May 17, 2022
i literally can't come up with a funnier caption than "hate ur dad? try murder!" (original sketch post) (from Never Shall We Die by @timelesslords and @captain-jackson)
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i literally can't come up with a funnier caption than "hate ur dad? try murder!" (original sketch post) (from Never Shall We Die by @timelesslords and @captain-jackson)
gangs all here @captain-jackson @timelesslords
honestly and promise me, part 16 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]
The cold is bracing as she walks towards Percy’s building. Annabeth has a smile on her face, despite everything.
It's the 28th, but she’s still in the Christmas spirit. It's hard not to be. The Jackson family Christmas spirit is infectious.
It still feels like a dream, spending both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with the Jacksons. Squeezing into Percy’s childhood bed, a full-sized mattress with tie-dyed blue sheets. So many cookies expertly made by Percy and Sally’s excellent hands. And a ham she was still dreaming about.
Annabeth had turned out with an arm load of parcels. She’d knitted Paul a scarf, hat and glove set in the softest wool she could find at her favorite little yarn store in Queens. She’d broken into Piper’s nicest fabric stash and used some to make Estelle Ariel’s princess dress--not some Halloween approximation, but silk and brocade, leg of mutton sleeves and all. The red wig had been a cheap party store thing, but the girl had still insisted on putting it on that moment, and wore it through the rest of the day, from opening presents to Christmas dinner. Percy had sent her a text saying she’d tried to sleep in it, too, and had only been talked out of it by the fact that it was so nice, and it would help keep it that way. She’d loved the dress more than she’d loved Percy’s “Best Aunt Ever” t-shirt.
Percy’s sweater had been a no brainer. And she’d followed it up with a matching scarf, a set of tin soldiers from the Nutcracker marching on the ends.
Sally had been harder. What did you get for your baby's future grandmother?
In the end, it had come to her in a vision three days before Christmas--not a fun vision, like receiving prophecy from an oracle, but a vision like Athena shoving her way out of Zeus’ head, hard and painful, but worth it. Genius, after a massive headache.
She had called Leo up in a panic, waking him up in the middle of the night. Just her luck that the one time she really needed him, he hadn’t been working into the small hours of the morning, but after some explanations, cajoling, threats, and promises to both explain later and compensate him for his time, she had managed to convince him to make her the perfect gift for Sally.
Leo, the little prodigy, had finished it within the day, and mailed it to her the next morning, where it arrived at her apartment door on Christmas Eve. And so, with great relief, Annabeth was able to give Sally her gift, a custom-made cookie cutter in the shape of a male ballerina.
To her delight, they had put it to use immediately, creating an army of little, edible Percys. Estelle had been over the moon, yelling at her brother every time he swiped one of her creations and bit his own head off, while Sally laughed and laughed and laughed, her face red.
It had been a trying week. But the worst was over, and she had come out the other end of it alive, if not stronger. Now, Annabeth just has to deal with the cousins. And she’s dealt with the cousins before.
Walking down the fourth floor hallway, she feels like she’s almost swimming through molasses, moving in slow motion, like something does not want her to reach her destination. Annabeth’s feet are working against her brain, dragging themselves without her input, but eventually, she does make it, rapping sharply on the door marked “417” before she chickens out.
The door opens after what feels like three seconds on Percy’s freshly shaven, smiling face, hair still damp from a recent shower. “Hey!” He grins at her, a miniature sun, bathing her in the warmth of summer. “You made it!”
“Hey,” she smiles back. She goes easily into his embrace as he steps outside, lifting up her lips for him to kiss. To think, she almost lost her chance at this. “Sorry I’m a little late.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He seems a little bit more fidgety than usual, fingers lightly tapping on her shoulders. “You get here okay? How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. Are you okay?”
He pauses.
“Oh no.”
“No, it’s not--um,” he chews his lip, green eyes boring into hers. “Everything’s fine, it’s just, ah… I didn’t tell them you were coming until a little while ago.”
Annabeth sighs, dropping her head. They had agreed he would give them a heads up, but Annabeth had expected him to do it, you know, with plenty of time to process it. Or at least the morning of. “Percy…”
“I thought it’d be better later--like ripping off a bandaid.”
“I should go,” she decides, there and then. “This was a mistake, I’ll text you tomorrow morning, okay?”
But Percy catches her around the middle as she attempts to leave. Damn him for having a job that requires him to grab women as gently but firmly as possible. “Oh no you don’t--as my girlfriend and the mother of my child, you have every right to be here, just as much as Will or anyone else does.”
“I don’t want to cause any more trouble,” she protests. Which isn’t untrue--she mostly just doesn’t want to see Thalia.
It’s not that she doesn’t still love Thalia, or that she doesn’t miss her. Thalia is impossible not to love, for all her sharp, jagged edges. Thalia’s the one who picked her up when she was down, who cut her hair and held her hand through all her various tattoos and piercings, who led her into the bright, vibrant punk scene, and eventually, straight into Percy’s arms. Annabeth would love her forever on that alone. But the look on her face at Halloween…
Thalia was not, in general, a happy-go-lucky kind of person, not like Percy could be. Annabeth can count on one hand the amount of times she’s seen Thalia truly smile, not just ease off her scowl. Thalia has turned the resting bitch face into an art form all on its own, pushing the genre to newer, more terrifying heights, heights with which Annabeth is very familiar. She had followed that particular career very closely, and had done her best to imitate it. But, as Annabeth realized, she’d never actually seen Thalia truly angry until that night. It was… not something she wanted to experience again.
“You won’t,” he insists. “I’m really, really glad you’re here. I’d like you to stay. But if it gets to be too much, we can leave whenever you need to. Sound good?”
His hands are wrapped around hers, fingers doing that thing again where they rub against her, skin to skin, like he’s reassuring himself that she’s still here. That she won’t run away again.
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll stay.”
He smiles, and the baby does another flip. Although that time it might just be her heart.
Actually, that hasn’t even occurred to her--”Percy, do they know? About the baby?”
Percy shakes his head. “I haven’t told them about the baby--not because I’m ashamed or anything,” he rushes, “but because I wasn’t sure how we were doing this.”
Something about the situation still makes her feel kind of icky if she thinks about it too long, trapping a man with a baby. “Do you want to tell them?”
“I want to tell the whole world,” he says, softly. “I want everyone to know about my amazing girlfriend and the wonderful baby that we’re having together. But only if you do, too.”
“If I said I did?” She asks, “if I want to tell the whole world?”
He draws out his phone and holds it up, “Then I will take a selfie and post it on Instagram for the whole world and Beyonce to see.”
“Beyonce can’t see me with my hair like this,” Is the first thing out of her mind and out of her mouth. It's easier to think of that than any other reason not.
“Then in that case, we’ll wait.” He presses his mouth to hers, chastely and sweetly, and her toes curl in her sensible shoes, even through the faint taste of ash on his lips. “You ready?”
It’s funny how she’s been to this apartment plenty of times, has grown to intimately know the giant windows, the low tables, the sharp corners and the skyline view, and yet the moment she walks in, she’s never felt less welcome.
The lights are low, the city lights sparkling like stars just outside. There’s a little Christmas tree resting on the coffee table, unadorned save for a tiny crystal star on top, and an old, faded, red-patterned tree skirt underneath. Surrounding the table like some kind of grand council of doom are the rest of the key members of the Cousin Consortium: Hazel, Nico, Jason, and slouched in the loveseat like it’s her own personal grand throne, Thalia. Everyone else is turned to look at her, but Thalia, her arms are crossed as she glares at something in the corner.
“Welcome!” comes the cheerful voice of Will Solace from her right, startling her so badly she nearly jumps. “Thanks for joining us.”
“Thanks for having me. Um, I brought this…” she trails off, brandishing the big box of chocolates she’d brought on Percy’s recommendation in lieu of a bottle of wine that she couldn’t drink anyway.
“Aw, you shouldn’t have.” He takes it from her, polite smile firmly affixed to his face. “Look, Nico! Eighty percent dark!”
Nico does not respond.
Percy leads her further into the apartment, where she is greeted by the youngest cousin, who wraps her in a warm and friendly hug, if not overly intimate. Hazel’s smile as she pulls away is bright. “I love your dress.” She says taking in Annabeth’s grey sparkles, “I loved the McLean Winter Collection from last year.”
“Thanks,” Annabeth says, the idea that she’s wearing a designer that Hazel recognizes is uncomfortable. She knows that the family distantly has money, she’s standing in an apartment that’s proof of that, but she is not used to them in that context, minus that terrible gala. Hazel is wearing Dior, she reminds herself, she can’t judge you for this. “Piper did good work last year. And I so rarely have an opportunity to wear any of the stuff she forced on me.”
“You know Piper McLean?” asks Nico, still not moving to greet her.
“Um, yes,” Annabeth says, “We went to highschool together.” She leaves out things like we were in a sewing club together or I was her model for most of her fashion school portfolio pictures.
“Annabeth,” Hazel says, a hand still resting on her arm, “You’ve been holding out on me.” It is true, and the fact that Hazel manages to not make it sound like a condemnation is impressive. “You’ll have to introduce us.”
“Sure,” she says, “as soon as she gets back from her creative retreat.” Hell, for Hazel doing her best to make Annabeth feel included, it’s the absolute least she can do.
Jason stands up, that senatorial handshake already outstretched. “I don’t believe we’ve met? I’m Jason,” he says, politely.
She takes his hand. “Annabeth. Um, we have met, actually.”
“Oh.” He blinks. “We have?”
“At Hazel’s gallery on Halloween.”
“I… am sorry, I guess I didn’t recognize you.”
“It’s okay,” she grins weakly, “I, uh, had a lot more hair a few months ago.”
“Have a bad run in with a weed whacker?” Nico asks. Next to Jason, Thalia snorts. It goes through Annabeth like a spear.
Percy and Hazel sit her down on the couch, sandwiching her between them, as Percy slings an arm over her shoulder, drawing her close. Staking their claim. Declaring their opposition.
For a few fraught heartbeats, no one speaks. Percy’s arm tightens around her shoulder, squeezing her, grounding her. It’s okay, it says. I’m here.
Taking a breath, she takes the plunge. “So, Jason,” she says, trying not to wince as every head swivels in her direction, except Thalia’s, who looks out the window. “What brings you out to the East Coast?”
“Ah--Thalia, mostly. Usually I spend Christmas with my roommate and her friends, but Reyna went to visit her sister in Seattle this year, and after Halloween, I wanted to make sure… well, I thought it might be nice to see mine, too.” He smiles, a little strained. “And, you know, the rest of these guys. Percy’s ugly mug, though, I could do without.”
“Hey!”
Hazel giggles.
“Some wine, Annabeth?” Will appears at the arm of the couch, glasses in hand.
“Um, no thanks. But I’ll have some water, if that’s okay?”
“No problem!” He chirps, crossing to hand a glass to his boyfriend. Nico, stony-faced, takes a sip. He looks like a goth judge, savoring the taste of his wine before he doles out her terrible fate.
“Don’t let Percy’s teetotalling ways rub off on you,” Jason says to her with a smile, “We love him but he’s boring at parties.”
“I am great at parties.” Percy says. She doesn’t know if he’s trying to distract from her lack of drinking or defend his honor, but she doesn’t care, “one of us can keep rhythm and dance to a beat, and it isn’t you.”
“He’s not wrong,” Nico says and Annabeth is so relieved when his gaze shifts to Jason, “You can’t dance at all and it's embarrassing when you try.”
“Is that why you stopped going clubbing with him?” Thalia asks, Annabeth feels herself sink into the couch and lean into Percy’s side. If they can all just carry on like this, it will be ok.
“No,” Nico says, “I stopped going out with him because all the guys wanted to chat him up. And that was like five years ago, before he even came out, which was not at all fair.” Will passes Annabeth a glass of water with a smile and a nod, before settling himself next to Nico.
“Well, now you can have all the boys on either side of the Atlantic to yourself,” Jason says. “It is not true what they say about San Francisco; I haven’t been on a date in months.”
“That’s because you’re a workaholic,” says Hazel, leaning on the arm of the couch.
“You and Percy always say that,” Jason says, “It's still workaholism if it's art. And you two have that problem.”
Nico snorts, but Thalia shifts uncomfortably. When she sees Annabeth glancing at her, her features freeze and she looks away pointedly.
“Yeah yeah yeah, Nico di Angelo, king of work/life balance,” Percy says.
Nico reaches over to high five Will, who meets it with a fist bump and a raised eyebrow. “It’s so cute that you think you have a work/life balance,” Will says, “when this is the first time I’ve seen you in weeks.”
“That is not my fault.” Nico says, “That’s med school's fault, and therefore your own damn fault.”
“Hey, I’m neck-deep in my rotation, you’re just spending all your free time banging out another vampire erotica.”
Annabeth chuckles softly, and no one bats an eyelash. This is nice, this gentle roasting, every teasing remark softened by compassion and love. Her shoulders relax, just a touch.
“Your cousin is in med school, right, Annabeth?” Will says, “Does he ever see his girlfriend?”
Jason and Hazel and Percy look at her with polite interest. Nico looks at her but his smile flees his face. Thalia looks away from the group.
“Um,” she tries not to squirm under the sudden attention. “Fiance(e), actually.”
Hazel coos, clapping. “That’s wonderful! When are they getting married?”
“Next summer. They’re having a destination wedding at his father’s place in Norway.”
“How long have they been together?”
Annabeth blows out a breath. “Just about four years. They actually met when the hotel they were both staying at double-booked their room. According to Magnus, Alex walked in on him half-naked. Neither of them had the money to try and find another room on such short notice, and the hotel was totally booked up, so they just said fuck it and decided to share the room for the night, and they ended up hitting it off.”
“Someone in your family didn’t have money?” Thalia says, “That’s truly a shock.”
The room goes quiet. “Thalia,” Percy warns.
“Um,” Annabeth tries, but she thinks it might be something Thalia won’t have a response to, plus it's the truth. “No, Magnus probably could have afforded it, but Alex definitely couldn’t have. Her dad cut her off and kicked her out when she came out. And she wouldn’t have stood for Mangus’s pity or charity.”
“That’s sweet,” Hazel offers.
“Yeah,” Annabeth agrees, looking at her and smiling, “Turns out one of Magnus’s good friends from high school is actually Alex’s half sister. And they both lived in Boston, both hiked the same trails, and had some similar hang outs.” From the corner of her eye, she can see that her cute story is not winning everyone over. But she can’t just not finish. “And they’d have never known it if it weren’t for Floor 19 at the Hotel… um, the Hotel…” Thalia is looking at her nails, frowning intensely. Disapproving. “...Um, sorry, I can never remember the name.”
“You really are just terrible with names, aren’t you.” Thalia says, looking to the corner and drinking her beer.
Percy frowns. “Huh?” says Jason.
“That’s such a cute story,” Hazel says, beaming. Annabeth glances around the room, hoping someone will bring up another topic of conversion, and attention will turn away from her.
She looks to Percy at her side and tries to will him to understand that he needs to distract everyone away from her.
Because Percy is the perfect man, he doesn’t even look at her, just glances at Jason and says, “But really, I think the most important bit is that we’ve established that medical students, notorious for their lack of social lives, can find time to be gross and in love, what’s your excuse?”
“We’ve also established that you’re also a workaholic,” Jason says.
“Yeah,” Percy nods, and pulls Annabeth closer to him, “And I have an amazing girlfriend.” He kisses her forehead, but the bubble in her heart is popped by the face she sees Nico make from the corner of her eye, and by the gagging sound from Thalia.
She’s expecting tears. She’s expecting another one of those terrible hormone rushes that she has become entirely too familiar with over the last few weeks, going from clinically depressed to out of control horny and back, five times a day. But this time, it’s neither of those: not the heavy, cool, sinking feeling of sadness, but a hot, rising, curdling anger.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
Like a bad movie, everything freezes--jaws open, hands in place, Will’s wine glass halfway to his mouth. Percy is still next to her, but vibrating, his shocked gaze burning a hole into her skull.
Thalia turns her head, slowly, her eyebrows drawn into a deep, furrowed glare, a snarl playing on her mouth, but Annabeth isn’t afraid. She’s seen this look before, usually aimed at guys who tried to cop a feel or girls who try to ditch without paying, and she’s grown desensitized to it. “Excuse me?”
“If you have a problem with me, why don’t you just say it, instead of forcing your family to dance around the issue.”
She swivels her legs, feet hitting the floor with a muted thud. Even without her combat boots, the effect is impressive. “You want to know my problem with you?” She asks, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. The snarl is gone, replaced with the white, baring flash of her teeth, predatory as a wolf.
Ever mindful of her stomach, Annabeth leans forward too, out of Percy’s safe embrace. “Yeah. I do.”
“Fine.” Thalia draws herself up, a queen on her throne. “For starters, how about the fact that you lied to me for two years.”
