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booksforevermore13 · 6 months ago

Text

Make it up to me later (I love you)

...

Summary: 4 times Percy ditched Annabeth for missions and she didn't know why, and 1 time he didn't. Angst and fluff and a lot of percabeth. AU, where Percy is a special forces agent and Annabeth is a doctor. Rated T for mentions of death and mild swearing.

Author's Note: Credits go to @redlion8123 for letting me use their headcanon while writing this fic. The idea is theirs and I am so thankful to them for letting me use it. I let myself go wild with this one, and as this is my first 4+1 fic, I hope you all like it. :D As always, I will be immensely grateful for all those who take the time to read this. Reviews will be much appreciated, and I always welcome constructive criticism.

...

"He's coding," Annabeth stated plainly, her voice tight as years of training set into place, and she handed over her scalpel to the attending nurse, starting on chest compressions.

Thirty seconds in and she knew it was of no use.

"Charge to 150," she barked as the nurse brought over the defibrillator paddles. "Clear!"

She watched the monitor burst into activity and then die down again.

"Push one of epi!" she commanded. "Resume chest compressions."

Inside, a thin veil of panic was taking over her chest. This man couldn't die, she thought to herself. She'd known Henry for far too long, attended his wedding, been in the room when his daughter was born. She couldn't afford to lose him.

"Charge to 200," she said, peering intently at the chest monitor. A minute had already passed. With his condition, a minute was too long to last.

She waited with bated breath as the shock passed through his body, and then sighed in relief as she saw the heart monitor changing.

"ROSC," she stated, her heart hammering in her chest. "I'll finish off the surgery, and then we'll move him to ICU for further monitoring."

Voices around her agreed in unison as she was yet again handed her ten-blade and forceps, as yet again, her fingers descended into the chest of a decade old friend.

Annabeth really needed a break.

…

She sighed as she walked through the halls of the hospital and reached her office, collapsing immediately on her sofa. Annabeth ran her hands through her hair, which over the years, had lost its shine and was falling apart in her hands.

She really needed to stop taking on back to back 36 hour shifts.

Annabeth groaned as her neck snapped painfully as she turned to lay on her side, her eyes settling on the wall hanging that her boyfriend had given to her on their anniversary. At just the right angle, the sunlight hit the ornament in such a way that the wall above became a mural of waves crashing against each other. It was mesmerising to watch, and on hard days, it had become her solace.

"Hey!" Annabeth turned, as Piper walked in, the familiar scent of lavenders wafting into her office. Annabeth smiled in welcome, as Piper settled in on her sofa. The latter peered in concern as she took in the resigned figure of her counterpart.

"How many hours has it been since you properly slept?"

"A couple of days at most." Annabeth grunted as she struggled to find a proper place to rest her neck in.

"Mother of Zeus, you've got to stop doing that!" Piper exclaimed, her light brown hair glinting in the sunlight, and appearing a gorgeous amber. Piper was stunning, and Annabeth had once questioned whether surgery was really the line for her instead of more fashion oriented professions. But then, Piper had put her in her place, and once she did, that was all.

"I know," Annabeth muttered, her eyes once again floating towards the waves on her ceiling. They were now a bright sea-green, and Annabeth smiled as she was reminded of the eyes of her beloved.

"You heading home?" she asked Piper, who nodded in response.

"Jason wants me back for something."

"Jason always wants you back for something."

"Yeah, well." Piper smiled fondly and Annabeth chuckled as she saw a dreamy expression settling in on her friend' s face. A year into their relationship, but Annabeth had never seen that expression on Piper for anybody else.

"You have that date too, don't you?" she fired back, and Annabeth blushed, as she looked away in embarrassment.

Piper cackled in response.

Truth be told, it was the only thing Annabeth had been looking forward to for weeks to come. Her boyfriend was an international aid worker, meaning he was more often than not, travelling to various places for his job. This meant they couldn't meet up as often as Annabeth would have liked, but it made no difference. In her thirty four years of life, he was the first person with whom Annabeth could truly let go of herself, and her job and all the tribulations it brought.

Now, three weeks later, they would finally be meeting again, and after hours and hours of surgery and stress, not that those never overlapped, those few hours she'd spend with him would make up for it.

"Few hours doing what, exactly?" Annabeth smiled, as Percy's voice resonated through her head, his crooked smile making home in her mind.

She wouldn't admit to herself, but she was completely and irrevocably in love with him.

"What's it been, a few weeks?" Piper asked, after she'd finally calmed down and gathered herself.

"Hmm," Annabeth said, "Speaking of, I should really be going now. He'll be here any minute."

Piper smiled again, that same coy expression on her face, and Annabeth whacked her as she got up from the sofa. "You're not going to change?" she yelled, as Annabeth headed towards the door.

"I won't need to," she quipped as the door closed behind her.

Annabeth laughed softly as she heard the thud of a pillow against the door.

…

Where are you?

She typed, sighing as she felt a few drops of rain on her head.

Percy was never this late. And he'd never not replied to her texts before.

She heard the ring of her phone and her hands fumbled as her fingers swiped at the screen to accept the call.

"Percy?"

"Annabeth!" She jerked away as his voice boomed across the receiver. Annabeth glared at a passerby as she hurriedly walked over to a corner on the street, ignoring the now constant slew of rain over her.

"Percy?"

"Annabeth," his voice came through again, a note of urgency in it. "Annabeth, I'm so sorry I don't think I can make it. My flight's been redirected to Chicago, and I don't think I'll be on time for the date."

Annabeth felt her heart sinking, as she mustered up the voice to answer back. "You're already late!" she yelled back, and smiled sadly as she heard Percy laugh through the phone.

"I'll make it up to you!" he yelled. "I'm sorry, I have to go now!"

"It's okay!" she said, but the call had already ended. Annabeth looked at the phone screen, willing his name back. She couldn't help it, but she felt small pinpricks of tears at the back of her eyes.

She'd been looking forward to seeing him again.

