Disclaimer: Nope, don't own the PJO series or anything related to the Rick Riordan books save for the plot. Sorry.
This was a short, fluffy piece I wrote as a Christmas present (or I guess just a holiday one, if you don't celebrate that) to my readers. Thanks for sticking with me through another year!
Annabeth Chase is only six, but she knows something is wrong.
All the other children in her class can't stop blabbering on about how their Christmas trees are lit up with tiny glowing lights and smothered with ornaments. There are presents everywhere and stockings by the fireplace and grandparents coming out from all over the globe. There are candy canes and inflatables in lawns and mistletoe hung in doorways, and Christmas pouring out of every window.
When they talk about it, faces bright and merry and ever so young, it always sounds so magical. It's a magic forged in sugar cookies and New York flurries and gingerbread houses. It seems so wonderful, their version of Christmas.
She knows something's wrong because while the other kids are all chattering together about holiday plans and sledding and gifts, she cannot help but frown and be reminded of the absence of her stocking - nobody ever bothered to knit her one. She barely has anything addressed to her under the tree, and the few things that are cheerfully wrapped up and made out to her are small and shoved to the side, almost there out of obligation. Annabeth didn't get to make pastries with her mother, because one needs a real mother to do things with in the first place. Someone around, not untouchable and distant. And her actual parent - the man that was supposed to make Christmas feel like home, like belonging - didn't really know what to do with her this season. He just knitted his brows, not smiling or frowning, as if considering why she was still there.
She doesn't run away that year. Annabeth knew she had to wait, that it would be stupid to flee into the cold underbelly of the night, and especially at Christmas, when people would be absolutely everywhere and it would be easy to spot a small child on her own. She was little, and she still had blonde princess curls and baby fat, but she refused to be stupid and hasty and desperate. It was the least she could do, making plans. It distracted her from the loneliness.
The young girl never told anybody else, but the way her family looked at her that morning - not really seeing her, but gazing through her, directing their blindingly happy beams at her stepbrothers - was what made her leave in the first place.
Life was not supposed to be like this, she knew.
Christmas was not supposed to be like this.
Families were meant to make things better, not drive you away.
Really, running off was an easy choice.
This year is a million times better.
This year, she is eight, and she has become tough.
Annabeth can wield her knife now with a deadly arch, when she tries, and Luke says she's getting better every day.
Thalia says he should stop coddling her, but the dark haired girl has a certain spark in her eyes whenever he ruffles her hair. Luke grins every time he and Thalia brush shoulders, and he lights up after she laughs at one of his jokes.
They, at least, love eachother, and Annabeth can tell that they love her. That's good enough, and far more preferable than veiled discomfort and fake parental care.
"Hey, I've got something to show you," Luke says one morning, Christmas morning, and Annabeth practically jumps out of bed when she remembers that this time will be different. This time she isn't with her guardians and her coveted stepbrothers. Thalia, with a bad bedhead and a symphony of disgruntled yawns, trails after, allowing Annabeth to yank her towards Luke and his surprise.
He leads them into the woods, deeper and deeper, until they come to a pine tree in a clearing. It's tall, impossibly so, and very old, by the looks of it. At the very top is a star, sloppily placed and clearly made of ripped out cardboard, and beneath everything is a second hand book and a bunch of candy bars.
It's not at all fancy. It doesn't come with gleaming bells or pretty trimmings or any of the decorations her classmates used to get so excited about.
It's perfect, to her.
"Thanks, Luke!" she squeals, running her hands over the very battered book and squeezing him tightly. "I love it!" He grinned and brushes the hair out of her face. She notices, absentmindedly, that his palms were severely scratched up, presumably from climbing the prickly needles.
"We could all really use the english practice," Thalia observes, smiling slowly and planting a small, rare kiss on Luke's cheek. "You're great, you know that?" He looks thoroughly winded.
"Did Thalia Grace just give me a compliment?" he finally questions, moments later, still recovering. She rolls her eyes and shoots him a glare. It conveyed the message of 'really?' quite well.
