My, my, sorry for the wait on this fic. But, let's get on with it, shall we? So, eleventh ficlet in a series I'm doing based on TS songs, specifically from her album, Red. This one's based on Holy Ground, and is a Aprachel (Rapollo?) fic. Not a pairing usually dealt with, but I've always a certain fascination for them.

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson & The Olympians, or Heroes of Olympus. Rick Riordan and Hyperion do. I also claim nothing to the album Red. All rights belong to Taylor Swift.

Title: holy ground.

Summary: "That was the thing about Rachel Elizabeth Dare. When she decided to do something, she never complained about the outcome. She never complained about him." [Oneshot. Apollo x Rachel.]

Pairing: Rachel x Apollo. (Aprachel? Rapollo? Rachpollo?)

WARNING: Okay, so, kinda angsty, but I tried to include some humor. Tried.

holy ground.

by clarabella wanderling.

"I was reminiscing just the other day,
while having coffee all alone and Lord it took my away.
Back to a first-glance feeling on New York Time.
Back when you fit in my poems like a perfect rhyme.
Took off faster than green light, "Go."
Yeah, you skipped conversation when you already know.
I left a note on the door with a joke we'd made;
And that was the first day."
~Taylor Swift, Holy Ground.

Apollo, god of the sun, master of archery, immortal being with handsome features, lord of poetry and boss of medicine, was staring.

Now, to most people, a teenaged boy (as was the look he'd chosen that morning) staring into the supposed distance might look like a normal sight. But to Apollo, and any other gods, or demigods in the perimeter, it was shocking, because usually, it was Apollo being stared at, not the other way around.

But then, his object of musing was not usual. That was, after all, why he had chosen her.

She had her hair piled up in a bun, with a few insanely curly strands falling out every once in a while, when she moved suddenly. Her outfit, which Apollo recognized as an authentic Greek dress (Chiron had a sweet spot for her, then. Either that or she got one of Hermes' kids to do her bidding) was flaked with paint here and there, staining the white fabric. She wore a wreath in her hair and her sandals were tied up in the old-fashioned way that Apollo grew up knowing.

She stood on a pedestal, towering above everyone walking by, and a boy was at her feet, taking pictures of her in short bursts of speed before telling her to move a little to the left, please, the sun's in the way.

Apollo would have been offended, but the boy was his son, Will, and the god held a certain fascination for his Oracle.

Rachel turned her body towards Apollo, slightly. She hadn't noticed him (thank God), and continued to pose, face emotionless. To Will's right stood Nico, silently holding three frappes with the McDonald's logo printed on them. After a few more shots, Will nodded, to say he was done, and Rachel hopped off the stand, walking towards Nico in her usual confident fashion. Apollo couldn't hear what Nico said, but Rachel's voice, as always, carried further than necessary, so he heard her loud and clear.

"McDonald's? Really, di Angelo? We said Starbucks."

Nico responded something inaudible, but from Will's laughter and Rachel's unbelief, he guessed it was something very Italian. Each took their frappe, Rachel said goodbye to the two boys, a smile resting on her features as she strutted away from Apollo, frappe gripped into her hands and posture confident.

Apollo's fingertips tightened over his iced coffee.

He followed her.

...

Two weeks later, he watched her from under an oak tree, back resting against the gnarled wood. His look was slightly older: late teens, early twenties, this time. She was sitting on a bench in one of Manhatten's parks, her sketchbook out. She wore shorts, instead of skinny jeans. A faded Black Widow icon rested on her breasts.

But, it wasn't like he actually noticed her breasts. No. Not like that at all.

He gulped, watching her with restrained fascination. Rachel drew with all her soul. She drew like it was the last time she'd ever pick up a pen, like Zeus himself was sitting there judging her every sin.

Movement by his left caught Apollo's eye and he turned, face settled into the brightness that was the sun god's smile. A wood nymph stood before him, eyes downturned out of respect. "My lord." she murmured, and he laughed.

"Save formality for the throne room, yeah?"

She gulped, "Um. Y-yes, my lord."

Apollo grimaced. She opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it tight, swallowing heavily. "What's your name?" he asked her.

The girl's eyes widened, "Oakely."

"Oakely." Apollo nodded, saying the name slowly, testing it on his tongue. "And, tell me, Oakely, do you have something you wish to express to me?"

She nodded, silent.

"Then express away."

Oakely sniffed, as if regretting her decision to ever leave her tree. "Just talk to her."

Apollo rose a brow, "What?"

"That girl? Just talk to her." Oakely looked away. "I'm sorry if I've outspoken myself. Please forgive me."

He felt annoyance blowing below the surface, but Oakely was sweet, and he was feeling compassionate. "She's the Oracle." he stated.

Oakely's face morphed into the look of understanding. "You're afraid. After what happened last time."

He nodded. "All the other Oracles died. One turned into a mummy. Two went insane. Can you blame me for being afraid?"

"No, but you should ignore that fear. She only lives once, and you?" Oakely looked almost sorry for him. "You live forever. Neither of you can risk not taking risks." She bowed, stepping back into her tree. Apollo glanced at Rachel, who had finished her drawing and was just getting up.

He tapped his fingers against his jeans.

He got up.

Oakely smiled.

...

By the end of the evening Rachel had complained about her father in extremely colorful language, and they'd bought coffee together with the promise of doing this (whatever 'this' was) another time. She knew, Rachel knew, about Apollo, about what his Oracles were required to do for him once sworn into oath. But she didn't complain.

That was the thing about Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

When she decided to do something, she never complained about the outcome. She never complained about him.

