Penelope lay curled on her side. Beside her Odysseus lay on his back, his arm wrapped in both of hers. She moved her thumb in a gentle rhythmic back and forth on his skin. Since having him back she had learned very quickly that even her smallest touch meant everything to him. The feeling was mutual.
Her eyes were open to the darkness and she could only just see the outline of his face. Beyond it, the starlit sky peaked at her from under the arching doorway that led out to their balcony. Distant waves crashed against the rocks at the foot of the palace. Her husband breathed steadily, his body having lost its tension from earlier. The sudden brawl with his son had tied his already wary frame into knots. He had been so rigid when they first lay down. Penelope had spoken softly to him for some time until his body finally stopped resembling a statue. Her hold on his arm, the constant touch, did much to help that along.
She could tell he wasn't asleep yet, although he was getting there. She was sure he was trying not to think about Telemachus and find new ways to feel guilty. In two short weeks she had already learned so much about him. He was the same man she fell in love with so long ago, just broken in many ways. That was ok. He was here. For every ashamed glance away, there were a hundred gentle smiles. He could cry to her in secret, but she still got to hear him laugh in the sunlight. He could think himself a monster. He wasn't one to her and she was happy to make that clear every day. She had waited so long for him, shadows and all.
The sound of Odysseus' breathing changed, like his mouth had just fallen open. He was finally asleep. Penelope sighed, a mix of relief and gladness. She let the quiet wrap itself around her as she lay listening to it, her thumb still stroking her husband's arm.
Her thoughts shifted to Telemachus, not far away, but out of reach. Her son would have gone to ground, likely retreating to his bedroom or the seashore. He always did that when he was upset, especially if he felt embarrassed or ashamed. He hadn't been that way as a little boy. It had come on in adolescence in tandem with the cruelty of the suitors.
Penelope heaved another sigh. She was so grateful to her husband for ridding their home of those dogs.
Although she hadn't seen it, she thought she had a decent understanding of what happened. She hadn't pressed Odysseus, instead wanting him to get rest. The thud against the door had indeed woken her, sending sleep rushing from her like a receding wave from the shore. Her first thought, like always, had been of her son. Was he safe? Still so used to her husband's absence, she had not yet learned to be concerned for him at home. Her second thought, the one she always fought to keep down, was for her safety. Was her door no longer enough? Odysseus' shouts of 'Telemachus!' and 'son!" brought her back to the present. The suitors fled back into the past. Despite the clamor, all sense of danger left her in the brief instant it took to reach the door. Still, her skin crawled at the screams coming out of Telemachus. She heard Odysseus repeating that he wasn't "them". She wanted to open the door but something stopped her. Somehow she felt it would be an invasion. Seconds later she heard her son's painful apology and then his rapid footsteps. That's when she opened the door.
She didn't fully understand but if Odysseus' minor moments of panic or his sudden strange reactions were anything to go by, then she might have an idea. Her son had been winding tighter and tighter for many years. A house full of unwanted men looking to seize his father's throne would have that effect. For years they practically looted his home before his eyes, drooled after his mother and belittled him at every opportunity. And it only worsened as time wore on. The pressure mounted, insult turning to violence and leering to outright threat. And then, suddenly, all of that pressure vanished in one hundred and eight different sprays of blood. In a moment, his home, his mother and himself were all safe. Penelope had seen how happy he was since then. It was a joy to step with him into their new reality, but it was new. He had to learn. He was starting the unwinding. It would take time. She knew in her heart that he wasn't the only one. She would also have to learn. For now though, her heart was too busy being relieved, being happy.
Penelope closed her eyes as she felt tears well up and threaten to slip out. All Telemachus ever wanted was to meet the man he had learned, as a boy, to love and idolize. He would be devastated by this. She knew it would take some convincing for him to believe his father wouldn't hate him for it.
Between the two men, those two halves of her heart, there was a world of fear. Both wanted to love and be loved by the other so badly. They'd been so tentative.
It would have been hard for her to miss. She had to remind herself it had only been two weeks. That was a drop in the sea compared to twenty years.
Opening her eyes to the darkness again, she breathed a prayer that they could find each other beyond this incident. She believed they would but what she had seen in the hall had nonetheless shaken that faith.
What had she told Odysseus? There was time.
When she next saw Telemachus she would not speak to him of what happened. He would know she heard it all from behind the door, know his father talked to her. But she had not seen it herself and she would let him keep some dignity. This would be his and his father's to work out.
Besides, she knew he wouldn't need her to say anything. He just needed her. It had always been that way. It was the same for her. Lock the door and sit together. It was always enough. With Odysseus taking his place in the family, they were learning new territory. Mother to son and son to mother was all they knew. Now they had to, and desperately wanted to learn son to father and wife to husband. Penelope, despite her worries and doubts, did feel a deep peace about it all. She wasn't sure what tomorrow would bring for her family. She was certain it was would be a wonder compared to what had come before. However messy or scary, it involved the three of them. That's all that mattered.
Finally, she closed her eyes. Odysseus stirred but did not wake as she shifted closer to him, not letting go of his arm. She tucked her face against his shoulder and just breathed.
Moments later, sleep took her.