Office fic: i remember our lies. this how we breathe.
Title: i remember our lies. this how we breathe.
Fandom: the Office
Characters/Pairings: Jim, Pam, Toby
Word Count: 1000
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None ♥
Summary: He swears he’ll punch Andy if he starts singing End of the World before he has his coffee. It’s like any other Saturday, pieces of the outside barely slipping in. Apoca!ficlet.
Author's Notes: For kasuchi. ♥ Because I mailed your Christmas card. Today. And I told you I’d do this. Somehow. *smirks*
A smile fell in the grass.
Irretrievable!
Sylvia Plath, “The Night Dances”
*
It’s like any other Saturday, Toby thinks. He brushes the snow off of his shoulders, flicking chunks off with his fingers. He shivers because the wind’s picked up and there’s that smell in the air.
He knows what it is. They all do. But it’s the science of things- nobody wants to name their problem.
Even though, it’s kind of big.
Michael’s gone before most of them get there- it’s like any other day, moments and minutes spent and wasted. He always leaves early in flurry of words and excuses. But work always gets done.
There are drills now.
*
Jim listens to REM in the way because today, it’s about the nostalgia and college radio is dipping back into yeah, maybe I’ll listen to this. Or so, he tells himself.
Stopping at a red light, he turns his gaze to the left and watches as the traffic to the highway goes beyond congestion. He’s thought about going home. But then remembers that it’s a bad idea.
He doesn’t want to drive by himself.
His shoulders slump. And he reminds himself that he volunteered for an hour, tonight, at the Red Cross station. People are swarming in, with no place to go- denial is one of those things that wears thin fast.
People are starting to break. And he swears he’ll punch Andy if he starts singing End of the World before he has his coffee.
(If Andy shows.)
*
Pam’s late that Saturday afternoon, gripping her sketchbook to her chest and fumbling with her umbrella.
She burned her coffee during the news, between a piece on the Yankees and mad cow and turning it off when something interrupts the story on Britney Spears and her underwear. Because people care.
She’s just tired of listening to people and what they think is going to happen. Please don’t panic still rings in her ears.
So she goes to work.
It’s a mix of snow and rain today and she’s miserable because her bed was too warm. And who wants to get up early on a Saturday morning?
But she moves inside, into the elevator, and dips into the corner. Her fingers dance against the edges of her sketchbook, some pages stained with charcoal, some with paint, and with marker.
It’s a distraction still, even though class has been cancelled for three weeks now. She’s forgotten the smells and memories of summer, the ones that lie in slips of old wedding invitations. But this is nowhere near the reality of it now and what she’s replaced it with.
It’s eats away at her. It’s been four days since her parents have called.
But, she reminds herself, it’s like any other day. Shyly, she smiles tiredly at Jim when she dumps her stuff on her desk.
*
Toby believes in bad days. And has seen so many of them.
He sits at his desk, unfolding a few pictures from Sasha that his ex-wife mailed to him (postmarked a month ago). He makes sure that the folds at the ends are straightened and reaches up to brush his fingers against his daughter’s picture.
“Of course,” Jim half-mutters under his breath, his voice dying of boredom, “Dwight had to go home early.”
Pam kind of laughs, tiredly, leaning against the copier (a couple feet away) and sending a smile his way.
(They ran into each other, at the counter in the kitchen. He sort of brushed his hand against the curve of her hip. We could talk, he had said. Maybe she gave him a nod.)
Toby forges a smile.
*
Jim makes lists to pass the time. Bands to check out. Mix tapes to make. Or wait. Or not. This all to pass the time.
Occasionally, he glances up at Pam and takes her in. The slow curl of her hair falls against her eyes, hooding her from his view.
His fingers still do that kind of curl and that itch, quiet, still twists inside of him. He kind of misses Karen too, but he doesn’t think about that- it was as close to normal as he got to anyway. And he forgets normal. Too quickly.
He wonders if Pam and him should talk. Nobody likes unfinished business.
He makes another list, a new list, folding the piece of paper and dropping it on Pam’s desk. He grabs a handful of jelly beans from her dish, leaving the purple ones, and stepping to the window for a brief glance and then away.
He’ll try calling his parents again. When he gets home.
*
She smells smoke. But no one smokes.
She looks up, after Kelly leaves, and then slides out of her seat. She moves to the window, peering out into the city. Scranton is always grey, always cold, and always a bit forgotten. There’s a knot in her throat and she feels kind of funny, standing and waiting. And then she remembers that the beginning has already passed and repercussions are sinking into the middle-
They’re all waiting for an end.
It’s weird today, though, the feeling of exhaustion eating away at her. She brushes her hair out of her eyes and shrugs. It’s always the waiting.
Maybe it’s nothing. (It’s not.) If it were something (it is), she would’ve stayed in bed today.
She opens Jim’s note, when she finds it, her finger brushing against the small script of his writing. She almost laughs. If it were funny.
Twenty things to do before we die.
There are twenty blank spaces.
*
It’s like anything else, no one wants the quiet desperation to rise into a full-fledge flight of pandemonium.
Toby leaves a message on his ex-wife’s voicemail.
For the first breath, he rips a piece of paper. Accidentally. “Tell her I love her,” he says finally, rubbing his eyes. “And don’t forget to read her the book about the caterpillar.”
He pauses.
“She likes that one.”
*
Somebody has the radio on. And traffic breaks for weather.
