Dagnabbit! Foiled again! Okay. *takes deep breath* I'm not Rick Riordan either!
"SOLACE!" Percy bellowed, running into the tent with his black hair even more messy than usual. One of his cheeks was bleeding and the left strap of his armor hung crookedly off his shoulder, bronze clasp glinting in the dim light of the army tent. "I need you out on the field right now, Will!"
Will looked up from bandaging Travis Stoll's arm, where a deep slash oozed purple liquid. Katie Gardner hovered nervously over his shoulder, speaking quickly into a walkie-talkie. "No, Miranda, the vine spikes go over the barricade facing OUT!" she muttered, rolling her green eyes and throwing a worried glance toward Travis.
Will finished the bandage, tore it off with his teeth, and stood up. He gestured to Katie and she immediately took his place, gripping Travis's hand tightly in her free one. Will wondered briefly if he should be worried about the fact that she was now yelling something into her walkie-talkie about Venus flytraps and the Ares squad, but quickly decided that, judging from the look Percy was wearing, he had more important things to worry about.
Will blinked the sleepiness out of his bright blue eyes and looked at Percy, who had an expression on his face now that was something of a combination of terror, rage, and loss.
"Aphrodite's adolescent acne," Will cursed, grabbing one of his emergency kits and rushing toward Percy, worn flip-flops nearly tripping him up. Percy grabbed his arm and ran out the door without another word, panting, the desperation with which he clung to Will enough to tell him all he needed to know. "It's Annabeth again, isn't it?" he asked.
Percy just gripped his arm tighter and Will was sprinting now, running with his emergency kit bouncing against his leg. In his peripheral vision, he could see that Percy's deep-green eyes were clouded like the sea in a storm.
They ran past green explosions of Greek fire, past their own forces fighting against black-armored enemy troops. Will heard a yell of pain from the battlefield and he turned, fighting against Percy's grip for a moment to find its source.
Then he saw her, and he saw what was happening.
Annabeth was bent over on the sidelines of the maelstrom of bodies, clutching her thigh in one hand, fending off a dracaena with the other. Piper McLean stood at her back, dark braids flying as she shouted at the monsters and brandished her dagger. She supported Annabeth with one arm, but it was obvious that both girls were flagging, every movement a little more sluggish than the last.
Will and Percy ran towards them, dodging monsters and people in black chain mail. Riptide flew through the air and Will whistled shrilly at monsters that got too close, and they soon reached the place where the two girls were fighting.
Percy and Annabeth exchanged a look, then Percy gave Will a glance and gestured to the girls. The dark-haired boy stepped in front of the group to defend them all, and Will went to work on Annabeth's leg, methodical motions honed to perfection by years of tough, bloody practice.
He had just tied off the last bandage when Percy shouted, "Retreat! We can't hold them!" Will glanced up sharply to see that demigods were fleeing the fields all around them as the monsters advanced. He urged Piper and Annabeth to their feet, and began to follow them, shouting for Percy to catch up. The other boy ran past him, catching up to both exhausted girls and half-carrying them towards the distant fort, where Will could see that Katie's plan had worked. The sharp rows of spiky vines on the outside of the walls would thwart any enemies attempting to scale them. All Will had to do was run fast and he'd be safe.
Unfortunately, the slender, lanky nineteen-year-old and his heavy medical bag weren't exactly fit for physical exertion, and his breath began to come faster.
Then, Will stumbled.
And the medic fell.
He turned onto his back to see a small black-chain-mailed figure leaning down over him. The soldier leaned closer and closer toward him, and Will thought he could make out deep brown eyes behind the armor.
The figure pulled out a long black sword unlike any he had ever seen, and Will pressed his back into the dirt, squeezing his eyes half-shut.
Then the person turned the sword so that the hilt was facing Will.
And raised it up.
Will closed his eyes all the way, and he could not have told when the blackness faded into one even deeper.
Gray, gray, everywhere and not a drop of sun.
