fic: let's hope for some (the office; pam/ryan, pam/brian)
Title: let's hope for some
Pairings/Characters: Pam/Brian, Pam/Ryan (if you squint)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3500
Warnings/Spoilers: None, unless it really is 2007 again and you haven't watched S3 of The Office
Summary: Pam and Brian the Boom Guy during The Negotiation. Because why not?
Author's Notes: Written for nothing_hip's February "Ho Hey" Challenge, and also as a really, really late birthday gift to mozarts_friend. Sorry your party's so lame! Remember when we were really into Pam/Brian like we all jumped into a time machine and then lost interest and collapsed in on ourselves like dying stars? Me neither. It was very late, internet.
Everything sucks.
To say that might be an exaggeration, but if anything it’s only a slight one. Pam thought that after Jim moved to Stamford and she was untangling from the mess that was her cancelled wedding and complicated breakup she could handle anything, but she was wrong. The worst hadn’t happened yet. Pam feels so alone that she’s starting to really get sick of herself.
Getting back together with Roy felt like....it felt like the mature decision at the time. But now, she knows that it wasn’t. Not really. And it’s like everything she did in the past few months, all that hard work at being herself, is done. And she has to start again. The truth is, being with Roy was something she did for so long that it was incredibly easy to slip back into it. It was comfortable. So comfortable that it was just...way too easy to convince herself that things are different, things can change.
No one knows this, but the whole reason they got engaged in the first place, all those years ago, is because Pam finally got up the nerve to say something, to move forward, to leave.
It lasted two weeks.
Roy eventually showed up with a ring, and Pam felt so miserable trying to learn how to be just herself that she figured it was a sign that a change was going to come. The fact that she believed that for the next five years (if she’s being conservative about how long it really was) is...Pam doesn’t like to think about it that much.
The fact of the matter is, Jim really was her best friend. Outside of work, there was always Roy. Someone always there to do something with, even if it was mostly stuff Pam didn’t want to do. And when you’ve been with someone long enough, it’s easy to pretend you have enough in common to warrant that much one on one time. Pam figures that marriages have been built on much less.
She had tried after the almost wedding, sort of. Kelly, despite her overall Kelly-ness, was fun to do things with, to get occasional girly drinks and listen to her talk about Ryan, even if Ryan was there as a silent (always silent, not that Pam can blame him) observer. And Pam really did secretly like it when Kelly called her back to the annex for opinions about whatever pink thing she was thinking about buying online that day; she knows it’s not that Kelly values her opinion, but Pam liked feeling like someone did.
There was art school. Pam made it her goal to talk to at least two people in every class in order to get out of her little bubble, and she usually did pretty okay. Baby steps, she told herself. Even Karen, aside from the Jim weirdness, was fun.
The documentary crew. Well, Brian at least. He was one of the camera men until he got in trouble for interacting with her too much during her investigation into Angela and Dwight, but he said that sound is a much better job, that his arms are insane from holding up the boom all day. Not that she’s ever seen him outside of the work day either (except for her art show, where he showed up even though he wasn’t filming), but at least sometimes when she’s doing her interviews in the conference room it feels like she’s talking to a friend, in a way. Especially when they’re asking her about things like hey, so Roy tried to kill Jim, tell us all your feelings in extreme detail and please cry if at all possible. Brian narrowed his eyes whenever Randall would ask her another question, and it helped settle Pam’s stomach a little bit.
She realizes, two days after it all went down, that in a sick way she looks forward to work because that is her social life. That her days, even when she thought she was doing well beforehand, revolved around her Mom and cereal for dinner and going to bed early and silence. She wonders if anyone really ever gets better, or you just find enough stuff to cover up every past little bruise. Jim hasn’t said a word to her since it happened, but he’s talking a lot now, trying to convince Dwight to let him buy him something, anything, to thank him for saving him from Roy.
Pam busies herself with her nonexistent work, thinking about how long it took her to fall asleep the night before, and the night before that. She’s looking at kittens for sale on Craigslist before she realizes, and when she looks up, disgusted at herself, she notices Brain craning his neck over to look at her computer screen, stretching his arms out to catch Jim and Dwight’s argument from a distance.
