I'll be the first to say this chapter is hardly worth a three-week wait. I've just had like zero time to work on this in the past month with everything going on. It's been really annoying, actually.

Thanks as always, gang! Enjoy!

You know time crawls on when you're waiting for the song to start / So dance alone to the beat of your heart

It was a good thing Annabeth had made the effort to claim a good night's sleep the evening she and her friends arrived in Las Vegas, because the following night found her wide awake well past midnight, standing in a casino suite with a collection of heavy thoughts buzzing in her mind and no hope of restful relaxation in the near future.

Catching up with Rachel hadn't exactly been the fun experience Annabeth had anticipated. It was fantastic to see her again, of course—the two were best friends in college, had even joined the CIA within months of each other. Rachel was an information analyst and something of a technical whiz, and provided Annabeth with a generous amount of help on particularly difficult assignments. When the ex-agent had been forced to leave the country to flee Zeus's vendetta, she'd resigned herself to the unfortunate truth that she would likely never see her best friend again. But mere hours ago that resolution had been cracked when Rachel had dropped back into her life unexpectedly, saving her from what would have been an uncomfortable and time-consuming encounter with the local authorities.

But as momentarily exhilarating as the reunion was, Annabeth's high was deflated upon hearing Rachel's account of her life since the two had parted ways. In the safety of one of the richest suites the Temple Grande Casino had to offer its patrons, the redhead admitted that she too no longer worked for the CIA. Apparently, things got tense at the agency after Annabeth defected and joined Olympus. The higher-ups cracked down on security and reporting (not that those were ever lax, but in order to prevent another disaster they became even tighter than before); mission logs were due an hour after return, work station history was reviewed daily, productivity was monitored with higher frequency—it became clear very quickly that after Annabeth, Kronos had abandoned even the small amount of trust he'd had in his employees.

And worse still, the search for the rogue agent went on beneath the surface of the agency's day-to-day operations—and Rachel, being close to Annabeth, was pulled in. They questioned her repeatedly and policed her activity on the agency database, digging for any information that could give the former assassin away. After a few months of relentless mistrust and investigation, Rachel decided she'd had enough. She quit the agency and moved out of Langley to her parents' summer home in Miami. Unfortunately for her, however, her former employers seemed to find this activity suspicious. She received a call at home requesting that she come in for one final interrogation. She refused, of course, but that wasn't the end of it—some days later, two police officers appeared at her residence with a warrant for her arrest. 'Aiding and abetting a criminal', they claimed the purpose to be. Knowing they would turn her directly over to the CIA, Rachel fled the officers and fell off the radar, developing herself a new identity and remaining on the move in order to evade the agency. As Elizabeth Vue, she found a temporary home in Las Vegas last autumn after taking a job as a waitress at a performance bar. Money being short, she attempted to reprogram a slot machine at the Temple Grande one night to award her a generous turnout. It worked, for a short while—until she was caught by the staff. It all worked out for the best though—while in questioning, she hit it off with Ian, only son of the casino manager, and he was able to get her off clean. She saw more of him over the ensuing months and in January she moved in with him.

It was from the condo they now shared that Rachel had answered the surprise call Annabeth had made to her the day before the ex-agent's return to the United States. Annabeth felt a swooping jolt in her stomach as she recalled the too-short conversation they'd shared—she'd once again asked Rachel's help in locating someone (as they talked, Rachel was interested to discover that the woman she'd helped Annabeth find was in the room, listening to the conversation; Reyna, expectedly, was less enthused with the discovery). Annabeth had been reluctant to contact Rachel at all that night, for her former friend's safety. But little did she know at the time that Rachel's life had already been turned upside down long before. It was somewhat ironic, she had to ruefully admit. And not only that, but the call had fulfilled exactly the fears she'd anticipated—Ian had confronted Rachel about it and she'd ended up telling him everything. Thankfully for them all, however, he'd agreed to keep her secret ("After a few hours of freaking out, of course," Rachel was sure to point out).

