fic: Death's Dare [PJO, Rachel/Nico, R, 17/?]
Title: Death's Dare
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Nico, with appearances from the rest of the cast and the gods
Summary: After an attempt on her life, Apollo decides Rachel needs a bodyguard and who better to take the job than a certain son of Hades? Too bad they're not going to make things easy for each other, especially when it comes to their feelings.
Notes: This chapter ended up getting too long and then kept getting longer with no real end in sight, so I decided to hack it up again. Hopefully Chapter 18 won't take me too long to write since I have like two and half scenes left to go. Happy New Year and enjoy the fic.
Chapter 17: Aftermath
“Oh, good. You’re awake.”
Rachel blinked at the fuzzy, golden blob hovering over her, idly wondering if the Underworld was supposed to be so bright and warm. She’d gotten the impression that it was a dark, dreary place with wailing and decidedly less golden fuzzy things. Maybe the white light at the end of the tunnel had decided to wait for her?
After all, she was dead... wasn’t she?
Her eyelids felt like they weighed ten pounds each, but she blinked one more time and her vision came back into focus. Apollo was leaning over her, a stethoscope around his neck and relieved expression on his face. Her eyes darted around, catching glimpses of the various monitors floating beside her, the plastic tubes of IVs attached her arms, and a thin blue hospital blanket she covering her, before settling back on the handsome god.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wasn’t dead. Thank the gods.
“Rachel,” Apollo said. “Can you hear me?’
“Yes,” Rachel replied, opening her eyes. Her throat felt like it had been ravaged by steel wool, and her voice came out deep and rough. “What... what happened?”
Apollo smiled gently. “I was going to ask you that very question. But that can wait a little longer, I suppose. I need to check some of your vitals, if that’s all right?”
She nodded and tried to push herself upright. As soon as her back slid against the mattress, fiery pain shot through her and Rachel let out a whimper. Apollo put a steady hand on her shoulder, holding her in place, and then pressed the remote control for the bed into her hands. Rachel glanced down and noticed the bandages and gauze that laced up her forearms for the first time. She froze, surprised.
“Your pain medication is wearing off, so you’ll need to be a bit more careful from now on,” Apollo said, pressing a button to increase the bed’s incline. “You’re also a bit anemic, but that shouldn’t last too long once the effects of the transfusion wear off and we get some more iron in your system. You’ll be tired and possibly run a bit of a fever, and... ”
The god prattled on, but Rachel had tuned him out, staring at her arms. She poked at the bandages on her right arm and pulled them down hesitantly, revealing a long row of dark stitches holding together angry, oozing red flesh. For a moment, Rachel couldn’t remember how her arms had gotten cut so badly. And then...
She hurriedly tugged the dressing back up her arm, but the damage was already done. She could hear one of the monitors responding to the rapid increase of her heartbeat and, oh gods, she couldn’t breathe, why couldn’t she breathe -
“They got me,” she wheezed, flailing and trying to push aside her blankets in a panic. “They got me!”
“Rachel! Rachel, I need you to look at me.” Apollo touched her chin, tilting her gaze in his direction. “Be calm. I’m here, and you’re safe. I promise.”
Rachel nodded, understanding, but she couldn’t stop the unrelenting fear coursing through her body. Tears pricked her eyes, causing her throat and chest to tighten even more, and she couldn’t get enough air in -
Apollo laid his palm flat against her forehead and closed his eyes. Immediately, Rachel felt warmth spread from her head and spread down to her limbs until it reached the tips of her toes. Ever so gradually, the tightness in her chest loosened and she took several deep breaths to settle the burning in her lungs. As her heartbeat returned to normal, she murmured a thank to Apollo and then sank back into the pillows, even more exhausted.
“It was no trouble. I should’ve anticipated that you’d react this way,” he said, handing her the paper cup. It took her a moment to wrap her stiff and uncooperative fingers around it and she frowned at them, confused. “I’m sure it was quite the traumatic experience.”
Rachel didn’t say anything as she took a long gulp of water and willed herself to banish the dark thoughts of Jake and the others from her mind. She needed to stay positive and focus on the fact that she’d survived that horrible encounter instead of the possible alternatives.
She set the cup down on the end table, wincing as her hand cramped and her skin began to tingle with pain. She stared at them, trying not to panic again as she realized something was very wrong.
“Why are my hands not working?”
“Ah,” Apollo replied, sounding nervous. He took a step back from her side and reached for the chart on the edge of her bed, flipping a few pages over. “In addition to severe blood loss, there was some heavy nerve and tendon damage along your wrists, especially in your left hand. Most of the feeling and mobility should come back in a few months time and once the stitches come out, especially with physical therapy.”
“But?” Rachel asked, because she knew there would be one. Apollo’s expression was sorrowful, like it was whenever he was about to recite a particularly tragic poem.
“But there’s a chance - a pretty large one, unfortunately - that you might’ve lost mobility in your left pinky for good. Even with therapy, your other fingers may never work quite right again either.”
