Hera sat on the edge of the tub since Zeus was still on the toilet, his head now cradled on his arms and looked at the wreck of his once powerful body. The clothing she'd gotten for him hung on him, wasted as he was. It hurt to see him like this. The hatred and anger she'd felt for so long, clung to for so long, they felt so much less righteous when the object of her disgust and hate was so... so pathetic. Utterly, completely pathetic.
Sighing, she ran a hand over her face, only to streak her forehead with shaving cream.
"I don't hate you, Zeus. Or at least, not at the moment. It would be like hating a puppy with worms, trying to chew its tail off to ease its own suffering. Impotent. Although I could hate you for that," she said with a small smile. "You took all the fire out of my self-righteous anger. Now what am I supposed to do with myself?" It was a feeble joke, but in truth she was in a bit of shock herself. Not only at seeing him, but seeing him like THIS.