absence makes the heart grow fonder; an odysseus/penelope, lito fic.
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is another in my series of "mythfics", to borrow the term from my darling etzyofi. In order to fully appreciate these, be sure to look at my Greek Gods in Modern Times casting picspams ( Part One, Part Two, and Part Three). I'm also including a "cast list" at the beginning of the fic just as a refresher as to who's playing who.)
FEATURING:
absence makes the heart grow fonder, odysseus/penelope, pg-13
When a woman is patient enough to wait fifteen years for her man to return, you know he’s got to be one hell of a man.
(Dedicated to fairandbright, who reminded me that I had a whole passel of delicious heroes to work with, and requested Odysseus/Penelope.)
I can’t wait to hold you again, Penelope, to kiss you and hear your voice and laugh again. Know that you are what has kept me going through all of the blood and dirt and pain. I have struggled and fought for you and our son, and I know that when I am home I will feel that it was all worth it in the end. (6,551 words)
The first night, she cried.
She blamed her hormones-the stress of giving birth coupled with then kissing her husband goodbye and watching him step onto the Greyhound bus with his green duffel bag over his right shoulder.
Penelope prided herself on her self-sufficiency. She stood firm in her decision to raise Telemachus herself, without a bevy of nurses and nannies. But on that first night after her husband had left for war, she thanked the gods that her son slept peacefully in his crib while she muffled her sobs in her pillow.
It was four months before she could sleep through the night without waking in a cold sweat.
---
He wrote to her every night on the battlefield. It helped keep back the screaming horrors of the day. Sometimes it would be a week, even two, before he could mail them. But there would always be a letter per day.
Until the night Hector fell. That night, shame burned inside of him. What Achilles had done to that noble man’s body had not been right; that was not the way to treat an honorable foe. And he had been unable to stop it. He couldn’t write to Penelope with such second-hand guilt on his conscience.
He spent that night thinking of his son, a boy he knew only through photos and Penelope’s letters. Telemachus would be six in a couple months; he’d be learning how to ride a bike without training wheels, and how to properly climb a tree. He was missing it all.
And then Achilles fell. And that night, there was no letter, either.
---
The war is over, she read as the tears fell on to the page. The city has finally fallen, with great cost of life-but it is over. They tell us we have ‘won’, that we are heroes, and they praise my ingenuity. The men will barely let me move without congratulating me or offering me gifts. It seems as though every general and colonel has stopped by my tent to shake my hand. Everyone has started to call me Odysseus the Wise.
But it is difficult to feel very wise when so many good men have fallen; when so many innocent people had to perish in the fires and the fighting through the city. I am only glad that it is over, and that I am coming home to you and our son.
We set off in only two weeks, as soon as the treaties are signed and sealed. I’ve been given permission to use the satellite system at 5 PM EST on the 18th, for Telemachus’ birthday, to speak to you both before we leave.
I can’t wait to hold you again, Penelope, to kiss you and hear your voice and laugh again. Know that you are what has kept me going through all of the blood and dirt and pain. I have struggled and fought for you and our son, and I know that when I am home I will feel that it was all worth it in the end.
Love you always,
Odysseus
---
“Do you know who that is?” Penelope asked, her eyes stinging with joy.
“Dad,” Telemachus said solemnly, already so serious and mature at ten. He raised a small hand and waved at the computer screen.
“Happy birthday, son,” Odysseus said, an impossibly huge grin on his weathered and tanned face. “Did you get any cool presents?”
“Grandfather got me a horse,” he said. “It’s black. I think I’ll name him Arthur.”
“That’s a great name. I’ve got a really neat present for you, too-I’ll give it to you when I get home.”
“You’re coming home now?”
“Yep, in just a few days. What do you want to do first, after I’m home?”
“Can we go see a movie? There’s a neat one with pirates in it I wanna see.”
Odysseus laughed, a full-bodied laugh of joyful abandon. “Sure thing, of course we can. Does it have any monsters in it?”
“Oh yeah, a big octopus thingy with giant suckers and a hundred teeth!”
“Sounds awesome. Are you having a fun summer break?”
“Yeah-my friend Peisistratus comes over all the time. We’ve got a bug collection,” he confided. “And we find fossils in the forest and climb trees and stuff. I think I want to be a mountain man when I grow up and just live in the forest, it’s full of cool things.”
“You need to know a lot about plants and animals if you want to be a mountain man,” Odysseus said seriously. “What’s good to eat and what to stay away from, stuff like that. And you have to be really strong, so you can move big rocks and cut down trees.”
“Oh I can do all that,” Telemachus said dismissively with the supreme confidence of youth. “I can shoot a bow and arrow farther than Grandfather, and I know what poison ivy looks like and all that. George-he works in the stables-he knows all about nature and he’s been teaching me everything he knows.”
“That’s really good, son. I’m glad to hear it. You should never stop practicing and learning. Can I have a minute to talk to Mum alone?”
“Sure,” Telemachus said lightly. “Bye, Dad. See you soon.”
“Very soon. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He hopped off his mother’s lap and ambled away, picking up the butterfly net he’d left by the door.
“It’s been so long,” Penelope said quietly. “Part of me can’t believe it’s finally over.”
“I know. I’m so sorry for all of this, Penelope. Ten years is far too long to ask anyone to wait.”
“You never had to ask me, dearest. There was never any question. You were doing what you had to, for the good of us all, and I’m so proud of you. More than words could ever say.”
His eyes were bright with unshed tears as he reached out a callused hand to touch the computer screen before him. “Ten years, with only letters and short phone calls. I’ve missed so much-Telemachus doesn’t even know me.”
“He knows you,” she said firmly, pressing her hand to the image of his, thousands of miles away. “I’ve told him everything I could about you. Of your courage and cleverness and goodness. He does know you, and he loves you. He’s asked me, nearly every night, when his daddy would be back to play with him. He’s so excited to see you in person-he’s just a quiet boy, he doesn’t show his emotions often.”
“I love you so much it hurts,” he murmured.
“Be sure to show me just how much you’ve missed me when you get home,” she replied with a smile.
Someone was shouting in the background. He turned to look back for a moment. “I’ve got to go, sweetheart. Got some things to tie up before we can leave. I’ll see you in four days.”
“I’m counting down the minutes.”
“Love you always, Penelope.”
“And forever, Odysseus.”
---
A week later the news finally came: Odysseus’ ship had been blown off course in a freak storm, with no sign of where the ship or crew had ended up. There had been no evidence of wreckage-it was as if the entire craft and all two hundred on board had simply vanished.
Search parties combed the waters, but to no avail. After two months, the investigation was closed. The ocean was big, but it wasn’t that big; it wasn’t as if there were any uncharted areas left in this day and age.
Odysseus and his men were listed as missing, and their ship’s disappearance became the sort of mystery people spoke of whenever the Bermuda Triangle was brought up in conversation.
A year passed, and still Penelope clung to hope. There had been no sign of a sinking, no bodies found, there was still a chance (no matter how slim) that Odysseus was alive and struggling to find his way back to her.
Her parents comforted her for the first year, speaking gently to her and offering their assistance with the house and the stocks and the investments. But then they began to speak of moving on and letting go. They brought handsome young men from their clubs to the house for dinner and encouraged her to “try dating again, nothing serious, just to get to know new people”. She refused, time and again, until they began to lose their patience.
“It’s been three years, Penelope,” her mother exclaimed. “You’re still a beautiful young woman, with a lot to give! You have a son to think of-he needs a father. And it’s not as if Odysseus was ever going to be much in that department, missing his son’s entire childhood. There are plenty of fine men out there who would treat you like a goddess!”
“I don’t want to be treated like a goddess,” she said bitterly. “I just want my man back. My man, the one I’ve loved since I was fifteen years old.”
“That’s all very well and good, darling,” her mother said. “We’ve all admired your loyalty and faithfulness, and it’s charming that you and Odysseus have been committed to each other since high school. It’s like a modern fairy tale, I know. But he’s dead, Penelope, and it’s no good wasting your life away to cherish a ghost.”
