Work Text:
December 25th, 2014
“But why’s it even here?” Percy whines, not even daring to look around the corner. His fingers brush absently against the cool metal of Riptide’s cap, though the pen remains in his pocket.
Beside him, Annabeth throws him a deadened look. “Maybe because someone forgot to change the baits? And they expired?”
He pouts. “I didn’t know they did that,” he tries to argue, but it’s in vain. Percy knows it’s his fault. Annabeth knows it’s his fault. Even Grover, all the way back at Camp, knows it’s his fault, and that’s definitely why Percy can feel his friend’s undying amusement through the freshly reinstated empathy link. Asshole.
Annabeth rolls her eyes, before nudging him in the direction of the hallway. “Well, go on.”
“What? Now?”
“Yes! Quickly, or it will go off and hide itself and then jump out at someone when they least expect it.”
“Well, if you know so much about it, why don’t you deal with it?”
“Me?” Annabeth takes a step back, hand on her heart, scandalised. “I’m not dealing with that! Nasty little thing. Besides,” she adds, when Percy opens his mouth to explain that those exact reasons are why he doesn’t want to have to deal with it. “It’ll be a good learning experience for you.”
And she smiles. Her innocent, charming, gorgeous smile of hers that makes Percy’s knees and obstinate refusal to even look at the thing buckle and cave.
He sighs, and peeks his head around the corner.
And there it is. Snuggled into the rug. Snug as a bug in a rug. An unwelcome bug.
Here goes nothing, Percy thinks as he draws Riptide out of his pocket and uncaps his trusty sword -
“You can’t be serious.”
“Hey.” Percy raises a finger and wags it in Annabeth’s face. She continues to look decidedly unimpressed. “You’re the one making me deal with that thing, so don’t you go critiquing my methods.”
Annabeth rolls her eyes, but Percy can detect the barest traces of a smile on her lips. “Percy, it’s a cockroach. Not a monster. You can’t kill it with a sword, it’s too little -”
“Watch me.”
“Percy, it’s mortal! Riptide will probably just phase right on through!”
“Only one way to find out,” Percy raises his chin, prepared to step out into the dreaded hallway and -
“And what will you do when Riptide fails, and you’re stuck in the hallway with a cockroach, might I ask?”
Percy retreats so quickly he almost trips over his own feet. Annabeth guffaws, then slaps her hand over her mouth as Percy’s flailing hand barely misses a vase and slams into the wall behind it. The face of his watch leaves a nick in the eggshell blue wall paint.
When he’s recovered, he asks imperiously, “So how would the all-knowing and wisest woman deal with such a foe?”
Annabeth rolls her eyes, but Percy can see how her mouth presses into a thin line, trying to suppress a laugh. “Just use your shoe - have you never dealt with a cockroach before?”
“I have!” Percy sniffs. “But I can’t use a shoe, Annabeth! The rug would be ruined!”
Because this bug, no matter how unwelcome, is snug. In their rug. In their rug that Annabeth made herself…
Annabeth does not look impressed by his reasoning. “Percy, I was eight. That thing out in our hallway doesn’t deserve the title of a ‘rug’. This -” she holds a finger to his lips, silencing his automatic rebuttals, “- is the perfect excuse to get rid of that eyesore once and for all.”
“But -”
“I will make another one,” Annabeth offers. “Alright? You go and get cockroach blood and guts on that rug, and I will make another one.” She smiles up at him again - that perfect, brilliant smile that always makes him willing to follow any of her crazy ideas. Percy sighs, and as he grabs one of his boots off the shoe rack, he begins to mourn the loss of Annabeth’s eight-year-old weaving. “I don’t even know how you found that rug,” she continues. “I was sure I had burnt it.”
“Chiron gave it to me,” Percy says absently, eyeing the hallway with a new purpose. He does not want to step foot in that hallway, not when the cockroach could suddenly run at him and attack. Maybe he could…
“Chiron.” Annabeth’s voice has been honed into a fine, sharp edge, and Percy is all too glad to lay the blame on the old centaur.
“Yes! Chiron. All his fault really, go talk to him about it.” His words trail off as he makes his decision, taking off his socks, and holds the shoe out to his girlfriend. “Hold, please?”
Annabeth takes the shoe from him, brow furrowing. “What - Percy!”
