we never thought we would run out of sequels (angela, pam) pg13
title: we never thought we would run out of sequels
fandom: the office
character(s)/pairing(s): pam, angela
rating: pg13 (mentions of character death)
word count: 851
spoilers: general s6
notes: this was written for a tropes meme i did forever ago, for the prompt 'apocalypse fic'
summary: angela used to stare out at the night sky when she was young and see god in the beauty of the twinkling universe.
This is the problem with outer space:
It’s quite big. Endless and cluttered with bits of floating rock. Angela used to stare out at the night sky when she was young and see God in the beauty of the twinkling universe.
Now she looks out at the stars and glares at them with accusation. Betrayal. The chaos of space is snatching them back, reclaiming the earth beneath their feet.
Angela had always thought it was man’s own hubris that would snuff out humanity. Greed and loose morals and gun-slinging war machines. That the sinners would swap smut and missiles until the remaining few were scratching at the earth, left only with prayer. When she had imagined the end of the world she saw the transcendent light of the Lord raining down on her, enveloping her with his warmth and rewarding her for every sacrifice she ever made.
But instead there are world vigils and summits between enemies, and it isn’t God on their lips. It’s science. The science of meteors and the earth’s axis and impact sites. Angela doesn’t precisely understand the mechanics, doesn’t want to, but she can read the hopelessness in the local news anchors’ pale, puffy faces and wide-mouthed experts.
Her knees stain purple and green from furious prayer, and when the pews begin to splinter into her flesh she throws herself down at the feet of a carved, crucified Jesus, sobbing for salvation.
This was the first week. And maybe it’s because she expected it to work. Or because she gets robbed walking home from the church just a few blocks from her home. Maybe it’s because the cool detachment on which she had so often prided herself began to feel like loneliness instead. But regardless of the reason, Angela finds her tired feet steering her not towards home, but to a small, one level home in the suburbs of a town she wasn’t born into.
The other woman answers the door like she’s in no hurry, hazel staring out from behind the thick, black frames of her glasses. They hadn’t seen each other in years, not since the wake, but somehow Angela had known that she would find her in that same house.
“Pam.”
It isn’t a question; Angela remembers her like it was yesterday, packing up Jim’s desk and accepting condolences. Her eyes are dryer, but no less tired.
And she looks so much older. Angela guesses Pam would likely say the same thing about her.
Pam nods, stepping aside. “Come in.”
She doesn’t look surprised to see her here. Angela wonders if she’s the only old friend to visit in the prologue to Armageddon.
A young girl appears around the corner, tall and lanky with honey curls. She’s dressed in sweats with a cell phone to her ear, premature wrinkles between her brows.
She questions her mother with her father’s green-tinted eyes.
Pam tilts her head towards the blonde. “Angela and I used to work together.” The two older women’s eyes lock. “We’re old friends.”
Angela appreciates the sentiment, but is not entirely convinced by the truth of it; she used to whisper nasty, spiteful things behind Pam’s back. She wishes she could suck those words back inside her lungs, wishes she’d never pricked the air with her upturned nose. This is what regret tastes like.
Pam offers her a seat in her living room; a worn, floral arm chair that must be a family hand-me-down that almost swallows Angela’s small body. The blonde grips both her tightly clasped knees and watches the other woman lightly place a laptop on the coffee table, shaking out her graying hair from a loose ponytail.
They simply look across the room at each other for a moment, each an omen the other isn’t sure how to handle.
Angela primly coughs into her fist and Pam cracks a smile.
They talk about the people from work they still stay in contact with, which doesn’t account for many. Pam shares Cecelia’s achievements with the devastated tone of a mother who knows their child won’t reach eighteen, go to college, fall in love. Angela shows her a few pictures of her cats but feels silly and fake, comparing her feline flock to Pam’s flesh and blood.
Cecelia joins them for a time after Pam serves tea, the steam rising silently from her mug. She’s a prideful girl, but sharp-witted, and Angela allows herself to speak frankly with her in a way she never would have in the past. Not with someone so young. But even she is aged beyond her years by the events of the past month.
The three women chatter about books and commercials and clothes, ignoring the squawk of the radio and all the news they’d rather not know.
The clock ticks like a metronome above the kitchen door. Angela cups her tea to her chest, letting the warmth seep into her skin. Outside, ravens circle.
