FALL

Friday, 4:07 PM. Pam was just finishing organizing her desk when Kelly came up to reception and told her in no uncertain terms that she was going on a blind (oh God, not again) double date with Kelly and Ryan, it was tonight, and-

"No getting out of it, I won't accept any excuses and call you every hour on the half hour if you don't show up and oh my GOD please wear some color. Pink. Purple. I don't care. Except it should be pink." She had her hand on her hip, and Pam knew better than to even attempt to argue, because Kelly doesn't argue so much as talk until you give in.

Which is why she's standing in front of Ryan's (she hopes Kelly gave her the right address, and she also hopes Kelly's happy that Pam had something pink to wear, which, fine, maybe it's a good color on her) door and wondering why there's a piece of black electrical tape over the doorbell. She looks around for a moment before knocking, softly. Nothing happens after a minute or two, so she knocks again, louder this time, and she's about to either leave or knock once more when the door opens and Ryan's standing there, wearing jeans and a t-shirt and looking so different from how she usually sees him that she looks away like he answered it naked.

"Pam?" He looks puzzled for a moment, then sighs. "Fuck, I forgot. Uh, you can come in if you want." He steps to the side, opening the door wide enough for Pam to walk in.

"Thanks. Um," she looks around, noticing an open pizza box on the table in front of the TV with some commercial muted on it, "where's Kelly?"

Ryan sighs, shutting the door and running his hand though his hair. "She's gone."

"Gone?"

"There was...an incident."

Great. "Oh."

"We had a fight, and she broke up with me." As he finishes, the corners of his lips twitch and Pam can tell he's trying not to smile. Ass.

"So...what happened to the guy that, uh..." Pam knows that it would be easy to say "my blind date," but she can't seem to force it out, so she waves her hand in Ryan's direction until he starts nodding.

"Jack. Kelly's neighbor. She took him with her."

"Wait, he was here? When you fought?" Pam wonders if she should sit down, but he's still standing by the door and she doesn't know why part of her wants to stay instead of bolting.

"Yeah." He crosses the room and sits, gesturing for her to do the same.

She sits down too quickly, and she sinks into the old cushion, like it might swallow her whole. "Hmmm."

He glances over at her. "I didn't know he was coming."

"Oh. Well." Pam shifts, gripping the arm of the couch and trying to reposition herself, "Kelly didn't tell me about it until today."

He smiles, looking down at his hands. "That sounds about right."

"Like, not until 4 o'clock today."

"Well, it's Kelly. That's better than a last minute phone call ambush, not that I have any experience with that."

"So she didn't mention the date to you at all?"

"Nope." They sit in silence for a moment, and Pam tries to think of something to say.

"Did he seem nice?"

Ryan snorts, raising his eyebrow and twisting so he's facing her. "Really? You want to know if he seemed nice?" He laughs, "Yeah, Pam, he seemed like a perfect guy. I can't wait for you to meet him, once he's done with Kelly."

Pam stares at him, trying to decide whether she wants to laugh or cry. "It just seemed like the thing to ask."

"Well, he looked like a dick, and he left with Kelly after she dumped me, like a dick, and he grabbed her ass on the way out the door, like a dick."

"Or a jack-off."

Ryan squints his eyes, staring at her. "Because his name is Jack. Nice."

"Yes, thank you for explaining why the joke I just made is funny, Ryan." She's never really had more than small talk with Ryan, stupid inane work conversations, and it's nice, kind of. She feels like it's been a long time since she had a real conversation with someone other than her mother, and she has a Friday night phone call moratorium on those conversations, anyway, because one Friday her Mom had asked her, in a worried voice, "No plans tonight?"

Ryan's still looking at her, long enough that she starts to feel uncomfortable. "You're welcome. Uh," he leans forward, flipping up the top on the pizza box, "want something to eat? There's plenty."

She watches as he grabs a slice, and considers. She does have a delicious Lean Pocket at home, but she can't even get through that thought without wanting to laugh at how deluded she is. "I don't know, maybe I should go." She doesn't move.

Ryan shrugs, reaching for a napkin. "Whatever, it's up to you." But when she looks at him, he's looking in her direction out fo the corner of his eye and he looks...lonely? Bored? It's a little like looking in a mirror.

"Maybe for a little bit." She shrugs out of her jacket, drops her purse on the floor by her feet. As she reaches for a slice, Ryan unmutes the TV. "Friends?"

He speaks around a mouthful of pizza. "There's nothing else on."

Pam scrunches her toes into the throw rug at her feet, taking a bite of pizza. "It's okay, I like Friends."

Ryan shrugs. "Who doesn't? Since it's on all the damn time, there's really no choice."

The credits are flashing on the screen as Pam chews, swallowing. "Oh, it's over. Which one was it?"

Ryan gets up, crossing in front of the TV. "There'll be another one on - want a beer?"

Pam clears her throat before answering. "Sure, thanks."