“Yes, I lied to you. I lied about my financial situation, I lied about my job prospects, and I lied about my family.” And it feels good to say it to someone who isn’t Dr. Vesta, despite the cold fire that licks in her stomach, or the tremors in her limbs. Percy lays his hand on her back, warm and steady. “I lied about everything, and I’m sorry. I only did it because you gave me the first taste of unconditional support I’d had in years, and I was afraid to lose that. I know that’s a stupid excuse, but I’m sorry anyway.”
If she thought Thalia would be taken aback by her confession, it turns out she was dead wrong. “Two years, Annabeth! Two fucking years! And you didn’t just lie to me--you lied to Nico, to Percy, who’s now apparently madly in love with you despite the fact that you couldn’t even remember his goddamn name--”
“She’s already apologized to me for that,” Percy says, voice low, almost commanding. “I’m not seventeen. You don’t have to look out for me anymore.”
“I don’t? I take my eyes off you for one second and you fall in with her!” She points to Annabeth like she’s some sort of village harlot.
Percy scowls. “I like Annabeth. A lot, in fact. I would hope you’d be able to trust my judgement by now.”
Raking her hands through her hair, Thalia growls. Annabeth starts--it’s something that she’s seen Percy do, whenever he starts to get more and more frustrated with a set of moves he just can’t pin down. “You said it yourself, you’re the one who keeps letting rich girls walk all over you. How in the hell am I supposed to think this is any different?”
“Uh, because it’s been ten years? Because I’m an adult? Because I don’t actually need your approval before I start dating someone? Take your goddamn pick.”
“Well excuse me for being worried about you!” Thalia jumps to her feet, her fists pulled and ready to fly. “You’re the one who called me up in the dead of night after that bitch practically blackmailed you into her bed, while I paid for your early ticket home--”
“And I’m the one who had to scrape together enough money to pay your phone bill so I could talk to you and make sure you didn’t kill yourself!” Percy leaps up to meet her, his whole frame practically shaking. “I’m the one who had to, after just flying from Paris to Stanford and back again for Jason’s graduation, had to fly from Paris to New York because you told me you were about to do something drastic! I have dropped hundreds of dollars on last minute flights to check up on you--”
“I never asked you to do any of that for me!”
Percy almost growls. “Have you considered maybe it wasn’t just for you? Maybe I didn’t want to have to call your little brother and tell him that you froze to death on a park bench. Maybe I didn’t want to have to call our little cousins and tell them that in addition to both their mothers and their older sister, their big cousin ODed, too!” He stops and takes several large breaths, “And I did do it for you, and I’d do it all again, because I love you. Because you’re like my sister! And I won’t let you hurt yourself if I can help it. But I am not going to stand here and listen to you disrespect the woman I love like this.”
“Explain to me just one thing,” Thalia says, her anger concentrated into the hard point of a diamond, practically spitting. “Of all the little rich girls who want to fuck the poor broken dancer to get back at their fathers or whatever,” which hits Annabeth in a strange place, because Thalia knows perfectly well everything Annabeth’s done since they met has been a reaction to her mother, “why the one who lied to us?”
And the words are out of her mouth before she can stop it. Proudly, Annabeth stands up, takes Percy’s hand, and declares to the world, “Because I’m pregnant.”
She manages to silence Thalia for a grand total of thirty seconds. Which is possibly a world record. No one else says anything. Percy squeezes her hand.
And then Thalia’s face absolutely sneers. Acting, Annabeth thinks. Thalia is an actress. And she can see it as she makes sure every muscle in her face communicates the utter, absolute loathing she feels.
“My mother tried that,” She says, “twice, actually. She thought if she made a baby it would make an Olympianides man love her. It didn’t work in the long run. Just the actions of a pathetic, desperate woman, who knows she’s got nothing else to offer.”
“Thalia, that’s enough,” Jason says. But Annabeth can’t even appreciate it, her focus is too much on Thalia. Who always shot straight with Annabeth. Who knows the world and the people in it. Who had always seen something in her. That thing, now, might be a scarlet A.
There is no one in the world Thalia despises more than her mother. No one on the planet past or present could sink lower in her eyes. Thalia would not make the comparison lightly, and she would not make it if she didn’t believe it.
But now Thalia looks away from her, past her, where Percy is standing at her side. Thalia ignores the sobs that come out of Annabeth and looks only at her boyfriend. “And you should be smarter than this. After we saw her with her boyfriend on Halloween. She’s just Luke Castellan’s type, but he’s not boyfriend material. Or baby daddy material. The baby isn’t yours--she just knows you'd treat her worth a damn out of some very misplaced sense of loyalty.”
For a second, Percy’s hand falls away from her back in surprise, and a deep dread fills Annabeth. No one says anything, and she can’t stand it anymore.
She almost runs out the door. But the idea of going through the building lobby and back into the cold streets is too much to bear. She spins and runs towards Percy’s room, slams the door, and then throws herself into the comforting blue sheets. She can’t even be happy about the fact that Percy just told them all he loved her.
It hurts a little bit that Percy would doubt her in that. But she can deal with it. She will deal with it. She’ll get them a fucking paternity test tomorrow. She knows she’s given him reasons to doubt her, even if she would never lie about this, not to him, not to anyone. She’ll do it with humility and grace, she’ll pay for the most accurate one available, and she’ll prove herself to him.
But the rest of it weighs heavy on her. Not least of all her own words. Why her? When Percy, with his kind heart and keen mind and clever tongue, could have anyone in the world? Just because she was pregnant, and he was a good man.
She can hear voices from the living room, more than just two, muffled, but getting louder, she grasps out for a pillow and shoves it on her ears. She doesn’t want to know what the consortium of cousins is saying about her. What Nico and Jason and Hazel are saying to help Thalia’s claims.
When she hears the door open, she tenses, and for a second she can hear everything in the living room, multiple people yelling at each other.
“Annabeth?” Hazel has the faintest of southern accents, soft and soothing. “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” Annabeth says, and sits up. She’s well into her second trimester, so the morning sickness is gone, but she still feels a little woozy and off kilter as she straightens.
Hazel’s got a large plate full of food in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. “I figured you wouldn’t want to go back out there.”
“Thanks,” Annabeth says, reaching out.
Hazel sets the plate down on the nightstand, then wraps Annabeth up in another hug, holding her close. “Congratulations,” she murmurs, directly into her ear. Annabeth feels herself welling up again, from the simple act of someone congratulating her for this, the best thing that has ever happened to her. “How far along are you?”
“About four months.”
Hazel grins. “So right around Swan Lake, then?”
That, and his thighs in those tights. Even now, the memory of Percy as Siegfried can still make her flush. But she smiles back, ducking her head. “It was my fault… I’d let my IUD go for too long without replacing it. Can’t say that I’m not happy about it, though.” Of course, as quickly as her good mood comes on, it collapses, and Annabeth buries her face in her hands and moans. “Oh, God, I really fucked this up, didn’t I?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I knew getting involved with him was going to ruin our friendship, and I still went ahead and did it anyway. He was just so--he’s so passionate and kind and funny and fucking hot, I couldn’t help falling in love with him.”
“He’s easy to love,” says Hazel, her hand on Annabeth’s back. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”
As grateful as she is for the comfort, it’s weird, she thinks, that Hazel is in here with her, when she should, by all rights, be out there yelling at Percy, hating her as much as the rest of the cousins do. “I’m sorry for ruining your party,” she sniffles, wiping her tears with Percy’s sheets. “Are they going to be okay?”
“Percy and Thalia?” She shrugs. “They’ll be fine. Those two always have to fight about something, trust me. If it hadn’t been about you, it would have been about something else.”
She can still hear Percy and Thalia shouting at each other, with brief interjections from Nico and Jason, but she can’t tell what they’re saying. “Are you sure? It sounds pretty bad.”
“This?” She gestures to the door. “This is nothing. You should have been there for the legendary Capture the Flag match of 2007. Now that was a fight.”
Annabeth shakes her head. “She told me not to get involved,” she groans. “She told me this was a bad idea.”
Hazel rubs her back, a soothing, circular motion. “Yeah, well, Thalia doesn’t always know what she’s talking about. She tries really hard to make it seem like she has her whole life together, but honestly? She’s probably the most messed up one of us all.”
That brings her up out of her hands, raising her red, puffy eyes to Hazel’s. “What do you mean?”
She sighs, casting a look to Percy’s closed bedroom door. The shouting has died down, somewhat. “You know about all of our dads, right?”
The broad strokes, at least. Annabeth nods.
“Then you know that they did a number on us.” She is so serious, her small frame quietly commanding and compelling. “Percy likes to say that all of our dads were assholes in their own special way. If you ask anyone, they’ll probably say that my dad is the least terrible of them, but he’s never been the warm and fuzzy type. After Bianca died, that’s when he decided that his family was more important than his business, and he started arranging playdates for us with Thalia and Jason and Percy. It meant a lot to us--to Nico especially. I hadn’t known him for very long at that point, but even I could tell how much he needed them. Uncle Poseidon, on the other hand, never really tried to take an ounce of responsibility for Percy. But he always wanted to be like a cool, fairy godmother type of figure who would sometimes sweep into his life and shower him with gifts--between that and his mom, Percy never felt like he was really unloved.”
Annabeth has, historically, always hated the stereotype of the lonely rich kid, and not just because she fit it to a T. But it’s a stereotype for a reason: it does happen, all the time. And the Olympianides kids are living proof of that, in all different flavors. Hearing it laid out like this, so clinically, stripped of any hyperbole, it feels so much more real.
“That’s the difference between us and Thalia and Jason. Their mom, she was a real mess, unfortunately. She self-medicated with alcohol and cocaine, even before she met Uncle Zeus. And I’m going to be honest here: Percy and I were probably accidents. Bianca and Nico were planned. But Thalia and Jason? Beryl had them to keep Zeus’ attention. And it didn’t work. And Beryl resented them for it her whole life, and Zeus resented Beryl, and Hera resented all four of them. Jason’s saving grace is that Thalia adored him, and that Zeus and Hera saw potential in another boy after Hercules. Thalia didn’t get any of that. She poured her heart and soul into looking after all of us to fill that void in return, but she never took the time she needed to heal from that.”
“She took care of me,” Annabeth says softly. “After I fell out with my mom, she found me, and she took care of me.”
“And she took care of Percy after his first big heartbreak. It’s what she does; she takes care of people. She’s just afraid of the people she loves getting hurt.”
Thalia had tried to warn her, she realizes, all those months ago. She had told her, point blank, that Percy would ruin her. And she had been right--Annabeth had been brought low by his honesty and his passion, and she would never recover. And she never wants to.
“For what it’s worth,” Hazel continues, taking her hand, “I think Thalia’s wrong. I’ve never seen Percy so happy before.”
There’s that bubbly feeling again, a thousand little embers in her stomach, warming her from the inside out. Her child kicks in time with her beating heart. “Really?”
She nods. “Percy has given his whole life to ballet. He tries to downplay it, but it’s a demanding lifestyle. Countless hours of rehearsal, thousands of dollars in shoes and tights, permanently screwing up your feet; sometimes we would worry that Percy would get lost in it all, and he wouldn’t be able to pull himself out again. And then he met you.” Hazel squeezes her hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look at anything like he looks at you.”
Annabeth swallows around the lump in her throat as large as the ocean.
That’s when his door swings open, and Percy pokes his head in, brow furrowed in that adorable concerned look he gets if he thinks Annabeth has been on her feet for too long. “Can I come in?” She barely has time to nod before Percy is crowding her, plopping down on her opposite side and drawing her into his arms.
She buries her nose in his shirt, in the warm, sea breeze smell of his cologne, mixed with the strong, undeniable smell of smoke. She wrinkles her nose at it, unintentionally.
Percy stiffens, almost imperceptibly. “Sorry, I--I can go shower.”
But Annabeth shakes her head, holding him tighter. “I don’t care about the smell.” It's a part of him. And she needs him right now.
“I know it's bad for the baby, and I’ve been meaning to quit and--”
“The smell after the fact in your shirt is fine,” she promises him. “And I know. It's a process. It’s okay.” After all of this, he's acting like he let her down. He’s too good, this man she loves.
“Where’s Thalia?” she hears Hazel ask, but it sounds very far away.
“She’s staying with Jason tonight. They have a lot to talk about,” says Nico.
On one level, she feels like she’s won something--Hazel’s allegiance, maybe. Or Nico’s neutrality. The fact that Percy is here at all, that he’s come back to her even after everything Thalia said, it settles her nerves more than she’d like to admit. She’s sure he’s gearing up for some kind of speech meant to refute Thalia’s accusation, but she doesn’t really want to hear it, not because she wants to wallow in her self loathing some more (although, that is looking like a pretty good option right now) but because, on some level, Thalia is right. She’s lied to all of them and hurt all of them, Percy most of all. They’ve given her a second chance, and she is not going to screw this up.
“I’m going to get a paternity test tomorrow,” she mumbles into Percy’s shirt.
His arms around her tighten. “You don’t have to--”
“I want to.” She pulls back, just enough to look him in the eyes, and she can feel Nico and Hazel watching as well. “Tomorrow I’m going to go to my OBGYN and get the fastest, most secure test possible.”
Percy holds her gaze, eyes searching. “If you tell me the baby is mine, then I believe you.”
“I know you do. But I never want to give you reason to doubt me ever again. Please, Percy--let me do this for you.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” says Nico, and Percy glares at him over her shoulder. “I’m just saying.”
After a few moments, he sighs, turning back to Annabeth. “You don’t need to prove anything to me. But if it’s going to make you feel better, then alright. We can do the paternity test. But I’m paying.”
“Percy--”
“We’re doing this together. Let me do this for you, okay?”
Nico sidles into her line of vision, arms crossed. “If it’s all the same to you two, Percy, I’ll pay for it. Don’t give me that,” he scoffs at Percy’s narrowed eyes. “There’s no way you can cobble together enough money in time. And…” He gives Percy a look that Annabeth is coming to realize must be genetic between the five of them, another inheritance from the three Olympianides brothers. “You know it’ll make Thalia feel better if it’s coming from a neutral party.”
He bristles, his hackles automatically rising at the thought of accepting his help. “Fine,” Percy bites out at last. “You can pay. But I’m going with you tomorrow,” he says to Annabeth. Then, from nowhere, he cracks a small smile, one hand traveling a familiar path down to her stomach. “I missed out on four months of your pregnancy; I’m not missing another second.”
The baby in her body kicks, like it can hear its father, trying to get close to him. Annabeth can understand the feeling, and gives into it, curling further into his embrace. Distantly, she hears the door close behind her, Nico and Hazel leaving the two of them together, huddled close, a safe port in a storm.
“Can we please stop running? I think I’m dying.” for percabeth prompts!!
Annabeth Chase was used to monster attacks.
She was used to random assailments, stumbling upon monsters or being hunted by them. And she always took the proper precautions too- if she had her cellphone with her, it was always off. If she left camp, her knife was the least of her weapons. If she was on a quest, she never left without a detailed itinerary of threats they might encounter.
Yes, Annabeth was used to monsters. What she wasn't used to was her boyfriend purposefully provoking such monsters.
"Are you kidding me?!" She yelled, voice strained from how out of breath she was as they raced through the woods.
Percy gave a winded grin, keeping up with her pace though his own breaths were even more labored, "How was I supposed to know it wouldn't respond well to that?"
"You told her you loved what she had done with her hair and then asked how she got it to come out of her nostrils- no one would respond well to that!"
"Well excuse me for not being up to date on monster culture- I thought it might be a compliment!"
"You absolutely knew what you were doing!" She argued back, vaulting over a fallen tree.
“Can we please stop running? I think I’m dying.” Percy panted.
"If we stop you will die."
"Aw come on, I'm pretty sure we lost it-"
"ROAAAAAR!"
"...Actually I think I'll race you back to the border."
honesty and promise me, part 15 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]
True to her word, she does text him when she gets home. But she tries to be cool about it at least. And not act like she had spent the entire cab ride composing it in her head.
sorry my dad came on too strong
On the toilet, she hits send, chewing her lip.
He texts back immediately.
it was nice to meet him did you get home ok?
yeah
nice and warm? You and the baby ok?
we’re fine. Are you ok?
I’m great just a little cold
Nico skimping on the heating this winter?
No im just chilling on the balcony
She frowns at her phone. It really was freezing, and he had to be exhausted, why was he on the balcony?
And then it comes back to her. Halloween. Most of it hasn’t left her mind, but that bit at the end, the cigarette. He’s still smoking. She’s driven him there. Once at Halloween and again today.
I know we have a lot to talk about but I promise I’m not going to be a burden to you
You’re having our baby, you cant be a burden to me.
I don’t want to add to your stress
She pauses. A little too strong, maybe?
We’re ok Me and the baby, I mean
He doesn’t respond for a long time. She watches those three dots for nearly fifteen minutes.
p sure stressing about your kid is just how parenting works
And then before she can tell him he doesn’t have to have any bit of parenthood he doesn't want, or really linger on the fact that he specified the kid and not the mother, he starts typing again.
