Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy thinks her to be quite pretentious, though annoying her has it's benefits, and he's secretly starting to enjoy her presence. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.


0 1 1

SCORE ONE FOR ANNABETH
[ unedited ]

[ 7.23.17 date ]
[ 7,023 words ]


ANNABETH COULD NOT FEEL ANYTHING.

She faintly wondered if it was peculiar. This not feeling anything. She was used to not feeling anything, it was pretty much something that she had been taught from her childhood - and yet, this not feeling anything was something different. Something horribly different. This not feeling anything made her feel numb in a completely different way - it made her feel raw and silent and just unable to feel anything.

She wondered why she had done it. She wondered what would have happened if she hadn't. So what Percy had told her to - what had the man done to come to such an end? What had pushed her, in that split second, to make that decision without thinking?

She had taken a human life. That was - this was - she - she had no words. This was crazy. This was - this was not something she had ever meant to do. Ever. Not in her whole life. So why had she done it? What had urged her to pull the fucking trigger?

Annabeth leaned back in the velvet seat, keeping her hands from shaking. It took a whole lot of effort to keep them from shaking. She stared ahead, her eyes blank, her mind blank, but her chest heaving silently. She looked calm.

She was not calm. She found it very hard to breathe all of a sudden. She leaned to her left to press down a button, effectively pulling down the window, and on her right, his gaze not having escaped her since they had slid in, Percy stretched to his right and pressed a button - creating a border between the four guards up front and them. Faintly, she came to realize that neither her father, nor her father-in-law had joined them - she had caught their gazes when she had slid in with Percy. Poseidon had been watching her, his gaze unwavering, his green eyes emotionless, his posture rigid and stiff, and next to him, had stood her father, his stance a similar one to her father-in-law.

She would never forget the horror, the absolute horror that overtook his face like a void swallowing everything, in that split second before she closed the door. She would never forget that horror, and looking at that horror, brought some horror to herself.

What had she done?

As soon as the border had closed up, Percy lightly settled his hand on her right thigh, and pressed down gently. His gaze was not soft, and it was not hard - and again, she found herself faintly wondering something else - did he expect her to cry? Was she expected to cry? Did people cry after killing someone, after taking a human life, after ridding the world of a human soul?

She realized there was a warning in his eyes, in his touch, when she came to think of it, again and again. He was lightly tracing things on her right thigh, and his fingers were much more urgent on her than they would have been if he had just been doodling - and so, pushing aside the rawness to concentrate on what he was doing, her insides numb, she sat silently, waiting to get the message.

WE

ARE

BEING

WATCHED

Then, he left his hand there, pressing gently but doing nothing else - and she almost found it a source of comfort.

"That was some excellent Russian back there," he said quietly.

"I learned a few languages in school," she said stiffly. He sighed almost inaudibly.

"You should get some sleep, Chase. It will take many hours to get to Santa Cruz, and you'll need some rest before you meet up with the Black Wine." She looked up, her eyes dull, eager to push away the pain. He did not look at her with sympathy or pity - in fact, there was a dark understanding in his eyes. "We will have to discuss some - things - " He said hesitantly, and she turned to look out the window, knowing fully well what was to be discussed.

She gave a careless acknowledgement of his words, though inside, she was anything but careless. "Hm."

" - when we get home. In Santa Cruz."

"Yes," she said wearily. He did not say anything after this, but he leaned back, his hand still on her thigh - and she moved it. Her thigh. She moved it away from his touch, and his hand fell off - except now, there was some other part of him touching her - his arm, or his hand, or whatever it was - Annabeth wasn't sure. She was much more interested in the darkness outside—in the endless void of nothing and everything, of no light and only dark. No good, but only evil.

"It's late," he murmured somewhere close to her ear, but she did not listen - she was watching the outside world, watching the darkness, looking for the stars, looking for the light in the darkness. But there were no stars where she could see. There was no light in the darkness.

