The Broken Clock:

"Take me back to the day when I was happy. Take me back to the day when I was okay. Take me back to the day when everything wasn't shattered. Take me back to the day when things were fine, and I wasn't broken." -Unknown.

There was no way of knowing how much time had passed.

He tried fighting her- he fought tooth and nail with everything he could- and had failed.

And now the broken clock hanging from the wall beside him was his only friend. The only response to his cries, other than the other constant sinister laugh that the blonde girl produced.

Percy wasn't in the best position to be throwing around quips, but he figured if the blonde-haired women was going to continue to torture him and eventually murder him, he had nothing to lose. Her hair was tied in a messy pony-tail, curls littering the side of her thin face. Sweat was beaded across her forehead, while blood was across his. Both panting, Annabeth returned to her collection of knives. He had already tried escape multiple times, but it appeared that the bonds were made of celestial bronze. Riptide sat on the table next to the girl's collection, just an arm's length away, taunting him. He was sure if he could get to it, then he could defeat her.

"Which one now?"

Percy arched an eyebrow, trying to seem amused and not scared out of his wits. He wasn't sure how long he had been down here. His abductor didn't tell him the time, and she often left him throughout the day, only to return later. He could only rely on a broken clock. She had a thing with time. She often brought that up, loving how desperate he was trying to determine how long she had been slicing him open for. The only problem was, he didn't know what 'later' was. It could've been hours, days, weeks, and months, and he didn't even know it. He once tried to keep time by raking his fingernail over the wooden chair each minute, leaving a vivid mark. Eventually, all the indents blurred together, leaving his effort wasted. Annabeth had noticed as well, and ended up pulling off all his fingernails with tweezers. "You're letting me choose now? Feeling a little sadistic are we?"

The blonde shrugged warily, her grey eyes void of any emotion. They were dead, hollow, and empty. He had already tried to get to her, sensing Annabeth's empathy. She had only told him that her name was Annabeth, and that she was here to do her job. It seemed that was the only thing she lived for, the only thing she thrived on. He couldn't help but feel pity for her, even as she dug a blade into the left side of his cheek. "Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized in a catty tone that reminded him that she didn't feel sorry at all. She grinned maliciously, showing him that she had no ounce of humanity left. She didn't realize that her steel grey eyes showed a spectrum of different emotions- remorse was most common. "Did that hurt?"

"You could just let me go," his hands flailed at the restraints as he seethed when the dagger re-appeared. He had learned a long time ago that screaming was pointless. It just gave him a hoarse throat and Annabeth a victorious expression as he cried out. "I'll go back to camp, you'll go back to yours."

She laughed humorlessly, almost bitterly. "I don't have a Camp Jupiter or Camp Half-blood to return to, son of Poseidon."

Percy's eyebrows furrowed. He had assumed that she had been a Roman all this time, so certain that he hadn't even bothered to question it. It wasn't like the girl gave him any straight answers anyway. He couldn't even be sure that her name was even Annabeth. Her grey eyes flashed dangerously as he spoke. "I thought you were a Roman."

She rolled her eyes, scoffing and setting the blood-stained knife down. "Please. I don't care for Romans, nor do I care for Greeks."

"Then why are you doing this to me?"

She stared at him, her eyes softening momentarily. Percy thought had might have reached the tanned girl, but they immediately sharpened back to their previous state, lethal and livid, ripping away any hope that burst through his chest at her abrupt mood shift. "That," her voice was dangerously calm, "Is none of your concern."

"Well, honey, I'm the one being tortured. Which by the way, Wise Girl-" (she always hated it whenever he called her that) "This setting is kinda kinky. What are those, whips?"

Her frown deepened. "You aren't in any position to be making cracks at me."

"I know."

She seemed confused, but let it drop. Her smug smirk returned, something that Percy hadn't missed. "Thirsty yet?"

Percy nearly whimpered in response. Water. How he needed water. His dry throat was suddenly a lot more noticeable as he imagined the cold liquid running down his throat, spilling over his cracked and bloody lips, replenishing him. He managed to morph is features back to casualness- Percy didn't want to give Annabeth the satisfaction of knowing how truly quenched he was- before she could notice his longing for water. Her lip curled up in a sneer, but he could see small slivers of guilt in her eyes. "Fine. Can't have you dying on me yet, can I?"

