the untitled perthena story

by Suahtloh

A 5 plus 1 of 5 plus 1s! Or five stories of Percy (by Percy) and the family he created, and one of Athena (by Athena) and how she found hers. Now, with appearances as seen on TV! [Mortal Percy] [God Athena] [Daughter Annabeth]

Story Summary: A 5 plus 1 of 5 plus 1s! Or five stories of Percy (by Percy) and the family he created, and one of Athena (by Athena) and how she found hers. (Now, with Disney+ appearances!)

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Chapter Summary: Five times Percy saw a goddess and didn't know it, and the one time he did and did. Featuring: Percy as a mortal, Athena as a cocky girl who is just as clueless as she is wise, and Zephyros as a glorified stork of yore.

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Percy (1)

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(1)

It went a little something like this:

Percy was a guy. (Shocker, he knows.) And he was a guy in college. He wouldn't lie to you and say he enjoyed it, he didn't, nobody did. But he was there, and he was kinda-sorta passing, and that's just the way it was.

So, he was a guy in college. Great. Wonderful, even. His mother would be so proud of him. His mother was so proud of him.

But, he was a guy in college. Worse yet, he was a guy, a single guy, studying marine biology.

Now, he's not sure if you know this – because he sure as hell hadn't – but biology? Not exactly a male-dominated area of study. If the industry wasn't already, it wouldn't be long before it was chock full of women.

So, just to set the scene (and in case you've forgotten already, he wouldn't blame you), Percy was a guy. Born Perseus Jackson. Son of Sally Jackson and some deadbeat fisherman who couldn't be bothered to stick around, whatever, who needs 'em, right?

And, Percy was a single guy. A single guy, surrounded by college-aged girls. He couldn't tell you if that was relevant to the story he was trying to tell just yet, but he felt like it was worth pointing out. At least this way he can commiserate with whoever (whomever?) was reading this.

Anyway, it could be argued that Percy was not the best student. He was passionate about his field of study, yes, he knew that for a fact. It wasn't that he didn't like the material, he just.. hated studying.

So, as any self-respecting twenty-something-year-old would do, he didn't.

Unfortunately, and this might come as a surprise to some of you, there is an apparent correlation between a lack of studying and lower exam scores. Again, shocker, he knows. It surprised him too!

And it was for that very reason that he found himself here.

In a damn-near empty auditorium in his oh-so-esteemed university's science center.

Sitting.

Listening.

To a thesis dissertation and defense.

A dagger to the back would be a welcome mercy.

He was here only for the extra-credit opportunity that was offered to his class. Attend a lecture, write an interesting and thought-provoking summary and analysis, and turn it in before finals week. Sounds easy, right?

Wrong.

His mother taught him that lying was wrong, so he wouldn't do it now. It sucked. This sucked. It was just so boring.

He was fairly sure – and no he can't speak from experience when he says this, but he just knows, okay? – that it would be more enjoyable to be stepped on by an elephant. Or.. oh gods, he doesn't know, be forced to read? That one sounded pretty bad. Worse than the elephant thing, he'd reckon.

So, to reiterate:

Percy was a guy, bored out of his mind, listening to something that doesn't make sense to anybody – not even the doctoral student presenting it – and he would legitimately rather read than be here.

Read.

What had his life become?

And the worst part? Do you want to know the worst part?

The worst part was this ungodly attractive girl sitting a few seats away.

(He knew the bit about him being single would come into play later. Pay up, doubters.)

Under normal circumstances, he might have called her divine, but there was just one small, tiny, nearly infinitesimal caveat. She was taking notes. (Notes!) She was taking notes and nodding her head as if everything the guy said made perfect sense and just what the dick?

No goddess would ever. (And you may quote him on that.)

The attractive girl shot him a look, one that could've meant anything and one he only caught because he was staring directly at her and oh. Oh, okay. Yeah. He might've stumbled onto the not-so-discrete meaning behind it. He probably shouldn't be staring at her (it might come across as rude).

All too quickly, his eyes were back up front, staring at hideously organized charts and graphs that meant jack-all to him. His retinas burned; luminescent projectors and dim rooms were hardly kind on the eyes.

He tried paying attention, if only to actually get something written down for his assignment, but the guy's voice was so monotone and his eyelids were so heavy, could he really be blamed for closing them, just for a second?

He couldn't, not in his mind, so he did.

If only he wasn't interrupted by the something that collided with his cheek and landed on his leg.

He opened his eyes and looked down. In his lap was a paper airplane. And, let him tell you, it was marvelous.

(He can already hear some smug bastards snarking him for being so surprised, and he was having none of it. They would be too if they saw this thing.)

It was a feat of engineering, it was. The paper was folded, neat and prim, not a single crease out of place. There were four wings, like some kind of old-timey bi-plane that Lewis and Clark – was that who invented them? – would've flown or somethin'.

And – get this – there was a propeller on the front. A propeller! He could pick the plane up right now, flick the front, and watch those bad boys spin. And it was made from paper.

Amazing.

He glanced over in the direction from whence it came.

It was the overly attractive girl.

He caught the side of her eye – grey, he noted, idly, which was strange, because who even notices eye color? (especially in this dim of a room?) – and she raised a finger to her lips, shushing him.

Percy blinked and scratched his eyebrow, confused.

.. he hadn't even been talking?

Whatever, he decided, her gift would serve him well as a distraction through this torture. He'd just have to pay special attention so that he wouldn't make any embarrassing noises as he flew his newly favored bi-plane around in the space above his lap.

---

"You," a voice said from behind him, "are infuriatingly distracting."

Well, hello to you too, random stranger.

Percy turned, pivoting on one foot away from the water fountain to see who was speaking (and who never got a lesson on proper greetings when growing up). He stared at the woman beside him for a second, taking in her scowl and furrowed brow with a hum. It was the girl from the presentation. And she looked markedly less appealing with the whole 'I'm better than you and I know it' thing she had going on. A shame, but that wasn't really his problem.

"Actually," he grinned, "'Infuriatingly Distracting' is just a stage name, I prefer Percy."

He didn't know what this girl's problem was. Yes, he'd been staring at her during the presentation, but he'd done his best to keep it innocent. He didn't feel it warranted the number of glares she'd gifted him (although the airplane was welcome), and it certainly didn't justify haranguing him after the lecture was already over and done with. If he was rude, sure, sorry, he gets it. He probably wouldn't like some strange man staring at him either. But he didn't think he'd seek them out after the fact, either.

But, she did.

Thus, he fell back on his tried-and-true method of conversing with people who held preconceived notions of who he was or who he should be: sarcasm.

The pretty girl stared at him for a moment longer, as if attempting to probe his mind for his deepest, darkest secrets before she seemingly gave up and ultimately nodded. He thought it might have been in acceptance, but then she went and said 'Perseus' and.. just–

Percy sighed a sigh, plastering on a faux-pleasant smile and nodding in affirmation to his full name. He thought she seemed a little young for it, but he supposed it made sense if she was a member of the university's faculty. (It would explain the note-taking, at the very least.) Teachers always had an issue with him, he was used to it by now. It was no different if they called themselves 'professor' or not. They were all the same.

It was just one of those little, undeniable, objective truths about the universe.

The Mets were better than the Phillies. The best burrito you could ask for came from the bodega at the corner of 105th and 2nd. And all teachers had it out for Perseus Jackson.

"As I was saying, you are incredibly distracting– "

He bit back a quick-witted retort that it couldn't possibly be his fault if she thought he was distracting, he really had been trying to keep a low profile lest the presenter realize he wasn't paying attention. Sure, the guy had been dull, but Percy didn't want him to know that. (Talk about demotivating.)

" –and prevented me from giving the presentation my fullest attention– "

".. I don't think you were missing much," he muttered and–whoops! That one just kinda slipped out. He'd take full accountability. That was his bad. Sorry.

Luckily, the girl ignored him, barely even acknowledging his grumbling as she pressed on.

" –not to mention you were hardly even listening yourself most of the time– "

"Uh-huh," Percy nodded along, scratching absent-mindedly at his stomach as she droned on and on and on about responsibility and respect and the importance of education and probably more (not that he could be bothered to keep track of all of it).

" –Thus, I think it wise of you to heed my council," she finished, rather lamely, in Percy's opinion.

And just who talks like that? Where did she think they were? Feudal Europe?

"Look," Percy paused, narrowing his eyes down toward the girl's face as he tried to decide whether she was the type to prefer 'miss' or 'ma'am,' before deciding on a non-confrontational and oh-so-respectful 'lady.' "Look, lady," he began anew, "I'm really not sure who you are, but I'm sorry for whatever perceived slight I've made against you. I'm just trying to go about my day. I don't think I need another lecture." Gods know just how bad his head was still throbbing from the first one.

He really just didn't like her attitude. She was trying to belittle him, to make him feel small. It's the same thing his teachers did up until high school, before he'd finally gotten access to resources to actually help him.

The worst part was that she was succeeding. It was working.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact reason why. He'd always been a bit of an angry kid, he'd admit that freely. Quick to temper, slow to reason. He grew up lonely, and he grew up bitter. From being poor, to not having a father (at least one worth a damn, he never counted the first two), to being seen as stupid and foolish by everybody but his mother and a handful of companions. Yet, despite all of that, he hadn't stayed that way.

He supposed most of that would have been attributed to the entrance of his stepfather, Paul, into his life, but that was a story for another time.

The point was this: nowadays, he was far calmer.

Usually.

But this lady was testing his patience. All he wanted right now was to get back to his flat, feed his fish, and eat some pizza bagels. Was that too much to ask?

Now, at this point in his story, you might've started to wonder what the point was – believe (you) him, he was too – and he was getting there, he promises, but it was rather hard when he didn't know what it was and when he wasn't even the driving force behind the story's plot progression.

The girl was. And all her fancy words were really slowing the speed of this conversation.

Lucky for you, he can just skip ahead to when it gets interesting.

"Look," the lady later echoed as she rubbed her brow, "I don't know why you're making this so difficult, I'm trying to help."

"Help?" Percy asked, miffed. They'd been going back and forth for a while now, and not once had she come across as remotely helpful. "Help how?"

"With your– " She cut herself off with a strangled sound, and Percy couldn't help but feel thankful. If it hadn't been the noise, he honestly felt like it would've been his throat, what with how she was wringing her fingers in and out frustratedly, as if she wished they were at his neck. He had no desire to be choked today. (Save that for the bedroom.) "With your assignment," she growled out, "I wanted to help you with it."

What?

"How do you even know about that?"

"Does it matter?"

Well, yeah, kinda.

"Until I decide you're not trying to kidnap and traffic me, yeah."

"Why would I– " The pretty girl cut herself off and closed her eyes (a shame really, they were quite nice), sucking in a deep, calming breath that irked Percy to no end.

He was the one that got to be annoyed here, not her!

She grit her teeth and smiled a smile. "Why would I be trying to traffic you?"

"Are you serious?" Was she serious? He honestly couldn't tell, the raised eyebrow he received in answer did little to elevate his understanding.

Was the reason not obvious?

He was hot as hell, that's why. A straight-up ten. A catch. His mother always told him that he ought to watch his back, else someone would try to snatch him up. He'd never quite been brave enough to ask how she meant that – whether it be a paramour or something more nefarious – so he simply assumed the worst.

(They did live in Manhattan, it wasn't as if it were completely out of the realm of possibility.)

The girl stood there for a few moments longer, her jaw hanging slightly and her eyes squinted a margin, seemingly stupefied. (Which made almost no sense, considering everything he said was completely logical.) And then, without another word, not even so much as a goodbye, she turned and walked away.

Percy didn't let that bother him much, it was an argument won in his book, so he too went on his merry way.

---

(2)

He didn't think much of the grey-eyed girl after that. In fact, he never really thought of her. Sometimes, he would, but only within the capacity of a storyteller. (How else was he going to explain the origami plane on his desk if not by bringing up that strange, note-(and-breath)-taking cryptid he once met?)

And so, it came as a surprise when he saw her again.

It shouldn't have, he realizes that now. You have the benefit of hearing this all after it happened, but you have to remember: he lived it, the answers weren't presented so clearly and succinctly to him as they are to you. (And no, you may not argue that point. No matter what, this is more clear and concise than it was at the time. That is fact, and it is simply not up for debate).

So, it shouldn't have been a surprise, and yet it was.

The next time he saw her was during the spring semester. His fall finals had come and gone (he'd done well enough, if you were curious), as had the holidays. They were well into the year now, April having just ended its run and seceded into May. It was getting warmer, and it was getting rainier, but neither was anything new.

The changing weather brought with it a new climate at NYU, for the research symposium was fast approaching. (And even if it was slow coming, it wouldn't matter, as it started in twenty minutes regardless.)

Unlike the last time he was intimately involved with the presentation of research findings, Percy could guarantee, with one-hundred-percent accuracy, that this time the speaker will understand everything coming out of their mouth.

Now, under normal circumstances, he would not put this much faith in a stranger.

Luckily, he didn't need to, as today he was that stranger.

That's right, guys and gals, it's time for Percy Jackson to present! Aren't you excited?

(What do you mean 'no'?)

What was his study on, he hears you ask. Well, you're not the only one curious!

And it's actually rather simple. They've basically been observing and testing the negative implications of oil on marine life, primarily birds and their feathers, in varying quantities. As he said, not complex, but it was interesting enough to him and he thought it was important, at the very least, it helped him reach an important conclusion.

He wasn't going to pursue academic research as a career, he knew that now. It just wasn't for him.

The first few people to pass his research group and their poster had their questions answered with little issue. It was mostly students who were doing the same thing he had done the semester prior. They had some assignment – a paper for a seminar or an extra-credit opportunity, it didn't matter – and so they came to get the answers they needed and little else. Their questions weren't exactly thought-provoking, nor were they hard-hitting. Most of them were the exact same (like he said: assignment) and most of said answers could've been found on the poster, if they'd bothered to look. But he couldn't find it within himself to blame them for trying to expedite the process. He would've done the same.

This portion of the symposium was only scheduled for an hour. People came into the room they were set up in; they wandered a bit, approached the posters that piqued their interest, asked some questions if they so desired, and then went on their merry way. It wasn't glamorous, not really. They were in a ballroom, sure, but there were probably hundreds of posters (and thrice as many student presenters) all in the same space. You don't get to do one of them big boy presentations with the projectors and slideshows and all those other dohickeys until your research is a bit more developed. Fellowship grants and graduate student stuff.

Not for people like him.

But he was getting distracted, and he doubted anybody really cared all that much about undergraduate research.

So, the research fair lasted an hour, and they were about forty minutes in. Big whoop. That's not what you're here for.

(Don't you worry none, he'll skip right on over to the good part for you, again, y'lazy dog.)

He thinks he saw her before she saw him, which shouldn't come as a surprise. She seemed the type to draw attention to herself without trying (which is why it was so damn weird that he felt like he was the only one who ever seemed to notice). The face didn't click with him right away, it'd been weeks since he'd last thought of her (longer still since he'd last seen her).

She was wandering the room, and his eyes followed her as she glid from place to place.

Sending a cursory glance over to the rest of his research group, he made sure they had everything covered (they did), before taking the time to observe her. He hadn't had the opportunity the first time they'd met, not for lack of trying, but in his quest to not come off as a creep he'd kept his observations to broad-spanning things: like that she was pretty, or that she was really pretty.

Yaknow, normal shit.

But now he had the chance to take more of her in.

