Fugue

by yassandra

They tell him that it will get easier with time. They tell him that he's lucky to be alive. He wishes he could believe them. All Jason can think of right now is just how much he's screwed. ONESHOT.

A/N So this is a new departure for me. I've never written a crossover story before so I really hope it has worked.

It has been written for the Hurt/Comfort Bingo April Challenge for the prompt "Amnesia"

I hope you enjoy...

---

Fugue – A rare psychiatric disorder characterized by reversible amnesia for personal identity, including the memories, personality, and other identifying characteristics of individuality. The state is usually short-lived (ranging from hours to days), but can last months or longer.

They tell him that it will get easier with time.

They tell him that he's lucky to be alive.

They tell him he should take things slowly (One day at a time. It will get better, you'll see).

He wishes he could believe them.

When he first wakes up he remembers nothing. Oh he can tell them what everyday objects are; knows how to use a knife and fork and how to take himself to the loo (although his muscles have atrophied to the point where walking isn't an option at first); but nothing more personal – nothing about himself.

At first they talk optimistically about how this may only be temporary; put him through all sorts of tests to try to work out what's going on in his head; talk about the things he can do to try to remember – and he finds himself wanting to scream at them without really knowing why. Do they really think that he isn't trying? That he wants his life to be one big blank?

Things he knows about himself:

1) He has brown curly hair and hazel eyes;

2) His name is Jason (or at least that's the name they told him belonged to him when he woke up);

3) …

There is no three really. Just an empty page. An older man who calls himself Mac comes to visit him in the hospital almost every day. He has kind eyes (eyes that crinkle at the corners) and identifies himself as a friend (I was a friend of your Dad sunshine. You look just like him). He is so patient and nice that Jason wishes he could tell him that he remembers something just to see him smile but nothing seems to come in the waking world.

His dreams are different. In his dreams he sees faces he feels he should recognise, places he knows that he's been, but somehow even then he can't seem to put a name to any of them. It frustrates him no end – knowing that the knowledge is tantalisingly close but just beyond his reach. One face comes back again and again. It is a young face, too thin and rather on the wrong side of pale with bright, inquisitive blue eyes and fluffy blonde curls that Jason longs to reach out and touch – if only so that he might know the owner of the face was real. Patiently he sorts through every image in his head of this other young man; sees him with all different emotions playing on that face – laughter, pleasure, fear, anger, sorrow. Yet he can never quite seem to put a name to the face; can't recall how he knew this person or why his heart leaps a little every time he dreams of him.

One day he plucks up the courage to ask Mac about the boy in his dreams, carefully sketches the face (Mac tells him he's always been good at drawing but he has no recollection of it) and shows it to the man. Mac's face though is blank and he gently (oh so gently – everyone is gentle with him these days) tells Jason that the lad he has drawn is no-one that he recognises – that he has met pretty much everyone Jason knows in the past few months (not that it is a big group apparently) and this boy is not among them; suggests kindly that perhaps Jason is creating this person just because he wants to remember things so badly.

It frustrates Jason no end that his life is one big blank to him; that the pictures and objects that he's shown that are supposed to trigger some sort of response bring nothing to mind; that the stories he's told about his former life may as well belong to another person given that they hold no familiarity for him. It frustrates him even more that no-one will tell him what happened; how he came to be here; how he came to lose himself. When he asks (asks everyone from Mac to the doctors and nurses) how he comes to be here all he gets in response is a sympathetic look and an inane comment about how lucky he is and how it will all get better. Part of the problem with that is that he really doesn't feel lucky in any way and he wonders sometimes (in the still of the night when everyone thinks he's sleeping) if it wouldn't have been better – wouldn't have been easier – if they had just let him go.

One day he snaps and hurls a plate at the wall. He is instantly apologetic and at least he wasn't throwing it at anybody but he knows it still worries Mac (who happens to be present at the time). It doesn't feel right to be taking out his frustrations – his temper – on other people but he's so angry at the world in that moment that he thinks he's in danger of flying apart. He overhears the doctor talking to Mac (he's in a rehab centre by now – a place designed to strengthen his wasted muscles and bring him back to as much health as possible). The man talks about "mood swings" and "personality changes" and "brain damage" and the frustration and anger they must expect from him. He wants to ask how the hell they think they know what he's feeling – what he's thinking – but instead he sits and sulks in the corner and tries to force his damaged mind to remember something; anything will do by this point.

Then one day an elderly doctor sits down in front of him (Mac is a constant presence at his back – the only thing he thinks is stable in his life right now) and explains that given the amount of time that has passed and the results of all the tests they have done he must be prepared for this to be permanent. He talks of the effects of oxygen deprivation and the apparent brain haemorrhage Jason suffered (and even now he is told that he's lucky it wasn't worse; lucky it was only a small bleed) and of the permanent damage done to his mind. The doctor uses terms like complete retrograde amnesia (which means that he can't recall anything from before the accident at all – and Jason could have told them that without the fancy words) and traces of anterograde amnesia (which apparently means that his ability to remember things in the short term is mildly impaired too) and talks of the difficulties Jason might experience adapting to this. He stresses that with time Jason might learn to live a normal life but all Jason can think of right now is just how much he's screwed.

---

When he first leaves the rehab centre he goes to stay with Mac. The decision is made with little consultation – he is simply told that this is the best option for him. No-one believes that he is capable of coping on his own and to be honest he agrees with them. The Swiss cheese that seems to make up his memory means that he is in no way ready to hold down any sort of job and he's still more physically frail than anyone is happy with; has regular bad migraines, needs to sleep more than he would like and doesn't always remember to eat. Plus Mac presents some sort of familiarity – a safety that he hadn't even thought that he might need – but he has been in the hospital for so long that the outside world has become a scary place and try though he might he cannot hide the fact that he is afraid.

They fall into a sort of steady routine fairly easily. Jason spends most of his time doing whatever he's told to even though it somehow feels wrong to simply acquiesce and he can't help but see the sorrow in Mac's eyes whenever he gives in (Should he not do what he's told? Should he argue? Dig his heels in?). Sometimes people come to see them. People who claim to have known Jason "before" (he tends to think of it with invisible speech marks around it and wonders idly whether it should start with a capital letter). They never stay for long and gradually the visits tail off altogether (after all who wants to spend time with a retard? Jason thinks somewhat bitterly and is surprised by his own bitterness). His hair has finally grown back and Mac ruffles the thick curls from time to time while making an amusing comment, his mouth quirking up with laughter every time Jason responds with annoyance (although the smile somehow never reaches his eyes – it never does these days). He wears the jeans and t-shirts and jumpers he has been provided with and tries to pretend that they're comfortable; that they don't feel just plain wrong against his skin – as though they are not the clothes he is supposed to be wearing.

The first time he leaves the house on his own is disturbing. To be honest slipping out is his first small act of rebellion. Every afternoon Mac sends him for a nap, decreeing that he needs it. The man is frustratingly right more often than not but as Jason's strength returns be finds himself balking at the idea; hating the fact that he is a grown man but is being sent to bed in the middle of the day like an overtired and naughty two year old. Today the idea is particularly unappealing. He has no wish to lie in an overly warm room with the curtains closed trying to pretend that it's night time rather than halfway through the afternoon and failing utterly to go to sleep as requested. Still when he slips out through the back door, leaving a note to say he's gone for a walk, he somehow isn't expecting the sheer noise and smell of the traffic to affect him so badly. As it is the roar of the cars that pass him and the smell of the exhaust fumes make him feel sick and dizzy and he finds himself breaking into a run, pushing past people who yell after him in annoyance, desperate just to get away.

By the time he's stopped running he's reached the beach. It surprises him a little; he hadn't really realised that they were so close to the coast. Certainly Mac has never told him – but then there's a lot that Mac doesn't tell him these days. He can feel the start of a headache and really that's the last thing he needs right now, just knows that if he goes back home (can he really call somewhere that is still so utterly unfamiliar home?) he will be treated to a raised eyebrow and gently sent to lie down (heaven forbid that Mac should actually raise his voice for once – he never treats Jason with anything less that kid gloves, as though he's afraid he'll break like a piece of fragile glass and, oh God, but Jason is so damned sick of it). Further down the beach another young man is sitting staring broodingly at the sea but Jason barely spares him a glance, too caught up in his own increasingly dark thoughts to care. Keeping well away from the stranger he sits himself down on the shingle with his arms hooked around his knees and looks blankly at the ocean, trying to work out why the sea just doesn't seem as blue as he thinks it should be. Everything feels wrong – off kilter – although he can't quite work out if it's the world that is wrong or himself.

"Hello," the voice is annoyingly bright.

Jason doesn't even bother grunting a response; doesn't take his eyes off the horizon. After a moment he senses someone sit down next to him. For all he wants to ignore his companion he can't help casting sidelong glances at the other man, looking away quickly whenever he's in any danger of being caught. It seems that the young man from further down the beach has decided to join him (although heaven knows why given that he hasn't made any sign that he would welcome company). Jason's stolen glances confirm that the young man is skinny, with pale skin and a thatch of straight jet black hair (and for a moment Jason can almost imagine that it is the young man from his dreams sitting there – all sharp angles and even sharper cheekbones – even if the hair colour is vastly different). The boy mirrors Jason's posture, staring at the waves as though lost in thought. When he speaks though there is a bubble of laughter barely concealed in his voice.

