She decides to do something different for Christmas. The thing about each of the branches she's worked for is that they were so different, especially when it came to parties. Utica makes Stamford look like a totalitarian birthday state, because it seems like no one cares. Rolando keeps track of birthdays, ordering a cake and putting it in the break room without any fanfare. Same with holidays. She felt like an idiot one day, ducking out of her office in between calls and grabbing a piece of cake; it wasn't until her second bite that she noticed the "ren" in blue and remembered it was her birthday.

Stamford was pretty laid back, celebrating birthdays on the first Tuesday of each month, putting whoever's name on the cake who had a birthday that month. Josh usually let them leave early, which was a good way to prevent people from committing Tuesday suicide. Holidays were potluck, anyone could bring whatever and they'd celebrate for however long the "non-alcoholic" punch held out (thanks to Andy, whose goal always seemed to be making it a lot less non and a lot more alcoholic).

And then there was Scranton. God, there was Scranton. Angela and Phyllis crying and stress and Michael jumping out of the stall in the women's bathroom on her birthday.

Yet despite everything that happened, last Christmas was still fun. So she decides that maybe they should have a party. Low key, of course, and with less office civil war, but at least a little something. But when she mentions it to Rolando and Debra, the head of accounting, they just stare at her until she feels uncomfortable and ends up telling them to go back to work.

She mentions her new plans to Ryan next time he calls for her numbers, asking if she can get some funds for a party.

He clears his throat on the other side of the line, and she thinks she can hear his pen tapping on the desk. "I don't see why not, I don't think Utica has used any of its allotted budget for that."

"Great. I'll get the paperwork for that. Now, as I was saying-"

He cuts her off. "What are you planning?"

"Oh, I was just thinking about meeting at a bar after work, for Happy Hour."

"When?"

"Uh, I'm not sure. At some point before Christmas. Why?"

"Oh, I was just curious. I could come, if you wanted."

She glances at her notes from earlier in the conversation, where Ryan had listed every. single. meeting he had before Christmas. God, it was like talking to Michael sometimes. "It's going to be on the 21st, around six."

"Oh. I have a meeting with Wallace, I can't make it."

She exhales loudly, doodling a Christmas tree on the corner of her blotter. "Too bad."

"Yeah. Maybe some other time."

"Uh-huh."

He pauses on the other end, then continues in his deep big-man voice she's come to know well. "I think we're done then, Karen. You know how to reach me."

"Yep. Merry Christmas, Ryan."

**

He saves up his vacation time and takes off the whole week before Christmas, and the three days afterward. He and Terri spend the days and nights watching Prime Suspect and drinking wine. He thinks about how retirement must be like Christmas all year 'round. Melissa mentions one day after school that she wants the new whatever it is that costs at least $200, and he figures that he'd better enjoy his faux-retirement Christmas while he can.

**

"Michael, you said you wanted figgy pudding. So I went out and got the ingredients, and made it for you. Do you see how you calling it gross and refusing to eat it is insulting to me?"

"This isn't figgy pudding, Jan."

"Well, according to Good Housekeeping, it is. Michael, you know I don't cook. But I made this for you. For Christmas."

"It's not Christmas yet, and this isn't figgy pudding, it's cake. And oh God, are those nuts? You made me something with nuts, Jan. This is my fourteenth Christmas all over again."

She sighs. "I told you, I was doing a trial run to make sure it was okay. Obviously, it's not."

"I'm sorry Jan, I know you're still experiencing depression because your family was all busy, and I should be more sympathetic to your needs and pick up on your silent cues."

"Yep. Busy."

"And your Mom and Dad both getting the 7 day flu? It's like your family is cursed. Good thing we had our sha-sha chi-chi's cleaned by that witch in Jamaica."

"Michael-" The thing about Michael is, he believes her when she says her family is busy, or sick, even though he knows what's really going on. She thinks.

"I told my Mom to take Jeff there and get his cleaned, he needs it."

"Maybe if your Mom hadn't left on her vacation so early, I could have gotten her figgy pudding recipe."

