I do not own PJO.

CHAPTER 6

I'll Wait For You

She just looks up at you, her grey eyes hopelessly lost. A crease appears between her eyebrows as she stares up at you with complete confusion.

Dread weighs you down as you say softly, "Hey Annabeth."

Your hand reaches up to gently trace a healing scratch on her cheek. She flinches away from you and you drop your hand from her face as if you've been burned.

She clears her throat several times before she can get speak, albeit thickly. It's almost funny how three words can shatter a heart into a million glass shards. "Who are you?" she asks softly. There's no trace of a joke in her voice, or her face. She's completely serious.

You've never been one for subtleties, always missed everything but the obvious, always blurted out what you wanted to say without giving much (or any) thought to the consequences of your actions until you couldn't take them back, so you say the first thing that comes into your head as a reply, because this can't be real, she must be bluffing, she has to remember you, she has to.

"What the Hades are you on about?" you say sharply.

She huffs a breath, then creaks out, "I asked you who you were. Is it too much of a bother to let me know your name? And what is this place anyway? Where's Chiron?"

You sit there in dumbfounded silence. Your mind is reeling, denying, anything to get away from this moment. Your hand is still holding hers, as you realize with a sting of hurt when she shakes it off.

"Why are you holding my hand?" she demands. "Who are you and where am I!?"

Your eyes are welling up and there's a baseball in your throat. Your emotional pain far outstrips any physical pain you could possibly have. It drums in your skull and numbs your body. Your voice wavers as you answer her, because she's Annabeth and she means everything to you and more, and she doesn't remember you, doesn't remember anything about you, doesn't remember what you and her had together.

"I'm Percy," you tell her, and your heart breaks again, because she knows, knew, more about you than you did, and here you are introducing yourself. "Percy Jackson."

"And where am I?" she asks impatiently.

"You're in the Argo ll," you say weakly.

"Which is?"

She doesn't know. She legitimately doesn't remember. "It's a flying ship. Leo built it."

She winces, grey eyes clouded with pain and confusion. Pride keeps her from crying out, but if the way her lips quiver is any indication, she wants to.

By instinct, you reach out and brush a stray golden curl out of her face, hushing her gently. You've forgotten that's she's forgotten.

She jerks instantly. You jump back, startled into reality.

She just sighs tiredly and turns her face away from you, seemingly realizing that she's not going to get anything more out of you. As for you, all the bones in your body seem to have deserted you and you sink against the hard chair, head tilted up.

Your mind is spinning, clouded with sadness and overflowing with pain. You close your eyes to fight the sting of tears and are confronted with image after image of Annabeth at her full glory, before and after she became yours.

Hair that shone like spun gold in the New York sun. Grey eyes that sparkled and danced, glowing with a wild fire. Bronze knife that glinted dangerously. Sweat and ripped clothes, injuries and uncertainty, rogue gods and goddesses, quest after quest after quest where the odds were almost nil and still you returned alive.

You fight to keep your breathing even. She doesn't need to know how much it hurts. It's like a physical wound, a knife that has lodged itself between your ribs and refuses to let go. It constricts your chest and chokes your windpipe.

You fight for breath. You put your head in your hands and attempt to stop panicking.

She's still here. She's still alive. It isn't too late. You still have another chance. That doesn't make it right or fair, because it isn't, it's not fair that this has happened, in fact, it's horribly unfair, but there is a glimmer of hope.

You might fall. This might not work out. She could choose someone else, move on and not even look twice at you, the person who saved her time and time again and loved her and whose fingers fit perfectly into hers. If that happened, you would fall and break and shatter and die, because you can't not live with her presence at your side. But as long as there's a chance, no matter how slim, you have to go for it with everything you have.

You take a long shuddery breath and prepare your heart to be shattered, then place your hopes and dreams and everything you are on the broken girl in the bed in front of you. And you start to speak.

"Um, Annabeth," you ask timidly.

She turns her head to face you and opens her eyes. The dull vacant grey stares hopelessly at you.

"What's the last thing you remember?" you ask. You're not expecting an answer, so you're surprised when she answers you, voice flat and toneless.

"I was in the Big House with Chiron. I was asking him if I could go on the quest that was leaving tomorrow. He told me I couldn't, that I has to wait for a child of the Big Three."

"How old are you?"

She furrows her eyebrows. "What kind of a question is that? I'm twelve, obviously. Can you just tell me where I am, please?"

You gulp. How are you supposed to answer her?

"You're not going to believe me," you say.

"I'll believe just about anything right now, to be honest."

And so you do. You talk until your throat is swollen, raw, and scratchy. With every word you speak, you can practically see her mental red flags going up, so when you finish, you're not surprised to hear her say, "I don't believe you," almost immediately after silence has befallen the room.

"I didn't think you would," you say heavily.

She shakes her head. Her eyes are frantic and lost.

"Just-go," she says. "Please-just leave me alone."

It takes too much effort to stand up, but you manage and begin the long trek back to your room.

"Bye," you say. "I'll see you in a bit."

She doesn't answer.

Your hand fumbles on the doorknob and suddenly you're out in the hallway, facing Piper and Hazel, who both look worried.

"What happened?" Piper asks. "We heard voices."

Hazel reaches out and takes hold of your battered wrist, keeping you grounded, holding you steady.

You take a few deep breaths and will your voice to not betray you. It does anyway. Your voice wavers and cracks as you answer her. "She doesn't remember. Not any of it."

You drop your eyes to the floor and force back the painful prickling of tears. You feel arms around you and you don't resist them, instead sinking gratefully into their combined warmth and protection. When you break apart, tears are running down Piper's face.

"Let's get you back to your room," Hazel says quietly, and you notice a telltale shiver in her voice. She's staying strong for you. You think vaguely that you must look like a mess, but then you are a mess.

They guide you back down the hall to your room and you don't protest. Every part of your body aches. Your limbs are lead weights. You limp along as best you can, and they don't say anything about the painfully slow pace, which you are grateful for.

They deposit you in your room, tuck you into bed and leave with whispered goodbyes, leaving the small lantern flickering, casting strange shapes along the walls.

You shift onto your side and stare at the red, orange, and gold shapes flitting across the wall. Tear tracks run down your cheeks, staining the cushion. A soaking wet spot the size of your outstretched hand has collected on the pillow by the time your exhausted mind has found a restless sleep.

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