Cat lady, is what he mouths in her direction, nodding and raising his eyebrows at the particularly damning picture of three kittens sleeping in a box she just clicked on (and saved, she’s not a monster). It’s dumb and kind of mean but she laughs, because for a minute she can. It’s surprising. Maybe there’s hope.
*
Hope lasts for approximately two hours, and then she’s talking to Jim about the attack and everything sucks. It sucks. The worst kind of suck. Jim’s not like any version of himself Pam’s seen before, and she idly wonders as he stands there, stiff with awkwardness and what feels like anger, if that’s because the Jim she knew before loved her and this Jim loves hurting her. Wonders which one is real. If maybe it’s something she did to change that.
Not that she can blame him, not after everything. It’s just the two of them with Jen and Brian, and the large space feels cramped until Jim breezes out, taking the cold with him. It’s a bigger relief when Jen gets a signal to stop filming for a minute, something about needing the crew to split and follow Michael to corporate for some reason. Pam just keeps staring at the table, counting the flecks of pepper from whoever sat there eating last, until someone clears their throat.
“Hey,” Brian’s voice is a whisper, even though when Pam looks up they’re alone, “you okay?” He’s packing something up, kneeling at the floor and not looking at her.
“Nope.” Pam answers, feeling like it’s easier to be honest when he’s not meeting her eyes. “Not...just nope.”
“Listen,” Brian stands up, slinging a bag over his shoulder and looking uncertain about something, hesitating before continuing, “you don’t owe him anything.”
“Who?” Pam feels like she owes so many people so much that he could be referring to anyone.
“Jim,” Brian looks surprised, like she should have known, “he’s just...it’s a fucked up deal, what happened, but as an observer, paid or not, he expects...you just, you don’t owe him, okay?”
“Sure.” Pam shrugs, looking back down at the table because it feels like Brian is looking at her too directly, too much like someone she doesn’t just see for the majority of her day. He’s not there when she’s alone at night and no one is calling.
“I’m sorry, but sometimes it’s hard here, you know?” It sounds like he’s smiling, but when Pam glances up again he just looks sad. “And after last year, with you and Jim and your wedding...it’s easy to edit something into a love triangle with equal sides, with the right footage. It’s an easy thing to buy into, even if you’re part of it. If you’re living it.”
“Oh.” Pam covers her mouth, pretending to yawn so he doesn’t realize she’s covering up a sob, “is that what your guys’s plan is?” She doesn’t know exactly what he’s saying. And she always thought Brian and Jim were pretty tight.
“I don’t....” Brian steps backward, toward the door, “I should go...I’m overstepping....”
He’s already gone when Pam’s found her voice enough to say goodbye loud enough for him to hear it. She watches the empty doorway and thinks about the last thing Brian filmed before he got in trouble; him, her, and Jim in Jim’s room at that BBQ he hosted what feels like forever ago instead of just over a year. Brian was half in Jim’s closet so they could all fit in the tiny space, laughing, and he kept interjecting jokes about Jim’s yearbook, ending everything he said with, “shit, they’ll have to edit that out.”
She wonders, now.
*
Talking to Roy ends up being something good, at least for as long as she’s speaking to him. He doesn’t get it, not about the Jim thing, telling her to go for it, telling her...Roy is still Roy, at the end of the day. It’s that final hug outside that gets her. Because this time, unlike every other time, it really an end. He smells like home and familiarity and she fits in his arms just so, but she can’t fit there anymore. For a million little reasons, all of them adding up to why. And it’s not fair, because as rationally as she can tell herself in her car afterward that this is a good thing, this is for the best, she feels desperate and lonely and a lot of other unnameable things that all equal a crushing misery that settles over her like a really crappy blanket.
Roy told her, when she asked, that Kenny paid off Poor Richard’s to take care of the damage and keep the cops at bay. So she doesn’t know exactly why she drives over there. Just to see, maybe. To poke that bruise until it throbs. Mainly, she doesn’t really want to go home and stare at her ceiling.
Sitting alone at the bar with her beer, Pam appraises the damage. Aside from one small section above the bar that has a piece of cardboard duct taped over it, she wouldn’t know that Roy freaked out over everything. Except for how it totally happened and was terrible.
Even more terrible is the fact that when she looks over to the other side of the bar Ryan’s there. Staring at her. Of all the people she’d like to see from the office, he’s pretty low on the list. Not that he’s terrible, but sometimes he looks at her and Pam thinks that he can sense, just, well, stuff that she doesn’t want anyone to know.
