Continuing with my quest to provide quality fanfictions for all the unloved PJO characters, I present to you my first attempt at a Juniper/Grover oneshot. And, because I know that I'm going to get some questions about some details at the end, I'll just say right now that Percy and Annabeth have always struck me as the type to try for rebirth. You'll know what I'm talking about when you get there. Anyway, enjoy!

~.~

"Tell me you love me."

When she had asked, Grover had blushed and looked away. "You know I do."

Juniper giggled. "Well, then, tell me."

So the satyr had looked at the beautiful tree nymph—still blushing in that way she thought was absolutely adorable—and told her that he loved her.

She then had snuggled up against him and smiled. "Good. You remember that the next time that blueberry bush down by the lake catches your eye again."

Juniper smiled at the memory. She often wondered what whim it was that had made Aphrodite decide that the two of them should be bound together—Grover Underwood, the best satyr of his time, who discovered Pan, who found and befriended the four most powerful demigods of their generation, who took the prize for being the most dedicated environmentalist and tree-hugger (literally) in New York. And then there was Juniper. An altogether ordinary tree nymph.

Not that Juniper was complaining. Oh no, not in the least bit was she anything but grateful for the divine intervention that had given the lovable satyr's heart to her, even though being in love with a hero of Greek mythology had painful side effects. Those side effects had been foreshadowed for her so much that, looking back, she was surprised that she hadn't realized what was coming.

Take Percy Jackson, for example. The greatest hero of the century, taking his place alongside Achilles and Jason and Hercules as one of those whose memory would live forever, whose unbelievable stories of adventure would be told around campfires for all the millennium to come. He had been a true hero.

But everyone knows that heroes rarely get the happy ending that they deserve.

Juniper can remember the day that Percy Jackson died. Being a tree with an infinitely long lifespan, she can remember with great clarity the lives and deaths of many great warriors, but of them all, none can quite live up to Percy Jackson. His death had been as much the stuff of legend as his life had been—violent and dramatic and and entirely undeserved and unexpected, similar to the passing of many of the great heroes who came before him.

No one had ever seen Annabeth Chase cry so hard.

And although Percy Jackson had died young, it hadn't been long after that when Nico Di Angelo went out in a final spectacular explosion of Greek fire, bringing the living population of Big Three demigods down to only the Lieutenant of Artemis, daughter of Zeus.

Both had been heroes, and at both funeral processions, Juniper can remember holding Grover, her own hero, as he sobbed.

At Grover's funeral, Chiron had held Juniper as she sobbed.

Even now, Juniper doesn't know much about satyr reincarnation. The only thing that was consistent about it was that, as the great god Pan had decreed, after it's lifetime as a satyr had ended, the soul would be reborn into a plant. Juniper can remember watching, helpless and tearful, as the Grover she knew disintegrated, and in his place all that remained was a single, precious baby laurel.

When the ceremonies had ended, Chiron had given Juniper permission to choose where to plant the laurel, seeing how she was the closest thing to family the satyr had. For several days she had been unsure where she wanted his resting place to be and had considered planting him next to her own tree, where she could always feel his presence, but had decided that as wonderful as the notion was, it was selfish. In the end, it was only when she noticed the beauty of Thalia's pine tree on Half-Blood Hill one night that she knew where he belonged.

The guardian in the pine tree had long since abandoned her vigil for a life as a maiden Hunter of Artemis, and Juniper had known that it was time for the camp to have a new sentry. She had taken her beloved laurel up to the top of the hill one evening, and, under Chiron's close supervision, tenderly planted it beside the mighty pine to guide new demigods to the camp.

For a long time after, Grover had stood guard on the crest of Half-Blood Hill in his laurel form, every bit as impressive as Thalia's pine in Juniper's opinion. She would make sure that he was never lonely in his duties, and made a point of visiting every day to water him and relay all the latest gossip. Whenever someone questioned her daily ritual, she would never hesitate to introduce Grover.

"This is my boyfriend!" she would say. Then she would point proudly to the bush.

While this earned her many odd looks from the demigods, the satyrs were always awestruck. "This is the Grover Underwood?" they would ask, and then get down on their hands and knees to inspect the bush more thoroughly before introducing themselves hastily to the laurel. Once again, the demigods in the camp found their reaction ridiculous, but Juniper was delighted that Grover's reputation had followed him into his leafy form. Sometimes she would swear that she could see the bush blushing modestly at all the attention.

And then, in the manner of all living things, her beloved laurel began to die and no amount of pampering or pep-talking could save it. Because the rules of satyr reincarnation were more or less a mystery, she had sat beside the nearly-dead laurel for hours with common check-ups from Chiron, her heart breaking more and more with every minute that passed as she fretted about what would happen to Grover's soul when his second living form passed away.

When it did, she knew immediately. The final shriveled leaf fluttered to the grass beside her, and that familiar aura of the plant faded. No longer was it a sacred laurel. Just a dead plant skeleton. Grover was gone from Camp Half-Blood, and wherever it was he had disappeared to, it was certainly nowhere that Juniper could follow.

The next day, she had asked Chiron what he thought happened to satyrs after their second form passed away.

"I believe," he answered slowly as he sat in his wheelchair by the fire in the Big House, "that they move on again."

"To where?" she had asked, seated on the floor beside him, mulling over a mug of cider and a box of Kleenex.

"To another form, of sorts. I believe, to say it simply, that they are reincarnated again, so they never really leave this earth. They just keep taking different bodies."

Juniper had sniffled and scrubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand. "Will I ever see him again?"

Chiron had smiled slightly and gently squeezed her shoulder. "The fates are funny things, my dear." Juniper had thought that he looked sad as he gazed into the fire. "We all learn that the hard way."

That conversation had been many years ago now—more that Juniper cared to think about. She had seen many impressive heroes come and go, many generations pass her by, many fiery battles against minor baddies destroy the lands, and she feels old in a way she never used to in the days of that great war when Kronos and his minions swore revenge on the gods, and one hero, the first of the Big Three trio to turn sixteen, stood in their way. Her lovely tree has barely aged, however, and so she is just as she was many years ago, and will be for the next odd number of years.

But something is changing. That's what she thinks now as she spots him across the sword arena. To the untrained eye, he's simply another satyr, skinny and awkward and eager to please, but Juniper sees something else. Feels something else, actually.

Because he has that familiar aura, and the last time she felt it, it radiated from a laurel plant.

She approaches shyly, timid, because already the satyr has befriended two other new demigods—a handsome, laid-back dark haired boy and a very precocious girl who has already started picking fights with the older campers (and winning them, too).

The satyr spots Juniper over the shoulder of his new friends, and immediately blushes under her intense gaze. That's when Juniper knows—just knows—that the Fates really do work in funny ways.

When they're close enough to talk, she smiles slightly, and the satyr blushes even more furiously. "D—do I know you?" he asks. He stutters with that aching familiarity as he does, and Juniper almost faints.

"Yes," she tells him. "Yes, you do."