Percy Jackson Avenger and S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent

2023

Life carried on in its new rhythm for a few months. Both Annabeth and I were working really hard (she'd got herself a job in DC at the State Department that had the craziest hours and an NDA involved, so I assumed that it was code for CIA), so the fact that we only saw each other when I could wrangle a day's leave off Fury (like dragging a stick away from a Rottweiler, jeez) wasn't that big of a deal.

Nevertheless, I still felt that I wasn't doing a particularly good job of being a good boyfriend, not least because 90% of the times that I was allowed to go see her were because I was on injury leave anyway. She complained that she had no good pictures of me to show off to her workmates, because I almost always had a black eye or a split lip when I saw her.

Such is life, I guess.

Early April, and Delta were prepping for a fairly big op involving toppling the leaders of a major drug-running syndicate down in Colombia. Stereotype, sure, but nobody was denying that there were drugs there.

Even Coulson had been called in, which was a little bit concerning until he informed us that the op would be used to train up his new strategic protégé, from which I inferred that he didn't expect it to go too badly wrong.

Yeah, right, since when has any 'cake walk' op actually been easy for us? Hell, my first ever mission ended with me being shot in the sternum and being unable to walk for like a month.

The first sign of any hiccup was when we were finally introduced to the deck jockey who was going to be hiding in the safe house shouting instructions at us while we did all the dangerous stuff.

This, for context, occurred when we were boarding the jet to leave for Colombia.

Coulson actually disembarked when he saw us arrive in the hangar, which told me that there was something off, even as he gave a sort of half-wave and polite nod (which for Coulson is the equivalent of waving frantically whilst jumping up and down and yelling your name) to try and tell us not to read too much into it.

"Just before we board," he began, waving away Clint's inquisitive looks, "I want to say that this was not my idea."

I hefted my bag, a little apprehensive. "So...?"

He sighed almost imperceptibly and turned around to get back onto the jet. "I think we'd better get this over with."

We followed him on board. I swung my bag off my shoulder to stow it when I caught sight of somebody awfully familiar sitting on the only occupied seat, legs strewn over the arm rests.

Come to think of it, I wasn't sure why I hadn't twigged it before.

Annabeth waved and shot a lazy grin at me. "Surprised, Seaweed Brain?"

"Uh, yeah?" I replied. "A little?"

Natasha scoffed at me. "How'd you not work it out, dumbass?" She plonked herself down in the seat next to Annabeth. "I worked it out months ago. All the clues were there."

Were they? Were they really all there? (They were.) In my defense, Clint also looked completely dumbstruck. As in, dodo-materialized-in-bolt-of-lightning-three-feet-away dumbstruck. That helped to reassure me somewhat.

I finished stowing my bag without making an idiot of myself and took the seat on the other side of Annabeth. There was the beginnings of a stupid grin on my face, I could tell.

"Wow, we're quite the pair," I managed, without stuttering or anything.

She smiled. "I knew that your real life was here, not with the snot-nosed brats over at Camp." She grinned at me. "But I also knew that you felt guilty about not spending enough time with me and -" she cut me off as I went to protest "- we both knew that your two lives weren't compatible timewise. So I worked the problem. I've had quite a lot of tactical experience over the years; I figured Coulson could find a position for me somewhere."