Hey guys! Happy Saturday :) I will be at camp all next week, so I'm not sure if I'll be able to update next week. The rest of July and the first half of August will be a bit iffy since I'll be on vacation, but I'll do my best! Hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

It all started with Rachel's sketchbook.

The first few days after Rachel Dare arrived were both good and bad. Although Percy was still a bit angry at Annabeth for invading his privacy and reading his letter without asking, he understood her wish to have been told about his friend back in England before the day of her arrival.

He tried talking to her on four separate occasions, but she pointedly ignored both him and Rachel. Even while living in the same house, she magically disappeared whenever he came in the room, and when Rachel came over she didn't even make an appearance to begin with.

Percy was angry and a bit hurt at her seemingly unfounded pettiness, but he eventually just gave up. Annabeth was acting like a child, and until she decided to start being civil to him again, he would just spend time with Rachel instead.

It was a good plan – in theory.

Within days of her arrival, it became clear that she was hiding something. The average person, perhaps, might not have noticed, but after months of spying Percy had become accustomed to studying other people body language and hidden meanings between words. In fact, most people were open books – all except Annabeth, whom he had never had success on if he tried his hardest, and now, apparently, Rachel.

He met with her father often; although perhaps often misguided in his desires for his daughter and his country, he was a good man. In fact, he had encouraged Percy to join the Royal Army, back in England.

One day as they were conversing, Mr. Dare mentioned something about Rachel being with Percy the day before.

"What?" Percy asked, confused. He hadn't seen Rachel in a few days.

Mr. Dare looked surprised. "Why, she said she was going to the Chase's home yesterday and was gone almost all afternoon."

"Oh, uh, yes. I had forgotten," Percy answered clumsily, covering for Rachel even though he had no idea why or where she really had been.

Mr. Dare looked skeptical, but the conversation continued, and the matter was forgotten, at least by Mr. Dare. Percy, however, tucked it away in his mind.

It was only the first sign that Rachel was hiding something.

The second came from her sketchbook.

He knew even back in England that Rachel was an artist. When they were children they would go to the wharf, Percy to skip stones in the rough grey waters, and Rachel to sketch. Her drawings had been amazing, and Percy knew she had simply gotten more skilled with time.

The problem was, whenever he asked to look at her sketchbook, she'd flush slightly, or gently turn away, or gracefully change the subject. Even when she wasn't using the notebook, it was carefully tucked away under her arm or hidden from prying eyes.

While Percy would have understood if she was just shy about sharing her drawings or something similar, he had known Rachel for most of his life. She had never been one to be shy, nor to turn away from people looking at her art.

Which left one option – she didn't want him looking at her sketches.

And that both confused him and added to his overwhelming curiosity.

On one hand, he was still angry at Annabeth for looking at his private things without asking – but on the other, he could certainly understand what had prompted her to do so. The question of what was in his friend's mysterious book nagged at him every time he was with her.

Finally, he got his chance. He and Rachel were at the Chase's house in the parlor, sitting next to the warm fire. It was the beginning of March, and the cold weather had yet to leave. Snowdrifts were piled up against doors, and almost every night Percy would wake another few inches of snow to replace what had melted during the slightly warmer days.

"I just think that if my parents would stop nagging me about becoming a proper young lady, then maybe I would even consider acting like one. 'Tis as though every time my mother scolds me, I simply want to continue acting in a way that will displease her." Rachel was gesturing wildly, the frizzy curls tied behind her waving. "Does that make any sense at all?"

"Yes, I understand what you mean," Percy answered his friend thoughtfully. It amazed him sometimes, how similar Rachel and Annabeth were. If Annabeth ever decided to actually try to get to know Rachel, he knew they would probably be extremely good friends.

Why she continued to ignore both of them was beyond his understanding; it had been almost a week, and they had exchanged perhaps a few dozen words.

And, lord, it hurt. After having Annabeth by his side, a constant companion who cared about him and teased him and understood him in the way only the way that she could, for so long – it felt like a part of him was missing.

Deep down, he knew he was trying to fill her absent presence with Rachel. It was true; the funny, energetic redhead had been one of his best friends for most of his childhood, and he certainly enjoyed spending time with her, but… she just wasn't Annabeth.

Though he had been racking his brain for over a week, he still had no idea how to fix their broken friendship.

"Percy?" Rachel asked him curiously, jerking him out of his thoughts. "Are you alright?"

"Uh, yes," he said quickly, stuttering a bit. "I just – " He couldn't tell her what he was thinking about. "I think I'm just growing weary," he finally said, nodding to the window, where growing night was evident in the snow-covered landscape.

"Would you like me to get us some more tea?" Rachel inquired concernedly. Her big green eyes were wide with sweet concern, pale auburn eyebrows scrunched together. Percy hated lying to his friend.

"Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you," he answered absentmindedly.

Rachel got to her feet, looking at him fondly. "You're welcome." She quickly exited the parlor, promising to return soon.

Percy nearly lost himself in thought again before catching sight of Rachel's sketchbook. She had left it on the horsehair sofa, unprotected.

