AN: Hey everyone! I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is appreciated.

EDIT: I reposted the one-shot, this time properly edited and without grammatical errors (I hope.) Thank you, and enjoy!

Peace. ~SmartzyFan

Skies

~O~O~O~O~

For if the skies were different for every special moment, it'd have to be arranged by fate.

She first met him in a storm.

She once thought that it was impressive for someone so young like him to go and do whatever it takes to find something he could live off on his own. She once had thought, dryly impressed, about just how foolish they can be.

Most peculiar, she thinks, that a child would venture out in the darkest and coldest of nights, wearing nothing but a thin, scrappy shirt that she once saw on disgusting, homeless men.

She watches from the camp's protective barriers as the boy forges through the dark—steely, fiery determination burning in his eyes, piercing through the rain. She watches as he shivers and hugs the almost nonexistent shirt to his bony frame, craving for heat one would so love at a time like this.

Making a decision, she stands with an open umbrella and walks to him. His weak body could not exactly push forward the strong wind.

"Boy," she says, and he looks up at her. They regard each other for a few moments; he, an eleven-year old boy with jet-black hair and sea green eyes that seem all too familiar, seems mildly fascinated that the umbrella doesn't jerk one bit.

She tuts. "Get under. I will walk you to a warm place," she orders, putting the umbrella over his head. Yet he does something surprising: he steps back and shakes his head. "Leave me alone. I want to do this on my own so I can take care of myself better when I'm older."

She notices nothing in his speech but rudeness. "Suit yourself, foolish boy," she spits. "Someone could very well kill you in this storm." Glancing up at the sky, she turns back to return to her camp.

She is only a few steps away, when he stops her and calls, "Wait!"

She pauses, but not really sure why. He is a silent boy, not like the others of his kind who are loud and obnoxious, though his life could have made him change from that. "I.. Can I borrow your umbrella?"

She is surprised. She initially thought that he would try to change her mind and have her turn back, or offer to go with her into the camp; but all he asks for is the darn umbrella.

She inhales, and then releases it slowly, making a translucent fog. She turns and gives it to him. "Here."

He reaches for it and looks at her. The image appears almost fantastical: two people of the opposite sex holding the same umbrella under the rain. He doesn't seem to notice and smiles sincerely. "Thank you, Miss."

He takes the umbrella from her grasp, does a bow, and walks away, not looking back.

She doesn't exactly remember all her actions, all the little details through the past millennia, but this might be the first time she did something good for a boy.

She met him again under the sun.

She once thought that it was impressive for a kid like him to actually live off his promise. She had thought once, dryly impressed, that not all boys are so stupid, after all.

She sees him, seemingly from another dimension in black school pants and green school polo shirt, a bag slung over his shoulder, walking home from school alone; and he sees her. He is holding something in his hand.

He blinks at her. "It's you." His eyes go over her, curious unlike the way most boys do. "You're wearing the same clothes as before."

She does not notice how affectionate it is for him to remember what she donned the first time they met. "You're that foolish boy from the storm."

He pays the implied insult no heed and smiles at her. "Hey. Sorry for being rude last time. You really helped me out."

"How so?" She finds herself catching up with him as he continues walking.

He proceeds on telling her his life story: how he found a small job, how an old couple found him on the job, how they made to adopt him, how they gave him the apartment; and so on. He tells all this trustfully towards her. She only sees it an advantage for a hunter to know his weakest defenses.

"And how did I help you?" She stops in front of what she supposed as his apartment block. She takes note of it.

He smiles shyly—again, unlike most boys who were pompous and cocky—and offers her the thing in his hand. She looks at it; she is surprised that she didn't notice before. "I'm giving it back to you. If it hadn't been for that, as you said, I would have died of cold in that storm."

He hands her the umbrella, which looks as if it didn't come through a storm. It was enchanted, after all. It conveniently shields both of them from view of the annoying Apollo, though this boy doesn't know that—

He bows to her—but does he know that she's a goddess? He keeps bowing all the time. Boys do not do respectful things unless they know they have to, which, because of their daftness, rarely happens. "Thank you, Miss...?" then he looks up at her expectantly.

She doesn't answer and looks away.

"Okay.." There is a frown in his statement, and it upset something inside her. She decides to settle it.

"I'm glad that I helped you," she says out of discomfort. He smiles, and she couldn't help but smile back. She turns and leaves, the umbrella he so lovingly took care of clutched tightly in her hand. "The Fates might let us meet again, boy."

She doesn't exactly remember all her actions, all the little details through the past millennia, but this might be the first time she smiled at a boy.

She met him twice again in the snow.

