A/N Thanks to Vellymymare and Polly for your reviews of the last chapter.
I hope this one doesn't disappoint.
Please feel free to review - at least then I know people are still reading!
The cold of the water took Jason's breath away as he dived down off the side of the dock. As the waters closed over him he felt a brief surge of unreasoning panic. He closed his eyes against the panic as his vision darkened. This was the first time he had swum in sea water since arriving in Atlantis and for a brief moment his mind imagined he was back on the sub with the glass imploding around him, knowing he was going to die as his lungs filled with salt water and his blood started to pound, pressure building in his head. Then he opened his eyes, his vision cleared and he remembered where he was. The water was much murkier than he was expecting, the constant comings and goings of the ships having stirred up the silt from the bottom of the docks, and he struggled to see more than a foot ahead of himself. Angling down in the vague direction he had seen the little girl fall, Jason swam on, lungs burning with effort. The ships rocked on their moorings, threatening to crush him between their sides and the wall of the wharf. Suddenly he saw the child ahead of him, bobbing helplessly, her leg tangled in the trailing rope of a small fishing vessel. Reaching out Jason tried desperately to free her, but the rope refused to budge, burning the palms of his hands as he tore at it. Finally realising that what he was doing would never work, he swam up again towards the surface, lungs desperate for air.
Breaching the surface of the water, Jason gulped in air and looked up to find a crowd had gathered at the edge of the dock.
"I need a knife," he gasped. "She's caught in a rope."
The dockers on the wharfside gaped at him, their faces still stunned by the speed of the recent events. For a few precious seconds nobody moved before a short, squat fishwife pushed her way to the front and threw a knife down towards Jason, muttering profanities about the dockers and their lack of helpfulness. Jason caught it one-handed, barely looking, before diving back down into the depths towards the trapped child. Working quickly he sawed through the rope and gathered the limp body of the girl into his arms, kicking as strongly as he could for the surface once more. He was tiring rapidly now, lungs on fire and muscles burning, but he could not afford to slow down. Any delay could mean the difference between life or death for the little girl and Jason was not willing to take that risk.
Swimming back up into the daylight, he thrust the child into the waiting arms of the crowd on the quay, before allowing strong hands to pull him up beside her. The little girl lay in a small jumbled heap on the quayside, the dock workers and fishwives standing around and looking at her limp form sorrowfully. Her father stood numbly, face twisted into a mask of horror as Perdikkas held him gently around the shoulders. Jason frowned deeply. There was still time to save the little girl if they could get the water out of her lungs and get her to breathe quickly enough. With a horrified start he realised that these people would never have heard of giving someone the kiss of life. If anyone was going to save the girl it would have to be him himself. Moving quickly, he crawled over and rolled the child onto her back, tilting her head back slightly and feeling for a pulse, cursing under his breath when he realised that there was no pulse present. With his mind racing he tried desperately to recall his CPR training from years earlier, trying to work out if the ratio of breaths to compressions was different in a child this young. Tilting her head back even further, with his fingers on the point of her chin, Jason leaned down, pinched the girl's nose firmly, sealed his mouth over hers and breathed out. He was dimly aware of the horrified gasps of the crowd, quickly turning to angry muttering – knowing what this must look like to them but not daring to stop. He followed the first breath with four more and then started chest compressions, pushing down firmly and fast thirty times. Two more rescue breaths followed before he returned to the child's chest. By this point he knew the crowd were starting to turn ugly and rough hands started to try to pull him away from the girl, angry voices shouting curses. His entire focus was on the child however, the rest of the world having fallen away somewhere behind him. Suddenly a new, female voice cut in, raising above all the others.
"Leave the boy alone," the unknown woman said. "Can't you see he's trying to help the child?"
"It's obscene," another voice rumbled.
"Look at what he's doing you damned fool," the woman growled. "He's breathing for her."
Jason nearly stopped what he was doing in surprise. He had never really expected anyone to recognise that he was trying to save the little girl – had half expected to be lynched when this was all over. Looking up he saw the same squat woman who had thrown him the knife had stepped between him and the other dockers. Even as he continued pressing rhythmically on the girl's chest, alternating thirty compressions with two breaths, he saw Perdikkas and the child's father joining the fishwife. The man was pale as he turned to looked at Jason hovering over the still form of his daughter, never stopping in his efforts to save her.
"Do whatever you need to," he instructed quietly. "Just save Castianiera for me."
