The beeping woke Annabeth before the pain did. She blinked, the edges fuzzy, and slapped vaguely at her bedside table. She didn't remember her phone's alarm being quite so high-pitched. Or so far away. She slapped at it again, confused when her wrist made contact with something cold, and something brushed up against her face. She blinked, eyelids sticking together under the weight of accumulated grit.
"Oh, thank God." Piper's voice was the first one she heard.
Annabeth tried to turn her head but the motion was stiff.
"No, don't move your head. There's a button— here, I'll do it."
Annabeth wasn't sure what was more confusing: a light pressure on her hand that subsided immediately as Percy Jackson stepped back and pressed a button that did indeed raise her bed frame in a way that put her in a seated position or the fact that Percy Jackson was in the room at all. A nausea that had nothing to do with the drugs she was undoubtedly on or the pain that those drugs were numbing rose up at the realization that she was sitting here in a very flimsy hospital gown, practically clad in nothing but paper, and Percy Jackson was about two feet away.
And unless she had totally lost all of her senses— which, she supposed, she had, given that she'd been unconscious up until about two seconds ago— he had been holding her hand.
Another wave of panic ran through her at the thought of what her hair must look like.
Piper, apparently possessing some incredible best-friend skills that Annabeth had not truly appreciated until that very moment, passed her a small Ziploc baggie. "All approved by the nursing staff— some things I thought you might appreciate."
Annabeth reached inside— a tiny pack of breath mints, a travel-sized toothbrush and toothpaste, a compact mirror, and a tinted lip balm. She grabbed Piper's hand before her friend could pull away. "You're my favorite person in the whole wide world right now."
"I love you, dummy. Do not ever do this again." Piper's words were scolding, but her tone was warm and her jaw tight with the effort of keeping her chin from trembling.
There was a knock at the door, and a nurse Annabeth didn't recognize poked her head in. "Miss Chase. I'm glad you're awake— you gave us all quite a scare. I'm sure you have some questions, and I'm afraid I still need to run some tests before clearing you for… well, for much of anything."
"Cognitive tests, you mean." Annabeth swallowed, unable to shake the feeling that someone had stuffed her mouth full of gauze and the dryness was still there. "Right. Okay."
After the nurse brusquely kicked Percy and Piper out, the tests took nearly two hours. The team of doctors, nurses, and security staff who had apparently been providing her with round-the-clock care asked questions, probed her with instruments, and waved screens in front of her face, all of which was supremely uncomfortable. But by the end of it all, they determined that she wasn't concussed, none of her newly-operated-on bullet wounds were infected, and she was likely in a position to heal cleanly, if not quickly. The worst of the bunch was a five-inch-long laceration in her arm, where apparently a bullet had struck deep enough that there had been concern it might have nicked bone— an infection had sprung up but been put down, and now she was only a little bit worse for wear.
"You'll still have to do physical therapy, of course," one of the nurses told her.
"Right, of course." Annabeth echoed.
"And we're going to recommend that you check in with a psychologist, as soon as our team finds one who both passes our basic security checklist and is a good match for this kind of trauma recovery," added a large man in a black suit. Annabeth squinted, and then recognized him: Zhang, one of the Secret Service agents who was often on Reyna's detail. He'd been in the car with Annabeth and Piper to and from Michael Yew's funeral.
"A shrink?" Annabeth raised an eyebrow, then frowned. "Right, I got shot at. A shrink is probably appropriate."
One of the nurses mumbled something about the amount of stress that White House employees all seemed to collectively be under, and that maybe they all needed therapy. Annabeth pretended not to hear.
"Do I even want to know what happened to my clothes and my phone?" Annabeth asked.
"It shattered on the pavement when you dropped it," Zhang offered. "A good thing you did, too— if you'd still had it in your hand, you probably wouldn't have knocked Jackson down, and then you'd have both probably been hit. It's not especially functional now. Your assistant, Miss McLean, already got you a new one, but then the battery died from the number of notifications chiming in before we could get you a charger."
Slowly, it came back to her. Hands on her back, pushing her down, Percy's suit jacket tearing as the two of them crashed to the pavement, melted chocolate smearing over her arm. The pop, pop, pop of a gun firing. Silena's scream.
"A lot of people care about you enough to want to check in, Miss Chase," the nurse who'd entered the room first said. "Your assistant took your clothes out to a tailor to repair the tears, and then brought you a bag with a few outfit options."
Annabeth nodded, mouth dry. "She's a good friend."
"That she is," the nurse agreed. "I'll let you get caught up on everything that's been happening. But I'd advise you to take breaks— keep avoiding screens for another day or so if you can."
"If you need someone with a high enough clearance to read things out loud to you, we can find you an extra staffer," Zhang noted. "Or, Reyna can, anyway. We already called her and she's okayed the resources."
Annabeth shook her head. "No, I'll just get things printed out. I'm used to doing paper edits and paper notes— it's how… someone I used to work with liked to do things."
