Putting it right

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Ron Howard and Mitch Hurwitz and Fox/Netflix.

Just some Maeby/George-Michael fluff.

Set during season four. This is my take on the sort of trouble Maeby might be in.

Maeby smiled as she stood at the doorway of their bedroom and watched George-Michael. He was busy working. She watched her husband, studious as ever and it reminded her of when they were teenagers, she smiled as she remembered how she always got him to do her homework, always got him to cover for her and, it slowly dawned on her how much she had missed him. Well, he was back now, back where he belonged. She shuddered slightly as she recalled their amorous encounter the previous night and smiled, he had been so tender and gentle. She knew how lucky she was, she knew he'd always look after her. Smiling, she walked up behind him and slipped her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

He smiled and turned his head to kiss her, 'Hey you!'

'Hey you! Wotcha doing?'

George-Michael smiled; she hadn't changed in seven years, she was still as exasperating and as adorable as ever. 'I am doing this assignment; it has to be in by to-morrow.'

Maeby sat down on their bed, 'I wish that was all I had to worry about.' She muttered.

At that, her husband sighed and turned round to face her, 'You know what to do about that. It's very kind of them to give you the benefit of the doubt.'

She stiffened, 'I don't see why I should! It's hardly my fault that they had the same idea as mine!'

'Honey! You went to see that film a few weeks before you even had your idea! You've gotta admit that seems pretty suspicious!'

'It's a coincidence! I swear!' She replied, jumping off the bed, 'It's hardly my fault that they can't take a little competition! I mean how many films are there nowadays with the same theme.'

He raised his eyebrows, 'I think your confusing "theme" with "storyline."'

'Well, what about Jane Austen? How do you think she'd feel?'

George-Michael smiled gently, 'Well, it would be kinda redundant since copy write runs out fifty years after the author's death.' Maeby didn't reply, 'Look, all you have to do is apologise.'

'…Yeah right and hand over all the profits!' She snorted, 'Shoot me when that happens!'

George-Michael looked at his wife, he could see it was a futile attempt, 'You know Maeby, sometimes you're your own worst enemy. I still can't believe this family's re-hired Barry either, he's totally incompetent.'

'Maybe but he's also gullible, easily manipulated and cheap!'

He turned to her, 'Honey, this isn't a game; you are up to your neck in it; more or less. All you have to do is apologise.'

'No way!'

'Why? Are you afraid it'll make you look weak? Cause I've gotta tell you Maeby it won't and, who knows, because of your… relatively lack of experience, they may even respect you for it.' He smiled as he saw she was thinking about it.

Maeby frowned, her husband had a point, on one hand she could fight her corner and stand up for herself on the other though, she'd be earning respect and saving herself an awful lot of money. 'I'll think about it.'

George-Michael beamed, 'Great! Check your e-mails.'

'Why?'

'I've drafted a letter for you, just take a look and tell me what you think.'

Maeby looked at him, half-infuriated half-lovingly. He may have been an 'accidental husband' but she knew she was a darn sight luckier than most women who had 'deliberate' ones.