She once thought that it was impressive for a mortal like him to be vaguely aware of the things he can't be aware of. She once had thought, dryly impressed, of just how deceiving he could be.

She surveys the area, and, seeing two likely escape points, she commands the Hunters to scatter around at the tree line—half at the front double doors and half at the cliff at the back of the school.

And then she sees him, pressed against a tree in a forest surrounding the school. As her hunters move away, she approaches him. He is in a casual plaid polo shirt and jeans. She does admit that he has grown.

"Boy," she hisses, and slightly disconcerted, he looks up at her. His eyes widen.

"It's you again," he says in a whisper. "You look the same."

"What are you doing here?" she questions, ignoring his previous statement. Of course he would say that—drat she forgot that they met a few years ago.

She wonders how he got here from the distance where she last met him, which, by the way, she doesn't exactly recall much. It's hard to remember something good about a boy. All she knows is that he shouldn't be here.

"My grandpa died," he starts, making her blink. "Grandma sent me to her niece who lives near here in case she went next." The word euphemism doesn't seem familiar to him. "Then I went to school here," he explains, looking over her curiously as if to see her reaction towards seeing him here.

Acceptable, she thinks, suspicious though.

"What are you doing out here, then?" she asks harshly.

"Something's wrong inside," he answers, again ignoring her jeer. He is trying to peer through the small slit-like windows of the school. "It's Dr. Thorn. He's grumpier than usual."

"Thorn.." She sounds it in her mouth. "How so?"

"Three kids about my age went in the front gate," he replies, looking to her. "I haven't seen them before. Then I heard Thorn shout from the main hall."

She narrows her eyes. This Thorn must be the manticore they have been hunting. If it is here, along with the three campers on the quest, then the two powerful Hades' spawn must be here as well. Perfect time to hit two birds with one stone. However..

"You stay here, boy," she orders him firmly, straightening the creases in her parka. "It is dangerous out there. Safer it is if you stay here."

"What?" he protests rather loudly. She glares in annoyance. "It's even more unsafe for you! Just... just look at you!" She does not notice how concerned he is for her.

Her glare hardens, yet he still appears unfazed. "I can take care of myself, boy. Stay here. Run away if you want. It's for your own good."

"But—"

She hears none of it, and darts into the woods near the cliff just as Thorn drags out two children by the scruffs of their necks. A camper is herded with them. Why does she even care about keeping him safe, anyway? It is not like she would gain anything good from it.

The other campers and the satyr shoot through the back door of the gym, and Thorn starts to change shape. The battle is near. She finds herself glancing back to where she left the boy, expecting only the tree. Yet there he is, watching carefully from behind the tree.

He actually obeyed her.

She doesn't exactly remember all her actions, all the little details through the past millennia, but this might be the first time she showed care for a boy's wellbeing.

…

"I will see you by winter solstice. Zoë, you are in charge of the Hunters. Do well. Do as I would," she encourages.

Her faithful lieutenant straightens. "Yes, my lady."

The tracks are still fresh. Not that there is much to extract, but.. "So much danger," she mutters to herself. "The beast must be found."

Before she leaves, she glances again at the tree the boy hid behind. As expected, he vanished without a trace. It is sunrise, anyway. He should be back to where he should be. She just wonders: how much did he see?

Brushing off the thought, she started into the woods. She travels, following the tracks, until she reaches a certain place in the current city. And she sees him again.

He is dutifully plowing the thick snow from a yard, and as he made to dispose of it, he sees her standing there. He blinks in surprise.

"Oh. You again."

She rolls her eyes at him and approach. "What are you doing here?"

He smiles for some reason. "You seem to like asking me that." She frowns, annoyed by this boy who dares to ridicule her. Then again, he doesn't know who she is. "I live here, Miss Anon."

She raises an eyebrow. "Anon?"

He scratches his head. "Yeah. We haven't been properly introduced before," he realizes. His eyes lit up as this came to him, and he extends his hand. "Hi. I'm Percy. What's your name?"

He is but a mere mortal, she reminds herself. He shouldn't know. Although, he could be something else. But then again, he is a boy. A boy.

But still, "Artemis." The name itself is enough, she reckons. She doesn't accept his hand. Not in any way would she touch a boy.

Nevertheless, he grins as if this doesn't bother him. She does not notice how great of a habit he has to always see the good side of things. "Artemis. Like the Greek goddess of the moon. I like Greek mythology."

She is not sure how to respond. A boy usually doesn't talk about anything else other than power, looks, girls, riches. Her mouth moves on its own. "Me too."

He looks even more excited, like a child given a candy. "Can I tell you something?" Before she could even respond, he continues, "Artemis, your namesake, is my favorite of them all. I mean, just look at the moon. I think it represents her... serenity, and beauty, I guess. And I think she's the most honorable. Protecting young girls and wildlife is just so... I dunno. I can't explain it."

