Chapter Text
Odysseus turned to his wife and son.
“Would someone go and ask our good friend Theo for advice?” he asked, sounding tired. “And remind me that once this ordeal is over, we’ll compensate the man properly for his troubles.”
“I think we’ll both take a walk,” Penelope said. "Unless you need me here.”
He nodded. “No, it’s fine, we’ve got this, I think. Go, get some fresh air.”
Telemachus pressed Athena’s hand before he got up and joined his mother.
They walked through the palace side by side, something that should have been so casual and still felt like a gift.
Telemachus subtly wiped his eyes, hoping it wouldn’t show.
“Do you want to talk about it, Tel?” Penelope asked when they left the palace.
He shrugged.
“I just… it means that something is really wrong, doesn’t it? I know she’s immortal, but what happens to an immortal when they get too sick? Because she’s not getting better, and at some point… where does it end?”
Penelope frowned, gaze wandering across the horizon.
“I don’t know, little wolf. I think there’s little we can do beyond hoping for the best.”
“Do you think Athena knows what could happen and won’t tell us?” he asked, voice uncertain. She offered her arm and he took it, walking closer to her.
“No,” she said after a while. “I think she doesn’t know either. If she knew nothing could happen to her, she’d explain it to ease our minds, it would help much more than ‘I’m immortal’ and she would know that. If she knew something bad could happen, I’d like to think she’d be at least a little more careful.”
Telemachus hummed, sounding unconvinced. Penelope couldn’t blame him, she felt uncertain about that last part, too.
“She seemed surprised, anyhow,” she said. “I don’t think she knows.”
She tenderly stroked his arm.
“Do you think Dad thinks I shouldn’t have cried?” he asked then, voice cracking.
“I know he doesn’t think that,” she replied, no hesitation in her voice. “Whoever gave you that idea?”
They had reached the town below, lowering their voices. Penelope offered a practiced smile, and Telemachus followed suit, still unused to having eyes on him like this, not the shameful yet persistent stare that said the bird is out of the cage, look at him, so unlike his father, not taking the throne that’s his, no, genuine reverence and warmth.
“I… I guess it felt… weak… to cry, when none of you did… and when she’s hurt and she doesn’t even make a sound. She’s so strong, Mom.”
Penelope sighed.
“She is, but not because of that.” She ran her thumb across his arm in small circular motions, and he briefly rested his cheek against her head. “You know, Tel, some people get told their entire life that crying, and showing emotion, and reacting normally to pain, makes them weak. So they teach themselves not to. But it’s not true. Our friend is doing it, and she suffers all the more for it. Being strong should make you feel better, but right now it makes her worse. Because sometimes, we will have strong emotions, and we will be in pain, and we will have to cry, and if you taught yourself to suppress it, where does it go?”
Telemachus nodded, understanding.
“It all stays inside.”
They nodded at some more citizens as they walked past, and Telemachus wondered if one ever got used to it, or if his Mom was naturally good at making people feel appreciated.
“Exactly,” Penelope said. “I’m glad you cried, Tel, not because I want you to be scared, but because you were scared, and you allowed it to come out. It was a terrifying thing to happen, and you care about her, so it was a perfectly normal thing to do.”
She hesitated.
“It’s not easy to remember that some people are safe to be vulnerable around, when you’ve learned that others are not,” she said then. “I find it hard to cry sometimes when I want to now, because I had to keep my emotions down around the suitors. Because they would have thought me weak, and hurt me for it. But I want you to keep in mind, that around those who love you, you can be true, always. We would never consider you any lesser for it.”
He smiled at the tenderness in her voice, but then his face grew grave.
“She doesn’t feel safe around us, does she?”
Penelope sighed.
“I doubt she feels truly safe around anyone, little wolf. But I believe if we continue being kind and patient, she might start to trust us. I think she’s trying to already.”
They halted before the home of Theodyces, and Penelope put her hands on her son’s shoulders before briefly pulling him close.
“Alright,” she whispered. “Let’s find out how to help our friend.”
Night fell, and Athena couldn’t sleep.
She had acted like she did, not wanting to talk, and not wanting to worry Odysseus who had insisted to stay with her despite looking very tired.
