Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created in Boston Legal, created by David E Kelley and distributed by ABC. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's note: I guess two main things. Firstly, I don't have a beta for this. I had a go at finding one but couldn't, so it's as good as I can make it with two read throughs. (Any offers on that score are welcome!) And secondly, this is Alan Shore/Melvin Palmer, which means that I have them as becoming sexually involved throughout the course of this fic. If this is going to be a problem for you, I'm sorry, but STOP READING NOW.
Chapter 1.
Alan doesn't drink alone. He may need to stoop to ever more desperate levels to get that company, but he spends his evenings in bars with older women, skin going papery around the creases. They have eyes as sad as his and very little personality, just sad, sultry remarks that lead to sad, lingering, dignified sex. Alan wonders where the fun went from his life. The booming laughter from the other end of the bar causes him to crease his brow, slightly pertubed.
A cheerful booming voice comes from the other end of the bar, a rich southern twang.
"Al! Hey, Todd, did you ever meet my buddy Al? He's a hoot, that's what he is!"
Alan feels his eyes show the full level of disdain, disappointment and nausea inspired by Melvin Palmer. He stands there larger than life, a rugged tanned face, blue eyes and a shit eating grin. It wouldn't be so infuriating but Palmer's so obviously delighted to see him. Palmer keeps his chunky, unreasonably rough hand pointing towards his companion. Alan arranged his face into what he hoped was a polite, amused puzzlement.
"A pleasure." he says insincerely, shaking hands with the unremarkable man. If Alan had time for ordinary people, he would have feel bad about slighting the man to tick off Melvin Palmer.
"We were just going to go get dinner when I said, Todd, that's my buddy Al, that's who that is! You've got to meet him, he's a hoot, you'll have a blast! Todd here's a huge fan of your cases."
Alan might not ordinarily have taken so long to put everything together, but it takes a moment. The hands resting intimately on the small of backs, the light touches to shoulders, the way that a brief glance could become a basking look. It was so at odds with the pure Texas of the rest of his image that it tickles Alan to a chuckle.
"Well, I do always enjoy talking with Palmer. I do always find him..." a small pause to allow the many possibilities roll over his tongue like a particularly tannic red wine, " a hoot."
Alan followes it up with a dead eyed, watery smile. Todd looks uncomfortable. He looks to Palmer for reassurance, and shifts away awkwardly when he sees an equally dead eyed but slightly more steely smile on his face. Palmer reaches out and laces his hand with Todd's; it makes them a comfortable sort of fortress. It occurrs to Alan to wonder where the lady he'd been sharing drinks with was. She seems to be sucking the drink through the straw as fast as she can. Perhaps it would be possible to save the evening if he acts fast, but his hackles are raised now. He raises his eyebrows challengingly. Palmer gives a soft chuckle. Alan sees the warning in his eyes. He isn't sure why it makes him feel a little bit cold somewhere at the base of his spine.
"I sure am glad you appreciate my company; it's such a fine thing when a man has buddies like you. Always so friendly and courteous, that's what you are!"
He seems to be spitting a little. Alan is strangely satisfied he's managed to land a blow, whilst also feeling a little bad for the guy who was trying desperately to get himself somewhere else. Alan swirls his drink and tried to look pained and thoughtful. He looks up, tilting his head a little and speaking as though he was finally deciding to tear aside the curtains of artifice.
"Why did you come to talk to me Palmer?" He speaks the name like the cracking of old paper, -a dry, weary, slightly sad speech. "You have to know that I don't like you, that I hold you in nothing but contempt and..."
It's Todd that actually cuts him off, turning decisively towards Palmer, resting a hand on his chest and looking at him with a clear sort of disappointment.
"Come on. Like the man says, why talk to him?"
There's a moment. Alan wonders what they're saying to eachother without words. He can see a dreadful openness for a moment; Palmer's relaxed jaw, his cheeks drooping from their usual rosy apples. The man's hand falls slowly from Palmer's chest and Alan realises he's been staring. He tries to look politely curious. The lines in Palmer's face disappear as the huge, larger than life beam is pushed back into place.
