Comment: I wanted to write a story where ''Percy'' and his father had not a distant, but very close relationship. So I just added an SI who will from her childhood know that Poseidon loves her and just go on from there. This is my first fanfic so please enjoy!

Summary: I was very good at adapting, so being reincarnated into another world as the daughter of Poseidon wasn't that huge of a stretch for my imagination. But between Ancient Laws and the dangers a demi-god has to face, will I be able to wrap him around my little finger like I planned to?

Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson or any of the characters

I based the premiss of my story on ''Eye of the Hurricane'' by Hanane EL Mokkadem, so check that story out in case you want another well-written Percy Jackson SI

Chapter 1: Bright new world

Lightning was flashing in the distant sky; the clouds were dark and heavy, creating a macabre atmosphere on a cold October night. The raindrops were boring relentlessly into my skin, as I struggled to breathe one more time, to keep on fighting a little bit longer. I could taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth; and feel my broken ribs dig a little deeper into me with every rise of my chest.

It wasn't fair. I didn't want to die, give up and leave everything behind. I had worked too hard, done not enough.

I wanted to live. Be free from the chains caging me, live my life for my own sake; and not someone else's.

I wanted to scream and rage, yet I could only lay on the cold asphalt, curiously numb. My vision was hazy, and I thought I might have seen some blurry figures around me.

Bystanders? I didn't care, content in ignoring the muted noise around me as I was trying to scrounge together the last drags of strength.

I thought of my life, what I had achieved and what I had missed, and I didn't want it to end.

Not like this- Not when I was still so young, with so much to gain.

Once upon a time I used to rave at the luck life had given me. I used to scream into my pillow at night, crying because it was just not fair. No twelve year old should have to watch her parents shout at each other, and see her father just leave without glancing back. No fourteen years old should have to take care of her alcoholic mother who after two year was still convinced that my father would come back.

It didn't matter to me. My life had become nothing more than a dull clock. Get up, force my mother to eat, rush through school and work to pay for our bills. I was often tempted to leave, move out, let my mother deal with her problems because I just could not bring herself to care anymore. For my mother who could not even be bothered to remember she had a teenage daughter, or my father who only treated me affectionately in public to show he was the better parent and then ran away without even saying good bye.

Even when I was twenty, I had still lived for my mother's sake, to take care of her. Even working three jobs separately after I rushed through high school a year early. I did not even bother to look for further education, because I knew that I didn't have enough time.

Dragging another lungfull of air into my destroyed body, I realized that my life was about to end. The darkness was closing in, the sounds around me muting until there was utter silence all around me, the cold groud fading into complete numbness swallowing up the pain I had been only moments ago.

Completely and utterly nothing. I was caught in a black void, only aware that I existed.

What happened? Who was I?

My memories slowly began to blur, becoming a mixture of just knowledge and remnants of feelings. The bitterness and resentment I felt towards my parents vanished day by day, like dust blown away by the fickle gales of the wind. It was like a movie playing right in my mind, I knew what this girl had felt, knew it like the French vocabulary I could still remember, but it wasn't me anymore.

Who was I? I couldn't remember my name, it was like a fleeting wisp of air that would disappear once I tried to grab it. I had freaked out at first, like what-the-fuck-is-going-on kind of panic, but even that feeling was oddly muted.

So I waited, and waited until I was able to feel and move. Feel the wamrth around me, and hear a steady sound that would lull me back to sleep every so often.

Compared to the confusion, and terror and nothingness consuming me before, it was a glorious feeling. Like feeling the sun after a bitter storm for the first time. Time passed, eternity interwined with seconds and days; every day I could feel more of my surroundings, my body which was too heavy and yet too small. Combing through my knowlege, I began to formulate thories, possibilities flitting through my mind even as time continued to pass.

Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. My mind supplied me with a quite from Arthur Conan Doyle, when I arrived at the single possible answer and I was stuck in denial.

But I had always been pragmatic, able to change my mind once I saw proof; to adapt and continue.

So when one day, my surroundings noticibly tightened all around me, and I was after some long and terrifying moments pushed out into the light and scooped up by what I could only describe at Giants, I was less surprised than I should have been. I still cried though. Blame me, but my little baby mind was scared to death, I had a feeling that it would become quite annoying after some time.

