The Office -- Bad Habits -- Part 2
I feel like absolute shit. Ugh. Posting this now because I feel moderately better today than I have the past few days and I don't know what the rest of the week will bring. I haven't really logged on to LJ at all, so I hope everything is going well in everyone else's life. ;)
Title: Bad Habits (2/3)
Rating: PG-13
Author: Heath07
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, etc.
Summary: Sequel/Companion to Maintaining the Lie. Pam/Jim What happens after?
Notes: Most of the stuff about Scranton is inaccurate. Sorry to any Scrantonites.
Part 2
Most of the time the days pass so slowly it’s hard to see when change happens. It’s an eventual progression that just sort of sneaks up on you out of nowhere. That’s kind of what Jim and Pam’s friendship was like, a slow build-up that, when they looked back, they couldn’t really ever determine how it had begun. And when it came crumbling down, Jim never thought they would be able to build it back up to what it was. But then something happened. He just…stopped. Stopped overanalyzing and pining and waiting for the right time to say something. He moved on.
At least that’s what he thought...
So, if he is this evolved person that he claims to be…why does he still care so deeply?
The wedding is called off…or postponed or…whatever. The wedding in question, of course, being Pam and Roy’s. It’s a couple of months before the date that Roy drunkenly announced on the Booze Cruise. Jim’s not sure whether he’s relieved or annoyed.
Pam has been really down lately. There’s something in her eyes every time he looks at her, but he can’t quite pinpoint what it is.
They’ve made it a habit not to talk about Roy or any of the girls he sees. Not that there have been that many. His relationships have a tendency to fizzle out before they ever really get going. So, okay, there have been a few girls. But now there’s one girl. And she’s great. Really great. Her name is Jennifer-a simple ordinary name. She goes by Jen, which is even simpler. So, it’s cool. They both have the whole shortened name thing going for them. Uh, not unlike a certain receptionist that he is totally over.
And he can see it all now, Jim and Jen, super-couple of the year. Because that’s how people will start to refer to them until their two names become synonymous and you can’t mention one without the other. Jim and Jen. That’s them.
They’re perfect for each other. It’s kismet, really.
So, Jen is a really down-to-earth, caring person. She’s great, really. She comes from a big family, has a really awesome sense of humour... She has this thing about sunblock... She’s always applying it and putting it on him. It should bother him, but it never does. It just makes him smile.
They’re a good match, but something… He can see himself falling in love with her.
He can see it, but he can’t feel it.
The conversation is great. The sex is great. Even the quiet moments are great. They could have a good future, but…
It all comes back to the idea that he’s got Pam on such a high pedestal, no one else can possibly measure up.
Sometimes Jim thinks he shouldn’t have to work so hard to convince himself he’s happy.
Pam has told him that he’s different when he talks to her…when he talks about her. He hasn’t really noticed. Last night, everyone in the office went out for drinks and he introduced Jen to the gang. Pam didn’t talk to him for the rest of the night. And the whole time he had a sick feeling in his stomach, like he felt guilty…like he was somehow cheating on Pam and the fantasy life he’d created in his head.
This morning when he got to work, she gave him the cold shoulder. And then at lunch, she sent him a dirty look and ate at her desk.
He’s not sure what he did, specifically, but he knows that Pam knows now how serious he is about this new relationship. She knows they’re more than just dating, that they’ve been intimate. You kiss someone differently after you have been with them in that way... And it didn’t help that Kevin and the warehouse guys kept giving him high fives all night and none-too-discreetly espousing how hot his date looked and started rumours when they both just so happened to need to use the bathroom and payphone at the same time. It wasn’t his fault the battery in his cell died or that the bathroom and phone were in the same general vicinity. Nothing happened, but the word was already out there. Then Pam caught Jim kissing Jen against the door of his car while she waited for Roy to pull around with the truck and pick her up.
And, okay, so maybe he liked the idea that Pam was a little jealous. And maybe he feels a little guilty for using Jen like that. And maybe he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing anymore!
So that’s why he finds himself trapped in the conference room with Pam staring up at him and asking questions. Questions she doesn’t have the right to ask. Questions he doesn’t want to answer.
“Did you…?”
“Did I what?”
“Sleep with her,” she says quietly, staring at the floor, like looking him in the eye is something she’s never done before…like it’s painful.
“Pam.”
Her voice is hoarse.
“I just think it’s totally-- I mean the bathroom at Chili’s, Jim?”
His heart is beating too fast in his chest for it to be normal. And he can feel the anger wrapping around him, feel it building to a crescendo.
“I can’t believe you would think that about me!” he flings back, his eyes penetrating hers.
She looks away.
“I don’t. I don’t know why-- It’s just Roy and those guys… Forget it; it’s none of my business.”
He’s angry. Really, truly, angry.
Maybe it’s the mention of Roy or her apparent horrible opinion of him, but he can’t just stand there and take it anymore.
“You’re right, it’s not. I mean, I don’t ask you if you and Roy…” He rolls his eyes and lets his hand rest on the back of one of the chairs. He needs something stable to keep him upright. “I mean, obviously…so I don’t. And what I do and who I do it with… ” His tone is clipped, controlled.
Jim closes his eyes and for a minute he can pretend that none of this is really happening. They’re not fighting about him moving on. And Pam is not, once again, making him get his hopes up. Because, really, what does she care what he does when he’s away from the office?
He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want from me?”
She raises her eyes to meet his and they’re this amazing blue and for a second he can allow himself to imagine what it would be like to be with Pam always. To fight with her--not like this, not over mean and ugly accusations but over stupid things… And he wonders what it would be like to make up…to hold her in his arms and make love to her while he convinced her how sorry he was for whatever stupid thing it was he did, like drinking out of the milk carton or leaving his wet towel on the bathroom floor or…anything, really. Anything that didn’t hurt like this does.
And he shouldn’t think these things because Pam is engaged and he’s living his little fantasy life in his head while she’s still in the real world with her plans and her wedding and her happily ever after.
But there’s just something… He can’t stop. She’s under his skin and in his head and in his fucking bleeding heart.
“God, I don’t even… I’m sorry,” he says softly.
He’s gesticulating wildly-one of his bad habits that he just can’t break. And she’s looking at him, just looking like she’s never seen him before. He takes a deep breath and calms himself down.
“I don’t know what I’m saying. I can’t…” He shakes his head and there go his hands again… “Look, I just… I can’t talk to you about this. Can we drop it? I mean, is that possible?”
“Okay. And I’m sorry. I really am. I know you wouldn’t--” She stops, bites her lip. “I’m sorry.”
He closes his eyes. He can’t look at her now.
“I know, but I can’t, okay? I can’t do this. It kills me to be like this with you and I…” His eyes snap open and it takes him a moment to focus on her face. “I have to go.”
“Go where? It’s the middle of the day,” she says, concerned.
“I just… I need to clear my head,” he says and in two long strides he’s at the door.
He reaches for the handle, but Pam’s hand covers his. It’s warm and soft and familiar.
“Let me go with you,” she pleads.
He tilts his head to the side.
“That kind of defeats the purpose.”
“Jim,” she urges, rubbing his wrist.
“What?”
Her eyes are looking straight into his, begging him just to let it go. Just this one time let them not make a huge deal about this. Forgive her.
“I don’t want us to be like this. I don’t want to fight with you,” she says in a small voice.
From anyone else, he might take that as just an excuse, just something someone says without really thinking about it, like “pass the mustard”, but from Pam, he knows she means it. She hates it when they fight just as much as he does. See, the thing is, with Pam, most of the time, not always, but most of the time, he doesn’t even have to make complete sentences. They just read each that well. So he can tell when she means something and when she’s sorry.
“I know.”
“So?”
“So, what?”
“Can I come?”
He rolls his eyes. He thinks, sometimes, that Pam knows exactly how much power she has over him, because she’s giving him this look. The look that he has never once said no to and he can’t turn her away.
