AN: This was technically written as prompt 7 for my 100 prompts thing, but it turned out to be twice as long as most of the others, and the style is a little different, so I thought I would make it a stand-alone fic. Sorry if it's a bit incoherent; it's set in a future-verse where Nico and Rachel are together, and another war is going on.

Rachel looked out her window and saw smoke. The only light in the night was the moonshine glinting off of the celestial bronze of dozens and dozens of weapons, swinging and slashing and slicing through the air, driven by the strength of her friends, her family, her demigods.

"Rachel," Chiron said softly. Only then did she realize how tightly her fists had curled, how white her knuckles had turned, how tense her muscles were. "Nico is here to escort you to Olympus. It isn't safe for you here."

"It isn't safe for them either, is it?"

Chiron sighed. She was not saying it to be petulant. She was not saying it out of spite. She was saying it because it was in her nature. Rachel Elizabeth Dare saw through more than just the Mist. She saw through every lie thrown at her, every farce, every illusion. She saw through it, and that left her incapable of silence. How could she not say it, when she knew everyone in the room was trying not to say it themselves?

Nico's hand slid into hers. She did not want him there to walk her to safety and say goodbye. She wanted him on the couch in her apartment, snoring happily. She wanted him out on the front lines, fighting the way only he could and defending the people she was worried about. She wanted him to hold her and she wanted him not to touch her at all. Wherever she wanted him, it was not there. It was not his place. Nico di Angelo's place was both at her side and in the midst of battle all at once. The problem was that he could not do both at once.

"Rachel," Chiron said again.

She remembered the Battle of New York all those years ago. I will be brave, she had told herself. I am here to help. Yet how quickly she paled. How fiercely she trembled. How willingly she jumped upon the offer of shelter then. And how she regretted it as she sat there helplessly, hour after hour. She had thought then that she would rather have died than sat there listening to a chorus of screams and sobs for another minute. It was half the reason she had found herself brave enough to fly to camp and take her vow. She thought that if she were the Oracle, she would never have to be helpless again. She was half-right; they did not send her away because she was helpless, now they said it was because she was too important to risk losing. The words tasted of the same bitterness, no matter how sweet they sounded.

"Rachel," Nico said this time.

"I'm not the useless girl I was last time," she said.

Both men looked at her steadily, like parents waiting for an inevitable tantrum before sending their child to bed.

"I have learned. I have trained. I have the blessing of Apollo. I am the Oracle, seer of Delphi, and I have power. I can help."

Her eyes flashed as she said it, but not the putrid green of the Spirit. Her eyes flashed the forest green of a stubborn girl who would not be denied.

Chiron shifted his gaze to Nico for help.

Nico's grip on her hand tightened. He was anxious to get into the thick of the battle. He was anxious to get her to safety, so that maybe one precious thing might be protected that day. But Rachel was not a precious thing, she would remind him had she guessed his thoughts. She was a precious person, with thoughts and feelings, and hands that could hold a sword if they chose to. And they chose to.

More than he feared the loss of his own life, Nico feared losing another person he held dear. He had too much of the sickness too early in life to let it back in. If he had his way, Rachel would be a hundred miles away, safe and sound. Sending her to Olympus was the closest he could get to that. Sending her out into battle was tempting the Fates.

Rachel looked up at him like an animal being led to a cage. She looked out the window like an animal being sent to slaughter. He was selfish for wanting to stay at her side. He was selfish for wanting to send her away. He was selfish for caring more about her safety than what she wanted, for being afraid to do anything that might make her hate him, for holding her hand when he should be holding his sword and swinging. His ears buzzed with the death of someone's and something's and he could not think. He could not speak. He could not decide what to do.

But it was not his decision to make.

He slipped his hand out of hers and knotted it in her hair, pulling her close and kissing her like a question and a promise. She kissed him back readily, trembling with adrenaline. Nico pushed a sword into her hands and picked up a shield, following after her as she dashed off into battle.