"You know if you're intending to ignore someone you really shouldn't keep looking at them," he says conversationally and turns towards Jason.

His eyes are remarkably blue and for a moment Jason catches his breath thinking of the blue eyes he has seen so often in his sleep. These eyes are different though; infinitely old in spite of the youthful face they are set in and for a moment he is sure he sees a flash of gold in them. Jason feels the world around him ripple – sway – and knows he must have grown pale from the way the blue eyes darken with concern and one slim long fingered hand reaches out to grasp his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" the other young man asks. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Yeah," Jason answers. "No… I don't know… for a moment I thought… it's nothing." He pulls himself together forcibly. "What do you want?" He really doesn't mean that to sound as hostile as it does but his nerves are on the ragged edge and he's angry at the world again.

The young man seems to take no offence; smiles in a slightly inane manner.

"Well you know what they say about misery loving company," he begins.

"No," Jason answers flatly because really he doesn't – popular sayings are yet another thing that seem to be lost to him.

"You looked about the most miserable thing around so I thought that I could join you and together we might be a bit less miserable."

"I'm not miserable," Jason protests.

"You could have fooled me," his companion says. "I've seen happier corpses. I'm Merlin by the way."

He watches Jason intently as though he's expecting some sort of reaction to the name. If he is then he's going to be disappointed Jason thinks somewhat grimly. Like so much else the name has absolutely no meaning for him; triggers nothing.

"Jason," he mutters in return. "At least that's what I'm told."

Merlin cocks an eyebrow curiously.

"You don't know?" he asks.

"I had an accident and I don't remember anything from before it," Jason admits. "I'm not always that good at remembering things that have happened since either."

He braces himself for the sympathy he is sure to see in the other man's eyes. It is a look he has seen all too often; has had to grow used to ever since he woke up even though it still burns every time he sees it. He half expects the young man to excuse himself and walk away – he's had to get used to that too; most people simply don't seem to know what to say to him when they realise just how damaged he is. When he looks up though he is surprised to see that his companion is watching him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Jason frowns. It is not a reaction that he's used to.

"What sort of accident?" Merlin asks.

"I don't know," Jason mutters. "No-one wants to tell me. No-one wants to talk about it. I think they think it will upset me and heaven forbid they should do that." He knows he sounds bitter but right now, here with this stranger, it pours out of him unbidden.

"Are you always this self-pitying?" Merlin asks with some amusement. "Just so I know what to be prepared for."

For a moment Jason is too surprised to speak, just blinks at Merlin wide eyed. When he does open his mouth what comes out is an incredulous snort of laughter, loud and unexpected, and before he knows it he's laughing properly, shoulders heaving, until he's literally crying with it. It feels good though, as though he hasn't really smiled in months and thinking about it maybe he hasn't – he certainly doesn't remember smiling all that much since waking up in the hospital.

Merlin laughs right along with him, although whether either one of them knows what they're laughing for is debatable. He draws a little bit closer and they sit grinning at one another like idiots for a while. He looks speculatively at Jason.

"Do you believe in magic?" he asks suddenly.

Jason considers this.

"I don't really know," he admits. "I might have once I suppose."

Merlin's smile becomes a little bitter.

"You probably didn't," he says. "So few people do these days." He gives Jason a searching look. "What about now? Do you believe in magic now?"

"I don't know," Jason answers. "Why do you ask?"

Merlin sighs.

"It's not important," he says, mood suddenly darkening.

Jason bites his lip and looks away, not sure what he did or said wrong.

After a moment though Merlin seems to rouse himself and makes an attempt at an amusing comment. Jason finds himself bouncing something right back and soon they're bantering back and forth; laughing together like old friends rather than two people who've only just met. The afternoon lengthens around them, the shadows of early evening beginning to draw in as they chat back and forth, the conversation light and easy, and Jason hasn't felt that free since… well he doesn't really remember since when. Even that thought though fails to dampen his mood as it usually would; sets of another round of wry chuckles and more than a few jokes at his own expense.

Eventually Merlin looks at him and sighs.

"It's getting late," he adds looking at the sky. "You should probably be getting back. Whoever you were trying to escape is probably worried about you."

Jason frowns.

"What makes you think I was trying to escape?" he asks.

Merlin snorts.

"Please," he retorts. "You were sitting on your own on the middle of a deserted beach in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday in winter. Your body language was screaming 'leave me alone' and you told me there were people around you who were afraid of upsetting you. You were running away… even if it was just for a little while. Now it's time to go back."

Jason sighs and pushes himself to his feet but hesitates for a moment before leaving.

"Will I see you again?" he asks.

Merlin gives him a funny little smile.

"Oh I should think so," he says.

---

He has walked further than he thought this afternoon and it is fully dark by the time he is about 10 minutes' walk from Mac's house. Still he's nearly there and is a little proud of himself for managing to find the way back without any help (anything that involves remembering has become a bit of a challenge these days). It is a surprise (a shock – who the hell does Mac think he is?) when a police car pulls up alongside him and a policeman gets out. He is infinitely kind but insists that Jason accept a lift to get the rest of the way home. It confuses him. As far as he knows (and yes he is aware of just how little his own memory can be trusted) the police don't pick up random young men from the side of the road and give them a lift; they are not a taxi service after all.

When he gets home he learns the truth: Mac has called the police and reported him missing. Because of his "problems" (Mac doesn't like to say brain damage) he is classed as "at risk" so the local police were keeping an eye out for him. They are perfectly polite and terribly kind but Jason still burns with the shame of it. He wants to tell them (to tell Mac) where to shove it. He's so sick of being treated as if he's different; fragile. It was his memory that got broken nothing else. But it wouldn't be right to get angry at men who were only doing their job so he waits until they've gone and rounds on Mac.

"What the hell was that all about?" he hisses.

Mac smiles at him gently (although it doesn't reach his eyes); the sort of reasonable, parental smile usually reserved for placating a difficult child.

"I was worried," he says.

"I went for a walk," Jason answers. "I even left you a note."

"Anything could have happened to you," Mac responds. "You could have got lost."

"But I didn't," Jason retorts through clenched teeth. "I was nearly home when your sniffer dogs caught up with me."

Mac sighs heavily.

"You have to accept that your life is different now Jason," he says reasonably. "You're simply not well enough to go wandering off on your own."

Jason glowers at him.

"I'm not a child," he declares. "And I'm not an invalid… or a criminal. You can't keep me locked up forever."

He darts out of the room before Mac can respond, heading for his own room where at least he has the illusion of privacy. Maybe he is being unfair, he thinks as he flops down onto the bed. He knows that he isn't the person he was before (Mac's eyes tell him that even if the man doesn't voice it) and he knows that he has days when he's moodier than a hormonal teenager, and through it all Mac has been kind and considerate. A cage is still a cage though, no matter how gilded it might be, and until today he hadn't realised just how confined he is; just how trapped. It is as though that little taste of freedom – that glimpse of a world beyond the confines and restrictions placed on him – has reawoken something within him; has stirred something that was sleeping before.

He's still lying there staring at the ceiling and contemplating the wreckage of his life when Mac comes into the room. The man doesn't knock (he never does) and for a moment Jason feels like telling him to get out and show some damned respect – at least try to pretend that he is willing to give Jason some space; some privacy. He doesn't because that would hurt Mac and he has come to care for his father's friend (his friend? Just what exactly is Mac to him?). Instead he rolls onto his side, facing away from the door and knowing that he must look like a petulant adolescent right now. It is the only way he can express his desire to be left alone, however. There is no real privacy in this house; even the bathroom doesn't have a lock and that only now strikes Jason as odd.

Mac sits down on the edge of the bed and places a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Look," he says. "I know this must be frustrating for you but I really do only want what's best for you Jason."

"I know," Jason responds numbly.

"I wanted to see you get better," Mac says sadly. "I thought I could… I dunno…"

"And now you don't think I will."

"I think that this is probably the new normal," Mac admits, "and we've both got to get used to that."

"You miss him don't you?" Jason finds himself asking, turning back to face the man.

"Who?"

"The other me. The one from before."

Jason doesn't miss the way Mac flinches or the look of guilt that flashes in his eyes.

"It's alright," the young man says. "I miss him too."

Mac swallows hard and for a big, gruff man he seems to be on the verge of tears.

"Tell me about him," Jason requests. "The other Jason. The person I was before."

Mac swallows again.

"He was stubborn," he says, "and willful… and bright and full of life. He didn't really make friends… always seemed a bit self-sufficient to be honest… but he was caring and kind." He swallows hard again. "I loved him like a nephew… like the son I never had… and it was the worst day of my life when…" He breaks off suddenly and looks away. After a long moment he looks back at Jason quizzically. "You do realise we're both talking about you in the third person?" he adds.