She is speechless as he turns to her, looking for opinion. "What about you? What do you think of her?"

She shakes her head slowly. "Nothing.. I-I just remembered that I have some errands to run." And run she did, straight into the forest and toward the west.

Her bow is brandished, ready to fire at something hostile. She continues her search for the Ophiotaurus, but the past conversation runs through her head over and over like her conscience.

He admires you. He admires you for your domains, not for something else.

She remembers just how suspicious it was for him to be outside Westover Hall, pressed against a tree, and knowing what's going on inside. He may have known her from the start, and does this to distract her.

She did not manage to go far before an enemy group caught her in an ambush and threw a bronze net over her. On the other side of the net is Thorn, smiling sinisterly. She curses herself for letting her guard down. And of all, she curses and blames the boy who pushed her guard down.

She blames him. She hates him for doing this to her. And yet..

She doesn't exactly remember all her actions, all the little details through the past millennia, but this might be the first time she took notice of a boy's unreliable words.

She met him once again at a hurricane.

She once thought that it was impressive for a boy like him to stand still at a worldly disaster just to help her. She once had thought, dryly impressed, of how powerful he thinks he is to have the strength to help her.

Distractions. Due to her keen senses, they're always likely to show up. So when she made to maneuver around Typhon's claw, she sees something on the ground that startles her so much that Typhon goes for the hit and succeeds.

She growls as her chariot strafes and her silver deer sputters, like a helicopter. Because of this pause, Typhon manages to get a hit in—again. Her chariot slowly gives in and falls, and she jumps off before it crashes to the ground. She looks up at the monster, whose head hides high up above the clouds. At this point on the ground, it would be useless to attempt any attack, in which she scowls at. She hates being useless.

She checks her war vehicle. Her chariot is far from damaged, but the deer are heavily injured. Since they are immortal, like her, they cannot die; and she cannot replace them so easily. She can't have a vehicle that doesn't move.

For now, she skims the asphalt for the something that she saw. Or rather, spotting it, someone. She saunters over.

There he is, lying on the concrete in the path of battle, sleeping by Morpheus' magic. What is he doing here? She asks herself. As she stares down at his face, she remembers seeing the younger him from years ago. She clenches her fists as her mind comes to a conflict.

This boy is to blame for the injuries of her deer. This boy is to blame for her capture by the titans. This boy, to put it simply, suspiciously seems to give her trouble every time.

But he's a mortal. A foolish, silly mortal boy. A mortal who had beautiful, vibrant sea green eyes as if he was a son of her uncle. The first mortal boy who managed to fluster her. The first ever mortal boy whom she has had a civil conversation with. As she stares down at his peaceful face, she wonders why it took her so long to decide.

She moves him over.

She starts to run toward Central Park, where a hurricane has taken temporary residency. Just as she took the second wide step, the bodies around her begin to stir. Some groan and try to sit up, in the process of regaining their bearings.

She swears silently. With more obstacles for the outnumbered campers, the titans' forces could push to the advantage. She looks back to where she moved him. She couldn't see through the building she put him behind, but his shadow is moving. At least he is safe. With luck, the boy may be wise enough to stay and hide. She just hopes that he won't wonder how he ended up there when he fell asleep on the pavement.

She turns her attention back to the hurricane. She sees that the son of Poseidon is manipulating it, and possibly, he made it as well. Strong boy, she admits grudgingly. But then she catches sight of who he's dealing with and grits her teeth. But still stupid.

Since it isn't against the Ancient Laws if she is to interfere (the titan is an immortal as well anyway), she leaps into the air just as her foot touches the shore, changing into a falcon. Her eyesight grows ten times sharper (as if it makes any notable difference to when she was in human form) and sounds seem amplified to her ears. She flies upward for a better perspective.

The hurricane is visibly weakening, but it holds. Any moment now, Poseidon's boy should be able to disarm Hyperion—if he is as strong as she thinks. The titan is continuously staggering backward now; any time could work. She folds her wings and dive for his fiery head.

Alas, she miscalculated. As her sharp beak is about to penetrate Hyperion's skull, the boy chose that moment to strike him with his sword, and he succeeds, sending both her and the titan flying in different directions. She tries to flap her wings to absorb the impact, but one jerk made her wince. Her wings were cut. Changing back won't heal the wound; if only, it could make it worse. She had no other choice but to brace herself for the crash.

However, as she rockets through the air headfirst, a familiar figure opens their arms and catches her. The impact is so strong that she doesn't stop flying—although she brought them with her.

