Crossover fic: house/the office: slipping fairytales. do not pass go.
Title: slipping fairytales. do not pass go.
Fandom: the Office/House, M.D.
Characters/Pairings: Pam, Cameron, hints of House/Cameron, Jim/Pam
Word Count: 1162
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Conflict Resolution for Office spoilers. And General S3 for House. ♥
Summary: But Pam picks up hesitations. (Jim did the same thing. Or does. She can’t remember. Because she hates when Jim takes a day.)
Author's Notes: A product of my lousy night. I happened to start a crossover. And finished it. And enjoyed writing it. Because guys? There’s only so much baking one person can take. For teenwitch77. Em, thank you for being such a sweetheart. ♥
::
I'd like to return this spell
'Cause it's not my size.
Nada Surf, The Blankest Year
::
Pam waits outside the restaurant, thoughts of Jim calling out today and her mother’s plan for world domination her wedding finally grating on her nerves. It’s not a good day why didn’t he tell her?. And she stumbled over a story about Dwight with her mother. She never stumbles over Dwight-stories.
Maybe, it’s because it’s Wednesday. Nobody likes the middle of the week.
But she’s outside and not at work, not rotating between listening to Kelly about Ryan (she likes Kelly, really) or shredding. Shredding is therapeutic though.
“Pam!”
Her lips curl, watching the other woman yank off her identification tag. It feels like a song, friends in odd places, but she still keeps in touch with friends from high school. It’s easier with Allison because their mothers have been friends for years. And she likes the idea of separate spheres, of being able to have a little niche, a corner that some people don’t know about.
“Hey Allison.”
They hug and kiss like old friends. And do the routine of touching the how’s life treating you? small talk. They sit on a bench and Allison reaches for a bridal magazine, the one she was reading, thumbing it.
“The only thing,” she murmurs in amusement, “that I used these for was propping my coffee table up in college.”
Pam laughs. And Allison grins.
She wonders, silently, thoughts skimming her mind- of Jim and knowing what she knows, if she even can begin to understand where she stands- of how she did it. But she doesn’t push because high school memories are stupid and college memories fall off timelines.
Allison had a wedding and a funeral, too many hospital visits (a doctor? she had asked once. And Allison just shrugged.) to count. Pam has bridal magazines and finishing touches, too many loose ends and five times the uncertainty. Because she likes habits.
She brushes her hair out of her eyes. “I’m getting married.”
She takes back the bridal magazine, twisting her ring around her finger (new habit) and flinching when it almost slips. She’s getting married. Married. Married. The rotation in her head should accomplish something.
She shakes her head. “Your mom sorta, accidentally-”
Her friend groans and mutters something about not telling her mother things anymore.
“I’m not in love with him,” she says. But Pam picks up hesitations. (Jim did the same thing. Or does. She can’t remember. Because she hates when Jim takes a day.) And it’s not a very convincing I’m not in love with him. Because the firmness, the one she’s so obviously trying to achieve, sounds strained.
It’s almost like hearing herself. A foil.
She doesn’t say anything. Because it’s not her place to. Their mothers are friends, close friends, closer than they are. And Jim’s her best friend. Jim knows her secrets. But Pam understand the kind of denial slipping from the other woman.
“What’s his name?”
A strange, tired smile- genuine- curls onto Allison’s lip. She shakes her head as if it’s some secret that she has and turns to look her in the eyes.
“It’s not important.”
Pam grins. “Uh-huh.
“Really. It’s not important. It’s always nothing anyway, always the middle of something that never moves forward- god, I sound like article from Cosmo,” she mutters.
“You don’t read Cosmo.”
They laugh together. And Pam thinks that she should make an effort to do something like this once or twice a month. A step forward instead of backwards and off to the side. Friends are friends.
Jim would’ve told her about the dentist appointment. Jim tells her things, particularly if they’re dentist appointments so she can sneak out and have lunch with him away from the office.
Allison takes the bridal magazine from her. “What’s his name?”
I’m that obvious? is on the tip of her tongue. And then she stops. She stops and goes through the routine.
“I’m getting married.” Apparently, she needs to stop scanning O in the supermarket. Because Oprah really doesn’t do well for- nerves, they’re just nerves. Her mother says they’re nerves. Roy’s mom says they’re nerves. Roy’s sister says that they’re nerves.
They all say it’s going to pass. But it’s not passing.
“You’re getting married,” Allison offers quietly.
