your perfect word was please and mine was always yes: It seems to be a recurring theme in my life, writing in place of sleep. This chapter happened in various hours of the night (and sometimes during the day). I rewrote it several times. I still think the pacing is a little bit off, but I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you will have a lot of fun reading it, as you're getting the first bit of real Percy and Annabeth interaction...which is always nice in a Percy/Annabeth story, right? Let me know what you think.

Important announcement: So even if you don't read my authorial blah-blah for each chapter, you should read this. In November, I am participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), where participants try to write 50,000 words in 30 days. My project for NaNoWriMo is not going to be The End of You and Me because I'm already 20,000+ words into it. It will be an original YA fantasy. If you are ever curious about what I'm doing in the month of November, my writer's blog is linked on my profile page. Anyway, what this means is that this story will be on hiatus for the duration of the month. However, I will try very hard to make at least one update during November. Try. No promises. Either way, the updating schedule will go back to normal immediately in December, that is, about an update a week, the way it's been. Thanks for hanging with me and understanding.

But the exciting part is, you still have Chapter 8. :-)

Chapter 8

"Tyson?" Percy lowered Riptide and looked intently into the face of the Cyclops. His blonde toupee continued sliding millimeter by millimeter down the left side of his face. His single eye blinked slowly, fringed with long, brown lashes. Percy hadn't seen Tyson in at least two years. Tyson had joined the undersea forges and was relocated to just offshore of Washington State, across the country. The only real method of communication was through Iris-message, and those had poor connections when the recipient was underwater. The Jackson family messaged him on holidays. Cassie knew she had an Uncle Ty, but Percy and Annabeth didn't really want to explain why her uncle had one eye right smack in the middle of his forehead. It was much easier to acquaint Cassie to the very mortal Chase side of the family.

But even so, Percy couldn't imagine that Tyson had gotten such a big growth spurt. He was pretty runty as Cyclopes went.

The maybe-Tyson Cyclops nodded.

"You look like you've just trudged through a garbage dump and then ran into someone's hanging laundry. What happened?" Percy hedged, waiting to see how the reaction fit.

Maybe-Tyson crinkled his brow. "Something happened? I didn't run through a garbage dump," he said.

Percy laughed, the knot that he didn't even know he had loosening in his chest. "Hey, buddy. I haven't seen you in forever. What brings you to New York?"

Blackjack snuffled softly behind him. He smells funny, boss. Weird, like he just crawled up out of the sea.

Tyson turned toward Blackjack, his eyes lighting up. "Horsie! Horsie with wings!" He tottered over, but the pegasus shied away, ruffling up its wings and nostrils flaring. Nuh uh, he said. Not me, don't let him get near me. Look at those arms. He'll crush my bones to pixie dust. Grown up Cyclopes. Hmph.

Looking like he just missed the ice cream truck of his life, Tyson dropped his arms. His toupee drooped further. He looked severely in need of a hug. Percy took a step toward him, but as he did, he caught Annabeth caught his eye. She was rummaging in her backpack (where did she get a backpack?), whipped out her Yankee's cap and jammed in on her head. In a shimmer, she vanished.

Percy stopped. "Hey. Exactly what do you think you're doing?" he said to thin air.

A force like a bulldozer shoved him over and he landed at the trunk of a tree, jarred and rubbing his hip where he landed. Not that it hurt, but he surely didn't appreciate it. "What the hell was that?"

The perpetrator melted back into visibility, clutching her cap in one hand and a sharp bronze knife in the other, right in front of Tyson. She lunged at him, but he jumped back, nimble for his size. The pillowcases billowed in the wind angrily.

Percy couldn't believe her gall. "You can't just go around trying to stab people all the time! You know, violence isn't the answer for whatever deep-seated problem you're harboring. If you want to stab someone, I'm right here."

She collected herself. "Percy, as tempting as that offer is, I'm not crazy."

"Really? Because you're putting on a pretty good show, I'd have to say."

