hooligans

"Grande dirty chai," he sighs, plunking into the understuffed chair to the right of her. Offering a tired hum in thanks, she accepts her usual order from his drink tray. Next time is her turn.

Alex Jackson's dad blows futilely on the lid of what she knows is a steaming cup of hot chocolate, before taking a sip and recoiling swiftly at the burn. Annabeth rolls her eyes as his begin to water—he makes the same mistake every time. She hands him the napkin she'd come prepared with and he nods in thanks.

Then they turn to the kindergarten teacher in front of them—the one they know entirely too well for halfway through the year.

"Have either of you considered writing a horror story, 'The Torturous and Terrible Tales of Isaac and Alex?' Because I'm sure it could be a best selling three part saga. And you'd have a ton of material to work with." Mr. Zhang looks like he could use a couple aspirin; Percy Jackson pulls the go-to bottle from his messenger bag with a sorry kind of grimace, popping a few into the teacher's waiting hand.

They have a routine, and it's barely December.

"What was it today?" Annabeth asks, if only to humor them. In some way or another—whether argument by the playground, or fist fight in the cafeteria—their children have been painting the young teacher's face with fine lines, his hair with dustings of gray.

Mr. Zhang clears his throat, pulling a stack of scribbled paper from the drawer of his desk. As he shuffles through the the load of construction paper with an expression that can only be described as painfully resigned, Annabeth's eyes slide over to the man beside her, sharing an uneasy glance as his soft green meet hers.

When they've each got a sheet of construction paper in their hands, it becomes clear just why they've been called in today.

The one she's been handed is orange and cut into the shape of a heart, with little smiley faces dancing at the borders. From what she can make out, the marker-drawn image in the middle depicts a young boy with features suspiciously similar to Alexander Jackson (down to the small freckle below the boy's eye—if nothing else, her son was meticulously detail-oriented.) The boy in her son's picture is laying horizontally, dark green zig zag lines of grass drawn above him like cloud cover, and it's then that—yeah, there's a tombstone above the poor boy's head and... her son drew his classmate six feet under, surrounded by smiley faces and flowers.

Curiously, she leans over to look at what's in Percy's hands, and finds what can only be her son, painted with giant X's over his eyes and the word "YAY" scrawled across the top. Her eyebrows notch up in morbid surprise. With an embarrassed sound, Percy defends his son, "To be fair, 'yay' is the only word he knows how to spell."

"That doesn't help," her and the teacher deadpan in unison.

Percy lets out a breath dejectedly. "I know."

"We need to find a solution to this, guys," Mr. Zhang says quietly. "As much as I enjoy getting to know you better every single week, this has to come to an end."

"We're trying," Percy insists. "I've talked to him at least a thousand times; I've even threatened to take away movie nights, X-Box, dessert—and he's partial to his ice cream, I can assure you."

"And I've given Isaac enough ultimatums to put the Supreme Court to shame. But he's inherited the winning tenacity of his mother," Annabeth grumbles. Percy snorts.

"Look, guys," the teacher sighs. "I'm not here to criticize your parenting strategies. Percy, I know you're busy at the fire station with your lieutenant retiring last month; Annabeth—you've just been assigned to design for the new movie theater they're building downtown, but I'm just looking for a solution to all of this. I don't want the other kids to look on and decide they should get involved, and then suddenly my kindergarten class is the home grounds for World War III."

Annabeth's head falls into her hands; the thought of work coming in the way of parenting is shameful to say the least. "What do you suggest we do?" She inquires. "We're desperate."

Mr. Zhang considers. "Have you guys tried… I don't know—forcing them into friendship? Mandatory playdates?"

Percy's expression is dry. "So our home's can take the brunt of World War III?"

"Yeah," Annabeth agrees, panicked. "I only have a few more months on my lease, I can't afford to gamble."

"Guys," Mr. Zhang groans. "Take them to a park, the mall, anything. I can't keep having to look over my shoulder and make sure they're not defiling the minds of their fellow five year old classmates with macabre art work. Listen, I'm all for creative outlets, but this is a little excessive for those of which have not yet lived to six."

"Taking them out in public probably isn't such a good idea either." Percy shrugs, as if it can't be helped. "You should know—you see how they are here."

Frank's eye twitches.