“What?” he grunts as he shimmies his way up the doorframe. “Aerial approach, Annabeth! Didn’t your Dad always say that airpower was important?”
“In war, Percy: this is a cockroach.” She’s trying to stay serious, but laughter begins to bubble out of her and she cackles watching him struggle to move from the doorframe to the walls.
“Thanks for the support,” he quips back, his fingers finally latching onto the dado rail. If anything, it makes Annabeth laugh even more, but that’s alright. He’s got a mission to complete.
Suddenly grateful for all the times he climbed, fell, and tried his luck again on the lava wall, Percy takes all of two minutes to position himself directly above the cockroach.
It hasn’t moved. It hasn’t noticed him.
Perfect.
“Alright,” he says, tongue trapped between his teeth as he carefully removes one hand from the wall. Percy extends it towards Annabeth, who’s looking up at him with a mixture of amusement, exasperation, and respect. “Pass me the shoe, please.”
All at once, her expression crumbles into disbelief. “You’re going to catch it.”
“Yes! Quickly now,” he says, eyes catching on a flash of movement on the rug, oh gods -
Oh. No, it’s ok: just a flash of light off the bug’s shell. He breathes a sigh of relief, and tries to convey as much confidence as he can as he directs his gaze back to his girlfriend. “Ok,” he breathes. “I’m ready.”
Annabeth throws the shoe: it arcs beautifully towards him, and Percy reaches out his hand -
His foot slips on the wall. With a yelp, he casts his hand backwards, scrabbling for the dado rail. He tries to plant his foot back on the wall when the shoe - never even brushing the tips of his fingers - lands with a thump on the rug.
The cockroach stirs.
Percy screams as the cockroach runs from the shoe, off the rug and onto the floor and towards him and oh gods it’s on the wall -
It comes to a rest on the eggshell blue paint of the wall, barely a foot below where he hangs, eyes wide and limbs trembling.
He can’t fall. He cannot fall. He cannot move .
“Annabeth?” he calls out, voice unnaturally high. He doesn’t look up: he can’t take his eyes of this beast for a moment -
“Yes?” his girlfriend calls, and her voice sounds different too. More… full.
“Are you laughing at my misery?” Percy whimpers, and finally manages to tear his gaze away from the cockroach to look over at Annabeth. Her shoulders shake in silent giggles, eyes far too bright, hand clasped over her mouth. “You are,” he whines, and Annabeth lets out a cackle, before slowly walking towards him. “Please save me.”
“My knight in shining armour,” Annabeth teases, but she makes for the shoe anyway, footsteps silent on the rug -
The doorbell rings.
“Don’t you dare -”
“It’s open!” Annabeth calls, and thank Olympus for that. Percy almost sinks to the ground in gratitude, before he remembers exactly why he can’t do that. Why he can’t do anything but wait -
“Where are you kids?” Dr Chase calls through the apartment. Oh great, Percy thinks. My future father-in-law is about to see me quivering before a two-inch bug -
The cockroach creeps up the wall a pace, and Percy’s breath catches, fingers tightening around the dado rail, grateful beyond words that Annabeth had chosen an old, but incredibly structurally sound apartment for them to live in because otherwise he would have fallen a long time ago -
“Annabeth!” Dr Chase greets, and then freezes in the hallway, taking in the scene. The world is motionless for a moment, before the man lets out a full belly laugh, face alight with glee.
So that’s where she gets it from, Percy thinks sullenly, but the bitterness is swept away almost immediately as the man removes one of his own shoes.
“Well,” Dr Chase says. “You two certainly know how to make every Christmas better than the last!”
***
December 25th, 2009
“Annabeth, she’s smiling.”
“Yes, she has been for the past ten minutes,” Annabeth teases gently, but she can’t help but smile too as Estelle’s eyes flick between her and Percy, curious and slightly confused but happy all the same. The two-month-old is growing faster than Annabeth can blink, and her now endless facial expressions are delighting Percy to no end. It seems with every breath Percy can find something to coo about.
She watches him now, hands raised above Estelle’s head, fingers gently swaying and fluttering and making all manner of gestures for Estelle’s pleasure. The little one laughs as Percy suddenly makes his eyes pop, and the brightest of smiles overtakes his face.
