Jim's text message was short and to the point.

It's not here.

Pam flipped open her phone and called him. Time was running out and she knew he would be very stressed. He picked up on the first ring.

“Hey,” his voice sounded breathy, like he'd been running.

“Hey,” she replied. “Are you okay?”

“Well I can't find my passport and we are supposed to be leaving for our trip tomorrow morning, which according to my watch is now less than fifteen hours away. Other than that I'm great.”

“It's okay,” she said soothingly. “I know we'll find it. At least now we know it's not in your office.”

“Yeah, I've checked here, but we've already checked at home. Where could it be?”

“We'll just have to look around here again. Where did you last see it?”

“That's the thing,” Jim said irritably. “I remember having it on the kitchen counter with the tour books, but that was like two days ago.”

“Well, just come home,” she replied. “Where can I look while I wait for you?”

Jim took a deep breath and was silent for a moment. “Okay, it's a crazy idea, but I have a metal box in the back of the closet. I usually keep things I wouldn't want to lose in there.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, I don't remember putting it in there, but it wouldn't have been a bad place if I had. Besides my birth certificate I'm not sure what else is in there, to be honest. I haven't sorted it out in years.”

“That's fine,” she replied. “I don't mind looking through it. Just drive safe and come home soon.”

“Yeah, a car accident would really make this a perfect day, wouldn't it?” He said sourly.

“Jim,” she said quickly, fearing he was hanging up.

“What?”

“I love you,” she smiled into the phone. “We'll find it.”

“I love you, too,” he said quietly. “See you soon.”

Pam headed back to their bedroom and opened up the closet door. Buried underneath a pile of shoes and boxes and broken things that should have been thrown out ages ago, she found the green metal box. It looked more like something you'd find fishing lures or hand tools in, not important papers. She wasn't even sure she'd ever noticed the box before. It must have just been something that moved in when Jim did and immediately blended into the mix. Just like Jim had done. From day one there had never been that awkward “learning to live with each other” stage. It just clicked.

She pulled the box out of the closet and sat down on the bed with it. The clasp was a little stiff to open, and the hinges seemed in need of a good squirt of WD-40, but sure enough a pile of papers sat haphazardly in the bottom of the box. She decided to just grab the whole stack and sort through them. She was admittedly a bit nervous about the absence of Jim's passport when their trip to Europe was this close at hand, but she just couldn't bring herself to share her fears with him. She knew he was kicking himself hard enough without any assistance from her.

She found the copy of his birth certificate that he'd mentioned, along with old high school report cards and college transcripts. A faded social security card slipped from her fingers, the upper right corner quite dog-eared. She glanced through a handful of old pictures – a very young Jim Halpert easily picked out due to those adorable but distinctive ears. All that remained on the bed were about a half dozen envelopes. Pam's anxiety rose slightly higher when she realized that the passport was not among the final pieces.

She leafed absentmindedly through the envelopes, placing them in the box as she recognized each birthday and holiday card she had given him. The last card she held however, took her a bit by surprise. It wasn't from her – in fact it was addressed to her. It had been opened like the rest of them, but she had no memory of every seeing this particular envelope before. She recognized Jim's unique penmanship on the front, and racked her brain for information. Finally she gave up and slid the card from its envelope, deeply curious as to why a card for her should be in a box she never knew existed until today, and why it should be open when she was pretty certain she'd never seen it before.

The front of the card was a simple, almost childlike drawing of a reindeer's face (red nose included) and snowflakes, with the words Merry Christmas printed below it. She gasped aloud, finally comprehending what she held in her hands: the Christmas card Jim had given her with her precious teapot so many years ago. The one he snatched back from her desk before she could even open it.

She could feel her heart pounding, and took a deep breath, trying to calm down and decide what she should do. If he'd held onto the card for nearly twenty years, she figured that there must have been a reason he never gave it to her. She briefly thought she could read the card and put it back, and Jim would never be the wiser, but she knew herself too well. She couldn't keep the simplest of news from him – there was no way in hell she'd be able to go five minutes in the same room as her husband and not confess everything. But she was too Pam not to want to read it. Not after all this time. When they eventually did get together, she had pestered him for months about the card, begging to finally get to read it, but he had steadfastly refused. He said it didn't matter anymore. But it had always continued to matter to Pam.

