So Happy Together

A few evenings after Alan and Miranda returned from North Carolina, Miranda entered Denny's office. He was sitting on the balcony, obviously waiting for Alan. The scent of his cigar greeted her as she approached. A warm spring breeze drifted over them and the sun was beginning to sink behind the cityscape.

"Hey Denny." She leaned against the doorframe.

He twisted in the chair and stood to greet her.

"I thought I would let you know that Alan is on his way. He's caught up with Shirley."

"They still on that rape-murder case?"

"Yes. They select the jury tomorrow."

"C'mon over and have a seat. Keep me company until he gets here."

She sat in Alan's chair. He poured her a drink and handed her a cigar. She prepared her cigar and he lit it for her.

They sat quietly for a moment. Miranda sipped her scotch. She completely understood the appeal of balcony time to Alan—the peacefulness, the camaraderie, the relaxation. She found herself envying Denny and Alan for this time they shared—but would never get in the way of it.

At last Denny spoke. "So you kicked a lawyer's ass in North Carolina?" He chuckled.

"Well, I'm not proud of it. I lost my temper in a way that I shouldn't have."

He laughed. "It's the funniest thing I've heard in ages." He stopped and studied her for a moment. "You know what I like about you?"

"I can't imagine."

"You're a balls out kind of girl." He clenched his fist in the air and growled. "Take no prisoners." He leaned on the arm of his chair. "Were you ever a Marine?"

She laughed. "No. I was never in the military. But I have to say, my father would be proud of your estimation of me."

"Was he a Marine?"

"Army."

"Is that a fact?"

"Yep." She watched the sunk sink into an amber pool on the horizon.

"Alan told me about him."

She nodded. "I admired and respected him more than any man I've ever known."

"More than me?"

"'Fraid so."

"More than Alan?"

"He's a close second."

"You admire Alan more than me?" Denny sat erect, shocked.

She shrugged. "Well, I've slept with Alan," sliding her eyes over to him lazily.

"You could sleep with me and then I'll ask again," Denny said teasingly, wiggling his brows up and down.

"Maybe some other time." She sipped her scotch.

Denny puffed his cigar, smiling. "From what Alan tells me, your dad sounds like someone I would've liked to have known—brave, strong." He looked again at Miranda, "He raised a hell of a daughter, I can tell you that. I wish he could see you now."

Miranda's eyes grew misty. She clenched her jaw. "Thank you." She looked at him. Her voice quavered slightly as she struggled to maintain emotional control. "He was a lot like you, you know—a great sense of humor, a larger than life personality, fun-loving." She blinked rapidly to stave off the tears. "He loved to fish too, like you."

"Is that so?"

She nodded. "Deep sea fishing was his favorite. He loved to spend all weekend out on the boat." She sipped her scotch. "Sometimes you remind me so much of him; it's as if he's right here…with me still." Her elbow rested on the arm rest. She lifted the cigar to her lips, leaning in to the cigar to take a draw.

"He is here. There's no doubt about that. As long as he's here…" He pointed to his head. "And here…" He pointed to his chest. "He's never really gone."

She nodded. "That's been my sole consolation." She released her smoke upward into the air then gazed smilingly at Denny. "Alan tells me things about you sometimes, like how you love to be out in nature, fishing, camping, hunting, riding horses and what not—you and my dad could have passed for brothers; it's surreal and comforting all at once."

He looked at her warmly, reflecting for a moment, "You know, if I ever had a daughter, I'd want her to be just like you."

She smiled demurely. "Thank you, Denny. That's a great compliment."

"I'm serious." He moved to the edge of his chair. "Alan praises you to the skies—all the time he's telling me about how you're pretty, smart, charming, funny, spirited, passionate—all the things a father would want his daughter to be. It's just a bonus that you're great with a gun and have a mean right hook."

She chuckled. "I have my daddy to thank for that."

He studied her for a moment. He put his cigar in his mouth and then scooted back in the chair. "You're a horrible poker player though."

She laughed aloud, that throaty laugh.

Denny puffed his cigar. "But I'll teach you how to play. Then I'll take you to some games. We'll clean some people out."

"Like gamblers in the Old West."

"That's right," he grumbled happily. "Just like Doc Holliday and Wild Bill Hickok."

"Except without the guns, right?"

He rolled his eyes. "Right. Alan won't let me carry guns in public anymore—and there's no way he'd let us go alone to a poker match."

She chuckled, sipping her scotch.

Silence drifted between them.

She stared at the skyline and puffed her cigar. "Denny, I just wanted to congratulate you…on your…" She took a deep breath. "Engagement."

He looked at her. "Thank you. I know that wasn't easy for you."

She released her smoke. "It wasn't. It really wasn't. But I want you to know that I love you Denny. I love you for who you are, of course, but mostly I love you because Alan so deeply loves you. And I love Alan." Her breath caught. "Beyond…all time and space...maybe even beyond reason. So I want you to know that I want nothing but happiness for you both—whatever that may entail—and that I don't harbor any ill will."

His gaze lingered on her for a moment then looked out across the city and puffed his cigar. "That means a lot to me." He chewed on his cigar for a moment then looked at her. "You two can still see each other, you know?"

