Story Notes:
The week between Beach Games and The Job has been the subject of much speculation as to what was happening in the mind and life of Jim Halpert. I thought it deserved some in-depth exploration.
Standard disclaimer applies. I don't own these characters, just enjoy speculating about them.
Standard disclaimer applies. I don't own these characters, just enjoy speculating about them.
Author's Chapter Notes:
To that dynamic duo, Talkative and Blanca, for their patient encouragement, invaluable insight, and many hours of amusement.
Abeyance (n.): a state of temporary inactivity
A week is more than enough time for us to decide whether or not to accept our destiny. ~ Paulo Coelho
Abeyance (n.): a state of temporary inactivity
A week is more than enough time for us to decide whether or not to accept our destiny. ~ Paulo Coelho
~
Friday
By the time they got back from the beach, it was after nine. Most everyone had gone home immediately after departing the bus, but Jim noticed that Dwight had gone up to the office, followed shortly thereafter by Angela.
So that’s still going on.
Michael had Pam trapped against her car, her hand poised on the handle as she smiled and nodded dutifully. He was standing a little too close, as always, but Pam didn’t seem to mind. Her expression was patient, indulgent, almost affectionate but for the slightly mocking tilt of her smile.
Not that Jim was watching.
She glanced his way briefly, and the quirk of her mouth, her faintly lifted eyebrow, pulled an answering smile to the corners of his own lips even as it rekindled a familiar, painful longing in his chest.
Karen was rubbing his arm. “So I’ll meet you at your place?”
He looked down at her, pausing with his hand on the roof of his car. He wanted desperately to be alone. Yet as carefully light as her tone had been, she wore a flinty expression that warned the price of his refusal. He nodded, “Sure,” without quite meeting her eyes.
“Great. I’ll go home and change and see you there in…half an hour?” She gave him a sunny smile, jingling her keys.
“I’m gonna stop by the liquor store,” he decided. “Red or white?”
“Red,” she said with a decisive nod, and without warning reached up to pull him down for a kiss.
He closed his eyes, but didn't pull away.
Saturday
He awoke on the couch sometime after two in the morning, stiff-necked and dry-mouthed and aching all over. Karen lay curled up along his side, tucked under his arm. The TV was still on, flickering images of an infomercial for Debbie Meyer Green Bags throwing shadows on the walls.
Jim shifted his shoulder and winced a little at the sharp pain that shot through his numbed left arm. Carefully, slowly, he slipped out from beneath Karen and headed for the bathroom.
She’d been relaxed and warm all evening. He hadn’t expected that, steeling himself before her arrival for another long discussion about Pam and his feelings and what did this mean.
I called off my wedding for you.
The truth is none of that meant anything until I met you.
I miss having fun with you.
And you’re with Karen now, and that’s…
I wish you would.
He had a headache. His thoughts were jumbled and scattered and refused to fall into any kind of decipherable pattern. She was finally admitting she had feelings. She called off her wedding for me. No, she just wanted to be friends again. Having fun. What’s that?
I wish you would.
To his surprise and immense relief, Karen had not pressed him to talk about it. Instead she showed up forty minutes late with a copy of Night at the Museum and a cardboard box full of Chinese takeout, and he found himself grateful for her presence after all.
She was a good friend.
He rubbed his temples and moved in the dark to his bedroom to take off his jeans. He heard Karen in the doorway as he slipped into his old Sixers t-shirt, but she said nothing, just touched his elbow as she moved past him to slide under the sheets. When he settled in behind her and slipped his arm around her waist she let out a soft sigh and fell almost immediately back to sleep.
Jim lay awake for a long time, staring out the window at the streetlight on the corner, finally drifting off toward dawn as the sky began to change from black to midnight blue.
~~~~
Less than two hours later, he woke to Karen’s mouth on him, her hair silky against his thighs, her tongue moving expertly along his shaft, teasing, inviting. He reached down blindly to plunge a hand into her hair and she looked up at him with a wicked smile in her eyes, picking up speed.
He closed his eyes and arched his hips up to meet her with a groan.
~~~~
Karen got up around ten. He lay listening to her making coffee, unwilling to get up himself, and fifteen minutes later she was coming around to his side of the bed, mug in hand. She set it down on the end table and perched on the edge of the mattress, reaching down to smooth his hair off his forehead. “Hey, sleepy. I made coffee.” She smiled and bent to kiss the corner of his mouth, as close as she’d get before he brushed his teeth. “It’s getting late, are you gonna sleep all day?”
