AN: I'm sorry. About my lateness and about this chapter. You'll see what I mean. Hope you like it anyway!

Thank you to all my followers!

Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately.

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Picture of Us

There is a picture he always keeps on himself.

It's of the three of them, sitting on a wooden dock in Montauk, his and Sally's feet dipping in the cool water below. Back then, Percy was still too short to do the same, something that used to aggravate him to no end.

The thought still brings a smile to Poseidon's face, despite the ache in his chest.

Most days, it sits undisturbed in his shirt pocket, but sometimes, when things get especially tough, he takes it out, if only to remind himself what happiness looks like.

One of Sally's mortal friends took it. Poseidon doesn't remember who; in fact, he has a hard time remembering their faces or even their names. It doesn't matter.

He only cares about the two people smiling at him from the glossy surface of the picture.

Sally's long brown hair flies in front of her face and she holds up a hand to keep it down. The sun reflecting on the sea makes her blue eyes sparkle and she has that same bright, untameable grin on her face that accompanied her to the end of her days.

One of her arms is around Percy's shoulders. He sits between the two of them, still looking slightly discombobulated from his first summer at Camp and his first quest. Back then, Poseidon idealistically hoped it would be his last, too. Things went a bit differently, but he doesn't mind. Percy didn't, either, or at least that's what he likes to think.

While Sally looks straight at him, Percy and the Poseidon in the picture stare at each other. They are both smiling and there is a soft curve to his lips that Poseidon didn't think he was able to produce. He certainly isn't anymore – he never looks at anyone else quite so tenderly.

He has lived a long life. After a while, memories tend to get mixed up. Events easily lose themselves in the labyrinth of a mind that spans millennia. He has seen empires rise and fall, countless people die for something that, to him, lasted barely longer than their short life. He used to think their battles were meaningless; that their sacrifice was an act of stupidity and their existence little more than dust in the wind.

Not anymore. Not since Percy and Sally. Isn't it ironic that two of those short-lived people taught him the value of time? Oh, how easily it slipped through his fingers just when he needed more of it.

Every memory of his family stands out sharply in his mind – from the first time Sally spoke to him, to Percy's last smile. And in between those two events, his life with them stretches pathetically short.

He remembers that day, too. Percy was still angry with them – angry that they hadn't told him the truth and that their lies had almost cost both him and his mother their life – but he mellowed a bit when they got to Montauk and Sally convinced him to take a picture, just the three of them.

Percy leaned into him just as the click of the camera went off, smiling, and that was when Poseidon realized he was forgiven, after all.

It's still one of the happiest days of his life.

That's what he thinks about when their absence gets so heavy he fears it will crush him. That day on the beach, Percy's smile, Sally's laugh, the way his son fell asleep against his shoulder that same evening…

Love leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth and in his heart, but it's still the best thing he has ever felt.

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Somewhere in the whole wide world, two souls smile without knowing why as the salty scent of the sea blows through their open windows.

Love always finds a way.