Oh. Hey. Didn't see you there. Well, my spring break plus a rather pushy review finally finished the end of this chapter. For the record, this was in progress. As much as I love this website, my overall education and career trajectory tend to place higher on the list than Voyage of the Argonauts, thanks, 7862. Speaking of which, you should probably take another look at your own education and learn the grammatical etiquette of the English language.
Sorry for ranting. I'm tired. It's 11 PM and I really want to get this up and over with right now.
Enjoy?
25/Annabeth
Indecision. It's the only thing keeping her together as she sits there, one leg over the edge of her hammock, the other firmly planted in its warm dent, unwilling to move. One part of her, ready to get things done, the other contemplating blowing it all off.
She's glad that, for once, she's not completely torn between the peace of Ogygia and the duty of the Olympians' world. She'd gone over the pros and cons a thousand times since she woke up that first time on the beach. If she stays on Ogygia, she muses she would eventually get used to Chloe and Calypso—maybe even come to like them. She wouldn't have to go back to a world of stress and panic and death. She could live her life in a place that had nothing but serenity.
But she would be leaving her father. She would be abandoning her brothers. She would be neglecting Athena, the gods, the Fates. Percy, wherever he is, she would be betraying him too. And, without a hint of sarcasm, without joking to herself or teasing the absent him, she truly doesn't know whether he can win without her. And she doesn't mean it in a vain way; she simply knows that Percy has never once in his life thought a plan all the way through, or looked at it from every angle. He needs her.
And if she leaves, yes, she would have to return to her old life, where she never stops running. But there's a chance—a chance, mind you—that Percy is out there, looking for her. Waiting for her. And who is she to let him down? And if she leaves, she won't have to get used to Calypso—because frankly, she doesn't want to.
So she sits there, cross-legged in Calypso's precious garden, planning. Sitting in the dirt, with absolutely no regard for the cream-colored dress (among many) that the nymph had lent her. Because if she let herself respect Calypso's things, she may begin to start respecting Calypso herself. And she can't have that.
More than once Annabeth had observed the different things she would need to steal in order to escape. For one, the boat, tethered to a sturdy wooden pole on the beach, floating gently in shallow waters. Then Calypso's food, stuffed in the many cabinets of the cave. Then water, taken from the springs around the island. The medicinal kit from under Calypso's bed. The compass hanging from the jar of paprika on the ceiling. And most importantly, Jason's loyalty.
She sighs. The son of Jupiter had been growing attached to Calypso and Chloe, she knows that much. She sees it in the way he laughs with them. In the way he helps Chloe around the island. In the way he chats with Calypso. It would be difficult to convince him to rob the two and leave.
But… She casts a glance at him, limping past her on a makeshift crutch, a clay jug in hand. She doesn't exactly need his blessing. She looks back down at her hands as he smiles at her. She can't let that sweet smile stray her right now.
She pauses. Sweet? She throws a dark, curious look at his retreating back. Since when is Jason sweet? She shakes her head. You're losing your mind, Chase.
Are you? a giggling voice asks her.
"Stop it," she snaps, whirling. She catches just the finest glimpse of the little boy, taunting her, before he vanishes into the trees. "Don't you dare play tricks on me, Aphrodite," she mutters.
She yanks Calypso's skirt up and stomps off, ignoring the suggestion of laughter behind her.
It's difficult to be patient. She forces her muscles to sit still as she settles herself quietly in a corner of the cave, weaving flowers together. Calypso had walked out with a basket on her delicate arm, probably for fruit or something. Chloe remains, stitching up a tear in one of her skirts. So does Jason, leaning on a makeshift counter to keep his balance, chopping up mint with a large knife—or, trying.
Annabeth watches his fumbling fingers, only half-recovered from his illness, struggle to keep a firm hold on the knife. The mint becomes a mess of irregular lumps. With the fear that his fingers will follow, she stops him with a hand to his.
"I'll do it," she offers. Without waiting for an answer, she takes the knife and proceeds to make his jumble of vegetables a neat green mush.
