Fanfic: A Beautiful Impact (Part 1)
“Why are you here?”
“Don’t you want me to be?”
Pythagoras can hear the amusement in his friend’s voice without ever looking up from his work.
“I was trying to work out this equation,” he complains. “Until you decided to disturb me, that is.”
He is peevish and taking it out on Jason but the numbers just won’t work out the way he wants them to and his friend is an easy target for his frustration.
“Are the triangles giving you trouble?” Jason’s tone bubbles with laughter which annoys Pythagoras all the more.
“Indeed… and being disturbed is not helping,” Pythagoras grumbles, still not looking up.
He feels a pair of strong hands beginning to massage his shoulders and neck.
“What?” he begins.
“Just relax,” Jason murmurs. “You’re so tense. Just relax and it will come to you.”
“Jason, I don’t see how this will help,” Pythagoras protests.
“You won’t be able to think clearly while you’re so tense,” Jason argues gently. “And that will just make you more and more frustrated… which will stop you thinking clearly even more. It’s a vicious circle. So just for a few moments, let yourself relax and breathe deeply.”
“This is a waste of time,” Pythagoras grumbles. “I need to get on.”
“Just shut up and try it,” Jason says. “What have you got to lose?”
Pythagoras can almost hear his friend’s grin, even though he still hasn’t turned to look at Jason. He opens his mouth to argue but what actually comes out is a deeply contented moan as a knot that he wasn’t even aware of is eased away.
“Tell me that doesn’t feel better,” Jason says softly, bending close to Pythagoras’ ear.
Part of Pythagoras would like to argue (on principle mainly) but the rest of him has decided that this is one of the nicest things he’s ever felt and that he should just go along with it as long as Jason keeps doing whatever it is he’s doing with his hands. It feels positively sinful to enjoy something so much and for a moment Pythagoras wonders just where Jason learned to do this (and to muse that it somehow seems unfair that his friend is this talented with his hands as well as being blessed with superhuman abilities and beauty that can only come from Aphrodite herself) before his brain shuts down entirely and he practically purrs.
He doesn’t remember the last time he felt so completely relaxed and at ease (sometime before Minos died certainly). By the time Jason stops, he’s completely loose; all the stiff tension in his shoulders and neck (that he really hadn’t known was there) disappearing. His mind wanders freely, lazily, and he doesn’t really notice when his friend steps away, chuckling quietly to himself.
When the idea hits all other thoughts fade into the background. It is so breathtakingly simple that he wonders how he never thought of it before. He grabs at his parchments and draws a hasty triangle, one corner forming two sides of a square; a perfect right angle. He measures the shorter two sides on the triangle carefully and writes the numbers down. He multiplies each figure by itself and then adds the two answers together. Finally, he works out the square root of the total. He measures the long side of the triangle. The numbers match. He tries it again with another hastily drawn right angled triangle. It works a second time too.
Pythagoras could crow with delight. This is important and he knows it. How to express it simply though; how to express it that others might understand. The square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the square of the other two sides. If he calls the hypotenuse ‘c’ and the other two sides ‘a’ and ‘b’ then the equation becomes a2 + b2 = c2.
He tests his equation again and again and again. It works perfectly every time. As he works, he can feel Jason watching him intently; can feel his friend’s smile from across the room. In the early days of their friendship, he would often look up from the equation he was working on or the triangle he was studying to find Jason watching him speculatively, his eyes strangely knowing and intent (as though he knew Pythagoras would one day discover something important mathematically) - although he has shown no other interest in Pythagoras’ work and teased him for his love of numbers and triangles every bit as much as Hercules does.
Now, as Pythagoras works, his mind moving so fast his hands almost can’t keep up with writing his ideas down, Jason’s words in those first couple of days of their friendship about Pythagoras’ destiny come back to him.
“Pythagoras… your theories and your triangles are destined to bore millions of children throughout history. That’s your fate, this is mine.”