He’ll make a good dad, she thinks, and then freezes. No , she tells herself sternly. You’re only seventeen! You can’t succumb to baby fever now -
The old grandfather clock chimes, and Annabeth jumps. 6:15. She sighs, forcing herself to relax as Estelle makes a confused murmur at her antics. She offers the baby a smile, and laughs when Estelle lets out a burp.
“Taking after your brother, I see,” Sally sighs as she weaves through the strewn furniture of their new home. Sally’s latest book had done brilliantly: so much so that they had decided to move somewhere larger. Annabeth had been thoroughly impressed that they had managed to snatch up such a place - and in Manhattan, no less - but the unfortunate consequence had been moving in over the past few days, and the house - though gorgeous - was a bit of a mess.
Luckily they only have one guest over this year. Unluckily, it’s -
The doorbell rings.
Annabeth sucks in a breath, eyeing the entrance hall warily. Paul, angel that he is, moves to greet their guest. Friendly, if a little stilted, conversation floats through the house, and Annabeth doesn’t realise how tense she’s become until Percy lays a hand on her arm.
“You ok?” he whispers. She barely has time to offer a nod before they enter the room.
“Annabeth,” her father says, face opening into that warm smile of his, and Annabeth can almost feel at home with it.
“Hi Dad.” The words aren’t exactly forced, but the world feels jarred and unprepared. The hairs on her neck and arms stick up beneath her jumper, and the warm knit itches.
Sally walks over from the kitchen, subtly shooting Annabeth an encouraging smile. “Frederick,” she greets.
“Sally! I brought…” their words fade beneath the lilting Christmas carols playing on the record player and Estelle’s inquiring sounds. She refocuses her attention on the little girl as Sally offers her father a drink and Paul announces that something in the kitchen is burning (doubtful) and scurries away. She rubs her shaking hands together, before forcing them into a round of Peek-a-Boo!, if only to watch Estelle’s face light up and hear a gurgling laugh.
Annabeth hasn’t experienced many Christmas dinners, but she’s surprised to find that their situation here in Upper West Manhattan is far from disastrous. The food is delicious (but when is it not, with Sally and Paul cooking?), Estelle has only cried once tonight and is now soundly asleep in the living room, and Annabeth suspects that the alcohol has relaxed her father into being sociable for the evening.
Unfortunately, that means that her father has decided to open up about all the fun antics of five-year-old Annabeth.
“And then,” he says to a rapt audience, “she threw the doll into the A/C unit -”
“I did not!” she protests, to absolutely no avail. Sally and Paul are beside themselves, and Percy looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or ask a million questions.
“The whole thing starts billowing black smoke, we had to get rid of it -”
“Good riddance, that thing was a nightmare.”
Her father swallows down his next sip of wine. “Only because someone threw a Ken doll into it! Worked fine before -”
“How did she even get it up there?”
Her father gestures wildly, as though trying to recreate the shot. “She threw it!”
“When she was three?”
Annabeth had opened her mouth to deny such wild allegations, but they catch in her throat. “What, you don’t think I could?”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” Percy immediately backtracks, hands raised placatingly. Across the table, Paul snorts as his stepson moves to save his hide, and the table rattles slightly as Sally no doubt kicks him, hidden by the long and ancient tablecloth. “I’m just… impressed,” Percy eventually lands on, and Annabeth nods, relaxing back into her chair.
“Wait, didn’t you say this was in winter?” Percy asks after a small silence. “Why was the A/C even on?”
“Helen,” Annabeth says immediately, and is surprised to find she’s not alone in saying that. She glances up at her father, and then immediately back down at her peas. The explanation dwindles into the background, and she thinks Paul latches onto part of it because the conversation flows from there, and her peas get dragged around and around by her spoon -
A sharp cry sounds from the living room, and Annabeth doesn’t even realise she’s standing until she’s halfway out of the room, the words “I got it” long out of her mouth.
Estelle’s coughing a little when Annabeth makes it to the crib, her cries a little quieter even as fresh tears fall. She quickly gathers the little girl up in her arms, gently bouncing her. The carol from the record player is a familiar one, and Annabeth hums it into Estelle’s ear, smiling softly as the baby’s cries and coughs calm and the little girl rests her head on Annabeth’s shoulder.
“You’re good with her.” Annabeth manages not to jump this time, but it’s a near thing. She slowly turns around as her father enters the room proper, hands stuffed into his pockets, looking completely unsure of himself.
