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Author's Chapter Notes:
There's 4 inches of snow on the ground so I figure why not a little Christmas in April XD. After their prank, Pam and Jim are heading to her one kitchened apartment

8:08pm

She had no idea how this happened.

Well that wasn’t totally true. The CIA letters to Dwight started a couple months ago, partially inspired by what she was sure was a long distance prank of Jim’s when Dwight would receive faxes from himself from the future. It was just a bit of fun, practicing writing letters that sounded as official as possible, coming up with mundane tasks for Dwight to complete such as reporting on Michael's time use or mapping out the perimeter of the office park. And yes when Dwight would get a new letter with no return address in his office mail, his eyes darting around as he thought he was casually opening and reading his latest instructions, Pam’s gaze would fall on the desk next to Dwight’s and she’d smile imagining a lanky floppy-hair salesmen proudly grinning back at her.

Then news came of Stamford closing and Pam started gathering all the files Dwight had submitted to the “CIA”, which was in fact the never-checked Scranton Office Park comment box in the lobby that Pam happened to have a key to, ready to hand them over to Jim as a “welcome back” present. On the day of the merger she had them neatly arranged in a folder, the plan was to ask Jim for coffee and give him the file then offer to plot out a grand finale prank over dinner and go from there.

But instead Jim turned down her coffee invite and acted strangely distant all day. With one flirty gesture in the parking lot from the pretty Stamford saleswoman it was all explained. He was “evolving”, no more grape soda or rolled-up sleeves, no more prank plotting at her desk over jellybeans.

The day after the merger Pam was all but ready to shred the folder of Dwight’s “reports”, ultimately stuffing it into the bottom of her drawer. But then Andy hit on her in Pig Latin and Jim gave her that look and she decided to revive the CIA project. She even mentally gave it a name, Operation: Rendezvous.

She took the folder home last night to add some more “documents” from Dwight and started writing a note to Jim. It was meant to be a simple “Enjoy your gift, Merry Christmas” but her hand kept going, writing about missing his friendship, and hoping she could start to win it back somehow. Still refusing to stop, her hand wrote about her foolishly believing they could go back to how they were before but that she realized it wasn’t possible. Her fingers continued moving, writing an apology for not being brave enough to ever call, explaining how hard it was to make the decision to leave the only person she’d ever been with and even harder to actually do it, asking for forgiveness and understanding that she was in so much denial, that she she didn't let herself consider there was more behind his smiles and his eyes.

Finally the words stopped coming, and Pam read over the now multi-page letter. It meandered and had plenty of mistakes but it was honest. She couldn’t imagine possibly giving this letter to him, but then again, did he possibly imagine he would say what he said in the parking lot this past May? Before she could second-guess herself she stuffed the letter in an envelope and wrote his name on it, paper-clipping it to the back of the red folder.

It took all the courage she had to get Jim’s attention this morning and call him over, and she prayed he wouldn’t notice her hand trembling as she handed him the folder. He seemed impressed with her work, his smile giving her hope. But then he closed the folder, mumbled something about his promotion and not doing this kind of stuff anymore, and Pam was once again reminded he was “evolving” and that she wasn’t part of that evolution.

(The only upside was the letter would remain safely unread, and the moment Jim returned to his desk, she tucked the whole CIA folder away in her bag to take it home.)

But now here she was, Jim in her passenger seat, on her way to her apartment for cocoa and cookie baking after successfully getting Dwight up on the roof thinking he was heading to Langley.

“The phone thing was a little mean, wasn’t it?” Jim said unprompted, warming his hands in front of the air vents.

Pam shrugged and gave Jim a quick glance. “It was, but it was also pretty funny.”

Jim chuckled and then Pam could see his smile fade out of the corner of her eye. “Oh shit, there he is!”

“What?!” She glanced up the right hand sidewalk and sure enough there was a tall man who was unmistakably Dwight, duffel bag on his shoulder and a bright orange knit cap on his head. “He must have cut across somewhere.” She glanced over and saw Jim fumbling with the sear recliner lever, trying to lay back. She held in a laugh at the image of a 6 foot 3 inch tall man trying to hide in her tiny Yaris. “Jim, you’re only drawing more attention to yourself,” she said, her voice ready to break into giggles.

“Make sure you’re going the speed limit,” Jim whispered and Pam was full on laughing now.

She rolled by the figure at a normal inconspicuous speed and glanced in her rear view to see Dwight just kept walking and didn’t seem to notice anything. “Okay, we passed him.” Pam said, smiling as Jim comically lifted his head to look then moved the seat back up. “What was that about going the speed limit?”

“I’m just thinking surely he had his speed gun in that gigantic duffel.”

Her brows knitted. “He has a speed gun?”

“Yes, remember that time they redid the sidewalks outside the office park and he was convinced that everybody was speeding in a work zone?

“Oh yeah! Yeah he put a ticket on my desk for going 27 in a 25.”

“And it had a little disclaimer at the bottom that it was not a binding ticket so that he wouldn’t get in trouble with the police department.”

