"One day I will learn how to work these infernal machines," he muttered as she stepped in. He watched attentively as she went through the steps, the scent that followed her efforts almost worth the frustration he'd experienced trying to piece it out by himself. The mugs were rather interesting, too. Even after she had retrieved a pair he opened the door again to peer at them, piecing out which belonged to who. There was one he was certain belonged to Eris, made out of a mug that had been broken apart and then meticulously repaired again, the cracks filled in with gold. He knew the technique was from the east, though the name escaped him. Another looked rigid and severe, all straight angles and painted glossy black, as though it had been made of obsidian. He would have bet every drachma he had that it belonged to Ares.<br/><br/>When she asked he felt a jolt of shame. He had thought he'd hidden the signs well enough, though he should have guessed that Hera would see through it. He leaned back against the counter as the water boiled in the pot, his eyes on the surging liquid. For a moment he argued with himself over whether or not he should tell her. It was nothing she couldn't already guess at and would make no difference if it went unspoken. Eventually he sighed and looked to her, his shoulders slumped. "I looked at the photos you have on the walls. Seeing all of them... happy, for once... happy and whole. It was a bit overwhelming. And Ares with that dog--I haven't seen him smile like that since the first time he saw Cerberus.<br/><br/>"Make no mistake, though, I have been planning. Working out what I want to say to Thyia... and whether or not Heracles has any regard left for me, or if his wife would listen. Rest assured, wife, I haven't<i>just</i>been feeling sorry for myself. And who ever said I didn't feel proud enough to boast, mm?" He pulled her into his arms and hugged her close, kissing her on the corner of her lips.