When his eyes finally almost open it feels as though he slept with his head underneath a bag full of bricks.  Fuck.  He hopes it's Saturday.  He can't fucking take another day at the office feeling like this. 

Saturday.  Scranton.

Well, shit.

Even with the pain ripping through his temple he notices the soft snoring beside him.  Great, even better.  Maybe he can at least get her to leave without having to look at her and remember anything that he - they - did the night before, although he's pretty sure that this is her shoulder he's nuzzled up against, so... fuck.  Maybe she's a heavy sleeper? 

He props himself up on his elbows, the light streaming in from the windows making him suddenly dizzy and panicked.  He fucking hates feeling like this.  His heart is beating too fast, his hands are shaking.  How the fuck is he going to drive to Scranton anyway?  Fuck fuck fuck. 

His feet are hot, but when he tries to kick off the blankets, nothing.  Because he's not under any blankets. 

"Troy?" he half-mumbles, not wanting to make too much noise.  Nothing. 

"Troy." This time he kicks him with the foot he is using as a pillow. 

"Ryan?" Michael flops over, rolling even more onto his leg.  He's still wearing his suit jacket and tie even.  "Fun party." 

Well, this is different.

Next to him Dwight snorts and turns over towards him.  "What time is it?"  Fuck.

"How the hell did you guys get here?" He tries to rub his eyes awake, but then a new pain hits him and he has to lie back for a second. 

"Go back to sleep," Michael yawns, and Dwight mutters something about a rooster, but he's barely conscious as it is. 

"My eye hurts," he groans, trying in vain to sit all the way up. 

"Oh yeah," Michael sort of giggles, his eyes still closed.  "You know, you should really take a self-defense course, Ryan." 

"Yeah, maybe," he nods before throwing up over the side of the bed. 

Fuck.

**

He's not sure how many minutes he lies there with his head dangling over the edge of his mattress, staring at a vomit-covered floor and wondering whether he'll be able to clean that up without the landlord noticing, but then there's a glass of water dangling in front of his face and Michael's telling him to take a drink. 

"Thanks."  Ryan manages to prop himself up just barely enough so that the water doesn't choke him or dribble onto his chest, even though he does sort of get it all over his chin anyway.  And his chest, actually. 

"You okay, man?" Michael is sort of patting his back in these circular motions.  At least he has enough common sense not to laugh at him. 

"Yeah, I just need-" And then he's sitting up too fast.  "Bathroom."

**

Every time he stands up he needs to throw up again so he just stays with his cheek against the toilet bowl.  Thank Christ his bathroom door closes, even if it lacks that all-important locking mechanism. 

"Ryan?" the door starts to creak open and Michael's sticking his head inside, a black box looming over his left shoulder.

"Leave the fucking cameras out there," he grumbles, clutching onto the toilet again when he feels his stomach lurch in response.

"Jeez, man," Michael wrinkles his nose as Ryan wipes his mouth with his sleeve for the fourth time this morning.  "What's going on with you?"

"I'm sick," he groans.  At least the porcelain is cool against his cheek.

"Bad sushi?" Michael comes closer.  God, he probably smells like shit right now.  "I feel your pain.  That New York sushi, it's pretty rough on the 'ol... digestion."

And then he starts to cry. 

He's not usually like this, but fuck.  He feels awful and his head is spinning and the only person on planet Earth that cares enough to ask what's wrong with him is also Michael. 

"Ryan?" Michael's crouched down next to him on the tile, his hand is on his back. 

"It's nothing," he shrugs his shoulder in a halfhearted attempt to move his hand.  "I'm just sick."

"Do you want to come to Scranton with us?" he asks.  "Sometimes when I'm sick... I go to my Mom's?"

Ryan laughs.  "No. No, my mom can't see me like this." And fuck, he's starts crying again.  He really needs to pull his shit together because Michael's probably wearing a mic. 

"Well..." Michael clears his throat.  "You could stay with me?"

"Jan hates me."  It's a weird reaction, even to him.  Because obviously he's not going to go to Scranton and stay with Michael whether Jan likes him or not. 

"Jan left," he says quietly. 

And then somehow, Ryan ends up saying, "Okay."

