Ryan’s never been in a fight before.

He’s been witness to his fair share, they’re pretty much unavoidable when you spend three years of college living at a frat house, but never actually been in one himself.

The first fight he ever saw was while he was pledging. The treasurer of the frat (some big-armed, no-necked dude with a number following his last name) had slept with some other guy’s “girlfriend” (sometimes you have to use that term kind of loosely in college).

The other guy was tall and pretty skinny, the kind of guy that used to pop his collar on his pink polo shirt before popping your collar became the international symbol for douche-bag (not to say that he wasn’t one though).

The house was hosting a party that night, red solo cups as far as the eye could see, when their screaming match turned to blows.

He found himself pretty stunned that no one was trying to intervene, so being the under-six-foot, scrawny guy that he was, he decided to step forward himself.

“Hold on there, pledge.” His assigned Big Brother stuck his arm out to keep him back. “Let ‘em work it out. We don’t get in the middle when brothers fight brothers.”

So he just stood there, and watched this big-necked guy get his face beat to a pulpy mess. He threw up in the bushes afterwards, but at the time he wasn’t sure whether it had been the alcohol or all the blood.

This fight wasn’t like that fight. Not really at all.

What the guy had meant by “brothers fighting brothers” was that no one intervened for an in-house fight. Fights with guys from other frats were allowed to run their course, unless things got ugly, in which case the brothers from their respective houses would break things up.

Townie fights, on the other hand, those weren’t tolerated. Sometimes the blue-collar, never-had-a-chance-in-hell-of-going-to-college guys would slip into their keggers unnoticed, but as soon as they tried to start shit they got booted.

Brothers don’t mess with townies, townies bring knives.

Ryan found himself wondering that day whether or not a fight between a guy from the warehouse and a guy from sales would be considered a brotherhood fight, or an outsider fight.

Jim and Roy were right up in each other’s faces, so close that he couldn’t help but wonder how Jim could keep his concentration on what he was yelling with Roy’s spit spraying in his face.

“I’ll kill you string bean,” Roy yelled (spat) at Jim.

“Oh really? Sure you even see straight enough to hit me, you big… lush??”

Okay, so apparently Jim wasn’t very good at the whole insult thing.

“Oh don’t worry, Halpert, I think I could be as drunk as a skunk and still be able to make out that big Polack nose of yours!”

And, consequently, neither was Roy it seemed.

All other activities in the office had come to a halt by this point. Angela was crouched underneath her desk, praying, and Kelly and Toby were watching through the break room door. Dwight was guarding Michael’s office door, which he had retreated into when both Jim and Roy had snapped at him simultaneously to “stay out of it” and was now watching through the blinds.

The whole thing had erupted while Ryan was getting a pencil from the supply shelf, so he watched the scene, leaning against it next to Stanley’s desk.

Their war of words had now been reduced to “Oh yeah?”s and “Why don’t you make me”’s, a tell-tale sign that things would soon be escalating to blows.

“You know, Pam’s too good for a lunk-head like you to begin with.”

Roy pushed Jim, hard in the chest, and the game was on.

Jim rammed Roy’s chest hard with his shoulder as Roy wrapped an arm around his neck in an attempted sort-of sleeper hold. Jim’s arms flailed almost comically, swinging to hit any part of Roy that he could reach.

“Stop it!” Pam was yelling, but her protests were pretty useless under the circumstances.

Jim managed to throw off Roy’s balance and the two of them hit the carpet with a thud. Ryan couldn’t help but snicker a little as they began rolling around, grabbing at each other’s legs. Jim managed to pull off one of Roy’s shoes and started beating him over the head with it.

This “battle of the titans” throw-down for Pam’s affections had turned into something straight out of Bridget Jones’ Diary. All they needed was a window to fall through and maybe a fountain.

The two of them tumbled around, grunting and rolling into desks, Roy shouting “I’m gonna kill you” and Jim throwing in the occasional “fuck you” reply.

It was almost painful to watch and Ryan found himself feeling a little embarrassed for the two of them. They were grown men and, the way things were going, it looked like the worst thing that could possibly happen here is that someone might give someone else a wedgie.

Jim bit Roy’s arm to get him to let go of his ears and managed to crawl out of Roy’s grasp. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing onto the collar of Roy’s shirt and slamming him against the window to Michael’s office.

“I’d do it again, asshole.”

Just as Jim pulled his arm back, ready to turn this hair-pulling scuffle into a real honest-to-God fight, Pam’s voice broke softly.

“You would?”

Ryan watched Jim’s face soften, his fist drop to his side as he let go of Roy’s collar and turned towards Pam.

“Of course I would,” he sighed, obviously forgetting about Roy entirely.

“Jim,” Karen said incredulously, her eyes wide, arms crossed.

“I—um…” Jim looked back and forth between the two women like a deer in the headlights (or just a guy that’s royally fucked).

“This is just great,” Karen shook her head, making a beeline for the door.

“Karen,” Jim started, but didn’t move.

Ryan realized at that moment that Roy’s fist was pulled back, and that he meant business.

“Roy, wait,” he found himself moving towards a guy he had maybe exchanged two words with in his entire life.

The pain seared through his jaw, his body thrown backwards against his old desk.

“Ryan!” he could hear Kelly scream as she ran over to him.

Jim turned back around, obviously realized what had happened, just as Roy charged into him, pushing him against the reception desk as Pam jumped out of the way.

“That’s it!” Michael yelled, finally emerging from his office. He motioned frantically to Dwight and Kevin who then ran over to the struggling men, pulling them off one another.

