"Thanks for fitting me in.  Yeah, yeah, thanks.  See you soon."

Jim hangs up the phone, hoping that Dwight heard him; when he looks over, Dwight is bobbing his head to some imaginary beat and arranging his pencils by order of height along his desk.  Sometimes, Jim wishes he would get up enough nerve, or maybe care enough, to steal them all and replace them with crayons or something.  Just to piss Dwight off.  But he'd have to be pretty desperate to do that, right?  He clears his throat.

"So, Dwight, I'm going to the dentist this morning." 

Dwight pauses, and Jim wonders what lame insult is coming at him next.

"I think you're forgetting, uh, forgetful Jim, that we have a sales call this morning."

"I didn't forget."  How could he?  Dwight has called him every night for the past week to remind him.  Jim hates the company roster, hates it with a passion.  He figures that he's doing pretty good, since it's taken him almost two years to really settle into hating his job. 

"This sales call is extremely important.  And since the company has been cutting back on the amount of out of office sales calls, you are rusty and therefore a weak link in the team."  Jim wishes that they would cut out sales calls entirely.

"You haven't gone out on one in awhile either, Dwight."

"Doesn't matter.  I am the master and you are not.  My experience crushes yours with one strike."  With this, Dwight slams his hand flat on his desk and Jim doesn't flinch.  He stopped flinching long ago.

"Great.  So, I'm going to the dentist this morning." 

"Great.  So, what about the sales call?"  Dwight has the tone in his voice that Jim has labeled Annoyance Level: Moderate in the back of his mind; it's slightly mocking, slightly condescending, with a thin veneer of nasal affectation. 

"I...will meet you there."

"Well, that's great, Jim.  You obviously want us to fail."

"I do.  You've caught me."

"Now is not the time for sarcasm.  We have a routine.  How can we follow that routine if you are not there, for the routine?" 

"We will...make a new routine?" 

"Fine, Jim, whatever.  But I am letting Michael know in advance that if we fail, it is most definitely your fault." 

"Good idea."  Jim waits a beat for Dwight to storm into Michael's office, then gathers his things to leave. 

Reaching the parking lot, Jim pulls out his phone and dials. 

"Is this regarding the teeth of Jim Halpert?" 

"It is."  Jim laughs.

"Did it work?"

"Yeah.  Thanks Mark.  I owe you one."

"I still don't know why you couldn't just tell the guy you wanted to take separate cars."

"You would have to meet him."

"I'm not sure I want to."

"Yeah, you don't.  See you later."

"Later."

Jim hangs up the phone and gets in his car, figuring he'll drive around for an hour and then head over to the law firm downtown for the sales call. He realized last night that he hasn't had a date in a month and he might work at Dunder Mifflin forever; for some reason, those two things coupled with the fact that he would probably be working under Dwight one day spurred him to think of some ridiculous plan to get out of a car ride filled with Dwight conversation and headbanging.  He figures that after two years, it's just his sense of self-preservation kicking in. 

 
* * * * *
 
Dwight can tell Jim is finally on the road to redemption.  Not only was he there on time, he must have declined novacaine for the good of the team, because Dwight can see no obvious signs of drooling or numbness.  He closes his hand in a fist as he listens to Jim enunciate very clearly and list their services to the client.  Jim must really want this.  Jim wants it for the team.

Dwight is very perceptive; he notices everything, which is why he's so suited for his new job as volunteer sheriff's deputy.  He spends his weekdays conquering sales and his weekends conquering criminals.  And Jim wants to conquer this sale. 

He knows.  He knows because Jim meets his eyes and gives a slight nod at the exact time when the client shows his weakness, a sign of relenting.  They are a tag team, and Jim is tagging him in.

"So, Mr. Brant," Dwight says forcefully, pulling a contract out of the folder in front of him, "let's finalize this deal."  Dwight notices Jim smile slightly as Dwight hands Brant the pen, which is a sign of weakness and he has TOLD Jim that, but he forgives him because Brant is signing and he fights the urge to smile, himself. 

But he doesn't.  Because he's not weak.

Out in the parking lot, Dwight holds up his hand for the high five of success, and Jim doesn't even hesitate before he meets him in the middle.  Redemption.

"We killed that deal, Jim.  Brant was like a lamb during slaughtering season, and we collectively slit his throat."

"Wow, Dwight.  That is quite the image."

"And it fits."

"It does.  Well..."

Dwight can sense that Jim is at a loss for words, and he wants to reassure him, let him know that he is on his way.

"You were excellent up there, you didn't let him refuse anything.  Just as I've taught you."

"Thanks, Dwight...that actually is...thanks."  Jim has paused in front of Dwight's car now, and Dwight can sense that a great moment is approaching.

"Why don't we go to the farm for lunch?  I can heat up some leftover goose.  And we can dissect every detail of our victory."

"Actually, I think I should probably get back to the office.  Since I missed most of the morning."

"Oh, well, I could call Michael..."

"No, it's ok...I have a few cold calls to make, anyway."

Dwight knows, because he knows everything about the team, that Jim has already made all of his cold calls for the week.  He keeps a list, checking off every client Jim is supposed to handle.  For reference purposes.  He thinks for a moment about confronting Jim with this fact, but then changes his mind. 

"Oh, well, a good work ethic is important." 

"Yep.  See you back at work, Dwight."

Dwight gets in his car and turns the music as loud as it can go, rattling the windows, and watches Jim pull out of the parking lot.  Cutting the music off, he has a moment of silence for the team, then drives off in the direction of the farm. 

There wasn't enough leftover goose for two, anyway.