===
By 12:30, everyone had left, except for Pam, who was sprawled out across Jim's couch, one leg propped up on the top cushions. She grinned lazily at Jim, who was sitting at the other edge of the couch, her other leg resting on his lap.
"I'm kinda drunk," she said, her words slurring slightly.
"I know," Jim said, trying not to smile.
"I don't think I can drive," Pam said, lifting her hands as if grasping an invisible steering wheel.
"I don't think you should," Jim said. "I can, uh--" He stopped for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. Should he offer her a ride home? It would be the polite thing to do, but he'd been drinking quite a bit himself, and while he wasn't drunk, it still probably wasn't the best idea.
He could call a cab for her, but then Roy would have to drive her back the next day to get her car, and he just wasn't sure he wanted to see Roy at his house. Something about that made him feel weird.
Would she be willing to stay over? Jim wondered. Considering that made his stomach flip suddenly. Pam. Sleeping. In my house. Oh my God. Would he be able to handle that? That had been his fantasy since -- well, since -- forever. She wouldn't actually stay over, though. Would she?
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. How do you ask someone to stay over? How do you say it so you don't sound like you want to have sex with them -- even though there was nothing more in the world Jim wanted than to really know Pam that way. Damn it, he thought to himself. Get yourself together.
"Jim?" Pam said meekly.
"Yeah?" he asked, startled out of his thoughts. God, I hope she doesn't think I've been thinking about her. Damn it. Now I can't stop thinking about her. Pam. Pam in my house. Pam in my bed. Pam with no clothes... oh, God. Wow. Oh ... God.
"You're really quiet," she said.
"Yeah," Jim said. "I think I'm just tired; I don't know." Damn it -- why did you just say that? She's going to think you don't want to hang out with her--
"Me, too," Pam sighed. There was a long pause between them. Then she said, "Jim?"
"Yeah?" he asked again.
"I really, I mean -- I don't normally, um, but -- uh..."
Jim chuckled, despite himself. He felt his abdomen tighten suddenly. "But what?" he managed to say.
"Can I stay over?" she asked, in a rush. "I mean, I can probably call Roy to pick me up, but, you know, he's probably still out and drinking, and--"
"No," Jim said, more strongly than he intended. "I mean, I want you -- um, everyone, I mean -- to be safe. You're welcome to stay here any time, Pam." He patted her foot gently, which made her sit up on her elbow and smile at him. He felt his stomach jump again.
"Jim," she said, making a face as she pulled herself up to sitting. She re-positioned herself so both feet were on his lap. "I just want to say, that, you know, if I wasn't with Roy, well..." She trailed off, leaving Jim to gaze at her quizzically.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? "Um," Jim said. He hadn't meant to say anything.
"I mean," Pam said, looking sheepish suddenly. "I just mean -- you're a really great friend."
"Thanks," Jim said softly. Not exactly what he had been hoping for, but still.
"No," Pam said, her face growing serious. "You're, like, my best friend. And, you know, you take care of me, and you help me out, and -- you let me sleep over when I drink too much, so. That's pretty awesome."
Jim grinned. She really was adorable. "Well, I do take some partial blame, since I provided the alcohol that made you drunk."
She considered this for a second. "Wait a minute -- does this mean you were trying to get me drunk?"
Jim held up his hands in mock surrender. "Oh my God, you figured out my plan. To get you and a house full of partygoers drunk so I could take advantage of you and learn all of your deepest, darkest secrets." Jim shrugged. "Unfortunately, Dunder-Mifflin employees seem to be more impervious to alcohol than I anticipated. You're the only one that succumbed."
"Who said I succ -- um, who said it worked?" Pam asked, twisting her mouth up.
"Well," Jim said. He moved down the couch, picking her legs up so he could slide under them.
"I admit to nothing," Pam said, sticking her tongue out.
She leaned back, letting her arm fall over the arm of the leather couch. He suddenly imagined what her hair would look like, splayed over his pillow, her eyes gazing up at him as he hovered over her...
"Shit," he murmured to himself.
He hadn't realized he'd said it aloud until she asked, "What?"
"Huh?" Jim said.
"You said 'shit,'" she replied, yawning.
"Oh, yeah, I was just thinking about -- um -- never mind. Sorry."
"I'm tired," Pam said, yawning again, and turning on her side.
"Oh," Jim said. "Do you want me to, uh -- get you a blanket and pillow?"
"Yeah," she said sleepily.
Jim ran upstairs, frantically searching through the linen closet for the extra pillows and throw blanket. He found them stuffed at the bottom. He sniffed the pillow as he walked back downstairs. A little musty, he thought, shaking it out slightly. He wondered when they had last been washed. He briefly considered going back upstairs to get his own pillow for her, but stopped when he reached the living room again and saw her lying on the couch. Her hands were curled up together under her cheek, and her hair fanned out in a half-circle around her face.