They’ve locked eyes for long enough that it’s uncomfortable, and she feels rooted to her chair as he slowly moves his way over to her. Neither of them say anything as he sits, rubbing his fingers over the drops of condensation on his half full beer and sighing faintly.
“Revisiting the scene of the crime?” He finally says, grimacing when she shoots him a look. “I’m sorry, sorry...that was a really shitty joke.”
“That was a joke?” Pam fights to keep her voice steady, fights to keep it light.
“Hey, I tried.” Ryan glances over at her, quickly - Pam is pretty sure that it’s the first time they’ve had real eye contact and it makes her shiver slightly to herself, feels a chill travel up her spine. “You okay? I mean, I was here, you know, when...” He trails off and she appreciates it, that he doesn't finish.
“Yeah.” She says immediately, then hears herself sigh and correct herself before she can stop it. “Actually, no. It’s just hard. And sucky.”
“Sucky,” Ryan echoes, softly, laughing to himself and taking a long pull from his beer. “That sounds like something Kelly would say. Totally sucky.”
“Maybe I’ve been hanging around her too much,” Pam starts, cautiously, taking a long drink herself and feeling her face flush.
“No, hanging around Kelly too much is my job.” Ryan says it like a joke, but it sounds so sad to Pam that it makes her breath catch in her throat.
"Yeah, what's up with that? I've always wanted to ask. You don't seem...you know." Pam likes that she can ask someone else why they keep making mistakes, for once, instead of just asking herself.
"Don't know." Ryan mumbles, glancing her way again before signaling to the bartender for another round for them both. His eyes are really blue. Really bloodshot. "It's not the worst, you know? I've gotten used to it. I like it. Can't explain something like that sometimes, right? Do you know what I'm saying?" He's staring right at her now, his hand reaching out and tapping the empty space between them. Pam wonders how many he had before she showed up, and a part of her wants to catch up to him, wallow in everything.
"Yeah," Pam feels daring when she rests her hand on top of his to stop the tapping. "I really do."
*
"I can walk home from here," Ryan slurs, scribbling his name on the tab. They're closing out, and Pam is wondering how, exactly, she's going to get home, to her small apartment across town. She's nowhere near where Ryan is, but she's certainly not sober. She doesn't think she's drunk. Except maybe she is a little drunk. And it's not even ten o'clock.
"You live that close?" Pam feels like she's talking really loud, choosing her words carefully.
"Yeah. Yeah. You comin?" Ryan's unsteady on his feet, gripping Pam's shoulder for balance and almost bringing her down in the process. Against her better judgment, Pam had stayed and talked to Ryan about a lot of things she probably should have kept to herself. Plus now she knows way too much about Kelly and Ryan's relationship. Although that makes her feel a little better about her own problems.
"I guess?" Pam follows Ryan, looking at a spot of smooth skin on his neck that peeks over this collar. She thinks that maybe it wouldn't be bad to follow Ryan home, to bury her face in that spot and fall asleep with someone wrapped around her.
"Good enough for me," Ryan shrugs, and then laughs. Pam suddenly regrets everything she was thinking, because God, it's Ryan, she can't go home with Ryan.
"Actually," Pam starts to say as they walk out into the parking lot, but Ryan cuts her off.
"Isn't that one of our voyeurs?" He's pointing at Brian, who's opening the door to his car. And Ryan must be really talking loud, not just to her own ears, because Brian looks up just then, meeting her eyes and smiling before glancing over at Ryan. He looks confused.
"Brian." Pam holds her breath, unthreading her arm from Ryan's. "You know his name."
"Uh huh. Listen, I'm either going to need more drinks or sleep soon, so. Decision time." It might be that she's tipsy, but Ryan looks almost hurt.
"Just go home," Pam mutters under her breath, reaching out and squeezing the spot on Ryan's arm just above his elbow. "Thanks, okay? Let me know you get home safe."
"Yeah." Ryan starts to walk away, calling over his shoulder, "I will."
Pam's halfway to where Brian's standing when she realizes that Ryan doesn't even have her number.
*
"Right here?" Brian pulls into one of the empty spots behind her building. Pam nods.
