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Story Notes:
I'd had this, my first full Office story, semi-written for awhile but was inspired to finally post after watching all the heartbreaking :)! Dwight and Angela deleted scenes on the season 4 DVD.
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.


July 4th, 2005
Her cats hate the Pop! Pop! Pop! of the horrible little firecrackers almost as much as she does. The boys down the street had been playing with them nonstop since the afternoon and each Pop! brings its own special kind of headache. She moves to turn up the volume on her TV but it's the same founding fathers special the History Channel played last year and as much as she loves her country, she can't bring herself to watch the repeat.

She scratches Sprinkles behind the ears before getting up and going out to the porch. The cup of tea in her hands is perhaps too warm for the weather tonight but she decides that the comfort it provides outweighs its practical merit.

Pennsylvania is thick with mosquitoes and she can see her neighbors loading up folding chairs and coolers into the back of their mini-van for the fireworks display that takes place every year. She's glad they're leaving, glad they won't be grilling anymore because she's sick of the smell of meat and bug spray.

Part of her wants to reprimand the boys for being so disruptive but Angela knows better, knows that terrible pre-teens don't listen to a word anyone says, so the Pop! Pop! Pop! continues, the laughter grows louder, and she sinks into a chair with all the urgency her life lacks.

Shooing the bugs around her ankles away, she tells herself that someday she'll wake up. That someday, someone will come along and break her routine of accounting and cats. She's got a feeling that the Pop! Pop! Pop! isn't going to cut it for long and that maybe she'll find something worth laughing about.

Angela hates these thoughts even more than she hates the noise so she scowls into her tea before giving in and heading for the television.


July 4th, 2006
"You just missed our uncle," he says as soon as she's in the foyer.

She mumbles something apologetic and promises 'next time,' but honestly, she's pretty sure that he and Mose are as much Schrute as Angela Martin can handle for now.

"He brought us fireworks... for tonight." He knows that she's far from enthusiastic when it comes to explosives and gun powder so he gives her an impish smile.

Before she can form a proper response, Mose is at the door besides Dwight. She tsks a little at his continual choice in facial hair (at least it's kept trimmed and neat) and hands him what she knows he's there so promptly for: the apple pie. It's usually brownies or pecan sandies when she visits Schrute Farm but Angela had felt festive this year and spent the afternoon in the kitchen. Mose gives her a stilted bow and scurries back into the kitchen.

Dwight finds her gaze and in a lower voice says, "He's going to love that, Angela. We love your baking here."

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she permits a small smile and decides that maybe fireworks won't be so horrible.

After a quiet dinner, they head out to the fields and she and Mose watch Dwight set up a few of the fireworks from the barn. He's at least careful to make sure that there are no crops or debris that might catch flame but still. Dwight shoots her a thumbs up with a smile curled on his lips but she can only nod halfheartedly as she tries not to imagine what he'll look like when he inevitably catches fire.

As he strikes a match she mumbles, "Stop, drop, and roll," to herself and holds her breath until he's back by her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He's teeming with American pride as he watches the display and as a particularly impressive spark flies upwards he presses just a little bit closer.

When Mose bursts forward, head thrown back and knees pumping, Angela gasps in surprise. Dwight squeezes her shoulder to let her know it's all right and she watches with morbid fascination as his strange cousin bolt towards the firework. When he clears the sparks with an awkward jump, Dwight pumps his fist in the air and gives out a whistle and a cheer. She sags a little in relief knowing that the young man has not caught flame (she is safety officer after all) and gives him a soft clap. Mose looks to Dwight and Angela with what she determines must be his attempt at a smile (even if the corners of his mouth don't turn up).

If it feels at all strange to stand there, the three of them, Angela doesn't say. The light dancing across Dwight's glasses as he stares out beneath the rim of his hat is enough to catch Angela's breath with a serene sense of simplicity and it feels like family for once so she allows herself to be taken with the moment as she thanks God for permitting it all to happen.

"Another one!" Dwight exclaims suddenly, effectively breaking the calm as he hurries off to set up more sparks and whistles. He's practically bouncing and even though she still shouts "Careful!" and doesn't get one step closer than a cautious 25 feet away, it's all too infectious for her and she lets a soft laughter escape her lips.

When Mose gives her a wooden pat on the shoulder, Angela decides she might be able to get use to this after all.


