fic: Four dollars on today
Fandom: Mad Men/The Office, mashup
Pairing: Pam, Harry Crane
Wordcount: 799
Spoilers: Roughly to the end of S1 of Mad Men.
Note: This is for valiant, because I suspect she is the only one who will forgive me for my particular brand of lame'n'crazy. Harry Crane showed up in the season premiere of the Office, and I obviously lost all dignity.
Hilde’s replacement comes in on a Monday morning in a cardigan and a pair of loafers, and although the junior executive betting pool starts out begging the question: will the wholesome veneer crack under pressure? the question quickly becomes: will she even crack a smile?
Harry sets up with the boys at the table, watching Pete’s closed door. He has her in there for a good half hour - orientation, he said to her, breaking her in is what he promised to them - but when he opens the door and she slips out, clipboard clenched to her chest, he just sends them a bewildered glance and a shrug at them, across the room.
Nothing. Kinsey cackles: he bet on never. Pete Campbell’s charm is only good for a certain percentage of the female population - Hilde was one of the starkly unaffected - but the new girl doesn’t have that same air of Catholic judgment about her.
That’s the thing. Harry’s pretty sure pretty sure she wants to smile. And she would, if any of them were actually funny. Or charming. Or decent people worth smiling at.
It’s upsetting.
Harry goes back to his office and calls Jenny. He listens to her talk about the retriever puppies she saw at the pet shop. “Wouldn’t it be adorable, Harry,” she says, and he knows she’s talking about the baby. “They could grow up together.”
He says, “Oh, but the work for you, honey,” and tells himself he’ll pick one up after work. Isn’t this how these things are done? Surprise a girl with a bracelet, surprise a girl with flowers, surprise a girl with a house and a ring and a paycheque every week until you’re surprising her with a long strand of someone else’s hair on your lapel, late days and overnights at the office. Surprising her by coming home for dinner, for once. He’s watching it happen to everyone he knows. Past tense, present tense: if Ken Cosgrove ever gets married he’ll be cheating on his wedding night. It’s just how these things are done.
Harry’s glad Hilde’s gone. He can start fresh.
He goes over to Pete’s office after he knows Pete’s gone for lunch, and says to the new girl, in an innocent tone, “Is Pete gone already?”
And she looks at him, like she saw him at his desk peering through his door, watching Pete walk out with his jacket on his arm. “He’ll be back at two, would you like to leave him a note?”
“No, thank you.” Harry is slightly embarrassed already. “Have we been introduced? I’m Harry Crane, head of the Television Department.”
The new girl looks wary, but she reaches across her desk and shakes his hand, because it’s hanging there: “Pam Beesly, secretary.”
Her hand is warm and small and her grip is firm.
“I saw Pete running you through the wringer earlier.” He didn’t see it. He just knew it was happening, laughed with everyone about it after. “I hope you don’t hold it against him. He’s just like that.”
Again: that look. Like she would smile, but she doesn’t because it would be dishonest. She angles her chin down and her eyes up. “I saw you watching,”
Harry tries to read her tone, and fails. He says to her desk, “We were taking bets.”
She nods like she didn’t expect anything else. “You’ll have to tell Mr. Campbell to work on his strategy.”
Harry stands there, for a long moment. He watches her roll a fresh sheet of paper into her typewriter, adjust a scrappy pile of Pete’s terrible handwriting.
“I’ve handled worse,” she says as she straightens her shoulders and lifts her wrists above the keyboard. “He’s not that bad. He’s not very funny, but he’s not that bad.”
She casts a glance up at him and he nods. It’s true: Pete’s not funny at all, he’s just a self-involved cad.
Harry licks his lips once and says, “Listen, would you like to go get lunch?”
Pam’s hands drop, and she looks up at him. “No.”
“Alright.” He’s already moving away. The word that springs to mind is scuttling. He stops himself. “I didn’t mean as - I mean. Just if you had nothing better to do. I’m married.” He waves the relevant hand.
“I saw that, too.” Pam smiles at him. It’s a real smile. Like he’s being funny, or nice. Maybe both.
“Yeah, well.” He smiles back at her, waves dumbly again, and turns to head to the elevator as she starts typing.
He doesn’t tell anyone he won the pool. Pete gets impatient and sick of losing and after a week without so much as a smirk, Kinsey lays claim to his four dollars on never.
