Annabeth blinked, stunned. The blood drained from her face as she stood, frozen. Her balance wavered beneath her as she tried to tame the helpless, hapless beats of her heart.

Her legs gave out, barely allowing her enough time to catch herself as she fell onto the cot behind her. The worn springs squeaked with exertion, punctuating the sticky silence that followed Percy's exit.

Her gaze fell to the floor, blurring at the edges as unshed tears threatened to obscure her vision. She felt them, hot and slow, as they slithered over the curve of her cheekbones.

This was stupid—this was beyond stupid.

Annabeth exhaled, the broken movement wracking her chest. There was a dull ache in her ribs, a mix of disappointment and shame. She couldn't decide which was worse.

Annabeth hardly understood why she was upset. Her choices had once seemed so clear. She longed for the days when she knew the difference between right and wrong. She wondered if she could have avoided all this chaos or if it was always bound to happen, written cruelly in the stars.

If only she hadn't allowed her pride to get the better of her she might have avoided it. If only she had stepped back when Rachel had asked her to. If only she hadn't accepted his hand when he asked her to dance. If only she hadn't threatened him. If only she hadn't allowed herself to be captivated.

No, she hadn't simply allowed it; she had been complicit in it.

Annabeth's posture ever straight posture broke. Her eyes fluttered shut as she gasped for air.

She had wanted so badly for him to touch her, for him to kiss her as he had once. She remembered that night. The night she could never take back—they could never take back. She had allowed herself to believe that night was different—but hadn't it been?

She had killed a man that night. She had plunged her dagger into his chest and watched as the life left him.

Luke had comforted her afterwards. He had wrapped his arms around her, delicate and warm, like he always had—like he always would. He had pushed back her hair, and in the reflection of his eyes, she saw a loving wife, an adoring fiancé, a prim young lady—she saw all the things she wasn't—all the things she would never be.

And then, Rachel—Rachel.

Distrust had glittered in her sister's eyes, a sickness beginning to spread. It was an infection that had taken clutch far earlier, when she'd made the mistake of inviting the cook's son to play with them.

And finally, she had come across Percy.

It was a perfect storm. It could have been anyone. She would have reacted similarly with anyone—right?

Her chest flickered uncomfortably at the question.

He had stared at her like nothing had changed, like, despite it all, she was still captivating.

And then he spoke, and in his words, she heard what she was, violent and confused and scared—but in his eyes, she saw everything she could be, everything she wanted so desperately to be.

Maybe he thought too highly of her. Maybe she thought too highly of herself. If she had been as selfless as she believed herself, surely she would not have kissed her sister's fiancé.

He was her sister's fiancé. He was not Percy, but Duke Jackson of Atlantis, soon to be King. She seemed intent on forgetting it. She had nearly forgotten tonight. The reason he was here was for Rachel, to protect and serve Rachel, as she had vowed to.

Annabeth laughed hollowly at the reminder.

I have no interest in seeing you naked, he had told her. He couldn't have been more clear, and she couldn't have been more delusional. No wonder he fled. She had practically accosted him. His fiance's sister had thrown herself at him.

How humiliating.

Annabeth picked herself up, dusting off her nightgown, her cheeks flushing with fresh disgrace. She was being ridiculous. She had to apologize to Percy. And as unpleasant as that seemed, she decided she would rather sacrifice this ever-growing feeling in her chest than her pride.

She reached for her cloak. It was still soaking well. With a deep shuddering breath, Annabeth pulled it over her shoulders, ignoring the icy chill that spilled down her spine.

Her fingers lingered around the doorknob, trembling. The pounding in her chest amplified.

She would find him. This was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous.

Annabeth shook her head, inhaling shallowly. She yanked open the door, the musty air giving way to the cool hallway as she strode forward.

The town in which she and Percy were residing barely deserved the name. Annabeth could easily walk it end to end in five minutes. It was difficult, therefore, to understand how she had already spent an hour in the rain looking for Percy.

She was desperate, her fingers shook beneath her cloak as she stepped into the same tavern for the fifth time. Her eyes tiredly raked the inhabitants, searching for a familiar pair of green eyes or mop of raven hair.

Annabeth was about to turn away when she spotted a flash of royal blue in one of the rooms behind the bars—the same blue of Percy's coat. She frowned, narrowing her gaze.

