By now, I was pretty worried about Jesse.

I think Clarisse was too, due to the way she kept sending him glances when she thought he wasn't looking.

I'd never had such a stubborn friend before.

Well, to be honest I'd never been as close to any of my 'friends' as I was to these two.

I guess that means they're the real deal.

If I'd known having friends would be so stressful—well, I'm not sure what exactly I would have done differently, but why can't things be easier?

I guess it never occurred to me that my two friend both had their own problems, too.

Maybe that's why I was taken aback by the way Jesse was trying so hard to keep this from us, whatever it was.

I guess I just assumed that any friends I made would be expected to tell me immediately if there was anything bothering them. I may be half a jackass, but I take care of the people who matter to me.

I've never had real friends before. Ones I could tell secrets to, and expect such information to be kept locked and hidden.

Maybe Jesse's never had real friends either. Friends that he can trust.

Maybe he was nervous—just like I was.

Chapter Fourteen

The minute the door closed behind them, Riker grabbed Jesse by the shoulders and tossed the redhead onto the duvet. Clarisse leaned against the table that was set across the room from the beds and crossed her arms, a steely look in her eyes, and Riker stepped back and placed his fists on his hips with a scowl.

"Alright," he allowed. "We're in the room. Speak up, or forever hold your silence..."

Jesse perked up, looking hopeful in a half-assed way that tugged on both of their hearts for some strange reason.

Riker's frown deepened. "—or at least until we're on the train. Jesse David Wolfe, what that fuck is wrong with you?"

"You do know that, whatever it is, we don't care?" Clarisse piped up from behind him, voice cool. "We're your friends, Jes. We ain't gonna throw you out just cuz you have a third ear or some other shit like that. Friends don't do that to each other."

"'Reese is right. Spill." Riker said.

Jesse blinked up at them, before releasing an explosive sigh and collapsing back on the bed, arms spread out, palms turnign over to clench the sheets in white-knuckled fists.

"On the train." He decided.

Riker and Clarisse both narrowed their eyes and exchanged very unhappy looks, releasing low, frustrated growls. Riker caught her eye, then shrugged his shoulders and the two sighed in unison while their redheaded friend closed his eyes and notably tried his best to ignore their presence.

Riker had said they'd let him wait until the train if he wanted, and the Jackson wasn't about to go back on his word.

It still hurt, that Jesse didn't seem to trust them, but Riker wouldn't betray the small trust he did have in them by forcing the southerner to tell them what was up.

Jesse, if he trusted them at all, would them them on his own time.

"We are on a mission," Riker still reminded him. Even if he and Clarisse respected Jesse and his privacy, this was slightly ridiculous. Just a little. "Even so, I'm not gonna force you. But please keep in mind that we can focus entirely on the task at hand and worry about you at the same time. And that could mean life or death in a serious situation. You know that."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'll tell ya on the train."

Riker and Clarisse shared one last look, before Riker sighed and flipped onto the bed as well, and the blonde uncrossed her arms and wandered over to the fridge to put the leftover macaroni away.

Mac n' Cheese was a group favorite, it appeared.

It was almost blasphemy, now that they thought about it, that a lot of the other hotel patrons hadn't eaten much of the macaroni either, once they saw the three of them shovel a large amount into a take-away box.

Strange. The guests hadn't eaten the meatballs either, now that Riker thought about it.

Jesse rolled over in order to avoid getting pinned underneath his friend, and buried his face into a pillow. Riker tossed his sunglasses onto the nightstand and rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

"I suddenly feel like an old guy," he murmured.

Clarisse snorted, and began to dig through the clothing and accessories/weapons bag that Riker carried around, in search of the pajamas she'd thrown in earlier, back at the camp when they'd been packing the three bags that one of the Hermes campers had presented them with. Indirectly, since he'd told them his dad intended them to be gifts for Riker and Co. anyway—something the teen had seemed irritated about.

"Woes of the weary traveler," Jesse joked, voice muffled, and Riker shot him a crooked smile. Maybe Jesse did trust them a little. Enough to joke with them, at least.

The raven-haired teen shook his head and kicked off his combat boots, which he'd untied moments before. What was he thinking? Jesse was his friend—sure, the redhead was keeping something from them and seemed not to trust them enough to tell them, but Riker kind of was, too.

