SUMMARY: Percy Jackson has a crush: on 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 Aphrodite laughs from above. Pertemis

A/N: I'm sorry to say that Percy and Artemis don't explicitly interact in this chapter, but it is a necessary chapter. I think of it as a "lick our wounds" chapter because Percy's just trying to sort his feelings out from their last encounter. I had fun with this chapter, and I hope you will too.

The night air burned against his skin.

He walked. Briskly, though jittery...skittish, every quick step clattering along the pavement. He stumbled a few times in the darkness, his mind cloudy and his heart pounding deep inside of his chest, rhythmless. His breath felt funny, caught and trapped in his throat like a bird struggling to escape from a cage.

The very axis that his world depended on had shifted. It'd tilted, over and over, carelessly, capriciously.

It threw his mind for a spin.

So he went back to pacing, trying to get over his disorientation and the nebulous darkness.

His fingers shook. His skin prickled. Finally, when he had enough, he reached for the phone in his pocket.

He grabbed it, sent a quick text, and he dialed.

"Hey?" a voice on the other side questioned, tone unsure.

"Piper, can you pick me up?" he asked breathily. "I sent you the coordinates."

"Yeah—wait, what happened? Is everything okay?" Piper's voice came out rushed and worried, and he could hear the girl get up and begin moving. Percy usually never called for favors, and it seemed like Piper was scared for him. "Did something happen? Percy, are you—safe?"

"Yeah." He looked at the darkness unseeingly. Then he looked at the lit restaurant, a few hundred meters away, and began to walk quicker; he could feel his heart palpitate, and he couldn't explain why he was so upset. "Yeah, all good here," he admitted, and his voice was somehow slurred, words coming out all together in a burst.

"Jackson, you sound drunk," Piper said worriedly. "What the fuck happened? You miss work, and now you're alone and drunk at night? What is going on?" He heard the sound of her car pulling out.

Percy was so glad it was a call, and that she couldn't actually see his expression. The pathetic way he was squeezing his eyes shut, pacing around like a wild animal, trying to ignore the throbbing he was feeling—he didn't want her to see it. He took several short breaths, before he shortly said to her: "It's...all okay."

The reply was good though, coming out sturdier. Percy knew he wasn't drunk, at least not heavily; the wine hadn't been exactly the strongest thing out there, and he'd only had half. His main worry, and the reason why his breath was coming out in uneven pants, was the idea of Artemis following him out. Percy wanted to say he would be ready to face her again, but after everything that she'd said—everything he'd replied back to her—Percy didn't think he could.

Walking out was supposed to feel relieving and freeing, like he was somehow denouncing or mocking Artemis. But it didn't. He just felt empty inside... It was like all of his emotions had been detained in the restaurant, and upon departure, he was unable to bring them back out. He checked his almost-dead phone—it was 1 AM.

Piper would be just getting ready to sleep at this time.

He heard the sound of traffic from the phone. Piper hadn't yet hung up on him, and somehow, he could feel his friend's emotions across the silence and sound of honking. The night was chill against his warm skin, and he breathed deeply, moving to relieve the pressure he was feeling in his chest. The air was calming, but it wasn't enough.

"Hang tight, Jackson," Piper said. "I'm almost there."

Percy murmured, "Thanks, Pipes."

A few minutes later, Percy was sitting in the back of Piper's Chevy.

There was a silence for a couple seconds, while Percy sat there, bleary-eyed, and put on his seatbelt, waiting for Piper to say something. Piper had never struck him as an overbearing parent type, but she definitely was the the type of person to overthink and get worried easily. He braced himself for impact, and impact there was:

"Percy, what's going on?" her voice cut through his thoughts. She didn't sound necessarily angry at him, but definitely troubled, hints of anxiety making her voice crack.

Percy winced at the panic in Piper's expression; he hadn't wanted to call her, bother her when she was just about to sleep, but he didn't have many options. The last thing he wanted to do was dial Annabeth, he didn't have Nico's number, and Thalia wasn't exactly an option. If Piper hadn't picked up, Percy probably would've spent the night cold and alone at night in New York City.

