Penelope’s eyes slowly opened.
For several moments she simply stared at the hazy shapes above, as her gaze adjusted to the low morning light and the world coalesced into recognizable forms around her. She was looking at the canopy of their bed, more familiar to her than the lines on her hands. She blinked, and shifted a little beneath the blanket, and with the movement noticed warm and familiar weight at her right hand. She glanced over, and saw two huddled figures hunched near her side.
They were both sleeping: Telemachus leaning back against his chair, clothing rumpled, his hair wild and unkempt. Odysseus was the one holding her, and was half folded over onto the bed, grip secure and unyielding, his head tucked near her hip and their clasped hands. His face was so different from how she had last seen it in sleep, finally relaxed and at peace. His brow was drawn tight, and he twitched, gripping her harder as he pressed his forehead against their entwined hands. His lips moved, and among mumbles she couldn’t catch she heard her name.
Gods, how could she have let this happen? How could she have let such weakness overwhelm her? Her eyes stung, and she exhaled shakily, trying to stay quiet so as to not wake them. They looked so tired. So worried. All because she hadn’t been able to survive some hours alone? Because she’d let her mind twist into knots until she couldn’t tell reality from her fears? While they had been working so hard for Ithaca, she had been clawing at her own face and sobbing simply because they were late for sharing a meal with her.
All those years with vipers slithering in the halls, trying to corner her, baring their fangs at Telemachus, but now when her husband was home and their son was safe she couldn’t endure mere solitude?
She breathed deeply, trying to keep as still as possible, but as she had feared even that was enough: Odysseus twitched again, and this time his eyes opened. He didn’t seem to realize she was awake at first, his thumb tracing lightly along her knuckle, and he rose slowly, as if beneath some invisible weight. The moment his gaze met hers, however, whatever heaviness was upon him seemed to vanish.
“Penelope,” he breathed, leaning closer and bringing her hand to his chest, while his free hand reached for her face. She leaned into the touch as his fingers brushed her cheek, tucking the wilder curls behind her ear.
“How are you feeling?” he asked gently, kissing her knuckles. “You should have some water, if you are able.”
