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Alan Shore had, for some time, nursed decidedly mixed feelings about the holiday season. It seemed that for every angel heard on high, there was a sly devil ready to extend a leg and trip an unsuspecting fellow shopper in the aisles of Toys `R Us, triggering a flurry of litigation; for every miracle on 34th street, a shooting just up the road; for every child nestled and snug in her bed, another snatched from his.
The one thing modern society hadn't yet contrived to ruin was a freshly fallen snow. That morning, Alan had awoken to the discovery that some meteorological palette knife had applied a thick layer of the stuff to Boston, lending the city the appearance of a frosted cake. Coat lightly dusted with snow, the tips of his ears redder than a certain reindeer's nose, he stepped into his office to find the desk humming. "Deck the Halls," to be exact.
"Morning, Jerry," he said, unburdening himself of his briefcase and shrugging out of his coat. "Is this a new approach to caroling, and if so, is 'We Three Kings' in your repertoire?"
The desk trailed off mid-fa la la. "Alan!" There was no duplicating the way Jerry announced his name, inflating the two syllables with enthusiasm practically to the point of bursting, then sending them soaring into the uppermost reaches of the vocal register. "I hope you don't mind my being under your desk. I came to apologize for being brusque with you yesterday--"
It took Alan one moment to recall the 'shut up' Jerry had snapped his way the previous afternoon, and another to suppress the smile the memory elicited. "No apology necessary."
"--and you weren't here, and your desk looked so..."
"Inviting?" With a soft groan, Alan crouched down to survey the modest span of carpet his friend had elected to occupy. Jerry lay on his back, hands resting on his thighs, legs extending well beyond the ambit of the desk. From above, he must've looked like the victim of some terrible office mishap. That or the Wicked Witch of the East. "I'm sorry about Leigh. Rejection is never..."
"Oh." Careful to first duck his head, Jerry struggled into a sitting position. "This isn't about Leigh," he said with honest-to-God wide-eyed sincerity. "Katie gave me...well, I guess you could call it a kick in the butt, and as a result, I am pleased to announce that I have moved on."
"'Pleased to announce.'" Alan raised an eyebrow and this time lost the battle with the smile twitching at his lips. "Should I expect a press release later in the day?"
Jerry's face fell. His shoulders slumped. "No."
"I'm sorry. Jerry, look at me." Alan reached out to pat his friend on the knee. "I know how painful it is to be abandoned in favor of"--he gave a humorless huff of laughter--"something sleeker and more user friendly."
"With eight gigs of memory," Jerry added mournfully. "Multi-touch display. An ambient light sensor."
"I trust Katie's attempts at consolation were at least marginally more successful."
"Yes, they were." Jerry untangled his limbs, adopted his original corpselike posture, and resumed staring into space. "You have a very nice desk, Alan," he said at length.
"Well"--Alan glanced up at the sheet of glass supported by its four stocky legs, thought of Marlene shoving him against it--"it's sturdy, anyway."
"I like the glass top. It's a bit like having a skylight. " He scooted over, gave the floor a slap, and said, all cheerful solicitousness, "Come have a look."
"If it's all the same to you, Jerry, I'd rather appreciate my desk's many fine qualities from the comfort of my--also very fine--desk chair. Besides which, I have a settlement conference to prepare for." Alan stood, wincing as sensation seeped back into his legs. "'Tis the season for intentional infliction of emotional distress."
"Oh." For all its sturdiness, the desk sounded hurt. "I suppose I should be on my way." It cleared its throat and recited, adopting a dutiful schoolboy cadence, "Alan, I apologize for being brusque with you yesterday."
Alan sighed and thrust his head under the desk. "I refuse to accept your apology on the grounds that it is unwarranted." He paused. "You really want me to join you...I don't know when or with what degree of attentiveness this floor was last cleaned, my back hasn't been the same since Denny pinned me and sat on my head--come to think of it, I'm not sure my head's been the same, either--and...stop looking at me like that."
Jerry blinked behind his glasses. "Like what?"
"Like I kicked your puppy. Like a kid whose favorite ballplayer has refused to give him an autograph. Like I just denied the existence of Santa." Alan slipped the button of his jacket loose. "It makes me feel like the sorriest human being on the planet."
It wasn't so bad, lying sprawled beneath his desk, hands clasped behind his head, admiring the backsides of several important (to someone, somewhere) documents. One could even have argued--if one were not preoccupied with the increasing stiffness in one's shoulders that resulted from wedging oneself beneath a piece of furniture--that it was a welcome change of perspective. "It is like having a skylight," Alan allowed. "Now if only there were a sky to appreciate."
"I told you. It's much better than Sack's desk," Jerry said decisively, as though relaying the results of a scientific study. "His is so dark and oppressive. Though spacious. Do you mind that I asked Katie for advice?"
"Pardon?" Alan had to turn his head only a fraction of an inch to be face-to-face with Jerry.
"About Leigh. I thought you might--it wasn't because I don't trust you, or I doubt the quality of your advice. She was just..."
"Katie," Alan said; in the same moment, Jerry said, "There."
Alan smiled. "Quite frankly, I'm still grappling with the idea of you under Carl's desk."
"He was surprisingly accommodating. I think"--Jerry arched his eyebrows, lowered his voice conspiratorially--"he may be a kind person."
"Heaven help the poor bastard."
Jerry's mouth quirked in the tiniest of smirks. "Oh! And Katie danced with me at the Christmas party and Lorraine kissed me."
"Okay," Alan said. "If you're asking whether I mind, your social interactions aren't really subject to--"
"I thought you might be jealous," Jerry said, that damnable smirk making its presence known again. "Of me. Of my receiving a kiss from Lorraine."
Alan stared up at the ceiling of his office. "I got to smell Denny," he said. "It all evens out in the end."