"Nothing," he said softly, leaning against the seat. The leather was dark and cool against his feverish-hot skin. "It's all right. Thank you. Seriously, Piper. I owe you one."

She blurted, "I don't want to be owed one. I want some answers." Her face was still on the road, kaleidoscope eyes dark in the night.

Percy's lips twitched, and he tried to find the right way to word everything. It felt wrong though to talk about what had happened with Artemis; he wanted to keep her as a secret, something he only had to right to know. Piper's eyes narrowed, and she began to drive.

The darkness was like ink, with flitting lights from buildings standing in stark contrast to the night. It was a night with a waning moon, and Percy's stomach lurched at that. He felt nauseous, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Piper's eyes met his expression in the rearview.

"God, you are drunk," she said, her tone cautious though strained. "And you never drink, Jackson."

"I...didn't," Percy said, with a conviction that had to be faked.

"You are drunk," Piper replied. "Just because you can handle your liquor better doesn't mean I can't tell. I work at a damn bar, who do you take me for?"

"Fine," Percy breathed out, resigned. "It was just a sip."

"Where's your designated driver?" Piper asked, her tone in the mood to chastise. "You can't just drink alcohol without one. Percy, where is your car? This is one hell of a walk from your apartment."

"Maybe I took a taxi."

"Maybe you're just a goddamn liar," said Piper in a nonplussed tone. "I have never seen you take a taxi before, and even if you did, why didn't you take one back?"

"I don't know," Percy said, feeling a migraine begin in his head. God, how come the restaurant had been so cool, calm, and quiet? Now that he was out, no longer in the luxury and ataraxy of the restaurant's atmosphere, he felt perturbed. His head felt like it was being beaten like a war-drum, and his face felt hot to the point of burning. He wanted to throw up, to rip off his skin, to sink into the car and become one with the Chevy. "Piper, can you not ask anymore questions? It's...um...my head...hurts."

Piper's lips twisted, and she looked sympathetic. The ride was quiet after that, and although Piper was still focused on the road, he could feel her glare on him at times. Probing, still with that worry that was uncharacteristic for her. Piper had never been overprotective before. She usually was a party girl too, always doing things for the hell of it, skinny-dipping and bungee-jumping and living life on a knife's edge. The last thing she should care about was him.

But he supposed her worries weren't undeserved, and he slunk back, thinking about that deeply. Ever since Thalia's departure, Percy had seemed slightly less mentally stable.

He remembered it all... Every last stupid thing he'd done in front of her. He remembered the whole debacle they had had with the voices coming from the kitchen, which Piper was clearly certain were hallucinations. He remembered his dejectedness while working. He remembered the way he had run away from that coffee shop, with a fake excuse and an easy lie. His absence at work didn't seem to make anything better either.

"You could've come back to Moonlit Liquor," Piper said in a soft tone, a few minutes later. "We have liquor there, too."

"I didn't want to work."

She bit her lip, silently reserved.

Percy did not talk about his financial status with anyone—he didn't know exactly why, but he was embarrassed about it. He didn't need people's pity, the way they would start talking to him like he was a child. He didn't need their disgust, their why-don't-you-work-mores and this-is-all-your-faults. Piper was a well-meaning person, but Percy was certain he would see that damned combination of sympathy and disgust in her eyes upon explaining it to her. So he, like many things, kept it deep inside.

His troubles were his to deal with, no one else's.

But he had the impression that Piper was starting to guess he was poor. She'd driven he and Annabeth back to their respective homes once before, stopping by Annabeth's well-furbished, sleek apartment—a beautiful structure, an architect's wet dream...and then to Percy's apartment. And well, the shabby apartment didn't exactly lie. It was run-down, dirt smeared across its walls, tiny-looking even from the outside.

Piper knew. And if she didn't know it fully, she had the general picture. That he was poor and that his bar job was everything he had going for him. That was somehow more humiliating than he thought it would be.

Percy felt so isolated.

After all, a job at Moonlit Liquor, to Piper, was for shits and giggles. To Percy, it was everything.

