Roy died on a Friday.

It was unfair too, because if she were going to have to lose him the way that she did, it should have at least been on a Tuesday or some other equally worthless day so as not to ruin every Friday of her whole entire life. It had been like any other Friday, ticking down the hours, distracting herself with some nonsense she and Jim had cooked up just to pass the time.

She wasn't even at the office when it happened, which she'll never quite forgive herself for. She had been laughing and giggling in a grocery store with someone that wasn't her fiance, and thinking about how - God - thinking about how that day was turning out to be such a good day. And when they had sneaked back into the office she hadn't even thought twice when she heard Dwight ask "Where have you been?" -- until she had looked up and realized that he was saying it to her.

She's late that day, as she has been late most days since that Friday, so the news has already broken. But she doesn't really take notice of Michael's tears like she has in the past, she just walks to her desk and flicks on her monitor like it is any other Tuesday. It isn't until Jim - Jim, who had basically stopped speaking to her, stopped looking at her - approaches her that she knows something is wrong.

"They're shutting us down," he says, his head slightly bowed and without the refuge of a candy dish to pick through. It has been a long time since she's thought to refill it.

"The branch?" She takes a long sip of her iced coffee, unfazed. Before, she had never depended on coffee, but these days it feels like she needs the nudge of caffeine just to get out of bed in the mornings.

"The company." He looks at her then, but now she's the one that has to look away, because every time their eyes meet she knows that what he's really saying is "I'm sorry." And if he can't say it to her with words, he shouldn't be allowed to say it with his eyes. Sometimes she can't help but think she's becoming one of those people that punish everyone around them.

She nods slowly. "Guess I better clean out my desk."

He takes it for what it is - a cue for him to walk away, but she doesn't clean. There's really nothing left here that she wants to keep. Instead, she leaves her desk, walking down the stairs to the warehouse. There isn't anyone around - the warehouse had been shut down immediately after the accident. Everyone had been laid off. Darryl had cried at the funeral.

"Hey."

It's Ryan that's walking out from between the stacks, a cigarette between his lips and his tie forgotten.

"Thank God," he says. "I thought you were Kelly. Or Michael."

"Just me," she half-smiles. People in the office don't usually talk to her, she's mostly avoided these days. Like she makes them so uncomfortable that they aren't sure what to do with themselves. Even Michael. Especially Jim.

He walks towards her, holding out the cigarette that she now recognizes to be a joint.

"No thanks," she shakes her head. "What are you doing down here?"

"Avoiding Kelly," he shrugs, taking another drag. "And Michael. You?"

"I... don't know actually." She looks back towards the stairs behind her. "I should probably get back."

He looks at her for a moment, considering. "What's the point?"

There isn't one, she realizes, but she walks away anyway.

Upstairs isn't much better. Everyone is packing their things and Michael is still crying. Stanley is the first to leave, practically running out the door. Phyllis is next. She stops at Pam's desk and slides a piece of paper across it with her phone number - "In case you need anything." Then she takes her cardboard box and walks across the hallway to Vance Refrigeration to start her new life.

Pam notices the ring before she goes, but can't bring herself to ask.

Phyllis is barely out the door when Dwight and Angela approach her desk. Well, Dwight approaches her desk, Angela is more hovering a step behind him, looking anxious.

"Pam," Dwight says carefully, like he's trying to avoid any mistakes. "I have a proposition for you."

She feels her forehead crease automatically and sees Angela wordlessly encourage him to continue.

"If you're in need of employment during this difficult time, there is an opening for a concierge at Schrute Farms."

Behind him, Angela nods. "Why would your beet farm need a concierge?"

"Myself, my cousin and my... business partner are currently in the process of converting the farmhouse into an inn, however I will also be pursuing other career paths. I need someone who is both capable and resourceful to run the business during the day."

"What about your cousin?" she asks. Angela is rolling her eyes.

"Mose is more the creative force behind the project. He isn't incredibly business minded. If you're interested, you have my number."

"Thanks Dwight," she nods because it's easier than saying what she really thinks of the idea. "Good luck. To both of you."

As the two of them walk away she almost looks at Jim. It's a difficult habit to break. At least now she won't have to worry about that for much longer.

