**
"So you know that corporate job?" Ryan says during a commercial. Pam's over at his place, lying across his couch with her head in his lap, reading the first His Dark Materials book while Ryan watches ESPN.
"I may have heard something about that," Pam says, not looking up from her book. "Once or twice. A minute. All day."
Ryan laughs. "Yeah. Well. I kind of have an interview for it next week."
Pam drops her book to her stomach and tilts her head back to look at him. Her features look strange upside down, her mouth bowed in an inverse curve. "Really?"
Ryan half shrugs. "I probably won't get it."
"That's great, though," Pam says. "That's, like...." She trails off.
"What?"
Pam kind of shakes her head and smiles. "It's like you know what you want and you're trying to get it," she says. "I'm not used to people like that."
Ryan taps her on her forehead. "You're used to me, though, right?" he says. She came to his business school graduation the week before, sat with his family. His mom really likes her, not that that's surprising. Pam's the kind of girl moms like. The surprising thing is that she's also a girl that he likes. That he's kind of embarrassingly crazy about.
"Unfortunately," Pam says. He taps her forehead again, and she reaches up to grab his finger before he can get it away. "That's awesome, Ryan," she says. "I'm proud of you." She pulls his finger down to kiss it before letting go again. He get a little shiver from it, which is kind of ridiculous when he's been sleeping with her for seven months. "Plus," Pam says. "Michael's going to be devastated."
Ryan laughs. A commercial for Empire Carpets comes on, that jingle that gets stuck in your head. "Um, if I did get the job, though," Ryan says. Pam looks at him again, still upside down. "It'd mean moving to New York."
The corners of Pam's mouth move, and with her upside-down it takes him a second to realize it's a frown. "Right," Pam says slowly.
"Not that I'll get it," Ryan says quickly. "But if I do, you should come." He tries to sound casual, like he hasn't just asked her to possibly move in with him.
"Oh," Pam says, her mouth relaxing. "Well, maybe I will." She's matching his tone casual for casual. They're being breezy. Blase. Cavalier.
"You could do that graphic design internship you keep talking about."
"Well, maybe I could."
"Well, okay then," Ryan says.
Pam shakes her head and goes back to her book, smiling to herself. Ryan watches the rest of SportsCenter with his hand in her hair and his heart pounding, trying not to grin.
**
He gets the job, and she gets the internship, and all of a sudden they're New Yorkers with careers, instead of Scranton kids with dead-end jobs. It's weird.
Pam's internship is unpaid, so even with Ryan's new bump up the pay scale, they can only afford a tiny one-bedroom walkup way uptown. It's pretty okay, though, considering. They leave most of their furniture in Ryan's parents' basement in Scranton, rent a U-Haul for the rest, and drive up on a scorching hot Friday at the end of June.
Ryan's coming up the stairs to the third floor with a heavy box and Pam's coming down to get more stuff out of the truck, wearing a tank top and shorts, her sunglasses on top of her head. She pokes a finger at the sweat marks on Ryan's shirt, under his arms. "That's attractive," she says.
"I know you want to jump me," Ryan says. He still kind of can't believe she's moving in with him. That he's moving in with her. Life goes in funny directions.
"I'll try to restrain myself," Pam says, and slips past him.
The apartment itself is sweltering, even with all the windows open, and there's noise drifting up from the street, traffic and honking and someone calling to someone else in Spanish. Doesn't sound much like Scranton, but that feels pretty good.
He sets the box down in the kitchen – well, it's maybe more of a nook than a kitchen, but still – and goes to splash some water on his face. Pam's somehow managed to unpack just the important stuff already, so there's some liquid soap by the sink, and a hand towel hanging off a drawer handle. It's the kind of touch you only get when a girl lives in a place. The hand towel has Rosie the Riveter on it.
They carry boxes all afternoon, until finally at five, Ryan brings the last one up and puts it down in the living room as Pam does a drum roll.
"Phew," Ryan says, collapsing down on the couch. There's barely any room to sit, with boxes all over it, but he manages to make a space. Pam's kneeling down by another box, pulling out pots and pans. "Oh, geez, don't do that," he says. "Let's get dinner at that Mexican place down the street or something."
"Okay," Pam says immediately. She's all flushed and sweaty, her hair sticking to her forehead and her face red, and he thinks she looks really beautiful. She sits back on her heels. "Do you want me to take the truck back?"
"Nah," he says. "I'll do it. You can take a shower or something."
"Oh my God, yes, please," Pam says.
After he turns in the truck, he takes the subway back from the U-Haul place. It smells like pee, and he stands the whole way, swaying with the movement of the train, his sweat drying slowly. When he gets up to their apartment, he can hear music through the door. The Beatles, one of their older albums, bright and sunny.
