Chapter Text
"There's one part I am still confused about." Penelope murmured a while later, Odysseus still curled against her and Telemachus and Poseidon sat across from them. Ctimene had disappeared a bit earlier, off to deal with any official business of Ithaca while the four of them spoke of their next moves. Someone had to deal with Telemachus's outburst in court, and unfortunately, neither Odysseus nor Penelope had been in the place to do so in the last few days. But Penelope could not stop thinking about Poseidon's words in reaction to Telemachus's accusations. "What did you mean, Telemachus, by 'torture', and Poseidon, what on earth happened between you and Odysseus?"
Both Odysseus and Poseidon cringed. Her husband at least had the decency to look shamed, his eyes downturned and cheeks coloring. Poseidon, on the other hand, looked . . . distant. Far away in his own mind, fingers gently twitching in his lap as his gaze flickered between things only he could see. "It is nothing." He murmured, shaking his head. The movement dislodged a few strands of his dark, blue-black hair that was pulled back into a messy tie above his head, but he did not seem to notice. That distance was in his voice too, echoing older pains than the ones shared between him and Odysseus. He flinched away minutely when Telemachus tried to place his hand on the god's shoulder, but they all saw it. "I am a god; a few moments of pain are nothing in my lifetime."
"Poseidon, that's a load of shit." Telemachus growled and turned to Odysseus. His rage from the throne room was back, so much like Odysseus's own that Penelope blinked. He looked just like his father in that moment. She loved her boys, but by the gods did they have some terrible tempers at times. "You snapped over nothing and tricked him into hurting himself because you were upset with me!"
Odysseus bristled in her arms and Penelope held up a hand to forestall any words from the three of them. Her mind reeled at those words, at the implication of them, but Poseidon's too-empty gaze was more unsettling still. She waited for Poseidon to look to her too, his eyes clearing somewhat, and smiled at him. "Are you with us again, darling?" She asked softly.
She wasn't sure what it was that flickered over his face then, but Odysseus and her shared a concerned look at the brief break in his mask. Poseidon was always so reactive, so quick to anger and defensiveness, biting back like he expected to be hurt. What Odysseus had done to him -- which went deeper than Penelope knew, but she would get to the bottom of it soon enough -- had not helped with his perception of the world, but it went deeper than that. As Poseidon sneered now, and Odysseus and Penelope shared their concern in a split second of contact, Penelope was certain that someone other than them had damaged his trust in ways they had barely begun to understand, and for far longer than she wanted to believe.
"You've no doubt told your wife and son of that night in the sea on your return, Odysseus." Poseidon spat. When Odysseus nodded, the god shrugged and looked away again. "I don't see why this would matter then. I violated the oaths I swore as a condition of my stay here; I paid that price."
Penelope stiffened, shifting away from Odysseus. "What." Odysseus cringed again, turning away to look down at his own hands. Poseidon's fingers had, no doubt without his notice, drifted up to trace slowly across one of his fresh scars, gold-edged and dark against his tawny skin, his fingers running along the raised edge of it like it pained him. "Oaths?"
Poseidon and Odysseus locked eyes. Penelope's stomach sank at the mutual fear there, the way Poseidon tried to conceal it under rage, and how Odysseus's was drowned in shame. What happened?! Yes, Odysseus was different from the man she had once know; he was still her husband and she would always love him and want him near, but he had changed. He had learned to shut off that sweet, soft, gentle part of him when faced with his enemies in a way that reminded Penelope of her childhood in Sparta, and she often saw a darker shadow in him now. He had done what he needed to do to survive and to come home to them, but she had begun to mourn the parts of him he had been forced to cut away in order to do so. She would never stop loving him, not ever, but she at times questioned if he had begun to hate himself in the bone-deep way that killed men who came home from war.
Poseidon deflated, glancing away as something passed between him and Odysseus that Penelope missed. "You can tell them." He murmured, hand stroking over that same scar again. "I . . . don't have the words for it."
Odysseus licked his lips, nervous, and Penelope took his hand. "Please, both of you." His eyes turned from her to their son, fear and shame warring for the dominate emotion there. "Understand that I was afraid, more than anything. Anger was there, yes, but I . . . After everything he had done, I was so afraid to have him near you." He softened as Penelope ran her hand down his spine, digging her thumb into the knots there. I know, darling, her words were unspoken, but she knew he heard them.
Knowing did not help her horror as Odysseus described the cruelty he had enacted on Poseidon the first day the god awoke in the palace. A darkness settled over him and over the god, the two of them watching one another, and Telemachus was twitching, biting back angry snarls and digging his fingers into the cushions below him. Penelope nearly pulled away from her husband when he told them of how he had tasted the ichor as Poseidon had sobbed and begged for mercy, how he had liked to see Poseidon afraid. "I felt . . . possessed. Like I was not in control but at the same time like I had every right to do what I had done."
