'Explanations'

28-Aug-2030, 1025R

Chris Rodriguez, Son of Hermes

Camp Half-Blood

Long Island, New York, USA

I don't know how, but that was somehow one of the best nights of rest I ever had... or rather, damn near twenty hours of it. No dreams, no nightmares, no random crap to wake me up in the middle of whatever... just sleep.

Oh, and Clarisse was a great cuddle buddy as always (I know, I know... stereotypical "hardass-is-actually-a-teddy-bear" yadda yadda).

"What time is it?" she groaned beside me as she rubbed her eyes and tried to get her bearings.

"About 10:30-ish," I sighed as I sloughed the covers off of me, escaping the built-up heat.

"Holy Hades... why do I still feel like crap?"

"Good question, Clar. Good question indeed."

After a quick examination of her injuries from yesterday morning's little escapade (which concluded in a tickle fight that I won, as per usual), we finally got ourselves up and dressed as we prepped for the day. Around us were several marked boxes and a few open suitcases, as we had taken up temporary residence in the Big House, having moved out of our respective cabins.

Because quite simply, it was getting a little troublesome for the two of us to follow the "no-boy-and-girl-alone-in-the-same-place" rule.

"So, Clar. Any ideas for today?"

"I gotta talk to Jackson, get some answers outta that nutjob."

"Hey, you and me both. The guy disappeared for twenty years, I'd kinda like to know what he was up to. You're good to walk, right? I can—"

"Yes, Chris. I can walk just fine. You did great with the ambrosia and nectar," she sighed, cutting off my worries with a quick smooch. "I'll let you know if there's anything wrong. Now, let's find our old friend."

"Aye-aye, madam!" I replied, snapping to attention and holding out my arm. Rolling her eyes but smiling nonetheless, she looped her arm in mine and we walked out, looking to find the son of Poseidon... Neptune... whatever, the US Navy sailor.

Speaking of the devil, there he was at the mess hall. Or rather, outside of the mess hall, talking to someone on a cell phone. Initially, I was confused as to how he managed it, but to quote the Stolls, "he's Percy freakin' Jackson."

They also said he has "plot armor," which is something I still don't understand to this day.

"Damn, brother," he sighed, drumming his fingers on his thigh as he paced. "That... that ain't good. She actually—the goddamn house? All that other crap wasn't enough? What a fu—"

"I think he's busy," I murmured, steering us towards the pavilion to give him some privacy. We proceeded to sit down at the staff table and talked with a few senior campers about the game plan for the school year that was beginning next Monday on September 2nd. While the Little Three—Annabeth, Jason, and Piper—were the main ones handling this, we still had to provide support in getting things done. They ended up going to a wide variety of schools, including the Brooklyn Academy for the Gifted.

"Good work, guys. Oh, and Will? What's the word on our wounded from Operation Azrael?" I asked as we finished up our meeting.

"Everyone's good," Will answered after a brief moment of thought. "Ambrosia, nectar, and rest will take care of the rest. Oh, and you're seriously calling it 'Operation Azrael?'"

"Eh, it was a pretty cool being on a quest literally named after the angel of death. Besides, 'Task Force Socrates?' It sounds kinda badass," Clarisse replied with a shrug.

"I second that," I added. "Made me feel like a Delta Force soldier or something like that."

"Hold on, are you telling me that's one of your fantasies?"

"... in what respect are we referring to?"

"Okay, I'm gonna leave now," Will interjected, scurrying off while muttering about "lunatic lovebirds." Clarisse was definitely a bit of a crazy girl, but hey, I'm the guy that decided to date her, so I'm probably a bit of a whacko too.

"Ah, right on schedule. Yo, Jackson!" Clarisse called, waving at the sailor as he stepped onto the pavilion, having completed his phone call. He gave her a thumbs-up in reply before making his way over to us, seeming almost unhindered by the boot on his right leg.

As he sat down across from us, I was able to get a better look at my old friend, who was a far cry from the man I met on the night of the 26th. Gone was the camouflaged warrior, and in its place was a random guy in gray cargo shorts, a plain blue T-shirt, dark sunglasses, and an FDNY ballcap. Moreover, while I could tell that he was fit, he wasn't shredded like a movie star or bodybuilder, resulting in him looking more average as a result. Hell, if it wasn't for what I saw recently, I would've thought he was a fisherman or tourist.