Annabeth doesn’t know how to reply. Instead, she finds herself studying her father. He looks… a little worn around the edges, she realises. Softened by the glow of the crackling fire, but tired all the same.
“How are they all?” she finds herself asking. It’s not a conscious decision to engage with her father in this way, but she finds she can’t help herself.
Her father sighs. “The boys are struggling a little, but… they understand, I hope. That it’s hard on all of us. I think Helen’s just glad to see me out of the house.”
“No chance of co-parenting, then?” Annabeth supposes. Her father grimaces, shaking his head.
“I’ll be lucky to see them for holidays, with how it’s all shaping up.”
“‘Cause you’re moving to Boston?” It’s not official that that’s what he’s doing. More Annabeth hoping. She’s… not exactly sure why she’s hoping for such an outcome. She doesn’t know this man, not really.
Her father slowly moves to sit on the couch, and after a pause Annabeth moves to sit on the adjacent cushion. She keeps her eyes fixed on the back of Estelle’s head, and waits for an answer.
“Well, when your first child runs away at the age of seven, it’s not a good look in court.”
…Oh. Annabeth keeps her gaze fixed on the back of Estelle’s head, but there’s something foreign burning the back of her eyes, and something foreign caught in the back of her throat.
She hasn’t… she hasn’t cried over stuff like this for a long time.
“Not your fault, of course,” she hears her father continue, oblivious to her state.
Or, perhaps not so.
“Annabeth?” She doesn’t raise her eyes to meet his, but she shifts minutely in his direction. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She should say that it’s not his either, right? That’s what she’s meant to do… right?
The words never leave her lips.
***
December 25th, 2011
It’s not as if Percy’s lost.
He can’t be lost: the instructions Dr Chase had given him were incredibly simple. Straight down the road to the lights, two left turns and a right, and the shops - well, the only shop open this Christmas morning - awaits. The extra large bag of marshmallows and the can of whipped cream are snug in his jumper pockets as he walks back down the street.
Only… he might be going the wrong way. Percy sighs, looking back over his shoulder to where the shop sits on the corner. There’d been an awful lot of traffic this morning, according to the manager, and so all pedestrians had been rerouted down a few streets to avoid any accidents. It hadn’t been a problem on the way down - he’d simply followed the slightly disgruntled crowds through the alleyways and back around to the shops - but now…
Now, he was a little unsure.
Percy sighs, deciding to go with his instincts. Worse comes to worse, he finds his way back to the shop and sneaks around the few traffic officers to get back to the hotel. But before he can start he hears the shop bells tinkle and footsteps heavy on the snow and someone bumps into his shoulder -
He’s sent stumbling on the ice before the water freezes around his shoes and he’s quickly able to right himself. A grunted apology sounds above him and he raises his head to see what had -
“You!”
Percy’s words freeze in his throat. The man before him is large, but not as large as Percy remembers. True, the man is bundled in coat after coat after coat, but…
“You going to look at me when I talk to you?”
“Sorry, sir.” The snark is crystal clear in his tone, as clear as it always was back… back then.
Back around poker tables and piles of broken bottles and money lost.
“Aren’t you meant to be in jail or something by now?” The man - Jack, his name was Jack, wasn’t it? - takes a step closer, and Percy grits his teeth and keeps his feet planted in the snow. The man doesn’t notice the way the ice moves to almost completely coat his boots, and if not for the biting cold, Percy wouldn’t either.
“If I’d been sent to jail, we would have met each other long before this,” Percy snaps back. His breath is scarcely coming to him and he makes sure his next inhale is deep and long as he tries to centre himself.
“Is that right?” And, faster than Percy can blink, Jack’s face is up right by his. Percy hisses in surprise, falling back, and the ice around his feet cracks! He stumbles before a hand grips around his arm, tight tight tight -
“Don’t know why he put up with you,” Jack sneers, and Percy has to close his eyes against the smell of beer on the man’s mouth. Jack was always more willing to help Gabe in punishing Percy when he was drunk, and it seems that even years later, that still holds true. “Ungrateful brat -”
“Percy!” Footsteps hurry along the snow-lined street, but it’s only when the voice - the familiar voice - calls his name again that Jack shoves him away. Percy staggers a little on the ice until another pair of hands - much softer, much warmer - wrap around his arms, guiding him back on his feet. “You alright?” Dr Chase asks softly, eyes flicking between Percy’s face and somewhere over his shoulder. “He’s gone, Percy. He ran off - hey, you alright?”
