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You don't have to have read "Christmas Morning," but I hope you do. Both fics could stand on their own. 

No copyright infringement intended. 

New Year’s Eve

Part 1

Back in the office after the brief Christmas break, Jim tried his best to act normally. He wandered over to Reception and filched a few red and green M&M’s—Pam’s concession to the holidays. She looked up at him, her eyes warm.  He found himself frozen a moment, trapped in her beautiful hazel eyes, his mind totally blank.

She smiled gently, though her cheeks were suspiciously pink. “May I help you with something?”

He blinked, finally, felt his own face flush. He cleared his throat.

“Oh, uh. Yeah. Are you and Roy going to Kevin’s New Year’s Eve party?”

Two days after Christmas, Kevin had e-vited most everyone from the office to a party at his place.  Fortunately, Michael wasn't invited, so everyone was relieved that the boss wouldn’t be there, avoiding a repeat of Jim’s barbecue.

“I am. Roy’s not. I guess the all-night poker game the warehouse guys are having sounds more fun to him.  But I’m not sitting all night watching him lose our money, and I don’t feel like sitting at home watching Nick at Night marathons or seeing people having all the fun in New York. So, yeah, I’ll be at Kevin’s. I’m sure it’ll be the next best thing to Times Square.”

Jim grinned, his heart filling with joy that he could spend an entire evening with her without having to watch her with Roy.  He tried not to think about how his heart tripped a little, remembering his New Year’s resolution.

“Hey, don’t count Kevin out.  That man has the heart of a frat boy, and good taste in beer.”

“I’ll reserve judgment then.”

He drummed his fingers nervously on the counter a few times, hesitated. It was weird. He suddenly could think of nothing to say to her, but at the same time needed to say everything.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“No. I uh—guess I’d better get back to work.”

“Me too,” she said.  There was something knowing in her smile, something indefinably different in the way she looked at him, in the palpable, heightened chemistry between them. He walked back to his desk, but his eyes were drawn back to Pam.  Did she somehow know what he was thinking, how he really felt?  Had she read his Christmas card before he’d taken it, sealing it up again so well that he couldn’t tell she’d opened it? He thought about the card, still in his desk at home where he’d put it Christmas morning.  He gave a shuttering sigh. No. It definitely hadn’t been opened, he told himself. Something else had caused this change.

Tomorrow night was New Year’s Eve, and with Roy gone, he spied his chance to talk to her alone, to tell her his true feelings, to put them out there on the table so she could at least have a clear idea of her options. And if she didn’t feel the same way, if he ruined their friendship by his admission, well—he was sure Dunder Mifflin could transfer him somewhere where he wouldn’t have to endure loving her and watching her with someone else. It was a calculated risk, for the picture of him she had drawn had convinced him that he hadn’t been imagining things. Maybe she just needed a nudge from him. Maybe she wasn’t sure of Jim’s feelings, needed a clearer sign from him before she turned her life upside down for another man.

Besides, even if he chickened out on the romantic confessions, he’d have an excuse to kiss her at midnight. That thought alone propelled him through the rest of the day, kept him awake far into the night.

 

Kevin’s condo was really nice, and Jim wondered if his family had money for him to have been able to afford such a place on a Dunder Mifflin salary. He came to the door, a bottle of scotch in hand, to find most of the office staff there for the party. He shook hands with a Christmas sweater-clad Kevin, whose eyes lit up at the expensive single malt, then told Jim to make himself at home and eat and drink all he wanted. The dining room table had been turned into a card table, and Ryan, Dwight, Toby, Creed, and Stanley, along with a couple of Kevin’s other friends, were seated around it playing Texas Holdem. They were playing with cash and coin rather than chips, each with a bottle or high-ball glass on the table beside him. The men all called out friendly greetings and invitations to let them take his money, as Kevin took his seat again at the head of the table.

“You’re the last one here, Jim. You want us to deal you in?”

