Disclaimer: NBC’s The Office and its characters are not my property, and never will be. Kind of sad, if you think about it.


*


who cares what the question is

when all your love's in messages?


(-the bees)


*


Who Cares What the Question Is
a fanfic for The Office

by louisa lorin


*


"Do I think. I'll be invited. To the wedding."

Jim isn’t yet sure what these documentary people are all about, but he's starting to get an idea from the blank-faced way this producer guy asked him the question.

He thinks for too long, and maybe he shows too much on his face, because the guy lets it pass and moves on. Apparently he got the footage he needed.

Looking sidelong into the lens, Jim thinks this documentary just might be the beginning of the end for him.


*


Of course, all that was before they set an actual date for the wedding. Before Jim had his chance aboard the boat and didn't take it - all for the cameras to see.

Now Roy's around a whole lot more, and the questions are getting a lot less subtle, like: "Does it bother you when Roy comes upstairs just to hang out?"

Jim won't answer; he's learned that much by now. He just shakes his head, keeping his face blank. No soundbites, no funny looks.

The one-on-one interviews are a little easier to handle. Otherwise, the cameras have mostly melted into the background, which can be dangerous.

It's pretty tough to be guarded all the time; and self-awareness is an uncomfortable feeling.


*


"Hey, Halpert."

Jim turns in his desk chair to see Roy standing there, a solid mass of blue-grey in his warehouse uniform. He looks pretty friendly.

"Hey," Jim replies, smile lukewarm.

"I've got a bunch of people coming over tomorrow night, some buddies and their girlfriends, that kinda thing. You should bring Katy."

"Oh yeah?" Forgetting the cameras, Jim sneaks a look over at Pam – she's faxing something, listening to Kelly recap her week. Attention firmly elsewhere.

"Yeah, dude. It's gonna be a good time."

Jim finds himself nodding before he's really had time to think. "Okay. Uh, sure. That sounds great."

"Cool." Roy sort of slaps him on the back. "Bring a six pack, and maybe some chips or something. Starts around 7."

He lumbers off without waiting for an answer, tossing a "See ya babe!" at Pam on his way out the door. She glances up from the fax machine and smiles.

Jim wonders if she knows Roy invited them. He wonders if she asked him to.

He opens his wallet, pulls out the scrap of paper with Katy's number written in smudged pencil and dials it from his desk phone. A shadow moves across his desk and just like that, he can feel the camera circling around him. Hungry, curious.

He refrains from glancing at Pam again.


*


"Did you get the grill fixed?" Pam asks Roy, rooting through the fridge for some leftovers. It's been a hard day, and she doesn't really feel like cooking.

"Nah, I'll do it tomorrow. There's plenty of time before the party."

"Okay, as long as you actually do it."

"I will, I will." Roy flips channels, feet up on the coffee table. "You got the meat, right?"

"Yeah. I practically bought out the store."

"And you're gonna clean up tomorrow?"

Her eyes scan the living room - his dirty boots on the hardwood entryway, stacks of bills he hasn't bothered to pay yet, DVDs he and Darryl watched last weekend scattered everywhere.

"Yeah," she sighs.

"Awesome." A pause, as grainy photos of World War II Hiroshima drift by on the Discovery Channel. "Oh, I invited your buddy Halpert. I told him to bring Katy."

"What?" Pam asks, swallowing her mouthful in a hurry. "Really? When?"

"This morning, when I was upstairs visiting."

"So that's what you guys were talking about."

"Yeah." He watches her face for a second. "That's cool, right?"

"Oh! Sure, of course. No, Katy's great."

"Yeah. Halpert is one lucky guy."

"Right."

"You gonna wear your new dress? The short one?"

If the cameras were here, Pam can’t help but think, they’d be zooming in on her face right now. Looking for her reaction.

Slowly, she takes another bite.


*


"I'm so glad you asked me to come!"

Jim smiles and parks the car, fairly sure he's nowhere near the curb but not really in the mood to care. "Well, I'm glad you said yes."

Katy laughs like she usually does, as if he's just said something devastatingly witty. She's looking really good in a red sweater and dark jeans that are tight all the way down her legs.

He steps out of the car. "You take the chips, I'll take the beer?”

"Sounds good!"

They ring the doorbell. It's a nice house for a rental, white with blue trim and flower beds lining the front walk. Jim can hear the thump of bass and the sound of voices talking over one another. He shuffles a bit on the porch.

