Your reviews mean a lot to me, honestly. They're probably the reason I update. Maybe I just like this story. Anyways, here's chapter four.

.:*:.

.:Moments:.

It was evident to most that Annabeth had been avoiding the Big House for a large portion of the day, as she would scavenge for scenic routes through the woods to get to her destination. If she ever had to walk past the holding cell of her lost-and-found boyfriend, she would grab her brother Malcolm and have him walk between the two as a way to solely focus on someone else's face and not the sky blue paint.

She had visited the archery range most often, always out of turn but dismissed, seeing as Percy never stayed there too long. He couldn't shoot an arrow any straighter than a cab driver's path in New York. She would fire arrow after arrow along with the rest of the volley and whenever the cabin dwellers would leave for their next activity, she'd call open fire and shoot freely.

And then the inevitable. She had to return to her cabin to prepare the Athenians for dinner, and Malcolm had selfishly crossed over already to where he was needed and expected to be. She cursed and turned, full circle, to find that everyone she was comfortable with, anyone willing to help, had gone to the commons area already.

She was simply going to take the risk of scurrying across the yard. A boy with the features of Nemesis was sauntering over to the cabins and Annabeth smiled to herself, sure she'd come off odd. She ran to catch up to him and slowed upon meeting his side.

"Hi," she smiled at him, brushing her hair back and swinging her ponytail around.

"Uh," he glanced around and turned to her. "Me?"

"Of course," she grinned and continued at his pace, awkwardly. She managed to come off as friendly but it was unfortunate that her social status had spread like wildfire. He had claimed she already had a boyfriend—which she found odd—and hurried off nervously.

Annabeth quickly averted her eyes from the building and though she should've been able to just walk across quickly, she found that without a distraction she was vulnerable to the reception of guilt. Her shoulders slumped as she turned to the Big House and her eyes were captivated. Everyone had dispersed and was already making way towards the mess hall, with the exception of the boy being held in the back room.

As she pushed open the double doors, she found that not only had they all left him in the rather uncomfortable chair, they had also turned out the one light bulb. She blamed Gwen and walked towards him. He was silent and she could hardly see his face, no features visible at all, and it was hard for her to admit that the quiet terrified her. She pulled the string that substituted as a light switch and the bulb flickered on.

Percy's head was resting on the back of the chair, a small amount of drool sliding down the side of his mouth. She couldn't help laugh to herself and fisted the hem of her T-shirt, using it to wipe away the remnants of sleepers' evidence. His eyes were lulled open and blinked at her wearily.

"Hi," she said, only giving the slightest of smiles.

He blinked again, slower this time, as if he had been held in a time lapse and he sat up from the slouching position. "Annabeth?"

She nodded and backed away from him. It was the hopeless, tired, confused look; it was the look she had seen nearly two straight days, scooping ambrosia into his mouth by the spoon fulls. It was the weary emptiness she had vowed she would never see again on anyone's face as long as she could help it, and yet, it happened continuously and she felt the guilt this time. Maybe if she had been kinder to Hera…

"Gwen told me the magic would wear off if I fell asleep," he explained quietly, as if he had done something wrong. "I tried to stay awake, but you never showed."

She could feel a lump bundle itself in her throat, and she found no easy remedy for it other than the fact that Chiron had been the one to shoo her away and push her into her activities. "I'm sorry, Seaw—Percy."

"You were about to call me something," he observed, leaning forward on his elbows. This was the Percy she had found at the Roman camp, strong and fully-awake, not pulled down by drugs and magic. Only a moment of sleep and she had found the boy she knew. "Seaweed Brain, right?"

The way he said the name seemed almost injured or offended, but Annabeth didn't let it bother her too much. "Yeah."

"Why do you call me that?" He asked, looking towards her curiously. "I mean, we had to have reached the status of friends if you have a nickname for me." His conclusion was logical and so much more advanced in the mental field than she had ever thought him to be. It seemed distant.

"We were best friends, I guess you could say," she shrugged, not allowing herself to say they were something more. The clueless boy and the wise girl, they were something so much more than best friends, but she could never let it on until she at least got to the incident on Mt. St. Helens. "We argued, you asked dumb questions; things like that."

