It is a picture of a tree.
Percy is staring at a picture of a goddamn tree and has been for the past ten minutes. This was after the guided breathing didn't shake anything loose, nor did the hypnotism. Something about the way a demigod brain is wired makes it impervious to mindfulness techniques. Percy chalks it up to his inability to sit still; despite all the soldier instincts that were drilled into him, he couldn't make it through anything Bruce put in front of him.
"Okay, now what do you see?" Bruce asks.
Percy looks at him blankly. "It's a tree."
Bruce sighs. The patience of a saint, this man.
"Alright, alright, okay, we can do this." He nods, mostly to himself, and wipes his hands on his trousers. A nervous tic. Bruce Banner had a fair amount of those.
Percy puts the picture of the tree down on the mat and stretches his limbs.
"I'm not sure how well this is working."
Bruce shoots him a look that he interpreted as no shit, Sherlock.
Percy holds his hands out to counter. What did you expect?
They decide on a break, Percy going into his normal stretches he would be doing as if this were a normal training exercise. He watches Bruce carefully out the corner of his eye, tracking his movement as he paces across the floor.
"Does this stuff really keep the jolly green giant in check?" He asks, skeptical.
Bruce gives him an admonishing look, the kind he usually reserves for Tony. "Yes, it does. But it isn't working for you. That's okay; we just need to pivot."
Percy feels his mood swoop downwards. He hadn't put much stock in being able to recall the memories, really, but Bruce's willingness to try had instilled in him a bit of optimism that was hard to get rid of.
"I should get back to Clint." Percy stands. "We're going through the list Travis gave us today. Hoping it'll give us some leads. If anything, we'll be able to eliminate some suspects."
"Don't give up on this, Percy," Bruce says in all sincerity. "It may feel like nothing is happening, but it will. Trust in the process."
He resists the urge to roll his eyes and manages a somewhat friendly nod instead. "I'll try. Goodbye, Dr. Banner."
—
He finds Flora in the training room adjacent, holding what could only be described as an absolutely terrifying array of knives.
"Look, Perse!" She waves them at him through the open door, the biggest grin he's ever seen her have plastered on her face. Flora brims with electric enthusiasm.
He lets himself have a small chuckle as he strides in. Natasha is opposite Flora, carefully removing around half the number of knives just to be safe.
"Natasha is teaching me how to kill!" Flora's face would split in half if she smiled any wider.
"I am not," Natasha corrects her. She looks to Percy, who has one eyebrow raised. "I'm not. She wanted some weapons training, so I gave her some weapons training.
Percy waves her off. "Whatever Flora wants, she gets. Or steals. At least this is supervised." He turns to his young charge, cracking a smile. "Settling into your room alright, ishta?"
She wrinkles her nose at the term of affection. Natasha takes back the rest of the knives, much to her chagrin.
"Yeah. It's a little too 'brutalism is my passion' for me, but I'll live." Flora shrugs. Her demeanor changes on a dime, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "How's yours?"
He fixes her with a stern glance. "Clint's quarters are fine. I'm only there because it's close to your room. For security purposes."
"Uh-huh." She nods. "Keep telling yourself that."
"I've got to go do some work. Was just checking on you." He brushes her shoulder with his knuckles. "Behave for Agent Romanoff, alright?"
"She'll be fine," Natasha says. "Unless she tries to fleece me at cards again."
Percy gives Flora a pointed look. She has enough sense to look away.
"Did you cheat at cards with Agent Romanoff?" he asks her in Spanish. "Is this how we treat people who welcome us into their home?"
God, he can hear his mother cackling from here.
Flora casts her gaze downwards and mumbles something.
Percy cups his ear. "Sorry, I'm not sure I heard that correctly."
Flora sighs and shakes her limbs out with teenage stubbornness. "No, we don't."
"Correct." Percy crosses his arms. "Apologize to Agent Romanoff."
She groans but complies. "Sorry for cheating at cards, Natasha—"
Percy raises an eyebrow. Flora's shoulders drop.
"—Agent Romanoff." She looks at him as if to check if he was satisfied with her apology.
