Shipwrecked

By Jody E.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

January 9, 2006

Jim flipped a new page on his desk calendar. Monday, January 9th. He felt a familiar sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. Yesterday, January 8th was his anniversary…Five years at Dunder Mifflin. He looked over at the reception desk where Pam sat, writing up messages from the answering machine. She looked up and saw him and smiled. Three years that Pam had worked here. Three years ago, yesterday, she had walked into this office, shy and miserable about giving up a job in the art world to come work here. It was only temporary, she had promised herself, and now three years later, here she was, still a receptionist. Three years ago she and Roy had gotten engaged, and here they were, still engaged. Three years ago, Jim had fallen in love with Pam, and here he was, still in love with her, with no cure in sight. He had learned to live with it, like his Father with the bad leg he got in Vietnam. He didn’t talk about it, but it was a fact of his life.

It was as though he and Pam and Roy were stuck in some kind of bizarre holding pattern. He and Pam were friends, laughing together and playing pranks on Dwight together, having long talks in the break room at lunch time. Then every night, Pam would go home to Roy, and what they talked about, and did, Jim tried not to imagine.

So many times, Jim had sat at his desk when he was supposed to be working, wondering exactly what to do to break this pattern, to change something. This past Christmas he had actually worked up the nerve to write, "I love you," inside the card he included in her secret Santa gift. He was hoping that it would get things out in the open even if it upset her at first. At least it would get the dialog started. But then his gift (and card!) had almost fallen into the wrong hands…the most wrong hands possible...Dwight’s! And when Pam did end up with the teapot, at last, he had stolen the card back, terrified at the thought of losing the friendship that was the most precious thing to him in the world.

And apparently, his New Year’s resolution to tell Pam the truth was also a failure, as the New Year was more than a week old, and he had done absolutely nothing. And now he was in the midst of the January doldrums, with nothing to look forward to but more winter, and he didn’t think that the situation he was in would ever change. At least the camera people weren’t here today. He didn’t need them documenting his misery and frustration. When he felt this way, there was only one remedy. He looked at Dwight working smugly away at something on his computer, and decided that he needed a prank in honor of his and Pam’s anniversary. He had an idea in mind. He got up and went over to Pam’s desk, and under cover of eating jellybeans asked her, "Good morning, Pam. How are you at moving furniture?"

Her eyes lit up as they always did when she sensed one of his Dwight ideas brewing. "Morning, Jim. How much furniture, and where are you planning to move it?"

He just winked, "Meet me in the breakroom in 10 minutes."

Ten minutes later he found himself in the breakroom, making a cup of coffee, when Pam strolled in nonchalantly, and started making tea in her little green tea pot. "So, what’s the big plan?"

"I was thinking. If we moved Dwight’s desk one inch towards the copy machine, every time he went to the bathroom, how long do you think it would take him to notice?"

"Hmmm," Said Pam, "that’s an intriguing question. He should notice right away, because his desk butts up against yours. However, as we both know from experience, Dwight tends not to notice subtle changes."

"Exactly…despite his claims to be exceptionally observant. So what’s your guess, Beesly, 5 inches, 10 inches?"

"That’s what she said," Pam said, laughing, and Jim laughed with her. They had gotten more mileage out of Michael’s terrible joke over the years, than he would have ever dreamed.

Pam continued thoughtfully, "But...I can’t imagine even Dwight not noticing that his desk was moved 5 inches."

"See...now I was thinking more like 10, maybe even a foot, or even more."

"Really. 10 or more? You know, that sounds like a wager to me."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"What stakes?"

Jim didn’t hesitate, "Favor."

Pam looked started. Favor was the most dangerous of their wagers, used only sparingly. Usually their bets revolved around candy bars or sodas, or perhaps a dollar or even five. But favors were an unknown commodity. If Pam won she could request a favor from Jim, and vice versa. So far the favors had been as innocuous as the bets. Once Jim had had to bring Pam's lunch in to work for a week. Once Pam had had to take Jim’s car to the car wash. But with favors the potential existed for somebody to ask something daring, something forbidden, like, "Give me a kiss," or "Break up with Roy." Something that would smash the carefully built façade of their friendship. But a favor bet was also a challenge, and Pam couldn’t resist a challenge. "You’re on," said Pam, eyes flashing. "But aren’t those desks very heavy?"

Jim laughed, and said only, "Easy glide furniture movers. I got them in a furniture store over the weekend."

She shook her head in awe. The both went back to their desks.

The hardest part was slipping the plastic disks under the corners of Dwight’s desk during his first trip to the bathroom. Fortunately, Dwight’s first trip to the bathroom every morning usually involved USA Today, and lasted quite a while, so they had plenty of time.

After that, it was a piece of cake. Every time that Dwight got up to go to the bathroom, or to bother Michael, or out to lunch, Pam left her desk with a bunch of papers for Jim to look at, and while pretending to look at these papers, they slid Dwight’s desk one inch towards the copy machine. Just one inch. They were both back at their respective desks each time that Dwight got back. As always he searched his desk for evidence of tampering, but he never noticed the change in location. Jim had carefully lined up Dwight’s bobblehead collection so that they blocked the edge of his desk, and the increasingly wide chasm between his desk and Jim’s.

Five inches, ten inches…Jim and Pam looked at each other in disbelief, each time Dwight returned to his desk and noticed nothing. Jim was actually beginning to worry that five o’clock would arrive before Dwight noticed. Finally he had Pam call Dwight and remind him that Toby needed three copies of his expense report. When Dwight got up to go to the copy machine, it was suddenly two feet closer than usual. He stood looking at the machine in confusion. Then he turned around and walked back to his desk, and then back to the copy machine. Back again, he slowly walked around his desk, a feat that was usually impossible. Jim and Pam shook with silent laughter.

