i.
The sun is too bright and too hot on his closed eyelids, and he rolls over to bury his face in the cooler, unused pillow on his left. It's Day Two of The New Job, with the paper company no one's heard of and the boss no one really seems to want to admit they know. He doesn't get it, really - Michael seems to be a nice guy, and okay, yeah, maybe his remarks are a little junior-high, but he can't possibly always be that way...can he?
Opening one eye, Jim notices that he has a few more minutes that he can waste before he really needs to get up and start getting himself together. So he lets himself go again, snuggling deeper into the down-and-cotton, his mind wandering. He thinks about the receptionist that welcomed him so warmly the morning before, with her bright, sparkling blue eyes and her curly cinnamon hair and her tiny, frenzied hands. Pam, he remembers. Pam Beesly. It's a name for a girl on a British sitcom, or the cute-but-shy friend in some teen movie. But it suits her - it's cute and perky and makes you smile when you say it.
He remembers, somewhat sadly, that there is a tiny diamond resting under the knuckle on her left hand. But he also remembers that she's promised to take him to lunch today, to an Italian place he's never heard of - and when he'd told her this, she'd squealed and insisted on bringing him along.
It's a nice feeling, waking up in a new world of sorts, knowing that someone you've just met is waiting to see you, to teach you something different, to entertain you. Jim finally sits up, catching his reflection beside him in the glass of his window that looks out onto the house beside his.
Maybe Pam Beesly will change his life - or at least, she'll change this morning.
*
ii.
It's gray and dark when he wakes up, and his eyes are playing tricks on him again. The body beside him is pale, freckled, red-haired... So close, but not who it should be, not who he really wants it to be.
She's a nice girl. A great kisser, a good lover, a funny conversation. But after that, he loses her - he doesn't have the same reaction to her smile, to her voice, to her eyes. He doesn't think that her name makes him smile; instead, it's a hard, harsh sound and it's rough to say when he's buried inside her...and thinking of the softer name, the softer smile, the softer eyes.
"Good morning," she murmurs, her lips pressing to his stubbled chin. "Did you sleep well?"
"Hey," he manages, forgetting the hard, harsh sound for a moment before his brain kicks in. "'Morning, Katy."
She curls against him, her skin warm against his. "So, am I meeting you at the office building tonight?"
The Booze Cruise. It hits him hard, and his heart drops a little. He might tell her tonight, tell her that she's only been a replacement, that he's using her and he's an asshole and she should probably throw him overboard.
But for now, he brushes his lips over her forehead, wondering if he'll ever forget how stupid he feels right now. "Yeah. At the office."
*
iii.
"I hate you."
Jim sits on the edge of his bed, unable to look at her. Instead, his eyes focus on the wall opposite, on the sky out the window. It's changing, slowly, from deep, dark blue to soft golden-pink. They've been fighting all night, and only now, she says the words he's deserved from the beginning.
"I know how you feel," he whispers.
"No, you don't. You don't fucking know anything about me, Jim!" She's screaming again, and Jim's sure Mark is in the next room with pillows over his head, wondering why he ever let him move back in. "You say you love me. You tell me you want me. And then you tell me you're still in love with her! How the hell can you say you know how I feel?!"
"I don't... Karen, I can't tell you how sorry I am."
"Sorry." She laughs. "You're sorry? I gave up my life for you. I should have listened to my head, but no, good ol' Karen Fillipelli had to listen to her heart."
He's still not meeting her eyes, and he sees that the sky is brighter now. It doesn't match the mood in his bedroom. Now, he hears her moving around, and he assumes she's taking her stuff - the personal things that have gathered over the last few months.
"Where are you going?" he asks, wondering if he really cares about her answer.
Karen is silent for a long, long moment. When she speaks again, he can tell she's crying. "Away from here. Away from you. I can't do this anymore, Jim. I can't lie to myself when I see you looking at her. I can't pretend I don't know you're not with me when we make love. I can't love you anymore."
She doesn't say anything more. In a few more moments, he hears the click of his door, her footsteps on the staircase. When he hears her car start up, he stands, finally able to move under the weight of his guilt. He moves to the window, his eyes focusing on Karen's car in the driveway. She's just sitting there, her head back against the car seat, her shoulders shaking.
He knows it should hurt more. He knows he should go down there, tell her that it's not her, it's him. Tell her that she deserves better than the sad sack of a man he's become.
But he doesn't. Instead, he picks up his phone, leaves a voicemail on Pam's office line - Hey, it's me. I'm really not feeling well, so, uh...tell Michael I won't be in. I'll talk to you later, uh, I guess. Have fun. - and crawls into bed. He figures that the morning can't get any worse, so maybe if he sleeps the rest of it away, it'll turn out to be a good day in the end.
*
iv.