Natasha, who's been watching the interaction with an amused expression, replies in lightly accented Spanish. "Thank you for your apology, Flora, but I was letting you cheat. Next time, cheat better."
The look of glee on Flora's face is enough to terrify him.
"Natasha—" Percy rubs his face. "You can't— she's a kid—"
"I learned to cheat as a kid." Natasha shrugs. "Time to pass the baton."
Percy turns for the door, grumbling to himself. "Try not to corrupt her too much."
As he leaves, he hears Flora's excited squeal:
"You speak Spanish?!"
—
The list of demigods Travis gave them is a dead-end.
Clint and Percy are sat at a cafe after walking the entire length of Manhattan in the span of a day, ice coffees sitting in front of them as they stare into the middle distance. They lock eyes and all that is exchanged is a bone-deep tired that they can't bring themselves to acknowledge.
"Well, that was a waste of time."
Percy slaps the file they got from Travis down on the table and sucks his drink through his straw like it owes him something.
None of the demigods and legacies that worked at Stark Industries could have had anything to do with the murders. Not only were many of them far away from New York when they happened, a number of them had never even been to camp and were eliminated immediately. The only one who could fit most of the criteria was a lovely older Athena legacy who could barely get up a flight of stairs, let alone murder two demigods in their prime.
Percy rubs at his face and looks at Clint. "What do we do now?"
Clint hooks his foot around Percy's ankle just to touch some part of his body. "Back to the other leads we were looking into. What happened with the stuff in the bottle?"
"It went nowhere," Percy says. "Well— not nowhere exactly. They couldn't identify what it was because of its magical origins, just that it increases rage and killing instinct. But I could have told them that."
Clint shrugs. "It's better than nothing."
"I wish the meditation worked better," Percy says.
Clint laughs, a bit more to himself than at Percy's expense. "You're telling me that meditation, a historically calm and patient practice, didn't work on Perseus Jackson, the most hair-trigger man I've ever met? I'm surprised. I'm flabbergasted. How could I have predicted this—"
"Alright, alright, knock it off before I move to another room." Percy waves him down.
Clint gasps, holding a hand to his chest. "Darling, how dare you?"
Percy sends him a scathing glare. "Did someone dose you with extra shenanigans today or are you just acting like that for me?"
He holds his hands up in defense. "Okay, I'll stop, but you need to lighten up. You're going to wind yourself up so much you won't be able to work properly."
"If I remember correctly, you like when I'm wound up." Percy bites the straw of his coffee and tilts his head to the side.
Clint rolls his eyes.
"Okay, so if meditation isn't working, or the hypnosis, we could try something else," he said. "How many others have had their memories taken? Maybe working together is the answer here."
A wrinkle appears on Percy's nose as he tries to think. "I'm not sure if anyone who was on the mountain would be available. I mean, there's Travis, but his life is going pretty good so far; I wouldn't want to fuck that up. The others, too. They all have nice, simple lives with other mortals."
"Was it really just you and Jason who were still working for the gods?"
"No, everyone else tapered off while we were working, but by the time Jason—" He holds his breath for a moment. "They had all left camp and Annabeth was never at the mountain. I don't think anyone else—"
Clint sees him pause and leans forward in his chair. "Who?"
Percy shakes his head. "It'd be a long shot. And she hates me."
Clint exhales through his nose and fights a smile. "Not any different to most people we meet."
He throws a balled up napkin at Clint's face.
"I'll make a call," Percy says. "But I can't guarantee anything. We've— we've got some history that's hard to get over."
"What's their name?"
Percy's jaw pops with the effort it takes to not bite his own tongue off. It'd been years since he'd spent any length of time with her, and he wasn't sure if she'd even speak to him.
"Clarisse la Rue."
—
Nico isn't surprised when he calls.
It should rattle Percy more than it does— the fact that everyone around him seems to know him better than he knows himself is becoming grating. He wishes he was blessed with the level of perception people examine him under.
"You're looking good," Nico comments when the Iris Message goes through. He's in the apartment he and Will share, tugging his shoes on while sitting on a messy couch laden with blankets and pillows.
Percy closes his eyes and inhales through his nose to gather strength.
"I need you to tell me what I have in mind is stupid and shouldn't be attempted."