And that’s the crux of it. She’s another bad habit that he just can’t break.
“Fine, but you have to navigate. You know how to use a map, right?”
“Uh…,” she falters.
“Fine, I’ll navigate, you drive,” he says, tossing her the keys.
They make it out of the elevator and down onto the parking lot without any casualties. Jim doesn’t look at her. He just keeps walking, one foot in front of the other. He’s not really sure what she’s thinking or feeling, but he’s pretty much just a well of confusion.
“Jim? Where exactly are we going?”
“Coney Island.”
“Coney Island!”
“Trust me, okay?”
He opens the door for her and she slips into the driver’s seat. She’s too far from the steering wheel. Sometimes he forgets how small she really is. He laughs softly and reaches to adjust the seat for her. He moves in and he’s so close. Close enough to smell her shampoo and feel the heat coming off of her and when his fingers tremble just a little, he accidentally brushes her arm. And he’s touching the soft cotton fabric of her shirt but he memorizes the gentle slide across her arm as if he were touching the most delicate part of her.
She turns her head and he realizes that he’s just staring at her shoulder and the seat is closer to the steering wheel and he still hasn’t moved.
“Sorry,” he says and shakes his head.
The walk around the car feels much longer than it is, like each second is ticking by too slow and all he can think is that something monumental is about to happen. When he finally gets into the passenger side he can feel the heat in his cheeks spreading all the way down his neck.
He’s silent for a quarter of a mile, until he can’t take the silence any longer and flips on the radio. He fiddles with the dials until he finds a respectable song and then he leans back far in his seat and every once in a while gives Pam brief directions.
“You’re going to take another right at the next light.”
“Okay,” she says and does as he says.
“Here we are,” he says and points her toward a vacant parking spot.
“And where is here?” she says, looking out the front window for hints.
“Look.”
“Coney Island Lunch. Clever, Halpert.”
They order hot dogs and Jim teases her about the time she used hot sauce at the office Hot Dog Eating Competition two years ago, when Michael’s camaraderie theme was “taking a bite out of the competition.”
Pam’s picking at her fries and Jim is chewing on a toothpick. They’re both too busy worrying about saying the wrong thing that they don’t say anything at all.
“Do you ever people listen?” Pam says, breaking the silence.
“Come again?”
“That’s what she said!”
Jim rolls his eyes. It’s weird how when you work with someone you pick up their sayings and sometimes their mannerisms. It just happens. But Pam choosing Michael to emulate is just wrong on so many levels.
“Uh, Pam, so sad.”
“Whatever.”
“Okay, so how and what is “people listening”?” Jim says, leaning forward in his chair to hear her above the late-lunch crowd.
“It’s like people watching but with sound,” she explains, excited.
“Okay. I kinda like just your straight-up traditional people watching.”
“People watching is for amateurs. Trust me, you’ll like this better.”
“So what do we do?”
“We just sit back and listen,” she says, matter-of-factly
“It sounds very difficult, but I think I’ll give it a try.”
Jims sits back in his chair, his eyes trained straight ahead at Pam. She squishes up her face and sticks out her tongue. He follows her back into adolescence and sticks out his own tongue. Pam points to her ear, then at Jim. He gets the message and tries to focus on a conversation amongst all the chatter in the restaurant.
A couple to the right of them catches his eye. He leans a little in his chair and listens in.
“What are you having?”
“The chicken, I think.”
“Hmm. I was thinking I would have the chicken, but I changed my mind and I think I’ll go with the chili dog, with coleslaw on the side.”
“Sounds good. I’ll get that, too.”
Jim scoots closer to the table.
“This is lame.”
Pam rolls her eyes and presses her finger to her mouth.
“Shh, just give it a minute.”
Again Jim tries to pick out an interesting piece of conversation.
“I think I want to get something pierced.”
Jim raises his eyebrows.
“Um.”
“Jim!” she pleads.
“Hey, you watch Lost last night?”
“Yeah, dude, I can’t believe that chick’s pregnant!”
“I bet the doc knocked her up.”
“That makes no sense!”
“When does this show ever make sense?”
“I had that episode saved on TiVo and now I’m spoiled,” Jim informs her, mock-annoyed.
“If you’re not going to take this seriously--”
“No, come on, I will.”
Jim picks a new target. There’s a young couple in a booth. They ‘re obviously in love and there’s something almost sweet about them. In another lifetime…
“We’ve been seeing each other for a long time and…”
“Yes?”
“Oh, my God, I think he’s going to ask her to marry him,” Pam says, brining her hand up to cover the inevitable squeal.
“No, I think he’s going to ask her to pass him the ketchup.”
“We shall see,” she says, challengingly.
“I was just…Um, I’m trying to think of the right way… Whew, this isn’t easy.”
“He’s breaking up with her,” Jim says, smugly.
“No. He’s going to ask.”
She’s positive. There is no doubt in Pam’s mind that they are witnessing an engagement. Jim can see the almost innocent excitement taking hold of her.
“For the ketchup.”
“No, for her hand.”
“And what is he going to do with her hand once he gets it?”
“Funny.”
“So, um…uh, would you, uh…pass me the salt?”
“Ooh, so close!”
“Shh. He’s nervous. That’s so sweet.”
Jim’s focus remains on Pam, even when her attention shifts back to the couple. His eyes land on her hands folded on the table. The shine of the diamond on her ring finger shatters him back to reality and the pit of his stomach drops.
“So, hey, how did Roy propose?”
The second the question is out of his mouth he regrets it. Way to ruin the fun, Halpert!
Her head snaps back to him.
“Oh, um.”
He frowns.
“Was that--”
“No, it’s okay,” she says, unconsciously twisting the band of the ring on her finger. “He, um-Wait, do you really want to hear this?”
It’s not like he can back out now. He really doesn’t want to hear all the saccharine details. But Pam’s his friend and he can’t… He has to be supportive.
“Yeah, I do.”
“It’s not some great story. Not like--”
“Over burgers at Coney Island lunch?”
“Yeah,” she answers, with a note of appreciation.
“Go ahead.”
“Well, it was his brother’s birthday. We went for the party-he lives in Olyphant with Roy’s mother. Anyway, it was after dinner and everyone was just relaxing when he just kind of blurted it out. He gave me his grandmother’s ring. It was simple, nice. It wasn’t… It was nice.”
“Oh.”
What else can he say?
She looks down and laughs tightly.
“Yeah. You know, it’s nothing like what little girls dream about. I mean, that’s why they’re called dreams, right?”
She takes a deep breath and meets his eye, as if looking for confirmation. They lock eyes and hold.
“Sure.”
The sound of clapping breaks the spell and Pam looks away. Her cheeks are a bit pink and her eyes are a little glossy.
Jim clears his throat.
“I guess she said yes.”
“Was there any doubt? Look at all the people in here.”
“What do you mean?”
Pam shakes her head. She searches through her purse as if looking for the right answer. She comes up with a jar of lip gloss instead.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just…I mean she couldn’t exactly say no with an audience, could she?”
Jim watches her eyes dart around the room and flicker as if trying to fight back tears. But that must be his imagination.
“I guess not.”
They’re silent for a while, until the waitress brings them another round of drinks. They both mumble a “thanks” and look away from each other. Jim concentrates on the music coming from the old-fashioned juke box in the corner. He picks a spot in the room and concentrates on it as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. The minutes tick by slowly. One song ends and another begins. And Jim thinks about how half of their conversations are made up of the things they don’t say.
“Iced tea makes me pee,” Pam announces, breaking the tension and smiling. Then, presumably, realizing what she’s just said, she giggles to herself. “I didn’t mean for that to rhyme.”
“Sure, you didn’t,” Jim says, relaxing back in his chair. He stretches out his legs and accidentally hits her foot under the table. “Sorry.”
“No problem,” she says and takes another sip of her drink, sucking on the straw until the liquid is drained from the glass and all she’s sucking up is air.
