reflection ● jason grace

Michael puts her in the hospital

Daria had trouble falling asleep. 

Once her dreams started, she would've given anything to be able to open her eyes.

"You got beat by Atticus," Ryan said, with a disapproving glance. "Daria, you know that never should've happened."

They were in the same white room that they were always in when Ryan came to visit. Usually, it was comforting. It made Daria think of Ryan as her own guardian angel. That day, he looked like anything but.

"I know."

"You're not ready for a war, Daria," Ryan said sharply. "I've wandered through Jason's mind before, and he is much more prepared than you are."

Daria felt hot shame wash over her. "Are you going to tell me what I need to do?" She asked. "Or are you just going to keep insulting me?"

"That's your problem," he said, his tone gentler. "You think that everything's an insult. You need to be smarter, not stronger. You are already more powerful than Atticus is."

Daria crossed her arms. "And you think Jason's smarter than I am?"

"Remember what I said?" Ryan argued back. "You are two sides of the same coin. He is smart enough. And now, his job is to be strong."

Daria knew she sounded like a petulant child, but she couldn't help it. "I thought I was the most powerful demigod in the world," she blushed. "Or something."

"Power is many things, Daria Jackson," Ryan was already fading away. "You must be many things. Or this is what will happen."

He disappeared into thin air; in his place were images, flashing with bright pauses. She saw an older version of her and Jason, and hoards of monsters facing them. Then she saw a shroud...something they only burned for funerals. It had the caduceus of Mercury on it.

Flash. A dove for Venus.

Flash. A glass of wine.

One for Clara, one for Leila, one for Daniel.

Flash. One for the son of Jupiter.

Daria's eyes snapped open. She felt sick, stumbling through hazy vision and throwing up yesterday's dinner into the toilet. Thank god she didn't have to share her bathroom with anyone; this was embarrassing enough.

She could see the beams of light bursting through the window. It was morning; Daria had overslept. She shakily got to her feet and brushed her teeth. She still felt awful, but there was a Senate meeting she had to attend.

Except for the fact that she could see a very disapproving Michael in the reflection of her mirror.

"You look awful," he accused her. He was fully dressed, but Daria didn't know how he'd learned to don a toga so well. There was no way Dakota taught him. "You're sick."

"I'm fine," she briskly walked by him to her cupboard, stopping to put his hand on her forehead. "See? No fever."

"Nope," Michael caught her by the wrist. "Daria, we've just met. But you'll quickly learn that I am very stubborn."

"That might be so, Kahale," Dari retorted, pushing down her nausea so that she could shower without passing out. "But I'm Daria Jackson."

Michael raised his eyebrow. "I'll tell Jason, or Daniel. Pick your poison."

Daria sighed. "What time is it?"

Michael glanced at the wristwatch he wore. There were no tattoos on his arm, which reminded Daria that she was technically taking orders from a probatio. "7:00."