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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.

Inspired by this quote from The Fight:

Pam: Michael tends to procrastinate a bit whenever he has to do work. Um, timecards, he has to sign these every Friday. Purchase orders have to be approved at the end of every month, and expense reports … all he has to do is initial these … at the end of every quarter. But once a year, it all falls on the same Friday. That’s today. I call it The Perfect Storm.

Thanks to Pixel for the beta read.
It was a gloriously sunny morning in Scranton. Which was surprising, considering it was the end of March. The city was just emerging from a particularly cold and grey winter. In fact, it had even snowed lightly the day before. But Channel 16’s weather guy, Tom “Never Wrong” Clark, swore it would be a sunny and warm Friday; a brief respite from the cold and dreary weather that would follow over the weekend, and so far his forecast was right on.

The front door of Dunder-Mifflin’s office opened, and Michael sauntered in.

“Oh, no,” Pam sighed under her breath. She looked quickly at Jim, silently imploring him to save her from the impending doom that was Michael’s morning entrance. Jim widened his eyes and gave her a sympathetic shrug followed by a wry half-smile, as if to say, sorry Pam, we’re all stuck watching this daily travesty.

With a big grin on his face, Michael began strutting around Pam’s desk, loudly and badly mangling the lyrics to yet another one-hit wonder from 15 years ago. “I’m too sexy for these jeans, too sexy for these jeans, if ya know what I mean…”

“Shouldn’t that be means?” Jim helpfully pointed out.

“Shhhhhut it,” Michael hissed. Quickly trying to pick up where he left off, he continued, “And, I’m too sexy for this body, too sexy for this body, too….ugh…now I’ve lost my train of thought, and I can’t think of a word that rhymes with body.” Disgusted, Michael turned to Pam and asked for his messages.

“No messages this morning, but I do have—,” Pam started.

Michael eyed the three brightly colored folders that Pam was starting to hand to him and quickly retreated to his office. Twisting the rod to close the blinds, Michael’s voice could be heard through the closed door: “Got lots to do today, very busy, no interruptions, Pam.”

Pam knew she had lost this battle, and set her lips in a firm line. The war, however, was just beginning.

“Hottie,” Phyllis mumbled under her breath. “Hottie rhymes with body.”




After waiting an inordinate amount of time for Michael to come out of his office, Pam finally had had enough. She barged right in. She had interrupted Michael as he was reclined in his chair and facing his window with his shirt unbuttoned to expose the top half of his chest. He was holding a silver reflective tanning board against said chest, to catch the rays filtering in from the window.

“Oh, sorry, uh, oh god,” Pam blurted out.

Michael swiveled around nonchalantly to face her. Still holding the board, he lectured, “It’s never too early to start working on the beach bod, Pam. Don’t want to look all pasty. Have to impress the chicks.”

Pam quickly placed the three folders in Michael’s in basket and began to back away. Trying valiantly to ignore the site before her, she pressed on. “Michael, can’t you just sign these right now? It’ll take you ten minutes. Last year, we almost missed the last pickup.”

Michael put down the reflector and slowly folded it up. “Well, Pam,” Michael started, his voice dripping with condescension, “last year, if you recall, I was suffering from that wrist-thingy disease…” He flopped his hand around to demonstrate.

“Carpal tunnel,” Pam supplied. “That’s not a disease.”

“Yes, carpal tunnel, and it hurt to use my hand. It was very painful. Thank god they didn’t have to amputate.”

“Michael, that was your left wrist. You’re right-handed. And it wasn’t carpal tunnel. You hurt it trying to thumb-wrestle Dwight. You said you could beat him with your right hand tied behind your—”

“Yes, yes. Whatever. Now be gone, away from my sight. I’ve work to do. I must think up important business ideas.” Michael dismissed her with a flick of his uninjured wrist. He opened up the reflector and propped it back up on his chest, swiveling to face the window again. Pam turned to leave, frustration clearly evident on her face.

Dwight passed by the open office. “Michael, do you need me to rub any lotion on you?”

