Angry Letters by Rach3l
Summary:

Pam decides to write angry letters without sending them. Or, well, the modern equivalent thereof. A fun little romp of a story!

AU: Canon divergence. Pam doesn't get back together with Roy in season 3. She leaves the wedding when he asks her to dance. They are not together for her art show. They don't go to Poor Richard's, she doesn't tell him about the kiss with Jim, and he never tries to attack Jim in the office. 


Categories: Jim and Pam, Present, Alternate Universe Characters: Jim, Jim/Karen, Jim/Pam, Pam
Genres: Angst, Drama, Inner Monologue, Romance
Warnings: Adult language, Mild sexual content
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 13 Completed: Yes Word count: 11233 Read: 25687 Published: September 01, 2017 Updated: September 01, 2017
Story Notes:

I enjoyed writing this immensely. Bit of an experiment with tone. Let me know what doesn't work!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. 

1. DUI by Rach3l

2. Episode 3.11: Back from Vacation by Rach3l

3. Episode 3.12: Traveling Salesman by Rach3l

4. Episode 3.13: The Return by Rach3l

5. Episode 3.14: Ben Franklin by Rach3l

6. Episode 3.15: Phyllis's Wedding by Rach3l

7. Episode 3.16: Business School by Rach3l

8. Fallout by Rach3l

9. Highjinx by Rach3l

10. Tech-Knowledgy by Rach3l

11. Courage by Rach3l

12. The Letter by Rach3l

13. The Beginning by Rach3l

DUI by Rach3l
Author's Notes:

Self-destructive Pam

She wasn’t in therapy. She wasn't seeing a therapist.

Okay yeah, so she saw a therapist once, but that's not the same thing. His name was Doctor Peppercorn, Doctor Pepper for short.

Yeah, he seriously said that. The only reason Pam didn't turn and walk out was because it was free.  

Unsolicited, Toby had handed her a sheet of paper titled "Employee Assistance Plan" the day after Dwight had stumbled across her crying in the stairwell—and oh god, Pam didn't even want to think how that conversation came about. Toby said Doctor Peppercorn had helped him through his divorce.

She had no idea how. The guy was freaking useless. She tried not to roll her eyes through the 30-minute session, his hackneyed suggestions not inviting much in the way of confidence. Not inviting much of a response at all, really. Pam always kinda thought the point of therapy would be talking through your own problems, not having someone talk at you. What was the deal with that?

Also, she was pretty sure anything she said could and would be held against her. 

In the end, she supposed you got what you paid for. Because talk about a waste of time. About the only thing she took away from the "counseling session" was that writing angry letters without sending them might be some kind of an idea. She spent half her days playing Sudoku and Minesweeper anyway. What was fifteen minutes here or there to craft an email and save it as a draft?

It was nothing. Just like what she was to Jim. He'd made that perfectly clear at the soda machine on his first day back in Scranton, abundantly clearer in the parking lot that evening, and reinforced it with pretty much every action since.

Inaction, she guessed, would probably be a more appropriate word for it though. Not just his, but hers too. There was a shockingly low amount of action when it came to Pam and Jim.

Not that she didn't want any action—that's what she said—but she completely sucked at this whole introspection thing. And just, even the merest thought of any kind of confrontation was enough to totally paralyze her. What did it say about her if blubbering and sniveling would be an improvement?

As much and as often as Pam tried to think about it, analyze her inactions and Jim's inactions until she was blue in the face (or fingers--thank god for modern technology, right?), she inevitably ran in mental circles until she ended up at the same freezing standstill where she always ended up.

If only she had a crystal ball. Or the ability to read minds. Any kind of superpower, really. It would be pretty great if she could shrink down super small you know, like the Magic Schoolbus or something. She could drive into Jim's ear and see how he really felt. Then she'd know whether he still loved her (and magically be infused with bravery, that was kinda key).

Or she'd know he was totally over her and she could totally get over him. Right?

Right.

Last weekend, Pam had a tequila-induced epiphany about how to solve the ongoing Beesly-Halpert stalemate, once and for all. She'd reached for a pen and scribbled it down before passing out on the couch.

Upon reading the words the following morning, she realized they were more drunk than epiphanic. Like, borderline retarded, honestly. Some kind of rambling about making and having Jim's babies.

Ugh, seriously? It's not like she was good with kids. She didn't think so, anyway. She wasn't sure, she hadn't spent time around any kids since she'd been one herself. To be honest, she wasn't completely sure she even liked the idea of having kids. Although she'd have Jim's if he wanted them, which was kind of the central point of the epiphany. And so far from romantic that Pam kinda wanted to die just thinking about it.

She was doing a pretty good job of single-handedly keeping Kleenex stock in the black these days, though, and wasn't that something? Maybe she could add that to her resume under Accomplishments, alongside 'Participated in the longest engagement in history that failed to end in marriage' and 'Managed to lose the friendship of the only person who ever really mattered to me. Also his love' and '2005 Dundie Award: Whitest Sneakers.'

Pam still carried the trophy–not to mention the memory of her and Jim's first kiss–to prove the last one. The former was stowed safely away in a shoebox in her closet, the latter tucked eternally into her heart.

She wondered why she couldn't just move on when he so clearly had. Really, it was her own fault probably. Pam knew what she wanted kinda, but she had no idea how to cross the yawning chasm between them.

She guessed she couldn't keep from holding out the tiniest sliver of hope that maybe something would just... change. Even though she herself had never been a changer (which, in the middle of all the nothing she knew about herself or Jim or Them, was the one thing she would always be sure of). The only thing that moved and shook in her life were her shoulders, as she mourned all that could have been between them if she weren't such a massive fuckup. But really, what was she supposed to do, knock down the Great Wall of China armed with basically a teaspoon?

Why didn't she call him after she called off her wedding, anyway? Seriously, what was that all about? What kind of friend even was she? Why did she ramble about kitchens and Sandra Bullock instead of mentioning it when he'd accidentally reached her on the office phone? What really was stopping her from picking up the phone right now and calling him?

Pam guessed she just wasn't brave. And anyway, even if she were, she didn't really know what she could or would even say to Jim at this point.

"I'm in love with you, do you still love me? Probably not because I was a huge scaredy cat and also a liar and an asshole. Wanna hang out?"

"Just thought I'd let you know you never misinterpreted anything. I called my wedding off because you kissed me and the earth tilted and nothing's felt right since. Cugino's, you and me?"

"You can dump Karen for me any day now. What do you say we pretend the last twelve months never happened?"

"Do you remember that line from V for Vendetta? 'I knew I never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again'? Well that's me, except... you know, you're not a her. Welp, smell ya later!"

Sigh. Maybe she should be in therapy.

Hell, she'd even settle for some mellow friend-on-friend action at this point. Although the action she kind of wanted--scratch that, really wanted--was more than that.

More than that.

More than that.

Those words pretty much haunted Pam, on a sort-of-nightly basis. About as much as his kisses haunted her, which was kind of a lot, and she couldn't even begin to think about that right now without crying, so she distracted herself in a hurry.

