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harveywritings92 · 4 years

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Soulmate AU Ezio Auditore x reader 2/2

Soulmate AU: heterochromia one of your eyes is the color of your Soulmates. Note: if your eyes are the same color as your bonded one's eyes you are blind in that eye until you meet them, like it's dull and clouded.

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hours later after Y/n had left the winery ...

"What the hell do you mean she's missing?!" Ezio demanded furious the stabled boy flinched at his tone terrified as the mercenaries look down at their feet, see an hour ago the horse they had lent Y/n had come back sans rider, the stable master alerted the boy who went to go tell the mercenaries patrolling around the tailor shop who told Ezio of the situation,

Needless to say the assassin was pissed and terrified that something had happened to her... he talked to blacksmith who pointed the assassin to the vineyards he hopped on the horse the Y/hc woman was last riding and prayed nothing had happen to her!

Meanwhile Y/n was cold, wet, and very sure her left shoulder was broken, after the horse got spooked by lighting, it tossed her off! knocking her out...when she woke up the horse was long gone and the storm was still going, The y/ht woman gasped in pain when she tried to move her left shoulder biting the inside of her cheek she forced herself to stand and held her lame limb with her good arm and looked around spying an old watchtower with a rotted wooden door.

The hurt woman used her cane to help her up and limped over to the tower and forced the door open by pushing her weight and good shoulder into to a few times before it collapsed, Y/n let out a pained cry as she hit the stone floor, after a few seconds of catching her breath the seamstress pulled herself up and looked around the old tower she could see some old tools a pile of dead leaves and a fire pit; she shivered and started pulling pieces of the door sweeping the leaves towards the pit.

She then checked the tools sighing when she found a fire-striker and some flint; however she was very stumped on how she was going to start a fire with one hand? the Y/hc woman looked at the tower's stone work. before finding some bricks that had come loose and used those to hold the flint for her, she struck it a few time before sparks started flying off the tiny block and on to the dead leaves in the pit soon a nice fire formed and Y/n sat down cradling her bad arm as the warmth slowly started returning to her body.

Hopefully Franco noticed she was gone longer then she said she'd be! and sent someone out to look for her? Luckily for her someone was searching and had noticed the smoke leaving the old watch tower.

Ezio had left the farm Y/n had delivered to; the daughter kept trying to get him stay. but he ignored her advances, when his nose caught something in the air...smoke? His brows furrowed bemused it was close by and rode off to where the smoke was coming from and saw one of the old towers being used his eyes faintly saw the muddy y/fs steps and holes leading up to the tower and followed them to the now broken down door.

Ezio nearly collapsed to his knees when he found Y/n alive, the Y/hc woman looked up at him incredulously as he ran up to her and hugged her tight only to pull away quickly when she yelped in pain and noticed her arm. "Why are you here.." she croaked bemused as he scrutinized her arm "I'm your soulmate, why wouldn't I be here?" he frowned Ezio may not be a doctor, but he's hurt his shoulders enough times to recognize a dislocation when he sees one... "I mean shouldn't you be busy with some diseased harlot?" she spat before gasping as he tried rotating her arm just to make sure it really was a dislocation and not a fracture...

"Look, I was just as shocked as you were when we met..."

"Bull crap, you didn't even stop! You perver-ngh.."

"Mi dispiace... I left as soon as it hit me, Leonardo then told me who you-"

"How do you know Leonardo?"

Y/n demanded suspiciously surely her friend wasn't involved with this womanizer? she got her answer as her soulmate explained that he and the inventor had been best friends for years, the inventor's helped him out through out the years...He frowned realizing he was going to have to reset her shoulder. "Bite my shoulder." He ordered suddenly said causing Y/n to freak, and try and struggle away from him, but Ezio kept his grip on her stayed firm.

"I don't mean for that!..I going fix your arm, but it's going to hurt." the assassin explained the injured woman was skeptical as he pulled her close and started counting backwards from ten, he stopped at three and popped it back in without warning; he frowned hearing Y/n shriek painfully while biting down on his leather shoulder guards she started sobbing into his shoulder.

