Hera. Hera Hera Hera, Annabeth always finds herself frustrated beyond belief with the goddess, but right now it's more than just frustration. It's close to loathing, it's an angry ferocity, and the moment they get back, she doesn't care how much cow shit she'll have to avoid. She's going to punch Hera in the face, for everything she's done to the both of them. For the sake of the world, she'd said. Apparently it didn't matter what happened between then. A more rational side of her might even agree (and that kind of scares her), but nothing about this is black and white.
"Hera is a witch," she mutters, but all that feeling comes out in her tone. "I don't care what she says or what she does. When this is done, I'm not going to let her do anything like this to us again."
Because she can imagine what the queen of the gods might have said at this point. She'd never been Annabeth's biggest fan to begin with; if she had any idea what was coming, warning Percy against the choice would have been an easy, almost dismissive thought. It's not surprising, not really - but it still cuts through her and leaves an ache in her chest.
But something else. "Nightmares -?" They've both been having them, to the point where a certain level of them had gotten almost normal. "Last night. When you got up." She'd had a feeling it was more than just getting a glass of water, but she wanted to believe everything was okay. Almost needed to.
Her arms around him tighten when Tartarus comes back up. There's a part of her that wants to pull away and look at him, but she can't; she needs to keep holding him as much as he does. His decision to fall into Tartarus with her wasn't a choice, not for him, no matter how heavy it appeared to be, and she's long realized that. The only way he wouldn't have fallen is if he hadn't gotten to her in time, if the Argo II hadn't breached the cavern before Arachne pulled her down. He was doomed for Tartarus the moment she was.
So much for crying in silence. She breathes in, catching her breath sharply with it. And then before she can stop it, she apologizes. "I'm sorry," she chokes again, feeling like a sudden weight in his arms. Her fault, her fault, her fault, she can't stop the blame from spinning through her mind right now, not when he's blaming himself over it, too (and he shouldn't, he shouldn't be going through this self doubt). Not when Hera apparently saw it coming. Not when his voice breaks and Tartarus is breaking them already. "Percy, I'm so sorry."
It doesn't matter what he might say. She fell first, and if she hadn't - maybe they wouldn't be a mess on the floor right now. She's not sure she'll ever be able to let that go, and right now it's slamming into her full force.
no subject
"Hera is a witch," she mutters, but all that feeling comes out in her tone. "I don't care what she says or what she does. When this is done, I'm not going to let her do anything like this to us again."
Because she can imagine what the queen of the gods might have said at this point. She'd never been Annabeth's biggest fan to begin with; if she had any idea what was coming, warning Percy against the choice would have been an easy, almost dismissive thought. It's not surprising, not really - but it still cuts through her and leaves an ache in her chest.
But something else. "Nightmares -?" They've both been having them, to the point where a certain level of them had gotten almost normal. "Last night. When you got up." She'd had a feeling it was more than just getting a glass of water, but she wanted to believe everything was okay. Almost needed to.
Her arms around him tighten when Tartarus comes back up. There's a part of her that wants to pull away and look at him, but she can't; she needs to keep holding him as much as he does. His decision to fall into Tartarus with her wasn't a choice, not for him, no matter how heavy it appeared to be, and she's long realized that. The only way he wouldn't have fallen is if he hadn't gotten to her in time, if the Argo II hadn't breached the cavern before Arachne pulled her down. He was doomed for Tartarus the moment she was.
So much for crying in silence. She breathes in, catching her breath sharply with it. And then before she can stop it, she apologizes. "I'm sorry," she chokes again, feeling like a sudden weight in his arms. Her fault, her fault, her fault, she can't stop the blame from spinning through her mind right now, not when he's blaming himself over it, too (and he shouldn't, he shouldn't be going through this self doubt). Not when Hera apparently saw it coming. Not when his voice breaks and Tartarus is breaking them already. "Percy, I'm so sorry."
It doesn't matter what he might say. She fell first, and if she hadn't - maybe they wouldn't be a mess on the floor right now. She's not sure she'll ever be able to let that go, and right now it's slamming into her full force.