Summary: The date had rolled around again, but no one seemed to remember. George Michael and Maebye head to New York. Michael is alone with his memories. Lindsy and Tobias are... we aren't going to talk about Lindsy and Tobias.
Hi! This is set during the second? season, when George Bluth Sr. was still under house arrest.
The date had rolled around again, but no one seemed to remember. George Michael was with Maebye at 'Express Yourself Express'- a train that rides around the country, telling kids to express themselves by hopping on board- where one would enjoy hours upon hours of beautiful scenery- but not much more. It was Maebye's idea after Lindsey called it 'Boring.' For one of the first times in her life, Maebye and her mother agreed on something. But Maebye would later tell her mother that it was 'Awesome- but it was so exclusive- other people should get a chance to go. Next year I'll let someone else go.' For her generosity, she received ice cream and an awkward hug. Lindsey was with Tobias at 'A Lover's Lover', where people talk about their wildest fantasies.
No one in the family went to encourage them.
They would be back on Monday, on that date. Gob, as usual, was around, bugging Michael, his father, and his mother with his usual antics of trying to get respect through magic tricks... illusions.
"Gob." Michael said, irritation creeping into his tone. "You know that I have work to do."
"It's Saturday, Michael." Gob replied indignantly with a tone of smugness as though saying, 'I know what day it is'.
"Just because it's Saturday doesn't mean that the investors aren't not going to take a break." Michael replied with a roll of his eyes as he grabbed his bag. Gob paused.
"Doesn't mean that the investors aren't not...Michael!" He chased after his younger brother. "What investors?"
"The extremely important ones I told you about last week, and yesterday." Michael replied.
"You never told me about any investors!" He had.
"I told you right after you visited me with that biography of yours." Michael explained. Gob had been interested in people knowing 'the real Gob Bluth', and had hired one of the best known authors to write it. Stephen King did make it more interesting.
"Oh." Gob paused. "Did you like the book?"
"Absolutely." Michael had not read the book after seeing critics call it, 'The Best Suspense/horror since IT.'
"Good. So, who are these investors?"
"You know Stan Sitwell?" Gob paused, recalling the daughter, and the fact that her father was much like the mole rat from Kim Possible- hairless. However, he could not remember the Sitwell man himself. So, he pictured the daughter without hair to try and picture the man. It wasn't pretty.
"How could I forget that ugly bastard?" Gob asked. Michael glanced at him, then shrugged.
"Fair enough," He said wearily. "Well, he lost the investors due to... dad's coercing." The Bluth Senior had had some help 'coercing' the investors. Despite how it sounds, George Bluth Senior barely touched the wrong side of the law. His plan did, however, contain a man in a platypus costume, two cornballers, and a three year old with a sweet tooth. It's a long story.
"Oh- so, what? You gonna knock the pants off them?" Michael paused, considering.
"That happened once already, Gob, I don't think they'd appreciate it." Gob was left puzzled, but he shrugged it off.
"So, what about Sunday?"
"Meeting. And Buster has a dentist appointment."
"So? Why doesn't Mom take him?"
"They're in another fight."
"Buster saw Dad zip up Mom."
"Oh." Gob paused. "Oh."
"What about Monday?" Michael smiled at him blandly.
"I have stuff to do."
"What kind of stuff?" Gob asked suspiciously.
"I have plans, Gob, that don't involve you. Don't you have anyone else to annoy? I know Lindsy and Tobias are at the retreat-" Both men shuddered. "-But Dad is under house arrest. He can't leave without getting stuck in prison. Use it to your advantage, buddy- have some quality time." Gob smiled.
"Brilliant! Sometimes I wonder if you're the magician in the family!" Gob began to walk off, before sending a serious look back over his shoulder. "I was kidding,Michael."
"I know." Michael assured him. "I wouldn't steal your magic career."
"Like you could if you tried!" Gob scoffed, as he walked away.
"Why the hell are you here again?" George asked, eying his son with a suspicious eye.
"I told you, dad- quality time. Micheal sai-"
"Ah. So there it is. Michael put you up to this."
"Up to wha-"
"Damn that kid, he's good. He-" Before he could finish the thought, another thought collided with the first. In the eldest male Bluth, there was a serious traffic accident.
"Dad..." Gob asked cautiously. "Did you get brain freeze?" George spun to face his son.
"What?" Gob shrugged. "I'm not eating ice cream."
"Gob, I'm not eating ice cream."
"I get it."
"Fix it; go get me some damn ice cream!" George told his son, who quickly scampered off to the kitchen for an ice cream sandwich. "Lucille." Lucille walked from the hallway.
"You knew I was here." She purred, kissing his neck. "I love it when you get James Bond on me." He raised an eyebrow. "You're sexy.'
"You're drunk." He retorted, wrenching her from his neck. "And what else?" Lucille Bluth had recently found anti-depressant pills, and at the doctor's pleas, taken them. He said they would take away some of the 'tension'. After this insult, and the bill for the desk in his room, Lucille had decided to look up the pills.
