Look! Look at shiny, distracting oneshot! Now you've all forgotten that I haven't posted anything that actually matters lately, right? Right? /Desperate.

This is a vaguely Rico-themed fic in which Rachel decides it's time to hand over her Oracular crown after a decade in Apollo's service. She's gone without for too long and has finally decided it's time she stopped watching and started participating before she loses the chance forever.

Enjoy, I guess?

Marz.

Looking around the apartment, Rachel felt like she'd done everything right. Banners hung? Check. Caterers? Check. A hoard of Annabeth's friends without Y chromosomes harangued, cajoled, herded, bullied, bribed and persuaded to save the date, to turn up, to register for gifts and above all to keep it a secret? Treble freaking check.

The last part had been the most exhausting. There had been countless emails and texts telling people to show up early to keep the surprise, questions to field about dress code, where her apartment was (Park Avenue, yes — seriously), and an endless list of queries that had driven her more than once to vodka cocktails of Nico's creation just to stop her pulling her hair out.

There were helium balloons and a table full of gifts and another full of food. Rachel had made a playlist of soft, easy-listening music and it was playing in the background behind the low buzz of conversation. It was drowning out the soft patter of rain outside, the gentle spattering it made as it ran off the gutters. The champagne was flowing — Annabeth an island in the middle of the flow, naturally — and there was general fun, laughter and merriment.

Surely that meant that she'd done everything right?

Annabeth had been surprised, she thought, even though there was no way Rachel believed for a second she's successfully managed to keep something of this scale from Annabeth completely. Annabeth was both wily and crafty when it came to wheedling information out of people, but even if she hadn't been completely surprised it looked like she was having fun so what was wrong?

Rachel looked around at the party, at the gathered women dressed in pastels, and realised that she must look like a maniac. Here she was, standing in the middle of it all, grinning like a lunatic. Her face actually hurt she was smiling so hard but she couldn't stop. It was a nervous habit.

Preparation for the day had not just involved pulling the party together, oh no. It had also involved a trip to the Aphrodite cabin and now there was enough gunk in her hair that she had glumly resigned herself to shampooing it out for days. There was so much product in her hair just to tame it that she felt like she could supply every kindergarten in state with enough paste to keep them making macaroni and glitter collages through to the end of the decade.

What was more, she was wearing an actual dress, one that her mother might — shock, horror — approve of. It was without rips or doodling and had actually won her a lot of compliments despite the fact that it was uncomfortable to wear, as were the heels, but still she smiled.

Because that was just what you did, right? It had been drilled into her for as long as she could remember — you just kept smiling. No matter what life threw at you, for all the time you were in public you just smiled and let it hit you full on in your straining face.

The worse things get, the wider you smile.

No one had ever made a scene by smiling too hard, by looking too happy. She was a Dare and the Dares belonged in the upper echelons of New York society; they were WASPs through and through and they didn't show emotion in public or belong to a crowd of people who did. Letting other people know what you were really thinking just wasn't the done thing, darling.

You smile the widest just as your insides blow apart.

In her many years of reluctant attendance at her mother's behest to parties thrown by New York's crème de la crème, she had seen people practically implode in public when some scandal or other was revealed. And yet none of the people had shown more than the merest flicker across their faces, even for those people whose very worlds were crumbling around them as others looked on.

Her face was killing her, but what was the alternative?

The party looked like it was going well and everyone was having a good time so why did she feel that everything was so… wrong? Was it her?

At that thought, she drained her glass and put the empty flute on a tray waltzing past her, snagging another one before the waitress holding it aloft was out of reach. She moved slowly towards the couch, badly managing the low heels. Annabeth was holding court in Rachel's living area. She was smiling and glowing and there were a gaggle of handmaidens around her cooing and congratulating.

At the sight of it, Rachel felt her stomach drop and her heart flutter, so she drank some more champagne. What was wrong with her? Annabeth was her friend — she loved her like a sister. She was happy for her. And what was even better, it was nice to see that some happiness could arise from the ashes of despair that living the demigod life brought. Lord Zeus knew that she'd Seen enough of that to last a thousand lifetimes.

The new glass of champagne was very suddenly empty and Rachel felt it buzzing in her head. Annabeth looked so happy. Her wedding and engagement rings were glinting on her finger. She was smiling a genuine smile, not like Rachel's forced one, and her cheeks were pulsating with health and vitality. And why shouldn't they be? She had a master's degree, the perfect husband, job and life and she was only twenty-six. Rachel couldn't think of anyone who deserved it more, not after everything.

"Rachel!" Annabeth said, patting the couch next to her.

Rachel blinked, snapping out of her trance. Annabeth's face had broken into a smile and she was flapping commandingly at the people sitting next to her, trying to make them budge up, but suddenly a latecomer to the party (how many emails did Rachel send out about coming early) grabbed Annabeth's hand mid-flap.

Annabeth gave a surprised blink of her own as she was pulled into an embrace and then her stomach was being babbled over all over again. Annabeth tried to truncate the interaction so she could turn back to Rachel, but Rachel shook her head.

"Don't worry about it," Rachel said. "I'll catch up with you later."

Annabeth frowned. "Rachel, no. You organised all of this. Come sit with me." She tried to get up but didn't quite make it, and then suddenly there was a flock of women around her demanding that she didn't try, pressing her back down to the couch.

"Later," Rachel said, picking up yet another flute of champagne from a passing tray and smiling as Annabeth visibly clenched at the fussing. "I promise we'll catch up later."

She didn't really know many of Annabeth's friends. Most of them were friends from college or work; there were a few attendees from Camp, but there were only a few campers who could get over the fact that she might soon prophesise their grisly demises for long enough to make a conversation with them pleasurable. That ruled most of them out.

Sighing, she turned her back on Annabeth and walked awkwardly away, each faltering step in her heels a miserable plod, a drumbeat reverberating around in the empty cavern she suddenly seemed to have in her chest. People were smiling; why wasn't that spreading to her? Sure, her face was smiling but she sure as hell wasn't smiling on the inside.

There was something she couldn't put her finger on, godsbedamned. What was it that felt so wrong? She was cutting a dead and empty swathe through a party of people having a good time; why wasn't she having a good time as well? She felt like a paralysed limb; hanging there, totally useless and without any feeling, while the rest of the body got on just fine without after the briefest period of adjustment.

