Chapter Thirteen
Three days. That's how long it was until Percy regained consciousness. That's how long Annabeth had felt as though she was frozen, ripped apart by her conflicting loyalties, pride and heart as they vied for her attention. The five of them had taken refuge in Clara's house, sprawled on chairs when they weren't guarding the house or, in Chris' case, speaking to the town guard. Annabeth left that up to the others, spending much of her time on a small wooden stool beside Percy, watching him until she fell asleep, only to jerk awake when he shifted or moaned. Unable to do anything but watch, Annabeth had never experienced such helplessness.
It was mid-morning when he finally woke, Annabeth setting aside her cup of tea that she was wishing was mead when she saw him stir. Clara was instantly there, as was the bowman who Annabeth learnt was named Will. Him and his partner, Nico, had been tracking the bandits that Drew hired. Annabeth realised dimly that these were the two Percy had inquired about with the Stoll brothers, but none of that mattered as he struggled to open his eyes.
The group huddled into the small room as his eyes gazed up at the ceiling, blinking, before drifting down, taking in each of them, settling on Annabeth last. One of his eyes was still swollen shut but seeing that green eased the tightness that had been building in her chest for the past three days.
"We won, then." Was the first word's Percy rasped out. A collective sigh went through the occupants of the room. Annabeth rolled her eyes but smiled in relief.
"Perce …" Chris breathed.
"Don't worry about it," he croaked reassuringly. "I know I still look better than your girl." There was a thud and a slam as Clarisse stormed from the room. Percy eyed the exit with his good eye, then said, "that wasn't even my worse line. You better go," he directed at Chris. "She's more than likely to hit some unsuspecting person if you don't." Chris brushed a hand against his arm before going to find Clarisse.
Nico, after a nod, slipped quietly from the room. Annabeth watched him, having not even noticed he had come in. She had only seen the friend either late in the evening or early morning when the others had gone to sleep. Dressed entirely in black, with olive skin, dark eyes and hair, he blended perfectly with the shadows, seeming to prefer its company rather than that of people. He reported on the activity after their skirmish, keeping an eye on people. If there were any signs of repercussions, Chris was alerted and hastily defused it. The glimpses she caught of him, speaking quietly with Will, the way their heads were bent close together, the brushes of fingers against arms or hands, she saw that there was one person whose company Nico didn't mind.
A quiet voice said her name and she returned her focus to Percy. He was looking at her, the quips and bravado gone. His gaze gently searched hers, and he seemed to read everything she had felt while he lay unconscious. All the pain, indecision, doubt … he saw it all and seemed to understand.
"It's that terrible, isn't it?"
"Yes," Annabeth admitted. "But I thought that when I first saw you," she added, trying to lighten the mood.
A ghost of a grin appeared through the bruises. "Really?" he asked, his voice soft but serious.
"No," she replied just as soft. Percy smiled then, and those days waiting for him to wake was worth it. "You're breathing easier," she noted, before scrunching her nose with how stupid the comment sounded.
"Good to know," he replied sleepily, his eyes shutting as he slipped back under.
"At least he's awake," came a short voice. Annabeth almost jumped, forgetting she wasn't alone with Percy. "If he didn't come out of his coma soon, I feared he wouldn't wake at all."
Will, the bowman and healer, came around to Percy's other side, flicking his blonde hair from his face impatiently as he checked vitals. Annabeth rose quietly to her feet, slipping out the door and house, smiling glumly at Clara as she passed. She wasn't entirely sure what she had done to Will, but it was clear from their first encounter that he had a grudge against her. She had tried to steer clear of him outside of Percy's quarters, knowing how he felt of her continuing presence, but she refused to leave Percy's side because he had a problem with her. So, they would studiously ignore each other when Will would check over Percy every few hours. He was beside Percy almost as much as Annabeth was, and the tension was always there, brimming between them.
Chris was waiting for her at the tavern when she entered, a cup of mead already poured. She downed the cup in two gulps, flagging down another as she tossed the coins on the table for the maid. Chris let her finish her second cup before speaking.
"The kids are a little bit more receptive today," he told her, to which she nodded. "They were telling me some interesting things about Drew. She really didn't think highly of you," he added.
Annabeth snorted, toasting sarcastically at him before taking another deep drink. "Her poison is almost as potent as Arachne's," she said, staring at the cup in her hand. "I never wanted any of this to happen, Chris."
"I know," he said softly.
The first couple of days she blamed it on her restricted movement, her leg wound having re-opened and needing to be re-bandaged and rested but she knew she couldn't put it off forever. The two Elite recruits Annabeth had incapacitated had been restrained and held under the watchful eye of Chris and the town guard, waiting for Annabeth to decide what was to be done with them. They couldn't return to Luke, and she was reluctant to execute them or have them tag along with her, the remaining options not amounting to much.