“He’s not dead,” Penelope replied firmly. “He is not. Show me his body, prove to me that he is gone, and only then will I abandon him.”
Her mother tisked and threw up her arms in dramatic despair.
But it was clear that neither side in the argument would be swayed. From that night forward, the house would be loud with the revelry of parties and dozens of would-be suitors would crowd close to the remote, distant Penelope. Each tried to win her attention and affection, each would leave the next morning disappointed only to return again at sundown.
Telemachus, no longer a naïve boy and on his way to manhood, watched it all from the shadows of the staircase. His fists clenched every time his mother’s hollow, sad eyes met his, every time a would-be-father tried to touch her arm. And always, in the back of his mind, was the true father he still had faith would return to put an end to the spectacle.
---
It was far from a pleasant cruise. When the storm had seized them, there had been a moment when his heart had quailed and he had thought them all lost. Waves had swept across the deck with such force, he was sure they would all be thrown into the briny crush and drown in agony.
But then the sudden squall had disappeared, leaving behind smooth seas and a cloudless day. The men had recollected themselves, shaking the salt from their eyes, and gazed about in wonder.
Because something strange and unsettling had happened-they were no longer in familiar waters. The stars overhead at night were foreign and unplottable, and there was never any sign of land or recognizable marks.
It was as if the entire ship had been scooped up and deposited on an alien ocean.
For weeks they sailed, until the supplies were running low and morale had plummeted into the deepest holds. Mutinous muttering had seized the men, and Odysseus found himself the unexpected focal point of their anger and unease.
“It’s his fault,” some of the men whispered. “Odysseus the Wise. More like Odysseus the Cocky, Odysseus the Unprepared.”
Suddenly he was at fault. It was because of his lack of foresight, his insolence and disrespect that they were lost at sea and leagues away from home. Odysseus could not explain himself, and had no idea why he would have invoked such a punishment.
Finally, land was sighted. It was a joyous moment, and for a second all grudges and discourtesies were forgotten in the rush of relief. There was a dock, as if provided by the gods, and the crew disembarked without a second thought, eager for food and solid ground and a way to communicate their position to the outside world.
But Odysseus was uneasy. Something about this apparent paradise felt askew and unpleasant. Why were there so many fat pigs rooting around the fruit trees and streams? Why was there no sign of human life on the habitable shore? This was prime real estate, but there was no sign of development.
“Wait,” Odysseus ordered, and in their joy the men obeyed without question. “Don’t eat anything, don’t touch anything, until we’ve properly explored. Something doesn’t seem right.”
The men divided into three groups, each led by a level-headed and resourceful man of Odysseus’ choosing. As they spread out, Odysseus and the ten men he’d chosen remained close to the dock, the last line of defense should any hostile forces appear.
Odysseus was examining a large orange tree, full to bursting with delicious fruit, when a sudden voice over his right shoulder startled him. The consummate soldier, Odysseus had his gun raised and cocked before he even turned.
“Easy there, Rambo,” the stranger said with a cheeky smile. He hardly blended in with the tropical vegetation, dressed in a pair of jeans, waistcoat, and scarf, a black fedora cocked at an angle on his head. “Just dropping in for some friendly advice.”
“And who are you, friend, to be giving friendly advice?”
“The name’s Hermes.” He held out a gloved hand-the fingertips had been cut off, Odysseus noted-for the soldier to shake. “I’ve been sent by my cousin, Athena, to warn you.”
“Athena?”
“She’s taken a bit of an interest in you, sir,” Hermes said with a knowing wink. “Likes the cut of your jib, or something to that effect. Anyway, I’m supposed to tell you to be careful with that bitch up on the hill.”
Odysseus stared at him blankly for a moment. “Pardon?”
“I swear, this was a lot easier in the old days,” Hermes muttered to himself.
Before Odysseus could demand an explanation, there was a violent rustling in the lush vegetation. The two turned sharply just as one of Odysseus’ men burst free, all breathlessness and frenzy.
“Sir, you’ll never believe me, sir, but I swear I know what I saw,” the man gasped.
“Eurylochus, take a deep breath and report,” Odysseus ordered.
“Yes, sir. We found a mansion up on the hill, sir, in the middle of a clearing. There was a beautiful woman there-she said her name was Circe, and that she owned this island. She asked us all in for refreshment, was the picture of politeness, but when the others had started to eat, she, she…” Eurylochus took another deep breath, straightened fully to attention, and said, “She did something and turned them all into pigs, sir.”
Odysseus stared blankly for a moment. “She did something and turned them into pigs.”
“Yessir, something with a wand. Like she’s a witch or something.”
“…And why didn’t she turn you into a pig?”
“I didn’t eat anything, sir. I had a bad feeling, like what you said when we landed. I wanted to come straight back and report, but the others were just so hungry, sir.”
“See, what did I tell you?” Hermes interjected with a satisfied air. “You’ve gotta be careful with the bitch up on the hill.”
“Okay,” Odysseus turned back to the mysterious newcomer. “You seem to be a man in the know. How do I help my men and deal with this Circe?”
“You need some holy moly,” Hermes replied with a remarkably straight face.
“You know, usually I’ve got a pretty good sense of humor,” Odysseus said slowly, examining his gun. “But right now, at this moment, my humor’s wearing a bit thin.”
“Geesh, you mortals, always in such a hurry,” Hermes complained.
“I haven’t seen my wife or son in over ten years. I think I’ve the right to be a little impatient.”
“Whoa, I’d say. Okay, here’s what you do. You take this plant right here…”
---
“You repay my hospitality with threats of violence?” she said, arching an elegant eyebrow in surprise.
“I don’t want to shoot you,” he replied mildly, gun still level and steady, refusing to blink in the face of her cool reserve.
“Of course you don’t. I’m very beautiful, and you must have been at sea for a very long time,” she said knowingly.
“You were ready to turn me and my men into pigs,” Odysseus said. “Do you really think I’d want to sleep with you after that?”
“All men are pigs,” she said blithely. “It’s just a question of how swinish.”
Odysseus whistled softly. “Lady, someone really did a number on you, didn’t he?”
“So what do you want, hero?” she demanded, leaning back in her throne-like chair, her hair an ebony cascade over her pale shoulders. “Wealth? Power?”
“I want my men returned to normal. I want safe supplies for our voyage. And I want clear directions back to the mainland. No funny business.”
“I must say, you’re intriguing, Odysseus,” she said with a sharp smile. “You’ve got a brain in that pretty head-a rarity in a soldier.”
“Flattery will only get you so far,” he warned. “I’m a man of action, too, and right now I don’t want to waste time bandying compliments with you, Circe.”
“Very well,” Circe said irritably. She waved what looked to be a gnarled walking stick; abruptly the pigs that had been milling around the trestle table stood up as men, looking a bit disconcerted and foolish as they patted at their reformed faces.
“You’ll find plenty of food and drink in the kitchens,” she said. “I haven’t touched any of it. Take what you need and go.”
“Directions?”
“Sail north for five days, then directly west for a week. Simple.”
“I certainly hope it is,” said Odysseus. “I would hate to have to come back here if you steer us wrong.”
“You think you’re something special,” Circe said with narrowed eyes. “You’re just another man, a mortal. What gives you the right to lord over anyone?”
“At this very moment, the gun doesn’t hurt,” Odysseus said with a cheeky grin. “There are some perks to being a war hero.”
“And that’s something to brag of-being the instrument of death? Does it help you sleep at night, those medals and accolades? Does it help you to forget the faces of the men you’ve killed?”
“No,” he said soberly. “But I think I’ll sleep a lot easier in a couple days, just as soon as I’m home.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Circe said darkly as Odysseus and his men left, boxes of food and barrels of water in their arms.