"So," he leaned back. "My head's full of kelp; that's what you're saying?"

"Yeah, something like that," she agreed.

"Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything?" He asked with a small smirk, as if he had known all along what was going on in actuality, but would enjoy hearing the words coming from her mouth. She was near the point of blushing, but she had trained herself to not show any indications that someone was getting to her. She had been so obvious with Luke, and she had discovered that where it got her was nowhere friendly.

"I'm not supposed to," she told him simply. It was an obvious and acceptable answer for anyone, had she not been speaking with Percy Jackson, the stubborn, free-spirited son of Poseidon. He just had to press her on the matter, because he couldn't accept the easy way out.

"Why? Why are you even here? It's dinner time."

Annabeth was grateful for him tagging the questions on the end because all it meant was that it would be simpler to ignore what she wasn't supposed to answer. She could choose to only answer one of the things he didn't understand and she would get away with it. "I felt bad…for not coming back right away. But as it turns out, now wasn't really a good time."

"Why not?" He quirked his brow.

"Well, I'm not doing anything useful right now, am I?" she pointed out with a witty smile. He was dazzled momentarily by how smoky and mysterious her eyes were. All of the daughters of Minerva he had ever seen—that he was aware of—had grey ink stains, no excitement. Annabeth's eyes, they shifted like storm clouds, mixing around and molding together in a swirl of so many shades. "Percy?"

"Oh, uh," he shook his head. "No, I guess not."

She nodded and stood to leave, possibly attend the dinner she should've been up but his next words stopped her.

"I don't mind the company though." He watched her carefully as her eyes fell to the floor. "It's just… I'm kinda trapped in here and, in case you haven't noticed, it's not the friendliest place."

Annabeth did another once over—an unnecessary one, as she had memorized every detail of Percy at his weakest moment—and agreed that their makeshift holding cell was no place she'd wish to be held when in unfamiliar territory. "Well," she shrugged. "We thought you'd go hostile. You've been with the Romans for six months…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to detect some vengeful nature towards a group she had never met, the only people he had been able to call a family for the past six months, if he could consider them as such. He had to be honest; it didn't bother him at all. The Romans could be rough from the start and it took quite some time before they warmed up to a newcomer, and there was no doubt they had been harsh on her.

"Just," she shrugged. "They're less welcoming. More… paranoid."

He laughed, something she had desperately missed, and he could see the fondness in her eyes. She thought to every single thing that ever made him smile, that ever produced a chuckle or a teasing grin. Whenever he did something right, whenever he came out on top, whenever he helped a friend. It was all in his nature to smile and to care and to be there for someone, anyone he trusted, and she liked—no, she loved seeing him smile again. She loved it, she needed it, she wanted it. Maybe she finally had it back. And as she thought more into it, she worried that she would lose it again. She had witnessed how important it was to her.

Her smile faltered as if she were thinking of something, something she had lost and had been missing greatly. "You sure you're alright?"

"Huh?" she looked back at him. "Oh, yeah. Fine."

"Annabeth," He pursed his lips and stared at his lap. "Why are you worrying so much about me? I mean, I'm just… me."

She wanted so much to say that he was really worth much more than he could understand, but she didn't. She just told him something basic, simple. She told him that he was the first surviving child of the Big Three, aside from Nico—and he asked who that was, which she ignored—and he was the leader of their camp. People seemed lost without him. Certain people, certain girls.

"So, I'm some big shot at this camp?" He asked coyly.

"No," she said flatly. "Get that out of your head; you're just another camper. But people take it upon themselves to find someone else to rely on, and that's currently you. You have a lot of responsibility to these kids."

"Fun," he rolled his eyes. "I still don't get why."

"You will," she promised. "When I'm done with you, you'll understand. Have you had anything to eat?"

"Not really," he admitted, not wanting to impose, which was ridiculous even to him.

"I'll be back," she told him and, as she turned to leave, some force slammed into her. Something forced her to turn around, kiss him on the cheek, and tell him she was glad he was back. And she left to retrieve some nourishment.

Uh-huh, some fluff for the people lacking their daily dose.