When he walks back into the room, handing her a cold beer, he grins as he sits back down. "It was the pivot one, by the way."

"And I missed it? Pi-vot!"

He nods. "It's a classic."

Pam grabs a bottle opener from the table. "How can you have personal classic episodes if you're forced into watching?"

Ryan shrugs, "fine, it's my favorite show ever, I cried for days when it was cancelled. Better?"

"Much."

He shakes his head. "If you keep this up, I'm going to charge you for any and all food or beverage you consume here, at my house."

They sit and chew silently as the next episode starts, and when the theme song starts playing, Pam sighs.

Ryan puts his feet up on the coffee table. "What?"

Pam shakes her head. "This episode."

"What? In Barbados?"

"Yeah. I never get how they show two completely unrelated episodes in a row, you know? It's always completely out of order."

Ryan smirks at her, "That's a very important concern, Pam."

Pam takes a sip of her beer. "Whatever, I'm just saying that at the end of this episode, Joey's gonna kiss Rachel and we'll be left hanging."

Ryan reaches for the remote and turns up the volume, and Monica and Paul Rudd argue over ping pong, filling the room with canned laughter. "I never realized you were a Friends expert, Pam. Besides, isn't this the second part of two?"

She raises her eyebrow. "Now who's the expert?"

"The episode started with a 'Previously.' I'm just astute, not overly into Friends."

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say."

He laughs. "You know what? Maybe you should just go."

She doesn't want to move. "Maybe I should."

He's staring at the screen now, not looking in her direction. "Want another piece?"

"Thanks." She wonders if it's one of those lucky days where you stumble upon a Friends marathon. That would be nice.

*

Pam had wondered if it would last, or if it was a one time thing; hanging out with Ryan in his living room was fun, surprisingly fun. He had even borrowed some of his roommate's Friends DVDs ("He'll kill me for telling someone he owns these") so they could continue, but they ended up stopping once Joey and Rachel fell apart, since they both agreed that Ross was too much of a tool in the later seasons to deserve her. When she left, Ryan had stood at the door, nodding as she thanked him, and finally stumbled out, "we'll do this again sometime, maybe?" Even though she smiled and nodded back at him, she figured it was just him being polite, caught up in a moment; you can't watch a few hours of Friends without wanting, well, friends. Or an apothecary table. A Chandler of your very own. That's just how it works. It's the common ground of an entire generation.

So she's surprised when she gets an email from him the day after the bird funeral, with the subject line "That's Weekend at Bernie's". She doesn't click on it right away for some reason, cleaning out her old deleted emails instead, rearranging her Outlook folders. She finally opens it.

When I was little, I could see dead people. My mom sent me to see a therapist, and he really helped me and we grew rather close. Unfortunately, it turns out he was dead all along, murdered by one of the New Kids on the Block. It was so depressing.

She can't hold in her laughter, and a giggle escapes. When she looks over in his direction, Ryan's smiling at his computer screen, avoiding eye contact. She feels like she hasn't laughed at work in so long. She clicks on reply and thinks while she waits for the window to load.

My fiance who I loved so very much was killed, and I was devastated. Luckily, he haunted a sassy psychic and I was able to make out with him one last time while he inhabited her body. It really helped with my grief.

She sits for a minute before replying, not wanting to seem too eager, or too desperate for normal interaction. She adds a line at the bottom of the email, anyway.

This is so much more fun than, well, anything else we do here, huh?

After hitting "send" Pam tries not to look in his direction, especially after she can hear him laugh quietly. She goes to the bathroom, walking quickly past his desk, before sitting down and refreshing her inbox.

Ditto, Pam. Ditto.

He didn't say anything else, and she wonders if that's it, that's the end of their quasi-friendship, when she notices a new email, this time from Dwight, informing her that she's been making entirely too many bathroom breaks and should think about reducing her fluid intake. Well, that settles it. She clicks on Ryan's name, opening a new reply window.

*

"Ryan, is this weird?"

Ryan turns from the counter where he's putting butter on the popcorn. "If you're talking about the apple cinnamon popcorn flavoring, then yes, it is weird, and no, we're not going to use it."

Pam reaches for a handful of napkins, awkwardly stuffing them in her purse before picking up their sodas from the counter. "Ew. That's disgusting. No, I meant...this. Is this weird?"

Ryan makes a face, handing their tickets to the kid with acne awkwardly wearing a bow tie. "No. Weird would be going to see Employee of the Month. Which I know you secretly want to."

She follows him as he walks into the dim theater, talking to the back of his head as he makes his way up the stairs to the middle of the theater. "Oh GOD, I told you once that I thought Dane Cook used to be funny at one time in his life, and you're never going to forget, are you?"

He makes his way to the middle of the row, sitting down. "Nope. It's always going to be burned into my memory." He smirks, putting on a slightly higher voice. "I don't know, Ryan, I saw one of his early specials once, it wasn't that bad."

"Shut up."

