Fanfic: Everything Else In Between - Chapter 4

[yassandra4]

Title: Everything Else In Between (Chapter 4)
Author: Yassandra
Fandom: Atlantis
Pairing/characters: Jason & Pythagoras
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. BBC and Urban Myth Films own them.
Word count: 18969 (This chapter - 4272)
Summary: Jason never asked to be thrust into Atlantis and separated from the world he grew up in. Set adrift in a strange time and place that he doesn't understand, reality bites and bites hard. They say that grief comes in five stages. Fortunately for Jason he has Pythagoras to help him through them.

A story told through a series of conversations between two friends.

A/N Written for round five of the Small Fandoms Bang, and also for Hurt/Comfort Bingo for the 'taking care of somebody' prompt.
Please go and check out the lovely artwork by Gryphon2K here on LJ, or here on AO3, and give the artist some appreciation too :-)

This fic is set throughout the first series - I hope the time frame makes sense.

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The house was in darkness when Pythagoras returned from visiting Daedalus. It was a surprise to the young genius and he paused in the doorway for a minute or two, frowning. He had expected Hercules to be out. The older man had muttered something this morning about a beetle race at the tavern this evening but as far as Pythagoras knew Jason should still be home. Perhaps his younger friend had decided to join Hercules at the tavern? Or gone to visit the Oracle? Pythagoras discounted both possibilities fairly quickly. Jason hadn’t mentioned anything about going out this evening before Pythagoras had gone out. Actually he hadn’t said much of anything to be honest. Not that that was particularly unusual these days. He had rarely left the house since the rabid dog incident – only really going out when one of his friends persuaded him to accompany them to the market or somewhere specific – and didn’t engage in conversation in the way he used to. Pythagoras was increasingly worried.

He is unhappy, a little voice at the back of the mathematician’s head kept saying. Pythagoras sighed. That much at least was obvious, but until Jason chose to divulge what exactly was bothering him Pythagoras was left floundering for a solution to a problem that he did not yet fully understand. There were times when he caught Jason staring out into the street with sad eyes, his expression so wistful and longing that Pythagoras would have done almost anything to take it away. As soon as he realised he was not alone, however, Jason’s entire demeanour would change, his face morphing back into the easy-going smile that he wore so often. His smiles had been coming less and less lately though, Pythagoras thought with another sigh.

Over the last few weeks, as Jason had grown quieter and quieter and more and more distant (always polite but definitely more distant than normal), Pythagoras had caught him looking at Circe’s brand on several occasions. It galled the mathematician that he had been able to do nothing to help heal the burn, the edges looking as angry, red and painful as the first day the witch had inflicted it upon his friend. The injury simply refused to heal (which, on reflection, probably had something to do with the magical manner in which it had been given) and Pythagoras knew that it still pained Jason, although his dark haired friend refused to say anything; refused to complain. He suspected that Jason’s silence with regards to the brand was down to the fact that he did not wish to make Hercules feel guilty given that it was a physical symbol of the agreement Jason had been forced to make with the witch to save both the burly wrestler’s and Medusa’s lives.

Pythagoras stood still in the darkness near the table in the kitchen area, hearing only his own breathing. The silence in the house was a little unnerving and he hurried to light a lamp even as he berated himself for his own nervousness. A soft sound from the balcony made him jump and spin around anxiously, although an embarrassed flush spread up his cheeks. He had, after all, been in the house on his own at night on many occasions in the past without jumping at shadows.

“Hello?” he called, cursing himself silently for the tremulous note that crept into his voice unbidden.

“I’m out here,” Jason’s voice drifted back from the balcony.

Pythagoras frowned. Jason sounded muffled somehow, his voice rougher than usual. He slipped his satchel off over his head and placed it down on the kitchen table before quietly padding his way over to the balcony. He paused in the doorway, frowning as he took in the sight before him. Jason was sitting on the floor in his usual spot. What worried Pythagoras though was the two wine flagons on the floor next to him. After all, everyone knew that Hercules was the heavy drinker of their household. Like Pythagoras himself, Jason usually drank fairly little and his two friends had never seen him truly drunk – a little tipsy on a couple of occasions when they had been celebrating but never actually full on drunk. As Pythagoras entered the balcony, he scrubbed his hands across his face, rubbing his eyes with his fingers and dragging them down his cheeks. Even in the darkness Pythagoras could see how suspiciously bright his friend’s eyes were.