At the time he hadn’t thought much about what Jason was saying, too intent on trying to save his new friend from the fate that should have been his; from sacrificing himself to the Minotaur for Pythagoras’ sake. Now though, he wonders; wonders what Jason meant; wonders how he was so certain that Pythagoras has such an amazing destiny ahead of him; wonders about so many things about his friend that he’s ignored or pushed to one side in the heat of the moment when there was no real time to sit and think.
He raises his head to talk to Jason, determined to get some answers to the questions he has, only to find that Jason has slipped away unnoticed taking his secrets with him.
“Where’s my bed gone?”
The question startles Pythagoras as he slices and dices ingredients for yet another type of tonic (he already has whole shelves full of tonics and ointments, but he has to keep busy when he’s upset or anxious and this is as good a way as any).
He has been working at the table on the balcony; herbs strewn before him, a scroll unrolled at his side and the heavy grindstone weighing down one side of the table with the mortar as a counterbalance on the other side.
Jason is perched on the wooden edge of the balcony. Pythagoras frowns, surprised to see him there; he hadn’t heard his friend come in (and knows that he shouldn’t really be here right now anyway). He wonders if he should worry about Jason falling backwards into the street below but trusts in his friend’s remarkable sense of balance.
“Shouldn’t you be at the Palace?” he asks, his tone a mild rebuke. “Atlantis will not govern itself.”
Jason waves away the comment with a flip of his hand.
“Ariadne doesn’t need me there,” he replies. “I was only getting in the way.”
Pythagoras’ frown deepens.
“Jason,” he begins.
“Anyway, you didn’t answer me,” Jason interrupts before he can go on. “Where’s my bed gone?”
Pythagoras flinches as he glances across to the now empty corner alcove where Jason used to sleep, devoid of anything that had ever belonged to his friend; there is no evidence left that Jason ever lived here - Hercules has been thorough in removing all traces from the house, leaving a jumbled pile of his own belongings in the alcove.
“You don’t live here anymore,” he says softly. “You left.”
“I didn’t expect you to wipe away all traces of me so quickly,” Jason answers, sounding slightly hurt.
Pythagoras looks up sharply. Jason looks world weary; pale and drawn. Then the moment passes, and he looks like himself again, and Pythagoras can almost (but not quite) forget he ever saw the expression on his friend’s face.
“It wasn’t like that,” he protests. “It was just… well, Hercules…”
Jason quirks an eyebrow.
“Was he drunk and gambling again?” he asks. “He lost a bet and lost my bed, didn’t he?”
Pythagoras winces.
“No,” he says. “It wasn’t anything like that. It was just that… well… we needed the space and you were not going to be using the bed again so…”
It sounds weak to his own ears; an excuse made up to cover the truth. He doesn’t tell Jason about the terrible scene he had had with Hercules when the burly man, drunk and raging against the unfairness of life, had literally ripped Jason’s corner of the room apart; destroying everything he could find in his blind rage before collapsing into a despairing heap in the middle of the wreckage and finally passing out. Pythagoras had salvaged what he could while Hercules was unconscious - just a couple of small unbroken items Jason had left behind when he had gone to live in the Palace, now wrapped carefully in pieces of cloth and hidden deep in the bottom of a trunk at the foot of Pythagoras’ bed where no-one else would look for them (nothing very important or valuable but wrapped as though they were the most delicate and precious items in the world). Then he had gone to bed himself. By the time he had awoken, Hercules had removed all traces of the wreckage of the previous night and all traces of Jason’s presence in their lives.
“Hercules misses you,” he says briskly, trying to change the subject. “He misses the way things were when it was just the three of us living here.”
“He hasn’t said that, has he?” Jason asks softly.
“Well, no,” Pythagoras admits. “Not in so many words - you know how he is… but I know him and I know that deep down he misses you; misses us.” He gestures around himself vaguely to indicate that he means the family that the three of them had formed.
Jason sighs.
