Notes: So, in Architecture; sleep is a rationed luxury. Believe me. And this had turned into the dumping ground for any Percabeth drabbles I might write. Highly original, I know.

And I am not trying to bash Rachel here.

Caffinated Supports

She was, at her best, a quivering, stuttering mass of barely checked impulses held together by spit and duct tape and power of will and caffine. Lots and lots and lots of caffine.

She'd given in, gone invisible and stolen Rachel's percolator. Artist-girl didn't have half a dozen cranky immortals demanding cabins and temples be drawn out, detailed and redesigned according to their own individual expertise ("Annabeth, babe. That statue of mine is entirely too small! How can it expect to capture my magnificence?"), along with about the double number of minor gods making quibbles about their cabins at camp ("Hey, builder-girl. I'm god of fear, not exposed brickwork."), along with a batch of sadistic professors handing out hand-drafting assignments in her first year of official Architectural study…

No. Rachel with her art-major had it easy, she was sure. Annabeth needed a hell lot more coffee than she did at the point. The percolator was in right hands.

Besides, she hated all artists at this point. Hand-drafting. Ugh.

She glared in distaste at her drawing board, and Percy walked in holding the phone to his ear.

"Uh-huh," he was saying. "Yeah, I'll tell her. Calm down, Rachel. I'll get the thing over to you in an hour or so…"

"Percy," she said, holding out her hand, "Hand over the phone."

"She already hung up," Percy informed her, obeying. "Why did you steal Rachel's coffee machine again? You know she gets all screechy without it."

She couldn't believe she was hearing this. Who's boyfriend was he anyway?

"Do we live together or don't we?" she asked him via gritted teeth.

Percy looked wary, "Is that a trick question?"

"I haven't slept in thirty-six hours, Percy," she growled. "Read my lips. Thirty. Six. Excuse me if I don't want to give back the percolator."

"Why don't you just go out and buy one?" he asked. His tone suggested she was being stupid. He, kelp-for-brains, was insinuating she was stupid.

Gods, had she sunk to a new low. But the beauty of being sleep-deprived was how much you ceased to care.

"Because if I had the time, I'd go get some damned sleep."

"Then let me go and get one for you," he rolled his eyes, "You're so grumpy this morning."

"I'm sleep-deprived! I'm entitled!"

"Oh come on, we've stayed up for longer than-"

"We weren't working, Percy," she screeched, "We were watching movies! And making out! It's completely different! Do you have any idea how much brainstorming I had to do so far? Do you?"

"Jeez," Percy backed away, "Annabeth, calm down. And put down the knife."

"Calm down? Do you have nineteen designs to have ready by day after tomorrow?" she advanced, not putting down the knife, "And now I've used up my last dose of caffine yelling at you. Thanks a lot, by the way."

"Um," Percy backwalked to the door, looking terrified, "So I'll leave you then?"

"Before I stab you. Yes."

"Gotcha. I'll go tell Rachel about the coffee thing."

Rachel got back her coffeemaker three days later, when she had laryngitis from all the yelling she had done at Percy. Percy gifted one to Annabeth as soon as he could find an excuse.