I have a vicious cold so if anything is weirdly worded or overly flowery in description: blame my stuffy head.

Chapter 4

The ocean was calm that night. It still whispered lost melodies into the empty air, but the waves were low and gentle. Each one writing a new line into the sand of the shore before the next came tumbling in to take over.

Percy sat in Annabeth's spot. His mind was so full yet so hollow at the same time. Everytime he closed his eyes, she was hanging over the side begging for her life. Something in his heart jumped thickly at the thought of her falling liquidly through the air. Her body cracking against each jagged point and being cradled by the welcoming waters that would carry her away. Buried in a liquid world surrounded in silence.

No, it wasn't attachment or the severance there of that he was scared of.

She just couldn't die like that.

Not Annabeth Chase.

Oceans don't die by falling off bridges.

Brandy can be set on fire, cigarettes can be split open and scattered, but oceans were special.

How does someone kill an ocean?

Percy stared out over the water again. His eyes were growing tired, but his heart was never bored from what he saw. He loved the ocean. He loved how you couldn't hide while on its surface, he loved how it was full of things people didn't understand, he loved how it was strong and unyielding. He loved how he could see the sky above it without any trees or buildings, or mountains blocking his view.

Are you sad?

Yeah, Percy figured, he was sad. He was sad with how his life had gone. He was sad his mother was dead, he was sad he killed people for a living, he was sad that he didn't have a normality or the comfort of mundanity. It was the kind of sadness that was melancholy and dull, yet nagging and everlasting. The exhausting kind that stuck between your ribs and wouldn't budge no matter the things you did.

Was he sad all this time, but never chose to acknowledge it? He didn't know.

Percy started counting stars.

Can you change it?

No, his mother would never come back. But could he change his career? Could he ever get out of this lonely, dark life he was leading?

No.

This was his life, and one day it would kill him. Maybe even tomorrow he'd find himself breathing his last few precious breaths before the darkness descended. Maybe next time he'd be the one over the bridge's edge, with Annabeth standing above him. A curl of disgust in her lips as she shook him free with a repulsed 'get off me'.

Why he bothered saving someone who would never in a million years save him was the true brain teaser of the night. All Percy could do was look to the sky and wonder about how she brought out all of his stupidity in one moment.

"You're in my spot, Seaweed Brain." Annabeth's voice was quiet. She seemed to be exhibiting the same mood he was in.

"Really? That's the best name you could come up with?" Percy shot her a withering look. Her face was hidden by the darkness in a slanted way as she shuffled into a sitting position beside him. The frigid sand bit into both of their bottoms as they admired the stars over the open water.

"It fits." She shrugged loosely. Surprisingly uncaring for the little jab Percy made at her.

"Whatever… Wisegirl," Percy returned with a roll of his eyes. An amused element in his tone as he shot her a simple look of contentment.

It was a lie, Percy felt as hollow as he came. He didn't want her to see him this way. It shouldn't have mattered, he was going to kill her anyway but still.

"Now that is a terrible name," Annabeth chuckled mellowly. Following his line of sight to the dark shore line, to the glittering horizon line. Tracing each incoming wave with her eyes in a mix of deep thought and lost sadness.

Silence washed over them again, making room for the sound of the world. The void gave Percy enough time to think. Sort out his thoughts and put them away for later. Focus on the task at hand.

I could just end it now. I could just drown her.

But killing the Ocean with the ocean seemed like an unforgivable irony.

"Let's go." Annabeth abruptly uttered under her breath. That lost look persisted in her eyes when Percy turned to her in confusion.

"Where?"

"Anywhere," she whispered. "I almost died tonight… I had some pretty dark thoughts while I was dangling like that. I need to forget them."

"You mean… you need to try new things?" Percy raised an eyebrow at her. Noticing how she turned her face away from him sullenly.

"Sure," she grumbled. Basically admitting that he was right. "Let's try new things."

.:oOo:.

They tried rainbow pizza (which was disgusting). They tried buying as much alcohol as they could that started with the letter U (surprising amount). They tried taking a tipsy horse drawn carriage ride, and then a tipsy bicycle taxi ride and rated them. They tried to catch a pigeon and failed miserably, and then they tried an all night bar and seemed to have a win.

