"I like your costume. It's really funny. I could never come up with something like that."
"Nah, you could. You're almost as funny and smart as I am. I like your costume, too. Cute whiskers."
A blush colors her cheeks. "Thanks. I didn't realize there'd be so many cats in here today, though."
"Yeah, we'll have to make sure someone keeps the litter box clean."
"Gross, Jim. Not on Halloween. There's no kitten around on Halloween."
"Pam, seriously. If I can't make cat toilet humor, you can't make cat puns."
Pam giggles and she can feel her tongue pushing against the back of her teeth the way that it does when she's genuinely pleased about something, genuinely pleased with herself. "Sorry. I'll stop. Right meow."
Jim groans and rolls his eyes but she can tell that he thinks it's funny by the way he ducks his head and smiles. "On fire today, Pam. Nice work." His hands dangle over the edge of her desk and she watches them straighten and curl as he flexes them. She gets a little mesmerized by them, by their length and shape and the how they curve around the lip of the counter top and thinks that she might get better at drawing hands if she could draw his and maybe she should ask him. The words bubble up in the back of her throat and start to dance their way across her tongue before her brain catches up and she's getting ready to say I hope this isn't weird but can I draw your hands sometime because I suck at drawing hands and you have great ones, Roy's are always too dirty when he speaks again. "Hey, what was that with Michael this morning?"
She swallows her question and instead tells him about how Michael has apparently had all month to fire someone and has waited until the last possible minute to do so. They speculate for a moment and Jim casts a comically furtive glance around the office as they try to discern who it might be. This, of course, brings Dwight over. When they don't immediately tell him what they're talking about, he points out that Pam isn't the only cat in the office and punches Jim in the chest.
Dwight is still cackling as Jim leans further in towards Pam and rubs the heel of his hand across his chest. Pam watches him press his palm against his shirt, watches the way the fabric pulls against him as he move his hand, almost gets distracted enough to miss Jim muttering under his breath that it's too bad Dwight won't be the one getting fired. She catches it, though, straightens up and snaps herself out it and instead of looking at Jim's hand where it's still against his chest, she looks at her computer screen.
"We should put his resume on job hunting websites. Maybe we can solve Michael's problem for him." She pulls up monster.com and looks up at Jim with what she hopes is an innocent expression on her face. "I'm sure there are even some out of state jobs that he's a perfect fit for."
He comes to stand behind her, close enough that they can whisper without worry of being found out by Dwight or Michael or someone else. Pam knows that Jim should probably be at his own desk, that today is one of those rare days where it's important to do actual work. Again, the words are about to jump out of her mouth on their own accord, but he's laughing at something she wrote and she forces why don't I just write up a fake resume and email it to you because it's easy for me to pretend to look busy and somebody's getting fired today back down to wherever it was it came from.
And anyway, she likes it when Jim positions himself behind his desk like that. He always braces his hands on the edge of the desk and brackets her body with his arms. It makes her feel kind of hidden away in a secret little space: the reception counter in front of her, Jim's arms on either side of her, Jim himself behind her. A secret little space where she doesn't have any problems and is always in a good mood.
They spend a fair amount of time on Dwight's resume and Pam thinks it might be her favorite prank ever.
When finally Jim walks back to his desk, she feels cold.
Dwight is thankfully away from his desk when someone from Cumberland Mills calls. Pam transfers them to Jim's phone and is immediately enthralled by his quick thinking. His Michael Scott impression is spot on and Pam is a little blown away by how clever he is, how funny. He's like a magnet, she can't pull her eyes away from his face. After he hangs up she extends a hand for their signature move and knows without a doubt that he's doing the same.
It turns out that the resume prank is a gift that keeps on giving. Messing with Dwight is always a guaranteed good time (even if she's just a spectator) but it's doubly hilarious to watch him whisper on the phone about martial arts experience while in a black robe and thick makeup. Jim struggles to contain his laughter when Dwight calls back to see if his fax was received and seeks refuge at Pam's desk. She knows that the cameras are watching her watch him, but she can't help it, so she doesn't.
She thinks again that he's just so great. It's like a broken record in her head: Jim's great. Jim's great. Jim's great. Because he is, he's talented and funny and great at his job without really trying. He deserves to have people calling him up and offering him positions with more money and better benefits, not Dwight. It's unfair, it's so unfair because Jim could do so much better than Dunder Mifflin, and she can feel words once again forming in her mouth before her brain can stop them and this time they spill out of her mouth before she can stop them.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but you should go for that job." She doesn't know why she says it because she really feels like it would be the end of the world if Jim left, but the words are out there, hanging in the space between them.
