Sally Jackson was not the type of person who made impulsive decisions. Her life was hard enough already without throwing bad, ill-thought choices into the mix.

This day, however, was an exception.

Sally was just finishing up her second shift at the bookstore when she was hit with the sudden, intense desire to see the ocean.

She fumbled a customer's copy of Moby Dick, earning a dirty look from both the customer and her manager. Sally sent both of them an apologetic glance, and slid the book carefully into the bag.

Even considering indulging this particular whim was unthinkable. She had a shift at the bar later tonight and an early morning shift back here tomorrow. She needed to work in order to pay rent on her tiny apartment—Lord knows her roommates weren't any good for the money.

Sally held on to her thoughts while she helped her boss close the store for the evening. She'd always loved the ocean, loved the sense of peace and power and eternity of it. She hadn't been to see it in a while, which was pretty sad considering she lived on Long Island. Much as tragedy had marked her teenage years, her life had settled into an endless mundanity. It consisted only of work and the occasional night course as she chipped away at her GED.

She paused in her work as she considered the date. April fourth. Her twenty-fifth birthday was next week.

Surely it wouldn't be so terrible to treat herself? She could go next week—

Something in her belly surged. Now, it had to be now. Tonight. If she was going to go, it had to be now.

Sally very carefully set the broom in the closet and turned to her boss.

"I'm not feeling so well," she told her. The middle-aged woman gave her a beady-eyed glance. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll need to take the day off tomorrow."

The woman gave her a once over, and when her normally brusque mien softened a bit, Sally wondered if she looked as worn out as she felt. "Alright. Take Sunday off too, if you need."

Sally was surprised, but didn't show it. "Thank you."

Sally left the shop, unclipping her badge from her sweater to stuff it in her purse. The streets were shiny with rain and oil, glistening bright and warm in the late afternoon sun.

Well she had the bookstore shifts off this weekend. Maybe that would be enough of a break—

That thing in her gut surged again. No, she decided. She wanted to see the ocean. Now.

An early birthday present wasn't so bad. She hadn't had a real birthday present in years. She deserved a vacation, even if she couldn't exactly afford one…

Maybe she shouldn't.

Someone bumped into her from behind, and she stumbled into the man walking next to her.

"Sorry," she said immediately, reflexively. The man she'd run into turned, frowning and—and—

He only had one eye.

Sally made no mention of it, tried to pretend she noticed nothing out of the ordinary. She had much experience with these strange creatures she sometimes came across, things only she could see. If one didn't draw attention to oneself, they more or less left people alone.

The…cyclops, for lack of a better word, looked at her almost curiously, as if he could sense something different about her.

"Sorry," she said again. The cyclops shook his head, and continued on his way, never once looking back.

Sally gave a long exhale, and booked it back to her apartment.

She had been able to see things other people couldn't for as long as she could remember. Usually she tried to forget about it, especially since, upon looking up some of the things she'd seen, Sally had developed a…uncomfortable, insane theory. One she couldn't entirely buy into or dismiss.

Part of her liked the idea, wanted to believe it. The rest of her considered whether she was simply the victim of a sustained hallucinatory state and an overactive imagination. And the minimal research she'd done had happened as an early teen—she couldn't be sure she wasn't confusing her timelines of when she saw something that she later studied in books. What if she read about something, and her imagination took it as fuel for the fodder?

She never, ever told anyone. Not her parents. Not her uncle. Not her friends. It was just…hers.

She wished she knew why she saw such things. Why they came to her and not someone else, with less trouble on their plate.

Strangely, the longing to see the ocean swelled again inside her.

Well fine then, she thought amusedly, already packing a weekend bag and frowning at the picked-over closet. To the ocean it was.

She called the bar, told them she would be out for the weekend. Then she ran down to the street in a pair of shorts and a tank top, swimsuit and sundress packed in her suitcase with a pair of jeans. She caught the next bus out of town and settled in to wait, thinking of how pleasant Montauk sounded from the way her roommate talked about it a few months ago.

One impulsive decision, surely, couldn't be so terrible.

It wasn't like it would change the entire course of her life anyway.

Poseidon almost never visited the same beach twice.

It wasn't that any beach was as good as another—some beaches were absolute nightmares of tourist traps, way too crowded for any decent fishing—or even that he had yet to experience what it was like to walk up and down every shoreline on the planet, freshwater or not. Because he did and didn't need to—he was the Sea God. He was water itself. Everything it touched was where he was.

Of course, he preferred the sea. Much cleaner. More interesting. And standing bodies of water were downright boring compared to the ebb and flow of the tide.

Water did not like to be constrained. Subsequently, Poseidon went wherever he pleased when visiting the mortal realm. He liked the places where his realm touched the shared earth. The mortals had their own kind of energy, and it often mixed pleasantly in the air.