"Jason," she murmurs out the corner of her mouth. He grunts in response, not paying attention. She shoots a glance over her shoulder; Chloe is quiet and reserved on her little bed, her needle flashing in and out of her thin skirt. She doesn't look up.
"Jason," Annabeth hisses.
"Hm?" His eyes are intent on the knife, glinting in the dim light, chopping the green mess into nothingness.
She slaps the knife down, frustrated at his lack of attention. "We have to get off this island."
The eyes flash up, a sudden, alert blue. "What?" he says loudly—too loudly.
"Shh!" she snaps. She doesn't have to turn to know Chloe is watching them, no doubt curiously. She grabs his arm and pulls him outside, out of Chloe's earshot.
He's stumbling, stomping on months of Calypso's work in her gardening, but Annabeth doesn't care. She isn't satisfied until there's no one but the two of them, and he yanks his arm out of her grip.
"Annabeth," this time he has the sense to keep his voice down, "that's crazy."
"Is it?" she retorts. "Jason, we have to go home. We can't spend the rest of our lives here."
"And why the hell not?" he shoots back. She blinks. He sighs in frustration, running both his hands through his blonde hair. "Don't you get it? There's going to be a war raging on out there, and we have a back door! A chance to get out of it!"
"And that's what you'd choose?" she asks disbelievingly. "A back door?"
"We don't even know if anyone else is alive!" he protests. "For all we know, the Argo II is dead and gone and so is the rest of the seven!"
"But we don't know!" Her voice shoots through an octave, because they can't be dead. Not Percy, not Thalia, not any of them. She's lost too many people in the past few years; she can't lose them too. "Jason, we don't know. They could be alive and safe, and looking for us! Would you really abandon that? For this?" She waves an angry hand at the green around them.
"They've been good to us," he growls. His calloused hand wraps around her wrist. "We could be happy here. A new life. No more prophecies, no more blood. We could be normal."
And what wouldn't she give for that? For a second, she considers it again. What if they were dead? The demigods would have no chance against Gaia, and she'd be giving her life for a lost cause. She could move on here. She could get used to Chloe and Calypso. She could maybe even get used to Jason. For a second, it's almost beautiful.
But the noble and dutiful part of her wins over that battle.
"There's a war brewing out there," she whispers. "They need us." Even though she wishes they didn't.
He steps closer, his face set in determination, his hand like iron around her wrist. Even so, she doesn't bother fighting him. "We've both had our fair share of wars, Annabeth." His eyes search her face earnestly, for any sign of agreement, but she stays silent.
He laughs, just as disbelieving at her behavior as she is at his. "You've been to hell and back with the Battle of Manhattan. I've seen things I'll never forget in the Battle of San Francisco." Another step, and he's half-cast in shadow, and with the next whispered words, he looks like an old man trapped in a youth's body. "I've done things I'll be paying for for the rest of my life." He pauses, as if awaiting her change of mind. "You can't tell me you want to go back to that." He shakes his head. "You can't."
The facts sting, mostly because they make perfect sense. She clamps down on her resolve, determined not to lose it to her pity for him. "I know," she says softly. "But we can't turn our backs. We can't leave them. Do you know why?" He doesn't answer, drowning in his own anguish and guilt, and looks away. Using her trapped hand, she grabs the wrist restraining hers and pulls him even closer for emphasis, pushing away the urge to measure exactly how far apart their faces were. "Do you know why?" she demands.
And she thinks the only thing more tragic than his eyes are maybe Percy's when he mutters, "Because we'll be running."
"No," she breathes. "Because we'll be hiding. And I'll be damned if I end up hiding from anything. Okay?"
He doesn't answer, only uses their twined arms to yank her toward him and crush her in a hug. And she hugs back.
It's entirely too easy to raid Calypso's cave, rob her garden of its fruits, and make their way to the beach while the nymph and her daughter sleep. Relief overtakes Annabeth as she and Jason tread the soft sand to the boat, floating lazily in shallow water. She drops her load of goods into the boat and turns to find Jason smiling at her.
"What?" she whispers.
It disappears, as if he hadn't realized what he was doing. He shakes his head. "Get in," he whispers back.
