Maktub

(It is written.)

:: Maktub (Arabic) and Determinism is the philosophical view that, given certain initial conditions, everything that ensues is bound to happen as it does and in no other possible way; thus, nothing in nature is contingent. This statement shows how fate is the major determinant of one's destiny and that no outer force can disrupt it. Even one's self does not obtain the ability to change their own destiny. ::

~o~

This is the story of a young man named Percy Jackson.

Now, like (almost) all those who have changed the world in significant ways, he did not have the happiest of beginnings. He was born to a young woman named Sally Jackson, and his father had all but disappeared from the planet. In despair, Sally married Gabriel Ugliano, who loved food and booze more than his wife and treated her and her son worse than doormats.

Sally raised Percy right there, in a poky little apartment in Manhattan, where there were more rats than people, and her husband, quite frankly, took any bit of joy out of her life.

By the time Percy was five, he'd been beaten more times than anyone twenty years older than him and he was pretty sure that his life could not suck any more. It had reached the limit of sucking.

And it sucked.

What Percy did not know was that Fate would play a huge role in life. And Luck, and Chance. He would have no clue when Despair would take him, when Grief would shake him, and when Fortune would smile kindly down upon him at last.

But, for now, his life sucked, and let us leave it at that.

~o~

Misfortune seemed to meet Percy at every turn he took, teasing him and taunting him and climbing on his back.

Dyslexia and ADHD made it hard for him to get through a single class in school. He found himself sneaking some of Gabe's Red Bull into his water bottle and taking a gulp just to keep his eyes open. His grades would jump high, reaching for the stars, arms held out in hope and ecstasy, and then they would fall, with a sickening crash, right onto the pavement.

It didn't really help that he had an enormous affinity for trouble, either. Trouble snuck up on him while he slept, poking him in the eye and threatening to get him expelled if he didn't screw something up.

And so Percy did screw something up, and he still got expelled – seriously, how unfair could it get, right? He was teased because he was scrawny and scruffy and just plain different, and was kicked out of five schools in five years running. That has to be some kind of record, he would tell his mother, but his heart would ache and his ribs would tighten and it took all his strength to keep his tears in their ducts.

One day, his mother would say, it'll all be better. I promise.

Percy would sniffle. I don't think so, he'd think, really loudly, but then he would nod. And then Sally would lean over and kiss his forehead and tickle his chin and tell him that she would make him his favourite blue waffles in the morning, and Percy would giggle and murmur something incoherent and then he would be fast asleep.

And his mother would actually just stop there and gaze at her son, sitting silently at the foot of his bed, until her husband would yell at her to get him another beer, because he was too damn lazy to get off his dirty arse and walk over to the fridge, which was two feet away from where he was sitting.

Sally got him a Coke.

~o~

When Grief and Despair hang around someone too long, Turmoil and Chaos join too. Disaster follows next, and, finally, comes Anger, which soon develops in Rage. They all hold hands and dance around the victim, making him feel breathless and reckless and furious.

When Percy was seventeen, his mom had a heart attack she couldn't manage to recover from, long after Gabe had drunk his way to the grave, leaving Percy utterly – and officially – alone. The priest let out a long sigh and said Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, but then the tears were out and his head was heavy and Percy's out of the place like a lightning bolt.

~o~

As Anguish writhed like an earthworm in the empty space where his heart used to be, he shoved sixteen years of his life in a suitcase and walked out of the place that used to be his home. He had no friends. He had no surviving relatives. He had no one.

No one.

~o~

After two months of basically living on the streets, he finally got a job as a lifeguard at the local pool, where kids spewed out their meals every two seconds and people had no concept of personal hygiene.

But it was decent pay, and that plus some extra cash he earned from working at a cheap restaurant every evening, Percy managed to buy a poky little place to live in. He hated his neighbors who also happened to hate him, so life was just freaking peachy, especially those times when he would walk by his old maggot-infested house and wish with every cell in his body for everything to just. Go. Back.

~o~

Every morning, he would walk down to the local pool and do some laps, mostly because he liked the pool, and, plus, as an added bonus, he could curse all he liked underwater and no one could hear him.