Oh gods, more champagne. She couldn't be comparing herself to paralysed limbs, could she? That was just tragic.

As she picked up another glass, she was aware that her fingers were tingling on the crystal and there suddenly wasn't enough air in the entirety of her airy, lofty penthouse. The well-wishers and the gifts and the bunting and the balloons and the food and caterers and the music were all sucking away the fresh air as they crowded in, leaving nothing for her but their stale exhalations.

Her chest felt like it was being squeezed by iron bands and suddenly her ribcage and diaphragm wouldn't expand enough anymore to let in the air she needed. She was standing in a crowd and feeling like the only one there, the only one with a heart of stone, and it terrified her. What was happening? Was this some side effect of playing host to the Oracle for too long? Was she dying from the inside out? Being petrified from the inside out?

Why else couldn't she just be happy that Annabeth was happy, that Percy was happy, and that the future ahead for them was nothing short of rosy and golden? What was wrong with her? Was she not a human being anymore?

The tingling in her fingers began to spread up her hands and she didn't trust herself to hold the glass anymore so she put it down, half empty, on an end table. It was just too damn hot and stale in here, that was it. There were too many people using up all of the oxygen and it felt like her heart and her lungs were going to burst through her sternum unless she found them something to breathe soon.

She turned to the French windows and the terrace beyond. It was still raining outside but she didn't care. On her way to the doors she stumbled and before she knew it she was taking off her shoes, fumbling with the buckles, half-sobbing in desperation as she tried to make herself more mobile so she could get out, so she could escape, and then the shoes were off and she was flinging them away from her.

There were people looking now but she didn't care; finally, she was free of her shoes and she headed for the doors, wrenching them open.

A gust of wind snatched up the gossamer white curtains when she opened the doors and they reared up like ghostly horses, snagging on her face and hair. One door was torn from her grasp as the wind caught it, banging it open into the wall and Rachel darted out into the rain.

Despite the fact that it was July and the rain was at least warmer than if she'd pulled this stunt in the middle of January, Rachel immediately felt the chill of the falling water biting into her exposed shoulders and arms. Her bare foot splashed into a puddle as she made her way over to the concrete balustrade that ran around the edge of the terrace.

Many storeys down below, there was traffic in the streets. She watched it for a little bit, trying to get lost in it, as another gust of wind caught her hair, blew her damp dress back to stick to her legs. There was more air out here. She could breathe. In. Out. In and out. That's what people did, right? She still couldn't believe that she had to remind herself how to breathe sometimes, after twenty-six years of doing it perfectly fine (usually) without any such interference, thank you very much.

Her knuckles were glowing white as she gripped the balustrade. She suddenly realised that there was a splash of watery red on the concrete; it was coming from the tips of her fingers, from nails she hadn't even realised or felt that she'd splintered.

What was wrong with her? The one time she'd actually needed to go and see a shrink and not just because her hamster died had been when she was seventeen and had had her first panic attack in the supply closet of the art department at Clarion and passed out cold on the floor.

She had barely made it to the closet before the green mist and the triplicate Oracle-speak had started. It had been yet another prophecy, another call to make to Chiron to tell someone else that they had a quest, and after she'd made the call she had found that she couldn't breathe and the next thing she knew, she was in the nurse's office spattered with paint.

That particular camper had come back, but there had been many who had not.

After the nurse heard the words 'overwhelmed' there were guidance councillors emerging from the woodwork and the principal calling her parents and she'd ended up in a shrink's office, with him asking her if she felt that she was carrying the burden of any unnecessary responsibilities around.

Ha.

And then, because he was her mother's choice and used to dealing 'discretely' with her mother and her mother's friends, he had written her out a prescription for Xanax and told her to come back and see him for refills or if anything ever changed. Just like that.

After taking her first pill, she'd woken up four hours later with a thumping headache, a mouth like Ghandi's flip-flop and a slight tremor in her hands and decided she'd just have to deal with the panic attacks solo.

When she was the Oracle, she banged her gavel of green mist and sentenced campers to death. The shrouds she'd seen go up in flames because the Oracle had demanded a quest chilled her, and it was all her fault. She was culpable for empty beds, for bereaved parents, up and down the country and the thought of that terrified her almost as much as it seemed to terrify campers. It was a lot to deal with.

But this was different. The stress of being the Oracle did set off her panic attacks more than she'd like to admit, but this was a freaking baby shower, not a life or death situation. No one was going to die if Annabeth got two of the same gift from the register.

Her legs felt like they were made of jello suddenly. They were quivering and they could barely hold her up. The tingling was in her toes now as well as her hands and once again she triedto breathe but it wasn't easy like those stupid self-help books said it was.

"Rachel?" Annabeth asked. She stepped out of the apartment into the rain, easing herself carefully down the step onto the terrace. The rain began plastering her hair down, dulling it to the tawny shade of a lion's mane.

"Annabeth, you'll catch your death!" her stepmother said almost as soon as Annabeth stepped outside, appearing at the door.

Rachel felt her breath hitch again. So much for not drawing attention to herself. People, plural, were noticing her freak out.

Annabeth's nostrils flared. "Then fetch me an umbrella," she said, and her voice was sweet but the tone beneath it pure steel.

"Come inside," her stepmother demanded shortly, reaching out a hand to her. "I'm sure Rachel will understand that you are in no condition to be outside in this weather. Do you want me to talk to her?" Someone handed her an umbrella and she put it up, walking out onto the terrace sheltering her and Annabeth beneath it. "Rachel, are you okay; do you need help? A doctor?"

Rachel couldn't speak but she shook her head, a definite no. The last thing she wanted was a doctor; they'd just give her more pills and Annabeth's day would be ruined. She wished she could fly; she was rapidly running out of oxygen out on the terrace, too, and now she needed to fly to somewhere in the middle of nowhere without the city sucking the air from her lungs.

"Then come inside, both of you," Annabeth's stepmother said authoritatively. Annabeth's stepmother was only a short woman but she drew herself up to her full height, taking on the non-nonsense stance she had adopted so often during Annabeth's youth, a stance that should have told them not to mess with her. "This has pneumonia written all over it."

