He tried really hard not to notice her. Not to see that she’s made an extra effort today (or is that just how she dresses now? Is she still going on dates like that one he overheard Michael talking about? Is Fancy New Beesly so far out of her shell that this is just how she is? How much has he missed?). Not to react when she throws her arms around him (does she remember the Dundies? Does she remember Casino Night? Or has she pushed all of it deep down and is just happy to get her best friend back—because he can’t do that again. He just can’t). Not to look up when she glances towards him (made much easier by Ryan’s refusal to give him his old desk back—now he can only see her when he turns…or looks at the reflection in his monitor. And yes, he did angle the monitor so he could do that, why do you ask? Sometimes old habits die hard). He can’t go back to pining for her, he just can’t.

And yes, it would be back to pining, he finds out as he tells her he’s “sort of seeing someone” and she responds by saying “we’ll always be friends.” Friends. Right. That’s exactly what he wanted from her.

Sure, it’s unfair to the beautiful black-haired woman he’s having drinks with that night, that “sort of someone” he’s “sort of seeing” (she has a name. It’s Karen. But for some reason—that he knows well enough, deep enough in his soul, that he never actually has to name it—she’s always just “the other woman” when he’s thinking about Pam). But he’s desperate. She almost broke him. Even walking into the office today wasn’t really a matter of seeing his old colleagues (hello Dwight, hope you enjoyed the Gaydar; hi Michael, no, this hug isn’t crushing my ribs; hi Phyllis, why the hell didn’t you tell me about Pam). It was a matter of strategically avoiding every memory of her, because the Scranton office isn’t where he works. It’s where he thinks about Pam. It’s where he remembers her, where every little inch is crammed with emotion. And he has to suppress all of it, just for self-preservation. She didn’t call. She didn’t write. She texted that one time, but it was…he didn’t know what to do with it. So he can’t do this. He’s not even sure he can safely be friends with her, because that way leads terrifying declarations of love and rejection.

So he hides behind Karen, while at the same time hiding it from her. Telling her they can’t be out at the office (and remembering Oscar’s new car he can’t help but laugh at that phrase, but it’s too, too appropriate) because Michael will go overboard with it, because they don’t want to be like Kelly and Ryan (he still feels like Kelly, though; Karen just isn’t the Ryan of his dreams). He doesn’t tell her about Pam. He doesn’t even tell her about Pam and Roy, even when he sees Roy slipping into the office, even when Roy slaps him on the back and tells him there’s still basketball on Saturdays at the Y. He’s afraid. Afraid that mentioning it, that conjuring it up audibly will made him backslide, that he’ll start parsing every word Pam says again.

Not that he’s not doing that anyway, but at least this way he can pretend he’s not.

**

He knew the branches were merging, of course. After that day of panic in the warehouse they’d made sure to keep abreast of what was going on at corporate through whatever means they could, and he’d heard about Halpert coming back—as assistant regional manager, no less. He’d been worried for a little while that that would mean Pammy would suddenly be interested in him; that Halpert’s clear interest in her would get reciprocated now that he had that big fancy title and a bigger paycheck.

He finds reasons to go upstairs the day of the merger, to see for himself. He still has work to do, of course, so he doesn’t get to go up there immediately, as the Stamford people are showing up (and thank god they didn’t transfer any of the Stamford warehouse staff; they’re barely able to keep themselves all on at the current warehouse budget levels, let alone any new folks). But he makes it up around lunchtime as usual. And he can feel something different in the air. Usually when he’d come up (rare as it was) when Halpert was first here, he’d see evidence that Halpert had been up at the front desk. Sometimes it was simple: Halpert was at the front desk. Other times it was subtler: no jellybeans left in the jellybean container. A weird-looking contraption half-hidden behind the reception desk. Eyebrows raised and glances exchanged.