Maybe she'd take up smoking. Why not? Picasso smoked, and look what he accomplished. It would fit right in with the other self-destructive habits she'd developed over the past several months. And hey, who ever got a hangover from cigarettes?

In a fit of determination, Pam bought a pack of Marlboro Lights on the way home from work the following Friday.

She wondered if Karen smoked. Maybe. Pam could see it. Karen actually did sound sort of like a smoker, in that young Lauren Bacall way. Probably only after sex though, she figured dispassionately. Just enough to get that kinda sultry voice without stinking up the place or risking the whiteness of her teeth. But like, outside, in a classy robe, on some kind of terrace or balcony. Definitely not in bed. Jim would never stand for that.

With no idea whatsoever how to go about it (other than what she'd seen in movies), Pam held the lighter to the business end of the cigarette and took a delicate puff. She had to smile as the smoke filled her mouth, even though it tasted like a combination of burnt marshmallows and a grease fire.

How disappointed would Jim be if he could see her now?

Very, she mused delightedly, secretively, vindictively as she inhaled, feeling heady with rebelliousness and the fire in her lungs.

Then she exhaled. Pam coughed so hard, she nearly vomited.

So much for that little experiment. She hated smoking more than she hated herself, and that was really saying something. With a heavy sigh, she doused the smoldering tip under running water and threw the pack into her junk drawer. 

Maybe she'd try again next week. Practice makes perfect, right?

Right.

For now, she forcefully twisted the top off a bottle of whiskey and poured herself a double, contemplating how much she was a fuckup. Even when it came to fucking herself up.

Speaking of Picasso…

Pam dug out her charcoals and sketchpad. Thinking better of it, she poured herself a double-double.

She'd never drawn drunk before. Drawing while intoxicated. Drawing under the influence. Why not, right? She giggled raspily as she turned on all the lamps in the living room, triggering another coughing fit. 

She dug the cigarettes out of the drawer and broke each one in half before dropping them into the trashcan. She really was a complete idiot sometimes.

 

Episode 3.11: Back from Vacation by Rach3l
Author's Notes:

Verbose Pam

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: Angry Letters 

Jim,

I tried smoking for the first time this weekend. I'm not sure why I'm telling you this. Not that I am, because I'm never going to send this email. Or these emails--I expect this is only the first in a series. But I'm not sure why I'm writing it down. Is it possibly therapeutic? It feels therapeutic. Let's go with that.

It was a pretty stupid idea. The smoking I mean, not the writing angry letters without sending them (well, the modern-day equivalent thereof). I almost puked, so I decided to get wasted instead. And then I actually puked. Fancy new Beesly is nothing if not attractive.

You know how Georgia O'Keeffe made a habit of painting flowers that suspiciously resembled vaginas? Maybe you didn't. Now you do. My point is, I sketched while I was drinking. I never tried that before. And they're unequivocally the best drawings I've ever done. Egotistical? Maybe. But that's at least as much on the model as the artist. And you really have the most beautiful hands. The most beautiful everything. I guess that's why I started drawing you. And why I haven't been able to stop.

Not that my drawings have anything to do with flowers or vaginas. It's just that I have this compulsion to draw the same thing over and over again. Not thing… person. You know what I mean. Not that you'll ever see them.

I wonder if Karen smokes? Probably not. I'm pretty sure you'd never date a smoker. I knew you wouldn't approve. That's kind of why I wanted to try it. Maybe if I make myself sufficiently undesirable, I can stop wondering why you don't want me anymore. I can't smoke though, it just hurts too much. It'd be easier to shovel down a bunch of Chunky Monkey and gain fifty pounds. Hey, there's an idea.

I don't know what to think anymore. About you. About me. Much less us. There is no us. Not anymore, at least not outside of my own head.  

This letter wasn't particularly angry. Angry at me, maybe. Not so much at you. I don't know, I think I can do better. Guess I'll try harder in my next one?

Pam

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: The metric system

Jim,

According to Google, you sit just over 15 decimeters away from me. That's more than the number of words we've exchanged in the past week.

Huh. I wonder why America never got on board with the metric system.

Pam 

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: Blowing my brains out

Hi Jim,

Remember when I said if you left this job, I would blow my brains out? Well, you left. I didn't blow my brains out. Not that I wasn't tempted.

I hate this job. Why am I still here? It's been 6 years and I'm still the receptionist. I'll always be the receptionist. You've ALWAYS been the receptionist, Mr. Torrance.

Maybe you're surprised that I've actually seen The Shining. It's an American classic, Jim.

Pam

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: Furniture

Hey Jim,

I feel like a piece of furniture when you're around.

Really, it's no less than I deserve. I know that I blew it with you and I'll never be more sorry about anything in my life.

Not even a useful piece of furniture. More like one of those awkward triangular tables that sticks out from the wall and trips everyone that walks by. With a wobbly leg. That you finally throw away because you can't stand to look at it for one more second.

I'm certifiable! Also sorry.

Pam

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: TWSS 

Oh. My. God. Jim!

Michael just tried this pick-up line on Jan: "If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"

That's what she said!

Hmm. I guess it doesn't really work in EVERY situation.

Pam

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: Drawing you

Hi Jim,

Apropos of nothing, you're really cute. Handsome. Gorgeous. I drew you again this weekend. Just like the weekend before that, and every weekend for the past… 9 weekends. I had to look at a calendar to figure that out.

It's not like I'm running out of inspiration or anything. It's just that I would have a lot more to work with if I could see you naked.

Pam 


End Notes:


Episode 3.12: Traveling Salesman by Rach3l
Author's Notes:
Regretful Pam

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: My wedding

Dear Jim,

I called off my wedding because of you. And now we're not even friends. And things are… weird between us. And that sucks. You were my best friend before you went to Stamford, and… I really miss you.

I shouldn't have been with Roy, and there were a lot of reasons to call off my wedding. But the truth is, I didn't care about those reasons until I met you. It's not that I didn't love Roy when I was with him. But when you came along, he gradually mattered less and less to me. And after you kissed me, he ceased to matter altogether. It was like graduating from high school love to the Real Thing™ (pat. pend. all rights reserved).

I wish I wasn't such a coward. I wish I could just say this to you. Or just press send and get it over with. Is it too much to ask the universe to just give me ONE freaking sign?

Love,

Pam 

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: I'm in love with you

I'm in love with you, Jim.

Love,

Pam

P.S. SO in love with you.

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: Karen

If you dump Karen, could we pretend like the last 12 months never happened? What about the last 6 years? 

----- 

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: (no subject)

i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm so sorry

i hate me i hate me i hate myself

i love you i love you i'm so in love with you, jim

pam

-----

 

Episode 3.13: The Return by Rach3l
Author's Notes:

Chipper Pam

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: Fishing for Big Tuna

Dear Big Tuna,

I never thought I'd say this, but it's actually good to have Dwight back. Maybe we can send him on another CIA mission? It's been three months since the last one. I still have his confidential folder, and I think he's overdue. 

