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Author's Chapter Notes:
AU of Beach Games--note that we're getting further and further from canon here.

Karen’s head popped up over the divider between the bus seats, like an excited fourth-grader on a school fieldtrip—which Jim supposed this functionally was. Her head swiveled left, then right, a parody of caution, before she turned to the two of them with a grin. “Can you keep a secret?”

 

He and Pam exchanged a glance. “From who?” he asked, as they leaned closer to her.

 

She waved an arm. “Them. All of them.”

 

Pam shrugged. “Probably.”

 

Karen leaned further over. Stanley was asleep; Phyllis was knitting; Dwight and Angela had their heads together in the front seat, while Michael and Toby were arguing about something in the seat across from them. Kelly was reading something with a big splashy picture of J. Lo on the cover, and Kevin was trying to convince Andy to join their fantasy football league; Meredith was passed out in the back; Oscar was reading a novel he was currently two hundred pages into; and Creed was talking animatedly to the empty seat beside him, which appeared to be disagreeing with him on something important.

 

The upshot was that somehow no one was paying attention to any of them.

 

“I got an offer to interview at Corporate.” She raised her eyebrows. “I’m guessing you got one too, am I right, Jim?”

 

He nodded.

 

“I wonder if anyone else did. Dwight? Andy?”

 

“Probably not.” He shrugged. “Can you imagine either of them at corporate?”

 

“Heh.”  She smirked.

 

“If it’s just you two…” Pam piped up. “I hope you don’t mind, Karen, but I’d really rather Jim got it.”

 

“Well of course you would say that.” Karen stuck her tongue out at Pam while rolling her eyes. “He’s got you wrapped around his little finger.”

 

“Oh, he wouldn’t fit around my little finger,” Pam started and then blushed. Oh God, Jim thought. That’s totally not what she meant, but here we go. Karen guffawed, and suddenly the moment was broken because everyone was looking at them.

 

“Good one, Pam,” choked out Karen. “I really needed that image, thank you very much.”

 

Jim debated letting it go and decided what the hell. Karen was their friend. He shrugged casually. “Just ask Mark. He and I go to the Y all the time.” Karen and Pam both stared at him and he did his best to look innocent. “So he hears me calling Pam to ask how her art class went and he knows how important she is to me. Get your minds out of the gutter.”

 

**

 

Michael’s announcement that he was “interviewing for a job at corporate” and clearly “the most qualified” was only really a surprise in that Jim and Pam (and Karen) all knew the second statement to be false. Pam brokered a treaty between her friend and her boyfriend that left neither of them competing all that hard—but it was frustrating to have Michael decide that of course she had to take notes on this day of all days. Jim tried to intervene, but Michael was adamant: something about how “the search for his successor must be documented like the historical artifact it was” or words to that effect.

 

She spent her time doodling pictures of her coworkers as Australian animals again, only this time exaggerating the caricatures even more than she had before, almost to the point of a political cartoon. Angela the cassowary now had blood dripping from her beak, with a ragged hole in Kevin the quokka’s back indicating where it had come from. Dwight the koala was staring at a dish of leaves labeled “Regional Manager” while hanging from a tree labeled “Assistant To The.” Karen was a new sketch: her alert dingo stared from the page in the direction labeled “Bigger and Better Things.”

 

“Nice work, Beesly.” Jim came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “Ooooh, is that Angela?”

 

“Thanks. And obviously.” She leaned back into him. “How’s the competition going?”

 

“I think Stanley’s gone insane. The crossword puzzles might be his Kryptonite: deprived of them, he’s a force.” Jim shrugged. “Not too bad overall though. Aren’t you supposed to be keeping track?”

 

“Do you really think Michael is going to let any notes I take stand in the way of his decision? Assuming he even gets the corporate job?”

 

“Well, no.” He hugged her even closer and she reveled in the feeling. “Thanks for having my back with Karen. Even if you did make reference to having…”

 

“That was not what I meant.” Her cheeks were already red with a touch of sunburn, but now they were crimson for other reasons. “And you know it.”

 

“And so does she.” He kissed the top of her head.

 

“I suppose she does.” She leaned up and kissed him again. “Now go make me proud by not competing for Michael’s job.”

 

“On it. You know I’m great at not doing my job.” He kissed her again, saluted, and ran back to the others.

 

Later that afternoon, after Dwight had burned himself on the coals and Michael had made even more of a fool of himself in front of the group (as if there were room for him to be sillier, she thought) Pam stood in front of the coal walk and thought about New York. She knew there was a good chance Karen would get the job—Michael was unlikely, but technically senior—but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Jim was going to get it. He was funny, he was smart, he was good at his job (even if he didn’t always take it entirely seriously, that was probably a good thing) and anyway David Wallace liked him.

 

But if Jim got it, what did that mean for her?

 

Was she the sort of person who followed a man? She had decided she wasn’t when she didn’t marry Roy, but then again this wasn’t “a man,” or even “Roy.” This was Jim. Would she follow Jim to New York?

 

If she did, would she have the guts to try to go to art school, or would she just get another receptionist job?

 

This wasn’t the first time she’d thought about this. Nor the hundredth, if she was honest, and who could she be honest with more than herself. Well, Jim—but this was something she needed to think through in her own soul. Was she really a fancy new Beesly, or was she the same Pam she’d always been? Or worse, Pammy?

 

Did she need Jim to get the job in order to justify her going for art school? There was a new perspective on the issue. She’d looked into Pratt: there were some residency requirements but she could do a lot remotely, going in a weekend here or there. She could do it from Scranton even if Jim didn’t get the job—or even if he did.

 

Was she going to New York if he did? Was she going if he didn’t?

 

What were they to each other? Oh, they were in love, they were boyfriend and girlfriend, but…were they more? She thought they were. She was pretty sure they were. But she wasn’t going to be the one to push Jim. Yes, he’d taken steps towards her, culminating in that world-changing Casino Night confession and kiss. But she’d taken steps towards him too: flying to Sydney, Australia, for a start. And she had already been in one relationship where she did all the pushing—Roy would have said nagging—and ended up not where she actually wanted to be.

 

Where did she want to be?

 

With Jim.

 

But how? Married? Dating? Here? New York? And doing what?

 

She took a deep breath. She couldn’t decide all of this. It was a mutual decision; that was what a relationship was. But she could decide one thing for herself. Was she brave enough to go for art school, even knowing it might not work out: that she might be bad at it, or too old, or lose interest, or so many other things?

 

She could.

 

She would.

 

She ran.

 

Afterward she found Jim and Karen with the others, sitting by the fire, quietly exchanging mocking insults about their chances in the interview process. As she approached Jim got up and reached for her and she threw her arms around him.

 

“I’m going to apply to Pratt.”

 

She felt him nod beneath her. “Good. You’re going to be amazing.”

Chapter End Notes:
Thank you to all who've read and reviewed and just stayed invested in this very long story! Two-parter The Job finale coming next.

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