She hadn’t called him to attention when she had noticed his head droop about a half-hour ago, only saddened that he wasn’t sleeping in his own bed, but she knew he wouldn’t leave her side if she woke him.
The others’ visit with the healer had yielded little, lying as still as possible, managing pain if necessary, carefully wrapping the injury to stabilize it. In summary, nothing they weren’t already doing.
Her side was throbbing, but she hadn’t needed to cough again at least, even if the coppery taste of ichor lingered in her mouth even after hours, even after drinking something.
It really was laughable that despite losing a few hours to a fever spike earlier, and despite the cough, this could almost be considered a good day.
She swallowed hard.
The quiet of the night would have been a lot more comforting if she didn’t feel like there was blood in her throat constantly, too persistent to swallow down, and not bad enough to trigger a cough and be released that way.
Not that she was particularly keen on the latter anyway. Especially not when Odysseus was catching up on sleep beside her.
She swallowed again.
Her thoughts wandered toward Olympus, and she forcefully tried to drag them anywhere else. She didn’t want to be there even in spirit.
I didn’t think they hated me quite this much.
She supposed hate wasn’t quite the right word. Hate might have drawn them to her, to gloat, to injure her further, even.
Hate was what had turned her father’s eyes white with lightning. It was always simmering in the background, hate for the fate she would have had, had she been a boy, hate for her that boy being the reason for her mother’s fading, the mother whose eyes she had, hate who she was and who she might turn out to be, and sometimes she thought there was more hate than there was affection, but that was how things were. Only wishing for the love of a father without the hate was a fantasy that she had long stopped engaging, she guessed all children wished for it for a while before accepting the natural order of things.
Athena swallowed.
It was stupid to even consider whether she preferred the hatred even without the promise of love, when it caused her pain like this, when it had all but destroyed her body. Only a fool would prefer fire to the vague coolness of disregard.
She had given her siblings little reason to feel any other way, and wasn’t it a good thing that at least she hadn’t hurt them enough for them to hate her?
Odysseus stirred, cooped up in the chair, and she turned, glad to be pulled back into the present.
He shifted, brow furrowed in sleep, and curled into himself more.
She was glad he was getting some sleep, still, there was an unease about it that she couldn’t quite place.
Odysseus shifted again, almost like a flinch. For a moment, dread settled in her stomach, what if he was injured?
“I’m… no… I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice drunken with sleep. The words put the situation into perspective for Athena.
Nightmare. Shit.
“Odysseus?” she asked hesitantly.
He didn’t respond, but she could see his eyes move rapidly behind his lids, and then he blocked an imaginary blow with his hands.
“No…” he mumbled. “No, please…”
“Odysseus,” Athena repeated, but she could tell her voice didn’t carry far enough.
Briefly considering, she pushed off the blanket and carefully sat up, the wire in her side shifting and burning at the movement. Be still, by Styx, I do not have time for this.
Odysseus mumbled something indistinct, and the fear in his voice was palpable.
Athena felt weakness pulling at her limbs when she slowly rose, steadying herself with her left hand. She had to close her eyes for a few seconds to fight the dizziness.
It was just a little further than a step, really, and she managed, albeit shakily.
“Odysseus. You’re dreaming. Time to wake up.”
He didn’t react to her voice, but soon after he flinched violently, whimpering in his sleep.
She grimaced, conflicted. Being touched, especially when dreaming, would scare her, but on the other hand, if her own nightmares were anything to go by, he would want to experience as little of it as possible.
“Odysseus.”
Still no response.
Athena closed her eyes for a moment, and reached out for his shoulder, shaking him slightly.
“Odysseus, wake up.”
He jumped, jolting awake, and his hand closed around her wrist.
Usually black eyes, now blazing with lightning. Fingers bending the metal of her armguards, and she can feel the imprint like they’re touching bare skin.
Athena drew a shaky breath, blinking hard to stay in the present.
Odysseus stared at her, wide-eyed, panting.
“It’s okay,” she managed, voice wavering. “Just a dream. You’re home.”
He shuddered, then his gaze focused a little.
“A-Athena?”