"I'm wearing my jacket," Annabeth said shortly. "And historically speaking, women have been working in the fields and squatting to give birth in all weathers for hundreds of years. I think I can manage a rainy afternoon without dropping down with the vapours."

Rachel turned and looked at Annabeth. Even in her maternity top, the skin of Annabeth's stomach was still protruding from underneath it, spiderwebbed with veins and stretchmarks. Her bellybutton had turned inside out as her stomach swelled and was pressed against the taut material. She was radiant; huge, but radiant in her pregnancy. This whole stupid shower was meant to be about Annabeth and the baby and now Annabeth was stuck out in the rain with her.

"Your hand…" Annabeth said, pushing away the umbrella over her head and coming over to gently picking up Rachel's hand. Blood had been dripping from the ruined nails onto the tiles below them, the droplets unfurling in the puddle of water at Rachel's feet.

"Annabeth—" her stepmother called again, and Rachel practically heard Annabeth's teeth grinding.

"Fine," Annabeth snapped, taking a tighter hold on Rachel's hand and leading her away from the edge. Rachel's bedroom also had doors that led out to the terrace and Annabeth guided Rachel towards them. She shut them behind her and Rachel immediately slid down the wall in her room, leaving a large damp streak.

Annabeth spun on the spot, flinging water from herself, and found a paper bag filled with paints. She upended it on the bed, scattering a violent array of colour on the cream bedspread, and handed Rachel the bag. "In and out," she said. "You can do this."

Rachel grabbed at the bag like a drowning man would for a lifebuoy and put it over her mouth and nose, trying her best to breathe normally. She shut her eyes. Her heart was hammering so hard she could feel the skin of her chest flinching with each beat.

"That's enough," Annabeth said, when Rachel's breathing began to slow, taking the paper bag away. "Not too much or you'll deplete the oxygen in your blood. Now just breathe with me, okay? Lamaze is actually going to come in handy here and I haven't even given birth yet."

Annabeth took Rachel's hand and began to breathe deeply. Rachel squeezed back tightly and tried to push away the panic in favour of breathing so deeply her ribs creaked, emulating Annabeth's measured, even breaths.

"Okay," Annabeth said. "Now, did you have a vision?"

Rachel shook her head. The room was still lurching like the cabin of a ship in a storm. "No," she managed. "I… don't know what it was. I was… just…" She broke off to breathe into the paper bag again. "Standing there," she continued, letting the bag falling weakly from her face. "And, and, I don't know. I was starting to feel not part of the crowd, like I was the only one there or something, or like I was watching a play of my life rather than participating, and then I saw you and… I don't know. I started to freak out. I'm sorry, Annabeth. I really am. I didn't want to ruin anything."

"Please, you made this more interesting," Annabeth said with a derisive snort. "There's only so many times you can let people spin their wedding rings over your belly on a chain to figure out whether it's a boy or a girl or talk about pregnancy cravings. I like peanut butter spread on caramel rice cakes topped with pickles. Big whoop. Don't get me wrong, I love these people; they're my friends and my family but suddenly I've turned into this giant useless heifer in their eyes who needs to be rolled in bazillion layers of bubble wrap and I kind of want to kill them all."

Rachel smiled. She wanted to comment that Annabeth's pregnancy hormones were clearly as hilariously crazy as ever, evident in the fact that she'd used 'bazillion' despite having repeatedly insisting in the past that it wasn't a real number. Care had been taken to hide Nico from Annabeth during her first trimester because he wound non-pregnant her up for kicks anyway and when that was added to pregnancy hormones, Annabeth had been trying to throttle him while crying hysterically at the same time. However, instead of pointing any of this out, Rachel instead simply wisely wrinkled her nose.

"They use a wedding ring on a chain to try and sex the baby?" she asked. "Please. I'm much more accurate than an ultrasound, let alone that crap."

Annabeth pointed a finger at her. "And remember, that stays between you and me. As far as Percy knows, the sex of the baby will be a total surprise to everyone. I've been practising post-labour pleasant surprise faces for weeks."

Rachel weakly held up her hands. "As you wish," she said.

"So… calmer now?" Annabeth said, leaning to one side to squeegee some water out of her hair.

Rachel nodded gratefully and leaned back against the wall limply. Annabeth had provided her with the distraction and the paper bag necessary to nip the panic attack in the bud. "Yes," she said quietly, feeling like she'd run a marathon. "Thank you. Go and get a sweater out of my closet, Annabeth. Your stepmom is right. You could have caught your death out there."

"I meant what I said about the fields thing," Annabeth said, although she did shrug out of her wet jacket. "I think the worst thing a pregnant woman can do is worry themselves sick about everything. The pregnancy books are seriously terrifying."

"Still, grab a sweater," Rachel said. "I feel terrible."

Annabeth shrugged with one shoulder and turned around, disappearing into Rachel's closet. She came out a few minutes later decidedly unimpressed. "You," she said, tossing a handful of jumpers at Rachel, "are a skinny bitch and these won't fit me."

Rachel gave a wan smile. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'll eat more cake."

Annabeth sighed and walked over to Rachel, awkwardly getting down on the floor in front of her. "Try swallowing a cannonball," she said, "and maybe we'll be even." She paused. "I hope you know I'm stuck down here until you can find a crane. So, while I'm down here… what's wrong?"

Rachel shook her head, her eyes falling again to Annabeth's stomach. Just the sight of it started opening up the gaping maw of the cold pit inside her that had caused her to panic earlier. "I don't know," she said. "I just started to feel so empty and detached. Like I wasn't even human anymore. Like I was sitting in the middle of the eye of a hurricane and looking out at all the destruction being wreaked around me and I couldn't feel a thing. I didn't feel real."

Annabeth blew out a long breath. "Wow. That's… wow. Deep?"

Rachel closed her eyes. What she was about to say made her feel ashamed. "I guess… it finally clicked into place for me how happy you are and how happy Percy is and how you're going to have a baby and I… I'm not going to have any of that. I always knew it deep down but today really brought it home. Everyone in that room gets to have a life, a boyfriend or a husband or, Hades, a girlfriend if they're that way inclined and maybe a wedding if they want. They're going to have babies one day if they choose to, and grandkids later, and I'm just… not. I get to watch from inside a glass box full of green mist as everyone else does it. I'm sorry, Annabeth. I am happy for you, I promise. Really, I am. It's just… hard sometimes. Today more than most for some reason, and it got to me. You must think I'm a total bitch."

