At first, she thought she'd be able to get away with it. He was preoccupied, he had been all week -- it was her birthday on Saturday, and she knew he was planning something. He hadn't questioned her that morning when she'd told him she wanted to drive into work separately -- he just flipped the egg in the pan and grunted in what she could only assume was agreement. On another day, his indifference might have bothered her, but not today. Today she had bigger things to worry about.

*

The clock on her computer still reads "4:47," and she has to ball her hands up in her lap to keep from banging them down on the desktop in frustration. She contemplates just standing up and walking out a few minutes early -- she knows Jim would cover for her if she asked him to, but then he might ask why, and anyway, Michael is making his afternoon rounds now, joking with the employees and showing off for the camera, obviously bored with the stack of paperwork she left on his desk an hour ago. She doesn't think she can deal with any more of his comments right now. Better just to keep my head down and wait out the clock, she decides.

It's no use. "Pamalamadingdong!" Michael practically sings out, jogging over to her desk.

She tries to smile as she hears the familiar mechanical squeal of the camera zooming in on her face. "What's up, Michael?" Her fingers fly deftly over the keyboard, switching the screen over to Outlook and away from her game of solitaire.

He laughs heartily, leaning against the counter. "Don't you mean 'Doc'?" he asks, miming crunching down on a carrot. "Ehhhhh, what's up with you?" He turns to the camera. "Bugs Bunny," he says conspiratorially. "Great stuff. A comedy classic."

"Did you have a chance to sign those contracts yet?" she asks, striving to keep her voice even and patient. On a good day, it can sometimes be a challenge not to want to murder her boss. Today is not a good day.

Michael rolls his eyes. "Oh, Pam, come on, don't be such a killjoy. There's still plenty of time for that before five."

Phyllis approaches then, setting her purse on the counter while she pulls her coat on and mercifully distracting Michael for a moment.

"Ooooooh, Phyllis, trying to sneak out early, are you?" he exclaims, shaking a finger at her.

"It's Friday night, Michael. Bob Vance is taking me to dinner."

Pam tries to tune them out before Michael inevitably makes some wildly inappropriate comment that will annoy her even more. Without solitaire, she's left searching her desk for anything else to do to kill the remaining five minutes before she can safely escape. Her eyes fall on her date book, sitting in the corner where she shoved it yesterday. She sighs before reaching for it and dropping it into her purse.

It's still a few minutes before five, but she can see Jim shutting down his computer in front of her and reaching for his suit jacket.

"Ready to go?" he asks, turning to face her. He grins, and she can tell from his slightly gleeful expression that she's going to love whatever he's got up his sleeve. She wishes she could enjoy the anticipation, but she's too preoccupied to care much about anything today.

"I've got my car," she reminds him, jingling her keys. "And I've got to wait for those contracts from Michael and run some errands. I... I have a few things to pick up. How about I just meet you later?"

He frowns. "Everything okay?"

She forces herself to smile. "Yeah! Why wouldn't it be?"

He shrugs. "You just seem... I don't know."

"Friday. You know," she says, the weary grin still plastered across her face. She leans across the counter, and he shrugs and smiles again before kissing her quickly and picking up his briefcase.

"Don't forget about me, Beesly!" he calls back as he leaves, and she smirks, amused in spite of herself. Some couples have pet names...

The camera crew packs up and leaves next, followed by Dwight, Meredith, and Stanley, and Michael finally stops pestering everyone long enough to sign the now overdue contracts on his desk. She faxes them to Corporate and finally packs up her things while Michael hovers in front of the counter, chuckling at his joke about sailors and carpenters or something -- she's not really paying attention.

"Have a good weekend, Michael," she finally interrupts. Pressing her lips together in a harried attempt at a smile, she makes a beeline for the door.

*

She remembers which aisle to go to, but instead wanders around the store for a few minutes, picking up shampoo, some magazines, a carton of strawberries -- anything to disguise the real reason for her visit.