Jason huffs a laugh and Mac's eyes open wide with surprise. It is, Jason realises with a guilty start, probably the first time that Mac has seen or heard him respond with any sort of amusement in months.

"I thought we'd just established that the Jason from before isn't the same person that I am now," he points out.

"No," Mac agrees. "You're not who you were." He sighs. "Maybe I've been a bit overprotective," he admits, "but I didn't want to see you getting hurt again."

"It was only a walk."

"I know," Mac says. "But I need to know you're safe."

"I can't stay in the house forever," Jason points out, "and you can't be with me all the time."

"No," Mac agrees. "I'm going to have to go back to work soon." He looks at Jason thoughtfully. "You might need a bit more freedom but I need to be able to make sure you're alright. I reckon we should probably look at getting you a phone tomorrow. Then at least you can call me if you get lost or into trouble… and I can be certain you're ok."

---

Once again they fall into an easy routine. Most days Jason goes for long walks and Mac tries not to visibly worry. He is growing stronger every day, regaining more of his fitness, yet the older man cannot help but be concerned. For all Jason seems healthier, skin finally losing that just-out-of-hospital pallor he's had for so long, he is still too thin to the older man's eyes. He lost weight (lost a lot of weight) while he was in hospital and has not regained much of it. It doesn't help that he doesn't eat all that much. He tries. Sees Mac watching him with ever growing concern. But food seems to turn to ashes in his mouth. Nothing seems to taste right any more – is all too greasy, too rich or too sweet. One day Mac brings home a small pot of olives and cheese (apparently they have guests coming) and some fresh bread rolls. Jason pops one into his mouth without really thinking about it and the flavour is a revelation. Before he knows what he's done he's finished the entire pot and a couple of the bread rolls – shovelling them down as though he were a starving man – and is apologising to Mac for his gluttony. Mac seems pleased rather than cross though and after that there is always a pot of olives in the fridge and fresh bread in the bread bin for him to snack on whenever he wants.

In many ways Mac is pleased that Jason is getting out in the fresh air (even though he still can't help but worry). He is less pleased, however, by the young man's current obsession with the beach and the sea. The first time he realises Jason has been there he tries to ban him from going back; claims that it's too dangerous for him to be anywhere near the water's edge. On this though Jason digs his heels in and refuses to stop going there. The beach brings him more peace than anywhere else and he loves the sound of the waves on the shore. Mac looks startled at this open display of stubbornness and then looks thoughtful. For a moment Jason wonders whether it's because it reminds him of the way the old Jason would have behaved. He can't really understand why Mac hates the thought of him being near the sea so much. After all he has learned that the man owns and works on a boat of some sort although what exactly it is that Mac does for a living he isn't completely sure.

Jason doesn't always walk to the beach of course. One day he ventures into the heart of their small seaside town, trying to block out the sound and smell of the traffic as he goes. For a short time he bumbles about the tourist shops ignoring the sympathetic looks that keep being thrown in his direction. It is a very small town after all and he very quickly realises that just about everyone knows who he is; that everyone knows what has happened to him. He isn't there for long really before some well-meaning but overbearing middle aged woman latches onto his arm and insists on driving him home. She refuses to accept his protest that he knows where he is and what he is doing and drags him along to her car, talking to him in soothing, patronising tones the whole time as though he were a very young and very lost child (soon have you home and safe love. Your guardian will be worrying about you). She even insists on buckling him into the backseat of the car and engaging the child locks, though what she thinks he's going to do he doesn't know – try to jump out at 30 miles per hour maybe? He doesn't think he's quite that daft yet and the fact that everyone around him seems to believe he is, is rather upsetting.

When they get to the house she insists on walking him inside, holding his hand all the way, and starts talking about him to Mac as though he wasn't there (I found him wandering in the town, poor dear. I thought I'd better get him home. I knew you must be going out of your mind with worry). By the time she leaves, smugly sure that she has done her good deed for the day, Jason is almost beside himself with fury and complete mortification. Before Mac can say a word he storms past into his room, slamming the door as he goes and hurls himself onto his bed with hot tears prickling the backs of his eyes. He is rapidly coming to believe that no-one is ever going to allow him to be normal again. He stays in his room for two days after that, and even afterwards refuses to leave the house, stomping around and generally making his bad mood obvious.

Finally Mac loses his patience (and can Jason honestly say that he wasn't trying to provoke a reaction? That he wasn't hoping to be treated with something less than kid gloves?).

"Mrs Hayward was just trying to help… to be kind. She made a mistake, yes, but you're acting like a brat!" he growls. "What is wrong with you?"

"I have amnesia," Jason snaps back. "What's wrong with you?"

He regrets it immediately, not least because the irritation immediately leaves Mac's face to be replaced by the now familiar look of guilt and sorrow. He turns away abruptly and for a moment Jason feels bereft.

He doesn't go into town again. Avoids the place like the plague; avoids other people as much as possible. It isn't all that hard to do to be honest; most people would rather not have to talk to him anyway. He has a suspicion that it's because they look at him and see the person he was before and are disappointed that he's not the Jason that they knew any longer. Instead he slips through the back streets down to the beach or into the countryside on the landward side of town. No matter which way he walks, however, he always seems to meet Merlin. At first he wonders just how the other young man always seems to know where to find him but after a while he learns to simply accept it; to accept the fact that he will round a corner and there Merlin will be, ahead of him, waiting. Sometimes he is leaning against a wall, sometimes sitting on a gate; on one memorable occasion he is perched on the branch of a tree and Jason doesn't actually see him until he drops down alongside him (what the hell are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?).

"How do you always know where I'm going to be walking?" he asks on one overcast afternoon as they are tramping down a sleepy little lane.

"Magic," Merlin grins, comically elongating the words and wiggling his fingers before vaulting a gate and taking off across a field at a run.

Jason chuckles to himself and turns to give chase, deciding that his friend is a very strange person.

They have fallen into an easy friendship, talking about anything and everything as they walk. Jason learns that Merlin isn't local (I'm from lots of places really – travelled a lot) and that he's waiting for a friend to come back from somewhere or other – he never actually says where (he had to leave… had no choice… but he'll be coming back soon). Merlin describes the man he's waiting for as the other half of his soul and Jason tells him to stop trying to be poetic and they both laugh and shove one another as they walk. He doesn't tell Mac about Merlin, although he isn't quite sure why he doesn't. Maybe it's because his walks with Merlin are the one time he feels normal – feels whole – and he doesn't want to risk that.

He learns that Merlin has an opinion on everything and is never shy about voicing them. Sometimes he wonders if he was like that once upon a time himself. His black haired friend seems to be about the same age he is yet something in his eyes makes Jason believe he is older than he looks; his face is young but his eyes are old. He asks Merlin about it one day as they walk.

"How old are you?" he asks.

Merlin turns to look at him, his expression unreadable.

"Does it matter?" he asks in return.

"I suppose not," Jason says. "It's just that you don't look any older than me but I can't help thinking you are… older I mean."

"I am," Merlin agrees. "Much older."

"How much older?"

Merlin snorts – a peculiar wry sound.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he says cheerfully. "Besides I've sort of lost track of how old I am anyway."

Then he laughs and shoves Jason again and in a moment they're scuffling playfully, conversation forgotten.

He tells Merlin about his dreams; tells him about the people and places that he feels in his heart are real but can't quite remember no matter how hard he tries. They are once again at the beach. The sky is heavy and overcast and the sea is grey. It always seems grey to Jason no matter how bright the day might be; is never the brilliant blue that he wants it to be. He is skipping stones moodily across the face of the water (something he has found he is fairly good at even if it isn't a particularly useful talent) and grumbling about his life in general and Mac in particular.

"He thinks I'm making it up," he says. "He thinks that I want to remember something from before so badly that my mind's creating false memories. He's spoken to the doctors and apparently it's a common occurrence in someone with my level of amnesia." He pauses. "I'm not making it up though," he adds firmly. "I know that they're real… that he's real… the boy with the blue eyes." He looks at Merlin with mute appeal. "You don't think I'm making it up though do you? You don't think I'm crazy?"

Merlin smiles softly. Not his usual bright not-a-care-in-the-world grin but something more subtle; more reassuring.

"No," he confirms. "I don't think you're making it up and you're certainly not crazy. You're just stuck in a time that isn't your own… like I am."

It's an odd comment and one that will come back to Jason when he thinks about this conversation in the future, but for now he is far too worked up and miserable to think about it.

"I don't want to be here anymore," he confesses. "I hate the fact that everyone feels sorry for me. They all treat me like a child. Like I'm helpless and can't decide anything for myself any more. Mac's the worst of all of them. I can't do anything without him hovering over me."

Merlin draws his knees up under his chin and watches Jason thoughtfully.

"It must be hard for Mac," he remarks softly. "To see someone who looks so much like the person he knew but to know that you're a different person now."

