Stop and Stare:
Percy/Annabeth

Implied sexual content ahead.

(Hugely inspired by bluelightningbug 's story, "The Patterns We Make.")

"If I could be anything in the world, I would want to be a teardrop. Because then I would be born in your beautiful eyes, live on your cheeks, then die on your lips." -Mary Stuart.

There were stares.

Looks of pleading and desperation, puzzlement and frustration- emotions that had never been between them before.

Somehow, in the middle of lunch, Annabeth's steel-colored eyes would manage to glaze over. She would look past the Hermes table, with Connor and Travis grinning in sync to one another, and find her eyes fixated on the green-eyed boy. He would be chattering away with Grover or taking a bite out of his burger, or simply picking at his food in utter silence. The last one was most constant, his eyes pained and his mouth clamped shut. Remorse swished in her gut and she had to remind herself that it wasn't entirely her fault. But maybe it was and this was just her pride talking. So she would stare on, analyzing the way his green eyes flickered to different colors and how he had begun to have hair on his knuckles. When did that happen? She used to have every detail of him memorized, and now it was all different. But, anyway. Back to the point. She would glance at him. Then there would be moments when his eyes would look up and meet hers, like he expected it, Percy's expression first startled, then raw with pain. His cheeks would flame and Annabeth would be humiliated that her stolen stare hadn't been stolen at all, but she'd cover it up behind a mask of sincerity and an emotionless expression.

Then they'd both look away, pretending that they hadn't just been looking at the other, and that's what kills her the most.

Her eyes were hard and her siblings would continuously ask her if she was okay. Annabeth wasn't sure what to expect after that night, but it surely wasn't this.

The idea was embarrassing and degrading and painful.

Percy's been to Health Class. He knows all about it. He knows that he's supposed to wait until he's married, or at least well past sixteen. Not fourteen. (He is fifteen now, but that doesn't count). But it had happened in a spur of fear and intense feelings mixed in with the knowledge that either of them could've been killed in an instant. Add in a few pinches of unraveling teenage hormones and there you go. A big mixture of disaster. And it happened. Percy's not quite sure whether or not he regrets it. She's his best friend. His dearest, dare say closest friend, who's been with him on all the ups and downs. What did this mean for them? Were they still friends? Something more? Something less? That night full of whimpers and moans, pleads and tears, fumbles and giggles- it had been the best night of his life. But also the worst. He cares for Annabeth, more than she would ever truly know, and he doesn't want her to get the impression that he took advantage of her. The guilt that stirs in his stomach feels like he did.

He really hopes she doesn't think that.

Percy's eyes break from her intense ones, staring down at his half-eaten food, wishing that it had never happened at all.

He's lying to himself. If he didn't want it to happen, it wouldn't have happened. But it did. He can see her now- the curve of her back, the arch of her toned stomach, the curves on her hips and- er, never mind. Shamefully, he pushes those thoughts aside. But they never truly leave. They reside in a far corner of his mind, taunting him with her beauty. She's always been cute, but seeing her like that, she was a goddess. More blushing. He's seriously gotta stop thinking like that. Best friend. More like friend with benefits, his subconscious sneers and he feels like dying in a hole. He doesn't regret that it happened, but he regrets not waiting. He regrets not being in a better place with his best friend, (could he even still call her that?) and most of all, he regrets the stares that they share, because its just a reminder that he's too much of a coward to go up and talk to her. Apologize. Maybe kiss her senseless. (Which wouldn't be appropriate because, after all, they're friends)

Annabeth has an outlet. It's called, stabbing-dummies-to-pieces-so-you-can-have-one-moment-without-thinking-about-Percy-Freakin'-Jackson. So she slices and stabs, so hard and fierce that straw begins to fall from the head. Duck, dodge, slice, attack, hit. Harder. Firmer. Until the dummy is nothing but a pile of pathetic rags and strings. Until she is nothing but shattered and broken and in tears.

Crying. It seems like she's always been crying these days. She rubs the wetness off her cheek with the back of her hand, smearing off tears and sweat. She bites back her sobs, moving to another dummy. And another. Until sobs are wracking her body and she's a mess. Things are complicated enough and now she's a slut. At fourteen. She did it at fourteen years old. She's still practically a child. Her tears prove it. She's not supposed to be crying after her first time, she's supposed to be over the moon.

She heaves a battle cry, although it's choked with tears. Her eyes are blurry and she can barely see, but she manages to take the sword and ram it through the dummy. She stops crying now, because there's really no point. So she collects herself and turns around, ready to head to Thalia's Tree, the one place she can think and-

Well, crap.

Silena Beauregard is standing there, inspecting the dummy behind Annabeth with concerned eyes. "Wow. You certainly did a number."

