The Architect [Pipabeth AU]

n i n e: puzzles

P I P E R

Annabeth laughed as I poured both of us a glass of pinot noir. "Really? Wine over puzzles?"

"I have to romanticize everything," I said in defense. The puzzle was halfway together now, and the clock was approaching midnight. We sat together on the couch, hunched over the black center table in my living room.

"God, you must be a mess," she said jokingly. She put the glass to her lips anyways. If only she knew how right she was.

"In vino veritas," I said in response before holding up my glass and taking a sip.

"In wine, there is truth?" She translated.

"You know Latin?" I asked.

"Well, I spent a semester studying abroad in Greece," she explained. "I'm better in Greek, but I took a couple of Latin courses at Stanford."

"Interesting," I mused. "You know, you're a very interesting person."

"How so?" She asked through sips of wine. Her eyes were challenging.

"Oh, don't ask me to get into that," I said, rolling my eyes. "I'm just an observing person. And one that goes into way too much detail on top of that."

"I'm an observing person too," Annabeth confounded, "and there is no such thing as too much detail."

"That's what I always say," I said. "With my hyperspecific lyrics. Every time I write a song about someone, they know it's for them."

"Ouch," Annabeth said playfully. "One billboard topper and someone has to go into hiding, huh?"

"Let me rephrase," I cut in. "I write about things that only that person would know. Memories, inside jokes shared..."

I trailed off. "You know, you should play me that song you were writing," Annabeth volunteered. "It sounded good, from what I could hear."

"I don't have the lyrics yet," I shook my head. "If I get them, you can hear the demo."

Annabeth studied the puzzle quizzically, her wine glass growing emptier on the table as the clock surpassed midnight and began chasing 1:00 am. Watching her in jean shorts and a Harvard sweatshirt, I couldn't help but notice how effortlessly beautiful she was. Her grey eyes spun like gears as they cut into each puzzle piece. I was beginning to like this 'off-the-clock' Annabeth.

We finished with the puzzle at a quarter past 1:00. Annabeth yawned. "This couch is so comfortable, I could just sleep right here."

"My dad picked it out," Piper said. "I sleep on it all the time."

"We should get some sleep," Annabeth said, laying her head back. "Work tomorrow."

"Are you still feeling 7:30?" I asked, hope in my voice that she had changed her mind.

She laughed. "Whenever you get up, Miss McLean. Just make sure you're out here by 9:30, sleepy head."

With that, we both got up and started cleaning up. I made my way to my room, and collapsed, exhausted, in bed. Even in all my exhaustion, I added a few more lyrics about the grey-eyed Harvard girl drinking wine over a puzzle at midnight to the scrap paper I had earlier. Annabeth was a mystery to me, and in only a few hours, I felt less lonely with her around.

I woke to my alarm clock at 8:00 am sharp. I groaned and rolled over. Knowing Annabeth was already grudgingly behind schedule, I pulled myself out of bed, which contrasted my normal. Usually, I hit snooze anywhere from 5-10 times, but today I decided I didn't want to hold Annabeth up any more than I already had. I went to my bathroom, took a shower, brushed my teeth, and applied a light layer of makeup. Unlike everyone else in Los Angeles, I was not big on makeup. I rarely wore more than a light dusting of concealer, mascara, and eye shadow.

I put on yellow pants and a white blouse and put my hair up in a bun. Downstairs, Annabeth was clearly on her second or third cup of coffee. Her graphs, schematics and blueprints were spread out on my kitchen counter and she was hard at work.

"Good morning sleepyhead," she said, barely looking up. "Lucky for you, I'm already done with all the draft one blueprints for your house, and we'll go over them to see what you think."

"Too early," I said. "How about chocolate chip pancakes?"

"Delay delay delay," Annabeth said, but she didn't argue. I took out several ingredients from the cabinets and began mixing the dough. She stood beside me and turned on the stovetop. I noticed she was an inch or two taller than me, and once again, had dressed casually today. She wore a white sweater and tan khaki pants. The only makeup she wore was mascara, which only brought her eyes out even more. I tried not to let them mesmerize me as she moved across the counter and talked to me casually. I liked the way the conversation flowed naturally. It seemed like for once, I wasn't having to force myself to be laid back, or think about the next words I said.

Annabeth didn't treat me different because my name was plastered all over the news or my voice was playing over the radio. Maybe it was because she was used to working with celebrities, or because she was rich and famous in her own field. She was extremely successful too, just in a different way. For once in my life, I didn't feel like an A-List celebrity, or the daughter of an A-list celebrity. I felt like a normal girl next door.

And I really liked it.

Annabeth began making a vanilla iced coffee on the other side of the counter.

"Are you a caffein addict too?" I asked.

"Naturally," Annabeth gave me a sly smile. There was a glint in her grey eyes. "All brilliant people are."

"I like that logic." We continued fixing breakfast, and in the back of my mind, I figured I could get used to this for the next 2 weeks. Annabeth was the friend I had been wanting.