There is always the list of things she could say she practices on Jim, but even now, she comes closer to face whatever this. If this facing something.
“I-” She rubs her eyes, her hands dropping to pick up the magazine. She looks at it. Invitations are out. She has a dress. But it’s not the dress. (She bookmarked the dress with the pamphlet about graphic design that Jan gave her.)
Pam swallows. “Jim called out today. He had a dentist appointment. Jim never calls the day of. Or forgets.”
Allison doesn’t ask about Jim. Because she doesn’t know about Jim. And if they were closer friends, maybe, just maybe, she’d tell her about these moments that just seem to haunt her more than they should.
What she does is take the magazine and tosses it into the trashcan, shaking her head as it crashes and makes too much noise. Pam’s fingers brush against her ring and she starts to twist it again.
“We go backwards and forwards all the time,” Allison tells her as if it explains everything, the pinnacle of details. “And off to the side. Sometimes I think I can’t do it anymore. But-”
She inches closer. “But?”
Allison snorts, shaking her head in amusement. “He wouldn’t lie to me.”
She watches Allison quietly, watches as she sighs and closes her eyes. And wonders if she push. But pushing seems to be the least likely-
She sighs.
Pam looks to the entrance of the restaurant, where her mom and Allison’s mother are inside with stacks of bridal magazines and plans. There’s always some sort of plan. This isn’t about rebelling against the institution or the predictable (she’s got to stop listening to Dwight’s conversations).
She doesn’t know what it is. But what’s she doing is going to fade and fade quickly. Struggling isn’t working out. Does he not know that he’s important to her?.
“I feel like ice cream.” (She can’t wrap her head around why this bugging her like this.) Pam stands. “Wanna skip out?”
Allison laughs softly. “Sure.”
They steer away from the conversation, dipping back into comfortable territory- they both agree that a dose of both their mothers in the same room is not a good idea. Or, Pam rationalizes, really does nothing for her sanity. Allison asks about art classes again. And she asks about the hospital- comments brief and never more then brief.
It’s Wednesday, she tells herself. Wednesday. Middle of the week. She’s probably blowing this thing with Jim out of perspective. She can allow herself the moment.
(But in the back of her head, everything is twisting. And Pam, Pam shares faces with Allison. This is your corner, she thinks. It’s time to turn around.)
Just a moment.
:::end:::
Fandom: the Office/House, M.D.
Characters/Pairings: Pam, Cameron, hints of House/Cameron, Jim/Pam
Word Count: 1162
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Conflict Resolution for Office spoilers. And General S3 for House. ♥
Summary: But Pam picks up hesitations. (Jim did the same thing. Or does. She can’t remember. Because she hates when Jim takes a day.)
Author's Notes: A product of my lousy night. I happened to start a crossover. And finished it. And enjoyed writing it. Because guys? There’s only so much baking one person can take. For teenwitch77. Em, thank you for being such a sweetheart. ♥
::
I'd like to return this spell
'Cause it's not my size.
Nada Surf, The Blankest Year
::
Pam waits outside the restaurant, thoughts of Jim calling out today and her mother’s plan for world domination her wedding finally grating on her nerves. It’s not a good day why didn’t he tell her?. And she stumbled over a story about Dwight with her mother. She never stumbles over Dwight-stories.
Maybe, it’s because it’s Wednesday. Nobody likes the middle of the week.
But she’s outside and not at work, not rotating between listening to Kelly about Ryan (she likes Kelly, really) or shredding. Shredding is therapeutic though.
“Pam!”
Her lips curl, watching the other woman yank off her identification tag. It feels like a song, friends in odd places, but she still keeps in touch with friends from high school. It’s easier with Allison because their mothers have been friends for years. And she likes the idea of separate spheres, of being able to have a little niche, a corner that some people don’t know about.
“Hey Allison.”
They hug and kiss like old friends. And do the routine of touching the how’s life treating you? small talk. They sit on a bench and Allison reaches for a bridal magazine, the one she was reading, thumbing it.
“The only thing,” she murmurs in amusement, “that I used these for was propping my coffee table up in college.”
Pam laughs. And Allison grins.
She wonders, silently, thoughts skimming her mind- of Jim and knowing what she knows, if she even can begin to understand where she stands- of how she did it. But she doesn’t push because high school memories are stupid and college memories fall off timelines.
Allison had a wedding and a funeral, too many hospital visits (a doctor? she had asked once. And Allison just shrugged.) to count. Pam has bridal magazines and finishing touches, too many loose ends and five times the uncertainty. Because she likes habits.
