A/N - My contribution to the NanReg Birthday series. Woefully late because I fail at deadlines and because I only just got back from holiday and the jetlag pretty much wiped out this week. This series has lured me out of retirement for this pairing, for one fic only, because NanReg really is a wonderful help to anyone who has ever posted on this site and I just couldn’t turn down a chance to tell her how much we all appreciate it.
This is unadulterated fluff, by the way, and I make no apologies for that :)
~
It’s not that they’re broke, exactly.
They’ve got money.
It’s just that they also have a mortgage and a car.
It’s just that they’d rather save for a wedding and a honeymoon and a de-shagging of the carpet, during a recession.
So it’s not a bankruptcy kind of broke, it’s just a temporary, voluntary kind of tighten the belts, let’s not eat out so much kind of broke.
And it’s the reason they decide to move into the new house and out of Jim’s apartment as quickly as possible.
And as quickly as possible just happens to be a week before Pam’s birthday.
Funny how that sometimes happens isn’t it?
She calls the house her Birthday gift and tells him he better not get her anything else.
~
It’s late when the various friends that helped with the move finally depart with a chorus of congratulations and goodbyes. Jim watches them leave with more than a little twinge of envy, imagining each of them heading to their cozy, fully decorated, non-cardboard box filled homes. He turns to survey the mess and, after a furtive glance to check Pam isn’t around, lets himself collapse onto the sofa with a heavy sigh.
“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” He calls out in the general direction he thinks Pam disappeared to, selecting a nearby box to serve as a table for his half-full bottle of beer.
“Because,” she shouts back from somewhere upstairs, unfailingly cheerful despite the exhausting day they’ve had, “you bought me a house and I want to live in it!”
He smiles at that, unable to help himself. He’d been so very afraid, once it was too late to back out, that Pam would hate the idea, or the house, or both. But she’s still all smiles and gratitude, even after discovering just how many rooms have outdated wooden panelling.
Pam’s voice drifts down the stars again, disapproving now, with a hint of amusement. “Jim, get off your ass and do something useful!”
He shoots off the sofa and glances wildly around, expecting to see Pam at the foot of the stairs, arms folded in annoyance. He laughs quietly to himself when he realises she’s not there and unceremoniously flops back onto the sofa, calling out, “How do you know I’m on my ass not being useful?”
“I just know,” is all the reply he gets.
“I’m offended,” he calls up with as much outrage as he can fake.
“You’re a liar is what you are,” she shoots back and suddenly her voice is much louder, much closer. Too late, he realises where she is and for the second time in a minute, he shoots off the sofa. In his haste, he stumbles and nearly falls, catching himself at the last moment at the expense of a pile of boxes that are sent tumbling to the floor in a slow motion cascade.
He freezes, as though standing very very still could possibly minimise the damage. After a long moment of silence, he tentatively turns to Pam. “Any chance they were the boxes of cushions and stuffed animals?” he asks, grimacing.
She looks at him for a second, eyes wide in horror and then, inexplicably, starts to giggle.
“You - you’re ... laughing?” he asks incredulously, still rooted to the spot.
“Oh y’know what? If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry,” she gasps out between giggles. “So yeah Jim, I’m laughing.”
“Ok,” he agrees and gathers her into a hug.
They stand like this for a moment, holding each other in the midst of the wreckage, as the laughing dies down and their breathing evens out.
“We’ll be all right, right?” she asks quietly, when they finally break apart and survey the house that’s so full of boxes and still so empty of life, of them. It isn’t quite home yet. Just a house.
Ten minutes ago, he might have freaked out alongside her. But he just quite possibly destroyed a box of their belongings and all she did was laugh and now he knows, suddenly and certainly, that they’ll tell their kids that story one day. In this house. And somehow that makes everything all right.
“Of course we will,” he tells her quietly, firmly. There must be something in his eyes that reassures her because she nods, believing him.
~
And of course he’s right.
They live out of boxes for a while and it’s ok, because it’s a bit like an adventure, or camping, or both.
Jim puts flat-pack furniture together without using all the pieces and sometimes it’s fine but sometimes things seem a little wobbly and they have to call in reinforcements. Pam doesn’t laugh unless he does first, because she says he might be terrible at DIY but he’s building them a pretty good life here and that’s what counts.
Pam picks wallpaper and paint and carpets and Jim mostly just nods along, because she’s so happy, dashing about the blank canvas of their house and he knows she’s not capable of creating anything that isn’t beautiful.
They don’t eat out at all, even on Pam’s birthday when Jim begs to take her out.
Instead they sit on the floor because they haven’t bought a table yet and Jim serves her cheap wine and a forgettable spaghetti dinner that actually, she’ll never forget.
He doesn’t buy her a thing, just like she made him promise.
Instead he goes to every travel agent he can find and collects a handful of honeymoon brochures that they spread out over the floor after dinner and dream about.
She thinks that’s her gift and he laughs because that’s nothing, that’s only part one.
Part two is the killer, the one he racked his brains to come up with.
And you know what?
It’s priceless.
He takes her hands and she stumbles, partly through the wine and partly because he’s got his hands over her eyes. Together they walk awkwardly over to the wall and he pulls his hand away.
In that moment he stops feeling guilty that he couldn’t buy her anything. Because there is absolutely nothing worth more than the look on her face when she opens her eyes and sees a framed print of hers hanging where that damn clown painting used to be.
She cries a little bit and he blushes and says, “Woah Pam, it’s just a painting.”
She shakes her head and barrels into him, wrapping her arms around him and whispering against his chest, “No it isn’t. It’s ... you did it. It’s home.”
He smiles and drops a kiss onto the top of her head. “Yeah it is.”
He feels a little teary himself because that might just be the best thing she’s ever said to him.
~
In years to come, when he tells this story, Jim says he once got Pam twenty honeymoon brochures, one painting and a house for her birthday.
Every time he does, Pam hits him on the arms and says, “No. You got me a home.”
He always tells it wrong just so he can hear her say it again.
She lets him.
After all he did get that damn clown painting off her wall. She figures she owes him for that at least.
~
Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters etc are not mine. No copyright infringement intended.
shootingstars is the author of 10 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 11 members. Members who liked Twenty Brochures, One Painting and A Home also liked 2473 other stories.
This story is part of the series, let?s celebrate birthday month in style today.. The previous story in the series is S-E-A-M. The next story in the series is Legacy.
