Author's Note: I finally got around to posting some one shots I've left lying around! This is the first, but there will be more newly-written ones later on. Summer is almost here, which means more time to write.
Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians or... anything else in this story, really.
"Kelsey!" Her agitated voice floats even through the closed window of her dorm room. Or maybe it's because he's got his ear pressed up against the tiny panel of glass. Either way, he's heard the entire conversation – though more of Annabeth's side than the other girl's, to be honest. She's speaking (or more accurately, shouting) in the same tone of voice that she uses on him when he's really screwed something up, usually punctuating the end of her sentence with "Seaweed Brain", which was somehow both offensive and endearing at the same time. He's never noticed it before, because he's usually trying to get his foot out of his mouth or struggling not to hit something when she is in one of these moods, but she's quite impressive when she's angry. No wonder her roommate is rifling through her neatly packed suitcase like her life depends on it.
"I told you, Annabeth," The other girl huffs, still digging through her piles of clothes as if the missing item is going to miraculously appear. Percy knows for a fact that she won't find it, but it's still fun to watch, "I haven't seen it. Why do you need a Yankee's cap over winter break when you're going to San Francisco anyway?"
He knows Annabeth can't give the mortal the real answer, but he knows why and his stomach twists unpleasantly at the thought. San Francisco is dangerous for half-bloods – monsters flock there like flies to honey – but that's not exactly why he's feeling so opposed to her trip. Of course, he is worried about her. Even now that Kronos is defeated, he spends every waking moment worrying about her... or at least, many of his waking moments. Perhaps "every" is a bit of a stretch, but he does find his minding straying to her safety every now and again. Arrows, blades, claws, even bullets – they all bounce of of his skin, or else they miraculously miss him. But any of those things will go right through her. Annabeth is a good fighter and a brilliant, but she's so fragile. Everything seems so fragile ever since he bathed in the River Styx.
But as worried as he may be for her safety, this is nothing new. As a demigod, he spends a lot of his time worrying – for friends, for camp, for Olympus, for all of Western Civilization. Lately he worries about the seven half-bloods that Rachel spoke about in her last prophecy; seven people who have unknowingly had their fate decided for them. No, this is a different kind of feeling. The knot in his stomach creeps up in his chest and settles there, impairing his ability to pull oxygen from the air. He sighs, trying to rid himself off this feeling, but all that comes of it is a misty patch where his warm breath hits the cold pane of glass. Neither girl notices.
"I... I just do," Annabeth replies weakly, giving her roommate a look that clearly dares her to argue, "It was a gift from my mother."
It's not so much that it was a gift from her mother that matters, it's that she truly needs it. From fooling monsters to sneaking out of school grounds to see certain people during the week, Annabeth's cap of invisibility is one very important magical item. Percy knows that, but the knot in his chest prevents him from doing anything about it. He wants her to be happy, to go to San Francisco and spend the holidays with her family; but at the same time... he doesn't. He wants to walk with her in Central Park, holding her hand and watching snowball fights break out amongst the other kids, wallowing in their two weeks of freedom. He wants to take her ice staking in Rockefeller Center, like all of the other couples. Most of all he wants to bring in the new year with a kiss, whether his parents are watching or not.
The other girl falters at Annabeth's words. Percy doesn't know what Annabeth has told the mortals about her mother, but it's clearly a bit of a touchy subject. Maybe she let something about her family slip. Maybe she's been pestered about it before, "Well... d'you think – maybe – you could just... take another hat?"
For a moment anger flashes across her face, but then she reigns it in, and there's only that anxious look again, "Yeah... yeah, I guess I could." She admits, reluctantly, but this is a blatant lie. Unless Athena happens to keep spares up on Olympus, Annabeth's Yankee's cap is one of a kind.
"Time to go," He mutters to himself, knowing that he shouldn't be here in the first place. Not only was it completely unfair to her, it was creepy as all get out. But there was that weird, sinking feeling in his stomach whenever he thought about her leaving, and it drove him back to that stupid boarding school.
Besides, he owes her a Christmas present.
For the first time, he remembers the lump in his pocket: The second reason he so cheerfully climbed the fire escape to her dorm room window (not like he knew beforehand which one was hers, or anything). It's nothing much – they exchanged "real" presents yesterday, before they officially said goodbye – but she'll know what it means.
