C l i c k


Seven months after a war to end or save modern civilisation, Annabeth Chase was labouring under the impression that she was in a serious relationship. As it turns out, she's not. Not even close. Why? Because she hasn't had the Click.

She doesn't know what it is. To be honest, she's never even heard of it. All she knows is that she wants it, she's got two weeks to get it - and she's going to get it, whatever the cost.

~ moderate language ~ minor sexual references ~ TLO spoilers ~


Song choice - 'Here With Me' by Dido

Dedicated to all those who've messed it up. That's me included. I'm sorry this took so long.

~*NOTE - Look out for a line from the PJO film hidden in here. First person to spot it gets virtual blue cupcakes.*~

C h a p t e r S e v e n ~ A n A c c i d e nt A n d A n E m e r g e n c y


"Scuse me! Sorry!" She winced as she squeezed between the people crowding the check-in desk, ignoring the grunts and shouts of indignation as she pushed through the rabble of people spilling out into the airport's entrance. The lights from an overhead flight notification board caused her to squint as she ploughed on, tripping over a bag at the feet of a young holiday-maker. "Sorry, I really am in a hurry – sorry, sorry, sorry –"

JFK was heaving. Rain pounded the windows, glass rattled by thunder, as reams upon reams of winter-sun seekers milled around in the main entrance; suited businessmen clutching formidable-looking briefcases, and excitable day-trippers crowding around the information bureau, clumped in busy little groups and chattering loudly amongst themselves. Overhead, a tinny woman's voice echoed from the speaker system. The airport staff were working frantically behind the counter on which Annabeth leant, panting. There were hundreds of them typing hurriedly into their keyboards, barking instructions at each other and dragging weighty baggage over the desk to the heavily-laden conveyer belts in unison. The scene gave the distinct impression of a setting likely to dissolve into anarchical chaos at any moment, and Annabeth had to raise her voice in order to be heard.

"I need a ticket to San Francisco."

The woman behind the desk raised her head from her computer screen. "Excuse me?"

Annabeth drummed her fingers impatiently on the counter. The woman surveyed her, her nostrils flaring critically. Annabeth thought of the tear tracks on her cheeks, and she made a desperate attempt to wipe them hastily away as she repeated: "I need a ticket to San Francisco. It's urgent."

"Can I get a please, young lady?" asked the woman, raising an unamused eyebrow. With her high cheekbones and dark, severe looking hair-cut, she was not the kind of woman who oozed warmth and maternal passivity.

"Look, I don't really have the time – oh, fine, please, then," Annabeth said irritably, catching sight of the woman's pouting expression. The woman nodded curtly, turning once again to her computer screen. She typed a few digits.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure that we have a flight available for you."

"What do you mean, 'you're not sure you have a flight available' for me?"

"There are no available flights for you we can offer–"

"Yeah, I got that part, thanks," Annabeth said, cold sarcasm dripping from her words. She narrowed her eyes. "Just tell me straight - is there a flight or isn't there?"

"Well, there is a flight leaving in about ten minutes," the woman said slowly, scrolling down on the monitor, "but there's some doubt as to whether it will be flying, the weather seems to be getting worse. And also, a ticket on this flight will cost one and a half thousand dollars."

One and a half thousand dollars.

"Oh, for the gods' sake..."

Annabeth closed her eyes. She turned away from the desk, running a hand through her hair. Of all the days, of all the times she really needed things to run smoothly... Come on, Annabeth, think!

"Young lady, is there anything else I can do for you?"

Athena, help me, she prayed. She turned back to the woman at the desk. "Look. I don't want to seem like a real pushy bitch here, but are you sure there aren't any flights out to Frisco tonight?"

"I can only reiterate, young lady, there are no available flights out of New York tonight."

"And you're one hundred per cent sure?"

"Miss, I know there are no flights, I've just checked my computer!"

A deep voice to Annabeth's left said, "Check again."

Annabeth turned, startled at the interruption. Her eyes trailed sky-ward, and the voice found a body.

There was a man stood beside her – a man whom, she was sure, had not been stood there moments earlier. He was tall – very tall - and dressed in a dark crisp suit that looked like it cost more than a (god-damn-fricking-stupid) plane ticket to (god-damn-fricking-really-stupid) San Francisco. He had a neatly-trimmed black beard and clear, unblemished skin that wrinkled slightly at the forehead, as if the man spent most of his time frowning at someone-or-other. He took a stride forward to the counter, placing both hands on the desk carefully. Strong hands.

Annabeth blinked.

The woman looked up at the stranger. Her eyes dimmed somewhat – just for a moment – before she blinked, turning back to her computer and murmuring, "Look, I really don't think there is any chance of getting you to San Francisco tonight, but I can check again if you really –"

The man's fingertips glowed blue. Annabeth froze.