"Do you just want to go sneak into the theater that's showing his movie? I bet you'll have the whole place to yourself."

"Yeah, and you just want to be alone with Hugh Jackman." She feels flustered, and it feels like forever until she can finally get her cup to align with the cup holder. Her hand is covered in condensation, and she wipes it on her jeans. Ryan's watching her, an amused expression on his face.

Someone sits in the row right in front of them, and his voice is softer when he answers. "Whatever, Pam."

She wonders if it's worth bringing up again. "So, as I was saying."

"Shhhh." He puts his finger to his lips, and she punches his shoulder.

"The movie doesn't start for-" she twists her neck to look at his watch, "ten minutes."

"You better not be someone who talks during previews, Pam, because I will make you move to the front. Your neck will hurt for a week." He holds out the popcorn bag to her, and she takes a handful, sighing and shaking her head.

"Never mind."

"Hey," Ryan's leaning over the armrest between them now, and she can feel his Pepsi-sweet breath on her cheek. "We talked about this, right?"

She feels like an idiot. "Yeah."

"You don't want to date me, I don't want to date you, we can just be friends."

"Forget I brought it up." Since they started sending daily emails back and forth, a month or so ago, they've been friends, hanging out once, then again, and again. The other day she realized she'd seen him four times outside of work in one week, and talked to him on the phone the other three nights. She can't remember the last time she's had a friend, a real friend, who's a guy (she's realized by now that Jim most emphatically did not count), and it's, well. It's weird. Ryan never struck her as a friend. To anyone, really. It's a surprise.

Although right now she kind of wants to punch him in the face as he laughs and says, "I'm sorry you're so socially retarded that you don't know how to have friends."

"Okay, seriously, you can stop any time now."

Ryan leans over, bumping her shoulder with his own. "Sorry. Just remember, if we run into Kelly, we're dating and you were the one who forced me to see The Prestige, okay?"

Pam rolls her eyes. "I know." The one thing they've agreed on is that at work nothing's changed - they've both had enough with the cameras to know that their sudden friendship would be a disaster. In the week after Kelly broke up with Ryan, he spent more time in the conference room answering questions than sitting at his desk. Since then, whenever Randall or Ken approach him he just glares into the lens until they give up. Pam actually finds that kind of impressive. She's been trying to perfect her own glare, especially whenever someone mentions Jim and the camera automatically swivels in her direction, but so far she's only been able to manage a look that Ryan's labeled as "I might be constipated". She's still working on it.

The lights dim even further, and Ryan stretches, reclining his seat. "Hey, Pam." His face looks green from the screen as the first preview starts.

"What?"

"If you try to hold my hand, I reserve the right to slap you. I don't care that you're a girl."

She fixes him with a stare. "I thought you didn't want talking during the previews."

Ryan holds out the popcorn like a peace offering. "If it helps, that was a pretty good one. Less constipation, more anger."

She grabs the bag from his hands. "Shut up."

*

On the day Michael announces Jim and a few others are transferring from Stamford, Ryan breaks their work agreement and comes over to her desk. Pam feels tense, like her whole body is on pins and needles and she's afraid to move because it'll hurt. She looks up to meet his eyes, and he smiles.

"Hey," he looks around, and she knows he's checking for a camera before continuing, "you okay? I sent you an email, but you didn't answer."

"Oh." She looks over at her computer's dull black screen, hibernating since she hasn't touched it in an hour. "I hadn't checked."

"Yeah, you've just been sitting here." He laughs, and it sounds a little forced. "Did Michael give you a lobotomy when I wasn't looking?"

"No." Ryan looks so nervous, Pam doesn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, I'm okay."

"You are?" His eyebrows look like they're on a race to his hairline.

"Totally." To prove her point, she reaches for the mouse, sliding it across the mousepad so her computer hums to life again. "You should probably sit back down before Ken notices you're over here."

He sighs. "Yeah, you're right."

She watches him walk to his desk. They'd only talked about Jim once in the past three months. Ryan had asked her about it one night when they were out at some dive bar, laughing over dollar beers. She was drunk enough to tell him everything, sober enough to try and sugarcoat the really bad parts. In the end, she had to stop and change the subject because Ryan got so pissed off, and that wasn't necessary for anyone. Although it made her feel nice, after months of beating herself up over what happened. And it was maybe pretty hilarious when Ryan ran his hands through his hair until it was a mess and did a Jim impression. Not that she laughed at it, or anything.

Actually, thinking about it now makes her feel a little better, and she opens her email, clicking on a forward from Michael so she can save Ryan's for last.

*

Ryan's sitting in her crowded kitchen, thumbing through a cookbook and being the least helpful person she's ever met. And that's being nice.

He turns the page. "Why are you making cookies, again?"

Pam exhales, trying to blow her hair out of her eyes as she wonders how she managed to get flour absolutely everywhere. "I told you, I wanted to do it for the new people coming tomorrow. And you were coming to help, remember?"

