~Now~ 

She was huddled on her sofa wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and an old shirt of Roy’s that she’d always loved - soft as silk but light as cotton in the way that only very old, very worn cloth can become.  It was so big on her that the sleeves hung to the middle of her arms, the collar long since stretched out – another thing she loved about it, because she couldn’t stand things that clung to her neck, particularly when she slept.

It was raining hard enough for the drops to be audible as they pelted against the window pane behind her couch, and when she parted the curtains slightly, the world outside was a grayish blur.  But she liked it – couldn’t have asked for a more perfect sick day, in fact.

And she really was sick; what had begun as a slight scratchiness in the back of her throat – familiar enough that she’d known what was coming – had escalated into a head full of congestion and a static sound whenever she breathed in that inevitably erupted into a hacking cough. Her ribs hurt; her throat felt painfully raw, and holding her head up seemed to take an almost Herculean effort.

It was actually the second day in a row that she’d called in sick, which was something she’d only done one other time in the close to four years that she’d worked at Dunder Mifflin.

-------

~Then~ 

Three years earlier, she’d had all four of her wisdom teeth removed, and she had been panicked from the moment she’d found out it would have to be done - afraid of being put under, as well as of the surgery itself – having heard horror stories about both.

“Seriously, Jim.” She’d shaken her head, looking up at him with wide eyes as he leaned against the counter of her desk, absently sifting through a stack of messages.  “Roy’s sister had it done, and she ended up begging her mom to page the dentist at two in the morning because she was in so much pain.  She said it was worse than childbirth.”

“Pam.” Jim lowered his chin at her skeptically. “Worse than childbirth?  C’mon.  You’re getting too worked up over this, I’m telling you.  Aside from that, going under anesthesia is quite enjoyable, actually.”

She rolled her eyes when he grinned at her.

“Have you had your wisdom teeth out?” She knew the answer – he hadn’t; the only surgery he’d ever had was a tonsillectomy when he was eight – but she was trying to make a point.

“No, I haven’t.” He answered, shaking his head because he knew she was well aware that he hadn’t.  “But I know that it’s a common, uncomplicated procedure.”

She snorted.

“Besides, it’s all in how you go into it.” He tilted his head, pursing his lips. “If you freak yourself out about it, you’re not accomplishing anything.  Just go into it believing that it’s going to be fine – because it is.”

“What if I don’t wake up from the anesthesia?” She asked, her voice low, eyes holding his face as if he magically held all the answers. 

In a way he had, because even though others had tried to calm her fears about this – her mother, Roy, even Toby – only Jim was able to really assuage her panic.  She couldn’t have said why that was, exactly, much less what it meant. 

That had been back during the blissful days before she’d awakened to the reality of what was happening between them, well in advance of her efforts to deny it.

“Why would you not wake up from the anesthesia?” He asked, then held up a hand when she started to open her mouth. “Wait – let me guess: Roy’s sister knows somebody who never woke up…?”

She gave him a dirty look. “No…but I swear I’ve heard stories about it; they say you never know how you’ll handle it until you’re under.  And they say some people really don’t wake up - ever.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” He asked, resting the heels of his hands on her desk as he gestured, still holding the stack of messages between his right thumb and forefinger. “The same mysterious ‘they’ who swear you’ll die if you eat Pop Rocks and drink Coke at the same time?”

His smile had widened when she laughed again, lowering her head and shaking it. “Maybe!  Besides, how do you know that’s not true?”

“What? The Pop Rocks thing?”

She nodded somberly, but he could tell that she was trying hard not to laugh.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” His eyebrow was cocked at her now, voice low in disbelief.  She loved the way his voice went a little gravelly when he was surprised or indignant.

In those simple days, she had been wholly unaware that his voice also sounded that way when he was turned on - “You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that” – as well as when he was crying.  Back then, she’d never have dreamed she’d witness either scenario – much less both in the span of twenty minutes.

“I am.” She shrugged, pulling the corners of her mouth down, eyebrows up. “Do you know for a fact that it’s not true?  I mean, have you ever tried it?”

“Can’t say that I have.” They exchanged a grin as Michael emerged from his office, seeing that they were deep in conversation and immediately joining them, standing beside Jim and casting a sidelong glance at the camera.

“What’re we talkin’ about he-ah?” He asked dramatically, flashing them both a big grin. 

Before Jim could make something up, she’d answered, “I’m having my wisdom teeth out in two weeks.”

Jim gave a barely discernible shake of his head, realizing immediately the mistake she’d made.

“Oooooooh.” Michael exhaled, cringing immediately. “That is some nasty stuff, let me tell you.”

“Actually, Michael – “ Jim began, but it was too late; she was panicked, staring at Michael desperately.

“What?  Why?”

“Pam, seriously, don’t – “

“Welllll…” Michael drawled the word, leaning against the counter as he cast yet another quick glance at the camera.  “I had mine taken out when I was ten, and – “

“Seriously, Michael?” Jim gave him a pointed look, knowing he wouldn’t get it, but he had to try anyway. 

“Oh, I am dead serious.” Michael’s eyes widened at Jim, then he turned back to Pam. “Anyway, I actually woke up in the middle of the surgery, and I started to flail all around.”

“Oh my god.” She said, her voice flat and terrified, eyes huge.

“Oh yeah.” Michael nodded earnestly. “It was really horrendous.”

“Michael – “

“Jim!” Michael drew back indignantly. “I’m trying to tell a story here.”

“I know that.” Jim nodded. “But actually…. Hey!  You’ve got a better one.  Tell the one about the time you ran into the wall and your front tooth ended up protruding from your mouth horizontally. That’s a really cool story.”