"Rodriguez and La Rue!" he greeted, letting his sunglasses hang from a strap around his neck, allowing us to see the rest of his grinning face. "Nice to see you're not dead!"

"What a greeting, man," Clarisse sighed with a shake of her head. "But I have to say, I'm not too surprised that it came from your mouth."

"Eh, I suppose not."

"Bro, you gotta tell us what's been happening, man. I mean, seriously: what the hell was all that yesterday?" I asked, emphasizing my point with my hands. "I mean, the tactical stuff, the grenade launcher, the machine gun, the mortar, the rocket launcher—"

"Recoilless rifle," Percy corrected, making me roll my eyes.

"Whatever! Where the hell did you learn all that?!?"

"Well, the Second Amendment is a wonderful thing."

"Okay, that cannot have possibly been the only thing."

"I suppose you're right. You see—wait a damn second!" he gasped, cutting himself off as he looked at Clarisse. "Rodriguez freakin' did it?"

"Did what?" Clarisse asked before looking down at the ring on her left hand. "Oh, right. Yeah, Chris proposed and I said yes."

"Whoa! This is huge! Congratulations, you two!" he laughed, reaching out and giving each of us a fist-bump. "My man, that's awesome! When's the wedding?"

"Saturday, then a honeymoon, then back here," I replied with a grin.

"You sly dog, you. I guess I know which part you're lookin' forward to, huh?"

"Okay, that's enough outta you, cupcake!" Gleeson declared as he joined us at the table, sitting down next to Clarisse. "There are children here, boy!"

"My bad, Coach. Sorry 'bout ambushin' your kid, by the way," Percy apologized. "Thought there was a threat. Guess there wasn't."

"Yeah... it's okay, kid. I'm just glad you got 'em out alive."

"Say, what's the deal with Max?"

"Well, all hell's broken loose. I wasn't able to contact anyone yesterday because the dad was in an extended Army exercise with his unit, the stepmom is in the hospital, and the stepbrother is in Italy on some class field trip. I managed to make contact with Max's pop this morning, and he's rolling up later today."

"Uh-huh... that doesn't sound too good."

"No it ain't. Kid damn near freaked out a coupla times, though Chuck kept an eye on him for most of it, made sure he didn't lose his head. Chiron helped out too and put the kid up in the Big House, kept 'im comfortable. He said somethin' about having a feeling that whoever Max's mama is, she doesn't have a cabin."

"So do we know who his mother is?" Clarisse asked.

"No. I've got no clue either. All I know is that in terms of raw energy... this kid's powerful. On par with the Big Three."

"Wait, you don't think—"

"No, he ain't a Big Three kid. No identifying traits," Gleeson sighed as he rubbed his head, as if physically racking his brain. "I lost sleep trying to figure it out. Besides, if Chiron ain't sure, then we've got a real mystery on our hands."

"Speaking of mysteries, let's talk about you," Annabeth said, pointing accusingly at Percy as she sat down beside him, with Jason and Piper sitting down on my side of the table.

"You are so lucky Coach said 'mystery,' or you wouldn't have had a good entrance line," Percy snarked.

"As if I need one."

"You do, Chase. You really do."

"Shut up, Percy."

"Please play nice, Annabeth," Tyson requested as he lumbered over, sitting down with enough force to make the table shake. "Hello, brother! All go well with your call?"

"Don't worry, pal. It'll all be taken care of," Percy replied with a smile as he patted his half-brother on the shoulder. "Now, as for the rest of you... fire away."

"So...you joined the Navy. What do you do?" Jason asked. "I know you said you aren't SEAL Team 6, but I can't really think of much else."

"Diver with a smidgen of weapons testing. But honestly, I don't do nearly as much as I once did, considering that I'm in charge of a team of guys that handles it," he replied.

"So what are you, a captain or something?" Piper asked.

"Nah, lieutenant commander."

"Wait a second, that's an officer rank, isn't it?" Annabeth asked. "Don't you need a college degree to be an officer?"

"Yep."

"You have a college degree?"