Telemachus growled again as Penelope tried to digest that. I was not in control. She had heard of soldiers who came home different, who became men their wives and families did not recognize -- of course she had. She had briefly considered whether Odysseus was struggling with Soldier's Heart in recent weeks, but had pushed the thought aside in the face of her anger over his abandonment of his sons on Ogygia. But now, watching the way he cringed away from them all, hunched and scared, the way his eyes flickered around the room as if he was expecting a threat to touch him at any moment, she wondered again if he was sick. Not in body, not truly, but in mind. And not a sickness that was disgusting or contagious, but rather, one than wore down the patient, made their life miserable and only worsened without treatment and care, one that could be fatal if they were not careful. And she had not been nearly as caring and patient and careful as he had needed her to be.
"None of that explains why you were cruel!" Telemachus snapped. Penelope gestured at him to stop, and though he glanced at her, he did not. "He was already complying by the time you forced that last oath on him and you were sick with what you did to him! And later, when you caught us sparing? There was no need to torture Poseidon like that!" Poseidon made a face; Penelope suspected he was caught somewhere between insulted by the implications he was weak, which was nonsense, and grateful for his perspective being voiced by someone other than him for once. She remembered their conversation about how he was the only one who ever cared to protect his family, about how he felt so alone in doing so. You and Odysseus are not so different as you think.
Poseidon sat forward and glared between Odysseus and Telemachus. "Don't fight my battles for me, pup. This is between me and your father -- and I suppose Zeus, as the oath-keeper. I don't need you protecting me like I'm some helpless maiden!" He snapped and Telemachus whirled on him next, his glare just as icy. "No, but it's less about you and more that it was wrong!" Her son snapped, and Penelope could hear the hurt and worry in his voice, hidden deep under his anger.
Odysseus bristled again and stood, pointing accusingly at Poseidon. "He's still dangerous! I don't care that he's doing his little cowed-god act, or that he maybe gives a shit about us specifically --" He paused, surprised by his own words, and Penelope thought for just a moment that he and Poseidon might make that connection she had long ago seen. You two are more similar than you are different. But Poseidon scoffed, dismissive, and Odysseus's ire returned. Penelope startled at the flash of red in his eyes, but in a blink, it was gone again, and she wondered if she had imagined it. "He threatened to drown us all! He did try to take your eye, Telemachus! I am soorryy if I thought he was trying to hurt you again when you were swinging weapons at each other!"
"Boys, enough!" Penelope rubbed at her temples, exhausted again by this repeat conversation. Must she always be the balancing blade between them all? "You are all right, in a way. Darling, husband, Odysseus -- I cannot begin to truly understand your pain and fear and anger, but our son is right; you have crossed more than one line in what you have done to Poseidon." Her glare stopped him as he opened his mouth and snapped it shut again. "You were protecting us, I understand that, but you went too far. It will not happen again, or so help me Ares, you will not have your manhood when I am done with you!" He whimpered, paling, but she knew he was not truly afraid of her harming him so much as he was afraid of displeasing her. Good. Her husband cowed, she turned to the others. "Telemachus;" He jumped, eyes wide. "Yes, you are a grown man, and yes, your father ought to trust you to handle yourself with Poseidon and in general, but," She held up a finger to stall him when he looked a little too smug at that. "You need to learn to trust him as well. Odysseus has never been a man who does things without reason, and I know damned well that I taught you as much for the last 20 years. He is not only your father, he is your King. What do you think it says to our people when the guards and servants and maids see you two bickering and you questioning his every step at all hours of the day and all across the islands and you come accusing and raging into the proceedings of your father and his lords?" Telemachus looked properly ashamed, sheepishly murmuring an apology to Odysseus, when she turned on Poseidon. "And you."
Poseidon shifted nervously, shrinking back into the couch in a rather un-god-like manner. With the context she now had, Penelope did not like knowing that her husband was at least partially responsible for that behavior, but she still questioned why he was so quick to fear and anger compared to the rest of them. "I am sorry." His eyes jerked back to hers, face pinched in confusion, which only deepened when Odysseus bowed his head and nodded along with her next words. "My husband's treatment of you in those moments crossed a line. But he was afraid for good reason; you do not have a good track record with us and him." Poseidon looked away again, which was new, but he did not deny it and he did not sneer, which was an improvement in her book. "You were welcomed here to heal and recover; you never should have had to be afraid of when the next moment of violence would come. I am truly, deeply sorry for that. But please, from now on, understand that Odysseus is equally as afraid; if you both spoke to one another honestly you might begin to trust that you are not in danger here." She turned to Odysseus, cupped his cheek gently in her hand. "Either of you."
Odysseus and Poseidon exchanged a cautious, distrusting look, and Penelope nearly despaired, but a hopeful tilt came to the smile that Odysseus sent to Poseidon. "Thank you, for what you did, earlier." He looked away and a softer bent came to Poseidon too. "Having you here, hearing you confirm that Calypso . . ." Odysseus swallowed and Poseidon nodded, clearly understanding. "You were . . . one of my more active devotees for years, little king." The god glanced down at his own hands. "Perhaps I was too quick to throw you aside. And perhaps I owe you all some guidance."