Today he felt the draw to a beach in New York. The mortals had a name for it—not one he cared to remember. It was a lovely beach which caught the thrust of the wind off the Atlantic, as mortals called it. The waves beat strong against the sand, even without his influence.

He cast his line out, wondering why he was drawn here. Mortals often felt they were pawns in the hands of fate, which was not inaccurate. But they had free will, to an extent most other sentient creatures, divine or otherwise, did not. The gods and goddesses of Olympus did not have such luxuries. They were often driven by promptings of the fates, directed into their plan.

Part of Poseidon resented this. But there was little to be done about it.

"What are you?" came a voice from behind him. Normally he would have ignored any mortal's voice—he would have noticed if anything even remotely not mortal had approached him—but somehow he was sure that voice was speaking to him.

So he turned, and raised his eyebrows at what he saw.

It was a human woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties. She looked ordinary enough, wearing a cream-colored sundress and a large hat over the long brown hair that waved in the breeze. She had a heart-shaped face, and lovely eyes the color of the sea behind him.

And she was utterly, completely mortal.

"I think the more interesting question is, 'what are you?'"

Her eyes turned a shade darker, perhaps in annoyance. "My name is Sally Jackson." She said politely. Her voice was lower without the edge of surprise, but there was a wary edge to it. "I'm just a woman."

Poseidon raised his other eyebrow, trying again to sense if she was correct or not. Couldn't be human, at least not totally. But she smelled mortal, there was nothing of the essence about her.

His line tugged in his hand. He turned his back to Sally Jackson and started reeling the fish in. It was a big one. Oh sure, he could have just ordered the thing in, but where would be the sport in that? Plus, the creatures liked the game of it. Delphin told him so.

Sally Jackson took a few curious steps forward. "What are you doing?"

"Fishing," Poseidon responded, a bit distracted with trying not to kill the beast, and he wondered if the fates would get mad at him for smiting a random mortal simply because she annoyed him. Probably.

Finally, the creature was pulled up to the shallow waters off the coast. Poseidon stepped forward to unhook the fish, a little proud of his subject. He hadn't caught this guy in nearly three hundred years!

Next time, my friend, Poseidon told him as he unhooked the giant eel-ray.

My Lord, the creature responded, before Poseidon summoned a wave to ease his passage into the depths.

He'd almost forgotten the mortal woman when he turned back to the beach, reeling in the line, and saw her staring wide-eyed and open mouthed at the place where his catch landed.

"W-what," she stammered, "What was that?"

"You saw that?" He asked, surprised. It was one thing for a mortal to see him—he looked innocuous to their small minds after all—but for the Mist to fail at covering that?

Wait. The Mist.

"You're clear-sighted, aren't you?"

The woman looked about three seconds away from passing out, and he saw her eyes turn a glassy grey with her shock.

"I—what? I don't know what you're talking about—"

"You see through the Mist," he prompted, certainty filling him. "Usually mortals grow out of it by puberty. Not you though, apparently. I haven't met a mortal like you in a few centuries." Well, outside the Oracle that was. But since that was literally a woman simply possessed by the Spirit of Delphi, that was a bit different. And even then, it had been almost fifty years since the last Oracle died, and the Spirit of Delphi showed no signs of moving on. Poor kids at the Camp had to approach a mummified corpse to get quests now.

Damn curse. Damn Oath.

"I—centuries?" Her voice was edging into higher registers and her breathing was quicker than Poseidon thought normal. Stressed human female. Right.

He took a few steps out of the water, and offered his hand to the woman, as was customary here in America. Or maybe not. She took it like she was expecting him to eat her. "My name is Poseidon."

She gulped. "As in, Greek god of the Sea? The one with the trident? That Poseidon?"

He raised another eyebrow. So she wasn't clueless. "That would be me."

Sally Jackson nodded, and her hand went limp in his. "Oh. I see."

He squinted at her. "Are you alright? You're very pale."

She nodded again, a bit dumbly. "I think—I think I'm going to sit down. Over there. Yes." She stumbled through the sand to a spot just beyond the tide, her dress now covered in the fine sand.

Poseidon followed curiously, and he wondered if this woman was the reason the fates guided him here. He certainly didn't feel any promptings for this aspect of his essence to go anywhere else.

Sally Jackson, he noticed, was very white. Really, mortals only made life harder on themselves when they decided to separate their lives from the magical realm. He'd heard having one's worldview irrevocably changed was quite difficult. He couldn't relate.

"Did you not know about the gods?" Poseidon asked, a bit bemused. She was clear-sighted. This really should not be as much of a surprise as it clearly was.

Sally Jackson took a deep breath, her shoulders squaring. "I…had suspicions. I thought I was crazy though. I never really believed—" She caught herself, then started again. "I don't think I've ever seen a god before. You just…looked different. I could tell you weren't human but I didn't know—" she shook her head again.