Annabeth is in full panic mode now, even though she already claimed she could take another hat. Her roommate clearly doesn't know her very well, because she's standing back and looking alarmed while Annabeth tears the dorm apart. That's Annabeth for you – restless and defiant until the problem is solved. It's her fatal flaw, she says: Hubris. Thinking you can fix anything. Although right now, it's looking more fatal to Kelsey than it is to Annabeth.
Finally, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the "gift" that he decided to take at the last minute. It's more of a souvenir, really, but it also has a message, and he wants her to have it. He thought about writing a note to go along with it, but that was far too much effort for this simple little excursion. Besides, she'll know what it means. She is a daughter of Athena, after all.
The little treasure goes down on the window sill, and then (at last) he takes the hat off of his head. He imagines her face when she realizes she's been looking right at it (and her nosy boyfriend) every time she absently glances out the window, and smiles to himself. He'd like to stick around and see that, but he can't. Not unless he wants to get beaten to a pulp by an angry daughter of Athena, that is.
Before either girl can see the now-visible Percy Jackson lurking outside the window, he slaps the hat down on top of the gift-slash-souvenir and runs for the hills.
Annabeth Chase is panicking.
Not Grover-chasing-an-entire-army-back-into-the-Labyrinth Panic-ing, of course. If that happened, she was nearly certain Kelsey would leave her belongings in the room and never come back. She already thought Annabeth was pretty weird, and her horrified search of the room wasn't helping matters much.
Thankfully, this is only fluttery-heart-I'm-an-idiot panicking; with a lowercase "p". Her baseball cap isn't vitally, Earth-shatteringly important or anything. Finding it isn't a matter of life-or-death. Still, she doesn't want to go gallivanting off to San Francisco without it.
Like any good child of Athena, she started by sitting down and thinking rationally about the situation. She retraced her steps back to when she last had it: Percy's apartment. But when she called, there was never an answer. After leaving three urgent messages on his answering machine, she's tossed her cell phone on the bed and continued looking through her things, just in case it was buried under something. It wasn't.
She sits down, hard, on the bed, right next to where she'd thrown her cell phone. Kelsey looks on cautiously, as if Annabeth might snap at any moment. Well, maybe she would. Her hair is a mess because she'd been running all around the school, her sleeves are rolled up, and she's just finished tearing the room apart with her bare hands. She looks like a crazy person; or she will to Kelsey's eyes, anyway.
The savvy, persistent daughter of Athena is inches – no, centimeters – away from giving up, when a tiny flicker of movement catches her eye. It was miniscule, really. It could have been a flag waving on the top of a building across the street or a snowflake that caught the light just right. But desperate times call for desperate measure, and she walks to the window.
Sure enough, her hat is sitting on the other side of the glass, tattered and worn but still miraculously there. Barely pausing to consider this strange phenomenon, she wrenches the window open and snatches her beloved Yankee's cap. The move is so quick that she nearly misses the tiny treasure underneath.
A perfect little seashell sits on the windowsill.
Suddenly it all makes sense to her. The last place she'd seen it, the vague flicker of movement outside the window. He'd returned it to her, and he'd probably been watching her this whole time, laughing about the stress it had caused her. The knowledge irritates her, but there's something else there, too. She realizes that leaving is going to be even more bittersweet now.
There's a wave of longing that is quickly becoming familiar to Annabeth, much to her dismay. It's pathetic and weak, but she opens the window the rest of the way and tries to lean out, thinking that maybe she'll catch a glimpse of him turning the corner, or even that he'll be waiting there so that she can pretend to be angry at him.
She can't lean out far enough to see much; the windows are meant to open for air, not to climb out of. It's for the better, she supposes. She would hate to say goodbye by yelling at him for putting her through all that when he could have just picked up the phone.
"Seaweed Brain," She mutters to herself, meaning to sound irritated. Instead, she sounds a bit amused as she turns the shell over fondly in her palm.
"What?" Her roommate asks, coming up behind her. Annabeth jumps – she'd almost forgotten about the other girl.
"Nothing," She blurts, slipping the shell into her pocket as she turns around, "I found it."
Kelsey knows better than to push the issue.