But she knows Jim is waiting around for her on a Friday night, and eventually realizes she can't put it off any longer. She forces herself down the "Women's Products" aisle and finally comes to a stop in front of the appropriate shelf. Pregnancy tests are, ironically, right next to the tampons, and she throws two of each in the basket, trying hard not to imagine the smirk on the face of the cashier ringing her up. Then, impulsively, she dashes over to the candy aisle, because depending on how things turn out tonight, she knows she might need chocolate.

The line is a tiny bit longer, but she picks the bored-looking teenage girl with the punk hair and the nose ring because she thinks she might understand. As it turns out, though, she doesn't quirk an eyebrow, doesn't even speak except to ask her "Paper or plastic?" and Pam feels slightly ridiculous for thinking a stranger would care about her personal problems. She breathes a sigh of relief when she finally escapes the store, but it's short-lived; there's just one step to go now, and this one's even harder.

The whole way home, all she can think about is Jim's face when she tells him. She knows that guys generally react in one of two ways when they accidentally knock up their girlfriends. She thinks Jim would probably be Supportive Guy.

She thinks that might be worse.

*

The apartment looks good.

Jim can barely contain his excitement as he stands back to admire his handiwork. A poster of the Sydney Opera House at night hangs on one wall, a picture of a koala bear on another. Strands and strands of twinkly white Christmas lights that dangle from the ceiling and loop around the fake palm tree in the corner illuminate the walls. The couches are covered in stuffed kangaroos and more koala bears, two of which are handcuffed together, and one of which holds in its lap a stack of Baz Luhrmann DVDs and a paperback copy of A Town Like Alice. Shrimp and some special "Australian hamburgers" are sitting in the fridge, ready to throw on the grill whenever she gets home, and a bottle of champagne is chilling in a bucket of ice on the counter.

As he lights the tea light candles arranged around the living room, he can't help but feel a little bit guilty -- Pam had looked so upset all day, he knows she must think he's completely forgotten about her birthday. He'd almost broken down at lunch today, almost said something just so she'd know he'd remembered, but he'd managed to hold out and stay quiet. The surprise is everything, after all -- and he knows she'll forgive him when she sees her apartment.

He stops for a moment and frowns, wondering suddenly if he shouldn't have stuck those thumbtacks into the ceiling to hold the lights up. Would she care about something like that? He can't believe he doesn't know.

There's no time to change anything now, though; he hears a car door slam outside and footsteps coming up the patio steps. Tossing the spent matches into the kitchen sink, he runs back to the front door and stands just inside, clutching her fake boarding pass tightly in his left hand.

The key jiggles in the lock for a minute and he hears her swear softly on the other side of the door. Then it swings open and she walks in, her eyes widening when she sees him standing in front of her.

"G'day, mate!" he greets her in his worst Australian accent. His cheekbones feel like they're about to break, he's so excited. He knows he probably looks like an idiot smiling so hard, but he doesn't care.

Pam looks stunned. "What are you... how... I thought I was coming over to your place?" she stammers finally, swinging her grocery bags around to the other side.

"That's why it's a surprise," he says, grinning. He hands her the boarding pass and grabs the grocery bags out of her hand. "Welcome to the Land Down Under!"

"No! Jim!" she protests, stepping forward. "You... you don't have to do that."

"I'll just set them in the kitchen," he promises, dropping the accent, and then points behind her. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable?"

She turns around and notices the living room for the first time, and dumping the groceries on the kitchen table, he's kicking himself for not sticking around to see her expression. When he walks back out, though, she's still standing there in front of the door, staring back and forth between the living room and the fake ticket in her hand.

"So... what do you think?" he asks nervously, standing close beside her. He thinks she should have said something by now. He wonders if the thumbtacks are really obvious from where she's standing.

But then she finally speaks. "Jim... it's... amazing," she says, turning back to face him. "You did all this for me?" It's obvious from her expression that the thumbtacks are the last thing on her mind, and he finds himself letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Happy birthday," he says, grinning. "I really didn't forget."