Poseidon glanced at her soul, delving deep to see her string of fate. Everyone was connected to the loom, some more strongly than others. He was surprised to see her string glowed a deep, emerald green—it was more like that of a demigod than a mortal woman. She was important, somehow. More than almost any mortal he'd ever met. She was inexplicably close to the center of the loom.

He was struck by her loneliness. Her sorrow. Her weariness. And her gentleness. Retaining that through the apparent hardships she'd suffered was…intriguing. He felt a draw. The sea appreciated someone who could overcome obstacles.

Poseidon was never known as a merciful god. The sea was life-giving but it was not a thing to be disrespected. It was not something someone could simply use. It was ruthless when called for, and so was he.

He sat down in the sand next to Sally Jackson. She looks at him curiously from under the brim of the hat. Her eyes were slowly returning to the color of the sea. He liked that her eyes were so changeable. It was a very mortal quality.

"Gaea the earth and Oranous the sky had many children, and some were called the Titans. Eventually the Titan King overthrew their parents by chopping him up into a thousand pieces and throwing it all into the Abyss. The Titan King ruled, and a new age was struck. When the King and his wife had children, they were called the gods. The Titan King was suspicious of his children, and so he ate them to prevent his father's fate from repeating itself…"

As it turns out, sometimes one impulsive decision can lead to another. And another. And another one after that.

Sally returned the next weekend. The weekend after that, she quit her jobs in the city and got a job at the admin center for the beach. She worked in exchange for free room and board in a decrepit cabin, and a small stipend that just covered her share of the rent back in New York.

Poseidon found her every time she got within a mile of the sea.

He was a little bit different every time she saw him. His shirt changed or his hair was longer, or greyer, or he gained or lost a wrinkle. She could never pin down his exact age. Sometimes he looked to be in his mid-twenties, sometimes he looked closer to forty or fifty. He always wore a different Hawaiian shirt too, though Sally couldn't tell if that was due to his own choices or because he was trying to make her comfortable by conforming to convention.

She presumed the former. She very quickly realized he was not the type to do anything he did not want to.

He always had a beard though. His hair was always black, if greying occasionally. His eyes were always sea-green. Smile-lines were always etched deep into the skin around them.

He was handsome.

She realized, after that first day and the shock wore off a bit—though honestly, sometimes it still floored her—that Poseidon was funny. Or at least thought he was. He told jokes so bad she found herself bent over double, gasping for breath between guffs of laughter. He loved puns, especially water-related puns.

He was kind, too. For some reason she would probably never understand, he constantly sought her opinion on different subjects. What was the best political system, in her estimation? Did she prefer dark chocolate to milk chocolate? What was her favorite book? The questions were endless. He was, bewilderingly, genuinely interested in her life and mind.

Sally hadn't experienced that in a long, long time. Not since her parents, probably, but she didn't much remember them. She had long believed her life wasn't one others had much cause to care about.

And now a Greek god, of all things, and a very powerful one at that, wanted to know her opinions on Italian food.

He was gentle. He was tactile, always finding reasons to touch her. He loved walking along the beach. He hated talking about his fellow Olympians. He was a protector, always trying to solve her problems.

She told him how she wished to travel. How one day she'd like to see Patagonia and Madagascar. She told him how she wanted to write about something good and beautiful so people might use it to escape the harsh realities of the world for just a little while. How she'd raised herself and sometimes struggled not to resent her parents for it, no matter how irrational the feeling.

He seemed upset by her circumstances. When she explained why she couldn't travel, he offered to build her a boat. When she told him she had no time to write, he tried to give her thirty thousand dollars to pay off her rent for the next couple of years. He offered to rid her of the memories, if that would make her feel better.

She declined every offer, much to his consternation. She could tell he was struggling to understand why she continued to refuse him, why she couldn't just let him make her life better. Sally learned a long time ago that success and achievement only truly felt deserved when one reached those heights themselves. She wouldn't let anyone—god or otherwise—dictate how her life went, even if it was to her benefit. If nothing else, she could always be proud of her own accomplishments, and take pride in the fact that that they were her own.

As it turned out, this was difficult to explain to a god.

But she tried, and Poseidon tried to understand. That was all she could really ask for. He never went against her wishes when he failed to convince her. He never violated her trust, or took liberties with her. He was a gentleman, at least when it came to her. She remembered the story of Odysseus, where he played the villain so well. For a while she couldn't square what she knew of him with the character in The Odyssey. How could he keep a man from his family for ten years, after ten years at war? But then she remembered how his son Polyphemus was injured, and she can picture the wrath that might bring in him.

She loves him. She didn't notice it happening, and couldn't pinpoint the moment it started, but two weeks after she met him he appeared beside her on the beach and she knew she loved him.

She is pretty sure he loves her too. She can't think of any other reason for him to pay such close attention to her.