"Mi dispiace...mia bella." he cooed rubbing her back before letting her pull away from him then noticed tiny specks of red on the back of her shirt. "Were you hurt anywhere else." He asked keeping a calculated gaze on her, the Y/hc shook her head.

"My pack took most of the impact..." she nodding at a broken carry frame leaning against the wall, that didn't put his mind at ease she could have sustained injuries and not realize it because of shock.

She was freezing too...Ezio brought his cape over her letting her leech off his body heat deciding there to take her to the doctor just to be sure...

His sensitive hearing heard the rumbling getting farther the storm was passing, he put the fire out using an old jug left outside "Come on it should be safe now.." he said before Y/n could even try stand the assassin had already sweep her off the floor and carried her to the horse, after the sun was setting in the distance as the ride back to Monteriggioni was relatively silent until Y/n mustered the courage to speak up.

"you're the one who left the flowers on my doorstep?"

"Oh, you got them bene! I was worried someone else would've taken them."

"So my assumptions are correct then, you're the reason everyone's treating me oddly."

"The Townsfolk have been mistreating you?"

Ezio asked inquisitively thrown off that the town might be ostracizing his soulmate, they put him on a high pedestal so seeing a lowly seamstress as his soulmate and not some strong warrior or delicate noble may have disheartened them, Y/n shook her head "Not really half are too helpful to the point of overbearingness and the other half avoids me like I'm diseased." Y/n explained as simply as she could the next words out of her mouth nearly caused Ezio to choke on his spit.

"You must be very important to garner such a reaction Mr.." She noticed him staring at her awestruck, the y/hc woman shifted uncomfortably as he stammered out. "You..you don't know who I am?" and chuckled when Y/n shook her head Introductions weren't exactly exchanged when they met given the circumstances."do you know who the Auditore are?" She nodded saying she's lives next to their family crypt and knows about Mario he visits the Blacksmith a lot and little about his relatives moving in with him, but she hasn't really encountered them, she knows Claudia often orders from the shop. but her boss delivers them to the villa.

"I think his nephew is the landlord now, uh Elio?" she heard her soulmate snort trying his hardest not to laugh. "It's Ezio actually." he said clearing his throat. "Oh." Ezio... that's the name everyone muttered around her whenever she walked by, the man who got Abilio fired and the same man the customers daughter gushed about, Now that she thought about it Y/n may have spotted Ezio a few times; walking by the shop, but she really couldn't say, because he always wore these hooded white rob-...

The y/ht woman's eyes widened to to size saucers as she eyed what the man who was holding her was wearing! It took a few moments for Y/n to connect the dots and realize who her soulmate was! She saw a knowing smirk grace his lips.

"Ezio Auditore da Firenze Per favore, fai la tua conoscenza"

Y/n l/n da Firenze..." {non Italian reader: Y/n L/n da parti sconosciute...}

[If reader is Italian: Ezio blinked surprised that they were from the same city yet never encountered each other..."Odd I don't ever recall seeing you around." Y/n sighed saying it was no surprise considering she was from a lower class family, so there was a chance they would've never met, that and she was profiled as an uneducated orphan so that put her on an even lower bar than him.]

[Reader is half Italian: Ezio tested her name a few times it sounded odd and must've felt odd to him. "You and your are name very... exotic." he said she could hear the confusion and curiosity in his voice. "Foreign by name Italian by birth, my [parent of choice] was from [country] they traveled here for work/education met their soulmate [other parent.] and had me. unfortunately they both passed when ship they were on sank.]

[Reader isn't Italian: "That's an odd introduction, I take it you moved here when you were young?" Ezio asked The y/hc woman hummed in confirmation."I know I'm from [Country]...But when I was little my family sold me to some rich old man to be his bride." Ezio took a sharp breath his hands tightened on the reins, she may have just set him off as she continued. "Luckily he died before he had done anything, killed by a man with robes like yours, he brought me to Firenze, set me up with a nice lady who became my grandmother." She felt him relax as she smiled fondly at the memories. "He would stop by sometimes to play chess and to see how I was doing...I think his name was Giovanni?" Y/n heard Ezio gasp then mutter prayers and gratitude towards his father.]