Rachel suddenly felt short of breath again. She concentrated on her hand, desperately willing it to move normally. The tips of her fingers curled slightly, but there was no other response, other than a flaring, white hot pain near her pinky.
No, no, no. This was not happening. This couldn’t happen to her, not after everything else. This wasn’t fair.
“I’m left-handed,” Rachel said, dumbstruck. “It’s my drawing hand, my painting hand... What - what am I supposed to do?”
Her voice cracked and she looked at Apollo pleadingly, hoping he had some magical, godly solution for her. He owed her that much, didn’t he? Surely fixing a few damaged nerves and making her hands work again couldn’t be considered interfering too much with mortals.
“I’m sorry Rachel, but I’ve already done all I can for you,” Apollo said. “I healed your back when you arrived, except for a few light scratches. Good thing too, or you would’ve never been able to wear a backless dress every again with the nasty scars those cuts would’ve created - ”
“A dress?” she repeated, staring at him uncomprehendingly. “What... why were you worried about fixing how I would look instead the real damage?”
“My dear, the mortals had already seen your arms, I couldn’t do too much without raising suspicion - ”
“You’re a god! You can do whatever you want!” she said hoarsely, her eyes stinging. “I’m a painter! What good am I if my hands don’t even work?”
Her vision blurred with tears and she hastily swept them away with the back of her hands. She swallowed the thick lump in her throat, refusing to cry any more. She was not going to sob in front of Apollo, not when she was like this. Briefly, she recalled his cold, aggressive attitude toward her in his office and wondered if this was his punishment for defying him.
“I understand that this is difficult for you, but you need to calm down. It's not good for you to be upset,” Apollo replied tensely. “Just think of all the new hobbies you’ll find to occupy your time if painting doesn’t work out after this.”
She glared at him. She couldn’t... no, she could believe he’d say something horrible like that. If she’d been a skilled pianist or violinist, she had no doubt Apollo would’ve fixed her hands and then waxed on and on about how the world would be so grateful to not lose such delightful musical talent. But she wasn’t. She was just Rachel Dare, an NYU art student with a famous name and a modicum of talent with a paint brush.
Bitterness settled in. She should’ve never trusted the god as she had. Hadn’t Percy and Annabeth warned her enough times to beware the whims of the gods? And now she would pay for it for the rest of her life.
“Lord Apollo,” she said evenly, meeting his blue gaze with a steely one of her own. “Thank you for your help and for watching over me. I’ll be sure to make a proper sacrifice in your honor when I’m well again. But I think it’s time my actual doctors took over and consulted with me.”
Apollo’s shoulders tensed, taken aback by her insolent reply. Judging by his narrowing gaze, he clearly hadn't realized how offensive and hurtful his words had been to her. He set her chart back down on the bed in a huff and stepped away.
“You’re obviously upset and need some time to process,” he said coolly. “I’ll be back to get your statement about what happened after you’ve calmed down a bit.”
His outline glowed brightly. Rachel shut her eyes and looked away before he disappeared with a searing flash. He must’ve been awfully angry with her to not bother warning her about changing into his godly form.
Rachel looked down at her hands one more time, holding back the despair welling deep within in her. What was she going to do now?
She took several deep breaths and then reached for the nurse’s call button.
*
An entire squadron of doctors, nurses and two black coated detectives responded to her call, and Rachel spent the next hour or so being tested, prodded, consulted and questioned about what had happened to her. She wasn’t sure what to say about how her injuries had been caused. The truth was out of the question, so she stuck with the basics.
She’d been kidnapped outside Radio City Music Hall; Liv, Jake and Eric had held her hostage at an unknown location for a few hours before slitting her wrists and back and leaving her to die. No, she wasn’t sure what or why they wanted her; no, she didn’t use drugs or owe them money, and no, they weren’t trying to ransom her father. Yes, Nico and Percy had found her and no, she didn’t know how they had or what how she got to the hospital.
Finally, after telling her almost the same thing about her condition and the state of her hands Apollo had, they left her alone with a strict warnings to call if she felt serious pain, nausea or anything more extreme than what she was feeling now.
She was just getting out of bed and trying to figure out how to get to the the bathroom with the world spinning so badly and an IV attached to her elbow, when the door opened again and her parents entered.
“Mom, Dad, ” Rachel said, glancing between the two of them, startled by their disheveled appearances. Surely they hadn’t spent the night in the hospital. “What...?”
“Oh, Rachel,” her mother said quietly and rushed forward. Before Rachel knew what was happening, her mother had enveloped her into a bear hug and was sobbing into Rachel’s hair. “Darling, we were so worried!”
Rachel could count on one hand how many times she’d seen her mother cry, and one of them had been in an old clip from her days as a soap opera star. She and her parents had a rather strained emotional relationship, considering they’d directed her to the family therapist every time she’d expressed any sort of teenage angst. It was hard to remember that her parents cared about her when half the time they acted as though she didn’t exist.
So, in a way, it was sort of... nice to have her normally flawless mother dripping snot on to her hospital gown and holding her tight enough to bust a rib. At least she’d be able to look back on this moment as definite proof of love in the Dare family.
