"You know what Percy, you can sleep in the guest room tonight." Annabeth's face disappeared behind the splintered door, leaving Percy stranded in the dim light of the hallway.
They didn't have a lock on their bedroom door. If he wanted to, he could go in right now and apologize. They were both adults. At least, that's what the birth certificates said. His pride held him back though, unmoving in the threshold, and he glared at the peeling green paint.
What had they even fought about? Money. The kids. What else? He slowly lowered the hand he'd lifted in protest and sighed, wondering how long the latest rift would last. A night or two, at most. He didn't think he could take much longer than that; those gray hairs would start to multiply.
"Daddy? Can I have a glass of milk?" Clara hovered anxiously by the staircase, her green eyes wide in worry. Percy sighed, wondering how much she had heard.
"Sure, hon. Uh, you don't have to ask." Her lips trembled nervously, and he watched her pajama-clad feet retreat a few steps. "Here," he said, softening his tone. "Come on." He scooped her into his well-practiced arms and took her down to the kitchen, letting her rest on the redbrick countertop as he poured the drink.
He smiled as he handed her the favorite mug, trying his best to cheer her. She was all Annabeth in looks – save the eyes and ski-slope nose – and his heart broke every time she wore that expression. It reminded him all too much of a younger Annabeth Chase: that wise, pertinent expression, hiding more pain than he could imagine. Of course, Clara's life was nowhere near as dramatic, but he knew their fights were tough on her.
"Time for bed," he said softly, after she'd drained the glass. "Let me tuck you in." The words tasted too sweet on his tongue, even though he'd been using them for a solid seven years. But tonight felt somehow apart, removed from his day-to-day world as father and husband and swimming instructor.
"Okay, Daddy." Clara was such a good girl. She never complained or protested, rarely threw tantrums. Her kind and easy nature was every parent's dream.
Percy waited patiently in her room while she brushed her teeth, braided her hair down the back the way that Mommy taught her. By the time she climbed under the covers, she looked a good deal less sad.
"Good night, sweetie," Percy whispered, pulling the blue cotton sheets up to her chin. "I love you." He planted a kiss on her forehead and marveled at how much he'd changed since his daughter's birth. Once upon a time, he'd sworn he'd never use pet names like 'sweetie'.
"Good night Daddy," Clara echoed. She smiled a light little smile at him and shut her eyes, engulfed by dreams. Percy hoped, for her sake, they were happy ones. He waited another minute or so, watching her tiny face as it smiled at something he couldn't see. He would have stayed there longer, let the rhythms of her breathing cure him, but the phone rang.
As the world rushed up around his feet, Percy left her blue-and-pink bedroom in search of the telephone.
"Hello?" he said, resorting to the one in Annabeth's home office. She didn't like him in there usually – too many blueprints he could mess up, she said – but tonight he didn't really care about her wishes.
"Percy?" The voice sounded far away, drowned out by a symphony of car horns and night noises.
"Who is this?" Percy asked. Annabeth hadn't wanted to spring for caller ID, so every answer of the phone was a risk.
"Percy, it's me."
"Nico? Hey, where are you? It's loud."
"Yeah…" The words cut off, and Percy heard a sharp intake of breath in the reciever.
"Nico? You there?"
There was a long pause. "Yeah. …Percy? Um, I'm at Ringo's… you know, the bar near my apartment, and – and I don't feel so good…"
Percy's heart stilled with sudden anger, the scent of his disappointment clouding up the bedroom. "How much have you had to drink?" He tried to keep his voice steady, but barely managed not to shout. Of course, he understood that Nico was a stressed graduate student. He even understood that everyone needed to cool off sometimes, get a little drunk – gods knew he and Annabeth had shared their quota of drunken nights – but Nico was calling him at least twice a week now, and between the beers and the fighting and the money issues….
"Just a couple Percy, I promise!" And Nico sounded like that scared little boy again, stamping Percy's judgment with sympathy. Damn it.
"You're outside?"
"Yeah."
"Stay there. I'll be there as fast as I can." He hung up, trying not to slam the phone. Then he went and knocked on his bedroom door.
"What?" She sounded cold, but no longer furious.
"Can I come in?"
"I suppose." 'Suppose'. She only used words like that when she wanted to shut him out.
He tried not to be too reluctant as he entered, reminding himself that he usually slept here too. His skin prickled when he saw her, curled casually in bed with a book in her lap. Entirely unbothered by their argument. By the fact that he wouldn't be sleeping her tonight. Gods, and he hated how beautiful she looked tonight, with her blonde curls dangling around her waist, sporting one of those lace nightgowns… He cleared his throat, deciding to make this as brief as possible.
"Hi, so, Nico called…"
She slammed the book shut, uncontrolled anger crossing her face. She groaned. "He can't keep doing this. I mean it. You tell him – "
"I know," Percy interrupted, giving a curt nod. "But I can't leave him there, you know that. I'm going to get him, drive him home, and… yeah, I just thought I'd tell you. Clara's in bed."
Annabeth stared at him a moment longer, as if expecting something else. When he didn't continue, she nodded just as coolly. "Fine. Tell him I'm very angry with him."
Percy tried not to roll his eyes. "I will." He shut the door, putting her back in place behind the wall of wood. No matter how close they got, that wood would always be there. He felt that, he sensed it, and it hurt him right in the heart.
Thankfully, the car was full of gas, meaning this trip would be as short and painless as possible. Percy glared at every passing car, hating them. He didn't know why the mood swing had hit him so hard tonight; it was probably just a side effect of so many things gone wrong.
He was a good father, he told himself. He knew that. But… was he a good husband? A good mentor and cousin to Nico? A good friend? He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to Grover. And he'd forgotten a present for his mother, on her last birthday. A forgetful, lousy son who never called anymore. He was good at teaching children to swim, but that hardly meant anything. And anyway, wasn't there some quote about that? "Those can't do, teach."
Life felt like a disappointment, all of a sudden. These routines – the drunk Nico, the angry Annabeth – they felt too natural, as if nothing could ever progress beyond this state of uneasiness. Was it his fault? Waiting at the red light, surrounded by the embodiment of his town, Percy couldn't help but blame himself.
He was the son of a god, sure, but that didn't make him perfect. Didn't give him the skills he needed to pull out of this slump. He wouldn't kill himself, he wasn't depressed enough for that, but maybe… maybe life would be better off without him.
His eyelids flickered, weighed down by exhaustion. The stoplight shone through the obstruction of his skin, casting a ruby glow across his fading mind. Then all it once it faded, filtered through his hands like sand, and he saw it.
A face.
A/N: I know, I really shouldn't have started a new story. I suck. But this one's been bothering me for a while, and I had to write it. Reviews will make me love you forever and ever (and ever and ever). Mwah! Thanks for reading!