“Okay, I think you’ve had enough,” he says and pushes the glass away from her.
It reminds him of that night at Chili’s and the whole “second drink” debacle and the way she kissed him. It feels so similar that it’s almost physically painful. He loosens his tie and undoes the first two buttons of his dress shirt. The air suddenly feels very thick and cloying.
“I’m not drunk, Jim,” she says, very seriously, like he’s going to disagree. He can’t help laughing. Just the way she came out with it… It’s like she’s channeled Kelly. If she starts talking about everything in the world that is cool, he might have to reconsider his little “crush.”
“Ok-ay,” he says, slowly. “It’s just, I don’t think it’s so much the iced tea as it is the vast quantity of iced tea you’ve drank--and you know, the alcohol might be a factor, as well-that’s making you have to, uh, go pee.”
He tugs off his jacket, setting it on the back of his chair and begins rolling up his sleeves.
“And I don’t even think there’s actual iced tea in one of those Long Island things,” he says, almost as an afterthought.
“Still doesn’t change the fact that I have to pee.”
“Thanks for, you know…sharing.”
“Look,” she says, pointing to the ladies room, “there’s a line-up for the bathroom. How does that make sense? It would be so much easier if I were a man.”
“Uh, how?”
“Uh, ‘cause then I could pee standing up, duh!”
“Oh, okay. Yeah. I just…I have nothing to combat that statement right there.”
“Don’t get all weird. It’s just…you never see a line-up for the men’s room.”
“So then use the men’s room.”
She wrinkles up her nose.
“Gross.”
“You didn’t seem to have any trouble with it a few months ago.”
“That was different,” she says, softly.
Jim nods.
“I guess I better get in line. Wish me luck. I’m not sure if I can hold it.”
“Wait, hang on,” he says, standing, and gently tugs on her arm just as she’s stepping past him. Suddenly she’s very close to him and he’s looking down into her eyes and maybe she is just a little drunk, but she’s looking right back without apology.
“Uh--Um,” he stutters and releases her from his grasp. His hand hovers in the air without purpose, itching to touch her bare skin, until he finally shoves it into his pocket and squelches all urges to do just that.
Grabbing his jacket off the chair, he rolls it into a tight ball and hands it to her.
“And this is for…?”
“Shove it under your shirt,” he whispers against her ear, his lips just barely brushing her temple.
For a minute she does nothing, just stands there, frozen. When he steps back and looks at her, she finally snaps out of it. He draws his eyebrows together, concerned. “Pam?”
“What? Oh. Um, sorry. Why, um, why am I doing this?”
“Do you honestly think they’re going to let a pregnant woman stand in line to use the bathroom?”
A light flickers behind her eyes and he sees that she gets it. She shakes her head and he nods. They have a silent argument, until one of his hands reaches for hers and his other, very carefully, lifts her shirt away from the flat expanse of her stomach. He looks over his shoulder to make sure they don’t have an audience before he guides her hands and the suit jacket closer and closer to her stomach, until the back of his hand touches the smooth skin of her hip and she lets out an inaudible gasp.
And he really wants to kiss her.
He doesn’t. Instead he folds her shirt back over the bundle that is now extending from her stomach and takes a step back to admire her.
He’s not quite prepared for the vision that greets him. Pam does, indeed, look like she is pregnant. And it takes him a moment to swallow past the lump in his throat. Because one day she will be pregnant with someone else’s child and he’ll have to watch it all happen.
Pam’s cheeks are flushed and her breathing is just as uneven as his. There’s a lock of hair that has escaped the thing she uses to tie it up with, and moving it back in place is the only thing he can think of doing. But he shoves his hands in his pockets making a pre-emptive strike.
“You’re so going to hell.”
“What? Oh, yeah, I know. The stuff I’ve done to Dwight alone should guarantee me a spot.”
She smiles, spins around, holding her middle and arching her back. She looks over her shoulder and winks. “I’ll probably see you there.”
He laughs and watches as person-by-person she makes her way to the front of the line and into the bathroom. Once she’s out of sight, he sinks into his chair and further loosens his tie.
They decide it’s best to wait until they get outside before Pam “gives birth” to his jacket, but it makes the next couple of hours torture. Somehow they lose track of the time as they reminisce. When it starts to get dark, they decide it’s probably time to go. Everyone in the office will have to wait until tomorrow to lecture them. And by everyone, they mean Dwight. Jim can almost hear the interrogation already.
Jim insists on paying their bill, even when Pam reaches into her purse for a twenty. He awkwardly folds the money in her hand and tells her she can pay next time. They suck on complimentary mints as they head back to the car, debating on the merits of cinnamon as apposed to peppermint. Once they’re far enough away, Pam hands him back his jacket. It’s warm and it smells like women’s perfume as he drapes it over his shoulders and fits his arms through the openings. He wonders, distractedly, if she saw him smelling the lining.
Jim gets behind the wheel this time. Sober enough to drive and buzzed enough to reach across to grab her seat belt and buckle her in place.
“Safety first, Pam,” he says and it comes out a little husky.
This time he makes no excuse for their closeness. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him and the pit of his stomach drops. His grip tightens on the wheel and he laughs it off.
“Can we just drive around for a little while?” Pam asks, sitting a little sideways and resting her head on the corner of the seat so she’s looking at him.
“Sure,” he says.
It seems like they drive for hours as they circle around Scranton, talking about their favourite places and how this town is different or the same compared to the ones they grew up in.
It’s weird, but for the first time, he feels like he’s really getting to know Pam. He always knew there were sides to her that he knew nothing about, but, right now, outside of the office and without the scrutinizing eye of their co-workers and the cameras, he sees the lighter side of her, the side that he’s only gotten glimpses of over the years. And he knows, that all the planning he’s done, all the months of separating himself from her, have been for naught, because he’s just as in love with her as he’s ever been, if not more so.
“You want to go somewhere?” he says, looking at her when they hit a stoplight.
“Sure,” she says. No hesitation.
When they pull up to Steamtown’s National Historic Site, he still hasn’t really formulated a plan. The place has been closed for hours, but lucky for them Jim just happens to know which door has a busted lock. And since, in all the years since he’s lived here, Scranton’s budget hasn’t allotted the hundred bucks it would cost to fix the door, he’s pretty sure they’ll be able to get in.
He gets out of the car first and sprints around to the passenger’s side before Pam even has her door open. He opens it for her with a cursory bow and laughs when she calls him a dork. She does, however, take his hand when he offers it and lets him drag her around to the other side of the site. When he lets go of her hand, his own hand feels cool and clammy and he hopes that she doesn’t realize he’s actually nervous. He feels like a fifth grader, sweaty palms and schoolboy crushes included.
“Now, just stick close and no sudden movements. Harry tends to get a little trigger happy,” he whispers, as he trudges forward.
“What!” she says and grabs hold of his arm, yanking it hard enough for him to wince.
“Relax, I’m kidding. Harry retired three years ago.”
Pam rolls her eyes, but doesn’t let go of his arm.
“This is insane!”
“It is, a little,” he says smiling back at her.
“Are we really breaking in?”
He’s not sure if there’s excitement or fear in her voice. Maybe it’s a little of both.
“Sort of. If you want to call it that. See, technically, we’re not breaking in if it’s already open.”
“This is illegal. We could get arrested.”
If he tells her she sounds a little like Angela right now she’d probably hit him, so he doesn’t take the risk.
“Not likely. A buddy of mine is head of security. If we get caught--”
“What do you mean “if we get caught,” Jim?”
Her eyes are wide and he wants to laugh at the expression on her face, but he also wants to pull her close and hold onto this moment. Just…hold it so tight in his hand so that it will stay with him forever. She doesn’t even know.
“Calm down, Beesley,” he says, shaking his head.
Suddenly she stops. Her lips slowly curl into a smile.
“Hmm. This is something I didn’t know about you.”
