A/N Well here we are at Chapter 2! Thank you for the reviews - like most writers I look forward to them!
As before I own nothing.
It was funny, Pythagoras mused, how quickly you could get used to having someone around. He and Hercules had led fairly quiet lives, and then Jason had quite literally landed on their doorstep – well balcony to be absolutely accurate – and life had never really been the same again – there was certainly a lot more excitement than there used to be.
He smiled softly to himself, thinking how glad he would be when they were all home again. With Hercules spending most of his time with Medusa and Jason away, the house had seemed distinctly lacking in life and colour lately. Not that he was objecting to having time to himself to work, but after three weeks he was feeling a little lonely.
He frowned as it crossed his mind that Jason had said he would be gone for three weeks at the most – and that date had passed yesterday. While Pythagoras knew his friend could look after himself, he couldn't help but worry. It wasn't that Jason ever went looking for trouble – things just seemed to have a way of happening to him and his lack of knowledge of the customs of Atlantis meant that he didn't always understand the implications of his actions. The bull leaping had been a good example of that. He had never blamed Jason for the predicament that they had found themselves in, but the reality was that even the youngest child in Atlantis would know better than to cross Poseidon's servant. Pythagoras smiled to himself. He knew that Hercules thought he himself was innocent but there were times when he felt that Jason had all the worldliness of a two year old.
He sighed. In reality he knew he was being a little unfair to his friend. Jason was a genuinely good and kind person, who would do anything for his friends – even if it meant risking his own life.
A light breeze drifted through the window, causing him to shiver and pull his outer robe around him a little more tightly. Looking up he was startled to see that the sun was setting in a blaze of orange fire, lighting the sky with gold and pink and mauve and shades he couldn't even name, and the night was drawing in. He squinted back at his parchment. The light was fading fast and soon it would be too dark to see the equations and triangles he had drawn. Perhaps making dinner would be a better option. Hercules should be home soon – as long as he was not detained by Medusa or a jar of wine – and he would be grumpy without food. Of course that led to another question – should he cook a stew for two or three? If Jason did by some chance make it home tonight he would be likely to be hungry, tired and in need of a good meal. But if he didn't it would be a waste of food (although with Hercules around no food was likely to go to uneaten) – and they had precious little to spare. Pythagoras glanced out the window at the gathering darkness again. Jason was unlikely to arrive this late in the day – it was more likely that the merchant he was working for would be setting up camp for the night – and if he did come Pythagoras was sure he could rustle up something fairly quickly. Decision made he lit the candles and lamps and set to work preparing dinner, humming contentedly to himself as he chopped vegetables and herbs for a stew. He would never admit it to his friends for fear that they would laugh, but he found cooking very comforting – the routine actions appealed to his logical mind.
The fire lit and the stew pot set on it, he turned his mind back to his beloved triangles, sitting down at the table and once more picking up his parchment. No matter how much he looked at it, however, he just couldn't force himself to concentrate. The air was getting heavy and close and he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that a storm was brewing.
A strange scratching noise at the door startled him. It sounded almost as if an animal was outside. Pythagoras stared at it uneasily, his breath coming faster and everything else in the room receding into the background. With growing concern he considered his options. He could stay sitting here, growing increasingly panicked until Hercules came home and laughed at him for his childish fears – or he could open the door and face whatever was on the other side. That was obviously the more risky option but, as there really was unlikely to be any danger, possibly the preferable one as it would save him an evening of worry.
He walked to the door and yanked it open, prepared to face whatever was on the other side. For a moment his brain froze in shock and he could feel his eyes widening as he looked at his friend, who stood leaning heavily on the door frame. Jason looked truly awful, his hair matted with blood and the rags he wore doing little to conceal his other injuries. He was covered in dust and blood and sweat. Pythagoras' brain unfroze just in time to see Jason's legs give way and he darted forward to catch the brunette as he dropped to the floor. With shaking fingers he searched for a pulse – half convinced from his friend's stillness and pallor that he would not find one. The pulse was weak and fast and did little to quiet the blonde's concern. He bit his lip, knowing that he would need light and space to work if Jason was to be saved. Gathering all his strength, he wrapped his thin arms around his friend and started to drag him across the floor to the table. He wasn't yet sure where he would find the strength from to get Jason onto the surface of the table as the man was tall, muscular and, more importantly, unconscious and therefore a dead weight – but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
It had been a good day and an even better evening. Hercules smiled to himself and slipped his arm around Medusa's slender shoulders. As they reached the outer door of the house he stopped.
"Will you come up?" he asked.
"Hercules! What sort of girl do you think I am?" Medusa admonished – albeit with a smile.