For a moment, Percy felt a surge of guilt. Isn't this what you were so angry at Annabeth for? a little voice in the back of his head asked him knowingly.

Percy brushed it away. This isn't the same thing at all, he told it impatiently, and grabbed the sketchbook before it could inquire just how this situation was different.

He cracked it open, smelling the rich scent of paper and paint mixed before he saw it. The first painting was of the harbor, back in England, and Percy traced his finger over it in awe. She had gotten much better than the last time he had watched her paint. The grey-blue waves crashed onto the waterfront, and rays of sunlight filtered through dull grey clouds above the water. He could almost hear the seagulls crying and feel the salty breeze upon his face.

He turned the page. A delicate painting of a sunflower met his eyes, bright yellow and white mixing with the rich summer-green of the field behind it. Bright blue skies hung cheerfully ahead, huge, fluffy clouds billowing above the field.

In awe, Percy flipped through the book; page after page of incredible paintings greeted him, and he marveled at Rachel's skill and talent.

As he was nearing the end of the book, though, he found a page that had no paint on it, and he stopped, confused. Only a few small ink drawings had found their way, and he squinted, trying to make out the tiny lettering.

King… George, he read. The small image was of a cartoon version of King George, his belly fat and eyes wild, waving to one of his servants. The next one was of him snoring comically in a large bathtub, feet sticking out of the water and a huge plate of food remains next to it. The next image showed the king as a giant, stomping on the colonies, as much smaller figures crouched in terror, handing over coins.

The realization hit him like a brick. Rachel is making fun of the king of England.

No wonder she had protected this book so carefully from him, an officer in the Royal Army! He could hardly believe it. Her parents were wealthy Loyalists, but he had known for years that Rachel had never gotten along well with them. Her coming to the colonies, her random disappearances, the guarding of the sketchbook, the feeling that she was hiding something- knowing that she, at least, didn't approve of their king – if not being a full-out Patriot – made everything fit together.

A smooth voice broke into his thoughts, and he jumped. "So you are perfectly fine with going through other people's things, but no one else can ever touch yours?"

He looked up, heart sinking. Annabeth leaned against the doorframe casually, twisting a long golden curl like a cat waiting for her prey. Her grey eyes were sharp as they passed over him, and he cringed under the look of veiled pain before they turned cold as ice again.

"It's – it's nothing," Percy said quickly, jumping up from the couch and dropping the sketchbook like it burned him. "I mean, I was just looking for information – " he stopped abruptly, realizing he was quoting Annabeth from a week ago almost word-for-word.

Annabeth crossed the room, her skirts swishing. "Is that Rachel's?" she asked, and Percy had never heard such harsh, masked bitterness before like he did in her voice just then.

He nodded mutely. "But – Annabeth – " he struggled to find the words. He knew without a doubt that he could trust Annabeth to keep a secret, no matter how much she disliked the person in question; the query was, should he tell her? Or was it Rachel's secret to keep?

To be fair, Rachel hadn't even told him. He had done exactly what he had condemned Annabeth for.

He took a deep breath, and opened the sketchbook again. "Look."

She reluctantly moved closer to him to look over his shoulder, and Percy caught the faint scent of rosewater as her silky curls swished near his face. He turned away, unnerved by the way it caused his shoulders to shake slightly.

After a few breathless seconds, Annabeth spoke. "She's a Patriot, too." It wasn't even a question.

Percy nodded, pressing his lips together.

She straightened stiffly. "Well, what are you going to do about it? Since she doesn't even know you're looking through her sketchbook," she said, the accusation and hurt in her voice hard to miss.

"I – I don't know," Percy admitted, closing the sketchbook awkwardly. "I – I guess I'll talk to her about it. And then – maybe tell Paul Revere?"

He could see her tense. "And what then?"

"Well, since you won't even talk to me, maybe I can work with her instead," he burst out. As he saw the hurt and confusion flash across Annabeth's features, he regretted his words immediately, but it was too late.

"You're the one who kept secrets from me, got angry at me for looking at your letter, and then did the exact same thing to your supposed friend," she said, the frigid, controlled anger in her voice enough to freeze all of Boston. "I am not the one who won't talk, Perseus."

He winced, but hid it. "Well – alright, I'm sorry. Do you understand me? I'm sorry, Annabeth. But this doesn't change things."

"Doesn't change what?" Annabeth cried, throwing her arms apart. "Doesn't change the fact that we were partners? Doesn't change the fact that we were best – that we were friends?"

"No! I mean – " Percy closed his eyes. "I think – maybe we should stop. Stop working together, just take a break from being – friends." Everything in him recoiled at his words; Annabeth was his best friend. And he was letting her go over a stupid argument.

Not for good, he told himself. I couldn't lose her for good. It would hurt too much. I – oh, lord, I love –

"All right." Annabeth crossed her arms, and Percy could hear her voice crack. Just a bit – just enough for him to hear. She tilted her chin up a notch, how she always did when she was putting on a mask in front of someone – and something inside Percy broke. He wanted to jump up and fold her in his arms, promising to never hurt her again.

