“I just,” Pam sighs quietly and Jim hears the sadness, the resignation as she continues, “wish this wasn’t all happening at Christmas.”

Jim wants, no needs, Pam to understand that for Athlead to be successful, he has to get to Philadelphia and manage this meeting with a potential new investor from Bridgeport Capital. The expectations on him are crushing, and he’s committed to seeing this deal through for the critical success of the company’s future.

“I’ll be home by Christmas Eve.” His tone practically pleads with her to recognize that he’s trying so hard to keep everything going.

“Jim, it’s already the 21st. You think you can make this deal happen in three days?”

They’ve been on edge lately, both of them. He knows that. So he shouldn’t take it that she doesn’t believe in his ability to successfully work this meeting. He shouldn’t hear her imply that she’s been left to do everything in preparation of Christmas. But his guilt and fear take over as he snaps, “Pam, I said I’ll be home by Christmas Eve.”

“Jim,” her voice softens, “I just...Cece and Phillip are so...I don’t want you to miss out on these memories.”

“You think I want to miss out on —” Jim inhales sharply as the cab he’s riding in swerves to avoid colliding with an erratic red PT Cruiser. “Pam, I’ve gotta go. I’m at the bus station.”

“Okay,” she says dully.

“Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

He hears it. She’s about to break into frustrated, angry tears, but the cab is rolling to a stop and he’s already pushed it too close. He mumbles something about this last part, telling her he stayed too late at the office Christmas party, and he doesn’t want to miss his bus.

“Yep.” It’s said solely as an acknowledgment that he spoke.

She ends the call, and he is still holding the phone to his ear as he wearily pays the driver and unfolds himself from the backseat.

It’s become a familiar path from drop-off to ticket purchasing to terminal five. Up the steps of the bus, a nod to the driver, window seat in the middle of the bus. He wears his suit jacket to ward off the chill in the air and puts his coat and messenger bag in the seat next to him, thankful, not for the first time, that he has extra toiletries and clothes in Philadelphia so that he can travel light. He says a silent prayer that the bus isn’t full and the seat doesn’t get taken. He’s met his fair share of characters over the months he has been commuting to Philadelphia.

Jim twists his neck and stretches his upper back, the pain still lingering from Dwight’s Belsnickel beating him out of the office. He places his hand on the cold window and then presses it against the back of his neck, relishing the brief relief the coolness brings. He watches the other passengers scurrying to their buses, laden with holiday presents as they plan to travel to loved ones.

Thankfully the snow hasn’t started, and he hopes that it holds off until Christmas, at the earliest. The thought of being snowed into Philadelphia over Christmas sends a wave of nausea over him. His head falls against the pillowed headrest just as his eyes close. Too much gluhwein and Dwight’s unsurprisingly harsh thrashes have left Jim tired and agitated. And the arguing with Pam. He hates arguing with Pam. That, most of all, has him the most restless as he drifts off to a fitful sleep.

Jim awakes with a start, the rushing landscape passing by in such a blur that clearly the driver is trying to make up for lost time. Jim wonders if they hit holiday traffic while he dozed off, an unremembered dream fogging his brain and leaving him with the need to call Pam.

Jim reaches into the seat for his messenger bag to retrieve his phone in the front pocket where he habitually drops it, but he is startled by what he finds. His bag is there. His coat is as well. But there’s a very familiar person occupying the seat now, holding his coat and messenger bag.

What was in that gluhwein?

“Hey, Jim Jingle!” His traveling companion says this with an air of enthusiasm that is familiar and expected, but it’s that he’s here that is out of place and confusing. As typical, he keeps talking, falling into his own comedic black hole. “You’re like the skinny cousin of Kris Kringle. Get it?”

“Michael?” Jim croaks. Oh god. Meredith spiked the wine with vodka. Or I have a concussion from Dwight hitting me. Or —

“Hey, man.”

Michael sounds so genuine when he says this with a kind smile. And he looks so real. But Jim knows this has to be a dream. He looks at Michael’s hands holding his messenger bag. If this were real, Jim would gently reach over and take the bag. He doesn’t though. He just looks around the bus, the quiet that falls over a trip well underway, all other passengers in their own world of earbuds or knitting needles or sleep.

“What are you doing here?”

Michael either ignores him or doesn't hear him as he says, “Why are you going to Philly so close to Christmas? Why aren’t you home with Pam and the kids?”

Jim shifts slightly. He prepares himself to launch into an explanation about Athlead and the exciting work there and the hard work he’s putting in for his family, but instead what comes out of his mouth is a repeated, “What are you doing here, Michael?”

Michael relaxes into the bus seat for a moment. Uncharacteristically silent and appearing thoughtful as he lets his gaze drift across the other passengers in front of them.

“Hey, what’s your all-time favorite Christmas movie?”

“What?” Jim heard him, it’s just that he’s not sure why Michael, who lives across the country in Colorado, is on a bus from Scranton to Philadelphia and asking about Christmas movies, of all things.

“I really like the classics. You know, like, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.”

Jim nods in agreement, although he isn’t sure most people would consider that a classic. Not like White Christmas or It’s a Wonderful Life. Jim shrugs, for some reason compelled to engage in this holiday cinematic exercise with Michael. “I guess, Elf is pretty good.”

That isn’t entirely true. Jim thinks Elf is fine (as he considers it, he actually prefers Christmas Vacation), but Pam loves it. He always knows the parts she will quote, such as, ‘You sit on a throne of lies!’ before she falls over in a string of giggles that become difficult to contain. She always glances at him to join in the fun and the flash in her eyes, the way the tip of her tongue catches between her front teeth, he gets lost with her even if not for the same reason.

“Ugh!” Michael groans. “That hack? Really?” Michael espouses his disappointment in the absurdity of the movie while Jim’s mind wanders to two weeks before.

It had been a good few days in Philadelphia, and he felt on top of the world when he got home. After dinner and putting the kids to bed, he and Pam opened a bottle of wine and turned off the lights, enjoying only the ambient light coming from the Christmas tree as they wrapped up in a blanket on the couch.  As their kisses became more hot and heavy and clothes started dropping to the floor, Phillip’s cries interrupted them. Pam, tugging her shirt back on, took the steps double time to soothe their son whose chronic ear infections were a growing source of worry for her.

Jim remembers waking up later, having fallen asleep on the couch while she was upstairs, the image of Will Ferrell dressed in yellow tights and running through Manhattan flickering on the screen in front of him. He remembers now what he didn’t completely notice then.

Pam, on the other side of the couch, her feet tucked under her, the blanket they’d been sharing now wrapped around her body. She was holding her wine glass, watching the screen, only a small, uninspired laugh escaping during one of her favorite scenes. Jim remembers thinking she looked lonely and a little sad...and then he’d fallen back asleep.

I need to call Pam. It feels a little desperate now. He’s about to reach for his bag, but he’s interrupted by Michael.

“What’s going on with Athlead?”

“Well,” Jim begins slowly, that familiar mixture of nerves and pride bubbling to the surface as he continues, “it’s going...actually, it’s going pretty great. I mean, I’ve got this potential investor on the line who —”

“No, no, no. Blah. Bluh. No. I didn’t ask you ‘How’s business?’ ” Michael has that disgusted look on his face that Jim recognizes from years of his old boss avoiding discussions about, well, business. “What are you doing here that Athlead is keeping you from home at Christmas?”

It makes no sense, but Jim momentarily thinks Pam put Michael up to this. Pam occasionally talks to Holly through Facebook, and messages are often passed to or from Michael between the two women. That’s ridiculous, of course, to think this is that because Michael lives across the country with a family and a job of his own to be concerned with.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m your Marley,” Michael says it simply, casually which adds further to Jim’s confusion.

Jim racks his brain for applicable pop culture references that Michael is using incorrectly. All Jim can think of is when he took Pam to see Marley & Me on Christmas Day in 2008. He smiles at the memory of them going home, to their home, after the movie, and Pam shyly suggesting they get a puppy. She’d been home from Pratt for just over a month, and all of their conversations migrated to one similar topic: their future together. Jim smiles at the memory of the two of them, back when it was just the two of them, snuggled together under extra blankets, as they talked quietly about the wedding and puppies and, maybe, in the more distant future, their children.

“My Marley?” Jim says slowly, certain Michael’s comment has nothing to do with dogs.

“Like in the movie. The Christmas one!” Michael enthuses. Jim is taken aback, again running through his head how Michael might be Jim’s...dog. Jim looks beyond Michael, trying to make the connection. “The one with the ghosts!”

“You mean the dog?”

Now Michael looks confused at Jim’s response prompting him to quickly pull a small post-it note from his coat pocket. He reads a few lines to himself in an almost-silent mutter. Detecting Jim’s curious glances at the paper, Michael returns the yellow slip of paper to his pocket and says confidently, “No. Ghosts.” Michael takes a deep breath and rubs his hands on the knees of his jeans. “I didn’t think I’d be so nervous.” He gives Jim an embarrassed shrug with a smile to match.

Jim can sense the shift in Michael’s tone, and he again briefly considers if Pam staged some sort of intervention on their marriage. Not that one is necessary. They were just going through a rough patch. All couples go through rough patches. This is normal and will all work itself out. He almost believes that, but his own uncertainty allows irritation to sneak into this tone.

“Nervous about what, Michael?”

Michael releases a long breath and laughs anxiously. “It’s just, wow, you know, I’ve never done this before. And I just didn’t think it’d be so hard.”

“That’s what she said.” Jim deadpans, whether because it is too easy or to ward off Michael becoming distracted by his own overused joke, he doesn’t know. “What’s going on Michael?”

Apparently, the seriousness of Jim’s tone is enough to rally Michael’s focus. “Jim, tonight you’re going to be visited by three ghosts, or spirits, if you will.”

Okay, now I know I’m dreaming. “Okay, then,” Jim says simply, placatingly.

“Jim,” Michael huffs. “Don’t be like that. I’m serious, man.” Michael turns his body toward Jim, still clutching the messenger bag and coat in his lap as if they were his own. “You’re going to be visited by three ghosts.” Michael’s voice has more confidence than it had before. “The Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost of Christmas Present, and the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Be.”

“No, Michael, I believe you. I expect them to show up before Santa’s eight reindeer but after the eleven pipers piping.”

Michael shakes his head, conjuring a face of disappointment that momentarily shakes Jim’s dismissal. “Jim, this thing with Athlead, you’re letting it take over who you are. You don’t care about your family at Dunder Mifflin or, ya’ know, your other family either. You just care about meeting sports stars and fancy meetings in Philadelphia. Do you see how Pam is pulling —”

“Pam’s fine,” Jim interrupts, louder than he intended. He glances around at the potential attention he’s drawn by raising his voice. “She gets how this has to be. We’ll be fine. We’re just…” Jim swallows, the worry that he works hard to ignore feeling very real at this moment. “We’re fine.”