"No," Annabeth said, reaching forward and pulling Rachel into a hug. She sat back on her heels and grabbed Rachel's hands. "Gods no. Of course not; you threw this whole shower for me. You're amazing, the best friend I could ever ask for. I'm sorry for always forgetting how hard it must be for you. But, Rachel, you know… this doesn't have to be your forever."

Rachel snorted and stared glumly at the carpet. "Doesn't it?"

"I can't answer that for you," Annabeth said. "But in my opinion the answer is this: only if you want it to be."

Someone was knocking on the door; they were calling for Annabeth. Annabeth grimaced.

"Go," Rachel said. "You're the guest of honour. I'll be fine."

Annabeth sighed, letting go of Rachel's hand and scooting back towards the bed, using it to haul herself to her feet. "Are you sure? Are you going to be okay without me? Say if you're not. Do you need anything? Water? Booze?"

Rachel shook her head. She'd had too much champagne and that was half her problem.

"You, me, ice cream and talking," Annabeth promised sternly, pointing first at Rachel and then herself as she crossed the room and picked up a cardigan dangling from an armchair to drape around her shoulders. "Make a date soon, okay? Tonight, if you want. Tomorrow. Whenever. I've got the time as long as you don't mind me taking forty bathroom breaks an hour."

"Okay," Rachel said. "Annabeth… thanks."

"Welcome," Annabeth said, opening the door and stepping back out into the party before closing the door behind her.

"She's right, you know."

Rachel gave a strangled scream and to resort to using the paper bag again for a few breaths to calm down. Nico had appeared without warning sitting on top of her chest of drawers, long legs dangling idly over the side as he considered her hyperventilation impassively with dark brown eyes.

Rachel finally got enough breath back to speak. "Please stop stalking me like that because one day I'm going to pepper spray you in the face by mistake and that streaming-eyed, snotty mess won't be in the least bit attractive to look at."

Nico gave her a coy smile and leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his thighs and his chin on his fists. "That implies that you think I was attractive to begin with."

Rachel scowled at him, hating herself at the same time for the way that Nico's presence practically melted her. Godsbedamned, she was going to have to work on making herself more immune to Nico's particular brand of brooding charm. It was kind of ridiculous, the way she couldn't look at his bottom lip without imagining… Bad Things.

"Pepper spray," she repeated menacingly. "All up in your face. You'll cry. I'll laugh. I'll do it. I'm a woman on the edge today."

"I noticed," Nico said, hopping down off the chest of drawers and walking over to stand in front of her. "So, what's the matter?"

Rachel sighed again and rubbed her eyes. "Nothing," she said. "It took a lot to get this party together and I think I was burning the candle at both ends. Plus, you know us artistic types. So temperamental."

Nico carefully backed out of range of Rachel's legs before replying, "Temperamental? You? Never."

Rachel's head shot up and she glared at him. "Come back here and say that."

Nico snorted. "I like my shins the way they are, thanks. Not all purple and bruise-y."

"What are you even doing here?" Rachel asked. "I don't recall you getting an invite to the shower, what you your gigantic lack of a uterus and all."

Nico grinned at her. "I'm on monster patrol," he said. "Between you and Annabeth and the rest of the demigods in this place Percy assumed it would turn into monster Mecca. He asked me to keep an eye out with him. Seriously, overprotective dad Percy is… yeah. Hard to say no to. Scary, actually. Anyway, you still haven't answered my question. What's up?"

Rachel held her resolve for a minute or two and then cracked, sighing. "It's nothing," she said. "I just had a mini freak out, that's all. Nothing major."

"I heard," Nico said. He played idly with the hilt of his sword. "So… want to talk about it?"

Rachel looked up at him and arched an eyebrow. Nico was not the master of emotions; he rarely talked about the way he was feeling, let alone anyone else.

Nico picked up on the incredulity. "What?" he said, sounding hurt. "I can't talk to you about something that's clearly bothering you? Rachel, I, you… me… I mean, we—"

"Are not dating," Rachel finished bluntly, raising a warning finger. "I've told you. The Oracle does not date. The Oracle cannot date. So stop, unless you want us both to face the wrath of Apollo."

Nico snorted. "So the Oracle can't date but she can have a son of Hades as a friend with benefits?"

"Apollo has chosen to take a very modern view on what we have," Rachel reiterated primly for what felt like the millionth time. "Even though you're a child of darkness to his light and are perhaps the least charming and tactful demigod I could ever have picked. Still, as long as we don't—"

"Do the actual deed there's wiggle room for in between stuff," Nico finished for her, bored. He gave a nonchalant hand wave. "Yeah, thanks. I know the rules; I've been following. I don't, however, see your point."

"I don't have a boyfriend," Rachel said simply, "and you don't have a girlfriend."

Nico scowled. "You are me g—"

"Don't say it," Rachel snapped. "You know what will happen."

"Kentucky frying," Nico muttered sourly. "Fine."

"Exactly," Rachel said. "But my point is that this, what we're doing here, is the kind of conversation I would be having with my boyfriend and as I don't have a boyfriend and you don't have a girlfriend, then—"

"Oh, for Olympus's sake, Rachel, crack a window because I smell bullshit. I heard you talking to Annabeth about it!" Nico broke in with indignantly. "And if you can talk to her about it without her being your girlfriend — unless you have some lesbian thing going on, in which case you should probably tell Percy about, the lucky bastard, not that I expect him to mind — then what gives? I was eavesdropping; I heard you. You had a freakout and in a crowded room and ran out into the rain because you're a twenty-six-year-old virgin, technically, with no romantic life to speak of and it scares the crap out of you."

Nico's words rang in the air for a minute; they entire room seemed to be digesting them along with Rachel. Rachel couldn't decide if Nico's words made her want to laugh, cry or slap him. Perhaps she could do all three.

"What I told Annabeth was different. It's… girl talk," Rachel said, frowning as she struggled to express herself. "I don't know. I guess… having that conversation with you would mean that we were in a serious, committed relationship. Do you get that? I can't be telling you that I'm scared that I'm going to end up all alone, with no one, as everyone else moves on with their life because that's something you share with a guy that you love and trust so much that you have half a mind on baby names and wedding cakes."