She kept wide, wide awake - even after hearing light snores ensuing from her right. No thoughts churned in her head, nothing was thought over, nothing was talked over - her mind was blank, she was blank, her chest was an endless expanse of nothing, of nothing, never anything—and her heart was blank.

She saw no stars for the rest of the night, no light in the darkness for the rest of the night, and the only thing that was comforting in the least was the man snoring lightly beside her. And now, even he was not enough. For he was the reason she was this empty. He was the reason - he would be the reason, he would always be the reason - that she could never again, be human.


SHE DID NOT SLEEP AT ALL. Even when Percy started to come around, and the night reached it's darkest, crickets chirping loudly and (to Annnabeth) quite woefully, she did not feel inclined to sleep in the slightest. It was when Percy's hand knocked into her shoulder and he sat upright, looking dazed, and Annabeth looked in her lap for no actual reason - and her eyes beheld the gun.

The gun that she had taken a human life with. She had become so unfeeling, it had become so unfeeling - she had become unaware of the - this - thing that she held in her hands, cupped in her palms, as if it was a fragile thing made of glass, as if it was a thing to be cared for. Her hold tightened on the gun. It was most certainly not a thing to be cared for. No, it was not. It could never be. It was the gun's fault. The gun had taken a life. A human life.

No, Annabeth, a voice whispered inside her, a conscious voice that she was aware of. It was you.

It was her. It was her who had killed the man, it was her who had urged the gun into action, it was not the gun's fault. And at this realization, the numbness turned into pain, pain and pain and pain, a deep burning, aching starting in her chest, and spreading everywhere, her body dreary, her mind dreary, her heart dreary, her soul dreary, and in pain because why was she burning like this, why was she aching like this, why, why why? No, she deserved this—she deserved this horrible, awful feeling of pain, oh she most definitely deserved this dark, dangerous feeling, for she had killed a human soul, she had killed - she had taken a human soul -

"Annabeth?"

She wanted to cry. She wanted to cry in loud, heaving, bursting sobs, a way of crying she had not done since she had been three—for her father had taught her crying loudly was a sign of giving up, crying loudly was a horrible thing, and crying at all was a thing to be disgusted. Tears were an abomination. A fucking abomination they were, and they should not be a thing, crying was disgusting, horrifying, and should not be done—but she wanted to cry, oh how she wanted to cry, first loudly, loudly and loudly and then louder, in huge, heaving, sobs, to erupt into tears and let the pain and the water and the aching gush out and leave her, leave her empty—

"Annabeth?"

She was not Annabeth anymore; she turned to tell him so, but she found she could not move, but then it came to her all over again; it was his fault she had killed; his fault, his fault, his fault, he had looked at her with those, those wretched things in his eyes, those wretched emotions, those dastard things, and she had felt the urge to do so, to do what she had known was coming, and then she had done it, she had done it, she had done it, and it was all his fucking fault.

And these thoughts were what finally made her turn to look at him, anger and accusation swirling in her eyes, but then she remembered those dastard emotions in his eyes when he had urged her silently to do so, moments before she had actually done it—that undeniable, underlying layer of bitterness and sadness in his eyes of having her innocence corrupted by taking a human life, a human soul—

And then she could no longer look at him with accusation, but with contempt, and a eerie emptiness. He did not sigh at the look on her face, but the weary look in his eyes was replaced by nada, absolutely nothing, of an endless area of nothing, and then he was leaning his head back, closing his eyes for a moment or two, his hand ruffling his hair—and then he determinedly opened them, before moving back to his right, and pressing a button, and the border between them and the guards or drivers or whatever the fuck they were, Annabeth did not care anymore—and he said in a loud, authoritative, ringing voice, "Stop by the nearest hotel, we'll be spending the night there. We shall continue our journey in the morning."

Silence echoed in the limo, and all four guards stiffened, and did not dare to look at eachother or behind them, so all they could do, was nod politely in unison.