She walked away, her combat boots stomping off the hard floor like thunder. The door was yanked open, allowing a stream of light to spray in, but it was slammed seconds later, much to his disappointment. He needed to get out of here. And fast. He wasn't sure where his cousins Thalia and Nico were, but he needed to get back to them if he even wanted to finish this quest. They were sent to find Aphrodite's missing golden dove, a silly mission, but a quest nonetheless. He wondered where they were and if they were searching for him. He hoped not. They would charge in here, high egos and all, (just as he had done) overconfident and reckless, only to be defeated at the hand of Annabeth's throwing knives. If he truly knew what the girl was capable of, he could've defeated her. But he had underestimated her, her small frame and girly features throwing him off. Percy had been cocky and arrogant, and now was suffering from it.

There was a strangled ticking from the broken clock. He was sure he could fix it, but with his hands and legs bound, there wasn't much he could do.

He wasn't sure what he had done to her to deserve this. Maybe she was just crazy. That appeared to be a definite possibility. She claimed she wasn't Roman, but what other motive could she have? She wasn't a monster. A monster would have already killed him. A goddess? It seemed too contrived to be that. So, what? What was it? He was missing something. Something important. It was obvious that she didn't enjoy hurting him. In fact, she seemed sickened every time she stabbed or cut or hit or burned. The girl attempted to swallow down her emotions, but he could see her grimace every time he gagged on his own blood.

He had heard the phrase 'this is going to hurt me a lot more than it's going to hurt you' loads of times, but he had never taken it seriously. It was supposed to be an insult rather than the truth, but he briefly pondered whether or not that applied to the girl with princess curls, the edges stained with his blood.

The door creaked open and Annabeth appeared, holding a plastic cup in her hand. Percy was giddy with excitement. Food would be nice too, but he knew he needed water more. He sat up in his restraints, his wounds burning at the sudden movement, but he barely noticed. "Drink." It wasn't a suggestion, more like a command, just like all her other words had been. Annabeth pressed the cup against Percy's lips and tilted it. He gulped it down heavily, it slipping from his lips. It dribbled down his chin, spilling onto his cut chest. Percy couldn't care less. He watched as Annabeth rolled her eyes at his desperate antics and swiped a rag from the side of her, dabbing at his chin, cleaning the water that spilled.

Percy stared at her, eyes wide.

"What?" she questioned heatedly, glowering at him. "What are you staring at?"

"Nothing." He tried to hide his smirk, but it was to no avail. "Nothing at all."

She threw the rag down, mumbling Greek curses under her breath. "See if I do anything nice for you again!"

"You know," Percy stated. "For a torturer, you're not so bad."

She stiffened, turning around so he couldn't see her expression. "Whatever."

"You don't have to do this."

"I do."

"There's always a choice."

"Not in my case."

No matter what he threw at her, she managed to deflect his pleas in cold tones, silencing him to ask further questions. This time, he wasn't side-tracked by her iciness. "Why not? You could tell me. I could probably help you." He grinned in naivety at the thought, his green eyes growing bright and vibrant. "You could come back to camp with me!"

There was a loud slamming sound, and before he could react, a gun was pointed at his head.

"Shut up."

Percy swallowed, the smile fading rapidly from his lips. "Give me one reason why not. You're hurting. I can see you don't want to do this."

"I don't have a choice."

"Again with the choices," Percy sneered in annoyance. "Why can't you see that there always is one?"

"I'm not allowed to have choices. He's made sure of that."

"Who is he?"

He watched the gun warily, as it slowly retracted from his temple. He nearly sighed at relief. He thought that maybe, she would be the last person he would ever see. Annabeth visibly swallowed, her grey eyes glaring down at the ground. She opened her mouth, a sound escaping through her lips, and for a moment, it looked like she wanted to tell him. She snapped her mouth shut, features hardening, dissipating Percy's curiosity. "Have you ever heard the term Stockholm Syndrome?" Knowing better than to answer at her rhetorical question, Percy kept his mouth shut. "The definition is feelings of trust or affection felt in certain cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim toward a captor."

