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Pythagoras could understand numbers; he looked at them, and saw pictures, colours, shapes. Give him an equation, and he could tell you the answer in a heartbeat. Emotions? Not so much.

Pythagoras tried to understand people; but when he looked at them, he only saw anxious eyes, nervous ticks, untold secrets. Give him a secret, and it would rest on his heart eternally. That was, to him, the definition of the truth.

Words were a problem, too. They emerged short, sharp, bitter - or they rambled on, rolling over each other, discarding their true meaning. Ever since Jason had arrived, it had only worsened.

"Morning, Pythagoras. How are you?"

"Concentrating."

And that is an example of a typical conversation. Pythagoras, of course, would have preferred to show his true feelings...but...

"Morning, Pythagoras. How are you?"

"Head over heels in love with you, if you must know; but you never will, because you've fallen for the bloody princess. Oh, and sleep deprived, because when I imagine you lying in the next room, I can't help but stay awake. Apart from that, I'm perfectly alright. Can you drag Hercules out of the tavern? He's pining over Medusa, and it's your turn to face the music."

No, that wouldn't go down too well. So, he stayed apart; separated his body from his thoughts, speaking only when necessary, keeping himself to himself; and he was fine was that. And never, lying on his back, hearing Jason breathe in the other room, did he wish for anything else. Never, when being pulled into a rough embrace, covered in sweat and bruises, did he wish for a smile. Never, scribbling formulae alone, did he wish for the pressure of lips against his; because that would be wrong, and immature, and ridiculous.

Sometimes, he wished anyway; even though he knew he didn't deserve it.

Pythagoras loved Jason. He'd known it since he met him; the look in his eyes - the confusion, the panic, the strength. Through it all, Jason had been strong - and that, perhaps, was what had attracted the mathematician in the first place.

It didn't feature that Jason had been very, very topless, and very, very handsome. It was just the eyes.

Completely and utterly.

Ariadne loved Jason. It was perfectly obvious - every time Pythagoras looked up, it was there, glaring him in the face: those idle, unnecessary touches, those lingering glances, they way she smiled at him. Sometimes, Pythagoras just wanted to crawl into a small hole, and never emerge; because, stuffy as it would almost certainly become, it had to be better than watching the two of them.

"Have you seen Jason?" Straight to the point, as always.

He likes you!

"I can't say that I have, princess. Have you tried the temple? He always seems to be down there."

Looking for you, most likely.

"Pythagoras!"

And now he decides to appear! Awkward, awkward, awkward-

"Jason, there's someone here who wants to talk to you."

You like her!

"Oh...I don't mean to be rude, but can it wait? You see, I - Ariadne!"

Here we go-

"Good morning, Jason. Can I have a word?"

She likes you!

"Of course...see you later, Pythagoras?"

Ask to court her! Now!

"Naturally. Have fun!"

End my pain, I beg of you! Please!

It never happened, of course; they were both too good to see it...or, perhaps, Ariadne was waiting for him to.

(Silently, Pythagoras thanked the gods that they were both so blind.)

Jason loved Ariadne. It was written, clear as day, for all to see; every midnight visit to see 'the Oracle' - because although Pythagoras may struggle to understand innuendos, he wasn't born yesterday. How could someone see the Oracle that many times a week? Unless Jason had a previously unknown and possibly magical destiny, it was impossible. And yes, Jason was heroic, and yes he vaulted bulls (in a decidedly sexy manner) like it was easy - but it wasn't because he was destined to save Atlantis, or anything. That would be absurd. Obviously.

Therefore, Jason's nightly trips to the temple could only have one meaning - Ariande. And if that thought did eat Pythagoras up inside, then who was to know? Who was to care? Certainly not Hercules: most of the time, he was drowning himself in the tavern. More often that not, it was up to a certain blonde to drag him home at the end of an evening, reeking of fumes and perfume.

At least he was predictable. At least he was normal. At least he was safe. Jason never was; and somehow, Pythagoras loved him for it (because honestly, what wasn't to love?).

Pythagoras loved Hercules. Not in a romantic kind of way - more like in a 'moronic sibling who's too drunk for his own good' style. That wasn't to say it wasn't just as intense, in its own way; Hercules was more of a brother to the younger man than Arcas ever could be. This, in itself, was good. Firm. Solid. Stable. With Hercules (oaf that he was), you knew exactly where you stood; there were no margins, no mistakes, no blurred lines. Everything was neat - tidy - accurate. Just the way Pythagoras liked it...except when he didn't.