"I know."

"And he can spend the night with you or you with him—I won't stand in the way…" He wavered. "You know, as long as you don't prevent him from seeing me."

"I would never do that intentionally."

"Oh, I know that." He turned in his seat eagerly. "And I have another bedroom. I wouldn't care at all if you wanted to move in with us."

She was taken aback. She hesitated. "I don't know about that, Denny."

"Why not?"

She looked at him suspiciously. "Have you mentioned this to Alan?"

"I have."

"And what does he say?" She looked out at the darkening sky, puffing on her cigar.

"He said the same thing you just said."

She chuckled. "He and I have only been dating for about six months now. I think it's too soon for moving in together."

"I think you two think about it too much. When it's right, it's right—whether it's been six hours, six months or six years. Time is irrelevant."

She looked at him surprised. "I never knew you to be so romantic Denny."

"Sounds like something Alan would say."

She chuckled.

"Well, the offer is on the table. If you two decide that you want to simplify things, you are free to move in."

She sipped her scotch. "Do you really think it would simplify things to have the three of us under one roof?"

"Sure, why not?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It just seems like it would make things more complicated."

"How?"

"I'm not sure. But it just seems like it would become complicated."

"You'd have all your own space, your own television, stereo, closets, bathroom—everything you could possibly want. You could come and go as you please."

She hedged. She both loved and hated the idea. She both wanted and did not want to live with Alan. "It is a most tempting offer, but Alan would have to be fully on board with it and I'm not sure that I'm even fully on board. So, I'm not going to coerce or attempt to persuade him. In fact, I'm not even going to mention it to him. So, I'm leaving it entirely between you and Alan."

Another silence fell between them.

At last Denny said, "You know ever since the accident back in February and my last doctor visit, I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be Denny Crane—the legacy."

"What do you mean?"

"I've spent a whole life accumulating achievements, awards, money, material goods—but it all somehow seems so frivolous now in the twilight of my years. I always wanted children and I never had any."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "No time. Or rather I never made the time."

She shifted in her chair to face him better. "You would have made a good father, I think. Did you want a boy or a girl?"

"Didn't matter. I would have been a good father either way—teach them to fish, take them to baseball games, play catch. But most importantly, they would have carried on my name, my legacy—all that I've spent so many years building up, investing my time and energy in."

"I guess it is a little sad to think that it would all just pass away." She puffed on her cigar, pensively.

"In some ways, I can pass it on to Alan—like an adopted son of sorts."

"That makes sense."

"Which, as you know, is the reason for the marriage."

"Yes."

He thought for a moment and then said suddenly. "I just had an idea!" He snapped his fingers.

"What's that?"

"How about you have my baby?"

She choked on her scotch. "What?" She coughed.

"You could give me the baby I've always wanted, but could never have. I would ask Joan, but she's…you know… it would be perfect."

"Denny…" She was still coughing. "I don't think that's at all appropriate. What about Alan? Don't you think he would be upset about such a proposition?"

"I hadn't thought of that. Well…I don't have to touch you. We could do it with insemination in a test tube or something. You would just be the…carrier."

"As thrilling as that sounds…that's a whole lot of responsibility. Who would raise it?"

"The three of us would—me, Alan, you."

"What about diaper changes, feedings, tending to illnesses?"

"That's all you."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I don't think so."

"I'll hire a nanny."

"I don't think so."

"We'll help."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that. Do you realize what you're asking of me? Nine months of gaining weight, stretch marks, and…and…" She stood up and said, "I don't want to deny you your legacy. But at the same time, I have a lot of thinking…" She put the scotch glass on the tabled and balanced the cigar across the glass. She backed away slowly. "I just don't…and then Alan…oh God, Alan…I just…I have to go."

She dashed out of Denny's office and passed Alan in the hallway.

"Miranda?"

He followed slowly behind her. She was at her desk, packing up her things.

"Are you okay?" he said.

She looked up and sighed. She was clearly agitated. She shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ears as she cleared off her desk. She attempted to speak, but couldn't.

He stood, very still, anticipating, his hands clasped in front of him. "Let's begin with why you were coming out of Denny's office in this agitated state."

"I stopped off to tell him you were caught up with Shirley and would be over soon and to congratulate him on the engagement."

"Okay." He blinked rapidly and lifted his brows, a little surprised that she actually congratulated Denny.

She continued clearing off her desk, quickly, silently.

He said, "Miranda, please stop." He put a hand on her arm to stay her.

She looked up at him, panic in her eyes.

He furrowed his brows, concerned. He said in a low voice, "Did he…come on to you?" He trailed his fingers lightly down her spine.

"Alan, you know me. Do you think a pass from Denny is going to unnerve me? He comes onto me at least three times before breakfast in the morning."

"True. So what did happen?"

"I don't want to create a problem between you and Denny and if you hear of it, it won't be from me. So you need to go speak with Denny. Maybe I'll see you tonight." She gathered up her things. "Give me a call if so." She kissed him quickly on the lips and briskly left. Alan looked after her very confused.

Confused, he watched her nearly run down the hall and disappear around the corner. "Hm," he mused to himself. He ran one hand down his tie and moved slowly toward Denny's office.

