Author's Note: This chapter is rated M and contains EXPLICIT ADULT CONTENT. (I don't consider this a spoiler since there are flashbacks and it may not be what you think). If this is a problem for anyone, you can message me and I'll get you a censored version. Thanks for reading!

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Before.

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The sea does not like to be restrained.

Annabeth stared out at the coast, pulling her sweater a little tighter. The wind was whipping her hair, churning the ocean into a rough green frenzy.

No, she thought. Not a frenzy. A force. It has control. It knows exactly what it's doing.

She watched the crashing waves, feeling endless minutes, hours slide by. It was cold, but that was better. Her clifftop view was hidden and lonesome and almost touched the sky.

And while she looked, she saw things. And she heard things. And she was powerless to stop it. Voices swirled in her head, almost as if they were being tossed on the wind.

…Me? Go with you to the…the 'Thrill Ride of Love'?... And, Hey, don't I get a kiss for luck? It's kind of a tradition, right?... And, You're cute when you're worried… And...

…You're not getting away from me. Never again.

The image of a careless kid with messy dark hair and unimpressed eyes; he could never sit still, always fidgeting with his stupid pen, or leaping up without warning—he never gave warning. A girl with tangled blond hair and scraped knees, hauling huge books and daggers around and bossily explaining the better way to do things.

Their arguments. Their friendship. Their loyalty. Their absurd bravery and resilience and the way that even in the center of hell, they could laugh, roll their eyes, and carry on.

The way he'd kissed her in the bubble, down in the canoe lake, confident and sweet. The first time he said 'I love you.' The way he'd dented Ethan Nakamura's helmet, after she got hurt. At their wedding, when he'd vowed to build something permanent with her, and her jaw had dropped, because it had been years since she'd said that—she didn't know he'd remembered. Staying up all night, lying in the dark; the things he'd whisper in her ear. His vicious strength with monsters, versus his gentle sweetness with their baby. Their sustaining friendship.

Until it had gone wrong—how had it gone wrong? How had they let it happen?

His words from the day before cut like a knife through her chest.

She'd left her ring on the table; she couldn't wear it anymore. She had to stop hurting so much. The pain felt like it was going to drown her. Taking off the weight of the source—what other concrete thing could she do?

He'd seen it, and looked at it for a long, long time. His previous volatile moods were gone now; he was calm, quiet. A rarity; a respite in the middle of a storm. And then he'd put the ring in his pocket, and turned to go. But first, he'd looked at her, leaning against the doorjamb. When he spoke, his voice was low, a rueful, sad smile in the timbre. There was something thoughtful in his eyes—a maturity. Almost…a wisdom.

"We're going to find our way back to each other."

The words had hit like a wrecking ball. She couldn't take it; not the undercut promise, not the contradicting messages, not the vestige of truth that hung somewhere in the ether. She refused to be haunted by such vows, now of all times.

And so, because evidently one of them had to be worked up if the other wasn't, she'd lost it and screamed at him, pushing his chest. "I cannot live like that, Percy—we cannot keep holding on—we can't keep holding on—"

And so here she was.

No longer holding anything.

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Now.

…

Something was wrong.

It went off in her body like a pulsing red alarm.

Wrong—wrong—wrong.

It was three, four in the morning—she didn't know.

She could feel it, it was in every cell of her body, in the air. Something was wrong, something was wrong, something was wrong.

Bedroom door, hallway, door, the glow of Grace's nightlight—a hollow rattling sound, her baby arching backward, shaking and thrashing, not breathing—not breathing, not breathing, not breathing.

And time stopped. Annabeth stepped into a different skin; she knew what to do, even if she didn't know how she knew. She moved with an expert efficiency, making a safe space, grabbing the phone and dialing—and then abandoning the useless operator, once she knew the vehicles were coming. The seizure had ended, but the breathing was still not there—and so she performed CPR until the EMTS arrived; and the rest was a slideshow, a horror show—red and blue lights, questions, a blanket, the back of an ambulance in which turns were taken with reckless speed.

And through it all she was still and she was strong and she was a force of gravity for her baby—right up until they took her baby away.

Which was when she did the only other thing there was, which was dial the only other number that existed in the whole world.

He answered on the first ring, and she had no idea what she said, but then he was there. Before she'd even blinked, it seemed, he was there.

…

"She's going to be okay."

They learned this quickly enough; and yet, still they couldn't go in to see her. Still, she wouldn't be released for a time. Still, they were there at all.

She's going to be okay.

The doctors had said it, then the nurses, then their family and friends who had trickled in as it turned to morning. They'd said it until it started to be true, and then the reality began to hit—she's going to be okay—and then the shock started to wear off and everything else hit.

Annabeth felt it all break open inside her, with no signs of slowing. She felt it break and break and break.