"At least she sent the card, so we didn't go over there on Christmas Day." He looks dangerous, in that way where he might cry or kiss her at any moment.

"You're right. Okay, Michael, why don't you describe figgy pudding to me, so I can look for the right recipe."

"Well, to start with, it's more like pudding, less like cake, which is not pudding."

"Okay, we've established that, let's move on. I already knew that part."

"And there aren't any figs."

"There are figs, Michael. That's a fig."

"Gross."

"What do you think a fig is?"

"Fig is like a...filling...in a cake."

"Wait, like a Fig Newton? Michael, are you talking about a Fig Newton?"

"It's more than a cookie, it's fruit and cake."

"Great. So, do you mean there's a fig...filling in it, or that there are actual Fig Newtons in it?"

"Yesh."

"Which one?"

"The Fig Newtons one."

"What else?"

"That's it, figs and pudding. In a bowl."

The horrifying realization of what he means finally dawns on her. "Let me get this clear. Figgy Pudding is, to you, pudding in a bowl, mixed with Fig Newtons?"

"It's not Christmas without authentic Figgy Pudding."

"Oh God. Okay, I'm going to the store."

"You're the Jan who saved Christmas!"

"Just please listen to your Muppet Christmas album until I get back."

**

Bob says he's going to start something new, and introduces the 12 Days of Vance Christmas. He gives her something new every day. She already knows what he's giving her, because he should know that she'd look in one of their three refrigerators, but she acts surprised anyway. Every day when she's unwrapping the box, she thinks, "earrings, earrings, earrings."

**

She always goes to church on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and it shouldn't matter, because such thoughts are futile and will get her nowhere, but she keeps thinking that it's the first time in the past few years that she's gone alone. A certain man in her life, no matter how he felt about certain things, would always attend with her on those days, letting his certain cousin stay at home and cook the goose she hated and the noodles she loved. But that's over now, and she has to face certain things alone.

Or with Andy. He asks her eight and a half times (it would have been nine, but she glared at him so he stopped mid-sentence) what she's doing on Christmas, and if he can come with her to "mass" (he keeps saying mass, over and over again, and she thinks that if she set her mouth in a more hardened line her head will break in two) on "The Big J's B-Day". When she tells him no his face falls in the way that reminds her of someone else, and she let's him kiss her neck one more time than what she's comfortable with to make up for it, somehow.

It isn't until the day of Christmas Eve that she stares at her Christmas Eve outfit and feels alone. She scratches Mittens behind the ears and calls Andy.

"Yell-o."

"Andy? It's Angela."

"The fair Ms. Martin! How can I be of service to you this evening?"

"Would you like to attend church services with me?"

"Nothing would be of more pleasure to me."

"Be here at 6:30, and if you wear one of your obnoxious ties you'll have to sit in the car."

"No problemo, my fair Christmas queen."

"Thank you." When she hangs up, she's not sure if she feels better or worse.

He manages to wear a regular red tie, and holds every door for her. As she listens to the reverend speak, she allows herself to glance around the darkened church, candles and wreaths, the glowing Nativity in the front. Something familiar catches her eye, and when she turns her head she can see him, hunched over in his seat against the wall. His short sleeved dress shirt is her favorite color, off-white, and his glasses are slipping down his nose as his head tips forward. She might just be imagining it, but his mouth looks like it's moving. She blinks three times, and when he's still there, she believes it.

She smooths her skirt over her lap and focuses on the baby Jesus. Even though she knows it's His birthday and she really shouldn't, she turns to Andy and tells him to stop singing so loudly. She closes her eyes.

**

No one from Scrantonicity (I, he and the guys in II already had their party and it was awesome) sends him a Christmas card, but Stacey sets a wedding date and gives him a PS3. It's the best Christmas he can remember.

**

He gets back to the farm around nine, and spends the next two hours finishing up chores and wrapping presents in brown paper, tying them with a bow. At eleven he wakes Mose from his nap, and they decorate the tree together, Mose humming 'O Tannebaum until he feels compelled to join in. At midnight they have their Christmas snowball fight, ducking behind the trees and keeping score.

