A/N: This story is about Helen Chase, Annabeth's stepmother.

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO.

For Benjamin

Helen was six years old when her brother died, and her family fell apart.

His name was Matthew, and he was four. He had something called a brain tumor, except Helen wasn't really sure what that was, except that it meant that Matthew was sick and had to go visit the funny people in white coats and get needles stuck in his arms.

She asked why Matthew didn't just take his medicine so he could get better, but no one ever answered. Just sat there, pitying her.

I'm so sorry about your brother.

He was her playmate, her best friend. Why did he leave her? Didn't he care?

She combed her hair, put on her black dress and went to the funeral. Helen didn't cry. Not once.

Helen went back to school, and played with all the other girls. She tried not to be jealous when they talked about their little brothers.

She got the best grades in her class, even though she was the youngest there, because every time she brought home a bad grade, her parents would look at her with disappointment in their eyes.

Matthew would have done better.

They didn't actually say it, but Helen knew that it was on the tip of their tongues.

Why couldn't you have died instead, Helen?

She was ten.

"How come we never play at your house?" her friend complained.

Because at her house, porcelain was everywhere. Paintings by well-known artists hung on the wall, while classical music played on her mother's radio. There were no toys, not even in Helen's room (even though she begged and begged). No sign that a child had ever lived there.

Her parents never paid any attention to her, except when yelling at her for doing something bad.

It was nothing like any of her friend's houses, where the parents made cookies, and everyone talked and laughed.

"Because my house is haunted," Helen replied. And maybe it was. Haunted with memories of a little boy who never grew up.

She was thirteen, annoyed with the injustice of it all.

Matthew had died at four years old, and for what? No one would remember him. No one would ever care.

He meant nothing to the cruel world outside her window. Absolutely nothing.

She vowed not to die without doing something memorable with her life.

When she was sixteen, Helen finally met someone who understood her. He had lost his little sister to drowning only four years earlier. They were both "the weird kids" at school, but at least they could be the weird kids together.

After all, two was so much more than one.

She dated him for three months, until her parents found out and grounded her for life.

Sometimes Helen felt that history class was her only refuge. There she was, reading about people who had it worse off than her.

It was pleasing, in a way, to know that she wasn't alone.

Her average in that class was a 99.3, but only because she had missed she had missed a question on homework once.

The next year, she was walking home from school in the rain when she found a tiny, freezing, kitten, more alone than she was.

"Where's your mama?" she whispered. The only reply was soft mewing, so Helen put the cat in her coat, and carried it home like that.

Helen had no trouble hiding Mitzy the cat in her room.

After all, her parents never noticed anything these days.

The day Helen turned eighteen, she left home, with nothing other than some clothes, a picture of her and Matthew, her cat, and a newly earned High School diploma.

But where will you go? her parents protested. You have no money, Helen.

But Helen wasn't afraid of hard work. After all, wasn't that what she had being doing her whole life?

Besides, her parents had no idea about the loan she had taken from her grandparents- some of the few people in the world that still cared about her.

After moving far away, Helen managed to find a cheap apartment. She got a job, and somehow managed to send herself through the nursing program at the local community college.

She survived, no, she thrived.

But even so, Helen sometimes she wondered if her only friend was the small, spotted cat she had taken in a few years ago.

"Ow! That hurts," the little boy cried, drawing away from her and the needle. The mother glared at her.

"I know," she said, trying to sound soothing. Helen placed a small band-aid on the tiny cut. "But at least you won't get the flu this way,"

The boy crossed his arms. "I'd rather get the flu," he said. "I'd rather get the flu, and die,"

No, you wouldn't.

Helen was walking through the hospital one day, checking on patients, when she saw her. It was supposed to be easy: walk onto the room, check on the IV.

But instead, she found herself watching a small, very sick little girl, lying in bed.

The mother was sitting next to the bed, crying. "Is she going to die?" the woman kept saying. "Is my little girl going to die?" Helen shook her head.

"I don't know," she muttered.

Helen never found out what happened to the child.

"Excuse me," a tall, blonde man said, approaching her in the grocery store. He clutched a small purple coat in his hands. He sounded confused."Do you know if they sell headbands here? Sparkly ones?" The man squinted at her through glasses that needed to be dusted.

"I have no idea," Helen replied, placing a bag of cat food in her cart. She looked at the small coat in his hands. "Do you have children?" she questioned. A daughter, most likely.

"I-I have a daughter," the man said, looking surprised. She couldn't but help notice the absence of a ring on his finger. "And are you sure you don't know where the sparkly headbands are? The silver ones?"

She studied him. He resembled an owl, the way he looked at her through his circle-shaped glasses, rarely blinking. He also stood on one foot, for some obscure reason, and the way he held his arms reminded her of wings. And come to think of it, his uncombed hair resembled feathers.