It was on one of these mornings that Chance, dragging Luck by the arm, joined Percy there, along with someone else.

This 'someone else' was an oldish man with hair that was once probably brown, and he sat in the lifeguard's chair and watched the boy in front of him swim.

The man's name was Troy Jensen, and he'd once hoped to coach an Olympic Team. Problem was, he was picky. No one matched his expectations. And he'd long since given up on that dream, but seeing this boy brought up all those long-forgotten memories, taunting him with possibilities, because damn, either his vision had decided to break up with him (like his wife), or this kid was freaking good.

When the boy clambered out of the pool, soaking wet, read-faced, and looking emotionally blackmailed, Troy made his move, Luck and Chance breathing down his neck.

Nice stroke you got there, he offered. The kid shrugged and pulled on a T-shirt.

How old are you? Troy asked.

Nineteen. Twenty in August.

Silence.

You know, he tried again, under a good coach you could do some pretty amazing things.

Okay. Great. Thanks.

Troy bit back a snarky reply. Well, kid, you're just going to make me spell it out for you, ain't ya?

Depends on what you're spelling.

Troy offered him his card and walked away, grumbling. Stupid unappreciative kids.

Percy sat there, legs dangling into the water, slowly reading the tiny script. Chance drifted away. Luck lingered on for a few minutes, but something better took its place.

Percy looked up. Tears filled his eyes and he let them drip into the chlorinated water, as Hope sized up the situation and dove straight into his heart.

He quit his job that day.

~o~

Percy instantly learned that Troy was not the kind old granddady he looked.

In all honesty, the guy pushed him harder that Gabe did on the way to the fridge. And that was hard.

Every morning, he was up at six, doing push-ups, crunches, going for long jogs around the park. It took weeks before Percy was shoved into the pool and ordered to do laps. And he had to address him as Coach. Not Mr., not sir. Coach. Just Coach.

In six months, Percy had never felt better. He'd begun to participate in small competitions. Street competitions, block competitions, school competitions, college competitions. State competitions. National competitions. World competitions.

And suddenly, Percy Jackson is the one to beat.

Well, damn it all to heck and back again, Coach says one day over the phone. Boy, they want you for the Olympics.

Percy could have prepared a thousand lifetimes for that one moment and still not have been prepared enough. What?

You heard me, kid. Don't make me say it again.

Percy's hands went numb and he held tightly to the wall. The Olympics. Are you serious? The freaking Olympics?

Silence.

Percy buried his head in his hands. No way was this happening. Are you kidding?

Do I kid, Jackson? Coach sniffed, clearly indicating his disgust for jokes.

No, sir.

Just pack up some clothes, and meet me at the pool in twenty, Coach grumbled. Gods forbid, we've got a lot of work to do.

Yeah, Percy said. Sure. Okay, Coach.

He walked back in silence to a room full of friends, and when he looked up his smile crumpled like a sandcastle under the onslaught of the sea, and then suddenly he was enveloped in what seems like a million arms, but it didn't matter because he was crying like a baby anyway, and Fortune lounged on the abandoned sofa and grinned.

~o~

Have you ever participated in a competition? You walk in, feeling like you can conquer the world, and two minutes before you have to start your knees give way and your hands quiver and shiver and you become a very lifelike piece of Jell-O?

Well, multiply that times twenty when you reach the Olympic stadium.

Tightly bundled in his red-white-and-blue hoodie, Percy felt like every bone in his body was splitting through the middle. As he watched his opponents arrive, professionals from around the world, he was pretty sure his jacket was getting too big for him, or – oh, wait. He was just getting smaller.

Doubt gnawed at his trembling fingertips, filling his heart with both a sense of worry and uselessness. I mean, come on. Who was he, really? An amateur. And a pretty bad one at that. He'd been training for just over a year, and now he was going up against these Gods of the sport? God. He should just give up now.

Coach approached him with a can of Coke in his hand. Ready, soldier?

