A/N: first and foremost, I guess the time calls for a disclaimer. So, here goes: I don't own PJO or any if it's characters, that belongs to Rick. Done. Now I can tell you what really wanted to say: thank you so much for 2k reads! Oh my gods, you are all the best. Honestly, I had no idea this would exceed one hundred, let alone one thousand. But here we are, standing at these crossroad. ? ゚ホノmy gratitude is not quite one I can put in words, only that for me, that little count of reads slowly creeping up warms my bones. It is the small steps, to me, to the future as a writer I desire. And wether I start that simply, with either this fanfiction, or a million reads drama, these are the first steps. Thank you all so much ❤️
"Annabeth?"
"Mm?"
"Annabeth!?"
"Yes, yes. What?"
It was the day of the dinner party, and Annabeth, half asleep on her bed, phone dropped on her chest, blinked. Her younger brother, Matthew, leered over her bed, his face wearing the mask of childish innocence. Annabeth picked up her phone again. It slipped from her grasp and fell back onto her breast. She sighed, and grabbed it again, holding it pointedly to her face, as though she could shun her brother out.
"What do you want Matthew? Go away," She groaned. Matthew tugged at her arm impetuously. Annabeth bared her teeth, and yanked it back towards her.
"What do want?"
"Dad's calling. He wants you to help clean the house and set the table for the dinner. Also, he says you must wear a dress, and perhaps make-up."
A sort of shadow, a surprised and hard expression of alarm, crossed Annabeth's face.
"Um, no," she said, "No thanks. Wrong number. I'm not wearing a dress. Not the ones I own anyway, they're horrible."
"Yeah. He told me to tell you that if you refuse, the alternative is a tux."
Annabeth made a choking sound in the back of her throat. She was about to ask her brother what he was wearing, then, when another voice joined the conversation.
"Annabeth!" A feminine voice called. There was the clicking of shoes on the stairs, and presently, the door to Annabeth's bedroom was thrust open to reveal Helen. And in her hand she held-
"Look what I found!" Helen said with a grin. In her hand, she held- Gods. Annabeth's breath caught in her throat. It was that familiar dress. The one Annabeth had had for so long. The one of grey chiffon. The one that was knee length. The one that swished with every step and and caught - then shattered - every spray of light that came its way. It was such a dress that was the only one Annabeth liked, and had actually worn sometimes: on special occasions like the Fourth of July, and once, on Percy's birthday. Still, it did not mean Annabeth wanted to wear a dress now, and the teenager heaved a greatly infuriated sigh, and threw down her phone.
"How did you find that?" She asked. Helen shrugged.
"It was in your trunk, up in the attic."
"My trunk? The one I said was private? The one with personal objects? The one with enough memories to fill up this entire house?"
Helen suddenly looked very regretful, and sheepish. "I didn't know it was private. And I didn't look at anything else in there. I'm sorry."
"Well, never mind," Annabeth sighed. There was nothing to gain from causing a row with her step-mother so... "It's fine," she found herself saying, "But why do I have to dress up like that?"
"Because your father's boss is coming also, and so he wants to make a good impression. Perhaps even get a promotion."
"And he wants to do that how? By dolling his daughter up?"
"Firstly, you are not dolled up, this is what people wear on a daily basis. Secondly, no. But this is a formal occasion and he wants us to look neat and tidy. All of us. I'm wearing a dress, and your brothers are wearing shirts and ties."
"Oh, I understand," Annabeth said, "He hopes to get a promotion by being pretentious and intimidating his colleagues. Oh, you should have told me."
Helen rolled her eyes, so that they almost went all the way back into her head. "You know exactly it's not that. Now go and help your father clean, and stop being a smart ass."
Annabeth laughed as her step-mother retreated, and then, after bidding the friends she was texting goodbye, ran after Helen.
"So what needs doing?" Annabeth asked her father. Frederick looked up from dusting the shelfs, and indicated to the windows.
"Clean the windows."
"Can't Bobby and Matthew?"
"No. There's bleach, gloves and a sponge down here," Frederick pointed to the cupboard beneath the counter. Gritting her teeth, Annabeth bent and gathered the items in her arm. Then hobbled over to the nearest window and began to scrub furiously.