He would have been quite handsome if he cared more about his appearance.

"I promise I don't know," Helen told him, beginning to wonder if the whole headband thing was some sort of a joke. "But," she suggested, "You could ask a store employee,"

"Oh. Right," he frowned. "You seem familiar. Are you in any of my classes?"

"Classes?" she questioned. "You're in college?"

"Well, in a way, yes," he answered. Oh. Maybe she had guessed his age wrong. Seeing the confused look on her face, he added, "I'm a history professor at West Point. Dr. Frederick Chase,"

"Helen," she said. "History was my best subject in school,"

"Mine too," he said, balancing against his cart. "What's your favorite aspect of it?"

"I like Ancient Rome," Helen said. Frederick raised his eyebrows, eyes widening.

"Oh," he said. "That's very interesting,"

"Yes," Helen stated. "It is,"

"Listen," Frederick said, glancing at his watch. "I really have to go. See, I promised my daughter I would buy her some sparkly headbands. Silver ones, and also some to match her coat..." he trailed off, holding the small jacket up.

"I would try the hair supplies aisle," she offered.

"Sure," he said. "Thank you," he paused. "Are you free tomorrow?"

"I have a lunch break," she offered.

"Well, do you drink coffee?" he asked, the tips of his ears suddenly reddening.

"I do,"

"Do you want to come to a coffee shop with me?" Frederick asked. "During your lunch break?"

"Sure," Helen said. "Good luck with your sparkly headbands,"

"They're for my daughter," he corrected.

"Right."

"Did you find your sparkly headbands yet?" Helen questioned, spotting Frederick walking into the coffee shop. This was the second time they had met like this, and the sparkly headbands had become somewhat of a joke between the two. . He frowned.

"Sadly, no. I suppose the coat will have to do on its own," Frederick said, getting in line and ordering his coffee. Black, no sugar, no cream, nothing. Basically just a cup of pure caffeine. Getting his coffee, he sat down next to Helen.

"So how was Annabeth's first day of preschool?" Helen questioned, knowing from their previous conversation that Frederick's had just started school.

"Kindergarten," he said, fiddling with the plastic lid on his cup. "But I think she enjoys it,"

"Well, that's good," Helen said. Kindergarten- the year before Matthew got sick and life turned upside down. She shivered, placing her hands on the coffee mug in an effort to stay warm.

Suddenly, Frederick started holding his neck and trying to cough. Helen was about to jump up and perform the Heimlich Maneuver when he opened his mouth and started talking.

"Helen," he started, making her jump. Frederick's face was so red he looked sunburned. "Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

She mentally went over her schedule. Nothing planned for dinner in the past three years or so. (Not that she didn't have friends, but they all had children, and didn't really have much time to go out for dinner.) "Sure," Helen said. And why not?

If anything, Frederick Chase's house was nothing but normal. Well, at least from what she could see through the window.

Crayon drawings hung on the fridge (though they were extremely well-done, and Helen had to wonder if Frederick had helped out. Surely a kindergartner couldn't have drawn those!). The kitchen was neat, albeit a bit cluttered.

"Hi," Annabeth said, opening the door. She eyed Helen suspiciously. "My dad's upstairs, getting changed for the millionth can't decide what shirt to wear. I think you make him nervous or something," she sighed dramatically.

"Oh," Helen stated, getting the feeling that Annabeth wasn't supposed to tell her that. "Well, um, can I come in?"

"I don't know," the little girl replied. She resembled her father, though the likeness ended at the eyes. Frederick's were a soft brown, while Annabeth's were a stormy gray. "Can you?"

"May I come in?" Helen corrected, feeling like she was in grade school again. Annabeth smiled slightly, and opened the door wide.

"Sure," she said. Helen stepped inside. "By the way, I think you're, like, the second girlfriend he's ever had." Helen decided not to mention that Frederick was the second boyfriend that she'd ever had.

And she wasn't even sure they were technically dating yet.

"So?" Helen asked.

"My dad is really messy," Annabeth continued, ignoring her. "He makes tons of messes and never cleans. Ever,"

"The house looks pretty clean now," Annabeth crossed her arms.

"Well, this is the one time he ever cleaned, then," she said.

"So," Helen tried to change the subject. She looked down at the small, blonde girl. "I heard you like sparkly headbands,"

Annabeth shrugged. "He also can't cook," she muttered. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to. Don't worry, it won't break his heart or anything. You can go,"

Helen didn't move. "What do you mean? Of course I'm not leaving,"

"Suit yourself," Annabeth sighed. They stood there for a minute in silence, until Annabeth spoke, "You know what?" she said. "I better go let the dog out," and ran away.

Frederick walked down the stairs (finally). "Did I miss something?" he questioned. "Where's Annie?"

"Letting the dog out,"

"Oh."