Annabeth slowly approached the back room. It was blocked off by a heavy red curtain. She had nearly reached it when one of the tavern's waitresses stepped in front of her, blocking her trajectory.

"Hi," she greeted with a bright smile. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," Annabeth told her. "I'm looking for a friend, and I'm fairly certain he's back there," she gestured towards the room. "So I'll just—"

"I'm sorry," the waitress cut her off, obstructing her path again. "That's not possible. The back rooms are available by invitation only."

Annabeth stared, sliding her teeth against the edge of her teeth. She wasn't used to people restricting her, especially arbitrary waitresses. She fought back a biting comment, choosing instead to smile.

"Bring the owner out then," Annabeth insisted, clasping her hands in front of her. They were beginning to go numb. "I'd like to speak with him."

"I'm afraid that's not possible either," the waitress lamented, her brows pulling together in an expression of shallow sympathy.

"Fine," Annabeth sighed, her frustration beginning to show. "Will you pass along a message to a friend then? He's the man in the soaking wet blue coat."

"Sure," the waitress agreed primly.

"Tell him I'm waiting outside and that if he doesn't come quickly, I'll freeze to death," Annabeth told her, punctuating the statement with an expression of contempt.

The waitress was silent for a second, staring blankly. It looked like she was waiting for Annabeth to say something else.

"That's all," Annabeth assured her.

"Oh," the waitress said, her brows jumping with surprise. "Okay, I'll pass along the message."

Annabeth nodded, crossing her arms and waiting. The waitress didn't move.

"Now please," Annabeth requested, trying to remain polite.

"Fine," the waitress huffed, turning on her heel and heading back to the room. As the curtain swung open, Annabeth caught a better glimpse of Percy. He was sitting in a large armchair, chatting animatedly with a young woman who was sitting far too close to him for Annabeth's liking.

A sharp pinch echoed through Annabeth's chest at the sight. She tensed her jaw, contending that she was only irritated on Rachel's behalf.

The waitress held the curtain open, seemingly deliberately lingering for a moment.

Percy still hadn't noticed her. Her fingers extremities stopped trembling, befittingly numb. She watched as the same woman seated herself on his lap. Annabeth's teeth gnashed at her cheek. She tasted blood. And as she watched the woman seated herself on his lap, she thought she would much rather make good on her promise to freeze to death than watch another second.

She hardly noticed as the waitress approached Percy and began whispering in his ear. His eyes slid to hers, but she had already bolted outside.

...

The downpour had yet to cease. The beads of rain slid smoothly over her skin as she escaped the confines of the tavern. They caught like gems, froze between her lashes, and she found she couldn't bear to blink them away.

Once she had calmed down, Annabeth found herself in a mossy clearing just outside of town. She stood there, among the greenery, feeling usually at peace as the water soaked her curls. The crisp air reminded her of home, of the gardens that she had always found so relaxing. She thought of Rachel and could only hope she was comfortable and warm, wherever she was.

"Annabeth," Percy's voice shattered her quiet, slicing through the rain to wrap around her throat like a noose. "What are you doing out here?"

Annabeth wrenched her eyes open. The gems fell from her lashes, tumbling to the ground.

"I could ask you the same question," Annabeth returned quietly—her voice not matching the storm around them.

"No," Percy told her, having heard her nonetheless.

He stepped towards her. He was frowning. He looked angry. She couldn't imagine why. Her thoughts felt foggy, clouded by the ache in her chest.

"No, you can't," Percy insisted, shaking his head sluggishly. His movements were slow and heavy. "You can't because I'm not the one intent on freezing to death tonight."

His fingers slid up to the buttons of his coat. It had dried faster than hers. He struggled to unravel them. She frowned, wondering if his fingers were as numb as hers. He stumbled on nothing, uneasily lunging towards her to try to throw it over her shoulders.

His touch felt like the sun as it slid over her bare arms. Scorching and dangerous. She recoiled abruptly, feeling all the fury of watching his prior interaction rush back to her.

"Don't touch me!" Annabeth exclaimed angrily.

She watched as his eyes widened, hurt so clearly splashed across the vibrance of his irises that she gasped. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but nothing came out. She felt unusually validated for a moment, realizing she might be able to hurt him like he had hurt her—er, no, how he'd hurt Rachel.

Yes, Rachel.

