Chapter Text
The Boy She Loves
...
His side of the bed is cool.
Annabeth rubs a heavy hand across her eyes to wipe away the sleep and casts a blurry glance around their bedroom.
Empty. Messy. Pink morning light hems the edges of the curtains and his wallet lays on the bed side table still.
The beach then, she figures and collapses back into the pillows. She stretches fully, a pleasant soreness in her limbs and joints popping just so, and then she steals his pillow, hugging it close to her body.
Just a little more sleep.
...
The waves of the Long Island Sound crash into the shore with a calmness.
She stands there, her feet cold in the pale sand, in the same spot where... where he should have been, where he has been every morning before.
(Where he sits, shoulders broad, and his hair is swept and tousled by the ocean breeze. And after awhile, she’ll join him, and he’ll steal her cup of coffee with that smile of his and wrap an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer, a kiss pressed to her temple.)
But he’s not there.
The only traces in the sand that lead from the porch are her own.
...
He’s not at the dining pavilion.
Or in the strawberry fields.
Or in training.
Or with Chiron.
And when Malcolm asks her why Percy didn't show up to teach his class, the pebble of worry in her stomach turns to a stone.
...
“Have you seen Percy?” It’s the million dollar question, and not one that there seems to be in answer to.
Clarisse scoffs. “Why on earth would I know where your husband is—“
But she trails off, maybe as she notices the stress strung in Annabeth’s tone, or the way she twists her wedding band round and round and round her finger.
“No.” Her gaze is level. “I haven’t.” ...
It’s when Sally Jackson confirms that he isn't at her apartment, the camp begins to search. ...
“Are you sure that he hasn't been called upon by Poseidon to—”
— He wouldn’t have left without saying anything.
“Did Rachel—“
— I can’t get a hold of her.
“Did you guys have a fight or —“
Will quickly backpedals at her murderous expression and holds up his hands as if to say my bad.
Travis speaks up. “Do you think this has to do with Olympus...?”
A hush falls over the counselor room, eyes falling to Chiron and his silence is answer enough.
...
At dinner, Annabeth makes an offering to her mother and to Poseidon.
She’s not surprised when she doesn't receive an answer.
...
Annabeth tries to remember the night before.
She tries to remember a shift of the bed, a brush of his hand, footsteps against the floor, the click of a door being shut, anything that might have woken her.
Maybe, she remembers the gentle press of his lips against hers. Or maybe its wishful thinking.
...
On the second night, she dreams of a goddess.
Her hair is a silky black and her dress shimmers like peacock feathers.
“Hera.” Annabeth spits and the goddess regards her disdainfully. “How do I find him?”
Suddenly, the dreamscape melts into hues of clay reds and desert browns and Annabeth recognizes it immediately.
The Grand Canyon. A yellow school bus travels along a dusty road.
The goddess’s voice is like a serpent's. “Find the boy with one shoe.”
...
And she does.