---
Telemachus had been thirteen when the suitors first came to the house, carrying gold-lettered invitations from his grandparents. He had been confused, and somewhat frightened by the loud strangers who were overbearingly forward and masculine. He would hide in the kitchen pantry, under tables, at the head of the stairs when they arrived. He watched them, unnoticed, and he kept account of their flaws and vices on a mental notebook.
He was fourteen now, and while the nightly parties had become familiar and expected, they were no less enjoyed or anticipated. He hated them all, with a fire that burned in his blood; he felt helpless in the corner, watching silently as his mother grew paler and quieter.
During the day, it was a different matter entirely. Then his mother was full of energy and resolve-she ruled the house with determination, seeing to the staff and the upkeep, refusing any offer of assistance from his grandparents and uncles.
“I manage on my own,” she would say sharply, stacking her papers and answering the phone.
She found time for him every day-they would go for long rides through the woods surrounding the house, take lunch to the lake, escape on a drive to the coast. They shared everything, and talked of his father, and sometimes he could make her laugh as she used to.
They were often followed by paparazzi; the media had dubbed his mother The White Widow, and he’d seen their pictures splashed across tabloids and on the evening news. He knew why, of course. Their family was impossibly rich. His grandparents and uncles ran in the most esteemed and blue-blooded circles. His father was a decorated war hero, and his mysterious disappearance only added to the allure. And his mother was recognized by everyone as a great beauty and wit, his father’s perfect match.
As his fifteenth birthday approached, Telemachus felt as though everything was about to reach the boiling point. It seemed as though the suitors never left the house. His mother’s excuses for late entrances and early departures to the nightly parties were no longer being heeded, and he was afraid that his grandparents were finally succeeding in wearing her down to their demands. The media had reached a feeding frenzy, with very public polls and bets running as to which man would be lucky enough to claim The White Widow.
Telemachus would escape to the woods with his bow and quiver and practice until his calluses burned and his hands were nearly bleeding, and every time an arrow struck the target he would take savage pleasure in imagining one of the foppish faces he had to see nightly.
He knew, just as his mother did, that his father was still alive. His father had promised to come home to them, and he would not break that promise.
His father would return. And Telemachus would do anything in his power to ensure he still had a home when he did.
---
Every new day that dawned felt like a failure. Odysseus would pace the beach and stare at the sunrise, its beauty lost in him. All he could think of was how close he was to home-and how impossibly far. Sometimes he would consider throwing himself into the waves and trying to swim for the mainland, but that fire of self-preservation burning in his chest would always pull him back at the last second. And there were nights, too, when he almost wanted death. Because how could it be fair that he alone should still be breathing when all of his good and honorable men had drowned on the reefs beyond the island? Why should he be offered this heaven when the seas had been so unforgiving to them?
“Sweetie, why do you keep doing this to yourself?” she cooed behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Why would you ever want to leave this, anyway? We have a paradise here, all to ourselves.”
He disentangled himself from her arms gently, pulling away. “Calypso, please stop.”
“I just don’t understand you,” she pouted, sweeping back her vibrant hair. In the light of the new dawn, she was all tawny gold and ginger. “I can offer you everything. Delicious food, gorgeous weather, this fabulous body-and you don’t want any of it.”
“You’re a lovely woman. This is a beautiful place. But I don’t belong here.”
“Are you really so certain of that?” she demanded, following him as he walked along the shell-strewn tide line. “Do you really think she’s waited for you? Do you really think you’ll have anything worth going back for? Don’t you think it’s time you just let go and moved on with your life?”
“What, a life with you?” He stopped suddenly and turned to face her, face stony and harsh.
“Well, yes, of course,” she said, slightly off-balanced. “I love you, Odysseus. I’d be a good wife to you.”
“You’re obsessed with me,” he said dismissively. “It’s a different thing entirely. And I already have a wife.”
“She’s probably declared you dead,” she said angrily. “I bet she’s shacked up with some rich Spaniard; probably has a couple of new kids with him, too. She goes to parties and wears flashy jewelry and doesn’t even spare a moment to think about you.”
“You’re wrong,” he said flatly. “That’s not Penelope.”
“People change, sweetie. It’s been, what, fifteen years since you were together? That’s practically a lifetime, and people change. They do. You don’t want to admit it, but she’s not the same woman you married. And you’re not the same man.”
“No, I’m not,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen and done too much to be the same carefree, goofy guy she married. But I’ll tell you something, Calypso. There’s one thing about me that hasn’t changed even a bit.”
“Oh?” she looked at him with wide, blue eyes, all innocence and interest.
“My love for her. The way I feel when I think of her. I’ve loved her since the moment I saw her-we were fifteen years old, and she came to my archery tournament with a friend. I could hardly focus on the target, my head was so full of her. She was beautiful and sweet, and her laugh… We had a connection, from that very day, and it was like I’d found something I didn’t know I was looking for. I was only truly happy when we were together-even hours apart felt like torture. Can you imagine how hard this has been on me? The days and months and years away from her side? Everyone said I was great, and noble, and brave, and clever, but I couldn’t have been any of it without her. I only fought and won and survived because I knew I had to get back to her. I had to make her proud. I had to hear her laugh again.”
Calypso stared at him blankly, all of her playful teasing and flirtation draining away with his words.
“The man you see here is only half a man,” he said severely. “You think you love Odysseus, but you only love his ghost. I’m nothing, nothing, without Penelope, without our son. I am only flesh without her-she has my soul. And I have to have faith in her, that she still cares for me, or else I might as well drown on the rocks. Because it wouldn’t be worth living any longer without her.”
“Sweetie,” she said finally, tears in her lovely eyes, dark red lips pressed into a luscious pout. “Don’t be like that, please.”
“I’m sorry, Calypso,” he said after a pause, his voice softer but no less resolute. “I can’t play along with you-I can’t love you back. I’m not the man you’ve imagined me to be.”
“Yes, you are,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Every inch of him. Noble and loyal and honest and gorgeous. You’re just not mine. And you’ll never reconsider?”
“No.”
“I’m incredibly sorry to hear that. I mean, I’m almost 100% certain your wife can’t have boobs as nice as mine. Just think of what you’re missing out on.”
“All I can do is think of what I’m missing out on, Calypso,” he said, turning back to the ocean. “And it’s out there, on the other side of the ocean.”
“Soooo…” The unexpected voice startled both of them. “Would now be a good time to mention I’m here to take you home?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Odysseus demanded, gaping at Hermes in unsuppressed shock.
“Uh, I think I just mentioned: I’m here to take you home.”
“Why couldn’t you have done that five years ago, on Circe’s island?” shouted Odysseus.
“Sorry, mate,” Hermes said. To his credit, he did look a bit shamefaced. “I’m only the messenger.”
“And a thief,” Calypso said angrily, grabbing hold of Odysseus’ arm.
“Well yes, that, too,” he conceded, tipping his hat at her in a gentlemanly fashion. “Anyway, I just go where the others tell me. Poseidon’s finally been convinced to let go of his grudge with you-”
“What grudge? What did I ever do to make him have a grudge with me?”
“I dunno, it was something about your troop’s ‘deplorable environmental practices’. I think some of your men dumped something where they shouldn’t have or somethin’.”
“Then why didn’t he explain himself? Why didn’t he ask me to stop them?” Odysseus felt the burn of real fury building in his chest.
“Look, I’m sorry. We’re still getting the hang of living down here with you lot and keeping track of everything,” Hermes said apologetically. “Sometimes we get distracted, or preoccupied with our own drama, and it’s really easy to lose the time-”
“I’ve been trying to get home for fifteen years.”
“Yep. Well. Ahem. Sorry, again. Anyway, Athena sent me to take you home. Finally. So, let’s go.”
“No, don’t, please!” Calypso cried, digging her fingers into his arm. “Don’t leave me!”
“Calypso, I’m sorry,” he said as he pried her fingers loose. “Thank you for saving me and everything, but there’s no way in hell I’m passing up this opportunity.”
“Men!” she cried, tears streaming down her face.
“Listen, honey,” Hermes said in an undertone as Odysseus straightened his shirt. “I’ll come back and visit, hmm?”