"Sir," one man's voice came politely. "We are nearest to the Sheraton Grand Los Angeles. Is that fit?"

"Yes, that seems suitable." He threw a weary glance at Annabeth, who was staring at something into the distance, something that seemed to be right next to him. "How much time shall it take?"

"About twenty five minutes."

"Are we anywhere near New York yet?"

"About three hours to go, Sir."

"Thank you." Percy turned and put the border up once again.

"Another twenty-five minutes darling," The words Percy had traced onto her thigh came back to Annabeth for a moment, WE ARE BEING WATCHED. She nodded at him but did not say anything else. He looked at her meaningfully, and she nodded again, and looked away.

What was he going to say? Nothing was going to dull the pain. Nothing.


BETWEEN GETTING OUT OF THE CAR AND ENTERING THE HOTEL, only one thing was able to just about distract Annabeth from the nothingness inside her. And that very distraction came in the form of a woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties, seeming to be older then Annabeth, with hair streaked with green.

"I'd like to reserve a room please," Percy said lowly, his eyes straying first to Annabeth, then to the darkness beyond, where all the guards were waiting from him. Annabeth wondered faintly if they would wait there all night.

"Yes, I'm sure you would," the woman answered disinterestedly, swaying boredly on the spot as she typed something up on her laptop. "Do you have a reservation, sir?" She poked her head out of her laptop, looking both agitated, but still somehow blank. And as her eyes skimmed Percy's face, a spark of recognition flared. Her eyes widened.

"Percy Jackson?" She stared, openmouthed. "How - what - ?" Her gaze traveled to Annabeth, and it seemed, that her mouth dropped even lower. "Annabeth Chase?" Her voice was almost a squeak. Annabeth tried to give her a smile - but only managed a grimace trying to be forced at both edges of her mouth. "What is - What?" She stuttered.

"We'd like to reserve a room please. The both of us." Annabeth said pleasantly (as pleasantly as she could) and it came out quite steady. Percy snaked a stiff hand around her hip, his golden wedding back shining for a moment. The lady's gaze followed.

"How many rooms?" Her voice shook as she turned back to her laptop, her gaze turning from Percy to Annabeth and back to the laptop over and over again.

"One room will be fine. One bedroom." She looked startled, but did not comment. Annabeth's fists clenched. No, she would not like to share a bed with Percy tonight. She was tired, she was exhausted, and she was spent - though she was quite aware that nothing much had happened to make her like this. Or at least, it seemed nothing much had happened.

A few, silent moments passed, filled only with the woman's relentless clacking on her laptop. Finally, when her head went up uneasily, her hand grabbled around for a drawer, before leaning down and wrenching it open, shoving things around, looking for something. When her head popped back up, she handed them the key and card for room 307.

"It's on Level three." She reached over for a pamphlet, before handing it to Percy, who had taken the key and card. "Have a pleasant night." She said easily, but Annabeth did not miss how her eyes zoomed from her to Percy, and then to their rings. They headed towards the elevator, attracting odd looks from nearby people.

Percy pressed the button - and Percy was doing everything, wasn't he? He was the one ordering things, ordering one reservation, one bedroom, taking the key, taking the card, doing everything. It annoyed her to no end because she was only hanging off his arm. Her jaw clenched subtly as they stepped into the elevator - and it was only when she caught her reflection that she realized that both she and Percy were all in black. That must have been why people had been staring.

Once they had both stepped into the elevator, Percy looking straight ahead, twiddling absentmindedly with the key, Annabeth moved as close as she could to the wall - away from Percy. Whether he noticed this or not, she could not tell - her gaze was resolutely fixed forward. It took a few, long moments of stretching silence before the elevator started rising, and then another, few, longer moments as the elevator peacefully went up one level, two levels, and finally, three levels. And finally, when they stepped out, Annabeth took the card and key from Percy without turning to look at him, her jaw still clenched, and stalked forward determinedly, her eyes raking the number plates of the rooms.

