AN: Thanks to all our men and women who serve our country!

Disclaimer: I am getting no money from this. I do not own this. Trust me. (Here's looking at you, government.)

Chapter 3

For the hero of Olympus, Percy was really incompetent.

Before I saw my students, I could hear them shouting. Rising from my position on the couch, I walked toward the window and saw them sprinting towards the Big House, pushing and shoving each other, all completely oblivious to Percy frantically waving his hands and trying to control them. Handle them my ass.

"Don't let a son of Poseidon take on a job meant for a daughter of Ares," I murmured to myself as the front door slammed down the hall, followed by a squeaky voice yelling, "CLARISSE!"

"Take a left, come straight," I advised.

Maggie was leading the first pack that burst into the room, all clamoring around me and trying to get my attention at once. The next wave rushed in soon after, with Percy trailing behind, a defeated expression on his face.

I just shook my head and muttered, "Amateur," before barking, "Warriors!"

They immediately fell silent.

"What are you doing, coming before your commander in such a manner?" I continued. "Line up, right now, shortest to tallest! Let's hustle people!"

It was twenty seconds of disorder, kids scrambling and bumping into each other, but they fulfilled the task well enough, even going to the extra length of standing back-straight, eyes ahead without the given instruction.

"Good," I approved, flashing a grin at Percy, staring at my perfectly-trained squadron in disbelief. Taking a seat, I permitted, "At ease."

Form broken, they surged forward in an attempt to claim a spot next to me. Somehow, all fifteen kids managed to fit on the couch.

"How come you weren't our teacher?" Maggie whined. An accusing finger was pointed at Percy. "He had to do it! And he was awful."

"What?" he squawked indignantly. "I would have been a great teacher if any of you had bothered listening to me!"

"Blah blah blah," Maggie jeered.

"Blah blah blah," the others repeated, matching her tone.

My grin widened as Percy's left eye twitched slightly. Still, it was my duty as their instructor to keep them somewhat contained, so I said, "Alright, punks, I want you on your best behavior for the rest of the week. Just because I'm out of commission doesn't mean you get a break. Listen to him, alright? No matter how much you don't want to, no matter how much it annoys you, listen to him. Beyond the dopey exterior, he's a relatively decent swordsman. And for the next six days, he's going to be your teacher."

"But why?" Andrew asked quietly. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Promise. Chiron's just overreacting, that's all."

"So you're okay?"

"Of course she's okay!" Maggie huffed defensively. "She's Clarisse, Drakon Slayer!"

"Exactly," I agreed. "So don't be worrying about me. Focus on your techniques and your moves. I will be testing you when I get back; and by testing, I mean you'll be going against me. And don't expect it to be easy, either, just because you're newbies. Monsters won't be easy on you. Understand?"

"Understand."

"Understand?" I repeated, raising my voice.

"Understand!" they shouted in unison.

"That's what I like to hear."

I felt a tug on my sleeve. Terry, a ten-year-old daughter of Aphrodite, asked quietly, "But what if we're not good at fighting?"

"Then I guess you're gonna die," Maggie shot back.

A few years back, I would have admired that quick of a response. Now, after the Second Titan War, it made me cringe.

"Whoa, whoa, alright, slow your roll there," I protested, resting a hand on Maggie's head while reaching around to do the same for Terry. "Listen up. All of you. This is an important lesson, probably the most important you're ever going to hear. Being good at fighting isn't the end-all be-all. Because people who aren't good at that are good at other things. My best friend was a daughter of Aphrodite, and she could barely even hold a sword.."

"Really?" Maggie questioned.

"Really. Silena Beauregard. Dodged combat and sword practice and everything else. But you know what she could do? She could make friends with anyone, make peace with any situation. And she was the single most courageous person I ever met. So don't attack one another because when it all boils down, we're family. A horribly, horribly dysfunctional family that fights a lot and annoys each other, but still, we have to have each other's backs. It's us vs. the monster, not each other. Alright?"

"Alright," came the unanimous response.

"Good."

"Clarisse?" Andrew had wormed his way to the front of the pack. "When, when you said that, that, that people who can't fight real good can do other stuff? Does, does drawing count as other stuff?"

"'Course it does," I murmured softly.

A small smile creased his face. "Okay."

"Now, enough mushy-gushy stuff. I'm still your instructor, so I want to see how much you actually know. I say the technique, you shout out the move; I say an attack strategy, tell me when and when not to use it. Got it?"

"Got it!"

I drilled them for close to an hour, and they didn't miss one; I felt a ridiculous amount of pride over this. With no more questions, they took that as a sign to say whatever came to mind. The barely-coherent drabbles were surprisingly entertaining to listen to, and when Percy announced that they should leave for the campfire, I was just as disappointed as the kids.

"Can we come tomorrow?" Maggie asked.

"Pretty please?" added Terry, batting her eyelashes.

"If I get a good report from Percy, then yes. And that means a good report for all of you." I turned to Maggie for emphasis. She scowled and crossed her arms over her chest but nodded anyway. "No slacking off. Pretend I'm there. And remember, I have eyes all around this camp. So march on out!"

They leapt to their feet and reassembled into a line, strode out of the room without one backwards glance. Percy sent me a final look of disbelief before bringing up the rear.

At least, that's what I thought. No sooner was I lying down on the couch did Andrew timidly sneak back in. "Clarisse?"

"What's up?"

He kicked at the floor. "I, I made you something," he murmured, awkwardly taking a piece of paper from his pocket. "In arts and crafts. I really missed you."

Carefully, I unfolded it. In colored pencil, drawn extremely well for a child his age, was a picture of me, my sword raised and my foot crushing the neck of a dragon. In bright red, he had written To the best teacher ever.

My throat felt real tight-gods, I was getting sick of that feeling-but I managed to say, "Thanks, Andrew."