He didn't hate her for it, but sometimes...sometimes...he felt something stronger than envy, something that choked him for the fun of it.

But even that was nothing compared to what he felt about Artemis.

He wanted to crawl into her skin and live in it. He wanted to be her, and that hurt so bad because he knew he would always be in this inferior place to her...and he hated her for the fact. Everything about Artemis was insidious, a forbidden fruit that would kill him if he dared to indulge. But it didn't stop the desire for being a god, for being happy. His happiness was fleeting, but hers was forever, eternal, fueled by the freedom and power that came with being a goddess. And he was jealous because...because—

Percy wanted to be happy.

Piper continued to drive, and Percy looked at her for a second there. Even in bright tie-dye pajamas and with her hair a mess of loose braids and split ends, her expression drawn in worry, chewing her bottom lip raw...Piper was beautiful. It wasn't a physical thing. Piper was pretty, there was no doubt about that, but that beauty would only go so far. It was her character. She cared about him. She'd come to get him, and she tried to bring him happiness in the ways she could.

She was a good friend.

"Thank you," he said again in a drunken breath. The back of his throat burned from the Riesling wine. The words poured out at him, before he could examine them: "I can't tell you everything...mainly because I can't face the truth myself. But I had a bad time... And...er, I'm glad you came to rescue me."

He saw her smile overhead, a crooked though genuine grin. "What can I say, Percy? You could call me your knight in shining armor."

He half-smiled. "Not calling you that, Pipes," he said, and Piper only pouted jokingly. He looked outside, pressing his face against the seatbelt as he stared. It was a pretty dark violet sky, cloudless and gorgeous. Magnetizing. When the purple caught on the reflections of Piper's irises, they glowed with the luster of amethysts. He flipped his head back to the view, and he noticed something strange about their surroundings...

"Um, I know I'm a little drunk," he said, and then in a blunter tone, "but I don't think this is how to get back. My apartment isn't near Central Park—"

"We're not going to your apartment," she said back with a similar tone. She still had that cheery grin. "We're going to mine."

What? he thought in the back of his head. He had never been over at anyone's place, except maybe occasionally Annabeth's home when they'd dated. Other than that, he'd never been close enough with anyone for them to let him stay over. It was strange. He didn't know what to do, so he said:

"Piper, it's okay. I'm not that drunk, and I don't want to be a bother." He forced his voice's pronunciation to come out less slurred and more formal.

Still, his tone was far more quick and insistent than he wanted it to be. Secretive. Guarded. Private.

"Come on, Percy," Piper said. "I've got the best morning hangover cures..."

"Piper—" he began hesitantly.

"...plus, you can fill me in with what's going on, too," she said quietly. "I'm your friend, and it's okay to confide in me." Piper smiled warmly and knowingly. "And I promise knowing your secrets won't take away the whole mysterious vibe that you've got going on."

Percy let out a sputter of a laugh. "What?"

"Oh, don't pretend you don't have it."

"Got what?"

"That air of mystery. A charming aura that attracts people in...lures them in like a fish on a hook," Piper said sweetly.

A smile grew on his lips. "My ego needed a pick-up," he told her genuinely. Percy looked at her thoughtfully, sea-green eyes wide, leaning slightly forward, lips forming a lopsided smile. "Thanks."

"I'm not exaggerating, you know. You're a pretty cool guy."

His spirits soared, and his smile widened into a full-out grin.

Piper wasn't really one to shy from compliments, but still, it made him feel so much better. The simultaneous drunkenness, exhaustion, and hopelessness seeped away, replaced with the happiness that came with being a "pretty cool guy." When Piper talked, when she complimented, she was a master of her craft. A siren, out to convince. Apparently, she'd used her sweet-talking nature to steal cars as a kid. Now she'd learned better. She just used her power to give people good days.

"Thanks, Piper. You're pretty great yourself."

She beamed. "It's my forte," she told him, cocky, before she honestly added: "But thank you, Percy. I appreciate that."