“Yes. It’s me. There’s no danger.”
“I… I’m sorry, Athena… I should have… I should have listened… I didn’t want to fail you, please, I’m sorry I disobeyed you, you were right all along…”
Tears ran down his cheeks, the words all but catching in his throat.
“Odysseus,” she interrupted, his words twisting in her heart. “It’s alright. Don’t apologize. It’s all good now, you’re home, this is Ithaca, your wife and your son are next door sleeping, and you’re safe. You just had a nightmare.”
He shivered, then his hand slowly released her wrist as his gaze darted around the room.
“Athena?”
“Yes?”
“You’re… are you really here?”
She swallowed hard.
“Yes, Odysseus. I’m really here. I promise I am.”
He reached out a shaking hand, silently pleading to be grounded, she wouldn’t have understood ten years ago, but she did now. She wrapped her fingers around his, holding on as tightly as her limited strength allowed.
“Tell me… tell me again. Where I am,” Odysseus said, voice choked and uncertain.
“You’re on Ithaca. Penelope and Telemachus are next door. This is your childhood room. You’re not on sea anymore.”
He shook his head, still appearing confused.
“…No. I’m not allowed to… Poseidon… I made a deal with Poseidon to get home.”
“That’s right. You’re home now.”
“Home.” His voice sounded dreamy and far away.
Athena fought a shiver, feeling unsteady and weak. I don’t know how to do this.
“Athena… it… why doesn’t it feel real, Athena, why… I just want to be home, why can’t I feel that way?” She heard the tears in his voice.
“It’s hard to feel safe when you haven’t been for a long time, my friend. Let me show you what I can see.”
She felt fear settle in her stomach, terror at not knowing whether she’d be able to do this without spending the rest of her dwindling strength, but she knew she would have given anything for security in his place.
Opening their mental connection, she gave him access to her sight, revealing the room around them.
“See, remember the ceiling you painted for Telemachus? And they moved the furniture around some. The dresser is Ctimene’s, isn’t it? You can make him a new one now if you want. The room doesn’t look like you left it, do you remember?”
He nodded. “Yes… I built a crib for him. They put my old bed back… because I wasn’t there to build one.”
“You can do that now. I think he’d like to help you with it.”
“Yes… that would be nice.”
She felt the death-grip on her hand loosen some.
Her heart was beating unreasonably fast, but the connection held steady. Apparently it had been the force of her memories that had done her in the last time. Great job not figuring that out sooner, goddess of wisdom.
Odysseus breathed out shakily, then his gaze flickered to her. She felt him break the connection, ‘double vision’ as he called it always made him queasy.
“Athena… no, wait, why are you up? You’re not supposed to be out of bed, why are you…?”
“I couldn’t let you go through that if I could wake you instead,” she replied simply.
He rose, movements still clumsy and shaky. She groaned softly when he reached out to support her, less controlled than he would have been when not running only on fear-driven instinct.
This time, it wasn’t imagination. She could taste the ichor in her throat, metallic and suffocating, but she fought the cough down, not now, not when there was finally something she could do, when she could finally give rather than receive.
Her side was burning, and she thought it was insane how much of an area a small fracture like this affected.
Odysseus helped her sit down, erratically putting the blanket around her, then helplessly hovering around her and she could feel his desperation to make sure everything was fine.
“Odysseus,” she said gently. “There’s no danger. It’s all good. Sit down.”
He obediently sat beside her, legs pulled in, arms wrapped around his shins. A suppressed sob shook his frame.
Athena swallowed hard.
“Do you… do you just need to cry, or would you like to talk about it?” she asked hesitantly.
Odysseus sniffled.
“H-how much do you know?”
“I took a pretty thorough time-dive to find you, so… a lot.”
He nodded, burying his head in his arms, making his voice sound dulled on top of cracked.
“I… if only I’d… listened. You warned me, and if I’d listened, I’d have 14 men to mourn instead of… of 600.”
“You couldn’t have known, Odysseus,” Athena interjected.
“And if I’d been stronger… I could have stayed awake until Ithaca and kept the bag closed… if I’d used different words for Poseidon, he might have spared them… or if I’d found another way past Scylla… And they all died, Athena… I knew every single one of them, and I killed them all-“ A sob broke him off.
