Hera wishes she could say she tried.

Admittedly, it had been a long, long time since she had cared about what anyone belonging to the male sex thought of her, but she liked to think that she had not lost her particular feminine touch.

She was mistaken.

Hera was quite familiar with "playing hard to get" and while Aphrodite might have coined the term, Hera had invented the practice. She had thought that such experience would have lent her more power over her new paramour, perhaps even having him foaming at the mouth the next time she deigned to see him.

But it had only been twelve hours and she was beginning to lose her mind. It was becoming increasingly apparent to Hera that, once you start an illicit affair after millions of years of faithfulness, it's exceedingly hard to go back to measuring the pH of the gardenias all day. Everything becomes a bit more mundane after you commit adultery, treason and she's sure that Zeus would have her brought up on sedition and conspiracy as well.

After that revelation, you suddenly realize that your life as a whole is a bit dull. Water the flowers, eat breakfast alone, weed the garden, eat lunch alone, reread a book you memorized a thousand years ago, eat dinner and scowl at Zeus, launch dinnerware into space to let off steam. A daily schedule such as that did not evoke sentiments of fulfillment or purpose.

So, really, Hera thinks that she can live with coming across as a bit too interested.

And even if she was a bit too interested, she's extraordinarily confident that it would not be an issue for Percy Jackson at all.

The confirmation that Percy is in his cabin alone is now the only information that matters to her. Before, there had been so much internal hemming and hawing that most times Hera would simply miss her opportunity to speak with him. He would leave or someone else, usually Athena's brat, would visit him or, on her most tentative occasions, she would take so long to make up her mind that he would be fast asleep by the time she had resolved herself.

These feelings, these insecurities and fears, were not completely vanquished, but they meant so much less after her most recent actions.

She appears before him in a ball of light, decidedly more dramatic than she had ever done before, but that awful indecisiveness at even visiting him had seemingly been reshaped and replaced into other, equally as horrifying concentrations.

And so, it became much more difficult for Hera to understand why Percy Jackson did not seem, well, impressed with her, for lack of a better term. He felt something for her, she was certain of that, and he was assuredly reverent in his interactions with her, but it was as if her godliness lacked importance to him, as if he saw her as only a woman first.

Such a thing might've been a dream for any other, but not Hera. She was a queen, his queen, and there had to be some sort of appreciation for that.

So the only thing to do was to make him impressed with her, to show him that she was far, far above any woman he had met and will ever meet, to drive into his thick skull the fact that she was intrinsically and irrefutably perfect.

She's off to a good start it seems, as he shields his vision from her spectacle before looking at her with eyes that burn as brightly as comets entering the atmosphere. "Whoa." He says.

Hera cannot help the pleased smile that curls on her lips. "Percy." She greets in response. "How are you?" She asks more out of courtesy as she already knows he's not doing well. The Chase girl had been gone for almost two weeks and he'd been missing meals. She knows this not from the lack of his usually excessive sacrifices nor from watching over him from above, but from the slight hollowness of his eyes and the way his shirts hang off of him in a way it did not a month prior.

"Surviving." He says with a smile, and she feels her hairs stand on end as his eyes trail over her body. He'd done it before, he'd always done it when Hera had visited him, but in a fashion that Percy probably thought was sly or discreet. It didn't matter if it wasn't, he'd at least put some effort into it.

Now, he was blatant. Filfithly, unashamedly honest about how he saw her. And it's a much greater passion than she could have ever thought, as his eyes do not stay in one place. No, they move with rapid pace over every piece of her, his brows rising again and again like he's rediscovering some great lost artwork and every detail is conflicting with everything he knows. There is no one part of her that he covets most, she thinks. Any part of her is worth something in his eyes, and Hera knows this

far beyond any power she wields, far beyond a simple feeling that she could verify with a thought. Hera knows this because it's a calling from above. Hera knows this because it makes her feel ill, it makes her brain bleed and eyes water, it makes her feel fraudulent and unworthy and just awful. Hera knows this because Percy Jackson makes her feel all the things that she's never felt before.

She wonders what she would not give him in this moment. What line she would not cross and what boundary she would not break. She doesn't know. She doesn't know at all and she doesn't care. Not if he keeps looking at her like that, no matter how misplaced his gaze was. It did not matter if she did not deserve his eyes, they were for her and she wanted them.

But the euphoria passes all too quickly. "Sorry." He mumbles as he shakes his head and blinks rapidly, like he's been asleep for a very long time. She finds herself disappointed as he looks at her again, this time without any of the want and lust and wonder. His eyes are still soft and kind, and it makes her feel warm inside, but it is nothing compared to what he'd done to her before.

It's hard to be too disappointed, though. The discovery that someone could ever look at her like that, that she could ever feel that abominable and idyllically sublime at the same time, is enough. She'd simply have to make him do it again.

