A/N: I'm sixteen, I'm off for college, and I think this is the perfect time to let this thing go and float on its own.

I've reread all my stories. I have no words except to say that, besides the sucky writing style I used to have, there are plot holes so big I can place China inside of it along with the 1.3 billion people, and it would still have some space for the islands of Oceania and Maldives. But I can say I have grown, and I quote "some self-esteem, you fucking pussy". Made this for only a day. Thank you for all the support and I sincerely hope you will like this dark yet more optimistic chapter. I apologize in advance for the obscene amount of swearing.

Dedicated to: storyteller1425 – the gal's amazing, and I did not send this part of the manuscript to her because I wanted it to be a surprise. She did persuade me to make an alternative. So here it is, my lady friend. And no, the mistakes in this chapter are mine, all mine. No, you can't have a slice.

Stuck in Between

Chapter 16 – 2: The Other and Slightly Better Version of The Happily Never After (Alternate Ending)

~0~

Nothing much happened. Just a couple of things that the majority of people in America took as a minor occurrence; sleet covered most of the roads west of New Jersey, two burglaries amidst the Christmas Eve shopping rush, and a survivor from the Flight JZ101 crash finally woke up from her long (fifteen months to be exact), deep slumber, which caused quite a stir in the local news in few chosen channels.

Percy Jackson chugs down a few cheap beers, his Adam's apple bobbing; he begs to differ.

"You. Come. Home. Now."

He ignores the static buzzing on his phone and wipes his mouth. "I can't decide what's more annoying: you calling non-stop for the last twenty minutes or the fact that you're just standing ten feet away from me wearing a hideous disguise, which by the way does not qualify as a disguise since you stand out more than a wrestler inside a toy shop buying Robocop action figures."

He can see Rachel blanch. "You are sickening."

"It is Christmas, Dare. Would it kill you to loosen the knot and join me?"

"I don't think drinking your liver to death falls under the 'loosen the knot' category."

Percy snorts. He hangs up and slides the peanut bowl closer to him, taking a handful of nuts and crushing it into his mouth. He knows exactly why Rachel's been hovering around him for the past couple of months; his mom isn't entirely known in the east coast for being the discreet type. In another parallel world, Percy might have been touched. But the way she bosses him around is annoying, not to mention disconcerting.

Sighing, Rachel takes the stool next to him quite gracefully. "You know, your mother's going to kill me if you crash again." She fiddles with the peanut bowl. "This is not what she pictured when I assured her that I would take you home to dinner with us."

"And have me and your father in the same room?" Percy shoots back. "I thought you're done with this whole 'flirt with disaster' phase you had going on."

"Puh-lease. At least I've grown a brain and taught myself how to put up with you and Grover. Look at you!" She waves her hand up and down at him to prove her point. "Haven't you been listening to me?"

Percy takes another swig. "You, milady, are being a little dramatic."

He realizes a fraction of a second too late that it was the wrong thing to say. Rachel's nostrils flare, her cheeks coloring in almost the exact shade of her copper hair. She pounds her right fist on the platform, making an audible noise and a few people turn their heads in conspiracy. "You have been moping – and I mean moping – for nine weeks that it made manic-depressives go camping in the sewers with their tails in between their legs and no. No, no, no. You had to start blowing things out of proportion! You had to go out of town for three whole days and totally ignore our calls like we're not going insane wondering where in hell you are and what in hell you've screwed up, and you go around like some freakin' egghead in an 80's movie, and fuck, don't get me started on the whole 'I'm not going to class just because I don't feel like it' crap. I mean, shit! Do you know how Doc J has been doing? Do you?" She gives him a full-on glare, takes in another breath and fires. "Your mom has been cleaning your ass since your father left you both, and this is how you thank her?"

"Rachel, stop – "

"Oh no. Don't you 'Rachel' me, you SOB. You are so full of bullshit, you know that? The girl was in a freaking coma, forchristsake. C-O-M-A. She doesn't remember you! She doesn't remember us! I know you have this tendency to fall in love with things that don't make any sense, but please, Perseus Jackson. You have crossed a lot of motherfucking lines that do not need crossing. Sorry to break it to you – oh, wait. I'm not sorry at all – but this is ridiculous! I never signed up to be your bodyguard, no way in hell. But I owe your mom. Annabeth Chase does not and will not remember any of the goddamned things you've talked about or the stupid moments you've shared BECAUSE she was a vegetable at that time! She wakes up and she moves on. That's life, Jackson. We've all fucking experienced it. Now stop overreacting and get your dick straight."

