This is a fic response to the "Luke/Percy, making up for lost time" prompt on the pjo_fic_battle on livejournal. I may take a while to get to the porn but hopefully I'll give you guys a good lead up to it... :)
When the blinding light subsided, Luke was lying on the marble floor, arms and legs spread out. Kronos' scythe turned into molten gold and was trickling its way to the hearth in golden rivulets; eerily, Luke's own blood was seeping out of him in the same way – crisscrossing in little streams away from his battered body. That, combined with the black circle of ash around him, made Luke appear like a grotesque stained glass centerpiece.
A lump formed in my throat and I found it hard to breathe, much less move. Grover helped Annabeth who determinedly limped to Luke's side, cradling the son of Hermes' blood splattered hand with two of her own. I remained standing, looking down on the fallen demigod and catching his blue eyes – pure blue, a relieved voice echoed in my head. Luke's light blue irises bore into me, flickering with the flames from the hearth, his lips were blood red and he was pressing them together as though it would keep whatever he had to say at bay. Something passed between us and all of a sudden, I was faced with flashes of my first summer at camp – that first day and night at the Hermes cabin, our team winning at Capture the Flag, one-on-one sword fighting lessons, Luke running to catch up before we left to give me a pair of his winged Converse shoes, the sparse minutes I was talking with him through an Iris message during my first quest, Luke's betrayal and the fulfillment of the Oracle's words…
And you shall fail to save what matters most in the end.
Luke wasn't looking at me anymore, which was good because I just had the biggest epiphany in the history of epiphanies and I was still reeling from impact.
"Did you love me?"
My heart began pounding, trying to break out of my ribcage. Luke seriously can not be asking that question right now. It wasn't the words that struck me; it was the grim resignation in Luke's parched voice and the fact that he was addressing Annabeth. Annabeth, who glanced up at me as though checking how I was taking the question, as if she didn't want to disappoint me of all people with her answer. Her stormy gray eyes were sympathetic as she refocused them on Luke.
"I – I thought I did… but I loved you more like a brother…"
Luke actually smiled at that, a weak tug lifted the corner of his mouth. And that, more than anything else, had my blood boiling and my eyes stinging with tears. I knew my voice would crack even before I opened my mouth but I had to say it – Luke might've given up but I've only just begun –
"Well, I do."
I thought I heard the snap of Grover and Annabeth's neck when they turned their attention to me but I was too busy glaring at Luke who was shaking his head sadly, apologizing with his eyes. I was nearly shouting, shaking with pent up anger (and yes, regret) while Luke was serenely counting down to his last breath.
"You don't have the right to die! You've just saved Olympus, saved everyone, Luke! You can't – !"
"There's no healing…"
I stepped back, jaw set tight in defiance, turning to find Grover and Annabeth's stunned expressions directed at me. I swallowed past the lump in my throat, "You guys, please, keep watch over him. I'm going to find some nectar and ambrosia."
No sooner had those words left my mouth when a side door opened.
We watched in stunned silence as a man dressed like a waiter entered the Olympians' throne room, pushing a stainless steel trolley laden with a silver domed platter, bulbous glasses, a wine bottle, and a vase of lustrous flowers. His shoulder-length wavy blond hair was tied in a low ponytail and his hazel eyes glowed as he stopped beside us.
It was just so bizarre that it took me a moment before I found my voice, by which time the guy had uncovered a platter of ambrosia squares and was pouring nectar out of the wine bottle into three glasses. "Who are you?"
Mr. Waiter flashed a smile, "I am Ganymede, dear boy, cup bearer to the gods. I came here to, ah," his eyes softened as they darted towards Luke's vulnerable form for a second "assuage the situation." He handed me a bulbous wine glass filled with nectar and I didn't hesitate to take it. In my peripheral view, Luke was shaking his head; well tough luck, I had no intention of letting him die.
Annabeth, ever sharp, shifted to lay Luke's head on her lap, making it easier for me to tip the glass against Luke's mouth; it took a while but eventually his paling skin regained some color as nectar flowed into his system. Ganymede set the platter of ambrosia between me and Annabeth before handing Annabeth her own glass of nectar. The cup bearer of Olympus then offered the sweet-smelling flower arrangement to Grover who sniffed at the bouquet before biting off the head of a beautiful yellow daisy.
Once Luke had downed half the nectar, I retracted the glass and began feeding him ambrosia. His eyes never left my face but I only met them once, with a glare that was a mixture of anger and worry, a silent demand for his cooperation.
By the time that the Olympians arrived, we had cleared Ganymede's provisions and he had retreated with his trolley back to where he came from. It was just me, a satyr, a daughter of Athena, and the hero of the great prophecy.
The first thing Hermes did was envelop Luke in a bone-breaking hug.