Michael sighs wearily. “You know, we’re a lot alike, Jim.”

Jim snorts audibly, not at all concerned with hurting Michael’s feelings at this point. “I don’t know about that.”

“We are,” Michael nods solemnly as he says this. “We both married our soulmates. We both have great kids. We’re both cool guys.” Michael glances at Jim for affirmation but only receives a blank stare from Jim who is still wondering where this conversation is going. “But Jim, the difference is that I know what I have is...enough.”

Jim feels his eyes narrow as he tries to decipher what Michael is implying. His lips purse to ask just that question, but Michael now has a goofy grin on his face as he looks over Jim’s shoulder.

Jim follows Michael’s gaze out the window. So enthralled in his conversation with Michael, he didn’t even notice that the bus has stopped.

The Philadelphia bus station is much bigger than the one in Scranton so it’s typical for Jim to end up at a different depot every time he arrives. There’s something eerily familiar about this one, but he can’t remember coming here in his past travels to Philadelphia. He studies the depot, hoping to get his bearings before he disembarks the bus.

Feeling only somewhat confident in the direction he should go, Jim turns back to see that the bus is emptied of passengers, including Michael. His head feels thick like he’s just woken up. Definitely the gluhwein.

He makes his way off the bus and quickly descends the steps, desperate to get to the lonely bed in his small corporate apartment and call his wife.

As his feet hit the concrete sidewalk, he looks up at the only other person around. He knows he has food poisoning from the hog maw or gluhwein contains some sort of hallucinogenic properties or that he is suffering from extreme exhaustion. Casually leaning against one of the rusting metal poles, blue eyes piercing Jim, is the man he can only assume is his Ghost of Christmas Past. That is, if that sort of thing were real and actually happening.

“Merry fucking Christmas, asshole.”

Jim lets out a long, low breath, and as his breath curls into the cold air he curtly responds, “Hey, Ryan.”

Jim reaches into his inner jacket pocket just as he remembers that not only is his phone in his bag but also that his bag is still on the bus. He quickly turns, but the bus has silently moved on, a rush of cold air sweeping through the wind tunnel from the thick pillars of concrete.

When he turns back, Ryan has that smug smirk Jim came to loathe over the years. He really hasn’t missed Ryan around the office since he moved. “How’s Ohio?”

Ryan squints as though he’s sizing up an argument, but then his arrogance is back and all he says in response is, “Let’s go for a walk.”

Again, Jim knows this is a dream otherwise he’d never blindly follow Ryan from the bus station. He stops at the ticket counter, reads the familiar ‘Welcome to Scranton, Electric City’ sign that hangs there. It hits him that the bus station, which appears far more outdated and worn than what he’s become used to seeing, was remodeled in 2009.

He sees old wooden benches that should have been replaced by metal and vinyl chairs and formica tabletops. The ticket counter should be digital, but he is looking at an outdated board that he’s certain is updated manually.

Panic bubbles slowly to the surface. He shakes his head and mumbles to himself the impossibility of what might actually be happening. He feels ridiculous doing it, but he slaps himself; it hurts. But neither the old woman buying a ticket nor the ticket agent looks at him. A family walking toward the old wooden benches nearly collide with him, but none of them seem to notice or pay attention to the tall, slightly deranged looking sight he must be.

Jim leans forward to place his hands on his knees as his breathing intensifies and his palms sweat. He takes deep, calming breaths that don’t seem to help. Maybe I died. Oh, god, maybe I died in some horrible bus accident. What will Pam and the kids do? The words are now spilling out of him over and over, but no one seems to hear them or to notice him.

Suddenly, the realization hits that Ryan isn’t around and, despite the aggravation he feels at being dependent on Ryan, Jim takes the revolving door onto the familiar street in hopes of finding him.

Ryan is already a fair distance down the sidewalk, heading west. His head is low, hands stuffed in his pockets. Jim runs after him, calls his name several times. His pace doesn’t slow once Jim catches up. Ryan keeps his gaze on the path ahead and says, clearly and casually, “It’s a fucking trip, right?”

“Am I dead?”

“What?” Ryan huffs out a laugh before finally glancing at Jim. “Unfortunately, no.”

“Will I remember this when I wake up?”

“Dude, you’re not dreaming.”

“Well, fuck, I don’t know...” Jim curses under his breath, trying to wrap his head around the situation before him. “Are you dead?”

Ryan barks a condescending laugh into the sky, his head tilted back and his mouth wide open. He finally stops walking and turns to face Jim fully. They match each other’s stance, facing off with arms crossed in mutual dislike and against the cold. “Jesus. Who was your Marley?”

Jim shifts from one foot to another, his toe pushing against a small rock. It’s odd that he feels slightly defensive when he answers. “Michael.”

Ryan doesn’t look at all shocked but he sounds mildly more sympathetic when he says, “Well, that explains it.”

They begin walking again, Ryan not at all struggling to keep up with Jim’s much longer stride. For a bit, they walk in determined silence.  The streets are familiar but undeniably different than Jim is used to seeing.

“So, listen, we could go back to that Christmas morning when Tom and Pete told you about Santa not being real the minute before you went downstairs, but that didn’t seem to quite fulfill the...mission.” Ryan glances at Jim and smirks slightly, “Although nothing would give me more pleasure than watching you cry.”

“I was six, you douche.” Jim follows Ryan, now trudging up a set of external apartment stairs. “How...how’d you know about that? About Tom and Pete and,” Jim ducks his head, inexplicably embarrassed, “the whole,” Jim clears his throat, “Santa thing?”

“I know about all your Christmases, Jim. Well, the ones that have happened already. I know about the one where you walked to Janie McMillan’s house your senior year and saw her kissing her ex-boyfriend visiting from college. I know about the year your family went skiing, and Larissa broke her ankle so you sat with her at the lodge all week. And this one.” Ryan points to the door where they’ve stopped.

A nondescript gray metal apartment door that feels very familiar. Jim looks over the railing of the third floor and then down at the welcome mat covered with daisies before it hits him.

“Pam’s old apartment?”

Anybody could live here now, Jim tells himself. Just because it’s the same daisy welcome mat and the candle in the window and the wreath that Pam still hangs on our side door, does not mean we are at her old apartment...in the Past. Even though it’s starting to snow and the weather isn’t predicting any more snow for another week.

Ryan glances at Jim. “Yep. You ready?”

Jim looks from the door to Ryan and back again. He shrugs, not really sure what he’s about to agree to. Before he can say anything, he’s blinking hard at what he sees in front of him. Ryan just walked through the DOOR. Like, passed through the door, never opening it.

Jim swallows hard and tries to rationalize this.  This dream is getting weirder and weirder, but it seems like the only way he will wake up is to just go along with it.  

Grimacing slightly, he braces himself for what this might feel like. He counts to three, squares his shoulders...and face plants into the door, his nose scratched by the garland of the wreath, his forehead banging against the cold metal.

“Dude!” Ryan says as he opens the door. “Did you try and walk through the door? What the fuck, man?”

Jim matches Ryan’s heated whisper when he responds, “You just left me out there.”

“God! For, like, a second. You’re such a fucking —”

“Whoa,” Jim looks around the room, distractedly cutting off Ryan’s rant.

It looks exactly how he remembers it. Pam’s easels throughout, her art in various stages of creation. Her purse and coat are in the chair she keeps by the door; the same chair that is currently in Pam’s studio in their garage. It smells the same; a combination of almond lotion and sweet candles and acrylic paint and, well, just Pam. He always liked her apartment, how instantly at-home he felt in her space once they started dating.

He follows the sound of the television playing low in the living room. The lights are out, a vanilla candle is lit, and the Christmas tree lights provide an ambient glow that he knows is one of Pam’s favorite things this time of year.  

Ryan sits on the armchair and props his feet on the ottoman, as though he’s in his own house after a day at work. Again, Jim follows his lead and sits on the couch. So many memories flood back in the quiet of this space. Most of them are good, very good actually. He has to bite back what is likely a telling grin as he remembers ending up on this couch, far more horizontally than he is currently, for the first time after he and Pam really started dating.

A tea kettle in the kitchen starts to whistle loudly, startling Jim out of his memory. He looks up just in time to see Pam scurry out of her bedroom. She looks the way he loves her best; her hair is piled on her head in a messy bun and she’s wearing yoga pants and a long sweatshirt. And socks over her always-freezing feet.

He watches her reach into the cabinet and pull out the teal teapot he gave her years ago. He’s seen her use it hundreds of times, but there’s something about this moment that feels incredibly private. He should feel like an intruder, but instead, he’s overcome with an almost reverential observation of her little habits.

As if reading Jim’s thoughts, Ryan, his eyes still watching Jimmy Stewart wander through Bedford Falls, says quietly, “She can’t see or hear us.”

Pam carries a cup and the teapot to the coffee table and sits on the corner of the couch. She wraps a quilt around her and brings the cup to her lips, her eyes shining at the screen. Jim’s watching her, still awestruck that this is happening, as he listens to the movie knowing what’s about to come out of her mouth.

“‘He’s making violent love to me, Mother!’” Pam quotes Mary in a high-pitched, dramatic tone and giggles to herself.

All three of them startle as her cell phone buzzes against the coffee table. Jim sees his own name brighten on the screen. Pam’s response is a sharp intake of breath and to stand up suddenly.

Jim is almost hopeful, and it clearly shows as he sits up straighter. The first holiday season he and Pam were together was nothing less than amazing. He almost proposed to Pam at least seventeen times from Thanksgiving to New Years. They assimilated beautifully into each other’s traditions and both of their families recognized this was something wholly different and special for both of them. He thinks it could be exciting to see one of those moments unfold.

“It’s December 2006, man,” Ryan says this casually, but he’s watching Jim now. “This is after that, uh, Christmas party at work.”

Jim deflates quickly as he watches Pam, now self-conscious and uncertain, answer her phone with a strained attempt at informality, “Um, hi, Jim.” She’s pacing and flexing her free hand into a nervous fist, shaking her sleeves to cover her fingers.

He hates that he ever made her feel this way.

“Oh my god, he is still on the roof! You —” She’s nodding and smiling enthusiastically as he speaks on the other line. “Oh, okay, yeah. That sounds good.”

Jim remembers that he called to tell her his plan to get Dwight off the roof. He certainly didn’t want them to be charged with manslaughter if Dwight froze up there. He also remembers that he could have texted her, but he needed to hear her voice, to hear that lilt in her tone when she got excited over a prank. It felt momentarily like old times.