That was Will's first impression of the place in which (if he remembered the demigods' plans) he would spend a probably very uncomfortable two months before his side won the western front and regained enough soldiers that they had the means to storm the fort.
He sat up groggily and looked down at the small bed on which he had been lying, then groaned. He was currently situated in a square cell about big enough for him to do the splits across. There was a small toilet in the opposite corner from where he was sitting and one wall was entirely open, latticed with two-inch-thick iron bars.
Will stood up and ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair, then paced the perimeter of his cell, looking for ventilation shafts, loose ceiling tiles, anything that Annabeth had specified in the pamphlets she'd handed out about "How To...Be A Polite and Proper Prisoner of War" (he was now so, so glad that he had been one of the few who'd read them), but the cell was airtight and cement-walled, the nearest ventilation shaft being right in the middle of the ceiling outside his small cubicle.
Will slumped against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest with a sigh. He wondered how long it would be before he was scratching endless lines into the cool cement, losing count of the days. He imagined his hair growing out, his clothes becoming more ragged, until he went crazy with confinement. He knew that he'd be rescued before that happened, of course, but he always liked to consider the worst possible scenario just in case...
"You're awake...wonderful," said a sarcastic voice. Will jumped upright and glanced around wildly. There was a quiet laugh from outside and a boy stepped into his view.
He was about Will's age, but much shorter, with dark hair and all-black clothes-black aviator's jacket, black jeans, black shoes; but even out of his armor, Will recognized his eyes.
"You're the one who captured me!" Will blurted, running to the bars of his cage. "Listen, there must be some mistake. I'm a medic and there are hundreds of people getting hurt out there right now, so you really should let me go. I'm no use to you."
The boy cocked his head, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. "No use? I think you're selling yourself a little short, medic."
Will glared at him. "What do you mean?"
The boy stepped forward to the other side of the bars, hand straying to the black leather scabbard at his belt. "Will Solace," he said languidly, completely at ease. "Chief Medic of the Army of Pantheon. Accomplished sonic whistler. Popular, intelligent, well-liked, easy on the eyes. A truly magnificent squash player."
Will didn't know whether to blush or start yelling.
"And…" the boy continued, pacing back and forth in front of the cell with hands clasped behind his back, "very, very influential to Chief Strategist Chase and Generals Jackson and Grace, who, as we all know, report directly to the chief of all you upstarts, Zeus." The name slid from between his teeth like a small, sibilant snake.
"How could you possibly get all this on me? Only three people even know I play squash!" Will said, exasperated and amused at the same time.
"Make that four," said the boy. "I know things."
"Yeah, well...do you know what the twelve vertebrae in the spine are called?" asked Will, grasping for an advantage.
The boy looked confused. "Who in Hades' name knows that?"
"I do," said Will triumphantly. "They're called the dorsal vertebrae, and-"
"Whatever," the dark-haired boy said, cutting him off. "We've gotten way off track. What I was supposed to tell you is that I'm your jail guard."
"Wait," said Will, confused. "You captured me. Shouldn't you be out on the front?"
The boy huffed. "We ran out of male guards and they don't want women guarding attractive men, and vice versa."
Will nodded, impressed with this logic. He had squeezed in enough science fiction novels in between his study sessions and healing to understand why this was so.
"So," he said. "Who's at the front in your place, then?"
The other boy turned, the half-smile on his face again. "Oh, no, you don't," he said. "You are not getting any information out of me, not with that kind of feeble attempt at manipulation."
Will sighed. It had been worth a try, at least.
There was a sharp sound at the other end of the corridor, and the boy's dark head whipped around. He unsheathed his sword and started to stride away.
"Wait!" called Will. No matter how mysterious and annoying, he wasn't in a hurry to lose his possibly only companion. "I don't even know your name!"
The boy turned to face him, and Will thought he saw something in his brown eyes soften. "Nico," he said quietly. "Nico di Angelo."
There was another clang, nearer this time, and then Nico was gone.
Will settled down against the cool cement wall again, leaning his blond head back against it, and sighed. Nico di Angelo.
It was going to be a long two months.