“Mom,” she said, touching her mother’s arm. “I’m okay. Just a bit torn up, is all.”
Mrs. Dare let out another hiccuping sob and pulled away, cupping Rachel’s face in her hands. Her mother’s blue eyes were still dripping with tears and she sniffled, trying to get her composure back.
“Oh honey, your face...”
She flinched, recalling Eric slapping her at least once, and wondered if those after effects were what her mother was talking about. The doctors hadn’t mentioned anything about her face, although Rachel had noticed her skin felt swollen and achy.
Her father must’ve noticed Rachel’s stricken expression because he came to the rescue a moment later, putting his hand on his wife’s shoulder and pulling her away. “Olivia, dear, it’s just a bruise. There’s no need to scare Rachel like that.”
“I haven’t gotten to look in a mirror yet,” she muttered, apologetic for no particular reason. She didn’t really want to look in a mirror in the first place, especially without a nice, warm shower beforehand.
“It’s all right. We’re just glad you’re awake now,” Mr. Dare said, leading his wife to the chairs beside the bed. Rachel sat back down, bathroom trip momentarily forgotten, and stared at her parents, still a little overwhelmed by their behavior. It did not compute with everything she’d grown up with.
“Shouldn’t you be at work, Dad?” she blurted out, and was immediately mortified by her lack of tact. “I mean, it’s just... you never take days off and didn't you have that merger - ”
“Dare Enterprises can live without me for a day or so,” Mr. Dare said, waving off her stammering explanations. Rachel hadn’t missed the flash of hurt that passed across his face though, and she felt like a total ass. “And if the board of directors have an issue with that, then that’s hardly my problem. Although I’m going to have to have a little... chat with Mr. Delano as to why his sniveling snot of a son attempted to murder my daughter.”
“And Catherine Astor is definitely not invited to our charity ball this Christmas,” her mother added, pulling a compact out of her Chanel purse and dabbing at the smeared make-up under her eyes. “She’s been insufferable ever since they had to sell their home in the Hamptons and downgraded from Emerson Hill to the brownstone on 5th. Anyone could have told her that’s what happens when you commit tax fraud and now she’s got a criminal for a daughter, good Lord..”
Rachel swallowed. “The investigators told you what happened then?”
She wondered if her parents were considering pressing charges. She didn’t know if there would be any evidence to find to corroborate her story, which had been thin enough of the way it was, and the other three would probably deny it all and call her a lunatic. Would she get in trouble if the police found out she hadn’t told the truth or would the Mist protect her?
Her parents exchanged loaded glances and Mrs. Dare snapped her compact closed, sliding it into her purse. She set her purse down and smoothed her hands over the tops of her pants, one of her tell-tale nervous habits.
“They told us a version of what happened,” she said evenly, her face unreadable and stare penetrating. “And the Jackson boy and Nico enlightened us further.”
Rachel’s mouth went as dry as sandpaper and her hands began to tremble. Did they know about her? Why would Percy and Nico out her like that? Her parents would have bought any story! They didn’t need the truth; they wouldn’t believe the truth.
“What,” she cleared her throat, “What do you mean?”
Mr. Dare leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking older than Rachel had ever seen him.
“I’m afraid your mother and I haven’t been quite honest with you about some things in our life,” he began quietly. “And you have returned our lack of trust by hiding some secrets of your own. It’s a bit ironic, considering all the steps your mother and I took to keep you out of this, but I suppose that’s Fate for you.”
Rachel almost interrupted him, but stopped herself, remembering what Eric had said about her father, Manhattan’s elite, and the long standing relationship they had with the Olympians and other gods. There was more to this than she knew and she needed to hear what her father had to say before she drew the wrong conclusions.
“I hope this doesn’t come as too much of a shock to you. Your mother and I would have explained at some point, but we hardly needed to with everything under control and... well...”
He looked at his wife, at a loss for words, and Mrs. Dare rolled her eyes.
“What your father means is that he didn’t think you cared enough about Dare Enterprises and how we made our money unless it involved bulldozing the home of Toe Sucking Tree Saps or whatever en vogue endangered animal of the month you were always going on about,” she said. Rachel realized how weird it was to be happy that her mother’s tone was back to being haughty and dismissive. “The fact of the matter is that, while your father and I would’ve amassed quite the fortune on our own due to our respective backgrounds, we wouldn’t be in the position we are today without divine intervention. A mortal family doesn’t come into power in Manhattan without the blessing of the gods. Preferably from Lord Zeus, which is a very rare achievement indeed and something we managed to keep a handle on for more than twenty years.”
Rachel felt light headed and she wasn’t quite sure if that was due to her deteriorating physical condition or because her world had just tipped mightily on its axis. Her parents didn’t just know about her, they knew about everything.
“How...?” She couldn’t get the rest of her question out past the choking disbelief and anger building inside her.
