Sorry for the longer hiatus, guys. I'm in a bit of a writing funk, and the best stuff I can write is fanfiction that won't be released for a while. It's a bit of a nightmare. I still intend to keep going, I'm just not good at regular updates. At all. I also tend to get sick a lot this time of year, so there's that.

Regardless, I hope you enjoy this update. I…will do my best to get an FF one to you guys soon, as soon as I figure out where I want events to fall.

"Whatever you want to do, do it now. There are only so many tomorrows." ~ Michael Landon

Is this why Hades washed me in the Lethe? I think to myself as I pull Hazel away from a neon-colored sports car parked in front of an office building.

At first, Hazel's unfailing mystification over the twenty-first irked me, her every delighted outburst at a new, remarkable sight forcing me to bite my tongue — until it dawned on me I might not have responded well to the modern day if the Lotus Hotel hadn't done its level best to dwarf any technological achievement beyond its barriers.

Well, that and the suspiciously Annabeth-like voice in my mind that said, Oh, of course! Because your internalized homophobia could not at all be an unintended byproduct of your pre-Civil Rights upbringing. You must be the best-adjusted child of the WWII-era in history.

Needless to say, I field Hazel's overeager questions much better now, suffering cruel flashbacks to my first concentrated conversation with Percy when I was ten. How much had he wanted to surreptitiously push me over the same cliff Annabeth fell off?

This time, it's a suspiciously Percy-like voice. You grew on me kinda like a cancerous mole.

I spare a small smile to his patented sarcasm before the terrible reality reoccurs to me with a vengeance. Next to me chatters a bubbly, altogether half-sister whose strange childlike brilliance warms my soul, but not the two people I braved the Underworld to resurrect.

" — tice how no one is giving us strange looks?" Hazel is saying as my pace falters down the street. She spins around in place, waving cheerfully to confused passersby probably wondering how such a delightful child can even exist next to the personified depression walking alongside her. "I mean…you're white and no one has even been mean about — Nico?"

I tear my eyes away from the contemplative nothingness into which I stared a moment ago. "Yes?"

Hazel's eyebrows knit together in concern. She takes my hand and steers me out of the flow of foot traffic. "You're thinking about the people you went to the Underworld to save, aren't you?"

I wince, averting my eyes. The concrete cracks with weeds next to my left foot. "I don't regret bringing you back, if that's what you're worried about."

She taps me on the shoulder. I lift my gaze to her again. "I'm not," she says. "But it's okay if you wish you had them instead."

"I don't," I insist. My voice pounds with sincerity. Hazel jumps a little. "I wish I had the time to save them, too, but…" I tilt my head back to stare the sky. Wispy white clouds spread like veins through it. I sigh. "Bianca chose rebirth. She didn't even try to talk to me about it. Just…" I make a vague, flapping motion with my fingers.

Hazel doesn't speak for a moment. "Was she your sister, too?"

I nod. "Same mother and father." I tuck my four fingers into my jean pockets. I refuse to entertain the notion I might be pouting. "She was — is — all I really remember from my past. But no. The second these super-cool maidens show up and offer her immortality away from her annoying little brother, that all goes out the fucking window!" I stop. "Oh. I…shouldn't have sworn. Sorry."

She shrugs. "I don't care." She wrinkles her nose adorably for a moment. "Am I allowed to say something mean about your sister?"

I grunt affirmatively.

"You're better off without that bitch."

I choke. For some reason, hearing profanity fall from her lips feels like heresy of some variety.

Hazel smiles. "Sorry." She picks at her fingernails. "Just…if she could be that selfish, I feel like she would have just…held you back. You're so nice. I mean, it's not just anyone who would risk the laws of life and death to save a distant half-sister they don't even know."

I fixate on three words, though. "Me?" I say, shocked. "Nice? I think you're the first person in my entire life to describe me as nice."

"You need to get better friends, then." She beams at me. A million pounds evaporates from my chest. Then, with a soft giggle, she embraces — no, hugs — me. I melt into her arms despite myself, arms curling around her midsection. Her hair smells like honey for some bizarre reason. I like it.

We pull apart after a moment. I remember her words before my reverie. I smirk. "You know, I should introduce you to someone named Martin Luther King Jr."

~1~

"It's so colorful," Hazel gushes as I steer her into a McDonald's. "Why is it so colorful?"

"I think because it's easier to sell people over-processed garbage if you package it with lots of pretty colors," I say, quoting Annabeth dully. "But they sell Happy Meals, so who cares?"