"I know," Jason sighs, coming to flop down on the shingle next to his friend. "But he won't even talk to me properly; no-one will. They all get this patronising tone in their voices; talk to me like I'm some sort of imbecile; like I'm stupid. You don't talk to me like that."

"I didn't know you before," Merlin points out.

He looks out to sea, his face unreadable and his eyes sad and for a moment Jason is struck by just how old he looks; how tired.

"I had a friend once," Merlin continues. "Lance. He… something happened to him and we lost him for a while. Then he came back but he wasn't himself anymore; was a completely different person. He still looked like my friend but he was different. It was hard. In a lot of ways it would have been easier if he'd never come back… then at least everyone could have remembered him as he was."

"What happened to him?" Jason asks.

"He died," Merlin answers shortly. "A very long time ago."

Jason looks down at his hands.

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

"Don't be," Merlin replies. "Like I said it was a very long time ago."

They lapse into silence for a while, both caught up in their own thoughts. Finally Jason sighs again.

"I just want everybody to leave me alone," he grumbles.

Merlin quirks an eyebrow.

"Does that include me?" he asks.

"Of course not," Jason mumbles. "You don't look at me like you feel sorry for me."

"You don't want my sympathy," Merlin answers with a smile. "You don't want anyone's sympathy."

"I think maybe I ought to go and live in a cave somewhere," Jason says moodily. "Then I wouldn't have to be near people. I hate people."

"You're in a foul mood today," Merlin remarks with the strange half smile he sometimes gives.

"Sorry," Jason apologises. "I've got things on my mind."

"Anything I can help with?"

"No," Jason says ruefully. "I've got the hospital tomorrow. Neurology appointment." He grimaces. "I really don't like hospitals. Besides they never tell me anything anyway."

"You never know," Merlin points out, "it might be better than you think."

Jason snorts because, really, how could it be better than he thinks? It's not like he's going to wake up tomorrow and suddenly miraculously remember everything and it's not like the doctors are going to have any answers for him either. Even so he doesn't want to bring Merlin down with his less than stellar mood so he makes a conscious effort to brighten up a bit.

"What's he like?" he asks.

"Who?" Merlin sounds genuinely confused.

"What's his name… your friend who's coming back soon…"

"Arthur?"

"Yeah him."

Merlin smiles – but it's a sad smile; full of longing and regret.

"He's a pompous, supercilious, condescending clotpole," he says. "He's a warrior; a soldier. The second time we met he told me that he'd been training to kill people for years and I asked how long he'd been training to be a prat." He smiles at the memory.

Jason snorts again because although he hasn't known him long it does sound like a typically Merlin response.

"Is that even a real word?" he asks.

"Clotpole?" Merlin clarifies. "Yes. A very good word I'll have you know and one that suits Arthur perfectly." He smiles again. "He's an idiot but he is also without doubt the bravest, noblest man I ever met… and my friend."

He doesn't see Merlin for a few days after that. The next day he has his hospital appointment (which Mac insists on accompanying him to) and the day after he has another migraine and spends most of the day in bed trying to sleep it off. By the following afternoon he's feeling more human again – is in the groggy aftermath – but still doesn't quite feel up to going out and facing the world. Mac takes himself off to get the groceries (you stay here and rest sunshine) so he expects to have a couple of hours (and the house) to himself. When the doorbell rings it is a surprise and he nearly doesn't answer it. The last thing he wants right now is to have to deal with a cold caller or, even worse, one of Mac's numerous friends – talking to them is always such an awkward experience.

Actually, talking to Mac is an awkward experience at the moment too. A couple of weeks ago Jason had suggested quietly that he thought it might be time to start looking at moving out. Maybe getting some sort of job and starting to move on with his life. Mac had flat out refused from the moment he'd opened his mouth (absolutely not sunshine. There's no way you're ready for that). He made a big show of talking about how Jason wouldn't be able to cope; might accidentally turn the gas on and forget about it and end up gassing himself or setting light to the house. That rankled because it's only happened the once (in the first weeks after he'd left the rehab centre when everything was still so new and his short term memory was at its worst) and he knows better than to trust his flaky memory for that sort of thing now; has learned to write himself little notes or set a reminder on his phone just so that he knows what he has been doing.

Two days later Mac had come home with some brochures for an assisted living scheme in the next town over. He had told Jason that this was the best option if he really wanted to move out. Somewhere where he could be checked on and looked after; somewhere where he would be safe. Jason had been horrified. Was this really what Mac thought of him? That he'd always need looking after? He'd shouted and got angry and stormed out of the house, only to be brought back later after Mac had once again reported him missing to the police because he hadn't answered his phone (anything could have happened to you). Things have been tense ever since. Mac is so certain that he is right – that he knows best – but the more time goes on the more trapped Jason is feeling; the more desperate to get away; to make a fresh start in a new place where nobody will judge him based on who he used to be.

Now when the doorbell rings he really doesn't want to answer it but in the end his good manners win out. It is a shock (a pleasant shock) to find Merlin on the other side, grinning that insanely bright grin and holding a small pack of purple grapes. He has told Merlin of a particular dream he has had where he is on a beach (all white sand and bright blue sea) with the blue eyed boy and an older man (florid face and running to fat. He has turned up in several dreams alongside the blonde). The older man is asleep in the sun while Jason dozes lightly on and off, stretched out cat-like alongside the blonde. The other boy is reading a scroll (why a scroll and not a book? And why the strange clothing?) and the two of them languidly eat plump purple grapes from a small bunch that the blonde has produced from somewhere having kept it hidden from their older companion. He is touched that Merlin remembered; that he has brought purple grapes rather than white or red and doesn't hesitate to invite his friend in.

"So?" Merlin asks. "What did they say?"

"Who?" Jason responds.

They are lying stretched out on the carpet, the punnet of grapes between them, engaged in lazy conversation.

"The hospital," Merlin answers, rolling his eyes.

Jason pulls a sour face.

"Nothing much," he answers. "Apparently my brain is still healing so my short term memory might get a bit better – they seem to think it's got a bit better from what it was already – but they're pretty sure that anything from before the accident is gone forever."

"Are you alright with that?" Merlin asks. He knows just how frustrated Jason is that he just can't remember.

Jason shrugs.

"I think so," he says. "I was sort of expecting it anyway. Mac took it harder than I did. I think he'd still hoped that maybe they'd say I'd get completely better one day. I don't think he wants to accept that this is who I am now."

Merlin looks thoughtful but doesn't say anything. He changes the subject and soon the conversation has moved on to lighter, happier topics and Jason is enjoying himself so much that he loses track of time and is startled when the front door opens and Mac struggles in with the shopping. He is surprised (shocked) by the hostility that he sees in the older man's eyes when he sees Merlin. Although he's never told Mac about his friend he didn't really expect the man to be so unfriendly.

"Who's this?" Mac asks, his voice and his eyes cold.

"This is a friend of mine," Jason answers.

Mac pushes past him before he can say another word and advances on Merlin in what can only be described as an aggressive manner.

"A friend?" he barks with an incredulous note in his voice. He rounds on Merlin. "What do you want? Are you from the papers? Is that it? Come to do a nice little follow up to all that tripe you published before?"

"I'm not a reporter," Merlin answers calmly. "I sell antiques."

"Mac…" Jason begins, thrown off kilter by the unexpected aggression from a man who has never so much as raised his voice to him in months.

"You stay out of this," Mac growls at him and turned back to Merlin again. "Is it you who's been filling his head with all this nonsense about moving out? Telling him he can cope on his own? What sort of sick game are you playing? Pretending to make friends with him and then setting him up to fail, is that it? Is that how you get your kicks? I'm telling you right now I'm not about to let you hurt him."

"I'm not going to hurt Jason," Merlin says. "He's my friend."

"Don't be ridiculous," Mac answers. "How could you really be friends with someone who…" he breaks off suddenly, unexpectedly.

"Is damaged goods," Jason finishes for him, his voice numb. Part of him desperately wants Mac to deny that this is what he was going to say; wants to believe that the older man thinks more of him than that.

"Jason," Mac begins gently – as though he were talking to a wounded animal, "I know this might not make sense but I'm only trying to look out for you; to protect you. You're not going to be the best judge of character these days. People could take advantage of you too easily and I'm not about to let that happen."

"I have amnesia, I'm not stupid," Jason snaps.

"And I'm not saying you are," Mac says softly. "But you do have brain damage and nothing's going to alter that."

"But only my memory is affected," Jason hisses. "That's what they said the other day. That everything else is intact."

"I know that sunshine, but the truth is that you're not yourself anymore and someone needs to protect you." Mac glares at Merlin. "So what is it that you want from him?"

"Nothing," Merlin answers. "I'm not the one trying to control Jason after all."

"It's for his own good," Mac insists.

"And you think you should be the person who gets to decide what Jason does?" Merlin asks, his voice growing as cold as winter and his eyes burning with an age old fire. "To decide who he should be friends with or what he should think? That isn't caring for someone; that's imprisoning them."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Mac all but screams.

