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Author's Chapter Notes:
The note, and some housekeeping.

Pam opened the note—ripping the paper a little, but trying very hard not to rip it so far that her name wasn’t legible on the front—while trying desperately to figure out when it was that Jim would have had time to “make it” for her. He couldn’t have snuck out of the hospital, or even his room, without someone noticing, and she was pretty sure no nurse had given him cardstock and ink. Maybe Larissa? But even Larissa would have warned her if she’d given Jim the material to make a card? No, no she wouldn’t. Not after she had conspired with Jim to give Pam those colored pencils. So Larissa was a definite candidate. But this card looked…worn? Crinkled? Like something carried in a pocket—from the slight indentation of keys she noticed on the paper, maybe a back pocket?—and Jim, well, Jim wasn’t wearing anything with pockets. Or much of a back at all, as she was rather extremely aware of. Since she’d been trying to avoid staring while being extremely aware that his backside was covered by only a thin layer of cloth and a couple of not-especially-effective snaps.

 

But anyway, the card. It was definitely crinkled, definitely had been carried in a pocket. Probably not Larissa, then, since she hadn’t been wearing anything with deep enough pockets (or at least Pam assumed so—she would feel slightly betrayed if Larissa’s extremely put-together look also came with deep pockets and she hadn’t said anything. What were pseudo-sisters for if not to tell you these things, and make sure you got your own stylish ensembles with sufficient pocketage? So she assumed Larissa did not have these kinds of pockets). So, then, something Jim had been carrying with him before.

 

So this was from before. When?

 

He definitely hadn’t given her a card or anything a card would accompany on Casino Night. After that? He’d had plenty of opportunity to write a card, but this wasn’t addressed with her mailing address, even c/o Dunder Mifflin, so it had to be intended to be hand-delivered like it had just been. So it had to be from a time he’d envisioned himself seeing her in person. Was it what he’d written in case she’d chased him down and flung herself into his arms? She couldn’t see Jim Halpert imagining a scenario where that happened and he simply drew back, handed her a card, and waited to see her reaction. No, this had to be from before Casino Night.

 

When?

 

She knew, of course, that she would probably be able to guess from reading the actual card, but something in her wanted to be emotionally prepared to read it, wanted to have some idea of what she was about to enter into. Was this something he’d written the day he met her? Something from Valentine’s Day, or Secretary’s Day, or her birthday, or…Christmas?

 

There hadn’t been a Christmas card in her Secret Santa. Jim had of course narrated the whole list of bonus gifts to her in person, but there had been no card. Or rather, she vaguely recalled a card being in the box, but she definitely didn’t have a card now. She knew this very precisely because one of the few boxes she’d actually opened (if not fully unpacked) in her new apartment (oh god, she was going to need a subletter if, no when, she moved to NYC for this internship. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof…not that this was evil, exactly, but this fell firmly into the not a problem for today camp) was the little box the teapot came in, which she had refilled with everything that had been in it besides the teapot (which was itself in daily, if tearful, use at the office). And there was no card there. She’d been looking at all those little mementos only…what was it, three days ago when Larissa had called her? So she knew there was no card.

 

This was probably the card.

 

What had he meant to say at Christmas? She felt like she had been hesitating forever, though she was well aware objectively that only a moment had passed. She sucked it up and flipped the card open.

 

Dear Pam,

 

I assume by now you’ve guessed who this is from. Or at least, I hope you have, because I’m really hoping these memories were all as memorable to you as they were to me. I wanted to give you all of these little bonus gifts because I want you to know how much every one of these moments has meant to me. Every second we spend together is special to me, Pam, because you are special to me. I love you, Pam Beesly, and I just wanted to let you know that—because as Billy Squier tells us, Christmas is the time for it.

 

Merry Christmas,

Love,

Jim

 

Her eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t sure if they were happy tears—he loves me! We’re finally together! I feel the same way he does!—or sad ones—why didn’t he give me this then? What would it have meant if he had? How long did I hurt him by denying these feelings?—but she knew that she was, on the whole, happy. Happy that she and Jim had come to a place where he felt comfortable showing her this; happy that he had kept it; happy that somehow, improbable as it might seem, he had sensed her need for reassurance before she came back into the room and given it to her. How strange to think that she’d been worrying that he would react to her news like Roy would. He was nothing like Roy; he was never Roy. He was Jim. And he loved her.

 

She leaned down and kissed him, good and hard. “Thank you.” She kissed him again. “For everything.”

 

He kissed her. “You’re welcome.” Before this could turn into an entirely compulsive turn-and-return of kisses, though (much as a large portion of her was yearning for just that), she reached out and stopped him.

 

“The bad news is that I do have to go run herd on Michael this week at work.”

 

He shrugged. “So I have to put up with a week without you here during the day in exchange for having you in New York for a year? I’d do that trade every day, and twice on Sundays.”

 

“What would that even mean?” She couldn’t resist teasing him. “If you do it twice on Sundays, does that mean I’m gone for two weeks and in NYC for two years, or that we end up exactly where we were before the first trade and I stay at the hospital but live in Scranton?”

 

“I’m not sure. I just know that I’d do it.” His smile was amazing.

 

A knock on the door brought them to attention. “Jim?” It was Dr. Pedersen. “May I come in?”

 

“Of course.” Jim’s good mood apparently extended to the doctor as well, and Pam faded into the background as the two of them discussed Jim’s physical and mental state—she kept mental notes on the keywords she heard, but otherwise allowed Jim to take the lead on his own health issues. It seemed that Dr. Pedersen wasn’t actually concerned about Jim’s status, but had wanted to check in about what, exactly, moving out of the ICU entailed. Once he and Jim—and Pam, whom he deliberately included in that question—were all clear, he called in the nurse and wrote the order for Jim’s transfer then and there. She gathered up his stuff—carefully removing the Command strips on the artwork and stacking it with his bag, which she now realized must have contained the card—and followed the nurse and Jim (who had transferred to a wheelchair for the move) down the hallway, smiling.

 

Jim was going to be OK, and she was going to be an artist (well, graphic designer) in New York.

 

It was a good day.

Chapter End Notes:
And there we are. Sorry about missing a day--we just moved, so I don't technically have internet at home. Thank you to all who have read and reviewed!

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