"What you have in mind is stupid and shouldn't be attempted."
"Stop," Percy scowls.
Nico shrugs. "Just doing what you said."
"I need something from camp." Percy says it all in one breath, afraid he'd squash down the request to sit with the roiling anxiety in his gut.
"And?" Nico raises an eyebrow. "What is it?"
He clenches his jaw, the muscle popping in his effort to quell the feeling that was threatening to crawl its way up his throat. This was a bad idea— he'd known that from the outset. If there were anyone who didn't want to talk to him, it'd be Clarisse, but she was the only one of them left. There were others, scattered to the four winds, hiding amongst the mortals with full lives that he'd rather not destroy. He and Clarisse were birds of a feather, as much at it pained him to admit it. They were soldiers through and through, fighting until the bitter end. Two sides of the same coin. She held the same rage he did, but for different reasons. Regardless, he hopes he can sway her to their side. The demigods from that day on the mountain need to stick together, or they'll all be destroyed.
"I need to talk to Clarisse."
Nico, to his credit, doesn't laugh at the idea like Percy thought he would.
"Okay. Do you want me to bring her to you, or…?"
"No." He shakes his head. "She wouldn't talk to me if it weren't on her home turf. I need you to get me to camp and get me out if it goes south."
"I don't think Clarisse would kill you," Nico says.
Percy laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You underestimate how much she hates me."
A call comes from the other room and Nico looks over his shoulder.
"Give me a minute! I'm talking to Percy." He shouts back.
"Oh?" A bright face pokes its head through the doorway. Will Solace. "Hey, Percy. How's it going?"
"Badly." He figured the truth was better than a lie.
Will nods. "Okay, well— if you need anything—"
"Will, it's fine." Percy waves him off. "I just need to borrow Nico for a few hours."
Will and Nico have a silent conversation exchanged through looks alone. Eventually, they break and Will turns back to look at Percy.
"Good luck with everything!" Will is so sincere that it makes Percy's teeth hurt.
He disappears from the Iris Message and Nico ties his shoes with a sense of finality.
"I'll come get you in five minutes."
"Will you make sure there's good flowers at my funeral, too?"
To Nico's credit, he does snort at that one.
"She's not going to kill you. I'm half sure she's calmed down from the whole keeping information from camp staff regarding a series of demigod murders thing."
"Great," Percy says flatly. "That's very reassuring of you."
"Just telling it how it is, Perse." He shrugs. "Bring your weapons with you."
"Even better." Percy rolls his shoulders. "Does camp let guns within the boundaries now?"
Nico sighs.
"That's a no, then. I'll be ready with bells on." Percy gives him a small salute.
—
It's a sunny day when Nico shadow travels them into camp. It's always a sunny day, no matter the weather outside the bounds, and he forgot just how much it tends to skew the sense of time for those who live there. Summer every day, never too hot, never too cold. Just perfect every damn second.
He can already feel a scowl building on his face.
Percy dressed for the occasion, expecting nothing less than an all out brawl in order to get Clarisse to talk to him. His armor is old, but not ill-fitting. The leather molds to his chest, his shoulders. He almost opted for the tactical gear he wore on missions with Jason, but decided just on the trousers. The vest wasn't especially practical when dealing with blades and the various accoutrements only gave him an advantage as it related to reloading his rifle.
He felt stiff. He felt like he was fifteen again. It's fitting, he supposes, considering the setting and who he needs to speak to. History is a flat circle and all that.
Percy shakes the remnants of shadow travel off his limbs and stretches his arms over his head.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," he says, running a hand through his hair. The strands that were too long were braided back, keeping it out of his face with the rest curling over the back of his neck.
"It's been a while. Cut yourself a little slack." Nico pulls out his phone and shoots off a text to someone.
"Slack?" Percy barks out a short laugh. "Yeah. That's what I need right now."
They had landed in a small clearing between the Big House and the grouping of cabins. Since his time there, the minor gods had claimed even more of their children and the population of camp had exploded. Unfamiliar cabins dot the landscape, carpeting the rolling hills all the way to the strawberry fields.
