Fic: 13 Months A Year (Or One and a Half Weddings, No Funerals....)
Title: 13 Months A Year (Or One and a Half Weddings, No Funerals, and a Distinct Lack of Partridges or Pear Trees)
Fandom: The Office (US)
Pairing Jim/Pam (with Bob Vance/Phyllis, Dwight/Angela, Ryan/Kelly, obvi)
Rating: PG-13 for discussion of sexual situations, swearing, etc.
Notes: Written for merrilytookish for yankeeficswap 2006.(Original can be found here). Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed there, I wish I had time or enough creativity to respond to every single one of your fabulous reviews.
It must be noted that this fic never, ever, ever would have happened without my fabulous, gorgeous, amazing beta chibi_care, who was literally online every day and night writing mock-ups to get me started, encouraging me, e-mailing me, and hand-holding every single step of the way. Meng is the one who got me into this fandom in the first place, who even told me about the swap, and who has always, always, always been my fandom BFF and soulmate (no matter how weird I think the fandom is, there she is, already writing fic). Anything good that came of this fic is ENTIRELY her doing and for that I'm exceedingly grateful and can never thank her enough. Currently, I'm working on making John Krasinski appear on her doorstep in only leftover Christmas wrap to show my obscene amounts of gratitude, but that wily bugger is trickier to catch than I thought.
December
("What do I have planned for this Christmas?" Pam repeats back the cameraman. "Well, usually my sister spends Christmas with my mom, but she and her new fiancé are going to spend it with his family, so I'll be driving down for Christmas with my mom and dad. It's, um, not very exciting or romantic, but I guess that's part of getting older, you know? Not everyone's Christmas can be like It's A Wonderful Life. If it was, I don't think anyone would bother watching the movie.")
Pam's in the middle of decorating gingerbread men when her phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Miss Beesly, this is the CIA. I have mission plans."
Pam squeezes the frosting tube in her hand so hard that the gingerbread man she's working on had an inexplicable yellow lump instead of a button. "Jim?"
"Agent Halpert to you. You know, this is never going to work out if you keep compromising our identities like this."
"Do you know... do you know it's Christmas? I mean, I'm at my Mom's."
"Obviously. I just finished watching the Heatmister promise a green Christmas. That's a once a year opportunity. But I had plans for when we get back. I think we should have one more mission for Dwight."
"The roof wasn't enough?"
"That was just warm up. I'm thinking it has to be public."
"I thought you were too grown up to be promoting Dwight's public suffering," Pam said, tucking the phone between her cheek and shoulder and reaching for a toothpick to fix the button.
"Well, I guess I lied," Jim says softly. "Listen, I've got to go, but think about it, okay? I mean, it's a sort of lousy Christmas present, but, um, it's all I've got."
"I'll think about it," Pam says before she hangs up.
Her hands are shaking so hard they spread the blob out worse, so she makes it into a tie.
January
("My New Year's resolution this year? To be totally awesome," Andy says, leaning back and putting his arms behind his head while grinning at the camera. "It's my resolution every year. And every year, I totally am.")
From: Jim [ jhalpert@dundermifflin.com]
To: Pam [ pbeesly@dundermifflin.com]
Date: January 2, 2007 1:24:12 PM
Subject: But wait, there’s more.
Dear Mr. Andy Bernard,
In these dire times, your country needs you. The CIA needs you. We have previously contacted one Dwight Schrute, but as his anonymity was compromised, we look to you and the training you received at Cornell to help save America. Please respond to this e-mail as soon as possible
Sincerly, The Central Intelligence Agency
February
("Normally I think Valentine's Day is kind of stupid," Karen says, fiddling with a button on her pink blouse, "you know, an excuse for Hallmark to make more money. But, um, I have a boyfriend this year, so I guess I'm hoping for something. I mean, nothing extravagant, but maybe, like, saying something. A card. A bag of M&M's." She shrugs. "You know, something.")
"Hey," Karen says softly, tapping Jim on the shoulder while he makes his first cup of coffee. "Remember what day it is?"
"Shit, I know this," Jim says, "It's Wednesday, right?"
"Well, yes. But..." she pulls out a card. "For you, gag-inducing and sparkly, courtesy of Hallmark."
"Wow," Jim says softly, turning the red envelope over in his hands a few times before sticking it in his back pocket. "I'll open it at home, okay? Just...cameras. You know."
Karen's smile falters only slightly. "Yeah, I mean, no, I totally understand. That's cool."
"Hey," Jim says, squeezing the tips of her fingers under the counter so the camera can't see, "I didn't know we were doing presents this year so I don't have anything for today, but..."
"No, no, it's okay. It's a stupid holiday anyways," Karen says quickly, pulling her fingers back like they've been burnt. "I'll see you later."
Jim watches her go and takes a sip of his coffee, wondering when exactly he became the guy who didn't do anything on Valentine's Day. You know - that guy.
March
(Phyllis looks around before leaning into the camera. "So, I didn't tell you this, but you know how Jim and Karen are going out? Well I heard that Pam is terribly jealous because she broke up with Roy for Jim and then he came back with a new girlfriend. And I heard that Karen and Jim are going to be breaking up because Jim can't hide his feelings for her." She leans back. "At least, that's what I heard. But you didn't hear it from me.")
Pam's washing her hands when Karen comes in the bathroom, her eyes suspiciously red and dry, and refuses to look at her. "Karen, are you okay?"
"Oh, yeah," Karen says, her voice cracking as she viciously scrubs underneath her fingernails at nonexistent dirt, "No, I just got broken up in the break room with the cameras watching, but I'm great. Really great. Super."
"Oh my God," Pam says, holding her dripping hands frozen above the sink, "I am so, so sorry."
"Um, yeah, no offense, but you're not really the person I want to be hearing that from," Karen says, placing your hands on the side of the sink and raising her shoulders like she's expecting Pam to hit her.
"He told you," It's not a question.
Karen lets out a short half-laugh. "Yeah, yeah, he told me."
"Karen, I am so sorry, you have to believe me, I thought he had moved on, I would never, I mean, I just never..."
"Relax," Karen says, "that's not the only reason why we broke up, he just told me anyways because he wanted to be honest."
"Oh," Pam says dumbly.
Karen straightens up and squares her shoulders. "Well, I'm off to quit. It was nice to know you."
And with that she's gone, leaving Pam with her dripping hands.
April
("I have to say, I never really am thrilled to be coming to this place, but April Fool's day is the worst." Ryan shifts uncomfortably. "Jim and Pam are kind of a terror. I was sort of glad when he transferred," Ryan swallows audibly. "Well, we all know how that turned out.")
("One year, either Jim or Pam switched the M and N keys on my keyboard," Stanley says flat voice. "I was not amused.")
("One year I came in and all my pen caps were glued down and the tips of my pencils were covered in clear nail polish so I couldn't write for the whole day," Oscar says. "It wasn't that much of a loss, except I really kicked Kev's ass in Hateball and it went unrecorded." He sighs. "That was actually a really great day.")
