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Chapter 12

When the social workers came for him that night, they stood over his hospital bed draped in darkness and asked him what he wanted from the apartment. Under the stale smelling sheets, he made himself as small as possible. Curling into such a tight ball it made it difficult to breathe.

They'd scrubbed him clean, so why could he still smell his mother's blood?

Disappear. He wished silently. Everything. All of it. Disappear.

At eight years old, his mom was dead. It shouldn't be happening to him. It shouldn't.

"He's not gonna talk, let's just go." One said to the other. Pity lowered his tone into a quiet hush.

"Photos." Percy remembered saying in a feeble voice. "Photos."

There was an album of photos hidden at the top of his mother's closet. Wedged behind some old sweaters where Gabe would never haul his fat ass up to snoop. On the third page, in the second column was a photo of his mother he had adored since the day he saw it. A moment in her life when she was eight years old, just like he was. Wearing a bright blue tutu and ballet shoes. Posed with her toes pointed and her arms out like a swan's wings.

This could've been any old photo of any child ballerina. But it wasn't, it was his mother. He could tell by the smile dimpling her cheeks, and the sparkle inflaming her brown eyes. A smile so rare he treasured every one she ever shot him. A smile only ever captured in that photograph.

When they brought him the photo, he reached his little palm out from under the sheets and retracted it back in. Refusing to show his face so the social workers wouldn't see his red rimmed eyes and tear smeared cheeks.

If he could go back in time and tell his past self just one thing, it would be that it was okay to cry. Just because Gabe beat him every time he did, didn't mean it was a sin. Crying isn't a sin.

When he held the photo, it was hard not to sob. He managed to hold it in until the silhouettes of the social workers disappeared behind the closed door, leaving him in darkness. Quietly, desperately he slipped out of the sheets and crawled into the only nook he could wedge himself under the bed.

Then he cried like he never cried before. Every fiber of him, crawling with guilt. Dark, heavy, insufferable guilt. Choking him, drowning him, filling him, emptying him.

Because it was all his fault.

It was.

She was dead because of him.

Percy never expected to be overcome with the feeling to hide under the bed again. But when the sharp ring of the doorbell echoed over the house, and Annabeth's footsteps neared the front door, he was seconds away from bolting up the stairs and sliding himself under her metal pipe bed frame.

Not to hide from the police.

No, he could handle them.

It was Annabeth.

Her reaction, her expression, her disgust at him when they slipped the cuffs on his wrists and read the charges aloud. Piper would scream how right she was, and Annabeth would burn him so deeply with her eyes that hell itself would feel like home.

Click. The door was open and Percy squeezed his eyes shut.

Deep in his mind he imagined Annabeth's astonishment to find officers at her door. How she'd cock her eyebrow and purse her lips. The subtle way she'd stand up taller trying to exude more confidence than she held.

"Annabeth Chase?" A woman said. Business toned and emotionless.

"Yes?"

Percy could hear Piper padding down the hall and come up behind Annabeth curiously. Probably glancing over her shoulder with a tight expression, already suspecting Percy.

He didn't open his eyes.

"Can we come in?"

Percy sighed heavily and sat up. Swirls of pain were ringing around his head still but he tried not to look too bothered. With a heavy heart he folded the triangle patterned blanket and laid it over the arm of the couch. Moments later Annabeth stiffly marched past him to the other couch, leading the two cops to sit down.

"Uhhh, maybe we could talk somewhere a little more private?"

Percy got a long whiff of cigarette smoke coming off the man who was speaking. He couldn't've been older than thirty and was eyeing Percy with a deliberate distaste.

But he isn't arresting me?

Annabeth gestured around broadly with a guarded expression. "Anything you have to talk to me about I'm just going to end up telling them anyway so we might as well be in the same room."

Dissatisfied, the police officers nodded and settled on the other grey sofa a meter or so away from Percy. In an act of masked gentlemanly manners, Percy offered his seat to Piper and went to stand by the doorframe. As far away from the attention of the police as he could get. Observing from afar was more his cup of tea anyways.

"We're here to talk about the recent attempted break in you've had," the female officer led. "We have reason to believe it wasn't a burglary attempt. So we've been instructed to escort you down to the station to answer some questions for the detective handling your case. You should also know that it's strongly recommended that you're put in protective custody. Packing a bag may be wise."

Annabeth's hands clenched into balls on her lap. She took one stressed breath before latching her eyes on to the officers with that impossible seriousness. "Why, what have you learned?"