Hearing her friend's story made Annabeth feel terrible. All the turmoil Rachel had been through was because of her and what she did. She knew all along that there would be consequences—that turning on the CIA and helping the criminal organization they were pitted fiercely against would cause waves she had no hope of controlling. But what she hadn't counted on was Rachel taking so much of the backfire. She'd thought that in fleeing oversees without leaking her intentions to anyone would protect the friends and family she'd left behind. Apparently, though, that hadn't been entirely correct. Rachel had been pressed regardless, to the point where she'd been forced to change herself and her life just to keep her freedom. And all because she'd wanted to help out a friend. It just wasn't fair to her.

Despite how bad she felt, though, Annabeth knew rationally that there was little point in letting herself indulge in self-deprecating regret. Rachel had insisted that although things had been hectic for a while, she'd settled into her new life rather nicely, and she held no resentment toward Annabeth for what had happened. It was relieving to see the former analyst so relaxed and positive, and her assurances helped to breed a sort of acceptance in Annabeth's view of the situation. There wasn't much to be done now, after all. She knew that.

Even so, it was with a slightly heavy heart that she'd agreed to let Rachel help them in their attempt to track Atlas down. At first the redhead had wanted to pack up and go with them on their chase, but thankfully after Annabeth's fervent reminder that while a genius, Rachel was no field agent, and that she'd only endanger herself and the others if she joined, the former analyst conceded to logic and settled for some short-term technical assistance instead. Just recently she'd been able to hack the communication equipment they'd stolen from the fallen agents in the first floor restroom and do a reverse track of their last contact, which turned out to be from the radio of a standard Cessna light business jet. A trace of the jet's radio signal pinpointed its location (at the time, anyway) somewhere over southeastern Kentucky, before their own signal had been jammed by feedback.

This, more than anything else she'd learned that night, weighed heavily on Annabeth's mind. If Atlas had contacted his subordinates a few hours ago from halfway across the country, it meant one thing for Annabeth and her friends: they'd lost him. After all that time and work they'd spent on tracking him down—reading signs that barely existed, interrogating tight-lipped suspects, eating fast food and sleeping in their car or in empty apartments and seedy motels—all of it had been for nothing. Atlas had escaped. He was gone.

Which raised a very important question—what in the world were they supposed to do now?

Just then, a muffled knock, knock tapped the outside of the door across the room and Annabeth jumped, turning away from the window against which she was leaning. "Come on in," she called to the perpetrator, hoping nervously for anyone but her martial artist friend. Reyna had gone to bed right after they'd successfully tracked Atlas's communication and Annabeth hadn't spoken to her since. And to be honest, she was a little afraid to.

Her wish was granted when the door opened to reveal Rachel, who'd abandoned her expensive-looking gown in favor of a worn pair of black yoga pants and a white tank top—much more the picture of the girl Annabeth had come to know in college.

"Hey, I figured you'd be awake," Rachel said with a small smile, her tone somber. She strode into the suite and closed the door behind her, before plopping down on the bed, crossing her legs, and fixing Annabeth with serious eyes. "Sorry for those bombs I kind of dropped on you earlier. Not the way I would've planned our tearful reunion to go, but I… figured you deserved the truth."

Annabeth shook her head and gave a forced half-smile. "No, I'm glad you told me," she assured Rachel. "And I'm glad you seem okay. I mean, you look like you're… doing well. It's nice to see. I'll admit, I've been kind of worried."

"Worried? About me?" Rachel tilted her head and smirked. "Don't be. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," Annabeth admitted with a chuckle. "Actually, right now I'm more worried about… Well…"

"Atlas," Rachel finished for her.

Annabeth didn't respond right away. Her eyes traveled back to the window pane against her shoulder and peered through it at the street below, lit like a color wheel by the neon signs lining every building nearby. Outside, groups of people wandered the city, shouting and laughing despite the late hour. The rainbow lights and high energy in the middle of the night should have excited Annabeth—and if she were visiting under any different circumstances, they likely would have. But that night it felt like she was watching a movie, like an impassable screen existed between the enjoyment around her and the heavy truth that pressed against her mind.