("What the hell is April Fool's?" Creed asks in between mouthfuls of something that smells vile. "Hey, cameraman, want some Mung beans?")
"Hey," Pam says when Jim comes in, "remember what day it is?"
"Obviously not, and the suspense is killing me."
"It's the first of April," Pam says before scooting her chair closer so she and Jim are in an almost huddle which accounts for him almost not being able to breathe. "So what's the big plan this year? I was thinking something with the copier..."
"Actually," Jim interrupts, "I really wasn't planning on doing anything. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's really fun, but, you know, I can't. Anymore."
"Oh," Pam says, pushing back, "I just thought, you know, after Christmas."
"Well, um, that was probably not the best idea."
"No, yeah, you're right," Pam says, shrugging listlessly. "It was a last hurrah."
"Pam," he begins, unsure of what to say that doesn't sound stupid, but she gives him a hard, fake smile and goes to shred things, and he knows better than to follow her.
That night when everyone's left, he nicks Dwight's bobble head and makes up some good, old-fashioned jello. It means that Toby writes him up, but it's worth it for Pam's smile when he turns to look at her with mock solemnity - her eyes are bright, and wider her mouth's stretched wider and farther up than he's ever seen. For a second or two, he forgets to not be in love with her.
May:
("I don’t think Phyllis and Bob will last,” Michael says to the camera. “It’s simple, a marriage between rivals cannot last. Vance Refrigeration has had it out for us since... since…well, a long time. Even though we have drastically different products" Michael pauses dramatically and lowers his voice. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was using Phyllis to learn our secrets. What secrets? Well, it’s very obvious, we have the best team dynamic this side of the Mississippi. And naturally, he’s jealous. I mean, I would be. We’re family here. Can they say that at Vance Refrigeration? Well, Bill Vance can. You know, Bob’s brother.”)
Sometimes, Pam is really glad she didn’t go through with her wedding. Scratch that, she’s usually pretty glad except for those few nights alone when she realizes she hasn’t gotten laid in nearly a year and she might be getting laid if she was married, and it would be bad, but it would at least be sex.
Then she goes to weddings like Phyllis’ wedding. And it’s great at first, because she lets herself get a new dress or heels or something, and then it’s just sweet because she always cries even though she knows how high the divorce rate is, but then there’s the reception. She hates receptions. She’s pretty sure it started after she watched The Wedding Singer and realized she’d never be as cute as Drew Barrymore, it temporarily alleviated while planning her Weddingpalooza, and it solidified in the terrible moment when she visualized sharing her first dance with Roy to the musical stylings of Scrantonicity.
This is nearly as bad.
To her count she has rejected Andy twice, Michael once, and Kevin four times, and danced with each of them once out of pity. Kevin wasn’t so bad, she just sort of had to hold on while he shuffled in a circle. Dancing with Michael was the second best (or second worst, depending on how you looked at it. She was looking at it second worst). Dancing with Andy was something that she plans on blocking out of her memory. (Though she’s pretty sure that if she hadn’t slapped him, her sex drought would have ended, and she can’t decide if the continuing void in her life is more or less painful than filling that void with Andy, which is so pathetic it doesn’t even bear thinking about.)
She’s dancing with Michael now, just to make it fair, and it’s somewhere in between Andy and Kevin. He’s actually a pretty good dancer when he’s not pressed up against her in a way that could definitely be construed as sexual harassment. It’s just that, you know, he’s pressed against her a lot. And that’s awkward.
“Oh, hey!” Michael says when the next song starts and Pam looks over his shoulder desperately for anyone to save her (because hell, she’d take Andy at this point) and finally spotting Jim, who she’s hoping still recognizes the ‘save me from the hell that is my life’ eyebrows she’s desperately making at him now. “When A Man Loves A Woman! That’s classic baby making music, Pam, Miss Beesly cause I’m nasty...”
“Hey,” Jim says, and thank god he still reads eyebrows, “can I , er, cut in to have a dance?”
“What? Oh, hey, Slimminy Jimminy. Sorry I’m infringing on your turf.”
“Um,” Jim says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and giving a shrug, “Yeah, well,”
“Hey,” Michael says, grinning and glancing between Pam and Jim quickly, attempting to follow their silent communication (which boils down to oh my god oh my god oh my god) “You two crazy kids, have fun dancing. And use protection? Oooooo…kayyy...”
“Wow,” Jim says, his eyebrows rising to merge with his hair line. “Um. Slimminy Jimminy. That’s a new one.”
Pam lets out a small huff and hugs her elbows closer. “Yeah,” she says, “yeah, it’s certainly original.”
“So, um, want to dance? I mean, we might as well make this authentic.”
“No, I mean, yeah, you’re right,” Pam says, taking his outstretched hand and praying to dear god he’s not going to mention that her palms are all clammy, because that’s so helplessly middle school.
They don’t talk for the rest of the song, Jim just places a big hand on the small of her back (which is really the large of her back, because are those shovels or hands, seriously?) and she tucks herself under his chin and tries to memorize how he still smells like a prom date, nervous and gangly and almost grown up but not quite,
She’s sure she smells the same way.
June
("You know," Roy says, shifting because talking to the camera will never not be weird to him, "Pam and I were supposed to get married a year ago. A whole year. And, um, it looks like she's moved on. And we finished the catering leftovers. So that's good. I was getting sick of chicken."
He looks down at his hands briefly. "I just kind of wish I had a reason to keep coming back upstairs.")
They're having lunch outside because it's just too nice to not when Pam stops with her spoon full of yogurt, halfway to her mouth, and her eyes go wide. "Oh my god," she says, "I was supposed to get married a year ago today. Did you remember that? Because I totally forgot."
"What?" Jim asks, looking up from his sandwich. He could have sworn he packed turkey, but this looks suspiciously like ham...
"A year ago today," Pam says. "I was supposed to..."
"Oh, yeah. I remember," Jim says, gauging her reaction before looking down. "Are you okay? I mean, it's sort of a big marker since, well, you know."
The silence stretches between them, sticky with almost-summer and meaning, until Pam breaks it by finishing her spoonful of yogurt and licking her lips self-consciously. "I'm fine," she says, "I'm just glad Michael forgot too."
"Yeah," Jim chuckles. "Me too, Beesly. Me too."
July
("What I look for in a woman is very simple," Dwight says. "She must of course be able to bear children of great strength and intelligence. A high forehead is important, because it shows a larger area for the brain to grow. The Schrutes are, in fact, known for their large cranial capacities; it's believed that in the old country, before a bride was to become part of the Schrute clan, her forehead had to be measured to ensure the intelligence of their children.")
From: Pam [pbeesly@dundermifflin.com]
To: Jim [ jhalpert@dundermifflin.com]
Date: July 12, 2007 9:34:41
Subject: Check it out!!!!!
Make an excuse to go copy something and look at Angela's left hand.
From: Jim [ jhalpert@dundermifflin.com]
To: Pam [ pbeesly@dundermifflin.com]
Date: July 12, 2007 10:15:12
Subject: Do you think he sold the beet farm to buy that?
