Percy was never an early riser in high school. Weekends spent sleeping in until noon and then playing video games in bed were undoubtedly the best.

And when his mom forgot to wake him up for school... Well, those days were awesome. He'd insist he was only missing a study hall, and then they'd forget that study hall only lasts forty minutes or so, and then they'd forget that the subway line was down, and suddenly, they'd had a special mother-son kind of day.

Nowadays, he wishes his mom could remember something—anything, really—even just the day of the week.

That's why he's an early riser now. Sure, it doesn't feel like much of a choice; if he didn't wake up at six in the morning to teach biology classes every day he wouldn't be able to afford doctors' appointments for his mother, or Will as a caretaker, or his therapist Cletus.

And that's also why he woke up at six in the morning to then wake up Annabeth, who was spread starfish-style on the mattress—the one they were supposed to share—even though it almost earned him a punch in the face.

She had just rolled over and said, "Hooters doesn't open until eleven, and I don't usually work until the evening anyway, so..."

So that explains the aforementioned almost punch.

Now he wishes he could go back in time and tell Percy From This Morning that getting Annabeth out of bed would be the least of his problems.

His current problem is chasing her down on a ferry that could easily be confused with a cruise ship. On the bright side, if there happens to be a bar, he'll know where the New Rome credit card is.

Where are you? he texts for the third time. The read receipts aren't even coming up. What if something awful happened? His ex-girlfriend could be kidnapped or incapacitated or worse.

This was not supposed to happen. This was a good idea that was going to get him to the Netherlands for a reasonable fee after the plane... Well, he's not exactly sure where the plane ended up, but they can't use it anymore. Besides, Percy would rather take a ferry; it's in his father's domain, after all.

Now, why the Netherlands? Between the windmills and tulips, there's something suspicious going on. Well, according to the news, anyway. Something's been eating up those pretty tulips and shaking the foundations of those windmills. Mortals will try to come up with an excuse for any Greek disturbances in their world, but even this one is unexplainable.

Needless to say, Percy was a little more than wary of this lead at first. However, with the handy-dandy internet and this little thing called social media, he was able to find out that yes, nobody had come up with a reasonable explanation for the havoc. He also saw some mildly depressing pictures of tulips without their pink buds, as if the flowers had simply been chomped away.

Well, he doesn't know for a fact that those were even pink tulips, as Annabeth so kindly pointed out before completely disappearing.

He opens a closet, only to find janitorial supplies. Then he opens the next closet, which is filled with bright orange lifejackets that topple off the overfilled shelves and onto the floor. "Shoot," he says, bending down to pick them up.

There has to be a better way to go about this, he thinks to himself as he steps back into the maze of parked cars. It would be nice if he had his car here. Gods, he misses his car. Driving is the one thing that doesn't make him feel tied down and-

Something hits Percy in the head, but instead of crying out himself, the impact is accompanied by a baby's cries.

At his feet lies a purple pacifier. That's it! The passengers are up on the balcony watching the water on their way to the Netherlands. He can use the high ground to his advantage and search for Annabeth that way.

***

He hands the pacifier back to the baby's mother and then gets to work. Where could she be hiding?

He looks over the side of the balcony and glances in between the parked cars. He walks to the other side of the balcony and looks over, but no dice.

Maybe he should start asking around. It'll be mildly embarrassing for all parties involved because he's an almost thirty-year-old guy looking for an almost thirty-year-old woman, but it might be his only choice.

There are a couple of tables where people are eating packed lunches. Some college students dare each other to eat the entire stack of cheese in a Lunchable in one bite. Some children color pictures out of a Paw Patrol coloring book.

Some old men are playing a card game headed by a blonde woman with a devilish smirk and a Hooters t-shirt she put on this morning only to piss off her traveling companion.

He sighs. Just what does she think she's doing?

He marches right over to the table and crosses his arms.

"Alright, Francis, what's your bid?" Annabeth asks an old man in a pageboy cap.

The old man, whom Percy assumes is Francis, drops his cards on the floor.

"I've got it!" Annabeth drops to the floor and starts collecting the oldtimer's hand of cards. Her shorts don't exactly leave much to the imagination either.

Percy rolls his eyes. "C'mon, Annabeth, leave these people alone."

"But Edwin and I have this game in the bag," Annabeth protests from the ground. "Don't we?"

An old man sitting on a bench attached to a walker says, "Hell yeah, we are, especially now that you've seen Francis's cards!"

"Hey, no fair!" Francis protests. "Deal 'em again!"

Only Annabeth Chase could disrupt a friendly game of bridge.

"We have to finish planning our trip," Percy declares, taking Annabeth's card fan and laying it down on the table. He doesn't bend the cards because he's not a complete monster.

