Halfway Home by Dernhelm
Past Featured StorySummary:

'He thought that one day when things were finally right between them, he would tell her about this evening, and the painting, and the sun in her hair. But this day hadn’t come yet.' 

Set before the seasons (and in AU).  


Categories: Jim and Pam, Alternate Universe Characters: Jim, Jim/Pam, Pam, Pam/Roy, Roy
Genres: Angst, Fluff, Inner Monologue, Romance
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 9 Completed: Yes Word count: 34359 Read: 19325 Published: April 23, 2020 Updated: July 11, 2020
Story Notes:

So. 

This story appeared because I'm dying for the simple joys of life I'm deprived of right now. 

And, since I have a very vague idea of American everyday life, the story set in a different city (coincidentally, it looks the hell like Kyiv). 

Hope it wouldn't be very confusing.

1. Not today for sure tomorrow by Dernhelm

2. Please don't cry by Dernhelm

3. Break my chest not knowing the measure by Dernhelm

4. Love in payphones is doomed to be short-lived by Dernhelm

5. I will be as white as snow if you allow me to be by Dernhelm

6. Understand me without dictionaries by Dernhelm

7. You start my day before the dawn by Dernhelm

8. The reason of life is to find life by Dernhelm

9. I love you and this is right by Dernhelm

Not today for sure tomorrow by Dernhelm
Author's Notes:

The chapter title is from "She" by Plach Yeremiji (The Cry of Jeremiah) 

If you asked most of the people what their favorite day of the week was, they probably would say either Saturday or Friday. If you asked Jim Halpert the same question, he would definitely say Tuesday and Thursday — and he had a pretty good reason for that. These days Roy Anderson worked in a warehouse across the city; these days, Pam Beesly went home alone, and he could pretend that they were coming home together. 

In the earlier days, when Jim had thought that he would have gotten over his crush on an engaged woman quicker if he had witnessed her happiness with her fiance, he had made several mistakes leaving the office together with them. Later, Jim made an excuse by an excuse to avoid that, saying he had to finish his papers or that he was going to workout in the gym or that he planned to meet with friends in a bar in a different direction. He thought up anything that could help him to avoid that awkward silence when no one could find a common theme to talk about, the sight of a fleshy arm around Pam’s narrow shoulders or half-horrified half-embarrassed expression on her face that appeared every time Roy said something insensitive. 

But there were other days when it was so easy to forget about Roy Anderson’s existence.

These days, Tuesdays and Thursdays, they left the office building together. Truth to be told, at first, it had been a coincidence, that they’d left the office building together; but soon it became a tradition, something that (to Jim’s delight) they both anticipated.

 There were two paths to the metro station — a short one, by the highway, and a long one, across the park; they always chose the long one. Jim deliberately slowed his pace, to measure it with Pam’s and to stretch this time as much as it was possible. Pam clutched her purse, and Jim hid his hands in his pockets; there were too many moments when the most natural thing to do was to take her hand and lace his fingers with hers, and the impossibility of this doing was sometimes too much to bear. They discussed the latest Dwight’s inanity or the films they wanted to watch or simply laughed; indeed, they didn’t even need to have a particular subject to talk about to have a great time together. Sometimes, they continued playing the twenty questions game they’d once started; the twenty questions turned into thirty, and they — into fifty. If Jim kept counting, he would say they were on their one hundred sixty-fourth question; but he had lost count many, many days ago. 

They reached the metro station and started to go underground. The escalator ride was quite long; Pam stood two stairs above Jim, so their eyes were on the same level. It was the last chance for them to speak before the clatter and rumble of the trains made it impossible. Also, this descent was always a test of his willpower — to keep the conversation light and not to stare into her eyes or at her lips; he ended with looking at her nose bridge as the middle ground between looking away and staring creepily. 

Their station was the second after the terminus, so when the train arrived, it was almost empty. Pam usually took a seat, fished her phone out the purse and sent a message or two — to Roy, to her mom or her sister; Jim never knew for sure and, honestly, didn’t want to know. When she finished with it, she raised her head and gave Jim, who leaned to the handhold near the bench she was sitting, a small smile. He returned it. They both were silent.

The next station was the big one and the wagon filled with people, returning from their workplaces as well. Pam always stood up, proposing to sit an older person, or a parent with a kid, or just someone, who looked especially tired. She stood near Jim then, and the crowd around pushed them closer to each other, and this particular moment was the sweetest and the bitterest at the same time. She was as close to him as she could be; but the next station was her station to leave. 

The ride between these stations, though, was one of the longest in the whole metro system. Jim had told her once that there was a station that was built but never opened on the way; ever since when the train scarcely slowed down, Pam looked at the window to try to notice an empty and dark platform. When she did see it, she always looked at him, as if she shared some secret knowledge with him; this look made his heart swell. 

Sometimes, though it was a rare occasion, the train jerked unexpectedly, and she lost her balance. When it happened, his hand flew immediately to her, to keep her steady and to save her from falling. Pam always said sorry and complained about her clumsiness; Jim wondered what she would say if she knew about the thrills he gained from these innocent touches. He saved the ideas of less innocent touches for later and more secluded places. Perhaps, it was wrong to think that way about his friend — and another man’s fiancée — but he just couldn’t help it. 

Sometimes, and that happened even rarer than her losing balance, Pam remembered something particularly funny or endlessly essential and had an urge to share it with Jim immediately. She made a gesture, and he lowered his head to her; she whispered that she wanted to say in his ear, but he barely caught the meaning of what had been said. The sensation of her breath on his skin obscured the words. Jim made a face to her as if he hadn’t caught what she’d said, and she repeated; her whispering sent chills down his spine. He whispered his answers back and her hair tickled his nose; he saved that feeling into his mental ‘Pam-box’, that kept everything about her — from her first ‘hi!’ to him to the scent of her shampoo and her favorite yogurt flavor. It was a pity what usually she was so silent on the ride home. 

But these blessed four to five minutes of her nearness inevitably came to an end. The train stopped at her transfer station, and she waved goodbye, moving to the exit. Many people left here, even more — came into the wagon. Jim watched her pink coat, the only colorful spot in the sea of black, brown, and dark blue outerwear. But she disappeared from his sight too quickly. The doors were closed; the train moved on. 

When Jim was alone again, he reached his pocket and took his iRiver with earbuds. He scrolled through it mindlessly and chose a random song. But even if it appeared to be a heavy metal ballad or punk rock song, it still vaguely reminded him of Pam. 

‘Oh, my little girl with sad eyes,

Oh, my golden fate and rest,

I continue with my screaming

For the night is bare and vast.’

Jim smirked humorlessly. Just a couple of years ago, using these lines accompanied by nicely done chords and a few jokes had been a reliable way to gain a phone number from this or that charmed dorm girl. And here he was, having heartache from the song he had used to hit on girls. He wondered what Pam would think about his performance if she ever heard it. He asked himself if there was a song that made Pam love him. 

The station went after the station; the train crossed the bridge over the river, and Jim narrowed his eyes at the setting sun. But then the train went underground again, and Jim was surrounded by darkness, artificial lights, and clattering that sounded even louder than the music in his ears. 

Every time Jim got off the metro on his station, he couldn’t stop thinking about how much the creator of his neighborhood despised people. Dozens and dozens of towers of bricks, concrete, glass — the human anthills that made everyone trapped inside feel miserable and insignificant. Everything is cold and grey; the only bright things here were the signboards of the shops. And yet, Jim was sure that Pam could find something beautiful and inspiring even in this place. He knew the area where she rented an apartment, and he heard her ranting about her landlord enough to create the image of her site: old panel buildings, nosy and loud neighbors, a tiny apartment with one kitchen and one room that was a bedroom, a dining room and a living room at the same time. But she kept bringing photos of flowers blooming around those indistinguishable brown five-story buildings or stray kittens peeking through the cellar window, and Jim was just amazed by her ability to see the beauty in the ordinariness around. 

He was up to his twelfth floor and opened the door of his apartment. His roommate Mark usually wasn’t at home, that meant he was somewhere with his girlfriend. In the good nights, when they were at hers, Jim had dinner and dreamless sleep; in bad ones, he woke up in the middle of the night from moanings, coming from the next room. Once awake, Jim spent the rest of the night in a drowse, frustrated, annoyed, and slightly horny. His days and nights, good and bad, smudged into one shapeless and timeless blur, and he saw neither beginning nor the end to it. 

One day, though, Jim caught Pam off guard when he moved to the exit at her station with her. 

‘My nephew has a birthday at the weekend, so…’ he shrugged when he met her questioning look. It was the truth, and it happened that the biggest toy store he knew about was nearby the station she transferred to her bus. Pam could ask him if there weren’t enough shops in his neighbor, but instead, she grinned. 

‘That’s awesome! Do you know what you want to gift him?’ 

‘No, I don’t,’ he confessed. ‘I don’t know what four years old likes nowadays. What did you like to do when you were four?’ 

‘Well,’ Pam said, slightly embarrassed, ‘I liked to seek for eggs in our chicken coop.’ 

She was from a small village, two hours away from the city. She still felt uncomfortable that her origin made her look rustic, less valued in the eyes of the city dwellers like Jim. And as before, he did his best to help her get rid of these feelings.

‘Wait a minute,’ Jim said with mocking confusion. ‘I’ve always thought that eggs magically appeared in grocery stores already in packages by six or ten.’ 

‘You are kidding, right?’ she looked at him incredulously, trying her best to keep a straight face. ‘Be honest. Have you ever seen a hen alive?’

‘Of course, I have,’ Jim feignedly offended. ‘I watched plenty of National Geographic when I was younger.’ 

She giggled, and he grinned, and everything was right again. They transferred to another metro line, talking about childhood memories and suggesting gift ideas. And Jim had never been so grateful to crowds and loud noises and sharp train’s moving — to all outer forces that brought Pam to him. Until he found his courage (or until some miracle occurred), these occasions were the only things he could count on. 

The train went to surface, and Pam closed her eyes when the sun rays lit her face; Jim admired quietly how the sunset changed her features, added color to her cheeks, and painted her curls red. She reminded him of some Preraphaelite painting he had seen once; later that evening, he spent half an hour looking that painting up. He thought that one day when things were finally right between them, he would tell her about this evening, and the painting, and the sun in her hair. But this day hadn’t come yet. 

When she opened her eyes, he pretended that he was reading a flyer above her head. 

The toy store was even bigger than Jim remembered, and he was thrilled when Pam suggested her help with choosing the gift. They were walking through aisles, looking at the toys and giggling occasionally. Jim got distracted with radio-controlled helicopters (he hesitated, trying to decide if he could buy one for himself and why this purchase was actually a fantastic idea). When he finally turned around, Pam was nowhere to find. He instantly forgot about toys and went to look for her. 

Jim found her a few aisles away, standing before the stand with Sylvanian Families dolls; she was looking wistfully at the family of tiny squirrels, dressed in fancy clothes, and posing in front of the dollhouse with a terrace. The pained expression on her face made his heart squeeze and urged him to do something, to do anything to wipe it away. Pam noticed him and turned her head, smiling to him openly as if she wasn’t so sorrowful just a moment ago. He smiled in return, but a thought appeared unbidden: was she really glad to see him, or was it her mask she got used to wearing? He prayed for the former. 

‘Found something interesting?’ 

He would like to ask her about her sudden sadness, would like to use that one hundred sixty-fifth question, but he wasn’t sure what it could bring — more sorrows to her or a tad understanding of her feelings to him. Perhaps, he wasn’t ready to take such a risk. 

‘Nah,’ she shook her head. Perhaps, she also wasn’t ready to share all her secrets with him. It was understandable but still stung a little. 

They ended up buying a giant egg, filled with the little toy dinosaurs — the favorite among children from three to eight, as a shop assistant had assured them. Jim held the gift carefully with both hands, and she couldn’t stop giggling and calling him ‘mother hen.’ He made a face to her, but in fact, he was basking in the warmth of her sincere joy. 

Jim saw her off the bus to her home. They exchanged their ‘see you tomorrow’ and smiles, and waves goodbye. Jim stood at the bus station, watching as she came inside the vehicle, paid for a ticket, and sat near the window; then she turned to him and waved once more, giving him that smile that he loved so much. 

The bus drove away, leaving Jim to look at the road traffic but seeing only her last smile. 

 

If he had ever been about to get over Pam, apparently he had been doing it all wrong. 

End Notes:

Fun fact: if you visit a random Ukrainian campus and meet a random company with a guitar, sooner or later but this song will be sung. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaQEnpYoA2U

And the translated lyrics: https://lyricstranslate.com/en/%D0%B2%D0%BE%D0%BD%D0%B0-she.html#songtranslation 

Please don't cry by Dernhelm
Author's Notes:

Thank you all who read and reviewed this story, your encouragement and kind words mean so much to me!

The chapter title is from 'Please don't cry' by DakhaBrakha

'Are you even listening to me, Pam?' 

It was Friday, and they were on the way to their home village, where at the weekend Roy's mother — Ma Anderson — had her sixtieth anniversary. On the way home, Roy cussed halfheartedly about morons who didn't know how to drive, about the bumps on the road, and about the traffic violation fines; his voice mixed with the loud music Pam didn't actually like (but, since Roy was driving, she thought that it would be fair if he chose the radio station). The heavy odor of gasoline, cigarettes, and pine air freshener made her queasy a little, and she felt drowsiness, not registering on time when Roy stopped complaining and started talking to her. 

'Huh? Oh, I'm sorry, I just don't feel well and doze off a little,' she said apologetically. He looked at her with a slight concern.

'Hey, if you want to puke, I'll stop somewhere. No need to do it in the car,' Roy suggested. Pam just smiled faintly. 

'I think I'll be fine, thanks. So… what are you talking about?'

'It's Kenny. He said he knew a guy who could offer me a fine job. You know, more money won't hurt.' 

'That's… that's great,' Pam smiled at him. 'What would you have to do?' 

'Oh, the usual stuff. Loading, driving, and so on. Nothing I didn't do before, but the payment is three times better than I have now. I'm sure there will be something for you as well. And this guy says we won't have problems with the visa, so…' 

He said something more, but Pam registered nothing after the word 'visa.' 

'Wait, what?' she asked incredulously. 'Visa? Like, for going abroad?'

'Well, yeah,' Roy answered. 'Where can you find a better paying job in this country?' 

'I don't know,' Pam trailed off. 'I mean, it's a great opportunity, but moving out… It's such a big step. I'm not sure we're ready for it.' 

'And that's it?' he said with disbelief. 'A great opportunity? Pam, people would kill for the chance to move out, and you're going to screw the solid deal!'

'Roy, please, let's talk about it later,' Pam begged. 'I need to think about it, and…' 

'There's nothing to think about,' Roy huffed. 'But whatever.'

Pam sighed and turned to the window. Just the thought about moving out, about starting her life from scratch, scared her, but Roy seemed to be into it very much, and that meant they unavoidably would have a fight. But tomorrow would be his mother's birthday, and Pam just didn't want to worsen his mood now; judging by the returning of his grumbling, one wrong word would make him explode. So she just closed her eyes, feeling nausea coming back. 

They reached the village when it was already dark. As it had been decided earlier, Pam would spend a night at her mom's house, and the next day they both would go to Anderson's. Roy stopped the car near the familiar fence, not turning the ignition off. 

'We are expected at one p.m., right?' Pam asked. 'Maybe, we should show earlier, to help with preparations or…' 

'Relax, babe,' Roy brushed her off. 'Ma would be offended if you offered her help. She has everything under control. Don't worry, we'll just show her that we're alive, and ditch the party.' 

'Right,' Pam said, fumbling with her seatbelt. Roy watched her with a smirk. 

'Why do you always do that? Don't you trust me or my driving?' he asked. His own seatbelt hung flatly near the driver's seat; he never buckled in himself and couldn't stop mocking Pam's habit. 

'Of course, I trust you, Roy,' Pam said tiredly. 'But you can't trust all those people you meet on the road.' 

'I'm just kidding, Pam,' he cut her off, kissing her with a loud smack on the lips. 'See you tomorrow. Oh, and say 'hi' to Mrs. Beesly.' 

'Okay,' Pam said, leaving the car and closing the door behind. 'Good night, Roy.'

Pam watched as the car slowly drove away — she waved Roy goodbye once more, but he didn't notice her gesture — and only then opened the rickety wicket of her parent's yard. A loud barking that had started as soon as the car had reached the lane turned into an excited woofing when an old dog recognized her. 

The door of the house opened up, and a woman figure appeared in the doorway. 

'Hi, mom,' said Pam, smiling and hugging her mother. 'I'm home.'

She acknowledged a fallacy of her statement the next morning when she took the liberty of lying in her bed in her childhood room before she had to get out of bed and take care of domestic concerns. She had grown up here, in this house she had spent, probably, the happiest days of her life so far, but now it was just the home of her parents, not hers. Pam stared at the ceiling; she had used to trace with her eyes the tiny cracks in the plaster and to see the patterns there, maps of unknown lands. But now she saw only the cracks on the ceiling. It upset her a little and brought her a sense that was very similar to guilt. This house had been built by her grandfather, for his large family; but all his children — except for his daughter-in-law — had left this place many years ago and all his grandchildren — except for her and Penny — had been born elsewhere. And now she didn't think of this house as of her home, and as far as she knew, her sister also had no intention of returning.

Perhaps, it was right in some sense; they had to build something of their own. Nevertheless, it felt like a betrayal. 

Finally, she got out of bed and dressed in a t-shirt, an old stretched sweater, warm pants, and wool socks. Her morning duties hadn't changed since her childhood: while her mother was milking their nanny-goat, she had to feed fowl and to make breakfast. 

If Pam wasn't totally awake before, the sharp cold air outside successfully eliminated all the remaining traces of her sleep; the January hoarfrost crunched under the soles of her boots. She opened the chicken coop and let the birds go out, throwing three handfuls of grain into a feeder; when the last hen left its sleeping place, Pam slipped her hand inside a small wooden box. She chuckled as her fingers found between the straw stalks an oval object that was still warm. As the hens returned to their nest, hiding from the winter's cold, Pam recalled a few days ago conversation and bit her lip, vividly imagining as Jim hunched before the chicken coop, trying to fish eggs out of it. Then she imagined his reaction on the especially aggressive rooster her mom had, and couldn't keep herself from giggling. For sure, he would make that 'What's so funny, Beesly?' face to her, because she would be laughing so hard at his panic; and then he would probably read her a lecture, something about birds being the closest relatives to dinosaurs, and then they would discuss feathered tyrannosaurus and stegosaur's steaks, and later…

It was funny, Pam thought when she sliced bacon, peeled onions, and scrambled eggs for an omelet, that she had all these inner dialogues with Jim. She didn't even remember when it had started, but whenever she did her chores or noticed something particularly odd or hilarious, she started these conversations in her head; even funnier was that when she mentioned this or that theme to Jim, he reacted the way she had imagined. Of course, she didn't tell him about this little quirk of hers; it was slightly embarrassing and weird. But, after all, it was so good to have such a good friend, who you knew probably better than anyone else in your life. 

Pam took a mental note to take a photo of the rooster. She didn't mind listening to the dinosaur lecture one more time. 

After breakfast and finishing with the rest of the chores, it was time to prepare for the celebration. Pam changed into a modest dress and took the thoroughly chosen gift for Roy's mom; her mother locked the doors, and they went to Anderson's — they lived less than a kilometer away. Though Roy had said that his mom didn't need help, Pam knew that it would be better if she came earlier than later or in time. 

Truth be told, Ma Anderson both amazed and scared Pam. The first word Pam would use to describe her was 'strong'; she was well-built and stocky, with rugged features and loud voice. Mrs. Anderson had buried her alcoholic husband almost twenty years ago and had raised six children on her own. And now the matriarch of the Anderson clan had well-deserved rest, surrounded by her daughters, and sons, and grandchildren; Pam sincerely admired how this woman had coped with all the difficulties that her life had been abundant with.