I guess the thing I'm trying to say is that I miss having fun with you. I SO missed pranking with you. I really had fun today, though. I feel a little bad about it, but at the same time, 1-fishing for Big Tuna? Andy totally brought it on himself. And 2-if he's really that unstable, he NEEDS to be in anger management.

Today was a good day. Also, you look really cute in a sombrero. Maybe I actually will send this email. After deleting this line, of course.

Yours,

Pam

-----

 

Episode 3.14: Ben Franklin by Rach3l
Author's Notes:
Betrayed Pam

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: One kiss, two kiss, red fish, blue fish 

Jim,

Karen told me today that you told her about kissing me. I don't think you'll ever know how much you hurt me by sharing that with her. Obviously our kisses didn't mean nearly as much to you as they did to me. But they meant EVERYTHING to me. Still do. That's why I told Kelly to set me up with one of Ryan's friends from business school in the break room today. You hurt me, so I tried to hurt you back. It feels like that's all we ever do anymore.

Do you remember that line from V for Vendetta? 'I knew I never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again.' I still haven't kissed anyone since you kissed me. I haven't wanted to. I'm not sure I ever will. Not even Roy. One of the reasons I broke off my wedding was because I couldn't stand to have his lips anywhere near me after yours.

My god, how pathetic am I? I'm sure you and Karen kiss all the time. She also asked today if I was still interested in you. What else could I do but lie and say no? So I lied and said no. I'm not sure she believed me. I don't think I was very convincing.

I guess I want to say… you never misinterpreted anything. I was scared. I was stupid. I lied. I know it's months too late, but I'm so sorry.

As much as I wish we could be happy together, I wish more for you to just be happy. You really should get more sleep. I worry about you.

Even as much as you hurt me today, this email wasn't angry either. Guess I kinda suck at being mad at you. At some point these letters kinda shifted from angry to being more like… a diary. I think I like that. Maybe Dr. Pepper was on to something after all (long story, don't ask).

So… are you happy?

Love,

Pam

-----

 

Episode 3.15: Phyllis's Wedding by Rach3l
Author's Notes:
Angry Pam

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: Phyllis!!!

Phyllis stole all of my wedding ideas. ALL OF THEM. The flowers, the decorations, the invitations.


EVEN

MY

DRESS

 

Holy god, it was like hell on earth. You were dancing with Karen, so of course I was out of my mind with jealousy. And then Roy asked me to dance. He is seriously delusional. I mean, what the hell?? So unfortunately, I had to deprive the world of my famous dance moves. If I didn't get out the hell out of there, I was going to literally vomit on his shoes.

Anyway, it's not like you meant it when you said I was cute. That's just something people say to lonely singles at a wedding to make them feel better. I mean, it's not like you were going to ask me to dance.

Right? Right.

I'm sorry I said swaying isn't dancing. Not that I have much to live for these days, but I wouldn't want to live in a world where I've never danced with you.

Thinking I'll run home for lunch today. Suddenly craving grilled cheese for some reason.

Love,

Pam

-----

 

Episode 3.16: Business School by Rach3l
Author's Notes:

Artistic Pam

Pam looked around the office with a pit in her stomach. The art show flyers she'd posted the day before were gone.

Every single one.

She couldn't think about the real reason why without bursting into tears in front of the few others who had arrived as early as her today. Michael was one of them, and of course the cameraman was following her every move, so Pam mentally blamed a janitorial miscommunication.

Printing off another short stack, she re-posted them around the office. It didn't matter, really. What was she out, anyway? It wasn't her paper, nor her ink, and they'd lasted until quitting time the day before.

With effort, she talked herself out of putting one on everyone's desk. Was she desperate? Absolutely, but she wasn't certifiable... not yet, anyway.

Jim had to be there. He couldn't not be there. Was he going to be there?

Shrug. She really had no idea. She just knew she couldn't risk him missing it due to ignorance. If he was going to skip her art show, Pam needed to be sure it was a deliberate act on his part. So she sent out an office-wide email, too. Because this was important to her, so why not?

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: mscott@dundermifflin.com, dschrute@dundermifflin.com, amartin@dundermifflin.com, kkapoor@dundermifflin.comjhalpert@dundermifflin.com, kfilippelli@dundermifflin.com, kmalone@dundermifflin.com, rhoward@dundermifflin.com, abernard@dundermifflin.com, pvance@dundermifflin.com, tflenderson@dundermifflin.com, omartinez@dundermifflin.com, mpalmer@dundermifflin.com, shudson@dundermifflin.com, cbratton@dundermifflin.com

Subject: Art show!

Hi everyone! My first art show is tonight at the AFA gallery. Be there or be quadrangular!

Artists for Art

514 Lackawanna Avenue

Scranton, PA 18503

6:30 PM - 8:30 PM

Hope to see you there!

-Pam Beesly

-----

Feels kinda good to actually send an email for once, she reflected.

She was shocked at the number of replies she got. She hadn't expected to hear back from anyone. Kelly would really have loved to be there, but had prior plans (yeah okay). Kevin would have been happy to come, but had a poker game (probably true). Toby was so upset that he couldn't make it, but his daughter had a dance recital (definitely true, she'd overheard him talking about it to Phyllis the other day). Creed asked about the cover charge and rambled about the dude-to-babe ratio of parties nowadays vs. parties in the sixties (jeez what a cretin, but no surprise there).

Phyllis, Oscar, and Michael emailed back to assure Pam they would attend. She nearly choked on a jellybean when she got a reply from Jim toward the end of the day.

-----

From: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

To: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

Subject: Re: Art show!

You know what they say about wild horses, Beesly.

-----

It was practically nothing, less than ten words.

Of course, it meant everything.

Barely daring to hope, Pam walked to the ladies' room on shaky legs. When even was the last time she'd seen Jim outside of work?

Suddenly, she remembered. It was the night of the casino benefit.

Oh.

At the last second, she remembered Kevin had trapped the bat in there and re-routed to the ladies' room in Vance Refrigeration. Jim had spent most of the day convincing Dwight that he was becoming a vampire. Even though he was pranking with Karen for once, rather than her… well, he was pranking. And he'd be coming to her art show.

Wondering what to wear, Pam couldn't stop grinning at her reflection.

Jim frowned. "I told her I would be there, Karen. I promised."

"You promised me you'd come to dinner with my parents."

She was drawing a line in the sand. He knew it. She knew it. He knew she knew it.

He toed it. "I am coming to dinner with your parents. I just need to be out the door by eight. It's not asking much."

"They really want to go to Benihana," she insisted. "I've talked it up."

He sighed internally. Why did she have to turn every little thing into a fight? "There isn't time. You know how long dinner takes at Benihana, Karen." And how far away it was from the gallery.

Yeah, she knew. That's why they were going there, and not to Osaka as he'd proposed. "They've never been to a hibachi before," she wheedled. "Come on, Jim."

He stared her down. He couldn't not go to Pam's art show. No, he wouldn't not go. He drew a line, for the first time in the history of their relationship. "I'll go wherever you want. But if we're not done by eight, I'm walking out the door. Let me know what you decide."

