Disclaimer: I don't own PJO, and I'm not making any money for this.

#2

Trophy Child

Chapter Summary: She would always have his respect, just . . . never his love.

Clarisse doubted a lot of things in life, none of which she felt like listing off at the moment. However, somewhere in that list, she highly doubted the dead really cared if they were dressed in pretty dresses or expensive suits, just because their families thought it was important they look nice for being shoved into a wooden coffin, and buried twenty feet below the ground.

Clarisse herself wouldn't mind being buried in her regular torn up jeans, and snarky T-Shirt, because honestly, who really cared? It was where the soul went that mattered.

And while she was on the subject, she never really got the point of funerals. It was as if someone decided, "Hey! We all just lost a loved one, and we're all miserable here! Let's spend a couple thousand on a slab of stone, a Minister, and some outrageously priced wine, and be miserable together!" Or some other little kid bonding crap that she couldn't bring herself to care about quite this moment, in fact she couldn't bring herself to care about anything right now.

For some reason everyone loves the sun, they find it warm and joy-filled. Clarisse was one of those people that preferred an overcast of clouds when it wasn't raining. She knew why, she couldn't stand the blinding light casting down on her when she was trying to train, or lounge around. All the sun meant to her was sweat and exhaustion.

This might be why she hated Phoenix so much. Even in the winter it was always sunny. Gods, after all her years living here with her mother, she should have a permanent tan.

So, of course the universe would choose today of all day to be sunny and hot. . .

She almost laughed out loud when she finally realized what she was thinking; which in hindsight, was probably not the brightest idea considering where she was located. She was in freakin' Phoenix, in the middle of summer!

Also, what was she doing thinking about the weather during her mother's funeral? Oh, that's right, because her shirt was sticking to her like a second skin, and the ministers voice sounded like a tortured human who had finally given up on life. Plus, she had ADHD, what did people expect?

Clarisse was startled out of her musings by sudden music playing that signaled the end of the service. She watched sullenly as the few people around her got up and started moving around, maybe a half dozen mourners in all. Two must be her mom's work friends, considering their button down blouses, and pencil skirts. The woman in the corner with the cigarette in her hand, her wispy blond locks pulled into a messy bun, and bored demeanor, must have been a drinking buddy. And finally, the older man in the corner whom Clarisse didn't know, he was currently wiping tears from his eyes.

At that moment she had every intention of grabbing a cab back to her hotel, and catching the first flight back to New York, but as she stood up from the ill placed lawn chair and stretched, the older man started walking towards her.

She regarded him slowly, trying unsuccessfully to figure out who he could be. From his extremely neat and expensive tux, she thought he might have been one of her mother's many rich boyfriends, but Mrs. La Rue was a gorgeous woman, and still quiet young. She could have almost any guy she wanted, and considering this man's grey hair, and the wrinkles on his face, she highly doubted he was really her mother's type.

"Excuse me," he called out. Moving towards her to the best of his ability considering he was limping on a cane. It was actually kind of amusing to watch. "You are Clarisse La Rue, am I correct?"

"Yes." Clarisse drawled. "Who're you?"

"I'm pleased to meet you finally, I'm your mother's boss. Henry Parker." He extended his boney hand, and she took it carefully. The pencil-skirts lined up next to him, a scrawny redhead, with sharp features and a sympathetic face, and a big-boned brunette who was staring at Clarisse as if she didn't quite know what to think.

"We're all very sorry for your loss." The sympathetic redhead said, despite the fact that she was the one who appeared to need a hug.

Clarisse had always wondered if anyone really meant those words when they said them, or what the significance was in the first place. Why apologize if it wasn't even their fault? Even so, she grumbled out a small thanks, in her head counting down the minutes she would have to stand here and talk to them.

Henry raised his eyebrows slightly at her nonchalance, and spoke again, "Listen, Clarisse. The girls and I were going to get some lunch, and talk over all our wonderful memories of your mother."

It was Clarisse's turn to raise her eyebrows at this, she wasn't sure what 'wonderful memories of your mother' they had, but she was so not interested.

"We were wondering if you would like to join us." He said it somewhat halfheartedly as if he could read her answer in her face.