Then Ryan walks past with Kelly clinging to him like a barnacle, the way she has been ever since Roy's death.

"Pam, oh my God, you have to call me," Kelly sniffles, hugging her tightly. "Remember what I said, and call me, and I'll miss you so much, call me."

"Okay Kelly," she forces a smile. Actually, Kelly is maybe the only one who has been somewhat normal. Last week she even offered to help clear out Roy's closet, but she has yet to take her up on it. "Bye Ryan."

Ryan looks back over his shoulder, his eyes awfully bloodshot (which Kelly seems to assume is because he's upset). "Oh, yeah. See ya."

They all file out eventually. Oscar, Kevin, Meredith, Creed, Toby. One last interview as the camera crews pack up their bags, and then they're gone. She's not sure why she waits, but maybe because it's therapeutic, knowing that she'll never have to look at these people ever again. The last few pieces of her old life falling out of place.

Michael stands in front of her for about ten minutes, babbling words she can't understand and wiping snot on the sleeve of his suit. She hugs him because she knows that's what he's waiting for, and she promises to call. Honestly, she doesn't even think she has his number.

"Hey." And then he's standing there, hands in his pockets, his hair looking like it's been through a war zone - which is a fair description of what goes on during those interviews.

"Good luck out there," she tries to say lightly. He does the polite thing and tries to smile back.

"What will you do?"

She hesitates, a crack about running Dwight's beet motel hanging on the edge of her lips. But things aren't like that anymore, and she doesn't feel like joking. "No idea. We'll see, I guess."

"I guess," he nods.

She looks over his shoulder at the camera lens that's trained on the two of them, straining for one last shot.

"I should probably," she tilts her head towards the conference room.

"Oh, yeah, of course," he says too quickly.

"We'll talk soon," she says as she walks past him, more for his benefit than for hers. The conference room door clicks shut behind her before she ever hears his reply.

She sits up straight as the lens focuses on her for what seems like the thousandth time. Greg is sitting in front of her, fiddling with a switch, or a button, or something before the light glows red.

He leans back and starts with the questions. Is she feeling nostalgic? No. Is she happy to have it all over with? Yes. Will she and Jim stay in touch? Yes, she says automatically, without really believing it herself.

"So, Pam," Greg asks. "What's next?"

She opens her mouth to answer, but finds nothing.

"Do you - will you find another receptionist job, or-"

"No," she says quickly, the first genuine smile in a long time creeping onto her face. "Maybe, I was thinking about art school?" She sees him hide a smile

After the interview she signs a few last releases. She's asked if it would be alright for them to do a follow-up in a few months time, but she quickly declines. Greg nods and tells her that maybe he'll try and give her a call about it when the time comes, in case she changes her mind.

She says okay, but she won't. Because today she's free. She's free and maybe everything can be different now.

It's nearly dark when she reaches her car, and the parking lot is empty except for him.

"Hey." She means to smile, but opens her car door instead.

"Hi." He's standing next to her now, pretending to examine her tire with his toe.

"What a day, right?" she says when it becomes clear that he isn't going to. It never used to be this impossibly hard to just talk to him, at least not that she can remember. You'd think his fiance had died.

"I should've said something a long time ago," he says more to himself than to her. She knew this was coming, the apology. She just wishes she could crawl inside her car and drive off instead of having to actually hear it.

"Jim, it's okay. It's been hard on everyone."

"No," he says, all of the sudden looking at her straight on. "This isn't about... I mean it is, but-"

"Jim, I should go."

He kisses her. And when he does she suddenly remembers all of the times she used to wonder what that would be like. Whether his lips would be soft against hers like this, or where he would put his hands. Things she used to wonder about him when she had no right to. When she was with Roy. She steps back.

"I'm sorry, it's just that I love you," he breathes, squeezing both of her hands with his.

"I should go." She pulls her hands away because this is just not how anything was ever supposed to be. When she drives away she doesn't have to look back to know that he's still standing there, alone.

**

Roy's truck is kicking up clouds of dust as she drives. Before now she hadn't even realized that dirt roads like this still existed in Scranton. She slows to take a wide turn and sees the farmhouse peeking over the hill and a few - are those alpacas? - grazing in the grass ahead.