"This is good." Pam doesn't know how she knew, but she didn't say anything to Brian when she walked up to him in the parking lot of Poor Richard's, just nodding when he asked if she needed a ride. She's not sure how she'll get to work in the morning, or her car, but that's for her future self to deal with.
"So. Ryan." Brian's got both of his hands wrapped around the steering wheel and he's staring ahead like he's still driving. Pam wonders if this is what he wanted to mention all along during the ten minute drive to her place, making general small talk instead, him only asking her if she was okay once.
"I ran into Ryan. We talked. Ryan's not..." Pam sighs, unbuckling her seat belt so she can turn toward Brian, noticing how the windows are already starting to fog up from them breathing together in such a small space. "I shouldn't have gone there anyway, but I just...it's been a long day."
"I know. And I'm sorry if I, I mean, I probably shouldn't have said what I did. About Jim." Brian rubs his hand over his face, like he's trying to wipe away something.
"It's okay. It helped." Brian looks over at her then, his eyes wide and dark. She means it, too. It really did, now that she thinks about it. "The problem is," she starts, and then stops herself.
"What's the problem?" Brian's voice is soft and low, and when he leans in Pam can smell a hint of something, maybe a light cologne, maybe his fabric softener, maybe just him. She feels a lot more sober.
"I guess the problem is that...I didn't have feelings for Jim until I did, and now they're all I have left." Until she says it out loud, just like that, Pam realizes how true it is. A soft sob escapes her lips before she can stop herself, stifle it.
"Hey," Brian snaps out of his seat belt, pulling Pam into his arms awkwardly across the console between them. She likes that he doesn't hesitate and just does it, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, thumb rubbing there to capture a tear. "No," he says, finally, "they're not."
"Feels like it," Pam mumbles into his chest, breathing in deeply. It's not cologne. She thinks it might just be Brian. Roy had his own smell too, and this is different, less homey. Unknown.
"Well, yeah." Brian's holding his breath, Pam can tell. "When things are shit, things look terrible. As trite as this sounds though, you'll be okay."
"Maybe." Pam can feel herself crashing internally, this overwhelming exhaustion that spreads through her body slowly. She wonders if he really thinks that.
"You'll be happy, even. Maybe..." Brian pauses, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back, feeling hot on her skin even through two layers of clothing. "maybe with Jim. Maybe with someone else. Definitely with yourself, though. Okay?" He pulls back to look down at her, his eyes flickering downward when Pam involuntarily licks her lips.
"I need to go upstairs," is what Pam says, even if she's not sure that's what she wants.
"Okay," Brian nods, "Okay."
"Sorry," Pam starts, but Brian holds up his hands, reaching over her and swiping at the condensation fogging up the window, peering outside.
"I'm still walking you to your door," he says, and she doesn't argue, taking a deep breath when they're both outside the car, her leading the way. His hand is resting lightly on her back as they walk, and despite the alcohol Pam feels steady. She's almost sad that she lives on the first floor when they get inside and at her door in just a couple of quiet, comforting minutes.
"So," she starts, and then his lips are on hers, soft and questioning at first. Pam had hoped; maybe for all day, maybe for a long time, and that thought hits her so hard her knees feel weak so she leans into Brian, hands gripping his back, moving up over his neck and into his hair, feeling dizzy when he kisses her harder and lifts her a little, pushing her back against her door and bucketing her head with his hands. She can't breathe, she has to breathe. When he runs his tongue along her bottom lip she starts crying again, and she holds him tighter and hopes he won't stop. He doesn't, groaning into her mouth and gently sliding her back down his body until her feet are on the ground and he's dotting soft kisses at the edge of her lips. Pulls away slowly.
"Sorry," he whispers, their breathing filling the small hallway, sounding muffled to Pam through her heartbeat in her ears.
"Thank you," is what Pam finally answers, smiling at Brian as he stands there all disheveled, staring at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. And maybe he's right, about a lot of things. She kisses his cheek.
"Thank you," she says again. And this time, he smiles back.
*
When Jim asks her out weeks later, when he says, "it's a date," Brian is the first person Pam looks to, asks him what the question was. Not anyone else standing there with cameras and mics pointing at her face. It's a brief moment, everyone else stunned speechless and Pam wants to run around the office, feels like her heart's beating so fast it might explode out of her chest. She looks at Brian, and she can't read the expression on his face.
