Annabeth tears her ACL the first game of the season junior year. She doesn't even do anything wrong – she jumps to make a header that directs the ball further up the field and then she collapses. It's like one moment she's standing, and the next her knee is buckling as she falls to the ground. She vaguely registers a popping sound, but it's quickly overwhelmed by the intense pain shooting up her leg. The athletic trainer is kneeling by her side in an instant, gingerly stretching her knee and asking if it hurts, which – fuck, obviously it hurts, and she feels like she's going to throw up or pass out or both. Someone brings over a stretcher in the trainer's golf cart, and someone else lifts her onto it. The next few minutes are a blur until a needle is stuck in her arm and she lets the drugs drag her under.

I'll wait in the car until you get into the house.

Annabeth wakes up in the hospital. She's not injured enough to get her own room, and there are a dozen other beds on either side of hers, separated by flimsy sliding curtains. Percy is in the chair on her right, and Sally Jackson is standing behind him. Neither of them are facing her, and they're whispering. Annabeth is confused – Sally works late shifts on Tuesdays. She should be at work.

"Sally?" Annabeth asks, voice scratchy from lack of use.

Both of the Jacksons turn to look at her, relief flooding their faces. Percy reaches for a glass of water on the bedside table, helping her take a long drink from it. Sally leans forward and kisses Annabeth's forehead, smoothing some of her curls out of the way.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" Sally asks, still touching Annabeth's hair. "I came as soon as Percy called me."

"You just dropped. There wasn't even anyone near you – I didn't know what happened. I tried to convince the trainer to let me come in the ambulance, but they wouldn't let me." Percy won't look her in the eye. His gaze is focused on the shoulder of her hospital gown.

"What did happen?" Annabeth asks, but neither of them say anything right away.

"The doctor will probably explain it better than we can," Sally says. She's clearly avoiding the question, which only worries Annabeth further. "I'll go see if I can find her."

Sally leaves, sliding the curtains back into place behind her. Annabeth turns to Percy, touching his arm with the hand not attached to the IV. "Percy," she pleads. "What happened?"

And Percy still won't look her in the eye. She squeezes her blunt fingernails into the skin of his arm, refusing to relent until he tells her what the hell is going on. Eventually, he surrenders.

"They said it's a torn ACL."

The entire world seems to freeze in that moment. Clearly Percy misheard the doctor because there's no way she can have a torn ACL – if she has a torn ACL, then she can't play soccer. And if she can't play soccer, she can't get recruited for college, which means she won't get an athletic scholarship, and there's no way in hell she's going to be able to pay for school without at least a half-tuition scholarship. So. Percy just misheard, is all.

"Good to see you're awake, Annabeth. How are we feeling?"

Sally has come back with a woman in a long white coat. She's carrying a clipboard, and the badge clipped to her pocket reads Marilyn Montgomery, M.D. Annabeth cuts to the chase:

"What's wrong with my leg?"

Marilyn Montgomery, M.D. sighs, takes a step closer, and says, "You've torn your left ACL. While you were unconscious, we removed the fluid within your knee, but it's still pretty swollen. In about three to four weeks, once the swelling has gone down, we'll need to perform corrective surgery to return you to your original level of activity. That surgery will be followed by anywhere from six to nine months of physical therapy."

"What about soccer?"

"You should be able to pick it back up after the physical therapy is complete, but – "

"That's nine months from now!"

"It'll actually be closer to ten or eleven if you factor in the month before surgery and the turnaround before PT starts."

"I can't just stop playing soccer for a year! The season just started!"

"I'm sorry, Annabeth, but I'm afraid there's nothing else we can do. If you work your knee too hard before it's finished healing, then you might never play soccer again. You'll need to follow our standard schedule to ensure a proper healing process."

Annabeth turns away, staring out the window and willing herself not to cry. At least, not in front of the Jacksons and this stranger who has just taken away any chance at getting into a college for soccer. Marilyn Montgomery, M.D. continues to speak, however.