Tyson retreated, rubbing his eyes and wiping away marble-sized tears.

She jabbed a finger at the shrinking figure. "That's not Tyson. Look at him! He doesn't look like Tyson at all. Just because he sounds exactly like your brother, doesn't mean he is. The voices, Percy. Don't you remember?"

The voices? It seemed like forever ago that he had to deal with a Cyclops who wasn't friendly, but then…then, in the Sea of Monsters, there was the monster of monsters. Polyphemus? Yes, that was it. He stood up.

"And I would know about Cyclops voices," Annabeth said.

Of course. When she was seven, she had been trapped in a Cyclops lair, and the horrible thing had imitated her father. Of course she would know. "But how can you be sure?"

"Like this." She darted toward the Cyclops, who saw her coming and turned to face her. But at the last moment, she feinted, daintily skipped behind him and the tip of her dagger caught on the collar—if you could designate a collar to the pillowcase shirt—and the cloth jerked and ripped right open. It fluttered in tatters to the ground. "Look!" she yelled over the Cyclops' furious cry. "Look at his back."

The wide, tan back had unmarred leathery skin. No scars, nothing. And one thing Percy wouldn't forget was the clump of scars shaped like a spider's web on Tyson's back, a result of a severe Sphinx attack. They were scars he would carry forever. People didn't change that much in a span of two years.

The Cyclops, really angry now, brought a palm down on Annabeth's head, but she dropped and rolled out of the way. The Yankees' cap, however, slipped loose from her grasp and dropped into a pile of leaves at the feet of the monster. The monster stepped on it, leering. "I have the magic hat, the golden girlie's magic hat," he chanted in a sing-song voice.

Percy uncapped Riptide, blood singing in his veins for being fooled by such a predictable, amateurish trick. "And I have the sword that's going to cut it right out of your hands."

"Half-blood, half-blood, come and get me if you can!" the monster tittered in a manner eerily reminiscent of the gingerbread man. He scrambled out of the way, through trees, in the underbrush, and over gnarled vines, waving the cap as if it were some kind of trophy. Percy raced after him, temples pulsing, while trying to avoid getting smacked in the face by flying branches. Annabeth had fallen behind, and he didn't have time to look where she was. The tightness of the forest made maneuvering difficult. He could've sworn this had been easier ten years ago. Now, he just felt like a big, lumbering thing, trying to fit into a doll's playhouse. The Cyclops didn't seem to having a problem. He was getting away, the echoes of his low, huffing laughter trailing behind him like smoke.

"Turn around and face me!"

"Can't catch me, can't catch me!"

The dimming daylight cast strange shadows in the forest, making it hard to distinguish what was an obstacle and what wasn't. Percy gritted his teeth and stopped concentrating on what path to take. He charged straight like a bull through everything—pine needles scraped against his skin, but they wouldn't leave a mark—toward the Cyclops. He was catching up. He could see blue and white of the cap. Within arm's reach, he could snatch it, if he just stretched far enough. His fingers tickled the air, straining, straining—

The Cyclops shot a quick glance backward and came to a screeching halt, digging his feet into the moist soil.

Percy crashed headlong into the monster, his fingers crunching into the monster's backside and fell backward. It took him a split second to adjust his eyes to the whiplash, and for his head to stop spinning. But in that tiny pause, the Cyclops towered over him and one fist was coming down for a numbing blow. He didn't even have time to move.

A hoof came out of nowhere and knocked into the side of the Cyclops' head, followed by a bronze blade to the neck. Percy saw his stupid smile freeze into place as he disintegrated into dust.

"What in the—" he murmured, still feeling like his brain was bouncing around inside his skull.

Annabeth slipped off the pegasus and shook the dirt off of her cap. "There you go," she said simply. "Just what did you come here to do, exactly? Save the damsel in distress?"