He was keeping his plan from them. He'd told them, too, that he wasn't going to tell them what he was intending to do once they got to the Underworld. Not that he didn't trust them, but because he was afraid they might try to stop him. And they'd accepted that. They hadn't been too enthusiastic, but they'd accepted it.

So what was different here? Maybe Jesse did trust them, but he was scared—scared of what? Scared of how they'd react once they found out whatever it was that was bothering him? Maybe Jesse had some type of eye disease, and he was afraid of what they'd think of it. Maybe he'd been teased about it when he was a kid—well, younger. He was eleven-going-on-twelve. They were all still kids...

Riker blinked at the ceiling, not even noticing when the lights went out. Clarisse murmured a goodnight and climbed into bed and Jesse wormed his way under the covers, but Riker wasn't listening. His eyes were wide open and sleep felt so far away.

That's right, wasn't it? They were just kids, not even actual teenagers yet(according to some social stipulations). How did everybody expect them to complete this missions with everything turning out okay? How did Zeus even believe Riker had the ability to steal his godly weapon right form under his own nose? How in the world did his douche of a father—and that term, he used so lightly—expect Riker to be able to clear his name—and was he even innocent? Why on earth did it all come down to Riker to stop this fucking... impending war between deities? He was twelve! Why, oh why, couldn't the gods just take care of their goddamn problems themselves—!

A hand landed on the side of his forehead, over his temple, and Riker twitched violently. He could hear Clarisse breathing evenly across the room, but Jesse's breath was right next to his ear, and he glanced over to see two tired, bright green eyes staring at him through the dark. Riker realized he was panting slightly, hyperventilating, and tried to slow down his breathing only for his throat to close up. He coughed, and then looked up to meet Jesse's gaze when his friend started to run his fingers through Riker's hair in an effort to calm him down.

"You okay?" Jesse whispered.

Riker sucked in a deep breath and held it for a second, blinking rapidly. He released it too quickly and spluttered. Jesse's hand ran through his hair and then paused, letting his hand rest on Riker's head. "Riker?"

"I'm alright, yeah." Riker admitted.

Jesse was silent for a minute, before his hand resumed playing with Riker's hair. The raven-haired teen hummed quietly. He needed a haircut soon, maybe. The hand stopped, and Jesse pulled it back under the covers. Riker pouted, rolling over, but he froze. Jesse was still staring at him, green eyes glittering in the dark and almost seeming to produce their own glow. It was eerie.

Riker frowned. Even in the dark, he was close enough to Jesse's face to see his eyes clearly—especially since there was still light filtering in through the curtains, and the moon was particularly bright that night, aside from the lights of the busy city that lay on the opposite side of the walls. One of Jesse's eyes, the right one, was somewhat off. The one that was irritating him. The iris was a bit... darker, somehow.

"I'm sorry," Jesse blurted, suddenly, and Riker was taken aback for a moment, surprised.

"Sorry? What for?"

"I'm—it's... I just," Jesse sighed. "I know it's a bit... mean of me. Not to tell you... I mean, not mean, just... rude? No..." He shook his head, red bangs falling into his irritated eye. He swept them away with a tense hand. "I just—I know you and Clarisse are kinda hurt I ain't tellin' you what's wrong, but..."

"Jes..."

"I just—I'm sorry for that," the redhead looked at him apologetically, looking like he was about to cry. "I know it's irrational, 'n all, but I'm a little... scared. 'Bout telling you guys. I mean, I 'aven't known ya long, and I've known 'Reese longer, but we neva really got close 'til you showed up, and now... I know, I can trust ya, but... I just—'m scared."

Riker thought he looked more frustrated than anything. Jesse's southern accent tended to emphasize itself more when he was distressed. His chest hurt, seeing his friend like this, somewhere deep inside, still not as deep as it did when he thought about his mom. Even if he hadn't known Jesse for long, he and Clarisse were... really important to him.

"Well," he said, slowly. "Once you straighten yourself out and figure out that your fears are obviously completely unfounded, I expect you to spill. But, Jesse, it's alright to have your secrets. I don't need to know everything about you. That would make this friendship a bit boring, wouldn't it?"

Jesse scoffed quietly, grinning through the dark. The smile was a bit wobbly, but it stayed.