It soon comes to a stop as her feathery head lands safely on a body. The figure lies on the grass, unmoving. She slowly rolls off, and instinctively, changes back into a twelve-year old body. The cut on her arm is long. It makes her slightly dizzy.

Though knowing nectar won't do much to a wound obtained in her animal form, she drinks some, just to regain some strength. Then she looks over her savior. She is shocked, to say the least.

It is he. The boy who got her deer injured. The boy who got himself injured.

"Stupid, stupid boy," she mutters in disbelief, taking in the small, bloody cuts on his arms and legs, the blood at his head, the blood dripping from his mouth. She knows much about mortal first-aid, but she knows someone who could do better. After whispering her brother's name, she stands look for the titan. Hyperion is now immobilized. Is that something to celebrate about? She asks herself.

"Sister." Her brother has arrived.

"Apollo," she does not notice how shaky her voice is, how worried and concerned she is as she addresses her brother. She thinks it is just anger. "Heal him. Now."

Her brother blinks as he takes in the battered body of the boy beside her. "He's a mortal," Apollo says, confused.

She glares at him. "Didn't you hear me? I said heal him, or have you lost your ears?"

Her brother is taken aback, but he complies and quickly gets to work on the boy.

She doesn't exactly remember all her actions, all the little details through the past millennia, but this might be the first time she forced her brother to heal a boy.

She didn't think she would meet him again.

She once thought that it was impressive for a boy like him to die so unselfishly. She once thought, dryly impressed, that if he had just let her get hurt, he wouldn't have to go through all the pain and lies the mortals have told him.

She watches silently, disgusted as her stepmother carries on her plan for the camps. Not that it is a particularly bad idea; her father has been a stubborn jerk and insists on being cowardly and locking Olympus up for safety, the gods with it—as if it helped in any way. Fortunately, his wife was much and obviously wiser than he was.

But her plan was absolutely insane. Sure, it can lead to a better and way stronger fighting force—or it can lead to World War III. She'd prefer sitting back to watch than to bet more than three hundred lives on the losing side. Not, again, that she could do anything about it.

As her Roman half-brother is finishing his silly quest of journeying through Mt. Tam (which is nothing compared to what the Greeks went through—then again, that could be her Greek side thinking), she is given the chance to observe the de facto leader of the Greek demigods, who is sleeping much like a child. She doesn't originally like to, but he is the only reminder of him.

She bites her lip in frustration. There you go again, she thinks, scolding herself. She knew that she needn't, more appropriately shouldn't, beat herself up for it. He was just a boy. A stupid, self...less mortal boy who lost his life to save her own. The fact that his sacrifice was for naught makes her even guiltier. But again, why should she? It was his own sugar-fabricated gallantry.

Somehow, thinking that made it worse.

That does it. She stands from her couch, determined to do something about the uncomfortable feeling in her chest that grew with Hera's plans. However, the horrifying realization comes to her that she has no idea what to do with it.

"What troubles you, my dear?" The goddess who accompanied her asks gently. She jumps, but smiles at her, although somewhat startled. "Nothing that can't be solved."

She looks sad. "You forgot that I was there, didn't you?"

She blinks, the guilt swelling. "I'm sorry. I was thinking."

Hestia smiled. "I understand. You're thinking about the boy," she assumes, nodding at her fire, which shows a slightly distorted image of the son of Poseidon.

She shakes her head quickly, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. "No, not that boy; I—"

"I know. You were thinking about that boy who died because of you. That boy from Maine."

On most occasions, she'd think that there are too many boys who could hold those titles. But she knows now. One person managed to put those titles into a tube filter that falls to a single name. The name of a boy she would probably never forget.

But wait, how did she...? "Yes. But how...?"

"Oh," she chuckles softly, smiling at her, though her eyes are sad. "Of course, you wouldn't notice myself watching over you. I'm sorry if that detail bothered you," she adds, like a gentle mother comforting her daughter. A daughter who never noticed her.

"I—oh," she blushes, looking downwards in shame. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

"You don't need to do that, niece."

"I insist."

"Well then, if you must.." The older goddess thinks for a while. Normally she is a patient person, especially for girls and women, but she finds it suspenseful and instead concentrated on the son of Poseidon again. She takes note of their similarity—the curve of their noses, shape of their chins, the unruly black hair. She imagines similar sea green eyes behind those lids.

Darn it, she grimaces. She is thinking about him again. Curse that boy.

"Ah," her companion says, snapping her out of her thoughts. She is smiling at her, and looking very well decisive. "I will simply ask of you to let me have my way."