He shifted from one foot to another, then hastily threw his arms around my neck. "I hope you're okay," he whispered.

I blinked in surprise. Hugs had never been my thing, the only exception being Chris. Still, I found myself returning it, wondering why it felt so natural to do so and why it made my stomach hurt so badly.

Forcing composition, I released him and said, "Now get back to the group. That's an order, warrior."

He saluted me and took off in a run, leaving me rooted in my seat and staring at the picture clenched tightly in my grasp. The pain in my gut had subsided to numbness, a feeling that soon spread throughout my entire body.

"Clarisse?"

I snapped out of my stupor and met Chris's eyes, roving over my face and trying to read me. "Why aren't you at the campfire?"

"You really think I'd go without you?" he asked, taking a place beside me and slinging his arm around my shoulders.

"Just because I'm laid up here doesn't mean you shouldn't be allowed to have fun."

"If you're not there with me, it isn't any fun." He planted a kiss on my forehead.

"You're such a sap," I muttered, resting my head on his chest.

"Yeah, well, what can I say?" His fingers reached for the paper in my hands but stopped short. "What's that?"

"Andrew gave it to me," I explained, holding it up so he could get a better look.

"Kid has talent." He gave my arm a gentle squeeze. "How were they?"

"Good. It was nice seeing them." I snorted quietly. "The look on Percy's face when I could get them all under control was priceless."

"I would bet." Tilting his head slightly, he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine. It was just..." There was no way to articulate what was going on with me; I could barely even understand it. These kids were just my students, but the way they looked up to me and acted around me and missed me...it made me imagine the blood and placenta dripping down the drain, out of my grasp, and leaving me empty.

"I know," he murmured, lips to my ear. "I know it still hurts, Reese, and it's okay to still be hurting. But it'll get better, I promise. We'll get through this."

"Thank you," I managed. "I..."

The rest of my sentence faltered as my mind starting putting pieces together. Chiron murmuring, "Clarisse, this involves him, too," and Mark saying, "Chris wouldn't be walking around camp in a fricking daze," and him, right now, with, "We'll get though this."

This was Chris's baby, just as much as it was mine. And even though I knew that on a basic, biological level, the meaning hadn't truly sunk in until right now. He lost his chance of being a father, like I lost my chance of being a mother. But he'd never had a say in it. It was my fault. I'd stolen that from him.

"Reese, Reese, what's wrong?" He gave my shoulders a slight shake. "What's wrong?"

"Did you want to be a dad?"

"What? Clarisse-"

"Did you want to be a dad?" I repeated, a little louder. "Answer me."

"I want to have a family with you," he murmured. "There's no doubt about that."

"That wasn't my question," I growled. "And you know it."

"It's not a fair question."

"Why not? It's a simple enough yes or no. Would you have wanted to be a dad or not?"

"Don't do this, Clarisse. Please."

"Do what?" I demanded, pulling from his grasp and getting to my feet. "I'm asking a fricking question!"

"Because I know what you're trying to do," he whispered, voice barely audible. "You want me to say yes. You want me to say yes so you'll have a whole other reason to feel bad about yourself." He stood and wrapped his arms around me. "But you can't do this, Clarisse. Because you did nothing wrong."

"Our child is dead."

"You didn't cause that," he protested. "Stuff like this, sometimes it just happens. Women miscarry and have stillborns; it just happens. It sucks and it's awful and it hurts, but it's not your fault."

"This was your kid, too." I could barely even say it, it hurt so badly. "Chris, I'm sorry."

"Stop it," he pleaded. "Please, Clarisse, stop this. Blaming yourself isn't the answer. You've done nothing wrong." His lips brushed my cheek. "I hate seeing you this way. Please, stop."

"We would have been a family."

"I know, Reese. But we can still be a family. We have time to have kids; we have our whole lives. This wasn't our one and only change, so please don't see it that way." Voice dropping, he continued, "If you wanted, we could try again. When you're feeling better."

I shifted my head from his chest to his face. "Are you just saying that to make me happy?"

"No. I love you, Clarisse, and I would love to start a family with you. So whenever you're ready, whenever you're comfortable, we can try again. Okay?"

"Thank you."

"No need to thank me; all the more reason to have lots of sex with you."

I punched him hard in the side, earning a strangled grunt of pain. "Just because I'm bed-ridden doesn't mean I can't kick your ass."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He kissed me on the lips. "But I couldn't pass up the opportunity to say that."

Our baby conversation ended there; we spent the rest of the night talking about anything else, and when I fell asleep, I was convinced it would be dreamless.

"Mom!"

A little boy came running my way. I dropped to my knees to catch him.

"Can we go get ice cream, Mom?" he asked, deep chocolate eyes-his father's eyes-widening into a puppy dog look.

"I'm immune to that look, you know."

"Then how come I heard you telling Dad that you can never say no when I use it?"

I ruffled his hair. "You're a little punk, you know that?" Standing, I situated him in my arms. "Alright, let's go."

He cheered and tightened his grip. "Thanks, Mom! You're the best!"

"Yeah, I know. So what kind of ice cream do you want?"

No answer. My arms suddenly felt sticky.

I glanced down. He was no longer a boy but a bloody lump, tattered pieces of skin falling from him. In a panic, I let him fall, watched as he stained the grass red.

A scream burned in my throat but stayed there when I awoke, breath coming in broken huffs and vision blurred by tears. Easing from Chris's grasp, I shakily got to my feet and headed to my cabin, bare feet catching on twigs but the pain not even registering. With the grace of an expert, I snuck inside and tip-toed past my sleeping siblings, snagged my envelope of emergency money, and returned to the woods, breaking through the boundary and heading to the closest drug store.

I wasn't even back to the Big House before I was swallowing down the first birth control pill.