"Annabeth!" she heard someone yell her name. Annabeth looked up to see Piper in a small Bentley, Jason by her side, both of them peering at her, through the rain, "What's wrong?"

"Percy couldn't make it." she replied, as she walked over to them. "Drop me home?"

"You never have to ask." Piper said gently, as Jason smiled warmly back at her, tipping his cap in greeting.

Annabeth smiled, her throat clogged, as she got into the back of his car.

Even the rain didn't seem to appease her today.

...

"So, its like a ball, but for doctors?" Percy quipped, one eyebrow raised, and Annabeth shoved him, laughing as he feigned injury.

"It's not a ball," she argued.

"And yet, you're still going?"

Annabeth chuckled incredulously, as the couple walked hand in hand across the streets of New York. Percy had picked her up to get doughnuts, and she'd gotten the plain glazed, while he'd settled for blueberry. Apparently, her choice was extremely basic, but Percy had sneaked in a few bites from her nonetheless.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed together.

"You know that fairytale that little children like to hear before going to bed?"

Annabeth looked back blankly.

"There's a movie too."

"What-"

"The one where the girl goes to a ball and there's a prince-"

"Cinderella?" she offered and Percy snapped his fingers, elated.

"That's the one!" he exclaimed and Annabeth laughed.

"This is absolutely not a Cinderella story," she argued back, shaking her head in exasperation. Around them, people sped across trying to reach their destination in the shortest amount of time possible. It was like a race against time, but Annabeth had by now, accepted that they'd always be on the losing side.

"Of course it is! There's a ball, and there's a prince, that's me," Percy pointed to him in all seriousness. "There's you-"

"This is ridiculous. You're ridiculous." She shook her head again and Percy put his head back as he laughed, letting go of Annabeth's hand and putting it across her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

"You know I'm right."

"Absolutely not."

He made a face, and Annabeth poked him on his side, while he squirmed away. The couple walked hand in hand and they slowed down as they neared Annabeth's apartment, a small cosy set-up in a three story brownstone.

"You're sure you're coming?" she asked worriedly, and Percy turned around, taking her face in his hands.

"There'll be no prince without his Cinderella now, would it?" he said in mock seriousness, and Annabeth chuckled, shoving him gently.

She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his waist, while he reciprocated, enveloping her in his warmth. Annabeth closed her eyes, enjoying a moment away from the chaos of New York City.

"I'm just saying, you don't have to come."

"But I will," she heard Percy say and sighed in content. "I promise."

October had arrived and in consequence, the leaves had started falling. New York changed colour, Annabeth had observed, unlike San Francisco, which seemed never changing. No, in New York, there was always something to be seen, and felt.

Right now, it seemed orange.

"I have to go," she muttered.

"Don't."

Annabeth smiled, then raised her face to look into his eyes. Percy bent forward, kissing her softly.

"Six pm. Sharp." she said sternly as she stepped away from him, and towards the door.

"Yes ma'am."

…

Three hours later, Annabeth walked towards her mirror, checking her reflection in it for the umpteenth time.

She was wearing a light blue dress that hugged her waist and went flowing down to her ankles. Her hair had been let down for once, and her eyelashes had been curled and painted as per Piper's instructions.

She didn't look like herself.

Annabeth fussed over her earrings, smoothing her hair down, as she debated upon tying it up in a bun just for the sake of it.

Who'd care?

Percy would, she thought to herself, then realising he actually wouldn't. Annabeth smiled, as she thought about him, his ever-ready tongue that had got him into more trouble than he could account for, his eyes which seemed to understand everything and everyone in the world, and his heart, that had made room for her in the same way hers had done for him.

Sunlight flickered in through the window in her bedroom, as Annabeth paced to and fro, waiting for Percy's call.

She'd called him twice, and he'd disconnected every time, and Annabeth was slowly getting worried.

Her phone pinged, and she unlocked it, scanning through Percy's new message.

I'm sorry

'What?', she thought to herself, and called Percy again.

This time, he picked up.

"What the hell, Percy?" she barked into the phone, sensing Percy wincing on the other end.

"Someone I know got into an accident," he explained hurriedly, but Annabeth snapped.

"What in the world are you talking about? What accident?"

"Uhh.." Percy stammered, "car accident. It's bad, and I'm so sorry -"

"Cut it out, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth sighed. "Do I need to go to the hospital? How bad is it, do I-"

"No, no," Percy denied, and Annabeth frowned as static came through the other end. "You don't need to do that. You just go to the party. You don't need to come, it's fine. It's okay."

"Percy - "

"I'm so sorry, Annabeth. I know I promised."

Annabeth bit her lip, stopping it from trembling. She ran her hands through her hair, messing up her little hairdo, as she resigned herself to the bed.

"It's fine," she said, more to convince herself. "It's okay."

"I'll make it up to you."

Annabeth nodded, feeling like a jerk for feeling like this, as static came though the call, and it disconnected. She blinked away rapid tears, not wanting to ruin her makeup.

She hadn't wanted to go to this party alone, but she'd make do.

Annabeth sighed, letting her hands fall down to her sides, composing herself for the upcoming slew of discomfort.

Cinderella would have to go alone, she quipped to herself, smiling sadly.

...

III

...

They'd fallen into an easy schedule after that. On the days he'd be in New York City, he'd come to pick up Annabeth at the hospital at the end of her shifts. He'd become popular among the nurses, having won them over by his quick wit and charm. Around the hospital, he'd started being known as Doctor Chase's new guy, something that Annabeth had secretly liked.

However, an incessant suspicion had settled itself in her head that something was up with him. With his untimely disappearances and excuses that didn't line up with each other, Annabeth had that feeling in the back of her mind that something was wrong.

Piper and her had chalked it up to her paranoia.

Today had been one of her worser days. She had lost two of her patients in a span of three hours from each other, and each time she had had to listen to the daunting sound of the heart monitor flatlining.

Ten years as a cardiothoracic surgeon, and she could still never get herself accustomed to that sound.