Until she asked, “So, any big plans for tonight?”

Jim’s chest tightens slightly as he watches her bite her lips together and her brows pinch together at his response. He’s told her that he and Karen are going to grab dinner, not coming clean that he waited for Karen to go to the bathroom before he called her. Not coming clean that it almost broke him to initially reject her Christmas gift earlier that day. Not coming clean that he hasn’t stopped thinking about her all day. All year.

“Oh, right. Yeah, well, have fun.” She’s doing that rapid nodding she does when she’s about to break, and he wants to move across the room to hang up the phone and hug her, to tell her it all works out. “Yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too.”

Pam snaps the phone shut, and she’s holding it so tight that her knuckles whiten. Jim takes a heavy breath as she returns to the couch and violently presses a button on the remote. The room falls silent.

Jim watches her, and he knows the second before it starts that she is going to burst into tears. It’s loud, choking sobs, and she drops her face into a throw pillow that’s on the middle of the couch so that her hair spills against his leg.

“Pam, Pam, Pam,” he whispers her name over and over, his tone begging her to hear him. He expects Ryan to tell him it’s futile, but out of his periphery, he can see Ryan’s head dropped to his chest and a pained frown on his face.

“Please!” Her head shoots up, and Jim thinks that maybe she sees him. But just as quickly, she’s sitting up, pulling the quilt around her, and scrunching her eyes tightly, her lashes wet against her cheeks. “Please, God, please. I’ll do anything. Anything. Please. Just bring him back to me.” Her voice breaks on that last word, her head shaking back and forth as though she’s trying to shake the negative feelings away.

“Jim,” Ryan says as he stands and moves toward the door. He says softly, “It’s time.”

Jim doesn’t move; he can’t. He watches Pam, holding her knees close to her chest, working to steady her breathing, sniffling and wiping her chin harshly with the heel of her hand.

“Jim,” Ryan says patiently. “Really, we’ve gotta get going.”

“Just one more minute.” Ryan nods reluctantly and moves out of sight toward the front door. Jim scoots closer to her, and whispers, “Pam, I’m so sorry.” He feels the tears pricking his own eyes as he thinks of how miserable this time was for both of them. How they spent so much time in the early days of their relationship untangling all of this pain. “Pam, I’m so —”

She pushes off the couch, determination in her eyes that tells him she’s done crying. He’s seen her do that before, too. Jim watches her stand at the sink, take a few shaky breaths, and then splash cold water on her face.  He’s still sitting on the couch long after she’s turned off all the lights, unplugged the Christmas tree lights, and made her way into her bedroom. Jim is staring at the teapot, the tea now cold, when Ryan slowly walks back in.

Jim sighs wearily and stands, silently following Ryan out the front door and down the stairs. The snow is coming down thicker now, but Jim doesn’t feel any colder. Jim stuffs his hands into his pockets and follows behind Ryan.

They walk in silence for a while until Jim’s sadness and guilt turn into anger. “What the fuck was that?”

“What?” Ryan lets out a bored sigh as he sneaks a glance over his shoulder at Jim.

“That!” He runs a few paces ahead to cut off Ryan and stop him from walking further. “What the hell is this? You gonna show me every Christmas Pam was miserable? Or all the times I was a colossal asshole to my wife?”

A tight, unsympathetic smile crosses Ryan’s face as though he’s about to make some smartass remark but thinks better of it. “You don’t get it, Halpert. This is your chance to see where you’ve been so you can fix whatever little problem you have.”

“Fix what?”

“I know Michael was your Marley so you got fucked. And not in a good way. But surely he gave you some clue what all this was about.”

As they walk, Jim recounts the conversation he had with Michael. He stuffs his hands deeper into his pockets, clenching his fists in frustration. “I...I don’t know. He said some stuff about Athlead becoming...I don’t know. I guess, he made it seem like Athlead is more important to me than Pam and the kids. But everything I do with Athlead is for —”

“What’s Athlead?”

Jim glances away. “It’s, um, it’s my company. I started a company; we do sports marketing.” Jim feels oddly ashamed and uninterested in talking about Athlead. He’s still shaken by watching Pam’s meltdown from a single phone call with him.

Ryan stops walking and looks at him appreciatively. “Oh, hey good for you, man.”

“Thanks,” Jim replies absently. He’s looking through the woods beside them, not seeing anything in particular, just hoping an answer to whatever is going on will reveal itself.

Jim doesn’t see Ryan studying him until he breaks the silence, “Alright, Jim. I’m gonna give you an extra stop.” Ryan glances at his watch and seems to calculate something in his head. “They’re gonna hate this, but I can’t have you go into 2011 all pissed off.”

It takes Jim a few seconds before he realizes Ryan is moving again, but he’s quick to follow. “2011? That’s last year.”

“No,” Ryan corrects him. “That’s in five years. No, wait, four years. We’re in 2007 now.”

Their first Christmas. He wonders if Ryan will take him to his parents’ house, where they stayed on Christmas Eve; Jim slept in the basement with his niece and nephew while Pam shared Larissa’s old room with her. She’d fit right in with his family, happily wearing the matching pajamas Betsy bought each year for every member of the family.

Or maybe they will revisit the far more reserved and calm Christmas evening they spent at the Beesly’s house when Bill ceremoniously cracked open an expensive bottle of scotch and they all tried to warn an unsuspecting Jim that Meemaw cheats at gin rummy. He’s pretty sure Ryan won’t take him to those few unaccounted for hours between parental visits that Jim and Pam spent at his house...in his bed.

They’re crossing through backyards of houses near a busy street, and as soon as they are in her backyard, he recognizes his sister’s house. A big, old house that she only manages to afford because she and three friends split the rent and it’s in a not-so-great part of town near the university. The loud music and the number of people spilling onto the back porch, down the stairs, and around the fire pit all indicate this is Larissa’s annual December 26th party.

Ryan is weaving his way through the crowd and up the creaking wooden stairs. “Damn, Halpert. All this and you never invited me to your sister’s party?” Ryan says, his head practically on a swivel as he looks from one woman to another.

“Well, you’re such a gentleman, Ryan. I’m sure it’s a shock I’ve never wanted you around my sister and her friends.”

Ryan doesn’t miss a beat as he looks at Jim over his shoulder and says, “Yeah, well don’t forget that I know about Christmas 2005 when you were very friendly with Larissa’s friend who had the

huge —”

“Okay, okay,” Jim interrupts him, slightly ashamed of the public make-out he had that year on Larissa’s couch with her friend, all fueled by his commitment to not sit at home alone thinking about Pam.

They make their way through the kitchen, past the beer pong in the dining room, around the drunk Twister being played in the living room. He follows Ryan up the stairs and just as they hit the landing, Jim remembers two things.

First, Pam and Larissa had paired up to pull a prank on Jim, telling him this was an Ugly Christmas Sweater party. Larissa picked up Pam early, both wearing their own ugly sweaters, telling Jim she was going to help set up food for the party. When Jim arrived he was the only person there in a bright red, tacky Christmas sweater while Larissa, now in a vest over a T-shirt and jeans, and Pam, who had also changed into a dress he’d never seen before, fell into each other in a fit of giggles.

Second, at some point in the evening, Pam pulled him up these same stairs and into a bathroom where she pulled down his pants and —

“Nope, no way. Uh-uh. Come on, man,” Jim turns to head down the stairs, but he stops halfway down as he hears the familiar sound of Pam giggling behind the bathroom door.

Ryan grins wolfishly down at him and wordlessly walks the length of the hallway before he passes through the bathroom door, just like he did into Pam’s apartment door. Jim takes the steps two at a time and stops himself again at the landing.

Jim contemplates his options but finally decides he can’t bear Ryan being in there alone...with him and Pam. He slips into the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. The room is dark, only lit with a candle on the back of the toilet, white string lights hanging around the mirror and the ceiling, and the light coming through the small window from the backyard.

It’s an old bathroom with a clawfoot bathtub, black and white tiled floor, and a pedestal sink that Jim, well, Past Jim, has Pam pressed against. One hand is threaded in her curls so that he can keep her close as they kiss, while his other hand slowly strokes across her shoulder, down her arm and up again. God, he’d wanted to take her home as soon as he saw her in that strapless emerald green dress, the small cardigan she’d been wearing now on the bathroom floor.   

It had been wild to see Pam in her old apartment, but Jim is momentarily frozen as he sees himself in the Past.

Ryan finally looks away from watching them make-out to smile and nod appreciatively at Jim. His leering is enough to push Jim out of the metaphysical crisis he finds himself. He’s about to tell Ryan they’ve seen enough, but he’s stopped by Pam’s voice.

“I think it’s a cute sweater.” She bites her bottom lip to hold back a giggle, and Past Jim pulls away from kissing her neck to look down at her.

“You and my sister are such jerks,” he murmurs before turning his focus to her collarbone, slowly moving his mouth lower.

“You could just take it off,” Pam says almost dreamily, now far more interested in Jim kissing her cleavage and his hand sliding up the skirt of her dress.

“Yeah, no. Pretty sure I can’t pull off the Eminem look.” He stops suddenly as her hand moves to stroke the bulge in his pants where, at the time, he was sure he’d never been so hard in his life.

“Is that a candy cane in your pocket or you just happy to see me?” Pam is giggling before she can even finish the entire sentence.

“Seriously, Beesly?” Past Jim admonishes. He continues with feigned hurt. “A candy cane? Really?” He pulls away from her, bracing both arms around her on either side of on the sink.

She tips the red Solo cup they’ve been sharing to take a sip of Jack and coke while he speaks and then hands him the cup.

“I’m sorry,” she says in a flirty voice, her eyes wide and lashes batting. A voice she still uses that makes Jim useless and willing to do whatever she wants him to do. Her hands are moving to his belt, and she says, “Let me just have a little taste.”

His laugh echoes into the cup just before the dark liquid falls down his throat. “Jesus, Beesly. How much did you drink?”

“Not much.” Pam drops to her knees on the soft blue rug, and Jim and Past Jim inhale the same quick breath as she makes quick work to unfasten his jeans.

Ryan, seemingly unable to look away from the show in front of him, brings Jim’s focus back to attention when he whispers, “Damn, Pam is really different out of work. I always imagined she’d be pretty feisty —”

“Okay, we’re done here.” Jim moves in front of Ryan and uses his height and the confined space to his advantage to block him from seeing the intimate moment unfolding behind him.  

“Come on, man! Just let me see —” Ryan is bobbing back and forth, but Jim is more determined and a tad bit faster.

“Nope, not happening.”