Rachel hears a sharp intake of breath and is astonished to see Percy's eyes tender. He swallows painfully and mutters "You're a bitch" before taking his coat, heading towards the door.

She sighs, making a mental note to stop by his apartment tomorrow morning, and calls the bartender (who has been getting closer inch by inch since the tirade started). "Put the asshole's bill on my tab." She sighs again.

The bartender nods and turns to the auburn-haired girl whose bra-less chest is protruding.

Rachel takes out her phone and winces at the sight of calls she missed. She swears. All of them were from Sally Jackson-Blofis. She redials. "Um, Doc? Yeah, I think I went a little too far."

~0~

Another wrench from his gut. A sloppy goo with pale brown hue explodes from Percy's mouth as he holds on a lamppost three kilometers away from Drei's beer house. A swirl of nausea attacks his brain and before he can steady himself, he pukes again, the sludge mixing with snow coating the pavement. He smells at least a dozen of dead rats oozing out from his mouth and a hint of cooked turkey from the house across the street. He contemplates whether going along with Rachel for dinner was such a bad idea to begin with.

Heh.

He spews hard again and again, and he crashes. Barely missing bathing from his own vomit, he falls face first on the sidewalk, his teeth chattering. "Uuuuhhhhhhh." He knows he doesn't have much energy to get up so he stays there, listening to the neighborhood dogs barking at each other, the melody of the carolers a couple of blocks away, the unmistakeable mirth coming from the voice of a seven-year-old as he plays Twister with his cousins.

The cold seeps through his winter clothing, but he decides he doesn't give a damn, and he won't give a damn so help me god I will stay in this fucking position until my dying breath and I'll –

"Well, isn't this a lovely Christmas to us all."

Percy deliberately closes his eyes. "Shut up. I'm dying."

"No shit."

"You have too good a timing. Dare called you?"

"I swear to the heavens you're going to be a great detective someday. Or a comedian, 'coz we all know America lacks a couple of charming, humorous bastards."

"So I've been told," Percy responds dryly.

"I'm going to take pictures, you know."

He doesn't respond.

"Hey," Grover squats down, giving Percy a full view of his best friend's goatee. Percy swears to himself that he must have drunk too much liquor for Grover's eyes seem a little hysterical. "You okay?"

Percy shoots him a look. "Hey, there's a protocol that needs to be followed here, Jack-ass-son. You should know this; your mother's a doctor," Grover tells him.

The black-haired boy tries to sit up, instantly failing as he does. His head meets the cement with a thud. "Ugh," Percy moans. He fondles his scalp. "I'm in a helluva trouble."

Grover's eyes turn more hysterical as he said this, Percy notes. "You." Grover takes his arm gently and nudges him upward. His clothes are clinging on the sidewalk, restricting the movement. The bearded man puts on a little force with much momentum as he can and succeeds from removing Percy from his current position. He takes Percy by the arm and sighs. "Need to stop making a fool of yourself."

"My professor just told me that I'll be delayed. Am I not entitled to go and make a ruckus for once?"

"Totally your fault," Grover mumbles.

Percy grumbles heatedly and attempts to remove his sling from Grover's shoulders. He limps away, trying to decipher the blur of street signs.

"Hey, hey, hey! Are you stupid or are you just freakin' suicidal?" Grover shouts.

"You and Rachel need to stop." Percy turns to the skies, not wanting to see censure in his companion's face. "I'm serious. I'm fine."

"You just told me you'll be delayed for another year." Grover eyes him warily. "That's way beyond the definition of fine."

Percy almost laughs. "I got it. Yeah, yeah, I got it. But you see, Grover, you guys are the one who don't understand." He is slurring his words. It takes him sixty seconds to say the sentences with as much coherence he can muster.

A spike of cold wind blasts the two of them, and at that Grover takes Percy's arm again. "God almighty." He wrinkles his nose. "You smell like week-old fish sticks, man. Damn. I'll drive you home."