"You'll get the details at the station-"

"I refuse to leave the safety of my home until I know." There was a quiver in her voice. So faint, yet prominent against her normal even tone. Piper grabbed Annabeth's arm and held it.

The female officer bit the corner of her mouth and glanced at Percy. Cold zips of goose bumps hailed across his skin when she reached back towards her clipped gun, but she brushed by it to readjust her belt.

"You work at AT Hena Architecture firm downtown, right?"

Annabeth nodded. Confusion knotted her brows.

"Well, this evening a body was found in the stairwell."

Percy's throat clenched. A rush of panic surged into his face. Angrily he tried to stuff it down. He couldn't look suspicious, not at a time like this.

Water. Cool, clear, smooth water.

"A body?" Annabeth looked pale. Piper gripped her arm a little tighter.

"He was identified as John S. Welter. A prominent hitman in the M.C Rooker's gang," the man filled in. "His choice murder weapon, and ironically what he was murdered with, was found on the scene. He was carrying a photograph of you. They also reviewed your security footage you submitted and John S. Welter was the same height and build of the man caught on camera."

Water. Cool Water.

"With all this we have reason to believe that someone called a hit on you. Do you perhaps know of anyone who would like you dead?"

Annabeth took in a deep breath through her nose and shared a weighted look with Piper. A faint shimmer of sweat glistened on the arch of her eyebrows and the crown of her forehead. Piper's shoulders were wound back into her neck. Tense enough to crumble bricks. Something passed between them.

Understanding perhaps.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, we still need you to come down to the station and answer some questions for the detective if you don't mind Miss Chase-"

"It's already nine o'clock. Can't I come in the morning?"

The officers looked at each other, puzzled. Then the woman tilted her head. "But protective custody… Don't you want someone making sure you're alright?"

"My security system has already saved me once before," Annabeth mumbled. "And my friends are staying the night. I'd much rather leave the house in daylight and stay here. I'd feel safer."

A pregnant pause grew in the room as the officers exchanged looks. Finally one just shrugged.

"If that's what you want. A detective will call with an appointment time later tonight. If you feel like you need an escort tomorrow just let him know."

Annabeth didn't get up to see them out. They tipped their hats in farewell and took their own leave. Percy ducked out of the way to let them pass. The moment the door thunked shut, Piper wrapped Annabeth up in a tight, lasting hug. Sitting in silence.

"They said that the hitman was murdered," Annabeth finally said, against Piper's shoulders.

"Probably by one of his fellow gang members who had a problem with him," Piper soothed.

"But he was in my building. If someone hadn't murdered him, he would've murdered me."

Piper tutted her softly and rubbed her arm. "And you probably could've fought him off. You're the strongest person I know."

No she couldn't've. Percy thought dryly as he remembered the crunch of stairs and solid struggle he went through to get that baton. Annabeth was strong but she wasn't trained in defense. A weak punch in the right spot is better than a strong punch in the wrong one.

"I'll get your tea, it'll make you feel better." Piper decided. "It's probably cold by now."

As she passed Percy by she smoothly stuck her arm out and pinned him to the doorframe. Menacingly staring right through him.

"Take advantage of her vulnerability right now and I'll saw off your ears. Got it?" She breathed so lowly Percy barely understood what she was saying.

"Don't worry. I'm not a suck up like you," he bit back.

Piper snorted at him, but continued down the hallway. Leaving Percy alone with Annabeth. She appeared to be scheming some sort of plan because she was staring at the wall quite intensely.

"Are you okay?" Percy asked.

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

Annabeth drew her feet up and hugged her knees to her chest. Still focused on the wall behind the television. "No. It's okay."

This wasn't the same girl who stormed into a field after almost getting hit by a truck. Or the one who shoved away and stomped into the evening air after dangling over a bridge. This definitely wasn't the girl who woke up with a man standing over her and chased him into the street with a knife.

So either she had gotten over her fear of death…

Or she was expecting the officers to tell her that someone wanted her dead because she already knows.

"I should send a thank-you card to whoever hit you with their car," she said absentmindedly, breaking Percy's train of thought.

"Why? Like seeing me in pain so much?"

"Not exactly… It's more like, if you hadn't been hit by that car then I wouldn't have left my office early to bring you here. I would've probably stayed late and upped my chances of being murdered."

Percy crossed his arms and leaned forward to catch her eyes. A playful smile on his lips. "So you're indirectly thanking me for getting hit by that car."

"Don't be stupid. Clearly the driver did all the work. You just sat there."

