•Chapter 2•

Hi! Sorry for the long wait. I had exams, and after I finished that, I got sick :/

Happy reading!

2010

I opened the letter.

Dear Percy,

Well, that's what I assumed it said. Daer dcrey didn't exactly make sense. Her writing wasn't really girly … much neater than the majority of my classmates' handwriting—guys and girls included. Her tails on her y's were written straight down … hmm, never saw that before. It made the letter somehow look much more interesting.

I slowly read the words on the crisp page in front of me.

Pleased to meet you! I'm Annabeth Chase, but of course, you already know that. Just because our teachers told us to hand-write our letter doesn't mean that they don't know how to use technology. I, for one, know that Mrs. Kerr, is, in fact, quite involved with modern-day technology. She has an iPhone, a Macbook Pro, uses powerpoints … stuff like that. (Before you ask, she's in her late 60s … so, no, she didn't grow up with electronics. And yes, most people retire when they're around 65, but she tells us she plans to continue teaching until she's in her mid-70s, since she loves teaching teens so much. I don't get it. How can teaching classes of rowdy high-schoolers be fun for anyone? I'm not even a teacher but my classmates give me headaches sometimes.)

I'm dyslexic too! However, I don't get anyone to proofread my stuff, because a) I'm fairly sure they're all correct, and b) I don't trust anyone to proofread my homework. I mean, if they proofread my stuff, my grades depend on them! I'd rather depend on my own grades instead of asking other people, thank you very much. Get what I mean? If I asked them to proof-read my homework, they'd be blamed for not catching any mistakes, and it might cause them to be a little stressed because they didn't catch it and I didn't end up getting an A. But if I just proof-read my own stuff, no one would be to blame but me.

I blinked. What? I internally sputtered. "How is that even possible?! Isn't she afraid of letting stupid errors slip by?" I muttered out loud.

Well, I'm Annabeth, as you know. I'm 17—almost 18. My birthday's in a few months. I have twin younger brothers, and they're really annoying sometimes. When they drive me up the wall, I usually go back in my mind to the times of when I was an only child, before Matthew and Bobby came—it works, believe me.

Don't get me wrong; I still love them. The twins are just a bit too rambunctious for my liking. They're still pretty adorable though—most of the time. But even when they're adorable, they're terrors.

Dude, if your hand is cramping up after writing such a measly letter, you ought to sort working out more. (Hint: life tip. Sorta.)

I had to bite back a laugh when I read the last line. "If you only knew," I murmured to myself, my hand subconsciously flying to my arm to feel the taut muscle of my upper arm.

Sincerely,

Annabeth Chase

I picked up a pen and a piece of paper, and started writing back to her.

Occasionally nibbling on the top of the pen, I slowly worked my way through the letter.

"Alright, class." Mrs. Leer's cheery voice broke through my thoughts. "You have ten more minutes left to finish up your letter, and then, at 10:45, we'll move on to continue reading 1984, chapters 3 and 4. For those of you who have already finished and handed in your letter, you may sit quietly, read your own book, or do other homework."

Heart racing a little bit, I hurriedly completed the letter. After reading it over once, I looked up to the clock. 10:44. I looked down at my letter once more and realized that I forgot to put my name down.

Grabbing my pen, I scrawled Percy Jackson at the end of the paper, and handed it in.

Dear Annabeth,

Not sure how your teacher knows how to operate all that … Mrs. Leer can't really use a computer, let alone any other stuff. I mean, seriously, once she couldn't find the space bar and had to ask for one of my classmates' help. Are you sure that your Mrs. Kerr actually made those slides or whatever herself? Maybe she blackmailed her son or something to do it for her.

Tyson's actually pretty decent as a sibling. I mean, he does get annoying sometimes, but it's not that bad. Are you sure your little brothers are terrors? Or maybe you're just exaggerating. In that case, chill out, Annabeth. Lower the drama. This ain't some drama audition for Romeo and Juliet. It's just an English assignment.

You think I'm not working out? *Gasps* I'm so offended! You don't even know how much muscle I have. Bet you'd faint if you saw me, or swoon or something.

Your (offended) penpal,

Percy Jackson

2015

"Where are you going, Lieutenant-Colonel Jackson?" Magnus asks me.

I stop throwing my belongings into my duffel bag. "It's 'Percy,' Private Chase," I correct him, my hands resuming their work. "Not Lieutenant-Colonel." I proceed to pick up another piece of clothing and stuff it in the already-full bag.

"Wait. Percy? Lieu—ah—Percy Jackson, what's going on?" another voice adds.

Whirling around, I see Private Beauregard walking towards me.

I only answer with one word. "Discharged." I drop the last piece of everything I own into the duffel and set it on my bed.

She gasps.

I answer the unsaid question that's on everyone's minds. "General says that I have to get my crap together before I can resume my leading," I huff. "She says that I've been a wreck since Annabeth—since she"—my voice catches—"got injured."

