This is a bit of an indulgence. A missing scene from episode 1.7 - The Rules of Engagement. Its, like, over a year late, lol. But I was re-watching the episode the other day and got to wondering about what might have happened between Jason collapsing after his first match in the pankration and being laid out on the table at home. It's really just an opportunity for some hurt Jason.

The art of staying still

The cool stone at Jason's back felt good against his flushed, sweating skin. He relaxed into it, exhaling a small sigh. While he remained completely still, the scream in his right shoulder lessened to become just another ache in his body and that was a welcome relief. He wasn't entirely comfortable, slumped untidily against the wall, the awkward position was placing a strain on his neck and back, but he wasn't about to move when sensation was so pleasantly dulled.

Even without his shoulder shrieking his body knew all was not well, and played a little with his stomach, teased him with lightheadedness. It was annoying. Annoying that his body refused to be fooled. He couldn't do any more to appease it, couldn't be more unmoving. He had a vain hope that whatever injury he had suffered in the match was passing, that if he stayed still and waited it out, it would correct itself and he would be fine. He wasn't sure that he really believed it but he clung to the hope because he didn't know what the alternative was. If he had suffered a significant injury, a broken bone perhaps, he was uncertain where that left him, he wasn't about to withdraw from the tournament, but he would put up a poor fight if he continued. He pushed the thought aside for the moment.

His eyes ranged lazily around the space. He'd been bundled into the room dazed with pain, barely aware of his surroundings and propped against the wall by rough, unsympathetic hands. It had taken a few minutes to recover from it. He discovered he was in a change room, one of many underneath the arena, sparsely furnished with a couple of bench seats, and apparently not in use for the event, no evidence of anyone having been in there. Presumably it was the nearest chamber to where he fell. There was no shortage of people walking the corridor behind him. Footsteps echoed loudly against the stone and it put him on edge. He kept expecting somebody to interrupt his solitude and he really didn't want that, didn't want anyone to find him, bother him, try to make him move. He was quite content to be forgotten for a while, stay slouched against the wall and pull himself together in his own time.

His thoughts shifted to the pankration, to the match he had just competed in, his first ever. He'd won but he would hardly call it a victory given his condition now. He reviewed the match in his mind, considering his mistakes, and deduced that he had been too close to his opponent for too long, allowing too much opportunity to inflict damage. He would have to find a better balance between trying to retrieve the knife and keeping his opponent at bay in the next match. No doubt Hercules would have some advice on where he could improve and Jason would receive it gratefully because he had no idea what he was doing. Entering the competition had been wildly impulsive, borne of anger and indignation. He had known very little about the event when he'd submitted his name, had no skill or practice. His sole purpose in entering was to defeat Heptarian, not even to win the event, just to defeat Heptarian, and prove to Ariadne how unworthy he was as a suitor. He didn't know the arrogant jerk was the defending champion. It was possibly a huge miscalculation on his part, and potentially a humiliating one, given he was laid out after the first match. He was getting schooled in the brutality of the competition.

"Where is he?"

Hercules voice was loud, reverberating in the enclosed space. Jason grimaced and closed his eyes, dreading the arrival of his friends, not ready for company, and examination, and concern. He wasn't feeling stoic yet, not prepared with a brave face.

"In one of these rooms," Pythagoras replied uncertainly, his voice bouncing around the corridor.

Jason didn't help them. Which was unkind, he could easily guide his friends with his voice, but he didn't want to. He knew they would take one look at him and say we need to get you home. And their house was a long way away. Like- really far. It had taken him twenty minutes to walk to the stadium before the match, and that was unimaginable now, he had no desire to walk that distance with his shoulder on fire.

"Jason?"

Even without his help Pythagoras found him too quickly. Jason gave his friend a wan smile as Pythagoras rushed to his side, his eyes wide with concern as he knelt down to survey him.

"What is it?" Pythagoras asked with restrained panic, gaze ranging up and down Jason's body looking for injury, stymied by the lack of blood. "Where are you hurt?"

"It's just my shoulder," Jason returned, embarrassed because it was hardly a serious injury. He was crumpled against the wall like he was dying when really it was nothing.

Hercules stood behind Pythagoras, face pinched with worry and he visibly relaxed at the statement. "Ok," he breathed and ran a relieved hand across his thinning hair. "Ok. Shoulder is fine, shoulder isn't fatal, we can deal with that."

Pythagoras gently pressed some fingers against Jason's collarbone and the flare of pain made him suck in a breath and flinch away hard, smacking his head against the wall behind. He groaned loudly, partly as a rebuke to Pythagoras and brought his opposite hand to rest on the point of pain to calm the resonance inside. He fixed his friend with a fierce glare and held himself rigidly still, seeking to recover the magic position where sensation was diminished.