They smiled at one another and Telemachus was beaming, bright and happy. Penelope wanted to smile too, but she was not done. "As for me." She turned Odysseus back to her, rested their foreheads together. He came willingly, as always, pressed against her, their hands entwined, and he looked at her as if she had hung the stars. She felt tears prick her eyes, shame and self-hatred filling her for just a moment before she forced herself to speak. "I was cruel to you too, husband. I assumed the worst of you and gave no thought to the pain and terror you were facing when I condemned your actions to get home." She wanted to think there had been a way out, that her oh-so-clever love could have taken the boys with him too, but that was hardly fair to him. "I have asked them both to trust you, but I did not do the same. I am sorry, my love." She closed her eyes, breathing him in as her tears fell. "Can you ever forgive me?"
Odysseus's warm, full lips met hers in a sigh. Telemachus groaned and Poseidon grumbled, and Penelope accepted the kiss and all the love and forgiveness within it. "Always, my love." She opened her eyes as Odysseus pulled away to smile and stick his tongue out at the other two, who were gagging and teasing at them both. He turned back to her and they both smiled, teary eyed and exhausted. "Always."
* * * * * * * *
Odysseus couldn't breathe. Calypso was above him, her hands on his chest, her sighs and moans so loud, overwhelming and all-encompassing. His body betrayed him, pleasure singing through him as horror and fear and no no no ran through his mind. I don't want this, he thought, even as he arched and moaned and pressed up into her. Please, make it all stop, I don't want this. Penelope.
The movement stopped, Calypso's fingers dug her sharp nails into his chest. "What was that, dearest?" He blinked, tears obscuring his vision, and squinted up at her. He shook his head, still crying. "Please, no more." She rose up and sunk down on him again and he moaned brokenly, his hips stuttering, shaking and crying as he was held in place by bonds he could not see. "Calypso, stop."
Her slow torture did not cease. Her hands teased at his chest, flicking and pinching his nipples as he sobbed and writhed. "But darling, you make the cutest sounds for me!" She continued, bending to lavish attention on his throat with tongue and teeth as he shook. "Please, no, Penelope--"
He cried out as he was struck, Calypso's backhand cracking his face to one side with a shock of noise and pain. He blinked, tears momentarily stopped, in confusion at the sting before fingers closed tightly around his throat. "Do not say her name here!" Calypso shrieked in his face, spittle flying as his struggles renewed and he choked for air. His vision was flickering, black and white bursts and strobes of color shifting in his eyesight as his air was stolen away. "You. Are. Mine!"
No no no. He couldn't die, had to make it home, couldn't let her kill him. She eased up, letting him choke down a few precious sips of air, as she started moving again. He sobbed and coughed, begging for her to stop. It continued still; his mind was too foggy to fight her. "P-enel--"
Another sharp crack over his other cheek made him sob harder, nearly screaming for it all to stop now. Sharp teeth dug into his shoulder, erupting in pain and the hot, sticky flow of blood dripped down his chest. "Mine!" He screamed his protests, writhing in pain and anger, but it did not stop her. Nausinous, he can hear. Have to be quiet, for him. Even the thought of his little son, so scared and vulnerable, waiting on the other side of the locked door could not make him stop. Not as Calypso carved her claim into his skin with teeth and claws, not as he was used, as he sobbed, as --
--warm hands ran over this cheeks, his shoulders, his hair, his throat. Odysseus cried out and struck out. Swearing -- a woman's voice, Calypso, gods no he couldn't be back there, not again -- echoed above him and he took the chance to roll them as soon as he realized he was free of whatever bonds of magic had held him in place. As he locked his knees around Calypso, his hands locked around her throat, and he squeezed. He sobbed and held on, heedless of how she clawed at him and fought, bucking and struggling. Can't do this, can't stand it anymore, have to do this, ruthlessness is mercy, my sons, I can't do this --
A crash sounded, voices were yelling, hands were on him from behind. He released Calypso with one hand, his elbow shooting back and cracking against bone. More shouting, more struggling, and he was being dragged off of Calypso, more than one set of hands pinning him down, shouts echoing, calls for a medic and voices calling the Queen is hurt, so is the Prince, someone find Princess Ctimene --
Ctimene? But she was home. Calypso wasn't a queen, Nausinous wasn't a prince -- not here, not on this island -- and there were too many hands. Odysseus still fought like a man possessed, sobbing and kicking and struggling, until warm hands traced his face, gentle and loving. He cringed away, whimpering as Calypso touched him -- but there were callouses on these hands -- Calypso never had callouses, she always healed whatever work her hands did -- Penelope had callouses, from her sword and loom --
"Penelope!" Odysseus sobbed as reality crashed back into him like a tidal wave. A few of the hands released him and he scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, his head pounding, heart racing, tears cutting stinging lines down his face. A crowd of boots and swords and cloaks of sea-foam blue surrounded them, Penelope was knelt above him. Home, you're home. He wasn't trapped on Ogygia. He forced a wane smile, looking to Penelope, "My love, I --"
He stopped as he caught sight of his wife. She was smiling too, holding his cheeks still, his name shaped on her lips as her voice croaked. Dark, rapidly-swelling bruises ringed her throat, hand shaped, his hands. Odysseus sobbed again, squirming away, shoving at the guards around them until his back hit the wall as he sobbed and heaved for air. Oh gods, I hurt her, I tried to kill my wife. He wretched and a bucket was shoved into his arms, bile and their dinner burning as he doubled over. Penelope was being pulled away, Ctimene whispering to her, shooting scared, wide-eyed glances at Odysseus as Penelope struggled to speak past her damaged throat. I hurt her. I hurt her. His wife's eyes were wide too, bloodshot and watering where the vessels had popped under pressure, but as she croaked something back to Ctimene, Odysseus's baby sister softened and her gaze on him shifted from fear to more concern, eyeing them both like patients. As if he was not a beast, a monster unleashed on his own family.
