Annabeth knows better than to declare rock bottom, which is why she isn't surprised that the one-bed trope followed her to Europe.

Percy, on the other hand, is livid. It's funny when he gets like this because he won't actually get mad at anyone. He'll just pace across the floor, red in the face and fists balled so tight his knuckles start to turn colors. Then again, it would be embarrassing if he went all 'Karen' on the hotel receptionist.

"Are you sure?" he asks that poor receptionist one more time.

The receptionist, who looks dead inside, just nods and spins the computer monitor around so Percy can see for himself that New Rome made this bed and now he and Annabeth are going to have to sleep in it—literally.

She can't take this anymore.

She hoists herself onto her feet, using the suitcase as support. Hey, now that's not such a bad idea! She pushes herself over to the desk and reaches over to grab a room key.

"This will be fine, thanks," Annabeth says sweetly.

The receptionist points down the hall. "Elevator's that way."

"I don't do elevators," she mutters. Fuck, she doesn't do elevators. Maybe she can use the banister on the stairs as some kind of leverage? Yeah, she can climb her way up the banister like she's a koala. It'll be like monkey bars. She's good at monkey bars.

She pushes open the door to the stairwell with her hip and pushes the suitcase toward Percy. He can carry that because he's not the one with a bum ankle.

"Annabeth, are you sure about this?" he asks. "You're hurt and we have a suitcase."

"Yes," she says quickly. This may not be the best idea she's ever had, but it's better than having a breakdown in the elevator and having to explain that to her ex.

She stumbles and clutches onto the banister for dear life. Hopefully, he didn't notice that.

He pulls the handle on the suitcase and says, "I guess I'll meet you up there then."

"Do it," she says, calling his bluff. "You won't."

He leaves.

He leaves her all alone in the stairwell.

She could follow him to the elevator, step inside, and shut her eyes so the haunting void that was Tartarus's face doesn't make an unwelcome appearance. If that happens, she wouldn't be able to avoid the guilt of what happened-

Nope, none of that.

She tugs on the banister and accidentally smacks her dud ankle against a step.

Still, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood is better than screaming over the Piña Colada song so she can't hear it even though she knows it's all in her head.

Stairs are safe. Stairs are nice. Stairs do not give Annabeth headaches or nausea.

She grunts again when her hopping-on-one-foot idea doesn't work out. There should be some duct tape in the suitcase. There's a silver lining.

When she gets to the top of the first flight, she sits down on the floor, careful not to look too closely at its dust bunnies and discoloration. When she double-checks her room key, it says in an almost taunting font that she and Percy's room is located on the third floor, which means she's only halfway there.

Look at the bright side, Chase! Plenty of time for those thoughts that keep you up at night. How about a highlight reel of all your favorite failures?

"Nope. Not today, Satan," she mutters, prying her tired eyes open. Should she pass out on the stairs, she'll have to go through all the pivotal moments in her life again, and she'd rather be twenty-seven than seven again, thank you very much.

***

Annabeth practically falls into the hotel room when she pushes the heavy door open. She stumbles but doesn't fall. She blows some hair out of her face, and in its place is a grouchy-looking Percy Jackson.

"Hey," she says.

He sighs in exasperation. "I'm getting in the shower."

"Cool. I have some calls to make." It's true; she needs to call into work and make sure there's someone to cover her shifts for the next few days.

Before Percy shuts the door, she calls after him, "See if you can get that stick out of your ass!"

Without waiting for his undoubtedly mediocre quip, she flops down onto the bed and buries her face in the pillows. Then, she takes into account the following: first, the pillow she just smeared mascara all over is soft, not firm the way she likes it. Second, if she is, in fact, sharing this bed, she would like to sleep on the side closest to the window.

The sound of running water lets her know that Percy's shower is well underway, so she flips her soiled pillow over and replaces it with the firm one. He'll never know.

She decides next to multi-task, calling Will while scouring the bag for her precious duct tape.

"Hello?" Will says over the line.

"My guy, what's going on?" Annabeth asks, wincing when the suitcase topples onto her foot.

"Not much; I'm meeting Nico and Drew and her new boyfriend for dinner tonight."

"Oh, that's-"

"It's our first double date, Annabeth! I'm so excited, but also kind of nervous," Will gushes, talking a mile a minute. "What should I wear?"

She sighs. Her best friend is a hopeless romantic. "Narrow it down for me. What are you deciding between?"

"The cow-print scarf with the burgundy button-down or with the black button-down?"

"Good God, my guy, where are you going?"

"There's a honky tonk kind of bar that just opened up with a mechanical bull and that country line dancing we like." Leave it to the Texan to find a freakin' honky tonk in New York City. "Drew knows 'Neon Moon,'" he adds.

"Neon Moon" is their song and he knows it. Is he trying to stir some kind of pot here?

