A/N: Well, people. This is going to be a bunch of oneshots centered around different pairings *gasp*. Note, I am not a romantic person, so I'm just making this up out of my wild imagination. This may not be the romantic-ness you are looking for. Oh, and not EVERY SINGLE ONESHOT is going to have a kissing scene. No. Sorry.

This *gestures* is my (probably) failurely attempt at Thuke. Also note, however, that it is an attempt. I can't write romance worth anything, however, I am attempting. So it would really help if you could please, please, please...dare I say it? Review? As in, like, CC? Or flame if you think it's bad. Or compliment if you are an incredibly nice and forgiving person, but I'd prefer CC. Pleeeeease?

Now that I'm done making excuses...

Firefly

She's sitting next to him on the cold, damp ground. The fire's burning low, embers slowly dying. The smell of fresh rain and rotting wood is in the air. And the warm, gentle heat…is it from the fire…or from him?

She doesn't know. Maybe both, but who cares? She isn't about to complain. Her eyelids are heavy, oh so heavy. They're drooping down and she makes an effort to keep from dozing off. For the first time in weeks she's warm and comfortable and not hungry.

The old mason jar sits between them, the fireflies tiny sparks of light inside. It's tipping slightly towards the flames. She reaches out quickly and grabs it. She doesn't want it to fall.

From nowhere, a gust of chill wind hits, and she shivers. The jar of fireflies is warm in her thin hands, but the rest of her body is cold yet again.

Of course. She sighs. She never was known for her spectacular luck.

She fidgets, tucks her legs up to her chest, wraps her arms around herself, tries to find a position that blocks out the wind. It doesn't work. The gusts penetrate her thin, worn clothing and wrap themselves around her spine, chilling her to the bone.

Suddenly, the cold fades away and the wind isn't hitting her with such force. Something warm and soft falls across her shoulders, wraps around her slight frame. She looks down, startled.

His hands are fastening the buttons of his jacket which is now wrapped around her like a thick black cloak. Her blue eyes spark with electricity. Her hands fly to the buttons and unbutton them as quickly as he tries to button them back up.

She wins. She throws off the hood, pulls off the jacket, and gazes up at him with hard eyes. She's holding the jacket at an arm's length.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asks with a note of annoyance in her voice.

"What do you think you're doing?" he retorts.

"Taking off your jacket. What about you?"

"Giving you my jacket!" he cries. He flings his hands up in exasperation. "What is it with you, Thalia? What is your problem? It's not some kind of a felony for me to- for me to help you!"

He hurls a stick into the fire for emphasis and turns away. She gazes at his back, her eyes blank. Slowly, her hand comes up and drops the jacket in his lap. Then she turns away as well.

"Wear it."

She whips around.

"I said to wear it." His eyes are as empty as hers.

"It's yours. You wear it."

"Thalia, if you don't put it on, I swear I will throw it into the fire and neither of us will wear it. Will that make you happy? Because if that's what it it's going to take, then…"

She doesn't want to wear it. She doesn't want to touch it, because that means she's giving in. And she never ever gives in. Unless it concerns Luke and Annabeth's safety. And it's almost winter and then Luke won't have a jacket…

All right, she decides. She'll put it on. But not for her. Only for Luke and Annabeth. She reaches over and gingerly removes the jacket, holding it like it's a poisonous snake. She slips it on, deliberately leaves the hood down and the front unbuttoned and picks up the fallen jar of fireflies.

The fire is almost out. The only light is a faint red glow. She picks up a long branch with a slightly charred tip and pokes at the fire, stirring up the embers and coals until they glow brightly and bits of flame pop up. New twigs and branches and scraps of an old newspaper go in until everything in that small circle is enveloped in flame and she's brought the fire back to life.

Fireflies are swarming at the walls of the little glass jar. They are twinkling frantically: on-off, on-off, as if their lights will get them out of the jar. So innocent with so much hope…and she wonders if maybe in a way she is like that too; full of futile hope and dreams.

Yes, in a way, she's just like the fireflies in the jar. Somewhere far above, there is someone, or maybe many people watching her. Maybe they are as amused with her as she is with the fireflies.

