If she’d asked he would’ve hesitantly offered, ‘Because you love me?’ but instead he, again, blindly followed her directions. He stripped off his clothes, grateful to be done with them, and put them in the ice bucket. A brief glance in the mirror gave him a start. Was that....? His face was gaunt and haggard, his chest caved, and his body was emaciated and drawn. A fine layer of grease and dirt covered his body along with heaps of scars, some new, a lot not.
Zeus turned away from his image in disgust. He’d once been a fucking god dammit! When the water finally got around to turning hot, it felt good on his skin. It helped distract him from the itching and the creepiness beneath. He washed and scrubbed until he was raw and pink. It took three bars of those tiny soaps and two of the tiny shampoos the motel offered. But it felt good.
He was stepping out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist when Hera was walking in so he must have been in there for a good long time. “Hi,” he murmured suddenly feeling very self conscious of the wreck his body had become. The shower only heightened his degradation. The dirt had hidden a lot.