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Odysseus was down by the beach when Athena found him. He was staring at the waves, far enough back not to touch the sand but still close enough to make Athena uncomfortable.
She walked up to him and sat down beside him. Neither of them spoke for a time.
“Is Penelope okay?”
Odysseus’ voice sounded like he’d been crying. He probably had been.
“Penelope is fine. You didn’t actually hurt her, you just scared her,” Athena told him.
Odysseus let out a hollow laugh.
“I just scared her,” he repeated, and took a shaking breath. “I just scared her.”
“You did threaten to hurt her if she touched you,” Athena reminded him.
Odysseus bowed his head, curling in on himself.
“I wasn’t talking to her,” he whispered.
“I know that. So does Penelope. She isn’t mad at you.”
“She should be.”
“Why?”
Odysseus was shaking. Athena was pretty sure it wasn’t because he was cold.
“I threatened her. My wife. My wonderful, incredible, perfect wife, and I threatened to try and kill her if she touched me again!”
“You just said you weren’t threatening her.”
“It doesn’t matter who I thought I was threatening, I said it to her.”
Athena considered that.
“Perhaps, but she has forgiven you. She is worried that you are down here by yourself.”
Odysseus tried to scoff, but it sounded more like a wounded gasp.
“Of course she is. Even when I’m not there I’m eating more of her energy.”
“Odysseus…”
He sank a little further into himself at her gentle chide. Athena sighed.
“When was the last time something like this happened?” she asked.
Odysseus didn’t answer.
“When was the last time something like this happened?” she asked again.
“...six months ago.”
“How frequent were these episodes two years ago?”
Again, Odysseus didn’t answer. Athena waited.
Finally, Odysseus murmured, “Almost… every other week.”
“Exactly. If Penelope didn’t grow tired of you then-”
“At this point I don’t think Penelope would separate herself from me even if I did hurt her.”
Athena frowned at the back of Odysseus’ head.
“Penelope, who avoided remarrying for nearly a decade after she should have, couldn’t find a way to leave you if she wanted to?” she asked incredulously.
“She feels indebted. She thinks she has to take care of me. I’ve forced her to think of me as a necessary burden, instead of a deadweight.”
Athena snorted. She couldn’t help it.
“We’ve had this conversation before.”
“We- what?”
“You’ve expressed such sentiments to me before, in almost this exact situation too. Do you remember what happened every time afterword?”
Odysseus didn’t respond.
“You talked to your wife, and she told you that your marriage vows were until death, and you would not be getting rid of her that easily.”
Again, Odysseus didn’t respond.
“You are tired, and scared, and thinking the worst of yourself without giving anyone else any grace in their own choices. Penelope would not still be here if she didn’t want to be. You know that.”
“She shouldn’t have to put up with me.”
“What if she chooses to?”
“What if she’s staying for the ghost of who I was?”
Athena shot Odysseus an unimpressed look.
“You’re still you. Your travels have changed you, yes, but you are not fundamentally different from the man who left Ithaca all those years ago.”
Odysseus let out a shuddering sigh.
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
Athena leaned to the side, nudging him with her shoulder.
“You are not such a terrible person to be. Your wife loves you, after all.”
“She shouldn’t.”
“Maybe you should let her decide that.”
Athena allowed the silence to fall and linger. She’d said her piece. Odysseus just needed some time to accept it. She had faith in him; he’d done it plenty of times before.