Author's Note: Just a one-shot, because I'm seriously scarred and worried about the end of The Mark of Athena. I wrote this reassure myself of our favorite couple. Enjoy and please review!
The darkness gives him time to think.
It seems that his senses have been shut off, taken away by the endless dive. He might as well be blind in this inconceivably pitch black hole. The wind in his ears takes away all sound besides it, not that either would have the strength to talk anyway. He's been falling so long that he can't feel it anymore, barely aware of the cold wind blowing his clothes upwards. So long have they been like this that the fear and adrenaline of letting go has worn off, that thinking about reaching the bottom inspires an almost mellow sense of destiny, of acceptance. He has the vaguest sense of her presence next to him in, a quiet reassurance as they continue to plunge into the impossible depths of the earth.
Everything has happened so fast over the last few days. He's been reunited with Annabeth, left the United States, battled monsters and giants and Gods and Romans. Just an average day, until it ends with the mother of all catastrophic decisions. He thinks back and can still feel the beating of his own heart, as he looks down at Annabeth's determined but terrified expression, and feels his fingers slowly uncurl from the ledge of the pit.
He doesn't know this, but on the surface Nico di Angelo is saying that Percy is the most powerful demigod he's ever met. And it's true—with Annabeth at his side, they are a lethal weapon, a dynamic matched set yet to be met by any other in the prophetic seven. Jason and Piper, Frank and Hazel, they're different. They have yet to be at home in each other. They lack the complete trust and confidence that Percy and Annabeth have grown in the years and months and days they've been together.
He knows that no one else will have a chance of making it through Tartarus in one piece. He usually has a healthy level of assurance in his own abilities, but in these long moments of clarity he is sure that he will get her through this safely, and they will save the world yet again. In these moments, they are the only ones.
His world is still black, his body still abstract in the utter blackness. But he manages to tense the muscles in his left hand, and is comforted to know he cannot make a fist because of her hand in his. A few seconds later, he feels the pressure of her reciprocation.
They're together, and they're still falling.
And then they're not.