"Sorry, but she's right, you know," Beauregard says gently. "It's best to have a bit of a break when something like that happens to you. Besides, you've been a little … out of it lately. Not sure if you've noticed, but we've tried to help you, but it never really worked." I sigh and cross my arms, refusing to believe Silena's words, no matter, how deep down, I know that she's right. One should really have a break when their girlfriend/boyfriend/fiancé(e)/spouse gets severely injured, or worse, killed. The numbness and shock really affects you even if you're sitting down and doing nothing, let alone commanding a battalion in a war zone.

I grunt in response.

"We're not mad at you, we promise." Silena's gentle voice cuts through my thoughts. "We understand how hard it must be for you to go through this." Laying a hand on my shoulder, she quickly whispers in my ear, "If you want to talk about it, I'm here. I can probably help you a lot more than you think I can."

I actually never doubted her. I know that she's one of the best listeners and advice-givers in my battalion. And, she knows how I feel. She probably experienced more—much more, though.

She lost her fiancée, Second Lieutenant Beckendorf, to an explosion.

I give her a weak smile. "Maybe later?"

"Alright," she responds, taking her hand off my shoulder. "My shift is on in about an hour. The other troops have been pretty quiet lately, so it's just a scouting."

Scouting. The two-syllable word brings me to a jolt. "Wait," I say. "Who's the new Lieutenant-Colonel, since, you know, I've been temporarily discharged?"

"We're not sure," Magnus admits. "General didn't tell us."

A lightbulb suddenly goes off inside my head. "You realize that I'm still your L.C., right?" I ask. Confused faces look back at me. "I mean, I haven't officially left. Yes, I am going to get discharged, but I haven't … yet. That means, right now, I'm still in charge." I straighten up and say firmly, "This is my last order to Battalion A7." I turn to a brown-haired woman in her late twenties who's standing next to Beauregard. "Captain La Rue, I appoint you as the new temporary Lieutenant-Colonel. I expect you to uphold your duties and lead responsibly. You will continue to lead your battalion until General Ramírez-Arellano appoints another Lieutenant-Colonel."

I take off my Lieutenant-Colonel's badge and place it on the correct place on her jacket. "Remember your duty."

She nods, her mouth set into a thin line. I give her and the people sitting in the bunker a small smile, heft my duffel bag on my shoulder, and leave. Taking one last look at the bunker I stayed for many months, I turn my back and trudge to the place where General Ramírez-Arellano told me earlier to wait for the vehicle.

"The driver's coming," the General tells me once I arrive in the secluded area. "It's a bit hectic in the city right now, so he's stuck in the city. It might be an hour or two before he comes."

"Have I completed my duty? Is there anything that I have yet to do?"

She considers it. "No," she answers. "I believe everything is in order."

"I am allowed to roam the area, correct?" I ask her. She nods. "May I go visit Major Chase in the infirmary?"

"Yes, you may. Be—," she cuts off when her walkie-talkie comes to life with a burst of static. General Ramírez-Arellano swiftly grabs the black device and brings it to her ear. She listens to the crackly, slightly robotic voice speaking the language of the nation on the other end, and nods, responding in the same language. Turning to me, she resumes her sentence, clipping the walkie-talkie back to its original position. "Be back here in an hour and a half, or else your ride will leave without you, and you'll have to pay for your flight out of your own pocket."

"Yes, General. Thank you, General."

There's silence, save for the steady beep of the heart monitor.

I don't bother to go for the chair this time; instead, I head straight for her bed. I sit down on the clean, white sheets, and take her limp, pale hand in mine. "Did you hear?" I ask, smiling a little sadly. "They temporarily discharged me. Said that I've been a mess and an incompetent leader since you got injured. Until I get my crap together, I'm going to go back home."

I imagine Annabeth's grey eyes staring at me, her eyes narrowed and her expression in one of disbelief. She'd tell me, Seaweed Brain, you truly are a seaweed brain. Don't worry about me. I'm not going to leave you that easily. You should've focused on your duties.

Without thinking, I blurt out, "How can I not worry about you? You're in a freaking coma, for gods' sake!"

I actually expect an answer back. Even after 23 days of knowing that she's not going to reply, I sometimes still think she will.

I laugh a little, mostly to myself. "Still getting used to this," I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my jet-black hair.

I continue talking to her, and stop only when the clock on the wall tells me it's 16:35, or 4:35pm. I curse under my breath, stand up from the bed I had been sitting on for over an hour, and place a quick kiss on her forehead. It's a long way back to the station.

Besides, I have something important to do that might take a while.

I walk over to the curtains separating Annabeth's room and the hallway, and step outside. The machine monitoring her heart rate beeps steadily. It's the only thing that is giving me hope of her recovery. My feet tread lightly down the hallway, away from her room, the beeps growing fainter and fainter by the second.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

What do you think is the "important thing" that Percy has to do? Tell me in the reviews!

Reviews:

00-WisE-GirL-00: New reviewer! Cool name, by the way :) Here's another chapter! Thanks!

Average Canadian: Thanks! I actually got the idea from Thalia Marie Grace's fanfic Ten Steps Back. It's interesting, right? Thanks! :) Here's the next chapter.

The Girl With 4 Fears: No problem! :) Thanks!

Kinder furever: Yeah, I just couldn't resist ;P Yeah, I haven't either. It's actually on hold for me at the library right now :P Thanks!

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-K