Annabeth wanted to try more, but on their way to the park to have a spinning contest she lost her dinner in two lumpy waves.

Percy was a good 'friend' and held her hair back. Being always aware that his rivals could be preparing his death, he had only barely gotten tipsy. Not to mention having the slick cold of a bottle in his fingers gave him bitter recollections. Annabeth, on the other hand, was all out drunk. Whatever her mind had conjured while she was about to die made her toss back as many glasses as she could manage. Her laughing got louder and Percy got more conscious of his surroundings. By the time she hit a state of drunkenness he thought was impossible, she sounded like a hyena dancing around the outskirts of a honey badger's den. It was time to call it a night, if not to save his own dignity. Being associated with drunk Annabeth was not something he wanted on his record. Even the cabbie was eager to be rid of them and didn't wait for Percy to tip him.

When she went stumbling into the stairs up to her front door giggling madly he knew she was close to passing out. That, and the way that she had suddenly lost all understanding of the term 'personal space' and he was positive she was about to tip forward unconscious.

"Wow these stairs are blue," Annabeth mumbled with a complex look on her pretty face. Wavering and slurring her words in the typical drunk state most young people found themselves in.

"Actually, those stairs are grey." Percy pointed out while he gently took her arm and brought her to her feet.

"Blue," Annabeth growled aggressively. "They are definitely- oh look it's my house!"

Percy couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, it's your house."

"But when did you get here?" She looked at him with so much confusion. Her eyes went half lidded for a moment before she seemed to snap out of it. "Oh whatever. Ish okay. Let's go inside, it's hot out here."

It was freezing, but okay.

"Let me just grab your keys-"

"WHHOAAAooaA-" Annabeth suddenly pierced his ear drums with a shout while gripping her purse to her chest. "Theifer much?!"

"Lady, we need the keys to get in the house."

"I know that, you Seaweed Brain," Annabeth grumbled lowly again, but despite her words was still trying the door knob. Twice, she threw her weight against the door and twice she glared at it in shock at its treason to not move at her whim. Then, with her frustration growing, Annabeth sporadically jammed herself against it a few more times. Cursing all the while. Her elbow hit against its wood in a familiar sound.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Oop, someone's at the door." Annabeth stood back in confusion. Her voice grew quiet and scared. "Should I answer it?"

Percy snorted at her and took her leather purse. "You're really drunk Annabeth."

"Aren't you?"

"No." He started trifling through it before he came across a silver chain of keys. In a little symphony of jingles, he found the right key and fitted it into the slot.

"Ooh…" Annabeth hummed blearily. Letting loose a hot sigh stinking of booze. "I forgot what we were talking about."

"We need to get you to bed." Percy guided her in the door. Wrinkling his nose in the process at her stench.

"Percy Jackson!" Annabeth jeered while she staggered into the warmth of her home. "That's dirty!"

Roll his eyes, facepalm, slam his head into the wall; he suddenly got the urge to do all three of those things. Drunk Annabeth was a toddler. An impossible toddler he'd soon rather tape to the wall than tuck in. "No, you need to go to sleep."

"Oh, how right you are," Annabeth giggled uselessly while flipping off her shoes. One of the heels connected with his shin and a firecracker of pain flew up his leg.

Percy let go of another even breath and braced himself against the wall. "Get to your room. I'll get you water," he said. Strained.

He made a beeline for the kitchen the moment his leg stopped smarting. A modern, empty, soulless kitchen with stainless steel everything, granite grey counters and an island counter lined with icy metal bar stools. Bleak, yet graceful in its own respect. But again, it was as if she had simply copy and pasted the kitchen out of a magazine. There were no photos on the fridge, no magnets, no funky little washcloths hanging from the over door with holiday slogans on them. There weren't even any personalized mugs in the cabinet.

"Annabeth. Upstairs." He called over his shoulder, still hearing her thrash about the front hallway like a stranded trout.

If that woman died by falling backwards drunk and hitting her head on a table, Percy would throw hands. He needed to be the one to kill her, dammit. He'd already spent a week thinking about it. A week's worth of thoughts wasted was too much indeed.

