A/N: I'd like to thank my betas: AlEmily360, SapphireTrafficker, tigerlilycorinne, AshenMoon42, Lesbian101, Shiuanc2, and LadyHW.

Annabeth couldn't remember the last time she had stepped foot in this airport. Descending in the plane and seeing the San Francisco Bay, before bumpily landing at SFO, was an experience in and of itself, but this—this was something else. The last time she had been here… well, the last time she had been here had not been under good circumstances.

She shook her head and tried not to think about it. This is about new beginnings. Second chances.

The San Francisco International Airport was almost exactly as she remembered it. Big, airy… kind of cold. Like most airports. Not quite as dirty as JFK. The last time she was here the art exhibition along the halls had been about basket weaving. Now it was about shoes. She took her bag from the baggage claim and hurried into the cold drizzle.

Annabeth hailed a cab.

"1633 Fulton and Grove, please," she told the cab driver, a middle-aged woman with dark hair. The woman nodded and Annabeth got into the cab after putting her bags in the trunk.

The drive from South San Francisco to her old childhood home was mostly uneventful. The cabbie kept trying to start a conversation with Annabeth about how "Uber drivers were soon gonna take her job", but while Annabeth was sympathetic, she didn't care enough, nor did she currently have the mental capacity to participate in the conversation. Instead, she stared out of the car window and watched the buildings pass outside. Everything was so familiar, and yet at the same time, not.

It wasn't like New York, or even like the town surrounding her campus. Gone was the brick of the East Coast. Instead, the buildings lining the street were light-washed Edwardians or tiled Spanish revivals. Fog hung low in the sky, coating the city in grey drizzle. It was cold, but in a different way from back home. Despite the fog, it was a dry cold, sharp in her lungs.

She arrived at the house all too soon.

It was very much as she had remembered it. She hadn't really expected it to change, but in some ways, she had. And in some ways, it had. She wasn't sure if the house had changed, or perhaps just her feelings towards it.

It was three stories tall, but what it had in height, it lacked in width. Like most houses in San Francisco, it was tall and thin, and long—going back almost twice as much as any of the places she saw where she lived now. There was no front or back yard to speak of. That was nearly impossible to find in this part of town, and if you did, it was nearly impossible to afford. There were six windows in the front, adorned with intricate Victorian detailing. She looked at the window on the third story—the top right. That used to be her bedroom. She wondered what it was now.

She paid the taxi driver and thanked her, a little bit guiltily for not being the most personable customer. She had more than a few things on her mind. The driver helped her get her bags out of the trunk before getting back into the taxi and driving away.

This is it. Annabeth thought. There's no turning back now.

She climbed the front steps and raised her hand to knock on the tan and white door. One breath in. One breath out.

The door swung open as soon as she knocked. Her stepmother smiled down at her. Her hair was cut in a short bob—sleek and straight, unlike the loose waves she had had during Annabeth's childhood. Her eyes were different too. Fine smile lines bunched at the corners. And her smile—her smile held a certain kindness that Annabeth had not known from her before.

"Annabeth! I'm so glad you're here," she said cheerfully. She didn't try to hug Annabeth, something the younger woman was very grateful for. "Frederick is in the living room with the boys. Come on in!"

"Thanks, Amy," Annabeth said. Amy moved into the house, allowing her to step through the door. It was comfortably messy; the kind of house that looked lived in. Where Legos once littered the floor, there were 20 sided dice and hastily stacked piles of textbooks. Something that made Annabeth's mouth start to water was cooking in the kitchen, and she could hear laughter from where she guessed the living room still was.

"Amy, dear, is that Annabeth?" she heard a familiar voice call. For a moment she couldn't breathe. She hadn't spoken to her dad in years, not where she could hear his voice anyway. When she was younger she hadn't noticed, but now she could hear the faintly Nordic accent in his voice that her friends always used to point out to her.

"Frederick, come out here and say hello," Amy said. Annabeth heard several pairs of rushed footsteps coming her way. Her dad came first.

"Annabeth," he said, pulling her into a hug. As he wrapped his arms around her, Annabeth could smell his cologne, the same kind he had been wearing for years. Annabeth didn't know what to do with her arms, so she carefully draped them over his shoulders. For some reason, she felt like she should be crying, but she couldn't seem to tear up.

"You've grown so much," Frederick said, taking a step back from her. Now that she could get a good look at his face, she saw how the years had worn on him. His once light brown hair was speckled with grey and his crow's feet were heavier now. He looked more tired, but in a good way. Tired from a full life. He held her at the shoulders while he looked her up and down. She squirmed under his uncomfortable gaze. "You're such a beautiful young woman."

"Fred, stop. You're embarrassing her," Amy said, putting her hand on his shoulder. She flipped her bob and gestured to the two boys who had entered after Annabeth's father. "Bobby, Matthew. Come say hi."

The boys in front of her were nearly unrecognizable. The last time she had seen them they had been little kids, playing knights in the living room and leaving toy cars on the stairs. Now they were nearly the age she had been when she left. In that time they had shot up, standing now at her height. Bobby had grown out his hair and tied it out of his face. Matthew had piercings in his ears.

"Hi Annabeth," the taller of the twins, Bobby, said.