She was a slim thing with posture so straight it made him uncomfortable. Her skin was a deep color (or perhaps rich and warm would be more apt) and her hair long. It reached mid back, falling in tight braids from the ponytail they were bound in. He thought it black at first, only to realize that was only partially true. Her hair was mostly black, but it graduated to a beige toward the tips in some kind of ombre.

As a kid, Percy had never really thought he'd had a type, the girls he'd crushed on over the years were all different in appearance and personality, never with any rhyme nor reason as to why they drew his attention.

He was only just now realizing that young Percy was definitely an idiot.

He absolutely had a type, and it was headed right for him.

"Perseus," she greeted. Her eyes were still grey, he wasn't sure why he'd thought they wouldn't be, but they were.

"You remembered my name." He couldn't help but grin despite (or perhaps in spite of) his distaste for hearing it. He wished she'd said 'Percy,' but beggars and choosers and all that. "Did I make that good of an impression?"

The pretty girl pursed her lips, ignoring the question in favor of forwarding her own agenda. "I do not forget."

Not 'I do not forget a face,' nor 'I do not forget a name,' but 'I do not forget,' that felt important, someway, somehow. But, whatever the reason might be, Percy shoved it to the side as she nodded her head toward his poster, raising a pen and notepad. "Is this your work?"

Her eyes were already scanning the text (she must have some damn good eyesight to see it from where they stood, his eyes burned and fluxed just trying) and she seemed vaguely apprehensive of his answer. He wasn't sure why that was, but the reason wouldn't change anything, so he gave it freely. "It is."

She nodded and they lapsed into silence.

Or he did.

He hadn't noticed it during the presentation, but she made all kinds of hums and hems and haws as she thought. It might have been considered cute if not for the fact that he distinctly remembers her tearing into him over minute distractions just like that. (And oh yeah, he'd completely forgotten why they'd originally parted ways, it'd been because she'd been completely insufferable to him.) He found most of his original annoyance with her had ebbed into nothing over time, and now none of it remained, but that didn't mean he didn't find some strange amount of vindication in learning she was just as distracting as himself.

In order to stem his wondering and mind's wandering, he forced himself to speak. "Do you have any questions that I could answer?"

Again, she pursed her lips, letting out a noise that was more hem than haw, and nodded. "You say there," she raised her hand and pointed with her pen cap toward the section labeled 'discussion,' "that your findings suggest serious implications for the fitness and survival of waterfowls."

Percy waited for a few breaths to see if she'd follow that up with an actual question. She didn't, so he took it upon himself.

"Yes, we believe our findings speak for themselves; feathers that came into contact with even minimal amounts of surface oil were shown to have permanently increased water permeability and retention. Such a change would reduce the organism's survivability atop and within their habitats. Did you have a question about that?"

"Yes," she said before turning to face him, "why should I care?"

Percy blinked once. And then a second time. Then, for good measure, he closed his eyes again, before reopening them.

He thought it might bring him clarity.

It did not.

"I," and he cannot stress this enough, "beg your pardon?"

"Your findings seem to show that oil spills in the ocean and other bodies of water may cause irrevocable damage to avian wildlife even after human intervention to save their lives. It is tragic, of that I am certain, but my question is why I, or anybody else for that matter, should care."

Percy had half a mind to question why she even bothered coming over if she cared so little, but he managed to hold his tongue. (It wasn't easy, that bastard was slippery, but he was nothing if not enthusiastic.)

"I suppose that would depend upon your vested interests," is what he decided to say in the end.

She hummed, considering. "Let's say it is simply the continued prosperity of this nation and her people."

Right, he'd wanted to say, of course. Simple. So simple.

"Well," he began once he guesstimated roughly how to answer, "our work dealt primarily with a species known as the Manx shearwater, so, for the sake of simplicity," he really wished he could've rolled his eyes at her, but that would've been rude, and he was raised better than that, so he shan't, "we will keep our discussion limited to just them for now. May I assume you are familiar with the field of ecology?"

She glanced to him through the corner of her eye and dipped her head in a slight nod. "You may."

That might just be the best news he's gotten today, it almost made up for how pleasant he was being. (Except, not.)

Percy nodded and crossed his arms, continuing on in a faux-posh voice that sounded distinctly unlike his own. "Every organism has its niche, its role in its ecosystem. I won't delude myself by saying some aren't more important than others, that's not true, and it would be a lie if I told you the shearwaters were a keystone species, but the point stands. They have a role. Anytime a group of organisms is removed from their habitat, whether by local extinction or otherwise, it changes the interactions of those that remain." He bobbed his head back and forth slightly as he spoke. "The shearwaters are predators of small fish; remove them, and their prey's population increases. This leaves more food available for other species; larger fish, porpoises, whales, you get it. The list goes on."

As did he.

For a while, actually. Embarrassingly long. He wasn't going to bore you with all the nitty-gritty of the explanation, he wasn't a sadist, but he will say most of it was probably not as succinct, nor as coherent as he would've liked.

In all honesty, he rambled.

It could've been worse, he supposed. It could've.

She didn't walk away, if that meant anything. (Though, that may have been due more to her patience, rather than his communicative skills.)

He took a breath when he finished and looked away from her face to check the clock. It wasn't so much that he was worried about the time, more just he really couldn't stomach looking at her any longer. His palms were sweating the longer she held his gaze, wondering what she was thinking (and wondering when the hell she'd turned to face him completely, that hadn't been the case before, had it?). It wasn't until he actually focused on the hands of the clock that his mind pulled elsewhere because holy shit. Had he really spent the last twenty minutes speaking with her? His mind was a blur, he couldn't even tell you half of what had been said.

With all the joy of a soldier going off to war, Percy dragged his eyes back to the beautiful girl and sent one last prayer to the gods that he had not just bored a faculty member to death. (He doubted murder looked all that great on a resume, even if it did diversify his experience.)

In the end, the pretty girl merely blinked and thanked him for his time before stiffly leaving.

Percy stood there for some time, pondering over the quickest way to drown his shame. The way he saw it, there were two options vying for the crown. The fountain in the Washington Square Park – public, but efficient. Or. (Or, or, or.) A bottle of cheap, diluted vodka he'd bought from a gas station in the Hamptons some time ago. It was opened, but untouched. The smell alone was enough to bring back foul enough memories that he'd never been quite brave enough to stomach alongside the liquor's burn. (And the money he spent on it, too much for him to dump it down the sink.)

Perhaps today would finally be the day. (It wouldn't, but it was amusing enough to think.)

It wasn't until he was home and seated at his parents' dinner table, answering all of their probing questions about his presentation, that he realized he'd still yet to ask for the girl's name.

---

(3)

A full week passed. (Or just nearly). A stretch of time spanning from that Friday afternoon to a Wednesday morning, that began with a wonderful meatloaf – courtesy of Paul – and ended with an obnoxiously insistent alarm and not nearly enough sleep.

Percy groaned as he rose, pushing himself up from his mattress, pointedly ignoring the drool on his pillow, and blinking blearily down at his clock. The alarm was annoying (you'd think so too if you could hear it). It was like one of those timers you get in a boardgame. You know the ones. They shake and shake and shake, making an all-around ruckus and they're just– ugh. He hated it. Damnable thing.

Throwing his legs over the size of his bed, he stood. If given the chance, he wouldn't hesitate to spend the rest of his morning beneath the covers, but it was not meant to be. He had a gen-ed starting in an hour and as much as he'd like to never hear hide nor hair about ancient world history again, he was required to, else he wouldn't be eligible to graduate come next year. Besides, it wasn't as if he really hated the material, the stories were interesting enough. It was just–Reading? Why did it have to be reading? If the class had been based around movies or, or plays or like.. oral storytelling, he would have been the Dalai Lama of Mediterranean mythology. But, like, it wasn't, so he wasn't.

Regardless of his affection (or lack thereof) for the class, he was obliged to attend. He was paying far too much money to start playing hooky.

It was a bit of a walk to get to campus, and with the surplus of time he left himself (and for those of you still with him at this point, that was to say barely enough), he'd have to hurry.

Hopping around on one foot, he tugged on a pair of jeans – light blue, probably unclean, hopefully unstained – cursing colorfully when he stumbled and fell. The shirt he slept in was stuffed beneath the hem before being secured by a belt. His shoes joined his legs in quick order and he was hustling toward the door. He paused just before it, staring at its chipped paint, before spinning on a heel and marching back toward his bed. He snatched his phone up off the mattress. He looked out his window, squinting up at the sky. It was grey and overcast, so he grabbed a raincoat and then his backpack, tossing his phone into one or the other, before leaving and locking the door behind him.

The walk to campus wasn't horrible. He hardly needed to glance up or pay much mind to his surroundings or his path to find his way. He'd made the journey enough to know it by heart.

He rubbed his eye with the side of his index finger as he went, yawning, and resolved himself to hasten his pace so he might have enough time to stop by a coffee shop on his way.

As if answering his every prayer, Percy passed beside a lit building. He turned his head at the sight of movement in his periphery, blinking owlishly at the familiar face he saw through the glass.

It was the girl, you know the one.

He stood there – ignoring the grumblings of the passerbys shoving past – and watched as she bit the end of a pen before jotting down a note or two on a paper. She was no less stunning than she was a week before, he still felt compelled to stop and stare at her, as if bearing witness to something special, but there was something about seeing her in casual attire that made everything so much worse.

Where before she was almost ethereal in nature – something to yearn for but never touch – like a piece in a gallery you know you can't afford. You want it, you know you want it, the artist knows it, hell, the painting probably does too. You want it, and you're not exactly subtle about it.

But you can't have it. And you know that too.

Still, it's nice to imagine.

But then, somebody goes and puts that painting in yoga pants and a sports bra and, well, maybe you want it just a little more.

Does that make sense?

(Probably not, but the metaphor honestly escaped him like four words in, so just say 'yes' for the sake of moving on with the story, please.)

Eventually, he tore his gaze away and up, reading the shop's name in neon twice before pushing his way through the front door. It hadn't even occurred to him what he was doing until the clerk behind the counter was calling out to him.

"G'morning," they'd said through a yawn that Percy sympathized with, "Welcome to Monster Donuts. What can I get'cha?"

"Err." He hadn't really considered that yet. He'd never been here before. (Actually, now that he really thought about it. He'd never even heard of this place before. How had he passed it by, presumably every day he went to class, and never paid its existence any mind? How had he missed it?) He didn't voice any of his inner turmoil, however, rather letting out a faint 'just a sec' as he scanned the menu.

He'd entered yearning only for a cup of coffee (and, yes, that was his only reason for coming in, nothing else, shut up, shut up, shut up), but now he found his eyes wandering their selection of donut holes, despite himself. It would be a shame, and he himself a sham, if he were to enter a donut shop and leave with anything but, would it not? Besides, breakfast was the most important meal of the day!

Percy heard a snort from the corner of the room – Grey-eyes must've read something funny, he kinda really wanted to know what it was – and it inspired him just enough to make his order. "Let's just do a medium coffee. Uhm." He squinted his eyes as they traced the smaller lettering. "Original blend, creamer, sugar, vanilla syrup, and.. " fuck it, "a triple shot of espresso."

Look, okay, he didn't want to hear it. Not from you, not from the raised eyebrow behind the corner, and certainly not from the choked laughter once again coming from the stranger twice-met. It was early. Like butt-crack of dawn early. Like eleven in the morning early. Practically the witching hour! If he needed a triple shot of espresso to get through it and his courses, then he needed a triple shot of espresso to get through it and his courses. Hop off. It was a free country, wasn't it? He hadn't just dreamed up ten score and seventeen years of American history, had he?

Before the employee could get the opportunity to question his choice or his heart's ability to take the torment, Percy pressed on. "And I'll do a dozen jelly-filled.. " okay, just one question, why? "glazed monster droppings?" He blinked. "Why would you call them that?"

He couldn't be the only one who thought it was weird, could he?

The clerk shrugged and stared at him with eyes dead to the world. He didn't quite think he'd be alone in saying it was creepy. (You agree with him, right? It was creepy, wasn't it?)

"What kind of filling? We've got raspberry, strawberry, blueberry, and mystery."

Percy didn't think he could be blamed for never wanting to uncover what that mystery might be. He'd leave that to Shaggy, Scooby, and the rest of the gang; not really his cup of jo.

(Not with the way the worker stared at him so intently. The student could've sworn for a moment that their pupils were slitted, but he blinked and they were normal.)

(Creepy, no?)

"Blueberry," he answered and swallowed, before quickly paying in the spare quarters and dimes he had stuffed in his backpack's pocket, giving a name when prompted, and hustling as far away as he could manage.

Fortunately (or un, depending on how you looked at it), the furthest place he could hide was already occupied. He wasn't quite sure how the girl felt about sharing her space, nor how she felt about him, but he was willing to take the risk. If he'd learned anything from the limited horror movies he'd suffered through in his life, there was a certain strength in numbers.

It was probably rude, and he was sure his mother would scold him should she ever find out (so, he's asking you to please, please, please not tell her), but he didn't ask before sitting across from the girl.

"Hello again, Perseus," she greeted without looking up.

"Percy." He wanted to say more, like ask if she was as put-off by the potential lizardman in hiding behind the counter as he was, 'cause she certainly didn't seem normal. What with how her posture was not quite as straight as it usually was and how she frowned minutely toward the page she was turning. But, he didn't.

"You took no issue with your name when last we spoke," her lip curled up in resigned amusement as she spoke, just slightly, before she set her pen down and finally graced him with her whole attention and presence, "what changed?"

He wanted to say a lot of different things. When last they spoke she wasn't wearing yoga pants. When last they spoke she wasn't in only a sports bra and a few-sizes too large windbreaker. When last they spoke she didn't have an afro that'd make Angela Davis jealous. But he couldn't. He couldn't say any of that. Because it was all creepy, and perhaps a bit too forward. "When last we spoke we were in a formal gathering," was what he decided in the end, though he felt the silence that preceded it gave his thoughts away, even if only partly.

The girl cocked her head to the side, considering. "I suppose that is true. Though, if that were truly the case, I should have asked for your family name to refer to you by."

He reclined in his chair and grinned. "Is that you asking now?"

A faint, if a little amused, shrug. "Is it?"

Percy squinted his eyes at her, judgingly. "Tell you what," he offered instead, "you tell me your name, I'll tell you mine. Equivalent exchange, and all that jazz."

She tapped her chin as if in thought, but something about the challenge in her smile let him know it would never be so easy. The nameless woman seemed to enjoy this game they were playing and seemed hesitant to call a victor so early. "No," she decided, not that he expected anything different, "I don't think that will be necessary."

"And why not?" Percy frowned. (Her small, answering grin was the only clue he would receive.)

He wanted to reply, to say something smart that would give him the upperhand in their unspoken match, but he was interrupted by the completion of his order.

"Jackson," the clerk called out, before sliding his drink and food over the surface of the counter. Thinking nothing of it, Percy stood and collected it, tossing a belated 'thanks' over his shoulder as he returned to his seat. Just because the girl kinda freaked him out didn't mean he got to be rude to her. Food service was bitch enough without him being one too.

He popped a donut into his mouth as he walked.

Grey-eyes was grinning smugly by the time he was situated and he could only stomach ignoring it for so long before he had to say something. (For the peaceful continuation of the world, of course.) "Alright," he relented, "what is it?" Because something had changed. Her mood had practically made a one-eighty from what it was when he arrived.

"Nothing."