"Yes... what are you implying, Chase? That I'm too dumb to get a college degree? Too much of a seaweed brain? Is that what your elitist academic head tells you?" Percy shot back, his tone becoming dangerously low as he clenched his fists and glared at Annabeth, making her stumble over her response as she scooted away from him.

"W-wait, now hold on—"

"Nah, I'm just screwin' with you!" he laughed, breaking from his hardass visage as he good-naturedly clapped Annabeth on the shoulder. "Relax, Chase! What do I look like, some soft-skinned wimp on Twitter, CNN, or a college campus? Please, you can't survive in the military without bein' able to handle people talkin' crap. But to answer your question, I do have a BS in mechanical engineering... let me tell you though, it sucked. You know how much math is involved?"

"And here I thought you'd go for marine biology or some shit like that," Thalia deadpanned as she slid in next to Annabeth, receiving several stares. "... what?"

"Nice to see you too, LT," Percy sighed as he shook his head. "Now, is there anyone else that feels the need to join the conversation that I don't know about?"

"I don't think there's anyone else, brother," Tyson said, not picking up on Percy's sarcasm. "Shall I get some help from the sons of Ares and cordon off the area? "

"No need, big guy. But to answer your statement, Pinecone Face, Dad said it would be wise to get something I know for certain would assist me in a civilian career. So, of course, no journalism, sociology, art, gender studies, stuff like that, y'know?"

"Wait a sec... Poseidon gave you this advice?" Annabeth cut in.

"No, he's my father. My dad is Paul Blofis. Remember, the old soldier that scares the absolute crap outta you?"

"Your memory is as sharp as ever, I see."

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping, brother, but are you a combat veteran?" Tyson queried. "Were you in those places I've heard about... Afghanistan and Iraq?"

"Oh... over there. Well... yeah," Percy slowly replied. "Huh. It's been a while since I thought about 'em. And yeah, I saw combat. Don't ask me to describe it, because I'm not sure I can."

"You... you do realize we've all seen combat, right?" I asked, addressing the obvious elephant at the table.

"It's a bit different in this world compared to the normal world, Chris. You wanna find out, you gotta do it yourself. Movies and other media are only gonna get you so far."

"Actually, if you're a diver, what would you do in the freakin' desert?"

"One does not simply question the brass, bucko. Besides, I just did some technical work, nothing special."

"Well, you got training in assault weapons, so there's that," Piper said, making Percy freeze and slowly stare at her with an incredulous expression. "... what?"

"McLean... what did you just say?" he asked, his tone sounding more shocked than his face looked.

"'You got training in assault weapons.' Why, what is it?"

"... okay, tell me this: what is an AR-15?"

"A military-grade assault rifle with a high-capacity clip," Piper replied, resulting in Percy facepalming with a groan that sounded equally disappointed and disgusted. "What did I say?"

"No, no, I'm sorry. I forgot, you're the daughter of a celebrity from Hollywood."

"... what's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, you grew up in California, specifically in Hollywood, and your dad's an actor. So it's no surprise that you have no idea what you're talking about. Hell, every movie I've seen with your dad—at least, the ones involving firearms—were all trash, save for Operation Kayla Mueller. Now that was a masterpiece."

For those that don't know, Operation Kayla Mueller was Tristan McLean's last film—which was based on the book of a retired American special forces soldier—before he ended his career as an actor (at least according to the yahoos in the Aphrodite Cabin that keep up with celebrity gossip). I remember the movie being about the hunt for the leader of ISIS (al-Baghdadi or something like that), with the mission being spearheaded by Delta Force, the Army's elite special forces unit.

"I don't know how you get off saying—" Piper began, sounding pissed.

"Easy, Pipes," Jason interrupted. "Perce, care to elaborate?"

"... look, I know y'all live in New York, but this is a little ridiculous," Percy groaned before stopping himself. "I'm sorry, I gotta cut the douchebag attitude myself. But that aside, there's a few things I need to point out: firstly, 'assault weapons' aren't a thing, it's a term created by some jackasses that don't understand firearms; secondly, the AR-15 isn't 'military-grade,' nor is it an assault rifle. It's a semi-automatic rifle that's—in essence—the civilian variant of the M4 and M16 rifles; thirdly, thirty rounds aren't high capacity, and they go in mags, not clips; and McLean, no disrespect to your old man's acting, but the way he handled firearms in his films... it's a damn miracle there wasn't another Alec Baldwin incident."