The grime on the glass panels came off as easily as if one were peeling their jacket off. As Annabeth worked, she tried to distract her thoughts. So that she could look through, beyond the windows, and see not a desperate, broken shell of a world, but a bumbling metropolis full of life and dancing lights. It was natural, that her thoughts were stirred by this, and sprang into action immediately. Without the consent of its host, Annabeth's brain guided her down the familiar roads and streets and that bus stop, until she reached that cosy apartment, there, in Upper Manhattan. Were there were most likely three people now; a woman with smiling blue eyes and a swollen belly perhaps was sitting on the couch reading. Maybe her husband was besides her, a protective hand in his wife's stomach. Not that he realised what he was doing. And then... probably there was a boy with them too. A tall one. With the mop of raven hair and the eyes that held all the seven seas in their depth. He could be studying now in his bedroom. Or it was likely that he too, was at his mother's side, ready to satisfy her every need. Or perhaps he was even on his phone, texting his girlfriend, whom was stuck here, in her house, scrubbing at windows and readying herself to slip into the finest gown she owned.
"Honey, I think the window's clean now."
Annabeth blinked, discontented to be dragged from her reverie with such a jolt.
"Mm. So it is." She yawned widely, and rubbed her eyes, taking displeasure in the deep bags beneath them, their cracked aspect, the gash running beneath those one of those two little windows to her soul.
Fredrick frowned, and studied his daughter carefully. "Are you okay?" He asked, concern staining his words. Annabeth shrugged - a shrug that turned into a roll of the shoulders and a small stretch to alleviate that awful tightness of her muscles. She was rarely ever 'okay,' as such. Always, unless with friends or, mainly, that beautiful boy with sea green eyes and raven hair, she would be shackled by the ever-present, ever-looming monster that was her panic attacks and those awful, awful nightmares. But then again, 'okay,' was relative. And given her situation, yes, Annabeth was okay.
Later that evening, Annabeth stared at herself in the mirror. Undoubtedly, she looked beautiful. Beautiful and, at least in the mellow glow of the bathroom, ethereal. The grey dress fitted her perfectly, its bodice hugging her torso, accentuating the dips and curves of her every inch of flesh. Highlighting each muscle cording her stomach and, candidly, the feminine swell of her bosom. The skirts of the dress fell like a waterfall around Annabeth's legs; chiffon kissing her bare skin, shifting and slithering like a snake, the folds rippling with the small draft from the open window. Her coral pendant hung at her throat, as red and glorious as a ruby. And then there was her face. After much persistence on Helen's part, Annabeth had finally relented to splashing on a small degree of make-up, and the mascara on her eyelashes brought out stark, the grey of her irises. Annabeth's bottle of concealer was also there, discarded in the bathroom counter. It was odd, because today, Annabeth had chosen to not cover up her each and every scar. Only those that were the worst. Those with the darkest story. And so, the gashes tearing her flesh, gave Annabeth a strange sort of wild, savage look, to contrast with the elegant facade she has painted on herself.
There was a knock on the door, and Annabeth started.
"Annabeth!" Called Frederick's voice. "Come on, the guests are due to arrive in five minutes!"
"Okay! I'm coming now. Just-" with a sigh, Annabeth pushed open the door, wary of her father on the other side, and stepped outside into the landing. She was greeted with the face of a smirking Frederick Chase, as he studied his daughter up and down.
"I knew you could make effort if you wanted," He said, clearly already comfortable in his striped tie, crisp shirt, stiff trousers and dress shoes, "why the sudden effort, though? Is there someone coming, I should perhaps know about?" Frederick's tone was teasing, but still, Annabeth felt herself flush lightly.
"Percy isn't coming, and please stop using every opportunity you get to embarrass me."
"But it's fun, making your teenage daughter blush."
"Not for the recipient."
Just then, Bobby and Matthew burst out of their room, clothed in the most formal clothes Annabeth had ever seen them wear. They laughed, and Bobby and detoured, running around Frederick and Annabeth. Matthew chased him.
"Woah, guys," Frederick exclaimed, regaining his balance after almost getting pushed over, "mind out. And God Matthew, tuck your shirt in! Bobby, do up your top button!"
The ringing of a doorbell flooded through the house. It resounded on the walls, and reverberated through the rooms like a drum.