"I can't remember," he finally says, and someone else in the room laughs. "But you look happy, Pam."
Pairings/Characters: Pam/Brian, Pam/Ryan (if you squint)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3500
Warnings/Spoilers: None, unless it really is 2007 again and you haven't watched S3 of The Office
Summary: Pam and Brian the Boom Guy during The Negotiation. Because why not?
Author's Notes: Written for nothing_hip's February "Ho Hey" Challenge, and also as a really, really late birthday gift to mozarts_friend. Sorry your party's so lame! Remember when we were really into Pam/Brian like we all jumped into a time machine and then lost interest and collapsed in on ourselves like dying stars? Me neither. It was very late, internet.
Everything sucks.
To say that might be an exaggeration, but if anything it’s only a slight one. Pam thought that after Jim moved to Stamford and she was untangling from the mess that was her cancelled wedding and complicated breakup she could handle anything, but she was wrong. The worst hadn’t happened yet. Pam feels so alone that she’s starting to really get sick of herself.
Getting back together with Roy felt like....it felt like the mature decision at the time. But now, she knows that it wasn’t. Not really. And it’s like everything she did in the past few months, all that hard work at being herself, is done. And she has to start again. The truth is, being with Roy was something she did for so long that it was incredibly easy to slip back into it. It was comfortable. So comfortable that it was just...way too easy to convince herself that things are different, things can change.
No one knows this, but the whole reason they got engaged in the first place, all those years ago, is because Pam finally got up the nerve to say something, to move forward, to leave.
It lasted two weeks.
Roy eventually showed up with a ring, and Pam felt so miserable trying to learn how to be just herself that she figured it was a sign that a change was going to come. The fact that she believed that for the next five years (if she’s being conservative about how long it really was) is...Pam doesn’t like to think about it that much.
The fact of the matter is, Jim really was her best friend. Outside of work, there was always Roy. Someone always there to do something with, even if it was mostly stuff Pam didn’t want to do. And when you’ve been with someone long enough, it’s easy to pretend you have enough in common to warrant that much one on one time. Pam figures that marriages have been built on much less.
She had tried after the almost wedding, sort of. Kelly, despite her overall Kelly-ness, was fun to do things with, to get occasional girly drinks and listen to her talk about Ryan, even if Ryan was there as a silent (always silent, not that Pam can blame him) observer. And Pam really did secretly like it when Kelly called her back to the annex for opinions about whatever pink thing she was thinking about buying online that day; she knows it’s not that Kelly values her opinion, but Pam liked feeling like someone did.
There was art school. Pam made it her goal to talk to at least two people in every class in order to get out of her little bubble, and she usually did pretty okay. Baby steps, she told herself. Even Karen, aside from the Jim weirdness, was fun.
The documentary crew. Well, Brian at least. He was one of the camera men until he got in trouble for interacting with her too much during her investigation into Angela and Dwight, but he said that sound is a much better job, that his arms are insane from holding up the boom all day. Not that she’s ever seen him outside of the work day either (except for her art show, where he showed up even though he wasn’t filming), but at least sometimes when she’s doing her interviews in the conference room it feels like she’s talking to a friend, in a way. Especially when they’re asking her about things like hey, so Roy tried to kill Jim, tell us all your feelings in extreme detail and please cry if at all possible. Brian narrowed his eyes whenever Randall would ask her another question, and it helped settle Pam’s stomach a little bit.
She realizes, two days after it all went down, that in a sick way she looks forward to work because that is her social life. That her days, even when she thought she was doing well beforehand, revolved around her Mom and cereal for dinner and going to bed early and silence. She wonders if anyone really ever gets better, or you just find enough stuff to cover up every past little bruise. Jim hasn’t said a word to her since it happened, but he’s talking a lot now, trying to convince Dwight to let him buy him something, anything, to thank him for saving him from Roy.
Pam busies herself with her nonexistent work, thinking about how long it took her to fall asleep the night before, and the night before that. She’s looking at kittens for sale on Craigslist before she realizes, and when she looks up, disgusted at herself, she notices Brain craning his neck over to look at her computer screen, stretching his arms out to catch Jim and Dwight’s argument from a distance.
Cat lady, is what he mouths in her direction, nodding and raising his eyebrows at the particularly damning picture of three kittens sleeping in a box she just clicked on (and saved, she’s not a monster). It’s dumb and kind of mean but she laughs, because for a minute she can. It’s surprising. Maybe there’s hope.
