Full Summary: For a fleeting second, Apollo imagined that he was in one of his gilded marble temples. This was just another petitioner come crawling on their knees for a miracle from the great Apollo. Then the second passed.
The walls were the impersonal, antiseptic white of the Apollo Teaching Hospital, not the carved marble of a Roman temple. At his side wasn't a stone altar but a creaky metal examination table on the verge of collapse. And he wasn't the Olympian god Apollo but the grandson of Koios, the Titan Lord of the North, eking out his survival by virtue of his mother's tears and his grandfathers' forbearance.
"Ms Percy Jackson." Apollo addressed the eighteen-year-old. "As often as you visit, I'm starting to think you just want to see me."
Kronos won the war before the Olympians even knew there was one. Stripped of most of his domains and stuck performing menial tasks for the Titans' entertainment, Apollo is desperate for any change. And then he finds a demigod he just knows will be important.
Stuck being my own priest
Wallowing over Chinese
I am super bored
"Send a little prayer to Lord Apollo before going to sleep, hmm?" Dr Fred Light teased the little girl. "Who knows, he might help you sleep through the night."
The girl nodded, short brown hair flopping into her eyes with the vigorous movement, before her mother led her out with a mumbled thank you.
The smile on his face dropped the second the door closed after the duo. Dr Fred Light – the genius surgeon with a degree in neurology, cardiology, oncology, paediatrics, and basically any mortal medical field in the world except gynaecology. AKA the Greek God Apollo – stuck being his own priest. Sometimes, Apollo felt as if he could kill his own alter ego for the embarrassment his existence brought him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so solicitous of random strangers for so little gain.
Disgusted, Apollo flopped down on the chair he hadn't bothered to drag behind the metal table. Not only was the room cramped, but any attempt to put distance between himself and the diseased multitude was foiled by the fact that he was the one they were all coming to get treated by.
Then he sighed, vaguely ashamed of his own thoughts. Apollo did genuinely like healing people – he just hated feeling like he had to.
Apollo put down the pen he'd been clutching like a lifeline and stretched his fingers. The scant few moments between when his previous patient exited and a new one entered seemed like an allegory for his very life – his old way of existence had abandoned him in the murk and if he was to make it to the new epoch, he'd have to stick through the interminable transition. While suffering untold humiliations, such as stealthily stretching cramping fingers while no mortal saw him. He, Apollo, the handsomest and most awesome of the Olympians – now a used-up has-been with cramping fingers.
Then the door opened, and his next patient came in.
For a fleeting second, Apollo imagined that he was in one of his gilded marble temples, maybe in Delphi, or Delos, or even New Rome. He was lounging on his altar, picking through the offerings to find the tastiest morsel. This was just another petitioner come crawling on their knees for a miracle from the great Apollo. Provided they were pretty and subservient enough and caught him in a good mood, he might even help.
Then the second passed and the laminated plywood door finished swinging open.
A girl with wind-blown dark hair, sharp sea-green eyes, and an expression like she was just waiting for the other shoe to drop stood in the doorway. Despite her frayed blue sweatshirt and paisley culottes, she somehow brought the dinginess of his current location into sharp focus.
The walls were the impersonal, antiseptic white of the Apollo Teaching Hospital, not the carved marble of a Roman temple. At his side wasn't a stone altar but a creaky metal examination table on the verge of collapse. And he wasn't the Olympian god Apollo but the grandson of Koios, the Titan Lord of the North, eking out his survival by virtue of his mother's tears and his grandfathers' forbearance.
"Ms Percy Jackson." Apollo addressed the eighteen-year-old. "As often as you visit, I'm starting to think you just want to see me."
The girl snorted even as she hobbled her way to the patient's stool, the door slamming shut behind her with a loud enough bang that Apollo wouldn't be surprised to find cracks in it. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not that hot."
"Ah, so you admit I am hot."
"Evidently not if you need me to stroke your ego."