“What’s that?” he says, distracted as they come to the door that will lead them inside.
“You’re a rebel, Halpert.”
“Yeah, me and James Dean. Total rebels.”
She laughs and then covers her mouth to block the sound.
“I think I like it,” she tells him, smiling mischievously.
“Come on, Rebel Without a Cause.”
Pam slips inside right behind him and when he stops to check for noises she runs right into his back. Her hands grapple with his clothes in an attempt to steady herself and something primal stirs deep inside him. Because of their vast height difference, when her hands reach out for something solid they land dangerously close to being below the belt. Thankfully she gets her bearings and they avoid disaster, but not before he feels her warm fingers burning through his clothes and making him feel a little off-kilter.
“You okay?” he whispers in the darkened alleyway.
“Yeah, sorry,” she answers back.
He’s too frazzled to say anything else on the subject so he lets it drop.
The place isn’t lit well and navigating in the dark isn’t as hard as one would think. There’s a soft glow coming from the few lights still on, creating a very nice atmosphere. If he were more optimistic, he’d even call it romantic.
Jim takes them on a walking tour of all the old trains, explaining to Pam the brief history he knows about most of them, he fudges the rest, but she doesn’t call him on it.
“Let’s sit.”
“In there?” she says, pointing to a trolley car.
“Sure, why not.”
She shrugs and holds out her hand for Jim to help her into the car.
Jim takes the seat across from her and rubs his sweating palms off on his dress pants.
“So, listen--”
“Jim, before you say anything I just want to apologies for the way I’ve been acting lately. Especially today. What I asked… It was rude and inappropriate and I’m sorry.”
For a second he’s speechless. He opens his mouth to speak and nothing comes out. And then he can’t think of anything to say except for how he feels. But he can’t actually tell her because this will all go away and he just wants to hold on for a little while longer. So he says nothing at all and just gives her a nod of understanding. That’s really all she wants him to say…or not say. Whatever. It’s just his imagination that there’s something pleading in her eyes and that when her hand lands on his knee to still his nervous movements, she doesn’t remove it right away.
They talk for a little while about nothing, until the need to explore takes hold of them again.
They pass a tourist stand and Pam picks up a toy train and makes little choo-choo noises at him like he’s her five-year-old brother.
“Very mature,” he chastises, but she’s not listening. She’s left the train on the counter and is busily flipping through maps and books and fondling tacky mugs and shot glasses.
Jim leans against the stand and watches Pam just being herself, completely unguarded. His stomach does these little flips when she looks at him, holding these gaudy earrings next to her ears, smiling big and bright.
“What do you think?”
“They’re totally you. Yeah, the little gears and, um, engine totally brings out your eyes.”
“Thank you,” she says, laughing. The earrings get put back and after a little more nosey exploration, Pam sets her sights on something else.
“We should take our picture, so we’ll always remember this.”
“We don’t have a camera. And it looks like they’re fresh out of disposables,” he says, pointing to the empty display.
“Come with me.”
She takes his hand and pulls him along. He doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going, just trusts her to lead him. He watches her fingers twitch against his palm and all he can think is how perfectly her hand fits inside of his.
Destination found, Pam drops his hand. The loss immediately produces a dull ache in his chest.
They’ve stopped in front of a photo booth. It’s one of those kitschy ones most often seen in malls and carnivals.
Pam searches for the cord and, once found, plugs it in. The ancient machine flickers to life and her face lights up.
“This is awesome,” she says, in a quiet voice. “It’s like a family tradition to take really cheesy photos every time we go somewhere new and touristy. I swear I have albums full of stupid pictures from trips when I was a kid.”
“I’d like to see those some time. I think it’s only fair I see pictures of you being a dork, since I did kind of let you see my high school yearbook photo,” he says, his voice just as hushed.
“Maybe. We’ll negotiate the terms later.”
That sounds awfully flirty to him.
Jim steps closer to the machine and deposits three dollars into the slot. He ducks, trying to maneuver his way into the small space. There’s a faded picture of a train track that exemplifies cheese behind the seat and a blue curtain. When he reaches to pull the curtain, Pam grabs his hand to stop him.
“Leave the train tracks, okay? I just…I want to remember it just like this.”
Pam is still hovering outside of the booth as Jim tries to make himself comfortable on the low and lone stool.
She bites her lip.
“Can I…?”
“What?”
Her eyes shift and suddenly he knows what she’s trying to ask. The only way they’re going to both fit is if Pam sits on his lap.
“These are a lot smaller than I remember,” she says, stalling
“Yeah, it’s going to be a tight fit. Here,” he says and reaches his long arms out toward her. He places his hands on her hips, gently pulling her into the booth and onto his lap. It’s awkward for half-a-second until she relaxes against him. She loops her arm around his neck and he can’t help looking at her.
Their noses are practically touching and when they both shift at the same time, their heads collide. Jim feels Pam’s cool hands lightly rubbing his forehead.
“Oh, God, you’re going to have a big goose egg. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says, because he can’t get anything else out.
Her fingers are still touching his skin, exploring the lines of his forehead. It’s almost impossible not to wince when she touches him just above the eyebrow. The pain has long faded, but he knows the skin there is still an angry red and a little puckered. It hurts, though, and not in a physical way.
“I told you you’d have a scar,” she whispers, bringing her fingers down to stroke the stubbly skin of his cheeks.
His eyes lock with hers and he has to fight the urge to mimic her actions. Just as he’s about to respond a bright light floods their small cocoon-like structure and blinks brightly in front of them. He’s temporarily blinded. But his hearing is working just fine and Pam’s giggles bring his smile to the surface.
“If you’re not quiet, they’ll be using these pictures for our mug-shots,” he says, mock-sternly, in an attempt to control the situation, but it just makes her laugh harder.
The flash fills the space again and again and again until their three dollars are spent and Pam’s holding her stomach from laughing so hard.
He doesn’t realize how tightly he’s clinging to her until she squirms out of his grasp and situates herself in front of the booth, waiting for their photos to drop.
By the time he collects himself enough to stand next to her, she’s already holding the photos in her hand and smiling down at the strip of four pictures.
He looks at them over her shoulder and he hears her little sigh of contentment.
“These are great,” she says and hands them to him for a closer look.
“So which one can I have?”
“You don’t get any,” she teases.
“Um, okay, except I did pay for them.”
“And I appreciate that, but these are going in one of my photo albums,” she says and snatches them from him, skipping toward the exit sign where they snuck in to begin with.
Jim follows her out, shaking his head.
In the car, Pam is still clutching the photos against her chest. For a minute, Jim wonders if she’s drifted off as he makes a right and catches a glimpse of her closed eyes. Her head lolls to the side and she blinks her eyes open.
“I haven’t had this much fun since-Actually, I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun. Thanks,” she says, sleepily.
“No, thank you. For tagging along.”
“Oh,” she says, sitting upright, now fully alert.
She turns her head to look out the window and Jim chuckles.
“I’m kidding.”
Pam sticks her tongue out at him. She gives the pictures in her hand one last look before stuffing them into her purse.
“We, uh, we should probably get back or whatever.”
“Wow, it’s really late,” she says, checking her watch.
Jim clears his throat.
“I guess I should get you home.”
“Actually…”
“What?”
Her whole posture shrinks.
“I’m not…” she starts and then shakes her head, “I’m kind of staying with a friend right now.”
The information floors him and it takes great strength to keep his composure. What does this mean? Are Pam and Roy fighting? Have they split up?
No.
He can’t get his hopes up like this again.
He can’t
It doesn’t have to mean anything. He read somewhere, once, that sometimes engaged couples that live together live apart in the months before the wedding to…why the hell couldn’t he remember? There was an article about it. He remembers reading it, but the details…they elude him.
Trying to make sense of it proves impossible and a coherent response is unlikely. Instead he babbles something. He’s not even really sure what he’s saying.
“Oh. I-I didn’t know. Do you want to…you know, talk, about it?”