She raises an eyebrow. She expected her to tell her to admit something or maybe invite her more like this time. Then again, she is an empathetic goddess. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I have an idea that could do well for you, if not for the both of us," she replies, contentedly relaxing against her chair as if this idea of hers was the best she made in a while. She couldn't imagine that; Hestia is a wise goddess, and she probably has made millions of productive ideas in her immortal lifetime.

"May I ask?" She tries reading her expression, curious. Unfortunately, she did not give anything away.

"You may, but I won't answer you," she tells her with a triumphant smile. "Do not fret; you will see the effects soon enough."

She frowns, but seeing as it can show itself to her; she decides to let it go. She asks a different question, but of the same subject. "Why did you ask of me to let you? I could have, even if you don't say it. Or you could have done it without me knowing."

The goddess's smile suddenly turns into a smirk, an unfamiliar expression on her face. "You would stop me if you'd know. Believe it or not."

She tilts her head to the side and nods slowly, noting how odd it is that she seems to have changed briefly at that moment. Then again, all people have another side—a different, concealed side that no one else knows. So much for her being empathetic.

She turns back to the boy in the fire, who is now stirring. She blinks. If she understood the plan correctly, the boy isn't supposed to wake until next month. Something is wrong.

The goddess with her doesn't seem to notice as she stands, straightening her robes. "I'm off now. Shall I douse the projection?"

She is still startled from the thought of something bad happening, unlike the way she was in the past. This isn't relatively new to her, but today, she feels like it is. Nevertheless, she tears her eyes away and onto her companion and nods in consent. With a wave of her hand, the flame smothers.

She stares at the embers of the magic fire that once resided in her fireplace, contemplating about what she just saw. Her stepmother surely must have cut the one-month wait, but for what reason? If there is one thing she knew about her, it is that once she set her mind on one, she wouldn't let it go.

"Artemis, my dear? Is something wrong?"

Very, she wants to say, but she holds her tongue. "Nothing."

…

Ah, of course her stepmother isn't as strategic as Athena is. Not even as crafty. And hell could she be as defenseless as a cotton ball. A bloodied cotton ball.

Not that she is particularly bothered by her capture; in fact, it provided more benefits than none. Her father is as devastated as ever, and he might not see a swift hunter make a beeline for the mortal world while his queen and guard are thrown into the garbage for a hefty amount of time. Oh, and his ego would allow him to think that every god and goddess who lives on Mount Olympus is that afraid of him to obey his orders.

The thought made her snort. The Master Bolt should have that ego, not him.

So here she is right now, going far as hiding out in California. She longs to go to her hunters again, but as much as she trusts them, she cannot let anyone know that she descended here, neglecting her father's orders. But it isn't really that detail that apprehends her—it's the reason why.

She would have to lay low for a while. No one should know what she is doing. If no one would tell her, then so be it; she'd have to figure things out on her own. While making sure that no one found her out.

Then again, everything could've been easier if she just stayed put. That would've been less productive though—not to mention boring.

As far as she knows, her stepmother is captured, and Death is put on hold. Which means that absolutely no living being can die while the winged angel with the scythe is still wriggling in his restraints. And then... the Doors of Death are left open.

Preventing Death himself from any action is one thing. It would just stop any soul from travelling into the Underworld. Opening the Doors of Death, however..

It may lead souls in and out of the Underworld. Thus, it is either certain death or revival. Reincarnation.

Why is this bothering her so much? And why does she feel like she should get close to the son of Poseidon to know?

She does not notice how this seems to point everything to a boy's name, because she keeps pushing the thought away—wanting to forget that his death ever happened.

…

The son of Poseidon reunited with his Greek friends, and together with two of the Roman friends he made, they prepare to set sail to Greece, her original home. As unusual as it is to say it, she is the least bit happy that her stepmother's plan worked. Poseidon's boy is still alive.

And surprisingly, she has contributed to that fact.

An accurately placed arrow was all it took, truthfully. She would've been happy to give more. She isn't tolerable to unfair play, but she'd do anything. Just to make him stay alive.

Yes, she admits it now. She knows now the difference between yesterday and today, the past and the present. As she observes the boy now, they have similarities more than just looks. She is determined to preserve the rarity of a pure heart of a boy. There are only two of them. The other one died because of her.

She is determined not to let that happen again.

One might say that it is very low of her to save boys, when she was supposed to persecute their vile bunch because of her duty as a protector of young girls. But they don't know what she knows. They don't know that she feels a special connection towards one of them... the one who died.

It is the least she could do to honor his pointless sacrifice. She narrows her eyes and snorts at the memory; though she isn't sure, she might have had difficulty doing so. The idiot, she thinks miserably for the first time in her life.