"I am helping." He looks up at her frustrated expression and motions for her to lean forward, running his fingers along her forehead and tucking her hair behind her ear. "There. What would you do without me?"

She smiles, flicking some flour in his direction. "Stop trying to take advantage of me in my vulnerable state."

He calmly looks back down at the cookbook. "You wish."

"No, you do." Pam feels out of sorts and restless, like she has to keep busy to stop from thinking about how Jim is returning tomorrow, the first time she's seen or talked to him since he left in May. Making cookies probably wasn't the best idea, but it was better than thinking about what will happen, and when Ryan called to ask her what she was up to, she'd invited him over to help.

Which he does, now, standing and helping her clean up as she shoves the last batch in the oven and sets the timer. He lingers near the already cooling cookies long enough that she gives in, grabbing a plate and throwing a few on before following him into her cramped sitting room. They sit on her loveseat (the stupid Ikea sofa she bought couldn't fit through the door, dammit, and it still pisses her off, because it was cute and cheap) and eat the cookies in silence for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the cars on the street outside.

"So," Ryan taps her knee with his index finger.

"So what?"

He crosses his arms. "Nervous about tomorrow?"

Pam knows he'll see through it, but she laughs anyway. "No, of course not."

"Yeah, this is the calmest I've ever seen you. You're like Buddha."

She ignores the annoyed look on his face. "Wanna rub my belly for luck?"

He smirks. "Sure." He reaches his hand over.

Pam slaps it away. "God, don't touch me, I was kidding." She can hear her voice, how sharp it sounds. She feels like shit. Ryan's breathing loudly a foot away from her, and it sounds like he's struggling to make sure it all comes out even. She wants to apologize, but she waits for him to speak instead.

"Are you going to be honest now?'

She sighs. "I'm terrified. I don't want to see him, but I also feel like...I don't know, I really want to see him."

Ryan mutters under his breath. "I don't know why."

"Hey." Pam studies her fingernails. "I told you to be nicer about him."

He snorts. "That was me being nicer."

"Ha. I guess I'm just- I'm nervous about seeing him every day again, you know?"

"Just tell Michael to put him back with Kelly, that'll solve a lot of problems, actually."

Pam suddenly feels so grateful, like the temp agency somehow knew that she would need a sarcastic jerk in her life and sent her Ryan. She shifts, leaning over and resting her head on his shoulder. "Thanks."

When he speaks, she can feel his voice vibrating through his shoulder. "I'm serious, put the douchebag where no one has to see him."

Pam pats his knee with her hand, lets it rest there for a minute. "Okay, enough help."

He jiggles his knee underneath her fingers. "I'm not coming to your pants party, Pam, I'm sorry."

She groans, sitting up as the timer dings in the kitchen. "Okay, I'm going to go get those, you put in Anchorman."

Pam can hear the smile in his voice when he mumbles behind her, "I don't know why you think I'd want to watch that."

*

When Ryan walks in the next morning, he does a double take.

"Hey," he says, speaking quietly while he takes off his coat behind her desk, "you look good."

Pam can feel herself blushing, and she tucks her hair behind her ear, feeling like an idiot. "Don't sound so surprised."

Ryan narrows his eyes at her. "That's not what I meant. If this is because of...you know, then just..." he turns away from her, reaching for the highest hook. "Stop doing this to yourself."

She can feel her nails digging into her palm. "Stop doing what? So I spent a little extra time fixing my hair. It doesn't mean anything." Except it does, it means everything, and Ryan knows that she didn't go to sleep until at least 1, since that's when he left her place. She hopes she put enough concealer under her eyes to hide the fact that she slept 2 hours total. It's sick.

"Yeah, it doesn't mean anything, you're right." Ryan's voice has reached the point she knows well, where it's just past sarcasm and veering toward mean, angry; she wishes she could get him to understand this, this one thing. But she knows that he's so far removed from a normal relationship that he wouldn't understand what happened with Jim. What might happen.

"Ryan." She nods at Michael's door, which is half open, both cameras inside as he talks loudly about the new blood coming, including his favorite old blood, Jiminy Cricket.

Ryan follows her gaze. "Oh. Right." He walks over to his desk and she tries not to notice how his shoulders slump as he sits. The cameras are still occupied with Michael near the entrance, so she thinks about walking over to his desk because this day is hard enough already without worrying about Ryan, what Ryan thinks. Although she wonders if she should care what Ryan thinks, because maybe she considers him her best friend, and-

Wait. The thought gives her pause as she straightens her sweater and looks over at him. Her best friend? Does four months of friendship make Ryan her best friend? Is she too old for best friends? It's not like she feels the urge to go buy a Best Friends Forever necklace, to ask Ryan to wear half. She doesn't write him color coded notes folded into intricate shapes. Except she did change her font color on her emails to him during the day. He said he liked the green better. But green befonted emails does not a best friend make.