"Guess so... Go to sleep, Jackson. I don't wanna hafta to deal with ya in the mornin' if you haven't gotten any rest. Chaos knows you ain't a mornin' person..."

Riker hit him with his pillow.

Ω Δ Σ

They booked seats on the next west-bound bus out of the city, and Clarisse calculated that it would take at least two days to get to the coastal states. The train they had meant to board's schedule had changed last minute—and Clarisse was blaming Hecate, goddess of the three paths. (As it was, they'd had three choices; the bus, the train, or an airline—and like hell they were riding in an airplane.)

They'd left the hotel in their 'agent' clothes and secured seats near the very back. The seats behind, in front of, and across the isle from theirs were left unoccupied, the other passengers deciding to give them their space. A teen couple had taken the seat across from them, but had migrated two seats forward after fifteen minutes for some reason the three half-bloods remained unaware of.

Riker and Clarisse kept sending suspicious glances toward the redheaded final member of their trio. His right eye was less red than before, and the visible irritation had gone down a miraculous amount. Some of it may have had to do with the nectar Riker had slipped into his friend's drink the night before, but they largely suspected that it had more to do with the midnight visit the youngest teen had paid to the suite's bathroom when he thought they'd both fallen asleep.

"Just because it looks better doesn't mean we're gonna let it go, moron." Clarisse hissed into his ear, and Jesse sank in his seat. She and Riker had purposefully selected the seat on either side of him, so he was basically stuck until the next stop, which was in five hours.

"It's not the train," he complained half-heartedly, but the two elder teens only fixed him with annoyed glares.

"Spill," Riker growled. "Jesse."

The pale adolescent Southerner sighed, flicking his bangs out of his right eye. "Um—just... hold on, okay?"

He took a deep breath, then reached into one of the side pockets of his messenger bag and pulled out a small case shaped like a figure eight. The two twelve-year-olds watched with a small amount of morbid fascination as he gentle struck his thumb and pointer finger into his irritated eye and pinched gently.

"So... you have bad eyesight?" Clarisse commented in a hushed tone, dubiously. "I don't see what the big deal is..."

She trailed off, and Riker immediately saw why. Jesse only took out one contact before closing the case and balancing it on his knee—and the contact had been green.

"Um, Jes?"

He looked up, and their eyes widened.

"Whoa," Clarisse breathed. Jesse bit his lip nervously, glancing off to the side.

"That is so cool, you idiot," Riker jabbed him in the ribs. Jesse winced, then blinked up at the incredulously.

"I-it is?" He asked, slightly disbelieving.

"Heterochromea?" Clarisse retorted. "Of course, you bastard! Why the heck are you hiding it?"

Jesse blushed, sweeping his banged out of his eyes again—it was a nervous habit, Riker realized. He'd been doing it before Capture the Flag, too. "I-it isn't natural... I wasn't born with it. Purple is only found in albino people... And I had two green eyes, when I was born."

They blinked at him.

"Wait,' Clarisse paused. "What?"

Jesse leaned back into the seat, sighing heavily. The other two glanced around the bus, but apart from a few curious glances from the other passengers that they'd been receiving the entire ride, nothing was out of the ordinary and they weren't receiving any other unwanted attention. The leaned in closer, and Jesse continued in a lowered voice.

"Um, when I was three, dad did something to piss off Dionysus, and he gave me a curse—me being Ares' most recent kid, I guess," he shrugged at Clarisse and Riker's outraged expressions. "I-I don't really blame him, dad was being a dick... but he decided to curse me, and—it's really annoying, I guess. My eye's purple cuz that's Mr. D's color, and..."

"Jes..." Riker reached out and arm and tugged the younger teen against his side, and Clarisse, who was sitting in the spot nearest to the isle, leaned over to lay her head on his shoulder, both hands moving to envelope Jesse's right.

"I can... I can tell whether someone's lying or not." Jesse said, burying his head into the raven-haired demigod's shoulder. "I knew when mum was lying about her boyfriend hurtin' her, and I know that Tommy and Gideon aren't my step-dad's kids, only Evelyn is—the twins are the bastard's. I was too young to remember him. I was five. I always knew when the other kids lied about why they didn't want to play with me."

"Why wouldn't they?" Clarisse prodded Jesse's elbow.