301...302...303...and then there was 304, she was getting closer now, Percy being several steps behind her...305..306...and finally, 307. She slid the card in into the slot, and turned the key, and the door opened, revealing the darkness inside. She turned the lights on.

For a moment, she pushed aside the numbness, the sadness inside of her, too taken by her surroundings. There was no denying that the interior was gorgeous - the room was mostly accented black and white, and as the light came down upon it, the light flickered like a candle from the chandelier up on the ceiling. There was a large, king-sized bed in the middle, with fluffy white comforters, and two large pillows. At the side of the bed was a bold black door, and on taking a curious step closer, Annabeth discovered that there were empty hangars and racks inside of it. It was a closet - and it's size was unknown, considering Annabeth wasn't near enough to figure it out. In front of the closet was a long, huge window, giving complete access to the dark night outside, and black accented curtains, covering most of it. In frotn of the window lay a long, black, velvety sofa.

She dropped the key and card on the nearest table, and spread out the curtains, before brutally shoving her boots off and chucking them at the door. She wondered faintly how her heels were faring. She then sat at a corner of the bed, her thighs brought up to her chin, and looked out the window.

Yes, she was quite painfully aware of Percy leaning against the doorframe, watching her, Percy closing the door shut, Percy turning off the lights so only the light the night provided shined through. She heard him slowly pry off his shoes, chuck his shirt over the top of his head, and then gently sit on the bed, facing her. And yes, she was quite aware that he was moving towards her now, slowly inching, crawling to sit in front of her and peer at her, his gaze intense. Her gaze was focused at the night outside.

First, he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, turning to look at the night and beyond, like her too. He ruffled his hair, and Annabeth turned to look at him finally, her gaze gray and cold on him. It was then she became painfully aware of his half-naked self. But, she did not blush. She looked at him, took him in, but then simply focused on his face shamelessly, until he finally turned to look her in the eye.

"Chase," he said, and he sighed, and his voice was so tired and old and ancient, that she looked at him curiously. "That was your test." She stiffened.

"What was my test?" She asked, an edge to her voice. In answer, his hands strayed towards the back pocket of his pants, and took out two guns. She didn't even care about how he had sneaked it through the sensors, and had managed to tuck them in without letting them be seen. He laid his gun in his lap, before slowly reaching out and putting her gun on her lap. She looked at it in disgust, as Percy's face moved towards her. His voice was low, and symphonic in the darkness, somehow not gentle, but not rough. Somehow lilting and comforting.

"Killing the man was your test." He said finally. She flinched, but her gaze did not stray away from him. If anything, the glare in her eyes intensified by a tenfold. "Look Chase, I know, I know it was your first time ever. And I - " He hesitated, and her glare seemed to prod him on. "I know how it feels," he said quietly. The first time I did that - the first time I took a life - " His voice trailed off miserably. "It was...worse than what you did today. The way I took a life is the most - the most gruesome - " His voice broke, and she looked away from him, forcing herself to keep her eyes from getting even the least bit glassy. Here was a piece of the man she had gotten used to the past week. The vulnerable, open man, that had turned into a monster today, a monster who, in turn, had turned her into another monster.

"It was your fault," and her voice was cold, as cold as an icicle. "You made me." It seemed to be on the edge of breaking, but yet, as frosty as she could make it.

"If it helps you feel any better," his voice turning strict in the darkness, and some of the moonlight came into the room, somehow illuminating him for one split second, illuminating his carved chest and rippling muscles, his blank and bitter eyes, and sad, gorgeous mouth. "If it helps you feel any better, Chase," he says, catching her attention, and his form seemed to take her breath away for a moment, before the moonlight faded. "Then let me tell you what sort of man you have killed today."