Of course, then we step inside the restaurant, and it takes fifteen solid minutes to stir my sister from her slack-jawed shock over the computerized displays and electronic kiosks at the front. She then mistakes an ATM for a jukebox.

Eventually, I convince Hazel to sit and stay while I order us food, discreetly reaching into the shadows by the table to pull out the credit card given to me for my birthday by my overenthusiastic father. She continues to gawk at anything and everything.

"Welcome to McDonald's," the dead-inside, washed-out woman behind the counter greets as though speaking from a script.

"You don't have to pretend to be nice with me," I tell her. "Trust me, I'm not the brightest ray of sunshine you will ever meet, either."

She casts an anxious look behind her. "Okay. What can I get you?"

While I order, I cast occasional looks back to Hazel. Somehow, I get carried away in a conversation with the fast-food employee — Hazel's friendliness must be infectious — and forget to look back for several minutes. When I do, I feel a stab of blind panic fill my chest.

Sitting at a table next to her are two men blissfully holding hands.

I sputter through an excuse with the fast-food worker, scrambling over while doing my best to ignore the envious pangs in my chest. My thoughts are a frantic mess of oh gods she's going to be disgusted and repulsed and we're going to kicked out and I'm going to know I can never ever tell her I like men and she's going to hate me and —

And the couple starts laughing.

I skid to a stop a few paces behind Hazel, endlessly confused. The bearded man squeezes his partner's hand and looks at her. "You're a sweetheart," he says quite sincerely. "California is pretty great about this sort of thing, though. Every now and again, we'll run into someone less accepting, but most bigots don't want the fight enough to say anything."

Hazel gasps. "Wait. You mean…" Hazel squeals, covering her mouth. "I love the 21st century!"

I resume my desperate scramble and step in front of her. "I'm sorry," I babble. "My sister can just get carried away. She didn't mean to disturb your — " My voice catches. "Your date."

"It's no trouble, son," the other man says. "She's adorable. I can tell she means it." He offers a hand to both of us. "Jeremiah. This is my life-partner, Chris."

Life-partner. The words reverberate around my skull achingly. My eyes start to burn. I can only stare at his hand.

Hazel sees my face and loses her exuberance. She introduces us, then steers me away as our order is called. It takes two boxes to carry all the takeout bags. She guides me out of the restaurant, into a nearby park, and we sit together.

Hazel is silent for a while. "You're gay, aren't you?"

I stare at the bags of food. Their smell is delicious, but I barely notice. They must be getting cold by now. We should start eating.

"You don't have to tell me," Hazel promises, reaching forward to take my hand. "I know you must be worried. Scared, even. My time…well, it was bad."

I look at her. "How?" It comes out despite my efforts to hold it in. "How can you come from back then without hating what I am?"

Hazel frowns. "What you are? Nico…I don't know a lot, but I know I had a lot of people say terrible things to me because of the color of my skin. I can't change that. I can't fix something I was born with, and I kind of doubt it's anything different with who you love." She squeezes my hand. "You're a lot more than just a boy who likes other boys. You're also a great brother. If you don't mind my saying, you have good taste in clothes. Maybe a little darker than what I'm used to, but…"

I laugh wetly. When did I start crying? "It…" I pick at the grass. "I was technically born in the 30's, too," I confess. "Except…I was frozen in time with my sister. After H—after our father bathed us in the Lethe. I don't remember anything from before, but I have all these feelings, and…"

"And you're scared of who you love without understanding why." Before I can wonder how a girl so young can sound so wise, she hugs me again. I rest my head on her shoulder. "I'll support you, no matter what you do," she promises. "It would take a lot more than you kissing another boy to make me hate you."

I can't fight the smile that stretches across my face. I pull back and reach for the bags of fragrant food. "Time to introduce you to the Happy Meal."

You guys have no idea how relieved I am to finally be able to write Nico without dragging everyone down with non-stop angst. It's relieving. Very. Also means I should be able to update a little more.

I will say this much for Rick: writing a WWII-era character appropriately reacting to the twenty-first century is not an easy task. I did my best. I know I sucked. Can we just cut me some slack, please? I've been pouring my research energies into my original work lately. I didn't have room to give myself anything resembling a better grasp on how Hazel might respond to the modern day.

For those of you following this for the angst, have no fear. There is much more yet to come. Nico is an unending ball of existential crises.

Also, yes: I know the whole thing in McDonald's was rather convenient and pretty damn weird. I don't care. I needed to write something that way as a bridge. I like to think Hazel is a little puffball who didn't bat an eye, despite her upbringing, when her big brother came out to her, so.