**

The ride to Scranton can only be described as long.  Achingly, unbearably long.  And by the time they're pulling into Scranton Business Park they've had to pull over three times for him to puke again.  Dwight's getting increasingly annoyed with the inefficient time they're making and Michael's been snoring loudly in the front seat for nearly the entire ride.

"No cars." Dwight says crossly.  Michael wipes the drool off his chin. 

"Maybe they carpooled," Michael suggests seriously. 

"Or maybe they're blowing it off," Ryan says loudly from the backseat.  Either way, Dwight gets out his cell phone and begins launching a full investigation, stalking off across the parking lot towards his car. 

"Want to leave him?" Michael asks, leaning across the console.  He nods, but even as Michael climbs awkwardly into the driver's seat he remains in the back. 

He's pretty sure that as they turns out of the parking lot Michael whistles something about "Driving Miss Daisy." 

He closes his eyes.

**

"I thought you lived in a condo."

"I do," Michael nods and unbuckles his seatbelt.  "Pit stop. Let's go."

He's about to protest, but Michael's already out of the car and fine, whatever.  Anything to get out of this car. He follows Michael up a flight of stairs, holding tightly to the banister because his legs are feeling all weird and sort of wobbily after all of that time in the car.  But Michael's quicker and so by the time he gets to the top he's already knocking on a door and -

"Michael?"

Jesus.

"Jim," Michael says like he's surprised so, okay.  "I-is the lady of the house in?"

"We did the work last night," Jim yawns and then sees him standing in the background.  "Ryan?"

"Hey," he sort of waves. 

"What's going on?" Pam appears somewhat magically beneath Jim's outstretched arm, still in her sweats.  "Michael."

"May we enter?" Michael asks to blank faces.  He tries again, this time with a salute.  "Permission to step aboard."

"Fine, yeah," Pam nods and Jim looks pained, but moves so that they can walk inside. 

"So, can I get you guys anything?  Coffee?" Jim starts in sarcastically. 

"I need to talk to Pam," Michael says gravely.  "Alone."

Jim and Pam exchange a look and Pam nods.  "Okay, we'll... let's go into the kitchen."

Jim sits opposite from him on the couch and asks him again if he'd like anything to drink or something.

"I thought we weren't supposed to go in the kitchen," he sort of chuckles.  Jim shrugs. 

"So, Ryan," he says after something like a year of silence.  "Good to see you again.  Here.  In Scranton."

"Yeah, well," he shrugs and leaves it at that.  But now Jim's looking at him... weirdly.  And shit, he realizes his hand is shaking.  Fuck.

Michael is one thing, but Jim's like, basically a competent person.  There's no way he won't see right through-

"Where's your bathroom?" he stands up suddenly.  Jim points him in the right direction, but he barely listens. 

On the first try he gets a closet. 

Once he's inside the actual bathroom he digs into his pocket because, fucking shit fuck, he's got basically no choice.  If Halpert notices - well, he doesn't exactly know what would happen, but he's not really wanting to find out.  He only takes a little because his nostrils are already raw from last night and the absolute last thing he needs right now is a nosebleed.

When he comes back out into the living room he feels... better.  Or at least he feels somewhat held together, even if it's only by the thinnest of threads.  Jim's sitting there with his chin in his hand. 

"Sure you don't want anything, man?" he says, standing up.  He looks concerned.  Well, not concerned, but interested.

"Nope, I'm good," he winks.  Shit.  He shouldn't have winked.

"Right.  Well I'm going to," he motions toward the kitchen.  "Water."

He's not a fucking moron.  As soon as Jim disappears into the kitchen, he follows him.

"Uh, Pam?  Can I talk to you?" Jim's says. 

"Not now, Jim," Michael waves him off. 

"I really need to talk to Pam."

"Jim," Michael turns to him with exasperation.  "Anything you can say to Pam, you can say to me.  Unless it's about..." His faces changes and he leans toward Jim with a whisper.  "Is it sex stuff?"

"No."

"Michael, maybe you should-" Pam starts.

"Pam, I came here needing your help.  Don't send me out into the cold," Michael flails.

"It's like seventy-five degrees out-" Jim starts to say, but Pam hold up her hand. 

"Fine, Michael," she says.  "Jim, just - can it wait?"