By the time they have hot cocoa by the fire, Mose is yawning and he puts him to bed, drawing the old quilt around him and answering his Christmas Eve questions as he drifts off.

"Will you put out the fire before you turn in?"

"Yes."

"Are the cookies-"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me the story of-"

"A long time ago..."

It's cold, but he sits out on the porch in his favorite rocking chair, slowly eating a plate of cookies and trying to form O's with his breath in the cold air. He thinks about how maybe she saw him.

**

He gets Sasha for Christmas every third year according to the custody agreement. After dinner he takes her to the store to buy carrots for the reindeer, and she makes him stop at every Salvation Army Santa ("Helpers of Santa, Dad, because the real Santa is too busy with other stuff") to give them change. They get home and make cookies, testing them to make sure they're good enough for Santa. After tucking her in he sits next to the tree, watching it throw multicolored light around the room. It's the first time he's put it up in the past three years.

**

Darryl's on Dad duty for Christmas Eve, so she decides humor her mother (who's constantly leaving her messages about how much time good Indian daughters spend with their parents). Once she's sitting in the warm kitchen and eating samosas until her stomach hurts, it doesn't seem like such a bad idea. She tells her sisters all about Darryl, about how he appreciates her and doesn't blow her off, but they just say he sounds lame and probably doesn't look like Zach Braff. Whatever, they're lame. Her parents smile and nod when she talks about how responsible he is around his daughter, and the more she talks him up for her parents the more she starts to think that wait, what if he is lame? What if she has a totally lame boyfriend and Ryan maybe wasn't such a jackass, because sometimes guys just play hard to get and don't always return your calls and tell you that you look totally hot even though you know you don't? She excuses herself and pulls out her phone. He totally won't answer.

"Hey Baby." She can hear his daughter babbling in the background. She loosens her grip on the phone.

"Hey. I was just calling, you know, to say Merry Christmas Eve and see how things were going."

"Good, we're having a good time. How's your folks?"

"Great. You'll have to meet them sometime, you know."

He doesn't skip a beat, or try to start an argument. "Sure, we'll set that up."

"O-okay. I guess I'll let you get back to what you were doing, you sound busy."

"Hey," his voice always sounds deeper over the phone, and he always seems to move so slowly, but she still can never tell what he's going to do next, "you know I miss you, right?"

"I miss you too."

"I'll see you tomorrow, sweetness."

"See you." She stares at her phone after she hangs up, turning it so the rhinestones she decorated it with reflect in the light. She's totally going to put on Mariah's Christmas album and wear her sexy Santa outfit she got from Victoria's Secret tomorrow.

She walks back into the kitchen. "Mom, did you say that you made some Burfi?"

**

He thinks the guy Teddy from work and his kid slip a buck into his bucket, but he can't be too sure. Ringing a bell for so long can make you start to see things, like other St. Nicks ringing bells, or LBJ that one time. He just does this for the free boots. And the tips. At the rate he's going tonight, he'll be rolling quarters for days. Which is good, since he's pretty sure the owner of the laundromat has figured out how he rigged those machines.

**

Last year he and Gil spent Christmas organizing photos from Europe and cataloging souvenirs. Not that he got anything for anyone in the office. Well, except for Kevin. He brought him one of those giant Toblerone bars that you can buy in the airport. He's not sure why, but he wants to do it again and searches, finally finding one at some specialty shop he had to drive two hours to get to. He bought Gil some little marzipan pigs while he was there, so he had something to show for it. Gil wraps it in a long bag usually reserved for wine, and he smiles when Oscar says that it's not a big deal. They stop by Kevin's in the afternoon, and when Kevin opens it, he sits there for a minute, running his fingers over the words on the box.

"This really is the best Christmas ever. This is for you."

He hands a medium sized box to Oscar, and grins as Oscar carefully unwraps it, folding the paper and handing it to Stacey.

"A Scrantonicity shirt."

Kevin frowns. "Not Scrantonicity."