He padded over towards her as quietly as possible, and crouched down. Gently, he tapped her arm. "Pam? Pam, I have your blanket and pillow."
"Mmm," she mumbled. She opened her eyes halfway to look at him.
"Do you want this?" he asked, holding the blanket and the pillow up.
She nodded, not bothering to lift her head. Jim opened up the blanket and spread it over her, and then lifted up her head to put the pillow under her cheek. Her hair felt a lot softer than he had imagined it would. He stroked her hair once, then forced himself to stand up. He stuffed his hands into his pockets.
"Are you okay, Pam?" he asked.
"Mmm," she said again. He started to walk away, when he heard her say, "Jim?"
He turned around. "Yeah?"
A few seconds passed, and then she sighed lightly. "Will you lay with me?" she whispered, barely loud enough to him to hear.
"Um," he said. He really didn't know how to respond to that. Of course he wanted to lay down next to her. But there really wasn't enough room for the both of them, and--
"Please?" she asked. "I'm just--" She stopped suddenly, and he wondered what she meant to say.
I'm just used to having someone sleep next to me. I'm just scared. I'm just wanting to see what you feel like.
No, he thought. This kind of thinking was only going to get him into trouble. "Um," he said again. "I mean, there's really not enough room, I mean, I'm sort of tall, and..."
He heard Pam chuckling lightly under her breath. Then, suddenly, she was silent. Again, he wondered what she was thinking.
She said, "I don't want to sleep alone."
"Okay," Jim said, his breath coming out in a rush. What did that mean? Should I ask her to come upstairs?
But she's engaged.
We're just friends. It's not like anything will happen.
Unless she wants it to.
You can't take advantage of someone while they're drunk. Especially not your best friend. Not Pam.
When are you ever going to have this opportunity again? Go with it.
"Um," Jim said. "You could, you know -- I mean -- I wouldn't, um, I mean, if you want, we could, um..."
"Go upstairs?" Pam asked. She sounded as breathless as he felt.
"Yeah," Jim said, suddenly unable to breathe. Oh, God. Pam. In my bed. Oh... God. Oh, crap.
"Okay," she whispered.
"Um, okay," Jim said, walking over to the couch. His stomach was doing flip-flops, imagining being in bed next to her. Waking up to her scent, and her soft hair, and smooth skin...
He went to help her stand up, but it quickly became apparent that she was having trouble walking. She must have had more to drink than he realized. He stopped her, quickly reaching down into the crook of her knees and swinging her up. She yelped in surprise.
"What are you doing?" she asked, half-dazed.
"Carrying you upstairs," he said, rounding the corner towards the front hall. "Just... relax. You need to sleep."
"Yeah," she murmured, leaning against his chest.
As he ambled up the stairs, trying to make sure they didn't collide into the railing or wall on the narrow stairway, he leaned down into her head, feeling her so-soft hair tickle his nose. He breathed in lightly, letting the scent overwhelm him. He left himself getting light-headed, and willed himself to make it up the stairs and to his bedroom as soon as possible.
"Mmm," Pam said as they reached his room and he set her down. She immediately collapsed to the ground, curling up at his feet. "So sleepy," she mumbled.
"I know," Jim said, feeling his fingers trembling as he peeled back the sheets. Thank God he had just washed his sheets. Not that he was expecting this, but -- shit. He picked her up carefully off the floor and laid her down onto the bed. It wasn't until she was lying down that he realized her shoes were still on, so he pulled those off and set them next to the bed. After he had covered her with the blanket, he stood in front of the bed for a second, trying to figure out what to do next.
He took off his sweater, wondering whether to get changed into shorts--? He would be too hot in jeans, he reasoned to himself. He pulled a pair of gym shorts out of his drawer and started to head across to the bathroom. He heard Pam's voice right as he got to the doorway.
"Jim?"
"Yeah?" he asked, turning towards her.
"Where are you going?"
"I'll be right back. I promise." He slipped into the bathroom, quickly throwing water on his face as he studied his reflection in the mirror. What were the chances of something like this? Could he have ever imagined Pam, in his bed? Shit. He needed to calm down.
To distract himself, Jim brushed his teeth quickly; telling himself it was only because Pam wouldn't want to smell his beer breath. It didn't mean anything else. Definitely.
Probably. Maybe.
Steeling himself with a deep breath, he glanced at himself once more before dashing back across to his bedroom. He half-expected Pam to be asleep when he got there, but she opened her eyes when he came in. "I'm back!" he stage-whispered, slowly walking around to his side of the bed.