She had jokingly referred to Jim as her best friend, once, in front of him; they were having lunch and laughing about something and she'd said it, casually. Jim had paused, and, she remembered, taken a long drink before smiling and changing the subject. At the time, it wasn't a big deal. Except how at the time, it was a huge deal. She's taken to looking at all of her memories through a "what was I thinking?" filter, and nothing really makes sense. Just like right now as she watches Ryan listen to his voicemail. Whatever. He's her friend, and that's all that really matters. And it's not like Jim, because everything's on the table, it's not mixed signals. Ryan's not in love with her, because that's just not how they work.

Michael and the cameras walk by, escorting some guy in a plaid shirt to his desk, when she hears him. He's laughing in the hallway, and she feels like an idiot because she automatically stands up. And when he walks in, he's holding some girl's hand. She sits back down and tries to remember how to breathe.

"Pam, hi." Pam finds that her legs still know how to work as she stands, smiling up at him like he never told her he was in love with her.

"Jim." She leans forward awkwardly, bumping his arm as he drops the pretty brunette's hand to hug her, briefly. He even smells different.

"You look great." His smile, his voice, everything, is genuine, and her stomach aches.

"Thanks. Look at you!" Pam can hear her voice change, turning into the syrupy sweet tone she uses when her great aunt calls on her birthday.

"This is Karen." He nods his head toward her, Karen, and Pam wonders if the girl notices how Pam's fingers are like ice when she shakes her hand.

"Hi! I love your sweater." Karen smiles, and Pam can feel herself liking her, and she wishes she didn't and hates herself for wishing that she didn't all at the same time. She said no. He left. Karen's gorgeous and Pam's wearing a sweater her Mom knitted for her last Christmas. It just sucks, is all.

"Thanks, my Mom made it."

Karen nods, reaching and running her finger down the sleeve. "That's awesome, I've always wanted to knit." Great, and she's Miss Congeniality 2006 too. Pam almost wishes she was a gigantic bitch who would look her over and call her ugly or something, causing Jim to defend Pam's honor and maybe make out with her, just a little bit. Or a lot. It's been a long few months.

Jim reaches his arm around Karen's shoulders, pulling her close as he smiles at Pam. "Do you know where Karen's sitting? I want to make sure she gets settled in."

Pam swallows. "Um, I think Michael put her by Phyllis and Stanley, there." She points at the empty desk, watches as Jim leads Karen across the room. She feels like her mouth is unable to close and she can't look away as he helps her out of her coat, and then, just before Karen sits down, he kisses her. Pam looks down at her watch. 9:13. Seven hours and forty-seven minutes isn't that long, really. And she's sure Jim didn't kiss Karen (twice, oh God, when she glances over he's kissing her again) as some sort of affront to her, payback for all of the times she kissed Roy in front of him. She couldn't have honestly thought that Jim would come back after all of these months and still want her. Maybe it's enough that he did, once.

She watches as Jim leaves Karen and hovers over Ryan, who's sitting at Jim's old desk and staring at his computer.

"Hey, Ryan."

"Hmmm?" Ryan looks up. "Hey, Jim."

Jim stands there for another minute and looks up at Pam, and she can't look down quickly enough so he catches her eye. He winks, rolling his eyes at her and looking down at Ryan, and she wishes she could disappear as she smiles back and looks away, watching the rest of the scene unfold out of the corner of her eye.

"So you're sitting here now, huh?" Jim shuffles his feet and adjusts his bag on his shoulder.

"Yep. Actually, Michael said you could sit in the back with Kelly, if you wanted. That desk is still free." Ryan shrugs, picking up his phone. "I have to get this, it's probably important."

"It didn't-" Jim starts, trailing off before sighing and walking around Ryan's desk to the one facing Dwight. "Hey, Dwight."

"You're allowed to sit across from me, Jim, but only if you can behave like a professional." Dwight glares over his monitor.

"Yeah, whatever." Jim sits down, his back facing her, and she looks over to Ryan, who's hanging up his phone with a smirk on his face.

God, she's so glad Ryan's her best friend.

*

So it turns out that Karen's sort of awesome. Dammit. Pam had suspected her awesomeness on that first day, when she'd looked appropriately horrified by her new surroundings. So when Karen walks up to her in the break room two weeks after the transfer, asking if she can join her, Pam's actually looking forward to getting to know her.

Pam had gotten used to eating lunch alone, usually at her desk. It was an easy way to get around her work rule with Ryan, because most of the time he would eat at his desk, too, and they'd IM back and forth. The downside to this, of course, are all of the crumbs that end up in her keyboard, which suck. But then she had complained about it to Ryan on the day she'd dropped a whole corner of her Pop-Tart under her space bar, never to be seen again, and the next day when she came in he was there early and already sitting at his desk, one of those cans of air sitting on her chair. That Pop-Tart corner never knew what hit it.

But. On the day Karen sat next to her, Ryan was out on a sales call and Pam had decided to sit alone in the break room.

"So. Pam." Karen opens her container of salad, poking her fork around before taking a bite and chewing slowly, swallowing. "I just wanted to let you know something right away."