Campers moving from one activity to the next stared at them with open curiosity. Some were dressed in armor, loosely holding weapons that gleamed bronze in the summer sun. A group of older campers lounging in the sun on worn towels beckoned Nico closer. He turns to Percy and shrugs, going to say hello. Percy takes in a breath and follows.
"Hey Nico!" one of the demigods gives him a cheerful smile. The group appears to be in their late teens or early twenties, just a few years younger than Nico. "Haven't seen you outside the basement in a while. How's archival work going?"
"Could be better, could be worse." Nico leans over to do a handshake with one of the group. "Did you guys get out of chores or what?"
"Ditching," said another demigod with sunglasses. "The younger kids can muck out stalls."
Nico sighs. "Guys, come on. We talked about this."
The energy shifts as Percy comes up behind him, his hand resting on the dagger strapped to his belt. Nico turns to look at him, then back at the group. One of them squints.
"Is that—?"
"Where is she?" Percy cuts in, speaking directly to Nico.
"Your guess is as good as mine," he replies. "She runs combat training now, but she could be anywhere. Have fun, Perse."
Percy scowls. "This is taking too much damn time."
"Chill." Nico claps him on the shoulder. "By the time everyone realizes you're here, she'll find you."
He turns and stalks off towards the training grounds in the shade of the trees. "Get me out of there if she goes for the kill."
"That's the spirit!" Nico grins at Percy's retreating form.
Percy could hear one of the demigods whisper to another as he left: "Was that Percy Jackson?"
—
Turns out that news travels just as fast at camp as he remembers in years past. The moment he's under the cover of the trees and on the trail to the training grounds, the curious glances turn into hurried whispers, which turns into straight up pointing at him. At least when Luke was the big man on campus, they never resorted to pointing. Kids these days have no sense of decorum.
At least they have the good sense to give him a wide berth. He didn't need to speak to a single soul as he approached the wooden slats that encircle the main sparring area. It likely has something to do with the set look of fury and determination he refused to let go of as he searched for Clarisse, the set of his shoulders strong and single-minded.
He leans over the edge of the ring and watches the current spar session with a curious tilt to his head.
A young demigod holds a shield aloft, a sword gripped in their other hand, as they face off against someone who has to be at least a head taller than them. Where the younger demigod has a way of defense, the taller held only a large mace, the top glittering with celestial bronze spikes. The mace swings down and lodges itself in the shield.
"Good, Jack. Now use that to your advantage. Pull his weapon out of his hands."
Percy turns his head to see Clarisse at the side of the ring by the gate, watching the pair spar with a critical eye. The rest of the class stand in a loosely assembled group behind the fence, safe from any stray weapons that go flying from inexperienced hands.
The demigod with the shield tries to wrench the mace from the taller's hands, but fails. Clarisse sighs, shaking her head. She jumps the gate and approaches them, sidling up beside the younger demigod.
"You've got the right idea, but he's taller than you, so you can't use your strength. He and a bunch of monsters out there will have that advantage over you." Clarisse crouches a bit to mimic their height. "Got that?"
The demigod nods, swallowing nervously.
"Okay, so here's what you do. May I?" Clarisse sounds so… patient as she asks for the camper's shield, mace still embedded in it. It was so different from what Percy was used to; the headstrong acidity of youth gone.
She shoulders the shield, still crouched at the demigod's height. "Gant, grip your weapon again." She nods to the taller demigod then turns to the other. "In this position you can see I'm at a disadvantage, yeah? If I tug right towards me, I'm going to fall back and Gant can crush me. We don't want that— at least I hope we don't."
The demigod was clearly anxious but Clarisse's tone him smile.
"Good." She smiles. "We have some options here: we can push forwards and up, the force pushing the mace up in his hands and loosening his grip, or we can pull to the side and move our body to the side." She demonstrates the beginning of both of those techniques. "The first might get you off balance, but it'll get him off balance too. The second will make you a little vulnerable, but will push him off to the side. After you get it out of his hands, just throw the shield away— you don't need it. It's a weight you're not used to it and it'll just slow you down. You don't want to give him a chance to grab for his mace again. Then his stomach will be exposed and you can put that blade under his armour. If you recover enough, you can even stab it in the side of his neck."