"Well, it's been a pleasure as always Al. You're definitely a hoot. Say hi to Denny for me, and that other fellow, the one who purrs? He's a hoot, that's what he is!"
He clocks Alan with a casual salute and leaves with the same swagger he always walks with. Alan needs more to drink. The woman is gone, but he can't find it in himself to care. He sits and feels a little less happy with the universe and just a little bit angry.
It's raining and it's been a long time since the offices of Crane, Pool and Schmidt have been barred to them. Denny's conservatory isn't quite as good as the balcony but it does. Denny's mind is filled with soap operas, quiz show and fishing. He says his maid is hot, but Alan has seen her. She's fifty, dumpy and has a face pocked with acne scars. At least Denny might be in with a chance. They drink good whiskey and it swells in their mouth like the raw sound of a violin beginning to play. The cigar smoke falls down his windpipe like a dirty, gritty chocolate. The woody taste strangely filling. They savour it and exchange glances full of mutual appreciation. Alan feels a little incomplete.
"You know, you look lonely Alan. That new firm's not good for you, you should quit. We could go fishing!"
"I'm self employed, Denny." says Alan quietly. Denny shrugs, points to his head and mutters 'Mad cow'.
Alan chuckles warmly and takes another mouthful of scotch. Danny looks pleased with himself and this pleases Alan. He surveys Denny fondly and swirls the scotch in his glass.
"I am lonely Denny. I hate taking a case and knowing that Shirley won't be there to dress me down for it and that you won't be on my left hand side."
There's that moment. Denny is secretly pleased and he doesn't know how to respond, so he's basking whilst he thinks of something crass to say.
"My penis still works."
"Denny." Alan chortles. It's made more glorious by the fact that Denny looks shocked that Alan isn't taking this as seriously as he should. Danny's shock fades quickly. He shrugs, cocks his cigar and gives a froggy smile.
"Well it does." His voice sounds like breaking chalk. Alan wiggles down in his chair. "I bought these pills off the internet; did you know you could buy pills on the internet? They send me emails telling me I can, and I got some and what do you know ? Alan, my penis is two inches longer!"
"Denny!"
"I wonder if Carl would share Shirley."
"I doubt it."
Denny shrugs and smokes some more. Alan settles down into a quiet contemplation.
The door opens and someone stomps on the mat. Alan's heart freezes and drops as he hears that voice, like running your hand over velvet.
"Hey there buddy! They didn't have your usual brand of cigar so I upgraded you. I know you enjoy a good quality cigar as much as I do."
"Come on in here!" shouts Denny before Alan can stop him. Alan gives an exasperated little huff and fixes his eyes somewhere where he won't see Melvin Palmer. As he drinks his scotch nonchalantly, Alan can see him, dark jeans, a dark coat and an honest to god cowboy hat. He's almost amused. And those dreadfully earnest eyes in the dreadfully smarmy face. He grins when he sees Alan. Even though Alan's resolutely not looking at him, he sees the grin appear and not reach his eyes. Alan is a pretty fearless man, but he feels he's going to need a lot more scotch. If he's honest, he's ashamed of how he behaved at the bar.
"Alan, good buddy! Always a pleasure!"
It was a bit shorter than it might ordinarily would have been. Alan focuses on the contents of his glass and sips it with far more focus than necessary. In the silence whilst Danny goes to put the supplies Palmer brought away, Alan speaks quietly.
"How's Todd?"
Palmer sits down, he is actually smiling now. Not happily, but like a shark. Alan says 'Todd' like he's twanging a thick rubber band. It's possibly beneath him, fuck, it is beneath him, but getting at the boyfriend has been the only in that Alan's ever found and he feels like taking a second crack at it.