“I miss him,” he murmurs. “I miss living here and the way life used to be.”
“Why don’t you come when he’s here?” Pythagoras encourages. “The three of us could talk… just like we used to.”
“Hercules won’t see me, you know that,” Jason replies, his voice soft and sad. “With everything that happened… there’s too much distance between us now. We can’t bridge that gap no matter how much I want to.”
Pythagoras swallows hard and looks down at the bench.
“Well you never will if you won’t even try,” he says, blinking away the tears that have risen unbidden to his eyes.
“I have tried,” Jason protests. “I’ve tried so many times but Hercules… he just can’t seem to let go of what happened. I’ve tried to make him see me but he just won’t… or maybe he can’t bring himself to… who knows?”
Pythagoras looks away, unable to face Jason in this moment. The silence stretches between them - neither knowing really how to end it. Finally, Jason attempts to change the subject again.
“Where’s Icarus?” he asks.
A soft smile touches Pythagoras’ lips at the thought of his young lover. Icarus has lived with him and Hercules ever since their return to Atlantis following the quest to find (and destroy) the Golden Fleece.
“With his father,” he replies. “Daedalus had a new invention to test and Icarus offered to help him.”
His smile widens into an amused grin as Jason shudders at the memory of meeting the irascible old inventor.
“What’s he come up with this time?” Jason asks. “It isn’t likely to blow up the city or anything is it?”
Pythagoras supposes he can see why his friend is concerned - Daedalus’ inventions and experiments can be a bit unpredictable and, given that Jason had finally received the blessing of the Gods and been declared King when Pasiphae was defeated once and for all, the safety of all Atlantis is his friend’s responsibility.
“Nothing like that,” he says. “It is actually more like a new version of an old invention… It is those wings of his. He has made several refinements and created a scale model of them. He was planning to launch it from the cliff overlooking the path to the sea. He needed Icarus down on the path to retrieve the model. I believe that if his modifications are successful, he intends to make a full sized version. Both he and Icarus are very excited about it.”
Jason frowns.
“He’s not planning to have a person test out the full sized version is he?” he says. “I somehow can’t see that being very safe… especially after last time.”
Once again, Pythagoras can see his point - he isn’t too keen on the idea of Icarus tempting fate and trying out the wings again himself; watching Icarus fall from the sky last time was more than enough for him.
“As it happens, I agree with you,” he says. “I have suggested to Icarus that I would be less than happy if he were to test out the wings himself. He has assured me that his father has no such plans at the moment but I cannot help being a little worried. I suspect that any such test would be a long way off though - as far as I understand it, the alterations which Daedalus is making are somewhat radical and will require a great deal of experimentation and recalculation before they are completed to his satisfaction.”
Jason raises an eyebrow.
“So what are you worrying about?” he asks.
“Who says I’m worrying about anything?” Pythagoras counters.
Jason scoffs, folding his arms across his chest and giving Pythagoras a very long look.
“You are out here making tonics that you don’t need just to keep busy,” he says. “I know you. You only do this when you’re upset about something.”
Pythagoras gives a wry grimace. Jason does know him (knows him all too well, in fact) - it is as difficult now to keep anything from either one of his best friends as it ever was.
“It is nothing,” he murmurs, looking down at the table. “I argued with Hercules, that is all. He is angry at me and has gone to the tavern.”
“What did you argue about?” Jason asks and Pythagoras can hear a note in his voice that could almost be described as resignation.
Pythagoras deliberately ignores him and busies himself with grinding some grain, hands moving almost frantically in his distress.
“Pythagoras,” Jason says firmly.
Pythagoras gulps.
“It was about you,” he admits sharply. “Hercules thinks that I am doing no-one any good by clinging onto our friendship… That I should let you go. He says that the past is the past and should be left there.”
“Oh,” Jason says.