He had a hard time believing it, considering her voice sung of victory and told a story of triumphant conquest, but conceded the point. "Fine. Answer me this, though," he yawned before drinking a bit of his coffee, "what do you do?"

"Pardon?"

"Like for a living. I can't seem to decide if you're a student or if you work for the university or what." He tossed a donut into his mouth and chewed animatedly, just to be obnoxious, before pointing at her. "It's annoying."

"I had no idea you thought upon me so often," then, probably because she could, or maybe she just knew it would annoy him, she parroted one of his earlier remarks, "did I make that good of an impression?"

Percy scoffed, ignoring the way his cheeks felt oddly warm. It was the coffee's fault, he decided, and took another swig. "Hardly."

"If you simply must know, I will tell you. I wouldn't want to keep you up at night with your thoughts of me," she paused and fixed him in place with a look and a hum, "I work as an advisor, of sorts."

"Ah," he replied, rather smartly. So, she was university faculty. He supposed that was the end of that then. There wasn't anything more to come of whatever this was, if she worked for administration then he doubted there would not be some clause that prevented her from pursuing students. It hadn't even occurred to him until that moment that that was what he might have wanted, but now it did, only for it to be cruelly ripped from his grasp. Such was life; a cruel mistress, she was, she was.

He glanced down at the paper between them, assuming their identity to be some important admin work (and probably not something he should be viewing). He tore his gaze up and away. "Well," he nodded and tried for a smile, "consider my curiosity sated. I'll get out of your hair, then, I have class to get to, anyhow."

After he stood, yet before he could leave, he was stopped by the roll of her eyes. As if she knew what he was thinking, she spoke again, managing to indirectly curb his expectations.

"If you must; but, before you go, I thought you should know a.. colleague of mine found your research quite informative. He's not quite versed in avian creatures, considers them outside his domain" she rolled her eyes, and Percy couldn't quite catch what she muttered under her breath, "and thus never considered they, too, might be harmed by water contaminants. He wished for me to relay his thanks to you and yours; I, obviously, agreed to do so. That is all."

"Uhm." Okay, he guesses he might have lied. He could have sworn she said something at this point that clued him in to the fact that she was not, in fact, university faculty. But that certainly wasn't it. "Well.. no problem, I guess?" Then, before he could stop himself, he asked: "Who's your friend?"

"Colleague," she corrected and the student couldn't help but feel like she looked a little nauseous at the thought of the man being anything but, "and he's nobody of importance." A burst of thunder shook the skies, loud enough for it to be close, yet no lightning had lit the room, and Percy was all-of-a-sudden very glad he'd thought to bring a raincoat, as it very quickly started downpouring over the city of Manhattan. Grey-eyes grumbled something under her breath once again, before continuing and correcting herself. "He's simply somebody who cares for the world's oceans and their occupants. He invests in several nonprofits devoted to keeping the oceans clean, among other things."

Percy let out an appreciative whistle. "Damn. Is he looking for a sugar baby?"

"Uh." For the first time since he'd met her, she'd looked genuinely at a loss as for what to say. "I couldn't say. He seems fairly loyal to his wife, though."

Puffing his cheeks out in a dramatic pout, Percy did his best to hide an amused smile. "Oh, well. Missed opportunity, I guess, but it's for the best. He probably wasn't my type, anyway." In this case, his 'type' just refers to females, not cocky academics with pretty faces. Still, that colleague of hers seemed like a man after his own heart. "What's his name?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "Thought it'd be easier than asking for all the non-profits' names. Figured I could try googling him at the school's library, see if there was anything I wanted to get involved in."

Grey-eyes pursed her lips, considering it. Not long, but long enough that Percy thought he might just get his way, but then she shook her head. "You'll laugh."

If Percy was capable of raising a single eyebrow, he absolutely would have. "Why would I laugh?"

She didn't answer, so he stared at her for a moment longer. (Or maybe, possibly a few moments. It was for a good purpose, don't judge him. So what if he wasn't complaining about the chance?)

"Fine," she relented, though she hardly seemed pleased, "he tends to keep his dealings fairly anonymous, but if you were to find anything on him, it would probably be under the pseudonym, 'Poseidon.'"

A beat passed.

And then another.

And then a third.

"You're laughing at me," she lamented, toying at one of her curls in agitation. She crossed her arms when she realized what she was doing, shoving the too-large sleeves up her wrists when they encroached upon her fingers.

Percy pressed his lips together in some vain attempt to stifle his laughter, but the jolting of his shoulders gave him away. "I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you. It was funny."

"It wasn't a joke. That's really what he goes by."

"It didn't have to be. Your presentation is what made it funny." He smiled at her briefly, before sobering and letting his head fall to the side in thought. "Is it okay for him to use a god's name, though? Wouldn't the actual Poseidon take offense?"

Grey-eyes opened her mouth to respond, but stopped short of actually speaking. The rumblings of thunder that followed Percy's question filled the silence as her voice seemed to fail her. The roll of meteorologic might was different than the prior, softer this time. Percy hoped that meant the storm was merely a flash and he wouldn't get soaked the moment he stepped outside.

By the time the skies above had calmed, she was ready to speak. She leaned against the table with her elbows and knit her fingers together to rest her chin upon. "If the god of the seas took offense, I should think he would have sunk the man's vessels long ago, wouldn't you?"

"I suppose." The young man glanced outside for a few moments, watching the water streak down the window's pane, before scratching his head and shrugging. "There was a boy who went to my high school named Apollo. Quiet kid. I never knew him well enough to ask about his name. I guess I've always just been curious. He seemed nice, wouldn't want him to be struck down with the plague because some god didn't appreciate his parents' choice."

When the girl didn't say anything, Percy redirected his attention back her way. She was reclining in her seat now, her face toward the ceiling, seemingly pensive. He allowed himself just a few moments to watch her, taking another sip of his drink as he did. "Well," he continued, "I really ought to head out." He didn't know the time, and with his hands full with coffee and donuts, he had no real way of checking. "I'm probably late enough as is, I don't need to give my professors any more reasons to dislike me. Hopefully, I can rush there before the weather gets any worse."

"Farewell, Perseus." She tore her gaze away from the heavens and nodded her head with a smile, speaking softly. "I'm sure you will be alright. Campus is not too far and I believe the forecast said it would not rain for long." As she spoke she bent over, collecting a paper from a bag hanging from her chair. She raised it slightly, wiggling it around, before tapping along a series of boxes. "See?"

Percy wasn't sure if he believed her, on either front, really. That same paper had been for sale in multiple places throughout the city. He glanced at it in passing and could've sworn it was set to storm into the morrow, and yet..

All at once, the soft pitterings of drops against the glass and puddles outside stopped. The student turned, staring out as the skies opened up and the streets brightened, ever so slightly.

.. perhaps he had seen or remembered wrong. And maybe, if the pretty girl had been right on the first point, she was correct on both. It felt like he'd held her in conversation for a long time – not nearly as long as he had a week prior, but long enough still – so he wasn't sure how it might be possible, but he wouldn't know until he started walking.

He hoped she was right, though, he didn't want to be late.

With that last thought in mind, Percy smiled. "So, it seems. See ya later, Grey-eyes."

"Fare thee well," he heard faintly as the doors shut behind him.

(And as luck would have it, he was just in time. His professor had once joked – or perhaps complained – that it would take divine intervention for Percy to be in his seat and ready to begin at the class's scheduled start. Percy had agreed wholeheartedly, much to the man's chagrin. Neither had any idea just how right they were.)

---

(4)

The past few tales he'd told, Percy felt he'd gotten bogged down in the not-so important details. The nitty-gritty. He doubted anybody really cared about all that – he knew he wouldn't have – so he was going to attempt to do better. To be better.

Skip the boring parts. The exposition. The rising action. Nobody likes those anyways.

That's right; he was starting with the climax this time, that was everybody's favorite. (It's why they named the best part of sex after it. Not to diminish the importance of foreplay, but.. you get it, right?)

So, it gets good right around here:

Percy was in a bad mood, he had been all day. He might've just slept wrong, maybe his breakfast wasn't as filling as it should've been, perhaps it was just the fish that'd died last week, or maybe it was none of those. It wasn't like any of them should be important enough to turn his mood this foul (Or, maybe even it could've been all of the above, a destined outcome that he could never have hoped to escape). It didn't matter. That was exposition shit, and he'd promised to skip it.

He'd gone to Palladium Hall, a short walk from campus, over on 14th street. He was agitated and he felt twitchy despite his exhaustion.

It was there that he'd changed his clothes, peeling off the hoodie and sweats to make way for skin and swim trunks.

His destination was one of the facilities open to students, the biggest one, with options for strength training, cardio, recreation and– and he was doing it again, wasn't he? Sorry. He'd move on.

He swam, hence the swim trunks. He wouldn't bore you with the details. It was a lot of back and forth. Nothing exciting.

After a while, he emerged. His hair: wet. His shoulders: wet. It was a swimming pool; it's water. He caught himself on the edge with his forearms, pulling himself halfway out.

"You weren't half bad out there."

Percy yelped, losing his grip and flopping bonelessly back below the surface. It was the epitome of grace and poise, one that he reckoned anybody other than himself would have difficulty repeating. (Perhaps that didn't quite prove anything.)

He rose with a glower, ready to give whoever it was sitting on the edge of his lane a long talking to about respecting people's reserved spaces. He'd booked a lane for two hours, and he'd make damn well sure he got it for two hours.

His argument, of course, died on his tongue as soon as he opened his eyes because right there, on the edge of the pool, sat Grey-eyes. She didn't look all that different from before, all things considered. Her leggings were a different color and rolled up a bit, probably to keep them out of the water, and her shoes were off, placed haphazardly at her side.

She no longer wore a coat too, which he supposed made sense, but he kinda hated it. It was a lot harder to focus with the light glistening of sweat on her exposed skin.

Her hair was different again, much longer despite the short time since they'd last seen each other, but still falling in loose curls, framing her face like a crown. She looked more dignified and put together than any sweaty gym-goer he'd ever observed before. Her highlights looked fresher now than he remembered too, the blonde tips more vibrant, bright.

"Grey-eyes," he greeted, for lack of anything better to say.

"Hello, Perseus." He hadn't noticed before (or perhaps he was making something out of nothing), but it felt as if her voice twinged with an accent of some sort. Not that he could ever hope to tell which it might be. He found it cute.

He rolled his eyes, gave up on treading water, and propelled himself back toward the edge beside her. "Why do you refuse to call me by my name? Is it so bad to just say Percy?"

"Your mother named you Perseus."

"And my mother calls me Percy."

"Hm."

Huffing, he laid his head on his forearms, with his ear pressed into his skin, and stared over at the girl. Hopefully, uncreepily. "You know this building is accessible only to students, right? How'd you even get in here?"

"Perhaps students are allowed one guest per visit, so long as they are family. Ever consider that?"

With how much tuition was, Percy really doubted it. NYU hardly ever seemed in the giving mood.

"So, what?" He humored her anyway. "You have a sister that goes here or something?"

Under his watchful gaze, she held a hand up in front of her, bobbing her head from side to side as she observed her nails, and pushed back the cuticles she deemed unacceptable. It was a front, and he was pretty sure they both knew it. Grey-eyes gave a little smirk out the corner of her mouth before responding. "A granddaughter, actually."

"Ha, ha, ha. You're hilarious." Also, a very good liar when she wanted to be. He'd have believed her if she didn't look precisely his own age.

"Indeed. And you are Perseus Jackson."

"How did you– ?" He rolled his head around so his face was down and clenched his eyes shut as he groaned. "The donut place? Really? Really? You've been holding it in that long?"

"It was very hard," she agreed, "I won that little showdown only moments after the gauntlet was thrown. It was more difficult to keep from gloating than it was to actually learn your last name."

"You're hardly a gracious victor, you know that?"

Uncaring and unapologetic, she shrugged. "You can't always get what you want, Perseus Jackson."

"Are you quoting the Rolling Stones to me?"

"What? No. It's an idiom."

"Yeah. An idiom that was coined and popularized by the Rolling Stones."

"Irrelevant."

Percy couldn't help it, he threw his head back and laughed. By the time he was done, there was a merry tear that leaked from the corner of his eye and disappeared in the dampness of his cheeks, and it didn't bother him. It was something about the deadpan, monotone way in which she delivered it that got to him.

"What are you doing here?" He asked after a while. It was obvious she hadn't come to swim.

Her eyes were closed as she sat there, once again reclined against her palms. "It's important to stay in shape."

"That's not really an answer."

Without looking, she pointed up in the direction of a few windows. "There's a fitness class in that room, it runs for about an hour and ended not too long ago. I saw you swimming and decided to stop by and talk."

That wasn't really an answer, either.

He stared at the side of her face, frowning. "That simple, huh?"

"That simple." She nodded.

He stayed quiet and continued to watch her. He didn't know if she knew, if she could feel the weight of his gaze, but he didn't really care. She seemed peaceful where she was, circling her legs through the water and creating small ripples in their wake.

"You're troubled," she said at last and Percy would be lying if he said he was surprised by it. It seemed perfectly in character for the enigmatic and eccentric woman he knew the stranger to be. "I've provided counsel to a great many people, perhaps you would benefit from the same."

Humming softly, he followed her lead and shut his eyes.

It was weird, almost. Most of his life and by most people he'd met he'd been called troubled. And yet, it wasn't until now that it finally stopped feeling like a condemnation, and more of an assessment. "I doubt my problems are as important as a multi-billionaire's philanthropic investments."

"Important to whom?"

"This coming from the woman who asked why she should care about a bunch of innocent birds' suffering? You want me to believe you want to hear the woes of Perseus Jackson?"

He was avoiding the problem. So what? You would do the same. (And don't tell him you wouldn't, you dog. You would. Don't lie.)

"Yes, I do," she confirmed easily before finding herself desperate to explain away her behavior, "And that question was merely meant to stimulate discord and challenge you. It was nothing more than a test."

"Historically speaking, I'm a horrible test taker."

He couldn't see it, but he could tell she rolled her eyes, even if he didn't ask for that info and she did not offer it up.

"Did I pass, at least?"

"You did."

Well, he'd be damned. Go him.

Still, he had to know.

"Did anybody else?"

"Nope."

"Why's that?"

Grey-eyes hummed, and Percy heard a faint series of splashes somewhere else in the room. "I see the pursuit of knowledge as a quest of passion. You care deeply for what you study and it shows. The others did not. It is.. respectable."

"Respectable," he echoed.

"Indeed."

"Hm."

They lapsed once again into silence and Percy nearly opened his eyes just to see her face again, but he didn't. His eyes were resting, sue him for being hesitant to wake them.

After an indeterminate amount of time, he spoke again. "My fish died."

"Your fish?"

"Yeah." He nodded into his arms. "My goldfish. Dory."

"You are aware that Dory was a blue tang, not a goldish yes?"

"I am."

"Just checking."

Percy laughed a miserable laugh. "I didn't take you for a fan."

There was another brief silence before she answered, but he could hear the smile on her lips by her tone of voice alone. "I would hardly call myself a fan, but I am familiar with the premise of the film." She paused again, and Percy heard another splash before she continued. "Was she old?"

Huh? "She?"

"Dory. Your fish."

"Oh. Oh, no, sorry. Well, not 'no.' It's actually a yes, Dory was old, but Dory was also a boy."

His companion made a noise in the back of her throat – somewhere between an affronted gasp, an annoyed grumble, and a laugh; perhaps it was one, perhaps it was the other, perhaps it was all three. She didn't even need to voice her question for him to hear it. It was always what followed that little revelation.