All doctors unanimously agreed that the worst thing about losing a patient was telling their family. There was nothing worse than to see their expectant faces as they approached them, and then seeing the light leave their eyes. Annabeth had once been on the receiving end of it, and till date, she could never decide which evil was better.

Worst of all, their faces always seemed to stay with her.

"Miss Charlton's mother, please," she asked the receptionist, Margot, as she reached the waiting room.

Margot pointed to a seat at the extreme right corner at the back of the hall. Annabeth sucked in a big breath, steeling her nerves as she entered the room.

Her heart hammered painfully as she saw the woman get up and run to her expectantly.

"Ma'am," she began softly, but Annabeth could already see that the woman had understood.

"No-"

"Ma'am, the moment I opened up her heart-"

"My baby," the woman wailed, clutching at her heart, as she staggered towards the bench beside them.

Annabeth looked to the ground, her chest feeling tighter by the second. She didn't even think she knew the mother's name. Annabeth had always addressed her as Mrs. Charlton. Or Evelyn's mother.

Curse the Gods.

It was protocol that the doctor couldn't leave until they had informed the guardian about the happenings in the O.R.

After all, it was their ward the doctor had been operating on. It was their ward the doctor had killed. Annabeth had killed.

She sucked in a breath, blinking back tears as she approached Mrs. Charlton again. Annabeth had no right. No right to feel what she felt, when a mother in front of her had lost her baby.

Mrs Charlton howled in her grief.

"Ma'am," she said, and she stepped back as the woman turned on her, her eyes blazing, clouded with grief and anger, as she walked over to Annabeth and slapped her across the cheek.

Annabeth gasped, her hands flying towards her cheek, as she staggered away from the woman in front of her.

"You killed her," she snarled.

"I," Annabeth stammered. "I," she said, her voice breaking.

She tried to explain, but then turned and ran.

…

Outside, she took her phone out, ignoring the looks that she was receiving, as she dialled Percy's number, hoping to Zeus he'd pick up.

Still sobbing, she slipped into an empty on-call room, locking it shut as she sank to the floor, her legs trembling, the emotions of the day catching up to her.

As the call disconnected, she frantically dialled his number again.

"Hey, Annabeth," she heard his voice, and scrambled to put the receiver close to her ear. "I'm sorry, can I call you-"

"Percy," she sobbed, completely breaking apart, as she tried desperately to get herself under control. She'd killed that girl, and that was all she could think about.

"Annabeth?" Percy's voice turned frantic. "Annabeth? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you?"

"No, no, no," she shook her head. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she blubbered. Somebody was yelling behind Percy, yelling at someone, at him? Annabeth heaved in a breath, as she fumbled to reduce the call volume.

"Hey, hey," Percy said. "What's wrong? Where are you?" His voice seemed urgent, and the person behind him was still yelling, making things inside her head seem even more deafening.

The voice in her head was mocking her for trying to find comfort in her boyfriend when she had just left a life destroyed, not a few metres away from her.

Annabeth stifled a sob, as she answered. "I'm at the hospital. I just…I just, had a bad day."

"Fuck, Annabeth," Percy said, her voice growing more frantic by the minute.

Annabeth jerked away from the phone as a weird static came up, followed by Percy yelling that he'd call later.

"No, wait," Annabeth cried, as the phone disconnected, "Wait!"

She screamed into her hand, pulling at her hair in frustration as she flung the phone away from her.

Tears leaked out, as the day's events flashed across her mind. The first patient, who'd been a John Doe, then Evelyn, Evelyn's mom, and now….and now Percy.

Annabeth heaved out a sob, as she finally rested her head against the door, her body slumping in defeat. She closed her eyes, and let herself be lost to the world.

Days later, Percy appeared at her door, enveloping her in his arms. With him, came an excuse and the sound of Annabeth's heart breaking.

...

"Can I see the trauma entry records for last month?" Annabeth asked the nurse behind the counter. She had a slight idea her name was Olivia, but Annabeth had never met her before other than by word of mouth from the other nurses.

"May I know why, Doctor Chase?" the nurse(Olivia?) questioned, as she got up from her chair, rummaging under her desk for a second, before she got out a slim file, filled with patient records.

"I just," Annabeth hesitated, "I just want to check something."

Olivia nodded, handing her the file, and Annabeth flipped through it, looking for the records under July 15. A few broken bones, a heart attack, and yes, a car accident. For a second, Annabeth's hopes were lifted, a cruel irony, until she saw that the time of entry had been at 11 pm in the night.

She had called Percy in the evening.

Annabeth felt her heart sinking as she read through the contents of the patient record, eyes flickering back to the time of entry.

11:58 pm. Annabeth had talked to him that evening at 6:59. She knew because she had checked.

"Everything okay, Doctor Chase?" the nurse questioned, and Annabeth hurriedly blinked back tears as she closed the file, returning it back to her.

"Yeah," she managed to say, "everything's fine." She turned to go, before pausing and briefly turning back. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name - "

"Olivia. Olivia Hansley."

Annabeth smiled, nodding in thanks, then turned to go.

…

There had been no flight redirected to Chicago either. There hadn't been a flight in the first place.

Annabeth sat down heavily on her sofa, running her hands through her hair. He had bailed on her. Percy had bailed on her.

Already, a lump had set in on her throat, as she clenched and unclenched her fingers, trying to distract herself.

She had been cheated on once by her ex. Annabeth wouldn't be surprised if Percy had done that to her too.

She stifled a sob, raising her head as her eyes fell on the mural that he had given to her. Again, the waves seemed iridescent compared to her bland grey walls, but this time, unlike all the other times when it had managed to calm her, Annabeth felt enraged.

He had lied to her so many times. Disappointed her, left her waiting while he screwed some other girl.

But still, it was Percy.

And until a few hours ago, Annabeth had felt that she had known him. Known him just like he had known her. She had fallen in love with the boy with the green eyes and crooked smile. Who had shown up when she'd needed him Who'd brought her back from the broken shell of a person that she had once been.

