She couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t find the words to respond, so she just shook her head, doing everything she could to keep her tears from falling.
“This one?” She asked, once she could finally speak, but her voice was still only a whisper. Her fingers skirted the small scar that stretched across his wrist, invisible to most.
Never to her.
“Ah,” he uttered, closing his eyes and breathing in deep. “I angered Calypso.”
“Ody-”
“Shh, don’t fret, my queen.” He freed his hand from her grasp and rested it on her cheek. “I would do that again, too.”
“What did she do?” She swallowed her pain, her guilt. He shook his head, offering her a small shrug. “Odysseus,” she didn’t mean to beg, to plead with him, but her chest ached with the need to close his wounds, to fill his hurts.
“I…” he paused, brows furrowing as he searched for the word. “I wasn’t compliant. Tried to fight back when she-”
She shuddered, unable to compose herself before it escaped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling the tears finally win out, feeling embarrassed by her lack of control as he spoke.
He shushed her again, pressing his lips to her forehead. After a moment of silence, his hand drifted lower, settling on her collarbone. His thumb brushed across the front of her throat. “And you, wife? Where is this from?”
It would have been easy to mistake his words, for he spoke them so quietly. But as his thumb continued softly skimming her own scar, his question was unavoidable.
“Antinous,” she answered him, barely able to speak around the welt of emotion that was rising in her throat. “I wasn’t compliant, either. Not enough for him, at least.”
She felt him tense beside her, felt his entire body go rigid in her arms. “Odysseus,” she whispered, “don’t leave. Stay here, stay with me.”
“He held you, put a weapon to your throat?” His voice was louder, pupils dilated as she felt his heart begin to race.
“Odysseus,” she pleaded again, tears finally escaping down her cheeks. She took his face in her hands, pulling him down to meet her. She pressed her lips against his, the taste of him mixing with the salt that coated her lips now.
He stilled against her kiss, the tension in his limbs refusing to give way. As she clung to him, a quiet sob escaped her, and try as she might to withhold her climbing emotions, her husband was suddenly so distant, she was crumbling.
Penelope pulled back from him, tears falling in rivulets now. This moment, the one moment they could have spent together, forgetting all the pressure of the world, and she had tarnished it.
His eyes moved rapidly, as if searching her face for an answer to an unasked question. She tried to steady her breathing, tried to match his gaze, but she was rapidly coming undone.
The man before her took in a sharp breath, the color returning to his eyes as they settled on hers. His hand, where he held her, where he had traced her scar, tightened.
His grip didn’t hurt, but it elicited a return gasp from Penelope.
That was all he needed.
Odysseus let go of his own sob, a dam breaking before her. His hands shifted, clutching at her as his lips met hers. Penelope whimpered against him, and suddenly, they weren’t just two people weighed down by grief, by gods, by fate. They were Odysseus and Penelope, the storm and the shore, two halves of a whole finally crashing together.
His movements were erratic, he was a man unrestrained. He pushed her shoulders, pressing her into the mattress. His chest heaved as he positioned himself over her, never breaking the kiss.
It wasn’t desire that Penelope felt coursing through her body, not that she didn't want to be here, wrapped up in his arms. But this felt bigger than lust, bigger than passion.
This was healing her, healing them.
His lips left hers, trailing down to her neck. He nipped gently at the spot where her heart hammered before continuing lower. Briefly, he paused, his lips hovering over the scar on her throat.
Penelope arched up into him, lacing her fingers through his unkempt hair, anchoring herself, anchoringhim. Odysseus shifted, lips still featherlight on her throat. “Penelope,” he purred against her skin, hand pressing gently into her hip. “Penelope.”
It was a plea, a promise, permission.
“I’m here,” she whispered. “We are here.”
For the second time, he stilled, frozen in time. She could hear his labored breaths, feel his hands trembling against her skin. She untangled her hands from his hair, cupping his cheek. Penelope forced him to meet her gaze, her own eyes still shining with unshed tears.