Apollo smiled even as he took the folder containing her medical history from her. Or more accurately, all the prescriptions he'd ever written her, considering she had yet to undergo any of the tests he'd recommended.
"What's it this time?" he asked conversationally. "Bumped into the wall or tripped onto the floor?"
"Maybe I'm just here for a routine check-up." She said waspishly.
"Are you?" he asked, making his eyes overly-large in mock disbelief.
She glared but started peeling her left pants-leg up to her thigh. Well, that explained her odd fashion-choice. He'd half expected the only things in her closet to be sweatshirts and jeans. And more sweatshirts and jeans.
Percy's knee was swollen and turning colours like a chameleon under a rainbow. It was a testament to her pain-tolerance that she'd even managed to make it to the hospital.
He hissed in sympathy. And he really did feel bad – he'd gone soft during this stint as a minor god barely better than a nature spirit. He'd somehow started feeling compassion for the poor mortals he met during his weekly OPD hours. Or maybe it was because only the most wretched people arrived to meet the god on the one day of the week that the hospital named after him discharged its charitable duties – by offering consultation on a discount.
"When did this happen?"
Percy looked mulish as she replied, "Three days ago."
He looked at her in exasperation but didn't bother saying anything more. Instead, he reached out fingers deliberately cold with divinity to feel around the bruise. Interesting.
In an action that would have been anathema to him even a few years ago, Apollo got down on the floor. "May I?" he inquired, gesturing towards her leg.
Percy sucked in her bottom lip between her teeth in trepidation but gave a nod.
Apollo was gentle when he took her leg and moved it around, gauging her reactions all the while to see how the injury impacted her range of movement. As the inspection went on, a pained frown grew on Percy's face, but she didn't release any sounds of discomfort.
"I don't think it's broken." Apollo finally sighed. Though there were signs that there had definitely been a bad sprain. "The blood vessels broke, which is why the skin has turned blue. The swelling will go down provided you ice it regularly, elevate your leg, and don't put any pressure on it."
"I have a meet next week." Percy said anxiously.
Which was no doubt why she'd come to him instead of waiting for the injury to go away on its own. "Ms Jackson," he said. "Just be glad you'll be on your feet in a week instead of using crutches for the next three."
"What?" she yelped.
Apollo narrowed his eyes at her as he admonished, "Next time, just call me if you can't make it to the hospital. The number's on the prescription."
Percy fidgeted uncomfortably as she said, "No need for that Dr Light. I can wait for Saturdays."
Which wasn't actually the point. Dr Light might give that impression, but Apollo wasn't a do-gooder. He didn't care if she worsened her injury or was in unnecessary pain due to delaying treatment. No, what attracted his attention was that what should have been a moderate sprain had healed within three days to the point where anti-inflammatories, compression bandages, and ice would make the girl fit within a week.
There was just something about her that made his synapses start firing.
Instead, Apollo pointed towards where her socks had fallen down to her ankles and said, "I think my HOD would want me to care. That's a handprint on your calf after all."
"Doing anything because others want you to is a terrible reason to act." she retorted.
"So, I shouldn't be asking questions like – is there a reason you never came here before you turned eighteen?" Apollo asked pointedly.
"Not if you want me to keep coming here," she said meaningfully. Which … well, she certainly knew Apollo wanted something from her. Whether she assumed it was Dr Light being a busybody concerned about a young adult not even out of school yet, or something more nefarious, he didn't know.
Apollo didn't give in though and simply stared at her gravely. The implications of his statement struck her soon enough. A wave of denials fell off Percy's lips as the girl waved her hands wildly, "N-no! Nothing like that! Don't think about that! It was just a girl in the swimming competition! She grabbed my leg to stop me going ahead. Nothing like that! Get your head out of the gutter!"
"Did you win?" Apollo asked, instead of saying something pertinent, such as "How did she reach your lane?"
Percy scratched her head in what she no doubt intended to come across as befuddlement, but just served as a tell. "Yeah? I kicked her in the face and came first."
