chapter twenty-eight: still on your side

The trial is long and gruelling. Annabeth can barely remain calm as she watches Gabe's defendant attempt to rebuke the undeniable fact of Percy's abuse—a fact that this man is being paid to deny. Gabe's beady eyes sweep over the court, occasionally scraping over Percy with aggression sparking in the curl of his lip. Annabeth quietly simmers, furious. Prosecution seems to be winning over the jury purely on the merit of the blatant photographic evidence they collected—photographs of the injuries Percy sustained, X-rays of his battered body—but Gabe's going down fighting.

Percy is sitting beside her, face pale as he stares steadily forward. She squeezes his hand, trying to offer some semblance of reassurance. He shoots her a small smile in response. His breathing's rapid, but he seems to be managing to keep a handle on it by tuning out the proceedings. He's doing a good job of holding himself together, all things considered. To Annabeth, the whole process is completely sickening.

She hasn't testified yet, but she knows she'll soon be called up to the witness stand. Closing her eyes, she tries to prepare herself. There's no way in hell she's letting Percy down. When she's done talking, every fucking person in the jury will have no choice but to proclaim Gabe guilty.

After a few more minutes of the proceedings, Annabeth hears her name. She jerks her head up, realising the judge is looking at her expectantly. "Annabeth Chase. Come up and swear the oath, so you can present your evidence."

Annabeth gets to her feet, letting Percy's hand slip out of her own. Approaching the stand, she places her hand on the New Testament resting there. The judge says, "Repeat after me: I do solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

Mouth dry, Annabeth stutters out the words. She takes to the stand, clearing her throat. The jury watches her, their collective gaze expectant. "I've known Percy since I was ten," she begins, hating the way her voice wavers. He isn't looking at her. His hands are bunched up the fabric of his slacks—as though he's trying to anchor himself to something. She continues, "We've always been close, and I've seen the effects of what his stepdad did to him first-hand. I didn't find out what was really going on until last year. For the longest time I thought he was just clumsy, or got into fights that I didn't know about. There were so many unexplained injuries, and he never seemed happy at home. One time he admitted to me that he'd been kicked out for the night, but I didn't read into it. I should've read into it."

"How old was he when that happened?" the judge asks.

After a moment of thinking, Annabeth responds, "Ten years old." The judge nods, prompting Annabeth to continue.

Gabe's defendant raises a hand, interrupting. "Permission to speak?"

"Go ahead."

"If it was so obvious that Mr Jackson was struggling at home, why on earth did it take you so long to clock on?" he asks, sharply raising a brow.

Annabeth knows the question is supposed to throw her off kilter. Taking a breath, she answers, "To keep me from finding out, he'd explain away the bruises with lies about crashing his bike. When his stepdad broke his wrist about a year ago, he told me he got beaten up in the trailer park. That kind of thing."

The defendant looks smug. "Tell me, Miss Chase—if he's been dishonest for so long, how can you know for sure that he's being honest now?"

Anger curls through Annabeth's bones, but she forces herself not to blow up. "He was only dishonest because he was trying to keep himself safe," she snaps. "I'll bet his sorry excuse for a stepfather hurt him so bad that he believed he had to lie."

"Please try to remain objective," the judge orders.

Annabeth's hands have curled into fists without her knowledge, and it takes a Herculean effort to relax them. "Okay," she murmurs, more for herself than for anyone else. "Percy started working at the age of eleven. Later, he told me that the reason he was saving all that time was because he wanted to move out in high school. The atmosphere at home must've been really awful. He wasn't safe in the trailer. He's never been safe."

The prosecutor asks Annabeth some questions, drawing more information out of her that she otherwise might not have remembered to give. It seems like forever before she finally steps down from the witness stand, feeling light-headed. Percy is called up to give the victim's testimonial. He passes her on the aisle, taking to the stand as she sits down. Looking exposed and humiliated, Percy begins talking in a quietly uncertain voice. "It started back when I was a kid," he says. "When I was four, maybe. I can't remember a time when I wasn't scared of him." He goes into specifics about some of the things Gabe did to him, about the neglect he faced and how he had to overcome it alone. Noticing the way Percy's non-broken arm shakes at his side, Annabeth hates that he's been forced into this situation. She wants to take his trembling hand, so badly, and reassure him that he's going to be okay. He still won't look at her, but she understands why.

The jury seem moved by what Percy tells them. Annabeth reads sympathy in some of their expressions and stunned disbelief in others. However, none of them look anywhere near as angry Gabe; he's practically frothing at the mouth with it, glaring at his estranged stepson with a newfound rage. With wavering determination, Percy makes it through his testimony and sits down beside Annabeth once again. "You did really good," she whispers. At that, he meets her gaze and responds with a pained smile.

