I wrote this in one sitting with no forethought and very little revision. It's a bit rough, but... anyway, let me know what you think.

"Last Supper After-Party"

Somewhere along the line Jim's wild night of staring at a blank piece of paper had gotten out of hand. Tuesday night had become Wednesday morning and the deadline, so to speak, was rapidly closing in on him, yet the sheet of paper in front of him was still defiantly refusing to become magically leaden with symbols that might be at all crowd-pleasing. And while Jim didn't imagine this would be the social event of the season by any means, he felt the least he could was give a decent speech.

He looked deep and the paper, challenging it. Teasing it that perhaps he didn't want it to be written on. None of it seemed to work. He was actually toying with mixing it in Jell-O and seeing what happened.

At the point all the nothing he'd been up was interrupted as his wife chose to check on him for about the twelfth time since he first failed to show to bed.

"How are you holding up?" she asked gently.

Jim raised his eyes to look at her. Somehow telling her that he had been completely bested a single sheet of paper seemed emasculating, which left him no recourse but to treat her better than he had himself and tell her the truth. "I keep expecting him to pop up with another insane scheme."

"Jim," she told him gently, "he's not Doctor Doom."

"No," Jim agreed, "but you could always tell the ambition was there."

She gave a weak snort of a laugh, which Jim sensed was mostly for his benefit.

"I just wish I would have thought to buy him a green hooded elf cloak while there was still time," he mused sadly.

His wife nodded and circled her arms around his neck warmly. "Have you decided what you're going to say yet?"

Without a doubt the most difficult blow after the initial news of Dwight's death had been when the will had been read aloud to the office and the chilling words "should he not be dead by my own hand, it is my final wish that my eulogy be delivered by Jim Halpert" rang through Jim's disbelieving ears.

He almost would have preferred Dwight actually killed him.

"I've been trying to think of something all night," he cracked voicelessly.

"And?" she asked encouragingly.

Jim buried his face in his hands. "So far all I've come with is 'Dwight Schrute was a man...' but even that I'm not sure about."

She took a moment to look him in the eyes seriously. "Jim, since Michael died, you've been the closest thing Dwight has to a friend..."

This was, of course, not the first time this had been brought to Jim's attention, but that didn't change the fact that it was the single most horrible idea Jim ever had to grapple with. "What about his Cousin Mose?" Jim asked, weakly yet hopefully.

"You know that the members of his family observe a week of silence surrounding every funeral," she reminded him. "...and birth," she reminded herself. "...and wedding... the point is that Dwight wanted you to do this."


"Just be sincere," she urged him.

For a moment Jim simply tried to find peace with the enormity of it all. When he next saw Dwight, he'd a pale, clammy husk without the slightest shadow of human thought or emotion going on below the surface. But it would also be different because this time he was in a coffin.

As much as it made him feel like vomiting blood to admit, Dwight had been his strongest lifeline over the years: he'd parted ways with friends, lost track of women he'd promised to love for the rest of life, even had moments of distance from members of his family... but from the first moment he met Dwight and came to grasp the Byzantine labyrinths of his insanity, no matter where he was in his life or the world, Jim could always take the time to send a well-crafted insult Dwight's way.

Now that was all over.

He opened his eyes after what seemed like ages of thinking about it and told the woman he had come to love more than he could ever express "Tell me what you think about this..."

She looked at him expectantly.

Jim paused and took a deep breath, then began. "Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe."

She sighed in exasperation and rested her hands on her thighs. "I think he actually would have really liked that," she said with the level of disgust we only ever hear from the ones we truly love. "I'm going back to bed. Please be ready in time for the funeral."

And although all he wanted to do was call her back to him, Jim watched motionless as she disappeared through the doorway and left him alone.

All alone.

With Dwight.