The assassin was happy for the first time in weeks! he wished this was how they met instead of at the brothel. "What brought you to Monteriggioni?" He asked curiously her grandmother died the bank took their house, she would've been on the streets if Leonardo hadn't taken her in, she worked for him as an assistant for a while, then she met her boss's wife.

The old woman had ripped her dress and Y/n mended it for her, she showed it to her husband next thing Y/n knows he's offering her an apprenticeship and she accepted,moved out of Leo's and moved in with them. When about three years later, her boss heard that there was an there was a tailor shop in Monteriggioni in need of workers, he decided to pack and move to the small village.

as it turns out she moved out of Leo's the day his father was betrayed; just an hour shy of Ezio and Maria arriving to Leonardo's... it was bewildering! had she waited a little longer, they would've met then and there, and who knows what would've happened? No... Ezio knew exactly what would've happened, he frowned thinking back to what he had to leave behind in Firenze and knew she would've been one of them.

Monteriggioni soon came into place Ezio helped Y/n off the horse and carried her on his back to the doctor. "Mr. Auditore what seems to be the problem today?" the doctor asked before noticing the injured woman on his back. "Y/n? oh dear what's happened?" the old man went to the door to let them inside and the doctor cleared a table for them and had Ezio set her down and the doctor got to work on Y/n while her soulmate observed to the side, the doctor asked how she got hurt Y/n explained the horse being spooked, her getting thrown off and her arm and back bothering her.

The old man lips formed a thin line as he scrutinized her shoulder then complimented Ezio on fixing it, but elevated it in a sling informing her it'll have to stay on for a week or so, then check her both the doctor and Ezio winced seeing her back was was all scratched up a large bruise shaped like the carry-frame marred her skin an ugly purple.

The y/ht hissed as the doctor cleaned out the scratches "that my dear could've been much worse, but I suggest you don't do any heavy lifting for month, hopefully that buffoon you call a boss will abide or he may find his performance in bed lacking..." The doctor huffed as he ranted that he had clearly told her boss let Y/n off while he was gone, in case just such a thing happened, that man was too stingy and paranoid to hire more workers, Hell, his wife had to jump through flaming hoops to even consider taking Y/n on as an apprentice! someone cleared their throat the doctor turned to see both Ezio and Y/n giving him a look the old man backtracked. "Erm, sorry I got off topic now, please don't do any taxing. rest, Doctor's orders."

With that he let Ezio handle it from there, the assassin carried Y/n back to her home despite her claims that she could walk! the y/hc woman's face was on fire as people shot her and Ezio looks some of amusement others of vexation and envy, her home wasn't hard to find, it was right next to his family's crypt, Y/n explained the townsfolk think the alley is haunted, so rent is cheap and no nosy neighbors.

Ezio chuckled feeling a sense giddiness he hadn't felt since he was a child, when he heard the description of the fantasma there's a good chance he might be the culprit. Y/n didn't really think much of it she just assumed Ezio was laughing at people's superstitions, She suppose it was kind of funny if she didn't mildly believe in the supernatural as well! Neither of them slept that night they stood up talking mainly about themselves.

Ezio told her about his father and brothers how he'd been fighting to bring their deaths to justice, Y/n was mainly about her parents their death, her how grandmother's health mind slipping away as she got older the old woman would often forget who Y/n was or mistake her for her [parent.] then breakdown crying/apologizing when Y/n reminded her that [parent] was gone or who she was.

When they did finely fall asleep Ezio was awoken abruptly by Y/n's door being harshly pushed open, he looked down at Y/n who was still passed out hugging his waist, then turned to glare at whoever woke him up and saw the tailor gawking at him with a deer in the cross-hairs look, No words were spoken as the assassin watched the old man backed out of the house and quietly closed the door..."Hmm?" Y/n lifted her head up bemused Ezio gently pulled her back down. "Go back to sleep cara." the Italian man cooed running ad through her hair, knowing no one will bother them for a while.