Pythagoras keeps looking down at the table, unable to face his friend, hot tears stinging his eyes because this is so damned hard and so damned unfair and he is so angry - both at Hercules for putting him in the position where he feels he has to choose between the two people (aside from Icarus of course) he is closest to, and at Jason for everything that happened in the end.
He doesn’t hear Jason leave (he never does) but gradually he realises that he is alone on the balcony and that his friend has disappeared once more.
Sometimes Pythagoras has nightmares; dreams of things that happened or might have happened if things had gone just a little differently.
An arrow in the dark piercing soft flesh; too low to be called a shoulder injury (although they will all try to convince themselves that that’s all it is); lips turned cherry red from slick blood where the arrow has pierced a lung.
Hercules screaming with rage.
Eyelids fluttering closed, covering familiar eyes.
Pythagoras is lying next to a camp fire.
“Promise me you won’t leave us,” he says softly. “After everything that has happened, I need you to stay.”
Jason half smiles but sighs at the same time. Despite the lure of Medea, he has chosen to stay with his family - his friends, his wife, his children - over everything again and again. It is a choice he will always make if he is given an option. He rolls onto his side to face Pythagoras.
“You know I’ll stay if I can,” he murmurs.
He can’t promise because life is uncertain and who knows what tomorrow will bring? (Surely Pythagoras knows that?) And he’s tired of struggling; of fighting for survival every day.
“That is not good enough,” Pythagoras asserts urgently, his voice almost throbbing with emotion. “I need you to promise me that you are not going anywhere.”
Jason sighs. All he really wants to do is get some sleep and if promising Pythagoras will allow him to do that in peace then that’s what he’ll do.
“Alright,” he says. “I promise.”
There’s the loud crash of unexpected battle; an arrow in the dark; lips stained cherry red as bright blood dribbles from the corners of the mouth; blood stained hands hold a saturated cloth to a ghastly wound.
Hercules screams in rage and frustration.
Eyelids flutter closed and a chest stills.
Pythagoras gasps awake, covered in cold sweat.
It’s just a dream, he tells himself. It didn’t really happen that way.
Beside him, Icarus sleeps peacefully. Pythagoras looks at his lover’s gentle face and smiles: Icarus looks younger than ever in sleep.
Pythagoras rolls out of bed as silently as he can so as not to wake Icarus (although he knows the chances of that happening are slim - Icarus seems to be attuned to him only too well). He pads across the floor, the wooden boards cold against his bare feet and pours himself a cup of water from the jug on the table, retreating to the balcony as is his usual custom. From behind the closed door he can hear Hercules snoring loudly - at least the older man is at home tonight and not passed out drunk in some gutter somewhere.
Looking at the stars, Pythagoras is certain that dawn cannot be more than an hour or two away. The night air is cold but he still slides down to sit against the wall in his usual place (resolutely ignoring the fact that Jason is no longer in his own customary place opposite - reminding him that his friend really doesn’t live here anymore).
He sits there gazing at the stars for some time, allowing his mind to wander back through the past. Feeling warmth down one side, he knows that Icarus has joined him and turns to look at his lover (Icarus knows better than to sit in Jason’s place - he learned that very early on).
“You should still be asleep,” Icarus says. “What woke you? Was it that dream again?”
Pythagoras licks his lips and looks away.
“No,” he lies (lying doesn’t come easy - it never has - and he cannot face Icarus as he does it). “No… I… no. I do not know why I woke up but a new mathematical theory came to me and so I came out here to think about it to try to ascertain whether or not it would work.”
“Right,” Icarus says sceptically. “Of course you did.”
He never directly accuses Pythagoras of lying, although it’s obvious to them both that he doesn’t really believe a word the mathematician is saying. It has become a regular occurrence, this not-quite-telling-each-other-the truth; it is almost like a dance that they do - avoiding talking about the important things; avoiding the elephant in the room.
“Will you come back to bed?” Icarus asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “You never seem to get enough sleep these days.”