"Mist makes the eye look a yellow color, cuz purple ain't natural. They thought it looked weird. It's.." Jesse sat up again, waving his hands with another sigh. "When people lie, I can see what they're really thinking, in words that kinda," he shook his head, "float 'round their head. And they're in different colors. Red's for bad people, white's for good people. And purple is for monsters—that's how I avoided most of them when I was little. I've known about my dad since I was a brat."

Riker frowned. "That... sounds a bit like synaesthesia." He replied.

Jesse pulled his legs up and buried his face in his knees. "I'm not crazy," he muttered.

"Of course you're not," Clarisse wrapped an arm around his shoulder, knocking the Riker's away as she glared at him. "Rike's just being an inconsiderate jackass."

Jesse sucked in a deep breath, fixing his sunglasses back over his eyes. "Ha. Um... Well, like I said. None of the other kids wanted to be my friends, and I always knew when Jace didn't want to play with me—and I knew why; it was cuz 'is friends thought I was weird an' he-he didn't want me 'round cuz I'd chase 'em away or sumthin'."

Riker punched him gently in the arm, and Jesse tossed him a wry smile.

"I guess... I've never really had any actual friends before, 'till I met 'Reese. And that was more acquaintance 'til you came along, Riker. I didn't tell ya not cuz I didn't trust ya, it's just..."

"Nah, we get it Jes," Riker said, wrapping his arm back around the younger teen's shoulder and joining Clarisse in very slowly hugging the life out of him.

"Curse was actually gonna be worse," Jesse went on. "But mum, she made a deal with Dionysus. That why she and pa work in the wine-business. Mum used to have another job, but she quit and worked the vineyard into a something of a monopoly and ditched the bastard boyfriend after my fifth birthday."

Riker reached over and slipped the contact case back into Jesse's bag and tossed it onto the floor by their feet. He sat back. "That's right. Forgot your parents dealt with alcohol—when we turn twenty-one, we're throwing a fucking party at your house."

Jesse breathed in sharply, then explode into almost silent snickers. He ducked out from under Clarisse's arm, and both boys sat back as she stretched out to lay across their laps. "Sure thing, s'long as mum is alright with it."

They spent the next few hours like that, the two boys leaning against each other and the blond girl lying across their legs. Clarisse spent some time flipping through her folders and Jesse and Riker were transfixed on the screens of their phones, sometimes comparing them. A few low comments were uttered, but silence remained dominant. Finally, when the light outside began to fade and the road they traveled was lined with lamp posts, they began to nod off, one by one. First Clarisse, head resting on her folded arms; and then Riker, his face buried into Jesse's shoulder. And Jesse was the last to go, barely able to keep his eyes open as he stared out the window.

However, just as he was closing his eyes, something outside the window flashed—a face.

Or what he thought was a face. Sleep fled him, and he leaned forward to glance back the way they'd come. The bus drove onward, but Jesse felt a chill travel down his spine as he saw what stayed behind them.

There, frozen underneath the light of one of the lamp posts, steadily getting smaller and smaller, was one of the statues from Medusa's garden.

And it was staring right at him.

Ω Δ Σ

"Check it out," Clarisse yawned as she bit into her croissant, tossing the morning paper over her shoulder.

Riker caught it in his free hand, the other occupied with holding onto his chocolate muffin. He shook it back and forth a few times to flip it open, and smirked.

"Aw shit, I almost feel bad..." He huffed.

Jesse set his glass of milk down on the table and leaned forward to read over the older boy's shoulder. He blinked sleepily, "'Hotel Stirling Under Inspection'... isn't that the place we stayed at the night before last?"

Clarisse nodded. "Yeah. Apparently the guests complained about food being contaminated and the state got involved."

The redhead blinked. "And, what—that was our fault?"

Riker cast him a glance. "The meatballs and the macaroni were the two dishes most mentioned; says it right here," he jabbed a finger at a paragraph two places down from the headline. "We used the meatballs as offering for the gods, and boxed up the macaroni for later cuz it fucking rocks. It's the two foods that we didn't publicly eat."

They were all sitting in a diner that was nearby the station, wearing their casual clothes and waiting for the train to arrive. It was a on-way trip to Washington, so they'd need to find another way home, but it didn't have any other stops besides one in Colorado—which was useful, since they only had a set amount of time to get the master bolt back to Zeus before anyone threw a hissy-fit. They'd get off in Denver and grab the next train that went directly down to L.A.