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Per favore, fai la tua conoscenza = please to meet your acquaintance.

da parti sconosciute = From parts unknown.

Fantasma = ghost

#assassin's creed x reader #Assassin's creed 2 #Ezio auditore x reader #soulmate au

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slothgiirl · 5 years

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Gold Dust Woman part 1

pjo x mcu fusion: annabeth is iron man

crossposted on a03

It’s been twenty eight day since she was kidnapped. Annabeth would know this even if she wasn’t scratching a line into the wooden boards she called a bed every day. In situations like this, it was important to keep track of time. It keeps her from becoming disoriented, it keeps things in perspective.

Like how tomorrow the car battery that she has hooked up to her heart, that’s powering her heart, will give out, spent, and she’ll die.

Unless her miniature arc reactor works.

It has to.

Annabeth has spent countless nights awake, pouring over the math and plans. she flips through the pages and pages of sketches. Carefully combs through the numbers for any mistake, any miscalculation, until her eyes swim. In some ways its not all that different from home, where she’d spent days shut up in her lab, dreaming up new technology only to turn around and sell it to the military.

The arc reactor had been written off as a publicity stunt. An inefficient source of clean energy. A pipe dream no one had bothered chasing. Not even her when the math hadn’t worked on to make it feasible, she’d just shrugged, downed her scotch, and moved on to the next big contract.

She’d been so caught up in research and development, in making weapons, that she had lost track of things. Or maybe she didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to think about the people she’d killed. The blood on her hands.

If she’d bothered to keep track, maybe no one in her company would’ve sold things to the enemy.

If If If. She was going to drive herself crazy thinking about all the things she shouldn’ve done.

Annabeth didn’t have time for that.

Not here. She won’t die here in this godforsaken cave, not before she can put things right. Not before she can start to make amends.

She refuses to let death be her legacy.

“I’m here if you need steadier hands,” Armeen Hephaestus utters over to her from his own spot, carefully stripping down the weapons and tools they’ve been given according to her own schematics.

Every moment they waste not working on her plan is another second in which the 10 Rings might turn around and decide to kill them.

“It’s alright,” she answers, not bothering to look up. Annabeth hates relying on others, hates that she won’t be able to insert the arc reactor herself, might die unable to do anything to save herself if it fails. “Just stick to the plan.”

The words tumble out harshly in the soft light of the cave, lightbulbs flickering. The electric grid thats been rigged up is horribly inefficient, but Annabeth isn’t about to tell her captors that.

Her hands don’t shake as she places the last pieces in and waits for the flicker. For the arc reactor to power on if she’s rights about the math and she always is, this should generate more power than it consumes. It won’t be perfect.

But it’ll keep her alive and that’s good enough for now.

Annabeth sighs in relief as it flickers softly, before a steady white light comes on light. She can’t wait to see the look on Arachne’s face when Annabeth shows her what she did with their publicity stunt.

If she makes it out alive.

No. She puts the arc reactor down, turning to call over Hephaestus, she can’t think like that.

“Come on Armeen,” she tells him, “I can’t wait to stop lugging around this battery.”

It’s been twenty eight days and Annabeth wonders where Thalia is, leading the search over the vast deserts of Afghanistan.

It doesn’t really matter.

The 10 Rings was right, they’ll never find her here. There’s just to much ground to cover.

That’s fine. Annabeth’s only ever been able to rely on herself and she’ll get herself out of here and Hephaestus too.

Then she’ll make sure Chase Industries never manufactures another weapon again.

Six shots in, a glass of champagne in hand for the occasion and Annabeth is bubbly. Is open and friendly in the addictive way she can never manage sober. Her smile feels foreign but the man who’s wrapped his arms about her, his hand covering hers before they throw the dice and watch it hit the roulette before landing on one of their winning numbers, he’s fun and hot and she likes one night stands. They’re easy.

“Yay,” she giggles, turning to him, giving up on his name when her thoughts feel so disconnected.

“You must be my good luck charm,” he grins, looking boyishly charming as he does.

It’s such a cliche, fitting in perfectly in Vegas.