"You mean when someone died on his set?" Gleeson asked, pounding his fist on the table. "I knew I hated him for a reason!"

"Celebrity idiocy aside, why are you praising Operation Kayla Mueller?" Clarisse asked. "I mean, I liked the movie too, but why that one specifically?"

"Because Tristan McLean was actually handling firearms correctly for once in his career: treating them like they're loaded, maintaining proper trigger and muzzle discipline, and knowing what the target is and what's beyond it," Percy explained. "There are some other rules, such as having eye and ear protection, performing maintenance, and knowing how to properly store them, but the ones I mentioned at the beginning... yeah, those are the big ones Dad taught me."

"Hey, the movie was pretty cool, though. Delta Force, Rangers, and Conan the dog were badasses! Put that S.O.B al-Baghdadi in the ground!" Gleeson exclaimed, giving me flashbacks to when he saw the film a few years ago and wouldn't shut up about how awesome it was. "Actually... was it accurate, Jackson?"

"I can't say, Coach. That was the Army's game, not the Navy's."

"But you've got a spec ops background, dontcha?"

"Well, I have worked with SOF, but like I said, this was the Army's game. I did know a Delta guy that thought it was pretty good," Percy recalled before suddenly grinning. "Though, I remember meeting a Team 6 guy who loved the movie and the corresponding book. He found it absolutely hilarious that finally, just like SEAL Team 6, Delta Force was in the spotlight and being obsessed over by the media... before the Delta guy reminded him that it took a little longer for the story of Operation Kayla Mueller to come out than that of Operation Neptune Spear."

"Wait... wasn't the latter the death of Osama bin Laden?"

"Yeah, it was. Weren't you celebrating with the mortals when it was announced?" Clarisse remembered. "Yeah, Gleeson here wore a lot of red, white, and blue for the next couple of days... did the same thing when the death of the leader of ISIS was announced. Gleeson's even the reason we have an American flag flying by the Big House. Set it up himself more than thirty years ago."

"I'll be honest, I was a little curious about that," Percy admitted. "I mean, yes, damn near everyone's American here, but I always thought the camp was basically Little Greece."

"You... you do realize that it is Little Greece," Thalia said, finally breaking her long-held silence.

"No duh, Thalia. I'm not an idiot. Speakin' of idiots though, where are the Hunters? 'Cause I want to see 'em go up against the camp."

"I'm fairly sure we're going to. Haven't done it in a couple of years, actually. Besides, now that Lady Diana's present, I'm curious to see if anything's gonna change."

"Well, Ares Cabin is itching to fight, I'll tell you that. Last time you were here, we were off somewhere else," Clarisse pointed out. "Chris, you rolled with us, didn't you?"

"Yeah, along with some other guys from Hermes and Apollo. Pretty bang-up time, that trip to Louisiana," I recalled, shivering at the memory of us getting lost in a swamp. We got our asses saved by some friendly duck hunters. What were their names... Phil? Si? Whoever they were, they had some glorious beards, and they inspired me to grow my own out.

"Yeah, those duck hunters were the reason you grew out your beard, right?"

"Yep, yep, yep."

"La Rue, you approve of this? Y'know, you're not makin' him shave or anythin' before the wedding?" Percy queried.

"To be frank... the beard looks pretty sexy," Clarisse admitted with a shrug before rolling her eyes at Piper. "Oh stop, McLean. Don't tell me you didn't imagine Grace here with a beard before."

"Cupcake, a beard will not suit you," Gleeson said after a quick look at Jason. "Though, it will help with hiding the aftermath of your stapler encounter."

"Honestly, Jason's just known for stuff related to his head: the stapler, the brick, his glasses—" Percy began before getting cut off by an indignant Jason.

"Shut up, Jackson," he huffed. "You're not one to talk."

"Oh, you mean the burns? Just a bad day at the office, Grace."

"Were you attacked by a terrorist with a flamethrower?" Gleeson asked, making some of us recoil in horror. "What? I'm just sayin'."