The rest of the trial passes in a haze. The rest of the evidence is presented, and then the defendant tries haplessly to tear into Percy's integrity. After that, it's a waiting game as the jury come to a decision. A tangible kind of tension hangs in the air. Annabeth can hear Percy's laboured breathing, can see the sweat beading on his brow. She desperately wants this hateful, traumatic experience to be over for him. It's impossible to imagine how it must feel to finally stand up to someone who held so much sway over his life for so long, and she respects the crap out of him.

At last, the jury's deliberations end. Utter silence descends upon the court as the judge finally announces, "Upon decision of the jury, the defendant has been found guilty. I hereby proclaim that Mr Ugliano will face a sentence of four years and a permanent restraining order." He writes something down, then bangs his gavel. "Case adjourned."

Annabeth's blood is boiling. Gabe deserved worse—so much worse. Percy's mute for the entire walk back to his apartment. When they get inside, she barely manages to contain her anger and closes the door a little too hard. Percy flinches, and Annabeth immediately hates herself. "Sorry. I'm sorry, I just—" She groans. "How the hell are you so okay with this?"

Percy sits down heavily on the bed. "I don't know," he says quietly. "I think I'm relieved."

"Relieved? How? He'll be out again in four years! He destroyed over a decade of your life—" She cuts herself off, knowing she's only making things worse. "God. I'm sorry," she repeats. She sits down beside him, letting out a sigh. Looking up at him, she furrows her brow. "How are you feeling?"

He shakes his head. "Stunned."

"I'm proud of you," she offers, knowing it needs to be said. "You did amazing. I never could've…" She trails off, then sighs. "I hate this. I hate that he gets to walk free so soon."

"I don't care about that," he tells her, voice empty.

"Why not? Four years isn't enough. You know that better than anyone!"

Percy turns to face her. "He's been pronounced guilty," he says, taking her by the wrists. His hands are warm and rough, scraped up by callouses. "When I was a kid…" He pauses. "I didn't know what he did to me was…wrong, I guess? No one was there to tell me. I thought it was my own fault for the longest time, until I figured it out. You helped me figure it out." He sounds pleading. "This trial gave me, I don't know, some fucking—confirmation."

She searches his face, coming up with nothing. "But—"

"Annabeth," he says, voice cracking. "This is enough."

"Okay," she whispers, burying her face in his shoulder. The fabric of his suit is unbearably soft, worn out over endless uses. "Okay." They lay down on his bed, shoulders pressed together.

Annabeth shifts onto her side to look at Percy, and he lets out a ragged exhalation. "I can't believe it's over," he says. "These last two months have been such a mess."

"Not a complete mess," she reasons. "We started dating. For real, not that sneaking-around shit we got so used to doing."

He smiles at her, genuine and warm. She thinks it might be the first time he's looked happy all day. "That's true. Wait, does this mean we have an anniversary in January, now?"

She grins. Said like that, it's equal parts exciting and terrifying. "Yep. And you better not forget it."

"Can't promise anything," he laughs. When she pokes him, he gives in, "Fine, I won't. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Wanna listen to some music?" Annabeth reaches over to the side of his bed, picking up the small, compact radio she usually leaves here. Percy watches as she fiddles with the dial, flicking through stations with ease. Eventually, she settles on one playing pop classics. They settle down to Prince, and Percy hums along hoarsely to Purple Rain. He touches the slant of Annabeth's cheek with his thumb, tracing circles.

She grins, leaning forward to properly kiss him. No words are required; though Annabeth is still intrepidly angry, a gentler kind of relief is beginning to wash over her. Percy will be okay, she realises. They both will. He ruches up the hem of her shirt as his non-broken hand travels the warm plane of her waist, exploring familiar ground. As they melt into one another, it's easier than anything to decide to stop thinking for a while. They remain there as daytime melts away outside Percy's open window, and the air takes on a cold quality. The streetlights outside turn on, casting a yellow haze into the descending darkness. The light flickers over Percy, harshening the contours of his face.

They lie there for a while, content to talk. Annabeth can tell that Percy's mind is still fogged over with thoughts of the trial, but there's nothing much she can do about that except distract him. At least he's letting her distract him—she knows his first instinct is always to withdraw. "I've been thinking about college again," she murmurs, fidgeting with his fingers. Their clasped hands rest on her stomach. She's undeniably obsessed with his hands: boyish and large-knuckled, there's something uncanny about them. In fact, there's something uncanny about Percy as a whole. It's what drew her to him in the first place.

"College?"