Percy frowned at her. His expression had yet to morph back into the guarded marble she had grown so accustomed to. He looked uneven on his feet again, wavering though he'd never moved.

He was drunk, she realized upon closer inspection. No wonder he was acting so irrational, he was wasted.

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream.

"You're such a pig," Annabeth sneered, feeling an expected blow at the realization. Had he been drinking to forget their interaction? She pulled her own cloak tighter, the night suddenly feeling exponentially colder.

"What do you want me from?" Percy demanded suddenly, throwing his arms up. "What did you expect?"

"I thought—" Annabeth faltered, hesitating. "I don't know what I thought," she grimaced finally, the movement cold and empty.

"You heard the stories, didn't you?" Percy pressed, his eyes boring into her. It wasn't a question; it was an accusation.

Annabeth watched him in silence. She wanted to return the question, to ask him if he believed everything he'd heard about her.

"What did you expect?" Percy shook his head with a laugh. The sound was broken and sharp, slicing through any lingering warmth.

"Nothing," Annabeth assured him, feeling the same stubborn tears burn at the back of her eyes, but when they fell, rain drowned them out. "I expect nothing from you," she sighed, a scoff of disbelief leaving her as a breathy exhale. "I just—" she forced her eyes open despite the downpour, staring at the label of his coat so as not to meet his eyes. "I just wanted to say I was sorry," she mumbled finally.

"Sorry?" Percy repeated, his features suspended.

"Yes," Annabeth explained through gritted teeth, praying for the night to give her strength. "I wanted to apologize for acting like—" she shook her head, unable to form coherent sentences. She wished she'd rehearsed this. "The way I acted was improper," she explained slowly. "I'm ashamed of myself and—and I know you're only trying to protect Rachel," Annabeth explained slowly, "and I'm sorry that I forgot that."

He didn't speak, he didn't move, he didn't even breathe as far as she could tell, and then—

Percy laughed. He actually laughed at her.

Annabeth was shocked. She was furious. She was humiliated. She stared at him, grateful that the rain drew away from the deep flush that would otherwise be coloring her face. And before she could convince herself not to, she spun on her heels, determined not to be left discrediting herself for a second time tonight. She had nearly made it down the short block when she heard her name behind her, half-hidden by the storm.

"Annabeth!"

She ignored it. She'd had enough. She made it to the inn without obstacle, whipping open the doors and rushing upstairs without a second glance at the innkeeper who spared her a suspicious glance. She had just reached the room when she heard the patter of footsteps coming up the stairs behind her.

"Annabeth," she heard Percy's pleading voice.

She fumbled with the key she'd been given, desperately trying to jam it into the keyhole with shaking fingers. She wished she'd listened to him. She wished she hadn't spent so long in the rain. Then maybe she'd be able to open a goddamn door

"Annabeth please—" she heard again, this time accompanied by a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back.

"Percy," Annabeth hissed, whipping around and throwing the offending limb off of her. "I told you not to touch me."

"I'm sorry," he apologized earnestly, leaning over her. Lingering rain droplets rolled off his coat, falling to the ground between them. "I shouldn't have laughed," he insisted, "but—what you said was positively absurd."

"I was simply apologizing for the misunderstanding," Annabeth grumbled, refusing to meet his eyes. Her fingers were still wrapped around the key in her hands, the metal digging into her winter white skin.

"No," Percy shook his head. "You're wrong," he told her firmly.

Annabeth scoffed, turning around to face the door, trying the key again.

"I didn't leave because—" Percy tried to explain, speaking to her back. "You don't have to apologize for before," he began again. "You did nothing wrong."

Annabeth hated the way her fingers stilled at the strain in his voice, as though the words were being wrenched from him rather than given voluntarily. She longed to turn around but didn't dare move.

"I—" he laughed humorlessly into the empty space. "I'm the one who should apologize—I can't—I shouldn't—"

"Percy", Annabeth sighed, still not facing him. Her words turned to fog in front of her.

They could talk tomorrow, she told herself. He was drunk, and she was tired—exhausted actually. She already had her own mind to decipher, she hardly needed another to sort through as well.

"It's fine," she assured him, though the words were anything but the truth. "It was a mistake—my mistake."

She could feel his gaze through her cloak, through her nightdress, through her very bones, as it bore into her.

Her fingers tightened around the key. She slid it into the door, listening as it clicked into place. She turned it and they both watched as the door slid open, beckoning them inside.