“Not tonight. Maybe another time. We should probably just… Thanks, though.”
“Yeah, no. Okay.”
Title: Bad Habits (2/3)
Rating: PG-13
Author: Heath07
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, etc.
Summary: Sequel/Companion to Maintaining the Lie. Pam/Jim What happens after?
Notes: Most of the stuff about Scranton is inaccurate. Sorry to any Scrantonites.
Part 2
Most of the time the days pass so slowly it’s hard to see when change happens. It’s an eventual progression that just sort of sneaks up on you out of nowhere. That’s kind of what Jim and Pam’s friendship was like, a slow build-up that, when they looked back, they couldn’t really ever determine how it had begun. And when it came crumbling down, Jim never thought they would be able to build it back up to what it was. But then something happened. He just…stopped. Stopped overanalyzing and pining and waiting for the right time to say something. He moved on.
At least that’s what he thought...
So, if he is this evolved person that he claims to be…why does he still care so deeply?
The wedding is called off…or postponed or…whatever. The wedding in question, of course, being Pam and Roy’s. It’s a couple of months before the date that Roy drunkenly announced on the Booze Cruise. Jim’s not sure whether he’s relieved or annoyed.
Pam has been really down lately. There’s something in her eyes every time he looks at her, but he can’t quite pinpoint what it is.
They’ve made it a habit not to talk about Roy or any of the girls he sees. Not that there have been that many. His relationships have a tendency to fizzle out before they ever really get going. So, okay, there have been a few girls. But now there’s one girl. And she’s great. Really great. Her name is Jennifer-a simple ordinary name. She goes by Jen, which is even simpler. So, it’s cool. They both have the whole shortened name thing going for them. Uh, not unlike a certain receptionist that he is totally over.
And he can see it all now, Jim and Jen, super-couple of the year. Because that’s how people will start to refer to them until their two names become synonymous and you can’t mention one without the other. Jim and Jen. That’s them.
They’re perfect for each other. It’s kismet, really.
So, Jen is a really down-to-earth, caring person. She’s great, really. She comes from a big family, has a really awesome sense of humour... She has this thing about sunblock... She’s always applying it and putting it on him. It should bother him, but it never does. It just makes him smile.
They’re a good match, but something… He can see himself falling in love with her.
He can see it, but he can’t feel it.
The conversation is great. The sex is great. Even the quiet moments are great. They could have a good future, but…
It all comes back to the idea that he’s got Pam on such a high pedestal, no one else can possibly measure up.
Sometimes Jim thinks he shouldn’t have to work so hard to convince himself he’s happy.
Pam has told him that he’s different when he talks to her…when he talks about her. He hasn’t really noticed. Last night, everyone in the office went out for drinks and he introduced Jen to the gang. Pam didn’t talk to him for the rest of the night. And the whole time he had a sick feeling in his stomach, like he felt guilty…like he was somehow cheating on Pam and the fantasy life he’d created in his head.
This morning when he got to work, she gave him the cold shoulder. And then at lunch, she sent him a dirty look and ate at her desk.
He’s not sure what he did, specifically, but he knows that Pam knows now how serious he is about this new relationship. She knows they’re more than just dating, that they’ve been intimate. You kiss someone differently after you have been with them in that way... And it didn’t help that Kevin and the warehouse guys kept giving him high fives all night and none-too-discreetly espousing how hot his date looked and started rumours when they both just so happened to need to use the bathroom and payphone at the same time. It wasn’t his fault the battery in his cell died or that the bathroom and phone were in the same general vicinity. Nothing happened, but the word was already out there. Then Pam caught Jim kissing Jen against the door of his car while she waited for Roy to pull around with the truck and pick her up.
And, okay, so maybe he liked the idea that Pam was a little jealous. And maybe he feels a little guilty for using Jen like that. And maybe he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing anymore!
So that’s why he finds himself trapped in the conference room with Pam staring up at him and asking questions. Questions she doesn’t have the right to ask. Questions he doesn’t want to answer.
“Did you…?”
“Did I what?”
“Sleep with her,” she says quietly, staring at the floor, like looking him in the eye is something she’s never done before…like it’s painful.
“Pam.”
Her voice is hoarse.
“I just think it’s totally-- I mean the bathroom at Chili’s, Jim?”
His heart is beating too fast in his chest for it to be normal. And he can feel the anger wrapping around him, feel it building to a crescendo.
“I can’t believe you would think that about me!” he flings back, his eyes penetrating hers.
She looks away.
“I don’t. I don’t know why-- It’s just Roy and those guys… Forget it; it’s none of my business.”
He’s angry. Really, truly, angry.
Maybe it’s the mention of Roy or her apparent horrible opinion of him, but he can’t just stand there and take it anymore.
“You’re right, it’s not. I mean, I don’t ask you if you and Roy…” He rolls his eyes and lets his hand rest on the back of one of the chairs. He needs something stable to keep him upright. “I mean, obviously…so I don’t. And what I do and who I do it with… ” His tone is clipped, controlled.
Jim closes his eyes and for a minute he can pretend that none of this is really happening. They’re not fighting about him moving on. And Pam is not, once again, making him get his hopes up. Because, really, what does she care what he does when he’s away from the office?
He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want from me?”
She raises her eyes to meet his and they’re this amazing blue and for a second he can allow himself to imagine what it would be like to be with Pam always. To fight with her--not like this, not over mean and ugly accusations but over stupid things… And he wonders what it would be like to make up…to hold her in his arms and make love to her while he convinced her how sorry he was for whatever stupid thing it was he did, like drinking out of the milk carton or leaving his wet towel on the bathroom floor or…anything, really. Anything that didn’t hurt like this does.
And he shouldn’t think these things because Pam is engaged and he’s living his little fantasy life in his head while she’s still in the real world with her plans and her wedding and her happily ever after.
But there’s just something… He can’t stop. She’s under his skin and in his head and in his fucking bleeding heart.
“God, I don’t even… I’m sorry,” he says softly.
He’s gesticulating wildly-one of his bad habits that he just can’t break. And she’s looking at him, just looking like she’s never seen him before. He takes a deep breath and calms himself down.
“I don’t know what I’m saying. I can’t…” He shakes his head and there go his hands again… “Look, I just… I can’t talk to you about this. Can we drop it? I mean, is that possible?”
“Okay. And I’m sorry. I really am. I know you wouldn’t--” She stops, bites her lip. “I’m sorry.”
He closes his eyes. He can’t look at her now.
“I know, but I can’t, okay? I can’t do this. It kills me to be like this with you and I…” His eyes snap open and it takes him a moment to focus on her face. “I have to go.”
“Go where? It’s the middle of the day,” she says, concerned.
“I just… I need to clear my head,” he says and in two long strides he’s at the door.
He reaches for the handle, but Pam’s hand covers his. It’s warm and soft and familiar.
“Let me go with you,” she pleads.
He tilts his head to the side.
“That kind of defeats the purpose.”
“Jim,” she urges, rubbing his wrist.
“What?”
Her eyes are looking straight into his, begging him just to let it go. Just this one time let them not make a huge deal about this. Forgive her.
“I don’t want us to be like this. I don’t want to fight with you,” she says in a small voice.
From anyone else, he might take that as just an excuse, just something someone says without really thinking about it, like “pass the mustard”, but from Pam, he knows she means it. She hates it when they fight just as much as he does. See, the thing is, with Pam, most of the time, not always, but most of the time, he doesn’t even have to make complete sentences. They just read each that well. So he can tell when she means something and when she’s sorry.
“I know.”
“So?”
“So, what?”
“Can I come?”
He rolls his eyes. He thinks, sometimes, that Pam knows exactly how much power she has over him, because she’s giving him this look. The look that he has never once said no to and he can’t turn her away.
And that’s the crux of it. She’s another bad habit that he just can’t break.
“Fine, but you have to navigate. You know how to use a map, right?”