She knows that this is not a permanent state of being, their happy afternoons picking up sea shells and evenings cooking pasta in her terrible cabin. He is as changeable as the sea. He will not be able to love her long—it is not his nature. That hurts, but she understands it. She is also willing to accept it. He is the ocean itself. He cannot be shackled to one place or creature for long. His nature is apparent in his changing appearance, in the way he can't stop moving for too long, in the way she knows he has many, many children, both past and present, and many lovers. She cannot cease his nature. She does not want to.

His nature is what makes him who he is, his kindness and gentility and humor. His protectiveness, his almost jealous behavior toward her, as if he were aware of a clock ticking in the background. His overbearing gregariousness, his overwhelming gifts. His ego. She does not—cannot—wish to change any of that. It is him.

Sally has always believed love was strong enough to encompass the good and the bad of a person's soul. Apparently, that extends to gods and whatever their souls were made of as well.

Poseidon tries, he really does.

He remembers his oath. He remembers that he vowed to never sire another demigod child. He remembers why. He remembers that the River Styx will exact its punishment on any child he decided to have, since it cannot kill him. He remembers that the child will suffer terribly, since he or she would be the first since the pact was brokered. He remembers that he and Amphitrite love each other, as only partners of three millennia could. He remembers that Sally Jackson is mortal, and therefore nothing to get so terribly worked up over.

He remembers all of that. It just doesn't help.

Poseidon falls in love with Sally Jackson in the small moments. When she becomes more comfortable and pokes him in the ribs for a particularly bad pun. When she smiles at him and it takes his breath away. When she brushes her hair back and he can see the wonder in her kaleidoscope eyes as she stares at the sea. When her fingers trace the callouses of his palm.

He falls in love with her quiet, bold, unassuming, astounding strength. The way she suffers and carries on, her heart still full of kindness and love and empathy. The way she tries so hard to make sure she can live with her choices. The way she's lived on her own for so long, and yet her heart remains soft and full. The stubbornness with which she steers her own life reminds him of himself, and it is the vein their souls share. It frustrates him as much as it compels him to be with her.

He has never loved a mortal like this. Not even Aethra could compare.

She describes her circumstances, her lack of wealth, and he wants nothing more than to give her everything she could ever need. Wealth is a trivial thing after all. Sally Jackson could rule the world and she would still deserve more.

She is fascinated by his powers and abilities, but he finds she is more interested in his character. This is atypical for a mortal, in his experience. It is rare to find someone so genuinely unimpressed by power. And he has never, ever met a mortal who wanted less from him, never asking for something he could not or did not wish to give—and flat out refusing his many large and grandiose gestures of affection. It all makes him love her more, somehow.

He likes it when she blushes. It happens whenever he takes her hand, or brushes her hair back from her face. When he stares at her lovely form too long. He does all of these things often.

Upon first seeing her he thought she was of ordinary appearance. Certainly nothing compared to a goddess. Now he's breathless when she smiles, when she moves, when her eyes so much as glance in his direction.

Aphrodite was often dismissed as something of a joke. It's due to the shallowness of her personality. But sometimes he thinks her lot is the most powerful of them all. How else could a mostly ordinary woman gain the utter devotion of a god?

Poseidon, like most of his fellows, has long-since mastered the art of living in the present moment while simultaneously living out eternity. So on the one hand, he has never allowed himself to feel for mortals too deeply for too long. They burn so brightly, so fast. Their lives are a blink in his existence. While Poseidon is rare among the gods in that he remembers each and every one of his children's names, he does not pretend to have loved them equally, or to know anything about them beyond a name. Time simply stretches on too long. On the other hand, he cannot stop himself from loving Sally as she exists in the present. He cannot pretend she does not exist, that she means little to him. He cannot bring himself to disrespect her that way.

He suspects that he is dangerously close to doing something desperate to be with her. Something like make her immortal, or prevent her from entering Hades' realm when the time comes.

Poseidon hates how low her self-esteem is. He hates that he can see her questioning why he would choose to spend his time with her. He wants to condemn every single one of the people who made her feel this way to terrible, watery deaths and an eternity in the Fields of Punishment.

He'll never admit it aloud, but he sometimes thinks Hades was easily the best suited to his lot—he was the fairest of the three of them, and though that makes for a wonderful leader, it is necessary for the god who decides the eternal condition of the deceased's souls. Hades is a conniving, manipulative, mentally unstable bastard sometimes, and his children are frequently the worst—and sometimes the best—humanity has to offer, but one can't deny that Hades is fair to the dead.

She loves him. He is quite certain of it. He has gone to great lengths to avoid reading her mind. He doesn't think she would appreciate it. But he knows she would not have come back to the beach—Montauk, she calls it—if she did not love him.

He wants to hold her in his arms, always. She does not want to be protected.

Poseidon has never spent this long simply courting a mortal woman before. In the past, it only took a bit of flirtation and a few smiles to satisfy both parties, once someone captured his interest. He'd rarely desired anything more.

