“So, I don’t know if you’re interested, Halpert…” Karen said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

 

“Always,” Jim answered, a languid smirk spreading across his face.

 

Karen laughed. “Perv,” she said as she felt his arm steal around her waist. “I meant in a prank. It’s a little radical, but I’ve gotten so good at Minesweeper that I had to find something else to occu—”

 

“Minesweeper, Karen? Really?” Jim gave her a look of utter disappointment as he snatched his hand back, feigning disgust.

 

“Shut it. I am extremely cool.”

 

“And yet…Minesweeper.” Jim shook his head slowly, mouthing “Minesweeper” again.

 

“And yet, shut up,” she countered, slapping his arm. “So, about the prank?”

 

Jim glanced at the door of the break room, but no one approached. “Yes,” he said, lowering his head toward Karen. “Divulge your evil plans.”

 

Karen looked at him skeptically. “You sound like Dwight. How do I know I can trust you?”

 

“Trust is my middle name, Karen.”

 

“Oh?” she remarked. “I thought it was Danger.”

 

“Hey, Dwight is a unique spirit. Is it so wrong to want to emulate him?”

 

“It is fundamentally wrong, yes. Also, it may affect your emulation plans to note that I would never sleep with Dwight, or with any imitation thereof.”

 

“Point to Filipelli,” Jim said solemnly. “And good to know.”

 

“Now, the prank…” Karen said pointedly.

 

Jim snapped to attention. “Right. Method?”

 

“Messing with personal effects.”

 

“Good. Medium? Not jello—I hope you don’t mind, but I kind of solo on jello.”

 

Karen rolled her eyes. “I was thinking concealment.”

 

“Nice,” Jim nodded. “Complete cloaking or clever obfuscation?”

 

“Oh my God,” Karen said dramatically. “My geek sensor is going off. I may…have to dump you right now, right here in this break room.”

 

Jim smiled. “And yet you won’t, because I drove you to work.”

 

“Foiled again,” she conceded dryly. “So, I guess I’ll leave the level of concealment up to you, dungeon master.”

 

“A wise choice. And the target?”

 

“Pam.”

 

 

- - - - - - - - -

 

 

The conspiratorial smile drained from Jim’s face. “Pam?” he repeated lamely.

 

“Yeah,” Karen said cheerfully. “I’ve just never seen anyone pull one on her, and she’s got a good enough sense of humor that—”

 

“No,” Jim said, looking at a spot somewhere over Karen’s head. “It’s not a good…not Pam.”

 

Karen bristled but tried to hide it, which wasn’t difficult with Jim avoiding her line of sight. “Are you still upset about Roy—”

 

Jim attempted a nonchalant laugh that he failed to pull off. “That was nothing. I was never in any danger with Dwight around.”

 

“Right. Your knight in shining…whatever. But honestly, Jim, you’re fine. Pam’s fine. Roy’s…unemployed, but I’m sure he’ll be just—”

 

“Fine,” Jim said in a clipped tone.

 

Karen opened her mouth to check his sudden attitude, but closed it again. She stepped closer to him and put a hand on his arm. “You’re going to have to forgive her someday, you know.”

 

He puffed out a breath that could’ve been scoffing and could’ve been surprised laughter. “For what?”

 

Karen sighed and shook her head slowly. “That’s really your call, isn’t it? I mean, I have a list of possibilities…it’s on my computer—in spreadsheet format—but I could go print it out.”

 

A smile crept back into his face at that. “That won’t be necessary, but I’d ask that you delete that from your computer ASAP, Filipelli,” he said, with dramatic emphasis on ASAP. “If it’s on the network, Michael might find it, and who knows—”

 

“Right, Halpert,” Karen laughed. “Because Michael even knows what the network is.”

 

“You make a compelling argument.”

 

“So we’re agreed?” Karen said, cocking an eyebrow.

 

“Definitely,” Jim replied. “Michael does not know what the network is.”

 

“Such a dork,” Karen sighed. “I meant about Pam. And the prank. The prank on Pam.” It was a playful group of statements. It was also, unquestionably, a challenge.

 

Jim clenched his jaw. “Karen, why…”

 

“Because,” she answered quickly, firmly. “Because you’re friends, and you always—”

 

“Never on each other.”

 

“Things can change.”

 

“Things have changed, Karen,” he said, frustrated. “Look, I think she’s going through a tough time right now, and—”

 

“And she could use a laugh,” Karen said, her tone too loud and too high. She forced some calm into her voice. “So could you.” So could I, she thought.

 

Jim swept a hand across his face. “I know,” he said, his voice low. “And I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it’s just—”

 

“It’s just a little prank, Jim,” she said levelly.

 

“I can’t.” How many questions could be answered with that phrase?

 

Karen kept her voice even, despite the blow her self-esteem was taking. “You’re making too much out of this,” she said, willing herself to remain calm. “Pam—”

 

“Pam is off limits,” Jim said, his voice steely and his eyes suddenly dark.

 

Karen set herself in his path before he could turn away. “It must be weird to say that to someone other than yourself.”

 

His face went red, and Karen chose not to find out whether it was from anger or embarrassment. She opened the break room door and stalked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

 

- - - -

To be continued...

 

 

 

“It must be weird to say that to someone other than yourself.”

 

Jim slammed his hand into the vending machine, hearing a crack he couldn’t definitively attribute to either the machine or his hand. A snickers bar dropped out of C8.

 

“Nice move, Fonz.”

 

Jim whirled around to find Pam looking at him with a mixture of shock and mirth on her face. “I, uh…sensed that you needed some chocolate,” he said quietly.

 

She nodded, and concern took over her features. “Jim, what’s—”

 

“Nothing,” he said curtly. Seeing her expression cloud over, he softened. “I mean, nothing important. Just…bad day, ya know?”