She brushes her hair out of her eyes. “I’m getting married.”
She takes back the bridal magazine, twisting her ring around her finger (new habit) and flinching when it almost slips. She’s getting married. Married. Married. The rotation in her head should accomplish something.
She shakes her head. “Your mom sorta, accidentally-”
Her friend groans and mutters something about not telling her mother things anymore.
“I’m not in love with him,” she says. But Pam picks up hesitations. (Jim did the same thing. Or does. She can’t remember. Because she hates when Jim takes a day.) And it’s not a very convincing I’m not in love with him. Because the firmness, the one she’s so obviously trying to achieve, sounds strained.
It’s almost like hearing herself. A foil.
She doesn’t say anything. Because it’s not her place to. Their mothers are friends, close friends, closer than they are. And Jim’s her best friend. Jim knows her secrets. But Pam understand the kind of denial slipping from the other woman.
“What’s his name?”
A strange, tired smile- genuine- curls onto Allison’s lip. She shakes her head as if it’s some secret that she has and turns to look her in the eyes.
“It’s not important.”
Pam grins. “Uh-huh.
“Really. It’s not important. It’s always nothing anyway, always the middle of something that never moves forward- god, I sound like article from Cosmo,” she mutters.
“You don’t read Cosmo.”
They laugh together. And Pam thinks that she should make an effort to do something like this once or twice a month. A step forward instead of backwards and off to the side. Friends are friends.
Jim would’ve told her about the dentist appointment. Jim tells her things, particularly if they’re dentist appointments so she can sneak out and have lunch with him away from the office.
Allison takes the bridal magazine from her. “What’s his name?”
I’m that obvious? is on the tip of her tongue. And then she stops. She stops and goes through the routine.
“I’m getting married.” Apparently, she needs to stop scanning O in the supermarket. Because Oprah really doesn’t do well for- nerves, they’re just nerves. Her mother says they’re nerves. Roy’s mom says they’re nerves. Roy’s sister says that they’re nerves.
They all say it’s going to pass. But it’s not passing.
“You’re getting married,” Allison offers quietly.
There is always the list of things she could say she practices on Jim, but even now, she comes closer to face whatever this. If this facing something.
“I-” She rubs her eyes, her hands dropping to pick up the magazine. She looks at it. Invitations are out. She has a dress. But it’s not the dress. (She bookmarked the dress with the pamphlet about graphic design that Jan gave her.)
Pam swallows. “Jim called out today. He had a dentist appointment. Jim never calls the day of. Or forgets.”
Allison doesn’t ask about Jim. Because she doesn’t know about Jim. And if they were closer friends, maybe, just maybe, she’d tell her about these moments that just seem to haunt her more than they should.
What she does is take the magazine and tosses it into the trashcan, shaking her head as it crashes and makes too much noise. Pam’s fingers brush against her ring and she starts to twist it again.
“We go backwards and forwards all the time,” Allison tells her as if it explains everything, the pinnacle of details. “And off to the side. Sometimes I think I can’t do it anymore. But-”
She inches closer. “But?”
Allison snorts, shaking her head in amusement. “He wouldn’t lie to me.”
She watches Allison quietly, watches as she sighs and closes her eyes. And wonders if she push. But pushing seems to be the least likely-
She sighs.
Pam looks to the entrance of the restaurant, where her mom and Allison’s mother are inside with stacks of bridal magazines and plans. There’s always some sort of plan. This isn’t about rebelling against the institution or the predictable (she’s got to stop listening to Dwight’s conversations).
She doesn’t know what it is. But what’s she doing is going to fade and fade quickly. Struggling isn’t working out. Does he not know that he’s important to her?.
“I feel like ice cream.” (She can’t wrap her head around why this bugging her like this.) Pam stands. “Wanna skip out?”
Allison laughs softly. “Sure.”
They steer away from the conversation, dipping back into comfortable territory- they both agree that a dose of both their mothers in the same room is not a good idea. Or, Pam rationalizes, really does nothing for her sanity. Allison asks about art classes again. And she asks about the hospital- comments brief and never more then brief.
It’s Wednesday, she tells herself. Wednesday. Middle of the week. She’s probably blowing this thing with Jim out of perspective. She can allow herself the moment.
(But in the back of her head, everything is twisting. And Pam, Pam shares faces with Allison. This is your corner, she thinks. It’s time to turn around.)
Just a moment.
:::end:::