He sauntered into Denny's office and closed the door quietly behind himself. "Good evening, Denny." Denny's office was dimly lit by a lamp on the desk.

Denny turned. "Hey! There you are. I was just getting a clean scotch glass for you. Miranda used the other one. How's everything with the case?"

"Going well." Alan unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down on the leather sofa, crossing his legs and spreading one arm out across the back of the couch.

Denny handed him a scotch.

"So Miranda was here…" Alan said matter of factly.

"She was."

"I noticed she dashed out of your office in a rather disconcerted state. What happened?"

Denny shrugged. "I don't know. We were talking, she got upset and she left."

"What were you talking about?"

"Well, we talked about her father."

"Okay."

"And how if I had a daughter I'd want her to be just like Miranda." He sat with one haunch on the corner of his desk.

Alan smiled. "Undoubtedly."

Denny thought hard for a moment. "And then I mentioned how I would like for her to carry my baby."

Alan leaned forward, squinting his eyes, hoping he had misheard Denny. "Pardon?" He said lowly.

"Do you think that was the thing that upset her?"

Alan jumped up out of his seat, setting his scotch glass on the table. "You said what?" His voice had raised a few pitches and was tight and tense, his face getting red.

Denny seemed genuinely shocked. "I asked her to carry my baby."

And then Alan who so often practiced suppressing and buttoning down his anger released it in full force—an event that had happened only once before when Denny had once exposed a bet they had made on a case. "How dare you! How dare you ask my girlfriend…" He pressed his hand to his chest. "…my lover…you know what my feelings are, you know what this particular girl means…how could you sink to such a level as to…" He couldn't even think straight he was so angry. He pressed his hands to his head to still the thoughts from whirling around.

Denny held up his hands. "Hold on Alan, I can explain."

"Explain? What possible explanation could there be?"

"I won't even touch her…We…"

"You're damned right you won't touch her. You have crossed an enormous line here, Denny." Alan swiped his hand through the air. "An enormous line."

"Alan just give me…" Denny pleaded.

"I don't want to hear it Denny. You can spare me whatever justifications you've prepared. Just don't talk to me. I can't even look at you. I'm just…sick." Alan jerked open the door and slammed it.

Alan ignored Shirley who was standing in the hall with an arm full of folders, waiting for Alan so she could ask him a question. "Alan do you think…"

He kept walking without acknowledging her.

"Oookie-dokie," she said. She peeked in Denny's office. "Lover's spat?"

Denny sat at his desk, arms crossed over his chest, pouting. "Go away," he said.

She nodded and said quietly. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."

Alan stormed into his own office, packed his briefcase and left the building, angrily, silently fuming, breezing past a befuddled Shirley who was on her way back to her office.

Alan drove to Miranda's house. She answered the door, looking up at him guiltily, but said nothing. She opened the door wider and stepped aside for him to enter. She reached in a small basket on the foyer table and held up a key.

"In case you want it."

He nodded and dropped it in his pants pocket. He shuffled into the living room, loosening his tie, tearing off his suit coat, tossing it in a chair. He flopped down on the couch. She brought him a scotch and kissed the top of his head. He sat on the edge of the couch with his elbows on his knees.

She crawled up behind him and massaged his neck and shoulders. "You want to talk about it?"

"No," he whispered sipping his drink.

"Okay. I'm making supper if you want some—Indian food."

"What on earth could he have been thinking?"

"He's concerned about his legacy."

He shook his head vigorously. "That is no excuse."

Still working his shoulder muscles, she leaned close to his ear and said quietly. "I think he has regrets that he never dedicated more time to family. A person like Denny, Alan, he squeezes everything he can out of life so that he can meet his end with no regrets. I know that's how I'd want to go—no regrets. I think this family thing is really bothering him."

"What did he say to you—exactly?"

"Well," she sighed, digging her hands into his tension, causing him to wince. "He expressed his remorse over never having family and kids, how he thought he'd be an excellent father. He talked about all the things he'd like to do with his kids—teach them how to fish, take them to baseball games."

"Okay. And how did you get involved?"

"I don't think it was premeditated. It seemed to spring on him. He said, 'I have a great idea'—and then he popped the question to me. He said we could do it medically, with insemination."

"And what did you say?"

"I protested the idea. I said that you would probably not like the idea."

"You're right. I hate the idea."

"Of course this conversation was on the heels of him inviting me to move in with you two."

He shook his head. She ran her fingers up through his hair to rub his scalp. He grew light-headed.

"So why do you hate the idea?"

He pulled his head away and shifted so that he could see her. "Are you seriously thinking about doing this?"

She shrugged and moved back to sit next to him. "I don't know. I mean, I can kind of see his point. He's facing his mortality in a way that he's never had to before. Alan, he's scared. Denny Crane has never known fear—not like this; it's definitely a new emotion for him. He wants to know that when he's gone there will be a little piece of him to carry on his name, his DNA, and, he hopes, his legal legend. You can carry on the legal legend, you can protect his estate, even carry his name, but you cannot carry on the bloodline."

Alan frowned, clenching his jaw, nodding. "But there are so many other women who would probably be happy to be a surrogate. Why you? Why did he have to pick you?"