Honestly, he's just glad the cameras aren't here; he knows they talked about coming for a long time, before eventually deciding to tail Michael to his improv class again.

Some random guy in a flannel shirt answers the door, clearly a few drinks in already. "Welcome, tall dude and pretty lady!" he slurs at them. "Come inside, come inside!"

Noisy knots of people are gathered in the living room, talking like they've known each other for a long time. There's a table with food on the other side of the room – Katy drops the bag of chips next to five others, all unopened.

Jim looks around him. Apart from a reclining leather armchair and the big plasma TV, the whole room seems very Pam – throw pillows and braided rugs, knick-knacks on end tables, paintings on the walls. He likes it. Imagining himself as a camera, his eyes drift over everything, recording all these touches of Pam for posterity.

"Yo Jim!" Darryl calls from kitchen doorway. "We're all out back! What up, Katy? Glad you could make it."

"Hey Darryl! How've you been?"

"Can't complain, can't complain."

They follow him out to the backyard, where a small weathered-looking gazebo is the centerpiece. A bunch of people sit perched on the railing. The grass, brown in patches, is a little overgrown.

Jim scans the faces in the dim light and finally sees Pam, her arms folded across her chest. She's smiling vaguely into the distance.

Katy sees her too. "Hiiiii!" she trills, skipping over and giving Pam a little hug. Over Katy's shoulder, Pam's eyes meet his. Her smile widens.

"Katy!" Roy hollers, a little drunkenly. "Awesome, you made it!"

"Wouldn't miss it," Katy tinkles, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. One of the guys next to Roy gives Jim the congratulatory eyebrow: nice lookin' lady you got there.

"It's too noisy in there, so we set up out here. Guess you guys need some shots, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Katy laughs. "Totally."

Roy pours vodka over a row of shot glasses, spilling plenty. Roy's friends each grab one, lots of drunken laughter and elbowing in the process. Pam hesitates – “I’ve already had plenty!” – but after some prodding from Katy, finally grins and grabs one too.

"Halpert," Roy says then, "meet my buddies. Jason, Kunkel, Dave, Curtis. Guys, this is Jim and his girl Katy."

"To new friends!" Katy toasts, and they all knock one back.

It's been a while since the last time Jim took a shot, and the vodka stings his throat a little bit on the way down, making him cough. "Can't handle the burn?" a female voice teases right next to his ear, and he turns, still coughing, to see that Pam has sidled up beside him.

"Oh, I can handle it," he says loftily. "Coughing improves the flavor, Beesly. Little known fact."

Pam laughs, cheeks rosy like they tend to get when she’s been drinking. Post-shot tingles are spreading through his stomach and up his spine and her elbow is nudging against his and suddenly Jim is sort of glad they came.

"Grab a seat," Roy tells them, waving an arm magnanimously. "Stay a while."


*


An hour or so later, Pam is surprised to find herself actually having a good time. They’re still out in the backyard; she’s still standing next to Jim. Just like on the booze cruise, Roy and Katy are thick as thieves, and although there aren't any snorkel shots this time they have more than made up for it with a rousing game of Never Have I Ever.

"Never have I ever...had a threesome," Katy giggles, the obligatory round now out of the way. Jason grinningly puts a finger down, and the others immediately start ragging on him. Typical guy stuff.

"Hey," Roy chuffs, "Wish I could check that one off." Pam pokes her toe against the wooden floor of the gazebo and imagines the camera again, seeking out her reaction.

"How 'bout we make this game a little more interesting?" Curtis suggests gleefully. He brings something out from behind his back that makes Roy bow his head and laugh loudly. Then the light hits his hand and Pam sees he is holding a bowl, fully packed with pot.

"Eh? Eh?" Curtis says, looking all around the circle, big smile on his face. "Any takers?"

"I'm in," Roy says immediately. He turns to Pam. "If it's cool with Pammy, that is."

She shrugs in acquiescence, rolling her eyes but smiling.

"Katy? How 'bout you?"

Katy laughs, pretty tipsy by this point. "Oh my God! I haven't done that since high school."

"Aw, c'mon," the guys chorus at her. She laughs some more, clearly swayed, and turns to Jim with a winsome look. "Would you be mad if your date got a little stoned?"

