Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the concept or even really the style.
(Tuesday, January 21, 2004. Jim is 24, Pam is 22)
When the new receptionist of Dunder-Mifflin Scranton walked through the door, Jim Halpert knew he would marry her. He knew it as fully as he knew that the earth is round and there are 365 days in a calendar year. He knew, not because she was absolutely gorgeous in a completely unassuming way. He knew, not because of her lovely auburn curls or the brilliance of even a reluctant smile as Michael Scott introduced her as Pam-a-rama (though those were quite charming as well).
And because of this certainty, he couldn’t help grinning to himself as he rushed the reception desk and introduced himself. He flashed what he hoped was a brilliant smile as he offered her his hand. “Hi, I’m Jim, Jim Halpert, and I am, unfortunately, a paper salesman here at Dunder-Mifflin.” Take it slow, buddy, he told himself, she doesn’t know you like you know her.
“Pam Beesly,” She said and returned the smile with gratitude as she shook his hand. “Tell me,” She asked in a conspirator’s tone, “Is this place always so…drab? And is Michael always so…crazy?”
Jim laughed, “Yes, and yes, though you haven’t met Dwight yet, so be careful how you use the word ‘crazy.’”
“Thanks for the warning. Is he the guy with the bumper sticker that says ‘Bonkers for Beets’?” She asked.
If possible, Jim fell a little bit more in love with her. “Yes, yes he is and you are possibly the most intuitive person I’ve ever met.”
Michael, with his ever perfect timing, picked that exact moment to yell, “Pam! Meeting in my office!”
Pam grimaced. “First day and a meeting in Michael’s office? So much for easing into it.”
Jim chuckled, “You’ll be fine.” An unexpected bout of nervousness took that moment to strike, and Jim stumbled through the following invitation. “Hey, do you maybe want to go to lunch today? I can fill you in on everyone in the office; get you used to the place, y’know.” He shrugged.
She smiled. “I’d love to.”
“Pam! Now!” Michael interrupted.
It wasn’t until later, at Cugino’s, when Pam said, “Roy, my fiancée, works in the office,” that all of the giddy happiness drained from Jim’s face. This part of the story had been conveniently left out. He'd thought all he had to do was find her, and from there it'd be smooth sailing. Engaged? To some asshole named Roy in the warehouse? For the rest of lunch he smiled and continued to half heartedly make conversation, but every so often his jaw would clench almost imperceptibly in anger.
Jim Halpert had been tricked.
(Wednesday, August 17, 1986. Jim is 6 and Pam is 28)
If there’s one thing Jim loved most in this life, it’s playing in his overly spacious backyard. Earlier in the year his dad had gotten something fancy called a promotion and they got to move to an old house on three acres of land. Jim didn’t know exactly what three acres meant, but he knew it meant a really big yard.
Right over a small hill with a dugout carved into it was where Jim spent most of his time. Today he was playing Transformers vs. Toy Soldiers. There was a whole battlefield constructed, right in front of cardboard New York, made from the toaster box, and it was from there that the Transformers were winning the fight.
Just as Megatron stomped on half the US Army, Jim heard a thump and an “oomph!” from inside the dugout. Very curious and a little frightened, he inched toward it, as through drawn by gravity.
There was a fair amount of rustling, as well as feminine mutterings of, “Where am I? Damn it, this is what happens when you forget to take your meds. Always take the meds, Beesly.”
Jim froze a foot from the dugout, his courage waning but his feet still frozen in place. He wouldn’t get any closer, but he still had to know what was invading his sacred play place.
With an ungraceful bump, a woman stumbled out of the dugout. She was young, but older than his cousin Maggie in high school. Her hair was a mess of auburn tangles, her eyes were bright and slightly irritated, and there was paint splattered everywhere on her ripped jeans and baggy t-shirt.
Jim thought she was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen.
“Oh!” She said, and looked startled at the sight of him – still not moving. Then she cocked her head to the side and studied his face. “Hi.”
“Mama told me not to talk to strangers.” Jim mumbled half-heartedly.
“Oh.” She replied, slightly dejected. A frown crossed her face but was quickly replaced with a smile. “Well, do you want to know a secret?”
Jim kicked at the grass, torn between the rules set in place by his parents and his own innate curiousity. She said, “If you nod or shake your head, it’s not really talking.” Jim nodded his head furiously and she laughed. “Well, this is a big secret. You can’t tell anyone, okay?” He nodded again. She continued, “I do know you, but not now. I can time travel, and from when I’m from, we’re…really good friends.”
Jim’s eyes widened, “Really?”
She nodded solemnly, “Really really.”
Jim considered it, then pursed his lips and shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t!” She exclaimed, but she was still smiling, so Jim guessed she wasn’t mad.
“No, I don’t.” He repeated.
“Okay, well, hm. What if I tell you something about yourself? To prove that I know you?” She asked, looking hopeful.
Jim chewed on his lip, thinking. Finally, after a long deliberation, he replied. “Okay.”
“Okay.” She sighed and looked up toward the sky, like she was thinking. “Your name is Jim Halpert, your dad is a salesman with Hoffman Pharmaceuticals, you have a sister and a brother, and you like to play basketball.”
Jim’s eyes widened. “Wow.”
“I know,” She replied, “Crazy, isn’t it?”
Jim nodded, turning shy again. “…What’s your name?”
She smiled. “Pam. My name is Pam.”
“Pam.” He said, testing it. “I don’t have to call you Miss Pam, do I?”
She laughed, “No, Jim, you don’t.”
He looked down and kicked at the dirt one more time, “…you wanna play Transformers?”
She grinned. “I’d love to, but I think I have to go soon. Next time?”
“There’s a next time?” Jim asked hopefully.
“Mmhmm. But, Jim, I think I have to go now.” Pam said with a note of sadness in her voice. “It was nice to meet you. I hope we can be good friends.”
“You can be my best friend.” Jim promised, “Except for Mark down the street. You can be my best friend after him.”
Pam laughed and waved. “That sounds perfect. Goodbye, Jim!” And then, just as suddenly as she was there, she vanished into thin air, and it was just Jim waving at where she stood, the hill, and the action figures.