“Jason have you been crying?” he asked gently.

“No. Of course not,” Jason answered, although Pythagoras couldn’t help noticing the hitch in his voice that told a different story to his words.

The young genius sighed and moved to sit next to his friend. Jason leant away slightly and looked anywhere but at Pythagoras. Pythagoras tried to supress the little irrational surge of hurt he felt at his friend’s rejection of the comfort he wanted to offer.

“What is wrong my friend?” he asked softly. “You are clearly not happy and I wish you would tell me what I can do to make things better.”

“I’m fine.”

“No you are not,” Pythagoras retorted. “You have not been yourself for some weeks now. What troubles you?”

“I…,” Jason began, his breath hitching.

For a moment Pythagoras thought he might actually open up before his hope was dashed.

“I’m fine,” Jason finished, looking down at the ground.

Pythagoras favoured him with a disbelieving look and sighed.

“I cannot begin to help if you will not let me,” he murmured. “Although whatever is troubling you I doubt you will find the answer at the bottom of a flagon of wine,” he added primly.

Jason snorted.

“I haven’t drunk all that much,” he protested.

Pythagoras raised one eyebrow and looked pointedly at the two flagons.

“One of those was nearly empty already,” Jason protested, following his gaze. “There was only about a quarter of a cup in it to start with.” He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. “Not that it would matter if I had got drunk,” he added in a barely audible mutter. “At least then I might be able to…” he let out a shaky breath but did not finish the sentence.

“It would matter if you were drinking because you are miserable,” Pythagoras said quietly. “In my experience if you drink wine when you are not happy, the drink will only make you more sad.”

He placed a warm hand firmly on Jason’s shoulder and felt his friend lean into it, even as he turned his face further away. It was a strange contradiction in body language but Pythagoras held on, knowing that Jason would surrender eventually; would give in to his need for the comfort of a friend even if he was trying to deny himself at the moment.

“What is wrong my friend?” the mathematician repeated gently.

Jason took a hitching breath that sounded almost like a sob.

“It’s stupid,” he muttered.

“It is not stupid if it is making you feel this way,” Pythagoras answered.

“I went to the market this afternoon,” Jason said obliquely.

Pythagoras blinked at the apparent non sequitur but wisely held his tongue, suspecting that Jason was about to tell him what was wrong even if it was via a circuitous route.

“We were out of bread again,” Jason continued. “How is it that we’re always out of bread?”

“We live with Hercules,” Pythagoras answered. “His appetite, at least, truly is legendary.”

Jason grunted in response.

“Anyway I was in a different part of the market to normal,” he said. “I can’t really go to the baker we used to go to anymore so I went to the one on the other side of the market. It’s run by this blind man… although how he knows that people aren’t stealing from him I don’t know. I was on my way there this afternoon and there was this new stall – one I haven’t seen before. It was selling pottery. Not the normal stuff that’s in the agora but really fancy stuff… you know the black and red stuff?”

“Red figure pottery?” Pythagoras murmured. “It is among our finest and most highly prized art forms. There is a merchant from Athens who visits Atlantis at around this time every year selling it. It is beyond the price range of most of the citizens but I understand he sells a fair amount to the nobility.”

“It was pretty,” Jason admitted. “I only stopped to look for a minute. There were vases and amphorae. Lots of big, fancy stuff… you know? And then I saw this little bowl at the back of the stall… this tiny little bowl. Most people didn’t even look at it because it was so small. It had a picture of… well I think it was Hermes on it… whoever it was had wings on his feet anyway.”

“Yes that would indeed be Hermes,” Pythagoras answered softly. He draped his arm carefully around his friend’s shoulders, feeling the tension and rigidity in them. Jason was clearly not yet ready to let go fully and allow himself to be consoled. “What was so important about that dish?” he asked. “Did something happen?”