"Annabeth?" he warned one more time. Wondering if he could trust her to get up the stairs alright. Loose giggles and sudden growls at inanimate objects started echoing around her home when she began to ascend the stairs. Percy paused, listening to make sure she made it.

Well if she falls, my job will be easier. He convinced himself. Although, it did make his stomach swirl thinking about her dying accidentally when it was his job.

It took a bit of hunting but Percy was finally able to locate a usable glass and fill it with ice cold water. He found her scarf on the stairs and her coat in the hallway. With a groan, he collected them and went onwards into her room with a mutter of 'messy bitch'.

"Annabeth, your water." Percy set the glass down on the desk. The dark room was perfectly tidy, save for the contents of her purse which she had spilled over the rug in the middle of her room.

Somehow, she had managed to take her messy hair out to let it down and sat delicately on the edge of her bed. Gaze adrift in the world outside of her window in a longing way. Glowing from the timid light from the faraway streetlamp that fell across her features and brought out the way her lips were sagging, the way her eyes had taken on that lost discontentment again. Every once in a while she would shift groggily as the only evidence of her intoxicated state.

"Annabeth?"

"She left me," she said suddenly. Broken. "Left me like dirt… or rubbish… or old clothes..."

Percy found himself moving forward without thinking. That knot of curiosity throbbed in his chest. "Who?"

"My mom," she said achingly. "She left me on a street corner. Told me to stay there without any other direction. Then she just turned and left. I was only seven."

Percy found himself falling into the place beside her. His heart being nudged at every word she spoke, yet still he didn't try and block it out. She was opening up to him in her drunken state, and finally all of his questions finally might be answered. Finally he'd be released from his sick game of jeopardy and he could carry one with the task.

"What about your dad?" He couldn't help it. He had to ask. He had to know.

"Car wreck," she muttered in a dreamily detached tone. Her faraway eyes were filling with slow torturous emotions as the memories started to poke hot spokes into her heart. Tears spilled over her cheeks in a silent testament to her pain.

"I was in the car," she whispered so secretively. "I remember… I remember him gasping. And all that blood that covered his face like a thick mask. I remember… the moment he just… died. So desperate and so… unwilling? He was… he didn't want to."

He could imagine her there. Buckled into her car seat and watching with huge, scared grey eyes as her father rasped out incoherent messages into the stale air. The car alarm blaring in the background, the shrill cry of surprised spectators as they surrounded the dying man and his scarred daughter.

"You wanna know why I don't try new things?" Annabeth slurred while swinging her head in his direction. Her hair flew out at the sudden movement and brushed his cheek, startling him at the brief contact. The rawness of it all.

Then their gazes locked in a solid heart dancing stare and Percy could abruptly see under it. Under her. See the little girl who was scarred for life in less than a minute. A simple puzzle piece to the woman before him. He knew that feeling, that look, that cry for help piled under boundaries and hard looks. He knew what it was like for her at that moment, watching her father die.

He knew. He knew. He knew.

Are you sad?

He must've been in a trance, he must've gone mad, because when he refocused on reality again he'd pulled his sleeve over his palm and was gently swiping the tears off her face.

Flinching, he pulled back.

"I hate change," she said softly, staring at him. Ensnared by him. In awe of him almost. Maybe his one act of unconscious kindness was bubbling in her head because she refused to let him free of her soul binding stare. "I got attached to the new family I was given to, I loved them. I loved the second one too but… none of them wanted me. Everything was changing all the time. I just wanted things to stay the same. Why can't things stay the same? Why?"

"I…" Percy swallowed. Finally peeling his eyes away to stare into his lap. "I don't know."

But she kept staring at him. She kept staring at him. Emptying him with her shimmering grey eyes still red and puffy from tears and past traumas. Still expecting something back from him? An answer? A question? No. She was just observing him, Percy realized. She was just watching him. Maybe she had the same curse of curiosity for him that he had for her. Maybe they were in orbit of each other, watching from afar while wondering what it would be like on the opposite planet.

Are you sad? Are you sad? Can you change it?

Percy shook his head out. Maybe he drank more than he thought.

Gently he led her over to the top of the bed and threw back the grey covers. Part of him questioned why he was putting his victim to bed, but he brushed it aside.

