Title: Untitled
Pairing: Michael/Gob, with mentions of George Michael/Maeby
Summary: George Michael makes a discovery in the Attic
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing!
Rating: PG-13
Notes: A reworking of some of 'Queen for a Day' - this may shoot off into an idea I have for a series, but can't say for certain. I'm assuming that between Michael's buying the car and Michael seeing his mother there's been a night/day change, as, if you watch the episode, their clothes change and such.
George Michael cautiously looked this way and that before continuing down the hall. Since he had hidden the box of love letters he had written addressed to his cousin upstairs in the attic, he had found them drifting in and out of his guilty thoughts.
He had all ready had a close enough call when he had first found the box and his father had come across him, and while he had all ready hidden the box, he felt couldn't afford another scare. He decided to make sure they were still hidden. He took hold of the string that pulled down the attic door and gave it a good tug. The stairs came down and he headed up swiftly.
He looked around the hot, empty space with a slight frown. It didn't seem that long ago that he and his father had spent many a night up here talking about everything. Thinking of the box of letters, part of him wished he could still talk so openly to his father. But this was something he knew he needed to keep a secret.
Besides, he had never really ever talked to his father about girls - in fact there was no one he had ever talked to about girls. The only person who came to mind that he felt even remotely comfortable talking to, in regard to that subject, was his Uncle Gob.
George Michael had always viewed Gob as being cool and easy going. He knew his father wasn't a very big fan of him, but George Michael thought that he had the potential to be an okay guy - he just needed some help with his...issues. And despite, what his Dad thought, he certainly seemed to be the one who always helped him the most with those issues. But then, that was what his Dad always said, the most important thing in the world was family...or was it breakfast?
No, no...it was family. And it was because of family that George Michael had to make sure the box stayed hidden. Well, that and overwhelming embarrassment. The drawing of Maeby in the letter entitled, 'If You Weren't My Cousin' alone was enough to humiliate him for life if it was discovered. He found the box quickly enough and scolded himself. If it was this easy for him to find again, anyone could have stumbled across it.
He took hold of the box and looked around the attic for a better hiding spot. He found a nice, dark corner of the attic and kneeled down close to it, prepared to shove the box behind another set of dusty boxes.
He had to wiggle around a bit to get it really well hidden back deep in there, when a pile of boxes and trunks next to him fell over. It wasn't a loud crash but it was enough to make him jump. It had been a while since his father had first found him with the incriminating letters, but holding them again put him right back on edge. All that ran through his mind was the fear that his Father could have possibly seen them.
He took a deep breath and berated himself. His Father hadn't seen them though - he needed to get over that. And now the box was hidden away and eventually he would find a better way of disposing of it and no one would ever, ever know so he needed to relax. George Michael sighed and began straightening the new mess he had made, putting away his mother's maternity clothes and old photos when he found a bundle of old construction paper.
He frowned, his eyebrows knitting together as he untied the ribbon that had held the paper together. Once untied a few looseleaf sheets came spilling out and he sat down so as to collect them together better and also to look through them, his curiosity piqued.
The handwriting was very neat and detailed but held an underlying sloppiness that only came from young age. It was obvious the writer of these papers was trying very hard to look older than they were, and as George Michael's eyes scanned the words he realized it was a story. He chuckled under his breath and went through a few sentences.
It was apparently some fairy tale about a handsome prince named Bog, who lived in a magical, fantasy world. It talked about him coming occasionally to the real world to visit a young boy named Mikey.
George Michael frowned. Mikey? Wasn't that what his Uncle and Pop Pop called his Dad? He read on further and was even more intrigued. Bog and Mikey went on all these adventures and Bog always did these amazing things that made Mikey happy. It almost seemed like...Mikey loved him. And loved him more than a friend actually, as there was one crude drawing of them kissing.
George Michael turned the picture this way and that. Why did the two little cartoons look so familiar? And kissing boys? Who in the family would write something like that? Maybe Aunt Lindsay...
George Michael collected together the papers and came down out of the attic. He didn't know why, but his curiosity was so intense he couldn't help but go search from some answers. He found his father in the model home's kitchen dressed for work.
Michael smiled brightly when he saw his son. He was pleased with himself for his new purchase of the Corvette and how well he had hidden it from his son. He had parked the Corvette at his work and driven the Stair Car home. He planned on making a flashy entrance with the Corvette tonight, "Hey there, buddy, I have a big surprise for you."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I was thinking after you get home from school I'd show it to you and you and I could go out for dinner. Spend some time together like we used to. How does Chili's sound?"
"Oh, good Dad, but, um, what about the banana stand?"
Michael smoothed down his tie, feeling proud, "That's my boy, always thinking responsibly. Don't worry about it, way ahead of you, I got your cousin Maeby to watch it, so consider tonight your night off. You and I can go out to eat, spend some time together, just like we used to."
