A Crown of Golden Leaves: A Percy Jackson Fanfiction

Capvt XVIII: The Storm Inside

 Capvt XVIII: The Storm Inside

 PERCY slammed the box down in front of Annabeth with a loud bang, causing her to jerk up from her half-awake state. "Always be aware of your surroundings."

 "Ugh," she muttered, slumping back over his desk and quite probably smearing black ink all over her face and arms. She didn't really care how ridiculous she looked: she was so tired. Maybe staying up all night the last three nights hadn't been the best idea, training past her breaking point . . . though how Percy was as bright and chirpy as ever was beyond her. 

Something cold and wet dribbled its way down her back, and she jerked up with a scream. Her arms flailed out in a (mediocre) attempt to shield herself against her assailant— 

Percy folded his arms over his chest, scowling. 

"You really are horrible at self-defense."

 Steam felt like it was going out her ears in two impressive clouds. "You. Are the single. Most annoying. Person. In this country."

 He rolled his eyes. "You're getting repetitive; and if you're going to insult me, at least control your temper." 

"I don't—" she spluttered at him and waved her hand around wildly. His eyebrows rose slowly, and she narrowed her eyes. He woke her up: no one woke her up unless they had a death wish, or if they were Piper. Now prepare to die. "I do not have a temper. If it's anyone who has a temper, it's you."

 Something dark flashed behind his eyes; dark and frosty, and she suddenly felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped down her back. She suddenly felt wide awake and not half asleep. Had she finally gone too far? As quickly as it appeared though, the emotion dissipated; however, she noticed there was a tale-tell clenching of his jaw. He began to pace in small circles in front of the desk, his strides short and jerky. Maybe another sign of anger?

 "Yes, you do." He said, tone hard, as he stepped in stopped in front of her. She felt like a deer caught in the hunter's trap, with the way his eyes seemed to bore into hers. Yes, he did have a temper. She could see it in the way his eyes seemed to pitch and swirl, like there was a storm inside of him.

 She dropped her gaze to her hands. She was clenching them together so tight that her knuckles were white: bloodless.

 "Annabeth, look at me." His voice was very level and controlled, but that made it only worse. She could hear the danger in it, and she was so scared. Her stupid, big mouth had gotten her into trouble again. Her stupid mouth and her stupid temper.

 His hand suddenly seized her chin and forced her head up. Her heart pounded underneath her chest and the blood in her body rushed into her head. He was sitting on his desk now, disregarding the reports from the legions, using his freehand as a stabilizer. His eyes seemed to drift all over her face, and she tried to keep it schooled. She didn't want him to know she was scared: that was dangerous.

 "You," he muttered, "Are insufferable and irrational. Not a good combination either, especially for a future Caesar." 

He let go of her chin. She didn't exactly shuffle in her seat or drop her gaze, but she felt like she was trying to curl into herself a little. Maybe she would have a good blubbering later.

 Something greasy and slimy going down her neck—

 She forced the image back. Stupid, stupid girl. It was typical of her to have an overactive imagination whenever she was even remotely frightened of Percy.

 "I'm not the future Caesar," she reminded him sharply. "You are."

 He began to pace again, and she noticed that his hands were twitching by his sides.