"Oh. Scrantonicity II. Thanks, Kevin."

They stay for a little bit, then make their way back home. Gil chuckles once they're in the car.

"Does this make you a Scrantonicity groupie?"

Oscar sighs, turning up the defroster. "Scrantonicity II."

**

Christmas is the only time that Jake gets up early, especially since Wendy is there, too. When she's around, Jake always behaves, maybe to show her up and try to be the good one for once. She sits in her robe in the kitchen at 5 AM, drinking black coffee that burns on the way down and writing letters from Santa with her left hand to disguise her handwriting. They're both old enough to know better; in fact, she let it slip to Jake a couple years ago when she was having a down period that Santa and the Easter Bunny were both fake, but she does it anyway. She thinks they like it. Getting up to pour herself some more coffee, she shuts the cupboard that contains her holiday stash of Peppermint Schnapps and sticks a candy cane in her mug instead. Taking a sip, she makes a face, but if the coffee's hot enough it almost tastes the same. She picks up her pen and tries to think of something good Jake did this year.


**

He offers to work Christmas Eve, and even though David says that it's not necessary, he does it anyway, staring at reports until he's sure his eyes can't take anymore. He's the only one there aside from the security guard, so he walks down the hall to Thomas Dean's office and turns on the small Christmas tree he has by the window. Sitting in the chair, he turns and watches his reflection turn red and green with the city lit up behind him. He thought Kelly might call him, but he's checked his messages twice and there's nothing. That's good that she's over him, finally. He's too busy to worry about that mess of a relationship all the time.

Pulling out his blackberry, he checks his messages again, skipping over the few he has saved. Not that he saved anything. His e-mail inbox is empty, save for someone named "Dr. Jingle" offering to enlarge his manhood. Good to know that insecurity-fueling spam comes with a holiday theme. Putting his blackberry back in his pocket, he watches what must be a plane in the distance, taking people home for Christmas. Or, he thinks, taking people away on last minute business trips. He tries to smile as he looks at his reflection in the window again, speaking up in the empty office.

"Merry Christmas, Ryan."

**

She draws her coat tighter around herself, her teeth chattering as she waits for the car to warm up. He notices as she does and turns up the heat, talking a little louder so she can hear him over the noise.

“So what did I tell you, my Mom makes the best cookies, right?”

She nods. “They were pretty good.”

He stops at a light, turning to raise an eyebrow at her. “Just pretty good?”

“Well, you haven’t tasted my Mom’s cookies yet. After tomorrow you’ll understand.”

“No, after tomorrow I’ll be telling you that your mother’s cookies are pretty good.”

“We’ll see.” She looks out the window. “The snow looks pretty tonight.”

He snorts. “Not pretty to drive in.”

She squints her eyes at the way the streetlights reflect in the streets. “Still.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Good.” She reaches over to turn down the heat, resting her head against the back of the seat. “Tonight was nice.”

He takes a moment to answer, changing lanes. “It was.”

“I’m glad we decided to split it up.”

“Yep. You know, with the roads like this, we’ll have to leave earlier than I thought so we can make it to your parents’ by one.”

“Okay.”

“And,” he grins at her, “by the way, you’re wearing your wool socks to bed tonight, I’m sick of your cold feet.”

“You are not. You love my cold feet.”

He adjusts the rearview mirror. “I love them less than other parts of you.”

“I’m going to ignore you, since I would hate to make you sleep on your own couch on our first Christmas Eve together.”

“You’re so generous.”

She stretches her hands in front of the vents. “So I was thinking, to be fair, next year we should switch it up and have Christmas Eve at my parents’, and Christmas Day at yours.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and when she looks over at him he’s smiling. “Hmm.”

She turns her head, and her hair crackles with static electricity against the back of the seat. “What?”

He reaches over, capturing her gloved hand in his. “Next year.”

She smiles, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “I know.”