'Ring.'
It was that dreadful sound of the alarm in the morning. It was that pounding of blood in her ears after a perilous nightmare. And then it morphed into the chattering of birds in the enthral of the twilit skies. A sudden knot of panic formed in Annabeth's stomach. Perhaps she should have covered up all her scars? Maybe she should have shaved her legs beforehand? Or what if the concealer ran- for some obscure reason - and then that awful scar on her thigh was revealed to the whole world. Annabeth shook these thoughts from her mind. It was stupid, to feel fear at a dinner party. No one would comment. No one would scrutinise her. She was fine. Annabeth took a deep breath, and the belt around her stomach loosed a little. Frederick shot her a final, teasing glance, and began down the stairs to open the door.
"Hello Frederick! Nice to see you!"
From her vantage point at the top of the the stairs, Annabeth could see a broad shouldered man, in a snappy pinstriped suit, shaking her father's hand. He stepped over the threshold, and was followed promptly by another woman, and two little children: a boy and a girl.
"Hello Max, Angelica." Frederick exclaimed, "It's great to see you!" And the kids, hello. What are your names- don't tell me - Lewis and Antonia? Yes? Lovely to meet you." Annabeth watched as courtesies were exchanged with the practice and ease, as if one were simply chatting about their day. Suddenly, Frederick turned his head upstairs.
"Kids! Come down!" Annabeth noted his casual demeanour, precisely done to show a relaxed state of mind. To depict him as a paternal figure, and an organised one too, hence the firm handshakes and formal, though relaxed, greetings. Annabeth decided to play along.
"Coming, dad!' For a breath of a second, Annabeth was tempted to call him 'Pa,' and see how her father would react, but in this day and age, that was usually quite pretentious. So with Bobby and Matthew running past her - their faces contorted in excitement, ties flying out, their shirts like duck tails - Annabeth padded down the stairs to the guests gathered in the the hallway. She came to a pause alongside her father, who smiled, and gesticulated to his children.
"May I present to you, my children," Frederick said, "This is Bobby, this is Matthew," Mr Chase patted each child on the head as he went, "And this is Annabeth." As the presumed 'Max,' laid eyes on Annabeth, the girl saw a flicker of a shadow dance across his countenance. As his gaze became pinned on the scars littering her face, those marring her arms, the ones that riddled her legs. Then that expression was gone, as quick as it had come- the flame of a candle being blown out - and the man smiled pleasantly and extended a hand to her. Annabeth shook it.
"Pleased to meet you... Max?"
"Likewise, Annabeth."
There was the sound of a buzzer again, and Annabeth looked up from the conversation she had struck up with six-year-old Antonia.
"Annabeth, can you answer that please!?" Frederick called from the living room, where he and the McGregor family (Max and company) where indulging in fascinating talk about tax. Annabeth sighed, and lifted herself from the dining chair. She headed down the hallway, debating in her mind how to greet this newcomer - wether she'd know them or not. Soon, too soon, the door loomed up at her, and Annabeth braced a hand on the knob ready to turn it; shifted her fingers, and the handle spun with ease. The door opened, creaking almost in assent, to reveal a smiling, familiar face, squinting at Annabeth.
"Annabeth?" It asked. Annabeth froze at that voice, and a deluge of recollection washed over her. And so, Annabeth found herself remembering a time when she was six, and this woman would always slip her that little last square of chocolate. When Annabeth was thirteen, and had been hugged by this woman's strong arms, and a voice laughing, so happy to see the young demigod after all these years. Scared she had seen the last of that little seven year old girl. The last time Annabeth and the woman before her had seen each other, two years ago, when Annabeth had been fifteen. It had been that day when Frederick had dragged his daughter to his work, and there Annabeth and -. Annabeth peered into the blinding sunlight.
"Catherine?" She asked. Catherine grinned and bowed, then came and embraced Annabeth tightly.
"Oh my god, you've gotten so big!" She exclaimed, "You're seventeen now!
Nice dress! You must tell me everything. How's school? Studying hard? Forget that, do you have a boyfriend?"
And Annabeth found herself laughing and smiling. Whilst usually she despised when people came upon her life this, while usually it felt an intrusion of her privacy, Catherine had always been kind and funny, and for some reason, those factors had made Annabeth long ago, feel comfortable with sharing little aspects of her life with the elder woman.