"Should we sit down?" Frederick questioned, red again. He seemed to get red a lot. She absentmindedly wondered if it was genetics, if Annabeth did that too. He gestured towards the dining room table.

"Um, sure," Helen said, sitting down across from Frederick. Annabeth appeared about two minutes later, though she seemed to be sulking.

"So," Annabeth said, looking as if she were about to discuss battle plans. "Who wrote the Odyssey, and between what two years did they read it?"Frederick answered the question.

"You weren't supposed to answer!" the small girl cried, pouting. "The question was for Helen!"

"Sorry, Annabeth," the man said. "But how would Helen know?" Actually, Helen did know. She wondered if Frederick had forgotten how much she liked history.

"Please pass the pasta," Annabeth sighed, sticking her tongue out at Helen. Frederick didn't seem to notice, so Helen stuck her tongue out at Annabeth.

"So Annabelle," she asked, not sure if the child's name was Annabelle or Annabeth, but deciding to go with Annabeth since that was the more likely option. "How do you like school so far?"

"My name is not Annabelle!" the little girl cried. "It's Annabeth!" and she continued to spell it out, annunciating each syllable.

"I'm sorry for mispronouncing your name," Helen apologized. Annabeth sighed oh-so-dramatically.

"Whatever," Annabeth muttered. "School's okay, I guess, but they make us do English," she made a face.

"Well, what's wrong with English?" Helen questioned, feeling slightly offended, since English was the only language she knew.

"Greek is better," Annabeth replied. She pushed some pasta around on her plate. "When are you getting married?"

Helen choked on her water. For a girl who quite obviously didn't like her, why would Annabeth ask that?"

"Annabeth Cassiopeia Chase, that is enough! Go to your room!" her father commanded, his face redder than the tomato sauce. Well, the tomato sauce was sort of pink, so Helen decided it wasn't much of an accomplishment.

"I have a middle name?" Annabeth questioned, stalling.

"Yes!" he sighed. "Your room!" Annabeth ran upstairs, not looking back.

"Don't you think that's a little harsh?" Helen questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Sending her to her room? She's five. That's normal five-year old behavior!" Frederick set his water glass on his plate and looked up.

"Believe me when I say that Annabeth is not a normal five year old." Frederick glanced out the window sadly, as if looking for someone or somebody.

"Oh?" she wondered out loud. "Why not?"

He put his head in his hands. "How many five year olds do you know that can speak and write in Ancient Greek?"

"Well, you are a history professor," Helen tried. Frederick laughed.

"She takes after her mother." was all he said.

They were sitting on the patio of an Italian restaurant, almost untouched plates in front of them.

"You know what?" Frederick said. "The chance that we're sitting here together is so astronomical, you know? Out of all the people in the world, it's us who are sitting here,"

"Sort of like winning a giant lottery," Helen suggested. Frederick grinned suddenly.

"Come on," he said. "You want to go dance?"

Helen looked around. "Dance?" she questioned, looking around at the various people talking and laughing in their fancy clothes. "But no one else is dancing,"

He grabbed her hand. "Come on," Frederick laughed, pulling her towards the small pavilion that stood on the edge of the grass.

"All right," she said, trying to run in her shoes, but failing miserably (they weren't even heels!). Helen finally gave up and took them off, feeling her feet squish against the muddy grass.

They stepped onto the pavilion. "Okay," Helen said, feeling slightly embarrassed. "How do we do this?" Frederick grinned.

"Like this," he said, placing one arm on her shoulder.

"Okay," she responded, feeling a bit awkward, but not minding.

"All right," Frederick instructed. "Now just sort of step forwards and backwards a little. Like this." He demonstrated for her.

"Mm-hmm," she said, trying to mimic him, her steps becoming smoother and smoother.

And suddenly, she was dancing. No, flying. Her feet had been replaced by powerful wings. She felt giddy, like a high school girl.

Helen heard herself laughing. She hadn't done that in a long time, and it felt oddly good.

Frederick leaned in and kissed her.

She had never felt so elated in her entire life, she was quite sure.

"Why don't you ever talk about your parents?" Frederick questioned, looking her in the eye.

Helen sighed. "I don't know. I guess we never just had the best relationship,"

"You should call them up," he said. "Talk to them,"

"I can't," she said.

"Well, why not?" Frederick wanted to know.

"Because... I just can't."

"Why?"

And then she told him. She told him everything.

"Do you ever just look up into the stars and think about how small you really are compared to everything?" Frederick questioned. They were watching Roman Holiday for the tenth or so time. "I mean, the universe is so big, and it's still expanding, you know,"

"Like sands of the hourglass, so are the days of our lives," Helen quoted.

"That's Socrates, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah." They were quiet for a moment, engrossed in the movie.

"Helen," he said quietly, so quietly that she almost didn't hear. "Helen," he repeated.