She coughs, clearing her smothered voice. "Uh, yeah." Real intelligent, Annabeth. Obviously the daughter of Aphrodite knows she's been crying. She's only just wiped the tears away. Her eyes are red and puffy, and her cheeks are stained with grime and wetness.

"You okay?" She asks, and Annabeth has to give her credit. Normally she's all hugs and demanding fiercly what's wrong, always assuming it's a guy/girl problem, (which is actually true) but obviously she can see that something is really wrong, so Silena's hesitant.

Annabeth nods. She stops herself suddenly, her voice forming one word, "No." It's comes out small and tiny.

Silena smiles comfortingly. "Well, why don't we get you some hot chocolate?"

Annabeth nods and follows her, even though hot chocolate won't fix the fact that they (Percy and her) slept together and now they're in a worse place than they started. But she follows Silena anyway, because she hasn't eaten in days, and surprisingly, the idea of hot chocolate sounds good to her stomach.

"You okay, Perce?" Grover quips, his small goatee longer than Percy recalls it being. Everything seems to be muddled up. He even wonders he's being drugged by some burned god. Which would explain a lot, and it was logical, seeing he has so many gods on his bad side. But, no. He knows that everything is all confusing and blurry because of her. And that one night that he wants to forget, yet wants to remember. "Our empathy link is picking up some weird emotions from you." He mentally curses. The idea of their empathy link has completely slipped from his mind. Obviously Grover would detect his swirling, gut-flipping emotions and become worried. His brown eyes are wide with worry, and Percy can't help but feel a flash of irritation shoot through him. He reminds himself instantly that it's not Grover's fault he's concerned and immediately feels guilty for even feeling the smallest bit annoyed with his best friend. Percy would feel the same way if roles were reversed. It's his own fault.

"Yeah," he says. "Fine. Why wouldn't I be?" Other than the inevitable fact that he's most-likely going to die next year, there wasn't much to be upset about. Except that...Thing. That thing that he can't get his mind off of.

Grover looks unconvinced, but doesn't pursue the topic. Instead, he changes it. "Have you seen Annabeth around lately? I've been looking for her." At the mention of Annabeth's name, he freezes up and doesn't hear a word Grover says after that. Percy's hands clench into two trembling fists (not from anger, mostly from anxiety) and his stomach is twined with guilt.

"Aha!" Grover declares, waving a finger in Percy's face. "I knew it had something to do with Annabeth. You two are fighting again, aren't you?"

"No." His tone is cold, but Grover doesn't seem to notice.

"I felt like a pile of Hades after I mentioned Annabeth. Well, technically, you did. So, spill." His eyes are wide and hopeful. "Maybe I can help fix the problem."

Percy laughs. He doubts it.

He longs to tell Grover what happened that night, (he doesn't remember the exact date, because it was the labyrinth, and there was no time there) but he keeps his mouth shut. Percy's never going to tell anyone what happened that night. No one needs to know. No one except Annabeth and Percy.

He shocks himself by what he thinks next. It's too special to tell anyone about.

"I have to go," he stammers out, racing from his chair and down the path between the cabins. He hears Grover call something to him, but he can't hear him. All he can hear is Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth. His mind is screaming her name, her image, what she looked like in that dark, bewitching maze. He could barely see her with just one light, but he could feel her.

Annabeth.

He's been an ass. Like, worse than Mr. D ass. Avoiding her, not speaking to her, but still casting longing looks her way. He shuts his eyes tightly and stops in his place, not taking another step. He needs a plan worthy of Athena. His heart contracts painfully at that thought. Annabeth's been the one with the plans, and he's been the one that rushes into everything and then thinks. Ironically, it's the reason that they're in this position now. There's only a few weeks left of camp. He needs to apologize and make things right before he goes. Percy could never make it through nine agonizing months without speaking to Annabeth. Di Immortales, he needs to find her.

Annabeth's staring. Not at Percy Jackson, but at the waves on the beach, crashing against the shoreline. She sits down on the sand, feeling pecuniary weightless, then goes about drawing pictures with a stick. A twig snapped behind her and she whirls around, her knife clenched tightly, and to her feet already.

"Oh." Is all she can manage as she stares directly into his eyes. Her knife nearly slips through her trembling hands.

"Hey," he takes a step forward and she takes a step back. She pretends not to see the hurt swim in his darkened eyes.

"Hi," she says. It sounds strangled.

She stares and him, and he stares back.

And he did nothing else. All he did was stare. The waves calmed Annabeth's frazzled nerves, and she eventually had the courage to look him directly in the eyes. The waves spill over her drawings, washing them away and splashing her toes. Annabeth doesn't notice. She was too busy trying to solve the stare he was giving her. It seemed like the sort of stare where he is trying, or either going, to tell her something that he wants to tell her. Her heart soars.

