"Ares? Texting? Forgive me,<i> taós mou</i>, but that is the most shocking thing I've heard in decades." He might have said more, but she took hold of his arm and began to lead him away and he decided it would be best not to goad her further. He knew how the mortals had whispered once that the only thing mighty Zeus feared was his wife's fury, but he had never felt that was so. It was more than that. In his quiet moments over the last five hundred years he had been able to admit that, if only to himself. There was no-one left to admit it to.<br/><br/>Her explanation amused him nonetheless. A goddess capitulating to the whims of a mortal queen? Following a 'popular trend'? He wondered why she didn't simply establish her own trend, design her own brand of wedding. Those thoughts fell by the wayside as he watched her, though. There was a warmth to her, a glow that words failed to encapsulate. Words had always failed him when it came to her, despite all his failings as a husband. They were too flat, too empty to lend the proper weight to how he saw her. She threw glances his way as she led them back and away from the store front, no doubt suppressing more lectures or a rant about how little he understood. The thought made him smile. He would have welcomed her scathing words, if only to hear her voice again.<br/><br/>When Zeus stepped into her office he nearly felt transported through time. He looked around slowly, nostalgia welling in his heart. A yearning for simpler times. In his mind, better times. He released his scepter entirely, allowing it to vanish as he eased into a seat that could look out through the window and into the park. He heard her questions, but allowed a moment to pass before he answered, his eyes remaining fixed on the greenery outside. "Finding any of you has never been something I would call difficult," he murmured. "But waiting for the right time to approach has been... tricky."<br/><br/>His storm-blue eyes turned to her at last and he leaned back where he sat. Zeus couldn't help gazing at her with a fondness. There had been something between them once--something he knew he had destroyed essentially singlehandedly. The lonely centuries had proven that to him. That, and a conversation with his much wiser, much more cutting daughter. "I'll be honest. I tire of this life. Of random prayer and solitude. I want more. I...<i>need</i>more." He leaned forward, taking a slow breath. Once before the skies would have rumbled with the intensity of his words, but now the clouds only rolled and turned a few shades darker. "I need you and the others again, Hera."