A/N: I'd like to thank my betas: AlEmily360, SapphireTrafficker, tigerlilycorinne, AshenMoon42, Lesbian101, Shiuanc2, and LadyHW.
Annabeth looked into the mirror and adjusted her robes. The polyester itched against her skin. In the mirror, she looked like a strange contradiction: her apathetic expression and the dark circles under her eyes didn't match the flowing graduation gown she wore.
She imagined that if Piper were here, she'd probably look much better. And Piper probably would have given her the sense to pick out a graduation dress with sleeves to stave off the itching.
Annabeth sighed. She smoothed a hand over her hair, pushing it over her forehead before securing her cap into place.
And there she was, the complete picture. Annabeth Chase: college graduate. The thrill that should have been there was gone, as was the pride. If anything she felt bitter. All those nights spent studying, all the stress over classes, and for what—a walk across the stage and a diploma she'd never get to use.
Annabeth shook her head at her reflection before she left.
It was surprisingly warm for early May, and the black gown only made the heat worse. Annabeth walked across campus, following the groups of other graduates, clusters of excited students in matching black pulling equally excited families behind them. Annabeth walked alone, wishing she could just skip the whole affair.
Graduation was long and arduous. The stadium was lined with black folding chairs, which students and parents alike crowded onto, nervously chittering and laughing in happy groups. The person in the seat next to her, a lively senior boy named Michael Chavez, kept trying to start a conversation with her, but Annabeth couldn't bring herself to reply to his earnest questions.
When the dean of students began to call C-names, calling out Anthony Caldwell, Elizabeth Chan, and then Michael Chavez, skipping over Annabeth, Michael just raised an eyebrow as he passed her, but didn't ask any more questions. Annabeth didn't get the chance to stand until the Dean had called out the last few names (Ha-eun Yeon, John Zakarian) and was announcing:
"And now I would like to present our Honorable Graduates! The students are awarded honorary diplomas for high academic achievement despite circumstances that would prevent them from having a normal graduation,"
Annabeth stood up, and Michael took a second from gazing at his diploma to look at her with surprise. She kept her eyes ahead as they neared the stage, waiting at the bottom of the stairs until the Dean bellowed:
"Annabeth Chase!"
And Annabeth started across the stage to scattered applause. The Dean gripped her hand tightly as he shook it, whispering, "I wish you could have been here longer," to which Annabeth didn't respond. She looked over the crowd as she crossed the stage, searching for faces she knew she wouldn't find.
Her eyes prickled. Now that she was here, it all felt so underwhelming. She clutched the diploma in her hand, crinkling the paper. She almost wanted to tear it, to throw it away, to—to—she didn't know. She had sacrificed so much for it, but it was just a piece of paper. It didn't matter, not really.
She sat back down in her seat as Michael Yew was called. Michael, the one beside her, put his hand on her arm. "I'm so sorry," he said. Annabeth didn't even look at him when she got up and left the auditorium.
:::
Annabeth sat on the grass of the green in front of the library, taking in the sun. With the semester over and the remaining students still in the graduation ceremony, it was thankfully empty. She shed her gown and her cap, lying on top of them to avoid the damp ground. Her diploma sat beside her, crinkled in the dirt.
Annabeth tilted her head back, eyes closed. The sun felt nice on her skin—warm and comforting. And there was a light breeze that ruffled her show hair and carried the sound of birds through the air. She opened her eyes and watched as a cloud passed above. Percy probably would have said it was shaped like a dolphin.
A notification buzzed on her phone and she sighed, turning over to black the sun from the screen. She squinted down at it in surprise. It was an email from her father titled "Happy Graduation." She had never told him her graduation date.
Annabeth,
I know you did not want me to come to your graduation, but I wanted to send you something anyway. I hope you are aware of how proud I am of you and all you have accomplished. You are an incredible girl—smart, tenacious, and always so determined.
I found this picture from your eighth-grade graduation. I remember you didn't want me to take your picture because it "didn't count if it was legally required." But I could tell you were happy nonetheless.
Now you have graduated all on your own, with your own strength and resolve. I think you would have made that little eight grade Annabeth proud.
Congratulations,
Isi
P.S., will you visit before your birthday?
Annabeth opened the attached picture. A younger version of herself loaded onto the screen, rolling her eyes up at her. Younger Annabeth held a bouquet crushed in her fist. She had opened her blue graduation robes to reveal an orange t-shirt and jeans, the epitome of teenage indifference. Despite her annoyance, there was a smile on her youthful face.
