This story is a collaborative effort between MahliaLily ( http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=288788 ) and CircleSky.
A Few Verses Short of a Christmas Carol
CHAPTER 5: How Many Golden Hoops Must One Santa Jump Through Anyway?
"I am the worst Secret Santa in the history of Secret Santas!" Sookie declared sadly as she and Lorelai walked across the mall parking lot towards the main entrance.
"C'mon, Sookie, I'm sure you're exaggerating," Lorelai reassured her. "You have Kirk. I know we agreed it was going to be hard, but it can't be that hard."
Sookie stopped abruptly and held up her hands in a mock defensive pose. "Now wait a minute," she said loudly. Lorelai, realizing that Sookie was no longer beside her, turned around and looked at her curiously. "I want you," Sookie began, "to tell me what you would get Kirk if he was your Giftee."
"Well," Lorelai said, thinking for a second. "There's the … um… Well, okay, what about the … uh … Oh, I know!" She snapped her fingers, then trailed off. "I'd get him the…"
"Having some difficulty finishing a sentence?" Sookie asked with an amused smile.
"It's not fair! You put me on the spot! There's too much… pressure!" Lorelai defended herself, waving her hands wildly.
"Oh, right," Sookie teased.
"Okay, fine. I can't really think of anything."
"Welcome to my world!" Sookie moaned, flinging her hands up in exasperation while not even noticing the innocent passerby she'd almost smacked in the head or the dirty look she'd received in the process. Instead, she continued onward to her destination. Lorelai wordlessly offered the other shopper a meek apology as she took off after her friend. The shopper grunted and returned to unlocking his car.
As they walked, Sookie turned to her friend with a serious look. "Do you know why most people hate Secret Santa exchanges?" Not waiting for an answer, she continued, "Because of people like me! I am one of those lame Secret Santas that ruins the process and jades people against the whole tradition."
"Aw, Sookie," Lorelai said sadly.
"No, no. It's fine. I've accepted it," Sookie resignedly stated, a depressed look on her usually enthusiastic face. "After all, someone has to be the dreaded Secret Santa that everyone talks about the next year right before the name-drawing. The one person in the whole town that everyone prays doesn't pick their name! I am officially that person."
"Please, Sookie! Everyone knows that grouchy, old Mrs. Nervel is that person. She hasn't lost her 'Lamest Secret Santa in the World' title in years. Even Luke hasn't beaten her, and we all know how inane his gifts can be."
"You'd be surprised," Sookie contended. "'Cause I'm givin' her a serious run for her money!"
They had now reached the entrance to the mall, and Lorelai held the door open for Sookie as she walked in. They leisurely began to walk towards the center of the mall, removing their hats and gloves in the process. "I'll never understand why malls insist on turning the heat to full blast in the winter," Lorelai muttered. "Don't they realize that customers will be wearing layer upon layer of winter clothing? They could turn it down a notch or two. But, noo! I think they take sick pleasure out of watching us try to juggle all of our shopping bags and our winter coats. It's like a game to them, I just know it."
"Okay, honey," Sookie said gently. "As much as I enjoy hearing your annual rant on the satanic ways mall staff play with our minds, I'm having a breakdown here."
"Right, sorry," Lorelai said apologetically. "Tell me what you got him. Maybe it isn't as bad as you think."
"You promise you won't be embarrassed to be my friend?"
"Well, I probably shouldn't make promises I might not be able to keep," Lorelai said slyly. Then, smiling warmly at Sookie, she said honestly, "I promise."
"Okay, but before I start, I want you to know that I really did try to find gifts that Kirk would like. It kept me up at night. I even asked Jackson for help."
"Wow! Jackson? You were desperate!"
"I know. He was so sweet. He put up with me grilling him for over an hour, but, in the end, I couldn't get any ideas out of him either. Believe me, I did try to find the perfect gifts."
"Sincere effort noted. Continue."
"Well, the first gift wasn't so bad. I got him Christmas pens."
"Christmas pens?" Lorelai repeated. "What do you mean?"
"You know, the little Santas and Rudolphs? They have the cap heads and the little protruding feet so they can stand up on your desk."
