Two Months

Luke sighed and he sat down, leaning his back against the pine tree. He always sat in the same spot—facing away from camp.

"Hey, Thalia," he started, speaking softly. "It's been two whole months. Exactly two months since—since it happened." He paused for a moment before adding softly, "It's been two months and it still feels like it happened yesterday."

A lot of people might have called him crazy for talking to the tree, but as he sat there, he felt like she was there, too, listening to him in silence.

"Everyone's started to move on. Everyone but me. It's weird, though—a lot of people didn't even seem affected. But I guess that's life." Luke let out a breath, looking down at the hill.

"Annabeth is doing okay. In some ways, I don't think she really understands what happened, but then again, she was always mature for her age. She was claimed by Athena a few nights after we got here, just like you said she would. She's been busying herself by reading all sorts of architecture books. She comes and sits with me at your tree every day, though."

Except today, Luke added silently. He hadn't told Annabeth he was coming; a part of him felt bad for it, but he felt he needed the time alone.

Shaking his head, he added in a small voice, "I miss you. A lot. It's still hard to remember that you're gone. Sometimes I'll be talking to someone and turn to say something to you and realize that I can't anymore. Other times, I'll be looking at something and I'll remember some random memory."

"I hate them for doing this to you. The gods, I mean. They could've done something, anything. But no, they just turned you into a tree." Luke's voice turned hard. Even two months later, he still couldn't justify what the gods had done. Surely nectar and ambrosia could have fixed it—and, if not, they would have at least had a body to bury.

"Though," he added, speaking slowly so his voice wouldn't crack, "I blame myself more than anyone. I can't look in the mirror without feeling sick. It's my fault for everything!" At this point, Luke raised his voice, clenching his fists in anger. "It's my fault for having us wait another day, for not having your back when it counted most, for failing you. I know you'd kick my ass for thinking that if you were here, but that's the point: you can't. All because of my stupid decisions."

He stayed silent for a couple moments, taking deep breathes to calm himself. Finally, he spoke again, this time much more composed. "Grover's been tearing himself apart about this. I've tried to talk to him, but he won't listen. He thinks it's all his fault, and nothing anyone says will convince him otherwise. He just keeps saying that he's a protector and it was his job to save you, even though we all know he couldn't have done anything.

"I was claimed not too long after Annabeth. It was Hermes. Not too much of a shock, but at least my cabin mates are funny. There are these two brothers—their last name is Stoll. Ironic, right?—that love pulling pranks on the other campers." Luke paused, smiling softly. "You would have loved it here, Thals. They have weekly games of Capture the Flag and the food's great—much better than the crappy food we used to scavenge for. They even have peagasi here. Not that you would've ever rode them."

Luke let his gaze wander for a moment before continuing. "I know I said it before, but I really miss you. The people here are friendly and everything, but they don't get it. To them, you were just another unlucky demigod. But you were so much more. You were my best friend." He let out a bitter laugh. "I loved you, you know. We could have made it out there. You, me, and Annabeth. We did a whole lot better than here at camp. But it's too late to think about the what-ifs.

"I wish you could see how much we all miss you. How much we need you," Luke whispered, blinking quickly. He glared at the sky, once again cursing the gods meddling in something that wasn't theirs to meddle with.

"I'll get back at them for you," Luke pledged, his eyes still on the sky. "They'll pay for it, I promise."

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Mr. Rick Riordan.

Dedication: Dylan, this both inspired by and dedicated to you, and to anyone else who's had to go through something as horrible as you did. I miss you, and I hope you're happy now.

A/N: My first PJO story! Many, many thanks to my lovely beta Witchelyn, aka Theia. I don't know what I would have done without her. And thank you, dear reader, for taking time out of your day to read my humble little fic. (: Reviews are definitely appreciated. I'd love to see what you guys think of this!