(Untitled)

[whitestshoes]

[OOM: Jim and Pam decide to get married. About nine hours before they decide to wait.]There's something different about Pam as she sits in the bar tonight

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[just_a_job]

Jim slides into the booth next to her, slinging his arm around her shoulders and kissing her cheek. "Hi."

[whitestshoes]

"Hi." She leans back against him, using him as an upright pillow of sorts, and nudges the plate in his direction.

"Want a cookie?"

[just_a_job]

"No, you can eat the cookies. Gotta eat for two." He whispers the words against her hair, grinning like a mad-man.

[whitestshoes]

The word two nearly makes her heart leap into her throat.

"I know," she says, unable to stop the smile that spreads on her face.

"Besides, these are some good cookies."

[just_a_job]

He kisses her head and pulls back so he can see her face. "Really? The best cookies ever?"

[whitestshoes]

"They're up there," Pam admits. "But I guess I shouldn't be surprised - these are Bar's cookies we're talking about."

She reaches for her tall, cold glass of milk.

[just_a_job]

"This is true. She's like...the best cook ever. Better than my Mom."

High praise from a son!

[whitestshoes]

"Your mom. Oh my God, we have to tell your mom," Pam realizes. "And my mom! And we have to tell--"

She almost shoots up out of her seat with realization, nearly spilling the milk in the process.

[just_a_job]

"Woah!" Jim pushes the milk out of the way and tugs her back down. "Settle down. We'll tell people. Calmly. Without the milk spilling."

[whitestshoes]

"You're right."

Slowly, she relaxes again, and then breaks a piece off another cookie, nibbling on it.

"I wonder if Dwight will consider it a reasonable excuse for leaving the volleyball game."

[just_a_job]

"Probably not. He'll probably inform our child moments after it's born that he's destined to bring shame to his company's volleyball team." Jim says flatly.

[whitestshoes]

Pam almost shudders.

"Can we please keep our baby as far away from him as possible?"

[just_a_job]

"Absolutely." Jim nods, without any hesitance. "I will beat him away with a golf club if he gets near you at work."

Why a golf club? Why not a golf club?

[whitestshoes]

"I just keep having these images of him keeping track of my gestation period," Pam adds, because the mental images just keep coming.

[just_a_job]

"He's going to make charts." Jim says as he faceplants against the table. "Oh God."

[whitestshoes]

Her expression still horrified, she mutely rubs the back of his neck.