DISCLAIMER: I own nothing (unfortunately), just the story idea... The world, characters, and past adventures all belong to Rick Riordan. Enjoy! :)
Two nights later, Percy woke at 3am to Annabeth clutching his forearm and panting as contractions rippled through her body. They locked eyes, and he knew that it was time. She had been tossing and turning all night as the contractions grew stronger and more frequent. Percy leapt into action, pulling jeans on over his boxers and a T-shirt over his bare chest. Annabeth was trying to sit up and get out of bed, but he shot her a placating look as he found them both flip-flops. Then they were hurrying out the apartment door, barely stopping to lock it behind them.
Percy helped Annabeth into their silvery-blue Toyota and floored it out of the parking garage. He was afraid he was going to start hyperventilating but managed to calm his breathing when he felt Annabeth wrap her sweaty hand around his bicep. "It's going to be okay, Seaweed Brain," she managed, trying for a smile. He returned it, a tiny bit of excitement seeping in with the stress.
They arrived at the hospital soon after with plenty of time to spare. Percy held Annabeth's hand as she pushed. He remembered holding her hand during the Battle of Manhattan, after she had taken a poisoned knife for him. He remembered how tight her grip had been as her wound was cleaned, and thought that it was nothing compared to how tightly she clung to his hand at that moment.
At exactly 6:43am on October 12, Percy and Annabeth's baby pushed his way into the world and breathed his first breath of air. Annabeth's cry of relief was music to Percy's ears, and he laughed out loud as the nurse lifted the child and put him into his waiting mother's arms. The boy was healthy and strong. Everything had gone perfectly, not a single hitch. For once, it seemed, the Fates were on their side.
Aaron Frederick Jackson was the most fascinating creature Percy had ever seen, and he had seen a lot of fascinating—granted, also very scary—creatures. The little boy never failed to amaze his father during those first few days and for the many years afterwards. It astounded Percy whenever the child would wrap his tiny fingers around Percy's pinky. He would whisper-yell across the room to Annabeth so as not to wake the sleeping infant, and she would laugh and come over to watch Percy cradle his son in his arms as the boy gripped Percy's pinky in a vise-like grip.
Whenever Annabeth would bustle around the kitchen with the child nestled against her breast, humming under her breath, Percy would just sit on the counter and watch in captivation. He was even charmed by the child when he woke up his parents in the middle of the night.
Days passed, blissfully exhausting, happy days. Chiron excused Percy from coming to Camp to teach lessons so he could stay at home, helping Annabeth in any way he could with the baby. She seemed to know so much more about the whole parenting thing than he did, which really wasn't that odd—she always knew more than he did—but did make him wish that he had read some of those parenting and infant-care books she had bought a couple of months earlier. As much as he hated reading because of his dyslexia, the information probably would've been helpful in this strange new endeavor.
Percy had faced down armies of monsters and giants and braved the depths of Tartarus itself, but none of that could have ever prepared him for raising a child.
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