But, at the same time, each visit to Anderson's house was an ordeal for Pam. Mrs. Anderson had never said a harsh word to Pam and never insulted her, but Roy was her youngest, her dearest son, and for him she wanted only the best. She never was satisfied with the way Pam managed the housekeeping — the meals she cooked for Roy weren't good enough, the clothes she bought for him were wrong, and many, many other little things that created the unpleasant picture of a lazy housewife. Years of striving made Mrs. Anderson believe that only one opinion was valued — her own, and each time Pam heard 'Pam, darling, come here,' she shuddered, knowing well that she would receive an admonition, after which she would feel like dirt. 

This time wasn't an exception, though the birthday party started well, and Pam did her best to be out of Mrs. Anderson's field of view as long as it was possible. After she and Roy gave her their presents (a silk shawl and a promise to take Mrs. Anderson to the sea), Pam sat timidly near Roy at the banquet table. It seemed like half of the village had gathered here; the music, voices, cheers, and laughter all formed an almost palpable noise. Roy enjoyed the party, talking loudly to Kenny, who sat across the table, while Mrs. Anderson cooed over her younger grandson affectionately at the head of the table; even her own mother chatted animatedly with her neighbors. Pam thought that if she disappeared, no one would notice her absence. Usually, that thought made her feel miserable, but at this moment, she was perfectly fine with that.

And when Pam decided to excuse herself from the table and went outside to have some fresh air, a baby was taken from Mrs. Anderson, and her gaze fell on Pam. 

'Pammy, darling, why won't you sit with me for a little.' It was not even a question. Pam felt as her stomach twisted with a sinking feeling, but she smiled meekly and came to the older woman. Mrs. Anderson patted the chair near her, and Pam took a seat obediently. 

'You know, Pam, I've never nosed into my children's affairs,' she started, and that feeling in Pam's stomach worsened. 'But I have to ask, why haven't you got married already?'

'Um' Pam squeaked, but Mrs. Anderson didn't finish her speech. 

'It's time to tie the knot. How many years do you know each other? I said nothing when you were in university — I got it, you wanted to have an education before you started a family, and I said nothing then. But now? Pam, when I was your age, I'd already been married and had two children. What are you waiting for?' 

Could Pam really say she wasn't married yet because Mrs. Anderson's beloved son didn't want to set a date? Because he made excuses, and even when Pam had suggested just to get a marriage license, rejecting her childhood dream of a big wedding, he had brushed her off? She couldn't, so she just said almost apologetically: 

'Well… we try to save for the wedding, but living in the city costs so much…'

'Yes, Roy told me the same,' Mrs. Anderson nodded. 'So I'm glad you decided to move out. Roy told me everything.'

'Did he?' Pam said dumbfounded.

'Of course! You can be secretive with your mother, but my kids tell me everything. So, between you and me…' 

She leaned to Pam and said in a hushed tone. 

'When you're there, try to get pregnant. It will help you to get a residence permit, and who knows, maybe even citizenship,' Mrs. Anderson patted Pam's hand patronizingly. 'You've always been a good girl, Pammy. Take the chance into your hands, and don't let it slip away. And now go, go. Have some fun.'

She let Pam go, and Pam went away, moving mechanically, feeling humiliated. She threw a short glance at Roy, but he still was engaged in conversation with his brother, that became louder with every new shot of vodka. Surely, he didn't even notice that her mood changed as she returned to her place near him. 

She knew Roy well, and she knew that he was the kind of a man who needed to have a final word in every decision. She was okay with it; it lifted a burden of responsibility from her and left her only with job tasks and housework. But could he have made such a life-changing decision without listening to her opinion? Could he? 

He could, Pam realized, and that realization stuck like a lump in her throat. 

'Well, it was fun, Ma, but we need to be in the city by night,' said Roy, getting out of the table. 

'So soon? Why? Stay till tomorrow and go when it's light outside!' Mrs. Anderson exclaimed, but Roy just shook his head with a grin. 

'Thanks, Ma, but we have great plans for tomorrow, right, Pammy?' 

Mrs. Anderson looked at Pam and pursed her lips as if it was she who had persuaded Roy to ditch the celebration that early. Could Pam really say that 'great plans' meant nothing but her cooking for a week and him spending all day in a sauna with his warehouse buddies and beer? 

'Oh, always in the plans and business,' she scolded him lovingly. 'Don't forget your old mother, sometimes show in the week.' 

'I'll try,' he said lightly, kissing his mother on the cheek. 'Let's go, Pam.' 

Pam barely had time to say goodbye to Mrs. Beesly before they had to leave. 

On the way back, Pam was watching Roy out of the corner of her eye. He was in the perfect mood; a few shots he'd drunk mellowed him, and he hummed along to the radio. Pam hated to bring the theme that would ruin his humor, but her own dread, anxiety, and incomprehension ate her alive; she couldn't keep them at bay any longer. 

'I thought we would discuss it,' she said in a small voice. 

'Huh?' Roy turned his head to her. 'What are you talking about?' 

'Moving out. It seems like you've made your mind up already.' 

'Well, yeah,' he shrugged. 'It would be stupid to mess up with the chance to get out of the cage.' 

'And what about my opinion?' she raised her voice slightly. 'What if I don't want to go anywhere?' 

'Why wouldn't you?' Roy started to lose his patience. 'Tell me, Pam, why?'

'I have a life here, you know? I can't just throw it away!' she was almost screaming. 

'A life? What do you have so special that you won't have elsewhere, huh?' he was yelling at her as well. 'Working for a crazy boss? A cramped flat with mold and without hot water? Or is it our shitty neighborhood you don't want to lose? What holds you back?' 

'I have a family here!'

'So am I! And you know what? They're excited that we could get out! Think of your mom and how you could make good money and pay for the renovation of her house. Or about your sister and how you could help her find a better place than that dorm? Think of them and stop your bitching!' 

He made the radio louder, showing that the conversation was over. Pam turned to the window, defeated. 

Roy was right, as usual, she thought, but it didn't make her feel any better. Perhaps, if she pondered more about the idea, it would look more desirable. Maybe, if she spoke with her mom or Jim, they could talk her into Roy's plan. 

She thought about Jim then. For sure, he would be glad for her; he always wished her only the best, and he would definitely find something that would change her mind about moving out. And yet… 

Pam remembered her classmates, which she had considered her best friends, with which she had shared all her secrets and dreams, with which she had allowed herself to be both silly and serious. She remembered how they had sworn to keep in touch with her when she had failed the entrance exam for the master's degree and had had to move out of the dorm and to find a job. She remembered how the calls had become shorter, the conversations less and less meaningful until they had stopped at all. 

It would be the same with Jim. They would call each other firstly, and she would send him lots and lots of postcards, but then would come a moment when she would stop understanding the gist of his jokes, and he would involve someone else in his shenanigans against Dwight. Perhaps, it would even be a new receptionist. 

Pam rolled the side window down, and cold air instantly bit her heated face. She hoped that the wind could wipe her tears that uncontrollably rolled down her cheeks; she didn't want Roy to notice her state and ask unnecessary questions. Pam didn't want to tell him lies, and yet she wasn't sure she could explain to him the reason for her crying. 

She wasn't sure she could explain it to herself. 

End Notes:

Next time some pinky promises will be made and Jim will be called a moron. 

Link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=72gB4Ch_auk&list=PLQwO15eyz8aiidQFTMiQGcEu43D_n0vZd&index=3&t=0s

Thanks for the reading!

Break my chest not knowing the measure by Dernhelm
Author's Notes:
The chapter title is from 'The Song about Girls' by 'Citizen Sunroot' 

Something was wrong with Pam. 

Months and months of friendship and subtle observations had made Jim extremely aware of the changes in her mood; now, an arrow of his inner Pam-o-meter pointed at 'extremely dismayed.' Pam hid it quite well behind her usual cheerfulness, but when she didn't joke with him or do her typical work tasks, she just sat motionlessly with her shoulders hunched and her eyes boring the holes in her monitor. Sometimes, Jim caught her staring at him with the same wistful expression he had seen once. He had no idea what that meant; even his willing imagination didn't allow him to read in these gazes desire or even interest. Besides, even if Jim didn't know what exactly was off (and Pam still told him nothing), he noticed when it had started: two weeks ago when she had spent the weekend at her mother's. So, Jim concluded, it was something with her family (and it would be insensitive to ask about), or about Roy. They both were good at avoiding the Roy theme, and Jim didn't want to be the one who brought it. In the end, he decided to say nothing. If Pam wished to share her troubles with him, he would be there for her; if not… well, he hoped she eventually would come clean. 

And she did. As usual on Thursdays, they went from work together; Jim was telling her about a new music album of his favorite band, and Pam was mostly silent. Suddenly she stopped. 

'Can you promise me something?' she asked and Jim for the first time in a while couldn't read her expression. 

'Yeah, sure,' he shrugged. Pam took her glove off and stuck her little finger out. 

'Pinky promise?'

'How old are you, Beesly? Six?' Jim smirked. But even if she was six, he, apparently, was four and was up to any of her ideas, so he pulled his hand out of his pocket and laced his pinky with hers. Just a moment ago, she had worn gloves, but her fingers were ice-cold; Jim wished for this moment to linger as long as possible so that a tad of his warmth could pass to her. 

'Could you… could you stay my friend no matter what happens?' she asked almost desperately, and Jim swallowed his dissatisfaction with the word 'friend' at this sight. 

'Of course, Pam, you didn't even have to ask about it. So, where is a dead body that has to be buried?'

Finally, finally, finally Pam giggled.

'Hey, who do you take me for? I can deal with my dead bodies by myself,' she smiled, but her smile fleeted too soon. Her hand dropped flat, breaking their connection. 'It's just… It seems like I'm moving out, and I really don't want to lose our friendship because of it.' 

When Jim had been eight, he had often visited a park that had been near his home. He had liked a swing on an old sycamore tree, but once he had ridden it, a branch above his head had broken. He felt that awful feeling of falling, solidness of ground when his butt had met it, and sharp pain in the back of his head where the branch had hit him all over again. 

'What?' he asked numbly. 

'Yeah…' Pam looked down, fidgeting with her glove. 

'But... when? How?' Jim still hoped that it was an awful joke of hers. 

'We have an appointment in the consulate tomorrow,' Pam said, and either she was the best actress that had ever been born or she wasn't joking. 'If we get our visas, we'll leave next month… I guess.' 

Oh, dear God, no, no, no. Jim's hand flew to the nape of his neck, rubbing it and not realizing this. 

'Well, I always knew you were bored to death with Dunder Mifflin, but moving… that's… that's…' he tried to lighten the conversation desperately; otherwise, he would scream in pain and desperation. 'But if it's something you want, well, then…'

She didn't answer, turning from him and starting to walk again. Another gut-wrenching feeling appeared in his stomach as he caught up with her. 

'You do want to move out, right?'

She was silent for a long time, and when he thought that she hadn't heard him and was about to repeat his question, she said quietly, almost whispering. 

'No, I don't want to leave. I want to stay so much, you have no idea…'

Some of the weight that bowed his shoulders disappeared, but his heart was squeezed with even more force. 

'Then… why do you leave?' Jim asked, but even before the last word slipped from his tongue, he'd already known an answer. 

'Because Roy is going to get a job there,' she explained, and Jim clenched his teeth. 'And he said there would be some opportunities for me as well. It would be for the better, right?' 

I bet none of these opportunities include an art school, he thought angrily. He hoped she asked him to give her the reason to stay, and he would do it in a heartbeat, but she sounded more as she begged him to persuade her that moving out was a good idea. Jim wouldn't do that even if he had a gun pressed to his head. 

'But if you don't want to move somewhere, then you should stay,' he managed to say that in the calm, almost friendly tone. 

'I can't,' Pam shook her head. 'I have the obligations and…' 

And that made him snap. 

'To hell the obligations if they make you so unhappy,' he said harsher than he intended. 

'It's not that simple,' she sighed, and the sign of her defeat irked him even more. 

'I think it's quite simple, but you refuse to admit it! 

Pam looked at him, dumbfounded, and then narrowed her eyes. 

'You have something you want to say, don't you?' she asked with a slight irritation in her voice.

'You know, I have,' Jim said. 'You shouldn't allow someone else to rule your life and decide everything for you. You got to take your own chance on something sometime, Pam.'

'Oh, excuse me! Maybe I just don't want to be a receptionist here till the rest of my days and I’m taking my chance right now!'

'Are you?' he asked with open disbelief. 

She didn't answer. 

They reached the metro station in silence. It took her three attempts to swipe the metro pass through the reader and go through the metro turnstile; he pushed the bar of the turnstile so hard that it turned faster, and the other bar kicked his lower back. They didn't talk on the ride underground; Pam stepped on the escalator first and didn't turn, so all he could see was the top of her head. He stared at it, trying to read her mind and struggling to understand why she was so persistent in her attempts to ruin her own life. The ride was over, and they stood on the platform, waiting for the train. Just a few moments before it arrived, Pam said quietly. 

'I hoped you would support me, not scold.'

'Excuse me, Pam, but I can't support you in something that I think is wrong,' he retorted as the wagon stopped before them. 

She sat on the bench as usual and started to type her usual messages; Jim stood nearby, seething with anger, frustration, and fear. His thoughts were flouncing. What could he say to change her mind? Maybe, he should try to persuade her that she didn't have to leave immediately? He tried to think about it, but his mind went blank. 

At the next station, Pam stood up and offered her place to an elderly woman; she was two steps away from him now, squeezing a handhold so tight her knuckles whitened. She was in turmoil, he knew it, he saw it in her white knuckles, in the way she worried her lower lip with her teeth, in her fidgeting with a zipper of her bag; maybe, something about what he had told might have had an influence on her. Maybe… 

The train almost imperceptibly slowed down, and her attention immediately turned to the window, outside which the silhouette of the abandoned platform of the ghost station could be distinguished. Pam looked at him then, almost as if it was her muscle memory, almost as if she forgot they had had that quarrel. A moment later, she remembered, and her smile that hadn't fully formed, faded. 

That moment Jim's heart plummeted to his feet and broke to shivers. That moment Jim's mind was filled with one word. 

Over. 

All of this, tiny glances and smiles, shared secrets and banter, pranks, and carefully constructed dreams of 'what if's,' would be over soon — if not already. Jim relied so much on 'maybe,' 'perhaps,' obscure miracles, and lucky chances that he basically did nothing to make them come true. And now it was too late. 

Too late. 

The rational part of his brain told him that it would be for the better that without her nearby, he could function as an adult instead of a lovestruck teenager again; but this voice was deafened by others, louder and more insistent that screamed about pain and despair. He had to say something, anything that made her stay. Maybe, 'I'm in love with you,' or 'don't go,' or 'I want to see you happy, please, allow me to make you happy.' But words stuck in his throat, and all he could do was stare at her, motionless, static. Her expression changed, the corners of her lips went down, and her eyes grew big; he could swear he saw his own reflection in her pupils. 

One second, two, three… Jim would have lost the count even if he paid attention to the time. But when her lips twitched as if she wanted to break that silence, the train slowed its move, and the people around started to make their way to the exit. Pam waved goodbye helplessly, and in a moment she was away. The doors opened, and the crowd came out of the wagon, picking Pam up as if she was a petal in the stream. Some other people entered the wagon and crushed Jim from both sides, but he paid no attention. She was gone and took all of his feelings with her; his body and his mind were numb. 

How many of these journeys did they have? Tomorrow she would go home with Roy, and so she would on Monday. Would she still be here on Tuesday, or Roy would insist on leaving by that time? 

Jim had never been fond of Roy, but now he hated him; he hated him so much he saw blinding white before his eyes. He wanted to destroy him for taking away the person that mattered the most to him; he wanted to erase him from existence. If only he had had the power to turn the time back! He would have made anything to prevent Pam and Roy's meeting. Jim always wondered how it could be possible that sweet, witty, talented, and smart Pam existed in the same body with a painfully shy, insecure, submissive girl with the same name. And now, when she was going to throw her wishes away and humbly do something that she didn't want to because of Roy's decision, he found all the confirmations he'd needed. For how many years that oaf had been smothering her dreams, her motivation, and ambitions? What kind of person would Pam have been if he had never appeared in her life?

When Jim got off the metro, it took him the full four minutes to realize that he went out on the wrong station. He smirked humorlessly and, instead of returning underground, walked by the highway towards his house. It was going to be a long, long walk. 

She could have never been like that if she had been his, he thought. He would cherish her, support her every decision, and make her enjoy every day of her life, of their life. Jim imagined how they woke up together, smiling at each other, how they prepared breakfast, and then spent the weekend in idleness, talking about nothing and everything; the picture of pure happiness for him and, as well as he knew, for her too. He could do it; he would do it. He would never be like Roy. 

Jim tripped over his own foot. He would never be like Roy except that, in fact, he was like Roy right now. How many times had he watched her suffering from something Roy had done and said nothing? How many times had he distracted her with a joke or a stupid prank on Dwight instead of speaking seriously about the toxicity of her relationship? How many times his fear of losing her goodwill had set his interests above hers? Today was the first time he had touched her sore spot, and he had done it only facing the threat of actually losing her. 

The thing he wanted the most right now was to go to his mother, curl at her knees, and cry his heart out. But he was a grown-up boy and he had to deal with his problems on his own. 

So he made a stop at the liquor section in the supermarket near his apartment complex. 

...After the three and a half glasses, the rational part of his brain was dead — or, at least, it was in a lethargic sleep. And while his stomach burned from cheap port wine, the ache in his chest grew almost unbearable. He couldn't do without her, without her warmth, her kindness, her smiles, her little quirks, her… everything. But it was too late, and he had lost her forever and ever, and ever, and… 

Jim raised his head from his arms, folded on the kitchen table. Well, if he had lost her, why should he keep his emotions from her any longer? He needed her to know. Just once. 

His drunk determination made him reach for his mobile phone and fumble with the buttons, opening his contact list and starting a search. 

'P-A-' he typed and pressed the call button. 

One ring. Second ring. Third, fourth, fifth… On the sixth, she picked up the phone. 

'Um, hey,' he mumbled before she could say a word. 'Hi. Hello. Sorry, it's probably not good timing, but I need you to hear this. Don't leave, okay? It'll make you miserable, and it'll make me miserable, and that's awful that we'll be miserable together, but not together, you know? So, please, please, stay, because I'm in love with you and…'

'Are you drunk?'

Jim scrunched up his brows when he heard a familiar, yet unexpected voice. 

'Larissa? What… what are you doing there?' 

'Hmm, let me see. What I could do at 2 a.m. on Friday. I don't know, maybe, I was sleeping, you moron!' 

Jim took the phone from his ear and squinted his eyes at the screen. The tiny letters told him that he apparently called 'Pain in My Ass' instead of 'Pam.'

He pressed the button, cutting off his sister's quipping, and dropped his face on his crossed arms, his confidence oozing away like the drops of spilled wine. 

How could he ever get Pam if he didn’t even manage to call her properly? 

Pathetic. 

End Notes:

And now I'm going to have some good reading of fluff (and some writing of fluff as well). 

Next time Pam will desire a teal teapot and Jim will be woken up early on Saturday morning. 

Link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLt94Dj1WiE&list=PLQwO15eyz8aiidQFTMiQGcEu43D_n0vZd&index=4&t=0s

Thank you for your great reviews! 

Love in payphones is doomed to be short-lived by Dernhelm
Author's Notes:

The chapter title is from 'She Wore Flowers In Her Hair ' by 'BoomBox' 

And, apparently, I temporarily lost the ability to make chapters the same size :(

‘That’s fuckin’ awesome.’ 

Pam didn’t lift her head at Roy’s cursing, sitting on the bench in front of their office building. 

Unworthy. Rejected. Not good enough. Failure. 

This was how she was supposed to feel — and, for sure, all these feelings would come to her later — but, for now, she was overwhelmed with almost palpable relief that made every cell if her body feel lighter and dizzier. It cost her a lot to keep herself from grinning, but the pang of guilt at the sights of Roy’s stupor and frustration helped her with it. 

The source of these controversial emotions was contained in the small red letters that crossed a page in her passport. 

‘How could you manage to get a rejection, Pam? It was a solid deal, and you failed it! I just… fuck!’ he was pacing back and forth before the bench, unable to hide his irritation. Today they both took a day off to get their visas; afterward, Roy planned them to quit. He received his visa quickly and left the consulate without Pam, to take care of documents without delay. And with Pam’s problem, his well-constructed plans started to crumble. 