"Alan, don't you see it? When I asked who would raise the child, he said we all three would-me, him and you. He very much sees you as a part of this, not separate. I think he already envisions us as a family unit."

"And if he dies, Miranda? What then? What happens to the child?"

She reached over to take his hand. She entwined her fingers with his. "Do you think you would really turn your back on Denny Crane's son, knowing what the father means to you? And for that matter, leave me to tend the child alone? I know you better than that."

"You're right, I wouldn't dare abandon you and the child in that way, but I would likely grow to resent you. Then we would end up …." He clenched his jaw.

"Like your parents?"

"Something like that." He sipped his scotch. "And that's the last thing I want."

"How Byronic of you to be such a stickler for predestination. I rather imagined you on the side of free will, Alan. Surely you realized that you are not doomed to repeat the past, doomed to repeat your parents' failures simply because they are your parents—that stuff is not written in genetic coding. I mean by your logic, I should have never left North Carolina. I should have become an elementary school teacher for 30 years or so, retire and putter around on some lonesome farm talking to my chickens and canning strawberry preserves."

"There's a certain nobility in that."

She smiled. "Nice to see you defending my mother. And while that is a life that's good for her, it would have never worked for me, so I carved my own path—that's my point. And while I don't know your parents, you've told me a lot about them. When I draw a comparison between them and you—there is none."

"I'm just…"

"Scared. Worried. Concerned. For Denny. For me. For you. For the relationships. For the potential baby. I know I never have to worry because you do enough for both of us."

He sniffed a laugh. "Do you really want to do this? It sounds like you do."

She shrugged. "I've always wanted to have children. It's not necessarily the way I had imagined it would be; it's certainly unconventional." She stroked his hair. He closed his eyes and soaked in the feeling. She kissed his lips, softly and his cheek. "But I suppose it doesn't matter how we arrive at a goal as long as we get there, right? I have to check dinner."

He removed tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves, following her into the kitchen.

"Do you want something to eat?"

He peered over her shoulder, wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her hips against his, kissing her neck.

"Smells good. What are we having?"

"Chicken curry, vegetable biryani, naan." She stirred the chicken curry and checked the rice. "So you've never entertained the thought of children?"

"On the rare occasion, but it just seems so unlikely. I'm not sure I'm the best person to mold and shape young minds."

"You're much too hard on yourself, Alan." She turned in his arms to face him. "If you saw yourself the way I see you, the way Denny sees you…." She touched his cheek. "In many ways you're already a father. You realize that, don't you?"

He blinked. "I fear the mad cow has become contagious."

She giggled. "I'm serious: there's Jerry, Denny, me—you've guided us and supported us all through many storms with encouragement and solid judgment; you've been with us through the sunshine—that's what the best fathers do. And, if the time comes, you would do the same for a child."

He shook his head. "It's too…"

"Scary."

"Yes."

"What kind of life is it if you live it in fear?"

"A safe one."

"A dull one."

"Spoken like a true Crane."

"Trust me, dull just doesn't fit you very well—that's why you're dating me, engaged to Denny Crane. Dull just doesn't fit you."

Alan set the table and poured their white wine while she carried food to the table.

She continued, "And I don't know about you, but I know I'm not getting any younger. In fact, the more I think about it…" She shrugged, smiling anxiously, "It kind of sounds like fun."

"Fun," he said flatly.

"You don't think so?"

"Not at all."

"Why? And you have to give me something other than scary." She dipped rice and chicken onto their plates.

He sat at the head of the table and she sat to his right. She handed him some naan.

"I'm afraid…concerned…that I would…disappoint—you, Denny and, most of all, the child."

She patted his hand. "Honey, you need to relax. You're thinking too much about it."

He scoffed, spreading his napkin in his lap. "I don't think you and Denny are thinking enough about it."

She smiled, reaching over to rub his thigh under the table—he grew light-headed. "It's something to think about. I wouldn't feel comfortable until I had a very detailed plan."

"Like what?"

"Like who's going to pay my medical bills? I think we should all split those. You and Denny both would have to come to all doctor appointments, be in on babysitting arrangements, choosing schools, teacher conferences—and you know with Denny's child there will be plenty of conferences—I mean both of you would have to be in on everything. I certainly won't do it alone just because in a moment of compassion I try to do something nice for Denny. I would want all of our names on the birth certificate. You both have to be at the delivery. If Denny could assure me that he is sincere, serious and ready for the responsibility, I would very seriously consider it."

"I don't understand why I have to be a part of this arrangement if it's between you and Denny." He wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin.

"Because you're about to marry him—that's why. And then there would be the living arrangements to consider."

"There's that." He sipped his wine.

"Could you deal with me living under the same roof?"

He took her hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. "I want to say yes. I've had fantasies on a rare occasion along those lines, but I know how I am. I'm afraid that I would…"

"Disappoint?"

"Yes." He said slowly, removing his hand from hers.

"And then there's the sex to consider."

He thought for a moment. "Yes. I hadn't considered that." He looked at her anxiously. "I don't know if I could have sex with a pregnant woman, much less one who's pregnant with Denny's child."