 

Pam smiled slightly. “Yeah. I’m familiar with the concept.” She kept her eyes on his face, her feet rooted to the floor. Having passed Karen on her way in—and received a scathing look in the process—she’d known there would be no bluebirds singing over Jim’s head, but she hadn’t expected to see him punch an inanimate object.

 

Jim looked at the floor and absently rubbed the fingers of his punching hand. “I’m sorry, Pam.”

 

She started, surprised at his words. “For what?”

 

“I know you prefer M&Ms,” he said, tilting his head toward the vending machine.

 

Pam laughed, and found herself able to move. She walked over and leaned down to push open the door in the bottom of the vending machine, extracting the Snickers bar. Turning toward Jim, she said, “You know me so well, Halpert.” She slid the candy bar into his pants pocket and took a step back, quirking an eyebrow as she watched his eyes widen in surprise.

 

“Beesly!” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

 

Her laughter was even brighter now, the sound flooding the room. “Could you punch the pop machine next time? My mouth’s kind of dry.”

 

She turned and left Jim standing immobile, with one hand cradling the other, his eyes wide. If her mouth was dry, his was absolutely parched. He slumped back against the battered vending machine, using it for support. He had a feeling that if anyone was getting pranked today, it was him.

 

When he got back to his desk a few minutes later, a form lay on his keyboard. A post-it note stuck to the bottom read, “Sorry, but the new policy requires that you sign off on any complaints before they can be officially registered in your ‘file.’ ~Toby.” Jim’s eyes whisked over the form, and he chuckled as he signed the bottom. Dwight had reported his “excessive use of force” against the vending machine.

 

---

 

 

Jim yawned for what felt like the millionth time since the meeting had begun. He supposed he probably should have gleaned some understanding of the meeting’s purpose by now—especially given his “status” in the office—but he truly had no idea. Michael was currently recounting a story of the after-hours party at an out-of-town conference in which Todd Packer featured too heavily for anyone’s tastes, especially at…God, was it only 9:45?

 

He felt someone staring at him and looked first to Pam, who was drawing on her notepad. He then swung his gaze over to Karen to find that, not only had she been the starer, but she’d seen him look to Pam first. Bad move, Halpert, he mentally admonished himself, enduring a sizzling glare from his girlfriend. There would be a conversation tonight. Oh yes, there would definitely be a conversation. And as there had been a conversation last night, too, he knew he’d definitely need another cup of coffee as soon as the meeting let out.

 

Eventually, Michael realized he’d gotten so far off point that there was no regaining control of the topic, so he quoted Chris Rock and adjourned the meeting. Jim yawned again and stretched as he stood up. Karen was making her way out of the conference room, and he ran a hand down her arm as she passed. She shrugged it off. Definitely, a conversation.

 

Jim heard a giggle and realized he and Pam were the last ones in the room. “Something funny, Beesly?” he asked, giving her a tired look.

 

Her face fell a little, and sympathy slipped across it. “No. Sorry,” she said quickly. “You just looked so defeated and sad.”

 

“Right,” Jim nodded. “That would be pretty funny.”

 

“And cute,” Pam said, her eyes down.

 

“I’m sorry, what?” Jim asked brightly, now completely awake. “What was that? Something about ‘cute’?”

 

Pam tipped her head, confessing to her slip. She tried to keep the smile off her face, to hide how pleased she was to have the power to cheer him so quickly. “Yeah, Halpert. You heard me. And if you breathe a word—”

 

“I would never,” Jim said, feigning indignation over the very suggestion that he’d break her confidence. “I just…you know, I need to get back to my blog now—I mean desk! I mean, get back to my desk.” His eyes were twinkling, and Pam gasped with false betrayal. “Because I have paper to sell, and absolutely no intention of telling the entire internet that you think I’m cute.”

 

Pam was slightly pink now, which was, of course, completely adorable, and Jim’s smile became more relaxed as she walked quickly past him toward the door.

 

“Hey, Beesly,” he called after her retreating form, and she stopped with a hand on the door jamb and turned back, raising her eyebrows in lieu of answering. “I’ll send you a link when I get my blog updated.”

 

Pam raised her eyes dramatically before replying, “No link will be necessary. I have it in my favorites,” and Jim laughed as he watched her make her way back to reception. She smacked her hip on her desk rounding the corner too quickly, and now Jim definitely didn’t need coffee to keep him awake. He had plenty to invigorate his mind.

 

Several new emails awaited him when he returned to his desk. Most of them were forwards from Michael. The most recent was from Karen. It read simply, “We need to talk tonight.” He refrained from hanging his head in case she was watching him. He opened his mouth to yawn again, before replying, “Yes, we do.” He found himself looking at Pam as he hit Send.

 

At noon, he ate in his car, hoping to avoid getting into a discussion with Karen in the office. When he got back to his desk, he had a welcome email from MySpace. Clicking the link, he laughed when he saw his new blog, complete with a photo of himself that he remembered Pam having taken at Kevin’s birthday party last year. The first and only entry in the journal read, “Dear Diary, today Pam said I was cute. I’m all aflutter.” Underneath was a picture of a young Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer taking his first flight. The caption read, “She thinks I’m cuuuuuuude!”

 

He shot off a quick email to Pam: “Aflutter, Beesly? C'mon.” Then he got to work on her new MySpace account.

 

---

 

 

Jim knocked on Karen’s door, feeling a sense of dread wash over him. He considered jumping into the bushes before she could answer, but he knew he had to be strong. When she opened the door, she looked tired and annoyed, even though she’d requested they talk. She’d actually wanted to have the discussion at Jim’s apartment, but he’d suggested her place. He didn’t want to think of it as a strategy—thinking back to Michael’s inane Wikipedia tactics of a few weeks before—but he knew that if it got bad, he’d be better off if he could make a hasty retreat back to his place and not have to wait for her to cut the conversation off and leave herself.