Jim shook his head. “Maybe later. I’m gonna check out the food first. Something smells great.”

“Chicken,” Dwight mocked.

“No, Dwight,” replied Jim dryly, “smells more like chili.” Everyone laughed, and Jim followed his nose to the kitchen.

His heart lurched as he saw Pam there with Kevin’s girlfriend, Stacy. Pam was taking a pan of hot hors d'oeuvres out of the oven, laughing at something Kelly had said.  Oscar was manning the makeshift bar, a buffet table set up with all kinds of bottles and a blender, in which he was pouring what looked to be the ingredients for margaritas. Jim added his bottle to the counter, and Oscar voiced his approval.

“Beer’s in the fridge,” Oscar directed, “or if you don’t want a margarita, I might be able to make a drink you want.”

“Nah, a beer is fine, thanks, he replied, though he was tempted to drink something much stronger, especially after Pam smiled her hello. If tonight was “The Night” he was going to need a lot of liquid courage.

“Hey,” he said casually, walking past her to the refrigerator. He greeted the other women, patiently enduring Kelly’s enthusiastic hug and squeal of welcome, rolling his eyes at Pam’s amused grin.

“You gotta try Oscar’s margaritas, Jim!” Kelly gushed.

Jim chuckled. “I will, I will. Let me start with a beer first,” he said, as Pam handed him a bottle opener.

“There’s chili, sandwiches, and chips and dip over on the sideboard,” Stacy said. “And I’ll put out these mini quiches when they cool a little.”

“Thanks. Can’t wait.”  Taking a swig from his bottle, Jim found his way to the food. He’d been so nervous that he hadn’t eaten anything since cereal that morning, and his ham sandwich was still in the office fridge at work. He filled up a plate now with snacks, while Pam joined him.

“I’m starving,” she said, echoing his thoughts. “That artichoke dip is awesome. Stacy’s recipe.”

“Hmm,” said Jim, behind a bite of sandwich.  He surreptitiously eyed Pam in her non-office attire. Her hair was down, curling around her face in ringlets he knew from watching his sister had to be carefully formed with a curling iron. She wore well-worn, comfortable looking jeans that did amazing things to her butt. Her top was an emerald green sweater that looked soft to the touch, like cashmere or something, and its scooped neck, though modest,  was form-fitting enough to show off the outline of her full breasts. He had to force his gaze up to keep from staring, his heart beating double time. He was tempted to go ask Oscar to open up the scotch after all.

“Hey, New Year’s Rockin’ Eve is on in the living room,” Pam suggested, and Kelly and the others said they’d join them in a minute. Somewhere, a stereo was playing classic rock low from hidden speakers throughout the condo, while the TV was on mute.  Jim and Pam sat together on a soft leather couch, setting their beers dutifully on coasters on the coffee table.

Jim tried to act casual, but his mind was swirling with thoughts of how he hoped this evening would go. “Mind if I turn on the bowl game? Penn State is playing.”

“Sure, I don’t mind. Kelly and Stacy might object though.”

“I’ll cross that bridge…” he said with a smirk, picking up the remote control for the big screen TV. He left the volume off, turning to Pam in an attempt to make small talk.

“Where’s Phyllis and Angela?” he asked, not really curious.

“Phyllis is with Bob, I guess. They mentioned something about going into New York City tonight. Who knows, we might see them on TV at midnight.”

They both laughed, imagining it.

“Angela said something about fearing going into the den of a depraved accountant.  I don’t know, though; Kevin seems to have made out pretty good in life, if this place is any indication.  I think she’d be safe. Stacy showed me around upstairs earlier. He has a whirlpool bathtub,” she said, sotto voce.

They met each other’s eyes, laughter and horror intermingling as they pictured (against their will) Kevin lounging in a big bathtub.

“There were lots of bottles of bubble bath,” Pam added mischievously, watching him struggle not to laugh with food in his mouth. 