"All right." Zhang stepped forward. "I'll escort you back to the room now if you'd like to collect your things. If I may be so forward as to suggest it… you may want to take a minute between changing into real, not-hospital clothes, and turning your phone back on. I have a feeling that once the real world comes calling, it's not going to stop for a little while."
Percy left the hospital before Annabeth was finished with the last round of tests, before they let her back into her room. He wasn't sure what he'd say to her anyway— there was too much he'd said when he wasn't sure she could hear, to little said aloud before or since. So he went home to his apartment, a tiny one-bedroom affair in the Wharf. He'd been back over the last four days since the attack in Roslyn, but never for long— he'd either been at the office or at Sibley every waking moment, only stopping at home to grab a fresh set of clothes or a phone charger. His hand shook slightly as he unlocked his apartment door, the exhaustion of the last few days finally beginning to set in.
Something warm and soft headbutted his ankle. Percy looked down at his feet. "Well, hullo," he murmured. "Who are you?"
The tiny gray cat— more of a kitten, really— that had appeared out of seemingly nowhere mewed at him and then headbutted him again.
"Do you belong to someone?" Percy asked.
The cat rammed its head into his leg again, more insistently this time.
Percy sighed. "All right, come on then."
His fridge was close to empty, so dinner was a sad affair of ramen noodles jazzed up with a bit of leftover takeout chicken thigh that didn't look too far gone and some chopped scallions that had been sitting in the back of his freezer since the day he'd moved to DC. The cat munched happily on a can of tuna Percy had dug out from the back of his pantry, licking at the traces of fish and salt on the lid. Percy picked at his noodles, savoring the too-salty broth and trying not to let himself think too hard about his mom's chicken noodle soup, or her spaghetti and meatballs, or…
He groaned, tipping his head back against his chair. He should call home. He knew that. He'd told his mother that he was okay, that Annabeth was past the worst of it, that the President and Reyna were fine. He'd given her as close to a play-by-play as he could over the last few days, but now… he wasn't sure what to say.
The cat meowed again.
"Do you have a name?" Percy asked it. The cat yawned, and then stretched out all of its limbs. His limbs, Percy registered, with a slightly closer look. "Man, you're little. How about…" he tipped his head to the side. "Bob."
The cat let out a little grumble that didn't sound too dissatisfied.
"Okay, that settles it." Percy reached out, only a little bit cautiously, and ran his hand along the cat's admittedly very soft fur. "Bob it is."
His phone buzzed on the table. With a groan, Percy reached out to pick it up. "Rachel?"
"I saw your text," she said, music blaring tinnily from somewhere in the background on her end of the call. "I'm glad your friend's okay."
"I am, too." Percy brought his dishes to the sink, dutifully loading them into the dishwasher. He cradled the phone between his ear and his neck as he made his way to the sofa, settling himself into a corner. Bob followed, hopping up uninvited and nestling his little gray head into Percy's side. "How are you? How is everything?"
"I'm good." Rachel was quiet on the other end for a moment, the music continuing along with the sound of the city. She was out somewhere, probably Georgetown or Tenleytown based on the whoops and hollers of what sounded like college kids behind her. "Listen… I've been doing some thinking."
"Okay." Percy brought a hand down to pet Bob. "What about?"
"I came by the hospital yesterday." Rachel's voice was small, an odd pairing with every side of her Percy had ever seen. He didn't like that juxtaposition, or the way she paused before continuing on. "I… you were sitting. With your friend."
"Annabeth," Percy supplied. "I didn't even see you."
"I was going to surprise you, bring you lunch. Maybe take your mind off of things. But then, I saw you, looking at her, and…"
"You know there's nothing going on between me and her, right?" Percy's heartbeat thudded, loud in his ears.
"No, I know," Rachel agreed. "Even if there was… It's not about that. It's more the way you were looking at her… that doesn't even matter. I think I knew, weeks ago. You were never really looking for someone to take your mind off of things."
"What do you mean?" Percy asked.
"You're at your best when you're with someone who sharpens you, strengthens you. I saw it that night we met, when you were with your friend from California, or when you answered the phone from the office. You went from laid-back and fun to alive and alert and somehow more you. It was captivating." Rachel took a deep breath. "And it's why I have to say this."
"Say what?" Percy asked, but he already knew.
"I'd love to be your friend, Percy." Rachel said, a tiny waver entering her voice. "I think you'd be a really good one. But I'm not what you need right now. So… I think we need to hit pause on what we've been doing. Take some steps back."
"Okay," Percy found himself saying, the word feeling unfamiliar and disingenuous on his tongue. "So…"
"I'll see you around, Percy. I wish you the best of luck. You can always give me a call when you need a friend." She ended the call.
Percy set his phone down and looked around at his dark, empty apartment. He sighed and looked down at the cat, suddenly grateful for the company. "Guess it's just you and me now, Bob."
At least one person's out of the woods! Also, I may have a dog and not a cat, but I thought I'd show a little love to the Cat Distribution System, which has been known to help out many a friend when they've been in need.
I'd apologize for how delayed this chapter is, but I'm beginning to think this is just the norm. If you're enjoying it (or if you like, really hate it I guess?), leave a review! ~GT