"Yeah," she responds. "I haven't been letting myself wonder about it for ages, but now…"

He turns onto his stomach, brow furrowing. "I don't think college is for me," he says. "I don't mind learning, but the structure's just too much, sometimes."

"I get what you mean," she says with a nod. "So you'll go straight for a job, then?"

"I was thinking an apprenticeship," he says slowly, tentatively. "Something to do with mechanics. Engineering, if I'm good enough. My grades aren't great, but I know a lot about cars."

Annabeth smiles. "You sure do."

"What about you?" he asks. "You used to love school. I know things have changed, but…" He shrugs. "I can imagine you as an academic."

She's silent for a few moments, pondering. "I don't know. I used to care so much about math, about scoring high in AP classes. And I've always maintained my GPA, so I could probably do well in something like that."

"Then why don't you?"

She heaves a sigh, hand stilling on Percy's. "I wouldn't be happy. Or satisfied, I guess. I think it's because I miss photography so much."

His expression is indistinct and unreadable. "You do?" It's hardly a question. "What do you miss about it?"

Pillowing her head on her elbow, she hums in thought. "The rush. The creativity it brought out of me. The control I had over the end product—the way I could make it declarative or interrogative. Beautiful, even." Percy's chewing on the inside of his cheek, thinking over her words. "I miss taking photos of you the most," she says quietly. "You were always my favourite subject." A pause. "Now I know why."

At that, he smiles. "I liked it. You made me feel important." He cocks his head. "Why don't you give photography another try? I bet you'd pick it up again easily, if you wanted. All those photography competitions you went for…you won a lot of them, I remember."

"Some of them," she corrects him. "And I don't think I would." She scoffs self-deprecatingly. "I've lost faith in myself—it's been so long. Nothing I could create would be worthwhile."

"Hey, a year isn't so long." He nudges her, grinning conspiratorially. "And for the record, everything you create is worthwhile."

Annabeth rolls her eyes. "God. Who the hell's paying you to be so sweet?" She kisses him, warmth bleeding into her chest.

He smiles against her lips, tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. If she's obsessed with his hands, he's definitely obsessed with her hair. "I think you are."

"Jesus fucking Christ," she mutters. Defenceless, he laughs as she grips the fabric of his collar and allows her to lever him down against the sheets. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"That's what you love about me," he quips.

She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes again. "Sure, Jackson," she says, kissing him again. Outside, a car screeches against the curb and the two of them jump, startled out of their joint reverie. Percy's nose bumps against her chin, and they find themselves laughing.

"Ow," he mumbles, rubbing his sore nose bridge. "We're a damn trainwreck, aren't we?"

She grins, flopping down next to him again. "Yeah. But that's fine, isn't it?"

Percy notices something. "You've got an eyelash on your cheek," he informs her, and reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb. He offers her the pale, blonde lash, and she blows it away into the air. "What did you wish for?"

"Just good luck."

He arches a brow. "That's it?"

"Well, I'm not gonna tempt fate, am I?"

Softly, he agrees, "I guess not." He studies her face with unassuming objectivity. "Have I ever said I like your freckles?" She shakes her head, awed by the moment. "They were the first thing I noticed about you."

"The first thing I noticed was the bruise on your face," she admits. "But after, it was the green of your eyes."

"I'll take that," he says. His smile is pleased, yet reminiscent of pain. "Hey, Annabeth?"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna go to the store? I'm craving orange juice."

"Not you, too," she groans. "Juice is all Leo drinks right now."

He grins. "I know it's late, but there's no way I'm gonna be able to sleep. Not after the trial. Please? It'll be fun."

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Annabeth stands up. Neither of them has yet dared to breach the topic of Percy's nightmares, but she knows he'll sleep better if he's tired. "Alright," she relents. "Can I borrow a jacket?"

Walking out into the brisk, cool night air feels like a reset. It's a nice night, all things considered—the canopy of clouds that's been so consistent all winter has melted away into a vacant, clear sky, and the sidewalk glistens with residual rainwater. Percy slips his arm around Annabeth's waist, exhaling a cloud of pale vapour. He looks content; the inherent ache that has been written into his features since the trial seems to have temporarily faded. Annabeth leans into him, grateful for the warmth. Though the jacket he lent her is comfortable, its fabric is still thin and fraying.

The 24-hour supermarket isn't too far a walk from Percy's apartment, and its artificial light spills out onto the parking lot. Annabeth's about to head inside, but Percy takes her sleeve and tugs her back with a grin. He gestures to the shopping carts. Confused, she asks, "Why? We're only getting one thing."

Percy slides one out of the rack, wheeling it towards her. "Wanna have some fun?"

