Left Behind | Percabeth

Part V

PERCY CRIED, THE FIRST few days he was in Europe. Under his covers in bed at night, silent tears would creep from the corners of his eyes, his sobs silenced by the sheet he could scarcely get himself to call a pillow. On the boat on the way to Europe, a single thought kept playing in his head: This is how my father died, this is how my father died, this is how my father died. The other recruits would inquire about the strange looks he would give to the sea, the terror in his eyes when a wave crept up too close to the edge of the boat, threatening to take him, too.

   One of the soldiers that bunked with him, had struck an odd chord in Percy. Clarisse, they called themselves, which at first Percy had thought a little peculiar, until they told him it was their mother's name, and he didn't ask them again—which also may have been because they were just plain scary. They had a strong build, their arms the size of Percy's thighs, and he was sure that they wouldn't hesitate for a second to crush his measly skull between theirs. Though they did their best to uphold a stern exterior, Percy had once heard them sniffle under their covers, one day when he had entered their room. They were all alone, the lights turned off but for a faint glow coming from beneath their covers.

   When Percy had approached them they had soared up and pinned Percy to the wall, their hands—even more calloused than his—firmly on his throat.

   'Not a word to anyone about this, you hear me, Jackson?' they had said. Had it not been for their close position, Percy wouldn't have noticed the slight quiver in their voice, the glistening in their eyes—they were just as afraid of the war as he was.

   He had honestly tried to croak out an answer, but apparently his face had been enough confirmation for Clarisse, as they had slackened their grip around him, and he fell to the ground, rasping.

   After that day, however, he noticed Clarisse being more restrained with him, whenever they were training. They would no longer purposefully use dirty moves, even though they had long figured out exactly how to get him down in mere seconds. Every once in a while, Percy would send a cocky grin to them across from the dining hall, and the scowl he would receive back was a little less heated than it had been; maybe, he'd made a friend? If not a friend, at least someone friendly.

   Even though his spirits had been lifted at the thought, a part of him wanted to shove Clarisse further away than they had been before; he knew friends on the battlefield were a recipe for disaster. He was not sure if he would risk his own life to save Clarisse anymore than he would anyone else, but if he became too close to someone, he knew that he would not care a single thing about his own well being, if the matter would save someone he held dear's life.

   Which was also why he was glad the goodbyes with Annabeth had been so brief. If he'd had a whole day like earlier in the war, he was sure he would not have been able to aboard the ship; he knew how much hurt it cost her, and if he had to look into her glistening eyes for 24 hours, he would have been eaten up from the inside at the mere guilt of leaving her. No, staying fairly mutual and friendless on the battlefield was a good idea; if you have no one, at least you have no one to lose.

   But still, Percy couldn't contain his tears in Europe, when he took out the photo album they had given him for the first time. It didn't carry a lot of pictures, but they all carried so much love and warmth and homeliness that seemed eons away from him now, cold and alone in a dark trench fighting a war that wasn't his to begin with, and his heart once more clenched at the chance of leaving Annabeth a widower. By God he hoped her one final desperate attempt would not be fruitless; he knew why she'd done as she did on the docks. He could see it in her eyes, her last chance at having him to herself. And the idea of having a little mini him running around their flat was an appealing one, he had to admit, even if he would miss the first sixteen months of its life.