“Uh…,” she falters.
“Fine, I’ll navigate, you drive,” he says, tossing her the keys.
They make it out of the elevator and down onto the parking lot without any casualties. Jim doesn’t look at her. He just keeps walking, one foot in front of the other. He’s not really sure what she’s thinking or feeling, but he’s pretty much just a well of confusion.
“Jim? Where exactly are we going?”
“Coney Island.”
“Coney Island!”
“Trust me, okay?”
He opens the door for her and she slips into the driver’s seat. She’s too far from the steering wheel. Sometimes he forgets how small she really is. He laughs softly and reaches to adjust the seat for her. He moves in and he’s so close. Close enough to smell her shampoo and feel the heat coming off of her and when his fingers tremble just a little, he accidentally brushes her arm. And he’s touching the soft cotton fabric of her shirt but he memorizes the gentle slide across her arm as if he were touching the most delicate part of her.
She turns her head and he realizes that he’s just staring at her shoulder and the seat is closer to the steering wheel and he still hasn’t moved.
“Sorry,” he says and shakes his head.
The walk around the car feels much longer than it is, like each second is ticking by too slow and all he can think is that something monumental is about to happen. When he finally gets into the passenger side he can feel the heat in his cheeks spreading all the way down his neck.
He’s silent for a quarter of a mile, until he can’t take the silence any longer and flips on the radio. He fiddles with the dials until he finds a respectable song and then he leans back far in his seat and every once in a while gives Pam brief directions.
“You’re going to take another right at the next light.”
“Okay,” she says and does as he says.
“Here we are,” he says and points her toward a vacant parking spot.
“And where is here?” she says, looking out the front window for hints.
“Look.”
“Coney Island Lunch. Clever, Halpert.”
They order hot dogs and Jim teases her about the time she used hot sauce at the office Hot Dog Eating Competition two years ago, when Michael’s camaraderie theme was “taking a bite out of the competition.”
Pam’s picking at her fries and Jim is chewing on a toothpick. They’re both too busy worrying about saying the wrong thing that they don’t say anything at all.
“Do you ever people listen?” Pam says, breaking the silence.
“Come again?”
“That’s what she said!”
Jim rolls his eyes. It’s weird how when you work with someone you pick up their sayings and sometimes their mannerisms. It just happens. But Pam choosing Michael to emulate is just wrong on so many levels.
“Uh, Pam, so sad.”
“Whatever.”
“Okay, so how and what is “people listening”?” Jim says, leaning forward in his chair to hear her above the late-lunch crowd.
“It’s like people watching but with sound,” she explains, excited.
“Okay. I kinda like just your straight-up traditional people watching.”
“People watching is for amateurs. Trust me, you’ll like this better.”
“So what do we do?”
“We just sit back and listen,” she says, matter-of-factly
“It sounds very difficult, but I think I’ll give it a try.”
Jims sits back in his chair, his eyes trained straight ahead at Pam. She squishes up her face and sticks out her tongue. He follows her back into adolescence and sticks out his own tongue. Pam points to her ear, then at Jim. He gets the message and tries to focus on a conversation amongst all the chatter in the restaurant.
A couple to the right of them catches his eye. He leans a little in his chair and listens in.
“What are you having?”
“The chicken, I think.”
“Hmm. I was thinking I would have the chicken, but I changed my mind and I think I’ll go with the chili dog, with coleslaw on the side.”
“Sounds good. I’ll get that, too.”
Jim scoots closer to the table.
“This is lame.”
Pam rolls her eyes and presses her finger to her mouth.
“Shh, just give it a minute.”
Again Jim tries to pick out an interesting piece of conversation.
“I think I want to get something pierced.”
Jim raises his eyebrows.
“Um.”
“Jim!” she pleads.
“Hey, you watch Lost last night?”
“Yeah, dude, I can’t believe that chick’s pregnant!”
“I bet the doc knocked her up.”
“That makes no sense!”
“When does this show ever make sense?”
“I had that episode saved on TiVo and now I’m spoiled,” Jim informs her, mock-annoyed.
“If you’re not going to take this seriously--”
“No, come on, I will.”
Jim picks a new target. There’s a young couple in a booth. They ‘re obviously in love and there’s something almost sweet about them. In another lifetime…
“We’ve been seeing each other for a long time and…”
“Yes?”
“Oh, my God, I think he’s going to ask her to marry him,” Pam says, brining her hand up to cover the inevitable squeal.
“No, I think he’s going to ask her to pass him the ketchup.”
“We shall see,” she says, challengingly.
“I was just…Um, I’m trying to think of the right way… Whew, this isn’t easy.”
“He’s breaking up with her,” Jim says, smugly.
“No. He’s going to ask.”
She’s positive. There is no doubt in Pam’s mind that they are witnessing an engagement. Jim can see the almost innocent excitement taking hold of her.
“For the ketchup.”
“No, for her hand.”
“And what is he going to do with her hand once he gets it?”
“Funny.”
“So, um…uh, would you, uh…pass me the salt?”
“Ooh, so close!”
“Shh. He’s nervous. That’s so sweet.”
Jim’s focus remains on Pam, even when her attention shifts back to the couple. His eyes land on her hands folded on the table. The shine of the diamond on her ring finger shatters him back to reality and the pit of his stomach drops.
“So, hey, how did Roy propose?”
The second the question is out of his mouth he regrets it. Way to ruin the fun, Halpert!
Her head snaps back to him.
“Oh, um.”
He frowns.
“Was that--”
“No, it’s okay,” she says, unconsciously twisting the band of the ring on her finger. “He, um-Wait, do you really want to hear this?”
It’s not like he can back out now. He really doesn’t want to hear all the saccharine details. But Pam’s his friend and he can’t… He has to be supportive.
“Yeah, I do.”
“It’s not some great story. Not like--”
“Over burgers at Coney Island lunch?”
“Yeah,” she answers, with a note of appreciation.
“Go ahead.”
“Well, it was his brother’s birthday. We went for the party-he lives in Olyphant with Roy’s mother. Anyway, it was after dinner and everyone was just relaxing when he just kind of blurted it out. He gave me his grandmother’s ring. It was simple, nice. It wasn’t… It was nice.”
“Oh.”
What else can he say?
She looks down and laughs tightly.
“Yeah. You know, it’s nothing like what little girls dream about. I mean, that’s why they’re called dreams, right?”
She takes a deep breath and meets his eye, as if looking for confirmation. They lock eyes and hold.
“Sure.”
The sound of clapping breaks the spell and Pam looks away. Her cheeks are a bit pink and her eyes are a little glossy.
Jim clears his throat.
“I guess she said yes.”
“Was there any doubt? Look at all the people in here.”
“What do you mean?”
Pam shakes her head. She searches through her purse as if looking for the right answer. She comes up with a jar of lip gloss instead.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just…I mean she couldn’t exactly say no with an audience, could she?”
Jim watches her eyes dart around the room and flicker as if trying to fight back tears. But that must be his imagination.
“I guess not.”
They’re silent for a while, until the waitress brings them another round of drinks. They both mumble a “thanks” and look away from each other. Jim concentrates on the music coming from the old-fashioned juke box in the corner. He picks a spot in the room and concentrates on it as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. The minutes tick by slowly. One song ends and another begins. And Jim thinks about how half of their conversations are made up of the things they don’t say.
“Iced tea makes me pee,” Pam announces, breaking the tension and smiling. Then, presumably, realizing what she’s just said, she giggles to herself. “I didn’t mean for that to rhyme.”
“Sure, you didn’t,” Jim says, relaxing back in his chair. He stretches out his legs and accidentally hits her foot under the table. “Sorry.”
“No problem,” she says and takes another sip of her drink, sucking on the straw until the liquid is drained from the glass and all she’s sucking up is air.
“Okay, I think you’ve had enough,” he says and pushes the glass away from her.