Pam giggled and then the car fell silent. After a moment she chewed her lip, unsure what to say. “It’s just another couple blocks,” was what she decided on.

Jim smiled politely and nodded.

“And I’m sorry if it’s a little cluttered,” she blurted out.

“It can’t be worse than my place, half my things are still in boxes,” Jim replied.

Pam naturally would have followed-up but then thought about how his things were in boxes because he’s moved twice in the last six months and then thought about why he moved twice and bit her tongue instead.

She turned into the apartment parking lot and pulled into her usual spot. Everything seemed to move slowly as they got out of her car and climbed the narrow metal staircase to her door and she hoped he didn’t notice her fumbling with her keys.

They stepped inside and Pam flipped on the light. The entrance hallway suddenly felt very narrow, and when they passed the open door to her bedroom she resisted the urge to shut it. Thankfully the light was off so even if Jim peeked in he likely wouldn’t see the various clothes on the floor. The apartment opened up to a living room area, television, coffee table and couch, with the dining table and kitchen beyond that.

“So, this is about it,” Pam said. Jim nodded and Pam twisted her fingers together while he looked around. “You can throw your coat on the couch.”

“Okay,” he quickly shrugged his jacket off and then extended his arm towards her, “I can…”

Pam’s eyes widen and it took a moment to realize he was offering to take her coat. “Right,” she said with a nervous giggle. Once her coat was off, she shuffled to the kitchen and pulled a couple mugs out of the cupboard. “I have tea or cocoa,” she called towards the living room.

Jim appeared just on the other side of the counter, “Cocoa sounds great.” Pam nodded and pulled a couple packs of powered cocoa from the shelf and Jim looked around. “Can I help with anything?”

“Um,” she turned and looked towards the dining area, “if you can move everything on the table there, just set it in the living room.”

With a nod, Jim started stacking up the papers and carefully gathered the Christmas knickknacks Pam had on the table and transported them to the living room. While Pam waited for the first mug of water to heat up in the microwave, Jim started to read. “‘Attn CIA: This summer my boss Michael Scott tried to electronically pirate Entourage episodes and infected the whole network with a computer virus, he then convinced accountant Kevin Malone to agree to take the blame.’” He chuckled, “Wow.”

“Yeah none of us could send email for a week,” Pam said with a laugh. Her eyes widened when she realized he was reading from the red CIA folder, which she threw onto the coffee table with her other work bag contents when she first got home from work. When she remembered the card with his name on it was still paper clipped to the back, her mind started scrambling. “Hey Jim, um, I … need you … for something,” she stammered, her cheeks immediately hot.

Jim appeared in the kitchen with a smirk on his face, “You need me?”

Pam’s cheeks burned even hotter and she gestured to the cupboard. “My baking sheets are on up on the top shelf, under the Tupperware.” He stepped past her and reached up and she was just relieved she was able to quickly come up with an excuse. She directed him to the other materials needed: sprinkles, chocolate chips, the dough of course, and a tin decorated with a Christmas landscape also on the top shelf. While he spread out everything on the table, she finished up the cocoa and walked towards him with two mugs.

After a couple sips, Jim looked at their setup. “What kind of cookies are we making?”

“Mostly spritz cookies.” Pam smiled at his confused brows and opened up the Christmas tin, taking out a silver tube with copper-colored caps and a large screw out of one end. “We’ll be using this.” Jim took the device and turned it over in his hands, brows still knit. “Have you never seen a cookie press before?” Pam asked with a smile.

“Nah, our cookie-making tradition was mostly gingerbread men, and telling my mom I had zero part in making some of them anatomically correct, that was all my brothers.”

Pam giggled, “I can't say I’ve ever been terribly sad about not having brothers.”

“Nor do you have any reason to be,” Jim said quickly. He smiled at Pam’s laugh, then returned to inspecting the press. “So tell me about these spritz cookies.”

“Well you put dough in the top, then select your shape, set it on the baking sheet and twist and voila.” Pam pointed out the dozen little metal discs in the tin. “Want to pick the first shape?”

While Pam filled the tube with dough, Jim sorted through the discs. “I gather they will actually come out looking like something,” he said, holding one with a cutout that was just six lines radiating from the center.

“Yeah, they’re a little abstract.”

“I gotta see what this is supposed to be,” Jim handed the disc to Pam. “Like a skinny brontosaurus.”

Pam smiled and slid the disc into the end. She set the press down on the sheet, twisted about one and half times then lifted it straight up. The dough was now a puffy little creature with two thick legs and a hump.

“A camel?” Jim guessed tentatively. Pam said yes and laughed when he shook his head, “I failed that one.”

After making a row of camels on the cookie sheet, Pam handed the press to Jim. “You wanna try?”

“Yes sure, looks easy enough. Just set it down and twist,” Jim narrated as he did just that. “And… how many twists?”

“Not quite two,” Pam said, pressing her lips together when he went about a half turn too far.

“Not quite two twists, and voila-aaah.” Jim pulled the tube straight up, revealing a camel far puffier than any in Pam’s row. “He’s, um, had too many cookies this holiday season.”