"I know what it means," he spat, his throat welling up with a cotton-like substance.

She smirked, covering her pain with more malice. Percy wanted to protest more, but he hung his head in defeat, stomach twisting painfully. She was right. He was becoming quite fond of the girl that continuously stabbed him in the stomach, which didn't make sense at all. She ripped away his fingernails, gashed in his cheek, nearly gouged out his sea-green eyes, and still...he couldn't help but feel sympathetic. It didn't make sense- he knew it didn't. Some days, he felt ashamed of even thinking that way, of even wanting to help someone who was a monster. He couldn't keep his feelings at bay, no matter how repulsive and naive they were.

"I'm sorry. It's evident that you hate your job."

Annabeth went back to the table full of weapons, her grey eyes flickering down to the shiny knives below her. She stood there, frozen, her grey eyes filling with storm clouds. She bit down on her bottom lip, and Percy knew she would be nursing a bloody lip the next day. When she was finished thinking, Annabeth stared at the raven-haired boy, scowling. "Everybody hates their jobs, don't they?"

Despite his pain, Percy managed to smile. "That is true."

"I'm supposed to kill you," she whispered in an emotionless tone, wiping down one of her knives with a cloth.

"Why haven't you?"

"It's becoming increasingly difficult to even torture you," she rasped out, slamming the hilt of the dagger down on the wooden table. The clock's broken noise increased abruptly, gears grinding together and screws falling from it. Annabeth's grey eyes were wide with confusion and she gripped at her spirals of gold, ripping some pieces out. Percy turned away, and instead, gazed intently at the shuddering clock.

"It keeps going back to the same time."

Annabeth let out a breathless sob.

"Why is that?"

Shakily, Annabeth made her way over to the golden clock and gazed at it. "It's a comfort to me."

"Broken clocks?"

She nodded mutely, eyes drowning with intensity. Sinking to the ground, she slammed her head repeatedly into the wall.

Percy's hand clenched together, ignoring the burning sensation that flashed through him.

Broken clocks could truly drive a person mad.

. . .

Annabeth's episode appeared to never have happened. She was back to her usual self, ruthlessly hacking away at him. Death was coming now. He could feel it. She would soon kill him. He would never return from his quest, never see his cousins again, and never make his father proud. Perhaps that was for the best. Annabeth's lips parted as if she were speaking, and Percy gawked up at her through hazy, blood-shot eyes.

"Why are you trying to help me?" she repeated her question again, and Percy could only groan painfully in response. "Answer me."

"Because," he managed to slur out, though it sounded incoherent and not even recognizable. "Everyone has good in them. You do to."

His torturer blinked blankly in response. "I don't understand. Why don't you want to kill me?"

Percy finally managed to open his ears wider, trying not to choke on the bile rising in the back of his throat. "You're already dead, Annabeth. You're living, yes, but you're not alive. Why would I want to hurt someone who's already dead?" The knife dropped from her hand, clattering to the floor. Annabeth recoiled from Percy as if he had burned her, grey eyes wide and swimming with intense puzzlement. "You know why the broken clock brings you comfort? It's because the broken clock depicts you. You are the broken clock. You hurt people not because you don't have a choice, but because you want them to feel as broken and lost as you are."

"SHUT UP!" she screamed, and the entire building shook. If it was possible, her grey eyes darkened the color of black. "You don't know anything about me! You don't know what it's like being banished by your own father!"

Percy sat foreword, glaring at the girl. He now realized that he couldn't get through to her by being kind and gentle. He had to be just as cruel as she was. "So what? Does he make you do this?"

"Y-yes!" Annabeth sobbed, her knees wavering. "I'm an abomination! I'm scum! I'm half mortal and half..." her voice trailed off and Annabeth stared up at Percy through unshed tears.

Percy edged her on, his voice calm. It was a suspicion he created after finally seeming to understand why there was a broken clock hanging across the empty, darkly lit room. "And half what?"

"I'm a demititan."

The building stopped shaking.

The clock on the wall stopped screaming. It fell completely silent, and when Annabeth stared up at Percy, her grey eyes were hard once more.

She stood up calmly, picked up the knife, sheathed it back, and left the room.