It reminds him of that night at Chili’s and the whole “second drink” debacle and the way she kissed him. It feels so similar that it’s almost physically painful. He loosens his tie and undoes the first two buttons of his dress shirt. The air suddenly feels very thick and cloying.
“I’m not drunk, Jim,” she says, very seriously, like he’s going to disagree. He can’t help laughing. Just the way she came out with it… It’s like she’s channeled Kelly. If she starts talking about everything in the world that is cool, he might have to reconsider his little “crush.”
“Ok-ay,” he says, slowly. “It’s just, I don’t think it’s so much the iced tea as it is the vast quantity of iced tea you’ve drank--and you know, the alcohol might be a factor, as well-that’s making you have to, uh, go pee.”
He tugs off his jacket, setting it on the back of his chair and begins rolling up his sleeves.
“And I don’t even think there’s actual iced tea in one of those Long Island things,” he says, almost as an afterthought.
“Still doesn’t change the fact that I have to pee.”
“Thanks for, you know…sharing.”
“Look,” she says, pointing to the ladies room, “there’s a line-up for the bathroom. How does that make sense? It would be so much easier if I were a man.”
“Uh, how?”
“Uh, ‘cause then I could pee standing up, duh!”
“Oh, okay. Yeah. I just…I have nothing to combat that statement right there.”
“Don’t get all weird. It’s just…you never see a line-up for the men’s room.”
“So then use the men’s room.”
She wrinkles up her nose.
“Gross.”
“You didn’t seem to have any trouble with it a few months ago.”
“That was different,” she says, softly.
Jim nods.
“I guess I better get in line. Wish me luck. I’m not sure if I can hold it.”
“Wait, hang on,” he says, standing, and gently tugs on her arm just as she’s stepping past him. Suddenly she’s very close to him and he’s looking down into her eyes and maybe she is just a little drunk, but she’s looking right back without apology.
“Uh--Um,” he stutters and releases her from his grasp. His hand hovers in the air without purpose, itching to touch her bare skin, until he finally shoves it into his pocket and squelches all urges to do just that.
Grabbing his jacket off the chair, he rolls it into a tight ball and hands it to her.
“And this is for…?”
“Shove it under your shirt,” he whispers against her ear, his lips just barely brushing her temple.
For a minute she does nothing, just stands there, frozen. When he steps back and looks at her, she finally snaps out of it. He draws his eyebrows together, concerned. “Pam?”
“What? Oh. Um, sorry. Why, um, why am I doing this?”
“Do you honestly think they’re going to let a pregnant woman stand in line to use the bathroom?”
A light flickers behind her eyes and he sees that she gets it. She shakes her head and he nods. They have a silent argument, until one of his hands reaches for hers and his other, very carefully, lifts her shirt away from the flat expanse of her stomach. He looks over his shoulder to make sure they don’t have an audience before he guides her hands and the suit jacket closer and closer to her stomach, until the back of his hand touches the smooth skin of her hip and she lets out an inaudible gasp.
And he really wants to kiss her.
He doesn’t. Instead he folds her shirt back over the bundle that is now extending from her stomach and takes a step back to admire her.
He’s not quite prepared for the vision that greets him. Pam does, indeed, look like she is pregnant. And it takes him a moment to swallow past the lump in his throat. Because one day she will be pregnant with someone else’s child and he’ll have to watch it all happen.
Pam’s cheeks are flushed and her breathing is just as uneven as his. There’s a lock of hair that has escaped the thing she uses to tie it up with, and moving it back in place is the only thing he can think of doing. But he shoves his hands in his pockets making a pre-emptive strike.
“You’re so going to hell.”
“What? Oh, yeah, I know. The stuff I’ve done to Dwight alone should guarantee me a spot.”
She smiles, spins around, holding her middle and arching her back. She looks over her shoulder and winks. “I’ll probably see you there.”
He laughs and watches as person-by-person she makes her way to the front of the line and into the bathroom. Once she’s out of sight, he sinks into his chair and further loosens his tie.
They decide it’s best to wait until they get outside before Pam “gives birth” to his jacket, but it makes the next couple of hours torture. Somehow they lose track of the time as they reminisce. When it starts to get dark, they decide it’s probably time to go. Everyone in the office will have to wait until tomorrow to lecture them. And by everyone, they mean Dwight. Jim can almost hear the interrogation already.
Jim insists on paying their bill, even when Pam reaches into her purse for a twenty. He awkwardly folds the money in her hand and tells her she can pay next time. They suck on complimentary mints as they head back to the car, debating on the merits of cinnamon as apposed to peppermint. Once they’re far enough away, Pam hands him back his jacket. It’s warm and it smells like women’s perfume as he drapes it over his shoulders and fits his arms through the openings. He wonders, distractedly, if she saw him smelling the lining.
Jim gets behind the wheel this time. Sober enough to drive and buzzed enough to reach across to grab her seat belt and buckle her in place.
“Safety first, Pam,” he says and it comes out a little husky.
This time he makes no excuse for their closeness. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him and the pit of his stomach drops. His grip tightens on the wheel and he laughs it off.
“Can we just drive around for a little while?” Pam asks, sitting a little sideways and resting her head on the corner of the seat so she’s looking at him.
“Sure,” he says.
It seems like they drive for hours as they circle around Scranton, talking about their favourite places and how this town is different or the same compared to the ones they grew up in.
It’s weird, but for the first time, he feels like he’s really getting to know Pam. He always knew there were sides to her that he knew nothing about, but, right now, outside of the office and without the scrutinizing eye of their co-workers and the cameras, he sees the lighter side of her, the side that he’s only gotten glimpses of over the years. And he knows, that all the planning he’s done, all the months of separating himself from her, have been for naught, because he’s just as in love with her as he’s ever been, if not more so.
“You want to go somewhere?” he says, looking at her when they hit a stoplight.
“Sure,” she says. No hesitation.
When they pull up to Steamtown’s National Historic Site, he still hasn’t really formulated a plan. The place has been closed for hours, but lucky for them Jim just happens to know which door has a busted lock. And since, in all the years since he’s lived here, Scranton’s budget hasn’t allotted the hundred bucks it would cost to fix the door, he’s pretty sure they’ll be able to get in.
He gets out of the car first and sprints around to the passenger’s side before Pam even has her door open. He opens it for her with a cursory bow and laughs when she calls him a dork. She does, however, take his hand when he offers it and lets him drag her around to the other side of the site. When he lets go of her hand, his own hand feels cool and clammy and he hopes that she doesn’t realize he’s actually nervous. He feels like a fifth grader, sweaty palms and schoolboy crushes included.
“Now, just stick close and no sudden movements. Harry tends to get a little trigger happy,” he whispers, as he trudges forward.
“What!” she says and grabs hold of his arm, yanking it hard enough for him to wince.
“Relax, I’m kidding. Harry retired three years ago.”
Pam rolls her eyes, but doesn’t let go of his arm.
“This is insane!”
“It is, a little,” he says smiling back at her.
“Are we really breaking in?”
He’s not sure if there’s excitement or fear in her voice. Maybe it’s a little of both.
“Sort of. If you want to call it that. See, technically, we’re not breaking in if it’s already open.”
“This is illegal. We could get arrested.”
If he tells her she sounds a little like Angela right now she’d probably hit him, so he doesn’t take the risk.
“Not likely. A buddy of mine is head of security. If we get caught--”
“What do you mean “if we get caught,” Jim?”
Her eyes are wide and he wants to laugh at the expression on her face, but he also wants to pull her close and hold onto this moment. Just…hold it so tight in his hand so that it will stay with him forever. She doesn’t even know.
“Calm down, Beesley,” he says, shaking his head.
Suddenly she stops. Her lips slowly curl into a smile.
“Hmm. This is something I didn’t know about you.”
“What’s that?” he says, distracted as they come to the door that will lead them inside.
“You’re a rebel, Halpert.”
“Yeah, me and James Dean. Total rebels.”