Her eyes shimmered in the lambent light. She pulled into her apartment's parking lot, and although the night was dark and obscuring, he could still make out the apartment's intriguing style: a navy-blue building that was very tall and wide, with white balconies and stairs, and windows that shimmered like dark quartz in the faltering streetlights and barely discernible moonlight

Piper's eyes were brown in the darkness, though mixed with flecks of cerulean-blue. She looked ethereal there, and Percy realized that he didn't need Artemis. Piper surpassed her, and it wasn't just because of her looks.

After all, Artemis was beautiful. She was godly. Stunning. If Percy were a painter, he'd want to draw her...use oil and acrylic to try covering the divine beauty that was inherent in her features. He would try to draw her every night, to channel her presence into art, to no avail. She was divine. She was cosmic. She had been a few feet away...

But Artemis was cruel. So, so cruel, and that cruelty knew no bounds.

It was unfair, for such beauty to go to waste on such an unfeeling bitch.

Sleep came to him in spades.

He would sleep, in thirty-minute chunks. Then he would wake up, take a peek at his blurred surroundings, before falling back into sleep.

In his dream, there were voices in his vespertine surroundings. A dissonant clamor of every person Percy knew mixed into one jarring tone and voice.

Five words. Five strange, strange words.

"Gods are like wax roses."

And five familiar syllables, of course:

"In-sig-ni-fi-cant."

It was expected: Percy Jackson woke up with the worst hangover headache he'd ever had. He didn't have many examples to go off of, but still...excruciating pain was excruciating pain.

It was like he had a tiny creature in his head, banging his head open with a mace.

He wondered mildly if Artemis had cursed him with it. He decided against it. That was too personal, and she wouldn't dare touch someone so...pathetic. Pain continued to bang in his skull.

He tried to nestle himself in two gold-colored pillows with mixed results. Warm, liquid sunlight gushed out of the windows. He pulled the light brown sheets tighter to him, trying to rest in the soft fabric. It was futile. Cozy or not, his headache and general disorientation hadn't faded yet. He was no longer drunk or burning, but somehow, this strange pain in his skull was somehow worse.

Piper peeked in from the guest room's door, bringing in a cup of something steaming. She set it on the bedside, just as Percy let out a little gasp of pain. She winced, half-smiled, and took in his shriveled-up form on the bed.

"I am a master of hangover cures," Piper chimed in. "Don't worry."

He looked at her with grimace, lips curled. "Anytime now, then."

"I brought some green tea," she said to him. "It always makes me feel better anyway."

He peeked from behind the sheets, before he tried to compose himself. He took the mug, a gaudy but cute thing with a platypus on the front. He brought it to his lips, and he couldn't help but make an expression of pain, upon drinking the herbal-smelling, murky green liquid. It was so bitter. Piper noticed his reaction.

"It's going to help."

"Any scientific evidence backing that up, Pipes?"

Piper rolled her eyes, but she stood there, leaning against the wall. She was wearing a messy, crumpled white button-up shirt and a black skirt. She looked at him carefully.

Percy took another painful sip, and this time, he went for a smile. At least the green tea was warm against his tongue, and although the pounding had definitely not gone away, he was feeling better. He exhaled after another drink, looked at Piper, and licked his tea-splattered lips. "Did I say anything stupid last night?"

"Don't you remember? You weren't that drunk."

He looked at her with a wince. "That's fair," he admitted. Percy looked around the room nervously, biting his lip.

There was a moment of silence, before Piper sighed.

"Percy, I let you have your silence in the car," she said calmly, "but now, it's time for some answers."

Stupidly, the first reaction in Percy's head was get out. He wondered if he, even with the ache in his body and head, could escape her. Reach the front door. Make a run for it, before she got the whole story out of him. He looked at the window, wondering if he could somehow jump through it. Anything to escape this.

"...answers...?" he said weakly, his gaze still flicking around.

"I have Percy-proofed the entire place," said Piper dully, recognizing his frenzied expression all too well. "There's no way out of this, Percy."