After that, Pam smiles every time Harry walks by.
Pairing: Pam, Harry Crane
Wordcount: 799
Spoilers: Roughly to the end of S1 of Mad Men.
Note: This is for valiant, because I suspect she is the only one who will forgive me for my particular brand of lame'n'crazy. Harry Crane showed up in the season premiere of the Office, and I obviously lost all dignity.
Hilde’s replacement comes in on a Monday morning in a cardigan and a pair of loafers, and although the junior executive betting pool starts out begging the question: will the wholesome veneer crack under pressure? the question quickly becomes: will she even crack a smile?
Harry sets up with the boys at the table, watching Pete’s closed door. He has her in there for a good half hour - orientation, he said to her, breaking her in is what he promised to them - but when he opens the door and she slips out, clipboard clenched to her chest, he just sends them a bewildered glance and a shrug at them, across the room.
Nothing. Kinsey cackles: he bet on never. Pete Campbell’s charm is only good for a certain percentage of the female population - Hilde was one of the starkly unaffected - but the new girl doesn’t have that same air of Catholic judgment about her.
That’s the thing. Harry’s pretty sure pretty sure she wants to smile. And she would, if any of them were actually funny. Or charming. Or decent people worth smiling at.
It’s upsetting.
Harry goes back to his office and calls Jenny. He listens to her talk about the retriever puppies she saw at the pet shop. “Wouldn’t it be adorable, Harry,” she says, and he knows she’s talking about the baby. “They could grow up together.”
He says, “Oh, but the work for you, honey,” and tells himself he’ll pick one up after work. Isn’t this how these things are done? Surprise a girl with a bracelet, surprise a girl with flowers, surprise a girl with a house and a ring and a paycheque every week until you’re surprising her with a long strand of someone else’s hair on your lapel, late days and overnights at the office. Surprising her by coming home for dinner, for once. He’s watching it happen to everyone he knows. Past tense, present tense: if Ken Cosgrove ever gets married he’ll be cheating on his wedding night. It’s just how these things are done.
Harry’s glad Hilde’s gone. He can start fresh.
He goes over to Pete’s office after he knows Pete’s gone for lunch, and says to the new girl, in an innocent tone, “Is Pete gone already?”
And she looks at him, like she saw him at his desk peering through his door, watching Pete walk out with his jacket on his arm. “He’ll be back at two, would you like to leave him a note?”
“No, thank you.” Harry is slightly embarrassed already. “Have we been introduced? I’m Harry Crane, head of the Television Department.”
The new girl looks wary, but she reaches across her desk and shakes his hand, because it’s hanging there: “Pam Beesly, secretary.”
Her hand is warm and small and her grip is firm.
“I saw Pete running you through the wringer earlier.” He didn’t see it. He just knew it was happening, laughed with everyone about it after. “I hope you don’t hold it against him. He’s just like that.”
Again: that look. Like she would smile, but she doesn’t because it would be dishonest. She angles her chin down and her eyes up. “I saw you watching,”
Harry tries to read her tone, and fails. He says to her desk, “We were taking bets.”
She nods like she didn’t expect anything else. “You’ll have to tell Mr. Campbell to work on his strategy.”
Harry stands there, for a long moment. He watches her roll a fresh sheet of paper into her typewriter, adjust a scrappy pile of Pete’s terrible handwriting.
“I’ve handled worse,” she says as she straightens her shoulders and lifts her wrists above the keyboard. “He’s not that bad. He’s not very funny, but he’s not that bad.”
She casts a glance up at him and he nods. It’s true: Pete’s not funny at all, he’s just a self-involved cad.
Harry licks his lips once and says, “Listen, would you like to go get lunch?”
Pam’s hands drop, and she looks up at him. “No.”
“Alright.” He’s already moving away. The word that springs to mind is scuttling. He stops himself. “I didn’t mean as - I mean. Just if you had nothing better to do. I’m married.” He waves the relevant hand.
“I saw that, too.” Pam smiles at him. It’s a real smile. Like he’s being funny, or nice. Maybe both.
“Yeah, well.” He smiles back at her, waves dumbly again, and turns to head to the elevator as she starts typing.
He doesn’t tell anyone he won the pool. Pete gets impatient and sick of losing and after a week without so much as a smirk, Kinsey lays claim to his four dollars on never.
After that, Pam smiles every time Harry walks by.