“WELCOME to the first ANNUAL Dunder-Mifflin OFFICESCAVENGERHUNT!”

Jim glanced dubiously at Pam in the midst of the other staff, all clustered blankly around the bright yellow crate Michael had elevated himself on.

“Wow, he’s really serious about this one. I thought it was a joke.”

Pam’s mouth quirked in a faint smirk, and Michael waved his hands emphatically. “Get rrrrrready for a day of friendly office-building competition! When I read out the name of your team-mate, get into your positions. I want to see CO-OPERATION today, people! TEAMWORK. BONDING.”

Angela rolled her eyes. Ryan shifted uncomfortably. Dwight nodded in solemn agreement. 

Michael pointed around the group, and started pairing people off. “Okay, Phyllis, you’re with Angela.”

Phyllis looked particularly uneasy about this arrangement, and nodded hesitantly. Her straight laced partner pressed her lips in a thin, hard line. Jim stood back, leaning idly against the side of the building as Michael continued sorting out the group.

These office activities were often a welcome, albeit ridiculous distraction from the mind-numbing boredom of his everyday routine. Unlike some of the others, he was usually content to let it run its course. If nothing else, it usually provided him with some pretty entertaining story to throw out at a lacklustre party over the weekend. Michael’s crazy antics were often the stuff of legends.

Of course, at the same time, it was always best to go into these things prepared for the worst.

“Jim, you’re with Pam-Pam-Pamela.”

Jim lifted an eyebrow, sparing a brief glance over at Pam, who smiled in response, rolling her eyes in a mocking gesture only he could see.

Okay. Maybe this day wasn‘t so bad after all.

“Annnnnd I guess that leaves me with Ry-an.”

Jim tried, and failed, to hide a smirk as the temp stepped reluctantly up to Michael’s side. Michael looked smug.

Kelly, standing unhappily next to Meredith, opened her mouth in protest. “Wouldn’t it be better if I went with Ryan? We already drove to work together this morning--”

Ryan looked no more enthusiastic about this suggestion than the current one, and Michael impatiently shook his head. “No--!”

“Shouldn’t I be with you, Michael?” Dwight also cut in. “I’m a cutthroat strategist. And as assistant regional manager--”

“No Dwight!” Michael snapped irritably. “There will be no rearranging the set teams. Everyone GET INTO PLACE. The first one back here with all listed items wins a SPECIAL PRIZE.”

“I thought this was supposed to be for charity?” Jim asked, because provoking Michael was sometimes just too tempting to ignore.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Oh yay, Jim, ruin the surprise why don‘t you? Okay, fine, the prize of contributing something worthy to society. Now everyone, let’s get ready to rrrrummmmble!”

“I want to blow the horn.”

Michael froze mid-movement, frowning and turning to glare impatiently down at Dwight. “No, Dwight, just let me --”

“I want to blow the horn, Michael.”

Seeing the look of adamant determination on Dwight’s face was obviously too much for him to bother dealing with.

“Oh fine, here.” Michael thrust the bull horn exasperatedly into Dwight’s expectant hands, who smiled in satisfaction. He lifted it in the air.

Jim smirked, nodding his head pointedly at Pam, indicating that they should move to his car. Dwight yelled after them. “Hey! No head starts or you get an immediate disqualification!”

Jim rolled his eyes, coming to an exaggerated halt, turning expectantly to Dwight’s domineering form. Dwight nodded intently, satisfied that he had exerted power over his office rival for the day, and sounded the bull horn.

The loud, obnoxious noise echoed through the parking lot, causing some of them to wince at the volume. Jim heard Michael yell at Dwight as they started off at a casual pace. “I didn’t say GO, Dwight! Are you TRYING to blow out my eardrums?!”

Jim unlocked the passenger side for Pam, and they climbed in, glancing at each other with amused smirks. He started the ignition, waiting for Oscar to crawl past in his old Honda before pulling out after him.

“Oh-kay,” he said, full of mock enthusiasm. “What is the first item on the list, Miss Beesly?”

Pam grinned, crinkling the paper as she unfolded it, obviously waiting for something typically Michael and typically offensive to stand out at her.

He must have toned it down a little, because it took her a moment.

“Find an old copy of Playboy,” she read, quirking her brow.

“Think he’s going to read them all when we’re done?”

She laughed. “I bet you’ve got some stashed under your mattress.”

He gave her a look, steering around a corner. “Please. My hiding capabilities are much more covert than that.”

She grinned, scanning the rest of the list. A look of excited glee overtook her features as she did. He liked that look. It was his secret goal to bring it out as much as possible. “You know, this could actually be fun.”

Her light, carefree tone made him smile again. Even when he knew it was dangerous to let himself become immersed in her enthusiasm, he couldn‘t help it. “So, where to first?”

“Your place, obviously. I want to see your ingenious hiding place.”

