A/N: Do not do not DO NOT DO NOT tell me I'm flippant about rape for using it in a story. Just don't.

Set about 5 years in the future, when Leo and Reyna are officially together and old enough to drink.

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO/HoO or these beautiful babies.

Warnings: quasi-smut, rape backstory

They came in the door laughing, a little flushed from the winter cold and a few drinks, Leo's arm slung around Reyna's shoulders and her hand on his chest as they leaned against each other for warmth and balance. She wore her favorite off-the-shoulder purple sweater, and he his good clothes from Aphrodite: dressed up after a night out to celebrate the fifth anniversary of Gaea's defeat (and Reyna's twenty-first birthday). They skipped their usual trip to the kitchen for coffee/chocolate and instead collapsed right onto the couch, silly smiles plastered onto their faces. They sat in mirror image, leaning in close, one arm hooked over the back of the couch.

"If I ever hear Percy karaoke again," she began, making a face and breaking up into laughter.

"Dios mio, it was even worse than the shower singing in the Argo," he agreed, twirling a strand of her hair around one finger. She'd worn it down tonight, so that it fell in waves over her shoulders. He examined the dark curl and then examined her face, a Latino elf looking for the okay to open his Christmas presents. She held her breath.

"The dogs are in their kennel for the night," she whispered, her cheeks warm.

So Leo kissed Reyna, softly, smelling faintly of motor oil and campfire, and her fingers glanced over his cheek as she kissed him back. The back and forth was innocent enough, but as hands explored—his to her waist and stomach, hers to his shoulders under his shirt—it grew hotter, literally. His mouth felt like it steamed on her skin everywhere it touched, everywhere it wandered, on her own mouth then along her jawline, making her giggle in surprise when his tongue made first contact, soft and warm and wet on the side of her neck.

"Sorry," he mumbled, blushing red hot, but it hadn't been unpleasant. She only tilted her head and pressed into another kiss, this one half on his cheek in her haste. His fingers bunched in her hair, making her scalp tingle where he touched. His steaming kisses wandered from her mouth again—along her jaw, down her neck, into her shoulder—but it wasn't until his lips pressed into the hollow above her collarbone that she gasped, pleased, and he laughed mischievously into her skin.

She either said or thought, No fair, but when she slipped the suspenders off his shoulders and tugged him into her by the shirt, he mumbled her name in a way that made her think they might be even. She wasn't sure if she was breathing too hard or too shallowly, but either way her heart was racing and her rib cage heaving. His thumbs arced hot against her flat stomach as he began to roll her sweater upward. Maybe it was just her, but the room seemed to feel warmer, distinctly hotter, as she let him press her backwards, gently, gently.

But when her back hit the armrest—

A pirate, one of many, shoving her down in a dark room. A tangled, dirty beard. The putrid stench of body odor and rodent feces. Hands, feet, other extremities, shoving and groping and touching where she didn't want to be touched, and nothing she did could stop it.

Gasping, Reyna threw her shoulder into Leo's ribcage, caught her heel in his hip, and pushed out from under him hard, accidentally kneeing him under the chin in her hurry to scramble away. He recoiled with an guiltless swear, confused and in pain, as she hugged herself and shuddered against the armrest.

"Mierda, reina," he asked, rubbing the already-darkening bruise, his voice husky and half in his throat. "You okay? What . . .?"

She could scarcely even look at him, with his black hair rumpled and his shirt pulled halfway off. Gods, it had been too much. She squeezed her eyes shut and held herself tighter, tighter, rocking to comfort herself. Too much, too soon. But maybe it would always be too soon. Even though they'd been together for over a year now, and it had been nine years since those men on Circe's island.

She felt him touch her arm, tentatively, and she jerked away from him, tugging her sweater back down over her stomach, as far as it would go.

"Reina, I have no idea what just happened. Ayúdame, please." Help me. How could she help him when she couldn't even help herself?

"I don't . . ." Her voice caught, and she could only shake her head. She wished she were stronger. But she was always the weaker one. Hylla, Jason, Percy, pirates, always someone stronger than she was. Daughter of Bellona, former praetor. Pathetic. Her eyes burned, and when she pressed her cheek into her shoulder it was wet.

Leo didn't touch her again, but even with her eyes closed, she could feel his weight still on the couch beside her. She couldn't decide whether she wanted him to stay or leave. He was quiet for a long time, and then he offered:

"We don't . . . we don't have to if you don't want to."

Reyna opened her eyes then, though her lids resisted, tired and heavy. He straightened his shirt, kept his eyes on the back of the couch rather than on her. His face was flushed as he tried to smooth his curls back down.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she meant it. He didn't know about the pirates yet, and she didn't think she could explain it right now. The best she could give him was "It's not you. I just . . . have a few . . . scars."

He searched her face, his eyes dark and deep and hurting for her. She blinked hard and looked away.