Grover rolls his eyes, clearing finding the line beyond cheesy, from his spot on her right, the rest of her bodyguards spread out around.

“Yeah,” she replies airily, downing her champagne and distantly wondering if its to late to upgrade the targeting systems on the Medusa Missiles. Her mother never acknowledged anything less then perfection. It was a trait she’d passed on to her, along with her grey eyes and height.

No, both her parents had been tall.

He kisses her, lips saturated with beer, and Annabeth mindlessly goes along, wishing men weren’t so into beer. It never tastes good. And cocktails were so much better at getting people drunk faster.

“Lets go again,” he suggests.

“I’m game,” she answers, signaling for another drink.

Annabeth doesn’t really have time for this, she’s leaving Vegas in an hour back to San Francisco. But maybe he’d like a free ride to SF?

“Annabeth,” Thalia calls out, meeting Jack’s? drunk and carefree gaze with her own steely one, the same look she gave Annabeth overtime she found her less them sober, falling over and refusing Grover’s assistance, “you missed the ceremony.”

It’s the chastising of someone who’s already given up hope of getting through, hand wrapped around a glass award.

The reason she’d come to Vegas.

“Vegas is so fun,” she replies, dismissing the man and falling into step besides Thalia, away from the gambling tables, “and yet you want me to spend my time here in a room full of corporate assholes?”

It does the trick, Thalia laughs, “so long as you make it to the plane for-,”

“I know,” she cuts off, “gosh mom there’s a reason I have a nanny!” She takes the trophy from Thalia before she can think to try and smash her head in with it, “I’m sure Katie’ll find a great place to put this were it’s not ostentatious.” Next tool the other awards.

“Pretty sure you gave up any hope of that when you built a hose overlooking the bay,” Thalia replies, her uniform looking nice and starched. She was at home in uniform more than Annabeth could hope to be in a dress, but it was Vegas and it felt right when she’d decided on the Cushnie. Now she was missing her comfortable suits. “do you have any clue how much real-estate is going for in San Fransisco these days?”

“It’s on the cliffs,” Annabeth adds with a grin at her old friend. They’d been at MIT together, back when Thalia had over-dyed black hair and ripped band t shirts, perpetually wearing sandals even in winter.

“Let me know when you want to settle down,” Thalia teases, “I’d love to be a trophy wife.”

“I thought they’d reinstated don’t ask don’t tell now with the new administration,” Annabeth wonders out loud.

Thalia nudges her side lightly, “don’t even get me started. I risk my life serving this country and this is the thanks I get back home! This is who the country votes for?”

The limo pulls up and Grover opens the door up for her, forever the gentleman.

Annabeth laughs at Thalia, “You know what they say, there’s no rest for the wicked. See you in a few.”

Tahlia shakes her head as she walks aways.

Annabeth grins and steps towards the open car door.

Before she can slide into the car and head home, a voice calls out behind her, “Ms. Chase do you have anything to say on the situation in Afghanistan.”

She looks at Glover, who helplessly shrugs, “I guess he’s hot. I don’t know. I’m only Juniper-sexual.”

Annabeth turns around, facing a rather handsome man, tall, broad shoulders and chiseled chin. It just reminds her of everything she’s not. This is the person that the military would love to deal with, not her. Not another Chase woman.

“Go for it,” she says with a grin, forcing herself no to pull down on her dress, it’s supposed to be this short. Maybe she needed a new tailor?

“Annabeth Chase, you’ve been called the Da Vinci of our times,” he starts, making her beam despite herself, she’s always a fool for flattery, “what do you have to say to that?”

“I do what I can to contribute to society, to making a better world.” It’s one of those vague statements her PR handlers had drilled into her. Harmless regardless of any context.

“What about your other nickname? The Merchant of Death? What do you have to say to that,” there’s teeth to his smile this time, a crusader then. Another reporter out to change the world.

“Let me guess, Berkeley ,” she says in lieu of an answer, the school was infamous for their many protests.

“Boston U actually.”