"I feel really bad," Clarisse shifted in her seat. "Can we, like, write a note or something and say the food was fine?"

The two boys turned to stare at her. "We don't have time for that." Riker stated.

Clarisse's bottom lip jutted out slowly, and her brows twitched downward to meet. "'Rike..."

Jesse stared at them with half-lidded eyes. He adjusted his beanie and pulled it down to rest just over his eyebrows, slipping down in his seat and yawning loudly. "Eh."

"We kinda got a shitty job to do for our useless relative—"

"Pleeeaaaase," Clarisse pouted, raising her brows and widening her eyes. Riker stiffened in his chair, and Jesse smirked from where he was dozing off.

The raven-haired quest-leader sucked in a deep breath, turning to glare venomously at the salon across the street. "...Fucking—"

The evening paper contained a different story.

—inspections at the Hotel Stirling were abruptly canceled when an [anonymous] letter bearing the Central Intelligence Agency(CIA) seal of approval arrived in lead investigator Ronald Herring's inbox early this afternoon, detailing that the food at Hotel Stirling was perfectly fine and completely safe for consumption. The mere existence of this letter, according to large public opinion, indicated that—

"The Mist really does love you, Riker," Jesse breathed as he looked over the nighttime edition of the New York Times.

His friend scowled, sinking down in his seat as the train ambled through the Iowa countryside. His arms crossed over his chest and he had a slightly nonplussed look on his features. Clarisse's lips twitched upward from her window-seat beside him. Several nearby passengers kept casting them what they apparently hoped to be covert glances, and Jesse had began to make a game of counting all the failed attempts he managed to catch.

Riker had decided to wear the 'agent' clothes for the train ride. He was beginning to regret it, he thought morosely, as he tugged his black leather jacket tighter around his shoulders. And whats wrong with the fucking AC in this compartment—it's freezing!

"It's nearly nine," he said instead, glancing at the amused Ares campers. "I'll take first watch—Jes looks about to pass out."

Clarisse nodded at him, and Jesse rolled his eyes but complied, scooting over to give his seat to the raven. They leaned back in the train seats and adjusted their sunglasses.

Then, Jesse sat up and tugged on Riker's sleeve. "Hey, uh, I almost forget. Got somethin' to tell ya."

Riker raised a brow from behind his own shades, and the redhead leaned closer, speaking in low tones. "On the bus from 'Jersey, I was 'bout to go to sleep, but... it was fucking creepy man. Saw something like a face I the window? Then, get this—I looked back, behind the bus, and..."

Riker frowned, leaning closer and wrapping an arm around Jesse's shoulder to give their conversation more privacy from any curious nearby ears. "What?"

"One of Em's statues was under a spot light, few spots back from the bus. It just stood there and looked at me," Jesse shuddered. "Thing didn't follow any more though. Couldn't sleep after that, but didn't see it again."

"Chaos..." Riker groaned quietly. "That's why you're so tired today! Well, shit. More godsdamned problems, yay..." He rubbed the bridge of his nose underneath his shades, then leaned back, thumping his friend on the arm. "Get some sleep, Second. I'll keep watch. We'll talk about this in the morning. Corner booth of the breakfast car."

The redhead nodded dubiously, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Riker settled in his own seat, running a precautionary eye over the other passengers in their car. He cast a glance to either end to briefly examine the two door at the end, then the side entrance. He scouted all possible escape routes if things turned sour and they had to run again. He didn't expect it, but it was good to always be on the safe side and be prepared—he'd learned that from a street buddy who'd been knifed and left for dead in a alley brawl.

Finally, he gave a silent sigh and zipped up his jacket. He hesitantly cast a glance out the train window, but there was nothing there. Just a vast expanse of flat land and cornfields as far as the eye could see.

Riker pursed his lips and turned forward again, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Moving statues, that was just fucking great.

Ω Δ Σ

They were in Colorado, and it was hot, and dry, and Clarisse really hated it. She looked downright pissed as she stalked down the ramp after the train doors opened, with Riker and Jesse following behind at a sedated pace, not looking forward to having lunch with her. Several bystanders had to backpedal in order to not run into her, and she pushed her way out of the station and into the nearest restaurant—

Which happened to be Elway's a high-end steak house. The boys shared a grin, pushing their way through the doors.