He gives her a small, gallant bow, making Pam smile to herself. "Go right ahead."

"And you, Halpert?" Roy grins at him. "You look like a guy who's gotten high a few times in his life.”

Jim shrugs, not bothering to deny it – then, as if he can feel the force of her amusement, glances over at Pam. Eyebrows raised, she is grinning like mad.

"Well?" she demands. "Is it true? Jim the Pothead?"

Katy squeezes Jim’s arm and laughs, waiting for his answer. He just smiles and ducks his head.

"I knew it!" Roy crows. "C'mon, Halpert, join us." Jim twists his mouth, considering, and Roy adds wheedlingly, "Even Pammy's gonna smoke with us."

Jim whips his head around to stare at her; she can't help but laugh at the expression of shock on his face. "You are, are you?"

She shakes her head. "Not tonight. I’ve already had too much to drink, I'll get dizzy."

Jim gives her one of his signature looks – eyebrows raised, small quirked grin – but it’s private, just for her. His meaning is clear: I didn’t know you smoked pot!

She gives him a smirking look back: Well, now you do.

"Oh, I can't believe I'm doing this," Katy sighs, taking the bowl from Curtis. "You guys are such a bad influence!" Dave lights it for her - she inhales, and immediately starts coughing.

"You do this kind of thing a lot, Beesly?" Jim asks her in a lowered voice as the group shuffles around, arranging itself in a circle.

"No way," Pam murmurs back. "Every now and then, when we have parties and things. I usually go off on my own and draw. Or write in my journal. You know, that kind of thing."

Jim nods, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Never would have pegged you for a user, Pam."

"Well, how about you?"

"Maybe once a month," he admits. "Mark's always got some weed around the house, and he likes to smoke and watch movies on the weekends. Sometimes I’ll join him, sometimes not.”

"Hmm. I never knew this.”

"James?" Katy coos, from his right hand side. "Your turn!"

Jim holds up a hand, declining. “I’m good.”

“Aw, come on!” Pam needles him in an undertone. “I wanna see you stoned!”

“I’m not sure your respect for me could survive that kind of idiocy.”

“What respect, exactly?”

He shoots her a glare; she giggles. The fragrant clouds of smoke are drifting over them and she wonders fleetingly if she’s getting a contact high.


*


Half an hour later, the conversation around Jim has gotten much loopier.

"Nah, man, grapes are definitely a fruit," one of Roy’s friends is insisting.

"No, I swear they're a vegetable! They grow on a vine, right?"

"Dude, that's tomatoes you're thinking of."

"Wait," another of Roy’s friends interrupts. "Aren't they, like, a berry?"

Katy has dissolved into giggles, hiding her face behind her hands. Next to her, Roy is cracking up, spilling the full shot glass he’s holding.

For his part, Jim wants to laugh whenever he makes eye contact with Pam. He can tell she's in pretty much the same state from the way she presses her lips together over her smile - it's the same look she gets at the office when Dwight falls victim to a particularly good prank.

"I'm gonna go inside and get some water," she announces at one point. "Anybody want anything?"

The group declines: they've already got liquor, which is all they need. Pam is three steps away from the gazebo when she shoots a look back at Jim that clearly says, you coming with?

"Uh, be right back," Jim says to Katy, who nods, smiling at him dreamily.

He hurries to follow Pam, crossing the half-lit backyard. Then, imagining that the cameras are on his heels, he slows down, sliding his hands into his pockets.

When they get inside they see that the party has cleared out quite a bit. "Thank God," Pam sighs. "And it actually doesn't look that bad in there."

Jim peeks into the living room, unconvinced. Clusters of of beer bottles and keg cups are littered across every surface. "We can stay after," he offers. "Help clean up."

"Really?" Pam gives him an inscrutable look as she opens the fridge. "What about Katy? She'll want you to take her home, right?"

Jim shrugs. "She's having a good time, she won't mind staying a little longer."

"Hmm." Pam pours a glass of water and sips it slowly. Jim watches her, realizing for the first time that she's wearing a fancy shirt underneath the pink cardigan. It’s purple and satiny, catching at the light above her knee-length denim skirt. She's also got her hair mostly down; it's curling gently next to her cheeks.

Jim leans against the counter, facing her across the kitchen. He's not really drunk but he's definitely buzzed, feeling that pleasant, heady flow of liquor through his veins.

The quiet of the kitchen settles around them.