The taller demigod rolls his eyes. "Thanks, Clarisse. I really wanted to be gutted today."
"Manners," she says sharply to him. She redirects her attention to the other demigod. "Now there's a third, secret option, okay? You pull it towards you, just like I told you not to, but instead of stepping back, you crouch down. Pull the shield down on top of your head and while he's off balance, you flip him over you. That one doesn't need strength, you just need too use his momentum against him. Then sweep his legs out from under him and pin him with your knees. Even though he's bigger than you, if you've got him pinned, he can't do much about it. That's when you use your secondary weapon. Got it?"
The demigod nods hesitantly.
"Good." Clarisse hands him the shield back and slaps his back. "Now let's try that again."
She retreats over to the gate, keeping a close eye on them, and blows a whistle hanging around her neck. The demigods face each other and prepare for the fight.
The younger demigod grips the shield and nods at the taller as they agree to begin. He tugs the shield over and up, catching the lip on the edge of the taller demigod's chin. His head snaps back as the younger whips the shield towards the wall. The other demigods duck as it flies past them and knocks into a rack of swords.
The metallic clatter of the swords falling coupled with the hit from the shield disoriented the taller demigod. The younger uses this to his advantage and sweeps his legs under him, toppling him over. He immediately straddles the taller demigod, pinning his arms to the ground, his sword at his throat.
It's over in a matter of seconds and everyone is left in a stunned silence, the younger demigod panting hard.
"I yield. Damn." The taller chokes out.
Clarisse lets out a loud whistle and the rest of the demigod class erupt into raucous cheers.
"Hell yeah, Jack! That's how you do it!"
Clarisse approaches them with a wide grin. She holds her hand out for Jack to take and hauls him off of his sparring partner.
"Excellent work, you two. Go get your chin looked at, Gant."
Percy can't help but clap along with the others, equally mesmerized by the skill of the new crop of demigods.
"Good work."
Heads whip over to look at him. The happy expression on Clarisse's face drops immediately. Percy gives her an inscrutable smile.
"Perseus." Her eyes narrow as the other campers' go wide.
Percy's smile widens. He leans over the wooden slats with a cocky slant to his shoulders. "Clarisse. How've you been?"
She scowls. "Get lost, asshole. You're not welcome around here anymore."
"Oh, c'mon. Is that any way to greet an old friend?" Percy vaults himself into the ring with his arms held wide.
"You're not my friend." Clarisse pushes the campers in the ring towards the gate. They exit and are immediately fawned over by their peers. She goes to retrieve various weapons strewn about the ring from previous matches. "Why are you here?"
He tracks her with his eyes. "Can't I come by and say hi?"
"No," she says flatly. "You made it clear who's side you were on. Get lost."
Percy runs a hand through his hair. This was never going to be easy, but he was hoping to get a word in edgewise. "I need to talk to you."
"Nope." Clarisse hauls the weapons over the side and drops it by the demigods. "Go clean these."
"Clarisse." His tone drops, no longer in the friendly register he was trying to keep up. "We need to talk."
"No, you need to leave." She approaches him with her hands on her hips. As soon as she's in his space, she pokes his chest with a sneer. "I don't fucking want to talk to you. Was I not clear last time? Get fucking lost, Percy."
Percy snatches her finger and holds it in his grip. "No. This is important."
She swears under her breath. "What will it take to get you to go away?"
He thinks on his feet. "Spar with me. No holds barred. If I win, you'll hear me out. If you win, you never have to see me ever again."
She bites her lip and looks off to the side as she thinks over the offer.
A challenge was more like it.
"Do it, Miss Clarisse!" a demigod shouts from the sidelines.
It's only when she turns to reply that she realizes Percy's still holding onto her finger. His face turns pink and he drops it, leaning back a hair. She glances at him, then back to her campers.
"No," she shouts back to them. "Listen up, kids, because this is a once in a lifetime opportunity here. Look upon camp's greatest traitor." She sweeps her arm wide to gesture to Percy. "People like him aren't worth the sweat it takes to fight them."
Percy crosses his arms over his chest and widens his stance. "If I'm that worthless, then why not fight me?"