She laughs and turns back to the living room, moving forward to check out the details. She squeals when she sees the stuffed animals and picks up the two conjoined koalas with a questioning glance.

Jim just shrugs. "It is a nation of convicts." He's trying hard for nonchalant, but he can't completely suppress his relief and excitement at her reaction. "I figured since you couldn't go with me..."

She's already nodding. "No, I get it. It's perfect." She hugs a kangaroo to her chest, an unreadable expression in her eyes, and he frowns, wishing, as usual, that he could know exactly what she's thinking.

"I've got some burgers and shrimp ready to go on the grill, if you're hungry," he offers. "We can try the burgers first, but they've got pineapple and cheese in them, so if you don't like them... well, then we've got all that shrimp on the barbie."

She smiles and nods, but he blinks and all at once her face has tightened again, and she drops the kangaroo, her hands moving agitatedly from her hips to cover her mouth.

"Okay, seriously, I'll stop doing the accent," he says, alarmed, and then kicks himself when she looks back at him pleadingly, obviously on the verge of tears.

In two strides, he has his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. "I'm sorry," he mutters into her hair, running his hands up and down her back. "That was stupid. I don't know why I said that. Are you... what's wrong?"

He feels helpless, even more helpless than he ever felt when she was with Roy, because now it's his job to fix it, whatever it is, and he still doesn't know how. They've been together almost three months now, but they were friends for years before that, and he thinks he should know The Secret to Pam Beesly by now. He should know what makes her tick, what every expression means, whether she's the kind of person who cares about holes in her walls -- but every time he thinks he knows what to expect from her... she goes and falls drunkenly out of her chair, or replaces his jelly beans with those nasty vomit-flavored ones, or randomly declares her love for him in the break room.

Or breaks down in the middle of fake Australia.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles against his chest. She stills and steps back from him, wiping her eyes with her thumb and avoiding his gaze. "Just..." She turns and walks into the kitchen without explanation, returning a moment later with the grocery bag. She appears calmer now, and finally looks him in the eye. "Jim, this is absolutely amazing," she begins, smiling wistfully. "I'm really sorry I ruined it." He starts to protest, but she holds up the bag. "The reason I wanted to drive home alone today... God," she mutters. "I think I might be pregnant."

*

The first time she thought she was pregnant, Pam was a sophomore in college. It was finals week, and she had been so stressed, she hadn't noticed at first that her period was late. It wasn't until the week was over and she was moving out of the dorm and checking off her packing list that she'd happened to glance at her calendar and figure things out.

At first, she'd chalked it up to stress. She'd barely been eating or sleeping for two weeks; it was no wonder that her body was so out of sync. Anyway, she and Roy always used a condom -- she insisted -- so she knew it simply had to be the stress.

But then two weeks had gone by, and Christmas arrived, and Pam's certainty had started to fade. Nightmare scenarios started flashing through her head. She wondered what she'd tell her mother. She wondered what she'd tell her friends. She wondered what she'd do about school, or how she and Roy would possibly be able to support a baby with no savings and only their minimal salaries from Arby's and Outback.

She told Roy on Christmas Day, alone on the swing on the front porch while their families finished setting up dinner inside. He'd kicked the porch rail and walked inside without saying a word.

After dinner, he'd taken her back outside and apologized. They drove to the store together and he stood outside the bathroom while she peed on a stick and waited, and waited, and waited. When the test came out negative, they'd celebrated together on the swing on the porch with a gallon of ice cream and a smuggled bottle of tequila her parents had apparently forgotten about. She got drunk that night, drunker than she'd ever been before -- so drunk that Roy had to sneak her back inside and up to her room so she wouldn't run into her parents.

She wasn't drunk enough to sleep with him that night, though, and she wouldn't for another two months. She told him -- and herself -- that it was because of the deal she'd made with God on Christmas Eve, but truthfully, a part of her knew that she hadn't forgiven him for his initial reaction, either. She knew it was unfair. She knew she'd had a week to worry about money and school and parents and friends before she'd told him. But with all the fears the possibility of a baby had brought on, one thing she hadn't even thought to worry about was him. Them.