"No, Coach. It was an accident with a truck and its gas tank. Explosion, fumes, and some gas caught on fire. Nerve and skin damage... frankly, I'm surprised my eyes, lungs, and brain made it out undamaged. My guardian angel was workin' overtime, I guess."

"... damn. Sorry, kid," the satyr muttered as the mood dampened. Around us, campers bustled about as usual—thankfully without eavesdropping—while we were silent, trying to process what we had just heard.

"But enough of the doom and gloom!" the sailor exclaimed, a grin coming back on his face. "La Rue and Rodriguez are gettin' hitched!"

"Yeah, we know. Chris popped the question a few months back," Annabeth remarked. "We've got a big to-do this Friday and Saturday!"

"Awesome! You guys got your place? Time? Supplies? Dress? Suit—"

"Hold your horses, Jackson!" Clarisse interrupted, cutting off his rapid-fire questioning. "Dude, we got it all under control. You can shut down whatever planning mechanism the Navy or whoever taught you. It's all good. Although... there's one more detail we need to take care of."

"Perce, you're an old buddy. As such, I'd like you to be one of my groomsmen. Do you accept?" I asked, with him rolling his eyes at my overly formal tone.

"Why the hell not, dude?" Percy chuckled, reaching across and shaking my hand. "Of course I'll be a groomsman! Someone's gotta make sure you two don't get killed on your wedding day!"

"Bro, you're a groomsman, not a guard."

"Groomsguard?"

"No."

"Well hooray for weddings!" Gleeson interjected as sarcastically as he could. "I hate to be Doctor Bringdown right now, but we've got another problem: First Sergeant Turner—at least, I think that's his title—is rolling up in thirty minutes, and we gotta figure out how to play this."

"Well, did you tell Max any sort of cover story?" Annabeth asked.

"Yes, but given that his dad most likely can't see through the Mist, it's gonna be difficult to work around him. Worse, according to Max, his family hasn't had any strange occurrences before the attack that forced him and Chuck to run from Carthage, so we have nothing to base a quasi-explanation on."

"... oh, damn. And you said he was on par energy-wise with Big Three kids?"

"Yeah, which only exacerbates the problem, don't it?"

"Let the kid go home," Percy said, making many of us turn towards him in shock. "Look, he's a kid. He's too young to get caught up in this crap."

"Percy, you weren't much older than him," Annabeth pointed out. "And it's dangerous."

"Be real, Chase. We were child soldiers, all of us. I'm not against teaching weapons handling or self-defense, but come on. We were barely teenagers when we did all the shit we did against Saturn, Terra, and the rest. Why are kids handling this stuff? Why don't we shut this crap down now? I don't want any kid to go through what we did."

"It's dangerous for kids like him out in the world. Kids like us. You know that better than damn near anyone."

"I may not have had a home then, but Max does. You cut him off from his family, he's going to lose it."

"He'll live."

"Just because your family was messed up doesn't mean his is."

"Whoa, okay! Calm down!" Piper interrupted before the two could escalate their argument further. "Relax. We can figure this out without sorting to a shouting match."

"I agree with Percy," Thalia threw in, making Annabeth look towards her in shock. "I know, I know, but he has a point. Look, I was pissed when I was cut off from Jason. Imagine how pissed this kid will be when he loses his dad, stepmom, and stepbrother—all who he has good ties with, apparently. But maybe some nature spirits or someone could just keep an eye on him and intervene as necessary."

"So we're stalking the kid?" Percy asked, with the Lieutenant of the Hunt responding with a noncommittal shrug.

"Security detail of some sort? It could work," Gleeson reasoned with a nod. "We just gotta play it right. Jackson, you're a military man, so you're with me in case Mr. Soldier starts talkin' shop. Rodriguez, you too."

"Check."

A little while later, the three of us with Chuck and Max in tow stood by the farm road, waiting for First Sergeant Turner. Gleeson and Chuck had covered up their satyr parts so as to remain inconspicuous, with the former and Percy being as calm as could be—which made sense considering their experience.

