Alternatively

Hear No Evil (ii.)

      She was asleep.

He twisted his hands around the cup, hesitant at her doorway. The plastic of the hospital band around her wrist glints in the low light, her covers gently rising and falling. Just the barest top of her head could be seen and he eyed the white bandages peeking through her curls.

She would be fine, the hero made sure of that. Got her all taken care of and tucked in bed.

But he hadn't left her water; she would need that when she woke up with a terrible headache.

Still, Percy lingered in the doorway. The sounds of the city were muffled through the glass, her window still not yet fully fixed, but even the noise wasn't enough to distract him from the memory of her expression during the fight. The way her eyes searched his face, her lips parted and her eyebrows high in fear. He still felt her fingers around his wrist, her grip strong in the way someone's final burst of desperation clung to life.

He didn't like her actually being scared of him.

But maybe that was easier. Maybe it was for the best.

Percy quietly slipped in to set the glass on her nightstand, trying not to let his eyes linger.

Then, as he wandered back down the dark hall, a soft: "I can get my own water."

He froze, the hand running along the wall caught on the edge of the bathroom door frame. It had been awhile since he heard her voice.

"If you're going to keep breaking in, I should just give you a key."

He snorted, twisted slightly to say, "It's not breaking in if your door is unlocked."

Sheets rustled and he could imagine her sitting up. "Ah, right, my balcony door, twelve stories up."

His fingers curled and he listened, waiting for her to demand for him to leave. He should have left. But, instead, he turned, walking softly to her room. Still, he paused at the doorway, eyebrows furrowed because no one should look like that after a head injury. Her curls were pulled to one side, her loose t-shirt drooping off one shoulder, and her expression was calm.

That was, until her eyes flickered over his face.

"What?" he muttered, leaning on the frame.

"Nothing," she squinted, leaning forward slightly. "Just that...you aren't wearing your mask."

He touched his face, suddenly feeling exposed. The train rides felt so long ago, and it was different. The game they played, pretending he wasn't who they knew he was, couldn't be continued as it stood.

His mouth was dry, but she was looking at him, waiting for something. So he quietly asked, "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Annabeth tilted her head, the city lights refracted across her skin. "Hurt me-"

"When I threw you. I couldn't let Grace get close, but you were..." he lifted his chin. "It didn't hurt, right?"

"No," she pulled her knees to her chest. "No, but you did make it hard for me to get my camera back."

"Your camera," he breathed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "My bad, I should have saved that first."

"Anything to make front page."

Percy winced as his words rang in his head.

Somewhere far below, a car horn blared between the buildings and he was nearly about to apologize for his reaction that night when she uttered, "I'm sorry."