"We were so close," she muttered wistfully, lifting a hand so her fingers trailed gently across the cool glass of the window. "We had him, Rach. Another day and we would've had him. And now he's… he's gone." She tried to blink the sudden dampness from her eyes as she whispered, "What am I supposed to say to Reyna?"

"She knows you tried," Rachel replied, her voice quiet. "Things just… didn't work out. I'm sure she'll understand, in time."

"How can I expect her to?" Annabeth argued. "The only reason she and Leo ever got involved with this was because I came back—because I needed help." She shook her head, memories flashing before her eyes and blocking the sight of the neon outside the window. "I got him caught. I ruined their lives. I owe it to them to make this right, but… now I don't know if I can."

"You just have to start again," Rachel suggested. "You tracked Atlas down once, didn't you? So do it again."

Annabeth chewed her bottom lip and tapped her fingernails on the windowsill. She'd been considering her options for hours, every minute since she'd learned of her former employer's whereabouts. But the more she'd wondered, the clearer the truth had become until now she knew it to be real—tracking Atlas down was no longer a necessity or a possibility. She knew where he was headed, and it was somewhere she couldn't follow.

"He's going back to Langley," she said grimly, turning back to look Rachel in the eye with an expression of regret.

Rachel's eyebrows drew together. "You think so?"

"He has to be. He's been traveling by car for weeks, moving around to specific locations, trying to stay under the radar. Then suddenly he hops a jet and flies straight across the country? Something must've happened—maybe Kronos called him back, I don't know. But whatever the reason, he's done playing cat-and-mouse with us." Annabeth released a sigh, her breath feeling thick on her tongue. She hated to admit it, but every word was the truth. "It's over. If Atlas has taken Leo back to headquarters, then… he's out of our reach."

"Is he, though?"

Annabeth looked up and fixed Rachel with a pointed look. "We don't work there anymore. I can't just walk in through the front door."

Rachel rolled her eyes, looking less somber now and more thoughtful. "Maybe not the front door. But come on, Annabeth. They haven't exactly rebuilt the facility. It's the same building you and I worked in."

Annabeth frowned, feeling an inexplicable spark of energy in her chest. "So?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Rachel asked dryly, arching an eyebrow. The corner of her lips ticking upward, she leaned forward and said, "Break in. You got the know-how. Use it."

"You're not serious," Annabeth stammered, eyes widening. "You want me to break into a top-security government facility? What are you, insane?"

"If anyone could do it, it's a former agent," Rachel pointed out matter-of-factly with a shrug. "Especially one as good as you."

"Even if it were possible," Annabeth said in mild exasperation, "I'm sure every agent there is on the lookout for me. I'm like… CIA public enemy number one."

"Yeah, but they won't be expecting you to come to them. You'd have the element of surprise!"

"And the element of lead in my skull as soon as that surprise wears off."

"Look, just stop being all negative and paranoid for a sec and play this logically." Rachel slid forward on the bed until her legs touched the floor and leaned her elbows on her thighs, the diplomatic expression on her face contrasting the excitement in her eyes. "When we worked there, what happened every other Monday night?"

"That was tech trash night, right?" Annabeth remembered. "Electronic waste removal."

"Exactly," Rachel agreed with a nod. "They came after normal hours and got in through waste storage on the west side of the building."

"And waste storage connects to the lower level," Annabeth added, reluctantly beginning to see her friend's point.

"I had to catalogue the scrap a few times during my first few months," Rachel went on, "so I've seen it happen. Nobody pays the trash guys any attention—they just come in, do their job, and get out. If, say, a couple fugitives were to steal their uniforms and equipment and show up at the scheduled time, I don't think anybody would notice. Not for a while, at least."

Annabeth stared at the floor, her mind grabbing hold of Rachel's idea and starting to race. What she was suggesting would be extremely dangerous—so much preparation would be required and any number of things could go wrong before or after their infiltration. But there was a chance—a small chance, but a chance nonetheless—that it could actually work. The possibility that this wasn't over cut through Annabeth's dismal mood like a bolt of lightning on a dark night—like the neon lights that brought life to the city outside her window. She could still keep her promise, could still fix what had been broken. It would be a gamble, but the prize was well worth the risk.