He at least deserved a chance. And Annabeth hoped to all the gods of Olympus that she was wrong. For once.

She got up from her sofa, dialling the ever-familiar number on her phone. She heard it ring once….twice…..thrice, then heard Percy's voice on the other end.

"Hello?"

"I want to meet up," she declared, her voice assuming the one she adopted in the operating room, when she meant business and nothing else.

"Annabeth, what?" Percy's voice came through the other end, and again, she could hear the familiar sound of static, that she had gotten used to on calls with Percy.

"I want to meet up," she repeated.

"Annabeth, I don't think I'll be able to -"

"Why?" Annabeth demanded, anger coursing through her veins. "What could you have possibly going on today, on a Saturday, that you won't be able to meet me for a few hours?"

"Annabeth, I'm sorry - "

"I'm so sick of you apologising," she interrupted. "What, you have some flight that's been redirected to the Philippines now, or somebody's dying again? Is it some other girlfriend that I don't know-"

"Annabeth, just hear me out," Percy's voice reverberated through the speaker, but Annabeth could hurl her phone at the very mural he'd given her.

"What, Percy? What can you explain? Because I have waited for you for so many months, overlooked all of your excuses," her voice broke, but she went on, "hoping…praying that you weren't like all the other guys who had left me hanging."

"Annabeth-"

"But you ... .you have completely exhausted me," she finished, sinking down on the floor, back against the wall, a stray tear escaping down her cheek. She gulped, breathing in deeply through her nose, but the lump was still there, hurting her throat.

"Just give me a chance to explain," his voice came through the speaker, and Annabeth shut her eyes, willing the past few hours to just go away.

"Explain then. Right now. Explain to me why you've been lying to me for the past few months," she said into the phone, voice clogged with desperation.

"I…..I can't," his voice came through again, and Annabeth closed her eyes, finally letting her tears flow.

Percy went on. "Not right now. Just… just one day. Give me one day, and I'll tell you everything. Please."

The sun was setting as the last few rays came pouring into the room, lighting up a few select tiles on the floor. Annabeth stifled a cry, as she snapped back.

"Don't fucking call me again, Percy."

...

I'll come. Jason will drop me.

Annabeth saw Piper's text, her fingers flying over the keypad.

Don't. I'm fine. I'll come over tomorrow.

Annabeth watched as the familiar three dots appeared on the screen, indicating she was typing again. Annabeth sighed, then typed back.

It's 3 am already. I just need some time alone.

The dots disappeared. Then a message popped up.

I'll be there first thing tomorrow.

Annabeth smiled sadly, then switched off the phone. Her phone screen flashed as the clock turned to three, and she sighed.

Outside, the night had taken on its darkest, the wind blowing against the window shutters, making the room inside deafening. The night felt like her, had become her, and Annabeth could barely do anything without being reminded of the hurt in her chest.

Try as she may, she couldn't shake it. Hadn't ever even met with this hurt before.

Annabeth had fucked up. After Luke, she had vowed to neve give her heart away to anybody ever again. But then Percy Jackson had appeared, and got under her skin. And try as she may, she hadn't been able to stop it.

Annabeth buried her head in her pillow, letting her tears soak into the linen.

Outside the storm raged on, unrelenting, unyielding.

How Dickensian indeed.

Then, the bell rang. Annabeth jerked up from the sofa, immediately reaching for her phone. Was it Piper? No, Piper had a key. She'd walk right in.

Annabeth crept closer to the door, her thumb just inches away from dialling 911. She'd seen reports of people being robbed at gunpoint by late night visitors. She'd even treated them in the ER.

The bell rang again, and Annabeth hyperventilated, furiously typing in the digits, hands trembling, when a voice came through.

"Annabeth, it's me!" the voice yelled through, and shestilled, her heart in her throat. "It's Percy, don't call the police!"

Annabeth frowned, phone away, as she slammed open the door, wincing at the onslaught of the wind against her face. She glared at Percy, who was heavily leaning on the wall beside her, hand on his side.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, eyes flashing, her back against the harsh drops of rain.

"Just hear me out, Annabeth, please," Percy begged, and for the first time in a few weeks, she looked into his eyes, really looked and saw, to her surprise the desperation in his face, an emotion that she had never before seen on him.

"Are you going to lie to me again?" she bit back, and Percy tilted his head, his eyes boring into hers.

"Just the truth," he replied. "Nothing else."

She glared at him, and then let the door open wide. Percy got up, shuffling forward, before his legs buckled. Annabeth rushed forward and caught him before his knees reached the ground.

"The fuck," she muttered. It was then, her eyes scanned over his body, noticing the gaping wound on his side. It was why he was leaning against her wall, and looking at it now, the blood had seeped into the wall as well. On top of that, he was soaking wet too.

"I'm fine," Percy muttered, looking at her expression, but Annabeth looped his hand around her neck, as she hauled him up. Percy grunted, but complied as they both shuffled into the house, Annabeth kicking the door shut in the process.

Once inside, she settled him on her sofa, before rushing into the kitchen, taking out the rubbing alcohol and the first aid kit. On second thought, she got up a few select pain meds as well, before sprinting back towards him.

"How the hell did this happen?" she demanded, as she cut open his shirt. Annabeth cursed internally, as she touched his cold skin, knowing it was because he had been in the rain for so long.

"I…" Percy hesitated.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow challengingly, as she examined the wound. In the light, she could see a few bruises forming on his face as well, and not for the first time, she wondered what he had been up to.

"Bullet graze," he muttered, and Annabeth smarted back.

"What?" she cried out. "What the fuck do you mean by a bullet graze?"

"I…"

"No, don't speak," she commanded. "Wait until I've patched you up."

Under the yellow light of her tungsten bulbs, Annabeth poured the rubbing alcohol on his wound, ignoring his wince, as she pulled out a cauterised needle and thread from the first aid box.

"I'm going to stitch you up, okay?" she said, gently swatching a generous amount of numbing cream on his wound.

