Was it weird that she liked watching Dwight and Jim pretend to be each other?

OK, it was probably a little weird. But it wasn’t because she was turned on by Dwight-as-Jim (thank God) or even Jim-as-Dwight (a bigger risk, since Jim doing pranks was her favorite version of Jim, but a) it was Dwight and b) she was practicing being more rational about Jim after his last bout of assholery after The Incident). And it was only partly because it was a prank (or really a pair of them, one by Jim, one on Jim). She loved pranks, and she loved the all-out, in-depth nature of this particular prank. The best pranks were the ones you really leaned into, committed to with no sense of shame or hesitation: or at least, the ones Jim did that for. She was well aware that for all her love of the pranks and her active and willing participation in them, before Jim left for Stamford she’d never actually fallen into one with that full lack of shame or hesitation that she now craved. She’d always kept a little of herself not aloof but separate; if she’d been asked (which thank God she was almost never asked) she’d have called that Roy’s part of her, the part that couldn’t risk going entirely all in with anything Jim-related.

Of course, now that she thought about it, Jim never did either, at least not on the ones he included her in, because it turned out he was always keeping that little bit of himself back that refused to tell her how he felt. Not that she could blame him exactly, but she could tell now in her memories when those moments of reservation had kicked in: when exactly he’d decided not to tell her, or not to commit to the little bit of push that would have made his feelings completely and undeniably visible. She didn’t blame him for it, anymore than she blamed herself for keeping that little bit of herself apart from him. They hadn’t been ready, they hadn’t been quite there yet.

Now, though, she found herself yearning for that kind of commitment, even if it was only as best friends, even if a little bit of him was hanging back (Karen’s part, she supposed). So it was a delight to see him fully commit to this particular bit, even if he could only fully commit because she wasn’t directly involved. It reminded her of the Jim she used to know, the one she missed because he hadn’t really come back. Some ersatz Jim had come back in his place, with the same face and the same smile but different eyes. Slide-y, avoidant eyes that only seemed to show the feelings she was used to recognizing in them in little flashes that she wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t imagined. Eyes that were completely hilariously surrounded by giant Dwight glasses this morning.

But it wasn’t the prank that actually made her enjoy their dueling imitations, or at least not only and maybe not even mostly the prank. It was the chance to think about what exactly made Jim Jim and what made her feel the way she did about him. The chance to see what elements of Jim were still in his Dwight and which elements of Jim Dwight’s Jim was and wasn’t able to imitate.

It was the chance to reflect on all that had happened and all that she wished had happened, and on what it was she missed about Jim. It wasn’t posture or the facial expressions or the lack of seriousness about his job. It wasn’t the clothes (god knew it wasn’t the clothes) or the hair (although if he really got a haircut like she’d overheard Karen telling him he ought to get, she might throw something) or even the way he looked at her. It was something about Jim himself, something that was still there when he was being Dwight, something beyond bears, beets, and Battlestar Galactica—something that even Dwight’s surprisingly accurate Jimpression (and yes, she’d decided, portmanteaus were a perfectly legitimate kind of pun) couldn’t capture.

It was something about the way he filled a space, the way his very presence resonated with hers deep under the skin. She couldn’t possibly be fooled by either impression, not because they weren’t good but because she could not even imagine walking up to Jim-as-Dwight, even from the back or by surprise, and not knowing it was Jim. Of course she could pretend not to, because the whole point of pulling a prank on Dwight was willful apparent ignorance that there was a prank at all, but she couldn’t see herself doing it for real. Likewise, even if she didn’t see Dwight-as-Jim’s face or posture, even if she caught the barest glimpse of him from the side of her eye, she’d know it wasn’t Jim. It just wasn’t. Dwight was…well, kind of her friend, but he wasn’t Jim. And Jim was a complete asshole sometimes and hadn’t been treating her right ever since he’d dropped out of her life like a gravity ride at Six Flags, but he was still Jim. Still the best friend she’d ever had, the person she knew the most about and knew the most about her, the person she couldn’t possibly ignore even if she wanted to.

She knew Jim. And she was pretty sure he knew her. The next step was reminding him of that. She needed to find a time, a space, an opportunity (and of course the guts to follow through on that opportunity) to tell him that he needed to come back. That he could stay with Karen or not, he could still be in love with her or not, but he owed her at least an acknowledgement of who they were to each other. That if she couldn’t ignore him, he damn well couldn’t and shouldn’t ignore her.

He’d looked so disappointed when she’d said “we’ll always be friends” all those months ago. Well, if he was going to be disappointed about that, what right did he have to stop being friends with her? He owed her the friendship if nothing else; even if they weren’t ever going to be more than that, even if he no longer wanted to be more than that (hell, especially if he no longer wanted to, now that she did), didn’t that mean that they should at least be that? She’d settle for that. She really would.

But she needed to remind him that those were his options: that and more than that. Less than that wasn’t fair to either of them, and he needed to snap the hell out of whatever it was that was going on.