"I'm Jason's friend," Merlin answers. "I don't want to tell him what to do with his life because actually I think he's probably the best person to decide what's right for him… and if you weren't so set on trying to make yourself feel less guilty you'd probably see that too." He looks at Jason and gives a wry half smile. "I should probably go," he says. "I'll see you soon."

Once Merlin has gone Mac storms in to the kitchen and starts aggressively putting the groceries away, banging about and generally making as much noise as possible. Jason stares after him for a moment, almost unable to believe what has just happened and infinitely hurt to realise just what Mac really thinks of him, and then slowly makes his way to his room. He is suddenly deeply tired; sick of everything and everyone. He stares at the ceiling for a while thinking about Mac and Merlin and the argument that just happened between them and the sheer absurdity of it all strikes him and it's all he can do not to laugh hysterically. Then he sobers, as though someone has doused him in a bucket of cold water. This is it. This is the point at which he has to decide to take his own life back – to start making his own choices again and not just accepting what someone else decides for him – or he'll be stuck here for the rest of his life.

He's grateful to Mac, of course he is (cares about the man deeply), but he really doesn't think he wants to spend his whole life following someone else's rules; only doing what someone else decides for him – even if that person does have his best interests at heart. He knows in his heart now that he needs to leave; that whatever objections and obstacles are put in his way he has to find a way to overcome them or he may as well not have survived whatever it was that happened to him (and it still galls him that no-one will tell him the truth about that) at all.

Later when everything has calmed down he wanders back down to the kitchen to get some water and Mac is waiting for him. He apologises for upsetting Jason (although that won't take back the words he said and what he implied) and tells him he doesn't want Jason seeing "that man" again (and Jason realises with a start that he never actually managed to get as far as telling Mac Merlin's name before the older man verbally attacked – although maybe with hindsight that isn't such a bad thing). Jason looks coolly at Mac and calmly but firmly informs him that he'll be friends with whoever he damn well chooses and they descend into a sort of awkward and uncomfortable silence which lasts all evening.

It's a week or two before he sees Merlin again and the situation at home is still awkward and uncomfortable. Jason still goes out walking every day but now it is alone – Merlin never appears. He worries that maybe his friend has washed his hands of him; that maybe Mac managed to chase him away after all no matter how positive he had been in his declaration that Jason was his friend. Finally, when he's given up hope of seeing Merlin again, he rounds a bend one day and there leaning over a gate is a familiar figure with a shock of jet black hair.

"I thought you'd given up on me," he says as he draws level with the gate and is only half joking.

Merlin gives him a bright smile.

"I've been busy," he answers. "Sorry."

Jason immediately feels guilty. He realises (of course he does) that Merlin must have other concerns – can't possibly really spend all his time waiting around in case Jason fancies a walk – but somehow over the time they have known one another his black haired companion has become almost like a lifeline to him; the promise that life will get better at some point; the only thing that really brightens his days any more.

"They think I'm depressed," he blurts as they begin to walk. "Mac and the doctors I mean."

Merlin looks at him appraisingly.

"You're not depressed," he says firmly. "You're just a long way from home and you need to find your way back."

Jason tries to puzzle out what he's talking about but gives up after a minute; Merlin can be downright mysterious in his pronouncements at times.

They reach the beach and sit down on the shingle, comfortable in each other's company.

"Listen I'm sorry for what happened when you came to the house," Jason says presently. "I don't know what got into Mac. He's not usually like that."

Merlin smiles.

"Did I ever tell you about Arthur's father?" he asks. "He was a really nasty man. Bigoted, arrogant, superior and cruel… always believed he was right no matter what… but he loved Arthur… would have done anything to protect him."

"Mac's not like that," Jason frowns. "He's not a bad guy really… he just worries I guess."

"I didn't mean that he was unpleasant in the way Arthur's father was," Merlin clarifies, "but he does have the same protective attitude… and he does always think he's right."

"I suppose," Jason says. "He's worse than ever at the moment. Wanting to know where I am and what I'm doing every minute of the day. I don't always think he likes me though," he adds. "When he smiles it never reaches his eyes."

"He's grieving," Merlin responds, "and he feels guilty for it because you're still here but…"

"I'm not the Jason that he knew and liked."

"No," Merlin agrees. "You're not."

"Why did you really come over to me the first day we met?" Jason asks. It's a question that's been on his mind for some time now.

"Because I felt something about you that I hadn't felt for a very long time," Merlin answers with a peculiar look that Jason can't quite identify. "You don't belong here and I could feel it."

Jason isn't quite sure how to answer that and before he can even think about opening his mouth to say anything anyway Merlin goes on.

"Do you remember when we met I asked you whether or not you believed in magic?"

"Yeah," Jason answers, frowning. "I said I didn't know."

"And now? Do you believe in magic now?"

"I still don't know."

Merlin smiles that strange half smile that he gives sometimes. Then he mutters some words in a language that Jason can't even begin to identify (not that he knows any other languages anyway. Whether or not he ever did he really doesn't know) and his eyes flash gold (which is sort of scary) and a finger of flame dances on his outstretched palm. Jason swears and scrambles backwards, wide eyed.

"What about now?" Merlin asks with little humour in his voice. "Do you believe in magic now?"

Jason creeps back forwards curiously (because really that little dancing flame may just be the most amazing thing he's ever seen) and stretches out one hand to touch the fire on his friend's palm. Merlin closes his hand quickly, killing the flame before Jason can touch it.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to play with fire?" he admonishes.

"Not that I remember," Jason answers with a smirk. "Seriously though, what was that? It was amazing."

"It was magic," Merlin answers, grinning openly now.

"How did you do it?"

"I was born with it." Merlin looks appraisingly at Jason, judging his mood and his reaction. "Magic is all around us," he says. "It's part of the earth; part of nature; in the air we breathe. So few people know of it these days; so few people want to know. When I saw you on the beach I got a feeling that I haven't had in a very long time; the feeling that I was in the presence of very old magic. It flows through you; comes off you in waves. I haven't sensed anyone with so much raw power in a very long time… but it's dormant power… not something you can consciously access. At least not in this lifetime."

"In this lifetime?" Jason finds himself asking.

"The magic I feel in you comes from a different time; a different world," Merlin answers slowly. "As though you come from a different time." He shakes his head thoughtfully. "It cannot be true and yet…" He shakes himself again. "Would you like to see some more?" he asks.

Jason smiles.

"Yeah," he says.

Merlin hesitates for a moment.

"This is probably the last time I'll be able to meet you here for a while," he admits regretfully. "There are things I have to do. Things I've been neglecting." He smiles. "You have been too fascinating a puzzle for me to ignore but now I must get back to my duties."

"I am sorry," Jason answers apologetically.

"Don't be," Merlin answers. "I have thoroughly enjoyed our time… it's been a long time since I have allowed myself to become friends with another person… since I have indulged myself in this way."

He smiles again and settles down to enjoy the afternoon, preparing to show Jason the lighter side of his abilities. It is light and fun. It is also the last time that Jason sees Merlin for quite some time.

---

It's been a bad week. On Monday he turns the taps on to fill the sink and do the washing up, nips to the loo, forgets the taps are running and nearly floods the kitchen. It's an easy mistake, one that anyone could have made, but because of the limitations his poor memory causes he finds himself getting cross. Fortunately Mac is out at the time because Jason doesn't think the man would ever let him hear the end of it (would use it as just one more example of why Jason isn't safe to live on his own) and he manages to get the mess cleaned up and the washing up done before his older friend (surrogate uncle?) comes home. It depresses him though; is an unwelcome reminder of the fact that his brain doesn't work like anyone else's anymore (not that anyone ever really lets him forget that). The fact that such a simple task as washing up apparently flummoxes him frustrates him no end and he is snappy and irritable all evening as a result. Mac is in no better mood than he has been for weeks so they sit largely in uncomfortable silence, each caught up in dark thoughts as they ignore one another, until Jason finally flounces off to bed.

On Tuesday he gets another migraine (and really would it be too much to ask for him to manage to make it through an entire week without one?). This time it's a bad one and it knocks him off his feet for the next two days. By Friday though it's cleared enough that he wanders out of his room, padding around the house in jogging bottoms and a t-shirt, bored out of his mind. Mac is out. Apparently there has been a problem with his boat which requires his personal attention rather than that of the crewman who has been in charge for the past few months so he leaves Jason to his own devices for the day.

He supposes that he could give daytime TV a go but the truth is that he's tried to dip into it several times over the months and finds it universally dire. It seems he has a choice of bad soap operas (whose plots are incredibly convoluted and so badly contrived that he just can't bring himself to be interested enough to fathom them out), game shows (whose hosts always sport the same level of permatan and cheesy grins with impossibly white teeth as they gurn for the camera and patronise the contestants) or property sales or development shows (and honestly he is beginning to think that they are hosted by the same people as the game shows – they appear to be interchangeable). For a time he tries to settle in front of the computer. He knows how to use it of course and has spent a fair bit of time in front of the screen trying to relearn some of the things he is sure he must have known once. Today though he is restless; cannot settle and decides that a book might be a better option. The only problem with that being that he has already read all the books that interest him in both his room and on the bookshelf in the living room (unless of course he fancies tackling "The Public Order of Ocean Resources: A Critique of the Contemporary Law of the Sea" – which may well be a completely fascinating book but the title is somewhat off-putting).