July 4th, 2007
He shoots whatever it is he shoots in the afternoon and she doesn't speak to him for hours. 7 hours and 16 minutes, actually, which is quite the feat considering their rented cabin has only one bedroom, one bathroom, and one kitchen/dining room/living room. The Poconos had, so far, been quite lovely, so of course he would go and do something that would force her tongue for the rest of the evening.

Dwight fumbles around in the kitchen area (not that she's paying attention) before going outside and she arches an unamused eyebrow into her magazine.

That was almost an hour ago and the fact he has not come back in to sit and watch her not talk to him before getting frustrated and leaving again seems strange to Angela so she decides to go take a look around.

His back is to her on the blanket he has laid out and she can tell by the movement of his neck that he's eating something. She sighs before walking over to him.

"The fireworks are about to start," he says between chews and squints his eyes out towards the lake.

She's almost disappointed that he speaks first. Part of her wants him to have even more resolve than she has but she takes the opportunity to cut straight to the issue that's been niggling in her stomach all day. "You know I don't like it when you shoot...things," she informs him with ample amounts of disdain.

He responds by meeting her gaze and taking a huge bite of his sandwich. She exhales in frustration (it's hard to deal with a man as stubborn as he) and starts back inside when she hears a strong, clear, "Here," and looks to see him offering her a sandwich of her own.

She eyes it warily before giving in, smoothing out her side of the blanket, and sitting down beside him. Adjusting the rim of her hat, she casts him one last exasperated look before reaching for his offer. It's a peanut butter and jelly and despite the annoyance she feels for its maker, she can appreciate the neatness and dignity of the peanut butter spread smooth.

Dwight starts in on peaches straight from the can and they both look up over the lake wordlessly. The juice he wipes from his chin with the back of his hand makes it feel like it's all of a sudden summer and even she can't stop from smiling into her sandwich. He turns to look at her but in that instance the fireworks start and their heads both snap back towards the lake. The sky is black and purple and lights up green, yellow, and red all at once and when Dwight's hand finds her knee she forgives him instantly for an afternoon of silence.

The evening breeze from the lake blows gently across her skin and carries the smell of smoke down from above. She chances a look up at Dwight and finds him admiring the fireworks with rapt attention. Her chest swells slightly because, despite everything, Dwight is what she has come to know and she wonders if he is even capable of hurting her the way she fears he can.

"I'm sorry, Monkey." The words come quiet, reverent, and even if she's not so sure whether he means it or not, she's willing to accept. Besides, she thinks as she scoots closer, her D would never do anything unforgivable.

They share a silent smile and Angela looks forward to the fall.


July 4th, 2008
He doesn't know that she's not particularly fond of lawn chairs or that she's definitely not fond of big crowds because she's never outright told him and that's the only way he ever knows anything so she guesses he can't be blamed. The blanket he's wrapped around her shoulders is itchy and too hot for the temperature tonight but she hugs it tighter anyways.

They'd been waiting almost an hour for the fireworks to begin and she's ready to go home. Andy had been so insistent in getting there early enough to ensure "good seats" that she'd left with him before even arguing that it didn't matter if there were people in front of them if they were looking up. The matters moot now anyways so she sighs resignedly and doesn't answer when he asks if she's said something.

As the lights burst into the black and children 'woo' and parents clap, Angela wonders how her life turned to feline homicides, proposals, infidelities, and everything she never thought it would. Andy smiles at her, big and toothy, and points upwards, as if she's missing what's going on, and she can't even bring herself to roll her eyes. The moment is not lost on him and he mumbles something into her hair about the night he proposed and she feels every part of her constrict around her heart because she knows that Andy tries his hardest and, in their whole mess of sadness, that could be the saddest part.

With his arm around her, the Star Spangled Banner quietly on his lips, and his engagement ring mockingly glinting on her finger with every burst of light, she can feel the familiar tug for a certain coworker she left with pants around his ankles in a darkened office.

She wonders if this is as good a time as ever to tell Andy everything, to tell him that she doesn't like the way she sinks between the bands of a folding chair, that big crowds reek of sweat and barbeque in the summer air, that she is still so very much in love with Dwight.

Instead, Angela watches the fireworks rip through the sky and, with a prayer on her tongue, hopes that somehow, something will go right.


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