Now that is what I call bling. I've gotta wonder how Dwight asked her - ten bucks says he used the word "mate" at least once.
From: Pam [ pbeesly@dundermifflin.com]
To: Jim [ jhalpert@dundermifflin.com]
Date: July 12, 2007 10:17:55
Subject: Maybe he sold his cousin Mose
No bet, but I would pay money for a recording of that.
Can you imagine if they were to procreate?!!?!?!?
From: Jim [jhalpert@dundermifflin.com]
To: Pam [ pbeesly@dundermifflin.com]
Date: July 12, 2007 10:18:29
Subject: I wonder how much it would cost to buy Mose on the black market
Oh god, Beesly, I hate you so much right now. That image will be burned in my head forevermore. It's official. You made a grown man cry.
August
("Sometimes," Kevin says slowly, "I think about working at another company. Except then I realize - I get away with a lot here. Sometimes I think about it more when it's my birthday and Michael throws a big embarrassing party. But," he grins, "I like it when it's other people's birthdays. We get cake.")
Some years when Jim's birthday falls on a weekday, it's kind of alright. Everyone except Pam and his mom forget and it's a normal day except that he lets himself have an extra beer or two. Last year kind of sucked, he was packing up his place in Scranton and Pam obviously didn't e-mail him. He felt a little sorry for himself, like he was Molly Ringwald in 16 Candles, but then he realized how exceedingly terrible that analogy was. 29 wasn't a particularly monumental age, anyways. And besides, it could have been worse. Someone like Michael could have remembered.
This year, Michael remembers.
"Jimbo! Jimmy! Hitting the big 3 - 0!" he says while Jim puts his stuff down at his desk, grinning widely at the camera.
Jim tries to keep his expression as neutral as possible while the camera makes its clicking zooming noise. "Yeah, um, I'm getting up there."
"Big Tuna's turning 30?" Andy says, scooting his chair over to where Jim is standing and punches him where Jim's shoulder would be if Andy got out of his chair, but instead it sort of painfully hits his thigh. "You're getting up there, man. Hey, you know what we should do? My man Mike and I should take you to a strip club."
Dwight looks up from his computer. "I don't know where you're planning on going, Michael, but as number three to the regional manager..."
"Four," Andy interrupts, and Dwight glares at him.
"As number three to the regional manager, I shall join you wherever your business is."
"Dwight, you cannot go to a strip club," Michael says, "don't be absolutely ridiculous."
"Hey, wow, okay, I have plans for tonight anyways, but thanks," Jim says, ignoring Ryan mouthing what he's pretty sure are the words "sympathetic syphilis".
"Dude, it's your thirtieth!" Michael insists. "We should throw a party, at least. Where are my party planning little bees? Where my bitches at?"
Angela reluctantly stands up, radiating disapproval. "We cannot throw a party for everyone, Michael. It's not in the company budget."
"Screw the company budget, it's not every day that Jim here turns thirty!"
"Hey, uh, Michael?" Jim says, "Angela's right, let's just, you know...work..."
Michael looks at him with a growing look of betrayal. "Oh my god," he says in a stage whisper, before stalking back to his office "you are spending way too much time around Toby."
"Dude," Andy says, wheeling back to his desk. "You got burned."
The cameras follow Michael to his office to get an interview with him about what a party-pooper he is, and Jim finally gets to sit down.
"Hey," he hears Pam say, "So, about your birthday..."
"Oh my god," Jim says, turning around and grinning at her as she hoists herself up on his desk, her legs dangling just above the ground. "Let's never speak of that again."
"Fair enough," Pam grins. "I got you something."
"Wow, you really didn't have to..."
"It was a mix CD; it really wasn't a big deal."
He can feel himself grinning way too wide, but takes the CD anyways. "Thanks, Beesly. Ooh, first track, The Rainbow Connection, nice..."
"In English," Pam says, her grin matching his. "No Pig Latin."
"Awesome, awesome, love that song, hey, wait, this Travis song? Sing? I've already got it."
"I know," Pam says, fiddling with his pile of Post-Its." You played it for me on our first date."
Jim opens his mouth to say something, but Pam just gives him a bright, hard smile and goes back to her desk. Instead of saying anything, he sticks the CD in, pulls out his headphones, and listens.
September
("I think, sometimes, I should have become a teacher," Toby laments to the camera. "I could teach middle school. It's pretty much what I do now. You'd think my biggest job would be Michael, but mostly its gossip. Politics. The same thing you find in middle school." He sighs. "I think I might get paid more, and I'd get summer off.")
"So I hear, um, you had a date last night? Or something?" Jim says, taking two jellybeans and popping them in his mouth.
“Yeah, um, Kelly set me up again,” Pam says, “and, er. It’s best forgotten. Really.”
“Now you have to tell me, Beesly. You can’t just say a date was that bad and not tell me everything.”
Pam looks around, but it’s five and everyone’s either left or leaving, so she beckons Jim to lean in further.
“So, his name was Drew…”
“…nice.”
“Are you going to let me tell the story or not? Anyways, he’s, um, sort of tall? Really built. Nice. He works at a gym. He held the door for me.”
“Wait, don’t tell me, did he have a club foot? Did he crack his knuckles? Own a hunting lodge.”
“He loves game shows.”
“Oh no.”
“So his favorite show? Deal or No Deal.”
“Nice.”
“No, wait, he told me…he told me that when he was younger all he wanted to be when he grew up was the guy on Family Feud. He wants to name his first child Alec. And his hero is that Mormon guy, the one who’s freakishly smart, what’s his name…”
“Ken Jennings? You went on a date with a guy who wants to be Ken Jennings?”
“Well, he did have a nice smile. And he said that I was pretty enough to gesture to the lit up squares on Wheel of Fortune.”
“Wow. That’s totally his biggest pick up line. How could you not fall for it?”
“Well, um, actually, he originally said I could be one of the models on Deal or No Deal, but then decided that was too high profile and I wasn’t hot enough.”
“Hey,” Jim says, stirring the jellybeans and very carefully not looking at her, “if you were one of the models, I’d watch.”
“Um, thanks?”
“Yeah, uh, no problem,” Jim says, straightening up abruptly. “So, um, tomorrow. I’ll see you.”
“Yeah,” Pam says abruptly, “No, yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
October
("I think I'm the only person who really knows how to throw parties in this office," Angela says to the camera waspishly. "Honestly, it's like some people don't want to have a good holiday the right way." She pauses. "That's my way.")
Pam knows that Angela should really have stopped bothering her by now. Logically, she knows that Angela is actually a pretty terrible excuse for a human being and that nothing about her or her stupid party planning committee, but she's still in the break room, her fists clenching and unclenching as she tries desperately and fails not to cry.
The thing is, Pam doesn't mean to forget about the sprinkles. She even put them on her shopping list, the one she started on the back of a Target receipt. Underneath milk, it read SPRINKLES in large letters. But when Angela asks her pointedly where the sprinkles are, Pam groans a little and remembers that the receipt is still in her purse.