Silence. She did not move, not talk, not do anything. He, on the other hand, had a desperate, almost dark look about him, watching her with something gleaming in his eyes. "Afansei is something akin to a pimp. Afansei leads a ring of prostitutes, and he proceeds to abuse them sexually on a daily basis. The ring is a mix of both males and females. He has killed several of them when they did not hasten to meet his needs to his content, he has sold several of them to far worse masters that have broken them more than he could have. He has his own brand of alcohol, and enough of it can make your lungs wither and die out. And," he said slowly, meeting Annabeth's gaze with a dangerous look. "He was not the man that was to meet us today. The man that was to meet us today was his cousin, also his stepbrother. Instead, his stepbrother's body was found at the bottom of the Nile River."

Annabeth had frozen.

Percy went on, his voice musing. "The Nile River is in Egypt, which is quite some distance away from here. Why he chose this river defeats me, but if there was not a group on a mission there, then the body would not have been found for ages past. It must have been quite smart idea, I suppose." It was after this musing remark that he turned to observe Annabeth's reaction. "Do you still feel bad, Darling?" His voice was dark, yes, but curious, innocent, like a child's. Uptight, a bit.

"He could've - could've had another chance at things," Annabeth said quietly, her mouth trembling, her insides shaking, vile threatening to come up her throat. Her mind was processing these things very quickly, and - she did not know how to react.

"Sweetheart," Percy stretched out the syllables, his voice both amusing and amused. "Sweetheart, he's been convicted six times, and was put to Santo Stefano, Latium innumerable times. Do you know hoe far one has to go to get there? Why, even I can't get a ticket there just yet. There's a long line of visitors waiting."

Annabeth was still staring openmouthed, the dull pounding in her chest decreasing more and more by the second, a raging fire being nursed instead in the empty hearth of her chest. "Are you telling me - that the man I killed - ? I - what?" She stuttered. Percy moved even closer to her, his raven black hair in his eyes, his green orbs shining gorgeously in the darkness, entrancing her. He spread out his right leg, just lightly, but tantalizingly touching Annabeth on the hip. He reached over to caress her right cheekbone with his large thumb, before going down to tightly grasp her chin. She did not shake herself out of his grip. His left hand pressed around her hip, and their legs touched completely as he moved just a bit closer.

You'll have to understand, Annabeth," and his voice was just as musing as before, as if he was saying a casual something, passing by, " - that the amount of kills one makes is what earns you respect in the Mafia. The horrendous things you do, like violence, creating war, getting into scuffles, killing people - these are what matter. The amount of heartlessness you have inside you," he pressed his left palm to her chest, " - is what earns you respect. Bad things aside, bad history aside, your money and your pile of dead corpses is what earns you a title, what earns you respect." He continued, gently seizing a blonde lock of hair. "Until you spoke up rather cruelly, Afansei looked at you ravishingly," he breathed near her, his eyes clouded, " like you were a piece of meat. That is one thing, that, in the moment, spurred you to kill him, No, not all of it was my doing," he added, his voice angry for a moment.

"For us, for you, what will bring you up to my status, despite being already up there by connections," he pushed the lock of hair behind her ear, his touch like a caress. "Is killing. I want you to remember, that every person you see around you in your enemy. Everyone has killed an innocent, everyone has done bad, bad things. You have to brutal, and as a woman, this will be harder to do." At Annabeth's raising eyebrow, he quickly said, "I'm just stating the truth, Chase." When there seemed to be no change in her expression, he went on.

"In the Mafia, the women are respected, but either they are things to hang upon your arm for show, or they are playthings, or they are precious things to be protected. A member, when officiated, is not allow to touch, or even look at another's man's women crudely. It is something like this that can get you killed." He paused, and Annabeth looked outraged for a second, gulping down the shock. Percy smiled unconvincingly. "Of course," he said, raising his hands up a bit, "we have women working for us as well. Many of them are brave, bad-ass, and everything in between - but that is how most of the Mafia used to work, and somewhat still does to this day." He raised his hands a bit. "This does not necessarily mean that I agree with them. I've seen enough of you to know that." Now, his hands were mocking here, and she leaned back a bit in his hold, her gaze raking through him passively.

