The Team Of Ten

Part Eight

Rain pelted the blue hood of the man walking down the street. The only escape from the down pour being when he finally got into the doors of the grocery store. 

The bright, false light hurt his eyes. But he pulled his hood back, water flinging off as he ran a hand through his black hair. It sat messily over his brow, just able to hit his eyelashes. The wisps as black as a star-less night. He was clean shaven, his jawline sharp. 

No smile curved his lips, only bored disinterest lining his face. Filling his green eyes. 

He grabbed a basket at the entrance and walked up and down the isles, getting different things. Pasta and Pasta sauce seemed to be a big hit for this guy. But he checked out and pulled out his wallet, paying the cashier; a young brunet with dimples and too much eyeliner on. 

Seeing as he couldn't get the groceries wet, he got a taxi to take him home. On the way he listened to the radio, a news station that the cabbie had on. After a few minutes he drowned it out, thinking, instead, on what he needed to do when he got home. 

He paid the cabbie and ran into his apartment building. He took the stairs up two at a time, his long legs making quick work of it. He balanced his bags as he unlocked his door, then shut it behind him with his foot. He didn't announce his being home, since his mother was probably asleep, and needed to stay that way. 

He dumped the bags onto the counter, then shucked off his hoodie. Once he had put all the things away expect what he was going to use, he went and changed. 

His black t-shirt was soaked through, so he pulled it off and dug through his dresser. Faint scars on his back and chest flickered with his movements, until he pulled a dark green shirt over his head. A pair of sweat pants later and he was back into the kitchen. 

A pot of water started on the stove, he peeked into his mother's room. The brown haired lady was sprawled out on her bed, still in her work clothes, her blankets flung out. The young man managed to get her shoes and jacket off before pulling the covers up around her. He went back to making food, the backpack in the corner glaring at him. He knew he had to finish that essay but he had to do other things first. 

So as he waited for the food to finish, he started cleaning up the house. He had already done most of it, but a few things were still left out. 

The boy made two plates of mac-and-cheese, chicken, and mashed potatoes. That's when the brown haired lady stumbled into the kitchen, bleary eyed and yawning. "Percy, Honey, you didn't wake me up." Her red-white-and-blue uniform was crumbled and her apron was askew. She frowned at her son, a few grey hairs peeking through her brown waves. 

"Made dinner." Percy said, kissing his mouther's temple. "You should change into some pajamas, Mom." He turned her around and walked her back to her room. She gave protests, saying she was fine, but the boy pushed her into her room and went back to the kitchen. 

Percy sat the plates down on the tiny table in the corner of the kitchen, pouring two glasses of milk and grabbing silverware. When his mom stumbled back into the kitchen, she just had to sit down and eat. Like her son always made sure she did. 

"How was your day Mom?" Percy asked between bites. His mom explained what had happened to her, then asked what he had done. He told her what he always did. And when they finished dinner, he made sure his mom went right back to bed and he started to do the dishes. 

He only relaxed once he was in his room. 

It was messy, in the way any teenage boy's room would be messy. 

The most unusual thing was the sword leaning against Percy's desk. It had been his father's, and Percy had taught himself how to use it. The old punching bag in the other corner was also unusual, but it's not like enough people were in the room to see it. Mainly just him and if his mom was waking him up or something.