The Midnight Run and the Morning After

The hotel suite in Florence was the kind of place that made Percy feel like he was walking through a museum where everything was made of gold and he was the only thing capable of breaking it. The ceilings were painted with frescoes of angels that looked suspiciously like they were judging his choice of footwear, and the air smelled like expensive lilies and old money.

Frederick Chase was pacing the length of the Persian rug, his phone pressed to his ear, barking orders at someone in London. He didn't even look up when Annabeth and Percy walked in, though his eyes did a quick, clinical sweep of his daughter to ensure she was still in one piece. He lingered for a fraction of a second on the Versace bag in Percy’s hand, his jaw tightening, before turning his back to them.

"Go to your room and get changed for dinner, Annabeth," Frederick said, muffled by the phone. "We have a reservation at Enoteca Pinchiorri in an hour. Dress appropriately."

Annabeth rolled her eyes behind her father’s back, grabbing the shopping bags from Percy’s hands. Her fingers brushed his, a lingering touch that sent a jolt of electricity up his arm. She gave him a wink—a secret, mischievous little thing—before disappearing into her bedroom.

Percy stood awkwardly in the foyer, shifting his weight. He felt like a glorified coat rack. Being a bodyguard for the Chase family was ninety percent boredom and ten percent sheer terror, but with Annabeth, that ten percent was usually replaced by a strange, fluttering tension in his chest that he wasn't supposed to have for a client.

"Jackson," Frederick said, finally hanging up his phone. He turned, his gaze sharp and piercing. "A word."

Percy straightened his posture, slipping into his professional persona. "Yes, sir?"

"I noticed you were 'securing the perimeter' at a gelato shop for forty-five minutes," Frederick said, stepping closer. He was shorter than Percy, but he had a way of making himself feel like a giant. "And I noticed that my daughter was laughing. Quite loudly."

"She’s had a stressful semester, Mr. Chase," Percy replied evenly, though his heart was thumping. "I figured a bit of levity would be good for the principal’s morale. Keeps her cooperative."

Frederick narrowed his eyes. "Levity is fine. Distraction is not. You are here to be a shadow, not a playmate. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

"Good. Now, go get something to eat. You’ll be standing outside the restaurant tonight. I don't want you inside; it’s a private business dinner. But if so much as a suspicious pigeon looks at the door, I expect you to be on it."

"Understood."

Percy retreated to his own room, which was down the hall. It was smaller than Annabeth’s but still nicer than any apartment he’d ever lived in. He stripped off his sweat-dampened polo and splashed cold water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, pushing his blonde curls back.

"Don't fuck this up, Jackson," he whispered to his reflection. "She’s the boss's daughter. She’s eighteen. You’re a professional. Stop looking at her like she’s the sun."

But he knew it was a lie. He’d been in love with Annabeth Chase since he was sixteen and she was fourteen, back when he was just an intern at her father’s security firm and she was a bratty teenager who used to hide his car keys just to see him get flustered. Now, she was a woman—beautiful, brilliant, and entirely too observant. And she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

***

Dinner was a long, grueling affair of standing in the humid evening air outside a 16th-century palace. Percy kept his eyes moving, scanning the street, checking the dark corners of the piazza. He looked the part of the perfect guard: stoic, silent, and dangerous.

Inside, he knew Annabeth was probably picking at a three-hundred-dollar plate of pasta and wishing she was back at the river with him.

Around eleven o'clock, the heavy oak doors of the restaurant swung open. Frederick emerged first, looking satisfied, followed by two Italian businessmen in sharp suits. Finally, Annabeth stepped out. She had changed into a deep emerald green silk dress that made her brown skin look like polished mahogany. Her knotless braids were pinned up in an intricate crown, and she looked like royalty.

She caught Percy’s eye and sighed, a tiny, weary sound.

"Everything alright, Miss Chase?" Percy asked, his voice professional for the benefit of her father.

"My brain is melting, Percy," she muttered as she walked past him toward the waiting car. "If I have to hear one more thing about urban planning in the 15th century, I’m going to scream."

"It’s educational," Frederick said, stepping into the car after her. "Jackson, we’re heading back. We have an early start tomorrow. We’re taking the train to Rome."