Feeling a little like a naughty child trespassing where he shouldn't, Jason creeps into Mac's study. Mac has never told him he can't come in here – has never stopped him going anywhere in the house – but he hasn't attempted to enter the room before. He's not sure what he's expecting really but what he finds is a plainly furnished room; a desk in the corner, several framed maps on the walls (and unframed ones haphazardly strewn on the desktop) and a couple of large bookshelves. Somehow it would feel wrong to rummage through the desk drawers so Jason ignores everything but the bookcases, making his way over to them and perusing the titles he sees in search of something to grab his attention.

By the time he has got to the third shelf he is beginning to give up hope. Absently he pulls out a treatise on Ancient Greek pottery shards and begins to turn away, hoping that at least the pictures in this book might be interesting. As he does a glint of something metal half hidden by the books catches his eye and he reaches his hand back to feel for whatever it is. It is a necklace; an upside down crescent of gold suspended from a simple leather thong. Jason frowns. He has seen it before; seen it around his own neck in some of the photos he was shown to try to spark a memory back in the hospital. Whilst the necklace triggers no recollections he knows from the photos that it is his and wonders why it has been shoved out of sight and apparently forgotten. He turns it over in his hands a few times before slipping it into his pocket and turning his attention back to the book (it is his after all and he sees no harm in reclaiming his own property).

As he moves across the room, book in hand, something slips out from between the pages. It is a cutting, torn from a newspaper and hidden in the leaves of the book. Jason stoops to pick it up from the floor then freezes as his mind takes in exactly what it is he has found; exactly what it is he is reading.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Mac's voice is harsh and Jason winces at the volume, still feeling a little fragile in spite of the fact that the migraine is gone.

"I was looking for a book to read," he says quietly, "and this fell out." He holds out the clipping towards the older man.

Mac recoils as though he has been burnt. He finds his way blindly across the room and sinks into the chair in front of the desk heavily, never taking his eyes from Jason's face.

"So I see," he murmurs in a half-broken whisper.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jason asks.

"How could I?" Mac answers. "How could I tell you when it was all my fault?"

Jason blinks hard and shakes his head in confusion.

"Sorry?" he says incredulously. "How on earth do you make out that it was your fault?"

"I let you go," Mac says. "I let you dive. I knew just how risky it was and I still let you do it."

Jason steps purposefully over to the desk and lays the cutting down on it, smoothing out the creases carefully with his fingers. It's a strange feeling, he muses, seeing his own face looking back from the page, although he knows from looking in the mirror that the thin faced, hollow eyed man he has become bares little more than a passing resemblance to the boy in the picture. He crouches down beside Mac (this will play havoc with his knees but he knows Mac will need the closeness) and rests an arm on the man's leg.

"You couldn't have known," he says softly. "You couldn't have known that the mini-sub would be hit by something."

It's all there in black and white; the story of what happened to him. The newspaper report was perhaps a little sensationalist but the basic gist was that he had been part of a crew (a marine archaeologist they claimed) on a deep sea exploration boat (Mac's boat), had taken a single person submersible down to search for the wreckage of a sub that had sunk in tragic circumstances many years earlier (his Dad's sub apparently) and had been involved in some sort of underwater collision. Although the glass had been chipped and had surface cracks upon it, it had apparently held. A remotely operated vehicle had been despatched as soon as Mac had lost contact with him and had dragged the sub to shallower water. By the time they had got him out he had been starved of oxygen for some time. What the report didn't say (but Jason knew) was that he had also had a brain haemorrhage and had ended up with his current amnesia as a result.

The thing he couldn't understand was why Mac seemed to feel so guilty about it all. Jason had no memories of the event (not surprising really he supposed) but from what he could see in the report the man had done everything in his power to save him.

"I could have stopped you going down in the first place," Mac mutters. "If I'd said no… if I'd refused to let you take the sub… but it meant so much to you and I didn't have the heart to refuse." He breaks off and looks down at the floor, seemingly unable to continue.

"And you really think you could have stopped me if it was something I wanted so badly?" Jason asks. "From everything you've told me I'm usually pretty stubborn. I'd imagine I'd have found a way no matter what."

"But you can't say that for sure," Mac says. "I gave you the chance and look what happened. I may as well have done this to you myself."

Jason sighs. He knows now (more than ever before) that he has to leave – not just for his own sake but for Mac's as well. Every time Mac looks at him he sees the boy that Jason was before and believes that he is the reason that Jason is different now; that Jason is damaged. The guilt is eating him alive and one day it just might destroy him. Mac has done so much for him ever since he first woke up that he can't let that happen; cares too much for Mac to see him tear himself apart. If he leaves now there is still the chance that Mac will be able to get past his own guilty feelings; if he doesn't have to see Jason every day he will be able to put it all behind him.

Things go a little easier after that. Jason still sees the guilt and the grief in Mac's eyes but he understands it now and tries to remember to be kind and to not get frustrated with the man's overprotectiveness. He also understands Mac's antipathy towards him being near the sea (even if he doesn't agree with it); the memories of what happened are still too raw for the man. Mac in turn seems to realise that Jason is far from being as fragile as he believed and tries not to fuss too much. It isn't perfect of course; he still doesn't really believe that Jason is capable of living alone any more but he can see now that it is going to happen sooner or later whether he likes it or not.

Out of deference to Mac's concerns Jason doesn't push the issue of leaving too hard but he does start to do a bit of research whenever the man isn't around. He has access to his own bank account now and Mac has returned his bank card and made sure he knows the newly acquired pin number for it. It was a surprise to discover that actually he isn't all that badly off (your Dad left you well provided for sunshine), but it still seems a good idea to him to look for a job – if nothing else it will stop him from getting bored around the house and maybe give him back a sense of purpose. The major stumbling block of course is that his CV ends with the accident and really he isn't sure how he can explain what he has been doing ever since in ways that wouldn't immediately put any prospective employer off. Plus he can no longer really apply for a job in the field he was trained for; has no memories of the training for a start. He updates it as best he can though and heads out one day with a load of copies printed off in a backpack slung over his shoulder, determined to try to find something.

Heading into the centre of town is no easier than it was last time and he endures the sympathetic looks without comment. It is necessary though. To get where he is going he needs to catch a bus and it only stops in the centre of town. Arriving there with time to kill, he wanders into a small convenience store and picks up a bottle of water and a couple of energy bars – enough to last him for the day. On his way back out he is once again accosted by Mrs Hayward, wearing slightly too much make-up and smelling of some kind of floral perfume, who decides that he must once again need her help to get home (don't worry dear. I'll make sure you're alright). This time though Jason is prepared for her. He gently but firmly removes his arm from her grip and equally firmly informs her that he has an appointment to get to and would she very much mind leaving him alone. Mrs Hayward immediately starts fretting that perhaps she should just take him home to check with "his guardian". Jason tells her a little more firmly that he doesn't actually have a guardian and as he is an adult doesn't need to ask anyone's permission to go out and certainly not hers. He is perhaps a little louder than he intends to be and really didn't mean to imply that she was either interfering or a busybody but he has a bus to catch and he has had enough of being patronised; enough of sympathetic looks; enough of people talking about him as if he weren't there and making unwanted decisions on his behalf; enough to last a lifetime.

The stunned goldfish expression on Mrs Hayward's face is really quite amusing and he takes the opportunity to leave as quickly as possible, trotting off in the direction of the bus stop and arriving just in time to get on the number ninety-five. As the bus pulls off again Jason finds himself a solitary seat somewhere near the back and stares out of the window at the houses as they pass by. He knows he should really feel guilty for the way he spoke to Mrs Hayward (she probably was trying to help him in her own misguided way after all) but somehow he doesn't. In fact all that he really feels as the bus moves outside the confines of the town that has been his whole world for several months now is free.

---

It had been frighteningly easy in the end to leave everything behind and start again in a new place; so easy that sometimes Jason wonders if he's done it all before. That first trip to the biggest local town (a bustling metropolis compared to the sleepy seaside town where Mac lives) had not immediately been successful of course. Jason had spent the day tramping between various employment agencies only to find the doors slammed in his face. It appeared that getting any sort of job wasn't easy when you have a year long gap in your employment history whose explanation involves the words "amnesia" and "brain damage" – most prospective employers simply weren't prepared to take a risk.

