Author's Note: Takes place twenty four years after AJ:AA

I never really enjoy filling out paperwork, but I like having filled out paperwork. Looking at a large stack of completed documents makes me simultaneously proud and relieved. The feeling is intensified when it's the end of the day, and even moreso when it's a Friday. So when I've just completed a stack of paperwork a foot high, and it's the end of the day on a Friday, I'm a pretty chipper person.

I grab my wooden cane with the bird shaped handle and stand myself up. I feel quite stiff. I don't spend nearly as much time away from my office as I'd like these days. I only appear in court once a week, if that. The rest of my time is spent either talking to clients in my office, talking to employees in my office, or filling out paperwork in my office. I rarely even get to investigate crime scenes anymore. That's just not fair.

But it doesn't bother me, because I just finished a bunch of paperwork and have the rest of the weekend off.

I exit my office through the large wooden double doors and turn to my left. Maya is at her desk, facing away from me. Apparently she finished her work some time ago and set upon folding a paper airplane. Taking one last second to adjust the flaps, she throws it, and it travels all of one foot through the air before immediately nosediving into the waste basket next to her desk. She just stares at the chrome trash bin for a second before crossing her arms and pouting, giving it a solid kick with her foot.

I laugh and she spins in her chair, first surprised, then pouty again. "How long have you been there?" She asks.

"Long enough to see your test flight," I answer with a chuckle. "Not the result you were hoping for, I'm guessing."

"Brilliant deduction, Holmes," she says with a snort. But I see the smile beginning to form on her lips. I know I have succeeded in cheering her up.

I bring my cane up, shouldering it like a baseball bat. "Work's done for the day," I say with a grin. "Let's get the hell out of here."

She nods and stands, her failed attempt at paper aviation already forgotten. We say goodbye to about two dozen employees on our way out. I still don't know how the firm managed to get so large. It seems like only yesterday it was just me and Justice and Trucy and Maya, working out of an office the size of a hamster cage. Now we practically have our own building. I sort of preferred the old days. Things were simpler then. Well, okay, that's a lie, but they were at least more fun.

I unlock the car with the remote attached to my keyring. It was about three years ago now that the doctor told me I couldn't ride the bicycle anymore - arthritis was getting too bad - so I had to get the car. A four door sedan with a classy interior and excellent gas mileage. Blue, of course.

At first I rarely drove the thing, only using it to get to work and back, preferring to walk everywhere else. But gradually, my joints got worse and worse, until it got to the point where running or bicycling for even a mile made me seize up in pain. So these days I drive pretty much everywhere. The very thought irritates me. Or it would, had I not just finished a huge stack of paperwork on a Friday.

I quickened my pace to try and get to the passenger side first, to open the door for Maya, but she wouldn't have any of it. She saw me speeding up and sprinted past, and me and my stupid cane couldn't keep up. She got to my door first and opened it, sticking her tongue out at me. I raised my cane in the air and waved it at her, looking the very picture of a crotchety old man, shouting, "Damn kid! Get away from my car!" She laughed, and I smiled. I never stopped loving that sound.

In the time it took me to climb into the driver's seat and stow my cane, she walked around to the passenger side, got into the car, and buckled her seatbelt. It bothered me that I might be getting slow in my old age, though really I was always slow compared to her.

My distaste must have been evident on my face, because she tried to reassure me. "You don't have to do that you know. Open my door, I mean."

"I know," I said with a sigh, buckling my seatbelt. "Doesn't mean I don't still want to though."

She took my hand in hers and squeezed, smiling at me. "The act isn't important. It's the wanting to do it that's important."

I stared into her eyes for a second before I squeezed back. She always knew exactly what to say to make me feel better.

"Burgers?" I ask with a grin. "My treat, of course."

Her smile disappears and she gives me a strange look. "Do you remember what today is?"

I blink, suddenly on the defensive. My mind starts racing and I'm hoping desperately that I haven't forgotten something important, like her birthday or our anniversary. "...Friday?"

She doesn't look mad, but she doesn't look happy either. "February sixth."

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Before I can beat myself up about forgetting about it, she speaks.

"It's okay," she says, "but we had better get going if we want to be there before dark."

Silently, I nod and start the car, trying to remember the best route to the graveyard.


Stairs. My only weakness.

I pull out a small bottle of painkillers, popping one into my mouth and swallowing it dry. I wasn't going to let her go alone. I had to pay my respects as well.

Her grave was up on a hill, near a big oak tree. I climb the wooden stairs leading to the top with some difficulty. She doesn't outpace me, doesn't walk ahead. She walks next to me, holding my arm. I'm not sure if it's because she's trying to support me or if she just needs comfort, so I don't object.