She was still holding the card closed in her hand when she heard the sound of the front door opening and Jim's voice carrying down the hallway.

“I suppose at least one good thing came out of going back to the office,” he said as he walked into the bedroom. “I saw Dave Walters in the parking lot as I was leaving and he said he was thinking of putting me in charge of March Madness duties in the spring.”

“Oh!” Pam said, a bit rattled to be found holding the card. “That's great.”

“What's that?” Jim asked, his expression falling from relaxed to serious.

Pam slipped the card back into the envelope and handed it to him. “I found it in the box from the closet you told me to look through.”

Jim sat down on the edge of the bed as he took the card, staring at it. “I forgot this was in there,” he finally said.

“It's that Christmas card,” Pam began.

“Yes,” he said simply, cutting off her question.

“I didn't think you still had it. Not after all this time.”

Jim remained quiet but thoughtful.

Pam wasn't sure what to make of his reaction. “I didn't read it,” she confessed quietly. “I figured you must not have wanted me to if you never gave it to me.”

This brought a slight smile to Jim's lips and he looked up at her. “It doesn't really matter, I guess. I never gave it to you because it's just stupid.”

“Why would you say that?”

He paused, and flicked the card against his palm. “When you told me you knew there had been a card with the teapot and wanted to have it back, I opened it up because I couldn't remember exactly what I had written, you know?”

She nodded and slid a little closer to him.

“At the time I wrote it I was so nervous about giving it to you. I knew I had written about how I felt about you, and that wasn't something I had ever done before. I spent hours figuring out what to write. I wanted to let you know that you had options instead of Roy, but how to phrase that in a way that didn't potentially destroy our friendship?”

“Yeah, that would have been tricky.”

“You're telling me,” he laughed. “So when you asked for it and I opened it up to check and see what it said, I was a little disappointed in myself. What I had remembered being such a risky declaration of my feelings seemed, I don't know – kinda weak.”

“What do you mean?”

“At the time I wrote it, I thought perhaps I was risking too much. That's what made me take it back. But rereading it, after all we had been through – it made me realize that I hadn't risked enough. Not nearly enough. I doubt very much giving you that card back then would have made the slightest bit a difference. And I just didn't want to admit that, so I never gave it to you.”

“I guess we'll never know,” Pam replied, putting her arm around his back as she snuggled up next to him. “But why did you keep it then?”

He put his arm around her and kissed her temple. “To remind me not to take you for granted.”

“It's doing a wonderful job then,” Pam smiled. “I have absolutely no complaints with you.”

“Really?” He grinned, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “None at all?”

She grinned back and leaned against him. “Hey, I'm just trying to keep this a nice pleasant moment.”

“Thought so,” he chuckled. “Though I guess you'll have a right to complain if I can't find my passport.” He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and stood up, running his free hand through his hair. “I have no idea where that damn thing is, Pam.”

Pam eyes stayed focused on the card still in his hand. “Can I read the card now?” She asked, ignoring his last comments.

He had been heading toward the door when her words stopped him. “Heh – I kinda forgot I was still holding this.” He looked back at her, and then down at the card. “You really want to find out how lame I was back then?”

She practically beamed at him. “I already know how lame you still are,” she teased. “So yes. But,” she paused. “If you really don't want me to, I guess I'll live.”

“Guess huh?” Jim walked back to the bed, dropping the card next to her. “Fine. But no teasing.”

She picked up the card with one hand and grabbed his wrist with the other. “Hey, sit back down while I read this.”

He sighed, but complied. “One word and I'm outta here,” he warned.

She nodded and slipped the card back out of the envelope. She looked up at him, her wide-eyed look capturing her excitement and his nervousness at the same time. She carefully opened the card and began to read:

Dear Pam,

It's Christmas again at Dunder Mifflin – I can't believe we made it through another year here, can you? Sadly though, Dwight has survived another year as well. We must not be trying hard enough.

I just wanted to say that having you in my life means everything to me. I like to think that no matter where we might have met, we would have hit it off immediately, because no one gets me like you do. You are more wonderful than you give yourself credit for, more wonderful than most people give you credit for, and I wanted you to know that you can always count on me. If you ever need help, or support, or anything – I'm here for you.

