A/N: Hello, darlings! Sooo… I've got an angst baby thing for you. I know it's been done before, and it might be a little blah, because I don't have children or any babies in the house. I do have a new puppy, who is, my mother assures me, exactly like a baby. And the first few nights after we got her, she slept in my room and she cried and cried and cried, and I'd tried everything and she just wouldn't stop. And I was like "Oh, God, puppy, please go to sleep!" So yeah. Sorry, Annabeth.

Late Nights

There is one particular type of crying babies do that simply breaks Annabeth's heart. It's that crying just on the short side of desperate, where you've fed them, changed them, bathed them, sung and rocked and begged and they just won't stop. Logan, apparently, was not above that kind of crying.

She was so tired. She'd just gotten back to work from her maternity leave and as happy as she was to get a break from 24/7 diapers and bottles, she's completely wiped out by the end of the day. The office was ecstatic to have her back, and her most faithful clients jumped at the chance to throw their projects in her capable hands. It was sweet of them to wait for her, she felt recompensed for all her hard work, proud that she's managed to build a good reputation and, why not say it, smug. At the time, she felt really damn smug that people would wait for the end of her leave instead of going to another architect, because apparently she was the best.

But it was two in the morning, she had got a meeting at 8, Percy was out at sea with his research team from college and Logan just. Wouldn't. Stop. Crying.

She'd tried nursing him, checking his diaper, checking his temperature, did her very best to guess if he was in any kind of pain, but nothing seemed wrong. He wasn't hungry or feverish, it wasn't a change or colics or anything she could think of. There was no apparent reason for his incessant tears. He was just crying.

She'd given up lying in bed, putting on a dressing gown instead and picking him up, cradling him in her arms and bouncing him up and down, then rocking him from side to side, and when that failed to cease his angry wailing, did a strange combination of both while humming a lullaby.

He was a little ball of nerves, red faced and violently flailing limbs, tiny features scrunched in his endless crying. His shrill, desperate cry cut Annabeth to the core and brought her to the verge of tears herself. She felt like a total failure as a mother. She couldn't even comfort her baby.

She felt a sudden stab of jealousy. Percy was so great at calming Logan down. All it took was a cuddle and some mindless babbling, just the sound of his voice was enough to soothe their son back to slumber in five minutes flat, and here she'd been trying for hours and he wouldn't even stop crying, much less go back to sleep. Annabeth felt all those old insecurities rush back.

What if she just couldn't be a mom? Maybe she just wasn't born for it. She loved Logan, loved her baby boy with a fierceness that took her by surprise sometimes. She knew the moment she first held him that she would cross worlds, win wars, fight gods and monsters and mortals for her son. She would protect him with her last breath. But what if that was all she could be? His protector? What if she was too broken?

She'd never really had a mom. For all the love Athena might feel for her, she wasn't in the position to demonstrate, she' been a constant presence in her life. The constant presence she did have in her early childhood had waved off her night terrors and traumas and ostracized her to the point of driving a 7 year old to run away, because living in the streets seemed like a better prospect than her supposed home. For a while there she'd had a family in Thalia and Luke. Their dysfunctional little unit was a dream for little Annabeth. They accepted her, cared for her - burden as she was for two teenagers on the run, they'd never treated her as such. Even hungry, cold, penniless and running from monsters, she was happy. And Thalia, though more an older sister than a mom, had done been a more defining presence in her life than both her mother and stepmother combined.

And then she'd died. And a part of Annabeth had gone with her that day. The same part that kept getting badgered year after year with every camper that failed to return the next summer, every friend that went down in battle, every demigod that switched sides, Chronos, then Gaia, so many blows to her soul. Maybe it was too much. Maybe…

Maybe it was just too late in the night and she was just too tired.

"It's alright, sweetheart, it's alright. Mom's here, mom's right here," she repeated like a mantra, rocking Logan back and forth while holding him against her chest, "Please," she added, closing her eyes against the sudden burn of tears. "Please, please, baby, just stop crying."

God, she had so much respect for Sally now. She's always known how hard life had been for Percy in his younger years. Dyslexic, ADHD, the worst monsters waiting on every corner to ambush him. The things Sally had done to make sure he'd survived… She'd just never stopped to consider how on top of all that, there was all the natural difficulty of raising a child, plus juggling money problems and multiple jobs. All alone.