"I..." The woman stopped. Her eyes narrowed slowly, darting from side to side as she read the screen's content. She clicked the mouse a few more times, her mouth slightly ajar.

Her heart was in her mouth. "Is there a flight?"

"Why...yes, I think there is..." The woman looked baffled. She glanced over her shoulder and called over to her co-worker: "Jim... Jim, will you come look at this?!"

"Look!" There was an exclamation from a waiting holiday-maker over the other side of the large entrance area. Annabeth span around to see a group of bewildered tourists pointing up at the darkening sky outside, with more and more astonished looking faces joining the gathering throng as they marvelled at the swirling sky through the glass.

"The clouds are vanishing! I mean, actually vanishing, can you see, over there! –"

"- and look, the rain's stopping – honey, you gotta see this, the weather was god-awful a moment ago –"

"- the wind's died down, I swear it, don't tell me I'm talking crap, dear, I can see it, in the sky!"

" - oh-my-god, that's like so freaky! Like something out of like, Bruce Almighty or something! It's so cool–"

The woman behind the desk coughed loudly. She was stood, shaking her head bemusedly in the direction of the screen, looking mystified. She paused, regaining her composure, before turning to her customers and saying in a quiet voice, "I can assume, therefore, that you would like a seat on this flight? I think there are a couple of seats left, if you'd like me to –"

"Yes! Yes, that would be great –"

"- then that'll be fifteen-hundred dollars, then, please."

Annabeth's face fell.

Shit.

A telephone a little way down from the desk Annabeth was being served from began to ring. The woman glanced sideways at it, before turning to Annabeth and saying, "Sorry, I just have to get this call – it won't be long, don't worry."

She went off to answer the call.

The man to Annabeth's left shifted slightly. She had momentarily forgotten he was even there. He looked down at her somewhat dubiously, and for the first time, she looked into the eyes of the stranger. They were blue; electric blue; sky blue.

Thalia blue.

He nodded curtly at her, and in a low rumbling voice muttered, somewhat accusingly: "Your mother owes me."

And then he was gone.

Annabeth blinked once more.

The receptionist strode back over to the desk. "So – the seats for the flight, yes?"

"I - " Get it together. "Yes, but I don't... I don't really have the –" Annabeth felt slightly disorientated; her eyes were fixed to the spot where the man had vanished from.

She slipped her hand into the pocket of her jacket. She frowned. She withdrew her hand. And then she put it back in the pocket again.

Now, Annabeth Chase wasn't generally used to handling large quantities in cash. But even without looking she was pretty sure she had several curled-up hundred dollar bills tucked neatly in the pocket of her jacket.

"Miss? The money? For the flights?"

"I..." She swallowed. "Yes, I... I think I have it here."

She took out the money and placed it gingerly on the desk. The woman took it, clicking a button on her computer, and counted it out quickly in front of her. She paused.

"There seems to be some mistake."

Annabeth felt cold. Please, don't catch me out. Because if you ask me to explain, I'm screwed.

"This is enough money for two tickets," said the woman, frowning down at the money. "Are you flying with another person, young lady?"

"No, I'm not, it's just me –"

"Annabeth!"

She turned. To her great surprise, Sally Jackson, looking windswept and dishevelled, hurtled towards her, a look of obvious relief flooding her features. She looked as if she had dressed in a hurry – her jacket was buttoned up wrong with her sleeves lopsided, her shoes slipping off her heels, the strap of her shirt tumbling away from her neckline. When Sally caught up with her, she gripped tightly at Annabeth's jacket sleeve. She looked exhausted.

"Annabeth, I can't tell you - how glad – found you - getting so worried –"

Sally leant forward on her knees in an attempt to catch her breath. The people in the queue behind regarded her with disdained expressions, but Annabeth ignored them pointedly. Sally was still attempting to speak: "One minute – you were there and the next - you were gone –"

Annabeth felt the hot flush of shame burn on her cheeks.

After all the trouble Sally had gone to, for her to just take off like that... It hadn't even occurred to her what Sally must have thought as she stormed from her party. She hung her head in shame. What had she been thinking, leaving New York without even letting anyone know?!

No, that's sort of the point, Annabeth, she thought scathingly to herself. You weren't thinking.

Sally was now stood, her breath slowly returning to normal pace.

"Ms Jackson, I'm so sorry –"

And then Sally did something that surprised her even more than her arrival. She gave Annabeth a tight hug, before pulling away, surveying her and saying, "Sweetie, what are you apologizing for?"

Annabeth's jaw fell open.