The rumble on his shoulders makes Grover turn to his companion. Percy is chuckling to himself.

~0~

Being a constant visitor of the Jackson apartment ever since it was rented has some perks, half-carrying, half-dragging a drunken twenty-year-old without entering the wrong room and perpetually destroying a few valuables the obvious first in the list. Grover again reminds himself – of course – of the finer points in life.

"This has got to be the eleventh time," he tells him good-naturedly. Grover kicks the door to the apartment loudly, and takes in the stale smell of caffeine emanating from the furnished walls. It is a relatively small apartment. With Percy's outrageous college fees and his mom's obsession with shoes, housekeeping magazines, and fine dining, not to mention the mortgage they are still paying for their house back in Chicago, they can hardly afford anything bigger or homey, not that anyone complained. The Jacksons moved from Chicago to New Jersey for Percy's education, Sally's job, and for the absolute un-involvement of Percy's evil father in their lives.

But ever since Paul Blofis came in the picture, Percy lives alone.

Percy smiles a small smile. "I'm surprised you're counting."

"Heh. Got to keep track of the favors you owe me. I'm telling you now, Percy boy. You are in for twenty years of slavery on my behalf if this goes on."

"Just keep counting." The springs on the bedding squeak as his body hits the mattress. A little moan escapes from Percy's mouth. The headache is killing him slowly.

"Are you going to puke again?" There is a hint of teasing glee in Grover's rusty voice. "I'm going to get the bucket now."

"No, no," Percy moans and closes his eyes. He puts his arm on his forehead, hoping the added weight will bore away the pain. He mentally dreads the hangover to come. "I think I got it."

Grover fights a chuckle.

"You're pretty strong for a scrawny cripple," Percy offhandedly comments. "I guess you have your moments."

Grover promptly sobers. "What is it that we don't understand, Percy? Tell us. Tell me."

He watches as Percy opens an eye. "Did Rachel ever tell you that I quote tend to fall in love with things that don't make sense unquote?"

Grover ignores him. "Look, MF. I'm not leaving this rathole until you tell me what's goin' on. It's completely fair, or am I wrong?"

"Sounds reasonable."

"See, was that so bad?"

"You tell me."

"Enough of this snark-off, Perce. You tell me what's made you effed up, and I will personally decree my and Rachel's restraining order if – "

"I thought we're done with conditionals."

" – It is completely within reason. We are men – grown men. We invented airplanes and spaceships and internet and porn to satiate our longings, and in a very, very efficient way. Now, we can take this the easy, efficient way, or we can always take the long, hard way, which is you being issued an injunction. How does that sound?"

Percy laughs without humor. "You've been hanging around too much with Rachel."

"It's a win/win situation if you ask me." Grover shrugs. "I'll go turn on the heater, dude, so ponder on where you should start."

Percy rolls on his side as Grover leaves, licking his lips. His throat is sore and he is hyper aware that he smells so bad that he's sure his mother's precious plants will die from the reek. He shuts his mind from the present and leaves the door ajar for the previous months' happenings to come smite him.

He makes sure he has his emotions tucked in carefully before he starts.

~0~

The sunlight coming from his window slowly blasts him out of his slumber. It is ten in the morning, though he could have sworn it was earlier, but his phone proves him otherwise. It also says it is Christmas. Percy texts his mom and Paul a Happy Christmas and no, sorry I can't visit you today just because and hope you like the present I bought you (it's in your dresser). Grover too, but decides not to greet Rachel. He vaguely remembers the night before, but he can figure enough. Ergo the not-greeting.

Staring at his phone's screen for ten minutes gives him another wave of nausea, so he claims the space in front of the toilet and throws up until nothing in his stomach is left. It rankles him, the smell of his bile. He pulls down the lever and watches his bile swirl away as it flushes, idly wondering which part of the sewer will be blessed by his puke. Percy leans his head on the toilet seat and sighs. Some Christmas he's having.

The phone on his pocket vibrates.

He starts to take off his shirt and baskets it in the hamper along with his other dirty apparel. He dares to peer on his phone. "Meet me downtown. Burger King's waiting for you," Percy reads Grover's message aloud, mumbling. "Huh. Guess that's all the greeting I'm going to get."

