ᴄᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴀɴᴇᴍ: ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴄᴀʙᴇᴛʜ/ꜱᴏʟᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛ

x | ᴀɴ ᴀʟʟ-ᴇxᴘᴇɴꜱᴇ ᴘᴀɪᴅ ʙʀᴇᴡᴇʀʏ ᴛᴏᴜʀ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀᴀɢᴜᴇ

It was a moment of weakness. That's Annabeth's story and she's sticking to it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! She scolds herself in the mirror. She smacks her forehead with her palm for emphasis. She had a chance to escape this physically and emotionally painful quest—a quest that's almost gotten her and Percy killed a few times—and she told Percy she'd stick around with no hesitation.

Is she regretting this? Kind of, but she meant what she said about having nothing left to lose. She already lost her home, and her best friend, and she's on her way to losing her job. What more is there to lose?

Just her life.

Annabeth traces her finger over the stitches Percy gave her last night; she doesn't remember much from the encounter. She feels bad because she's pretty sure she went off on him earlier. Nobody deserves to see her when she's hitting a low; that's what Will calls it—hitting a low point. Usually, it happens in her sleep, when she's having the dream turned nightmare from her childhood again.

Other times, it happens when something reminds her of the monsters she hasn't quite sent to Tartarus—the kind that may not exist anymore, but always come back to haunt her dreams.

She's thankful she slept like a rock last night, even if it was only for—she checks the time on her phone—three hours. This is the way to keep the monsters from coming out at night. You stay up until the asscrack of dawn and then your body just shuts off when it decides it's done with your bullshit.

Annabeth knows that's technically not the healthiest habit of hers. Will tells her every morning when she all but injects caffeine into her veins. It works though, and she knows better than anyone that if it ain't broke, don't fix it!

She hears the sound of the water starting in the shower—Percy's shower, to be specific, where he is naked and cleaning his very toned muscles and stuff, which have absolutely nothing to do with Annabeth refusing his offer to go home.

Something about playing cards in a bathtub with your ex-boyfriend is just messed up, but she didn't think it would be as intimate as it was. Annabeth doesn't do intimate, not even when she's having sex. That's why she opts for casual hookups with minimal eye contact; no strings attached means no intimacy. Everyone is comfortable and nobody catches feelings.

Maybe there's something intimate about a guy who's seen you naked putting stitches into your face.

What's more likely is that it was a moment of weakness. Annabeth's paranoia got the best of her, and she let Percy get a little closer than she should have.

If that was your emotions getting the best of you, then what was that on the train? a voice in her subconscious asks.

She asks herself this question after she freezes up. Last night, when she saw the eerily familiar cut on her face, she could have looked away.

On the train when she was pinned by the dog—a clone of Laelaps, according to Percy—she could have made some effort to fend it off with her chopsticks. She keeps them in her hair for situations like this!

When that blond-ish guy with a charming yet cunning smile hit on her a couple of weeks ago at the club, she could have refused the drink he offered to buy her.

But here's the thing: Annabeth couldn't act in any of those moments. Some people have a flight or fight response. Annabeth has a freeze response.

She was a fighter; that was her schtick. Annabeth Chase was a good fighter. She still is good at fighting, but it's not always the first thing that comes to mind when something catches her off guard. Put her up against the Erymanthian boar—some version of it—and the knives come out with no problem. Other situations... Well, she'd rather not think of those.