"I think our benefactor can pay for this meal," Riker said, calling up Gabe's credit card from the messenger bag. Jesse smirked, and Riker slid the card into the side pocket, ready to be grabbed later when the bill came.

The waitress who was manning the desk up front stared at them for a second, before realization spread across her face and her pretty wine-colored eyes widened. She almost fell over herself grabbing them menus and leading them to a table, despite the fact that there was obviously an entire line of other customers waiting to be seated—and who didn't look too jealous that they were being served first, too busy examining the three 'agents' and murmuring to each other.

Clarisse looked dignified even as she collapsed in the chair at the three person table a booth by a window near the door—it seem the waitress had watched too many spy-movies, but Riker appreciated the spot, glad he didn't have to ask for it. It's proximity with the exit caused him to relax slightly.

"Lamb chop appetizer," Jesse demanded as soon as he claimed his own seat. Riker dragged his chair over to Clarisse's side of the table so his back wasn't to the rest of the restaurant, and they flipped the menues open in unison.

"You been here before?" Riker asked, raising a brow.

Jesse shook his head. "No, but I've read reviews. Mum was thinking about a road trip and we scouted hotels and stuff. I want the damn lamb chops."

The two other teens shared a look and shrugged. They waved the nervous waitress over and requested the appetizer that had Jesse in such a tizzy, and she took the time to collect their drink orders as well. Once she left, they looked over the lunchtime menu. Riker decided on the calamari, and Clarisse was pretty excited to eat the spicy steak chili while Jesse was dead set on ordering the farm-raised salmon dish.

"Oh, look," Clarisse piped up, "side dishes."

They looked them over, but decided not to get any since Riker didn't want to spend too much. The meals were a bit expensive and he wanted to save up their funds just in case they needed to grab a cab in LA.

Of course, it didn't really matter—since they wouldn't be paying for the meals after all.

"Um," the waitress tentatively spoke up as she was setting their root beers on the table-top. "Th-there's a man here to see you...? Uh, sirs—a-and ma'am!"

They paused, slowly setting their glasses down again from where they'd picked them up. They glanced at each other silently, debating. Clarisse tilted her head and Jesse raised an eyebrow. Riker rested his elbow on the tablet and left his half-formed fist hover a bit in front of his mouth, thumb near his bottom lip as he thought the situation over.

After a minute or so, in which the young teen-aged waitress had began to get increasingly fidgety, Riker nodded at her. "Bring him over." He said almost curtly.

She gratefully ran off, looking relieved, and Clarisse hit Riker's in the shoulder for being too mean. But she was just as distracted by the sudden word as they were.

Who had come for them now?

As the girl returned, she was carrying their appetizer with her. But the man following after her caused Jesse and Clarisse to stiffen, straightening in their seat with wide eyes.

"Riker," Jesse hissed hurriedly, jabbing him in the ribs. "That's him—that's our dad—he's—"

The rest of the patrons in the restaurant had slowly paused their conversations and their waitress girl looked a bit frazzled. Riker slowly straightened in his seat, giving the man a once-over. He was tall—taller than his sensei at the gym. His arms were muscular and looked vaguely related to the tree branch of a maple tree—and Riker wasn't able to muster up the guts to look lower to see what his leg muscle were in comparison.

He was dressed like one of the bikers you'd see in an epic fast-action movie. He had on a form-fitting tank that was the same bloody shade of red as the one Riker had worn back at the camp, underneath a black leather duster—hell, even his tight pants were black leather, tucked into combat boots. His skin had a nice tan and his hair was cut in a military style, close cropped to his head. His eyes were hidden behind brand-name sunglasses.

Riker leaned back in his chair to glance out the window, and sure enough, the was a large Harley Davidson parked haphazardly between two other cars—a green Yukon and a navy SUV. It's seats were also leather—except it had a lighter tint, making it look like, well, the human flesh of a white guy.

Riker didn't doubt the possibilities of that being real.