“Maybe,” he mumbled.
“Fine, be a slug. I’m gonna go for a run. And maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll make you some lunch.” She grinned as she gazed down at him for a long moment, her expression turning concerned. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked cautiously.
He nodded. “Just tired.”
“Long day yesterday,” she agreed. “Too much sun maybe?” She smirked. “Clearly it makes people do crazy things.”
His eyes flashed a dark and silent warning, and her smile faded.
She cleared her throat, plucking at the comforter. “So, uh, I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t lock me out,” she added lightly. It didn’t upset her that he’d still not given her a key. Not really.
He glanced away uncomfortably, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Wake me up when you get back?”
“Okay.” She stood up and hesitated a moment. “You sure you don’t want to come? Might give you some energy,” she wheedled.
He shook his head, closing his eyes. “Jim sleep now,” he joked, pulling the sheet up over his head.
She laughed. “Dork.”
A minute later he winced as he heard the door slam shut behind her. She was always so forceful. It was the same with car doors, trunks, dresser drawers. For such a tiny person, it never failed to amaze him.
He managed to doze off for a while and heard her return about an hour later, her footsteps moving quickly down the hallway. “God, it’s humid today,” she announced. Her damp t-shirt hit the floor with a wet thwack. “I’m getting in the shower. Wanna join me?” she asked impishly, crawling onto the bed to curl up behind him, kissing his neck behind his ear. “Wake up, lazy.”
“Mmm. Half an hour,” he muttered.
She sighed, rolling off the bed. “Fine,” she said shortly. A few minutes later he heard her turn on the shower.
It was nearly one before he finally dragged out of bed and went to stand in the shower under the hottest water he could endure, letting it pour down his back until it ran cold. His thoughts kept going in the same endless circle, always coming back to one, inescapable conclusion: he had to talk to Pam. Really talk to Pam. About everything.
But Karen was waiting for him in the bedroom, perched on the edge of the bed. “You’re up!” she said brightly. “It’s about time.”
“Yeah…sorry.” He avoided her eyes as he turned to root around in his underwear drawer. “What have you been doing?”
“I watched Four Weddings and a Funeral. You really need to get an Xbox.” She smirked. “And I made us lunch even though you are wasting this day and don’t even deserve it. Grilled cheese and tomato soup?”
He wasn’t hungry in the slightest. “Sounds good,” he lied, forcing a smile.
He picked at the sandwich to be polite. The soup went down a little easier.
~~~~
“You don’t have any food, Halpert.” Karen bit her thumb, surveying the collection of condiments and aging take-out containers in the refrigerator. “We should go to the store. I don’t think I can take another pizza.”
“There’s gotta be leftovers from last night,” he said from his place on the couch. They’d spent the day watching the rest of a marathon of cheesy Hugh Grant rom-coms on TNT, and he’d never really gotten dressed, just pulled on some sweats and a threadbare t-shirt. The prospect of getting out and dealing with Saturday evening crowds at Wegman’s was distinctly unappealing.
She shot him a glance of annoyed impatience. “I think that much MSG two days in a row might just kill me,” she said lightly, but the implication was clear: Get up. We’re going out.
“I’m really not in the mood.” She was so fucking pushy sometimes. “Can’t we just make some spaghetti? I know I’ve got that.”
She sighed, shutting the fridge door. “Look, I’m bored, okay? I’ve got to get out of the house.”
“Well, you don’t have to stay here,” he snapped.
The satisfaction of finally saying what he felt was instantly quashed by the hurt that filled her face just before she turned away.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, pulling himself up. “I’m just…” He sighed. “Let me get dressed.”
“No, don’t bother, I’ll just…go,” she said roughly, reaching for her purse on the dining room table.
He touched her arm and she jumped a little. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “We’ll go.”
She glanced up at his chin, not quite meeting his eyes. “Jim…”
“Just give me a minute to get dressed,” he said firmly, giving her arm a squeeze. “Stay right here.”
Karen nodded and crossed her arms over her chest, staring at the floor.
~~~~
As it happened, Wegman’s wasn’t that crowded. He finally got Karen to laugh by making a few suggestive gestures with a particularly large zucchini, and she returned the favor by holding a pair of cantaloupes in front of her chest with a grin, “How d’ya like these melons?”
Maybe this was a good idea, he thought, right up until they ran into Pam in the frozen desserts aisle.