They both stop moving when they hear Past Jim moan, “Fuck, Pam, that feels…”

It’s not that Jim forgot about this moment, but suddenly he very clearly remembers that in about two seconds Past Jim is going to pick up Pam, put her on the edge of the sink, and wrap her knees over his hips. And while Jim would be mortified for Ryan to see him come, he absolutely can’t stand the idea of Ryan seeing Pam in that beautiful, intimate freefalling moment.

“Out,” Jim commands, managing to reach around Ryan and open the bathroom door. “Out, out, out,” he repeats, using his height to angle them out of the room. Jim deftly pushes the button to lock the door and shuts it firmly, hoping Ryan is right that they can’t be heard.

“Such a fucking buzzkill,” Ryan is mumbling to himself as they make their way back down the stairs and toward the front door.

“Yeah, I’m a real prude like that.”

Ryan mutters something further that Jim can’t hear, making his way through the partygoers and out the front door that is open to let in cool air.

They’re on the sidewalk, Jim, once again, silently following Ryan’s purposeful path to their next stop. Jim would never admit it, but seeing how happy Pam and Jim were together only a year after both being so miserable apart has buoyed his outlook on this whole...experience.

And it wasn’t just seeing them having sex. Well, not entirely. Although, it has been a while, especially for them.

No, it’s more than that. Remembering those painful years, the years that seem like ancient history, slowly awakens in Jim a time when he told himself if Pam was ever his, she’d never wonder how important she was to him. He’d spent years watching Roy put her on the back burner, and he’d spent those years listing the ways he would do better, be better.

Jim is still thinking about their past when Ryan says, “Look alive, Halpert.” Jim startles slightly as they turn up the hill that leads into Jim’s neighborhood. “Last stop. 2011.”

They stop on the sidewalk in front of Jim’s house just as it starts to snow. The house is framed in brightly colored bulbs and the Christmas tree lights can be seen through the left window, the rest of the house dark. Jim walks toward the window, confident in what he will see.

Cece is fast asleep on the couch, having snuck down for a snuggle when three-week-old Phillip woke up crying to be fed. Jim watches himself take his now-satisfied son from Pam, who’s buttoning her oversized sleepshirt beside him on the couch. It’s a simple, quiet moment. Jim burps Phillip who quickly drifts to sleep against his shoulder as Pam holds Cece’s little legs in her lap, lamenting how fast they grow up.

Pam’s head drops against his shoulder as she starts to drift off. The clock on their mantle, an old, restored Ingraham that once belonged to Pam’s great-grandfather, ticks to midnight.

“Merry Christmas,” Past Jim whispers, kissing Pam’s hairline.

“Is it midnight already?” Pam says sleepily but not making any indication she plans to make any changes to the current state of her snuggling, dozing family. “Let’s just stay for a minute longer.” She yawns and buries her face a little deeper into his neck.

Jim watches this through the window, but it’s like he’s right there. More intense than any other memory or emotion from his past he’s seen tonight, Jim remembers in this moment knowing, telling himself, he had everything he ever wanted right there. It had been so perfect and wonderful; he’d give anything to be back there.

He’s so caught up in the moment that he has forgotten about Ryan until he turns. It’s lighter, earlier in the day, and there’s no snow. And no Ryan. Jim turns back to the window, but the lights are out and the room is empty of people, only the unlit tree, a few toys scattered on the floor.

Disappointed, he walks the path that leads to the driveway, noticing that there are no lights hanging from the house. As he continues to the carport, he sees the red tub that holds the strands of outdoor lights and extension cords. It’s in the same spot he left it two weeks ago when he’d made the third unfulfilled promise to Pam that he’d hang them.

That’s the first clue he’s in the Present. The second arrives just as quickly in a speeding bright pink Bugatti Veyron, blasting Taylor Swift’s “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” that parks haphazardly in his driveway.

“Jim! Oh my god, Jim! I’m so excited! It’s really you! Oh my god we have so much to talk about. Get in, get in, get in!”    

Jim releases a slow breath through puffed cheeks. Nothing should surprise him at this point so he opens the door of the ridiculously expensive car that he’s only seen in his dreams and buckles the seat belt.

“Hey, Kelly. What’s new with you?”

“Like, ohmygod it’s crazy, right? And then I was like, ‘Of course I want to go see Jim and help him get his life together!’ And then it was like, ‘Well, he’s running late, so here’s a super fast car.’ But then I was, like, ‘Um, can’t it be in pink?’”

He should ask her How she got this car. He should ask her Who sent her to see him. He should ask her Where she came from. But Jim can’t bring himself to even think of these questions for two reasons.

One reason, the most expected reason, is that Kelly has barely stopped talking since his seatbelt clicked into place. Without much clarity, she has said a lot about finding out she was ‘his Present,’ a term she gets a kick out of every time she says it. Even her outfit, brightly colored red and green with a gaudy, oversized bow in her hair, resembles a Christmas present.

The second reason that Jim is struggling to form much of a cohesive thought or rational question is that he is pretty sure he’s going to die in a two million dollar car he’s not even had the chance to drive. Kelly seems to drive the same way she speaks: mindlessly, recklessly, and very fast.

“Who was your Past anyway?”

It’s the first time she’s asked him a direct question and actually waited for a response. Jim hesitates before he commits to a casual tone when he says, “Ryan.”

“What?!” Not for the first time, the car swerves, and Jim wishes he had lied. “Ryan?! My Ryan? How did he look? No, no, no! Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” Kelly, as expected, pauses for about half a second and then says, “I mean. You know. Unless you think I should know. Or if he, like, said anything about me. Oh my god! Did he say anything about me? You know what? I don’t want to know. I’m perfectly happy. I mean, look at me. So, don’t even tell me. Seriously, Jim, don’t try and tell me anything about how Ryan looked or if he said anything about me or, you know if it seems like he missed me or whatever.”

Jim bites back a grin in spite of himself. He finds a simple comfort in Kelly’s superficial concern with Ryan. Not at all ashamed at the many specific ways he wants to criticize Ryan, Jim knowingly says, “Kel, he looked...tired.”

Kelly tsks to herself, but Jim catches the small smile of satisfaction on her face as she sets her shoulders with a bit more confidence than she possessed before. The weight of her gratification is briefly transferred to the gas pedal as she (surprisingly) skillfully shifts the gears and they speed through the familiar streets of Scranton.

As the car turns (very possibly on only two wheels) onto Slough Avenue, Jim is fully aware of their likely destination. Kelly pulls into the Scranton Business Park and angles the car in front of the building. One tire is on a curb and another is on the sidewalk.

“Here we are! Just like old times...but you know, happening, like, now.” Jim is already opening the glass door, Kelly close on his heels.  “Oh my god, it’s totally the same.”

Jim doesn’t acknowledge her as his sight is drawn to Dwight sitting at one of the small cafe tables, a cup of coffee in his hand. He takes in Dwight’s sullen expression and the suit he wore into the office earlier in the day, his face still grimy from the dirt he used to add to the authenticity of his Belsnickel costume.

“Hey, Kel, it’s the Present, right? So this is all happening, when? Right now?”

“Yeah.” Kelly moves from studying the pastry selections to stand beside Jim. She watches Dwight before quietly saying, “He was so disappointed when you left today.”

“Come on,” Jim scoffs, a disbelieving grin breaking out on his face. “He didn’t care about me leaving. He got his Pennsylvania Dutch Christmas, that’s what he wanted.”

“No, Jim, he was, like, really upset about you leaving. He went on a downward spiral a la Demi Moore post-Ashton Kutcher. Look at how pathetic he looks with —”

Kelly stops herself as the stairwell door opens and an irritated Angela appears. Upon seeing Dwight, Angela rolls her eyes and puffs out, “There you are! I need you to sign for this petty cash.” Angela moves to sit across from Dwight and impatiently continues, “Oscar bought food for the party and likely too much liquor, of course. And Phyllis is so proud of herself because everyone is so excited she has eggnog. No one hears me asking for a parade in my honor when I got the key to the storage unit that has the old Christmas decorations. She probably will insist that Bob Vance comes to the party…”

Angela trails off from her self-indulging rant, having noticed that Dwight signed on the requisite spots and wordlessly slid the papers across the small table back her direction. His forlorn expression is still fixed against the wall behind her, never-changing since her entrance.

Jim watches Angela slightly relax into the chair as her face softens slightly. They sit in silence, the type of silence that two people who know each other deeply and personally can share with no awkwardness. A moment when there are no words to comfort the other but simple physical presence is more than enough.

“Um, are they back together?” Kelly’s arms are crossed, and her face is colored with confusion.

“Not that I know of,” Jim says.

Angela glances through the lobby, and, seeing only Hank, who has drifted to sleep, she reaches over and softly covers Dwight’s limp hand with her own. He stirs for the first time, and his eyes shift to hers. Jim stuffs his fists into his pockets, wondering if he wants to be privy to such a personal moment between Dwight and Angela. Especially one that reminds him so much of him and Pam. He shudders slightly at the comparison he’s just made.

Dwight slowly pulls his hand into his lap, and Angela follows his lead, a combination of embarrassment and sadness on her face. The two of them shift in their seats and deliberately pull their eyes away from each other to look around the room.

“The weihnact stollen was very good,” Angela says humbly.

“Mose made it. He has spent many years perfecting his recipe. This was the first year he added cardamom,” Dwight replies formally.

“Well, I found it quite nice without being overly...indulgent.” Angela swallows self-consciously before she continues with a small current of warmth in her tone. “I must admit, I enjoyed your Christmas party far more than I expected. I can’t condone the underlying racial current of some of your traditions and I wish your Belsnickel wasn’t quite so...dirty. However, I appreciate the fairness and strong sense of discipline you endorse in your portrayal of him.”

They both shift again, the comfortable silence now overcome with lingering tension.

Dwight seems to consider his words before he intones, “Thank you, Angela.”   

A moment passes before Angela stands, smoothes her skirt, and says, “Well, the others are insisting that we continue with some sort of secular Christmas party.” She sniffs and slightly curls her upper lip as she says, “I will never understand your disappointment in Jim leaving early. He behaved in his typically selfish manner. Clearly, he only wanted to mock you, and he lacked the decency to stay and see through his ridiculous prank.” She sighs again, clearly struggling to balance her blunt opinion with a certain type of sympathy she maintains only for Dwight. “There’s eggnog and cookies upstairs. I know,” she pauses to focus on settling an impassive expression on her face, “I would appreciate you being in attendance.”

Dwight glumly stands and shuffles behind Angela onto the elevator. Kelly and Jim are quick to follow.