In the reflection of her phone screen, Annabeth saw her own face superimposed on her younger self, weary and sad. Annabeth could hardly recognize herself in the younger version. Years of bad luck and even more bad decisions had changed her into someone else, someone she wasn't really sure she liked anymore.
Done with the sun and fresh air, Annabeth decided to return to her dorm.
:::
Annabeth returned to New York a few days after graduation. She had spent several days putting off packing before completing it all in one frenzied afternoon. Now she was back in her mother's impersonal apartment. She entered her room and closed the door behind her, cutting off her mother's welcome. Annabeth collapsed into the soft, grey covers of her bed. They smelled like dust, even though she had been here only a few months prior.
Annabeth rarely left her room for the week after she arrived. Days passed like numbers and nothing more. Her boxes remained unpacked, sitting in the corner of her room. Her mother would knock on her door sometimes, to ask after her or to bring her food, but she mostly left Annabeth alone.
It was better that way.
:::
"Annabeth?" Athena's voice came through her bedroom door, quiet and hesitant.
Annabeth rolled over and pretended not to hear.
"Annabeth?" Now her voice was accompanied by light knocking. "Annabeth, can I come in?"
Annabeth put her pillow over her head.
The door handle jiggled. "Annabeth, please unlock the door."
Annabeth sighed and dragged herself up. She stopped for a second to steady herself, a wave of dizziness hitting her. She couldn't remember the last time she had drank water. She opened the door, leaning against the frame.
"Yes?"
Her mother's lips were thinly pressed together and her eyebrows drawn up, deepening the wrinkles on her forehead. "Have you—have you eaten anything today?" she asked.
Annabeth tried to think back, but she couldn't be sure what time it was, and whether it had been a full day since she had eaten. She shrugged.
"I made you a sandwich," Athena said.
Annabeth raised her eyebrows. "You made it?"
Athena chuckled self-deprecatingly. "I think it was the first time I used the kitchen. But—will you come out to eat it? Just to the dining room?"
Annabeth cast her eyes away from her mother's concerned gaze. She focused on picking an angry, red hangnail as she said, "I don't think so."
A soft hand settled over Annabeth's, stilling her fingers. Athena's hands were long and slender, with carefully kept nails, and they gripped Annabeth's hands as she pleaded with her. "Annabeth, you need to eat something."
The empty feeling at the pit of her stomach agreed, but Annabeth wavered. Sitting out there with her mother, eating a sandwich she had specially prepared—it felt like giving in. Annabeth couldn't do that; she didn't deserve to do that. Not yet, maybe not ever.
She shook her head. "I think I'm just going to go to bed."
Athena looked past her, her eyes sweeping over Annabeth's rumpled covers. They found Annabeth's face again, pleading. "Can I come in here?"
Athena's hands tightened on Annabeth's. Annabeth sighed, dropping her hands to her sides. "Okay," she conceded.
Athena scurried back to the kitchen as Annabeth left the doorway and found her way back into bed. She could stand a few minutes eating with her mother if it meant being left alone.
"It's ham," her mother said, as she walked into the room. She flicked the lights on and Annabeth blinked with the sudden brightness. Athena wrinkled her nose as she looked around the room, at the clothes strewn about the floor and the boxes lying unpacked against the far corner. Annabeth waited for a disparaging comment, but nothing came.
Instead, Athena picked her way through Annabeth's room and to her bed, clearing the blankets from a corner and sitting primly down with her legs crossed. She passed the cold plate over to Annabeth, who took it reluctantly.
"What else is in it?" Annabeth asked, lifting up a slice of bread.
Her mother's face colored. "It's just ham… is that okay?"
Annabeth took a bite, the dry bread sticking between her gums as she chewed. "Yes," she said, and her mother relaxed. "Thank you."
Athena watched as she ate the sandwich, waiting to speak until Annabeth was finished.
"Would you like a glass of water?"
Annabeth was about to refuse, but her pounding head made her say otherwise. Her mother left for the kitchen, returning a minute later with a glass of ice water. Annabeth took it gratefully, downing it quickly.
She set the glass down on the plate and waited for her mother to leave, but Athena just sat on the corner of the bed observing her. Finally, she said "Annabeth… what happened?"
"What do you mean 'what happened'?" Annabeth said, turning away. "I'm dying."
"No, you're not." Athena's voice was firm and commanding—the same voice she used with clients on the phone.
"Yes, I am," Annabeth said, confused by her mother's sudden departure from reality. "In two months, one day, and four hours." Annabeth flipped her wrist over to show her mother the timer.
Athena put a gentle hand over the timer, punching Annabeth's arm to the side. "You're going to die, but you're not dying."
"Same thing."