Fair or not, for three hours on Christmas Day, Roy had made her doubt them. It was a little more than tequila and ice cream alone could fix.

*

"Well... strewth."

"Jim?" she says, confused.

"A mild oath or exclamation. I found it on Wikipedia. 'Crikey' was just too cliché, you know? I figured... you'd be expecting it..." He sighs, running his fingers through his hair, then reaches out to take her hand. "Maybe we ought to sit down."

He's already sitting, but Pam shakes her head. "Look, I... I just want to take this, okay? I just want to know. We can talk about everything... afterward."

He stands up. "Okay," he says softly. "Let's do this."

She smiles uncomfortably, because this isn't what she prepared for and she's not quite sure how to explain. "Jim... you don't have to. I mean, if you're freaking out right now... Believe me, I'm freaking out a little bit, and I've known something was up since yesterday. So, I mean -- don't worry, okay? I'm just gonna go do this, and you know, it'll probably be negative, and then we can just get back to Australia and eat your weird burgers and... it'll be great." She touches his arm. "Why don't you go fire up the grill? This'll take three minutes."

He nods, still with that half-dazed expression on his face, and despite everything, she almost smiles because he's so... Jim. It's a little weird to see him so shell-shocked and obviously a little panicked, but that's not what scares her. She knows he'll still be here when she gets back, and that's almost worst. She just wants to know what he's thinking, wants to believe that he's as scared as she is.

Short of that, she just wants to be alone.

She stacks the boxes of tampons and the two pregnancy tests up against her chest and drops the rest of the bag next to the kitchen door, heading back to the bathroom to get this over with. She's just shut the door when she hears footsteps and a knock.

"Pam?"

The boxes crash into the sink and she presses her eyes shut, wondering for the tenth time since she walked through the front door why all of this had to happen tonight. He's put this big surprise together, and she feels terrible, because she knows she should be happy that he loves her and he cares, but she just can't deal with anything else right now. Doesn't he see that?

"How's that grill coming?" She forces her voice to stay calm.

"Look, I don't want to do this through a door. Can I talk to you for a second?"

The panic and fear and guilt is all hitting her in waves now, sending her stomach somersaulting, and as soon as she cracks the door open for him, she has to sit down on the edge of the tub, cradling her head in her hands. She doesn't know if she can do this here. She thought she'd have a chance to wrap her mind around the results, one way or another, before she had to say anything to Jim. Dealing with all of this at once is just too much.

"How's it going in here?" He attempts a grin, edging in through the doorway and leaning back against the counter.

"I don't know, Jim; I haven't even had a chance to get started yet," she snaps, glaring at him for a moment before burying her face back in her hands. She hates apologizing, but as soon as the words are out of her mouth she knows she's going to have to, because she promised herself a few months ago that she wasn't going to screw this up over stupid things. So she sighs. "I'm sorry. I'm just stressed... and to be honest, I think it would be easier if I just did this alone."

"Well, you're going to have to help me out here," he says, a little too calmly, "because I'm not sure my girl talk translator is up to speed on this one. Do you really want me to go, or are you just saying you want me to go because you think I don't want to be here?"

She glares at him, and he actually has the nerve to smile back at her.

"Look, Pam," he says, his face growing serious, "I just needed to make sure you know that I'm really not freaking out. Not really. I mean... yeah, it's a big deal and everything, but... you know, whatever happens, we'll make it work. I don't know about you, but I've waited way too long for this to let anything screw it up now." He's silent for a minute. "I love you," he finally adds quietly.

*

The second time Pam thought she was pregnant, she'd been engaged to Roy for nearly two years and was contemplating leaving him. They'd postponed the wedding twice now, and even though saving more money made sense, it still made her angry, because she would have married him and eaten hot dogs. He was the one with the problem, and it made her wonder if he really wanted to marry her at all.