Annabeth nods. “Well, it’s an imperfect world we live in. I guarantee the day weapons are no longer needed to defend this country and it’s peoples freedoms I’ll start making bricks and solar panels.” She pauses, crossing her arms in front of her. This was the thing about dresses, where was she supposed to stuff her hands into? “My mother used to say that peace was having a bigger stick than the other side,” Annabeth says with a shrug. Athena had never spoken those words to her, but she’d parroted them often enough to the press. “And isn’t peace what we all want?”

He grins like he’s in on the joke, only highlighting how handsome he is, dark skin and even darker eyes, “interesting words coming from the woman selling the sticks.”

Even she grins at this, genuine for the first time all night. “What’s you name?”

“Isaiah, Isaiah Levey from Vanity Fair magazine.”

“Well Isaiah,” Annabeth replies, liking the way his name sounds on her lips, liking the look of him even more, “My mother helped defeat the nazis, she worked on the Manhattan project, she developed technology that propelled us into space and is now used in computers and phones. A lot of people, including your professors at Boston, would call that being a hero.”

Isaiah fires back, “A lot of people would also call that war profiteering.”

Annabeth’s lips draw thin, as the alcohol that’s kept her buzzed for the last hour wears off, “Tell me, do you plan on including the countless lives we’ve save through advancements in medical care and agricrops? All those breakthroughs,” she says pointedly, “military funding.”

“Wow,” he says shaking his head, “you ever lose an hour of sleep your whole life?”

And just like the fuckboys Katie always complains about, like she didn't somehow incorporate flannel into all of her outfits, she utters, “I’m prepared to lose a few with you.”

She might be off-putting at the best of times, and not half as beautiful as the wives of her fellow billionaires, but confidence could more than make of for those shortcomings.

Isaiah shrugs helplessly, grin on his lips, and he slides into the limo with her.

It’s been seventy nine days since she’d watched a humvee blow up. It was a lot nastier up close then in testing facilities out in Nevada, where distance made the explosion look beautiful.

Before she could register that they were under attack, before she could react and put her drink down or maybe finish it off and hope it was just a nightmare, the solider in the front. . .R-something. . .Reyes?. . .maybe it was Ramirez? Was telling her to get down, the words barely leaving her mouth before a gunshot splattered her brains reminiscent of a Pollock, body falling over like a puppet that had its strings cut.

Annabeth had looked around stupidly. She didn’t know what to do. More gunshots. More blood.

There had been smoke and dust and she couldn’t see anything, couldn’t even see her enemy until she heard the gunshots, seconds before they made contact, ripping through the Humvee like it was made of cardboard.

She crawls out, dodging behind the nearest rock, in too much shock. Her hand goes reflexively to her necklace, thumbing over the beads. More gunshots. There’s no way to know where to go. Who’s her enemy and where she should run too so she just stays hurled behind the rocks.

Annabeth wants to slap herself, throat choked on a scream. Everyone likes to believe they’d react the right way in a fight or flight situation but theres no right way and oh my god she’s going to die.

Then there was the missile, landing just close enough for her to make out the logo, the same logo she’d learned to recognize when she was still learning to write, Chase Industries and then the explosion and then nothing.

It’s night.

And the 10 rings members are suddenly filing in, guns locked and loaded.

Annabeth knows its night because the shifts changed. Even with their rotating shifts and change in partners, she’d quickly memorized their faces. Besides, at night, they yawn more.

They yell in their various languages, strutting around and throwing their weight before a bald man clicks his fingers, his face hard, with a glee in his eyes that speaks to a sadistic nature.

They grab for Armeen, dragging him before the bald man, knocking him to his knees.

The bald man must be the leader. Head held high, back straight as though he’s looking down at everyone. He can’t be much taller than her.

Annabeth might be tall for a woman, but she’s only average in comparison to most men and Hephaestus is taller than most. He’s also lanky, hands rough from hard labour. Not a handsome man with his large nose and small chin, eyes lost behind thick glasses.

He’s her friend and when they bring a hot iron rod to his mouth she finds herself yelling, “NO,” moving forward against her better judgement.

All the guns in the room point at her.