About that line... Karen saw it, loud and clear. It dovetailed with the firm press of his lips, the stubborn cut of his jaw. She wavered for a moment. Then she quailed. "Alright, how about Osaka… six thirty?"

He smiled gratefully, surprising her with a warm hug. "Thank you. Meet me there?"

She nodded against his shoulder. She could feel him slipping a little further away every day. What the hell was she going to do?

Jim tapped his foot impatiently. It was a quarter to seven, and Karen was nowhere to be found. He called her cell for the fifth time in fifteen minutes. Finally, they arrived at nearly seven.

"If I'd known you were going to be this late, I could have gone and come back already," he hissed into her ear with a venom she'd never heard before. "Why didn't you pick up when I called? Why didn't you call?"

"Gimme a break, Halpert. I was driving. It's my parents' first time in Scranton, and they had some trouble finding my place." It came out insincerely because, well, it was insincere.

He narrowed his eyes at her coolly. "I told you I'm leaving at eight."

Karen's eyes widened instinctively in response. That's a first, she thought. 

Out of consideration, Jim stayed twenty minutes past the allotted time. At last, having no choice, he made his excuses. He left two twenties on the table and shook the hands of both Filippellis before hurrying out the door.

Karen stared after his retreating back. She'd tried every trick in the book to call his bluff. For the first time in her life, it hadn't worked. Now the fuck what?

Jim threw his car into gear with a lead foot, a heavy hand, and an even weightier sigh. That hadn't been how he'd wanted the night to go. But it wasn't his fault. Karen had known what she was doing. She'd backed him into a corner. He knew it. She knew it. He knew she knew it and... well, he was done backing down.

So fucking done.

He sped out of the parking lot, hugging the curb more closely than he would have if he weren't in such a hurry. With a pop and a hiss, his car listed heavily to the right.

"Son of a fucking bitch," he growled, pulling off the side of the road. Fat fucking chance that Karen would give him a ride after he bailed on dinner.

Moving automatically, he threw open his trunk and pulled out the spare tire. Then he checked his watch. Eight twenty-four.

No time. 

He hauled it back in and swapped his dress shoes for the sneakers in his trunk. He jogged toward Lackawanna Avenue, thanking god they hadn't gone to Benihana.

On the way, he avoided examining his feelings for Pam out of habit. It was just her first art show. He just wanted to see her art. Nothing more, nothing less. At any rate, he had promised to go, and Jim Halpert was a man of his word. He'd promised, so he couldn't not go. If Karen didn't understand that, didn't believe him, well… hopefully now she did.

It's not like he was choosing Pam over Karen. He was only choosing to keep a promise to an old friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Distracted as he was by thoughts of Karen (and definitely not Pam), Jim failed to see the gaping pothole in the middle of the sidewalk. He neglected to avoid it, wrenching his ankle and splashing muddy water all over his dress pants.

He shook his head with a resigned sigh, checking his watch again as he rounded the corner from Adams onto Lackawanna.

Eight twenty-seven.

He broke out into as much of a sprint as he could manage in his current condition.

Pam stood proudly beside her art, confident at least that hers wasn't the worst in the room. And wasn't that something? She certainly thought so. Especially for her first show.

There was actually a pee exhibit, which she couldn't believe was a thing outside of New York City. It was called "Urine Luck" and involved a combination of bottled bodily fluids, rabbits feet, and shamrocks.

Gross. 

Phyllis and Bob Vance were her first visitors. Jointly, they congratulated her. Phyllis liked one piece in particular, a boldly-colored impressionistic take on the office.

Then Oscar showed up, his boyfriend Gil in tow (or was it partner? Pam wasn't sure). They especially liked her blocky, polygonal rainbow, colored with bright oils and coated in a sparkling mica wash. Gil said her work exhibited honesty and courage, and Oscar agreed.

Grinning fondly at the memory, Pam looked up at the wall for the umpteenth time. Yeah, she could see that. Not that she'd brought along her most courageous work, because she wasn't ready for Jim to see it. 

Not that he'd shown up. Wild horses must have gotten in the way after all. But she was okay.

She would be okay.

Especially buoyed as she was by the positive feedback of Phyllis, Bob, Oscar, and Gil.

And her former art teacher, she reminded herself firmly. Mr. Brumley had conveyed his pride at Pam's progression through various media. No more plain sketches and watercolors for fancy new Beesly, not anymore.

She would be okay, because she had to be, and that was that. She was pretty sure she'd at least be able to avoid crying until she got into her car, anyway.

At last, her watch ticked over to eight-thirty. Unbidden, tears prickled her eyes as she reached for a tack.

Hmm. Maybe not so much.

Jim crashed through the auditorium doors, shoes squeaking on the linoleum. His gaze darted around. He ignored the eyes on him, everyone's pretty much.

Well, everyone's but Pam's. Where the hell was she, anyway?

He cupped his side, slumping a bit, babying a stitch and his ankle as he continued looking around the room. People were starting to pack up. He looked at his watch. It was exactly half-past eight. He wasn't too late.

Please, god... he couldn't be too late.

"Beesly?" he called out tentatively.

She poked her head out from around a pillar. "Jim?"

Thank god. He swiped his hands over his face, where beads of sweat had collected in an uncomfortable, thoroughly predictable way. Favoring his left foot, he made his way over as quickly as he could. In all honesty, he was moving fairly slowly.

Pam looked him over curiously as he approached. He had black smudges on his cheeks. He was sweating and limping. He looked for all the world like he'd run a marathon. He was wearing tennis shoes with his suit, and there was mud all over his pantlegs.

He was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

Wow, she thought. It looks like wild horses really tried.

She wanted to laugh, to cry, to hug him, to kiss him. He's not yours, she reminded herself sternly, no matter how much of a John Hughes moment this feels like. Even though really, it feels a lot like that. Instead, she unfolded a nearby chair and settled for a thankful, "Wow, you made it."

Collapsing into it, Jim leaned over, rested his forearms on his knees, and took a moment to recover. "Sorry I'm late… wild horses," he explained weakly.

She couldn't hold in her giddy laugh at his reply. She pulled over another chair and sat down, a respectable distance away. "Looks like you ran into a few on your way. What uh… what happened?"

He shook his head ruefully and smiled over at her, the old Jim peeking through. My Jim, Pam thought wistfully before she could stop herself, smiling back.

"Flat tire." Among other things. He shook his head again, not inviting a reply, looking up at the wall to avoid staring at her, still staring at her out of the corner of his eye though. She looked like a dream. He looked like a schlub.

Not that it mattered what he looked like. Pam wasn't his. If anything, Karen was his, so why was he even thinking about it? Moreover, why did he find himself not really wanting to think about Karen right now?

He cleared his throat successfully, his mind not so much. "What do we have here? Lay it on me."

He listened thoughtfully, looking at each piece as she named it. Quadrangles. Starry Office Day. Yin or Yang, two separate pieces that could be combined into one by artfully rotating them along the hinges of the tacks in the corners. And Jellybeans, a stark charcoal rendering of a masculine hand reaching toward the edge of the paper. "It's an interactive exhibit," she explained, reaching into the bowl beside the drawing. She popped one into her mouth with a smile.