“Ha well, I think you’ll find my roommate has an even more impressive stash of porn. We’re bound to find something there.”

“Onward.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

-

It was really a question of want.

He considered this as Pam swept past him into his roommate’s bedroom, and the scent of her plain vanilla shampoo tantalised his senses.

Could he really go on like this? It was a simple dilemma, when it came down to it. Admit what he wanted, and take the risk… or stay where he was, stuck forever and ever in limbo.

“Are you sure it’s okay that we’re in here?”

She looked oddly out of place in her prim work skirt and pink button-up blouse. The last time she had been in his house she had been dressed far more casually, and the feeling of being alone hadn’t been quite so stifling.

He shook it off.

“Yeah,” he said dismissively. “Trust me, half of this stuff would be on display if he didn't have a girlfriend.”

She smirked, shaking her head, perching on the edge of the bed. Jim crouched on the floor in front of a wobbly bookcase, shifting aside the collection of random magazines until he found what he was looking for.

“Jackpot.”

He pulled out an issue of Playboy with a scantily clad blonde gracing the cover.

Pam shook her head, snickering softly. “Wow, that’s… scary.”

“Strike that one off the list then. What else have we got?”

He automatically slumped on the edge of the bed beside her, and then became awkwardly aware of her proximity. Pam paused a moment before speaking, and he wondered if she felt it too. “I’m sure we can find at least one more of these things around here.”

Jim leant over her shoulder so he could read the list. “‘A GI Joe. An anchor. A road sign.’ He does realise we have to actually carry all this stuff, right?”

Pam smirked. “I bet you had a GI Joe doll growing up.”

“I am completely offended by that, except I think I did.”

The smirk now widened into a full-fledged grin, and he had to force himself to look away. “An anchor though,” he continued swiftly. “He didn’t say it had to be off a ship, did he? I think I can improvise there.”

He jumped up from the bed, to give himself space as much as a chance to retrieve the item in question. Pam stayed where she was, and tilted an eyebrow expectantly at him when he returned. He waggled a matchbox in her face. “Anchor.”

She snorted, examining the small logo adorning the side. “Oh, clever.”

“I do amaze myself sometimes.”

She thwacked his leg with the Playboy, rising to her feet. Her knees grazed the edge of the mattress, and he was standing so close she almost stumbled back. He automatically reached out and clasped hold of her waist, tugging her back securely.

She blinked, eyes sliding up over his slowly, and he didn’t immediately lower his hands.

“Uh, thanks,” she said softly.

He nodded, involuntarily fixing his gaze on her. A sudden fissure of tension disrupted the air between them, and he knew he wasn‘t the only one with a keen awareness of it this time. “Sure.”

She swallowed, stilling in front of him, eyes wavering unsteadily over his chin.

He cleared his throat, and was about to excuse himself, step back and brush it off with a joke like he usually did, when she surprised him. She leant forward, and softly, tentatively placed a kiss over his lips.

Jim froze, staring at her disbelievingly before the kiss deepened, and he found himself closing his eyes. She opened her mouth against his, lips impossibly smooth and gentle and explorative, driven by some newfound inner intensity. His palms tightened around her waist, rasping against the starch fabric, savouring every small sensation. Her warm curves, the curly wisp of hair tickling against his neck, the taste of coffee and something else, something inherently Pam.

He had wanted this for so long he couldn’t even count the time with any precision, and pulled her into him, quietly, gradually allowing himself to dominate the kiss, his tongue to probe her mouth and carefully, intently caress hers. Convey to her some sense of the affection and longing he was feeling. Had been feeling, forever.

When she pulled back, she rested her cheek against his, unable to move or react to what had just happened. She drew in a shaky breath. He knew spontaneity like this wasn’t like her. It showed in small bursts around the office, but she always wrapped herself safely in layers of the known. Routine. Contentment.

Even when it meant her own unhappiness.

“Jim…” her soft, sad voice whispered against his neck. He closed his eyes, feeling the pain welling somewhere in his chest.

“I know,” he said quietly, not moving, allowing himself the rare feel of her closeness. If only this once.

He could feel the fear and dejection in her frame, and he wrapped his arms around her, soothing her in a warm hug.

He would be there for her. Whatever she wanted, whatever she decided, he would be. He knew she couldn’t face the possibility of change without that option, but it wasn’t as comforting a notion as it once might have been.

He would do whatever she wanted, even if it killed him.

He thought one day his love for her probably would.

“Don’t we have a scavenger hunt to be getting back to?” he murmured, letting his words tickle lightly against her hair.

He felt her smile faintly against his chest as she turned her face into his shirt, and she nodded slowly. She pulled back, and subtly blinked away the wetness gathering behind her eyes. “If Dwight beats us, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I have a better idea,” he said, forcing his voice to return to its casual tone. He offered her his standard, easy smile and wondered if they would talk about this later.

God, he needed them to talk about this later.

“How do you feel about sabotage?”

-