Disclaimer: I am not Rick Riordan. I'm not making cash profit on this fic. I don't even know why I started writing it. I'm a writer. One day I walk into the B&N cafe and the guy who makes me my drink smiles at me and I blow it out of proportion so. Fic.

This started on tumblr and there are 5 chapters already but I will only be posting them here weekly (Saturdays). After all five parts are up I will update every other week on Saturdays. Thank you.

I. Coffee Black

Edna's was right across the street from the morgue, which was the main reason I chose it. I punched the crossing signal button and stuffed my hands in my pockets. My hands were always cold. The crossing chime buzzed and chirped out of focus as I walked from curb to curb. The lighting of the coffee shop was what really pulled me in. I hated too much light, and every fixture in Edna's shaded, throwing the place into a crepuscule of shadow. The countertop was polished bronze. Best of all, it was empty. Usually, I hated being the only customer. I preferred being alone in a crowd of people I didn't know then among a group of people who expected me to be present.

The barista wasn't aware of me. That would annoy other people, but I was fine with it. His head was bent over a textbook on his side of the counter – college student – his hair was nearly was messy as mine. I stepped up to the counter and he looked up. I forced my expression to remain stoic. Sure, he was hot. Sharp features, tanned, a barely visible scar. The black shirt he wore couldn't hide a subtly athletic build. I guessed swim team. Green eyes.

"Hey. Can I fix you some coffee?"

I wondered if he greeted everyone like that. With that smile. My hands in my pocket clenched.

"Yeah. Black, with a drop of creamer."

The smile didn't slip. "$3.05." I put a crumpled bill on the counter and dumped the change into the tip jar, which earned me another smile. "Take a seat. I'll bring it out to you."

The omnium-gatherum seating was mostly dark wood. I sat down in one that was almost ebony and nervously twisted the silver skull ring on my finger. When the barista came around, I quickly ducked my head and muttered a thanks. I had planned on taking it to go, but there was still time before my shift. I drank as quickly as I could, allowing myself to glance over at the counter only once. A blonde girl had appeared, laughing softly as she tied up her hair. Something cold stabbed my floating rib.

"Come back soon," the green-eyed barista called after me.

"I'd rather walk the extra block for Starbucks," I muttered under my breath.

Naturally I returned less than a week later.

"Hey, welcome back. Black coffee, right?"

I gave an affirmative grunt and put money on the counter, waved a vague gesture when he tried to give me the change, and successfully kept my hormones in check when he smiled, putting it all in the tip jar. There were other people there besides me, which actually eased my nerves. A red haired girl wearing a black Edna's shirt sat near the window – on her break or just about to start her shift. Her forearms were freckled with color, fingers busy in a sketchbook. A homeless looking guy sat near the counter, muttering to himself.

"Do you always drink strong at night?" the barista asked, handing me the cup.

"I work late."

He was wearing a nametag, which I must not have noticed before. BOB, it read in less than subtle capitals. I barely suppressed the urge to laugh. Was that even legit? The slight change in my expression got his attention because he looked down and groaned. "I'm going to kill whichever one of them did this," he swore. "You are my witness. Annabeth! Rachel!" He disappeared behind the counter into the back room. A moment later the blonde girl I'd seen before dashed out laughing. It didn't seem worth it to stay a minute longer.

I dumped what was left of my drink in the garbage outside the building because even though I didn't work in the morgue proper I wasn't allowed to taint the space with food or beverage. I scrubbed my hands raw at the sink and jacked up the heater, resuming the tedious but all important job of digitally backing up the city's entire mortuary records from the past fifty years. Bianca had been the one to find me the job. I liked it because I didn't have to interact with anyone, it paid well, and it was related to an actual goal I'd set after graduating high school early. Since I was a kid I'd been fascinated with death. Mythology, culture, tradition, and eventually, science. My guidance counselors in high school were surprisingly chill about my morbid interests and suggested I try shadowing a medical examiner. Bianca encouraged it, too, buying me several boxed sets of procedural crime dramas.