Pythagoras hesitates. He doesn’t see the point of going back to bed - sleep will not come again tonight - but he doesn’t want to disappoint Icarus either (feels he does that too often these days).
“Or we could stay out here and talk,” Icarus adds, picking up on Pythagoras’ hesitation. “It might be romantic to watch the sunrise together.”
Pythagoras smiles gratefully at Icarus’ thoughtfulness, his smile growing even wider as a blanket is slipped around both their shoulders until they are cuddling under it. He rests his head against Icarus’ and they talk about inconsequential things until the sun comes up, secure in each other’s love.
“So, how are they doing? The lessons I mean.”
Pythagoras has ceased to be startled by Jason’s unexpected appearances by this point. The nature of the job of King means many cares and little free time. He knows that Jason comes to see him whenever he can.
He was appointed as tutor of the royal children when the first was born (Athene, as beautiful as her mother). It had been a surprise (although perhaps it shouldn’t have been) because he had never been a recognised pedagogue. Still, everything that happened both before and after her coronation - all the betrayals she had suffered (Cilix and Melas and all the others who should have supported her and hadn’t) - has left Ariadne more than a little suspicious of those she doesn’t know. She would rather have a friend to teach her children than a stranger, and Jason has always believed Pythagoras to be the most intelligent man he has ever met; would want no-one else to teach his children.
“They are doing well,” Pythagoras assures his friend. “Athene is not destined to be a scholar, I fear, but for her age she has a good understanding of the laws of Atlantis and of politics. She shows great respect for the Gods in our lessons and grasps our political history very well.” He pauses. “She seems to look a little more like her mother every time I see her,” he admits.
“She’s Ariadne’s daughter alright,” Jason agrees. “She only has to bat her eyelids and I’d do anything she wanted.”
Pythagoras smiles in amusement because all three of the children have had their father wrapped around their little fingers from birth.
“If Athene is Ariadne’s daughter, then Niobe is yours,” he remarks. “In character at least.”
It’s true, and both Jason and Pythagoras know it. Niobe is a cross between her parents in looks (Ariadne’s face shape and eyes; Jason’s wild brown curls and bright smile) but in personality she is her father’s duplicate. She has Jason’s sunny nature and quick temper, and his athletic ability - much to her siblings’ consternation (Pythagoras still does not know for certain but he has a feeling that the girl might be touched by the Gods like her father - although, as she is only eight, it might still be a little soon to tell).
“I suspect that Niobe will be either a scholar or a warrior,” he continues. “She is remarkably bright and I find I am already teaching her additional subjects just to maintain her interest and attention in our lessons… but I believe she longs for adventure. She loves stories of our greatest heroes and asked me the other day whether I felt a girl could learn swordplay and the art of warfare.”
“Atalanta fascinates her,” Jason says with a smile. “I know that Ariadne wants all the children to be taught to defend themselves - the way Minos taught her to use a bow - but I think it should be sooner rather than later with Niobe.”
He sits down at the table opposite Pythagoras and grins, resting his arms loosely on the table top with his wrists crossed.
“And what about Alex?” he asks nonchalantly.
It had caused some consternation both with Ariadne and the rest of the court when Jason had flatly refused to bow to tradition and name their son Alexis after either one of his grandfathers (and Pythagoras knew the Queen still wasn’t really happy that her husband had then shortened the name even further) but he had remained resolute; had said that there needed to be a new start and that the only way to put the past behind them was to give the boy a name with no associations - either good or bad. In many ways he is still the frustratingly stubborn boy who crashed so unexpectedly into all their lives all those years ago now (and it is more years ago than Pythagoras really likes to think - the oldest of his friend’s children, Athene, is already twelve).
Pythagoras pours himself a cup of wine (he still drinks only in moderation (afraid of falling into his father’s vice) but wine is something that they never run out of these days (money is no longer so scarce) although he sometimes wonders if they should - Hercules’ face grows a little more florid every year, his eyes a little more bloodshot and yellowed, and Pythagoras cannot see that the excessive consumption is good for him) and gestures for Jason to join him. Jason demurs (he always does) and Pythagoras toys with his cup as he thinks of his answer.