The ride back to the hotel was silent. Annabeth stared out the window at the passing lights of Florence, her chin resting in her hand. Percy sat in the front seat next to the driver, his eyes on the rearview mirror, watching the reflection of her eyes.

Once they were back in the suite, Frederick headed straight for his office. "Goodnight, Annabeth. Jackson, you’re dismissed. Get some sleep."

"Goodnight, Daddy," Annabeth said, her voice sweet and dutiful.

Percy nodded to Frederick and retreated to his room. He kicked off his boots, sighed in relief, and collapsed onto the bed. He was exhausted, but his mind was racing. He kept thinking about that moment on the river wall, the way the light had hit her eyes, the way she had leaned into him.

A soft, rhythmic tapping sounded at his door.

Percy froze. He sat up, reaching instinctively for the holster he’d placed on the nightstand, before realizing where he was. He walked to the door and peered through the peephole.

Annabeth was standing in the hallway. She had kicked off her heels and was holding them in one hand. She looked around nervously before tapping again.

Percy opened the door just a crack. "Annabeth? What are you doing? Your dad is right down the hall."

"My dad is on a Zoom call with Tokyo," she whispered, pushing her way into his room. "He won't be out for hours. I’m bored, Percy. And I’m hungry. That dinner was all tiny portions of things I couldn't pronounce."

Percy closed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms. "You’re going to get me fired. Or executed. Possibly both."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic," she said, tossing her heels onto his bed and sitting down. "I want to go out."

"It’s midnight, Annabeth."

"It’s Florence! The city is just waking up," she countered, her brown eyes flashing with that stubborn spark he loved and feared. "There’s a secret bakery three blocks from here. They sell fresh cornetti to the locals at one in the morning. If you take me, I’ll tell my dad you’re the best guard in the history of guards."

Percy groaned, rubbing his face. "And if we get caught?"

"We won't. We’ll sneak out the service entrance. Come on, Percy. Please? I’ve been a 'good girl' all day. I need some sugar and some fresh air that doesn't smell like my father’s cigars."

Percy looked at her—really looked at her. She looked small on his giant hotel bed, her braids slightly mussed, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He was a weak, weak man.

"Fine," he hissed. "But if we die, I’m telling God it was your fault."

"Deal," she chirped, jumping up.

They moved like ghosts through the hotel. Percy knew the layout of the service corridors—it was part of his job to know every exit. They slipped past a sleepy-looking janitor and out into the cool, damp air of a side alley.

The streets of Florence at night were a different world. The tourists were gone, replaced by the low hum of Vespas and the distant sound of laughter from hidden bars. Annabeth grabbed Percy’s hand as they darted across a cobblestone street, her laughter echoing off the ancient stone walls.

"Slow down, Wise Girl," Percy whispered, though he was smiling. "You’re going to trip."

"I don't trip," she said, pulling him toward a nondescript metal door where a faint smell of yeast and sugar was wafting out.

She knocked three times. A small window slid open, and a pair of tired eyes looked out. Annabeth spoke in rapid, fluent Italian—something Percy didn't even know she could do—and a moment later, the man handed her two warm paper bags.

"You speak Italian?" Percy asked, stunned, as they walked away, clutching the hot pastries.

"I spent three summers here when I was a kid while Daddy was working on a project in Milan," she said, pulling out a pastry covered in powdered sugar. "I had to learn how to order food, didn't I?"

They found a quiet spot on the steps of a darkened church. The air was still, and the moon was a silver sliver hanging over the Duomo.

"This is better than Versace," Percy admitted, biting into his cornetto. It was filled with warm Nutella, and he let out a low groan of approval. "Okay, you win. This was worth the risk of being deported."

Annabeth sat close to him, their shoulders touching. "I hate the fancy stuff, Percy. I mean, I like the clothes, sure. But the rest of it? The 'important' dinners, the constant watching what I say, the way people look at me like I’m just an extension of my father’s bank account... it’s exhausting."

Percy looked at her, seeing the vulnerability she usually kept hidden behind her sharp tongue and designer handbags. "You’re not an extension of him, Annabeth. You’re smarter than he is, for one thing."