But this thing with Sally felt delicate and precious, like the fragile bones of her hand. He fears going to fast will break it.

And always, always on his mind is the Oath. The terrible fate the child will have if Poseidon acts on his wishes and truly courts Sally Jackson.

Then one day, about a month after that first day on the beach, she sets a vegetable chowder in front of him and straightens, her eyes sharp, dark grey.

"I love you." She states bluntly. "And I'm pretty sure you love me. So why haven't you done anything about it?"

Part of Poseidon is a little miffed that she didn't give him a chance to say it in return. The rest of him just decides to kiss her.

He can tell she's startled, apparently not expecting that response. Then she seems to melt into it and part of Poseidon is satisfied in a way he is sure he's never been before.

Before it grows too heated, he pulls back. Sally Jackson looks dazed, and part of Poseidon is terribly proud of that.

"There is a reason," he tells her.

She blinks, and sits up straight. "I'm listening."

This is another reason he loves her. She accepts the truth as it is, and does nothing to delude herself. He wonders if this is why she remains clear sighted, well past her childhood.

Poseidon tells her of the Oath, of the River Styx and the way it does not hesitate to blame children for the sins of their fathers. He tells her why—that any child they had would live at most sixteen years. That Olympus and the entirety of Western Civilization could fall if their child was the one of prophecy, and made the wrong choice at the crucial moment.

He tells her that the child would have a Hero's fate, and how he's never wanted that less for someone.

Sally Jackson listens throughout, contemplative, and never interrupts. He thinks she would make a wonderful mother.

When he's finished she simply looks at him.

"I know what you're saying," she tells him. "But don't you feel…like it's okay? Maybe even…right?"

He blinks at her, and she blushes.

"Look, Poseidon," she starts, and the Sea God took her hand, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles. "All I know is, I was drawn to you a month ago. I was drawn to that beach, and that's how we met. And that same feeling is telling me…it's okay. That if we…take this further…it's going to be okay." She shrugged, helpless, but her eyes were blue with her calm. "I don't know how to explain it better than that."

Poseidon thinks about how bright and vibrant the thread of her fate is, how closely woven she is to the loom. He thinks of how he loves her, and how his own feelings have urged this but how he let fear guide him. He thinks of how hard it would be to protect any future child they had, from Zeus and Hades, from the entire Olympian council, from the whole of the world.

"Are you sure?" He asks once more.

She nods, and then a smirk graces her lips. "You never know, this might not even result in a conception."

Poseidon made a crude joke about his virility. Then he caught her lips with his mid laugh, and they didn't speak for the rest of the night.

It was mid-June when Sally realized she was pregnant.

Her first inclination was a dream. Well actually, it was a terrible, intense week where she could barely get out of bed without throwing up, but she didn't put two and two together until her dream. In it she saw herself holding a beautiful two-year-old boy, his coloring a carbon copy of Poseidon's. He had her mouth though, and maybe her cheekbones. But the rest of him was so purely his father it made her want to cry.

She woke up the next morning, and put a hand over her uterus. She wasn't sure but it felt…bigger.

Sally said nothing. She didn't want to worry Poseidon over nothing. He was going to be insufferably overprotective if she was pregnant.

Then she missed her period.

And she was sure that lump was getting bigger by the day. Either she was pregnant, or she was metastasizing a tumor very quickly.

She got a test to be sure.

The next day, she got home from work and set her keys on the table by the door. Then she turned to Poseidon, and opened her mouth to tell him.

Hesitated.

What would his reaction be? He'd been so apprehensive about it. Would he be happy? Would he…want her to get rid of the baby?

"Sally?" He asked, noticing her entrance and probably her apprehension. It was a sign of his concern that he didn't use her full name. "What's wrong?"

She closed her eyes for a second, and then looked Poseidon head on. "I'm pregnant."

Sally wasn't sure what she was expecting, but the abject devastation she saw in his expression was not it.

She looked at him warily, her hand drifting down instinctively to cover her uterus.

Then he stepped forward, his arms going around her. Sally let herself lean into him. He smelled, unsurprisingly, like the sea. Salty and strong and fresh.

"I'm sorry," He told her, "I just…fear for him."

Sally wasn't quite ready to let it go. "It could be a girl."

Poseidon thought for a moment. "It's a boy. I'm sure."

Sally wondered if she should be offended that he just x-rayed her uterus. Or the future. Or whatever. Then she decided it didn't matter, and she smiled. "…yeah I think so too."

Poseidon seemed uncharacteristically unsure. "Are you…happy?"

She hadn't had much time to think about it, actually. She'd been too worried about how Poseidon would take it. But now something glowed inside her, something bubbling and jubilant. One day Poseidon would leave. But now…she'd always have their baby. A piece of him. A beautiful baby she could love and care for like her parents never got to do for her.