He'd always called Percy that before a tournament, and apparently the prestige and downright posh-ness of the Olympics wasn't going to change anything. Percy found himself grinning stiffly at how adamant Troy was.

Not really, Percy sighed.

Coach took a swig of his drink and shuffled around in front, looking at the other swimmers with disdain. He looked incredibly calm for a guy about to watch his only student drown.

And then Percy realized that his coach was probably doubtful, too. Doubtful that his student might make it. And as Percy looked around, the nerves slowly faded away and Determination took their place, making him feel oddly calm and yet restless, ready to show the world what he could do. No more getting beaten up. No more stepping away from the spotlight. No more being a pushover.

Percy Jackson was going to do this thing, and win it.

A sense of Pride from his coach was something that had always never shown in Troy's face, and it seemed unattainable to Percy – that elusive emotion which always seemed ready to surface, but eventually never did.

Coach prodded him with his foot, and Percy looked up. The other competitors were assembling at the starting line. Coach's face was pink, wrinkly and completely blank.

Go, he told Percy.

And go he did.

~o~

And when Percy surfaced for the final time from the depths of blue, looking behind at his opponents just reaching the finish, he raised his fist and shook it, and heard the world chanting his name, and there was his Coach, a few feet away, his face pink and wrinkly and streaming with tears.

And Percy climbed out of the pool and enveloped him in a hug, and they sobbed to each other and Triumph roared like a lion inside him as he raised the gold medal and he couldn't stop grinning all the way home.

~o~

I suppose it was probably then that most of the female population of the world decided that Percy Jackson was pretty darn good-looking.

He was dogged everywhere: the supermarket, restaurants, the mall. One particularly bad day Percy was pretty sure there'd be a girl with a camera gazing at him while he peed in his toilet.

Unlike most people, Percy shied away from the limelight. He didn't want Admiration, or Fame. He didn't want to be a role model, because he sure was sure he'd be a bad one. So no. Percy didn't want to make the news.

...which is why the news wanted to make him.

For about two months after the Olympics, his name was on every paper, every magazine. Everyone wanted to be his sponsor, everyone wanted to be his agent, everyone wanted to be his manager, everyone wanted to be his friend.

It disgusted him.

He moved out of his place after his neighbors who now just couldn't seem to get enough of him, let in a horde of reporters through the gates and handed them an extra key. Imagine leaving your living room for one minute and coming back to find the room crawling with cameramen.

~o~

That explained why Percy was now hurriedly crossing the road with a dumbbell still in his hand, pursued by a pack of rabid teenage girls. He took a left, two rights, a U-turn, and another left, and then found himself at a dead end with only the girl's toilet ahead.

Great.

Just great.

Right behind him, he heard his weird chhchchh noise, and he whirled around wildly, his dumbbells grazing a scarlet curl, knowing that they'd caught up to him, and he was never going to get out of this place in one piece.

The girl yelped and dropped her Kleenex.

Oh my god! she screamed, glaring at him through her narrowed eyes, which were as brilliantly green as his. Do you always kill people when they blow their nose?

Percy blinked. No. Sorry. I mean- He picked it up and handed it back to her. Her nose was red like her hair, and, for the first time, Percy felt something like Shyness bubbling in his chest, giggling and blushing about as much as he wanted to. He averted his gaze as the girl rolled her eyes and stuck out her hand.

And that's how he met Rachel.

~o~

Rachel Elizabeth Dare was the daughter of The Magnificent: or, more accurately, her father. Her father, who'd been nicknamed 'Mr I-Dare! Dare', was famous around the world for being amongst the Reckless Rich, and every environmentalist used his name to instil hate in their own ranks, for it was pretty obvious this guy lived to kill every tree in sight, except money trees, which he happened to harvest in his own barren backyard, and it was a common joke that he would take all the 'produce' for himself.

Which was understandable, because this guy had enough money to buy the moon.

Rachel was exactly the opposite, and she hated what her father was doing. She loathed it with every fiber of her being, and went out of her way to try and get involved in anything anti-industrial, anti-pollution, anti-deforestation, anti-him. She refused his help, his offers, his money. She wanted to do what she believed in without anyone's interference.