And then Jim's saying something in a lowered voice that he can't quite make out from where he's standing, but it's sure capturing both of their attentions, so he can only assume. 

"How dare you, sir," Michael says angrily, completing the sentiment with an Elaine-style shove to Jim's chest. 

"Wait, are you sure?" Pam asks. 

"Yeah, he's shaking - I mean, I'm sure."

Fuck.

"Oh my god," Michael is saying, bringing both hands to his face like this old mechanical Barbie doll his older sister used to have. "Oh. My. God."

"Ryan?" Pam notices him finally.

"I'm going to go," is all he can think to say.  Like he even has anywhere, anyone.  He doesn't actually move. 

"Ryan, is this true?" Michael is staring at him, his big eyes nearly watering. 

"No," he laughs.  "I guess Jim here has never had a bad hangover.  Figures, right?"

"Ryan," Pam gasps a little.  He looks down and there are drops of blood sprinkled across the white tile.  Perfect.

"We need an AM-BU-LAANCE," Michael starts screaming as Pam fumbles for a paper towel.  She tries to hold it against his nose for him, but he takes it himself. 

"I'm fine I'm fine," he waves her off.  She looks like her cat just died. Jim is in the background somewhere, trying to arm wrestle the phone from Michael. 

Michael is yelling at Jim about... God knows, his head is spinning.  Pam insists he lies down on the couch and gets him a new towel to replace the blood-soaked one in his fist. 

He leans his head back to curtail the blood flow and she sits next to him with that look on her face.

"It's fine," he sighs.  "This isn't a big deal.  Allergies."

He thinks she's going to say something, but she just nods and watches him.  It's probably the best that he could hope for at this point.  Why did he agree to come to Scranton again?

"Ryan," Michael and Jim emerge from the kitchen. Michael's eyes are bloodshot.  "Ryan.  Give Jim your stash."

"Excuse me?" he laughs.  At least the blood stopped.  "I told you, I'm sick."

"Ryan, please," he says, his voice reaching into the upper octaves at the end, like he's trying to squeeze the words out of a balloon without losing all of the air. 

Fuck it, whatever.  He just wants to go and his hands are still shaking because he didn't take a big enough hit earlier.  Because he was trying to be normal, whatever that is these days.  He tosses the bag to Jim, who nearly drops it before putting it into his pocket.

Michael walks toward him, putting both hands on his shoulders. 

"Ryan?" he chokes.  "Today.  Is the first day.  Of the rest of your life."

**

The Joaquin Phoenix Memorial Rehabilitation Center (more commonly known as Michael's condo) isn't exactly what he needs, but he figures it's a start, and Michael's trying, so.  He doesn't even really have the heart (or patience) to explain to Michael that it was River Phoenix anyway.  Or that he's saying "Joaquin" completely wrong. 

He agrees to stay for a few days, maybe a week.  He's basically exhausted so it could be a nice break from the city.  He calls Wallace to make up some bullshit about his Mother being in the hospital.  Anyway, it's not like he's ever used a sick day.

But Michael's method of "healing" ends up keeping him locked in the second bedroom, surrounded by burning, smelly candles. 

"Michael?" He bangs on the door on the first morning.  "I can't take this anymore, let me-"

"Ryan, the first step is denial," Michael calls through the wall.  "And it ain't no river in Egypt."

He rests his forehead against the door with a thud.  "Fine.  Can you at least take out the barbeque-scented one?  It smells disgusting."

There's a pause on the other side. 

"It's mesquite, Ryan," Michael says.  "It's manly and rugged and -"

"Gross?"

The door opens and Michael's standing there with arms crossed.  "You know, I heard that addicts lash out at the people who love them.  Don't worry, Ryan.  I'm not going to take this personally."

Except that obviously, he's taking this personally.

"May I please leave the room, Michael?" he sighs. 

Michael thinks for a moment, and then steps aside. 

"Are you making bacon?" Ryan crinkles his nose, attempting to reacclimate to the world of normal smells. 

"No," Michael disappears in his room for a moment, returning with yet another burning candle.  "It's bacon-scented, but I could... do you want some?"

"Sure," he nods.  Michael hands him the candle and he follows him downstairs. 

