FIC: The Office -- Requiem for Fudgie the Whale
Title: Requiem for Fudgie the Whale
Author: the_deep_magic
Fandom: The Office (US)
Pairing: Jim/Pam
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,847
Disclaimer: Not mine, I just like to play with them.
Spoilers: post-ep for “Survivorman” (4x07)
Warnings: drunkenness, unabashed fluff
Summary: After the Great Cake Debacle, Jim wallows in self-loathing.
A/N: I just found this sitting around on my hard drive - I wrote it forever ago, quite literally at 4 in the morning because I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t written Office fic before or since, but I thought somebody somewhere might get a kick out of it.
Oddly enough, the party lasts until well after six. Michael has been detailing every nuance of his wilderness experience - there are dramatic reenactments - and everyone seems to find it very amusing, if not exactly in the way he intends. Plus, there are four cakes to eat. Pam’s into her third slice of devil’s food when she realizes she hasn’t seen Jim in a while. When Michael offers to demonstrate his tent-building technique, she slips out the door of the conference room.
Jim is sitting in her chair at the front desk, tilted perilously backward and staring at the ceiling. Pam stands where he usually does, but finds the leaning-over-the-counter pose not quite as effective as when he does it. She sets the cake down in front of him; still staring blankly upwards, he says, “Pam. Take me somewhere and get me drunk.”
“Poor Richard’s?”
“God no.” He rubs his eyes fiercely as he sits up. “Anywhere but there. Or Chili’s.”
“Okay, but-“
“She called me Michael, Pam.”
Pam tosses the cake in the trash and gets her coat, while back in the conference room Michael and Dwight are having a bird-call contest. A screech owl, if she’s not mistaken.
&&&
Many beers later, stumbling across the parking lot of Jose’s Taco Palace, Pam learns a few new facts about physics, particularly concerning centers of gravity and monstrously tall boyfriends who cannot stand on their own feet. She’s had only the one margarita and got Jim to eat two of her quesadillas between beers, but he was rather single-minded this evening. She has a brief moment of panic, wondering how exactly she’s going to fold this man into her car, but luckily Jim retains enough motor function, once propped up against the passenger side, to open the door and get in.
As she buckles in and starts the car, he pushes the seat back to nearly horizontal with a violent whump, then throws his arm across his eyes. Pam makes it out of the parking lot and to the first stop light before Jim bursts out - entirely too loudly for the small space - with “I am an idiot. I am such an idiot.”
It’s not the first time Pam’s heard that tonight, or even in the last half-hour, and she’s decided this needs to run its course before she can talk some sense into him. Lord knows if she talks now, she might end up agreeing with him.
“Why didn’t you stop me? You could’ve stopped me, you knew they hated the thing, and now they think- She called me Michael. Phyllis thinks I’m Michael. I was in his office, Pam. I didn’t even get to eat cake. I don’t deserve cake. Fudgie the Whale, Pam. It’s a whale made of fudge, and it’s too good for me. It mocks me with its hideous chocolate grin.”
Pam turns to look at him and takes a deep breath, reminding herself how lucky she is to have him in her car, even if he is drooling on the upholstery. She concentrates very hard to block out the wailing and just see him as his normally adorable self, and nearly jumps out of her seat when the driver behind her leans on his horn to politely inform her that the light’s turned green.
She briefly considers taking Jim to her place, but decides there’s a small but real chance he’ll vomit, and he likely won’t discriminate as to what he vomits into. And, really, she’s just cleaned her bathroom. Plus his new apartment is on the ground floor, so she doesn’t have to deal with the quandary of dragging him up the stairs. She gets him to his room and flicks the light on; under the harsh light he really does look miserable. He’s had a crap day, even if it was of his own making, so she takes pity on him and helps him struggle out of his work clothes.
Jim steadies himself with his hands on Pam’s shoulders as he kicks his pants off one leg at a time. When he’s wearing nothing but his boxers, a look of recognition slowly dawns on his face. He’s nearly naked. In a bedroom. With Pam.
“Hey, you wanna -?”
The laughter comes out before she can control it. “Jim, you can’t even stand up.”
Fortunately, he doesn’t look hurt, just oddly thoughtful, as though this is a very important bit of information he can’t quite process. He seems to be at a point of inebriated docility, so she helps him into bed.
“I’m going to get you a glass of water now, okay?”
As she drops the ice cubes into the glass, Pam thinks that the worst is over, but by the time she gets back to the bedroom, he’s started up again.
“-hate me! Can’t go back to work tomorrow. ‘ll get a job at Burger King.”
She plonks the glass down so hard that water sloshes onto the bedside table. She’s had enough.