Merry Christmas,

Jim

Pam closed the card and shook her head silently.

“What?” Jim prompted, nudging her with his elbow.

“Nothing,” she said, a trace of grin appearing.

“Come on,” he goaded. “You know you want to say something.”

Pam couldn't hide her full smile. “You are such a dork,” she said softly.

“Thank you,” Jim nodded, beginning to stand. “Thanks so much for that. You know, I have no idea why I hesitated sharing that with you.”

“Get back here,” she demanded, grabbing his arm and pulling him back down. “I'm not done yet.”

He sank back down with an exaggerated groan and turned to face her. Before he could say anything in reply Pam had practically leapt forward, her arms reaching out to slide over his shoulders and encircle his neck. She kissed him without hesitation, and it didn't take long for Jim to wrap his arms around her waist and bring them both falling backwards onto the bed, their kiss never wavering.

Jim shifted position, effectively pinning Pam to the mattress. “You had something else to add?” He asked between kisses.

“You know, for some reason it's completely slipped my mind,” she replied, pulling him closer.

Pam would have been content to spend the rest of the afternoon as they were, but there was still the matter of Jim's missing passport. There would be no traveling to Europe tomorrow if they couldn't find it. No Paris, no Venice, no Florence - everything she had dreamed of doing and seeing and had planned and saved for so long for. She was about to suggest they start looking again when Jim's cell phone rang.

Jim rolled onto his back and dug his phone out of his pocket. “Hello?”

Pam turned on her side to face him and tried to guess who would be calling.

“Are you serious?” Jim exclaimed. “That's - wow. Yeah, I don't know how that happened either. Well, I'll stop over later for it. Thanks, mom.” Jim closed his phone and turned toward Pam, a smile worthy of the Cheshire cat on his face.

“What?” Pam asked, his smile seeming to confirm her suspicions.

“It appears Alex swept my passport into his book bag when he was grabbing his schoolwork off the coffee table last night.”

“Oh, thank God,” Pam sighed.

“Or damn Alex for being careless,” Jim offered, his good mood still evident.

“Alex is fourteen, so I'll thank God,” Pam replied. “Divine Intervention clearly had a hand in it. We might have never found it otherwise.”

Jim slid a little closer to his wife. “So I guess that means we have some time on our hands, now that we don't have to search for the passport anymore.”

“Oh, do we?”

“We do.” When Pam didn't responded, he kissed her shoulder. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“The card.”

“Oh.”

“It wasn't a stupid message,” she told him. “I wonder what I would have thought had I read it at the time.”

He shrugged, propping himself up on one elbow. “It wouldn't have changed anything.”

“Maybe. But I'm still glad I read it.”

“Even some nineteen years later?”

“Even then,” she nodded. “Though it does feel kinda weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah.”

Jim cocked his head at her, waiting. “Care to elaborate on its weirdness?”

“Well, I guess I sorta gave up on ever finding out about it.”

“And now you're sorry you did?” He joked.

“No, no. I already said I was glad to read it.”

“But it's not what you expected?”

“See, that's the thing,” she said. “I'm not sure what I was expecting.”

“But that wasn't it, huh?”

“No,” she insisted, reaching up to tug on his shirt collar and bring his face closer. “Quit putting words in my mouth.”

“Is there something else you'd rather I put there?”

“Stop it!” Pam's laughter was infectious. After a moment she took a deep breath and finally confessed what was on her mind. “I think no matter what was written, after all this time it was bound to be anticlimactic, you know?”

“Anticlimactic?”

“Yeah,” she said, feeling slightly guilty. “But not in a bad way.”

It was Jim's turn to laugh. “Oh, no. Of course not. Anticlimactic is good.”

“It can be.”

He peered at her skeptically. “Really? How?”

Pam shrugged, trying not to giggle at Jim's expression. “I don't know...”

“Pam, it's the opposite of climactic. Do you really want to be the opposite of climactic?”

“Stop it,” she replied again, her giggles overtaking her. “Just stop it.”

But she didn't really mean it. And even more importantly, he knew it too.