"I – because I didn't let you know!" she exclaimed, startled. "I was stupid! You should – you should be yelling at me, because I shouldn't have just run off like that from your party, and I didn't even say goodbye or thank you for inviting me before I left and then I just vanished and you have every right in the world to go ape at me–"

"Annabeth." Sally smiled, gripping her arm firmly. "It's okay. Your step-mom's already called me, she asked to me to make sure you were alright. She's a bit distressed, and she's got herself all worked up about your dad, and now she's worried about you, too. And Percy told me you'd gone in a cab and I took a guess that I might just find you here and hurtled at about ninety-miles-an-hour down the highway – and here you are! I didn't come here to yell at you, sweetie - I came to make sure you were safe. "

Annabeth blinked. "Ms Jackson, I really – I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything. Come on, dear, we're getting you a flight."

"You're not going to try and stop me?"

Sally looked bewildered. "Why on earth would I do that?! You need to be with your dad, sweetheart. If it was me, I'd be doing the same thing. But I do have one condition."

"What's that?"

"I'm coming with you. You're not doing this on your own, dear. I'm here to help."

Annabeth wasn't generally one for public displays of affection, but at that precise moment in time she was flooded with an overwhelming desire to envelope Sally Jackson in an enormous hug. Worried about missing the flight, she instead settled for nodding quickly and turning away, concentrating all her efforts on keeping a tight rein on whatever was threatening to burst from her person.

She blamed the emotional upheaval of the evening as the reason her eyes were filled with tears.

The woman behind the desk looked from Annabeth, to Sally, and back again. "So, to clarify," she said, looking slightly drained. "Two tickets to San Francisco?"

Annabeth glanced at Sally, who nodded reassuringly. They paid and exchanged passports. The woman peered over the edge of the desk.

"Do you have any baggage?"

For the first time all evening, Annabeth had to smile. "That's a definite yes."

The woman raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as she shuffled around with tickets. "Here are your boarding passes and your passports," she said, handing them across the counter. "Head for security, and then it's Gate 13, okay? Have a safe trip. And –" She hesitated, looking as if she were toying on the edge of a dilemma. "Well, I know it's not really my place, but – but I hope everything goes well with your father."

Annabeth met her eyes. "Me too," she said, and she could taste the lingering sadness of the words on her tongue.


Just been told abt ur dad. Call me.


She got his message as they were flying over Chicago. She read the text once, re-read, and then turned off her cell.

She didn't need this. Not now. Right at this moment, her dad needed her more.

She ran a hand through her hair. The adrenaline of the airport had worn off, and she was left feeling tired and worn, anxiety clawing painfully at her insides. She sighed.

For the duration of the flight, Sally had been hell-bent on making sure Annabeth was quite alright. Her chaperone had taken to asking her how she was, how she was doing, if needed anything, at fifteen minute intervals. Annabeth refused to resent these interruptions, however much she wanted to; her gratitude to Sally for accompanying her overwhelmed any irritation she could feel towards the woman's kind spirit. When Sally went to the bathroom, however, she allowed herself one sigh of relief and turned her head to the window.

She pressed her forehead against the pane. It was cold - painfully cold - but she disregarded this small insignificance with bitter nonchalance. Then, when no-one was around to see, she closed her eyes and let a single tear trickle down her cheek.

Just the one. It seemed to help, somehow. A small indulgence.

When Sally came back, she wiped it hastily away and answered her questions with a flourish.

I'm fine. Really. Don't worry about me. I'm doing great.

The lies felt like stomach ache. But she knew the truth would hurt so much more.


Song choice - 'How To Save A Life' by The Fray

The hospital had been lit like a beacon.

"Dad! Dad!"

She hurtled down the corridor. The hospital was bustling, and when she burst into the ward she was out of breath, panting as she threw herself from bed to bed, searching frantically.

"Where is he?"

"Out of the way!"

A tall doctor barked out the hasty instruction at her from across the room. He was clutching a hospital trolley, and swivelled it around hastily as his colleagues joined to help. She jumped to the side. The trolley was pushed hurriedly from the window of the ward and towards the open double doors – the doctors were scribbling frantically on pads, murmuring meaningless medical jargon under their breath and urging other visitors out of the way. The rapid beating of hospital equipment sounded all around. Annabeth stretched out, tapping the doctor who had spoken on the shoulder.

"Sir, I'm looking for a Dr Chase, he's supposed to be in this –"

The doctor glanced at her over his shoulder. His face was etched with concern. "This is him," he said shortly, the trolley moving past Annabeth rattled and carried on through the door.

Annabeth's heart lurched. She ran to catch up with the moving party, trying to spy a glance of the patient lying immobile on the gurney. "Please, is he okay?"

"Miss, I need to get this trolley through here as quickly as possible –"

"I'm his daughter!" she said fiercely, speeding up so she was a little ahead of the doctor, "You've got to tell me – where are you taking him?!"