When are we having lunch with your dad?
we don’t actually have to do that. I can tell him you’re busy
Do you not want me to come?
Of course I want you to come, but I don’t want to bother you I know you’re busy
I want to come your dad seems cool
They agree on Monday for lunch, and Annabeth feels lighter than she thought possible as she goes to bed.
The next day, she and her dad go out for yet another fancy, overpriced New York dinner. He probably notices her picking the olives off her plate at dinner. She wonders what he thinks of it.
On Monday, they meet Percy at Annabeth’s favorite brunch place. It's weird to be here without Piper.
Percy meets them there, pulling her into a hug and kissing her on the cheek. She can’t figure out if it's affectionate or just European. He’s not really what she expects him to be.
He’s wearing dark jeans and a button up shirt under a sweater. The sweater doesn’t fit him very well, and she thinks she might crochet him one, if she has time to get one done before Christmas. She knows him in going out clothes or dance clothes, or that one devastating time in the Armani suit, but the idea of a soft, domestic Percy, wearing a sweater she made him is… enticing.
They get a table, and she turns down a mimosa, even though technically the brunch menu is still in effect, and she knows for a fact that they are delicious. Percy notices and gives her a smile.
Her dad chatters on, asking Percy about his experience and Boston and when his recent time abroad comes to light, about France, comparing notes.
It's all very pleasant. She nods and asks follow up questions and eats too many waffles. Until her father says, “I’m so pleased to get to eat with you, Percy. You’re the first of Annabeth’s boyfriends I’ve ever met.”
She has what might be called a mini-heart attack, eyes darting to Percy. They haven’t talked about--
“I’m honored,” Percy replies. And then he looks at her, and instead of glaring or rolling his eyes or doing anything else that might suggest that he’s annoyed by the label, he smiles. “I’m so glad I got to meet you properly while you were here.”
The fact that he hadn’t known Frederick was going to be here until he’d spotted them outside of the stage door is conveniently left out.
She doesn’t really know what to make of how well they seemed to be getting on. Like her dad had said, she’d never brought anyone home before. She probably assumed it wouldn’t go well, but this was great. And she finds herself pleased by how great this is going, which is shocking in and of itself.
She’d spent so long trying not to care what guys thought of her, and what her father thought of her. And now, well, it’s not like her whole sense of self rests on their shoulders. But she loves them both: her dad and her… Percy. And seeing them getting along, and to have them both here with her, is a moving thing.
She can almost feel her eyes start to water. She’d spent most of their Christmas movie binge sobbing, already. That at least had a convenient excuse, but not over lunch, as her dad and Percy compare notes over some museums in Paris.
The mood swings and crying are not exactly a bad part of pregnancy, really. In some ways, it’s a relief; she’d spent so much of her life trying to suppress her emotions. Trying to make herself stoic and calm like her mom, and then aloof and above it all like Thalia. Now she just has to cry sometimes. But it’s freeing.
But she’d like to not cry this time, and enjoy the moment. So instead, she clears her throat, and mentions something about how one of the people at lunch hasn’t been to Paris yet, and so maybe they should redirect the conversation to places they had all been, like Boston or San Francisco.
And then they’re off, talking about Fisherman's Wharf.
It’s a perfect lunch. Her dad picks up the bill, and Percy’s eye twitches, but he doesn't try to stop him.
And then it’s time to go. Her dad starts messing around on his phone, ordering them an Uber. Percy’s afternoon class is in half an hour, but it’s not far, he promises. He’ll just walk.
The restaurant and the street outside are bustling. Not quite crowded, but full of energy and life.
And yet, they’re alone, for just a moment.
“So…” Percy smiles, a hopeful quirk in his lips. “Boyfriend?”
“Yes,” she says, quickly. “If you--if you want.”
“I do.” He kisses her cheek. “I really, really do. Plus,” he grins, “it will make it so much easier when I tell my mom I got my girlfriend pregnant, instead of just some rando.”
“You didn’t get me pregnant,” she says, glancing down the block towards her dad, scanning for their Uber. “It was a mutual act. It was--”
And he cuts her off with a kiss. A real, proper one, on the lips. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 counts. Not European at all.
“When are you going to tell him?” he asks, pulling away.
“Tonight,” she says, with finality.
“Good. I’ll tell my mom tomorrow--we’re getting lunch.”
She nods, but it feels like an end date. Even though it's been three days. Her dad might really like Percy after a performance and a lunch date, but Percy’s mom has a lot more reason to hate her. And Percy adores his mom. When she tells him to drop the whore who got pregnant…
She’ll think about it later. For now, she’ll just enjoy the moment.
Her dad calls her over, and Percy walks her towards the white sedan, his arm linked with hers, for just thirty feet or so. But it feels like everything.
Her dad and Percy shake hands. “Hopefully we’ll see each other soon.” Her father says, a ringing endorsement if ever there was one. “I am hoping to get out here more often, and maybe you and Annabeth can come visit us in California. And if the timing doesn’t work out, then at least at Magnus’ wedding next summer.”
Magnus’s giant, international destination wedding in July of the next year seems like a really big thing to invite Percy to, but it gives Annabeth a kind of strength. Her dad sees Percy as a fixture in the family.
“Hopefully before then,” Percy agrees. Then he turns to Annabeth. “I’ll definitely see you beforehand.”
And they both blush at his words, though it might just be the cold against their cheeks.
He lends down and kisses her again, quick, but on the lips.
“I’ll text you later tonight, okay?”
“Yeah,” she agrees, “Okay.”
He doesn’t walk off. Staying until they’ve loaded into their Uber, and waving as it pulls away. It reminds her of Halloween, only she sees a smile on his face as they drive off.
She and her dad order in that night, and instead of watching Christmas classics, they watch family ones; things she remembers from childhood, with him, and a few that might have even once been watched by her mom.
In between A Muppet Christmas Carol and A Muppet’s Family Christmas she has to pause. He was eating one of the leftover pot stickers, but caught her eye.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” she says, the anticipation fighting with the hesitation in her throat. “But I have to tell you something. Something really big, something I’ve been scared to tell you.”
Judging by his face, she had not successfully reassured him that nothing was wrong.
She takes a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
He frowns, and she sees his eyes glance down to her stomach, hidden under an oversized Harvard hoodie.
“You…” He trails off, and then looks up at her face. “Your… Percy? The two of you are having a baby?”
No one else had said it like that. Her father’s tone wasn’t exactly joyful, but it wasn’t scornful, either. She nods. “We are.”
“I… didn’t know you’d been together with him long enough to be trying for a baby.”
Oh. “Um...we haven’t.” She admits. “We haven’t been together long enough for that.” About four months and twenty-four hours. Not long enough for this to be on purpose. And yet she doesn’t think she could stand to call her baby an accident, let alone a mistake. “It wasn’t planned.” That’s all true, but things can not be planned, and still be wonderful. That’s what she was. Unplanned and wonderful.
Right?
“I see…” He trails off again, looking very troubled for a moment. Then he grasps her hand. “I… Annabeth, I liked Percy. And I don’t know what he or any of your other friends are saying. But you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
Something in her stomach that had nothing to do with her little dancer drops. “No one is making me.” She thinks of Luke, that first day, and his idea of a solution. “The opposite, occasionally. People have tried to talk me out of this.” She squeezes his hand, willing him to understand, like he had just a few days ago, when she’d told him everything about her mom. “But I want this. God, dad I want this so much.” She can feel the tears at the corner of her eyes. She hopes she can keep them at bay. This is too important.
“You’re happy?”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever been this happy, Dad.” She does know, though. And she hadn’t been happy. She couldn’t have been.
“Is that why you wanted me to go to lunch with Percy?”
“That was your idea,” she points out, hoping he’ll understand what she’s about to say, “But, yeah. It’s part of the reason why I invited you here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wanted you to come, because I want you to be part of my life again. I want you to be part of my baby's life and I…” I thought I had to butter you up? I wanted to remind you you loved me? I am so scared and so alone? How was she supposed to say all of this?
He just stares at her for several long moments. She knows what he looks like when he’s lost in thought, carried away by his work and his own brilliant mind. He still looks lost, but he’s not carried away. He’s right here, with her. She’s not sure she’s ever seen that happen before. She isn’t sure what to do with it.
And then he leans in and hugs her. It isn’t like it's the first hug of this trip, but he holds her close and whispers her name into her hair.
He’s crying when he pulls back. “I am very happy you’re sharing this with me.” He looks her up and down. “What do you need? Do you have a doctor? Do you have a nursery set up? How far along are you?”
“Dad,” She cuts him off. “I’m good, I have a doctor. And I’m only four months along. There is time for nursery stuff. And Percy and I are still working some stuff out.” Like co-parenting, for starters. And whether or not there’s any hope left for a relationship.
“Do you need money, or--”
“I didn’t ask you here for money.” It is a little bit of a plea, a little bit of an assurance. “I just… I want you around. For me and for my baby.”
“Any time,” he says. “Both of you, any time.”
They start the movie again soon after that, but she rests her head on his shoulder, and when it's done, he takes out his phone and starts marking dates on his calendar. Due dates, potential baby showers and gender reveal parties and everything else.
“I suppose you and Percy won’t be able to come visit us in California before the baby is born,” he says, “but you’ll be going to Magnus’ wedding in July. So maybe in June? It would be a good idea, I think, to practice a transcontinental flight before a transatlantic one? Don’t you think so?”
She laughs at his eagerness even as she nods, and surreptitiously makes the plans in her own mind.
He leaves early the next morning. And she sees him off to the airport.
“I’ll see you soon,” he promises. “Call me any time. I’ll be back for any celebrations you might have.” She had basically forbidden him from letting Mary throw her a gender reveal last night. “But if you need me, I am friends with people at the airport. I can be on a plane so quickly.”
“I know, Dad.”
“I love you,” he promises.
“I love you, too.”
He looks back as he gets in line for security. Something about that, the hint of regret, it feels nice, He’s going back to his life. His wife and his sons, but he’s sad to leave her behind.
In some ways, that’s one of the things she’s always wanted from him, the idea that he thinks about her when she’s gone.
And then he’s gone.
She goes back to her apartment, and she goes back to her new project, a sweater just for Percy.
It's a deep blue, but with subtle shifts throughout the skein, like the ocean. She knows it will look beautiful against his skin and hair. She had actually bought the yarn over the summer. When she’d been falling in love and lying to everyone including herself about it. She hadn’t been able to use the soft wool until she’d actually committed herself to a Percy project.
Just before lunch he texts her: Going to tell my mom. I’ll tell you how it goes.
She stress-crochets and stares at her phone and listens to Paramore. She curses Piper’s no phone rule and hates that her dad is still in the air.
The hours pass. She finishes one sleeve and then the other. Percy doesn’t text her again. Even though lunch is long since over.
She remembers that she should eat at about 3pm, and sends a quick order for some biryani. She needs spicy raisins like yesterday.
At four there's a knock at her door. The Indian place is normally slower than that, but she is hungry, so she’s quick to get it.
The delivery guy is gone when she opens the door. But he left his parcel.
It isn’t her biryani. It's a brown box with Amazon’s creepy corporate smile on it.
She knows she 100% didn’t order anything.
For a moment she wonders if Thalia mailed her a glitter bomb or something. But Thalia doesn't know her address.
So all she can do is open the package.
The packing slip has a note written on it.
I figured I’d let you New Yorkers have your little Yankees fan. But I am claiming hockey for my first grandchild. I love you both so much. -Dad (Grandpa)
She’s full on crying when she lifts the plastic bag out of the box and unwraps it.
The contents are simple, small. A black onesie with white and yellow letters on it. They say Boston Bruins.
She hadn’t bought anything yet. This is the first bit of baby things she’s owned. And it's a gift from her dad. His favorite team. Something he wants to pass down.
She holds it tight, and cries some more.
She falls asleep holding it, and crying in the best way.
In the morning she wakes up to two texts. One, expected, is from her dad: I’m glad you like it, and I love you too.
And one from Percy: Mom says the mother of her grandchild has to come to dinner on Saturday.
***
Standing outside the apartment building in the freezing cold is probably not good for a pregnant lady, but Annabeth simply cannot bring herself to enter the lobby. She has been standing there for a solid seven or eight minutes, staring at the door, and doing absolutely nothing about it.
“He wants you here,” she whispers to herself. “He wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t want you here.”
Through the glass, she can see Percy in the lobby, a paper bag of groceries at his feet, as he checks his phone. He hasn’t seen her yet. She could leave, and he would never know she was there at all.
She had been promised a small affair, just Percy, his parents, and his sister, so he could introduce his family to his girlfriend. Yes. She is Percy’s girlfriend. She is having his baby. She counts as family now, so that’s why it’s okay for her to be here.
At least, that’s what she’s been trying to tell herself for about twenty minutes.
Drawing in a deep breath, she pushes open the glass door, strutting her way over to him feeling bizarrely like she’s a lady of the night, meeting her illicit client in his hotel room. Her pregnancy sort of distorts the whole thing, though. “Hey.”
He looks up, eyes sparkling. “Hey,” he says back, leaning in for a kiss, and her toes curl in her shoes.
Then he pulls back, and looks down. “Is that a Birkin?”
Annabeth, caught red handed, freezes. “...Too much?” she asks, nearly a squeak.
Frowning, Percy considers it.
Earlier that afternoon she had spent probably a solid eighty minutes debating between which purse to bring to dinner with Percy’s parents. Which is ridiculous. They weren’t even going out to eat for god’s sake. Who was going to see?
...Just his mom. And his little sister. And his stepdad, if she were unlucky enough for him to have a stepdad who actually knew what a Birkin was.
Percy comes to a decision. “It’s fine,” he surmises. “Just… you know. It’s okay. You don’t have to be so--”
“Insane?”
He smiles, despite himself. “Nervous.”
“Can you blame me?” She cards her fingers through her hair, attempting to tamp down a stray, stubborn lock which keeps wandering into her eyes.
Huffing a laugh, Percy reaches out with some effort, gently pushing her hair back into place, out of her eyes. It’s such an easy action, so unselfconscious, that her heart stutters a little bit. “Don’t worry,” he says. Like that’s going to help calm her fears at all. “Just be yourself. You’re gonna knock their socks off.”
She’d better. She really doesn’t think she can handle another disappointed mother.
The very thought is enough to make her want to claw her skin off. But she has to settle for adjusting her sweater sleeves again.
“Aren’t you a little warm in that?” Percy asks, hefting his grocery bag as they walk to the elevator. She had offered to help him carry them, but he had said ‘no’ and then glanced down at her belly. She’s not so pregnant yet that she can’t carry some cheese and crackers and a bottle of wine, but he had insisted.
“I’m fine.” She’s not. It’s hot as fuck in here. But she’ll live.
It’s a small price to pay for Sally Jackson’s approval.
Two minutes later, arms wrapped around the paper bag, Percy lifts his leg, ringing the doorbell with his foot.
“I could have just done it,” she says. He beams at her in response.
Not a moment later, the door opens.
“PERCY!” Quicker than a flash, a small figure barrels out of the doorway, nearly knocking him over in a hug of epic proportions. “You’re here!”
“Hey, guppy,” he says. “What’s with all the excitement? You saw me for Thanksgiving.”
“That was a whole month ago!” says the small creature, curly brown head only coming up to his stomach. “It’s been AGES.”
Percy laughs, gentle and delighted, and Annabeth is about two seconds away from melting into a puddle on the floor. “Well I’m here now.”
The little girl pulls back, flashing a wide, toothy smile--which is when she sees Annabeth. Who just waves, like a dumbass.
“Annabeth, meet my sister, Estelle. Estelle, this is Annabeth.”
“Ooh!” the girl crows, looking up at Percy. “Is she your girlfriend?”
Her eyes flick over to him, waiting with bated breath on his answer.
Percy extricates a hand out from the paper bag, ruffling his sister’s hair. “Yeah, squirt, she is. Now can you get off of me? I gotta go put this stuff down.”
“Okay.” She unsticks herself from Percy, turning on her heel to run back into the apartment. “Mooom!” she calls. “Percy’s here! And he brought his girlfriend!”
“She already knows!” he calls after her, stepping in first, holding the door for Annabeth with his back.
The smell of cooking food wafts in through the open doorway, garlic and tomato mixing with cinnamon and sugar. She can hear the soft, muted sounds of a radio--in this day and age?--playing dim, cozy swing, momentarily drowned out by the sound of a great shriek of laughter.
Laughter. There is laughter inside this house.
Annabeth steps inside.
Expertly, with all the balance in the world, Percy toes off his shoes, sneakers with loose laces easily sliding off his feet, falling haphazardly to the side of the hallway. Annabeth, with her swollen ankles, has traded out her heavy boots and worn out converse for a pair of sensible slippers: black, so as not to clash with her thick, black woolen leggings. Out of consideration for Mrs. Jackson, she pushes them into a corner with her toe.