Annabeth sniffled. "You two have grown up so much," she said. They had never been particularly close, even having an antagonistic relationship at times, but seeing them now, Annabeth suddenly felt nostalgic for those times. Maybe if she had befriended them, let them in, growing up wouldn't have been so lonely.

"Uhg, stop, you sound just like dad," Matthew said. Annabeth noticed he had a retainer.

She could feel her hands trembling and her breath seizing up. She gave them a watery smile. "I can't help it. It's just—you guys—" She wasn't crying, she wasn't. Amy and her dad watched with small, self-satisfied smiles, like they knew what was happening in Annabeth's head. If they knew that, they wouldn't be smiling.

"Are you crying?" Bobby asked, but he didn't sound judgemental. Just curious.

"Shut up, asshole." Matthew shoved his brother's shoulder. "We can take your stuff upstairs to your room." He took Annabeth's bag from her. "We kept most of the stuff the same, but we did take a few of your posters and stuff down. It's a guest room now, although the only guests we ever have are Aunt Natalie and Uncle Randolph."

"And I'll get dinner finished up and on the table. I did something I remember was one of your old favorites. I hope you still like it," Amy said. She sent Frederick a look that Annabeth couldn't read.

Her father nodded. "I'll help set the table," he said. "Annabeth, you just get yourself situated. We'll have dinner in about ten minutes."

Annabeth didn't trust herself to speak, so she just nodded. He left for the dining room and she climbed the steep stairs to her room. Her fingers trailed along the wooden banister, feeling the grain of the wood like she had so many times before. Thankfully, Bobby and Matthew were absent from her room. She closed the door behind her and closed her eyes, shutting everything out. She tried to think of home—her real home. Photos of her friends, Hazel's coffee shop, Piper's apartment. Percy, and his face smiling above her in the lamplight.

Inhale...exhale

She opened her eyes once her heartbeat had calmed down. Her room, once covered in photographs and posters, and postcards from places she had never been, was now tastefully decorated in shades of beige and white. Eggshell, if Annabeth remembered correctly. Amy hadn't even waited for Annabeth to move out (or move on) to start planning her renovation. Her furniture was the same as before, just redecorated with potpourri and framed family photographs. She picked one up and gazed at the four smiling faces that stared back.

That's a family, she thought. She could see it in the way they held each other, the way they were comfortable together. They could sit in front of a camera and say, "here, frame up. We are the example of the perfect family." Bobby and Matthew shared their mother's thick black hair and flat cheekbones, but they carried their father's nose and chin, just like Annabeth. She knew if she had been in that picture, she would have stuck out like a sore thumb.

Being back here wasn't how Annabeth had imagined. She knew it would be hard, of course, but she didn't know it would feel like this. She was confident in who she was, in who she had built herself up to be. She wasn't perfect, and she wasn't always sure she was right, but she was the culmination of all of her successes and all of her mistakes. She was made up of the years she lived in this very house, and all the years that followed. But now that she was back in San Francisco, under the same roof as the people who had once made her feel so small and alone, she couldn't help but feel like that again.

It was like she was fourteen again. She wanted to curl up under the covers and shut the world out. She wanted to slam her door in her dad's face. She wanted to run away.

Instead, she texted home.

Annabeth- just got here

Annabeth- it's a lot

Piper didn't respond, but Percy did.

Percy- bad a lot?

Annabeth- yeah, bad a lot

She felt weak, leaning on Percy like this. Admitting that it was both exactly what she thought it would be like and also completely different.

Percy- will you come back

Percy- you can stay with me

Annabeth let herself imagine it for a second. Days spent ice skating, decorating the tree with Percy and his mom, eating home made rice and coconut puddings. And more kisses, of every kind. Slow kisses that she could feel down to her toes, stolen kisses when Sally's back was turned, quick hello kisses, but no kisses goodbye. It sounded wonderful, but Annabeth knew she couldn't give up now. She had only been here for ten minutes—she had to give it a chance.

Annabeth- thank you, really

Annabeth- im going to tough it out

Percy- okay

Percy- im proud of you

Percy- my invitation still stands tho

Annabeth's eyes welled up. She wished there was a way to communicate to him just how much he meant to her without scaring him away. Her affection for him welled up within her and she was afraid it would overflow and drown them both.

Instead, she settled for:

Annabeth- I have to go to dinner, but keep talking to me. I like to know you're here

Percy- I'm always here ;)

"Annabeth, are you coming down?" Amy's voice called from downstairs. Annabeth sighed, pocketing her phone.

"Coming!" she yelled down.

:::

"See, I've had gold highlights for so long and I just grew so tired of them, so when I moved to the new hairdresser, Frederick, you know Mrs. Huang, well, she told me to get red highlights. And now I feel like a completely different person. It's wonderful," Amy was saying. Annabeth pushed her Dan Dan noodles around her plate with her chopsticks. Although Amy had no problem keeping the conversation flowing, there was an underlying tension that was nearly tangible.

"That's wonderful, Amy. You look beautiful," Frederick said. The only one not bored with the conversation topics was Frederick. He was fully engaged, smiling as his wife talked about this and that. Annabeth hadn't noticed it before, but now that she was older, she could tell how well they were together.