Their waitress carefully set the appetizer on the table between them, then get herself out of the man's—Ares'—way. The god, because Riker didn't doubt Jesse for a second—gave a cocky grin, stealing an empty chair from the next table over and turning it around backwards, sitting in the space next to Jesse with the back of the chair between his legs. The redhead was barely breathing, being in close proximity with his Olympian father, and the people at the table Ares had stolen his seat from didn't utter a sound.

"You kids," the man chuckled in a deep baritone, "have caused quite the stir up on the mountain."

Riker breathed in slowly through his nose, then let it out through his mouth. "Yo, Lord Ares. What's the word from Olympus?"

"Hermes' been running around loudly proclaiming the adventures of his new favorite trio of heroes." The man informed them, before glancing down at the open menus. "What, no side dishes? Elway's has the best damn fries and mashed potatoes in the western hemisphere."

Riker crossed his arms with a sulking scowl. "Too expensive."

"Well fuck that," Ares waved a hand dismissively, motioning their waitress girl over. She scampered closer, clutching her notepad to her chest. "I'm paying."

The three demigod's suddenly sat straight, and traded dark, triumphant smirks.

"Calamari and the New York strip steak," Riker told her, watching her quickly scribble down his order. "Mashed potatoes on the side."

"Spicy steak chili," Clarisse went next. "Baked potato side. And—ohhh, cherry creek salad!"

"Salmon," Jesse shot out immediately after the blond finished her order. "With Gyro—grilled beef. And cottage cheese on the side."

The waitress let out a sharp breath as she finished writing it all down, then turned shakily toward Ares, who was looking over the menu despairingly.

"I shouldn't have offered," he huffed. "What are you brats, black holes? I'll have the lobster cocktail, sweetheart," He said to their waitress, "with a side of basil pesto."

She jotted it down and took off for the kitchens. Ares turned to them and glared half-heartedly.

"Fuck you too, little assholes."

Riker beamed at him proudly. "Well, you did offer," he reminded the god. "I'm just glad we won't have to use the bastard's credit card yet."

"The longer we wait, the better," Jesse quietly mentioned, eying his father speculatively. His eye closed tightly behind his shades, and he reached up to rub at his right eye tiredly.

Ares caught the motion. "Oh," the man sighed. "Hey there, Jesse."

"Father," The red head nodded, lowering his eyes and he let his hands rest in his lap again.

The god stared at him for a short minute, causing the young teen to fidget anxiously while Clarisse and Riker shared silent looks. Then, Ares leaned his arms against the back of the chair and cracked his knuckles absentmindedly. The teens relaxed.

"So, why are you here?" Riker asked, ignoring the incredulous looks sent to him by his friends—the children of the man sitting across from him. "We're, well, kinda busy at the moment."

"I was gonna give you a little side-quest," Ares muttered gruffly, snatching one of the lamb chops and biting into it. He held back a moan at the taste and swallowed. "But I guess it depends on whether you guys wanna take it or not."

"Nah," Riker said immediately before Clarisse or Jesse could agree to anything, crossing his arms. "We don't really have time for anything right now."

"Aw, c'mon!" Ares complained, setting his fists on the table. "Hephaestus got my shield. An' he set a trap and stuff so no way in hades am I going myself."

Riker wasn't bending. "Go recruit one of the half bloods from camp, then." He suggested. "They've all been dying for quests of their own."

Ares narrowed his eyed behind his dark shades. He crossed his own arms. "I'll pay the rest of your way, if you go get my shield. Then you can splurge the rest of your allowance on whatever you want."

Clarisse hit her raven-haired friend in the ribs. "Riker! We're gonna be in fucking Los Angeles! Please, please, please—"

Riker's eye twitched, and Jesse hid a snort by burying his face in his hands.

"Details," the Jackson demanded, and Ares' mouth twisted into a smirk. He looked between his daughter and the boy in front of him, then glanced over at Jesse. Finally, he turned back and leaned forward.

"Alright, as I said, Hephaestus is kinda holding my shield hostage, and..."

He went on to explain about a very probable embarrassing trap, and that they'd have to find a way around it themselves. It was in Waterworld, an abandoned water park right on the edge of the South Platte River, right across the trail from the downtown aquarium and Fishback Park.

Riker thought over the facts, sipping on his root beer, then fixed Ares with a flat stare. "We do this, and you'll pay our way..."

Ares nodded. "S'right."

