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Story Notes:
A one-shot of fluff for the 10th year.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I do not own the Office or any of its IP.

Ten years later, they dragged themselves back to Niagara Falls. It wasn’t really that hard, other than that leaving Texas for upstate New York (or downstate Ontario) in the middle of the fall is always a hard sell. Setting it up so that Cece and Phil could stay with friends was remarkably easy, in fact: Jim could feel the momentary resentful glances from his fellow dads as the moms sighed (“so romantic!”) and agreed to of course watch the kids for a couple days while they took an anniversary trip. Getting time off was even easier: Pam’s gallery already wasn’t open Mondays and Tuesdays, so she just had to take Wednesday off, and for him, well, Converse’s acquisition of Athleap had meant the institution of formal personal time off that was much easier to schedule than when they’d been a startup. They’d both worked like maniacs the weekend before to clear their plates, but then again, hard work made play that much easier.

 

They’d decided this time to visit the Canadian side of the falls: everyone had told them how much cooler they were, and besides, as Jim told his beloved wife with a wink, “if we’re out of the country no one will question when I don’t answer my cell.” Sure, the American cell towers still picked up his phone; still, he deliberately didn’t answer, unless it was one of the kids’ friends’ parents—and they didn’t call, so that wasn’t an issue. They got a Groupon for a hotel on the Canadian side: nothing wrong with a little savings, and the deal included fifty dollars of free credit at the local arcade and a dinner at IHOP (“So fancy!” Pam fake-swooned when he told her, but they ended up stuffing themselves full of pancakes at 11pm on the night they got in and she had to admit it was a good idea). The next morning, for their actual anniversary, they wandered down to Horseshoe Falls and listened to the thunder of the water, Pam leaning against Jim in a companionable way that reminded them both—though neither was sure the other remembered—of a certain morning at a certain midsize paper company when she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder.

 

After gazing at the falls—and agreeing that the best thing about the Canadian side wasn’t actually their better falls, but the fact that you could see the American Falls and especially the Bridal Veil from a better angle—they wandered down the pokey little mainstreet of Niagara Falls, ON, ducking into tourist traps and daring each other to find the least practical, tackiest trinket on sale. Pam won with a beer bottle opener attached to a maple leaf so large that it actually made it impossible to get an angle that would let you use the bottle opener attachment, but Jim came in a strong second with a novelty T-shirt reading “Do You Like My Beaver?” emblazoned with a cartoon beaver giving a shit-eating grin, which they immediately purchased to send to their old friend Kevin Malone.

 

After lunch—Jim insisted on trying poutine, which Pam was dead set against until she took her first bite, and then “stole” (Jim’s word) or “shared” (Pam’s) the rest of his order and then marched up to the front and bought two more—they celebrated in their hotel room for a couple of hours before getting ready to go out to the fun center. No point in wasting fifty dollars of credit, after all.

 

While Pam got ready in the bathroom, Jim dressed carefully in the bedroom of their suite for their date night, chuckling to himself about how secretive Pam had been about what she’d packed for this vacation. She’d insisted (absolutely insisted) on separate bags, so that she could “keep her secret.” “It’s gonna kick your ass,” she’d joked.

 

Well, it was definitely her ass that was going to get kicked. Taking full advantage of his own personal bag, he’d pulled the suit he’d gotten married in out from the back of the closet, kicked up his workouts to eleven to make sure it would still fit (thank God he worked at a sports marketing firm, so they had an in-office gym), and—the cherry on top of the sneaky sundae—he’d managed to slip the shadowbox off the wall in the hallway that contained the half-tie and ripped veil from their wedding, packed the tie, and hidden the box in his sock drawer. He’d put it back up after the vacation, of course, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity. She hadn’t even noticed the box was missing!

 

As he’d known he would, he finished getting dressed first, while Pam was still in the bathroom, so he went out to wait in the front room of the surprisingly large suite. He was whistling as he leaned on the couch and marveling again at the fact that the suit somehow fit. The door to the bedroom cracked open just as he finished Britney Spears’s “Toxic,” and it was a good thing he’d already had his lips pursed, because an involuntary whistle was pulled out of him from somewhere deep inside.