“I -” Percy sniffs, glaring at the snow covered ground. Why, of all places, of all people? Why was Jack here , it’s not fair, this isn’t fair -
“Percy?”
He feels a hand on his arm - his other arm, and a much gentler hand - and Percy doesn’t know entirely what’s going on around him but there’s a cool metal suddenly on the backs of his knees and he lets the hands guide him to sit down on the bench. It’s quiet.
Weren’t they by a road before?
Percy looks up, blinking away his shock and shakiness, and finds himself on a park bench, in an almost completely empty park. The only ones braving the Christmas chill scurry in and out of the shop, whose lights twinkle from the other end of the path that winds its way through.
It’s a pretty park. Percy brushes his hand over his face, and tries to appear as if he’s appreciating it more than he actually can right now.
He’s so stupid.
“Percy?” Percy jolts, then realises he must have said it out loud. He sighs, forcing himself to look up at Dr Chase. The man is steady, and Percy can’t detect any judgement from him even though he’s sure he must be.
“It’s… it’s stupid,” Percy sighs, then curses softly as he sniffs once again, blinking back the memories. The warm hand on his back moves to squeeze his shoulder, and Percy… Percy wants to talk about it. No - needs to tell him about it. Needs to tell someone in any case and, well…
Dr Chase doesn’t look like he’s judging him, and even if the man’s concealing those thoughts Percy will take it.
He sniffs, and begins again. “I… I’ve been to the Underworld. The Pit, the… everything.” He spares a glance over at Dr Chase but the man stays silent. Shit, this is harder than Percy thought it would be. “But I… I think I have more nightmares about what happened before than all of that. I’m… probably wrong about that but… feels that way.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then Dr Chase moves his hand from his shoulder to around his back, and Percy unconsciously leans into the man’s warmth. “Did you know that man? From before?” Dr Chase finally asks, and Percy nods against Dr Chase’s obnoxiously yellow scarf.
“Yeah,” Percy says quietly. “He, um…” he sniffs. The lump in his throat builds and Percy swallows, trying to rid himself of it but… “He was a friend of…” he gestures vaguely. “And…”
“I understand,” the man rumbles, and Percy sighs in relief, feeling himself sink lower and lower and -
“Sorry!” Percy stills, realising that he’s practically koala-hugging his girlfriend’s dad. Percy could probably count the number of conversations they’ve had on his hands, and to break apart like this? When there’s all his quests and the Pit and everything else to worry about? “Sorry -”
“It’s alright, Percy. I don’t mind.” Percy scratches his nose, looking up at Dr Chase unbelievingly, but… there’s so much of Annabeth in that sincere expression of his and Percy feels an overwhelming need to just… trust his words.
And so he does.
“Annabeth might wonder where we are,” Percy says after a more comfortable silence than what they’ve shared before. Dr Chase nods, but when they stand, Percy notices that his jacket feels a lot lighter than it did before.
“I think I dropped the marshmallows.” And the whipped cream. He should have brought a bag, not leave them loose in his pockets, where they could slide out and -
“Then we’ll buy some more,” Dr Chase says, eyes a little uncertain at his invitation but extending it nonetheless.
And Percy smiles.
***
December 25th, 2013
“I’ll be honest, Beth,” her dad says, eyeing his skates warily. “I might break my back doing this.”
Annabeth snorts. “You’re not getting out of it now, Dad. Percy might start crying if you do.”
Her dad casts an eye over to where Percy is carefully tying the laces of Estelle’s skates. His tongue is caught between his teeth, like it always is when he’s concentrating hard on something, and her heart swells at the sight.
“He’s a sweet boy, that,” her dad seems to agree. “If he doesn’t kill me first.”
Annabeth scoffs, extending a hand. They spend a few minutes slipping and sliding a little on the ice, before they achieve a slow but steady rhythm, arms linked tightly together. If Annabeth falls, she’s taking her dad with her, and by the way he’s staying flush to her side he must be thinking the same thing.
They skate around the frozen lake for a bit, avoiding teenagers racing each other and actual, professional skaters doing tricks in the middle, and meandering through bumbling old people and confused learners. It’s not hard to spot Estelle’s bright coral beanie and Percy’s sea green one as Percy races around the rink, holding Estelle’s hands and then letting go when she feels safe and immediately extending them again when she asks.