‘I was told that unmarried women often got rejections,’ she said quietly. ‘Sometimes, even if they had invitations to visit the country. The foreign authorities try to prevent the cases when women come to the country to find a husband and get citizenship.’ 

‘And you couldn’t cheat a little? Like, saying that you are going to be married in a month or something?’ 

‘Do you really think that cheating during the interview could help me to get the visa?’ 

Roy huffed as if she annoyed him, and didn’t answer. Pam looked at him, having second thoughts about her own decisions. 

Because back then, during the interview, she had said that she had been single. She hadn’t even mentioned that — a bureaucratic looking woman had asked her, ‘Are you single?’ and Pam had nodded. She should have said that she had been engaged for three years, that she had been going to work abroad with her fiance, who had received his visa just half-hour ago; perhaps, she should have even shared her hopes and worries about the impending wedding. But Pam had just nodded, and the official had made a mark in her documents that, probably, had closed so many doors before her. Back then her nod had felt like an act of defiance, but now she thought it had been sabotage. 

‘What are we going to do now?’ Pam asked carefully. Roy stopped his passing and flopped on the seat near her. 

‘What can we do, Pam?’ he said. ‘In two years you can apply again and then you’ll move to me. I hope next time you’ll be smarter.’ 

Pam’s heart squeezed, and she turned to look at Roy, her eyes widened with disbelief. Was he really going?..

‘Are you still going to move?’ she asked, hoping that she’d just misheard him. ‘Even if I have to stay?’ 

‘I’ve got the visa, so yeah,’ he shrugged as if it was something self-evident. ‘Why should I turn that invitation down?’ 

‘Because I can’t go,’ she whispered, almost begging him to take pity on her, to comfort her. But instead, he looked at her with disapproval and sighed. 

‘And whose fault is that?’ 

So, Roy made his mind, and it felt like a slap. Once more, he chose something over her; she couldn’t stand another rejection from the man who was supposed to be The One.

Pam trembled, and it had nothing to do with the icy January wind. She was ready for his anger, his mocking, his disappointment; she got all of that, but the need for waiting again, after all of these years, was the final straw. Pam stared at Roy and pictures of her past, their shared history appeared brightly before her eyes. She had heard once that the person could see their life right before the death; she wondered if that was right about the relationships. 

She remembered how she had been waiting for him. Firstly, from the army, where he had been soldiering for a year — she had gone to her prom alone because he hadn’t been there for her, and only the thought of having another date had been considered as a sacrilege. Then, when she had been studying in the uni, and he had stayed at home, she had ditched all weekend plans with her friends — only to leave early on Friday and spend as much time as possible with him on the weekends. Later, when they had moved in together and had gotten engaged (he hadn’t even proposed to her, they had just agreed that it would have been proper to marry after her graduation), she had been waiting for the time when her patience with him would have paid off; she had been ready to put up with his inattention and rudeness only to fulfill her dream about one perfect love for the whole life. 

She remembered suddenly about her mother’s tea-set — cups, and saucers, and teapot of wonderful teal porcelain; it was the best part of her kitchen decoration, displayed behind the glass doors of the kitchen cabinet. But her mother never used it; she said she kept it for the special occasion and drank her tea from an old mug with a chipped edge, while the perfect teal tea-set was gathering dust behind the closed glass doors. 

Apparently, all this time, Pam was drinking from the mug with the chipped edge as well. 

‘Yours. It’s your fault, Roy. If we had gotten married, we wouldn’t have had this problem at all.’ 

‘Oh, so now it’s my fault!’ Roy’s mouth twitched. ‘And who nagged me about the big and fancy wedding, huh? Which we could afford only if we had better pay. And I did it, I found the better place, but now you still whine. What the hell, Pam? Have you ever been satisfied at all?’ 

Pam stood up on her slightly shaking legs and looked down at his face, reddened with anger. 

‘Roy, I wanted to have a big fancy wedding, yes, but even more, I wanted to be with you as your wife, not just as fiancée or girlfriend or something. And if you leave… if you leave me now for that job, I am not sure I’ll be waiting for you.’ 

She trembled as a sentenced to death, staying with a rope around the neck and waiting for mercy from the executor. Pam looked at her fiance, and her eyes begged him to say about his love for her, to give her another excuse for waiting, to give her a chance to forgive him once more. 

But his gaze was cast down, and it pulled a lever that opened a trapdoor under her feet. 

Pam exhaled with a loud whoosh. 

‘Okay,’ she said and took her ring off, placing it carefully on the bench near him. ‘I’ll take my things when I find another place.’ 

She turned to go away, but he got on his feet abruptly and grabbed her left arm, turning her to face him. 

‘We didn’t finish here!’ 

Pam didn’t register what happened next. She felt a twinge in her right hand; Roy’s grasp loosened, and Pam jerked, freeing her arm. The mark after her slap was discernible even on his red from shouting cheeks. 

If Pam was a cool girl, she would say something like ‘No, Roy. We are done.’ But instead, other words chimed in her mind, and they became louder and louder when Roy’s initial shock from her deed started to fade. 

Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh. What have I done? 

‘You, bitch…’ Roy started, and Pam knew it was time to flee. She moved back, making a few steps before turning around and going into the office building as if she could find a rescue there. Roy shouted something after her, but she could only hear the thumping of her heart. 

She practically ran up the stairs and stopped when she reached the floor of the office. Her thoughts were racing, fueled with adrenaline in her blood. Under her heavy winter coat, sweat rolled down her spine, but she was shivering as if she was cold. Had she really given him the engagement ring back? Had she really slapped him? What had gotten into her? And how would she manage to sort out all the mess she had created?

The only rational thought was that she couldn’t return home, not right now when Roy was so angry with her, not when she was so muzzy; in this state, she could do something she would regret afterward. So Pam took her phone and called Penny; Pam had nowhere to go and hoped that she could stay in her sister’s dorm for a while before she would take her life back in her hands and figure out what she had to do. Pam’s fingers shook violently as she pressed the buttons and brought the phone to her ear. She listened to the long rings, and at the same time — she listened for the sounds below, in case she had to run once more. 

Penny didn’t pick up. She had to have her lectures right now, and her mobile was muted, Pam told herself, dialing a second, third time nevertheless. Maybe, when she saw the number of missed calls, she would realize that it was something urgent and would call Pam back as soon as she could. 

The door to the staircase swung open, and Pam practically jumped at the sound; the phone slipped from her hand and fell, breaking into three parts. She turned her face to the door, terrified to see Roy there, but it was Jim, and she exhaled with relief. 

‘Pam?’ 

She didn’t answer immediately, kneeling to pick the pieces of the broken thing; Jim did the same as well, helping her. 

‘May I?’ he said, reaching out tentatively, and she put the parts of her phone into his hand. Jim fumbled with them a little and reassembled the device. 

‘Thanks,’ Pam whispered and took it back, turning the phone on and finding with alleviation that it was still working. 

They sat quietly on the step, their shoulders brushing lightly. Pam still couldn’t tame her trembling, and Jim noticed that. 

‘It isn’t about the phone, is it?’ he asked and she shook her head. 

‘I didn’t get the visa,’ Pam giggled almost hysterically. ‘I guess I’m stuck with Dunder Mifflin for a little longer.’ 

‘Oh,’ Jim said. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

But Pam knew he didn’t mean it; the echo of their yesterday’s quarrel still hung heavily between them. She giggled once more, being about to catch him in a lie, but her giggling ended abruptly with a sharp gasp when she heard a door a few floors below slamming with a great force. Pam flinched and stood up quickly. If Roy was climbing the stairs, she could exit through the office, and they wouldn’t meet. Of course, it meant to explain her sudden appearance to Michael and Dwight, but for now, she would rather deal with her boss than with Roy. Jim watched her with worry.

‘What’s going on, Pam?’ 

‘Roy… Roy didn’t react very well,’ Pam said reluctantly. She really didn’t want to involve Jim in all this mess. He didn’t deserve that. 

Pam saw as Jim’s jaw tensed, and he threw a gaze down the stairwell. 

‘Did he… did he hit you?’ Jim asked unexpectedly, and Pam looked at him with bewilderment. 

‘What? Oh, no, no, no. It’s… actually, it’s me,’ she chuckled. ‘I hit him. Kinda.’

‘Wow, Beesly,’ Jim looked at her, the corner of his mouth twitched as if he was going to smile but restrained himself. ‘I’ve never taken you for a violent one.’ 

‘Me neither,’ she sighed. There weren’t any other sounds from the stairwell, so the frantic rhythm of her heart calmed down a little. 

‘Do you have somewhere to stay?’ Jim asked then. 

‘Oh… well, I have a sister in the city, and I hope I could crash her couch in her dorm. I just need her to call me back.’ 

‘You know,’ Jim said carefully ‘you could always stay at mine. My roommate won’t be a problem, and you won’t have to deal with the dorm’s commandants.’

‘Are you sure it would be okay?’ Pam worried; today Jim looked tired and a little pale. ‘I don’t want to cause you any problems.’

‘Totally,’ Jim smiled. ‘And… what are you going to do now? I know it’s your day off, so…’ 

‘Well, it depends on who’s on the phones today?’ Pam smirked. 

‘Kelly. And I already know about Eurovision selections more than I’ve ever wanted,’ Jim shuddered in exaggerated disgust. Pam giggled. 

‘The more knowledge, the more grief, I get it. Well, let me put you out of your misery then. It’s the least I could do for you.’ 

Jim laughed and they returned into the office, where she received a warm welcome and gratitude from Kelly, who could return to the annex and chat with her friends not being distracted by the customers’ calls. Dwight looked at her with suspicion as she hung her coat on a rack and took her usual place. As soon as she did it, he strolled to her desk. 

‘Pamela,’ he started, narrowing his eyes at her. ‘You have a day off today. And still, you are here.’ 

‘That’s right, Dwight,’ Pam said patiently. ‘Is that a problem?’ 

‘It brings confusion into the organizational process of the workspace,’ he declared. ‘I prepared myself for the distraction level increase due to your absence, and now I have to rearrange my settings.’ 

Pam blinked. Jim caught her gaze and mouthed the word ‘robot.’ Pam stifled a giggle. 

‘If it’s such a problem, I’ll leave now,’ she suggested, and Dwight slightly winced. 

‘No need, I could cope with any unexpected turn of events,’ he said curtly. ‘And yet, why are you here? For your information, you won’t receive a payment for this day.’ 

‘Actually,’ Oscar chimed in, ‘that’s for Michael to decide. It won’t be an issue to rearrange the documents, it’s not even noon yet.’ 

‘Thank you, Oscar,’ said Pam; Oscar smiled and returned to his papers. Dwight just snorted and returned his attention to Pam. 

‘Wait a minute with your explanations,’ he said. ‘You’re dressed casual, your skirt is of an appropriate length, your blouse is plain with no noticeable cleavage. So, it wasn’t a romantic affair. Your boots are quite clean, despite the melting snow and puddles, and that means you didn’t go much on foot. Last time when you took a day off, your mother was sick. Your cheeks have an unhealthy shade of pink. So, I conclude your doctor’s appointment has been canceled.’ 

‘That’s right, Dwight,’ Pam said, not wanting to tell him about her morning turmoils. 

‘In that case, I hope it’s not something contagious. If you infect our coworkers, I’ll find a way to deduct the cost of possible damage to the company from your salary.’ 

He returned to his desk after that tirade, leaving Pam staring at him, amazed. A few moments later, Dwight found a paper clip chain in his mug, and the typical office routine was restored. 

The rest of the day passed without any incidents; every time the office door opened, Pam dreaded to see Roy there, but he didn't show up. In the middle of the day, Penny called back, and Pam hastily retold her about the morning happening. Of course, her sister said that Pam could rely on her and could stay as long as she needed, but Pam noticed a hint of reluctance in her voice. Pam promised herself not to involve her sister in her problems too much.

When the workday was over, she turned her computer off, ready to leave. Jim was already waiting for her.

'Let's go, Beesly.' 

They went through the park, and Pam wondered how surreal that felt. Just yesterday, she had been ready to say farewell to Jim and her lifestyle; and now, she was following the routine as if nothing had happened. Except, she was going to Jim's home, and, apparently, didn't have her own home at all. 

'So,' Jim said. 'How was it? Chuck Norris style or Bruce Lee style or Klitschko style or…'

'Oh my God, shut up!' exclaimed Pam, embarrassed. 

'What? I'm just curious,' Jim chuckled. 

'Curiosity killed the cat,' she warned. 'Do you want to be a test subject?'

'Nah, I'm good,' said Jim, and the conversation ceased. But this silence was warm and comfortable, unlike yesterday's one. Perhaps, she had to break it, to tell him everything, to bring yesterday's topic back; but she was too tired and didn't want to ruin that fragile peaceful state. She was sure Jim felt the same. 

They kept the silence while they rode the escalator; Pam noticed Jim's exhaustion in the bags under his eyes and the stubble on his chin and cheeks, though he masked his tiredness well with his grins and animated gestures. Her heart squeezed at that sight, and when the train arrived, she turned to him.

'Hey, maybe, you should take a seat as well?' 

Pam thought that he was about to decline, out of habit or something else, but then he shrugged and folded his lanky limbs on a seat near her, their shoulders and knees pressed together. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. 

Her hand automatically grabbed her phone, but she caught herself on time. Roy hadn't called her yet, and Pam wouldn't like to be the one to break the silence. She had done nothing wrong, she told herself; maybe, if she repeated that enough times, she would believe it. 

They both stood up at the next station, finding a place in the corner of the wagon; hands gripped the handhold tightly, bodies swayed in the rhythm of the train moving. The ghost station appearance was the sign that the next stop would have been hers to leave, that her little journey with Jim would have been over soon. But not today. 

'It's a little bit weird,' Pam said to Jim when the train stopped, and she didn't move from her spot. 

'Huh?' he didn't hear her, so she made a sign to him to lean closer. When Jim did that, she repeated. 

'I said it's weird. I got used to leaving at the same station and repeating the same route every day, so now I'm at a loss. I've never been at that part of the metro, so… what should I prepare for? Give me some hints.'

'Well,' he scratched his chin in amusement. 'Let me see. Metro rodents of unusual size, a secret military base underground, and don't forget about hidden cameras somewhere on the wagon ceilings.' 

Pam involuntary looked up — to Jim's delight — and snorted. 

'Hey! I almost believed you!'

'What? You asked, I answered.'

She just shook her head but kept grinning nevertheless. 

When they got off at Jim's station, for a few moments, Pam could only stare in awe, looking at neon lights and almost skyscrapers, tops of which got lost in the dark. 

'Wow,' she said at last. 'Why did you never tell me that you're living in a sci-fi movie?' 

Jim looked at her with a strange expression and shrugged. 

'Well, since the drivers of flying taxis announced a strike, I don't feel it anymore.' 

'What are their demands?' Pam asked with curiosity. 

'Oh, the usual. Taxes, traffic violation fines, pigeons.' 

It turned out, Jim lived in the highest building Pam had ever seen; she felt vertigo only looked on it outside. When Jim pressed the button '12' in the elevator (and it was just above the middle; the biggest number she could see on the button was ‘22’), she swore she would never approach the windows, not speaking about the balcony. 

'Okay,' said Jim a tad nervously, fumbling with keys as they stood before the door of his apartment. 'Maybe, this place isn't the fanciest, but I hope it would be comfortable enough for you.'

'Don't worry,' Pam smiled. 'Since it has a couch, everything will be fine.' 

Jim nodded and opened the door, stepping inside quickly and switching the light; Pam followed and found herself in a small hallway with three doors. 

'Mark isn't home yet,' Jim remarked, taking his coat off and helping Pam with hers. After offering Pam slippers ('ummm, the floor is rather cold') and pointing at the place where she could leave her bag, Jim suggested a quick house tour. Pam agreed with enthusiasm, probably, even excessive. 

Jim's place was… well, Pam honestly didn't know what to expect, but it was strangely empty. There was nothing on the cold wooden floor — neither a carpet nor a rug. The walls were painted white and almost screamed for decoration; the only thing that could be taken for it was a clock in the kitchen. She noticed bottles near the trash bin and raised her eyebrows, while Jim explained with obvious embarrassment that Mark could be a real pig sometimes; Pam chose not to elaborate. The hallway, the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom looked practically the same, the only differences were in the size and some furniture. It wasn't that Jim and his roommate were struggling — the couch in the living room, as well as the plasma TV and the video game console, looked quite expensive — but all of this gave Pam a sense that this place wasn't considered by Jim as a home — only as a temporary shelter. This feeling grew stronger when he showed her his room; the only personal thing in there was a guitar. 

'I didn't know you played,' Pam said, standing awkwardly at the entrance. 

'I did,' Jim scratched the back of his head. 'But I'm not sure if I could remember any chords now. Okay, let me find you something to change.' 

He turned his attention to his closet and, in a few minutes, found a needed garment. 

'Ta-da!' 

Pam took a black t-shirt with a print on the front side — the name of the band, apparently. 

'Nightwish?' she asked.

'They're probably not your style, but the vocalist is pretty awesome,' he said sheepishly.

Pam put the t-shirt’s shoulders to her own; the bottom edge reached her knees. 

'Did anyone tell you that you are freakishly tall?' she asked. 'It's practically a dress.' 

Jim smirked. 

'Well, when I was a little boy, I never skipped my breakfasts. So, do you want me to look for some sweatpants for you or you'll be fine with a belt? You know, for your new little black dress.' 

'Pants, please.' 

It was strange, so strange to sit on the chair in Jim's kitchen and to watch as he was cooking. Pam suggested making dinner, but Jim declined her offer, claiming that she was a guest. 

'I can't remember the last time someone made me dinner,' Pam said, watching as Jim boiled water to prepare ready-to-cook stuffed dumplings from the freezer and put a kettle on the stove. Jim pressed a hand to his chest and made a theatrical bow, and that made her smile. 

They ate dumplings with sour cream and drank tea; Jim didn't have a teapot and put a spoonful of tea leaves right into the mug, and Pam took a note to get him one (she just couldn’t stand such a savageness). The initial awkwardness she had felt was dissipated; she was having a good time with her best friend, and that felt awesome. 

She unsuccessfully tried to hide her yawn behind her hand, and Jim took it as a sign that it was time to go to sleep. He brought Pam an extra comforter, a sheet, and a pillow, and placed them on the edge of the couch. 

'Are you sure you don't want to switch?' he asked again. 'I'll be fine with a couch.' 

'No, you won't,' Pam didn't agree. 'Have you seen your limbs, Halpert? They won’t say 'thank you' in the morning.' 

'As you wish, Beesly,' he raised his hands in surrender. 'But, if you need anything — you know where to find me.' 

'Okay,' she said softly. 'Good night, Jim.'

'Sleep tight, Pam,' said Jim, and closed the door of his room. 

But once the light was turned off and Pam curled on the couch, sleep was elusive. The usual giddiness she felt around Jim started to wear down, and the heavy thoughts flooded her mind, keeping her wide awake. 

For sure, Roy was angry with her so much; she had never allowed herself to do something that could have been considered by him as disobedience or humiliation. And today she had done both. She had ruined his plans. She had slapped him. Oh, God. He wouldn't forgive her easily if he would even forgive her at all. Perhaps, if she begged him, if she did what he liked the most, he might… but Pam winced in disgust and wrapped herself in the soft fabric of the comforter tighter. It wouldn't happen again. Besides, what was the point if he didn't love her anymore? Of course, love wasn't the crucial element of the relationship; she knew so many families where love had ceased years ago, her own family was the best example of the loveless union. But knowing that she was loved could help her to humble her dissatisfaction with the lacks and misdeeds in her relationship with Roy; without that, she didn't have a reason to justify them. 

That realization made her weep a little. One of the things she could rely on in her life had been Roy's love, and now it turned out to be a self-deception. Pam tried to pinpoint the moment when the things between them had started to fall off, but couldn't. She also failed to bring back the time when butterflies in her stomach had turned into apathetic chrysalises and they — into caterpillars, wriggling in dread. Pam had clung to her dream so desperately that she hadn't noticed that it had turned into a nightmare. 