We reach the top and she stands in front of the gravestone. Slowly, Maya kneels in front of it, closes her eyes and puts her hands together, mumbling a prayer to the dead she learned as a child.

I always feel more than a little awkward when we visit. I want to mourn, but I don't know how. I barely knew the woman, so I don't feel as though I earned the privilege of reciting a prayer for her. I don't want to kiss the gravestone, that's far too personal, and it's too wide to hug. Patting it seems almost deragatory. So when we come here once a year, I find myself standing behind Maya, hands on my cane and head bowed respectfully. I feel rather out of place, but then, she wasn't my mother.

Maya finishes the prayer and stands, bending briefly to kiss the top of the gravestone. She lingers a moment longer, staring at the ground before turning back around and beginning the descent down the stairs. I feel like I should say something, so I mumble a "thank you" to the tombstone before following her.

The walk back to the car seems far shorter than the walk to the grave. Maybe it's because I'm preoccupied by thoughts of Misty Fey, or maybe it's just gravity helping my aching joints along.

We get into the car and Maya just stares at the glove compartment in front of her, buckling her seatbelt as an afterthought.

"Burgers?" I ask as respectfully as I can, trying to cheer her up without seeming like an insensitive ass.

For a moment I don't think she heard me, but then she turns her head towards me and smiles weakly. "No, that's okay. Let's just head home."

"You sure?"

She takes a deep breath. "Yeah."

I don't say anything more. I just start the car and begin the drive home.


We spent the rest of the night at home and made sandwiches for dinner. Maya ate hers slowly, her gaze distant. I attempted to strike up a conversation, but she wouldn't have it. We end up sitting on the couch together, my feet propped up on the coffee table, watching television. I'm channel surfing when I see something interesting.

"Hey, feature-length Steel Samurai documentary," I say brightly, turning to look at her.

She's sitting next to me, hands in her lap and staring at the television. But her eyes are glazed over, and she has an odd look on her face.

"Huh? What?" She says, blinking and turning towards me. "Oh, right. Yeah, that sounds good." She smiles wearily and turns back towards the TV. I raise the remote and turn it off, and she looks at me questioningly.

"Tell me what's bothering you," I say sternly.

Her face falls and her eyes drift downward. "It's nothing," she says quietly, "it's stupid."

"No it's not," I reply, removing my feet from the coffee table and leaning down to try and catch her gaze. "Just tell me."

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "It's just..." she looks up at me, then away. "I just realized today that I outlived my mother."

I blink. "She's...been dead since you were nineteen."

"That's not what I meant. I mean...I saw the date of her birth and the date of her death on the gravestone and...she was forty nine when she died. I'm fifty now." She wipes away the beginnings of tears forming in her eyes. "It's stupid, I don't know why it's bothering me so much."

I say nothing. I just embrace her, hugging her as tight as I can. I hear her sniffle, feel her tears hit my shirt, see her back jump a little when she breaths in. I haven't seen her so troubled in years. Maya's been through so much in her life and she's grinned and beared it all. Sometimes I wonder if she bottles herself up around me, pretending to be happy when in reality she's hurting more deeply than I know. But I don't think she'd do that. She knows I'm here for her.

I decide to remind her in case she forgot. I pull away from the hug and look at her resolutely, distantly aware of the pain in my knuckle as I wipe a tear off her cheek.

"Maya," I say, "your feelings are not stupid, and any time you want to share them, I'm here."

She takes a breath as she raises a hand to cover mine. She smiles, genuinely this time. "Thank you, Nick," she says sadly. "I'll probably be sharing a lot of them over the next few days."

"It's okay," I say for lack of anything better, "If there's anything I can do to help, promise you'll tell me, okay?"

"I promise," she replies, smile growing wider. "You can start by putting on that Steel Samurai documentary."

For a long moment I just stare into her eyes. When we first met, I rarely understood Maya. I wasn't used to her whimsical personality or flights of fancy. I couldn't follow the strange trains of thought she had, powered by a logic entirely alien to me. Even years afterward, she often moved too fast for me, switching gears with an almost frightening pace. As I got older and (I'd like to think) wiser, I started to get used to her, but even then, there were times when she managed to surprise me with a comment out of left field. These days I'm rarely surprised by her, though I'm still not sure if that's because I understand her or if it's because I'm just so familiar with her.

Regardless, there are still times when she still amazes me in many different ways, whether she knows it or not.

We never get to bed. We end up falling asleep in each other's arms, feet propped on the coffee table, listening to Will Powers explain how the Method applies to robotic samurai.