Filing and imputing data was boring, but every now and then something interesting came up. I'd been asked to sign papers that stated I wouldn't' share any information I read with anyone for good reason. Some of the sealed files were on murders, and a number of them were still unsolved.

I worked until 2 in the morning and walked back to the apartment. Bianca was asleep, but last night's dinner was on the stove, waiting for me. I ate a little, then tried to get some sleep. It hadn't been easy to readjust my patterns, but coffee helped a lot. I pulled the duvet closer, thoughts turning to the guy at Edna's. I had the bizarre feeling that he didn't smile like that at everyone.

Stupid. It was part of his job to be nice. Unbidden, a fantasy unfolded: me, a regular customer at Edna's. I notice that every time I patronize there, the guy – whose name I still don't know – asks my name, makes conversation while fixing my coffee. Our fingers touch when he hands me my cup.

I kicked the duvet away, embarrassed despite the harmlessness in it.

"What are you doing up?" Bianca yawned, finishing off her braid as she emerged from her room. "It's 5 in the morning, Ni-Ni."

I scowled at my childhood nickname and shrugged, killing another zombie with the flick of my wrist. "I couldn't sleep."

She gave me a sympathetic look. "Have you eaten anything?"

"Not since I got back from work."

She made me pancakes before leaving for class, and I spent the rest of the day trying to convince no one that I was definitely not going to Edna's before work anymore.

My shift started at 9, and by 7 I was already feeling as unwired as I used to back when I was constantly on and off ADHD meds. That was when Bianca and I had been moving from one foster home to the next, every four months, like clockwork. Finally Bianca turned eighteen and went to work. I was only thirteen. If I'd been older I would have quit school, but my sister insisted I keep going until I was legally old enough to work. Instead I studied day and night and graduated early, just to show her I could.

In that time I changed a lot physically. I used to share Bianca's healthy Italian blooded complexion. I spent so much time indoors and so much energy in just my studies that I developed a deathlike pallor. I grew taller, but my posture definitely suffered. Bianca claimed that my eyes were heavier. None of these traits were in any way attractive, and I lacked the ability to put on healthy weight. My limbs were skinny, and any muscle I put on was practically invisible.

I took my jacket out of the hall closet and evaluated my appearance in the mirror over the radiator. Hot barista was definitely not interested. I pulled my shoulders back and did my usual inner strength mantras about not giving a fuck and just owning who I am before walking out the door.

"Oh! It's you!" the blonde girl acknowledged when I walked in. Her hair was tied up, a pair of dangly silver earrings in the shape of owls framing her face.

"Uh… hi."

"Hold on a sec, I'll get Seaweed Brain out here to make your coffee."

A muted scuffle from behind the kitchen door later, and the green-eyed barista stumbled out. I firmly stomped down the flutter in my chest. Sometime around 4 in the morning I'd decided that he reminded me of the Greek heroes I loved reading about as a kid. Even with messy hair and an apologetic smile.

"You're back!"

I shrugged. "You're right across the street from where I work."

He was already setting up a pot to brew my drink.

"Well, it's nice to have a regular customer." I looked down at my feet. Regular customer. Right. Good for business. "What's your name?"

"Huh?" I supplied eloquently.

He smiled again, soft. "Your name. When you walk in I'd like to be able to greet you properly."

I felt heat rushing up my neck to my face, glad that the lighting would hide it. "Nico." Then, because why the hell not, I glanced at his name tag. Percy. "Is that your name, or did she trick you again?"

He looked down and actually unpinned it from his shirt to examine it. ("Dyslexia. Reading upside down is a bitch.") "This is my name," he assured me.

I realized that I'd been standing there dumbly and went to my usual chair. After Percy brought me my drink, the blonde – "Annabeth", he informed me – came back out of the kitchen. They put their heads together over the open textbook on the counter and whispered over it the whole time I was there, only pausing to serve a small group of college kids coming in to study for a midterm.

"Have a nice night at work, Nico!" Percy called as I headed out. Gods, I cringed. Why was I doing this to myself?