SUMMARY: Percy Jackson has a crush: the bright moon that keeps him company during his night shifts, while he works at a common bar. However, falling in love with a trigger-happy moon goddess doesn't exactly fill the "crush" department. In which Artemis is both amused and horrified at the love-stricken bar boy, Percy likes the sound of trouble, and the love goddess laughs from above. Pertemis

A/N: I recommend listening to "Iris," by The Goo Goo Dolls, for the feeling of the chapter.

The week after Thalia's departure went by quickly…almost inconsequentially.

Percy tried not to think much about Thalia or Artemis. And between his long hours and sleepless days, Percy couldn't really afford to. His thoughts would occasionally wander off to brilliant flashes of auburn and silver, but he ignored the images. Percy learned he was exceptionally good at compartmentalizing his thoughts into categories labelled "Yes" and "No."

But all in all, it didn't really matter what he did or didn't think.

Working at the bar only required Percy to stay light on his feet, interested in polite conversation, and knowledgeable about the different types of alcohol stashed in the cupboard. What else was he but this?

After work, he was on the precipice of sleep, always one tick off from a full "night's" rest. Sometimes, without any cause at all, Percy's eyes would glaze over with silent tears.

He was exhausted, even though his job was not necessarily grueling or taxing. It reminded Percy of a gin fizz: a shot of the stuff couldn't get someone drunk, but taking it over and over was the problem.

He was in what Piper used to call his "brooding mood." Percy had laughed at that, during his first "brooding mood," a few months ago, but now it felt...different. Maybe because he was going through it all over again in some shitty second hand of cards. The reason for his change of attitude wasn't very deep: he was tired, he felt a bit betrayed, he was angry, he was jealous. Most of all, he was working off two hours of sleep.

Perhaps that explained why he was both simultaneously reserved and irritable.

But aside from a lack of Thalia, things stayed the same. Percy had more customers to tend to, seeing as they were missing a worker, and though he was bitter, nothing had really changed about their situation.

He stared at the moon, and this time, he was not smiling. His mouth was a thin, chapped line.

"I don't have anything to say today," he admitted quietly to the sky. Percy's voice was a whisper in the night air. "I'm sorry."

Noticing Percy's uncharacteristic calmness, Piper and Nico attempted to prod at him with questions, smiles, jokes, and concerned looks. Zoë helped in their pursuits, but it was less smiles/jokes and more concerned looks. Percy only bit his lip tensely, while offering one-or-two-word replies. The days rushed by them, and they were still stuck there in a weird impasse-like state where his coworkers were confused, and Percy didn't want to explain.

When July pulled out of the driveway, August quickly replacing it, they seemed to grow increasingly more worried.

One day, Nico tapped his shoulder and asked him if he had any plans after his shift.

Coming up with an excuse was hard. His colleagues knew Percy didn't have much of a...well, to be honest, a life. His life was hardly adventurous; all he did was visit his mom, try to sleep, and work an afternoon shift at a grocery store. Piper looked at Percy with big, puppy-dog eyes, but he didn't budge. Percy just felt...tired. And he wanted to visit his mom again.

"It's just one time, Percy!" Piper said. "We just want to hang out!"

"Yeah," Nico added with a small, wonder-filled smile.

It was surprising to see Nico di Angelo, resident sulky vampire bartender, look so happy...so hopeful. If Piper had forced Nico into guilting Percy...well, what the hell, it was working. Percy didn't like making the other man sad. Something had evidently happened in Nico's childhood. Something like family problems, Percy wagered, going off of Nico's haunted looks. Something had happened with his parents. Of course it wasn't that surprising. There were too many Gabes in the world.

Percy and Nico were one in the same in that department, even though all of the Moonlit Liquor employees had problems. Piper talked, Thalia rebelled, but Percy and Nico? Ignore, ignore, ignore.

So Percy's stomach filled with crushing guilt when he saw that hoping smile. Percy bent. "Okay."

"Okay?" Piper chirped from next to Percy. She threw an arm over his shoulder, and Percy finally let out the first laugh in a while. It sounded almost gleeful, and Percy relaxed. He couldn't even remember what he'd been mad at.

"Okay," he confirmed in a breath, and Piper's smile grew. "But not after this shift... I want to visit my mom. Is after tomorrow's shift okay?"

They nodded eagerly, taking whatever scraps they could from him. Zoë smiled, shaking her head from the back. Percy allowed his shoulders to relax and the plains of his face to even out. Maybe later, when they met up, they could help Percy through his feelings. Maybe they could offer him some much-needed guidance on how to get his life together.

Maybe they could finally talk about Thalia.