Annabeth worked on the stitches, her fingers flying over the broken patch of skin in record-breaking speed, trained from years and years of practice and experience.

She noted briefly how he barely winced, and as she finished up, wrapping a roll of gauze around his abdomen, Annabeth noticed Percy's eyes on her, silent through the entire ordeal.

She handed him a towel instead and a pair of shorts that he had left in her house last time he had been there, which now that she thought about it, had been over six months ago.

The familiar burst of anger ignited in her veins again, as she turned away from him, giving him the space to change. She wrapped up the gauze and needle in a cellophane plastic, all the time being acutely aware of the deafening silence in the room. Annabeth disappeared into the kitchen, sucking in a few heaving breaths before going back into the room again.

Percy was now standing beside the sofa, waiting for her.

"Sit," she commanded, and Percy opened his mouth, as if to argue, but she wouldn't hear of it. "You'll rip the stitches."

He nodded, facing her as she leaned opposite to him, biding him to start.

"I lied." He said, hsi voice barely above a whisper, his voice hoarse as if he had been yelling for a long time.

Annabeth said nothing.

"I lied about my job. About what I do," he admitted. "I am not an international aid worker, or whatever the fuck I told you I was," he said, his eyes looking straight at hers.

"I work in the special forces," he ended, and Annabeth imperceptibly sucked in a breath. "I work for an organisation, named Olympus. They give me my missions, and I carry them out. They give me my orders, and I follow them."

Annabeth's eyes softened, and she dared to ask. "So, all the times you lied to me -"

"I was in Jakarta. Slovakia. Portugal. Venice," he finished. "While I'm working, I'm in multiple places at once. The only time I'm at one place is ... .is when I'm with you," Percy's voice broke, and he looked away.

Annabeth gulped, her mind running through all the scenarios where she'd sensed something wrong, where Percy had had to leave suddenly after some call in the middle of their date, the number of times he had not been able to meet her for something after being excited for the same for much longer than her. It was all falling in place for her.

"And," Annabeth paused. "And, what does this entail?"

Percy looked back at her. "I'm breaking enough protocols to tell you this anyway," he chuckled bitterly. "But, I….I have lied to you about everything I do. I have let you down, but," his voice broke, "I have never lied to you once about how I feel about you."

Annabeth felt a lump rising in her throat.

"When I met you," Percy said, his voice heavy, "you were this brilliant cardiothoracic surgeon I'd met in the ER, who'd looked at me once and deemed me too far gone for my own good. And I was. My life is full of people who I've killed in order to protect myself, who've died in my crossfire, and those who I've killed under orders."

Annabeth watched as a few tears streaked down his face, landing on his hands. She frowned, blinking back her own tears as they threatened to overcome her.

"I'm a murderer," he went on, and Annabeth winced. "I kill people for a living. But then you…you have shown me how different life could be from my own, and I've fallen in love with it. I've….I've fallen in love with you."

Percy looked up at her, and Annabeth gasped as their eyes met, both of them overcome with emotion. She had pushed this man to the edge, hoping he'd leave her, but he'd come back. He'd come back.

She stepped forward, hesitating, before Percy gently caught her hands, pulling her over his lap. Annabeth yelped, before rushing to get up. "Your wound -"

"I'll be fine," Percy interrupted, one hand slinging around her waist, holding her in place.

Annabeth let her hand rest on his cheek, wiping away the tear trails on his face, as she felt a light shudder pass through his body.

"I can't lose you," he whispered, letting a few of his tears escape again.

"You won't," Annabeth replied, letting her forehead rest on his. "I'm sorry I didn't give you a chance-"

"No," Percy shook his head. "You…you have done everything right. I…" he shut his eyes tightly., shaking his head again. "I quit."

"What?" Annabeth jerked back. "What do you mean?"

"I quit today after I got back from my mission. I've been wanting to for so many years now, and after last night, I….I just couldn't afford to lose you to do something that was about destroying everything around me and losing everything I'd ever loved. I can't. I can't keep doing this job, leading this life anymore."

"Percy," Annabeth whispered, her voice heavy with tears.

"Annabeth," he said back, cracking a smile.

"I love you," Annabeth settled on saying. She smiled, looking into the eyes of the man she loved. Yes, she could say that now. She loved him.

Percy's eyes shone with tears, as he raised his hand and cupped her cheek, raising himself just barely above the sofa to capture her lips in his. And unlike all the kisses they had shared before, this one was full of fervent passion, as the both of them clung to each other, sharing a mutual sense of need, brushing away tears and letting the midnight rain in.

"I love you," Percy whispered back.

Outside, the storm eased, as the rain found in itself the grace to die down into a drizzle. And as the soft pattering of the rain lulled into a wind that soothed away the lashes of the day. Annabeth drew back, eyes furrowed in question.

"So, your bullet graze is a -"

"Crossfire. Stray bullet," Percy accepted, wincing as he shuffled to get into a more comfortable position.

Annabeth nodded, before declaring. "I'm making an executive decision that you need to sleep."

Percy chuckled, complying as she helped him lie down on her sofa, getting up to go, before he pulled her back close to his chest, snuggling together, their warmth blending together to create one.

"I'm sorry I got blood on your coach," Percy muttered into Annabeth's hair, resting his head over hers.

"Make it up to me later," she smiled back.

"I'll do a lot more than that tomorrow," he replied, an evident smirk in his voice, and Annabeth laughed.

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sundaynightlive · 1 year ago

Text

A Comprehensive Guide on How Not to Tell Your Friends You're in Love [This Message was Approved by Sir Lancelot of Camelot] (Merthur)

[Read This for Better Context! But It's Not Required, or Anything]

4+1, silly knights, 3.4k, Arthur and Merlin being generally insufferable, unintentional secret realtionship trope, etc.

(TW: mention of battle, and Gwaine drinks piss? But it's comical, not like weird? I guess it's a tiny bit weird. You'll get it when you get to it.)

[1]

“Lance just let the man sleep,” Gwaine insists, “Perhaps the festival is still heavy on him.”