 

He felt cruel for thinking like this. He cared about Karen. He really did. She was fun and beautiful, and probably way too cool for him…so why wasn’t it enough? Karen waved him in impatiently, and he realized he’d completely zoned out in the doorway. “Sorry,” he said quickly, snapping back to consciousness.

 

They sat down on the couch together, and he suddenly felt awkward and staged, like he should’ve brought her a corsage and driven here in his father’s car.

 

“So,” he began, turning toward her.

 

“So,” she said, and she sounded weary. Her voice was softer than he’d heard it in a long time.

 

Jim felt a twinge in his chest, and found it difficult to meet her eyes. “Listen, Karen, I—”

 

“Jim,” she said, her voice serious and resigned, and he knew she needed to steer the conversation.

 

“Okay.” He gave her his full attention. A sick feeling settled in his stomach when he realized this was probably the first time he’d done that. He reached out to touch Karen’s knee, but her expression told him not to, and his hand hovered indecisively for a few seconds before ending up on his own leg.

 

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you all here today,” Karen began, giving him a small smile.

 

Jim laughed a bit too loudly, but he appreciated Karen’s attempt at levity. “Us all, huh?” he said, nervously returning her smile. “Did someone follow me in?” He looked around theatrically, but when his eyes settled back on Karen’s, his smile faded.

 

She was shaking her head slowly, humor having failed her. “I don’t think I’ve ever really been alone with you, have I?” she asked softly. “Wherever you go, however far you try to run, there’s always someone else there.”

 

“My shadow?” Jim said, knowing it was inappropriate, hoping she would let this drop. She could yell at him, call him a terrible boyfriend, a bad lover. She could criticize his hair or his taste in movies—anything, as long as she didn’t make him acknowledge this.

 

“In a way,” Karen said, looking at him directly now. Her stomach clenched as though she were about to jump out of an airplane. She didn’t want to do this. She wanted to grab him, throw him down on the couch, kiss him until he forgot about Pam. But she’d tried that, so many times, and it was futile. She’d never been one to waste her time. “Or maybe,” she continued, hating what she was about to say, “you’re hers.”

 

Jim lowered his head into his hands. “What do you want me to s—”

 

“Nothing,” Karen cut in. She put her hand on Jim’s bowed head, and he raised it, confused by her kindness. “You know, I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to be a bitch here, Jim, so I’m just going to…not.”

 

Jim’s face softened, and he frowned slightly. “I’d never think—”

 

“No, you wouldn’t,” Karen said, squeezing his arm. “You’re too nice. You’d never say anything like that. And maybe…maybe that’s the problem.”

 

“I don’t…I’m confused.”

 

Karen gave him a sad smile. “I don’t think you are. Not really. I think there’s one person you’ve never doubted your feelings for. And as much as I wish I were that person, I’m just not.”

 

Jim was petrified now, and he didn’t know what scared him more: that Karen was about to dump him, or that if she had figured out his feelings for Pam, they must be pretty transparent. “Karen, don’t—”

 

“Jim, somebody has to.” She stood now, uneasy. She ran a hand through her hair. “Look, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, but you did. And at some point, you’ve got to be man enough to accept that sometimes you hurt people and there’s nothing you can do to fix it. Sometimes, you end up being the bad guy.”

 

Jim stood up and went over to her. He touched her arm gently; she flinched. “I never meant for this to…I swear, Karen, I never lied to you. No matter what it looks like, I care about you.” His expression was pleading, and words had run dry.

 

A tear slipped down Karen’s face. “I know.”

 

Jim turned away from her. He couldn’t watch her cry. “So, what do we do?”

 

Karen took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out. “I dump your ass, Halpert.”

 

“What?” Jim said, turning back to her.

 

“Come on, Jim,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Don’t ask me to suspend my disbelief any longer. I can’t pretend away what is so obvious: you’re in love with Pam; that’s not going to change. And, I’m sorry, but I’m too good to be someone’s second choice. Just…let me end it. Please.” Her eyes were brimming now, her face hot. She couldn’t keep the tears back any longer. She went back to the couch and sat.

 

Jim sat next to her, careful not to touch her. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to be over her. I thought I could be. With you.”

 

“I’m pretty fabulous, Jim, but I’m not a miracle-worker,” Karen said, wiping her face. She straightened up and took a deep breath. “Look, I appreciate how ridiculous it’s gonna sound, but I have to say one more thing.”

 

Jim raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, of course. Anything.”

 

“You really need to go for it with Pam.”

 

“Karen!” Jim yelped. “I…what? I mean…what?”

 

Karen pursed her mouth and tilted her head. “Halpert, don’t be a pussy.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“It’s time.”

 

“I don’t think—”

 

“Jim,” she said firmly, putting her hand on his knee. “You got me to move to a podunk town for a dead-end job in an office full of nutcases. You then proceeded to suffer from unrequited love for a woman who was suddenly available again, but still out of bounds because you were with me. So when I let you go so you can pursue her at last, if you fail to do so, I will kick your skinny ass.”

 

Jim’s mouth dropped open, and he let out a shaky laugh. “Filipelli, you are…unbelievable.”

 

“I know,” she answered. “And it’s about time I found someone who appreciated that.”

 

Jim nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. But you know Dwight’s got a girlfriend already.”

 

Karen laughed sharply, and the tension dissipated. “Dammit—really?” She shook her head. “Well, I guess I’ll have to go for the sea monster then.”

 

Jim’s eyes widened comically for a moment. “You’ll have to fight Kelly for him.” The air felt like a normal weight again.