She hugged Catherine back fiercely. "Well, a lot's happened." Annabeth said.
"I've got all night."
Annabeth and Catherine walked into the living room, and Frederick smiled as they strode in.
"Catherine!" He said, beaming, "I'm so glad you could make it"
"So am I- wouldn't want your teenage daughter to die of boredom now, would we? That would hardly do."
The party laughed, and Annabeth did so too, sliding into the sofa alongside Catherine. Once the adults had again begun their tedious monotone of a conversation, Annabeth turned to the woman besides her.
"So, how are you, Catherine?" She asked.
"I'm great, to be honest. Just moved in with my partner. I got a promotion, came back the day before yesterday from a trip around Europe." There was pride in the voice, but somehow, no ego. Annabeth smiled, happy, if feeling a twang of envy inside of her. For how carelessly, and joyfully Catherine could throw out those words. "But what about you?" Catherine asked, distorting Annabeth's train of thought, "How have you been doing?"
In the few seconds that followed, Annabeth felt such a haze and mix of emotions uncoiling inside her. She felt a fire start somewhere in the corner of her heart, and a bomb go off in the darkest depths of her mind. There was anguish. Sadness and hatred and fear, but also queer feelings of ebullience and joy. There was the ringing of metal in her ears as swords slashed, emotions fighting for dominance. Back and forth. Back and forth-
'Ring.'
The doorbell cut through her thoughts, her battle, like a knife. Annabeth started.
"Would you get the door again, honey?" Frederick asked. Annabeth resisted rolling her eyes, but smiled apologetically at Catherine, and got up all the same.
Framed in the empty doorway, stood a family of four. At the head was a middle-aged woman, clad in floral print dress, then a man, with a navy suit, and behind him? two red-headed children, both girls. One looked about twelve, and the other perhaps eighteen.
"Hello," Annabeth said, forcing a smile upon her lips. The woman only returned it with the merest twitch of her lips.
"Hello," she responded, her voice eloquent and educated, "Is Mr Chase here?"
'Mr Chase,' Annabeth noted, not 'Frederick.'
"Yes," she replied, "I'm his daughter."
"Oh, Annabel isn't it?"
"Annabeth."
"My apologies. Honour to meet you Annabeth." The woman held out a hand, and Annabeth shook it firmly.
"Thank you," she said, "What's your name?"
"Mrs Davidson-I'm your father's boss."
"Oh," Annabeth felt suddenly flustered, thinking she possibly should have given the woman a grander welcome, "I'm sorry, I should've realised. Welcome, do come in."
"Thank you."
Mrs Davidson strode stiffly into the hallway, and her family followed. Their demeanour was quite pushy, Annabeth couldn't help but think, as they stripped off their winter coats, hung up their hats, and, with a self-assured, confident gait, made their way into the sitting room. It seemed to Annabeth, that they were the kind of people whom would pick up somebody's belongings, and expect their company - whomever that may be - to take delight simply in their interest in whatever object was in question. She followed the family back into her living room, and beheld the scene with a sort of avid fascination. It was curious, how when Catherine and the McGregors and that little man in the armchair had arrived, there had been a joyful sort of clamour. Greetings exchanged with rapture, the pleasantries informal and friendly. However, upon the arrival of the Davidson, a hush settled over the little ensemble. One were each person smouldered beneath the burning gaze of their boss and her family. Where a tentative smile and a helpless glance at their host was all all and sundry could manage.
A tight-lipped smile formed on Frederick's face. He rose from the comforts of the sofa and shook his boss's hand firmly.
"Mrs Davidson," he said, feigning enthusiasm, "It's a pleasure for you to be here."
"Thank you, Mr Chase. It's most kind of you to host this dinner."
Fredrick'a dipped in a polite acknowledgment, as he gestured to his children and wife.
"If I may present to you, my wonderful wife, Helen," alright, Annabeth thought. Everybody loved a family man, "and my three children, Bobby, Matthew, and Annabeth."
"Yes, Annabeth was very courteous at the door. My two daughters here. Come on girls, say hello."