The meeting did not go well, though Annabeth had not expected it to. They had already decided how to view Annabeth and despite her best efforts, they stubbornly insisted she was a brainwashed traitor Drew had painted her as. She could see their disappointment, their feelings of betrayal with her, the legendary Elite who could do no wrong, and deep-down Annabeth couldn't blame them. If Chris hadn't been there, Annabeth would've buckled under their accusations.
In those three days, Annabeth understood just how strong Chris was. He held everything together, handling the repercussions that were threatening to tear into them. The town guard had received a somewhat truthful version of events and assisted with the disposing of the bandit bodies strewn around their village. They kept a heavy presence in the streets, so any remaining survivors didn't feel the need to return. Chris, along with Nico and Clarisse, had and disposed of the fallen Elites, admitting to Annabeth at their first unofficial tavern meeting that he knew the specific funeral rites that were due to them as well as removing any evidence any Elite had set foot in the town. She hadn't yet visited her fallen brethren and she didn't know whether she would before she left.
"Now that Percy's awake," Chris started hesitantly. "Do you have idea when you'll …"
Annabeth lowered her head, her fingers drumming along the cup. "Probably a couple of days," she said quietly.
Chris' answering gaze was glum but understanding. He knew how much it would pain her and Percy, but they both knew it was for the best.
Annabeth found herself sitting beside Percy once more that evening, wondering how her journey had led her to this. It was supposed to be straight-forward but there she was, anxiously waiting for a person, who was not Luke, to wake. This same person who was changing her perception on where she stood, what she believed, what she felt. The same person she could see a new future with; if she could fix the mess she caused.
Time was running out. She needed to grab the Crystal before everything got further out of control. Bandits were flooding towns and villages, spurred on and almost going mad with the prospect of battles. The darker religious cults were recruiting forcefully with a number of disappearances, only for their remains to be found at crudely made altars. Octavian had been rumoured to be gathering a large force, heading towards the cave in preparation for his rise to new power. Luke and the Elites were also building a substantial force with a number of fresh recruits, awaiting the arrival of the strongest Elite with the Crystal in hand. Yes, Nico had been very thorough when reporting this to Clarisse and Chris, Will leaving the door ajar so Annabeth could hear the repercussions of Luke's actions.
Grabbing a bowl and sponge from the worktable and returning, Annabeth began to wash Percy's arms, taking care not to press too hard. Clara had been busy, with an increased amount of addled men being dragged into her house, overdosed on whatever drugs were being sold and consumed. The demand had risen with the chaos, spurring many into a drug-fuelled rage with no thought for their actions. Thefts and house invasions were also on the rise, though Clara's place had so far been untouched thanks to the reputations of her house guests.
Annabeth turned down the sheets to his hips, trying hard not to stare at the colour combination that coated his chest and abdomen. The sponge glided lightly over his shoulders and chest, then under his arms and down his sides. Even if Luke gave her the order to back down and abandon her task, the momentum was too great and she would just get swept up in it, trying to stay alive amongst the carnage. It didn't matter; Luke would never back down. Wasn't it a better position to side with him then be seen as an enemy?
Lost in thought, Annabeth glanced down and realised she had been running the sponge back and forth across Percy's abdomen, just above where the sheets sat under his belly button. She paused, her fingers hovering over his skin. What was wrong with her? She shouldn't want to touch him while he lay injured, shouldn't want to let her fingers roam over his chest, feeling each muscle, bump and scar and storing it to memory. She shouldn't want to press her lips against his when his breathing had only just steadied. She moved the sponge back up, the tips of her fingers grazing his stomach as she did. She took a deep breath, her heart beating a little faster …
"If you go any lower, someone will think you're taking advantage of me," came Percy's hoarse voice.
Annabeth pulled her hand back quickly; glad he couldn't see her blush or hear the racing of her heart. "Someone thinks highly of themselves," she noted, trying to hide her embarrassment. She placed the sponge in the dish. "Especially when you smell the way you do."
Percy smiled. Despite the heavy shadows cast over him, causing his bruises to appear more menacing, she was relieved to see his smile. "I have a serious question." Annabeth braced herself. "I didn't lose any teeth, did I?"
"You will still have your pretty smile," Annabeth assured him, rolling her eyes to appear exasperated.
"You think it's pretty?"
"Not at the moment."
A chuckle escaped his lips before he groaned, clutching his side with a shaky hand. "Please, no jokes." Silence fell between them, Annabeth searching for something, anything, she could do to ease his pain. While her eyes were at the door, she felt something on her hand. Before she pulled away, she realised it was Percy's hand. Her eyes travelled up his arm to see his own soft gaze on her. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "For stepping in. For saving my life."