"Where's the weird label for this one?" He asks finally, setting the candle on the kitchen counter as Michael readies the George Foreman. 

"Oh, it's a proto-type," he says.  "It never got... Jan's seal of approval."

"Right.  Okay then."

They spend the morning in front of the TV, eating bacon that's mostly not-burned.  And then the morning turns into the afternoon, and the afternoon turns into the evening.  And by the time the delivery man is at the door with their Chinese food, Ryan is actually starting to relax.  

The thing about Michael when he's away from work and away from cameras is, well, come to think of it this is the first time Ryan's ever actually seen Michael away from work and cameras at once.  The thing about him is that he's different.  Like, he's still Michael, but a more actual human being version.  And it's not just that his hair is missing any trace of gel, but also that he's actually kind of funny. 

"Oh, before bed," Michael sits up suddenly like he just had an epiphany of sorts.  He runs to his DVD shelf and Ryan just leans back into the couch and waits. 

"This," Michael stands solemnly in front of the TV, remote in hand.  "Is for your rehabili-cation."

"Oh God," he groans.  "What is it?"

"It's about the dangers of drugs, Ryan," is all he says before pressing Play. 

For the next thirty minutes or so they watch as Jessie Spano sinks deeper into the dangerous world of caffeine pills, and it isn't until Michael starts reciting Jessie's "There's never any time" monologue that he realizes that Michael meant this to be a joke.

"I'm so ex-cited, I'm so ex-cited, I'm so... scared," they both sing along and yeah, that's the thing about Michael. 

That night he decides not to recharge his blackberry, even though it means that tomorrow it will be dead.

**

"Michael?" He knocks on the bathroom door, unsure of why Michael isn't using the bathroom in the master bedroom, but okay.  "My toothbrush, could you hand it to me or something?"

"Come in," Michael answers. 

"Christ!" His arm immediately covers his eyes when he turns on the light and realizes that Michael's in the bathtub.

"Oh re-lax," Michael rolls his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall.  "There are plenty of bubbles."

"Yeah, but still." He decides to just go ahead and brush he's teeth because this couldn't possibly get much weirder, so he may as well just go with it. 

"God, what is that smell?" he asks, squeezing Michael's bubble-gum flavored toothpaste onto the brush.  He notices that his swollen eye is finally going down.

"Pomegranate, lilac, and elderberry, Ryan," he sighs, breathing it in.  "It's Jan's signature scent."

"It smells like cat piss," he says, his mouth full of foam.  "You miss her?"

"I miss having someone," Michael says.  "I miss having a future."

Ryan rinses and turns the light back off.  "Yeah.  Me too."

**

By Thursday they're spending most of their time lounging around Michael's condo in sweats and watching the movies he hasn't yet had a chance to see since he's moved to the city.  They watch most of that year's Oscar nominees on his request and Michael manages not to complain, although he does ask about 500 questions per movie. 

It's dark out and he's just putting in 'There Will Be Blood' as Michael gets them both a bowl of ice cream from the kitchen.  

"You know, I should probably go home tomorrow," Ryan says when Michael hands him a spoon.  

"Yeah, I'm sure the office is hurting without you," Michael nods.  And he's actually being sincere about it is the thing about Michael.

"Does that mean I'm officially rehabilitated?" Ryan nudges him with his elbow.

Michael just barely glances up from his ice cream to attempt a smile, and Ryan can't decide if he's imagining it, or if Michael's eyes are actually watering. 

But then he doesn't ask a single question during the movie, and after only an hour in, he stands up and says that he's going to bed. 

"Goodnight," Ryan says, but he's already disappeared up the stairs.  

He realizes a half an hour later that he has no idea what the fuck is going on in this movie because he hasn't been paying attention at all.  He turns the TV off and puts the bowls in the sink, walking upstairs in the dark.  

**

At 12:47 Ryan still can't fall asleep.  

He finds himself walking to the bathroom, but he doesn't have to go so he just ends up sitting on the edge of the tub in the dark.  He contemplates lighting one of the many candles lining the edge, but then he remembers the smell and changes his mind.  And he's not sure how or why he ends up standing in front of Michael's bedroom door, but he's going to blame it on those candles anyway.  