He breathed in and out, and he put the tea away, getting out of the tangle of brown sheets. Piper's eyes never wandered from his face, and that softness in her eyes was kind though curious. Percy knew his business was his own, but judging by Piper's expression, she didn't mean to be nosy. She just wanted to understand, to make him feel better, and hell, didn't Piper deserve a little bit of the truth?

All you do, Percy Jackson, is lie... ran through Percy's pounding skull. This was one way to prove Artemis wrong, no? So Percy took another quick breath and said, "What do you want to know?"

"First off, why weren't you at work?"

He tried to think about why. It was many hours ago, and his brain felt slow and sluggish when he came to the conclusion. He had run off from brunch...then he had stayed on the sidewalk. Then Artemis had come down, they'd gone to dinner, and Percy had somehow forgotten all about his shift. The conversation with Artemis had been carved into his mind, his highest point and emotional zenith from the day before. Everything else was a blur.

Did I seriously mope on a sidewalk? Percy wondered, and he stared at his clothing. What had been casual but neat before was now dirty and wrinkled. Percy winced as he saw the dirt spread over Piper's clean sheets, but she simply, noticing his distasteful expression, waved it off calmly. Piper gestured for him to focus on the question, eyebrows raising.

"I...I sort of forgot?" he stated. It was honest, at the very least.

"You...forgot?" she queried in an unconvinced tone. Piper looked at him skeptically. It was obvious to her at this point, then. Percy didn't have the luxury of forgetting about work and skipping a day.

Piper obviously expected something detrimental.

To be fair, something detrimental had happened to him.

Artemis.

His mind seemed to be his enemy in this, as he traitorously thought: I should ask her about—

No. Honesty or no honesty, Percy was not going to talk about her. Even thinking about her pained him to an almost laughably agonizing degree, and he wasn't yet ready to analyze their conversation yesterday. Maybe he didn't want to—Percy thought he would like to forget everything about it. Go back to his boring, depressing, old life. Forget he'd ever learned that the Empire State Building was the home to gods. Forget Artemis even existed.

That would be good, wouldn't it?

"It's not just because you forgot," Piper continued. "There's another reason. Maybe you could explain why you left brunch so quickly, too?"

"I didn't mean to... It's just, well, um, the time got away from me. And I had a grocery shift, see, and—"

Piper leveled her most unconvinced glare at him.

"I'm not lying," he blurted hastily.

"You're digging your own grave," Piper said, and she stared dubiously at him. "It's honestly insulting. Do you think I'm an idiot? That I'm some ditzy airhead—"

"I don't think you're a ditzy airhead!"

"Then stop treating me like I am," Piper told him, throwing her hands up. "You promised me. I deserve to know."

Piper moved from the wall and sat next to Percy on the bed. Her eyes bored into his. She repeated it again, this time stronger and clearer: "I deserve to know."

The silence that came from her declaration was short-lived, and Percy let out a tense sigh.

"It was because I was nervous," he said in a breath. "I felt overwhelmed and anxious, and that's why I left."

"Oh." It came out soft, and Piper lost the sharp edge in her voice. Piper looked away sheepishly, lips tight, and she murmured, "That might be my fault, right?"

"For the café?"

"For her. Annabeth."

"Oh," he echoed back. Percy had almost forgotten about Annabeth, so caught up in the strange encounter with Artemis. That had been the reason for him running, hadn't it? The slow-to-come realization that Piper was setting them up.

"I don't know why I did it," she admitted, flushing. "I just...don't like seeing you sad. And I thought, since you two were in love in high-school...why not? I'm sorry if that threw you for a loop."

"Yeah. It's okay. You couldn't have known."

"I should have," Piper murmured. "All those times, driving her back when she was drunk...she kind of grew on me. She's pretty too, you know. Got a nice temperament, under all of the tequila."

"I know," he said honestly, though he sat rigidly on the bed, uncomfortable.

"You don't like her."

"She's my friend," he said quickly. "Why wouldn't I like her?"

"Fine. I said it wrong, then. You like her as your friend, not as your potential girlfriend." Piper cussed under her breath. "God, and just when I thought I had you figured out."