“Jim.” She grabs his face and leans as close as his alcohol breath will allow. “You made a mistake. That’s all. You’re not Michael. Nobody really thinks you’re Michael. You’re Jim. They’ll forget what happened today because they all got the cake they wanted and Michael made a scene and you’re Jim. You are going into work tomorrow. You’ll have a terrible headache and you might hate me a little bit, but you’re going into work tomorrow. I can’t be there without you.”
As annoyed as she is, she just barely avoids cracking a smile at the dumbstruck expression on his face. With a sigh, she kisses him on the forehead and helps him get settled into bed. She pulls the covers over him, then stands and heads for the door.
“Pam?”
She turns around.
“Will you stay here tonight? I mean, not here here.” He pats the bed. “But just… here?”
Jim looks as open and vulnerable as a baby bird, and Pam remembers why this unfortunate evening is, in the grand scheme of things, worth it. The corner of her mouth curls up just a little and she replies, “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
With that, she flicks out the light and goes back into the hall. She closes his bedroom door, then thinks again and pulls it open just a crack.
&&&
When the alarm goes off the next morning, Jim flails for the snooze button but only manages to find air and knock the glass of water on the floor. He buries his head in the covers until the buzzing threatens to melt his already-soggy brain. With great effort, he cracks open his eyes to the blinding light. It seems the buzzing is coming from the vicinity of his dresser. He applies all three functioning brain cells to the mystery and, after an embarrassingly long moment, concludes that Pam has come in at some point during the night and moved his alarm clock so that - viciously cruel woman - he will have to actually get out of bed to turn it off.
Adrenaline and self-preservation miraculously propel him across the room to stop the horrible noise, but then he is marooned at his dresser with no further plan of action. He closes his eyes, breathes in deep, and wills the three brain cells to go around slapping the others into consciousness. When several dozen of them work together to spell out B-A-T-H-R-O-O-M, he heads in that direction.
Cold water, applied directly and repeatedly to the face, does wonders for his clarity. He brushes his teeth, does a quick breath check, then brushes his teeth again. Out of habit, he grabs a t-shirt that’s draped over a chair - his mother was fond of saying that only apes eat breakfast shirtless, and no matter how long he’s lived on his own, he can’t bring himself to put food in his mouth while not wearing a shirt.
He’s feeling much more confident in his ability to remain upright by the time the smell of food draws him to the kitchen. Pam is already up and dressed, mixing some type of cheese into what looks like scrambled eggs on the stove. He feels a great surge of… something… crash over him. He’s pretty sure it’s either love or nausea. Maybe both.
He plops down on a low stool by the counter and after a moment she sets a plate down in front of him.
“Just eggs and toast - I didn’t have much to work with. Also, you are a grown man who has Sunny Delight in his refrigerator. I am staging an orange juice intervention.”
Jim fully intends to come back with something witty about 100% of your daily-recommended allowance of vitamin C, but his hand manages to pick up a fork and shovel food in his gaping maw before any words can come out. After that, words become unnecessary. The toast is buttery and the eggs have cheddar cheese in them - he didn’t know he even had any cheddar cheese in the house - and it’s quite simply the best thing he’s ever eaten. Every bite makes him feel a little less likely to shatter into little pieces, so the food is gone in minutes.
Mission accomplished, the looks up to see Pam standing on the other side of the counter, watching him intently and eating her breakfast at a more human pace. The solid food in his system is beginning to clear his mind, including - unfortunately - his memory of the previous evening.
“Pam?”
“Jim.”
“Just how much of an ass was I last night?”
She makes a show of thinking hard. “Well, not a complete ass. Maybe two-thirds, three-quarters ass at most.”
Jim groans and drops his head down on the counter. “Pam, I am giving you one Get Drunk Free Card. On any one night, you are allowed to get as plastered as you want and I will drive you home and tuck you into bed and cook you a beautiful, delicious breakfast the next morning. No, seriously, write this down: ‘I, Jim Halpert, being of sound mind-‘”
Her laughter just might be the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. She softy ruffles his hair. “First of all, I wouldn’t exactly call this ‘sound mind,’ even for you. And second, you learned something from this, right?”
He nods, a little pathetically. “Never get between our co-workers and their cake.”
She walks around the corner and wraps an arm around his shoulders. He leans down and embraces her, amazed that even sitting down he’s tall enough to press his cheek to the crown of her head and breathe in her scent. When he speaks again, it’s quiet, his voice a little shaky.
“Michael wanted to leave. A long time ago. He never planned to stay at Dunder-Mifflin, but he did. What if-” He finds himself unable to finish the sentence.
Pam draws back to look him in the eye. “Jim, I don’t want to stay here forever, either. She lifts a hand to his cheek. “But here is… well, here isn’t so bad anymore.”