"Todd's fine, and that's mighty sweet of you to ask. And how's your lovely date? Quiet little thing but she sure looked sweet as pie." Palmer laughs a little and manages to look fondly tolerant of Alan's stupidity and rudeness. Alan tries not to give a damn. It just isn't quite the same when there wasn't someone in the room getting screwed over. Alan drinks some more scotch and tries to ignore Palmer as he pours himself some too.
"Why don't you come fishing with Danny and me? We always go fishing on sundays. It's relaxing, that's what it is."
Alan sucks air in through his teeth. He stands up and moves closer to Palmer, circling like a buzzard. He lowers his voice, making each word a low threatening pant. It works on women, they never win against him: it might work on Palmer. Palmer needs to stop winning. He looks at his body, and when he finally looks up, it is with lizard like, indolent eyes and through long, dusty lashes.
"I'm afraid that nature holds very little charm for me. I've personally never seen the appeal of grasping a rod and wrestling with it until you pull that gasping, muscular creature to the bank. When you have it at your mercy, Palmer, what do you do with it?"
Palmer doesn't look off kilter, but he does look like he's trying to decide between being amused and pissed off. He curls a lip and isn't smiling when he throws the tumbler of whiskey down his throat.
"Well, aren't you just a hoot." he spits and stalks off to find Denny. The momentary satisfaction that Alan feels quickly falls into self loathing and the whiskey curls in his stomach. Denny and Palmer do go fishing and Alan goes back to his hotel room.
"Denny fully admits to being a homophobe, but I'd have thought folks as liberal as you wouldn't be such a stick in the mud about it." says Palmer, all suited up and leaning back in the chair in Alan's office. He looks self satisfied as ever, sitting there and idly passing his pen between his fingers. The tops of his hands are surprisingly smooth looking, though still evenly tanned. Alan's political beliefs and personal dislikes war in his head, and ultimately he hates Palmer just that much.
"It's not that you're gay; I wouldn't let something as trivial as that ruin our friendship."
"That's what I like about you Al, you're a hoot, I enjoy that. But Al, I thought we were having fun, joking around like good buddies do. I didn't think you'd be a one to take it personally."
Alan knows that he's disrespectful, posturing and unpleasant when he's meeting opposing council. He's not sure why Melvin Palmer's schtick infuriates him so; but it does seem silly when you put it like that. He looks lost for a moment and glances around his office. Palmer sits back with that same speculative look on his face.
"I'm sorry. You're right. I shouldn't take things so seriously. I'm sure we'll get on famously next time we meet in the court room."
It's peppered with sarcasm, and that just makes Palmer grin harder. Alan grits his teeth and gestures to the door.
"It's been a pleasure as always, but I have work to do, so if you wouldn't mind?"
Palmer folds his jacket over his arm and nods to Alan. Alan inclines his head awkwardly, his muscles refusing to cooperate into making his movements smooth.
"You coming fishing with Denny and me tomorrow? I know how you like grasping your rod. We'll have ourselves a blast, that's what we'll have."
"I'm afraid I deplore nature, and whilst I'm willing to put up with it for a time for Denny's sake, since he has you, I plan to stay here and enjoy all the comforts of civilisation."
"Naw, you should come Al. Besides, sometimes Denny's convinced you're there when you're not. Might be easier on the old guy if he weren't confused about that. I like the old guy, that's what I do."
Well that was a punch. Alan's sure he's not making it up. It takes a special kind of bastard to lie about your mutual friend's progressive illness. Increasingly often he'd start a conversation with Denny and end up with the ground falling out from under you as you realise he's not talking to you, and if he is, it isn't today. He must have shown a reaction to the hit, because Palmer looks strangely tenderly at him.
"I'll call at your hotel for you at six. I've got a spare pair of waders I got from an old boyfriend, he was a bit soft round the middle too, that's what he was, they should fit you a treat."
Alan nods and returns to his work, wondering which of his karmic fuck-ups Palmer is pay back for.