The Cauldron of Dreams

Title: Everything Else In Between (Chapter 2)
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 - 3376)
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.

The walk back from the Temple had done little to improve Jason’s mood. By the time he reached his own doors he was furious. Damn the woman! Did she have to be so bloody obtuse all the time? This whole destiny thing and her pronouncements of “all will become clear in time” had grown very old very quickly. She had practically told him that she was lying straight to his face but still plainly expected him to trust her implicitly; to follow every word she said.

At the door to the house Jason paused. It wasn’t fully the Oracle’s fault, he admitted to himself with a sigh. She hadn’t brought him here (at least he didn’t think so) and was clearly delighted that he was here – although that in itself raised questions. Jason was honest enough with himself to admit that her attention and pronouncements of how special he was, were more than a little flattering. After all, in his former life he had barely registered on most people’s radar; had been a bit of a loner; an outcast in his way; and certainly never more than average by anyone’s standards. So to be told that he was so special – to be greeted with such obvious delight by a woman who was apparently widely revered in the city – was pretty remarkable; pretty amazing.

It also heaped pressure on him though. To be told that he alone was responsible for the fate of Atlantis and for saving the city and its people was more than a little daunting. How the hell was he supposed to go about saving the city? This was Atlantis for God’s sake! The city that was destined to sink beneath the ocean – and he was supposed to stop that? The Oracle, Jason was very quickly learning, was good with the “to do” lists but less than helpful with the “how to do” lists.

It probably didn’t help that he felt so damned lost too. He knew nothing of this world and its society and now he was dumped in the middle of it and told to get on with saving it? Jason bit his lip. He hadn’t even been able to find a permanent job let alone anything else. How was he supposed to be this big hero that the Oracle kept announcing him to be when he couldn’t even help his friends put bread on the table? The last couple of weeks had been a rollercoaster. Jason had always believed himself to be pretty adaptable to most situations but this… this whole place – the whole situation he found himself in – seemed to morph from wondrous dream to hideous nightmare and back again. He was lost; directionless; rudderless. If it hadn’t been for Pythagoras, he wasn’t sure what he would have done.

Pythagoras had been pretty amazing to be honest; had taken all of (to his eyes) Jason’s weirdness in his stride; had accepted without murmur the (fairly obvious) fact that his friend knew next to nothing about their society and little of their Gods but also did not want to talk about his own past or place of origin. Jason knew (with a guilty twinge) that his mood had been gradually getting worse over the few short weeks he had been in Atlantis. The lack of immediate purpose was getting to him and he found himself growing inexplicably angry at the slightest provocation. Pythagoras had dealt with his moodiness with unruffled calm, lending a sympathetic ear or giving a calming word when it seemed necessary, or slipping a thin arm around his friend’s shoulders when he thought it might be needed (and accepted), or using light and sarcastic banter (mainly at Hercules’ expense) to lift Jason’s mood on a fairly regular basis. It was almost disturbing just how quickly Pythagoras had come to be able to read him, Jason mused, and how deftly the young mathematician could divert him whenever his mind seemed to be wandering down a darker path.

It was odd but in spite of feeling like he was lost at sea a lot of the time, some aspects of Jason’s life actually seemed to be going better than they ever had before. Pythagoras was proving to be probably the best friend he had ever had (and if that made him pathetic then he really didn’t care right now) and even Hercules seemed to be warming up to him. Certainly the big man had made no further suggestions that Jason should leave; had seemed to accept that he was now a permanent member of the household – although quite how that had happened Jason wasn’t quite sure. He wasn’t going to argue though. After all he had no other friends in this strange city and nowhere else to go if the truth be told. Okay so a bed of his own would be nice rather than having to sleep rolled up in blankets on the bare floor, but it was still infinitely better than being tossed out into the gutter.

Yes, Hercules was definitely warming up. He’d even called Jason “my friend” a couple of times (mainly when he was drunk it had to be said but surely that was beside the point). It was probably the encounter with the Minotaur that had done it. Jason had been told that life or death experiences tended to bond men closer together and that certainly seemed to hold true where Hercules was concerned. Thinking of Hercules made Jason’s face darken again though; his temper flaring once more. When Hercules had come home this morning and told them he had arranged a job for them Jason had actually been pleased. He hadn’t minded the idea of helping the burly wrestler one little bit. It had been a distinctly nice thought that he might actually be able to contribute to the household for once.

The truth was that Jason had realised fairly quickly (certainly within the first couple of days here) that there was not a great deal to spare in the small household he had found himself joining. Neither Pythagoras nor Hercules seemed to have a steady or regular job and money was quite clearly scarce (although that didn’t seem to stop Hercules from going out drinking and gambling almost every night). The addition of an extra mouth to feed had stretched their limited resources even further and, although neither of them said anything, Jason was only too aware that his presence was an added complication that they could probably have done without (and damn if that didn’t make him feel extra guilty too).

What he had not been expecting when Hercules had told him about the job, however, was that the big man would turn up very late for his shift on watch; leaving Jason sitting alone in the dark with nothing but his own brooding thoughts for company long past the point where he should have been relieved, growing steadily angrier with every minute that Hercules was overdue. Then when the big man had turned up he had clearly been drinking; was most definitely on the wrong side of drunk. Jason felt his anger surge once more as he stomped into the house, letting the front door bang behind him (although not too noisily in case Pythagoras was already asleep – it was very late after all) and making his moody way out onto the balcony.

Once there, Jason slid to the floor, back against a pillar, head resting back against the wall and hands clenched into loose fists at his side, as his frustration at Hercules, the Oracle and the whole damned world bubbled up through him.

“How did it go?” Pythagoras’ soft voice was startling in the stillness, his tone innocuous.

Jason snorted derisively.

Pythagoras sighed.

“It went that well then,” he murmured, taking in his friend’s tense posture. “You might want this then,” he added, sitting down beside Jason and pouring some wine into one of the cups he had brought with him onto the balcony and pushing it towards his friend.

Jason stared at the cup for a few long moments before grabbing it and taking a large gulp.

“Thanks,” he muttered as he set the cup down again.

Pythagoras picked up his own cup and sipped at it slowly, wriggling himself into a more comfortable position.

“What happened?” he asked. “You are much later than I was expecting.”

“Hercules,” Jason answered shortly.

“Ah,” Pythagoras murmured. “I have been friends with Hercules for many years now but even I would admit that he can be somewhat trying at times. What did he do this time?”

“He was late,” Jason growled. “He left me sitting there for hours… and when he did finally turn up he’d been drinking. His breath stank of wine.”

“Ah,” Pythagoras murmured again. “I should have warned you of that,” he added apologetically.

Jason frowned.

“Warned me about what?” he asked testily.

“Warned you that Hercules will always begin the evening in the tavern if he is undertaking a guard job,” Pythagoras answered. “He is always late and regularly drunk. I have become so used to it that I simply did not think to warn you.” He hesitated. “I must admit to you now that I have been more than a little selfish,” he said.

Jason snorted again.

“You’re the most unselfish person I’ve ever met,” he protested sharply.

Pythagoras smiled.

“It is kind of you to think that,” he replied. “However, in this case I fear that I have been less than altruistic. The truth is that in the past Hercules would call on me to assist him with any of the jobs he arranged no matter how inconvenient it might be or that I might have alternative plans. When he suggested that you might help him this evening and you agreed to it, I was somewhat grateful. My own studies are, I believe, approaching a potentially crucial stage and I was glad to not be called upon to set them aside; to have an evening to myself for once.” Pythagoras hesitated again, flushing as he mentally reviewed what he had just said. “Not that I would not have been glad to spend the evening in your company,” he added hurriedly, apparently worrying that Jason might infer that he did not want him there and take offence. “I did not mean…”

Jason waved away the attempted apology with one curt hand gesture. He drew his knees up and looked away moodily, reaching for his half drained cup of wine and taking another large gulp, draining it and putting the cup back down sharply.

Pythagoras looked at him shrewdly.

“I do not think you would be this upset simply from Hercules’ actions and selfishness,” he observed. “What else has happened this evening?”

Jason glowered darkly but did not answer.

“Jason… please?” Pythagoras said cajolingly. “I merely wish to help.”

“I don’t think you can,” Jason answered shortly, trying hard not to take his temper out on his innocent friend.

“Not if you will not allow me to,” Pythagoras responded reasonably.

He poured Jason another cup of wine.

“Try not to drink this one as quickly,” he admonished with a light smile to show that he was joking. “Otherwise I might begin to mistake you for Hercules.” He nudged Jason with his shoulder.

Jason grunted moodily in response.

The smile slid from Pythagoras’ face.

“What is wrong my friend?” he asked softly, laying a warm hand gently on Jason’s arm.

Jason looked down at Pythagoras’ hand. He sighed.

“After I left Hercules I went to see the Oracle,” he admitted.

Pythagoras smiled encouragingly.

“And did she have answers for you?” he asked.

“Does she ever?” Jason replied bitterly. “She’s so damned cryptic all the time, how is anyone ever meant to know whether she’s actually answered them or not?”

Pythagoras looked at him askance.

“Jason!” he protested. “The Oracle is Poseidon’s representative… His mouthpiece on earth. It is not the place of mortal men to criticise her.”

Jason sighed. In spite of Pythagoras’ rational and logical nature, it was clear that he was a man of his time and that his faith in the Gods and their representatives was unwavering.

“I’m not trying to criticise the Oracle,” Jason tried to assure his friend. “I’m just a bit frustrated with her that’s all. I mean she practically told me to my face that there are things she’s keeping from me… that she’s not telling me the whole truth.”

“I am sure she must have her reasons,” Pythagoras responded carefully.

“She says it’s to protect me.”

Pythagoras frowned.

“Protect you from what?” he asked.

“She won’t tell me,” Jason spat back. Then he sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t snap at you. You’ve been nothing but kind and I don’t mean to be ungrateful.”

“And you are not,” Pythagoras interjected.

“I’ve tried to explain how I feel to her… that I need answers,” Jason murmured, half to himself. “But it’s like talking to a wall. The Oracle told me that my father is dead but she refuses to tell me how or when. She won’t even tell me where he’s buried.”

“I am sorry,” Pythagoras responded comfortingly. “I know how hard that must be for you.”

“All I ever get from her is platitudes about how everything will become clear in time.” The anger and bitterness was clear in Jason’s quiet voice. “She said something about only finding our way when we accept that we’re lost… It was something like that anyway. She tells me that she wishes she could make it easier for me but then acknowledges that she’s not telling me the whole truth. I don’t see how I’m supposed to trust her.”

“Jason,” Pythagoras began.

“And what the hell am I supposed to do until ‘everything becomes clear’?” Jason demanded. “I don’t know my place in this world. She tells me that I was born here; that I was taken from here when I was a baby and that I belong here – but I’ve never felt so lost. She tells me that I’m in Atlantis for a reason but can’t tell me what that reason is.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t feel like I belong here at all,” he admitted quietly.

Pythagoras sighed. He was quiet for a long moment.

“Jason I am going to tell you something and I want you to listen without interrupting,” he said. Once he was sure he had his friend’s full attention he went on. “I told you that I was sixteen when I first came to Atlantis,” he said, “but I did not tell you that I never intended to stay here. I was born on Samos and grew up there. It is not a large settlement and the people there tend to be a little more conservative than they are in the city. I was not proficient at sports and did not enjoy hunting. My love of learning was not something that was considered to be normal or to be supported. If I had been a nobleman’s son my pursuit of education would have been encouraged – although physical prowess is still prized among that class also. As it was my neighbours were hardly accepting of my nature. I was an outcast; always treated with disdain. My mother, fortunately, understood me better than my peers and encouraged me to broaden my horizons by leaving the small town of my birth. Atlantis was simply the first stop along the way in what was supposed to be a long journey. I had intended to travel to Athens where the opportunities for learning are greater and a man is judged on his mental acuity and not simply his physical ability. I had been in Atlantis for just two days when I was robbed of all my belongings. Without money I had no way of continuing my journey and here I have remained ever since.” Pythagoras paused, his eyes lost in memory. “I was angry,” he admitted. “Very angry. I felt as though my dreams had been stolen from me. What could Atlantis have to offer me? I felt as though I did not – could not – belong here. As though I was lost in the dark. Yet I had no option but to stay.”

“So what happened?” Jason asked.

“I found Hercules… and he found me,” Pythagoras answered with a smile. “This is not the future that I once intended for myself; not the path I believed my life would take. But I am happy enough now.”

“If you were offered the chance though… if someone came along tomorrow and gave you the chance to go to Athens and do all the things you’d dreamed of… would you take it?”

“I do not know,” Pythagoras admitted candidly. “Athens still holds its enticements for me… of course it does. The chance to study in such a revered seat of learning; to converse with learned men… it is any scholar’s dream. Yet it would mean that I would have to leave everything I have come to love… my home; my friends,” he flashed a quick look at Jason. “If I truly wanted to go to Athens so badly I would have found a way long ago,” he said softly. “The point I was trying to make though, was that I once felt like an outsider in Atlantis; like I did not belong here. Yet now I would not choose to be anywhere else.” He grasped Jason’s arm and turned to face his friend fully, his blue eyes earnest. “Tell me,” he asked gently. “If you truly believe that you do not belong here why have you made no attempts to find a way to return to your former home? The fact that you arrived here in the first place – and that you were taken from here as a baby – proves that such a journey must be possible. So why have you not sought to make it?”

Jason blinked.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly.

Pythagoras smiled.

“I believe that the Oracle may be right,” he said. “I know that you feel lost right now but I believe that deep down you have already accepted that this is where you belong; this is where you need to be. Whatever road you are destined to travel… wherever your journey through life will take you… you have friends who are willing to travel it with you.”

“I’m not sure it’s as simple as that,” Jason murmured.