So, she was alone now. Roy had been the only reliable person in the big and scary city, and she had lost him, and with him — all the things she had gotten used to. Without him, there were only Penny and Jim, who could stand by her. But Penny was a poor student after all and needed support even more than her. And Jim… 

Pam smiled sadly. Jim was so great, and he had already done for her more than anyone else. And he treated her like an equal and not like just a nice girl, who could be easily discarded or taken for granted. Sometimes Pam thought that he saw in her more than she really was. What would he think of her when he realized what a mess she was in fact? Of course, he would pity her as a weak and confused woman she was, but their friendship would never be the same after that revelation. She would never involve Jim in her problems as well, Pam thought. She could live with Roy's anger, but wouldn’t be able to stand Jim's disappointment. 

The apartment was quiet — even too quiet; the kitchen clock’s ticking sounded like a drum rhythm. Pam didn't realize that her breathing was now matching the ticks and the tocks. She listened to the sound, breathed, and her crumpled thoughts little by little fell into place. 

She had to find her own apartment or, at least, a room. She had to find an additional job — without Roy's money, she basically couldn't afford to live in the city with the receptionist salary alone. She had… 

The flow of the thoughts was interrupted with a noise coming from the front door. Pam was lying on the couch, petrified, and pretended she was sleeping. The door opened with a loud thud, and she heard a female laugh before the light turned on. She did her best not to wince. 

'Oh, shit,' the female voice exclaimed quietly, and the light instantly turned off. 'There is someone sleeping on the couch!'

'On the couch? What, did Jim forget where his room is again?' the male voice — Mark's apparently — responded. 

'No, it's some girl.' 

'A girl?' she heard Mark chuckled softly. 'For the first time, Halpert brought a girl home, and he left her sleeping on the couch. Unbelievable.' 

Another woman giggled quietly, and Pam heard as they crossed the room and hid behind the door near Jim's. She exhaled then, embarrassed with the whole situation. Pam had a little time to ponder over the new piece of information about Jim’s guests (or, to be precise, about the lack of them), when some specific noises came out of Mark's room, and she felt as a blush crept up her cheeks and ears. Pam turned to face the wall, to ease a little her mortification, but it wouldn't help much. Later, the door opened again, and she heard as bare feet slapped on the floor. Another door slammed and the sound of running water muffled the ticking from the kitchen. In a few minutes, they returned to Mark's room, and everything was quiet again, but Pam, even being exhausted, couldn't make herself sleep. 

As soon as the darkness behind the window started to fade, Pam knew she had to leave; it was going to be a long, grueling day, and the sooner she started it, the sooner she could feel the ground under her feet again. She changed her clothes and folded the borrowed ones neatly, as well as the comforter and the sheet, and placed them on the edge of the couch. She was ready to go, but couldn't leave without a 'thank you', a 'goodbye'. She also needed someone to close the door.  

She tapped lightly on the door of Jim's room, but no one answered. 

'Jim?' she called him with a similar result. Pam took a deep breath and turned the doorknob. 

Jim was sleeping, wrapped in his blanket like a burrito; she could see only his head and the foot, peeking out from under the covers. Pam neared the bed and couldn't keep herself from smiling: sleeping Jim was adorable, with tousled hair, slightly opened mouth and nose, skewed a little on the side with a pillow. She hated herself a little for what she was going to do next. 

'Jim,' she whispered, but he didn't react. 

'Jim,' she repeated a tad louder and touched the blanket where his shoulder had to be. 

At her touch, he jerked unexpectedly and sat abruptly on his bed. At his movement, the blanket fell from his chest, and Pam looked hastily away, blushing; he wasn't a fan of wearing pajamas at all. 

'Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to scare you,' she apologized as he tried to focus his eyes on her. 

'Pam? What… what happened? What time is it?' he muttered, his voice hoarse from the sleep. 

'Um… I think it's quarter past eight,' Pam said, studying intently the blank wall. 'Could you lock the door behind me? I didn't want to leave it open, so…' 

'Wait, are you going to leave now?' he asked perplexedly. 

'Yeah. I have to,' Pam said. For a moment, they both were silent. 

'Hey, why don't you make yourself a cup of tea, and I'll join you in a few minutes,' Jim suggested suddenly. 

'Okay,' Pam agreed after a short consideration and left him alone. 

She had managed to boil water in the kettle and made two cups of tea, when Jim finally showed up, wearing his yesterday's clothes; his hair was still an adorable mess. He sat heavily on the chair and nodded gratefully when Pam held out a cup for him. 

'Thank you so much for allowing me to stay for the night,' she started. Jim looked at her with a slightly numb expression; obviously, he didn't wake up completely, and Pam felt another pang of guilt. 

'Don't mention it. You know,' he said carefully, 'you could stay as long as you need.' 

'Thank you,' Pam shook her head, 'but I can't. It will be awkward for all of us.' 

Jim mused over her answer. 

'If it's about Mark, I'll talk to him about being considerate.' 

Oh God, did he hear that too?

'Oh, no, no, no, that's totally fine,' Pam said quickly. 'It's just… remember what did you say? About ruling my own life and deciding for myself? It was really good advice. So, finding my own place would be the first step in my new independent life.' 

Jim was quiet, studying the inside of his mug. 

'And what will be your next step?' 

'I have no idea.' 

End Notes:

Next time, Pam will receive some fashion advice from Kelly, and Jim will be thinking about butterflies.

Link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UIOeiTPxx2o&list=PLQwO15eyz8aiidQFTMiQGcEu43D_n0vZd&index=10

Thank you so much for your reading and wonderful reviews! They are unbelievable source of inspiration to me!  

I will be as white as snow if you allow me to be by Dernhelm
Author's Notes:

The chapter title is from 'The Eighth Color' by 'Motor'rolla'

Thank you so much for reading and all of yours amazing reviews! 

After the worst Thursday in Jim's life came a new day, that gave him the first revelation.

Apparently, miracles could happen. 

He felt like he was inside of a live-action version of his favorite dream — or a teaser of what might have been. He was going home with Pam, and she smiled at him, bantered with him; and later, she was sitting in his kitchen, sharing a meal he had prepared, and her ring finger was bare — and Jim caught himself on glancing at that exposed patch of skin more frequent than he would care to admit. 

Of course, in his dreams, she wouldn't stay on the couch, and it would be Mark who would complain in the morning… no, scratch that. There was no place for Mark in his dreams. 

The second revelation hit him at the moment when he closed the front door after her, almost begging her to keep him updated — it was the least he could ask for since she had made clear that she wasn't going to stay. Pam Beesly, his best friend, the love of his life (that thought scared him a little bit, but the last events had just proved that she wasn't just a crush) had a significant part of her life he had a very vague idea about — or, to be precise, the part of the life he had carefully chosen not to know about. It was his biggest mistake that had almost cost him everything; he wouldn't repeat it. 

Mark and his girlfriend emerged from their love nest long after noon. Jim was silent while Mark's girlfriend was around, but when she left, he said everything he was thinking about excessive vocalizations, privacy, and consideration. Mark was half-listening to his rant, and after demanding information about the mysterious 'couch girl'; Jim reluctantly told him a little about Pam's situation. 

'You know,' Mark smirked, 'if you invited that Pam girl into your room and comforted her just like you should have done, we wouldn't have this conversation right now.'

His roommate was such a pig sometimes. 

Jim spent his Saturday anxiously pacing, desiring to call Pam, but the remains of his common sense held him back from that. Probably, today Pam had a talk with Roy; it wouldn't do her a favor if, in the middle of a definitely fierce conversation, she received a call from a guy. No, as much as Jim hated it, he had to wait. Pam had promised to call. She would keep her promise. 

So, when his phone started to buzz in the middle of the night, barely awaken Jim felt the elation (she was calling!) and dread (oh God, what had happened?).

'Hello? Hello? Pam?' he asked hastily and heard a laugh. 

'Rise and shine, sweetheart!' 

Jim fell back on his bed, groaning in frustration. 

'Larissa, what the hell?'

'Aww, look who's talking! Wanna me to refresh your memory, drunky?' 

Well, Jim should have known that he wouldn't get away with that call easily. 

'Why do you sound so chipper at,' he squinted his eyes at the clock' four in the freakin' morning on Sunday?'

'A magician never reveals her secrets,' Larissa declared proudly. 'So, care to share what made you that drunk? O! Let me guess, her name is Pam, right? So who is she?'

'No one,' exclaimed Jim, embarrassed with his sister nudge. 'Just a girl from the office.' 

'Uh-huh,' Larissa said. 'So, are you in love with every girl in your office, or is there something special about this particular one?' 

'It's none of your business,' Jim replied curtly. 

'Okay. So, you don't want it to be in a good way. I got it. Then it'll be in a bad way.' 

She cleared her throat, and her voice changed its tone from mocking to disturbed.

'Mom, I'm worried about Jim. He called me, and he sounded so depressed — I've never heard him in such a terrible condition. I think he has a problem with a girl. He even started to drink, mom!' 

Jim completely forgot that just a few days ago he had intended to seek his mother's comfort. Now, he was terrified of her impending intervention and all the awkward questions and uninvited advice he would receive. 

'You won't dare!' he exclaimed. 

'Try me!' she chuckled, and Jim knew that he had lost this battle. 

'Okay, what do you want to know? And, before you answer — are you sure you want to know it right now and not in, I don't know, eight hours or something?' 

'Nope,' Larissa answered. 'I'm fine with 'right now.' So, spill the beans, Jimmy!' 

'Well,' Jim started. 'There is a girl, Pam, who I kinda like…'

'You used a different L-word!'

'Hey, if you are going to interrupt, I'll stop right now!' 

'Sorry, sorry. Please, proceed.'

'So, this girl said to me she was going to move out abroad for a new job. And I… overreacted. End of story.' 

'Wow,' said Larissa. 'That's harsh.'

'Yeah,' Jim agreed. 

'But,' she said then, 'if I knew you well — and I knew you well — I'd say you sound quite happy for a guy whose crush is moving out. I'd even say you're grinning like an idiot right now! Something doesn't add up. Jim?' 

'What?' 

'Jiiiim?'

'Okay, so, apparently, she stays.' 

'Yay!' Larissa shrieked cheerfully, and Jim winced at the sudden noise. 'So, when am I going to meet her?' 

'Um, never?' Jim answered. 

'Okay, when is our mom going to meet her?' 

'You are repeating yourself, Larissa,' Jim smirked. 

'Come on! You know that I have the high ground!' 

'You underestimate my power!' he responded in his best Skywalker's impression. 

'Don't try it!' she laughed. 'Jim, you've never been shy about girls. What changed?' 

'What do you want me to tell you, Larissa?' Jim sighed. 'She's a friend, she's a girl, she's in trouble, and I have some… non-platonic feelings for her. That's all.' 

'Hm,' said Larissa. 'What kind of trouble?' 

'Ummm, she kinda broke up with her boyfriend.'

'Kinda?'

'Well, she doesn't wear her engagement ring anymore.' 

'Engagement ring?!'

'Okay, not boyfriend, fiance. Whatever.' 

'Wow. When did that happen?' 

'On Friday,' said Jim, his head spun all over again from the memory of Pam's update that had shaken his world. 

'So, on Thursday, she was ready to leave, and on Friday she wasn't,' Larissa summed up. 'Wow.' 

Jim didn't answer, grinning involuntarily. 

'Jim?' Larissa called him. 

'Hm?'

'Just… don't be a vulture, okay?' she said unexpectedly serious. 

'What?' he didn't believe his ears. 'Larissa, who do you take me for? I'd never take advantage of any girl, not speaking of Pam!'  

'I know,' said his sister. 'It's just… I know you, and sometimes you turn on your' knight in the shining armors' mode and endeavor to save everybody. And if you try to save that Pam girl from her troubles, well… she might respond to your feelings, but it will be born out of the feeling of obligation more than anything else. I'm sure it's not what you want.'

'So, what are you proposing to me to do?' Jim still didn't process the fact that he asked his younger sister for relationship advice. 

'Nothing,' he almost saw as she shrugged. 'Just be her friend and try not to smother her with your care.' 

'Okay, I'll think about it,' he said, hoping that his response would satisfy Larissa's curiosity and help him to get rid of her and have some sleep. 

'You'd better,' she chuckled. 'And keep me updated, Jimmy-boy!' 

'Good night, Larissa,' Jim mumbled.

'It's rather 'good morning,' but thank you!' Larissa said. 'See ya!' 

She disconnected, and Jim finally could have a sleep, but his half-hearted promise somehow kept him wide awake. 

What did she mean by that 'smother with care' after all? His brain instantly brought an image of his mother with her cooing and constantly worried expression, but he brushed that off. Of course, he had no intention to be like that. No, he was going just… to ask questions about her living. To help her if she asked to. To offer his help if he thought she needed some. It was nothing, honestly. It was something that he'd do for anybody in need. 

His traitorous brain instantly painted a picture of Angela in distress, asking for help, and he thought reluctantly that, in real life, he'd try to get rid of her as quickly as he could. So, maybe, he wasn't as chivalrous as his sister got used to thinking. 

But Pam was a different case. She deserved to be looked after; he doubted that she had seen a lot of care in the last years. Heck, she had been grateful for hastily prepared dumplings! And he was capable of much more than a ready-to-cook dinner. 

Jim indulged himself a few moments of dreaming about all the things he could do for Pam and regretted once more that Pam had been so insistent on her wish to leave that soon and hadn't stayed in his apartment for longer; he regretted that he hadn't found arguments to persuade her. Certainly, Pam's word would be the final; but sometimes he thought that not all of her decisions would be for the better. She had been with Roy for so long, after all… 

The thoughts were moving back and forth, and Jim gave up on sleep. The pleasant fantasies alternated with frantic and desperate thoughts; he was good at elaborating complicated plans, but now he had no idea how to cross the line between friends and lovers. Jim almost hated himself for pondering over this question so soon. The pain that started to form in his temples didn't help his thinking process, and Jim grimly thanked Larissa for her contribution to his suffering.

The whole day went in a daze; at the end of it, after a dose of painkillers that barely tamed his headache, Jim went to sleep. He worried that Pam didn't call, still felt anxious about the future, but, somehow, along with all of that, he felt a tingle of hope. Pam wasn't going to throw herself at him, that wasn't even discussed, but she was still his best friend. For now, he had to be satisfied with it; and later, when Roy would be anything but an impending threat… maybe, she might find a place for him in her heart.

That hope crumbled a little on Monday when Pam arrived at work pale, with bags under her eyes and wearing the same clothes that she had had on Friday. Jim glanced at her with unhidden concern, but she just shook her head as to say 'not now.' After that, she immediately busied herself with phones and papers, and Jim had to obey her wish. 

The rest of their coworkers, however, weren't as delicate to her feelings as he was. Phyllis smiled at her knowingly and commented on her outfit in a hushed tone that made Pam half-embarrassed, half-mortified; Angela couldn't stop to give Pam the death stare; Dwight conducted another investigation about Pam's state and was satisfied with her assurance that there hadn't been any worsening in her condition all weekend. But Kelly surpassed them all, catching Pam in the kitchen and keeping her for, at least, fifteen minutes. When Pam finally emerged from the kitchen, her expression was blank, and she never left her place. 

It was Kelly who shed some light on Pam's troubles. She returned from her lunch, terrified and excited at the same time, and went straight to the reception. 

'Oh my gosh, Pam! How are you keeping?'

Jim instantly was all ears. 

'Darryl told me everything! That's horrible! I'd never say these things about your outfit if I knew! Roy is such a jerk, I've never ever thought he could do something like that! Why haven't you dumped his sorry ass sooner?'

The more Kelly spoke, the paler Pam became, and Jim's heart squeezed with more force. He should have known that the men like Roy were capable of any misdeed toward people who dared to slight them.

Jim knew that there were good ways to break up — Mark was an expert in that. In all his relationships appeared the moment when he or a girl he was seeing at that moment said something like 'this was fun, but let's just be friends.' Surprisingly, in most cases, he saved the friendship. 

There were terrible ways to break up; the only serious relationship Jim had ever had had ended up that way. The initial infatuation with a pretty classmate had ceased, and he had openly been weighed down with a dead-end relationship, but Jim hadn't had enough courage to finish it. And then there had been that terrible party when their mutual friend had proposed his girlfriend and his own girlfriend had made a few not-so-subtle hints, and Jim had found himself blurting out 'Let's break up.' The party had ended with his ex in tears and him feeling like an ass; no need to say that since then, he had gotten quite a reputation among his university friends. 

Apparently, there was also the way the men like Roy showed that the relationships were over. And, if all that Kelly was speaking of was true, that way included throwing all the belongings of the ex out of the window; Jim was terrified to imagine what else it could consist of. 

Kelly finished her speech, hugging Pam compassionately and promising to take her next time she'd go shopping. 

'You should totally wear brighter colors, Pam. I know that amazing thrift store, no one will suspect that the clothes aren't from a boutique. I'll make you look like candy, and it'll definitely cheer you up!' 

She went back to the annex then, and Pam remained glued to her chair, hiding her eyes from other coworkers. Luckily for her, Dwight didn't return from his break; otherwise, she wouldn't be able to avoid even more embarrassing questions and presumptions. But it was a shallow relief. 

Jim couldn't take the silence any longer. He typed on his keyboard almost violently 'May I talk to you?' Pam didn't raise her head to look at him as she did every time he sent her a message. His knee bounced nervously under the desk, and when he finally received a short 'Okay,' he practically jumped from his seat and stormed off the office. He was pacing back and forth in the stairwell, waiting for her; after endlessly long four minutes, she showed up. 

'Are you okay?' was the dumbest thing to ask, but it nevertheless escaped his lips. 

'No,' Pam said after a while. 'But I'll be fine.' 

She offered him a watery smile and added. 

'Those were just material things, after all. They could be replaced.' 

Blood rustled in Jim's ears at the sight of her, so passive, fragile, and so unhappy. His loathing towards Roy grew unbelievably high. 

'Did you press charges against him?' he muttered through clenched teeth. 

'No,' she shook her head. 'And I won't.' 

Jim couldn't believe his ears; he felt the ground moving from under his feet. She couldn't return to Roy, right? Could she? The wave of panic and fear engulfed him, and his knees were suddenly weaker. He leaned to the wall, taming his sudden shivering. 

'What? Why?' Jim stared at her with widened eyes. 'Pam, why do you still defend him?' 

The corners of Pam's mouth twitched, and Jim was briefly glad about a vivid emotion on her face, even if it was anger. 

'I don't defend him,' she said with a warning in her voice. 

'Then why…'

'Do you have any idea what police would say if I called them?' Pam snapped. 'I tell you. They'd say 'it's none of our business to resolve love quarrels' or even 'call back when the serious crime is committed.' And even if by some strange coincidence they arrested him, it would only make things worse! The notification about it might affect his visa, and if Roy loses his precious new job because of this incident…' 

She caught her breath and added calmer.

'Look, Roy has already signed his resignation letter. He has to work here just a week and when he'll be gone. And I just want it to be over, so I'm not going to make things more complicated.'

'But it's unfair for you,' Jim whispered. Pam smirked humorlessly.

'As well as life in general.' 

She left then, but Jim stood motionlessly for a while.

At the end of the day, he casually lingered at the reception. It wasn't Tuesday or Thursday, but the circumstances had changed significantly. 

'Are you ready to go, Pam?' he asked cautiously. 

Pam sighed and shook her head. 

'I had to finish Michael's papers, so…' 

'Oh, okay. I'll wait for you then,' said Jim, slightly discouraged. 

'Um, I think it'll take a while, so you should probably go. Besides,' Pam smiled with a shade of mischief, 'I won't forgive myself if you miss the new episode of 'Lost". 

'Oh, you mean that you won't forgive yourself if you miss the update on 'who does Kate end up with'?' despite his worried state, Jim smirked. 

'You're on to me,' her soft voice and another smile made his heart fast at its rhythm. 'Have a nice evening!' 