"Buildings don't change." Annabeth hummed while clambering into the softness between the sheets. Yanking the duvet over her with a decided force before turning her face back to him dreamily. "Buildings… they stay the same."

"That's good." Percy's heart was pulsing again. Something he couldn't describe, something foreign was in his chest. Panic? Unease? Six seconds ago he was fine and now he felt like something had shifted. Something was different.

"I hope you never change," Annabeth mumbled dreamily. Staring up at him still so starry eyed that Percy's throat felt shriveled and hoarse in his neck. She was already drifting off. "You're… nice to mess with."

Well… fuck you too.

He took back anything he thought. Nothing was different. She was just drunk and he was just tipsy.

She looked back up at him. Her thunderstorm grey eyes twirling with emotion as she brought a confident hand up to his cheek and brushed it tenderly. "I would hate it if your eyes changed. Puke green is just so… pretty."

"Okay, Annabeth," Percy sighed as he softly slipped her wrist into his hand and pried her arm away from him.

Giggling sleepily, Annabeth flung her hand back at his face to place it back against his cheek but over fired. All she did was slap him across the face. Groaning, Percy held his prickling cheek and tried to retract but drunk Annabeth started profusely apologizing between her breathy laughs and reached both arms up to secure around his neck. She dragged him down into her body. Squeezing him breathless as she laughed one apology over the other.

Panic wove a delicate marble in his throat. His face was stuffed under the heat of her neck, cheek pressed flush against her bare skin. He could hear her thrushing pulse fill his ear one rhythmic beat at a time. Struggling, he tried to free himself but drunk Annabeth had a grip of iron and twice as many laughs about the situation.

This wasn't supposed to be this way. She was his victim. His.

"The man I was going to marry had beautiful poo eyes," she chortled. "He was… horrible… horrible poopy poo poo eyes."

I know.

"He used to visit me… he used to pop up. He used to threaten me. He used to say bad things. I… think he'll do bad things…" Despite her words, she was laughing. Filling his ears with the playful sound as if everything was the greatest of jokes to her.

"Nothing about your ex's. Remember?" Percy reminded harshly as he wedged a hand under her arm to try and free himself.

He was unsuccessful.

"But he was such a stinky poo poo."

"Annabeth."

"Poo poo poo."

"Annabeth."

"Poo…"

Finally, finally, her grip relaxed. Percy yanked himself free and fell ass first onto the floor. For a moment he sat there, dumbfounded at his own ridiculousness before he drew himself up to his full height. Determined to chastise her, or cut her with a few meaningful words. Anything to correct that outrageous behavior.

But her eyes weren't open when he stood above her. She was drifting off. It gave him a moment to re-evaluate the events of that evening. The spontaneity, the boldness, the lack of decorum.

The Ocean is unpredictable.

She looked so peaceful. That baseline expression of unease and discontent just slid off her face, bringing any worry lines with it. It startled him at how familiar her features were to him now. How he could draw up all of her expressions docked in his memory.

Percy found himself staring. Struck by how she always had this alluring presence about her even while she was deep in slumber. Not her beauty. Not her sometimes puzzling expressions. A quality about her personality, her mystery. How was Annabeth Chase made? He guessed he had one puzzle piece. And one could be enough.

Adios you unpleasant beast.

Solemnly, he sighed. His lips twisted down into a frown as he slipped one uneager hand into the fold of his pocket. For a moment he just brushed his fingertips against the cool handle to draw out the moment before it would be used.

"I would say I'm sorry," he said while bringing the gun from his pocket. The faint light glinting against its metal surface intimidatingly. A gut lurching sight to anyone who was not familiar with the way it tore through lives. "But I'm going to get so rich from you."

Focus.

With a lump knotting in his throat, Percy aligned the nozzle of the silencer to Annabeth's temple. A spasm of panic stabbed through his head as he realized that the gun unexpectedly felt like a foreign object. An alien piece. The weight felt all wrong, the texture was off. Why did he feel like he was holding a toy?

Growling in aggravation, Percy fought his grip steady. Cursing his hands with everything he had as if it would help. Desperately, he layered his other hand overtop in vain.

