Author's note: This song has been making me sad for no reason for a few weeks now, and I finally found a plot to make everyone else sad too. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: The following characters belong to Rick Riordan and this story derives from his original works, storylines, and world. I am doing my best to stay informed, as a fan and creator, about the critical readings on PJO/HoO and appreciate any feedback on those topics about my work so that I can continue to grow and make fandom a safe space.
Warnings: Mourning; non-canon character death
Still Not Ready To Let It All Go
We built our home out on the slopes
Pompeii beneath, she lay above
How she haunted our home
How she haunted our home
You were a god in my eyes
Above the clouds, above the skies
You were a god in my eyes
You were a god
Don't cry
Hold your head up high
She would want you to
She would want you to
-"Under the Clouds of Pompeii," Bear's Den
Percy put the twins to bed, stumbling through their nightly routine of carefully-selected pajamas, teeth-brushing, storytimes, and checking the closets for monsters. The baby had been in bed for a few hours now and was apparently feeling cooperative since she hadn't stirred yet, which gave Percy a narrow window to grab the baby monitor and go sit on the rickety balcony outside of the apartment.
He sat with his back against the wall and his feet poking through the iron bars, dangling over nothing, and let his head loll to the side. He breathed in what passed for night air in Manhattan and ignored the sound of sirens in the distance, which was basically white noise to him. He remembered how Annabeth had complained about the traffic and noise, when she'd first moved to New York.
He sighed and checked the phone in his pocket when it vibrated. It was Estelle, telling him to answer Mom's text because she was worried. He did; promising that he was fine, that the kids were in bed, and that he'd see Mom tomorrow for lunch. She responded with her signature blue heart emoji and he stuffed the cell back in his pocket, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes for a second. As much as he desperately wanted to hold onto his mom for comfort virtually every day now, he hated how worried she looked whenever she saw him. He hated the worried looks, the concerned check-ins, the uneasy offers from everyone who had known him—especially those who had known Annabeth too, and especially those who had known them as Percy and Annabeth. As a pair.
He heard the patter of small feet on the patio and thought that one of the twins had woken up, so he opened his eyes and turned to tell whichever one it was to go back to bed. The young girl he saw there instead was older, but no more than nine years old, though she did have the same gingerbread brown shade of hair as his kids. Even if he hadn't known who she was right away by the warmth and quiet power she radiated, he would have recognized those glowing amber eyes. Hestia pulled her brown robes around her as she sat on the other side of the balcony, bare feet poking out.
"Lady Hestia," Percy said. A few years ago, Percy had lost his patience with Apollo and since then most immortals had understood that the place where he raised his children was off-limits to them in every way. Hestia, however, must have known that she was excluded.
"Hello Percy," she said. She looked through the sliding glass door and into his apartment, which was mildly cleaner than usual since Grover had brought the kids to the park that afternoon and given Percy a chance to plough through a week's worth of dishes and sweep. The living room was still a mess of K-Nex, puzzle pieces, and discarded shoes but Percy tried to ignore it.
"You have a beautiful home with a beautiful view," she said.
"Thank you," Percy said. "We just… we just moved here."
"I know," Hestia said simply. "Home is not a place, it is who you bring with you. Sometimes a change is healthy."
"I couldn't handle it," Percy said. "I'd hear… I'd hear people walking down the hall outside the old place and I kept expecting her to come home from work. Especially when it was someone in heels. I couldn't believe it when she started wearing heels to work, but now I… I kept thinking it was her."
Hestia nodded as if she understood and against all odds, even if she looked like a child and was truly an immortal goddess, Percy thought that maybe she actually did. He nearly told her more—about how much he hated smelling lemon for the same reason, how he'd nearly jumped out of his skin when someone on the subway the other day had had the same ringtone as her, or how one of his colleagues had come in wearing a blazer like the one he'd just given to Goodwill... He'd been as disappointed every time, even if he'd known or should have known that no matter how much he waited and looked over his shoulder, it wouldn't help. He felt a little hopeless, making that same foolish mistake over and over.
"Do you need something, my lady?" Percy asked her, rubbing at his eyes.
"I thought you were past the business of helping gods," Hestia said.