She quirks an eyebrow. "Years in the mortal world has made you soft. I'd kill you and then Chiron wouldn't have a pretty poster boy to parade out stories of when he feels nostalgic."
He snorts. "Never thought I'd see the day a daughter of Ares is too much of a coward to fight."
She stiffens, fury building up in her throat. In that moment he knows: he has her made.
"Campers!" she roars, turning to face them. They clumsily stand at attention. "Get my armour!"
They scatter when faced with her fury. She rounds on Percy, getting as up in his face as she dared, her finger pointed under his chin. He's a head taller than her, all smiles from where he looms over her sneering face. He finds it adorable when she tries to be intimidating; the Clarisse of yore scared him shitless, but not anymore. He knew better than to be intimidated by someone stuck so deeply in their past.
"I'm warning you, Jackson." Her lip curls upwards. "I'm not pulling any punches."
He cocks his head to the side. "Neither am I, La Rue."
They turn away from each other and prepare for the spar in their respective corners. Percy goes through his footwork as Clarisse straps herself into her armour and tests the balance on her favourite spear.
"Is that really Percy Jackson?" one of the campers asks Clarisse quietly.
She snorts. "Yeah, it is. He's not all he's cracked up to be: trust me."
"I heard he killed Kronos, and a ton of giants during the Second Giant War," another camper says, nudging their friend.
"So did I," Clarisse replies. "Don't forget who here makes you run laps."
They grumble among each other and send protests her way. She winks.
"Make sure you're rooting for me, alright?" Clarisse turns as she strides to the center of the ring. "Gant, you're our ref!"
Percy rolls his shoulders and stands opposite her, Riptide gripped in his hand. He has a knife strapped to his thigh in the instance that Clarisse manages to disarm him. The last time he fought her was years ago, probably back up at the mountain, but those memories are hazy and he pushes them inside.
"Ready, Prissy?" She holds her spear like it's an extension of her, exuding cocky energy.
He chuckles, drawing shapes in the sand as they pace around each other. "I missed you, Clarisse."
Her nostrils flare. "I'll take that as a yes."
Gant blows a whistle and the fight is on.
Clarisse easily slips into a fighting stance, while Percy stays casual. It was a classic way to disorient Ares kids: they hate when you don't treat them like the danger they are. He twirls Riptide in his hand, keeping an eye on her to watch her next move.
It's easy enough to dodge when it comes: a swift strike that he ducks under and evades without breaking a sweat. He can tell it angers her when she strikes again and again. It's not until the third where she lets out a frustrated groan.
"This would be so much easier if you'd just talk to me, Clarisse," he says as he weaves and bobs just outside her range.
"Fuck you," she replies through gritted teeth. "Fight back."
He shrugs. "I don't think I will."
"You set the terms, it's your responsibility to fight."
He opens his arms wide. "Make me."
That unlocks something in her that makes her strikes more precise, more lethal. He just barely evades one as it slices his cheek. Blood trickles from the cut, sticky and warm. It transports him back to their childhood, a life in this ring hurting each other in the name of gods and sport. Percy grips the hilt of Riptide and watches for an opening.
Clarisse looks smug— of course she does. She's likely waited for a chance like this for ages; the hate stewing deep in her gut through years and years of being the only one who kept their promise to camp. It's shown through the wide arc of her spear as she goes on the offensive, the metal of the hilt colliding with the sharp edge of Percy's sword. It echoes in the space, the ring deadly silent.
They've gathered a bit of a crowd as faces appear in the benches that form makeshift stands. Murmurs ripple through the crowd with every parry and thrust they throw each others' way. Percy doesn't want a crowd— he never does— but it fills him with something odd. This used to be his community, but it feels so foreign now. The cruelty he suffered at their hands, the ostracization in the name of veneration, the constant, never ending responsibility placed upon his shoulders with a smile. They were all watching now.
But that wasn't entirely true. The faces watching were young, belonging to the newer campers that came up under him, ones that he never knew. These children were blameless; they were who he wants to protect. This fight against Clarisse, against a mirror image of his past self, was useless in the end he was attempting to reach.
