Odysseus breathed in deeply as he reached the entrance of his palace. Two weeks had passed and each new entry filled his entire body with relief, with peace. He kicked the gravel from his sandals and stepped inside. The gentle flicker of torchlight greeted him and he found himself breathing deeply again. He was home. He still could barely believe it. As he moved quietly down the corridor he let his fingers trail lightly along the stone wall. There wasn't an inch of his home he didn't revel in now. Tonight, like many of his evenings since coming home, he had sat on the pebble shore admiring the night sky. So much of the last ten years he had spent looking into that same sky at night, begging it to guide him home. Now that he could see it from Ithaca, he loved to sit, listening to the lapping waves, and trace each constellation with his eyes. He felt like a blind man running his fingers over an unfamiliar surface.

The cool night air retreated as he entered the hall. Gentle heat and a warm glow rushed to embrace him. He smiled when he saw Telemachus leaning back in a chair before the great hearth. His son looked so peaceful and contemplative as he tilted the chair delicately on two legs. He didnt seem to notice his presence. Odysseus thought to join him by the fire, but didn't want to break into his reverie. Besides, he was very tired and there would be many more opportunities to sit with his son.

Penelope had already gone to sleep. He had seen the lamplight in their bedroom go out from the beach before he began his walk back up the path. With care he reached to open the door. Again, amazement and joy nearly overwhelmed him. His wife was on the other side of this door. In a moment he would be beside her again. Just like he would tomorrow and had yesterday.

There was a sudden scrape and clatter. Then, without warning Odysseus was hit with force and slammed against the door. He fell with a grunt as blows rained down on him.

"Bastard!" He heard his son scream.

"Telemachus!" he shouted, throwing his arms up to protect his head. He was answered with a kick to the stomach and more blows.

"Son!" He gasped, moving quickly to subdue him. In one swift motion he managed to get to his feet and grab Telemachus around his arms and chest, locking his hands together. Unwilling to hurt him, Odysseus held him immobilized in his grasp. Telemachus thrashed wildly and threw his head back against his father's face. Odysseus groaned as he felt the sharp pain of his teeth cutting deeply into his lip. To avoid another head butt he ducked his head down, pressing his face to the side of his son's.

"Son, I'm not them! I'm not them!" He pleaded, but the young man couldn't seem to hear him. It was like he was somewhere else. He continued to thrash in his grip. Another enraged scream tore from Telemachus' throat. "Don't touch my mother!"

Those words made Odysseus taste bile. It mixed with the coppery blood in his mouth.

"Fight me!" He sounded so desperate despite the hate dripping from his words.

"I'm not them." Odysseus kept repeating to his son as he lowered him to the floor in a blind effort to calm him. As if on command, Telemachus fell still in his arms. Odysseus hesistated. "I'm not them. I promise you." He said it softly, this time feeling certain his son could hear him, and released his hold. Telemachus was breathing hard, still not moving.

"I'm sorry." He suddenly whispered in a voice that threatened to break his father's heart. "I'm so sorry."

"Son-" Odysseus tried, but Telemachus ripped himself from his arms and took off running out of the hall.

Odysseus knelt there, stunned. He didn't look up as the bedroom door opened and Penelope appeared in the firelight. He knew she had heard what happened. Wordlessly she knelt beside him and took his face in her hands. Overtaken with guilt he didn't fully understand, he couldn't meet her eyes. She took the hem of her thin robe and wiped the blood from his mouth. He felt hot tears escape and run down and into his beard.

"Did you hear the how he screamed at me?" He closed his eyes. His wife gently pushed his hair from his sweaty forehead. "I don't think it was you he was screaming at." She said, her tone thoughtful and kind. If he could look at her, he'd have seen the tears glistening in her eyes, refusing to fall.

"I know, I..." Odysseus trailed off. He drew a long, slow breath and exhaled. Then he got to his feet and offered his hand to Penelope. She took it and rose. He finally met her eyes.

"We woke you?" he asked, not letting go of her hand.

She nodded. "When I got to the door, I heard you trying to calm him. I didn't want to upset him further."

"I doubt you could have done worse than I."

Penelope said nothing, just leaned in and wrapped her arms around him. She tucked her head against his chest and he held her close, resting his cheek on her hair. After what just happened Odysseus needed to feel trusted.

"Should I go after him?" He asked her quietly. He didn't even know what that would mean.

"Not tonight." Penelope said. "He'll need time." She separated from him and placed her hand on his cheek. With a small smile she assured him. "You have that now."

Odysseus leaned into the light touch of her hand. "Thank you."

"Come on." Penelope said and took him by the arm. "Sleep is a healer."

He let himself be led into their room where he pulled the door closed behind them.