“Oh, whatever,” she snapped, turning on her heel and storming away.
“Circe made eyes at you, too, didn’t she?” Hermes asked.
“I guess so.”
“And you didn’t want any of it?”
Odysseus shook his head firmly.
“…Damn.”
---
“Dude, I don’t know why you and your mom don’t just leave. You know, run off somewhere and disappear.” Peisistratus said, skipping a rock across the pond.
“It’s not that easy,” Telemachus said sourly. “Not when the whole world knows your names and faces. And besides, how would Dad find us, then? Mum’s right; we’re not going to abandon the house to my uncles. It’s Mum and Dad’s house. It’s the whole principle of the thing.”
“I get that, I do, but what’s the point if you’re both so miserable all the time?”
“It’s only three more years until I’m legal,” Telemachus said. “If Dad’s not home by then, I’ll put a stop to all of this. Mum’s already said the house will be technically mine once I’m eighteen, and then I’ll be able to say who can enter it. Those assholes try to force their way in, I’ll be well within my rights to just shoot the lot of them.”
“So you kept up with your archery, then?”
The rock he’d been about to skip slid from his suddenly nerveless fingers, landing in the water with a loud splash. Peisistratus gaped in disbelief, eyes quickly approaching the size of saucers.
Telemachus stood. His every joint felt awkward and jerky, as if he were a puppet suddenly yanked to life. He stared at the man next to him. His skin was darker with a heavy tan, his hair longer and combed back, and there were more lines around his pale eyes. But it was still and unmistakably his father.
“We knew you weren’t dead,” he managed to say when he recaptured his breath. “Mum and I, we just knew you’d come home.”
“Telemachus,” Odysseus said, his throat tight, tears burning at his eyes. “Gods, I was afraid I’d never see you in the flesh.”
At fifteen, Telemachus had thought himself practically a man. But suddenly he was a boy again, his heart’s wish granted, and he threw himself into his father’s arms without a second thought about being manly.
“Mum will probably have a heart attack when she sees you,” Telemachus said when they parted, a jubilant smile on his face. “And I can’t wait to see the looks on those assholes’ faces.”
“What assholes?” Odysseus asked.
“The ones who want to marry your wife,” Peisistratus spoke up.
Odysseus’ jaw tightened. “Oh, really?”
“Grandmother and Grandfather have been trying to push her into remarrying for almost four years,” Telemachus added. “And the uncles have been suggesting that we have you legally declared dead. But Mum and I never thought about it for even a second-last time someone suggested it, Mum slapped him full across the face.” His grin widened at the memory.
“That sounds like Penelope,” Odysseus said fondly. “Well, I think it’s time to put an end to all of that bullying.”
“It’s really great you came home tonight,” Telemachus said eagerly as they made their way through the woods. “Mum’s been setting everyone tasks-to prove how serious they are, yeah?-and tonight’s task would be impossible for anyone but you.”
“And why is that?” Odysseus smiled at his son. There was all of Penelope’s fire and eagerness, that trusting and loyal spirit. But there was plenty of himself there, too, in the boy’s eyes and his readiness with words.
“It’s an archery contest,” Telemachus said.
“Boys, I think I’ve got an idea…”
---
“But that’s impossible!” shouted Antinous. He crossed his arms and glared at the obstacle that had been set up in the ballroom. “I doubt even Artemis could make such a shot! Or Eros, with his arrows that always fly so true to their mark.”
“I’d have no respect for a man who couldn’t make such a shot,” Penelope said airily. “If someone really loved me, he’d try as many times as he had to, no matter how many nights it would take him.”
There was much muttering and grumbling amongst the assembled men, who shuffled awkwardly in their fine suits and glared at the strange set-up, sure they were being made fools of.
“I bet I could make that shot.”
Every pair of eyes turned to the figure silhouetted in the doorway. He was dressed in ragged, faded camouflage pants and a hooded sweatshirt-the hood was raised, casting the man’s face entirely in shadow.
Penelope gripped the edge of the table she stood beside. Her legs threatened to fold beneath her. She knew that voice as well as she knew her own, and she wanted desperately to call out his name. But she couldn’t hold onto her breath.
The newcomer picked up the bow that had been laid out on the table and selected a single arrow from the quiver. If any of the suitors had thought to look at Telemachus, who had just entered the room with an expression of wild excitement on his face, they might have guessed at the stranger’s identity-they might have known something impossible was about to happen.
As it was, the entire room gasped in shock when the arrow sped through the holes in the twelve axe heads to thud into the target, dead center and even.
“How…” Antinous stammered.
“I think that settles things,” the stranger said calmly, setting aside the bow. “I’m clearly the only man who belongs with Penelope.” He raised a hand to push back the hood, and every man took a step back when the pale and steady eyes were revealed.
“Now get the hell out of my house.”
---
Telemachus knew enough to make himself scarce and leave his parents alone as soon as the last of the suitors had sped out of the driveway, the gravel flying beneath the spinning tires of their BMWs and Porsches.
“I’d ask where the hell you’ve been for the past five years,” Penelope said as they stared at one another. “But right now, at this moment, I really don’t care.”
Then she was running to him even as he ran to her, and she was finally in his arms again, those warm arms she’d longed to feel for years. She dug her hands into his back sure she’d leave bruises with the force of her embrace, barely able to breathe with laughter and happiness.
She still wore the same perfume, he realized, and as he breathed her in he sent a prayer of thanks to whichever gods were listening. She hadn’t changed, not really, still as soft and beautiful and sweet as he remembered. She still fit perfectly against his body, still kissed his neck in the exact same place, still had to stand on tip-toe to meet his eyes.
“Am I dreaming again?” she asked him breathlessly, her hair falling from its bun, the pale strands a halo around her face.
“If you are we’re having the same dream,” he smiled, cupping her face in his callused hands and kissing her with all of the yearning he’d repressed for fifteen years.
“I think I need to go to bed,” she gasped when they’d finally parted for breath.
“Most definitely.”
How they climbed the stairs is impossible to say; it was as if they’d flown to their room, because the next moment either of them could recall they were falling back amidst the pillows and sheets, clothes long gone and sense close to following.
There were new scars over his body, puckers and crooked lines and the soft, shiny patches of burns. He was so dark in the feeble moonlight filtering through the blinds, tan almost everywhere, and his hair-she was so used to it being buzzed and short-seemed incredibly long. She found she enjoyed burying her hands in it, pulling at it as she gasped.
He didn’t want to rush this moment he’d been longing for for so many years, but he found it hard to be slow and patient when she moaned like that, when she dug her nails into his shoulder and cried out his name. His name on her tongue again; and the sound of her voice alone was almost enough to undo him.
They lost themselves in rediscovering each other, in remembering how it felt to be like one. The years faded away into nothing more than a bad dream as Penelope and Odysseus came together and realized some things did not change with time.
Hours later he stared down at her, loving the way her hair lay across the sheets, tracing his thumb along the curve of her smile. “I didn’t think it could be possible.”
“What?”
“You’re more beautiful now than you were the night I left.”
She laughed softly. “You always did know how to be charming.”
“And honest. Penelope, words could never say how sorry I am.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said with conviction. “The gods are fickle and cruel sometimes-and I can live with that, because you’re home again.”
“Home,” he echoed, and the smile that filled his face was like the dawning of the sun. “I’m home.”
“And what shall we do tomorrow?” Penelope asked. Her heart felt like a balloon in her chest, threatening to float away on the slightest of breezes.
“Tomorrow? Tomorrow we’ll be a family. And every day after that. I’ve got so much lost time to catch up on. We’ll go riding, or just sit and talk, or throw a real party. Whatever you and Telemachus want.”
“I’m sure Telemachus won’t care what we do, as long as you’re with us,” Penelope said.
“What was the name of that movie he wanted to see? The one with the pirates?”
“You remember that?” she exclaimed with a laugh.
“Of course I do. I made him a promise.”
