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"How are you feeling?"
Jason's huge. Annabeth never realized how huge until he was on top of her, keeping her in place with a whisper of effort. She let him win, of course— she easily could have bucked him off, if she'd wanted to.
She didn't want to.
"I don't know."
"Tell me when you do?"
His hands in particular are massive. He can fold his fingers over hers to the second knuckle. Right now, he's using one to prop himself up while he keeps the other across her abdomen, still and heavy.
There's a lot she's churning through. Part of her, hidden somewhere very deep, had sort of thought that she'd end up in Percy's bed eventually, if she could just fix what she broke so long ago.
Technically, she was right, but she'd been expecting him to be the one beside her.
He would have pushed by now, anxious about her silence. Jason is much more introverted— he's more introverted than she is, which is saying something— and simply watches her with his hand on her stomach and waits. It seems like he might be able to for an era, as calm and unmoving as a statue preserved in volcanic ash.
Under his eyes, she somehow manages to feel more naked than she already did.
"Yeah. Might not happen."
"You have a hard time with that." Jason moves his thumb, brushing over the underside of her rib. "You're getting better at it, though. You used to default to anger when you didn't know how you were feeling, but recently you admit you're not sure. Much more productive for all parties."
Annabeth bristles, hard and defensive, at the jab. He stills again, waits again, breathes with her until she relaxes her jaw.
He's never this harsh with anyone else, but she's starting to think that's what she needed from the beginning. Someone who will call her on her bullshit, no matter how much of it she flings at him.
She knows it works on her. Without her girls, she's sure she'd still be drowning, chained to a rock by her own fear as the cavern floods around her. What's different about Jason is that he's a blend of the two— tender and unflappable like Piper, tough and fair like Reyna; no tag-teaming necessary to drag her above water.
He's willing to tear her a new one, but he's only ever done it once, and he only did it because she deserved it. When their positions were reversed, when she was the one blistering his ears because he fucked up badly enough to need it, he took it without even blinking.
You're right, he'd said, quiet and even, iced coffee dripping down his face as she crushed her empty cup in her hand. I'm a hypocrite.
Her ankles hurt from where she thrashed against the spreader bar. He's been such a dick all night, as agreed upon— you know what I want, Chase, say it— that it makes her head spin, having him so peaceful and attentive now.
She breathes with her diaphragm, watching Jason's hand rise, hold and fall.
"Piper's good at talking me through things, and Reyna lets me get away with absolutely nothing."
"Piper's good at talking everyone through things," Jason points out, smirking. It looks totally different on him than it does on Percy. "And Reyna's never let anyone get away with anything, including me. You give them both somewhere to focus their energy. I think all three of you are good for each other."
("It had been so long since we went on a date, just the two of us—"
"We kind of forgot what it was like."
"And we just kept thinking about what Chris said."
"About how they doubled up so much they got used to it, and when they tried to split off, it just felt wrong."
"...What are you saying?"
"We're saying it feels wrong without you.")
She blushes. She can feel herself doing it. Jason must be able to see it, too, or he wouldn't be softening like that.
"I hope so," she admits. She's never heard herself so vulnerable. "I don't know what I'd do if they—"
She doesn't realize she's crying until Jason's hand brushes her cheek.
"This is hard for you," he says again, warm and kind. "Being out of control. Love is a freefall, and you're terrified of hitting the ground. You still do it, and that's something to be proud of."
Before she knows it, she's panicking. Intellectually, she shouldn't be. All he did was gently lift away her breastplate and expose her most vulnerable places.
He lies down, unfazed. Percy must get like this too, because Jason opens his arms with practiced efficiency and immediately shelters her again.
"I—" she gasps, shuddering— "Can't, I can't—"
"You don't have to," Jason murmurs. "Not when you're with me."
She cries on his shoulder until her head feels like it's going to explode. He keeps her tight against his body, and she's not exposed anymore. The protective shell she's so used to wearing wards off killing blows, but it can't completely absorb the shock, and after a while it starts getting too heavy to hold.
"You're okay," he whispers into her hair, over and over. "You're okay. I'm not leaving you."
He's taken away her armor, but it seems it was only so he could position himself as her shield.
Once she calms down a little, he dresses in boxers and wraps her in a sheet and carries her into the kitchen. He sets her down on the cushioned window seat and turns on the electric kettle— Reyna got it for him as a housewarming gift, funny enough, and the thought of her is comforting.
He sits next to Annabeth as it comes to a boil, silent, letting her hold his hand tight enough to hurt her own fingers. When the kettle goes off, he stands up with a click and a wince, and in her guilt and anxiety she tightens her grip so he can't walk away.
He looks down at her. Then he presses his mouth to her palm.
I'm not leaving you, says his body language, just as vividly clear as his voice had been.
She lets go of his hand.
He's stirring the hot chocolate mix— his own creation, with real cocoa powder and a tiny kick of cinnamon to balance out the sweetness— when she remembers how to talk.
"You shouldn't have carried me."
"What, because of my knee?" He smiles over his shoulder. "You don't carry people with your knees. It really wasn't any trouble."
