Losing Your Hope

A/N- This was written for The Prompts first challenge, Losing Your -. I had fun writing this, actually. Vanleo159 was doing an awesome job beta-ing. In fact, she's a very awesome person.

*round of applause*

Anyways, so I hope you guys will participate in later prompts, because this one's deadline is tomorrow (yes, I know, I'm ashamed) but we will be coming back with more... This Friday! Five more prompts, just for all of you wonderful people.

Disclaimer: I bet Rick Riordan wasn't a measly procrastinator. I also bet vanelo159 can tell you all about that.

"And if you run into any trouble, just holler. I'll be there," you say, not bearing to look up at his face. You adjust the celestial bronze chainmail on his shoulders, your fingertips brushing at the soft skin on his neck – the skin you've kissed a thousand times.

"I'll be fine," he assures you, ducking his head to nuzzle it to your shoulder. You let your head fall over on his, savoring the semi-embrace. He breathes into your jaw in response, moving his head up slowly – his nose brushing your face in that spine-chilling way he always does to you – and kisses your cheekbone. "It's alright. I'm invincible, remember?"

"Not invincible enough," you whisper back. You can't get any other noise out of your throat with his face so close to yours. It doesn't help at all when he pulls you into him, either, his body curving in a very immodest way around yours. You would have been petrified had he done so in public, but because of your loathsome circumstances all you think of is the way he smells – so clean, so healthy – before you break away from him and bend your neck backwards, edging closer to him. His breath is soft and sweet.

Your lips and his melt together for a blissful moment, before he gently pulls away. He mutters something about hating to fight without you, but you both know that it's just an act to get you to stay away from the war.

You kiss again, this time a hard, hard kiss that would usually get you in bed and tearing at each others' bodies, but this time you can't. This time all you can do is fall into him, your arms caressing his face, his back. He can't feel his back, of course, you had costumed the bronze chainmail to have several layers around the middle of his back, but he still shivers and moans into your mouth. The rush of warm air surrounds your intermingling tongues, and you gasp, the intake of cold air – this time – surprising him.

"I-I have to-" he starts, panting hard. You nod.

"Go." The word comes out of your swollen lips before you start to cry. "Go, be safe."

He looks reluctant to leave, but he steps away from you and takes both of your shaking hands in his. You notice how your hands are still shaking, and you see that his arms are trembling too. So are his lips.

(There's no hope.)

"I love you," is what he says. His voice cracks at the last millisecond of the word you, and you can't help it anymore. A thick sob escapes you and you let the tears stream down your face.

"I love you, Percy."

A last kiss, a last hug, and he turns his back on you. Your shoulders are hunched, but you won't let anymore tears fall.

(Three tears are enough.)

He smiles his beautiful smile at you. One last time, you think.

(His eyes are a bright, brilliant green.)

(His eyes are alive.)

The minute he disappears over the horizon, shouts of war are heard. A strong, manly cry shouts, "For Olympus!" And you can hear the first swords clashing.

(The last swords, too.)

You see his pale face. You see the bloodied bronze, rust and red and gold and brown all mixed together.

His eyes are closed and his lashes are sticky. You brush dirt off his face.

His chest heaves and you heart flutters.

"Get me some nectar and ambrosia!" You demand.

(You can't see his eyes, but you're sure they're alive still.)

You sit by him night and day. You are hypnotized by the sound of his gentle breathing – slow, so slow.

You rack your brain to remember the last time it was as quiet as this. You remember a cold day and a warm body and a very quiet night. The wind was howling…

He takes your hand and leads you to the white sheets strewn in a tangled mess on the ground. You laugh as you pick them up and fold them together, only half clothed. Your synchronized motions bring you and him together as the sheets fold, and every time you bring them together, he kisses you on the lips – quickly, now – and you giggle and walk back to fold the sheets vertically.

When the sheets are folded and tucked away in the closet, you find yourself peeling the shirt off of his tan chest and putting it over your almost bare chest. The shirt reaches your naked mid-thighs, but neither of you care. He says you are sexy, and you blush and say, "Not as much as you."

You're wearing that shirt as you sit by him and pray to the gods that he will be ok.

When he opens his eyes after three moons, they are green.

A bright, brilliant kind of green.

An alive sort of green.

His gentle footsteps sound through the night, a gracing patter patter on the silver floor of the Athena cabin. He whispers your name, and the minute he places an arm on your shoulder, you choke back the coming sobs.

"I thought I'd lost you," you croak, your voice breaking in that pre-puberty way you absolutely hate. "I thought I had."

"I'm sorry," he says. Only he can pull off the face he makes after, and it's the first laugh you've had since the incident.

"I forgive you."

You open up your blankets and he slips in, cuddling you into his chest. You put your arms around his torso and touch the small of his back. He shudders and gasps.

The rain falls hard that night, drowning out all sounds.

You can feel him with you. You can see his snores, even if they cannot be heard over the sounds of tiftif and plashplash.

You snuggle closer to his chest.

You wake up to the feel of his shirt against your cheek. You feel his muscles rippling slightly as he bends his neck and looks at you.

You look up.

Green.

(bright, brilliant, alive.)

Please R&R!

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I love you all...

RAB