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Title is stolen from Army of Me, Going Through Changes.  Reviews are appreciated!

Disclaimer: I don't own Jim, Pam, nor the Office in general, as much as I'd like to. 

The warmth of May spread through the office and dragged along change.

The usual supply of mixed berry yogurt stopped short and suddenly. The processed berries, covered with sweet yogurt, were replaced with natural fruits. Each day it varied. Raspberries on Mondays, sometimes orange slices on Wednesdays. On certain spontaneous days, there was a mix—blackberries and a banana, or some sugared strawberries tumbled in with ripe blueberries. On slow mornings, when Pam’s efforts dwindled, she carried a mere apple.

Jim couldn’t help but notice her new side. It seemed the fruits brought out the pink of her cheeks. During lunch breaks, as he unwrapped his faithful ham and cheese, she revealed a color bursting lunch.

When she ate, her fingers always became tinted with the bright hues. He could see in her face, the amusement and sparks of creativity when she finished and glanced at her fingertips. Jim imagined her, dreaming of what to use the beaming color for in her art. The strawberry red could paint the cardinal she saw some days, at the birdfeeder behind her apartment. The deep indigo of a blueberry would capture a starry night perfectly. Jim always saw the disappointment in her eyes as she scrubbed the creativity from her hands.

Jim hoped to bring her to rural Scranton, to a raspberry picking farm, then to pluck strawberries, blackberries, anything with a radiant tone. Maybe they’d even visit Dwight and Mose on their beet farm. With their array of fruits, they could create anything. Well, Pam would. Jim never found it in him to capture images the way Pam could. He knew he could make suggestions, steal some strawberries, and gaze at Pam, magically splashing color onto a canvas.

A late June day, Jim crumpled his tin foil into a ball, ending a quiet lunch. Pam gets up without a word, but turns before the silence is over.

"Sometimes, don’t you think these are the colors that should be coming out of crayons?"

Jim nods enthusiastically. It’s her, and she’s reading his thoughts, as though she’s been on a cruise through his head.

"Come with me Saturday."

He speaks simply, without complications. Pam nods knowingly, and everything is settled.



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