His face falls and then recovers, kind of. "Um, it's in Maryland."
"Yeah." More words force themselves up and out of her mouth and she understands the phrase 'word vomit.' "But, I mean, look at the salary. And it's definitely a step up. And a challenge."
He looks like he can't understand why she'd say that, like she's flipped everything around and is playing a prank on him. His mouth quirks up on one side but not in a smile and Pam finally realizes what she's said and she wants so bad to take it back so that she can take that look off of his face. He doesn't respond when she calls out to him, just walks away, and she is overcome with the urge to cry.
They've had pranks backfire before, sure. There was the time that the jello clogged up Dwight's calculator and they had to order him a new one, the time that Toby was an unintended victim and was locked in the bathroom for close to an hour, the time Dwight gave himself a black eye with the receiver of his phone and and got Jim written up for it (Pam felt guilty for that one because the nickels in Dwight's headset was her idea). But none had backfired like this. None had left Pam feeling like she could vomit a lot more than just words.
All she was trying to do was...she just wanted to be nice, give him a compliment. He should have Dwight's job, Michael's job even. He really should go for the Cumberland Mills job because he could be great at it, and Pam is torn between wanting her (best) friend to be happy and successful and wanting him to stay here. With her.
She can see him talking to the documentary crew in the conference room. He's leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and he looks almost angry. That's probably not the best description, but she's never quite seen him look like that so she doesn't know what else to call it. She's trying to figure it out when Michael interrupts his talking head in a low voice and a serious expression on his face.
Pam's heart sinks as Jim follows Michael into his office without so much as a glance in her direction. It drops directly into the pit of her stomach as she watches Michael close the blinds. Dwight does everything but say the words 'Jim's fired' and it drops to somewhere around her knees.
When the door opens and Jim comes out, she jumps to her feet and rushes towards him without pretense. He still doesn't look at her but she grabs his hand, clutches at it in something a lot like desperation and she absolutely does not care if the cameras see because it can't be him that Michael's decided to fire.
She feels a rush of thankfulness when he says "it wasn't me" but it's quickly replaced by the now familiar feeling of her heart dropping again (to her feet, this time) when he pulls away from her. She follows him, partly to get away from Michael as he opens his door again, but mostly to find Jim, find a way to apologize or make him understand that the last thing she wants in the world is for him to go somewhere else. She thinks about saying it was all a prank, gotcha Jim, ha ha ha, trick or treat, Happy Halloween! but he disappears into the men's restroom and she hears the phone ring so she hurries back to her desk.
The rest of the afternoon is, in a word, horrible. It was horrible anyway, but now it was more horrible. They all listen as Creed successfully negotiates not being fired and then as Devon storms out in a way that Pam is a little bit jealous of. There's a mass exodus because Poor Richards's sounds way better than the Halloween party and Jim is walking past her desk not looking at her again and here comes the word vomit:
"Oh, hey, Jim, wait! Stop. Uh, I'm sorry for pushing you toward Cumberland." He's still not smiling, his mouth is lopsided but it doesn't look right and she hears herself say that if he left she would blow her brains out and finally finally he laughs again and what feels like a ten ton weight falls from her shoulders. He motions for her to come with them, come with him, and she rushes to grab her coat and purse. There's a forgotten game of free cell still up on her computer, as well as her Dunder Mifflin email account, but she can't bothered with shutting it all down.
She sits by him at Poor Richard's and tells him how much she needs a drink. He doesn't ask why or offer an explanation when he says he needs one, too. Her heart is still not quite in the right place (it's hanging out somewhere around her belly button) so she drinks close to half of her beer in an attempt to coax it back up. Maybe the carbonation will help push it back to the center of her chest, she thinks.
Next to her, Jim has downed almost half of his drink as well. He picks at the edge of a napkin and speaks without looking at her. "Hey, so, do you think you could come in early one day later this week? Wednesday, maybe? I figured out today that the men's bathroom has just enough room to fit a desk, so...you know. I need your help, Beesly." He looks up at her then, green eyes shining and crooked smile firmly in place.
Pam smiles back, tongue against her teeth, and her heart nestles back in place behind her breastbone. "Sure. Wednesday sounds good."