"I'm aware your parents are out of town, but since she is listed as your emergency contact, Ms Jackson is able to sign your release forms. You're free to go home whenever you feel up to it. I'm going to leave this packet of instructions with you just in case, but all you need to keep in mind is RICE – Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation. Make sure not to exert yourself or your knee and you'll be fine. The clothes you were brought in wearing are at the end of the bed, and there are crutches under the bed for you to use. Ms Jackson and I have scheduled an appointment where I will judge the swelling of your knee, and we'll schedule a surgery date from there. If you have any questions or concerns, just call and we'll get it all sorted out. Have a nice night, Annabeth."

Annabeth hears Marilyn Montgomery, M.D. leave the room, but she still refuses to face either of the Jacksons. After a moment, Sally moves to place her hand over Annabeth's.

"Percy," Sally says softly. "Why don't you go pull your car around to the entrance? I'll help Annabeth into her clothes and we'll meet you there."

Percy does as he's told, ever the obedient son. Sally helps Annabeth out of the bed as she tests the proper way to stand without losing her balance. She can hardly put pressure on her bad leg, so she leans heavily to the right. Sally unties and then removes the flimsy hospital gown, and Annabeth tries not to feel self-conscious in only her underwear. She's known Sally her entire life – she and Percy used to take baths together, for God's sake – she shouldn't be embarrassed about being practically naked. Sally seems to sense that she is, however, and hands Annabeth her jersey so that she can quickly pull it over her head. The bottom half of her outfit presents more of a problem. Luckily, Annabeth had been in her uniform shorts, so they're easy to slip over the brace on her knee – with Sally's help, of course.

She's not very good at using the crutches at first, and Sally keeps a hand on the small of her back to steady her. They move as slow as molasses, it seems, but eventually they reach the front doors, where Percy is waiting in his dark blue pickup truck, tapping his thumbs absentmindedly on the steering wheel until he notices them and startles into action. Both Jacksons help her into the passenger seat, and once the door is closed, Sally speaks to her through the open window:

"I have to get back to work, sweetie. Percy's going to drive you home, but you call me if you need anything okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Annabeth answers. Sally kisses her on the forehead, and Percy starts the engine as his mom walks to her own car. Annabeth doesn't feel like talking – not even to Percy – so the two of them sit in silence save for the Top 40 playing on the radio. Even though they both prefer classic rock, neither of them move to change the station. The nurses gave her some pain medication to take every few hours, and the first dose must be wearing off, because her knee is starting to hurt again. The pain has reached a dull roar by the time Percy pulls next to the curb in front of her house. He helps her out of the car since his damned truck is so high off the ground, and then he steadies her with her crutches.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" he asks. His eyes are wide and earnest as he keeps his hands resting lightly on her elbows. He's been nothing but helpful all evening, and she's so unbelievably grateful for it, since her parents are out of town, but it's starting to suffocate her. Annabeth has never been great at accepting help, and she's just about reached her limit.

"I kind of want to be alone right now, Percy," she tells him, avoiding his gaze. She feels guilty turning him away like this, but she knows it's better than lashing out at him later.

"Do you need help getting to the door?"

"No. I should probably get used to using these on my own, anyway," she says, gesturing towards her crutches while trying to come across as light and humorous.

"Alright," Percy says, sounding like it's the exact opposite. "I'll wait in the car until you get into the house."

"Goodnight, Percy," Annabeth says, turning away and crutching towards her front door. She's already got her key in her left hand, clutching it tightly in her palm. She's not one hundred percent sure where her backpack and soccer bag are, but she doubts her teachers will hold her at fault for not finishing her homework. She makes it into the house, pops a few pain pills, and cries into her pillow until she falls asleep.

I'll carry it for you.