"Mom, I don't think Annabeth wants to hear about your highlights," Matthew said. He had already cleared his plate and was piling on second helpings.

"Nobody wants to hear about your highlights," Bobby mumbled. Matthew snorted, but still kicked him under the table

"Oh, of course," Amy said, smiling and shaking her head, nonplussed. "How is school Annabeth? Getting good grades?"

Annabeth blushed under everyone's attention. Her leg jiggled nervously. "Yeah, pretty good."

"That's good. College is hard," her father said. "I should know."

Matthew rolled his eyes and Bobby said, "We know, Mr. PhD." Frederick ignored them.

"How do you like it on the East Coast? I know you lived with your mother in New York for a few years, but you're a California girl at heart. It's not too cold up there for you?" Amy asked after sending short glares to her sons.

"I actually like the cold," Annabeth said. "I've gotten used to it."

"That's your Finnish genes. You get that from me," Frederick said. "The boys are such babies when it comes to cold. As soon as it drops below sixty, it's complain complain."

"But will they put on a jacket or wear pants that cover their lower legs? No," Amy added, laughing. Matthew and Bobby rolled their eyes (had she done that as much as a teenager?) as they protested. Their parents just laughed.

"But of course San Francisco is amazing," Frederick continued. "I mean, you do get the fog every once in a while, but it's simply beautiful. And you can pop over to Marin, the headlands for some hiking, or to Sausalito. Annabeth, you remember Sausalito, don't you?"

She nodded.

"When you're here we're gonna have to go to all of our old haunts. Sausalito, Le Musée de Mécanique, the botanical gardens—y'know, Matthew just took his boyfriend to the Japanese Tea Garden on a date last weekend—"

"Dad," Matthew said, embarrassed. Boyfriend?! Annabeth thought. They're old enough for that?

"Of course, and I told him, Matthew, you're not going to see many flowers—it's the middle of winter! But he thought it would be romantic, so...who am I to argue?" Frederick shrugged his shoulders. Annabeth turned to Matthew.

"You're dating someone?" she asked.

"Yeah," Matthew said self consciously. "It's only been a month though."

"And Bobby's got his eye on someone too," Amy said, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a mirthful laugh.

"Mom," Bobby said, looking flustered.

Matthew kicked him. "But he's too chicken to ask her out!"

"Hey!" Bobby complained. "I resent that."

"Is this Fatima still?" Amy asked, resting her elbows on the table.

"It's no one!" Bobby said, his face completely red. Annabeth watched as the family fell into a comfortable rhythm around her. They teased and laughed together, like they had done so many times, a habit formed of love and familiarity. Annabeth had only ever experienced this from the outside, like she was doing now, at dinners at friends' houses and parties in freshman year. They didn't even seem to notice how they talked around Annabeth, leaving little space in the conversation for her to set her plate.

After dinner, Amy came up to her.

"I hope you liked it," she said.

"I did," Annabeth replied politely. "It was really good."

"I'm glad," Amy responded, just as polite.

"Amy has been taking cooking classes in Chinatown for a few months," Frederick said, helping Matthew and Bobby clear the plates from the table.

"Oh, please, it's just Mrs. Liu teaching a few of us second gens in her kitchen." Amy laughed, but she was flushing with pride. "It does feel nice to learn all those dishes my mom used to make. After so many years of making spaghetti, it feels good to make Chow Mein."

"That's really admirable," Annabeth said.

Amy's eyes crinkled when she smiled. "Thank you, Annabeth. Fred still does most of the cooking, though."

"Not for long, if you keep making meals like tonight's," Frederick said, wrapping his arms around his wife and kissing the top of her head. Annabeth smiled lightly at their display of affection, but it turned into a yawn.

"Oh, Annabeth, you must be so tired. It's what? Past midnight over where you live. You should get to bed," Amy said, checking the clock on the wall.

"I think I will. Thank you for dinner. It was really… nice." She wasn't sure if that was the correct word. She still felt a tangle of complicated emotions inside, none of them nice. But mostly she just felt tired.

"Before you go, what do you want to do tomorrow?" her dad said, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged him off instinctively, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Anything's fine with me. You can decide."

He nodded. "Okay then. Goodnight Annabeth. Hyvää yötä."

Annabeth turned away before he could see the breath catch in her throat. The good night in Finnish hurt a bit—she remembered when he used to do that every night when she was little. She would respond by saying 'minä rakastan sinua'. I love you. Over time he had stopped saying it, had stopped wishing her goodnight altogether. He stopped saying 'I love you' at about the time Annabeth started to believe he didn't.

The effort her father had put into getting her back was… really not that much, but she still appreciated it. She thought about what Hazel had said—that his emails, her presence in his mind even after all these years, meant something. He had reached out, over and over again, despite her ignoring and rejecting him. Maybe there was love in that. Maybe love was the effort you put into it. But then that meant that there had been a time when he didn't love her.

It wasn't hard to reconcile that version of her father and the one she saw today. She didn't belong then, and she didn't belong now—that much was clear. But he was trying—they all were. And maybe if she stayed long enough, her memories of unkindness and neglect would be written over by better ones.