“He’s good with kids.”
“Yes,” Annabeth says, then catches the twinkle in her dad’s eye. “We’re 21.”
“That’s still old enough to help out at Magnus’ orphanage. Why?” Dad cocks his head. “What were you thinking of?”
He laughs when she gives his arm a light smack, and then squawks as she pushes away, leaving him stranded on the ice. “Wait, Annabeth, come back, I’m sorry -”
She laughs, skating back (flimsily: she needs her dad as much as he needs her, it would seem) and linking her arm with his once more. “How is the orphanage?” she asks.
“Good! It’s good, it’s… I’m helping with education and all that,” her dad explains. “They’ve got some lawyer people at the Hotel or… actually I don’t know where, but they sort out all the legal documents, and then I help the kids do their homework, stay in school. Help the ones who can’t get into a school, that sort of thing. No, it’s… it’s rewarding,” he lands on.
Annabeth, who had been a Camp counsellor since she was eleven, understands.
Her dad looks a little unsure, however, and that look doesn’t go away even as they begin another lap of the massive lake. Percy and Estelle shoot past them - Estelle balanced on Percy’s shoulders, her ice skate blades precariously close to Percy’s face, this is not a good idea Percy - but of course they’re gone before Annabeth can say anything about it.
“I’ve been getting to know the kids a lot. At the orphanage,” her dad says.
“Well, I expect you would, you’re helping them, after all,” Annabeth replies, a little confused. His words are a little out of the blue here. Is… is he trying to tell her something?
“And, uh…” her dad clears his throat. “Sometimes they need advice, or things. And, uh. Well, they tell me what’s been happening. With them.”
Annabeth frowns, trying to piece together the haphazard information she’s receiving. “...Like, how they became orphans?”
“Well, some of them aren’t. Orphans, I mean. They, um. Ran away.”
Oh. Oh , they’re having this talk. Right now. Ok.
Annabeth takes a deep breath in, and schools her features. If they’re going to have this talk, the last thing she wants to do is scare him out of it.
And, apparently, he’s not all that bad with the emotional side of things, once he’s actually in the deep end of it. She doesn’t think Percy has told her the full story of what happened a couple of Christmases ago, but she knows that after that morning, her dad and her boyfriend were a lot more friendly with each other. A lot more understanding.
Annabeth gives her dad a nod. “It’s more common than you think.”
“Yes.” Her dad looks away for a moment, uncomfortable, before he takes a deep breath in. “But when I hear their stories, I can’t help but think how easily some of their circumstances could have been prevented. If… if people had done more.”
If he had done more, goes unspoken. Annabeth looks down at the ice beneath her skates, and wonders absently if it could crack, if too much weight was placed upon it.
She knows, logically, it cannot. It’s designed not to.
And yet she wonders, illogically.
Back in California - and that’s strange, she realises, because she must have stopped thinking of it as home a long time ago, but she can’t pinpoint exactly when - it was all long, sunny beaches and distant waves and even more distant hands, unable to guide her in any direction until at last she had snuck out the door and had grasped her future in her own small hands. She had thought she could rely on someone, but…
At Camp, she’d had Chiron, and Luke, and Silena and Clarisse and Beckendorf and sometimes, if she tried very hard, she could almost forget how distant her father had really been. She could pretend that she was just staying for the summer, that at the end he’d drive up in that beaten up old car of his (an antique, he would crow) and they’d go home together.
And now? Now…
“I never thought I was a bad father,” her dad says softly. “I… I never went out of my way to hurt you, but I never went out of my way to help you either. You were always such an independent kid, but when you finally did ask for my help, I didn’t think you needed it.” When he looks up from the ice, still solid and steady beneath their skates, his eyes are damp, and Annabeth is a little surprised to find that hers aren’t all that dry either. “I never thought you would run away, and when you did I’m ashamed to admit that I at first lay the blame on you. But… that was wrong of me.”
Annabeth draws in a breath, and curses it for its shakiness. She opens her mouth, but her dad beats her to the punch.
“I’m sorry for ignoring you. Blaming you. Not being there when you needed me.”