*
Hope lasts for approximately two hours, and then she’s talking to Jim about the attack and everything sucks. It sucks. The worst kind of suck. Jim’s not like any version of himself Pam’s seen before, and she idly wonders as he stands there, stiff with awkwardness and what feels like anger, if that’s because the Jim she knew before loved her and this Jim loves hurting her. Wonders which one is real. If maybe it’s something she did to change that.
Not that she can blame him, not after everything. It’s just the two of them with Jen and Brian, and the large space feels cramped until Jim breezes out, taking the cold with him. It’s a bigger relief when Jen gets a signal to stop filming for a minute, something about needing the crew to split and follow Michael to corporate for some reason. Pam just keeps staring at the table, counting the flecks of pepper from whoever sat there eating last, until someone clears their throat.
“Hey,” Brian’s voice is a whisper, even though when Pam looks up they’re alone, “you okay?” He’s packing something up, kneeling at the floor and not looking at her.
“Nope.” Pam answers, feeling like it’s easier to be honest when he’s not meeting her eyes. “Not...just nope.”
“Listen,” Brian stands up, slinging a bag over his shoulder and looking uncertain about something, hesitating before continuing, “you don’t owe him anything.”
“Who?” Pam feels like she owes so many people so much that he could be referring to anyone.
“Jim,” Brian looks surprised, like she should have known, “he’s just...it’s a fucked up deal, what happened, but as an observer, paid or not, he expects...you just, you don’t owe him, okay?”
“Sure.” Pam shrugs, looking back down at the table because it feels like Brian is looking at her too directly, too much like someone she doesn’t just see for the majority of her day. He’s not there when she’s alone at night and no one is calling.
“I’m sorry, but sometimes it’s hard here, you know?” It sounds like he’s smiling, but when Pam glances up again he just looks sad. “And after last year, with you and Jim and your wedding...it’s easy to edit something into a love triangle with equal sides, with the right footage. It’s an easy thing to buy into, even if you’re part of it. If you’re living it.”
“Oh.” Pam covers her mouth, pretending to yawn so he doesn’t realize she’s covering up a sob, “is that what your guys’s plan is?” She doesn’t know exactly what he’s saying. And she always thought Brian and Jim were pretty tight.
“I don’t....” Brian steps backward, toward the door, “I should go...I’m overstepping....”
He’s already gone when Pam’s found her voice enough to say goodbye loud enough for him to hear it. She watches the empty doorway and thinks about the last thing Brian filmed before he got in trouble; him, her, and Jim in Jim’s room at that BBQ he hosted what feels like forever ago instead of just over a year. Brian was half in Jim’s closet so they could all fit in the tiny space, laughing, and he kept interjecting jokes about Jim’s yearbook, ending everything he said with, “shit, they’ll have to edit that out.”
She wonders, now.
*
Talking to Roy ends up being something good, at least for as long as she’s speaking to him. He doesn’t get it, not about the Jim thing, telling her to go for it, telling her...Roy is still Roy, at the end of the day. It’s that final hug outside that gets her. Because this time, unlike every other time, it really an end. He smells like home and familiarity and she fits in his arms just so, but she can’t fit there anymore. For a million little reasons, all of them adding up to why. And it’s not fair, because as rationally as she can tell herself in her car afterward that this is a good thing, this is for the best, she feels desperate and lonely and a lot of other unnameable things that all equal a crushing misery that settles over her like a really crappy blanket.
Roy told her, when she asked, that Kenny paid off Poor Richard’s to take care of the damage and keep the cops at bay. So she doesn’t know exactly why she drives over there. Just to see, maybe. To poke that bruise until it throbs. Mainly, she doesn’t really want to go home and stare at her ceiling.
Sitting alone at the bar with her beer, Pam appraises the damage. Aside from one small section above the bar that has a piece of cardboard duct taped over it, she wouldn’t know that Roy freaked out over everything. Except for how it totally happened and was terrible.
Even more terrible is the fact that when she looks over to the other side of the bar Ryan’s there. Staring at her. Of all the people she’d like to see from the office, he’s pretty low on the list. Not that he’s terrible, but sometimes he looks at her and Pam thinks that he can sense, just, well, stuff that she doesn’t want anyone to know.