But she almost didn't. She was almost too late. He shouldn't thank her, not when she was the cause.
"This isn't your fault," he said softly, squeezing her hand lightly, ever perceptive of her feelings. "I will never blame you for this." Annabeth closed her eyes, preventing her tears from falling but unable to stop the grimace that came to her face. "I knew what I was getting into when I followed you. You shouldn't blame yourself."
Keeping her eyes closed, Annabeth took several deep breaths, focusing her attention of the warmth on her hand. It was a steady pressure, a calming presence against the turbulent thoughts.
"There's something we need to discuss …" she began but when she looked back up, Percy had already fallen back asleep.
Clarisse was sitting on an old barrel beside the door when Annabeth left for the morning, smoke obscuring her face as she pushed it out her mouth. Seeing Annabeth, she rose, grinning with the cigarette between her teeth, smoke curling around her head as she led her around to the back of the house, removing her jacket. The jacket was thrown onto a rack on the back wall, a wooden pole beside it grabbed and twirled as Clarisse moved into the centre of the cleared ground, cracking her neck and rolling her shoulders. Annabeth removed her long-sleeved shirt in favour of a slimmer singlet she wore underneath, placed it beside the jacket before retrieving her double batons, walking slowly to stand opposite Clarisse.
Out of all them, Clarisse was the last one that Annabeth thought could help her. But she did and Annabeth had a newfound respect for the Arenian. After a stern warning from Chris not to goad drunkards into fighting, Clarisse had become bored and stir-crazy the longer she had to go without hitting someone. She noticed Annabeth had the same built-up tension and frustration, forcing her to become her sparring partner to pass the time. Reluctant at first, Annabeth was dragged out but soon came to enjoy the few hours in the early morning they spent together, glad for something to take her mind off the unconscious boy in the room.
Once in position, they attacked each other, focusing wholly on overpowering the other rather than their troubles. Clarisse struggled under Annabeth's finely tuned technique but held out longer than most, gradually clawing the contest to be of more equal footing. They fought each other until their exhaustion was all they could think about, their muscles almost buckling with their fatigue. They moved to the bucket of water Chris had found and supplied, each grabbing a ladle.
Clarisse chuckled. "Your shadow is back," she informed her.
Annabeth didn't bother to turn around as she took a large drink of water, already knowing what she would see. "How do you know she's not here for you?"
Her question got a snort in response. "Kid's been trying to copy your lame ass knife manoeuvres with that pitiful paring knife. Seen her doing it round the side of the house when you go inside."
Annabeth sighed, reaching for her shirt. The daughter had taken to watching Annabeth covertly from door frames or windows since she had first seen her the night of the skirmish, covered head to foot in blood and dirt. She blushed and ducked from view whenever Annabeth met her stare. The attention was tiring, and Annabeth thought her continued ignorance would be a deterrent, though she hadn't been hopeful. She would have to put an end to it, make the daughter realise Annabeth wasn't someone to admire, because she would only end up disappointed as two others had been.
Clarisse read Annabeth's thoughts, sticking another cigarette in her mouth and loudly grabbed her jacket, leaving by the other side with a wide grin. Dawdling, Annabeth appeared to have followed, only to double back and wait as the girl timidly moved out onto the spot Annabeth had occupied, pulling the small paring knife Clarisse mentioned from her belt. She started slashing the air, including sound effects with movements Annabeth could recognise. Taking care to be silent, Annabeth walked up to her unsuspecting back, waiting until she spun around with a slash. The girl gasped and jumped away, her eyes wide on Annabeth's hard gaze.
"What are you doing?" she asked with her arms crossed.
The girl blushed and glanced away, tucking her hands behind her back. "Nothing," she said, barely audible.
Annabeth stared at the girl, waiting, hoping her intimidation would have her admitting. When it didn't, she turned to walk away, tilting her head so she could watch the girl from the corner of her eyes. The girl shuffled her feet, rocking back and forth, her eyes darting to Annabeth and away every few seconds with her indecision.
Then she couldn't help it, bursting out, "I was practising."
Annabeth turned, raising an eyebrow. "Practising what?"
Her blush deepened. "To be like you."
"You don't want to be like me," she told the girl after taking a deep breath.
The girl's shoulders slumped, her head bowing. Annabeth looked at her, really looked at her. She was slim, bordering on thin underneath her simple dress. Her skin was a milky pale shade, though her cheeks were currently bright red. Her hair was fair and straight, pulled from her face by a white bandanna. The way she teetered on the balls of her feet said to Annabeth that was a nervous sort, and didn't interact with many people, which made the way she avoided the other children in the town plausible.
