A cold chill drifted through the air and Annabeth shivered in bed, pulled hazily from sleep by the drop in temperature. She felt a warm, strong arm wrap around her from behind, pulling her in. Percy nestled his face in her neck, holding her close, one broad hand sliding to rest securely against her flat abdomen.

She didn't know if he was awake until he whispered huskily, "You're going to be such a good mom."

Sleepily, she turned to see him. She didn't say anything; the room was dark and soft, deep in the night. His two-day stubble scratched her skin.

"Percy…" She whispered, unsure. Was it only because he was half-asleep, that he was saying this?

"Shhhh…" He pressed his lips into her neck, sleepy and slow, then mouthed his way down, shifting to hover over her, on top of her. His warm mouth, his firm chest, the weight of him felt so good, so comforting in the cold room. When his face was level with her stomach, he stopped, rucking up her loose college t-shirt.

"Hi, baby," he whispered against her skin. "You picked the best mama in the world, you know that?"

Goosebumps shivered down Annabeth's legs as he continued kissing her abdomen, and then kissed up her skin, his strong hands sliding under her clothes, and she thought she'd never, ever feel cold again.

…

Annabeth woke with a jolt, confusedly sitting up and pushing back her hair. It was a dream—that was all. But no, that wasn't all. It had been real, once. It was more than a dream—it was a memory.

She was alone in the wide bed, the other side cold and neat, the room utterly silent. She turned on the light, knowing she wouldn't sleep now. After a moment, she got up and wrapped herself in an old flannel, shuffling into the kitchen to make tea.

She couldn't shake the dream. That memory, that moment—it had been a pivotal night, at the time. Percy coming around—his surrender, agreement. Even happiness.

He'd made her feel so alone, when they'd first found out. He'd become withdrawn, petulant, making her feel like it was somehow all her fault and not his. She knew he wasn't proud of it, later. But it had created a strain that had never entirely disappeared. They hadn't been ready for a baby—but they had changed to become ready. Somehow they'd lost themselves, and each other, in the process—or maybe that had happened before the pregnancy, when they'd been kids playing house, thinking that just because they'd had to grow up so fast, be in so many adult situations early on, that they could handle anything.

When, in reality, they'd both still had a lot of growing up to do. There hadn't been enough transition time—they were teenagers, and then they were married, facing a more serious, demanding adult world than they knew what to do with.

Annabeth curled onto the sofa, her eyes drifting over to the kitchen wall, the patch next to the fridge where the paint didn't quite match. Her memory was too free tonight; loose, unreserved images swam and twisted.

This was the same apartment where they'd lived together, back then. The night when Percy's fist had smashed through the drywall next to the fridge was suddenly on replay in her mind. He'd been angry about—whatever he'd been angry about. He was angry all the time, and mostly at her. His quiet blame when she'd become pregnant—how was anyone to know that ambrosia and nectar could counteract birth control?—to his frustration at her career, her opposition to keeping house, and the way that motherhood just didn't come…easily.

She couldn't shake the idea that he wanted her to be like his own mother, even when he denied it. A natural at parenting, a wonderful cook, always kind and gentle and nurturing. Annabeth had wanted kids; they'd agreed on it before marrying. But she didn't want them until she was at least thirty—something Percy had just shrugged neutrally about.

"Some babies are absolute angels." A colleague had told her when she was pregnant. "Mine only ever cried when he was hungry or needed changing. Everyone makes a big deal about losing sleep and intimacy and basic happiness—it's all exaggeration! You'll see."

And they had seen—the exact opposite. Gracie had cried like it was her only function. She didn't like to be set down, she didn't like sleep, she didn't like normal baby food, she didn't like strangers—the list went on and on.

When Percy had punched his hand through the wall next to where she'd been standing, flakes of plaster fluttering down to where their daughter was crawling on the floor, Annabeth could hear only the blood that pounded in her ears. She'd grabbed Gracie, plus a bag of baby things, and told Percy, in a voice shaking with fury and emotion, that she would not live, and she would not raise her daughter, in a house with this kind of violence.

It was only later that she'd reflected on her own anger that met his—that, maybe, it was equally unhealthy to raise a child in a house with that much hostility, period.

…

He'd wanted to go to counseling, and she hadn't; she thought it was intrusive to let a stranger into their private problems. They could do this themselves, she'd insisted. And then when things got really bad, she'd wanted to go, and he'd refused. By that point, he would barely even look at her.

…

"Is she even going to remember this? She's three." Percy surveyed the birthday party scene before them in the park; the blankets and balloons, the big pink cake and running children.