Annabeth takes the rest of the week off from school. She's still feeling intense pain and all of the drugs she has to take to get rid of said pain make her incredibly drowsy. She spends most of the day fading in and out of sleep on the couch, a marathon of Law and Order constantly on the TV in the background. Not to mention that she has to figure out how to go about her daily routine without the use of one entire leg. Putting on pants is nearly impossible, so she sticks to gym shorts and boxers. Showering, on the other hand, is completely out of the question. Once the air around her begins to turn stale, she spritzes herself with some of her mother's perfume and sprays a hefty amount of dry shampoo on her greasy roots.

Her dad and step-mom come home a day and a half after her injury, apologizing that they couldn't make it back any earlier. She might be a little bitter that they think a history convention is more important than their crippled daughter, but she'll get over it. She's used to it, anyhow. Her little brothers are confined to their room for playtime, so she doesn't have to maneuver around their toys, which is helpful.

On the following Monday, when Annabeth finally returns to school, Percy picks her up in the morning. She still needs help getting in and out of his truck, but she can do a lot more on her own now. The ladies at the front office give her permission to use the janitor's elevator to go between floors, and she gets to leave class five minutes early to avoid getting jostled in the hallways. It's kind of nice.

At first, she refuses any and all help from Percy. She might be temporarily crippled, but she's not completely helpless. She can carry her backpack, books, and water bottle just fine. Or so she thinks. Annabeth makes it approximately ten feet through the student parking lot before she loses her grip on both her books and her crutch. Her crutch falls from below her armpit, her books fall from her hands, along with her water bottle, and her arms windmill as she falls backwards.

Percy catches her before she hits the ground.

"For fuck's sake, Annabeth, I told you that you needed help."

"I can handle it on my own, Jackson," she spits, using his last name the way she only does when she's extremely frustrated. "It'll just take some practice, is all."

Percy helps her back onto her crutches, but doesn't move to pick her books up from the concrete. He places his hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eyes, and says "I'll carry it for you. Now take off your backpack."

Annabeth does as she's told and watches as Percy puts her backpack over his front the way they used to as kids when they'd pretend they were pregnant. He cradles her books in one hand and her water bottle in the other, before turning around and walking towards the front entrance of school.

"Hurry up, Chase. Don't want to be late on your first day back."

Annabeth hobbles after him, simultaneously irritated and relieved.

I got you hot chocolate/coffee/etc.

Annabeth's home alone again when it comes time for Marilyn Montgomery, M.D. to evaluate the swelling in her knee, so the Jacksons take her to the hospital at eleven o'clock that morning. Percy drives there in his pickup, Sally in the passenger seat and Annabeth in the back, her bum leg spread across the whole vinyl-covered bench. The position stretches the muscles by her groin to the point where it almost becomes painful, but she can't bend her knee enough to sit properly. Percy's driving is borderline reckless, so she spends the entire trip gripping onto the handle attached to the ceiling and trying not to slide around too much every time he makes a sharp turn.

When they get inside, Sally goes to check Annabeth in and fill out her paperwork, while Percy helps Annabeth get comfortable in one of the waiting room chairs – or, as comfortable as she can be in the hard plastic that's painted to look like wood. She had been instructed not to take any pain medication before her appointment, so her leg is practically throbbing. It had been dull at first, kind of like the way her foot feels when she sits on it for too long and it falls asleep, but the more she tries not to pay attention to the pain, the more she notices it start to burn.

Percy is sitting next to her now, his ridiculously long legs spread out in front of him as he lazily flips through a three month old issue of Vogue. He looks as restless as she feels, bouncing his right leg without realizing it, chewing on his thumbnail even though it's already bitten down to the quick. Annabeth knows that logically, it's all due to his ADHD – he forgets to take his medicine more often than he remembers – but she knows somewhere deep in her bones or her soul that he's just as nervous about the evaluation as she is. The thought makes her feel warm inside, serene, almost to the point where the pain in her knee has faded away, quelled by her love and appreciation for her best friend.

Percy must feel her gaze on him, because he looks up from the magazine and catches her eye. He smiles a little bit, that small, private one reserved only for her, where the corners of his lips quirk up just the tiniest bit, just enough to make his eyes crinkle in the corners, too. She feels her own grin form, and then –

"Annabeth?" Sally says, walking back from the receptionist's desk with a brown clipboard in her hand. "They need you to sign a few forms before you can go back to the examination room."