When his shift ended, Percy made good on his words—he visited his mother. Percy drove to the old apartment sometime in the morning, even though he was halfway asleep from his late-night shift. Percy made sure to stay awake…for her, always for her. He rubbed at the dark circles around his eyes.

He took a breath and knocked.

His mother opened the door, greeting him with a smile.

Sally Jackson was a woman in her late fifties, and although she was a vision, time had begun to age her features. Her hair had changed from its shiny light brown and her thirties' pretty pale streaks; it was now waves of whitish-grey stringy strands. His mother's eyes were happier than before, but they were surrounded by crevice-like wrinkles.

Time's hands had run over her skin, her hair, her eyes, her very existence.

His mother had lived an unfulfilling, unimportant life; her parents had died in a plane accident, and she'd dropped out of school, had an affair with a nameless man, had Percy, and married a disgusting man in order to stay afloat. Recently, just after her new book was rejected, she'd gone to the hospital after a series of strokes. According to the doctor, she didn't have much time left. It was a cruel, horrible life to live, and his heart physically hurt seeing his beautiful mother be reduced to…this. To never have lived out her dream, after being chained to Percy.

She gestured at the faux-leather sofas, and the two sat there. Somewhere in the background, a Mozart piano sonata echoed. Percy noticed a hastily-sprawled notebook, filled with writing, lying on the table. He tried to focus on his mother and separate objects—he tried not to look too closely around at the actual surroundings.

He loved his mom, and he loved the apartment—the place of his childhood. But it was hard to separate it from Gabe's playground of cigarette butts, sloppy pizza, and poker. He still smelt the faint smell of tobacco there; the whole place reeked of Gabe. It wasn't trauma (because trauma meant you-need-to-see-therapy and therapy meant money), but it did make Percy flinch a bit.

"Hi, Mom," he said to her, his green eyes dull and tired. He hoped they weren't red-rimmed; she always made comments about how Percy was working too hard, how Percy should stay here. Then he'd list off excuses, and his mother would always politely nod and discontinue the conversation. It always went nowhere. "How are you?"

"I'm good," she said lightly. "How are you, Percy?"

Percy bit his lip at first, then smiled. "Great, Mom," he said, and he held her hands in his own. He tried to force it to be true by sheer will, but it was hard. He wanted to add on a "Better than ever," but that felt tacky and superficial. She smiled, tight-lipped, at him. Sometimes, Percy wondered if she was ashamed of him. He didn't have much going for him. He didn't have any college degrees or future prospects. He didn't have a well-paying job or a remarkable life. He didn't have many friends. He lived alone.

(He'd probably die alone.)

Focus, he thought to himself. He had things to look forward to: a nice breakfast with his colleagues—his friends.

Her hand wove into his, and her smile was questioning in nature. "Percy, really. Is everything okay?"

Percy stared curiously. "Is everything okay?" was a question for her, who was suffering stroke after stroke. Who was struggling with book deals and not dying. Percy's life was unremarkable and shitty...but it was in a quiet way... At least, Percy wasn't hearing, "You don't have much time left, Ma'am," from people in white scrubs.

"Yeah," Percy breathed. He smiled. Sometimes, his visits with his mom involved dancing around important things. By now, the two of them were professionals, and they easily pirouetted over things like death. It's easier this way, Percy thought, and it was true.

"How're your coworkers?" his mom asked. Their talks reminded Percy of elevator music: useless, bland, repetitive.

"Good."

"What have they been up to?"

Percy was just about to say a second good, but he caught himself, just in time. "Working."

She looked at Percy carefully, her eyes peeling back Percy's layers and distracted mind. "Hey, Percy..." she murmured. "I don't want to do this with you."

"Do what?"

"Ignore everything," she said, and when Percy's sea-green eyes widened, she quickly added, "just because you're scared to talk about things."

"I'm not ignoring anything," said Percy. He preferred the term "compartmentalizing."

His mother folded her hands together, and her expression was one of concern and melancholy. "You know, Percy, I don't want to go out like this."

He swallowed. "Go out" had only one possible meaning when it came to Sally Jackson, and he hated it. He hated it, he hated it, he hated it so much that he tried his best to ignore it when he worked. Then he'd always be back at her apartment, and he'd be thinking about it again.

She sighed at his reaction. "See? You're not getting it, Percy," she said with wrinkles smearing her smile's edges. "I don't want you to try lying yourself out of every situation. I want to hear the truth, Percy. Do me this one favor, please."

"I'm not lying," he said stubbornly.