She blinks, realizing that no matter how valuable she is, how rich she is, how smart she is, they won’t hesitate to shoot. Their patience has worn through.

“I need him,” she utters, her protest sounding weak to her own ears, “he’s a good assistant.” She won’t have anymore blood on her hands. He has a wife and kids back home.

Annabeth only has Thalia. People she pays probably don’t count. Grover and Katie’ve no doubt found a new job.

She would’ve.

Then again, there’s a reason everyone’s always found her cold.

“You have twenty four hours to give me a Medusa Missile or I’ll shoot you both,” the bald man spits, “I don’t care who you are you bitch!”

She doesn’t wince anymore. The words cold bitch have long trailed after her.

The man kicks Hephaestus aside, before turning to leave.

Then their gone.

A look at him and they both know they’re in for a long night if her plan’s going to work, if they’re going to escape.

Annabeth wakes up at six in the morning on the dot the same way she has every day since boarding school.

Isaiah is still sleeping when she slips out of her room and down her lab.

Katie’ll take care of him later.

Katie’ll also let her know when it’s time to go, the only person aside from herself who knows the password down to her lab, her heels click on the glass steps.

“You are supposed to be halfway around the world,” she utters already scrolling through her ChasePad, a prototype of the latest version that was still in development, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“How’d she take it,” Annabeth says, pivoting while she looks over her latest engine, finding that the Lamborgini, no matter how nice it looked, handled like shit.

“Like a champ,” Katie replies.

“Why’re you trying to kick me out of my own house,” Annabeth asks, shifting her weight onto her other leg before it can fall asleep, the last few screws falling into places. At first it was just a matter of replacing the wheels and suspension, but once she looked under the hood, Annabeth knew she could do better.

“Your flight was scheduled to leave an hour and a half ago,” Katie says curtly. Grover must have told her how much she drank last night.

“You know, I do know my limit,” she responds, “and it’s my plane so shouldn’t it take off whenever I want it to?” She’s being ridiculous, Annabeth knows this, but. . .she doesn’t know.

She won’t see Katie for a three days. It’s not long in the grand scheme of things. . .

Katie ignores her, barreling on, “Social drinking is a stepping stone to alcoholism and I need to speak to you about a couple things, before I send you on your way.”

“I mean whats the point of a private plane if I’m still subjected to boarding times.” Grover had told her once about commercial flights and Annabeth had felt something inside her wither and die. It probably came with never having to deal with anything money couldn’t fix.

Maybe she should get out more, talk to people other than her employees and those with a vested interest in her company.

“Xiao called, she has another Jackson Pollock lined up for the auction, do you want it? Yes or no.” Annabeth couldn’t see any point to splatter paint, there was no technique or point really. She much preferred the carefully rated indian and egyptian art pieces. There was the greek technical prowess in sculpture and paintings, coming the closest to lifelike. But her dad had lover abstract art and modern art.

So, “yes,” she answers, turning around and gladly downing the last of her cup of water. Her head was still pounding even after the two pills she’d taken this morning. Hangovers were the thing that would knock down any impending alcoholism Katie kept nagging her about.

“It’s overpriced,” Katie informs her, “and not a great representation of his later renowned work.”

“I said yes Katie,” she sighs, hearing the snap in her own voice, scrambling to add, “it’ll be like those parents who hang up all their kids drawing from preschool.” Her mother had never done that, waving annabeth away until she’d come back with her first circuit board, lines deep around her mouth as she’d frowned and told her the how inefficient it was.

Katie smiles, “Okay. The MIT commencement-,”

“Is in June,” annabeth says walking up to the main floor, “nice try.”

“Well if I have to hear it then you have to hear it,” Katie teases, easily, the clack of heels on concrete a tell tale sign that she’s following close behind.

“Didn’t I hire you to hear it so I don’t have to,” Annabeth snipes back, knowing Katie won’t take it the wrong way. They’ve been working together for to long.

“I’ll take that as a yes and I need you to sign this,” she says offering up a long and complicated paper with fine print as they reach the main living room, her duffle bag and carry on already prepared for her.