It takes him eight minutes to leave his sanctuary and shower, ignoring the dull throb on his temples. He puts on deodorant, a clean, gray shirt and black, corduroy pants. He figures a check-up on the mirror won't hurt and grimaces at the image on the mirror. The image grimaces back. He is as pale as the walls of Clark Kennedy General, and shuns away the memories that came with the discerning.

He steps out of his apartment and locks the door. The doorknob is cold and hard and unfeeling. He realizes that he has not replied to Grover's message yet, fishes out his phone and types away.

He goes to his rental car. He drives.

Percy parks not so neatly along with a hatchback on the side, his frown deepening as he notices a familiar mop of red hair sitting next to Grover. He pushes the glass door open and stands at the side on the place Rachel and Grover are sitting. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I never kid."

"Last time I checked, I'm still mad at you," Percy intones lightly, which makes a good contrast with the expression he is wearing.

She snorts delicately while Percy takes the empty seat. "Real mature, Jackson. I'm not the one talking to spirits here and there."

Percy's eyes flash, swerving at Grover who is trembling almost imperceptibly. "You told her?" he bellows. "Jeez, Underwood. I thought we had the confidentiality thing under control. Some friend you are."

It is Rachel's turn to spit fire. "So I'm not your friend? Very sweet of you, Percy."

"He asked nicely. You didn't."

"So I'm at fault now?"

"Guys," Grover cuts in. "Let's be real here. This is a situation – "

"Well, here's the million dollar question: do you guys believe me?" Percy asks, point blank.

The hesitant look in both his friends' faces is enough an answer. Percy scoots away and leaves, only to be stopped by Rachel's grip cutting on his wrist. "Hey, Grover's right," Rachel says quietly, controlled. "Look, we have to talk more about this, alright? Just hear us out."

The beating drums from his heart seem to have risen to his brain. Percy rubs his temples and sits down again, breathing heavily. The employees and the customers are giving them the eye right now. "Go ahead," he exhales. "Shoot."

"We – Grover and I – are currently at the stage where we process what you have said last night," she begins slowly.

"Right."

"And you're saying you had been talking to Annabeth Chase's spirit when she plunged to a deeper coma after your birthday and had been basically helping her fight all the way. Right?"

"Right."

"And in the process, you'd fallen in love with her, and now that she's awake and does not have an inkling about your misadventures together, you are – "

"The love part purely did not come from this mouth," Percy interjects, frowning. "Look, do you believe me or not?"

"You tell me," Grover says dryly. "And yeah, I do believe you, man." Percy never lied to him, ever. Why would he start now?

"Hey, I just had two hours to take this all in in contrast with Mr. Goatee here. Lift the blame from me, Jackson," Rachel counters.

Percy watches the two of them back and forth. He squints his eyes suspiciously. "Told mom? Paul?"

Rachel's "No, not a chance" and Grover's "Hell no" whirl in chorus.

He shakes his head in silent amusement. Wrong move. The queasiness hits him again and he struggles to keep the small bacon sandwich he had as breakfast inside him. "You guys are nuts."

Rachel arches up an eyebrow. She seriously fails to see why she fell in love with this slightly tall, dark-haired, green-eyed boy in front of him, especially now that said boy has gone completely manic. She lets herself go back to last night, when she puts Percy off by making him aware of his predilection to 'things that don't make any sense'. That makes two of us, she thinks matter-of-factly.

"We – Rachel and I – also have decided to make the best out of this." Grover breaks the silence, mimicking her tone. The smaller guy pulls out a torn sheet of grid paper from his front pocket and passes it across table.

Percy eyes the sheet with doubt. "619 Thorn St., 73 – wait, what is this?"

"And I thought I was dumb. That, buddy, is Annabeth Chase's new address. Her father decided to move her here for the time being so that she'll be close to your mother, who's still overseeing her treatment," Grover replies and continues with a hint of smugness when Percy's face lights up. "Have you ever tried wooing the girl the right way, man?"

"How did you get this?" Every note is colored with disbelief. The small thing suddenly feels like a slab of marble in Percy's hands.