“Alexis is more interested in learning to hunt and to fight than in his studies at present,” he says at length. “He is bright enough but does not apply himself in the way that his sisters do. He is, I am afraid to say, often late for his lessons and does not pay attention in the manner I would like… but he is still very young.”
“He’s the same age as Niobe,” Jason points out, “and she manages to arrive on time and concentrate.” He sighs. “Ariadne won’t be happy,” he adds. “She’s very keen that all the children should understand their duties and their lessons are part of that.”
“Do not worry,” Pythagoras says with a smile. “Alexis is a charming little boy and I am certain that all three children will be a credit.”
“I’m not worried,” Jason answers, returning Pythagoras’ smile with a grin of his own. “I’d rather they had the chance to play and be children now while they are still young enough to enjoy it. They will grow up soon enough and there will be time enough for them to learn what they need to.”
Pythagoras takes a long sip of his wine, savouring the smooth, rich flavour and stretches, cat-like. The flickering candles light the room with a soft glow and he feels very mellow; completely comfortable and at ease in his friend’s company. Icarus is gone to Pathmos for a few days with his father (Daedalus needs some special supplies that can only be obtained there or something) and Hercules is once again in the tavern, so it is just the two of them (actually, now that he thinks of it, Jason only ever visits when the other two are out these days).
“I have been considering giving up on eating meat,” he says at length. “I have never been all that fond of the flavour to be honest.”
“Why are you telling me?” Jason sounds confused. “It’s a bit of a random thing to come out with.”
“I am telling you because I would value your opinion,” Pythagoras replies. “I am aware that it could be considered to be an unusual step but I have always preferred vegetables and pulses… apart from beans. I have never liked beans.”
Jason grins and shakes his head in amusement.
“Well where I come from there are lots of people who are vegetarian,” he says. “So if it makes you happy then go for it… Hercules might be horrified though.”
Pythagoras laughs.
“Oh I think he might come to terms with it quickly enough… particularly when he realises that it will leave more meat for him,” he answers.
Jason laughs too. The evening is so pleasant and relaxed that for a moment Pythagoras wishes it never had to end.
Pythagoras doesn’t remember much about the day Icarus dies.
He goes to the beach to watch the launch of Daedalus’ ridiculous wings from the cliff top almost in spite of himself. He has told Icarus that he won’t be there after all. They argued both last night and before Icarus left (have argued so many times about this over the past few months; too many times). Pythagoras was certain that the wings were (are) unsafe and has been vocal in expressing that over and over again. Icarus kept arguing that his father knew what he was doing and would never risk Icarus’ life, and so they have gone round and round in circles until they are both sick of it.
Later, when he thinks about it, Pythagoras will remember that the day was fine and the sun hot and that Icarus had been laughing with delight as he had stood on the cliff top; the sun had caught in his caught in his hair until he had seemed to be surrounded by a halo of light.
Pythagoras is still angry at him though, so he doesn’t wish Icarus luck (something he later regrets deeply); just wanders down to the beach to watch the launch from a distance. He watches Icarus take off, gliding higher and higher on the currents of warm air until he is a distant speck, high above.
The first warning that he gets that something is wrong is when he hears distant shouting coming from the cliff top. He’s too far away to make out the words or see the expression on Daedalus’ face but his body language is clear; he has dashed to the very edge of the cliff and is reaching out imploringly towards the distant speck that Icarus makes, shouting towards the sky and, while the words may not be audible to Pythagoras, the desperation in his tone is.
From there, the day becomes a blur. He remembers seeing feathers falling from the sky but he can’t quite remember seeing Icarus plummeting towards the earth to be swallowed up by the waves (something that he should possibly be grateful for because it’s an image he really doesn’t want).