“Wow you’re really trying to get rid of me. Why?” It’s blunt, the way Annabeth has learned to be in the corporate world and military world where old men will look down on her and call her girl.

“I have plans.”

Annabeth makes a face, “I don’t like it when you have plans.”

Katie rolls her eyes, “first of all that’s why we have unions and workers rights and secondly I’m allowed to have plans on my birthday.”

Annabeth winces. She’d forgotten. She relied so much on Katie to remind her of all her appointments and meeting, and she could hardly tell Katie to reminder of her birthday. “Is it? This weekend?” It must be November then.

That explained all the christmas decorations that had been up in Vegas.

“Yes,” Katie responds, smothering a laugh, “isn’t that strange? It’s the same day as last year.”

“Well, buy yourself something nice from me.” Annabeth never knew what people wanted and it just didn’t seem practical to guess. That’s how people ended up with something useless, that they didn’t want, and then had to figure out what to do with; regift it, throw it aways, or have ti sit in the back of your closet.

“I already did.”

“Is it a new and exotic species of plant,” She asks knowingly. Katie had a way with plants, managing to keep even orchids alive.

“Thank you,” Katie says with a soft smile, before thrusting Annabeth’s luggage at her and pushing her out the door where Grover awaits with the ferrari, one designed by the great Nikki Lauda, the splashiest thing her father ever owned. It had only needed minor adjustments.

Annabeth laughs and helps Grover throw her luggage in.

The suit works, she flies for a full fifteen seconds before crashing, just long enough to escape the fireball of explosions she leaves behind.

Along with Hephaestus.

Dead.

Another death on her hands.

Even in February, the deserts of Afghanistan are scorching hot, dry, her eyes are strained after spending almost three months in darkness, only broken by weak lighting.

In comparison the sun a entirely too bright, too much.

Her throat arched, a strip of fabric wrapped around her head as a makeshift hat, keeping some of the sun off her.

The sun keeps her going, orients her because the sun always east and sets in the west, no matter what part of the world she’s in, ignoring how everywhere she looks out to looks the same. Sand, and more fucking sand.

It’s been eighty days since she was kidnapped.

they must still be searching for her. Thalia wouldn’t abandon her. Besides she’d Annabeth Chase, billionaire wonderkid, child of the late great Athena Chase.

But the fear of wondering forever, until she collapses and dies nags at her.

There’s just so much sand.

Vast planes spreading out beyond her as she leaves the mountains at her back.

What are the chances of-Thalia. . .

. . .Thalia finding her. . .

She hears the sounds first, the beautiful roaring of army craft, too steady too be of any make other than the united states government.

It’s the most wonderful sound she’s ever heard.

Her hands spread out, waving over. . .

Holy shit! Holy fucking shit!

It worked!

Something in her chest loosens, a weight, the panic that’s been kept at bay by adrenalin, by need and focus, hummingbird panic that makes her arc reactor flicker in the bright daylight of the desert, worlds away from the gloomy rain of San Fransisco in the winter.

She can breath now.

She’s alive.

Alive.

A live.

It feels like something that belongs to someone else. The drinks and parties and work and billions in the bank.

That can’t be. . .her.

The image of her own missile landing right in front of her forever seared into the backs of her eyelids.

Thalia walks down and out of the aircraft, soldiers fanning out with heavy automatic arms pointed out into the desert plains.

Annabeth can breath now. She smiles, falling into Thalia’s arms, into her embrace. She’s never been more glad to see Thalia’s dark blue eyes, almost black in some light.

“How was the fun-vee?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Annabeth hears herself say and then she’s gone. Exhausted down to her bones. The weight of running for months on adrenalin finally catching up to her and she blacks out, sliding into R.E.M. sleep for the first time since SF.

Later Thalia’ll tell her she was debriefed and gave coherent answers before downing some crackers and a coke, getting a quick medical checkup, before they let her sleep.

She doesn’t remember a thing after she see’s Thalia. Her very own godly apparition.

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #annabeth chase #katie gardner #grover underwood #thalia grace #connor stoll #travis stoll #mine #pls validate me and my last weeks work

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