Behind her mother's back, the elder girl rolled her eyes, plainly irked by Davidson's harrowing nature. She smiled at the throng, and put a protective arm around her younger sister, who was trying to slip behind her.
"Hey. I'm Tam," she said, grinning flippantly, "and this," Tam patted her sister on the shoulder, the blue fabric on her dress billowing as she went, "this is Lily." She shot Annabeth a lopsided smile, and Annabeth beamed back. A sort of liking gave sudden fruit between them.
'Ring!'
The buzzer rang out again. It penetrated through the walls and the doorways until it became a pounding headache in Annabeth's ears. With distaste, she closed her eyes. Perhaps the blinds across her eyes could also be doors across her ears.
"Annabeth would you-"
"-Please, not again. Can't Bobby or Matthew?"
"Fine. Bobby, please can you please get the door."
Apparently sensing the urgency of courtesy in this situation, Bobby just smiled and nodded.
Half an hour later, Annabeth was at the table, Catherine on one side and Tam on the other. Also, apparently spinning them the yarn of her life. It was hard to explain the scars without giving a story. It was hard to explain a hellish summer without some sort of a summary. And then still, hard to put into words the rollercoaster of a life that was Annabeth Chase's, without letting slip of a Greek god, and a quest, and then letting the whole thing spill over like a glass filled to its rim.
"So what did you say his name was" Catherine giggled. Annabeth rolled her eyes, and toyed with her fork.
"Perseus."
"And you knew him since the age of twelve? That's so sweet."
Now, Annabeth found herself heaving a deep annoyed sigh.
"I guess."
"And it took you five years to ask him out?"
Annabeth cupped her head in her hands. "Gods, I swear you are more invested in my personal life than I am."
Tam muffled a laugh that would not bode well with the serious conversation the adults were having. In the centre of the table lay a chicken, aristocratic amongst the crowd of short glasses and vegetables. By now, all the guests had arrived, and through the calming hubbub of chatter, there could be heard the clinking of cutlery, a knife scraping against a plate, the sloshing of wine in a glass. Catherine, it was evident, was slightly bored. The woman was more about practical activities, and sitting at a dinner table, all rigged up, discussing tax probably was not her favourite topic of conversation. Annabeth could relate. Still though, she wasn't exactly content when her father had pushed her - and eighteen year old Tam too - at the end of the table, with all the other children. Tax may have been a boring subject (and yes, Tam may have called it 'Taxing,' when she was asked her opinion on it), but that shouldn't mean Annabeth had to be squashed in among ten years olds.
"Catherine?" Helen called from the other side of the table. Catherine, crouched besides Annabeth and Tam, having a fun time trespassing on the teenager's respective love lives, looked up.
"Yes?"
"Are you coming back here, or will you stay with the children?"
"Ah yes. I guess I'll be heading back to you. See you later, girls."
As the meal progressed, Annabeth was glad to find that Tam had not inherited her mother's pushy nature. On the contrary, she was friendly and polite. She smiled a lot more, and laughed hard Annabeth's witty comments. It was strange, how the girls' conversations altered, swift as a current. At one point, they were in a deep conversation about the injustices of having to wear a dress to this even (Cornflower blue? Really?), then, they somehow caught themselves in an avid discussion about politics (still, they refrained from discussing tax).
And it was during one of these rapturous, crazy conversations that the doorbell rang again. Frederick frowned. Clearly, he had not expected any more visitors. Annabeth saw him glance curiously at Helen, a question written all over his face. But if he had expected an answer, he did not get one, because his wife merely shrugged, and went back to her food.
"Matthew, would you-?"
"But- I haven't finished yet. Can't Annabeth?"
Mr Chase looked a little helplessly at his daughter.
"Fine." Annabeth said, "I'll be back in a moment."
Once outside in the hallway, the comforting drone of conversation resumed. Annabeth's brow creased as she headed for the door. She found herself painfully conscious of her every step: every creak of the floorboard, every ruffle of her dress, every breath she whispered into the still air. Through the foggy glass panes of the door, Annabeth could make out a single silhouette, stark against an evening sky. It was tall and lean, though muscular, it appeared. There was a casual stance in whomever's stance. A slight shift of the weight onto the right, and folding of the arms. Annabeth felt as if the door swam before her. Part of her wanted to reach it already. Another murmur in her mind wanted it to never come. Still, somehow, Annabeth found her hand braced on the handle. She found her fingers twitching. She didn't bother to ask who it was. She just twisted the knob. And there Annabeth was, letting the door open. Gods, that creak it made was too familiar. Gods... gods. The door swung open, and there he was, standing in the doorway, a casual smile on his face... and gods she had missed him.
