“Sorry to interrupt,” Xander said, unable to hide his bemused grin as he stepped into the office, pushing papers with the door as he went.
“No, I just... dropped my pen,” she lied, sitting up completely and pretending to stack papers. She kept up the charade for only a minute before sighing and dropping them back onto the desk. “What can I do to help you?”
“Ah, I’m looking for a--” he paused, pulling a crumpled up business card out of his front pocket and examining it. “--Natasha Mayer. Any chance you know where she is?”
“That’s me,” she smiled, motioning for him to come in. “I am she, I’m... how can I help you?”
“Huh,” Xander said, sizing her up for a moment as he flicked the card between his hands. After a moment he silently accepted her invitation and stepped inside. “Sorry, pictured you a little different.”
She cocked her head to one side, squinting at him a little. “Do I... know you from somewhere? You look very familiar.”
“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, extending a hand toward her. “My name is Alexander Drew. Most people call me Xander.”
She ignored his hand, turning back to the papers on her desk and shuffling through them quickly until she found the one she was looking for. She scanned down through it quickly, her eyes darting back and forth in her head until she found what she was looking for. “Drew, Alexander. Jesus, you’re the kid Genblade kidnapped.”
Xander gave a short, forced laugh as he looked down at his feet and clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth. “Yeah, yeah that would be me.”
Natasha rolled her eyes, flopping the papers aside. “Listen, kid, I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve been telling the parents who won’t stop calling: everyone deserves a good defense. It’s one of the backbones of our justice system and if you don’t like it, you can take it up with your senator, not with me.”
Xander laughed, flicking his top lip. “Okay, two things. First, do you still call them parents if their kids are all dead?”
Natasha shot him a look, then shifted her gaze towards the door.
“Okay, okay. Second, I... really wasn’t here to complain.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, leaning forward onto her desk and lacing her fingers together. She tried to appear collected and calm for a moment, but her face eventually turned upward in a confused drawl. “What?”
Frowning, Xander moved forward until he was standing right across the table from her. “I want to help you with the Genblade case. Be a witness, help with how to approach him in court... whatever. I want to be as involved as you’ll have me.”
“Think you’re confused,” she coughed, switching back to pretending to stacking papers again. “I’m with Genblade’s defense. Maybe you should be speaking with--”
“I know,” he grinned, taking a small folder out of his jacket and laying it down on the table. “I think I can help.”
“How do you spell proliferate?” Cathy asked, chewing on the end of her pen.
Mike let the magazine he was reading flop onto his chest, turning to stare at her from his place snuggled between the mountains of pillows on her bed. “Why?”
“Hmm?” she hummed, finally looking away from the rose scented piece of pink paper in front of her, the blue words upon it written in extravagant, cursive loops that she marked as one of her only true artistic talents. “It’s... nothing. Just something I’m doing for the memorial.”
Mike frowned, stopping to think for a moment. “P-R-O-L-I-F-E - -”
“Thanks.”
He stopped, shooting her a look.
“Wasn’t sure if it was an A or an E after the F.”
“Proliferate. A phase of wound healing. Means getting better at a steady rate. Pro Life Rate. That’s... how I remembered.”
“That’s a pretty weird way to remember that.”
He sat up on the bed and tossed the magazine aside as he watched her hunch back over her desk, carefully making the loops and swirls of every word. “May I ask why you’d need that word for a memorial letter?”
She finished the word she was working on, then lay down her pen before turning around on her chair. “Sara couldn’t pronounce it. Tried like hell, never could. Not even if someone else said it first. Same thing with authentication.”
“Still doesn’t explain why you’re putting it in a memorial letter.”
She sighed, her shoulders slumping a little. Grimacing, she picked up the paper and started to crumple it up.
“Hey!” Mike snapped, snatching it away from her. “Just because I don’t get it doesn’t make it bad. Just means I don’t get it. That’s why I’m asking.”
“People... seem like they’re remembering everyone through rose-colored glasses.”
“Through what?” he asked, smoothing out the paper against the wall.
“You know what proliferate means, but you’ve never heard the phrase rose-colored glasses?”
“Discovery Channel,” he said meekly in his own defense.
She rolled her eyes, smiling at him. “People have been remembering everyone at their best. Like they were flawless or something. For me it was the stupid little things that irked me that I’m going to miss now.”
“Like how she couldn’t pronounce proliferate?”
“Or, how she didn’t put toothpaste on her toothbrush, she squirted it into her mouth and used the toothbrush to scrub it around. Or the way she ate her peas one at a time. All that stuff. That’s... what I’m trying to say.”
He nodded, pursing his lips.
“You think it’s stupid.”
“No,” he smiled, passing her back the sheet of paper. “I think it’s great. I think her parents’ll love it.”
She smiled, straightening the paper as she continued to write.
He grabbed a slinky from her desk and started wobbling it back and forth between his hands as
