Alan was sitting in his chair on Denny's office balcony smoking his cigar and sipping his scotch while Denny talked about savoring each day as it comes and screwing a Christmas tree. He appeared to be listening, even dropping comments in the right places, but what he was really doing was taking Denny in with his eyes, committing each detail of his face to memory. They had heard the bad news earlier today.
Alan was only half-listening to the doctor because he was trying to get a better read on Denny, who much to his surprise, had taken Alan's hand and held it while rubbing his thumb across the back of it; he's trying to calm himself, but why? Alan thought. Just then, he heard Dr. Forrester say Denny has MCI and before he could ask what that meant, Denny interrupted to say he had AT&T. Dr. Forrester, to his credit, didn't make a big deal; he just defined MCI as Mild Cognitive Impairment and continued speaking. When he said that Denny was almost certain to develop Alzheimer's disease within five years unless the smoking and/or drinking got him first, Alan gasped in shock and looked at his best friend. He knew! He knew something had changed! Oh God, Denny, what are we going to do?
Luckily, he was back in the moment when Denny asked to smell Lorraine's perfume on his clothing for his Christmas present. Alan moved closer and Denny put his hands on his waist, lowered his head to his lapel and inhaled. As Alan leaned in and placed his face against Denny's and said, "Merry Christmas, my friend," he thought, I know what we're going to do, Denny. We're going to stick together.