A/N: one-shot, all rights reserved to me for the plot-line and characters, all rights reserved to Rick Riordan for the demigod world and the Percy Jackson books and characters.

There were many people on Half Blood Hill that day. As the fair haired boy next to Maia looked out eagerly at the approaching "demigods", she realised her plan would be much harder to carry out than she had thought.

"You'll be okay from here, Jamie?" Their mother asked. She looked worried as she always did, but they all knew it was useless to worry about him. He was a demigod, after all.

Jamie laughed gently and gave his mother a fleeting hug from the back seat. Maia saw them both relax into the short moment, into each other's arms, and felt almost lonelier and angrier than she had ever felt before. It wasn't her fault she was born to normal parents. To a mother who set up sculpture exhibitions for a living, and a father who loved her and didn't do to her what Jamie's father did to him.

He had turned to her, his half sister, and was smiling obliviously. He held out his arms–she felt herself stiffen, but then she put hers around him and hugged him because he was her little brother and she did love him; how could she not?

"Bye, sis. Bye, Mom! Love you both!" He was getting out of the car now.

She felt herself smile, just for one moment. He was the only thirteen year old boy who existed who admitted it so freely.

They were driving down the dusty summer time road, and her mother still looked worried.

As they turned the corner, she said, "Mom! Remember you promised to let me off here? I can walk to Linn's house–it's really close."

"Yeah..." Her mother glanced at her, her eyes far away, then out of the window. She didn't look surprised at the empty road there. The Mist was powerful.

"Okay, then." Maia was surprised at how reluctant she was to leave the car now that the time had come. "Bye."

She opened the door, swung her legs out and then looked back. Just once. If her look had been met with the kind of look her mother gave Jamie every time he passed out of her sight, she would have gotten back in and announced she didn't feel like going after all. Except it wasn't. Her mother just said a barely audible, "Stay safe", still looking as if she was thinking–about the god she had fallen in love with, the bastard child she had had with him–the way she had betrayed Maia's father.

Rage rose in her. She got out, and slammed the door so hard the car shook. Then she ran back down the road, back to Half Blood Hill, without looking back.

She felt no triumph at the fact that she, a "mortal", had actually manipulated the Mist. She had always been able to see through it, to break down its defenses more strongly than any other mortal, according to Jamie, but to manipulate it...no matter how many times she had seen him do it...was near a miracle.

Half Blood Hill was positively crowded with demigods, high fiving and hugging and comparing notes about who had fought the most monsters over the summer. Wow. They must all be really enthusiastic about coming here.

She blended in easily enough, avoiding anyone she thought might recognise her–anyone who looked like another child of Apollo that Jamie might have shown photos of her to, anyone who he might have brought over to their house once or twice.

When she neared the top of the hill, though, she lost all sense. Exhilaration bloomed in her chest. She could see it, parts of the camp laid out in the valley. She was finally going to be in it.....

Maia ran to the pine tree perched at the top. She wanted to stand next to it, and see it all, and prove to everyone that she could get through the border, that she was not like other mortals–she crashed into something.

An invisible force stronger than anything she had ever felt before hit her. She went numb. Her body couldn't deal with it–with the pain that should come. Thrown backwards, she hit the ground, rocks and bushes scraping into her. Her vision blurred. The last thing she saw before she blacked out with agony was two sneaker clad feet running towards her. Sneakers...she had gone to buy them with her mother when he was growing out of the old ones...

Before she could crane her neck up to see the rest of him, darkness swept over her.

Two months later, a fifteen year old girl with a hideous scar down the side of her face walked down a mostly empty street on her way home from Walmart.

She held two grocery bags as if they were weapons, her knuckles white where she clutched them. She passed the gallery–the same one, yes, where her mother and Apollo had met–resisting the urge to either cry or run inside and smash every sculpture there. Or, she almost passed it.

"Made your choice yet?"

Maia closed her eyes. Counted to five. Then turned around. There she was, the woman with Jamie's easy gait and slightly challenging eyes; her mother's dark hair and olive skin; Apollo's–yes, she had seen him–slippery smile and aura of power. Perhaps there was even a little something of her father there..she could never decide.

"Nemesis," she said, "I've told you already that I shouldn't have to make that choice and I'm not going to make it."

The goddess of revenge rolled her eyes and tossed aside the hourglass she had been holding. It disappeared as it touched the ground. Maia wondered how many of those she had. She brought a new one every day, always tilting it from side to side, muttering about the balance of powers and time and lives.

"I'm a goddess, my dear," she said. "I'm a patient person. I'll wait if you need more time."

Maia felt her lips twitch. "Gods and patience are two words I don't usually associate with each other."

Nemesis hummed to herself, picking out a new hourglass from thin air and letting dust trickle through from one end to another.

"But then," she murmured, watching it. "You don't associate anything good with the gods, do you?"

When she said nothing, the goddess continued. "In fact, you believe in exactly what I hate. Black and white. White, yourself. The poor mistreated little girl. Black, the gods. Most of all Apollo." She looked amused. "But what about Jamie? And your mother? You would like to believe they are the black, but they are not. They do care for you but–you mortals and your complicated relationships!"

Maia pointed at her with the grocery bag, and said to thin air, "Is a goddess of all people seriously telling me about complicated relationships?"

Nemesis ignored that. "They are not black or white, they are gray and you had better believe it. But with choices, things are different. You cannot dither between them like this. Make your choice, or I will call Hecate herself here to make you pick at the crossroads. Will you receive my blessing and get the revenge you have always wanted on your half brother and mother, or will you not have anything to do with any of this world ever again?"

This was the moment she had dreaded. Controversial images flew through her brain. Her mother and Jamie talking secretively. Then herself crying after she had broken up with her old boyfriend, and Jamie slipping into her room and putting his arms around her. Her parents shouting at each other. Then her mother tickling her into handing over the popcorn as they watched The Sorcerer's Stone together. Then her again, listening to both her children–Maia's winning a tennis match being nothing compared to Jamie's account of destroying an empousa.

Lastly, there were these images: Jamie's snow white face as he and the centaur–Kiron?–bent over her, trying to heal her near fatal injuries. Later, he and her mother both crying as they finally got permission and took the Golden Fleece to heal the frieze of cuts and bruises on her face. Then them all hugging each other and crying together. Her mother's sad face as her gaze traced her scar, her watery smile when she saw Maia was looking at her.

"I choose not to have anything to do with this world ever again."

Nemesis's expression was indiscernible. It flickered between surprised, disappointed, unaffected, impressed.

Finally, she shrugged. She looked down at the hourglass. It teetered; almost equal on both sides.

"Well," she said seemingly to herself, "you can't have everything perfect."

Then she turned and disappeared without another glance in Maia's direction. But not before she saw that her features had settled into a perfectly normal face. No one she recognised. No one whose features she could easily recall.

Maia walked home. It was time to talk to her family–really talk to them for once. Because that's what they were. Her mother, her thirteen year old brother, her dad, who was probably visiting tomorrow..maybe even Apollo. Because she did have him to thank in part for her brother. And he had brought her that pack of Cheetos last time he checked in on Jamie–five months ago.

Dysfunctional family? She grinned. You bet.