He opens it.  

"Ryan?" He can make out Michael's outline as he sits up.  

"I, uh," He scratches the back of his neck.  This was a stupid idea.  It wasn't even an idea.  "I can't sleep."

Michael pats the empty half of the bed.  Ryan sits down, but leaves one leg on the ground, the way actors used to have to do in movies. 

"Are you thinking about your demons?" Michael asks, obviously concerned.

"My what?  I don't think I know what that means."

"The drugs?"

"Oh, right," he nods.  "Actually, no."

"Well, that's good," Michael says.  "I guess, I guess you're ready to go home then."

"Michael?  That diary you wrote..." he says slowly.  "That was.  It was weird."

"I know, right?" Michael clears his throat like his trying to laugh.  "I can't believe Jan would... plant fake evidence like that, it's just... purgatory."

"Purgery?" 

"Yes.  She's such a - she's such a liar."

"Michael..." he sighs.  "It wasn't a fake.  Was it."

It's quiet for a few moments, the almost-question hanging in the air.

"I'm sorry," Michael says finally. 

"It's okay, we're friends," is what he means to say, but then he's kissing Michael.  He and Michael are kissing, and it's.  Well, it's that. 

And the weirdest part is probably that Michael is actually a good kisser.  Michael Scott.

"I have to - I have to say something," Michael pulls back dramatically.  His cheeks are flushed and, Jesus.  Ryan starts to rethink this, as in, what the fuck is he thinking?

"What?" he breathes when Michael doesn't continue.  Michael, who is still gripping onto his shirt.

"I've never seen it," he says.

"Seen what, exactly?"

"Brokedown Mountain."  He looks embarrassed. 

Ryan laughs, kisses him, and tells him to shut the fuck up already.  Because, shit, for once he may not be drunk or high, but right now it still feels like he might sober up any second.

**

He wakes up on Michael's side of the bed to a note about some emergency at work.  It's an obvious lie and he goes downstairs to call a cab to the train station, but instead ends up watching the rest of the movie and waiting for Michael to get home.  

Ryan's not sure if he waits because there's something here, or if it's because he has even less to go home to.

**

Michael gets home late, after dark.  Ryan doesn't look up when he comes in, or when he feels him sit next to him on the couch. 

"Big emergency?" he asks, trying to remain as aloof as possible.  But then he's kissing him again, before Michael can even answer. 

Michael pulls away after a minute and Ryan goes back to his side of the couch, watching Michael loosen his tie. 

He's about to say something, anything, when Michael grabs his hand.

"It's the loneliness, Ryan." He says, staring up at him with these big... well they can really only be described as puppydog eyes.  "It's just the loneliness."

"Yeah," he sighs, slumping back on the couch.  Michael moves far enough away that they're no longer touching. 

"I love you man," Michael sniffs. He looks like he's about to burst.  "I'm just not a homo."

Ryan looks at him and just starts to laugh.  He laughs and he can't stop.  And then Michael's laughing too, and they're both crying laughing and wiping their eyes on their sleeves.

"Yeah, me either," Ryan says finally when he catches a breath. 

"Does this make me a metrosexual?"

He laughs.  "You mean bisexual?  Does it even matter?"

But Michael's looking at him and it's obvious that - to him - it does.

"No.  No I don't think so."

"I was going to go over to Dwight's tonight.  His cousin made a croquet set, do you want to-"

"No, I think I'm just going to... hang here."

Michael puts his hand on his shoulder.

"You know, I'd keep your bloody shirt, Ryan." 

"Excuse me?"

"Brokeback Mountain?  I think they were really just buddies that accidentally kissed sometimes."

"I thought you hadn't seen it."

"Youtube," he nods sagely.  "I watched some parts."

Ryan laughs.  "Yeah, I think you're probably right."

As soon as Michael leaves he calls a cab, takes the train back into the city, and calls Troy.  He can't remember much else of what happens that weekend, but it doesn't exactly matter, does it.

**

He plans on avoiding any trips to Scranton for the rest of his young life, but on Wednesday he overhears Wallace on the phone mentioning Jim's name and jumps in his car without thinking.  He's probably shooting himself in the foot, coming down on the guy his boss seems to think is the Second Coming, but he can't just sit there doing nothing while someone hands his job away to a guy that once spent an entire workday trying to convince Dwight that foundation would be a helpful form of camouflage.