Jason gave a curt nod and looked back down at the child under his hands. As he pushed on her chest again, the girl gave a weak cough and drew in one shuddering breath, followed quickly by another. Jason turned her onto her side as the water in her lungs poured out of her mouth and gently rubbed her back as her father rushed to kneel down on her other side, his eyes full of tears. As Castianiera's eyes fluttered open, she started to cry weakly and her father gathered her up in his arms, rocking her back and forth.
"Thank you," he said simply looking across his daughter to the clearly exhausted young man on her other side.
Jason sat back on his heels and balanced himself on his hands, letting his head drop forward and breathing heavily as the physical exertion began to catch up with him. He looked up as a callused hand gripped his shoulder, straight into the awed face of Perdikkas.
"That was truly amazing," the harbour master said. "Where in the name of the gods did you learn a thing like that? Sailed the sea since I was a boy and I've never seen anything like that. Damnedest thing I ever saw!"
Jason blinked slowly, trying to regather his thoughts along with his breath. The crowd of dock workers, fishwives and general gawpers was pressing closer around him and suddenly he felt almost claustrophobic. He'd never done well in crowds – had never been all that comfortable when attention was fixed on him. He looked around, eyes more than a little wild. Perdikkas narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at the boy, before offering him a hand and pulling him to his feet.
"Your day off tomorrow isn't it," he stated rhetorically, already knowing the answer even before Jason nodded. "Reckon you've done a good day's work today. Might as well let you go a bit early. Get yourself off home now and I'll see you bright and early the day after tomorrow." He counted some coins out – the usual payment for a day's work – and handed them to Jason, motioning the boy to go before the crowd could press in on him any more. Jason nodded gratefully at him and turned to leave, only to be stopped by another hand on his arm. This time it was the little girl's father who had risen with his daughter clutched securely in his arms.
"Thank you," he said earnestly once again. "Castianiera is everything to me ever since I lost her mother," he paused for a moment, overcome. "My name is Talos and I am a cloth merchant... not a very successful one I am afraid. If there is ever anything I can do for you please do not hesitate to look for me and ask. The harbour master knows where I live and work." He clasped Jason's arm and smiled as the young man responded in kind.
"It was nothing," Jason muttered, more than a little embarrassed by the attention.
"Nevertheless you have my thanks. You have given my life back to me," Talos said stroking his daughter's wet hair.
Jason smiled again and backed away, leaving the little family to each other. Once again he felt the old pang catch at him at the sight of a happy family, albeit such a small one in this case. Turning wistfully away, he raced off down the street before anyone else could stop him, darting towards home as quickly as his tired legs could carry him.
The journey back to the house was made in remarkably quick time, with only a brief stop at the agora to pick up a wine skin, which he carried on a thong running crossways over his chest, the skin itself bouncing on his hip as he ran. To be true he had had to swerve a couple of times to avoid vendors selling their wares and there had been one cart that he had had to vault over (he was almost sure he hadn't actually managed to knock any of the fruit off this time) but all in all he had managed to get to his own front door extremely quickly and relatively uneventfully. Pausing at the top of the stairs to get his breath, he gently pushed his way inside.
Pythagoras was seated at the kitchen table, his scrolls laid out around him, ruler in hand and stylus clenched between his teeth, deep in thought. Jason smiled at the sight. The young genius' blonde hair was sticking up in all directions from his head where he had repeatedly run his hands through it or gripped the curls as he concentrated. It made him look even younger and was truly endearing. A clatter from the doorway to Hercules' room made Jason look across. The big man stood in the entrance to his room staring at his young brunette friend with a mixture of shock and disbelief.
"You're home early," he said in surprise. "Not that you shouldn't be of course. It's just that I wasn't expecting you to be finished yet," he paused. "You didn't get fired did you?"
Jason wasn't entirely sure whether he should be offended at the suggestion he had been fired in his first week at work or suspicious that Hercules seemed to know his schedule so well given the big man's recent behaviour.
"No I haven't," he said firmly. "They just let me go a bit early today"
"You have the day off tomorrow don't you?" Pythagoras asked absently without looking up.
"Yeah," Jason responded crossing the room and dropping the wine skin onto the table, eliciting an annoyed squeak from Pythagoras as it landed near his notes.
"Well I can't stand around talking to you all day," Hercules growled. "There's things to do and people to see..."
"And wine to be drunk," Jason interjected, ducking quickly as Hercules went to cuff him lightly around the ear.
"Don't be cheeky," his bulky friend admonished with a half smile. "I'll be back later."
"Where are you going?" Pythagoras asked, finally looking up.
"That is none of your concern," Hercules answered as he made his way out of the door.