"Today," he murmured, and his gaze intensified, and his palm slid down to her chin, tilting her face up stubbornly. "Today, was your first kill. Your first score. Score one for Annabeth, hallelujah," he said sarcastically. "I want you to stop feeling so fucking bad, and get on with life. This is what is coming for you. This is your life now. And there is nothing else to it."

His voice lowered.

"I was born into this life, sweetheart," he whispered furiously. "But my skills remained dormant until things set off a chain reaction to it. I see a similar behavior in you, love," he purred quietly. "And feeling bad about spilling tainted blood will not be something anyone will stand for. I am telling you this, and believe it. Do believe it. You'll start to understand this life soon."

His palm slid down to her neck, and he wrapped his hands gently around the side, not choking her, but his voice and his hold unrelenting. Slowly, her grey eyes blazing against his glowing green ones, she firmly wrapped her hand around his hold on her neck, lowering her legs into a cross-legged position. Her hold tight and firm, she lowered his hand, and he stared at it, and then at her, just as it gave an ugly pulse.

He smirked at her, because of the pain. "I told you so, darling. You were made for this life."

And he leaned over and pressed a heated, butterfly kiss to the left side of her neck, and down. She remained still, in shock. It was only when he pressed a kiss to the edge of her cleavage, that she pushed him away, the bottom of her stomach burning wildly. He gave her one last, bitter, arrogant smirk before her turned over to his side of the bed, wrapping his hands around his chiseled self, closing his eyes.

It was for what seemed like another hour before she could finally lay on her side, and close her eyes without seeing the picture of her gun, and hearing the echoing voice of Percy's explanation of Afansei's character. And then, there was still a pounding headache, splitting her head open.

And at late it was in the night, it was still another long hour later, before she could drift off to an uneasy sleep. And even then, it remained unstable. She drifted in and out, in and out, of consciousness.

As for Percy - well, his green, now bloodshot eyes stared out blankly into the darkness until dawn crept in. Even when he lightly wrapped himself around Annabeth, pulling his leg around her hip, giving him comfort, giving him a feeling to replace the emptiness inside, he could not sleep until dawn rolled in, and the sun started to creep out. In fact, it was when Annabeth finally fell into an long, deep, actual sleep, and relaxed against him, that he could finally drift off, in the faze of the rising sun.


WHEN ANNABETH WOKE UP, she had unlimited space in the soft folds of the comfortable bed that was not her's, and her face was burning. She opened her eyes an inch, squinting against the sunlight cascading in from the large window, before turning to her side, closing her eyes again, her right hand searching wildly for skin to slap and awake and ask.

It was only when her hand met bare air, that she finally cracked her eyelids open more than an inch, and fully investigated the scene.

The bed was made up - and yes, the whole bed - and she was under neatly pressed and folded covers. The space next to her was most unruffled and smooth, and the pillow did not have an impression, telling her that half the bed was long empty, besides the part her hand had disturbed. She stared at it, lifting herself up on her elbows, feeling irritable. Where was he this early in the damned morning?

She roughly pushed away the thick covers, and squinting wildly, she shoved the curtains over the sunlight, and she was on-so-grateful that they were mercifully black. She rumpled her hair grumpily, before turning to the mirror, where she almost choked on her own dry spit.

Her hair looked like a rat's nest. And she didn't even have a comb to tame the wild things. Where would they get her things? Did anyone stop to think about this? Fuming silently, she stepped towards and into the large, marble bathroom, and washed her face - the hotel had mercifully put in clean toothbrushes and toothpaste for anyone that would stay, so she was able to clean up to some extent.