"Angela - " she begins.
"You forgot them, didn't you? You do realize that just ruins everything, don’t you?" Angela asks, glaring at her.
“Oh, please, Angela, I’m sure they’re fine.”
"You," Angela says, "clearly don’t care enough about Halloween to bother coming to the party."
“Angela, really, I’m sorry…”
"No,” Angela cuts her off, waving her left hand so it catches the light, “no, I just don’t think you really care.”
It's just sprinkles, Pam thinks to herself as she fixes clenches and unclenches her left hand and it looks helplessly naked. She’s crying, and it’s ridiculous, because it’s only Angela and the ring is from Dwight, so should she really feel that jealous? She looks around the room desperately for tissues or paper towels or something when she see Jim come in the break room.
"Morning," he says, grinning. He's wearing glasses without the lenses, his hair is parted down the middle, and he looks suspiciously like Dwight. "Guess who I am? Hey, Pam? Um, are you okay?”
"Yeah," she mutters, finding the paper towels and blowing her nose until she’s sure it’s bright, bright red.
"What's wrong?
"It's - nothing. I just - Um. Angela banned me from the Halloween party.”
"She what?"
"Yeah, um, I forgot to get her the sprinkles she asked for yesterday. So she banned me from the party."
Jim purses his lips. "Jesus."
"Look, it's no big deal,” she says. “Really.”
Jim opens his mouth, but at that moment Dwight comes bursting in the break room looking murderous. And like Legolas - blonde wig included.
“Jim, are you impersonating me?”
“Yes,” Jim says, exasperated. “Now go away.”
“Oh, you are in so much trouble, mister,” Dwight said, pointing his bow at Jim menacingly. “You know what, Halloween is a privilege. Dressing up is a privilege. Clearly, you don’t understand that, and I think you should be banned from the Halloween party. In fact, I order you to go change. Right now.”
“Wow,” Jim says, actually starting to sound ticked off and not just mildly annoyed, “I’m second in command here. And I say you go back to your desk. Now. Oh, and tell your girlfriend… fiancée… whatever, that if she bans someone from a party again I’m writing her up. Go.”
“Oho, this is not over. I am so telling on you to Toby first,” Dwight says, turning on his heel so quickly that his wig goes askew.
“So,” Jim says, turning back to Pam, when the door has finally slammed, “when the party starts at three? I say we skip out early and get some terrible candy on our own.”
“Can we?” Pam asks.
“Hey, of course we can. Come on,” Jim squeezes her shoulder briefly before dropping his hand like he’s burnt it. “Six more hours to go. And I’ll even get you a cupcake.”
He does. It doesn’t have sprinkles.
November
("So I am totally setting Pam and Jim up," Kelly gushes to the camera. "I was watching When Harry Met Sally yesterday with Ryan because he totally loves that movie and then I realized that it's really true, you know? Like men and women totally can't be just friends. Like I'm sure on the set of Mr. and Mrs. Smith Brad and Angelina tried to be just friends because Brad was still with Jen, but they soooo could not deny their chemistry. So I thought that, like, I could set up Pam and Jim because I know they've totally never thought about each other like that but I'm just opening their eyes, right? It's, like, a total good deed, like something Angelina would do." She paused. "I mean, I know she saves children and adopts them or whatever with the UN, but this is like the matchmaking UN. Which is so much more fun.")
"They're not coming," Pam says, smiling at the waitress who brings them beers.
"Probably," Jim says. "Breadstick?"
Pam sighs and shakes her head. "I really should learn to stop trusting Kelly when it comes to double dates, shouldn't I?"
"Yeah, what's up with that?" Jim asks, grinning at her as he puts down his beer. "I mean, first there was the cartoonist..."
"He was just boring, he wasn't a bad person..."
"Then there was Drew.”
“He had a very nice smile!”
“He compulsively whitened his teeth so he could be on game shows. He wanted to name his first child either Alec or Ken.”
“Oh my god,” Pam says, her eyes going wide as she reaches for another bread stick, “what if it was a girl?”
“I think the name ‘Vanna’ would have been fair game.”
Pam shakes her head. “That poor, poor child.”
“Hey,” Jim says, struck by the kind of reckless inspiration he only gets after finishing a beer, “you want to blow this joint? Deal or No Deal is on, and I’m not bragging, but I hear I make a mean grilled cheese.”
Pam’s eyebrows draw together and she doesn’t choke on her beer, but it’s a close thing. “Are you asking me on a date, Halpert?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think we’re already on one.”
Pam grins at him, making that face that he hates and loves and can’t stand at the same time because it makes him want to kiss her. And then he remembers, hey, they’re on a date, and this time it’s the real kind without cameras, not the on the roof kind. This time, Dwight is not involved at all. This time, Pam’s smile is getting closer and closer without him doing anything, and this time, he gets to touch her hair and kiss her. This time she doesn’t hesitate when kissing him back.
“Okay,” she says when she pulls back a little, but she’s still close enough so he can taste every word she says. “Now we’re on a date. And no, I would not like to watch a game show in any way, shape or form, but yes, I would like a grilled cheese.”
“I think that can be arranged,” he says. He knows this means that they’ll have to get up from the booth they’re sharing, that for about twenty terrible minutes he’s going to have to live without Pam pressed this close to him, and then after that he’s somehow going to have to make some grilled cheeses before he can kiss her again. He also knows he’s been set up by Kelly, of all people, and he fell for it, so what does that really say about him?
He finds he really doesn’t care.
December
("What I do for Christmas," Jim says, scratching the side of his ear. "It's, um, it's Christmas, you know? My parents live about a half an hour away and they have this Christmas Eve party, so I have to go and hear about retirement and the AARP - you know, fun things, and, um, then I go home and open my presents. On my own." He grins. "Who knows, though. Maybe this year will be different.")
Jim's in the middle of hearing an in depth description of his Aunt Ida's bunions when his cell phone rings and he excuses himself to the bathroom.
"Hey, thanks for calling, Aunt Ida was in the middle of a detailed description of her bunions." He can hear a soft huff of laughter from the other end.
"This is why I said you should have brought me."
"I couldn't let you come meet my Aunt Ida. I like you, remember?"
"Hey, can you sneak out?"
"Well, anything's possible," Jim says, looking around the bathroom as if a vent he can climb out of will appear if he just looks hard enough, "but yeah, I think I can."
"Can you stay over?"
"Only if you we play MASH and you braid my hair."
"Ooh, can't promise that," Pam says, "but I can tell you that I made gingerbread men."
"You do know how to win a man over. I'll tell my mom I'm leaving. It'll break her heart, I'm just warning you."
"How soon can you be here?" Pam says, quietly, like they're back in the office and no one can hear them.
"Half an hour or 45 minutes if I go get your present."
"Okay, drive safely," there's a pause. "I love you."
Jim stops sifting through his mom's potpourri and grins at the phone cradled against his cheek. "Love you too. I'll see you soon."