"Oh," Lorelai answered, nodding in understanding. "I got Rory one of those when she was little. She went to write with it, and, you know, because their heads are the cap, you kinda have to pull off their heads to write. She thought she'd killed Santa. I don't know if I've ever seen her more upset. It took hours to convince her that Santa was okay, and she made me promise never to remove the cap again."
"Oh no!" Sookie wailed. "I didn't even consider how disturbing they are."
"Kirk's a grown man. I'm sure he can deal with it."
Sookie gave Lorelai a skeptical look. "Ok," Lorelai conceded. "So maybe not the best idea."
"This is even more horrible than I thought," Sookie declared despondently.
"No, you're doing fine. What else did you get him?"
"Well, a box of candy canes."
"Peppermint or fruity?"
"Does it matter?" Sookie asked.
"Ah!" Lorelai exclaimed, shocked and dismayed. "Of course it matters!"
"It does? I didn't know!" Sookie was becoming panicked.
"Sookie, Sookie, calm down," Lorelai soothed, moving in front of her friend and holding her by the shoulders. "Which did you get him?"
"Umm… the assorted fruit," Sookie said quietly, squinting her eyes in preparation for the worst.
Lorelai sighed in relief, and Sookie responded likewise. "Thank God!" Lorelai said gratefully. "See, some people actually don't like the peppermint."
Sookie's mouth fell open. "Don't like the peppermint?" she asked, putting her problems on the backburner as she contemplated this new bit of information. "Are they insane?"
"I know, I know," Lorelai continued. "It's crazy but true. But everyone loves the fruity. So, unless you know which kind of candy cane the person prefers, you get the fruity."
"So I'm okay?"
"You're better than okay! You didn't choose just one fruit — another fatal mistake. The assorted fruit is the only way to go."
Sookie relaxed and nodded. "You had me worried there."
"So we have the Christmas pens, the fruity candy canes… not perfect gifts, but definitely better than Mrs. Nervel. What was gift number 3?"
"It's bad," Sookie said, sighing.
"I'm sure it's no—"
"No, it's really, really bad," Sookie interrupted.
"Well, then, don't leave me in suspense!"
"I got him a loofah messenger," Sookie mumbled so that Lorelai could barely make out her words. Sookie still wasn't quite ready to reveal the third gift.
"Excuse me? Did you say 'loofah messenger'? There are actually people who deliver loofahs?"
"No," Sookie said in exasperation. She enunciated more clearly. "I got him a ladybug massager."
"A ladybug massager? Ok, I understood the loofah messenger but a ladybug massager? What is that?"
Sookie sighed. "It's a massager in the shape of a ladybug – bright red, black spots. The bottom kind of looks like the top of a piece of Lego. You know, with those little circular bumps? Anyway, you turn it on, and it vibrates. It massages your back." Sookie lifted an arm and bent it over her shoulder. She swept the arm back and forth, demonstrating a personal massage.
Even before Sookie had finished her description, Lorelai had started laughing. "Sookie, please tell me you're joking. Where does one even find such a thing?"
"It was in one of those fun, eclectic gift stores," she bubbled, growing more comfortable with the gift idea.
"Wow!" Lorelai said, shaking her head incredulously. "Well, it is an unusual gift. I'll give ya that."
"It's bad, isn't it?"
"Do you have room on your mantel for the trophy?"
"Trophy?" Sookie asked.
"In just a few short days, the 'Lamest Secret Santa in the World' award could be yours! All for the low, low price of… How much does a ladybug massager cost?"
"I knew it!" Sookie cried. "I shouldn't have participated this year. I had a bad feeling about it right from the start."
"Sookie, Sookie, I'm kidding."
"No, you're not. The gift is terrible."
"It's unique. Kirk's unique. It may just be the best gift he'll ever get."
"You're just saying that."
"No, I'm not," Lorelai said sincerely. "If there's anyone who can appreciate a ladybug massager, it's Kirk."
"You're a good friend," Sookie said, smiling again.
"I know," Lorelai agreed with a wink. "What are you giving him today?"
"There's no way I'm telling you."
"Sook! C'mon! Don't make me guess!"
"Ooh, but that could be fun," Sookie giggled. "I am still looking for a fifth gift. Maybe you'll accidentally give me some ideas."
Shaking her head, Lorelai turned down a side hallway of the mall. "C'mon, let's go this way."