Her bed was soft and welcoming. If she closed her eyes she could imagine she was… she tried to think back to when she had been so comfortable. Stars. A lake. Waking up on the hood of a car. Warm arms around you. What she wouldn't do to have Percy here, to hear his voice.

She dialed his number.

"Annabeth?" His voice came through the speaker, sounding grainy and groggy.

"Did I wake you up?" she asked, remembering the time difference.

"Sort of. I didn't mean to fall asleep." She heard sounds of things moving on the other side of the phone, papers and covers and footsteps on hardwood. "How did it go? Er, is it going?" he said softly.

"It's okay. Confusing."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Percy paused. "What do you want to talk about?"

Annabeth got out of bed and turned the lights off. She opened her window, despite the chill outside. "Nothing. Everything. I just want to hear your voice."

She thought she could sense Percy smiling over the phone. "Okay, I can do that. Have I told you about the docks on Long Island?"

"Mm, no." She settled on her bed, leaning against the window sill, staring at the glow of lights beyond it as she waited for Percy to speak.

"Well, my mom used to take me to this marina and I'd spend hours lying on the docks, looking at all the weird sea things growing on the bottom. Seaweed, barnacles, anemones…"

Annabeth listened to Percy tell stories of growing up in New York, of going to Montauk with his mother, of causing trouble in school (accidents, always accidents). If she closed her eyes, she could imagine he was there with her. He would tell her stories and then she could reach for him, pull him closer, feel his hand in hers and his chest press against her back and his breath brush over her ear. And he could hold her close, help her remember what if felt to be cared for.

When his voice turned slow and heavy with sleep and his sentences were more yawns than words, she stopped him. He sighed into the phone and she let the comfortable silence grow between them. It was enough to know he was there, on the other end of the phone knowing that she was there too. If she asked him to, he would probably stay up all night for her. But she couldn't ask that of him.

"I really like you," she said into the phone, into the night. Above her, Orion was the only constellation she could see. She wondered if maybe Percy was watching it too.

"I really like you too," he said, voice soft with sleep.

"Thank you."

:::

Annabeth woke up to the smell of lemons. Lemonade. Lemon cake. Lemon tea. Lemon squares. Lemon squares. She sat up. It took a second to process the unfamiliar yet familiar room around her. She was in her childhood bedroom. San Francisco. Winter break. Four days, maybe five days from Christmas? And Amy was standing in her bedroom doorway.

"Oh, Annabeth, sorry for waking you."

Annabeth rubbed her eyes groggily. "What time is it?" she asked.

Amy shook her head lightly. "Only a quarter to nine. I just thought I might leave these on your desk." She held up a plate of lemon squares.

"Thank you," Annabeth said, sitting up. Amy took that as permission to enter her room. She placed the plate on the wardrobe next to Annabeth's bed. Then she hesitated next to her bed, picking up the family photograph that Annabeth had been looking at the night before.

"I wanted to—" she began, and then pressed her lips together. Annabeth studied her face, noting the sad lines around her mouth and the tired circles under her eyes, and realizing that this was a serious conversation. Amy started again. "I wanted to apologise."

She didn't say anything for a moment after that and neither did Annabeth. Amy didn't seem sure what she was going to say, and Annabeth expected that she hadn't been prepared to talk about this right now. But she waited, having found that sometimes the best way to get someone to talk was to give them a silence to fill.

"I wasn't always… kind to you before. I treated you rather unfairly."

Annabeth bit the inside of her cheek. She'd never let herself imagine this because she never thought it would happen. And she didn't really want it to happen. After she had left her dad's house for good, she had never wanted to see Amy again.

"I lost someone once, someone very close to me. It was the most painful thing I'd ever experienced. And when I met Frederick, and then you—I was so scared of loving you. I didn't want to go through that again, so I—" Amy pushed a shaky breath through her lips. "You were just a little girl."

"It's okay," Annabeth said, even though it wasn't.

"It's not," Amy said. "And I've realized that maybe that was the greatest loss of all. Not giving myself the chance to love you."

Amy was crying, Annabeth realized. Thin tears streaked down her round face, dripping off of her chin. She wiped her eyes quickly and pushed her hair back so it wouldn't stick to the wet skin on her cheeks.

"I hope you'll forgive me," she said, and Annabeth felt bad. She felt bad because this woman in front of her so obviously needed Annabeth to forgive her, and she wasn't sure she could.

When she thought about Amy, she thought about the harsh words she would use to criticize her. She thought of the angry purse of her lips when Annabeth got sick, or needed her to sign something, or interrupted her time with her newborn sons. She thought of the rules, all of the incessant rules that had made Annabeth miserable—no getting out of bed at night, don't go in the kitchen, keep your door open, don't bother your dad when he's in his office. As much as she wanted to move on, to forget these things, she knew she couldn't. For better or for worse, these experiences had shaped her.

And even now, seeing how Amy had changed wasn't enough. Because she knew that Amy needed her to forgive her, not for Annabeth's sake, but for her own. She might have realized what she did wrong, she might even regret it, but Annabeth wasn't interested in absolving this woman of guilt without having any closure for herself. Without knowing, for a fact, that Amy saw Annabeth differently. Not just as her husband's near-dead daughter.