“No,” Pythagoras agreed. “Perhaps not… but take it from one who has been where you are now, it will grow easier. Our situations may not have been identical but I believe that they are close enough for a comparison to be made.” He hesitated for a moment before ploughing on. “I have to say that for purely selfish reasons I hope you find your place here,” he added.

Jason frowned.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean that I do not wish you to leave,” Pythagoras answered. “It is selfish of me I know but in the past few weeks I have come to enjoy your company. It is nice to have someone of my own age to talk to and nice to have a companion on those evenings that Hercules chooses to spend in the tavern. It can be lonely here on my own when Hercules is out drinking. Besides,” he added with his eyes twinkling mischievously, “there is much fun to be had at Hercules’ expense when there is someone to share it with.”

Jason huffed a soft laugh and let his head rest back against the wall, feeling the last of his anger draining away. He toyed with the cup of wine that was still in his hands as he watched Pythagoras go to pour his own second cup. The flagon was empty and the mathematician frowned as he held it upside down, watching the last drops falling from the rim into his cup.

“Wait there,” he said to Jason. “If we are to talk into the night I believe we will need more wine.”

Jason watched him leave with languid eyes, too comfortable to want to move. Idly he wondered what he’d done to deserve a friend like Pythagoras. Suddenly life didn’t seem so bad at all.


Go to Chapter 3

Well it seems that LJ won't let me post this fanfic on here because it's too big!! (it's only 11190 words!!)

So instead I'm going to post the postage stamp that I was given to fill:

WILD CARD	mercy killing
loss of job / income	magical trouble

And a link to the story on AO3. I have to admit that I'm a bit annoyed that I can't post the whole story here like I usually do...

For the Wild Card prompt I went with "Cursed".

One more after this one and I'll actually have a bingo!! Minimum 500 words, 3 days and 57 minutes to write it and not a clue what to write! Can I do it? Who the hell knows..... but I'll certainly give it a go. I have a feeling I'll be sliding in under the wire by the skin of my teeth if it does happen.......

Anyway, on with this story now!

Title: Shelter From the Storm
Author: Yassandra
Fandom: Atlantis
Pairing/characters: Pythagoras & Jason
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. BBC and Urban Myth Films own them.
Word count: approx 2811
Summary: Pythagoras closed his eyes again, breathing deeply through the assault of pain that burned within his shoulder; a bone deep agony he hadn't really known existed before.

A/N This story been written for Round 6 of Bingo on the Hurt/Comfort LJ community, to incorporate the prompt 'lacerations/knife wounds'. It's a bit of an experiment because I wrote the dialogue before anything else (even to the extent of who was speaking). I hope you enjoy it. Oh and Happy New Year :-)

---

The cave wall was cool and rough at Pythagoras' back. With a sigh the mathematician let his head rest back against it. With closed eyes he heard the dull clatter as Jason dropped their meagre supplies into a pile, along with his sword and bow. He heard his friend approach and forced his eyes open to meet Jason's hazel ones, brimming with concern. With gentle fingers the young hero began to probe Pythagoras' left shoulder, wincing at the pained gasp Pythagoras could not hold back.

"This might sting a bit," Jason said softly, touching the hilt of the knife buried just below Pythagoras' collarbone.

"Ow." Pythagoras' softly registered complaint was unintentional. No matter how hard he tried though he simply could not supress it.

"Sorry," Jason apologised. "I am being as gentle as I can."

"It is fine."

Pythagoras closed his eyes again, breathing deeply through the assault of pain that burned within his shoulder; a bone deep agony he hadn't really known existed before.

"No it is not," Jason sighed. "I just wish there was some way I could do this without hurting you… but I suppose if you will go throwing yourself in front of a knife wielding lunatic…"

"He was aiming at your back!" Pythagoras protested, his eyes snapping open. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"You could have pushed me out of the way and then ducked."

"Do you know that did not occur to me at the time."

"And you're supposed to be the clever one…" Jason murmured with a raised eyebrow. "I'm teasing… I just don't like seeing you hurt."

Pythagoras snorted.

"And you believe that I am happy when you manage to injure yourself?" He asked incredulously. It never failed to amaze him how little Jason thought about his own safety – or about how much it would affect his friends if anything happened to him.

"I guess not," Jason murmured apologetically. "I am sorry though. We wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for me."

"True… but it was my choice to come with you."

In spite of everything it was a choice that Pythagoras would make again without a second thought. With a tired sigh Jason moved from where he had been crouched in front of his friend to sit alongside him. He looked at Pythagoras out of the corner of his eyes.

"What do you think Hercules is doing right about now?" he asked.

"I suspect he will probably be passed out drunk somewhere… if his usual drinking sprees are anything to go by," Pythagoras mused, grateful for the distraction from the agony in his shoulder.

He supposed he should really be asking Jason to remove the blade embedded in his flesh (although it was currently plugging the wound somewhat and preventing the heavy bleeding he was sure would come as soon as it was removed) so that he could consider how best to treat his own injuries, but somehow he could neither begrudge his friend the momentary respite he was taking nor summon up the energy to care.

"I'm not sure whether to be angry at him because he went off drinking and didn't come with us, or grateful that he isn't here to see the mess we've managed to get into," Jason replied thoughtfully.

It was true too. Hercules had been supposed to come with them but a last minute invitation from an old drinking companion had seen the burly wrestler hurrying off for a few days hard drinking and gambling without pausing to think about whether it might cause any problems for his housemates and simply leaving them a (badly written) note. Still if he had been here to see what had happened neither one of would ever have been allowed to forget it.

"We regularly get into a mess… Every time we go off on one of those ridiculous quests," Pythagoras pointed out.

"Yeah," Jason murmured a little defensively, "but this was just supposed to be a simple hunting trip."

"I know but the principle still applies."

Pythagoras felt Jason sigh beside him and smiled ruefully, understanding what his friend was feeling just now. Some days it seemed like they had the worst luck in the whole of Atlantis and today was one of those days. Then Jason shifted to crouch in front of his friend once more.

"You know we're going to have to get that knife out don't you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And it's going to hurt like hell…"

"Yes." Pythagoras could not quite keep the exasperation from his tone. "Look just get on with it. You are doing neither of us any favours by waiting. The longer it is in there the worse it will be."

"Well forgive me but I'm kind of worried about you bleeding out if I pull it out. Besides, we're in the middle of nowhere without any proper medical supplies. It's just asking for an infection to set in."

Pythagoras sighed. He appreciated Jason's concern but he really couldn't see that the situation would be made any better by waiting. As things were the pain was growing once more and he could feel himself beginning to falter; to slip. The longer this went on the worse off he would be.

"Infection is more likely to set in if the knife is left in," he stated firmly. "After all we do not know where it has been or how clean it is… although if the cleanliness of the owner is anything to go by it is likely to have been filthy. It will be far better to get it out and get the wound cleaned and dressed. If necessary I will stitch it."

"You can't stitch your own shoulder," Jason protested.

"Then who would you have do it? You? You forget that I saw your attempts at mending that tear in your tunic."

Pythagoras could not help the little surge of guilt that came with the faintly hurt look Jason threw in his direction. He was being objectionable and he knew it, but Gods he was feeling awful and sniping at his friend allowed him to concentrate on something other than the pain.

"That was months ago," Jason muttered defensively. "I've had a lot more practice since then. Anyway that's kind of beside the point because unless you're hiding a needle and thread somewhere then we haven't got the means to stitch it anyway."

Pythagoras paused and blinked. Jason was right, he realised with some consternation. He had the beginnings of a rudimentary medical kit in his bag (because living with Jason and to a lesser extent Hercules had taught him the prudence of forward planning in such matters); just a few bandages and a couple of pain relieving tonics. Once this was all over and they were safely back home he would have to add a needle and thread for wound stitching to his bag (always kept semi-packed these days given that they seemed to spend as much time out of the city as they did in it).

"That is a very good point. I really should have thought of it myself," he said slowly.

"Are you alright?" Jason asked, worry growing in his dark eyes. It was unlike Pythagoras to miss anything and the fact that he had was rather concerning.

"I must admit that I am beginning to feel a little light headed," the young genius admitted. "You need to remove the knife as quickly as possible so that the wound can be packed and dressed. The sooner it is seen to the better off I will be."

Jason nodded.

"Right. Okay then. We'll go on a count of three."

"Why do you always use a count of three?"

"Does it matter right now? I'd have thought three would appeal to you though… what with triangles having three sides and all."

"I am not only interested in triangles… although there is something fascinating about their angles."

"Pythagoras!" Jason sounded exasperated.

Pythagoras smiled faintly. It was usually him that sounded (and looked) exasperated at the behaviour of one of his friends.

"Sorry," he said.

"Right," Jason responded. "On three then. One… Two… Three."

He firmly grasped the knife handle and pulled sharply, wrenching the blade from his friend's shoulder and replacing it with a bunched up piece of cloth from one of the bags, pushing down hard to try to stem the sudden gout of blood that had poured forth as the knife came free, desperately trying to prevent Pythagoras from losing too much blood.

As Jason had grabbed the hilt of the knife, Pythagoras had tried to keep from screaming out loud. Every touch on the handle had set off a tidal wave of hot agony at his shoulder. Then Jason actually pulled the blade free. Pythagoras' vision whited out as wave after wave of burning pain assaulted him and unaware he gasped out a strange mewling sound, too distressed to scream loudly. Sight and sound faded as he tried to breathe through it, his mind aware only of his own harsh breathing and the agony that pulsed through his collarbone, and he was unaware of his friend gently lowering him to lie on the floor, a rolled up blanket shoved beneath his head. As the worst of the waves of pain that rocked him faded back to a burning throb, Pythagoras began to vaguely hear a voice calling him. Sluggishly he opened his eyes and blinked up into his friend's hazel ones. Jason was leaning low over him, calling him urgently, his hands busy as he tried to slow the flow of blood at Pythagoras' shoulder to a trickle. Pythagoras could almost feel the wave of relief that washed over the young hero as he realised the mathematician was fully conscious once more.

"Are you alright?" Jason asked, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

Pythagoras swallowed hard, still trying to control the pain from his wound.

"I've been better" he admitted.

Then he frowned, noting that Jason was not pushing down as hard as he needed to; was clearly overly worried about hurting his friend any further. That wouldn't do. The wound would require more pressure if the bleeding was to stop. Pythagoras needed Jason to stop being so gentle.

"You… need… to put more… pressure on than that… You need… to stop… the bleeding," he said.

Jason responded by doing as he asked and pushing down harder. Pythagoras winced involuntarily.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," Jason muttered, his eyes anguished.

"No," Pythagoras said. "You're doing fine. It will be better in a minute. Help me to sit up."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea. You're looking kind of grey at the moment."

"It will pass… and it will be easier for you to bind tightly if I am sitting up."

Jason bit his lip, clearly concerned about the wisdom of what Pythagoras had asked him to do. Nevertheless he slid gentle but firm hands beneath his friend's back and carefully lifted him to sit, leaning Pythagoras back against the cave wall, hands returning to the wound at the mathematician's shoulder.

"Thank you," Pythagoras murmured with a weak attempt at a smile. He looked down at his shoulder as best he could with a disapproving frown. "You need to pack the wound more tightly than that though."

"But I'm hurting you," Jason protested.

Pythagoras' smile broadened somewhat. Despite Jason's obvious talents as a warrior he remained remarkably gentle; unwilling to cause a friend any pain or distress if he could avoid it. To Pythagoras that said a lot about his friend's character. Still it would not help them in the present situation. The mathematician became serious once more.

"Jason. Listen to me," he said. "You may be causing me some momentary discomfort but if you do not manage to pack and bind the wound tightly I will lose too much blood and then we will be in a lot more trouble than we already are."

He was rewarded by seeing Jason nod; a look of determination growing in those familiar hazel eyes.

"Push down there," Pythagoras instructed. "Argh!"

He could not help crying out as the increased pressure sharpened the burning beneath his collarbone into something less manageable. Sweat rolled down his forehead as he fought for control of himself.

"Sorry… sorry… I'm sorry." Jason was muttering apologies over and over like a mantra.

"No it is good" Pythagoras gasped out. "See the bleeding is stopping already." He paused for a long moment, concentrating on taking deep breaths. "What are you doing now?" he added, seeing Jason scramble away towards the packs and return just as quickly with a tunic that he was folding into a triangle.

"Making a sling," Jason answered almost absently, intent on the task at hand. "It'll be easier on you if your shoulder's held still."

Pythagoras huffed an annoyed breath.

"Perhaps," he snapped. "Of course it will also be obvious to any bandits who the weak one out of the two of us is. You might as well paint a target on my back."

As soon as the words left his mouth the mathematician regretted them. Jason had done nothing to deserve his sharp tongue. It was simply easier to concentrate on snapping at his friend than focus on the pain he was still in – receded though it might be. Pythagoras grimaced as guilt coursed through him.

"Sorry," he muttered, shame-faced. "I do not mean to snap. This is hurting a little that is all."

Jason looked more concerned than ever.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

"Yes actually," Pythagoras responded. "I may not have full medical supplies with me but I did bring one or two things just in case. In my bag you will find a small vial wrapped in my blanket. It has a tonic in it that will take the edge off the pain."

He let himself rest against the wall as Jason scrambled off once more to find the tonic. It only seemed an instant until he was back at Pythagoras' side, raising the vial to his friend's lips with hands that shook slightly.

"Here," he said earnestly.

"Thank you," Pythagoras responded.

He allowed his head to drop back again for a moment and closed his eyes. After a moment he felt his arm being carefully manipulated into a sling and opened his eyes with a wince, waving off Jason's muttered apology with the hand of his uninjured arm and beginning to look at pushing himself back to his feet. He frowned as he felt himself held gently in place.