Annabeth breaks eye contact with Percy, switching her focus to his mother instead. She nods and reaches for the clipboard when Sally is close enough to pass it over to her. Percy jumps up suddenly, startling both Annabeth and Sally, though he doesn't seem to notice. He's twisting the Vogue magazine between his hands, rolling it into and out of a tube-shape repeatedly.

"I'm just gunna – go," he mutters, quickly turning away from the two of them. As he power walks out of the waiting room, he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than usual.

Sally and Annabeth watch him leave, bewildered. "I think he forgot to take his Adderall this morning," Annabeth tells the older woman.

"That boy!" Sally exclaims, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "I don't know how he'll survive when he goes off to college next year."

Annabeth pats Sally's knee and says, "Don't worry. I'll look after him."

Sally smiles and puts an arm around Annabeth's shoulder, pulling her closer and kissing her head. It's one of Annabeth's favourite things about Sally. Her parents aren't exceptionally tactile – she can't remember the last time either her dad or her step-mom kissed her – but with Sally having a near-constant presence throughout her childhood, she's never felt particularly touch-starved.

After Annabeth has signed the required forms and Sally has returned to the receptionist's desk, Percy walks back into the waiting room, significantly calmer than when he left. He has two Styrofoam cups in his hands, and he passes one of them to Annabeth when he sits down next to her again.

"I got you hot chocolate," he says.

"Thank you," she replies. As she blows on the liquid to cool it, Sally sits down on her other side, pulling out a book of crossword puzzles to occupy herself with while they wait for a nurse to call Annabeth's name. Strangely enough, Annabeth doesn't feel so nervous anymore – especially not while she takes both a sip of terrible, watery, hospital hot chocolate and Percy's hand in her own.

You'll be okay.

Annabeth's dad and step-mom drive her to the hospital for her corrective surgery, but Percy is the only one she wants to see before she goes under. They've prepped her already, changed her into the required outfit and set her up in the bed that'll roll into the operating room. Now she's just waiting to be rolled in there. Percy is next to her, blabbering on about the sub in his English class that day, but she's not really listening. She thinks he knows that.

She's not scared, okay. She just – she doesn't like not being in control of things, and being under anesthesia while doctors she's only met once or twice try to fix the one body part that could determine her entire future definitely falls under not being in control. Annabeth knows that they're professionals, and they do surgeries like this all the time, but if one tiny thing goes wrong, her soccer career is over. It's almost too much to handle.

The nurse walks into the prep room, nodding in a way that isn't quite grim, but isn't very encouraging either. Annabeth gulps, and Percy notices, because Percy always notices things like that. Maybe she can convince the doctors to let him in the operating room so if they make any mistakes he can catch them. As the nurse unlocks the wheels at the foot of the bed she's in, Percy leans over and kisses Annabeth's forehead. It reminds her so much of Sally.

"You'll be okay," he whispers, and then they're wheeling her away. Just before she completely turns the corner, she sends him a small wave. Percy waves back.

Let's go take a walk.

If Annabeth thought the pain medication she took after her initial injury was bad, it's nothing compared to what the doctors give her after the surgery. There are entire days she barely remembers. She's confined to bed rest, which turns into couch rest, since there isn't a TV in her bedroom and she's too loopy to do anything other than veg out. Her parents are at work for most of the day when she's awake, and she's usually asleep for the night when they come home. Percy comes over every other afternoon or so with a dish from Sally, who's worried Annabeth isn't able to feed herself.

As soon as the doctors knock her daily doses down by half, the physical therapy starts. Her therapist tells her that the goal for the first two or three weeks is to be able to bend and straighten her knee completely. It's a lot harder than it sounds. She still needs the crutches to walk, but she can put some weight on her left leg without collapsing. Most of her exercises are done sitting down at the beginning, but as she continues to improve, she starts to do them while standing.

