Annabeth looks in the mirror. She didn't pay much attention to her appearance, but her hair had always been one of her favorite things, even all tangled and grimy from her quests. Since Tartarus, though, something has changed. Her lungs recovered fairly quickly, but her hair was…dead. Dull. Dry. She's had a lot of shedding before, but now her hair snaps off in entire strands.

It was fitting. Tartarus had faded from most of her by now, two months after it all happened. Annabeth could breathe without coughing, eat actual meals without vomiting, run a mile or spar without getting winded. The only real estate it had left, really, was her head—nightmares, of course, and her mess of destroyed hair. She didn't brush it anymore. Didn't wash, or condition. There was nothing she could do. Nothing, of course, but this.

"You're sure?" Percy asks, standing behind her. Annabeth doesn't turn to face him, just looks at his reflection as she nods. If she looks directly into his eyes, she'd start to cry; Tartarus was still trying to kill them both.

All she can do is stare at herself in the mirror as Percy grabs the first matted lock. It takes a minute for the scissors to grind their way through it, and it hits the floor with a thumping sound that hair shouldn't make. The sounds make Annabeth flinch, and he hesitates, but she stubbornly shakes her head when he gives her a sad look.

"Keep going."

Her hair ends up in a pile around her feet. Strands stick out from her head, fried bits an inch or two long. Annabeth doesn't jump at all when the buzzing starts, but when the razor touches her scalp, she begins to cry.

"It's okay," Percy whispers, shaving through her hair in neat lines. "It's okay."

Once he's done, once her hair is gone entirely, Annabeth takes a minute to stare at her reflection. She feels a bit empty, a bit lost. This is her in the mirror? Was it possible for her to look like this? And who knew how heavy her hair had been?

"Do you still want to do mine, or…"

Annabeth takes the electric razor from his hand, and Percy is surprised by how steady her hand is. "Of course."

His hair is a much faster deal; Annabeth's had been breaking off, but his had already started falling out. In no time, the job is done. They both stare in the mirror now.

"It's gone," Percy says.

"Yeah," Annabeth replies faintly.

.

Annabeth laughs as Percy puts a ring of daisies on her head.

"They should put you on the Council of Cloven Elders," He says once his crowning ceremony is over. Annabeth splashes him with water, just to make the fire in his eyes a bit brighter.

"Working with Grover would be pretty cool, but I'm happy where I am now, thanks."

It's early June, almost a year since the war, and they're sitting by the canoe lake at Camp Half-Blood. Percy's hair was back to its normal length already, and Annabeth's hangs in thick golden curls around her ears. She lifts the crown from her head, placing it on his with a smile.

"He's your best friend, Seaweed Brain. You should be the one working with him." Her hand brushes against Percy's hair, and she feels so happy her eyes start to water.

"Your hair's so soft now," She whispers. Percy looks at her with worry for a second before the smile fills his face.

"Yours is even softer." He runs a hand through her blonde locks.

They sit there for a moment, touching each other's heads and grinning like idiots. A twelve-year-old boy points to them, making a comment to his friends, and they all laugh. It never gets old seeing the heroes of Olympus so stupid in love. Even the rest of the seven would joke about it sometimes, now that they didn't have to worry about them waking up screaming in the night, or jumping at every slightest sound.

Tartarus was gone, and they were finally back.

I don't know, I wanted to write it. I can never write anything productive, can I? It was a nice concept, though.