The Little Things
He sits down next to her with a thump. She turns and watches him, flatly, analyzing.
He isn't handsome, at least not classically so. Any one of her siblings wouldn't give him a second glance; even if they didn't know his heritage. She doesn't quite blame them.
He is big and broad, taller than her by a head and a half – it's not like she's short either. He is dark-skinned, so his hazel eyes stand out, squinted and creased. His lips are too thin, his hands are too rough. His hair is short and buzzed. He laughs deeply, big and booming: a typical Viking-type chortle. He isn't handsome, or good-looking or beautiful, nor any of the other adjectives she finds in romance novels.
And yet, somehow, he makes her heart pound.
"Charlie," she says softly, her eyes suddenly averted from his face.
"Yeah?" his voice is deep, and she feels like he's staring straight into her soul. She wonders what he sees.
"Did you ever think we would end up like this?"
He doesn't answer her for a while. A second passes, two. For several long moments, she just relaxes into the silence, expectant.
He smiles suddenly, "No."
"No?" she doesn't know what to think.
He slings an arm around her shoulders, "Well, would anyone have thought ol' Beckendorf would go steady with the Silena Beauregard?"
"I did," she says, grinning slightly, "I knew."
"Well, not all of us are blessed with Aphrodite's powers," he says wryly, raising a comical eyebrow at her.
She likes that: the way he talks so much more when he's with her. It makes her feel special, unique. She laughs, "Yes, well. I lucked out in that department, didn't I?"
"You certainly did," he says solemnly, but she sees the laughter in his eyes, "All I can do is make magical things that blow monsters into smithereens, slash monsters into strips and burn holes through monsters. Far less worthy of attention."
"Don't sell yourself short… you also make a killer omelet," she teases, flicking a finger on his nose.
He grins at her, all perfectly white teeth, if a bit crooked. "What more does a guy need?"
"Some charm," she says, wryly.
He laughs again, and the campfire in front of them burns a cheerful but mild gold. "I managed to charm you, didn't I?"
She pretends to think for a while before saying, "Maybe. Sometimes."
"That's good enough for me," he says, and the arm around her feels perfect, like a glove made for her.
At these times, she can forget the war, forget Luke, forget everything that was ancient and life-threatening, and remember that she is, deep down, a teenage girl. She believes it too.
She stares up at the sky, counting the constellations, remembering the stories. The two of them probably won't be a love story that will be remembered through the ages, but she doesn't care. Those stories were all tragedies, after all.
She sighs contentedly, "I guess it's good enough for me too."
Because here and now, with just him and her and the world as their stage, it is.
-0-0-0-
Does this have a point? No.
Does this have a plot? No.
Do I like it anyway? Yes.
It's a stupid, simple drabble that has absolutely no real substance, but I somehow find it kind of sweet. It might be the sleep deprivation talking though.
I always loved Silena and Beckendorf; so sweet and so sad.
This is set before the Titan War really gets rolling (sometime between the Battle of the Labyrinth and The Last Olympian).
Loves,
~FO