So it was back to that again, he supposed as the stars faded out of his eyes. He didn't like the snark in her tone. Rubbing his head and getting back on his feet, he groused, "You're the most sarcastic damsel in distress I've ever met." He caught a glimmer of a smile in her eyes, before she blinked it away, sheathing her knife.

"Don't I get a thank you or anything?" she asked. "You were about to get your brains smacked out."

"I was fine! It was all under control."

She scoffed and turned her back on him to examine the pile of dust. "Yeah, right." She let a fine trickle fall through her fingers. "It was all under control too when you were about to let yourself get a nice big Cyclops hug, right before he squished you to bits. I'm sure it was all a part of your master plan."

The evening light had faded to a soft purple, and Percy marveled at how the light outlined her body. The anger he had for her running off in the morning dissipated in an instant. He was just glad to see her again. She had a way of making him forget things like that. "Thanks. For helping."

When she turned her face to him, she looked tired. "You're welcome. As always." She smiled for real this time, although, it was a little lacking. It was a smile all the same, and was startled by how much he missed the sight of it. "So you owe me. What else is new? You know, one day, I mean to collect on that."

"Really."

"Yeah, really. Don't give me that look. I will. And you better promise that you'll make good on it," she warned.

"We'll see," he said.

An owl hooted in the distance, and for some reason, that brought more pressing matters to the forefront of the conversation. Blackjack nudged at Percy's side.

"I know, buddy. We should probably get to town and find a hotel or something."

Uh, Blackjack objected, no, we shouldn't. These old wings are about to break off. I'm not the young thing I used to be. Come on, what's wrong with spending a night out here? It's nice. It's not that cold. You can rough it for a couple of hours, can't you?

"Um…" Percy wasn't sure he liked the idea of "roughing it." He was almost positive the last time he'd slept outside was when he was in his teens. The novelty of camping had kind of worn off when he was twelve and trying to find his way to the underworld, forced to sleep up against a tree. And that kind of thing worked when you were young, but once you hit the age of twenty-five or so, leaning up against anything other than a pillow left a horrible crick in your neck and twist in your temper in the morning.

But Blackjack charged ahead without pause. Good, it's settled. I'm going to get some shuteye, if you don't mind me. See you in the morning, boss.

Annabeth made a tiny cough as Blackjack clopped off to one side. "I guess that's a 'no' for going anywhere near a bed, huh?"

…o…

The fire crackled in bright spurts as flames of heat reached out along the clearing. Percy watched the wisp of smoke flutter into the blue-black sky. To be honest, he was rather impressed that they had managed to start a fire to begin with, since they hadn't needed to do it by hand in ages. That's what matches were for, but they hadn't thought of that when they slinked out of his apartment in the dead of night. Of course, he gave a good amount of the credit to Annabeth, who had been doing this kind of thing since she was seven. It was one of those things that you didn't forget how to do, like tying your shoes. He leaned forward. "Smoky the Bear would be really disappointed in us. Let's hope we don't set New York State on fire."

Annabeth poked at the fire, and the coals momentarily flared a hotter red. "That's a bit rich, don't you think? Coming from the boy who blew a hole into the St. Louis arch? I think you've done worse." She didn't even look at him, and in the shadows, he couldn't see her expression, but he imagined it was mocking.

"Not me," he corrected. "The Chihuahua-Chimera. I can't spout fire out of my mouth."

"You couldn't identify that ugly dog as a Chimera then, either. You're just not very good at figuring out what's what, I suppose." She was teasing him.

"Because you were so quick in pointing it out. I seem to remember that you kept pretty quiet in the elevator on the way up," he said.

She dragged a dead log from one side, brushed off the dirt, and sat down on it. "I was testing you, obviously. Seeing if you were savior-of-the-world material." She tapped a finger against her temple. "Planning, you see? If you weren't right, I would've dropped you on the side of the road like a rock."

"So," he said, mulling over words. "Did I pass?"

"Pass what?"

"The savior-of-the-world test."