Annabeth didn't say anything as she walked into his arms. She didn't allow herself to think as the cold stabbed at her limbs. Didn't breathe. Didn't even blink. She just acted. Percy's warm arms wrapped around her, his face burying itself somewhere in the depths of her hair. And he didn't even kiss her and she didn't kiss him. They didn't need that to show their love. Their reckless passion. They just hugged each other tight. So tight, Annabeth thought she would never let him go or even be let go. She wanted to cry and laugh and yes, reach up and kiss that mouth. She had missed him so much. So painfully. So many pangs that had racked her body each night in that futile yearning. She nuzzled her face into his shoulder, wanting to drown in him, his soul, his heart. Distantly, Annabeth was aware of a frigid wind blowing through her hair, her skirts, her face. She thought, at first, it was the wind that kissed her cheeks, only to then realise it was Percy. And she kissed him back. And she hugged him harder. And only when they broke away - after a time that could have been a second or millennia - they just stared at each other.
"Gods, I missed you so much," Percy whispered, as though afraid that a voice any louder would break the very world around them. Annabeth's words were equally as hushed.
"I know," she breathed into the mesmerising glow of the Golden Hour, "Gods, Percy, I know."
"Did you find my gift?"
"I did. It made me cry."
Percy's ecstatic expression turned to concern, then worry.
"Is that bad?" He asked, "or cry, as in, good?"
"Good. Definitely good. Di immortales, I can't thank you enough. Oh gods. Gods. I love you."
Percy looked relived. "I'm glad," he said, "And- Holy Hephaestus, do mine eyes deceive me, or is The Annabeth Chase wearing a dress?"
Annabeth looked down at herself, suddenly self conscious about the ensemble she was bedecked in. She opted to laugh, which was not hard.
"My dad's having a dinner party."
"Oh," Percy suddenly seemed to realise the tinkling of laughter and buzz of voices down the hall.
"He said it was this dress or a tux," Annabeth wrinkled her nose, "Neither was preferable, but I do think this one trumps a suit. There was cool hand placed on her cheek.
"I think you look beautiful. Wether you like the dress or not. You look beautiful. And I would say it a thousand more times, with each dying breath. Because a rose by any other name - or clothing in this sense - would still smell as sweet."
Annabeth hoped her face wasn't burning too much. Not as much as her heart and her soul. Not as much as the fires igniting in the corners of her mind. The delirious blanket wrapping her up in its warm embrace. Even as she debated between laughing so hard at Percy's soppiness, or to fall back into the safety of his arms.
"Why are you here?" She asked, finding herself incapable to express the emotions rampaging inside her. Percy shrugged.
"Missed you. I couldn't wait until tomorrow."
Something in Annabeth's heart crumbled, and tumbled down to her feet.
"Just.. just come here," Annabeth stood on the points of her feet, and pressed a kiss to his mouth. She thought he might have smiled. An arm was placed around her back, and she put a hand to his face, and in that instance, the world became paraffin and melted away. It became a broken, crumbling tower. It became a thousand rolling waves that broke on the surface of a glossy white beach. Nothing mattered. Not the party. Not Catherine or Tam or her brothers and father and stepmother. Not even ever her steaming dinner on the plate. It was as if Manhattan and the States and America and then the whole globe faded into a mere wraith. Something merely a figment of a someone's ludicrous imagination. Because love was elusive. And once one found it, even if they had to face harrowing memories and haunted pasts and fights that would forever scar one's mind, at the end of the day it was worth it. It was worth it and Annabeth would do everything, anything, all her experiences again and again and again so long as she could feel the binding manacles, but also the feathered wings, of love.
"Annabeth!" Called a voice, "Are you still alive out there!?"
Percy and Annabeth broke apart, first wide-eyed, then stifling bouts of giggles. Frantically, Annabeth smoothed her rumbled skirts and ran a hand through her hair, slightly dishevelled from pressing her face against Percy's shoulder.