Water… he eased himself. Cool water… He started drawing out his little brain tricks. He started visiting the future mentally to prepare for everything to come.

A suicide. He pictured the police finding her body. The speculation and the confusion at the oddly solitude life she was living. How they'd uncover her convincing last note written in an unsent text to Piper McLean.

Oceans don't die by suicides. Something whispered to him sullenly. Oceans don't die.

He blocked it out. He was water, he was cold, he was calm, he felt nothing, he was fluid, he was adaptive. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed his eyes shut and applied pressure on the trigger. Waiting for the moment everything went empty inside his head. Waiting for that merciless sharp state that made him the best of the best as his hand shook relentlessly. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

It wasn't coming.

Oceans can't be killed.

It wasn't coming.

He couldn't pull himself into that precious headspace that made everything so much easier. He couldn't find that hat, or that area in his mind where he could pretend to be someone else. Just another actor playing a part, just another poet writing a tragedy, just another child playing pretend. Just another killer in a world of murderers.

In vain he tried to squeeze the trigger again, but all he ended up doing was opening his eyes. Looking at her peaceful sleeping form and seeing something that couldn't be brought down by him. His gun pressed threateningly up besides the angelicness of her face made his heart recoil sharply. Pain and grief, and guilt raced up his spine in one prickling wave as he stood there solid with remorse. His features twisted in effort as he tried to find the something that would help him end her life.

But… I don't want to kill the ocean.

Yes, that was still his problem. She was still the ocean to him. Still something he loved, an object, a place, a spanse. She couldn't be the ocean, he needed the ocean to see the sky. He needed the ocean to see that he was still grounded, still on earth, still alive.

His hand fell limp and his shoulders tumbled back as the gun came to his side loosely clutched in his sweaty fingers. A bubble of self hate, and failure came skittering up through his gut and knocked his blood cold. Gritting his teeth, he shoved the gun back into his pocket.

"Fuck you."

.:oOo:.

He never made it home. Half the night, he spent meticulously going through her house. Searching through drawers, behind books, under tables and through cabinets. Looking, foraging, scouring for something, anything he could reasonably tie her to. Something that could be set on fire, or electrocuted or blown up or torn apart. The closest thing he found was a toaster that didn't match the colour scheme of a kitchen by one shade of grey. Which would've been perfect if Annabeth was warm hearted with an electric personality; alas she was a bitch with a sour temper. In his grumpiness, he sat down on the couch to think and accidentally dozed off.

Come daylight, he was rudely awoken with Annabeth nudging him with her foot. An eternally crabby and royally hungover look on her face as she pushed him out of the way so she could settle herself on the couch as well. A few curse words and mocking names taking flight from her lips as she wriggled herself into place on the couch.

"Why are you still here?" She hissed after she'd finally gotten comfortable.

"Accidently fell asleep," he said.

"Ack!- jeez, could you talk any louder?! - Actually, don't answer that." Annabeth rubbed circles into her temples as she squinted at the floor blearily. Her hair was a frazzled mess, and there was a duvet shoddily wrapped around her body like an odd burrito.

"Sorry." Percy scowled as he swabbed his dry tongue around his mouth. The bitter taste seemed to accompany the groggy feeling he was experiencing.

For a moment, they just sat in a sleepy silence, staring blankly at an empty tv screen, and trying to mentally clear their heads. Annabeth appeared to be regretting the drinks from the night before and Percy was trying to grapple with his failure in this case.

It was like he had assassin's block or something.

"Don't you have work today?" Percy turned to look at her while rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"It's Thanksgiving day, you Seaweed Brain," Annabeth sighed. "No work."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Silence.

It must've been passed ten because the sunlight was strongly pushing through the east windows and lit up the spaces between the blinds with a white fury. The gruff yowls of a leaf blower was buzzing obnoxiously down the street also confirmed the time as no one would wake up first thing and think to blow leaves.

"So you don't have anything for today? Or…" Annabeth trailed off with a quick glance in his direction.

"Naw, you?"

"Nope."

…

Percy wasn't friendly with the light at this moment. He wanted to stab it out, curl up again and fall asleep again. He also wanted to know what the heck the statuette was supposed to be as it sat there so gruesomely on the coffee table, but he guessed he wasn't going to get the answer for that either.

