heroslayer: ([g] i am strong even on my own)
[personal profile] heroslayer
Two years, he's been out of his mother's house and yet she still calls him every Sunday. Not surprising, given it's the only day of the week he doesn't open the shop -- and on the seventh day God ended His work which He had made; and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had made -- and she calls him under pretenses of church and brunch. He goes, he always goes, because in two years, he still hasn't quite figured out how to tell his mother no, and they have God and brunch as promised. And then, predictably, she sends him off to run her errands, because in more than two years, Virginia Gray hasn't left her home for anything short of the Lord himself.

He can't say it surprises him, but he can't help but sigh when she coaxes him into going to the grocery store for her, either.

Happy that she can still use her son, Virginia forces a list and some money -- his money that he's been sending to her, most likely -- into his hands, all but patting him on the head as he moves out. He goes, picking out the brands he's sure she likes, and comes back in record time, struggling up the stairs with an arm-full of bags that she doesn't bother to help with. He ignores it, though; his mother's always been like this. Just like he ignores her when she starts going through the bags as he sets them down, making faces at some of the things he's picked out, and muttering about how he's such a smart boy and that he shouldn't have bought certain things things if they weren't on sale.

He sighs, holding in a acerbic response as to how it's his money anyway, and moves to help her unpack the groceries. Milk, eggs, the crunchy peanut butter he picked up on a whim. Household products -- the latter of which his mother was very specific about, and when he couldn't find what she written down, he'd grabbed what he thought was the next best thing. He thought it would be okay; Virginia, on the other hand, doesn't seem to think so, and she fidgets with it for a moment as she finds it, before turning to face him.

"Gabriel?"

"Mom?" He pokes his head out of the refrigerator, shooting a glance over his shoulder at her.

She holds the bottle up, fingers of her free hand worrying at her apron like the fate of the world depends on his answer. "What's this?"

"I couldn't find the cleaner you had on the list," he explains nonchalantly, not seeing the problem as he turns back to the fridge. "The people at the store told me this was almost as good."

"I needed the kind I asked for," she bites out, and he swallows another sigh, turning to grab the peanut that hasn't exactly made it to it's proper place just yet. He's avoiding giving a response, yes, but it's better than starting an argument with his mother in the middle of her kitchen. Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to think so. "Are you listening to me?"

"I heard you," he confirms, stopping short of the Lazy Susan the peanut butter belongs in, "I just -- it's not that important, mom. It's just bathroom cleaner, and I told you -- this isn't much different from what you asked for."

Judging by his mother's reaction, he's wrong. It's not just important, it's the end of the world, and she mutters things that are less than kind in a politically correct, Virginia Gray sort of way, turning away from him to set the bottle down on the counter, pointedly.

His fingers tighten around the peanut butter, and he stares at her for a moment, anger growing with each passing second. It's his money, he's doing his mother a favor, and she's treating him like a three-year-old? It would get under anyone's skin, he figures, but he doesn't dare say a word to that effect. He can't. And so, instead, he bottles the heat in his heart, moving away from the cupboards, barely aware that he's still toting around his mother's peanut butter like a safety blanket, and goes to grab his cardigan by the door.

She calls after him, just his name, clearly not understanding why her son is upset, and he wheels on his heels by the door, jaw steeled. His mother has the audacity to send him off like some kind of slave to get her groceries -- with his money! -- and then complain when he gets something that's not exactly what she wanted? It gets under his skin for reasons he can't quite pin down, and he has to take a deep breath before he answers. "Just -- enjoy your groceries, mom. I'll see you next Sunday." he manages, and then he's headed out the door, the jar he accidentally took with him still in hand.

And in a fit of rage he couldn't very well take out on his mother, he smashes the damn thing on the floor of his apartment the second he gets home.

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 865

Date: 2009-08-01 02:02 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fromheavencame.livejournal.com
I love this. ♥

Date: 2009-08-01 02:34 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fromheavencame.livejournal.com
We should do a thread at some point.

And LOL crack icons are cracky and on honour of the pending trek con.

Date: 2009-08-01 02:44 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fromheavencame.livejournal.com
Esp since he's back and has seismic burst. Poor Parisian woman. I need to finish that fic.

But yes! LOL these icons I laughed for twenty minutes while making them.

I also have photoshop so if you ever want any specific icons, feel free to ask!

Date: 2009-08-01 02:49 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fromheavencame.livejournal.com
he needs a fix? *g* it's five am and I can't sleep ahaha. I can make a thread tomorrow though? Unless you want to or something. :D

Date: 2009-08-01 02:03 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] humanmapquest.livejournal.com
You know, now that I think of it, Virginia wasn't the epitome of maturity, either. >.> Poor Gabriel.

Date: 2009-08-01 02:07 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] humanmapquest.livejournal.com
My Mom had to grow up way too fast, herself. Though I have a few Aunts that are Virginia's, sadly.

Date: 2009-08-01 02:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] humanmapquest.livejournal.com
Meh. My Dad and I (including my Mom, but she never says it) just get annoyed because my Mom has been through the same crap they have and she still turned out a decent person.

But! *hugs* It was v. good, lovely. And, again, very real.

Date: 2009-08-01 02:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] humanmapquest.livejournal.com
Meh. It's fine, really. *hugs*

You're very welcome! <3

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