"I—" she said. Amy's eyes were carefully trained to her face. "There's still time. Maybe...maybe we can start again. Not start over, but just…" Annabeth realized, then, that second chances went both ways. "We could have another chance."

A sweet smile bloomed over Amy's face. "I'd really like that, Annabeth."

Annabeth nodded, still feeling like this conversation was happening much too early.

"Enjoy the lemon bars. There's also more breakfast in the kitchen—you can help yourself." Amy paused by the doorway. "I think Fred wanted to leave at around eleven, but you can go check with him in his office. He's working with his planes again." She rolled her eyes conspiratorially. Annabeth laughed politely.

And then she was gone and Annabeth was alone with the lemon bars. She got out of bed and crossed the room to close the door. Then she sat back on the bed, taking the plate onto her lap. Lemon bars for breakfast were a little too sweet, even for her, but they did smell delicious. Outside, the grey sky threatened rain. She hoped the weather would hold for whatever her father had planned.

Piper had responded to her text with a video. In it, she was walking through the open hallways of an airport, talking loudly into the phone.

"I just got to Oklahoma and we're headed to the rez. I don't think my signal is going to be great there, but I'll text and call you whenever I can. I'm sending you our landline number just in case, okay? Can you believe it, we still have a landline. I miss you! And good luck!"

The video ended and then started again. Piper's hair was done in her classic braids and they whipped around her face as she threw her head back. It was nice to see her and hear her voice, if only on a recording. Annabeth missed her friend more than she cared to admit.

Percy had also texted her, being three hours ahead of her.

Percy- good morning 3

Percy- good luck with your dad today

She typed a quick reply.

Annabeth- thank you

He responded back right away, much to her surprise.

Percy- i know we talked last night, but i miss you

Percy- was that too much?

Annabeth- maybe a little

Annabeth- i miss you too

Percy- i'm going sledding w leo rn, but talk later?

Annabeth- talk later. Have fun

Annabeth sighed, putting her phone in the pocket of her sweats. It was probably time to go downstairs.

:::

After breakfast, she went to her father's study. She knocked on the door lightly, not wanting to startle him.

"Come on in," she heard him say. She cracked open the door, revealing her father sitting at his desk, leaning over some documents, yellowed with age, a pot of glue, and a small wooden plane.

"Hey, I just wanted to check in about—" She tripped over a stack of books piled next to the door, hopping around to regain her balance. "—your plans for the day." She moved next to the desk, patiently waiting while her father dipped a paintbrush in glue and traced along the edges of the plane wing.

"Be careful," he muttered absentmindedly. His forehead was pinched in concentration as he carefully glued the wing to the side of the plane.

"Err, Dad?"

That seemed to bring him out of his intense focus. He shook his head and put the plane down on the stack of papers. "Ahhh, yes, what time is it? Eleven? We could leave in half an hour; I just need to finish this one last detail. And—oh shi—shoot." A drop of glue had dripped from the model plane onto the old pages beneath it.

"Sorry Annabeth, these papers are just quite important," he said, moving the plane delicately to the side and wiped the glue off of the papers. "They're from the university archives."

"It's fine," Annabeth said, craning her neck to look at them. They didn't seem particularly interesting, but then again, World War Two had always been her dad's thing, not hers. "You can swear around me. I'm twenty."

"Yes, of course, I guess I'm just so used to Bobby and Matthew…"

"You can probably swear around them too, y'know."

Frederick frowned. He picked up the plane and tilted the wing back into position. It had gotten jostled out of place while he moved it, but luckily, the glue hadn't yet dried. "So, thirty minutes?"

Annabeth took this as her cue to leave his office. "I'm ready when you are."

"Okay, I'll just finish these—"

She cut him off. "I'll wait in the living room."

He smiled gratefully, and then bent down over his model plane, paying her no mind as she left the room.

:::

In the thirty minutes it had taken her father to finish with the wing of the plane, it had started to rain. And it wasn't the usual light San Francisco rain. Fat droplets hit the roof and rolled down the windows and through the gutters. The leaves shook on the trees and the wind banged against the window panes. It was shaping up to be quite a winter storm.

"Well, shit," Frederick said, coming out of the office and rubbing his face wearily. "It wasn't supposed to rain until three."

"Does this ruin your plans?" Annabeth asked.

"A little bit," he admitted, staring out the window at the stormy sky. "We were going to go to the botanical gardens. Like we used to."

It was a sweet idea, Annabeth had to admit. They had spent many long summer days at the San Francisco Botanical Gardens, having picnics and making daisy chains and taking pictures of whatever flower looked the strangest. It was before Amy, when it had been just the two of them. In her head, those memories were still happy, untainted by the pain of the past.

"I'm not sure there would have been much to see in late December," she pointed out, hoping to make him feel better about having to miss it.

He hummed in agreement. "Do you think it will clear up?"

Annabeth listened to the heavy splatter on the roof and shook her head. "Probably not."

He put his hands on his hips and grabbed his keys. "Well, I guess there's only one thing to do, then."

"What?"

"Come on, Annabeth, you know." He grabbed a raincoat by the door and a pair of heavy hiking boots. Realization began to dawn on her and she grinned, despite herself. "Go get your raincoat."

