I think I always knew you would be
I think I always knew you would be
The greatest
The greatest
Because you saved my life once
The second she breathed in the air as they stepped out of the airport, Annabeth decided that she loved Rome, and she told Percy so. He had laughed at her, telling her to let them actually see some of the city before she started designing their summer villa. She had smiled radiantly at him, hefted her bags up, and led the way to the bus stop.
Despite his playful reluctance, Percy has fallen in love with the city too. Not as deeply as Annabeth, of course, who tries to stop and examine every old building they pass, but he does love it. He decides the first day that he could do without the Italian men, but that's about the only thing he would change. Not a day goes by without at least one guy whistling at Annabeth or winking at her with a suave "Ciao, bella." Because of her shapely figure and naturally blonde hair, she is quite the prize in Italy. Annabeth is oblivious to the men's compliments, however; she is always too busy looking in shop windows, down at the cobblestones beneath her feet, up at the tops of old buildings and telling Percy the century in which they were built.
Their first day, despite their exhaustion from the long flight, they explore the vastness that is the Roman Forum hand-in-hand. The signs are in Italian – thankfully, they both took a course in the language, but Percy is terrible – and are sparsely littered throughout the ruins, so finding the exit when they are done proves difficult.
"That sign back there said the exit is left."
"You can barely say 'Hello' in Italian, Seaweed Brain. What makes you so sure it said left?"
"Well, we've always taken the right path, and we've ended up walking past the amphitheater and the weird mushroom-shaped trees twice now. It has to say left. Process of elimination."
"Or maybe the exit is back by that little waterfall. You know, around that arch we passed."
"No, I looked. There's a gate, yeah, but nobody is going through."
"Fine. We'll go left. Too bad your sense of direction on land sucks."
"Hey!"
"On the water? Oh, yeah, that's East, it'll be dawn in exactly 3 hours and 16 minutes, there's a lost city of merpeople beneath us, we're at 27 North by 125 West…"
"You certainly didn't mind when I got us through the Sea of Monsters and the Mare Nostrum!"
"But on land? Nothing!"
He shoves her playfully, both of them grinning, and she shoves him right back and then takes off running before he can retaliate. He calls her name and chases after her, drawing odd looks from the other tourists. Percy and Annabeth run and laugh like they are 12-years-old again, instead of college juniors. They have been best friends since that delicate age of 12, a couple since 16, and before this vacation is over, Percy aims to be something even more.
After they find the exit, they walk through the city to the Roman Colosseum. The walls hold uncomfortable memories for Percy – twin giants (one in a tutu), vicious beasts, three injured friends, and a god with a pinecone on a stick – but holding Annabeth's hand, it's as if he can see the structure through her eyes. He actually understands and is fascinated when she explains how the Romans built the arches and the tiered seating. She doesn't have to read the information plaques or listen to the tour guides; this is her very essence made manifest in the curves and angles, in the stone and the mortar.
In his turn, Percy tells Annabeth exactly how the ruined arena looked when Dionysus – Bacchus, whatever – restored it to its original condition. He can hear the delight whirring of Annabeth's brain as she sees the pieces that aren't there anymore; the look on her face makes Percy absolutely sure that she can see it more clearly with her mind's eye than he can with his memories.
Eventually, they find themselves on the outer edge of the second level, looking at the Arch of Constantine just outside the Colosseum's walls. Again, Annabeth rambles about its magnificence, but only until she hears the shutter click of Percy's new camera. Rounding on him, she is just in time to see him lower the lens with a grin. He isn't quite sure what came over him, what made him suddenly feel the need to capture that moment: Annabeth's blonde curls whipping around her shoulders in the fierce wind, her whole body leaning forward onto her toes, gripping the railing and pointing at a section of engraving on the Arch.
"Percy! What are you doing? Taking pictures of the back of my head?"
"To be fair, it's a very beautiful head, front or back."
"Give me that! I'm going to delete it!"
"No, don't! Come on, Annabeth! We haven't taken a single picture in Rome yet and the day's almost over! You should feel honored! The back of your beautiful head is gonna be the first picture in the scrapbook!"
"We're not making a scrapbook!"
"I didn't say we!"
"Jackson!"
"Okay! If I promise not to make a scrapbook, will you please pose for just a few pictures with me? Please?"
"[insert muttered Greek swear here] Fine. But only a few! I'm not photogenic to begin with and my hair looks terrible right now."
"You're gorgeous, now shut up and smile."
He finally manages to get her to stand still and smile, but because he's holding the camera at arm's length, the picture ends up being a close-up of their sunglasses and foreheads. Laughing, they try again, but only get a similar shot of their noses. Finally, a young American woman takes pity on the pair and offers to snap a few pictures for them. Percy thanks her profusely. She captures the grinning couple side-by-side at the railing, the Arch looming behind them. Then, just as Annabeth is pushing half of her hair from her face, Percy turns, takes her jaw in his hands, and kisses her. She tastes of laughter, sunlight, Roman air, and blonde curls.
No matter what she says, that picture will be Percy's everything: screensaver, profile picture, framed wall hanging, refrigerator magnet, one of those pictures you tuck into your mirror. It is the kind of picture one expects to see in a photo booth strip.
That night, in their two beds, one bath set of rooms, Percy leaves Annabeth tucked into the window ledge, alternately watching people pass by in the alley beneath her and pouring over their guidebook. When he returns from the shower, the book is on the floor and her head is held up by the wall of the alcove.
Smiling, Percy drops his clothes into his open suitcase and pads over to her in his bare feet and pajamas. She mumbles unintelligibly as he lifts her up and carries her to her bed. He pulls the covers over her, brushes her hair out on the pillow, kisses her forehead tenderly, and whispers 'Goodnight' in bad Italian.