Jim feels a wave of guilt wash over him as he considers what Angela said to Dwight. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, she’s not entirely wrong. He knew a Pennsylvania Dutch Christmas would come with many opportunities to make fun of Dwight, but it was all harmless fun. It always had been. On more than one occasion Jim has told Pam that Dwight would think something was wrong if Jim didn’t prank him or give him a hard time.

He also admits to himself that there is something about Dwight’s disappointment that rattles his conscience. The elevator doors open and, as they follow Dwight and Angela on the familiar path into the Dunder Mifflin office, Jim turns to Kelly. “So, Dwight was so upset because,” he pauses to consider the probability of this statement, “he was upset that I left?”

“Duh. I already told you that. Men totally don’t listen.”

Jim sighs to himself in resolution because Kelly had, in fact, told him that when they first arrived at the office. Dwight walks to his desk and drops heavily into his seat, resting his smudged cheek against his fist.

The office has slightly transformed into a more traditional holiday vibe. A quick glance into Andy’s office reveals Pete and Erin sitting close, very close, watching a movie. Jim squints in to see Die Hard playing on the monitor just as Pete puts his arm around Erin’s shoulder. Nope. Not interested in that drama at all, he thinks. Jim decides to keep what he’s just witnessed to himself; he’s not certain he can handle the level of dissection Kelly will want to engage about that particular office romance.  

Kelly is already moving through the office. Still unsure what will happen if they separate, he follows her. They glance into the conference room where Kevin is dressed as Santa, and Angela, uncharacteristically animated as she speaks, is sitting on his lap.

“Hey, Kelly. Hey, Tall Guy.”

“Hey, Creed.”

It’s all said in passing. Creed walking past the two of them, a mouth full of food. No one else even seems to pay attention, but that’s not unusual. Jim, however, is left open-mouthed and shocked, unable to move.

Thankfully Kelly notices and smiles at him reassuringly. “No one else can see us.”

“Wait, so is Creed...I mean, does he always...Can he…”

“Really, Jim? Does it really surprise you that Creed can see us? I’m more surprised he got my name right.” Jim really can’t argue with her logic. “Oooh! Cookies! Ugh, what is that smell?”

They’ve moved closer to the table of food and drink. Jim glances in the trashcan, the remnants of Dwight’s Christmas meal piled there. “Hogmaw,” he says quietly, another wave of guilt over him. “Hey, Kelly, where’s Pam?”

But Kelly is already sliding through the room, slipping stealthily through the gaps of the small crowds. She stops momentarily in front of Darryl’s office. “Poor thing. He’s really let himself go since we broke up.”

Jim looks at Kelly, her face worried and earnest. It would be laughable if she didn’t believe her own words so deeply. He follows her concerned gaze to the sight in front of him. Darryl, clearly intoxicated, tilts a large plastic bowl to his lips and takes a startlingly large gulp of the red liquid that Jim is certain is gluhwein.   

He’s about to ask if Darryl is okay, but Kelly turns and begins walking toward Accounting. Jim calls her name, but she moves, almost trancelike toward the door of the storage closet near Accounting. She opens the door, and he slips in behind her.

There’s an often-ignored door on the other side of the storage closet, usually blocked by a wall of bankers boxes that are surprisingly easy to move with two or three determined shoves. Jim is slightly surprised that the boxes have already been moved, and Kelly is making her way through the door. They walk down a hallway that has somewhat limited access to the rest of the building, a flaw in the design plan from a remodel in the mid-90s.

Jim knows too well that around the corner at the end of the hallway there is a bench that sits in front of a utility closet full of chemicals, toilet paper, and paper towels. Several paces behind Kelly, he blushes slightly as he remembers the Valentine’s Day he and Pam found this hallway and the childlike giddiness when they discovered the unlocked utility closet.

They’d said it was just one time. To get it out of their system. Just to see how it felt to do it in the office. And they’d been somewhat tipsy that day. But, of course, they had uncorked something that couldn’t be contained. When one of them had a particularly difficult day or life at home kept them from much-needed alone time or Pam intentionally wore that gray skirt that makes Jim crazy and they both know it, they would make their way into the storage closet, move the boxes, and slip into their own world in this quiet, overlooked corner of the office.

Kelly looks over her shoulder at Jim. Her demeanor has changed, and he’s about to ask what’s wrong when he hears a voice, a male voice, around the corner.

“Pam?” It’s a familiar voice, but Jim can’t place it immediately. He moves quicker, passing Kelly who is looking at him with wide, warning eyes.

He hears Pam gasp slightly, a hitch of breath, and he’s rounding the corner just as she says, “Brian?”

“Hey. You...you okay?”

Jim swallows the bile in his throat. Pam is sitting on the bench, gripping her cell phone, and it’s clear that she’s been crying. Brian sits next to her and, mirroring her posture, leans forward so that his elbows rest on his knees.

“Pam comes here to call to you sometimes.” Kelly isn’t looking at Jim as she speaks, her tone downcast as she frowns slightly. She’s watching Pam — Pam and Brian — as she considers what to say to him next. “When you’re on the bus or in a taxi or before she goes home while you’re in Philadelphia.” The moment hangs in the air, but in typical Kelly fashion, she brightens and then enthuses, “That color pink looks really good with her complexion.”

Kelly doesn’t have to say anything further. He realizes that, because he’s in the Present, it is likely that he and Pam just argued about the likelihood of him making it home by Christmas Eve. An increasingly familiar wave of guilt floods over him.

Pam is slowly shaking her head, sniffling and fighting a fresh wave of tears as she looks at Brian. “It’s Jim. It’s...he’s on his way to Philly. And we got,” her voice cracking slightly before she continues, “snippy with each other.” She holds up the phone as he slips a reassuring arm around her. Jim and Pam have become friends with Brian and Alyssa. A casual, consoling gesture from a friend shouldn’t have him slightly pacing as he watches them. “It seems to happen more and more. You know.” She gestures to the boom mic he’s set on the floor. Pam shakes her head, once again fighting more tears. “What am I doing wrong, Brian?”

“Nothing. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

There’s something in Brian’s tone and the way he moves a bit closer to Pam, that leaves Jim unsettled. He notices Kelly look at him with her eyebrows raised in disbelief, assessing his reaction.

“Then why —” Pam chokes on the last word and drops her forehead into the palms of her hands. Jim feels more helpless than he did when watching her cry in the Past. At least then he knew everything would be fine. But it will be fine, right?

“I don’t know, Pam.” Brian doesn’t move his arm from around Pam’s shoulder, and the stillness of the room, except for Pam’s attempts to stop her tears, is practically suffocating.

“I just...” Pam takes in a couple of shaky breaths before she is able to continue speaking. “I just wish I was enough for him. Me and the kids. That we were enough for him.”

“Enough for me? Is that what she thinks?” Jim says out loud as he looks to Kelly for validation. The only response he receives from her is a noncommittal shrug as she keeps her eyes trained on his wife.

“Pam,” Brian says quietly. Jim looks to his friend, grateful for the conversations they’ve had about Jim’s desire to grow Athlead so that he can give Pam the life she deserves, that he wants her to have. He doesn’t expect to hear Brian say, “Pam, sometimes people grow apart. Or they decide they don’t want the same things in life. And, that’s okay, you know? It’s okay. It’s normal that people grow apart.”

“Damn, Jim. Are you gonna let him talk to your wife that way?” Kelly says.

Jim wheels around to face Kelly fully. Hopeful, he pleads, “Is there something I can do?”

“Oh,” Kelly’s face falls as she realizes what her answer has to be. “No, I guess not.”

Disgustedly, Jim turns back to see Pam pull away from Brian, sitting up to her full height. She seems to hesitate before she asks, “Brian has Jim… has he said that to you?”

Brian seems to weigh his words before slowly responding, “Well, not in so many words, but Pam, it seems like he’s gone a lot more than you guys agreed to.” There’s something in the warning look Pam gives him. “I mean, what you and Jim told us. Told the crew. I get the feeling that you didn’t think it would be this hard. And that he wouldn’t be gone so much.”

Pam sighs heavily. “Well, that’s true.” She leans her back against the wall. The tears have stopped, but Jim sees the heaviness in her eyes.

“Hey,” Brian’s tone is lighter, “what are you doing tonight? Wanna grab a beer?”

Pam leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees, keeping her eyes on her shoes. “Jim’s mom is keeping the kids for me tonight. I want to get all the Christmas presents wrapped and the house clean to surprise Jim when he gets home.” She smiles at Brian, proud of her plan. She nudges his knee with her own, “Hey maybe next week we can grab a drink with you guys at Poor Richard’s? I’m sure we can get a sitter.”

Brian nods dutifully, a small, unenthused smile on his face. “Well, I should get back out there.”

“Yeah, I need to check on Dwight,” Pam smiles, sniffling a little at the lingering impact of her tears. “Hey, how’d you find me anyway?”

Brian studies her as though he is contemplating how honest he wants to be. He shrugs and says, “We always find out stuff about you guys.”

“Oh, okay,” Pam laughs gently at his evasiveness. She takes his response no more personal than the typical spiel the production staff gives about ‘pretending they’re not there’ or ‘ignoring the cameras.’ Well, years ago they gave that speech; now it’s unspoken and easily understood by most of the office staff.

They both stand and walk down the hall together. Jim follows them a few steps and then stops. It’s not that he doesn’t trust them. Well, he’s not so sure that he does trust Brian, but he absolutely trusts Pam. No, it’s that years ago he told himself that Pam would never need another shoulder to cry on than his. And that he certainly would never be the reason to make her cry.

Jim turns to Kelly desperation in his tone, “Kelly, how do I go back? I need to see Pam now. I need to talk to her about this. We have to figure this out.”

Kelly opens her mouth to respond, but Jim distractedly turns back at the clicking sound as the door to the storage closet that leads to Accounting shuts. The bolt grinds loudly as the door is locked.

When he turns back, Kelly is gone. He sighs in frustration as this feels very similar to Ryan’s abrupt and silent exit.

Jim walks to the door Pam and Brian just left through. As he expects, it’s locked. For good measure, Jim roughly twists the knob several times. He backtracks to the spot where Kelly disappeared and continues past the now not-so-secret utility closet. The hallway runs parallel to the annex and ends up at a door into Vance Refrigeration. Thankfully, that door opens with ease.

Jim makes his way through the back office space of Vance Refrigeration. It must be after five because the receptionist is gone and the offices are locked. He unlocks the front door, again, thankful that he’s on the right side of the door, and crosses in front of the elevators toward the doors to Dunder Mifflin. The doors are locked and the lights are out, but he peers inside, cupping his hand to the glass to see as much as he can.

A sense of dread fills his gut. The office is cleared of desks and furniture. A few boxes are stacked and labeled but there is ghostly feeling to the room, as though it has been long-emptied.