 

Karen scoffed. “I am so up to that challenge. Sea monster’s been wanting to hit this for months.” She laughed again, more softly this time, and looked up at Jim. He wore an adorable frown, and she looked away.

 

“Karen,” he said, his voice low and unsteady.

 

“If you hug me, Jim Halpert, I’ll punch you,” she said with bravado.

 

“Um, no. Okay,” Jim said hesitantly. “Whatever you need.”

 

Karen nodded slowly, her eyes flicking shut for a moment before she continued. “Listen, I think what I need right now is…for you to leave. It’s going to be pretty uncomfortable at work tomorrow, and I need to do some thinking.”

 

Jim looked at the floor and shifted his weight self-consciously. “You’re not gonna…I mean, if that’s what you want, but I don’t want to see you leave the company.”

 

“Are you saying that as Jim, my ex-boyfriend who still thinks I’m hot and wants to keep me around as eye candy, or as Jim, number two in command at Dunder-Mifflin Scranton who doesn’t want to lose a good salesperson?”

 

Jim chuckled. “Both.”

 

“Well, in that case, I’ll tell both of you that I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Honestly, it might turn out to be too weird for me to stay,” Karen said evenly. Then she cracked a tiny smile. “You know, seeing you across a crowded office, day in, day out, knowing I can never have you…”

 

“Nice.” He reached forward and grasped her hand. “I really am sorry. For everything.”

 

Karen squeezed his hand. “Hey, don’t be sorry for everything. You did always pay for dinner.”

 

Jim slowly let go of her hand, and it dropped to her side. As he grabbed his coat from the hook by the door, he turned back. “If there’s anything I can do to make it less…weird? Just let me know.”

 

Karen surprised him by answering, “There’s one thing.”

 

He raised his eyebrows, asking her to continue.

 

“Try not to kiss her in front of me.” Her eyes were sad, but she would recover. “Well, at least not until after things get hot and heavy between me and the sea monster.”

 

“Kare, I—”

 

“I know. Bye, Jim.”

 

“Bye, Karen.” He walked through the door and closed it softly behind him.

 

Karen ate the pint of Ben & Jerry’s she’d picked up on her way home from work and fell asleep in her clothes.

 

----

 

Jim had discarded approximately seventeen attempts at telling Pam about him and Karen. There were the typed-and-deleted emails: “Hey. Um, listen, Karen and I broke up, so…” Nice, Halpert. Make her feel like your second choice. “Karen dumped me last night. Could you cheer me up?” God, no. “Karen told me I have to go for it with you, and I’m a little scared of her. Please don’t let her hurt me.” Better, but he still couldn’t bring himself to hit Send.

 

There were notes written on Dunder Mifflin letterhead, too, but they each either stopped after half a sentence or had more words crossed out than not. The one with the doodle of Stick Pam and Stick Jim holding little round circle hands was actually pretty good, so he put it in his desk drawer for later. But for now? To tell her they actually had a shot now and beg her to take it…stick people would not do.

 

He’d zoomed her desk a dozen times, starting up to talk to her, discovering he had no idea what he was going to say, and redirecting toward the bathroom. If anyone was paying attention to his motions, they’d think he was having gastrointestinal issues.

 

And it wasn’t any better with Karen. He fought the impulse to send her a hundred emails saying, “I’m sorry,” to offer to buy her lunch—or a puppy, or maybe furniture. He knew that was the last thing she wanted; she’d made her decision, and if he coddled her, it would diminish any power she had over the situation. Still, he felt the apologies coming off him in waves every time their eyes met. She hated it, he knew. He expected her to come over to his desk at any minute and tell him to get it together.

 

Finally, at 2:30, he realized what he should do. He clicked the MySpace icon in his links bar and signed into the account he’d created for Pam. After a few false starts, he came up with an entry he thought would say what he needed to say. Then he emailed Pam to check her blog.

 

 

- - - - - - - -

 

 

Pam had been staring at the back of Jim’s head for the better part of the day. It hadn’t revealed any secrets to her, though she was seriously considering telling him he needed a haircut. The cute flip had enjoyed a long and successful heyday, but, secretly, Pam had a weakness for a nice back-of-the-neck, and Jim’s was becoming obscured. And that was just unacceptable.

 

Another thing that she found unacceptable was his sudden reluctance to talk to her. The morning passed without him stopping by her desk—even once. Although he frequently seemed as though he was headed her way, he always veered away and headed in the other direction. She was about to ask him whether he needed some Pepto Bismol when she got an interesting email.

 

 

 

To: PBeesly@dundermifflin.com
From: KFilipelli@dundermifflin.com
Subject: I think you should know

I think I should tell you—because I’m sure Jim hasn’t—that we broke up last night. And I know how crazy it is for me to be the one telling you this, but…well, it is what it is.

Anyway, I just wanted you to know that he’s…that we’re not together anymore. I don’t think I can actually be more specific about what that means, but I’m pretty sure you get the idea.

And if by some miracle Jim actually tells you that we broke up, you don’t have to tell him about this email. But if he doesn’t, just…don’t necessarily wait for him to make the first move. I’m not privy to all the information, but I have a feeling he went first last time. I know that’s none of my business. I just wanted to tell you…I don’t know. If I get any more involved in this, I’ll have to sign something for HR. Just…good luck, I guess. Though you don’t need it. It’s in the bag.

~Karen

 

 

 

Pam flicked her eyes over to Karen’s desk, but she wasn’t there. Must’ve set the delivery time and then taken lunch so she wouldn’t have to see my reaction, Pam thought. And she was relieved, because, frankly, her reaction had undoubtedly featured about a thousand emotions ranging across her face in under a minute, and that can’t have been attractive. Thank God Jim had been in the bathroom again. Pam was sure he would’ve felt her reaction hit him in the back of the head if he’d been at his desk.

