There were three things that Hades pretended when Hera suddenly embraced him. One was that it was normal. That he hadn't hesitated for a brief second before reciprocating, not because he didn't want to, but because he did. That his eldest sister hugging him, or well anyone hugging him, wasn't a foreign, unfamiliar sign of affection instead of something he was accustomed to. Something ordinary enough that he could take it for granted. That it didn't surprise him. Floor him. Shake him.
The other was that Hades hadn't desperately needed it. That the moment she touched him, he hadn't wanted to bury his head in Hera's shoulder and stop time. Hera held on a bit longer than she should have. Hades didn't even notice. She could have held on a lot longer and he still would not have noticed. He couldn't. Starving men detected the presence of food before anyone else, but they were the last to know what kind it was. In Hades' mind, the embrace had been short. Over almost as soon as it began. That was alright. Hades couldn't even tell why she had gone and done it in the first place. Deep down, he thought he knew, but he didn't want to acknowledge that. Whether it was about him or Hera, it was too likely to depress him.
The last thing Hades pretended was that this gesture meant what a sister's hug should mean and not anything more. Not just about everything. When she pulled away, Hades told himself he'd forget it quickly, even though he knew he wouldn't. Hades didn't forget anything quickly.
He raised both eyebrows at the words that followed. Hades was very touched that Hera felt that way, and possibly a bit smug, but he wasn't quite ready to believe those things himself. He liked to hope that one day Persephone would come around, but he couldn't say he'd really blame her if she didn't. What Hera said did give him more hope than he had, but Hades hadn't yet decided if hope was kind or cruel.
“All of that sunshine is clearly getting to your head,” he said. His tone was slightly more affectionate than teasing. If anyone deserved better than their spouse's behavior, it was actually Hera, not him. Someday, Zeus would face a reckoning for all of the tears. Even all of the ones Hera didn't cry, but wanted to. The Fates would keep track of them.
“For what it's worth, you really are worth the whole lot of them,” Hades said, meeting her eyes. It wouldn't change things, but he said it for her anyway. Hera's sense of self value often placed herself above absolutely everyone. It wasn't always accurate. But in that case it was. In that case, she was absolutely right. Hera was enough. More than enough. In Hades' mind, any idea in his no-good-thunder-crashing baby brother's head that said otherwise was false and downright delusional. King of the Gods or not, Hera was enough.