“You just want to get out of training,” Elyan accuses, which Lance is sure is entirely correct. Gwaine groans, dropping his arms at his sides defeatedly.

“Fine, whatever, go bother him and don’t come crying to me when he sticks his boot in your arse.”

A few of them chuckle, but Leon shoos Lancelot away, which is enough confirmation for him that going to check on Arthur is probably best. He rids himself of his sword and his armor, as he is technically off-duty and would not prefer to go clanking around the castle this early in the morning, and heads for Arthur’s bedchambers.

This is the first mistake.

When he finds himself at Arthur’s door, he presses his ear to the wood and hears nothing. So he knocks.

And knocks again.

And knocks a third time.

Still nothing. He thinks perhaps Arthur is not even there, but then again, the man has been known to sleep like an absolute boulder, so he should check, shouldn’t he?

This is his second mistake, and by far the worst.

It is upon opening Arthur’s door and peeking his head inside that he is greeted with the sight of two very naked men, one of which is thankfully obscured from him, and the other of which, well…

Lancelot retreats so quickly he actually find himself sprinting down the hall, lest the prince had woken up and seen him, or stuck his head out his door in confusion, or even smelled that someone had been there. He only stops when he’s so far away (and particularly lost) that he no longer knows what direction to go.

Lance had heard the rumors, had been present in the room when Arthur had warned Lord Edmond of he and Merlin’s… relationship, but he and the rest of the knights had chalked it up to a tactic to get Edmond to listen, not a truth. But there, just then, he saw them lying together. Truly lying together as if they did not regularly throw horse shit at each other’s faces and fight like back-alley boxers. Lancelot has watched Arthur dump soup over Merlin’s head, and Merlin give Arthur wedgies with a wave of his hand, and Arthur spit in Merlin’s wine, and Merlin toss said wine in Arthur’s lap—

Alright, perhaps this should not come at so much of a shock. They are generally inseparable, and fiercely loyal to one another, and never far from each other, even when Merlin is technically dismissed.

But god, paramour?

Does that technically make Merlin his superior?

Lancelot starts back the way he came, seeing that as the only way out of this ridiculous maze, and on the way, he bumps into Gwen.

“There you are!” she exclaims delightfully, offering him a wide and shining smile, “I’ve come to tell you there will be no training today. You weren’t with the other knights?”

Lancelot swallows and nods.

“I was, ah, looking for something.”

“Understood,” she says, and continues on her way. She gets past him quite aways before he turns around, unable to push down the curiosity building up inside him.

“Gwen?”

She stops, and turns.

“Yes?”

“Why? Was it canceled, I mean.”

She smiles.

“I believe you have Merlin to thank for that.”

[2]

It takes a lot, and by a lot, he means a lot, to shock Gwaine. It’s just not a task that’s easily done, and because of this, the knights have a bet going who can traumatize the poor guy most by the end of the week.

Now, Lancelot joined this bet heavily under the influence of alcohol, and regrets it, because he’s sure to lose. There’s nothing he could do that Percival could not beat, or Leon, for that matter. It embarrasses Lance just to speak of his own biological function, let alone trick Gwaine into drinking piss or kissing him full on the mouth—with tongue—as Elyan had done.

How Gwaine hadn’t flinched at the piss thing, instead lamenting—

Perce, you need to drink more water, is absolutely beyond Lance’s comprehension.

What a stupid bet. What a stupid bet. And worse, Gwaine is in on the whole thing (he had to be just for safety’s sake, if they were going to constantly affront him as they were doing) and he even knows Lance is screwed, teasing him constantly about not having made a single attempt, about “owning his loss.”

He was the laughing stock of the round table.

But he had one idea. And it was terrible, absolutely wretched, invasive, and probably treason.

But he is fed up with the teasing.

His first idea was to lock Gwaine in Arthur’s very wardrobe, which would ensure Gwaine would be present to something dastardly, but then he felt guilty at just the thought of invading his friends’ privacy in such a way.

So he settled for the stables.

Unbeknownst to anyone, except Lancelot, who had been extremely unlucky in happening upon Merlin and Arthur’s more intimate moments not once, but several times, the couple tended to retreat to the stables at random (but increasingly pattern-like) times of day to talk, or snog, or whatever—these times just happened to coincide with the free-time Lancelot had to brush and water and feed his horse.

He had considered moving his schedule around to avoid this, but the days came and went, and Merlin and Arthur knew he was there, as he was clearly visible when they wandered in and closed themselves in an empty stall, so he figured he wasn’t doing much damage and they were unbothered by his presence.

They would often do little more than flirt and bicker and tease, anyway, and there must not be any real concern for keeping their relationship a secret. Actually, Lance was starting to suspect they thought the other knights already knew, even though this was not the case.

That is the nail in the coffin—by inviting Gwaine to the stables with him, he’s only invading privacy Arthur and Merlin don’t even know they have, which, therefore, is not technically privacy.

Or maybe Lancelot is just really good at convincing himself he’s the good guy in any given situation, but that’s neither here nor there.

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” Gwaine says, gently petting the horse’s nose, “Aww, are you lonely, Lancelot?”

Lance rolls his eyes, carefully brushing her mane, trying not to irritate her too badly at all the tangles.

“You’ll see,” he says.

“Is brushing this horse your lame attempt at winning the bet?” Gwaine muses, “Or maybe something around here…” As he begins to look around, grinning, Lancelot begins to hear footsteps and voices, vibrant voices, heading this way. He grabs Gwaine by the wrist and all but throws him to the floor, at which the knight just looks up at him, shocked.

“You are going to sit there and be quiet,” Lance snaps, speaking quickly, lest he still be talking when Arthur and Merlin arrive, “This is my only chance at winning this bet because I am not capable of pissing in your wine or shaving off your eyebrows in the middle of the night!”

Gwain reaches up to feel his eyebrows, which are still there—Lance just wanted to freak him out.