'See you tomorrow,' Jim said, waving her goodbye. He kept grinning on the way out, but little by little, his smile faded. He saw Pam's face before his eyes when she had been speaking to him in the stairwell, so resigned, so pale and stricken — he hoped he would never see her like that again. She had said 'just material things,' and Jim hadn't believed her for a moment; he knew her too well. There was her lucky cardigan she had worn the day she had gotten the job in Dunder Mifflin and the day they had met. Had it ended up in a trash can? Her favorite books, her sketches — had they been destroyed with slush, or had she saved them? And how many other dear and memorable belongings had become a loot for hobos or had turned into a meaningless junk? Of course, Pam would have said that they hadn't been a big loss, but he knew she was grieving about them. Perhaps, even more than about the break-up with Roy. 

It was the other thing that kept his thoughts swirling wildly. That bastard had crossed all the possible lines. Not only he hadn't made the greatest woman in the world happy and had treated her like shit, but he also couldn't have accepted her rejection like a man. And the worst part — he was going to get away with it. It wasn't fair. 

Well, Roy Anderson had always been the personification of the word 'injustice,' but now it added even more layers, hues, and shades. He became a granite statue, looming over the heads of people like an old Soviet monument, repressing and coarse. 

Jim felt an ache to overthrow it and to break it into pieces. 

This ache grew stronger the next day when Pam was even more wretched than the day before. Somewhere around lunchtime, Pam received a call on her cell phone and went to answer it out of the office; she returned fifteen minutes later and went straight to the bathroom. Jim did his best not to rush after her; when she returned to her workplace, the rims of her eyes were red, and her face was slightly blotchy. She gave him her usual small smile that said 'it's okay,' but it wasn't enough to calm him down. He wanted her big, toothy grins to return; the ones that said 'that's awesome' and 'I'm happy.' But Jim didn't know how to fix that, and it drove him crazy. 

So, when he came to work on Wednesday and saw Roy's car on its usual spot, it was the final blow for him. He was tired of passivity and humility; the crime shouldn't be left scot-free. And then appeared the idea of how he could restore some justice. It cleared his mind from the fog of doubts and uncertainty. 

Jim spent half of his lunch break in the hardware store, and the other — in the storeroom, where he twisted pieces of thick wire and nails into the skew caltrops. He hid his crafts by all of the tires of Roy's car and returned to the office; he didn't remember when he had felt that peaceful the last time. 

Perhaps, he wouldn't overthrow the monument, but surely he'd make a hella good scratch. 

Jim was on the phone with a customer when he heard a loud bang of the door. Pam, who was making copies, flinched and looked at the entrance; the frightened expression instantly reflected on her face. 

'What the hell, Pam!?' he heard Roy's roaring before he saw him, stomping wildly toward Pam, who moved back now numbly. 

Jim dropped the phone and was on his feet before he could realize what was actually happening. He jumped to Roy in an attempt to shield Pam from him. But, somehow, Dwight was there first. His right hand made an almost imperceptible movement under his desk, before he stood up, pushed Pam back, and sprayed something wicked right into Roy's face. 

That also meant that the tad of pepper mixture filled Jim's eyes and nostrils as well. 

'Dammit, Jim!' he heard Dwight exclaim along with Roy's cry and cursing. 'I've had everything under control!' 

Jim's eyes burned so much, he could see nothing; he pressed his palms to the sockets to ease the extreme irritation. He could only imagine that hectic that swirled around the office. But then Jim felt something wet pressed to his face; he grabbed the piece of soaked fabric instinctively, and his fingers brushed the smaller hand. Jim rubbed his eyes furiously, trying to get rid of the remains of the pepper spray. When he finally could open his eyes, the first thing he saw was Roy, kneeling on the floor before Pam. He was pressing his hands to his face, howling from the pain. And for the briefest moment, Jim imagined that it was the tears of remorse; for the most fleeting moment, Jim was satisfied. But then he looked at Pam, and his heart sank. 

She looked at Roy with horror, clutching another wet cloth, too scared to hand it to her ex-fiance; the water droplets ran through her fingers and fell on her boots. Jim suddenly found out that he couldn't take his eyes from that dripping. 

Somehow, when he had conceived his plan, he hadn't thought that it could backfire on Pam. And now, when that happened… the thought that Pam wouldn't have been grateful for his intervention couldn't be more belated. 

Luckily, Roy showed up at the end of the day; when the security took him out of the building, it was almost the time to go home. Jim tried to catch Pam and talk to her, but again, Dwight was first; he insisted on walking her home, in case of other attacks. She probably was too dumbfounded and tired to protest, and in Dwight's presence, Jim couldn't talk much. They both saw her off to her sister's dorm; Dwight left almost immediately, but Jim stayed longer, looking at the windows and wondering which one was Pam's. 

Both of them remained Pam's chaperons until Roy had finally left the city in a week. But, after his leaving, for two more weeks, she had been receiving phone calls that had made her hide in the bathroom to have a good cry. The whole month had passed before she stopped flinching at every loud noise. 

It was the month of significant changes in Pam's life, and she kept Jim updated. She had left her sister's and had found a new place and roommates ('a nice one' and 'you'd like her; I know about your crush on Dwight, and she's basically his female version'); she also had gotten an additional job as a hostess in the restaurant in her new neighborhood ('you have to promise me never ever to order sushi there — and I'm completely serious right now'). Jim was proud of her; she had finally taken her life into her hands. 

And yet… something was terribly off. They kept their witty banter, but Jim had no idea about her real thoughts; she smiled at him, but he saw clearly that it was just a mask. The other job was obviously exhausting for her, and yet she never said a word about it. Every time he tried to point at it, she brushed him off. She shut him out; his every attempt to reach her was turned down with a quip or another excuse; and he didn't risk to push her to be frank with him. Pam had never called him out on his trick on Roy's car, and Jim had never mentioned it. Somehow, even when he was far away, Roy's shadow still stood between them. 

As the months before, Jim and Pam went from work together. Jim's only solace was that they did it every day instead of twice a week; this and the fact that their ride together lasted one station longer. But the rest… Jim hoped that one day he would become more than a friend to Pam; instead, he remained 'just a friend,' even less than that. 

They went down the escalator and waited for the train. When it arrived, Pam sat on the bench and closed her eyes. Jim stood nearby, clutching the handhold, as he did almost every day. He knew that in an hour, her second shift would begin; Pam used that ride to take some rest before going to work again. All he could do was to give her some peace. 

The train jerked, and Jim felt as something warm landed on his knuckles. He looked down and saw Pam, resting her temple on his hand. 

Jim stood still, not daring to move and wake her up. Pam's head had quite a weight, but he thought about butterflies — one wrong movement and the ephemeral wonder would fly away. So he just stood there, savoring that moment, but her station appeared too soon, and Jim touched her shoulder carefully. 

Pam startled at the touch, blinking sleepily. 

'Oh my gosh, I'm sorry,' she said, a blush of embarrassment covered her cheeks. Jim shrugged as nothing had happened. 

'Well, that's my leave. See you later, Jim!' she stood up to get to the exit. 

'Take care of yourself, Pam,' said Jim instead of his usual goodbye. 

'I will,' she smiled sadly and disappeared among the crowd. 

Jim brought his hand to his face, still feeling her warmth and softness on his skin. For the first time in the last month, she relied on him — quite literally. 

He wished her to be independent. 

Unfortunately, she also became independent of him. 

End Notes:

I feel an ache to write down the next chapter as soon as possible. I hope I'll make it. 

Next time Pam will have a bubble bath and Jim will ask about the difference between pastel and watercolor. 

Link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_dcvMuK9uU

Understand me without dictionaries by Dernhelm
Author's Notes:

The chapter title is from 'Halloes-Alas' by 'Little Zaches' ('Krykhitka Tsakhes')

It was a rough week for me, but here we go... 


Pam had never lived on her own, but living with just two other girls was nice. It was mostly because she rarely saw her roommates and practically didn't interact with them, so it felt like she was alone. 

They had found each other on the forum online; Pam knew almost nothing about them and vice versa, and that was just perfect. Karen was the eldest of them and worked somewhere in finances. She paid half of the rent for the apartment; that's why it was only fair that she took the separate bedroom when two others occupied the guest room. When Pam returned from the office to change and hurry to the restaurant, the door of Karen's room was usually closed, but her loud voice mixed with the sounds of a computer game shooting came out of it nevertheless. Pam had a strong suspicion that Karen despised both of her roommates, but had neither time nor intention to find out if that was true. Pam liked the other girl, Isabel, the most. She was easy-going and worked as a shop assistant in a mall nearby. Perhaps, under different circumstances, they might have been good friends, but Pam didn't seek friendship or even companionship. Besides, when Pam returned from her second shift, both her roommates were already sleeping. Sometimes, it was Isabel who came home in the middle of the night after her excessive parting and, trying to be as quiet as possible, waking Pam up nevertheless. Pam didn't care much about it, she usually fell asleep back just a minute later, barely registering her roommate's appearance. 

She was glad, really glad that her life now had a schedule. Woke up. Prepared for the first work. A thirty minutes ride by bus to the office. A terribly long and tedious workday, sometimes brightening with Michael's follies and Jim's jokes. A forty minutes ride by metro back to her apartment. Quick dinner. Change. A fifteen minutes walk to her other work. Five hours of greetings, taking calls, and polite smiling, that sometimes paid off with extra tips. The fifteen minutes walk home, where she fell on her futon and had a dreamless slumber. And in the morning — repeating the scheme all over again. 

She was truly grateful for her regime. It kept her equally busy and exhausted and didn't leave her time to think or feel anything. 

At the weekend, her regime crumbled a little. On Saturday, Pam had a full day shift in the restaurant, but even with that, she still had too much time; she spent it mostly on sleep. Sunday was usually dedicated to housing chores. Isabel was buying groceries, Karen cooking, Pam doing the dishes; Karen was paying the bills, Pam vacuuming and dusting, Isabel taking care of laundry. It was the day three girls communicated the most, and Pam was always slightly aware of it. 

She did the dishes as usual when she heard a stumbling sound and a soft cursing from the guest room. Then Karen appeared in the kitchen, holding the bag which Pam so carelessly had left on the floor. 

'If you keep leaving your stuff like that, I'll gather it and put it right into a trash can,' she said matter-of-factly and threw the bag on a kitchen chair. 

Pam didn't turn to face Karen; a plate she was washing dropped from her hands. She looked down, but instead of a sink, full of foam, saw only dirty melting snow, slipping through her fingers. 

A sob escaped from her throat, and she had to grasp on the counter to stay straight. 

'Whoa, Pam, no need to be so dramatic,' Karen scolded her, but soon, her voice changed to worry. 'Hey, calm down, I'm not going to do anything to your things.' 

But once unleashed, Pam's crying didn't stop. Isabel hurried to the kitchen to see tearful Pam and Karen, baffled with a sudden breakdown. 

'What did you say to her?' she asked Karen and gently put her hand on Pam's shoulder; from that simple touch, Pam's body started to shake even more. 

'Nothing!' Karen exclaimed. 'Just ask to watch her stuff.' 

'Doesn't look like 'nothing'!' Isabel retorted. 'There, there, Pam, shhh, that's okay.' 

She almost forcefully sat Pam on the chair and turned to Karen. 

'I'll be right back.'

She ran to the bathroom then and turned on hot water. When the bathtub started to fill, Isabel dropped a few drops of lavender-scented bubble bath. She considered it for a moment and poured it without a measure. 

In the kitchen, Karen awkwardly hugged Pam with one arm and muttered something reassuring without the visible result, though; Pam hid her face in her hands, crying almost hysterically. 

'Hey, let's take her to the bathroom,' Isabel suggested, and Karen nodded. They led non-resistant Pam to the smaller room, where they stripped her to her underwear and put her in hot bubbly water. Pam yelped at the first contact with a new surrounding, but that was all her reaction. The tears kept rolling down her cheeks, and she sobbed brokenly. Isabel kneeled on the rug by the bathtub, Karen sat on the toilet seat. All they could do was wait. 

Finally, Pam's sobs turned into the shuddering, hiccupy inhales and exhales; the well of tears seemed to dry up, at least, temporary. 

'I'm sorry you had to see all of… this,' Pam said apologetically, making an attempt to smile and failing. 'It won't happen again, I promise.'

'Hey, that's okay,' Isabel said reassuringly. 'Each of us sometimes just lost it, you know?' 

Pam looked at her with perplexity.

'So, what happened, Pam?' Isabel asked carefully. And that simple question broke the dam, that Pam had been neatly creating for the last few months. She had to press her palm to her mouth to shut herself, but her hands gripped her knees, and words flowed uncontrollably. 

She told them about Roy, about her engagement without any sign of a wedding, about his decision to move, her sabotage, and their break-up. Karen shifted uncomfortably when Pam described how she had returned home to speak to Roy and had recognized in the junk on the snow under the building her belongings, but she said nothing. 

'I just don't understand,' Pam repeated again and again. 'How could he do that? He was ignorant, yes, and too handsy sometimes — well, when he had too many shots, but he's never been cruel. He knew that my things were important to me, and I just don't understand… Probably, that's my fault. I made him…'

'Not your fault,' said Karen confidently. 'It was his choice to be an asshole, and you have nothing to do with that.' 

'She's right,' Isabel said. 'Don't be too hard on yourself. It just happens, some men were born jerks, and it's not our fault that we stumble over them on our way. Besides, could you imagine what might your life have looked like if you'd married that guy? If you'd had kids with him? You’re the lucky one to dodge the bullet!' 

Pam sniffed. 

Then Pam told them about her mom. She said as she had called her in tears, telling her about her distress and asking for advice. And though Mrs. Beesly had comforted her daughter a little, she had told her to be wiser, not to throw away eight years of relationships, to save the engagement and ask Roy to come back; she had repeated again and again how it had been necessary — to have a man in her life, even if he had been far from the perfection. Pam told them that it had pained her so much — to hear how her own mother had basically taken the side of her former fiance and had tried to convince her to return to him. 

'I've always been her girl,' Pam was on the edge of tears again. 'Penny has been all dad's, but I've been hers. She was so proud of me when I went to university. And when I got engaged, she couldn't stop bragging about my success. And now I turned out to be an ungrateful child who broke her mother's heart. Twenty four years old, no husband, no fiance, no kids in the near future, and her neighbors don't get tired of rubbing that in her face.' 

'Have you ever thought that your mother tried to live through your life?' said Karen carefully. Both Pam and Isabel looked at her with confusion. 

'What?' Pam asked. 

'Okay. Did your mother have a degree?'

'Um, no,' said Pam uncertainty. 

'And your father?..'

'They divorced when I was fifteen,' Pam looked at her folded hands. 'He found another woman and I don't know where he lives now. We lost touch.' 

'So, the next year after he'd gone, you met a kinda decent guy your mom totally approved, right?' Karen went on, and Pam nodded. 'Well, that should be expected.' 

'What expected?' Pam still didn't get Karen's point. 

'Look, just don't take it personal, okay?' Pam nodded again, and Karen continued. 'It seems that your mother has a plan in her head about what you should achieve to have your life complete. For your mother, that means some education, family and — the most important — to be like everyone else. Don't give a reason for others to think ill of you and your family. And you were fulfilling her wishes, so, when you stopped doing that and chose something you needed instead of what she wanted — she started to push on the guilt button.' 

'How did you learn all this stuff?' asked Isabel, amazed. 

'Let's say, I've had a lot of practical studies,' Karen smirked darkly. Pam and Isabel said nothing. 

After that, Pam told about the day when Roy had jumped into her office and received a good portion of pepper spray in his face. And she cried again, remembering the phone calls that had followed — from her mom, and Roy's mom, and some of his friends, and from unknown numbers. In these calls, the world' hussy' had usually been the most decent. The water in the tub cooled down, and the bubbles ceased, but Pam kept talking. 

'I hate the idea that someone out there hates me. I think if they got to know me, they wouldn't hate me. But all of them — my mom, and Roy, and his mom, and his family and friends — they all know me, and they hate me so much.' 

She made another broken sob. 

'I just… I can't do this anymore. I work on two shitty jobs only to afford my existence — but what's the point? I am a failed daughter, I have failed as a fiancee, and I am even failing to be a nice girl I've always been. I'm so weak and tired, and I don't know who I am anymore.' 

'Why do you think you're weak?' asked Karen. Pam laughed mirthlessly. 

'Well, for a start, I'm sitting in the bathtub and crying my eyes out…'

'But you got out of unhealthy relationships and didn't allow yourself to be dragged back,' Karen said. 'You escaped the crab bucket, and that couldn't be possible without inner strength.'

'And you survived the shitstorm on your own and didn't end up in a psych ward,' added Isabel. 'I think that's awesome.' 

'Do you really think so?' Pam looked at her roommates, torn between overwhelming gratitude and desire to weep a little more. 

'Of course,' said Isabel, smiling. 'And now, why don't we get you out of the bath and have some wine?' 

They brought Pam her fluffy pink robe and then sat in the guest room, drinking wine from tea cups since none of them had bought proper glasses yet. In an attempt to cheer Pam up, Isabel started to tell them her own story about her short-lived marriage. And even though it wasn't a lighthearted tale, the way Isabel spoke about her extremely feckless ex-husband made Pam stifle giggling a couple of times. Pam appreciated Isabel's sense of humor and thought that she really should try to make friends with her.

'So, I decided once and for all that next time if I want to clean after someone, I'll get a dog,' Isabel finished her speech with a dramatic swoosh of her hand and emptied her cup. 'I mean, dogs at least care about you. I doubt that my ex knew where I was working at that time, not speaking about actually giving enough shit to come and make a scene.' 

'Well, I don't think Roy would ever do what he's done, it just happened,' Pam admitted. 

'Happened? Really, Pam?' Karen asked sarcastically. 

'Erm… someone kinda slashed his tires,' Pam looked down, but quickly glanced up and added, 'It wasn't me.' 

Karen snorted, Isabel laughed, and Pam blushed slightly. 

'We know it wasn't you, silly,' said Isabel. 'But for sure, you have a crazy protective friend somewhere.' 

'More like a fucked-up friend,' Karen rolled her eyes. 

'Do you know who it was?' asked Isabel curiously. 

'No,' Pam lied. 

They emptied the bottle too quickly, and Isabel went out to buy more booze. While she was absent, Karen said quietly that she was sorry for her words. 

'That's okay,' Pam answered. 'You didn’t know.' 

She thought she was lucky that her roommates had turned out to be so supportive and understanding. She suspected that if they had reacted in any other way, Pam would have been looking for a new place now. 

Two next bottles were finished almost as quickly as the first one, and Karen, keeping in mind that tomorrow all of them had to go to work, suggested cutting the drinking and switching to ice-cream and a movie. They took away the bottles — both empty and full — and Karen invited them into her room since she was the only one who owned a computer. Pam sat on Karen's bed and pressed her back to the wall; wine made her mellow and she couldn't stop giggling. 

They were watching 'Spirited Away' (Karen's choice), and she kept rolling her eyes every time Pam or Isabel commented on the film. 

'Oof, that's the perfect illustration of my life!' exclaimed Isabel when a wooden step of extremely steep stairs broke under the leading heroine's foot, and she ran down, screaming in panic. 

'Mine too!' giggled Pam when the heroine's run ended up with her smashing into a wall amain. 

But then Pam started to watch the film with more attention and even cut her remarks. Either she sobered up a little, or the movie turned out to be more compelling than she expected, or, maybe, something was endearing in the way the heroine and her green-eyed friend were saving each other, but, in the end, Pam was teary again; the open-ended final was too much to bear. 

After the movie, Karen hinted that it was really late, and she had an important meeting in the morning, so her roommates left with theirs 'thanks' and 'good nights.' They got ready for bed, but even with the lights turned off, Pam didn't feel tired enough to doze off; today's events kept buzzing in her head. 

'It was fun today,' said Pam. 'I haven't had so much fun for a long time.' 

Isabel was silent for a moment and then chuckled. 

'We should definitely repeat this… next Sunday, maybe? But, you know, without the bathroom thing.'

Pam smiled in the darkness sadly and sighed. 

'Next Sunday I have to visit my mom in our village. And it'll be horrible. She'll keep nagging me about how I’ve managed to fail my engagement, and I'll keep my fingers crossed not to bump into Mrs. Anderson…'

'Hey, I have an idea. How about you don't?' suggested Isabel. 

'Huh?' 

'If you don't want to go, then just don't. You should do you, girl. What do you actually want from your life?' 

Pam stared at the ceiling for a while before she answered. 