Annabeth smirked and scoffed in realisation with a head shake. So, she had been keeping an eye on the physician's daughter. Subconsciously, but it was obvious she had been. She was going soft. Or sentimental because she couldn't help but compare the girl to herself when she was that age. Someone had helped her then, got her on her feet, taught her to live and survive … Cursing inwardly, she placed a bent finger under the girl's chin, forcing her to look up.
"You want to be yourself," she added. A tentative smile hovered on the edge of the girl's lips seeing Annabeth smiling softly at her. "Show me your stance," she ordered politely.
The girl looked confused at first but moved into position when she understood. Annabeth suppressed a grin, striding over to correct her.
"It's not bad," she commented. "But bend your knees. No, not quite like that. Just relaxed, easy. Set your feet like this. There you go. We stand this way, so it gives us a chance to either charge forward or flee."
"You run away?" asked the girl incredulously.
"If I need to," Annabeth answered, letting the lie slip easily from her lips. She crouched in front her, staring into her luminous brown eyes. "You shouldn't want to fight," she told her earnestly. "Only fight if you are given no other choice. Do you understand?"
The girl nodded vigorously. She looked at Annabeth seriously, her mouth twisting a little as she bit the inside of her cheek nervously.
"I'm Elora," she introduced herself nervously. "Will you show me? Please?"
Smiling reassuringly again, Annabeth rose to her feet and became a teacher for the day.
"You were with my daughter today," Clara said, causing Annabeth to pause at the top of the stairs.
Clara had been gracious, allowing the five of them to stay in her house, coming and going at all hours and sharing her food that there wasn't much of despite Clarisse and Nico often venturing out to hunt in the nearby forest. Annabeth had been the only one to venture upstairs and bathe when it was not in use, but she could hear in Clara's tone that a line had been crossed when it came to her interacting with her daughter.
"I understand your concerns," Annabeth replied quietly, gazing back.
"Then you will also understand that it needs to cease," she continued in a hard voice.
"No," came a soft gasp.
Annabeth's eyes flickered towards the ajar door at the end of the hall, catching her pleading expression before nodding to Clara, heading downstairs as Elora burst from her room towards her mother. Annabeth tuned out the argument that construed, slipping silently into Percy's room. Will glanced towards her, frowned but said nothing as she took her stool by his bedside.
"Seems you cause trouble wherever you go," Will commented, hearing the argument also.
Annabeth clenched her jaw to prevent the retort she longed to dish out, knowing it wouldn't help matters. "I'll be leaving soon," she told him quietly.
"Not soon enough," he muttered through thin lips.
Annabeth eyed him, frowning when she noticed he had a tattoo. It wasn't that he had one but more that she hadn't seen it; though, she supposed, she had been occupied. His shirt was open at the neck, which gave some reasoning to why it was only being discovered. The tattoo itself was an intricate pattern, a symbol, sitting on his left collarbone but closer to his neck, even winding up a little towards his jaw.
In a passing glimpse it was covered once more, darkness assisting. Without any further jibes, Will left Annabeth with Percy and she was left to wonder what sort the tattooed symbol represented. She had seen branding on bandits, but Will's didn't appear to be a brand. A cult? Plausible, but the designs she memorised for religious cults didn't have that patterning and she knew basically all of them. She would need to make a copy in her notebook and do some investigating.
"When were you leaving?"
Annabeth almost jumped from the stool and drew her weapon. Absorbed in the mysterious tattoo, she had forgotten the reason she was in the room with Will. Percy was watching her carefully through his eyes, both now open though still with heavy bruising. She had assumed he was asleep but looking at him, he was very much awake, and very much struggling to control whatever emotions he was feeling.
"I was waiting until you woke," she admitted quietly.
Percy nodded, shifting to a half-sitting position with a soft grunt. "That's courteous," he said lightly. "Would've understood if you cut and run. Maybe," he added, with a wry grin that didn't reach his eyes.
"This has to end," she told him seriously.
"It's not fair," he murmured. "I can't go with you."
Tears came to her eyes. Why did he have to say that? It was hard enough for her to leave but for him to say that, and the raw emotion in his voice ... she wanted to hold him, she wanted to cling to him, make him tell her to wait and that she wasn't stupid for feeling the way she did. But he wouldn't do that. Because he knew it was what had to be done, regardless of feelings. So, she smiled softly at him, reached out and took his hand.
"You kept up your end, more than enough. I was always going to enter the Cave alone."
Percy glanced away, his jaw clenching. He then nodded and pulled his hand from her grasp, unable to look at her. She had half expected his disapproval, but it did nothing to dull the sting. She rose quietly, leaving him to brood while she collected her things, informing Chris and Clarisse she would be leaving in the next couple of days.