 

For the next couple hours, it was almost impossible for Pam to look at anyone. If she looked at Karen, she might appear too happy and that could hurt Karen’s feelings. If she looked at Jim, she was sure he’d just…know. At this point, she didn’t even feel comfortable looking at Dwight. He was an odd man with strange and unpredictable aptitudes. It would be just her luck that Dwight could somehow read her emotions through her skin if she faced him. No, better to just avoid everyone’s gaze. Safer that way.

 

And while she avoided looking at everyone, she had time to formulate a plan. After a few minutes of deliberation, she was satisfied she’d said what she needed to say. As she plucked up her courage and hit Send, she heard a tiny ding as she received a new email from Jim:

 

To: PBeesly@dundermifflin.com
From: JHalpert@dundermifflin.com
Subject: something you should see

Interesting post on your blog today.

 

 

Meanwhile, a few feet away, Jim heard a little ding, too:

 

To: JHalpert@dundermifflin.com
From: PBeesly@dundermifflin.com
Subject: chicken

I can’t believe I had to hear about this from your blog. Weak, Halpert. Weak.

 

- - - - -

Jim looked from the email to Pam, and back to the email. It was a little spooky that they’d had exactly the same idea at exactly—well, almost exactly—the same time, but his curiosity got the better of him and he clicked the link to his new blog.

- - - - -

The end of an error
by TheSecretOfJimh
at April 18th, 2007 (2:36 pm)

 

Karen and I broke up last night, and I’d really like to drown my sorrows in a pint of Ben & Jerry’s while watching Legally Blonde, but that movie is way down in my Netflix queue and I forgot how Kelly said to move it back up. I wonder if there are any cute receptionists around here who might have it on DVD. Oh, woe is me if I don’t get to watch Legally Blonde tonight. As everyone knows, it’s part of the breakup healing process—and, frankly, cinematic genius.

 

- - - - -

 

Jim’s first thought was Oh my God, she knows. How does she know? His second thought was Oh my God, she’s totally laughing in the face of my heartache. Which means she knows I don’t have any heartache. Which means…what does that mean?

 

He saw Pam glance in his direction as she frowned at her computer screen. He’d heard the new mail ding come from her computer just a few seconds ago. He suddenly had to…go to the bathroom.

 

- - - - -

I think Jim has a gastrointestinal disorder
by killerbeesly
at April 18th, 2007 (2:38 pm)

 

I don’t understand it. I’m looking unbelievably cute today, and yet Jim won’t come and talk to me. He keeps zooming my desk on his way to the bathroom. Does he have food poisoning? Is he so overcome by my beauty that he has to keep splashing cold water on his face to revive himself? Hard to say. I really wish he’d stop by my desk, though, because I wanted to invite him over to watch Legally Blonde later (it’s his favorite movie, no matter what he says to the contrary). Also, I want to use the opportunity to get him drunk and jump his bones. I’ve been wanting a piece of that for years now.

 

- - - - -

Pam was caught between a gasp and a guffaw, and she ended up coughing hysterically until she got the hiccups. Jim looked up and raised his eyebrows at her comically on his way back from the bathroom. Pam was pleased to note that his face was rather pink, which was interesting since he wasn’t the one who’d just experienced the coughing fit.

 

What am I supposed to do now? Pam wondered. When he’d written her blog entry, he hadn’t known that she knew about the breakup. Now that he knew she knew, what should she do? Email, certainly.

 

To: JHalpert@dundermifflin.com
From: PBeesly@dundermifflin.com
Subject: nice user name

I like it. I’ll definitely use it if I ever become a serial killer. So, now that we know I’m cute—and, apparently, a whore—what’s next? I suggest that, since you can’t talk to me for some reason, we email each other our hopes, dreams, and favorite ice cream flavors. Otherwise, I’m not sure I can make it through the next 2 hours and 15 minutes.

By the way, one of my biggest hopes is that Michael is not monitoring this email. If he hears I’m a whore, it’s all over for me.

 

Jim chuckled as he read his email. He had carefully crafted an email response when he suddenly deleted it and started over. He had a much better idea.

 

To: PBeesly@dundermifflin.com
From: JHalpert@dundermifflin.com
Subject: email surveillance

Not so fast, Beesly. You know very well that Dunder-Mifflin company email is not intended for personal use. If you wish to communicate with me, you will have to reply in blog format. You be me. I’ll be you. The role of Michael will be played by Garry Shandling.

By the way, Horton Hears a Whore happens to be one of my favorite books.

Pam hic-giggled as she read Jim’s email. This would definitely fill up the rest of the afternoon.

 

To: JHalpert@dundermifflin.com
From: PBeesly@dundermifflin.com
Subject: bring it

It is SO on.

 

- - - - -

 

 

Game on. Volley to Beesly.

 

To: PBeesly@dundermifflin.com (TheSecretOfJimh)
From: notification@myspace.com
Subject: reply to your comment

killerbeesly made this reply to your entry:

Aw, you poor thing! I do, in fact, have Legally Blonde on DVD. I also have Legally Blonde 2. I also have Karmel Sutra (this is an ice cream, not an invitation for sex; you can tell the difference because all my sex invitations are printed on ivory vellum and come with a pressed flower in the envelope).

Would you like to come over to my apartment tonight for comfort? In the form of movie watching and ice cream eating, of course. I promise not to make a move on you in your delicate emotional state.

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Pam raised an eyebrow at Jim over the top of her monitor, but he was busy typing. Apparently, this would be a completely non-visual exchange. They wouldn’t have time to look at each other between posting replies to each other’s replies—for which Pam was secretly relieved; that would make it easier for her to be candid. But she was already starting to get confused about who she was in this game. Jim, she reminded herself. I’m Jim in this scenario.