When her parents are too busy to take her to her appointments, Percy picks her up in his truck. Annabeth tries to tell him that he doesn't have to chauffeur her around just because she can't drive with her injury, but he always waves her off. "I like driving you around," he tells her. "I'm just racking up the IOUs until I can trade them in for something awesome." During the appointments themselves, Percy comes back to the training room with her and her therapist, but stays off to the side and out of the way. He brings homework or a magazine and his headphones to keep himself occupied – and to keep himself from distracting her – but sometimes she'll look in his direction to already find him watching her. Every time they meet eyes, he scratches the back of his neck and gives her two thumbs up.

A couple of weeks into her therapy sessions, her therapist suggests that she try walking without the crutches. Annabeth knows she won't be able to, can feel it in the trembling of her knee, in the stiffness of her unused leg. She tries anyway and falls almost immediately. The mats on the gym floor cushion her fall, but her resolve is shot. The soccer season is nearly over, and she can't even walk by herself. There's no way she's going to be in prime playing condition in time for next year.

Sensing her frustrations, her therapist ends the appointment early, telling Annabeth that she's made great progress and that she should be proud of herself. It's a load of bull.

Percy walks over from his little study corner. "You done already?" he asks. His Beats are around his neck, and she can just barely hear a fast-paced melody coming from them. In lieu of answering, she reaches under the wooden bench she's grumpily perched on and grabs her crutches. She fucking despises them – and she hates even more that she's completely helpless without them.

Both the walk to the truck and the drive home are surrounded in stony silence, Annabeth brooding and Percy having the good grace not to say anything in an attempt to relieve the tension. Even as he helps her out of her seat and into her house, he remains quiet. When Annabeth looks in his direction, his eyes are clouded, like he's thinking deeply about something. God only knows what it is.

Once the two of them make it to her bedroom, Percy speaks up. "Let's go take a walk," he announces.

"What?" she asks, motioning towards the crutches that are still resting under her armpits.

Percy's hands reach out, gently taking hold of the crutches and slipping them out of her grasp. "Without these."

"What are you talking about? Did you not see me fall on my ass in there?"

"No, I did," he says, smiling as he takes her hands in his own.

"Then what makes you think I can walk on my own now?"

"Because you already are."

Gasping, Annabeth looks down, watching as her legs move forward – minutely, of course – as Percy's step back. He's leading her, slowly but surely, and she's suddenly reminded of when she first taught him how to ice skate years before. Their positions had been switched, but it'd been the exact same. She'd taken his hands and distracted him with conversation, only enlightening him of the fact that he was skating once they'd made it halfway around the rink.

Annabeth starts to both laugh and cry at the same time, losing her balance and stumbling into Percy almost immediately. He wraps his arms around her, keeping her from falling to the floor.

"Oh my god," she repeats over and over and over again.

"I told you that you could do it," he says, pressing a kiss into her hair. Neither of them say anything for a few moments, reveling in the small victory, until Percy speaks up again. "Will your therapist believe me when I tell him, or should I have gotten that on video?"

You're amazing.

Percy's never been good at math. It's been his worst subject for as long as Annabeth has known him. It doesn't help that he's got the attention span of a goldfish – every single time she tries to help him study, he finds a way to distract the both of them. He's supposed to come over to study for their Pre-Calculus final, and she's just gotten home from a physical therapy session. Her physical therapist had kept her on the elliptical today. It's supposed to restore the range of motion she had in her knee before her injury, but it leaves her sore for hours afterwards.

She's stretched out on the couch when there's a knock at the door.

"Come in," she yells, hearing it open shortly after. Percy comes into the living room, his backpack over his shoulder, looking worse for wear. In the amount of time it takes him to set up his notes and textbook on the coffee table, he's run his fingers through his hair six times. It's a new personal record.

"What's got you so worked up?" she asks. The only other time she's seen him this worried was before his first date with Rachel Elizabeth Dare back in freshman year.