It turns out that art classes cost money, which she knew, obviously. But when she had shown up for her first day at Vance Refrigeration and sat behind the reception counter, she basically had a panic attack and bolted. She didn't even last an hour. When she called Phyllis later to explain, she said she understood.

She knocks on the heavy oak door in front of her, nervous, but at least not panicky. She hadn't planned to end up here like this, but then again she hadn't planned for a lot of things. This was just another to add to the list.

"Hi," she smiles when a younger looking man with a beard peeks through the door. "Is Dwight home?"

He closes the door without a word.

"..Okay," she sighs. So much for that. As she turns to leave, the door opens behind her.

"Pam?"

"Angela, hi," she smiles. Angela's not exactly smiling, but when is she ever?

"Is there something I can do for you?" she asks, her left eyebrow reaching new heights.

"Actually," she takes a breath. "There is."

**

Angela makes her a cup of some very bitter tea and they sit on opposite couches in terse silence, waiting for Dwight to get home from work. She attempts to engage Angela in some light conversation, but eventually gives up and just tries not to stare at Mose, who is crouched in the corner, whittling something out of soap.

After at least a half hour of this, Angela stands up suddenly, like she has some weird sixth-Dwight sense, and a few moments later she can see headlights out the window. Thank God.

She looks back and Mose is gone. Maybe she should rethink this whole idea.

"Monkey," Dwight says loudly, walking through the porch door. "Who's car - ?"

Angela clears her throat loudly and nods her head towards Pam.

"Pam," Dwight looks actually, genuinely happy to see her. "What brings you to the farm today?"

"Dwight," she smiles, looking at his crisp, blue uniform. "You're a police officer?"

"Just keeping the streets clean," he tips his hat towards her. Really, she shouldn't have been surprised. She let's herself wonder what Jim would make of this new development, but quickly dismisses the thought. She hasn't spoken to Jim in months.

"Is the job still open?"

**

Working at Schrute Farm isn't exactly exciting, but Dwight pays her decently and even offers her a room (which she doesn't accept because, well, there's Roy's closet to consider). He even sets aside a space for her to paint when things get slow. Things get slow a lot, actually, and he's already commissioned her to do paintings for the entire house. He wants to create an ambiance, or something. She still hasn't figured out what the hell she's going to paint for the Irrigation room.

But after a month or so, business still isn't picking up much and she overhears Dwight and Angela bickering about paying her. Angela thinks it's a waste, but Dwight insists that he's a man of his word and says something about a friend in need. They don't speak to each other for nearly a week.

When Dwight comes home that Monday, fresh off his night shift patrol, she's already up and in the kitchen making herself some toast.

"You don't have to pay me anymore, Dwight," she says, handing him a cup of coffee.

"Don't be silly, Pam," he yawns, patting her on the back. "Decaf?" He inspects the cup warily. He doesn't like to take any drugs, and that includes caffeine.

"Sure," she lies. "And I'll keep working, I just - I might have to take you up on that room. If it's okay."

They agree to converting the Nighttime room into her bedroom (it's not like they've ever come close to filling all three guest rooms at once anyway) and she makes plans to move out of her apartment at the end of the month.

That night when she goes home, she sits down inside Roy's closet, between the hanging, unused clothes, and cries.

**

"Alright then," Kelly claps, flinging open the closet doors. "Let's get started."

Yeah, she called Kelly. She tried doing it herself she just... there was no way.

"Are you planning on being useful, baby?" Kelly calls out to Ryan, who's in the living room. Yeah, Kelly also brought Ryan.

"I'm putting boxes together," he clips back. She rolls her eyes at Pam.

"He's driving me crazy," she sighs, pulling hangers full of clothes out and throwing them on the bed.

"You two are..."

"Living together, yes," Kelly finishes for her. "God, it's practically unbearable."

Pam tries to hide a smile.

"Seriously, Pam," she continues. "He's got to go. I don't know how you did this with Roy all those years."

Roy. It's funny how Kelly can just say his name like it's any other word. She takes one of the sweaters that Kelly's rifling through, one that he once wore out to dinner with her mother, and puts it aside.

"And we don't even have separate closets, maybe that's part of the problem."

