Disclaimer: My chapter names aren't nearly as cool as Rick Riordan's. Therefore I'm not him, and don't own Percy Jackson. /3

Thank you so such for all your reviews! I almost died of happiness!

I forgot to say this in the other chapter, but I had wanted to write that line for about 10 chapters. IT'S THE WHOLE REASON I USED MOROS…!

I'm a cool one I know.

Any whooo, after a few days of umming and ahhing, let the week of daily updates begin. And who knows, enough reviews and I might even update twice in one day. –hinty hinty hint-

Chasing Butterflies

As Nico's face flickered and faded back into thin air, Ciara's jaw locked into place. She refused to let her lips quiver, and totally rebuffed the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

How dare he.

How dare he accuse Hypnos?

Nico knew nothing about him! They hadn't even met! How could Nico be so… so…

"AAAARGH!" Ciara screamed, and though she was standing on a crowded city street, not a single person flinched. Ciara still bit down on the sound anyway, rubbing at her pale eyes. Could gods cry?

Not that she was about to.

She never cried. Not Ciara, the girl made of stone. All those carefully formulated defences had lasted years, and now a few days of being immortal and she was being jerked around by her feelings left and right.

Thanatos had never shown any signs of being trapped on a knuckle whitening emotional roller coaster. In fact, besides the constant comfort of his affection, Thanatos had never seemed to show anything except a quiet resignation to his work.

Thanatos had always seemed like he'd switched off that part of his mind, as if he couldn't afford to feel anything. Ciara knew deep down that she should be doing the same.

If she didn't, if she continued to feel guilt or sadness every time her hand closed around the silvery filaments of someone's soul, she was going to go mad.

But of course, she'd known all about the crushing weight of guilt since… since a very long time ago. Ciara had been running from guilt for years and years, and before she'd looked into that mirror and realized the change that had taken place she'd almost outrun it.

But now, with the daunting prospect of forever stretched out in front of her, the shame had crashed down around her and whispered in her ear that 'now you can never forget. Now, you're going to remember what you've done forever.'

Ciara shivered in the sticky city heat. The tall grey buildings suddenly seemed as though they were breathing down her neck, the winking lights in languages she somehow understood scratched at her eyes.

Gulping down breaths she fished the notebook from her pocket, opening its case to reveal the technology's black, shiny surface. Across from her in a shop window was the mortal imitation, the iPad. But although the two looked undoubtedly similar, Ciara was positive that her notebook was far superior.

After all, it shrunk to fit in her pockets and could talk in a slightly disturbing Scottish accent. As appointments had gone by, the notebook had decided that if it sounded Scottish, it would sound more familiar to Ciara's Irish ears. Ciara had gritted her teeth and accepted the notebook's terrible imitation.

The top appointment on the list lit up the screen almost immediately.

Kaede Kooriyama, 23yrs 1mnths 5dys, Rome, Italy, 7.36 pm, peanut allergy reaction

Ciara only had to sift through the crowds for a second before she recognized her next client out of the corner of her eye. Recognized was a strange choice of words, she'd never met Kaede and knew almost nothing about her. It was more of an instinctive knowledge, she saw a flash of a navy blue sweater and just knew.

The crowd parted for Ciara as she walked towards a brightly blinking cafe, where Kaede was sitting across from a tall man and smiling shyly at him. Their hands were inches away on top of the table, and Ciara felt a pang as his fingers brushed over hers.

She already knew how Kaede was going to die.

This was her third date with this man, and allergies hadn't exactly come up in conversation. When their two plates of food arrive, her boyfriend will twirl some pasta around his fork and feed it to Kaede, interrupting her hesitant story of why she decided to uproot herself and move to Italy.

Little would he know that the completely familiar but still tantalizingly unrecognized taste in the pasta would be a small spoon of peanuts. And of course, how could he possibly know that Kaede, in her rush to get ready for her date (she'd spent forty minutes fussing in front of the mirror before realising that she was already late) had left her allergy kit at home.

As the out of breath waiter set their plates down on the table, Ciara wafted to the door of the café, unable to look as Kaede's quiet giggle pierced through the constant mumble of the café.

Her boyfriend twirled the pasta around his fork, eyes intent on Kaede as she brushed a black lock of hair behind her ear.

"Kaede, this is delicious, you have to try this –" Not stopping to revel in the fact that she could now understand Italian (it had always been a dream of Ciara's) Ciara stepped forward, ramming herself into the table and spilling the man's plate all over his crisp blue shirt.

"Perdonami," Ciara said breathlessly, as the man jerked to his feet, a storm cloud brewing between his eyebrows.

But this wouldn't be enough, the man could order another dish, or get close to Kaede with his now deadly clothing.

Boldly stepping forward, Ciara swiped a finger against his shirt.

"Mmm. Peanuts in the pasta, what a genius idea!" She babbled in fast Italian and Kaede, who was struggling to catch every word, leapt to her feet.