“Ma!” He calls.
“In the kitchen!” Comes the faint reply.
Arms full of food, he turns to her, one brow gently raised--an invitation, with a coolness not entirely smothering the hope and trepidation which she can see in his eyes. Part of him is afraid, she realizes. Worried she might back out at the last second.
Brazen, she steps further in.
The light is warm and yellow. In the corner of the living room is a tree, bare and undecorated, but with a dented, off-white plastic box beneath it, likely holding the treasure of ornaments within. The walls are covered in photographs: a wedding photo of Sally and Paul, Estelle’s first day of school, Percy holding his baby sister in the hospital, the four of them in Paris, Estelle on Percy’s shoulders beneath the Eiffel Tower.
Grinning, he overtakes her, three wide strides to the kitchen.
“Percy!” says his mother, stepping away from the oven for a moment to embrace her son. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hey, mom.” Even with his arms full, somehow he’s still able to hug her, bending over so she can wrap her arms around him, pushing his shoulders into his chest. “Smells amazing in here.”
It really does, the warm, heady smell of hot cheese and tomato sauce curling through the air, making Annabeth’s mouth water.
“Thank you, sweetie.” She pulls away, hand lingering on the paper bag. “Do you need any help with these?”
“I got it,” he says, waddling over to the tiny bit of available counter space left. “Do you need any help with dinner?”
“We’re just about set--Paul ran out to get some drinks, but he should be back any minute.”
Annabeth’s heart sinks. Shit. She can’t drink any alcohol. Are they going to think she’s being rude?
Percy casts a glance her way, too quick for her to make out what he might be thinking. “Maybe some water to start?”
“Of course,” says his mother, smoothly, already pulling down the appropriate glasses--two, one for him, and one for Annabeth. Or for her. She can’t tell.
Fucking ADHD and noticing stupid things! Fucking calm down!
“I’m back!” comes a man’s voice from the front door. Tucked under his arm, he carries a large case of seltzer. “You would not believe how empty the bodega was, it was like a ghost town in--oh! Hey, kiddo!”
“Hey Paul,” he says, crossing over to give him his hug.
They’re so… friendly with each other. No, that’s not the right word. Comfortable. Percy hands out hugs like candy on Halloween, and his parents are just as receptive. Annabeth can’t remember the last time her stepmother even touched her shoulder. Let alone her biological mother.
“So?” Sally asks, once all the appropriate greetings have been given. “Is this her?”
“This” being Annabeth, who is shocked out of her stupor with hopefully nothing more than a brief shake of her head.
Percy takes her hand, pulling her out of the corner, into the light. “Annabeth, these are my parents, Sally and Paul.” They nod in turn, staring politely at her. “Mom, Paul, this is my girlfriend, Annabeth.”
The g-word changes the atmosphere, imperceptibly: Paul straightens up, the corners of his mouth stretching open further, while Sally’s gaze sharpens on her, taking her from the top of her ugly-ass haircut, down over her torso, to the tips of her grey, hand-knitted socks. Assessing her. Lingering on her ankles. Maybe. Oh boy.
“So nice to finally meet you, Annabeth,” Paul says, sticking out a hand. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” she replies, automatic. “Thank you so much for having me tonight.”
“Of course,” says Sally, picking up the conversational flow. “It’s our pleasure.”
And there we have it. Annabeth has officially met the parents.
She’s just grateful that she’s not shaking too visibly as they sit down to eat.
Dinner is baked ziti--warm and hearty and heavy with cheese, and oh fuck yes to the olives hiding in between the noodles, little bursts of umami heaven. Thank god her taste buds aren’t all fucked up tonight. It helps that it’s also absolutely delicious anyway, everyone murmuring their appreciation for the chef, even Estelle, who doesn’t complain at all about having to eat her veggies. Annabeth is shocked. She was way more of a picky eater at Estelle’s age, subsisting on a diet of plain potatoes, cocktail olives, and whatever bags of junk food she could sneak in under her stepmother’s watchful eye.
Estelle isn’t shy, either. “You’re really pretty,” she says to Annabeth, completely unprompted.
“Oh,” she says, shocked. But… also very pleased. “Thank you. You’re--you’re really pretty, too.”
“Are you a ballerina, too?”
Annabeth shakes her head. “I’m an architect.” Shit, is that too big a word for kids? “Um, I like to build stuff. I mean, I don’t do the building, but I tell people where and how to build stuff.”
Estelle nods. Annabeth can hear her feet as she swings her legs, knocking against the table. “Do you know Beyonce? She and Percy are best friends.”
Percy snorts, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “We just met the one time, squirt.”
“Yeah, but she liked your pic on Instagram! I SAW it,” she announces, proud of her big brother. “That means you two are best friends.”
“Moving up in the world, there, kiddo,” says Paul.
“Did she really like your pic?” Annabeth asks, leaning in to Percy.
He nods, smug as all hell. “I took a screenshot. I’m gonna print it out and frame it.”
Fair enough. It’s an achievement of the highest order.
The conversation moves on. Paul is a teacher and Sally is a writer, and Annabeth nods along like she already knew that. Estelle happily contributes to the conversation where she can. A few questions are thrown Annabeth’s way, but only a few.
She’s happy about that.
When dinner is over she offers to help clear things away, but Sally and Percy shoo her away, and instead she ends up with Estelle introducing her to their fish tank. It's a large aquarium that, Annabeth learns, has been in the family since Percy was twelve. They don’t have any lobsters though, Estelle tells her seriously, which is a shame, because she’d name it Francisco Montague Xanzibar the Third if she did.
It’s hard not to be charmed by her earnestness. She’s just like Percy in that way. It must be genetic.
Eventually, Sally’s voice floats down the hallway. “Estelle, sweetie, we’re about to start cookie decorating!”
At that, she leaps to her feet, grabbing Annabeth’s hand and hauling her to the kitchen. Good god she is strong for a ten year old.
The kitchen has been transformed, the counter and table cleared off and prepared with decorating stations like a well-oiled machine, mismatched jars of sprinkles in between paper plates with puddles of colorful frosting, like a painter’s palette. Estelle gives out a cheer, grabbing a frosting palette and a handful of cookies, then taking her rightful place at the head of the dining room table. “Annabeth!” she calls. “Come sit with me!”
So excited, Annabeth can’t exactly refuse.
It’s… nice. It’s really nice.
Percy slides in next to them, but Estelle smacks her hand down on the table, pointing. “No boys allowed!”
Taken aback, he laughs. “You’re not serious.”
But she will not be moved. “No boys! Shoo!”
“Stellaaaaa,” he pouts. “I wanna decorate cookies with my girlfriend.”
“Too bad!” she chirps.
“You heard the boss, Percy,” Sally says, sitting down on Estelle’s other side. “No boys allowed. Besides, Paul could use help with the tree.”
Grumbling goodnaturedly, Percy shuffles off.
Annabeth stiffens. Alone with his mother. Well, his mother and his kid sister. Swallowing, she prepares herself for an interrogation.
...An interrogation which never comes.
Old hands, Sally and Estelle decorate cookies with the kind of speed and efficiency that only comes after ten thousand hours of practice. Sally is more artistically minded than Estelle, who both blow Annabeth out of the water, but between the three of them, they amass a stack of decently decorated cookies. Some are more traditional, green trees with red dots, or white stars, and some are decidedly less so, like the blue and orange candy cane.
While Annabeth is hard at work on a cartoon reindeer, Estelle asks, very sweetly, if she can pass the blue sprinkles.
“Of course,” she says, handing it over. “What are you working on, Estelle?”
Proudly, she shows off her creation, a long, light blue humanoid, its arms outstretched. Parts of the side have been broken off, either because the dough was stretched too thin, or some enterprising cookie thief had snapped up a piece when not being watched. Honestly, Annabeth would have done the same.
It takes her a second to see it, but she realizes what it is the moment Estelle announces: “I’m making a Percy!”
Now that she thinks about it, she had spotted a ballerina cookie cutter on the counter. It looks like Estelle has just snapped off the sides, where the tutu would have been. On the torso, in thin, shaky lines, she has begun the outline of a leotard in dark blue frosting, little tufts of navy and white streaking out from the center. The hair has been painted black (so that’s why they had black frosting!) with a yellow and blue crown on the bun.
It is Percy, in his Bluebird costume from his first ever Sleeping Beauty. She’s seen the pictures before.
And here Annabeth has just been filling in stars with one solid color and calling it a day. “It’s beautiful.”
She beams, wide and toothy.
“Oh, that looks wonderful, baby!” Sally leans over, eyes warm.
Flush with success, Estelle very politely excuses herself from the table, darting off to the bathroom.
Annabeth can’t stop looking at the half-finished cookie. “This is amazing.”
Sally hums, painting red trim on a tree with a toothpick. “She’s been practicing. She went through probably half a dozen sketches yesterday. So, how are you doing?”
The question catches her off guard. “What?”
“How are you doing?” Sally repeats, kindly. “I remember my second trimester--both of them. Percy’s was miserable, but Estelle’s was a walk in the park.”
“Oh. Um, it’s been fine, honestly.” She’s stopped throwing up mostly, which is nice. Her new maternity clothes are nice and warm, and she hasn’t had any weird aches and pains yet. “Just peeing a lot. Hungry all the time. Um, kind of hormonal.”
Sally raises an eyebrow, and Annabeth flushes.
“Not like that.” Well kind of like that, too, but she’s not about to admit that to her boyfriend’s mother.
The other woman chuckles, plucking up another toothpick. “Oh, I remember those days, too, don’t worry.”
“But, really, it’s been okay.” Truthfully, Annabeth had been expecting much, much worse. The very concept of pregnancy is enough to give someone nightmares, and yeah, maybe she isn’t enjoying the weight gain and the way that pregnancy seems to make her impulsivity even worse, but considering what it represents? How it brought Percy back to her? It’s worth it. It’s all worth it. “I feel fine most of the time. And Percy’s been amazing.”
Sally sets her toothpick down, looking Annabeth in the eye. Her face is serious now, delicate eyebrows furrowed together. “Has he?”
Annabeth nods. “Absolutely. He’s been so supportive right from the get go, and I’m--I’m really happy.”
“Are you?” Percy’s mother holds her gaze, piercing brown eyes going right through her, looking for… something. Maybe Annabeth’s commitment to her son. Or maybe just to see if she’s telling the truth.
She is telling the truth--she is happy. Her father is back in her life, and her relationship with Percy is on the mend. She’s sitting here, decorating cookies with his mother and his baby sister, and she hasn’t felt like crying once. Annabeth can’t remember a time when she was happier. She nods again.
Whatever Sally is looking for, she seems to find it, because she relaxes, smiling again, and Annabeth’s breath catches in her throat.
After meeting his father at Halloween, she had thought that Percy was a carbon copy of him, from the straight nose down to his broad shoulders and his large, strong hands. But she had been mistaken.
Percy isn’t a copy of his father. That smile? That warmth? That’s all Sally Jackson.
While Paul makes the hot chocolate and Estelle puts away the cookie decorating supplies, Sally calls her son and Annabeth into the other end of the little living/dining room. Their lights twinkle on the tree, a string of colored lights and two strings of blue ones. They’d only had white lights on the tree at her dad’s house in California, Annabeth recalls, because her stepmother had said it was more sophisticated. Chase family Christmases, with its store-bought glass bulbs, had somehow been homier than Athena Pallas Christmases, where she hired the same decorator who had done her office lobby to come in and set up the tree for her.
She thought that fact explained a lot about her mother. And about her.
The Jackson tree is covered in ornaments that had clearly been made by Percy and Estelle at all ages. Pipe cleaners and popsicle sticks and glitter and cardboard cover the fake green branches.
It is enough to make Annabeth want to buy a tree.
“Stand here,” Sally says, ushering them in front of the trees. Then she proceeds to move them around like dolls, adjusting arms and tilting heads and adjusting shoulders until Percy stands just over her shoulder, both of their hands resting on her belly.
Sally takes out her phone and snaps a couple of pictures and then she takes out an old fashioned polaroid and takes another one. She smiles as she shakes it and then shows it off to the couple.
It's a good picture. Annabeth doesn’t have any pictures of the two of them. She needs some. And some of Percy himself. She could set one as her phone background. That’s what you do with your hot as fuck boyfriends, right?
Then Sally reaches for something on the little mantle.
“Oh!” is all Annabeth can say when she sees it. It’s like so many of the ornaments on the tree: popsicles, sticks and glitter. The sticks are connected to form a little square frame the size of a polaroid. On the lower stick, in blue puff paint are the words, “Grandbaby’s First Christmas.”
Sally takes out a sharpie and writes on the back of the polaroid “Percy, Annabeth, and Baby, 2021,” and then slips the picture in the frame, hanging it up high on the tree. “Estelle doesn’t know yet,” she says, “and I know Percy wants to tell her. But I want this on my tree, even if it's not technically Christmas yet. We’ll do a new picture next week, on the actual day.”
“Ma,” Percy says, “You can’t just assume Annabeth is coming for Christmas.”
“You said her father was here last week, and he lives in California,” Sally replies. “She’s having Christmas with us.”
And so, the matter is decided.
At the end of the night, Sally and Paul send her home with a Ziploc bag full of cookies, and Estelle runs out after them to give Annabeth a great, big hug. “Come back soon, okay?” she asks, rubbing her face into Annabeth’s coat.
Annabeth can’t resist, hugging her back. “I’ll be here for Christmas,” she promises. “I can’t wait to see you again.”
Percy has a pep in his step as he walks Annabeth down to the lobby, humming snatches of the Nutcracker, and Annabeth is hit with a wave of nostalgia, warm and cozy like baked ziti and home-decorated cookies. “What’s got you in a good mood?” she asks, tone too fond to be truly snarky.
He shrugs, grin too wide to be truly aloof. “Oh, you know. Just our smashing success.”
“Our success?” she teases. “As I recall, your sister was stuck to me all night, not us.”
“Must be a Jackson family trait,” he says.
“What?”
And he turns to her, pulling her into his arms. “Loving you.”
She inhales sharply. Did he just…?
His face is warm, radiating. Like a dancer in awe of his partner. Only this, she can tell, isn’t an act. She’s seen him act this way. And now she’s seen the real thing--and it’s a hundred times as strong.
“Well, the Jacksons are in luck,” she says, voice thick. “Because loving them back is pretty dang easy.”
His smile grows, somehow, and his arms tense around her. Before she realizes what’s happening, he’s picked her up by the waist, feet off the ground, and he spins her around, laughing.
She wants to sink into the feelings of his words. She wants to live and breathe this moment forever.
“Can I walk you home?” He asks, putting her back down. The moment is perfect. But not pushed. It's beautiful and delicate and she won’t ruin it by running away anymore.
“I would love that.”
So hand in hand, they set off into the cold New York night, Annabeth feeling like she’s walking on air.
honesty and promise me, part 12 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]
Annabeth turns to the left. She turns to the right. She sucks in her gut, raising her arms above her head, stretching her fingers to the ceiling, before letting them drop back to her sides.
Then she sighs. Even in perfect posture, the bump is still visible.
She knows, of course, what pregnancy does to people. But knowing in theory and experiencing it for yourself is… something else entirely. Annabeth can go through a checklist of pregnancy symptoms--frequent urination, nausea, mood swings, weird cravings--in an hour and not bat an eye, but this is different, somehow. This is visual.
Scrubbing her hands over her face, she sighs again. And now she’s standing in front of a mirror examining her naked body like a poorly written female protagonist. She makes a face at herself, lips pursed, mashing her boobs together for no other reason than to look ridiculous.
The mere fact that she can do that means they are getting bigger.
Well that’s something at least.
Then, of course, she sees the problem. “Oh, what?” she says, out loud. “Come on.”
Her growing stomach is starting to warp the tattoo on her stomach.
She had gotten it at twenty-five, an ionic capital, a tribute to days gone past, resting parallel with the top of her thigh. It was wide, wider than she had envisioned it, but with thin, delicate, dotted shading, half cast in shadow from an implied sun. Annabeth remembers the artist laboring over it for hours, tongue poking out from between her black lips, bent over her skin while Annabeth stared at her half-shave and tried desperately to think about how much she wanted it instead of her old life back.
And now it’s ruined. Her baby bump, ever so slightly, has begun to pull at the lines, those perfect, straight lines of the ancient masters. She turns to the side, stepping up to the mirror for a closer look. If this is any indication, it will only get more distorted the bigger she gets. And who knows if it will bounce back afterwards.
“Fuck me,” she moans. Which of her other tattoos is this thing going to ruin, too? The wrapping olive branch around her right thigh? The quiet, scribbled “be brave now” under her ribcage? The butterflies around her belly button?