“You’ll have to ask him.” She sighed in contentment, snuggling against him.
“Love you always, Penelope,” he murmured against her hair as she drifted off to sleep.
“And forever, Odysseus.”
FEATURING:
absence makes the heart grow fonder, odysseus/penelope, pg-13
When a woman is patient enough to wait fifteen years for her man to return, you know he’s got to be one hell of a man.
(Dedicated to fairandbright, who reminded me that I had a whole passel of delicious heroes to work with, and requested Odysseus/Penelope.)
I can’t wait to hold you again, Penelope, to kiss you and hear your voice and laugh again. Know that you are what has kept me going through all of the blood and dirt and pain. I have struggled and fought for you and our son, and I know that when I am home I will feel that it was all worth it in the end. (6,551 words)
The first night, she cried.
She blamed her hormones-the stress of giving birth coupled with then kissing her husband goodbye and watching him step onto the Greyhound bus with his green duffel bag over his right shoulder.
Penelope prided herself on her self-sufficiency. She stood firm in her decision to raise Telemachus herself, without a bevy of nurses and nannies. But on that first night after her husband had left for war, she thanked the gods that her son slept peacefully in his crib while she muffled her sobs in her pillow.
It was four months before she could sleep through the night without waking in a cold sweat.
---
He wrote to her every night on the battlefield. It helped keep back the screaming horrors of the day. Sometimes it would be a week, even two, before he could mail them. But there would always be a letter per day.
Until the night Hector fell. That night, shame burned inside of him. What Achilles had done to that noble man’s body had not been right; that was not the way to treat an honorable foe. And he had been unable to stop it. He couldn’t write to Penelope with such second-hand guilt on his conscience.
He spent that night thinking of his son, a boy he knew only through photos and Penelope’s letters. Telemachus would be six in a couple months; he’d be learning how to ride a bike without training wheels, and how to properly climb a tree. He was missing it all.
And then Achilles fell. And that night, there was no letter, either.
---
The war is over, she read as the tears fell on to the page. The city has finally fallen, with great cost of life-but it is over. They tell us we have ‘won’, that we are heroes, and they praise my ingenuity. The men will barely let me move without congratulating me or offering me gifts. It seems as though every general and colonel has stopped by my tent to shake my hand. Everyone has started to call me Odysseus the Wise.
But it is difficult to feel very wise when so many good men have fallen; when so many innocent people had to perish in the fires and the fighting through the city. I am only glad that it is over, and that I am coming home to you and our son.
We set off in only two weeks, as soon as the treaties are signed and sealed. I’ve been given permission to use the satellite system at 5 PM EST on the 18th, for Telemachus’ birthday, to speak to you both before we leave.
I can’t wait to hold you again, Penelope, to kiss you and hear your voice and laugh again. Know that you are what has kept me going through all of the blood and dirt and pain. I have struggled and fought for you and our son, and I know that when I am home I will feel that it was all worth it in the end.
Love you always,
Odysseus
---
“Do you know who that is?” Penelope asked, her eyes stinging with joy.
“Dad,” Telemachus said solemnly, already so serious and mature at ten. He raised a small hand and waved at the computer screen.
“Happy birthday, son,” Odysseus said, an impossibly huge grin on his weathered and tanned face. “Did you get any cool presents?”
“Grandfather got me a horse,” he said. “It’s black. I think I’ll name him Arthur.”
“That’s a great name. I’ve got a really neat present for you, too-I’ll give it to you when I get home.”
“You’re coming home now?”
“Yep, in just a few days. What do you want to do first, after I’m home?”
“Can we go see a movie? There’s a neat one with pirates in it I wanna see.”
Odysseus laughed, a full-bodied laugh of joyful abandon. “Sure thing, of course we can. Does it have any monsters in it?”
“Oh yeah, a big octopus thingy with giant suckers and a hundred teeth!”
“Sounds awesome. Are you having a fun summer break?”
“Yeah-my friend Peisistratus comes over all the time. We’ve got a bug collection,” he confided. “And we find fossils in the forest and climb trees and stuff. I think I want to be a mountain man when I grow up and just live in the forest, it’s full of cool things.”
“You need to know a lot about plants and animals if you want to be a mountain man,” Odysseus said seriously. “What’s good to eat and what to stay away from, stuff like that. And you have to be really strong, so you can move big rocks and cut down trees.”
“Oh I can do all that,” Telemachus said dismissively with the supreme confidence of youth. “I can shoot a bow and arrow farther than Grandfather, and I know what poison ivy looks like and all that. George-he works in the stables-he knows all about nature and he’s been teaching me everything he knows.”
“That’s really good, son. I’m glad to hear it. You should never stop practicing and learning. Can I have a minute to talk to Mum alone?”
“Sure,” Telemachus said lightly. “Bye, Dad. See you soon.”
“Very soon. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He hopped off his mother’s lap and ambled away, picking up the butterfly net he’d left by the door.
“It’s been so long,” Penelope said quietly. “Part of me can’t believe it’s finally over.”
“I know. I’m so sorry for all of this, Penelope. Ten years is far too long to ask anyone to wait.”
“You never had to ask me, dearest. There was never any question. You were doing what you had to, for the good of us all, and I’m so proud of you. More than words could ever say.”
His eyes were bright with unshed tears as he reached out a callused hand to touch the computer screen before him. “Ten years, with only letters and short phone calls. I’ve missed so much-Telemachus doesn’t even know me.”
“He knows you,” she said firmly, pressing her hand to the image of his, thousands of miles away. “I’ve told him everything I could about you. Of your courage and cleverness and goodness. He does know you, and he loves you. He’s asked me, nearly every night, when his daddy would be back to play with him. He’s so excited to see you in person-he’s just a quiet boy, he doesn’t show his emotions often.”
“I love you so much it hurts,” he murmured.
“Be sure to show me just how much you’ve missed me when you get home,” she replied with a smile.
Someone was shouting in the background. He turned to look back for a moment. “I’ve got to go, sweetheart. Got some things to tie up before we can leave. I’ll see you in four days.”
“I’m counting down the minutes.”
“Love you always, Penelope.”
“And forever, Odysseus.”
---
A week later the news finally came: Odysseus’ ship had been blown off course in a freak storm, with no sign of where the ship or crew had ended up. There had been no evidence of wreckage-it was as if the entire craft and all two hundred on board had simply vanished.
Search parties combed the waters, but to no avail. After two months, the investigation was closed. The ocean was big, but it wasn’t that big; it wasn’t as if there were any uncharted areas left in this day and age.
Odysseus and his men were listed as missing, and their ship’s disappearance became the sort of mystery people spoke of whenever the Bermuda Triangle was brought up in conversation.
A year passed, and still Penelope clung to hope. There had been no sign of a sinking, no bodies found, there was still a chance (no matter how slim) that Odysseus was alive and struggling to find his way back to her.
Her parents comforted her for the first year, speaking gently to her and offering their assistance with the house and the stocks and the investments. But then they began to speak of moving on and letting go. They brought handsome young men from their clubs to the house for dinner and encouraged her to “try dating again, nothing serious, just to get to know new people”. She refused, time and again, until they began to lose their patience.
“It’s been three years, Penelope,” her mother exclaimed. “You’re still a beautiful young woman, with a lot to give! You have a son to think of-he needs a father. And it’s not as if Odysseus was ever going to be much in that department, missing his son’s entire childhood. There are plenty of fine men out there who would treat you like a goddess!”
“I don’t want to be treated like a goddess,” she said bitterly. “I just want my man back. My man, the one I’ve loved since I was fifteen years old.”
“That’s all very well and good, darling,” her mother said. “We’ve all admired your loyalty and faithfulness, and it’s charming that you and Odysseus have been committed to each other since high school. It’s like a modern fairy tale, I know. But he’s dead, Penelope, and it’s no good wasting your life away to cherish a ghost.”
“He’s not dead,” Penelope replied firmly. “He is not. Show me his body, prove to me that he is gone, and only then will I abandon him.”