Having had that brief taste of freedom, however, he had started ranging further and further afield (always by bus of course since driving was not really an option – he would have to learn all over again at some point and required clearance from the doctors before that could happen). One day he had ended up in a tiny little seaside village whose two means of support were fishing and tourists. It was only about thirty miles away from where he lived with Mac but it might as well have been on the other side of the moon. He had wandered the narrow streets for hours, exploring with the intent of a serious tourist, revelling in the fact that nobody so much as looked in his direction; nobody knew his past. In the end he had wandered into a small second hand bookshop, dark and dusty and smelling of age, with the thought that he might purchase something for Mac. A poster on the wall had caught his attention – 'Help Wanted'. The elderly lady that ran the business had seen him looking and had drawn him to one side to ask him a few questions. By the time he had left the shop, full to the brim with tea and cake that she had plied him with, he almost felt he had been through an inquisition. Miss Kelly (never married dear… never saw the point) had proved to be a genius at getting information out of reluctant young men and he had the feeling that he had divulged just about everything he had been told about his life before the accident as well as everything that had happened afterwards in the space of a couple of hours. He had also left the shop with a job. Miss Kelly had been looking for someone to fill in for her nephew who had been in hospital and would need a fair bit of time off and might decide not to come back at all. Even the fact that Jason had no truly recent employment history (and none that he could actually recall before that) didn't put her off (I'm usually a pretty good judge of character dear). When he had mentioned that he didn't have anywhere to live locally and didn't drive she had countered by mentioning a cousin who owned a cottage up on the cliffs who was looking for a tenant at least in the short term. The cousin proved to be as cheerful as Miss Kelly and had happily shown Jason around the tumbledown, half furnished place. It appeared that getting a tenant had proved as difficult for him as getting an employee had been for Miss Kelly (most people want something a bit more modern I'm afraid. I suppose I could have gone through one of those letting agents but I didn't really want to pay their fees). By the end of the day Jason had returned to Mac's house with a new job and somewhere to live, with his head reeling and feeling somewhat breathless by the speed of it all.

That was three months ago now. At first Mac had visited nearly every day (and rung more than once a day) just to check that Jason really was alright. It had tailed off though and Jason couldn't help but feel that Mac seemed slightly relieved not to have to see him every day; not to be reminded of everything that had happened all the time. Now he hasn't actually been by for a few weeks and in his last call (a week ago now) had mentioned that he was heading back out to sea the next day and might be gone for a few months.

Life has become routine, with weekdays spent working in the book shop and weekends scouring flea markets for bits of furniture for his tiny new home. He supposes that he's happy enough but somehow it still feels like something is missing; like there is something that he has forgotten that would make his life complete. Perhaps it is excitement he lacks, he decides one morning after a particularly vivid dream about a monster that looked like a bull but walked on two legs. In his dream he had had a sword in his hand and it felt so right – so natural – that he woke up with a vague feeling of regret that it was not real. It is early on a Saturday morning and he is planning on taking his push bike (found in the back of an outhouse and done up with his landlord's blessing) over to the next village where there's a car boot sale planned. He has nothing that he is specifically looking for but there are a few bits and pieces that he could still do with after all.

As he peers into the cupboard and wonders whether there's enough cereal left in the box for breakfast (he still tends to forget to do the grocery shopping and often ends up forgetting to eat altogether – Miss Kelly has taken to turning up with extra sandwiches every lunchtime in the week just to make sure that he eats something), he thinks about the dreams. They come regularly now and sometimes he almost thinks he can remember who the people are; can remember their names. Then he wakes and realises that he cannot remember after all and it's still as frustrating as it was back in the hospital.

The trip to the car boot sale is fruitless this time and he takes his time cycling back along the cliff paths to his house. He has been drawn to this place from the first moment he saw it; has a feeling that he simply can't seem to shake off that something important is going to happen here; that here is where he needs to be.

It is more than a surprise when he rounds a thick patch of gorse and bracken and finds Merlin leaning over his gate with his bright grin in place. It's been months now since they have seen one another and Jason had begun to believe that whatever had taken Merlin away had taken him for good and he would never see his friend again. The bike is soon discarded as he races up to his friend, breathless and desperate to tell all his news and hear Merlin's stories in return.

"I wasn't sure I'd see you again. Thought you might have decided you'd had enough of me," he says breathlessly, grinning in what he is fairly certain is an idiotic manner.

"Nah," Merlin answers. "I've been busy. There's been something in the air for a while now. I think that Arthur's going to be coming back soon."

He looks so happy that Jason can't help but be happy for him and hope that Arthur doesn't take too long.

"How did you find me?" he asks.

Merlin gives him an incredulous look and Jason immediately feels foolish.

"Of course," he murmurs. "Magic."

Merlin grins at him again and goes to turn towards the house. Then at the last minute he stops and looks at Jason with a bemused frown, reaching out with long slender fingers to touch the crescent necklace glinting at Jason's throat.

"This is new," he says softly, still staring at the necklace with intense concentration.

"Actually it's old," Jason answers, more than a little confused by his friend's behaviour. "I found it at the back of a bookcase in Mac's house. I'd seen photos of me wearing it so I know it was mine before." He knows he doesn't need to say before what. "Since I've got it back now I didn't see any harm in wearing it… nearly gave Mac a heart attack the first time he saw me with it on."

"Hmm," Merlin murmurs absently.

"What is it?" Jason frowns.

His black haired friend hesitates for a moment.

"It has an energy," he says quietly. "Old magic. I get the same feeling from it that I get from you." He shakes himself and grins at Jason, looking like no more than a gangly boy again. "Are you going to show me this house then?"

Merlin stays with him for a week. It's a bit cramped and he only actually has one bed but they take it in turns sleeping on the sofa. Jason introduces his friend to Miss Kelly – although with hindsight that may have been a mistake. She takes to Merlin instantly but tuts at how skinny he is and pushes cakes and pastries on him every chance she gets. She's done the same thing often enough with Jason and for once he is pleased to have her attention diverted elsewhere.

Jason hasn't bothered to get a TV yet but Merlin doesn't seem to mind too much and their evenings are spent walking along the cliffs or hanging about the living room and chatting. The early summer weather is warm and the evenings balmy, and everything is relaxed and comfortable. He is surprised to discover that Merlin drives an elderly Metro, rusty and dented and a pain in the backside to start. When he asks about it he gets an amused look from his friend (how did you think I got around? By dragon?) and feels silly for asking.

On Saturday, exactly a week after Merlin's arrival, they wander down to the sheltered cove at the base of the cliffs. The path is more than a little steep in places and whilst the evenings are fine neither of them has wanted to risk having to climb back up that path in the fading light. It is Merlin's suggestion that they go – he has been itching to see the cove all week for some reason – and they wander down the cliff path chatting lightly about this and that.

At the bottom Merlin stops and turns in a slow circle, arms outstretched, and Jason isn't sure if he's searching for something or simply revelling in the feeling of freedom. He wriggles his own shoulders uneasily; there is something about this cove that makes him uncomfortable; a prickling sensation that starts somewhere between his shoulder blades.

Merlin turns to look at him shrewdly.

"You can feel it can't you?

"What?" Jason asks.

"The power," Merlin answers calmly. "The magic."

"I don't…" Jason breaks off uneasily.

Merlin grabs his arm and spins him until they're facing.

"Why did you move here?" he asks.

"I was offered a job and somewhere to live," Jason answers.

"There has to be more to it than that," Merlin retorts. "Why here? Why now?"

"It was stupid," Jason says slowly. "The first time I saw the cottage it just felt right… like I needed to be here."

"You were drawn here," Merlin murmurs thoughtfully. Then he seems to shake himself and grins brightly at Jason. "Come on I'll race you," he says taking off at a run.

Jason stares after him for a moment, giving his companion time to get a decent head start. Then he takes off after the fleeing wizard, racing at full pelt down the length of the beach with the breeze ruffling his soft curls. Fast as Merlin is Jason is faster and it isn't more than a moment or two before he's pulled level and is pulling ahead. He presumes they'll stop at the end of the beach (because really there isn't anywhere else to run after that) but as he draws close he half stumbles, the uneasy feeling stronger than ever and he stares with wide, anxious eyes at a cave that he now spots in the cliff face. It isn't much of a cave to be honest, a mere crack in the cliff face, but Jason can't seem to take his eyes off it. He is vaguely aware when Merlin pushes past him, his own expression intent and somehow knowing.

"Are you coming?" Merlin asks, looking back over his shoulder.

"Where are we going?" Jason asks needlessly because really he knows where they're going – he just doesn't know why.

"In there," Merlin nods towards the cave before heading off purposefully.

Jason swallows hard but follows him anyway.

"What is this place?" he asks, his voice hushed, as they step in through the entrance.

"This is the centre of the power we were both feeling; the heart of the magic," Merlin answers. "It's old; older than I am… and that's saying something."

Jason looks at him curiously. He still doesn't understand everything his friend says.

Merlin steps forwards and rests one hand against the rock of the far wall.

"Ah," he says. "I understand now."

He turns back to Jason and his eyes are sad even though he attempts to smile.

"You understand what?"

"I understand what was different about you from the moment I met you… why the magic that runs through you feels so old." Merlin sighs. "You don't belong here," he adds, "and I think you're being called home."

"Of course I belong here," Jason answers sharply. "I might not be able to remember it but I've seen the pictures from before. I had an accident that's all… I don't understand what you're going on about."