The fire of Defiance had been lit in her at a very young age, and she couldn't afford to put it out. And she didn't want to, either.

That was what she had been doing that day: she'd waded her way through Times Square yelling for people to please, please donate some money, because the Yellow-Bellied Swashbuckler is going extinct, and if we don't do something soon-

Shut up already, someone had said, grabbing her roughly by the shoulder and shaking her back and forth. Nobody's listening. Nobody cares.

I do.

God, girl. Look, you look well-off. You could do better. Now just...go. Get a life, okay?

Rachel had stopped right there. Get a life. Her father had told her that, so many years ago. She didn't need to hear it again.

She chucked her poster in the bin. Her heart drooped in Defeat, and she headed to the restroom to cry and then come out smiling, pretending like nothing had happened and that her will to go on had been shattered into millions and millions of tinylittle pieces.

What happened instead was that she'd almost been decapitated (nothing like a near-death experience to make you appreciate life more) and in two months, she was Percy Jackson's girlfriend.

~o~

Rachel realized she didn't know fame one little bit. The closest she had come to fame was a picture in the newspaper of her, two weeks old, being held by a nurse as her mom and dad smoked nearby.

Really, she should be happy her lungs weren't permanently damaged.

Dating a sports star, who'd won four gold medals at the age of nineteen made her remember why she'd left her super-rich mom and dad in the first place. Everything she'd wanted to give up, to get away from was right back before her eyes, and maybe a bit too close for comfort.

Pictures would appear in magazines: Percy, looking all cool and suave and don't-care-ish, holding hands with her, wide-eyed and hideous, looking at the camera lens like Oh shit when the heck did you get here?

It drew a lot of crowd response. The old chuckled and clucked appreciatively, and nudged each other like Dear, remember when celebrities of our day did that? And the young sneered and jeered. All the pointing and staring didn't help either. It got so bad that she finally dropped her groceries in the store and screamed I'm not a freaking artefact in a freaking museum, so you can all stop staring now and go back to minding your own freaking business, thank you very much.

The next day, every magazine blared Dare does dare! with an exclusive interview with shop staff inside: Oh, I didn't like her, she was ever so rude, I don't think Percy Jackson should be dating her...

Of course you wouldn't, Rachel growled, ripping the damn thing in half.

Everyone seemed to have an opinion about her. She was discussed everywhere, and absolutely shamelessly. And Disgust welled in her heart, because she wanted to yell that People are starving all over the planet, animals are going extinct, forests are being cleared, icebergs are melting, and the oh-so important topics of 'Dare: natural ginger or dyed red?' and 'Does she wax her legs?' are more important?

What kept her rooted to the spot was Percy.

Oh god, she loved him, she really did. He was one of guys teenage girls dream for: he was sweet, kind, talented and funny, he loved her too and made sure she knew it...man, she was lucky.

There were times when he'd just count the freckles on her nose, or twirl a strand of her hair between his fingers when he thought she was sleeping. And Rachel got butterflies when she'd wake up in the morning at look over at him, drooling and snoring and just plain adorable. And when he gave her a hug it was all she could do not to bury her neck in his chest and stay there forever.

He made her feel safe.

And yes, Percy really loved his girlfriend, with all her quirks and smirks. It was a welcome change for him to have someone to look to for reassurance. He didn't care what everyone else thought of her. To him, Rachel was everything and she made him happy and that was that.

~o~

He didn't notice the postman leave a large white envelope in his mailbox and leave, Shock right behind him.

~o~

Okay, Percy said. Again. What?

Rachel looked up from the large white envelope she'd found in the mailbox two days later. Apparently some dudes had spotted her paintings on a website. They're offering me a full scholarship. In Italy. It's...it's the opportunity of a lifetime. I'd be stupid not to take it.

Yeah. You would.

Rachel crossed the room and sat down next to him, putting his large hand around her tiny one. I really hate to do this. I don't want to leave you, Percy.

Percy squeezed her hand tight and shut his eyes tighter. I don't want you to leave.