"I was a kid, okay? How was I supposed to know he was a boy?"

"You didn't think to check?"

"I was six!" He gasped, offended. "It's not as easy as it sounds."

She grumbled something or other about it 'still not explaining why he named a goldfish Dory' but he chose to ignore that. It's called taking the high road.

As if she could hear his thoughts, a pair of fingers lightly swatted his temple. He grumbled slightly, and shifted further away from her. She must've taken offense to that too, because a fingertip's amount of water was dropped inside the conch of his ear. He chose to ignore that too. (And just in case she really was a mind-reader – somehow – he made sure to whisper his thoughts this time: it's called taking the high road.)

No punishment came that time, so he figured one of three things happened. He was either correct and she could not hear his whispering conscious, she was now more amused than annoyed, or he'd been deluding himself the entire time and mind reading wasn't real.

It was probably the third option, come to think of it.

"So," she said, after a time, "your fish died and that makes you sad. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I'm not sad." He wasn't. "It was just a fish."

"A fish you've lived with longer than you've lived without. It wouldn't be abnormal to experience a feeling of loss or grief after that. People do not just mourn loved ones and friends after death. But favorite possessions, relationships, and things that might've been too."

"You sound like you're reciting some boring webinar on the five stages of grief," he groussed.

She flicked some more water into his face and his cheeks and brows tightened in a flinch. "Fine," she said, though she hardly sounded fine at all, nor did it seem she appreciated his complaints, "why don't you tell me about Dory? I will simply listen and not grace you with my wisdom."

"What's there to tell? I mean: he was a fish, it's not like he could do much. He just sat in his tank and existed. Sometimes he'd move, most of the time he wouldn't."

"Right."

Percy waited for her to say something. He knew she said she would let him speak, that she would just listen, but he didn't fully trust her. She seemed like the type of person to like the sound of their own voice. Vain, or maybe rather cocky. He was probably more similar than he'd like to admit, but sometimes it could be a lot.

Suddenly, the room around him grew warm, a stark contrast to the slight chill of the pool and directly contradictory to the goosebumps spreading over the surface of his skin. It was a sensation unlike any he had experienced before. The air around him felt charged, he felt charged. (He also felt about three degrees away from incineration.) It wasn't all that unalike from how he'd felt all day – agitated and antsy, high strung and wired – but it was wholly external.

Wanting to get away from the warm air and relax slightly, he shoved away from the pool's wall with his feet. He sailed backward into the center of the lane a short distance away. Tipping his head, he gathered some air in his lungs and held there as he spread his arms apart. Then, all at once, he was floating.

He opened his eyes then, staring up at the lofted ceiling and the vents and rafters that stretched across them. Wordlessly, he floated. The world seemed to cool as he did, and he heard a long sigh come from the wayside before the temperature returned to its previous cool. And yet, now, even as everything normalized, he felt his eyes burn and his vision cloud.

Another sound emerged from where Percy knew Grey-eyes to be seated, though he wasn't focused enough to determine its cause. All he knew was his fish was gone and maybe that actually hurt a whole awful lot.

"Dory used to float," he spoke the words like a confession, and maybe it was the closest he could manage, "just like this."

"I know," she murmured from her spot, and he forgave her for sounding close to laughter, "I'm sorry that you lost him. And I'm sorry that you're hurting."

"He was just a fish," he echoed, because that was all that should've mattered.

"He wasn't just a fish."

"But he was."

"Do you really believe that, or is it what you're telling yourself to make it hurt less?"

"I– I just– he– " Percy tightened his eyelids, clenching them with every bit of strength he had. (Maybe then he could ignore the tears in their corners). "For a long time, I guess he was all I had. It was me, my mom, and my fish. I didn't have friends, I didn't have a dad, I didn't– " He cut himself off and shook his head. "When things got bad or, or when I was down, there was always my fish. It pissed Gabe off to no end, I think he might've hated that fish more than he hated me." He let out a chuckle that was anything but happy before he shrugged. "Whatever. I just.. I guess you were right. I've had him longer than I haven't. It's weird to think that from now on it'll stay that way. Even if I have friends now, and a family, a sister, it's just going to be weird," he finished, before tacking on another 'I guess' in posterity.

Sighing, he wiped the first and last of his tears from his eyes and allowed his body to submerge beneath the water's surface. A few moments later, he shot back to the surface. His surging sent water in every direction. (Grey-eyes would glare and insist most of it went her way, despite her clothes looking completely dry). And he swam back to the wall before pulling himself out, sitting on the edge.

He turned to his companion, wanting to let her know he was feeling better with a big smile, only to realize the mistake he'd made (and all too late, too). She answered his grin with a gleam in her eyes and a smirk.

"Are you serious?" Percy couldn't help but lament her attitude because honestly? Honestly. She really was a cocky woman. (He didn't hate it.)

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to. I can see it in your face! You're so smug!" He laughed lightly when she wiped her expression clean, trying (and failing) to maintain a blank face. "Unbelievable," he crowed, "you're unbelievable. I'm out here pouring my heart out and all you are concerned about is winning an argument?"

"You said I sounded like a webinar! I think I'm well within my right to hold a grudge!" She prodded him in the rib and he recoiled from the pressure, swatting her hand away. "And I was right, anyway. You were mourning."

"Fine, fine!" He scowled playfully and swatted her hand away when she went for another poke. "Maybe I was, but that doesn't mean you need to pick a fight over it!"

"It wasn't a fight," she assured, "I've been in fights, that was nothing of the sort." Then, she grinned something feral, and – not for the first time – Percy found himself doubting she was even human. She had to be something higher – some apex predator of sorts, maybe she was a keystone species. "It was a massacre."

Percy unceremoniously and unflinchingly shoved her face-first into the pool.

(Never one to take defeat graciously, she dragged him in with her as she squealed.)

He hoped none of the other swimmers would mind their splashing, he'd be the first to admit that their little water war had gotten slightly out of hand, but they had tried to keep it contained to his lane. He promises.

He wasn't going to apologize, though, because their chorus of laughs was well worth it and he wouldn't have meant it.

---

"You do care."

"What? No. Shut up."

Percy yawned as he floated around and shrugged lethargically as he watched her. She was fussing with her hair in a way that was offensively distracting; though she hardly seemed to notice it.

"You try to act all tough, playing your demon' avocado or whatever– "

A splash hit his face as she corrected him, "Devil's advocate."

He ignored both.

"–but you're really just a big ol' softy."

Grey-eyes shook her head with pursed lips. "You're seeing only what you want to see."

Percy merely shrugged.

His attention had a history of being particularly selective, but that didn't change how much lighter his backpack felt on his shoulders as he made his way home.

---

(5)

Percy was not one to admit defeat.

He wasn't.

It left a sour taste in his mouth – giving up – and it was one he didn't enjoy. His mother blamed it on his stubborn nature (comparing him to a mule more often than not), even going so far as to say he would make an excellent lawyer with how he refused to give up an argument. (His explanation was far simpler. He had a preference for sweet things. It was her fault too, with how often she brought candies home from work.)

So, Percy did not like to concede.

Unless (unless, unless, unless) it had something to do with studying. Or reading. Or taking photos. Or the arts. Then – and only then – did he have absolutely no problem throwing in the towel. Preferred it – relished it – even.

It was not often that he found something new to add to that list.

Today was that 'not often.'

He rubbed a tired hand over his brow as he scanned the shelf before him. There were just so, many, options.

How was he meant to choose? It just wasn't possible. It wasn't realistic.

How great a man must one be in order to know which a five year old would prefer? 'Chicka Chicka Boom Boom' or 'If You Give a Mouse a Cookie?' Greater than he, that much was certain.

Percy sighed as he scanned the shelves at the store once–twice–thrice more, trying to find anything (literally anything) that jumped out to him as right. Nothing did, not that he expected anything different after thirty minutes of very-much the same.

He was still there searching when he felt a familiar presence at his back, not even questioning how they knew he was here. Soon, a pair of arms ensnared his waist and he let out a breathy sigh as he leaned into the embrace.

"Now," a voice called, coy, and right at his ear, "I'm aware you dislike reading, but surely you are aware this not quite your reading level, no?" If they had left it there, it could almost be mistaken for a compliment, but then they went on to add, "I believe the picture books are that way."

A finger appeared before his eyes, pointing off stage left, and Percy smacked it away before escaping the voice's arms, feigning annoyance. Knowing it would annoy them (and unable to help the tiny grin that appeared as he spoke), he countered, "As I live and breed! Are you calling me dumb, Grey-eyes?"

The woman's namesake rolled playfully in her skull. "You know that's not the saying, idiot, why are you like this?"

"Because its fun?"

The familiar stranger hummed carefully as she plucked a book from the shelf, thumbing through the pages contemplatively. It was clear, however, that she was paying its contents little mind. She glanced up through the fringe of her bangs, her gaze roving over Percy's form where he leaned against the wall.

Suspicious, Percy's narrowed eyes followed her arm as she pushed the book back into place beside its brothers. "Did you even read any of that?"

Another hum, this time sounding more affirmative than dismissive.

"What was it about then?"

She cast a quick glance back to the book's spine before answering. "There was a fish in the ocean with quite attractive scales, so much so, that all the other fish envied them for their beauty. The others wished to share in the grandeur, so that they might all be winsome. The fish denied them, as those scales were their own and they did not wish to part with them." As she spoke, her attention was pulled back to the shelves, which she perused with a wandering eye and tentative finger. "Through the story, the fish learns the joy to be found in making friends, and how that is more important than any superficial beauty." She glanced over her shoulder as she finished. "It's a lesson on vanity and pride, meant to teach children to value kindness."

They held one another's gaze for several intimidating moments before Percy snorted, shook his head, and muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing," he waved her off, "do you think it would be a good book for Estelle?"

"Your sister?" Grey-eyes hummed thoughtfully, glancing back to the book's home on the shelf. "I don't see why not. It's educational and aesthetic, most children would– "

"No, no, you're right," Percy sighed, almost mournfully, "No sister of mine would want to be anywhere near something even remotely educational." His nose crinkled and his tongue mlemed at the thought. "Blehck."

"What? That is so not what I was going to say."

"Really?" He acted as if the notion had never occurred to him. "Thought you were some kind of genius, y'should've known that was the right answer."

She said nothing as Percy walked back over, closing the gap between them, only to surprise him with a firm smack to the arm as soon as he was within range. "Don't make an ass of yourself."

(Well, he had mentioned something or other about being called a mule, hadn't he?)

Another smack, this time completely unwarranted. "Hey!" He hadn't even said anything. Percy pushed some air into his cheeks and furrowed his brow in an overdramatic pout. "Uncalled for."

"So that's why you're here?" Grey-eyes asked, ignoring his indignation, "A book for your sister?" She glanced around the rest of the shop owlishly. "Never thought I'd see the day the great Perseus Jackson stepped within a half mile of a bookstore." Then, almost as an afterthought, "I thought you'd applied for a restraining orders on books?"

At first glance, it almost sounded like she was making a joke, but Percy knew better. Grey-eyes doesn't make jokes, what she makes is fun of him.

"I told you that in confidence."

Mockingly, she glanced around, only to point out the general lack of anybody anywhere close. Jerk. "Confidence that," she said as soon as it was clear he knew they were alone, "I will remind you, remains unbroken."

Percy grumbled to himself, but let it slide.

As he turned his attention back to the bookshelves, he saw his companion do the same, and for a moment there was peace on Earth.

"I am curious, however," it did not last, "what your thought process was, though." She turned to face him fully, cocking her head to the side in a gesture that was a mockery of innocence.

"I was thinking," she made a noise at that, which, like, true, but rude. Just for that, he was going to break out the big words, "that if I could establish a history of negative psychological influence perpetuated by higher education literature, that it might institute precedence in the judicial system for future students to get restraining orders on textbooks. It's called the 'common good,' Grey-eyes, philanthropy, and I stand by my decision."

"Did the judge?"

"No," he admitted, glumly, "but he commended my ingenuity and wished me luck."

"Mhmm." She hummed, stretching to try to reach a book on the top shelf, sighing when Percy intercepted it for her. "What class was that for, anyway?"

"Well, the inspiration was my honors writing seminar freshman year. They gave the professors complete authority when choosing genres for study. Mine chose romance."

"Ew."

"I know," at least he could always count on Grey-eyes and her distaste for that specific subject. Normally, she'd lecture him on the sanctity of all literature and the discourse even poorly written and unfounded books can open up, but love stories never earned themselves the same benefit of the doubt in her mind. "It was all just raunchy smut. I don't even understand why it was allowed."

Beside him, his companion shrugged. "Blame the bane of Troy, that's what I always do."

Percy glanced over, blinking. "Athena?"

He watched, confused, as Grey-eyes startled, fumbling her book as she spun to face him. "What did you say?"

Her reaction was.. strange, especially for somebody who is typically so much more composed. Percy, though, did his best to ignore it. (He thinks he did a good job too, managing to tear his eyes away from her after only a few seconds of staring.) Gently pulling the book from her grasp, he placed it back in its home and said, "Athena. The Goddess of Wisdom and all that," there was another noise then, almost the sound you'd expect from somebody being stabbed, yet another one he chose to ignore, "she was tasked with meddling with the truce, right? She caused the fall of Troy."

A few seconds of silence passed and Percy almost turned away from the book he was inspecting (what in the world even was 'The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales'), but then Grey-eyes was speaking again. And flicking his temple, which felt mildly uncalled for. "It was the goddess of love that caused the downfall, idiot, if not for Paris and Helen's forbidden love than the war never would've started."

"Right," he said, because it was, "But, like, logically, the Greeks never would've made it inside the walls without the horse. And that was all Athena, wasn't it?"

"I suppose you have a point, that was a great idea." He doesn't remember saying that, but go off, he guesses. "However, if you consider Cassandra's prophecy, it did not say 'the kingdom of Troy will fall to a wooden horse,' rather that the son of Priam would bring about her defeat. He was diluted into loving Helen and thus the stones were cast."

"So.. what? There's no free will? A prophecy said Paris would cause the fall of his father's homeland so that is what happened?"

A raised brow disappeared behind several curly bangs. "Isn't it?"

Percy thought about it for a moment, but ultimately decided that no. It wasn't. "You can't blame Aphrodite for forcing Paris and Helen together without acknowledging the part the other god's played. Hera's contempt, Apollo's vengeance, Poseidon's walls, Athena's plans." With each name mentioned, Grey-eyes winced more and more, and her shoulders reached higher and higher heights. Percy took it as a sign of an argument won and pushed on. "If you want to talk about who was most at fault, how can the blame be pinned on the action of a mortal? The consequences of Paris's decisions are small in comparison to a deity's, are they not?"

"But at the end of the day, the mortals are the ones susceptible to prophecy, not the gods."

"Let's say that's true," he challenged, "let's say Cassandra spoke her prophecy and Paris was cursed to cause the fall of Troy. Does he have no longer have autonomy? He could choose to run, to flee to the farthest corner of the globe, and his choice would cast his home aflame. He could claw love from his heart and reject his feelings for Helen, but a foe other than Menelaus would emerge and blow through their walls?" ("Is that not what happened with Oedipus? Attempts to escape fate do little," she would counter, and wouldn't necessarily be wrong to do so). His foot tapped on the ground as he spoke, poking a different toe which each and every hypothetical he thought of. His energy was slightly manic, but it was a really interesting topic, so he thinks it can be excused. "It all just feels.. fatalistic. Why would he, we, anyone do anything if everything is predetermined? There's no free will there. He's nothing more than a puppet on the strings of three watery tarts."