Then she frowned, voice rising in indignation as she continued, "And don't go poking your nose where it's not wanted. This is why people don't go to doctors, you know! Perfectly innocent injury, and all of a sudden you've got the police knocking on your door!"
Apollo tilted his head. Really? He'd thought people didn't go to the doctor anymore because it was expensive. "I didn't need to go poking anywhere. Your socks are loose." And you make terrible fashion statements. Who wears horse socks with paisley?
The girl peered down at her leg and then averted her eyes rapidly. With the way she stared so fixedly behind him, one could be forgiven for assuming he must have hung up something absolutely scintillating on the wall. However, since the only thing there was a vision screening chart, Apollo sincerely doubted there was even a vaguely adequate reason for the disrespect she was showing him. The least he expected of petitioners was to humbly look at his feet if not his face.
Apollo suppressed the irritation boiling up inside him. Dr Light would be nice about this. He wouldn't deliberately twist the leg still in his grasp in the name of a check-up.
Percy coughed. "Okay, so, might be my bad. Sorry."
Apollo sighed at the apology, suddenly exhausted. Some days, it felt as if these were the only two emotions he was capable of feeling. He vacillated between being either irritated or core-deep tired. Still, it was better than anger or terror.
"I couldn't care less whether you're getting abused by your family, schoolmates, or a significant other. I've got much worse problems than that."
Green eyes darkened in concern, the blue disappearing from them like seawater covered by algae. Percy ignored the first half of his statement altogether to ask, "Is there anything I can do?"
"What can a girl who can't even help herself do for me?" Surprise made Apollo blunter than he meant to be.
"And you probably forged all those degrees taking up space on your nameplate, but you don't see me pointing it out, do you?" she snapped.
"What?" Apollo asked in confusion. "I do have all those degrees." Or well, Dr Light, his pseudonym did.
"What, a teenager like you?" Percy mocked.
"I just have a baby-face." Apollo denied, manipulating the strands of the Mist around her. Some mortals just had better perception than others, this didn't necessarily have to mean anything. His powers hadn't degraded any further, no need to worry. "I'm older than I look."
She wasn't convinced. "You can't be much older than me. You have at least thirteen degrees written there. Even if you passed one every year, what, you were born with a graduation certificate?"
Apollo could only stare. What? What, what, what?
"I'm a prodigy!"
"There's even an et al. on your name plate. And others." She pointed out flatly.
"Etcetera," he corrected. "Et al. is used for people. This is etc."
"Oh"
Apollo rose to his feet. He leaned against the table, upper body angled towards Percy and hands hanging at his sides. He met her eyes with his own, making sure to give out inviting vibes with his whole body. She wanted to confide in him. Only when her habitual fidgeting had stilled did he ask, "You have trouble reading? Want to test your vision?"
Percy looked conflicted before admitting, "No, I just have dyslexia."
"Must be hard," he sympathised. Triumph was a bonfire in his gut at this confirmation of all his suspicions.
She shrugged. "Kind of, yeah. I'm barely passing my classes. The only way I'm making it to college is if I get a swimming scholarship. Which is why," and here she wiggled her uninjured leg pointedly, "I need both my legs functional by Wednesday."
Apollo smiled. "If it's a miracle you want, you should pray to a god."
"If that fixes my leg, I will." she challenged. "Who's your vice of choice."
Vice? How insulting – as if faith in some higher being was a failing on par with smoking, like it was something that would scar you for life. And so infuriating to boot – that this common girl who knew nothing about the gods had the exact same opinion about them as those traitors.
His voice was level, and even slightly cheerful when he spoke though, giving away nothing of his inner thoughts. "How about Apollo?"
"Like the space program?" Percy asked.
Apollo could feel the smile on his face freezing at that. "You're standing"
"Sitting," she interjected.
"…here in a building called the Apollo Hospital," he gritted out. "And all that comes to your mind is the space program?"
"When I was younger, I wanted to be an astronaut." She said flippantly. Then wrinkled her nose in a gesture Apollo was too angry to find cute. "Then I ate some astronaut food and decided it just wasn't for me."
