Annabeth was overwash with a feeling of déjà vu. Déjà vu, as Annabeth knew, had the literal translation of "already seen", and she wondered if the feeling had arisen not because she had visited the Underworld several years ago but because she had died in a previous lifetime. Death had always scared her. Maybe more so than spiders. Once upon a time she had considered herself immortal! She had saved the world numerous times; she had even held up the world! But her recent encounter with Gaea, a true immortal, had reminded Annabeth that she was most certainly not invincible, that nobody, not even a titan, could escape the retribution exchanged for a lifetime: death.

The idea of multiple past lives and deaths unnerved her and she let her thoughts flit through the mechanics of the phrase, an activity that she resorted to as a means to cope with stress -when she was alone; if Percy were with her to hold her hand or make some witty remark, she knew that the bubbling feeling of fear would burst abruptly. She shook her head. Percy wasn't with her. And he wouldn't be for many decades.

Déjà vu. Some contemporary cultures thought it precognition or prophecy. She nearly laughed aloud at that. How many times had she or Percy or any of the other Camp Half Blood and Camp Jupiter demigods received the jagged pieces of a morbid prophecy which seemed to elucidate their imminent deaths? And how many times had such fates been diverted? Annabeth smiled mirthlessly. No god, nor oracle had predicted her sudden demise.

She let her mind wander a little more. She imagined trawling through Daedalus' laptop. She recalled a random fact from some high school psychology class: that people tended to experience déjà vu under fragile conditions and that it purportedly decreased with age. The logicality of those statements soothed her mind. She certainly was quite young, only seventeen, so it was expected that she'd be experiencing the feeling. Moreover she was definitely feeling fragile. She had just died for Gods' sake! So, she thought, there was no reason to jump to the conclusion that she was experiencing the feeling because she had died over and over potentially hundreds of times. She was simply feeling fragile and was remembering her past adventure to the underworld with Percy and Grover. (And while a particularly petulant part of her mind employed the rationale that it was certainly logical and possible that she had died many times over, she told it to go straight to Tartarus, and then shuddered at the thought of that particular hell.)

The shadows of the Valencia Boulevard loomed ahead of her and her gaze caught her reflection staring back at her from the black marble wall before her. She remembered standing here with Percy and Grover what seemed a lifetime ago. She corrected herself. Now that she was dead, it was a lifetime ago. Percy had looked so terrified that she had wanted to hug him. But then, she hadn't known him for long. They were barely friends, and so she had made do with putting her hand on his shoulder. Now she was grateful for all the hugs -and kisses- they had shared the past five years.

She took a breath -and briefly wondered whether oxygen was even still cycling around her body; her heart had stopped so surely her lungs had too- and stepped into the foyer. Gentle music played softly, soothingly, and she gazed around the room in bewilderment at what she saw, the memory of the past at odds with what was before her. The last time she was here, the wall and furnishing were a steel grey. Now they were a deep olive green. The sleek black couches of before had been replaced with deep tan chesterfields and plant pots dotted the room, sprigs of moonlace -so very like the plant Percy had kept in his apartment- flourished. There were people, wraiths, everywhere. Many of them trapped in the room for a short eternity due to a lack of proper funeral rites. She sighed in relief and clutched at the gold drachma in her pocket. She always carried one, lest she died alone. Although Percy and her friends would organise a proper burial for her, she was grateful that she had kept the coin on her person to allow for immediate passage to the Land of the Dead.

And there he was, Charon, the ferryman for the dead. Tall, elegant. Mocha coloured skin and caramel hair. He glanced up briefly when she entered the room and just as he was about to let his gaze fall away from her, he perked up.

"I know you! You, miss, you and your friends died in a bath tub once. Back again so soon?" Somehow his voice was familiar all these years later.

"Yes. This, uh, is my second death." Charon raised an eyebrow at that but didn't comment. "Did you get your raise?"

"Too right, I did!" He preened at his sleek suit. "It's Armani, innit?"

"Very nice." Annabeth nodded wordlessly. She stared at the dead that gathered and she suddenly felt an immense sadness. There would be no easy passage to the Underworld for them. She shuddered, wanting to escape the listlessness of the waiting room.

"I want to go to the Underworld." She let the drachma flutter across her knuckles. Something Leo had taught her one afternoon. Charon's eyes lit up at the sight of the coin. Light caught the little medallion and reflected off his sunglasses, twinkling gold against the blackness of the lenses.

"And this time, godling, you're really dead? Only last time Hades had my skin for letting you three in." Annabeth had a feeling he didn't care either way, so long as he got the drachma.

"Yes." She held his cold empty gaze.

"Very well then." He turned abruptly and stalked towards the elevators and Annabeth hastily started after him. The elevator doors snapped shut, like the metal jaws of a bear trap, and the steel cage started its descent to the Underworld.

