AN: So I think this is about the last of the building-of-the-Argo II mini arc. Enjoy. I own nothing except a stack of waffles with peanut butter.

Camp Life, Chapter Six

Two Birds, One Stone/Peanut Butter Day

"Lacy Macafee?"

"Hmm . . . maybe. She's a little weird though."

"Alright. Um . . . hm. Michelle? Clearwater?"

"Who the hell is that?"

"No idea. Um, Miranda Gard-no, never mind, not her."

"What? She's cute! Just because you're dating her sister-"

"I said no. Katie will kill me. So no."

" . . . fine. Who else?"

"Ah . . . Amanda Brooks?"

"Ha! Yeah, okay! Cause that totally doesn't sound like suicide or anything!"

"Dude, I'm sure if you're just super nice . . ."

"It's not her I'm worried about; it's little Jesse."

"Ooh . . . I see your point."

"Yeah, exactly. Anybody else?"

"Um . . . Drew Tanaka?"

"Seriously?"

"What? You might have a chance! You're dashing and handsome-"

"Yes, yes, of course, but . . ."

"Alright, alright. Um. Can't do Rachel Dare . . . let's see. How about- Lou Ellen? Wait, who the hell is Lou Ellen?"

"That Hecate girl who robbed us. No way."

"Hmm . . . okay, next page . . ."

Malcolm Frye, humming to himself, piles waffles on his plate, grabs the massive jar of peanut butter on the table in front of him, scrapes a bit of his food into the brazier at the head of the table- Bless me, Lady Mother - and strides swiftly out of the pavilion. His cabin mates, knowing what day it is, make no move to stop him.

A minute or two later he reaches the beach, finds the largest rock in sight, and sets the plate down carefully, then slides a knife into the peanut butter jar and begins slathering it all over the waffles.

Engrossed with this task, he fails to notice he isn't alone until a massive shadow falls over him.

Looking up, blinking, he grins when he catches sight of the shadow's owner.

"Malcolm! It is good to see you! Where is Annabeth?"

"Hey, Tyson," he says, rolling his eyes a bit- Tyson may love peanut butter with all his rather large heart, but he's still a bit of a one-track mind when it comes to Malcolm's sister.

"She's coming," he answers reassuringly, "but, you know, she's been busy with the plan to get Percy back- have you seen the boat yet? It's almost halfway done!"

Tyson nods gravely. "Big ship will help . . . but not for Tyson son of Poseidon. I will search," he jerks a thumb over his shoulder to point out Mrs. O'Leary, sniffing at something on the sand a few feet away, "with Mrs. O'Leary. Help find my brother that way."

Malcolm nods wisely. "Covering all the bases- always a good idea." And we would never be able to carry enough food to feed you, he thinks ruefully.

Tyson grins widely and talks about the advance guard of Cyclops warriors he's going to use to crush whoever's hurt Percy, his tire-sized hands gesticulating madly, and Malcolm smirks. Whoever thinks Tyson is just a big, cuddly baby is in for a big and violent surprise when they mess with the Cyclops General's big brother.

Annabeth makes her appearance a few minutes later, smiling when she catches sight of her brother and her boyfriend's brother chatting about dual phalanx charges, keeping supply lines from being overextended, and the problems of attacking an armored convoy without some kind of cavalry.

She might be a perfectly good tactician, she thinks; she proved that at both the Battle of the Labyrinth and the Battle of New York, but her first love will always be architecture. Malcolm, on the other hand, has a natural feel for the flow of a battle that she envies a little bit sometimes.

Tyson gives her a giant (but gentle, which makes her smirk a bit, she can hear Percy's ribs crack every time Tyson hugs him, she wonders if the big guy does it on purpose) bear hug and Malcolm, who she just now realizes she's barely seen all week, sticks a waffle in her mouth when she opens it to say hello, smearing peanut butter all over her face.

They all laugh as she scoops up the peanut butter on her face and sucks it off her finger, grinning, and she feels about the best she's felt since Percy disappeared.

"We have a problem."

Leo looks up from his designs of the ship's cabin in surprise.

"Really? What?"

Jake Mason holds up a sheet of paper filled with long, complicated equations.

"We don't have enough thrust with the engines we currently have now," he says. "Not to carry this ship all the way across the country without stopping more than once or twice."

Leo groans and bangs his head on the desk.

Piper, walking past his makeshift workstation with a bolt of cloth over her shoulder, gives him a weird look.