"This exam is worth twenty-five percent of my grade."

"I know. Mr D's only said it a million times in the past week."

"My mom and I did the math before I came over here, Annabeth. I need a 92 or higher to get a B or else I won't be allowed to swim over the summer."

"That's not so bad. A 92 is doable."

"I haven't gotten higher than an 80 on a test all semester. I'm screwed."

"Percy. I've been doing this kind of math in my drafting classes since middle school. I've got it down. You don't need to worry. I've got you."

Percy looks up at her through his eyelashes, looking small and vulnerable in a way he hasn't for years. She thinks of when they first met in second grade, when he still hadn't grown into his ears and seemed to perpetually be covered in dirt.

"You sure?" he asks. Annabeth rolls her eyes but smiles at the same time, so it probably loses the effect. She nods, reaching behind her for a throw pillow to place on the floor. Once she sits next to him on the floor in front of the coffee table, Percy drops his head onto her shoulder, whispering, "You're amazing."

"I know," she says, swatting his arm with a flick of her wrist. "Come on, get off if you wanna learn anything."

Text me/Call me if you need anything.

The neighbourhood swimming pool where Percy works opens on Memorial Day weekend. It's an annual event with hot dogs and hamburgers, American flags, and diving contests, and Percy and Annabeth have gone together every year since they turned twelve and were allowed to be alone at the pool without an adult. They had to alter their routine slightly when Percy got a job as a lifeguard the summer before freshman year – since all of the guards on staff are required to work the event, the two of them couldn't spend the whole day splashing about in the water like they used to, but Percy always made sure to rush over to Annabeth's lounge chair the moment his shift ended. This year is no different, if they ignore the ugly scar running down Annabeth's knee, as well as the fact that she's forbidden to swim while she's still on her medication.

When the pool's gates are unlocked at precisely eight a.m., Annabeth hobbles through behind a pregnant woman and her chubby toddler, favouring her good leg a teeny bit less than the day before. Her physical therapist says progress is progress, no matter how small.

Percy's already been working for an hour, setting up lounge chairs and umbrellas, checking the water's chemicals, and slacking his way out of mopping the bathroom floors. He's currently sitting behind the front desk, leaning back in his chair so that only the back two legs are on the ground, but as soon as he sees Annabeth, he jumps up. The chair's front two legs clatter as they hit the pavement once more, startling the pregnant woman. Percy pays her no mind.

"Here, give that to me," he orders, taking Annabeth's pool bag from her shoulder. It's not particularly heavy – she only has a beach towel, a novel, and some sunscreen inside – but its absence allows her to straighten her posture and focus on walking as normally as she can. She follows Percy to their usual spot in the south corner of the pool, claiming two lounge chairs on either side of a forest green umbrella. He takes her yellow-and-white-striped towel from her bag and spreads it across one of the chairs, placing the bag on the other one to save it for when his shift ends. Meanwhile, Annabeth rubs some sunscreen on her arms, legs and torso. She can't quite reach the center of her back, so she elbows Percy to get his attention before handing him the sunscreen in an unspoken request.

"When do you get off?" she asks while he massages the lotion into her skin. The warmth of his fingers counteracts the initial chill of the sunscreen.

"I get an hour for lunch at twelve, and then I'm done for the day at three."

Annabeth groans. "That's so long."

"You're telling me," Percy chuckles. "You didn't have to come this early, you know."

"If I came any later than nine-thirty, I'd have to fight a suburban mom for just one lounge chair, let alone two – and you know it."

"Nah. I could totally save one for you. Ladies respect the whistle."

"It's not the whistle they're respecting. Believe me."

It's true. At least half of the neighbourhood mothers gossip about how well the Jackson kid has grown up in the past few years, regardless of whether they're divorced or not. Although Annabeth finds it incredibly creepy, she can't find it in herself to disagree with them. Percy shot up ten inches over the course of ninth grade, and with it came a newfound sense of confidence, as well as some muscle tone. He's a prime rib in a world of Walmart steaks.