Her mother tisked and threw up her arms in dramatic despair.
But it was clear that neither side in the argument would be swayed. From that night forward, the house would be loud with the revelry of parties and dozens of would-be suitors would crowd close to the remote, distant Penelope. Each tried to win her attention and affection, each would leave the next morning disappointed only to return again at sundown.
Telemachus, no longer a naïve boy and on his way to manhood, watched it all from the shadows of the staircase. His fists clenched every time his mother’s hollow, sad eyes met his, every time a would-be-father tried to touch her arm. And always, in the back of his mind, was the true father he still had faith would return to put an end to the spectacle.
---
It was far from a pleasant cruise. When the storm had seized them, there had been a moment when his heart had quailed and he had thought them all lost. Waves had swept across the deck with such force, he was sure they would all be thrown into the briny crush and drown in agony.
But then the sudden squall had disappeared, leaving behind smooth seas and a cloudless day. The men had recollected themselves, shaking the salt from their eyes, and gazed about in wonder.
Because something strange and unsettling had happened-they were no longer in familiar waters. The stars overhead at night were foreign and unplottable, and there was never any sign of land or recognizable marks.
It was as if the entire ship had been scooped up and deposited on an alien ocean.
For weeks they sailed, until the supplies were running low and morale had plummeted into the deepest holds. Mutinous muttering had seized the men, and Odysseus found himself the unexpected focal point of their anger and unease.
“It’s his fault,” some of the men whispered. “Odysseus the Wise. More like Odysseus the Cocky, Odysseus the Unprepared.”
Suddenly he was at fault. It was because of his lack of foresight, his insolence and disrespect that they were lost at sea and leagues away from home. Odysseus could not explain himself, and had no idea why he would have invoked such a punishment.
Finally, land was sighted. It was a joyous moment, and for a second all grudges and discourtesies were forgotten in the rush of relief. There was a dock, as if provided by the gods, and the crew disembarked without a second thought, eager for food and solid ground and a way to communicate their position to the outside world.
But Odysseus was uneasy. Something about this apparent paradise felt askew and unpleasant. Why were there so many fat pigs rooting around the fruit trees and streams? Why was there no sign of human life on the habitable shore? This was prime real estate, but there was no sign of development.
“Wait,” Odysseus ordered, and in their joy the men obeyed without question. “Don’t eat anything, don’t touch anything, until we’ve properly explored. Something doesn’t seem right.”
The men divided into three groups, each led by a level-headed and resourceful man of Odysseus’ choosing. As they spread out, Odysseus and the ten men he’d chosen remained close to the dock, the last line of defense should any hostile forces appear.
Odysseus was examining a large orange tree, full to bursting with delicious fruit, when a sudden voice over his right shoulder startled him. The consummate soldier, Odysseus had his gun raised and cocked before he even turned.
“Easy there, Rambo,” the stranger said with a cheeky smile. He hardly blended in with the tropical vegetation, dressed in a pair of jeans, waistcoat, and scarf, a black fedora cocked at an angle on his head. “Just dropping in for some friendly advice.”
“And who are you, friend, to be giving friendly advice?”
“The name’s Hermes.” He held out a gloved hand-the fingertips had been cut off, Odysseus noted-for the soldier to shake. “I’ve been sent by my cousin, Athena, to warn you.”
“Athena?”
“She’s taken a bit of an interest in you, sir,” Hermes said with a knowing wink. “Likes the cut of your jib, or something to that effect. Anyway, I’m supposed to tell you to be careful with that bitch up on the hill.”
Odysseus stared at him blankly for a moment. “Pardon?”
“I swear, this was a lot easier in the old days,” Hermes muttered to himself.
Before Odysseus could demand an explanation, there was a violent rustling in the lush vegetation. The two turned sharply just as one of Odysseus’ men burst free, all breathlessness and frenzy.
“Sir, you’ll never believe me, sir, but I swear I know what I saw,” the man gasped.
“Eurylochus, take a deep breath and report,” Odysseus ordered.
“Yes, sir. We found a mansion up on the hill, sir, in the middle of a clearing. There was a beautiful woman there-she said her name was Circe, and that she owned this island. She asked us all in for refreshment, was the picture of politeness, but when the others had started to eat, she, she…” Eurylochus took another deep breath, straightened fully to attention, and said, “She did something and turned them all into pigs, sir.”
Odysseus stared blankly for a moment. “She did something and turned them into pigs.”
“Yessir, something with a wand. Like she’s a witch or something.”
“…And why didn’t she turn you into a pig?”
“I didn’t eat anything, sir. I had a bad feeling, like what you said when we landed. I wanted to come straight back and report, but the others were just so hungry, sir.”
“See, what did I tell you?” Hermes interjected with a satisfied air. “You’ve gotta be careful with the bitch up on the hill.”
“Okay,” Odysseus turned back to the mysterious newcomer. “You seem to be a man in the know. How do I help my men and deal with this Circe?”
“You need some holy moly,” Hermes replied with a remarkably straight face.
“You know, usually I’ve got a pretty good sense of humor,” Odysseus said slowly, examining his gun. “But right now, at this moment, my humor’s wearing a bit thin.”
“Geesh, you mortals, always in such a hurry,” Hermes complained.
“I haven’t seen my wife or son in over ten years. I think I’ve the right to be a little impatient.”
“Whoa, I’d say. Okay, here’s what you do. You take this plant right here…”
---
“You repay my hospitality with threats of violence?” she said, arching an elegant eyebrow in surprise.
“I don’t want to shoot you,” he replied mildly, gun still level and steady, refusing to blink in the face of her cool reserve.
“Of course you don’t. I’m very beautiful, and you must have been at sea for a very long time,” she said knowingly.
“You were ready to turn me and my men into pigs,” Odysseus said. “Do you really think I’d want to sleep with you after that?”
“All men are pigs,” she said blithely. “It’s just a question of how swinish.”
Odysseus whistled softly. “Lady, someone really did a number on you, didn’t he?”
“So what do you want, hero?” she demanded, leaning back in her throne-like chair, her hair an ebony cascade over her pale shoulders. “Wealth? Power?”
“I want my men returned to normal. I want safe supplies for our voyage. And I want clear directions back to the mainland. No funny business.”
“I must say, you’re intriguing, Odysseus,” she said with a sharp smile. “You’ve got a brain in that pretty head-a rarity in a soldier.”
“Flattery will only get you so far,” he warned. “I’m a man of action, too, and right now I don’t want to waste time bandying compliments with you, Circe.”
“Very well,” Circe said irritably. She waved what looked to be a gnarled walking stick; abruptly the pigs that had been milling around the trestle table stood up as men, looking a bit disconcerted and foolish as they patted at their reformed faces.
“You’ll find plenty of food and drink in the kitchens,” she said. “I haven’t touched any of it. Take what you need and go.”
“Directions?”
“Sail north for five days, then directly west for a week. Simple.”
“I certainly hope it is,” said Odysseus. “I would hate to have to come back here if you steer us wrong.”
“You think you’re something special,” Circe said with narrowed eyes. “You’re just another man, a mortal. What gives you the right to lord over anyone?”
“At this very moment, the gun doesn’t hurt,” Odysseus said with a cheeky grin. “There are some perks to being a war hero.”
“And that’s something to brag of-being the instrument of death? Does it help you sleep at night, those medals and accolades? Does it help you to forget the faces of the men you’ve killed?”
“No,” he said soberly. “But I think I’ll sleep a lot easier in a couple days, just as soon as I’m home.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Circe said darkly as Odysseus and his men left, boxes of food and barrels of water in their arms.
---
Telemachus had been thirteen when the suitors first came to the house, carrying gold-lettered invitations from his grandparents. He had been confused, and somewhat frightened by the loud strangers who were overbearingly forward and masculine. He would hide in the kitchen pantry, under tables, at the head of the stairs when they arrived. He watched them, unnoticed, and he kept account of their flaws and vices on a mental notebook.