Jake sighs. "I know, man, I know. But we knew this was gonna be nearly impossible when we started. There may have been a prophecy, but no one's actually ever built a flying ship before . . . at least, as far as I know."

His gaze grows distant. "What we really need are some military-spec rocket thrusters, or maybe the new Pratt & Whitney F135 power plant, the one Lockheed Martin are using for the F-35B . . .something like that. I mean, practically impossible to get, but still."

Leo mulls this over for a moment, then says, "Actually, I may know a guy."

"How about Laurel Smith?"

"Hmm . . . hmm. Yeah. Yeah, actually, I could definitley work with that. She's not as high-maintenance as the rest of the Aphrodite girls, and that scar on her cheek from New York only makes her look hotter. And , I mean, her . . . derriere."

"Yeah. And her derriere."

"Must be all that volleyball."

"Probably."

"Why didn't we think of her before? You know, dear brother, sometimes I wonder if our planning skills are fading a bit . . ."

"What? Blasphemy!"

"Yeah, I know, but . . . I mean, we made such a big deal about that lumber job a few weeks ago, made everyone tell us what master thieves we are, but all we really did was knock out the security guard at the storage yard, back the loading truck up through the gate and drove off. It wasn't hard."

"So? That just shows how smart we are! Being a master thief isn't all Ocean's Eleven and shit, it's making good, simple plans that don't get messy or get our asses thrown in the slammer!"

"Hmm . . . well . . . maybe you are right."

"See? We got this. Now- Laurel Smith, Laurel Smith . . . let's go find you some Laurel Smith."

Piper groans and tries to calm down.

"All I need is a list of who at the camp can help with this project," she says impatiently. "Surely you have something like that? This is important!"

Gardner Peck glares icily at her. "What you are referring to, Ms. McLean," he says, adjusting his glasses, "is the Camp Roster."

"Great! So give me the Camp Roster, and I'll be out of your hair-"

"I wasn't done," Gardner says coldly. "I don't actually have the roster. It has been stolen."

Piper blinked. "Stolen? Who would steal a roster? Are you sure you didn't just lose it?"

As soon as the words are out of her mouth she wishes she could take them back; The son of Asclepius looks at her like Lucius Malfoy would look at a muggle.

"I," says Gardner, trembling with rage, "do not lose things."

Piper winces and reaches out to cover his hand with hers; speaking quickly and gently.

"I'm sorry, Gard, you know I didn't mean that. It's just, that list could really help me, and I thought it would be easy to just go up here and talk to you . . ."

Gardner stares at her hand until she removes it, sighing to herself.

"I understand your predicament," he says stiffly. "And as a matter of fact," He smiles suddenly, "I was just planning on rectifying the situation shortly before you graced my office with your presence."

Piper hears the door of the office open behind her, and when she turns she finds Steven Rust filling most of the doorway.

"Peck," he says, nodding at Gardner, "Miss Thief." He smirks at her, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

"If you would like to accompany us, Ms. McLean," says Gardner, cleaning his glasses with a cloth from the inside pocket of his blazer, "we are going to go have a friendly chat with Misters Travis and Connor Stoll."

"You know, dude," Malcolm says, standing knee deep in the surf, his pants rolled up, "I kinda want to go with you, instead of on the ship. You make your way sound lots more fun."

Annabeth rolls her eyes and mutters "Boys, honestly," under her breath, but Tyson grins widely and nods enthusiastically. "Yes! We will have a great time, searching for Percy and beating up monsters! We will be-" his enormous single eye winks mischievously, "-living off the land!"

Malcolm bursts out laughing. "Yes!" he exclaims, raising his Gatorade as if in a toast, "To griffin barbeques and hellhound steaks- Sorry, girl," he adds to a glaring Mrs.O'leary, "But you guys know what I mean!"

Tyson grins and Annabeth laughs, and for some reason Malcolm is forcibly reminded of one of his favorite memories of his sister; not the first time they met and she hugged the scared eight-year old he had been, or the time he watched her walk out of the Throne Room on Mount Olympus after the Battle, tired and hurt but very much alive; but when he walked into the Athena Cabin a day or two before the Battle of the Labyrinth and Annabeth and Percy- he had no idea what they had actually been doing, but the way they had leaped four feet apart when he opened the door, and then Percy had tried to tell him they were looking at maps or something while Annabeth stared at her track shoes, blushing like mad- he grins even as he thinks about it, flopping down on the sand next to his sister and resting his head on her shoulder, while Tyson tells them stories about living in Poseidon's palace under the sea.