"Oh?" Pam can feel herself shrinking, worrying that Karen caught her at her daily routine of staring at the back of Jim's head.

Karen smiles. "It's not a big deal. I just didn't want you to worry, because, you know, Jim told me."

Pam chooses her words carefully, because that could mean anything, really. In fact, she really hopes that Jim told Karen about every stupid prank they've pulled on Dwight. "Told you what?"

"About all of the history. With you two. Well, I'm sure he left a lot of it out," Karen shrugs, "but I mean, I know about why he left. And I don't want it to be weird for you." For a moment, Karen looks terrified, uncertain. "It's not a big deal if it is, though."

Pam looks at Karen's face, so painfully nonchalant and nervous, and wants to reach across the table and hold her hand. "It's-It was a little weird, at first," Pam admits, without knowing why. "But I hadn't talked to Jim in a long time, and I just never thought he'd be back here?" She can hear how it all sounds like a question, like she's asking Karen if that's it, if that's what she wants to hear.

"When we first started seeing each other, he'd mentioned something briefly, and then when we both came here, and he told me more, I didn't know..." Karen trails off, looking down at the table, and Pam kind of wishes she could turn off all of her feelings for Jim, forever, to make things easier for everyone.

"It'll be okay." It will. It has to be. Things are still awkward with Jim, but...he's dating Karen. Pam has her own life. Kind of. Almost. She's working on it.

"Thanks." Karen finally looks up, smiling again. "I know I'm probably a huge bitch for saying anything, but...well, I'm just a huge bitch. Angela thinks so, I can tell."

Pam lets herself laugh. "Trust me, it's best to get Angela hating you out of the way. Just accept it and move on."

Karen starts poking at her salad again. "I get the feeling that there should be a whole manual just on how to deal with everyone in this office."

"Oh, I have it in my desk. I'll make you a copy. You'll find the Creed section enlightening."

"I really hope you're joking. Although, if you could tell me how to get Michael to stop talking to me in an Italian accent and saying my last name over and over again, that would be helpful."

"Well," Pam bites her bottom lip. "Either someone new needs to show up with an incredibly ethnic name, or you just have to wait it out until you eventually settle into just a nickname, sans accent. I'm betting you'll end up as one of the Desperate Housewives, but that's just speculation on my part."

Karen stares at her. "Oh my God, how long have you worked here?"

"I would show you the rubber band ball I started during my first week to give you a rough idea, but I don't want to depress you."

"That's the worst thing I've heard today, and you hear a lot of bad things, here." The look on Karen's face is sympathetic, and before she can ask (Pam knows she's going to ask) why Pam's been here for so long, Pam changes the subject.

"Your hair is really gorgeous, by the way. I wish mine could be...shiny. Like that." Pam's babbling, but she thinks that it might work. And it's true, Karen looks like the kind of girl who never wakes up looking like Carrot Top.

Karen shakes her head before smiling and reaching a hand up to touch her own hair self-consciously. "Thanks, I have this spray stuff that I paid way too much for the last time I got a haircut, it's amazing."

Pam smiles. "What's it called?"

By the time lunch is over, Pam has three new hair products she wants to try written on a post-it she sets on her desk, and she doesn't feel like looking at Jim's neck when he sits on his desk. It's a good day.

Well. Except she emails Ryan to tell him about her lunch and when he replies, he says:

So did you always know you were a lesbian, or is this recent? Are you experimenting? Can I observe?

Jerk. Pam knew she should have left out the part about telling Karen her hair was shiny. She doesn't reply.

*

It's a few days before Christmas, and Pam feels out of sorts, because the couple of art classes she'd been taking are over and her routine is messed up, tilted off its axis. Her routine. She hates to think of it that way, because it almost makes her feel like a child, a newborn, a toddler, whose routine is delicate, liable to fall apart and leave them lost. But she feels lost. Work is the same: Michael; listening to Kelly; maintaining her tentative friendship with Karen. Pissing off Angela. Pretending like she doesn't know Ryan.

And Jim.

Jim is the same. Jim is different. Jim's dating Karen. Pam tries to think of him in simplistic terms because then she can at least pretend that it's not really that complicated. It's easier that way. He doesn't come and hang over her desk like he used to, but little things from the past have crept into the present, slowly. She's Beesly again. Which was disconcerting, at first, especially since she'd finally admitted to Ryan how she hated when people called her that, even more than Pammy, because she always felt like an extra in a buddy cop movie. But the first time Jim said it, they were alone in the break room and he watched her as she kicked the vending machine, trying to shake her pretzels free as they stubbornly hung on the hook.

She could hear him laughing behind her. "Thanks for the help, Jim. Really." She was getting frustrated and wished he would either leave, or punch his fist through the glass and rescue her damn pretzels for her.

"You know, I could go get Karen, she was kind of the expert at junk food retrieval at Stamford. You know," he'd smiled at her, shaking his arm, "skinny little noodle arms."

