“It must be weird to say that to someone other than yourself.”

Jim slammed his hand into the vending machine, hearing a crack he couldn’t definitively attribute to either the machine or his hand. A snickers bar dropped out of C8.

“Nice move, Fonz.”

Jim whirled around to find Pam looking at him with a mixture of shock and mirth on her face. “I, uh…sensed that you needed some chocolate,” he said quietly.

She nodded, and concern took over her features. “Jim, what’s—”

“Nothing,” he said curtly. Seeing her expression cloud over, he softened. “I mean, nothing important. Just…bad day, ya know?”

Pam smiled slightly. “Yeah. I’m familiar with the concept.” She kept her eyes on his face, her feet rooted to the floor. Having passed Karen on her way in—and received a scathing look in the process—she’d known there would be no bluebirds singing over Jim’s head, but she hadn’t expected to see him punch an inanimate object.

Jim looked at the floor and absently rubbed the fingers of his punching hand. “I’m sorry, Pam.”

She started, surprised at his words. “For what?”

“I know you prefer M&Ms,” he said, tilting his head toward the vending machine.

Pam laughed, and found herself able to move. She walked over and leaned down to push open the door in the bottom of the vending machine, extracting the Snickers bar. Turning toward Jim, she said, “You know me so well, Halpert.” She slid the candy bar into his pants pocket and took a step back, quirking an eyebrow as she watched his eyes widen in surprise.

“Beesly!” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

Her laughter was even brighter now, the sound flooding the room. “Could you punch the pop machine next time? My mouth’s kind of dry.”

She turned and left Jim standing immobile, with one hand cradling the other, his eyes wide. If her mouth was dry, his was absolutely parched. He slumped back against the battered vending machine, using it for support. He had a feeling that if anyone was getting pranked today, it was him.

When he got back to his desk a few minutes later, a form lay on his keyboard. A post-it note stuck to the bottom read, “Sorry, but the new policy requires that you sign off on any complaints before they can be officially registered in your ‘file.’ ~Toby.” Jim’s eyes whisked over the form, and he chuckled as he signed the bottom. Dwight had reported his “excessive use of force” against the vending machine.

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