She laughs and then covers her mouth to block the sound.
“I think I like it,” she tells him, smiling mischievously.
“Come on, Rebel Without a Cause.”
Pam slips inside right behind him and when he stops to check for noises she runs right into his back. Her hands grapple with his clothes in an attempt to steady herself and something primal stirs deep inside him. Because of their vast height difference, when her hands reach out for something solid they land dangerously close to being below the belt. Thankfully she gets her bearings and they avoid disaster, but not before he feels her warm fingers burning through his clothes and making him feel a little off-kilter.
“You okay?” he whispers in the darkened alleyway.
“Yeah, sorry,” she answers back.
He’s too frazzled to say anything else on the subject so he lets it drop.
The place isn’t lit well and navigating in the dark isn’t as hard as one would think. There’s a soft glow coming from the few lights still on, creating a very nice atmosphere. If he were more optimistic, he’d even call it romantic.
Jim takes them on a walking tour of all the old trains, explaining to Pam the brief history he knows about most of them, he fudges the rest, but she doesn’t call him on it.
“Let’s sit.”
“In there?” she says, pointing to a trolley car.
“Sure, why not.”
She shrugs and holds out her hand for Jim to help her into the car.
Jim takes the seat across from her and rubs his sweating palms off on his dress pants.
“So, listen--”
“Jim, before you say anything I just want to apologies for the way I’ve been acting lately. Especially today. What I asked… It was rude and inappropriate and I’m sorry.”
For a second he’s speechless. He opens his mouth to speak and nothing comes out. And then he can’t think of anything to say except for how he feels. But he can’t actually tell her because this will all go away and he just wants to hold on for a little while longer. So he says nothing at all and just gives her a nod of understanding. That’s really all she wants him to say…or not say. Whatever. It’s just his imagination that there’s something pleading in her eyes and that when her hand lands on his knee to still his nervous movements, she doesn’t remove it right away.
They talk for a little while about nothing, until the need to explore takes hold of them again.
They pass a tourist stand and Pam picks up a toy train and makes little choo-choo noises at him like he’s her five-year-old brother.
“Very mature,” he chastises, but she’s not listening. She’s left the train on the counter and is busily flipping through maps and books and fondling tacky mugs and shot glasses.
Jim leans against the stand and watches Pam just being herself, completely unguarded. His stomach does these little flips when she looks at him, holding these gaudy earrings next to her ears, smiling big and bright.
“What do you think?”
“They’re totally you. Yeah, the little gears and, um, engine totally brings out your eyes.”
“Thank you,” she says, laughing. The earrings get put back and after a little more nosey exploration, Pam sets her sights on something else.
“We should take our picture, so we’ll always remember this.”
“We don’t have a camera. And it looks like they’re fresh out of disposables,” he says, pointing to the empty display.
“Come with me.”
She takes his hand and pulls him along. He doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going, just trusts her to lead him. He watches her fingers twitch against his palm and all he can think is how perfectly her hand fits inside of his.
Destination found, Pam drops his hand. The loss immediately produces a dull ache in his chest.
They’ve stopped in front of a photo booth. It’s one of those kitschy ones most often seen in malls and carnivals.
Pam searches for the cord and, once found, plugs it in. The ancient machine flickers to life and her face lights up.
“This is awesome,” she says, in a quiet voice. “It’s like a family tradition to take really cheesy photos every time we go somewhere new and touristy. I swear I have albums full of stupid pictures from trips when I was a kid.”
“I’d like to see those some time. I think it’s only fair I see pictures of you being a dork, since I did kind of let you see my high school yearbook photo,” he says, his voice just as hushed.
“Maybe. We’ll negotiate the terms later.”
That sounds awfully flirty to him.
Jim steps closer to the machine and deposits three dollars into the slot. He ducks, trying to maneuver his way into the small space. There’s a faded picture of a train track that exemplifies cheese behind the seat and a blue curtain. When he reaches to pull the curtain, Pam grabs his hand to stop him.
“Leave the train tracks, okay? I just…I want to remember it just like this.”
Pam is still hovering outside of the booth as Jim tries to make himself comfortable on the low and lone stool.
She bites her lip.
“Can I…?”
“What?”
Her eyes shift and suddenly he knows what she’s trying to ask. The only way they’re going to both fit is if Pam sits on his lap.
“These are a lot smaller than I remember,” she says, stalling
“Yeah, it’s going to be a tight fit. Here,” he says and reaches his long arms out toward her. He places his hands on her hips, gently pulling her into the booth and onto his lap. It’s awkward for half-a-second until she relaxes against him. She loops her arm around his neck and he can’t help looking at her.
Their noses are practically touching and when they both shift at the same time, their heads collide. Jim feels Pam’s cool hands lightly rubbing his forehead.
“Oh, God, you’re going to have a big goose egg. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says, because he can’t get anything else out.
Her fingers are still touching his skin, exploring the lines of his forehead. It’s almost impossible not to wince when she touches him just above the eyebrow. The pain has long faded, but he knows the skin there is still an angry red and a little puckered. It hurts, though, and not in a physical way.
“I told you you’d have a scar,” she whispers, bringing her fingers down to stroke the stubbly skin of his cheeks.
His eyes lock with hers and he has to fight the urge to mimic her actions. Just as he’s about to respond a bright light floods their small cocoon-like structure and blinks brightly in front of them. He’s temporarily blinded. But his hearing is working just fine and Pam’s giggles bring his smile to the surface.
“If you’re not quiet, they’ll be using these pictures for our mug-shots,” he says, mock-sternly, in an attempt to control the situation, but it just makes her laugh harder.
The flash fills the space again and again and again until their three dollars are spent and Pam’s holding her stomach from laughing so hard.
He doesn’t realize how tightly he’s clinging to her until she squirms out of his grasp and situates herself in front of the booth, waiting for their photos to drop.
By the time he collects himself enough to stand next to her, she’s already holding the photos in her hand and smiling down at the strip of four pictures.
He looks at them over her shoulder and he hears her little sigh of contentment.
“These are great,” she says and hands them to him for a closer look.
“So which one can I have?”
“You don’t get any,” she teases.
“Um, okay, except I did pay for them.”
“And I appreciate that, but these are going in one of my photo albums,” she says and snatches them from him, skipping toward the exit sign where they snuck in to begin with.
Jim follows her out, shaking his head.
In the car, Pam is still clutching the photos against her chest. For a minute, Jim wonders if she’s drifted off as he makes a right and catches a glimpse of her closed eyes. Her head lolls to the side and she blinks her eyes open.
“I haven’t had this much fun since-Actually, I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun. Thanks,” she says, sleepily.
“No, thank you. For tagging along.”
“Oh,” she says, sitting upright, now fully alert.
She turns her head to look out the window and Jim chuckles.
“I’m kidding.”
Pam sticks her tongue out at him. She gives the pictures in her hand one last look before stuffing them into her purse.
“We, uh, we should probably get back or whatever.”
“Wow, it’s really late,” she says, checking her watch.
Jim clears his throat.
“I guess I should get you home.”
“Actually…”
“What?”
Her whole posture shrinks.
“I’m not…” she starts and then shakes her head, “I’m kind of staying with a friend right now.”
The information floors him and it takes great strength to keep his composure. What does this mean? Are Pam and Roy fighting? Have they split up?
No.
He can’t get his hopes up like this again.
He can’t
It doesn’t have to mean anything. He read somewhere, once, that sometimes engaged couples that live together live apart in the months before the wedding to…why the hell couldn’t he remember? There was an article about it. He remembers reading it, but the details…they elude him.
Trying to make sense of it proves impossible and a coherent response is unlikely. Instead he babbles something. He’s not even really sure what he’s saying.
“Oh. I-I didn’t know. Do you want to…you know, talk, about it?”
“Not tonight. Maybe another time. We should probably just… Thanks, though.”
“Yeah, no. Okay.”