. . .

She hadn't cut him, hit him, or stabbed him in over two days.

And he knew the date because she started to tell him.

He figured this was progress.

He then thought it was an epiphany when she untied his hands.

His heart then proceeded to drop to his stomach when she told Percy that she was letting him go.

He slumped in her arms when she pulled him from the chair. His legs didn't appear to be working. His fingernails were bloody, his face scarred, and his green eyes dark. Slash marks were everywhere, bruises littered his body as if they were meant to be there, and it was like he was more dead than alive. Annabeth had succeeded.

"You're letting me go?" he asked in a mumble, inhaling her lemon-like smell. His face roughly buried itself into her leather jacket, feeling the zipper scald against his cheek, but he didn't even register the discomfort. Slowly, Annabeth's hands came up and hugged him back. She was crying. He was sure of that. "What will your father do to you?" He skirted away from the name he was supposed to use. Names had power, after all.

She ushered him out the door, rambling off directions that he wasn't sure he could even remember. "Just follow the path out of the woods. You'll come to a main road. Walk straight up it. Your friends should still be there."

"What will he do to you?" he repeated.

Annabeth shielded her eyes from his. "I just tortured you. Don't place care in me. I'm a demititan."

"And? Your point? Come back to camp with me. We'll lie." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking at her pleadingly and tugging on her dark sleeve. "We can say you're a daughter of Athena."

"No, Percy."

"Please."

"No. Just..." she smiled a watery smile. "Just forget about me."

"I won't forget."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You are naive to time, Percy. When enough time passes, you won't be able to remember your name, let alone me. Forget. It's easier."

"Annabeth?" She looked at him. "How long have I been here for?"

Annabeth had paused, staring at him with a look she had never given him before. "You've been here for a few seconds."

He was confused.

Annabeth laughed bitterly. "This is a mythical place, Percy. Time passes different here. The broken clock- it makes time stop here. You haven't aged a single day from the moment you stepped foot into these woods and neither have I. The moment you step out of these woods, you will no longer be immortal."

"Can I ask you something?" Percy murmured, still trying to process this new information.

"Depends on what it is."

"Who is your father?"

Annabeth's jaw tightened and she led him from the small house and down onto the path. "I'll help you get out of the woods. After that, you are not longer my responsibility."

Percy's lips quirked into a half-hearted grin. "How kind of you."

When she led him past a giant oak tree, his arm slung tightly around her, he noticed the air shifting. It grew warmer and hotter. Thicker, almost. His movements became sluggish, as if he were walking through honey. Annabeth seemed to have no trouble, a golden aura appearing around her form. Then the air grew chilly and cold. The trees around him began to move. His footing grew easier. And then time began again.

"This is where I leave you," Annabeth muttered, releasing the battered boy from her grip. "Good luck, Percy Jackson." He places a hand on her cheek. She's cold. Icy cold, just like her heart was and might still be. Percy kissed her, and instead of her lips being ice, they were warm. Just like time passing felt like. As their lips press together, Annabeth places a small square in his hand.

When he pulled away, her grey eyes flashed momentarily gold.

And then she was gone.

Dejectedly, he walked down the road, Riptide forming in his pocket.

As heavy as his heart was, he knew Annabeth was right. She would never be able to come with him. He loved her. It was stupid to love her. He should hate her. He should march back in there and kill her for hurting him. For slicing him open and spilling water over him, only to repeat the process over and over again. Time may have not passed, but the pain did. He unwrapped the Ambrosia and bit into the square. He froze. It didn't taste like his mom's chocolate chip cookies like it usually did. It tasted like the smell of Annabeth. It tasted of lemons and honey. It tasted of bitterness. And it was somehow appealing, in a way.

A/N: Wow. This was depressing, wasn't it? This was a 'lil different, I think, from the usual PJO stories that people read. In case I didn't make it clear enough, (I often do that) Annabeth was Kronos' daughter. I'd always been curious about the demititans ever since Zoe in TTC. As for the AUness of this one-shot, I really have no idea. They're still demigods, their parents are the same, and Percy, Thalia, and Nico are still cousins. There's not really any book that this one-shot takes place in, so I'll leave it up to you to decide. R&R? :)