"...and I want your sunglasses."

The god stilled. Then, he blinked. "Wait, huh?"

"Your sunglasses. Mine."

Ares balked. "Fuck no, brat! Like hell am I letting your greasy little paws all over my babies!"

"Technically..." Riker announced, kicking up a foot to rest on Jesse's knee and reaching his arm around Clarisse's shoulders—he raised an eyebrow at the man.

Ares stared at him, mouth working up and down. He hissed out a furious breath. "Dammit. Alright, you can have my sunglasses—ain't like I can't get news ones in a snap—but only if you bring Aphrodite's scarf back too. Should be in the same place, she couldn't find it earlier."

"Deal," Riker decided, reaching his free hand out.

Ares considered him, then took it, giving it a firm shake.

"I like you," the god decided with a fierce grin, which Riker returned.

The waitress was back, then, with their food balanced on a large serving platter. One of her co-workers, a young male with sandy hair, followed behind her with an identical platter in his own hand. He looked just nervous as his friend, light green eyes flickering from one teen to the other and finally the lone god.

They silently set out the meals and stepped back. Both teens gave short half-bows and scurried away to wait on other tables—preferably on the far side of the restaurant.

"Hilarious," Ares spoke up as he dug into his seafood, "that everyone thinks you're secret fucking agents."

Riker shrugged. "Mist loves me, apparently."

The god bobbed his head, chewing thoughtfully as he eyes the teen across from him. "Damn right she does. Fucking weird if you ask me—she usually hates you heroes."

Clarisse blinked slowly. "...She?"

Her father sat back, stealing Jesse's root beer and taking a gulp. The redhead sighed despondently, munching on his sandwich. "Yeah. Always complaining 'bout how you tykes cause her too much work, making a scene everywhere you go."

Riker pouted. "I thought we were being shockingly low-key, for a quest."

"Well, actually, you are," Ares laughed. "Most of you half-bloods screw themselves over and royally fuck everything up. But looks like you guys really are fucking secret agents—being all nondescript and shit. It's irritating the hell out of Zeus, cuz he can't tell where the hell you three are half the time. Uncle P is pretty depressed, though," the immortal fixed Riker with a stare of his own.

The teen shrugged. "No one but himself to blame."

Ares tilted his head for a moment, then nodded. "Sure."

They finished their meals in silence, Jesse and Clarisse sometimes making small talk and Riker and Ares adding points. Finally, Ares threw his napkin on his plate and, with a sorrowful sigh, waved the waitress girl over. He reaching into his back pocket and took out a leather wallet that had a long chain attaching it to one of his belt loops.

"You three are gonna run me dry, and I'm a fucking Olympian." He complained. The teen only smiled.

Without further adieu, they raced away to the greyhound station with pre-paid tickets with a promise to meet the immortal at the bus station in a maximum of three hours. They had a side-quest to complete.

Ω Δ Σ

I know, I know. Not what you guys were hoping for for Riker's and Ares' first meeting, but I'm running low of creative juices and really just want to get this posted right now.

Sorry it's so late! My cousin's in the hospital with some sort of flesh-eating bacteria O.e

Anyway...

Yeah! Elway's IS in fact a real restaurant, and I read their lamp chop appetizer is the bomb. It's about a block away from one of Denver's Amtrack stations, so.. theres' that ^-^

All the dishes I mentioned in this chapter are actual selections of Elway's menu, and Ares' bill would be, including the Ares' order, exactly $169. Jesse's salmon was 30 bucks, and Riker's strip steak was $39.50

So yeah. Elway's is a bit expensive if your stretching out your pockets.

Um... Oh yeah!

I'm resurrecting the PAIRING POLL. It's on my profile, and you have 2 votes so use them sparingly.

I have choices on there where Riker is paired with a male—DO NOT FEAR. If any of these choices happen to get popular, I'll just feature that pairing—with an older Riker because, c'mon, he's twelve—in a separate one shot that I'll mention in an Author's Note or something.

Don't worry, there is VERY, EXTREMELY little chance of this story becoming a slash fic. I know some of you don't like that, and I honestly already have an idea of which girl I wanna put Riker with. I just wanted your guys' input and I know most of you didn't get a chance on that first poll—so, here you go.

Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a review on your way out ;)

~ Skye