She laughed. "That's honest—but really too bad because it's my understanding that pregnancy hormones drastically increase sexual desire."

He shook his head, laughing. "I'm too out of shape to handle an increase in your desires. It's all I can do to keep up with you now."

She chuckled, running her barefoot up his pant leg. "Oh I think you do just fine. I certainly don't have a single complaint."

He chewed his food, staring distantly at the clock on the wall. "I really lost my temper with him tonight. I yelled at him, Miranda. That's only the second time ever. I told him that he made me sick. I shouldn't have done that."

"Alan, don't beat yourself up over this. We all lose our temper from time to time."

"You're the poster child for it."

She laughed. "Touché."

"His eyes…he looked so hurt. I should have at least listened to him." He sipped his wine.

"Well, I'm sure he's already forgiven you, that's what people do when they love each other."

He ran his finger down the smooth crystal stem of the wine glass. "But he made me so angry. I'm not accustomed to these jealous feelings that you stir up in me."

"I'm sorry. It's not intentional."

"I know. It's just a very new and unusual feeling."

"You've never felt jealous over a woman before?"

"Rarely. Catherine, of course. Then for a short time, Tara, but that was only because her old boyfriend was sniffing around and she wasn't rebuffing him. That annoyed me. But even then I've been able to suppress it better and the fact that I can't suppress it around you—it's embarrassing. I've always felt very protective of you."

"Really?" She smiled, tearing off a piece of bread, pushing it in her mouth.

"Really. And I can't explain it because you can certainly take care of yourself—you've proven that much."

"That's true. I promise I'll get better about that. Maybe I'll go to a counselor."

He looked at her fondly. "Sometimes, you just seem so…" He shook his head lightly, and said lowly, "Fragile. Sometimes…broken."

She looked at him quizzically. "Fragile?"

He nodded. "I can't explain it really, but it's something I intuit and it makes me want to…" He set his jaw.

"Protect me."

"Yes."

"You like broken people don't you, Alan?"

He locked his attention to her. "What do you mean?"

"Me, Jerry, Clarence, even Denny to a degree…we're all broken, damaged in some way."

His eyes grew distant while he gazed her. She could tell he was thinking.

She interrupted his thoughts. "But surely you don't see Denny as a threat?"

"No. But then I wasn't exactly thinking rationally either. The jealousy was just…explosive." He lowered his eyes to his plate, working his jaw, his brow furrowed, "A most…bizarre feeling."

"It seems to really bother you?"

"No. I'm sure it will pass—in time."

The next day at work Miranda sneaked up behind Alan in the break room and embraced him, scratching her fingers down his chest under his suit jacket. His skin tingled under the sensation.

"Please do keep scratching that feels great. I promise I won't tell my girlfriend."

"Very funny," she said, pinching him playfully.

He turned toward her smiling down at her. He touched her clavicle. "It's rather fortuitous that you happened to appear in this moment because I was just thinking…" He slid his hand down her silky blouse. "…about how you left my skin all a-sizzle this morning. That thing you do with your tongue is nothing less than…" He inhaled deeply. "…exhilarating. I was wondering if we could adjourn to my office to reprise our delightful romp."

"Now?" She cocked an eyebrow.

"I can't think of a better time." He sipped his tea.

"Mr. Brentson is coming in to discuss…"

"He can wait."

She smiled mischievously. "Meet you in your office in five minutes?"

"Let's make it two."

"Yes, sir. Mr. Shore," she said seductively, turning to leave the room.

He inhaled dreamily, touching the button of his suit jacket as he watched her walk away, emphasizing the sway in her hips. He soon followed slowly, predatorily behind her. When he had made it back to his office, Mr. Brentson was already waiting on him.

Miranda sat at her desk, looking at Alan apologetically.

"Mr. Brentson. You're early," Alan said in an even tone that to Miranda's well-trained ears carried a hint of irritation.

"Yes. I got out of another appointment early and came on over, thinking maybe you could squeeze me in early."

"I'm very sorry Mr. Brentson, but I'm already squeezing in someone today…" He looked at Miranda then back at Brentson. "If you don't care to wait in reception, I assure you…" He looked back at Miranda, evenly, "I won't be long."

Brentson hesitated. "Uh, sure. That's fine." He pointed at the hall. "Is it this way?"

"Yes. Turn left at the corner." Miranda said.

"Ms. Houston I need to see you for a moment," Alan said as Mr. Brentson disappeared around the corner.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Shore."

He held his office door open for her and watched her walk inside. He slowly followed her in, shut the door quietly and locked it.

Miranda buttoned her blouse while Alan tucked his shirt in his pants. She said, "I thought I should tell you I've reserved dinner for us tonight at The Oak Room."

He buckled his belt. "The Oak Room? Is there a special occasion?"

She shrugged. "Not really. I just thought it would be nice. We haven't been there in a while. That's okay, isn't it?"

"Absolutely." He put his suit jacket back on.

"Have you talked to Denny yet today?"

"No." He spread himself in the corner of the sofa, tired. "I haven't been able to face him yet."

"Out of pride or embarrassment?"

"Perhaps a little of both."

She nodded and stood, tucking in her shirt. "Well I think you should apologize."