Okay, in fairness, she actually doesn’t care about the butterflies. They were an impersonal tattoo picked out from an art book by Thalia on a semi-drunken dare, but at least Annabeth had gotten her back, with a goofy looking palm tree that had to be splashed on her side, fronds extending around to the front and back. Honestly, Thalia had been so nonplussed about the whole thing, Annabeth had kind of been thinking of one for herself. Not a palm tree, maybe, but something tall and stately, that would cover up a lot of the shitty little one off tattoos that littered her skin.
Someone, Thalia maybe, should have warned her that tattoos were an addiction all on their own. Annabeth doesn’t regret them, of course, but it is… a lot. They’re not nice and orderly, like they might be if she had planned them out as a part of a bigger design.
The big ones, she can trace in chronological order, a timeline of her fall from grace written out across her body: first the owl, then the ionic order, the viking sword on her left leg, the Greek red-figure pottery on her right shoulder (which still isn’t complete, fuck, but the fill-in hurts so bad and she hasn’t had time to get that fixed), and lastly the olive branch. Those are the big ones; the little ones, filling the gaps, they might as well have appeared by magic for all she can remember getting them.
Not like Percy’s--Percy’s have meaning. Purpose. A star on his hip for his baby sister, and a bluebird on his ribs for his first major role. Annabeth’s are all over the place.
There are a lot of words scattered across her skin, and a lot of dumb, meaningless phrases that surely had meant something to her at the time. She spots a “focus” on her wrist and a “breathe” on her knee; trite phrases like “bee yourself” with a cartoon honeybee on her upper right side; flowers connecting the disparate parts like a constellation, some real, some stylized. Her collarbone boasts a song lyric in scratchy handwriting, “wisdom’s daughter walks alone,” from some band from way back when. On her back, she knows there is a brick wall on her shoulder, “Brick By Boring Brick” written underneath in cursive, some kind of fancy compass rose, and…
Jesus. She doesn’t even remember. When did she even get that star? Why? It’s not like she got them all when she was less than sober, she just… always went in for a new tattoo whenever she felt bad about herself. She’d bring a doodle of something on a bit of scrap paper and lose herself in the hum of the machine and the black ink on her pale skin until she was one step further from her mother’s idealized, impossible daughter.
Apparently, based on her body, she’d felt bad about herself a lot over the last few years.
Maybe she should get them removed?
She frowns. That would be a lot of money. And who knows how badly it might fuck up an already fucked up post-pregnancy body.
Besides, she does like them. She liked them then and she likes them now.
But maybe she had gone a bit too far with them.
What else is new?
She sighs again. As much as she would love to stay at home and spend all day contemplating her shitty life choices, she now pays someone to do that for her, and if she lingers any longer staring at her ugly, distorted naked body, she’s going to be late for therapy.
Throwing on a pair of leggings and a sweater dress with deodorant stains on the side, she trundles out into the chilly, late November afternoon, dreading every step and every bump of the subway along the way, until she reaches her therapist’s midtown office.
Dr. Vesta is a petite, almost mousey woman, but she radiates warmth and comfort like no one else Annabeth has ever met before. Or possibly that’s just the heater. It’s definitely the vibe of the room, with its low, cozy ceilings, plush and pleasant mustard yellow pillows, and the costume jewelry-studded tissue box on the table in front of her. It kind of reminds Annabeth of the drawing room of the grandmother she’d never had but always wanted; a place inviting, kitsch and charming and gently eccentric, a home to someone who no longer quite cared about keeping up appearances.
She stands up when Annabeth enters, always greeting her with a gentle smile. “Welcome back,” she says, getting the door for her.
Annabeth grimaces. Even though she’s still pretty early on and not showing so obviously, she feels like people can just smell it on her, and assume that she needs their help. Well, of course Dr. Vesta knows--that was the whole reason she had agreed to start seeing her in the first place, despite her very busy schedule--but it’s weird when random strangers on the subway will offer her their seats, or when a barista throws in a free cookie along with her tea (God, she misses coffee so much, she misses coffee like an amputated limb). She’s used to intimidation, with her heavy boots and multiple facial piercings and spitting attitude. This newly discovered pity from strangers is… a lot to get used to.
Dr. Vesta doesn’t pity her, though. Or, if she does, she hides it really well.
“Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I would be coming back,” she admits, settling onto the comfy couch, but Dr. Vesta just shrugs, smiling to herself as she sits back down onto her chair, drawing her red shawl around herself.
“I had a feeling I would be seeing you again.”
She’s seen the good doctor twice now. Their first session had been surprisingly low-key; Dr. Vesta had said very little, allowing Annabeth to spin her yarn uninhibited, unjudged, and it had been actually kind of nice. It had been freeing to talk to someone completely outside of and objective to the whole situation.
The second session, though. Hoo boy.
Annabeth has always known, under the surface, that she is a little messed up. She had hidden it really really well, from her parents and her teachers and her friends, until one day she just couldn’t take it any longer and set about burning every single one of her bridges, tripping headfirst into Thalia’s bar and her world. What she hadn’t realized, unfortunately, was that years of tattoos and piercings and shitty bands did not count for actual therapy. Dr. Vesta had taken one look at her with those kind, kind eyes, opened her mouth to ask her about her day, and Annabeth had fucking shattered. She had spent a solid forty five minutes just straight up sobbing, going through two whole boxes of tissues, and getting snot all over her sweater sleeves.
After a display like that, Annabeth had seriously considered dropping off the face of the earth again. But the stakes are so much higher now. This is, officially, beyond just herself. And she’s not going to run from her past any more, for her sake, if not for her child’s.
“Tell me something good that happened this week, Annabeth.”
She proactively picks out a tissue, running the thin material through her fingers. Having something to play with makes it easier for her to speak more honestly, and she knows she’s going to cry anyway, so it just saves time. “I did a load of laundry that I’d been putting off for a while.”
It’s so pathetic, celebrating such a small, menial task, but Dr. Vesta beams. “That’s wonderful!”
“Luke came by with some groceries, too. Not just ramen, but like, actual microwaveable meals, with vegetables and everything.”
“He sounds like a wonderful friend.”
“He is,” Annabeth says softly, tearing the tissue. “He can be kind of a douche sometimes, but he’s like the older brother I never had.”
Dr. Vesta tilts her head, her gentle gaze still boring into her nonetheless. “How did you two meet?”
Smiling despite herself, she calls up the memory of a sunny day in Cambridge in late September. “At school. I went to some interdepartmental mixer for the undergrads looking to continue at one of the Harvard grad schools. I was looking at Art and Design, and he was a current MBA, and we just sort of hit it off.” She winces, wondering if she should leave the next part out. “Honestly, I only approached him because I thought… Well, I thought he might be someone my mom would approve of. The fact that he was so much older than me never even crossed my mind.”
“Did you ever pursue a relationship with him?” Dr. Vesta asks, perfectly non-judgemental.
She shakes her head. “I know we both thought about it plenty, but no. And I’m glad we never did.”
“Why do you think he would be someone your mother would approve of?”
“Well,” she says, “we’d be the ultimate power couple, right? Business and architecture, both Harvard grads… I thought my mom would be all over that.”
Dr. Vesta is quiet for a moment, collecting her thoughts, before she asks, “Did you often do things because you thought it might please your mother?”
Annabeth scoffs. “Only for my entire life. Sometimes I feel like there’s nothing in my life that’s mine, you know? Like everything I am is just a reflection of my parents. There wasn’t a damn thing in my life that wasn’t specifically chosen by my mother in service to her grand plan: oboe, Model U.N., field hockey, every single thing I did, I did because I thought it was what she wanted me to do.”
“And were they?”
She almost doesn’t understand the question. “What?”
“Were these things what she wanted you to do?”
Already, she can feel the telltale sting of tears, threatening to fall. “Honestly? I have no idea. She would never say it outright, she would only ever be, like, ‘Admissions officers love to see this thing,’ or ‘I hear that that thing leads to better opportunities down the road.’”
“What do you mean?” Dr. Vesta asks, kindly.
It’s depressing enough that she has a whole damn rolodex of stories to choose from. Some are more painful than others, so she goes with a wound which has already healed. “So, in my freshman year of high school, I joined the Chess Club. Kind of nerdy, I know, but I loved chess, and I was really, really good at it. I loved the strategy. I loved making plans for every possible outcome--no matter what the other person did, I always knew the right thing to do. I couldn’t possibly fail. By the end of the year, I was elected Vice-President. I was going to completely revolutionize the Chess Club, and put our school’s team back on the competitive circuit.” She sighs. “And then I had lunch with my mom, and she told me that more Harvard students had listed Model U.N. as an extracurricular. She never even congratulated me for all the hard work I’d done in the Chess Club--hell, she never even acknowledged that I was in it. But I still quit Chess Club later that day.” Shaking her head, she rubs at her nose with the tissue. “God, I fucking hated Model U.N. But I stuck with it for three years. I never even talked to my Chess Club friends ever again.”
“It sounds like your mother had a profound impact on you, even though you rarely saw her.”
She snorts. “I idolized my mother. I wanted to be her so badly. I thought if I just followed her plan, then everything in my life would fall into place.”
“And what was her plan?”
She is glad she has the issue at the ready. “Take over the world, probably.”
“Forgive me for asking, but how did you know she had a plan for you?” Dr. Vesta asks.
Annabeth wipes her eyes. “She only mentioned it every time she saw me.”
“Was Harvard her plan? Majoring in architecture?”
That gives her pause. “Harvard, yes. Architecture…”
Was architecture in her mother’s plan for her? Part of Annabeth wants to say yes. Surely something as high profile as architecture could only have been the brainchild of one Athena Pallas. And yet, Annabeth has distinct memories of building with legos as a child, before she had even met her mother for the first time. She remembers school trips to Washington D.C., remembers walking around the National Mall, staring up at the columns of the Lincoln Memorial (thirty six, fluted Doric, distorted ever so slightly to accommodate for human perception in true neoclassical style) and deciding to commit the name Henry Bacon to memory. Henry Bacon was gone, but he had still managed to touch the lives of millions upon millions of people, had managed to change her own life forever, had managed to leave his mark on the world--a kind of immortality. A kind of permanence.
She had wanted that. She had wanted that more than anything in the world. Certainly more than her mother’s approval, even if the two dovetailed occasionally.
“No,” she says, without tears. “No, Architecture wasn’t her idea. It was mine.”
“It is yours,” Dr. Vesta gently corrects. “It still is, no?”
There’s a community garden on the Lower East Side, one of dozens scattered all over Manhattan. It doesn’t bear her name, but it’s hers all the same. She drew it, calculated the dimensions of each plot, chose the exact types of rocks to line the pathways. She even threw in a central birdbath feature--a squat Doric column, fluted. The people who take care of the garden are dedicated as hell, too; it has basil and mint and lavender, tomatoes and cucumbers and peppers, cornflowers and irises and daisies, a soft oasis in an urban jungle. A slash of green across the black and grey landscape. Life, where there was once only death. A kind of immortality.
And it’s Annabeth’s.
“Yeah,” she says. “It’s mine.”
Dr. Vesta smiles at her, and something in her heart unwinds. She can’t help it--she cries.
But it doesn’t feel pathetic. She doesn’t feel weak. She feels free, like someone has just lifted the sky from her back.
It’s a solid ten minutes before she can stop sobbing. Dr. Vesta doesn’t look like she’s moved an inch, regarding Annabeth so painfully kindly. “Would you like to take a break?” she asks. “You probably need some water.”
“Can I go to the bathroom?” Of course right now would be when the baby decides to do thirty-six fouettes on her bladder. If this kid doesn’t inherit their father’s talent, Annabeth will eat her hat.
“Of course,” says Dr. Vesta. “You remember where it is? Third door on the right.”
It’s a single bathroom, for which Annabeth is supremely grateful. Waterproof mascara her ass--her face is streaked with makeup, tear tracks cutting clean lines through the grime of her face. Most of her forty-eight dollar foundation had transferred to Dr. Vesta’s tissue collection, which now lay useless at the bottom of her office trash can, and she scrubs the rest off as best she can with soap and paper towels. Face barer and rubbed slightly red, the bags under her puffy eyes are even more prominent. God, she looks so tired.
Then she spots her terrible, terrible hair, and she giggles, the laugh bubbling up out of her. Stuck up in all directions, flying every which way, she looks for all the world like her father after a twelve-hour research day. He would come stumbling out of his office looking exactly like this, rambling excitedly about aerodynamics and metal production lines, wild-eyed and crazy-haired. He’d grab some of the cold dinner her step-mother had left out for her then retreat back to his hermit hole, but not before giving Annabeth a pat on the hair or a kiss to her forehead. Even as she missed her father, she had always admired his work ethic, on some level.
Oh, God. Her father.
She glances down to her gently protruding stomach. She’ll have to switch from form-fitting sweater dresses to maternity pants and empire waists, soon. This baby is coming, whether she likes it or not, and she needs to be ready. She needs a job--something with architecture, because this baby deserves a happy mom, a mom who can inspire passion the way Percy does with her. The way her father did with her, once upon a time.
And while Annabeth would never subject this child to meeting their grandmother, maybe… maybe they deserved to meet their grandfather. Maybe her dad would like to meet his grandchild.
Hell, if dropping off the grid for two years didn’t stop her dad from trying to reach out, nothing will. Not even an unplanned pregnancy. And she could really use his help.
When Annabeth comes back, Dr. Vesta is scribbling on a yellow notepad. “I want to tell my dad,” she blurts. “About the baby. And I’ll need his help to find a job again. But mostly I want him to know about the baby.”
“That sounds lovely,” she says, agreeing. “I’m glad you feel like you can trust your father with this.”
Annabeth nods. “I can.”
“What’s your plan?”
Frederick Chase loves books and planes and historical reenactments. He’s a brilliant academic, of course, but deep down inside, he’s as excitable as a little kid. And no little kid can resist Christmas in New York City. “I’m going to invite him here for Christmas. The whole family. We’ll do the whole touristy thing--Wollman Rink, the Train Show at the Botanical Gardens, the Nutcracker, everything. He’ll love that.”
“The Nutcracker?” She asks, frowning. “Are you planning on telling him who the father is?”
That… hadn’t even crossed her mind, if she’s being honest. “Maybe not,” she admits. “But… I should tell Percy, too, shouldn’t I?”
Dr. Vesta shrugs, carefully neutral. “Whatever you are most comfortable with, of course.”
“What do you think I should do?”
She appraises Annabeth, considering. Dr. Vesta always speaks so precisely, every word deliberately chosen. “I don’t want to push you one way or another,” she starts. “This is your choice, and your choice alone. But, if you would allow me, perhaps we could work through your options together?”
“Okay. Um, could I have a pen and paper?” She always works better when she has something to draw on.
Dr. Vesta rips out a page of her notebook, sliding it across the table to Annabeth, then reaches back and grabs one of her cheap, ballpoint pens out of the mug on her side table. “Remember, of these choices, there is no correct one. By that token, there is no incorrect choice, either. Whatever you choose, whether or not you decide to reconnect with Percy, that will be the right choice, so long as you commit to it. There are no wrong answers here, Annabeth.”
She turns the paper longways, dividing it in half with a thick stroke of the pen. At the top of the page, she writes the question that will determine the rest of her life: “Should I tell him?” In stark ink like this, it loses some of the existential fear.
“Reasons to tell him,” she says, her hand moving with almost a mind of its own. “It’s his child, and he would want to know. Children function better with both parents in their lives. He’d be a great dad.” I love him goes unsaid and unwritten.
“And reasons not to?”
“A baby could completely derail his career,” she writes. “He’s a brand new soloist, he doesn’t have time to be a father. I don’t even know if he wants to be a father.” Swiping at her eyes, she continues. “He doesn’t have money for child support. I don’t owe him anything. I can support this child without him.” And so on. After a few minutes, she’s filled the page on both sides, the “No” column decidedly more full than the “Yes.” It looks odd, lopsided and weighted in the wrong direction, like an unbalanced building or a half-hearted arabesque.
The pen hovers over the page, suspended in time. She feels, bizarrely, like she’s taking an exam, her hand cramping with the phantom ache of writing in those little blue booklets, scrambling to fill up the pages with nonsense before time runs out.
Then she decides that it doesn’t matter what Dr. Vesta says. There is only one right answer here, and she knows it.
She sets the pen down, picks up the page, and rips it in half. “I’m going to tell him.”
“Alright,” says Dr. Vesta, smiling. “Let’s devise a strategy.”
***
Annabeth breathes in deep. Eyes closed, she focuses on the feel of the knitted throw over her lap, the cinnamon smell of her mug of tea, the quiet roar of the dishwasher in the background. Or, at least she tries to.
Her phone lays on her coffee table, screen black. Mocking her.
It’s been just over two months since she last spoke to her father. That’s not unusual in and of itself; they’ve gone almost entire years without speaking before, and despite the years separating them from their less-than-ideal childhood relationship, she and Mary still aren’t really on good terms either. Running away to New York certainly didn’t help things. Her dad might have been fooled by Annabeth’s exciting new East Coast job, but she’s pretty sure Mary privately thought that Annabeth was giving them up, throwing them away in exchange for the cold, exacting aloofness of Athena Pallas.