Apollo clenched his fists. Don't smite the one half-blood you might have found they don't know about, he cautioned himself.
Percy took pity on him. "Alright, alright, don't make that face. I suppose you doctors like those healer gods. Fine, here, I'll pray right now."
So saying, she clasped her hands together under her chin and closed her eyes. "Dear Apollo," she started.
Apollo couldn't help it. "Apollo's a god! Not your pen pal." The very indignity made him shudder. He'd been brought so low even mortals dared to make fun of him, that too right to his face.
"Dear Apollo," Percy repeated in a louder voice, just to spite him. "My leg's so F-ed up my doctor says I'll be lucky to walk in a week. Except I have to not just walk, but swim like a mile competitively. Or I'm never getting into a college, leaving home, or reaching the Olympics! I would be very grateful if you could help out. I promise to," and here she paused to peep at Apollo with one eye.
"Quick, what does he like?"
"Huh?"
"This isn't a Disney movie. No one does anything for nothing. So, what's he like?"
Apollo swallowed. "Java Chip Frappuccino with extra whipped cream."
She looked at him incredulously. "You sure that's not just what you like?"
She continued with her prayer before Apollo could respond. "I promise to burn a Java Chip Frappuccino with extra whipped cream in offering if my leg gets better in time. Thank you."
Then she parted her hands and completely opened her eyes.
Apollo turned away from her and scribbled down a few medicines on the medical pad on the table. He was definitely not hiding, just prescribing essentials. But he couldn't deny the way his face heated up when he also scrawled out his personal phone number.
It wasn't like Apollo was easy or anything. It was just different – he hadn't expected the force of her conviction to blow over him like an evening sea breeze, warming up his very being. If it was this strong when she didn't even really believe, he could only fantasise about what it could be like when she recognized both herself and him. The worship of a demigod could be a heady thing – and Apollo could already feel himself coveting Percy's devotion.
He tore off the paper from the prescription pad and faced Percy, who'd stood up gingerly by then. Too bad, he could have helped her up. Never mind. He reached out and gently took her hand.
"Um…" she mumbled, disconcerted.
He extended the paper in her direction. Her unoccupied hand came up to take it unconsciously, even as she started blushing.
Apollo hid a smile at that. Call him vain, but he'd always been the epitome of youthful perfection. Why else would he look like a young man in his early twenties (not a teenager, no matter what Percy's defective eyes said) while working as a senior doctor and use the Mist to hide it?
He didn't hesitate to take advantage of Percy's clear attraction to him. Weaving the Mist to supplement his words, Apollo spoke in a deliberately low voice, "If you need anything, call me, alright? Even just a prayer would do. If you need anything." He lightly squeezed her fingers.
Percy swallowed, her whole body inclining into him as she strained to catch his words. For a moment, Apollo thought she'd just nod mindlessly, completely enamoured with him.
Instead, Percy blinked the cobwebs off her eyes and said, "I'll think about it." And wrenched her hand free before fleeing out of the room despite her hurt leg.
Apollo could only admit to himself ruefully that he might have come on too strong.
Still, office hours didn't wait for anything, even a god's ruminations, and so Apollo kept on seeing patients till the end of his shift. He made some small chit-chat with the nurses and other doctors on his way out but didn't delay overlong. After all, today, home wasn't going to be just a flat shared with Artemis where they would crib and feel sorry for themselves while completely sober.
You knew things were bad when you couldn't even drink or hunt or just let loose in any way whatsoever in fear that this would be the time the Crooked One would decide to play. Apollo could only hope that the next solstice wouldn't leave him with PTSD regarding yet another domain of his. They were in short supply as it was.
Apollo walked into a cheap Chinese eatery and got two orders of the day's special to go. At least this was something he could truthfully have seen himself doing even just a decade ago. Apollo had always loved deals.
While waiting for his food to be packed, he indulged in some casual eavesdropping.