Athena flexed her fingers, hesitating, then put her hand on his shoulder, feeling his breath hitch, but he didn’t flinch away.
“I know what mortal bodies are made like,” she said quietly. “Nine days without sleep is already beyond what your body should have been capable of, Odysseus, and they should have trusted you. You gave them no reason to believe you’d keep treasure to yourself. And I’ve known Poseidon for 4000 years, and I couldn’t tell you how and if you could have persuaded him. Not fighting Scylla was the only way any of you had a chance at all. You tried your hardest against overwhelming odds. Those choices should not have fallen on your shoulders.”
He drew a shuddering breath.
“I miss them… Athena, I miss them so much… and they hate me, even in death… I hear them scream for me… and I couldn’t save them. I wouldn’t… what kind of captain sacrifices his fleet?”
“One asked to make an impossible choice,” she repeated, forcing shallow breaths to combat the tang of metal in her mouth.
“I just… the worst thing is, I am so happy to be here!” Tears threatened to drown out his words. “I am so happy, because Pen and Tel are here and I love them so much I think my heart will explode, and I don’t deserve it, I don’t deserve to be here and be happy with them, and still I can’t and don’t want to change it.” His voice broke.
“What good would it do?” Athena asked, fingers absently tracing circles on his back. “Seriously, what good would it do? After everything that was lost, is the solution that you eat yourself up with guilt?” She hesitated for a second, swallowing. “If I’d been in your crew’s place, I’d be most offended if you’d have been stuck on Ogygia for the rest of your life, because then there’d really have been no point. You’ve paid dearly for a chance at happiness, now you should use it to honor those you lost.”
Odysseus drew a shuddering breath as he nodded erratically.
She saw his eyes darting toward the door again, and she didn’t have to have access to his mind to guess what he was thinking of.
“Why don’t you go check on your family, see that they’re alright?”
He wiped his eyes.
“T-that’s pretty illogical, though, right?… I should believe they’re fine… I should…”
“Odysseus,” Athena interrupted gently. “Screw the logic of it. Go check on them.”
He nodded again before he got up, all but running.
Athena counted internally, calculating how far away from the room he was.
She felt her chest tremble with strain before she finally allowed the cough, daggers shooting through her entire body as it tore through her. Tears welled up in her tightly shut eyes, and for agonizing seconds? minutes? all there was was the fire in her lungs and the ichor in her mouth, wetting her fingers.
A low whimper escaped her throat along with more blood. Weakness crept through her limbs, and she felt herself sinking back against the pillows, struggling to breathe, at least a little, and she knew Odysseus would come back, diligence forcing him to, and she couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear her mother being so wrong; you’re a fighter, Nea, always remember how strong you are.
She groaned, blindly reaching over to the side table, knowing there was a cloth, her right side on fire as she was forced to reach over, elbow painfully pressing against her wing until she finally gripped it, breaking into another cough, fabric staining golden as she felt like she was falling despite lying still.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, she sank back, every breath an effort, her vision was blurred and what little she saw was swimming around her. She weakly wiped her mouth, then pulled the blanket over herself a little, pushing the bloody cloth under it.
She felt her hands faintly trembling.
The door opened with a dulled sound, light from a candle streaming into the room.
“I’m back, Athena.” Odysseus’s voice sounded a bit hoarse from crying.
She tried to reply, but her mind wouldn’t even allow her to form words, let alone speak them.
“She might be asleep again,” Penelope said as the two stepped closer.
Odysseus bowed over her, she could more sense than actually see him. His hand gently touched her forehead.
“Oh dear,” he said.
“Spiked again?”
“Yes. Gods, sometimes I think it gets higher every time.”
She felt with vague detachment how Odysseus carefully adjusted her position, hearing herself gasp softly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Just making sure you can breathe.”
A cool cloth touched her forehead, making her realize in a daze how hot her skin had to be as he gently wiped the sweat off her brow.
Athena supposed she should have been frightened at her vulnerability, but in that moment before the dark, all she felt was tired relief.