He knows he promised that he would drive safely, but he didn't promise not to speed.
Fandom: The Office (US)
Pairing Jim/Pam (with Bob Vance/Phyllis, Dwight/Angela, Ryan/Kelly, obvi)
Rating: PG-13 for discussion of sexual situations, swearing, etc.
Notes: Written for merrilytookish for yankeeficswap 2006.(Original can be found here). Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed there, I wish I had time or enough creativity to respond to every single one of your fabulous reviews.
It must be noted that this fic never, ever, ever would have happened without my fabulous, gorgeous, amazing beta chibi_care, who was literally online every day and night writing mock-ups to get me started, encouraging me, e-mailing me, and hand-holding every single step of the way. Meng is the one who got me into this fandom in the first place, who even told me about the swap, and who has always, always, always been my fandom BFF and soulmate (no matter how weird I think the fandom is, there she is, already writing fic). Anything good that came of this fic is ENTIRELY her doing and for that I'm exceedingly grateful and can never thank her enough. Currently, I'm working on making John Krasinski appear on her doorstep in only leftover Christmas wrap to show my obscene amounts of gratitude, but that wily bugger is trickier to catch than I thought.
December
("What do I have planned for this Christmas?" Pam repeats back the cameraman. "Well, usually my sister spends Christmas with my mom, but she and her new fiancé are going to spend it with his family, so I'll be driving down for Christmas with my mom and dad. It's, um, not very exciting or romantic, but I guess that's part of getting older, you know? Not everyone's Christmas can be like It's A Wonderful Life. If it was, I don't think anyone would bother watching the movie.")
Pam's in the middle of decorating gingerbread men when her phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Miss Beesly, this is the CIA. I have mission plans."
Pam squeezes the frosting tube in her hand so hard that the gingerbread man she's working on had an inexplicable yellow lump instead of a button. "Jim?"
"Agent Halpert to you. You know, this is never going to work out if you keep compromising our identities like this."
"Do you know... do you know it's Christmas? I mean, I'm at my Mom's."
"Obviously. I just finished watching the Heatmister promise a green Christmas. That's a once a year opportunity. But I had plans for when we get back. I think we should have one more mission for Dwight."
"The roof wasn't enough?"
"That was just warm up. I'm thinking it has to be public."
"I thought you were too grown up to be promoting Dwight's public suffering," Pam said, tucking the phone between her cheek and shoulder and reaching for a toothpick to fix the button.
"Well, I guess I lied," Jim says softly. "Listen, I've got to go, but think about it, okay? I mean, it's a sort of lousy Christmas present, but, um, it's all I've got."
"I'll think about it," Pam says before she hangs up.
Her hands are shaking so hard they spread the blob out worse, so she makes it into a tie.
January
("My New Year's resolution this year? To be totally awesome," Andy says, leaning back and putting his arms behind his head while grinning at the camera. "It's my resolution every year. And every year, I totally am.")
From: Jim [ jhalpert@dundermifflin.com]
To: Pam [ pbeesly@dundermifflin.com]
Date: January 2, 2007 1:24:12 PM
Subject: But wait, there’s more.
Dear Mr. Andy Bernard,
In these dire times, your country needs you. The CIA needs you. We have previously contacted one Dwight Schrute, but as his anonymity was compromised, we look to you and the training you received at Cornell to help save America. Please respond to this e-mail as soon as possible
Sincerly, The Central Intelligence Agency
February
("Normally I think Valentine's Day is kind of stupid," Karen says, fiddling with a button on her pink blouse, "you know, an excuse for Hallmark to make more money. But, um, I have a boyfriend this year, so I guess I'm hoping for something. I mean, nothing extravagant, but maybe, like, saying something. A card. A bag of M&M's." She shrugs. "You know, something.")
"Hey," Karen says softly, tapping Jim on the shoulder while he makes his first cup of coffee. "Remember what day it is?"
"Shit, I know this," Jim says, "It's Wednesday, right?"
"Well, yes. But..." she pulls out a card. "For you, gag-inducing and sparkly, courtesy of Hallmark."
"Wow," Jim says softly, turning the red envelope over in his hands a few times before sticking it in his back pocket. "I'll open it at home, okay? Just...cameras. You know."
Karen's smile falters only slightly. "Yeah, I mean, no, I totally understand. That's cool."
"Hey," Jim says, squeezing the tips of her fingers under the counter so the camera can't see, "I didn't know we were doing presents this year so I don't have anything for today, but..."
"No, no, it's okay. It's a stupid holiday anyways," Karen says quickly, pulling her fingers back like they've been burnt. "I'll see you later."
Jim watches her go and takes a sip of his coffee, wondering when exactly he became the guy who didn't do anything on Valentine's Day. You know - that guy.
March
(Phyllis looks around before leaning into the camera. "So, I didn't tell you this, but you know how Jim and Karen are going out? Well I heard that Pam is terribly jealous because she broke up with Roy for Jim and then he came back with a new girlfriend. And I heard that Karen and Jim are going to be breaking up because Jim can't hide his feelings for her." She leans back. "At least, that's what I heard. But you didn't hear it from me.")
Pam's washing her hands when Karen comes in the bathroom, her eyes suspiciously red and dry, and refuses to look at her. "Karen, are you okay?"
"Oh, yeah," Karen says, her voice cracking as she viciously scrubs underneath her fingernails at nonexistent dirt, "No, I just got broken up in the break room with the cameras watching, but I'm great. Really great. Super."
"Oh my God," Pam says, holding her dripping hands frozen above the sink, "I am so, so sorry."
"Um, yeah, no offense, but you're not really the person I want to be hearing that from," Karen says, placing your hands on the side of the sink and raising her shoulders like she's expecting Pam to hit her.
"He told you," It's not a question.
Karen lets out a short half-laugh. "Yeah, yeah, he told me."
"Karen, I am so sorry, you have to believe me, I thought he had moved on, I would never, I mean, I just never..."
"Relax," Karen says, "that's not the only reason why we broke up, he just told me anyways because he wanted to be honest."
"Oh," Pam says dumbly.
Karen straightens up and squares her shoulders. "Well, I'm off to quit. It was nice to know you."
And with that she's gone, leaving Pam with her dripping hands.
April
("I have to say, I never really am thrilled to be coming to this place, but April Fool's day is the worst." Ryan shifts uncomfortably. "Jim and Pam are kind of a terror. I was sort of glad when he transferred," Ryan swallows audibly. "Well, we all know how that turned out.")
("One year, either Jim or Pam switched the M and N keys on my keyboard," Stanley says flat voice. "I was not amused.")
("One year I came in and all my pen caps were glued down and the tips of my pencils were covered in clear nail polish so I couldn't write for the whole day," Oscar says. "It wasn't that much of a loss, except I really kicked Kev's ass in Hateball and it went unrecorded." He sighs. "That was actually a really great day.")
("What the hell is April Fool's?" Creed asks in between mouthfuls of something that smells vile. "Hey, cameraman, want some Mung beans?")