She stared at her parents as if she was seeing them for the first time. And in some way, she was. She didn’t know these people who made business arrangements with gods and believed in fantasy. They shouldn’t know about and, worst of all, accept all of this when all they had spent most of Rachel’s childhood trying to crush the eccentricity out of her
Mr. Dare rubbed his temples. “Just before you were born, I... made a deal with Lord Zeus. In exchange for his patronage, I would manage his investments and businesses in the mortal world, as well as make significant sacrifices in his name and ensure his - and by extension, the rest of Olympus’s - anchor to the mortal world remained strong.”
The absurdity of her father’s confession took Rachel a few moments to process and even once she had wrapped her mind around the idea that her dad was employed by Zeus, the most intelligent thing she could croak out was, “So... so you’re Zeus’s stockbroker?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” her father replied, a little annoyed. “The flame of the Olympus can’t survive on support from demigods alone, no matter how powerful and influential they are; it never has been able to. Mortals are what keep the flame glowing and the gods strong. If they abandon those ideals, the gods would - ”
“Fade,” Rachel interrupted softly, her heart aching as she remembered an enchanted cavern and a god’s sad smile from years ago. “I know.”
“Exactly. Which is why they select certain advantageous mortals to help... well, influence society to the Olympians’ advantage and are rewarded for their work.”
Manipulate was probably a better word for it, Rachel thought, as examples of all the not-so-nice things people like her father and others had probably done to their fellow mortals for the sake of Olympus flowed through her head. She was in no condition to analyze the implications of it all now though; thinking critically about anything made her head throb.
“Liv and Jake... they said you ruined their families,” Rachel recalled, hiding her shaking hands beneath the blankets. “Is it because you took their places?”
“The Astors and Delanos have been out of favor with the Olympians for ages.” This time, it was her mother who spoke. “Many of the older families have gotten lax with their duties over the years and the gods grew tired of them, so they sought out new opportunities. Sometimes the feuding between families gets a little fierce, but your father had nothing to do with what happened yesterday, Rachel.”
Rachel nodded, understanding, but she still felt bitterness creeping up from the pit of her stomach through the rest of her body. Even if they’d been oblivious to this plot against her, her parents had known about everything else all this time and they’d done everything they could to keep her from it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked at last, her voice going hoarse with emotion again. “I saw monsters and creatures. You knew I did and you knew they were real... and you put me in therapy and on medication? I thought I was going crazy! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mr. and Mrs. Dare looked at each other again, exhaustive guilt written over both their faces. They’d had this conversation about her before, Rachel realized, and that only made the ache in her body worse.
“At first,” Mrs. Dare began haltingly, a plea for understanding in her eyes, “we thought it was just your imagination. But as you got older and kept talking about it, we realized it wasn’t and... Rachel, we couldn’t let you get involved, not after some of the stories we heard from the other families. We wanted you as far away from this business as possible and - and - ”
“I found my way into it anyway,” Rachel finished as her mother trailed off, eyes filling with tears again. "By becoming the Oracle. And you never guessed?"
“No,” Mrs. Dare said with a watery laugh. “Now that we know, all the signs were so obvious, I can’t believe we ignored them for so long. I feel so stupid.”
Mr. Dare reached out and put a comforting hand on his wife’s knee, squeezing it once before looking at Rachel again.
“Before I made the deal, Lord Zeus warned me that we might be expected to make a significant sacrifice to the gods some day. I thought he meant money or property or something material, so I agreed. I didn’t realize until later,” he said, voice choked, “that he might’ve meant you, Rachel. You’re the one thing I wouldn’t - I couldn’t sacrifice and I had to keep you away from that world. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Olivia and Warren Dare had been young, arrogant, and foolish when they’d struck that deal with the gods, only thinking of themselves. Her mother had probably become pregnant shortly afterward and when Rachel was born... It must’ve hit her father the first time he held her, the first time he loved selflessly, the magnitude of what he’d agreed to. What if the gods asked him to give up his daughter, this precious little girl he’d fallen in love the instant he’d held her?
It wouldn’t happen. If there was thing Warren Dare was, it was determined, and he would not going to let anyone take his daughter from him. And if that meant being distant and cold so no one would guess her importance to them, to never have any more children who could also be taken, then that was what had to be done.
The burning bitterness and anger slowly began to release its hold on Rachel’s insides as her father’s words sank in. There was still hurt there, to be sure, but she now understood her parents more than she ever had in her life. Understanding wouldn’t make the hurt disappear, but it made living with it more bearable, at least.
Her parents had been trying to protect her, in their own messed up and neglectful way, and, as they had come to realize in the last 24 hours, that self-imposed misery they’d inflicted on the family had been absolutely worthless.
*
After everything that’d happened earlier, Rachel was surprised how well she slept that night. Her pain medicine and the exhaustion that set in after her parents were ushered from the room probably helped her along to sleep and she was thankful for that. The last thing she needed was to toss and turn, dreaming of a lifetime of lies and red eyed monsters dripping with blood.
She was disturbed only once, right after she’d slipped off to sleep, when she thought she felt a cool hand intertwined with hers. Rachel stirred, confused, and she felt the hand tighten around her fingers briefly before it casually slipped away.