There was mirth in her voice, but also tension. Her straightened spine and how her muscles were tight against her flush skin told him that it was a lie. She was joking to lighten the mood, to seem fine, and to keep him an arms length away.

Charitably, Percy's smile broke and he leaned against the wall again with a silent contemplation.

"Do you regret not talking to the police alone?" he asked. A little frightened by the answer. "Does me knowing about… this hit being called on you make you uncomfortable?"

Annabeth's eyes fell to her lap. Silence was close, but the background noise of Piper humming while warming tea was floating through the air. For a heartbeat Percy thought Annabeth wouldn't answer him at all.

"I hoped…" Annabeth muttered. "That I would keep you out of this."

The air felt like it was vacuumed from his lungs. An urge to lunge forward and grip her shoulders came and went with the bitter reminder of Piper's threat. She knew. How could she not?

"So you know who's trying to kill you?" Percy couldn't breathe.

Annabeth rearranged her hands, one over the other. "Why wouldn't I tell the police if I knew who it was?"

Good point.

"But then what is there to keep me out of?" Percy asked. "Wait, no. Nevermind. That's a bad question. Even if there was something to keep me out of, you wouldn't- shouldn't tell me. Not if you don't want me to know. Well of course you wouldn't want me to know because you wouldn't have me in it in the first place. Man, I should really shut up."

Annabeth's genuine laugh sparked a little throb in Percy's chest.

"No no. Keep talking. It makes me feel smart," she said.

"Yeah you dumb lip flapper. Keep talking." Piper appeared with two steaming mugs and a death glare. "Or you could go upstairs to get some shut eye."

For some reason, Percy didn't really feel like that was a suggestion. More of an instruction with deep consequences if not followed correctly.

"How bold. You want me to sleep in Annabeth's bed?" Percy feigned scorn. "Well then, I guess I'll see you in bed later Annabeth."

Fump. Pillow to the face. He didn't know whether Annabeth or Piper threw it. Or both in unison perhaps.

"The guest bedroom is next to the bathroom at the top of the stairs," Annabeth sniffed. "Go now before I make you sleep outside."

Piper took a sip of tea smugly.

"As you wish," was all he could think to say.

.oOo.

He didn't sleep much that night. Annabeth's decorating skills were proven to be negative-one in that room. There was a bed, a night stand and a light. That was it. No pictures on the walls or subtle little pieces of decor. Just him, the bed, a night stand, and a light.

He might as well have been in prison.

When the pale light of dawn sneaked onto the frame of his window and watered away the ink of night Percy got up. Feeling gross as he had slept in the same clothes he had on the day before and still suffering from a major headache. Lumbering a bit like a bear that had just breached hibernation, he staggered into the bathroom down the hall. Trying to step as quietly as possible so he wouldn't disrupt the hazy silence early morning always brought.

Too bad he didn't have a razor. With the dark crescents under his eyes, the eternal behead and now the layer of stubble on his face he was looking more and more like an alcoholic who was still sleeping in the bar dumpster.

He brushed his teeth quickly, splashed some cold water over his face, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and managed to dig up some painkillers before making his way downstairs. Careful of every creak in the wood as he moved.

The light on the oven overhang was on. A kettle sat on one of the elements wisping with steam. On the corner of the counter stood a box of tea bags that had fallen sideways.

Huh.

No one was in the living room or downstairs bathroom. Percy scanned the rooms again just to make double sure. In the back of his head was a quiet panic. Did someone kill her? Is that why he couldn't find her?

The front door was unlocked. When he stepped closer, Percy could finally make out where Annabeth was through the frost flowered glass. She was sitting square and straight on the first stair to the porch. Bundled up tight in her coat and cradling a mug of tea.

"Hey," he slid on his coat as he stepped through the door. Clicking it behind him as softly as possible so he wouldn't wake Piper. "Couldn't sleep?"

The answer was apparent before she even parted her lips. Exhaustion was dragging her face down into a gaunt and pale mask. She looked like she needed to be burritoed in blankets and fed a steady stream of hot tea and healthy soups.

"Piper snores." Annabeth shrugged.

"Really? That's why you're out here so early?"

"Yeah."

"You'd think it would have to do with stress from being the focus of someone's murderous intentions."

"Well… maybe a little bit because of that."

"A little bit?"

"Like ten percent. But mostly because Piper snores."

She wouldn't look at him. The tips of her ears and nose were bright red from the spicy cold. For a moment he assumed she was just trying to find something in the fire streaked clouds burning in the orange sunrise but her actions were more deliberate. Then he spotted the dapple of moisture edged in the corner of one of her eyes, and the slight red that tinged her eyelids.

