Pilot

Pam suddenly burst out of Michael’s office, head down, tears on her cheeks as she rushed through the lobby and out the doors of their suite. Everyone was just getting ready to leave, and she felt them staring at her; for a second, she was mortified to be causing such a scene, but she just couldn’t help it.

Jim was in the middle of putting on his coat when she’d passed him, and as soon as he saw her tears, he called out her name; she simply shook her head and kept right on walking.

He felt the others watching him – Phyllis looking wide-eyed, Angela suspicious, Stanley disgruntled – and for a second he wondered if he should force himself to just stay behind, not to run after her, to try to act nonchalant. But he couldn’t stand it; he immediately dropped his jacket and ran after her, not giving a damn who saw him or what they assumed.

He rushed out the doors, looking up and down the hall quickly, finding no sign of her. But when he opened the door to the stairwell, there she was, sitting on the stairs looking impossibly tiny, sniffling, tears still running down her cheeks.

“Hey…” His voice was soft as he stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a slight clanging sound. He walked toward her, moving to sit next to her on the steps, hands in his lap, looking at her carefully.

“Hey.” She smiled at him, and he felt like his heart would break at the sight of her – nose red, cheeks wet, eyes watery. She seemed to be feeling a little more calm, but he could see she was clearly still upset.

“What happened?” She could feel his eyes roaming her face, and there was something so incredibly gentle in the tone of his voice that she felt her stomach quiver a little.

She’d never actually cried in front of Jim before.

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “It’s really stupid.”

“Obviously not, if it’s got you this upset.” His voice was so tender, so cautious; when she looked up at him, he gave her a small, almost faltering smile.

As she raised her eyes to his, her expression hit him hard in the gut again, so he said softly, “C’mon…talk to me.”

"It – I just….” She shook her head again, then murmured, “God, my head is killing me now.”

A deep breath, then, “It’s…. Michael told me that he was firing me as a joke – but he took it too far. I mean,” She shook her head, her eyes welling up again, her voice straining as Jim felt the most overwhelming sense of anger and protectiveness rising within him. “I really believed him, and I just thought---“

She couldn’t finish because she started to cry again, raising one of her hands to her forehead, covering her face.

Without even thinking, Jim leaned forward and pulled her into his arms, whispering, “Come here. Hey….”

In that instant, it had seemed like such a natural thing to do; he couldn’t have sat there next to her and watched her cry, couldn’t possibly have just done nothing. And at first it had been okay, because she’d continued to sniffle for a minute, so he wasn’t even worried that he might be getting in over his head.

But then her sniffles had ceased, and he was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that Pam was in his arms; that he was holding her, his arms wrapped so tightly around her that his hands were touching. His cheek rested against her hair, and when he inhaled, the scent of her shampoo filled his lungs, smelling like something lush and sweet….fresh, ripe fruit, maybe, like one of those apples that’s so sweet that the juice runs out of it when you bite into it.

He was unnerved to find that the sad little ache he’d felt at seeing her so upset was quickly alchemizing into desire.

When he’d pulled her to him, she hadn’t even hesitated; she’d rested her head on his chest gratefully, eyes closing as she let go and cried just a little more. It wasn’t that she was devastated; she was just frustrated at Michael for being such an ass and at herself for falling for it, for letting him get to her. And it had felt good for a minute to just rest there, feeling his arms around her, his cheek against her hair.

His immediate reaction – looking almost like he might cry himself, then pulling her into his arms and whispering to her – had touched her. She’d often thought that one of Roy’s biggest shortcomings was his complete inability to grasp the simple concept that if she burst into tears, the right thing to do was to simply hold her, let her cry; she’d even told him this so many times before finally giving up. Occasionally Roy did just that, but if he didn’t think her tears were warranted, he sometimes would just stand there and say, “Pam, come on….really, what are you so upset about?”

She’d been with Roy for so long now that she’d almost expected Jim to do something along those same lines – maybe just sit there and look uncomfortable. But no, he’d seemed to know instinctively just what to do – as he always did – and hadn’t even hesitated before embracing her, guiding her head to rest on his chest. She felt somehow very small and very safe, her hands curled together in front of her as she leaned against him.

