Chapter Text
He knows it is Aphrodite, Ares has said so.
But Percy almost loses his footing completely, and it’s not because of his lack of proper sleep, stress or anything that has been going on since the blasted moment Annabeth fell from that cliff in Westover Hall. No. It is like his lungs forgot how to function, as if they decided to switch from needing oxygen to something else and simply didn’t warn the rest of his organs. His heart was thundering, he could hear the blood rushing in his ears and he was sure you could see the beating of it from his pulse point.
Because sitting there in front of him was Annabeth.
Percy swallows hard, as his mind runs loops as he stands there completely and utterly shocked.
Ares said Aphrodite. Ares had been very clear about that.
But the girl sitting there—
Annabeth Chase.
His brain keeps trying to correct the image, like if he blinks enough times reality will snap back into place properly. It doesn’t.
She’s lounging like she belongs there, adorned in gold and draped in pale linen. The curls and braids are pinned the way they had been on Circe’s island, and Percy’s stomach drops because he remembers that day way too clearly — remembering the way he couldn’t stop staring then either.
The tiny owl earrings with dainty blue stone eyes swing when she tilts her head, exactly like Annabeth does when she is assessing something. The earrings? The exact ones she wore at Westover Hall.
For a terrifying second Percy wonders if he’s hit his head. Hard. Maybe he’s still unconscious somewhere and this is a weird dream built from memories his brain grabbed at random.
Except dreams don’t make your heart pound like it’s trying to escape your chest.
Annabeth, not Annabeth, rests her chin on her hand and studies him with open amusement.
That smile. Gods. It’s the same crooked, knowing smile she always gets when Percy says something dumb.
His mouth opens, nothing comes out. His lungs seem then to finally remember their job, but now he’s breathing like he just ran a marathon.
“You—” he tries.
His brain short-circuits again.
Because it’s Annabeth’s face, Annabeth’s eyes. And yet there is something else in them too, something ancient, bright, and far too knowing. She laughs softly.
Not Annabeth’s laugh.
Percy blinks, “…You’re—”
“Aphrodite,” she confirms pleasantly. “Nice to meet you at last, Percy Jackson. You’ve caused quite the commotion."
He stares at her, then at the owl earrings, then back at her.
“…You couldn’t have picked to appear as literally anyone else?”
Her smile widens, absolutely delighted.
Percy’s brain, already hanging by a thread, completely snaps into quiet scrambling. He blinks at her.
“And who Percy Jackson,” she starts lightly, adjusting one of the golden bracelets around her wrist, “says I am the one who picked?”
Percy stares. “…What?”
Because that sentence makes less sense, it doesn’t explain a single thing.
Aphrodite—wearing Annabeth’s face—tilts her head, those chocolate-brown eyes glittering with amusement.
“You really think love works like that?” she says. “That I just wake up in the morning and decide, hmm, whose life shall I meddle with today?”
Percy crosses his arms automatically, defensive instinct kicking in, “…Yes?”
She laughs again, soft and delighted, the sound carrying the same warmth Annabeth’s laugh has but layered with something far older.
“Oh, you poor boy.”
Percy scowls, “I’m serious.”
“I know you are.” She leans forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand again. “That’s part of the problem.”
Percy rubs a hand over his face.
His pulse is still racing. It’s really not helping that she looks exactly like—
Nope. Not finishing that thought.
“So,” he says slowly, carefully, “if you didn’t pick… then who did?”
Her smile shifts. It’s still amused, but there’s something sharper underneath now. Something knowing.
“Love does” she says simply.
Percy blinks again, “…That’s not a person.”
“Oh, but it is a force,” she replies lightly. “Older than me. Older than Ares. Older than Olympus. People fall in love all the time without my permission, Percy Jackson. My job isn’t to create it, not really, not in the ways mortals perceive or attribute me to.”
Her eyes gleam, “My job is to notice it.”
Percy’s stomach drops a little. Because suddenly this conversation feels like it’s about something very specific.
“And sometimes,” Aphrodite continues, twirling one of Annabeth’s braids around her finger like it’s the most natural thing in the world, “it grows in places no one expected.”
Percy swallows.
“…You’re being really cryptic.”
She grins.
“Am I?”
Then she leans back again, completely relaxed, golden fabric shifting like sunlight.
“And besides,” she adds casually, “you’re the one who chose this face.”
Percy’s heart stops for a second, “…I did not.”
Aphrodite’s smile turns absolutely wicked.
“Oh?” she says sweetly. “Then why is it that…” She taps the tiny owl earring. “…I look like her?”
Percy opens his mouth to argue but nothing comes out. Aphrodite—still wearing Annabeth’s face with infuriating accuracy—lifts one shoulder in an elegant little shrug, gold fabric catching the light.
“I could have looked like an actress you noticed once on television,” she says casually. “Someone you thought was pretty for half a second before forgetting her name.”