Two co-workers sat at a table, grousing about the long workday. Another person in line was promising his mother on the phone that he would be careful getting home. The owner of the shop, while bagging up Apollo's order, was complaining to his wife that if this kept on, the prices of vegetables were going to skyrocket.
He knew he shouldn't, but Apollo spread his senses to better track all the conversations. He felt like a glutton for punishment, the way he couldn't overlook any calamity, accident, or even the slightest inconvenience. And yet, how could he ignore it? It was an itch demanding to be scratched – what else had they done? Were the mortals starting to realise the change of leadership? Had someone managed to escape?
The list of questions he had was unlimited, but his avenues for finding any answers restricted to a single, supervised meeting with his mother a month. Not that he wasn't under watch right now – he doubted either of his grandparents were convinced with his aura of hopelessness despite the daily drudgery he put himself through. They were gods. They could bide their time for millennia.
"It's this whole climate change thing – those kids on the television were right."
"The government should make the streets safer instead of chatting on social media."
"Did you hear about that volcano eruption? It's blowing ashes everywhere."
"You should take better care – you have stress lines on your face."
"It's just cloudy, that's why the Sun didn't rise …"
Apollo stopped listening. Yeah, he didn't want to hear that.
What could the government do about the monsters prowling the streets? Blow them up with a grenade? It wasn't as if bullets and steel were going to do any good. Volcanoes? Of course, all the new weapons had to be made somewhere, so why not repurpose one of Hephaestus's forges? Maybe the telekhines and cyclopes had managed to wake Typhon too, to put the cherry on top of the terrible sundae of doom. Clouds made sense as well. All those wind gods and cloud spirits were eager to prove their loyalty – no doubt they'd create a tornado over the entire continent if they could.
Despite his best attempts, Apollo kept getting distracted while brainstorming possible causes for the stress lines. Morpheus was giving people nightmares – the Sun. Geras was letting loose – the Sun. He just repeatedly got stuck on the missing Sun. Sol, Ra, Tonatiuh, et al. would keep the cosmos running. So what if he didn't have the Sun chariot anymore – the others would keep working. It wasn't as if they had a time share arrangement or anything.
But try as he might, Apollo couldn't ignore the thought that this was the umpteenth time the Sun hadn't risen properly, or been hidden under a lampshade, or just gone crashing into the distance somewhere. It was one thing to abandon your work, after all. Something completely different to do it badly.
No doubt, Apollo thought sardonically, Sol-Apollo and Neos Helios were busy fighting for sole control of the Sun chariot. He wished his horses bit them and set them on fire! Not that it was likely to happen. Nor his second dearest wish, that they would lose Kronos's favour and the Titan would chop them up with his scythe and feed them to Tartarus. Even if by some miracle, his wishes did come true, it wasn't as if Apollo would get back his domain, but one could dream. If they were brave enough to sleep.
His food couldn't have come sooner. The moment the packet was in his hands, he took off. For a given value of take-off – teleportation was too risky when air travel was in your enemies' power. Instead, Apollo had to walk to his building, and then climb up seven sets of stairs to get to his flat. Which yes, had Apollo known beforehand that the elevator would be always out of order and that he would have to manually climb all those steps? Lucky numbers could have hanged themselves.
Just like ever Saturday, the door was unlocked. Apollo pushed it open, hoping that this time he would find a burglar on the other side – dispensing some good old-fashioned divine wrath would make him feel better. Unfortunately, all he saw was Artemis lounging on the couch and watching some nature documentary on the television.
Apollo groaned. "Can't you close the door? I'm not asking for much. Just put the deadbolt. Lock it if you don't want to get up to let me in."
"What's the point?" his sister asked distractedly.
"Someday," he scolded. "We're going to come back and find the whole place cleaned out."
"So?"
So? Well, okay. He didn't actually care if they got stolen from. In fact, he welcomed the prospect – he could hunt down the thieves! But it was the principle of the matter. The place might be tiny and not fit for habitation, but it was his. It might not be the gold and marble of his temple on Olympus, or even Helios's old dig, but it was all he had unless he wanted to move in with his mother – and not at the seaside condo in Florida either.