"Surgery," said another doctor. He spoke quietly, but Annabeth clung to his words as if each one were a lifeline, "He needs coronary artery bypass surgery, it's the only way we're going to be able to clear the artery so that the blood can flow back to the heart – the artery's become congested, very congested. Did you say you were his daughter?"

"Yes!"

"Could you answer me a few questions?" The doctor nodded to a colleague, who raised his pen, ready to write as dictated. "Did this man – your dad – have difficulties with high cholesterol?"

"Yes, she said quickly, the other doctor scribbling quickly away, "yes, he'd been having loads of trouble with it, his physician had been telling him to tone down the fatty foods but – but I never thought -"

"And had he been prescribed statins? Taking them regularly, as advised?"

"I –"

And in one spiralling sickening moment, the conversation she'd had with her father, only a day or so earlier, came flooding back to her.


"Dad, can we talk about this some other time? Only I've got to go do something...just eat the food you've been told to eat, get a bit more exercise and stick to the statins, okay? Love you, Dad, I'll talk to you –"

"Oh, not those silly statins. Ridiculous super drugs, they don't really work, no matter what they say."

"Dad, you have been taking your statins, haven't you?"

"Well, I've taken them a few times... They do cause unpleasant belching sometimes, dear, which especially in polite company isn't really what you'd want."

"Dad, I'm going to have to go now -"

"Alright, dear, just one more thing –"

"- talk to you later, okay? Okay – bye, Dad, say hi to Bobby and Matthew and Sunita for me – take your tablets, eat the right stuff – bye!"


She felt sick.

Why didn't I do something?

"No." Her voice was little more than a whisper, hoarse with the sudden realization of her fatal mistake. "No, he hadn't been taking them, he said – he said he didn't like them... Oh my god, this is all – this is all my fault, if I'd have listened -"

"It's not uncommon for sufferers of high cholesterol to stop taking their statins, especially with some having unpleasant side-effects," the doctor said benevolently, but his face looked anxious, "but I'm afraid now the only option is going to be high-risk surgery, there's no other choice."

"And will he –" She swallowed back the uncomfortable lump in her throat. "Will he make it?"

The doctor looked down at her, and his gaze softened. "It's too early to jump to any conclusions yet," he said, "but don't worry. Your dad's in good hands. We'll keep you updated as soon as we know anything more."

"Thank you," she said earnestly. The trolley sped off, round a corner and out of sight. She stood, staring at the corridor her father had just disappeared down with a vacant, dazed expression.

If there's a God, I'll wake up any minute now and this will all be a really, really shit dream.

She wandered around the hospital aimlessly. Under the pretence of trying to find the waiting room, she found herself tracing aimless patterns around the different floors; she found her step-mother, her step-brothers and Sally in a nearby waiting room quite by accident, and for a moment wished she could keep moving, left alone to her own thoughts.

"Oh, Annabeth."

Her step-mother stepped forward, her arms outstretched. Sunita hugged her tightly. Annabeth tentatively tapped her on the back – moments of affection and intimacy between her and her step-mother were few and far between, and although their relationship was, undoubtedly, much closer than it had been, such situations of warmth were still somewhat of an irregularity. She pulled away, giving a weak smile to Sally, who was stood in the queue to the main desk.

Her step-brothers were curled up on the seats nearby, snoring quietly. Bobby's arm hung listlessly down from the edge of the chair. She went and sat beside them, wishing she, too, could close her eyes and forget the night's events. She glanced at the clock – it was already five-thirty in the morning.

She turned to Sunita. "How are you?"

"Oh... I've been better." Sunita gave a watery sort of chuckle. "It came as a bit of a shock, I was panicking and screaming – I'm sorry I was in such a state when I called you, I was...well, I wasn't quite right."

"How about Bobby and Matt, are they coping okay?"

"Well enough, I think, given the circumstances. They're exhausted," said Sunita sadly, sitting on the other side of the sleeping boys and brushing Matthew's hair motherly from his face. "They've been through a lot tonight, I thought I'd let them sleep."

Annabeth nodded. Sunita studied her carefully. "You look tired," she said, meeting Annabeth's gaze. "You should sleep, too, y'know. He won't be out of surgery for ages yet."

"Wouldn't be able to sleep," she mumbled, glancing down at her shoes. "I want to be awake if anything happens."

A silence fell between the two women. Annabeth watched as Sally spoke with the nurse over at the desk, a cold numbness slowly washing over her. The dull glow of the city lights pressed themselves to the drawn drapes, and Annabeth's heart seemed to ache. New York seemed so far away – so very, very far away.

"I have to say..." Sunita broke the quiet hesitantly, her voice edged with trepidation. "I was a little surprised Percy isn't with you. Is he here, or - ? I haven't seen him in a while, I do hope he's alright -"

Stop talking. Stop talking now.