Annabeth sighs. She's in Europe, and when she gets back, she'll live in California. She can't expect Will to save "Neon Moon" for her for the rest of their lives, no matter how awesome that would be.

"That's... that's great," she manages.

"So anyway, what color-"

"Black, Will. Wear that black shirt with your black cowboy hat, and do not under any circumstances wear the cow-print scarf. Burn that," she says as she gets to work on a splint using the Bible on the hotel nightstand.

Will groans. "But you're the one who gave it to me!"

"You stole it from my closet. Do you want me to tell you how much boob sweat I haven't washed out of that?"

"Annabeth, you're a hog."

"That's what you get for stealing my bandeau."

"Oh! That's why it's connected. I could probably tie it into a scarf-"

"Do not turn my bandeau into a thneed."

"A what?" Will asks.

Annabeth grunts when she sets her ankle the way it should be. That's a nasty break. "You know," she says, trying to carry on a normal conversation amidst her medical misadventure. "Like in The Lorax."

Will gushes about his date, but Annabeth struggles to follow his stream of consciousness because her ankle is giving her grief. The book won't stay in place, and to make matters worse, the duct tape is off-brand and she can't get it to tear. There's no way Percy packed scissors, is there?

"Fuck," she says through clenched teeth when the suitcase falls onto her ankle for the third or fourth time.

Will pauses his monologue. "Everything good?"

"Just... fine..."

"I don't believe you."

Shit, she should have known he'd hear right through her lies. "Don't freak out."

"Annabeth, what did you do?"

"Remember how my ankle made that sound this morning when I was trying to leave without waking you up?"

"And you wouldn't let me look at it? Uh-huh."

"Well..."

Will asks, "Does it hurt to move?"

"It hurts when I don't move it," she says. With Will, there is no possible way to downplay injuries.

"Swelling or bruising?"

Annabeth's glad he can't see her face. "How about swelling and bruising?"

"Annabeth!"

"Will!" she says, mocking his tone.

"You need to splint that right away!"

"I am!"

Will clears his throat. "Oh really? Using what?"

The Bible falls to the carpet and Annabeth sighs. "I was trying to use a hotel Bible and duct tape, but I'm open to suggestions."

"Duct tape is probably a smart move. What other kinds of flat edges do you have?"

"I've got a bunch of weapons," she says, unzipping the other side of the suitcase—Percy's side. "I guess I could tear the cover off of my sketchbook..."

"The one I got you? No fucking way."

"There's..." Is she about to suggest this? She doesn't have much choice. "There's a Tupperware container in here."

"Use the lid."

"Here's the problem," Annabeth says. "It's Percy's-"

"So? That's never bothered you before," he says with a scoff.

"Let me finish!" Annabeth says. "It's uh... It's full of his mom's cookies."

"Shit. Is there anything else in that bag?"

"Honestly, no. I could just take the ambrosia and-"

"No, Annabeth. What have I told you about mixing ambrosia with alcohol? Hell, who said anyone should have that much ambrosia ever?"

Ouch. "Who said I was drinking?" she asks defensively.

"I can practically smell the mimosas through the phone."

"A couple of mimosas and two beers, thank you very much."

"Annabeth," Will scolds. He is not happy. She needs to wrap this up before he finds out about all the other stupid things she's done.

"Okay, have fun on your date! Love you! Bye!"

"I never said you could-"

She hangs up on poor old Dr. Will. As much as she loves him, there's only so much of his overbearing doctor behavior Annabeth can take right now.

She hates to admit it, but he was right. The lid to the Tupperware container works a lot better than the book. Plus, it doesn't involve stealing from a hotel. That's always a bonus considering how much the New Rome Resort carpet is going to cost if someone rats her out for getting monster goo all over it.

Once the duct tape is in place, she takes a deep breath and prepares herself to be a responsible adult.

"Thank you for calling Hooters in Bel Air! My name is Maddie, how may I help you?"

"Hey, Mads, it's Annabeth," she says to the chipper hostess. "Listen, can you grab Cam for me?"

"Sure!"

She munches on a cookie and listens to the tacky hold music while Maddie goes off to search for the head manager.

Damn, that cookie brings back memories. Annabeth was half ready to pretend Sally's cookies were just as good as they used to be just to be nice, but even her condition can't make her forget her famous cookie recipe.

The last time she had one of these cookies, she was celebrating Frank's birthday in New Rome. Sally had sent her and Percy with three whole freezer bags of blue chocolate chip cookies and-

Wait, that's not it. The last time she had these cookies was actually after she and Percy broke up. She was at the mall with—oh holy fuck, she forgot about this—Drew and Rachel and—what was that younger girl's name?—Valerie. Annabeth and Rachel didn't have any body image issues, per se, but they certainly weren't as confident as Drew and... and Veronica, so it's not hard to imagine how awkward it was walking out of a certain store with a certain pink bag she'd never had before. Then again, what's that in comparison to running into your ex-boyfriend's mother outside Victoria's Secret?