Pam's assembled a bookshelf and is putting books on it, humming along and sort of swaying to the music. She obviously just got out of the shower – the whole place smells like girl's shampoo, flowery and sweet, and her hair's still wet, just dried enough so that it's not dripping onto the white dress she's changed into.
"Honey," Ryan says. "I'm home."
She makes a face at him and turns down the music. "Are you going to do that for the next two months? Because if so, I think I should have at least been warned in advance."
Ryan shrugs and says, "I just want you to know I'm home." He starts to put his hands on her waist to pull her hips up against his – it's a really nice dress, he wants to take it right off her – but she wrinkles her nose and pulls away.
"Go take a shower, stinky," she says, smiling. "I'm hungry."
"You're just mean," Ryan says, but he goes to take a shower.
Once he's clean and dressed, they wander down the street – their street, their neighborhood – to find a place to grab dinner. Pam looks summery and pretty, and Ryan feels grown-up and sophisticated, living in Manhattan, about to start a great new job on the fast track, grabbing a bite to eat with his pretty girlfriend. It's like everything in his life turned around at once, and he can live with that.
They end up at the Mexican place, sitting at a table outside along the sidewalk, the sun setting slowly behind the buildings. They get a pitcher of sangria and talk about how to arrange the apartment, where the couch should go.
"What are you smiling at?" Pam says, at a lull in the conversation.
"Hmm?" Ryan says. "I don't know. It's just... this is all pretty good, huh?"
"Oh, yeah," Pam says. "These are great enchiladas."
Ryan didn't mean the food, but he doesn't correct her. They walk back home holding hands, and he thinks how great it is to be able to walk to someplace to eat, and how great it is to be going home. With her.
Ryan unlocks the apartment door, and when Pam shuts it behind her and throws the deadbolt, he pushes her up against it with his hips, moving her hair to the side so he can kiss her neck. "Been waiting to do this all day," he says into her skin, and she laughs.
"Horndog," she murmurs. He tickles her and she jerks away. "Hey!" she says, but then kisses him, and they stumble back towards the bedroom, almost tripping over some boxes. They're both giggling, and Ryan bangs his shin pretty hard against an empty drawer, leaning against its bureau.
"Fuuuuck," he says, as the pain hits him, and he jumps a little bit, reaches down to rub it. "This sex better be pretty great," he says when Pam laughs.
"Oh please," Pam says. "When is it not?" She's sitting down on the bed now – it looks like she put sheets on it while he was out returning the truck. Their bedroom's so small that the double bed has to be pushed up against the wall, and there's so many boxes you can hardly see the floor.
He jumps her, rolling until they're both fully on the bed, and starts hiking up her dress, running his hands up her thigh. The fabric of the dress looks really white against her tan, and he's half on top of her, kissing her chin while he traces circles on her skin with his thumb. Pam makes a little appreciative noise and starts pulling off his shirt.
It was still dusk when they started making out, but somewhere in the meantime the sun sets, and by the time they've both got all their clothes off, it's full dark outside, the only light in the room from the streetlights coming through the window. Pam looks perfect in the dimness, her skin pearly, and she pushes Ryan onto his back, her hands against his chest.
"So bossy," Ryan says softly as she straddles his hips.
"Shut up, douchebag," she says, leaning down to kiss him.
"Poophead," he says. He runs his hands up her arms, and thinks he's happy.
**
The thing he can't get over about his new job is how people actually listen to his ideas. And how he actually has a lot of things to do that aren't cold calling or getting Michael coffee. It means he works late a lot, and is maybe on his blackberry a lot, but he doesn't even mind it. Pam's pretty busy with her internship, too, and she's doing really well at it. It finishes up in December, so towards the end of November she starts to interview for permanent jobs.
The first weekend in December, there's a major snowstorm, so Ryan doesn't have anywhere to be. He wakes up after 11 on Sunday, and when he stumbles out of the bedroom in just his pajama bottoms, out of habit holding his blackberry in one hand, he smells bacon.
Pam's in the kitchen making french toast, still in her pajamas too. Outside the window, everything's covered in snow, and there's more coming down hard.
"Morning, slug," she says.
"Shut up," he says. He has emails from Hunter and Dan from the Buffalo branch, and he sits down at the table to start to answer them.
"It's Sunday morning in the middle of a blizzard," Pam says. "Cut that out."
Ryan looks up, about to be annoyed, but she's got robots on her pajama pants and her hair is all mussed, so he smiles instead and puts the blackberry down. "Okay, okay," he says. She moves a second piece of french toast onto her plate and turns off the burner.
"There's more batter if you want any," she says, pouring syrup.
"Thanks," he says, and gets up to fry some bread, scratching at his chest.
Pam sits down at the table and takes a big bite of breakfast. "Oh hey," she says, her mouth still a little full. "You know that interview I had with that non-profit?"
"Yeah?" Ryan asks, putting a soaked piece of bread in the frying pan.
"They offered me a job," Pam says.