“I have been going crazy for two weeks because I am too good of a man to go around spilling other people’s beans, even when those people don’t know there are beans to be spilled—!”

“Mate, are you alright?”

“Shut up!” Lancelot hisses, “If you say a word of this to anyone, I really will come into your bedroom at night and your eyebrows will be gone before you’ve wiped the sleep from your eyes! Do you understand?!” Gwaine nods, wide eyed.

“You know, you’re kind of sexy when you’re angry—”

“You know, we could just steal away to your bedchambers instead of coming here every day,” Merlin muses suddenly, breaking their conversation and effectively causing Gwaine’s jaw to unhinge.

“When I have things to do, Merlin, I tend to avoid being in rooms that include both you and flat surfaces,” Arthur replies cheekily, and if it were possible, Gwaine’s mouth opens even wider. Lancelot has to look away from him because he’s blushing—of course today would be a day where they were being more obnoxious than usual, though, he and Gwaine are situated behind a wall, so it’s likely neither are aware of anyone’s presence, yet.

“Arthur,” Merlin chides.

“Well when you frequently conduct yourself as a common whore—”

“Arthur! Lance is probably here somewhere!”

“I don’t see him.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not here, idiot.”

“But if he’s not here,” Arthur teases, “The floor is a flat surface—” Lance walks out from behind the wall abruptly, glaring half-heartedly at the lovers, Merlin who is leaned back against the door to the stall they usually steal, arms crossed over his chest, and Arthur who is caging him in with one arm, looking smitten.

As revolting as it is having to hear any of this is, Lance is quite chuffed that his friends are happy and in love. It doesn’t really bother him, or he would’ve made more effort to switch up his schedule.

“If you’re going to be disgusting, do it in the stall,” Lance grumbles at them, and Arthur grins widely.

“Ah, so he speaks!” Arthur teases, in reference to the many days they have come here and Lance has paid them no mind. Lance glances at Gwaine, just because he’s curious, and finds his face buried in his hands, a hint of blush peeking through.

Oh, he’s won. He’s won.

“I don’t know that you should be calling your paramour such a thing as a common whore. Especially when your paramour is my good friend Merlin,” Lance warns, unable to keep the warm smile from his face when Merlin pokes Arthur in the ribs playfully, beaming—and though it’s supposedly at the comment, Lance knows that it’s at Arthur.

They are happy, aren’t they?

“You wouldn’t be so certain if you had seen him this morning—”

“Arthur!”

“If I recall correctly,” Lance retaliates, “You’re the one who showed up to training this morning with a handkerchief ‘round your neck, which I suspect was hiding those nasty hickeys on your throat. Fairly certain I can deduce which of you acts as a common whore.”

“Ah, piss off,” Arthur says, grinning widely, completely unphased at the back-talk. Weeks ago, Lance would not have dared argue with the prince, but having grown to know of Arthur and Merlin’s dynamic, it’s safe to say back talk and true friendship is what the man prefers. The tough-love farce is just a face Arthur puts on—a convincing one, but a farce nonetheless.

“I think I quite like Lancelot’s points,” Merlin says, and Arthur knocks their foreheads together, bumping noses, which is when Lance elects to turn away and back to his horse (and Gwaine, who is dramatically lying on the floor in the fetal position).

“See you this afternoon, then, for bit more training?” Arthur calls towards him, presumably before they disappear into the closed stall to kiss some more. Lance looks up, grinning.

“Yes, of course, your highness.”

And with that, the entire ordeal is over, unless he’d prefer to drag Gwaine over and forcibly press his ear to the stall door, but that seems unnecessary.

“Are you alright?” he asks, as quietly as he can manage. “You win,” Gwaine says weekly, face buried in hay, “You. Win.”

—

“Lancelot won.”

“What?! How?! I pissed in your wine!”

“Percival, can you stop bringing up how you pissed in Gwaine’s wine? I’m starting to think you’re a pervert.”

“No, I’m a winner.”

“What could Lance have possibly done to move you?”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell, and if I’m honest, I do not want to.”

“Well now you have to tell us.”

“You’ll find out. Eventually.”

“That’s rather ominous.”

“Lancelot has certainly cheated. I pissed in your wine!”

“Percival! Enough!”

[3]

“Why’s Merlin here?” Leon asks, and Lance flinches, hard. He knew it would come to pass that all the knights would eventually find out Merlin outranked them in title, but he hadn’t counted on being present every time.

Yet here he is, a meeting at the round table with him, Gwaine, and Leon in attendance, Elyan and Percival are currently working patrol, to be filled in later, as this was a matter brought up without warning, and no time to free them of their duties before deciding what to do.

Lance watches, squirming awkwardly as Uther’s brow furrows, and he looks from Leon, to Arthur, and then—

“Because he outranks you, Sir Leon,” Uther says, as if that were obvious, “And I do not trust my son—” Uther gives Arthur a pointed look, “—to not tell him of these matters, even if I instructed him so. And he will accompany you on your journey, anyway, as he always has.”

Leon blinks, dumbly. A deep silence fills the room, and Lance knows his own discomfort is written all over his face. Merlin looks to be feeling a similar level of awkwardness, and Arthur’s got this stupid little grin, like he’s finding the situation quite funny.

“Merlin outranks a Knight of the Round Table?” Leon presses, clearly perplexed.

Lance hangs his head, and Gwaine outwardly groans. Arthur’s small smile presses into a full one.

Uther pauses a moment, and then looks to his son.

“Have you not told them?”

“We know,” Lance speaks up, to maybe soften the blow a bit.

“You know what?” Leon asks.

“Merlin is Arthur’s paramour. Legally he outranks us because he is basically royalty-adjacent,” Gwaine explains.

“Not basically, he is royalty adjacent.”

Leon looks between them and Arthur, who is still clearly amused, and Merlin, who looks to be in some degree of physical pain.

“But… I thought when you—at the party—”

“Leon,” Lance says, carefully, as to not rupture any brain cells, “I know this is a lot, but I believe there are several villages on fire that require a little more of our attention than Merlin and Arthur’s courtship.”

