The Real Christmas Tree

Percy had a great childhood, and Christmas was always awesome. He was awestruck that despite what little they had, Sally Jackson could give her son a Christmas. Sure, his presents were mostly outdated gaming systems or secondhand action figures, but it was impressive given the circumstances.

Don't get him wrong; he isn't ungrateful in the slightest, but the one thing that always felt missing from his Christmases in his tiny New York apartment was a Christmas tree. Yes, he had one growing up. It was plastic and fit on their end table, so Percy's presents were all placed on the floor around it on Christmas morning. It made for some weird pictures, and the ornaments were a combination of school crafts and keychains, but who cared what the tree looked like when you had a tummy full of blue cookie dough? Hell, how could a guy complain about a dilapidated Christmas tree when there were more trays of cookies in the oven? The refrigerator might not have been full, and the decorations were humble, but Sally Jackson knew how to show a kid a good Christmas.

Percy will be damned if he can't show his kids a good Christmas too, and that starts with a trip to the Christmas tree farm!

He'd had the idea of getting a real tree since he and Annabeth moved into their New York townhouse, and he'd continued to push for it after their daughter Sally was born, but the baby was too small to go out in the cold, and then she was a nightmare of a two-year-old, and suddenly Annabeth was on bed rest when Rebecka decided to keep her pregnant for an extra week and a half. Now that's a Christmas Percy chooses not to remember. The next year held the same excuses: Rebecka's too small to be in the cold, Rebecka won't be able to behave herself on the wagon, and Sally wants to go to Grandpa's to see the model planes. Well, that last excuse was new, but Percy can't help it if his eldest daughter takes after his wife, or rather, his wife's dad.

So the idea never really came to fruition until Annabeth left for work today. Granted, Percy didn't want to leave his wife out of such a special family adventure, but father-daughter time is important too, so she'll understand as long as he takes pictures.

He flips the last of the pancakes onto the serving plate just as Becka comes down the stairs, rubbing the crust from her eyes and clutching the boar plush Annabeth's cousin Magnus gave her the last time he visited. The girls love those toys, but not as much as the stories that came with them. For hours they sat in the living room, listening to the stories of the Norse gods. When Magnus finished the story of the first time Alex killed him, the girls begged him to tell it again. Even calculating Sally chose not to care about the logic of a boy who can be killed and resurrected on an hourly basis.

"Good morning, Daddy," Becka says through a yawn.

Percy turns off the stove and scoops his four-year-old daughter up in his arms. "Good morning, kiddo! Ready for your first day of winter vacation?"

She giggles when he pretends to almost drop her and squeals, "Again!"

"Aww, you don't want me to do that again on an empty stomach," he says, lowering Becka to the blue tiling. "Wake up your sister and wash your hands for some pancakes."

"Blue pancakes?" she asks.

Percy shows her the plate. "You betcha!"

He whistles a tune and puts his mother's cookbook next to the unused ones he and Annabeth received at their wedding. He should look into giving those away since the only recipes he ever uses are his mother's.

"Daddy, Daddy!"

"Good morning, Sally!" he says to his favorite first-grader. "Hungry for pancakes?"

She frowns. "Are you going to throw me? Becka says you threw her."

He raises an eyebrow. "Do you want me to?"