Michael tries to pull him aside, but he uses Toby as a deflector shield and makes an excuse about needing to get back to the city.  Immediately.

**

In the end, it's Jim that costs him his job.  Just like he maybe always expected.  Jim makes the "big sale" and Wallace starts talking about bringing him on board at corporate.  And then, in a twist he hadn't quite expected, Wallace calls him into his office to discuss the possibility of moving him to a "less stressful" position.  In Scranton. 

"Can I ask why?" 

"Well, honestly, Ryan... it's come to my attention that - well, let's just say that one of Jim's ideas is to schedule regular company-wide drug testing."Oh.  That."I just think that maybe, maybe the city isn't quite the right fit for you."

Well, it seems that the golden boy doesn't mind playing a little dirty after all.

He arranges to borrow a friend's pick-up for the weekend and manages to fit all of his furniture in the truck bed, even though he'd originally expected to have to make two trips.  As he drives out of the city he realizes exactly how much he was counting on that second trip, because now, looking in his rear view mirror at the disappearing buildings, he knows that he has absolutely nothing to go back for.

**

That first Monday he's thisclose to not going in.  And then when he gets there and hear's about Toby and Costa Rica he's thisclose to asking if anyone has his number, because maybe he'd be interested in a roommate.

Instead he sets his box of things down on his old desk in his old corner in the back.  Michael had offered him Jim's old digs, but he had passed.  And while this decision meant that he'd be with Kelly all day everyday, it was still better than having his back to Michael out there.

For the first four hours, Kelly gives him the silent treatment.  After eating his lunch alone in his car, he tries asking her about her family. 

"Good."

At 3:45 he asks about the latest episodes of Gossip Girl.

"Awesome.  Serena totally -" But then she stops herself and they go back to silence.  He never could have imagined that Toby not being back there with them could be any quieter than when he was still there, but there you have it.

At 5:20 neither of them has gotten up to leave, even though he's sure the office has completely cleared out by now.  It's almost as though she doesn't want to have to walk by his desk while he's sitting there.  He decides to go for broke and ask about Darryl. 

She turns her chair around to face him for the first time.

"What do you want, Ryan?"

He kisses her with what feels like his entire body, and then she's pulling his tie and he's pulling her into his lap.  Her hands are in his hair and then he's asking her if he can fuck her right there.

She says yes. 

Before she leaves she straightens her skirt and checks her makes up in her compact.

"See you tomorrow, Ryan," is what she says as she walks out the door.

**

They talk now during the day.  She fills him in on celebrity and office gossip, like how Tom is totally brainwashing Katie, or that Jim was only gunning for his job because Pam turned him down in front of the entire office.  He can't help but be a little smug about that, at least.

They meet up some lunches and even some evenings to have sex, and she's still with Darryl or whatever, but that tends not to bother him save for the fact that Darryl could probably crush his face with one hand.  The thought isn't enough to make him stop though.

Actually, sleeping with her again when he's not supposed to (as opposed to when he's obligated to) is kind of a high in itself. He hasn't done shit since his post-Michael bender when he threw up in his own bed, but now he's got Kelly.  And Kelly's legs and breasts and, fuck.

She walks past his desk on her way to the copier and he runs his finger up the back of her thigh as she passes.  She just turns for a moment and winks at him. Apparently Kelly is way sexier when she's not trying to date you. 

"Ryan?"

"Hey, Pam," he leans back in his chair.  He's barely spoken to anyone since he's been back, much less Pam.  "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I guess I was just wondering, I don't know, if you've noticed anything... off, about Michael lately?"

"Not that I've noticed," he shrugs.  What he doesn't say is that he hasn't spent more than five minutes with Michael since he got here, but he figures that isn't really an important thing to note just to ease Pam's conscience or whatever.

But then she takes a seat in Kelly's chair and he starts watching her legs maybe a little more than he should be.  "It's just that - ever since that week he took off to, to help you, he just comes to work, closes his door and..."

"And?"

