THALIA

The first thing she saw when she arrived at Camp Half-Blood was the hurricane. Then she noticed the raging waves and storm clouds, and she immediately knew that something was wrong with Percy. Majorly wrong. Either he was pissed, or he was really really upset about something. She felt worry surge in her, and immediately took off at a dead sprint for Poseidon's cabin, not even waiting for a dismissal from her mistress, Artemis. She didn't care if she'd get reprimanded for it later; Percy needed her. And that took priority.

She slowed down as she reached Cabin Three, approaching tentatively, and knocking softly. There was no response, which she'd expected. "Percy?" she called softly. "It's me. Thalia. Open up." For a minute, there was silence, only broken by the occasional crash of the waves on the beach, then the cabin door slowly opened. Thalia stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the dark interior, and saw the shape of her cousin huddled on a bed. She approached cautiously, not wanting to do anything to trigger him further. As she neared, he turned a tear-streaked face up to her, tears still running down his face. Overcome by emotion, she sat down next to him and hugged him, sensing that he needed comfort right now. She still didn't know what had happened, but she knew he'd tell her when he was ready.

She didn't know how long she held him for as the storm raged outside and rain came down in torrents, but eventually, through heartbroken sobs, he choked out, "She's gone, Thalia. She's gone and I couldn't do anything about it …"

Dreading his answer, Thalia asked, "Who, Percy?" She knew full well that it could only have been two people who could have reduced him to this state, and she wished, anything. Anything but that … But her wishing was futile. Through his sobs, Percy replied, "Annabeth …"

And she broke.

She curled into Percy and they wept together, mourning the loss of the bright-eyed, light-spirited blonde girl who had left such a big impact on both their lives, who didn't deserve to die, not when she had so much left to live for, finally, after she'd survived two wars. Thalia mourned for the seven-year-old she'd first met in that alley, who'd had such courage to stab a fully grown Cyclops in the foot at her young age to save her friends. She grieved for what could have been, the life she ought to have led with Percy, the happiness she should have had. For the bright future that had been so cruelly robbed from both Annabeth and Percy, the wonderful marriage, kids, grandkids they deserved.

They half-sobbed, half-laughed, telling stories about the intelligent young woman who'd been lost too soon, finding comfort in each other in the darkest of times. Who'd, so rightly, predicted that they would either be the best of friends and the worst of enemies – and Thalia was grateful, oh so grateful, that they'd eventually become the best of friends. She knew that without Annabeth, there would be a giant hole in both of their hearts, but she had faith that they could both make it through and celebrate her life instead of mourning her death. Eventually, exhausted, they both fell asleep, to dreams of a lively, wild Annabeth, finally free in Elysium.

The next morning, Thalia awoke to find herself no longer tangled up with Percy, as she'd been the night before, but moved to the bed next to him sometime in the middle of the night. (She suspected he knew her mistress would be none too pleased and didn't want to get her in trouble.) She sat up, rubbing her swollen eyes, and looked over at Percy. Tear tracks still adorned his cheeks, but he looked peaceful as he slept, a thin line of drool coming out of his mouth. Suppressing a chuckle, Thalia rose and headed to the bathroom. Staring at herself in the mirror, she noted the identical tear tracks to Percy's, and her eyes started watering again. She wanted to believe last night was a dream, that she'd never heard those awful words, and in the light of day, she could almost believe it. Almost believe that Annabeth was still alive, that she would suddenly come bursting into the Poseidon cabin with her shining blonde curls and calculating grey eyes, and everything would be right again.

She turned back to the main cabin, back to Percy, and gently shook him awake. He woke with a start, his hand drifting to his pocket, before he registered her face and flopped back onto the bed. "Why, Thalia?" he whispered, his eyes holding a shattered look in them. "Why her? Why now, when we've come so far, when we could've had everything?" She didn't have a response for him, so she just settled for shaking her head. Hesitantly, she asked the question she'd been wondering since last night. "Percy, how? How did it happen?"

He turned his face away from her, and for a second she thought he wasn't going to answer. But then he spoke up, in a voice broken beyond recognition.

"Yesterday, she Iris Messaged me," he whispered. "I think … I think it was a monster attack. Maybe there were too many and they overwhelmed her. She … when I saw her she was already bleeding out, she'd lost too much blood and … and … she told me it was too late. She knew she was going to die. And I couldn't do anything. I just sat there, I couldn't do anything and she died right in front of me." His voice had been steadily growing in intensity and volume and Thalia flinched as he finished, staring blankly at his hands. "It's my fault," he muttered. "If only I was good enough – if only I went with her to San Francisco – if only I wasn't so godsdamn useless and sat there like a fool when I could have done something – she would have been alive right now, she wouldn't – she wouldn't –" He couldn't finish, choking up, and her eyes blazed.

SLAP. The sound of her palm hitting his cheek reverberated around the small cabin, and he flinched, raising his eyes to look up at her. "Don't you dare blame yourself, Perseus Jackson," she hissed. "Annabeth wouldn't have wanted that. She loved you, and she wouldn't want to see you blaming yourself for her death. So don't, okay? It wasn't your fault. Sometimes, you just have to accept that, okay?" She was breathing heavily by the end of her little rant, and he looked at her, his eyes wide. "I know, Thalia, but I just can't help thinking, I should've, I could've saved her if I'd just done something …"

She hissed out a sigh between her teeth and sat down. "It wasn't your fault," she repeated, uselessly. She knew she wasn't getting through to him. She didn't know what else to say, and he seemed too lost in his thoughts to say anything, so she just watched him in silence. Idly, she wondered, what was going to happen now?

As if he read her thoughts, Percy released a deep breath. "I can't stay here, Thalia," he said. "There's just – there's just too many memories." His voice broke. "I would go to my mom, but I don't want to endanger her because of my demigod scent – and I know New Rome would welcome me, but that's where – that's where Annabeth and I planned to start our new life, and I – I don't think I could bear it there without her, and Thalia, I just don't know what to do anymore, she was my life, she was everything and now she's gone and what do I do without her?" His voice broke and he bent over, sobbing. Thalia's heart went out to him. She stared at him, racking her brain for a plan. She knew he'd never commit suicide – Annabeth was waiting for him in Elysium, and people who committed suicide didn't make it to Elysium – but at this rate, he might very well seek out a monster patrol and allow himself to get killed. She just couldn't let that happen. She couldn't lose Annabeth and Percy, too. She just couldn't. And she knew the rest of the Seven, and Camp Half-Blood, and the Romans felt the same way, too.