He was fourteen now, and while the nightly parties had become familiar and expected, they were no less enjoyed or anticipated. He hated them all, with a fire that burned in his blood; he felt helpless in the corner, watching silently as his mother grew paler and quieter.
During the day, it was a different matter entirely. Then his mother was full of energy and resolve-she ruled the house with determination, seeing to the staff and the upkeep, refusing any offer of assistance from his grandparents and uncles.
“I manage on my own,” she would say sharply, stacking her papers and answering the phone.
She found time for him every day-they would go for long rides through the woods surrounding the house, take lunch to the lake, escape on a drive to the coast. They shared everything, and talked of his father, and sometimes he could make her laugh as she used to.
They were often followed by paparazzi; the media had dubbed his mother The White Widow, and he’d seen their pictures splashed across tabloids and on the evening news. He knew why, of course. Their family was impossibly rich. His grandparents and uncles ran in the most esteemed and blue-blooded circles. His father was a decorated war hero, and his mysterious disappearance only added to the allure. And his mother was recognized by everyone as a great beauty and wit, his father’s perfect match.
As his fifteenth birthday approached, Telemachus felt as though everything was about to reach the boiling point. It seemed as though the suitors never left the house. His mother’s excuses for late entrances and early departures to the nightly parties were no longer being heeded, and he was afraid that his grandparents were finally succeeding in wearing her down to their demands. The media had reached a feeding frenzy, with very public polls and bets running as to which man would be lucky enough to claim The White Widow.
Telemachus would escape to the woods with his bow and quiver and practice until his calluses burned and his hands were nearly bleeding, and every time an arrow struck the target he would take savage pleasure in imagining one of the foppish faces he had to see nightly.
He knew, just as his mother did, that his father was still alive. His father had promised to come home to them, and he would not break that promise.
His father would return. And Telemachus would do anything in his power to ensure he still had a home when he did.
---
Every new day that dawned felt like a failure. Odysseus would pace the beach and stare at the sunrise, its beauty lost in him. All he could think of was how close he was to home-and how impossibly far. Sometimes he would consider throwing himself into the waves and trying to swim for the mainland, but that fire of self-preservation burning in his chest would always pull him back at the last second. And there were nights, too, when he almost wanted death. Because how could it be fair that he alone should still be breathing when all of his good and honorable men had drowned on the reefs beyond the island? Why should he be offered this heaven when the seas had been so unforgiving to them?
“Sweetie, why do you keep doing this to yourself?” she cooed behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Why would you ever want to leave this, anyway? We have a paradise here, all to ourselves.”
He disentangled himself from her arms gently, pulling away. “Calypso, please stop.”
“I just don’t understand you,” she pouted, sweeping back her vibrant hair. In the light of the new dawn, she was all tawny gold and ginger. “I can offer you everything. Delicious food, gorgeous weather, this fabulous body-and you don’t want any of it.”
“You’re a lovely woman. This is a beautiful place. But I don’t belong here.”
“Are you really so certain of that?” she demanded, following him as he walked along the shell-strewn tide line. “Do you really think she’s waited for you? Do you really think you’ll have anything worth going back for? Don’t you think it’s time you just let go and moved on with your life?”
“What, a life with you?” He stopped suddenly and turned to face her, face stony and harsh.
“Well, yes, of course,” she said, slightly off-balanced. “I love you, Odysseus. I’d be a good wife to you.”
“You’re obsessed with me,” he said dismissively. “It’s a different thing entirely. And I already have a wife.”
“She’s probably declared you dead,” she said angrily. “I bet she’s shacked up with some rich Spaniard; probably has a couple of new kids with him, too. She goes to parties and wears flashy jewelry and doesn’t even spare a moment to think about you.”
“You’re wrong,” he said flatly. “That’s not Penelope.”
“People change, sweetie. It’s been, what, fifteen years since you were together? That’s practically a lifetime, and people change. They do. You don’t want to admit it, but she’s not the same woman you married. And you’re not the same man.”
“No, I’m not,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen and done too much to be the same carefree, goofy guy she married. But I’ll tell you something, Calypso. There’s one thing about me that hasn’t changed even a bit.”
“Oh?” she looked at him with wide, blue eyes, all innocence and interest.
“My love for her. The way I feel when I think of her. I’ve loved her since the moment I saw her-we were fifteen years old, and she came to my archery tournament with a friend. I could hardly focus on the target, my head was so full of her. She was beautiful and sweet, and her laugh… We had a connection, from that very day, and it was like I’d found something I didn’t know I was looking for. I was only truly happy when we were together-even hours apart felt like torture. Can you imagine how hard this has been on me? The days and months and years away from her side? Everyone said I was great, and noble, and brave, and clever, but I couldn’t have been any of it without her. I only fought and won and survived because I knew I had to get back to her. I had to make her proud. I had to hear her laugh again.”
Calypso stared at him blankly, all of her playful teasing and flirtation draining away with his words.
“The man you see here is only half a man,” he said severely. “You think you love Odysseus, but you only love his ghost. I’m nothing, nothing, without Penelope, without our son. I am only flesh without her-she has my soul. And I have to have faith in her, that she still cares for me, or else I might as well drown on the rocks. Because it wouldn’t be worth living any longer without her.”
“Sweetie,” she said finally, tears in her lovely eyes, dark red lips pressed into a luscious pout. “Don’t be like that, please.”
“I’m sorry, Calypso,” he said after a pause, his voice softer but no less resolute. “I can’t play along with you-I can’t love you back. I’m not the man you’ve imagined me to be.”
“Yes, you are,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Every inch of him. Noble and loyal and honest and gorgeous. You’re just not mine. And you’ll never reconsider?”
“No.”
“I’m incredibly sorry to hear that. I mean, I’m almost 100% certain your wife can’t have boobs as nice as mine. Just think of what you’re missing out on.”
“All I can do is think of what I’m missing out on, Calypso,” he said, turning back to the ocean. “And it’s out there, on the other side of the ocean.”
“Soooo…” The unexpected voice startled both of them. “Would now be a good time to mention I’m here to take you home?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Odysseus demanded, gaping at Hermes in unsuppressed shock.
“Uh, I think I just mentioned: I’m here to take you home.”
“Why couldn’t you have done that five years ago, on Circe’s island?” shouted Odysseus.
“Sorry, mate,” Hermes said. To his credit, he did look a bit shamefaced. “I’m only the messenger.”
“And a thief,” Calypso said angrily, grabbing hold of Odysseus’ arm.
“Well yes, that, too,” he conceded, tipping his hat at her in a gentlemanly fashion. “Anyway, I just go where the others tell me. Poseidon’s finally been convinced to let go of his grudge with you-”
“What grudge? What did I ever do to make him have a grudge with me?”
“I dunno, it was something about your troop’s ‘deplorable environmental practices’. I think some of your men dumped something where they shouldn’t have or somethin’.”
“Then why didn’t he explain himself? Why didn’t he ask me to stop them?” Odysseus felt the burn of real fury building in his chest.
“Look, I’m sorry. We’re still getting the hang of living down here with you lot and keeping track of everything,” Hermes said apologetically. “Sometimes we get distracted, or preoccupied with our own drama, and it’s really easy to lose the time-”
“I’ve been trying to get home for fifteen years.”
“Yep. Well. Ahem. Sorry, again. Anyway, Athena sent me to take you home. Finally. So, let’s go.”
“No, don’t, please!” Calypso cried, digging her fingers into his arm. “Don’t leave me!”
“Calypso, I’m sorry,” he said as he pried her fingers loose. “Thank you for saving me and everything, but there’s no way in hell I’m passing up this opportunity.”
“Men!” she cried, tears streaming down her face.
“Listen, honey,” Hermes said in an undertone as Odysseus straightened his shirt. “I’ll come back and visit, hmm?”
“Oh, whatever,” she snapped, turning on her heel and storming away.
“Circe made eyes at you, too, didn’t she?” Hermes asked.