"I'm too tired to tell you to leave," Annabeth mumbled almost in an ashamed way. The manner she looked sheepishly to the ground made Percy stop. It wasn't hard to read in between the lines.

She doesn't want me to leave?

"I'm too tired to go," Percy chortled. Catching her eyes for a moment softly before they continued to stare into the nothingness of the black screen. Finding their lazy reflections in it's black glossy surface.

More time to snoop.

"Sooo, TV?" Annabeth offered with a perched eyebrow.

"Tv." Percy shrugged, and Annabeth reached for the button peppered remote.

As Annabeth browsed channels, the bitterness of the night before haunted him. She should be dead by now. She should be a corpse, a stiff, a body, an object. But no her animated motions mocked him, her slow breathing was an insult.

Sitting next to her now made him feel like static. Like he was the absence of something. A shapeless sputtering pile of electricity and gray.

Was he still an assassin if he couldn't kill?

"Stop that." Annabeth growled.

"What?"

"You keep glancing at me."

"I do?"

She punched him in the shoulder. "Yes."

Percy rubbed his bruising skin and shifted a little farther away from her.

Prickly bitch.

For a while they watched some trash reality tv show. Something to do with baking, Percy wasn't really paying attention. Annabeth's inconsistencies were on his mind.

Prickly bitch yes… but not inconsiderate. He remembered her excitement at showing him her favorite time of day. The way she attentively listened to him when he talked. How she was genuinely interested in what he had to say. All in all he wished she was just one flavour like her house. He wished she were blander than beige and twice as transparent. He wished he could just figure her out already. Dammit, was that too much to ask for?

"Did I do anything stupid?" The question came wrapped in hesitancy, almost as if she was scared to know.

It tore him away from his thoughts.

"Uhhh, no?" Percy opted to say the safe answer, because he could honestly say that he didn't know what she was talking about.

"When I was drunk." Annabeth caught his confusion with a roll of her eyes. "I didn't do or say anything dumb?"

"Define dumb."

"Like… I didn't let anything loose I wasn't supposed to…" she winced. A knowing element in her eyes as if she wanted confirmation of a fear she already knew had happened.

"You told me all about how you were a troll in your past life, and how you want nothing more than to eat toenails and bath in sewage and run wild in the streets in nothing but string bikini-"

She punched him again.

"Percy. Seriously."
"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Well… yeah… you did tell me about your mom leaving you." Percy revealed apologetically. "And you're dad dying…. sorry."

Her expression had turned sour before he had even finished talking.

"Well fuck my life." Annabeth snorted with a hefty cross of her hands. Red melted on her cheeks flushing upwards from her clenched jaw. "Tell anyone anything and I promise, Perseus Jackson, that I'll hunt you down-"

"My step dad abused me," Percy burbled out before he could decide against his own judgement. The memory was so familiar, and achingly present but the words felt so alien to his lips. He'd never spoken them out loud before. To hear them hit the air with a depressing sort of clarity made his chest feel tight and his heart sink low. Every ounce of him was questioning if this was the right thing to do, to tell her.

By his own hair-brained logic; opening up to her would mean she would open up back, right? Ergo his questions would get answered quicker and he'd be done with this job quicker. It wouldn't strike him until later to make up the scenarios he would open up to her about.

Annabeth, on the other hand, went stiff and her eyes locked on him with a rigid intensity.

"What?" She whispered, more taken aback by the abruptness of his confession. How easily he said it.

"I said it once." Percy sulked, regretting his plan already. His eyes slipped to the ceiling as he placed another block on the memory. "I'm not saying it again. You told me part of your past, I told you mine. Now we're even. Fair?"

She looked perturbed, but not shocked, almost as if she had suspected such a line from him this entire time. With a dignified expression of thought, Annabeth nodded seriously.

"Fair." She agreed.

"Good." Percy directed his attention back to the TV with a hot glowing feeling radiating from his stomach. "Good…"

Remember when I said this would update every wednesday? I keep flipping forgetting. Ridiculous right? If Sallow hadn't commented I would've completely forgotten about this story.

So thank you Sallow, you keep me accountable.