He's dreaming. To his right, there's a beautiful lake with colorful fall trees and green-feathered ducks floating on the smooth, mirror-like water. The sky is a brighter blue than he's ever seen, with perfectly-shaped white clouds hovering in the air. The breeze smells like lavender and strawberries...and he knows instinctively that the unique scent is coming from behind him.
He turns around in his dream; in reality, he simply rolls over. His eyes fall on her, sitting at an easel, her hair loose and curly over her bare shoulders, her thin, porcelain body wrapped in his blue bedsheets, looking a lot like Rachel McAdams in that sad little movie Katy made him watch once.
She sees him watching her, and she smiles, her voice far away and fanciful. "Why are you staring at me?" she asks, her face glowing in the sunlight. "Don't you ever get tired of me?"
Jim laughs, louder than he means to, but she only grins wider. "I'll never get tired of you," he says, stepping towards her. He slips his arms around her, over the bedsheets, looking down into her eyes.
"I can't paint like this." He looks at her canvas, a perfect replication of the scene he'd just been looking at.
"I don't want you to paint right now."
As she repeats his name over and over and over again, he realizes that she's getting louder and clearer and...sweeter. He finally understands that he's not dreaming anymore. Opening his eyes, he finds himself gazing into blue ones that are more loving than any he can ever remember.
His dream wasn't far off. She is wrapped in nothing but his blue sheets, and her hair is curled all around her face and shoulders. But here, in his room, in his bed, in his life, he can feel her against him, feel her arms around his waist, feel her leg in between his.
"You said you didn't want me to paint right now," she says with a small smirk. "I guess it was a good dream?" She kisses him, lavender and strawberries filling his senses again. And as her tongue slips past his lips, he pulls her closer, rolling them over so she's beneath him. "Jim!" she half-argues, her body already responding to his. "We...should...get up..."
He thinks That's what she said! but he says, "I have a feeling we're not leaving this bed today, Beesly." He shifts against her in justthatway that drives her insane, and she arcs towards him.
"A tip, Jim," she groans, "if you're going to try and seduce me, don't call me Beesly."
He obliges as he sinks into her. "Oh, Pam..." he sighs as she murmurs his name. "I love you."
She's shocked for the shortest of milliseconds, but then she smiles, her eyes liquid. "I love you, too, Jim," she replies, bringing him in as deeply as possible. "Today and always."
It's the best morning he's ever had.
*
v.
He's awake, but barely, when the alarm goes off. It's the radio, set to whatever station Pam's been listening to lately, and Bing Crosby is singing "The Little Drummer Boy". It's cold in the room, despite the heat he knows is blasting, so he pulls the quilt tighter around himself and tucks it around her as she sleeps nestled under his arm. He takes the few minutes of silence and just enjoys them, mentally preparing for the day ahead.
He only opens his eyes when the cherubic little red-headed girl climbs onto his stomach. He grins at her as she waves her little baby hands in his face. She yells, in her eleven-month-old accent, "Christmas!" It sounds like "Trismess", but it's the cutest sound he's ever heard.
Suddenly, as he feels stirring beside him, Lily slithers off him and grabs his hand from under the blanket. "C'mon, Daddy, Christmas!" she cries again.
"Yeah," Pam murmurs, pulling herself into a sitting position and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "C'mon, Daddy - it's Christmas."
Then she's up and sweeping Lily into her arms and shooting him a smile over her shoulder. "Daddy," he repeats, as if the word is foreign to him even though his little girl has been saying it for nearly three months. His throat clogs with tears as he follows his girls down to the first floor.
And as they sit under the tree, tearing paper off the enormous amount of gifts, he smiles. He's happy - happier than he ever thought would be possible.
While Lily is preoccupied with an ultra-soft teddy bear he'd picked up just a few hours earlier, Jim feels Pam scoot over to his side, a small box in her hands. "This one's special, Jim," she whispers, lifting her face for a kiss.
He takes it and opens it, his eyes widening when he sees the little plastic stick inside the box, the two blue lines clearly sharing her news. "Really?" he asks, the tears threatening again.
"Yes," she replies, and when she starts to cry, he follows. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."
They sit there, wrapped in each other's arms. And when Lily and her new bear join them in Jim's lap, he feels complete.
For the first time ever, Jim feels like he's home.
Story Notes:
Inspired by allibabab's "Five Times Jim Wakes Up in the Morning". It's all pretty speculative, so as long as you've watched the show for a while, you shouldn't be too spoiled.
Author's Chapter Notes:
A note on continuity: I have been repeatedly, (and not always nicely,) reminded that Pam is newer than Jim at Dunder-Mifflin, but I kinda look at it the other way, so I hope you don't mind that. Also, when this was posted on LJ, someone pointed out that Jim didn't know about the Booze Cruise until that day at work. I plead the Fifth. :-X
Chapter End Notes:
Originally posted on LiveJournal. These are way longer than I thought they'd be. Oops.
CallieJames is the author of 11 other stories.
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