'I want to live in a house with a terrace. I want to plant flowers and draw how they're growing. I want…' she swallowed 'I want to love and to be loved.' 

'Aww, these are good,' said Isabel. 'Well, you have to wait a little with the house, but others? Get yourself an album with pencils, and I’ll bring you a flower pot and seeds. And next time I go to the club, I'll take you with me. Let's find you a man, someone with money and well-endowed.' 

'Um… thanks, Isabel, but I don't think that clubbing is my thing,' said Pam carefully. 

'Well, how do you meet people otherwise? In the libraries?' Isabel smirked. 

'I don't think I want to meet people at all.'

'Um… so how could you meet your Prince Charming then?' asked Isabel. Pam didn't answer, and Isabel shifted on the couch to face her. 'Wait a minute! You've already met him, haven't you?'

If it weren't so dark, she'd notice a deep blush covering Pam's cheeks.  

'It's complicated,' Pam whispered at last. 

'Pam. Pam. Pam. I need more details!' Isabel was clearly excited. 

'It's nothing, really. I just know a guy, but it's hopeless, and nothing will happen with him.' 

'Oh, dear, why hopeless?' 

'Because,' Pam groaned quietly. 'He knows that I’ve just ended the eight-years-long relationships. And I'm scared, I'm scared so much… what if I'm falling for him just because I don't get used to living on my own and just desperately need someone in my life, and he's the closest guy I have?'

'Do you?' 

'I don't know. But if I do something — anything — about him, he'll think low of me, and I'll die from embarrassment if he thinks low of me. And now I try to stay away from him because he might find out that I'm not a cool girl he used to think I am but a complete mess. And when I'm around him I keep pretending that I'm fine when all I want is to curl into a ball and cry. It's exhausting, and I miss having fun with him, but I just don't see how I could change it.' 

‘So, you were already having fun, huh?’ 

‘Not in that way! I was engaged, remember? We were just making pranks and stuff.’

'So… Why is his opinion so important for you?' asked Isabel warily. 

'He's the best friend I've ever had,' said Pam with a sigh. 'And he's so nice. Witty and smart and thoughtful and…' 

'Uh-oh. Be careful with the nice guys,' Isabel didn't even try to hide her contempt. 'They might seem perfect, but when you're the most vulnerable, they'll try to shove their tongues down your throat. Or even worse.' 

'Jim's not like that!' exclaimed Pam. Isabel chuckled, and Pam added quieter 'He could never do such a thing, I know he couldn't.' 

'Well, if that guy is as great as you describe him, he'll understand your troubles. And if he's just another fake nice guy… it would be better to get rid of him now before that thing didn't go too far. Does it make any sense?' 

'Maybe. Maybe if I think about it more, it'll sound more convincing.' 

'Think about it. And hey! We have a plan for this week! You'll get yourself drawing stuff, I'll get you a flower pot… or, if you want to, I can find you another pot…'

'Isabel!'

'What? It also could help you to relax!' 

Pam giggled, and Isabel laughed. They exchanged 'good nights' then, and soon after that, Pam heard Isabel's steady breathing. But she couldn't fall asleep so quickly. 

Perhaps, she truly needed another point of view at her life. She had gotten used to looking at herself through her mom's eyes, and through Roy's eyes, and, probably, even through Jim's eyes. And every time she did that, she saw someone who wasn't entirely her. Today, she looked at herself through other girls' eyes and found out with a great surprise, that she could be weak and strong at the same time; moreover, that was absolutely okay to have flaws. 

Perhaps, one day she wouldn't need another person to see herself as she was. 

It was strange, strange to realize that the way she lived all these years was unhealthy and deficient at some point. Thoughts about that were swirling in her mind the whole week. Pam didn't notice before that she had imitated her mother's life; two months ago, she hadn't minded to follow her steps, but now she was scared of it. The way her mother lived, the way she thought and reacted, had stained her daughter's life deeply; the constant need of approval, the hiding of her true self behind the image of 'the nice girl,' the repressing of her needs and thoughts and feelings in an attempt to prevent the disappointment of others in the endless quest for perfection. All of these had become her second skin — she had to shed it; the way she lived had cursed her to be unhappy — she had to break this curse. 

Of course, it wouldn't be easy, and Pam knew it clearly and precisely. She couldn't just go to bed with determination to change her life and wake up the new person. Pam knew that for weeks, months she would still be looking back at the reaction of people surrounding her before she would finally rely on herself; she hoped that it wouldn't turn into years. 

On Friday, when Michael gathered all of them in the conference room to lecture them about leadership and other crap, she glanced at Jim, who caught her look and rolled his eyes at their boss' folly. And it hit her, it hit her so hard she clutched her notebook till her knuckles were white. 

She couldn't break her curse until she wasn't honest with her best friend. 

Pam was terrified. The idea to tell Jim everything made her stomach churn, and her heart dropped to the ground. She thought what Roy would say if she told him what she was about to tell Jim. Probably something like 'why are you saying this to me’ or 'well, that's your problem.' Of course, Jim wasn't Roy. 

Still, she had no idea how he would react. 

When the meeting was over, Pam went straight to her place. She had to calm down before speaking to him. Another sudden determination had been born then: if he was disappointed, if she ruined their understanding, she'd immediately go to Toby and write a resignation letter. She'd probably spend many hours in the bath, weeping over her imperfection, but, at least, she would be free from that uncertainty. 

Her unsteady fingers drummed on her keyboard. 

'Hey, may I talk to you?'

She raised her eyes to look at Jim; he raised his eyes at her and nodded. 

Pam stood up then and went to the stairwell; she had had a habit to toy with her ring when she was nervous, and now, when it had been long gone, she didn't know what to do with her fingers or with her hands. She felt as if she was melting; the tips of her ears burned, and she couldn't stay as if the floor had burned her feet as well. Something invisible and impalpable squeezed her lungs, not allowing her to breathe in fully. 

She almost jumped when Jim finally showed up. 

'What's up, Beesly?' he asked casually, and suddenly the words stuck in her throat. Pam coughed and hugged herself. 

Here goes nothing. 

'I just want to be honest with you,' her eyes were locked on his shoes. 'You're my best friend, and things are just like weird between us right now. And I don't want them to be like that.' 

Pam looked at Jim's face, who was visually tensed. 

'I know I told you that everything is fine. The thing is that it isn't.'

'Look, Pam,' Jim interrupted her, but she stopped him on his tracks. 

'Please, let me finish first,' Pam said, and Jim nodded, hiding his hands in the pockets and hunching. 

'So,' Pam continued. 'You know, the break-up with Roy was the right thing to do.' 

Jim looked at her with a new, slightly puzzled expression.

'But that break-up made my life far more complicated. I'm struggling with my jobs, have problems with my family, and basically can't allow myself to stop and take a break. Every day I want to cry, but after my shifts, I feel too exhausted even for a few tears.'

She bit her lower lip. 

'I'm tired of pretending that everything is okay when it's not. And I truly want to be a better person, a stronger and more independent one, but, apparently, it's harder than I expected. And while I’m not there yet, I’m stuck in this weird state not knowing who I am. ' 

She made a shuddering exhale and tried to smile. 

'Well, I guess, I may call this person Fancy New Beesly. Or, maybe, Permanently Petrified Pam. Haven't decided yet.'

Jim was silent for so long that Pam started to worry that he was going to just turn around and go away without any reaction. Finally, he spoke. 

'How aren't you dead already?' 

That was the question Pam hadn't been prepared for at all.

'What?' 

'How aren't you dead already?' His expression changed and was anything but a disappointment. 'How can you cope with all that stuff on your own, stay sane, and even be able to joke? I'd be dead if I had to deal with all of that.'

A force that was tightening her chest weakened, and Pam breathed in and out freely. 

'I don't know either,' she said shrugging. 'Muscle memory, I guess.' 

'You have awesome muscles then,' Jim laughed awkwardly. 'But seriously, can I help you somehow?' 

Pam shook her head. 

'I don't think so. You can't pay my bills for me or patch things up between my mom and me. All of this I have to do on my own.'

'Oh. I'm sorry you have a quarrel with your mother.'

'Yeah. She still can’t forgive me that I turned a good man into a revengeful asshole.' 

It was meant to be sarcasm, but Jim shifted uncomfortably, and his hand flew to scratch the back of his head.

'Um… about that. That thing with Roy's car… well, that was me. Sorry for bringing you more trouble.' 

'Well, I kinda figured that out,' Pam smirked and couldn't resist adding, 'My hero.' 

Jim laughed. 

'Rather an anti-hero then.' 

'Yep,' Pam agreed. 'In a slightly dented armor.' 

Both of them grinned, and Pam felt unbelievably lighthearted and even slightly lightheaded. 

That honesty thing was terrific. She should have tried it years ago. 

'Pam,' Jim asked, still smiling. 'Are you sure that there is nothing I can do for you?' 

And Pam heard Isabel's voice in her ears. What do you actually want from your life?

'Well, actually, there is something,' said Pam, and Jim glanced at her expectantly. 'I have one day off, on Sunday, and was thinking… I'd like to draw again but more professionally. But I've never studied, and, perhaps, still on the very amateur level... so… could you find some art courses for me? Something at the weekend and affordable. You could save me so much time...' 

'Yeah, sure,' Jim agreed eagerly. 'But, I have to say, I know nothing about the art, and I'm not sure I even know the difference between pastel and watercolor. There is a difference, right? They aren't different names for the same stuff?'

'Yes, the first is pigment pressed in the sticks, and the second is water-soluble paint,' Pam explained, smiling, 'but both are my favorite art mediums.'

'I'll keep that in mind,' Jim nodded solemnly. 'Hope you won't be disappointed with the courses I'll sign you up.'

'I'm sure I won't,' Pam said. 'I trust you.'

End Notes:

Next time Jim will wake up early in the Saturday morning by his own will and Pam will show her knowledge about the bloody magic rituals. 

Link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=24BeGNd2JtA&list=PLQwO15eyz8aiidQFTMiQGcEu43D_n0vZd&index=7&t=0s

And the gif from the movie, because I like it very much: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/357262182944548542/

Thank you all who read and leave reviews! Your support is very important for me. 

You start my day before the dawn by Dernhelm
Author's Notes:

The chapter title is from 'Life starts again' by 'Okean Elzy'

And I give up on holding back.

Jim left the office to take a ride and meet with a rather big client after his lunch when he noticed Pam, sitting on the bench in front of the building and sketching something on a large piece of paper. 

Well, the client could wait. 

'That’s a way better use of lunchtime,' Jim said, stepping closer. Pam gave him a small smile and returned to her drawing. 'What's this?'

'My Sunday project,' Pam answered. Jim peeked in her work and saw a pretty accurate sketch of their office building. 'We're on landscapes now, so… this should count, right?' 

'Oh, it looks great!' he smiled. 'I guess it counts as landscape, though I always thought that landscapes should be… I don't know, greener?' 

'I know, I know,' she groaned. 'It's architectural painting and selling it as an urban landscape would be a stretch. And Mrs. Rud'ko won't appreciate it, and I'd like myself to draw something blooming, but my schedule left me only with this. Oh, I forgot, I also have the sight from my window. But this is still a better choice.'

Something clicked in his brain and he blurted without thinking.

'What are you doing tomorrow?' 

Pam blinked and shrugged. 

‘My shift in the restaurant starts at noon, and after that, Izzy, Karen, and I have a movie marathon.’

'Something good?'

'Of course! All six parts of 'Pride and Prejudice.'

'Wow, I didn't know you're a fan of nightgown looking dresses,' Jim smirked. His mother was fond of British period dramas, and she'd made him watch some of her favorite movies with her. Not that he would ever admit that. No need to say, he had a special attitude toward them.

'Don't you dare call the Empire style dresses' nightgowns!' Pam exclaimed, narrowing her eyes. 

'Did I strike a nerve?'

'Oh, just shut up already!'

'Okay, okay, I got it, you'll have a pretty busy evening. What about the morning?' 

'Um, I don't have plans for the morning,' Pam answered. 'Why?'

'Meet me on the platform of the 'Vydubychi' station tomorrow at six-thirty and take your art supplies,' Jim snapped his fingers. 'I know a terrific landscape you might like to put on canvas.' 

'Huh,' she chuckled. 'That's intriguing. And we'll meet this early because…'

'To catch the golden hour, duh,' Jim shrugged as if it was obvious. 

'And you told me you knew nothing about art,' Pam grinned. 'I definitely have a good influence on you.' 

She folded the paper and stood up. 

'Okay, deal. Tomorrow, six-thirty, 'Vydubychi,' she gave him a small smile, and he returned it.  

'All right,' Jim replied and bit his tongue to prevent 'it's a date' from escaping. 

Because, of course, it wouldn't be a date. 

First of all, when you had a date, the other person was aware of it, and there was nothing in Pam's casual and friendly 'See you tomorrow then and don't be late!' pointing it out. Besides, she still dealt with too much of her own stuff; the shades under her eyes refused to vanish, and he knew that sometimes, after an especially exhausting shift, she spent her lunch breaks napping in the ladies' room. Jim didn't want to burden her more with his feelings. 

And yet, the thought that tomorrow he'd meet with Pam and spend with her some time alone, away from their colleagues and random strangers in the metro, banished all other thoughts from his mind. Somehow, somehow he managed not to fail a sale and then discovered with great relief that it was too late to return to the office. 

It was for the best since Jim doubted that he could hide his excitement from Pam long enough. 

Jim was glad that Mark was at home and thankful for the so needed distraction his roommate provided with a video game console. They played till midnight when Jim feigned tiredness and went to bed. But the thought about meeting with Pam, an absolutely friendly meeting without any hidden meanings, made him toss and turn without much sleep. 

He gave up on it around half-past four. 

The buildings around the one they rented the apartment in, blocked the sunlight even when there was some; the sky was still dark and starless. He still had two hours before the time of the meeting and struggled with killing it. He didn't muse over the choice of clothes much; it wasn't a date, and he didn't want to give Pam a wrong idea, so he just put on some jeans and the first clean t-shirt he'd found. The fact that those were his nicest jeans and his favorite t-shirt was a pure coincidence. 

He drank some coffee, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and found with frustration that all of that had taken him less than half an hour. The minute hand of the kitchen clock teasingly balanced between '1' and '2', while the hour hand was strictly glued to '5.' Even the dumb clock was mocking him, Jim thought sulkily. He had run his fingers through his hair for so many times that he had efficiently ruined the semblance of an order he had managed to style his hair into earlier this morning. The anticipation was too much to bear; he gave up and left his apartment without second thoughts. 

In a hurry, he didn't take any jacket and regretted it the moment he opened the door of the building entrance. He had checked the weather forecast, and it had promised a lovely sunny day, but this early, the wind was chilling, and his bare arms were instantly covered with goosebumps; he thought that he could almost see his breath going out as white puffs. For a moment, he considered returning for something warm, but then Jim remembered an old saying that going back was bad luck. There was no returning. With that, Jim went to his metro station, shivering in the wind and wishing to hide underground as soon as possible. 

The city was silent and sleepy. The only other human beings Jim met were a janitor in the yard of the neighbor building and a clerk, smoking near a 24-hour store. But little by little, the darkness faded, and the pinkish hues exuded through the sky's grey. By the time Jim reached the station (only to find that it was still closed), the sun shone so dazzlingly that Jim felt weird compassion toward owls, bats, and other nocturnal creatures. After an endlessly long five minutes, the station was open; Jim went underground and stood on the empty platform, the pace of his heart increasing with every passing moment. When the first train arrived, he was the only passenger in the wagon; he had a vague suspicion that he might be the only passenger on the whole train. 

His journey was short; the train stopped twice, crossed the river (sun rays, reflected from the water, blinded Jim and for a moment he wondered if it would have been weird to take sunglasses) and finally Jim was at the meeting place, forty minutes before the meeting time. 

A station master kept throwing suspicious glares at the lanky guy, who was pacing agitatedly but froze in pretending nonchalance every time a train stopped. Jim didn't notice that he was watched; his mind was busy with calculations. 

Pam lived across the city from him, and her station was the terminus. Jim looked at the map of the metro, and his eyes traced the blue line. The average time the train made a ride between two stations was about two and a half minutes. So, it would take Pam twenty minutes to reach the transfer station to the green line. It was too early, and it was a weekend, so the time between the trains was longer than usual; on workdays, the time interval between trains was about four minutes, and now it was almost doubled. She might get lucky on the transfer and catch a train that just arrived, but for his own mental safety, he didn't count on that and added ten minutes for her to make a transfer and board the train on the green line. There were three stations between the transfer one and the meeting point, so the train made this distance in ten minutes. Hence, if his calculations were right, it would take Pam about forty minutes to arrive. And if she took the third train from the beginning of the metro circulation, she'd be on time. 

Another empty train came and went, and Jim was suddenly struck with a terrible thought and he felt his guts tightening in horror. What if his idea wasn't good enough? He was going to show Pam a place that was special to him — what if Pam would find it bland and boring? What if Pam would be disappointed and think that the whole venture wasn't worth being up bright and early on Saturday? What if Mrs. Rud'ko would find the view not pastoral enough for her liking and Pam would solidify in her opinion that the only person she should count on was herself? When Pam had asked him to find her some art classes, he had taken the liberty to use his mother's connections in bohemia and had made an acquaintance with Mrs. Rud'ko, a former teacher in the National Academy of Visual Arts and Architecture, who, partly of boredom and partly of the scarceness of her pension, gave private lessons. Back then Jim had thought that private lessons would have been slightly better than courses with a fixed schedule and many other students who might have drawn the attention of a teacher away from Pam; judging by the number of 'thanks' and the frequency Mrs. Rud'ko's name popped up in their conversations for the last month, Pam was quite satisfied with his choice. 

He couldn't afford to lose all of that credit.

Jim heard a distant rumble in the tunnel, and the wave of cold and slightly stale air hit his face. Another train was coming, and though it was still too early for Pam to arrive, Jim hid his hands into pockets and stood still. The train stopped, its doors opened with a loud whoosh, and when a lone figure stepped out of the wagon, Jim's heart went on a furious race. 

She was twenty minutes earlier than he'd expected. 

Pam beamed up at him, and even if Jim tried, he couldn't hide his grin. She wore a calf-length grey dress, an ugly bulky cardigan, and her hair was twisted in a messy bun; she vaguely reminded him of a high school girl from American films about the fifties. Also, she had an enormous backpack behind her back and held a seemingly heavy easel under her armpit. 

'Just for your information, Halpert,' she said instead of greeting, 'the golden hour ends in fifteen minutes.' 

'Really? Huh,' he replied and scratched his brow with feigned disturbance. 'So, abort the mission then?' 

'Are you insane? I was promised a terrific landscape, and you won't get out of your promise easily!' 

Another huge smile split Jim's face. Crazy early in the morning, in the middle of nowhere, but she was here because he'd asked her. 

'I wasn't even thinking about it,' Jim said and reached out for Pam's easel. 'May I take it?' 

Pam considered his offer for a moment and gave the item to him. 

'Be careful,' she warned him. 'I borrowed this easel from Mrs. Rud'ko, and I'll die from embarrassment if something happens to it.' 

'I will,' Jim promised. 'Shall we?' 

Pam nodded, and they went to the exit from the platform. 

'So, where are we going?' Pam asked as they left the station behind and walked by the highway. 

'To the Barren Mount,' Jim answered, placing her easel under his arm comfortably. The said mount loomed over the road in a kilometer or so, the top of it was hidden by the trees that covered its hills. 

'Barren mount?' 

'The Barren Mount,' Jim accentuated. 'The biggest one among the other barren mounts and the second biggest site of the witch gatherings in Europe. Pretty awesome, right?' 

'Do you believe in witchcraft?' Pam raised her brow on him. 

'I don't believe, I know it exists. Haven't you read Gogol in middle school? 'All women in the city are witches, especially those who work on marketplaces,' he quoted with a smirk. 'By the way, Walpurgis night will be in a few days, so, um, if you feel an urge to kindle a bonfire and dance around it naked, praising Mother Nature, don't stop on my account.' 

'Oh, Jim,' his guts twisted unpleasantly at the sight of disappointment when she shook her head. 'I can't believe you fell for this fairy-tale bullshit. Let me guess, you believe that witches use broomsticks for flying, right?'