She replied to killerbeesly’s entry, trying to sound like a cross between herself sharing her feelings and Jim being Jim-like, without taking liberties with what his feelings might be. It took her twenty minutes. When she dared to glance back up at Jim, he was leaned back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs. How can he manage to look bored and adorable and hilarious all at the same time? she wondered.

 

- - - - -

 

 

To: JHalpert@dundermifflin.com (killerbeesly)
From: notification@myspace.com
Subject: reply to your comment

TheSecretOfJimh made this reply to your entry:

First of all, Beesly, I am mortified that you chose to air the eccentricities of our relationship—and my bathroom habits—on the world-wide interweb. How humiliating! If I ever recover, which I may not, I will expect some huge favors from you. Chief among them, several cans of Coke and a Snickers bar (to which I am now irreversibly addicted, thanks to you. Hussy).

Also, I am shocked—shocked!—that you said you want to jump my bones. That is neither appropriate, given my very recent heartbreak, nor is it current slang. I expect more from you, Beesly. Seriously.

Furthermore (and this one is important), please, for the love of God, can we just reply in one thread from now on? I’m dizzy from going back and forth like this.

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Jim laughed out loud, eliciting a stern look from Dwight, who had begun his pre-weekend desk tidying and lock-down. At 3:44. Well, not everyone could be as focused as Jim was. He abandoned the reply he’d been working on in Pam’s blog and concentrated on replying to her reply to his blog. Dang, I see what she means, he thought, his head spinning a bit. It wasn’t just from blog-confusion.

 

 

- - - - -

 

To: PBeesly@dundermifflin.com (TheSecretOfJimh)
From: notification@myspace.com
Subject: reply to your comment

killerbeesly made this reply to your entry:

That’s what she said.

Secondly, the contents of my fridge are—sum and total: several cases of Coke and approximately 40 Snickers bars. I wanted to be prepared in case you ever came over. I also have some Pepto Bismol in the cupboard, in case you need it. I hope you don’t, though, because gastrointestinal problems account for fully 80% of missed sex opportunities. And, as you know, I am a brazen hussy who wants nothing more than to get you into bed.

Also, you have nice eyes.

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- - - - -

 

 

To: JHalpert@dundermifflin.com (killerbeesly)
From: notification@myspace.com
Subject: reply to your comment

TheSecretOfJimh made this reply to your entry:

Thank you, Pam. I’ve gotten many compliments on my eyes over the years, but none was phrased half as eloquently as yours. Or, at least, none had a better lead-in. Nice. Bordering on harassment, but nice.

If all you have is Coke and Snickers bars, where is the Karmel Sutra? I need to hear concrete intel on the ice cream situation before I can commit to this evening.

Question: Do you have any footy pajamas? I’ve always wanted to see you in footy pajamas, and I think that if we’re going to watch two Legally Blondes back to back, we should probably be wearing jammies.

I will obviously be wearing some type of manly sleep ensemble. Something in flannel with lambs cavorting all over them. You will be blown away.

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To: PBeesly@dundermifflin.com (TheSecretOfJimh)
From: notification@myspace.com
Subject: reply to your comment

killerbeesly made this reply to your entry:

That’s what she said.

Unfortunately, I do not own any footy pajamas. I do, however, have this great teddy that I did not even purchase until after Roy and I were completely broken up—so in no way has it ever been seen or handled by Roy. Ever. Because that would be wrong.

But if a teddy would make you uncomfortable, I can wear something else.

Also, do we want to discuss why you broke up with Karen? If it had anything to do with me, I’ll feel obliged to send Karen a card or a fruit basket. Or maybe Angela would relinquish the dominant male of her newest litter of kittens.

The ice cream is in the freezer, not the refrigerator, thus its exclusion from the fridge-contents list. I will explain the various nuances of cooling to you later. Or we can ask Bob Vance of Vance Refrigeration.

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To: JHalpert@dundermifflin.com (killerbeesly)
From: notification@myspace.com
Subject: reply to your comment

TheSecretOfJimh made this reply to your entry:

Wow, a teddy, huh? I think that would make me uncomfortable. They’re always too tight in the waist for me.

Thank you for clarifying the ice cream situation, even though you were unspeakably rude about it. I will do my best to forgive you, but I make no promises.

I think we should probably save the breakup talk for later tonight. I feel weird discussing it with Karen just a few feet away. But we’ll definitely talk about it. As long as it doesn’t obscure any of my favorite Legally Blonde dialogue.

By the way, I’m really glad you didn’t marry Roy.

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- - - - -

 

To: PBeesly@dundermifflin.com (TheSecretOfJimh)
From: notification@myspace.com
Subject: reply to your comment

killerbeesly made this reply to your entry:

Me too.

Is it time to stop pretending and go back to being ourselves yet? In all the times I’ve thought about getting inside you, I was never imagining your blog.

That was unspeakably rude, I know, but I had to say it.

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To: JHalpert@dundermifflin.com (killerbeesly)
From: notification@myspace.com
Subject: reply to your comment

TheSecretOfJimh made this reply to your entry:

Jim Halpert, you are unspeakably rude.

Oops. I seem to have reverted to my own consciousness and stopped channeling you. Well, I really had no choice. You were getting too filthy-minded for me.

I’m joking, of course. Would you like to make out in the janitor’s closet until 5:00? Please check yes or no.

___ Yes

___ No

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- - - - -

 

To: PBeesly@dundermifflin.com (TheSecretOfJimh)
From: notification@myspace.com
Subject: reply to your comment

killerbeesly made this reply to your entry:

I’m afraid I have to say (check) no. I promised Karen I wouldn’t make out with you in front of her until after she’s gotten over me. Which could be a while, given my rugged good looks and obvious charm.

Can we wait until 5:01?

