Author's Chapter Notes:
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.
Thanks again to Pamalama for helping me with the earliest version of this chapter.
Thanks again to Pamalama for helping me with the earliest version of this chapter.
The office was aflutter with activity when Pam and Jim got to their respective desks. As Pam answered her first phone call of the day she continued to search her desk for any of her missing items. “Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam,” she said automatically as looked under her desk, in her trash can, in her file drawers, under her keyboard, under stacks of paper. At some point she realized she had no idea what the person on the other end of the phone was saying. “I’m sorry who is this? ... Right, Jan. I’ll put you right through to Michael.” She didn’t even warn Michael the call was coming. She’d deal with the wrath of Michael later. One problem at a time.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“You’re late and where is my desk?” Dwight accused Jim the minute he sat down. Dwight was seated Indian style on the floor where his desk should be. His keyboard was on his lap, his phone to his left. Jim and Pam had left the electronics inside last night in case of rain. It was funny how he remembered that when he couldn’t remember when or where he had taken off his underwear last night. Ugh, Dwight was still talking, “I will have to write up you for both malfeasances.”
“You don’t have the authority to write anyone up for anything,” Jim countered. He didn’t have time for this. He had boxers to find. He had his dignity and life to protect.
“I most certainly …”
“Do not,” Jim interrupted. “Sell paper Dwight. That is why you are here. Leave everyone else the hell alone.” Ok, that might have been a bit harsh. “Your desk is on the roof,” he added as an afterthought.
“Michael! Toby!” Dwight bellowed as he flew from his make shift floor desk.
“Great,” Jim muttered. He didn’t even attempt a sales call, work wasn’t going to happen today. He felt useless. There is no way he would even be able to sell get out of jail free cards to life sentence inmates at this moment. He rifled through all of his desk drawers. He looked under his desk but he found nothing. Nothing!
“This is a place of business,” he heard Angela huff and then saw her marching in his direction. Oh crap. He analyzed her face to see how bad this was going to be, but her face plastered the same look of sternness he saw daily. “I believe this is yours,” she dangled his tie from one finger.
“Thank you,” he sheepishly pulled the tie away from her. At least it was just his tie.
“There’s more,” Angela grumbled. He watched her return to the copier.
Damn it! Just when he thought he had escaped complete embarrassment there was of course more. MORE! Oh no. This was not good, not good at all. Of all the people to find his … um … personal effects Angela with her holy water was his last choice, well maybe Kevin and his “niiccceeee” was his last choice, or Dwight, or Michael. Michael was definitely his last choice. As he counted down to almost every person in the office, he made mental note to find new coworkers.
Angela came back with her arms full of paper. The stack of paper reached her eyes making it hard for her to navigate her way back to his desk. It was really too bad she didn’t get lost on the way. Upon arrival she spread her arms allowing the stack to fall to his desk with a thud. The papers on the top came loose and floated to the floor, his desk, and on his lap. “You owe the company $500.00. I want it by the end of the day,” she demanded.
“What? No employee discount?” he deadpanned.
“No,” and she walked away.
Jim picked up one of the papers and studied it. He pulled another from the middle of the pile. They were all the same, his tie. That’s it, just about 1,000 copies of his tie. And had they used the normal, cheap, white paper? No, of course not. They used the heavy duty, swan embossed, fancy cream paper. The kind that was going to cost him fifty cents a sheet. Now if only he could remember why they felt the need to make so many copies of his Kmart special tie.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Pam was still rooting in and around her desk when she heard Angela’s exclamation of disapproval. She watched as Angela approached Jim and her eyes were glued on the interaction between the two. She was relieved when she saw Angela hand over Jim’s tie. She tensed upon hearing that there was more to come, but was again relieved when Angela dropped the stack of paper on Jim’s desk. The stack had to have outweighed her, was she doubling as the Princess of Power outside of the office? What was so important that they felt the need to copy it that many times? She craned her neck to see what was on the paper. Jim’s tie. That’s it? They were completely plastered last night and still they managed to be entirely uninteresting.
Pam struggled to remember. It was Jim’s tie. It was copies of Jim’s tie on thick fancy paper. When Jim held up a sheet of paper to inspect it, she noticed a silhouette of a swan. They made hundreds of copies of Jim’s tie on swan paper. There was something nagging her about that paper. Wait…that wasn’t just any fancy swan paper. It was the paper the company marketed to party planners for special events … like weddings.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Pam remembered they had needed a break after tag. She had purchased her first bottle of water from the Dunder Mifflin that each machine, she nearly finished it in one long chug, and was now resting at one of the brake cables. Jim walked back to the vending machine after purchasing some chips; he had professed he had the munchies.