"Not fruit," Nico said immediately. "I hate fruit cake."

"Yeah, well, you're the groom," Rachel said with a snort, then: "Theoretically!" she corrected quickly, glancing up at the ceiling. "You just turn up. But it would be chocolate. Obviously."

"Damn straight or the first threshold I'd carry you over as a married couple would be my lawyer's office for an annulment." He paused, his own eyes flicking to the ceiling. "Theoretically."

"You have a lawyer?" Rachel asked.

"Are you kidding me?" Nico asked. "I've got plenty. Who did you think the souls locked in my father's robes are?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Come on. I know the stereotype but you can't seriously tell me that all lawyers end up in your father's robes?"

Nico blinked. "Of course not," he said. "Just the good ones."

Rachel snorted a laugh. That actually figured on a pretty big scale.

Nico twisted his mouth in apparent thought for a minute and then moved to slide down the wall and sit on the floor next to her. "I get that we can't be… together together," he said. "That's fine. But that doesn't mean that you can't talk to me about stuff that's bothering you."

"It just… makes things blurry," Rachel said. "That's all. It's not one of Apollo's rules it's one of mine. If I can keep you as this pain in the ass who I really love spending time with and who I regularly have a pretty damn good time with then it's easier for me than if I start including you in stuff like this and pouring my heart and soul out to you. That's not something you do unless you're pretty serious about someone and Nico, as much as I want to be pretty serious about you, about us, I'm the Oracle. I don't get to be. So you have to stay in this compartment because otherwise I start to remember that I have very un-Oracle-like feelings about you and suddenly I'm having a panic attack in the middle of Macy's, much to my mother's disgust."

"You've been the Oracle for ten years," Nico said. "Ten years, Rachel. How many other Oracles do you think made it that long? Even at actual Delphi? Maybe Annabeth's right and it's time to let go. Would that be such a bad thing?"

Rachel hugged herself, brushing her fingers across the goosebumps covering her bare, damp arms. "Yes," she said simply, taking a deep breath. This had been a long time coming; she'd thought all these thoughts privately and had never even considered voicing them aloud before now. "For so many reasons. You want me to get real with you? Fine. I got the Oracle out of the attic for the first time since the '40s. I made her part of Camp Half-Blood again. I was chosen for this.

"So many people failed, Nico. I know I didn't know Luke at all really but his mom went crazy because she failed where I later succeeded and look what happened after that. Luke turned against Olympus because she just wanted the Oracle so desperately, despite the risks, and it sent her insane. If I throw away this now, it's like I'm throwing away that sacrifice that she made, that everyone made who tried to take the Oracle onboard between your dad's curse and him lifting it. I'm throwing it in their faces, all look, this is the thing that you lost your minds over and I'm going to toss away like it means nothing.

"And if I let the Oracle go then I'm passing it on to another unsuspecting girl. Look at what happened to the last girl that hosted the Oracle. No offence to your dad but she was about ten years old and she ended up a mummy. How could I live with myself if that happened to another little girl? How can I take away her Barbie dolls and introduce her to a world of death and destruction and ask her to take on the terrible consequences of sending people on quests and to war?

"And… well… I never really fitted in anywhere before the Oracle. I was richer than a lot of people, but we were nouveau riche so the fact that my dad had billions meant less than people who were old money even though they only had millions. I didn't fit in at school because I had too much money but not enough of the right kind; I didn't fit in at my mother's stupid social functions; I didn't fit in with my dad and his friends because I just couldn't keep my mouth shut when they were all like hey, let's cut down this rainforest and graze cows on it because yum, McDonald's… I mean, there were a few friends. Artists and stuff, but never what I have now with you and Annabeth and Percy and the only reason I'm here right now is because I'm the Oracle and that was my way in. If I give up the Oracle then I don't fit in with you guys anymore. You have super powers and fight monsters and I… I am a socialite. I don't want to lose you guys."

She found that her voice was breaking as she finished the sentence. She'd been acutely aware that her words were tumbling faster and faster out of her mouth as she spoke, a runaway locomotive going downhill as the words she'd bottled up so long were released like steam from a teakettle, but the sob that stifled the end of the sentence as her voice cracked surprised even her. Her chest was getting tight again and her fingers were tingling; the more she thought about the issue, the more her anxiety spiked.

Nico's mouth worked in shock for a few minutes as he struggled to take everything in. "I'm not going anywhere," he said firmly when he had composed himself. "I don't care if you can see the future or not. And nor do Annabeth and Percy. That doesn't make you who you are. You're not the Oracle you're Rachel the Oracle. If that makes any sense. It's a big part of your life yeah but premonitions and rhyming couplets don't make up a person. You're our friend. We don't care if you can belch green smoke or not. To honest, seeing you go into Oracle mode is scary and not just because of the whole three of you talking thing. It's scary because I know that when you wake up, you're going to have to live with the consequences of what you just said, especially if someone goes and gets themselves killed over a prophecy. I'm sick of seeing you pull yourself to pieces every time someone comes back in a shroud."

"I don't—"

"Yes you do," Nico insisted. "You're not as good at hiding it as you think."

Rachel sighed and ran a hand through her hair; it caught and snagged on the tangles caused by the crap they'd put in it and she had to fight to free it. Angrily, she swiped tears from her eyes before they could fall. She couldn't believe that it had come to this, sobbing in a corner, deciding whether or not she would give up everything she'd known for the past decade.

"You know…" Nico said, hesitating. "If you're not the Oracle anymore then there's nothing to stop us dating. Properly. If you want."

Rachel took a deep breath, immediately cursing herself for doing so. She could see the hurt dash across Nico's face at the pause she'd allowed herself; she might as well have reached out and slapped him. Clearly, it had taken a lot for him to suggest that and her reaction wasn't what he'd been expecting.

He got off the floor and paced away from her and she closed her eyes, bitterly regretting what she'd done. It wasn't that she didn't want to date Nico it was just that she didn't know how. How did you go from nought to dating overnight? What if she sucked at it? What if she was a bad girlfriend?

And what, she wondered with trepidation, would happen if it turned out that they sucked as boyfriend and girlfriend? Then she wouldn't have Nico or the Oracle as an excuse to be around Nico. What then?