"Why don't you rest for a bit? We're safe enough here." Jason said softly.

"We should be getting back."

"I think we should stop here for the night. It's a long walk back to Atlantis and it's getting dark. Hercules won't be expecting us back until morning anyway. It will be safer to travel in the daylight."

"Jason…" Pythagoras began.

"Just rest. It will all be fine."

Pythagoras sighed. He was tired – a symptom of blood loss he knew – and it was getting dark outside. Perhaps it would not hurt to stay here and rest until morning.

"Well if you are determined to stay here…" he acquiesced.

"I am," Jason said firmly. "Trust me."

"I do," Pythagoras responded without even having to think about it.

Jason smiled and moved away from Pythagoras to set the cave up for the night in as much comfort as he could manage. In a remarkably quick time he had fetched fallen wood from outside to light a fire and keep them warm throughout the night. Then he turned back to the mathematician, noting the pallor of Pythagoras' skin (even more pronounced than usual) and the air of tiredness that seemed to cling to his friend. It was the right decision to spend the night here and set out for Atlantis in the morning after they had had a chance to rest. Not that Jason was intending to get much sleep – someone would need to be on watch after all and he had no intention of allowing Pythagoras to take a turn in his current condition. With a smile Jason came and sat down next to his friend.

"Right then," he said softly. "That's us settled in for the night." He looked appraisingly at the mathematician next to him. "Go to sleep Pythagoras," he said. "Everything will be alright."

With a soft sigh Pythagoras allowed his eyes to slip closed. As sleep claimed him he slumped sideways until he was resting on Jason's shoulder. Jason smiled affectionately and adjusted his position to allow Pythagoras to rest more comfortably against him. With his friend safe against his side he settled in to a long night on guard. Pythagoras might be injured but they were both relatively safe, warm and comfortable… and for now that was all that mattered.

So here I am again (are you getting sick of me yet?) with yet another one-shot. I have to admit that I actually started the story last year for Round 5 but never got further than the first few paragraphs so here it is finally completed now. I hope you enjoy it


Title: This Way to Home
Author: Yassandra
Fandom: Atlantis
Pairing/characters: Jason, Pythagoras & Hercules
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. BBC and Urban Myth Films own them.
Word count: approx 5289
Summary: Everyone needs rescuing now and then - even heroes.

AN: This story been written for Round 6 of Bingo on the Hurt/Comfort LJ community, to incorporate my wild card prompt - for which I have chosen the prompt 'dungeon'.

"It might be your job to save all of Atlantis, but it seems it's our job to save you. So just you remember who the real heroes are…"

(Hercules - A New Dawn Part 2)

---

"Come on!" Pythagoras had never sounded more frantic to Hercules' ears.

He looked down mildly at the hand grasping the edge of his sleeve and trying to tug him along. Pythagoras let the hand fall with a huff of air.

"Hercules we need to move! We need to find him now!"

"Just let me get my breath back first," Hercules panted, still breathless from the sprint through the streets that his young friend had dragged him on.

"But we don't have time!" Pythagoras all but wailed. "Who knows what they could be doing to him!"

Hercules rolled his eyes.

"That boy has been nothing but trouble from the moment he arrived," he huffed.

"How can you say that?" Pythagoras protested. "Jason has saved our lives more times than I care to think about."

"True," Hercules agreed, allowing himself to be pulled along again, "but he does seem to have a talent for getting himself into scrapes. Take now for instance. We could all be safe at home in Atlantis enjoying a nice drink in the tavern... but no, he has to go and drop everything for the blasted Princess, runs off to Pathmos without so much as a by your leave to either one of us and goes and gets himself arrested."

"I'm not sure that Ariadne had anyone else to turn to," Pythagoras began.

"Ah but we don't know that do we? We don't even know what she asked him to do. I mean he didn't even stick around long enough to let us know what he was planning. Just upped and left leaving that note."

"At least he told us where he'd gone this time," Pythagoras pointed out reasonably, "and it was my decision to follow Jason to Pathmos. You did not have to come."

"Of course I was going to come," Hercules grunted in exasperation. "Who knows what sort of trouble you might have got into without me here."

Pythagoras rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to point out that generally any trouble he might get into was caused by the bulky wrestler.

"After all if we're going to get killed we may as well get killed together," Hercules continued. "All I'm saying is that it might have been nice if Jason had given us a bit of warning."

Pythagoras wanted to defend their ridiculously heroic housemate – as he always did – but really this time Hercules was right. If Jason had actually bothered to tell them what he was doing instead of running off to Pathmos alone they might have been able to come up with some sort of plan that wouldn't have ended with him being arrested and held in what amounted to a dungeon. Pythagoras bit his lip. Was it really too much to ask for Jason to go one week without risking his life doing something impossible or insane just because someone looked pathetically at him?

As they neared the Palace walls the two friends slowed. As in Atlantis the gaol cells were in a sort of dungeon area below the Palace. Pythagoras was almost insanely grateful for the fact that this Palace seemed to have a similar floor plan to the one at home. At least it meant they had some chance of planning a gaol break. As it was he and Hercules had spent the last three days gathering information to try to free their friend.

The situation was not good. Jason was being held for unspecified crimes against the crown. The rumour mill had it that a trial would be held as soon as a confession had been obtained and that the guards were going all out to get that confession. As it was now four days since Jason had been arrested (the day before Pythagoras and Hercules had arrived in the city) his friends were left with the uncomfortable feeling that time was rapidly running out.

"It should be just around the next corner," Pythagoras muttered.

In the course of their information gathering Hercules had got one of the guards drunk and learned from the man that there was a side door to the dungeon, one that very few people knew about - including the other guards. This one had found it by accident and used it regularly to visit his woman at times when he was supposed to be on duty. Hercules had hurried to tell Pythagoras (at least he had hurried as soon as he had sobered up) and all their plans had been based upon using this little door to gain entrance.

Now they were here. They hid themselves in a little dark alleyway and waited. The door was half hidden by overgrown shrubbery and guards marched past it on patrol, never even seeming aware of its presence. Their timing would have to be perfect if they wanted to break in and get Jason out. By Pythagoras' reckoning they would have the length of time it took the guards to patrol the Palace perimeter. He had stood and watched them for some time yesterday and had counted it off in his head. Now he began that mental count as the current batch of guards matched past the door.

As Hercules stated to dart forwards however Pythagoras grabbed hold of him, stopping him in his tracks.

"Come on," the big man growled.

"Wait," Pythagoras responded in a whisper.

"I thought you said we needed to hurry," Hercules protested.

"We do," Pythagoras answered, "but there are six guards in a patrol and only five have gone past."

Hercules swore quietly. They really didn't need this delay. Eventually though the errant guard appeared, seemingly in no hurry to catch up with the rest of the patrol. Near the entrance to the alleyway he stopped and started to adjust the strap on his sandal. Both Hercules and Pythagoras held their breath. All it would take would be for the guard to look sideways and they would be spotted, and what possible reason could they have for lurking here? At the very least it would mean that they had to postpone their rescue attempt - and what might happen to Jason in that time?

Finally the guard moved on. Pythagoras was eternally grateful that city guards everywhere seemed to be spectacularly unobservant; picked for their large stature rather than their brains.

Hurrying across the street to the small door with Hercules in tow, he pushed carefully on the small door. It did not open. He swore.

"Here let me try," Hercules grunted, elbowing him out of the way.

Pythagoras gave a little squeak of protest although the logical part of him did have to concede that if brute strength was required Hercules would have far more luck than him.

The grating sound that the door made as the lock gave way made both friends look around nervously. If someone had heard the noise and decided to come and investigate they were sunk. As it was, after a few tense moments, the two men looked at each other and made their way inside.

The corridor that they found themselves in was unlit, dark and dank. Here in the underbelly of the Palace there were no windows – they were unnecessary, Pythagoras supposed; the grimmer the conditions for the prisoners held here, the more likely they were to confess to their crimes – and you hardly needed much light for torture.

"Come on," Hercules hissed again.

As they hurried forwards, Pythagoras' mental clock continued to tick down, every second that passed bringing them closer to disaster – to capture. The cells they passed were empty. Like Atlantis justice in Pathmos tended to be swift (and in many cases fatal) so prisoners were not often left to linger here. The fact that Jason was still being held and had not yet been sent for judgement spoke volumes for how much his captors desired a confession. It left Pythagoras both relieved and worried – relieved that his friend was at least still alive and worried about the condition they would find him in.

Rounding a corner their luck finally ran out. There ahead of them was a guard. The guard's eyes opened wide in surprise at seeing strangers in the prison who were clearly not prisoners themselves and his mouth opened in a startled 'o'. In the moment that he took to process what he was seeing Hercules was on him, swinging sharply with the butt of his sword and catching the guard with a terrific blow to the temple. The guard dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. Hercules leant over and assessed him clinically, before giving him an extra rap on the head with his sword hilt and stooping to rifle the pouch at the man's waist.

"What did you hit him again for?" Pythagoras asked.

"I wanted to make sure he stayed asleep until we're well away from here," Hercules answered laconically, continuing his casual rifling of the guard's clothes. "Ah here we are."

He stood up with a ring holding two large keys in his hand.

"This should make opening the cell doors easier," he said.

Pythagoras nodded.

"We must hurry," he said urgently, darting on ahead and leaving Hercules to lumber in his wake.

Ahead of them was another cell. The presence of a guttering torch in a sconce on the wall outside indicating that this cell at least was occupied. Pythagoras darted over and peered through the bars into the unlit space beyond.

"Jason," he breathed.

His younger dark haired friend was hanging, suspended by his wrists from the ceiling of the cell, toes barely brushing the floor, metal manacles biting into the fragile skin at his wrists, his head lolling forwards on his bare chest. Pythagoras could not really tell what condition his friend was in in the darkness. They needed to get him free and out of here to a place of safety where the mathematician might assess his injuries properly.

"Jason," he called more loudly; urgently.

If Jason heard him he gave no indication. Pythagoras bit his lip and looked behind him. Where was Hercules? The burly wrestler knew that time was of the essence here and yet he was nowhere in sight. Pythagoras turned back and looked at the lock on the door in frustration.

With the keys Hercules had found they should be able to get in quickly. The original plan had actually been to use the big man's unnatural strength to break the lock but the keys would be a much better and quicker option. Now though both Hercules and the keys were missing, leaving Pythagoras with no immediate way of opening the cell as precious seconds ticked by.

Eventually (after what was in reality mere seconds but felt like hours to Pythagoras) Hercules lumbered urgently into view.

"Where have you been?" Pythagoras hissed in irritation. "I have found Jason but we need to get this door open."

"Spotted a side chamber," Hercules grunted. "Jason's things were in there and I thought he might need them if we're going to escape properly." He had Jason's breastplate, sandals, tunic and sword shoved haphazardly under one arm.

Without another word the burly wrestler shoved the young genius out of the way and inserted the key into the lock. Within moments they were at their other friend's side.

As Hercules grabbed a torch from outside and thrust it into the holder on the wall of the little cell, Pythagoras got his first good look at Jason. It was not a reassuring sight. Lines of dried blood marked the site of a series of cuts across his grubby chest, varying in depths from shallow (almost superficial) to one particularly nasty gaping wound just below his collarbone – the edges ragged and barely pulled together, the skin surrounding it inflamed and reddened – that seemed deeper than anything Pythagoras would have wanted to see. Here and there dark bruising was showing through the layer of grime and sweat that seemed to cover Jason.

What worried Pythagoras more though was that his friend had yet to raise his head or show any awareness of the presence of other people in the cell.

"Jason," he called again a little more loudly than before.

Encouraged by the soft groan that his friend emitted at the sound of his voice, Pythagoras reached out and gently placed one hand on Jason's chest over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath with some relief. The gentle touch seemed to encourage Jason towards consciousness even more and painfully slowly he raised his head to blink at Pythagoras with unfocussed eyes.

"Pythagoras," he muttered hoarsely with a smile that seemed wholly incongruous to their surroundings or his own position. "I knew you'd come."

"That's because you're an idiot," Hercules groused from behind Pythagoras' shoulder. "And we're idiots too for coming to rescue your sorry behind!"

Pythagoras caught hold of Jason's chin and peered at his friend's face, taking in the bloody contusion at the temple that ran up into Jason's hairline, the slightly unfocussed eyes, the cut that ran across the bridge of his nose, the dried blood that crusted around his nostrils and the split that ran through his lower lip with the seasoned eyes of a medical practitioner. He breathed a sigh of relief. Whilst Jason might possibly be slightly concussed there didn't seem to be anything here that Pythagoras would not be able to fix given a little time and the right surroundings.

He turned his attention to the shackles suspending his friend from the ceiling, wincing at the raw and bloody wounds that poked out from beneath the metal.

"How long have you been chained like this?" he asked.

Jason looked at him blankly for a moment before it seemed to filter through his brain that Pythagoras was addressing him.

"Not sure," he slurred. "I've sort of lost track of time."

Pythagoras grimaced. From the appearance of the wounds at Jason's wrists he had to assume that it was a couple of days at least. That meant that getting him down was not going to be pretty. Overstretched and strained muscles would scream as they moved back into their usual places and after so long suspended it seemed unlikely that Jason would be capable of independent movement; of helping in his own escape. Pythagoras suspected that in fact he would have some difficulty even moving his arms after the abuse his shoulders had suffered.

"Get ready to catch him," the mathematician muttered to Hercules.

He waited until Hercules had put down his small bundle of Jason's clothes and stepped into position before taking the keys off his burly friend and turning his attention back to the manacles.

"Are you ready?" Pythagoras asked with a quick glance over his shoulder at Hercules.

His older friend gave a curt, tight nod. Pythagoras took a deep breath and carefully undid the cuffs on Jason's wrists, trying to keep the metal from biting in anymore and inflicting further damage to his younger friend's wrists.