"I'm really glad you're here." Percy says, pulling her fully from her musings. He's standing, and not nearly as composed as he usually is. His leg bounces uncontrollably, but it doesn't seem like he even notices it. "I need advice."

"Am I your therapist now?" It comes out harsher than Hera means it, but only because it's such a shock to see him in any state other than perfect control.

Luckily, he seems unaffected by it. "I've been yours long enough. It's the least you can do." That sounds much more like him. Uncomfortably confident and asking of her things that he should not if he wants to keep his limbs in their sockets. It's a comfort, really.

"If I must." She sniffs. It's not as if she really wants to listen to his problems. There were other much, much more stimulating things she'd rather be doing with him. But, well, it really is the least she can do for him.

He smiles at her appreciatively, and it makes her feel slightly better for giving into him. "The oracle gave out a quest, or I guess you did, but- Anyway, there's a quest. Zoë Nightshade's in charge, but she won't pick me because I'm, y'know," Percy spreads his arms out wide. "Me."

"And you want to go anyway." She guesses easily. And why not? He'd done it before, only a couple of months ago, and it had turned out well enough. At this point, he probably thought quests were fun, extracurricular activities he could put on his college applications. "Well, as someone you seem to have put your trust in, for extremely dubious reasons I might add, I would heavily advise against that."

"Yeah, I thought you might say that." Percy sighs, and it's at this point he starts pacing. He's complete chaos, not following a simple back and forth loop, but an invisible labyrinth around the entire cabin. She watches him take three steps, then suddenly swing around to the right and take eight more. "Why?" He asks cutting diagonally in front of her before immediately turning around and walking back towards the wall.

Hera admits to finding herself horrifically mesmerized by the spectacle in front of her, and it takes her a few seconds to answer. "As I'm sure you're aware of, many on Olympus dislike you simply for breathing. Your stunt this summer was not ignored, it was catalogued, analyzed and considered thoroughly. You are no longer simply in the conversation for the child of the prophecy, you are now someone with questionable loyalty who will break the rules and disobey orders."

"Questionable loyalty?" He says incredulously, and it actually makes him laugh. "I think Grover would disagree with that."

"That's precisely the point." Hera crosses her arms and drums her fingers across her shoulder. "Your devotion to satyrs and demigods is misplaced. Your king demands all of your fealty. You need not waste it on others."

"My king." He says slowly, as if testing how it feels on his tongue. He does not like it, as his face twists uglily. "And you actually believe that? That the little people are too irrelevant to be cared about, and doing so is a sign of weakness?"

"What I believe is of no consequence. I am telling you the facts, and factually, you are regarded as headstrong, ungovernable and potentially insurgent." And she might actually agree with most of these points. Percy was undoubtedly lawless and insubordinate, but he lacked any tangible power to capitalize on his troublesome qualities. Any capacity to raze Olympus to the ground was far-off.

She might be biased, but she was confident that, right now, Percy Jackson was completely harmless.

"Unbelievable." He shakes his head. "There are actual Titan loyalists defecting every day, and you're too busy worrying about the only one trying to stop them." He doesn't seem angry, more resigned to his fate. "So, I'm a loose cannon, then?"

"Worryingly so."

"And if I left, I'd only reinforce that, right?" Percy pauses for a moment, scratching the back of his neck before continuing with his wild shuffle.

"Confirm it, most likely." Hera corrects, and she wonders if he's even aware of how he's moving right now. Furthermore, she wonders if anything could even stop him.

"That would be bad, then." He has a certain talent for understating things.

"You'd be signing your own execution order." And she tries to impress upon him the weight of what they're discussing, and it's terrifying how little it seems to mean to him.

"Yeah," He sighs again before stopping directly in front of her. "I probably shouldn't do this."

Hera nods approvingly. Perhaps there was hope for him yet. "A wise decis-"

"I'm gonna do it anyway."

"What?" She whispers in quiet shock. "Did you not listen to anything I just said?"

"I did." Percy smiles disarmingly, like he hasn't just willingly consigned himself to death. "Thanks for trying to talk me out of it."

"I- I don't," Hera raises her hands to the sky. "I can't. I just can't." She glares at him in a way that only he can bring out of her. "Why?"

"Because I have to." And he says it so simply, so confidently that it honestly makes her question herself for a moment. "I can't just sit here. I have to do something."

"Bloody heroes." She spits like it's a curse. "You're all the same. You're all the same. When will the glory be enough? When will you be satisfied?"

"Are you serious?" And he actually seems to be a bit angry at her now, as his eyes sharpen into slits. "You think I do this for glory? Where is it, then? Doing this has only ever made things worse for me. And that's fine, because it's not about me; it never is."