“No. Ugh, gross. Just close the door, Dwight,” Michael replied.




At five thirty, Roy arrived at Pam’s desk. Half of the office staff had already left, and most of the others were gathering up their things.

“Ready to go out with the guys to Poor Richard’s?” Roy asked.

She looked up from her rousing game of Solitaire and greeted her fiancé with a pained expression. “Looks like Michael will be keeping me here late tonight. I’ve tried all day to get him to approve these things, but it looks I’ll be here until the last delivery at seven.”

Which was true. Every opportunity Pam had to remind Michael that he needed to sign the papers, she took. And every time, Michael offered up some lame reason and barricaded himself back in his office or bolted out of the building claiming he had a lunch date, just to avoid her. In the break room at lunchtime, Pam stabbed at her salad, imagining she was impaling Michael, while Jim ate his ham and cheese sandwich and tried to make small talk about the weather (still warm, wow, how weird was that) or plans for the weekend.

Roy leaned his elbows against Pam’s desk. “Aw, Pam. We need to leave now to get the best seats at the bar. You know, the ones that have that great view of the TV? The Sixers are playing tonight. And, we could even get in a round of darts before tip off. Loser gets to give the winner a massage,” Roy teased, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

Pam’s eyes darted around, praying no one heard that last bit. “Roy, can’t you just wait for me? It’s not that much longer. We’ll just get there a bit later,” Pam whispered plaintively.

Jim heard everything, although he didn’t show it. He was mentally shaking his head at the exchange taking place. Why couldn’t Roy think of Pam for once?

“Nah, babe, you know how crowded it gets on Friday. Hey, I’ve got an idea. Maybe you can get a ride from someone and meet us there.”

Roy looked around at the mostly empty office and spotted Jim staring intently at his computer screen. “Hey, Halpert, can you give Pam a ride to Poor Richard’s tonight?”

Pam was stunned.




A variety of emotions swept through Pam. First she was furious that Roy couldn’t wait just a few goddamn minutes for her. Then, she was incredulous that he would make someone else stay late just to drive her around because they rode into work together this morning. That was followed by embarrassment at how easily he would leave her just to grab some beers with his buddies. But all that quickly faded and was replaced with a slight nervousness when she heard Jim say, “Sure.”




The office was eerily quiet as the minutes ticked by. At six thirty seven, Pam was practically hovering over Michael pointing out the places where he had to sign or initial. Michael kept repeating “I know, I know”, but Pam was firm. Why did this have to be such a major drama production every year?

At six forty nine, Michael signed the last paper with a flourish, looking quite pleased with himself as if he had just signed some sort of international peace accord. As Pam shuffled the papers into a neat stack, he gathered up his coat and briefcase and then had the audacity to chide Pam for not being ready to leave.

“C’mon Pam-a-lama, shake that tail. I’ve got places to go and hookers to meet,” Michael guffawed as he exited the main door. “Not that I need to pay for getting some,” he quickly amended, in all seriousness. “I’m doing quite well in that department, thank you very much.”

Pam grabbed the completed delivery package, her purse and umbrella, and gave Jim a quick smile and thank you for holding the door for her.

Pam, Jim and Michael all exited the building and Michael locked it up, as they were truly the last people in the complex to leave. The evening was already dark, but a light warm breeze was still in the air. Pam had the package ready to give to the delivery guy, who would swing by at seven o’clock.

Michael pushed the alarm off button for his convertible Sebring and opened the driver’s side door to get in. After starting the engine, he took the top off the car and eased out of the parking lot. Pam and Jim were standing at the front of the locked office building, watching Michael drive off, a palpable tension starting to grow between the two of them.

“Aren’t you cold,” Jim asked, noticing that Pam only wore a pink and grey striped blouse with a beige skirt and her white Keds.

“Nope, the weather is really nice tonight. It feels good not to be bundled up in all those winter snow clothes,” Pam replied.