As expected once he had been freed from the cuffs Jason dropped like a stone, caught by the waiting Hercules and lowered to the floor. The half-strangled yowl he gave as his body, trapped into immobility for days, was forced into movement was something that Pythagoras did not think he would forget in a hurry. He silently sympathised with his friend, knowing that every inch of him would be screaming with pain right now, but also knowing that they had to start moving quickly if they were to have any chance of escaping before the patrol completed their circuit of the Palace perimeter and realised that the secret door was not secret at all and was in fact open.

The young genius bit his lip as he looked down at his two friends. Hercules had sunk to the floor with their friend and was now looking between Jason and Pythagoras with worried eyes. Pythagoras crouched down and started gently tapping his younger friend's face.

"Come on," he encouraged. "You need to open your eyes. We need to get out of here before the guards come back."

"Just give me a minute," Jason mumbled with his eyes still closed.

Pythagoras gnawed on his lip, his eyes brimming with sympathy.

"I do not think I can," he answered softly. "I am sorry but we must move."

Jason slowly blinked his eyes open.

"Alright," he said, beginning to make feeble attempts to rise.

Hercules rolled his eyes and pushed his dark haired friend into a sitting position.

"Right," he said gruffly. "Get this on and we'll get out of here." He pulled Jason's tunic over his head and slipped his belt and breastplate into place as Pythagoras set about getting Jason's sandals on.

Without waiting for further agreement Hercules dragged Jason up into a stand, draping one of his friend's arms around his neck and slipping his own arm around the brunette's waist, trying all the time to ignore the quiet moans of pain that were coming from his friend. He frowned at how incapable Jason felt right now, his head lowered as he tried to regain control of himself and his body heavy and awkward against the burly wrestler's hip.

Further precious seconds ticked by before the three of them were ready to move. Finally they began the short journey away from the cells towards the secret entrance they had sneaked in through. Pythagoras could not help but chafe at the slowness of their pace, fearing discovery at every turn, yet he realised that there was no real option at the moment.

At first Jason was uncoordinated and awkward, his feet almost dragging as he bounced semi-responsively against Hercules' hip. With every moment that passed, however, he seemed to gain strength and capability and by the time they were at the door he was more or less moving independently – albeit with Hercules' hand hovering protectively close to his back, ready to swoop in with support if his friend should falter. Jason's ability to push aside any physical issues – the speed with which he seemed to recover from infirmity – always amazed both his friends.

"We have to hurry," Pythagoras said urgently, his hand already on the door. "The patrol will be coming back around the corner at any moment." He peered around the doorframe and drew his head back in with a sigh of relief. "They are not yet in sight," he said. "If we hurry we should be able to get back into the alleyway before we are spotted."

He looked speculatively at Jason who, despite the fact that he was moving under his own steam, still looked a little shaky and mentally assessed his friend's ability to run if the situation demanded it. Assessment made he exchanged a long look with Hercules, their long friendship meaning that he didn't need words to communicate his intentions.

Hercules nodded curtly and dragged Jason's arm back across his shoulders. Before Jason could do more than yelp Pythagoras had moved in on his other side and ducked under his other arm. Now that he was touching his friend he could feel the faint tremors that were running through Jason's body and could almost sense the groans that Jason was trying to supress.

"Right," Pythagoras muttered decisively. "When I say go, go." He peered out into the street again. "Go!" he commanded.

Half dragging Jason between them they darted across into the dark alleyway opposite. Having made sure that both his friends were out of sight in the deep shadows, Pythagoras raced back across the street and yanked the door shut, making sure that the shrubbery that had half hidden it from view appeared undisturbed, darting back into the alleyway and crouching near the entrance, peering tensely at the street. If his calculations were correct the patrol should be appearing any… minute… now!

Right on queue the guards rounded the corner and began to march down the street towards the alley where Pythagoras waited tensely in the shadows. One wrong move and they would spot him. After long, anxious moments the patrol marched on past, continuing their interminable circuits of the Palace perimeter, never even sparing a glance for the door that the young genius and his friends had used to escape the cells. Pythagoras breathed again and moved further into the alleyway to where his two friends waited for him.

"They went right on past," he said softly as he drew close.

"Thank the Gods," Hercules answered. "We have a chance of getting out of this mess then."

"Indeed," Pythagoras murmured.

He crouched down next to his friends. Jason was sitting against the wall of one of the buildings that lined the alley, his eyes closed, breathing with deliberate slowness. As Pythagoras watched he ran his tongue delicately over his cracked lips, clearly trying to get some moisture back into them. How long he had been without food and water was anyone's guess.

With a frown the mathematician unslung the water skin he was carrying on a strap that ran crosswise over his chest and reached into his belt pouch for a rag. With care he unstoppered the skin and poured enough water onto the rag to wet it. The he turned towards Jason.

"You need to drink," he said decisively, holding the open neck to his friend's lips.

Jason took an experimental sip then, as the cool liquid began to soothe his parched throat, started to gulp down mouthfuls.

"Slowly!" Pythagoras admonished, pulling the water skin away from his friend. "It will do none of us any good for you to make yourself sick by drinking too fast."

Jason glared at him but didn't bother objecting in any other way. Pythagoras handed the water skin to Hercules and set about wiping some of the dried blood off his younger friend's face with the wet rag he was holding.

"We don't have time for this," Hercules hissed. "You said we needed to hurry."

"The guards have only just gone past Hercules," Pythagoras pointed out patiently. "We have time to get clear before they come back… and it will be much easier to leave the city with no questions asked if he does not look as though he has just come from a torture chamber." He nodded towards Jason.

"So what is the plan?" Jason asked tiredly. In spite of Pythagoras' ministrations he still looked moderately awful.

Pythagoras removed his cloak and slipped it over his friend's head.

"We removed our supplies to a cave on the shore this morning," he said softly. "The easiest way there will be via the Eastern Gate. As long as your escape from the cells is not noticed too quickly we should be able to slip through largely unheeded. I have watched the guards on the gate for the last two days and they take little notice of who is entering and leaving the city unless there is something suspicious about them. If we simply slip through in the middle of the crowd then I believe that they will not pay us any attention." He smiled at his friend.

Jason nodded.

"Alright," he said. "Let's get moving then."

The short journey towards the Eastern Gate was achieved with relative ease. The further they got from the Palace the more Pythagoras felt himself relaxing. No-one appeared to have raised an alarm yet and it appeared that Jason's departure from the cells had not yet been noticed. Finally nearing the city gates they halted.

"You two wait here," Hercules ordered, dragging his friends into a small passageway between two houses. "I'll check that the coast is clear."

As they waited for the big man to return, Pythagoras sat down and leaned against the wall, feeling the stress of the last few days finally catching up with him and leaving him feeling exhausted. Alongside him Jason sank gratefully down to the ground, wincing as he tried to roll his shoulders.

"Are you alright?" Pythagoras asked.

Jason grimaced.

"Bit sore," he admitted. "My shoulders are kind of seizing up. I think they're going to be a bit stiff."

"More than a little I would imagine," Pythagoras replied mildly. "I suspect that the muscles all across your shoulders and upper back are at the very least strained. Once we are well away from the city and I have leisure I would very much like to assess the damage if I may. At the very least I believe I may have a herbal remedy which will prevent you from stiffening up any further. I suspect that you are going to need to refrain from any strenuous activity over the next few days to give yourself the chance to heal properly, otherwise you will risk putting yourself out of action for weeks."

Jason grimaced again, which turned to a wince as a spasm of pain shot through his left shoulder making the gash below his collarbone throb painfully.

"I am serious Jason," Pythagoras said firmly. "Depending on how badly your shoulders are already damaged you could risk permanent injury if you try to do too much too soon."

Hercules bustled back into the passage before Jason could respond.

"Right," he said. "There shouldn't be too much problem with getting out as long as no-one recognises him." He pointed at Jason. "They're not bothering to check anyone to be honest."

"How likely is it that the guards on the gate will know what you look like?" Pythagoras asked.

Jason considered it for a moment.

"Not too likely I wouldn't think," he replied. "I didn't really have all that much contact with anyone before I was arrested and afterwards it was only the guards in the cells."

"Which raises a couple of questions," Pythagoras said with a raised eyebrow. "What were you doing to get yourself arrested? And come to that why did you come to Pathmos in the first place?"

Jason looked a little sheepish.

"I was helping Ariadne," he muttered.

"Yes I understood that part," Pythagoras replied. "It was something of a surprise to come home from the library expecting nothing more than supper and an evening of beetle racing at the tavern with Hercules, and to find out instead that you had run off to Pathmos and left a note that merely stated where you had gone and that you were doing something for the Princess. It did not, however, tell me what you were doing or why. Perhaps if you had bothered to stop and explain Ariadne's request to us this whole situation could have been avoided."

"It was a one man job," Jason answered defensively. "Besides, I didn't want to get you guys involved in case anything went wrong."

Hercules snorted.

"And that worked out so well didn't it?" he grumbled. "Haven't you worked out by now that when you go off on these fools' errands we'll end up following you just to stop him worrying?" He pointed at Pythagoras. "What was it this time? What did you have to do to prove to her that you love her? Sooner or later you're going to have to face the fact that you can never be together because you are not of royal blood… and if you think otherwise you're a bigger fool than I thought. The King has banned you from seeing her… and you were lucky he was feeling benevolent and didn't arrest you on the spot for daring to have feelings for his daughter."

"Ariadne didn't have anyone else she could turn to," Jason protested. "With her father unwell – even with Pasiphae in exile – there really wasn't anyone she could turn to. She needed to get a message to someone in the Palace here in Pathmos without anyone knowing. She needed someone that she could trust to deliver it for her."

Hercules shook his head wearily.

"And what was this message?" he demanded. "What was so important that she would risk your life for it?"

"I don't know," Jason answered hotly. "It was a sealed letter and I wasn't about to break Ariadne's trust by opening it and reading it. She said that it needed to get to a specific member of the court in Pathmos and that the safety of Atlantis depended on it. I wasn't about to let her down."

"So what happened?" Pythagoras asked. "Something clearly went wrong after all."

"Who said anything went wrong?" Jason said.

Pythagoras gave him an incredulous look.

"We followed you here as soon as I found your note," he said, "only to find that you had been arrested on the day that you arrived. You have been held in the cells for the last four days and the guards have clearly not been gentle. I think it is more than safe to say that something went wrong."

"I managed to break into the Palace and deliver the message easily enough," Jason answered. "Knowing the layout of the Palace in Atlantis helped. I mean there are some fundamental differences but it at least gave me a rough idea of where things should be."

"So what happened?" Hercules asked.

"As it turns out the King is even more paranoid than Minos," Jason admitted, "and how was I supposed to know that he had guests visiting and that there were a lot more guards than usual?" He looked even more sheepish. "I was caught trying to escape and they decided I must be an assassin. They didn't seem to know what to do with me after that. I don't think they liked to execute me until I told them who I was working for and since I'm not actually an assassin I couldn't really tell them what they wanted to hear."

Pythagoras restrained himself manfully from the sudden urge to smack his friend around the head.

"Sometimes Jason you are such an idiot," he said with asperity. "Next time talk to us beforehand and we can hopefully come up with a plan that does not involve you ending up in a dungeon being tortured!"

"There won't be a next time," Jason muttered. "I'm sorry if I worried you guys."

Pythagoras gave him an incredulous and fond look.

"Of course there will be a next time," he said. "You can no more restrain yourself from jumping in to help someone that you believe needs it than I can stop my interest in triangles or Hercules can stop telling tall tales. I know and understand this. Just try not to do anything too foolish that we cannot help you with."

Jason looked at his hands.

"Sorry," he murmured.

"We need to get going," Hercules growled. "We've waited here long enough. Sooner or later they're going to spot that you're not in the cells and I for one would rather be well outside the city when that happens."

He stood up and reached down to grasp a handful of Jason's tunic, using it to help him lift his friend to his feet, frowning with some sympathy at the little moans that Jason couldn't help uttering. Once Jason was fully on his feet, Hercules let go but did not quite step out of catching range just in case he was needed. The adrenaline of their escape was beginning to wear off all of them now and the burly wrestler had no intention of allowing the injured member of their party to fall.

"Ready to move?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jason answered. He looked between his two friends gratefully. "Thanks for coming for me," he added seriously.

"Any time," Hercules answered. "You might be an idiot but you're our idiot. We've been through too much together and I've got too used to having you around to leave you somewhere like this."

"Thanks," Jason said again. He looked up at the sky and smiled. "Let's go home," he said.

I thought it was about time that I started my campaign for round 6 of H/C Bingo!! So here it is.

Title: Non Verbal Communication
Author: Yassandra
Fandom: Atlantis
Pairing/characters: Jason, Pythagoras, Hercules
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. BBC and Urban Myth Films own them.
Word count: approx 3424
Summary: Hugs are very important things
AN: Written for the hc_bingo Round 6 for the prompt 'hugs'

Non Verbal Communication

You can't wrap love in a box, but you can wrap a person in a hug.

(Author Unknown)

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Hugs had never really been a part of Jason's life before Atlantis.

It was strange, he mused sitting alone on the roof one evening while Hercules was propping up the bar of some local tavern or other and Pythagoras was at the library, that in his head his life was now split into two very distinct sections: Before Atlantis and Now (somehow he felt they needed capitalisation even if it was only in his thoughts). He looked in through the open balcony doorway with a soft smile at the little house he shared with his friends. This was home and anything that had come before was a flat, empty dream by comparison; this was where he belonged.