By the time she pried her eyes open and whispered, “Nico?” there was nothing in her room but shadows.
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Nico, with appearances from the rest of the cast and the gods
Summary: After an attempt on her life, Apollo decides Rachel needs a bodyguard and who better to take the job than a certain son of Hades? Too bad they're not going to make things easy for each other, especially when it comes to their feelings.
Notes: This chapter ended up getting too long and then kept getting longer with no real end in sight, so I decided to hack it up again. Hopefully Chapter 18 won't take me too long to write since I have like two and half scenes left to go. Happy New Year and enjoy the fic.
Chapter 17: Aftermath
“Oh, good. You’re awake.”
Rachel blinked at the fuzzy, golden blob hovering over her, idly wondering if the Underworld was supposed to be so bright and warm. She’d gotten the impression that it was a dark, dreary place with wailing and decidedly less golden fuzzy things. Maybe the white light at the end of the tunnel had decided to wait for her?
After all, she was dead... wasn’t she?
Her eyelids felt like they weighed ten pounds each, but she blinked one more time and her vision came back into focus. Apollo was leaning over her, a stethoscope around his neck and relieved expression on his face. Her eyes darted around, catching glimpses of the various monitors floating beside her, the plastic tubes of IVs attached her arms, and a thin blue hospital blanket she covering her, before settling back on the handsome god.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wasn’t dead. Thank the gods.
“Rachel,” Apollo said. “Can you hear me?’
“Yes,” Rachel replied, opening her eyes. Her throat felt like it had been ravaged by steel wool, and her voice came out deep and rough. “What... what happened?”
Apollo smiled gently. “I was going to ask you that very question. But that can wait a little longer, I suppose. I need to check some of your vitals, if that’s all right?”
She nodded and tried to push herself upright. As soon as her back slid against the mattress, fiery pain shot through her and Rachel let out a whimper. Apollo put a steady hand on her shoulder, holding her in place, and then pressed the remote control for the bed into her hands. Rachel glanced down and noticed the bandages and gauze that laced up her forearms for the first time. She froze, surprised.
“Your pain medication is wearing off, so you’ll need to be a bit more careful from now on,” Apollo said, pressing a button to increase the bed’s incline. “You’re also a bit anemic, but that shouldn’t last too long once the effects of the transfusion wear off and we get some more iron in your system. You’ll be tired and possibly run a bit of a fever, and... ”
The god prattled on, but Rachel had tuned him out, staring at her arms. She poked at the bandages on her right arm and pulled them down hesitantly, revealing a long row of dark stitches holding together angry, oozing red flesh. For a moment, Rachel couldn’t remember how her arms had gotten cut so badly. And then...
She hurriedly tugged the dressing back up her arm, but the damage was already done. She could hear one of the monitors responding to the rapid increase of her heartbeat and, oh gods, she couldn’t breathe, why couldn’t she breathe -
“They got me,” she wheezed, flailing and trying to push aside her blankets in a panic. “They got me!”
“Rachel! Rachel, I need you to look at me.” Apollo touched her chin, tilting her gaze in his direction. “Be calm. I’m here, and you’re safe. I promise.”
Rachel nodded, understanding, but she couldn’t stop the unrelenting fear coursing through her body. Tears pricked her eyes, causing her throat and chest to tighten even more, and she couldn’t get enough air in -
Apollo laid his palm flat against her forehead and closed his eyes. Immediately, Rachel felt warmth spread from her head and spread down to her limbs until it reached the tips of her toes. Ever so gradually, the tightness in her chest loosened and she took several deep breaths to settle the burning in her lungs. As her heartbeat returned to normal, she murmured a thank to Apollo and then sank back into the pillows, even more exhausted.
“It was no trouble. I should’ve anticipated that you’d react this way,” he said, handing her the paper cup. It took her a moment to wrap her stiff and uncooperative fingers around it and she frowned at them, confused. “I’m sure it was quite the traumatic experience.”
Rachel didn’t say anything as she took a long gulp of water and willed herself to banish the dark thoughts of Jake and the others from her mind. She needed to stay positive and focus on the fact that she’d survived that horrible encounter instead of the possible alternatives.
She set the cup down on the end table, wincing as her hand cramped and her skin began to tingle with pain. She stared at them, trying not to panic again as she realized something was very wrong.
“Why are my hands not working?”
“Ah,” Apollo replied, sounding nervous. He took a step back from her side and reached for the chart on the edge of her bed, flipping a few pages over. “In addition to severe blood loss, there was some heavy nerve and tendon damage along your wrists, especially in your left hand. Most of the feeling and mobility should come back in a few months time and once the stitches come out, especially with physical therapy.”
“But?” Rachel asked, because she knew there would be one. Apollo’s expression was sorrowful, like it was whenever he was about to recite a particularly tragic poem.
“But there’s a chance - a pretty large one, unfortunately - that you might’ve lost mobility in your left pinky for good. Even with therapy, your other fingers may never work quite right again either.”
Rachel suddenly felt short of breath again. She concentrated on her hand, desperately willing it to move normally. The tips of her fingers curled slightly, but there was no other response, other than a flaring, white hot pain near her pinky.