"Do you think we'll ever actually start parking near the stores we want to visit?"
"Nah… too predictable."
"Oh, right! Right!" Sookie agreed, nodding her head sagely.
***
Several shops later, Lorelai led the way across yet another large, carpeted store, her legs finding their direction of their own accord. "So I told you Miss Patty's my Secret Santa, didn't I?"
"Yeah. How's that going, by the way?" Sookie replied, her own legs barely keeping up with the determined pace Lorelai had set.
"Do you have a minute to listen to me rant? 'Cause, Honey, there're some strange men out there!"
"Oh no. Bad?"
"Incredibly. What am I? A magnet? You know how you and I always say we hate 'Sex and the City' on the principle that the dates are so bad they can't possibly be true?" Sookie nodded. "Well, we were wrong. Let's see, first, there was Brad. Cute, snappy dresser, brought me a gorgeous bouquet of flowers, but sooooo boring. He barely said two words to me the entire night! That guy was letting conversations drop left and right. 'So, I run an inn,' I said. He says, without even a facial expression, 'Ah.' I try again, something a little easier this time: 'Seen any good movies lately?' What does he say? 'No.' That's it. For a second, I began to wonder if he was Jess's long-lost father or something, given the monosyllabic tendencies. But even Jess is a better conversationalist than this guy. Finally, after a good hour of me offering perfectly good topics to discuss and him responding with a 'Hmm…' or an 'Uh' or a nice, non-committal shrug of the shoulders, I decided to offer him one last chance. So I looked him square in the eye, and I said, 'Hey, guess what? I got pregnant when I was 16, dropped out of school, ran away from home, alienated my parents, and lived in a small shed behind an inn.'"
"You didn't?" Sookie asked, flabbergasted.
"Oh, believe me, I did. I figured if anything would get a guy talking or at least screaming and running in the opposite direction, that would've. But what do you think he said?"
"Dare I ask?"
"He said, 'Huh.' I kid you not. That's all he said. As if it were the most common, uninteresting thing he'd ever heard in his entire life."
"That's horrible."
"You're telling me. How he could let Patty set him up on a date is beyond me; he is obviously not ready for integration into society."
"Graham, on the other hand," she continued. "Now there was a talker. Very unfortunate. The whole night, he kept regaling me with stories about his Yellow-Naped Amazon Parrot."
"He's just proud of his pet."
"Sookie, there's pride for your pet, and then there's blatant parrot-fixation. You've heard of parrots imitating their owners, right?" Lorelai barely waited for Sookie to nod before continuing. "Well, this guy was imitating his parrot. Right there in the restaurant. He's reading the menu and squawking 'Graham want a pork cutlet'!"
"Bleh! Pork cutlet. See, that would've ended it right there for me," Sookie replied, the chef inside her momentarily distracted by that particular culinary disaster. "Wait, he was squawking like a parrot inside the restaurant?"
"Yes! Believe me, 15 minutes into the date, and I was begging for a silence like I had with Brad."
"OK, you're right, neither of those guys sound that great."
"It gets worse," Lorelai moaned.
"Really?"
"Yes. Then, last night, came Dud, er, I mean, Doug."
Sookie giggled as the two of them reached the display for which they'd been heading.
"The evening started off fine. He took me out for dinner at Chianti's."
"Ooh, nice place," Sookie praised.
"Yeah. So I'm sitting at the table, eating my dinner, thinking, 'Unlike Brad and Graham, Doug's not such a bad conversationalist' because, you know, by that time, I'd lowered my expectations," Lorelai said as she flicked through a rack of shirts. "And then I look down, and it occurs to me, this guy has got the shiniest fingernails I have ever seen."
"You're kidding!" giggled Sookie, rifling through a rack of her own. She urged Lorelai to continue.
"I'm not kidding! They were shinier than mine! I mean, I could see my own startled face in their reflective surfaces!"
"Oh my God," Sookie exclaimed. "I have never seen that before."
"I know. There they were, ten little Lorelai reflections, all staring back at me."
"Creepy." Sookie shuddered.
"Gee, thanks."
"But only when you put it that way, Sweetie."
