Percabeth One Shots

Broken Clock

There was no way of knowing how much time had passed.

He tried fighting her- he fought tooth and nail with everything he could- and had failed.

And now the broken clock hanging from the wall beside him was his only friend. The only response to his cries, other than the other constant sinister laugh that the blonde girl produced.

Percy wasn't in the best position to be throwing around quips, but he figured if the blonde-haired women was going to continue to torture him and eventually murder him, he had nothing to lose. Her hair was tied in a messy pony-tail, curls littering the side of her thin face. Sweat was beaded across her forehead, while blood was across his. Both panting, Annabeth returned to her collection of knives. He had already tried escape multiple times, but it appeared that the bonds were made of celestial bronze. Riptide sat on the table next to the girl's collection, just an arm's length away, taunting him. He was sure if he could get to it, then he could defeat her.

"Which one now?"

Percy arched an eyebrow, trying to seem amused and not scared out of his wits. He wasn't sure how long he had been down here. His abductor didn't tell him the time, and she often left him throughout the day, only to return later. He could only rely on a broken clock. She had a thing with time. She often brought that up, loving how desperate he was trying to determine how long she had been slicing him open for. The only problem was, he didn't know what 'later' was. It could've been hours, days, weeks, and months, and he didn't even know it. He once tried to keep time by raking his fingernail over the wooden chair each minute, leaving a vivid mark. Eventually, all the indents blurred together, leaving his effort wasted. Annabeth had noticed as well, and ended up pulling off all his fingernails with tweezers. "You're letting me choose now? Feeling a little sadistic are we?"

The blonde shrugged warily, her grey eyes void of any emotion. They were dead, hollow, and empty. He had already tried to get to her, sensing Annabeth's empathy. She had only told him that her name was Annabeth, and that she was here to do her job. It seemed that was the only thing she lived for, the only thing she thrived on. He couldn't help but feel pity for her, even as she dug a blade into the left side of his cheek. "Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized in a catty tone that reminded him that she didn't feel sorry at all. She grinned maliciously, showing him that she had no ounce of humanity left. She didn't realize that her steel grey eyes showed a spectrum of different emotions- remorse was most common. "Did that hurt?"

"You could just let me go," his hands flailed at the restraints as he seethed when the dagger re-appeared. He had learned a long time ago that screaming was pointless. It just gave him a hoarse throat and Annabeth a victorious expression as he cried out. "I'll go back to camp, you'll go back to yours."

She laughed humorlessly, almost bitterly. "I don't have a Camp Jupiter or Camp Half-blood to return to, son of Poseidon."

Percy's eyebrows furrowed. He had assumed that she had been a Roman all this time, so certain that he hadn't even bothered to question it. It wasn't like the girl gave him any straight answers anyway. He couldn't even be sure that her name was even Annabeth. Her grey eyes flashed dangerously as he spoke. "I thought you were a Roman."

She rolled her eyes, scoffing and setting the blood-stained knife down. "Please. I don't care for Romans, nor do I care for Greeks."

"Then why are you doing this to me?"

She stared at him, her eyes softening momentarily. Percy thought had might have reached the tanned girl, but they immediately sharpened back to their previous state, lethal and livid, ripping away any hope that burst through his chest at her abrupt mood shift. "That," her voice was dangerously calm, "Is none of your concern."