"Hi," he says, smiling at her widely.

"Hey," she replies, tipping her head to the side and smiling back in a way she never would if the cameras were there. Her eyes don’t budge from his.

"Nice threads, Beesly."

"Oh." She looks down. "Thanks. It's a little cold for it, so I had to cover up."

She pulls off the cardigan to demonstrate, and he sees that the shirt is shortsleeved. The neckline is wide, showing off a lot of her neck and shoulders.

Jim's mouth feels a little dry now.

"What about your sweater?" she demands.

"Uh, what about it?"

"It's so cute.” She wrinkles her nose at him. “Argyle."

Self-conscious, he pushes the sleeves up to his elbow. "My mom bought it for me.”

"Hilarious!" she sing-songs.

"Hmmph."

Pam squirms happily, hugging herself. "It's nice and warm in here," she sighs.

Grinning, Jim mimics her movement, wriggling with exaggerated cuteness. She tries to scowl at him but can't keep it up and laughs instead, which of course makes him laugh too.

Then he hears himself say: "You know, I haven't gotten a tour of the house yet."

"Oh." Pam thinks for a moment. "Well, that isn't very fair. You did give me a tour of your place, after all."

"That I did," he agrees. Grinning, Pam walks out of the kitchen, gesturing for him to follow.

"You think they'll wonder where we went?" Jim asks. He tosses a glance out the window: Katy's still with Roy in the gazebo, throwing her head back and laughing at something one of the guys is saying.

"Nah, Roy's got his booze, he's all set."

Tossing a mental whatever up to the heavens, Jim trails after her out of the kitchen.


*


"And here's the second bathroom."

"Hmm." Jim pokes his head behind the shower curtain. "Methinks I spy some mildew."

"You do not!" She jogs him with an elbow. "I keep my bathtubs one hundred percent mildew free."

"And there isn't any hand sanitizer." He clucks his tongue. "Shameful."

"Hand sanitizer?" She breaks into giggles. "What do you think this is, a bathroom at a rest stop?"

He's laughing too, hard, keeping himself upright with an arm on the counter. "I don't know, Beesly. Your house is pretty crazy."

"I can't believe you've never been here before!" Pam cries. She squeezes past him out the door, her body brushing his.

"Yeah," he says, even though he knows exactly why he hasn't - every sign of Roy in the house has caused a funny sort of clenching in his stomach.

"And this is the laundry room," she gestures, a little further down the hallway.

It's a small closet-like space, dimly lit, that smells like fabric softener. Jim walks in, feeling her follow him. The cameras couldn’t go in here, he thinks, reflexively. Not enough room.

"How can I be sure?" he asks her.

"Sure of what?"

"That this really is the laundry room. For all I know you keep dishes in here, or lawn chairs."

Pam swings the dryer door open. He sees a feminine-looking bundle of clothes inside, some of them distinctly lacy. He swallows.

"Well, I guess I've seen the proof with my own eyes now."

Pam jumps up onto the washer, facing him and swinging her legs above the floor. She grins. "I feels like we're in a secret clubhouse or something."

"What would our club be called?"

"Awesome People Anonymous."

“‘Anonymous’?” He smirks at her. "Like Alcoholics Anonymous?"

"I dunno." She laughs, a little goofily. "Yeah, I guess."

"Why would we want to stay anonymous if we're awesome?"

"It’s a secret clubhouse, Jim.” She gives him a reproving look, as if this should be obvious. “Secrets are fun."

Jim looks over at the laundry room door, noticing that Pam pulled it almost all the way shut behind her. His mind goes a little foggy.

“Yeah,” he replies, somewhat stupidly. He looks back at Pam. She is eyeing him, her expression enigmatic.

"So...how are things with Katy?"

"Katy?" He has to stop and think, because, to be honest, Katy is the furthest thing from his mind at this moment. "Fine, I guess."

"She's really nice," Pam supplies. "Cute."

"Yeah." Jim looks down at Pam's bare knees, which are bumping against each other gently as she swings her legs. "She's not a messy eater or anything."

Pam laughs. "Messy eater?"

"Yeah, you know." He's not really sure what he's saying. "Messy eaters. Can't stand to watch ‘em eat."

It’s warm in this tiny room. Stuffy – Jim can feel the heat building under his collar. Or maybe it’s because Pam’s still looking at him in that odd way.

