Deimos was still and stiff like hugging a board as the arms came round him, unused to hugs that weren't from Phobos or, ocassionally, Psyche. The feeling was nice though and he relaxed into it, tucking his nose down into the curve of Hecate's neck and bringing his own hands up to her back, holding back gently, certainly more gentle than he'd been with the cat.
He let her let him go, feeling oddly unwilling to be released and uncomfortable about that. He chewed at his lip as he watched her pick the dead cat up, not really believing what she said. He bent to it's eye-level, even though those eyes had long been put out by his own hand, and reached out a finger to tickle under it's chin, silence where the purr should have been. "I won't be able to." he said again, plain and resolved.