'Ummm… yes?' Jim said, unsure where this conversation went but relieved slightly that she didn't seem offended with his earlier remark.  

'I knew it,' Pam sighed and continued. 'For your information, Jim, we don't fly on broomsticks. My sisters and I ride whatever the hell we want, including logs, pigs, and unlucky men, who happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And even if we kindle bonfires… well, we usually do it to light the glade where we gather to sacrifice poultry to appease the forces of the night, learn the proper way to jinx our foes and curse crops and cattle, dance with chorts and so on — the usual stuff. And, by the way, we do it fully dressed. Those men who made up that naked dancing nonsense had probably never walked through nettles without their pants on.'

Pam threw a short gaze at him and added. 

'I'm afraid now you know too much. And I don't have a choice other than to put a spell on you and ride you to the next gathering that indeed will take place in a few nights.'

Jim cast a dumbfounded look at Pam and stumbled. It was a miracle that the easel didn't drop from his weakened grip. 

'Oh God, Jim, I'm just kidding! But you should have seen your face!' 

Pam laughed so hard she bent in half, her face turning red. Jim was sure his own was crimson now, but for a completely different reason.

'Wow, Beesly, you would never cease to surprise me,’ he said awestruck. 'I didn't take you for someone who knows so much about bloody magic rituals. When did you learn all this stuff?'' 

'Oh, well…' finally, Pam calmed down, and hiccup remained the only evidence of her earlier laughing. 'My granny was very religious. And when I say 'very' I mean she'd probably find a reason to call Angela a 'hussy'.'

Jim chuckled on that. 

'And she hated her neighbor, Aunty Cristy, she hated her so much that she was convinced that Aunty Cristy was a witch. To be honest, I'm not sure what was the cause and what was the effect — were the accusations based solely on granny’s hatred or was there actually some witch stuff indeed that caused such a passionate reaction. Anyway, every time I visited her, she told me about what witches were able to do to good people and accusing her neighbor in the latest mishap. Her stories scared me to death, I had trouble sleeping after listening to them, and I avoided Aunty Cristy as much as I could, barely leaving our backyard. How can I forget them after all of that?' 

'Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to forget something like that either,' said Jim. 

She smiled at him with a hint of nostalgia and sadness. 

'And you know what the funniest thing is?' she said then. 'I think now that she told me all of this witchy stuff because she didn't want me to make friends with Aunty Cristy's granddaughter. If I had a friend then, perhaps I wouldn't spend so much time with my granny. And… it was a tad selfish of her to keep me constantly nearby. It's weird to realize that people you got used to respecting could do wrong things, knowingly or unconsciously.' 

The mood shifted drastically from light and jovial to melancholic, and though Jim hated to see Pam sad, the fact that she was so open to him lifted some burden from his shoulders. They'd never discussed heavy stuff when she'd been with Roy — and many months after their break up too. But now that was changing, and Jim could only greet these changes with an open heart. 

'That sucks,' he said sympathetically. 'Maybe, our parents and grandparents wish us only well, but the way they show their care… okay, I'm going to tell you something, but you have to promise not to laugh.' 

'Cross my heart,' Pam made a gesture, and Jim nodded. 

'So… um. That's really embarrassing, but when I was in elementary school, I had a friend, Tom,' Jim started. 'But my mom didn't like him, I don't even know why maybe she thought that he had a bad influence on me or something…' 

'Oh God,' Pam cringed. 'What did she do?' 

'Well,' Jim rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, 'it was me, actually. I met him after classes and said something like 'my mom thinks you are too dumb to hang out with.' Not my proudest moment. And, to be honest, I knew that it was kinda wrong, but my mom said I shouldn’t have befriended that boy, so… how could I doubt her words?' 

'I'm sorry,' Pam said compassionately. 

'Yeah,' Jim shrugged, the shame for his childish behavior still stung a little. He sighed then. 'We were easily misguided when we were children, but now we have grown up and make our own decisions and mistakes. We won't allow people around us to plan our lives.' 

'Good for us,' Pam responded. 'Though, it's sad that someone sometimes just gets older but does not mature.' 

They silenced for a moment, and Jim asked carefully. 

'Are you still not talking to your mom?' 

'No,' Pam shook her head. 'I mean, we made a few direct calls without using Penny as our messenger, and I thought that everything was going to be fine, but then Roy sent his first remittance to his family, and Mrs. Anderson started a grand renovation, so… I'm an ungrateful child all over again.' 

'I'm sorry,' this time, Jim fell quiet. 

'Don't be,' though her tale was quite depressing, Pam didn't look sad, just a little thoughtful. Engrossed in conversation and their own thoughts, they reached the nearest wooded hill, and any wistfulness Pam had had was replaced with curiosity. 'So, um, where to go now?' 

'This way,' Jim pointed at a narrow footpath that ran up the hill between trees. He stepped on it first and started to walk up a gentle slope. Pam followed. 

With every stride, the noise of running cars and other sounds of the big city hushed; Jim and Pam were surrounded by silence that was only broken with their footsteps. But, little by little, Jim discovered that this silence was weaved with dozens of tiny noises he could never distinguish in his everyday routine — he wasn’t sure if those sounds were even present. A soft creak of tree branches above their heads; birds' chirping — usually, Jim could recognize crows, pigeons, and sparrows, but had no idea what kind of birds sang so pleasant yet so loud; almost imperceptible rustling in the undergrowth — Jim could swear he saw a wood mouse, sneaking among the grass and fallen leaves but before he could draw Pam's attention to it, the creature had hidden. 

He heard an abrupt 'click' and a quiet 'crap' behind and turned around to see as Pam stood before a bush of dog-rose with a phone in her hand. 

'What are you doing?' he asked, approaching her. 

'I just… look at these leaves, at the play of lights and shadows,' Pam waved her hand at tangled sprouts, and perhaps it was a charming sight, but Jim didn't really perceive that the way Pam did. 'I want to capture it for future references, but the camera on my cellphone is too poor.' 

She made another shoot and groaned in frustration. 

'Come on,' Jim said with a smile. 'If you won't like the terrific landscape I prepared for you, we can always return.' 

'The light will be different then,' she complained. 'But you're right, don't let that landscape wait.'

 They passed about three hundred meters, then the path split in two; the left one climbed up the hill and led to the top of the mound, to the ruins of the old fortress and the neo-pagan gathering place. 

Jim turned right, and they continued their walk among the trees and bushes. Soon clearings between trees became wider, and Jim cleared his throat. 

'Well, Beesly, brace yourself. Three… two… one… behold!' 

Pam gasped, and Jim thought that probably it was a good sign. 

The hill before them was woodless and ran down to gardens and cottages, almost indistinguishable in the distance; every inch of the field was covered with dandelions and buttercups — the whole ocean of bright yellow and green with patches of white foam of faded flowers. Small clouds passed on the clear blue sky and, for the briefest moments, shielded the sun, making shadows and lights slid on the grass — all of this, combined with a breeze that shook the plants slightly, gave an impression of a breathing land. 

'Well, you said you'd like to draw something blooming, and I thought that drawing lilacs in the botanic garden would be kinda mainstream, so…' Jim trailed off sheepishly, but Pam seemed not to listen to him at all. Her eyes roamed the scenery before her, as if she wanted to capture all of it, but didn't know where to begin.

Finally, she tore her gaze from the dandelion field and looked at Jim, slightly dazed. 

'That's so much better than lilacs,' she said at last, and her words untwined that nervous knot in his stomach. 'Where… how did you know about that place?' 

'Let's say, I had some picnics nearby,' Jim answered. In his student days, when life had seemed to be so easy and carefree, and the biggest problem had been finishing his thesis, Jim had occasionally met here with his friends, chatting, drinking wine, playing music, and enjoying life in general. He lost touch with most of them now, his dreams of a journalist career and traveling remained only dreams, and his own existence narrowed to work in a paper jail, repetitive family gatherings, and pining over his best friend. But being here again resurrected his memories of hope; bringing Pam here felt like sharing that hope with her. 

He was thrilled that she accepted his gift with both hands. 

Pam started to unpack her belongings, and Jim chuckled slightly when she fished out of the backpack a medium-sized canvas, a tiny folded chair, boxes with paints and brushes, something looking like a stained sheet, and many, many other art supplies he had no idea what they were about. 

'Wow, Pam, you're well-prepared,' he joked. 'What else do you have? A can of gas? An ax? Dinner for twelve persons?'

'I don't have dinner for twelve, but I have a granola bar. I'll share if you want some,' Pam said absentmindedly. 'Now, could you set the easel there, please?' 

She pointed at a place a meter away from her, and he obliged. 

A thought occurred to him now that he hadn’t planned what he was going to occupy himself with while Pam would draw. She was instantly engrossed with pencils, paints, and the canvas; he just sat on the grass three meters from her and hugged his knees. He didn't mind just being here, admiring her skills, enjoying the sunshine, the warm wind, and soft rustling of trees behind his back. 

But then the wind, trees rustle, and warm April sun — as well as three hours of sleep — played a cruel joke on him. He started to doze off. When Jim realized what was going on, he stood up to make a quick refreshing walk; but when he was pacing around, Pam got distracted from her work, and he didn't want to go far from her and leave her alone — this place was too secluded after all. Jim returned at his previous spot and pinched a patch of skin between his index finger and thumb with his nails. The sharp pain made him jump awake, but in a few moments, his eyelids were heavy again. 

He could easily forget that less than two hours ago, it had been freezing; the sun started to blaze so much he felt himself roasting. Perhaps, Pam felt the same because, at some point, she took her cardigan off. 

Turned out, her grey dress was strapless. 

All Jim could do was to stare at her exposed skin; either Pam didn't pay attention to his intense goggling or hadn't noticed it, occupied with her art. She made masterful strokes, and the canvas bloomed under her brush, but Jim didn't heed that. His eyes were drawn to the tiny mole on the back of her neck he'd never seen before, the one that usually was hidden behind collars of her clothes and her hair. She had a few more — on her left shoulder, right above her elbow, on her shoulder blade... Jim thought that if he took a brush and connected that little dots on her skin, he'd see a constellation, printed on her body. 

He'd never been into poetry until now.

Perhaps, he even might do that. Pam was an artist, and she'd probably find that amusing. But his limbs were heavy as if they'd been made of stone, and his tongue felt like a foreign object in his mouth. 

'Jim,' all of a sudden, Pam stood right before him, looking with narrowed eyes at something slightly above his forehead. 'Don't move. There's a bee in your hair. ' 

'Hmm?' Jim managed to say, painfully aware of the sight of her collar bones pushed into his view. She stepped closer, holding her paintbrush by the other end, and Jim looked down at the skirt of her dress, because the idea that Pam caught him staring at her mortified him. It's funny, he thought, that her dress wasn't really grey; it was striped, but black, white, and mint lines were so narrow that they fused into one shade. 

'Here she is,' Pam picked the insect at the handle of her brush; she shook it abruptly away from Jim and bristles smeared the inside of her wrist yellow. 'The honeybee might have mistaken you for a dandelion. No wonder — your hair is a complete mess.' 

Her fingers ran through his hair to comb it a little, and every touch sent shivers down his spine. Jim closed his eyes, savoring that sensation. 

'Do you want me to cut it?' he mumbled, and she froze. 

'No,' she cupped his cheek now, and Jim gave up, leaning into her hand; she stopped again, and then her thumb stroked his skin gently. 'I like it the way it is.' 

Jim opened his eyes to look at her and saw a dreamy expression he'd never seen before. He had to say something, anything, he wanted to, but his utterance betrayed him. 

Jim blinked, but Pam was away, sitting at her easel, wholly engrossed with the painting. He blinked again. And again. And one more time. 

'Wake up, sleepyhead!' 

Jim jerked, lifting his head from his knees. 

'I'm not sleeping,' his hand flew to his eyes to rub them furiously.

Pam smirked and shook her head. 'That's okay. I was glad to paint in peace and quiet without any distractions. Well, except for the snoring.' 

'Hey! I don't snore!' Jim protested, rising on his feet. His head spun a little from that sharp movement. 

'Yeah. Right,' she chuckled. 'Ready to go?' 

'To go?' Jim was still slightly disoriented. 'What about your project?' 

'Jim,' Pam said, and only now he noticed that her cardigan was on, her stuff was packed back, and the easel was folded and ready for him to carry. 'It's almost eleven. I painted what I could, and I'll finish the rest in the evening. I really wanted to complete it now, but I'm about to be late, so…' 

'Oh, yeah, right. Sorry,' Jim grabbed the easel before she asked him to. 'Let's go.'

On the way back, they were mostly silent. Jim didn't know what Pam was thinking about, but he felt frustration and anger at himself. He'd spent almost four hours in Pam's company, and instead of talking, joking, and simply basking in her presence, he'd fallen asleep and vividly dreamed of her. Unbelievable. 

'You should probably take a rest,' said Pam as they walked by the highway. 

'Huh?' 

'You had to wake up early today to show me that place,' Pam smiled. 'You really should go back home and have a good sleep.' 

'You did the same,' Jim admitted. 'To arrive on time.'

'Yep. But I have a perfect relaxation planned for this evening.' 

'Oh, yeah, I remember. Six parts of the movie about girls in nightgowns and guys wearing stockings.' 

Instead of answering, Pam just elbowed him, and he grinned, but that exchange felt like a small victory. 

They reached the station and stood on the platform. He didn't want her to go, but she had to. Any moment a train might arrive; Jim decided that if the train in his direction arrived first, he’d skip it. 

Naturally, it was her train that came first.

'Thank you, Jim,' she said sincerely. 'It was so great, thank you very much for sharing this place with me.' 

'Anytime, Pam,' he shrugged, feeling as an aching emptiness rose inside his chest. He'd see her at work just in two days, but he already knew that surviving these days would be even more challenging than usual. 'Hey, will you show me your art when it's ready?' 

'I promise,' she swore and reached out to take the easel; at this movement, a sleeve of her cardigan rolled up slightly, and Jim noticed a stain of yellow paint on her wrist, half-erased but still visible. 'See you on Monday!' 

Jim waved her, not trusting himself to speak. She waved back and stepped inside the wagon of the arrived train. In a few moments, it took her away. 

He didn’t remember how he’d managed to get home that late morning. The only thought was swirling in his mind.

How much of his dreaming had actually been a dream? 

End Notes:

The Barren Mount (aka Lysa Hora) is real. The dandelion field is very real. And witches, riding men till their exhausting, illness or even death, are common characters in Ukrainian folklore, so, I guess, they are also real. 

By the way, you could find where Pam and Jim live in this universe ;)  

Next time Pam will catch a cold and Jim will buy some stamps. 

Link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQnH8WzoWAM&list=PLQwO15eyz8aiidQFTMiQGcEu43D_n0vZd&index=8&t=0s

Thank you for reading and commenting. Your feedback inspires me to keep going!

The reason of life is to find life by Dernhelm
Author's Notes:

The chapter title is from 'Sky' by 'One in a Canoe'

This chapter was hard to write, and I do hope I didn't mess it up. 

Pam knew she needed to spend some time apart from Dunder Mifflin for her own good, but she couldn't imagine that she would miss the office atmosphere and her loony coworkers when she finally had some time off. She sat behind the counter in the restaurant and mused over what foolishness Michael did today or what exactly Jim had concocted to irritate Dwight this time. Of course, he kept her updated about everything that happened in the office, but just messages weren't enough for her. 

The reason for her temporary changed routine was a vacation. All these years, when her life had seemed to be so predictable and constant, Pam had planned her vacations in June. She always loved this month, especially in the village. She could relish all the seasonal berries she liked, take long walks by the riverside without fear of getting a sunburn, and sleep in a garden house, under unbelievably bright stars, that couldn't be seen in the city. Pam had even had vague ideas that it would have been nice to have a wedding in June, but Roy had spent their vacations fishing with his brothers and hadn't tolerated the thought of missing the season. Right after the Christmas holidays, she'd scheduled her days off for the same time as always, but in the swirl of all changes that she was going through, she'd completely forgot about it. If Dwight hadn't reminded her to leave instructions to her replacement, she wouldn't have remembered about that and come to work as usual.

This year, though, she was deprived of the usual holiday joys and made no other plans. Honestly, she'd rather have her vacation another time; she regretted slightly that she hadn't rescheduled it for later. Pam would like to go somewhere, frankly, anywhere away from the city, anywhere where she could forget about the turmoils of her life and just draw in peace and quietness. But her work in the restaurant didn't allow her to leave and she still was in need of money, so she couldn't let things slide. She took additional shifts instead; maybe, if she saved enough, she could quit eventually and focus on her art. Mrs. Rud'ko said that Pam was doing pretty well, and, one day, she might become a real artist. Pam believed her and did her best not to disappoint her teacher. She'd like to think that she was succeeding.

Her evening shifts were pretty busy, but the afternoons were usually slow; Pam used every minute of her free time to sketch in the Dunder Mifflin company notebook, every page of which was slowly filled with food-themed cartoonish characters. Perhaps, Mrs. Rud'ko would have called this a waste of time — the old-fashioned lady preferred landscape and still life genres, but Pam wasn't even going to show her scribbles to the teacher. She drew serious paintings for her; the only people who were allowed to see her doodles were Jim and Izzy. 

Her phone buzzed, signaling about a new message. Pam took it, expecting to see a text from Jim — he had to reply on their morning exchange about poplar fluff and if they could trick Dwight into using it as cloth material — and was slightly disappointed to see another number. But then she actually read the message and her cheeks grew hot. 

'They're ready. Congrats! Here you could find them,' — the rest of the text was an address in the center of the city. 

'Oh my God,' she whispered, unable to name what exact emotions these short words stirred inside her. Elation, a tad of fear, and much nervousness, she decided. It felt as if she'd dreamed about a million dollars and suddenly found a suitcase full of bills on her doormat. Pam recalled a conversation she'd had with Mrs. Rud'ko's nephew but didn't think that it would have led to something tangible. Apparently, she was wrong. 

Her head spun slightly; she couldn't think straight. She had the only need — to see it with her own eyes, she couldn't believe that otherwise. And, of course, Jim had to be there too. 

'Hey, could you meet me at your lunchtime? It's very important,' she sent Jim a message and stared at the device in her hand as if it could help to hurry his reply. She almost dropped the phone when she got it. 

'Sure thing, Beesly,' she read and smiled. 'Where?'

Pam texted him the address she'd received and grabbed her purse.

'Um,' she found her manager and fidgeted a little. 'I'm really sorry, but I have to go right now. I instructed Erin, she knows what to do, and I'll be back in a few hours.'

'You do realize that you won't be paid for this shift, right?' the manager said with annoyance. 

'Yes, yes, that's clear,' Pam nodded, barely holding herself from darting out right now.  

'I hope in the future you'll take your duties more seriously,' he huffed. 'There are many students who would take your place in the bat of an eye.' 

'Of course, sir,' Pam beamed. 'And thank you!' 

She disappeared in the staff room then, changed her uniform for the usual clothes, and practically ran out of the restaurant. 

As she left her workplace, the wave of hot air hit her face. The dark clouds crept around the edge of the sky, but they didn't block the sun yet; it was just after noon, so the heat was almost unbearable. Pam just clenched her teeth and tried to move from one patch of a shadow to another one. By the time she passed the rather short distance between the restaurant and the metro, she felt sweaty and weary. The coolness of the underground soothed her tiredness just a little, but she was grateful even for that. 

On the way, counting the stations before the transfer one, she fell in the pit of doubts and second thought. What had gotten into her? Why on Earth did she act so impulsive? Skipped her work and snatched Jim without any explanations! What if she'd asked too much? Jim was incredibly supportive, yes, but everything had its limits. Pam felt terrible about it, but if she'd explained the urgency, it would have ruined the surprise. Another horrible thought appeared — what if her surprise wasn't as great as she imagined it would be? What if it wasn't a grown-up woman’s achievement, but a childish participation trophy? She almost took her phone to cancel the meeting using some made-up excuse, but there was no cell connection underground; when the signal strength indicator appeared again, she'd already exited the station. It was too late to retreat. 

After all, she could always buy him lunch or compensate for his wasted time in any other way. 