"Actually, I figured I would do that myself." The work chumps turned to see who was interrupting. Clarisse could recognize that voice anywhere, cold, emotionless, battle-hungry. It belonged to the only person in the world who would show up to a funeral wearing an iron padlock around his neck, a leather jacket, and combat boots. Hey, at least the boots and jacket were black.

She hadn't seen him in at least two years.

"Hello, we worked with Clarisse's mother, I am Henry, and you are..?" Henry asked, his voice shook slightly.

Ares came closer; his very presence almost seemed to burn the grass he walked on. He stared them over, managing to look uncaring and threatening all at once.

"Hello, Father." Clarisse said, her voice becoming strong and respectful.

Henry gave her a slightly horrified expression, and she didn't bother to listen to his excuse as the three quickly hightailed out of the graveyard towards their cars.

*)*)*)*)*)*)*)

Clarisse fingers ghosted over the coffee placed in front of her. She glared at the steam erupting from the offending mug, as if it had pissed her off in some way. She could barely remember ordering it from the auburn-haired barista that had nervously taken their order, looking at her father warily, as if he would suddenly jump up with a knife and try to slit her throat. A completely understandable reaction.

If she was in a bit better mood, she would have found it strange that with all the nice little lunch restaurants, her dad chose to take her to an internet café. Then again, she supposed she should just be grateful they weren't at the sleazy bar across the street.

Her hands were sweating profusely, she couldn't tell if it was because of the heat, or being so near her father in such a calm place. She found herself glancing towards the window, or down towards the table. Anything to avoid his face.

Eventually, she had to look up.

Ares was staring down at her, he seemed to be trying to look non-threatening, maybe even fatherly. It wasn't working. She had spent most of her life scared spitless in his presence, even if she had tried to cover it up with bravado.

"You know," Ares began, unable to help herself she sat up a little straighter. "This is where I met your mother, right over there, back when this place used to be a bar." He pointed towards one of the tables sitting in the far corner of the café.

Clarisse almost snorted, it was like 'How I Met Your Mother' if Ted Mosby had just told the kids straight off the bat where he'd met their mother, instead of dragging it through however many seasons the producers could scope through before fans got bored.

He seemed a little put off by her lack of response, but he continued. She kind of wished he wouldn't. "Her butt did this adorable wiggly thing when she leaned over the pool table." And that is how you can ruin a pleasant Father-Daughter chat.

It was ridiculous, kind of creepy, and nothing she wanted to hear. Clarisse couldn't help herself, she laughed. And it might sound crazy, and so unlike him, but the corners of Ares mouth upturned just a little bit, before hurriedly resuming their usual pursing.

"So how'd you get her attention?" Clarisse asked, wondering if she really wanted to know.

The tip of his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheeks, as if he was considering telling her the truth. Making up his mind he finally spoke. "I didn't, really. I was just hiding out here from Aphrodite after a small fight – didn't want to deal with her. None of your concern. Anyways, I was just looking for a drink, not a conquest. Now -"

He was cut off as a different waitress, blond, brought them their cheeseburgers, smiling politely, clearly not put off by Ares punk-like appearance. To Clarisse's surprise, Ares just grinned at her and said, "Thanks, Doll, is it hot in here or is it just you?" She raised an eyebrow at him, lifting her shoulder as if considering his words before sauntering off.

He snorted, smug, as he watched her walk away. Turning back towards his baffled daughter, he shrugged. "One day when you're older you'll understand."

". . . I'm twenty." And you are hitting on chicks my age, right in front of me, it's a little creepy.

He took a huge bite of his burger, and said, "You're twenty already? Well then get with the program, Clarisse. Don't you have a boyfriend?"

Clarisse cringed somewhat. "I meant the nineteen- I don't know- forties? Line. "

Ares took another bite of his burger, despite not swallowing the first one. "Oh, right. Well it shows her a different side of me. The element of surprise." All that was missing was a sly upturning of the eyebrows, and Barney Stinson would have an older, stronger, scarier twin.

He didn't appear to have any interest in explaining more, and she honestly didn't care to hear it.

"Where were we? Oh, yes. Your mother." Another bite. "So, I came here a few more times, nice bar, good music, hot babes, what more could a guy ask for? Well, she was here often with her friends, underage drinking, and the like. "

"That sounds like mom," I mumbled.

"Naturally, I got her attention. Her friends didn't like it, her talking to me. Told her to stay away." He laughed, "Well, they were right."