"Look," his face is scrunched up, like he's trying to solve a hard riddle. "I'm sorry."

I'm sorry. She isn't sure what that means.

"I'm sorry for taking advantage of you."

Her heart sinks in her chest.

Her eyes narrow, cold and calculating. "There's nothing to be sorry for," she states, storming past him. "Because nothing happened."

"Annabeth-" he reaches out to her, gently touching her arm. Flashbacks explode behind her eyes at his touch. He retracts it immediately, Percy's green eyes innocent and naive. "I'm just sorry. Really sorry." It dawns on her at how old they were when it happened. Fourteen. But when you add it into all they had been through already, it wasn't really that big a deal, was it?

She wants to cry. But she won't. Not in front of him. He's not telling her all the things she wants him to. He's confessing that he's sorry he took advantage of her. She thought- Annabeth thought- that it was special. That it happened because both of them wanted the other person. She certainly did. She chews on the inside of her lip, so hard that it draws blood.

"You can touch me, you know," she spits, because everything- everything, has changed. "Just in case you didn't remember touching me everywhere that night."

He flushes and winces in embarrassment, but his eyes are hurt.

"You know what?" She throws down her knife and the blade stabs into the sand, sticking upward. Annabeth's about to say that she isn't sorry, and she doesn't regret what happened, but those words don't come out. These words do. "I knew that night shouldn't have happened. All it did was scare you. You run away from things when you're scared."

He looks stunned. "Me? Run away?"

"Yes, you!" Annabeth screeches, storming up to him so they were face to face, nose to nose. She can feel her eyes burning with tears. "What do you call this?" She gestures towards herself. "What do you call not talking to me because of what happened? You're a coward, Percy Jackson!"

He looks extremely frustrated, as he did before, only more so. His eyebrows pull together and his mouth draws into a firm line. His eyes are stunned, wide and in disbelief. "I-I, Annabeth-"

"Maybe you should just go back to that mortal girl! You certainly seem to talk to her more." Ah, yes. That clingy red-head who Annabeth despises in every way. Things were complicated enough without her practically throwing herself at Percy. She cringes at the thought. Rachel didn't have sex with him, now, did she? Still, that doesn't change anything. Annabeth hates her. A part of her wants to find her and tell her exactly what happened between Percy and her. That would surely show her that she needs to get her grimy, fingers away from her Percy. She blinks rapidly, swallowing back tears. She isn't going to cry again.

"Annabeth-" he tries again.

She refuses to let him explain. Her voice cracks as she speaks the next few words. "If you don't like my company." It means a lot more than she intended it to. Percy's eyes widen at her implication, grabbing her wrist gently. She rips it away, glaring.

"That's not fair, Annabeth," he whispers, his voice suddenly hoarse. "What makes you think that I...that I didn't like it?"

She stops abruptly, turning to face him in utter bewilderment.

"Because I did," he admits quietly. "It was probably one of the worst and best nights of my entire life." They fall into a pregnant pause. "I guess that's all I have to say then."

She walks away then, sparing him a glance.

He stares back.

They never forget that night. But they never bring it up again, either.

There's always the stares though.

But this time they make sure that the stares go unnoticed by the other.

The memories still sting, like a hot-rod being jammed into their chests.

Things start to fall into place and become normal again. Well, as normal as it gets. And just like that, they're Percy and Annabeth again. Best friends. Teasing and nick-name calling and Iris-Messaging over the school year. Percy complains about school, she tries to teach him Calculus. Per usual, Percy cannot understand a thing and Annabeth claims that he's unteachable. Percy states that she's just incapable of teaching.

She says that she's going to study with him through IM every day to prove him wrong.

But then Luke comes into the picture, along with a certain red-head.

Along with the knowledge that Percy and Annabeth (friends. Kinda. Sorta. Maybe something else) slept together, their already tense friendship turns to anger and arguments.

And then the staring starts all over until they finally find their way back to the another yet again.

A/N: I know that the time-line to the actual book is all screwey, I know that. I did it on purpose to fit better with this fic. It's AU, obviously, where Annabeth and Percy had sex in the Labyrinth, then have to deal with the aftermath and consequences of that one-night stand. This was HUGELY inspired by "The Patterns We Make" which is rated M, but it you're cool with that, I suggest reading it. It's amazing!

I know I don't usually write stories with implications of sexual content, but I decided to give it a try. I hoped you liked it and feel free to drop in a review or just a follow/favorite. Sorry for their OOCness. I tried to keep them in character, but it was difficult with the situation.