Percy smiled. "It's okay, Pipes. Figuring me out would go against the mystery thing I've got going on."

Though she was right, wasn't she? Being with Annabeth would be convenient. For Percy to fall in love with Annabeth...they did know each other. They'd loved each other, once upon a time. High-school sweethearts, falling back in love. It was practically writing itself.

But...it just wasn't true. Just thinking about their relationship in high-school made Percy want to find a hole and die. Percy didn't mean for it to be offensive, as Annabeth would definitely express if she heard of his thoughts, but he just couldn't. He was an adult now, and he knew himself better than he had at fourteen. Love wasn't simple like that. If he could, he'd force himself to love her again. He would, over and over again. He would do anything to get a taste of that normalcy, that routine comfort he felt with her. But he couldn't. It would be insincere. Unfair for her.

"So," Piper said after a prolonged silence and coughed, "sorry about that..."

"It's all good," he murmured, lost in thought.

There were a few beats of silence, of fidgeting and looking away. "I know I'm being annoying," Piper said quietly. "But sometimes I get scared for you, Percy."

He stared. He didn't know what to say to that.

He picked up the green tea, took a sip. Waited. Flicked his gaze down.

A silence overtook them for a few seconds.

Piper didn't wait for him to respond. "I went to high-school in Oklahoma, and I learned something about psychology there," she began hesitantly. "It's called...'social penetration theory'—don't laugh at the name, Jackson! It's not that funny." She passed him a dirty glare. "Anyway... It means that only by disclosing personal information will a relationship go from superficial to intimate." Another deep, long breath. "Sometimes I feel like I stick to pleasantries with everyone. My friends, my boyfriend, even my own dad."

The giggles from social penetration theory stopped quickly. He asked, "Tristan McLean?"

"Yeah, Tristan McLean. The brilliant fucking bigshot," she said bitterly. "I'm happy he's famous and happy, seriously I am, but the cost? He left me alone, Percy. Put me in boarding schools, shipped me off like I was cargo. To wilderness schools, to camps, anywhere but with him. He even made his assistant deal with me. I'd be lucky if I saw him at all..." She looked away, her gaze difficult to read. "The worst part about my dad is that I think—a long, long time ago—he used to care about me. Used to tell me Cherokee folklore, called me 'Pipes,' braided my hair... He loved me, and that's probably the worst part about it."

Percy swallowed, and he reached out to her on the bed, putting a hand on her shoulder. He said, "I'm sorry."

Piper didn't cry, but her eyes were pained, still seething. She was usually so kind, happy, filled with that sing-song energy. She was the kind of girl that could brighten a room with a smile. It was a far cry from now.

Guilt bubbled in him, like soda-pop. The green tea sat nauseously in his stomach, and although his headache was now a dull throb in the back of his head, another sort of pain resurfaced in him.

"So there," she said, "I did it. I bared my heart out to you, Percy Jackson..." A beat passed. "It's time for your load of trauma."

"Trauma? I don't have—"

She looked at him. It wasn't a glare, it wasn't a leeching thing, but... Calm. Eyes flecked with a cool green color, like mint or unoxidized tea. Percy took a breath. He didn't know how much he was ready to divulge, but it was better to try than to overthink. Percy wanted advice. He wanted to be closer to Piper. He didn't want to hide or run away anymore. He wanted to face it head-on, so he breathed. In, out. The nervousness burned in his chest.

"So, um. You were asking me about why I wasn't at work. And how I got all the way there. Without a car," Percy murmured, looking away. "Well, um...it's a long story."

"I've got time," she said. She sat next to him, parallel on the bed, patiently waiting.

He inhaled, exhaled. In, out, again; and after another breath, he finally began, from the very damning incident that had led him into this mess: "It started when I met this customer."

She was dumbstruck.

Artemis stared at the door for a few moments, trying to recount their conversation exactly. Time had become a standstill, and she was left sitting there, eyes searing into the door. Every word in the English language suddenly became inadequate. The feelings unfurling in her chest were indescribable, releasing a burning in her chest.