"Well, maybe you two just need-" she starts, but Kelly silences her with her finger.

"I've been seeing someone else," she whispers, her finger still pressed against Pam's mouth.

She swats her arm away. "Wait, what? How?"

"Pam, quiet," she shushes her. "Jesus Christ, play it cool."

"Well, who is it?"

Kelly glances around, "Darryl."

"Darryl? Warehouse Darryl?"

Kelly nods. "He's like, amazing. He's even started his own moving company."

"Are you going to tell," Pam nods her head in the direction of the living room.

"There hasn't been a good time," Kelly sighs. "Plus, he's basically homeless. He's been temping, but all his money goes towards school. I don't really want to throw him out on the streets like some poor little Oliver cat. I mean, I'm supposed to be the nice one."

"Wow," Pam sighs. She realizes that without her even noticing, Kelly's practically packed up the entire closet. She's glad she called her.

"You know," Pam says suddenly. "I may know of a place he could stay. For really cheap."

Kelly smiles.

**

"I guess I'll take America then."

"That's our most popular room," Angela whispers loudly to Dwight, shoving him with her elbow. Pam neglects to remind her that they've only ever had three guests in the first place.

"America's out," Dwight shrugs at Ryan, who's standing there with his bags.

"Fine," he sighs, throwing a look towards Pam. "Irrigation it is."

"Fantastic," Dwight enters his choice into the guest book. He's giving him a very reasonable rent if he promises to help out with chores around the farm.

Ryan looks less than enthused.

Pam helps him carry his bags upstairs and points him to the right room. "You've got to be kidding me," he mutters as she swings open the door.

"I stacked the two mattresses in my room on top of each other," she advises. "It's a lot more comfortable."

"Great."

"Are you going to be okay in here?"

"Yeah." He taps his knuckles against one of the decorative pipes. "Anything is better than Kelly's, so."

"Well, I'm right next door," she laughs. "If you need anything."

"Yeah, thanks," he nods. "I hope you don't snore."

It's hard to explain, but being here, away from everything, away from her old life (even though some of the people in it haven't changed), it's nice. And every once in a while, she even thinks that maybe she's happy.

She's kneeling in the dirt, attempting to re-plant a batch of strawberries that have been ravaged by deer, when Ryan walks over. He's pushing an ancient-looking wheelbarrow, his white undershirt and face streaked with what she hopes to be mud and not some present from the alpacas.

"Anything survive?" he asks, taking a swig of water from the World War II-era canteen at his hip.

"Not much." She picks one of the remaining strawberries, bouncing it off his chest. "So, were you rolling around in shit, or what?"

"Yeah, want some?" He smirks, and before she knows it there's a clump landing in her hair.

"Hey - gross!" she whines, putting her head upside down and shaking her hair out in front of her.

"Relax, it's dirt," he laughs.

"Still."

"You started it," Ryan shrugs. "Anyway, I've been talking with Dwight about this deer problem."

"Oh?" She looks up, intrigued. "And?"

"We've got some ideas," he says, surveying the garden with a degree of smugness not uncommon to Ryan.

"Oh, great," she laughs, rolling her eyes. "I can't wait to see what Pinky and the Brain come up with."

"I'm assuming that I'm the Brain in that scenario, so I will accept your compliment," he smiles, bowing a little.

"What time is your exam tonight, oh brainy one?" She looks up towards the sun, using her hand to shield her eyes. She doesn't wear a watch when she's out here, and she can't actually read the time by the sun, but sometimes she likes to pretend.

"Five," he yawns. "Sure you still want to carpool tonight?"

"Yeah, I'll just bring a book or something," she shrugs.

"Okay, well I'll probably get out early, so, you know where to find me."

"In the cafe scamming on freshman girls?" she laughs, and he takes a moment to look overly shocked at her suggestion. "Fine - junior girls," she concedes.

He winks and pretends to shoot at her with his right hand. "You got it. I'm going to go shower."

She laughs as he walks back towards the house, finding herself watching as sweat clings bits of his shirt to his back as he pulls it up over his head.

"Angela says the water's cold today!" she calls after him.

"It's always cold!" he replies without looking back.

Above her the sun is lowering, but she still can't think to guess what that means.