“Are you excited?” he asked as he joined her at the table. Instead of water he was a joint another mug full of their grape soda concoction.
“Excited for what?” she asked. She watched him stumble to the table and fallen to the chair. They had had their one drink before tag. Tiddlywinks had never been less innocent; it had been tiddlywinks the drinking version. She had stopped drinking when her mother was empty, obviously he hadn’t.
“For Roy setting the date of the wedding,” he took another prolonged gulp.
“Oh that,” one drink from an hour ago was not going to be enough for this conversation. She rose from her chair, found another coffee mug, and poured herself a new drink. “Yeah, sure. I guess. I'm happy.” Wow! What a lie. She couldn't even convince herself that that was true. The realization hit her hard; she wasn't happy. She downed her entire mug in one quick drink.
“So I guess you get to do all the girly wedding planning things now, huh? Flowers, seating arrangements, invitations.”
“Yes!” She perked up a little bit. She was happy he chose to ignore her last comment even though she knew he saw through her lie. “I mean, I've had 10 years of planning so most of the decisions have been made. But I could never decide on the invitations.”
“Well Pam, I'm not sure if you've noticed but we are the land of paper. And we do have computers,” he finished off the last of his current drink.
“I don't know,” she stalled. It could not be a good idea to make her and Roy's wedding invitations with Jim. She had been a prime example of self-control before this conversation, but now she can drink fast enough. She poured herself another mug of… well mainly vodka with a splash of grape soda.
“Come on,” he persisted. Was it just her or was he actually slurring his words? “Why not?”
Why not? That was a good question. If it wasn't a big deal for him, as her friend, it wouldn't be a big deal for her. “Fine. But we are taking this with us,” she grabbed her mug and a bottle of vodka marched from the room.
Pam reached for the power button on her computer twice before she was successful in making it whiz to life. The alcohol was hitting her fast and hard. “I don't want to make the invitations,” she sulked.
“Um okay,” he looked confused for a second. Then she watched him deflect the awkwardness with humor by stealing her mug draining its contents. He finished with an eyebrow wiggle and a smile.
“Well be that way,” she smirked. She snatched the bottle and took a straight swig of vodka. Were they always this competitive? “Invitations are boring,” she explained. “Let's do this save the date-tations.”
“Okay Michael.” This must have been the funniest statement ever because it caused them to burst into fits of giggles.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Why on earth had she agreed to make any type of invitation to her wedding to Roy with Jim? Was she really that unhappy with her decisions, her life? And what was it with the impure thoughts involving Jim she'd been having more and more frequently? She shouldn't be having those thoughts at all. She was going to marry Jim. Wait … what? No, Roy, she was going to marry Roy. She must still be drunk, that had to be it. God, her head hurt. She flopped her head on the keyboard; she was oblivious to the letter f flying across to monitor repeatedly.
Jim walked over to Pam's desk carrying a one of the pieces of tie paper. He reached over her desk and positioned it as part of her face so she didn't have to move to examine it. “Know what this is?” he implored.
“Yes,” she grumbled. “I'll tell you for the low low price of three Advil.”
“Come with me to the kitchen.”
Without picking up her head she shifted to look at him. Using only her eyes, she conveyed to him that he was crazy to think she was going to budge.
“Come on. I need to tell you something anyways.”
Pamela reluctantly stood up but nearly fell right back into her chair. Jim quickly noticed her unsteadiness and moved around her desk to help keep her on her feet. She hated him at that moment. He did not look on over at all. How is that possible when she was falling to pieces? “Why don't you look like me?” she asked as they moved slowly towards the kitchen.
“Not everyone can be as pretty as you,” he teased.
She gave him the evil eye. “I hate you.”
Jim smiled. These moments, when it was just the two of them, he lived for. “Don't worry, I feel like hell to,” he assured her. “I was just wise enough to have taken Advil and drank 2 cups of coffee already,” he said as he set the bottle of Advil, some water, and a cup of coffee in front of her.
She watched as he made her coffee to her liking, half coffee, half milk, with a dash of sugar. She rarely drank coffee; tea was usually at her drink of choice. And she drank them in completely different ways. So how did he know? All this thinking was making her head hurt more. “So what are you going to tell me?” she asked just before throwing the pills in her mouth and chasing them with the water. She reached for the coffee, letting it rest in her hands, letting it warm her body and soul.