**

She sits in the corner booth of the bar, watching everyone else mill around and have a good time. She sighs, twisting her beer on the coaster. She had forgotten how no one ever really wants to interact with the boss. She had thought it would be different because she feels like she's cooler than any boss she's had, but then again, she might be biased. Everyone had thanked her, but then made their distance. She's thinks about pulling out something to read from her bag, but no one wants to be the person reading The New Yorker in a bar. She's weighing her options in her head when someone sits across from her.

"Karen Filipelli."

"Ben Nugent."

"You looked a little lonely over here, so I thought I would keep you company." He smiles, and it's a little bit crooked. She doesn't know Ben well, still doesn't know anyone well, really, but he's the top salesman and has always seemed nice. She went on a sales call with him, once, when she had just started and wanted to get to know her salespeople. He bought her a coffee and talked about the weather and his college days. He didn't mention his co-workers once.

"Thanks," she laughs, "I don't think anyone wanted to be seen fraternizing with the boss after hours."

He raises his eyebrow and looks over his shoulder. "I think I'll chance my reputation."

"Your funeral."

"So," he says, leaning forward, "did you guys do stuff like this in Scranton?"

She bursts out laughing. "Stuff like this, sure."

He smiles again. "I can only imagine the stuff you had to put up with over there."

"Oh yeah?"

"Well, people talk. Plus, I had the pleasure of talking to Michael Scott once."

She takes a drink from her beer, pausing to collect her thoughts. "When was that?"

"Oh, right before he and those other two guys showed up in Mario mustaches and threw the copier down the stairs."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. He told me he was a genie or something, and then offered me a job."

She starts laughing, laughs until her stomach aches. "I...don't know why you didn't take it."

"It was tempting."

She props her head up, leaning her elbow on the table. "I'm sorry, that was probably my fault. I was trying to steal one of his people."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"I guess you would know them better, but I always pictured the people in Scranton as like, the annoying cabin at summer camp. You know, the ones who short sheeted the beds in their own bunks and then fought about it like idiots?"

"That's actually pretty apt." She tries hard to keep her face neutral.

"Sorry if you have any friends there." He frowns and shakes his head. "I don't mean to say-"

She thinks about the past year and a half. "No, I don't have any friends there."

"Oh. Good. So," he leans back, looking at her for a long enough moment that she starts to feel uncomfortable, "what are your plans for Christmas?"

She considers, deciding how honest she wants to be. "Actually, it's going to be just me."

His face doesn't change. "I see."

"Yeah, when I left Scr-I mean, when I started this job, I had to break my lease early and my dick landlord made sure I regretted it. So I'm having a...fiscally responsible holiday season."

"That's responsible of you."

"Thanks, can you tell my Mom that? She's all sad because I only went to Thanksgiving this year."

"You didn't want to have a fiscally responsible Thanksgiving?"

"My Mom doesn't cook on Christmas, so I had to make a decision. Turkey won."

He grins. "That should be the new slogan for Thanksgiving: Turkey won. I mean, it's better than, 'This bird died for your happiness'."

"Well, now I feel even more guilty. What are your plans?"

"Same."

"Oh, you're planning on sitting around in your pajamas and watching A Christmas Story?"

"Now that you mention it..."

"Shut up."

He loosens his tie. "My family lives in Idaho, so I also decided that Thanksgiving was enough, money-wise."

"Are you asking me for a raise?"

"Yep."

"I'll take it under advisement."

"Good. Listen," he continues playing with his tie, and her stomach flips. "since we're both having a lonely penny-saver Christmas, why don't we go out to dinner?"

She looks away from him. "I don't know," she tries to cover, "I don't want all of my cats to be sad, lonely girl that I am."

He laughs. "We'll split everything, I promise. Or, hey, I'll even bite the bullet and pay. If I get my raise, of course."

She should know better than this. "I guess..."

He shrugs. "Wow, don't flatter me with your excitement. Come on, we'll even get Chinese."

She unbuttons her suit jacket, exhaling. "Sounds good. Deck the halls, and all that."

He grins. "Fa ra ra ra ra."

She smiles at him. At least she's pretty sure that he's not secretly in love with Rolando.