A/N: I went to a funeral recently, so I´ve been thinking a lot about life and death. Also, love.

I don´t even know; I feel my thoughts are scattered- but, hey, this is me trying to push them into something coherent enough.

I don´t own Percy Jackson or the Heroes of Olympus: Rick Riordan does.

It crashes into him like the tide, pure and strong, reckless in its mad devotion.

He loves her.

It bubbles up from his mouth in the form of a faint whisper and into her hair; it presents itself as a crimson blush on her cheeks and a knowing smile upon her lips.

She smiles as he states what she only considers obvious and thinks about telling him so. But, no, she reminds herself- sometimes we need to be reminded of even the most basic of things, she thinks, like love. Or someone loving us. And that's okay, really, because we are forgetful beings.

And, she, too, can feel it against her, lapping gently at her whole being. Threatening to overtake her, to engulf her; the most powerful tide of all: love.

She leans against the rail of the Argo II and closes her eyes. A salty breeze caresses her face, slightly lighthearted, and she sighs happily when their fingers entwine.

"I do, too," she affirms, now opening her eyes and staring into his. Deep green, like the sea. Deep and honest and powerful and playful and loving and Percy.

But then his eyes cloud over with worry and hers do, too, (the war, the prophesy, the oath-) so she buries her head in his chest and tries to reassure herself.

Tomorrow will be just another victory, she chants to herself, like a mantra, like a promise, and she whispers this to him. He nods, suddenly numb, but his arms tighten around her, protectively.

And she is reassured.

Little did Annabeth know that in just twenty-four mind-numbing hours she would be holding Percy's lifeless body as tightly as he was holding hers that night. And there is no consolation to be found in that fact alone, or anywhere.

The tide knocks her down to her knees, any trace of sweetness and gentleness long gone by then- it is nothing but a great, echoing space, filled only with her most well-kept memories, mummified in a thick layer of laughter, underwater kisses and the taste of the sea.

Of him.

Annabeth closes her eyes and lets herself drown.