She didn't know what their child's fate would be. She didn't know how she would be able to afford a child at all. But she was so, so grateful that she would have the chance to raise it.

"Yes," she whispered, and then tears started spilling down her cheeks. She said it louder. "Yes."

Poseidon let out a slow breath, cradling her head to his chest. "Me too," he whispered. "In spite of everything…I'm happy."

It was, unfortunately, Poseidon's responsibility to explain a few things to Sally about what a demigod pregnancy entailed. Or at least, what carrying a child of Poseidon entailed.

"I'm going to be pregnant how long?" Sally asked in shock.

"Only about three months. My children have a gestational period about a third as long as a normal mortal's."

Sally stared at him for a moment. Her eyes were a sharp ice blue. Then she sighed. Then she froze.

"Poseidon," she started, her voice forcibly steady, "are you saying I'm going to give birth in two months?"

Like he said, unfortunate.

It was odd to say, but Poseidon hadn't ever spent so much time with a lover while she was pregnant with his child. Most of his relationships with mortal women were much less intimate than the courtship he shared with Sally. They were brief flings, mostly, lasting a week or two, maybe a month. Sometimes it was a short, intense love affair. He made sure to tell them about the shortened gestational period before laying with his lovers, about the potential dangers of raising a half-blood, and Chiron's name and address. If it wasn't a fling, and Poseidon genuinely cared for whomever his lover was, he visited every few weeks to make sure she was comfortable.

Regardless of how he felt about the child's mother, Poseidon always, always visited the baby upon his or her birth. The sea was life, and the sea connects all things. Poseidon has always suspected this was why his draw toward his mortal children was stronger than his fellows'. His children's presence was always easy to sense, and he was always aware of their births.

That was partially why he was spending so much time with Sally now, actually. He was shielding her presence—currently wrapped around and mixed with growing child's—from his fellow gods. He did not want them to be alerted.

Of course he was also sticking close to Sally because he could tell that their time was running out. The tide was rolling back, and he was being drawn back into the ocean's depths, the fates carrying them both along on the currents of time and life.

He would be worried about Amphitrite finding out, but this form was only one aspect of his larger essence—Amphitrite was unlikely to find out. Not unless she searched every one of his ley lines, which she could do, but he was the sea and his ley lines were continuously changing so…good luck with that.

Besides, she had no reason to suspect anything—Poseidon always made sure his strongest ley point was seated in the palace. The one he kept with Sally was just strong enough to hold him here, and hopefully weak enough to avoid alerting anyone to his uncommon fixedness.

Upon finding out Sally was pregnant, their relationship shifted a little. They felt the same as they always had toward each other, but there was a subtle, powerful shift in perspective. Poseidon felt it keenly. His nature was to move, to adapt, to change. He existed for the present moment. A child meant something entirely different. A future. A lifetime.

He wanted that with her, with their child. Desperately. And he was so scared for the baby, the child of a dreadful prophecy.

So mid-July, the month of that Roman Julius, he made one last, extravagant attempt to keep her for as long as he could.

"I can stop the tides for you," he told her one evening on the beach. They were sitting in the sand, and Sally's pregnancy was beginning to be obvious. "I'll hold them hostage until the gods let me make you immortal. I'll build you to a castle at the bottom of the sea, and the baby can be born there. We never have to…" he trailed off, suddenly, uncharacteristically nervous.

He looked down at his lover, the woman he would have liked to take as a second wife, and saw her trembling. Her lovely eyes, silvered by the moon, shone with tears as they streamed down her cheeks.

He reached out to wipe them away with his fingertips. Her hand came up and she leaned into his palm. He made soft shushing noises he hadn't even known himself capable of. This woman made him feel mortal, in some ways. It was…thrilling, terrifying, confusing. Wonderful.

"Oh Poseidon," she started, and he knew what she would say before she spoke. Part of him knew before he made the offer. "I love you. So much. But I can't."

She explained once more about leading her own life, about owning her own choices, about making something for herself out of nothing. She explained how that gave her life meaning, how that was the only way she could possibly live and still be satisfied with herself.

Poseidon still didn't understand, not entirely. A god did not have to justify his existence—he simply was. A god had no need to search for meaning—he had a purpose. A god was not born in the sense mortals were, and did not die as mortals inevitably did. Mortals, in that sense, had much higher stakes in the game of life than gods did—their lives were so short, burned so hot, they were challenged to make a difference before that time ran out, and few truly succeeded.

He tried to explain this to Sally—that she wouldn't need to find meaning if she was immortal, that she would be able to live forever and be with their child, who would also be made immortal, and…

"I'd rather live as a mortal for eighty-odd years, satisfied with my choices. That's what being a human is all about." Sally reasserted. Poseidon wondered at her wisdom, wondered at how a mere human could conquer death in such a manner that even the gods could not touch.