"Why is my desk moved?!" Dwight accused Jim.

"What do you mean?" Jim managed to say with an innocent face, " Isn’t that where it always is?"

"No! Look at me. Do I usually stand between our desks?"

"No. But I always assumed that was a matter of choice."

"Our desks should be right up against each other!"

"Hey, if you want to sit closer to me, just say so. It’s nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. I’ll even help you move your desk. Dwight, honey."

"Arggh!" Dwight groaned and ran in to complain to Michael. Quickly, Jim and Pam slid his desk back into its usual position. When Dwight came out with Michael, everything was back to normal and Pam and Jim were busily working. Dwight took one look at his desk, and sputtered with frustration and stomped into the breakroom.

Michael looked questioningly at Jim, "What in holy hell was that all about?"

Jim shook his head, sadly, "Dwight’s been under a lot of stress lately, "he explained, " January is a tough month for all of us. But I’ll look out for him."

"Now that’s the spirit!" said Michael, relieved, " That’s the old espree décor! Good work, Jim." He strode back into his office; another crisis successfully dealt with.

Jim had won the bet. He knew that Pam was probably unaware that today was, in fact, their anniversary, as he had never pointed it out to her. He was always afraid it would seem a mite too stalkery for him to recall the exact date she had started at Dunder Mifflin, even if it was the same date as his own anniversary. But in honor of that unknown anniversary, Jim had a plan. He was going to ask Pam out, as his favor. Just for a drink, just for an hour, someplace alone outside the office. And then he would tell her. Finally, after three years he would tell her. He had been thinking of little else all day, planning the exact words he would use. He decided that "I love you" was actually too ambiguous, as it could be deflected with an "I love you too, you’re my best friend," kind of answer. No, he needed to pull out the big guns. "I’m in love with you." It stated the facts and left no room for misinterpretation.

It was a hideous gamble, he realized. He knew that Pam was unhappy with her never ending engagement, and that she and Roy didn’t see eye to eye on so many things. But they were all caught in this ridiculous status quo and nothing was ever going to change, unless somebody made a move. But it could, quite simply, ruin everything. The thought of Pam rejecting him, made his blood run cold. And, God forbid, what if she wouldn’t even go out with him? There was no law that compelled them to follow the rules of the games they played. They just did. They paid their debts and didn’t speak when jinxed and didn’t cheat at Boggle. But if Pam refused this favor, that would all end. His heart thumping, Jim looked at the clock. It was almost five o’clock. It’s now or never, Halpert, he told himself, and got up and headed towards Pam’s desk. Never had ten feet seemed like such an impossible distance...perhaps Dwight had secretly moved his desk.

"Hey, Halpert, I guess you win, "Pam said with an uneasy smile, "I never would have guessed two feet."

"It’s a gift, what can I say?"

"So, I guess I owe you a favor."

"That’s right, "said Jim amazed that he could even hear her over the sound of his heart.

"Now or later?" Pam asked the ritualized question, indicating that he could request the favor now or wait up to 48 hours.

"Now," Jim gasped.

Pam stared at him, waiting for his response.

"Pam…" he began.

"Hey babe!" It was Roy, bursting though the front door, the concerned fiancé. "It’s kind of icy out there. Good thing we’ve got the truck. C’mon, I’ll walk you out." He looked at Jim, who was slowly edging away from Pam’s desk, "Hey Halpert, what’s up?"

"Same old, same old, "said Jim, hating that inane response but unable to think of anything better, since the truth probably wouldn’t go over that well. "Later, Beesly, " he said to Pam and went back to his desk, defeated by the fate that had brought Roy upstairs, for the first time since the Christmas party.

He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. He didn’t know if he felt like crying or kicking something, or somebody, very hard. Was it fate? Was this whole thing with him and Pam never meant to be? He sat in his car, in the dark, awash with despair, watching Pam and Roy leave together in his truck. Sure, according to the rules, he could still ask her tomorrow or Wednesday, but he knew that he wouldn’t. The moment had gone. His momentum and determination had dissipated. And he was alone. He could go back to his house. Do some wash that was long overdue. Mark might be there, but he probably wasn’t, and even if he was, he would be in his room with his girlfriend, which was even worse. On impulse, Jim took out his cel phone, and called a number that he still had programmed.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Katie? This is Jim. Jim Halpert."

"Jim. Hi. It’s been a while."

"Yeah. Sorry about that. Things have been kind of crazy around here. Did you have a nice Christmas?"

"Not bad. How was yours?"

"Good. Dunder Mifflin had the world’s worst Office Christmas party."

"Yeah. I’m not surprised. That place can’t even throw a decent fire drill, no less a party."

Jim laughed. "I’m sorry, I haven’t spoken to you in a while. Things have been…’

"Kind of crazy. I think you mentioned that. "

"Listen, " Jim said, "I know it’s very short notice, and I wouldn’t blame you for saying no, but I was wondering if you might want to go out for a drink tonight."

"Oh. Well, I just got home, and I’ve been on my feet all day, with those damn purses, and I don’t know if I can stand going out again."

"Oh no. I understand. It’s a weird night, Monday...maybe we could do it another.."

"No. No. What I meant was, why don’t you come over here? I have some frozen pizzas I can put in the oven. It’s not gourmet, but it’s better than eating alone, right?"

Every warning system that Jim possessed, sent bells, alarms and whistles to his brain. Katie should have been pissed at him for allowing their relationship to fizzle out after a couple of months. He hadn’t expected her to even agree to a drink, no less dinner. At her place. You know this is a mistake, Jimbo, he lectured himself. She is way too happy to hear from you. Which means that she’s probably lonely as hell. And needy as hell. Just like you. This can’t end well.

"I’ll bring a bottle of wine, " he said, and started his car.