Percabeth Oneshots

Patient Love

By tai-chi-leigh

Annabeth swears that when she finds the moron that did this, she's going to punch him in the face. It's probably the best scenario for him if she's being honest, considering she's already curse his firstborn child to twenty-five years of bad luck and imagined about thirty different ways to murder him. She even knows where she'd hide the body.

(There's a river nearby and she'd be lying if the thought didn't cross her mind...)

Her breath comes in puffs around her and every time it does it makes her angry because, oh, it's ten o'clock at night and hardly forty-five degrees and some ass-hole chained his bike to hers. She kicks at the chain with her boot uselessly, cringing in pain as her already frozen toes sting upon impact. 

Her teeth chatter and she wrings her hands inside her hoodie pocket, wishing more than anything that she had worn a proper jacket or a hat or mittens or something to help her conceal the little body heat she has remaining. She's probably near hypodermic. She's probably near death.

She swears that if she dies she will come back to earth as a ghost and haunt this guy's soul for the rest of eternity. Her eyes flick down the street toward the warm glow of the local diner. The warmth is so so so tempting, but she's scared if she gives in and orders a cup of coffee to wait it out then she'll miss the guy coming to unchain is bike. And there's no way she's letting him off without a verbal berating at the very least.

"You look cold," a voice behind her points out.

She whirls around to put a face to the voice, completely ready to spit a sarcastic 'no shit, Sherlock". Which is when she sees that it's the cute guy from her freshman seminar class and the response dies on her tongue.

"Annabeth?" he asks, and she feels the last vestiges of her body heat rush to her cheeks in shock because she didn't expect him to know her name.

"Hi! Percy," she says, sniffling and trying desperately to control her body shivering so she doesn't look completely deranged.

"Are you waiting for someone or something?" he asks, looking both ways up and down the street (which, at this ungodly hour, is completely empty).

"It's a long story," she manages to get out despite the violent gnashing of her jaw. He rubs a hand over his face tiredly, causing some of the hair under his hat to stick out at a funny angle.

"Did some ass-hole stand you up or leave you at the diner or something?" When he meets her gaze this time his jaw is set tightly and he looks a tiny bit offended on her behalf. Her knees knot together.

"No, nothing like that. But I'm kind of stuck here unless I can find some way to get home."

By the time she finishes the sentence, he has already shrugged out of his jacket. He holds it out in the space between them, tipping his chin toward her and raising his eyebrow in question. The gesture is gentle, sweet, and Annabeth feels her willpower crumble at the thought not shivering in her boots anymore.

She feels bad because he's left in nothing but a thin shirt, but the coldness wins out and she accepts the offer, pulling it on and relishing in the warmth as the wind finally stops going right to her bones. It's because she has finals next week, she reasons to herself. 

She can't be sick for that.He probably does too, but she ignores that thought for a moment and smiles at him in thanks.

"I would totally drive you back to campus If I had a car, but I don't..." he frowns, "...I rode my bike here."

Annabeth's head snaps toward the bike rack, where, at this point in time, there are only two bikes remaining. Hers, and that moron's. Every bit of affection she had for him just moments ago seeps out and pure, unfiltered anger washes over her. Her mouth tastes sour and she bites her bottom lip in frustration. She should have known. She should have guessed it was him. She takes a step toward him and prods his chest with her finger, accusing.