“Why?” he asks suddenly. “About Katy, I mean.”

“Oh.” Pam looks down at her denim-covered lap. “Just curious. She seems to really like you.”

Jim shrugs. “I think she likes having a boyfriend, yeah.”

“No, she likes you,” Pam says decisively. “Look at you! You’re Jim.”

He smiles, bemused. “Who else would I be?”

A hint of frustration enters her face. She leans forward on the washer, crossing her ankles. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Well then, what do you—”

Jim breaks off as Pam overbalances on the washer, tumbling forward. He steps toward her just in time for her to fall heavily against him, and he puts his hands on both her shoulders, steadying her.

Belatedly, he realizes just how closely they are pressed together; to the camera, it would look like an embrace.

When Pam looks up at him, they are nose to nose. “Thanks,” she says faintly, her cheeks flushing pink.

The moment stretches out.

“No problem,” Jim whispers. He’s afraid to move, afraid to breathe. With a shiver down his spine, he feels how very alone they are - no Roy or Katy or cameras to be found.

Pam puts a hand on his chest. He worries, for an instant, that she can feel how hard his heart is beating.

And then she looks down at his lips, and grabs his sweater in her fist. And she kisses him.

Jim’s reflexes must be better than he thought, because despite the incredible shock to his system he is instantly kissing her back, cradling her head with his hand and opening his mouth against hers. The feel of her lips and tongue burns him up, incinerates him on the spot right here in the stuffy little laundry closet in this house that she shares with her fiance.

But Jim refuses to think about that right now, because there is no camera around to make him - and Pam smells like soap and that Jergen’s cherry-almond lotion he knows she uses and the skin of her neck is so soft under his thumb and all the sensations are melting together, forming this wonderful, terrible ache in his chest, all in a single moment. He couldn't think even if he tried.

He hears a little gasp in the back of Pam’s throat, feels a tremor in the hand that still rests on his chest, and he knows that she is going to pull back the moment before she actually does.

Her eyes are slow to open – Jim watches the play of emotions across her face, trying to interpret them and failing utterly. Pam slips off the washer the rest of the way and steps away from him, breathing hard.

She touches her lips with the pads of her fingers. Eyes still on his, she steps toward the door that is still ajar, puts her hand on the knob.

And she pulls it all the way shut.


*


End of Part One.

With any luck, Part Two will be posted tomorrow.

Reviews are wonderful. :)

Disclaimer: Not mine.

*

let love be the reason

between me and you


(-the bees)


*


Who Cares What the Question Is - Part Two
a fanfic for The Office

by louisa lorin


*


Pam pulls the door shut, listening for the metallic click. Jim stares at her, filling the small space between them with the electric look in his eyes.

"Pam?" he says, roughly.

Something has snapped inside her, and she’s not sure what, and she's not sure why. Maybe it was Katy, looking so pretty and laughing so much, tossing her hair all the damn time. Maybe it was Roy, his dirty boots and his stupid friends and his total blindness to everything inside her heart. Probably, at least partially, it was the alcohol.

Or maybe it was Jim. Just--Jim himself.

Whatever the cause, she's finally given in. Throwing herself against him, she kisses him the way she's always wanted to, right here in this stuffy little laundry closet. His back hits the washer with a dull thump; Pam's mind is so fuzzy that it takes her a second to realize it's because she pushed him up against it.

"Pam," he says again, sucking in a breath as her mouth goes to his neck, seeking out his pulse below the skin. She moans a little as his hands slide from the small of her back down lower, grabbing right where her hips meet her butt, pulling her tight against him.

He laughs a little, as if he can't believe this isn't a dream. Which makes Pam want to kiss him again all the more. She does, sliding a hand into his hair, tracing the back if his neck with her fingertips.

"God," she whispers, centimeters from his lips. She feels trapped in slow motion, or maybe underwater. His mouth is warm around her earlobe, his fingers light against her neck.

Pam can still hear the music from downstairs, but it's faint, barely audible through the floor. She feels giddy, hidden away from the world.

Now his fingers are sliding under the waistband of her skirt, just barely touching the skin beneath, but even so she can hardly draw breath. She arches her back, pressing their pelvises together and making him groan. There's an unmistakable hardness down there and God, it's the hottest thing she's ever felt, Jim's cock pressing against her through his jeans.

Jim's cock. Jim's cock.