"Hey—we'll talk about it," Annabeth breaks in, trying to avoid the oncoming mental breakdown they're about to witness—she doesn't have time to drive her child's teacher to the hospital before Isaac's dad drops him off after their movie date. "Thanks for dealing with all of this, Frank. We'll try putting our heads together, just give us a little time to try and work this out."

His look almost says they've had nothing but time since the monkey bar incident in September, but smartly, he remains unspeaking. Annabeth prompts Percy out of his chair, tugging him by the coat sleeve and into the hallway. "Seeya, Frank," he calls, because it's safe to assume they will.

"Yeah," the teacher sighs. "Yeah, you will."

Out in the hallway, walking to the parking lot, they wave to the receptionist. "See you guys next week," she hollers. They nod.

Once they reach their cars, Annabeth halts before she can tug the frosted handle, turning to him. "Maybe the whole 'mandatory playdate' isn't such a bad idea. I mean, what are our other options?"

He looks stricken. "I don't like the idea of using our big, adult authority to force them to be friends. What's worse than a helicopter parent that chooses who's worthy enough to be friends with their kid?"

"I know. The plan sucks, but I don't know what else I can do. Isaac doesn't give me tons of problems aside from a little lip every once in awhile and I don't think Alex is as bad as Isaac makes him out to be, either."

"He's definitely not," Percy defends adamantly.

"So why do they hate each other?"

"Beats me."

She sighs, falling to rest against the passenger door of his car parked next to hers. Objectively, the guy's pretty cute; warm green eyes and a jawline made to cut her steak dinners. His son, however, is a bit of a menace if she can trust her five year old son's judgement, and he could have only adopted his mannerisms from one place, seeing as how Alex's mom isn't exactly in the picture. It's a shame, she thinks to herself, that their kids kind of hate each other. Because from what she can tell, he's a decent father. Maybe more than decent, but she doesn't hand out compliments for free. "I think it's worth a shot." She shrugs. "If they really hate it, we can just cut it short. Worst comes to worst, one of us elects to flee the country and pick up in some remote place far away from this school district."

Percy nods solemnly. "Go big or go home." She laughs.

"You have my number. Let me know when your schedule is free." With one last parting smile, she ducks into her car and backs out to head home. Isaac will be back soon and she needs time to mentally prepare herself for the weekend ahead of her.

The next morning, Percy takes a moment to prepare himself before he texts Isaac's mom the details. He assumes that taking the chaotic duo of their children out into public world would be a cataclysmic disaster, instead volunteering to expose his house to the coming explosion, and maybe he isn't all that ready to face it head-on.

But maybe he's also a little excited to see Annabeth outside the stuffy kindergarten classroom they've come to know as their home away from home—if Frank heard that, he'd probably pull out what's left of his hair.

Percy writes the text message, then deletes it. He types a new message, tells himself to grow a spine, and quickly hits send before he has time to realize and accept the inevitability of a typo—his dyslexia isn't disappearing with age like he'd hoped.

Three dots pop up quickly, mocking the nervous ticks of his heart. She answers with a gentle, "Here goes nothing."

Smiling, somewhat dopily for a grown man, he calls his son to pick up the mountains of toys littering every inch of his house from the playroom to the bathtub—because they're expecting guests.

Before they head over to the address Percy Jackson texted her, she makes a stop at her favorite cafe. She doesn't know if she could take on the day without at least two shots of espresso and a toasted bagel.

Isaac trails behind her, happily humming a song he'd heard from the old CDs Annabeth's dad left in her car, blissfully unknowing of the day ahead of him. "Eric Clapton, huh?" Amusement laces through her tone but doesn't seem to affect Isaac.

She steps up to the counter once the line's dwindled down, and her eyes immediately seek out the bagel rack. Of course, subconsciously, she knows not to expect much, but even after all this time, it still comes as an unpleasant surprise to see an empty basket, lined with thin paper and loose poppy seeds. Everything is the sign that hangs below it, tilted precariously, laughing at her.

The boy in the sunny yellow apron behind the counter has witnessed this song and dance enough times to look mildly put off already. Annabeth's eye twitches as she flicks her sight to him. "You've been open for an hour—how could the jerk sell you out already?"

"Sorry, ma'am," the boy intones, visor haphazardly slung onto his head. "We've got cinnamon-raisin—"

"Bagels with raisins are unnatural and wrong," she snaps before he can finish his sentence. His jaw clamps shut.