Jim runs to the stairwell and curses at the locked door. He’s hesitant to take the elevator, but he knows it’s his only option to get out of the building at this point. He presses the down button, in his frustration pushing it repeatedly. When the door opens he’s not sure if he should be relieved or nervous, but he steps into the familiar space nevertheless.

The doors close, and as he wonders what he will do once he gets down to the office lobby, the elevator climbs at a steady pace up far more floors than exist in this building. Panic builds in Jim’s chest until the elevator stops suddenly and the lights go dark.      

Jim can sense the elevator doors have opened, and he slowly opens his tightly closed eyes, hesitant of the bright light shining in. Cautious steps carry him into a foyer, meticulously decorated with fresh flowers and designer lamps. As he moves further into the living space, Jim sees an open floor plan with huge windows, exposed brick, and expensive furniture.

“Just in time!” Gabe pokes his head out from the Sub-Zero refrigerator door, smiling too cheerfully for Jim’s dramatic entrance.

Emotionally exhausted, Jim wearily moves to the quartz island in the fully-equipped chef’s kitchen. He commits to moving through the motions, having realized that the faster he clears these hurdles, the sooner he will wake up. And that means he can call Pam, which feels paramount at this point.

“Sandwich?” Gabe offers with a smile. Loaves of bread, meats, cheeses, are displayed on platters arranged with lettuce, tomato, peppers, and every spread imaginable. It was a little much for two people and Jim had no appetite.

“So you’re the Ghost of Christmas Future?” Jim says drily in reply to Gabe’s offer.

“Well,” Gabe drawls the last syllable as though he’s contemplating this. His hands are occupied with smearing a creamy red pepper aioli onto a ciabatta roll. Jim’s stomach betrays him and growls loudly. “I prefer Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. The future sounds so...confining, no?”

Jim watches as Gabe adds an impressive layer of meat and cheese to his creation and asks, “So where are we?”

Gabe gives Jim that condescending smile he so frequently used in the office. “Your place.” He pauses briefly as he moves freely through the kitchen. Jim’s kitchen, apparently. “In Philadelphia.”

Jim looks around in disbelief and, for the first time, notices the moving boxes labeled and stacked neatly around the furniture. At that exact moment, Future Jim walks out of a bedroom and toward the couch. He’s talking on a cell phone about a merger while pulling on a tailored suit jacket.

“Whoa,” Jim strokes his chin as he watches his far more successful self move breezily through this amazing apartment. Future Jim reaches behind a stack of boxes labeled “Cece and Philip” and pulls out a leather duffel bag.

“Yes, 2015 Jim clearly prefers a beard. This Havarti is to die for. Sure I can’t make you one?”

Jim absently declines Gabe’s offer, still watching his future unfolding in front of him. “Hey, what’s with all boxes?”

“Oh,” Gabe pauses to swallow his mouthful of food before nodding thoughtfully and continuing on. “Your company becomes very successful. The headquarters is moving to Austin, Texas on January 1st.”

Jim’s jaw drops as he considers this. “Wait, so you’re saying, Athlead...I mean, we’re moving to Austin? Texas?”

“You are the President of New Acquisitions. But, it’s Athleap now. Not Athlead.”

Jim grimaces slightly at that. He’s only half-joking when he says, “Can I make sure that doesn’t happen in the future?”

He turns before he can see Gabe’s cold smile, but he hears the response. “Jim, you have complete control over the future.”

“Oh, hey Wade, hold on, I’ve got another call,” Future Jim says. Jim can’t help but be fascinated at the focus he seems to have; this is the life he wants for his family.

If I could just show this to Pam, she would be so on board with the work and the time I’m putting in now, he thinks.

Future Jim presses a button and answers with a slight eye roll. “Hey, Mom.” He pauses, nodding knowingly. “Yep, we’ll be there this evening. I’m leaving for Scranton now. But it’s Christmas Eve, so traffic’s going to be crazy.”

Hearing Future Jim mention Scranton ignites excitement in Jim. To see Pam’s reaction to their success in the future will absolutely paint a clear picture of how to reassure her in the Present.

The thought of it grips him and he enthusiastically turns to Gabe. “Can we go see Pam?”

Gabe bobs his head agreeably and says, “You know what, we should see Pam.” He temples his fingertips under his chin in a superficial gesture of thought. “But first, let’s make a couple of other stops.”

“Okay, where —”

Jim doesn’t even have time to finish his sentence. Gabe has placed one bony hand on Jim’s shoulder, and they are immediately standing in...a Target?

“Whoa!” Jim says again, clearly impressed. “That was…”

“A lot faster than the others, right?” Gabe says, pleased with Jim’s reaction.

“Yeah,” he agrees, distantly remembering walking miles in the snow with Ryan as they literally trudged through the Past.

“Yes, the Future isn’t required to conform to the same confines of the Past and the Present.”

Jim doesn’t really know what to say to that. Gabe often had a way of speaking that tried to sound meaningful but it was usually overblown “corporate” speak. He decides it’s best to stay silent and follow Gabe.

Although they can’t be seen, Jim feels out of place walking through Target with Gabe. Or, rather, Gabe is outwardly uncomfortable in the toy section of the super store in such a way that Jim feels like an outsider by association. He has frequented this store, and lately, this section specifically, more times than he can count.

A loud, familiar voice pulls his attention to the row of bikes along the back wall. “Lady, I don’t know what you want from me! It’s Christmas Eve. You and everybody else wants a damn bike for their kid!”

“Darryl?” Jim questions, forgetting momentarily that he can’t be heard. Jim turns to Gabe who is sneering at a nearby toddler wearing more of her evening snack than she is eating it. “Gabe, why does Darryl work here?”

Gabe shakes his head disgustedly at the small child and turns to Jim, relieved to have a distraction. Businesslike he answers, “Oh, he was fired from Dunder Mifflin.”

“Fired?” Jim asks doubtfully. “No way. There’s no way Darryl would ever get fired from Dunder Mifflin.” He shakes his head, convinced Gabe has it all wrong.

“In his role,” Gabe strikes a pretentious, corporate tone and sounds as though he is about to read directly from the company handbook, “Darryl can’t oversee the warehouse with a DUI.”

It’s Gabe’s matter of fact shrug that gets under Jim’s skin the most. He matches with a shrug of his own, clearly not understanding how this could have happened. “Darryl’s never had a DUI.”

Jim watches as the woman raises her voice to match Darryl’s and demands to speak to a manager. The argument escalates until both Darryl and the customer are shouting at one another. Jim struggles to imagine Darryl behaving this way with a customer, regardless of how stressful the situation becomes.

“This doesn’t make sense.” Jim stuffs his hands in pockets and shrugs helplessly. “When did this happen?”

“2012. In fact,” Gabe continues almost gleeful that Jim gave him this perfect opening, “it was after the office Christmas party.”

Jim immediately recalls the sad image he and Kelly witnessed of Darryl sitting alone in his office, drinking gluhwein directly from the community bowl. “Why did he drink so much?”

“Because of you,” Gabe doesn’t look at Jim when he says it. He’s still avidly watching the argument with depraved excitement.

“What do you mean, because of me? What does that mean?”

Still not looking at Jim, Gabe explains. “You told Darryl you were going to get him an interview with Athlead and never came through. He waited patiently, but he kept hearing you refer to that as the last Christmas party and he — My god, this woman is angry!” Gabe looks genuinely thrilled at the scene.

Jim, not amused by the interruption, presses. “He what, Gabe? What did Darryl do?”

Gabe lets out an exasperated sigh and finally looks at Jim. “When he got fired, he gave up, Jim. He lost his job at Dunder Mifflin, he couldn’t count on you to call him back. He. Gave. Up.”

“No,” Jim shakes his head and squares his shoulders. “No way. Pam would have called me to —”

Jim can’t finish his sentence; it all happens faster than he can process. First, the toddler throws up a purple sticky substance on Gabe’s shoes. Gabe, shocked and repulsed, grabs Jim’s arm thus transporting them into what appears to be a graveyard.

Gabe, awkward limbs flailing, runs off, crying about Italian leather, leaving Jim behind with the snow-covered headstones. Jim breathes a sigh of relief, needing a minute to process the information he has about Darryl.

I can fix this, he thinks. I’ll call Pam back as soon as I get to Philly. He remembers the way they ended their call and his curt reference to talking tomorrow hangs over his head. If she’ll answer my call.

Jim walks to the footpath that has been cleared of snow. He decides to walk to the top of the hill, hoping Gabe, who has disappeared, will be able to find him.

Jim knows he’s still in Scranton, at a familiar graveyard near the highway. He’s almost to the crest of the hill when he hears the haunting moan of a grief-stricken friend. Jim knows it’s Dwight before he even sees him; he’s heard that sound before. Reluctantly, he makes his way closer, dreading but certain of whose name is on the headstone Dwight is weeping in front of.

“Oh, Dwight,” Jim says softly. He lets out a long breath as he reads that Angela Martin died almost a year ago, survived by her cats and her son, Phillip. In that order.

Dwight, stroking a ceramic angel figurine, is sobbing and moaning incoherently. The tightness in Jim’s chest is not only for the sympathy he feels at Dwight’s loss but his own fear of losing Pam. To some, it might seem selfish, but he can’t help the chill that runs through his body as he imagines being in Dwight’s position.

“He’s done this every day since she died.” It’s Gabe’s voice, having clearly recovered from his shoe catastrophe, that Jim hears behind him. “He barely eats. He doesn’t sleep. He’s here all day, every day. It’s the regret that’s killing him.”

“What regret?”

“Well, at first, the regret that the Scranton branch closed because of him. Angela wouldn’t have been looking for another job and been hit by a car if she was still working at Dunder Mifflin.”

“What?” Jim asks before Gabe can continue. He shakes his head. “Dwight is the top salesman in the company. How could the Scranton branch close because of him?”

Gabe studies Jim, almost clinically, for a long moment. When he finally speaks, his tone is reserved and factual. “When you go to Philadelphia after the Christmas party, the bus that you’re on in the Present, that sets into motion a whole chain of events. Not just for Darryl. David Wallace let Dwight hire someone to replace you. Dwight hired his friend, Rolf, who managed to run off every major client the Scranton branch had. Everyone was let go.”

“Because of me?” Jim points to himself incredulously. “Come on,” he says dismissively.

“You weren’t there to influence Dwight’s decision on who to hire or how to handle the office.”

“But I’m not leaving. Not yet.” Jim hears the hollow sound of that last word. Because he knows Wade wants to talk about Jim’s plans to come full-time before the new year. He gulps down the rock in his throat.