“I guess so.”
“And you didn’t want any of it?”
Odysseus shook his head firmly.
“…Damn.”
---
“Dude, I don’t know why you and your mom don’t just leave. You know, run off somewhere and disappear.” Peisistratus said, skipping a rock across the pond.
“It’s not that easy,” Telemachus said sourly. “Not when the whole world knows your names and faces. And besides, how would Dad find us, then? Mum’s right; we’re not going to abandon the house to my uncles. It’s Mum and Dad’s house. It’s the whole principle of the thing.”
“I get that, I do, but what’s the point if you’re both so miserable all the time?”
“It’s only three more years until I’m legal,” Telemachus said. “If Dad’s not home by then, I’ll put a stop to all of this. Mum’s already said the house will be technically mine once I’m eighteen, and then I’ll be able to say who can enter it. Those assholes try to force their way in, I’ll be well within my rights to just shoot the lot of them.”
“So you kept up with your archery, then?”
The rock he’d been about to skip slid from his suddenly nerveless fingers, landing in the water with a loud splash. Peisistratus gaped in disbelief, eyes quickly approaching the size of saucers.
Telemachus stood. His every joint felt awkward and jerky, as if he were a puppet suddenly yanked to life. He stared at the man next to him. His skin was darker with a heavy tan, his hair longer and combed back, and there were more lines around his pale eyes. But it was still and unmistakably his father.
“We knew you weren’t dead,” he managed to say when he recaptured his breath. “Mum and I, we just knew you’d come home.”
“Telemachus,” Odysseus said, his throat tight, tears burning at his eyes. “Gods, I was afraid I’d never see you in the flesh.”
At fifteen, Telemachus had thought himself practically a man. But suddenly he was a boy again, his heart’s wish granted, and he threw himself into his father’s arms without a second thought about being manly.
“Mum will probably have a heart attack when she sees you,” Telemachus said when they parted, a jubilant smile on his face. “And I can’t wait to see the looks on those assholes’ faces.”
“What assholes?” Odysseus asked.
“The ones who want to marry your wife,” Peisistratus spoke up.
Odysseus’ jaw tightened. “Oh, really?”
“Grandmother and Grandfather have been trying to push her into remarrying for almost four years,” Telemachus added. “And the uncles have been suggesting that we have you legally declared dead. But Mum and I never thought about it for even a second-last time someone suggested it, Mum slapped him full across the face.” His grin widened at the memory.
“That sounds like Penelope,” Odysseus said fondly. “Well, I think it’s time to put an end to all of that bullying.”
“It’s really great you came home tonight,” Telemachus said eagerly as they made their way through the woods. “Mum’s been setting everyone tasks-to prove how serious they are, yeah?-and tonight’s task would be impossible for anyone but you.”
“And why is that?” Odysseus smiled at his son. There was all of Penelope’s fire and eagerness, that trusting and loyal spirit. But there was plenty of himself there, too, in the boy’s eyes and his readiness with words.
“It’s an archery contest,” Telemachus said.
“Boys, I think I’ve got an idea…”
---
“But that’s impossible!” shouted Antinous. He crossed his arms and glared at the obstacle that had been set up in the ballroom. “I doubt even Artemis could make such a shot! Or Eros, with his arrows that always fly so true to their mark.”
“I’d have no respect for a man who couldn’t make such a shot,” Penelope said airily. “If someone really loved me, he’d try as many times as he had to, no matter how many nights it would take him.”
There was much muttering and grumbling amongst the assembled men, who shuffled awkwardly in their fine suits and glared at the strange set-up, sure they were being made fools of.
“I bet I could make that shot.”
Every pair of eyes turned to the figure silhouetted in the doorway. He was dressed in ragged, faded camouflage pants and a hooded sweatshirt-the hood was raised, casting the man’s face entirely in shadow.
Penelope gripped the edge of the table she stood beside. Her legs threatened to fold beneath her. She knew that voice as well as she knew her own, and she wanted desperately to call out his name. But she couldn’t hold onto her breath.
The newcomer picked up the bow that had been laid out on the table and selected a single arrow from the quiver. If any of the suitors had thought to look at Telemachus, who had just entered the room with an expression of wild excitement on his face, they might have guessed at the stranger’s identity-they might have known something impossible was about to happen.
As it was, the entire room gasped in shock when the arrow sped through the holes in the twelve axe heads to thud into the target, dead center and even.
“How…” Antinous stammered.
“I think that settles things,” the stranger said calmly, setting aside the bow. “I’m clearly the only man who belongs with Penelope.” He raised a hand to push back the hood, and every man took a step back when the pale and steady eyes were revealed.
“Now get the hell out of my house.”
---
Telemachus knew enough to make himself scarce and leave his parents alone as soon as the last of the suitors had sped out of the driveway, the gravel flying beneath the spinning tires of their BMWs and Porsches.
“I’d ask where the hell you’ve been for the past five years,” Penelope said as they stared at one another. “But right now, at this moment, I really don’t care.”
Then she was running to him even as he ran to her, and she was finally in his arms again, those warm arms she’d longed to feel for years. She dug her hands into his back sure she’d leave bruises with the force of her embrace, barely able to breathe with laughter and happiness.
She still wore the same perfume, he realized, and as he breathed her in he sent a prayer of thanks to whichever gods were listening. She hadn’t changed, not really, still as soft and beautiful and sweet as he remembered. She still fit perfectly against his body, still kissed his neck in the exact same place, still had to stand on tip-toe to meet his eyes.
“Am I dreaming again?” she asked him breathlessly, her hair falling from its bun, the pale strands a halo around her face.
“If you are we’re having the same dream,” he smiled, cupping her face in his callused hands and kissing her with all of the yearning he’d repressed for fifteen years.
“I think I need to go to bed,” she gasped when they’d finally parted for breath.
“Most definitely.”
How they climbed the stairs is impossible to say; it was as if they’d flown to their room, because the next moment either of them could recall they were falling back amidst the pillows and sheets, clothes long gone and sense close to following.
There were new scars over his body, puckers and crooked lines and the soft, shiny patches of burns. He was so dark in the feeble moonlight filtering through the blinds, tan almost everywhere, and his hair-she was so used to it being buzzed and short-seemed incredibly long. She found she enjoyed burying her hands in it, pulling at it as she gasped.
He didn’t want to rush this moment he’d been longing for for so many years, but he found it hard to be slow and patient when she moaned like that, when she dug her nails into his shoulder and cried out his name. His name on her tongue again; and the sound of her voice alone was almost enough to undo him.
They lost themselves in rediscovering each other, in remembering how it felt to be like one. The years faded away into nothing more than a bad dream as Penelope and Odysseus came together and realized some things did not change with time.
Hours later he stared down at her, loving the way her hair lay across the sheets, tracing his thumb along the curve of her smile. “I didn’t think it could be possible.”
“What?”
“You’re more beautiful now than you were the night I left.”
She laughed softly. “You always did know how to be charming.”
“And honest. Penelope, words could never say how sorry I am.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said with conviction. “The gods are fickle and cruel sometimes-and I can live with that, because you’re home again.”
“Home,” he echoed, and the smile that filled his face was like the dawning of the sun. “I’m home.”
“And what shall we do tomorrow?” Penelope asked. Her heart felt like a balloon in her chest, threatening to float away on the slightest of breezes.
“Tomorrow? Tomorrow we’ll be a family. And every day after that. I’ve got so much lost time to catch up on. We’ll go riding, or just sit and talk, or throw a real party. Whatever you and Telemachus want.”
“I’m sure Telemachus won’t care what we do, as long as you’re with us,” Penelope said.
“What was the name of that movie he wanted to see? The one with the pirates?”
“You remember that?” she exclaimed with a laugh.
“Of course I do. I made him a promise.”
“You’ll have to ask him.” She sighed in contentment, snuggling against him.
“Love you always, Penelope,” he murmured against her hair as she drifted off to sleep.
“And forever, Odysseus.”