"Please don't refer to the fates as 'watery tarts.'"

"It's a movie quote!"

"One I'm just not sure they'll appreciate as much as you do." Percy would clearly say nothing more on the matter, so Grey-eyes continued. "As to your point, I believe that that is the lot of mortals. Can you honestly say that if left in the hands of your peers or your governers, the world would not inevitably fall apart? Higher powers are needed to keep the realm stable. It is simply the way of things."

Percy turned to her, squinting, only to blink when he realized how close they'd gotten. Grey-eyes' shoulder was pressed into his at an acute angle, and she was staring up at him from beneath his chin. He took a moment to appreciate the proximity before frowning as a thought occurred to him. "Do the gods even have free will?"

"What?" Ah, there goes the closeness. (You will be missed, dear friend.) His companion leaned back, squinting at him as if he were speaking in heiroglyphs. Which, for those of you who don't understand, would likely sound like gibberish. "Of course, they do."

"Wait now, hold on," he laughed and grabbed her shoulder, preventing her from fleeing any further away, "I'm serious. How much of Paris's life would you claim was foretold? Just the inevitably of how it all ends? Or the journey it takes, too?"

"I suppose," she swallowed and he could hear it, "that if it were as you say, then the task would fall to the second sister as the apportioner. Some claim she only determines the measurement of one's string, while others might suggest she decides something akin to destiny and trials."

"Then, hypothetically speaking, if Paris's end was not only foretold in the auguries but also the events of his life, then free will is impossible for both man and god alike." A quick glance revealed a healthy dose of skepticism wafting off his friend. "Alright. So, Paris's life was predetermined. His parents were never going to kill him. He was always going to fall for Helen. That arrow was always going to strike true. And Troy was always going to fall."

".. okay."

"For each of those to happen, Cassandra was always going to be cursed, Paris was always going to be enraptured by Helen, Achilles was always going to fall, and the horse was always going to be made." Each event the product of divine intervention. Apollo laid the curse on Cassandra for daring to reject his advances. Aphrodite made that promise to Paris to win the contest of beauty. Apollo guided the shot because Achilles killed his son. Athena inspired the Greeks because Hera asked her to. "If every act Paris made was written and every act was borne of the gods' will, then the gods' will, too, must be written."

Softly, and with a warm puff of air, Grey-eyes bumped her forehead into Percy's jaw. "That makes," and she cannot stress this enough, "almost no sense." (Harsh, but probably valid.) A groan rose from her throat, sending vibrations through each of their faces. "Pretty sure you gave me a headache."

"Oh, uh," he leaned back and tried to look down at her, but her face was already tucked into his shoulder, hidden from view. "Sorry?"

The hand waving lazily through the air told him he was either forgiven or never blamed, but he still felt bad. If he'd known his nonsense was weapons-grade, he would've stopped rambling ages ago.

"No," she muttered, as if hearing his thoughts, and smacked his shoulder so lightly he barely even realized it happened, "You did nothing wrong. It was bound to happen."

"It was?" Did she have some kind of precognition for headaches? That's, like, literally the worst superpower in the history of superpowers. "Are you sick or something?"

A sigh. "No, Perseus, I am not sick. They've just been more frequent lately."

Oh. Migraines were a bitch. (Still, he wondered why he never noticed she suffered from them. Or why she never mentioned it. Unless it was simly a recent thing?)

In the end, and with a healthy amount of advice from Grey-eyes (read: she totally picked every one out), they had a gift for Estelle. Unfortunately, Percy was.. let's say dissuaded (read: threatened) from purchasing the fish book. According to Grey-eyes, the world already had one marine-biologist with Jackson blood, and she wasn't convinced it could survive another.

They exited the store soon after, several dollars lighter, several books heavier.

Percy didn't really have a destination in mind when they set off, rather content to just wander the streets of New York until one (or both) of them needed to head out. He and his companion were not, however, of similar minds when it came to pathing; as it became clear quite quickly that she was subtly prodding him in specific directions. He'd attempt to cross the street to the right only to bump into her left, being forced to walk through her or follow her lead.

If you were in his position, you'd make the same choice he did. Don't delude yourself and say you wouldn't, girl is built. The chances of getting through her were lower than low.

They spoke as they walked. (He didn't really think that needed to be said, it would be rather awkward to walk all this way in silence, wouldn't it? Regardless, it was said now, and it couldn't be taken back, so just deal with it, learn from it, and move on.)

She'd inquire upon his classes, and he'd say they were going well.

She'd ask for specifics (because that's just who she is), and he'd give them freely.

Invertebrate Anatomy was fun, but the textbook left something to be desired. (Refer to failed legislation P. .23 on whether restraining orders can be claimed against inanimate objects for more info.)

Marine Ecology was cool. And still easy.

Sculpture was, as always, impossible, improbably, and impractical.

Professor Pothitos was still asking after her, and yes it stung a little. He can't be blamed for that! The man's accent was amazing, if Paul hadn't come into Percy's life, the daddy issues would be so suffocating he doubted his ability to live without the professor's praise. He meets Grey-eyes once and the man's falling over himself trying to thank her for teaching Percy proper study habits. (As if he never studied before. Which, he didn't, but still!)

There was probably more info to give, but that Pothitos point really got him hung up.

Finals were coming up, that much he recalled saying, but as a graduating senior that meant little and less. As such, there likely wouldn't be any more late-night study sessions spent with one another in the library. A sentence he was slightly appalled to admit was disquieting.

He worried, however briefly, that that would be that. If now was where this relationship (mutual interaction? tentative companionship? slightly-more-than-strangers-but-still-strangers-just-with-a-lot-of-unresolved-feelings-ship?) would end. But, then he would remind himself of days like today. Days where he was not at school, nor was he studying, and she'd still seek him out for company.

It should probably be off putting to know next to nothing about a person you see so often. To not know their name, to not have their number, to not interact lest they wish it. Most people would be terrified of somebody who always knew their location, with neither rhyme nor reason as to why.

Perseus Jackson – fortunately to all – was not most people.

Of course, the fact that he wasn't entirely bothered by their lack of shared information didn't mean he never tried to learn (or earn) it. Nor did it mean he did not wish to know it, not in the slightest.

In truth, he thought about it quite often. Too often, perhaps. But sometime ago decided he'd rather have the name voluntarily given, rather than pilfered. (Further still, he'd rather never know, than sacrifice moments like these.)

(Maybe that wasn't healthy, but wasn't that why he swam all the time? The exercise counteracted his unhealthy habits..)

Eventually, and miraculously, she ran out of questions, allowing Percy to finally get a word in edgewise.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

Well. He never said his word was going to be particularly helpful. Just that it existed.

Grey-eyes made a gesture with her hand, but he didn't catch her drift. Sighing, she grabbed the bag from his arms and tugged a book out from within. It fell on Percy to guide both of them seamlessly through the growing crowds as she read, something he wished he could say he didn't have experience with, but couldn't.

They'd made it approximately three streets over (give or take three streets, he wasn't really paying attention) when she spoke again. "How do you feel about children?"

An admittedly strange question to ask out of nowhere, but excusable considering the book in her hands. "Uhm," he started strong, "I dunno. Never really thought about it, I guess." He glanced over at her, but she was already staring at him. "Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity, mostly." A shrug answered him, before she glanced around, taking in their surroundings, before pushing him down a different street. "Though, I suppose the question only popped into my head because of this," she wiggled the book around, "and because of the destiny talks."

"The.. destiny talks?"

"Well," she shrugged again, "yeah, I suppose. I just feel like people are destined for certain things and you're destined to be a great dad someday."

"Oh. Well, uhm. Thank you?" It was a nice compliment. He was kinda a slut for a nice compliment. She knew that, which is probably why she gave it. "I'm still pretty young, so that makes me worry. It would be nice to have a secure job with good income, but I suppose that, with the right partner, a kid (or kids) would be nice someday."

Whatever her reasoning or rationale behind that line of questioning (and whatever answer she was expecting to hear), he at least seemed to find one that satisfied her whim. She smiled up at him faintly and nodded before taking a left at the corner, prodding him to do the same.

For not the first time (nor likely the last), Percy found himself content to follow wherever it was she was leading.

He simply hoped they had the same destination in mind

(They did.)

(They didn't.)

---

(+1)

In the end, he wasn't wrong, not entirely; all of these different moments in time were leading them somewhere: here. Now.

The night sky over the city that never sleeps only served to give more credence to the epithet. Completely unlike how it was nearly a week prior, when fireworks lit up the skylines in celebration of the nation's anniversary.

Now, the lights of the city reflected beautifully over the east river between where his dad's car sat and Roosevelt Island, but Percy couldn't help but scowl at the sight.

He shouldn't be seeing them, not right now.

Right now he should be another few miles down the road, not listening to his phone's incessant buzzing whilst waiting for all the cars between him and his destination to be just about anywhere else.

The car just ahead – some rundown town-and-country – inched forward, just a hair. The harsh reds of its tail-lights ceasing for only a moment before flaring back to life. It lasted just long enough for Percy to see the sign they both hid, its bold letting taunting him. '40 MPH' it read. He glanced down at his speedometer, just to be certain he wasn't mistaken. (He wasn't.) A big, ol' goose egg. Zero. Nada.

Whatever noise was building in his throat – a sigh, a groan, a scream – died off as his phone began its song anew.

His eyes were pulled to the small screen on its face, it read the time, but he ignored it. His thumb snuck its way up to the antennae, toying with its edge, before retreating. The phone number for his parent's landline flitted across its surface, not that he expected anything different, it'd been the same every other time he'd checked. And just like all those other times, he ignored it and returned his eyes to the road.

His hands tapped idly at the wheel. He fidgeted in his seat. The phone rang again.

The car before him inched forward some more. He followed closely behind.

A siren in the distance. He rolled his window down, poked his head out. Ahead. The siren was ahead.

He rolled his window back up.

His phone rang again.

He tossed it in the back seat.

It rang again. It was still too loud–too close.

He needed it off.

There was a lump digging into his back.

It was one that he hadn't fully noticed until now, but one that he did not care to suffer any longer. He tugged at it, scowling when it shifted only slightly. He tugged harder, yet had nothing to show for it. He moved forward, trying to give himself room to work, but was halted abruptly by a harsh tug.

Scowl deepening, Percy tore his seatbelt from its latch, throwing it over his shoulder. He ignored the noise it made as it collided with the window, uncaring, and stood.

His head collided with the roof, tearing fumbled curses from his throat, but he gave himself enough room to grab ahold of the offending object and finally yank it free. Like a magician with fabric stuffed up their sleeve, he kept pulling until the entirety of the blanket was revealed before tossing it as far away as he could. He wasn't quite sure where it went, nor did he care enough to bother checking.

(The next time the phone rang, it was muffled, so it must've landed well.)

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognized that nothing he was doing was rational. That the heat creeping up his neck, settling (un)comfortably just beneath the corners of his downturned lips and firm-set frown, was a result of his rapidly growing frustration. That he should have waited longer before stealing Paul's keys and making off into the night, but honestly? He didn't even remember doing it. He didn't. Or maybe he did and he just didn't want to venture to that point in his memories.

He'd have to face it all sometime, he knew that, just–just not now. He couldn't do it right now.

So: later.

He could almost nod his head. Later.

A siren blared in the distance, his phone rang, a car honked.

He punched the steering wheel.

It wasn't a conscious thing. He didn't even recognize he'd done it until pain was flaring up the side of his hand – throbbing and angry.

His face heated once more, the flush only growing brighter as shame mixed and swirled with his earlier frustrations.

He took a few calming breaths, just as he was taught when he was still young and angry, back when the only thing he seemed any good at was bringing his mother shame and hurt and pain. (The 'back when Gabe was still around' went unsaid, unthought, and unheard, no matter how important of a mitigator it might be.)

And just like he could almost nod, it almost helped.

But: then his phone rang.

His arm was swinging before he could stop it.

He cursed, loudly and colorfully, as the pain flared to twice its previous. It was times like this that Percy never doubted his biological dad's history of sailing, nor his first step-father's assessment of him. He was exactly who he said he was. Nothing more than a troubled kid who wasn't worth any.

Which only made the reality of his situation all the worse, because why, why, why–

Brake lights were shutting off up ahead and cars were starting to move, Percy's amongst them as he made his way further southwest.

He passed an area with pieces of plastic scattered about in puddles of various sizes. It was probably where the crash holding everybody up was. He drove past without so much as a sideways glance.

His fingers drummed along the wheel once more, only to stop soon after as he wrenched it around to turn right onto East 34th. The rest of his trip was short in distance and long in time, the still withdrawing traffic making sure it was horrifically slow going.

The parking garage beneath his destination was dark and dank, but he found a spot easily enough. There weren't as many workers sticking around this late. He was glad for it.

A few minutes later, he walked into the lobby of the Empire State Building.

He must have looked a fright, with his bruised knuckles and sunken eyes. It felt like he hadn't slept in at least twenty-four hours.

Still, he marched up to the guard at the front desk and said, "Six hundredth floor," with all the confidence of the gods.

The man was reading a huge book with a picture of a wizard on the front. Percy couldn't say he'd ever read it before (again, reading, blegh), but it must be good for how long it took the guard to look up. "No such thing."

"I need to get to Olympus."

His request was awarded with a particularly vacant smile. "Sorry?"

"You heard me."

It dawned on Percy that there was a small, yet non-zero, chance that this guy was just a regular mortal (like him) and he'd better run for it before he called the straitjacket patrol, when the man inclined his head slightly, just for a moment and said, "Do I need to call for backup, or will you peacefully vacate the premises?"

He really ought to give in before he makes things worse. It was the smart thing to do. (But only four people ever insisted Percy was smart, three of them were back home, and the other.. well–)

He wasn't going to. Perhaps some time in solitary would serve him well, get his mind right; in all honesty, he'd felt entirely off-kilter since that morning. Maybe he was insane. His day had been nothing but world-shattering surprise after world-shattering surprise, it would be quite relieving to learn this was all some massive jape. A prank. A joke. To be insane and delusional and hallucinating it all would be a blessing compared to reality.

Still, he persisted. He was stubborn like that.

Nearly growling (and wow, he didn't even know he could make that sound!), Percy bent over at the waist. There was a box at his feet, one he'd lugged inside against his hip, and he picked it up once more. The corner clipped the man's book as it came down upon the counter, finally drawing the man's eyes and attention away from it.

"This was delivered to my doorstep, but the address was wrong," it wasn't, but this schmuck didn't need to know that, "I was hoping to return it to its sender."

It hardly seemed to impress the man. "Most shipping companies have policies in place for events such as this. I am certain you will find that none of them involve me."

"Most shipping companies don't retrieve and send postals from, oh dear, what did it say again?" He peered over the top of the box, glancing at the shipping label. "Mount Olympus. 600th floor, Empire State Building, New York, New York."

A sigh. "Do you have an appointment?"

He was going to smack him, he was. If one more 'fuck you' shaped word came pouring out this security guard's mouth Percy doubted he could stop himself from lunging over the counter, tackling him, and wrestling whatever secrets the man held from his lips.

Feigning rationality, Percy merely sucked in a few deep breaths, grit his teeth, and clenched his fists so tight his nails dug into his palms. "No," he answered.