Finally, a red pickup truck came up the road before grinding to a halt in front of us. Out of the driver's side door emerged a big, bespectacled, gray-haired man with a five-o-clock shadow in Army fatigues. He looked exhausted and ready to drop, but his eyes were full of energy when they locked on Max.

"MAX!" the soldier shouted, dropping to one knee as the boy rushed him, clutching him in a hug. The man returned the embrace as fiercely as his son did, rambling and even shedding a few tears. It felt a little awkward to witness such an intimate moment, but in another way, it warmed me more than the hot August sun.

Finally, First Sergeant Turner rose, holding his son with his left arm as he quickly wiped his face with his right, facing us. His eyes were sunken, his legs were shaking, but he stood tall with the strength of a determined father. It didn't take a genius to realize that he had to have driven all the way from Carthage—or wherever his Army unit did its exercise—all the way to Long Island without resting to get his son.

"Mr. Hedge, I presume?" the soldier asked, composing himself and extending his hand.

"Just Gleeson. And you must be Jeff," Gleeson replied, shaking the taller man's hand.

"Yes. Thank you so much for taking care of my son."

"Thank Chuck. When they escaped that predator, they accidentally ended up on a freight shipment, ended up close by NYC. Chris and Percy found 'em and helped them the rest of the way here."

"Really now? Well, gentlemen, I owe you a debt of gratitude as well," Jeff said, shaking each of our hands. "By the way, I contacted the cops, let 'em know about that b... er, turd's description, they're huntin' for him now. Too bad we can't string 'im up from a yardarm."

"Amen to that," Gleeson said with a grim nod.

"Good God... how can I ever repay you?"

"Don't even think about it, Jeff. You've got enough on your hands as is, my man. Soldiers, sons, and the Missus, right?"

"Yeah... hey, wait... have we met?" Jeff suddenly asked, locking eyes with Percy, who stiffened, albeit barely.

"Er... I can't say we have," Percy replied.

"Huh... you look like a younger, less-burned version of a sailor I met in Iraq during OIR... Mosul, or in the vicinity of it. We were acting as the QRF for some special ops team, and when we were extracting 'em in our Humvees, my gunner got hit. Despite being tired as crap, the sailor took the .50 and kept our Humvee safe. Crazy S.O.B., but I'll be darned if he wasn't one of the best warriors I've ever met."

"Well... whaddaya know?" Percy said after a moment of thought. However, what struck me as odd were the micro-fidgets in his hands and the brief stumble in his words, almost as if he was lying.

"Yeah. Maybe you're related to him?"

"Could just be a doppelganger."

"Okay... son, go ahead and load up."

"Okay, Dad," Max replied as his dad set him down. "See you, Chuck!"

"Bye!" Chuck responded with a wave as the kid got into his dad's truck. "Dad, am I still going back to school?"

"Yeah, I think so. That school's a good one after all," Gleeson said as he patted his son's head. "They're both going to the same school this semester. I enrolled Chuck here 'cause it's one of the best in the state."

"Well, it's a fine school, Gleeson. You movin' up there?" Jeff asked.

"If work allows it... I guess we'll have to see. Any good properties in the area?"

"Sure, sure. Just gimme a call, alright?"

"Yeah... safe drive, Jeff."

"Thanks, brother. And let me know if you ever need anything, anything at all."

And with that, the father and son drove off on the long road back to Carthage, leaving the three of us to wonder about the potential ramifications.

"Perce, I hope this was a good idea," I murmured, with my old friend nodding assent.

"Me too. But let me tell you, that boy needs his father. Throwin' kids into a world without parents, without families... well, it isn't the best way to grow up."

"Yeah..."

"Does this mean I'm going up to Carthage?" Chuck asked excitedly.

"Yes, bud. You're goin' back to Carthage. And your mama and brother and I will probably be rollin' with you to keep you and that boy safe," Gleeson replied as he clasped his son's shoulder. "Like the cupcake said, a boy needs his father."

"That reminds me, why do you call us cupcakes?" Percy asked as we walked back into the camp.

"I had a few other options, but I didn't want to get canceled, considerin' I have a wife and kids to support."

"Say what now?"

"You don't wanna know," he muttered as he looked behind us and ushered his son up the hill. I only looked at Percy, who shrugged before we continued on with the madness of the day.