Annabeth stepped was the first to step inside, certain he would not move until she had. Her wet curls clung to the curve of her chin as she held her cloak tightly around her, ensuring they did not make the same mistake again.

She heard the door shut quietly and the quiet sound of Percy's footsteps. They didn't sound clumsy anymore. She vaguely wondered if the rain had sobered him up. When she looked up to observe him, however, she found him staring at her with the same undivided gaze as before.

"I'm just trying to protect you," he said, sorrow shining in his eyes.

Rationally, she knew words were nothing more than—well, words. And thus, his words shouldn't have affected her so thoroughly, but there was something small and pitiful in his eyes. It was the way Luke looked at her sometimes, like she was a small child with no agency of her own.

He looked miserable. The rain had swept his hair into his eyes, matting the rest of his across his forehead. His shirt—which she figured he'd borrowed—was sopping wet, falling over his shoulders.

She gritted her teeth and forced herself to meet his eyes. It was as if something had broken, she'd lost her restraint somewhere in the clearing. It was as if she had broken—because he looked dejected, and her heart ached at the sight. And that made everything exponentially worse, enraging every nerve in her body.

"It's not your job to protect me," Annabeth hissed suddenly, taking an angry step towards him. He looked taken aback, surprise widening his eyes. "It's never been your job to protect me—everyone is always trying to protect me—"

"I'll hurt you," he insisted, clearly confused. He was shaking his head, his eyes avoiding hers. "I'll hurt you."

You already have, Annabeth wanted to tell him, but found she wouldn't allow herself that degree of deficiency.

"I'll hurt you," Percy repeated reverently, stepping forward and reaching out to hold her by the upper arms. She felt his warmth infect her, curling at her insides, disintegrating her. "Don't you understand that?" he exhaled shakily. "It's not a question of if, it's a question of when."

"How can you know that?" Annabeth questioned harshly. There were tears in her eyes. She didn't know when they'd reappeared.

"I will hurt you," Percy said again—the words leaving his lips like a prayer—a promise. "You have to trust me—please."

"You told me not to trust you," Annabeth reminded him quietly.

The fireplace wavered, casting dusk across the room.

"But you do, don't you?" Percy asked, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Annabeth stiffened. Was he making fun of her?

"And I trust you," he uttered softly, his expression melancholy.

She felt dizzy. The room was spinning around her until all she could see was him.

"And that's a problem?" Annabeth whispered, uncertain of what she had said until she heard the words herself.

"That is the problem," Percy told her, frowning deeply.

His hands fell from her arms, throwing himself away from her as if he'd been burned. He shoved his hands through his sopping hair, pulling at it in obvious distress. He looked horrified, to say the least.

"I'll hurt you," he repeated, more to himself this time. "I will—"

"And?" Annabeth demanded with a brave breath. "What If I want to be hurt—"

"Annabeth—" Percy sighed, as if she were a child who didn't understand.

"No, Percy," Annabeth returned sharply with a loud scoff, forcing him to look at her. "Don't patronize me. What if I want to be hurt? What if I'm okay with getting hurt—"

"You're not," Percy told her firmly, his feet frozen to the ground. She watched as his hands tightened into fists.

"And if I am?" Annabeth muttered bitterly.

"Then you're mad," Percy told her venomously. And the words left his mouth with such spite and malice she thought she would burn away with the fire, but she persisted.

"Yes," she laughed then, feeling rather hopeless. She was still wearing her cold cloak. The rain seemed to have soaked through her skin, turning her blood ice cold. "I'm beginning to think I am."

He was silent. She was certain the alcohol must have worn off now, because he was back to wearing the same guarded expression she knew so well.

She wondered, momentarily, if she had absorbed it instead. Nothing else could have explained the courage that bloomed in her heart, spurring her forward.

"I must be mad," Annabeth laughed hollowly. "Because I might die tomorrow—surely you realize that—I might be murdered on the spot by rebels. I might be walking into trap—I'm probably walking into a trap and—" Annabeth sucked in a desperate breath, her eyes focusing on anything but him. "And the scariest part of it all, is that I might not—might not feel what I—I read about and teased Rachel about—" she could hardly get the words out, the thoughts coming to her in short spurts of adrenaline. "I might die without ever knowing if—if what I feel—"

"What do you feel?" Percy interrupted to ask, uncertainty darkening in his bright irises.