"There you are, man, I've been looking for you all ov . . . um."

Steven looks over at Leo from the middle of the pavilion, where he's dangling Travis Stoll by his left ankle and poking him in the stomach with what looks like a very large skinning knife.

"Um . . . do I need to come back? When you're done murdering him?"

"Leo! Help! Help-" Travis gurgles desperately. Leo decides, in the interest of his own continued well-being, to ignore him.

"Nah," says Steven brightly. "I can multitask. What's up?"

Piper looks over from the table she is sitting on a few feet away, next to Gardner Peck, who is examining a bunch of papers stapled together.

"Leo, don't tell me something has gone wrong again!"

"A bit," says Leo evasively, "A little thing, no biggie. Hey, Steve-o, you wouldn't happen to have a couple of rocket engines lying around in your secret death machine collection, would you?"

The Camp Armorer blinks. "Rocket engines? No. Why would I have rocket engines? I would think that would be more of your sort of thing . . ."

Leo groans. "I was afraid of that. Alright, well, do you think you could, um, y'know, just hop over to that Army base or whatever? And just kind of, I guess, acquire one?"

Steven glares at him. "I knew I shouldn't have told you that! I'm never doing that again! No way! They shot me last time, man!"

He reaches down and pulls his shirt up enough to reveal a round, pinkish circle decorating the hard muscle of his stomach.

"I'll take you! I'll do it! Just get him off me-"

"Shut up, you."

Travis's frantic offers are cut off as Steven lets go of his ankle and he comes crashing down on the pavilion floor.

"Well, everything seems to be in order," says Gardner, adjusting his glasses and handing the papers to Piper. "Just one thing, Mr. Stoll- why have you circled the names of every female on the roster who is currently not in a romantic relationship?"

Connor, who has been sitting tied to the table next to Piper and Gardner during the entire exchange, says weakly, "Oh, hehe, well, you see . . ."

Piper, rifling through the pages, turns to Connor with an eerily calm look on her face. "Why," she asks softly, "is my name circled?"

Connor chuckles uncomfortably. "Well, you know, we weren't too sure what was kinda between you and Jas-"

Steven reaches out a long arm and catches Piper before she can leap on Connor, her dagger Katoptris gleaming over her head.

"Whoa there, cowgirl. Let's not be to hasty now."

"Yes, I don't want to have to write up the paperwork for Mr. D about another 'accidental training death'; this little detour has already taken up enough of my precious time. I think notifying Ms. Gardner, the older one, about her boyfriend's idiotic behavior should be enough."

The fastidious son of Asclepius turns to leave, slipping his grey pea coat back on, but before he can depart, Travis shouts "Wait, wait, we'll make you a deal!"

Everyone (including Connor) gives him a curious look.

"You," says Travis, still out of breath from being upside down for so long, points at Steven, "We'll help you get the engine thing or whatever, and you guys don't tell Katie! Ok?"

Steven smiles condescendingly down at him. "So? I care about Jackson, really, I do; but I already said I'm not going to do that again. Believe me, getting shot once is enough. Anyway, you have nothing to bargain with."

He turns to leave.

"If you don't do this," Travis's voice low and deadly, "We'll tell everyone about your little dalliance with Princess Drew, daughter of Aphrodite. I'm sure she'll enjoy that being broadcast all over camp."

Steven stops dead. Piper's head shoots up from the roster so fast her neck pops. Gardner blinks in surprise. Leo looks bemused. Connor hides his face in his hands.

"We're fucked, we're fucked . . ." he mumbles into his fingers.

Steven eyes Travis for a long moment, then slowly examines the faces of everyone else standing there, and looks back at Travis.

"If I do this," he sighs, "and you tell someone anyway, or bother her, they won't ever find your bodies. That goes for all of you." His matter of fact statement is scarier then if he had been shouting.

"You know, I've known him for eight months now and I didn't see that coming at all. I'd have sworn he didn't have a romantic bone in his body." Gardner adjusts his glasses, smiling admiringly. "The beauty and the beast . . . I wonder how he managed that."

Piper elbows him sharply in the ribs.

"Don't be mean," she says sternly. "I think it's sweet."

"I have no idea what you guys are talking about," says Leo, scratching his chin.

Piper and Gard roll their eyes in perfect synchronicity.

The air outside Dover Air Force Base, Delaware, is a crisp three degrees Fahrenheit, which, when combined with a north-by-northwest wind pattern of roughly thirteen miles an hour, means that at two minutes past midnight the tarmac is practically deserted. It helps that the area Steven Rust and the Stoll brothers are currently infiltrating is on the outskirts of the base, where the only living soul in sight is a crow nesting atop a pile of crate with it's head behind it's wing.