He grinned. He was so goddamn proud of her. Just… literally, blown the fuck away. "Wow, Pam. These are all… seriously amazing," he said appreciatively. He echoed her movements, leaning over and plucking out a pink one. "But this one's my favorite."

She shrugged modestly, flushing at his praise. "Who doesn't love art you can taste?" If he'd noticed the hand was his, he wasn't letting on.

He looked down at his folded hands, chewing thoughtfully. Yeah, he noticed. Smiling warmly, he looked over at her and opened his mouth.

"Pamalama!" came a shout from across the auditorium.

Shit. Jim looked at his watch and stood abruptly, his expression suddenly closed-off. "Thanks for the invitation. I'd better go. Don't wanna… you know. Get towed or anything."

Pam was sure he'd been about to say something else, but the moment was shattered. Along with her heart.

Nodding, she gulped over the massive lump in her throat. "Thanks for coming. Can I give you a ride back to your car? I know how to change a tire."

"Nah. I'm good." Jim limped away, about as far from good as he'd felt in months.

Fuck fuck fuck. 

He wasn't sure whether he was cursing what he'd been about to say, or the fact that he hadn't had a chance to say it, or the hopeful sound of Pam's voice as she offered help that, really, he desperately needed tonight. "See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," she echoed after his retreating back. "Bye Jim." She cursed Michael and all the gods she'd ever heard of. And a few she made up, for good measure.

 

Fallout by Rach3l
Author's Notes:
Thankful Pam

----- 

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: Thank you

Hey Jim,

Thank you for coming to my art show. I couldn't have done ANY of it without you.

Pam

----- 

She composed the email first thing in the morning, saving it as a draft. As she gathered her jacket and purse at the end of the day, she thought hard. On her way out the door for the weekend, she pressed send.

"'Night, Pam," Jim called after her retreating back. He ignored Karen's glare from across the room. He could say goodbye to a friend if he wanted to.

Pam paused mid-step. Saying good night wasn't a thing they did. Not anymore.

She looked over her shoulder, biting her lip. God, he's so beautiful. "Night, Jim," she echoed softly, waving awkwardly.

He smiled back faintly. God, she's so beautiful. 

-----

From: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

To: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

Subject: You're welcome

Hey fancy new Beesly,

As much as the universe conspired to keep me away, I wouldn't have missed it for the world. You're so talented. YOU did it. All on your own.

That's a compliment.

-----

"You told me you still have feelings for her!" Karen shrilled harshly. "As long as we're here, she's always going to be between us." Always had been, if she was being honest with herself. Not that she'd been doing enough of that lately. "I'm not okay with you being her friend."

Even as much of an asshole as Roy had been, Jim reflected, he'd never tried to prevent Pam from being friends with him. Whoa, where did that come from? "And I'm not okay with you telling me who I can be friends with, Karen." Wasn't that like, textbook emotional abuse? Because he was pretty sure it was.

She tried another tack. "It wouldn't be that simple, Jim. I know she still has feelings for you."

"No," he denied flatly. "She doesn't." There wasn't much he was sure of right now. But he was sure of that.

"She told me she did." Whoops. She hadn't meant for that to slip out.

He rolled his eyes. "Like she would tell you anything about me."

She stalked away and busied herself making a cup of coffee.

"Karen?" She'd been talking his ear off for goddamn weeks. The silent treatment was not her style at all. It made him think he was onto something now. "Karen."

She whirled. "What?"

He looked at her appraisingly. Oh yeah, he was definitely onto something. She looked guilty as all hell. "When?"

"When what?"

He noticed her hands shaking as she poured sugar into the cup. He wasn't used to taking the offensive in their arguments--normally she was the griller and he was the cheese. But he could not let this slide. He would not. "Don't play dumb, Karen." He refrained from name-calling by the skin of his teeth. "Answer me."

"I don't want to lose you, Jim!" She burst into very real tears. Normally that would be enough to move him, to get him to drop the conversation. Not that she was being manipulative, because she really was crying. But tears were his kryptonite and she knew that and she fully expected him to drop it.

Not tonight, apparently. He kept his distance and replied stone-faced, "If you don't tell me the truth, then you already have." Like the rock of fucking Gibraltar or something.

"Ben Franklin," she sniveled weakly.

He crossed his arms. "Why were you talking about me?"

"Don't make me do this," she sobbed. Probably she was going to lose him either way. But really, had she ever actually had him in the first place? She was coming to realize now that she almost certainly hadn't.

"Don't make you what? Tell the truth?" He couldn't help but wonder what else she'd lied about. "You've been making me tell you the truth for weeks. How is this fair?"

He had a point. Still, she wept. "I told her what you told me about Casino Night. How it was just a kiss. No big deal."

That hadn't been what he'd said at all. He looked at her as though he'd never seen her before. He wondered now whether he ever actually had. "You told her that night was no big deal to me?" She nodded reluctantly. He ground his jaw and bit his lip hard, tasting blood. Even as conflicted as he'd been lately, the betrayal stung. Hard. "And then… what? What did she say?" Specifically, you bitch.

She felt him slipping further away with every word. He sounded almost menacing. No, not almost. Very menacing. Like, venomous. Deadly, even. The way he'd sounded when she was late to dinner the other night. Only much… much worse. "I'm not playing your game. If you're going to break up with me, just do it and get the hell out."

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, considering. Careful. Deliberate. He chose his next words with precision, placing the ball firmly in her court. "If you won't tell me the truth, then this is over. Do you have anything else to say?"

She buried her face in her hands, remaining silent.

God dammit. He needed to know how the rest of that conversation had gone. But he couldn't force her to talk. "Alright," he said quietly. He put his shoes on and picked up his messenger bag. He wiggled her key off his ring and left it on the counter with a clink of finality. "Goodbye, Karen."

He couldn't ignore the small spark of hope in his chest. But he couldn't trust it either. His conscience nagged him. What about the look in her eyes at Phyllis's wedding? What about the drawing? What about what Karen said she said?

No, he argued. He couldn't trust any of that shit because he couldn't trust himself not to misinterpret her. He needed a sign, a real fucking sign, and he needed it to come from her. A few words, a letter, a kiss, anything.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at her name. Just three little letters. Just one little button. Just ask.

Just ask.

He sighed in defeat. He couldn't do it. He couldn't put himself out there again. No, not that he couldn't. He wouldn't. It wasn't cowardice, it was self-preservation. And self-preservation demanded he refrain.

He poured himself a strong drink. Don't think. Then another. Don't think about her. And another. Stop thinking about her. And one more for good measure. Just stop thinking, altogether.

Properly sloshed, he curled up in bed, pleasantly numb. He easily preoccupied himself with happy thoughts about basketball, about puppies, about his nieces and nephews, about the balance in his bank account. Yet he dreaded, with a small corner of his mind, the moment when his dreams would betray him. As anticipated, they did not disappoint.

"Are you gonna marry him?"

She inhaled, met his gaze, her eyes wide as saucers. Wordlessly, she twisted the paltry diamond off her finger and set it on his desk.