"I never thought the Oracle would be a permanent thing, you know," Nico said, turning around on her. He'd gone from hurt to angry and his eyes were blazing in that way that reminded her of his father, in that way that sent the Oracle's own anxiety spiking in a manner so not conducive to reducing her own. "I mean, the spirit is traditionally hosted in young maidens and no offence Rachel but… you're kind of pushing that boundary. I just always assumed that one day you'd give it all up and then us… we… yeah. But now I just think that you like having the Oracle because it gives you an excuse not to see if we might actually work. Why does this scare you? Is it the Underworld thing? Or am I just not good enough for you as an actual boyfriend? Come on, your parents hate me, so—"

"Nico, I couldn't give a crap about what my parents think about you if I tried," Rachel snapped, breaking him off. "It's not about that and I think you know it. I am not scared to be with you and I don't think I'm too good for you. Maybe you secretly don't think you're good enough for me and that's the issue. Whatever. That's your childhood trauma to deal with not mine. This is about my life. And yes you are a big part of that but there are bigger issues at stake here."

"Like what?" Nico asked sullenly, reproachfully.

"Everything," Rachel sighed exasperatedly, exaggerating each syllable and throwing out her hands in frustration. "Don't you see? I don't know how to not be the Oracle. I don't know how to be… Rachel Dare. I don't know if I even want to be Rachel Dare. That's actually scarier than remaining the Oracle until I wither and die. I have nothing left if I give up the Oracle. How would you feel giving up being a demigod?"

"I can't," Nico said shortly.

"Well lucky you, let me throw you a parade," Rachel sneered. "That's a choice I do have so a little compassion for that, please?"

Nico rubbed his jaw and shook his head. "I'm trying to be sympathetic," he said eventually in a low voice. "I really am. But Rachel, I'm trying really hard here and the only consequence I can see of you not being the Oracle anymore, or at least the only one that actually matters to me, is the fact that if you aren't the Oracle maybe us can actually happen. I know there are other issues for you but that's the biggest one for me and clearly that doesn't matter to you at all.

"I'm just standing here really trying hard to see why you don't want to give us a chance because we would kick so much ass as a couple. Seriously, Percy and Annabeth would finally be yesterday's news we would rock that hard. Annabeth could pop out a soccer team of kids and people would still only be noticing us.

"I would be right here for you to help with all the other stuff that comes with making the decision so the only reason I can think of that's stopping you from giving up being the Oracle is because you don't want to try it with me. Which… yeah. In case you haven't noticed I've been waiting for you for a while, Rachel. And now this?" He paused. "I'm sorry but I don't know how to deal with that." He turned on his heel.

"Nico, wait—" Rachel started, but he had vanished into the shadows.

Immediately, she felt a pang in her chest, like he'd taken a piece of her with him, and at the moment she knew what she had to do. What had previously been a tumultuous mass of seething emotions and contradictions was suddenly as clear as crystal.

What was more, for the first time in ten years she didn't think it was the Oracle acting on her subconscious, making her stop just before stepping off the curb as a cyclist she hadn't seen came barrelling at her, or causing her to jump to her feet and catch a tray of glasses as a waitress tripped and fell on her face. This was her in the driving seat now, her thoughts, her feelings, her desires; the Oracle was still there but beneath the surface.

For once she was irrepressible; suddenly she knew what she had to do. Screw everything else. This was her life and it was time to take charge.

She climbed to her feet and let herself out of the French windows again onto the terrace. Immediately, the rain lashed down at her once more and she shoved her ruined hairdo out of her face.

Her bare toes curled momentarily at the cold, wet terracotta tiles she was standing on and then she was off to the corner of the terrace and onto the fire escape, steps whizzing past as she got nearer to the ground. It felt like she was flying over the damp iron steps, barely making contact with them. Her hand skimmed over the handrail, sluicing water in her wake as if it were the prow of a boat.

Nico was probably right. She'd been making excuses for too long. What was she afraid of, being happy? It was pretty clear from the panic attack back up at the apartment (which felt a million miles away now, way up there above the clouds) that being alone was the most terrifying thing and she had been for too long.

Sure, she was worried that she didn't know how to be in a relationship, didn't know how to have a boyfriend, how to be a girlfriend, but she was never going to find out if she didn't try.

The end of the fire escape was in sight now and she didn't even think about releasing the ladder at the bottom; her body reacted almost without her and she vaulted the handrail, soaring way up into the air and down towards the concrete below her, her descent slowed by tendrils of green mist and crackling energy that whipped her hair up and away from her face and sent her skirts fluttering.

She alighted gently on the ground, her heart hammering, and at that point she knew that she was doing the right thing — apparently, the Oracle wanted freedom as much as she did.

Perhaps it was time they both moved on. They were old friends but sometimes even the oldest and the best friends had to part.

The thought jolted her and she took off at a run through the rain, dashing down Park Avenue. People sheltering under umbrellas and in dark overcoats looked at her in shock as she hurled herself past them, the wild redhead in an apple green dress that slashed through the grey, drab and drowning city, tendrils of wet hair unravelling and whipping behind her in her wake.

Hardly slowing as she took a hard right onto 59th Street she crashed into a man coming the opposite direction, spinning him around. He yelled obscenities at her but she didn't apologise or slow down and in no time at all she was exploding out onto Fifth Avenue just at the corner of Central Park in front of the Plaza Hotel.

The decade between today and the Battle of Manhattan when she had first felt the Oracle's tug consume her — even from the attic of the Big House on Long Island — melted away to nothingness and she was back there all over again.

She could still hear the deafening silence that had fallen over the sleeping city that day, could still remember how it felt for that to be pierced by the screeching of the alarms in the helicopter when her pilot had fallen asleep at the controls. And yet she'd always known that she wasn't going to die, even when it looked like the chopper was going down into the middle of a blasted, burned street.

The universe had bigger things in mind for her at that point.

Then just as quickly as it had appeared the Plaza and the memories it had conjured exploded like the puddles she was smashing to smithereens with her pounding feet. They were gone as she took off down Fifth Avenue, leaving the hotel eating her green-glowing dust.

That had been ten years ago. It was the past. Now she was running towards the future as she careened past the Fifth Avenue boutiques and high-end stores which represented an even more distance part of her past, before the Oracle, when she had been dragged practically kicking and screaming to probably all of these shops by her mother.