Perhaps that was why Hades was always so unsatisfied with his lot. The mortals knew death better than he himself did, it would seem.

"What about the baby?" He tried. Sally stilled, then smoothed her free hand over the baby bump.

"The baby…" she started, and for one fleeting second he thought she would change her mind. "I think the baby needs to be raised in my world, before entering yours." She smiled, "A child of two houses should learn both well. And," she added, "if he's going to be as important as I think he is…well he'll have to make his own choices. And I want him to have the chance to do so, for himself."

She looked up, pleading with him to understand. He…didn't, not really. But he respected her too much, loved her too deeply, to do anything against her wishes.

He was trapped, by his broken oath and by his love, and there was little he could do about it. She was like the bedrock of the sea, the cliffs that bound the waters. Immovable, solid, that which banked the eternal change of the ocean.

His child would be in so much danger, always. It was terribly unfair to the kid, to be born with an axe over his neck. But if the boy inherited a fraction of Sally's strength of character, and a drop of Poseidon's own power…he would be a force to be reckoned with.

So he wrapped one arm around Sally, and pulled her into his side. They watched the moonlight shimmer on the black water, and Poseidon tried to teach himself, yet again, what it meant to let go.

Sally liked to think she was a rational, level-headed woman. And she'd known what she was getting involved with when she started seeing Poseidon. She'd known he would leave. She'd known it would be a whirlwind romance. She'd known that their relationship was something impermanent, something that would end quickly, mercilessly, uncompromisingly.

She'd been okay with that. He was the best thing that ever happened to her—she'd take him in whatever form he could offer. She was still okay with that.

But Sally was now realizing, she wasn't sure she was okay with that for their child's sake.

She asked him a thousand questions, about the nature of demigod children, about how their physical needs differed from that of normal children, what to expect from the child's godly side, how the child might develop mentally, etcetera.

Poseidon answered them all patiently, seemingly amused. Sally was somewhat relieved to find that in most respects, demigod children tended to be quite normal, up until they hit puberty, at least.

"It's about belief," he told her. "It's why it's usually best to avoid telling the children about their true heritage—their ignorance protects them. If they don't know the truth about themselves, their true natures will lay somewhat dormant. It makes them almost unnoticeable to the beings of my world."

He also told her that was a temporary fix for his children.

"Eventually, however, his godly nature will no longer be denied. I don't know when—by puberty, almost certainly. Probably many years before that. He will start to attract monsters and assailants from all corners. Some of the more sensitive mortals will notice and start to react to him differently. He'll need training to keep himself contained, and to defend himself."

Which is how he told her of Camp Half-Blood, and Chiron, the trainer of Heracles.

Finally though, she asked the question burning in her mind from the start. "Will you…be involved?"

Poseidon pursed his lips and Sally stared at her feet as he looked over the sea, the waves growing as his mood darkened. "I will watch from afar, protect you both as best I can. But…no. I cannot be involved the way you want."

Sally stopped in the sand, and he came to a halt beside her, his green eyes soft and sad.

It just made her angrier.

"It's not for me," she told him, her hand on the bulge of her stomach. He had no right to say this was in any way about her—she'd been so understanding, so accepting that this was simply her lot in life, that Poseidon would leave her and neither of them could stop it, she hadn't once complained about that or asked for more than he could give. And after all of that, she was not going to let him make this about her own happiness. "It's for him."

Poseidon looked pained, and part of Sally remembered how he'd offered to build her a castle at the bottom of the sea, make her immortal to live with him there, keep both her and the baby safe and close.

There was no universe in which she made a different choice on that subject, but she knew the gesture was Poseidon's way of showing her just how much he cared.

"I know," he whispered, and the seas turned black with his inner turmoil. She would never get used to the way the world reacted to him, or the way he affected it. "But Sally, the more I visit, the more likely it is that they'll find him. Find you."

Sally knew what she was about to say was somewhat unfair. She blamed it on the pregnancy hormones. "They couldn't touch him if you were around."

He brushed her hair back, in that gentle, worshipful way he had. "We both know why I can't do that."

Because of the Oath, and what his family would do if the baby was found. Because of the monsters that would be attracted by such a presence. Because the child was half-human, and had to live like one before he could change his father's world. Because Poseidon had already broken the divine laws a thousand times over by being with Sally this long. Because Poseidon loved them, and the best way to show it was by staying away, and letting them live for themselves.

She let the tension leak out of her shoulders, and sighed. "I know. I'm sorry."

His thumb brushed her cheekbone. "You have no need to apologize, my love."

Sally regretted immensely that their baby might never truly know his father. Poseidon was a wonderful person to know.

It was August fourth when Poseidon realized it was time to leave.