He vaguely remembers Hercules holding him back, yelling loudly and swearing (alternately cursing and praying to every god that he thinks might be possibly listening). He remembers sinking down onto the sand and refusing to leave; it’s dark by the time that Hercules gives up trying to cajole him and simply throws him over his shoulder to take him home. He supposes that the boats launched to search for Icarus must have come back to shore by then (because they can hardly search after dark when they can’t see anything) and he supposes that they probably go out again the next morning (searching for the body because no-one believes they will find Icarus alive by that point) but he doesn’t really know; doesn’t remember.
He knows Ariadne was here at some point; he is certain he heard her voice calmly sending her guards away and felt her soft hands running through his hair. Hercules shoves a cup into his hand with the gruff instruction to drink it all down. It’s more wine than he would usually drink in one go and has a bitter aftertaste that tells him it has been laced with one of his own calming tonics (he suspects Ariadne has found it for Hercules because his old friend has never been able to tell one tonic from the other and left to his own devices would undoubtedly have given him a draught to soothe a cough or sort out a hangover) but he drinks it down without complaint; too shocked by everything that has happened today to think clearly or object to his friends’ ministrations.
Now it is hours later, he is lying on his bed alone in the dark and the tears have finally come; he sobs silently into his pillow, unwilling to make a fuss; not wanting to upset anyone else with his grief. There have been other people coming and going all evening (although Pythagoras has not been aware enough to identify who they were) but through it all Hercules has remained a constant comforting presence. Now though, even he has sought his bed, worn out by the events of the day.
Gradually, Pythagoras begins to feel a warm weight against his back and a pair of gentle but strong arms that wrap themselves around him comfortingly. For a moment he can revel in the warmth and pretend that it is Icarus there in bed with him (where he should be at this time of night) - but the arms don’t feel quite like Icarus’ and the scent of the person with him is wrong; it is a scent that has always been (and always will be) peculiarly Jason.
“Why are you here?” Pythagoras says, his voice hitching with sobs; burying his face into the pillow.
“You need me,” Jason murmurs gently.
Pythagoras lets out a shuddering breath.
“I want him back,” he says. “Jason, I want him here.”
He feels Jason sigh against his back.
“I know,” Jason admits. “And I wish there was a way I could bring Icarus back to you. I wish there was something I could do… but it’s just not in my power.”
“Then what use are you?” Pythagoras demands bitterly.
He doesn’t really mean it though and they both know it.
Jason’s arms tighten around him.
“Maybe none,” he admits, “but I still think you need someone with you right now.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Pythagoras says despairingly.
“Sleep,” Jason answers. “Just sleep. It’s late and you are exhausted. I won’t say things will look better in the morning because I don’t think they will… but you’ll be able to face them better if you get some rest now.”
“I am not sure that I can,” Pythagoras replies.
“I know,” Jason says. “Just close your eyes and try to rest. I’m going to stay right here for as long as you need me.”
“You do not have to stay,” Pythagoras protests. “I know that you cannot stay for long. You should not even be here at all. Especially this late at night.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Pythagoras,” Jason murmurs.
Pythagoras feels himself dissolving into helpless tears again. It’s the unexpected kindness that undoes him; it’s not that Jason is ever unkind, it’s more that he’s always been the less physically demonstrative of Pythagoras’ two closest friends - has always shown his love for his friends in other ways; has never been one to initiate a hug. So for him to be here, now, holding Pythagoras as he cries speaks volumes.
He rolls onto his back and feels Jason tugging him towards him, murmuring comforting nonsense that Pythagoras can neither properly hear nor make sense of in his distressed state. He buries his head in Jason’s shoulder and lets his heart break openly.
Finally, he has no more tears left to cry. He feels drained; empty and bone-achingly tired. Encouraged by his friend, he allows his gritty eyes to drift shut and sleep to take him.