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- - - - -

 

 

To: JHalpert@dundermifflin.com (killerbeesly)
From: notification@myspace.com
Subject: reply to your comment

TheSecretOfJimh made this reply to your entry:

I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try to abstain until 5:01. If I get desperate and end up in the closet with Michael while I’m waiting for you, will you protect me from Jan? Thanks, I appreciate it.

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To: PBeesly@dundermifflin.com (TheSecretOfJimh)
From: notification@myspace.com
Subject: reply to your comment

killerbeesly made this reply to your entry:

Hey, Pam? It’s 5:01.

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- - - - -

It was 5:01 on Friday, and everyone at Dunder-Mifflin was still at their desks. Inexplicably, infuriatingly refusing to leave. At least that’s how it felt to Jim.

 

At 5:02, he considered paying people to leave, but he was a little tapped out. He wondered whether they would accept nickels.

 

At 5:03, he received an email from Pam that said, “I have a deadly super-virus stored in my top left-hand drawer, and I’m prepared to deploy it if people don’t start leaving soon. If you hear me say the word ‘anthropological,’ cover your mouth and nose immediately.”

 

At 5:04, he started jiggling his leg against the side of his desk, which caused Dwight to level a death glare at him. But it paid off when Dwight turned off his computer, locked his phone handset in his bottom drawer, and stalked toward the elevator, muttering something about having an important task to do for his sensei.

 

And so, in one minute, Jim learned to love Dwight in a strange—and somewhat unsettling—way, because after Dwight left, the rest of the Dunder-Mifflin team seemed to gravitate toward the exit as though it were suddenly on a lower grade than the rest of the room. Which suited Jim just fine. That Dwight, thought Jim. He really is a good kid.

Finally—finally—there were only two people left in the room. Ironically, now that they had the freedom to touch, each of them remained tethered in place. Jim stood hesitantly, but couldn’t seem to leave the orbit of his desk. He moved around it, leaving one hand on its surface. Every other moment of every workday, he felt chained to this desk. Today, he felt strengthened by it. He slid his hand behind him, moving it across the surface of the desk as he trained his eyes on Pam. Looking at her was the only action that felt solid, safe. And yet he was glad he had the desk behind him.

 

Pam felt herself flush under Jim’s steady gaze. She was almost uncomfortable, but she couldn’t look away. So while her inclination was to stay rooted in place, she tilted her head at him—a challenge—and walked around her desk, keeping one hand on its surface. She trailed her hand across the counter as she moved in front of it, all the while keeping her eyes on Jim’s face. She watched his cockiness falter, saw him swallow. Hard.

 

“I have to ask you a favor,” she said softly as she approached his desk.

 

“Yeah—no, sure,” Jim answered, his voice a bit shaky but definitely enthusiastic. “Anything.”

 

Pam reached him and put her hands on his chest, looking up into his face. “You’re too tall,” she said matter-of-factly.

 

“There’s, ah…not much I can do about that. I—”

 

“Sit.”

 

Jim sat on his desk, his eyes wide.

 

Pam moved close to him, placing her hands on his knees and moving them slightly apart as she stepped closer still. “This is going to sound kind of silly, but I…I’ve never gotten to kiss a guy first. I mean, in the game of kiss-or-be-kissed, I’ve always been the kissee.”

 

“That’s, um, not entirely true, Beesly,” Jim countered weakly. “There was this particularly memorable awards ceremony at the local Chili’s, during which a very intoxicated receptionist laid one on me—”

 

“I do not recall that,” Pam said quickly.

 

“Not surprising,” Jim laughed. “But, listen, you believe what you need to believe.”

 

Pam nodded slightly, victorious. “Thank you. Now, I believe I made a request.”

 

“Actually, you made the implication of a forthcoming request. The request itself has yet to…come forth.”

 

“If you’re going to keep talking like that, I’m not going to be able to do this.”

 

“Dammit!” Jim said dramatically. “Would it help if I spoke in Pig Latin?”

 

“Suck it, Halpert.”

 

“Love to comply, Beesly, but I believe you requested first contact.”

 

“Again, Jim: your Dwight impression is kind of turning me off.”

 

“And yet you’re turning beet red.”

 

Pam laughed and her hands subconsciously tightened on Jim’s knees. He gulped.

 

“Sorry,” Jim offered. “You were practically begging to kiss me, and I…can’t imagine why I tried to engage you in conversation instead. Did you by any chance release that deadly virus without warning me?”

 

“Hey, Jim?” Pam asked.

 

“Mmm-hmm?”

 

“Please shut up.”

 

“I can absolutely do that.” Jim started to lean forward, but stopped when he remembered he was expected to be the recipient, not the initiator. It was torture for him to remain still with Pam this close, with her hands on his knees—and now moving up to his thighs, and her leaning closer, and he was sure he’d soon get dizzy and fall off the desk. And maybe he would have, had her hands not felt so strong on his legs, holding him in place.

 

Pam pulled her hands from Jim’s thighs and he swayed a bit at the loss of balance, but she didn’t stay away long, replacing her hands on his chest. She slid her fingers apart and slowly back together, watching them as they lightly caught folds of his shirt between them. Jim pulled in a breath and let it out, and it ruffled her hair. She allowed her gaze to leave her hands and rest on his face.

 

“Close your eyes,” she asked softly.

 

“Don’t wanna,” he answered, the corners of his mouth lifting, slightly amazed by her request, loving her shyness.

 

Her eyes widened a bit, but she whispered, “Okay.” She slid her hands up his chest to his shoulders, continued around to the back of his neck. She slipped a finger into his collar while her other hand drifted up his neck and skimmed over his jawbone, then behind his ear, fingering his hair. He sucked in a breath but didn’t move. His eyes drifted closed as she brought a hand to each side of his face, up to his temples, threading her fingers back until she was pulling his head gently toward hers.