"Dad?" Telemachus was beside him, hands holding his hair back and soothing over his shoulders. Why wasn't he putting a sword through Odysseus's chest for what he had done to Penelope? Why hadn't Telemachus protected her? "Dad, breathe. Calypso isn't here. You didn't mean to hurt her, I saw your dream. Just breathe." Odysseus sobbed and choked, heaving again, at those words. He saw he saw he saw hesawhesaw. His boy saw what was done to him, saw the terrible things Calypso had done. He hadn't been strong enough or clever enough to protect Nausinous from the knowledge of what his baby's mother had done to him, and now Telemachus knew too. How? How did his son know what damage Calypso had wrought on him? Telemachus's fingers hovered, tracing in silent question over the places were Odysseus should have had scars from that night he had dreamt of and Odysseus wretch a dry-heaving sob into the bucket again. But he must have seen what Odysseus had done, the crime he had sealed his own fate with, the damage his own hands had done to his wife. Too dangerous, hurt her, monster monster monster.
Odysseus forced his eyes up, watering and burning with the sting of his sickness, and met his son's. He sobbed again and his hand shook as he reached out, tracing Telemachus's bleeding and broken nose with a gentle fingertip. Telemachus winced, pulling away slightly, and Odysseus swallowed more bile, remembering now the crack of bone on bone as those first hands had tried to pull him off of Penelope and finally registering the stinging ache in his elbow from where the blow had connected. "I-I-I did thi-thi-this?" He was shaking so badly that his teeth chattered as he tried to speak. Telemachus's face was swelling, bruises darkening, his nose crooked to one side and blood bathing his chin and lips. His boy, his precious, perfect boy shrugged and wiped at the blood on his face. "You didn't know it was me. Or her. Mom's not mad, just surprised." When Odysseus sobbed and wretched again, horrified at his son's excuses, Telemachus rushed to add, "Dad, it's okay. Well, fuck, no it's not, but we'll figure this out. Maybe you and mom need to sleep separate or maybe you need to take something before you sleep to keep you under, but we'll figure this out. We've had people with Soldier's Heart before, it's not the end of the world, okay?" His ears were ringing and his son's words faded away, hollow, distant. He was unmoored, every one of his fragile tethers to this word fraying and snapping as they dragged over the serrations of what he had done.
Odysseus set the bucket aside and staggered to his feet. Monster monster monster. He had hurt his family. He had put hands on his wife, hurt her, drawn his own son's blood; each day, his mind slipped a little bit more. It was getting harder to remember simple things. He could no longer tell who was beside him, who was touching him when he awoke. He was a warrior of the mind -- had been, at least -- and he was losing his mind now. He felt like one of the men that he had watched go insane in Troy, doomed souls who slowly spiraled deeper and deeper into their own paranoia and madness in the face of the unceasing slaughter and blood of the war. Those men never lasted long; they were mourned little. They quickly became dangerous on the battlefield, just as likely to turn on their comrades as their enemies. A few had even snapped in the camps.
Once, Odysseus had found a man shaking as he crouched over the still form of a corpse; he had assumed the man was sobbing. He was a soldier from Achilles's lines, a younger boy who had likely been too young to join the war in those first years but who had been slipped into their ranks regardless. As Odysseus had touched his shoulder gently, murmuring comforting words to the boy, he had seen that the boy was laughing, not sobbing. His hands were bathed in blood, and as the boy tilted his face up to Odysseus and grinned, his teeth had been stained that same dark crimson color, dripping down the front of him as he clenched his fists around the meat in his hands. "It's warm."
Odysseus did not want to be put down like a maddened dog, the same way they had been forced to put down the boy who lunged at him, still covered in his shield-brother's blood and guts from where he had ripped him open in his madness. He was plagued by dreams of that boy, of finding himself in that boy's own shoes as he stood over Penelope or Telemachus, their blood dripping from his fingers in a sickeningly familiar rhythm. And now it has become real.
