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.

 Pam’s gotten good at tuning things out, as though she has a “volume” dial that she can turn down at will.  Like when Michael starts writing limericks or when Dwight tries to mathematically prove that Andy is the root of all evil.

Or whenever Jim and Karen are within two feet of each other.

And this time is no different, as Karen half-sits on the corner of his desk, pushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes.  The laughter starts and she’s reaching for that inner dial when she suddenly picks up on one word: “haircut.”

Then she turns the dial up.

“I’m just saying, you look…”

“Edgy?  Rustic?  Charming in a boyish, yet tragically handsome way?”  He throws his head back for good measure and she smacks him on the shoulder.

“’Homeless’ was the word I was going for.  Come on, do you really want to go into your interview looking like you have road kill on your head?”

“Wow, there’s an image I didn’t need.”

“Seriously,” she softens, turning her smile into a straight, harsh line.  “I think it’s time.”

Pam knows she’s staring, knows full well that she’s obviously staring, but can’t tear her eyes away from the sinking shoulders and the hand that’s scratching the shaggy, now-doomed locks on the back of his neck.

“Yeah, you’re—you’re right.  I’ll, uh, get it cut after work.”

Karen’s smile returns once again then she leans down to say something in a low voice that Pam’s sure she doesn’t want to hear.  So she tunes out.

Later, she finds him in the kitchen, staring into a cup with a stern look of concentration, like he’s trying to decipher something in tea grinds. 

“So you’re getting it cut?”  The way she says it reminds her of another time in this same place when he was questioning her on an arguably just as important decision. 

He looks up and quirks a corner of his mouth.  “Apparently.”  He doesn’t try to hide the bitterness in his voice and it’s oddly comforting.  Because he’s sharing something with her when her feet aren’t burning and she hasn’t completely called him out on the past year.

Awkward silence passes between them until her voice, confident with just a hint of a tremor, breaks it.

“I cut hair, you know.”

His face brightens in pleasant surprise.  “How do I not know this about you?”

“It’s the double life that I lead.  Receptionist by day, hair dresser by night.”

“So you’re Supercuts?”  He teases and she allows herself to laugh because there’s no reason not to.

“No, my aunt did it for a long time and she taught me.  I practiced on Barbies.”

“Oh well, if it’s good enough for Barbie…” he grins and she rolls her eyes.

“But seriously, if you want to I could…”

His eyes squint a little at her as he forms a response and she holds her breath, half hoping he says no just because it would make life that much less complicated.

“Sure.”

x

Her kitchen makes for a decent, impromptu salon, with her detachable faucet head and an old beach towel providing support for his neck.  She taps her fingers lightly in the water, testing the temperature as she discreetly watches him out of the corner of her eye.  He’s staring at her ceiling, his Adam’s apple noticeably bobbing as he takes a few nervous gulps.    She bites her lip and aims the lukewarm water at his head, running unsteady fingers through his hair.

“Too warm?”

“No, it’s good.”

She nods and continues to spray his hair till it’s completely soaked.  She hands him the towel to dry it with, ignoring how it would have been so much easier and faster had he just stuck his head under the sink. 

He gives the towel one last pass through the hair before shaking it like a dog, giving her a dopey grin when he stops.

“That’s a good look there, Ringo.”

He throws the towel at her and sits back down in the chair, fingers drumming on his knees.  She glances at the scissors and knows there’s just one step left.

“Ready?”

He nods and she tries not to notice how he flinches as she makes the first cut.

x

She hands him a mirror when she’s finished, leading him to the bathroom so he can look at the back.

“What do you think?”

He stares at himself for a while, running that same hand along his now bare and damp neck.

“I think I look like Ken.”  He gives her a genuine smile.  “Thanks Pam.”

“You’re welcome—oh, wait, hold on,” she brushes a few stray hairs off of his collar, ignoring the proximity and the way his eyes are now trained on her.  She steps back a few feet before looking at him again.

“There.  You’re all set.”

“What do I owe you?”

She gives him a push out of the bathroom.  “Oh, please, this was nothing.”

“No, seriously, you did me a favor.”

She crosses her arms and pretends to be in deep thought.

“Dinner,” she says finally.  His eyes have a flash of panic and she quickly corrects herself.

“No, I just—not like, I mean, I haven’t had your grilled cheese in awhile so…”

He laughs, shaking his head a little and it saddens her when there’s no hair winging out at the sides to move with it.

“Alright Beesly, deal.”

She leans against her doorway, waving back at him as he drives away.  When his tail lights turn the corner she goes back inside, leaving the mess in the kitchen for the morning as she collapses with exhaustion on top of her bed.