They’ve locked eyes for long enough that it’s uncomfortable, and she feels rooted to her chair as he slowly moves his way over to her. Neither of them say anything as he sits, rubbing his fingers over the drops of condensation on his half full beer and sighing faintly.
“Revisiting the scene of the crime?” He finally says, grimacing when she shoots him a look. “I’m sorry, sorry...that was a really shitty joke.”
“That was a joke?” Pam fights to keep her voice steady, fights to keep it light.
“Hey, I tried.” Ryan glances over at her, quickly - Pam is pretty sure that it’s the first time they’ve had real eye contact and it makes her shiver slightly to herself, feels a chill travel up her spine. “You okay? I mean, I was here, you know, when...” He trails off and she appreciates it, that he doesn't finish.
“Yeah.” She says immediately, then hears herself sigh and correct herself before she can stop it. “Actually, no. It’s just hard. And sucky.”
“Sucky,” Ryan echoes, softly, laughing to himself and taking a long pull from his beer. “That sounds like something Kelly would say. Totally sucky.”
“Maybe I’ve been hanging around her too much,” Pam starts, cautiously, taking a long drink herself and feeling her face flush.
“No, hanging around Kelly too much is my job.” Ryan says it like a joke, but it sounds so sad to Pam that it makes her breath catch in her throat.
"Yeah, what's up with that? I've always wanted to ask. You don't seem...you know." Pam likes that she can ask someone else why they keep making mistakes, for once, instead of just asking herself.
"Don't know." Ryan mumbles, glancing her way again before signaling to the bartender for another round for them both. His eyes are really blue. Really bloodshot. "It's not the worst, you know? I've gotten used to it. I like it. Can't explain something like that sometimes, right? Do you know what I'm saying?" He's staring right at her now, his hand reaching out and tapping the empty space between them. Pam wonders how many he had before she showed up, and a part of her wants to catch up to him, wallow in everything.
"Yeah," Pam feels daring when she rests her hand on top of his to stop the tapping. "I really do."
*
"I can walk home from here," Ryan slurs, scribbling his name on the tab. They're closing out, and Pam is wondering how, exactly, she's going to get home, to her small apartment across town. She's nowhere near where Ryan is, but she's certainly not sober. She doesn't think she's drunk. Except maybe she is a little drunk. And it's not even ten o'clock.
"You live that close?" Pam feels like she's talking really loud, choosing her words carefully.
"Yeah. Yeah. You comin?" Ryan's unsteady on his feet, gripping Pam's shoulder for balance and almost bringing her down in the process. Against her better judgment, Pam had stayed and talked to Ryan about a lot of things she probably should have kept to herself. Plus now she knows way too much about Kelly and Ryan's relationship. Although that makes her feel a little better about her own problems.
"I guess?" Pam follows Ryan, looking at a spot of smooth skin on his neck that peeks over this collar. She thinks that maybe it wouldn't be bad to follow Ryan home, to bury her face in that spot and fall asleep with someone wrapped around her.
"Good enough for me," Ryan shrugs, and then laughs. Pam suddenly regrets everything she was thinking, because God, it's Ryan, she can't go home with Ryan.
"Actually," Pam starts to say as they walk out into the parking lot, but Ryan cuts her off.
"Isn't that one of our voyeurs?" He's pointing at Brian, who's opening the door to his car. And Ryan must be really talking loud, not just to her own ears, because Brian looks up just then, meeting her eyes and smiling before glancing over at Ryan. He looks confused.
"Brian." Pam holds her breath, unthreading her arm from Ryan's. "You know his name."
"Uh huh. Listen, I'm either going to need more drinks or sleep soon, so. Decision time." It might be that she's tipsy, but Ryan looks almost hurt.
"Just go home," Pam mutters under her breath, reaching out and squeezing the spot on Ryan's arm just above his elbow. "Thanks, okay? Let me know you get home safe."
"Yeah." Ryan starts to walk away, calling over his shoulder, "I will."
Pam's halfway to where Brian's standing when she realizes that Ryan doesn't even have her number.
*
"Right here?" Brian pulls into one of the empty spots behind her building. Pam nods.
"This is good." Pam doesn't know how she knew, but she didn't say anything to Brian when she walked up to him in the parking lot of Poor Richard's, just nodding when he asked if she needed a ride. She's not sure how she'll get to work in the morning, or her car, but that's for her future self to deal with.