"Fine," she conceded. "You're not. You're just not telling me anything. You're just avoiding everything I've asked. Is that what you want me to say? Percy, this is no way to live a life." She took a breath, regaining her calmness, after her rapid-fire response of words. "Please, Percy, tell me when things are hard, tell me if you're struggling."

Percy's lips pursed. They and their game of pretend had gone on like this forever. It'd become their little routine; it was comforting, it was safe, it was expected. Where did this unique thought come from? Why did she want to change something that wasn't broken?

It's because she doesn't have much time left.

Percy opened his mouth once. Twice. His tongue latched to his throat, and he felt sticky and uncomfortable everywhere. Instead of an answer, Percy said, "Things have been busy. Thalia left, and until we hire someone, there's more work divided between us."

It was a half-truth, of course, but it was the only thing Percy could afford to say. He wanted to appease his mother, but he didn't want to worry her. What if her anxiety on behalf of him gave her a heart attack? Nothing good would come of it. It was better for him to keep his problems close to his chest. They were his to deal with, and his mom could do better than hear his sob stories.

His mother said, "Oh."

And it was what Percy expected. Everyone—even his kind mother—demanded the truth, but they didn't want to deal with the truth. They wanted to have the cake of "being a good person" and eat it too—without actually caring.

Percy added quickly, "Thalia got recruited by some talent scout."

"That's good for her," she said with a faint smile.

"Yeah, it is," he said, and his face was calm and numb. In all of his whirling, chaotic feelings, Percy had never felt happy for Thalia. He cringed, as heavy guilt filled his stomach. He was just so...angry over Artemis, and it was hard to see anything but Artemis's smug smile.

"There's this customer," Percy began, and he instantly regretted the words, "and I'm jealous of her. She walked in with rich clothing, her wallet was stacked with bills, and she looked like she had everything together."

Percy felt foolish. He didn't need to expose his innermost thoughts in such a manner. Especially since he knew what his mother would say. Something like: Percy, don't be jealous. Be happy for her. But that was not how jealousy worked; it was a tiny weed in a garden that corrupted all of Percy's thoughts.

Envy could not be easily plucked. It stayed until it died.

"Oh." She looked nervous, and her lips were drawn tight. "Percy, don't be jealous." Percy's eyes closed, tightening. "You never know what other people are going through. We're all just human, after all."

"She was rude to me, Mom," Percy bit out, his nose scrunching. "She treated me like I was nothing."

When Percy was a kid, his mother would stick by his side. Whether that be to annoyed teachers, outraged principals, and rude parents, Sally Jackson was on her son's side; she stood up for him when the world shunned him for things he could not control: for his ADHD, his dyslexia, his bad timing when it came to Revolutionary War cannons. Percy was an adult now, and everything was different.

"She might be going through something," she reasoned softly. "Just be kind, and everything will work out."

It was like she thought Percy was still a child. Still someone who believed in simple, kindergarten ideals. So Percy nodded and went on ahead. "Thanks," he said. He settled himself on the couch, the rough texture somehow soothing. His mother's answers were so simple. After thinking about something deeply, he said, "Hey, Mom, can I ask you a question?"

She wanted them to be more open with one another. She could answer this.

His mom's eyes were bright and wide-eyed, concerned and curious. "Of course, Percy."

"How are you so calm?" said Percy. "The doctors told you that you don't have much time left, and you're not crying or screaming or punching at air... Mom, how are you so...relaxed, so laid-back?"

Her eyes shifted away from Percy, clearly uncomfortable. Her tone was clipped. "I'll be honest with you, Percy. I'm not as calm as I appear to be."

"Oh."

Percy didn't know what to say, now knowing that his mother's calmness was a façade. His mouth was open, but no words tumbled out.

Perhaps he and his mother were not so different, after all.

Hey, Artemis. Moon. Sky goddess. Goddess of the hunt (my friend mentioned something about it)?

It's me again. Percy. Percy Jackson. Twenty-some years old. Works at a bar. Attention span of a dying fish. Likes blue food. You can't miss me.

I'm not sure what you want me to call you. I don't think it matters anyway, considering I'm talking to myself, but let's pretend I am talking to someone. I think I'll cross out "Artemis" for name choices. I hope you don't mind. But "Moon" is too...impersonal. I know this is a very one-sided interaction, but even diaries are personal, although the little books never write back. It'd be nice to write to you. I could put "pen-pals with the moon" on my resume. It's just...my writing's just not very good...or my spelling...or my grammar...or really, anything. And I don't think moons have eyes, anyway.

So I'm back to whispering.

Things have been...sad, uneventful.