"Alonso, I am allergic to peanuts!" Alonso's eyes widened as he stepped towards Ciara

"Grazie, grazie mille! I was about to let her try my dish… You saved her life!" Suddenly Ciara was swept into a hug by the man, and when they parted the two of them looked as though they'd walked out of a police scene.

Kaede, who was struggling to hide her jealousy at the hug, looked as if she wanted to hug Ciara as well, but after looking at Ciara and the peanut pasta strewn all over her, she simply smiled and looked as if she was on the verge of tears.

"I didn't have my epi pen… You are the best waitress I've ever met, I cannot thank you enough," Kaede said breathlessly, her Japanese accent heavily colouring the words. Ciara couldn't help but look down at herself, she wasn't exactly dressed as a waitress, and her wings weren't exactly normal…

Regardless, Ciara brushed her hair from her face and stepped back as the waiter pushed past her and started mopping at the red splattered floor, muttering angrily under his breath.

"Di niente. I'm just happy you're alright." With that Ciara excused herself and left the café. The moment she was out in the street she pulled out her notebook. The notebook was flashing red as a the strange interpretation of Scottish spilled from the device.

"First priority appointment."

"With who?" Ciara asked, grateful that she seemed to not exist to the pushy mortals around her. Talking to technology in public had always struck her as slightly deranged.

"Clotho. She wishes to speak with ye within the next thirty seconds."

"Oh. Well, alright then."

Ciara walked over to a particularly reflective surface to fix her hair, just as the notebook started a grating countdown.

"10…"

"Shut up, I want to look presentable."

"9…"

Ciara's wings twitched in annoyance. The feathers brushed a passing man on the shoulder and he shivered in the evening heat.

"8…"

"If you aren't quiet I swear to god I'll crack your screen or something."

"7… Are you swearing to yourself?"

"I bet Hypnos's notebook isn't nearly as annoying as you are."

"6… It's worse,"

Ciara brushed a few stray hairs from her forehead, stared at the glass for a moment then brushed them back.

"5… You're going to be late Thanatos."

The name shocked Ciara so much that she didn't even react as the notebook callously continued its countdown.

"0."

The number rattled in her ears for a moment before Ciara shook her head violently to clear it. The notebook had just made a mistake, that was all it was. Looking back into the mirror, Ciara growled when she saw that her hair was now back to square one.

Brilliant.

The tinny Scottish voice lit up again from her pocket.

"Clotho says get here now, or she'll organize an accident for Nico."

His name sent a fresh wave of fury through Ciara. An accident? Who cares? After all, due to him SHE was a total accident.

"She'll organize an accident for your uncle AND Nico."

The thought of her uncle quietly weeping in his apartment spurred Ciara to close her eyes and focus. Clotho. Clotho. Clotho.

Ciara apparated into a dark, torchlit room hewn from blood red stone. There was a clacking sound coming from one corner, but when Ciara turned there was nothing there except for a rickety stool.

"You are one minutes and 53 seconds late."

Ciara spun to face the voice and almost smacked into a young woman in a wine coloured dress. Her wide black eyes glittered with malice as her mouth twisted into a smile.

"Stupid girl, making us wait. You have already crossed us once –" She bared her teeth as her lank white hair hung around her face like tangled tentacles.

"Sister. That is enough…" An ancient voice cut through the space between Ciara and Clotho like a knife and Clotho slid past Ciara and sat on the stool, playing with some silvery thread with deceivingly dexterous fingers.

The colour of the thread was immediately familiar to Ciara. Turning away, Ciara stared an ancient woman reclining in a wooden chair like an Egyptian queen. This woman had hair as white as Clothos, but hers was wispy and wafted down to past her waist, eerily surrounding the wizened woman like a halo.

Her black eyes pinned Ciara to the spot, and Ciara suddenly felt a huge pressure bearing down on her shoulders, trying to force her knees to buckle to the floor.

Ciara's eyes had been unable to meet the old woman's, but suddenly Ciara felt the strength to raise her pale eyes to fix onto the woman's face. Her chin tilted upward into its familiar stubborn angle, as Ciara pulled her shoulders back and forced herself to stand straight.

"I am Death. And I will bow to no one."

The words sounded impressive as they rang out as the cool silence of the room, even though Ciara privately knew that Hades would completely disagree.

The old woman's lips wrinkled into a smile.

"I see. I see that you inherited your predecessor's spine. How unfortunate for him that he developed it too late – whereas your tragedy is that yours developed too early.

"Do you know why you're here?"

Ciara shook her head, and a middle aged woman muttered from behind Ciara, "Ignorant child. Only have to break the pattern once…"

The oldest woman silenced the middle aged one with a hard look. "Lachesis! She was not the cause, you know that. Regardless… by saving that mortal, you have started to slip on a dangerous slope."

Ciara's jaw hardened. So that was it. Something about how people need to die, blah blah blah…

"Do you realise the magnitude of what you've done?" The old woman's voice was suddenly sharp, pulling Ciara to attention.

"Yes. She won't die a horrible death, and Alonso won't be haunted by his innocent mistake."