And he was there.

"Shhh." Percy wasn't really trying to shush her at all, just making low, soothing noises as she sobbed into his shirt.

They didn't speak for a long time. He just held her—stronger than she had any recent memory of being held—while she shook apart, releasing every last bit of fear and trauma.

Finally she whispered, "I was so scared. So scared."

"I know."

"She's just a baby."

"I know."

"I thought…I thought she could have died."

His arms tightened around her, and he kissed her hair, leaving his face there. "I know."

They stood apart from anyone else, down the short hallway. Sally and Paul gave them space. Piper had taken Estelle to get a snack, once they knew Gracie would be alright. Grover glanced at them a couple times, but sat next to Sally and Paul.

Annabeth kept her face buried in Percy's chest, feeling herself coming back into her body. Her heart ached in an acute, deeply physical way. For Gracie, but for other things, too.

Percy just rested his chin on her head, tracing his hand up and down her spine.

He was so solid, so warm, so familiar and yet always new, too. Home. Being locked in his arms was coming home; the only definition she had anymore, and yet didn't have, anymore.

Fresh tears bubbled to the surface, and he rubbed slow circles on her back.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that, but eventually they were interrupted by another doctor in a white coat, who brought them in to see their baby.

Who was okay.

…

"Annabeth."

She kept her eyes closed, her head against his shoulder. She was so tired, and it was too much—too much.

"Annabeth." He rubbed his hand against her arm, trying to talk to her.

"Mmm."

"Did you hear what the doctor said in there?"

She opened her eyes. They were sitting in the chairs in the hallway, against the wall, right outside the door while the doctors did what they needed to do. His arm was around her, all her fight gone, because it could be now. Because Grace was okay and he was here and he could listen to the doctors while she breathed in their baby's skin.

"Yeah. She's going to be fine but they want to do some more screens and monitor—"

"Not that. The part about how she lived and she doesn't have brain damage because of the child CPR you did."

Annabeth went very still. Percy was squeezing her arm, his voice dead serious. He was looking at her, but she wouldn't quite meet his eyes.

"Annabeth. They said you saved her life."

Something lodged in Annabeth's chest, but she shook her head, staring down the hallway. "No." She whispered. "It doesn't—anyone could—"

Percy put his hands on either side of her face, making her look at him. "Anyone couldn't. You did. You saved Gracie's life."

She swallowed hard, blinking. It was all too much. So she buried her face in his shoulder again, feeling the tears come, just trying to breathe.

He pressed his lips to the crown of her head, rubbing her shoulder. He whispered something, but it was too faint for her to hear.

…

"It's gonna be a few days. They need to monitor her, just to be safe." Percy said to Sally, sitting down on her other side, all of them by Gracie's bed as she slept.

Sally just nodded, squeezing Annabeth's shoulder. "She's lucky to have had such a strong, remarkable mama there in the crisis."

Annabeth swallowed again but didn't look, keeping her finger in the center of Gracie's curled fist, staring at the tiny fingers wrapped around her own. Percy could have done it, too. She wanted to say. Percy would have.

But…how many others could have? How many others would know emergency protocol, could keep their heads in a crisis, had been on battlefields and seen many, many life-or-death situations?

Gracie's fist gave a reflexive squeeze in her sleep, her chest falling in a little sigh. Annabeth gave a feather-light squeeze back, her heart constricting.

I'm always going to be here, she said to Gracie in her mind. That's one thing you'll never, ever have to worry about. I'm always going to squeeze back.

…

Things became a blur of fluorescent hospital lighting, camping by Grace's bedside, vending machine pretzels and bad coffee.

There was the morning of the second day when Annabeth leaned in the doorway, catching sight of Piper coming out of the elevator holding a giant teddy bear. Percy was out in the hallway, just hanging up with his parents; he and Piper saw each other first, and she gave him a big, long hug. She pulled away, and Annabeth waited, but the two of them kept talking, and then Piper set the bear on a chair, and they slowly began to wander away down the hall, still talking, then rounded the corner and disappeared.

There was Percy on the end of Gracie's hospital bed, playing their sixth game of Uno in a row, tragically losing every time.

There was Paul reading through stacks of Gracie's favorite books, again and again, and getting a very satisfied look when Gracie approvingly declared, "Grandpa doesn't skip pages."

And then there was one evening, late, when everyone else had gone home. The whole floor was quiet, the windows dark. Visiting hours were almost over. Annabeth was tired; she was tired of trying to stay positive for their family and friends, tired of being upbeat for Gracie, tired of hospital coffee and the chair she slept in that made her neck ache. She walked out into the empty hallway and found Percy sitting in a chair, tilted forward, holding his head in his hands.

She hesitated for a long minute, watching him, a strange achy feeling in her chest. Then she quietly sat down next to him. "Hey."