Not that he had felt that way back in England of course. Before Atlantis he would have said his life was normal – if a little barren at times. It was his own fault, he supposed. Ever since his Dad had disappeared he'd had a tendency to keep people at arm's length; a difficulty in allowing people to get close; in trusting them. "Trust Issues" someone (probably one of the social workers who had been assigned to look after him over the years) had written in large letters on his file – and Jason supposed they had been right (especially since he'd only seen it because he'd sneaked a look at his file when his latest social worker at the time hadn't been looking, just to see what they'd been writing about him).

It was true what he'd told Pythagoras on that first day (that day when he'd been scared and confused and utterly blown away by everything he was seeing and that was happening to him and Pythagoras had been so kind and welcoming); he'd never really felt like he fitted in back in the time before Atlantis; had always been subconsciously searching for something without any clear idea of what that something might actually be.

Growing up various people had tried to be kind but they'd always concentrated on his physical needs rather than his emotional ones, and physical contact had more often than not simply not been on the agenda – and Jason supposed, looking back now, that he had never really encouraged it anyway. He had vague memories of his Dad hugging him from time to time (like all of his memories of his Dad they were vague and hazy) but after his Dad had gone there had been lots of strange adults around (and some who were not so strange – but Mac had always been more of a "pat you on the shoulder" or "punch you on the arm" sort of guy than a "scoop you up for a cuddle") all trying to decide what was best for him (and since his own input hadn't seemed to be needed or wanted he had done his best to keep out of their way – had already begun the long process of fading into the background where he could remain unnoticed, because if no-one noticed him then no-one could hurt him).

By the time anyone had thought that a young child who had just lost his sole surviving parent might actually need physical comfort, that ship had already sailed, and the child who Jason had been had decided that, since he seemed to be little more than a nuisance to these people, he probably ought to try to stay as quiet and out of the way as possible and try not to be demanding in any way so as not to be a bother. So he had stood, stiff and awkward with his arms at his sides as a strange woman with a sweet smelling perfume (who he would later learn was the first social worker who had been assigned to him) wrapped her arms around him and attempted to give him a hug. It had been the same ever since really. Without really knowing why he would automatically tense whenever he was touched; more often than not going completely rigid and making no attempts to reciprocate. On the rare occasions he did respond he would bring one hand up to awkwardly pat whoever was doing the hugging on the back.

Physical contact of that sort made him uncomfortable; brought out the shyer, more uncertain side of his nature – and Jason really didn't like to feel that awkward. Not that it happened all that often if he was honest. Most people steered clear of touching him. He supposed he had developed a reputation for being aloof and untouchable. Yet sometimes, watching a family at the park or the beach with barely concealed longing, he couldn't help but crave what he had missed out on. Sometimes in the still of the night when he had been all alone and lonely, he had longed for someone to comfort him; to show him the love and happiness that he knew other people experienced but had somehow eluded him over the years. So he had learned to comfort himself whenever he was feeling lost and vulnerable, wrapping his arms around his own torso in a sort of self-hug. It was a strange, self-comforting little gesture that could easily be made to look like he was simply folding his arms if anyone ever noticed what he was doing. Not that anyone ever did. By that point in his life he had simply ceased to register on most people's radar and those that did notice he was still around weren't exactly the touchy-feely type. The most contact he would have said he was comfortable with was a pat on the back or shoulder – either giving or receiving.

Yet the first time he had met Pythagoras he had thrown his arms around the mathematician (or at least attempted to) and buried his face in his friend's neck. Jason's only excuse was that he was both terribly grateful and incredibly relieved at the time. After all he had thought he was about to die before Pythagoras had pulled him in through the window; hanging on the edge of the balcony with his fingertips slipping more with every passing second he had felt fear like never before (terror really) and his relief at the fact that Pythagoras had in effect just saved his life had been far more emotional and demonstrative than he would usually indulge in.

If he were honest though as soon as that initial gratitude and relief had passed, Jason had found himself remarkably embarrassed by his actions and had expected that there would never be any sort of repeat performance from either himself or the mathematician (and given that Hercules had barely been tolerating his presence at the time, any sort of physical contact from him had seemed highly unlikely). He had been wrong though – so very wrong. Both Pythagoras and Hercules, as it turned out, were physically demonstrative and affectionate men, not afraid to show how they were feeling with an arm draped over the shoulder or a swift hug.

Jason had begun to categorise all the hugs he received in his mind. There were the casual arm flung over the shoulder hugs as they were walking down the street together (and really these could come from either one of his friends) that simply told him that his friends were happy and wanted to share that with him; there were the heavy, drunken fumbling hugs when Hercules showed his affection and usually ended up passing out in the arms of whichever friend he was hugging; there were the "how are we not dead?" hugs that tended to come from Pythagoras in relief at the end of whatever misadventure they had found themselves in; there were the "I didn't think I'd ever see you again" hugs (which were remarkably similar to the "how are we not dead?" hugs only they could come from either one of his friends) usually delivered when one or the other of them had been missing for a period of time; there were the "I know you're homesick even if you're trying to hide it" hugs (Pythagoras again); there were the "I'm scared" hugs which were closely related to the "I know you're scared and I want to help" hugs; there were the "Jason stop being an idiot and accept that we care for you" comfort hugs and the "it's alright to be upset" hugs when things went wrong; there were the "we're still friends even if I was cross at you" hugs – generally one armed affairs that Hercules gave after he'd recovered from a bout of lost temper; and there were the whole body hugs that simply spoke of love and affection without any words being used.

It hadn't always been easy though. At first Jason had reacted to his friends hugs in much the same way as he had always reacted in the time before Atlantis – by going rigid and looking uncomfortable, arms by his sides and eyes trying to focus on something (anything) other than the person doing the hugging. The first time it had happened had been with Pythagoras and the young mathematician had looked so upset at Jason's awkward response that it had nearly broken his heart on the spot. Hercules had glowered and dragged him off to the tavern later that night for a "chat" which had mainly consisted of the burly wrestler informing him in no uncertain terms of just how hurt Pythagoras would have been by his apparent rejection and suggesting (perhaps a little more forcefully than he should – but he had been very drunk after all) that Jason might like to reconsider his position. Not that Jason had needed the prompting – the look on Pythagoras' face had been enough.

The next time it had happened Jason had tried to respond naturally, bringing his arm up to pat his friend on the back but it had felt awkward and uncomfortable. Over time it had become easier as he had become more comfortable and by now Jason would have felt a little bereft if he had had to go without physical contact from either of his friends. And if either one of them noticed (which surely they must do) that he still didn't initiate contact anywhere near as much as either of them, they were kind enough not to mention it; putting it down to a defect in his upbringing or a personal idiosyncrasy or something (and Jason wasn't actually sure he wanted to know what that something was).

Yeah hugs were definitely one of the many things he had had to learn about since coming to Atlantis, Jason smiled softly to himself once again as he turned his gaze back towards the balcony, and he was sure that there were a few categories that he hadn't been able to classify yet.

"You look happy."

Jason looked up in surprise to find that Pythagoras had returned from the library while he was letting his mind wander.

"I was just thinking," he answered.

"Be careful," Pythagoras warned with some levity, "we all know where that could lead."

"Very funny," Jason answered with a wry grimace.

Although he had to admit to himself that Pythagoras probably had a point – some of his choices lately had been decidedly ropey. The latest, of course, had been the decision to help the young widow who had turned up on their doorstep with a pitiful handful of coins and a story of lost love and a missing father. As it had turned out the missing father had run off with an extremely jolly older lady from a farm in a valley to the east of Atlantis where they were living very happily. Before Jason could leave them and return to Atlantis with the news of her father's whereabouts to give to the young widow, one of the farm goats (the best one for milk to hear the lady talk) had got itself trapped on the riverbank. The old man was lame and the jolly lady's lower lip had started to tremble at the thought of losing what amounted to a quarter of her flock, so Jason had offered to help without really thinking about it. It should have been an easy task but then he really hadn't expected the bank to give way right after passing the wayward goat to the old man, sending him tumbling down into the remarkably deep river.

It hadn't been too much of a problem – Jason was a fairly strong swimmer after all, although the hampering effect of waterlogged clothes had slowed him down somewhat. The old man had been terribly apologetic and insisted on pressing a couple more small coins upon him for his trouble but it was clear that the jolly lady was less jolly at the thought of a young man dripping dirty river water over her nice clean floors so Jason had excused himself and begun to trudge home. Travelling while still soaked to the skin and having swallowed half a lungful of river water had been one of his less than stellar ideas. By the time he reached his own doors Jason had been thoroughly miserable, shivering with cold and feeling not quite well. Pythagoras had not been impressed.

Of course as it turned out the river water he had swallowed had contained a little more than just dirt and had left him with the lovely present of a particularly unpleasant stomach bug. Pythagoras had manfully resisted saying "I told you so" on a number of occasions over the last few days and hadn't even berated Jason for coming home in a state yet again (much less taking the job on in the first place). Hercules of course had shown no such restraint. In the end though even he had taken pity on his friend when the queasiness had shown no signs of abating even after a few hours and had taken himself off to the tavern – where he had stayed for much of the past few days.

Jason couldn't really say he blamed him to be honest. After all it was no real fun watching a friend trying repeatedly to bring up his toenails into the latrine. He wouldn't have blamed Pythagoras for going either (had a feeling he might actually have suggested it in one of his loopier moments when the accompanying fever was high) but it seemed that the young genius was made of sterner stuff. He had simply given Jason a long suffering look and forced him to drink a little water to try to prevent him from becoming dehydrated.

It was then that Jason had been introduced to yet another category of hug: the "I know you're feeling really poorly and trying to be brave but I think you really need some comforting" hug. It had been delivered at a point when he had been feeling particularly awful, curled up into a foetal ball on his bed, feeling sore and sorry for himself (he had been retching so hard that even the muscles in his chest had hurt). Pythagoras had managed to persuade him (much against his better judgement because really the most comfortable position to be in had been curled up protecting his aching stomach) to sit up for a few minutes and at least try to drink something ("Jason you will be more ill if you do not") and had then plonked himself down on the bed alongside his friend and pulled Jason in for a careful one armed hug, treating him as though he were a particularly fragile piece of glass.

It was very nice and actually far more comforting than Jason would have suspected but to be honest he would be just as happy if he never had to receive that sort of hug again; if he never felt rough enough to warrant that sort of hug again. The odds were slim though. He seemed to end up injured with depressing regularity and really his friends had seen him rough more often than he liked to think about.

"Are you feeling any better?" Pythagoras asked, sliding down the wall until he was sitting alongside Jason, hips touching.

Jason considered it for a moment. In truth he wasn't actually feeling too bad (which was certainly an improvement on the last few days) – more washed out and lethargic than anything. This morning, when Pythagoras had informed them that a trip to the agora was once again necessary, he had half-heartedly volunteered to go (or at least to accompany his friend) but Pythagoras had raised an eyebrow and politely but firmly suggested that perhaps it might be a better idea if he stayed quietly at home for today at least. Jason hadn't objected since he really was lacking energy. After Hercules had announced he had to go and see a man about a beetle (and when exactly had hearing that sort of sentence become the norm?) Jason had actually chosen to take himself back to bed, reasoning that since he was so darned tired a short nap might do wonders for his energy levels. As it was he had slept on and off for most of the day. He had finally woken up properly to find much to his chagrin that it was early evening. Still he supposed that he wouldn't have slept so much if he hadn't needed it. He was feeling an awful lot better as a result of the extra rest he had to admit and, having found a note from Pythagoras explaining that he had gone to do a little research at the library and Hercules had gone to the tavern, had come out onto the balcony to enjoy the early evening air.

"Yeah," he answered. "I'm better… a lot better."

"Good," Pythagoras said with a bright smile. "I am pleased to hear it."

"How was the library?" Jason asked.

"Quiet," Pythagoras responded. "I was told off for making too much noise."

Jason couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him which Pythagoras returned with a laugh of his own.

"Actually I came to tell you that Hercules has finished preparing supper," the mathematician continued with a smile.

Jason blinked in surprise. Just how lost in thought had he been? He hadn't heard either Pythagoras or Hercules come home, much less the noises that usually accompanied the preparation of supper.

"Hercules?" he blurted. "I expected him to be falling off a bar stool somewhere by now."

"Oi I heard that!" Hercules' exclamation came from the doorway.

Both young men looked up at the sound to see him standing, leaning against the doorframe.

"Why is it always me?" Hercules went on with the same level of complaint in his voice.

"That is something that we ask ourselves every morning," Pythagoras teased.

Hercules grunted his annoyance.

"I'm putting supper on the table now," he growled, turning away and stomping back into the kitchen.

Pythagoras turned to Jason with a smile, his eyebrows slightly raised.

"Do you feel like eating something?" he asked, knowing that in spite of his protestations that he was fine now Jason's stomach was still more than a little delicate.

Jason hesitated for a moment, trying to work out whether he had an appetite or not. At least the mere thought of food was no longer turning his stomach.

"Hercules has kept it light," Pythagoras went on, noticing his friend's hesitation. "It is only a little soup and some bread. He thought that you might find it easier to eat something fairly simple."

Jason smiled and nodded, once again touched by the kindness shown by both his friends and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. At the doorway to the balcony he paused and leant against the frame, watching his two companions with affection, his smile soft and his eyes warm. Pythagoras had crossed the room to join Hercules and was currently laying the table. As Jason watched, Pythagoras said something too soft for him to hear. Hercules smiled in response and threw a friendly arm around the young genius' shoulders as he responded in an equally low voice. The hug spoke of friendship and affection and long years spent in each other's company. For a moment Jason almost felt like an outsider until Hercules turned with an open smile and a gesture for him to join them.

Yes, hugs had never really been a part of Jason's life before Atlantis but they certainly were now – and he wouldn't change it for the world.

Right so this is my first real entry for round 5 of H/C Bingo!! It was about time I got started with it I suppose.