Her fingers tap lightly against the arm of the chair. “I could have looked like your beloved mother. Or even like a mix of her with someone else. And yet…” She tilts her head, as if presenting the obvious. “…here I am. Bearing the likeness of Athena’s daughter.”
Percy exhales slowly through his nose.
“That’s not fair,” he mutters, and looks away for a second, jaw tightening, then back at her again—because looking away somehow makes it worse. Like his brain fills the gap with memories it doesn’t need right now.
Training with Annabeth.
Her braids whipping behind her when she moves.
The way she smirks when she wins an argument.
Annabeth half-glaring at him when he says something and she doesn’t find it funny at all.
The quiet moments when her guard is down and she laughs. The laugh before the whole mess in St. Louis Arch, the laugh after their talk in the boat after the sirens.
He shakes his head hard.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he insists.
“Oh?” Aphrodite says mildly.
“It means you’re messing with me.”
She laughs softly. “Percy, darling, if I were truly messing with you, you would know.”
That… is not comforting.
She studies him for a moment, head tilted slightly, expression softer now. Curious.
“You mortals are fascinating,” she says. “The line between what it is and what you allow yourselves to perceive is always something else.”
“Can we not do the whole mysterious goddess wisdom thing right now?”
Aphrodite smiles, “not wisdom, just observation.”
Percy drags a hand down his face. “I rather you threaten to kill me or something like most people in this messed up godly family tree seem to do.”
“Ah,” she says brightly. “But then you wouldn’t learn anything.”
“I’m not learning anything now.”
Her smile widens, and her voice is light as she says, “you are.”
Percy frowns. “How?”
She gestures lazily at the air, “Because the question isn’t why I look like this.”
Percy’s stomach sinks a little.
Aphrodite leans forward, voice soft but absolutely certain. Head tilting slightly. “The question is why you can’t stop looking.”
Percy stiffens. Because Aphrodite says it lightly, like she’s commenting on the weather, but the words land like a punch.
Percy’s pulse starts picking up again.
“You didn’t run after this quest because of duty,” she says softly. “Or prophecy. Or glory.”
Her gaze flicks over his face, watching every tiny reaction.
“Your motivations are, at its core, someone.”
Percy crosses his arms. “That’s not—”
“Annabeth,” Aphrodite says gently.
The name drops between them like a stone into still water and Percy stops talking. The goddess doesn’t look smug about it. If anything, she looks… amused. Patient.
“You move because she went missing first,” Aphrodite continues. “Because danger lurks, and you couldn’t let her face it alone. Or simply await and hope.”
Percy exhales sharply, “That’s what friends do.”
“Yes,” Aphrodite nods, studying him for a moment, “But not all friends dive headfirst into a quest that could kill them without stopping to think.”
Percy shrugs, trying for casualness and failing,“I do that a lot.”
“Yes,” she says warmly. “You do.”
A quiet moment passes.
“And that,” she says, “is why I look like this.”
Percy frowns, “I already said—”
“You chose her,” Aphrodite interrupts gently.
Percy opens his mouth. But then he stops, because she isn’t saying it like an accusation.
Just a fact.
“Not consciously,” she continues. “You didn’t sit down and decide anything.” Her gaze softens, “but when one starts leaning toward someone… it recognizes them everywhere. Sometimes whole, sometimes little bits.”
Percy’s ears feel warm.
“So when I appear,” Aphrodite finishes, “your mind reaches for that, and here we are.”
Percy stares at the ground for a second.
“…This is psychological warfare,” he mutters.
Aphrodite laughs softly, “one of my epithets is Aphrodite Areia,” and for a brief moment, her expression turns oddly kind, “Be careful on this quest,” she says.
Percy glances up, “Why?”
Aphrodite’s smile returns—mysterious, knowing.
“Didn’t your father tell you, Perseus Jackson?” Aphrodite says softly, but the way she says his full name makes the back of his neck prickle. “That there are some things more powerful than those who sit upon thrones on Mount Olympus.”
Percy feels a slight shift in the air but he doesn’t answer. Aphrodite leans back slightly, fingers absently playing with one of the braids—Annabeth’s braids—and Percy has to look away for a second before it messes with his head again.
“Poseidon is seldom dramatic,” she continues thoughtfully, “and impulsive.” A small smile touches her lips. “But when he manages to be both at the same time… it usually means he’s telling the truth.”
Percy’s eyes flick back to her and she studies him for a moment, then continues more lightly:
“And the Oracle, the same one who uttered the prophecy to bequest a quest when the chilly cold waters of doubt started overtaking you… it’s wording might have been rather interesting don’t you think?”
Percy winces slightly.
“I didn’t ignore it.”
Aphrodite’s eyebrow arches.
Percy opens his mouth, closes it again before he relents, “…Okay, maybe a little.”