He looked up, but kept the same posture. "Hey."

They were quiet for a moment. Eventually, Annabeth looked at him. "How are you?"

He shrugged, looking at his hands.

She reached out and rubbed his shoulder, then moved her hand down his arm to rest on top of his own hand, squeezing hard.

It felt easy, like the most natural thing in the world.

He let out a long exhale and leaned back, his head resting against the wall, keeping his hand under hers.

They listened to the clock tick on the wall, to the distant sound of beeping and nurses shuffling, of a door clicking softly shut. But mostly, it was quiet.

Annabeth took a deep breath. "You know, Gracie's getting discharged tomorrow—"

"It's not just Gracie."

Annabeth stopped, looking at him. She didn't know what to say, and apparently he didn't either. He looked at the drawings on the wall across from them, his eyes tired, and said nothing more, so she didn't either.

And then his hand shifted under hers, so it was palm up, and his fingers intertwined through the empty spaces between her own.

Her heart jumped. His hand was solid and warm, his palm—or her palm, she supposed—felt like a livewire of tingles and warmth, like there was a connective thread that went from their laced hands to the bottom of her toes.

He cleared his throat, his voice so low and soft it was almost part of the faintly beeping machinery. "I miss you."

Her heart caught in her throat, her whole chest swelling so she couldn't speak, could barely even think.

The air around them felt charged—it was always charged, if she was being honest with herself; whether they were fighting or not speaking or calmly discussing Gracie's bedtime.

He kept his eyes on their hands, slowly tracing his thumb across the sensitive skin of her wrist, sending titillating shivers down her whole body.

His voice was slow. "Do you think—"

But he what he was going to say, she didn't know. Because neither of them heard the elevator doors open and close; neither heard the footsteps, or remembered that visiting hours went late on Thursdays. Neither looked up and saw Bree standing at the end of the hallway staring at them, until she'd cleared her throat loudly and uncertainly—and then they both looked up.

Annabeth felt Percy give a little start. There was a long, strained moment as Bree seemed unsure if she should come closer, and Annabeth realized her hand was still in Percy's, and then Percy ended it by getting up and walking over to Bree, his stride long and quick. He said something, and they disappeared together around the corner.

Annabeth didn't move. She knew she should get up and go back to Gracie's room, or call Piper, or take a walk of her own, but she remained glued to the chair, feeling like lead. There was a hard feeling in the pit of her stomach that seemed unlikely to resolve itself.

And then, before she could decide what to do next, Percy reappeared—alone. His face was hard to read; a little dark, a bit of a scowl.

He walked straight back to the same chair and sat down, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Hi." Annabeth said, even though they'd just seen each other.

He said nothing.

"Where's Bree?"

He tapped his foot against the linoleum, face still dark. "She left."

"I'm guessing you didn't know she was coming." Truly, Annabeth had no fucks left to give.

"She shouldn't have come."

Annabeth didn't know what to say to that. The air between them was still the same; magnetic, electric. It wasn't anything different—it was that she was acknowledging it, now. Admitting to it.

Giving into—?

Abruptly, Percy stood, running a hand through his hair. "Come on, let's go get some more terrible coffee."

Annabeth looked up at him for a moment, his subdued posture, messy hair, moody face—then stood, and followed.

And a minute later, when he silently took her hand, she silently let him.

…

Gracie was discharged the following day, with a glowing report. She was worn out from the tests and needles and strangeness, her energy low.

Everyone's energy was low; it was a subdued, quiet, rainy Friday afternoon. Whereas before something had been closed off between Percy and Annabeth, it was now the opposite, their blocked line hacked cleanly open by the terror of the hospital in the middle of the night, rubbed further away by the ensuing intimacy of not knowing what would happen, of recovering from the fear.

Before, there had been layers of debris to quiet the vibrations; now there was only raw, unrelenting clarity.

The rain poured down on the sidewalk, washing everything and everyone away, bulleting off umbrellas and gathering spectacular puddles. They ran to Percy's car, him carrying Gracie, Annabeth holding a jacket over her head; Percy tucking them both inside and starting the engine and the heater.

They didn't speak in the car; the rain hammered the roof, hammered the windshield, bounced off the tires and made a tide through the street. It was too loud—matched with the noise from the heater, the rhythmic swish of the wipers, and the undeniable hum in the air that buzzed through the small space, it was all enough. It was almost too much.

She tried not to look at him, because whenever she did, she caught fractions of things, too close up; never the whole picture. Never a safe distance. His tanned throat as he swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing; the lean, defined muscle in his shoulder; the way a piece of his hair curled the wrong way by his temple. The worn part of his jeans. His big, capable hands.

She felt him glance at her, too. She felt him feel it back.