Pam had kicked the vending machine extra hard instead of answering, and the bag had finally broken free, landing with a satisfying crunch.

If she closes her eyes now, Pam can remember how Jim's eyebrows had shot up, and his lips curled into a real smile, a smile she hadn't seen in months, before he said, "Impressive, Beesly," and left. She'd lost her appetite after that, and left the bag on the table. She saw Creed eating them later that day, and she felt a little better.

Another thing is that Jim's been sending her McSweeney's articles again. It was something he always did, before, and they'd always made her antsy, because sometimes, he'd send her "The 4-year-old's Workday" with the subject line, "Michael??" and she could laugh, especially since Michael had actually sent a forward with the subject line "poo-poo" the week before. But then other times, it would be "Them! The Play" and she'd have to pretend to laugh when he looked in her direction even though she thought it was kind of lame.

So far, it's been some amusing stuff, and it means he turns around to look at her more, so that helps. Sometimes she still wants to tell him that some of what he's sending her is self-important crap, but about two years ago he'd submitted a piece (he rewrote the lyrics to "Ironic" to make them, well, ironic, and sometimes Pam thinks he only did it as a cover after she caught him on an Alanis fansite one day), and was rejected. She knows it would disappoint him if she thought something they approved wasn't good when they'd denied him. Even now, years later. It's just how Jim is. She wonders if Karen knows that yet.

It doesn't matter, though, what Karen knows or doesn't know. It shouldn't, anyway. Especially now, since Karen told her yesterday that Jim's coming home with her to Connecticut over the holidays. Which...is great. It really is.

What Pam really wishes is that she could talk to Ryan about it, but that...is not an option. They've come to an unspoken agreement that it's just something Ryan won't do. Well, it's not really unspoken, since one day she was talking about Jim and Karen and Ryan had looked over at her and said, "I'm not going to do this anymore. Seriously, he's not fucking worth all this." At the time she just didn't feel like agreeing with him even though she knew he was partly right, so she'd stormed off and refused to answer his calls for two days. Which she did to Roy once, in high school, and she felt stupid and 16 again after the first time she silenced Ryan's ring, but Roy stopped calling after the first day and Ryan kept texting her, so she decided to grow up and called him back. They haven't talked about it since.

One of Angela's cats is sick again, so Pam offers to clean up after the Christmas party. She's putting away the last of the plates, standing on a chair and stuffing them in the cupboard over the fridge when Ryan speaks up behind her.

"I don't think Angela would approve of you putting those there."

Pam jumps, losing her balance. She can feel Ryan's hand on the small of her back, steadying her as she steps down. "God, stalker. I didn't know you were still here."

He shrugs, taking the chair from her and moving it by the table. "I was finishing up a few things since I'm taking a few extra days off."

"Since when?" Pam walks past him, back into the office, flipping the switches along the walls on her way until the only light is over reception and Ryan's right behind her.

He hands her her scarf before shrugging into his own coat. "Since today. My Mom called and said that until Dad's back on his feet, we're going to have Christmas at my Aunt's in Harrisburg, so I'm going there for a few days."

"Oh." She looks down. They hadn't said they were going to do anything over the holiday, but she had figured he'd at least be around.

"You're going to your parents', right?" He looks back at her and waits for her to pick up her purse before he flips the final switch, and the office is so dark she misjudges and bumps into him.

She clears her throat as they make their way to the elevator. "Yeah, I'll be there Christmas Eve and Christmas Day."

"Have fun."

She looks over at him as the elevator doors close. "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning."

She stares ahead at the OTIS sign, and it just slips out. "Jim's going to Connecticut with Karen."

She looks over at Ryan, and she can see his jaw clench, briefly. When the doors open, he nods, waiting for her to go first. He doesn't talk until they're standing in front of her car, his breath pooling in front of him as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Are you okay with that?"

It takes her a minute to realize he's answering her. "Um. Well. Yeah."

He laughs, a staccato breath. "Give the girl an Oscar."

She finally laughs, and it feels like everything inside her is releasing. "Seriously, I don't know if it'll ever not affect me, you know? But right now," she pushes her hair out of her eyes and shakes a little in the cold. "Right now, I'm actually feeling okay about it."

Ryan narrows his eyes at her, shaking his head before smiling. "You know what, I believe you."

"Gee, thanks."

"Well, either that, or you're getting better at lying."

Pam's too cold to stand outside anymore, and presses the button on her key. "Shut up."

"You shut up. And hey," he reaches forward, punching her shoulder. "Have a good Christmas."

She holds out her arm. "What, did you just see a VW Bug? You don't punch friends, Ryan. Which is probably why I'm your only one."

Ryan snorts, rubbing his hands together while she opens her car door. "Yeah, I forgot you have a brazillian friends, and I'm lucky that you deign to hang out with me once in awhile."

"Fine, we're both losers."

