Teacher, Not Hero (femPercy Jackson X YJ)

Twenty-Eight: A Thousand Questions To An Answer

Dinah P.O.V:

"Let's start with some simple, background questions. After all, your file is pretty blank." The young instructor mearly shrugged, a bored expression on her face.

"Where did you receive your training?"

"Military summer camp." I quirked an eyebrow at this.

"The strawberry farm?"

"That would be the one." Percy gave me a slight smile and I couldn't help but make a mental note to check up on the "strawberry farm slash military boot camp".

"These are going to be some health related questions, okay?" Again, all I recieved was a blank stare and a small shrug.

"When was the last time you went and had a check up with your doctor." Percy took a moment to long to pause and think of an answer. Finally, she settled for an unnerving one.

"I don't know. Probably around 7, I guess." I cleared my throat, deciding it was probably best to push on in order to get to the mental evaluation.

"Have you ever been shot, stabbed, poisoned, or mortally injured?"

"Yes." I paused for a moment at her response.

"To which one?"

"All of them. I was held captive and tortured for like, 22 hours 3 weeks ago." Percy responded with a scoff. Yet another topic I desperatly needed to discuss with the young woman. Who in their right mind gets captured, held hostage, and tortured for TWENTY TWO HOURS and just comes back to work after 3 weeks? I cleared my throat and pressed on.

"Have you ever broken a bone and if so, which one or ones?" She rolled her eyes at me.

"Again, 22 hours. I have broken every bone in my body at least once." I cringed at the thought.

"Have you ever had extensive surgery?" At the last word, Percy froze, a slight look of fear crossing her face before she resumed her neutral demeanor.

"Yes..." She said after a slight pause. I dredded the next question I had to ask.

"What kind of surgery was it and where was it preformed?" Percy seemed to lock herself down. Every muscle in her body grew tense.

"No." She finally responded, her voice low and even.

"I'm sorry?" I asked, not quite sure what she ment. Her gaze turned from unfocused to locked onto me.

"Next. Question." Her voice was hard and her face was impartial but I could tell from her eyes that the answer to my question held deep pain. A kind of trauma I could not even begin to understand. The enigma that was Percy Jackson only seemed to grow with every answer; leaving me with a pile of questions.

"Well," I continued, wanting to move this evaluation along before I dug my self into a hole that I couldn't get out of. "Let's move on to the mental questions." This time, I didn't even get a shrug, just a cold, blank stare. I tried a smile.

"Let's try some word association. Okay?" I didn't even wait for her answer, knowing it was going to be the same as before.

"Happy." I started. I waited a good minute before Percy bregrudgingly responded.

"Blue."

"Sad." Percy let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

"Only always." I marked her response down on my paper. When a person answers with something like a color or name, the word is generally atributed to a memory or such. For Percy, being happy involves something to do with the color blue, most likely a childhood memory. When the answer corresponds to a very specific place or if Percy were to respond with an adjective, that is when I need to pay attention to her answers and see if there is a specific memory or trigger to a traumatic experience. I pressed on.

"Angry."

"Ares."

"Love."

"Annabeth." I marked the names down. Whoever they were, she attributed the two of them to pretty major emotions.

"Fear." Percy tensed slightly.

"Dark." This peaked my interest. Percy didn't seem like the kind of person who was aftaid of the dark. After all, Batamn told be she had the Team train in the dark to work on their hearing and night combat. Perhaps she was more afraid of what could happen in the dark. Or what had happened...

"Alone."

"Lost." This was a pretty common answer actually, but what made me stop was how broken the young woman's voice sounded when she spoke. It was hollow and soft, as if that one word was the only thing left of her. Once agian, a thousand questions to an answer. I decided to try and double back towards her previous answers, to see if I could unlock something.

"Dark."

"Cold." Again, a fairly vague, common response. It also seemed that Percy had evened out her voice once again, making her near impossible to read. Finding that idea to be a dead end, I went back to my list of words. Hopefully something would trigger.

"Awake."

"Working."

"Mountain."

"Purple."

"Names."

"234." I stopped. An oddly specific number that had almost had no correlation to the word. I decided to pick at it.

"People."

"Away." I was getting closer. Were the people away from her or was she away from the people?

"List." And just like that, Percy's mask fell. Her neutral expression dropped, her eyes widening.

"Time," she responded, her voice wavering ever so slightly. I pressed further.

"Deal." Another crack formed around her face, the slightest bit of emotion showing through.

"Pain." Now we were getting somewhere. What are you hiding Percy Jackson? I selected my next word very carefully.

"Death?" I asked, almost on the edge of my seat. However, after the word left my mouth, I realized my mistake. I had forgotten two crucial points in the manila folder on my desk. One, Percy was 17. Two, Percy had PTSD.

The young woman, no. The teenage girl in front of me seemed to shatter, break before my eyes. Pain etched itself into every feature as a pair of tears ran down her face. Her arms held close to her chest, her voice hoarse and tired as she answered my question with a common answer. An answer that with anyone else might be brushed off as mearly a thought. But the gravity of her tone made me realize that this was not just an asnwer. Not just a passing thought. This was a memory.

"War."