Dwight dragged Roy into the conference room before running out and locking the door behind him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Roy yelled, banging on the door as Dwight taunted him with the keys in his hand.

“Him too,” Michael pointed at Jim, whose arms were being held by Kevin.

“Wait, what?” Jim struggled to get free, but Kevin managed to push him into the break room (just as Toby slipped out) and locked the door.

“Now, everybody just cool off!” Michael announced with a surprising authority. “Ryan, are you alright?”

“He’s bleeding,” Kelly whined.

“Out of my way,” Angela pushed through the group. “I’m the safety officer. Dwight, get me the kit!”

“Um,” Dwight sidled up to Angela quietly. “I—uh, I put the safety kit in the break room.”

“What?” Angela’s voice was cold as she pursed her lips.

“I just thought that there really isn’t a more dangerous place than the kitchen, so it be better to keep it in there in case of… emergencies,” Dwight explained, his resolve crumbling under Angela’s stare.

“Oh, emergencies? Like getting punched in the face?” Kelly crossed her arms, glaring at him as well.

“Uh, yes, Kelly. But for your information, you are a thousand million times more likely to get a third-degree burn from coffee at work than getting punched in the face.”

They turned, hearing a tapping on the break room door. Jim was holding up the safety kit.

“I’ll get it,” Toby sighed, reaching for the door.

“No Toby!” Dwight shot forward. “He’s just baiting us!”

“Yeah, stay out of this, Toby,” Michael pointed at him.

“Look, I’m fine,” Ryan stood up. “I’ll just go use the bathroom in the lobby.”

“Do you want me to come?” Kelly latched onto his arm, but he shook his head.

Michael stepped forward, looking at Ryan as though he wanted to say something, but let him walk past silently.

The cold air stung his split lip even more as he walked outside. He noticed Karen sitting on the curb and walked over to her.

“Mind if I sit here?”

“Sure, why the hell not,” she grumbled. “Jesus, what happened to you?”

“Oh yeah, you missed the main act,” he sighed. “Funny how I’m not even the one that kissed the guy’s fiancée and yet I’m the only one who gets hit for it.”

“I can’t believe he said he’d do it again,” Karen muttered, throwing a small rock across the parking lot. “Its like I wasn’t even there.”

“Yeah, I wish I hadn’t been,” Ryan shook his head, touching the cut on his mouth.

“You should really clean that,” Karen looked at him. “I’ll be right back.”

A few moments later she returned with a wet paper towel.

“This is the best I could do,” she gave him a half-smile of apology and sat down beside him.

He winced a little when she pressed the towel against his lip.

“Oh don’t be a baby,” she laughed, blowing on the cut with her lips.

“I’m not,” he smiled, which only caused to hurt his face more. “Ouch, don’t make me do that anymore.”

“What, smile? Don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those coming from you anyway,” she teased him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes.

“Hey, do you… you wouldn’t want to go get a drink, would you?” she bit her lip in the exact place he had been fantasizing about biting himself. “I really don’t want to go back up there right now.”

“No, yeah, that sounds good. I might want to numb my face a bit anyway.”

They were both about five drinks deep over at Poor Richard’s when he realized that he couldn’t feel the cut on his face any longer.

“Hey,” Ryan turned to her dramatically. “I think I’m healed, must be a miracle!”

“Ah yes, the less known ‘miracle of alcohol,’” she giggled. “I’d say it ranks right up there with curing lepers and healing the blind, don’t you?”

“Definitely,” he nodded, slurping down the last of his drink. “Where’s a waitress when you need one? Maybe I’ll start calling her ‘my savior.’”

“Who, the waitress? No way, I’m the one who cleaned you up,” Karen pouted her lips at him. “I want to be the savior here.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Okay fine, I guess. But you better not slack on the job or I may have to demote you.”

“Well, let me check up on you then,” she grinned, sliding into his side of the booth.

Her hands were cool on his face, which was humming with the warmth of the booze in his system.

“Looks good,” she winked at him. This close she smelled like ginger and something else that he couldn’t quite place.

“How did I get into this mess,” she sighed, taking another sip of her beer and staring off in the distance. “I mean, he didn’t even come after me.”

“Well, to be fair… Michael locked him in the break room.”

Karen laughed so suddenly that liquid came spraying from her lips. “Are you kidding me?? Now that, I’d like to see.”

Ryan felt himself reaching his hand out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

She turned and smiled at him, but seemed to lose her nerve a moment later, staring back into her drink. “I think I might hate working in this office,” she sighed.

“You know, you are sitting with last year’s Dundie winner for ‘Hottest in the Office,’ if that cheers you up at all,” he shrugged nonchalantly, stretching his arms behind his head to feign his own self-importance.

“Oh really?” she laughed. “Ryan, that has got to be… the worst come-on I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, I know,” he couldn’t help but laugh himself. “But you did laugh, didn’t you?”

She nodded, leaning in so close to him that he thought he might be able to feel her eyelashes brush against his when she blinked.

“So,” her voice had this deep, throaty quality to it now that had his mind going in all sorts of wrong directions. “How’s that lip doing?”

“Can’t feel a thing,” he gulped, the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention.

“Anything?” she raised her eyebrows questioningly before pressing her lips to his.

He pulled her into his lap with a surprisingly ease, pressing her back against to wall of the booth as he let her tongue explore his.

“So, what award did Jim get last year then?” she asked, pulling back for a moment.

“He didn’t,” Ryan said, wondering if he should tell her that the only ‘award’ Jim got that night was a kiss from Pam.

“Good,” she smiled, pulling him again into her lips.

"Just for the record," he mumbled against her now fervent mouth. "Jim's an idiot."