“...Thank you -”
“Oh, there’s more, don’t worry,” he says, and Annabeth can’t help but laugh in surprise. Her dad chuckles too, but his eyes turn serious far too quickly. He sighs, “I’m sorry that I made you feel that you had to run away. And… I’m sorry it took me so long to recognise my part in it.”
Annabeth looks at her dad, really looks at him. The years have worn away at him, that much is clear - hardly surprising, with who her mother is and the monster attacks and her step-mother and the divorce - but there’s a lightness in him Annabeth has seen before but not in her dad. As if the world’s secrets and skirmishes have at last had their way with him, and all that lies ahead is peace.
“I’m done now, if you were wondering.”
Annabeth snorts, bumping her shoulder into his. He skids a little on the ice, letting out an undignified shriek, and they pretend that their tears are tears of laughter as they wipe them away, and lean on each other once more.
“I’m asking a lot of you, I know,” her dad says quietly, eventually, but not without hope. “Do you think we can… start again?”
It wouldn’t be a true beginning, not after everything. They both know this.
And yet…
Annabeth slowly smiles, squeezing his hand -
“Look out!” Annabeth yelps, pushing forward on the ice and dragging her dad with her as Percy barrels past the spot they were standing in, Estelle laughing in delight as she’s led around the park. Percy directs the most apologetic face she’s seen him ever wear back at her and her dad, and it’s not long until they’re laughing too.
***
December 25th, 2014
They’re sitting on the balcony, warm cups of cocoa in hand, listening to the sounds of the city. Percy doesn’t remember it being quite this quiet before, but he supposes it’s Christmas. Things are always different on Christmas.
He thinks Annabeth’s asleep, til she reaches over and steals one of his marshmallows. He pouts as she licks her fingers clean of the hot chocolate.
“You said you didn’t want any marshmallows.”
“I don’t. Makes the hot chocolate all gooey.”
“But you’re perfectly happy stealing mine.”
“Perfectly happy.”
Percy sighs, and then resigns himself to the loss of another as Annabeth looks hopefully at his mug. He takes a long sip after the second theft, making sure he gets to eat at least one.
“So, do we get the esteemed Dr Chase next year or is he with the boys?”
“With the boys,” Annabeth says. “Apparently Helen wants to visit her parents back in Manchester, and taking the boys would be an ‘added expense’.”
“What a lovely woman,” Percy notes, draining his hot chocolate, smiling as his last marshmallows slide slowly down his mug and land in his mouth. This is all he needs in life, he decides. Annabeth by his side, no monsters, hot chocolate and marshmallows in his mouth -
“You have a moustache.”
Percy hums, delighted, sticking his nose in the air. “Does it make me look distinguished?”
“Hard for a man to look distinguished when less than four hours ago he was at the mercy of a cockroach.”
“A terrible and menacing beast!”
“Smaller than my hand.”
“Ok but,” Percy reaches for Annabeth’s hand, “It’s not as if your hands are small or anything. See?” He interlocks his fingers with hers. Annabeth frowns.
“How’s that meant to prove that my hands aren’t small?” she asks, but a fond smile dances on her lips and she makes no move to let go of his hand.
“It’s not,” Percy says happily, and feels his smile overtake his face as Annabeth rolls her eyes and snuggles back in by his side. The tip of the marshmallow froth still on his upper lip tickles his nose and he has to quickly wipe it off before he sneezes.
“Cockroaches notwithstanding,” Annabeth says slowly. “This might be my favourite Christmas yet.”
Percy blinks. “Really? Surely Camp Christmases are a fun time…”
Annabeth makes a ‘so-so’ noise. “They are, but… I don’t know. This is more… personal. More enjoyable for me, instead of being for the Camp as a whole. You’d like them,” she adds. “They’d be right up your alley. Would you wanna go next year?”
“But… you just said you didn’t like them.”
“No, I like them. I don’t love them, but you need to at least experience one. And who knows? Maybe it’ll be more fun with you there.”
Percy couldn’t stop his smile at that if he tried. He gently kisses Annabeth’s forehead, chuckling when she catches a glimpse of his face and calls him a sap.
“Your sap.” Annabeth hums in agreement, before raising her mug of cocoa.
“Merry Christmas, Seaweed Brain.”
Percy clinks his empty mug against hers, and with her words, can’t help but remember what Dr Chase said before. He gets it now.
Better than the last. Percy’s going to make every Christmas better than the last for Annabeth if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.