“Oh my God, stop,” Jim protested, mouth full, trying not to choke on the artichoke dip. She patted his back helpfully, laughing as he grabbed his beer to help wash it down. At that moment, Stacy brought in a tray of mini quiches and baby pigs in blankets, and Kelly and Oscar joined them, margaritas in hand.

Kelly groaned dramatically. “Oh, man, Jim. Football? Really? Mariah Carey is supposed to be on Dick Clark.  She is so my idol!”

“I bet she won’t be on until closer to midnight,” Pam said, trying to make everybody happy. “I really don’t care what we watch, myself. It’s just nice to be out of the house.”

“AMC is having a Cary Grant marathon,” Oscar suggested, without much hope.

Jim sighed, outnumbered, and handed the remote to Kelly.  “We’ll take turns. Kelly can watch first.”

“Yay,” she said, scooting closer to Jim on the couch. “Oh, the Pussycat Dolls are on!”

“How about a board game while we watch,” Stacy said, opening a cupboard below the built-in bookshelves. Oscar got up to peruse the boxes with her. “Hey! Kevin has Trivial Pursuit.” Jim and Pam looked back at him with raised eyebrows, surprised Kevin of all people even owned such a game.  “Looks like its never been opened,” he said, nodding.  Well, that explained it.

“Ah,” muttered Jim, and Pam elbowed him.  Kevin’s girlfriend was right there, after all.

“Sounds fun to me,” said Pam. They cleared the coffee table and gathered around, Pam and Jim moving to sit on pillows on the floor, Oscar and Stacy on the couch.  Kelly begged off in favor of the TV.

“That game is so boring. We used to play strip Trivial Pursuit all the time in high school with the senior boys,” Kelly said.

Jim stifled a laugh. “What?”

“Yeah. You had to take something off every time you missed a question. Funny how my girlfriends and I always ended up naked first.  I think the boys were cheating; they always got the Sports questions.”

“Genius,” Jim muttered, in admiration of those long ago teenage boys.

“Well, I’m in,” said Ryan with a smirk, who had been standing at the edge of the room listening to their conversation. “Strip Trivial Pursuit sounds awesome.”

“No way,” said Pam. “Not happening.”

“Yeah,” added Oscar. “No one wants to see you lose Ryan.” Ryan grinned knowingly, but made no further comment.

“Did they clean you out at the poker table?” asked Jim, making room for Ryan on the floor. 

“Yeah, that Kevin is a shark,” he said. “I lost fifty bucks.”

Jim tried not to breathe in Pam’s delicate floral perfume. It smelled like his mother’s rose garden in the summer, and her sweatered arm brushed against him as she reached out to pick the pink pie piece as her game token. His own gray sweater sleeves were pulled up to his elbows, and he was pleased to find he was right: her sweater was very, very soft.  He swallowed, stood abruptly. It was only nine o’clock. How was he going to hang on until twelve?

“Anyone want something else to drink before we start?” he asked.

Ryan and Oscar called for some of the scotch Jim had brought, Pam another beer, Stacy and Kelly another margarita.  “I’ll help you,” Pam said, following him back to the kitchen.

“Having fun?” she asked him, searching around for a tray to carry the drinks. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Beats sitting home alone, or braving the drunk drivers.”

She nodded. “Roy usually has his New Year’s poker game at home, but Daryl offered to host at his house this year, giving me a good excuse not to be there. I was really glad when Kevin invited me to come here.”

“Me too.”

Finding a tray in a low cupboard, she set it near Jim as he opened the bottle of amber liquor. He grabbed three glasses and gave each of them a double shot, downing his own when Pam had her back turned at the refrigerator.  He hastily refilled his glass in time for her to join him, pouring the last of the margarita mix from the blender for the other women. The whiskey was doing its trick, warming him, relaxing him.

“Let’s make this interesting,” Ryan ventured, when everyone had chosen their token and was settled in to play.  He held the dice in his hand.

“I thought you were already down fifty,” said Oscar.