"So what happened? Did you rape her?"

To her surprise he looked somewhat affronted. "Rape her? What kind of man –" He snorted when he realized what he was about to say. He was after all, the war god, and saying he was a conceited ass that would do anything to get what he wanted would be just like saying his red wraparound sunglasses were very 80's. Both true, and possibly fatal.

He sighed, his mood sobered instantly. "Look, Clarisse. She was a smart woman, she knew what she was getting into the day she came over and started chatting with me. I liked her; she was fun to hang around, a party person if there ever was one."

Something in Clarisse cracked. "Yeah, great party girl. You know when I was eight I outgrew almost all of my clothes. So she gave me some of her hand-me-downs." She resumed glaring at her coffee cup again. "Let's just say the principal frowned on second graders dressed in a cocktail dress with three-inch heels." The words came out a lot harsher than she meant.

For a second she thought Ares was going to hit her, or tell her to get over it. She wasn't at all astounded when he sighed, and with another bite of his burger, a curse she didn't quite make out and a, ". . . happens." It wasn't very hard to figure out what he said. "You know, I wasn't the only one with my eyes on her."

Clarisse leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed.

"Apollo, he had a crush on her. I don't know why, something about her beautiful piano playing." Ares leaned across the table, finished with his own food and now picking at her fries. "Of course, once I had her attention, I was able to keep it." Ares grinned. "He didn't like it, me moving in on his girl. But it didn't matter by then, she was already mine."

The funny thing is - Clarisse would have preferred Apollo as a parent any day, even if she hated his kids. Because some of the Greek Gods were those type of parents, the type who would wait until the girl or boy was legal and able bodied to handle a kid. Their kid. She only knew of Hephaestus right off the bat. But there was one huge gaping difference between Ares and Apollo, and that being their patience. Ares wants what he wants and he wants it now. Apollo would have waited just a few more years until her mother was legal and could have handled the responsibility of a child.

The difference was as simple as night and day. The Apollo children come to camp with sunny smiles on their faces, knowing their place in life, knowing how to talk to people and make friends. The Ares children however, hell, they come from a whole string of matters. One of her brothers was raised by a street hooker, she knew Sherman's mother was a drug dealer. Not all of them are that unlucky, maybe not particularly well off, but still . . . Most of them come to camp wondering if they're anymore than a sack of donuts to their parents, and most dealt with awkward social situations by doing what they do best - fighting.

Don't get her wrong, she loved and respected her father a great deal. There were just times when she wished he didn't act like her high school coach.

His mood changed in a futile attempt to justify his words. "Just think about it! You could have been Apollo's little twit, a nobody. But nope, you're my drakon slayer." Grabbing a few more of her fries, pulling himself out of the booth. "Now, I have to go do some God of War stuff. So I'll just tell you this, you have my blessing, and you've got my respect, kiddo!" And almost in afterthought. "Too bad about your mom." With that, he slapped some money on the table, with one final wink to the waitress. He clapped Clarisse on the back rather painfully and with a sneer - or a pathetic excuse for a smile – vanished from the café.

Congratulations, Father. You just managed to treat both my mom and I like a prize in the span of a few short sentences. She didn't dare say those words out loud, he might have left, but he was still a god.

His final words should have put her on cloud nine, she should have been overjoyed. His respect - which was all she'd wanted since the age of nine when she picked up her first spear and vowed she would make him proud, had been granted. Sure, his words on Olympus that final day of the battle had edged on that subject, but he never said them out loud.

She thought his admiration would bring recognition for the one thing she truly was – his daughter.

She never wanted to be a trophy.

Is that was all she would ever be? A trophy of Ares, to be put on his shelf, clean and polished, something he would show off for a few years until she became terribly dull and he decided to find something shinier and better.

She'd worked all her life to gain his respect and honor, but . . . how could she have forgotten love in that equation?

This time she glared past her coffee mug, onto the large streaks of light the sun was making against her table. The sun, so clean, so bright, and beautiful, it knows it's place on this earth and doesn't question it. The straight line of the world. It's everything she's not.

She really does hate that damn line.

I actually wrote this one first, so if it doesn't tie in particularly well, that's my bad.

I also happen to like this chapter a bit more. Besides the struggling with Ares and Clarisse's interaction I think I did well.

As always reviews are loved:D

-Ash