"Then, why?" She really does want to know, though she doubts any answer will truly make her understand.

"Because it's- Y'know- It's like the Spider-Man thing!" He actually seems to think that's a good answer.

"The what?"

"The Spider-Man thing, with great power comes great responsibility-"

"That seems selfish and self-destructive." Hera interjects, but Percy doesn't hear her.

"When you're important, when people make you important," And that seems to be a significant difference to him, that he never wanted things to be this way, it just is. "When they put their trust and belief in you, for whatever reason they justify in their heads, it is your obligation to make sure they didn't choose the wrong person." He breathes heavily, his eyes no longer on hers but at the empty space right beside her head. His pupils are unfocused and she thinks he hasn't blinked in at least a minute. "It's your responsibility to make sure that you don't let them down."

And then she understands what this is really about. "Percy," She tries to say as gently as she can. "It's not your fault th-"

"Of course it is!" He yells before she can even finish. "These things only happen around me. If I wasn't there, none of this would be happening right now! Annabeth would be right here."

A twinge of jealousy that had not been there before arises at the girl's name, but she pushes it away for the moment because Percy had said something unknowingly profound. He might be more right than he knows, though not in the way he's thinking. How much would they have avoided if Percy Jackson was not born? "You don't know that." She says instead. "You might've made things better by being there."

"Okay, then tell me this," He turns his gaze back to her, and his eyes are as dark as an eclipse. "Tell me that there's nothing special about me besides being Poseidon's son, tell me that I'm just consistently in the wrong place at the wrong time, tell me that none of this, Kronos rising, monsters coming back faster than ever before, quests being given out every single time I'm at camp, tell me that none of that has anything to do with me."

And Hera can't. She could lie, of course, but she knows he would see right through her, as he always does. "That doesn't mean it's your fault." She tries to placate him, but even she can tell that it's pathetic.

He says nothing, only nodding as he confirms a long unsaid truth. "I'm going." He says simply after a long silence.

"If you must." She relents, because she can see that there is absolutely nothing she can say to convince him to stay. "You may die still, even if you succeed in this endeavor."

"That'll be put to a vote though, right?" Of course he would know that, she's not even surprised anymore.

"It will. If you even get that far."

He discards her comment easily, doing calculations in his head. "I like my odds on that." He says finally, not even smiling. As if it's just a sure thing.

"I do not. Who knows how I'll feel about you when the time comes? I might decide that the world is better off without you." Hera tries truly, excruciatingly hard to even imagine the possibility of her ever feeling like that. It is a monumental disappointment that she cannot.

"And let your husband get the credit for killing me? No way." He sees through her irritatingly quickly. "I think you'll want the satisfaction of killing me yourself."

"There is merit in that, I admit."

He laughs loudly at that. What are death threats between a married goddess and the demigod she sees on the side. "I'm not leaving for a couple hours." He says suddenly, that petrifyingly lustful look in eyes returning as he smirks deviously at her. "Wanna fool around?"

More than anything, Hera thinks. "I suppose." She says instead.

And then Hera truly cannot remember how and when they become a mess of tangled limbs and constant, buzzing heat, or where she ends and he begins. He's good at this, good at trailing his lips across her neck and good at putting his hands on all of the most appropriately inappropriate places. Hera doesn't even have to tell him what she likes and how to do it, (And truthfully, it's been such a long time that doesn't even remember what she likes.) he just knows.

"How does it feel," She whispers breathily, gripping his head with both hands and pulling his ear to her mouth. "To feel a goddess against you? To touch a piece of divinity itself so intimately?" She nips at his ear as he runs his hands across her thighs.

He gasps out a breathless chuckle. "I don't care that you're a goddess. I care that you want me."

That angers her, truly and fully. It feels like a knife to the heart, to have something so deeply a part of her discarded so easily. She's about to pull away from him, impress upon him the privilege he is receiving, but then grips her left hip in a way that makes any words she might've had for him fall apart, and Hera decides that she might forgive him this once, just this once. He had much to discover about her, but he had proven nothing if not that he was an exceptionally fast learner.

"Why do you want me?" He says abruptly, his hands dangerously close to her rear.

"Because you're pretty and say nice things." And it really is that simple, and it was to her undying embarrassment that it was enough for her.

"I am pretty great, aren't I?" He smirks, the one that she thinks she would kill him for if anyone other than herself was on the receiving end of.

"You're much prettier when you're saying nice things about me." She hopes he'll take it as a hint and make her melt more into him, because he really does just say the most perfect words so effortlessly to her.

He does not. "You're much prettier when you're not saying anything." He responds, and it's so unexpected, so far beyond anything anyone has ever said to her, that she laughs harder than she has in millennia.

All this talking was getting in the way of what she had come here for, so, really, Hera's only too happy to oblige.