Pythagoras knew better than anyone that, in spite of his natural grace and agility, Jason could be remarkably clumsy at times. It wouldn’t have surprised him to hear that his friend had managed to accidentally destroy the entire pottery stall – although how they would pay for it if he had, Pythagoras wasn’t quite sure.

“No. Nothing happened. I just stood there staring until the stall holder made me move on,” Jason said, his tone subdued.

“Then what was it about this particular dish that is affecting you so much?”

Jason swallowed hard and looked down.

“When I was little… when I was a child… my father had a dish that was just like it,” he answered quietly. “I mean it was identical. It could almost have been the same dish. It was the same size and shape and pattern. When he disappeared… over the years most of his things were lost… I suppose someone got rid of them… but that dish was always there. That and my necklace were the only two things I really had of him.” He raised his hand unconsciously and fingered the bulls horn necklace at his throat.

“I did not realise that your necklace had such significance,” Pythagoras murmured.

“It was the last thing he ever gave me,” Jason admitted. “It was just before he disappeared. I’ve kept it ever since… worn it whenever I could… stupid I suppose but it always felt like if I could hold onto the last of his things I could hold onto him a little bit.”

“It is not stupid to grieve for a person that you love… or to miss them,” Pythagoras said. “Forgive me… I do not wish to pry if it is something that you are uncomfortable talking about… but you have never mentioned your mother. On the rare occasions when you do speak of your past it is always your father that you speak of.”

“I don’t really talk about my mother because there isn’t that much to say about her,” Jason replied. “I was always told that she died not long after I was born. My father did not like to speak of her. I would ask but he would never tell me about her. I think the memories were too painful for him.”

“So that is what you meant,” Pythagoras murmured to himself. At Jason’s semi-quizzical look he went on. “Do you remember some months ago when we found the baby? When you and I were in the woods you murmured something about no child deserving to grow up not knowing their mother. I wondered why you would say such a thing at the time but I did not like to ask. Now I understand that you were talking as much about yourself as you were about the child.”

“Maybe,” Jason acknowledged. “I used to look at other children with their parents and wonder what it would feel like to have a mother. I mean I had my father… but then he was gone too. So I held onto the necklace and that stupid little dish. Wherever I lived… wherever I went it went with me. I used to keep coins in it. Seeing that bowl today… knowing that I don’t have it anymore… that I’ve lost it… it almost felt like I was losing him all over again.”

Pythagoras’ arm tightened automatically around his companion’s shoulders.

“It is understandable,” he murmured. “Especially since you were already feeling low.”

“Who said I was feeling low?” Jason protested, although his voice lacked any sort of conviction and he sniffled slightly. Pythagoras tightened his arm even more.

“You have been unhappy for weeks,” the mathematician responded. “You have barely left the house… barely spoken. I have known that something was wrong for some time but I did not know what to do to help.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason almost whispered. “You shouldn’t have to put up with me and my moods. I make enough trouble for you as it is.”

“You are my friend,” Pythagoras replied simply. “And I would think myself a poor friend indeed if I did not care for your wellbeing and wish to help you.” He looked at Jason and smiled reassuringly. “Please Jason, tell me what is wrong?”

“I don’t know really. It’s just… do you ever feel like you can’t do anything right? Like you’re making a mess of your whole life and dragging everyone you care about down with you?”

Pythagoras frowned.

“You are not dragging anyone anywhere,” he said firmly. “And as for being unable to do anything right, you have saved mine and Hercules’ lives more times than I care to remember. Within two days of arriving in Atlantis your actions had saved Hercules from being a lion’s dinner and me from the clutches of the Minotaur.”

“Yeah but usually you’re only in danger in the first place because of me.”

“That is not true,” Pythagoras asserted. “Not all the time. When the Furies attacked it was not your doing. Neither was it your fault when Hercules was turned into a pig… or when Medusa was kidnapped by Kyros… or for that matter when Hercules went searching for Medusa and fell afoul of the Scythians. In fact, I would say that at least half of our troubles can be ascribed to Hercules and not you.”

“Maybe,” Jason sighed. “But then I think of Korinna and Medusa. If I hadn’t entered the Pankration… if Ariadne had never met me… Korinna would still be alive… and Medusa wouldn’t be cursed if I’d just listened to Kampê’s warnings about Pandora’s Box… and then there’s Ariadne. What must she think of me? I’m the reason that her closest friend is dead.”