"That's more like it. Listen, I'm getting hypothermia over here, so I'm gonna go."

"Okay." Without thinking, she leans forward, kissing his cheek. It's surprisingly warm.

Ryan stares at her for a moment. "Oh. So we're doing that now."

Pam turns and gets into her car. "Shut it, that was a one time holiday deal."

"Merry Christmas to me. Or, actually, to you."

Pam fumbles with her keys, looking up at him as he closes her door. "Whatever."

He smirks at her as she pulls away.

*

Ryan hands Pam another beer. "I should have known this was going to be the worst party ever."

Pam grabs the bottle from him and downs half of it in one drink. When she comes up for air, Ryan's staring at her.

"Okay, now I'm convinced it's the worst party ever. Am I driving you to alcoholism?"

Pam feels light, just the right amount of lightness. "I'm just glad I'm not sitting home alone on New Year's Eve."

Ryan laughs. "Right, instead you're sitting in my home and watching all of the young Republicans in Scranton party it up."

"Alex P. Keaton knows how to throw a party." She looks over across the room at the large group of people giving them the stink-eye. "Wow, they reallllly don't like us, huh?"

"Maybe that's just how their faces are," Ryan grins, laughing, "you know, it's just their faces."

Pam starts giggling. "That would be unfortunate."

Ryan shares a house with two other guys: the mysterious Mack who she's never met, and the only thing she knows about him is that he once tried to shotgun a Heineken draught keg using an ice pick and was "almost successful" (sometimes she's 99% sure Ryan is making him up), and Alex (P. Keaton), a guy Ryan's knows through business school. When Pam first met Alex, he was wearing a sweater vest and wrinkled his nose when Ryan mentioned she was an artist. Alex hates Pam, especially after Ryan got drunk one night and told him that not only did they watch his Friends DVDs without asking, but also that Pam calls him Alex P. Keaton behind his back. Apparently, Alex felt it was some sort of slight against his height.

But she didn't have any other plans, so when Ryan called her and told her that a) he was finally home(after a week, who knew Harrisburg was some sort of Ryan Bermuda Triangle?), and b) Alex was throwing a NYE party and there were free drinks to be had, she'd come over right away. Alex and his friends weren't too happy. Still not happy.

Pam gives the one with the worst case of bitch face her best withering glare, and Ryan starts laughing. "Okay, maybe we should get out of here."

"Where? We've both been drinking."

"Let's just go to my room." Alex walks by as Ryan stands, holding out a hand to help Pam up.

"You two leaving? Oh, shame."

"Relax, Alex, we're just going upstairs." Ryan claps him on the back, hard. "Thanks for the beers, by the way."

"Don't go in my room." Alex makes a weird clucking noise with his tongue, and Pam fights the urge to start doing the Chicken Dance, but her left arm feels heavier than her right one, and she doesn't want to fall over in a room full of responsible young adults who would judge her for not having her life together yet.

"Whatever you say. Come on, lightweight." Ryan grabs Pam's wrist before she can do anything and she follows him up the stairs, tripping a little at the top. When they get to Ryan's room, she sits on the edge of the unmade bed.

"What time is is, anyway?"

Ryan looks at his watch, closing the door behind himself. "11:30."

"Half an hour."

"Yep." Ryan kicks off his shoes in the direction of his closet and Pam moves, rearranging his pillows and sitting against the headboard. "Move over." He flops down on the bed next to her, and Pam bounces in the other direction.

"Whoa, when did you get a water bed?"

Ryan laughs. "Water bed? One bounce and you're convinced you're sailing the seas?"

Pam pulls off her sweater, straightening her t-shirt. "It's hot in here."

"You do look kind of flushed." Ryan waves a pillow in front of her face. "Here, I'll fan you."

The pillow hits her chin. "Okay, not helping."

"Sorry. So," he says, settling back and grabbing the remote from the middle of the bed and flipping the TV on. "What do you want to watch?"

"I don't know. Not Dick Clark-less New Year's Rockin' Eve."

Ryan flips through the channels. "Right. That's just depressing."

"It is." Pam rearranges the pillow behind her head.

"Hey, Blair Witch is on."

"I've never seen it."

"Yeah, you're not missing much." But he leaves it on, tossing the remote between them.

"So...why are we watching it, then?"

"Because we're bored?"

"That works." Pam slouches down, stretching out her legs so she and Ryan make parallel lines on his bed, their shoulders almost touching. She still feels warm, but it's comfortable now, like she's covered in a down comforter or floating in sun-warmed water. They watch in silence for a few minutes until everything starts swimming in front of her eyes.

"Okay, watching this is making me nauseous."

Ryan's voice drifts over from next to her. "Just close your eyes." When she turns her head, she can see that his are closed, his chest rising and falling in slow waves.

Pam glances back to the TV screen, the shaky camera work making her dizzy. She closes her eyes, stretches her arm so it touches Ryan's all the way down to their fingertips, and inhales deeply.

*****

To be continued...