No, no, no. This was not happening. This couldn’t happen to her, not after everything else. This wasn’t fair.
“I’m left-handed,” Rachel said, dumbstruck. “It’s my drawing hand, my painting hand... What - what am I supposed to do?”
Her voice cracked and she looked at Apollo pleadingly, hoping he had some magical, godly solution for her. He owed her that much, didn’t he? Surely fixing a few damaged nerves and making her hands work again couldn’t be considered interfering too much with mortals.
“I’m sorry Rachel, but I’ve already done all I can for you,” Apollo said. “I healed your back when you arrived, except for a few light scratches. Good thing too, or you would’ve never been able to wear a backless dress every again with the nasty scars those cuts would’ve created - ”
“A dress?” she repeated, staring at him uncomprehendingly. “What... why were you worried about fixing how I would look instead the real damage?”
“My dear, the mortals had already seen your arms, I couldn’t do too much without raising suspicion - ”
“You’re a god! You can do whatever you want!” she said hoarsely, her eyes stinging. “I’m a painter! What good am I if my hands don’t even work?”
Her vision blurred with tears and she hastily swept them away with the back of her hands. She swallowed the thick lump in her throat, refusing to cry any more. She was not going to sob in front of Apollo, not when she was like this. Briefly, she recalled his cold, aggressive attitude toward her in his office and wondered if this was his punishment for defying him.
“I understand that this is difficult for you, but you need to calm down. It's not good for you to be upset,” Apollo replied tensely. “Just think of all the new hobbies you’ll find to occupy your time if painting doesn’t work out after this.”
She glared at him. She couldn’t... no, she could believe he’d say something horrible like that. If she’d been a skilled pianist or violinist, she had no doubt Apollo would’ve fixed her hands and then waxed on and on about how the world would be so grateful to not lose such delightful musical talent. But she wasn’t. She was just Rachel Dare, an NYU art student with a famous name and a modicum of talent with a paint brush.
Bitterness settled in. She should’ve never trusted the god as she had. Hadn’t Percy and Annabeth warned her enough times to beware the whims of the gods? And now she would pay for it for the rest of her life.
“Lord Apollo,” she said evenly, meeting his blue gaze with a steely one of her own. “Thank you for your help and for watching over me. I’ll be sure to make a proper sacrifice in your honor when I’m well again. But I think it’s time my actual doctors took over and consulted with me.”
Apollo’s shoulders tensed, taken aback by her insolent reply. Judging by his narrowing gaze, he clearly hadn't realized how offensive and hurtful his words had been to her. He set her chart back down on the bed in a huff and stepped away.
“You’re obviously upset and need some time to process,” he said coolly. “I’ll be back to get your statement about what happened after you’ve calmed down a bit.”
His outline glowed brightly. Rachel shut her eyes and looked away before he disappeared with a searing flash. He must’ve been awfully angry with her to not bother warning her about changing into his godly form.
Rachel looked down at her hands one more time, holding back the despair welling deep within in her. What was she going to do now?
She took several deep breaths and then reached for the nurse’s call button.
*
An entire squadron of doctors, nurses and two black coated detectives responded to her call, and Rachel spent the next hour or so being tested, prodded, consulted and questioned about what had happened to her. She wasn’t sure what to say about how her injuries had been caused. The truth was out of the question, so she stuck with the basics.
She’d been kidnapped outside Radio City Music Hall; Liv, Jake and Eric had held her hostage at an unknown location for a few hours before slitting her wrists and back and leaving her to die. No, she wasn’t sure what or why they wanted her; no, she didn’t use drugs or owe them money, and no, they weren’t trying to ransom her father. Yes, Nico and Percy had found her and no, she didn’t know how they had or what how she got to the hospital.
Finally, after telling her almost the same thing about her condition and the state of her hands Apollo had, they left her alone with a strict warnings to call if she felt serious pain, nausea or anything more extreme than what she was feeling now.
She was just getting out of bed and trying to figure out how to get to the the bathroom with the world spinning so badly and an IV attached to her elbow, when the door opened again and her parents entered.
“Mom, Dad, ” Rachel said, glancing between the two of them, startled by their disheveled appearances. Surely they hadn’t spent the night in the hospital. “What...?”
“Oh, Rachel,” her mother said quietly and rushed forward. Before Rachel knew what was happening, her mother had enveloped her into a bear hug and was sobbing into Rachel’s hair. “Darling, we were so worried!”
Rachel could count on one hand how many times she’d seen her mother cry, and one of them had been in an old clip from her days as a soap opera star. She and her parents had a rather strained emotional relationship, considering they’d directed her to the family therapist every time she’d expressed any sort of teenage angst. It was hard to remember that her parents cared about her when half the time they acted as though she didn’t exist.
So, in a way, it was sort of... nice to have her normally flawless mother dripping snot on to her hospital gown and holding her tight enough to bust a rib. At least she’d be able to look back on this moment as definite proof of love in the Dare family.