She looks at him in utter skepticism. He had grown stronger over the time in Ogygia, yes; his skin had gone from sickly pale to its normal tanned hue, his eyes had regained life, and his illness is steadily ebbing away from his system. But she seriously doubted he could manage to push the weighed boat into farther waters.
"You get in," she says fiercely.
She can sense an argument forming between them, but a whistle cuts through it. They both tense instinctively. Jason shoots a questioning look at Annabeth, who is hit with sudden realization.
Calypso's songbird, she mouths.
He nods in understanding, then points to the boat again. In, he mouths back.
Annabeth glances at the boat, then at Jason's face, then in the direction of Calypso's cave, and suddenly she's not quite so relieved. Guilt's ugly tendrils snake up her back.
"We have to go back," she says under her breath.
He looks at her, startled. "What?"
"Stay here." With one shove she manages to force him headfirst into the boat, but just as he propels himself back to his feet, she's running across the sand towards Calypso's cave.
The forest of Ogygia had never been quite as scary as right then, crashing through the leaves and the bushes in dead blackness. She keeps listening for Jason's footsteps behind her, but the only ones she hears are her own.
Needless to say she's glad when there's a light at the end of the leafy tunnel—the glow of a fire from inside Calypso's cave. She holds her breath, half-hoping Calypso won't be there when she inches inside.
She isn't disappointed. The cave is empty. Encouraged by this, she rushes in and dumps her last drachma coins on Calypso's bed. "Thank you," she whispers, even though the nymph can't hear her. "For everything."
She turns on her heel, ready to leave Ogygia behind. And is startled to find Chloe blocking her path.
"You're leaving," she states dully. Annabeth's eyes flick from Chloe's emotionless face to the darkness behind her, searching for caramel hair or dark eyes.
"She isn't here," Chloe snaps, drawing Annabeth's attention back to her. She folds her arms across her chest, looking entirely menacing despite her small stature. "You're going back."
"Yes," is all Annabeth can think to say.
"To my father?" Chloe hardly gives Annabeth time to stumble over her words, much less answer. "I don't care if you don't tell him about me. I don't care if you leave him. I don't even care if you lose this war. But you keep him alive. Do you understand me?" Her sea green eyes pierce holes in Annabeth's heart. She grasps the same wrist Jason did only a few hours before, except tighter. She folds an object into Annabeth's hand, squeezing each word into her fingers. "You keep my father's heart beating even if it means letting yours stop."
"I will." The words slip out before she even gets to wonder whether they're true or not.
"Promise me." The eyes narrow.
"I promise," she whispers.
"Good." Chloe throws Annabeth's hand away from her like it's riddled with a disease. A peek proves Annabeth's suspicions; Chloe had given her a necklace."Now go. And please, don't come back."
And it's those words that chase her through the trees. Suddenly, it's the branches' ragged fingers tugging at her dress, the wind whispering in her ears, the twigs in the ground grabbing for her ankles. It's the seahorse charm burning in her palm. It's a relief to see Jason's head of blonde hair in the boat, already bobbing in the water, but it almost stops her in her steps.
I don't care if you leave him, Chloe said. Obviously the girl can't know that she already did.
There is no doubt there's a fire in her, burning for Percy. She'd built that one for years, and it burns still. But could she maybe feel something for Jason? A flicker of a flame?
Most of her wants to put that flame out with a bucket of water and run. Then there's a part of her that wants to make it larger.
"Hey, what happened?" She doesn't realize she's crying until she stumbles into the boat and Jason's coarse fingers are wiping the wetness away from her cheeks.
She can't help but look at him in silence. He slices the rope tethering the boat to shore with one swing of a sword she didn't know he had. Then he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her in beside him, letting her curl up against his side like a child.
Her shivering is half from the tears, half from the dampness of her dress, and his grip tightens around her. However conflicted she is about it, she feels safe there, with her head on his chest and his hand resting on her hip.
"It's going to be okay," he murmurs. His breath stirs her hair. She looks up, thinking perhaps she should move away.
And then she's not thinking, because in the space of two seconds Jason closes the space between them and kisses her.
And maybe it doesn't feel as wrong this time.