"There you go," Percy says, removing his hands from her back and wiping the excess sunscreen onto his red board shorts. "All done. You sure you'll be okay here by yourself?"

Annabeth stretches out on the lounge chair, opening her book to the dog-eared page. Waving it at Percy, she assures him that she'll be able to entertain herself for a while.

"Call me if you need anything," he tells her, pointing over his shoulder at the front desk.

"Will do, boss," she answers, touching her fingers to her forehead in a mock salute. Percy rolls his eyes and jogs back to his position before his manager has a chance to yell at him. Annabeth waits until he leans his chair back onto its two hind legs before refocusing her attention on her book.

Text me/Call me when you get there.

Somehow, Annabeth's team manages to make it to the playoffs without her. She'd almost feel betrayed, if she weren't so damn excited. She still isn't allowed to play, but both her coach and her physical therapist have allowed her to go to the first game in full uniform with the rest of the players – she's even allowed to ride the bus to the opposing team's field!

The morning of the round one match, Annabeth packs her uniform jersey, shorts, and socks in her soccer bag. She leaves her shin guards and cleats by the stairs in the garage – they won't do her much good today – and grabs her pair of black and white Adidas originals. Normally she'd bring her slides to wear on the sideline, but they're not very good for supporting her bum knee.

It feels so good to be carrying her soccer bag to school again. It's white and purple – school colours – and embroidered with her name, number, and a soccer ball. The school had them specially made after the team won the championship last season. Annabeth had scored two goals in that game, one of which came in the last three minutes. Even struggling to fit her soccer bag in the bottom of her locker is something Annabeth has missed more than she can even put into words, despite how often she complained about it before her injury. It just about drove Percy nuts, she's sure of it. Why else would he offer to keep her bag in the trunk of his car during the school day, and then bring it to her personally before practice?

After the bell rings at the end of the school day, Annabeth makes her way out to the student parking lot. She has a few minutes before she needs to get changed into her uniform with the other girls. As she gets closer to his truck, she can see Percy leaning against the side of it, looking down at the cell phone in his hand. She'd bet one million dollars that he's attempting to succeed at Flappy Bird, but failing miserably.

"You should just admit defeat at this point," she says once she's in hearing distance. Percy's head snaps up, his eyes narrowing in her direction.

"I'm going to beat this game even if it kills me, Annabeth."

"That's the point, Percy. You can't beat it. It goes on forever."

"Well that's just fucking stupid."

Annabeth laughs, tucking herself into Percy's arms for a hug. He presses his nose into the crown of her head briefly before she steps out of his embrace.

"I'm sorry I can't be there tonight," he says, hands shoved into his pockets.

"It's okay," she says – and she means it. She was only given the go-ahead to attend that evening's game on Thursday of last week, two days after the team made it to the first round of the playoffs. Percy works every Monday, and since he has to give at least two weeks notice in order to request off, he'd been unable to get out of his shift to come to the game with her.

"I can try to convince Jason to cover for me again," he offers, but she declines. It's not like she'll be playing or anything. He won't be missing much.

Annabeth checks the time on her phone and shoots Percy an apologetic look. "I've gotta get going if I wanna catch the bus," she tells him.

"Text me when you get there?" he asks.

"Have fun at work," she answers, nodding as she backs away from his truck, so that he can pull out of the parking space and head home. Once he turns left out of the parking lot, she makes her way to the ladies' locker room.

Drive safe.

[19:31] Annabeth: Can I come over tonight?

[19:31] Percy: ya moms makin spaghetti n meatballs

[19:33] Annabeth: Okay. I just got home from therapy. I'll be there in twenty minutes.

[19:34] Percy: u need me to pick u up?

[19:37] Annabeth: No. PT cleared me to drive.

[19:37] Percy: no way?!

[19:37] Percy: he say anything else?

[19:39] Annabeth: Yeah

[19:39] Annabeth: It's about when I can play again.

[19:40] Annabeth: I'll tell you when I get there.