So when her period was a little late, she had, at first, felt the familiar creeping sense of dread. A baby was only going to complicate things, and their relationship was hardly settled. She was thinking of leaving him, for God's sake! How could she expect Roy to commit to a child when he couldn't even commit to her?

But the longer she thought about it, the more she could feel herself softening. She couldn't help but remember the last time they'd gone through this together, back when she was in college. He'd been upset at first, sure, but once she'd given him a little time to adjust, he'd been so wonderful. He'd waited there with her while she took the test and promised her everything was going to be okay, and when it was negative, he hadn't acted scared or weird; he'd been right there by her side, celebrating with her, loving her still. Afterwards their relationship had grown even stronger.

And that was when Pam's reasoning turned the corner and she decided everything was going to be okay. Roy loved her; she knew it. He'd been the one to propose, hadn't he? And if he was having any lingering doubts about the wedding... well, if nothing else, a baby would force him to finally make up his mind. And when push came to shove, Roy Anderson was not the kind of guy to take off on his pregnant fiancée. She knew he'd marry her now. In fact, she was pretty sure he'd insist on marrying her soon.

That thought brought a smile to her face, and she practically hummed through the next few days. Remembering his initial reaction the last time, she decided not to tell Roy right away; instead, she would wait a few days, just wait and see. If she was really having a baby, they could start planning the rest of their lives together. They'd finally start moving forward. And if she wasn't... well, everything would just go back to normal. There was really nothing to worry about either way, she told herself.

She got her period a few mornings later. She waited for Roy to leave the apartment, lay on her bed, and let herself cry for an hour. Then she got up and went to work.

*

Jim feels like an idiot standing there, but when she smiles, he knows it's worth it. It's still so early in their relationship, he feels awkward slipping the "L-word" into his conversations with her, like it might still be inappropriate, somehow; like there's more than one possible response. But every time she smiles, he feels a little more comfortable, and he knows now that it was the right thing to say.

"I love you too, Jim," she says, sending the butterflies that seem to have taken up permanent residence in his stomach into a little fit. "And I know you aren't going to freak out and take off, or anything like that. I know you're not that guy. But to be honest..." She sighs, and suddenly her face has that cloudy look again that makes him feel completely inadequate, completely unsure of himself. "To be honest, that almost worries me more."

He swallows, his throat raspy. "Are you... are you saying you wouldn't want to... have a baby with me?"

"God, no!" He can see the alarm flash in her eyes, and she sits up straighter. "No, Jim, that's not it at all."

She reaches out to take his hand, and he finds himself clinging a little desperately to hers.

"We've only been dating for three months, Jim. That is way too early to be thinking about raising a kid, and we both know it. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I'm supposed to be okay with it because it's you and me and I love you and we've been waiting for this forever, but... it's just... it's not okay." He squeezes her hand as the tears in her eyes start to spill over, but she pulls it away then to reach for a tissue. "I want us to have a real shot. I want you to be here with me because things between us are good..." Her breath catches. "If it got to the point where you and I were staying together because of... if we were just going through the motions..."

The idea seems so ludicrous to him that he can't help smiling. "Okay," he says, "you need to stop freaking out, because there is just no way that's gonna happen..."

*

Jim had had a pregnancy scare once in college, too. He'd met his girlfriend, Lisa Sharp -- a tall, athletic, blonde volleyball player and the very image of his teenage fantasies -- in an economics class, the kind held in an auditorium packed with students, where the professor had to carry a microphone and nobody knew each other's names. Jim had arrived only moments before class started, and had just convinced himself he'd never find a seat when he spied two open spaces near the aisle in the back.

"Are these free?" he'd asked the blonde girl on the aisle, already edging into the row.

"No, sorry," she'd replied, smiling apologetically. "I'm saving them for my friends."

The professor had walked in then, and Jim had had to settle for a seat on the steps next to her. All throughout the lecture, he kept sneaking glances at her, wondering when she would invite him to take a seat, since her friends obviously weren't showing up, but she seemed to have forgotten about him.

