Her voice was precisely as he recalled it, soft and warm and comforting. It was a voice designed to soothe anxious mothers and fussy babies alike, calm and warm in a way that evoked trust no matter the situation. She had always been able to soothe her father from his tempers of ages past, which he supposed in retrospect was more indicative of his infantile tendencies than he liked to admit. Either way, by the time Hera hung up with her he was smiling, small and content to himself.<br/><br/>Zeus glanced at the coffee pot as it churned to a halt, then to Hera. "I think I know what I want to do," he said quietly. He waited until he had some coffee in his cup and took a deep sip before he set it aside and clasped his hands together in thought. "In times past what kept us from fading most effectively were shrines--small, unobtrusive monuments that reminded people of who we were, what we represented. I'm thinking that to make amends, I could arrange for something similar to be done for her, to safeguard her against the threat of it." He bit at his nail in thought. "Though how, exactly, eludes me... either way, when it comes time for me to speak with her, I would do so in her bailiwick. In a maternity ward, somewhere she is strong and I am not.<br/><br/>"Perhaps you could go in ahead of me, in that case. Let her know I'm here and that I want to speak to her, so as not to ambush her and force the confrontation before she's ready. If she doesn't want to see me you can come tell me so and we can proceed from there, but..." He paused to pick up his mug again and took another deep sip, blue eyes on his wife. "... well, for now, that's the best plan I can muster," he said with a shrug. "I am not above admitting you were always the superior tactician, however. How would you do it, were you the parent of which our children spurned?"