NOTE: I don't own any of these characters. Everything is NBC's.
They’re lying in her bed, the ceiling fan cooling the sweat of their recent exertions from his back. He loves her room, loves holding her on warm evenings like this, watching the breeze from the open window billow the curtains and listening to the occasional car rush by below. When they spend the night together - often enough now that he’s joked about subletting his apartment – they almost always spend it at her place. He jokes about that, too, citing her firm mattress or his dearth of clean towels, but really, he just likes how he feels here. His place reminds him only of what he is. White walls. His brother’s IKEA hand-me-downs. The apartment of a twenty-something paper salesman. Her place feels different, makes him feel different.
He remembers his genuine sense of awe the first time he saw her bedroom. Actually, initially the awe had been directed pretty much exclusively to the sight of Pam removing her bra, but about forty-five minutes later, he’d come to his senses enough to notice his surroundings. Charmingly scuffed wood floors. Diaphanous curtains. Vaguely Celtic-looking designs stenciled in blue around the windows and door. On the walls she’d hung cheap prints by her favorite artists – Monet, Cezanne, something with ballerinas that he thinks might be French. He’d seen some of the same paintings at poster sales in the student union in college, but she’s framed them so nicely that they look like real art again.
All of his friends live in rentals or sensible middle-class starter homes. No one stencils their walls, or puts plants on the ledge outside of their bedroom window, or sleeps with their window open during the summer. He imagines that this is what it feels like to be European.
Next to him, she stirs. “Jim?”
“Mmm.”
“When did you first realize you liked me?”
He smiles against her neck. She always asks this. It’s become a game, or maybe a ritual. They pick inane moments, telling each other that it was love at first sneeze, or eye roll, or the time that he accidentally brought a not-hardboiled egg to lunch. What they really mean, of course, is all of the above. Tonight, he decides to go with honesty.
“You already know that. About five seconds after I met you.”
“Hmph,” she huffs. She’s quiet for a while, and Jim thinks she might be asleep.
“OK,” she says, a little suddenly. Perhaps he was the one falling asleep. “Better question: When did you first realize you wanted me?”
This is a new one. “Umm… I’m gonna have to go with somewhere between four and six seconds after I met you. It’s kinda all wrapped up with the liking you thing.”
She twists her head, and although she can’t crane her neck enough to properly glare at him, he can tell that she’s displeased. “That’s an unsatisfying answer. I know when I knew.”
“Oh yeah? When did you know you wanted me?”
“No, no, no.” Her hair tickles his nose as she shakes her head. “When I knew you wanted me.”
“Oh boy. Here we go. What do you think you’ve got on me, Beesley?”
“Remember when Michael took you out for your celebratory first-week-at-Dunder-Mifflin lunch?”
He knows he’s giving her exactly the reaction she wants, but he can’t help but groan. “Do we really have to dredge up that memory? Because I might vomit.” Her laughter is a little sadistic, he thinks. “No, really, I still get totally nauseated thinking about that day.”
“I tried to warn you!”
She had tried. He had been so green when he first started at Dunder-Mifflin. He cringes now, looking back at how optimistic he’d been, and how completely unprepared to deal with the likes of Michael Scott.
---
“JIMINY CRICKET!”
Jim almost spills his coffee for the twentieth time this week. He’s beginning to understand why this desk, the one closest to Michael’s office, was vacant.
Michael leans on Jim’s desk, dangerously close to sitting on Jim’s list of sales contacts. “Soooo, good first week? Proud to be part of the Dunder-Mifflin family?”
Jim wonders if anyone has ever taught Michael about the concept of personal space. “Oh, yeah, definitely,” he replies. “Everyone’s been….great.” He doesn’t think that this is the time to mention how Creed tried to sell him weed on Monday, or how he’s caught Meredith staring at his ass. Michael isn’t really listening to the answer anyway.
“Awesome, man. Well, we’ve got a little tradition here at D-M Scranton, and I think you’re gonna like it. Celebratory new-employee lunch! In the hizzouse! Who’s with me?”
Jim’s picturing something awkward in the break room, maybe with subs and a grocery store cake, but Dwight’s jumping up, pumping his fist in the air and making a beeline for his coat. The rest of his officemates are noticeably stationary.
“Just Dwight? C’mon…” Michael looks around. “Stanley? Kevin? We’re going to Poor Richards! Oh, Meredith’s in… and….OK, but the rest of you are missing out! Big time! Time to party! Time to party big!”
Jim knows he should want to go. Face time with the boss, right? He should be thrilled; on Tuesday, Dwight told him as much, stage-whispering across his desk that Michael was a phenomenal salesman, an example for them all, and that any of them should be honored to be in his presence. Jim couldn’t help but notice that Dwight waited until Michael was well within earshot to make this revelation.
It’s not like he has a choice, anyway; Michael is already herding him out the door. She whispers his name urgently as he snags his coat. Pam. He’d kind of been looking forward to having lunch with her in the break room. They can’t go out again, obviously, not like Wednesday, not now that he knows about what’s-his-name. Not that there was anything there, or anything. She was just really great. That’s all.
“Jim!” Her eyes are wide. “Listen, don’t – “ But he never gets to find out what he shouldn’t do, because Michael interrupts with a string of nonsense syllables.
“Badabababaaba, Pamapamapam!” And with that, the door slams shut behind them.
Story Notes:
You know how when you start a new relationship, especially with someone you've known a while, you have those talks about how you got started and when you knew and all that?
Author's Chapter Notes:
The first two chapters were supposed to be the first chapter. Then they got long-ish.
Also, I reimagined the context of Jim and Pam's pizza date on the roof conversation for my own nefarious purposes.
Also, I reimagined the context of Jim and Pam's pizza date on the roof conversation for my own nefarious purposes.