She looked as weary as he felt, a little disheveled in her rumpled Marywood sweatshirt and frayed jeans, hair tied back in a haphazard ponytail. “Hey,” he ventured.
She started. “Jim!” Her smile was wide and happy for less than a second before she saw Karen behind him, and the way it just seemed to fall off her face made something twist helplessly in his gut. “Uh…hi,” she mumbled, staring down at the pint of Chunky Monkey in her hand.
“Hi Pam,” Karen chirped, linking her arm through Jim’s. “Ooh, I love Ben and Jerry’s. Junk food run?” she smiled, gesturing at the tortilla chips and salsa in Pam’s basket.
“Yeah…” Pam’s gaze flitted from the carton to the door, seeming to contemplate putting it back for a moment, before dropping it defiantly into her hand basket.
“I am going to make Jim the best Sunday dinner he’s ever had,” Karen said in a silky voice, gesturing at their own cart full of hamburger, noodles, cheese and salad mix. “My mom’s lasagna.”
Pam eyed their groceries with an unreadable expression. “Sounds good,” she said faintly, before glancing at Jim with a hint of a smile. “Don’t forget the bread.”
Her smile, as always, pulled a small one from him. “Right.”
“Definitely. We’ll have to go back to the bakery.” Karen smiled up at Jim, stroking his forearm with her thumb. “Maybe they made some fresh French loaves.”
He was filled with a sudden, nearly irresistible urge to shrug her off. His fingers tightened reflexively on the cart handle.
“Shouldn’t it be Italian?” Pam joked.
Karen’s smile faltered, uncertain.
Pam’s smile turned apologetic before it disappeared altogether. “Well, um…see you.” She nodded once, politely, before turning on her heel and walking quickly back up the aisle. She didn’t look back.
Karen dropped his arm. “We should get some too,” she said, pulling open the freezer door and reaching for a pint of Cherry Garcia.
His favorite was Chunky Monkey.
He didn’t mention it.
~~~~
At one-thirty in the morning he was on the bathroom floor with his back pressed against the door, clutching his cell phone in a death grip with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, willing himself to just press send.
He’d spent countless nights in Stamford doing exactly the same thing.
After twenty minutes, he angrily brushed the tears from his cheeks as he snapped the cover shut and went back to bed.
It didn’t feel much like victory, this time.
Sunday
Sleep was impossible; by dawn he gave up trying and went to make coffee. His phone lay quietly on the kitchen table, mocking him.
She hadn’t tried to call him, either, he decided grimly, and although he knew why she wouldn’t, especially after the grocery store, the thought offered some bitter consolation.
I miss having fun with you.
That wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
I wish you would.
His headache was back. It had never really gone. He got up to look for aspirin, but he knew it wouldn’t help.
~~~~
Karen made French toast and eggs for breakfast. He picked at it disinterestedly, not wanting to seem ungrateful but finding it nearly impossible to force anything down his throat. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t remark on it.
The Phillies were playing Toronto. He flopped on the sofa with a beer while Karen settled in beside him. She wasn’t much of a baseball fan, but she curled up under his arm and pretended for a while.
By the end of the third, though, she was getting restless. She retreated into the kitchen during the next inning and began preparations for that night’s lasagna with what seemed to Jim to be an excessive clashing and banging of pots and pans. Passive-aggressive wasn’t really her style.
Asshole, his conscience rebuked.
He drained his beer and heaved himself to his feet to see if she’d let him help.
~~~~
“I need to get home,” Karen said at dinner.
Jim chewed slowly, his eyes on her face.
“Laundry and stuff.” She looked tired and a little defeated, picking listlessly at her salad without meeting his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said cautiously.
She was silent for a few minutes, the only sound the click of their forks against ceramic.
Finally she said quietly, “Did you want to come over?”
He finished chewing and swallowed, trying to think of just the right way to say maybe not tonight, I’m coming down with something, I have laundry too, any number of perfectly reasonable excuses that couldn’t, technically, allow her to be angry with him. But when he looked up, she was staring at him, and the uncertainty and vulnerability in her eyes was more than he could bear.
“Okay,” he nodded.
Her face brightened. “Yeah?”
It was good to see her smile.
Monday
Her car was in the parking lot, but Pam wasn’t at her desk.
Not that Jim was looking.