Slowly a tentative grin spread itself across Annabeth's face as she looked back up at Rachel, who was watching with barely-contained enthusiasm. "You are insane," Annabeth told her friend, "and I've really missed that."

Rachel let out a bark of laughter she seemed to have been holding in. "So you're gonna do it?"

Annabeth took a deep, steadying breath, feeling oddly light-headed at the idea of going so recklessly on the offensive. She knew this wasn't a decision she could make on her own—until now, her hunt for Atlas had been a personal venture, but moving on CIA headquarters as a member of Olympus would be an act of war. She would need the organization's approval—and their help.

"I might," she answered steadily. "But not yet. First I need to go back home and talk to Percy. If this is gonna happen, he has to be in on it."

"Fair enough," Rachel agreed, turning up her palms. She looked unable to keep the smile from her face. "But try hard to convince him, okay? You can totally do this."

Annabeth chuckled and folded her arms. "You're way too excited about a job that's about seventy-five percent certain to get me killed."

"I'd say fifty-five percent," Rachel argued. "You always underestimate your skill level. Besides, I can't help imagining Atlas's face when he realizes his former star assassin snuck a prisoner out from right under his crooked nose."

"Hopefully I won't still be there to see it," Annabeth mused.

"True." Rachel stood up and stretched her arms. "I'll let you try and get some sleep now—you pretty obviously need it."

Annabeth smiled. "Thanks, Rachel. Really lucky break, me running into you here, huh?"

"I'll say. Where would you be without me?"

"An interrogation room, probably."

Rachel laughed, patting Annabeth on the shoulder. "You'll have to come back here once this whole CIA thing blows over. Let me show you how much fun you can really have in Vegas."

"I'll hold you to that," Annabeth promised, before both women bid each other goodnight and Rachel left the room.

When silence fell again, Annabeth stepped away from the window and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, picking her cell phone up from the nightstand. The clock on the surface read 2:19 AM.

Almost four-thirty in Chicago, she pondered, tapping her chin in thought. I wonder if he's awake…

Deciding it was worth a try (if he didn't answer, she could always leave a message), she unlocked the screen and tapped the first name on her list of recent contacts, bringing the phone to her ear and lying back against the cushy pillows behind her with a breathy sigh. The low ringing sounded three times against her eardrum before a gravelly voice interrupted, "About time."

Despite the clear annoyance in her fiancé's tone, Annabeth couldn't help a small smile. "Sorry," she responded. "It's been a… busy couple days."

She heard Percy scoff wryly on the other line. "You can say that again."

Taking note of the scratchiness in his voice that matched hers a little too well, she noted, "I'm guessing you haven't been sleeping either?"

"Oh, I'm always up at five-thirty in the morning," he replied sarcastically. "This is when I sit around and wonder if my thrill-seeking fiancée is dead, in jail, or just can't remember how to work a phone. Where are you, anyway?"

"Las Vegas," Annabeth answered, brow creasing in an absent frown as she replayed the conversation and stopped on the word five-thirty. "Where are you?"

"…New York," Percy answered after a beat of silence.

"New York?" she repeated, hoping nothing serious had come up back home while she'd been away. "Why? On Sunday you told me you wouldn't be leaving the office for at least another few weeks."

She heard him sigh—the deep, beleaguered sigh of someone whose mind and body were heavily laden with exhaustion. She knew it well; it was a sound she'd uttered more than once since she'd left home six weeks ago. Somehow, it made her heart ache—it had been too long; suddenly all she wanted was to see him.

"I think…" Percy finally said in a weak sort of voice as, lonely, Annabeth sat up straight and hugged an arm around her stomach, "we both have a couple stories to tell."

Let's all cross our fingers that the next one doesn't take as long. I hate when I can't find time to write.

Later days!

-oMM