But when I first saw the tired, but ecstatic, glowing eyes of the woman who would be my mother, I couldn't bring myself to regret being born once again.

''Rhea Jackson, my precious, beautiful daughter.'' Her voice showed her exhaustion, carrying undercurrents of pain and yet when she first held me in her arms, her smile was tender and happy.

Rhea Jackson, the words rang in my mind, and I was startled at the rightness they seemed to convey as if those words had always meant to be my name, more so than my old one which I could no longer remember.

I was Rhea Jackson, daughter of Sally Jackson and unknown. I felt a short flare of bitterness, echoed by brief flashes of the man who fathered me in my first life, eyes dismissive and distant. I had always wanted a father, a strong and steady presence in my life, but that feeling soon vanished when the days passed and I realized how utterly my mother loved me. I was to be honest, caught between what I knew was confusion (I could not remember anyone ever looking at me like that) and complete and utter joy.

We lived in a small flat in New York, curiously my mother had never gotten any visitors and I wondered if I didn't have any other family left. I dismissed it from my mind in favor of sleeping. Being a baby was not fun at all. I had the attention span of a fly.

Yes, a fly.

I would constantly sleep, eat or dirty my diaper. It was humiliating, boring and yet totally amazing. I loved the peace and quiet, the solitude brought by my new life. I was a very easy child, eager to please my mother who had sacrificed her days and nights to take care of me and shower me with love. I refused to add to my mother's stress, she looked tired enough already and judging by the relieved expression that sometimes donned my mother's face, she appreciated it too.

I was staring at my ceiling, exhausted from my day of playing with my mother, but for some strange reason unable to sleep.

It took me a while to recognize the strange new feeling as excitement. It was like a buzzing from deep inside me, a tingling warmth that seemed to spread through my tiny body. Something would happen tonight, I could feel it in the air and nearly taste it with my little lips.

I sat up, fumbling a little with my still rather uncooperative baby limps, peering through my crib bars, body as tense as possible (which mind you wasn't much) and then through the small crack I could see a shadow in the lit hallway.

A shadow that I knew was not my mother, since I could hear her humming in the kitchen.

I thought about screaming bloody murder, but I didn't. It was strange, but I had the absolute certainty that this stranger was not going to hurt my mother or me.

How weird was that?

He did just break in after all.

I could see the shadow walking towards the kitchen, and contemplated screaming since I didn't know whether that man was here to hurt her, hurt us. The silence seemed to stretch like a living being, heavy with something I couldn't even begin to name. But nothing happened. My mother was still humming even though somehow I could tell that the figure was standing in the kitchen door.

What was going on?

It was the first time I was happy that the walls in our flat were so thin that you could practically hear every word, because if he did anything to hurt her, I would know although I couldn't do anything but scream, I had a healthy pair that could wake up the neighbors in seconds. And again I asked myself, why I didn't just do that? Why did I stay silent, like I was waiting for my own door to open?

Suddenly it did just that, my wooden door opened with a slight creek, light spilling on the dark carpet, and I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again they were like by magic instantly drawn to the man that opened the door, stepping into my room silently.

I could see it.

I could feel it, power, thrumming in the air, nearly crackling around him. It felt like a thousand storms, the deepest depth of the ocean, a crushing force that could eradicate everything that stood in it's way. I felt drawn to it, wanted to be as close to that man as possible, to feel that power encase my own body in a tight hold.

That man could not be human, even though he looked human, was dressed in a very human way (like a beach bum, with a Bermuda shirt and Khaki shorts) I knew that whoever that man was, he was not human. It was like an instinct, welling up from deep inside of me, whispering that this man would never hurt me.

I would have thought myself insane for believing that this man could not be human a couple of weeks ago, but I was reincarnated, so I was pretty much ready to redefine my life and beliefs in a second.

Somehow knew I was right, this guy was just more.

''My name is Poseidon, little tyke and I'm your father.''

My thought halted with all the subtlety of a crashing train, and even though I wanted to see the irony of our names both being from Greek mythology, wanted to laugh away such a coicidence, I couldn't.

Even though what that stranger was implying was too weird to be true, it felt so right. Like the name that was given to me, it struck a cord deep within me. Poseidon, I repated mentally, and was once again struck by that feeling of longing. It wasn't normal, nothing in my old life had ever felt like that, so I had no choice but to accept that a Greek God was apparently my father. I must have spaced out longer than I thought because the next moment, his face was right above mine, and I had to tilt my head upwards to watch him.