He hung his bag on his chair and sat down with a weary sigh. He hadn’t slept much; he never could get completely comfortable at Karen’s place. The bed was too small and she liked too many blankets. He couldn’t sleep when it was too warm. Not sleeping led to thinking and thinking led to more not sleeping and he still didn’t know what he was supposed to do.
Coffee.
The pot was already on. He poured himself a cup and closed his eyes, leaning against the counter as he crossed one arm over his chest and heaved a deep exhale.
“Did I make it too strong?”
The hairs on his arms stood up as Pam stepped up beside him to pour a mug for herself, and for an instant he didn’t open his eyes, taking a moment to breathe in the sweet, fruity scent of her hair. It was always vanilla before; now it smelled of some kind of berry. She changed shampoos.
When he opened his eyes she was looking at him, her face open, friendly. “Not possible,” he smiled.
She smiled back and tore open a creamer, reaching past him for a stir stick. She swirled it into her coffee for a moment without looking at him, and then lifted the mug to her lips and her eyes to his. “How are you?” she asked quietly, taking a sip.
A simple enough question.
“Good,” he lied.
She nodded, her gaze dropping back down to stare into her coffee.
“How are you?” he ventured.
She met his eyes again and for a few seconds he couldn’t breathe.
Tired.
Sad.
Lonely.
I miss you.
I wish you would.
She tore her gaze from his. “I’m good,” she said finally, moving past him to throw her stir stick away, heading for the door.
“Pam,” he blurted.
She turned.
“Thanks for… making the coffee,” he said lamely.
Her smile was warm. “You’re welcome.”
~~~~
Karen wanted to take him to lunch. He agreed without enthusiasm—his appetite had vanished into some unknown land, apparently never to return—and was a little surprised when she drove to her apartment.
“You gonna make me a sandwich, Fillipelli?” he joked as she shut the door behind them.
Her eyes sparkled. “I have something much better than that,” she growled in her sexy-voice. “It’s called Afternoon Delight.”
He grinned. “Hmm. Sounds good. What’s on that, turkey?”
She laughed and reached for his tie to pull him down to her. “C’mon,” she murmured against his lips, breaking away to tug him down the short hallway to her bedroom.
Karen with a plan was not a woman to be denied.
~~~~
They were ten minutes late coming back. He was careful to avoid Pam’s eyes for the rest of the day.
Tuesday
Karen was out on a sales call, and Pam had been alone in the break room for eight minutes.
Not that Jim was counting.
This is ridiculous.
Forcing himself to stand up on shaky legs, he headed in. He couldn’t really talk to her, not here, but he could be in the same room with her and make conversation like a normal person. He could try. She deserved that much.
Pam looked up as the door swung shut behind him. She smiled a little tightly and went back to her magazine.
It was on him to say something, he knew that, and he could feel the moment ticking by as he stood in front of the vending machine, pretending to ponder the snacks. At last he chose a Hershey bar and moved slowly toward her table. His limbs felt jerky and foreign, like he was a marionette. “Hey, um…” He cleared his throat and she looked up at him. “Want to, um, share this with me?”
Pam looked at the bar in his hand and back up to his face with a grin. “Well, duh.”
He exhaled the breath he didn’t know he was holding and pulled the chair out to sit across from her. “What are you reading?”
“Newsweek,” she said placidly, turning a page.
“Really?” He tore open the wrapper and broke off a square, leaning over to squint at what looked to be a shot of Cameron Diaz on the beach.
“Nah. I think it’s People.” She flipped the magazine over to look at the cover. “Pardon me. Us Weekly.”
He laughed and pushed the candy bar at her. “Great literature.”
“I wonder if anyone would read it if I brought in a copy of Pride and Prejudice and left it out,” she mused, reaching for the candy bar and breaking off a square.
“Yeah right. Nobody would ever sit at that table again,” he chuckled. “Years from now, the book’ll still be sitting there in pristine condition.”
She grinned. “Little did anybody know it was an original edition, signed by Jane Austen.”
“With her personal notations in the margins. ‘Darcy is a bit too much of a prick here. Best reel it in a bit in the next edition,’” he said in a falsetto English accent.
Pam giggled. “Yeah.”
They were quiet for a minute. Jim watched her fingers as she fiddled with the square, taking a tiny nibble of something meant to be eaten in one bite. She’d been biting her nails again; they were short, a bit ragged.
“Pam,” he said softly.
She looked up, a furrow in her brow at his tone.
He swallowed noisily. “I’m sorry.”
Her expression turned questioning.
“Just…for everything.” He forced himself to hold her gaze.