When they got to her apartment, he pulled up to the curb; the idle zone. The "only stay five minutes or else" zone. She got out of the car, and he did too, unbuckling Gracie and carrying her straight up.

Annabeth stayed right where she was, staring at the yellow paint on the curb, at the warning sign, at the car that wasn't even parked straight. The New York street was gray with rain, like the sky had cracked open, like Zeus himself had unleashed his raw control. She was instantly drenched, not remotely bothering to avoid it.

And finally, there was a voice behind her. "What are you doing?"

She turned and looked at him. "Oh, hi."

He stared at her from the building step. "Gracie's asleep. She shouldn't be alone. Why are you still out here?"

Annabeth swallowed hard. "Why did you park in the idle zone?"

"What?"

"Why did you park in the zone that means you have to leave right-fucking-now? That means you have to leave again?" Her voice was rough and jagged, like she'd swallowed glass.

He came off the step, straight up to where she stood, the rain instantly darkening his t-shirt and dripping off his hair.

"What are you talking about?"

He was right in her face—or she was right in his, rain dripping into both their eyes.

And just like that, she broke—or kept breaking, maybe. Or maybe didn't break at all, but stepped into what they'd both been searching for and searching for and were too stubborn and too terrified to see.

The truth.

She shoved him, pushing his chest, frustration and desperation and everything, everything spilling up and over and getting everywhere.

"Why do you keep fucking leaving? Why did you ever? Why did you let me—why are you—why did—why can't you love—"

He grabbed her wrists, not gently; his face was an inch from hers, his voice equally rough and demanding.

"You told me to let go, Annabeth—"

"You said it first!" She tried to shove him again, but he was still holding her wrists. "But it doesn't matter—it doesn't fucking matter—I'm so sick of the past shit—" Her voice broke. "But you aren't—you don't—"

And then her voice was silenced, cut off—because he had grabbed her, and kissed her.

It was electric and firm and rough and not warm, but as hot as a smoldering furnace. And there was no more thought; no more decision. No more of anything in the world except him holding her steady and strong, prying her mouth open under his, the rain making their clothes cling to their bodies on the sidewalk.

And then there was the door, and the hallway, and the stairs, but Annabeth didn't remember them. There was the dry, quiet apartment, and there was the rain hammering from the outside, and there was her bedroom—their old bedroom—and the bed. Their bed.

It felt like time had stopped; like everyone else had ceased to exist, the world, perhaps, to have stopped turning on its axis. All that was real was the secluded safety of the little room, the charged buzzing in the air, the rain on the window, and the heat that burned low and hard between them, inside them.

And yet they didn't stop, didn't slow—didn't ask questions or give answers.

His lips burned where they connected with her neck; the soft place where it met her shoulder. Her rain-drenched shirt peeled off slowly, deliberately, under his hands; and then his, under hers. He unhooked her bra, finding her nipples hard and erect for him, and he took them in his hands, rolling them between his fingers, causing her to moan out loud. He swallowed her moan with his firm mouth, hungry and needy, like he was eating her for his last meal.

He backed her toward the bed and she pulled him with her, refusing to let go; it hit her knees and she fell back, and then he was on top of her, and she could feel how hard he was, and the burning intensified a hundred-fold, a fire in her stomach, in her limbs, in her blood. It was going to devour them whole.

They finished undressing each other, and then he was kissing her neck, licking inside her ear, biting down her collarbone, taking her breasts in his mouth as she arched her neck backward into the pillows and didn't stifle her moans. He kissed down her body, slow and worshipful, kissing her navel, her hips, and finally her burning center, her hands curling into the sheets.

He licked her firmly, deliberately, while she panted and moaned—and then he stopped, because she was too close already, they were both too close already.

And he was back on top of her, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, heavy and strong and rough.

She raked her hands down his back, not gentle either, as his mouth returned to hers, kissing her slow and long and deep and sweet and burning; she bit his lip, and in response he grabbed her thighs hard enough to bruise.

Their need was primal, carnal; her legs fell open to him as they had a thousand times before, and he buried his face in her neck, biting down on her shoulder as he entered her.

And suddenly no time had passed since the last time they were in bed—there was no hesitancy, no uncertain fumbling. He knew exactly what to do. And so did she.

It was burning and heaven and hell and fervor and sweetness and sin and home and ecstasy.

It was the sea, unrestrained.

It was their own planet, their own fire, their own ocean.

The opposite of lonely.

You cannot tame the ocean.

The opposite of space.

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Thank you so much for reading! This is the end. Truly. No, there will probably not be more. Yes, it is open to interpretation. No, asking for more will not bring more. Yes, telling me what you thought of the story will make me want to write more stories! (And I've already written several others, so check those out if you'd like).

It was a pleasure to write. I read and cherish every review. Xoxo.