She’d always thought that at the end she’d be swept up into Jesus’ waiting light and look back vindicated. Now she wonders if she even truly understood the meaning of salvation.
fandom: the office
character(s)/pairing(s): pam, angela
rating: pg13 (mentions of character death)
word count: 851
spoilers: general s6
notes: this was written for a tropes meme i did forever ago, for the prompt 'apocalypse fic'
summary: angela used to stare out at the night sky when she was young and see god in the beauty of the twinkling universe.
This is the problem with outer space:
It’s quite big. Endless and cluttered with bits of floating rock. Angela used to stare out at the night sky when she was young and see God in the beauty of the twinkling universe.
Now she looks out at the stars and glares at them with accusation. Betrayal. The chaos of space is snatching them back, reclaiming the earth beneath their feet.
Angela had always thought it was man’s own hubris that would snuff out humanity. Greed and loose morals and gun-slinging war machines. That the sinners would swap smut and missiles until the remaining few were scratching at the earth, left only with prayer. When she had imagined the end of the world she saw the transcendent light of the Lord raining down on her, enveloping her with his warmth and rewarding her for every sacrifice she ever made.
But instead there are world vigils and summits between enemies, and it isn’t God on their lips. It’s science. The science of meteors and the earth’s axis and impact sites. Angela doesn’t precisely understand the mechanics, doesn’t want to, but she can read the hopelessness in the local news anchors’ pale, puffy faces and wide-mouthed experts.
Her knees stain purple and green from furious prayer, and when the pews begin to splinter into her flesh she throws herself down at the feet of a carved, crucified Jesus, sobbing for salvation.
This was the first week. And maybe it’s because she expected it to work. Or because she gets robbed walking home from the church just a few blocks from her home. Maybe it’s because the cool detachment on which she had so often prided herself began to feel like loneliness instead. But regardless of the reason, Angela finds her tired feet steering her not towards home, but to a small, one level home in the suburbs of a town she wasn’t born into.
The other woman answers the door like she’s in no hurry, hazel staring out from behind the thick, black frames of her glasses. They hadn’t seen each other in years, not since the wake, but somehow Angela had known that she would find her in that same house.
“Pam.”
It isn’t a question; Angela remembers her like it was yesterday, packing up Jim’s desk and accepting condolences. Her eyes are dryer, but no less tired.
And she looks so much older. Angela guesses Pam would likely say the same thing about her.
Pam nods, stepping aside. “Come in.”
She doesn’t look surprised to see her here. Angela wonders if she’s the only old friend to visit in the prologue to Armageddon.
A young girl appears around the corner, tall and lanky with honey curls. She’s dressed in sweats with a cell phone to her ear, premature wrinkles between her brows.
She questions her mother with her father’s green-tinted eyes.
Pam tilts her head towards the blonde. “Angela and I used to work together.” The two older women’s eyes lock. “We’re old friends.”
Angela appreciates the sentiment, but is not entirely convinced by the truth of it; she used to whisper nasty, spiteful things behind Pam’s back. She wishes she could suck those words back inside her lungs, wishes she’d never pricked the air with her upturned nose. This is what regret tastes like.
Pam offers her a seat in her living room; a worn, floral arm chair that must be a family hand-me-down that almost swallows Angela’s small body. The blonde grips both her tightly clasped knees and watches the other woman lightly place a laptop on the coffee table, shaking out her graying hair from a loose ponytail.
They simply look across the room at each other for a moment, each an omen the other isn’t sure how to handle.
Angela primly coughs into her fist and Pam cracks a smile.
They talk about the people from work they still stay in contact with, which doesn’t account for many. Pam shares Cecelia’s achievements with the devastated tone of a mother who knows their child won’t reach eighteen, go to college, fall in love. Angela shows her a few pictures of her cats but feels silly and fake, comparing her feline flock to Pam’s flesh and blood.
Cecelia joins them for a time after Pam serves tea, the steam rising silently from her mug. She’s a prideful girl, but sharp-witted, and Angela allows herself to speak frankly with her in a way she never would have in the past. Not with someone so young. But even she is aged beyond her years by the events of the past month.
The three women chatter about books and commercials and clothes, ignoring the squawk of the radio and all the news they’d rather not know.
The clock ticks like a metronome above the kitchen door. Angela cups her tea to her chest, letting the warmth seep into her skin. Outside, ravens circle.
She’d always thought that at the end she’d be swept up into Jesus’ waiting light and look back vindicated. Now she wonders if she even truly understood the meaning of salvation.