B-but...it's just...this has been my-

Dream. I know. You've always been an artsy person. And these guys are lucky to have found you. They'll be even more lucky if you join. So go. I can't stop you. I won't.

Rachel rested her head on his shoulder and stared at the television screen, playing some sappy romantic movie. She watched the happy couple smooch and Envy slipped into her mind and filled her body from head to toe. It seemed unfair that every movie had a happy ending when she obviously wouldn't get hers.

Percy managed a shaky smile. His eyes were still closed, but Conflict still raged in his mind. How many people get a chance to go study art in Europe, anyway?

None, that's how many. Neither of them said it, but the room was so silent, so deafeningly silent, they might as well have screamed it.

So, he finally said, does that mean we're...

There. He'd thrust their relationship out into the air, where it hovered between them in an imaginary bubble. It was up to her to catch it.

That's when Rachel burst into tears. They were hot, boiling tears, and they scorched her skin as they rolled down her cheeks. And Percy listened as she sniffled and cried and howled that she was a complete moron and that she didn't deserve him, and he gathered up her slim frame into his arms and carried her to their room, where he spent the night cuddling her and stroking her hair.

Still, that didn't mask the Resentment in his eyes. Good thing Rachel was asleep.

~o~

How long have we got?

Two weeks. I'm due to leave on the twentieth.

Silence.

Percy?

Yeah?

Are you sure you can't come with me?

Coach is insisting that I get my butt in the pool by next week, or he's firing himself.

Oh.

Yeah.

I don't want to do this.

You will. You'll curse yourself all your life if you don't.

Percy...

Silence.

I'll miss you. Like hell.

Silence.

Percy?

~o~

Two weeks later Percy drove Rachel to the airport. He walked her as far as was allowed and then she turned to him and sighed and smiled. He gave her a hug as people stared and clicked pictures. He doesn't beat them to death with their own cameras.

He could feel the tears punching at the lens of his eyeball with all their tiny little strength, begging to get out and be free.

They both want to cry. So, so badly.

But Percy won't cry, because it's not the manly thing to do.

And Rachel won't cry, because it's much too girly for her taste, and not the proper thing to do in a public place. And plus, she doesn't need any more publicity.

I'll be back in three years. Maybe it'll all be the same...?

Percy looked at her like Do you really believe that? And she doesn't. Three years is a long time and by then, she would have found another guy and he would have found another girl and it'll all be over and done. She knew in her heart right then that things would never be the same between them.

But she met his gaze and smiled. I hope we can part ways as friends.

The evil little part of Percy that was still trying to get over the feeling of complete Betrayal screamed no.

Yes, Percy said.

She hugged him one last time and turned, walking slowly away in her too-big shirt and speckled shorts. And his heart snapped in two again and every movement of Rachel away from him caused him Pain. Pain so deep and so real, it was indescribable. And then he was seventeen again, totally alone, the world yanked out from beneath his feet, at the mercy of the cold wide world.

His phone rang. He answered with a hoarse voice. Hello?

I love you.

Rach?

...

I love you too.

Hey, Percy? Her voice seemed to have gained some of its old playfulness again. Keep in touch?

He had to smile. Always.

~o~

Rachel reached her dorm a day and a half later, and she opened her door. A girl stumbled to the doorway with a hamster of her shoulder and holey jeans, and she said hello and shook Rachel's hand with her own stained blue one.

Rachel smiled. Restart.

She proceeded to talk with her new roommate for an hour about the courses they were taking, and when it was time to go to bed she remembered Percy and her old life and she wanted to sob.

But she managed, because she was living her dream. And Rachel was strong.

Percy was a wreck.

Every time he would turn to his girlfriend that wasn't there it stung. Or rather, it felt like someone was poking a needle into his chest. Hard. Each time cutting him deeper and deeper. Again and again and again.

After two weeks of staying holed up at home, he decided to take a drive.

Where? Coach had asked irritably after Percy called to tell him that he'd have to miss practice. Again.

Anywhere.

~o~

Which was why he was driving along a tiny dirt road in the middle of nowhere at full speed, with no thought in his head other than to get away.