 

He’d thought he’d pranked his wife, but she had done him one better.

 

It wasn’t that impressive, he realized in retrospect, that he could fit into his suit. He’d kept in much better shape since their marriage; he’d actually been a bit dumpy when they got married, and so it wasn’t such a struggle to get a man into a suit regardless. Pam though? Pam had had two children. She was ten years older. And she’d somehow fit into her damn wedding dress. Sure, she’d been pregnant when they’d married, but five months was…well, five months was nothing, as they’d both realized with each of Cece and Phil. But now she was in her full glory, and the dress fit like a glove.

 

And she looked amazing.

 

She would have looked amazing anyway, he thought to himself, because she was absolutely glowing with triumph. He bowed to her, entirely sincere in his admiration for her dedication to their anniversary, and she winked and blew him a kiss. He got up from the couch to reciprocate more directly and she put up a hand. He drew to a halt, wondering what it was that could take priority over showing his love to his wife.

 

She reached behind her head and pulled down her veil. Her original veil, the torn one he’d have sworn was somewhere in his sock drawer. How? His surprise must have shown on his face, because she grinned, went up on tiptoe, and whispered into his ear.

 

“You’ll have to try harder than that to beat me, Halpert.” She lowered back down to her natural height and surveyed him. “But good job, anyway.”

 

What could he do? He reached down and kissed her.

 

Half an hour and some frantic rearrangement of clothing later, they were at the fun center when Pam grabbed Jim’s arm. “Minigolf!”

 

He chuckled. “Oh man, do you remember how I crushed you at…”

 

She didn’t let him finish. “Only because you were keeping score.”

 

“That’s what scores are for, Pam. Demonstrating my innate minigolf superiority.”

 

“Maybe when you keep score.” She elbowed him in the side. “Some of us, however, keep accurate scores.”

 

“You wound me, Halpert.”

 

“My elbow’s not that sharp.” They grinned at each other. The air between them seemed to crackle.

 

“Bet I can beat you again.” He almost whispered it, his voice a caress.

 

“OK. But I get to keep score.” Her voice was equally soft.

 

“Deal. But I get to pick my ball first.” He kissed her again. They ran over to the attendant, who looked extremely surprised to see a couple in wedding clothes expressing interest in his game.

 

An hour later, Jim had to admit that he was not, actually, any good at minigolf anymore. Or more accurately, his wife was a freaking beast, while he himself was not bad. He’d gotten 2s and 3s on most of the holes: she, somehow, was hitting a hole in one every time. Even on the final hole, which he would have sworn was impossible: the ball went through a hole, into a tunnel, and then past a windmill rotating irregularly (though that last was possibly just the result of a faulty motor). She threw her arms up in the air in triumph after that one, and he could do nothing but admire her. She bounced her way over to him joyfully and he swung her around in a circle while she bubbled over in glee.

 

“I won I won I won!”

 

“I know.” He grinned at her, suddenly struck by an idea. “Pamela Morgan Beesly Halpert, did you practice minigolf?”

 

“Maaaaaaaaaybe.” She twinkled up at him and ran a finger down his tie. “I had to do something while you were at the gym.” Her smile turned mischievous. “You know, we never did set terms on that bet. What do I win?”

 

He beamed down at the only woman he’d ever loved, enjoying her own victory more, he thought, than he could have if he’d won himself. “Whatever you want.”

 

“Oooh.” If her smile had been mischievous before, it was downright sinful now. He coughed.

 

“What do you want?”

 

She grabbed his tie. “You.”

 

Afterwards they agreed it was definitely worth getting thrown out of a minigolf course in Canada was the best way to spend their tenth anniversary.

 

Even if they could never tell their children exactly why.

Chapter End Notes:
There you have it. Happy 10th, Niagara!


Comfect is the author of 24 other stories.



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