She has the decency to appear sheepish as he collects himself. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she lets go of Isaac's squirming hand as he runs off to the magazine rack he's been eyeing, soon plopping down at a cafe table with a yellow-bordered copy of National Geographic.

"Why don't you guys make more if you know they're such a hot commodity?" she asks bitterly after placing an order for a chai latte with two shots of espresso and a hot chocolate.

Sunny Apron closes his eyes for a moment, and Annabeth is close to sure he's rolling them under his dropped lids. "I'm not sure it would make a difference. He came in this morning and bought out our stock."

Annabeth gapes at him, slamming the cash she'd been counting down onto the counter. "Who even needs that many bagels!"

The guy tosses a scrap of paper onto the counter—a receipt, slightly crinkled and dated earlier this morning. "He left you this." On one side shows the transaction for about thirty bagels, and the back reads in messily scrawled magic marker: these bagels are everything to me.

The slip crumbles in her fist as she clenches it, trying futilely to keep the heat from soaring into her veins. She wrenches a napkin from the counter, slipping a Sharpie from her purse and scratching out the beginnings of a very ill-willed note, addressed to Bagel Whore. "Give him this—"

"Listen, lady," the teenage boy cuts in. "I am not paid enough to be put through this kind of stress everyday. You're angry all the time and he thinks it's hilarious and if I want to live past thirty, I'm going to need serious mental rehabilitation to forget what you two have put me through for the past four months. For the love of God, leave me out of this, would you?"

Annabeth steps back, blinking. She only watches silently as he slides the two drinks she ordered across the counter, mumbling, "Have a nice day." Dismissed and a little shocked, she tosses her change into the gratuity mug, effectively guilty.

"Uh, thanks," she says awkwardly, collecting her son and making her way out the door.

"See you tomorrow," he mutters morosely, pulling the bright yellow visor over his eyes and groaning.

Percy's not dumb by any stretch of the imagination, so it comes to him in confusion, the fact that he cannot pinpoint the exact reason two five year olds have for absolutely, undeniably loathing each other.

His house guests arrived just short an hour ago, and already he finds himself holding back his flailing son from running Annabeth's into the wall. Her hair is falling loose from where it had been held up with a hair tie as she struggles to talk down her own son.

"Isaac, what in the world has gotten into you?" she huffs, blowing a stray curl from her face. She's crouched on his living room carpet, hands on the little guy's shoulders as he runs in place.

"He started it, dad!" Alex whines, wiggling in his father's hold. Percy cocks his head to look him in the eye, trying to find an off-switch or some sign of short-circuiting. His kid never gave him this much trouble.

"You're the devil!" Isaac screeches from across the room, and Annabeth's eyes pop open wide.

"Isaac!" she scolds, suddenly plopping him over her shoulder and restraining his little body. She looks to Percy with apology in her eyes. "I'm so sorry. He must have started watching the sitcoms I DVR'd."

Shaking his head in dismissal, Percy picks his son up, too. "I don't know what's going on here, kiddo, but you're about to explain." He plunks him onto the nearest couch and settles next to him. Annabeth retreats a safe distance to the opposite couch, plenty of feet away. She jumps a little after she sits down, then reaches down and pulls a couple of legos out from under her, tossing them to the floor.

With a sigh, Percy turns on his stern dad-eyes and looks to his son with crossed arms. He juts only an eyebrow in question.

Alex bursts like a dam.

Maybe Annabeth had expected him to put up more of a fight, considering that he hadn't been able to get Alex to open up until now, but Percy's never been able to hold up much of a resolve against his son when he knew they could be cuddled up watching a movie together. He refrains from sharing this information, scrubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

As Alex frantically explains, in detail, each individual reason he has a problem with Isaac Chase—his forehead is too big, he knows too much about African Elephants—Isaac chimes in too, with his own surprisingly distinguished list—smells like boogers, laughs before he can finish telling his own jokes.

Percy and Annabeth make eye contact over the babel of thrown words, silent as the boys verbally duke it out. After a few minutes, Annabeth clears her throat and cuts in. "Does any of that stuff… really matter, guys?" She looks a little bewildered (a little amused).

"Yes," they say in tandem, looking up at their respective parents.

Annabeth frowns. "I'd never call Mr. Jackson the devil just because he smells like boogers, Isaac. Why should you?"

"It's different, mom," Little Isaac says with an eyeroll and the attitude of a blooming teenager already; Percy feels a sympathy pain in his chest for Annabeth. "You have a crush on Mr. Jackson. And Alex ripped the book grandpa gave to me."