“I think Ariadne would put the blame for that firmly where it belongs,” Pythagoras said. “With Pasiphae. Ariadne cares deeply for you… she loves you. I believe that much was evident from the way in which she gathered the silver to help us rid you of that curse even though she did not know what we needed it for.”

“And how did I thank her? I practically slammed the door in her face, sniffed her and growled at her. What must she think of me now? She must think I’m some kind of freak.”

Pythagoras sighed.

“I believe that there is very little that you could do that Ariadne could not forgive,” he said softly. “You were cursed and did not fully have control over your own actions. Ariadne could see that you were not yourself… that something was wrong with you… and she was concerned. I do not believe that she will hold anything you did at the time against you.” He looked shrewdly at Jason. “That is not all that is wrong though is it?”

Jason bit his lip and looked away.

“I miss home,” he murmured plaintively. “I mean I miss where I come from. I know I can’t go back and I don’t really want to but…”

A faint smile touched Pythagoras’ lips.

“And was it so difficult to admit that you are homesick?” he asked gently.

“I shouldn’t be,” Jason answered. “You guys have done so much for me. I feel like I’m being ungrateful… and this place feels more like home than anywhere I’ve ever lived.”

“I would be more disturbed if you did not miss the home where you were raised now and then,” Pythagoras responded. “You should not be ashamed of missing your home. It does not make you ungrateful… it makes you human. I have made my home here in Atlantis, with Hercules and now with you. I would not wish to leave it or those I love for the world, and yet there are times when I still miss Samos even after all these years. I miss my mother’s smile… the smell of the house where I grew up… the sound of the waves gently lapping at the shore… and I know I could hear the waves if I went to the beach here, yet it is still not quite the same.”

“I’ve got a list of things that I miss in my head,” Jason admitted quietly.

“Tell me about it,” Pythagoras urged. “Tell me about the place that you came from. What do you miss the most?”

“Rain,” Jason answered. “Where I come from it rains a lot… and it’s colder than it is here.”

“That sounds… unpleasant,” Pythagoras said.

“It’s not so bad when you get used to it,” Jason responded. “I don’t actually like being out in the rain all that much, but I love the smell of the air once it clears and the way it makes everything feel fresh and new. Besides, you appreciate the nice weather more if it’s not hot all the time.”

“What else?” Pythagoras asked.

“Mostly it’s little things,” Jason said. “Stupid things like coffee or tea. They’re drinks,” he clarified, spotting Pythagoras’ confused look. “I never went hungry there though… or had to fear for my life.” He paused. “I never killed anyone before I came here,” he confessed.

Pythagoras sighed.

“Do you regret leaving your home and coming here?” he asked gently.

“No,” Jason protested. “No, I…” he broke off and thought about it for a moment, actually considering Pythagoras’ question seriously. “No,” he repeated more slowly. “I don’t regret coming here. I’ve gained so much… You and Hercules… you’ve been amazing. It’s just the little things that still trip me up… I just don’t always know what I’m doing here.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “It sometimes feels like I screw everything up. I don’t always understand but I still try to do the right thing… only half the time it turns out to be wrong… or at least it goes wrong… and we end up in a worse position than where we started… and it just feels like I’m drowning,” he choked out.

Pythagoras sighed again and rested his head back against the wall. He looked at Jason sideways, without turning his head.

“We all feel lost from time to time,” he said. “The trick is not to let those feelings overwhelm us. I know you are stronger than this. What we face we face together. Whatever the odds we will win out. I know you miss your home and I wish I could make it easier on you… but you will endure and you will get through this. It is alright to be sad about what you have lost. All I ask is that you do not shut me out. That you allow me to help you as you have helped me in the past.” He turned to face Jason fully. “You once told me that this is what friends are for – to save you… even if it is saving you from yourself. Let me share some of your burden and make it easier to bear. Your soul is weighed down by sorrow. Share it with me and you will find it becomes lighter.”

“You really believe that?”