Apollo tossed the food at Artemis's face before going to take a shower. And yes, they didn't even have a tub, that's how bad it was. He didn't want to know just which petty person had picked this as the new domicile for the twins. He wouldn't be able to restrain himself from throttling them. And then Kronos would take the opportunity to end him.
By the time he joined Artemis on the couch, she'd divided up the food and started in on her share of the rice. Apollo grabbed his own plate and went straight for the sliver of ambrosia his sister had placed on it. It was over all too soon, leaving Apollo to nibble unenthusiastically at the Chinese. He stared blankly at the television, where a toucan was eating a parrot. His sister had odd tastes.
"How was your day?" he finally asked.
"Apparently, I prescribe too many contraceptives," was Artemis's emotionless response.
"Right," Apollo nodded. "Makes sense, they want the population to go up."
Artemis snorted. "If they didn't want empowered women, they shouldn't have named the place after me."
Apollo refrained from teasing Artemis that she probably shouldn't have become the goddess of childbirth if she minded people having children that much. It would just start another tirade about how if only Apollo had had a smaller head, Artemis wouldn't have had to help in his birth while a baby herself – a tangent that would divert attention away from his important news.
"How was your day?" she asked without any real curiosity.
"Just the usual." Apollo demurred. "An unending string of people who've tripped into doorknobs, fallen off the stairs, or caught pneumonia."
He waited for her to say something, maybe a "Really" or even a "How terrible". Artemis just hummed noncommittally.
He glared at her. How was he supposed to gossip if Artemis wouldn't play along? His sister knew he was bursting to tell her something, but she was deliberately refusing to take the bait!
Well fine, Apollo thought crossly. He'd deal with this himself. He'd find out who Percy Jackson was, train her to perfection – and yes, he was a great teacher. Just look at Chiron! Actually don't. Apollo winced as he remembered the centaur's current predicament – and use her to take over some power. After all, when in trouble, it was always better to have an entire team of heroic demigods in your corner. As Kronos had proven.
His moment came sooner than he'd expected. It was seven o'clock in the morning and Apollo was busy sipping his daily quota of nectar while watching a highlight reel of his best sunrises on the internet – and yes, he knew he was just torturing himself – when his phone rang.
Apollo fished out the golden device, one of the last Hephaestus had built before the lightning bolt had been stolen. Godly caller identification did its job and Apollo found himself looking on in bemusement as the name Gabriel Ugliano flashed on his smartphone. Who? Also, what a sad last name. Now, no one could accuse Apollo of not being attracted to descriptive names, but he generally went for Solace or Knowles – you know, things related to his domains. Not Ugliano.
Still, he picked up – it would be just his luck if this Gabriel was some secretary of one of his grandfathers'. He didn't say anything though, letting the other party make the first step.
"Hello? Is this Dr Light?"
Apollo straightened up at the trembling voice.
"Percy? What's wrong?"
"No-nothing," she stuttered. "I don't know why I called you. This is stupid."
"Of course, it's not," he reassured. "I asked you to call if you needed anything."
She laughed hysterically. "Yeah, not with this."
"Why don't you try me?"
"Know any ways to un-dead a person?" She dared.
"As a matter of fact," he drawled. "I do. Is that what you need?"
There was a pause before she said, "This is stupid. Forget I called. I'm hanging up."
And yet she moved so slowly that Apollo had ample amounts of time to speak, "Percy, if you're in trouble, you can tell me. Whether it's of the unalive or undead variety." You already trust me to pick you up when you're down – what else does a doctor do?
Her breath came in pants as she thought. Apollo struggled to wrap the Mist even more tightly around Percy from a distance while keeping his touch light enough that he wouldn't alert Hecate.
Her voice was small when she spoke, "You'll really help me?"
"Yes," Apollo said. "You can trust me."
You really can't.