"Hey," Pam says when Jim comes in, "remember what day it is?"
"Obviously not, and the suspense is killing me."
"It's the first of April," Pam says before scooting her chair closer so she and Jim are in an almost huddle which accounts for him almost not being able to breathe. "So what's the big plan this year? I was thinking something with the copier..."
"Actually," Jim interrupts, "I really wasn't planning on doing anything. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's really fun, but, you know, I can't. Anymore."
"Oh," Pam says, pushing back, "I just thought, you know, after Christmas."
"Well, um, that was probably not the best idea."
"No, yeah, you're right," Pam says, shrugging listlessly. "It was a last hurrah."
"Pam," he begins, unsure of what to say that doesn't sound stupid, but she gives him a hard, fake smile and goes to shred things, and he knows better than to follow her.
That night when everyone's left, he nicks Dwight's bobble head and makes up some good, old-fashioned jello. It means that Toby writes him up, but it's worth it for Pam's smile when he turns to look at her with mock solemnity - her eyes are bright, and wider her mouth's stretched wider and farther up than he's ever seen. For a second or two, he forgets to not be in love with her.
May:
("I don’t think Phyllis and Bob will last,” Michael says to the camera. “It’s simple, a marriage between rivals cannot last. Vance Refrigeration has had it out for us since... since…well, a long time. Even though we have drastically different products" Michael pauses dramatically and lowers his voice. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was using Phyllis to learn our secrets. What secrets? Well, it’s very obvious, we have the best team dynamic this side of the Mississippi. And naturally, he’s jealous. I mean, I would be. We’re family here. Can they say that at Vance Refrigeration? Well, Bill Vance can. You know, Bob’s brother.”)
Sometimes, Pam is really glad she didn’t go through with her wedding. Scratch that, she’s usually pretty glad except for those few nights alone when she realizes she hasn’t gotten laid in nearly a year and she might be getting laid if she was married, and it would be bad, but it would at least be sex.
Then she goes to weddings like Phyllis’ wedding. And it’s great at first, because she lets herself get a new dress or heels or something, and then it’s just sweet because she always cries even though she knows how high the divorce rate is, but then there’s the reception. She hates receptions. She’s pretty sure it started after she watched The Wedding Singer and realized she’d never be as cute as Drew Barrymore, it temporarily alleviated while planning her Weddingpalooza, and it solidified in the terrible moment when she visualized sharing her first dance with Roy to the musical stylings of Scrantonicity.
This is nearly as bad.
To her count she has rejected Andy twice, Michael once, and Kevin four times, and danced with each of them once out of pity. Kevin wasn’t so bad, she just sort of had to hold on while he shuffled in a circle. Dancing with Michael was the second best (or second worst, depending on how you looked at it. She was looking at it second worst). Dancing with Andy was something that she plans on blocking out of her memory. (Though she’s pretty sure that if she hadn’t slapped him, her sex drought would have ended, and she can’t decide if the continuing void in her life is more or less painful than filling that void with Andy, which is so pathetic it doesn’t even bear thinking about.)
She’s dancing with Michael now, just to make it fair, and it’s somewhere in between Andy and Kevin. He’s actually a pretty good dancer when he’s not pressed up against her in a way that could definitely be construed as sexual harassment. It’s just that, you know, he’s pressed against her a lot. And that’s awkward.
“Oh, hey!” Michael says when the next song starts and Pam looks over his shoulder desperately for anyone to save her (because hell, she’d take Andy at this point) and finally spotting Jim, who she’s hoping still recognizes the ‘save me from the hell that is my life’ eyebrows she’s desperately making at him now. “When A Man Loves A Woman! That’s classic baby making music, Pam, Miss Beesly cause I’m nasty...”
“Hey,” Jim says, and thank god he still reads eyebrows, “can I , er, cut in to have a dance?”
“What? Oh, hey, Slimminy Jimminy. Sorry I’m infringing on your turf.”
“Um,” Jim says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and giving a shrug, “Yeah, well,”
“Hey,” Michael says, grinning and glancing between Pam and Jim quickly, attempting to follow their silent communication (which boils down to oh my god oh my god oh my god) “You two crazy kids, have fun dancing. And use protection? Oooooo…kayyy...”
“Wow,” Jim says, his eyebrows rising to merge with his hair line. “Um. Slimminy Jimminy. That’s a new one.”
Pam lets out a small huff and hugs her elbows closer. “Yeah,” she says, “yeah, it’s certainly original.”
“So, um, want to dance? I mean, we might as well make this authentic.”
“No, I mean, yeah, you’re right,” Pam says, taking his outstretched hand and praying to dear god he’s not going to mention that her palms are all clammy, because that’s so helplessly middle school.
They don’t talk for the rest of the song, Jim just places a big hand on the small of her back (which is really the large of her back, because are those shovels or hands, seriously?) and she tucks herself under his chin and tries to memorize how he still smells like a prom date, nervous and gangly and almost grown up but not quite,
She’s sure she smells the same way.
June
("You know," Roy says, shifting because talking to the camera will never not be weird to him, "Pam and I were supposed to get married a year ago. A whole year. And, um, it looks like she's moved on. And we finished the catering leftovers. So that's good. I was getting sick of chicken."
He looks down at his hands briefly. "I just kind of wish I had a reason to keep coming back upstairs.")
They're having lunch outside because it's just too nice to not when Pam stops with her spoon full of yogurt, halfway to her mouth, and her eyes go wide. "Oh my god," she says, "I was supposed to get married a year ago today. Did you remember that? Because I totally forgot."
"What?" Jim asks, looking up from his sandwich. He could have sworn he packed turkey, but this looks suspiciously like ham...
"A year ago today," Pam says. "I was supposed to..."
"Oh, yeah. I remember," Jim says, gauging her reaction before looking down. "Are you okay? I mean, it's sort of a big marker since, well, you know."
The silence stretches between them, sticky with almost-summer and meaning, until Pam breaks it by finishing her spoonful of yogurt and licking her lips self-consciously. "I'm fine," she says, "I'm just glad Michael forgot too."
"Yeah," Jim chuckles. "Me too, Beesly. Me too."
July
("What I look for in a woman is very simple," Dwight says. "She must of course be able to bear children of great strength and intelligence. A high forehead is important, because it shows a larger area for the brain to grow. The Schrutes are, in fact, known for their large cranial capacities; it's believed that in the old country, before a bride was to become part of the Schrute clan, her forehead had to be measured to ensure the intelligence of their children.")
From: Pam [pbeesly@dundermifflin.com]
To: Jim [ jhalpert@dundermifflin.com]
Date: July 12, 2007 9:34:41
Subject: Check it out!!!!!
Make an excuse to go copy something and look at Angela's left hand.
From: Jim [ jhalpert@dundermifflin.com]
To: Pam [ pbeesly@dundermifflin.com]
Date: July 12, 2007 10:15:12
Subject: Do you think he sold the beet farm to buy that?