"No appointment, no audience. Mortals are not given free access to the heavens, as I am certain you can imagine."

Huh. So, that probably counted as proof that the gods were real. (And, as it would turn out, having the worst of his fears confirmed didn't put him any more at ease. Go figure.)

"Great," Percy declared, for lack of anything better, "great. So, out of curiosity, how do you get an audience?"

The security guard said nothing for one breath and then another. "You don't."

Percy blinked and there was a hand gripping his wrist. He looked to it, momentarily taken aback, but found the tether quite justified. Perhaps the more immediately important information was not the fingers digging into his skin, nor the slightly precarious position of his body over the counter, but rather the way his fingers grasped at the man's shirt.

It would seem he did not temper his desire to lunge at the man quite so fervently.

The guard's blue eyes were wide, his right arm the one raised up to grab at Percy's. He wasn't off the ground, not really, but his heels were, and his toes were near close to follow. The man's left arm, Percy noted, had dropped down to his hip. His fingers slowly inching toward the radio that hung from his belt.

Realizing that there was very little chance this night would not end with him anywhere but in a cell, and it was probably better not to flee the scene and bring more trouble to his parents, Percy stayed. His heart pounded in his chest, but he stayed. His shoulder ached and strained under the guard's weight, but he stayed. He really shouldn't, but he stayed.

And maybe he was feeling a little desperate. For answers, for the truth, for something.

So, he stayed.

He hoped it was the right choice, because he didn't know. He just– hedidn't know anymore.

He felt lost. Adrift in the ocean, letting the planet and the celestials pull him along to their whims, yet never in the same direction. Soon enough, it would come to be too much, one would tug too hard, and he'd lose his grip.

Percy opened his mouth, about to say something–anything to plead his case, to somehow get this man to understand that he needed to get up there. Needed it like a fish needs water, like a ship needs wind. He'd grovel if that is what it took, even pray; he was never a particularly pious man, never thought much on what lay beyond what was before him. In his mind, the gods were always meant to be good. His mother never mentioned it, but he grew up on stories of the old faiths. Artemis and her hunt, Apollo and his prophets, Hermes and his cattle.

To a child of six, they were simple comforts when Gabe was drunk again. Just think: immortal beings of limitless power, what scared child wouldn't wish to trade places? So, when the apartment grew loud with shouts and his breathing grew quiet and shallow with fear, he would imagine himself as one of them. Zeus or Hades or Poseidon. And in his mind, he would picture himself picking up his father's scythe and cutting him up into a million pieces, so he could never yell at him or his mother again, so he and his Rhea could sleep peacefully. For a child of six, it was a small comfort.

To a boy of ten and one, they were a source of entertainment and fascination. When his mother and he traveled to that little beachside cabin in Montauk (as they always would when life grew to me too much), he would run off to the bank, throwing his arms around like it was he who pushed and pulled the tides, not the moon. Later, he'd swing a stick around like it was a sword and he, Achilles. His mother would play along, laughing, and tickle his heel – his weak point – before informing him that dinner would be ready before long and he ought to wash up. He'd pretend his clothes were the armor he donned and now doffed and the quesadilla she served him was a feast in his name.

To a man of twenty and two, the stories had been absent from his mind outside his studies. They were names on a page, antiquated beliefs strife with falsehoods. America was secular, but America was Christian. The Greek Gods, as they were described in their tales, were not good, nor were they kind. Not like the God of his peers. They were petty and cruel. Vindictive. A slight against a mother was met with the murder of innocent children – babes and otherwise, the champion of a contest awarded with a monstrous curse for a trophy. Was it so strange for him to wish them to be anything but? To imagine them as closer to what the rest of his peers believed their God to be? He held no faith in either, so he thought not.

Perhaps he was wrong. Wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last.

Perhaps the Gods were just as the stories described, and his assumptions were only that.

He knew now that they were real. That there were Gods. Most people would take it as a sign to begin praying, to start paying their respects to the almighty, but Percy could not get past the what ifs.

The thought of praying to such a people turned his stomach, burned his throat. Even if he wished it, he knew it would not come easy. But, he would do it, if it meant he could get answers.

So, Percy opened his mouth, intending to plead his case, but it was unnecessary.

A strange look crossed the guard's face as his grip slackened – just slightly. Percy had a hard time placing it at first. The glossy eyes, the parted lips, the pallor cheeks. The presence of absence and absence of presence. He'd seen it before, he knew he had, and it dawned on him quickly: the rough faces of some of those he'd witnessed on the streets.

He looked like a user.

Percy doubted he was.

There was a certain vacancy that occurred in their faces – as if they were there, but weren't. He'd heard it likened to a soulless body, one persisting for the sake of persistence. He could not say if it was meant to be a kind description, but it felt accurate.

The life that crept out of the man's eyes sprung back with a vengeance, the grip tightening once more, and Percy barely managed to keep from jumping. The man grumbled something fierce under his breath before looking back to Percy. He raised his arms – both arms – in a placating gesture and politely asked, "Put me down?"

He did, though he couldn't say how much was by intention versus reaction.

It paid off, for the man retrieved a keycard from within his desk and raised it up. But, when Percy reached for it, he drew it away. "You appear to have a friend on Olympus," his blue eyes narrowed as he lowered the card into Percy's outstretched palm, "word of advice? There's no such thing for men like you."

Not wanting to anger the man further, Percy acquiesced, even as his thoughts ran wild. "Thanks," he mumbled. He could only imagine that this 'friend' of his was the one he had to thank for getting through the gates of heaven. They must have spoken into the man's mind – it was the only explanation he could manage.

He wondered, ever so briefly, who his mysterious benefactor could be, before reaching a certain conclusion. It was her. It had to be. He knew no others within the mountaintop city, not in any capacity that would lend them to vouch for him.

Still, he was never one to lick a gift horse in the mouth.

Then again, he was never one to lick many things in the mouth. (And wasn't ignoring that what got him into this mess to begin with?)

Percy walked into the elevator to the sounds of "It's look, you daft– !" echoing behind him.

As instructed, he inserted the security card into its appropriate slot. The card disappeared and a new button appeared on the console, a red one that said '600.'

He pressed it.

Then: he waited and he waited.

It was around the fourth minute when he finally squinted his eyes and glanced up at the overhead speakers, humming thoughtfully.

It was during the seventh when he confirmed that it was, in fact, one song playing on repeat. (And not even a good one.)

He slipped his way out as soon as the doors began to part, not wishing to hear of any more raindrops falling on any more heads. (It was raining, he got it, please stop telling him.)

Sucking in a deep breath, Percy opened his eyes. He felt his heart stutter in his chest.

The walkway between the entrance and the city was narrow, stone, and completely lacking in safety standards. It bore no railings, nor any protections for the naturally clumsy for all he could tell. Below him, sprawled Manhattan. It looked as it would from an airplane: small for a place that had always seemed so large. He thought he could make out Central Park in the distance and from there it was not hard to estimate the location of his mother's apartment.

A few places were easier to spot. The Empire State Building stood small at his feet, no larger in his eye than a lego would be upon the floor. Though, he expected it would be more painful to step on. The Flatiron building was there, looking even more like a wedge of cheese from this height. To the south, he could just about spot the World Trade Center bordering the river that separated the city from New Jersey.

Forcefully, he pulled his eyes away from his home. For the first time in his life, he spied a sight no mortal should ever be privy to.

In front of him, white marble steps wound up the spine of a cloud, into the sky. His eyes followed the stairway to its end, where his brain simply could not accept what he saw.

Look again, it seemed to plead.

We're looking, his eyes insisted. It was really there.

Olympus.

It was not a work of fiction. The city of the Gods was real, as were they. As real as him, as real as you, as real as anything. What a thought.

The realization sunk low in his chest, lodging somewhere in his throat. It made it hard to swallow. He felt himself become sick to his stomach and wondered if Olympus offered public access to restrooms. He'd forgotten to grab his wallet in his flight from his apartment, so he wouldn't have the change to make a purchase if necessary.

From the top of the clouds rose the decapitated peak of a mountain, its summit covered with snow. Clinging to the mountainside were dozens of multileveled palaces – a city of mansions – all with white-columned porticos, gilded terraces, and bronze braziers flowing with a thousand fires.

Roads wound crazily up the peak, where the largest palace gleamed against the snow. Precariously perched gardens bloomed with olive trees and rose bushes. He could make out an open-air market filled with colorful tents, a stone amphitheater built on one side of the mountain, a hippodrome and a coliseum on the other. It was an Ancient Greek city, except it wasn't in ruins. It was new, and clean, and colorful, the way Athens must've looked twenty-five hundred years ago.

This place couldn't be here, he told himself. The tip of a mountain hanging over New York CIty like a billion-ton asteroid? How could something like that be anchored above the Empire State Building, in plain sight of millions of people, and not get noticed?

But here it was. And here he was.

He crossed the walkway slowly, feeling ridiculous as his arms struck out to either side, like some kind of elaborate tightrope-walker. By the time he crested the stairs and passed through the gates, he could feel eyes upon him. Watching, speculating. His skin crawled, though he could not place whether the source was their watchful gaze or something else entirely.

It was immediately apparent that he was the odd man out. It was a sensation he was used to, had been used to, ever since his childhood.

But never before had it been because he was the only one who was so overwhelmingly normal. (And never before had it been so acute.)

He passed a gaggle of giggling girls standing about a garden. He openly stared at their queer complexions; shades and hues of green that he'd never before seen on a person, even browns that felt distinctly different from what he was used to. They threw olives at him as he passed and he hadn't a clue what to make of it.

Hawkers in the market ceased their calling as he passed. Their shouts of offers quietening. Upon their stands he spied strange food on a skewer unlike any he'd seen before, a new shield, and a genuine glitter-weave replica of the Golden Fleece, as seen on Hephaestus-TV (or so read the plaque). One of the bystanders, a pale skinned woman of dark hair and flowing skirts, eeped as they made eye contact, dropping the strange handheld device she was inspecting and fleeing further up the mountainside. The merchant dove for it, catching it before it struck the ground, before pressing a button on the side. It's face lit up like a television screen and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Percy moved on.

The nine muses were tuning their instruments for a concert in the park while a small crowd gathered – what he could only assume were satyrs and naiads amongst a group of otherwise normal-(but-good)-looking teenagers. It briefly occurred to him that they might be gods and goddesses, but he could not say for certain. There was a horrible, twinging! sound in the air as one of the strings to a lyre was over tightened and snapped. Feeling high strung, Percy jumped and whirled to the offender, finding one of the muses staring at him, pointing, and speaking quick. Her sisters ignored her worried words, instead scolding the younger for her mistake. The concert would need be delayed, he heard them say, if she did not hurry to restring the instrument.

He wasn't quite sure where he was meant to go. All around him there were palaces and temples and sheds and they were all made of the cleanest marble and supported by the finest pillars and it all looked the same to him.

He climbed the main road, delving deeper into the city and higher up the peak. Percy ascended the stairs until the largest and most opulent of any of the buildings rose above him. There was a certain degree of grandeur at which it all just became slightly insulting. He stood there, before the massive doors, and felt it was only meant to make him – or those like him – feel small. The place made Grand Central Station look like a broom closet. Massive columns rose to a domed roof, which was adorned with sparkling gold inlays.

The doors at the front were closed, so Percy walked up to them. Unsure of himself, he raised his hand and prepared to knock, before pausing and thinking better of it. Instead, he pressed his ear to the wood and listened, seeing if anyone was home.

As luck would have it, he could faintly make out several voices from within. Most of them were unfamiliar to him, but there was one – faint, but known. He recognized that accent, those mannerisms. He'd heard it enough through their late night study sessions to know it by heart.

She was in there.

He closed his eyes and pressed more urgently into the door, trying to hear it again, but she never spoke again. The other voices rose again, hurried, as if in an argument

Not wanting to be rude, he rapped on the door with his knuckles before stepping back and waiting. After a minute, nobody came, so he moved forward and knocked louder.

Humming thoughtfully, Percy waited. Whomever was inside obviously couldn't hear him, and he doubted his ability to make enough noise to make it so. A quick jaunt to the left and right revealed no windows to peer through on the first floor. All those that did exist were so high up that Percy doubted a ladder existed tall enough for him to climb to them.

Trying the front door again, he lightly pressed his shoulder into the wood before increasing the pressure. It did not budge, not even slightly. Still, he kept going until he was red in the face. He nearly gave up and resolved to look elsewhere when the door creaked open. It did not move far and what little progress it did make was by the blessing of Percy's thigh muscles. Had it been a normal sized-door, the crack he'd urged open would have permitted only light to enter, but it was still enough for him to walk straight through.

The room, somehow, seemed even larger and more grand than the building it was housed in. He wished he could enjoy the sights more than he was, but there was this incredible, searing heat that encompassed him as soon as he stepped within. It sucked the moisture from his throat and eyes, made him feel like he drank a cup of magma with his dinner.

He thought for sure he would simply shrivel up, right then and there, reduced to nothing but a handsome, dry husk or a pile of ash, when a breeze swept over him.

It smelled of salt and sea. Like Montauk. Like all the good memories of his childhood.

The pleasantness enshrouded him, nearly as protective to his heart and soul as those getaways once were. (It still did not compare to seeing his mother's untainted smiles for the weekend, but those would not protect him in this moment.)

Emboldened by his sudden okayness, Percy walked deeper into the hall. Above, constellations gilded the impossibly high ceiling.

Twelve thrones, built for beings the size of buildings, were arranged in an inverted 'U.' An enormous fire crackled in the central hearth pit, so large, in fact, that he had no trouble believing it was cooking him all this way from the entrance. How anyone could stand to suffer so close to it, he hadn't a clue.

The thrones were all full of the strangest collection of people Percy had ever seen. It felt like he was walking onto the set of bootleg 'Cheers.' His eyes darted between each of the giant's bodies, wafting from the slumbering face of a salt-and-pepper haired man with a magazine folded on his stomach to the cruel, scarred face of an otherwise handsome blonde man in a leather jacket.

There was so much to look at, that the trespassing mortal couldn't decide where to focus. The fire-haired teenage girl sitting primly upon a throne. A man speaking to two snakes under his breath. Another man with teeth far brighter than necessary. A child swinging her legs idly through the air from a bench within the great flame.

His eyes landed upon another man, seated to the right of the central throne, who wore a Hawaiian shirt paired with a bucket hat. Across his lap sat a spectacularly golden trident, at his side was a tackle box. His throne, if you could call it that, was one of the fishing chairs you see on deep sea boats – with the stirrups or whatever you call it. It did not even look new: its leather backing stained with sweat and torn. It looked – for lack of a better word – awful.

The man was the first to notice him. By the time Percy's eyes found him he was already staring at the mortal. He wouldn't have been surprised if the giant had been watching from the moment he'd entered the room.

The man–god–giant–titan–thing sent him a wink that could have meant anything before turning away. Percy's attention did not go with his, ignoring the central man prattling on about something or other, in favor of finding her.

Ah. There she was.

She sat, miraculously, even more straight-backed than the teenager; seemingly listening intently to whatever was being said.

Percy watched her for a moment or longer, chewing upon his lip. His heart could not seem to decide if it was delighted to see her or furious, and neither could he. It was weird. He'd been angry all day, nearly foaming-at the-mouth mad. He'd thought and plotted and planned, all the way down to the last letter of what he would say to her; all of the ways what she did waswrong and cruel and stupid.