As if he hasn’t heard Jim, Gabe continues, “Without you there to set the balance to Dwight’s...idiosyncrasies, everything falls apart. Dwight carried that guilt, but it was Angela that brought him the most pain.”

“Why? What about Angela?”

“Jim, he never told her he loved her. Even after the scandal and the divorce from the Senator, he was so broken, doubted himself after ruining Dunder Mifflin, that he never believed he was worth being loved.”

Jim looks back at Dwight, who is not only grief-stricken at his loss but deeply regretting the time he didn’t get with the woman he loved.    

“He would never admit it, but he looked at you and Pam as what he hoped to attain. When he didn’t have that hope anymore…” Gabe trails off.

Jim is lost in his thoughts, wondering how he could have that kind of impact on so many people. He’s trying to piece together how he can set everything right when Gabe’s words hit him.

The words ‘didn’t have that hope anymore’ tumble around in his head. Jim slowly pulls his eyes from Dwight as he asks hesitantly, “What do you mean that he didn’t have that hope anymore?”  

Gabe smiles almost maliciously as if he knows something Jim doesn’t. When Gabe places a hand on Jim’s shoulder, his blood runs cold.

For a brief moment, Jim feels an overwhelming sense of comfort. He’s standing in his living room, the Christmas tree decorated as always, and the smell of Pam’s Christmas Eve peanut butter cookies wafting from the kitchen.

Gabe looks around the room, his face clouded with judgment and criticism. Jim’s frustration with Gabe’s look of silent condescension, combined with the comfort of finally being in his own home, sends Jim looking for the one sight he desperately needs to see.

Pam is standing in the kitchen, her back to the doorway. She’s stacking cookies into a round tin, securing the lid tightly. Jim smiles, waiting with certainty, confident that she’s about to break into a Christmas song. Actually, he’s surprised that a song isn’t playing through her iPod dock already.

A knock at the front door turns her toward him. Pam looks tired. No, she looks exhausted. He’s not sure when he’s seen her so pale and withdrawn. Her mouth turns down deeply as she carries the tin of cookies with her as she shuffles toward the front of the house, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

Pam stops briefly at the bottom of the stairs and weakly calls, “Cece! Phil! Come on, you guys.” She moves toward the front door and quietly says to herself, “It’s time to go.”

Pam opens the door and Jim is shocked to see himself, Future Jim, Jim from the fancy Philadelphia apartment, standing on his own doorstep.

“Why am I knocking on my own door?” Jim asks Gabe, who has been following behind.

“So this is the dream house you bought for Pam?” Gabe disdainfully says. This isn’t exactly an answer but Jim is preoccupied with watching Future Jim and Pam awkwardly greet each other, not making eye contact.

Jim slowly moves closer, this by far the worst and most crippling of everything he’s seen since this whole insane journey began. His breathing is becoming shallow as the realization of what’s going on hits him.

Future Jim sits on the couch, politely, like a guest. He and Pam speak briefly about weather and traffic until he interrupts their conversation to answer a quick call, clearly business related. She carries in two duffel bags and sets them at his feet while he’s talking. He smiles at her and nods in appreciation as though she’s handed him a glass of water. He ends the call, and the room is quiet but thick with tension.

Pam finally breaks the silence, her voice full of frustration. “Jim, can you please just sign the papers?” She crosses her arms firmly over her chest and looks at him expectantly.

Future Jim takes one last glance at his phone and then slides it into his pocket. He sighs heavily before finally looking up at her. “Pam, it doesn’t have to be like this. Can’t we just —”

Pam groans audibly, her voice in a harsh whisper. “We’ve been separated for a year. All I’m asking for is the house and child support. You’re moving to Austin, Jim. Austin.”

Jim looks up at the sound of little feet as Phillip comes into the room. Despite the devastating situation that consumes him, Jim can’t help but relish four-year-old Phillip. Long limbs and curly hair, hazel eyes and big feet, all of it catches Jim’s breath.

“Cece’s not going,” Phillip says by way of greeting. He’s carrying around the stuffed turtle Penny gave him as a baby. It’s now worn and clearly well-loved. Phillip flops down on the couch on his back. Absently he says, “Hey, Daddy.”

“Hey, Phil,” Future Jim says at the same time his phone rings. He jumps up and moves out to the front door as he answers it. “Wade, what’d he say?”

Pam stares out the front door, her face longing and disappointed as she watches Future Jim smile into the phone, laugh toward the sky in a way he once reserved for her. She sighs and moves up the stairs as she quietly says, “Oh, Jim. I hope it’s enough for you.”

Jim follows her up the stairs into Cece’s room. Seeing Cece three years older is more of a shock to his system than he expected. She’s a miniature version of Pam with wild curls and fair skin. The way her nose gets red when she’s crying and her little fingers furiously wiping away her tears are painfully similar as well.

Cece wipes her snotty nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I don’t wanna go.” She tries to sound tough and determined as she fixes her stare on her mother.

Pam sighs helplessly before she crosses the room to sit beside her daughter on the floor. “Your cousins will be there. If you don’t go Vanessa will torment your brother.” She glances down and then playfully nudges Cece with her shoulder. “That’s supposed to be your job.”

Cece tries to glare at her mother through a curtain of reddish-brown curls. “He’s always working. Even at Nana’s. He doesn’t play with us. He just stays on his phone.”

Jim slides down to the floor across the room so that he’s sitting against the wall by the doorframe. He knows Pam can’t see him, but as she stares off into space, trying to conjure the right words to comfort their daughter, she’s unknowingly staring right at him.

“Honey, Daddy loves you so much.”

“He loves you, too,” Cece says in a hopeful whisper.

Jim feels hot tears in his eyes as he watches Pam look down at their daughter. She pulls Cece into her lap, even if she is a bit too big to be cradled like this anymore. He watches them gently rock until Pam finally says softly, “Have I ever told you how excited your dad was the day you were born?”

Jim listens to Pam tell Cece about the day she was born. She starts with Kevin (their friend from Dunder Mifflin, she gently reminds) calling while she was eating first breakfast to tell her of his plans for second breakfast. She continues with the more child-appropriate version of the day, telling Cece about their friends’ attempts to distract her and a description of Ultra Feast. From time to time, during her story, Pam’s gaze falls into the air before her, and Jim swears she is looking right at him.

“And then I found Daddy in the parking lot, sitting in the car…” She looks down to Cece, both of them smiling slightly.

“Why was he in the car, Mommy?”

Pam looks at the wall where he sits. The brokenness on her face, hardened from too much disappointment, brings him slowly to his feet.

She sighs gently and looks lovingly at Cece as she says, “Oh, cause Mommy was being stubborn. So I told him about you…”

As he leaves the room his pace quickens, and he takes the stairs down two at a time.

This is not the life I want. This is not the life Pam wants.

“Gabe!” Jim calls out multiple times. “Gabe!” He’s well aware that these ghosts or spirits or whoever it is that has been dragging him around can get him back to his wife. Back to Pam, when she was — is — his wife. Jim is at the back of the house, his voice carrying as he yells again, “Gabe, I wanna go back. I want, I need, to get back. I need to get back to Scranton! Gabe!”

Jim runs toward the sound of the front door closing, yanking it open so that he’s now on his front porch. Pam is carrying a tearful Cece and the tin of cookies toward Future Jim’s Porsche Cayenne at the same time Phillip is whining about a pebble in his shoe, following his dad with a dutiful detachment that pains Jim to watch.

Future Jim, distracted by his phone, ignores the scene playing out around him. Pam buckles in Phillip after gently shaking out his shoe. She reminds him to be polite and to refuse to pull Uncle Tom’s finger. While Future Jim tosses the kids’ duffel bags into the trunk, Pam reassures a sniffling Cece with a tight hug and the gentle reminder that she will be home by noon tomorrow, Christmas Day.

Pam and Future Jim meet at the driver’s side door. He finally ends his call and slides the phone into his jacket pocket.

“These are for your dad. They’re his favorite.” Pam thrusts the metal holiday tin into Future Jim’s hands. “And don’t forget Phillip has all of a sudden been scared of the dark so, just, you know, be patient with him. And Cece,” she glances at his jacket pocket, “she misses you, Jim.”

Jim makes his way down the walkway, inching closer to the car. He watches his future self shift uncomfortably from one foot to another before defeatedly saying, “Pam, I’ll sign the papers this week. If that’s...if that’s what you really want.”

Stunned, Jim watches Pam nod, a relieved sigh escaping her lips. Softly, she says, “Okay. Thank you.”

“No, no, no. NO! No!” Jim says repeatedly, loudly.

It doesn’t matter, of course, how loud he is. Pam and Future Jim can’t hear him. They can’t see him running his hands through his hair, pacing, convinced he’s on the verge of having a heart attack.

Pam and Future Jim stare wistfully at each other for a moment until she says, “Merry Christmas, Jim.” They lean in for an awkward, obligatory hug, more of a pat on the back, and pull away just as quickly, each retreating to their own corners.

“What the hell was that?” Jim asks the air.

Future Jim climbs into the driver’s seat and turns the ignition. Something draws his attention to his pocket and he answers the phone, all smiles and business as he slowly backs out of the driveway. Pam is barrelling up the walkway, her face blank, her jaw tightening with each step.

Jim watches the Cayenne speeding down the street, cursing his future self for talking on his cell phone while driving with his kids in the car. He hears Pam opening the door, and he’s running to her.    

Every logical and rational part of him knows it’s futile, but he’s calling her name, desperate to stop her from going inside. Jim's sole focus is getting to Pam, the one person who makes everything in his life worth living.

The door closes just as he reaches the porch, and he’s already pounding against the metal, the sound hollow, as he pleadingly repeats her name until it’s practically a chant.  She’s disappearing into the darkness of the house, lowering lights as she goes further.

Determined, he continues to bang weakly, “Pam, please, Pam,” on his lips.

“Pam, Pam, I’m sorry. Pam.” Jim jolts up and rubs his temple, numb from the cold glass of the window his head was propped against.

Jim looks around wildly. He’s sitting on the bus obviously at the Scranton bus station, the renovated bus station.

The older woman across the aisle glances at him over her glasses, her knitting needles moving deftly in her fingers.

“Ma’am, excuse me, ma’am,” Jim is breathing heavily like he’s been running. He tries to steady himself against her suspicious look so that she doesn’t mistake him for a crazy person, but he knows his questions aren’t going to help his case. “We’re in Scranton, right? And it’s 2012, right?” She nods slowly and inches away from him. “And you can see me and hear me, right?”

By now a few other passengers are craning their necks, rightfully more concerned about the safety of the lady than Jim whose wild look and weird questions are earning him looks. He’s already pulling on his coat and slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder, thanking the woman profusely as he makes his way off the bus.