Now that is what I call bling. I've gotta wonder how Dwight asked her - ten bucks says he used the word "mate" at least once.
From: Pam [ pbeesly@dundermifflin.com]
To: Jim [ jhalpert@dundermifflin.com]
Date: July 12, 2007 10:17:55
Subject: Maybe he sold his cousin Mose
No bet, but I would pay money for a recording of that.
Can you imagine if they were to procreate?!!?!?!?
From: Jim [jhalpert@dundermifflin.com]
To: Pam [ pbeesly@dundermifflin.com]
Date: July 12, 2007 10:18:29
Subject: I wonder how much it would cost to buy Mose on the black market
Oh god, Beesly, I hate you so much right now. That image will be burned in my head forevermore. It's official. You made a grown man cry.
August
("Sometimes," Kevin says slowly, "I think about working at another company. Except then I realize - I get away with a lot here. Sometimes I think about it more when it's my birthday and Michael throws a big embarrassing party. But," he grins, "I like it when it's other people's birthdays. We get cake.")
Some years when Jim's birthday falls on a weekday, it's kind of alright. Everyone except Pam and his mom forget and it's a normal day except that he lets himself have an extra beer or two. Last year kind of sucked, he was packing up his place in Scranton and Pam obviously didn't e-mail him. He felt a little sorry for himself, like he was Molly Ringwald in 16 Candles, but then he realized how exceedingly terrible that analogy was. 29 wasn't a particularly monumental age, anyways. And besides, it could have been worse. Someone like Michael could have remembered.
This year, Michael remembers.
"Jimbo! Jimmy! Hitting the big 3 - 0!" he says while Jim puts his stuff down at his desk, grinning widely at the camera.
Jim tries to keep his expression as neutral as possible while the camera makes its clicking zooming noise. "Yeah, um, I'm getting up there."
"Big Tuna's turning 30?" Andy says, scooting his chair over to where Jim is standing and punches him where Jim's shoulder would be if Andy got out of his chair, but instead it sort of painfully hits his thigh. "You're getting up there, man. Hey, you know what we should do? My man Mike and I should take you to a strip club."
Dwight looks up from his computer. "I don't know where you're planning on going, Michael, but as number three to the regional manager..."
"Four," Andy interrupts, and Dwight glares at him.
"As number three to the regional manager, I shall join you wherever your business is."
"Dwight, you cannot go to a strip club," Michael says, "don't be absolutely ridiculous."
"Hey, wow, okay, I have plans for tonight anyways, but thanks," Jim says, ignoring Ryan mouthing what he's pretty sure are the words "sympathetic syphilis".
"Dude, it's your thirtieth!" Michael insists. "We should throw a party, at least. Where are my party planning little bees? Where my bitches at?"
Angela reluctantly stands up, radiating disapproval. "We cannot throw a party for everyone, Michael. It's not in the company budget."
"Screw the company budget, it's not every day that Jim here turns thirty!"
"Hey, uh, Michael?" Jim says, "Angela's right, let's just, you know...work..."
Michael looks at him with a growing look of betrayal. "Oh my god," he says in a stage whisper, before stalking back to his office "you are spending way too much time around Toby."
"Dude," Andy says, wheeling back to his desk. "You got burned."
The cameras follow Michael to his office to get an interview with him about what a party-pooper he is, and Jim finally gets to sit down.
"Hey," he hears Pam say, "So, about your birthday..."
"Oh my god," Jim says, turning around and grinning at her as she hoists herself up on his desk, her legs dangling just above the ground. "Let's never speak of that again."
"Fair enough," Pam grins. "I got you something."
"Wow, you really didn't have to..."
"It was a mix CD; it really wasn't a big deal."
He can feel himself grinning way too wide, but takes the CD anyways. "Thanks, Beesly. Ooh, first track, The Rainbow Connection, nice..."
"In English," Pam says, her grin matching his. "No Pig Latin."
"Awesome, awesome, love that song, hey, wait, this Travis song? Sing? I've already got it."
"I know," Pam says, fiddling with his pile of Post-Its." You played it for me on our first date."
Jim opens his mouth to say something, but Pam just gives him a bright, hard smile and goes back to her desk. Instead of saying anything, he sticks the CD in, pulls out his headphones, and listens.
September
("I think, sometimes, I should have become a teacher," Toby laments to the camera. "I could teach middle school. It's pretty much what I do now. You'd think my biggest job would be Michael, but mostly its gossip. Politics. The same thing you find in middle school." He sighs. "I think I might get paid more, and I'd get summer off.")
"So I hear, um, you had a date last night? Or something?" Jim says, taking two jellybeans and popping them in his mouth.
“Yeah, um, Kelly set me up again,” Pam says, “and, er. It’s best forgotten. Really.”
“Now you have to tell me, Beesly. You can’t just say a date was that bad and not tell me everything.”
Pam looks around, but it’s five and everyone’s either left or leaving, so she beckons Jim to lean in further.
“So, his name was Drew…”
“…nice.”
“Are you going to let me tell the story or not? Anyways, he’s, um, sort of tall? Really built. Nice. He works at a gym. He held the door for me.”
“Wait, don’t tell me, did he have a club foot? Did he crack his knuckles? Own a hunting lodge.”
“He loves game shows.”
“Oh no.”
“So his favorite show? Deal or No Deal.”
“Nice.”
“No, wait, he told me…he told me that when he was younger all he wanted to be when he grew up was the guy on Family Feud. He wants to name his first child Alec. And his hero is that Mormon guy, the one who’s freakishly smart, what’s his name…”
“Ken Jennings? You went on a date with a guy who wants to be Ken Jennings?”
“Well, he did have a nice smile. And he said that I was pretty enough to gesture to the lit up squares on Wheel of Fortune.”
“Wow. That’s totally his biggest pick up line. How could you not fall for it?”
“Well, um, actually, he originally said I could be one of the models on Deal or No Deal, but then decided that was too high profile and I wasn’t hot enough.”
“Hey,” Jim says, stirring the jellybeans and very carefully not looking at her, “if you were one of the models, I’d watch.”
“Um, thanks?”
“Yeah, uh, no problem,” Jim says, straightening up abruptly. “So, um, tomorrow. I’ll see you.”
“Yeah,” Pam says abruptly, “No, yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
October
("I think I'm the only person who really knows how to throw parties in this office," Angela says to the camera waspishly. "Honestly, it's like some people don't want to have a good holiday the right way." She pauses. "That's my way.")
Pam knows that Angela should really have stopped bothering her by now. Logically, she knows that Angela is actually a pretty terrible excuse for a human being and that nothing about her or her stupid party planning committee, but she's still in the break room, her fists clenching and unclenching as she tries desperately and fails not to cry.
The thing is, Pam doesn't mean to forget about the sprinkles. She even put them on her shopping list, the one she started on the back of a Target receipt. Underneath milk, it read SPRINKLES in large letters. But when Angela asks her pointedly where the sprinkles are, Pam groans a little and remembers that the receipt is still in her purse.