"I supposed – well, I assumed –"

Annabeth closed her eyes. Sunita's voice trailed away, an icy pause ensuing.

"Annabeth?"

She drew a deep breath, fighting the welling tears. They stung, raw and obstinate, but she pushed them away. She opened her eyes slowly.

Sunita looked concerned.

"Is he – ?"

"He's..." She swallowed the heavy lump in her throat. I will not cry over you. "He's not coming. He's..." She could say no more, choosing instead to look away, her head turned from Sunita's prying eyes. "What else d'you want me to say? We're not – I don't –"

Sunita interrupted: "Annabeth. It's okay." Her voice was soft. "You don't have to explain."

She reached out, across the two boys, and took Annabeth's hand. Annabeth faltered uncertainly, before letting her fingers curl slowly around Sunita's. Sunita gave them a comforting squeeze. The two shared a hesitant smile.

"Annabeth?"

It was Sally. She turned to look at her over her shoulder.

"I've just spoken to the nurse," Sally said, "and she says operations like your dad's can take anything up to five hours, give or take, as long as there are no complications. Are you okay to wait that long?"

Sunita paused. Annabeth could see dark circles hanging under her weary eyes, pockmarked by the tell-tale smudge-marks of yesterday's mascara. "Well, I'd rather stay..." she said, sounding troubled, before regarding the two boys in front of her. "But I suppose I'd better head home so the boys can get some sleep, they can't stay here all night. Annabeth, are you - ?"

"If there's anything I can do to help, Mrs Chase, please, don't hesitate to ask," said Sally obligingly, gesturing to the sleeping Bobby and Matthew. "If you want to stay here, I'd be more than happy to take Bobby and Matthew back to your house, see they're all right, if you want – Annabeth, too, if she wants to go home."

"No." I left home back in New York, she thought forlornly. "No, I want to stay here."

"Well, if you're sure... Sally, it's alright, I'll take Bobby and Matt home, I could probably do with getting changed and taking a shower at home." Sunita pursed her lips. "Would you mind staying with Annabeth here at the hospital? I know it's a big ask, but I -"

"No, not at all!"

Sunita smiled sadly at Sally. "Thank you. Thank you, I really do appreciate it – you bringing Annabeth here, you helping us out now; I can't tell you how much –"

"Please, don't worry about it – you just concentrate on making sure your sons are alright," said Sally. Bobby was already starting to stir, his eyelids flickering against Annabeth's elbow. "Annabeth and I will stay here, we'll call you if anything happens, okay?"

"You're a life-saver," said Sunita flatly, shaking Sally's hand as Bobby and Matthew sat up groggily. "Boys, come on, I know you're tired – we're going home, okay? Say goodbye to Annabeth and Ms Jackson, then we'd best be off –"

"Bye Annabeth," said Bobby sleepily, his eyes still half-closed, "Nice to –" He yawned widely, "-see you again..."

"Bye, Ms Jackson!" Matthew said, looking as drained as Annabeth felt. They gave a parting wave and headed for the door – just as they were leaving, Matthew could be heard saying confusedly to his mother, "Who's Ms Jackson?"

Sally smiled, sitting down beside Annabeth. "I just wish," she said, sounding wistful, "that for once, someone would call me Sally."

Annabeth tried to smile, but the ache in her stomach – an odd mix of loneliness and frustration and a thousand other emotions she could probably name if she wasn't so fricking tired – won out against her desire to stay positive.

The waiting room was nearly empty. On the faces of all who remained, there was bereavement and anxiety; some seeking solace in the comfort of others; some sat alone and apart from the murmured conversations and warm embraces of family members; some tearful, others thoughtful. Some were, as Bobby and Matthew had been, curled up in deep slumber, resting on the laps of the willing. Annabeth glanced down, scuffing her shoe slowly along the floor. She felt oddly self-conscious, but a glance down at the dress she was still wearing explained her discomfort. She wondered how she would be able to get her clothes back to her classmates now – or indeed, who would explain to school where she was when she didn't turn up for curfew? She groaned inwardly, leaning forward and pressing her palms to her forehead.

When did this become my life?

"It's going to be okay, y'know," Sally said quietly. She nodded into her hands, before dragging them away and clenching them into fists. "All of it. I know... I know it seems like the end of the world right now, but it's going to get better. I promise."

She put her hand on Annabeth's shoulder, and Annabeth nodded. "I know."

She was so tired, so strung out emotionally, so empty, she didn't even care about lying to Sally any more.


Annabeth, I know u'll have a lot on ur mind with ur dad, but pls call me back. Need 2 know ur ok. Worried abt u. We need 2 talk this out.


Paul had a problem.