He was losing his mind, drip by drip. If he did not want to be put down from madness, there was only one thing to do before he slipped any further.
He left their room, shaking Telemachus off of him and ordering the guards not to follow as he ran.
* * * * * * * *
Penelope made Telemachus and Ctimene wait outside as she entered Poseidon's rooms and shook the god awake. Her throat was burning still and she could hardly see past her tears and the bloody haze in her right eye. Her hands shook, the nails of her right hand darkened with Odysseus's blood from where she had clawed at him in terror as he was lost in his own mind. But her fear was not for herself now as she approached the bed of the sleeping god and shook his shoulder, coughing around her own tight throat at the same moment as the man on the bed jerked awake under her frantic touch. Her fear was not directed at the knowledge that his man was often violent as he first woke too, knowing instead that those same foolish oaths her husband had extracted from the god would protect her now if he did lash out, in all of the sick irony of the Fates. Still, a rare, immediate clarity pinched Poseidon's features before he softened, those shining sea-blue eyes illuminating the room in a ghostly blue light as he sat up, hands clenched, eyes scanning around her for enemies. "Lady Penelope?"
A new round of coughing seized her as she choked on a sob. Gods, Penelope's throat burned, the skin hot to the touch and swollen. Each breath cut into her like she had gargled glass and she could not speak as she frantically tugged on the chiton Poseidon had worn to bed, trying to make him stand. We have to find Odysseus. Her husband's eyes had been so hollow when he left, distant and dark and full of a danger that spoke of a man who would not come back to them alive. She knew the guards would not disobey his order to not follow him; Telemachus had refused to leave her side, despite his own worry for his father, and Ctimene had done the same, espousing on the dangers of strangulation; and in her current state, Penelope would not be able to move fast enough to find him. She was already swaying, light-headed from a lack of air, dizzy and vision uneven from the burst vessels, even as she kept sobbing and crumpled into Poseidon's hold as her god pulled her into his arms.
"My lady, you have to calm yourself," She was trying to move him, didn't he understand?! Poseidon was the only one who could find Odysseus in time, the only one with any hope of stopping whatever her husband would do to himself. Don't let him die like this, because of this, please! He is my everything, I cannot lose him to this madness. She tried to speak, to warn Poseidon, but she could only force tiny puffs of whining, croaking air through her damaged throat, her chest aching, her fingers feeling numb. Please, Lord Poseidon, please, you owe me him!
Warm hands held her upright as her vision sparked and popped. Penelope was so dizzy and her chest was tight and heavy. Poseidon's touch trailed over her throat and she whimpered when he rumbled in anger, "Who did this?" At the same time, the pain faded, melting into nothing with each soft stroke of his fingers, his thumbs, over her skin. Her vision cleared and the dizziness ebbed; she gasped, pressing into his touch, seeking the cooling relief even as she cried. Poseidon held her, kept her upright and looking at him, murmuring soft reassurances to her. She was lightheaded now with the euphoria of not being in pain, and without thinking, seeking comfort and anything but he's gone, he's dead, my husband has shattered, she surged forward.
Poseidon jerked against her, his eyes pulsing with blue light that swirled like the depths of the sea. Her own eyes slipped closed as she pressed her lips to his, firm, insistent, and Poseidon pressed back against her. One of his hands dropped from her throat, settled on her hip, pulling her closer. They moved together like the waves of their homes, him the god, her the child of a nymph, born to the sea as much as she was to land, and they parted on a breathless gasp as she shouted, "Odysseus!"
The god's eyes had darkened as she opened her own, steadying herself on his shoulders. They were still pressed close, hip to hip and chest to chest, Penelope straddling Poseidon with her hands on his shoulders and chest as she sobbed and he brushed her hair aside. "He did this?" The growl that came from Poseidon was otherworldly, promising danger, and she shivered, the sense that he was a predator and she his prey sweeping over her. Penelope did not know what it meant that it did not scare her. She wanted to lean more into him, to accept the solid line of his protection and comfort as her heart shattered and her mind could not keep up with her own fear, but Odysseus needed them.
"Please, find him," She cupped Poseidon's face, breaking into sobs as he tightened both hands on her hips now -- he did not hurt her, just held her, a rumble of promised violence for her pain rippling through him, soothing her with the knowledge that he would do anything in that moment to bring her peace as she begged for his aide. "Don't hurt him please, Lord Poseidon. He didn't know, he thought I was -- I was her, he was so afraid, I think he might hurt himself, he looked dead when he walked away, Poseidon please save him, I need him --"
She was babbling. Penelope was a queen, born to royalty, a woman of Sparta who had survived her people's demanding culture and stood as a ruler for 20 years without her husband and she was babbling. Poseidon must have thought her pathetic, scared, nothing but a woman too scared of her violent husband to do anything but cling to him, but that was as far from the truth as it could be. She was afraid, yes, but not of her darling Odysseus; she was afraid for him. She knew he would never hurt them in his right mind; if he was so far gone as to have hurt her without realizing it, she could only imagine the pain and terror and self-hatred spiraling in the mind of the man she loved most in this world. "Please. I cannot lose him, not now."