He smiles broadly at the sleek ticketing counter and the steel modern chairs, the renovation that was Scranton’s answer to not having an airport. The date on the digital board tells him exactly what he needs to know: December 21, 2012, 3:22 PM. He’s pretty sure he looks ridiculous as he runs through the bus terminal, grinning like a mad man. But he really can’t bring himself to care, Gabe’s words fueling him toward the row of cabs waiting out front.

The Future isn’t required to conform to the same confines of the Past and the Present.

Jim practically barks the address on Slough Avenue as he slides into the backseat of the cab. He reaches his hand to retrieve his cell phone, intent on calling Pam immediately. Instead, he pulls out two items he’s certain he didn’t put in his bag. The first, a white envelope with a single word on the front in his handwriting. But that’s in a box in my closet? He doesn’t think too long about that once he looks at the second item.

“My best magic trick yet. -MS,” he reads on the post-it note attached to a slim jewel case holding a disc inside and smiles to himself. The ride to the office is twelve minutes. Jim slides the disc into his laptop and hopes he has enough time to see what Michael put together.

***

“Dwight, want me to get you some eggnog?”

“No, thanks. I’ll just have another Dumatril. Jim taught me this really cool way to take it. You crush it into a powder, and you snort it up your butt.”

Jim stops himself for a brief second just before he walks into the office. He made a phone call from the cab but not to Pam; he wants, no needs, to surprise her. Between the call to Wade, Michael’s video, and the reality of finally seeing Pam, the ride to the office felt shorter than when he left. Jim takes a breath. If he’s frazzled, she’ll worry, and if Jim does anything in his life, it will be to keep Pam from worrying about anything.   

“Yep, I did say that.” He keeps his tone and expression casual, but he almost loses it when she excitedly says his name and moves toward him. It’s practically divine intervention that Dwight reaches him first and hugs him, as that at least keeps him from sobbing in Pam’s arms. “What are you doing? The last time I saw you, you were whipping me out of the building.”

“Shh. Let’s not speak of that,” Dwight says. He becomes more excited as he realizes the opportunity Jim’s return presents. “The pig rib! We could totally break the pig rib! I’m gonna dig it out of the trash!”

Dwight’s face has the enthusiasm of a small child on Christmas morning. It’s the only reason Jim returns the high-five and decides he will go along with the pig rib-pulling that awaits him.

Pam slips into his arms for a hug just as she asks, “What happened? Did you miss your bus?”

“No. I just missed my wife.” Honestly, the smile she gives him is rewarding enough, but then her warm lips are on his and she’s wrapping her arms tighter around him.

Their kiss is interrupted by Dwight’s eager, “I found it!”

Jim looks up to see Dwight brandishing the bent bone, still shining from its existence in the pig stomach. Pam’s hands are slowly pulling away from his waist, but he grabs one hand as he speaks to Dwight. “I was really counting on pulling the pig rib with Belshnickel, though.”

Dwight tries to hide the pride and enthusiasm in his smile, but he’s never good at that. Adopting his best Belsnickel accent, Dwight says, “Never you worry, Jim Halpert. Belsnickel will arrive shortly!”

Jim looks down at Pam and whispers, “Got a minute for me to give you something?”

“Sure,” she agrees readily, picking up her cup of eggnog and following him. He’s moving the stack of banker’s boxes in the supply closet by Accounting when she quirks an eyebrow and admonishes him. “Jim.”

It should sound like she’s chastising him, but he sees the glimmer in her eye and the way she puts only one hand on her hip. If she were really upset with him it would be both hips and her right foot pointed out. “What?” He grins at her just as he pops open the door into the secret hallway.

“Seriously the kids are staying with your mom tonight. We don’t have to —”

“Pam!” Now it’s his turn to feign offense. “I just want to give my wife something and you make it dirty. Jesus, Pam.”  He squeezes her hand and casts a teasing smile at her as they continue down the hall. He steals a glance over her shoulder just to be sure no camera guys, or nosy sound guys, are following them.

They reach the bench and Pam is genuinely surprised when Jim sits down and begins to pull his laptop out of his bag. She studies him as she takes a sip of eggnog and finally joins him. “Wanted to get some work done?”

Wordlessly, he takes the cup from her hand and places it on the floor before handing her the laptop. He presses play and suddenly images of the two of them flicker on the screen as music fills the otherwise quiet hallway. As the chorus begins, the words so clear to both of them — Tell me that you’ll open your eyes — Pam silently reaches over and links their fingers together, never looking away from the screen. Jim watches her, soaking up every twitch of her smile, every nostalgic sigh.

He grins at her eyebrows scrunching in confusion as she watches him onscreen taking the teapot note from the box while she isn’t looking. As the video ends, Pam turns to face him. She squeezes the hand she’s holding and uses her other to wipe away the trail of sentimental tears on her cheeks.

“Well, now you’re ready for this.” He pulls out the card that somehow magically appeared with the disc in his bag.

“What’s that?”

“It’s from the teapot.” He gestures with his chin to the laptop he is removing from her lap, closing it and placing it beside him on the bench. “Everything you’ll ever need to know is in that note.”

Pam fumbles slightly to pull out the card, fresh tears pooling in her eyes as she reads it. Jim, because he can, reaches over and tucks a curl of hair behind her ear. She gives him a shaky smile.

“If I’ve...I’ve…” He stumbles on his words, having been so confident that he would be able to say everything perfectly to put her at ease. The memory of watching her sit on this bench, crying after their phone call, floods him. He returns her hand to his and says, “Not enough for me? You are everything.” He shakes his head at the last line, it’s crucial for her to know how much he means it, that nothing else could be as important.

Pam sits still for a moment, watching him, likely wondering what has prompted this gesture of love from him. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Her hands are on his shoulders and she leans in to hug him, so his arms instinctively wrap around her. It’s awkward; they’re twisting at the waist and they’re straining to really feel each other, both clearly wanting more.

Without thinking, Jim stands, pulling Pam to her feet in a fluid motion. He’s able to properly wrap his arms around her in a way that he realizes he hasn’t taken the time to do in far too long.

It takes her a moment to understand the desperation that he is feeling for her touch. He doesn’t know what she’s thinking about that finally sparks a similar response, but she finally melts against him, her arms clinging to his neck, her breath warm close to his ear.

Her warm mouth finally meets his and she tastes like nutmeg and bourbon. They’ve been so out of sync for so long, but it’s not at all a surprise when, at the exact same moment, they stop kissing to touch their foreheads together and say in unison, “I love you.” They giggle softly, a companionable recognition that they’re finally getting back on the same page.

Pam returns her mouth to his, and the soft moans from the back of her throat are driving him crazy. He holds her lower back with one hand and lets the fingers of the other tickle along her ribs. Pam’s hands are gripping his shirt collar with the same ferocity her mouth is fixed to his, but her feet are moving them toward the utility closet.

They reach the door, Pam’s back making a light thumping sound upon contact. That’s when her mouth moves to his neck and her hands are tugging at the front of his waistband near his belt buckle. She pushes her butt against the door and backs them into the utility closet full of toilet paper, undiluted cleaning chemicals, and extra mop buckets.

“Pam.” Jim stops, holding the door open with his fingertips. The look on her face makes him momentarily question how honest he should be; he decides on completely. “Pam, I didn’t come back here expecting this.”

Jim glances at the bench near the doorframe where he is standing. He’s not sure how he’ll ever be able to explain to her what he experienced tonight. A part of him wonders if he’ll ever be able to explain any of it.

When he looks back at Pam, he knows she has more to say. She has opinions and hurt feelings and experiences about this season they’ve found themselves and about their future. She has things to say about what she wants and needs, questions to ask about what he wants and needs. But she also knows them; they’re Pam and Jim. They need just a little bit of fun before they get into the necessary serious stuff.

She quirks a single eyebrow and says, “Well, I did.”

***

Jim pulled the pig rib, invited Brian and Alyssa to grab a beer with him and Pam next week (stressing the phrase ‘double date’ at least three times in the conversation), set up Darryl with not only a cab ride home tonight (after he crashed into the whole table of food) but also an interview at Athlead next week, and even managed to have some eggnog.

Everyone from the office is making their way to the parking lot, slowly dispersing to their cars. Jim pulls Pam closer under his shoulder, cursing the inches their coats add to the distance between their bodies.

Dwight, still in costume and proudly channeling his Belsnickel persona, looks at Jim and says, “Jim, I judge your year as admirable.”

“Aw, thanks, Dwight.”

Phyllis interrupts any further conversation by asking Dwight if she can buy the wooden bowls from him. Jim doesn’t really listen to Dwight’s tirade about the scarcity of the type of wood or her lack of appreciation for his great great grandfather’s craftsmanship so much that she doesn’t deserve the bowls even if she gave him a million dollars. Instead, Jim notices Angela, a small proud smile on her face as she watches Dwight berating Phyllis.

One day, Jim will let Dwight know what’s obvious to him and probably everyone else. That Dwight and Angela are in love with each other, and they always have been.

The bickering ceases when Oscar says, “Hey, everybody wanna grab a drink?”

Jim is planning to take Pam to their quiet house and have a long conversation about what they both really want out of the future, resolved to make it clear that the most important thing he wants is for their family to be together. He is planning to share with her that he told Wade he and Pam need some time to figure out how Athlead fits into their life, not the other way around. Then he’s planning to take advantage of their much-needed alone time so that he can do that thing she likes that makes her almost black out.

Jim, of course, will do whatever Pam wants. He glances down to gauge her response.

He meets her eyes, now a mossy green shade that tells him she’s thinking about doing that thing he likes that leaves him slightly, pleasantly unable to move a muscle for ten minutes. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth to hide her mischievous smile. It’s adorable how unsuccessful she is at it.

“I think we’re gonna go home,” Jim says to the group, glancing down at Pam for affirmation. “You know, and, uh, wrap Christmas presents.”

The group isn’t fooled but no one cares as they’re already arguing the merits of Cooper’s versus Poor Richard’s. Pam is giggling softly into his chest as calls of ‘Merry Christmas’ and ‘Happy Holidays’ and ‘Don’t knock her up, Jim!’ (that one courtesy of Meredith) ring clear through the parking lot.

“Let’s get home.”

He drops a kiss to her hairline and inhales the scent of her shampoo, a familiar blend of rosemary and mint. She leans against him and gently squeezes her fingers into his waist. It’s such a small gesture but so silently reassuring him of her presence. Jim briefly closes his eyes, absorbs the peace he feels with her tucked under his arm.

“Home sounds perfect,” he says into the crown of her head and wraps her into a hug, knowing he’s already there.