(Sorry I didn't edit this sooner- I've been busy?)

Another installment of....Every Year! I don't own Arrested Development. FOX does. So, don't sue me, okay random FOX people reading arrested development fan fiction? By the way, are you smoking Afternoon Delight? Seriously! Why'd you take this show off the air? I demand an answer! You can PM me. I'll most likely respond in curses. Unless you're polite.

I know you are all excited, so I won't keep you. Here it is.


This isn't the story. The following is the story:


Maeybe and George Michael watched as the elderly conductor named Herbert Jr. and the peppy girl named Hannah greeted the last passenger. They began to move to the front of the train, closing the door.

"Come on," Maeybe whispered, brushing past her cousin towards the door. George Michael glanced over his shoulder, before reluctantly following his freckled relative.

"How do we get out?" He asked as they neared the exit.

"The door," She replied with a shrug.

"No- I mean, how do we open the door?" She shrugged.

"You're the A student?" He looked around for a lock, and, just as he found it, the train began to move.

"We're lucky," He said, gesturing to the lock, but making no effort to open it. Maeybe rolled her eyes, and opened the door. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him out. He stared at the train mournfully.

"We'll never get back to the OC,"

"Don't call it that," She told him, (he nodded and slumped slightly) before turning and breathing in the air. "Besides, we're in New York! The city of lights!" George Michael began to protest, but she continued. "The city of love!" Deciding that the names and locations of cities didn't really matter, George Michael nodded vigorously. "Come on!" She encouraged. "Let's go!" She marched off, and the now-inspired George Michael followed quickly at her heels.

"What if they don't believe you're aunt Lindsey?" Maeybe snorted.

"Why wouldn't they?" George Michael shrugged. Maeybe smirked. "You don't go against them much, huh? Don't worry so much- I'll help." She punched him lightly in the arm, and walked off. Rubbing his arm with a smile, George Micheal nodded, and followed his cousin.


"Hey." Michael looked up to see his brother G.O.B, smiling strangely.

"Um...hey, G.O.b...Something wrong?" G.O.B laughed extremely loudly.

"Wrong? Why would anything be wrong? Ha!" Michael smiled slightly.

"Uh- yea., what do you want? Sitwell is gonna be here any minute, and he's expecting fabulous workmanship- a great model home. And, apparently, I've sunk low enough to lie to him and tell him that this model home reaches those expectations."

" know me, Michael. I'm just...hanging out..."

"Do you have to hang out here? You can hang out at your house, too, you know." He paused. "Where do you live, anyway?" G.O.B laughed.

"I'm not here for the house, Michael- I'm here for you!"

"Well, Sitwell is going to have both for about two hours, so...?"

"Fine! I know when I'm not wanted!"


Lucille, listening from the other room, scoffed.


"Ah, G.O.B, I just meant I have work to do, and I wanted to know what you wanted."

"I wanted to spend time with my little brother!" G.O.B sobbed. "My little Mikey!" Michael eyed him.

"You hate me." G.O.B suddenly paused, tears and all.


"Er- G.O.B? What do you want?"

"I forget." G.O.B muttered lamely. "Just a minute." He walked out of the room, and Michael sighed under his breath, sat, then picked up a magazine. Suddenly, his brother burst back into the room with new vigor.

"Your wife died!" He exclaimed. Michael could have sworn he heard a groan and a curse from the other room, but dismissed it as he looked at his brother.

"You're right?" He finally said, apparently confused by the excited exclamation. As most people would be. The less then 'amazed gasp' made G.O.B seem a little less enthusiastic. His arms, which had been raised dramatically, flopped to his side.

"...and you're sad...?" He said after a moment of silence, broken only by something that sounded suspiciously like someone drinking vodka.

"'re right...?" Although these words can make people on game-shows happy, George Oscar Bluth was not on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, and the fact that his brother seemed more puzzled then shocked destroyed the confidence that he had gotten upon being placed in this high trust of his father. His father often deflated his ego, but now it was Michael. This change of pace unnerved him. He slipped from the room, as Michael watched in confusion. He heard whispered arguing coming from the other room, then G.O.B reappeared,

"Your wife died; you're sad; you need a hug!" He raised his arms helpfully, but Michael remained seated.

"Mom?" He called, looking over into the hallway. "Mom?" Finally, a brightly smiling Lucille Bluth entered the room.

"Oh! Michael!" She cooed. "I'd forgotten you were here!" He nodded understandingly.

"Yea. It's easy to forget someone would be in their house." She smirked at him. "So. Why is G.O.B shouting that my wife is dead?"

"G.O.B did what?" She asked, taking an exaggerated gasp, and raising her hand to her chest in shock.

"You know," Michael told her. "Manipulating people would be more effective if you were a better fake-gasper." She smiled at him, before he turned to G.O.B. "And, comforting people works better when you do it when their wives die, not, you know, a decade later."

"I cared when she died!" G.O.B whined. Michael eyed him, and tapped his head to one side,

"You streaked at the funeral." G.O.B shrugged.

"I only did that because I was drunk! And I was only drunk because I was so sympathetic to your loss." Michael nodded with a serious look on his face, before turning to Lucille.

"And you? Why did you get in on this... I really don't know what this is. What are you guys trying to do?" She shrugged.

"Be there for you."

"But I'm fine." He replied, exasperated. "The only thing I'm worrying about is Sitwell, who is going to be here any-" The doorbell rang. Lucille took a sip of her vodka.

"I wonder who that could be."


Sorry for the long wait and short chapter, but I was finishing up another story, and I just wanted this chapter up. Happy Thanksgiving to those who read this on Thanksgiving. Happy Belated Thanksgiving to those who read it after Thanksgiving. And, well, I don't know what to say before Thanksgiving.... Happy Halloween/ Belated Halloween?

Anyways, have a happy day!

(Happy birthday if it's your birthday. If you know someone who's birthday it is, tell them to have a good one from me, Random Person On The Internet....actually...that might creep them out. Don't tell them that)