Jason watched him leave thoughtfully, shivering slightly as the cooler air inside the house chilled his damp skin, his wet clothes clinging to him uncomfortably.
"Is it just me or is he acting really strangely?" he asked.
"Mmm," Pythagoras answered non-committally. He turned to look at Jason and frowned. "Jason why are you so wet?" he asked quizzically.
Jason laughed.
"That, my friend, is a long story," he said as he made his way towards his own bed in search of some warm and dry clothes.
Jason woke slowly from a nap he'd never intended to take. He had got as far as changing into dry clothing before exhaustion engendered by the exertion of his unexpected swim in the docks and the stress of rescuing the little girl overcame him. The shadows of evening were slowly creeping up the walls as he opened his eyes and a chill wind ruffled his still somewhat damp hair. Jason shivered slightly, wishing for the first time since he had arrived in Atlantis that he had a jumper to cover his bare arms. Standing, he made his way over to the fire where Pythagoras was stirring a pot.
"What's for dinner?" he asked softly.
Pythagoras jumped nearly dropping the spoon into the pot. He had been lost in his own thoughts, dreaming of his triangles. It was strange but he felt almost as though he were on the verge of a discovery – but whatever that discovery was seemed to be eluding him. Deep in thought he had not heard Jason cross the room and join him.
"You startled me," he exclaimed, heart racing and hand fluttering at his chest.
"Sorry," Jason responded abashed. He looked into the pot. "Is that that fantastic stew you do sometimes?"
Pythagoras smiled. He knew that his pork and bean stew was one of Jason's favourites and, as his friend's new job was primarily the reason he had extra money for food this week, he had felt almost compelled to make it.
"Yes," he answered, turning back to stir the pot once more and to check on the bread he had warming on the edge of the hearth.
Jason smiled softly at Pythagoras' kindness. He was in no doubt that the mathematician had made the stew primarily for his benefit as Hercules far preferred pies and Pythagoras himself tended to favour fish dishes when they had a reasonable supply of funds for food. Edging a little closer to the fire Jason stretched out his hands to warm himself, almost yelping as his palm brushed against the rough material of his trousers. Frowning at the unexpected sting, he withdrew his hands and turned them face up to examine them. Both palms were reddened and grazed and stinging like mad now that he thought about it. They had obviously been abraded by his encounter with the rope wrapped around the little girl's leg and the salt from the water that had been rubbed in was making them burn.
"Pythagoras?" Jason asked quietly. "You know I told you about fishing the little girl out of the dock earlier?"
"Yes," the young genius responded absently, checking the seasoning of the stew.
"I think I might have burnt my hands a bit on the rope," Jason stated. "I mean they're not too bad... just stinging... and I wondered if you might have anything that would help..." he trailed off.
Pythagoras raised an eyebrow. This was probably the first time that Jason had voluntarily asked for help when he was hurt in any way and the blonde somehow felt it was significant.
"Of course," he responded, smiling reassuringly. Putting down the spoon and taking his friend's hands in his own, he turned them over and examined the reddened palms. "You are right that they do not appear to be too bad," he said. "Go and wash them thoroughly and I will look for a salve to take the sting away."
Jason did as he was asked before returning to the table and placing his hands face up in front of his friend so that Pythagoras could spread the greasy salve he scooped out of a small jar across the surface. The ointment smelt faintly of lavender and was wonderfully cool and soothing.
"The salve contains comfrey and lavender," Pythagoras smiled at Jason's quizzical look. "It should soothe the rope burns and help them heal quickly."
"Thanks," Jason said softly. He looked around the kitchen as Pythagoras continued to tend his hands and frowned in confusion at the number of small cakes he saw lined up on the shelves.
"Are we expecting company?" he asked.
Pythagoras followed his gaze.
"No," he answered. "They are offerings for Proerosia."
"Proerosia?" Jason asked.
"You know I never fail to be astounded at the level of your ignorance," a gruff voice intoned from the doorway.
Both boys looked up to see Hercules leaning on the door frame watching them.
"Proerosia is a festival to ask for Demeter's blessing of the crops before the new planting season," Pythagoras explained patiently as Jason turned back to him. "We make offerings of the first fruits and of grains – usually in the form of bread and cakes. The festival will take place during daylight hours tomorrow. It is good that you will have the day off. Everyone dresses in their best clothes and takes their offerings to the Temple to give thanks for the last year's harvest and to pray for Demeter's blessing for the coming year."