"You're different," Percy said. He wasn't going to run off on a quest and leave his kids unattended in the middle of the night, of course, but he did genuinely mean it.
"I came to see if you needed something, as a matter of fact," Hestia said. She reached into the folds of her brown cloak and took out what looked like a small jewelry box, though when she set it on the floor before her its shape changed to take on the form Percy recognized best—a three-foot tall ceramic vase with a lid fastened on by a leather strap.
"You made it an actual box," Percy said, surprised.
"It is easier to carry this way," Hestia noted. "I believe that that's what mortals have been calling it anyways, recently. Pandora's box."
Percy nodded. He reached out and ran his fingers along the black-and-white geometrical shapes covering the exterior of the pithos. Memories from the Battle of Manhattan, when Prometheus had first given him the pithos, came back to him. He hadn't thought much about the box since he'd given it away, knowing that it was safe in the goddess's care.
"Do you really carry it around with you?" Percy asked Hestia.
"It was given to me by a hero who trusted me with all the hope he had left," Hestia said. "I take that duty very seriously."
Percy nodded and pulled his fingers away from the vase.
"I did trust you," Percy said. "I mean, I… I still do."
"I know," Hestia said gently. "I still thought I would give you a chance to take it back."
"The pithos?"
"I could make it a box again if you'd like," Hestia said.
She curled up again, hugging her knees to her chest, so that she looked like a child again. It was a stranger form than usual for Percy, now that he had kids of his own.
"I was sorry to hear about what happened to Annabeth," Hestia said. Hearing the goddess say her name was like a punch to the gut. He knew that though the gods were bad at keeping track of mortals, they were good at keeping track of drama and he and Annabeth were frequent tabloid topics on Olympus. They were a constant source of gossip—important prophecy demigods, a son of Poseidon and a daughter of Athena making their parents in-laws… but hearing Hestia say Annabeth's name seemed so intimate, so caring, so… real.
"Thanks," he muttered. He hugged his legs to himself too.
"How are the children?" Hestia asked.
"Maggie and Alec are... okay," Percy said. "Being back in school and seeing their friends and the therapist there helps. Laurel asks for her mom sometimes when she cries, but not so much anymore."
"That's good," Hestia said. "And you?"
Percy didn't answer, even if Hestia's concern wasn't as heavy or uncomfortable to bear as some of his other friends and family. He didn't have a good answer to that question. He wasn't sure that he actually had an answer.
"I thought you might need some of this," Hestia said. She pushed the pithos gently closer to him. Percy remembered seeing the glowing silver thing inside it, many years ago.
"Hope?" Percy asked.
Hestia nodded.
"Mortals trusted with that thing tend to lose things," Percy reminded her.
"I know," Hestia said. "Well, one did. Maybe you'll be different. Maybe you'll hold hope close and feel stronger by having it near."
Percy considered her offer for a few seconds.
"I do still have some hope," Percy said. "I… I have hope that Laurel will start talking by the end of the year. I'm hopeful that Alec will start making friends at school even if he's so shy. I'm hoping that Maggie will start eating food that isn't popcorn or chicken nuggets soon. I haven't given up on everything."
"And for yourself, Percy?" Hestia asked. "What about for yourself?"
"Do I really have much to hope for?" Percy asked. "She was my best friend. She was my one great big love. She gave me kids and a family and a life and… can I really hope for more than that?"
"I hope that you'll be happy again," Hestia said gently.
"Me too," Percy said. "It… it wouldn't be good for the kids if…"
"It wouldn't be good for you," Hestia said, so gently it was barely an interruption. She pushed the pithos towards Percy again, arching an eyebrow. "Do you want this?"
Percy looked at the pithos again.
"No," Percy said. "No, you should hold onto it still—if you want to. I feel like… I feel like I might slip and open it one day, but I'm not ready to do that. I'm not ready to let it all go yet."
Hestia nodded. She reached out and when she touched the pithos this time, it turned back into a box. She tucked it inside her brown robes again and rose to her feet.
"Remember this," Hestia said. "Remember that when you were given the chance to let it all go, you decided not to. That, Percy Chase-Jackson, is what hope truly means. It is, I believe, what Annabeth would want for you as well."
Percy smiled.
"Thank you," he said. "I hope it is too."
WC: 1713