Pam laughed, “Here, set the press down again, don’t turn yet.” Jim obliged and Pam sided up to him, setting her hand on top of his. “Turn about this far,” she gripped his hand slightly and started rotating it. “And again,” she guided his hand back to its original position and once again gripped it as he turned the dial. “Now lift straight up.” Jim lifted the tube. “There, looks mostly like a camel.”

She smiled up at Jim, who looked at her for a moment with an expression she couldn’t quick discern then inhaled sharply, “Yeah, much better BMI.” A smirk then crept onto his face, “Baking mass index.”

Pam scoffed at his dumb joke and playfully swatted his arm. “Here, let's finish this row and then switch the shapes.” She picked another disc from the tin and held it up with a smirk. “Can you guess this shape?”

Jim looked at the cutout that was very clearly a Christmas tree and rolled his eyes, “Yes I can guess that one.” He waited a beat, “Pyramid, obviously.”

* * * * *

With a cookie tray full of sprinkled camels and trees in the oven, Pam looked at her empty cup sitting on the table. “I think I’ll make more cocoa.”

“Here,” Jim grabbed both their mugs and walked to the sink, “I’m iffy on that cookie press but I can handle cocoa.”

She laughed and her eyes looked across her small apartment to the living room, falling onto the red folder sitting on the coffee table. As casually as possible she made her way passed the couch, trying to decide where best to slip the folder out of view. The microwave beeped, and she could see Jim setting the mugs of hot water on the counter. “Hey, I have some Bailey’s under that counter there.”

He lifted his brows, “You wanna Irish up this round?” Pam nodded and Jim smiled widely, “Alright.” He squatted to look for the liqueur and with those couple of seconds Pam grabbed the folder and slid it between two art books on a shelf next to her television. About an inch of the red cardstock was visible above the books but when Pam heard the cabinet door close behind her, she figured it would have to do.

A moment later Jim walked into the living room. “I maybe went a little too Irish,” he said sheepishly, handing her a cup.

Giggling, she took a sip of the cocoa and Jim wasn’t kidding. He apologized and she shook her head, “It’s just extra Christmas cheer.”

“That’s right,” he lifted his mug to her and took a drink. He then nodded to her coffee table, “That looks interesting, Gardens of Monet.”

Pam chewed the inside of her cheek, silently scolding herself for not hiding the book with the folder. “Yeah, um, Roy gave that to me today, I only skimmed it but it had nice pictures.” She briefly considered adding ‘only took breaking up to get a decent Christmas present from him’ but decided that was too bitter. There was a long silence and Pam took a deep breath. She had no idea what to say and as a result blurted out something she instantly regretted. “I saw you and Karen exchange something.”

Jim’s eyes widened slightly, and she knew he was as baffled as her that she voluntarily brought up Karen. “Yes, uh, we got each Bridget Jones Diary 2. We ended up watching it a couple weeks ago and just ragged on it the whole time. Then somehow we dared each other to get the DVD for Christmas.” He let out a nervous laugh, “Sounds a little dumb when I explain it.”

It did sound dumb but also fun, the kind of dumb fun she and Jim once had. Maybe would be having now if things were different. “It’s only dumb if you paid full price for the movie,” she finally said. Jim's eyes darted away and he took another sip of cocoa. Pam’s shoulders dropped, “Oh no, you did pay full price.”

“It was not my proudest moment.” He gave her a smile but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and both of them started looking at their mugs.

Much to Pam’s relief, the kitchen timer started ringing and she all but ran to the oven. She slipped on her oven mitts and opened the door.

“How did the camels come out?” Jim called from the living room.

Pam set the tray down on the stove top. “Pretty much perfect,” She spun around and Jim stood on the other side of the counter.

“Well, uh, I think this second mug is gonna drive me to the bathroom,” Jim said, fingers drumming the counter. Pam nodded and said she’d get the next tray ready. “Cool, and I’m calling dibs on my chunky camel.”

Pam laughed, “Of course.” She watched him with a smile on her face until he was out of view, then looked to the counter and sighed. She didn’t know what to make of this night so far. Things seemed fine, even good, so long as the conversation stayed on Dwight or cookies. Anything else and the awkwardness immediately set it. Her eyes wandered to the dining table, a bowl of dough still waiting and she figured that means they just need to stick with cookies. She walked over and started refilling the cookie press, not really thinking about how long Jim had been in the bathroom.

Then he suddenly next to her and she jumped a little at his “Hey.” He rubbed his hands together. “So what’s up next?”

Pam motioned to the tin, “I think it’s your turn to pick the shape.” She watched him dig around and there was something slightly different, he seemed just a little more nervous despite the spiked cocoa. She shook her head and told herself she was probably just projecting.

“Okay, I think this one somehow turns into Santas?” Jim squinted at the metal circle.

“Why don't we see,” she said smiling, taking the disc from his hand.

Chapter End Notes:
Hmmmmm, is something different about Jim? Or is Pam just imagining things? If you're not familiar with Spritz/Cookie Press cookie here some discs Jim and Pam use (i'll find the funky Santa one too). Here's to me getting the next chapter up before next Christmas!

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