Sputtering, Annabeth gapes at her son as Percy feels his own face heating up. He catches her eye, but she whips hers away almost immediately. "Yeah!" Alex agrees, climbing up and poking his dad in the cheek eagerly. "Dad is totally in love with Miss Chase! If she called him the devil, he'd probably smile the same way he always does when he comes home from seeing her at school!"

"Now, wait a second—" Percy chokes, eyes widening. His face is probably the same color as the toy firetruck Alex kicked off the couch as he stood up.

"And, Isaac, I told you: it was an accident! I was only try'na to see the pictures, I didn't mean to rip it." Alex huffs, slinging an arm over his dad's neck and plunking onto his lap.

"You never said sorry," Isaac says, and there's a small tremble to his bottom lip that makes Percy's heart crack, despite his previous embarrassment.

Alex looks puzzled. "I didn't?" He thinks for a second, taps his chin in a way Percy knows is exactly like himself. "I'm sorry, Isaac. I didn't mean to rip your book. I liked it."

For a second, the room is silent. The two parents hold their breath as it seems everything may come to a head. Percy swallows as Isaac opens his mouth.

"It's okay. My mom taped it back together."

"Cool." Alex smiles, a little goofy, a lot Percy. "You want to play X-Box?"

Isaac's mouth forms a little O. "You have an X-Box? All I've got is a Wii-U!" Percy throws a scandalized look at Annabeth, who shrugs defensively. The two boys chatter casually as Alex grabs Isaac's hand and leads him into the den.

"Did that really just happen?" Annabeth asks. Her blouse is wrinkled and her hair is falling into her face, but seeing her looking less than prim and proper in his home, sitting on his couch, is doing funny things to his heart. He thinks maybe she belongs there. Percy laughs.

"God, I love kids."

They hear the game station turn on, and soon enough, the two boys are happily jabbering about the Skylanders game Percy knows is his son's favorite. Annabeth comes to join him on his couch, shaking her head in disbelief, but smiling. Grinning, really. It makes his chest feel light.

"We're friends now," Alex tells Annabeth's son in the next room, who replies "Yup."

When the sky falls a gradient of navy and purple, Annabeth decides they've probably overstayed their welcome enough. She needs to get dinner started if they want to eat before Isaac's bedtime. (And maybe she's not sure she can stand another minute chatting up Alex's dad, clenching her hands to refrain from clutching his shirt and dragging him until he's exactly where she wants him—which is to say, probably not appropriate considering they've got two kids in the house. Eh, she's a mom, not a saint.)

Once she stands up, Percy frowns unabashedly, and it kind of doesn't help her at all. "Wow, it's already six," he says, narrowing his eyes at the clock on the wall as if it had personally wronged him. "Time flies, I guess."

She snorts. "Yeah, and our kids' brains are probably melted by now."

"Pretty sure my kid would rather have his brain melted by an X-Box than a Wii-U." He says the word like it disgusts him.

"I honestly don't understand what's so wrong with his Wii. I did tons of online research, and it said the Wii was the best gaming system for his age range."

Percy shakes his head, pitying. "That's where you went wrong. Kids don't like what's good for them."

"Whatever, Isaac loves his Wii."

"Do you at least have Super Mario Brothers?"

"He has trivia and some bass fishing game his father got him."

The man in front of her winces. "What did he do to deserve that as form of punishment?"

Trying not to laugh, she flicks his ear. "Oh, shut up."

His smile is the same goofy one she'd seen on Alex earlier, and no less cute than it was on his son. She kind of wants him to smile all of the time. He sighs as he puts his hands on his knees, pushing himself off the couch. She follows him to the den where their kids have been playing for hours.

Only, they find the room empty. For a moment, her stomach drops and her heart speeds up, even if she knows her kid is more than likely perfectly safe somewhere in this house—she can't fight off her mom instincts. Percy purses his lips, turning to head up the adjacent steps. A little relief settles inside her to hear Isaac's small voice say, "You're hogging the blanket" once they're in the upstairs hallway.

Opening a door at the end of the hall, Percy pokes his head in. A little chuckle escapes his mouth and Annabeth peeks in behind him. She can only guess that it's Percy's bedroom; the bed is huge and there's a distinct lack of toys littering the carpet (although, that wasn't to say there weren't any. Just—significantly fewer.)