An awkward silence followed, and each was acutely aware of the other’s presence. It was mercifully ended by a pair of bright headlights and tell-tale sound of a large shipping truck decelerating to pull into the driveway. The driver swung around at an ungodly speed, slammed on the breaks and shoved the gearshift to park then grabbed the package from Pam’s outstretched hands before revving up and u-turning out of the parking lot, off into the dark unknown.

Their mission complete, Pam and Jim began walking towards Jim’s car. “Thanks for doing this for me,” Pam said, a slight wistfulness in her voice. “Roy can sometimes be….um, well, he just doesn’t like to have his routine disrupted…..so I really appreciate that you can be there for me. You always seem to be,” she softly added.

“Anytime,” Jim replied, hoping there wasn’t a hitch in his voice. “That’s what friends do for each other. Besides, what else was I going to do on a Friday night in Scranton?” Smiling, he reached in his pants pocket for his keys, and abruptly stopped.

“Uh, oh,” Jim began. He checked his other pocket then his jacket pockets as Pam eyed him suspiciously.

“We’re screwed. My keys are….yep….there they are, on the front seat,” Jim peered into the driver’s side window and caught a glimpse of metal shining off from the dim light of the street lamp. “We’re locked out.”




Pam snorted. “Please tell me you’re joking.” She snuggled her way next to Jim to also peer into the window. Jim felt the left side of Pam’s hip and shoulder brush up against his thigh and chest and moved back quickly, but the memory of that touch became ingrained in his mind.

She pulled up on the handle, but the car did not open. Skipping over to the passenger side, she tried that one as well, but no luck. Returning to Jim’s side, she giggled. “Now what? Oooh, I know.” She bent down and picked up a small piece of concrete that was lying on the ground, and cocked her hand back. “Let’s break the window.”

Jim grabbed at her, the fingers of his left hand easily capturing her slim wrist while his right arm snaked around her waist to move her back from the car. Pam’s whole face was lit with a broad smile, and she was laughing the laugh that Jim felt she reserved only for him. Their eyes locked, hers daring him to continue, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Have you no respect? This is a vintage Corolla. Do you know what the blue book value is on this baby? No need to resort to vandalism, Beesley. I’ll just call the auto club and they’ll come right out and fix this in no time.”

Jim whipped out his cell phone and auto club card from his wallet and walked under the street lamp in order to see better. Pam watched as Jim walked away from her, the imprint of his touch still on her skin. She shivered a bit at the thought and continued to stare at him fascinated by his long fingers as he dialed.

“Apparently, I’m not the only person in Scranton with nothing to do on a Friday night. They’ll be here in ten minutes.” Jim confirmed as he shut his phone and began walking back to Pam.

Even in the growing darkness, he could make out every curve of her body. He got chills just thinking about her. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t his preoccupation with Pam, but a marked drop in the evening’s temperature.

Pam must have had the same thought, because she looked up, and saw the night become inkier as large, dark clouds rolled in. Within seconds, the rain started pouring down. Giving a little shriek, Pam quickly unfurled her umbrella and pressed the latch to pop it open. Jim raced under it, slightly colliding with Pam as his momentum carried him into her. Putting his arms around her to stop her from reeling backwards, he looked down at her, very much aware that they were stuck under three feet of cloth with nothing but themselves to keep warm and dry.




The downpour sounded like constant thunder as Jim and Pam huddled together under the umbrella. Jim reluctantly removed his arms from around her to take the handle. He tore his gaze away from her long enough to look around, and saw that there really wasn’t any place to go that would afford any protection from the rain.

Turning back to her, Jim remarked, “Looks like we’re stuck under here until the guys arrive.”

“Speak for yourself, Halpert. It’s my umbrella,” Pam teased, in mock seriousness.

“Ouch, Beesley, that’s just cruel,” Jim retorted, feigning hurt.

Pam moved her arms up to tuck them in between her and Jim’s chest. “Here, take my jacket,” Jim offered, sensing that she was getting cold, but was too stubborn to say anything. Pam took the umbrella handle as Jim shrugged off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. As he did this, Pam raised her face and looked up at him. The chivalrous gesture had an immediate impact on Pam, and she felt her knees go weak.