Poseidon's jaw fluttered as it clenched and he growled, "Explain."
So she did. Even as she tugged him to his feet, shoved a proper bit of clothing into his arms, and paced as she quickly rattled off the events of the last -- gods, had it only been ten minutes? That Odysseus had been thrashing in his sleep, moaning in pain and fear, murmuring her name. She had woken him, but he hadn't recognized her. At that, Poseidon had grunted, lacing his sandals in quick, sure strokes as a recognition flashed in his eyes; she knew, without asking, that he was thinking of his own waking-nightmares that their son pulled him from as he swung and fought and struggled. She told him of how Odysseus had been on top of her before she could register his movement, his hands tightening around her throat, and her own reflexes to shoot her fingers up between herself and him, hunching her shoulders and ducking her head as her father had taught her and her sisters, had been the only thing keeping her awake until Telemachus had come crashing into the room. That Odysseus had to be pulled off her, still thrashing and not quite awake; that he'd clearly been horrified.
Telemachus had told them all he had seen the dream his father had had, that he thought Penelope had been Calypso, that he was terrified. "She hurt him, Mom, bad, and he was still being hurt when you woke him up. It's not your fault, but he didn't know what was happening, he didn't mean to hurt you --" She'd had to take Telemachus into her arms, croak out that she knew, she knew that hadn't been Odysseus, that he had been a creature of pure fear and terror in those moments. Even as she had fought him, she had seen the tears and heard his own sobs, gut-wrenching and shuddering as they tore through him.
Penelope spun to Poseidon again. "He's going to hurt himself; I know it." She sobbed and covered her mouth with her hands, fear overtaking her again. "Odysseus would never hurt me, he'll be horrified, he'll think he's a monster, and he'll do anything to keep me and Telemachus safe, I'm afraid he's going to --"
As she broke down in sobs again, Poseidon took two long, sure strides and wrapped her in his arms. His limp was not as noticeable, all of his focus on her as he steadied Penelope in his arms. He was warm and firm and gentle and smelled of the sea and of home, and all at once, Penelope remembered why she and Odysseus had held faith in the sea and in Poseidon for so long. As she cried into his chest, every moment bringing her closer to the certainty that Odysseus was gone, warm fingers tilted her chin up until their eyes met. "I will find him, Lady Penelope." It was easy as breathing, then, to lean closer as he did and let their lips meet. A flash of guilt shot through her -- was she not betraying Odysseus in the same moment as she begged this god to save him -- but it was washed away in the hold of this god, of the man whose arms held her together, of his soft, soothing touch as his mouth moved against hers. They pulled away slowly and he murmured, "I will find him."
And then he was gone and Penelope was left, cold and alone, wondering what she had done.
* * * * * * * *
To a god, the last breaths of a man whose faith had shattered was like blood in the water. With every running, pained step -- he should have grabbed his cane, he was such a fool, he was going to be too late -- he could sense the faint string of Odysseus's life thread, frayed and unraveling. Fates, let me reach him in time! He held tightly in his mind to that fraying thread, following it to the man who he could not lose. To the man Telemachus and Penelope needed, the man he needed to be alive, damn him, be alive!
The thread, woven of every one of the prayers Odysseus had made to him in the man's life, led him further and further through the palace grounds. His heart hammered as he realized he was nearing the cliffs on the northernmost end of the palace grounds. No no, he said that on Ogygia, when he was lost, he nearly -- Poseidon growled and pushed harder, faster, running as much as his broken, far-too-mortal body would allow him. The prayers were coming apart in his hold; Odysseus had not just lost faith in him, but in everything. In every god, in the world, in his own life. If Poseidon did not find him in time, Fates please do not let him die!
He should have known not to pray to the Fates, not in such vague words. Poseidon did, in fact, find Odysseus, still alive, on the cliff to the north. He shouted, broken and pleading, his words stolen by the storm that whipped around them both. Had Poseidon called the storm to himself in response to his own distress like an old reflex? Or was this his brother's work, confounding him, trying to take away another of the people Poseidon cared for -- It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Odysseus was shaking, standing at the edge of the cliff, his cloak and hair whipping wildly in the wind as he stood barefoot and shivering and Poseidon couldn't not cross the damn barrier to get to him!
"Odysseus!" He screamed the King's name, shivering himself in the cold and wind, the waves howling and buffeting the rocks hundreds of feet below. No mortal would survive in those waters and Poseidon was not certain he could wrest the water under control in time to save him if the man jumped in his current state. "Odysseus, stop! Come back from there, you're going to die!"
The barrier shimmered before him, a flicker of light and threat that only showed in the corners of his eyes. He stood a hair's breadth from the shimmer, not sure if he could cross without triggering that same terrible, all-encompassing pain from before. Was Odysseus's presence enough to satisfy the wording of the oath? Or would he collapse in a writhing heap of seizures as the King stepped over the cliff and lose him? Poseidon couldn't risk it, not yet, so he had to rely on his words. "Odysseus, don't do this! Penelope and Telemachus need you!"