He'd cleared up most of the remnants of the party – the food scattered about the apartment, the streamers hanging from the wall-drapings, the lop-sided glasses with wine trickling down onto surfaces which were generally best left clean. He'd turned off the stereo and the karaoke machine, and he was just about to go check in any of the other rooms for any irregularities that may or may not have been caused by Mike, the drunken apartment block super.

No, the tidying-up hadn't been much of a problem.

Sally had been gone for hours. It would be futile to deny that Paul had been more than a little concerned when she'd given him a garbled explanation about going to the airport and pressed a hurried kiss to cheek – the weather, after all, had been severe and hardly ideal for flying a few thousand miles across the country - but since the weather had turned, almost miraculously, and Paul's worries had dissolved somewhat. It wasn't like he was incapable of handling a party situation; in his college days, he'd gained plenty of experience (more than he'd care to admit), and as a result wasn't too troubled with the idea of running shop all on his own.

Nope, Sally's absence wasn't the problem either.

The problem was in the kitchen.

He stood, a little awkwardly, in the doorway that separated the kitchen area to the living room, and looked at the problem. He glanced at his watch, pulling a pained expression. It was late – later than he'd thought, anyway.

"Percy."

The problem looked up.

Paul took a hesitant step forward. He frowned, taking a moment to reconsider. And stepped back again.

His relationship with Percy had never really been much of an issue before. He'd never allowed himself to worry about the concern of having a teenage step-son, and somehow (perhaps as a result of this decision, or perhaps not) the issue had never really arisen. This was, he thought idly, something he should really appreciate. He knew plenty of men around his age that fought and clashed constantly with their adolescent step-children - and they didn't even have to cope with the daily struggles of ADHD and dyslexia. But instead, Percy and he enjoyed a relationship of mutual understanding and respect, founded on their shared affection to the other occupant of the Jackson's apartment (and a common interest in basketball, as had later been discovered).

But basketball wasn't going to save him now.

He surveyed Percy carefully. Far be it for him to judge, but the kid had – well, he had looked better. In fact, he wasn't sure he'd ever seen Percy looking worse.

He decided to go for the kill.

"Percy, it's six o'clock in the morning." That's good, Paul, he thought to himself. Giving him a taste of reality. Bringing him back to normality. You're doing well. "You look like you could do with some sleep."

Diplomatic, but firm. He should get a medal.

"I'm not sleeping until she calls."

Hmm. Obstacle 1.

Paul thought about it. No reason why he shouldn't be able to side-step this. "She's probably at the hospital," he said reasonably, "and she won't be able to call you until she gets somewhere else, if she's busy with her dad. Maybe the hospital doesn't allow cell phones."

Percy didn't seem to have an answer for that one. He hesitated. He was stood at the sink – cold water still running, though the washing up had been left to dry in the rack. Paul watched as his step-son's outstretched hand approached the stream of running water. Carefully, his fingertips traced absent patterns in the flow. The water followed obediently, and Paul couldn't help but gape, fascinated, as miniature figures emerged from the faucet – white foamed horses, sea-shells and ornate flowers, feathers and blinking eyes and faces Paul felt he should recognize, but couldn't quite put a name to.

"Maybe she just hasn't got your messages yet."

"Mmm." Percy's eyes were on the blossoming creatures, his expression unfocused and vague.

"Maybe she just doesn't know what to reply with."

"I guess."

Paul sighed, faced with the difficult choice as to what to say next.

He scratched his head. He was a realist – never one to give false hope where it would do more damage than good (as a teacher, he'd learnt the hard way that being tactful wasn't always going to end happily). And after taking one long look at the teenage boy stood slumped in front of him, Paul was pretty sure his step-son couldn't take much more disappointment

"Percy," he said uneasily, lowering his voice and saying as kindly as he could, though he regretted his words almost instantly: "Percy, have you thought that... well, maybe she just doesn't want to reply."

Percy's hand slipped, and sliced through the head of the foaming sea horse. He stood, perfectly still.

The silence that ensued was agonizing.

And finally Percy turned to him. "Tell me what to do."

Paul looked at him. Percy's expression was hollow – pleading, bitter, regretful. His green eyes were searching. Paul had never known his step-son as a child, but as he looked at the boy in the kitchen with a broken heart he seemed to see a much younger child, somehow; confused and lost, turning to face of the elder for guidance.

Problem was, Paul had no idea what to say. "Percy, I..."

"You've got to know how to help me." Percy's desperate words were like salt to a wound as the boy turned, pacing the kitchen with restless impatience. "Paul, you know I wouldn't ask if I had another option. Please. Help."

"Percy, I.." He was faltering helplessly. You're asking me for advice about love, kid? You came to the wrong guy.

"You're years older than me," Percy said fervently. Thanks for reminding me, sport, he thought idly. "You've got to have – I don't know, more experience or something. You've got to."

He sighed.