-----------------

Jim had disappeared just before lunch, coming back at ten till one with a paper sack in his hand, sticking his head in the break room, where Pam sat talking with Kelly, Phyllis, and Kevin.

“Beesly?” He asked, gesturing with his head. “Could I talk to you for a second?”

That had been in the easy days before anyone else had even picked up on his feelings for her – when he could say things like that, and it was okay because she was lucky, lucky to be engaged to her high school sweetheart, and Jim was harmless – still boyishly cute in those days, somehow far removed from the handsome man who had turned more than one head on Casino Night. 

“What?” She asked, smiling already as she followed him into the main area of the office, because she could clearly see that he was up to something. And whenever he involved her in one of his schemes, it always made her feel strangely alive in a way that very little else did.

It was the same feeling she’d had when her high school art teacher had asked her to stay after class, taking his glasses off as he looked at her so seriously, telling her, “Pamela, you have real talent; I think you should pursue this.”

She’d been shocked, humbled…embarrassed. “But what could I do….?”

“Anything.” He’d smiled encouragingly at her. “You could do anything from illustrations for children’s books to architecture, given your penchant for design.”

Sitting across from him, seeing the conviction in his eyes…it had given her a sense of purpose, fueled her, inspired her in ways she couldn’t articulate.

Those dreams had gradually fallen away in the face of security and stability and what was expected. 

Real life.

And that was the thing about Jim: He seemed to exist outside the confines of that weary, soul-depleting notion of real life; his was a world of idealism and excitement and the energy of youth. He somehow managed to make everything seem possible. 

One of the things that had fascinated her most about him – from the very week she’d met him – was his ability to turn even the mundane into an adventure.  He made working at a mid-sized paper company in Scranton, Pennsylvania something that she learned to look forward to; he gave it that hazy romanticism of fiction, almost.  Made the days bearable.  

And now here he was, doing his best to calm her nerves about having the wisdom teeth out.

He had taken hold of the back of his chair, gesturing for her to have a seat.  She did, casting him a quizzical look. “What’re you doing?”

“Just trust me.” He’d grinned, then set the paper bag on his desk, reaching in to pull out a packet of Pop Rocks.

“Oh my god!” She exclaimed, hands covering her mouth as she started to giggle. “Where did you find those?  I haven’t seen them in forever!”

“It wasn’t easy, believe me.” His grin was a little lopsided. “I went to two drugstores and three gas stations before I found them.  But I did discover that if you’re looking for obscure candy, Hank’s on Cedar Street is the place to go.”

All she could do was grin up at him happily.

“Now.” He ceremoniously pulled out a can of Coke, setting it on his desk in front of her.  “I am going to demonstrate to you exactly why you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

She was giggling as he made a production of ripping open the small packet and tilting his head back, letting some of the bright purple crystals fall into his mouth.

She’d found herself mesmerized by the curve of his jaw, the rough shadow of stubble that covered his Adam’s apple; she was seized with the sudden urge to press her lips to the base of his throat, just to see what he’d do.  And then she’d caught herself, startled, and had immediately pushed the thought from her mind.  Those were the days when she could dismiss such impulses as simply that – physical urges, completely unfounded, totally insignificant.

Back then, she genuinely hadn’t realized that he was simply it, the only man with the innate ability to discern her needs…the one man who met those needs before she could even articulate them.

It had all begun under the easy guise of friendship, evolving into something more before she was even conscious of it.  And by then it had been too late – far too late – to stop it. 

When he’d reached for the Coke, she’d dramatically grabbed his arm, asking, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

As soon as her fingers closed over his wrist, she noticed the sinewy muscles in his forearm, the sprinkling of dark hair, the way his watchband cut into his skin just a little.

Later, she’d try to pinpoint the origins of it, would try to trace back to the moment when it had all begun.  The most maddening thing was that she couldn’t separate these moments – feeling that desire for him quickening, swelling up into her throat – from the warming realization that Jim was her best friend – that he understood her, that he’d do anything to make her happy.

Months and months later, she’d try in vain to trace the divide between the man she fantasized about and the best friend who made her laugh until she was breathless.

He mumbled something at her, but the words were unintelligible amid the crackling shards of sugar in his mouth. She had laughed at him, prompting him to roll his eyes at her as he leaned his head back again, lips closing over the edge of the Coke can.

And then she was appreciating his mouth, the fullness of his lips – had lazily wondered what it’d be like if those lips were on hers. In those days, she’d been able to think those sorts of thoughts without going under, falling into a daze that left her antsy, restless.    

Shaking off those impulses had been second nature to her back then, something she did as thoughtlessly as she breathed. 

He stood to his full height, making a show of smiling broadly at her through pursed lips as he held the Coke and the Pop Rocks in his mouth.  She could hear the hissing and popping, which struck her as outrageously funny.  He grinned down at her as her shoulders shook in silent laughter.

When he was satisfied that he’d convinced her, he swallowed it all down with an audible gulp before he asked, “Okay – now do you believe me?”

All she could do was nod, rising from the chair to stand in front of him, wanting to hug him but settling for a begrudging, “Fine. Whatever.”

She could tell from the look on his face that he read her subtext: Thank you – thank you. 

“You’re welcome.” He’d bowed at her as if she’d said the words aloud.

“And hey…”

She’d turned, halfway to her desk. 

“If I spontaneously combust later, you can have all my cds.  Oh, and make sure that you clean out my desk before Dwight can get to it.” He paused. “There’s some stuff in my bottom drawer that he just shouldn’t see.  But you’ll know what to do with it.”

His smile was brilliant, eyes so alive.

“Got it.”