The surface heat was the same, but Pam quickly found a solace, moving through the botanic garden, where the trees cast so needed shadows. The garden, though, ended too soon, and Pam stepped on a busy street, filled with moving transport and chaotically parked cars. She crossed this street and went down by the road, checked the house numbers to find the one she was looking for. On the opposite side of the street, a lanky figure did the same, and Pam's heart started to palpitate when she recognized him. She saw Jim for the first time in eleven days and almost jumped to wave at him, to make him notice her; the happiness from seeing him bubbled inside her chest and she couldn’t keep it bottled. Judging by his broad smile when he finally spotted her, he shared that feeling. 

She could tell herself anything — that her news concerned Jim as well or she just kept her word given to him — but the truth was that Pam was just selfish and  couldn’t miss such an opportunity to hang out with him. 

'Hi,' Jim greeted her as they closed the distance between them and stopped in front of the building. And she wanted to hug him, to do the most natural thing after so many days apart. But he kept his hands in pockets, and she thought that it would be awkward, so she clutched her purse tighter instead. 

'Hey,' Pam responded, slightly out of breathing. 'Thanks for meeting with me.' 

'No problem. So, why are we meeting at the,' he glanced briefly at the nearest signboard 'typography? Oh, you're not going to tell me that it's something related to Dunder Mifflin, are you?' 

'Nope,' she chuckled. 'You'll see.' 

They entered a small hall of the building, and Pam looked around, unsure where to go next. Jim watched with amusement as she tried one door to find it locked and shut quickly the second one after the voices inside snapped at her for the interruption. 

'Are you sure you know where to go?' Jim asked with a smirk. 

'I am,' Pam tried to open the third door with no result and went down the hall. 'I just don't know the exact room… oh, here it is!' 

Behind the fourth door was a small, cluttered shop with a bored-looking clerk at the counter. Pam's eyes fell on a rack near it, and her heart stirred. 

Oh God, they were here indeed! 

'Do you remember what I've promised you?' Pam turned to Jim, suddenly nervous. 

'Do you mean to persuade Kelly that those plastic plaid bags are the newest fashion trend? Or to watch 'Stardust' when it is released? Or...' 

'I get it, I make an awful lot of promises,' Pam shook her head. 'No, not the latest, the earlier one.'

'The earlier one? To check the expiration date of the yogurts you're going to eat?’ Jim smirked, and Pam blushed. 

'Hey, I'm keeping this one! But that’s not what I’m talking about. Do you remember that I've promised to show you the final version of my painting?' 

She stepped aside and let him see the rack full of postcards. Among them, among the dull brown, grey, and green pictures of city views, was a spot of bright yellow and blue — a painting of a dandelion field under the clear sky. 

'Is this?..' he asked incredulously. 'Your work… was printed?' 

Pam nodded, biting her lower lip, pleased with his reaction. 

'God, Pam!' 

She squeaked when he suddenly lifted her up, almost crushing her ribs in the process. Her feet dangled in the air and accidently brushed some boxes. 

'Hey! Stop it! If you two aren't going to buy anything, get out of my shop!' the clerk yelled at them. Jim put Pam on the ground and turned to the other person. 

'Sorry, of course, we'll buy,' Jim grabbed the whole stack of Pam's postcard and placed them on the countertop. ‘I’ll take these.' 

The pure joy he radiated made her feel even better than the postcards themselves. Because he was Jim — caring, selfless, always there for her, and she wasn’t sure if he realized how awesome he actually was. 

Perhaps, it was time to make a leap of faith and tell him what he meant to her. 

'Not so fast!' Pam snatched one postcard from the stack. Jim made a face at her, but she just smiled sweetly. 

'I'll return it, I pro…' she stopped in time. 'Just wait for it.' 

They paid for the postcards and left the shop, a grumble of the annoyed clerk followed them to the door. 

'So, are you like Picasso now?' Jim asked with a wide grin as they went up the street. The surrounding changed slightly, the wind brought cooler air instead of hot, and clouds covered most of the sky. But neither of them spotted the changes.

'Picasso was a living classic,' Pam said. 'I'm rather like van Gogh. I probably could afford one meal on the money I'll get.' 

'But you've just started,' he reassured her. 'Firstly postcards, then books and murals, and then one day you'll wake up famous. Don't forget us then.' 

'I won't,' she promised. 

Two blocks from the typography was a post office, and Pam led Jim there. It was unusually crowded inside — the time to pay bills came, and the elderly people preferred to do it via post offices instead of banks. About eight of them were waiting for the service and argued about who'd taken whose place in the line. 

'Could you buy a stamp, please?' Jim nodded, and Pam gave him a handful of coins. 'And I, meanwhile, sign for you the first Beesly print.' 

'Write something nice,' Jim asked and left her near the post desk. Pam watched as he took his place at the end of the line to the postal worker’s window, and her heart was going to explode. 

There was too little space on the postcard to insert all of the things she wanted to tell him now. 

In fact, she wanted to tell these things for quite a long time, for the seven weeks, to be precise — since one particular dandelion trip. 

She'd been painfully aware that her meeting with Jim might have been considered a date, and she remembered the mix of panic and elation she'd felt at the very thought of it. Pam had shared her plans with her roommates, and they'd confirmed her vague suspicions — Izzy enthusiastically and Karen cautiously. One of them had borrowed Pam a best-fitting dress, and another — had given her a pepper spray can, just in case. Lately that day, when Pam had retold her roommates about the meeting, her painting, and Jim's slumber, both of the girls called him 'lame' in one voice, but, probably, for different reasons. Pam hadn't argued with them; if she'd started to disagree with their opinion, she'd have had to tell them about his adorable sleepy expression or how her heart had made a flip when she'd caressed his mussed hair and slightly stubbled cheek. Pam wondered what it would have been like, to kiss him right there and then, while he’d been asleep, even if it had felt so wrong and slightly creepy; that idea hadn’t left her for many, many days. She'd preferred to keep these memories and thoughts to herself. 

But now, she was ready. She felt that she was finally worthy of him; and she felt that she was strong enough to survive the possible rejection. 

'What have you written?' she was snatched out of her daydreaming by Jim, who stood with a block of stamps in his hand and tried to peek into her scribbles. 

'Uh-uh, you'll read it all in two to four days, when the postcard arrives' Pam hid the couple of words she'd managed to write. 'Tell me better, what's your post index.' 

'02068,' Jim said, and Pam wrote the numbers neatly. Then she chose a stamp with a cocker spaniel on it, moistened the back with a special sponge, pressed it to the paper, and smoothed the edges. 

'Done!' Pam smiled brightly as she dropped the card into a slit of a mailbox. 

'So cruel,' Jim grumbled. 'I'm right here, in front of you, you could've given it to me now, but instead, you left me hanging.' 

'It would've been too easy,' Pam replied. In truth, it gave her a couple of days to prepare for his reaction. She'd never been a type who made the first move, and her deed felt bold, even brazen. 

Jim said nothing, just shook his head, and moved to the exit. Pam followed. 

When they exited the post office, they were greeted with the cold wind blowing at their faces; the sky was utterly dark, and the slight smell of ozone reached their nostrils. 

'Could we make it to the metro?' Jim asked with concern. 

'Do we have a choice?' Pam replied. 'Your lunch break is almost over, and I'll feel bad if your late arrival gives Dwight a reason to feel superior.' 

'Does he need a reason for that?' Jim raised his brow at her, and she giggled as they walked fast to the nearest metro station. 

They barely covered half a distance when they heard a loud rumble, and the clouds poured down everything they'd stoked so diligently. 

'Okay, it's time to run,' Jim exclaimed, his voice shouting over the loud noise of the summer shower. Pam could do nothing, but agree, and tried to match Jim's quickened pace. She fell behind at first, trying to avoid the puddles and streams of running water and making Jim stop and wait for her; but then she misstepped, and her right foot plunged into the cold water to the ankle. She stopped worrying about keeping her sneakers dry after that and ran like she'd never run before in her life, catching up with Jim quickly and slowing down no more. 

The station was still quite far, and they found shelter under a large chestnut tree, both breathless and drenched. They exchanged glances and laughed, at the situation they were in and at each other. 

'You know, there's a thing called 'umbrella,' Jim brushed his soaking bangs off his forehead. 'Try to get one, I assure you, it'll change your life.' 

'You don't have an umbrella either,' said Pam, her teeth chattering almost noticeably. 

'I have. I just left it in the office,' Jim retorted. 

'What, were you in such a hurry to meet me that you forgot to look up at the sky?' 

It had to be a joke, a part of their usual banter, but instead of quipping back, he fell silent, with a slightly wistful expression she couldn't quite decipher. Pam's heart speeded up its rhythm at that sight. Perhaps, she shouldn't have to wait for these two to four days. 

'Listen, Jim…' she managed to say, but then his arms were wrapped around her waist, and his mouth was pressed to her, and she forgot what she was about to declare. 

Her mind went blank. All thoughts that might have appeared — that Jim was kissing her, that he was just the second person who had ever kissed her, and how she hadn't prepared for that at all, even with her determination and written confession — all these thoughts turned into a high-pitched humming, that filled her every brain cell. In the critical moments, Pam usually froze; perhaps, her brain did the same.

Her body, though, was smarter — or, at least, quicker to react. The moment Jim started to pull back, her hands came to life, sliding to his face and into his hair. He sighed when she kissed him back and deepened the kiss. She did the same when he hugged her tighter and pulled her closer. 

After a few moments that felt like months, they broke their kiss. Pam could laugh at the stunned and dazed expression on Jim's face, but it wasn't funny at all, and she was sure her own expression perfectly mirrored his. 

'You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that,' he said at last, and humming in Pam's mind became even louder. 

'Me too,' she whispered, more out of a reflex than due to coherent thinking. Something lit in Jim's eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched. 

'Really?' it was half breath out, half-laugh, and oh God, it was Jim, here, with her, and he said he'd wanted to kiss her for some time, and Pam, you should do something about that!

'Yeah,' finally, something clicked in her fogged brain, and Pam smiled back. 'But I thought it would be less cheesy.' 

'Come on, Beesly!' he chuckled, and even if she'd had some insecurities and doubts, they'd have gone without a trace. 

'Seriously, Jim? Kissing under the rain?' Pam playfully shook his hand that she didn't realize she held and didn't even remember when she'd taken it. 'You should check Wikipedia, I'm sure the page 'cheese' would be illustrated with our faces.' 

'Hm,' he considered it for a moment. 'Well, okay, something about it sounds… logical. So… do you want to take a rain check?' 

'Absolutely I do,' Pam grinned, and he grinned back, and she couldn't believe in what had happened and didn't quite know where all of this was leading. But something inside her lilted that everything was going to be pretty awesome. 

And then, despite previous agreement and rain, that didn't stop for a second, they kissed again. Water oozed between her toes, and Pam felt a treacherous aching in her throat telling her that tomorrow she'd be a snotty mess, but she couldn't let go of Jim, of his warmth, his nose, pressed awkwardly to her cheek, and that feeling of pure happiness that filled her chest every time he was nearby.

So she didn't.

End Notes:

Next time Pam and Jim will go home. 

Link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tepT4EcBTC0&list=PLQwO15eyz8aiidQFTMiQGcEu43D_n0vZd&index=9&t=0s 

Thank you and see you later :)  

I love you and this is right by Dernhelm
Author's Notes:

The chapter title is from 'Who Are You To Me?' by 'SKAI'

It was funny how habits shaped one’s daily routine, even if they remained obscure for the person themself. 

Jim Halpert, the best salesmen of Dunder Mifflin Paper Company, Inc., had some, but the only person who could point at repetitive strangeness of his behavior was Dwight Schrute, and Jim wouldn't admit that Dwight was right (and he was) even in a million years. 

As Dwight noted diligently in his special notebook, in half an hour before the end of the workday, Jim Halpert became noticeably agitated. Knee bouncing under the table. Fingers tapping. Checking the time every three to five minutes. Extreme impatience to finish current paperwork and visible frustration when some hitches appeared. Dwight attributed that to Jim’s innate laziness, that couldn’t be vented his usual way anymore. 

A new receptionist wouldn't encourage familiarity at the workplace, and even an idiot like Jim seemed to understand that. 

Jim wasn't aware that he was watched or that he repeated the same nervous gestures all over again. As the day before and the days before it, as soon as the minute arm of the office clock pointed at zero, he grabbed his messenger bag and darted out the office, barely giving everybody as much as a goodbye. 

His routine outside the office had changed as well, though no one could point it out. The unhurried walking in the park was long forgotten; his path was laid by the highway, and his long legs covered the distance in record time. This energy didn't run out after he reached the station — he didn't slow down on the escalator and paced on the platform, waiting for the train and calculating which wagon he should take to make his way to the transfer station without any complications. Even when he was inside a wagon, his antsiness remained; while one hand gripped tightly a handhold, the fingers of the other were drumming on his thigh with a rhythm that was echoing his racing heart. His eyes stared blankly at the window, not registering the change behind it or the people around him. But when the train slowed down — just for a few moments — and the vague outlines of the ghost station signed that his journey was about to end. Jim smiled and moved to the exit. He was the first to step out of the wagon and headed to the escalator, moving ahead of the crowd and feeling like he tried to outrun the wave. As usually, he succeeded. 

When the escalator and the short passage between the stations stayed behind, Jim found himself on another platform. The train just arrived, and the platform was filled with people moving in different directions; there was no option to stop and look around — once you slowed down, you would be instantly pushed to the side, hit, and scolded in the process. Jim moved to the wall, using his height as an advantage and scanning the platform above the heads of the crowd. 

He saw her, his guiding light, his beacon, standing in the corner. And the crowd around, hits, pinches, and yelling weren't obstacles anymore. 

She didn't seem bothered by people around, fully engrossed in the book she held in her arms. But she must have sensed something as she lifted her head and beamed, noticing Jim, who was still ten meters (and about forty people) apart from her. 

'Hi,' she greeted him as he was near, raising on her tiptoes to place a quick peck on his lips. And it might have been their five thousand six hundred eleventh kiss, but the excitement of the first one was still there. 

'Hey,' he kissed her back. 'How long are you waiting for me?' 

'About two chapters, give or take,' Pam said, hiding her book hastily in her purse. 

'Liar,' Jim shook his head. ‘I saw you opening the book from across the platform.’ 

'Maybe, I’m a fast reader,' Pam shrugged nonchalantly and laced her fingers with his, and this simple gesture switched something inside his chest. The frantic, nervous energy boiling in his bloodstream was reduced to the soft, lazy humming. This calmness, state of content, was so new to him that every time it caught him by surprise, but, of course, he didn't even think to complain.  

They waited for the train, and when it arrived, they were crushed from all sides by the people inside. Jim hugged Pam protectively with one arm, and she placed hers around his waist. At the next station, half of the people inside left, and it allowed them to step apart, but they didn't move.  

The train came upon the surface, and the sunset blinded them for a moment. Jim just squinted his eyes, but Pam kept hers closed, allowing the light to caress her face. This picture of her, so serenely and warm, stirred something in his mind, bringing a long-forgotten memory back. 

'You look like 'Beata Beatrix,' Jim blurted out and watched as she blinked at him, a smile tugged the corners of her lips. 

'What?' there was a hint of acknowledgment and surprise in her voice, and Jim elaborated. 

'You look a little like that painting. Only prettier.'

'I didn't know that you're into Pre-Raphaelites lately,' she said and added teasingly. 'I definitely have a good influence on you.'

'Yeah,' Jim replied, and he knew that the time had come. 'Actually… it's not about today. I've seen you like that before once, when we rode the metro just like we do it now. That was a long time ago, about two years ago. You probably don't remember… 

'I remember,' she said softly. 'I remember that that day I didn't want to go home so much and I practically invited myself to go with you. Pretty stupid, right?' 

Jim said nothing, but his hand around her waist tightened, pulling her even closer to him.

He didn't need words to say 'you're not stupid,' and 'I get you' and 'I love you so much.'

Pam sighed, pressed her forehead to his shirt, answered him that way with 'thank you,' and 'I know,' and 'I love you too.' 

As they reached their station and went outside, Jim squeezed Pam's hand and let go of it; he turned right to the supermarket, and she chose to go left. 

Jim kept in mind a grocery list, but perhaps, it would be better to have it written down. He lingered in the dairy section, trying to remember if a carton of milk in his fridge was full or half-empty; in the end, he decided that more milk was better than no milk at all. A package of frozen stuffed dumplings, sour cream, cheese, ham, sliced bread, lavender-scented fabric softener, and a six-pack of beer filled the shopping cart; Jim paid for groceries and left the supermarket, carrying his purchase in s big plastic bag. 

Pam finished with her purchases quicker than him and waited for him outside. Jim raised his brow as she held much more than just a tray of strawberries she'd been originally going to buy on the farmer market. 

'Wow, Beesly, are you that hungry?' he gestured at the handful of plastic bags with different seasonal fruits and berries she clutched. 

'What? I just like my berries mixed,’ she answered with her mouth already tinted with mulberries.  ‘Wanna some?’

She offered him a plastic cup with the berries she enjoyed, but he decided to taste them on her lips instead.

They went home then, talking about everything that happened in those eight hours they spent apart. It was also a routine — a pleasant one, though. Pam told him about her classes and the progress of her latest project. Compared to that, Jim's tales were lame and boring, but Pam always listened to him with curiosity and a hint of nostalgia. He joked that she missed Dwight and threatened to invite him for dinner once, but truth was, they both missed the time they’d worked together. Things had definitely changed for the best, but some of the changes tasted bittersweet a little. 

The front door of the building opened with a loud 'beep' of the buzzer. Jim started to climb up the stairs while Pam lingered near the mailboxes. 

He made just a few steps when he heard her loud shriek of delight.

'What? From where?' he asked her, watching with a smile as she looked through a stack of postcards in her hand. 

'Adelaide, Würzburg, Winnipeg, Milano and — oh! Dublin!' 

The genuine joy radiated from her was contagious, and Jim was simply basking in it. Both of them wanted to travel, but with her visa rejection and their limited budget, it was still impossible; but they enjoyed sending postcards to the people all over the world, and receiving postcards back felt almost as good as the journey itself. 

Finally, the apartment door was open, and Jim clicked a switch, lightning a small hall of their home. Instantly, he was greeted with a demanding meow of a grey tabby cat. 

'Yeah, yeah, we also missed you,' said Pam, rolling her eyes and kicking off her flats. 'Okay, let's feed your fluffy ass.' 

She handed the postcards to Jim and went to the kitchen, the cat followed her, meddling between her feet. 

'Beannachtaí ó Éirinn,' he read on the top card and smirked. Another point in their list of future adventures. His gaze then followed to a board where they pinned all received cards and lingered on a patch of yellow and blue, the first postcard he'd ever received. 

This piece of paper had wondered a whole week instead of a promised couple of days. Back then, he'd felt so lightheaded from the changes in his life and Pam's nearness that he'd already forgotten that Pam had sent him her print and been quite surprised to find a slightly tattered postcard in his mailbox. But when he'd read her words, the whole world had stopped spinning; next thing he'd registered was a bright signboard of a jewelry store and dazzling shining of diamonds. He’d had to get a loan, but he’d found a perfect one for her nevertheless. 

A small velvet box, hidden between his clothes, waited for its time. And Jim hoped that her answer would make him the happiest man in the world. 

But that would be later. For now, he was content with finally being home. 

End Notes:

Funny, but this story was meant to be a one-shot and was born out the desire to take a ride in metro (and I finally did it a few weeks ago!) and to make Jim compare Pam with a piece of art (by the way, here it is: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beata_Beatrix#/media/File:Dante_Gabriel_Rossetti_-_Beata_Beatrix_-_1925.722_-_Art_Institute_of_Chicago.jpg). I don't know how it extended to a multi-chapter fic and why I'm thinking of a sequel already... 

Oh, and, as you might have noticed, I'm obsessed with Postcrossing. So, if you want to receive a postcard - let me know :) 

Thank you so much for your reading, reviewing, encouragement, and jelly beans. You all make my days brighter!

Link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c_WQgLsc2s8&list=PLQwO15eyz8aiidQFTMiQGcEu43D_n0vZd&index=10&t=0s

This story archived at http://mtt.just-once.net/fanfiction/viewstory.php?sid=5769