His heart soaring, he crushed her lips with his. She melted into him. He'd been right to trust her. He hadn't misinterpreted anything. They shared a giddy laugh.

Suddenly, they were on the roof of the office. Inexplicably, his bed was there, sheets turned down. She was facing away from him, looking back coyly over her shoulder. Slowly, he pulled down the zipper of her dress. His name floated softly from between her lips as he slid the blue fabric over the curve of her hips, revealing a matching red bra and panty set. She turned to face him, all grace and beauty and curves and soft skin, shivering in the cool night air.

He ripped his shirt over his head and lifted her easily, cradling her against his chest for a moment. Gentle as a whisper, he settled her against the sheets. She beckoned him down. He followed, pulling the blanket up snugly around them. She wrapped herself around him with all four limbs. "I love you," she murmured against his lips. "I want you. Kiss me, Jim. Love me."

 

He awoke with a start. Head pounding, he rubbed his eyes and groaned in a rare moment of honest early-morning weakness. Come on, Pam. I'm begging you. Just one little motherfucking sign outside of my own motherfucking head.

PLEASE.

 

Highjinx by Rach3l
Author's Notes:
Friendly Pam

Pam smiled as she read Jim's email first thing in the morning. He'd replied just a couple of minutes after she left on Friday. Happily, she jotted down the weekend voicemails. She noted with surprise that Karen had called in sick, sounding like hell. Her surprise was magnified when Jim walked in, looking like hell.

"Good morning," they said simultaneously.

He walked over to her desk and dug out three jellybeans. He waited a beat, tapping his fingers against the desktop, smiling faintly at her. As though he were waiting for something.

She looked up at him with a question in her eyes. "Jinx," he said with a quiet shrug before heading to his seat.

No way. She clapped her hands to her mouth. Excitedly, she dug a dollar out of her purse and strode sedately to the break room, avoiding skipping, but only just. She bought him a coke and delivered it silently.

He opened it and swigged half the can before coming up for air. "Thanks, Beesly. I needed that."

She could tell. He'd barely slept, it looked like. "You're welcome." She couldn't stop grinning. "How was your weekend?"

"Same old same old. Few wild horse attacks," he parried, yawning widely.

Delighted, she tsked. "Not again?"

"They've become amazingly frequent, for some reason."

She headed back to her desk, happy, more hopeful than she'd been in months. Had something happened between him and Karen?

-----

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: Jinx

Dear Jim,

I can't believe you jinxed me. I'm not sure that really counts, since I didn't think we played jinx anymore. Not that we can't. We can. We should. We do. We are! Anyway, you're totally going down next time, is what I'm trying to say.

Also, I'm sorry about the last time we played. The rules of jinx are only as unflinching and rigid as the players themselves. I was a real jerk that day, and I still feel bad about it. Maybe we should change the rules. Loser buys any beverage? Fifteen minute time limit? What do you think?

Karen called off today and you're looking a little tireder than usual. What happened?

Love always,

Pam

-----

She took a deep breath and saved it as a draft, wondering if she'd ever get the courage to tell him how she really felt. She did feel closer though, and wasn't that something?

As the day went on, she couldn't help noticing that Jim seemed like his old self again. Dwight stalked around the office for half the morning, investigating the problem with their water supply after Jim dropped some jellybeans into his coffee cup. They ate lunch together. He asked how her art classes were going. She asked how his car was doing. He teased her about her tiny Yaris. She teased him about his freakishly long legs. They discussed changes in their Desert Island Five. Her favorite flavor of yogurt was now banana cream, or maybe key lime (she couldn't decide). He was kinda big on provolone these days, or sometimes monterey jack. Light topics, friendly topics. Naturally she wanted more than that, but it was a huge step in the right direction.

Maybe she could write him a letter. Yes, she nodded with determination as he waved goodbye, leaving for an afternoon sales call. She could. She would. Not only could she and would she, she was going to do it today. Right now, in fact.

She pulled out a pen and paper and determinedly opened the first draft, choosing her words carefully.

 

Tech-Knowledgy by Rach3l
Author's Notes:
Panicked Pam

"Hey, Sadiq? This is Toby Flenderson."

"Hi Toby, what can I do for you?"

"I'm having some trouble with my email. I saved a draft last night, but I can't get back into it. I've gotta get it to corporate by five o'clock today."

"Yeah, the email server's been having sporadic problems, although it's not affecting everyone. I've been working on it all day, still trying to nail down the issue."

"These are annual reviews and today is the deadline. The email is ready to go, I just need to open it up and hit send."

"I might be able to come up with a workaround. Let me do a little research and call you back?"

"Sure."

Half an hour later, his phone rang. "Dunder Mifflin, this is Toby."

"Hey Toby, it's Sadiq."

"Thanks for calling me back. Any word on the email situation?"

"Here's the scoop. If I can't get the email server working by the end of the day, I could execute a shell command to send all pending drafts. That's kind of the nuclear option, though, because there's no way to call that function for a single email. At least, not as far as I can tell. I can't even call it for an individual email box. It can only be executed at the server level."

"I'm not really great with computers. What does that mean?"

"It would send everyone's saved drafts automatically."

"Just at the Scranton office? Or the entire company?"

"The email servers are distributed per location, so it would affect Scranton only."

Toby shrugged. Dunder Mifflin was not known for its tech-savvy. He doubted anyone besides him used email drafts at all. "If I can't send this email today, my… you know… is grass. Can you plan to do that around 4:30 if everything isn't up and running by then?"

"Sure, I'll just need secondary approval from someone in corporate."

"I'll have Kendall call you."

"That'll work."

"Thanks, man."

--

Pam was putting the finishing touches on her letter when the mail client crashed. The window with the open draft closed itself. She sighed, re-opening the program from the tray. It happened occasionally, sometimes in the middle of writing an email, which was particularly frustrating. At least she hadn't lost any work this time.

After a couple of tries, the window came back up. She opened her drafts folder, but the messages inside it were gone. 'Huh, that's weird,' she thought. She checked her deleted items. Not there. Everything looked normal in her inbox and archive.

She picked up her phone with another, heavier sigh. This was not the way she'd hoped to spend the end of her day. "Hey Sadiq, it's Pam Beesly."

"Hi Pam, what can I do for you?"

"I had a bunch of saved drafts that went missing. I checked the deleted folder and don't see them there."

"Oh yeah, I just executed a script to send all saved drafts. There were some problems with the server, and Toby had a draft that needed to go to corporate today."

"W-What?" she stammered out, barely able to breathe.

"Yeah, did you check your sent mail?"

She opened the folder. Oh my god oh my god OH MY GOD. Was she dreaming? She must be dreaming, because this kind of shit did not happen in the real world. "Sadiq, I had a bunch of saved drafts go out that weren't supposed to be sent." She began frantically clicking the recall button on each message. "Can we pull those back?"

"You can try to recall them. Depending on the recipient's settings, it may not succeed."

"It was to someone else in the office," she hissed. "Can't you just pull them back, or delete them remotely!?"

"I'd need secondary approval from someone in corporate."