"Uh. I think so," Annabeth replied, and was shocked to find her voice hoarse, yet somehow vivid and alive. Footfalls resounded through the hallway, and Catherine's familiar face poked through the doorway.
"Annabeth, what took you, your - oh, hello. Who are you?"
"Um," Percy extended a calloused hand, "Percy Jackson."
"Oh." Clarity surfaced in Catherine's face, and a grin broke her countenance.
"Catherine? Who was it?" Helen asked from the dining room.
"No one. Just Annabeth's boyfriend!"
"Catherine!" Annabeth protested, embarrassed for it to be shouted to the entire party. Her face flushed scarlet.
"Oh, Percy?" Helen's tone was unruffled and happy, "Does he want to come and eat something?"
At Annabeth's side, Percy looked confused, most likely as to Helen's strange change in behaviour.
"If you're sure it's no trouble, Mrs Chase," he said uncertainly.
"Not at all."
"Oh. Thank you very much."
At the table, Percy was clearly nervous. Among the crowd of formal professors and doctors, he stuck out like a sore thumb. There was a certain, hilarious dichotomy, between Percy's vest top (most people would've been blocks of ice with the winter chill) and cargo pants, and, take Bobby and Matthew's, freshly ironed shirts, and long ties. He sat uncomfortably besides Annabeth, occupying the place Catherine had sat at a little while ago, trying his best to cut chicken as best he could, whilst still on the bone.
"Don't feel too bad," Annabeth muttered in his ear, "I have no idea what I'm doing either."
Percy laughed softly, and beneath the table, surreptitiously, so that it was impossible for any other to see, cool fingers closed around Annabeth's.
"At least you're dressed accordingly." He told her, "I had no idea your dad's boss was here as well."
"Does Sally know you're here."
"Yeah. I told her I was coming to greet you. She did roll her eyes and ask if I could not wait till tomorrow. I said no."
Annabeth's grip tightened on her boyfriend's hand. It seemed that all in vicinity were gone. Faded into the background, their talk meaningless white noise. Even Tam had reverted to talking with six-year old Antonia. The only figure defined and important to see was Percy. She wanted to kiss him again. To hug him. To hold him and never let go. But she couldn't, not here with everybody. With her family and friends and colleagues. Mentally, Annabeth cursed them and their cumbersome ways. Bitterly wondering why they were here, obstacles between her and her boyfriend.
"Annabeth, can you help me get the pudding?" Someone asked in a pitiful, child's voice. Annabeth looked up to see Matthew, talking to her across the table.
"Mm. I guess. Have you all eaten?" She asked the children. Some looked up- the older ones nodding, but the younger ones, just glanced up and went back to whatever game they were indulging in. Annabeth sighed.
"Have you all eaten?"
She was greeted with no replies, only the laughter of toddlers. Annabeth's patience began to wear.
"I asked if you're all done!"
Nothing. Gods, this was like herding sheep. A muscle feathered in Annabeth's jaw.
"Have you all-" a gentle hand was placed on her arm, and Annabeth looked down to seen Percy's kindly smile.
"Let me do this," he said gently. No, Annabeth's brain would not melt. No, it wouldn't.
"Please do."
A little while later, after Percy rounded up the smaller children somewhat more successfully than Annabeth, and the party had devoured cheesecake, Percy and Annabeth were standing in the hallway.
"I need to finish packing," Percy was saying, "I've only managed a pair of socks and a shirt so far."
"Why does that not surprise me?" Annabeth laughed. Percy elbowed her, but without force.
"So, we're coming by at nine tomorrow in the car."
"I'll try and be ready."
"And call okay? You need anything tonight, call me."
"I- I'll see. I don't want be - I don't want to -"
"If you say 'burden to me,' then I say we have been through this," Percy said slowly, "Never in this life or any that will follow, will you ever be a burden. That I will take to my grave."
"Oh, don't make me cry now," Annabeth chuckled.
"Well, in that case I'd better leave," Percy pressed a swift kiss to her mouth, "See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow!"
And Annabeth watched, a smile blossoming on her countenance, as Percy waved and began down the street, his gait carefree and happy. And though it was hard to be sure, Annabeth thought he may even have been humming.
