Hera was furious.

All her patience and civility, none of it was worth it. And standing now, before the man she loved, who at least had the nerve to feign guilt at her feet, all she could feel was anger.

She had asked for one thing, something so simple a small child could follow it.

"Zeus," she had said, "under no circumstances are you to travel to the world of the mortals. Not if you want to avoid my wrath."

And she had meant it, there was only so much she could take. Zeus had looked her clean in the eye, going so far as to kiss her cheeks and clutch her hands, before swearing off his visits to the mortals.

"Of course my love. No beauty can outshine you, Hera," he promised, "not even that of the goddess of love, Aphrodite."

Hera had rolled her eyes, not wanting to get into that complex. "I ask that you stay faithful, not lie to my face in what you hope is a compliment."

That had been three days ago.

Zeus had not even lasted three days before reentering the human world and finding the first woman to laugh at his lazy jokes about the weather. 

"You are a loathsome man," she said, voice hard. Zeus bowed his head sheepishly. Beyond the bedroom doors a crack of lightning could be heard, spreading far and raining down on the demi-gods below them.

"Stop that," Hera commanded, as if scolding a child. "You truly believe your actions hold no consequences. That I shall continue to roll over and play blind to your infidelity? That I will continue to remain unflinching as every child from here to the west marches up to our dining room table and claim you to be their divine father!" She was yelling now.

Hera paused, regaining some composure before turning towards the bedroom door, pulling loose a silken black coat.

Zeus got to his feet curious. Surely Hera wasn't done scolding him? He normally got an earful for at least an hour before she marched off elsewhere.

"What are you doing?" He asked, softly, not necessarily wanting his wife to resume her angered rant, but not yet ready to be playful. He was sure his brothers had already caught on to his latest transgressions – Poseidon no doubt having a list of barbs about it. Zeus internally groaned at the idea, mentally checking to see if he could reschedule his visit to the seaside. Delivering Poseidon a housewarming gift could be delayed a week, maybe three if Hera was still fuming by tomorrow.

"I'm going out," speak of the devil and she will cut off one's train of thought. Zeus snapped his focus back to his wife, already dressed to leave. "I'm not sure when I will be back, but I know if I do not leave now I will attempt to pull you apart limb by limb. Not that it would do much for either of us."
Zeus strained a smile. "I truly am sorry Hera."
Hera shook her head blankly, pushing open their doors and slipping out into the dark of the corridor.

-----

Unlike what most expect, the main entrance to the Underworld was a rather cosy affair.

Links of velvet decorated the walls a plush red, a shade deeper than blood. The walls were high, ceilings moulded by the hands of Hades workers, displaying art that even the most unfortunate souls would stop to admire before plummeting to their ultimate fate. And for a man who claimed to hate interior design, the end tables adorning the waiting area to his office were absolutely stunning.

It was fifteen minutes of elevator music later when Hera marched through the doors of her brother-in-law's office. Hades spun in his leather chair, one leg crossed over the other and brow arched high enough it almost cleared off his face.

"Hera, darling. Love the attitude but the stomping is a bit much for a Thursday afternoon."

"I am not here for leisure," Hera cut in primly, self-consciously smoothing her pace.

"Ah, a woman with a purpose; what's new," Hades muttered under his breath, glancing at the framed photo of his mother-in-law turned face down on his desk, before dropping both feet to the ground and gliding closer to desk. Swiping a hand against its surface the iron glowed, inky blacks swirling amongst cool purples, waiting to be given an order. "How can I help you, oh sis of mine."

Hera pursed her lips. Obviously Hades had been spending more time out of the office than reported. That or he finally worked out how to get cable television hooked up down there.

"I am sure you've already heard about Zeus' latest... business trip."

"I doubt having a pantless party counts as a business trip, Hera." Hades grinned, wisps of smoke whipping between glossy white incisors. At Hera's expression he dropped the smirk, clearing his throat. "What do you need me for?"

"I just thought I should give you a heads up, you may be receiving more souls than expected today," she said, brushing an arm down her coat as a puff of ash rained from the ceiling at the God of Deaths surprise.

Hades cocked his head, steepling his fingers. "Someone make a wrong deal with Fate and you're here to cash in? Last I checked, the Grim Reaper was a dashing man with enough charisma to make Narcissus look up."

"Not so much a deal with Fate," Hera responded, ignoring the latter half of Hades musing. The man liked to talk himself up, but judging, by the distance his wife continued to keep, someone had to. "But a settling of scores..."

Hades ran a finger along his desk, gathering a pen of smoke and writing something out of Hera's line of sight. "Ominous, and not very much not possible. Nope, no can do Madame Vengeance. Fates exist for a reason, not even you can change that."

Hera huffed, clenching her fists. "I said I was going to inform you of my plans, not ask for permission. I am Hera, Queen of the Gods, I do not have to explain myself to the likes of you."

At this Hades stood, pulling with him the rooms light. Only glow of his desk remained, tickling the underside of his face menacingly. Sternly he pointed a finger towards Hera, the smoke around it curling protectively. "Do not go against my word Hera. The consequences will not favor you."

Rather than respond, Hera vanished.

Blinking Hades glanced around the room before snapping his fingers, re-illuminating his office.

Pressing his palms to the desk he called for his assistant to bring him Hermes.

Immediately.

-----

Forty-Seven Terrean Drive was not known for it's liveliness.

That was why it was so surprising to see the lights in the living room on past ten in the evening. Jonathan and Alla Clarkson were celebrating. In their five years of marriage they had yet to conceive a children, and now here they were with a bundle of joy sat on the couch.

"Jonathan, the last thing we need is Christopher's sleep schedule to be off. It's hard enough to get him down at a reasonable hour," Alla scolded lightly, resting against the living rooms door frame. She had only been home from the hospital a few months but even the smallest of tasks drained her energy, cajoling her husband one of them.

Jonathan grinned up at her, Christopher pressed close to his chest as a baseball game played softly in the background.

"It's fine. My kids built solid, a couple hours past bedtime won't break him."

Alla rolled her eyes, sitting beside her husband.

"It will break me. You know how I am about routine. Let's put him to bed and attempt to get some sleep ourselves."

It was when Christopher was tucked under his covers that Jonathan was suddenly struck with jolt of pain down the right side of his head.

"Jesus," he said, clutching his temple before dropping onto the chair pulled by Christopher crib.

The baby cooed gently, alerting Alla who turned to her husband with a concerned expression.

"Everything okay dear?" She asked with a soft frown. Jonathan nodded, hands moving to grip the sides of his head as pressure began to build.

"Yeah, just heads a bit foggy."

"I told you staying up late wasn't a good idea," Alla teased, jolting when Jonathan abruptly got to his feet.

"God Alla, can you go one day without riding my ass about something?" He snapped, face scrunching as an influx of voices filled his head, all chanting Do it, do it, do it.

Do what, he wasn't sure but instead of mirroring this confusion his responses became harder, more aggressive.

"Jonathan! Watch your tone," she warned, appalled by her husbands sudden behavior.

Jonathan suddenly let out a cry as a piercing pain erupted across his body before a flickering figure came into view. It was a tall woman dressed in black, her hair carefully pulled back and plaited into a crown upon her head.

"Do it," she said, voice flickering around his mind. Blocking all rational thought.

"Killed them, Jonathan." 

Hours later when the police arrived to find Jonathan sat on the floor with his wife dead in his arms, he would claim to have no recollection of the events that occurred that night.

Nor were the police able to find any evidence of child having ever lived in the residence.