And then she’d caught his scent – clean, masculine, something spicy there, probably just his deodorant. But that scent somehow jolted her right out of her tears and into an altogether different realm, one in which she was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that this was not just Jim, her best friend and confidant; this was Jim, a man who often looked at her with a hunger in his eyes that she always pretended not to see.

She’d picked up on the fact that he had a crush on her right from the beginning, and it really didn’t faze her – after all, he knew she was engaged, and he certainly wasn’t the kind of guy who would ever try to cause problems between she and Roy. He’d just apparently been content to become her best friend, even listening to her when she complained about some of the more insensitive things that Roy sometimes did. And he seemed to always understand, though he was careful not to comment very much on Roy’s behavior. She sensed that reticence in him and knew it stemmed from his fear of revealing his feelings.

Because he thought she didn’t really know – she’d picked up on that, too, and she was content to let him continue believing it, because it made things easier. It made it easier to spend time around him, to get closer and closer to him without feeling quite so guilty. Besides, it was just a harmless crush, and it was probably just because he was lonely; it had been a while since he’d dated anyone seriously. In fact, in the three years that she’d known him, he’d never had a girlfriend, just went on dates occasionally.

Somehow pretending she didn’t know how he felt made it safe to let him pull her into his arms like this, made it okay to continue to lean against him even though she’d stopped crying.

And then she became conscious of the silence in that stairwell – no more of her sniffles, no more of him whispering, “Shhh, it’s okay….”

Nothing. Just silence now, but she didn’t move, and neither did he. She wondered what he was thinking.

Then she could hear that his heartbeats quickened, thumping in her ear as her head rested against his chest. It was fascinating and startling at the same time to be privy to the fact that his heart was actually starting to beat that much faster as he held her. She felt an unexpected heat rise within her, stemming from somewhere low, deep in her belly and creeping slowly upward, causing her chest and clavicle and face to flush. She wondered if he could feel the sudden warmth through his shirt.

She’d stopped crying; she was okay now. And he was painfully conflicted: So why is she still lying with her head on my chest, curled there so close? Why hasn’t she pulled back? Does she just want me to hold her….? Why? Because she’s still upset, or because….?

The realization made his heartbeat accelerate, pounding so loud he could hear it thudding in his ears. He knew she had to be able to hear it, her head resting where it was…and yet she still didn’t pull away. Why not?

It occurred to him then just how near their faces were, just how easy it would be to move into kissing her. The thought paralyzed him for a second, so much so that his breath caught in his throat for a moment.

Almost as if she could hear it, she shifted, but only slightly. Instead of extricating herself fully from his embrace, she only moved back a little, very slowly – not doing the most obvious or natural thing, which would’ve been to give him a quick squeeze, then just pull back and be done with it.

No, instead she seemed to be caught in a haze, unable to meet his eyes for a second, her cheeks flushed. She was blushing and she knew it, which only made her blush even more as her hands grew damp. He was watching her intently, his chin lowered so he could see her face, and she knew that she should pull all the way back, that she shouldn’t still be that close to him, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

When she raised her eyes to his finally, the intensity in his eyes startled her; he looked as if he were struggling, like he might say something or do something. She felt transfixed; she’d never seen that expression on his face before. Without even intending to, she lowered her eyes to his mouth, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She felt mesmerized, slowly raising her eyes back to his. His jaw was clenched, and his lips twitched briefly when he saw her look at them.

And she realized suddenly with a startling clarity that he wanted to kiss her.

His heart was pounding, and he was finding it ever increasingly difficult to breathe, but was struggling to hide that fact, to just breathe normally, because if he didn’t, she’d know. She was so close to him, still curled against his chest a little, that she would certainly feel it if he started breathing even heavier.

And then her eyes had raised to his and she’d looked at his mouth, then wet her lips absently. He was stunned, unable to move, knowing he should say something, but completely unable to speak, his mind racing: Oh my god, please don’t do that; please don’t look at my lips again…. Why is she looking at my mouth? Jesus, I can’t handle this.

The most unnerving thing of all was that he could have sworn she was silently willing him to kiss her.

She wondered what it would be like to feel his lips on hers, wondered what he’d do if she were to just lean forward ever so slightly…just to see what it would be like. Through half-closed lids, she saw his chest rise and fall in a more pronounced way than normal; his eyes were locked on hers, a hunger in them so deep that she felt it in her gut.