Lorelai took her attention away from the clothing on display and focused it fully on her story. "So anyway, I'm staring at his fingernails all through dinner, and they're just - staring! - back at me, and, finally, I can't stand it anymore. I have to know. So I ask, dreading the answer," Lorelai stated ominously. "'Doug, are you wearing nail polish?'"
"Oooh. What did he say?" Sookie asked, her hands resting on top of the clothes rack, her chin resting on top of her hands, and her eyes turned to Lorelai with rapt attention.
"Yes," Lorelai said simply, her hands gesturing with a 'Can you believe it?' attitude.
"Yes? He said 'yes'? He admitted to it?"
"Yes!" Lorelai cried, this time flinging an exasperated hand higher into the air. "He admitted he was wearing clear nail polish!"
"Wow. Why?"
"That's what I wanted to know. So I asked him." Lorelai absentmindedly returned to flicking through the shirts. "Apparently, he's a chronic nail-biter, and the polish is the only way to deter himself from biting his fingers off."
Sookie laughed, relieved. "Okay, well, that makes a little more sense. At least he didn't say it makes him pretty."
"Yeah, I guess."
"Does he buff them?"
"Um, I don't know. Why?"
"Well, you said they were really shiny so I wondered what his secret is."
"Yeah, he had nice, shiny nails," Lorelai agreed thoughtfully. "Women knock themselves out to have nails that perfect. But men? I can't date a man with shinier nails than mine." She shuddered.
"No. Of course not."
Lorelai sighed. "Too bad. He was a good conversationalist. But ick!"
Needing a distraction from the disturbing dates, Lorelai focused her gaze fully on the shirts before her, and her eyes got lost in the reds and grays of a particular tartan fabric. Hmph! she thought. She'd just realized she was looking at a rack of flannel shirts. "You know, I already gave Luke a flannel shirt. I should get him something else."
"Mmmm," Sookie replied in agreement.
"Ahh!" Lorelai exclaimed in exasperation. "I only have one more gift to get for him. Shopping for Luke is too hard. I mean, look at me, only four gifts later, and I've already come back around to the flannel shirt display!"
"Well, it's true the man doesn't really need another flannel shirt. Let's get out of here and see what else we can find."
"Gladly."
Without another word, they left Timberland and stepped back into the Christmas-themed halls of the Hartford mall, Lorelai bemoaning her plight of shopping for Luke all the way. She stopped, however, mid-whine, when a particular sign caught her eye. "Hey! I've got an idea," she said, suddenly excited.
Sookie followed her gaze to the sign that said 'Personalized T-Shirts and Baseball Caps' and then followed her into the store.
***
Rory lifted the cup to her lips, and the rising steam warmed her frosted nose even before the liquid warmed her body and soul. "Mmmm," she hummed in happiness. "It's days like this that make a person happy to be alive, don't you think?"
"That's for sure," Lane concurred as the two wandered across the snowy field. "It's beautiful out today. Sparkly."
That morning, Stars Hollow had awakened to a fresh snowfall and a sunny day. The briskness of the crisp, cool air jolted one's senses to life, and the landscape, although painted white with snow, was a dazzling array of colour: lush, evergreen trees peeking out through frost; picturesque hills reflecting a yellow sun; and charming dales mirroring the rich blue of the sky overhead.
At first sight, Rory had known that this was a day she wanted to be outside. So, although the temperature was a little nippy, she'd thrown on her coat and hat, wrapped a scarf around her cheeks, and headed out to meet Lane at Luke's.
After the mandatory pit stop at the diner, the two girls had ventured out into the surrounding wilderness, bent on trampling some new tracks in the untouched snow.
Lane raised a mitten-clad hand and took a gulp of her own coffee. The two girls were now nearing the bridge that extended across the river. The water was partly frozen over with ice floes.
"This is so beautiful!" Rory exclaimed as she looked around. "Is it just me or do you feel something magical in the air today?"
"Well, I hope there's something magical in the air today."
"Why's that?"
"I wrapped Dave's gift last night while my mom was watching the Vision network. I was thinking about taking it over to his place today."
"Exciting!" Rory teased. "Lane Kim, empowered woman."
Smiling, Lane watched as, with every step they took, snow fell through the slats in the bridge and drifted into the slowly moving water below. "What about you? Why are you so chipper today?"