Author: the_deep_magic
Fandom: The Office (US)
Pairing: Jim/Pam
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,847
Disclaimer: Not mine, I just like to play with them.
Spoilers: post-ep for “Survivorman” (4x07)
Warnings: drunkenness, unabashed fluff
Summary: After the Great Cake Debacle, Jim wallows in self-loathing.
A/N: I just found this sitting around on my hard drive - I wrote it forever ago, quite literally at 4 in the morning because I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t written Office fic before or since, but I thought somebody somewhere might get a kick out of it.
Oddly enough, the party lasts until well after six. Michael has been detailing every nuance of his wilderness experience - there are dramatic reenactments - and everyone seems to find it very amusing, if not exactly in the way he intends. Plus, there are four cakes to eat. Pam’s into her third slice of devil’s food when she realizes she hasn’t seen Jim in a while. When Michael offers to demonstrate his tent-building technique, she slips out the door of the conference room.
Jim is sitting in her chair at the front desk, tilted perilously backward and staring at the ceiling. Pam stands where he usually does, but finds the leaning-over-the-counter pose not quite as effective as when he does it. She sets the cake down in front of him; still staring blankly upwards, he says, “Pam. Take me somewhere and get me drunk.”
“Poor Richard’s?”
“God no.” He rubs his eyes fiercely as he sits up. “Anywhere but there. Or Chili’s.”
“Okay, but-“
“She called me Michael, Pam.”
Pam tosses the cake in the trash and gets her coat, while back in the conference room Michael and Dwight are having a bird-call contest. A screech owl, if she’s not mistaken.
&&&
Many beers later, stumbling across the parking lot of Jose’s Taco Palace, Pam learns a few new facts about physics, particularly concerning centers of gravity and monstrously tall boyfriends who cannot stand on their own feet. She’s had only the one margarita and got Jim to eat two of her quesadillas between beers, but he was rather single-minded this evening. She has a brief moment of panic, wondering how exactly she’s going to fold this man into her car, but luckily Jim retains enough motor function, once propped up against the passenger side, to open the door and get in.
As she buckles in and starts the car, he pushes the seat back to nearly horizontal with a violent whump, then throws his arm across his eyes. Pam makes it out of the parking lot and to the first stop light before Jim bursts out - entirely too loudly for the small space - with “I am an idiot. I am such an idiot.”
It’s not the first time Pam’s heard that tonight, or even in the last half-hour, and she’s decided this needs to run its course before she can talk some sense into him. Lord knows if she talks now, she might end up agreeing with him.
“Why didn’t you stop me? You could’ve stopped me, you knew they hated the thing, and now they think- She called me Michael. Phyllis thinks I’m Michael. I was in his office, Pam. I didn’t even get to eat cake. I don’t deserve cake. Fudgie the Whale, Pam. It’s a whale made of fudge, and it’s too good for me. It mocks me with its hideous chocolate grin.”
Pam turns to look at him and takes a deep breath, reminding herself how lucky she is to have him in her car, even if he is drooling on the upholstery. She concentrates very hard to block out the wailing and just see him as his normally adorable self, and nearly jumps out of her seat when the driver behind her leans on his horn to politely inform her that the light’s turned green.
She briefly considers taking Jim to her place, but decides there’s a small but real chance he’ll vomit, and he likely won’t discriminate as to what he vomits into. And, really, she’s just cleaned her bathroom. Plus his new apartment is on the ground floor, so she doesn’t have to deal with the quandary of dragging him up the stairs. She gets him to his room and flicks the light on; under the harsh light he really does look miserable. He’s had a crap day, even if it was of his own making, so she takes pity on him and helps him struggle out of his work clothes.
Jim steadies himself with his hands on Pam’s shoulders as he kicks his pants off one leg at a time. When he’s wearing nothing but his boxers, a look of recognition slowly dawns on his face. He’s nearly naked. In a bedroom. With Pam.
“Hey, you wanna -?”
The laughter comes out before she can control it. “Jim, you can’t even stand up.”
Fortunately, he doesn’t look hurt, just oddly thoughtful, as though this is a very important bit of information he can’t quite process. He seems to be at a point of inebriated docility, so she helps him into bed.
“I’m going to get you a glass of water now, okay?”
As she drops the ice cubes into the glass, Pam thinks that the worst is over, but by the time she gets back to the bedroom, he’s started up again.
“-hate me! Can’t go back to work tomorrow. ‘ll get a job at Burger King.”
She plonks the glass down so hard that water sloshes onto the bedside table. She’s had enough.