"I didn't mean to imply... I just meant..."
Medusa grinned openly.
"I know," she said and put her arms around the big man's neck to hug him. Hercules beamed. In his eyes Medusa was the most beautiful creature that had ever been and part of him couldn't believe his luck that she seemed to share his feelings. As he watched her face changed into an expression of growing horror as her eyes focused on something over his shoulder.
"Hercules," she said, her voice suddenly deadly serious.
Hercules turned to see what she was looking at. His stomach dropped as he saw the fresh blood liberally smeared on the outer door and door frame. Pushing Medusa behind him – but knowing it was pointless to tell her to stay on the street – he made his way inside and up the stairs, the feeling of sick dread growing as he saw the bloody hand prints that marked the wall all the way up. Pausing for a moment at the top of the stairs, and almost absently noting that there was yet more blood on the door frame here as well, he burst through the door in a rush, yelling for Pythagoras as he did. His heart froze at the sight before him and only Medusa's horrified gasp stopped his brain from shutting down altogether.
Pythagoras sat on the floor with a frighteningly still but very familiar brunette figure in his arms. He looked up at Hercules and Medusa with distraught eyes.
"Help me," he commanded. "I can't get him up on the table."
Hercules was at his side in an instant and between the two of them they manhandled their unconscious friend up onto the table that Medusa swept clear. Without needing to be asked Hercules fetched a small bench and set it down near the head of the table. Pythagoras frowned, his mind assessing the situation.
"I need hot water and bandages," he said. As Medusa hurried out the door to fetch water in some hastily gathered jugs, he turned to Hercules. "We'll need honey, mint and coriander to start with," he added.
With trembling but gentle hands and a sharp knife the blonde started to remove the ragged remains of Jason's tunic, hissing with sympathy at the injuries he saw underneath. Between the three of them they washed their friend and started to dress the wounds. Most of the cuts were fairly superficial but there was a gash on one forearm that seemed badly infected and a deep knife wound below the ribcage that started to bleed again as it was cleaned. Pythagoras sighed as he liberally smeared the cuts with honey before binding them. The ribcage itself was black and purple with bruising and several of the ribs were obviously broken. By the time they had worked their way down to Jason's feet Pythagoras felt decidedly sick. The right foot was a mess of cuts from walking miles barefoot, each one needing careful cleaning to remove the dirt and gravel. The left foot, however, had been crushed and was a horror story of broken bones and bloody wounds. It required careful manipulations of the delicate bones to get them back into place, before splinting and binding. Although Pythagoras knew he should be concerned that his friend had shown no sign of waking yet, he found himself perversely glad that Jason had remained unconscious as resetting his foot would have caused him a world of pain.
The blonde sighed and stepped away from the table at last to wash his hands, stained with his friend's blood.
"He'll be alright now?" Hercules asked.
Pythagoras closed his eyes for a moment before answering.
"I don't know," he said. "He's very weak and his fever is very high. Where his ribs are broken... he might be bleeding inside and I wouldn't know it until it's too late."
Medusa turned away from them, her lips set in a thin determined line, and started to sponge water through Jason's matted dark hair.
"What are you doing?" Pythagoras asked.
"It will be nicer for him to be clean and comfortable when he wakes up," she answered, never pausing from rinsing the brown curls.
"I've just said that I'm not sure he'll..."
"This is Jason," Medusa retorted. "Beating the odds seems to be one of his specialities."
Try though he might, Pythagoras could think of no way to respond to this other than to silently hope she was right.
It was late, very late. They had moved Jason to his own bed some time earlier, and although it only needed one of them to stay awake and watch their friend, none of them felt inclined to go to bed yet. Suddenly a movement came from the bed which sent Pythagoras hurrying to his friend's side. Jason hung over the side of the bed retching pitifully into a bowl Hercules hurriedly thrust into the young mathematician's hands. The blonde was aware of Medusa by his side, murmuring comforting nonsense as she ran her hands soothingly through the damp dark curls. At last the heaves subsided and Jason sank back bonelessly onto the bed. Pythagoras went to stand to dispose of the bowl when he felt a weak touch on his arm, plucking at his sleeve. He turned back to figure on the bed in concern, carefully setting the bowl on the floor as he did so.
"Home?" The voice was weak and childlike and so unlike anything that he had ever heard from his friend that the blonde mathematician felt his guts twist. He caught the brunette's hand in his own, looked into the fever bright hazel eyes and tried to smile reassuringly, although he was afraid that it probably looked more like a grimace.
"Yes, Jason," he answered. "You're home. You're safe."