"And, does work," she shrugs.  "No meetings, no stupid brainstorming sessions, no coming up to my desk to tell me about what happened on The Hills this week."

"And this is a problem because...?"

"It's weird," she says.  And she's right, but what the hell is he supposed to do about it?

"Well, maybe he just wants to impress the new boss," he offers. 

"Yeah, maybe." She still looks unconvinced, but now that he's brought Jim into the conversation she looks even more lost than before.  "Thanks Ryan." 

He follows her legs as she walks to the door.  "How is Jim by the way?"

She pauses and looks back at him.  "I'm sorry about your job."

And the funny thing is, he's not.

**

It's been three days since Kelly told him that she "can't do this anymore."  That Darryl finally decided to make some sort of commitment, or something.  He wasn't really listening.

And it's fine, really.  It's not like he wanted to date her again.  He'd have to be insane to want that, but still, now he's left feeling pretty anxious and thinking a lot about Pam's legs in a skirt.  It's not exactly good for his productivity.

Plus, the office is in kind of a frenzy because Angela, picking up Michael's slack and then some, is trying to ready everyone for Jim's first visit as the Big Boss.  She's been running around squawking at everyone and their mother since yesterday. 

Currently he's being yelled at (along with Oscar) for not being tall enough to hang the banner in the correct manner, but really he's watching Pam.  She's obviously stressed about tomorrow because she's been forwarding calls to the wrong people all day.

"Pam," Dwight is saying loudly, holding his phone high over his head.  He also seems on edge since he's been offering to help Angela hang the banner for the past hour and she's completely ignored him.  "My name is not Stanley Hudson."

"Is that Mike Barringer?" Stanley asks, obviously annoyed.  "I'm expecting that call, Dwight.  Forward it to-"

Dwight just hangs up the phone, and Ryan can hear Stanley practically growl under his breath.

"And maybe if your little short arms could just stretch and put it in the right place, then we'd - hey!" Angela calls after him as he abandons her to walk to reception, where Pam looks about to lose it. 

"Hey Ryan, do you need something?" she asks without looking up.  The phone rings again and he hears what sounds like a whimper in the back of her throat.

When she reaches for it, he puts his hand over hers to stop her.  "Go take a break."

"But I have to-" she looks up at him.  She really looks a mess today, he's never seen her like this before.  Usually she's basically in control of the entire office.

"Go. I'll answer the phones.  You're forgetting my extensive receptionist knowledge here."  He hands her coat to her and picks up the phone himself.  "Dunder Mifflin, this is Ryan."  

She mouthes a "Thank you" and he forwards the call on to Stanley.

**

He tries to time their exit without making it too obvious that he was waiting for her, but she doesn't appear to mind either way.

"Want to go get a drink?" he asks her in the parking lot.  "You look like you could use one."

She just nods. 

By her third Jack and Diet at Poor Richards he can tell that she's a lightweight and orders her a water. 

"God, tomorrow is going to suck," she slaps her hand on the table, placing an extra-long emphasis on the "uhh."

"Tell me about it," he laughs.  "I'm expecting to get my ass handed to me by your boyfriend. 

"Yeah, you were kind of a dick, weren't you," she says, looking about ready to cry.  "And he isn't my boyfriend.  I mean, he is, sort of.  I want him to be."

"And he doesn't?"

She puts her head in her hands. "He proposed and I said no.  What would you do?"  

Ryan laughs.  "I wouldn't have proposed."

"Well fine," she actually smiles for a second and shoves him.  "I just wanted things to stay like, like they were.  Things were good.  Why can't people just ever just let things be good, you know?"

Yeah, she's drunk.

"You still talk to him?" he asks, sipping his beer. 

"Sometimes.  Well, yeah.  We still talk."  Now he's thinking she really might cry.

"Do you love him?" He doesn't even know why he's asking, or why he's here, or why he even cares, but.   

"Yeah," she nods.  Her face is flushed from the alcohol and the effort she's putting into holding back tears.  "I do love him.  Do you think you could drive me home?"

He makes her drink the glass of water before agreeing to drive her back to her place, the scene of the nosebleed.  As he walks her inside (on her request) he can almost picture Michael with his hands on his shoulders, saying those pointless, plagerized words about the first day of the rest of his life.  That could be said about any stupid day, whether he wins the lottery, or sleeps until two in the afternoon and spends the rest of the day vomiting.  It's all the same.

