here's a preview to my wip
Percy tries for a smile. "You know, if you actually paid attention to the calls maybe I wouldn't have to run a solo mission."
"We were off-duty, Percy. Hell, I was buying groceries, you're lucky that I placed a dog-tracker on you."
"There's a dog tracker on me?" Annabeth promptly ignored him, seeing as the window was more interesting than what he was saying.
Percy sighs then falls back onto the bed. "Ouch."
"Perce, just go back to sleep."
And so he did.
The next time Percy woke up, Annabeth was pacing near his bedside.
"You're suspended." She says.
"From?" He knew where this was going.
"You're injured, the police department is temporarily suspending you from working as one of their detectives, pay is still going through though. You're on STD–short-term disability. Six weeks."
Percy gapes, "But–I'm–but I'm fine."
"You got stabbed," she deadpans. "You're not fine, at least not on my watch."
"You make it sound like you're going to hurt me if I go to work, which, by the way, I love work."
"Ha ha," she says sarcastically.
The next few days were a blur, pretty much. Test after test, making sure he could breathe correctly, eat, etc.
Annabeth visited him from time to time, for a couple of hours at most, for lunch or a meal at least.
She even admitted to the shameful act of binge-watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians. ("No, Percy, you can't watch with me–why are you laughing at me?")
That was definitely a hobby that wasn't acceptable–well at least unacceptable of her to do it without Percy.
The doctors discharge Percy almost three days after Annabeth's horrid confession.
Percy still winces after he sits down, the wound is healing nicely though. Annabeth takes it into her own personal duty to take Percy's needs up upon her own shoulders.
He protests, albeit meekly every day when she brings food to his apartment.
("I can buy my own food," he protests one day.
"Shut up," she responds.)
So he relents.
