A/N: First off I want to say thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, or reviewed. I really appreciate it. Second I really hope that you all enjoy the chapter, I tried to make it as long and fluff filled as I could.

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The papers were heralding the news of the battle raging in Belleau Wood. The headlines used words like 'push' and 'advance' while the articles talked of how the Doughboys were giving the Germans hell. Some said that the war was sure to be over by Christmas and while that thought tore at her soul and gave a small gust to the faltering flag of hope she didn't want to dwell on it. December was so many months away.

She had a day off of work and took the chance to read and enjoy not having a constant demand on her shoulders. She walked in the park, enjoyed a few chapters of a book, spent time just studying the architecture of the city.

Annabeth was able to walk confidently, smile at the people she passed on the street, she was able to purely enjoy things. Not since Percy knocked on her door holding his papers had she felt this good. Those following days had been waking terror and the months since he sailed away were a loaded gun. It would have to be dealt with at some point but her fear of getting hurt was still too strong.

Those last two words still flitted through her thoughts but she felt it too soon. That if she pursued where they had come from it they would be drawn back and may never be seen again.

When the day wore thin and she roused herself from the bliss of freedom she made her way home.

Sitting on the floor just inside her door it sat, a piece of litter cast away to be handled by another, waiting her notice.

The slant of the lines and ease with which it was written gave it away.

June 10th 1918,

My Annabeth,

You would think we are all fools and I wouldn't blame you. The Germans attacked the night I wrote you the last letter. They thought they could catch us sleeping and sent their troops at us in the dark. They came within yards of our line at some spots and we had to force them back with knifes and fists. The next morning we were ordered to counter attack back and didn't do much better. The Germans are just as dug in as we are.

The next day our artillery opened up on the German lines who responded with their own guns. The forest is nearly gone. When a tree is hit by an artillery shell it turns it into a spray of splinters and wood chunks. They call it tree burst and it is terrifying. A thirty foot tree can be turned into thousands of needles that tear into men. The tree topples and can crush others. What's left is a splintered stick that stands a few feet above our heads and reminds us that everything around us can be ripped apart.

The forest used to be pretty, at least when men weren't being shot and everything wasn't blowing up. Most of the trees have been hit by shells or rounds. The ground is ruined. Craters and fox holes are everywhere. Those trees that still have leaves look like they are dying. Nothing about this place is pretty anymore. Nothing about it seems peaceful. The quiet is scary, there are too many men with guns for it to ever be quiet.

I woke up in the middle of the night and felt wrong. Like something wasn't happening that should be. At first I thought the Germans were attacking again. I had my bayonet ready so quickly. Then I realized what was wrong. No one was shooting. That's why I woke up, because we weren't trying to kill each other for a few moments.

1st Battalion launched another attack this morning. At first everything was going well. We thought we might be able to push the Germans back finally. Then they were caught in the machine guns. Every attack is bound to run into them. The Germans set them up in patterns so that every inch of ground has at least two guns trained on it. You can't take a step without being raked by bullets. Yet we keep attacking, the brilliance of it baffles me.

Then the Germans started firing gas at them. Because the machine guns aren't enough, because cutting men down in waves isn't effective enough, they think they need to use that damned gas.

It's horrible. They know it doesn't kill quickly. They know that it just burns like a living hell. Like you're drinking fire. They don't care. The Germans are sick. I don't know if I can ever really hate them, but the gas makes me want to.

It's hard on everyone. The boys in my squad ask me what's going to happen to us everyday. They ask if we have to attack again. They ask if we're going to get relieved, if we are pulling back. I never know what to say to them so I reassure them the best I can. It doesn't help that we are always low on everything. We barely get enough combat rations to stay fed. We can get three meals most days but some aren't cooked. We can't light fires for fear of the Germans spotting us and dropping shells on our heads so we eat cold soup and crackers.

Hell we barely have enough ammo to go around. A few men only have twenty rounds a piece. It's nerve wracking to think you have two clips to stop a German attack. After that you have to rely on your bayonet and skill in hand to hand. That scares everyone most of all. Bullets feel a lot easier to dodge then a knife.

We're also all filthy. No one has showered in over a week and it's the middle of June. Even in the shade it's warm and we are covered from head to toe in wool. In a few days I think the Germans will be able to smell us out.

It's been four days and we haven't moved a foot forward. All we do is wait. Wait for the next shells to land and hope they aren't filled with the gas. Wait for the Germans to attack again, maybe in the middle of the night again. Waiting for order to launch an attack and get shot at or walk into a machine gun.

I'm sorry to put this on you. I shouldn't be telling you these things. I should be asking you how you are, writing you about your family and what you're doing with all your free time.

I should be telling you not to miss me, that I miss you enough for the both of us.

I keep looking at your picture. I guess I'm afraid I'll forget what you look like. Forgetting your smile would be the worst. It was always worth being called an idiot or kelp head if it made you smile. I wish I could see it now.

I've been thinking about what I'll do when I get back. I'm not smart enough to attend the university like you will but maybe with your help I start a business. My father always talks about how much they need tugboats in the harbor. I've spent enough time around him to understand how shipping works, I'd just need a boat. And a crew.

It's the paperwork and setting everything up I'd really need you for. I'd cut you in on the business. We could be partners. I could captain the boat and you would just have to deal with the books. We could work together. If you want to. I know owning a boat was never your dream. You should be off designing grand buildings. It was just an idea.

I hope you're enjoying nursing. Not sure I'm okay with you spending all that time around military men. I know what they're really like Annabeth. Don't let them trick you, not all of them are all white teeth and clean cut.

I hope you're sleeping well at night. I try and write as much as I can but I know it isn't enough. You write me everyday and I still wish there was more. You barely get a letter a week. You deserve better, Annabeth.

I miss you so much. Every day I wake up and it dawns on me a little more what I left behind. Who I left behind. I'm sorry I left you but I promise I'll make up for it when I come back.

I can't wait to see you again.

Love,

Percy

Annabeth sat against her front door and clutched the letter.

It had been too much to hope for after the last one. Too much to think he would write it again, too much to think it a conscious decision on his part. Now he had written it again, so plainly and openly and there was more.

A page of it. No war, no fighting, no misery. It was a page of her Percy. A page of him writing about them. Them.

He had written about a future, one he saw both of them in. One that he needed her for. It was a sign and one she would gladly accept. The last few weeks Annabeth had worried that it was just the effects of the war that were wearing on him. That were wearing on her. Now Annabeth knew that it wasn't the war that was changing them, it was the distance.

They had been so close for so long that one of them, both of them, had missed what was happening. Missed the little signs of growing affection in the myriad of layers of close friendship. Somewhere they had shifted away from that simple friendship and not looked back. They had coasted the waters between the lands and given little care of the destination for the journey was pleasant enough. It was only when the boat had to be docked that they realized where they had wanted to go all along.

Annabeth knew Percy would be slow to come around. It would be a matter of time and coaxing before that word was used beyond the confines of a closing but she thought it could happen. That her boy would come home to her, he would grip her tight, and he would whisper that word in her ear.

This was the start of something.

Annabeth sat back against her door with her knees pressed to her chest and gripped the letter tight. She closed her eyes and grinned. An honest, pure and true grin. She was beyond happy, more than content, past giddy.

When Annabeth slept that night she dreamt of him again as she did every night but they dreams were softer. They were memories of the past, days spent together and the ease that came with them. She kept that grin through the night and well into the next day.

It wouldn't finally fade until the next letter appeared.

A/N: As always thank you for reading!