"Mm?" she said. "What is it, Frederick?"

He tossed her an apple.

"That's okay," she muttered. "Not hungry." His face drooped. Frederick looked generally disappointed.

Wait a minute... Was he...

"I'm not supposed to eat this," Helen said, a bit hesitantly. "Am I?"

"No," Frederick said, smiling a bit. "I supposed you're not. Unless of course, eating it was somehow part of the ancient Greek tradition, but I don't think so."

"Okay," Helen said, smiling. Frederick got on one knee.

"Helen Marie Brown," he said. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes," she said. "I will,"

"They're dead," she told him, her voice emotionless. "My parents. They're dead."

"Both of them?" Frederick asked. Helen nodded.

"My mother had been sick for a long time, and I guess my father couldn't stand it without her," she took a deep breath. "He died of a heart attack the next day."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, studying her face. "I'm so sorry."

Suddenly, there was wind in her eye, or-or something, because forbidden tears were falling down her cheek.

"I'm sorry," she told him, wiping her eye. "I-I have allergies."

"It's okay," Frederick told her, looking at the engagement ring on his finger.

"Pardon?" Helen said.

"It's okay to cry sometimes," he said, looking down. "I-I've had a little experience,"

And suddenly, she realized that she was looking at the face of a man who was as broken as she was.

Maybe love was when two broken people came together, not to fix their brokenness, but to find a matching piece.

Frederick hugged her as she sobbed into his shirt. He smelled like home. The way home should smell.

"I didn't cry when Matthew died," she muttered.

"I know," he whispered.

"So why am I crying now? I didn't even like my parents!" Helen cried.

"Yes, you did," Frederick said firmly. "You're only lying to yourself, Helen,"

Why did he always have to be right?

She picked up the phone.

"Would you mind watching Annabeth for me on Saturday?" Frederick questioned. "Please?" he begged. "I have to go to a conference," Helen sighed. Saturday was her one day of the week that she had off.

"Can't you hire a babysitter?" she complained.

"Nope," he said. "I can't find one, and I don't trust them, anyways,"

"Fine," Helen muttered.

Annabeth showed up at her house at 7 o'clock sharp. She stood on the steps of Helen's house, looking tired and annoyed. Very, very annoyed.

"Where's your father?" Helen questioned.

"He dropped me off," the small girl muttered, looking down. "He didn't even say goodbye,"

"Well, maybe he forgot," Helen said.

"He always forgets," Annabeth complained. She bit her lip.

"Did you eat breakfast yet?" Helen asked.

"Nope," Annabeth muttered.

"Well, do you want something? I have Lucky Charms,"

"I'm not hungry." she replied, crossing her arms.

"Well, if you get hungry just ask, okay?" Helen said.

Annabeth sighed. "Don't you get it?" she cried. "I hate you! I don't want you to marry my dad!" Her fists shook with anger, her eyes flashing. "I don't know what he sees in you! I mean, you're probably the first person he's ever dated. I don't even know what he's trying to do! It's stupid!" She burst into tears. Not of sadness, but of anger. "It-it's illogical! It's unprecedented!" She threw up her hands. "It's crazy!"

"It's love."

They drove to her parents' old house, an entire five hours away. Annabeth seemed to enjoy helping Helen destroy the beautiful paintings that hung on the walls and smash the porcelain into small pieces that no one would ever be able to put together again.

The dramatic five year old told Helen that porcelain reminded her of her heart when she found out that her father was getting married.

"I want you to meet my sister," he had said, sounding proud. "She's just a bit younger than me."

"Sure," she replied. "Why not?"

"So you must be the Helen I've heard all about," Natalie said, sitting down in a chair

"Well, most likely," Helen responded, sitting on the couch. "Do you want some coffee?" Natalie shook her head.

"Hey, I want you to know that I think Annabeth's a pretty smart girl," she said, looking around the house. "So, um, she usually is right about these sort of things, but I mean, I wanted to meet you before I jumped to any conclusions..."

"She hates me, I know," Helen said. "She told me. And you probably hate me too,"

"No..."

"Look," Helen sighed. "If you don't like coffee, I also have tea. And soda,"

"Water's okay," Natalie said.

Ten minutes before the wedding was set to happen, Natalie walked up to her.

"Look, she said. "I don't hate you. I barely know you. I don't believe in hating people I don't know,"

"Okay," Helen said. Natalie sighed.

"Look, I want you to be happy, I really do. Just not at the expense of my niece," She turned and left.

The wedding went smoothly. No screaming. No one saying "I object." (Though Natalie looked pretty close to it.)

The worst thing that happened was that Annabeth cried.

But that was everything.

Helen thought it something she had once read: "The apple never falls far from the tree."

Not unless the wind blows it away.

A/N: Thank you all for reading this far. I will update soon! Please review!