“More interesting than money. The winner gets to choose who he or she kisses at midnight.”

Everyone looked equally terrified, save for Ryan, who had been looking straight at Pam when he’d made his proposition.

“Hey!” protested Kelly.  “Remember who you came here with, Ryan.”

Ryan shrugged. “You opted not to play.”

“Can we kiss someone not playing this game?” asked Stacy, glancing nervously toward the dining room.

“Sure. Anyone in the house.  Or no one, I guess.  Winner’s choice, but if you play, you agree to be kissed if it comes to that.”

“Well, that’s okay then,” Kelly intoned, relieved, and probably having missed the way Ryan had been looking at Pam’s neckline.  Jim hadn’t missed it though, and he took another drink of single malt.

“Everyone still in?” asked Ryan.

“Yep,” came the chorus of agreement, and Jim snuck a glance in Pam’s direction, surprised that she’d agreed when Roy wasn’t here.  He began evaluating his competition, not too worried about Oscar being inappropriate with Pam. Ryan, on the other hand…Jim’s second New Year’s resolution suddenly became kicking Ryan’s ass in Trivial Pursuit.

An hour and a half later, and Kelly was asleep at the end of the couch, and the remaining players were tied, one pie wedge remaining for each of them. Science wasn’t Jim’s strong suit, and the pie wedge for that category remained illusive. Oscar was missing the Sports wedge, as was Pam; Ryan still needing the Geography wedge. Stacy had dropped out, claiming a headache and one too many margaritas, and she was asleep in Kevin’s recliner.  Jim got his final slice of pie with a question about bears, everyone laughingly calling it unfair since his desk was next to the resident bear expert.  He still had to make his way to the center of the board by an exact roll of the dice to ultimately win the game. He overshot the center space multiple times, and missed the next question, so the others were still in the running.

The poker players began trickling in to refill their glasses and watch the climax of the game, the tension rising after Ryan explained the stakes. The gamblers began making bets on who would win, as one by the Trivia players all got their final pie wedges, and began the arduous task of landing in the center and answering their final question correctly. Finally, Pam was the one who made it there, but the rules stated her opponents got to choose her final category for the winning question. They all agreed it would be Sports.

Pam groaned, and the others chuckled at her quandary.

Jim did the honors of drawing the card with what could be her winning question. His heart beat wildly, wondering who she would pick to kiss if she got this.  It flitted through his mind that If she felt what he was feeling, maybe she would find the courage all this alcohol he’d been drinking wasn’t giving him.

Taking a breath, Jim read the card:

“How many players in total are on a volleyball court at one time in sanctioned tournament play?”

Pam, who had played volleyball throughout high school and college, let out a joyous bark of laughter.

“Twelve! Yes!” And she rose to her feet, hands in the air with victory. “Suck it, boys!  I win!”

“She’s right,” confirmed Jim, his face reflecting how impressed he was by her.  “Well done, Beesly.”

The other women were awake now, cheering her on in feminine solidarity, hugging her and patting her on the back. There was a smattering of applause and whistles from the men, including her opponents, Jim smiling the widest, pride glimmering in his eyes.  Someone shoved a beer in her hand, and she downed it happily.

Ryan and Jim got up from the floor, stretching their stiff legs.

“So, who are you kissing at midnight, Pam?” Ryan asked with a lascivious grin.

The onlookers fell silent, except for Kevin, who said: “I think she’ll kiss Jim. But it would be totally hot if she kissed Kelly.” He giggled happily at the thought.

Creed grinned lecherously. “I’d pay to see that.”

Pam flushed. “I have till midnight to decide, right? And I can also choose not to kiss anyone, that was the deal.”

“True,” said Ryan. “But come on. You won. You deserve to claim your prize.”

“Don’t pressure her, Ryan,” said Kelly, her annoyance tinged with jealousy. 