Merlin doesn't answer him. Still caressing the rock he mutters some words in that strange language he spoke in when he first revealed the secret of his magic and although his back is turned Jason just knows his eyes will be flashing gold. Then the entire wall starts to… well the only word he can really think of to explain it is glow – and somehow that really isn't a big enough word for what he sees in front of him.

The light comes from deep within the rock, growing brighter and brighter and swirling until it coalesces and something begins to appear deep within the heart of it. It is a city – set on a hill and bathed in sunlight. From this distance Jason can see people heading in through a set of great gates no larger than ants. He frowns and draws closer without thinking, eyes fixed on the image in front of him and… remembers.

He is fairly certain that he gasps aloud as the sudden rush of memories hits him making him dizzy and off balance. He is also fairly certain that he would have fallen if Merlin had not grabbed him quickly.

"Atlantis," he breathes.

"Do you know I'd never have picked Ancient Greece as being where you're from," Merlin says conversationally. "It fits though… it definitely fits."

"My father brought me through the gateway between the worlds when I was a baby," Jason says, unable to draw his eyes away from the image (or is it a gateway?) on the wall. "When the sub went down I ended up back there." He's pretty sure that half of what he's saying makes no sense whatsoever but he can't seem to stop himself. "I'm not sure how I ended up back here though," he looks sharply at Merlin. "Is it real? It's not just a dream?"

"It's as real as you or I," Merlin answers calmly, his voice reassuring. "I might be wrong but I think coming back here was an accident – a mistake – and I think that whatever drew you through the gateway in the first place wants you to go home now; to go back where you belong."

Jason nods slowly.

"You really are that Merlin aren't you?"

"Now you recognise my name," Merlin complains humorously.

Jason snorts a laugh.

"Sorry," he murmurs.

"Actually it was nice not having someone react to my name," Merlin answers. "After a few hundred years I got sick of hearing variations on 'your parents named you for the wizard then?' and 'go on show me a magic trick'." He pauses, eyes growing serious. "You should go," he says, "although I do have to warn you that I don't think you'll be allowed to come back a second time."

"That's alright," Jason answers. "There's more for me there anyway." He looks longingly at the scene in front of him.

"Your friends," Merlin states. His voice is a little melancholy and it suddenly hits Jason just how long this man must have been alone.

"My family," he corrects softly. "Pythagoras and Hercules." He hesitates. "You could come with me," he offers.

Merlin smiles his bright grin.

"Thanks but I'd probably better wait for the prat to put in an appearance," he answers. "You know… destiny and all that."

"Arthur. Of course," Jason answers. "I hope he doesn't keep you waiting too long."

"Oh he probably will," Merlin answers with amusement. "He always did like to make my life difficult."

"We're not going to see each other again are we?" Jason says.

"No," Merlin answers. "I think we both have destinies to fulfil in very different eras."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything."

Jason really can't put his feelings into words right now so he settles for grasping Merlin tightly around the shoulders. Merlin hugs him right back and they stay transfixed like that for a moment before the black haired boy pulls away with a smile.

"Go on," he urges. "I'm not sure how long the gateway will stay open and you've got people waiting for you. I'll take care of everything here… I've got used to that over the centuries."

Jason nods and grabs his shoulder once more. Then he turns, sets himself and steps through the portal.

---

He wakes on the beach, spitting sand and saltwater and as naked as a jaybird save for the necklace about his neck. The scene is so familiar that it could be the self-same morning that he had first arrived in Atlantis for all he knows. The only difference is that there are no fishermen launching a boat from further down the sand and Jason cannot even pretend that the little pile of clothes he sees are not meant for him.

The trousers are looser than they were, riding low on his hips even when the lacings are pulled as tight as they will go, and the tunic hangs from his shoulders in a way that it never did before. Even the belt feels loose as he does it up and Jason frowns knowing that Pythagoras will be worried when he sees how much weight he has lost and not even entertaining the hope that either one of his friends won't notice.

The walk to the city from the beach is longer than he remembers, but he supposes that it is partially down to the fact that the first time he walked this way he did so with wonder whereas now he is impatient to be home; desperate to see his friends once more. The city streets are crowded and here and there strange animals lurk but Jason feels no urge to try to touch them as he once might (as he once did). He is no longer the gauche boy who stared about him with wonder filled eyes. Now he approaches with the air of a tired soldier, a little more jaded than he used to be and longing to see his home. He pushes past the throng of vendors, customers and visitors with barely concealed impatience, muttering apologies to anyone he shoves into.

He is gripped by the sudden fear that perhaps his friends won't be there anymore; perhaps they will have moved on. After all he doesn't know how much time might have passed while he has been away. It was more than a year in the modern world but he doesn't know exactly when he has been sent back to. Without being aware of it he begins to speed up, picking up his pace as he draws nearer to the house until he is running, darting past startled people and vaulting over stalls in his haste to just get home. He doesn't even pause as he reaches the stairs that lead up to the front door, taking them two at a time and bursting into the room as though the hounds of hell were at his heels, breathless and dishevelled.

Pythagoras is sitting at the table working on something that is clearly triangular. For a moment he looks up and gapes. Jason takes a step into the room and suddenly his arms are full of flying mathematician.

"Jason," Pythagoras gasps. "We thought… we feared… it's been months." He sounds on the verge of tears and his hands grasp almost desperately at Jason's bare arms as though he is both trying to reassure himself that his friend is not a figment of his imagination and check that he is unharmed.

"I'm sorry," Jason manages past the lump in his throat and he doesn't really know what he's apologising for but it still seems appropriate right now. He drops his head onto Pythagoras shoulder and feels tears spring unbidden to his eyes, shoulders shaking.

Pythagoras responds with comfort, petting his friend's dark curls and stroking the suddenly heaving back as he coos words of reassurance into Jason's ears (you are home now… that is all that matters). For a time they stand, locked together, drawing comfort from one another.

"Jason." Hercules' voice is a half strangled whisper.

He has just come in from the street and discovered the two boys – one who he had expected to see and the other who he had feared he would never see again. In a few short strides he is across the room and has enveloped both his friends in a massive bear hug, frowning to himself at how skinny they both feel under his big hands. Pythagoras pulls away to regain his composure and looks at his two friends with a smile that quickly morphs to a worried frown.

"You have become so thin," he remarks with concern. "Where have you been for all this time?"

"I'm sorry," Jason responds. "I'm so sorry. I came back as soon as I could… I couldn't remember…"

Pythagoras looks vaguely sick.

"You lost your memory?" he clarifies.

Jason half turns at Hercules' sharp intake of breath. He is still held tight in the burly wrestler's embrace as though Hercules is afraid to let him go.

"Yes," he murmurs.

Pythagoras is horrified by the thought that his friend must have been out there somewhere scared and alone with no memory of who he was or where he belonged.

"We thought you were dead," Hercules rumbles gently. "If we'd known we'd never have stopped searching for you… but when you disappeared into that river…"

Jason nods. He knows that they would never have left him if they had believed there was a chance and cannot explain to them where he has been anyway.

"Someone kind looked after me," he says softly, thinking of Mac and hoping that the man won't be too upset by his disappearance. "I'm home now and that's all that matters."

---

It's late. The sun has long since set and the stars are twinkling in the heavens. Jason stands out on the balcony and looks down at the dark streets below. How could he ever have forgotten this? Atlantis is warm and familiar in ways that his time back in his former life had not been.

Supper was a joyous affair. He thinks that he probably ate more than he has in a long time; his appetite returning in a way that it has not in months. The meal was only a thin, weak barley stew with coarse bread and a few olives but it tasted better than anything he could have got in the twenty-first century (although he seriously doubts that anyone from that time would believe him). He had gobbled down his bowlful as though he was starving and before he could apologise for his sudden apparent lack of table manners it had been refilled by Hercules; the big man choosing to forgo the leftovers for once in favour of allowing his friend to eat his fill. Hercules had fetched a skin from under his bed, the blood red wine rich and fruity even when watered down, and the conversation had flowed freely as Jason had basked in the presence of his friends.

Leaning over the edge of the balcony he thinks of Merlin and his endless wait for the return of his King; of his friend. He hopes that Arthur is worth it, although from all that Merlin had said he rather suspects that he is.

"Are you alright?" Pythagoras' voice is soft and kind and utterly familiar.

"Yeah," Jason breathes. "Just enjoying actually being here."

He steps back from the edge and slides down the wall, coming to rest comfortably on the floor with his knees bent. After a moment Pythagoras joins him and they sit shoulder to shoulder in familiar and comfortable silence.

"We've missed you," Pythagoras observes finally, nudging Jason softly with his shoulder. "It's been too quiet without you here."

Jason doesn't quite know how to respond to that but lets his head rest gently against Pythagoras' shoulder. Tomorrow might involve a seemingly hopeless struggle against a mythical beast or a power-hungry queen (or even just to put enough money together to put food on the table) but tonight is good; tonight finally – impossibly – he is home.