Jim took back the handle, their fingers brushing during the exchange. Pam’s skin tingled from the contact, and she fought down the urge to put them up to her lips.

Casting her eyes downward, Pam pulled the jacket tighter around herself. She closed her eyes and inhaled. She could smell traces of his soap, probably from his shower this morning, along with just a faint hint of male-ness, that indescribable scent of a guy being a guy.

“Thanks,” she said softly, as she opened her eyes and look back at him. They continued to gaze at each other, and both were very aware of the intimate setting they had found themselves in. Neither seemed to want to say anything, as if some magical spell would be broken if either one of them made a sound.

Pam was the first to look away, and she turned her head slightly and rested it against Jim’s chest. Jim wrapped his arm back around her, fervently hoping that she couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating. He began to memorize every smell and sound and touch that was Pam, because he was sure a situation like this would never present itself again.




Say something, Jim thought. Tell her you love her. Tell her that she’s incredible and beautiful and talented and the only person who has ever made you feel complete. Jim imagined that Pam’s reaction to his declaration involved her tossing the umbrella aside and pulling him down to kiss her hard. The rain is pouring down on them, matting their hair and soaking their clothes, but they are oblivious as they are so caught up in this kiss.

Say something, Pam thought. She felt warmer now, with her hands wrapped in his jacket, and her body pressed to his. She could feel the slight roughness of his shirt against her cheek and the rise and fall of his chest. She could feel the pressure of his arm against her back. And she felt safe. She wasn’t sure what she would say to him. Confusion clouded her thoughts, and she wondered how she even got to this point in her life. Roy was the one she was supposed to be with. Roy was the one who should have been here, but he wasn’t. It was Jim. It always seemed to be Jim. Jim was the one she could really open up to, and tell him her thoughts and dreams. She knew she shouldn’t be, but she was torn. Roy had been her life for nine years; it’s what she’s known. But Jim knew her. Better than Roy ever would. Maybe better than she knew herself. And that scared her. Because with Jim, she could feel.

Pam lifted her head slightly and turned up to Jim. He automatically looked down at her, their faces only inches apart. She wanted to say something, but words failed her. He looked down at her, expectantly. Pam’s mind went blank. She thought Jim was leaning down a bit closer. Her head was swimming. Her heart was beating faster. Her eyelids started to flutter.

And then it was gone. A breathless moment replaced by the harsh sound of tires splashing in a puddle. Pam pulled back to see a tow truck enter the parking lot, headlights illuminating the two of them. They both watched as the truck pulled right up next to the Corolla and the mechanic jumped out, ignoring the downpour. He quickly popped the lock on the car and tossed his gear back in the vehicle.

“You’re all set,” he told Jim. “What a crazy night,” the mechanic continued, still standing in the rain. “This is some storm we’re having. It started out such a nice day, then, wham! Out of nowhere. Who would have thought this would happen.”

“Yeah,” Jim mumbled.

“You two better get going. Don’t waste any time. Who knows how long this will last.” The mechanic hopped back into the tow truck and lumbered off to help the next stranded motorist on his list.




Pam and Jim settled into the Corolla. Jim turned over the engine and flicked the headlights on. They drove in silence to Poor Richard’s. As he pulled up to the entrance, Pam turned to him. “Let me buy you a beer, you know, to pay you back for tonight.”

The door to the bar opened as two customers exited and the raucous noise filtered out. Jim caught a glimpse of Roy as the door slowly shut. He turned his attention back to Pam, and gave her a weary smile. “Um, maybe next time, Beesley. Hey, have a good weekend, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

Pam tried not to let the disappointment show. She pulled the latch and opened the door, then looked back at Jim, their eyes locking one last time. The sounds of the wipers rhythmically swiping the raindrops from the windshield and the incessant dinging of the open door alarm were drowned out by the silence between the two of them. With all the strength she could muster, Pam turned and exited the car. Before she closed the door, she bent down, the back of her blouse getting damp, and said, “Thanks for the ride.”

Jim waited until she was safely inside before driving off into the night.


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