Annabeth laughed, in spite of herself. "No. But she's having the time of her life."

They stood for a long moment and watched Gracie shrieking with happiness, her birthday crown falling sideways.

Percy looked at her. "It's been a while since we've talked. How's your dad?"

Annabeth hesitated. It was bad, wasn't it, that it had been a while? The parenting books—the ones about divorce and raising well-adjusted kids—said it was bad. At least, she'd decided they did. She hadn't actually read them.

They tried to remain on good terms. But it was hard—it was so fucking hard—to act normal when it still felt like she was sticking her finger in an electric socket whenever she saw him. The voltage could feel hell-ish, or…not. Either way, it always felt like something.

"He's doing better. They're going to release him from the hospital soon, so that's, you know, hopeful." Annabeth sighed. "I need to get over there to see him. And it'd be good to bring Gracie. Work's just been…you know, work. It's hard to get away."

Percy was silent. She wondered if he was thinking that this was just like her—unwilling to risk her job, even to see an injured family member.

But she wasn't supposed to do this anymore—fill in the blanks with her own assumptions. She had no idea what he was thinking, she reminded herself. And besides—she would be in California in a heartbeat if she was actually needed. She had good judgment.

Percy shrugged. "Well, you've always had good judgment. You'll know when to go."

She looked at him. He was wearing a certain t-shirt that hugged his lean chest just so; in fact, it looked just like a shirt she'd bought for him once, and he'd worn on a certain anniversary—but it couldn't be, could it?

She was vaguely aware of other friends and family members looking at them. They hadn't been seen so public, so civil and normal, standing aside and talking, in ages. She couldn't help but wonder what all of them were thinking.

"Excuse me! You're supposed to be hiding the treasure for the treasure hunt now. Not just standing here like a lame adult." Estelle was suddenly standing in front of Percy, arms crossed.

"Uh, first of all, you're in charge of games, and this is the first I've heard of it," Percy said.

"Oh sorry, didn't realize you needed an official itinerary," Estelle threw up her hands. "Come on, they're going to get impatient."

"There's nowhere to hide anything. It's just grass!" Percy looked around, spreading his hands.

Estelle raised her eyebrows. "They're three year olds. I think this is all they can handle."

"So why don't you toss candy around, if you're in charge? I'm occupied."

"Occupied talking to Annabeth? You do that every day!" Estelle produced a crumpled paper out of nowhere and smoothed it out to consult. "Right now is when you hide the treasure—well, five minutes ago, technically, because you're still arguing—and later, Annabeth is judging the cupcake eating contest—" She glanced up. "You should go prepare for that, Annabeth, some of those kids are big eaters."

"Wow, thanks for the heads up on our duties, Estee!" Annabeth said, a little alarmed at this unexpected charge.

"Yeah, I thought we delegated everything to you so we could take it easy."

"Very funny!" Estelle stuffed the paper away. "This is hectic business, and you two haven't been pulling your weight."

She looked at Annabeth and pointed. "The cupcakes are that way. They need to be counted twice. I'd go now."

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to get rid of me? That doesn't sound like a real job."

Estelle frowned. "You're distracting Percy. He's not going to do his job if you're still standing here."

Percy ruffled Estelle's hair as he started toward the treasure pile, looking over at Annabeth and shaking his head as he went. "Such a distraction."

She felt a weird jump in her stomach. Feeling a little warm, she took a deep breath, smoothing back her hair. People were probably still looking.

Well, Estelle was. The nine year old was still there, eyeing her beadily.

"What is it now?" Annabeth asked.

"No-thing." Estee put a hand on her hip, her voice heavy with implication. "Nothing at all."

…

They all knew the party was over once Gracie started to melt down, and then droop with sleepiness once her tears subsided. The day had been a rousing success, filled with sunshine and bossy, well-orchestrated games from Estelle.

Gracie had been plunked on a quilt, sharing her new toys with the others, when the long afternoon started to hit and she'd become discontent, fussing loudly over a shared toy. Before Annabeth could start forward, Percy had suddenly swooped in, tossing Gracie up in the air in the way that always surprised the crankiness out of her.

"Hey hey hey, Crabby-Cake, let's go for a walk."

And they'd taken a spin around the park, Percy putting her down and swinging her in front of his legs in the way that made her giggle with delight.

They were so infatuated with each other, even now. He had such a way with her, so much patience. It made Annabeth's teeth ache.

And now the shadows were getting longer and most of the toddlers and blankets had been gathered up and packed home.

"Is Gracie going home with you?" Estee demanded, hanging off Percy's arm as he put things away.