Here was another one of their Pre-(and sometimes post, but much more rarely) Amy traditions: every time there was a storm, a real storm, the kind the Bay Area rarely saw, they would go to the beach. Not Ocean Beach, it didn't hold the same wild feeling.

They would drive over the Golden Gate into Marin and get off at the overlook, taking the twisty roads around Hawk Hill and through the Headlands. The wind would whip the car, threatening to pull it over the edge of the cliffs (Annabeth as a child loved this and would giggle the whole way down). Her father's voice would get low and nervous, like it was doing now, as he would peer out the rain soaked windows. They would drive around the lagoon and find themselves at Rodeo Beach, a small rocky cove surrounded by old military buildings that had either been abandoned or converted into worker housing.

Rodeo Beach had been Annabeth and her dad's beach of choice, partially because it wasn't as popular as Ocean Beach, and partially because it allowed dogs. They spent many long days there—Frederick, Annabeth, and their dog, a Rottweiler who had died not long after she left.

Frederick maneuvered the car into a spot in the parking lot. The rain pelted the windows and the waves outside crashed against the shore. Annabeth stepped out of the car and took a deep breath. Her hair whipped around her face in the wind. It was salty and fresh, and distinctly different from that night at the beach with Percy. The Pacific had a different feeling to the Atlantic. Wilder, perhaps, but maybe that was just the storm, and the waves crashing in Annabeth's heart.

But there was still a sense of freedom. She remembered running to the edge of the water, Percy watching from behind her. She wanted to do that now, to feel her lungs burn and to hear nothing but the pounding of her heart in her chest, echoing the waves against the sand. But it was her father behind her now, not Percy, so instead she walked slowly from the parking lot and onto the pebbly beach.

They walked in silence together to where the sand turned firm under their feet at the water's edge. There wasn't much room for talking, if they would even have been able to hear each other over the din of the sea and wind.

They stopped at the side of the cliff. The sea sprayed their faces as waves crashed against the cliff face in a thundering display. They watched from several meters away, hands in their pockets. Frederick had a steely look in his brown eyes that Annabeth couldn't read. His thin lips pressed tightly together as he turned away from the ocean and began to walk up the edge of the beach.

Annabeth followed after him, stepping between scatterings of shoreline succulents (ice plants that would bloom a beautiful pink come spring) and tufts of native grasses. There was something hunched and determined about his walk, but Annabeth wasn't sure what to expect.

He continued to walk further from the sea and she realized that they were now on a trail. The sound of the ocean grew quieter as they hiked toward the lagoon they had passed driving in. The crunch of wet dirt under their feet became audible, as did the sound of Annabeth's breath as she tried to match her dad's pace.

"Hey—hey," she said, "where are we going?"

She expected that same steely, unreadable look from before, but when her father turned around, she realized he was crying.

"Dad?"

Frederick wiped his eyes quickly. "I'm sorry," he said, and she had a feeling he wasn't talking about their impromptu hike.

"For what?" she asked anyway.

"For…" he paused and turned his head up to the sky, towards the rain. It streaked down his face while he thought, either for the right words or for why he was apologizing at all, Annabeth didn't know. "...everything."

Annabeth grit her teeth. "What do you mean 'everything'?"

"I'm sorry that you felt like you couldn't… be happy, living with me and Amy."

"I couldn't," Annabeth said.

"I knew you weren't happy, but I didn't know what to do to make it better," he said sadly.

"Anything. You could have done anything."

"I know, I know. I wasn't there—"

Annabeth interrupted him. "No, that's not the problem. You were there. Whenever Amy treated me as less than, or teachers would blow me off in class, or, or, any number of things—you saw that. You knew that I wasn't happy and you didn't do anything. You didn't even try."

For a while, Annabeth had decided to never talk to her father again. For the several years after she left, she barely talked about him, and only to Thalia and Luke. She wanted him to be something from her past, something that she could leave there and move on from. But late at night, and in the years that followed, she would think of what she could say to him. How she could take everything he made her feel—small, worthless, unimportant—and throw it back in his face. She had run over the words, every version of them, so many times that now their edges were smoothed away in her mind, like sea glass. She felt nothing as they left her lips but a distinct weight off her shoulders.

"Do you ever regret it?" she asked.

"I don't regret marrying Amy. Or having the boys," her father said. "I know you never really got along." Evasion, always evasion.

"That's not what I'm asking." She realized then, that he didn't understand what he had done. Not really. "You hurt me." She said it simply, with no room for argument.

"That's not fair, Annabeth."

"Isn't it?" she asked.

"I never left," Frederick said, an edge to his voice. "That was all you. I never gave up on you."

"You didn't have to. You pushed me away."

And then his face fell, defeated and tired, and looking like all their years apart were finally weighing on him. He scrubbed his hand through his sandy hair and shook it out, wet droplets spraying around him. "I didn't mean to. I never…" He let out a heavy breath. "I never would have wanted that."

"But you did," Annabeth said. The weary expression settled on his face.

"I… did. And I'm sorry," he said finally. The apology looked like it hurt as it left his mouth (all jagged, unpracticed edges), but she could feel it's sincerity.