 

Though his skin was on fire wanting to feel her mouth on his and his pulse was throbbing in every inch of skin, Jim didn’t move, because this was her first time kissing him, and he had to let it be hers.

 

And she had every intention of making it hers. She pulled him to her until his mouth was right there but stopped just short of pressing her lips to his. Instead, she let her breath feather over his lips while her fingers traced delicate trails through his hair and glided along the edges of his ears. She tilted her mouth until her bottom lip grazed his and he leaned forward, his lips opening toward her, but she pulled back slightly.

 

“Pam,” he breathed. “God…”

 

She leaned toward him again, resumed the feather-light touch of her lips, skimming them across his so lightly it was both a promise and a torture. Her warm breath on his mouth teased him into feeling her lips everywhere, though they were barely hinting at contact. He groaned, and her breath hitched at the sound, and then she gave in and she was kissing him, her lips hot and parted and her hands in his hair.

 

Now he could touch her—she’d gotten her “first kiss”—and he slid his arms around her, torn between pulling her nearer and moving his hands up into her hair. He settled on her hips, pulling her flush with the desk, and his fingers tightened on her. He felt his fingernails catch the seam of her skirt as her tongue slid into his mouth. This was no Pam he had ever experienced before, and yet she was, perfectly, his Pam.

 

When they pulled apart, it was 5:22, and they were flushed and rumpled and quite short of breath. Jim was glad he was sitting down, because he’d have fallen flat on his face otherwise. Pam leaned against him and sighed. And then giggled.

 

“Hilariously bad?” Jim asked in mock consternation.

 

“Oh my God,” Pam said. “I cannot refute that loudly enough.”

 

“So, passable?”

 

“High marks, Halpert.”

 

“Indeed? Excellent.” He nodded, as though committing the review to memory. “Would you recommend me to a friend?”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“Because you’d like to purchase me for yourself, or because I still have a lot to learn?”

 

Pam frowned. “Hmm. Both…I think. Yes, both.”

 

“Good, because a) I can be bought, and b) I’m more than willing to learn. I’ll have you know I’m a quick study.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Pam asked, smirking. “How quick?”

 

“Dammit,” Jim said, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “By ‘quick study,’ I meant ‘Very slow and meticulous study. Needs a tutor.’”

 

Pam laughed. “Well, as luck would have it, I’m an excellent tutor…and I just happen to be available.”

 

“It’s about time,” Jim said, pulling her face toward his as her hands flanked him on the desktop. He’d always loved this desk.

 

- - - - -

 

“In the fridge, Pam. Could you bring me one, too?” Jim called after her.

 

For the first few months, he’d done everything for her, as if he were afraid that one less-than-chivalrous moment would make her second-guess herself, make her rewind to “We’ll always be friends.” It had all been very sweet, but she had to admit she liked making herself at home in his apartment, padding into his kitchen in her socks on a Thursday night to grab a Coke from his fridge before they settled on the couch to watch a movie.

 

It was ironic, because she’d gone through so many domestic motions for Roy for so many years, and she couldn’t remember ever feeling the happiness that she felt in the small proprietary action of getting a soda from Jim’s kitchen. She’d been with Roy for so long that she’d gotten used to the idea of unexciting love; she’d forgotten there could be more—or convinced herself there couldn’t. But after six months with Jim, it still felt like those first giddy days of “I have a boyfriend,” of putting a hand on his knee while he drove, of linking her fingers with his in line at the theater and thinking, “Other girls are looking at him, and he’s mine.” She somehow didn’t think she’d ever get used to it, and that was just fine with her.

 

She opened the refrigerator door and froze. There was no Coke. There was no milk, no eggs, no salad dressing or orange juice or bacon bits of indeterminate age. Jim’s refrigerator contained only one item: a plate holding a perfectly-molded dome of green jello. Suspended in the jello was a diamond ring.

 

She put her hand to her mouth as she felt Jim come into the kitchen and lean against the counter behind her. She didn’t know what would happen if she looked at him, because her throat already felt tight and tears were welling up in her eyes. The jello blurred.

 

“You’ve never jelloed my stuff before,” she observed softly.

 

He smiled behind her. “In point of fact, Beesly, I still haven’t. Technically, it’s not yours yet.” He lowered his eyes to the floor, slid one foot in front of the other nervously. He noticed a grape that had rolled between the sink and refrigerator.

 

“Halpert,” she said, turning.

 

“Yeah?” Jim answered, raising his head.

 

A small laugh escaped her as a tear dropped onto her left foot. “No, I mean you’re going to have to start calling me ‘Halpert’ instead of ‘Beesly.’” She tilted her head up and slid her gaze to his face. Even though it was clear what he was asking, her heart raced at the boldness of her answer, as if she didn’t truly believe the facts laid before her: a ring in jello, her best-friend-turned-boyfriend looking at her with hope blazed across his face.

 

“Really? So you’ll…really?” he stammered.

 

She fell in love with him all over again. “I never could say no to jello.”

 

 

- - - - - -

 

Two hours later they lay on the couch, Dazed and Confused having ended without them noticing. The room was bathed in the blue glow of the television and Pam was almost asleep, Jim’s arms around her. Her left hand lay on her stomach, and Jim kept sliding his fingers over it, absent-mindedly turning her ring from side to side.

 

“Hey, if I start calling you ‘Halpert,’ what are you going to call me?”

 

Pam laughed, a low and sleepy sound. “Um…I was thinking of ‘Jim Dear.’”

 

“Interesting choice,” Jim said thoughtfully. “Do we have to get a cocker spaniel?”

 

“Nope,” she said on a yawn.

 

Jim kissed the top of her head. “Jim Dear it is.”