“Mom,” she said, touching her mother’s arm. “I’m okay. Just a bit torn up, is all.”
Mrs. Dare let out another hiccuping sob and pulled away, cupping Rachel’s face in her hands. Her mother’s blue eyes were still dripping with tears and she sniffled, trying to get her composure back.
“Oh honey, your face...”
She flinched, recalling Eric slapping her at least once, and wondered if those after effects were what her mother was talking about. The doctors hadn’t mentioned anything about her face, although Rachel had noticed her skin felt swollen and achy.
Her father must’ve noticed Rachel’s stricken expression because he came to the rescue a moment later, putting his hand on his wife’s shoulder and pulling her away. “Olivia, dear, it’s just a bruise. There’s no need to scare Rachel like that.”
“I haven’t gotten to look in a mirror yet,” she muttered, apologetic for no particular reason. She didn’t really want to look in a mirror in the first place, especially without a nice, warm shower beforehand.
“It’s all right. We’re just glad you’re awake now,” Mr. Dare said, leading his wife to the chairs beside the bed. Rachel sat back down, bathroom trip momentarily forgotten, and stared at her parents, still a little overwhelmed by their behavior. It did not compute with everything she’d grown up with.
“Shouldn’t you be at work, Dad?” she blurted out, and was immediately mortified by her lack of tact. “I mean, it’s just... you never take days off and didn't you have that merger - ”
“Dare Enterprises can live without me for a day or so,” Mr. Dare said, waving off her stammering explanations. Rachel hadn’t missed the flash of hurt that passed across his face though, and she felt like a total ass. “And if the board of directors have an issue with that, then that’s hardly my problem. Although I’m going to have to have a little... chat with Mr. Delano as to why his sniveling snot of a son attempted to murder my daughter.”
“And Catherine Astor is definitely not invited to our charity ball this Christmas,” her mother added, pulling a compact out of her Chanel purse and dabbing at the smeared make-up under her eyes. “She’s been insufferable ever since they had to sell their home in the Hamptons and downgraded from Emerson Hill to the brownstone on 5th. Anyone could have told her that’s what happens when you commit tax fraud and now she’s got a criminal for a daughter, good Lord..”
Rachel swallowed. “The investigators told you what happened then?”
She wondered if her parents were considering pressing charges. She didn’t know if there would be any evidence to find to corroborate her story, which had been thin enough of the way it was, and the other three would probably deny it all and call her a lunatic. Would she get in trouble if the police found out she hadn’t told the truth or would the Mist protect her?
Her parents exchanged loaded glances and Mrs. Dare snapped her compact closed, sliding it into her purse. She set her purse down and smoothed her hands over the tops of her pants, one of her tell-tale nervous habits.
“They told us a version of what happened,” she said evenly, her face unreadable and stare penetrating. “And the Jackson boy and Nico enlightened us further.”
Rachel’s mouth went as dry as sandpaper and her hands began to tremble. Did they know about her? Why would Percy and Nico out her like that? Her parents would have bought any story! They didn’t need the truth; they wouldn’t believe the truth.
“What,” she cleared her throat, “What do you mean?”
Mr. Dare leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking older than Rachel had ever seen him.
“I’m afraid your mother and I haven’t been quite honest with you about some things in our life,” he began quietly. “And you have returned our lack of trust by hiding some secrets of your own. It’s a bit ironic, considering all the steps your mother and I took to keep you out of this, but I suppose that’s Fate for you.”
Rachel almost interrupted him, but stopped herself, remembering what Eric had said about her father, Manhattan’s elite, and the long standing relationship they had with the Olympians and other gods. There was more to this than she knew and she needed to hear what her father had to say before she drew the wrong conclusions.
“I hope this doesn’t come as too much of a shock to you. Your mother and I would have explained at some point, but we hardly needed to with everything under control and... well...”
He looked at his wife, at a loss for words, and Mrs. Dare rolled her eyes.
“What your father means is that he didn’t think you cared enough about Dare Enterprises and how we made our money unless it involved bulldozing the home of Toe Sucking Tree Saps or whatever en vogue endangered animal of the month you were always going on about,” she said. Rachel realized how weird it was to be happy that her mother’s tone was back to being haughty and dismissive. “The fact of the matter is that, while your father and I would’ve amassed quite the fortune on our own due to our respective backgrounds, we wouldn’t be in the position we are today without divine intervention. A mortal family doesn’t come into power in Manhattan without the blessing of the gods. Preferably from Lord Zeus, which is a very rare achievement indeed and something we managed to keep a handle on for more than twenty years.”
Rachel felt light headed and she wasn’t quite sure if that was due to her deteriorating physical condition or because her world had just tipped mightily on its axis. Her parents didn’t just know about her, they knew about everything.
“How...?” She couldn’t get the rest of her question out past the choking disbelief and anger building inside her.