"Sorry. Sorry." Pythagoras immediately drew back, raised his hands apologetically and winced in sympathy. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Jason's jaw was tight as he gave a small shake of the head. There were other aches and pains but nothing with the viciousness of his shoulder.

The mathematician twisted his head to catch Hercules' eye. "We need to get him home. There's not much I can do for him here."

Hercules nodded his somber agreement.

"No," Jason moaned, annoyed it was the first option. Stillness was agreeing with him, he didn't want to disturb it. "Can't you treat me here? Go home and get what you need then come back."

"I couldn't possibly carry it all," Pythagoras returned with even logic. His eyes flitted around the room and he added, "Plus there's no preparation area, no grinding tools, no mixing bowls…" He shrugged. "It just won't work I'm afraid."

"Perhaps I'll stay here for a while and meet you home later."

It genuinely seemed like a sensible option to Jason, give his body a couple of hours to recover and he would feel much better, more capable.

"Jason." There was deep reproach in the word, and in Pythagoras' eyes when Jason met them. "There is absolutely no benefit to staying here. The shoulder won't heal itself."

"It might," he mumbled, and blinked long in reluctant defeat because he suspected his friend was right, and he was just delaying the inevitable walk to their house.

"I know," Pythagoras sympathized, expression getting soft, pressing a hand to Jason's knee for comfort. "I'm sure we can fix this. We just need to get home."

Jason couldn't muster any enthusiasm. Movement was all he could think, pain, his stomach dropped in anticipation.

"Come on," Pythagoras gently entreated. "No point putting it off."

Jason could definitely see a point in putting it off, but he kept quiet, figuring he had to keep a lid on his complaints, he had after all invited injury by entering the competition. He gripped his right arm tightly at the bicep to cushion his shoulder, tried to rise to a stand and found it very difficult to get his feet underneath him, his hands needed to play a part and were unavailable. Hercules was quickly at his side and wound an arm firmly around his waist, gently hauling him upright, sharing every gasp, wince and groan.

When Jason was on his feet, he rested his forehead on the big man's chest to collect himself. He drew in some steadying breaths as he adjusted to the drumbeat in his collarbone, the unnatural heaviness of the area, and his body's general opposition to being upright.

"It's just a shoulder," he growled, irritated that something so innocuous could cause such distress, a minor injury could so overwhelm him.

Hercules patted his back. "Lucky it wasn't your leg, that would make for a tough walk home."

Jason huffed, unable to appreciate the levity.

"Get home, drink a flagon of wine and everything will seem much better," Hercules promised.

"Masking the pain won't actually cure it," Pythagoras pointed out sourly.

Hercules tipped his head like he didn't entirely agree. "Won't hurt."

Jason drew back from his friend and took a moment to find a new grip on his right arm, to try to keep it immobile for the long walk.

"Hook your thumb into the material of your trousers," Hercules suggested, experience in his tone.

Jason was dismayed by how nerveless his fingers were, the whole of his right arm was only mutedly responsive. He had to use his opposite hand to guide his thumb over the lip of his trousers and he had no confidence it would stay there. He looked to Hercules for guidance and the big man leaned forward to manipulate the numb fingers into the folds of the material, trying to anchor them more firmly. Jason tilted his head to the ceiling as Hercules did so, teeth tightly pressed together, because even the smallest movement in his right arm became a tidal wave at the shoulder.

"Okay." Hercules straightened and stepped back. "That's as good as it's going to get. Think happy thoughts while you walk."

"You think happy thoughts," Jason grumbled. He drew his uninjured arm across his body and pressed against the useless arm to keep it still.

"On the bright side," Hercules added sunnily "at least you won your match. How much worse would you feel if you had lost?"

The young man grunted. He didn't really care about the pankration at the moment, his vision had tunneled to getting home and reclaiming stillness.

"Speaking of which," Hercules continued, "we really need to talk about your tactics. There's a lot of room for improvement."

"Hercules," Pythagoras rebuked, gaze flicking to the younger man's anguished expression. "I don't think Jason is in any mood for it right now."

"Nonsense," Hercules dismissed emphatically. "It's exactly what he needs, something to distract him while we make our way home. And we should do it while the match is still fresh in our minds."

Jason inclined his head, willing to let Hercules monologue, hopeful that nothing would be required of him in return. His friends took up a position either side of him, the big man with a careful hand at his back to guide him forward, and they commenced the painstaking journey to their house.