Percy was drunk. Beyond drunk, in fact. Growing up fighting gods and monsters is never good for your health, so he'd never drawn the line at alcohol. But even with his many years of familiarity with the feeling, this was the drunkest he'd ever been.
Pollux had gotten him liquored up, and then started him down a train of thought that could get them both killed if the wrong imperial overheard them. But Percy stood by what he'd said: They were getting a lot of good things out of their arrangements with the Romans. Why screw all that up?
Had there been a series of abrasive changes to the Greek state by foreigners? Yes. Did he have to approve of every legion patrol that walked in and out like they owned the place? Of course not! And did he, in his less lucid and baser moments, sometimes imagine taking Dakota and his stupid, cocaine addled face and just dragging them both the bottom of the lake to watch them drown?
He had lost his focus, and his point. His knees buckled under the weight of himself, and Percy collapsed to the ground. Groaning, he stood right back up. Annabeth would wonder where he'd been all day, and as the sun dipped deeper and deeper into the horizon he would only have more to explain.
"Prissy Jackson, stumbling out of Pollux Pub?" A deep, feminine voice called out arrogantly.
"Ah, yes!" He answered, trying to sound out his words as he said them. They seemed foreign to him now, almost as if an alien were trying to pronounce them. Ideas came and went, each of them followed up by a desperate desire not to hurl. "And you… are… " He trailed off, feigning contemplation. "Clarisse!" He excitedly announced.
And then he puked. Vision faded as he wretched on the ground, his bearings quickly fading. "Percy!" he heard Clarisse shouting at him. "I'm okay Clarisse, it's fine, I have to get-" before he could finish the thought, more puke was coming out.
"Percy, we need to get you to the medical tent," Clarisse urged him. Her dark hair and Greek tan were shining in the descending sun's light, and that Percy was too drunk to make a move was nothing short of a divine coincidence.
"I'm fine, Clarisse," he managed to get out between gasps for breath. "I just need to get home. Annabeth will be worried. I can't-" Another torrent of vomit exploded out of him, forcing him to his elbows. When he was finally finished, he collapsed, laying down in a particularly boozy puddle of up-chuck.
"Percy, that's disgusting!" Clarisse finally cried out. "You don't need pussy; you need a doctor."
"I… ugh… I need to tell her I'm sorry…" He groaned. The world kept on spinning, and he could feel himself hurling, but for now, at least, he seemed to have shut her up.
When Percy woke up, he was in the medical tent. Unfortunately, he was also in the throes of the worst hangover he'd ever had the displeasure of experiencing. The room was spinning, he still felt queasy, and if his head hadn't been pounding and throbbing, he would have sworn he was still drunk. He slowly sat up, trying to get a better grip on his situation, when a firm but feminine hand stopped him.
Clarisse stared down at him, pulling her hand quickly off of his chest as quickly as it had been on him. Her face turned bright red, and he had to admit that even his had warmed up, but this wasn't the time to confront that. Besides, he was with Annabeth.
"So," he said with a wry and crooked smile. "Thanks for not letting me die."
"You know what, Percy? Maybe I should've," She snapped back. There was a lot of subtext in her voice, anger masking hurt and fear perhaps. But Percy wasn't a psychologist, and at present he wasn't even sure he was sober.
"You used to be the hero of Olympus, Jackson. That meant something. Now you go out, get drunk at the skeeviest bar in town-"
"It's also the only bar," he interrupted carelessly. She glowered at him, but let it go.
"My point here, Prissy, is that you used to be someone we could be proud of. Now you're just…" She trailed off, leaving Percy speechless for the first time in a long time.
"I'm sorry, Clarisse," he said. It was all he could think of.
"Why are you drinking like this, Perce?" She asked him, her voice cracking as she did.
And then it hit him. It might not have been with Pollux, or at his pub, but Percy had become a drinker. It was small to start off, but now that he thought about it he couldn't unsee it. Slowly but surely, Clarisse's question forced the uncomfortable confession out of him. And right behind it lay a second, more dangerous one:
"Because I hate it here, Clarisse." And just like that, he'd said it. He'd gotten through the tightening of his chest, the way his throat would close up, and the screaming in his head. What he couldn't articulate sober or drunk in the past few years, he had finally admitted in a moment of hungover clarity.
Clarisse eyed him carefully, seemingly waiting for him to expand before incriminating herself.
"I know that Camp needed to evolve, to catch up to our Egyptian and Roman contemporaries. We didn't have the strength of the legion, or the magic of the scribes, but we had our sense of self," he said, the thoughts coming out now that the floodgates had been opened.
"And Rome has given us a lot of things for our taxes, work, and identity. Nico's off at school to become a lawyer, Annabeth took an accelerated course load to become an architect, and Grover is traveling the continent under the protection of the legion. There's been a trade, it's just…" He trailed off, Clarisse's stony expression refusing to give away even a hint at her deeper thoughts.
"I sometimes think that we've conceded too much," he finished.
Clarisse, to her credit, nodded respectfully. Her eyes shifted slightly towards the entryway to the tent, as if to tell him to quiet down. Percy looked ahead, having learned how to avoid incriminating himself with sudden and jerky movements.
"Well, Mr. Jackson, I'm sorry to say I've seen you here before. Although I doubt you remember," the voice had come from the entryway, unmistakably that of Will Solace.
Percy shifted slightly, turning to face Will. He shot off his best crooked grin at Will, trying to brush off the casual slight. It seemed that everybody had had enough of his shit.
"I'm working on it," Percy replied timidly.
"That so?" Will persisted, raising an incredulous eyebrow.
"Hey, I just started!" Percy joked. Despite his kidding, however, he couldn't help but slink deeper into the medical bed.
Will leaned up against one of the tent support beams. "Well, I did manage to get some ambrosia down your throat so you should be fine. But if I see you in here again-"
"You won't," Clarisse jumped in, to what Percy hoped was his defense. The relationship between Ares' and Apollo's brood had never been quite clear, but there had been definite hints at its straining over the years.
"Well if I do," Will continued unrelentingly. "I'm going to have to bring Governor Dakota in on this. All of this."
Clarisse's jaw clenched, but Percy knew what was coming if she went off on Will.
"I won't, Will. Thanks," Percy interjected.
Will just nodded before walking out, Clarisse watching him as he did so. After a moment, she kneeled down to Percy's level. "You're not alone, Percy, but we're all being watched."
His head hurt, his throat was closing, and all of a sudden his heart was racing. He gave her a panicked look, which she responded to by placing her hand back on his chest. As inappropriate as it was, and should've felt, he let it continue. It felt right in a time when little else did, and he needed that.
"Meet me at Pollux's Pub, tomorrow morning. Don't be late, and don't be drunk. You're having water." She whispered.
Percy nodded, resolute and filled with quiet purpose once again. He was ready. Unfortunately, a moment after Clarisse had stood up, he was also back to puking.
