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He'd never been a fan of second days. There had been a few of them since college, and it was always the same. On first days everything was new and exciting, the great unknown. It could be intimidating, but expectations were generally low. You weren't supposed to walk in on your first day and know what the hell you were doing. People tended to be friendly and patient, willing to give you time to get up to speed.
Second days, though, were less forgiving. The grace period in office environments was mercilessly short. The second day was when he'd usually fumble, make the wrong call, laugh at the wrong time, ask a stupid question (because there was such a thing, damn it, no matter what the cliche said). He knew he wasn't an idiot, and hated feeling like one. Sometimes he questioned whether to even bother coming back for day three. The one time he hadn't, he'd discovered later that he'd merely been the victim of a hazing ritual. He could trace his affinity for pulling pranks back to that single humiliation, when he'd sworn he'd never be on the wrong side of one again.
Jim's second day at Dunder Mifflin started as badly as he could have expected. The morning had kicked off with a terse reprimand from the petite blond in accounting over a parking space. It had devolved into a botched client call, during which he'd quoted the wrong price for ultrabrite card stock and lost the sale (he'd been off by a lot). By the early afternoon, his boss had visited his desk three times to try out new comedy material, he'd jammed both the printer and the copier, his e-mail was still not up and running and he hadn't sold a thing. By lunch he was ready to go home, crawl back into bed and start the day over again.
There was only one thing that kept him in his chair. The first time it happened, he'd been facing a barrage of random questions from his new desk mate on everything from farming techniques to obscure historical trivia. After one particularly ridiculous question about the best irrigation methods for root vegetables, he turned toward the reception area to his right, where he caught her giggling behind her knuckles. She'd warned him the day before, and she was now looking directly at him, her eyes saying, "See? I told you so," as plainly as if she'd spoken the words out loud. He answered back with his own look that said, "You were so right." Her smile made his insides twist.
Thus began their silent communication, which they'd kept up the rest of the morning. With every new frustration, his eyes would gravitate towards the reception area, where she would nod in understanding, smile reassuringly or, best of all, let out a soft little laugh. It was nice to have a witness, someone to appreciate the absurdity of these moments, to let him know that he wasn't alone. She just seemed to get it, to get him. It was comforting and somehow dizzying at the same time.
He was standing at the snack machine with his back to the door when she entered the break room. He could tell the minute she walked in. There was a change in the energy of the room, a sudden charge in the atmosphere that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He pretended not to notice as he heard her pulling out a chair, a little screech of metal as she dragged it across the floor. Then there was the clink, clink as he fed his change into the machine, followed by the plastic click of a button and a whirring sound as one of the coils turned, releasing a package of chips.
"Crap," he said, to no one in particular.
She answered anyway. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, it's nothing," he said, feeling stupid enough without having to explain it to her. "I just... pressed the wrong button. French onion instead of barbecue."
He shrugged and she got up from the table to stand next to him at the machine.
"You pressed A-1 didn't you?"
"Yeah." He was suddenly aware of the nearness of her, how her shoulder almost touched his arm, how the buttons of her pink striped shirt strained a little at her bust line. He forced himself to look up and make eye contact. The last thing he needed was for her to catch him in the act of inappropriate staring so early in the game. "How did you know?"
"Rookie mistake," she said, turning her attention back to the machine. She pointed at the top row of chips. His eyes reluctantly followed. "Barbecue is A-11, not A-1-1. There's a whole separate button for the 11."
"Oh." He'd actually realized it the second he'd done it, but he was too embarrassed to cop to it. Plus, this way she was standing next to him, and her hair smelled sweet and fruity.
"It's okay," she offered. "I like French onion. How about I buy some barbecue and we'll trade?"
"Done."
They made the exchange and she sat back down at her table near the door. He didn't want to crowd her or impose on her lunch break, so he took the table against the opposite wall. Her lunch consisted of a plastic container filled with something green and the newly acquired bag of chips.
His brain suddenly went blank. He desperately wanted to talk to her, but his normally reliable charm and wit failed him completely. It felt like high school all over again. He couldn't think of the right thing to say.
"Do you want to go out sometime?" No, too forward.
"Nice weather we're having." Too generic.
"Your smile is the only thing keeping me from jamming a stapler into my forehead today." Too desperate.
"I think I love you." Too soon.
She rescued him by talking first. "So, how's it going so far?"
"Lunch or the job?"
"Both, I guess."
"Not bad. Michael is... interesting."
"And you haven't even had your first meeting yet." There was that smile again, playful and sweet.
He heard himself laughing nervously and wondered where the real Jim had gone, the cool, collected guy who knew how to act around attractive women.
"That sounds ominous."
"I'm not sure I could explain it. You'll just have to experience it for yourself."
"Can't wait."
"And lunch?"
"So far so good." He pulled a sandwich out of his brown-paper lunch sack and saw her eyes widen.