The kids are swallowed under a huge comforter, eyes trained on the TV mounted on the wall across from them. They're watching Mulan, which Annabeth knows to be one of Isaac's favorites. She joins in Percy's laughter until Alex looks up to see them there.

"Next we're watching Tarzan," he informs, and Isaac nods.

Something a little like regret taints her smile. "Sorry, guys. We have to go home and eat dinner.

"No-o-o," Alex pouts, tightening his hold on his father's comforter wrapped around the two of them.

Isaac blinks at his mother with rounded puppy eyes. "Can't we just eat here? Alex says his dad can cook."

Annabeth huffs. "I can cook, too, Isaac."

"Yeah, but not good."

Looking entirely too smug, Percy hums like this information delights him. She might shove his shoulder a little as she walks further into the room. "Come on. Mr. Jackson's too nice to say he wants his house back."

Percy's mouth drops open to protest, but his son beats him to it. "Miss Chase, I don't think my dad wants you to leave, like, ever."

A warm feeling eats up her chest and it's her turn to look smug. Percy lets out a choked, "Alex, you traitor."

"Come on, dad, tell'er!" Alex breaks in again. His black hair is messy and sticking up in all directions, and it's kind of adorable, really. "We could all have breakfast for dinner! Dad bought like a thousand bagels this morning."

Stilling, Annabeth's brows furrow. It's entirely possible that it's just a coincidence—

"Those gross ones with the seeds all over them. Eck. Dad can make pancakes for you and me, Isaac."

"Oh, those bagels are my mom's favorite!"

Slowly, Annabeth lets her gaze finds Percy, fire kindling in her eyes. "You," she hisses, quietly enough for him to detect danger and snap his mouth shut.

"Me?" he asks, brows lifting.

"Those bagels are everything to you? That was the worst pun I've ever had the displeasure of reading."

His eyes widen with something she figures is realization, and god, he has the nerve to laugh. Loudly. The sound is warm and brass, and it should not melt her to her very bones, so she tries to concentrate on seeing red. "Angry, hot blond mom? I should've guessed."

"Who needs that many bagels?!" She explodes, throwing her hands in the air.

"No one," he manages through laughter. "I used to get a variety, but after Mister Ray of Sunshine told me about you, I couldn't help myself."

"If my mom didn't like your dad so much, she'd probably hurt him real bad," Isaac stage-whispers to his new friend, who grins like that amuses him greatly.

Annabeth is stuck somewhere between wanting to kiss the stupid smirk off his face, or smack it—but before she can make a decision, it melts into a soft smile, still goofy (still adorable). "I buy the bagels for the guys down at the fire-station. Nobody hates that kind, so it worked out pretty well on my end. Although I'm not sure if it'll make a difference now, I could apologize for beating you to it every morning?"

"Dad, maybe you should leave her at least one bagel."

Percy shoots a smile to his son. "I'm thinking you're right."

"Me, too. Mom gets super mad when the guy tries to get her to buy the ones with raisins in them."

Wincing, Percy lets out a low whistle. "I don't blame her."

"Yet you leave me no choice every morning!" Annabeth argues, with considerably less heat than she imagined when finally meeting the Bagel Whore. She's holding back a smile as he moves closer.

"Stay for dinner," Percy says, sliding his hand into hers. And dammit, she's a grown woman with a kid, holding hands should not fluster her. "I'll cook up something worthy enough to make up for all of the bagels I've denied you."

"Yes!" Isaac calls, jumping up in the bed. "Please, mom!"

She tries to let them squirm, express a look of thought as if she were actually considering going home and eating whatever burnt tar she managed to create, but that smile she was trying to kill breaks through before she can stop it, and she's agreeing.

"Yay!" Alex dances. "Y-A-Y, yay!"

"This is the best day ever!" Isaac cheers, over dramatic and entirely adorable.

Percy gives her hand a squeeze, warm green eyes trained on hers. "It sure is."

Isaac and Alex still have their arguments over the years—they're both incredibly stubborn, but maybe that's what makes them the best of friends anyway. When their little sister is born, she grows up in the position of mediator, because if there's anyone who knows how to get those buttheads to shut up, it's little Ruby with a personality louder than her two brothers combined.

Also, she kind of ends up being their favorite thing ever, so they try to keep her happy, if not a little spoiled in the end.

happy birthday meg (jasongraceless)! ilu so much. pls enjoy this junk.