"Really?" Ryan says. It was a really good job; she wasn't expecting to get it. "That's awesome. Is it a better offer than Dunder Mifflin gave you?"
"Sort of," Pam says. She sounds a little weird about it, and when he looks over at her, she's regarding the piece of bacon in her hand seriously. "It's, uh, at their branch in Chicago."
Ryan works really hard to keep his face neutral, but he feels like the bottom is falling out of his stomach. "Oh," he manages.
"Yeah, so," Pam says, and looks at him. "I guess I have a decision to make."
"Right," he says. He finally remembers he has to flip his french toast, and when he does it's all burned on the back. Fuck.
He leans back against the counter, watching Pam take another bite of french toast. He imagines her moving to Chicago, them trying to date long-distance, the inevitable messy breakup. And then a Pamless life stretching out in front of him, dull and empty and uninteresting. Him alone in New York City, going out to get sandwiches at 2 am 'cause he doesn't have anything better to do, only working, all the time. His most significant relationship being with Hunter.
"Well," he says. "I want you to stay. If that makes a difference."
Pam looks at him and nods slowly. "It does," she says. But she doesn't say she'll stay.
It takes her two weeks to make the decision. Ryan helps her talk through the pros and cons, the salary differences versus cost of living, the potential for advancement. He feels like he can't pressure her too much to take the Dunder Mifflin job, since it has to be her decision, but holy crap. He thinks he might be getting an ulcer over it, his stomach's churned up so much.
He's talking to Marshall over in legal about it, and Marshall says, "Dude, it sounds like you want to marry her, is what it sounds like."
He does, too, that's the thing. "I don't even know who I am anymore," Ryan says.
Marshall laughs and says, "I can tell you a good place to get a ring."
A week before Christmas, Pam tells him she's decided to stay in New York. "Oh, thank God," Ryan says.
Pam smiles to herself, and kisses him. "That's what I thought you'd say," she says.
"That obvious?" Ryan says.
"I can read you like a book."
He buys a ring with Marshall's help and carries it around with him for two weeks, not knowing the best way to propose and hoping a moment occurs to him. Roy proposed to her at a minor league baseball game, on the Jumbotron, and Pam was not a fan. Ryan keeps trying to think of a better way to do it, but all he comes up with is a long list of terrible, cliched ways to propose. The ring in a champagne glass. At the top of the Empire State Building.
For New Year's Eve, Pam wants to do the whole Times Square thing. Ryan groans. "We live here now, Pam, we don't have to do that tourist bullshit."
"You're such a snob," Pam says.
"You're such a plebe."
"Pleeeaaase can we go to Times Square?" Pam says. "I'll be your best friend."
"You're already my best friend," Ryan says, and rolls his eyes. "Oh, fine."
They actually make it all the way until 10 pm before Pam gets sick of standing outside with a bunch of strangers. It's cold, and crowded, and boring, and the dudes next to them are from Nebraska and way overexcited.
"Okay, you win," Pam says.
"Yes," Ryan says, his hands shoved into his peacoat against the cold. "We're going to Gray's Papaya. Get out of my way." That last part was to the Nebraskans. Ryan reaches behind him for Pam's hand, and they plow through the crowd.
Once they have their hotdogs and are eating like they haven't had anything since lunch – which they haven't, fuck you, Times Square – Pam says, her mouth full, "Celebrating 2008 with hotdogs."
"Right?" Ryan says.
"Yeah, it is better," Pam says.
"It's going to be a good year," Ryan says. He can feel the ring in his pocket, and his hands get a little sweaty.
After they get done eating, they just wander for a little bit, looking at the Christmas lights still up, passing tourists and groups of drunk people. They're headed down 36th Street towards their subway stop when Pam glances at her watch. "11:59," she says.
Faintly in the distance, Ryan hears some people yelling a countdown. "Ten," he hears, and he fumbles for the ring in his pocket, stopping in front of a random brownstone on the mostly empty street. This is the moment, he thinks. He can feel it.
"What?" Pam says, stopping a few steps ahead of him. Six, he hears them yelling.
He should go down on one knee, but he thinks that he'd feel like an idiot and so would Pam, so he just flips the box open and holds it out to her. Three, he hears. Pam's eyes widen. Two, people count. One.
Somewhere in the distance, Times Square goes nuts, the yelling echoing distantly. The street where they're standing still seems quiet, though.
Pam's still looking at him like she might start crying. Ryan shrugs a little bit. Somehow he suddenly feels like it isn't much to offer. The ring. Him. Whatever. "Marry me?" he says.
There's a horrible pause, and it hits him that she might say no. He hadn't actually really considered that as a possibility, for some reason, but – "Yeah," she says, and there are tears in her eyes. "Yes."
Best New Year's of his life, no question.
**
TO BE CONTINUED...
Author's Chapter Notes:
The Jim/Pam starts up in the next chapter, I promise.