"Nope." Percy stuffed torn wrapping paper in a trash bag.

"Well, what are we gonna do with all her presents and stuff?"

Percy looked over at Annabeth. "You didn't drive, did you?"

Annabeth stopped folding a blanket. For once, she hadn't planned very well. "No, I wasn't coming from—plus, well, the car's been a little—" She sighed. "No, I didn't."

Percy brought the trash bag to a nearby can, stuffed it in, and scooped a sleepy Grace up in one arm, a box of things in the other. "Okay, I'm driving you home."

Annabeth started to protest, but he just walked to the car and began buckling Gracie in.

…

It wasn't a long ride, but even so, Annabeth nearly fell asleep. She hadn't realized she was tired. She hadn't realized she never could have carried Grace and all of the party things back on the subway, alone. And she hadn't remembered how nice it was, what a relief it could be, just to have someone else take control and drive you home.

The car smelled familiar and comforting; of exhaust, of Gracie's snacks, of Percy's minty shampoo and a faint sea breeze. The front wasn't very big. His hand on the gearshift was right next to her knee. She'd always loved his hands—strong and capable, marked with little white scars.

She blinked and looked out the window instead. "Thanks for driving."

"You don't need to thank me."

"Still."

He glanced at her. "It was a good party. Gracie was thrilled. She'll go down easy tonight."

Annabeth glanced in the backseat and smiled. "Estee was in her element, too."

Percy snorted. "I know. Between her and my mom, we barely even had to be there."

"Yeah, but who else would have decided the treasure hunt was too easy and hidden candy up in the trees, leading several three year olds to cry and one to skin his knee?"

"Okay, okay, you know what? That was supposed to be for the older kids, no one told Timmy or Jimmy to go rogue and start climbing—"

Annabeth laughed. "Did you see his mother's face? Gods, I hope this means she stops inviting Grace to things and we can stop this terrible cycle."

"Was she the one who kept asking if everything was gluten-free? Cause I finally just said it was, so she'd leave me alone."

"Percy! Some people are actually allergic."

He cut his eyes to her. "And she is not one of those people."

They were almost to her apartment. Their old apartment. He was being so much less guarded around her, lately. The familiarity tugged at her. It was strange to laugh like this with him, to have had such an easy day, to feel so at home, again, in the front seat of his car, their baby dozing in the back.

She missed him.

She considered this as he pulled up to the apartment. She was going to say—what, that it was good to have spent time with him? That she missed him? That he could come up for coffee?

She took a deep breath as he stalled the car. But before she could open her mouth, he'd reached out, touching her arm as if to hold her in place for a moment.

"Annabeth, I wanted to talk to you about something, if you have a minute."

Her stomach dipped, and she couldn't tell if it was in a bad or good way. "Okay?"

He ran a hand through his hair, making it even more rumpled and messy. He hadn't shaved in a couple days, and it worked well on him. She could smell his minty shampoo mixed with the spicy body wash he always used; it made her heart pick up in an uneven, noticeable sort of way.

He looked at her. "I've been seeing someone. Her name is Bree."

The bottom of Annabeth's stomach seemed to drop out and fall away. She immediately tried to make her face as neutral and mask-like as possible.

He went on. "She's a good person. I just wanted—"

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long have you been with her?"

"Not that long. A couple months, I guess."

A couple of months? And nobody had told her? But—who would? And how casual was it? If he was telling her—if it had been a couple of months and he was telling her—

She swallowed. "Has she met Gracie?"

Her voice was quiet, something almost dangerous simmering underneath.

"No—no, I wouldn't do that, Annabeth, not without talking to you first. That's why—"

"So you're going to introduce her to Grace? Because Grace is three, and she gets attached to people. If this is someone who's going to be spending a lot of time with her and then just dip out—or, I don't know, just come and go out of Grace's life—how are you even going to explain who she is to Grace? Have you even thought about how this affects our daughter at all—?"

"Annabeth." Percy moved his hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose. His voice was low. "Yes, I have. Jesus, I forgot you were like this. Do you honestly think I haven't considered Grace first?"

The air in the car was suddenly suffocating. Annabeth reached for the door handle, swinging herself out and reaching for Grace. She had to fight to keep her voice under control. "Thanks for the ride. I'm leaving the presents, for now."

"Annabeth—"

Jesus, I forgot you were like this.

She slammed the door. "I'll see you later."

She hoisted Grace up on her shoulder and turned to face the apartment door; just the two of them on the sidewalk, once again alone.

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Thanks for reading!