Title: Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Author: Yassandra
Fandom: Atlantis
Pairing/characters: Jason, Pythagoras, Hercules
Rating: 12
Warnings: Serious injury.
Spoilers: Series 2 Episode 2: A New Dawn Part 2
Disclaimer: Not mine. BBC and Urban Myth Films own them.
Word count: approx 9124
Summary: It even hurts to think right now but somewhere in his weary mind the thought does occur to him that if he can just find Pythagoras everything will be better. Pythagoras will help him; will look after him; will take the pain away and make him feel better.
AN: Written for the hc_bingo Round 5 for the prompts ‘fever/delirium’, ‘family’, ‘septicaemia/infected wound’, and possibly ‘medication’ (if you squint).


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He marches away from the Queen with his back straight and head held high, determined that she will not see him falter – that she will not see him break. It doesn't really matter that inside it feels like someone is trying to rip his heart out of his chest – he will not let it show. He should have known better than to believe that a dream could ever come true. Because that's what it had been: a fairy-tale romance; a dream that one day he might get the happy ending that others seemed to achieve effortlessly but had always been just beyond his grasp.

He's never had big dreams really – just longs to settle down with the woman that he loves more than life and maybe one day have a couple of children – and he really couldn't care less whether she is Queen of Atlantis or the girl who helps clean the drains in the bathhouse; it is Ariadne that he wants not the position in society she holds. Sometimes he wonders if it would have been better if they had managed to escape together after Pasiphae tried to have her executed in the brazen bull. They could have found a little house somewhere, settled down and made a home; lived a simple life away from all the lies and betrayals that seemed to go hand in hand with being a member of the Atlantian royal family.

Now that he has turned the corner and she can no longer see him, he falters. The adrenaline and willpower that have seen him through the battle and in the hours since is fading at last and he feels shockingly weak and shaky. Every inch of him aches and his entire stomach is a mess of pain, every movement shooting fresh waves through his side. Under his breastplate his tunic is stiff with dried blood, scratchy and uncomfortable against his body, but his side itself is slick with fresh blood. The wound reopened in last night's battle – he had felt it tear as he span to face another attacker. There had been no pain then – the adrenaline coursing through his system had seen to that – but he had felt the wetness of the blood seeping down his side. It is still seeping sluggishly now and part of him wonders if he should be worried about blood loss. His head pounds and he feels dizzy and sick, the world lurching at alarming angles if he moves his head too quickly, and he clings to a handy pillar for support.

It even hurts to think right now but somewhere in his weary mind the thought does occur to him that if he can just find Pythagoras everything will be better. Pythagoras will help him; will look after him; will take the pain away and make him feel better. Pythagoras will undoubtedly know which tonic he should take and will insist on tucking him into bed to rest and right now Jason finds the idea distinctly appealing. Perhaps, if he is in a good mood, Hercules can even be persuaded to tell one of his tall tales to help Jason drift off to sleep.

Not that he is likely to have too much trouble getting to sleep, he thinks. Right now it is all that he can do to keep his eyes open, exhaustion settling in to his limbs and making him tremble all over. Still if he wants to find Pythagoras – if he wants to get home and into bed (which is sounding more and more appealing with every second that passes) – he has to stay on his feet; has to start moving again.

He shivers in spite of the heat of the day. When did it get so cold in here? Perhaps it will be warmer out in the courtyard. With renewed determination he pushes himself away from the pillar and starts to walk forwards, concentrating hard on just putting one foot in front of the other. The air feels thinner now and he can feel his heart rate speeding up, pounding uneasily in his chest, as his breathing quickens, coming in short pained gasps. The light-headed feeling it produces is almost euphoric and he uses it to push himself onwards.

By the time he reaches the courtyard the feeling has faded and been replaced by the burning pain in his abdomen once more. He is pretty sure that it is the blood loss that is making him feel so ill and he presses one hand to his tortured side and feels hot blood coat his palm. The faint trickle has become a slow but steady flow yet again and he pushes down on it in spite of the white hot agony that the action causes, trying to stop the bleeding once more. He lurches onwards, staggering slightly from the sheer effort it is taking him to walk. He rather suspects that he currently bears more than a passing resemblance to Hercules on his way back from a day's hard drinking in the tavern – a suspicion that is borne out by the looks he is getting from some of the people he passes.

"Jason!"

He hears Pythagoras before he sees him – hurrying across the courtyard towards him, over-robe flapping in the slight breeze. He stops and turns to greet his friend but moves too quickly and sways, fighting a wave of dizziness as his blood pounds in his ears. He closes his eyes as he fights to stay conscious and stay on his feet. A pair of large hands grasp his shoulders firmly, holding him upright, stopping him from falling. As the wave washes over him and passes on he risks opening his eyes and finds himself face to face with a glaring Hercules – although where his larger friend has appeared from he really doesn't know.

"Where in the name of the Gods do you think you're going?" Hercules growls.

"Home," he says, then hisses as Pythagoras' searching fingers brush against his side.

The mathematician's face morphs from concern into downright worry and he looks searchingly at Jason.

"Your wound has reopened again," he says. "I need to dress it properly and you need to be in bed, resting and giving it chance to heal."

"I know," Jason admits. "Bed sounds pretty good."

Hercules frowns and motions to Pythagoras to take Jason's sword before motioning with his hand for Jason to put his arm around his shoulders, slipping his own arm around his friend's waist and supporting him where he stands.

Together they begin the journey through the half empty streets, having to stop every so often to wait for the workmen to drag parts of the hastily constructed barricades of the night before out of the way or clear the debris of the recent battle. By now Jason is flagging visibly, hanging off Hercules' shoulder and his friends exchange a concerned glance over his head.

"We need to get home soon," Pythagoras murmurs, starting to pick up speed.

Jason tries to keep up; tries to hurry as Pythagoras wants – although at the moment he really can't focus his mind enough to know why they are hurrying – his body is betraying him and the dizziness has returned in full force. As they are forced to stop at yet another barricade he sags even further on Hercules' arm and by this time his friend is the only thing keeping him upright. He is still fighting to stay awake but is rapidly losing his battle with consciousness, blood roaring in his ears.

"Jason?" Pythagoras' voice sounds as though it is coming from far away, distorted and filtered as though he is under water.

Jason tries to lift his head but nothing seems to be responding the way it should. He sways even more, even as Hercules' other arm comes around to hold him up, wave after wave of dizziness rocking him, and his friends' faces blur and fade into darkness. His head lolls and his eyes close as all sound fades and darkness claims him at last.

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As he starts to swim back towards consciousness the first thing that he is aware of are hushed but urgent voices. Pythagoras, he thinks identifying the lighter of the two, and Hercules. Pythagoras is muttering words like "blood loss", "exhaustion" and "sleep", and realises that his friend is probably talking about him. He feels weak as a new-born kitten and the pounding in his head doesn't seem to have diminished in any way but at least he is lying down in relative comfort now – the semi-soft mattress of his bed cradling his aching body. He is home, he realises without opening his eyes – although quite how he got here is anybody's guess – the familiar smells and the feel of his own somewhat scratchy blanket comforting him.

While he has been unconscious someone has put him to bed, changed his bloody, ruined tunic for a clean one, wrapped fresh bandages around his midriff and cleansed the taint of battle from his skin. It was probably a combination of his two friends he thinks. He opens his eyes and his mouth to thank them but is surprised when all that manages to come out is a distressed moan as a band of pain assaults him once again and reminds him that being shot hurts.

Pythagoras is by his side in an instant, blue eyes worried no matter how much he tries to smile. Hercules is almost as speedy – an amazing feat for a big man.

"What happened?" Jason asks as he attempts to push himself upright, still a little confused as to how he managed to get home and into bed.

"You fainted again," Pythagoras answers, placing one slim hand on his chest and stopping him from sitting up too much. "You have lost a lot of blood, Jason. I have dressed your wound properly now but you need to rest and regain your strength."

Jason nods and closes his eyes, his brows knitting together as he winces in pain. Pythagoras frowns and moves back across the room, coming back with a cup in his hands.

"Drink this," he says kindly. "It is wine fortified with painkilling herbs. It will help you to rest a little more comfortably."

Jason nods weakly and then wishes he hadn't as the world swims out of focus once again. He waves off Pythagoras' worried look but cannot avoid Hercules' strong arm easing him back to lie down once more. He swallows down hard on the rising wave of nausea the dizziness brings and takes the concoction gratefully from his mathematically inclined friend. He was right, he thinks, in his belief that Pythagoras would know what tonic he should take to make him feel better. He hopes that whatever is in the cup will work quickly – the pain in his side is rapidly reaching unbearable levels.

"So what was that thing in the cave?" he asks, trying to distract himself from how terrible he is feeling; trying to avoid thinking about Ariadne and the mockery she suddenly seems to have made of his life – even though he knows that was not her intent.

"You should not be worrying about things like that. You should be trying to get some sleep." Pythagoras' voice is firm as he takes in the pallor of his friend's face and the beads of sweat that dot his forehead – mute evidence (if any evidence is needed of course) that Jason, stubborn though he undoubtedly is, has more than reached the end of his endurance.

"Hurts too much," he admits, turning tortured hazel eyes on his friend. "I need those herbs to kick in."

"It was a Cyclops," Hercules rumbles in answer to his question.

"They actually exist?"

He can't keep the incredulity out of his voice and really he should know better by now. He has been in Atlantis for long enough to no longer doubt the existence of the mythical creatures from his primary school lessons or seen in old films on TV, watched on a rainy Sunday afternoon when he had nothing better to do. He remembers both Clash of the Titans and Jason & the Argonauts on telly only too well and owes much of his limited knowledge of Greek mythology to them – and he is really hoping that it's not going to turn out that he is that Jason in spite of the vision he had of the Argo in the Temple (and was that really only a few days ago?). He certainly has no desire right now to go wandering off looking for a sheepskin, whether it's golden or not – and come to that didn't that Jason end up being crushed under the falling stern of the decaying Argo? He remembers that story a little more clearly than most Greek mythology – probably because as a child he had been fascinated by the fact that the hero had the same name as him. He shudders. If anyone so much as mentions that blasted ship or going looking for any part of a sheep he thinks he might just run a mile.

"Well of course they exist." Pythagoras' voice draws him back to the present. He is using the "I'm dealing with an idiot" tone again – something he has a tendency to do whenever he thinks Jason should know something or is being particularly dense.

"Oh," he answers, unable to summon up the energy to argue or even to hold a proper conversation at this point. His friends are both eying him with downright worry and he feels a pang of guilt for causing them so much concern. He can feel his heart pounding and the air seems thinner again, and he closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on getting enough oxygen into his lungs. A gentle hand on his wrist makes him open his eyes to watch Pythagoras passively.

"Your heart is beating too fast," the young genius murmurs, half to himself. "It is a sign of anaemia; of lack of blood. You will need to eat the right foods and drink plenty of fluids to regain your strength."

"I am pretty thirst," Jason admits, "… and cold." He shivers slightly. "When did it get so cold?"

If anything Pythagoras looks more alarmed than ever.

"How can you be cold?" Hercules asks incredulously. "It's hot today."

Jason shrugs faintly as Pythagoras reaches out with anxiety dancing in his blue eyes and rests one slim hand on his forehead. The mathematician's hand feels icy cold and he tries to pull away, shuddering. Pythagoras draws back, his eyes wide.

"What's wrong?" Hercules' voice is urgent and anxious. Jason turns his head to look at him dully, his languor and stupefaction growing with every passing minute.

Pythagoras barely glances at his old friend.

"He has a slight fever," the young genius murmurs. "I do not think it is something that we need to worry about too much yet but I will monitor the situation."

"Fever?" Hercules demands.

"It may simply be your body reacting to the trauma it has been through," Pythagoras says looking seriously at Jason. "If it is more than that then we will treat it as it comes. For now just close your eyes and get some sleep."

It probably says something for how truly dreadful he is feeling that he simply does as Pythagoras says and closes his eyes, willing sleep to take him quickly.

Pythagoras smiles down at him and pulls the blanket a little more firmly around his shoulders smoothing it out with one practiced hand. He motions with his head for Hercules to follow him onto the balcony, leaving Jason to sleep on peacefully.

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When he wakes up again it is dark and Hercules is dozing on a stool by the side of his bed. Why the big man should be there he can't quite work out – his head feels like he's trying to think through treacle at the moment. He is stiflingly hot and starts to kick away the blankets, only to stop with a sudden yelp as the pain in his stomach reasserts itself. He is tired and beyond sore and can't quite work out why he hurts so much; a ball of agony building in his abdomen. Has he been injured? He has vague memories of a battle and an arrow and being half carried through woodland but beyond that there is nothing.

With probing fingers he begins to investigate the bandage around his middle. Somewhere someone is whimpering quietly and he realises with a shock that it is him. Suddenly his hands are lifted away from himself and held gently but firmly. Hercules' broad face comes into view, eyes compassionate but stern.

"Leave it alone Jason," he admonishes. "It won't heal if you keep poking it."

He wants to ask his big friend what is going on but his foggy brain can't seem to work well enough to form the words properly and what comes out of his mouth is more of a moan than he would like it to be. Hercules seems to sense his confusion and frowns, one meaty hand brushing the dark curls away from Jason's forehead.

"Fever's rising again," the burly wrestler murmurs as he reaches down into a bowl hidden from view beneath the bed and catches up a cool wet cloth, wringing it out and laying it across his young friend's forehead.

Jason whimpers again, feeling cold all of a sudden and reaches up to swipe the cloth away.

"Stop it," Hercules grumbles. "You have a fever and I need to get your temperature down." He does, however, reach down and grab the blanket from where it has landed at the bottom of the bed and pull it up around his friend's waist.