A horrible laughter that ran like Thanatos's touch down Poseidon's spine came from the man as he whorled to face Poseidon. "Is that so?" His eyes found Poseidon, traced along the edge of the palace grounds, and Poseidon knew that Odysseus was well aware of how their oath trapped him now. Damn him! Poseidon growled, pacing like a caged animal back and forth at the edge of the palace grounds, just shy of the barrier, his eyes never leaving Odysseus. Keep looking at me. If you are looking at me, then you aren't walking to your death. Just look at me. "Did you see what I did to them? How I hurt them?" Odysseus hunched in on himself, shaking and tearing at his own hair as he stepped backward.
Poseidon swore and his hands twitched to reach for the other king. "Odysseus, stop! We can fix this. Penelope is fine, I healed her," He tried not to think of what else he had done to the Queen, of what she had done first when he was still groggy and barely awake, more focused on the thought that someone had hurt her than the somewhat compromising position the had found themselves in, almost on instinct, as she had sought his comfort and aide. He did not have time to dwell on what all of that meant if he and Odysseus were both going to walk back to her and Telemachus alive. "Just come to me. I promise, we will figure everything out. But if you do this, it will break them."
He tried to ignore the pleading tone of his own voice as he stopped at the zenith of the barrier once more. He almost swore he could press against it, rest his hands against it like glass as he implored Odysseus to stand down. "Come back to me! Odysseus, this is not the solution!"
"I HURT HER!" Odysseus roared, his voice breaking as he shrieked the words to Poseidon. He could see the tears on the man's face, shining in the dull light of the half-moon as it peaked between the clouds to illuminate the scene. Poseidon felt his own eyes burn as he realized there was nothing he could do. Odysseus was twitching and shaking, a man possessed and afraid. Worse, afraid of himself. "I hurt her, Poseidon! I couldn't control myself and I am a danger to her and to Telemachus. I-I can't be around them anymore, Poseidon. What if I hurt them again?"
Odysseus's eyes were wide and searching. With a sinking feeling, Poseidon realized Odysseus needed him to have an answer to that question. He felt the faith-thread brighten and strengthen momentarily as Odysseus starred at him, and Poseidon nearly sobbed as he murmured, "I don't know, Odysseus. But I know this is not the way."
Odysseus slumped. His eyes dulled and he turned away. Poseidon cried out as the faith-thread snapped, too frayed to hold against the stress-test it was forced to endure then. "I'm so tired, Poseidon." Poseidon screamed, desperate, calling to Odysseus again and again as the wind blew towards the god and carried the man's words to him. "I can't do this anymore, not if I hurt them . . ."
"Odysseus, NO!" Poseidon screamed again as Odysseus strode, slow and sure, towards the cliff edge.
Fuck it all; Poseidon pushed through the barrier and lunged for Odysseus in three loping strides to close the short distance between them. His muscles locked and pain tore through him. Poseidon choked on a half-scream, but he grit his teeth and pushed through it, vision whiting out, even as his arms locked around Odysseus's waist. "No!" Odysseus screamed, fighting against him as Poseidon panted and his body spasmed. He turned them both, fighting against the white-hot, electric burn of it, and pointed them both away from the edge of the cliff, back towards the palace. Odysseus was kicking and clawing in his grasp, but the way Poseidon's muscles had gone taut and rigid, seizures wracking his every shaking step as he whined and gritted his teeth hard enough that he felt something in his jaw crack, kept Odysseus from squirming out of his hold. "No, let me go! Poseidon, enough, let me die!"
Poseidon stumbled to one knee as Odysseus's heel connected with the still-healing bone of his shin. He gasped, his leg gave out beneath them, and they tumbled to the dirt. Odysseus scrambled away from Poseidon's hold and the god cried out, sobs and screams tearing from him as he writhed. He'd failed, Odysseus was going to die, and Poseidon would be trapped here, torn apart as every nerve was set alight with the fires of Tartarus and he seized, eyes rolling back in his head, muscles jerking and tightening with the pain of Zeus's power. He'd been too weak to fight it and now Odysseus would die because of him.
A strong grip wrenched Poseidon up under his arms and he was dragged, kicking and writhing still, through the dirt. The friction and drag made it all so much worse and he sobbed, pathetic, gurgling incoherently and his hands twitching at the hold weakly. He wanted it all to stop. Just, please, make it stop --
"Poseidon!" He sobbed again when the pain stopped, all at once, the relief burning almost as much as the torturous shocks had. He was dropped on his back and he choked, spittle and bile obstructing his airway, until he was rolled onto his side. He still choked, jerking with aftershocks, until two fingers swiped past his teeth and forced his jaw open, forced his tongue away from his airway so he could breathe again, and then retreated. Odysseus. The King held him there, hands soothing over his back and sides, rubbing away the last of the shocks and spasms as Poseidon sobbed and gulped down air. "You fool, just let me go! I'm the reason you're like this, it's easier for everyone if I die --"
Poseidon's mind was still fogged with pain and his vision swam, but as the king's hands left him and he saw Odysseus step towards the cliff again -- both of them now safely within the barrier of the palace grounds -- he surged forward. His fingers snagged in the king's cloak and he yanked Odysseus back. Odysseus choked as the clasp of his cloak jerked against him and Poseidon pulled him to the ground once more with all of the strength he had left in him.