"Well…" Rory paused. "I've sorta been getting interesting gifts from my Secret Santa."
"Ooh, really?" Lane asked, turning her full attention to Rory. "Like what?"
"A book… coffee… a poem…" Rory casually listed off.
"Wow, sounds like the person really knows you. Wait, did you say a poem?"
"Umm… yeah."
"What kind of poem? A cute limerick or something?"
"Actually, it was sort of romantic."
"Your Secret Santa wrote you a romantic poem? Do you know who it is?"
"No, and that's the only problem. It could be from anyone."
"Not anyone," Lane pointed out. "It has to be from someone who likes you."
"Theoretically, yes," Rory agreed. "Or it could be a joke."
"I doubt it's a joke, Rory. This is so cool," Lane said excitedly, the hopeless romantic in her coming out. "Do you have any idea at all who might have written it?"
"At first, I thought it might be from Dean, but I don't know. I guess, right now, I'm just letting myself picture the very best candidate."
"Definitely. I would be too if someone gave me a romantic poem anonymously. So what did the poem say?"
"Oh, I don't know. Nice things." Rory shrugged nonchalantly.
"You're seriously not gonna tell me?" Lane asked desperately. "You're talking to a girl who's never been kissed. I live for things like this. C'mon, give me a clue! Throw me a bone!"
Rory smiled deviously then, as though her excitement had suddenly overridden any attempt to keep Lane in suspense. "Well, no, I'm not going to tell you," Rory teased, reaching into her coat pocket while a look of disappointment crossed Lane's face. "But I did happen to bring the poem with me, if you want to read it yourself."
"Are you kidding? You've been holding out on me all this time? Gimme!" Lane grabbed the paper almost before Rory could pass it to her. Then, she unfolded the page in such a gentle manner that Rory could not have anticipated the voracity with which she would devour the text. "This is so sweet, Rory," she said when she'd finished reading, sighing as her addiction to romance was, for the time being, satiated. "I hope it's from someone really cool."
"Yeah, me too," Rory said softly.
"You're right though," Lane said slowly, choosing her words carefully. "I don't think it's from Dean."
Rory nodded thoughtfully. "My mom didn't either. Not only that, but it also looks like it was written on an old typewriter. I don't think Dean has a typewriter."
"Wait," Lane said, coming to a realization. "You're pretty sure it isn't from Dean, but yet you said you were picturing the best possible candidate. If it isn't Dean, who are you picturing?"
"No one," Rory said quickly, her heart flip-flopping. "I may not think it's from Dean, but I can still hope it's from Dean. I hope it's from Dean."
"You do?" Lane asked, eyeing her friend suspiciously.
"Of course I do. I love Dean. It would be amazing if Dean wrote me a romantic poem."
"Rory," Lane said, stopping and looking at her best friend seriously. "You and I both know that poem was not written by Dean. He's a sweet guy, but he doesn't write poetry."
Rory sighed and looked away.
"Okay, I'm not gonna push, but will you at least promise me something?"
Rory looked at her friend gratefully. "What?"
"If the poem does turn out to be from this mysterious best possible candidate, whomever that may be, then will you tell me the whole story?"
Rory was silent for a moment. She started walking back towards the town square, Lane by her side. Finally, she turned to her friend. "Yeah, I promise."
"Thank God," Lane cried, relieved. "'Cause there're only so many scenarios a poor girl who's forbidden to date can imagine over and over. I need new fodder for my fantasies, Rory! I must live vicariously through you!"
"You may live vicariously through me," Rory conceded seriously, playing along. "I'll call you Vikar."
"Good. Now… is there any chance you'll have some juicy stories for me by next Sunday?" she pried. "My mom's making me go on this tedious hayride with these people from our church."
***
By the time Rory returned home, it was already noon. She heard her stomach growl and realized all of the fresh air had made her even hungrier than usual. She sighed, not looking forward to taking on the likely bare kitchen. As she walked across the snowy front lawn to her door, however, she noticed a lovely hand-woven basket perched on the porch. Adding to her delight, the tag on the handle had her name on it. She opened the basket with a wide-eyed grin. Inside, she found a light lunch prepared for her. Her smile grew even wider; it was like her Secret Santa had read her mind.