His hands move up her torso, so slowly she can feel his incredulity through his fingertips. Finally they graze her breasts through the cool satin, and she sucks in a gasp, closing her eyes.

Her lips waver, undecided, then she blurts out: "We need to be fast."

For once, she can't read the look in his eyes. He doesn't respond with words, and she doesn't want him to - just kisses her again, brushing her hard nipple through her shirt more boldly. Pam angles her pelvis to feel more of him against her, whimpering a little.

He sort of growls against her mouth, then whirls her around, pressing her against the washer instead. Pam's jean skirt is hiking up of its own accord, ending up somewhere around her waist as her ankles lock around his back, elbows bracing themselves against the cool metallic surface of the washer. He grinds into her and now this is the hottest thing she's ever felt - she can barely stifle her answering moan.

Pam feels so slick and so swollen down there; she wants him to feel it too. "Jim," she mutters, grabbing one of his hands, guiding it between her legs.

Jim's other arm props her up as his fingers slide her panties aside, sucking in a breath like he's the one being touched, not her.

"Pam," he says, helpless with desire. "You're so--"

"Yeah," she agrees, nodding dazedly. "Please, Jim--"

Jim slides two fingers into her, crooking them together just so, and now she couldn't hold back the moan if she tried. It feels so good that she doesn't know where to look. His thumb starts to brush her clit along with the rhythm of his driving fingers and now her whole body is tingling with an intensity she can barely believe.

"Look at me," Jim murmurs, and she obeys. He's staring down at her with this expression on his face - half-hungry, half-worshipful - and now she's starting to tremble.

"Tell me, Jim," she whispers.

He bows his forehead to touch hers. His fingers go still inside her, pressed against her soft walls - the thumb on her clit speeds up. "Pam," he says, voice thick. "I can't."

Pam's about to come. She can feel it crashing over her, inexorable. "Jim," she gasps, "I--"

And then it's too late to say anything at all because she's pulsing around him, the warmth shooting through her limbs, her core twisting around itself, and her mouth has fallen open helplessly. Her hips are bucking against him and she can feel his eyes on her, burning, burning, burning.

"God," Pam shudders, her brain clouded with pleasure. Jim has stepped away from her, and she realizes with another hot flare through her gut that he is unbuttoning his jeans. Her toes touch the ground - her shaking hands go to the waistband of her skirt, then her panties, pulling both down.

Pam can't drag her eyes away from the obscene, disconcertingly large tent in his trousers. We're really going to do this.

Jim moves back over to her, pinning her against the washer again. He kisses her, long and slow, then holds up something in his left hand. A small square packet.

"I have a--"

"Good." Pam nods, trying to keep her voice steady. "Yeah."

His cock bumps against her still-sensitive sex, only the boxers between them now. She feels engulfed by him, hot to the core.

"Like this?" Jim asks, jerking his chin toward the washer and smiling a little impishly.

Pam breaks into a relieved grin. "My elbows are a little sore," she admits.

"The floor it is." Jim's voice is a little huskier now as he lowers himself to his knees in front of her.

Nudging her legs apart with his shoulder, he tastes her sex with one long stroke of his tongue. Pam looks down at the top of his head, then closes her eyes, feeling the post-orgasmic shocks shoot through her, slowly replaced by something warmer and deeper.

She should be afraid of what all this means. She should be terrified of getting caught; they've been gone for at least half an hour, after all.

But all she can think is how badly she wants Jim inside her.


*


Jim waits until her legs are shaking a little, then takes her hands and helps her down to the floor beside him, happy to see her smile. He suffers a moment of indecision, before Pam settles the matter by laying back on the carpet, beckoning him on top.

He kneels in front of her and eases his boxers down, watching her eyes go wide.

"What?" he asks.

She laughs a little. "Just--go slow."

It's ridiculous to feel proud, but Jim can't help himself. Her feet brush against his legs as he unwraps the condom - he looks up and smiles at her.

Holding the base of the condom with one hand, Jim eases himself over her. He stares down at the part of her he's about to enter - flushed pink, shining with moisture in the dim light. Beautiful, just like her.

"Jim," she sighs, bucking her pelvis up toward his with some urgency. He doesn't know if it's because she's as eager as he is or because she's worried that someone's going to come looking for them at any minute, but either way Jim is happy to oblige. He positions itself, supporting his weight above her with one hand.