Right now, as she sits on her couch (she decided to return after that skirmish at Camp Jupiter), another uncomfortable feeling settles in her stomach that she might have forgotten something. But what? It is stronger than before. It was weakening toward the end of the skirmish, but as the demigods prepare to leave for Epirus, it returned. But what could it be? Anxiousness?

Artemis the Huntress infrequently gets this feeling, if not at all. The last time she might have felt it was... when she found out that she shot Orion, as he was dying..? Yes, that may be it.

Does it mean that someone dear to her is dying?

Nearly impossible. Apollo and Zeus (as much as she hated admitting it) are all she has, and they are immortal. Perhaps Athena or Hestia, but they have the same situation. It could also not be her hunters, as they are camped off in a forest somewhere, away from all war conflict. This feeling could have resulted from the pressure of the war. Unless..

Not someone is dying. Rather, it is something.

She needs to resolve this. She needs space to think. Her palace is not enough. It would be harder to leave Olympus now, since her stepmother is revived from the garbage, and her father is in better state. His ego still needs healing, though. She uses the opportunity and goes out the manual way. It is less likely to sense her departure of the city, but more easily spotted going in and out. She uses the elevator anyway.

She then travels to Maine by divine transport. She travels somewhere near Westover Hall... or more specifically, where she first introduced herself to him. Where his adoptive parents are probably still looking for him. His body isn't exactly delivered properly.

Wait a second.. What is she doing here, anyway?

She does not know. Yet somehow, being in the presence of his home decreased the pit in her stomach. Maybe this is where her instinct led her to settle the discomfort she is feeling. Then again, what does this have to do with anything? This was a year ago. He died a year ago.

She looks at the house. It is dull. Forlorn. Lifeless. Dying. And that, she imagines, is a result of the boy's sudden disappearance from this house. Since she is the cause of his loss, she did this to the house. She is killing it. Guilt strikes her, again.

But then, just as it spreads through her being, she sees something that can make a mortal's eyes widen as to the Christians' reaction to their teacher's resurrection. It even made her eyes widen. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be.

There he is, opening the curtains to let colorful morning light into the gray place. He is smiling as he does so. He spots her by the gate and his smile widens. He waves to her and hastens out of the house toward her.

"Artemis!" he calls cheerfully, waving as he runs toward her. He hugs her, which surprised her immensely, but her hands subconsciously wrap around him as well. She does not notice the form she is in just yet, and she doesn't really care. She does not notice a small girl smile with happiness as she watches her from afar. "I missed you."

Her heart warms at the statement, for a reason she doesn't know. She feels an abrupt chill however, when he releases her from the hug. He looks over her, confused. "Huh. Favorite clothes, yeah?"

He is referring to her hunter's outfit. "Ah, yes," she answers, stumbling over words. "W-what are you.. I—I thought you were—" She stops. It's no use going back to terrible memories.

"I was what?" he presses, raising a curious eyebrow.

She shakes her head, a ghost of a smile blooming on her face. "Nothing. I just thought you were.." Her throat goes dry. Why does she keep on going back to the subject? "...hospitalized."

He blinks, and then the smile comes back to his features. "I was, for a while. I didn't know you cared."

She frowns. She is about to ask confirmation, but decided that it will make her look like she guessed. "What happened, then?" Realizing what she just said, she quickly adds, "I didn't get any details."

He appears to be thinking deeply. "Well, I was in New York when it happened," he begins, and a thought strikes her. If he saved her while in falcon form, could it be possible that he knew who she really was? "I was commuting, and I was crossing the street to get to a friend's house. And then... something weird happened, and then I just saw you running towards a hurricane which I was sure that wasn't there before."

Her breath catches. If this mortal boy happens to know, she would perhaps leave him alone for good. Never to be seen again. "And then what?"

"And then you..," he hesitates, looking up at her apprehensively. He might cut something out, but it doesn't matter. She knew what happened. She knew the truth. The only thing that puzzles her is that how he is here right now. "I don't know. I was in the hospital after that.. I lost my memory of the time after that incident. I just woke up yesterday. That's what the doctor told me."

She feels the need to insult him. "If only you hadn't been so stupid and stayed back, you wouldn't have woken just yesterday."

He looks at her and frowns deeply. She thinks that she may have gone too far with that weak insult—how fragile boys are today—but then he doesn't seem to be frowning at that. "Yeah, well. You don't look like you've grown these past months while I was asleep." He scratches his head, raising an eyebrow at her. "Come to think of it, you look the same from when we first met."

Her stomach lurches. She makes a mental note to change appearances next time. If there ever is a next time. "Never mind that," she says, waving it away. His frown turns upside down—liking the idea, it appears. "What do you remember after you ran to the hurricane?"

He purses his lips and looks at her, his eyes confused. "I told you. After I saw you running toward it, I don't know what happened next. Something... happened. My memory was lost."

