***
Fact: Pamela Beesly’s life had been a great series of near-misses.
She was seven when she stepped onto a long, rusted nail hidden among blades of grass in her yard. She had screamed and cried like any child would, and was infuriated when the doctor said it was “not nearly as bad as it could have been”. She hopped on one leg for weeks after, begging her friend Lydia to borrow some old crutches (which she never got to use).
At fifteen she’d found herself in a very nice car that wasn’t hers, pinned underneath a boy with whom she’d rather not have been. He’d groped at her mercilessly in the back seat until she maneuvered her knee to come into swift contact with his groin, and when she got home (gasping for breath, one hand on her side and another on her chest), she had decided it would be too embarrassing to mention to anyone.
At twenty-five, she’d nearly married Roy.
Her life was no tragedy, of course. Her foot healed up well, with only a small white scar on the bottom. The boy with the nice car left her alone after a while. And Roy, whose only sin was ignorance . . .When she told him the truth, she was perched on the edge of her barstool, chest rising with bursts of nervousness, ready with her hand on her purse just-in-case, and she pushed herself away from him just enough to dodge some residual glass from the mirror he shattered.
Pam had been, all in all, a lucky girl. Maybe she should have been more appreciative in that regard.
Maybe some mornings were just destined to end badly.
***
Three Days Before
Clouds had rolled in, and the sky was velvet and violet all over, and Pam was waiting for him when he pulled into the small driveway that ran beside his house.
He didn’t notice her when he put the car into “park”, humming in harmony with a dulcet chorus, singing in his head, *I fell in love again, all things go, all things go.* He was making a concerted effort to be in a good mood. Maybe he hadn’t had such a bad night. Playing basketball with the CFO was sort of exhilarating—just the escape he needed from the barrage of strangling neckties and little black dresses that felt, he thought guiltily, only stifling. Unfortunately the drive home had been filled with talks of what his game with the CFO meant for his future at the company—after a while the word “networking” had become meaningless. He didn’t try to explain this to Karen anymore; it seemed to offend her when he showed a lack of drive to move forward in the company. She probably saw herself in Jan’s position one day, perhaps higher. Jim couldn’t see beyond his own position any time soon. He felt he needed to hold back a while, wait for a change.
He sat in his car for a moment, listening for the song to fade, unwilling to end it a moment early. There was little waiting for him inside . . . a video game and some laundry, perhaps. Maybe it would make a nice distraction from an evening, a girlfriend, and a life that should have been more satisfying than they were.
And then, pushing himself from the seat of his car, Jim spotted the shadow on his porch that he knew was her before he could make out her silhouette, and all at once he forgot about wondering what it would take to make him happy again.
He paused, his breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard, switching his jacket from one hand to the other. She was coming over. Stray light from a street lamp illuminated her as she grew near to him, shuffling her feet in bright white Keds that peeked out from under the hem of her jeans, and she was clad in a strappy black shirt that exposed her shoulders in a way he’d just never seen before. Carefully but boldly, she stepped into the spotlight shining on his driveway, and she was beautiful.
“Hey,” he said, his voice carrying his surprise as he closed his car door behind him.
“Hey. Your porch light is out,” she said, and when she smiled he recognized the sentiment instantly.
“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his head with his free hand. “What’s up?”
Something was wrong.
She stood stiff before him in the driveway. He watched her face shift from that smile to a nervous frown, and she opened her mouth for a moment before closing it. She seemed to shake her head slightly, but it was such a subtle gesture he thought maybe he had imagined it. She opened her mouth again but then only bit her lip and emitted a small chuckle before casting her eyes down.
“Were you wanting to . . .” he motioned towards the side door with his head, and when she looked over at the entrance, he began a chant in his head, *Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.*
When she looked up at him, her eyes were big and her smile was small. Jesus, she was still so beautiful, and the sight of her made him hurt in the best way. “I don’t want to impose,” she stated, sounding a little rushed. “You’re with Karen, and I get it, and God, I don’t want to mess with that, she’s so great, you know? But . . .” Pam hesitated then, and she tilted her head at him and looked so sweet and so painful. “Remember we were friends?”
He wanted to say *We are friends*, but he knew that was the most she’d said to him in to weeks. So he nodded, and set his jacket on the hood of his car before leaning against the door. Inside, his mind was reeling. He always played scenarios in his head, and always with Pam, but his mind was failing him now. He didn’t know what she was going to say; after all they had gone through, after all he’d lost and won, her presence only left him confused. He only needed desperately to continue.
“We were friends. You were my best. So . . .” she paused, took a breath, and said in her best imitation of casualty, “I figured there are some things I get to say to you tonight, so if things ever get worse—weirder—you’ll know, because you never got that much.”
Pam dropped her purse on the ground and took a step closer to him. He watched as her arms flexed to cross in front of her chest, and she put them back down at her side. *What are you so conflicted about?*
“I wanted to thank you for all the effort you put into making me see the reality of my relationship with Roy. I’m not with him anymore . . . I only was so I wouldn’t feel so lonely watching you with Karen. But you always wanted me to see, to stop hiding, you know? So, I see now. I see a lot that I couldn’t before.” She stopped at looked up at him, asking for approval to continue.
Jim wasn’t capable of much at the moment. He was not going to let himself think about anything, about possibility, about what this could mean. Not yet. Now he needed to listen. He merely nodded.