"Dude," says Connor, "Is this the place where you got shot?"

"No. That was in Florida. This should be much easier. Now shut up, we're almost there."

They travel another minute in silence, then Travis speaks up.

"He, listen, man, we're sorry about playing the blackmail card, but you had just been holding me upside down and poking me with a knife for like ten minutes."

Steven sighs. "It's alright. I get it. Just remember what I said about what happens if you blab. I just got a new lance with an exploding enchantment on it, and I'd love to try it out on something that isn't a practice manikin."

The brothers nod fervently, and the trio continue on through the early morning mist.

"Okay," says Steven, looking upwards, "This is it." He grins dreamily. "Think how many M1 Abrams tanks you could fit in that lovely belly . . ."

Travis and Connor stare up at the biggest airplane they have ever seen. The C-5 Galaxy cargo plane towers over them, and even though its four engines are massive, neither brother thinks they could possible lift this behemoth into the sky.

"Alright," says Steven, pulling the large bag of tools from his back, "we've got about four hours. Let's get to work."

They're driving down the old farm road outside Camp Half- Blood in a borrowed (stolen) semi trailer at six o'clock in the morning when Connor addresses Steven hesitantly.

"Hey dude . . . can I ask you a small favor?"

Steven gives him a suspicious look.

"Um . . . see there's this girl . . . not Drew! Don't look at me like that! It's Laurel! Her sister!"

". . . Go on."

"Um, well, when we get there, and they all ask us how we did it, and stuff . . . do you think you could let me tell the story?"

Steven blinks. "The story?"

"Yeah . . . you know. About how we cut the engines off in below-freezing temperatures, fighting off armed patrols and bloodthirsty rabid guard dogs, then raced down the freeway with a couple of attack helicopters on our tail, barely escaped with our lives, and all that stuff."

"Oh . . . yeah. That story. Right."

"Yeah. That way, we can sort of kill two Stymphalian Death Birds with one stone, you know? Is that cool?"

Steven rolls his eyes. "Go for it."

"You're the best, man."

"I know."

Malcolm Frye, humming Tighten Up by the Black Keys, piles pancakes onto his plate and sits down next to Annabeth at the Athena table.

"I heard they had quite an adventure last night," he says, pointing his fork at Connor and Travis at the table across from them. Travis is retelling his part in the tale, complete with wild hand motions, to a large crowd of impressed on-lookers, while Connor picks at his muffin sullenly. "What's wrong with him?"

Annabeth grins. "He was bragging to Laurel about how awesome he was, and what a great thief he is, and how he'd like to steal her heart- she told him he should try getting to know her before he asks her out."

"Ouch. Shot down."

"In a blaze of glory. Tyson left already this morning, but he said to tell you goodbye."

Malcolm nods thoughtfully. "I hope he gets back in time for peanut butter day next week. He didn't sound very sure."

Annabeth nods sadly.

They eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, until Jesse and Amanda sit down across from them, plates loaded with biscuits and gravy, rancher's ham and scrambled eggs.

"Mind if we join ya'll?" Amanda drawls, grinning at them. Jesse waves and mumbles "Morning," through a mouthful of bacon.

Annabeth smiles. "Hey, you two. Jake says he needs all hands on deck from Hephaestus to remodel the engines for the ship, so he needs some volunteers to teach the morning classes. Are you guys game?"

The son of Hermes and the daughter of Apollo exchange startled glances.

"Us? Teach? Are you sure?" asks Jesse, eyes wide.

Annabeth snorts. "Of course. You were both personally trained by Percy Jackson and Clarisse LaRue. You'll do fine. Just take them on the monster hunt exercise."

Jesse and Amanda both grin widely. "I think we can do that," Amanda says, looking excited. She laughs and kisses Jesse on the cheek, making him sputter and take a long drink of orange juice to hide his blushing.

Malcolm smirks suddenly. "You know," he says, "You to remind me of these kids named Percy and Annabeth-"

"Oh, shut up!" Amanda and Annabeth chorus, and the four friends burst into laughter.

AN: And that's a wrap. Take five, everybody. Reviewers go to Elysium, remember . . .

Next Time: Just as the Argo II prepares to sail, The Hunters of Artemis return to Camp Half-Blood, while Percy tries (and fails) to curb the Fifth Cohort's hard-partying ways. See you then!