And really, was she wrong?
So her dad not calling her might not mean anything. Maybe he’s just in the middle of another article. Or maybe he took her Halloween voicemail to heart, and has decided to give her up, too.
She really wishes Percy were here. Then she could at least distract herself with his arms. Or Thalia, who’d ply her with enough whisky until the words were flushed out of her throat. Hell, she’d even take Piper right now, with her firm, gentle judgement.
But that’s part of the problem. She can’t hide behind anyone anymore. Not for this.
Annabeth swallows, and picks up her phone. She might have deleted his contact info, but those ten numbers have been indelibly seared into her memory.
It starts ringing. She sets it on speakerphone, putting it down gently on her coffee table like it might bite her.
On the fourth ring, he picks up. “Hello?” says the voice, softly, like the receiver is far away from the mouth. “Yes, hello?” again, but louder this time.
Moment of truth. “Hey, dad. It’s me.”
“Oh!” he says. “Annabeth! It’s good to hear from you. How are you doing? How’s New York?”
He… doesn’t sound any different. Just his normal tone of polite surprise. “I’ve… been good. New York is fine. Um, did you get my voicemail?”
“Voicemail?” He sounds confused. “No, I don’t think so… when would this have been?”
She drums her thumbs against her stomach, leg bouncing. “Around Halloween?” Not that she wants to remind him.
He hums, his telltale sign that he’s really thinking about something. “Halloween? Hmm… no, I don’t believe I ever got that one. I’ve been getting so many spam calls, you see,” he says, not elaborating further.
So… he never got her voicemail. He never heard what she had to say.
She suppresses a sob.
“Annabeth?” her dad asks. “Are you alright, dear?”
“Fine,” she says, swallowing. “Just a cough. Um, I wanted to ask you something, if you had a minute?”
“Of course,” he says. In the background, she can hear the rustle of papers, the thumping of books, the cranky startup of an ancient Windows machine. “I always have time for you. I just have a few papers to look at tonight, then I need to review a chapter for Dr. Frey, and where did I put that--” There is the clacking of a keyboard, slow and methodical. She can picture him pecking at the keys with two fingers, brow furrowed as he enters in his computer password. “Ah, yes, there we are.” A pause. “I’m so sorry, dear, what were you saying?”
She closes her eyes, thumbnails digging into the pads of her fingers. “Would you… I mean, are you--are you doing anything the week of the 16th?”
“Of November?”
“December.”
“December? I don’t believe so, no…” She pictures him frowning, looking up to the ceiling like he hung his calendar there. “I have to grade exams at some point, but I believe that’s it. You know Dr. Chafe has postponed our tenure meeting again? I’m not sure there’ll be enough time for us to meet before the New Year.”
Who? “Well, I was just wondering if… if you might be interested in, um, coming out. To New York.”
A pause. “To New York?”
“To see me.”
Another pause. She holds her breath.
“I… I would love to, dear. I’d be delighted.”
Release. “That’s--that’s great, dad.”
She hears some more paper shuffling. “Yes, the weekend of the 16th would actually be perfect for me. Friday, Saturday, Sunday?”
“Yeah, that works for me, too.” Not like she’s doing anything else.
“It would just be me, I’m afraid,” he says. “It looks like Mary is taking the boys to their lacrosse retreat starting that Sunday.”
“That’s fine,” she says, maybe a little too quickly. “It’s--I’m okay with it just being the two of us. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of lacrosse, anyway.” Fear, suddenly, grips her heart, ice cold. “But, if--if you wanted to go with them, of course, I totally understand--”
“Oh, I’d much rather go and see you,” he says, without much fanfare. “I don’t think they need me to tag along and help unpack, do you?”
Well, she wouldn’t really know. But that doesn’t really bother her right now. “I don’t know--how heavy is their stuff?”
He laughs. “Not so heavy that Mary can’t handle it.” There’s another silent pause. “You know, dear, I… I’m very pleased you reached out to me. I meant to give you a call for your birthday, but then I was asked to assist with a paper, and next thing I knew, it was November.”
“I know, dad.” That’s pretty par for the course for Frederick Chase. “It’s okay.”
“I’ll go ahead and book my flight for that Friday, then, yes?”
“Sounds great. I’ll meet you there and we can get some dinner.”
“Yes, yes, very good.” She can already hear his focus drifting away, some new shiny bauble or enticing rabbit hole attracting his attention. “I’ll let you know when my travel is all finalized.”
“Sure thing.”
“It was so lovely to hear from you, dear. Have a good night.” And he hangs up.
Exhaling, Annabeth flops down on her couch, her hands automatically coming to rest on her stomach.
She realizes, with a start, that she is smiling.
honesty and promise me, part 14 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]
She escapes into the bathroom during the applause, and misses Percy’s grinning bow, his presentation of his fairy princess. She misses having to hear the crowd go wild for him.
She already knows how perfect he is, how beloved. She doesn’t need the reminder. As she dabs at her eyes and tries once again to tame her hair, she tries to think about the fact that her investment in cry proof mascara and eyeliner was a good choice, and not think about… everything else.
Breathing deep, she looks at herself in the mirror, and then decides to venture back out, meet her dad, and then run home. Run away. She can’t stand this anymore.
There's more of a crowd in the lobby when she gets out. Saturday night at the ballet, it's mostly older people taking in a New York classic. But dotted through the crowd she sees children. Some are twirling away from their parents, some are walking along, chattering animatedly, and a handful are asleep, held securely in their dad’s arms.
She puts her hand on her own belly. Mindful, so very mindful of being that in just a few years time. And the father of her child is in this building. She can’t ignore that. Even if so much of her wants the shame and the embarrassment and the heartbreak makes her want to.
It’s not about her. It’s about him, and their child. Percy deserves to know. End of discussion.
She’s talked with Dr. Vesta about a million and one ways to tell him. This is not one of the ways. And yet, it's perfect. Like ripping off a bandaid. It will not allow her to back out again and again until the baby’s in college.
“What a show,” her father says, when she meets him at the doors. “I am so impressed with those dancers. Just, so much work. So much artistry.”
They’re just stepping out into the cold winter night when Annabeth finally gets up the courage to ask. “Hey,” she says, grabbing her dad’s sleeve. “Do you want to meet them?”
“Hmm?”
She has to stifle a laugh, even now. No matter where he is or how nicely he’s cleaned up, he still has a permanent “deer in headlights” look whenever you catch him off guard. “The Cavalier. I don’t know if I mentioned it,” she knows she hasn’t, but hopes he doesn’t realize it, “he’s my friend, Percy,” and she’s proud of how little she stumbles over the f-word. “Do you want to meet him?”
He’s nodding before she finishes her sentence. “Of course! I’d love to meet your friend. Are you thinking of inviting him for dinner tomorrow?”
“Actually, I was thinking we could go storm the stage door?” She asks, knowing he’ll say yes, because if he says yes, then she can’t run away. This is the lynchpin of her whole brilliant, sudden plan, and she doesn’t think she’ll be this brave ever again.
Her dad beams at her. “I’ve always wanted to do that!”
Twenty minutes later, Annabeth and her dad are still waiting in the small crowd outside the stage door, but that hasn’t dimmed Frederick’s enthusiasm anyway, practically bouncing up and down. “I have to say,” he says, rubbing his hands together to keep warm, “this isn’t what I expected when you invited me out to see you.”
She breathes in sharply through her nose, hoping that the cold air will freeze her tear ducts before she starts crying. Again. She’s going to have a serious case of dehydration if she keeps this up.
“Oh, no, I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he hurriedly continues. “This weekend has been absolutely lovely. I simply mean, I didn’t think you’d become a ballet aficionado.”
“I’m not really an aficionado,” she admits. “But Percy… he makes it interesting.”
“How did you meet?”
She closes her eyes against the fresh wave of tears that threatens to burst, remembering the sweet, buttery smell of perfectly made pancakes. Before she can explain, however, there is a burst of noise from the crowd as the dancers exit the theater.
Percy is escorting the woman who danced the Sugar Plum Fairy, holding her arm as they walk down the steps. Immediately swarmed by her acolytes, armed with only a pen against the onslaught of programs and adoring fans. She looks older than she had onstage, but no less gracious, accepting each program with a smile and a heavily accented “Thank you,” even as Annabeth can see just how tired she is. Her shoulders are tight, and she has just the tiniest limp as she moves to the next person in line. Percy stands next to her, supporting her, even as he is cautiously approached by his own fans and admirers--not nearly as many as hers, and not nearly as many as he deserves.
He looks tired, she thinks. The lines on his face are deeper, caked foundation melting into his frown and smile lines, the color just… a little bit off. Maybe a little too orange for him. In the harsh light of the streetlamps, no amount of concealer can hide the bags under his eyes. And Annabeth would know.
This was a mistake. He’s not going to want to see her; he made that very clear. But just as she’s about to lose her nerve and do something stupid like throw herself into oncoming traffic, he turns his head, and he sees her.
It takes him a second. She watches him look at her face, then her hair, then her eyes again, his own widening in recognition. He says something to his partner, and she smiles, sending him off with a kiss on the cheek.
She blinks, and he’s right in front of her. His whole body is tense, like it is just before he does one of his gravity-defying leaps. “Annabeth,” he breathes, unbelieving.
“Hey,” she says, weakly.
“Hi.” Then, after a moment of silence, “You cut your hair.”
“I did.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you.” His gaze flits to her almost-empty ears, to the wisps of hair flying off them like she’s stuck in a wind tunnel. “It looks nice.”
It looks terrible. Even a few months ago, he would have told her outright that it looked terrible, but he would have smiled, and kissed her anyway, and he would have used his fingers to ruin it further.
Focus. Please. “Um, Percy,” she says, turning her body to bring her dad into the conversation, “this is my dad, Dr. Chase.”
Percy’s eyes practically bug out of his head, his mouth dropping a little.
“Dad,” Annabeth continues, “this is my… friend, Percy.”
Seized with enthusiasm, her dad takes Percy’s hand, shaking it vigorously. “You were absolutely magnificent, young man, really, just an absolute pleasure to watch.”
“Um… thank you.” He dips his head, a gesture of deference. Or maybe he’s just hiding his shock. “I’m so glad you enjoyed the show.”
“Would you mind signing my program?” From one of his pockets, her dad produces a pen, the cap missing. “You know, when Annabeth called me up last month and asked me to visit, she promised me that we’d do all of the typical touristy New York city things, and getting an autograph at the stage door is right at the top of my list!”
Percy looks at her, curiously. “Yeah, of course I can sign your program.”
“I must confess, our whole family is from Boston, historically, and I haven’t yet had the chance to really visit New York, but it’s been an absolutely wonderful weekend so far.” This he says to Annabeth, proud and fatherly smile firmly on his face. “I saw in your biography, you worked with Boston Ballet?”
“I did,” Percy confirms, signing his program. “Right when I was starting out.”
“That was during your freshman year of college, wasn’t it, dear?”
“Yeah, dad,” she says.
Percy must be able to sense her reluctance, still, because he jumps in. “Unfortunately, I didn’t really get to see much of Boston; it was my first big job, and I spent most of my free time practicing.”
“Well, clearly it has paid off,” says her father, accepting the signed program and folding it up, probably smearing the wet ink, and tucking it back into his pocket. “You are very, very talented, young man, and I do sincerely hope you’ll make it out to the West Coast at some point. Unfortunately, it may be a little too expensive for me to keep flying out to New York to see you perform.”
Annabeth does not have a favorite Percy smile--that kind of thing is way too sappy and lovey-dovey, especially for a guy who publicly disavowed her--but the one he gives them at this moment is pretty nice. She’s struck again, just how open and honest he is with his feelings. Love isn’t a burden, for him. Joy isn’t something to hide.
But then again, he is a really good actor.
“We’ll see,” he laughs. “You know, I have family in California, too--I have a cousin there, Jason. He works as a programmer for Lupa Industries.”
“Then you two have no excuse not to come visit,” her father says.
Percy gives her a smile: small, tentative. But hopeful. “Maybe we will.”
‘You two.’ ‘We.’ He said, ‘we.’ He said ‘we’ like he didn’t hate the idea of her and Percy, together, as a unit. She can feel a solitary tear running down her face. In the corner of her vision, Percy’s hand twitches.
“I’m sure you must be very busy, but if you have the time, would you like to come out to dinner with us? I’m only in town for a few more days; Annabeth can give you the details.”
“Let me check my calendar,” Percy says. “Annabeth and I can work it out.”
‘Annabeth and I.’ She’s crying freely, now--any minute it’s going to get really ugly. Her father, though, doesn't mention it. “I’m so sorry to run out on you, dear, but I just remembered, I need to get back to the hotel and make a call. Will I see you tomorrow for lunch?”
She nods, unable to speak.
“Well, it was wonderful again to meet you, Percy. You have a very bright future ahead of you, I can tell.”
“Thank you, Dr. Chase,” he says, shaking her father’s hand. “It was great to meet you, too.”
He kisses her on the cheek, squeezing her in a hug, then trots off to the curb, sticking out his thumb like he’s trying to hitchhike instead of calling a cab.
Once he’s gone, Percy turns back to her, incredulous. “You… called your dad?”
She nods. Sometimes she can’t believe it either. “I called my dad,” she sniffles, rubbing her nose, “invited him out here, and we just… got to talking.”
“He’s really nice.”
She nods. “He is. He--he said he knew a couple of architecture firms that were hiring, and he offered to put in a good word for me. I asked him to help update my resume.”
“That must have been really hard for you,” he says, neutral. She can’t tell if it’s approval or disapproval.
Annabeth snorts, watery and gross. “It was.” She hates how her voice squeaks, she hates that she’s out here, two seconds away from falling to pieces, and most of all, she hates how he’s just standing there, and she can’t figure out what the hell he’s thinking. “But I--it was time. I’d been so afraid of him, so scared to ask him for help, but he… he didn’t even blink. I mean, he didn’t even care that I’d ignored him for two years. He was just happy to hear from me.”
“And the hair?”
“The undercut wasn’t growing in well.”
“I don’t…” Percy bites his lip. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like Kate Gosselin.”
That startles a laugh out of her, but some wires must have gotten crossed on the way from her brain to her mouth, because it comes out as a sob instead. “I do, don’t I!”
Percy’s hand twitches again, like it has a mind of its own. “Are you okay? I--I feel really bad about how things went down at Hazel’s party. I meant to call you, honestly, but…”
“It’s okay,” she says, sniffling. “I’m sure you were busy with rehearsals.”
“Yeah,” he says noncommittally.
The silence that follows could definitely be classified as awkward.
If her heartbeat were any stronger, it would tear its way out of her chest and into him. The crowd at the stage door has dispersed by now, leaving them alone. The noise of the city falls away, until it’s just him, and her, and… “I have to tell you something,” she says.
He says nothing, but waits for her to continue.
“I didn’t… I didn’t want to say anything in front of my dad. And I didn’t want to distract you from the show. I thought about calling you a million times, but I knew you must have been so busy, and I didn’t want to… anyway. The point is, I should have told you sooner, and I’m sorry I didn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you a lot of things.”
This, too, must be him acting. His eyes are showing nothing at all, as calm and unflappable as the surface of the ocean. She has no idea what his reaction will be. Still, she has to say it. But will it be enough? “Percy, I’m pregnant.”
Everything freezes: the noise of the city, the snow that’s started to fall. His expression, a perfect mask. Her heart, desperately afraid.
“I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m not even expecting you to do anything, even though I’m pretty sure you’d be the most amazing dad ever. I know I’ve probably blown any kind of chance with you to hell, but you deserve to know.”
“You’re pregnant?” His mouth barely moves.
“That’s why I was throwing up at the gallery. That’s why I cut my hair and called my dad and asked him for help, because I didn’t think I wanted this baby but I really, really do--because it’s a little you inside of me, and I love you so much I will do anything for this fucking kid. I’m going to be a better mom to this baby than mine was to me, and that starts with getting my life back on track. It starts with telling the truth.” At some point, she realizes that she’s stopped crying. Finally. “I love you, and I love our baby. And even if you never want to see me again, I just wanted you to know that.”
There’s a sniffle, and for a split, idiot second, she thinks it’s from her--but it’s from Percy. His lower lip is trembling, and there are tears in his eyes, too. “You’re,” he sniffs, clears his throat. “You’re having my baby?” His voice is thick, and wet, but he’s smiling. He’s happy.
“I am.”
And then his arms are around her, her chest pressed to his, her face tucked into his neck, enveloped in the arms she missed so much. She closes her eyes as she presses her nose into his skin, breathing deep the scent of sweat and smoke and makeup. Oh, she missed this. Oh, how she missed this.