“Secondly,” she said, “I want you to be happy. I hope Karen makes you happy. I made you miserable for a really long time. You deserve better than that. And, I’m really, really sorry. I messed things up really badly for us, ruined everything. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. If you can’t completely forgive me for that, well, I’m not surprised. I just . . . losing you was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. Nothing could be worse. Because I’m—because I’ve kind of always been—“
There it was, then. He began to breathe again. He knew what she wanted to say. More importantly, he understood why she wouldn’t. After all, Pam wasn’t like him. Pam was different. Pam was so, so, so—and God, he should have—
“Third thing. I don’t want to bother you, or inconvenience you—that’s the last thing I’d ever intend—but I have to apologize, because I told Roy about us at the bar and, Jim, he’s really angry. I’m worried that he wants to hurt you. You have to stay away from him, maybe call the police or something—“
“You told him,” Jim said, his voice unusually low and husky, and he didn’t mean it like he must have sounded.
She breathed out slowly, and he thought maybe her eyes looked too glossy, and with her hands pinned to her side, she finally said “Yes.”
He looked hard at her, his knees slightly weak, still feeling unaware of the situation, his stomach knotted at the thought of being pummeled by Roy; he wasn’t sure, out of the thousands of words pushing against his lips, which he wanted to utter first.
“Say more,” he whispered.
“I can’t say I’m not afraid anymore. I’m terrified,” she laughed, and he saw a droplet break free from the corner of her eye. “But I can’t be dishonest any more. It’s too hard without you. It’s too hard, and I’m too old for it, and . . . I just don’t want my problems to hurt you anymore.”
The pain in his chest was the best he’d ever felt, and Jim pushed away from the car, leaning heavily toward her. Then, slowly, leaning forward, he placed a hand on the side of her neck, so careful not to shatter her, he waited for her to raise her head before nearing his lips to hers and murmuring with a trembling breath:
“You’re breaking my heart, Beesly.”
She placed her hands on either side of his face and met her lips with his.
It was cosmic.
Pam kissed Jim in front of his house late that Friday night, drawing from somewhere deep and unknown to him a need and ferocity Jim didn’t know was possible. He felt her legs wobble, and he felt her tears (or were they his own?), hot on his face, and here he was, kissing Pam, and they both wanted it, and neither of them was about to run away.
Slowly her hands dropped to wrap around his neck, delicate fingers grazing his skin, and the weight of Roy’s anger and Karen’s brokenness was on him but he couldn’t let himself mind. Their kiss broke after a lifetime, and she stood on the tips of her toes, nuzzling him and running her fingers through his hair and breathing out his name repeatedly. *Oh God, oh, God . . .* He didn’t realize for several moments how tightly he was clutching her, and even after the fact he loosened his grip only a little. She wasn’t as weak as he’d thought.
“Jim,” she whispered again, and he pulled back to look into her eyes. They were gleaming, vivid, elated, and he choked out a half laugh before squeezing her to him again.
“Jim,” she spoke again, “I still have lots of stuff to say. Now that I’m on this whole honesty binge and everything, I mean . . . “
Sense was beginning to return to Jim, or maybe it was leaving again. He’d made his decision a while ago, but something about being with Pam was beginning to hurt. Here she was before him, available, honest, with her arms open. And Jim wanted to curl up into them and find solace. He wanted this pain to go away, for her to massage the angry rifts in his consciousness and let him rest.
“Come inside with me,” he said. She didn’t say no.
The house was dark, but his bedroom window was left open and blue-white light was pouring onto the floor and the sheets. Jim stopped by the bedside and leaned in towards Pam, placing a hand on her arm.
“Don’t let this be a dream, Pam,” he whispered. “It’s been so damn hard without you.”
“I’m so sorry,” Pam reflected, her forehead muscles wrinkling as her eyes searched his face. Something in her screamed desperation. He thought she may begin to cry again. “I never wanted to hurt you. I’ve loved you all along, all along.”
She unbuttoned his shirt slowly, purposefully, and she slid the fabric carefully off his shoulders, exposing the smooth, pale skin of his broad chest, and she couldn’t meet his eyes as she slipped off her shoes.
At first they kept their distance, awkwardly holding hands on the bed while she talked to him about everything, and every word was a cushion on which he felt he could safely land. Pam was the first to drift away from waking life, and as she sighed out she rolled over, curling into Jim and laying her head on his chest. This was when tears began to flow heavy and hard from his swelling eyes, and he let them wash down his temples, tiny drops of anguish abandoning him as he stroked her hair.
He had known his luck was bound to change sometime; some nights were destined to end well.
***
Story Notes:
This is a response to the injury challenge. This may become a relatively long story from what I have planned out. It should be interesting enough by the second or third chapter!
Author's Chapter Notes:
Here's my first attempt at an Office fanfic. I haven't found a beta yet, but I feel fairly confident with this chapter. I'd really love to know what you all think!
First, though, some disclaimers:
1. All those fancy characters--and the unfancy ones, too--don't belong to me. I'm borrowing them, and I highly doubt I posess the ability to make money off them, let alone the intention.
The title of this chapter as well as the lyrics of Jim's favorite song come from Sufjan Steven's wondrous hit "Chicago" from his album , (Come on Feel the) Illinoise!. I can't get enough of Sufjan Stevens, and I highly recommend.
Chapter End Notes:
I would ask if I should keep going, but I'm already going. Feel free to tell me anything you want, though. If you've made it this far down the page, you rock.