And then suddenly the door opened, prompting her to jump, moving away from him quickly, guiltily; he, too, had bolted when the door opened, scooting away from her, one hand reaching to absently rub the back of his neck.

“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt.” It was Phyllis, who gave them both a little knowing smile as she quickly hurried past them, going down the stairs and out the door.

Pam’s eyes met Jim’s; he looked frazzled, shaken, and his breathing was noticeably irregular. She realized then that something had shifted between them in that moment, that apparently, letting Jim hold her while she cried had been a bad idea, and not just because he couldn’t seem to be able to handle it.

No, what disturbed her was the fact that her hands were shaking now, that she felt herself still stunned by the realization that she’d been sitting there contemplating kissing him, that she’d felt such a pull toward him in those brief moments.

It unnerved her enough to say, “I’ve got to go back and get my stuff.”

With that, she was gone, leaving him sitting on the steps, letting out a deep, quivering breath as he tried to collect himself. He sat in stunned silence for a few seconds, unsure of what to do, shaken to his core because that was the first time he’d ever picked up so clearly from her that she seemed to be as attracted to him as he was to her.

He slowly stood, moving mechanically, back through the door and down the hall to their office. She wasn’t at her desk, so he sort of fell into his chair, grateful that everyone else was already gone, and Michael’s door was closed. He felt the need to wait for her, just to make sure everything was okay. Had he crossed the line somehow? Should he have just sat there and let her cry?

Then he realized that a cameraman was still hovering off to the side. Great, just great…. How are we going to possibly be able to talk?

And then she appeared from the break room, cheeks still flushed, eyes a little red from the tears, clutching a tissue in one hand. She stopped beside his chair, and he noticed that she couldn’t meet his eyes; he saw her glance out of the corner of her eye at the camera, and she, too, seemed a little unnerved by its presence.

“Hey.” She said without looking at him.

“Hey.” He tried to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Hi….” She murmured back unnecessarily.

There was an uncomfortable pause, then he heard himself asking, “How are you?” What he really wanted to ask was, is everything okay with us?

“Good,” She replied, then stammered, “I thought you were going out for a drink with….”

“Oh no, just….” His voice trailed off just like hers had, then he asked, “How’s your headache?”

“It’s better, thanks.” She was still avoiding his eyes.

“Good, good.” He nodded, wondering if this were as painfully uncomfortable for her as it was for him.

“Yeah.” She murmured, wanting to just run out of the room as if her hair were on fire.

“That’s great.” He seemed desperate to fill the silences, and somehow, their stilted conversation just made the awkwardness more heightened.

“Is uh…um….” She began, then shot a quick glance at the camera, thinking it was going to take a long time to get used to having that pervasive gaze on her at all times.

Then, “Are you, uh….”

She was too distracted to finish the thought, trying to decide whether or not she should ask him to come with her so they could talk privately, but what could she say?  I’m sorry, Jim, if it seemed like I wanted you to kiss me in there, because….well, I did, but I’m convinced it was like momentary madness, and it’ll pass…..?

His voice interrupted her thoughts as he finished for her, “Am I walking out?”

“Are you…yes – “ She said, then forced a chuckle.

Jim laughed with her, his laughter sounding as false and uncomfortable as her own. He raised his hand absently to rub the back of his head, a gesture she’d learned to recognize from him as a sign of discomfort.

“Yes, I….” He shook his head, then, “Do you wanna…?”

“Yeah.” She said quickly, wanting this moment to just be over already.

“Great, let me just….” He patted his desk a few times, having no idea what it was he was planning on saying there.

Then an impatient honk interrupted them, and he said, “Oh, Roy….”

Pam was already backing away, calling, “Listen, have a nice weekend.”

“Yeah, definitely; you, too.” He called back, then finished with a murmur, “Enjoy it.”

He sat frozen, his hand behind his head for a few minutes, lost in thougt. Then, remembering the camera, he’d forced himself to lean under his desk and pull out the jello mold he’d made. As he gestured for the camera to follow him, he was silently thanking god that the cameraman hadn’t thought to follow him into the stairwell.