"Don't interrupt me!" Annabeth exclaimed, too caught up in her own thoughts to register what he said. "I thought this—you might be different but I guess—wait, what?" she caught herself, staring up at him.

"What do you feel?" he repeated, swallowing thickly. Beads of water fell from his hair, tracing the stiff movement.

"I—I don't know," she told him erratically, her pulse racing.

"Yes, you do," he insisted, pressing forward, one step, one more step and he'd be too close. "What do you feel?"

The fire flickered between them, spurring to life.

"Don't tell me I know, Percy," Annabeth snapped, undisguised adrenaline rush through her mind. It felt like panic. "Perhaps I simply don't know—"

"I hated you, you know," he told her with a chuckle, stepping closer even—a half step. His eyes were on her, but he wasn't looking, staring blankly at her features as he reminisced. "When we first met, I loathed you."

"The feeling was mutual, assure you," Annabeth grumbled, unsure where this was going.

"I know," he nodded, her comment widening his grin. Oh god, she had driven the future king mad. "I could feel your abhorrence," he told her comically. "I found it rather entertaining the way you fought a scowl whenever I spoke or the way you tried to warn your sister off—I found it annoying of course," he amended, "but entertaining as well."

"Well," Annabeth swallowed, horrendously embarrassed. "I'm glad I saw such an amazing source of entertainment—as I was saying—"

"But then," Percy continued, ignoring her words. He was looking at her now, eye refocusing to bore into hers. "I don't know when or why but something shifted—and things were different—and now—"

"Now?" Annabeth pondered delicately, raising her chin to meet his gaze. It was a single word but it felt like the first step before walking off a plank. She was standing before a dark, endless precipice and daring herself to jump.

"Who's interrupting now?" Percy teased, eyes falling from hers.

"Percy," Annabeth protested tightly, unable to so much as breath.

"And now," Percy began, smile failing him, "this is dangerous. Now, we're asking to get hurt—"

"And if—" Annabeth pressed softly.

"You won't," Percy told her. He didn't look convinced. "You'll regret this," he whispered so quietly she barely heard him over the sound of her heartbeat, heavy and strong in her chest. "I guarantee it."

"What is this then?" Annabeth forced a scoff, the mere movement aching her entire chest. "A declaration of love?" she taunted.

She felt some relief at the mocking sound. The memory of the past wrapping around her like a blanket.

"Hardly," Percy condemned in return.

"What then?" Annabeth demanded.

Percy was silent, his lips tight as he stared at her. She watched as his eyes swept over her features, cataloging them as if to memorize them. She thought he too must know she would likely die tomorrow. If he felt something—if he felt anything surely he would tell her.

The rain poured outside, rattling against the thin window.

Or perhaps it wasn't his obligation to assure her of his feelings, she pondered then. Perhaps this wasn't his decision to make, whether he wanted her or not, whether she could want him or not. She had lived so long without a choice, without anything to drive her but her family, she had nearly forgotten she was an actor in this narrative as well. And if she was to take half the blame, then she would take half the agency. She should—would not lie around and wait for Percy to take action when she was capable herself.

And if she didn't die tomorrow, then she would stand before Rachel and Percy and bow. She would honor them with a life of sorrow and disappointments. But if she was to punish herself for the rest of her life, Annabeth thought she could be selfish now. For the rest of her life, she would sit next to Luke, simpering and smiling, tending to his every need, raising his heirsand at night, she would remember that it had all been worth it.

"I don't know," Percy lamented then, meeting her eyes finally. Something in her chest surged. "I suppose I couldn't stand another second thinking you didn't knowjust how"

She wasn't in love with Luke. It was blatantly obvious now.

"how much you" Percy continued, struggling to find the words.

Yes, she thought then. He was worth it. He was worth all the anguish and hurt and sorrow that she would suffer watching him from the sidelines. Grief would consume her but not regret.

"how much I—," Percy grappled, his eyes shining reverently.

Yes, Annabeth decided then, surging forward.

And when her lips met his, she was sure she had never been more certain of a decision in her life.


a/n: yeah, that's right, it finally happened, get excited. very much didn't edit, but who expects me to at this point.

anyway, dedicated to Singularspeck77 and Call me Indecisive and AnnaUnicorn

love yall!