Messages began rolling in, one after the other:

***RECALL ATTEMPT FAILED: ACCESS DENIED DUE TO RECIPIENT SETTINGS***

She was going to die. Or was she already dead and in her own personal hell? Yeah, let's go with that. "I tried, the system won't let me recall them. These were messages of a very… personal nature. Is there anything you can do? I am begging you."

"I'm really sorry, Pam. Company network, company rules. It's not my call. It's the policy. You can try Jan or Kendall in HR. But until I hear from them, there's nothing I can do. I'm really, really sorry."

"Me too," she whispered, hanging up the phone. She glanced forlornly at the clock. 4:40 PM. Jim would probably be back any minute now. She worried the letter she'd written him between her hands, mind stumbling wildly, light-years a minute. She was ready to tell him how she felt, but she didn't want it to come through the unfiltered lens of the emails she'd written over the past few months. He would think she was a goddamn basket case. Even if she clearly was a goddamn basket case. What the hell was she going to do?

End Notes:
Gotta love modern technology. Until you don't.
Courage by Rach3l
Author's Notes:
Relieved Pam

"All set, Pam."

She slumped with relief. "Jesus. Thank you, Sadiq," she muttered gratefully. Immediately, she deleted the restored drafts.

Clutching her letter for Jim between white fingers, she stumbled into the ladies' room on shaky legs. She looked at herself in the mirror as she splashed cold water on her cheeks. After the recent incident where Michael accidentally forwarded a nearly-nude picture of Jan to everyone in the office, Pam had hoped she would be sympathetic. Fortunately, she had come through without asking more than a couple basic questions. "Never again, Doctor Pepper," she mumbled.

She squared her shoulders, cracked her neck, and checked her watch. 4:55 PM. She would take whatever he could give her at this point. Everything. Something. Nothing. Whatever. After what she'd just gone through, she was ready for anything. Like her mom always said, expect the worst, but hope for the best. She figured she could do that.

He had returned while she was gone, she noticed, walking out of the bathroom with her head held high. He popped up as soon as she sat down. "Hey Pam. Any messages while I was out?"

"Just one." She handed him the envelope without hesitation.

He turned it over in his hands, recognizing her handwriting. "What's this?" he inquired, smiling, eyebrows high. Not that he could put his finger on why, but she looked different.

"It's…" She paused. Not that she hesitated, she just needed a moment to decide how best to put it into words. "Everything I should have told you a very long time ago."

His gaze roamed over her face. Not better, not worse. Just… different. What was different? He nodded thoughtfully, considering. "Good or bad?"

Wasn't that a matter of perspective really? "I think it's good." She tilted her head at him and shrugged one shoulder. "I won't know if you agree until you read it."

Well, he'd asked for a sign. He kinda had a feeling he was holding it. He cleared his throat. "Wanna maybe stick around while I do?"

She bit her lip and looked down. Confidence, he realized with a start. She had definitely looked confident. He only realized it now because, biting her lip, she looked less so. No less adorable, though. "Um… okay," she agreed softly. "Roof, five minutes?"

He thought she'd never ask. He affected a careless shrug. "I guess. I'm no quadrangle, Beesly."

She giggled. He loved it.

A few minutes later, she followed him up to the roof. They left their coats on the rack. It was a breezy, beautiful, early May day. Still, she shivered in spite of the warm sunlight. "Cold?" he asked solicitously.

She shook her head convulsively as she pulled out her old lawn chair, avoiding his gaze. It was dusty, a little cobwebby, but none the worse for wear. "The phrase 'existential terror' comes to mind?"

He laughed, startled by her honesty. "I'll make it quick," he promised, dusting his off as well.

"Please do."

They settled into their chairs, side-by-side as usual. He tore into the envelope. Three pages, handwritten? Wow. Intrigued, he crossed his legs and began to read.


The Letter by Rach3l
Author's Notes:
Verbose Pam

Dear Jim,

I haven't been honest with you for a long time. I'm changing that, starting with this letter. I wasn't sure how to structure it. I could just go chronologically, but that didn't really make sense. I guess I'll start by listing the important stuff first, and go from there.

Really Important Things I Want You to Know

1 - I know you're with Karen. That's okay. Above all, I want you to be happy.

1(b) - I don't expect anything from you that you aren't ready to give. I know I gave up that right a long time ago.

2 - You never misinterpreted anything. I've had feelings for you for a long, long time (cross-reference #3). Since before we kissed for the first time, actually (at the Dundies in 2005!).

3 - I'm in love with you. I have been in love with you for a long, long time. Regrettably, I omitted this information in previous interactions.

4 - I'm more sorry than I can ever say (cross-reference #2 and #3).

5 - Your kisses meant the world to me.

5(b) - I haven't kissed anyone since the last time you kissed me. Not even Roy. And not that I expect anything (cross-reference #1b), but I would be lying if I didn't say I'm hoping for a repeat at some point in my life. And I'm telling the truth now, so… there it is.

So those were the biggies. Where do I start? Hmm… Well, this is probably going to ramble. Not probably. It's going to ramble a LOT. If you've made it this far, then you are already well-acquainted with my dorky tendency to create numbered lists and basically just overthink everything. So you might as well stick it out 'til the end.

When you first came back from Stamford, I didn't know what to think. I was so excited to see you, but you seemed so… closed-off. I know that was my fault. I never called you after I called off my wedding. I should have. I didn't, because I was scared. I thought you hated me. You left without saying goodbye and… I just couldn't see how you wouldn't hate me. I still should have called. I regret every day that I didn't. If I could go back now and change it, I would.

Even more importantly, I should have told you I called off my wedding BECAUSE of you. I shouldn't have been with Roy, for a lot of reasons. But I didn't care about any of those reasons until I met you. It's not that I didn't love Roy when I was with him. But after you came along, he gradually mattered less and less to me. After you kissed me on Casino Night, he ceased to matter altogether. It was like graduating from high school love to the Real Thing™ (pat. pend. all rights reserved). But after how long I'd been with him (nine years… yikes), I needed time to find out who I was after the dust settled. I realize that time was the one thing you didn't have to give. And you know what? That's okay.

This is probably pathetic to admit, but I still haven't kissed anyone since you kissed me. Not even Roy. I haven't wanted to. I'm not sure I ever will. You've never kissed yourself (duh), so I'm sure you take for granted how good you are at it. But uh, don't. Because you are really… REALLY good at it. Do you remember that line from V for Vendetta? 'I knew I never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again'? Yeah… except you're not a girl. And thank god for that.

I draw you a lot. Not just Jellybeans (if you didn't notice, that was your hand). Is this weird? God, it's so weird. I'm sorry, I'm weird.

Swaying is dancing. I wouldn't want to live in a world where I've never danced with you.

You look really cute in a sombrero. All the time, but especially in a sombrero.

I couldn't believe it when you jinxed me today. In a good way. I'm sorry about the last time we played. I was a real jerk that day. I still feel bad about it. The rules of jinx are only as unflinching and rigid as the players themselves. So maybe it's time for a change. Loser buys any beverage? Fifteen minute time limit? What do you think?