The planning wasn't anything new, it was an activity he'd gotten used to over their many months of acquaintanceship as he tried to win an argument, just once; but never before had he felt such a need – such a burning desire – to actually win.

And he was going to. By the gods (or perhaps in spite of), he was going to win.

Once he pushed and shoved down all the ugly, unwanted, gooey feelings she gave him.

The room quietened as Percy wiped the sweat from his palms on his pant leg and it took him only a moment to realize that everyone (and he means everyone) was staring at him.

His target's eyes were wide – wider than he'd ever seen before – and still very grey. Her face, however, was pale. The warmth of her cheeks slipping away into pallored shock. Her mouth hung open, just slightly, in what was either surprise or horror. He'd accept either. (He'd accept both.)

Allowing himself to simply bask in her expression, finally being able to surprise her by just showing up unannounced, Percy was left unaware of the growing tension in the room.

The air around them all seemed to crackle, running abound with potential energy. It got warmer too, but Percy only attributed that to his proximity to the hearth.

Never forgetting his manners, he gifted the assembly with an award-winning smile and said, "Hello."

The giant in the center didn't seem to appreciate it, however, as his frown deepened. Jerk.

Percy saw Grey-eyes tense and flinched as her notepad in her lap shifted into a metallic shape – cylindrical and horrific to view. She didn't even seem to notice the transmutation, nor Percy's reaction to it, her eyes focused entirely on the man on center stage.

He followed her lead.

"Who," the man-giant-god-guy growled eventually, beard sparking, "are you?"

"Percy," he answered. Then, when nothing happened for several moments, he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and changed his answer, "Perseus."

The clarification helped, somehow. The head honcho relaxed, if only minisculely, yet still managed to look perturbed by the mortal's sudden appearance.

"Perseus," the man echoed, "a fine name. You should be grateful for it, for it is the only reason I do not smite you where you stand." Well, Percy had wanted to reply, that's certainly not very sporting. Luckily, his mouth was too slow to and before he could, the old god continued. "Tell me, Perseus, why it is that you have trespassed within our city and temples."

Temple, he'd then wanted to correct, because it had only been the one. But his body showed its second-ever inclination to self-preservation by not voicing the thought aloud. It was on a roll today. He'd be sure to get it a treat later, as a thank you. Hopefully, that'd train it to do so more often in the future. (He would probably need it. For some reason, he doubted this would be the last time he saw a god.)

Blinking, he dipped his head slightly, averting his eyes. It was a neat trick, meant to show subservience and submission. Like a dog exposing its belly. It was doubly successful as it helped to hide his expressions, meaning nobody could tell if and when he was being facetious when he fed them apologies. Teachers ate it up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the answer to the chief god's question. She still sat primly upon her throne, but her nails dug into themselves, shoving back the cuticles in the way he recognized she did when nervous.

"Athena. Your, um.. Excellency."

"Athena," came the thunderous reply, like the clap of a storm. It echoed around the room nigh endlessly, and only once it did abate, did the god speak further. "And what reason do you have to speak with my daughter?"

Ah.

So, the man-giant-god-guy was Zeus.

That probably should've been apparent.

(If only he'd never met Paul, he was fairly certain daddy issues might actually be helpful in situations such as these. Woe is him, what could've been.)

Percy's gaze flicked up to the man's chin. "Your granddaughter. Hers and mine."

"My granddaughter," Zeus repeated, and Percy was quickly growing tired of this song and dance. He'd have better conversations with a mountain range with how much he was hearing echoes. (At least the mountains would only threaten him after he'd done so first.) The King of Gods repeated each phrase as if trying it out on his own tongue, deciding if he preferred it in his tenor. He spoke like he liked to hear his own voice. "Athena has bore quite a few of those," had she now? That was such interesting information. Percy turned to the goddess in question, his heart practically purring in satisfaction at her cringe. Zeus continued, "and yet none of their parents have ever dared to do as you have."

He left it there, and the silence that followed was nearly as stifling as the heat from the flames of the hearth.

"Ah," Percy said at last and shrugged, hoping for a cool nonchalant rather than piss-scared. He offered a sheepish smile, "well, I've always been told I tend to not think things through enough."

That, at the very least, seemed to amuse the assembly – he even heard a few chuckles from somewhere in the chambers.

"So it would seem," he turned his attention to the goddess in question, "I thought you were only attracted to intellectuals." If his tone hadn't clued Percy in, the air quotes he used whilst saying 'intellectuals,' showed how the King of the Gods was teasing her. Teasing! Zeus!

Percy felt faint.

Also, ouch.

Athena seemed similarly displeased by the comment, indignation breaking through her calm facade. Whether it was due to the insult leveled upon him or the notion that she would ever choose a stupid partner, he couldn't be sure. "Perseus is smart," she declared testily, before turning her glare to him. "He just so happens to choose to ignore that more often than not."

Which was fair.

Percy shrugged. "Guilty."

In the end, Zeus let out an almighty sigh so grand that it could fit only the King of the Gods. Percy felt mildly jealous. Fingertips the size of his torso drummed along the armrest of his decadent throne as the man mulled everything over. The mortal steadfastly kept his eyes averted, even when things seemed to be going in a positive direction, not wishing to reverse his luck. "You understand the position you force me into, yes?"

Percy shifted from one foot to the other and admitted, "Not really, no."

"A mortal has trespassed into the realm of the gods, has witnessed things they never should have been allowed to witness. I should smite you and be done with this all."

The mortal in question flinched, wincing. He didn't like the sound of that. Dying would be a bummer. He'd hate to have peaked in his twenties.

"Um," Percy's voice cut in before his brain could stop it (he worried, briefly, that the signal for 'stop! stop! shut up!' was sent to his heart rather than his mouth with the way it skipped a beat, but he still drew breath, so they were unfounded). "I'm sorry, my.. Lord?" Zeus gave him an encouraging sort of half nod, so he continued. "But if you're worried about me telling anyone about this, you needn't. Even if I wanted to, I doubt anybody would believe me."

"It's not that."

A voice rose up from elsewhere in the room, and the mortal turned his head slightly to look upon the fisherman. Again, he met no eyes, but the strange god graced him with a nearly kind smile.

"It's not?"

"No," he shook his head. And the explanation that followed was both, one, confusing, and two, not something he wanted to subject you (or anybody, for that matter) to. If Percy had to break it down into its simplest points, it went something like this: human invention is typically divined from the gods. Fire, metal, philosophy, medicine, blah, blah blah, you get it. Everything anybody ever has any reason to be proud of was actually due to the grace of the gods and their generosity. He knows you can't see it (both because this all is being written down and because it happened in his mind) but there was some heavy air-quoting going on here.

Don't tell the fisherman, it'll be a secret. Yours and his.

The explanation continued.

By encroaching on the heavens uninvited, Percy has exposed himself to a great many things that humans should not (or would not? He wasn't entirely sure, this was around where the cool fisherman god lost him) understand for many years to come. Of course, he only really needed to explain just how little he understood what they were talking about for them to choose to let him go free. (Not without casting significant doubt upon Athena's choice in suitor. While he was in the room, no less! Rude!)

Apparently – and this was more of a side point to their argument – mortals actually shouldn't be able to survive what he had thus far. There was a lot of – what did they call it? – cosmic energy in the heavens, more than a mortal should typically be able to withstand. This was doubly so within the throne rooms where the Olympian Gods existed in potency.

Which is a really long way of saying that Percy should be dead and that the Gods should kill him, but he wasn't and they weren't.

Get it? Got it? Good.

The meeting ended with more than a bit of grumbling as each of the world's twelve rulers were forced to walk (gods forbid) out the door before teleporting away. He got a few scornful looks for that, because somehow it was his fault that their preferred method of travel required significant bodily harm to mortals. Sure.

Percy was dragged from his observations by the clearing of a throat. He turned, glancing away from where Ares was sharpening his sword (and making far more eye contact than was strictly necessary) and looked upon the newcomer's face. He wasn't quite sure where to start, so he simply said, "Hey."

No greeting was reciprocated and only the pursing of her lips proved she'd heard him at all. Her eyes appeared like storm clouds – angry, harsh, and indiscriminate – and she inspected his face critically before walking past. As she drew closer, he came to a sudden realization. She seemed older than as he knew her. Young, still, maybe – or perhaps he just meant beautiful – but more mature, definitely. Or maybe it was just that her face was more severe than he'd ever seen it; sterner, with harsher lines.

Also, she was white.

How had he not noticed that?

It wasn't just like one of those tricks of the light, nor was it one of those bullshit 'oh, I don't see color' things. She was legitimately white. Her skin was fairer than his own (and he doesn't go outside any more than necessary. And it's never necessary.)

The only thing that really remained the same were her eyes and the shape of her face, and it was mostly just the eyes.

Coldly, she brushed his shoulder as she passed, deliberately clipping him. She barked out a command of 'follow' before throwing the council doors ajar and leaving. It irritated him to no end how effortless she made it look. The form she took was smaller than him, yet she breezed through them as if they were little more than a curtain.

Percy did as he was bid.

He caught up to her near halfway back to the market area. Occasionally, he would glance at her, but he could never quite read her expression. He blamed it on not being the face of the girl he knew. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that; it helped, he thinks, to separate this goddess from the girl. The distance she kept was cold, and her gait militaristic. It was unlike anything he knew her to be. She felt like a whole new person.

He hummed softly to himself in response, not quite sure what to make of it, but determined to not let it bother him.

The temple she led them to appeared no different than any of the others. It was white. It had columns. Just imagine some decrepit ruins in Greece, make them less decrepit, you've got ninety percent of Olympus down. Still beautiful, but if all human history was inspired by the Gods, then he can understand why so many suburbs in America look like a bunch of cookie-cutter houses. All aesthetics, no individuality.

Athena still did not speak as he flopped down on a sofa to relieve his aching feet, deciding her time would be better spent watching him.

He watched her for a moment or longer, waiting for her to do something, but nothing changed. It was only then that he decided he would not succumb today. It's called acting the stubborn mule, and he's been doing it his whole life. Just because his opponent was a goddess doesn't mean he stood no chance at winning. Mortals beat the gods all the time throughout history – Arachne, Aeneas, and.. you get the point. He doesn't have encyclopedic knowledge of Greek history, go ask a librarian if you want the rest of the alphabet.

And so, Percy really settled himself into the couch, exhaling softly as he sunk deeper and deeper into the cushions. His hands landed in his lap and stayed there restfully.

He let his mind go blank.

It was a state of meditation accessible only to the human male, where one simply existed. No thoughts, head empty. Time was impermeable and irrelevant, ever-moving and ever-lasting. The future, near and far. He probably wasn't making any sense, but that was okay, too.

He paid the world little mind, allowing his problems and worries to slip away.

He only cracked an eye open when a sigh lifted up from across the room. He glanced in the direction from whence it came and found himself frowning at the sight. There were plenty of things he wished to say (or yell), but he kept them close to his heart. Perhaps if he layered enough of his questions around it like armor, it'd stop it from hurting so.

It was only a matter of time before one of them broke.

"What," Athena sighed and there was just so much defeat in her voice that Percy couldn't help but sit up straighter, "what are you doing here, Perseus?"

Opening his eyes fully, he spared her a glance, intending to look away soon after. That never happened. His heart simultaneously lurched and sunk as he caught sight of the goddess. He hated it.

"Really?" He could help but ask. "Really?" Then, there was a scoff – low and derisive, and the flood gates were open. "What am I doing here? What am I doing here? Is that really the question you're dying to hear the answer to? Because I can tell you why, but I'm pretty good and damn well sure you know."

Percy felt the air around him warm once more – just as it once had at the swimming pool and in the throne room – just to a lesser degree. He wasn't sure the reason – nobody knew, not even the gods; perhaps he was simply growing more accustomed to divine energy after being around Athena so much and so often, perhaps it was just in his constitution, perhaps a great many things. It was hard to say. All he knew was that what he felt then was what he felt now.

"I would heed you to remember who it is with which you speak."

Really? Really?

Percy was standing before he could even register the motion, pacing back and forth through the room, shaking his arms through the air wildly as he tried to expel his rage by other means. It helped, if only nominally. He paused just behind the sofa, gripped the upholstery tightly, and leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "And who is that?" He let out a hum that was more jeer than not. "It's not like you would ever tell me your name." No matter how much he had asked.

At that, she sat up straighter, seeming to rally herself around the question. "I am Pallas Athena. Goddess of Wisdom, Warfare, and Handicrafts."

"So what?"

The goddess blinked, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

Percy leaned forward and said, "So what?" He shoved back from the couch and stalked back to the wall. He stood there, simply facing the paint for a moment or two, unseeing, before he suddenly pivoted on his heel and stormed back. "Why the hell does it matter if you're a goddess? Hm? What does it change?"

Then, suddenly. Athena was standing too. And yelling. He doesn't think he's ever heard her yell before. "Everything! It changes everything!" She let out a breath then, and her shoulders slumped. She still held his gaze, grasping at it like a tether. He doubted she'd ever been the first to flee from eye contact before. But, at the same time, the anger seemed to seep out of her. "It changes everything, Percy."

The sound of his name – his preferred name – in her voice was a peculiar thing. Novel in that he'd never before heard it; imagined it, sure; wished for it, all the time; but never had he actually heard it.

He'd always expected to. He'd always thought it would make him happy.

It didn't.

"Right," he said, eventually, when the silence had drawn on for long enough, "so, that's it, eh? You're the goddess, I'm the mortal. I'm not even allowed to–what? Get upset by the situation? I'm not entitled to emotions? I can't say anything that might upset you or else sayonara existence?"

"I'm not going to kill you."

"Then what's the reminder for, wise ass? Huh? Why remind myself who I'm speaking to, if not to hold it over my head?" Again, the temperature flared, but Percy was on a roll. "And that. The bullshit with the thermostat, what's up with that?"

"That," the goddess all but growled, "is the consequence of not being 'entitled to emotions' as you so eloquently put get frustrated and you punch a steering wheel; a god gets mad and suddenly California is floating out to sea and its monsoon season in downtown Manhattan." For a moment, the two only stared at one another. Athena took a few halting breaths, her chest and shoulders rising and falling dramatically with each one, and then spoke once more; her voice low and dangerous. "And do not ever refer to our daughter as 'situation' again. She's not some inconvenience for you to deal with; some–some–some part of life for you to grow accustomed to. She's our daughter. She deserved to be spoken of with some dignity."

Dignity.

"Where's the dignity in leaving her in a cradle at my doorstep? Where's the dignity in having a mother who couldn't bother to leave her daughter more than a children's book and a sentence in explanation? To at least hand her off herself?" Dignity. "Do you think I ever felt dignified growing up when left to wonder why everybody around had two loving parents but me? Do you think she will?"

"Annabeth will have two loving parents."

"Will she, Athena?" Percy breathed. "Will she?"

"Yes!" She threw her arms out, gesturing wildly, as if that would somehow convince him. "I get you're scared about caring for her, but I know you, Percy, I know your heart. You love her. You do." She took a step forward, one that was mirrored by the step the mortal retreated. "You'll be a lovely father to her, just as I said. Just as you said you wanted!"

"A steady job! The right partner! One or the other, preferably both, but not neither. How, Athena, how am I meant to care for a child?" He could see her mouth open, but he wasn't going to let her respond. Not after how much she twisted his past words to fit her own meaning. The revelation that that was what she meant on that day after the bookstore was still burning in his chest and it was.. it was something. (And yet, at the same time, it was also nothing.) "Besides, I wasn't talking about me."