“Jim.” She grabs his face and leans as close as his alcohol breath will allow. “You made a mistake. That’s all. You’re not Michael. Nobody really thinks you’re Michael. You’re Jim. They’ll forget what happened today because they all got the cake they wanted and Michael made a scene and you’re Jim. You are going into work tomorrow. You’ll have a terrible headache and you might hate me a little bit, but you’re going into work tomorrow. I can’t be there without you.”
As annoyed as she is, she just barely avoids cracking a smile at the dumbstruck expression on his face. With a sigh, she kisses him on the forehead and helps him get settled into bed. She pulls the covers over him, then stands and heads for the door.
“Pam?”
She turns around.
“Will you stay here tonight? I mean, not here here.” He pats the bed. “But just… here?”
Jim looks as open and vulnerable as a baby bird, and Pam remembers why this unfortunate evening is, in the grand scheme of things, worth it. The corner of her mouth curls up just a little and she replies, “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
With that, she flicks out the light and goes back into the hall. She closes his bedroom door, then thinks again and pulls it open just a crack.
&&&
When the alarm goes off the next morning, Jim flails for the snooze button but only manages to find air and knock the glass of water on the floor. He buries his head in the covers until the buzzing threatens to melt his already-soggy brain. With great effort, he cracks open his eyes to the blinding light. It seems the buzzing is coming from the vicinity of his dresser. He applies all three functioning brain cells to the mystery and, after an embarrassingly long moment, concludes that Pam has come in at some point during the night and moved his alarm clock so that - viciously cruel woman - he will have to actually get out of bed to turn it off.
Adrenaline and self-preservation miraculously propel him across the room to stop the horrible noise, but then he is marooned at his dresser with no further plan of action. He closes his eyes, breathes in deep, and wills the three brain cells to go around slapping the others into consciousness. When several dozen of them work together to spell out B-A-T-H-R-O-O-M, he heads in that direction.
Cold water, applied directly and repeatedly to the face, does wonders for his clarity. He brushes his teeth, does a quick breath check, then brushes his teeth again. Out of habit, he grabs a t-shirt that’s draped over a chair - his mother was fond of saying that only apes eat breakfast shirtless, and no matter how long he’s lived on his own, he can’t bring himself to put food in his mouth while not wearing a shirt.
He’s feeling much more confident in his ability to remain upright by the time the smell of food draws him to the kitchen. Pam is already up and dressed, mixing some type of cheese into what looks like scrambled eggs on the stove. He feels a great surge of… something… crash over him. He’s pretty sure it’s either love or nausea. Maybe both.
He plops down on a low stool by the counter and after a moment she sets a plate down in front of him.
“Just eggs and toast - I didn’t have much to work with. Also, you are a grown man who has Sunny Delight in his refrigerator. I am staging an orange juice intervention.”
Jim fully intends to come back with something witty about 100% of your daily-recommended allowance of vitamin C, but his hand manages to pick up a fork and shovel food in his gaping maw before any words can come out. After that, words become unnecessary. The toast is buttery and the eggs have cheddar cheese in them - he didn’t know he even had any cheddar cheese in the house - and it’s quite simply the best thing he’s ever eaten. Every bite makes him feel a little less likely to shatter into little pieces, so the food is gone in minutes.
Mission accomplished, the looks up to see Pam standing on the other side of the counter, watching him intently and eating her breakfast at a more human pace. The solid food in his system is beginning to clear his mind, including - unfortunately - his memory of the previous evening.
“Pam?”
“Jim.”
“Just how much of an ass was I last night?”
She makes a show of thinking hard. “Well, not a complete ass. Maybe two-thirds, three-quarters ass at most.”
Jim groans and drops his head down on the counter. “Pam, I am giving you one Get Drunk Free Card. On any one night, you are allowed to get as plastered as you want and I will drive you home and tuck you into bed and cook you a beautiful, delicious breakfast the next morning. No, seriously, write this down: ‘I, Jim Halpert, being of sound mind-‘”
Her laughter just might be the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. She softy ruffles his hair. “First of all, I wouldn’t exactly call this ‘sound mind,’ even for you. And second, you learned something from this, right?”
He nods, a little pathetically. “Never get between our co-workers and their cake.”
She walks around the corner and wraps an arm around his shoulders. He leans down and embraces her, amazed that even sitting down he’s tall enough to press his cheek to the crown of her head and breathe in her scent. When he speaks again, it’s quiet, his voice a little shaky.
“Michael wanted to leave. A long time ago. He never planned to stay at Dunder-Mifflin, but he did. What if-” He finds himself unable to finish the sentence.
Pam draws back to look him in the eye. “Jim, I don’t want to stay here forever, either. She lifts a hand to his cheek. “But here is… well, here isn’t so bad anymore.”