"You lift with your legs, though."
"I can bench press three-fifty, you know."
"You could," Annabeth counters, tugging the sheet closer around her shoulders. "When you were in college. When's the last time you tried?"
"Point." He sets the mug on the kitchen table and pulls out a chair. "I can, however, still pick up Mrs. O'Leary."
Maybe he's conceding the point, because he offers his arm instead of trying to lift her again. She's grateful for his help anyway. Her legs are still shaky, and she's sore in some interesting places.
(He really is enormous. It was fun at the time, and she's not convinced she'll actually regret it tomorrow, but she is sure she won't be riding a bike anytime soon.)
She touches the mug, and immediately yanks her hand back. He raises an eyebrow at her, and suddenly she gets why Percy caves so easily when it's directed at him.
"Give it a minute," Jason chides gently. "I'll add some half and half to cool it down."
She watches the lines of his back as he moves towards the fridge. She's starting to see a lot of things from Percy's perspective.
"You're moving around a little easier."
"Thank Clarisse for that." He turns around, and suddenly she's staring at his chest— and when she quickly looks away, ears hot, he grins with a warmth that somehow soothes her embarrassment and fuels it at the same time. "And you can thank Percy for my rack. Manhandling him is how I stay in shape."
He pours the half and half like he promised, and brushes his fingers over the back of her neck before heading to the counter again and washing his hands. She notices the large bowl when he pulls the towel off, possibly because her brain is frantically casting around for something to focus on that isn't the memory of his touch.
"Are you making bread?"
"Pizza dough." He puts the towel back. "Which I'm going to give a little more time to rise. Do you think you can help me babysit the sauce? You just have to poke the tomatoes every so often while they simmer."
It's not an order. He's probably making a point of it like Piper does, drawing a firm line between what they've just done and what they're currently doing, but there's something strange in his eye as he looks over his shoulder.
"My tits are gonna fall out, but sure."
"You can put on my sweatshirt, if you want. It's on the back of the seat next to you. Should go down to your ankles, at least."
She's seen everyone Jason has dated since he got it wrapped in the cornflower blue fleece. She isn't sure what to do with the suggestion that she join them.
"You don't have to," he adds, after a moment of her silence. "I mean, I'm not exactly opposed to the alternative. I want you to sit for me tomorrow, if you're up for it."
Her throat stings. She pulls the sweatshirt over her head and breathes in his smell and yet again understands. He's soft-spoken security and comfort in the shape of a man.
"You underestimate how long my legs are," she sniffs, tugging the sleeves over her hands so she can cup the mug without burning herself. "It's only a few inches below my knees. But yes, you can draw me like one of your French girls."
Jason snorts, but he's going a little pink around the ears too, which evens the playing field.
"Nico bought me a replica of the Heart of the Ocean, just so I could make that joke. Lab-grown diamond, certified ethical."
"Jesus Christ."
"We're talking about a guy who regularly spends thousands of dollars on bespoke suits by independent tailors for the sole reason that Percy's his sugar baby, which he won't even admit to. He pretends he's investing in small businesses."
It's Annabeth's turn to burst into laughter. The release feels amazing after all that adrenaline. When she looks over, Jason's staring back at her, unreadable.
He's not smiling. It takes a second to process that he's not frowning, either. He's focused, like he could watch her laugh for ages.
She thinks of that one week around Halloween, way back in high school, when he'd had black hair. At the time, she hadn't even noticed— much less could have admitted— that she was drawn to the striking intensity. She'd been too busy reading into Percy's friendship with Rachel and inventing reasons to push him away; too fixated on how much it hurt to hear Percy serenade someone else to realize that Jason sent chills up her spine every time he plummeted into the depths of his bass range.
Fuck. She and Percy are going to have to get matching tattoos, at this rate.
"Surely at least one person has laughed at your banter before me. Percy's sense of humor is awful."
"God, you are such a brat."
Jason crosses his arms over his chest. His playful half-smile gets increasingly familiar every time she sees it. More out of reflex than desire, she smiles innocently back up at him.
"What are you gonna do about it?"
"Right now, I'm going to make you pizza with olives and anchovies. Then I'm going to put you to bed. We can talk consequences some other time."
Muscles release that she didn't know she was tensing. She's so used to pushing until she's forced to stop— has only been able to quit doing it to other people with the help of stimulants and a lot of patience from her loved ones— and here he's just waltzed in and scruffed her, like she's an exhausted kitten who won't settle down and stop hissing.
"I am pretty hungry," she admits, fiddling with the hems of her— his— sleeves.
"Of course you are, after what I did to you." The smirk shifts into a sweet, fond smile. "That's why I made the dough before you got here. Hand me the tomatoes, if you don't mind?"
They're in a basket on the table. She passes it over, finding some strange relief in only having one option.
Before she realizes what he's doing, Jason's pulling her head against his sternum and holding her there.
"Good girl," he says, almost silent.
She absorbs the feeling of his skin against her cheek, of his voice in her ears, of his whole presence wrapped around her in both fabric and metaphor.
She feels weak. Somehow, it makes her feel strong, too.