After thoroughly brushing, she leaned against the back of the sink, wondering faintly if she should take a shower. She was starving, yes, but that would have to wait for later. She felt dirty, both on the outside and the inside, and even if a shower wouldn't fully do the trick, it would help to some extent.

Making up her mind, she stripped out of her mournful, black clothes and her underclothes - Thalia would love them, she realized amusedly, and somehow, the thought of Thalia made her feel morbid. Shaking her head, she left her black clothes and underclothes on the floor, and stepped into the stone basin, stretching to turn it on.

She stood in the middle, her back gloriously bare and open to the outside world - she was sure she had closed the door - as she gently, smoothly lathered on the contents of a bar of soap, before rinsing it off. She turned the water to cold, as per her usual routine, and turned around, letting the water spill down her back gracefully, coolly, wetting her hair, making it stick to her back, She raised her hands, closed her eyes, and pushed her hands into her hair, making sure the water got everywhere.

It was beyond refreshing. It felt like a revival.

When she took a foot out, and then put out the other, before quickly grabbing her towel - oh the hardships of showering - and wrapping it around herself, she walked through and out the door - smack right into a very much familiar form.

At first, she did not register his face. All she could see was that he had a new, clean black shirt and it wasn't the same one as yesterday. So forgetting that the only thing covering her dripping naked body was a towel, she stepped forward and prodded him threateningly, while he looked at her, evidently dumbstruck.

"Perseus Jackson, you absolute asshole," she said in a low voice, putting her hand on her hip, narrowing her eyes. "What the fuck do you expect me to wear if I have brought absolutely nothing? Huh? What the hell am I supposed to wear?" Looking taken aback, and now quite uncomfortable, considering his squirming, he took a hesitant step back.

"Well," he trailed, trying very hard not to stare at her, and keep a stable, mischievous look on his face. "You could always not wear anything,"

"You asshat!" She raged, her voice atypically loud and filled with anger, as opposed to her usual cold self. "Get me some damned clothes!"

"Yeah," he held his hands up, looking very much small and threatened.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do it, will do, calm down, calm down.." He scurried out the open door and she watched him, before going back inside the bathroom, and sitting stiffly on the toilet seat.


WHEN HE CAME BACK FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, two shopping bags in hand, looking uneasy, she stood up, crossing her arms, trying to ignore how he was staring at her, unashamed. She grabbed the bags from it - and was glad to find nearly decent clothing. But they were all black. They were all black and black black. Sure, she loved wearing black, but could he not find anything at least plaid, or grey?

She held up an over-sized, sleeveless, light, sweater dress (a black one) blue denim jeans (that did not match, but whatever, Annabeth was just happy to have clothes) , and yes, you guessed it, black underclothing. Plain black sports bra lined with white, plain black underwear - and holding it up, she stared at him unashamed. "It was quite considerate of you to get these, Jackson," and to her utter surprise - he was blushing, Percy jackson was blushing.

"Are you blushing?" She asked, astonished, at his behavior. He shrugged, looking up at the ceiling, his face going light red.

"Well, at least you didn't get the fancy kind," she murmured under her breath, before telling him to get out. He scurried out faster than even a mouse. For a moment, she watched him leave, quite astonished and comprehending. This was the whore, the player, Perseus Orion Jackson himself. He had not brought her lingerie (she didn't want them, of course, she just expected him to do such a thing) and he had not looked her up and down like a pervert - which was exactly what he was. He did not screw around in the least - and again, coming from a professional player, that was quite surprising.

Quite surprising indeed, she thought to herself as she pushed the denim jeans up to her legs. As soon as she was finished, she stalked imperiously out of the bathroom, and headed towards where she had thrown her boots against the previous night, pulling them on. And then, finally turning towards Percy, one hand on her hip, she said, "Come on, shitbreath, let's go, I'm starving." He looked mildly surprised at her words - but then again, he had been looking at her as if she was a fucking ticking bomb. Now why was that?