"So. Ryan." Brian's got both of his hands wrapped around the steering wheel and he's staring ahead like he's still driving. Pam wonders if this is what he wanted to mention all along during the ten minute drive to her place, making general small talk instead, him only asking her if she was okay once.
"I ran into Ryan. We talked. Ryan's not..." Pam sighs, unbuckling her seat belt so she can turn toward Brian, noticing how the windows are already starting to fog up from them breathing together in such a small space. "I shouldn't have gone there anyway, but I just...it's been a long day."
"I know. And I'm sorry if I, I mean, I probably shouldn't have said what I did. About Jim." Brian rubs his hand over his face, like he's trying to wipe away something.
"It's okay. It helped." Brian looks over at her then, his eyes wide and dark. She means it, too. It really did, now that she thinks about it. "The problem is," she starts, and then stops herself.
"What's the problem?" Brian's voice is soft and low, and when he leans in Pam can smell a hint of something, maybe a light cologne, maybe his fabric softener, maybe just him. She feels a lot more sober.
"I guess the problem is that...I didn't have feelings for Jim until I did, and now they're all I have left." Until she says it out loud, just like that, Pam realizes how true it is. A soft sob escapes her lips before she can stop herself, stifle it.
"Hey," Brian snaps out of his seat belt, pulling Pam into his arms awkwardly across the console between them. She likes that he doesn't hesitate and just does it, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, thumb rubbing there to capture a tear. "No," he says, finally, "they're not."
"Feels like it," Pam mumbles into his chest, breathing in deeply. It's not cologne. She thinks it might just be Brian. Roy had his own smell too, and this is different, less homey. Unknown.
"Well, yeah." Brian's holding his breath, Pam can tell. "When things are shit, things look terrible. As trite as this sounds though, you'll be okay."
"Maybe." Pam can feel herself crashing internally, this overwhelming exhaustion that spreads through her body slowly. She wonders if he really thinks that.
"You'll be happy, even. Maybe..." Brian pauses, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back, feeling hot on her skin even through two layers of clothing. "maybe with Jim. Maybe with someone else. Definitely with yourself, though. Okay?" He pulls back to look down at her, his eyes flickering downward when Pam involuntarily licks her lips.
"I need to go upstairs," is what Pam says, even if she's not sure that's what she wants.
"Okay," Brian nods, "Okay."
"Sorry," Pam starts, but Brian holds up his hands, reaching over her and swiping at the condensation fogging up the window, peering outside.
"I'm still walking you to your door," he says, and she doesn't argue, taking a deep breath when they're both outside the car, her leading the way. His hand is resting lightly on her back as they walk, and despite the alcohol Pam feels steady. She's almost sad that she lives on the first floor when they get inside and at her door in just a couple of quiet, comforting minutes.
"So," she starts, and then his lips are on hers, soft and questioning at first. Pam had hoped; maybe for all day, maybe for a long time, and that thought hits her so hard her knees feel weak so she leans into Brian, hands gripping his back, moving up over his neck and into his hair, feeling dizzy when he kisses her harder and lifts her a little, pushing her back against her door and bucketing her head with his hands. She can't breathe, she has to breathe. When he runs his tongue along her bottom lip she starts crying again, and she holds him tighter and hopes he won't stop. He doesn't, groaning into her mouth and gently sliding her back down his body until her feet are on the ground and he's dotting soft kisses at the edge of her lips. Pulls away slowly.
"Sorry," he whispers, their breathing filling the small hallway, sounding muffled to Pam through her heartbeat in her ears.
"Thank you," is what Pam finally answers, smiling at Brian as he stands there all disheveled, staring at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. And maybe he's right, about a lot of things. She kisses his cheek.
"Thank you," she says again. And this time, he smiles back.
*
When Jim asks her out weeks later, when he says, "it's a date," Brian is the first person Pam looks to, asks him what the question was. Not anyone else standing there with cameras and mics pointing at her face. It's a brief moment, everyone else stunned speechless and Pam wants to run around the office, feels like her heart's beating so fast it might explode out of her chest. She looks at Brian, and she can't read the expression on his face.
"I can't remember," he finally says, and someone else in the room laughs. "But you look happy, Pam."