Annabeth had Percy, who was an amazing husband and father, she had her in-laws, siblings, friends she trusted with her life, an entire safety net to fall back on when she didn't know what to do. She had a stable job, with a steady income, a nice apartment in a good neighborhood and a college fund growing in the bank since the moment her pregnancy test came back positive.

And she still felt at total loss as to what do sometimes.

Gods, forget wars. Fighting monsters was easy. Dealing with petty gods and goddesses, piece of cake. Winning wars with impossible odds, she could do it with her eyes closed. Parenthood? Doing what Sally Jackson did? Now that, that was true heroism.

Annabeth stopped at the sudden realization.

Of course. Sally.

The phone beeped three times before it was picked up on the other side. Annabeth was unraveling in apologies even before her mother-in-law could say hello. Sally didn't seem to mind, despite the ridiculous hour. After a lifetime of being woken up with calls informing her son was missing, gone to war or supposedly dead, being woken up at three in the morning because her daughter-in-law needed help with her grandson was a blessing.

"Ok, sweetie, have you checked for a fever?"

"Yes!" Annabeth tried not to sound too rude, but her frustration was clear. "I checked everything. He's just fussing," she added in a near desperate tone.

"Have you tried a bath?" Sally asked gently.

"A bath?"

"Yes. When Percy was little, sometimes the only way to calm him down was to get him in the water."

Annabeth breathed in relief. At least this one she hadn't tried yet. "Thanks, Sally, I'll try it now."

"You're welcome, honey."

"Sorry, again."

"Don't worry about it."

Annabeth gently put Logan down on his play pen to fix a bath, instantly feeling worse when his wailing intensified. She rushed to fill the tub with warm water, calling out to him the whole time that "It's just a minute, sweetie! I'll be there in a second!" When she was done, she picked him up, doing her best to ignore the betrayed look on her little son's face. She pulled him out of his blue onesie and slowly lowered him into the water.

The effect was practically instantaneous. He stopped, the heart wrenching wailing dying down to a confused whine, until he finally calmed down, with tear stained red cheeks and snuffling still, but experimentally kicking his feet and waving his arms. Annabeth nearly fell forward in relief. After a full night of his horrible heartbreaking sobbing, the gentle splashing of water against the bathtub along with Logan's content gurgling was the best sound in the universe.

"There you go, sweetheart," she cooed, a tired smile breaking through her lips.

Logan looked up through his eyelashes, Percy's sea green eyes looking back at her, while he chewed on a rubber duck. She chuckled, exhaustion hitting harder than ever. She was past sleepy at this point, left with that bone-weary sensation, she'd need to lie down and do nothing, until her brain caught up with her need to sleep. Maybe if she stayed very still for a second…

She was startled out of her stupor by the sound of Logan dropping the toy back in the water. He raised his arms up at her, little hands opening and closing towards her. She picked him up, thinking he was ready to go back to his bassinet, but the moment she lifted him out of the water, he started whimpering again. When she put him down, he started mumbling, no words yet, but he was trying to call her attention, his chubby hands once again lifting towards her. Annabeth's head dropped forward in resignation.

"Okay, okay, I get it."

She lifted him out of the water and placed him against her chest, and before he could start whining, got into the tub herself, clothes and all. She frowned a bit at the uncomfortable feeling of wet fabric against her skin, but the water was warm, so it wasn't too bad. Honestly, she was so tired she'd have done anything to make her boy stop crying. Logan settled against her, little fist closing around the front of her pajamas, wiggling experimentally at the new development. Once satisfied, having his two favorite things together – mom and water – he finally calmed down and in a minute, had drifted off to sleep.

Annabeth leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, body relaxing for the first time that night. Finally, some peace. She should drain the tub, get them both dry, get Logan to bed. She should go to sleep, what few hours she could before her alarm clock went off. She should maybe call Sally to let her know they were alright now. She looked down at her son, resting against her chest, asleep at last. She thought about all the time it would take to get all of that accomplished before hitting the bed.

She pulled the plug of the tub, and stretched her arm, reaching out for the fluffy towel she'd left close and tugging it in her direction. She carefully wrapped Logan in it so he wouldn't be cold and settled back against the side of the tub.

She would leave soon.

Just… In a minute.