"Isn't Christmas the season of giving or something? Shush up and let me eat some raided milky ways, Luke," the daughter of Zeus responds, her words coming out into a simple drawl, but she's touched, Annabeth can tell. Together the three of them sit next to that improvisational tree, laughing and trading stories and singing absolutely dismal carols, in which they all squabble over the correct lyrics, until the chill sets in and they're all frozen solid.
It's the complete opposite of what she's been taught Christmas should be, but it's kind of amazing.
San Francisco is where she spends this Christmas, and it's not nearly as freezing as the New York winters she has accustomed herself to. This year marks a clean slate with her father and her step family, one that comes with a new house and a new city and a new Christmas feast. On this occasion, they actually seem to want her around, and she finds her lips curling upwards at the notion.
It's funny - everything is crumbling around her, and she's actually looking up. Kronos is on the move, Luke is fighting for the wrong side, Thalia is a hunter, monsters are stirring, the gods are in turmoil, and yet Christmas with her estranged family is distracting her. And not only is this distracting the teenage child of Athena, but distracting her in a good way, the kind that has her mind settled around turkeys and potatoes and not the looming war. It's slightly relieving, going back to school and seeing her dad again and not having to worry about being on top of everything all the time.
Percy pushed her to give her family another shot, and here she is, and she's happy. She's happy because of them, and especially because of him.
Today, a card arrived in the mail. There was a picture of the Empire State Building on the front, blanketed in snow and etched in silver strokes, and she could almost see him grinning his dorky grin through the paper and ink. He knew her too well, knew that she'd love the lengthy (if not messily written) notation inside, knew that she'd need to hear the sentiment and be reminded that she was loved and missed over there, knew that she'd go crazy over the beautiful picture of the structure in its glory as well as the attached atlas of New York City (the perfect gift, honestly) and the photo of him in his mom's new apartment, Grover at his side.
It's wonderful, the card and its contents. She couldn't have asked for anything better.
Unless he was here, of course. She misses camp and misses her best friend like she would miss a limb, for like an appendage, both are crucial parts of Annabeth Chase and she simply wouldn't be complete without either.
More than anything, she wishes she could kiss him again. Just once. Just so that she can have one moment with him again where she can be selfish, where she can have her idiot kiss her back properly.
It's a long shot, but her Christmas is shaping up to be pretty good this year, regardless of the traumas ahead.
"Annabeth, we're frosting cookies!" Mathew shouts from downstairs, his smile audible in his warm tone, and she races down to the first floor at record speed.
Progress.
It's been a while, she thinks, since she's seen so many people she loves together in one room.
They are in Sally and Paul Blofis' apartment, which is practically bursting at the seams. There are about ten friends of the hosts themselves, and they seem to be enjoying themselves despite the fact that more than half of the other guests are in their early twenties. The seven of the prophecy are there, Percy and Annabeth included, naturally, and Calypso, who was scowling at her long term boyfriend Leo Valdez for doing something particularly stupid - if Annabeth had to guess, it probably involved accidentally lighting something of value on fire. However, the former immortal's eyes were still shinning in a way that could only be described as pure joy, so she figures they'll be alright.
Estelle Blofis, Percy's half sister, is running around like a maniac, less than ten but still a whirlwind of intelligence and energy that lights up the room. One of her friends from school, accompanied by said friend's mom, were present as well, chatting with the crowd.
Of course, Nico, Will, Thalia, Reyna, Grover, and a host of other essential comrades were included in this company. Annabeth's family, for once, had made the cross-country trek to New York to spend the holidays; even her cousin Magnus, his girlfriend, and his closely knit array of Valhalla companions ventured over to the Jackson residence. Samirah, she remembers, and Alex - yeah, those were the two girls sitting next to her impulsive cousin, trying not to face palm as he nearly fell over his own feet and onto the floor. They seemed pretty happy, though.
They were all a chaotic, utterly jumbled mess, and everyone was tripping over eachother or trying to squeeze through the press of people. Her Christmas had never been so noisy or bumbling or simply exhausting to watch, and at twenty four she suddenly felt old, taking in the scene.