Percy cursed as he drove. He cursed every tree he passed, every stone he ran over. He cursed every star above his head. He was Angry and Hurt and just plain tired of his life.

But yelling felt awesome. He hadn't yelled this much since probably the day he was born. And it may not have been pleasant, but with the wind in his hair and nobody watching, it felt so, so good.

So when the other approaching vehicle blundered along in front of him, trucking along at a million miles an hour, Percy didn't even bother to slow down.

Crash.

~o~

When Percy woke up, his head was bandaged, his vision was blurry, and there were two people by his bedside: an old man in a wheelchair and a girl with curly blonde hair.

He blinked rapidly as the sound of knocking drifted up to his ears from the hallway. The girl looked at him and he shut his eyes quickly, but opened them again when she turned away.

The old man sighed. Probably more media parasites. Take care of the boy, Annabeth, dear. I'll be back in a minute.

Sure, Chiron, the girl – Annabeth - said. She sat down at his bedside and watched as Chiron wheeled himself away. Then she looked down at Percy.

Whoa.

So maybe his head was just screwed up from the crash or whatever – Percy's head reminded him that he'd just been through a breakup, but damn. Annabeth was pretty. Really pretty. He'd even go so far as to call her beautiful. With her golden hair and steely eyes, she looked like someone could be a good friend, or a challenge. Percy was intrigued.

Her grey eyes fixed on him with something like Disdain. Percy felt like he'd been stuck under an X-ray machine as she crossed her arms over her orange T-shirt, which read Camp Half-Blood. She had a nametag that said Chase, which meant that either that was her last name, or she was a Chaser on Camp Half-Blood's Quidditch team. Which was unlikely.

Feeling uncomfortable, he directed his gaze to the TV on his right, where the newscaster was saying, That's right, Gary. Percy Jackson has nabbed the thief. Stowed away in the other car was ten million dollars, so-

Yep, he's done it again, Gary said. Hero once again. Any updates on his condition, Mary?

Well, Mary said, stretching her over-glossed lips into a tight smile, we know he's alive. But he's still being detained – cue appreciative fake laughter from Gary – in that big blue-roofed house in that orphanage. We'll see if our men can get a breakthrough later.

Gary laughed. We'll all have to keep hoping then. Those guys are pretty stubborn. And now, in other news, a hurricane has hit the coast of–

Click.

Percy turned his head – Ow, ow, ow – to gaze triumphantly at the glaring girl. And Annabeth, though she may not have shown it, was disarmed by his forwardness.

She'd nursed him for two days with something like tenderness, surprising even herself, but she hadn't been prepared for this. She hadn't expected him to wake up so soon, and oh wow. His eyes. None of his photos could have prepared her for that. They were green and blue and black at the same time, and they swirled with all kinds of emotions which didn't show in his face or body language. Annabeth had to quickly close her mouth before he noticed something was wrong.

But one thing – besides intimidating people and her wits – Annabeth did pride herself upon was her ability to maintain a poker face. So she stared at Percy Jackson blankly until he began to feel quite disheartened.

He wasn't enjoying being the poor spineless victims of Annabeth's emotionless gaze. He'd expected her to say Wow! You're a hero! or I'm such a big fan! or something like that.

Annabeth snorted, like she was reading his mind.

You drool in your sleep.

~ I'm starting to believe that

this could be the start of something good ~

HELL YEAH. I finally got this crap up. Whew for that.

/* This was written for the AU oneshot competition on BlackSCrazy's forum Of Prompts and Challenges. Go check it out. Everyone there is just a bundle of pure awesome. */

I am in no way happy about this, but I'm so glad I got it up before the deadline of the competition. So yay!

And OMG, the Mark of Athena. Goshohgosh it was so beautiful. /dies

And um, I've been writing this on and off for a couple of months, now, so there might be mistakes in the tenses and grammar and spelling. If you spot any, please bring it to my notice. I'd be ever so thankful.

If you have the time, please review. I love haering from my readers, and I'd love some CC, because I wrote this in such a rush and it could really use some work.

Thanks for reading!

hoc