At the end of the lecture, he'd stood up and stretched with an exaggerated groan, and when she still didn't look at him, finally turned and looked her in the eye as they walked out. "So I guess your friends never showed up then, huh?"

She'd laughed. "No, I guess they wimped out. But you just know they'll want to borrow my notes, right?" She smiled innocently. "You know, you could've taken one of their seats when class started."

Jim hadn't known what to make of this at first. They'd spent three minutes debating the finer points of seat-saving etiquette, and by the time they'd left the building, he'd run the gamut from annoyance to admiration to intense attraction. Finally, he'd demanded a date in reparation for his stiff back, and she'd laughingly acquiesced.

Four months later, she hadn't been laughing. She called him in tears, nearly hysterical as she told him about two little blue lines that Jim knew would change his life forever. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He couldn't move for a moment, couldn't blink, let alone talk. Lisa went on and on about how she'd be kicked off the team, lose her scholarship, have to leave school. She couldn't have a baby now, she'd said.

All Jim wanted to do was hang up the phone. He finally told Lisa he'd come over so she'd let him go. As soon as they were disconnected, he'd called his older sister and confessed everything. Fortunately, Liz had been thinking more clearly. She'd ordered him to stop on the way and pick up another pregnancy test just to be sure, and to call back when he had the results. He'd almost cried with relief when this test was negative. (When they'd gotten the results of the tie-breaker, Lisa actually had.)

Afterwards, to his great relief, Lisa broke up with him. He hadn't wanted to be the jerk that dumped his girlfriend after all that, but apparently thinking she was pregnant had been enough to make Lisa realize that their relationship wasn't really going anywhere. The whole experience had certainly opened Jim's eyes; he tried to convince himself later that he would've done the right thing: married her if she'd wanted him to, but part of him knew that just wasn't true. Supporting a child would be hard enough, but the thought of marrying someone he knew he didn't love, of giving up on ever meeting The One, all because of a little bit of fun in college... he thought he'd rather throw himself in front of a train.

Jim was a romantic, and he knew that he wanted it all.

*

When Pam calms down and starts to smile again, she finally manages to kick Jim out of the bathroom so she can take the test. He promises to return once he's started the grill, because one way or another, they're celebrating tonight, he says.

She feels bizarrely giddy now, and it's disconcerting to be so excited and so terrified at the same time. Her body is screaming to move, but there's nowhere to go while she stands there and waits.

"Music!" she yells, poking her head around the door, and she actually giggles a moment later as a Travis song she thinks they danced to once before drifts down the hallway. It's way too loud, and far too inconsiderate to her neighbor downstairs, but for once she really doesn't care. (The mental image of Mrs. Henderson standing on a chair and pounding the ceiling with a broomstick makes her laugh a little hysterically.) She lines up the tests on the counter and washes her hands, and when he walks through the door, she pulls him toward her as she bobs awkwardly to the music.

"What the hell?" he laughs, but joins in without complaint. "Nice moves, Beesly," he says, his eyes twinkling.

"Shut it, Halpert." Her eyes are closed and she's slowed to a sway now, determined not to worry, not to panic, not to be afraid any longer. It's been a long day, and she's so tired of being scared. She's going to enjoy tonight. Take a leap. Jump off a cliff. Happy birthday. Worry tomorrow.

"So you know if it's a girl, we have to name her Jennifer Hudson Halpert, right? Or so I've been told. Apparently it's going to be a very popular baby name."

Her eyes snap open and she takes a step back. Jim's lip is twitching as he stares back at her.

"Only if our choice for a boy is Dwight Kurt Halpert." She quirks an eyebrow. "Another popular name. Or so I'm told."

He groans. "Ugh. Bite your tongue."

She giggles.

The song ends.

*

When the results appear, they both breathe a sigh of relief that's maybe slightly tinged with regret. For a moment they sit there, side by side on the edge of the tub, letting it sink in.

Then, "Back to Australia?"

Pam stands and reaches for Jim's hand, tugging him to his feet. "Lead on, kangaroo man," she says, pushing him ahead of her back toward the living room.

Fin.