“I do,” Pythagoras confirmed. “Tell me what worries you and what makes you sad. Let me in. Tell me a little about where you come from and what you miss about it. I cannot promise to be able to replicate it but I will do my best. There may be something that I can find in Atlantis that will give you a little of the home you miss.”

“You’d do that for me?” Jason asked, his voice catching slightly.

“Of course,” Pythagoras responded. “You are my friend.”

For a moment Jason looked like he might burst into tears. Then he launched himself at Pythagoras, wrapping his arms around his friend and burying his face in the mathematician’s shoulder. Pythagoras looked a little startled for a moment. He was used to providing comfort by means of a hand on the shoulder or arm, or a simple one-armed hug but Jason had never really been the touchy-feely sort so he had refrained from wrapping his arms around his friend on many occasions. Now though Jason was almost clinging to him limpet-like. Pythagoras smiled reassuringly and brought his hands up to pet his friend’s hair and rub up and down Jason’s back comfortingly.

“Thank you,” Jason’s voice was muffled by Pythagoras’ shoulder; his warm breath tickling the mathematician’s collarbone. “I don’t know what I did right to deserve your friendship but I’m glad it was your window I fell in through. I’ve never met anyone as kind as you are. I’ve never met anyone that would put up with me like this.”

“Trust me,” Pythagoras murmured. “I am just as grateful that it was my window you fell through. You and Hercules… you’re my only real family and I love you both.”

“What about Arcas? “

“Arcas and I will never be close I fear… and for that I must bear a share of the blame. I care for him but we are too different. He has too much of our father in him… too much of his anger. I hope he is happy and that the life he makes for himself is good… but I cannot truly say that I miss him. It is a sad thing to admit but you are more my brother than he is.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason murmured drawing back from Pythagoras to sit shoulder to shoulder with the mathematician, although he left one arm in place around the young genius’ back. Pythagoras allowed his own arm to rest around his friend’s shoulders so that they sat curled up together, connected warmly down one side.

“Do not be,” Pythagoras answered. “It is as much my choice as Arcas’ and it is my sorrow to bear.”

“Yeah but I’ve been too wrapped up in my own problems lately,” Jason argued. “Besides, didn’t you just tell me that I should share my sorrows with you? Surely that means you should share yours with me too?”

“Perhaps,” Pythagoras acknowledged with a soft smile. “But my somewhat distant relationship with my brother is a subject for another time.” He gave Jason a shrewd look. “I know how good you are at hiding your own feelings and problems by concentrating on helping another… but not this time. You have been too unhappy for too long and I will not allow it to go on any further. Tell me about your life before and about where you come from… tell me what you miss the most.”

Jason pondered for a moment. There were things he would naturally have to conceal; things he could never tell Pythagoras about and could never explain. But it would feel good to be able to talk about his past a little; to add a little meat to their bone-strong but sometimes remarkably fleshless friendship.

“Alright,” he said. “But it might take some time.”

“Good,” Pythagoras smiled. “Wait here,” he added.

“Why?”

“If we are likely to be here some time then I would prefer it if we made ourselves comfortable,” the mathematician said.

He pushed himself to his feet and trotted back into the house, returning a few minutes later with the pillows and blankets off both their beds.

“The evening is growing chilly,” he said thrusting the pile at Jason, “and I for one do not wish to be cold.” He paused. “I think we will need another cup,” he said looking at the wine flagon, “and perhaps a little bread to soak up the alcohol.”

“I’ve already got a second cup,” Jason admitted, pulling one out from where it had been hidden by his legs. “There was one already out here when I got here and I couldn’t be bothered to go and put the second cup away again.”

Pythagoras was gratified to see the beginnings of a smile forming on his friend’s lips as he made a nest of the bedding – just a faint quirking upwards at the corners. It was far from a full blown Jason smile but it was a start.

Suddenly the brunette looked up with an apologetic frown.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered urgently.

“For what?” Pythagoras asked with some confusion.

“What with seeing that bowl and everything… I ended up forgetting to get any bread.”

Pythagoras chuckled.

“Do not worry,” he said. “It is not important at this precise moment.” He curled up into the nest of pillows and blankets his friend had made and poured them both a cup of wine. “Now talk,” he said.

Go to Chapter 5