Jason blinks at him with sleepy, fever bright eyes and Hercules forces a smile. The Oracle's instruction that he should protect this most special of boys is still ringing in his ears although he acknowledges to himself that it is something he has felt the urge to do for a long time anyway – he needs no divine permission or instruction.

"As long as you're awake you may as well drink this tonic that Pythagoras left," Hercules continues his one-sided conversation. "I had to chase him off to bed earlier. No sense in both of us going without sleep." He slips one burly arm under his friend's shoulders, lifting the young man's head gently and pressing a cup to his lips. "Pythagoras said to give you this when you woke up; said it should help bring your fever down."

Jason looks at him trustingly and swallows obligingly, grimacing at the unpleasant taste. A slight trickle of the fluid escapes from the corner of his mouth and runs down the side of his face. Hercules spots it and moves in with a cloth to wipe it away, pushing the young man back onto the pillows as he does. He watches Jason's eyes grow heavy again, blood loss from his injury and fever taking their toll on his healing body, and smiles softly as the young man begins to lose his battle with sleep. With hands made gentle by the affection that he holds for his friend, Hercules wrings out a soft cloth and wipes the grime of sweat away from Jason's torso – tunic lost earlier in the battle to bring down his temperature – reaching down afterwards to pull up the blanket around the young man's shoulders once more, cocooning Jason in warmth and comfort. He hears Jason sigh as sleep claims him again and settles back down to his lonely vigil, determined that for once in his life he will not let anyone down.

------------------

Pythagoras looks up from the table on which he is semi-aggressively chopping herbs towards where his friend lies sleeping, tossing slightly and muttering strange words in fevered dreams. He was stupid, he thinks crossly. He knows enough medicine that he should have known that Jason's wound was going to get infected. After all his friend was running around with it for nearly two days without it being properly cleaned or treated; Pythagoras had simply bound it up as best he could at the time without access to proper medical supplies. Added to that Jason had ended up in a river where all sorts of dirt and bugs might lurk and had then walked back to Atlantis and fought in a battle – all with a hole in his side… was there ever a world in which that wound was not going to get infected?

Now the young genius is forced to try to control his friend's pain and fever through whatever means are at his disposal. His last resort will be to reopen the wound itself and try to drain out all traces of infection; to cleanse it thoroughly inside and out; but he is loath to do that yet given how much blood Jason has already managed to lose in the last few days.

There are still a few herbal remedies and poultices he can try first but looking at his friend now, seeing how pale and ill Jason actually looks, Pythagoras feels the first pang of misgiving. What if it is not enough? Jason is still stubbornly feverish in spite of his friends' best efforts (and does he really have to be stubborn in everything he does? Really?) although he is far from being gravely ill yet. When he wakes he is tired and confused, alternating between feeling overheated and racking chills. Pythagoras worries that he is rapidly heading towards full blown delirium, but at the moment very little seems to be cooling him down.

The more feverish and confused Jason becomes, however, the less cooperative he is becoming and it is turning into a serious battle of wills to get him to take any of the tonics or remedies that he needs. The only comforting thing is that he is simply not strong enough to fight off both of his friends at once – although in truth Pythagoras can take little comfort from that; he would far rather that Jason was well enough to stubbornly resist their ministrations.

The blonde looks up as the front door (why does he still think of it as the front door – it is their only door to the outside world) crashes open and Hercules barrels through it. His old friend has looked increasingly grim ever since the battle ended and the Colcheans were defeated. Whilst he can understand it now, it does seem strange that in that first euphoric moment when they realised that they had won – that they had somehow managed to survive in spite of the overwhelming odds against them – Hercules should have seemed so miserable; angry even. If Pythagoras had the time or energy he would question it but right now his entire thoughts and efforts are given over to the health and wellbeing of his other friend.

"Where have you been?" he asks.

Hercules frowns.

"You said you were running out of bandages," the burly wrestler answers producing a bundle of fresh white linen from under his jerkin.

Pythagoras chooses not to ask where he got it. They are not exactly wealthy enough to have money to spare on extras like this (Pythagoras had been planning on washing the bloody bandages he has taken from his friend the last time the dressing was changed) and in the aftermath of a large scale battle linen for bandages is becoming scarce and prices high.

"How is he?" Hercules rumbles, looking towards Jason with a frown.

Pythagoras follows his gaze.

"No better," he admits, "but no worse either."

Hercules grunts and begins to make his way over to the bed. Jason has managed to kick off the blankets again and is tossing in uneasy sleep, muttering strange incomprehensible words, and shivering uncontrollably. Hercules' frown deepens as he stoops to draw up the blanket, smoothing it out and trying to work out whether the heat radiating from his friend is more or less than it was before; whether his fever has gone up yet again or whether they are finally winning. He turns back to find Pythagoras watching him thoughtfully.

"What is wrong, old friend?" the young genius asks. "You have been unhappy ever since the battle ended and it is more than just worry for Jason."

Hercules sighs. Pythagoras can read him like an open book and while he knows that it is down to their years of sharing a house together – their years of strange friendship – it worries him that he is so easy to see through… especially as he gave the Oracle his word that there were certain secrets he would take to his grave. But this is Pythagoras and surely the lad deserves to know some of what they are likely to be facing?

"I visited the Oracle," he finds himself admitting.

Pythagoras sucks in a breath.

"What did she tell you?" he asks.

"That what he said about his destiny was true," Hercules answers with a nod towards Jason. "It seems that he is the only hope for Atlantis… and it seems that the Gods have chosen us to protect him."

"Us?" Pythagoras splutters incredulously.

Hercules nods slowly.

"If we fail all of Atlantis will be lost," he says seriously, "although I don't seem to be doing a very good job of protecting him so far," he adds with a sigh as he looks at their injured and ill friend.

A sudden sharp rapping at the door puts an end to their conversation. It is with some surprise that Pythagoras opens it to find Dion, Captain of the Atlantian Guard, on the other side. The large man marches into the room, his face serious and Pythagoras wonders anew if this grim man even knows how to smile.

"I have come from the Queen," he says formally.

Hercules instantly bristles.

"Whatever it is the answer's no," he states, worry for Jason making him even forget his usual deference.

Dion's frown deepens.

"One does not refuse the Queen," he growls. "She has tasked me with seeing to the needs of the people at this time; with making sure they have all they require. She feels keenly that she owes you a great debt and wished to ensure that you have everything you need."

He does not miss the fact that both Pythagoras and Hercules sigh with relief, clearly thankful that they are not being asked to undertake another mission so soon after the last one. Nor does he miss the fact that one of the trio – the one whom the Queen had most especially asked him to check on – is missing. A swift glance around the room reveals to him that the lad appears to be sleeping, although he does not appear to be resting easily. Dion's frown deepens even further. He has seen this before (too many times if the truth be told) with men under his command who have survived a battle only to be carried away by a fever afterwards.

In short strides he makes it across the room before either of the others can protest, his eyes taking in the pallid pain filled features, the sweat drenched curls and the fresh bandaging at the young man's waist. The stench of an infected wound hits his nostrils at the same time and he glances back sharply at his two companions.

"When was he injured?" he demands, knowing that Queen Ariadne will not take the news he has to bring well.

Pythagoras sighs.

"Jason was shot in the side escaping the Colchean encampment with the Palladium," he answers tiredly. "He has lost a lot of blood and the wound has become infected."

"He fought in the battle with such a wound?" Dion asks rhetorically. "I would not have known it."

"Jason is the most headstrong boy I have ever met," Hercules growls. "He gave the Queen his word that he was going to bring the Palladium back to Atlantis and he'd have sooner died than let her down."

Dion sighs. He has suspected for some time (although he has never been directly told) that there is something special between his Queen and Jason. It saddens him, knowing as he does that they can never be together; no matter how brave and loyal Jason might be they cannot escape the fact that he is merely a peasant – does not have royal blood. The Queen must marry for the benefit of the city and cannot simply follow her heart.

"I must inform the Queen," he murmurs. "She would wish to know that Jason is unwell."

He excuses himself and leaves before either of the other two can think about speaking.

Pythagoras returns to the preparation of his herbs. Remedy mixed he turns to Hercules.

"Help me get him to drink it," he implores.

Hercules nods as they prepare to do battle with their friend once more.

------------------

The world is a confusing place right now. Whenever he opens his eyes everything is blurred and indistinct. Faces he can no longer seem to recognise loom out of the darkness, featureless blobs of pink and brown or pink and reddish blonde, and voices utter words he cannot grasp or understand. He knows the voices though; knows their kind tones; knows them to belong to his friends; and trusts them implicitly. But it feels like he's drowning – like he never quite manages to get enough air – and he surfaces only for long enough to know that his friends are speaking to him, to take comfort from their voices, before he sinks beneath the waves of unconsciousness again.

For a time he floats beyond sight and sound, his limbs heavy and his chest burning with the need to breathe but he can't seem to find the energy to kick for the surface. He's cold, oh so cold; his body racked with shivers. But warmth returns along with sound and he finds that he is nestled in his own bed once more, not drowning beneath the waves of the merciless ocean as he feared.

He thinks that perhaps he heard a third voice earlier – deep and resolute – and after a time he manages to make his confused mind put a name to it: Dion. With his eyes closed he frowns. Why was Ariadne's right hand man here? He belongs in the Palace – surely that is where he should have been? Dion's voice has long gone now though drifted away like the tide of his consciousness.

Feeling a little more awake he opens his eyes and winces at the brightness of the light. He may even have groaned aloud because a figure is there in an instant, hazy and indistinct to his blurry vision, drawing a cloth across the window and darkening the room a little. The figure turns towards him and he thinks it might be smiling although he can't quite be sure.

"Are you back with us now?" a second figure rumbles from the doorway and he squints, trying to make out any features before giving the task up as it makes his head pound even more than it already was.

The first figure sits down lightly on the side of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath himself. As it comes closer it becomes Pythagoras, his features still blurry and out of focus. Jason blinks hard, trying to clear his vision but it isn't working right now. Pythagoras reaches out and rests a cool hand on his forehead and he really hasn't realised until this moment just how hot he is. He moans slightly and turns towards that cool hand.

Pythagoras nods.

"Your temperature is finally falling," he says gently, "although I will not be happy until the fever has broken."

Jason blinks at him with hazel eyes full of fever and pain, his exhaustion written on his face. He tries to force himself to sit up but his body feels like it is made of lead and he trembles and falls back onto the pillow before he can raise himself too far.

Pythagoras frowns and restrains him easily with one hand – and that in itself says something for how scarily weak Jason is right now. He might only have had a fever for a little over a day but it has hit him hard.

"Rest," the mathematician implores softly. "Just rest."

Jason sighs but is too tired to do anything but comply right now and his eyes drift closed once more.

He does not wake for hours and when he does the world has once again become a confusing welter of colours and sounds. Nothing seems to make sense. All he knows is that he is burning; his body is on fire, burning with a flame that cannot be quenched. And it hurts, oh God, it hurts. His friends cannot help him even if they are near. His blood has become liquid fire coursing through his veins and he writhes in agony.

He hears voices again, distorted and unclear, filtered through the rushing noise that fills his ears – but one voice comes through crystal clear. No matter what pressures weigh on her or how heavily the crown sits upon her head Ariadne's voice is still light and girlish; still the voice of the young princess he fell in love with.

She should not be here, although he cannot remember why. All he knows is that he burns and it cannot be safe. She must be safe above all things. He fights to surface; to get her to safety. A slim, delicate hand grasps his flailing one and grounds him, pulling him back towards reality, making him fight ever harder – but it is too much and he sinks unwillingly into the waiting arms of unconsciousness once more.

------------------

Pythagoras bites his lip in worry as he looks across to where Princess Ariadne sits holding his idiotically heroic friend's hand. He really must stop thinking of her as a princess – she is Queen of Atlantis now, he reminds himself. Still princess or queen her arrival last night had been unexpected. She had appeared on their doorstep wrapped in a plain cloak to hide her identity and had stayed all night regardless of propriety or her reputation. Pythagoras frowns. There were those in the city who would use this to destroy her if they found out and yet the Queen had not seemed to care. She had simply swept in and found her way over to Jason and nothing is going to move her from her post.

The young mathematician frowns ever more deeply. There was a time after Dion had left yesterday afternoon when it had seemed that they were winning; that they had turned a corner. Jason's fever had begun to fall and he had seemed more lucid; had seemed to be there in the room with them for a short while. Long before the Queen had arrived, however, his temperature had risen sharply and he had descended into delirium once more; was only semi-conscious at best. Pythagoras worries at a fingernail. They are not winning this battle and he cannot shake the sinking feeling that there really is only one thing left for him to do.

"He's getting worse isn't he?" Hercules' voice startles him out of his reverie.

Pythagoras cannot bring himself to answer that question. It is patently obvious to all of them what the truth of the matter is.

"Is there nothing more that can be done?" Ariadne has left Jason's side and come over to them. "I have doctors at the Palace…"

"Best if they don't know you're here, Your Majesty," Hercules rumbles deferentially. "Besides I'm not sure that they could do any more for him than Pythagoras is doing. They don't care for Jason like we do."

Ariadne acknowledges the truth of that statement – she has known that these three are their own strange little family for a long time – but turns back to Pythagoras expectantly.

"The remedies are not working because the source of infection is too strong," the blonde genius says slowly. "If we can remove the source of the infection then they would be more likely to work."

Hercules lets out an explosive breath.

"Why didn't you say something before?" he demands.

"Because I'm not sure it will work," Pythagoras admits, "and even if it does I'm not sure that Jason will be strong enough to survive it."

"What do we have to do?" Ariadne asks.

Pythagoras licks his lips.

"I will need to reopen the wound," he says. "I will drain away all the pus and clean the wound thoroughly." He swallows convulsively. "I did not want to have to do this," he admits.