I miss you.
She gave a tiny nod. “Me, too.” She reached across the table and he thought she was going for the Hershey bar until she brushed her pinky against his, just barely.
He lifted his finger and hooked it through hers. An old gesture from a time long past, but it sent the same shiver down his spine now that it always had.
“Friends?” she whispered.
He had never seen her look so sad. It tore at his heart as it always had, so much worse now to know it was him and not Roy behind it.
“Always,” he promised.
She smiled and ducked her head a little, squeezing his finger briefly before she gently sliding her hand away to snap off a row of chocolate squares. “I should get back. Dwight’s been clocking our breaks again.”
“He must have gotten a new stopwatch then,” Jim mused, standing up with her.
Pam laughed. “You didn’t.”
He pushed the door open and stood aside to let her pass. “Nah. But it sounds like me.”
She grinned up at him as the door swung shut behind them. “Yes. Yes it does.”
He couldn’t stop smiling for an hour.
~~~~
Pam pinged him a little while later.
Receptionitis15: Jan just called. Michael told me to tell her he was running in the Boston Marathon.
JIM9335: You changed your screenname. I like it. Very clever. :)
JIM9335: Isn’t that next month?
Receptionitis15: I think so. You’re missing the point. :)
Receptionitis15: And thank you.
JIM9335: What did you tell her really?
JIM9335: And you’re welcome.
Receptionitis15: That he was with a client on the other line.
Receptionitis15: Can you imagine being Michael’s boss, though? It’s bad enough being his employee. No wonder she’s always so stressed out.
Jim stared at the phrase for a long moment. Michael’s boss.
Receptionitis15: ?
JIM9335: here
JIM9335: The New York job is Northeast Regional Manager, same as Jan’s job.
Receptionitis15: Oh. Really?
Receptionitis15: What about Jan, then?
JIM9335: I don’t know. I think she’s going to another region? Or maybe they’re just splitting the territory. I’m not sure.
Receptionitis15: So you could be Michael’s boss if you get it?
JIM9335: So it would seem.
Receptionitis15: Wow. You sure you’re up for that? ;)
JIM9335: We’ll see, I guess.
Receptionitis15: If you can manage Michael, you should get the Nobel Prize or something.
JIM9335: Hah. No kidding. I’ll be famous.
He was startled when his extension rang, and he reached for it too quickly, knocking it off the cradle. His throat was dry. Managing Michael. Jesus. What am I getting into? “Jim Halpert.”
“Hey, you.” Karen. “Did you have lunch yet?”
He could feel Pam’s eyes on him. “Yeah. It’s almost two,” he frowned, glancing at the time on his computer.
“I know, this ran longer than I thought it would. I’m on my way back, I was thinking you might be up for a little moreAfternoon Delight,” she said, her voice pitched low.
He chuckled a little nervously. “Oh. Um, that’s a really good offer, but…”
“Fine, be that way,” she sighed melodramatically. “I’ll be back in about twenty then. Want anything from Starbucks?”
“No thanks.”
“Okay. See you in a few. Love you.”
He swallowed. “See you soon.”
There was a silence. He could hear her breathing.
She hung up without saying anything else.
He set the receiver back in the cradle and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.
~~~~
On their way home, Karen decided they needed to get new suits for the interview.
Jim was resistant. He loathed shopping for clothes and he had a perfectly good gray suit he’d bought in Stamford that he was planning to wear.
“You can’t wear that, you need a dark suit for this interview,” she insisted, taking a left to go to the mall. “And you should get a haircut while we’re there.”
“Right,” he chuckled. It wasn’t the first time she’d suggested it.
“I’m serious. You can’t go in asking for a position at corporate looking like some homeless bum off the street,” she waved vaguely at his head.
“Homeless,” he repeated. “Nice.”
“Jim, you need a grown-up haircut. You look like you’re still in college,” she said impatiently. “Look, it’s just –if you go in looking all scruffy like that it says you’re not taking it seriously. Is that what you want?”
“Scruffy?”
She glared at him.
He sighed. “Fine. You think a buzzcut would send the right message?”
“Sure, if you’re joining the Army,” she retorted. “Do you seriously not see my point or are you really that attached to your hair?”
“I guess I just never knew you hated it so much,” he said coldly.
She drew back, her expression softening. “I don’t,” she said gently. “It’s not about that, it’s just…”
“Yeah, serious, grown-up, upwardly mobile, I get it.” He knew he sounded like a petulant child, but the conversation was making his head ache. Which was stupid, really. It was just hair.