Grover laughs out loud, tossing his head upwards. The collection of stringy hair beneath his chin splays in a disorganized fashion. "You've got to give me some credit, man. How d'you think I got me some Juniper?"

Percy manages to crack a smile. "You know, this is better than your last Christmas gift. Way, way better."

Rachel nods in agreement. "The lingerie catalog was over the top, Grover, and I'm all for it."

They take a helping of cheeseburgers, the air suddenly growing serious. "Hey." Grover gulps. "Promise me you won't jump on her."

It takes two seconds before Percy realizes he was talking about a certain blonde. "Oh. Yeah, yeah. I promise I won't."

"It's been more than two months, but I'm thinking she's still ill," Rachel concurs stiffly. "Pain ebbs away, but it's nothing but slow. You have to give her a chance."

"I know," he says softly.

"You do?" Rachel inquires just as soft, her heart constricting at the sight of Percy's face falling. Damn her, she loves the man, and an irrational part of her hates that girl, that blasted Annabeth Chase for what she did to him, albeit unknowingly. Grover seems to share the sentiment, although not as fervently as she does.

A glint in his eyes says "Yes, I do" as he looks up at both of them, and he smiles shyly. "Uhh, thanks. For everything. For putting up with me."

"Aww. Lighten up, sourpatch," Grover smirks heartily and pats Percy's arm with much difficulty. He takes a singular sip of coke and continues. "Just stop being such a total dick. By that I mean you have to let us in. The whole ignoring's getting pretty old, in my book."

"Hmm. Being ignored by me seems to take a toll on you guys," Percy joked. "I won't. Scout's honor." He stares somewhat strangely at the paper again before he puts it in his wallet. "This is unbelievable."

"Seriously? You're going to lecture us on what's believable?" Rachel giggles.

"You've got a point. I owe you, guys, big time."

"Now he gets it," she says, still sardonic. "Merry Christmas, Percy Jackson."

His laugh stops short and he eyes the two steadily. He mentally double-checks whether or not they're playing the guilt trip card and smacks himself instantly for the thought. The pit on his stomach clearly displays with neon lights how he doesn't deserve such friends, regretting how he had purposefully barred their calls and e-mails which contained asking how he was doing. He wonders whether things will be back to normal after this. "Merry Christmas, Rachel. You too, Grover."

~0~

His wristwatch indicates it is already two in the afternoon when he arrives on Annabeth Chase's house's front. He thought that he had the entire New Jersey memorized, but Percy Jackson is never known for being calculating. So there he was, two and a half hours earlier, looking for Interstate 95, taking the wrong turn at James St., ending up with a quick but nasty squabble with a sixty-year-old man with thick, black-rimmed glasses about snow, oranges, and parking spaces.

The bush thickets are covered in a soft sprinkle of snow. It reminds him of cupcakes his mother used to make him and of smooth autumn nights. His eyes are momentarily dazed by the headlights coming from the next door car. Annabeth's neighbor catches his eye and she greets him a willful "Merry Christmas!". He nods in response as he watches her leave. Looking at the rear-view mirror, he lets out a low whistle. "Here goes nothing."

The trip to the slick stairs seems endless as he saunters to ring the doorbell. "Coming!" says a voice from the other side of the door, and he wonders whether the chimes he heard came from the doorbell or the voice.

He does not realize that he was holding his breath until the door opens.

She must have gotten a haircut recently, but the way her hair waves past her shoulders he can recall with perfect clarity. Her skin is paler, however, and more papery than he remembered. The bags under her eyes mean she has not been sleeping well more than he has, and the way her stormy gray eyes meet his sea green ones clearly avows that she recognizes him, and he isn't welcome.

He finds her utterly attractive despite himself.

Her eyes narrow a little, and he decides that attractive doesn't quite cut it. "You don't have anything with you or on you, and you are dressed too casually, so I'm guessing this is nothing but a personal visit. Not a medical agendum from your mom, I presume."

Damn, he thinks. He doesn't hear a question in any syllable she spoke. She's intelligent and she knows it. Confident. He gives himself a mental kick and shove to start-up his brain. "Uh, hi."

The look on Annabeth's face urges him to continue. "Uhh, yeah. So I guess you remember me. Right." His fingers dig in his front pockets; he desperately hopes that his hands will stay intact despite the cold. "Um, can I come in? It's so cold and I've been driving for almost three hours and I can hear my whole body rallying."

