Jim had definite opinions on a lot of things.

The Flyers, Phillies, 76ers, and Eagles were the forces of good and right in the world.

Their opponents on any given day (but especially the Giants, Cowboys, and Redskins at all times) were the forces of darkness and deserved to be destroyed.

Madden was better on an Xbox than any other system, even if theoretically it was the exact same game. But NCAA Football was a better game than Madden.

It was better to draft at the end of a snake draft in fantasy football than the start, and if trading picks were only allowed (which it was not, Mark), he’d have shown Kevin that last year.

Some of the things he believed didn’t even have to do with sports.

Harry Potter was actually a good book.

Wuthering Heights was not.

West Side Story was the best Shakespeare adaptation, and Romeo+Juliet was just a crappy Leo DiCaprio vehicle for all the teenage girls to swoon over (this was a particularly sore spot because Jim himself had been just turning 18 when the movie had come out and looked nothing like a young DiCaprio. Or an older one, as it turned out).

Buying upsold wine was for suckers.

Parsnips were universally superior to carrots except for the color.

He kept that last one secret from anyone, for fear that Dwight would hear of it and give him a three-hour lecture on vegetable color, taste, and whatever residue was.

But beyond all these truths he held to be self-evident, there was one shining beacon of veracity that illuminated the depths of his soul, and it was not that all men were created equal (though he did consider himself as patriotic as the next man, assuming the next man was Dwight with his Nazi grandfather).

Pam Beesly was awesome.

This evening/morning/whatever you wanted to call it had only confirmed that truth, like a miracle performed for the already converted.

“So, you see, we can just tweak the language here a little bit—” she pointed at the page, where it said Ryan had run a student store at the high school he’d transferred to after his parents moved from Scranton to the Boston suburbs when he was 16, “and wow, would you look at that. ‘Experience selling in the Northeast market.’ Actually…” she frowned, turned to the computer and started frantically Googling, stifling a yawn. “Yes. That store still exists, and it definitely sells school supplies. ‘Experience selling stationary in the Northeast market.’” She yawned again. “It’s almost too easy.”

“I love you.” It slipped out without volition or intent.

“I know.” She flashed a grin and then yawned again. “I’ve always wanted to say that, you know. Han Solo…”

“To Princess Leia, yes, I’m aware.” He smiled. “I think everyone is aware, Pam. It’s only one of the most popular movies of all time.”

“Yes, but just because everyone else likes it doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She yawned again.

“But you do like it.” He was confused. What was she trying to say? He too yawned. It was contagious, and also now verging on 5am.

“Yes. But not because it’s popular. I like it because I like it.” She pointed at her chest, and he took a moment to admire where she was pointing. “So I wanted to say it. And now I have. Thank you, Jim.”

“Wait…you’ve always wanted to say it? Why haven’t you before?” Now he really was confused.

“We weren’t dating before, silly.”

“No, not to me…” he stopped. He really didn’t want to go down that road.

“Oh. Well, actually, I did say it to Roy once, but he just rolled his eyes and asked if that meant he didn’t need to say it anymore.”

“Oh.” Ouch. “Well, you can say it to me as much as you like.”

“I know.” She tried to grin, he thought, but it turned into another yawn.

“OK, Han Solo, time to encase you in carbonite.” He held out a hand. “Ryan’s resume can wait. After all, it’s…actually, I have no idea what time it is in Scranton. Or New York. Not that they’re different times.” He had come to Australia, after all, because he didn’t really know the time change, so he couldn’t count down the minutes to Pam’s wedding. And now that she was here, he had even less reason to be aware of it.

**

“Huh. Neither do I.” That wasn’t the half of it. She put a hand over her mouth as she realized the other half. “Jim, I don’t even know what day it is anymore.”

“It’s tomorrow.”

“Yes, I know that.” She stuck out her tongue. “But I think it’s the 11th now? Or is it the 12th?” She shrugged. “Anyway, I was supposed to be getting married on the 10th, and now I don’t even know when that passed by.”

The great thing about Jim, she was realizing—or really, was finally letting herself realize after years of taking advantage of it—was that he always knew the right thing to say to her.

“Neither do I.” OK, that wasn’t it. “But I do know the feeling. I came here to Sydney because I wouldn’t know—because I couldn’t let myself know or I’d go insane. But now, Pam? Now I’ll happily grab a calendar and look it up, if you want, or pull it up on that computer, or whatever you need, because now that you’re here? I can let myself know what day it is again.”

That was more like it. She was going to continue the conversation but another giant yawn ripped through her and interrupted whatever thought she was going to have.

“OK, seriously, bedtime for us both.” Jim took her hand and hauled her up out of the chair. “We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Do we?” She couldn’t remember anything except the stuff with the resume and calling Jan.

“Well, no, actually, but it sounded good.” He sounded sheepish. “And we do need to get some sleep.”

“Jim?”

“Yes?”

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?” She felt silly asking but she wasn’t going to get what she wanted any other way, and even exhausted she felt like she deserved to get what she wanted. “Just to sleep.” Another yawn racked her body. “But I’d like to be with you.”

“I think we can manage that.” And up they went, holding each other upright up the stairs, almost teetering as Jim had to fumble for his key to open up his door, and collapsing into the single bed as soon as they piled through the door.