Some cutesy friendship stuff, Jason's POV. Pre-Amnesiac!Jason. Mostly dialog, because I love mostly dialogs. Also, I love reviews. Do something about that, okay? Ermph, there's backstory here, but I think it'll be easy to figure out.

Disclaimer: Jason is not mine. If he was, he wouldn't be blond. Or an amnesiac.

Late (a Jason legacy)

"Hurry up!"

Bobby is at least a block ahead of me as we run towards the Via Praetoria. Almost time for the legion to assemble, bear the standards, blah blah blah, dinner. He's running. I'm… speed-walking.

"Relax, it's not like we'll be -" Up ahead, the legionnaires put their shields up, turning the Via Praetoria into a sea of red, gold and purple.

"- late." I finished. "Well, damn." No point in rushing if we're already late, so I slow down.

"You realize this is like, the third time we've been late this week." Bobby says conversationally. Being late is nothing new for us. It's sort of a ritual now, the two of us running down the centre of the legion to get to our places. Maybe it should become official. We could call it two awesome dudes run down the middle of the legion, or something. And everyone could cheer.

I'm serious, it has potential.

"I wonder what they'll make us do?"

"Scrub the bullpens again?"

"Nah, that was yesterday. Maybe they'll make us pick gum off the coliseum benches?"

"Last week, man. Dishes?"

"Dishes? That's stupid."

"Not if it's with lava dishwashing soap."

"Please. They're way more creative than that."

"I dunno, man. I think they're running out of ideas. I mean, they made us do the streets twice in a row."

We're walking now. Strolling, actually, with our hands in our pockets. Our swag cannot be fully described, for we are so awesome. Honouree the Cleaning Lady waves at us. We wave back. As Mr. Perumal walks past us, he says, "Late again, boys? You'd better hurry up. They're getting kind of antsy."

"It was Bobby's fault, I swear. He was trying to flirt with some of the aurae, and I had to save him from getting his soul sucked out. I'm serious!"

"Uh-huh. That's what you said yesterday, if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh. My bad. Wait, let me figure something out."

"Jeez, Jason. You're so bad at this. And to think of all the experience you've had." Bobby shakes his head at me and grins. "I'll do it this time."

"Whatever."

"Hey, I thought of the fun fact of the day."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It goes like this: Jason Grace once made a guy bleed to death, using only a rubber duck."

"Where'd I get the rubber duck from?"

"I think the dude walked into the baths and did not immediately bow down to your awesomeness."

"Ah. Makes sense. He totally had it coming, though I'm not sure what the rubber duck did to deserve that."

By this time, we have arrived at the Via Praetoria, and are being glared at by hundreds of eyes. It's a bit creepy.

"We're here!" Bobby calls out to the waiting legion, throwing his arms out for effect. I think we pushed it a bit far today. They look pissed. More than usual, I mean. As we run down to our places, I see Reyna shaking her head at me. Of course she'd be on time. One day when I am praetor, she will be my official time person. Unless she is the other praetor. Then she will be the reason I am overthrown and murdered with a shovel.

"And why are you late today?" The praetor asks us, narrowing his eyes. I get the feeling that he doesn't like us very much. I wonder why?

"I'm so sorry; it's just that I had to coax Jason out of his hole. He's just so sad and pathetic, you see. I had to save him from himself." Bobby points at me, and I do my very best to look sad and pathetic. It was a very hard thing to do, but I think I managed it in the end.

The praetor sighs. And tells us to go, waving his hand over his eyes. We start to walk away, grinning at being able to get away without punishment, but then he calls us back.

"Jason, Bobby."

"Joe."

"The coliseum is looking dusty."

"Yes, Joe."

"You're getting off easy this time. Next time, it'll be the barracks."

"Thanks, Joe. You're a knockout." I attempt to be sarastical. But I am not sure whether that is a word or not.

"A knockout? What the hell, Jason? Who says that?" Bobby asks as we walk away. He looks incredulous.

"Um, Lee's old 80's movies?"

"Don't tell me she's been watching those again."

"Yeah. I think it's a pregnancy thing."

"Hey, have you chosen a name?"

"She said no to Saxophone Grace and Marzipan Grace. Basically, she said no to naming the kid after me."

"Fair enough. Not like the kid's unlucky enough to be related to you. You could name it Bobby."

"Hey! Even if we're not related technically, it's still going to my sister. Or brother. Besides, Bobby is almost as bad as 'knockout'."

"I know, right?"

"Seriously, what was your dad thinking?"

"He was knocked out."

"That's for damn sure."

"I bet the kid's going to be a knockout."

"Obviously."

"I'm serious though. Why does she watch those things? The US government uses them as torture weapons. And honestly, how haven't the tapes crumbled to dust yet?"

"They're knockouts."

"No, seriously."

"Well, it's better than nothing. Imagine I'd been adopted by Mrs de Broglie, or someone." I stop in my tracks.

"Oh my gods, I think I just mentally scarred myself for life."

"Me, too. Jeez, Jason, why would you even put that image into my head? That's wrong. So totally and completely wrong, that there should be an embargo on that idea. Actually, just mentioning her having kids or raising kids or having anything to do with kids should be a terrorist offence."

"Terrorism to who?"

"Children. And Bobby's."

"Well, I have to admit. She is a knockout."

When Jason was that cutesy 2-year-old, he was adopted by a lady named Lee. She is pregnant when this story takes place. Jason Grace is the Chuck Norris of Camp Jupiter. According to me, anyway. And Mrs de Broglie? She's up to you. But suffice it to say that she is not very nice. Review, and tell me who you think she is. (Ha, what a subtle way to influence you to review. I think I may have a gift at subtly influencing.)

EDIT: OHYES, I took the fun fact from the first thing that popped up when I googled Chuck Norris. So it is not mine. Just the capital letters. And stuff.

Love.