As he slid into bed next to her, careful not to brush up against her, she turned towards him, reaching down. He nearly jumped when her hand slid over his bare knee. "Did you change?" she asked.
"Yeah," Jim said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Should he have asked her if she wanted to change? Most of his stuff would have been too big, but, still...
"Oh," Pam said, not offering anything more. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing.
"Did you, uh -- I mean, I could borrow you, um..."
"No, that's okay," Pam said, turning back around again.
Jim wasn't sure if she was annoyed, or just going to sleep. "You sure?" he asked.
"Yeah." She reached over and patted his arm. "I just need--" she yawned suddenly, "--sleep."
"Okay," Jim said, staring up at the ceiling.
"By the way," she said, turning her head towards him. "Thanks... for everything." Jim smiled. When he didn't respond, she added, "I'm really glad I ... um. You're a good person, Jim."
"Thanks," Jim said finally. He wondered if she'd think he was so good if she knew what he was thinking just then. He sighed softly, and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come.
===
He woke up hazily the next morning, feeling warmth around his stomach and the right side of his body. The feeling of bare skin against his hand made him confused, and he opened his eyes. He was immediately confronted with the sight of Pam -- her arm sprawled across his stomach, her body pressed up into his side -- and her pants -- mysteriously missing? The memories of the night before rushed back to him. He hadn't -- they didn't --
He'd gone right to sleep! How had her pants come off? And ... oh, God, her legs were so soft...
He couldn't resist the urge to rest his hand on her inner thigh where it pressed up against him. After all, he had nowhere to put his hand, and --
Jim felt his face start to burn as that thought evolved.
Crap. What if Pam woke up and her hand moved down? What if she thought he was thinking about her--?
It wasn't a healthy train of thought. I've got to get out of here, he thought. But something wouldn't let him move. Something in him wanted Pam to wake up and see him next to her. How many times had he imagined that maybe one day, she'd wake up next to him everyday, not Roy. Maybe she'd think about that, and --
"Oh my God -- Jim?"
Jim's hand immediately flew up, instinctively covering his crotch. He yelped, surprised by Pam's outburst.
He sat up, backing himself up against the wall, and crossing his arms. "Pam," he said. "Nothing happened."
"Nothing happened?" Pam asked, her eyes wide. She started to get up off the bed, when she noticed she didn't have any jeans on. She quickly pulled the comforter up high over her waist. She looked over at Jim again. "Okay, but, um -- what happened to my pants?"
Jim made a face, trying to be light. "I do not know the answer to that."
"Jim," Pam said warningly.
"Seriously," Jim said, getting out of bed and holding his hands up. This definitely was not going the way he had imagined. "When we went to sleep last night -- which is all that happened -- your jeans were on, so..."
"Well," Pam said, looking ruefully down at the ground where her jeans were balled up. "I don't usually sleep with pants on, so -- I guess, I probably took them off while I was sleeping." She attempted a small smile at him.
He smiled back. "Yeah. Apparently, your sleeping legs will not tolerate pants. Or, um, something." He looked away, making a face. How fucking stupid are you, Halpert?
There was an awkward pause as Jim stood at the edge of the bed, wringing his hands, and Pam clutched the comforter, looking down at it and then up at Jim.
"I should probably, uh -- let you get dressed -- um, fully." He quickly backed himself up and out of the room. Before heading downstairs, he double-checked to make sure Mark wasn't around. The last thing he needed was Mark making lewd comments about the "girl he'd had over." Pam was probably uncomfortable as it was, and Roy -- Oh God,, Jim thought. If Roy found out, he was dead.
He never should have let Pam stay over. It was a bad idea. He should have gotten her a cab. He shouldn't have --
"Hey," he heard a small voice say.
Pam had wandered into the kitchen, her hands stuffed into her pockets.
"You okay?" Jim asked tentatively. He busied himself by reaching into the fridge for a carton of orange juice and the can of ground coffee.
"Yeah," he heard her say. She sat down at one of the stools in front of his breakfast counter. "I called Roy." Jim's stomach immediately lurched when she said that. She shrugged. "I told him I drank too much and I passed out on your couch. He just laughed." Her eyes flit up to meet his.
Jim didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. Instead, he poured out a glass of orange juice for her, setting it down in front of her.
She sighed, spreading her hands out on the countertop and studying them. "What did happen, Jim?" she asked, not looking at him.