“At this point, I don’t know what I’ll do,” Pam said. “I still have about an hour…”

She helped Jim dismantle and put up the game, while Kelly cranked up Dick Clark’s show and the others migrated to the kitchen for sustenance and lot of alcohol to balance it out. Jim was still feeling the buzz of his multiple shots, felt the confidence seeping through his body.

“Don’t let Ryan bully you into something you don’t want to do,” he said softly as he reached for the lid to the game box.  “It’s pretty obvious he concocted this whole scenario to cause trouble…and to maybe get something out of it for himself.”

Pam smiled tightly. “Yeah, I know. I remember the Boggle tournament. The penalty was his idea if you remember.”

Jim nodded. “Exactly. He can be a real prick.”

She gasped in mock shock.   “Why, Jim, such language.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry; I’ve been drinking.  Speaking of which—you want another?”

“I’d better not. I have an important decision to make—I need a clear head.”

“Well I’d like my head to be as fuzzy as possible.  Maybe Oscar knows how to make a good gin and tonic.”

“Wow,” said Pam. “Gin generally kicks my ass. Go easy on that stuff, Halpert.”

“No promises.”

A half hour later, and Jim was well on his way to being sloppy drunk. Not exactly the look he was going for, but he was nervous about confessing his love to Pam, as well as at the prospect of Ryan’s stupid bet screwing up his plans, but he drank straight past the shot of courage stage to hover at the embarrassingly wasted stage. If Jim wasn’t who Pam chose to kiss at midnight, he’d be out of luck tonight; the mood would be totally ruined.  And how often would he get this chance to take her aside and talk to her alone, the excuse of New Year’s Eve to kiss her, with no Roy around to punch him out for it? 

He’d played a couple hands of poker to pass the time, knocking back gin like there was no tomorrow. Also, he’d lost all the money in his wallet—he had no idea at the moment just how much that was. Some friends they were, he thought blearily; no one tried to get him to stop playing when he was so obviously not in his right mind.

At ten minutes to twelve, he stumbled up the stairs to the bathroom, struggled not to puke, splashed his face with some cold water and used the toilet. He wandered then into what he assumed was Kevin’s bedroom, where he found French doors that led to a small balcony. He went outside and breathed deeply of the cold night air, hoping it would sober him up some before he went down for the countdown to 2006.  He could hear the expectant laughter, as everyone made ready for the ball to drop on TV.

It smelled like it could snow at any minute, his breath coming out in white puffs. In the glow of the outside security lights, he saw her.

“Hey,” he said in surprise. “What are you doing out here?  You’ve got a crowd to please downstairs.”

 He wondered if his voice sounded as slow and slurred as it did in his head. He walked over to where she was leaning against the railing, and they both looked down.  Kevin lived in a gated community, and the property was situated in a parklike setting. Small lights lit a path that went all around the condo complex, and last week’s snow still covered most of the bushes and trees, or was swept into piles along the pathway.

Pam had laughed at his comment, so he guessed he must sound ok. “I told them I decided not to kiss anyone. A cop-out I know, but if it got back to Roy that I kissed another man at a party, he wouldn’t understand it was just a game and get really pissed off.   Totally not worth it.  But that’s okay; I have bragging rights, beating three of the smartest guys in the office at Trivial Pursuit.”

Jim laughed—too loudly? He was overwhelmingly relieved at her choice, yet disappointed at the same time.  She was rubbing her hands up and down her arms, and he realized through the alcohol induced fog that neither of them were wearing coats.

“Hey, hold on a sec,” he said.  He went back into Kevin’s room and retrieved the throw blanket he’d seen neatly folded at the end of Kevin’s bed.  This had to be Stacy’s influence, he thought absently. Good for you, Kev.

He rejoined her on the balcony, and unfolded the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders.

“Oh, thanks,” she said.  “Get under here with me. It’s freezing!”

He wasn’t so drunk that his heart didn’t recognize happiness when it was offered. He stood close to her beneath the warmth of the throw, within a cocoon of her nearness, of her scent. He grabbed for the railing as a wave of dizziness caught him.