Percy grips her hand beneath the table, twisting her engagement ring in a fashion he had become particularly fond of.
"Three more months, Wise Girl," he murmurs, his features impossibly soft, "then it's official." The architect laughs slightly, surveying their mismatched family once more before turning back to her fiance.
"Three more months until we're married," the blonde repeats, laying her head upon his shoulder and letting Christmas fill her up. "I can't wait."
It's the best celebration yet.
"Mommy, mommy, it's snowing!" beams an energetic five year old, practically shouting the words into her mother's ear. "Mommy, don't you see? It's snowing!" Annabeth Jackson, despite wanting to groan at the sudden interruption and go back to bed, cannot help but smile at her child's excitement. It's endearing, somehow, rather than trivial.
Motherhood has softened her up quite a bit, hasn't it?
"I've got it, Beth, you can sleep in if you want to," comes the quiet, rumbling voice of her husband as he slips beneath the covers with a yawn and a stretch. "I think Mom's still a little tired, Tia, but if you want to show me instead, I'd love to look at the snowflakes." At this, Annabeth opened her eyes with Herculean effort, greeted with the sight of one Tiana Jackson, giggling loudly while tugging at her groggy father's arm, her messy black hair falling into her stormy eyes. She appears to be having the time of her life.
"No, no, I'm fine, I'm up," the architect says, even as she fights the urge to curl up back under the covers. "It's Christmas. I should be used to waking up at six in the morning." Percy, being as tuned to her needs as he was after nine years of marriage and a far longer span of companionship, ran his free fingers through his hair and gave her a reassuring nod.
"I'll start brewing coffee. Strong, strong coffee," he affirms, leaving the room at the pleads of his daughter.
He was always putty when it came to Tia, anyways, but she was just as bad (if not worse, but she would never admit to such a heinous crime) with their eldest by three years, Andrew. Even from a young age, he had possessed the same fair locks and dazzling intelligence as his mother, and frankly Annabeth was lost from the start. However, when it came to his loyalty, bravery, and inexplicable way of getting himself into trouble, the Jackson clearly took after his father.
She couldn't be happier about that, honestly. Aspiring to be Percy wasn't such a bad thing.
"Mom, dad, Tia, Santa came last night!" Andrew admonished with wide eyes the instant Annabeth lumbered out of her room and into the hall. "He brought me a circuitry set!" She ruffled his head with affection as she guided him towards their apartment's window, where her enthusiastic youngest and her doting husband remained, gazing out at the flurries. "Woah, it's snowing."
"I know, right?" Tiana breathed, pressing her face to the glass. "Snow." The words were dreamy and languid, almost longing, despite the fact that a white Christmas in New York was hardly a rare occurrence. Whatever, though - perhaps the weather added to the mystique of the holiday, made it seem more magical. Wordlessly, Percy dropped a kiss to her lips, warm and loving yet brief, before handing her a mug and placing a sleep-laden arm around her shoulders. Andrew squeezed between them, settling next to his sister with anticipation written all across his features, the circuit board box held securely at his side.
"Merry Christmas," her little boy whispers to nobody in particular, as if musing to the cosmos, and as she takes in her family of three in the dimly lit but rather festive home, she cannot help but nod.
She pulls them into an embrace, her children, and they let her, just as wonder struck and giddy as before.
"Merry Christmas, you guys," Annabeth says, sagging into the feeling and trying not to spill her coffee cup. "I love you."
"Love you too, Mommy," Tia proclaims instantly, without hesitation, and Annabeth is certain she wants the rest of her life to feel exactly like this.
Christmas is here again, and this time, it's wonderful.
So hey! This was written super last minute but I really wanted to put something out there in lue of the holidays. I figured highlighting some of Annabeth's Christmas experiences was as good an idea as any, so lo and behold, here is this story. A lot briefer than most of my other documents, but I kinda like how it turned out.
Not what I intended, but happy accidents and all. It's sweet.
Anyhow, Merry Christmas to you and yours! Technically it's still Christmas Eve, but pretend this is being posted tomorrow, I guess.
Have a great one and see you next time!