Thalia, from work, he mouthed as he handed her the phone.
"Thalia?" she asked. What new horror could Mr D inflict on her now that he didn't even employ her anymore?
"Annabeth," came the other woman's voice. "You're not going to believe this."
Annabeth tried to think. "They faked the moon landings?"
Thalia ignored that, which was probably sensible of her. "So, after you left, security were wandering around looking for someone to throw out, but they didn't seem able to find her."
"Yeah, I left without waiting for them-"
"No, Annabeth, they were looking for someone called Anastasia."
Annabeth paused. "I always assumed he was getting my name wrong just to annoy me."
"So it seems that no-one's been fired," said Thalia.
"Are you telling me that I've worked at that company for five years and Mr D still doesn't know my name?" demanded Annabeth.
"But this time, it's a good thing," her friend pointed out.
"I guess. Look, I appreciate the effort, but there'd be no point in me coming back even if I could get away with it. All my projects will have been reassigned by now."
"See, that's another thing," said the voice at the other end of the line. "There was an email sent out that said all the work which had previously been done by someone called 'Anatole' was to be picked up by someone called 'Terrence'. I've asked around, but no-one recognises either of those names, so I imagine this Anatole's work will just lie around for whoever wants it."
"You're just too lazy to pick it up. Even if I did it, I wouldn't get paid for it," said Annabeth.
"Do you want the job back or not?" demanded Thalia.
"I do, I do," said Annabeth. "It's just that I'll have been struck off, surely?"
"The paperwork will have been up to those guys who were looking for Anastasia earlier, since we both know full well that Mr D won't do it."
"But Mr D fired me face-to-face. If I come back, he'll just send me away again."
"Do you want to know something else about Mr D, Annabeth? Do you want to know how he spends his Friday?"
"I can't believe you're trying to tell me I still have a job, Thals."
"I said you wouldn't believe it. But the thing about Mr D, is, he has a shot of whiskey in his coffee every morning before he comes to work, except on Fridays, because it's the last day of the week, he has a couple of double vodkas too."
"You're impossible," Annabeth told her.
"Then he has another Irish coffee when he reaches work. Friday's a big day for Mr D, so over the course of the morning, he generally has three or four pints, with another couple at lunch. What time would you say you got fired?"
"About three? But I-"
"By three, I think he'd be finishing off his post-lunch bottle of wine, if you were lucky."
"I think he was on some kind of craft ale when I saw him."
"Even better," Thalia told her. "He'd already finished the wine. And then after that, he'd have carried on drinking – beer, cider, wine, occasionally spirits if something exciting like a firing happened – and by now he'll be getting ready for a big night out, since it's Friday. He's got no work ethic, that man."
"Like you have? You're probably about to go to pre-drinks with friends right now, surely?"
"I am," agreed Thalia. "And you're not going to wriggle out of it forever, I'll have you know. You're coming next week, since you're about to owe me big-time. I do have some work ethic, though. In fact, I'm about to go and buy my boss a drink for being such an inspirational figure around the office. Of course, he won't remember any of it tomorrow. Actually, I'm not sure he's ever remembered a Friday in his life."
Annabeth looked down at the dog next to her, the picture of contentment, and heard Percy sit on the sofa behind her. "So, what you're saying is…"
"That I'll see you on Monday."
Annabeth blinked. Then she smiled. "I'll see you on Monday," she agreed. "And Thals?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
She could almost here the grin at the other end.
"You owe me the next thing with spikes that gets commissioned, girl, and you're coming out Friday. See you Monday."
"Okay, okay, see you Monday," said Annabeth.
"So, good news?" asked Percy.
Annabeth hauled herself back up onto the couch next to him. "My boss is an alcoholic, is all. Order me a takeaway and I'll tell you all about it," she said.
He might have been about to do so, but she leaned in to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
If Percy was sometimes hard to read, he wasn't today, as he responded, his hands on her sides, caressing her as they made out, barely pausing for breath, slowly toppling backwards as Annabeth pushed forward into him and –
And then he doubled over in shock as Mrs O'Leary, apparently feeling left out, jammed her nose into his crotch.
Annabeth wasn't sure how her boyfriend felt about this, but she didn't mind too much.
Dogs are just like that, sometimes.
First off, special thanks for this one go to Magic713 for beta-ing this and generally helping to sort it out after I'd been stuck on it since last summer.* Y'all should go and check out Magic's dark!Percy fics – 'Easing the Burden,' 'Clash of the Demigods' and 'Guiding Through the Cruel Sea' – because they're really good, and getting even better as they go on.
Now, onto my little ramblings about the story:
I'd already decided that the library was going to be in Chicago (don't ask why. I have no answer) and then I Googled 'who commissions public buildings', to try and find out who exactly Annabeth would be Skyping, and the first result I got was from the 'Public Building Commission of Chicago'. I never specified Chicago. How did they know it needed to be Chicago? It's like they're watching me…
Also, there genuinely should be a(nother) gothic revival because the buildings do look awesome. I'm not, however, sure that it should begin with Chicagoan libraries.
I have to mention, I didn't really think John Wick was all that great. I mean, the action was all very impressive, but they spent so long building him up to be this unstoppable force that by about halfway through the film there was no tension left because there was no doubt he was ever going to win. And it never gave much sense that there was any inner conflict going on, either, although maybe that's more to do with how Keanu Reeves is as an actor.
Mad Max: Fury Road, on the other hand, is one of the greatest action movies of all time – up there with Aliens and Solomon Kane – and I will fight anyone who says differently. Even if your only problem is that you consider Aliens to be sci-fi rather than action. I will still fight you. Grr.
What else is there to say? The title's from Shakespeare, like all the best things are. Othello, in this case: "Oh, beware, my lord, of jealousy! It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on."
Finally, I have no idea what dish has mushrooms in it and is oven-cooked for several hours, but… just go with it. Please?
Oh, and there genuinely was this one time when I had to drag my dog away from a couple having sex in the park. That was pretty wild.
I don't know that this is the best thing I've ever written, but I hope you enjoyed it, and please review to tell me your thoughts on the story/my taste in film/my fictional representations of cooking/funny stories about dogs/the length of my ANs.
– Undeniably Jeff.
*Writer's block is real, and it is fatal.