[19:41] Percy: ok

[19:41] Percy: see u soon

[19:41] Percy: drive safe

Be careful.

Annabeth stands on the sideline of the school soccer field with her hands on her hips, a ball tucked under one arm. She's wearing her cleats, but not her shin guards, and her socks are rolled down in an attempt not to overheat in the summer sun. It doesn't seem to do much good, however, since she can already feel sweat dripping down the back of her neck and below her shirt.

When Percy arrives at the field, she hears him more than she sees him. His tires crunch as they roll over the gravel in the makeshift parking lot, and the truck's engine rumbles and grumbles, breaking through the sticky summer silence until Percy cuts it off. Annabeth focuses on the jangle of his keys and the slapping of his Converse on the ground as he jogs over to her side, stopping shortly after entering her periphery vision.

"You don't mind playing keeper, do you?" she asks, still without looking directly at him.

"Do I actually have to try to block your shots?"

"No. I just need you to get the ball for me."

"Okay good. It scares me when you kick at me."

Finally turning towards him, Annabeth chuckles as she shoves his shoulder. "You're such a baby, Percy."

"No," he says, laughing as he attempts to look stern. "You're not allowed to make fun of me until you've played goalie against yourself, okay? You're going to take someone's head off one day, I swear to god."

"Can you just get in the damn goal already?"

Annabeth doesn't mean to be so aggressive, but she's kind of really terrified. Her physical therapist has given her the go-ahead to start soccer training again. She's supposed to take it slow, sticking to steady jogs and simple dribbling and shooting exercises. She hasn't touched a soccer ball in months, and she's a little worried she'll have lost all of her skills.

While Percy jogs over to the goal on the side of the field that rests in the shade, Annabeth sets the ball down at her feet. After taking a few deep breaths, she touches the outside of her foot to the ball and begins to dribble. Her therapist has had her jogging for a few weeks already, so her knee hardly even protests the motion. Once she reaches the penalty spot that rests between the goal box and the penalty box, she stops, centering the ball on the white dot in the grass. Taking a few steps back to set up her shot, she calls out to Percy: "You ready?"

"Yeah I'm good," he answers. "Just – be careful, Annabeth, okay?"

Annabeth nods, knowing that he's watching her, and shoots the ball towards the goal. It soars in a perfect arc, curving just below the crossbar and hitting the back of the net in the top left corner. Even if Percy were a trained keeper, he probably wouldn't have been able to stop the ball. It's the kind of shot Annabeth was known for before her injury, and the fact that she can still make it brings her to her knees.

Crouched down low to the ground, Annabeth feels tears begin to form and covers her eyes with the palms of her hands. She hears Percy shout her name – once, in the form of the question, and a second time with an increased sense of urgency – before he sprints to her side.

"What's wrong? Did you pull something in your knee? What hurts?"

His questions are coming quicker and more frantic the longer she doesn't answer, but she's not quite sure how to put her feelings into words. She's still not healthy enough to practice properly with her team, but she knows for a fact her soccer career isn't over. She's still got a shot at a championship, at a scholarship, at a future. She sits down and stretches her legs out in front of her, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I'm just – really, really happy," she tells Percy, laughing when the tears start up again.

Percy sits down next to her. She can feel his breathing return to a normal pace as he wraps an arm around her shoulder and hugs her close to his chest. "You really had me worried there for a second," he says. He presses a kiss into her hair before resting his cheek on top of her head. "Do you want to try again? Or do you just want to go home?"

"Can we just sit here for a minute?" she asks.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, we can do that."

A/N: this was inspired by a list of "other ways to say i love you" and somewhere along the way it turned into soccer-playing-Annabeth tearing her ACL? in my head, human AU Annabeth is a soccer player but i have no idea where the hurt/comfort thing came from

Disclaimer: the characters belong to RSquared and you can find a link to the list of "other ways to say i love you" in the version of this story published on ao3

Note: this is the longest thing i have ever written and finished/published so i am really proud of myself and i really hope you guys enjoyed it!