He sniffed. "I think this time he owes me an apology…and you too, by the way."

"So it's going to be like that?"

"It is."

"Well, I guess I'll go get Mr. Brentson."

Alan jumped up. "I forgot all about him," he said, smoothing his tie against his belly and buttoning up his suit jacket.

Miranda smiled and winked, passing quickly out of the door.

That night at The Oak Room Alan and Miranda sat at the table, the candlelight flickering in the crystal wine glasses.

Alan looked confused. "I wonder why they seated us at this larger table. I would prefer the more intimate ones over there near the wall." He raised his hand to get the maître d'.

Miranda grabbed his hand. "There's a reason."

A server brought their wine and showed it to Alan, let him sniff the bouquet.

"Excellent," Alan said.

The server poured the wine.

Alan leaned on the table. "What do you mean?"

"I've invited another guest."

Alan's eyes darted around. "This had better not be going where I think it's going."

"It probably is."

He sat back in his chair and clenched his jaw. "You should not get involved in this Miranda." He stood. "It's really none of your concern. Let's go."

"Alan, please stay." She put her hand on his arm. She looked up at him pleadingly. "It is my business because I love the both of you and I know you will be miserable without each other."

"But this is between me and Denny."

"No it's not. It involves me too. Please sit, you're causing a scene."

"You have overstepped…"

"No I haven't…"

"When I am ready…"

"Alan," she raised her voice. "I'm going to do it." A couple near them glanced over at them.

He froze.

"You mean the pregnancy?"

"Yes."

"You're going to go through with it?" Alan sat back down, looking a little deflated.

"Yes. I was up all last night thinking it through. I want to do this."

"You're certain?"

"As long as Denny fulfills his obligations."

"And what if he doesn't?"

"That's why I need you."

"Miranda if this is your way of trying to rope me…"

She frowned. "Rope you? Are you kidding me? You wanted to be exclusive at one point and I said no, yet I'm the one trying to rope you? How dare you accuse me of that sort of repulsive manipulation!"

His eyes scanned the nearby tables, the people beginning to watch and listen. "Please lower your voice."

"I will not," she barked. "I am many things Alan Shore, but a manipulator is not one of them. If I were going to rope you I just would've stopped my birth control and let nature take its course. Having another man's baby is hardly roping you." Miranda looked at the couple at the next table. They were listening to everything that passed between Alan and Miranda. Angry, Miranda said, "If you'd like I can record this conversation and give you copy so you're sure not to miss anything." They turned away, chastised.

Alan set his jaw, frustrated. "I apologize. But I don't know why you would want to tie yourself to a man in this way when he's not…"

"Not what?" Denny grumbled behind him.

Alan turned to look at him. "Sound," he added flatly.

"Hmph." Denny said, sitting down. "If I had known you were inviting him, I wouldn't have come."

"I know. That's why I didn't tell either of you. It's time for us all to talk about this situation now and get through it."

"I've got nothing to say," Denny growled, leaning on the table.

Miranda poured him a glass of wine. The three ordered their food.

"Neither do I," Alan said, sipping his wine, pouting.

"Then I guess I will begin," Miranda said, sitting back in her seat. "Denny, I called you here because I wanted to tell you that I accept your offer and I wanted Alan to be here to hear it for himself so there would be no further misunderstandings."

He looked up at her surprised. "You mean you will have my baby?"

"Yes. Provided that you help in everything: diaper changes, two a.m. feedings, parent-teacher conferences, doctor appointments—everything."

"I will."

"Of course, I would need help with medical bills that aren't covered by my insurance."

"Anything you want."

"I can't believe it!" He clapped his hands together, excited. "I'm going to be a father," he beamed. He reached over and slapped Alan on the shoulder. "Thank you, my friend. Thank you."

"I think Miranda is the one you really need to be thanking, considering it's her body and I had little to do with the actual decision."

"Of course," Denny said sweetly. He put his hand to his chest. "Miranda, you don't know how happy you've made me. I will take very good care of you and the baby." He turned to Alan, "And you, too, buddy."

Alan clenched his jaw. "I'm sorry I yelled at you and said…those…horrible things."

"I'm sorry too. I should have talked to you first."

Alan looked down at his wine glass and nodded.

"I love you, Alan," Denny said.

Alan smiled weakly. "Indeed. I love you too Denny."

Denny studied him. "So how do you really feel about all this?"

Alan shook his head. "It scares the hell out of me Denny—not just the responsibility and the commitment, but you…"

"What about me?"

"The mad cow is a legitimate concern, I think."

Denny looked at him knowingly. "I see. You think I might endanger the child somehow."

"Not intentionally, of course."

"But there will be Miranda, you, a nanny—all sorts of people around."

"I know."

"So then what?"

Alan's face was wracked with torment. "I just don't if I can do this Denny." He seemed on the verge of tears. "Do you realize what you're asking of me?"

Miranda reached over and held his hand.

Denny nodded. "I do. But you know, Alan, I have to pull rank on this one."

"You may be a named partner, but the last I checked that has no authority in my personal life."