Jim bit his lip. There was nothing bad about the story. Nothing had actually happened. But somehow, the whole intent of the thing stuck in his throat. Had she wanted to sleep with him? Had she, subconsciously, wanted something to happen? Could he look at her today if something actually had happened? He didn't know the answers to any of that. Instead, he said: "Nothing happened, Pam." He licked his lip, and faced her. "You -- had a little too much to drink and didn't think you could drive home. You... were falling asleep on the couch, but, I mean, I guess, you, um..." Jim trailed off. He felt really weird about telling her what she said.
"I what?" Pam asked, a worried expression on her face.
Jim couldn't look at her. "You just said, you know, you didn't want to sleep alone, so I just brought you upstairs, and -- I mean, that was it, Pam. I just put you into bed." He looked up at her again. "Nothing happened."
Pam nodded. "I believe you," she said, smiling. She let out a slow breath, then picked up the glass. "Thanks for the orange juice, by the way."
"Do you want me to make breakfast?" Jim asked. "I make a pretty mean omelet. It even rivals my famous grilled-cheese sandwich." He winked at her.
Pam smiled, looking down. "Why is it that all your best cooking efforts involve cheese? Were you a cow in a past life?"
Jim made a face. "Now, Pam. If I was a cow, wouldn't eating cheese sort of be like cannibalizing myself?"
"Not exactly. But if your famous cooking involved beef, then maybe I'd say that..."
"I guess you didn't try a world-renowned Halpert Burger yesterday, then."
"No, I didn't, but, um." Pam stopped, finishing off her orange juice. She glanced over at him again, where he was leaning against the counter, waiting for a pot of coffee to brew. "As tempting as the omelet offer sounds, I should really get going..."
"Oh, yeah--" Jim said.
"I mean, I have a lot of errands to run, and laundry, and, you know how everything gets done on the weekends, so--"
"Definitely," Jim said, making a face. "It's a good thing you didn't look under the bed, because that's where all of my laundry is hiding right now."
"Ooh," Pam said, her face scrunching up. "Wow. Okay, then."
"Yeah, that was probably ... okay." Jim set his glass down, and it made an unusually loud noise. It suddenly reminded him of Pam almost dropping the wine bottle onto the countertop the night before; her loud proclamation that Michael's wine was a "girl wine." The thought suddenly made him smile.
"What's so funny?" Pam asked.
"Nothing -- it's just -- you were really funny yesterday, that's all."
"What -- did I say something stupid?" Pam asked.
"No," Jim smiled. "You were very ... nice. Except when you said that Michael drank 'girl wine.'" Jim smirked.
"Ha!" Pam exclaimed. "I remember that! Because he had Pinot Grigio, and -- c'mon, Jim. That's totally a girl wine, isn't it?"
"Well, we know Michael's kind of a woman sometimes, so..." Jim winced inwardly. Hadn't he said that yesterday, too? He turned back, trying to look casual. "Anyway."
"Yeah," Pam said, lingering in front of the entrance to the kitchen. "Um, I just want to say thank you again, for, you know, taking care of me."
Jim shook his head. "It's really nothing, Pam, I mean..."
"No," Pam said, looking up at him. He was standing right over her now. He hadn't remembered walking over towards her, but here they were, and... "You were really nice, and, just --" She reached up, and touched his cheek lightly. Jim felt the skin underneath her fingertips start to tingle. "I mean, not every guy would have, you know, been so, um ... honorable, I guess." She smiled warmly at him.
Jim felt himself starting to blush as she took her hand away. "Pam, I mean -- you know I would never --"
Pam nodded. "I know," she said softly. "I'm just -- really glad you're in my life."
"Me, too," Jim said, as she stepped in to hug him. "I mean -- I'm glad I have you, not, um ... yeah," he sighed into her hair. He felt the vibration of her chuckling lightly against his chest. He paused for a moment, feeling her soft hair against his face. She didn't let go until a couple seconds later.
As she did, she held onto his arms, looking up at him. "Thank you -- for taking care of me." She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He felt his face immediately start to burn again as she stepped away, smiling shyly at the floor.
He walked to the door, where he'd stashed her coat and purse into his front closet.
"Now," he said, opening the door, "are you sure you're going to be all right to drive?"
Pam grinned lightly. "I'm pretty sure I slept all the alcohol out of my system, yes."
"All right," Jim said, patting her arm. "I'll see you Monday?"
"Definitely," Pam said.
"Hey, Pam," Jim called out to her suddenly. She turned around to look at him. "Make sure you ask Dwight how he enjoyed my tree house on Monday."
It took her a moment, but her face suddenly lit up in recognition. "Oh, my God, yes! Definitely!" she said, grinning. She continued grinning at him for another second before waving and heading back down the sidewalk.
He didn't close the door until he saw her get into her car and drive off down the street.
===
Chapter End Notes:
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