Hello, sunny skies!
end.
Fandom: the Office
Characters/Pairings: Jim, Pam, Toby
Word Count: 1000
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None ♥
Summary: He swears he’ll punch Andy if he starts singing End of the World before he has his coffee. It’s like any other Saturday, pieces of the outside barely slipping in. Apoca!ficlet.
Author's Notes: For kasuchi. ♥ Because I mailed your Christmas card. Today. And I told you I’d do this. Somehow. *smirks*
A smile fell in the grass.
Irretrievable!
Sylvia Plath, “The Night Dances”
*
It’s like any other Saturday, Toby thinks. He brushes the snow off of his shoulders, flicking chunks off with his fingers. He shivers because the wind’s picked up and there’s that smell in the air.
He knows what it is. They all do. But it’s the science of things- nobody wants to name their problem.
Even though, it’s kind of big.
Michael’s gone before most of them get there- it’s like any other day, moments and minutes spent and wasted. He always leaves early in flurry of words and excuses. But work always gets done.
There are drills now.
*
Jim listens to REM in the way because today, it’s about the nostalgia and college radio is dipping back into yeah, maybe I’ll listen to this. Or so, he tells himself.
Stopping at a red light, he turns his gaze to the left and watches as the traffic to the highway goes beyond congestion. He’s thought about going home. But then remembers that it’s a bad idea.
He doesn’t want to drive by himself.
His shoulders slump. And he reminds himself that he volunteered for an hour, tonight, at the Red Cross station. People are swarming in, with no place to go- denial is one of those things that wears thin fast.
People are starting to break. And he swears he’ll punch Andy if he starts singing End of the World before he has his coffee.
(If Andy shows.)
*
Pam’s late that Saturday afternoon, gripping her sketchbook to her chest and fumbling with her umbrella.
She burned her coffee during the news, between a piece on the Yankees and mad cow and turning it off when something interrupts the story on Britney Spears and her underwear. Because people care.
She’s just tired of listening to people and what they think is going to happen. Please don’t panic still rings in her ears.
So she goes to work.
It’s a mix of snow and rain today and she’s miserable because her bed was too warm. And who wants to get up early on a Saturday morning?
But she moves inside, into the elevator, and dips into the corner. Her fingers dance against the edges of her sketchbook, some pages stained with charcoal, some with paint, and with marker.
It’s a distraction still, even though class has been cancelled for three weeks now. She’s forgotten the smells and memories of summer, the ones that lie in slips of old wedding invitations. But this is nowhere near the reality of it now and what she’s replaced it with.
It’s eats away at her. It’s been four days since her parents have called.
But, she reminds herself, it’s like any other day. Shyly, she smiles tiredly at Jim when she dumps her stuff on her desk.
*
Toby believes in bad days. And has seen so many of them.
He sits at his desk, unfolding a few pictures from Sasha that his ex-wife mailed to him (postmarked a month ago). He makes sure that the folds at the ends are straightened and reaches up to brush his fingers against his daughter’s picture.
“Of course,” Jim half-mutters under his breath, his voice dying of boredom, “Dwight had to go home early.”
Pam kind of laughs, tiredly, leaning against the copier (a couple feet away) and sending a smile his way.
(They ran into each other, at the counter in the kitchen. He sort of brushed his hand against the curve of her hip. We could talk, he had said. Maybe she gave him a nod.)
Toby forges a smile.
*
Jim makes lists to pass the time. Bands to check out. Mix tapes to make. Or wait. Or not. This all to pass the time.
Occasionally, he glances up at Pam and takes her in. The slow curl of her hair falls against her eyes, hooding her from his view.
His fingers still do that kind of curl and that itch, quiet, still twists inside of him. He kind of misses Karen too, but he doesn’t think about that- it was as close to normal as he got to anyway. And he forgets normal. Too quickly.
He wonders if Pam and him should talk. Nobody likes unfinished business.
He makes another list, a new list, folding the piece of paper and dropping it on Pam’s desk. He grabs a handful of jelly beans from her dish, leaving the purple ones, and stepping to the window for a brief glance and then away.
He’ll try calling his parents again. When he gets home.
*
She smells smoke. But no one smokes.
She looks up, after Kelly leaves, and then slides out of her seat. She moves to the window, peering out into the city. Scranton is always grey, always cold, and always a bit forgotten. There’s a knot in her throat and she feels kind of funny, standing and waiting. And then she remembers that the beginning has already passed and repercussions are sinking into the middle-
They’re all waiting for an end.
It’s weird today, though, the feeling of exhaustion eating away at her. She brushes her hair out of her eyes and shrugs. It’s always the waiting.
Maybe it’s nothing. (It’s not.) If it were something (it is), she would’ve stayed in bed today.
She opens Jim’s note, when she finds it, her finger brushing against the small script of his writing. She almost laughs. If it were funny.
Twenty things to do before we die.
There are twenty blank spaces.
*
It’s like anything else, no one wants the quiet desperation to rise into a full-fledge flight of pandemonium.
Toby leaves a message on his ex-wife’s voicemail.
For the first breath, he rips a piece of paper. Accidentally. “Tell her I love her,” he says finally, rubbing his eyes. “And don’t forget to read her the book about the caterpillar.”
He pauses.
“She likes that one.”
*
Somebody has the radio on. And traffic breaks for weather.
Hello, sunny skies!
end.