"Why not?"

"Because Jason has already lost a lot of blood over the last few days," Pythagoras says. "If I do this there is a chance he may simply die from blood loss… and I'm not even sure it will work."

"What will happen if you do not do this and your remedies do not work?" Ariadne's voice is sharp and she is every inch the Queen right now. "The truth please," she demands.

"Jason's heart is labouring because of the fever," Pythagoras answers quietly. "Eventually he will become too weak and it will stop."

"Then you have no choice," Ariadne states. "If you reopen the wound he might die but at least you will be giving him a chance."

"What do you need?" Hercules chimes in.

"Hot water, bandages, a good knife, plenty of light, some healing herbs..." Pythagoras' voice trails off.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Hercules growls. "Let's get on with it."

It is a short time later that Pythagoras finds himself standing beside his brunette friend with a sharp knife, thoroughly cleansed, in his hands. Everything is as ready and as clean as he can make it, from the crisp white bandages cut from the linen Hercules had brought yesterday by Ariadne, to the poultice of healing herbs he has prepared in advance. Yet still he hesitates.

Hercules frowns at him.

"You're the only one that can do this Pythagoras," he says firmly.

"I know," Pythagoras answers softly.

He cuts away the used bandage around Jason's waist – will burn it later to avoid any chance of reintroducing infection to his friend – and looks at the wound in his friend's side. The wound has not really even begun to heal, is red, angry and inflamed, oozing yellowish-white pus. Pythagoras resists the urge to gag and mutters a quick prayer of thanks to the god of healing that it has not healed over thus making his work harder, and another prayer that his hand might remain steady. He places his knife against his friend's side but pauses and looks searchingly at Jason.

"What are you waiting for?" Hercules demands.

Pythagoras bends forward until his lips are near his friend's ear.

"I'm sorry Jason," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry. I wouldn't do this if there was any other way."

He straightens and moves his knife into position again, offering another prayer that Jason is too deeply unconscious to feel what he is doing and will remain that way until he is finished. With hands more steady than he feels he carefully opens up the wound, grabbing a cloth to mop away the sudden gout of blood that issues forth. Jason, it appears, was not as unconscious as he had hoped. He bucks in agony, a scream torn from his throat.

It is almost enough to make Pythagoras give up there and then but he does not, grimly reasoning that his friend's life depends on what he does now. He motions Hercules to restrain their friend but nothing can stop the agonised noises that Jason is making. Pythagoras tries to block out the sound as he opens the wound more deeply, once again mopping the rush of blood that makes it impossible to see. Ariadne, pale but determined, holds a bowl under the wound catching both the rushing blood and the disgusting pus that are issuing forth. Pythagoras pushes down on his friend's stomach, trying to force Jason's body to dispel as much of that pus as it can. Finally, when the blood runs freely red and no trace of infected discharge can be seen, he mops out the wound, running fresh water into it and mopping it again with clean cloths. Concentrating hard, fearful of the amount of blood Jason has lost (is still losing right now), he carefully stitches the cut he has made closed, both inside and out, and slathers a healing poultice in place, securely swathing his friend's midriff in clean white bandages. At some point Jason has lost his battle with consciousness and Pythagoras peers at him fearfully, half afraid that he has already slipped away from them and innumerably relieved to see the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Only now, when he has done all he can for the minute, does the mathematician allow himself to feel. When he does, the knife drops to the floor with a clatter (he will burn it along with the bandages later unable to even look at something that caused his friend so much pain even if it was necessary) as his hands shake uncontrollably. Surprisingly it is Ariadne and not Hercules that is at his side first, wrapping him in her arms and cooing reassurances and comfort into his ear as she holds him as a mother would. Unable to think any more Pythagoras allows himself to be held – to be comforted – but wonders (worries) whether what he has just done will actually help matters or whether all he has achieved is weakening his friend even further.

------------------

It is dark. Ariadne has long since returned to the Palace, unable to put off her departure for any longer, knowing that she will be missed. They have promised her that they will inform her of any changes – no matter what those changes might be. Hercules turns away from the balcony with a weary sigh. Pythagoras is dozing at the table and his burly friend does not have the heart to make him go to bed.

While neither of them expected miracles they had hoped that in the hours after Pythagoras had drained Jason's wound their friend might show some signs of improving, but as yet there has been no change. As things stand neither one of them wants to go to bed, knowing that Jason could still take a turn for the worse at any time.

With a sigh the burly wrestler lowers his tired body onto a stool alongside his dark haired friend and picks up his trusty bowl and cloth, ready to mop his friend's fevered face once more. He is more than a little startled to see a pair of tired, feverish hazel eyes blinking at him in sleepy confusion. He places a meaty hand on the young man's forehead and is both surprised and pleased to realise that the heat radiating from Jason is a little less than before.

"Are you with us now?" he rumbles quietly, trying not to wake Pythagoras.

Jason doesn't answer but his eyes roam the room even as his fingers reach to explore the bandage about his middle.

Hercules rolls his eyes.

"Leave that alone," he says. "Pythagoras will not be happy if you damage any of his stitches."

"Hurts," Jason whispers to Hercules' surprised delight. The lad is clearly more aware of his surroundings than he has been for some time.

"I know," the big man answers, "but it'll be better soon."

"Thirsty."

Hercules nearly beams. While it is true that Jason is still caught in the grip of fever and has yet to say more than a single word at a time, his older friend feels his hope rising. He reaches down for a cup of water, stashed beneath his stool in case he became thirsty in the night himself. He holds it to his friend's lips, allowing Jason a small trickle at a time to ensure that he will not choke.

After a few minutes Jason relaxes against the pillows, watching his friend passively through heavy lidded eyes. He is clearly still exhausted but is stubbornly fighting sleep. Hercules smiles.

"Tell me," he says, "have I told you about the time my friend Orius fell in love with a mermaid?"

He settles in to tell his story, reaching out with cloth and gentle hands to mop his friend's hot face once more, relying on the small rag to lower the young man's temperature further, and preparing to lull him to sleep with his voice.

------------------

"Urgh."

It is daytime when he wakes up properly, the sun riding high in the sky. He slowly and painfully turns his head and looks about himself as the room begins to come into focus, and tries to work out in a fuzzy way why he feels like he's been run over by a cart. His first attempt at sitting up makes him groan loudly and instantly give up on the attempt, falling bonelessly back against the mattress.

When the stars fade from in front of his eyes he realises that Pythagoras is there smiling happily.

"What happened?" he asks. His voice sounds weak and rough and laced with pain but Pythagoras' smile grows as though it's the sweetest sound he has ever heard.

"Your wound became infected," Pythagoras says. "You have been quite unwell for the last two days." He reaches out with one thin hand and brushes his fingers against Jason's forehead, smiling widely at the fact that his friend is now only a little warm. "The fever broke just before dawn."

"Thank you," Jason says. "For looking after me I mean."

Pythagoras nods, still smiling, struck by the sincerity in his friend's voice.

"How do you feel?" he asks brightly.

"Sore," Jason answers honestly.

Pythagoras' bright smile dims momentarily and he looks a little guilty.

"Yes… well… that is only to be expected," he says. "I had to reopen the wound and clean it out properly to remove the source of the infection." He looks at his hands guiltily, knowing he has caused his friend extra pain.

A firm hand is placed over his and he looks up into warm and resolute hazel eyes.

"Thank you," Jason says again. "I know that you wouldn't have done anything that wasn't needed."

Pythagoras swallows hard.

"I will get you something to dull the pain," he says quietly.

Jason smiles softly – tiredly – as the mathematician hurries away. Yes he is in pain and yes he is completely exhausted right now, but for all that there is something very comfortable and comforting about lying in his own bed with the sounds and sights and smells of everyday life in their small home going on around him. He wonders languidly where Hercules is – remembers vaguely waking in the night to the older man's gruff ministrations and falling back asleep to the sound of one of his tall tales – and wonders if the burly wrestler is still in bed.

Seeing Pythagoras hurrying back across the room, a cup in one hand and a dish in the other, he feels the need to at least attempt to sit up properly. The pain in his abdomen and the weakness in his limbs soon remind him that that is a bad idea at present and he flops back with an audible hiss. Pythagoras looks at him with exasperation.

"For goodness sake Jason," he grumbles. "Do not try to run before you can walk. You have been very ill and even without that you would be extremely weak from blood loss. Pushing yourself will only make you ill again. I do not want you sitting up for at least the next couple of days anyway. You need to give your wound a chance to heal and I do not want you to risk tearing my stitchwork."

Jason chuckles lightly at his exasperation but relaxes back and allows the young genius to fuss around, straightening his blanket and elevating his head and shoulders on the pillows just enough so that he can eat and drink and talk in comfort without putting any pressure on his side or stomach. Truthfully he feels very weak and shaky and isn't entirely sure he could push himself too hard right now. It had been a completely different matter when they needed to return the Palladium to Atlantis – then there had been more at stake than one man's life or health. Now, however, with his tasks accomplished he is more than willing to rest and heal.

He takes the cup that Pythagoras proffers and drinks the contents without complaint, knowing that whatever it is will be designed to take away his pain and make him feel a whole lot better.

"Where's Hercules?" he asks as Pythagoras removes the cup and puts it down on the floor, trying not to spill the contents of the dish as he does.

"Ariadne was here," Pythagoras answers obliquely.

Jason blinks at the sudden apparent change of subject, then his face shutters off – becoming guarded, his eyes blank.

"I see," he says.

Pythagoras frowns. There is a story here he is sure of it. Jason is not usually secretive when it comes to his beloved Ariadne no matter how private he might be in other respects. Something has happened that the mathematician is as yet unaware of but he is sure that with a little wheedling he will be able to get the full story out of his friend. Not yet though, he decides. Somehow it seems more than a little unfair to try to press Jason into talking to him when he is still clearly unwell.

"Yes," he answers brightly. "Dion was here the day before yesterday and apparently he told the Queen that you were unwell. Ariadne came here the night before last. She stayed all night and for as long as she could yesterday as well. She only left when she had to. We promised her that we would keep her informed. That is where Hercules is now… at the Palace."

Jason nods. Whatever his feelings towards Ariadne at the moment (and to be honest they are swinging between hurt and anger and complete adoration) he would not want her to be worried or upset in any way. Once again he silently curses the fates that brought them together only for their respective positions in life to drive them apart. What does it matter that she is a Queen, a goddess on Earth, and he is ordinary anyway? Surely the fact that they love one another should be enough. He closes his eyes and sighs.

When he opens them again he finds that Pythagoras is eyeing him worriedly, fingers clearly itching to check for rising temperature. He tries a smile, although it is a listless shade of his normal grin.

Pythagoras bites his lip.

"You are tired," he says. "I am stopping you resting."

"No… no," Jason answers sincerely. "I'm not ready to sleep yet. Tell me about what's been going on in the city for the last couple of days."

Pythagoras peers at him, blue eyes probing – assessing. Apparently satisfied by what he sees he holds out the bowl in his hands to Jason.

"Very well," he says, "but I would like you to try to eat. You need to build up your strength once more."

Jason grimaces lightly.

"I'm not all that hungry," he admits.

"Nevertheless it will be good for you," Pythagoras insists.

Too tired to really argue, Jason gives in without any further fight. Pythagoras hands him the bowl and settles back to talk about the latest city gossip. The stew in the bowl is hot but Jason cannot help but pull a face at the taste.

"What is it?" he asks gesturing at the bowl disdainfully.

"Lentil and beetroot stew," Pythagoras answers promptly.

Jason wrinkles his nose at the blonde mathematician.

"I don't really like beetroot all that much," he admits, although if it comes down to a choice between eating this and starving he knows which he will choose any day.

Pythagoras raises an eyebrow.

"I would still like you to eat it," he states. "Both the beetroot and the lentils are good for helping the body to replace lost blood. I believe that it will be good for you to eat plenty of both over the next few days to replenish your strength."

Jason resists the urge to grimace at the thought. He appreciates the sentiment – really he does – and actually Pythagoras looks so worried that he can't quite bring himself to deny the mathematician what he wants. If he has to eat beetroot he will do it just to take the perpetually worried knot from his friend's forehead.

Pythagoras smiles at his acquiescence. In his opinion Jason is always too eager to please other people but sometimes (as now) it works in Pythagoras' favour. He settles back once more.

"The city is… recovering. So many lives were lost…" he sees the darkness growing in Jason's face and hurries to change the subject – his friend is really still far too weak to be upset. "We will endure," he assures Jason. "Queen Ariadne is still to be crowned but she has decided to wait for a few weeks… to wait until the city has recovered somewhat. By then you should have more than recovered yourself."

Jason shrugs noncommittally. He should, he knows, be more interested in the coronation but right now any thought of Ariadne brings pain. All too soon he yawns, however, exhaustion beginning to catch up with him at last.

"I should really let you sleep," Pythagoras frets, taking the nearly empty bowl from his unresisting hands.

"It's fine," he answers. "I'm still not ready to sleep."

"Well you should be," Hercules rumbles from the doorway. "We could all do with some sleep."

Jason looks between his two friends and realises with a guilty start just how tired they both look. He bites his lip.

"Sorry," he mutters, abashed. "Don't worry about staying awake on my account."

He yawns again, unable to stop himself. Annoyingly both his friends eye him knowingly, each realising that he will not manage to stay awake for much longer.

"Just rest Jason," Hercules says coming forwards and pulling up the blanket to tuck around his shoulders. "You'll feel better for a sleep and you'll heal quicker too. Don't worry about anything else right now. Just you rest."

Jason relaxes back into the bed, allowing his exhaustion to claim him. Surrounded by the love and care of his family he drifts back to sleep, knowing that tomorrow will be a better day and that whatever happens the two wonderful idiots he lives with will always be there for him.