"Angela - " she begins.
"You forgot them, didn't you? You do realize that just ruins everything, don’t you?" Angela asks, glaring at her.
“Oh, please, Angela, I’m sure they’re fine.”
"You," Angela says, "clearly don’t care enough about Halloween to bother coming to the party."
“Angela, really, I’m sorry…”
"No,” Angela cuts her off, waving her left hand so it catches the light, “no, I just don’t think you really care.”
It's just sprinkles, Pam thinks to herself as she fixes clenches and unclenches her left hand and it looks helplessly naked. She’s crying, and it’s ridiculous, because it’s only Angela and the ring is from Dwight, so should she really feel that jealous? She looks around the room desperately for tissues or paper towels or something when she see Jim come in the break room.
"Morning," he says, grinning. He's wearing glasses without the lenses, his hair is parted down the middle, and he looks suspiciously like Dwight. "Guess who I am? Hey, Pam? Um, are you okay?”
"Yeah," she mutters, finding the paper towels and blowing her nose until she’s sure it’s bright, bright red.
"What's wrong?
"It's - nothing. I just - Um. Angela banned me from the Halloween party.”
"She what?"
"Yeah, um, I forgot to get her the sprinkles she asked for yesterday. So she banned me from the party."
Jim purses his lips. "Jesus."
"Look, it's no big deal,” she says. “Really.”
Jim opens his mouth, but at that moment Dwight comes bursting in the break room looking murderous. And like Legolas - blonde wig included.
“Jim, are you impersonating me?”
“Yes,” Jim says, exasperated. “Now go away.”
“Oh, you are in so much trouble, mister,” Dwight said, pointing his bow at Jim menacingly. “You know what, Halloween is a privilege. Dressing up is a privilege. Clearly, you don’t understand that, and I think you should be banned from the Halloween party. In fact, I order you to go change. Right now.”
“Wow,” Jim says, actually starting to sound ticked off and not just mildly annoyed, “I’m second in command here. And I say you go back to your desk. Now. Oh, and tell your girlfriend… fiancée… whatever, that if she bans someone from a party again I’m writing her up. Go.”
“Oho, this is not over. I am so telling on you to Toby first,” Dwight says, turning on his heel so quickly that his wig goes askew.
“So,” Jim says, turning back to Pam, when the door has finally slammed, “when the party starts at three? I say we skip out early and get some terrible candy on our own.”
“Can we?” Pam asks.
“Hey, of course we can. Come on,” Jim squeezes her shoulder briefly before dropping his hand like he’s burnt it. “Six more hours to go. And I’ll even get you a cupcake.”
He does. It doesn’t have sprinkles.
November
("So I am totally setting Pam and Jim up," Kelly gushes to the camera. "I was watching When Harry Met Sally yesterday with Ryan because he totally loves that movie and then I realized that it's really true, you know? Like men and women totally can't be just friends. Like I'm sure on the set of Mr. and Mrs. Smith Brad and Angelina tried to be just friends because Brad was still with Jen, but they soooo could not deny their chemistry. So I thought that, like, I could set up Pam and Jim because I know they've totally never thought about each other like that but I'm just opening their eyes, right? It's, like, a total good deed, like something Angelina would do." She paused. "I mean, I know she saves children and adopts them or whatever with the UN, but this is like the matchmaking UN. Which is so much more fun.")
"They're not coming," Pam says, smiling at the waitress who brings them beers.
"Probably," Jim says. "Breadstick?"
Pam sighs and shakes her head. "I really should learn to stop trusting Kelly when it comes to double dates, shouldn't I?"
"Yeah, what's up with that?" Jim asks, grinning at her as he puts down his beer. "I mean, first there was the cartoonist..."
"He was just boring, he wasn't a bad person..."
"Then there was Drew.”
“He had a very nice smile!”
“He compulsively whitened his teeth so he could be on game shows. He wanted to name his first child either Alec or Ken.”
“Oh my god,” Pam says, her eyes going wide as she reaches for another bread stick, “what if it was a girl?”
“I think the name ‘Vanna’ would have been fair game.”
Pam shakes her head. “That poor, poor child.”
“Hey,” Jim says, struck by the kind of reckless inspiration he only gets after finishing a beer, “you want to blow this joint? Deal or No Deal is on, and I’m not bragging, but I hear I make a mean grilled cheese.”
Pam’s eyebrows draw together and she doesn’t choke on her beer, but it’s a close thing. “Are you asking me on a date, Halpert?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think we’re already on one.”
Pam grins at him, making that face that he hates and loves and can’t stand at the same time because it makes him want to kiss her. And then he remembers, hey, they’re on a date, and this time it’s the real kind without cameras, not the on the roof kind. This time, Dwight is not involved at all. This time, Pam’s smile is getting closer and closer without him doing anything, and this time, he gets to touch her hair and kiss her. This time she doesn’t hesitate when kissing him back.
“Okay,” she says when she pulls back a little, but she’s still close enough so he can taste every word she says. “Now we’re on a date. And no, I would not like to watch a game show in any way, shape or form, but yes, I would like a grilled cheese.”
“I think that can be arranged,” he says. He knows this means that they’ll have to get up from the booth they’re sharing, that for about twenty terrible minutes he’s going to have to live without Pam pressed this close to him, and then after that he’s somehow going to have to make some grilled cheeses before he can kiss her again. He also knows he’s been set up by Kelly, of all people, and he fell for it, so what does that really say about him?
He finds he really doesn’t care.
December
("What I do for Christmas," Jim says, scratching the side of his ear. "It's, um, it's Christmas, you know? My parents live about a half an hour away and they have this Christmas Eve party, so I have to go and hear about retirement and the AARP - you know, fun things, and, um, then I go home and open my presents. On my own." He grins. "Who knows, though. Maybe this year will be different.")
Jim's in the middle of hearing an in depth description of his Aunt Ida's bunions when his cell phone rings and he excuses himself to the bathroom.
"Hey, thanks for calling, Aunt Ida was in the middle of a detailed description of her bunions." He can hear a soft huff of laughter from the other end.
"This is why I said you should have brought me."
"I couldn't let you come meet my Aunt Ida. I like you, remember?"
"Hey, can you sneak out?"
"Well, anything's possible," Jim says, looking around the bathroom as if a vent he can climb out of will appear if he just looks hard enough, "but yeah, I think I can."
"Can you stay over?"
"Only if you we play MASH and you braid my hair."
"Ooh, can't promise that," Pam says, "but I can tell you that I made gingerbread men."
"You do know how to win a man over. I'll tell my mom I'm leaving. It'll break her heart, I'm just warning you."
"How soon can you be here?" Pam says, quietly, like they're back in the office and no one can hear them.
"Half an hour or 45 minutes if I go get your present."
"Okay, drive safely," there's a pause. "I love you."
Jim stops sifting through his mom's potpourri and grins at the phone cradled against his cheek. "Love you too. I'll see you soon."
He knows he promised that he would drive safely, but he didn't promise not to speed.