"Oh. Wow. Yeah that'd be great!" George Michael beamed and came closer to his father, his eyes scanning the papers a bit more. Now, inexplicably, he was nervous. Maybe it was wrong to ask anybody about these. They were so similar to his own letters in a way...
"Hey, what have you got there, George Michael?"
Yikes. Too late.
"Oh. Um, these? Oh, they're, um, they're nothing."
"Come on now, George Michael, we don't keep secrets in this family, let me see." Michael came closer, one hand held out and his son began to sputter, "Oh well, um, I was just, you know, cleaning out my closet of - you know, unimportant things, clutter and junk and, um, I took that stuff up to the attic and I found these up there and-"
"You were in the attic?" Michael asked, his voice slightly terse. Michael had been hiding his fugitive father, George Sr, in the attic for sometime and while he had just made an edict to his son that their family didn't keep secrets, this was one secret he did indeed keep from everyone, including his son.
"Yeah, anyway, I found these-"
Michael took the papers, afraid they were something his father had written that had exposed his possible location to George Michael. Instead he read the first few lines of the story and immediately blanched.
"Dad, are you okay?" George Michael asked, immediately concerned, he had never seen his father go so pale so quickly (save maybe the time he had burned himself on the cornballer - but then he had swiftly gone red with pain).
"Oh, yeah, pal, yeah, huh, yeah, these silly old things," Michael flipped through the pages swiftly. He reached out behind him blindly until his fingers found the bar stool. He sat down on it as if he could no longer stand, "Yeah, um-you-you found these?"
"Well, yeah, they were in a box I accidently knocked over...or one of the trunks, I accidently knocked over...I knocked a few things over, and when I was cleaning them up-"
"Did - did you read them-"
"A little."
"I see." Michael turned an even whiter shade, his hands still absently flipping through them. His eyes kept going from the pages to George Michael and he licked his lips.
George Michael still looked at his father with worry. Was he mad at him for poking around in the attic? "I didn't mean to. I mean, I didn't do it to make you mad or-or to hurt someone's feelings and-and I only brought them down because I was interested in who wrote them."
"Oh?" Michael sounded breathless.
"Yeah, it seemed like a pretty good story, I mean, you know,it was untitled and kind of childish but pretty well written...like a fairy tale or something, I thought maybe Aunt Lindsay-"
"Oh! Aunt Lindsay!" Michael shot up, exhaling sharply, "Oh yeah, yeah, these were hers."
"Really?" George Michael beamed, happy to see that his father was not mad at him and seemed to be returning to a normal shade, "They were pretty good stories."
"Yeah, yeah, your Aunt used to write these a lot when she was younger. She loved to write then."
"Wow, I didn't know that! Why'd she stop?"
"Hrm?" Michael mumbled distractedly, still picking at the papers, "Oh, well, you know, she just grew up is all...got to thinking that she needed to be more responsible and settle down with a realistic job, I mean you can't make a good living off writing, not a real career..."
"Aunt Lindsay thought that?" George Michael frowned. This didn't sound quite like the Aunt he knew.
"Yeaaah," Michael breathed out, stopping on one page and running his hand over it. The page was entitled, "If You Weren't My Brother". George Michael leaned closer and frowned, "Is...is that Uncle Gob?"
Michael snapped the paper away from his view and clutched it closer to himself, "Huh? What?"
"The drawing on that page - it, it looked a lot like Uncle Gob. I mean, it may not have been him, my eyes may have been playing tricks on me..." George Michael felt nervous again, like he saw something he shouldn't have.
"Oh. Well. Yeah, yeah I think so. Um, your Aunt was confused, you know? Young age and things your Gangee said and all that..."
"Gangee?"
"Yeah, said he was adopted all the time..."
"Who was?"
"Gob." Michael said the last part softly and frowned.
"Is he?"
"What?"
"Adopted?"
Michael blinked, "No. No...no one's adopted. Not even me."
"You wish you were?"
Michael laughed, "Yeah, sometimes, but you know what, buddy?" Michael patted his son's shoulder, "As long as I have you for family, I figure I'm doing all right."
George Michael laughed too and Michael rose to his feet, papers still in his hands, "Well, I've got to run by the office before going to see your Gangee, so how about you get ready for school, I drop you off, take care of what I have to, and then tonight we go to that dinner?"
"Sounds great!" George Michael said, but his thoughts quicky turned back to the papers, "Um, Dad?"
"Yeah, buddy."
"Are you going to give those to Aunt Lindsay?"
Michael looked at the papers and licked his lips, "Ahhh, you know, no. I don't think that's such a good idea. She wrote these a long time ago and they would probably embarrass her, so I think I'll just keep them and you should probably keep find them to yourself, too."
"Yeah, okay, I guess I could see that. I mean, there's a drawing of two boys kissing in there."