It might've been the first time he'd ever truly seen the woman off kilter. It might've been the first time she'd ever not known what to say next.

Eventually, words did fall from her lips, but the breathless way in which they were said gave them an air of unbiddenness, like her thoughts merely found their way over her tongue.

"How can you say that?"

There were so many emotions in her face, it was all simply too much, she was too bare. Percy looked away, studying the bookshelves that lined the walls. He had never gotten good at not looking at her, however, and found his eyes flicking back to her face. Each time a sigh accompanied the motion, because she never failed to meet his gaze. Her eyes were flicking about his face as she watched him, searching.

"You're as beautiful as you ever were," was what he said, in lieu of an actual answer. It was all he could focus on. And it was true. It wasn't the face he knew, but that didn't really matter, it was still hers (and he didn't think he would ever be able to see her as anything but).

"Percy– "

"Perseus," he interjected quietly, and it must've been the right thing to say, because the carefully constructed calm she wore upon her face crumpled. Just as he wanted. (The victory was pyrrhic.) She didn't correct herself, though, so he continued, "please."

Once more, her eyes searched his face. She must have seen how much he needed this at that moment – to distance himself from her and how they were – because then she was gifting him a devastated nod of the head. "I don't know what you mean, Perseus." She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth by her teeth, letting it flick back out. The skin turned gold rather than red. "I don't know what you want from me."

He thinks it might have been the first time he'd ever heard her admit she didn't know something. (He thinks that might be part of the problem; because how can they have a kid together when all they've ever shared were a few short months and some smiles.)

"I don't know either."

The words hung there for too long; neither of them had the strength left to follow them up. Athena simply nodded her head, twice, and took up the spot where he once sat on the sofa, head down. Her back was to him, so he let out a puff of air through his nose and shoved off from the wall he was leaning against, making his way to the door they'd entered through.

He almost made it, too.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," he sighed, "I've been gone long enough, my mother's probably worrying herself sick."

Then, Athena was standing, crying out a faint 'wait!'. She didn't block his way to the door, in fact, she remained in the sitting area, not having moved even a pace away from the couch. Still, it was like she had; like she stood before him, arms wide and eyes pleading.

He couldn't find it within himself to keep moving.

"You can't just leave," she called again and he could just about hear every word she wanted to say but didn't.

"Can't I?" All of a sudden, he felt exhausted. The entire day's worth of mayhem all coming crashing down upon him at once. The early knock. The unattended cradle. The perfect baby. The unending worry. The unanswered questions. The frantic mother. The confused father. All of it.

He was– he just–

Percy sighed.

He was tired. Really, truly tired. It was bone-deep, and maybe incurable. He wouldn't know until he was home; until his newborn was back in his arms; until he woke up tomorrow and tried again.

He'd wanted many things in this life of his. A loving father, he got. Grey-eyes, he didn't, wouldn't, couldn't. Now, all he wanted was to leave.

"Is there really anything left to say?"

"Of course, there is." She was floundering and they both knew it. It was all Percy really needed to hear to finally untether himself, though, and he started walking to the door once more. "Wait, Percy, please. Just– just wait. We can't leave things like this. We can't. We just– we can't, Percy. Can't we talk things through? Fix things?"

"What is there to fix, Athena?" He refused to call her anything different; not if she was so set on calling him by a name that wasn't hers to use.

"This," she tried, "us."

"There is no 'us!'" How hard was that for her to grasp? "There has never been an 'us,' there couldn't be. We weren't together," even if he had wanted to be, "we were hardly even friends."

"You're lying. You don't mean that."

He was, but he did. (Because from the start, he was always more invested than her. He was starting to see the reason why.)

Sadly – mournfully – Percy shook his head, and then grabbed the door knob.

"Please, Percy, please. I– I– " He heard her swallow and wished he was already gone. "I love you."

"No," Percy cut in, before she could make any of this any worse, "No, you don't." It was foolish to even think, worse so to say. "That's not what love is. This is not what love is. That's not how it works."

The silence that followed was long, measured only by the thumping of his heart in his ears.

When her voice rose up again, it was weak, yet pleading. Maybe that was why he listened to it. "Can't you just.. look at me?"

So, he did. (He'd never been very good at not doing as she asked.)

It would seem, at some point, she'd shifted her appearance to the one he was familiar with. It was different, though, but only in subtle ways.

Her curls weren't nearly as perfect, they seemed flat – both in shape and luster. Her skin lacked all life, hallow or hollow, he didn't know which; there was no warmth to her cheeks or nose or fingers. It looked dull and grey. Her eyes, even, lacked the same attractive (and he means that as in literally attractive, as in they pull you in) quality they always bore. They seemed sunken and tired, bloodshot and sore. The skin around her lips was raw and tooth-marked.

She looked as worn as he felt.

It was everything he could have hoped to see in a woman who'd loved but abandoned their baby. It was everything you could expect to see in somebody giving their heart and receiving nothing in return.

It made his blood boil.

Because none of this was real. It wasn't. If he couldn't trust her words of love or devotion or otherwise, he'd at least hope he could trust her face. That was empirical, objective. (But it wasn't, and he wondered if it ever was or would be again.)

"Really?" He asked, more to himself than anything. It must've shown, because she said nothing. "Really with the sob act?"

"This isn't– I'm not– there's no act. I'm not acting. This is just– this is me." There was something in her voice then, as she threw her arms up in a helpless, hapless shrug, but Percy didn't have the time to investigate what it might mean. For him, or for her.

He shook his head, disbelievingly. "You were perfectly fine just a few minutes ago, you expect me to believe this is you?" Another pause, another shake. "You trade faces like they're masks for you to wear, how am I supposed to make any sense of who's who?" How was he supposed to know what's real?

She didn't have anything to add, so she simply repeated herself. "This is me, Percy, I don't know what else you want me to say."

The mortal pursed his lips and nodded, once, before turning. Nothing was said as he reached for the door this time, but he could hear her breath hitch. That wasn't what stayed his hand, however, but, rather, two remaining questions.

"Can you just– just answer me honestly?" He didn't hear, so much as feel her confirmation. "Annabeth's siblings, how old is the most recent one?"

"A year."

Months before they met, then.

"And if I never came here today, when would I have seen you again?"

The silence said more than any word could, so he left.

By the time he reached the elevator, he'd wished he hadn't, but it was too late. The things they both said and did couldn't be taken back; he wasn't even sure which parts he'd like to, just that he did.

He slumped against the wall, slowly slipping down its surface until he was sitting with his knees high. Tired, he rubbed a hand down his face, letting it hang over his mouth before he shook his head.

For a while, he simply sat there, his gaze unflinchingly and sightlessly upon the metal ceiling above. He knew he ought to be getting home – back to his life, back to his family – but he couldn't find the strength to stand.

A soft knock came from outside and Percy glanced up to see somebody standing in the doorway. He recognized the face, and could probably hazard a guess to the name, but instead said nothing, choosing to simply stare.

The man–god took no offense at his failure to greet him or bow or whatever, simply smiling and nodding his head before stepping inside and pressing the button for the ground floor. As the elevator whirred to life and began to descend, he took a step back, settling himself into the opposite corner. He leaned against the wall with his hands tucked in his pockets, a lazy smile gracing his lips as he shut his eyes.

The damnable elevator music was – blessedly – out of commission. Percy didn't have to search all that hard for the reason.

He appreciated the gesture and the silence in equal measure. He needed the time to collect himself.

"Hey," he tried to say, but his voice cracked midway through and he just really doesn't want to talk about it, okay?

The god didn't laugh at him. Brownie points to him, then. "Hello," he greeted in turn.

"You're.. uhm.. you're Poseidon?"

"I am."

"Cool," Percy decided, because really what else was he meant to? "That's cool."

He watched as the lazy grin on the god's face shifted into something more coy, then one eye was peeking open to stare down at him. An eyebrow lifted challengingly. "Not gnarly?"

Percy swallowed thickly, but couldn't help but feel like he needed this. He couldn't really place the god of Hawaiian shirts' seriousness, but the chance to return to some degree of normalcy couldn't be passed up. "Definitely gnarly, your.. uh.. Surfiness."

The god laughed uproariously. It was a full blown belly laugh, and the younger man couldn't help but marvel slightly at it. From the hands gripping his stomach to the way he reared his head back and laughed to the ceiling, even to the way it echoed around the small space. Everything about it was larger than life.

"I quite like that. Perhaps I should adjust my titles, no?"

"If you say so."

The man's smile slipped into something more congenial, but the spark of joy never really left the crinkles of his eyes. A hand appeared in Percy's line of sight and he followed the arm back up to the man's face before grabbing it. The ease with which he was thrown into a standing position was absurd and he was lucky his arm was not pulled from its socket.

"Oh," the man chuckled, "apologies. I forget my own strength sometimes." Then, the hand was there again. "Nice to meet you, kid."

"Yeah, uhm.. " He grabbed the proffered hand and shook it, hoping beyond hope that he did so properly. He gripped it tightly, just as he was taught, but there wasn't much he could do about his clammy palms. "You too."

Something occurred to Percy in the moments that followed. He wasn't sure how he came to the conclusion, so don't ask, but once it was reached, he knew it to be true. So, he couldn't help but say, somberly, "It was you with the security guard. And then again in the council room."

Despite not being phrased like a question, Poseidon answered it like it was. "Indeed. Don't feel like you ought to fall over yourself thanking me, (that wasn't a problem, he was hardly in a thankful mood) it was rather simple to grant you access to the city, and the small blessing I bestowed you for protection was a simple professional courtesy. It'd hardly be good if our guest was incinerated or permanently blinded as soon as they entered a room, wouldn't it? Can you imagine the headlines? The press would have our heads!"

Incinerated, Percy had wanted to question further, permanent blindness?

Poseidon nodded as if he'd heard all his thoughts. (It only just occurred to Percy that he probably had, and wasn't that just a little sobering?) "Oh, yes. Among other things. Heart rot. Dissolving limbs. Have you ever seen somebody's brain leak out through their eyes? It's the easiest pathway for liquids, you see, and it actually looks distressingly similar to tears and– are you quite alright?"

"Peachy."

"Are you certain," the god couldn't help but prod, before a stifled smile made itself known at the corners of his lips – like he was holding in a laugh, "you're looking a little grey around the gills."

Percy would concede the point, even if he was more concerned with searching the elevator for a bin to yarf in. "Maybe we can stop talking about all of the various, seemingly grotesque and painful ways I could have died today?"

"Oh," Poseidon said and if Percy were any happier her might've cheered, because it sounded like the god got it. (It would have been too soon.) "Leaky brains are completely and totally painless. It'd happen just like," he snapped his fingers and the nails curled into Percy's palms was all he could do to stem the flinch, "that. One moment you're here, and the next my brother's judges would be casting judgment." He hummed softly to himself. "It is probably best that didn't happen, you'd likely be cast to Punishment for all the rules you broke today."

Great. Just great. Eternal Damnation truly was the icing on top of the cake that was today.

They settled into silence once more as Percy reconsidered a great many things in his life, but nothing good lasts, so somebody had to speak up once more.

(And Percy had always had a bit of a masochistic streak.)

"Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

He was fairly sure Poseidon knew of what he spoke, but decided to humor him. "Help me. Zeus– " The elevator shook as thunder pounded upon it from all around them. Bright light flashed through the center of the doors, illuminating the box more than the ceiling lamps.

The god of the seas placed a staying hand on his shoulder to catch him as he stumbled. "Names have power, kid, don't use them unless you want to bring attention upon yourself. Most attention is bad attention for those like you."

Mortals, he means, and Percy could understand why.

"Even yours?"

The hand on his shoulder lifted and drifted away and Percy heard a sigh rise up from his left. "Why'd I help you?" A shrug, as equally unfulfilling as the avoided question. "Easy. It was a way to get under Athena's skin."

It was only then that the security guard's warning echoed in his mind.

'You appear to have a friend on Olympus. Word of advice? There's no such thing for men like you.' Percy was starting to think he should've stopped at 'no such thing.'

The gods were all the same. Cruel, all-powerful beings who used mortals like pieces in a game of chess. They moved them around the board with all the authority of somebody who's never been told 'no' in life, uncaring for if or when they're taken. And why would they? Even if there exists only two bishops, and both were captured, they can always just find another set. Replace them.

Half of his horribly, miserable day was because of the whim of a god.

It was kind of a dick move.

The wince on the god's face reminded Percy that gods could probably read minds. (Not that it would have mattered, because as soon as he heard his own voice in the air, he realized he'd said it aloud.)

Percy apologized, not out of any particular earnest remorse, he just didn't particularly want to die.

In a day of horrible surprises, the pat to the back Poseidon gave him (admittedly) did not rank among the worst.

"No need to apologize. You're right. In my defense, I did not really think it through." He offered Percy a thin smile and a sheepish shrug before continuing. "Not all that good of a 'thank you' for your research, is it?"

Oh. Right. That.

It hadn't occurred to him until this moment that when Athena had mentioned discussing his research with a man calling himself Poseidon that she was actually discussing his research with Poseidon.

"No," Percy's twice-tried-and-twice-true instinct of self-preservation had apparently decided that it had done such good work for the day that it was deserving of a break. Butts to the fact that vacation time was not part of its benefits package. Whatever. No more health insurance for it. Just as the founding fathers intended.

"Well, then I suppose I still have some work to do to make it up to you."

The ding of the elevator cut off any further inquiry Percy might have had, and Poseidon was quickly shooing him out into the lobby.

The mortal nodded mindlessly as he stepped out onto the polished linoleum floors, barely registering the cleaning crews milling about and sending him unhappy looks. He didn't quite have it in him to work up any more anger, but he didn't feel okay simply leaving the god of the seas off the hook like that, so he worked out a solution. Call it 'constructive belligerence.'

"Hey, uhm. Your Surfiness?"

"Yes, Percy?"

"Ever heard of Spiderman?"

The god paused, his finger an inch or two away from the elevator button, before slowly turning his head to look at Percy. His expression one of abject confusion as he asked, "Have I ever heard of what?"

"Spiderman," Percy shrugged and rubbed the bag beneath his eye, "you know.. web-slinging vigilante?" At the god's continuing blank look, he sighed and went on to explain, "There's this high-school kid, right, and he gets bitten by this radioactive spider and it gives him superpowers. He can like.. stick to walls, shoot webs out of his wrists, lift really heavy things. The works. He's also got this weird spidey-sense thing," he tried demonstrating it by waving his hands circumferentially around in the space about his head, as if that would help his explanation at all (it didn't), "that alerts him to danger."

Which was all just a really long way of clarifying something that Poseidon had obviously (he means come on, what god is reading comics books – no, not you, Hermes) never heard of.

The god's continued bewilderment proved it.

Again, Percy shrugged and his lips lilted into a slight smirk. "You might like it. It could give you ideas to help you get under Athena's skin in more.. harmless ways."

Also (and just between you and him, this was the primary reason), it might actually teach the god to be a decent fucking person.

"Watch yourself, Percy," he warned as the elevator doors shut.

Damnit.

He forgot about the mind-reading. Again.

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Some dates are wrong in the chronology, whoever can tell me which gets a cookie. One is in the wrong year, the other is in the wrong month (and neither is Percy's Birthday). Leave a comment with your guess!

Please review! I'm proud of this one and seek validation. It's crippling. Please.

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Cover art by Sarah Moustafa (＠smoustart on Twitter) an amazing artist with a lovely style and lots of great works. Go check 'em out.