"It's not." Athena's voice was full of conviction. "There's a difference. Dying is a—a process. Like fading, or waning. Or waiting."
What are you waiting for?
"I don't like to see you like this, Annabeth. It's like you're just letting things happen to you. You've got two whole months to live, but you're not using them. You're just in here, every day, wasting away in your bed. You're just throwing it away."
Annabeth's eyes found a spot on the floor, a piece of lint caught in the rug, that she focused her eyes on. She felt a soothing hand on her back, rubbing across her shoulders.
"Do you have anything to say?" her mother asked, her voice softer now.
Annabeth stayed silent for a long time, until the rubbing stopped. Just as Athena was about to remove her hand from Annabeth's back, she blurted "What if I don't want it?"
The hand stilled, and the weight on the bed next to her grew heavier as her mother slid closer. "What do you mean?"
"What if," Annabeth said, slower this time, "I don't deserve it." She looked up into her mother's grey eyes—the grey eyes they shared—and repeated herself again. "What if I don't deserve it?"
Athena's mouth opened and then closed again. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I know you deserve all the time you have left and more."
"How?"
"Because you're here," Athena said. She wrapped her arm around Annabeth's shoulder and tugged her into her chest. Her chin rested on Annabeth's head. "Because you're doing your best." Annabeth could feel her mouth move as she talked, could feel her heartbeat pounding too heavy in her chest. She couldn't recall ever being held like this by her mother. "Because I love you."
"How?" Annabeth said again, her voice dropping to a rough whisper.
"It's easy," her mother said. "Although I should have said it more."
:::
On May 19th, Leo called.
Annabeth sat on a bench in Washington Square Park, people watching. The sun was an unfamiliar heat on her skin after two weeks of isolation. The air held the promise of summer just around the corner. Somewhere on the other side of the park, someone was playing the saxophone. Annabeth hummed along to the vaguely familiar melody.
She hadn't wanted to come out, but eventually, she gave into her mother's increasingly desperate attempts to get out of the house. Just to prove that she could, Annabeth took the subway down to lower Manhattan.
Her phone buzzed—another unfamiliar sensation—and then kept buzzing. Annabeth fumbled with pulling it out of her pocket, nearly dropping it on the cement below.
"Annabeth?" Leo's voice sounded tinny and distant over the phone.
"Leo?"
"Oh, you picked up."
"Was I not supposed to?" Annabeth frowned at her shoes scuffing the pavement.
"No, no—" came Leo's hurried reply. "It's just Piper and Percy said you weren't taking their calls."
Annabeth's frown deepened. "I'm not. I wasn't."
There was a brief pause on the other line "Would you, now?"
"Leo."
"Sorry," Leo laughed awkwardly. "I just wanted to say… thank you."
"Thank you?" Annabeth paused. She couldn't imagine what he could be thanking her for—she hadn't seen him since that day in the hospital, three months ago.
"Yeah, uh, thanks. I've been trying to, uh, appreciate the people still in my life more. And, well, you're one of those people. So, thank you. I appreciate you."
Annabeth thought he was being a little generous. She hadn't been a person in his life for a long while—in fact, she left when he had needed her most.
"And I wanted to say," Leo continued, "All that stuff I said in the hospital? It's bullshit. And you were right."
Annabeth tried to think back to what she had said. After everything that had happened, Annabeth couldn't imagine having been right about anything.
It gets better.
"Does it?" she asked him, repeating his words from the hospital.
"It does," Leo said. "It's not easy. Back then… I didn't really know how to… how to say this before, but I think I didn't feel like I—like I deserved to be happy. Like, if I was happy, it would be like forgetting. Or like giving in. But that's not actually true. I can be happy and I can remember. Even though it hurts that I'll never see them again- Calypso, my mom, Beckendorf- at least I had the privilege of knowing them, y'know? I'd rather suffer the pain of losing them than live without ever having loved them. Like you said, if they were here, they'd have wanted me to be happy. So… that's what I'm trying to do."
Annabeth watched the shadows of the leaves on the pavement move in the breeze as she thought about what he said. Her eyes travelled upwards, to stare at the green underbellies of the leaves against the cerulean sky. Even though she couldn't see them, Annabeth knew there were a million stars above her.
"Is it working?" she finally asked.
Leo chuckled, and a piece of his old self slid back into place. "It's starting to."
Annabeth hummed and closed her eyes. It was a beautiful day. Annabeth wasn't sure when she had last really appreciated a day as nice as this.
"Hey, Annabeth?"
Annabeth opened her eyes. "Yeah?"
"You should come back."
Annabeth considered for a moment before simply replying, "Okay."
