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At first, Telemachus thought it was him. He thought that maybe, as Odysseus got to know his son, he was becoming so disgusted with Telemachus and all his failings that he disliked even touching Telemachus. Why else would he flinch every time Telemachus touched him?
But Athena had sworn that Odysseus loved Telemachus. As did Penelope. And, other than his seemingly automatic flinch response, Odysseus spent an almost absurd amount of time around Telemachus, matched only by his time around Penelope.
Clearly, this was something else.
Telemachus knew that soldiers often came home from war changed. Penelope had warned him of that, way back when Odysseus returning had been a strong possibility, rather than the forlorn hope it had eventually become. Telemachus knew better than to approach Odysseus from an angle he couldn’t be seen in, and if Odysseus called off a spar, Telemachus didn’t question it.
Those quirks made sense. Maybe the touch thing did too, but it felt… off.
Aggression was Odysseus’ normal response when scared. He shoved, he punched, he jerked away into defensive stances when caught off-guard. When touched, he… recoiled. Not to a defensive stance, to however far away he could get with no grace or planning. It was strange. It didn’t fit the pattern.
Finally, Telemachus decided that he couldn’t just watch and hope that answers would be bestowed upon him. He would have to ask. The problem was, he knew he wasn’t guaranteed an answer.
Odysseus tried to be honest whenever Telemachus asked him about his travels and experiences, but sometimes, he would skip over things. Important, painful things.
Telemachus knew the man he might have called Uncle Polites died fighting a cyclops, and the man he should have known as Uncle Eurylochus died in a thunderstorm, but he had no other details about it. He knew his father had spent years stranded on an island, but he didn’t know the name of it, or anything else about it. It would bother him, were it not for the haunted look Odysseus got whenever those incidents were mentioned.
There were certain things you just couldn’t put pressure on without causing pain, Telemachus knew, and despite the reassurances he received from everyone around him, his relationship with his father was too new, too delicate to test with anything heavy.
But maybe this could be a test of that. Telemachus didn’t intend to push hard, especially if Odysseus didn’t want to talk about it, but if he was allowed to ask about the flinching… maybe he was allowed to ask other things, too.
Telemachus wanted to know his father. This could be a way to see how far he could push without breaking anything. An easy strength test. He would be careful, and maybe he would find out why Odysseus seemed so adverse to touching him.
He made his move after their normal training session. They had both set down their training spears and Telemachus had handed Odysseus a waterskin. Their skin never made contact. Odysseus was careful to make sure it didn’t.
“Is there a reason you don’t… touch me?” Telemachus asked.
Odysseus paused mid-drink and lowered the skin, clearly confused.
“It’s just- you avoid it when you can, and when you can’t, you flinch,” Telemachus explained, gesturing vaguely with his hands.
Odysseus grimaced and sighed.
“We should sit down for this,” he said quietly, and Telemachus followed him to a bench where they both sat down.
Odysseus stared at the waterskin for a moment, then another. Then, he began to speak.
“The island I was trapped on was called Ogygia.”
Telemachus tilted his head slightly, but didn’t interrupt. Odysseus was still staring at the waterskin.
“As you know, I was trapped there for seven years. But I wasn’t there alone. There was… a goddess, of some sort. Calypso, forever living on an island that no one could find or leave without the express will of the Olympian gods.” Odysseus swallowed, his shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly. “She had been alone for most of her life. So, when I washed ashore on her island, she believed she fell in love instantly.”
There was something dark in Odysseus’ voice. A dark, cold thing that made Telemachus wonder briefly if he really wanted to hear where this story went. But he’d asked, and he would stick it out to the end.
“It wasn’t love, of course. She had no idea what love was. She only understood a facsimile of it. But she was a goddess, and she had decided that I was the love of her life. And when I told her I was married, and uninterested… well. She decided to change that.”
The wineskin trembled in Odysseus’ grasp.
“She liked… touching me. Whenever possible. In the early days, she would change herself to “better suit my tastes” as if her looks were the problem. I couldn’t escape her. And when she realized I wouldn’t go to her bed no matter what she looked like… there was no point trying to keep up the facade.”
Telemachus could feel horror and disgust churning in his stomach. He wanted to comfort his father, but at the same time, he didn’t want to touch him without explicit permission.
“She… forced herself onto me. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop her. And then- gods, she would just touch me over and over, as if I would ever get used to feeling her skin on mine. I…” Odysseus’ voice broke. “I know I am safe now. I know I am no longer on that island. But every time, every single casual touch, no matter who it’s from, I can’t help but remember her, and-”
Odysseus sobbed. Telemachus found himself kneading the air, torn between his desire to hug his father and to give him as much space as he needed. He didn’t want to leave Odysseus alone with his feelings, but if all touch reminded him of his tormentor-
“I’m so sorry that I am such a weak man,” Odysseus rasped, tears running down his cheeks, “I am sorry that I cannot simply move on now that I am free. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to forget it and yet it still lingers. I wanted to forget that island and its goddess, but I cannot. I am so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Telemachus said quickly, “Please, don’t apologize for that! You have been nothing but patient with me, and the staff, and Mom when it comes to silly fears we have! Of course touch makes you uncomfortable - I’m surprised you haven’t tried to take anyone’s hands off after… that!”
Odysseus laughed a thick, watery laugh.
“That sort of response never helped. I gave up on it long ago.”
Telemachus swallowed and wrapped his arms around himself, then said, “I should be apologizing. I noticed you didn’t like to be touched, and yet I kept doing it. I shouldn’t have had to be told-”
“None of that,” Odysseus grumbled, “What kind of father would scold his son for wanting normal physical contact? You have nothing to apologize for.”
Telemachus decided not to argue. Instead, he just nodded and looked down.
“I’ll work on it now,” he mumbled, and Odysseus huffed at him.
“You’ve been cut off from friendly touch long enough. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Telemachus, again, didn’t argue. He would make sure that any touch he attempted with his father was fully welcomed, and he would not feel hurt if Odysseus pulled away from him.
It wasn’t Telemachus he was recoiling from, after all.