"I mean the rank of age and experience." Denny turned to Alan and took his hand. "I've been where you are, my friend—super career, tons of money rolling in, girls—the high life. But you've never been where I am and I don't want you to ever be there. I don't want you to look back and realize that all that stuff—the career, the money, the girls—was all empty thrills, that there was nothing solid…" He clenched his fist. "…to hold onto, no roots, no legacy. What I'm trying to do…I'm doing for both of us, Alan."

The server set the food on the table, shooting worried glances at these two men holding hands. Miranda was irritated at the looks this outsider was giving them. So she chimed in. "Isn't it sweet? They're engaged, going to get married soon. The best part is I'm sleeping with the wife, but I'm going to have the husband's baby."

The waiter blinked rapidly, quickly put the dishes down and sped away.

"Well?" Denny leaned in toward Alan, anxiously.

"Well what?"

"Are you in? As much as I want this, Alan, I won't go through with it if we don't have your full support. I won't damage our friendship over this."

Alan shook his head. Then he looked at Miranda. "If I agree to this, promise me you won't go on fertility drugs to heighten your chances of pregnancy."

"I won't."

He batted his eyes, looking at his plate. He clenched his jaw. "Okay." He shut his eyes. "Because I love you both, I will agree to this."

Denny stood up, opened his arms wide and said, "Come here."

"No, Denny," Alan whined. "No hugs."

Miranda pushed Alan's arm and whispered, "Give him a hug."

Alan stood reluctantly and let Denny grab him in a big, tight hug. After a brief moment, he hugged him back and felt much better about their reconciliation and their future. He sat back down and Miranda leaned over, kissed his cheek, and then gently wiped away the red lipstick print.

She whispered in his ear, "I love you Alan."

Excited, Denny could speak of nothing else over dinner but when they could get started, playing ball with his son, teaching him to fish, the schools he wanted to send Denny Alan Houston Crane to.

Miranda said, "What if he is a she?"

"You mean gay?"

"Denny!" Alan said warningly.

She laughed. "No Denny. What if the baby is girl, not a boy?"

He paused. "I hadn't thought of that."

Alan and Miranda exchanged a look. Miranda winked. Alan smiled at her affectionately, his hand lightly stroking her upper back.

"Well," Denny said hesitating. Then he added, "I'll teach her all the same stuff."

Alan and Miranda smiled at each other. She took a bite of her chocolate mousse.

"What would you name her?" Miranda asked.

Denny thought. After a few moments he shrugged and said, "Denise Alana Houston Crane."

Miranda crinkled her nose. "No, not Denise."

"Why not?"

"Because of the Denise that works at the firm. It would seem like you're naming the baby after her."

"I have to agree," Alan said. "She's sleeping with Brad. I can't possibly want to name our daughter after a woman who would sleep with Brad."

Miranda said, "You slept with someone who slept with Brad."

"That's different. I'm a degenerate letch. But I draw the line at our child."

"You know…" Miranda said, leaning close to him, "That's the second time you've said our child. Have you begun to embrace the idea?"

"I have." He looked at Denny affectionately. "Denny's enthusiasm is quite…infectious."

"We can talk about the girl name," Denny said at last. "But the boy…he must be named Denny Crane, Jr."

"We wouldn't have it any other way, would we, Alan?"

"We would not."

"So when are you two going to tie the knot?" Miranda said, sipping her wine.

"How about June?" Denny said.

"June!" Alan exclaimed. "That's next month."

"Why wait?" Denny said.

"I have to agree with Alan," Miranda said. "It takes time to get married."

"Well for one, it won't take any time at all because I think we should get married at the lodge in Nimo Bay."

Alan smiled. "I love it."

"I thought you would."

"And second," Denny said, "I want to get started on this baby business right away. Too bad I can't give the natural method a shot." He growled.

"Denny," Alan warned.

After dinner, Denny excused himself to go be with Joan. He wanted to tell her all the great news. Miranda and Alan stood on the street and waved to Denny as his car pulled away. Alan handed his ticket to the valet.

Alan turned to Miranda, "So how do you think Joan is going to take all this news?"

Miranda looked at him wavering. "Ew. I don't know." She sniffed a laugh. "I would think, like most women, she would not take it very well."

"Do you think she will break up with him?"

Miranda winced. "I think she probably will."

"I'm glad I have an understanding girlfriend," Alan said brightly.

She chuckled. "Or maybe I'm just crazy."

"Well there's little doubt about that."

She pushed him playfully. "A woman would have to be a little crazy to deal with you and Denny."

"Indeed."

The valet pulled up with his car. Alan opened the door for Miranda then he got in on his side.

"I'm excited to see Denny's excitement," Miranda said.

"Me too."

"I'm also happy you two are speaking again."

"Me too." He pulled into traffic.

She leaned in and nipped his neck. "Now take me home and leave me weak all over."

He lowered his eyes over her lasciviously. "If you're already all juiced up, I could just pull over and…"

"We're still on probation for the last time we had sex in public." She leaned closer and slid her hand up his thigh and whispered seductively, "How about you just drive." His skin tingled to feel her breath on his ear. She ran her hand down between his legs, nibbled his neck.

"You're going to have to stop that," he said weakly. "You're going to cause an accident, you wicked tease."

She laughed her low, throaty laugh.

