The parallels between Jim and Pam. A series of drabbles. Spoilers through Traveling Salesmen
I may continue this as Season 3 progresses.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
1. The Kiss by 69 cups of noodles
2. The Date by 69 cups of noodles
3. The Silence by 69 cups of noodles
4. The Gift by 69 cups of noodles
5. The Persuasion by 69 cups of noodles
6. The Half-Truth by 69 cups of noodles
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She finds herself staring at the place he always used to be (right in front of her), and she thinks back to the night he’d kissed her. His eyes had been full of please, then okay, then goodbye. When he’d slid his hands from hers, slowly releasing her, he’d let go of her left hand last.
It’s not coincidence that all of her sketches now consist of straight lines.
Maybe his date (whoever she is) will want him to take her to see some dumb chick flick. She knows he hates that.
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He hears Michael tell her to have fun on her date and it’s like the way it used to be all over again. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of her dating and now he knows why. He wonders if she’ll get dressed up. He wonders if she’ll let him (whoever he is) kiss her. He wonders if she’ll be nervous, play with her necklace, shred napkins like she sometimes does. But really, he doesn’t even know if she does these things anymore.
He buys her the Coke after pausing to decide if he should. Talking again means things going back to normal. Talking again means not saying what he wants to say.
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She answers the phone, frustrated and ready to go home. She’s irritated and doesn’t say her name, but he knows it’s her anyway. It’s the first time they’ve spoken in months. It may have happened purely by accident, but suddenly they are who they are again and all of those days and weeks gone without talking to each other seem to disappear. She wonders if he can tell by her voice how much she’s missed him, how much it means to hear him tease her and laugh at the silly things she says.
Too soon, though, they’re not them anymore and they’re so far away from each other. It takes a week before she stops getting her hopes up every time the phone rings.
When she opens the lid it’s much more than she’d expected. The things inside mean something to him. To the both of them.
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He’d had to say no to her gift. Not for the reason he’d given her, but because taking it from her meant taking back everything about her that he’d already tried to let go. There couldn’t be that thing between them anymore, the pranks, the joking around. He sees her accept a gift from Roy, throwing one arm around his neck, and it hits him like it used to, and he wonders if he should reconsider. Maybe accepting isn’t such a bad thing.
Before he even realizes what he’s saying, he’s admitting more than he really wants to. But by then he’s sure that if her gift still stands, he’s willing to take it. The expression on her face when he does is exactly what he expects. He tells himself he’s not really falling back. Maybe he’s taking a tiny step forward. Maybe she is, too.
He watches her try to be nonchalant, her arm wrapped tightly across her stomach (as if to keep everything inside from tumbling out), fingers playing with the charm on her necklace. Fingers that itched to do something different than type on a keyboard and push buttons on a phone. She's unsure, but so, so excited. And really, no one deserves it more than she does.
He tells her she should take it. It's not wrong to want something more.
It's not so much an argument, what they have. It's more like her pretending not to believe him, doing whatever she can to stay together, stay in one place, stay in one piece. Pretending that she hadn't been shot down.
He doesn't have to look too close at her as he leaves to notice she'd been crying.
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She's been through enough of those times in her own life to know what's going on. She recognizes the look. When she approaches him, she wonders if she's out of line. How could it ever be her business? But he's a friend. Just a friend.
Friends tell each other everything.
He does, too, and maybe for a moment it's too much, more than she wants to hear. Maybe she wants to agree with him, say it's too close too soon. But maybe she wants to be bigger than that. Better than that. Not only for him, but for herself, too.
She watches him watching her closely as he leaves that night, with someone else by his side, and hopes he doesn't notice she'd been crying.
"And...seriously. It's totally not a big deal. Okay?"
She knows it has nothing to do with him telling Michael. That part doesn't even matter. And she'd have been lying if she hadn't said she'd already known. She'd seen the signs ages ago.
The other part didn't make sense to her, though. The part that he'd tacked on afterwards. The part where he'd said he was totally over it. Maybe he was. Maybe she didn't want him to be.
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"I'm really glad you're here. Okay?"
He'd practiced this conversation over and over in his head for almost two months. Of course, he'd always figured that by the time it became a reality, he'd be able to look her in her eyes and say, with certainty, that it now means nothing. But he watches her smile with acceptance, and prays that she'll never be able to fill in the blanks.
Afterwards, he jokes with her about the mask on her face and inwardly pushes himself harder to keep up with the one on his.