“And that’s the thing about fate and prophecies,” she says, voice thoughtful now. “They have a peculiar liability. They can always sound like way more than what is being spoken. Sometimes interpretations are not merely black and white.”
Percy exhales, “That’s helpful.”
“I am not Apollo, prophecies are not my domain. But I thought you’d appreciate the honesty.”
He looks at her again, suspicious, “So what are you saying? That I wasn’t supposed to come?”
Aphrodite tilts her head, “I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
For a moment she just watches him, before speaking, “that rophecies rarely tell the whole story at once.”
Percy frowns.
“They reveal themselves in pieces,” she continues. “Moments. Choices. Defying one doesn’t always mean you’ve broken fate. Sometimes it means you’ve stepped into the part that hadn’t been spoken yet.”
Percy stills, “That’s… not reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be…. But you’re right about one thing.”
“What?”
“This quest wasn’t given to you,” she says serenely, “But that doesn’t mean that you are not supposed to be in it.”
Aphrodite watches him for a long moment, and Percy still trying to untangle everything she just said.
Then she sighs softly, almost thoughtfully.
“Sometimes,” she says, “the course of fate changes in a blink.”
Her gaze drifts somewhere past him, as if she’s watching threads Percy can’t see. “The Moirai often do as they deem.”
Percy shifts uncomfortably, hearing gods talk about fate always makes him feel like a chess piece. “So we’re just… puppets?”
Her eyes snap back to him, amused.
“Oh, no,” she says lightly. “If that were true, the Fates would be terribly bored. They do weave the threads,” she explains. “But the way those threads knot together? The way they pull against each other? That part belongs to you.”
Percy frowns. “That sounds suspiciously like a riddle.”
“It’s not,” she says. “It’s simply inconvenient.”
“For who?”
“For everyone, really” she replies sweetly. “The Moirai, the gods, demigods, mortals, nature spirits… and especially the heroes.”
Percy looks down at the ground for a second, thinking about that.
“Great,” he mutters. “Love that for us.”
Aphrodite laughs quietly, “You should.”
“Why?”
“Because it means even the Fates can be surprised.”
Percy blinks. “The Fates can be surprised?”
“Occasionally,” she admits. “Usually by the ones doing something reckless, stubborn, or unexpectedly brave.” Her eyes glinted, “You’re particularly good at all three.”
Percy rubs the back of his neck, “Not sure that’s a compliment.”
“Oh, it is,” she says, before she straightens a bit where she is seated. “Just remember something, Percy Jackson.”
Percy looks directly at her.
“Fate may shift in a blink,” Aphrodite says quietly. “But the choices that move it?”
She taps his temple. “Those rarely come from here.”
She leans back again, smiling.
“They come from the place you keep trying very hard not to look at. Because if you do, change will come.”
Percy stiffens immediately. He exhales slowly, like he’s trying very hard not to scream in his head.
“You’re a goddess,” he says carefully. “You could literally be talking about anything right now.”
Her eyebrows lift, “And yet you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Percy points at her.
“That’s because you keep steering the conversation there.”
“Do I?” she says lightly.
“Yes.”
She tilts her head, “Interesting.”
Percy narrows his eyes, “That wasn’t interesting.”
“Oh, but it is,” Aphrodite replies with gentle amusement. “Because you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Pretending the direction of the conversation is something I control.”
Aphrodite lets the silence stretch for a moment, studying him with that same calm, knowing look that is extremely unfair when it’s on Annabeth’s face. Then she sighs softly, resting her elbow on the armrest again.
“You know,” she says conversationally, “most heroes react very differently when they meet me.”
Percy glances at her, “How?”
“They usually ask questions.”
“I asked questions.”
“No, you argued,” she corrects.
“That counts.”
She chuckles, “oh, but not quite.”
Percy exhales, half annoyed, “Well maybe I’d ask more questions if you didn’t keep answering them with riddles.”
“That’s because the answers you want are the ones you’re least willing to hear.”
He crosses his arms, “See? That.”
She smiles serenely. Percy looks away again, staring at the ground.. and for a moment neither of them speak.
But then Aphrodite says softly:“Do you know what makes love so powerful, Percy?”
He sighs heavily, “Please don’t say ‘because it’s mysterious.’”
“No,” she says. “Because it’s inconvenient.”
Percy blinks at her, “…Inconvenient.”
“Yes.” She gestures lazily with one hand. “Power? Convenient. Strength? Convenient. Strategy? Very convenient…. But love?”
She shakes her head, and exhales, “Love ends and starts wars. It ruins plans. It breaks logic. Ruins calmness and decorum. It makes people choose things that make absolutely no sense. It rewrites certainty.”
Percy snorts quietly, “That sounds like a bad thing.”
“Oh, it often is,” she says pleasantly.