"Percy, I don't know what delusion you're under that I know anything about..." He paused, conscious that the wrong word could easily upset in the fragile situation. "Well, about relationships, I suppose. I spent my teenage years cooped up in a library reading the classics. I never had to deal with half the stuff you've been through when I was your age, kiddo."

"But you have some experience of...like, dating and stuff?" Percy looked hopeful. "Don't you?"

Percy smiled at him kindly. "You want the truth, Percy?"

He nodded.

"I messed up everything with every woman I've ever been with. Well, save your mom. In my twenties and thirties..." He sighed. "All I did was make mistake after mistake. My first marriage was a disaster."

"You've been married before?"

He nodded briskly. "Yeah. Three years. Three very long, very...shall we say, awkward years."

Percy looked confused. "What –" He glanced at the ceiling for a moment. "What, uh, went wrong?"

Good question. "I couldn't communicate. She quite openly communicated about everything I was doing wrong." The sigh that followed was sour. "I screwed it up. Big time."

Percy glanced over at him. "What happened? In the end?"

"She left me. In the end." The confession didn't come easily. His feigned nonchalance seemed painfully apparent when he heard the words aloud. "For my best friend, as it turns out. Twice the man I could ever be, who could give her more than I could ever have hoped to offer." He gave a wry, humourless laugh. "It's not like me to harbour judges, but if I saw that guy today..." He scowled. "I'd known him since high school, y'know. And then he stabbed me in the back. Came home from an apostrophes convention and there he was -"

"Sounds like a douche-bag."

"Hmm?"

"Your best friend." Percy's expression was one of disgust. "He sounds like an asshole."

Paul chuckled. "Well, yeah. Not so great a friend after all."

"How old were you when you got married? The first time, I mean."

"Twenty."

Percy's expression was an odd mix of – well, Paul wasn't even sure what was going through the boy's head at that precise moment in time. "You were young, then," he murmured, glancing quickly in Paul's direction for justification.

Paul nodded.

And quiet. Paul didn't like silence much – an irregularity in the teaching profession – but this one; well, he wasn't going to be the one to break. Ah, silence. Probably best defined as awkward. Possible synonyms: gauche, uncomfortable, ill-at-ease. Antonyms: relaxed, comfortable.

"Paul."

"Mmm?"

"So – do you think..." Percy twisted the dish cloth slowly between his palms. "Do you think it would be crazy to be...I don't know, to even be thinking about being in a serious relationship if you're young?"

"Well..." Paul moved his head in a non-committal jerk. "I suppose it depends."

"On what?"

"On who the people are, I guess," said Paul uneasily. "Why they're both in the relationship to start with. Whether they can see the relationship lasting. What they've – what they've been through. Together." He grimaced. He'd docked marks on student's test papers before for using those kind of clichés. You hypocrite, Paul Blofis. He pursed his lips. "Percy, I... I don't mean to pry, but I'm going to have to ask – does this have any bearing on what's happened with Annabeth tonight?"

He was surprised to get an answer.

"Honestly? I don't even know." Percy gave a hollow laugh, but the cold annoyance in his demeanour wasn't something Paul found the slightest bit funny. "Gods, this sucks, y'know? Like, twelve hours ago I was on top of the world. And now it's just all so..."

"Complicated?"

"Mmm."

And suddenly, there was a sharp clatter; the sound of Percy slamming shut the cabinet draw with some force, his body tense with frustration.

"For the gods' sakes!" he exclaimed heatedly. Paul watched him closely, surprised by the sudden burst of anger. "This isn't how it's supposed to go, okay? All my life, I've been pissed because I've had to improvise everything, because I could never be sure what was coming around the freaking corner – and now, now I have something that I want to be there for the rest of my life, and I act like such a nostalgic dick that I can't even have the guts to commit to something that actually matters!" He threw himself down on the kitchen stool in anguish, pulling loose the cufflinks angrily and stuffing them deep in his trouser pockets. He leant forward on his elbows, hands covering his face.

Paul stood, looking on in a slightly stunned stupor.

The apology came quicker than he expected.

"I'm sorry." It was muffled by the hands across his mouth, but the second was much clearer. "Paul, I'm sorry. I need to...to get a grip. I know."

"Percy, it's understandable –"

"That doesn't make it right." His step-son looked so ashamed. "Usually I can control it. Just sometimes – sometimes it's hard. Hard to keep my emotions in check, y'know?

Paul nodded mutely.

Percy moved over to the fridge, taking out a bottle of water and taking a small sip. "Maybe that social worker was right. I really should be on medication." Another wry, humourless laugh.