She arches a brow. "Yeah…?" she says slowly, then realises what he means. "Oh, no. No way. You've got a broken arm!" she protests.

"C'mon, don't you trust me?" he laughs. "Get in."

Annabeth glares at him, but clambers into the cart. She clings on for dear life, the metal cold under her palms. "I'm so gonna regret this."

"Maybe," he says, running to push the cart past its initial inertia. He clings to the back of it as their trolley across the empty parking lot. Annabeth shrieks, suddenly wide awake and flooded with adrenaline. Percy laughs aloud, spinning them in circles. Eventually, they hit a pothole. Annabeth spills out with a curse, grazing her knee. She doesn't even care; she's elated. "Sorry," he winces. "That graze looks nasty."

"It's just a bit of gravel," she reassures him, kissing him on the cheek. "You were right. That was fun—completely crazy, but fun." He helps her up, still looking apologetic. In the dim light, he looks softer than anything. Annabeth can't help but kiss him again.

They head into the store, talking quietly. "We should get some Band-Aids for your knee," he decides.

"Percy, it's fine," she tries to tell him, but he's already making a beeline for the medicine aisle. Shaking her head with a smile, Annabeth wanders over to the refrigerators and grabs a carton of orange juice. "Do you like Reese's cups?" she asks when Percy rejoins her. He nods, so she grabs a packet from the candy aisle. She turns around to pay, but Percy's heading deeper into the supermarket. "What are you looking for?" she calls.

He throws a grin in her direction, continuing down the aisle. "Something." Curious, Annabeth follows him. It's not long before he finds what he's looking for: a shelf of disposable cameras. He picks up one at random, examining it.

Instantly, she catches on. "Oh. No, I'm good—"

"Annabeth," he says, a pleading note in his voice. "You said you missed it. And you started out with analog, didn't you? Maybe it'll help."

Struggling to sort through the tangled, sparking mess of emotions in her chest, she reasons, "Yeah, but I've never used a disposable."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm pretty sure you can work it out. Try, please? Just for tonight."

She opens her mouth to argue, but finds that she's unable to tear her gaze away from the plastic camera in Percy's hand. Against all reason, she says, "Alright. I'll try."

They sit outside in the parking lot after paying, cross-legged on the concrete. After washing the gravel out of her knee with water and applying a Band-Aid, Annabeth leans into Percy's shoulder as they eat their chocolate. Their voices are quiet, reticent echoes. "The sky looks huge," Percy says, gaze tilted upwards.

Annabeth can only nod in agreement. The parking lot's floodlights are off which reduces the light pollution around them, so the sky's not only vast but star-studded. She supposes there are some virtues that come with living in a small town in the countryside. "Reminds me of that night at the machine shop," she murmurs. "On the hood of that car." The memory ricochets through her. She remembers him admitting that he and Gabe didn't get along, that he was saving up to move out. Drawing her knees into her chest, she's suddenly frustrated with herself. How didn't she realise what was going on?

Percy's mind seems to go in the same direction—or maybe he's just reading hers. "I should've told you, then," he admits. "It wasn't your fault, okay? You couldn't have known." Annabeth doesn't know what to say. Her eyes travel upwards, settling on Orion's bow and his blazing belt. "It seems like such a long time ago," he adds. "Before—"

"The drugs," she finishes bluntly, because she's found it's easier to face it head-on. "Yeah."

His brow bunches up in the middle. "Yeah," he repeats softly.

She leans into him again, absently smoothing out the gold foil from one of her Reese's cups. "I only think about them sometimes," she tells him. "Things are better. You make things better."

He smiles, then kisses her on the cheek. "It isn't because of me that you don't do that shit anymore, you know. It's because of you. You're strong enough on your own."

"You think so?" she whispers, lips quirking.

"Of course, you idiot. Now—" He grabs the disposable camera they bought, standing up. "Wanna take some photos?"

The lighting is god-awful, even with flash, and Annabeth's certain most of the photos will turn out blurry. Still, this moment in time seems worthy of being captured. There's something beautifully familiar about holding a camera in her hand and taking photos of Percy, of all things. Composition's always been her strong point. And strangely, it doesn't feel like a year has passed since she last took a photograph at all.

After a while Annabeth finds herself standing with Percy against a streetlight, the camera falling to her side as she kisses him. Pulling away, she confesses, "I'm so happy right now." He kisses her back in silent reply, the camera long-since forgotten. The night, in all its glory, is entirely theirs.

this chapter is so fluffy and I have no regrets :') thanks for reading, let me know what you thought! if you want, you can drop me an ask about it over on my tumblr, stolen-arts. the next chapter should be up on sunday as usual!