"Ten percent," he said slowly. "If you think about it, ten percent is a lot. Out of a million, ten percent is a hundred thousand. And a hundred thousand of anything would be heavy if you had it on a bag on your shoulder."

"That's true," Annabeth said quietly.

"A hundred thousand things on your shoulders would hurt."

"That's also true."

"Hurt enough that I would suppose that a person carrying a hundred thousand things on their shoulders would want to vent."

Finally, Annabeth looked at him. Partially with an exhausted really? And partially succumbing to what he was suggesting.

She let her head fall back onto his shoulder. Inducing a very heavy and throat clamping throb in his chest that forced him to steady himself on the step.

"I'm not a venter," she muttered. His heart tingled.

"Then don't vent," Percy said. "But please, please don't let this break you. Don't bottle everything until you shatter."

She snortled. Maybe she found his concern endearing, or cute. Percy didn't know. She nuzzled her head closer under the crook of his neck and chortled one more time.

"Okay," she said.

The Ocean is independent.

The chance that she'd ever confide in him was slim. But he was okay with that. As long as she took care of herself and didn't fracture her own mind by trying to hide the fear.

"I recall someone saying that their favorite time of day was early morning," Annabeth hummed. "I think I can see why. It's so quiet."

Quiet. Yes. A time where no one was awake. Where the deeds of the dark hadn't been found out yet. A time where Percy could roam roof tops and enjoy the crisp open sky without worrying that he was being watched.

Morning brought distractions from what happened in the night. When it was dark, Percy could only sit in bed and stare up at his ceiling, feeling his rocks start to crumble as memories and emotions tried breaking back in. Light cleaned that all away.

"Also the sky is always some shade of orange or pink. Those always struck me as really happy colours," Percy added.

"Red. That's also a happy sunrise colour," Annabeth said. "Like firetrucks or poppies or fresh strawberries warm from the sun."

Or blood, or poison, or flame throwers.

"Sure," Percy said. He didn't mean to sound that strangled.

"You don't like the colour red?" She turned her head to grin at him. "You turn a certain shade of it almost every day."

She was smirking at him. Teasing him. Percy was not used to this. Already he could feel the flush of warmth pulse into his cheeks. He tried to swallow it back but to no avail. Something like an excuse was forming on his tongue, but before he could voice it Annabeth cocked her head at him and her eyebrows knitted in a fascinated way.

"I've never seen you with stubble before." And then the soft tips of her fingers were grazing down the side of his jaw. Slow, gentle, like a wary exploration.

She couldn't know how close they were to each other. How he could count each little eyelash hemming her swirling thunderstorm grey eyes. The subtle creases in her lips, and the faintest fray of freckles he had never been close enough to see before. All he had to do was lean a little bit forward. Just a tilt really and they'd fall into a kiss.

Involuntarily he held his breath.

"You look kinda ruggish," she said like it was a surprise. "Doesn't look half… bad…"

There. She noticed.

She saw how her own breath tangoed across his lips and made his jaw clench up. She saw his red glow rooted deep in his face. She probably felt it too seeing as her hand was still flushed against his cheek.

What Percy hoped she didn't see was the want in his eyes. Want that originated from his chest and sat there flaring and churning as his gaze flickered down to her lips one last time. All he wanted, all this was telling him to do was to empty her of senses through a kiss. Draw out every little piece of awareness she had to the outside world and spin her into clouds.

Achingly they locked eyes. Percy's pulse slammed against his chest when he recognized his own feelings in her look.

A trill whistle punctured the air. Before they could act. Before they could succumb to witless motions. The cry arced and grew until it was upon them. Something so mind scatteringly familiar about it that Percy wrenched her forward into his chest. Her warmth collided with his and they fell back.

Just in time.

A wood splitting thunk followed.

A black feathered arrow was jutted out horizontally in the step. Right where Annabeth had been. In the morning sunshine, it cast an eerie shadow that fell just shy of Annabeth's thigh.

"Get inside," Percy commanded while thrusting her towards the door. "I'll see if I can find them."

"As if." Annabeth shoved him back. "I'm not hiding."

"Fine then!" Percy growled. "At least go get your knife, call the police, and warn Piper about what's going on."

A second arrow sprouted from the wood at the top of the stairs, right by Annabeth's ankle.

"GO!"

She went.