She could not be sure, but this boy might be lying about that lost memory. He is about to say something else other than that explanation. There was something he saw, and he might not have forgotten it.

She does not notice how she is simultaneously thinking about telling the truth, while she is thinking about how he could have gone back to life. Then she finds herself shrugging off the latter.

The anxiousness is gone now. She briefly wonders why, before the question disappears into the back with her deepest and darkest thoughts.

She doesn't exactly remember all her actions, all the little details through the past millennia, but this might be the first time she is grateful for a boy's revival.

She last conversed with him under the moon.

She once thought that it was impressive for a man like him to be brutally honest. She once thought, dryly impressed, that perhaps Aphrodite could be given credit, after all.

She never would have thought of doing this in the past, but now, she is doing it.

It started out as assurance. She needs to make sure that he really is still living, and to do that, she visits. The visits soon become frequent. She remembers to change into a fifteen-year old every time. His adoptive parents now see her as one of their own.

On every visit, she and he will have long chats. About what? About everything, in general. They always find a topic to talk about, and by the time they run out, it would have been three hours or more after she first arrived, and it was time to leave. Her hunters never suspect, because she always visits at night. When they think that she is off to drive her chariot across the sky.

She gets herself acquainted with him and his family. She knows his favorites: his color blue, his food cheeseburgers, his movie "Finding Nemo," as childish as it sounds (she laughed at that one), and; so on. She is surprised to be feeling like she has known him forever.

So this is friendship with a male, she once thought in amazement.

She has a lot of friends, but all of them are girls. She didn't know the good sides of boys, since most of the time she had no intention to know. She thought that they weren't worth her time, that they would end up just leaving her alone like the true friends they are. That's why she sticks to girls.

"You really sound like Artemis," he said on one of their chats. "You say that girls are such an awesome kind. And that guys should be punished for whatever reason. You're truly sexist, aren't you?"

She denied that, saying that the mentioned adjective was only reserved for males like him.

He laughed at that. She wondered how he always seemed to overlook insults. "Okay, not sexist. Judgmental, then?" Then he leaped back, chortling when she snorted and raised a hand to hit him.

It is always like that. She wishes that it would go on forever. But she also ought to tell him the truth about herself sooner or later. Using a false identity like this was wrong. It's like telling that their friendship is fake. For some reason, that detail hurt her more than it should have.

And so she tries, even though knowing that it meant leaving him for good. She implies constantly when they wander into the topic of Greek mythology that perhaps, the gods were still living and perhaps, they were real. That perhaps, his favorite figure in Greek mythology was really right in front of him.

But he isn't getting any of that. He only thinks that she is just as obsessed in Greek mythology as he is, if not more, to think that they maybe aren't mythical.

She continues to try.

Their friendship blooms, in a matter of weeks with her visiting every other day, into something... unfamiliar, yet pleasant. She is relieved that the Giant War is over, and no conflicted two groups seem to want to kill each other anymore. Everything is well, and that makes it all a lot better.

As she attends the next summer solstice meeting, frequently mentioned it is that nothing is out of hand. The infamous Seven, more importantly Poseidon's son, are still alive. The boy left her amazed again, when he asked the gods not to make any more enemies instead of accepting his (second) gift of godhood. Further, he might have asked for something else more personal from a certain goddess she knows (no point in mentioning her), but it seems nothing that would interest her (the moon goddess).

For some odd reason, the Hunters, who were present during the meeting, knew what the boy asked for and this appeared to extend their respect for him. She plays along. Although, after dinner after the meeting, as she tells them that she will just take her nightly duty, they look the least bit suspicious. Then when she blinks, all trace of it was gone and they are obediently saying that they would guard the camp.

She thinks that it is only her imagination as she arrives at the gate of his house. His father, who is currently fixing something on the roof, notices her sixteen-year old form and waves. He then shouts downward, "Percy! Your friend is here!"

The seventeen-year old boy bursts out the door and grins at her. He unlocks the gate to let her in. "Hiya. Welcome home."

She raises an eyebrow at him, half-smiling as she walks in. "Home?"

"Well yeah," he shrugs his shoulders and leads her to the front door. "You're here almost every night. Might as well live here, yeah?"

She hasn't really thought of that.

He lets her in the door first like the gentleman he is, before following in after her. One would think that it's her home by how deliberately she navigates inside it. "So uh.. Today's a special day. For me, anyway."

"How come?" she asks, sitting down on a chair as his mother enters the kitchen. She greets her with a 'good evening, dear' and offers her some pasta. She declines politely.

