I must have wandered off into La La Land. I guess it slipped my mind that, yes, I actually do have to update occasionally. Sorry, again. I really like this story but my series of cliché remakes occupied my hands and mind momentarily. Check that out if you're in the mood.

So, yeah. I guess I have to get back to one of my favorite stories to write.

.:*:.

.:Moments:.

She sat in solemn contemplation as to where she had left off and where she should really pick up the story. The idea that she would only have to go through their first quest together before he truly remembered had somehow lodged itself in her mind, being the deciding factor that she would pick out the seemingly useless details that meant a world of pain to her. She would take her time ensuring he remembered perfect images and snapshots of what had happened; she wouldn't let herself crack a joke based on their time spent together only for it to be lost on him.

And so with only a clip of breath she picked up, his eyes putting up a struggle to stay open as it had before he dozed off.

"Uh…"

Very intelligent, Annabeth.

"Oh, yeah." She mentally reared back and smacked herself across her cheek for just how stupid she just sounded. This Seaweed Brain of hers would never let her forget it. "The Oracle."

He wasn't exactly a big fan of Oracles and their strange abilities, based loosely on his knowledge of how the Roman Oracle worked, so hearing that word uttered in such a blasé manner threw him off. None of the Romans even truly appreciated her—the Oracles—presence so much as felt the need to respect her powers.

Then, of course, his slightly psychotic—and incredibly unnerving—visions picked up full force with four balding, greasy, gas-passing men all gathered around a table playing cards, one of them being easily recognized as his ex step-father Gabe. They were choking on cigars and scowling into pretzel bowls all at once, beer cans littering the open space upon the table and there was a faint hum of background noise. One by one they would turn to him, and one by one their mouths would move, no sound emanating. Green mist hung around them and steamed from their thick throats, hissing not evily so much as mystically. Power radiated from the oozing gas.

He glanced up only to notice Annabeth grimacing. She turned her face from him, her cheeks coloring slightly, her eyes glassing over to a point where he would've been worried she would cry had he not been so messed up with magic drugs.

"Luke's shoes."

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew this was a touchy subject. He couldn't be sure if they had recently discussed it; his mind was drawing a blank. He just knew, the way she looked at him seemed to scream with agony and pain and hurt, that this was the only subject that he used to dare not tread on.

In a desperate attempt to escape the weight of her gaze—and the fact that his head felt like it were made of lead—he glanced at the floor only to find a pair of old converse with two white bird's wings sprouting the sides, the magic item flopping around hopelessly.

Maia

It was a faint whisper but the voice was easily detectable. Or at least the gender. A deep, bass tone: definitely a male.

Or a really beefy female injected with testosterone.

Either way, he was still right or pretty dang close. This was probably the infamous Luke that was seemingly nice with something lurking in the distance that tore at his chest with a need to remember.

The image of a satyr being lugged down a hill sideways, those same demonic shoes strapped to his hooves, plagued his mind momentarily and he choked on laughter before bursting into a coughing fit. He managed to mutter Grover's name in response to Annabeth's quizzical, and offended, glare, to which they both busted out laughing. Safe for Percy who was more or less retching.

Annabeth cleared her throat and grinned. "Anaklusmos—Riptide."

Percy instinctively reached deep into his jean pockets and fingered the cheap ballpoint pen that was rolling along his thigh. "My dad gave it to me."

She simply nodded and prepared to move on to her next subject of interest when she noted Percy's light snore coming out between breathy sighs. His chin was resting on his chest ever-so-delicately and she was almost certain he would have a nasty drool stain from the knowledge she had collected of his sleeping habits.

It may have been out of pity for the shirt, or Annabeth was really just letting her soft spot for him affect her brain. Because it was late—way past curfew—and the harpies would be out and about. And he had to weigh more than ever considering he was now, simply put, a ragdoll. And she really just needed to go to bed. Not to mention the rules of two campers being alone.

But no.

She shouldered him, which was extremely difficult and awkward, considering he is the man in the relationship and she was exhausted, and started lugging her package out of the Big House to let him sleep back in his own bed for the first night in a long time.

The walk was nothing too extravagant. She stumbled once or twice and may have dropped him head-first on more occasions than that, and okay that may have happened in more than one mud puddle. But all-in-all she was proud that she had managed without banging him up too bad.

Getting into the cabin was the tricky part of the operation. While wrapping her arm across his waist that was perched as-far-from-weightless on her shoulder and trying to keep herself from tipping over by overshooting her balance technique, she had to fumble with the door handle that had always taken a few jiggle-it attempts.

She heaved a sigh of relief when she managed to slip him down onto his bed. Okay, she dropped him or heaved or threw him or whatever. He was laying down when she untied his shoes and threw them over her shoulder to the opposing side of the low abalone walls. She lugged his comforter from underneath him and pulled it just to his elbow, as he always liked it to be, and adjusted his arms over the sheets.

With a quick fluff to his pillow, she propped his head up and exhaled heavily, sitting at his bedside.

She studied that face, the face that she had embarrassingly been attracted to since they were twelve, despite her loathing of everything else about him. He had a light spray of freckles dotting across his nose that would've put even the cutest of seven-year-olds to shame and lashes thicker than any she had seen. Sun-kissed skin blazed a trail in her eyes. He was beautiful. Of course, she was biased.

But she was seeing past the physical aspects. The beauty that no one else seemed to really notice or even care for if they did take time to uncover were the laugh lines that were molding into place or the worrisome grooves etched in his forehead like he was in the grip of a terrible nightmare. She ran her fingers across these lines to smooth them, which ultimately relaxed the tension in his face.

That was compassion. He had that sort of thing hidden under the tough armor of Rome; he'd laughed in the face of death more than his fair share of times and then went along and entertained his friends even still. And he would sit and worry over what was going to happen to his friends and family and what they would do if he were to be killed tomorrow, then he'd kick back and turn flustered whenever she'd kiss him on the cheek like he was afraid he'd react wrong and scare her away. He thought about that stuff and it was clear on his face. He never tried to hide it.

And she realized that if she ever lost that face again she'd have to tear down every immortal and mortal alike until she found him so she could punch his arm and tell him to never leave her like that. Again times two.

She pressed her lips to his temple and swept out of the room, yawning as she slipped into her own cabin.

Okay, not entirely sure if I like this chapter or if my writing style was up to standards but I felt terrible for not updating. If this disappointed some (not including length; I realize it was short) please let me know and I may find some time to go back and edit.