Valentina! That was the other girl's name!

"Hey, Chase!" Cam says, a little too cheery for her taste. "How was the wedding? Is this call about your W-2? I was going to give you yours during your shift tomorrow, but you can drop by tonight and grab it. Whatever works best!"

Cam is a great dude, especially considering he's in a place of power over women who risk a nip-slip every day of their lives.

Cam also isn't an idiot, so Annabeth has to work out a lie that he won't look into.

Shoot. She forgot to run her lie by Will. She's about to tell a lie that isn't Will Solace-approved.

"Uh, I have an, uh, emergency family picnic?"

Great one, Chase. You butchered your own lie. Who the fuck has ever had an emergency family picnic?

"Chase, you do realize that if something's bothering you, you can always talk to someone, right?"

Well, shit. "Yeah," she says with a sigh.

"And you know our company policy. I'll try to get these shifts covered for you, but if I can't... Well, the corporate policy says-"

"I know what it says, Cam," she says, trying to keep her voice steady.

She can hear him sigh on the other line and imagines that he's twisting his overgrown beard like he does when he's stressed. "I'll see what I can do, Chase. We need you as much as you need us."

"Thanks," she says, and then she hangs up.

She'd be lying if she said this job was everything to her. She doesn't know what her passion is, but it's not bartending. Sure, she loves mixology, but she'd rather it be a hobby than a full-time job. Then again, she has no idea what she might do with her life if she woke up tomorrow jobless, and it's starting to sound like that's a real possibility.

If she were home right now, she'd pour herself a glass of refrigerator sangria and watch trashy reality television with Will. They'd get super drunk and make some questionable changes to their online dating profiles. She'd wake up tangled in her own sheets in the morning, Will having carried her to bed around one or two o'clock in the morning. She'd throw on a shirt from the ex-boyfriend pile the following morning and eat a breakfast of Eggo waffles and Go-Gurt with her best friend.

But that's not something that can happen anymore. Will turned in their apartment keys and moved them out before going to New York with Percy's mom. They don't live together anymore. Will has a new life with Nico and Sally and Drew Tanaka and whatever dumbass decided to date her.

So now what? She'll hunt down a minor deity with Percy and hopefully not get killed in the process, and then go home to what? No apartment, no roommate, and maybe no job?

She pinches the bridge of her nose, and it doesn't keep her eyes from watering, but at least it distracts her from the throbbing pain in her newly-splinted ankle.

The water in the bathroom shuts off and Annabeth can hear things that a grown man should be embarrassed by.

"Somewhere... beyond the sea," Percy sings along to the tune coming from his waterproof speaker. "Somewhere waiting for me..."

"Can you not right now?" Annabeth asks, her voice barely a whisper.

"No can do. This is my jam," he explains before starting the song over. The obnoxious trumpets make her want to curl up into the fetal position and die a little more than she already does right now.

"Somewhere... beyond the sea..."

"Seriously, Percy. Now is not a good time." She stuffs another blue cookie in her mouth.

"My lover stands on golden sands—Are those my mom's cookies?"

Annabeth turns around to explain herself, except Percy's wearing nothing but a towel and she almost falls off the bed. "Jesus, man, put some clothes on!"

"I'm wearing a towel," he says, gesturing to said towel, which doesn't help anything. He is beyond toned. The only protrusions in his perfectly tanned abs are the scars he's gotten from countless battles, but they're far from imperfections. God, they only enhance the canvas that is Percy Jackson's body. Is she blushing? Shit, she's probably red as a tomato. She can't have him thinking-

"Are you alright?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow like a concerned golden retriever.

"I mean, I'm probably not going to have a job when I get back to LA, so there's that."

Percy disappears into the bathroom but doesn't close the door all the way so he can carry on the conversation. "I didn't like you working at that place anyway."

"Hey!" she snaps. "I like working at that place." She puts air quotes around that place.

"I'm just saying that it's kind of dangerous for-"

"For who? For me? Because I know you're not about to tell me I can't handle a couple of pigs," she says, her voice cracking.

Percy comes out of the bathroom in just a pair of sweatpants, but not even his solid abs can make up for what he's insinuating. "Look, I'm just saying those places are kind of shady, and I don't think you should have to... You know..."

"I didn't ask you to judge my life choices," Annabeth says, elevating her leg on the pillow that would have been Percy's.

"Whatever," he says. "Put the lid back on my mom's cookies."

"I used it to splint my broken ankle. Thanks for checking in on me," she retorts.

"I'm sleeping on the floor."

Annabeth wants to think that comment isn't related to anything she may or may not have done to upset him today, but the feeling that there's something wrong with her lingers. Yes, she's great because she can work at Hooters and take care of herself if any man tries to do something gross, but being told that she shouldn't be putting herself in those kinds of situations in the first place hurts. She can't help who she is.