"Oh my god, is that peanut butter and jelly?" He looked down at his sandwich and shrugged. "Did your mom pack your lunch today, Jim?"
He should have been indignant, but her teasing made him feel all warm inside. "Hey, it was all I had," he protested.
"Right. Do you have juice box and a pudding snack in there too?"
"If you must know, I have a grape soda, mini carrots and, thanks to you, barbecue chips." He popped one chip in his mouth to illustrate the point.
"Well, I stand corrected. That's a very grown-up meal you have there."
"Are you criticizing my lunch habits already, Beesly?"
It was the first time he'd addressed her by name. Somehow it felt right, this banter between them. Their eyes bridged the distance between the two tables and even from the other side of the room he could tell that hers were sparkling. He knew in that moment that he'd use this nickname with her from now on. She broke the connection first, lowering her gaze and taking a bite of her salad, a tiny smile still playing at the margins of her mouth.
"So, Halpert," she began, emphasizing the reciprocal use of his last name. "Why aren't you at Devon's birthday lunch with everyone else?"
This was news to him. Apparently, no one had thought to include the new guy. He'd wondered why most of the office seemed to suddenly disappear at around 11:30, but had written it off as yet another office idiosyncrasy he'd have to get used to.
"Wasn't invited," he said, taking a bite of his sandwich.
It didn't really bother him. Compared to eating out and making small talk with a bunch of strangers, peanut butter and jelly in the break room was a far more appealing option, even if she weren't in here with him. Which she was. Which made it even better.
"Yes you were. I sent out an e-mail to everyone."
So someone had thought to include the new guy after all.
"Well, that explains it. I can't get into my e-mail yet." He paused, then a thought occurred to him. "Hey, why aren't you there?"
"Oh," she said, looking suddenly sheepish. Though he didn't know her very well yet, he thought he could hear a note of sadness in her voice. "I.. uh... had other plans for lunch. But they fell through. So I got a salad at the deli across the street and here I am. Pathetic, right?"
"Well, look at me. It's my second day here and I'm already missing a major bonding opportunity with my new co-workers, who are now going to assume I'm some sort of anti-social jerk. So I guess I'm pretty pathetic too. We can sit here and be pathetic together."
He might have been pushing it, using words like "together," but she didn't seem to notice. Or, if she noticed, she didn't seem to mind. He felt encouraged enough to take another step forward.
"You know what? We should go out for lunch sometime and be pathetic somewhere away from the office."
"Yeah," she answered, playing along. "Some days I feel like I just have to get out of here or I may end up shooting someone. Or, you know, myself."
"That bad, huh?" he said, trying to keep the tone light. Her smile was making him feel bold. Too bold. Before he could think, he was already blurting it out: "How about tomorrow?"
She didn't answer for a second. Suddenly the space between their tables felt very wide. Her smile faded and she looked down, stabbing absently at her salad with her fork. He cursed himself for his over-eagerness. He was usually much smoother than this, but something about her threw him off his game. He worried that he'd ruined everything before it had even begun.
"Or, you know, whenever," he covered lamely.
"No, yeah," she finally said, without looking up from her salad. "Tomorrow's good."
He tried to get a glimpse of her eyes, to see if they held some clue about what she was thinking, but he couldn't see anything beyond the soft curve of her lashes.
"Yeah?"
"Sure."
"Okay."
"There's this Italian place down the street," she said, finally looking up at him. "Cugino's. I haven't been there since Michael took the whole office out for a Sopranos-themed leadership seminar last year."
"Oh no."
"Oh yes. He compared himself to Tony Soprano. Dwight wanted to be Christopher, but Michael said he was more like A.J. Which deeply touched him, I think. And I was Meadow for some reason. Not sure I want to think about that too much."
"Awesome."
She laughed then, an actual genuine laugh that lit up her entire face. He decided it would be his mission in life to make her laugh like that as often as possible.
"In a terrible, horrifying way, yeah. I guess it was kind of awesome."
"I can't wait to see what he has planned for next year."
"Me either, actually," she said, sounding surprised.
"I mean, if I'm still even here in a year. I have to make it through my second day first."
"Oh, I think you'll do just fine here, Halpert."
"I think so too."
And for the first time in his life, Jim found himself actually looking forward to his third day of work.
Story Notes:
Just a little one-shot that came from something Jim said in "Goodbye Toby" about the first time he and Pam had lunch. Includes a passing reference to the infamous first non-date at Cugino's, but no spoilers. Trying this without a beta, so if you see any mistakes, feel free to point them out.
Updated to add: Wow! A blue ribbon! On my second fic! I've got to stop using exclamation points! You don't win blue ribbons with an abundance of exclamation points. Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks to the mods. It really made my day.
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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.
Updated to add: Wow! A blue ribbon! On my second fic! I've got to stop using exclamation points! You don't win blue ribbons with an abundance of exclamation points. Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks to the mods. It really made my day.
------
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.
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