The three sisters hissed in annoyance. It was slightly disturbing that it was perfectly in unison – although frankly the fact that they were all sisters when the oldest could easily have been the Clotho's great grandmother was overshadowing their synced displeasure.

"Stupid girl! You have disrupted our pattern. Alonso would have married three years later, and had a son. Thanks to you, we have to rewrite a section of the pattern! You have caused irreparable damage, and now you must be punished."

Ciara resisted the urge to gulp. Punish her how?

"Perhaps the same punishment as Thanatos, Atropos?" Lachesis giggled, her blue eyes blinking wildly. Her older sister grinned.

"No sister, something that clever would take a long time to reweave. Your punishment… Huehuehue, Girl, your punishment will be to find out what it is you seek to know." Atropos said, cackling in the torchlight. Clotho, who had spun a long spool of silvery thread looked up from her work.

"You mean… Sister, couldn't that affect other plans?" Clotho stuttered, but Atropos dismissed her fears with a flick of the wrist. The rags she was dressed in whirled wildly as her arm snapped back to her side.

"You may go now Ciara Morris. And do not cross us again, or your next punishment will not be so lenient."

Ciara was quick to leave the blood coloured room, and teleported to her living room. Sinking onto an inviting couch, Ciara closed her eyes and sighed.

She was going to find out who had killed Thanatos. A Fates guarantee (Atropos, Clotho and Lachesis had to be the Fates, who else could they possibly be?" meant it was good as done.

So why wasn't she happy?

There was a knock at the door and grudgingly Ciara got to her feet and walked over to the door, pulling it open onto someone she hadn't expected.

Nico lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Hades Cabin was the perfect retreat for the emotionally bruised. Everything was black, and matched his soul.

All he'd done was warn her away from a murderer.

And what had he gotten in return? Insults aimed directly at his weakest point.

Insults derived from what he'd told her in confidence, on that first night when they'd stayed up chatting until dawn finally worked up the nerve to peek through the dusty window.

Pulling his silky pillow over his head, Nico squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn't have many friends here at Camp. Admirers yes, but they just looked at him, and occasionally dared one of their friends to run up to him and say something idiotic or complimenting.

In fact, when he really thought about it, Nico didn't really have any friends at all. Period.

Ghosts are rather antisocial when it comes down to it. Even more so than Nico himself.

So this fight was going to take its toll.

The image of her angry taut face played itself over and over in his head, how betrayed she had looked when he's warned her about Hypnos…

When it really came down to it, the insults weren't even the worst part.

It was the fact that to Ciara, he wasn't nearly as important to her as she was to him.

A small part of him had guessed this, Ciara seemed to be the type of girl that drew people close and held them there. She could laugh and smile so easily, even if she tried to hide it with a difficult and sarcastic exterior.

Ciara was like toast. She tried to be hard and crunchy but her soft, fluffy insides made everyone automatically love her anyway.

Nico di Angelo had no such lovable qualities.

In fact, if it wasn't for his striking looks and not-so-average body, he would have been heartlessly classed as a weirdo and would have been dumped on the edge of society, an outsider looking in.

No, instead Nico was doomed to be placed on a pedestal, looking down on a world that secretly he very much wanted to join. Ciara had almost succeeded in dragging him down to her level.

Almost.

She had almost turned him back into that charismatic kid he'd once been, before Bianca. But no, she had to go and let him know that when it came to one barely known hot god, he was just the pompous git that needed to be rebuffed for daring to think anything negative. Her instant revenge had shown her true feelings towards him.

Nico sighed, but the breath hitched in his throat and hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

Goddammit. He was not going to cry.

Ciara wouldn't be crying.

No, Ciara would run to Hypnos and bury herself into his arms. She'd lie there passively as his hands slid up to circle her neck. Her lovesick eyes would stare into his as his grip tightened and jerked upwards, snapping her neck like a twig. She'd die happy, because Hypnos was just perfect.

There was a quiet knock at his door and Nico lay completely still, barely even breathing. A shadow danced in his window, and there was another, harder knock.

"Nico?"

It was him. It was Jacob. Nico curled into a ball, warding away Jacob's quiet, obviously concerned voice. He couldn't see Jacob like this. He couldn't burden Jacob with his demons.

Finally after a few agonising moments Jacob gave up and walked away. Nico's eyes flicked to a tortured looking alarm clock.

7:00.

He'd been wallowing for hours. But stubborn Nico was not about to stop.

Why didn't Cici believe him?

Why couldn't she care about him as much as he cared about her?

Unrequited friendship. How does that even work? His feelings were so messed up, he was reaching into uncharted emotionally screwed up waters.

But his feelings still existed, didn't they.

And even though she'd taken his fragile trust and stamped on it, he was going to care about her anyway.

She might write him off and hate him, but he was going to protect her from Hypnos and anyone else who even dreamt of hurting her.

And he'd start by finding out who in Camp Halfblood was best at throwing daggers.

Reviewwwwwwwwwww cause I know you're all lovely people who are considerate about that sort of thing :D