She playfully rolls her eyes and turns to the old men she's befriended. "See you guys around. The ol' ball and chain's calling. You know how it is."

The old folks chuckle as if Annabeth is the funniest and most charming person in the world. When has she ever been either of those?

He grabs her by the wrist and leads her toward an empty table by the water.

"Hey, I was kicking ass that round!"

"Annabeth, where the hell did you learn how to play bridge?" Percy asks.

She shrugs. "Just a hobby I picked up."

He unpacks his lunchbox and distributes the hotel's continental breakfast: a banana, an orange, and two squashed blueberry muffins.

"Mmm, delicious," she quips as she pries the pieces of muffin from the wrapper.

He chooses to ignore that piece of sarcasm, instead opting for a look at the North Sea. It's strange how even after years of no contact with his father, the water never fails to remind him that he is the son of Poseidon. Water is a part of him that always makes him feel more in touch with himself.

Even if he's not exactly sure who he is anymore. He hasn't considered that since he picked out his major at New Rome University, and even then, he was Percy Jackson, boyfriend of Annabeth Chase and hero of Olympus. When his mother's condition required her to have a caretaker, he was Percy Jackson, the son, and caretaker of Sally. Now that Will Solace has taken that responsibility from him, now what? He doesn't exactly feel like a hero.

"You have a unique face," Annabeth notes.

"Is that a compliment?" he asks.

She taps her pencil against her lips. "Just an observation. Your stubble doesn't exactly indicate anything negative about your mental state, but it isn't like you grew it on purpose."

"Hey, I do not have..." He presses his palm to his face. Shoot, he does have stubble. Come to think of it, he might not have packed a razor.

Annabeth ignores his objection and scribbles away on her sketchpad, the one with her last name on it in shiny lettering.

He doesn't want to be nosy, but when a girl calls your physical appearance unique and then takes a pencil to a sketchpad she won't let you touch, you're at least a little bit curious.

"I'm not done yet," she barks, clutching the book to her chest.

Percy sits back in his chair and takes a sip from his water bottle. "Fine, fine." He turns his attention back to the sea. It looks the same as it did two minutes ago: almost gray, kind of sad, and with minimal fish. The color of the water is an indicator of a body of water's health, whether that be a stream, an ocean, or a sea like that surrounding the Netherlands. Water shouldn't be grey. Sure, sometimes it looks that way from a lack of light, but right now the sky is clear and the sun is shining. The water shouldn't be like this. It's crazy how a country like the Netherlands has made so many strides to improve water health, but the North Sea still falls victim to pollution and illegal fishing. The pictures of marine life stuck in garbage and nets just make him feel claustrophobic. Fish shouldn't be restrained. They should be free.

Anyway, Annabeth has her lip trapped between her teeth in thought. She looks at the sketchpad and then looks at Percy, but not in a friendly way.

"Is there something on my face?" he asks.

"When did you get that scar?" she asks. "The one under your ear, I mean."

He plays it off like a joke. "You know I get so many of these, I can't even remember where they come from half the time.

She cocks an eyebrow. "That's not suspicious."

"Cooking," he says. "Something spooked me while I was using the stove."

"And your face was near the stove?"

"My face was near the pan when I dropped the fork I was using to cook the bacon," he says. "It's mostly faded now, but I also burnt my fingers from trying to pick the fork up by the prongs."

"Dumbass."

"I deserved that one."

Annabeth looks like she's about to laugh for once—a real, genuine laugh—but then frowns at the picture on her sketchbook. She holds it up in the air as if comparing it to... to Percy?

He smirks. "Did you draw me?"

"Not very well," she says flatly.

He reaches for the book. "I'll be the judge of that."

At last, she relents, letting Percy look at the familiar face on the page. He fights to keep from shivering. His features may be captured in the grayscale of Annabeth's pencil, but the drawing is more accurate than some cameras. That cooking scar by his ear is just the right shape—round, but nowhere near a circle. He knows that the paper is a flat surface, yet still, he's not convinced the hair wouldn't be fuzzy if he were to touch it. Maybe it's the convenient color of the pencil, or maybe it's the sheer amount of skill Annabeth has developed; his eyes in the drawing are the exact color of the sea in front of them.

Percy has never felt so seen in all his life.

That shiver he's been fighting makes its way down his spine when he's caught off guard.

"Annabeth... this is amazing," he says breathlessly.

"Eh. I could've done better on the texture of the stubble. Fluffy hair, I can do, but spiky stubble? Forget it."

Percy reached for his jaw again. "It's not that spiky. I think you got it."

"Are you sure? Looks pretty spiky to me," she says, leaning in close enough to see for herself. She smells like lemons and Snapple, which is an odd thing to smell like because Percy has a distinct memory of her not liking iced tea when they were kids.