When Pam kisses him she tastes like Jack Daniels, but her lips are soft and her tongue is just, anyway.  She's pulling at his shirt, but he takes his time, kissing her ear and then her neck until she's practically dragging him towards her bedroom.

It's not quite the triumphant feeling he had hoped for, standing here in her bedroom.  The one shred of dignity he can win back from Jim Halpert.  There are pictures of him on her bedside table, and then he's wondering if she's washed her sheets since he last slept there.

"Pam?" He says softly when she starts undoing his belt.

"I know," she answers, her head lowered.  He lifts her chin up and kisses her, wipes a tear from her cheek.

"Would you still mind," she says.  "Just sleeping?"

"If I can be the big spoon," he smirks.

"Sure you're up for it?" she manages a laugh as she looks him up and down.

He squints his eyes at her and gently shoves her towards the bed. 

"I'm not that short."

Ryan spends that night with Pam pressed against his chest, sleeping soundly with his arms around her.  And it isn't until that night, when it's past midnight and he finds himself still awake and thinking about diaries and bloody shirts, that he finally realizes that he's truely, utterly fucked.

**

The next morning he leaves Pam's to go home and grab a change of clothes.  He takes a quick shower and decides to shave for the first time in... a while, before heading back over to Pam's apartment to pick her up.

"Whoa, did I just travel back in time?" she laughs as she buckles her seatbelt, pausing to run the back of her hand across his cheek. 

"Yeah, well," he shrugs at her.  "Sometimes I like it when I get carded at the movies."

The ride to work is surprisingly comfortable considering the events of last night coupled with the fact that he and Pam had never been particularly close.  It's kind of nice, actually.  Having a friend.

"You look great," he says finally.  She obviously put a lot of care into getting ready this morning. 

"Thanks," she bites her lip, tucking some hair behind her ear. 

When they pull into the parking lot she thanks him for the ride.  "And for... letting me talk," she adds, but he knows what she means by it. 

But then, as they're both stepping out of his car, he notices Jim.  He's watching them from across the lot.

"Well, if I wasn't going to get it already..." Ryan sighs.  Pam just hardens her face and heads towards the office.  He follows.

**

The day goes as to be expected.  They have a meeting and Jim makes a lot of jokes, but at least seems pretty competent in what he's talking about.  And he doesn't pull Ryan into the conference room at any point to give him a formal warning so, there's that. And Michael spent more time out of his office than he has in the past few weeks combined so, there's that too.

They're nearing the end of the day when something comes over him.  Jim's getting ready to leave and he and Pam haven't spoken the entire day, Ryan's been watching.  Maybe that's what triggers it, watching two people being so completely stupid about everything.  Or maybe nothing triggers it at all.  Maybe it's just been there all along, waiting.

In any case, when the cameras aren't looking, he grabs Michael by the arm and pulls him into the stairwell.

"What are you doing?" Michael pants.

Ryan kisses him.  "That."

Michael just stands there staring at him, his lips moving with no sound coming out.  He waits for something, anything, but he's just standing there staring. 

"Forget it," Ryan sighs finally, pushing past him.

"Ryan, wait," Michael stops him, pressing his palm against the door.

"Kiss me again." 

Ryan stops and looks at him for a moment.  He's still just waiting.

"No, Michael," he sighs.  "I won't."

He turns to leave, but then someone's coming on the other side. He can hear arguing. He and Michael exchange a look and bolt up the stairs where they can't be seen, just as Jim and Pam come tromping into the stairwell, two camera guys in tow.

They're both breathing heavy, and all he can see are the tops of their heads below them.  Pam's saying something about New York, and Jim's going on about the ring.  Michael bumps his forehead trying to lean over him to see better.

He can't help it, Ryan starts to laugh.  He has to hold his hand over his mouth he's laughing so hard.  And Michael's trying to shush him, but then he's laughing and it's hard to breathe, and he's almost positive that any second one of those cameras is going to point up. 

And then somewhere, in the midst of Pam arguing with Jim about choices and Jim arguing with Pam about what love is, Michael kisses him.

THE END