She appeared to consider it, and he briefly found himself thinking that if he hadn't been madly in love with her since the moment he met her—even if he hadn't realized it at the time—he probably would've thought her the most stuck-up twelve-year-old girl ever. Even worse than the cheerleaders at school, because all they did was titter at him as he walked by. Annabeth wasn't afraid of saying whatever she thought to his face.

"Yes," she said finally. "You passed. But not then. I'd say you passed at the end of the summer. You were pretty okay for a son of Poseidon."

"Gee, thanks," he said in mock gratitude. "That's the compliment of the century."

"I try."

Sitting there, warming their hands and feet by the fire, everything seemed so easy. He didn't want to say anything to disturb it. He wanted to wrap this moment around him and live in it forever, retrieve it on cold nights when he missed her desperately and had to unplug his phone so he wouldn't randomly call her at two in the morning. If there was one thing he had learned about Annabeth in living with her for eight years, it was that she did not tolerate being woken up in the middle of the night for anything less than life-threatening reasons. She could be in the best of moods when she settled down for the night, but woe to the one who pulled her out of her beauty sleep. That was really unleashing the demon within.

He paused to consider how thoroughly he knew her, in and out, yet she managed to surprise him all the same. Was it just something about every couple? Or was it specific to her? He had to admit, she was different. She had her own way of doing everything.

Annabeth looked dreamy, mesmerized by the fire. "What are you thinking about?" she asked him. The light illuminated her face, smoothing it out fine lines.

"I was thinking about how impressive you were today for not getting made into monster mash. When was the last time used that knife?"

She grinned and sat up. "I was pretty impressive, wasn't I?"

"I think I can see your head swelling up like a balloon."

"Oh, shut it. What, did you think I'd gone soft in all these years? I've still got it," she said, snapping her fingers. She rested her chin on her palms. "Don't you forget it, either."

"I won't," he told her. She was still so good at everything, he remembered thinking this morning. For some reason, even when they were younger, it seemed like Annabeth was always the older one, the one who knew better, the mature one. He was always stumbling behind her, trying to keep up, and listen to what she had to say. Until, of course, it became time for him to be the hero. He suspected that it must've been hard for her. She liked being in control. The thing that scared her the most was not having a plan, not knowing exactly what was going to come next. Was she scared now? Waiting for tomorrow was the worst. He wished he could ask her, but he didn't know if they could ask things like that of each other anymore. Could they? Should he try?

He didn't. Instead, he said, "So I guess this means you are okay we having me along for the ride now?"

She shifted a little. "Not okay, per se, but I don't see any way out of it, so I guess if that means 'okay,' then yeah."

Her response was not very encouraging. "Try to sound a bit more enthusiastic about me being here, will you? I know I'm encroaching on your independent, do-it-myself, gung ho attitude, but I remember there used to be a time when being with me wasn't so bad."

He heard her sucking in a deep breath. "Percy Jackson!"

"What? What? Where's the fire?"

"You are such an idiot, sometimes," she said, stomping her foot, but since the ground was soft and moist, it didn't make much of a point.

"So you tell me on a daily basis. What's the reason this time?"

"I don't not want to be around you. It's just that you attract goddesses like crazy and it's going to be crazy hard to do anything without one of them throwing themselves in front of you like a suicidal deer."

He looked at her. "Like a suicidal deer?"

"You know what I mean, Seaweed Brain!"

His lips twitched.

Annabeth crossed her arms. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just that…never mind." She hadn't used that silly nickname in years. It was something he thought they had outgrown. But he decided that he could get used to hearing it again. "You should know," he told her, "that you are the reason I got stuck in Europe on a date with Hera, so you should probably appreciate the fact that I chased you halfway across the world."

She furrowed her brows, like she didn't believe him. "Wait, hold on. Did you just say 'date with Hera?'"

"Damn straight. It was not the greatest experience of my life, let me tell you. But don't worry. She dumped me after I told her I wasn't going to name her the most beautiful."