He can almost see the gears in her head turning as she tentatively opens the door with enough berth for him to enter. He leaves his snow-crusted shoes at the doorway and slips on a pair of slippers she offered him, doing a stealthy once-over on Annabeth's small living room. The house gives off an eerie feel, and the walls smell suspiciously of corned beef. All of the furniture is embellished with swirl-like carvings. An enormous green carpet bristles against Percy's slippers. He notices a slouch in Annabeth's posture as soon as she brings him tea (and is surprised that he did not notice Annabeth leave for the kitchen). Uneasy.

She places the tray onto the wooden table between them and urges him to sit across her. She offers him tea. "So, Mr. Jackson." She pulls back a stray hair from her face and licks her lips. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

He flinches. He hates that she's being formal with him. "Um, about that time – "

"I'm sorry." Her voice is cold and hard like the weather outside. "I truly am, but I do not know you. I do not remember you at all, nor do I recall being friends with you. You are my caretaker's son. Aside from that, you're a stranger to me."

Percy's jaw clenches. "Oh no, you didn't. You didn't just call my mother a caretaker, did you?"

"Would you like more complex terms, Mr. Jackson?" Annabeth's smile is sweetly disarming.

She is goading her to leave, Percy knows, and in a way he understands. The first and last time they met, he was pressing her to remember their banter, their confessions, the trip to New York, and it scared the crap out of Annabeth. The fire of hope in his eyes were extinguished as soon as Annabeth looked at him in confusion, and the devastation cracked his shell so much he wasn't the same ever since he left Clark Kennedy.

Screw this. I'm sorry, Grover, Percy thinks acidly. "You didn't get the job, right?"

And then he sees it. Subtle, but Annabeth's eyes shift from shock to aloofness. "What are you talking about?" she questions, her voice strong.

"The internship for the editorial spot. Tadeny got it, didn't she?"

Annabeth no longer hides her surprise. "You know Leila? What are you, a full-blown stalker? Are you snooping around without my permission?"

"Asking for permission totally defeats the purpose of stalking. And to answer your first question, no. I am not stalking you," he admissions quickly when Annabeth opened her mouth to speak.

She takes in a deep breath and tells him, "Listen here, Mr. Jackson – "

"Call me, Percy."

"Whatever! Mr. Percy Jackson, I appreciate your concern, but this is my life you are interfering with. This is – "

"For god sake, Annabeth! Can you tell that I am not lying to you, and have not been from the start?" He catches a downright frenzy in his voice, struggling to keep himself from shouting. The drive might have made his patience thin. "Leila Tadeny got the job because you made me write a fucking letter of recommendation for her instead. You were – "

"I would never do such a thing!" Annabeth exclaims, outraged. "I wanted that job so much and dear god, I hated the woman to bits."

"Would you please let me finish?" Percy cuts her short, and notes that her cheeks have a pinkish tint, her eyes flashing wildly. His stupid heart makes a quick flip and finds himself turned on by Annabeth's anger.

He is fascinated by how disgustingly perverted he's turning into around this girl.

"Believe it or not, we've met, although in unconventional circumstances. I know all about your internship and Leila, your creative writing thing, your 'not-giving-a-shit-towards-other-people-with-a-few -exceptions'. I know you eat a lot of ramen, and that you love Faulkner and Matt Damon. You have a good collection of party invites that you've never even considered going to inside your bedside drawer, and if you're going to ask, no. I did not ransack your house, Annabeth. At least not without you. I know you, Annabeth. Believe me, I do. Only for a short amount of time, I know – and you have no idea how frustrated I am with that – but it meant a lot to me. You have to give me a chance, Annabeth. Because I know you remember me, you can. You do. You can't possibly be losing sleep otherwise. And if you're having a hard time remembering everything, I am more than happy to offer my assistance and give your neurons a twist."

She is silent for a while. They both hear the distinctive sound of a clock ticking. "You have a bloated sense of self-worth. Did anyone tell you that?" she admonishes, her voice weak this time.

"Not really, no." Percy grins dryly. "Just a determined guy who'll do anything to get and achieve what he wants."