She stared at her parents as if she was seeing them for the first time. And in some way, she was. She didn’t know these people who made business arrangements with gods and believed in fantasy. They shouldn’t know about and, worst of all, accept all of this when all they had spent most of Rachel’s childhood trying to crush the eccentricity out of her
Mr. Dare rubbed his temples. “Just before you were born, I... made a deal with Lord Zeus. In exchange for his patronage, I would manage his investments and businesses in the mortal world, as well as make significant sacrifices in his name and ensure his - and by extension, the rest of Olympus’s - anchor to the mortal world remained strong.”
The absurdity of her father’s confession took Rachel a few moments to process and even once she had wrapped her mind around the idea that her dad was employed by Zeus, the most intelligent thing she could croak out was, “So... so you’re Zeus’s stockbroker?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” her father replied, a little annoyed. “The flame of the Olympus can’t survive on support from demigods alone, no matter how powerful and influential they are; it never has been able to. Mortals are what keep the flame glowing and the gods strong. If they abandon those ideals, the gods would - ”
“Fade,” Rachel interrupted softly, her heart aching as she remembered an enchanted cavern and a god’s sad smile from years ago. “I know.”
“Exactly. Which is why they select certain advantageous mortals to help... well, influence society to the Olympians’ advantage and are rewarded for their work.”
Manipulate was probably a better word for it, Rachel thought, as examples of all the not-so-nice things people like her father and others had probably done to their fellow mortals for the sake of Olympus flowed through her head. She was in no condition to analyze the implications of it all now though; thinking critically about anything made her head throb.
“Liv and Jake... they said you ruined their families,” Rachel recalled, hiding her shaking hands beneath the blankets. “Is it because you took their places?”
“The Astors and Delanos have been out of favor with the Olympians for ages.” This time, it was her mother who spoke. “Many of the older families have gotten lax with their duties over the years and the gods grew tired of them, so they sought out new opportunities. Sometimes the feuding between families gets a little fierce, but your father had nothing to do with what happened yesterday, Rachel.”
Rachel nodded, understanding, but she still felt bitterness creeping up from the pit of her stomach through the rest of her body. Even if they’d been oblivious to this plot against her, her parents had known about everything else all this time and they’d done everything they could to keep her from it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked at last, her voice going hoarse with emotion again. “I saw monsters and creatures. You knew I did and you knew they were real... and you put me in therapy and on medication? I thought I was going crazy! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mr. and Mrs. Dare looked at each other again, exhaustive guilt written over both their faces. They’d had this conversation about her before, Rachel realized, and that only made the ache in her body worse.
“At first,” Mrs. Dare began haltingly, a plea for understanding in her eyes, “we thought it was just your imagination. But as you got older and kept talking about it, we realized it wasn’t and... Rachel, we couldn’t let you get involved, not after some of the stories we heard from the other families. We wanted you as far away from this business as possible and - and - ”
“I found my way into it anyway,” Rachel finished as her mother trailed off, eyes filling with tears again. "By becoming the Oracle. And you never guessed?"
“No,” Mrs. Dare said with a watery laugh. “Now that we know, all the signs were so obvious, I can’t believe we ignored them for so long. I feel so stupid.”
Mr. Dare reached out and put a comforting hand on his wife’s knee, squeezing it once before looking at Rachel again.
“Before I made the deal, Lord Zeus warned me that we might be expected to make a significant sacrifice to the gods some day. I thought he meant money or property or something material, so I agreed. I didn’t realize until later,” he said, voice choked, “that he might’ve meant you, Rachel. You’re the one thing I wouldn’t - I couldn’t sacrifice and I had to keep you away from that world. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Olivia and Warren Dare had been young, arrogant, and foolish when they’d struck that deal with the gods, only thinking of themselves. Her mother had probably become pregnant shortly afterward and when Rachel was born... It must’ve hit her father the first time he held her, the first time he loved selflessly, the magnitude of what he’d agreed to. What if the gods asked him to give up his daughter, this precious little girl he’d fallen in love the instant he’d held her?
It wouldn’t happen. If there was thing Warren Dare was, it was determined, and he would not going to let anyone take his daughter from him. And if that meant being distant and cold so no one would guess her importance to them, to never have any more children who could also be taken, then that was what had to be done.
The burning bitterness and anger slowly began to release its hold on Rachel’s insides as her father’s words sank in. There was still hurt there, to be sure, but she now understood her parents more than she ever had in her life. Understanding wouldn’t make the hurt disappear, but it made living with it more bearable, at least.
Her parents had been trying to protect her, in their own messed up and neglectful way, and, as they had come to realize in the last 24 hours, that self-imposed misery they’d inflicted on the family had been absolutely worthless.
*
After everything that’d happened earlier, Rachel was surprised how well she slept that night. Her pain medicine and the exhaustion that set in after her parents were ushered from the room probably helped her along to sleep and she was thankful for that. The last thing she needed was to toss and turn, dreaming of a lifetime of lies and red eyed monsters dripping with blood.
She was disturbed only once, right after she’d slipped off to sleep, when she thought she felt a cool hand intertwined with hers. Rachel stirred, confused, and she felt the hand tighten around her fingers briefly before it casually slipped away.
By the time she pried her eyes open and whispered, “Nico?” there was nothing in her room but shadows.