She laughed softly. "Don't let him hear you say that."

"I’m serious. You’re going to run the world one day. And not because of his money. Because you’re you."

Annabeth turned to look at him, her face inches from his. The powdered sugar was smudged on her upper lip, and without thinking, Percy reached out with his thumb to brush it away.

His hand lingered on her cheek. Her skin was warm and soft, and she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut.

"Percy," she breathed.

"I know," he whispered. "I’m not supposed to."

"I don't care what you’re supposed to do," she said. She reached up, her fingers tangling in the blonde curls at the nape of his neck. "I’ve wanted to do this since I was sixteen."

"Annabeth, your dad—"

"Is three blocks away and busy with Tokyo," she finished.

She pulled him down, and finally, Percy stopped thinking about protocols, and paychecks, and the wrath of Frederick Chase. He kissed her.

It tasted like sugar and Nutella and years of suppressed longing. It was clumsy at first—Percy was terrified of breaking her, and Annabeth was eager and breathless—but then it deepened. Percy wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

She was so small in his arms, but she felt like everything.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were gasping for air. Percy rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed.

"Holy shit," he muttered.

Annabeth let out a shaky laugh, her hands still resting on his chest. "Language, Jackson."

"Shut up," he said affectionately, kissing her again, softer this time. "We are in so much trouble."

"Only if we get caught," she reminded him, her eyes shining with triumph. "And you’re the best guard in the world, remember? You won't let that happen."

"You’re a menace," Percy said, but he couldn't stop smiling.

They finished their pastries in a comfortable, charged silence, watching the stars over the Italian skyline. For a few hours, they weren't the heiress and the hired help. They were just two people in a beautiful city, caught in the gravity of each other.

***

The walk back to the hotel was slower. They kept their fingers intertwined until they reached the service entrance, where Percy reluctantly let go.

They crept back up to the suite, their hearts in their throats every time a floorboard creaked. When they reached the hallway, the light under Frederick’s office door was still on.

"Go," Percy mouthed, pointing toward her room.

Annabeth leaned in, giving him one last, lingering kiss on the cheek. "See you for breakfast, Seaweed Brain. Make sure you look professional."

"I hate you," he whispered back, though his eyes told a different story.

He watched her slip into her room before he retreated to his own. He fell into bed, still smelling like her perfume and the sweet scent of the bakery. He knew that tomorrow, the walls would go back up. He would wear the suit, he would stand at the door, and he would call her "Miss Chase" in front of her father.

But as he drifted off to sleep, he knew one thing for certain: the Golden Boy was officially compromised, and he didn't regret a single second of it.

The next morning, the sun was streaming through the windows when a loud banging sounded at Percy’s door.

"Jackson! Wake up! We have a train to catch!" Frederick’s voice boomed.

Percy bolted upright, adrenaline dumping into his system. He scrambled out of bed, threw on a clean shirt, and opened the door.

Frederick was standing there, looking sharp in a navy suit. He looked Percy up and down, his eyes narrowing.

"You look like you didn't sleep a wink," Frederick noted.

"Just... alert, sir," Percy lied, his voice gravelly. "Always on guard."

"Hmph. Well, get moving. Annabeth is already at the breakfast table. She seems to be in an unusually good mood this morning."

Percy walked into the main room of the suite. Annabeth was sitting at the table, sipping an espresso. She was wearing a white sundress and a wide-brimmed hat, looking like she’d had ten hours of beauty sleep.

When she saw Percy, she didn't say a word. She just raised her cup in a silent toast, a tiny, knowing smirk playing on her lips.

"Good morning, Jackson," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "I hope you’re ready for Rome. I hear the shopping there is even better than Florence."

Percy felt a cold sweat break out on his neck as Frederick sat down next to her, opening a newspaper.

"God help me," Percy muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Jackson?" Frederick asked without looking up.

"I said... I’ll go check on the luggage, sir," Percy replied.

As he turned to leave, he heard Annabeth’s soft, melodic giggle. It was going to be a very long, very dangerous summer. And Percy Jackson wouldn't have it any other way.