Annabeth scowls. "If there's anything I hate, it's objectification. I am not some toy you can just claim, nor can you just invade my house and tell me what I should or shouldn't remember. I am my own person, Mr. Jackson. You can't shape me to fit in this fantasy of yours."

"In retrospect, you let me in your house and even offered me this nice cup of tea." He holds up the crystalline object for emphasis.

At that the blonde stops altogether. Percy was not aware of their faces so dangerously close to each other until she leans back and makes a disgruntled noise at the back of her throat. She bites her lip and brings up a forced smile as she turns to him. "I think it's time for you to leave."

Percy blinks.

She smiles again, more naturally this time. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson. Uh, yes. Percy." She dusts herself as she stands and leads him towards the door. Percy has no choice but to follow like a child called for a time-out.

Annabeth opens the door for him without a sound, and when his green orbs finally meet hers, he sees something that paralyzes every bit of his senses.

"Happy holidays," she tells him as she gently closes the door, those two words bearing a tone fit for a funeral.

And Percy stands agape, unsure of what really happened, heads for the car, hides his face in both of his hands, drives away.

Hurt.

~0~

Percy cautiously places an ice pack on his toes, absolutely sore from kicking his door frames. His voluminous and colorful swearing earlier alerted the other residents of the apartelle within a twenty-feet radius – "Keep your misery to yourself, asshole. Have a fucking merry day" – and instead resorted to injuring himself to get a sense of butt-biting reality again. He called himself an idiot one more time before reclining to the kitchen for a fix for his aching feet.

He wasn't supposed to war on her. Damn, he was supposed to console her. The lady just woke up from a coma, genius. Things weren't going as she planned; have you ever thought of that?

It is useless for him to chide himself, he decides. It is too late. He knows he should have stuck to the plan: go to her house, excuse himself for being such an airhead, start over. Woo her properly. It was a foolproof plan, he gripes to himself. You had to go Air America on her, hadn't you?

He awkwardly imagines himself wooing Annabeth. The flowers, the candy, the whole nine yards.

He refutes himself again, thinking how he could never stand being with her while he recalls every, single moment they've had since he entered her white, sterile room, and she can't. Or won't. It will be like having an inside joke with the air. Oblivious and uncaring.

And this time he starts planning whether to pursue plan A, to start over again. He then snorts with dark humor, thinking that he's expecting too much from her, asking too much for her kindness and consideration. He slams hard on the couch, welcoming the pain on his spine.

For the first time, he thinks about his mom. Pondering how her Christmas has been, and how both of their Christmases will be different from now on, now that Paul is with her. His face goes aflame, ashamed. It is Christmas. He should have been thinking about his family. He should have visited them.

He calls himself an idiot one more time before his eyes seal itself shut.

~0~

At the third set of knocks, Percy wakes up.

He grudgingly leaves the sofa – one body part at a time, no rush – and glances fleetingly at the small wall clock above. 9 o'clock. He peers at the windows. It is dark outside.

The knocker sounds impatient this time, the raps getting louder and plenty. Absent-mindedly scratching his neck, he opens the door. It is cold.

The hallway lights outside hit him, blinding him momentarily.

"Oh! I'm so sorry." Annabeth's voice sounds extremely apologetic and sheepish. "Were you sleeping? Uhh, I was in the neighborhood so I, er – "

"You live at least a couple of miles away from me," Percy retorts, still dumbfounded. "What are you doing here? How did you know I'm here?"

Annabeth practically shoves him a medium-sized box. Cagily, Percy opens the package. Both of his eyebrows shoot upward as he takes in the sight of a small, homemade cake swathed with different hues of blue icing. He takes notice that it was hastily made and clears his throat. "Blue, huh? I thought the color of the day should be mint green and fiery red."

She rolls her eyes. "It's your color. And sorry, I'm not recognized for my culinary skills."

Percy fidgets nervously. "Uhh, what made you change your mind?"

"Silena and Beckendorf."

He begins to like her new matter-of-fact attitude, along with the familiar cynicism. "That's nice."

"Listen here, Seaweed Brain. You have exactly one hour to tell me everything. Enlighten me."

He smiles. She remembers.

~Fin (nouveau)~