They rolled, wrestling as they fought for control. They were both shouting, screaming obscenities and desperate pleas at one another. "Let me go!" "No, I won't let you kill yourself, you fucking bastard!" "Fuck off, this is my choice!" Poseidon grunted and cried out as fists and knees connected with the softer, damaged parts of his body, but he did not dare let go. If Odysseus got past the barrier again, Poseidon was not strong enough to pull him back over it a second time. He fought with everything he had, clawing and clinging and refusing to give any ground despite the agony every inch of him still twitched with.
Poseidon had no idea how, but he found himself rolled on top of Odysseus, the king's hips pinned beneath his own as he snatched at the man's wrists. He pinned Odysseus down, grip tight enough to bruise, and rode out the bucking and thrashing of the man below him as they both heaved and sobbed. "Fucking let me go!" Odysseus screamed, voice swallowed by the rising crash of the tide and the angry roil of the storm above them. "Why won't you just let me die?!"
"Because they fucking need you!" Poseidon screamed back, leaning closer to make sure Odysseus heard him. He forced Odysseus to meet his gaze by shoving his face against the other man's, nose to nose, hovering over him, and pressed his weight and all of his lingering strength into his hold on the man. "Because you aren't broken or a monster!" Odysseus's blue eyes were still dark and empty, and the faith cord was still cut in half, dangling between them, limp and broken. Poseidon sobbed, screaming, his throat burning with the force of his words and chest constricting at the thought that he was almost too late. "Because I NEED YOU!"
He leaned down and sealed the words with a kiss, hot, desperate, needy, and Odysseus met him with that same force. Poseidon was still pinning him down, still fighting against the man's bucking and writhing, but the tone of it all changed then as they both gasped and pressed against each other. This was not the soft, comfort-seeking touch he had shared with the queen; kissing Odysseus was messy, teeth clacking, lips bruising as they moved against each other. Poseidon moaned, opening for the king as Odysseus licked into him, plunging deeper, exploring every part of him like Poseidon's tongue against his own, like Poseidon yielding to him held the secret to eternal life. Poseidon did not fight now as Odysseus flipped them, breaking Poseidon's hold on their wrists, and cupped his face, drawing Poseidon closer to him. Poseidon's legs were splayed, wide and open, eager for the king to bare down above him and move against him. Poseidon mewled, melting against his touch with a gasp as that tiny, broken thread of faith between them sparked and ignited, rekindled as Odysseus ground down against him with a hungry, searching thrust. Poseidon met him half way, tightening his thighs around Odysseus's hips without thinking to hold him there, writhing now in pleasure and relief and begging without words for more, more, you, Odysseus --
Odysseus pulled away with a gasp, but not completely. Poseidon wasn't sure when he had closed his eyes or when he had grasped onto Odysseus, his fingers curled in a bruising grip on the man's hips as he arched up against him and pulled Odysseus closer, but the awe and shock and wonder in those sea-blue eyes, so much like his own, his own domain staring down at him, Poseidon felt his eyes burn. "I need you, Odysseus." It was true. The faith-thread was burning with holy fire in Poseidon's senses, cold and bright and strong, so much stronger than it had ever been before. Odysseus's hands trembled against his cheeks, still holding him, and Poseidon turned into his touch, sobbing with the realization that, Fates, he loved this man. He loved him, he could not lose him, not like this. Not so cruelly cut short when he deserved so much more than this broken end. "Come back to me, little king. I need you, Odysseus, come back to me." He cupped the nape of Odysseus's neck in the same way he had as he had forced air into Odysseus in the throne room, though now he was not sure which of them he was holding together. "Please."
The storm whipped around them both, dark and dangerous and threatening to take them both into that abyss, but Odysseus rested their foreheads together, pressed against Poseidon hip to chest to shoulders, and cradled him there. "I'm here." He sobbed and Poseidon wrapped his other arm around the man's shoulders, holding him tight, never wanting to let go. He let the cord between them thread throughout his very being, throughout Odysseus, entwining their Fates in an irrevocable tangle of need and want and Fates I love you. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, Poseidon."
Poseidon held him there, not ready to let go. The storm crested and passed, the moon set, and the sky lightened as they both lay there, clinging to one another, not moving. Just holding each other against the tide, unwilling to let the other drift away. I love you. He couldn't say it, but he could hold on, and he could do everything in his power to heal this man. He had broken Odysseus, cut him to the marrow and reached in to scoop it out with his claws and tongue, but Poseidon would help Odysseus feel whole again. Even if it killed him.