"I—" Annabeth was about to say 'I accept your apology' automatically, but she wasn't sure she did. Not yet. Her father, and then Luke after him taught her the importance of words, and the ways they could be weaponized. Manipulated, veiled, misconstrued. Words could say a lot of things, but it was only actions that meant anything. So instead she said, "Thank you."

It didn't seem like it was what he had been hoping for, but he accepted it nonetheless. He looked up to the sky, still pouring rain, and across the lagoon, it's surface grey and rippled. "Do you think you're ready to head back to the car?"

Annabeth nodded, wiping water from her face. She felt cold and wet, and while somewhat lighter (getting long-repressed feelings off your chest will do that for you), she really wanted to change into dry clothes.

They started back down the path and across the beach. The silence between them felt more comfortable than before, but there was still something heavy hanging between them. Annabeth knew before she came that no matter how well it might go, there was no way that she would leave with everything resolved between her and her father. There was too much negativity and pain that had been left to rot inside them for far too long. It would take more than one conversation to resolve years of hurt and animosity.

It was almost uncomfortably silent inside the car compared to outside. Annabeth sat in the passenger's seat, turning the heat vents toward her face as her wet clothes soaked into the seat below her. Frederick turned the heat up even higher. He turned on the radio and they listened to NPR as they wound back up through the rolling headlands and back onto the Golden Gate bridge. Annabeth shivered, squinting at the horizon to see the Farallon Islands as they crossed, and rubbed her arms. Her hands snagged on the tape on her wrist—she'd decided to keep it on, if only to lessen the tensions in the household. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father's forehead wrinkle as he looked at it.

A horrible thought crossed her mind. "You're not doing this because I'm going to die soon, right?" she asked.

The car swerved, but Frederick straightened it quickly. He lowered the volume of the radio programme. "What? Of course not. I've been trying to talk to you for years."

Annabeth sniffed, staring through the window as they drove past the presidio.

"Annabeth, I never gave up on you. I know I didn't do everything I should have, but I never gave up."

"Not like I did, right?" Annabeth said, sounding too harsh, even to herself.

Her father sighed. What anger he had before, he must have left on the beach. "No, that's—you were right. I didn't mean what I said before. You were only fifteen and I—I'm the adult. It's my responsibility to love you and give you a place where you feel at home. And I didn't do that."

Annabeth hummed in agreement. The murmur of the radio drifted through the car.

"I never stopped loving you. I hope you know that."

Annabeth wasn't sure she did, so she kept silent.

"I'm sorry. Really," he continued at her silence. "And Amy's sorry too."

"I know," Annabeth said. "She already told me. This morning."

Frederick chuckled lightly. "I guess it's a day of apologies. She always was better at this than me." He turned his blinker on and made a sharp left turn. "She went to therapy, you know. After you left."

Annabeth hummed again. "Did you?"

He shook his head. "No." The car fell silent once again. "Probably should have," he said finally.

They turned onto Bush Street and Annabeth realized they weren't going back to the house. It was only when they turned onto Columbus Street and Annabeth saw a tall white cathedral rise over Washington Square Park did she realize they were in North Beach. And that could only mean one thing.

Her father searched for parking, driving down small side streets and narrowly avoiding jaywalking tourists to find an empty meter. Annabeth watched Coit Tower above them duck behind tall apartments. Finally, he inched into a small space next to an Italian bistro.

"I thought we could use some cannolis," he told her as they got out of the car. They walked the small distance to Mara's, a small, undecorated Italian bakery. They had always come here and always got the cannolis. They weren't the best in the city, not by a mile, and the service was always some flavor of rude, but it was tradition.

Her father paid (and was gruffly thanked by the cashier) and they went back to the car with their pastries.

"Eastern bakery?" Frederick asked, part two of their tradition. Annabeth debated heading back into the rain and trudging through the busy streets of Chinatown. It didn't sound appealing, even for steamed pork buns. She shook her head.

"Home?"

She nodded.

:::

The days leading up to Christmas were… easier. Annabeth spent most of the time with Bobby and Matthew, being dragged around the city. They went to the Musee Mecanique, a large vintage arcade on the pier, to the Legion of Honor, and to the Casto (much to Matthew's amusement). Annabeth hadn't realized how much she had missed the city. There was something about San Francisco that was unlike anywhere she had ever been before. She found herself slipping into life there easily, like riding a bike. She even found her old Clipper Card and they used it to ride the BART to Oakland one day.

And of course she spent the evenings with Amy and her dad. While the tension wasn't completely gone, she could tell that they were trying hard to include her. It wasn't easy for them—after all, she had been gone for five years, and had barely existed to them in the years before that. But they were trying.

On Christmas Eve, Frederick commandeered the kitchen. From early in the morning, the house was filled with the smells of baked ham, carrot casseroles, smoked salmon, and mashed potatoes. He asked for Annabeth's help making pulla, although all she could do was braid the bread dough into simple three-strand braids. And after they left the dough to rest, he asked her to take the brown skin off of an almond, to later hide in the riisipuuro.

When Annabeth escaped the kitchen, it was to find the house newly decorated. A small tree loomed in a corner, squished next to a maroon armchair, and little knick-knacks, statues of elves and small snow globes, crowded the mantle. Amy flipped off the main lights and turned on the fairy lights on the tree. The room was cast in a warm yellow glow that glittered off of the decorations and the wrapped gifts under the tree.