And for a brief moment he wondered if this pregnancy with Denny turned out okay, maybe Miranda and he could…someday...but her hand and mouth had completely distracted him and he lost that particular train of thought.

Six months later…

Denny and Alan wanted to go to dinner. They had been married for four months and though they weren't necessarily celebrating it like an official anniversary, they did want to commemorate it somehow. After much debate they, along with Miranda, finally decided to go to The Oak Room. They had a lovely dinner, quiet, peaceful. Miranda got chocolate mousse for dessert while the men enjoyed an after dinner brandy. Alan leaned back in his chair, a smile of satisfaction on his face. He gently, affectionately stroked Miranda's back and hair. When she had finished her mousse, she pushed the saucer back and leaned back, Alan's arm around her.

She placed her hand on Alan's thigh and smiled warmly at him. "There's something I'd like to say."

The men gave her their attention. Denny leaned his arms on the table. Alan craned his neck to see her face.

"I'm so happy you two are together and that I'm a part of …this. I love you both so much." She reached across the table to pat Denny's hand. He caught her hand and put it to his lips, kissing it. She squeezed his hand happily. She leaned back again and stroked Alan's thigh with her nails in light circles. He leaned in and whispered in her ear about what he planned to do to her later. She smiled demurely and giggled. When he pulled away to gauge her response she winked at him. "But I'm not finished."

Alan sipped his brandy, Denny motioned for the check.

"I'm pregnant," Miranda said bluntly.

The men froze.

"Serious?" Denny said.

"Serious."

"How far along?" Alan asked.

"Twelve weeks." She pulled an ultrasound picture out of her purse and handed it to Denny. Alan craned his neck to see.

"Do you want to know the gender?" Miranda asked.

Denny nodded, tears in his eyes.

"Alan?" She asked.

"If Denny does then I do."

"It's a boy." She grinned widely.

"A boy!" Denny gasped. "A baby boy!"

Miranda nodded, tears in her eyes. Alan blinked rapidly and glanced up at the ceiling to dry his eyes. Alan hugged her closely.

Denny stood and opened his arms wide. "Come here."

She stood and let him wrap her in a tight embrace. Alan beamed, watching them, his eyes full of warmth and love.

Denny pulled away from her, smiling. "I can't thank you enough…" He sniffed and dabbed his eyes with his handkerchief.

She returned to her seat next to Alan. Alan kissed her cheek, stroking her hair. "Maybe I need to renege on those plans I made for us later tonight."

"Oh no, Mr. Shore. I'm holding you to that promise."

"It won't…hurt…anything?"

"Not at all." She turned to Denny. "So I was thinking. How about we name him Dennis Alan Houston Crane?" She glanced at Alan.

"I love it," Denny said.

"Me too," Alan added.

"I guess it's time for you to move in with us now," Alan said.

Shocked Miranda turned to him. "You…really want me to move in with you and Denny?"

"I do," he said quietly, tenderly.

"Denny?" she turned to him.

"Of course. I promised that to you a long time ago."

Miranda smiled, flushed. She placed a kiss on Alan's lips, touching his cheek.

"So fellas, shall we go home now?"

"Absolutely," Denny said, standing. Alan stood, buttoning his suit jacket. He assisted Miranda with her wrap, pulling her hair out from under it. "We're going to go to the balcony Alan and open that special scotch that Donald Trump gave me and smoke our cigars."

"Sounds lovely."

"And then afterward, Alan Shore, you're coming back to me," Miranda added.

He raked his eyes over her lustily. "Gladly."

"And I think it's time we invite Beethoven."

"But you're spending the night with me right? I mean I just found out I'm going to be a father. I have to have a sleep over."

Alan's eyes grew wide, tender. "You mean you want to share the sonata with me? I'm the one?"

She nodded, smiling sweetly.

Alan turned to Denny. "Denny just this one night, I need to stay with Miranda at her place, please."

Denny hesitated. "But…"

"I'll explain everything in the morning, promise." He held up his hand to swear.

Denny hedged. "But Alan…"

Alan added quickly, putting his hands on Denny's shoulders. "And just think, soon she'll move in and we won't be separated any more. I'll be there every night. This is really important to me."

Denny caved. "Oh all right." He held up a finger warningly. "But I get balcony time first…for as long as I want."

"Of course."

"You promise?"

"My word."

"Thank you, Denny," Miranda said, placing a kiss on his cheek. "You don't know how much this means to me." She pulled back and looked between the two men. "Let's go fellas." She turned and walked toward the door. Alan hung back a little to watch the gentle sway of her hips. He touched the middle button on his suit coat. Her hips already looked pleasantly fuller, rounder. His mind flashed to his intentions for those hips after his balcony date with Denny.

"I think she wants me," Denny said over Alan's shoulder, also watching her.

Alan smiled. "Perhaps."

"Lucky bastard," Denny grumbled.

Alan inhaled, satisfied, contented. "In-deed, my friend. I am indeed." He put arm around Denny and patted his shoulder, smiling widely. Denny smiled at him and put his arm around Alan, hugging him close; they followed happily behind Miranda, each looking forward to the evening ahead.

And they all lived happily ever after.

~Finis~