Rory unlocked the door and took the basket with her into the kitchen. She proceeded to remove the plastic tubs contained within, peeking inside each and lining them up on the table. "Turkey sandwiches, fruit salad, ooh, walnut brownies with chocolate frosting," she listed, smiling contentedly as she opened each one. When she got to the last container, however, the smile dropped off her face and was replaced with a look of trepidation. Cous-cous? she wondered. She hadn't seen cous-cous since she'd put it in Jess's basket – or rather Dean's basket - as a joke.
Dean had never seen that basket.
Rory sucked in her breath as it all became clear. Her mother had been right. Her Secret Santa was Jess. It had to be. "The Garden of Eden!" she exclaimed suddenly. Of course, only Jess would have given her that book. He knew she thought reading Hemingway was worse than watching paint dry. Naturally, he'd try to prove her wrong by giving her an irresistibly wicked Hemingway novel to read.
He also knew she loved coffee and chocolate. And, if she didn't love the gourmet coffee, it was all the better because it would surely send her running straight to Luke's.
And the poem, she remembered, her heart pounding. That incredibly touching and romantic poem. Thinking about it made Rory blush all over again. She'd desperately wanted to believe it was from him, but she hadn't thought it could be possible. Was it though? Had Jess really written those words for her?
***
Jess sat on his bed and listened attentively. Gradually, the sounds grew more faint and indistinct, as if their source were vanishing into the distance. Now that Luke had finally disappeared downstairs, Jess cautiously leaned over and reached for the box he'd hidden under the bed only a short time before.
A 12-inch cube, it was the largest gift he'd received from his Secret Santa yet. Jess set the box on his lap and stared at it with apprehension for a moment. His Santa had, festively, taken the time to wrap this one, and Jess almost smirked at the irony of the fact - he was pretty sure the contents would not be an actual gift.
Jess pulled at one edge of the plain red wrapping paper and peeled it off of the nondescript, white, cardboard box inside. Finishing that, he flipped the box over and snapped the Scotch tape that held the lid in place. Jess lifted the lid off to reveal the scandalous contents inside.
"Oh my God!" Jess mumbled, astonished, as the gift stared back at him. An instant later, when he'd gotten his wits about him, Jess slammed the lid back on the box and started thinking about damage control. How does a guy dispose of this? He wondered.
***
"I'm coming!" Dean called out from the back of the house. He'd been deeply involved in wrapping gifts when, a little after one o'clock, the doorbell had wrung. With much effort, he'd extricated himself from a mountain of wrapping paper clippings, unstuck a ball of Scotch tape from his pant leg, and nearly tripped his way out the den door. "I'm coming!" Dean called again as he regained his balance and trotted through the dining room to the front door.
When he finally threw the door open, however, the person who had rung the bell was no longer there. Dean scanned the street for the would-be visitor, but whomever it was had already disappeared. "Some people are so impatient," Dean grumbled, wondering why he'd bothered to rush to the door at all. "Give me a chance to get to the door!"
Dean had almost closed the door and turned away when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of something sitting on the welcome mat. Opening the door again, he looked down. There, at his feet, was a spherical, cardboard box with his name on the tag. Rory strikes again, he thought, and, as he reached down to pick it up, his mood elevated.
Dean recognized the shape as an icosahedron, a twenty-sided, three-dimensional object like the one he'd made once out of paper in his grade 6 Math class. The object he held vaguely looked like a soccer ball but with 12 pointed corners and a slightly larger circumference. It was made out of coloured Bristol board, each side being a different colour from the sides next to it. Although it was made out of cardboard, it felt very heavy for its size. Dean turned it over, and, simultaneously, he heard and felt movement inside of it.
Dean shook the object, and the subsequent sound of hundreds of little pieces inside puzzled him. With a perplexed but amused smile on his face, he looked up and down the street to see if Rory was hiding somewhere, watching his response. He didn't see her though.
A gust of wind chilled him so he brought the object into the house and closed the door behind him. Dean headed straight for his room, away from the prying eyes of his little sister. He wanted to discover this pointed globe's secrets alone.
In his room, with the door safely shut, he sat down on his bed and shook the object again. He smiled as it once more made the sound of thirty large baby rattles. There was something inside it. But where was the opening?