You know how some people say they're side characters. NPCs? No ones? I don't feel like that. Because while side characters exist and live and thrive, I'm not even in the story. I don't even get so much as a line. Everything that I do is too small, too insignificant, to touch the main storyline. I don't want to be a hero, not really, but I want to be...someone. Not someone famous or wealthy, but just...someone.

I don't know why I'm telling you this. It's six o'clock, and my shift starts in half an hour... The thing is...I can't talk to my mom. I can't talk to my coworkers. I can't talk to anyone. I can talk to you. You don't get to judge me, die on me, hate me, love me. You simply exist.

Aren't you lucky, getting to hear all my issues? I'll stop talking now—

Percy tugged at the uncomfortable tuxedo's collar, and he let a small smile grace his face. Even though he wasn't necessarily looking forward to the meet-up with his colleagues (friends), he was looking forward to it far more than his night shift. The circles around Percy's eyes made him look like a sad raccoon, and he was sure they'd deepen with another long shift. Or maybe it was the stress, Percy couldn't tell.

Percy was in the back of the bar, and he was washing dishes from yesterday's shift.

Zoë was currently serving glasses, and she looked simply ethereal, her bronze skin drowned out in the moon's pale light. Percy took a look, then flipped his head to the window. The kitchen had a small, narrow window, to let air into the bar, and even though the opening was small, Percy could still peek out a cratered waning moon, and even the slit of it was entrancing.

Percy knew the sort of obsession he had with the moon was...weird. Odd. Strange. But he didn't care. He considered it tame, compared to other ways of numbing pain. Thalia drank and gambled and smoked. His old coworker used to do drugs and cut his wrists.

And here Percy was, just talking to the moon.

This was all the reassurance he needed to put a cork on the shame.

Percy walked to the front of the kitchen, and he closed the door, blocking out the sound both ways. The noises of the bar faded away, and static filled the kitchen. He walked back to the dishwasher, and he opened the window slightly, letting cool night air blow in. The moon stood there, small and thin like a starved child.

"Hey, it's me," he said. He allowed his voice to rise beyond a whisper, as the roaring sound from the facet covered everything up. "I don't really know what to say. It's harder to come up with things on the spot, you know?"

The moon stayed blissfully silent.

Percy scrubbed at a pretty light-blue cup, and the sound was soothing and made his senses tingle pleasantly. The moon bathed Percy in its glow, and Percy smiled. The wrinkles on his brow and mouth eased, and he probably looked eighteen at that moment: young and naïve and glowing. Percy thought that, in some ways, the moon was like his own personal fountain of youth.

He felt like a child when he talked to the moon, like he was reliving his childhood all over. Minus the bad parts, the parts where Percy had screwed shit up, the parts where Percy had cried, the parts where Percy had been kicked out of schools. He felt like a kid with his own imaginary friend because even if she—it—couldn't respond to Percy and didn't exist, it was his.

"I'm excited to meet up with my friends tomorrow," Percy admitted. "They don't know me all that well, but they're good people."

Percy smiled softly, and he scrubbed another cup. He said, "It must seem really lonely, right? Just my mom, four...three coworkers, and customers...for years? Occasionally my ex-girlfriend? No adventure, no love-life, no one-in-a-trillion lottery wins." Percy re-thought his statement, and he corrected it: "Well, I suppose the 'no love-life' thing might be a bit exaggerated. I've had crushes, and I haven't pursued anything. That's my fault, yeah?"

Silence.

At least, thankfully, some things never changed. Percy hummed.

He finished the last spot on a shot cup, and he put it on the dish rack. Percy's half-smile grew, his lips tilting into place, as he stared outside. The night was indigo-blue with shades of muted sunny-gold and purplish-blue. The moon was as white as snowfall.

"Piper says I have a crush on the moon." Percy snorted, but he could feel the corners of his mouth upturning. "But it's not like that. People don't get crushes on bright circles. Or any circles, really. Hopefully, anyway... I like the moon, I like you, because you're my outlet. My own little night-edged diary. I don't need to reach for pen and paper, reach for the proper place, write a heading, do anything; I just need to talk and look." He laughed. "I'm so lazy, aren't I?"

It was a rhetorical question. It was a question he already knew the answer to. It was a question that was addressed to the moon. To a figment of Percy's imagination, to no one.

And yet—in spite of reason, logic, and science—the moon replied back.

A/N: Unedited, so please excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes. Thanks for all the reviews last chapter, and to confirm some of your thoughts in the comments, it's going to be a slow-burn (not horribly slow, but still reasonably slow). All of my stories will be updated much, much slower now because I have work to do, but I'm going to try writing consistently for ML. Reviews are amazing, and they motivate me to write, so please leave your thoughts. I'm thinking that Artemis's perspective will be coming up soon...