The head of his cock brushes against her heat; she tips her head back, gasping a little. Jim knows this is the very definition of a quickie - they're still wearing their shirts, for God's sake, about to make love on the floor of her laundry room - but part of him still wants to slow down, memorize every detail.

He wonders if she is thinking it too: What if this is all we get?

Eyes locked on hers, he sinks part of the way into her. She bites her bottom lip harder, her hands balling into fists, grasping at the fibers of the carpet. By the time he's in to the hilt he's breathing hard, their thighs warm against each other. He pulls back, then thrusts again.

"My God," she groans, thrusting back. "Yes."

His hair's falling into his eyes - he swings it aside as he picks up the pace. This is real, he reminds himself. This is happening.

"Harder," she whispers.

He's embarrassingly close to the edge already, but he complies - how can he not? - and watches Pam throw her head back, rhythmic moans escaping her throat.

"Jim--" She breaks off with a whimper, bringing the back of her hand to her mouth, biting a knuckle. "I'm close."

"Good," he mutters, voice strained from the effort of holding back his release. Pam laughs softly, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. He shortens his strokes so they are fast and shallow and the laugh dies on her lips - she slams her eyes shut, writhing under him, desperate for her peak.

"Jim," she moans again, but this time it's just his name, and he doubts he'll ever forget the way she said it - low and breathy, right on the cusp of her orgasm.

One of her hands finds his; she squeezes his fingers tightly. Then she is shuddering under him, insensible with pleasure, and he is thrusting into her as deep as he can go, doing his best not to shout as he falls over the edge too.

"Jesus," he gasps, moments later, leaning his weight onto her slowly. His damp forehead meets her shoulder. The rise-and-fall of her breath is still rapid; she slides a hand into his hair.

Briefly, he kisses her neck. "We should..."

"Yeah." Together, they sit up; he reaches for his boxers, she for her underwear and skirt.

"I guess we need a plan," he ventures.

Pam nods, looking down at her bare feet, her smile a little sad. "Yeah. I'll--I'll just go get in the shower, and you can go downstairs. Pretend like you were just, you know. Hanging out inside."

A thousand thoughts are swirling in Jim's head as he pulls his jeans on again, buttoning the fly. Meeting eyes with Pam, he knows the same is true for her.

"We should talk about this," she acknowledges. "Soon."

He laughs a little. His hands find his pockets. "Yep."

Pam steps forward, threading her arms around his torso. He hugs her back tightly, breathing her in.

They let go. Pam smooths her skirt, just like she always does when the cameras are on them.

Jim watches her leave. He waits to a count of twenty, then heads downstairs.


*


It's a lot of work, unwinding a ten year relationship. Doing it in front of a camera crew doesn't make it any more fun.

It helps somewhat when Pam finds out that Roy and Katy snuck off somewhere while she and Jim were upstairs and made out. Kind of funny, in an abstract sense of the word.

Regardless of his share of the guilt, Roy kicks up a huge fuss when Pam tells him what happened one week later, standing outside in the gazebo. Predictably, he makes a lot of noise about kicking Halpert's ass - and almost does the next Monday at work, prevented only by a blast of Dwight's pepper spray straight to the eyes.

Pam never thought she'd end up a cheater, and she agonized over it for a while. But by the time she and Jim have been dating for six months she's able to philosophize about it over coffee, saying simply: "It had to end somehow. And there was a big silver lining, so...."

"Damn right," he agrees, grinning. "Best sex of my life. Up till then, at least."

She whacks his arm. "That's not what I meant!"

Jim tilts his head innocently. "You didn't mean the sex?"

"I meant you," she snaps. "You're the silver lining."

"Well, that's okay too."

Smiling, he reaches across the table and takes her hand, and Pam thinks to herself that for all the stress of the cameras, there is a silver lining to that, too: when someone's scrutinizing you so closely, it's hard not to take a good look inside yourself. To try to see what they see.

It took a year and a half with the cameras, she thinks, and one night without them.

She smiles back at Jim, brushing her thumb over his knuckles.


*


"Do I think I'll be invited to the wedding?"

Roy pauses, sizing the producer guy up. He's getting really freaking sick of all this documentary bullshit.

Finally, he shakes his head. "Not really, no."


*


End.

Sorry, I know the ending is pretty silly, but I couldn't help myself.

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