But he was stubborn, too.

"All right," Annabeth repeated, her voice unsteady. "But you know what, Percy? If you think Rachel can be a better partner than me, let her be. I don't need you. I can do just fine on my own."

He saw a drop of blood fall drip down her clenched fist and onto the expensive rug.

He stood up, ignoring the pain, ignoring the fact that he was falling apart. "All right. I – I don't need you either. I'll work with Rachel, and I'll tell the major and Paul Revere that – that you'll be fine on your own."

She nodded jerkily, once, twice – then turned and left the room. At the doorway she hesitated, for just a second – turned back, their gaze met –

Come back. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

And then she turned around again, the sound of her light footsteps receding from his ears. He felt for the edge of the sofa, suddenly feeling inexplicably lightheaded.

At that moment, Rachel reentered the parlor, freckled cheeks flushed, bright smile in place. "I'm sorry it took me a while, Hazel was busy – Percy, are you alright?" She looked at him strangely. "I just saw Annabeth leaving, and I think – I think she was crying. Did something happen between you two?" Her bright green eyes gazed at him questioningly, and Percy knew he had to answer.

Yes, he thought. She's gone. I've lost her – I've lost my best friend – I've lost my world.

"No," he said hollowly. "We're fine."

Everything is fine.

•

Two weeks later, not much had changed. He had talked to Rachel; she was surprised and a bit hurt that he had gone through her sketchbook without her permission, but after he explained, she was excited and more than willing to help him gather tidbits of information for the Patriots.

If only it were that easy to earn Annabeth's forgiveness.

They hadn't spoken at all since the argument, and Percy was surprised at how much it hurt. He felt like a piece of him was missing; Rachel, with her bright smile and sparkling eyes, tried to fill the gap, but even she seemed to know something was wrong.

One night, after she stayed late at the Chase's house reading by the fire together, he walked Rachel to the door. She was quietly talking about something or other, but Percy's mind wasn't in it.

She seemed to notice. "What's wrong, Percy?" she asked, pausing in her dialogue.

Percy sighed deeply, running a hand through his messy hair. "I don't know," he lied. "Probably just exhausted, and stressed. Major Pitcairn – "

"Ah, yes." Rachel nodded. Percy had taken her a few days ago to meet him. The major had asked Percy privately, with a knowing glint in his eye, what had happened to Annabeth. Percy admitted that they were arguing, and the major nodded, muttering something about young love.

Percy wished it was nothing but a lover's quarrel.

"It will get better, Percy," Rachel assured him quietly. Percy felt incredibly guilty, not telling her the truth. She was a good friend, loyal to the core, and sweet, and kind, and –

Suddenly she raised herself on her tiptoes and kissed him.

Percy froze, unsure of what to do. A rush of thoughts hit him, first and foremost being what the hell, but within a second he unfroze and kissed her back. It felt almost – good, forgetting all his confusing feelings for Annabeth, forgetting everything but Rachel's lips on his.

Of course, Fate made him pay dearly for the fleeting moment of bliss.

"Goodnight, Percy," Rachel whispered, eyes shining. He nodded, giving her a small, bashful smile. She smiled back, slipping out the door quietly, and Percy shut it behind her.

He turned, and halted again.

Annabeth was frozen on the stairway.

Percy looked away first. "I – uh – "

Annabeth unfroze, hurrying down the rest of the stairs. "I – I don't care." She paused and turned towards him again, voice cracking. "I don't."

"All – all right," Percy said woodenly.

"Well – " Annabeth seemed to be fumbling for words. She gave up and spun around, vanishing towards the parlor.

It wasn't any of her business. She had made her stance clear before.

But still.

"Annabeth," he called quietly. She turned around again, her form and features in the dim lighting looking small and vulnerable. He swallowed. "I – I truly am sorry. Please, please, can we stop arguing and just – " he waved his hands around, "figure this out?"

For a moment, he could see Annabeth's grey eyes softening. "I – " she began, before her eyes fell to the ground by Percy's feet. "What's that?"

"Oh, uh…" Percy bent down. "It's one of Rachel's handkerchiefs, I'll bring it to her in the morning," he fumbled. "But Annabeth…"

Again, he was too late. Her sharp features had hardened again, mouth in a firm line, shoulders tense. Her eyes were cold as she told him, "You have Rachel." She turned, then paused and looked back. "You don't need me, remember?" She spun around and disappeared into the darkness.

He was halfway up the stairs before he heard her quiet, ragged sobs from the parlor.

Yes, Fate had made him pay dearly, indeed.

And that's that! Sorry for making Percabeth fight (not sorry actually XD). This was kind of a filler chap, but the next one should be getting some more war action and stuff. As always, thank you to the lovely Helena for editing this thing for me, even while on vacation! Also, to Mia for having long, ranting discussions about how amazing The Perks of Being a Wallflower is and how awful the PJO movies are. Love both you guys! :)

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please leave a review! :)

WM