The bright coloured lights in the windows and the ethereal semi-present shop fronts of plate glass and steel blurred in the fields of her vision to a garish streak of colour on both her left and right, broken only by the stalwart stone presence of Saint Thomas Church and Saint Patrick's Cathedral, ironic monuments to Christian charity in the midst of consumerist heaven on Earth.

Her chest felt like it was going to explode, pushing away the concerns that she might suck at actual sex and that Nico might not stick around once he could actually have her, because sometimes people just liked what was unobtainable. And maybe that went for her as well; what if she just liked Nico because she couldn't have him?

But then the thoughts were lost in more running, the incessant slap of her feet against the sidewalk, the pounding of the rain down on her head.

No. She knew otherwise; she didn't just like Nico because he was forbidden fruit and she was pretty sure he felt the same. This was it. This was real.

And it was going to be hers.

So what if she had to learn to deal with just being Rachel Elizabeth Dare — she would just do it. She'd done it for sixteen years before she was ever the host of the Oracle and she could do it again — she was going to do it again.

Soon.

Her body was crackling with a bright green aura of static electricity, rolling down her arms and dribbling with the water down her legs. It was zinging between her fingers and burning behind her eyes as she ran through the easing rain.

She guessed it was probably about two miles from her apartment to her destination, with Saint Patrick's marking about the halfway point. Her feet were skipping over the slick slabs of stone beneath her feet; she didn't think she'd ever run this fast or this freely.

It felt like nothing could stop her, like nothing could get in her way, like she was flying — were her feet even touching the ground she had to wonder, had they been replaced by the winged sandals of legend?

The weather continued to improve; she rain petered to a light drizzle and then stopped altogether. Still she ran and it felt so right to be running; she didn't even feel tired. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that her muscles should be screaming, her lungs protesting, her heart about to come through her chest but that wasn't the case.

She was free — free of the normal bodily constraints she had, free of the mundane, free of the world practically. It was all vanishing in her dazzlingly emerald wake.

The clouds that had been looming for the entire day bringing the rain slowly began to dissipate, rolling away over the Hudson in the west and revealing an early evening sun as it did so.

The sun was setting and dangled almost perilously close, like a big round orange she could just pluck from an overburdened tree, its golden light gilding the wet pavements until New York became the city of gold-paved streets it was so fabled to be. It caused the buildings to throw out long, spindly shadows across her path as she ran towards her destination, which was throwing out the longest, spindliest shadow of all the buildings in the immediate vicinity.

The Empire State Building would soon be lit up, twinkling against the night, but for now the fading sunlight gleamed off the windows. She skidded to a halt in front of the skyscraper on the opposite side of the street and paused to gulp in a few lungfuls of air. The air still smelt damp and oddly fresh; the downpour had sluiced much of the dust and exhaust fumes from the air.

There were two crosswalks equidistance from her but she ignored them both and stepped right into the street without a single thought. The Oracle's prescience got her over four lanes of traffic without being flattened, even if it that meant a taxi had to come to a screeching halt and Rachel had to slide over the hood in a movement so fluid it was over before the driver could blink, let alone honk at her.

She stalked into the lobby; by now green mist and sparks were dribbling from her and fizzling out on the marble floor. She was leaving damp, dirty footprints in her wake and she could hear tiny drops of water from her dress plinking themselves into oblivion all around her. For some reason the walk to the security desk seemed to take forever despite the fact that she had just run two miles without even breaking a sweat; now it was here her decision seemed so far away, so hard to achieve.

The guard was reading a newspaper and didn't even bother to look up at her as she approached.

"Six hundredth floor, please," she said, and she was surprised at the lightness in her own voice as she asked.

The guard turned the page. "You're gonna be disappointed," he said. "We're about 500 floors short of that, miss. But you have a nice day."

Rachel smiled predatorily and reached out with a green-wreathed hand, slapping the newspaper down onto the desk. She batted her eyelashes at the guard. "Excuse me?" Green fireworks exploded over the guard's head.

The guard looked at her and jumped to attention as if he'd been jolted by a cattle prod. He scrambled for the card key in one of the drawers of the desk. "I'm sorry, Miss Dare. I didn't know it was… you." He faltered and stuttered on the last word, clearly disbelieving that anyone with green mist and sparks rolling off them in waves, with wet hair plastered to their face and a dress clinging to the pale white skin beneath in sopping patches could be completely themselves.

"Well it is," Rachel said, plucking the card key out of the guard's hand. "Thank you." She sashayed to the elevator; there was a janitor about to wheel his cart in but Rachel pinned him with a glare and he came to a startled halt before beginning to slowly back away from her. She walked past him and, at the entrance to the elevator, looked back at him over one shoulder and explained with a wink, "Private party."

The elevator ride was frustratingly slow even though she knew that realistically she was probably traveling at Zeus only knew how many miles per hour as the elevator shot up like a cork from a champagne bottle, borne on a tide of bubbles. Time spun its way out into a near-eternity before the ride was over and the elevator dinged.

Rachel stepped out and looked down at Manhattan spread out all of those thousands of feet below her, as she had always done. But this time, instead of taking a quick glance and feeling queasy, she paused and took the time to really look at the spectacle.

The wind tugged lightly at her hair, whistling hollowly past her ears. It was cold and fresh, far removed from the tainted air of the city below her and she breathed it in greedily. The sun was rapidly setting now; the city below was darkening. Lights were blossoming across the network of streets and buildings even as she watched.

That was her place down there. Home.

She looked up at the white steps leading to the godly city in the sky and her heart leapt joyously one last time at the sight of it. The city was stunning. It glittered orange in the rapidly-fading sunset, its white columns, pediments and friezes facades glowing and red-tiled roofs burning against the blushing pink sky.

The white marble steps down from the city started as one wide staircase but then bifurcated halfway down, curving around a huge fountain that was gurgling pleasantly directly in front of her, the sunset making it look like it was filled with molten gold.

She took the left hand set of steps and began to climb, the scents of the heavenly city at night assaulting her senses. The scents of rich, damp earth; burning incense; woodsmoke; and the interwoven musk of hundreds of faintly-perfumed flowers greeted her as she climbed.