This time there’s nothing. Halpert’s back is to her, and she’s looking at him, but he’s not looking at her, and Roy’s not sure what to do with this. He does the chicken-and-fish exchange (only a little time left for that now) and decides to eat back down in the warehouse while he decides what to do with this new information: that Halpert doesn’t seem to be as interested as once he was.

As he’s turning to leave, he sees one of the new salesladies (and a hot one at that) glance up at Halpert and grin. He catches a raised eyebrow back from Halpert as he slowly finishes his turn. Interesting.

Down in the warehouse, he chows down on some fish while thinking, hard, about the situation. What will get his Pammy back best? Well, she did always tell him she wished he and Halpert could be friends again, “like when you guys played basketball down at the Y.” He’s been going the last few weeks—ever since he realized that he needed to put some real effort into transforming his body back to what it used to be—and he thinks this might be just the ticket to make the point he wants to make. He finds an excuse to head back up (Madge and Lonny are on a smoke break, he goes to make a soda run upstairs) and stops on his way back to clap Halpert on the shoulder. “Good to see you back, Halpert. The guys down at the Y miss you. We still play on Saturdays, if you’re up for it.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Pammy watching, and he knows he’s done his bit. Halpert’s never going to be his favorite guy in the world, but he’s not that awful when he’s not mooning over Pammy, and he knows his message got across. As a bonus, Halpert doesn’t seem to know what to do with it, so at least he’s confused the guy, which he’ll count as a win.

He chugs a soda as he heads downstairs, pleased with a job well done.

**

Had she entered some kind of bizarre world, where Roy was a friendly, good guy and Jim was the asshole? Something something “seeing someone” something something “good to see you back” something something. It all blurs together as she sits in her little Yaris and watches him pull out of the parking lot ahead of her.

He hadn’t even been willing to get coffee with her.

And don’t think she hadn’t noticed who was the sudden recipient of all the attention that used to be hers. Yes, it probably made her a jealous bitch to expect Jim to come back and pay her the same attention he used to; her cowardice and inaction at Casino Night had definitely hurt him and he deserved better than that. But to turn her down twice, first by rejecting her coffee date and then with that explicit-but-not “I’m sorta seeing someone”? Was this just revenge? Or had he really moved on that quickly? Those little touches between him and Karen, the glances they shared…that had to be the someone, right? Who else would he have had time to be dating in Scranton if not someone coming with him from Stamford? And Karen…Karen seemed nice, actually, but Pam could recognize the signals. She was definitely interested in Jim. And if he was interested back…

Well, they were all adults.

She couldn’t believe she’d screwed this up so badly. Once again she’d found her words utterly wanting. “We’ll always be friends?” Really? Where was the courage he’d showed on Casino Night? Where was the “I wanna be more than that?” She’d been trying to convince him to at least spend some time with her, but instead he’d reacted like she’d slapped him (or at least like she imagined it would be like—she couldn’t actually slap him, even if she wanted to wring his neck a bit right now, Simpsons-style. Why you little…). She’d obviously said the wrong thing, again, and that parking lot was really feeling haunted for her right now. It was like standing on the asphalt turned her brain to mush or something.

It didn’t help that every time she looked at him now she saw him on Casino Night, a single tear tracking down his face as he turned from her. She’d do anything to make it up to him. But apparently he wasn’t interested in “anything.” He was only interested in making eyes at that woman from Stamford and (quite literally) turning his back on her.

Compared to Jim, it was barely even worth it to think about what Roy was playing at. He and Halpert hadn’t gotten along for years. That whole Y-basketball thing had to be for her benefit. She was pretty sure he’d been looking at her even as he’d talked to Jim. Well, at least someone was thinking about how she felt, even if it was misguided. She wasn’t interested in getting back with Roy. She just wanted Jim.

She just wanted Jim to think about her again. To care about her again. Because she’d been well aware for a long time that she cared about him, but seeing him in person again had just cemented the reality of it for her.

She was in love with Jim Halpert.

God help her.