He pulls away, looking down at her, at the swell of her stomach which slumbers, hidden beneath her sweater dress. “Can I…?” he asks, hushed and reverent, like they’re standing in a cathedral, instead of a busy, dirty alleyway.
She doesn’t even know what he wants, but she nods.
Slowly, precisely, he reaches out a hand, laying it over her belly, sea eyes wide with wonder. It’s far too early to feel it kicking, to even really see that it’s there with all these layers on top, but she can feel the warmth of his hand all the way down to her toes… and hopefully, their baby can, too. “Wow,” he whispers.
It’s such a perfect picture, she has to stop herself from bursting into tears all over again. “I’m sorry,” she says, hoping he’ll be able to figure out what for. “Um, do you mind if I tell my dad?” she asks the crown of his head, watching it move from side to side.
“Only if I can tell my mom.”
Annabeth stiffens. His mother--who she still hasn’t met. “S-sure. Yeah.”
Then he looks up, traces of that familiar grin crossing his face, and her heart stutters. “Looks like you can’t weasel out of dinner with her now, can you?”
Biting her lip, she looks away. “Are you sure? I--I don’t want her to…” Hate her? Think poorly of her? She’s not sure she could handle another mother’s disapproval, especially not her boyf--... friend’s.
“Of course I’m sure,” he says, easily. “She’ll love you.”
The L-word, even though it’s not from him, drops like a bomb in the middle of the street. He retracts his hand, and Annabeth shivers.
She watches, anticipating, as he swallows, clearing his throat.
“...Listen, Annabeth--”
“Yes?” She blurts. God, shut up, let him speak!
“I…” His gaze is unfathomable. What she wouldn’t give for a red sky right about now. “It’s… it’s getting kind of late. I should get home, get some rest.”
“...Oh.” Of course. “Yeah, I--I didn’t mean to keep you. I’m sure you’re tired.”
“But--thank you,” he says, his hands in his pockets. “For telling me.”
“Of course.”
Silence again, for a few seconds. Who is waiting for whom, she thinks?
“I, um…” and he reaches up a hand, scratching at the back of his neck. “I just… need some time to think, yeah? Like, maybe a day or so?”
She nods, throat full. “Sure.”
And then he moves his hand like he’s going to slide it back into his pocket--but he doesn’t.
Instead, he reaches for her, his hand landing on her waist. She steps to him--or he steps to her, partners in a dance they’ve done a thousand times by now. He cups her cheek, thumb rubbing against her cheekbone, brushing the tears which have begun to fall again.
And he kisses her.
He pulls back, his forehead resting against hers. “Text me when you get home?” he whispers, his eyes closed, even as Annabeth’s are wide open, drinking in every single lash, every bit of smeared eyeliner, every little bit of Percy that she never imagined she’d get to see again.
“I will.”
“Okay.”
She stays with him until he can manage to hail a taxi, then he leaves her with another kiss and a gentle squeeze of her hands, watching her from the backseat of his cab even as it rounds the corner of the block and disappears from view.
Raising her eyes to the heavens, opening her mouth, she sticks out her tongue, and tastes the fresh, clean snow which falls around her, and she smiles.
honesty and promise me, part 17 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]
WARNING: this chapter deals with issues that skirt close to sexual assault. please either read this post for a more detailed explanation, or you can message either me or peyton for more information
The baby is Percy’s. Obviously.
He can’t resist his smugness, especially when they deliver the verdict to Nico, who rolls his eyes at them, but does (subconsciously at least) acquiesce to Annabeth’s continued presence in his life.
Despite this, however, Percy sleeps over at Annabeth’s more often than not these days, even though her place is objectively further away than Nico’s. It’s really fucking nice, actually, waking up to tea and pancakes and the love of her life doing pushups in her living room.
She tries not to think about how it’s partly probably because he doesn’t want to see Thalia. Or that Thalia doesn’t want to see him. Or both, and that him sleeping here is just the easiest way of dealing with it.
So it’s not really a reconciliation. They’d done that weeks ago. They’d spent nearly every day together since she’d stormed the stage door and told him she was pregnant. But this might be more important.
She’s not interested in Percy as a short-term fling, or even just as a reliable man to co-parent with. She wants something permanent, with him--and despite everything, she knows she still has a long way to go to prove that she is worth that kind of investment from Percy.
This is going to be part of that.
Proof of concept.
Also, she is so horny lately she can’t even see straight. Percy comes back from a show sweaty and panting, he wakes up warm and rumpled, he walks around in tank tops and briefs and does stretches over her couch, and Annabeth is absolutely undone. Motherfucker.
The truth is, the chances of dirty fucks in trashy bar bathroom stalls, blow jobs at stage doors, or even just her waking up with blue stained thighs from his lips are going to be pretty low going forward. In her immediate future, all that she can foresee is her becoming a fat(ter) mess. So, before that, she’ll present a promise of what she can offer, a celebration before what’s left of her sex appeal is drained from her. It’ll be an apology for everything.
She’s chosen today partly because Percy has officially finished his Nutcracker run, and partly because, just about to hit five months, her boobs look amazing and her stomach hasn’t protruded too much into gross territory. With the passing of the New Year, it’s the perfect time to make her statement, and give Percy a romantic and wild night.
There are just a few problems, namely that none of her lingerie fits right anymore--and none of it is blue. Also, her baby bump is pretty obvious, and though Percy did love to caress when they cuddle, she doesn’t think it’s particularly a turn on for the future, when the baby is out of her.
And her hair. Her hair is going to be a real problem.
The solution to all of those things had taken her to the best boutiques in Manhattan earlier that week, searching out the proper lingerie to best highlight her tits, minimize her belly, and distract from what was left of her hair. She’d ended up finding some good options, and she had added a delicate gold chain that could be used as cuffs, if Percy is into that. Just for fun.
God, she misses Piper. This whole thing has her whole fashion/love goddess energy all over it. Annabeth had gone to Piper's empty apartment and raided it for shoes, figuring that Piper wouldn't mind, given how she was always complaining about Annabeth's shoes anyhow. All of Piper’s shoes were tall (well, the girl was five foot four) and the heels were needles, but she shouldn't have to walk on them for too long.
Tonight’s the night. She’s made sure everything is plucked and shaved. She’d set up the candles first, filling her apartment to the brim, thankful that she’d had enough foresight to do this in the morning, leaving the literal hours left to try on all the different lingerie sets she'd bought, trying to figure out which one would work best. The strappy bondage one, maybe? The little skirt and matching bra? The light blue lace and garters? Dark blue lace and garters?
Eventually decides on the dark blue lace, and then wraps herself in the body jewelry, chains and belts, and all the things the nice lady at the store had assured her would minimize the size of her stomach and enhance everything else.
Then she starts in her head. She goes all in on the makeup, somewhere between the messy extravagance of a night out with Thalia and the false glamorousness of a night out with Luke. Unfortunately, she takes one look at it, then she has to redo it, because she starts to cry when she glimpses her hair again.
She'd actually considered going to an actual salon and having them style it for the evening, but she was pretty sure if she did that, she'd end up asking them to just buzz it off, or at least cut it shorter and less like an SNL skit. She shouldn't do that. Showing up to your romantic night with even less hair than you had this morning is probably a major turn off. But it’s okay, because Percy isn’t going to be looking at her hair, he is going to be looking at her tits and her ass and her curves and her cunt.
So she decides to straighten her hair. Badly. She pins it back so it will be mostly out of her face, and hopefully out of Percy’s mind, and redoes her makeup around her tears. She changes out her remaining eyebrow ring and tongue ring to gold, so they’ll match the body jewelry. She’d even gone so far as to consider those nipple piercings she’d lowkey always wanted, but she figures that’s kind of the opposite of mom energy. And even though she doesn’t want to project mom energy tonight, that’s still sort of the vibe she’s supposed to be going for, like, in general.
Before she realizes it, eleven o’clock rolls around. Percy will be back soon. In order, she lights the candles, straps her swollen ankles into the sky high heels, making sure the stockings and garters lie flat, and then splays herself across her couch, in full view of the door, for when he gets back.
She’d given him a key, so he can come and go as he pleases. And she hopes this pleases.
She can hear him humming to himself outside the door before he makes an actual appearance, and her heart throbs. God, she hopes the low fluttering in her belly is nervous excitement at the man she loves showing up, and not a warning of impending illness.
She hopes her smile is alluring, she hopes her hair isn’t distractingly ugly, she hopes she didn’t miss a spot shaving.
She hopes she can make it up to him and keep him forever.
“Welcome home,” she says as he walks inside her apartment. Then she freezes internally.
Shit, she shouldn’t have said that. This isn’t their home. They don’t live together. They haven’t even decided if they’re going to once the baby is born. She keeps her smile plastered on her face.
Then feels guilty because she’s trying so hard not to have masks with him.
In all that time she spent panicking, Percy hasn’t done anything.
Or, no. He’s given her a once over, frowned, and then quickly shut the door.
“What’s going on?” He finally asks.
Annabeth swallows and forces out all the bravado she can muster. “I think that’s pretty obvious.” She forces back on her seductive smile. She’d practiced in the mirror, earlier, when she’d been trying on her outfits.
Percy’s frown does not lessen, even as he takes it all in.
She can already feel the tears, and wills them away, biting the back of her tongue.
“Annabeth,” He says, his voice calm and measured. “What are you doing?” Nothing in his tone or body languages suggests he’s into any of this.
Maybe this requires a less delicate touch? She’s never actually done something like this before. “We’re celebrating,” she purrs. Or, she tries to. Despite all her best efforts, the tears make her voice thick and wobbly.
“Celebrating?” He may be trying to trick her into thinking he’s playing dumb, but there’s no way he could be misinterpreting what’s going on. The fact that he isn’t getting it, though, is really pissing her off.
“Mmhmm.” She lets it vibrate deep in her chest, in that throaty way she knows he likes, low and rumbling, the way she gets when he twists his fingers inside of her just right. Hopefully it will unlock something Pavlovian inside of him, the way his presence unlocks things deep inside of her. “Congrats on finishing your show.”
She was hoping he’d rush towards her in a fit of passion, but he stands in the entryway, stubbornly still. “Thanks. I thought you would have been asleep by now.”
And she would have been, if she hadn’t woken up at 1 PM today. “I know how antsy you can get after a performance,” she purrs, running a hand over her thigh, nonchalant as you please. “All that restless energy, I just thought… if you needed somewhere to put it…” As slinkily as she can, she stretches out her right leg, toes touching her hardwood floor, her sky high heel pointing her foot in an arch she thinks he could be proud of.
“Annabeth.” He says her name with so much fondness, so much patience, so little arousal, and she can’t stand it. This is not how this is going to go. She put too much time and effort into the makeup, the jewelry, the fucking candles, for this not to go off without a hitch.
So here’s what she’s going to do. She’s going to stand up, strut over to him on her tottering heels, hips swaying. She’ll take his hands and put them on her stomach--he loves her baby bump, possibly more than he loves her. He won’t be able to resist it. He won’t be able to resist her, not when she’s kissing him, running her fingers through his hair, slipping her hand down his pants.
But first she has to get over there.
Big mistake.
Something about the angle of her foot, the low height of the couch, the new weight that she still can’t get used to, it all hits her at once. As she struggles to raise herself up, the stiletto of her heel catches the wrong way, and she goes down--hard.
“Annabeth!”
By some miracle, she catches herself, slamming into the floor on her hands and knees, the impact jarring her ankle. That, more than anything, makes her cry out. Percy moves before she can even register it, his knees hitting the floor a heartbeat after hers, his hands supporting her back. “Fucking ow,” she groans.
“Jesus, Annabeth, are you okay?”
Her ankle throbs, and she sucks a breath between her teeth. “My ankle--fuck, fuckity fuck--”
“Okay, hold on, I’m gonna get you on the couch and I can take a look.”
If she were in her right mind, she’d be pleased at the fact that he can still pick her up so easily. Of course, Percy’s famous for lifting women up off the ground. He does two hundred pushups daily, at least. Even fat like this, it’s no problem for him.
With the utmost care, he lays her back down on the couch, going down on his knees before her--yet another practiced move of his. But it doesn’t arouse her tonight. It just starts up the tears again.
That, and the way he gently twists her foot.
“God--shit--”
“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, running his fingers up and down her skin. “I know, I’m sorry. This will only take a minute.”
“You can’t say that,” she seethes through a sob, screwing her eyes shut against the pain, “you’re not a doctor.”
“I’m pretty sure I could give my podiatrist a run for her money by now.” He distracts her with gentle rubbing motions, his thumbs skidding over the arch of her foot, and she shivers.
“Prognosis, doc?”
He presses gently against the skin of her ankle, and she winces, but the pain has mostly subsided by now. “I think you're good. Feels like you just tweaked it a little.”
She lets out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She had not been looking forward to being pregnant on crutches.
“You need to be more careful. You could have seriously hurt yourself.”
“Well excuse me for trying to do something nice for you.”
“Annabeth,” he says, focused on her ankle. He’s not even looking at her. “You are almost five months pregnant. I’m not expecting anything from you.”
Her vehemence takes her by surprise. “Fuck you.”
Shocked, he looks up. “Excuse me?”
Finally. “The hell do you get off being so perfect?”
He scoffs. “I am not perfect.”
“Yes you are!” Usually these words would be said by someone much happier, she thinks. “You are so fucking perfect, even though you’re only staying with me for the baby--”
“I’m not just staying because of the baby,” he says, like he does every time she brings it up. “I also happen to really like the mom, you know.”
But she soldiers on, refusing to let him derail her point. “I know I’m not really mom material, or wife material, but it just drives me up the goddamn wall to think that you’re doing all this for me, and I’m giving you absolutely nothing in return.”
It’s not the most poetic way to put it, but it is true. Percy gives, and he gives, and he gives, and Annabeth, greedy and gluttonous, just sucks it all up, leaving devastation in her wake. If she didn’t hate herself so much, she’d blame her mother for teaching her how. But that’s no excuse; just look at Percy. If he was able to extricate himself from the cycle of shitty parents, she should have been able to as well.
He frowns, arguments bobbing in his throat, then he swallows, pursing his lips. “Sit tight. I’m going to make you some tea, get a wrap for your ankle.”
Percy had taken to keeping some of his medical supplies here at her place, just in case he ever needed it. She hadn’t had the heart to throw it out after their fight, always clinging to whatever frail hope she could muster that he might come back. And now he was here, and she still couldn’t stop herself from screwing it all up.
Rising from the floor so smoothly, even she can still tell how heavy his steps are as he disappears into her kitchen. Percy is a putterer. The ambient noise of him in her space is very familiar, and very welcome. She can’t even describe how much she missed it--the silence of those Percy-less months weighed on her like the sky on her back. She closes her eyes now, resting her head against the couch cushion, desperately pretending that it’s September again.
After a few minutes of meditative breathing, her heartbeat in time with her throbbing ankle, there’s the telltale clink of a mug of tea set down on her side table, a shift of fabric as something warm settles on her lap, the cracking of knees as he sits down on her floor. Taking a peek, she tries not to cry at the sight of his old, black, zippered, Ecole de Danse sweatshirt, but wordlessly slides it on instead. She should have known he wouldn’t want to look at her like this, all decked out and sexified and disgusting. Face hot and red, she covers her face with her hands, praying that the ground will open up beneath her and swallow her whole.
His fingers on her foot are so gentle. Tears well up behind her eyelids. “I just want to be good enough for you,” she whispers, the confession escaping her in a puff of wind.
“You are.”
She shakes her head, eyes still closed. “You’re too good for me.”
He squeezes her calf muscle. “I’m really not.”
“You know a lot of guys who would take their girlfriends back because of a baby after she lied to them for months?”
Every time she says it, she is so afraid that he’ll finally get the hint, and pack up and leave for good, but dancing around the issue will do her no favors. She has to be honest, with herself at least, if she has a hope of repairing their relationship, no matter how much it hurts, or how poor a picture of her it paints.
“I don’t,” he admits. “But I think you might be overblowing this a little.”
She lifts her head, staring down at Percy. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, it’s not like you killed anyone.”
This--man. “Did you forget the part where I lied to you for months about my financial situation?” And how mad he got when he found out? Did he forget that, too?
“No, but I know you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Yes, I do.” He meets her gaze, the Mediterranean green of his eyes always so arresting. So honest. “I know that you love olives and hate spiders. I know that you bounced from extracurricular to extracurricular in school but that architecture was the only stability you ever had in your life. I know that your mom really screwed you up and your dad didn’t do enough to make you feel like you were loved. I know that the Hoover Dam is your favorite monument, that you have a weakness for terrible pop punk, and that you were brave enough to reach out for help when you really needed it.”
Those… those are just facts. Facts he’s collected over that wonderful summer they shared together. “But--but how do you know you know me?”
He smiles at her. “I’ve seen your sketches.” As if that is all he needs to know to truly know somebody. “And yeah, you lied to me about your money. But…” he sighs, going back to her foot. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem like a big deal.”