She could feel the emotions rising to the surface, but she still couldn't discern them from one another. They all just seemed to fuse together, into a melting pot of festering emotions. They only one she could drag out from it, properly put a label to—was shock. Pure, unadulterated, unfiltered shock.

Artemis stood up, moving through a haze of silence. She didn't completely feel in control of her body. It was like she was being controlled by a foreign entity. The ichor in her veins seemed to still, frigid.

Fragments of the conversation came to her, then:

You're just as pathetic as I am.

What part of it is disgusting? Me or you?

You're jealous of my humanity.

And oh, that last phrase, spoken with such confidence:

You're—jealous—of—my—humanity—

It stuck out to her the most, the words almost haunting, and she shivered. The slightest shudder, the smallest shift that communicated what her mind had not yet put into words. It was pathetic, weak, and she tried to adjust her frame. She took an incensed breath, trying to force the damning words from her mind. Artemis tried to replace the convulsing feelings in her chest with anger, but it was difficult.

A millennia ago, she would've killed a mortal for even thinking such blasphemous thoughts.

She'd grown lenient.

She was letting a mortal man spew insults to her; worse yet, she had been intrigued by such hollow remarks. Even now, the numb shock in her skull overtook her bearings... And yet, Artemis didn't feel the need to follow him out, or to kill him.

Artemis still couldn't figure him out, and that bruised her pride greatly.

And it wasn't fair...because Artemis understood mortals, as a collective, well enough.

She'd watched as Prometheus's creations wandered earth, building civilizations and erecting temples in her honor. She saw the same desire for victory in their eyes. She saw the same need to prove oneself, that fierceness and passion she saw both in hunters and warriors and artists. Artemis understood mortals then, on a purely surface level.

But all this time, she had only felt a strong kinship to mortal women, allowing many to become Hunters and her handmaidens. Orion was the exception, of course, but even then, she never truly understood him. They had gotten along because they both loved the intoxicating feeling of a well-to-do hunt. She didn't know of Orion's aspirations, his ideas, his thoughts...and he had died before he could indulge them to her.

All she knew was, great hunter or not, Orion would be dead if he ever talked to her in the way Percy Jackson had.

Percy Jackson was spontaneously volatile. He said things because he wanted to say them. He talked to Artemis like she was both his greatest enemy and his oldest friend. It was fascinating, if Artemis had to be honest.

A coldness, that accompanied the hatred, ran through her. There was only one way to describe it: thrilling.

But not in a wholly good way.

Because, if she thought about their conversation fully, Artemis had lost.

A mortal man had sat down with her, insulted her on multiple fronts, laughed, had a drink with her, and left. Green eyes, like the sea; black hair, messy and lively; that crooked grin, that was as careless as any trickster god. She saw the image of him clearly in her head, snapping insults at her without care or fear.

And then, he'd had the nerve to leave.

Artemis's chest clenched at the thought. He left.

It ran through her head like some sort of sick mantra:

He left. He left. He left.

Her skin prickled, her nerves fiery and ablaze. She needed to take this anger out, unburden herself of these compulsive, all-consuming thoughts. She needed to escape. Away from the urban landscape of New York City, away from the uniquely painful burning that'd taken shape in her chest. It was high time—after so many nights on her chariot, looking at that damned bar, abandoning her hunters for a painfully human obsession—to go back to her roots.

She wanted to hunt.

A/N: The next chapter is coming out very soon! Probably in a few days, but I've got most of it already written. It's going to pick up from Artemis's perspective here. I was going to put her full section in this chapter too, but it started getting way too long. Stay tuned—Aphrodite's going to show up soon too.

Also, I know this chapter may feel a bit like filler...but I swear that it's going to be essential to the plot and relationship development. I don't think it would make sense for Percy & Artemis to get together, if Percy is still depressed and lonely all of the time. I think that's why Piper foils him really nicely here. She's not exactly a perfect friend, but she is trying, and that's what Percy needs right now.

Of course, as usual, thank you for reading. Please leave a comment, and tell me your opinions.