He crinkled his nose at the nickname, and glared at her (albeit hesitantly) for a second, before springing up from where he lay on the bed, stowing the card away in his pocket, along with the key.

"Come on, Miss Sunshine." he said, still looking rather taken aback, but mocking. "Let's go." He held out an arm, and she took it tightly, sneering at him, her boots thumping on the floor.


THE HOTEL HAD IT'S OWN BREAKFAST BUFFET, which was where Percy took her. They no longer linked arms (which had just been a taunting joke) and nor did they hold hands, but they kept a carefully precise between them, not too far, where they would seem like strangers, and not close enough to touch eachother fully - just close enough to give off the vibe, or the impression, that they were more than just friends. They jabbed at eachother all throughout their walk, but remained awkwardly quiet in the elevator, their alone time unsettling the both of them.

It was when they both sat down in the buffet, that their talking finally turned serious and to the point.

"When you talk in public places such as these, you'll have to watch your words," Percy murmured under his breath, and Annabeth felt the urge to snap at him. She was not a child, thank you very much, and neither was she naive and stupid. She had accepted that almost nowhere was safe.

As she waved over a waitress lazily, she asked him, "What are we doing today, darling?" And yes, her tone was very much mocking and snippy. He looked at her with contempt.

'We're leaving for New York the moment we're done with breakfast. From New York," He hesitated here. "We've got some business in New York," she faintly recalled him telling Afansei that she would be getting initiated in New York, and though the memory of Afansei sent a small prickle to her chest, she was mostly unaffected. The memory seemed dull, distant, far away. " - we shall travel to Santa Cruz, to the place my father rented out." At the look on Annabeth's face, he hurried to add, "It's not as huge as the one we lived in the past week. No, the structure is a bit smaller, but it seems comfortable, from what he says," he said the last few words almost absentmindedly. "That's where we'll spend our honeymoon. Supposedly, we're supposed to spend a month there, but we'll have to move on to other things," he said, sounding firm.

"Our plans to go to - " He lowered his voice. "The last place I mentioned to the man yesterday," he added discreetly, and she understood it meant Sicily. She felt silly about the way they were communicating. "Are not confirmed. So we shall have to plan our way through when we get to Santa Cruz. Are you good with this?" He asked seriously.

She nodded slowly, eyeing the waitress coming back with a plate of waffles.

As she not-so-subtly shoved the food down her throat, Percy stared at her. "Try not to eat so much," he said testily. She immediately stopped eating, and food still in her mouth, her eyes narrowed, suddenly looking quite vicious. "Excuse me?" She asked, deathly silent.

"We're moving to a truck today," he said, as if that was the answer to everything. She shrugged at him.

"How's that related to how much I eat?" She asked, eyes still narrowed.

"Well," Percy trailed. 'We're practicing knife-throwing, your bow and arrow capabilities, your shooting accuracy, your capacity, how well you can shoot a gun, what gun you're most comfortable you're using, what knife you throw most agilely, and etc. etc. etc. Not in order, of course," he added at the dumbstruck look on her face, having frozen mid-chew.

"Sitting around, sleeping all day, this is not going to work. This morning, I've arranged for a truck to pick us up and take us till New York, and then again to Santa Cruz, all the while, we straighten out your do's and don'ts. It'll be good practice, love," he says quietly, his malicious smirk a queer contrast to his silent tone.

She suddenly lost her appetite.

So she decided to (discreetly) shove the pancakes in his face instead.


i was actually going to make one last part, where annabeth started practicing and all, but honestly, i want to get my updates back in track - it's been horribly off track for the past two weeks. this is the first time in a while that i'm actually doing it (somewhat) in time. now, this chapter needs editing bad. real bad. it's very easy to overlook the mistakes when i'm so into writing when i'm writing, and don't look them over until I type up a whole bunch. i will have to edit them some time, though. and on the bright side, this chapter is bigger than the last one! i got something done :)