Annabeth had been so sure that Percy was the perfect man. Perfect face, perfect body, perfect personality. He was so caring and compassionate and sincere that she was surprised everyone who met him wasn’t half in love with him by the end of their first conversation. But there is no way someone so well adjusted would just be taking this in stride. There are pieces of darkness in his past, and not just from his father. Like sudden rip currents in the water, she had seen them, floating just beneath the surface.
“What the hell happened to you?”
So focused on her foot, she almost thinks that maybe he didn’t hear her. Loath to interrupt him, though, she tries to lose herself in the feeling of him wrapping her foot in an ACE bandage.
“It was the summer I turned eighteen,” he says after a while. Her foot squarely wrapped, he taps his fingers against the bandage in an even, soothing rhythm. “I had just graduated from SAB, and had gotten a contract with Boston, when I went out for the annual Olympianides family reunion.” With fluidity and grace, always, he stands up, stretching to the ceiling, each vertebrae cracking with a satisfying pop that even she can hear. “All the usual suspects were there: my dad, my step-mom, Kym. Sometimes Uncle Hades or Uncle Zeus would put in an appearance, but not this year. Just my dad and his little clan.” He sighs, and for what Annabeth thinks might be the first time in his life, he slouches. He slumps, his shoulders rounding. “And my half-brother was there, too, of course.”
“The douchey one?”
Her attempt at levity almost works; his lips quirk up in something approaching a smile, before falling off again. “Yeah. He had brought his wife, then his girlfriend with him, Eudora.” With another uncharacteristic slump, he falls backwards onto her couch next to her. Mindful of her leg, she leans as close to him as she can, her head on his shoulder, and automatically, his hand goes to her hair, running his fingers through what’s left of it.
“Why is that name so familiar?”
“I may have mentioned her a few times.”
“No, I swear I’ve heard about her before.”
“Was it the fact that she faked four hundred years of genealogy to claim that she was the heir to the throne of Sicily?”
Annabeth looks at him, eyes wide. “No?”
“Oh. Well, she did do that. Of course, that only came out after they got married.”
“I swear, every time you say something buckwild about your family, I feel like that blinking guy meme.”
He huffs a laugh through his nose, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Well, here’s something really buckwild--I had the biggest crush on her back then.”
There’s something about the way that he says it, like it’s a shame that he made his peace with long ago. She wants so badly to make a joke, to make him smile again, but she holds her tongue.
“I mean, she was gorgeous, obviously. She had been a model for years, and now she was getting into, like, all this fitness stuff, and she went around claiming that she was a princess--and she had always been so nice to me. My step-mother would, at best, pretend that I didn’t exist. Kym talked to me, but still, I could tell that she was always so embarrassed to be seen with me whenever they would drag me out with them. Things with my dad were always weird, and the less said about Triton the better, but Eudora, though… at least she would say ‘hello’ and mean it, you know?”
Annabeth knows it’s a futile exercise to compare family trauma, but in many ways, sometimes she thinks Percy’s might be worse than hers. Then again, he had had all his cousins growing up. She had had no one.
“Long story short, I was seventeen, and I really thought I was in love. And back then, I had a really hard time hiding my emotions. Yes, as bad as you think I am now, ten years ago I was way worse.”
She doesn’t think she’s met anyone who’s ever been so free with their feelings before in her life. The idea that he used to be more in touch with his emotions, that he has since pared it back, is honestly impossible to fathom.
“The worst part is, I was so sure no one knew about my embarrassing, giant, raging crush on my brother’s girlfriend. But I was wrong.” He sighs, ruffling her hair. “What I didn’t know back then was that Eudora loved to stir up relationship drama for no reason. They fought, constantly, over the dumbest shit, too--like, he would order her the wrong wine for dinner, and she would threaten to have him arrested. Stuff like that, every single day. And she would drag all of us into it, force us to pick sides. I always picked her, of course, no matter what I really thought. And then that summer, they had one of their biggest fights yet. Triton had been very publicly messing around with this, uh, escort that he liked to meet up with every now and then. And, like, he would go out with her all the time--had gone out with her plenty before, and Eudora never seemed to mind, but I guess this was the final straw, because she very loudly announced that she was breaking up with him.”
Annabeth frowns. “I thought you said they were married?”
“They got back together eventually, yeah. But in the meantime…” He swallows, pulling her closer. “In the meantime, Eudora went looking for a friendly face. She went looking for me.”
So close to him, she can feel his breathing, too measured, too perfectly spaced to truly be calm.
“I got back from a run, and she was waiting for me in my room. I remember thinking it was weird how perfect her makeup was, because she definitely sounded like she had been crying a lot. But she told me me all about Triton’s latest fling and she just sounded so upset, and she was--she was wearing a fucking silk bathrobe over lingerie, and I was seventeen, so I did something really stupid, and I kissed her.”
It should hurt, she thinks, to hear about Percy kissing someone else, but it only hurts to hear him sound so ashamed of himself. As if he could have known any better.
“She kissed me back, and we…” A single tear makes its way down his face, and without thinking, she reaches up and wipes it away. He catches her hand, and lays a kiss to the mound of her palm. “Well. You get the idea.”
Annabeth nods.
This Percy is different from the one she’s fallen in love with. He is unsure, faltering--if she didn’t know any better, she would describe his behavior, the way he won’t look her in the eyes or even look up at all, as “weak.” So uncharacteristic of the brave, self-assured dancer she knows so well. “I didn’t know what to expect. I thought--I don’t know, a cuddle? Or something? But as soon as we finished, she pulled out her phone, and took a picture of the two of us, naked, in my bed, and sent it to my brother. Just to piss him off.”
She inhales, glass-sharp. “Holy shit.”
“He was so angry.” He breathes in, out, shuddering. “I was so terrified Triton would tell our father. My dad had come to see my final recital a month earlier--we’d hung out with each other for, like, a week, and I felt like we were finally on good footing, you know? I was so scared I’d lose whatever goodwill I had with him. And Eudora, she--” He cuts himself off, shaking his head.
Curling further into him, Annabeth slings an arm around his front, pressing herself sort of uncomfortably deeper into his side, and she squeezes his middle. “Percy, I’m so sorry. That is so fucked up.”
“I called Thalia in the middle of the night, told her everything,” he murmurs, his voice hitching, “I didn’t know what else to do. She used her father’s credit card to book me a flight home the next day.” She had offered to do something similar for her back in the day, but Annabeth hadn’t taken her up on it--an odd combination of pride and shame wouldn’t let her. “I lied and told everyone that Boston Ballet called me back earlier than I had expected, and that was that.”
“Jesus Christ,” she whispers.
“I didn’t hear back from my father until he invited me to the next family reunion. I didn’t--I couldn’t eat right or sleep right for months, I was so scared of what they would say. Of what Triton would say about me. All I could do was practice until my feet hurt so badly that I would forget all about my shitty family who hated me. Even in Paris, I saw Uncle Hades more than I saw my own father, and he lived on the same damn continent.” He buries his face in her hair, shaking, a localized earthquake. “I’m sorry--I haven’t told anyone this before, besides Thalia. It’s still hard to talk about.”
“It’s okay,” she says quietly. As much as she would like to scream, to rage, to track down this Eudora and wring her fucking neck for what she did, right now, her anger isn’t as important as comforting Percy. “God, it’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry.”
“That was my first time, too.”
“That’s so awful,” Annabeth says, feeling frustratingly impotent.
They sit there for what simultaneously feels like hours and no time at all, entwined in each other, Percy trying his hardest to match his breathing to hers. She rubs her hand up and down his flank, tracing the lines of his muscles, hoping to draw him back into himself, pulling him out of the depths of his memories back to the surface.
He heaves a sob. “I’m sorry.”
“Jesus, Percy, it’s okay,” she murmurs into the fabric of his shirt. “You put up with me crying all the time, it’s the least I can do.”
She doesn’t mention how much else he puts up with from her. Annabeth doesn’t think she’ll ever stop blaming herself for the monumentally stupid decision to play at poverty for two years when she should have known better, for the way it nearly cost her the love of her life and the father of her child. The fact that Percy took her back at all is practically fucking saintlike--she should be calling up the goddamn Vatican to let them know about the miracle or seven that they missed.
He’s breathing deeply besides her, hard, labored. Harder than he should be. She glances his way, and sees his hand, clenched in a fist.
“Percy.” She says, and then he follows her line of sight to his shaking hand. “Are you--?”
“No,” he blurts. “I--I’m fine. I don’t need--I’m fine.”
He wants a smoke, she realizes. Her heart aches.
Twisting away from him, just a little, to the little end table by the couch, she pulls open the drawer, and plucks out a purchase she had made a few days ago, before all the nonsense about sexy nights in with her man had filled her head.
She knows he’s trying to quit. She’d seen him put a patch on every evening they’d been together for the past two weeks. But it’s not always enough, if the stress gets too much.
This is almost certainly too much.
But that’s alright. Too much is okay. Annabeth always has a plan.
She hands him the item.
It takes him a second to figure out what it is. “Nicotine gum?”
She nods.
He stares at her for a second, then his lips turn up, and he gives her a peck on the lips before shoving a piece in his mouth.
Then they sit in silence while he chews. He squeezes her hand, rubbing his thumb sweetly against hers.
After a few minutes, he says, “You were right, you know.”
She bites back her standard retort of I always am. Because with Percy, nothing could be further from the truth. “About what?”
“What you said about me and my dad, back at Halloween.”
She winces. She had said a lot of shit that night, most of it bad. “I didn’t mean--”
“No, it’s okay,” he says. “You were right. I ran from him for almost ten years because I thought he hated me, but he’s never not been… nice to me, in his own way.” He breathes out around the gum. “I nearly starved to death in Paris because I was too scared to reach out for help when I really needed it. But you were brave enough to reach out to your dad, so I’m going to reach out to mine.”
Her breath catches in her throat. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like--”
Percy nods. “I’m not going to ask for a loan or anything; I’m just going to tell him about the baby.”
“Let me pay off your debts, Percy,” she asks, because forget letting him cry all over her, this is the absolute least that she can do to make up for everything she did. She’s argued about this with him twenty times before, telling him it would be a small fraction of her trust fund and that people in civil court cases have to pay damages for emotional distress and she’s caused him a lot of emotional distress. But for the twentieth time, he kisses her head, and shakes his head ‘no.’
“Not a chance.”
There’s a pang in her chest, the stupid, stubborn little-- “I”m trying to help you.” If she can’t seduce him, she wants to prove she can bring something to the table.
“Too bad, because I’m not taking your money.”
“It’s not taking, because we are having a baby together.”
“We aren’t married yet,” he points out. Her baby does a little flip in her stomach at that word, ‘yet,’ and for a split second, she can sort of see herself in a white dress, Percy in his handsome black suit, a small, quiet courthouse wedding, a little afterparty at Nico di Angelo’s apartment, and she goes warm all over, like stepping into a sunbeam. “Besides, I’m a big boy. I’ve got a plan--I thought you’d be into that sort of thing.”
“If financial forecasts were the kind of thing that made me horny, I would have actually slept with Luke for real.”
He laughs, real and alive, the muscles jumping under her fingers, and she smiles at it. “Thank God for that?”
“Thank God for that,” she agrees.
The candles have been steadily burning down, sending her nose swimming warring scents of lavender and lemon and musk, distracting her from the pain in her ankle, which, admittedly, has died down to almost nothing at this point. He smells, as always, of sea salt and sweat soaked nylon, which should be disgusting but is just comforting at this point.
“How’s the ankle?” So soft, he speaks, almost afraid to break the silence.
“Better.”
“Good.”
“I just feel like I’m not doing enough for you.” It’s not the conversation she wants to be having, sure, but she has to get it through his thick skull somehow. Here in the circle of his arms, in the softness of his presence beside her, she feels soft herself, malleable, open, and hopefully he does, too.
He pulls back a little so he can look her in the eye. “Annabeth. You are carrying our baby. You don’t have to do anything else right now.”
“Afterwards, then.” The mere fact that they have an afterwards to even speak of is a gift that she won’t soon forget, and one that can’t go to waste. “After the baby comes. I promise to be the best fucking partner I can be. I promise you, I will never give you a reason to doubt me ever again.”
With sweetness and with precision, he kisses her chastely on the mouth, sending warmth from her lips down into her stomach, sending love from him into her into the little life they made together. “And I promise never to hold you to it.”
***
She wakes up with an unfamiliar weight on her chest. There is a softness against her cheek. After a moment, she realizes it’s Percy’s hair.
He is curled around her, his head resting on her shoulder, his arm laid across her stomach. In his sleep, he sighs, readjusting to pull her closer.
She woke up before him. She never wakes up before him.
Time to savor the moment.
His hair is getting longer. Now that he has time to breathe, he’ll probably go and get it cut soon, but she kind of wishes that he wouldn’t. The idea of a role reversal is enticing, she admits. Something to grab, you know… whenever the situation calls for it. He is so warm, always, a walking, talking, dancing furnace. Hopefully he doesn’t mind being a human blanket.
She shifts, turning into him. She wants to see his sleeping face.
But as she turns, she brushes up against something.
Shocked, she looks down. She can’t see it through his pajamas, but she can feel it, clear as day. Morning wood.
A flash of heat pulses through her, Pavlovian. She hasn’t had morning sex with Percy in a long, long time. Or any kind of sex. Fuck, she is so horny.
Of course, last night’s confession… complicates things. She doesn’t want to press him too hard. Doesn't want to break their newly won peace.
But she does want to kiss him.
So she settles for kissing his hair, like he does for her.
Minutes pass, and he wakes up by degrees. She can see it, in the way his breathing picks up, ever so slightly, in the way his grip on her loosens. She wishes he would do the opposite. He can be real grabby when he wants to be, and until now, she’s never had a body capable of being grabbed.
Eventually he raises his head. “G’mornin,” he murmurs, sleep-slurred.
“Morning,” she says. “Did I wake you?”
He shakes his head. A line of drool runs from the corner of his lips, and Annabeth is hit with a deep, profound sense of fondness. Of love. And a bit of de ja vu, too.
“Wuh time’sit?”
She shrugs. “About ten, I think. You got somewhere to be?”
Yawning, he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and Annabeth silently bemoans the loss. “Day off today.”
Good. Maybe then he can lie back down and they can cuddle into eternity.
That’s when he notices his dick.
“Oh,” he blinks, suddenly fully awake. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she says, quickly. “I don’t mind.”
They pause.
It’s a delicate moment, but someone has to break the silence.
Annabeth reaches out her hands. “Come here?”
He looks at her, searching, for a moment. “Are you sure?”
She nods. “Yeah. Are you?”
Taken aback, he blinks, surprised at the question. “I… yeah. I am.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
But he still doesn’t move. “We don’t--you don’t have to do anything--”
“Percy,” she says. “Please.”
Because she needs this. She needs him. She wants--she needs to love him the way he deserves to be loved, with all the grace and care and passion with which he loves her. He’ll be her model, her guide to love, and then when the baby comes, she’ll be able to love it the way it deserves to be loved, too. They’ll be able to love it together.
With a slow, sweet smile, he falls back into her, bringing her face to his for a kiss, deep and wanting. His hand grasps at her shoulder, then her waist, then her ass, pulling her closer.
Well, this type of love won’t be for the baby. This is for them.
“Please,” she says again.
“Yeah?” He is so fucking smug, the prick. She loves him so goddamn much.
“I need you,” she whispers. “Oh my god, I miss your cock so much.”
He chuckles. “It misses you, too,” he says, his hand around her thigh, shifting ever closer so that it bumps up against her. Then, with absolutely no effort, he pulls her on top of him, dropping her right on top of his lap, and she moans into his mouth.
“Touch me,” she tells him, even though he doesn’t have to. He paws at her body, gripping her hips and her tits, hot and heavy and demanding. Yes, yes, and please god yes.
Fishing his cock out of his sweatpants, he pulls her shorts down, and slides himself into her, smoothly, shuddering. She shakes on top of him, rhythmically squeezing his biceps as he pumps into her, over and over, breathing into her mouth. He tastes like nicotine gum and last night’s toothpaste, and she can’t get enough of it. She never will.
At some point he moves from her mouth to her neck to her breasts, big and tender, and that’s how she comes, with his teeth on her nipple. He follows soon after, releasing deeply inside of her, thick and warm.
And then she laughs.
Still blissed out and stupid, he pulls back. “Huh?”
She laughs again, unable to hold it in. “Just,” she giggles, “for a split second, I thought, ‘What if I get pregnant?’”
A beat, and then he laughs, too. His body shakes, a pleasurable motion. “Oh my god,” he wheezes. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she says, and leans down for another kiss.
They don’t get out of bed again until well into the afternoon, hunger driving them into the kitchen where, luckily, Percy had had the foresight to store some of the leftover pancakes from yesterday, where they are summarily devoured. The two of them sit at her kitchen table, syrup on their fingers, playing footsie under the table.
And everything is good.