Each of the twenty sides was a right angle triangle, and each was just like the one before it. None of them looked conspicuously like a trapdoor. Dean shook the object again, as though the sounds would reveal the way inside. He'd shaken it straight up and down this time, and on the downswing, the weight of the contents pushed on the opening, in effect, popping the triangle on the bottom slightly out of alignment. "Ah-ha!" Dean exclaimed in triumph. He delicately turned the twenty-sided box over and, with a finger, pried the triangle open further.
Dean smiled as the contents were revealed at last – a handful of red M & M's. He popped a couple of the tasty candies in his mouth, but, as he did so, he realized that, since there was only a handful of them inside, they alone could not have made all the sounds he'd heard or caused the full weight of the object he'd felt. And that was when Dean noticed that the compartment he'd opened extended only to the center point of the icosahedron; it was not the full size of the object.
Dean realized then that all twenty sides of the object must have their own separate trapdoors. He opened a few more compartments; as he went along, his fingers became more and more eager and adept at prying open the triangles. He found Hershey's Kisses in one compartment, Red Hearts in another, Gummi Bears and Smarties elsewhere. Hundreds of candies.
Dean leaned back against the headboard of his bed with a dopey smile on his face and a feeling of awe washing over him. Rory had really outdone herself this time. She'd combined the complexity and creativity of her gift idea with her own natural predisposition for junk food.
Dean reached for the phone beside his bed, meaning to call her up and thank her right away for the amazing gift. As he put the receiver to his ear, however, he chuckled and remembered she didn't want to be found out yet. He'd have to wait to thank her when she revealed herself at the party the next evening.
***
Rory sat at the corner table in Luke's, sipping her coffee with uncharacteristic slowness. She had pretended to come in for her daily caffeine fix, but really, she was there to observe Jess. Surreptitiously, she kept glancing at him over her cup. At one point, amidst her stares, he had caught her looking at him, and her eyes had involuntarily darted back down to the table.
When he caught her a second time, some five minutes later, Rory pledged to herself that she would not look at him again for the next five minutes. She glanced at her watch to commence timing herself and then stared at her coffee with fortitude.
"Are you trying to will the cup to refill itself?"
"Oh, Jess! You scared me!" she exclaimed, her eyes jumping up to see him standing at her table, the coffee carafe in his hand and poised at the ready.
"I would've thought you'd be desensitized, what with Dean being Frankenstein and all."
"Ha-ha," she replied with nervous sarcasm as she let him refill her cup. "So…"
"So?" he repeated.
Rory shook her head and looked back down at the cup warming her hands. "Nothing," she dismissed.
"That didn't sound like a 'nothing' so. It sounded more like a 'something' so," he urged.
"Maybe it was a 'something' so."
"I'm sure it was…" He looked at her steadily. "So?"
"I was just wondering something," she said softly.
"Yeah, I gathered that. I'm very astute that way."
"Something that you could perhaps tell me."
"Huh," he stated.
"I was wondering if you know who my Secret Santa is."
"Well, now, Rory, if I'm not mistaken, this sounds suspiciously like a conversation we had a couple days ago. I seem to remember that you wouldn't tell me who you had, and I wouldn't tell you who I had. So, even if I knew who your Secret Santa is, what makes you think I'd tell you? I think we've established that these things need to be kept secret."
"Jess," Rory said seriously, her voice even softer. "I was wondering if you are my Secret Santa."
Across the diner, a customer voiced a desperate need for coffee. Jess took little notice of it but did hold up a finger and nod for the person's benefit. "Why would you think it's me?" he asked.
"A basket of cous-cous?" she said, growing bolder. "You're pretty much the only person in town who would come up with that one."
"Cous-cous? I don't know about that. You fixed me up with a basket of cous-cous. It can't be that uncommon."
"I did it for Dean, actually," Rory pointed out.
"Maybe Dean is your Secret Santa," Jess suggested.
"I don't think it's Dean. I think you're the one."
"Huh," Jess chortled, a smile sliding across his lips. "I think I'm the one too," he growled seductively, giving her a once-over before heading off to serve more coffee. Rory stared after him, her jaw hanging open.
***
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This story is a collaborative effort between MahliaLily ( http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=288788 ) and CircleSky.