When she reached the top of the steps her feet took her in the direction she wanted to go without even thinking about it. It was a well-worn path to Apollo's temple that she was treading, a journey she had taken many times before.

The streets of the new Olympus were eerily empty as she wandered through them, with the market stalls closed for the day and the typical retinue of nymphs and satyrs who would be around habitually creatures of the day. She walked through the twilight gathering around her, hearing the occasional gurgle of a hidden fountain and the gentle whispering of wind through olive trees and tried to imprint the entire sensory experience in her brain.

She was under no illusions that she would get this chance again.

Reaching Apollo's temple, she found the god of prophecy sprawled easily on a couch in his best male model form, all carelessly blond and generally an Abercrombie & Fitch casting director's wet dream. He was scribbling with a quill on a legal pad and muttering to himself; the temple was littered with wadded up balls of paper.

Rachel cleared her throat and he looked up, shooting her a grin that she had seen literally drop panties at fifty paces down on earth. She was immune, however. A perk of the job, she guessed.

"Hi," she said simply.

"Hello there Rachel.

How is it that I can help

As dusk steals the day?"

Rachel looked at him stonily. "Not tonight, please," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not here for another haiku battle with you. Besides, you're a sore loser, remember?"

"That was not a loss.

It—"

"It's time," Rachel interjected with.

"Time?" Apollo echoed, surprised out of his haikus. "For...?" He paused, taking in her bedraggled appearance, the faint flutter of green that still surrounded her body and then sat up. "Oh," he said heavily, the legal pad falling to the floor with a splat. "Oh. I see. Are you sure? Because Rachel, come on. You are pretty much the best Oracle I've ever had. And we have fun together, you and me. We're a team!"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Yeah, like that's the first time you've ever used that line."

Apollo opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. "Okay, so it's not the first time," he said after consideration. "But it's definitely not in the two hundreds. Probably."

"I'm tired, Lord Apollo," she said simply, completely honestly as the weariness form the run slammed her like a freight train. "So tired. You have no idea. I just… I can't anymore. Even if… I don't know. I just can't."

"We'll take you to the spa!" Apollo said suddenly, leaping up off the couch and upsetting his inkstand, spattering bright green ink up the wall. "You can have some shiatsu. Indian head massage. Dead Sea mud wrap. The works. Circe will do me a great deal for the Oracle. The rebuild of her spa is fabulous. As long as you don't mention that you know Annabeth Chase while you're on the massage table she probably won't even try to turn you into a guinea pig or throttle you or anything!"

Apollo grabbed her arm but Rachel shook her head. "A massage and a pedicure won't cut it," she said. "It's a different kind of weary. I can't explain it to a god because it involves being tired of time passing without me and you won't get that, so…" She stopped, gnawing on her bottom lip. "Look," she said. "The Oracle knows it's time, too."

She raised a hand and blew on the faint green sparks surround it. They billowed into the shape of a swallow, which soared from her outstretched palm and swooped and darted around the temple, trilling eerily as it did so, before exploding at the pinnacle of the temple's pitched roof.

"She wants to be free as well," Rachel said through the last, lingering notes of birdsong.

Apollo looked sadly at the spot that the green swallow had occupied just moments before and then nodded. "Well… it has been a long time since I had an Oracle get her ten years of service," he said, hesitantly. "For some reason they just seem to fizzle out on me." He paused. "Or get captured and killed by marauding Romans. But you know what this means, Rachel? You won't be able to come up here anymore. We can't hang out. And you're not going to be so in tune with everything like you are now."

Rachel nodded gravely. She knew what this meant; she'd be out of the cosmic order of things, no longer at the beck and call of destiny. She'd lose her prescience, lose her place in a world that she had considered home for all of her adult life. For the first time, the thought if not being able to see the future was more scary than actually having the power.

"I know," she said. "Believe me, I know. And I've thought it over. A lot. I just… need to be me now. This is so hard for me, you have no idea, for so many reasons but…" She found herself close to tears again; her eyes were hot and prickling and she swallowed a sob. "I'm just so tired. I need it." She sounded as broken and worn down as she felt inside as she said it.

"Is this because of that Nico kid?" Apollo demanded suddenly. "Because I know how much you like him but I've never got it. I mean, for one thing, he's so pale. It's like he's never spent any time in the sun at all. Is he doing this? I've been very generous with that whole thing, you know. I've allowed you two way more than I've let other Oracles get away with, and if this is that doofus Prince of Darkness calling the shots, Rachel, I am not scared of my uncle Hades. I will smite him so hard with fire—"

"No," Rachel said. "I mean, yes it's part of it but Nico hasn't put me up to this. It's more about what he represents. A future. A life. Things that have been missing for a very long time now and I've just… let them be missing, thinking that it was fine because I was wanted and needed as the Oracle. But it's not fine anymore. It's just… not. This request is all mine. Nico doesn't even know that I'm here."

"Oh," Apollo said, having sagged dejectedly back down onto the couch as she cut him off mid-flow. "So you're sure?" he asked, looking up at her all hangdog and sounding hopeful that she might change her mind.

"As I'm ever going to be," Rachel said, taking a deep breath.

Apollo looked miserable. "I see," he said. He walked to the doorway of the temple and looked out over the city, his shoulders slumped. The silence stretched for some minutes before he spoke again. "Okay. If I can't change your mind and it's what you really want then… okay. I'm going to miss you, Rachel."

Rachel smiled. Apollo was an eternal show off but he was one of the best gods she'd ever had dealings with. A little vain but he was generally pure of heart and rarely manipulated things behind the scenes like some goddesses up here she could probably poke right now with a very short stick. He was a good guy generally and even though she knew it was time for the Oracle to leave her, she wished it didn't have to cut her off from Olympus and Apollo altogether.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm going to miss you, too."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Apollo's lips. "Thanks. Okay, here goes. Rachel Elizabeth Dare, host of the spirit of the Oracle of Delphi, I release you from your burden. May you and the Oracle now part; may your spirit ever be free."

Green light surged and flared; the power of it thrummed in her ears and burned through her screwed-closed eyelids, becoming all-encompassing until there was nothing but infinite green in all directions. The noise around her dialled up to the roar of an oncoming subway train and she managed to squeeze out one tiny thought amidst the onslaught that would change every aspect of her life as she knew it:

Nico.