"Yes, I am pretty sure of how my stubble feels. If you don't believe me, feel for yourself." His cheeks heat up as soon as he says it. He hasn't been on a date in years—the only woman in his life is his mother—so maybe he's a little rusty, but that might have come out a little flirtier than he meant. Quickly, he adds, "Sorry, I-"

"I mean, do you mind?" she asks. "Will can't grow a beard to save his life, so I've never really had a real-life reference for this..."

Percy shrugs. What's the harm in doing a favor for an old... friend? "Knock yourself out, Wise Girl."

Her touch is hesitant, the exact opposite of her confident banter. If he weren't so nervous himself, he might notice the shaky movement in the tips of her fingers. After a quick swipe with her thumb, she pulls back as if he were a hot stove.

And just as fast, the intimacy of the moment is replaced with her cool demeanor. "Spiky," she notes.

Percy gapes. "It is not!"

"Maybe if you'd shaved before we left, you'd be smooth," she quips. "Don't worry about it though. ADHD can do that to a person."

Percy scratches the back of his neck. "ADHD can also make a guy forget a razor, so if we could stop at a convenience store when we get there, that would be nice."

"I have a confession." Her face is dead serious. Her stormy eyes darken in thought. Is this what he's been hoping for? Is she finally going to talk about what's been bothering her this whole time? Because her little episode on the stairs goes beyond stubbornness.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"I forgot to pack a razor, so I took yours and used it to shave my legs."

He sighs. "We can all get razors when the ferry stops."

"I have another confession."

"Shoot."

"I may have shaved more than just my legs."

There's the Annabeth that can piss him off better than anyone else. "You're a hog," he says.

***

The Dutch countryside is serene, but Percy thought there'd be more tulips. Then again, the barren fields must be a good sign, since they're looking for the source of landscaping devastation after all.

"So on the news, I saw-"

"I know what you saw," Annabeth says. "How many times are you going to run me through it? A boar is eating up the tulips and wrecking the crops, and we're going to grab it and see if we're on the right track."

"When did I-"

"I'm guessing that if it doesn't go to Tartarus, we're on the right track. Now, where is the best place to hide a body in this country?" she asks, placing her hands on her hips.

Percy stops in his tracks. "When did I say anything about a boar?"

"I'm not completely useless, you know," she says. "The Erymanthian Boar is this massive beast that's sacred to Artemis. The idea is if you piss her off, she'll send the boar after your whole country to destroy the crops. That's probably why the tulips are chomped. I figured it out by the third time you told me."

He's not sure why he hadn't thought of that earlier. "So do you think there's any chance Artemis is mad at the Dutch?"

"There's no fuckin' way. Amsterdam Pride is one of the biggest events in the world," she says.

"So we're on the right track," Percy says.

She raises an eyebrow. "Well, no. Pride doesn't happen until June—Oh, you meant the boar. Yeah, we're a step closer to putting the pieces of this puzzle together."

Or we're walking into a trap, he decides not to add. He pushes that thought away for the time being.

"How do you feel?" Percy asks. "If you're tired, we could stop for the night, take turns monitoring the local news until we see something suspicious."

"I'm alright," says Annabeth. "I'd rather fight a boar and then take a nap. Well, I suppose I'll be showering first, but you get the point."

They move to the righthand side of the sidewalk to let a bicycle pass. The cyclist swerves but quickly regains their balance.

And that gives Percy a brilliant idea. "C'mon," he says, dragging Annabeth in the general direction of a bicycle rental joint.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"It'll be a lot faster to track it on bikes," he says. He should have thought of this sooner! By the fifth windmill, his feet were ready to give way, and by the eighth windmill, he lost all feeling in his feet.

Annabeth looks through the bikes while Percy pays for a package of razors and asks the store operator about rentals. "So how much for two bikes?"

"Actually!" Annabeth calls. She emerges from the aisle, holding up a white pair of roller skates with pink laces. "How much for one bicycle and a pair of roller skates?"

"You know how to rollerskate?" he asks. Quickly, he adds, "Forget it. Of course, you know how to rollerskate."

"Hell yeah, I do," she says, taking off her shoes and replacing them with the skates. He doesn't want to believe that she's somehow picked up a concerning amount of hobbies, but he can't find an ounce of genuine surprise in him. He's not sure he'd be surprised if she told him she'd picked up stamp collecting. Has she picked up stamp collecting? He kind of wants to ask.

Percy slides his New Rome travel credit card across the counter to pay for the bicycle, the razors, and apparently, a pair of rollerskates.

"Shed's out back," mutters the attendant.

"Thanks," he says, turning around to leave, Annabeth following him on skates.