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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.

Author's Chapter Notes:
Pam is a a bit more forward in this one than you'd probably expect, but I think it fits given the situation. Hopefully it's not too OOC.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ryan isn’t surprised when the guards tell him he has a visitor. The last month had been a steady stream of them; his mother crying across the table from him, a sobbing lump puddling further into the bench in a dramatic performance (one of her best) he’s sure would make him feel bad for her if he wasn’t so busy feeling sorry for himself. Michael, also rather moist around the eyes, pledged to get him out of there even if it took smuggling a shiv in with a basket of cookies. Ryan’s pretty sure that even if Michael knew what a shiv was, he wouldn’t know what to do with one. Kelly hasn’t showed, but he’s sure she’s merely waiting for the opportune moment. So, no, the long walk down the grey corridor isn’t a unique one. The face he sees there is, however.

 

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

 

Pam turns to look at him, a refreshing mix of mocking and accusation in her once over of his obnoxiously orange jumpsuit and sunken eyes. He hadn’t exactly been getting the best sleep of his life.

 

“Well score me one for unpredictability.”

 

Ryan settles himself into the seat opposite her, giving himself a second to really appreciate the softness of her hair. And her breasts. He offers four weeks in prison with only male companionship as an excuse and he’s sticking with it.

 

“Let me guess. Jim is parking the car like a perfect gentleman. Knight in fucking shining armor.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Really? Maybe you’ve got more guts than I gave you credit for. Coming to a prison alone, Pam? That’s pretty brave for a girl from Scranton who never left home, isn’t it?”

 

He’s not sure why he’s doing this bruise-poking thing when she’s the first piece of decent company he’s had, but he has always had a habit of picking at corners until he finds the absolutely uncrossable lines and it would be a shame to stop now.

 

“Well then call me Braveheart and give me a Scottish accent because I’m here right now, aren’t I?”

 

“That you are. And Jim doesn’t have a problem with this?”

 

She only blinks once but he senses the hesitation.

 

“No.”

 

“You didn’t tell him, did you?”

 

“…No.”

 

“Ah, I see.”

 

Pam crosses her arms across her chest, the visitor’s badge capturing the fluorescent light and glinting daggers into his eyes.

 

“I wouldn’t be the one getting all high and mighty about lying, Mr. Felon.”

 

“Touché.”

 

“So… how’re they treating you.”

 

“Like shit, but I didn’t really expect different. It is prison, isn’t it?”

 

“That’s what the sign out front says. You got a good lawyer?”

 

“Good enough. It’s not like I can use the corporate lawyer on retainer after all.”

 

“I could have guessed that, yeah. Anything I can do?”

 

He squints his eyes at her, appraising the offer.

 

“Didn’t I hit on you in front of your boyfriend? Shouldn’t you, like, be hating my guts right now?”

 

“Oh, haven’t you heard? I’m too nice to hate anyone. At least that’s what the producers tell me.”

 

“Well in that case I’m guessing you’d probably say no to sexual favors, huh? Or does that not fall under the girl-next-door guidelines?”

 

He was expecting her to slap him, maybe report him to the guards for sexual harassment (not that he isn’t in enough trouble), but instead she shakes her head and chuckles.

 

“Sorry, no can do. I’m kind of, um…” she holds up her hand, something on her finger catching the light. “… an engaged woman now. I’m afraid my illicit sex days are over before they even began.”

 

Ryan looks to his feet, something akin to regret filling up his chest like salt in a wound and choking up into the back of his throat.

 

“Pity. But I hear that the sales tax is going up on condoms so, really, maybe it’s for the best.”

 

She must notice that he goes quiet because she begins to fiddle with her ring, then for some reason thinks better of it and lets her hands settle loose on the table.

 

“I know why you were being an ass to Jim those last few weeks. Why you were trying to get him fired.”

 

“I wasn’t-“

 

“Yes. You were. And I gotta say, you were being childish.”

 

“Ooh, are we going for the school marm insults now? Are you gonna tell me I have bad penmanship next?”

 

Pam rolls her eyes. “Grow up.” And it’s probably exactly what he needs to hear. “It’s time to take responsibility for what you’ve done. No more of this excuses crap.”

 

Ryan lets out a puff of air and shakes his head.

 

“My, my. You sure have changed. What happened to that shy receptionist that used date an oaf and put up with Michael’s insanity without a word?”

 

Pam bites her lips into a line and he really does wonder, but somehow he knows that the girl he’d met four years ago with a phone attached to her ear had been trampled under burned feet and honesty on a beach by a lake in Scranton, and that he’d watched it happen without actually realizing it.

 

“People change, Howard.” Pam stood. “I have to go. My class starts in an hour and I don’t want to be late.”

 

“Class?”

 

“Oh.” Pam tapped her hand against her forehead, having forgotten that thing called an explanation. “I’m enrolled in Pratt School of Design in the city. They say I can’t do more professional stuff without some basic tutorials.”

 

“Maybe I’ll give you a call sometime.”

 

Pam smiles like she knows he never really will, which is probably true. “Sure. It’ll give the other dorm girls something to gossip about. Getting calls from prison late at night from strange men.”

 

“Glad I can be of service,” then, “Bye, Pam. Don’t get mugged or anything.”

 

Pam smirks, leaving something on the table before turning to go, calling over her shoulder, “Right back at you.”

 

Ryan picks up the small square package she’s left, and barks out a laugh. Of course.

 

That night he trades the pack of cigarettes she’d given him for a clean toothbrush, and lies awake actually looking forward to his next visit.

 

 


Chapter End Notes:

You know the drill.



bebitched is the author of 66 other stories.



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