Left Behind | Percabeth

Part I

ANNABETH KNEW IT WAS only a matter of time before this would happen. Only a matter of time before a letter would arrive in the mail, or an emergency radio transpondence would call all men above 21 to register; it was his duty. Today was that day.

   Annabeth had mindlessly been washing the dishes after their supper, Percy drying them, while the radio played idly in the back, the same as it always did. So far, not much had come of the war overseas, but the hearsay on the streets seemed to grow with each passing day; someone had heard of the majestic Berlin Olympics that happened only four summers ago, the incredible show that they had put on for it, or had a cousin who'd enlisted. The war was happening, it was coming closer with each passing day. People knew that it was only a matter of time before things became serious. Especially after France had fallen back in June.

   And so, when the radio called that all men between 21 and 45 were to register for the draft, a shatter rang through their apartment, shards of porcelain coating the floor.

   They both stilled for a second, letting the news sink in. Percy was to register for the draft. There was no going around it; he was young and healthy, had never had any serious health problems, no history of injuries. He was strong, too, agile and clear headed under stressful situations; he was just what they were looking for.

   'It's only a draft,' Percy mumbled so quietly Annabeth had to strain her ears to hear over the loud beating of her heart.

   She turned her face to him, a quiver in her voice. 'But it'll work like a lottery, right? So if they pick your name—'

   'Then I'm going overseas,' he finished for her, his eyes glassy as he looked at the floor, the porcelain littered between them. 'I'm going overseas.'

   She rushed up to him, not caring if the splintered plate on the floor would penetrate her woollen socks and dig into her skin, and put her hands on his shoulders. 'Nothing's certain,' she told him, reaching for any comforting thought. 'We don't even know how many will get drafted, it may only be a few thousand.' A few thousand was still way more than she'd like—than any of them would like. If he didn't get drafted, who was to say who else of their friends would? Would it be Beckendorf, whose wife, Silena, had just had two baby girls? Frank, who Annabeth knew always carried an engagement ring on the inside of his coat, just waiting for the right moment to ask? Jason, who'd finally been able to buy a flat after working restless hours for years? Percy's stepfather, who'd been made a widower less than two years ago, after Percy's mum had died during the birth of their daughter?

   Percy seemed to loom over these possibilities too, for his face turned to an odd stony expression, one Annabeth had so rarely seen. Only when he had decidedly made a choice, one he didn't like, but saw no other possibility to, and would not back down from it. He looked almost the same as he did at his mother's funeral, when of his grief had swallowed him whole, and left nothing but a mechanical shell, just for him to interact with the guests. When he had been forced to swallow his pain to remain functional. 'I'm going to enlist.'

   Annabeth's eyes whipped to Percy, eyebrows knitting together, trying to find the hidden joke. 'You mean register for the draft, right?' she tried, though she knew it would be futile. She could see it in his eyes, see what she already knew was true, but didn't want to admit to herself. She did not want to hear his words, even if she knew they would come, could prepare herself for the impact of them. 

   Percy's eyes turned to Annabeth's again. 'No,' he said. 'I'm going to enlist.'

   Annabeth's grip tightened on his arm, almost as if making sure he was still there, as her heart dropped. He was something to hold onto, to keep her steady and to keep her going, and he couldn't leave her—it wasn't a possibility. 'No.' Her voice was barely a whisper—a breath falling from her lips—but he still heard her.