"Wre, uh," he starts with a mouthful of spaghetti. She rolls her eyes as he attempts to swallow it, struggling. "I've got something to show you. And I bet it's something you'd want to see," he says confidently after clearing out the food in his mouth.

"Oh yeah?" She smiles, propping her elbows up the table and cupping her hands to support her chin. She watches him grin widely and nod, taking another sip of the spaghetti. "I'll look forward to it, then."

He quickly swallows the pasta in his lips and stands up, surprising her. "I'll tell you what—I'll show it to you right now."

She blinks, but follows his lead. "But you haven't finished your pasta."

He shakes his head and grabs her hand, pulling her toward the door. Her face suddenly feels warm. What could have caused it? She couldn't be running a fever. "I'll finish it later. You're more important at the moment."

She has no answer to that.

He leads her to the back of the house, where a forest stood. They enter it.

"Where are we going?" she inquires, glancing around cautiously for anything even mildly dangerous.

"Your home turf."

"W-what?" He smiles fleetingly, as if he enjoys her confusion, his grip on her hand tightening warmly.

He stops at a cliff overlooking the sea. From here, the beautiful moon could be seen in all its glory. She steps beside him, admiring the view, not letting go of his hand.

"It's beautiful," she breathes, making him look at her.

"You do realize you're praising yourself, right?"

She blinks and looks at him, confused. He sighs and lets go. The usual cheerful look he had in his eyes a while ago has disappeared.

"Look.. I have been... lying to you, see."

As if he is the only one.

"No, I—" she tries to say.

"Please, Artemis. Please hear me out?"

She pacifies, feeling as if a black hole is thawing her stomach out. Something is going to go terribly wrong, right here, right now, and she just knows that this is the moment she dreaded from the first time she visited his home.

"You see, I... I just don't know where to start."

"Let me start then."

"No. I.." He exhales loudly, dropping to the floor, his legs dangling off the cliff. "I lied to you, you see. I wasn't hospitalized."

Her breath catches. He does know the truth. "You mean... you were.."

He looks away. "Yeah. I should be... dead."

It sounded strange, coming from him. "Then how?" She then becomes furious with him, yet she doesn't have an idea why. "Why? Why didn't you say sooner?"

His mouth twitches the slightest, as though he is resisting the urge to smile. You do not notice the pain behind it. "The same reason why you didn't say yours, I hope."

The rage quells, and all she does is close her eyes and bow her head. "…How... then?"

"Hestia."

Her mind swirls, trying to come up with an understanding. How is she involved in all this? Unless..

I have an idea that could do well for you, if not for the both of us.

That sinking feeling when the heroes saved Thanatos. When they went off to close the Doors of Death. It was fear. It was fear of losing him forever.

Fear of losing him forever.

Of losing him forever.

Losing him forever.

Forever.

It isn't right. It can't be right. She couldn't be feeling it. Not for a boy. Especially not for a boy.

"I'm sorry, I.. It was selfish of me. I always cut you off when you're about to say something, because I," he takes a shuddering breath, evidently having difficulty. "I didn't want our friendship to end. I didn't want you leaving for good."

It is the same reason why she was thankful that he cuts her off.

"I lied to you from the start," he finishes, exhaling heavily. He shifts away from her, and she just felt that... that it hurt. "There. I said it. I lied to you. I lied."

"I did too, don't forget," she finally speaks, but her eyes don't open.

"You didn't. You just... kept it. Is it because of the same reason?"

She hesitates, swallowing a lump in her throat. "I was scared."

She hears his breaths stop, making everything overwhelmingly silent. Even the sea beneath seems to have behaved itself. She feels that she is alone again. She couldn't feel any presence around her. Like when she thought that he departed and would never come back.

"I won't leave you."

She opens her eyes, and finds his presence most near. He continues to breathe.

Her lip quivers, staring mournfully at the ground, and then she shakes her head and stands up, turning to leave. He is crestfallen. "I.. I'm sorry, Percy."

It is the first time she said his name, and most certainly the last.

Everything was so easy for him back then. But after that, it never was.

He continued to be impressive. He was independent and determined. He was promising and certain. He was observant and cunning. He was strong and gentlemanly. He was selfless and protective. He was honest, and... endearing.

She had long before begun to notice how ambitioned he was. How affectionate it was that he remembered what people wore on their first meeting. How concerned he was of strangers going into danger. How great of a habit it was that he always sees the good side of things. How he hides his own pain for the sake of others. How utterly beautiful all these things made him.

Anything that no other man had.

She'd made a grave mistake at that final night, and until then she'd regretted it.

For if the skies were different for every special moment, it'd have to be arranged by fate.

Days before, she'd thought about the difference if she hadn't left the cliff.

And as she sat quietly by his grave, she knew she still didn't understand love.