But it was necessary. It was always going to end like this.
Clarisse lands another strike against him after a showy move involving a flip. It does nothing more than slash part of his armour. He manages to throw an elbow in time to throw her off her rhythm and she staggers.
He needs to get within her range. Closing that space and getting close is the only way to defeat her, otherwise she can wield her spear well enough to skewer him. She was always good at it, but she rarely diversified her technique— this Percy remembers from their training.
Percy ducks under the spear and slides on his knees in an attempt to disarm her from below. Instead, she sees it coming and goes to block him with a kick. He flattens himself against the ground and pops up behind her, hitting her spine with the pommel of his sword.
She hisses in pain and dances out of his range, righting her spear. For how fast his reflexes were, hers were faster and he curses his negligence in training to fight mostly mortals in recent years.
Clarisse aims for his knees now, but he jumps and is able to get closer. Percy hits the shaft of her spear with a roar and sends it flying to the edge of the ring. Her eyes flash with anger for a moment before she puts her arms up to block a move from Percy. She gains the upper hand by grabbing his arm and flipping him over shoulder. Riptide goes skittering from his hand across the dirt of the ring.
She puts a boot on his chest and looks down at him. "Ready to yield yet?"
Percy doesn't dignify that with a response. He grabs her ankle and twists, rolling away as he does. Clarisse hits the ground with a dull thud and scrabbles against the earth to right herself.
For a moment they circle each other, fists raised and breathing heavy. They have no weapons and both sport several cuts and welts. It had been so long since he'd had a fight this challenging; it was refreshing. Percy starts laughing; the cut on his cheek begins bleeding anew and makes tracks through the dirt and dust covering him.
"What do you have to laugh about?" Clarisse taunts him.
He takes in a deep breath. "I haven't had this much fun in years."
Before she can reply, Percy surges forward and rams his forehead into hers. The impact creates a sickening echo and Clarisse stumbles back from the headbutt. Percy ducks low, sweeping her off her feet and immediately pinning her down. As he moves, he takes the knife from his thigh and holds it against her throat.
Percy leans down to whisper in her ear. "Don't forget who taught you that little move you showed your campers."
He pulls back and fixes her with a wolfish grin.
"Do you yield?"
Her nostrils flare and she looks for a possible way out of the hold, but the knife at her neck keeps her pinned. She says through a clenched jaw, "I yield."
Percy releases her, a thin line of blood at her throat from the sharpness of his knife. He slides it back in its sheath and stands. Looking down at her, she didn't seem as big as she did in his memories. She was smaller now, defeated, but not to be underestimated. He offers her a hand.
Clarisse hates how smug he looks; she hates that it's the same expression she wore at the beginning of the match. Still, she takes his hand and lets him haul her to her feet.
The onlookers seem to let out a breath all at once and erupt into deafening chaos.
Screams from campers echoed through the space as they shouted their joy or disappointment at them, as they shared their thoughts with their friends in boundless awe and glee.
Percy looks at Clarisse and he can't help it: he starts laughing from the sheer novelty of it all. It doesn't take but a moment for her to join him and she tries to hide her laughter but the shake of her shoulders betrays her.
Gant approaches them and holds Percy's hand aloft.
"Let all remember that on this day that, Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon, defeated our fearless leader, Clarisse la Rue, daughter of Ares."
The crowd starts another round of cheers and Clarisse groans. She hides her face in her hands for a second.
"C'mon," he claps her on the back. "I know somewhere we can talk."
—
Percy collapses on the edge of the dock a sweaty mess. His breathing comes hard and he dips a hand into the cool lake water, wiping it across his cheek. The cut heals over. His hair had come undone in the match and hung around his face in soft waves.
Clarisse stands at a distance from him, radiating tension.
"So, are you willing to hear me out now?" Percy looks at her with an open expression, one that is meant to invite friendship even if it's difficult.
He can tell Clarisse doesn't want to give him an inch, but she's honorable when it comes to sparring and she has to go through with the terms they set. She walks slowly towards him and sits on the edge of the dock, her legs dangling in the water.
It feels like relief, that cold water on her aching bones. She was so overwhelmingly tense all the time now that she was one of the only senior campers who hadn't escaped to the mortal world. She lets herself unwind a little, laying back on the dock.