It was dark in the cabin, and Sally went to sleep early. He'd been keeping track of her pregnancy, to make sure nothing untoward was happening—he wasn't Apollo, but he could sense danger to his loved ones just like any god. Since a three-month pregnancy couldn't be explained in the mortal world, his lovers had, recently, been unable to seek medical help with their pregnancies. Poseidon usually made the twins check up on his lovers. Apollo was the god of medicine, and Artemis the patron of childbirth and young children. And he was on good terms with both, so it wasn't an issue.

Of course, that wasn't an option this time around. He wasn't quite that friendly with the twins, that he would risk testing their loyalty to Zeus versus their loyalty to him. Besides, he knew how that would go down—Apollo would keep the secret, but Artemis would feel compelled to tell their father. Poseidon didn't like to make children go against their fathers, regardless.

He looked over at his sleeping lover, full of affection, and then just…knew.

It was the same feeling that led him to Montauk in the first place, just a bone-deep knowledge that the time had come.

Poseidon was a god. He could not ignore such things, even if he wanted to, and oddly…he didn't. At least, not entirely. He loved her, he wanted to be with her, and he wanted to meet his child. But he knew, in that way that was inexplicable to mortals, that the time had come, that this was the end for them.

So he stood by the little breakfast table, where he and Sally shared so many meals, and observed his lover as she slept. He memorized the rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her hair moved with her breath, the swell of her belly where their child lay, and the peaceful expression she had only in sleep.

He should be grateful for the time they shared. It was more than he should have given. But he still wished she had accepted his offer of eternity. She was right to refuse him, maybe. But he still wished.

Maybe she deserved more than this, but Poseidon somehow suspected this was for the best. He would not be able to leave if she was conscious, if he had to watch the lurking pain in her eyes lance through her soul. And it had to be before the child was born, or he would never leave, no matter the cost.

Besides, what would he say? A simple goodbye seemed insufficient, and in some ways more painful. There was nothing more to discuss, regardless. She knew he loved her. She knew he wished for things to be different. She knew he would watch over them, and she knew how to protect their son.

He waved his hand, and a note appeared beneath her palm. She did not move.

Poseidon stepped forward, kissed her forehead, and dissolved into the ether.

Sally woke to an empty cabin.

This was not altogether unusual. She'd fallen asleep in Poseidon's arms many times, but he rarely laid with her until morning. She usually found him walking along the beach, or fishing. Sometimes he brought back provisions from the store.

But for the first time, the cabin truly felt empty.

A piece of paper was folded in her hand. She didn't look at it.

Sally stood slowly, methodically, partially due to the pregnancy and partially to retain control over herself. She walked to the door. She looked out over the beach. It was empty, except for a friendly elderly couple who had a permanent residence about a mile and a half south. Sally spoke with them a few times over the summer.

She waited for a few seconds, judging the color of the sea. Grey and inscrutable. Then she turned and wobbled back to the breakfast table.

She read the note.

Half an hour later she stood, her movements almost robotic, and she grabbed her ratty old suitcase. She set the note in first, and then folded her clothes slowly and carefully into the bag.

She called her boss at the admin building. She told him she'd be unable to work for the rest of the summer due to the pregnancy. He was an elderly man with ten grandchildren, and told her she should have been on bedrest weeks ago. She thanked him, and walked out of the cabin to the bus station.

She didn't speak the whole ride home, except when she told the taxi driver where she lived. She would have to cancel on her roommates soon. They were probably going to object to living with a baby.

Thankfully, none of them were there when she got back. It was early morning, after all. They were probably at work.

She walked to her room—the one she shared with one of her three roommates, and proceeded to unpack her suitcase. The last thing she removed was, of course, the note.

It was not a love letter. It was not a litany of admiration, or a regretful lament. It was a mere seven words.

Names have power. Pick a good one.

Sally could not do it earlier, when she was so close to the sea. She didn't want him to see.

She sat on the bed and cried.

a/n

So the shortened gestational period: I am 1000% percent sure it was just a mistake on Riordian's part, but Percy's birthday is August 18th, which means he was conceived sometime in November if all went well with the pregnancy. But in the first book Sally very clearly states that she "only had him that one summer." So unless Poseidon was made another visit to Sally later that fall, there is no way he could have been conceived in the summer without having a very short gestational period. And I figured, what the hell, gods, magic, why not. So children of Poseidon, for some reason, now have a gestational period of 13.33 weeks. Joy be to all.

So I find I'm at a crossroads with this. On the one hand, I originally wrote it as the first part of a multi-chapter fic in which I explore the PJO series from a more adult perspective. And since a lot of what Riordian writes about are G-rated metaphors for very adult issues, it could get very dark indeed. I wouldn't be going chapter by chapter or anything, but I would try and attack some of the more pivotal scenes. On the other hand, if you guys aren't interested, I'll just write a pre-series mash-up of the characters I'm interested in looking at. Let me know what you think, your response is how I'll decide.

I am working on my other projects, by the way. Have no fear, I'm working on it.

Please review, I like feedback and it's kind of necessary this time to know where I should go with this.