If I wasn't so busy studying the Greek God of the Seas, because how many inhuman, but very much normal looking people with the name of Poseidon do I know, I would have been more offended at the tyke part. I was a girl, thank you very much!

Huh, so Poseidon, the God of the Sea was my father.

Does that make me one of those demigods of legends?

But I was nothing if not good at adapting. I adapted when my father left. I adapted when my mother became alcoholic, I adapted when first one, then two jobs weren't enough, and I adapted when I was reincarnated. So being a daughter of Poseidon wasn't that huge of a stretch for my imagination.

I didn't have any time to think about it further, because in that moment my father picked me up. Yet I didn't break eye contact, never taking my little still slightly undeveloped baby eyes off him. He did not take his eyes off me either, and I would have laughed if I didn't feel like this was important, a baby and a Greek God having a stare down.

But it was important, I felt like looking away was not something I should ever be doing.

And then he smiled and the spell was broken.

It was a heartfelt, and completely genuine smile, and I think my heart skipped a beat, literally.

''A daughter, by the Gods, I have been blessed with a daughter.'' he spoke softly, but his voice still carried through the small, slightly cluttered room, rumbling sound that instantly calmed me down. He shifted me in his arms, holding me tightly in his warm embrace and rocked me while walking around the room, looking at my few toys and belongings.

He stopped at a picture that a nurse had taken and developed while my mother and I were still in the hospital.

''Sally and Rhea Jackson, so my little baby girl got named after my mother, I think she would be happy to have a granddaughter like you. Yes, she would definitely approve.'', he still spoke as softly, staring at me with that tender smile.

I wriggled a little in his arms in order to get more comfortable, feeling the surprisingly smooth fabric of his shirt tickle my sensitive baby skin. I couldn't help but giggle at the feeling.

He grinned brightly at the sound, looking happy and relieved and so human, that I nearly forgot that he was not; the energy surrounding me like a blanket, keeping me warm even with the slightly opened window, was proof of that.

Looking up, I studied his face, sea-green eyes glowing and changing colours. They were lighter whenever he was smiling, and I they darkened like roaring waves whenever he looked like he was deep in thought.

How fitting, I absently thought, while starting to coo at him. Working in an orphanage for several weeks as one of my part-time jobs when I was younger and still had to support my mother, I knew how utterly devastating baby's could be. I was of the opinion that they could melt even solid frozen ice if given the right incentive, in their case most notably food.

In my case, it was to push as many buttons as possible.

The energy I could feel cursing and clashing through his body was utterly and totally comforting to me. I felt loved, protected, comforted, like nothing would ever hurt me while I was in that man's grasp. For someone like me who was always relied on in my old life; this complete feeling of security was new, it was exalarating, I wanted it.

''Hey Princess, I'm your daddy. You look so beautiful, so perfect. I'm going to protect you as best as I can, my daughter.'' he murmured in my ear quietly, soothingly, and one of his arms rubbed circles on my back.

This was utter bliss, I just knew it.

Being in those strong and warm arms, smelling the comforting breeze of the ocean, of sand and the newly fallen rain.

I couldn't help but take note of the wonder in his eyes when he called me his daughter. It was like he had not even expected it in the slightest, maybe he rarely had one?

I was his daughter, not his son, and that somehow made all the difference.

I didn't care though, I liked that he wanted to protect me, to shield me from harm and danger because I had the funny feeling that having a God as a parent would be different.

Very different.

It was an hour later when he walked back to my crib and I instantly knew what he wanted to do, and in that moment both my adult and baby instinct wanted the very same thing.

To remain encase that embrace for as long as possible.

So I resisted, clutching my father's shirt as tight as I possibly could with my undeveloped muscles, I started whimpering, not wanting to leave my father's presence.

He gently pried my fingers from his shirt, and looked at me with a torn expression, as if he couldn't decide wether to be pleased or sad, ''Sorry Princess.''

And with that he disappeared in a gust of wind and a spray of water, leaving only the smell of the ocean behind.

It took a very long time for me to fall asleep that night, already missing the presence of the person who held me only hours ago.

A/N So first chapter finished! I take suggestions into consideration, so if you have any scenes or pairings that you would like to see, either review or PM me.

Thank you!