The next few days pass in a blur. Pythagoras isn’t there when they find Icarus’ body (Hercules won’t let him go back to the beach after that first day; doesn’t want him to see) and bring him back to his father’s house (and really shouldn’t they have brought Icarus home to him? It has been years since Icarus lived in his father’s house after all). Daedalus is a broken man but Pythagoras can’t find the sympathy and kindness in his heart to feel sorry for him. He had warned them (warned them repeatedly) that the wings weren’t bloody well safe - had never wanted Icarus to make that flight - but his objections had been waved away and he had been dismissed as overly cautious, and look where that has left them.
He goes with Hercules to see Icarus’ body where it’s laid out in Daedalus’ house-cum-workshop and to make arrangements for the funeral. He knows that Ariadne has offered to make all the arrangements (and to pay for everything - she feels that is the least she owes Icarus after all they went through together on the Argo) but this is something he needs to do for himself.
Icarus no longer looks like himself. Pythagoras doesn’t know why he is surprised - he knows anatomy after all; knows the changes that take place after death; and knows that Icarus’ body was floating in the sea for a couple of days, so there are bound to be some changes. He insists on laying out the body himself; on preparing Icarus for his journey to the underworld; refuses to allow the corpse bearers to do the job. It is the last practical thing he can do for his lover and it isn’t as if this is the first time he has had to perform the task for someone - he can hardly be said to be squeamish.
The funeral itself is a simple one. Icarus is laid to rest in his family plot alongside his long dead mother with the coin to pay Charon for his passage resting in his mouth. The funeral procession itself is small - just Pythagoras, Hercules and Daedalus start out from Daedalus’ house in the still air just before the dawn. It is a surprise (although perhaps it shouldn’t be really) when Ariadne, dressed in the simple clothes of a peasant rather than her rich robes, joins them in one of the side streets near to the Sacred Way (clearly having evaded the Palace guards to come here alone), following the burial cart as it makes its slow way to the burial ground by the Western Gate. Before they reach the burial grounds, Pythagoras looks back and finds that Jason has also joined them, moving on silent feet at the back of the group. Jason half smiles at him and nods a greeting. He stays at the back of the group, knowing perhaps that Hercules, in particular, would not acknowledge his presence and not wishing to disrupt the proceedings.
At the graveside, Pythagoras makes a libation to the Gods and offers up the traditional prayer, then Icarus is buried (he does allow the corpse bearers to do this bit - has no wish to dig Icarus’ grave himself) and they all return home. There will be other prayers and offerings in the quiet of their own homes, of course, but for now the ritual is complete.
As they turn to go, Pythagoras can’t help noticing that Jason has slipped away again. Perhaps it is for the best though - he can’t bear the thought of there being an unpleasant scene at Icarus’ graveside.
Time seems to stop now that he no longer has the arrangements for the funeral to focus on. Hercules is constantly at his side (a solid, comforting presence) and when he isn’t there Jason is (if Pythagoras didn’t know better he would think that they have organised it between them). They keep him company and stop him from focussing too much on what he has lost; cajole him to eat and bully him into sleeping. It’s probably a good thing that they do; he’s not really up to living or thinking for himself at the moment - merely going through the motions of life - and left to his own devices he probably wouldn’t bother to eat or sleep.
Sometimes he’s grateful for their attentions; other times he’s angry (so angry) and lashes out with cruel words. He doesn’t really mean it and it’s not their fault but he can’t seem to help himself; he’s bitter and grieving and nothing seems right with the world anymore. It is to their credit that neither one of his friends takes offence when he lashes out (although Hercules does take himself off to the tavern at times to help him keep his temper and Jason always appears shortly after he leaves - Pythagoras has ceased to question how he knows).
Gradually though, Pythagoras finds himself returning to life without really knowing how or when it’s happened. He returns to teaching the royal children at the Palace, sharing a meal and a flagon of wine with Hercules in the evenings and working on his triangles and his theories in his spare time, and if he smiles less than he used to then surely that’s only to be expected really.