Michael's earlier white was nothing compared to the pink blush he had now, "Oh?"
"Yeah, and the fact she wrote a story with a boy named after you-"
"Hey, whoa, me, no, I don't think-"
"Well, the character was named Mikey and I know Uncle Gob-"
"Lots of people named Mikey, George Michael, I don't think-"
"Actually I've never heard Aunt Lindsay call you that much, so it's kind of weird she'd have you in the story with that name-"
"Don't think it was me, George Michael." Michael said this a bit more strongly and George Michael was all jittery rambles again, "Oh. No. You're probably right, it's just...you know, you read it and it sounds like you. Well...you, but younger...it's flattering, in a way, I mean if she wrote a story about you. Or, you know, not, if you don't like it or she did to - to tease you. I mean you do kiss a boy in it, or, or not you, Mikey and that Prince Bog and..."
"Yeah, George Michael-"
"And hey, isn't Gob backwards Bog..."
"George Michael, we should get going, you know? Don't want to be late."
George Michael swallowed and nodded, "Oh, yeah, sure thing. Sorry. I'll go get my backpack."
George Michael ran upstairs and Michael sighed, running a hand over his face. He looked at the end of one of the stories and saw, neatly printed, 'Written by Michael Bluth'. God, it had been so long ago.
He didn't know why he had kept these. It had always been his plan to destroy them, but somehow it never happened. Instead he forgot about them and they just got mixed around with his old school papers and photos he had kept from his childhood. Now seeing them again, being reminded of them, he knew their content alone demanded they finally be taken care of. He couldn't allow these to see the light of day, or worse, to see the light of his family.
He shook his head, it was hard to believe he had ever even felt that way once, that he had been such a stupid kid. He could remember it vaguely, how things had been then. When he hadn't been fighting with Gob and they had been getting along so well...Gob had been so different then, not so pathetic and desperate, not so needy for their father's approval. Michael had even looked up to him, thought he was so great, so fun. And he had been so confused by his feelings towards him, especially after...
No, no - he really didn't want to reflect on what had started the stories in the first place...
Instead he remembered how whenever Gob got in trouble (and he got in trouble alot, even then) his Father had often shouted at his Mother, 'He's not my child! He's your child' And she'd retort with, 'He's no one's child! He's adopted!'
And that would just make Michael more confused, because he didn't know any better than to recognize his parents' sarcasm. And it was from that, that Gob had started to become so desperate and needy, he so wanted to prove himself, prove he was part of the family even while Michael wished he didn't.
Michael sighed, it was so long ago. He folded up the papers and put them in his briefcase determined to get rid of them later.
"Miiichael."
Michael turned to see Gob and felt himself flush, "Yes, Gob, what can I do for you."
"I need a favor."
Michael silently thanked his brother, this comment immediatly put him back into his 'business-as-usual' mode,"Ok, no shock there, look, can we discuss it later? I've got to drop George Michael off, then run by the office to pick up my new ca-," Michael quickly corrected himself, "To pick something up, and then I've got to go see Mom, some urgent call, so I'm kind of running late..."
"Michael, I need five thousand dollars."
"Amazing, our company is in constant jeopardy for the most part and you still want a handout."
"It's not a handout, it's a handjob."
Michael raised an eyebrow, mouth dry, "What?"
Gob shook his head, "I mean a hand with the job, I mean, you know I'm trying to get a job working for you again and to do that I need a little capital to invest in an idea I have..."
"Is it bleep Mountain? Because I'm telling you, Gob..."
"No, no it's for something much better than that."
"Well, ok, if it is, then you need to write a proposal and I'll consider it."
"Oh come on, Michael, I have to write up a proposal? You can't just take my word on it? Or are you afraid my idea may be better than any you've ever had. Is that it, Mikey? Are you Chicken?"
Before Gob could start the chicken dance and the 'Coka Coka Coka's' that immediately followed, Michael held up a hand, "Look, if you want to work for me again you need to be just like every other employee I have and fill out the proper paperwork, okay? Now if you'll excuse me..."
While Michael went to the end of the stairs to call up to George Michael, Gob spotted his briefcase. Just a day ago he had been picking through one of Michael's boxes of files and this was no different. He quickly popped it open and found a few old, folded up papers inside. He grabbed them quickly and shut the briefcase. He stuffed the papers into his jacket pocket, figuring they were proposals.
He could copy someone else's work but change a bit here and there to get his own ideas across. Why work harder than he had to? Besides, if they weren't proposals, they were still probably important work papers and maybe he could use them as blackmail to get his job back. Either way, he figured taking them would be a good idea in the end. He turned and left just as Michael returned.
"Now Gob, in the future," He saw his brother was gone and sighed, "Typical."
He took hold of his briefcase and prepared, amongst other things, to go see what was wrong with his Mother now.