I was so scared to write all of this down. Now that I have, I feel… good. Really good. And, as much as I hope that we can be happy together, really I just wish for you to be happy. Again, I know you're with Karen. And again, that's okay. She is a very lucky woman to have you. And if that means we can't be friends anymore because it would make things weird between you two, I understand. Just tell me (or write back). I can take it.

Love always,

Pam


The Beginning by Rach3l

There it was. Everything, black and white, all he'd ever wanted, in his hands, sitting beside him. Eyes damp, vision blurry but paradoxically so clear, he looked over at her. 

Everything, she was just… "You're right," he breathed.

She gasped on a sob, hands over her mouth, perched on a precipice, unsure whether he would knock her into the pits of perdition or lift her to paradise. "About what?"

"I've never kissed myself." He stood abruptly, holding his hands out to her. He felt like the least worthy man on the planet, yet somehow determined to prove the universe wrong. She hadn't kissed anyone since the last time he kissed her. My god. He could hardly comprehend it. He couldn't believe she'd referenced that line from V for Vendetta. Jesus...

She placed her hands tentatively in his, not daring to hope, but unable to stop herself from praying all the same.

He hauled her up and nuzzled her cheek. "I wanna kiss you like crazy. There's just a few things I need to say first."

Heaven. She gasped, grateful beyond words. Fat tears erupted from her eyes, sliding slowly down her cheeks.

He looked at her, hard, as though committing the moment to memory. Which is exactly what he was doing. "I'm so sorry, Pam," he whispered. "For everything."

"I'm sorry, too. I love you so… so much, Jim."

He closed his eyes as a warm frisson ran up his spine, letting her words wash over him. Momentarily, he placed his fingers over her lips. "I know. You said that already. My turn, okay?" He brushed one eyebrow with his lips, then the other.

She gasped at the sensation, eyes shining up at him, wordless.

"I'm so sorry. For every time I turned my back when you needed me. For every mean thing I've said since coming back. For every good thing I wanted to tell you, but wouldn't let myself. About how amazing you are, the way I feel about you. For every time I wanted to kiss you, but didn't. I love you so goddamn much, Pam. Never--" His voice broke. "Never stopped loving you. I--" Out of words, overcome, he feathered his lips over hers.

She had dreamt of this moment since their last kiss, so long ago. She'd spent so many lonely nights afraid that she had already experienced the taste of him for the last time. That she would never feel his mouth against hers again. Never so thankful to be wrong, she parted her lips, inviting him in.

Sharing her breath, he thought his heart would burst with joy. The memory of the kisses he'd stolen from her last year had consumed his waking hours, haunted his dreams nightly. Yet they didn't begin to hold a candle to this. For all that they had previously kissed, he still had yet to feel her tongue against his. He drank from her mouth with soft, sure strokes, searing her flavor into memory, drowning in her scent.

His tongue danced against hers, wreaking utter havoc on her senses, making it impossible to think. Swept away by emotion, she felt cherished. Dizzy, she clung desperately to his neck to avoid falling or floating away. She wasn't sure which was happening, because her eyes were closed. Maybe both.

In silent awe, he pulled back slightly, his gaze roaming her face. He swept his thumbs over her cheekbones, brushing away her tears as he watched her eyes flutter open. He smiled tenderly down at her, tucking away her dazed, dreamy look to keep.

"Holy… god," she breathed, brushing his lips with her fingers.

"Jesus," he agreed emphatically, tucking an errant curl behind her ear.

They contemplated each other for a silent stretch. "Can I… talk now?" she murmured.

"You can try." Chuckling, he swooped down to recapture her lips.

She sighed happily against his mouth, losing her train of thought all over again. After a minute, she pressed her hands against his chest. "What about Karen?"

He lifted his brows quizzically. "Karen who?"

She rolled her eyes with a smile.

He relented. "We broke up last night."

"Some timing."

"Pretty much," he agreed, stroking the small of her back with his fingers. "Any other questions?" His gaze fell to her lips. "I've got some lost time to make up for, Beesly."

She grinned. "So many questions. Starting with your John Hughes moment at my art show. Because that was amazing."

He buried his face in her neck and groaned. "It's kind of a long story." He began pressing a chain of kisses along her collarbone.

"And… what you were… gonna say… before you left," she breathed, threading her fingers through his hair.

"I was gonna ask how much."

"How much… what?"

He kissed his way up her neck. "For the drawing."

"Jim… mmm…"

"Does it come with the bowl?" he whispered hotly into her ear before worrying the lobe between his teeth.

She gasped involuntarily. "W-what?"

He kissed his way across her cheek. "Jellybeans."

"I--Jim… can't think…" she trailed off as he recaptured her lips.

After a moment, he stood back, holding her at arm's length. "I know," he chuckled. "It's very cute."

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Why are we talking about jellybeans?"

"I would like to buy your Jellybeans drawing," he explained, a smile playing around his lips.

Her eyes lit up. "Really?" He nodded. "That particular piece isn't for sale. Sentimental value. Although I maybe could be convinced to let you display it in your home, for an indefinite period of time."

He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. "I can be very convincing."

"Don't I know it," she murmured in agreement.

He ran his thumb over her lower lip. "Hey, I have a big responsibility when it comes to these."

She flushed. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"'Fraid not." He sighed ruefully. "I mean you pretty much said your lips belong to me, so…"

"Don't let it go to your head," she warned him playfully.

"You love it." He tipped his head down to prove his point.

When they resurfaced, she replied dreamily, "Yeah, well…"

He nodded sagely. "Yes, yes. Very good point you're making there."

She rolled her eyes. "Are you done?"

He shook his head with a grin. "Not for a very… very long time. But I'd kinda like to take you to dinner now. Unless you already had plans tonight?"

Her eyes softened as she shook her head. "Let's do it."

He grinned cheekily. "Okay. After dinner, though."

She scurried for the ladder, bright red. "Oh my god, you did not just say that!"

He followed, his laughter echoing down after her. "You said it! I just agreed."

"Suck it, Halpert."

"After dinner," he promised earnestly, following her down the rungs. 

She let out a frustrated sound, some kind of cross between a squeak and a grunt. "I hate you so much."

"Aww, I thought you were telling the truth now," he needled her affectionately.

"Do you have a serious bone in your entire body?"

He snickered, letting that one pass by with effort. "Come on Beesly, you make it way too easy." He hopped down and tugged her into his arms. She avoided his gaze, letting out a long-suffering sigh. He tilted her chin up. "Hey," he said solemnly. "I seriously love you. Sorry if I took that too far. I'm not going to ask you to do anything before you're ready."

She smiled sweetly. "I love you too, Jim. And don't be sorry. I like it when you flirt with me." She shrugged. "Just, you know... not used to it yet."

"Oh, in that case..." He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously. "I'll take you places you've never been before."

Blushing furiously, she nudged him playfully with her shoulder. "What about Benihana? I've never been there before."

He nodded, grinning. "Let's do it."

She stood on tiptoe to whisper into his ear. "After dinner."

Holy shit. 

 

End Notes:
Thanks for reading!
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