"It looks really nice," Annabeth told Amy. She beamed back at her.

Their Christmas dinner was just as lively as the dinners leading up to it, even though Amy insisted everyone dress up. Bobby pulled on the ironed collar of his button-up shirt, complaining loudly, while Matthew just rolled his eyes (although Annabeth noticed that he had also undone the top two buttons of his own shirt). They ate and they talked and they laughed together, and Annabeth couldn't help but think of the Christmas she would have been having otherwise.

The cold New York apartment, her mother, probably in sweats on the couch, eating Chinese or Indian takeout while they watched It's a Wonderful Life or any one of the many Harry Potter movies that played in reruns throughout the holiday season. That was a tradition of its own, she supposed, but she couldn't help but be grateful that for this Christmas, her last Christmas, she could spend it like this.

They ate the riisipuuro for dessert, a sweet rice porridge sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. Bobby found the almond, ensuring him a year of good luck, and spent the rest of the night boasting about it. Then her father opened a bottle of wine and took out three wine glasses, pouring out some for Amy, Annabeth, and himself.

He raised a toast. "I am so happy to be here with all of you," he said, looking around the table. "And I want to say, Annabeth, kullanmuru, I am so happy to have you here. I look around and my family… it's complete."

Annabeth blinked, eyes suddenly stinging. Kullanmuru. Her dad had used that term so liberally when she was little. When she had asked what it meant the way he explained it was that it meant something precious. "Like gold, or jewels...but more. It's something precious, just like you are precious to me."

He looked back around the table. "To family."

They all raised their glasses with him and repeated, "To family."

He smiled, and cast a fond look over to Annabeth. "And to second chances."

"And to starting again," Amy added, smiling.

Annabeth swallowed a lump in her throat, smiling wetly at them as they all clinked their glasses together, Bobby and Matthew with cups of water. She took a sip of her wine and didn't even grimace, putting her glass down. It was surprising how comfortable she felt. She had never expected to feel this way in this place, with these people. But she was happy she did.

The night ended quietly and slowly. Annabeth found herself in bed a bit after midnight, scrolling through 'Happy Christmas' messages on her phone. Piper sent her another video, Percy sent her a picture of him and his mom and the famous coconut pudding, and Hazel sent well wishes and a picture of her and Frank with his family in Vancouver. Even Leo sent her a message, wishing her a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Annabeth felt full, of good food and of love. It wasn't a bad way to feel.

:::

The days between Christmas and New Year's Eve were liminal. Time was told in activities, not in minutes. Unwrapping gifts on Christmas morning. Visiting Mrs. Liu's kitchen with Amy. Going to the Botanical Gardens with her dad. It was calm and unpressured. Annabeth let herself be drawn to new things, and old things, and old things that had been dressed up as new things. And she found joy in them all.

On New Year's Eve they popped a bottle of champagne. Frederick poured them each a flute, Bobby and Matthew included, much to their shared delight. Another toast, to family, to new starters, and to another year together. All together. And then a bottle of sparkling apple cider was opened, for Bobby and Matthew (and Annabeth) after champagne turned out to be not quite what they imagined.

And they went outside, into the chilly streets of San Francisco, and lit sparklers. Around them, the sound of parties and the murmur of happy voices drifted from golden windows. Distantly, fireworks went off over the bay, the pop pop pop of them startling a laugh out of Annabeth. A flood of texts came through her phone—Happy New Year, I love you, I miss you, this will be the best one yet.

A voice at the back of her head reminded Annabeth that this would be the last one, and she wouldn't even get a full year. While this was a beginning for many, it was also an ending.

Back inside, she got a call. Laughing, she didn't even realize the phone was ringing, too amused by Bobby's impression of a native New Yorker—scarily accurate, and she let herself think of Percy, happily. Matthew had to pick up her cell from the coffee table and hand it to her. It was an unknown number, a 212 number. Manhattan.

"Who could be calling at this time? Today?" Amy wondered aloud.

"If it's important, they'll leave a message," her father said, like he always did.

But something told Annabeth to answer it.

"Hello?" she said, into the receiver.

"Hello, is this Annabeth Chase?" The voice on the other end was breathless, but professional.

"Yeah, that's me."

"This is New York Presbyterian Hospital. As we understand, you are on Thalia Grace's emergency contact list. Does this sound correct to you?"

"I—yes. Is—what happened?" The seconds slowed and Annabeth forgot how to breathe, how to think. Around her, the room stilled as her family turned to face her.

"Annabeth, who is it?" her dad asked, getting up from his seat.

"Ms. Grace's father approved an experimental treatment last month. The treatment took place on the twenty-eighth of December—"

Annabeth cut her off. "Is she okay?" Urgency bled into her voice, and thankfully, the woman on the other end of the phone paused.

"Ms. Grace is fine. Actually, she's more than fine. She's awake."

A/N: Since a few people have asked: there are 31 chapters in total. I post every Monday and Friday, meaning the final post (and the completion of the story) will be on the 13th of August. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me so far (especially those from the early early days). Also, thank you to everyone who likes, follows, and reviews- you are the light of my life.