When he heard the lock click, Percy turned and jumped over the side of the porch. Landing a barrel roll he then pressed himself into the side of the neighbouring house.

Calm. Water. Cold clear refreshing water.

Both arrows were at a shallow angle. The width of the street was too narrow for someone to have made an arching shot from one of the bushes. Percy doubted they were in the adjacent street behind because that narrowed their visibility and the arrows came pretty damn close to getting her.

This was another rooftop killer.

A clatter of noise came from within Annabeth's house. The sound of Piper begging Annabeth to stay, and Annabeth's clear stomping away.

He had to fight the assassin away before she came outside.

Percy sucked in a breath. With an empty mind he bolted into the street. Wildly changing from one direction to the next. A clatter of tearing shingles caught his attention and he craned his neck upwards. Assassin number three was booking it across the rooftops. Lugging a hefty compound bow that he held tightly to his chest. Normally Percy didn't look for the faces of his targets, but this time it bothered him that he couldn't see beyond the thick black hood.

"Tch."

He started his pursuit off by running straight into a garbage bin. Clattering it over and spilling out the bags. Growling he found his cool again and worked his legs into a sprint. Switching his focus between the path ahead, and the assailant chugging up above. Cold air scalded against his face and in his lungs.

Catch him. Catch him. Catch him.

At the end of the street the killer vaulted off the roof and hit the ground. Rolling once, twice and then up on his feet and moving again. A hundred feet away but losing steam.

He was leaving the neighbourhood. Trying to find a populated place to hide, Percy realized. Just a few blocks away was a strip mall on the main road. If the assailant got there, tracking him down would be impossible.

But he has to stash his bow first. Ideally somewhere people don't look. A dumpster would be perfect. A dumpster behind the strip mall you're hiding in would be even more perfect.

Percy staggered his running. Full speed for long distances wasn't sustainable. His head was throbbing and yeah this sure as hell wasn't helping his concussion. The edges of his vision were a bit blurry, but not anything that hindered him. At least not yet.

With a ragged breath he paused and let his tired muscles rest. He could go ahead, lose sight of the assailant but ambush him at the strip mall or he could keep following. One was riskier than the other.

But in my present condition, I don't think I could catch him without an upperhand.

Percy peeled off the second street. Huffing and wincing through a knotted stitch in his side as he made it to the main road. Ignoring the blaring honks, and squeal of tires from early riser cars where he carelessly sprinted across the road. Into the empty, empty parking lot.

The mall was closed.

Opening hours started at eight. It was six. Fuck.

Blindly Percy ambled across the deserted parking lot and to the back of the red brick building. Empty concrete met him behind the mall. A cracked single street, the building with little divots in it for each shops garbage disposal, old weeds dying in the crannies of the curbs and by the fence. No sign of Annabeth's potential killer.

"Shit."

Percy took another stuttering breath. Trying to think think THINK! Where would he go? Where would he hide?

It was hard.

Little poprocks of pain were bursting around his skull, his throat ached with dryness, his legs were queasy and unstable. How was he supposed to find…

But then… there! Ahead of him. A black clad figure, lean and nimble, tumbled over a neighbouring fence and sprinted into the lane. Crossbow still in arms, and weakly jogging now before he ducked into one of the nooks where the dumpsters were kept.

His worries dispersed.

Instantly, Percy whipped out his gun and held it to the ground. His gait was crooked but calculated as he edged along the wall to where the entrance of the nook was. Regripping his gun, he took an even breath then swallowed what little was in his parched mouth.

Water. Smooth, cool water.

Like a mechanism he fell into the motion. Arms up, erect. Gun even and pointed straight. Shift forward onto right foot and flow into the motion of scanning the corner. His eyes locked on the black hoodied back of his target facing the dumpster, and he fired before he could be seen.

Petooo.

The figure lurched but didn't fall. In fact, he didn't even move. Percy could see the hole in the hoodie where his bullet had entered, but there was no blood.

What?

With stiff hands he yanked the figure around, gun ready. He was met immediately with sullen blank eyes. A factory white face in fact. A mannequin.

Something sharp poked into the soft flesh of his back and Percy froze. His unsteady heartbeat throbbed fire into his brain.

"You never did get me that pizza."

There was a shock, a moment of empty grasping. Then Percy felt a sarcastic mirthless laugh start to split past his lips. This was too unexpected, too comedic, yet completely expected at the same time.

"Nico DiAngelo." Percy shook his head. "How did I not put together that you were part of the Angel crime family?"

I don't think it can be classified as a 'twist' if it was obvious from the get-go.