there was always a tinge of current running through his body — below the surface, unnoticeable, as normal and mundane as the beat of his heart, ichor flowing through his veins. it wasn't anything others might notice either, not enough to shock them on contact, just enough to be. a low, thrumming static just waiting to be brought to full charge, released, crackle through the air toward nothing or a target, either way, the current had no preference.

it made his fingertips itch, the desire to unleash it, destroy. zeus had a temper, it was well documented in the annals of history, but what was less known was the chokehold he kept on it most days. one did not make it millennia with a wife as unhinged as his without tempering the anger, enlongating the fuse. the key with hera, he'd found, was to give her time to calm down from whatever supernova she was going through and come to her senses. most of the time that worked, because he bit his tongue for the sake of not fanning the flame. sometimes his anger won out, they poked and sniped at each other to the inevitible explosion, but he'd become better at playing the calm waiting game.

she'd come home, yes, but not because she believed him or forgave what she thought he'd done. zeus truthfully had no idea why she'd returned, sequestered herself to a guest room rather than closing herself off at her apartment she kept from him, but the close proximity combined with her stubborn silence and rage was worse than her absence. it didn't matter, or at least it wouldn't much longer.

the men sitting in front of him — secured uncomfortably to chairs, blindfolded, gagged, unable to protest or move beyond an attempt to try the ties — these were the type of men his wife hunted down. one of them was the cause of her current fury, the real subject of the anonymous gossip she'd pinned on him. zeus hadn't bothered narrowing them down further, too impatient to get to the bottom of things before he had any more days knowing his wife was sitting on the opposite side of the penthouse, furious with him for no good reason.

his fingertips lit up, static jumping from one to the next, begging to grow into something bigger, more, aim at the men right there and unleash. in due time, and not at all. allowing them a quick death that gave him no answers was nothing he had interest in. the truth would come out even if he had to pull it from their bodies in protest. they held his absolution, and he would take it.