“They cannot be married!” Leon exclaims.

“You know what I mean!” Leon sinks back in his chair, visibly unable to process this information. Because Lance is so well-acquainted, it’s growing harder and harder for him to understand this sort of reaction. Sure, he was surprised as well, it’s not totally unbelievable. They spend all their time together, they’re quite affectionate if you know how to look for it—

“Now, if this foolishness is finished,” Uther says, and Lancelot jolts at the realization this entire sordid conversation happened in front of the king, “Here is what must be done.”

[4]

It’s a three-day ride to the area where the villages are being pillaged, and while they travel as long as they can, they end up making camp some time in the middle of the night, sitting comfortably around a fire and making pleasant conversation to ease the nerves of the trouble ahead.

This is good—more than good, as Lancelot quite enjoys these fireside chats—until Percival decides to ruin it, and ruin it completely.

“Which of us do you suppose is the best in bed?” Gwaine asks, a one-off question meant to strike up an affectionate argument, which catches the attention of all of them. Lancelot is laughing softly, and moving to answer—

As much as it pains me to say it, I’d have to go with you, you shameless whore.

—but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Merlin.”

Gwaine’s jaw drops next to him as his own stomach drops into the soles of his boots. Leon’s look of abject-horror is downright comical, but Lancelot is too disturbed to actually laugh at it.

“Do you have a death wish?!” Leon hisses.

“Why do you say that, Perce?” Arthur asks, and Lancelot risks a glance this way. Where he had been amused at Leon's cluelessness, he is clearly not amused by this. His jaw is set and his gaze is piercing. Lancelot then swivels his head to Merlin, who has the back of a hand pushed up against his mouth, presumably to keep him from devolving into hysterics.

“First he pisses in my wine,” Gwaine mumbles, only loud enough for Lance to hear it, “And now he tells the crown prince he thinks his paramour is good in bed.”

Now that? That does tickle him a bit, and he finds himself covering his mouth as well.

Percival shrugs, oblivious, “He looks it.”

“He looks it?” Arthur presses, and if Percival hears the edge in Arthur’s voice, it does not slow him.

“Sure,” Percival says, “Well—it’s more as if he doesn’t look it. Those are the sneaky ones, you know—they look innocent, and then bam! You're all laid out and you don't even know what's happened."

Right, so this is the worst of each of these situations, and Lancelot literally saw them lying naked together.

“I see your point,” Elyan begins, “But I raise you—”

“Why don’t we test this theory, yeah?” Arthur interrupts, and it’s like getting punched in the gut. Gwaine even chokes on his water, doubling over and coughing while Leon hangs his head in absolute mortification, and Lance rubs an incredulous hand over his face.

Percival and Leon stare.

“What?”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, “I’d like to test Percival’s theory, if you’ll have me.”

If you’ll have me---that’s disgusting. That’s so far beyond anything Lance has already heard from them that he actually doubles over and puts his head as far between his own knees as he can get them, thoroughly humiliated by this shameless display.

Fucking Percival.

“You can’t be serious—” Elyan cuts in, but Merlin cuts him off.

“Arthur—” How has he said just a name so sensually, and why has he chosen to do so, and will Lancelot ever unhear this conversation? God, he hopes so. “—I believe you are well aware that I will have you.”

Nope—this one’s forever.

“Brilliant,” Arthur says, “I’ll return with the results in a bit. Be prepared for a very detailed account.”

And with that, they promptly leave, Lancelot, Gwaine, and Leon all appalled, and Elyan and Percival clambering for answers that the three of them must now provide.

Merlin and Arthur are gone for a ridiculous amount of time, but none of them have the balls to go and check on them.

[+1]

Lancelot never imagined he’d see Arthur cry, much less weep, but as Arthur does, gripping his paramour’s shirt with what must be a terrible relief at seeing Merlin alive, he cannot help but think Arthur is the strongest, most courageous, and kindhearted man he has ever met. He glances over to Gwaine, who meets his gaze.

Gwaine nods.

Lance nods back.

The fight had been bloody, but the knights remain mostly unscathed with the exception of Leon who had taken quite a few hits, but was breathing, and insisting he was alright. The scariest part of the battle had been Merlin, whom had been, at one point, surrounded, and then disappeared from anyone’s sight.

It didn’t take much searching around after the violence had quelled, but it had taken enough that Arthur had completely convinced himself of the worst.

But Merlin was fine. Mostly unharmed.

To watch Merlin pet Arthur’s hair, whisper sweet-nothings in his ear, and assure him time and time again---

I'm here. I'm here.

---while the crown-prince weeps into his chest, shaking like a leaf—it is heartbreaking. So much so that after a few moments, Lance must avert his eyes, and finds his fellow knights doing the same.

“I thought I lost you. I thought—”

“Arthur,” Merlin says firmly, “You must breathe. I promise I am right here.”

After that, the knights give them their privacy, congregating where there are the least amount of bodies, but where they might still keep a wary eye on the townsfolk. You never know about the people out here and what they think of royal customs such as paramours, or more specifically, the disregard of gender that often occurs in such an arrangement, specifically this arrangement.

Lancelot makes sure to keep his wits about him.

“I see it a great disservice to the very idea of love that they may not marry,” Leon says finally, breaking the silence.

“They cannot marry?” Percival asks, “I thought that legally—��

“Arthur must produce an heir,” Lancelot interrupts, “It’s not a matter of the church, it’s a matter of the royal line.”

There’s a silence—not long, but shifty and a little disappointed at that harsh reality.

“We could always throw them a wedding, someday,” Gwaine pipes up, “Not that I don’t think they are totally disgusting—” Lance elbows him in the arm, effectively shutting him up.

“Quit while you’re ahead, Gwaine. A wedding is a nice idea.”

Another brief silence.

“I don’t think I’ve ever known two people so in love,” Lancelot continues, softly. And though no knight offers his verbal agreement, it is unanimous, and implicit.

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