He frowns, “That’s a weird advertisement for your domain.”
Aphrodite laughs, “Percy Jackson, if love were logical, half the stories in the world would never exist.”
She pauses, watching him.
“And most heroes would never be remembered.”
Percy looks up at that.
Something about the way she says it lands differently, quieter, more serious. Her voice isn’t teasing now. Just thoughtful.
“Achilles didn’t fight for glory alone. Orpheus crossed the Underworld for love. Penelope waited for Odysseus.”
She glances at Percy again.
“Even your father once raised storms for someone he cared about.”
Percy raises an eyebrow, “Pretty sure Poseidon raises storms for lots of reasons.”
“Yes,” she says calmly. “But not all of them are personal.”
Percy rubs the back of his neck again, “That’s still not really helping your case.”
“Oh, I’m not making a case,” she says lightly, “I’m explaining why the world works the way it does.”
“I miss monsters. At least they are straightforward,” Percy mutters. “They want to kill you. That’s the whole deal.”
“Yes,” she says fondly. “And yet somehow you survive them.”
The wind shifts faintly around them, for a moment she doesn’t look like Annabeth at all. Something older flickers through her expression, something vast, then it’s gone.
“Tell me something, Percy.”
He looks up cautiously, “What?”
“When you thought Annabeth was gone earlier what was the first thing you felt?”
Percy hesitates, but Aphrodite waits patiently.
“…Angry,” he says finally.
“Mm.”
“And scared.”
Her eyes softened, “That one came first.”
Percy exhales quietly, “Yeah.”
She nods once.
“And when you found out she was alive?”
Percy’s shoulders relax slightly just remembering it, “Relieved.”
Aphrodite smiles faintly, “You didn’t say you were proud.”
Percy frowns, “Why would I say proud?”
“Because she’s strong,” Aphrodite says. “Because she can take care of herself.”
Percy blinks, “…Well yeah. Obviously. Of course she can she is literally.. she’s Annabeth.”
“But that’s not what came to mind.”
He hesitates again, “…No.”
She leans forward slightly, “Why?”
Percy stares at her because he doesn’t actually know how to explain that. How do you explain the way his chest felt like it was collapsing earlier? The way the thought of Annabeth in danger of any kind, in any way, made everything else feel distant and wrong?
He looks away again.
“I don’t know.”
Aphrodite studies him quietly.
“You do,” she says gently. “You just don’t like the answer yet.”
Percy groans under his breath.
“Gods.”
“Yes,” she agrees cheerfully.
He shoots her a look, “That wasn’t an invitation.”
“You’re going to face many things still on this quest,” she says calmly. “Monsters. Betrayal. Fear.”
Percy nods slowly, “Sounds about right.”
“But the most dangerous part won’t be any of those.”
“What, another prophecy twist?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.
She smiles faintly, “No.”
Her gaze rests on him steadily.
“The most dangerous part will be the moment you have to choose.”
Percy frowns, “Choose what?”
Aphrodite tilts her head, “You’ll know when it happens.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
Percy sighs again, “You gods are exhausting.”
“Yes,” she says happily. “Believe me I am fairly aware.”
He mutters something under his breath, and she pretends not to hear it.
“You’ll be fine, Percy Jackson,” she says softly. “People like you always are.”
Percy snorts, “That’s not exactly a guarantee.”
“No,” she agrees.
Then she adds quietly: “But love tends to protect its investments.”
“…Your investments?”
Her smile turns mysterious again.
“Not mine.”
She taps his chest lightly with one finger.
“Yours.”
Percy freezes slightly at the contact, then she steps back again, golden fabric shimmering.
Aphrodite glances toward the horizon like she’s checking something only she can see.
“Oh dear,” she murmurs.
Percy tenses, “What?”
She waves a hand dismissively, “Nothing immediate.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
He stares at her, she smiles again.
Then she begins to fade slightly, golden light gathering around her like mist.
Percy straightens.
“Wait.”
She pauses mid-fade. “Yes?”
He hesitates.
“…Is Annabeth going to be okay?”
Something almost gentle crosses her face, brown eyes shifting into Kaleidoscope ones even as they remain on Annabeth’s face.
“She’s stronger than most heroes I’ve known,” she says quietly. “And far more stubborn.”
Percy huffs a small laugh.
“Yeah. That sounds like her.”
Aphrodite’s smile returns.
“But Percy?”
“Yeah?”
Her eyes gleam one last time.
“Even the fiercest souls need comfort sometimes, and there’s nothing wrong with wishing to be the one to provide it.”
Then she disappears in a shimmer of gold, pink and the scent of flowers.
Then instead of the car, Percy is on the floor, sitting there in the now chilly wind that lingers with the scent of Annabeth’s perfume…
…and a realization he has been trying very, very hard not to think about since dance in Westover had been interrupted.