We continued to go back-and-forth with Percy, talking about what had happened in the past twenty years. It was only at night, as I laid by Clarisse, that I realized just how little I understood about Percy. He'd managed to consistently shift the conversation away from him, preferring to ask about the camp and my upcoming wedding. He wasn't particularly specific about his work in the Navy either, providing answers that were actually rather vague.

"Hey, Clar? You awake?" I whispered, turning on my left side. After a little prodding, my fiancée (it still feels a bit weird to say it) turned on her right side, facing me.

"Hm? Whassup?" she murmured sleepily.

"Just thinking. Wanted to talk to you."

"... is this about Percy?"

"How'd you guess?"

"Chris," she sighed as she opened her eyes to get a better look at me. "He's always been a weird kid. There's no point in wondering why things are the way they are when it comes to him."

"I know, it's just... he's different now. I know you agreed that he oughta take part as a groomsman, but..."

"What, are you worried about him going crazy at the wedding?"

"No, just worried in general. I mean, the guy took the time to hang out with me after Mr. D took care of my delirium. Granted, he might've just been keeping an eye on me to make sure I didn't do something stupid, but it was still nice to have someone else to talk too. Plus, after the whole thing with Silena... y'know..."

"I know, betraying the camp then redeeming herself," Clarisse sighed, not sadly but more matter-of-factly. While I've never said it out loud, it was undeniable that Silena did betray the camp. There was certainly an element of deceit and possibly even blackmail on Luke Castellan's part (I'm not entirely sure, given that I don't have all the details), but she was a traitor. She did rally the Ares Cabin to action—which was honestly a whole cluster in of itself—but it's impossible for me to say how much that offset her treachery.

But in all honesty, I let the matter go many years ago. She had committed bad actions, but she was ultimately a good person, and I was happy to leave it at that.

"Chris, if Operation Azrael is any indication, Percy can take care of himself just fine. I don't know what his job is anymore, whether it's being a weapons tester or diver or some sort of special ops guy. And I really don't think it's our place to know or even try to understand."

"How is that?"

"Think about it. Everything that's happened, from the lightning thief incident to Gaea, Percy's always been in the middle of it. Even with what happened in the Sea of Monsters, Labyrinth, and rescue of Artemis, he was dead center of it all... despite technically having been a secondary player or unexpected addition to those quests. Call me a tin foil hat-wearer, but... this is Jackson's world, and we're all living in it."

"So what, he's the main character and we're just a bunch of side characters? That's why you're saying we don't need to worry about him?" I murmured incredulously. But honestly, the more I considered it, the more it made sense. It's like that one guy Connor and Travis like to talk about who's been mocked a lot, but has ended up being correct on a good few things... Jones, or something. "Eh, I guess I've heard weirder."

"Yeah..."

"Actually, you know something? When Max's dad rolled up, he said that Percy looked familiar. He looked like a Navy guy he worked with in Iraq, taking a 'fifty' when a gunner got hit and protecting their vehicle."

"Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. Percy said that wasn't him, but I don't think he was telling the truth."

"Well, given how much he shifted the conversation back to us, Chase, Grace, and the rest, I ain't exactly surprised that this is the case."

"Huh."

"Hey, that reminds me... you got the boys all set up, but since you decided to invite Perce along, he's gonna need something to wear too," Clarisse reminded.

"Well, we'll go to the same suit rental place, keep it simple. I gave the guys a heads-up, let 'em know to adjust whatever plan they've got," I recalled.

"Any idea what they're doing?"

"No, they've been pretty tight-lipped about the bachelor party. 'Bout the only thing I got outta Sherman was that we weren't going to a strip club because it'd be too boring."

"If your best man is calling a strip club 'boring,' then you might wanna watch yourself there, Chris. Especially since he's got the Stolls as his right and left-hand men."

"Yeah... okay, so we've got Chiron, Percy, Annabeth, the half-immortals, and the ones from our cabins that we invited. That's gotta be what, thirty, forty people?"

"I don't think the number actually matters, considering that we're doing it on the beach right next to camp. It's not like catering is a concern."

"Yeah... surprised you picked that locale."

"Remember, this was when I thought Percy was dead. I felt like I owed the guy one or two, so might as well do it by the water. But don't you tell him I said that."