Just hair.
“You’re right,” he sighed.
She smiled, triumphant.
Wednesday
Karen was barely out of the shower before he kissed her goodbye and walked out her door to get to work a little early. He had to review and compile all his numbers for the interview, and he already felt disorganized and out of sorts. He’d had a weird dream about Dwight somehow getting the job, and when he woke up at four in the morning he hadn’t been able to fall back to sleep in Karen’s too-short bed.
The haircut wasn’t helping, either. He barely recognized this smooth, businesslike version of himself. Every time he glanced in the mirror it was like looking at a stranger.
“Sexy-hot,” Meredith declared the new look, which was not particularly reassuring, but Pam liked it – or said she did, which was good enough – and he decided maybe it wasn’t so bad.
Certainly nothing like what Jan had done to her breasts. Wow.
He swiveled to catch Pam’s reaction and grinned at her open-mouthed gape.
It was really good to see her smile.
~~~~
He didn’t really have any desire to spend the night in New York, but it was easier to agree. And maybe it was exactly what he needed. He cast one last glance over his shoulder as they walked out, and Pam smiled at him and wished him luck, and as the door shut behind him he wondered why he felt kind of queasy.
Nerves, he decided.
Just nerves.
~~~~
Karen had a lot of friends in the city, and when they got back from gallavanting around like tourists she was immediately on the phone making plans for lunch the next day, and drinks tomorrow night, and maybe they could get theater tickets to Les Mis; from the sound of it, there wouldn’t be ten minutes to breathe before they went back home.
She’d had a little wine and, in her enthusiasm, was talking kind of loud. She smiled apologetically as Jim stepped out onto the balcony and shut the door quietly behind him.
The city spread out below him, noisy and bright and bustling. He wondered how he could still feel so alone in such a place, and heaved a sigh as he leaned out over the railing and tried to envision his life here.
It could be good. He’d be busy; Karen would see to that. He could start over. Again.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, scrolling through his contacts until he found her name. He’d removed her number from speed-dial last summer, but he’d never quite been able to delete it altogether.
His thumb hovered over the send button for a long moment before he pressed down and lifted the phone to his ear with a shaking hand.
There was a pause before it began to ring. Once. Twice.
“Jim?”
His heart stopped for a moment before he realized the voice wasn’t Pam’s. Swiveling around, he saw that Karen had poked her head out the door. “Sorry, I’m off the phone now—oh—sorry—who are you talking to?” she asked in a loud whisper.
“Hi, this is Pam. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.”
He snapped the cover shut. “My brother. He’s not home.”
“Oh.” A frown creased her forehead for a fleeting moment before she smiled. “Well, come on to bed. You want a drink?” Ice tinkled in her glass as she tilted it back and forth, lifting one eyebrow seductively.
“Sure. Make me whatever you’re having.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, summoning a smile. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
She peered at him more closely and he balled his hands into fists as he glanced away, pretending to study the skyline.
“All right. Just, um,” her voice pitched to the low tone that, a week ago, would have sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine, “don’t be too long.” She paused there in the doorway, gazing at him with a seductive smile, the light behind her shadowing her face a little, casting a nimbus around her hair.
So pretty.
She shut the door and he turned around again to look out over the city.
Karen was a great woman, really. Everything he should want in a woman. Beautiful, smart, witty, ambitious. She’d given him a reason to try to make someone laugh again. It was a good feeling. He’d missed it, more than he’d realized.
Once he made her laugh, it was easy. She had a decent sense of humor. She wasn’t above pulling a prank. Of course, she had no idea what pulling a prank meant, really, not in the sense Jim thought of them, but she was game.
Until the thing with Andy, anyway. That pissed her off. She’d called him immature and mean and said so fucking what if Andy was ‘fishing for him’ or singing incessantly in that voice that grated on Jim’s last, frayed nerve, does that mean you have to act like you’re twelve, too? You should be above it!
She had no idea who he really was.
Still, she’d stayed with him. She genuinely cared for him and wasn’t afraid to show it. She got frustrated with him sometimes, but that wasn’t really her fault. He knew he’d shown her a different face in Stamford.
He’d wanted to be that guy. He really, really had.
He was just so tired.
I don’t know what to do. Please just give me a fucking sign. Please.
~~
Chapter End Notes:
I'd love to hear your thoughts, of course. As always, thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it. :)
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