Percy Jackson was absolutely positive that he was the worst son in all of New York. It's not that he didn't know what to get his mom, that part was easy. It was just that nothing seemed good enough for her. He thought she deserved the world, and he wished more than anything that he was able give it to her. She had always been happy with his previous gifts, he knew. But that was more a testament to the kind of person she was than his gift giving skills.
He sighs loudly, and instantly berates himself for it. This was for his mom. She was never a chore.
As he looked through what must have been the fiftieth store they've been to, he can instinctively feel Annabeth's frustration, like a familiar tickling in his gut.
He's used to those kinds of emotions directed at him. At least, that's what he interprets them as.
He fights the familiar response to flee. Fight or flight didn't seem like an appropriate state of mind when out shopping with a pretty girl. But talking to her seemed like a type of fight. One that was all mental, which he didn't consider his strong suit.
"You really don't have to do this", he says, approaching her like a wild animal.
He knows that she only offered assistance out of politeness, and that he never should have accepted it.
He fails to recall the fact that she had actually had to convince him to let her help.
He has a pretty bad habit of forgetting things like that.
He hopes that she'll listen this time.
She doesn't.
"I've figured that out for myself, believe it or not." she replies from behind a rack of coats.
She finds it very easy to be sassy when she doesn't have to look into those eyes of his.
Control during dark times like these is what keeps her going.
Mmmm... sweet self-reflection to match.
This is a good day.
He had been saying things along those lines for like an hour now. Every single time they entered a different store, he took it upon himself to offer her an out. She was careful to hide any kind of frustration she may be feeling. But the only cause of her frustration was his conviction that she should feel frustrated. She was honestly enjoying feeling like a normal teenager for once. She honestly can't recall a time where she simply went to the mall without a set time restraint and agenda. Or had genuinely pleasant human interaction, really. Maybe she was hiding under the guise of study and architecture to avoid rejection. Maybe living with her step-mother for as long as she had, had affected her more than she thought. Today is just the day for psycho-analyzation, it seems.
She also found great enjoyment in watching him fret and tut over the merchandise. Occasionally offering up little gems like 'A pantsuit Percy? Do you honestly think your mom wants a pantsuit?' She was certain that he didn't even know he had spoken out loud, so she treasured them all the more.
And maybe she was living vicariously through him, soaking in secondhand affection.
Maybe imagining a life where she could feel that close to her own mom.
And maybe she just liked looking at him.
Maybe.
"I mean... ", he struggles to find the right words.
"I don't think you want to be here", he decides is a good start.
"And I don't want you to feel obligated to stay", he says in a rushed breath.
She takes a long look at him.
Her eyebrows are scrunched together tightly, almost touching.
He fails to read her expression as concern.
He has a pretty bad habit of missing things like that.
She is quickly running out of approaches to assuage his never ending guilt.
"Do I honestly strike you as someone who does things she doesn't want to do, out of obligation?", she finally says.
She feels very proud of herself.
It's a trick question.
She's tricked him.
Ha.
"N-NO, I mean… no?", he offers cautiously. He honestly thought he was over the stuttering.
She pities him for a second.
She refrains from patting him on the head and saying something extremely patronizing.
A "Good boy", escapes the damaged wasteland of her mind through her mouth before she's even fully processed it.
Oop…
He looks adorably confuzzled by her praise; praise more befitting of a dog.
He honestly doesn't know if he should be offended or not.
He also doesn't know that she thinks his expression very much resembles a dog.
He really should be offended.
And as he decides that the comment was harmless and sends a warm smile her way, it's suddenly not very funny at all. In what universe would 'Good boy' even be remotely accepted as earnest praise. Why would he take that from her? How does that not register as emotionally abusive to him? And suddenly that feeling in her gut is back. She feels the need to protect him, like he was a helpless little puppy that followed strangers around in a search of a home. A puppy that's been abandoned and has long since learned that chasing after affection only gets him kicked.
She really needs to stop comparing him to a dog.
She really likes dogs.
It's only six stores later when he finally finds something slightly acceptable.
It's an intricate cookbook that encourages innovations to it's recipes.
It's neat, helpful, and slightly self deprecating.
For some reason, it appeals to him.
He writes it off as the blue cover.
He's always liked blue.
Yeah, that's it.
…
A/N: There's honestly no consistency in any field of my writing. I'm experimenting with the style. And updates are made on a whim. Sorry 'bout that. The grammar is pretty stellar, though. You're welcome for that, at least.