“I’ve never seen you this drunk before,” she commented, sounding concerned. 

“I haven’t been this drunk since college.”

She laughed quietly, before a thought occurred to her. “Why tonight then? You always seem so in control. I know I don’t drink too much unless I’m trying to drown my sorrows.  Something going on you want to forget for a while?”

He suddenly felt almost sober, and he turned to look at her in the darkness, glad she couldn’t see the pain, the longing, that must be clearly etched in his face. Ha, he thought bitterly. In control? Most days I’m barely hanging on.

“I’m fuckin’ chicken shit, Pam,” he said out loud, and he felt his eyes water at the painfulness of the admission.

“About what?” she asked. She was pushing him, almost as if she knew…so like the coward he was, he promptly turned things back on her.

“Who would you have kissed, if there wasn’t…Roy?”

He felt her tense, and regretted his question immediately. His stomach dropped, thinking she’d abandon their cocoon now and go back into the house.

“Who should I have kissed?” she countered.

And there it was: his chance.  He felt immediately paralyzed, his throat seizing up, his heart pounding so loudly that the alcohol seemed secondary in addling his brain. He swallowed, then cleared his throat, ignoring the feeling that he was freefalling.

“Me,” he said.

And then, from downstairs, he heard the raised voices of their friends, excitedly counting backwards from ten.  He stepped closer to her beneath the blanket, his shaking hands going to her face, brushing back a soft ringlet from her cold cheek.  Her icy hands made him hiss in surprise when he felt them brush the skin between his sweater and his jeans.

“Jim, I—” she began, but by then the count had reached one, and the world suddenly erupted in celebration.

He kissed her amidst the cacophony of illegal fireworks, the echoing strains of Auld Lang Syne cranked loudly from countless TV’s at once.  His lips moved over hers, warming them, as the near and distant shouts of Happy New Year!  were punctuated by the banging of pots and pans and the pops of champagne corks from downstairs. She opened her mouth to his seeking tongue, as his hands slid into her hair. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his pulse racing, her arms wrapping around his waist, drawing them even closer together.

He didn’t know how much time had elapsed before their initial passion gave way to sweet, soft kisses, cold noses and foreheads touching, but the night was quiet again save for the sound of their heavy breathing.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he said lamely, though he felt his widest smile stretching his face.

“I don’t know what got into me,” she said.

“Three beers and a margarita?”

The whiteness of her teeth flashed in the darkness.  “I’m not nearly as drunk as you are, Halpert.”

“But you were the night of the Dundies, the night you first kissed me, Miss Whitest Sneakers.”

Her hands were moving under his sweater now, and they had become blessedly warm, though they still made him shiver.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied.

“Then let me refresh your memory.”

He bent and captured her lips again, and this time, her hands came up to his shoulders as he gathered the drooping blanket more closely around them.  He couldn’t believe this was happening; it was so surreal. He wondered if this was some scotch-induced hallucination, but her mouth tasted very real, and her hands on his shoulders, sensually sliding into his hair, seemed extremely tangible to him. The sexy noises in her throat that went straight to his groin were definitely not in his imagination—and neither was Kelly’s voice at the top of the stairs, calling for them both.

They broke apart suddenly and guiltily, and Pam struggled to disentangle herself from the blanket and from his arms.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said in a hoarse whisper.  “This was wrong. I—I shouldn’t have--”

“Pam, wait!”

But she had left him on the balcony alone, save for Kevin’s blue throw and a heart still racing with thwarted desire.  He felt the wind pick up, felt the cold wetness of a snowflake landing on his face.  He looked up into the sky, seeing nothing but white.

“Perfect,” he said under his breath, before a wave of nausea overtook him. 

He barely made it to the railing before he threw up onto the bushes far below.


Chapter End Notes:
Part 2 will focus on Pam. Thanks for reading, and Happy New Year!

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