"Hercules, where are my diagrams?"

"Diagrams? Oh, you mean those! Well-"

"Why. Are. They. In. The. Street?!?"

"Err...Jason did it?"

"Liar!"

"You needed a break! Pythagoras, why are you holding that? Pythagoras, put that d-"

But, whatever came between them, they were always friends - even when one was sporting a black eye, and the other was snatching pieces of paper from the flagstones, and hissing at passers-by when they came too close. Eventually, Jason had to lead him inside, and forcibly tear the sheaf from his hands.

Because that's what friendship is, isn't it? Telling someone when to stop. And forgiveness, over a flagon of mead. And triangles. And long, sharp rulers.

Life was like that.

On some days, Pythagoras swore the whole world was out to get him. Because, in order to escape Jason's constant stream of 'Ariadne-did-this-Ariadne-did-that-did-you-hear-about-Ariadne?', he'd pretended to be in desperate need of a stylus, and had dashed off to the market place. And who should he meet, whilst pretending to browse a particularly unappetizing fruit stall, with an ache in his chest and triangles in his mind?

"Hello, Pythagoras."

Who else could it be but Ariadne?

"How can I help?" She was just as beautiful as Jason said; even more so, in fact. Dark curls, chestnut eyes, slate-black lashes - practically Jason's female clone. And nothing like the mathematician; not that he cared. Pythagoras had known about her looks long before Jason flew through his window.

"I have a...personal matter, to discuss with you." Pythagoras nodded, wishing himself anywhere but in that alley, up against that (metaphorical and literal) wall.

"And that would be...?"

"It concerns Jason."

"Yes...?"

"He is attracted to you."

Pythagoras almost dropped the fruit he was holding. "Come again?"

"He is attracted to you," Ariadne repeated, dark hair gleaming blue, "and you should tell him you want him."

Pythagoras's brain was, usually, rather reliable. But at this point, it conveniently decided to go to sleep.

"I - um - he - I - he and I - no - no, you must be mistaken - err - goodbye-"

Beautiful speech thus promptly ended, Pythagoras spun on his heel, and ran away.

It couldn't be true, of course - Ariadne was simply manipulating them for her own means, whatever they were - or perhaps she'd simply been mistaken. Yes, that would be it. It would be all too easy to infer...certain things, from the way Jason sometimes looked at him, and the way Jason's hand sometimes rested on his shoulder, and the way they always stood side by side. It would be easy to infer an all manner of things - but all of them were wrong. Every last one.

And besides, Jason had never shown any inclination of being...interested in Pythagoras. Most of the time, he simply traipsed around after Ariadne, wielding his sword in an impressive manner...

Anyway, Ariadne was mistaken, and Jason didn't like him, and Pythagoras was far too busy (with his triangles, which weren't actually alive) to ever entertain any notions of the sort. It was hardly proper for two gentlemen to court, anyway - that was public opinion, at least. The people of Atlantis weren't exactly known for being open-minded.

"Pythagoras, did...err...did you happen to meet Ariadne, today?" With a start, the mathematician looked away from his parchment, feeling his ears flush.

"I did, actually. She said...some things."

"Some things?" Pythagoras nodded, as Jason rubbed the back of his neck, tunic riding up his hips - and really, that sort of thing shouldn't be allowed.

"Yes." Looking back down at the page, the blonde stared at his triangles, willing the formula to appear - because he could just taste it, on the tip of his tongue - if Jason just left him alone, then he'd actually be able to concentrate-

"I like you," Jason blurted out, "I mean, I'm in love with you."

Pythagoras was incapable of speech. And movement. And thought. He made a noise surprisingly similar to a chicken. "What?"

"I'm in love with you," Jason said, swallowing, "I - well - I can't stop it. I know...Ariadne..." Pythagoras stood up, and walked around the table. Jason's eyes tracked him, as he came to a halt. "I know I'm not a hero, Pythagoras...I'm not the great warrior I'm meant to be. But I could be. One day."

"You idiot," Pythagoras said - and leaned in, heart pounding like a stampede of horses, and drew their lips together.