"Yes dear," I chuckled as I pulled her close, pressing my lips to her forehead. "Also, I've got the honeymoon all set up... should be a bangin' good time."

"Literally, I hope," Clarisse snarked back, making me boop her on the nose as we held in our laughter.

"Down, girl. Don't go dropping your panties just yet."

"Oooh... yes, sir."

"... I'm not gonna respond to that."

Sorry about another relatively short chapter, but I'm having a bit of an issue in terms of the story moving forward. The plan is to have it ready in the next week or two, but Murphy's Law is always afoot. Besides, I'm looking into a few other writing ideas. Maybe you'll be interested, maybe not, but I'll let you know how it goes.

Moreover, I just realized how many problems there are within the current manuscript of WSM, and am going back to fix them (it's gonna take some time though, so please bear with me). This will include some adjustments to Paul Blofis's history... because why the hell not?

Also, I have to apologize of a major mistake I recently discovered: I screwed up Percy's unit big-time. You see, I thought a DEVGRU troop was basically a SEAL platoon with some rank replacements. In other words, what I thought happened was that:

The OIC is an LCDR, not an LT

The AOIC is an LT, not an LTJG

The NCOIC is an MCPO, not a CPO/SCPO

The LPO (PO1) is replaced by an LCPO (SCPO)

Not only is there apparently not an AOIC on the troop level, but the troop's OIC doesn't seem to do nearly as much as his enlisted men do in terms of being a pipe-hitter.  Also, there aren't two eight-man squads like a standard platoon, but four six-man teams (I still need to confirm the actual number of teams per troop, however).

 I'm honestly not sure what to do about this. On one hand, I could keep going and have a story that isn't true to its source material (i.e., DEVGRU and the rest of the military). On the other hand, I could adjust it to the actual troop structure, resulting in a heavily altered story.

This option presents me with two possibilities: I could leave him as the troop commander, but that keeps him in the TOC more often than it should. Or, I could make him a senior chief petty officer—and thus a team leader—but the problem is that even when going by canon Percy Jackson, his qualities are more like an officer than an NCO (i.e., more planning/leadership skills over technical expertise), though his fatal flaw does continue to be shown from when he was prior enlisted in the WSM universe (i.e., officers handle mission planning/coordination and the overall unit while NCOs handle mission execution and smaller subunits/individual personnel).

Let me know if I'm getting the differences between officer and NCO leadership correct, because this is what I'm seeing based on Internet searches (like I said, I'm a Level 66 Keyboard Warrior, not a military historian/expert/member).

Anyways... Chris and Clarisse. Two characters—like the Stolls—that are just extras in this world that is Percy Jackson's. I often wonder what they think of all the weird occurrences that go on around this man. As for CTF and the wedding, they're definitely going to be part of the story.

Regarding the dialogue with Percy explaining firearms, I would like to point out that I'm not an expert by any means, so please don't crucify me if I made some errors.

As for the little bit with Tristan McLean, the fictional movie/book Operation Kayla Mueller, and the D-Boys ending up in the spotlight? Yeah... figured it'd be fun to flip the script for a minute, since CAG fanboys are always saying "DeLtA's tHe bEsT bEcAuSe tHeY'rE QuIeT pRoFeSsIoNaLs." So then why the hell aren't you wetting your pants over the ISA? Or the RRC? Or the JCU? Or the 24th STS? Or hell, even the CIA's freakin' SAC?

I'm sorry for the dramatics, but it just seems like a really stupid way to evaluate what the best unit is (not to take anything away from CAG operators, because they are some of the best warfighters on the planet). Because while SOF are certainly elite, sometimes you don't need a small team of super secret squirrels with quad-NODs and non-existent helicopters. Sometimes you need a massive horde of infantrymen with tanks and artillery.

Speaking of which, guess who just got reactivated? The 11th Airborne Division! Glad to have you with us, Arctic Angels!

As always, thanks for reading, and make sure to comment your thoughts!

Until we meet again,

- ADF-2

P.S - Can anyone guess as to which unit 1SG Turner is a part of? Extra credit if you can tell me which IBCT he's a part of!

AND HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO ALL!