"Well, it's reassuring to know that you're not cheating on me with Hera. Demeter, maybe. Hera, though? I'd seriously question your taste in women."

"Oh, Demeter definitely not," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Seeing as I don't have an obsession with grains, I don't think we'd be very compatible."

Annabeth was laughing now. She clapped her hands. "I've found the solution to all of our problems. All you have to do is auction off a date and whoever is the least obnoxious or, you know, doesn't blow you to bits, will be the winner of the apple. What do you think?"

"I think it's brilliant. A plan worthy of Athena." He grinned at her. Across the fire pit, Annabeth's eyes seemed to gather the firelight and glow. For a few seconds, he just stared at her, wondering if she knew that she outpaced all of the goddesses. If he was going to give the apple to anyone, it would be her.

She looked away first. "Anyway, I thought it was a good idea."

"It is," he said. "Besides the minor detail that it would require me going on tons of dates with goddesses, really temperamental goddesses, it's a great idea."

She smiled at him again, but he thought it was a little more guarded this time. Why was she so afraid of being herself? Or perhaps, she was afraid of him? But why? Something in the air had changed, churned upon itself, and floated away. Annabeth was busily tending the fire, studying the coals as if her life depended on it. He felt sad as he watched her. It was as if she was so very far away, and he couldn't ever catch up. She had moved herself away, and he only wanted to follow her. But she wouldn't let him.

And then it made him angry. Why was he always chasing her? What had he done to make her run away anyway? Like an obnoxious itch that was just out of reach, he thought of the divorce papers still lying on the floor—unless the police had bothered to pick them up and peg it as evidence of family breakdown—waiting for his signature. Did she still want it? At the moment, he couldn't quite recall why she had filed for divorce to begin with. It was all kind of a miserable blur.

September fifth—the day she had marched through the door, more serious than he had ever seen her, and formally presented the papers in a manila envelope stamped "confidential"—as if he were going to show them to anyone. She proffered the envelope with both hands; that seemed important at the time. It was too stilted. He had taken the envelope and stupidly asked her what was inside. Gods, he wanted to kick himself for saying that.

"We have to get a divorce," she said.

We have to, instead of I want one, the way a normal person would say it. The way she said it made it seem inevitable, like she really didn't want to get one, but it was destiny. They couldn't escape it. Could they?

He left the next day, but even then, when she shut the door with barely as much as a goodbye—they hated saying goodbyes—he could hear her crying from the crack under the door. The sound of it made him want to barge through the door and shake some sense into her, tell her that they didn't have to get a divorce at all, and kiss the lights out of her until she forgot the whole damn thing. He had dropped his suitcases and knocked. "Annabeth?"

There had been some shuffling, and the sobs stopped immediately. "Leave me alone," she whispered.

And he had left.

The fire flickered a little bit, faded to a glowing red. She looked up at him from her squatting position. "Do you think we should call it a night then? It's been…quite a day."

He found that, frustratingly, he couldn't even be mad at her. Not right now. He had to be better about this. She couldn't keep getting away with it, even if she didn't know about it. "Yeah," he said, yawning. "Might as well. We should probably get up early tomorrow. By the way," he added as an afterthought, "don't run off in the middle of the night. Please."

She gave him a dry look. "Ha-ha. I suppose I won't. No promises, though. I'm exceedingly good at ditching people."

"So I've discovered," he murmured as he directed a spout of water at the dying flames. They sputtered out with a hiss, and the last plume of smoke swirled up. He watched her back as she slipped into the forest—decided that he was tired of seeing her walk away. "Hey!" he called out.

Annabeth half-turned, confused. "What?"

He paused, not sure what he was trying to do or what he was going to say. There were a million things, but it was late and right now—"Good night, Wise Girl."

She eased into a smile. "See you tomorrow."

As he settled down, his heart was considerably lighter, although he didn't know why. Things could be better, he thought, as he lay looking up at the infinite spread of stars, so much brighter than in the city. Things could be better.