"Nothing but love.." She told him.
"Well, get off the love fast." George warned her. "We have a problem."
"A problem?" She asked, swaying away from him. "Why?"
"It's Michael." Sobriety and clarity hit her eyes like Buster's ex-girlfriend Lucille II hit the floor after a bad vertigo attack.
"What happened?" She demanded, her sexy voice back to the shrill one that George Sr. loved. They both heard a loud gagging noise coming from the kitchen. Neither chose to investigate.
"He told Gob to come talk to me." She nodded, her sharp eyes calculating.
"And it's on Monday." She didn't need to say what. Although Michael didn't seem subdued or any less patient before this recent Gob incident, both Lucille and George could sense something different about him. George and Lucille knew what this weekend had led up to, and what had happened on Monday years before. Although George Michael was almost too young to remember her, Michael had known her, loved her, and lost her. At first, when he seemed the same, they thought he had finally grown past the grief. But George Senior was fairly positive that if he sent his older brother to annoy him instead of patiently asking him to go work, that something had to be wrong.
"What do we do?" He asked. She was always the brains in times like these. The one who figured out what to do- fast.
"Gob." She stated simply.
"Gob!" George Sr. shouted. The eldest son shuffled in.
"There was no ice cream, so I was going to make more!" He apologized. In fact, not only was there no ice cream, but no milk. What Gob had thought was Milk was actually a new type of mayonnaise that Lucille particularly disliked. It was creamy, and more like a liquid then the mayonnaise she was used to. She pushed it to the back of the fridge, where it had sat for a full month. Currently, the mayo and chocolate were sitting in a bowl. After trying a bite, Gob had begun to choke.
Neither of his parents had come to help.
"It doesn't matter, you idiot," George Sr. muttered. "What was Michael like when you talked to him?"
"Michael?" Gob echoed. "It's always Michael. But...can Michael do... this!?" He raised his arms dramatically, awaiting the flames. None came. Lucille cocked an eyebrow bemusedly, though no twitch of the mouth indicated this was her mood.
"Now. Michael. How was he?"
"Why?" Gob whined. Lucille rolled her eyebrows and sighed dramatically.
"Don't you ever look at a calendar, Gob?"
"Why?" Gob repeated. She sighed again and pointed at the calender that hung on the wall. Gob looked, but the date was no more familiar then any other. There was nothing special about it. At least, not that he could remember.
"Your brother's wife died Monday, you freakin idiot!" His father chastised after a long moment, raising his arms in annoyance.
"Oh." Gob paused. "When?" Lucille rolled her eyes.
"How was he?" She demanded, ignoring him. Gob shrugged uncomfortably.
"I didn't notice anything." He paused. "He did say he had plans on Monday, and when I asked him about it, he told me to have father-son bonding time, since dad can't get away from me without being turfed to jail." George Sr. shrugged and nodded. Lucille got a martini and sat on the couch. She was unsure how to handle this situation. Michael was the son who never needed any parental guidance- mainly because he felt any guidance from them would land him into jail, or a psychiatrist's office, pills on hand. There were only a few times she had seen him cry, other then when he was a young boy.
There was when his algebra teacher failed him.
There was when he saw a peacock fall into his father's wood chipper (long story).
And there was the time she died.
After she died, he stayed away from the family for as long as he could. George Michael began to forget his mother, and asked questions about her. Then he began asking about the rest of the family. And, since Michael had been working for the Bluth company-just not in direct contact- he didn't really see the harm in moving closer to the Bluth Company headquarters.
He seemed as though he had passed the grief. But, apparently, he hadn't. Lucille sighed and took another long sip from her drink, wishing it had more of a punch to it.
She looked for the whiskey next.
"This is so boring." Maebye announced. George Michael looked at his cousin and nodded in agreement. For the first five minutes, it had been pretty cool. But after a day and a half, the sights were getting pretty old. "We should get out of here."
"It's a moving train," George Michael protested. Maebye smiled at him.
"It won't be when it stops." It was undeniable truth.
"But the next stop is in New York?" George Michael replied. Maebye nodded.
"Sounds pretty cool, right?" George Michael knew he wouldn't win this, so he nodded. Maebye grinned and pulled at his wrist. "Great." She pulled him down the hall, and into the cramped room they shared.
"So, how do we get out? The conductors pay pretty close attention." The conductors- a man that had to have passed forced retirement age at least fifty years before, and a young peppy girl- usually greeted the new passengers, before going to the back of the train to start again.
"We can get out while they're heading to the back," Maebye replied with a shrug. She pulled her suitcase out from under her bed, and slammed it onto the mattress.
"Maybe... But how do we get back to Orange County?" Maebye shrugged.
"Your dad'll look for us. Besides-" She pulled a wallet from her suitcase, and pulled out a credit card that read Lindsy Bluth Funke. "Who's Maebye?"
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