"What do you need, Prissy?" She says as she covers her eyes with her arm, the sun beating down on them.
He smiles at her childhood nickname for him. Where annoyance used to be is an immeasurable fondness. If he had told teenage him that he would want to hang out with Clarisse la Rue— let alone feel fond of her— he would have laughed hard enough to pass out. But he was different now. They both were.
"Do you remember that day on the mountain?"
He asks it the way Jason did in his dreams. It feels like passing the torch.
Clarisse's eyes shoot open. She sits up on her elbows and looks at him with open confusion.
"Why would you ask that?" She wasn't entirely sure why she was reacting this way, just that she felt the intense need to never discuss what happened. "We—"
"—aren't supposed to talk about it? Right?" Percy indicated his head, a small challenge.
"I—" Clarisse's voice catches in her throat. Her brow furrows. "Fuck. What is that?"
Percy nods, exhaling. It was exactly as he thought. "Glad to know it's not just me. When you try to think about that training upstate, what can you remember?"
She hesitates, looking at him an then down at her feet in the smooth water of the lake. "I— I remember the cabin. It was old, older than the ones at camp. I remember the weapons— stuff we'd never used before. Fucking guns and billy clubs and mortal weapons. Shit that wouldn't take down a monster even at point blank, but we—" She looks at him, her eyes moving rapidly in an attempt to gather the wisps of her memory. "We could, couldn't we?"
Percy meets her eyes, seeing the same hesitation there that he had in the dreams with Jason; the same inability to reconcile what they know to be true with what was taken from them. He nods.
"We could. Special bullets," Percy says. He digs one out of his pocket and puts it in her hand. "Kept that from when Jason and I— from when we were doing missions."
She inspects it in the light. The tip of the bullet has the tiniest amount of celestial bronze embedded in it, making any shot to a monster or demigod lethal.
"Is that what you two were doing? Here I was thinking you were just fucking each others' brains out."
Percy snorts. She's funnier than she has any right to be. "Well- we did a lot of that too."
She lowers the bullet and look at him. "What does this have to do with me?"
Percy chews on the inside of his cheek. "You're the last one left. Not entirely, but the last one of our class, the last one to go through that training that isn't out in the mortal world being happy."
Clarisse rolls her eyes. "So I'm as lonely as you, that's it? Thanks."
"No," he exhales through his nose. "Just— no one will understand like you will. Annabeth never did what we did, Travis has a great job and partner, Jason is dead. The others are content; they don't need this dredged up. But us—" He looks at her, truly looks at her, and there's a spark of recognition that passes between them. "—we still have that fight in us."
She swallows past a knot in her throat and curls her fist around the bullet. "Okay, so what? You didn't come here to have a pity party together."
Percy glances around, making sure they're not being watched. "Someone or something has taken our memories of what happened, and I think it has everything to do with what happened that day on the mountain. Those kids, the way they died… it has something to do with that too."
Clarisse pulls her legs up from the edge of the dock, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Will it help? If I do this, will we able to find the bastard who did this?"
His breath stills in his throat. "I can't guarantee that. I don't even know what we'll find once we get those memories back, but— we have to try."
She looks out over the lake and nods to him. Percy looks at her before nudging her with his shoulder.
"I found Flora," he says.
Her head whips around to face him. "You're shitting me."
He shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. "No. She's safe. I've got people taking care of her."
Clarisse blinks. "Why didn't she come back to camp?"
Percy waits a beat before he responds. "That's complicated. If you come with me, you can ask her yourself."
She nods, settling into silence. They watch the sun dip below the horizon and she exhales. It feels as if she'd been holding in that breath all her life; frozen in her lungs from the moment she entered camp. The tension in her body unwinds and she realizes just how many candles she's been burning from both ends.
"Thanks, Percy." She leans her head against his shoulder. "I— was wrong. And if I can do anything to help, I will."
It startles him. She'd never been this kind to him before and in another time he might have been suspicious of it, but instead he leans his head atop hers. They sit in companionable silence until the sun fades off the surface of the lake and the moon takes its place.