So, when Apollo left her at the doorstep of her cave, he also left a sticky note with an inside joke they'd made. She'd promised him a kiss sometime soon, and that promise was almost enough to keep Apollo from worrying.

Almost, but not quite.

(That was the first day.)

...

When she kissed him (it had to be her who engaged the first kiss. He was too chicken for it), it was confident and alluring, like everything about the redheaded prophetess. She kissed him a little too long and looked into his immortal eyes a little too deeply, reading him like he was a regular boy and she a queen.

(Maybe he was.

Maybe she was.)

"I'm sorry." Is what slipped out of his mouth. "I will ruin you."

Rachel crained her neck and grinned at him, tongue slipping between her teeth and the paint brush she held in one hand threatening to dab her shirt. "No, my lord," said she, "it is I who will ruin you."

...

"Sister," he said one evening, as the moon and stars shown over the heavens and Artemis lay next to him, a little way away from her hunters. "Why me?"

And Artemis, because she is wise and female and his twin sister, knew immediately what he meant. "You love her."

"What's not to love?"

She grimaced, and he knew that she'd never understand. Ah, but she could try (she did). "We both know -everyone knows- that an Oracle is destined to love the god who granted her the Gift. It's always been that way, no matter what. She saves herself for him. He is her holy ground, her savior, and he does to her what he wants. What is new, however," she murmured, glancing at her brother, the blond boy with eyes that could kill, "is the god loving his pet."

"She is not my pet."

"No," agreed Artemis. "She is your holy ground."

(That was the end of that conversation.)

...

When he admitted to her that he was in love with her, it isn't a grand display of affection like his past lovers. It's plain, almost boring. Rachel was in the middle of telling him a story about Annabeth Chase and Percy Jackson, idly tracing her fingers along his hands, face vibrant. He was transfixed by all her movements, and before his mind could catch up to his tongue he tilted his head and said, "I am in love with you."

She stopped her tale mid-sentence, hand halted to a stop and eyes wide with something he can't quite catch. She nodded, rubbed her forehead. "You aren't supposed to."

"I know."

She smiled at that, and it clicked that she doesn't believe him. He understood (how many girls had he lied to?) but it hurt, anyway, and he swore that he'd earn her trust before all this ended.

She went back to tracing his fingertips and Apollo went back to loving her all.

...

two years later.

"I need you." He said to her, and she rolled her eyes, their waltz just a little out of synch with the music.

"No, you don't."

"Yes I do."

"Apollo."

"Rachel."

She stepped on his foot, deliberately, but Apollo ignored it, spinning her instead, the white fabric of her dress entrancing him for a split second before her eyes locked onto his, "Don't say that." Rachel requested, as the song ended and they trailed off to the corner of Olympus' massive dance hall.

"Why not?" Apollo retorted, messing with his cufflinks.

Rachel looked towards the ground, then up at him again. "Because it means you have something to lose."

He tilted his head at her, not understanding.

Her mouth opened, and closed. She took a sip of her champagne, the only mortal drink in the room, and her chest heaved as she choked out her words. "I die." She clarified. "And you don't."

Apollo cleared his throat, which suddenly felt full of who-knew-what. "You could marry me. Become immortal."

Her eyes widened, hope brimming and then crashing just as quickly. She shook her head, "no."

Anger boiled and Apollo slammed her against the wall, watching as she bit her lip and waved away an astounded Percy Jackson, who was being closely followed by Annabeth Chase and Jason Grace. "Why not?"

"Because I am not strong enough to live forever." She responded. "You are my love, and you will be my love til I die. But I will not live forever. I will not see everyone around me wither and die."

"I wouldn't die. I wouldn't leave."

Her face softened, and Apollo's heart broke. "No. But I would. My mind would leave my body. I'd go insane, and you wouldn't be faithful forever. You would break my heart."

Silence filled the small space between them, and then Apollo pulled away because dammit she was right. She was always right. "So what do we do?"

Rachel cried now, and pulled him near her, the words she spoke reaching his ear in a hot whisper. "We walk away from each other."

He wanted to argue with her, wanted to tell her she was being stupid and rash, but he didn't. He nodded. He said okay.

And she walked away.

...

three months later.

When they see each other, they act like your typical ex couple. Cordial, polite, but not quite friendly. When they are apart, Apollo sees Rachel everywhere. In every face, every set of green eyes and red hair. Every artist, every confident stride.

For Rachel, it's worse. The sun is a constant reminder in her heart. Poetry makes her heart bleed and the hospital cannot patch her up without opening another wound in her heart. All of his children, no matter how sweet, serve as nothing but a token of what could have been. Blond hair is a curse and even the evening brings the reminder of Artemis, and, in turn, him.

She was still in love with him. Always would be, her whole life. And Apollo would probably always love her. In the back of his heart.

...

nine months later.

She stood at the opposite end of the dance hall, Nico di Angelo on one arm and Will Solace on the other, guarding her with their lives. Apollo pretends not to be looking at her, but she's there, so close, and she is his focus. The night is almost over when a goddess strolls up to him and smiles, asking for a dance. A million thoughts sprint through his mind, but one rings loudly: he still loves Rachel. He will love her til his body is scattered and dropped into the pits of Tartarus.

So he'll dance. For what they've endured and will endure. For what they've loved and will love. He dances for them, for what they have been through. And though he wishes the goddess before him was mortal and redheaded and spunky, he doesn't say so. His holy ground lies elsewhere, surrounded by men who will guard her (one of which is his descendant) like friends guard her.

His holy ground will be okay, Apollo confirms.

(He will make sure of that.)

"Tonight I'm gonna dance, for all that we've been through.
But I don't wanna dance, if I'm not dancing with you."
~Taylor Swift, Holy Ground.