Suddenly, the lift stopped descending and moved forwards with a jerk. The air filled with a heavy fog and Annabeth gave a cry when she saw that her Camp Half Blood shirt had disappeared to be replaced by a hooded robe. Her one last remnant to the living world gone.

The River Styx lay before her. The dark waters churned and Annabeth caught a glimpse of the broken dreams and lost things that swirled within its depths. They kissed the surface of the water briefly before being sucked beneath and tugged away into a whirling eddy. The darkness of that oily water seemed so threatening and although she was dead and had nothing much left to fear, Annabeth was suddenly terrified of falling in. She flinched away from all those lost wishes, crushed dreams and Charon chuckled at her.

The barge met the black sand and the dead started to disembark. Annabeth glanced at Charon and he gave her a salute. She stared at the mountainous cavern and shuddered at the low mournful cries of Cerberus. But she couldn't see Hades' three headed dog. For a fleeting second, Annabeth was fearful that she wouldn't be admitted to Elysium. But she quashed such worries. Gods, if she didn't deserve Elysium, who did?

She turned her back on the queue to the fields of Asphodel and let herself be swept into the line for judgement. The emptiness of the air was suddenly broken a bark. Cerberus. He bounded towards the demigod, his paws crashing through the transparent bodies of dozens of ghouls who muttered angrily and broke formation. She considered cutting the queue but decided against it; she didn't want to be damned for all eternity for such a trivial thing. The dog crouched down next to her, each of its three heads turning to face her.

"Hey boy," she said softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't bring a ball for you. Good thing I didn't swear on the Styx then, right?" She scratched the enormous ears of the head closest to her and cringed at the droplet of saliva that spilled out of one of the dog's mouths and landed by her feet. She sighed sadly.

"Percy wanted us to have a dog, you know that? He talked about how good I was with you last time. Do you remember that, boy? I guess we won't be adopting any time soon then." The dog yapped appreciatively at her and stood by her side as the line slowly progressed.

Finally, Annabeth met the front of the queue. The judges loomed before her, seated behind an enormous mahogany desk. She nervously tucked a coil of her hair behind her ear and glanced up at the figures. Nikola Tesla, Zaha Hadid and Audrey Hepburn.

"Oh my gods!" Annabeth was unable to help herself. "Zaha Hadid. Woah. You are such an inspiration to me! I'm-"

"Annabeth Chase. I know." The architect smiled wrily at the demigod. The other two judges exchanged glances. So this was the Annabeth Chase they had heard so much about.

"You know who I am?" Even now, Annabeth was still startled at her fame.

Audrey Hepburn spoke up. "But, of course." She smiled, her lipstick gleaming beautifully.

Nikola Tesla gazed at the demigod. "Regardless of your notoriety, I'd always recognise another child of Athena."

Annabeth was almost speechless. "You're my brother?" All rationale from her words slipped away. She'd wanted to maintain a calm collected demeanour. But here she was meeting her architectural icon, a sibling and the actress who had inspired Percy to buy Annabeth a Tiffany's engagement ring.

"Gods, woah." Cerberus bounded happily around her. Words tumbled haphazardly out of her mouth and time seemed to melt away. She was supposed to be attempting to persuade the judges to welcome her to Elysium but such Macchiavellian thoughts fell away.

They talked for a long time but Annabeth felt as if it was only an instant before the judges finally turned the conversation back to the matter at hand. Of course, there was no doubt that the godling would be admitted to Elysium, but the human part of her had still twinged in fear at the prospect of an eternity spent in a wheat field in Asphodel. Nevertheless, she was allowed an easy passage to Grecian paradise. Cerberus bounded after her as she started the walk to her new home and Zaha Hadid called after her. "Miss Chase," Annabeth glanced back, smiling at the casual tone of the woman's voice. "We here in the Underworld have a posthumous Stirling Prize." The older woman's eyes sparkled as she enunciated the name of the most prestigious architectural award. Annabeth nodded, breathlessly, her mind already whirring with future designs as she entered the resplendent pearly gates of Elysium.

A voice broke her reverie, snapping her out of all thoughts of art deco and Victorian eaves. "I've been waiting an eternity for you." That voice. No. It could not be ...? She looked up, her gaze flitting to those blue eyes and scarless face, those handsome features, before snapping away. This couldn't be real. He hadn't aged but still he was a few years older than her.

The roar of the anguished souls behind her seemed to fade, replaced by the gentle swish of a warm breeze. It had always felt like summer around him. Finally Annabeth let herself meet his gaze. She felt as if she were drowning in the clear blue. It seemed she was always drawn to boys with ocean eyes. He met her gaze defiantly, a smile tugging at his lips as he brushed a hand through his sandy blonde hair.

Annabeth let her lips say the name of somebody she hadn't dared let herself think about for a long time.

"Luke."