"You don't need medication just because you care about stuff, Percy." At last. A useful input. "I've known a lot of kids like you –"

Percy raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, not exactly like you – but kids who've got ADHD. And I've known a ton of kids who can't control their emotions over anything because of it. But you, you're controlled beyond belief. Getting angry, having a slip...that's human. And unfortunately there isn't any medication to help you with that."

His step-son's gaze was lost to the swirl of the dark New York city skyline. "I thought I knew."

"Knew what?" He felt so dense. You are a member of the teaching profession. And yet your attempts to have a decent conversation with a teenager have failed drastically. Your mom was right, he thought dully to himself. Teaching's not for you.

"I thought I knew what I wanted."

"And what do you want?"

His question was met by a silence – and before he knew it Percy was running through to the corridor and snatching a jacket from the coat hooks.

"Okay, you don't have to tell me!" Paul cried. Percy skidded back into the kitchen, heaving on his jacket and shoving items in his pockets – cell, keys, iPod, cash. "You don't have to walk out!"

"No! Paul, I've got it!" Percy sounded elated. "I've got to go!"

"Go where?!"

His face split into a wide grin. "San Francisco!"

Paul gaped.

"What on earth for?"

"To tell her what I want!" He'd never seen the boy look so buoyant. "She's got to listen to me. I've got to tell her, I've got to make her listen –"

"Percy, I don't think –"

"Then do what I do!" His step-son gripped his shoulders. "Don't think!"

And suddenly was Percy calling out a hasty goodbye and saying something about a thank you and a Pegasus and something that might have been about Zeus' blasting him out of the sky as the door slammed shut behind him.

Paul Blofis sat. Paul Blofis blinked. And Paul Blofis stood up again.

What the hell just happened?

He didn't understand any of this.

Screw it. Where's the Scotch?


Song choice - 'Everything Is Wrong' by Moby

"Annabeth!"

She glanced up from her cell, sliding shut the screen hastily and stowing the phone away in her pocket. "Yes?"

"It's your dad, he's out of surgery, he's –"

She was already on her feet, racing past the excitable Sally down the hospital corridor. She wove between gurneys and IV drips as she headed up to the ward.

"Annabeth! Annabeth, please, wait!"

Oh, gods, please let him be okay, let him be okay, please please please -

"Dad?"

She skidded into the ward. Breathing heavily, she approached the bed by the furthest window with a sudden wary caution that gripped her like a vice. Here, a man in a surgical gown lay, motionless – she came to rest at his head, the slow footsteps coming to a standstill.

She looked down at her father.

His eyes were closed. Dark circles hung like dusty curtains across his cheekbones – his face was pale and drawn.

For the first time in her life, it dawned on Annabeth just how old her father looked.

"It's...Annabeth, right?"

She jumped at the interruption, her nerves heightening her reactions. To her a reflief, it was a doctor who now approached the bed. She was startled to see how very young he looked - he couldn't have been more than twenty or so, with sandy-ish hair and a light tan, and yet he looked oddly suited to the white lab coat he wore. He looked at her with a small smile, and she almost blushed.

"Yeah, that's me." Her hand traced her father's pallid forehead. "Is he - ?"

"The surgery went well, don't worry," said the doctor, glancing down at her father. He looked almost curious, a little distracted, as he continued: "Everything went to procedure, but he needs to rest. We just need to see how he does over the next twelve hours or so, in case he suffers another heart attack. The surgery went so well, though, it's unlikely he'll have another – at least, for now."

"You were in the surgery?"

He nodded. She gave a weak smile which she hoped was conveyed as one of gratitude, unwilling to falter over incoherent apologies, but the doctor didn't seem to notice.

"So young."

She frowned, "Sorry?" I'm seventeen, thanks, buddy, she thought idly to herself. If I'd have wanted to be patronized, I'd have asked.

To her confusion, however, the doctor stared instead at her father. "He's just seems so - young," he said thoughtfully, and there was a peculiar depth to his expression as he frowned down at the sleeping Dr Chase. She didn't really know what to make of it.

"Sorry, I – um, I... I don't understand."

Only now did he meet her gaze. "Don't you?"

She knew the smile that followed.

The doctor glanced quickly out of the window, grimacing. "I'm nearly late. Well, no-one will notice a couple of minutes either way, I suppose... Who knows, maybe I'll even have time to grab a burrito on the way over." He gave her a small wink which she did not return, a little startled. "Hope everything goes alright with your dad."

She watched, bemused, as he gave a swift nod to no-one in particular, and then turned to make for the door. And as he walked away, she heard him slowly recite a peculiar arrangement of words under his breath:

Another job done

What would they do without me?

I deserve a raise.

And for the first time in hours, she smiled.


She wasn't smiling three hours later when the second heart attack struck, and she watched on in terror, screaming for help as she clung tightly to his hand.

It was a whisper, meant for no-one in particular.

I can't do this.


Chapter 8 - Coming soon...