Maybe…

Maybe…

Maybe…

There are so many 'maybes' and she doesn't know what to think. So her mind goes back to the fireflies in the jar. She wonders if she should let them go free. But she wants to look at them, to have them for a strnge, wordless kind of company for just a little longer.

"Wonder if all those little twinkles and blinks mean something. They look kind of like Morse Code, y'know?"

She jumps. She hadn't expected him to speak to her for a while, until the next morning at least. Her head turns slowly.

"They could be."

He nods slightly, as if satisfied with her answer. Then he reaches out his hands tentatively.

"Can I see for a minute?"

She hands him the jar. He holds it in his scarred hands, looks at the flashes of light intently. His fingers dance on the lid. It seems like he's counting something.

After a pause, he looks up with a half-smile and points to one of the flashes. "Hey, Thalia, this one's spelling out your name in Morse Code."

"Really?"

She knows that he's making it up, but she indulges him and leans in close, her eyes following his finger until they land on the little firefly.

"Yeah," he replies. "See, he already did T-H-A…" His eyes narrow and he starts to count again. "Oh, he did an 'M'. It's an 'L', little guy, not an 'M'."

The firefly seems to object to being called a little guy. Its light flashes violently, thrice, four times, five.

He stands up, jar in hand. "We should let them go." And then, with a beckoning gesture: "Coming?"

They walk out into the night, but still close enough that they can see the reassuring glow of the fire. A tall oak is where they decide to stop. He hands her the jar wordlessly and she twists off the rusted lid.

The fireflies flutter into the fresh air and dance out into the darkness. She can still see their flashes…and now they're too far away to make out. She turns to go with the jar tucked under her arm.

He calls out to her. "Wait, Thalia!"

She spins around, and walking backward, she replies. "What?"

And then something happens. Her left foot goes back and hits something hard, something that wasn't there before. Her right foot follows instinctively as she tries to catch herself; it too hits on the same object, and then she's falling…falling…falling backwards towards the large slab of rock.

Just before she hits the ground, the motion stops. He pulls her up to a standing position without letting go, and she doesn't really want him to. But they're awkwardly close to each other and that she can't ignore. They're nose to nose; she can feel his breath on her cheek. She's about to say something, something she would probably regret later, but he speaks first.

"Listen, Thalia, I just- well, y'know, we're half-bloods, we're in mortal danger every other second, any moment one of us could die…and I thought I should just say this to you while I have the chance and-"

She knows what he's going to say. She knows. But she doesn't know what to do. So she just closes her eyes and tries to think of a decent response. She wants so much to reply with the phrase she knows he would give anything to hear, that she wants to hear herself from him. Even a simple "What is it, Luke?" would do. But she's afraid. So afraid. It's not natural for her, something she's never felt before. So she chokes.

And the words don't come out of her mouth. Not those words, anyway. Instead, she says something so incredibly idiotic, random, and stupid, that her face immediately flushes.

"Where's Annabeth?"

He's caught off guard. "What do you mean? She's back sleeping…"

Her face turns an even brighter shade of red. She hopes he can't tell in the darkness. "Oh, right."

Now he's curious. "Why?"

"Um…well...if she saw us like…this, she might get the- the wrong idea or something…"

She cringes as the final words float off her tongue. She wants him to let go so she can hit her head on that slab of rock for the next five minutes. The effect on him is immediate; he looks like a balloon that had been stuck with a pin, deflated.

His face turns colors; pink, red, and an even brighter red, but he manages to regain his composure. "Oh…yeah. That would be…" He looks up at the sky, searching for the words in the stars. "Bad. That would be bad," he finishes.

"Yeah…"

They pull away from each other and walk back to the camp, together and alone at the same time. And she's managed to delay that fearful moment for now, but there's no doubt, she knows, that it's going to come back and hit in the head again sooner or later.

But until that happens, she'll always wonder what would have happened if she just would have let him finish his sentence, utter those three dreaded yet anticipated words:

I love you.

A/N: Like I said at the top, review? An author NEEDS reviews! Oh, and please suggest pairings as well. I've got a list, but I'd love some more unconventional ones that you've thought up. However, you will be running the risk of me butchering them...so if you wanna help the developing author, go ahead at your own risk.