This fic wasn't as organized as most, but whoever said the thought process was organized? I liked the outcome, so I'm sticking to it. Disclaimer here, yadda yadda yadda, enjoy the show! Oh, yeah, this is a oneshot.

EDIT: Rewrote this 9/21/12, in my grand rehaul. Hope it's better!

Clarisse was never weak. Ever.

(And don't you forget it.)

She was all edges; a side effect of spending her entire life trying to keep people out. It was her natural defense, forged by hard years in the welfare system, tempered by life on the run, and honed by her time with the Ares cabin.

She was the child of Ares: rude, loud, and always fighting to win. So, she could never be seen doing something like this.

(For the sake of the viewer, that is.)

She, Clarisse de la Rue, hardcore warrior extraordinaire, was brooding.

(As in, thinking. Thinking. She was loosing her touch.)

It wasn't as if Clarisse was stupid, or insensitive. She was a girl, after all. There were certain things you just couldn't repress, such as the annoying knack at sympathizing with people and caring about what they thought.

Clarisse sighed.

(Children of Ares aren't supposed to sigh, either. It's an unspoken rule, right up there with brooding.)

Sometimes, when she wasn't on her guard, some little unacknowledged corner of her mind piped up, and decided that it wished that she had been born to some girly cabin like Aphrodite, or Demeter. Sure, they may be wimps, but no one cares when they are.

She had to be strong all the time.

(She wouldn't admit it, but she was getting kinda tired.)

For once in her life, Clarisse wanted someone she could be weak in front of, someone that would see her cry and hold her and just not care.

(Another downside to being a girl was a near-constant damsel complex. However, she'd shoved any hope of that aside long ago.)

If Clarisse could take out her heart and survive, she totally would. Whatever caused emotions had caused her far more harm than good. She couldn't allow happiness (that was weakness), couldn't allow trust (who could she trust?), and definitely couldn't allow love (are you kidding me?), so what was the use?

(Her father said that hope was for the weak; the strong didn't need hope. They made things happen.)

Of course, her father was a jerk. Plus, he got his godly butt whipped by some punk demigod who only found out who he was a week before, so who was he to talk?

(This thought made her smile, actually genuinely smile.)

She couldn't remember the last time that she had done something other than sneer, smirk, glare, or frown (the accepted Ares cabin expressions).

(Ya know, it felt kinda nice to smile.)

She decided that, maybe, she could stand to do it more often.

(Not that she'd let anyone see. She has a reputation to uphold, you know.)