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Author's Chapter Notes:
Jim and Pam eat.

After whirling Pam around and kissing her thoroughly, Jim checked the rest of his emails (with Pam, no longer nervous, by his side) and found that what he’d thought were insignificant spam were actually vitally important in light of Jan’s email: one from Toby confirming the changeover (and another asking if that meant he was available to babysit Sasha again—apparently Toby hadn’t had a night out in weeks); one from the HR rep at Stamford asking for clarification, and another, apparently after Jan had emailed her again, expressing confused acquiescence; one from Michael that was in all caps and suggested a night out at Hooters; one from Kevin confirming that accounting was going to be re-charging some of his vacation time as unpaid and so he should expect a smaller paycheck (“which just means you have less to lose at poker, man”).

 

There was also a short message from Ryan when he refreshed his inbox, consisting of only four words:

 

Thanks.

 

Don’t tell Kelly.

 

And that was it. Apparently when the wheels of Dunder Mifflin moved, they really moved. But then again, he’d already known that, since his transfer had been approved in the same manner.

 

“Hey.” He nudged Pam. “I think this calls for a celebration.”

 

**

 

“You’re right. And I know just the place.”

 

Pam rustled in her purse for one of the flyers she’d grabbed on her first day, and felt the warm caress of Jim’s voice wash over her as she did so.

 

“I don’t think the Friggitoria opens until noon.”

 

“It doesn’t.” Apparently they’d both been paying attention to the sign the day before. “But this place does.”

 

“The Naked Duck?”

 

She flattened the flyer on the desk in front of them. “Exactly.”

 

“Beesly, should I be worried that you had a flyer for burlesque poultry in your purse? Got any kinks I ought to know about?”

 

“I mean, yes, but not that one.” He blushed scarlet and she mentally chalked up one for Team Fancy New Beesly. “Besides, ducks have corkscrew penises.”

 

“Wait, what?” This led them down a delightful twenty minute Wikipedia hole about ducks, penises, and corkscrews (apparently the South American lake duck had the world’s largest avian penis; spiders had something called “pedipalps” that were basically penis arms; and there was a corkscrew in the Museum of Modern Art, which Jim promised to take her to). After they resurfaced, she was able to point out to him that the Naked Duck had breakfast finger food suitable for eating while walking, so they could continue their exploration of the city; it was directly across the street from the Anzac Memorial, so they knew where it was; and it would, as she pointed out, continue their streak of eating at vaguely naughtily-named places.

 

“OK, I admit, it sounds perfect.” He grinned. “But Pam, really, ‘vaguely naughty’? I’d expect that language from Phyllis or Angela, not you.”

 

“You really have no idea about Phyllis’s youth do you?” And the rest of the way to the Naked Duck she refused to elaborate, reminding him that he was going to be back in Scranton so he could just ask her himself.

 

“Be prepared to be surprised.”

 

Both of them were surprised by how pleasant it was just to sit together and people-watch at the Anzac Memorial while sharing takeaway from the Naked Duck. They made a game of it: each of them in turn would pick a person walking by and narrate that person’s inner monologue as they watched. It was based off a game she’d had seen on Whose Line Is It Anyway?, but Pam was sure that none of the comics on the show had ever been as funny as Jim was. Or maybe it was just that she wasn’t in love with them (well, except Colin Mochrie, a little, as a kid. Who could resist a man with a killer velociraptor impression?). But he had her rolling off the bench, and she was apparently pretty good at it herself since he had the same reaction to her comic stylings.

 

It was only after a good hour of this that they tired of it, and went in search of different entertainment—mostly, as she had expected, more food and drink. She had never traveled all that much before (certainly nowhere near as far as Sydney before, but not that much in total quantity either) but she’d always imagined herself as a gastrotourist: one of those people who knew the best little holes in the wall and authentic local joints and made their way from meal to meal to meal across the city. She might not have that local flavor here, but she and Jim were definitely doing their best to achieve the meal-to-meal part of it.

 

It was only when they stumbled out of their third coffee shop, buzzing with caffeine, that she remembered.

 

“Jim, the Beethoven!”

Chapter End Notes:

For Colin Mochrie: https://i.imgur.com/LULdW.gif

  Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and otherwise interacting with this story! It would not be the same without all of you, and I hope you enjoy the travelogue portions of this even (or maybe especially) with them together.


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