Jason tried hard not to frown at the mention of dressing in "best clothes", painfully aware that he only had two tunics and neither of them would qualify as "Sunday best" as one of his former foster mother's would have called it. Mrs Johnstone had been very keen on "Sunday best" as he recalled and had never been entirely satisfied with Jason's appearance. He had never consciously tried to get dirty or to look scruffy but his seven year old self hadn't been particularly good at staying neat and tidy. Some things never changed, he thought wryly. Mrs Johnstone had been particularly concerned with his hair as he remembered, and had waged war on his mop of unruly curls with a comb right up until the day she had grown completely frustrated and had sat him down at the kitchen table with a pair of scissors and had cropped his hair as close to his head as she could manage. He hadn't particularly liked Mrs Johnstone and was only too aware that she hadn't really liked him. Fortunately his social worker had turned up for an unannounced and unexpected visit a few days later. Jason could still remember the raised voices that had come from the sitting room as he had sat on the stairs hugging his knees. His social worker, Miss Roberts, had been quite angry – had said that she had come to see a happy child and not "a ragged little scarecrow" – and had taken him away from Mrs Johnstone on the spot. He could clearly remember the ice cream sundae that she had bought him and how she had apologised and told him she would find him a really nice family – find him new parents who would love him – as he sat in silence. Silence had always been Jason's last line of defence – one that few people could breach or knew how to cope with. Perhaps as a direct result of his experiences with Mrs Johnstone, to this day Jason still didn't like "Sunday best" clothes; didn't like getting dressed up if he could help it. But he didn't want to embarrass Pythagoras by turning up to this festival in his usual rough tunic if everyone else would be wearing fancy clothes. He bit his lip as his two friends continued to talk about tomorrow's festival.
Finally aware of Jason's discomfort, Pythagoras looked at his friend seriously. He was only too aware that Jason had very few possessions and even less clothing of his own and had noticed him stiffen at the mention of wearing best clothes for the festival. Pythagoras nearly kicked himself. Of course Jason didn't have any better clothes than the ones he was wearing. He had arrived on their doorstep with nothing but the clothes he stood up in and there had rarely been enough money in the house since to allow him to go shopping. He had over the months managed to acquire a second set of tunic and trousers, very similar to his existing ones, but had never really had enough money to spend on better quality clothing. The mathematician tried to smile reassuringly and stood up from the table, making his way into his room and returning with some dark green cloth in his hands, hoping that his friend would not take offence at what he was about to do; would not see it as charity.
"I have been meaning to ask if you would like this," he said, holding out the cloth towards Jason. "My mother bought it for me but the colour does not suit me. It tends to make me look even more pale than normal. Sallow almost. I already have a best tunic and do not really need this. We are not that far off the same size even though you are more muscular than me and the colour would suit you much better than it does me."
Jason took the proffered tunic almost reverently, feeling the soft material in his hands – much finer than the rough homespun he usually wore – and tried to swallow past the sudden lump that had formed in his throat.
"Thank you," he said softly, gratefully.
Pythagoras nodded and turned away quickly. He didn't think he would ever get used to Jason's reaction to people being kind. What was to him no more than a normal everyday occurrence was clearly not something his friend ever expected or took for granted. The look of utter confusion followed by almost desperate gratitude never failed to catch at the mathematician's heart and he wondered once again what sort of life Jason had lead before he had arrived in Atlantis. Moving back to the fire, he grabbed a cloth on the way and, using it to protect his hands from the heat, lifted the pot and started to make his way back to the table, concentrating hard on not tripping over his own feet whilst carrying the boiling stew. At the table he placed the pot down and, taking three bowls from the shelves, started to ladle out the meal, noting almost absently that Jason had yet to put his new tunic down, clutching it to his chest the way a small child might clutch a blanket for comfort. He turned to look at Hercules and noticed the big man's eyebrow raised almost speculatively as he regarded their young dark haired friend.
"You ought to think about getting some warmer clothing," he rumbled. " Preferably something with sleeves. Winter's just around the corner."
Jason looked up, startled out of his thoughts.
"It does seem to be getting a bit colder," he admitted.
"The wind has changed," Pythagoras said. "Eurus is blowing."
"Eurus," Hercules intoned with foreboding, shaking his head meaningfully.
"Who or what is Eurus?" Jason asked.
He received incredulous looks from both his companions.
"Eurus is one of the Anemoi," Pythagoras explained in his "school teacher" tone. "He is the god of the east wind."
"And that's bad because?" Jason asked.
"The east wind is unlucky," Hercules interjected suddenly.
"It brings storms," Pythagoras added. "It brings change."
Hercules nodded his agreement.
"You mark my words," he said. "Change is coming... and not necessarily for the better."