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Story Notes:

I don't usually have two WIPs going at once, but this idea, inspired by a suggestion from NobleLandMermaid, wouldn't leave me alone. Please note that I am by no means making light of any disease or the seriousness of social distancing or quarantine. It's just another shameless way to get Jim and Pam together. If this subject matter in any way offends or triggers you, please don't read it.

Also, I'm not a healthcare professional, so I don't pretend that I'll get everything right, though I did do enough research to make me dangerous. I hope you'll indulge me and overlook my mistakes in favor of the story I'm trying to tell.

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of The Office, though I wish John Krasinski belonged to me. No copyright infringement intended.

Quarantine

Chapter 1

There was nothing like hearing Pam’s voice in his ear in the morning, thought Jim, even if it was just coming through a cellphone, even if she sounded angry and frustrated. He’d just gotten in his car to head for work when she called, and of course, he answered it by the second ring.

“My car won’t start,” she said without preamble.

“Where are you?” he asked, heart thumping, imagining her stuck on the side of the road somewhere, freezing in the February cold.

“I’m at home. Roy had to go in early—it’s his turn to drive the delivery truck.  I think it’s my battery. Roy was supposed to get a new one…” He could tell she was near tears. 

“Go in the house where it’s warm. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Okay. Thanks, Jim.” She sounded so relieved that a wave of warmth swept through him.

“You’re welcome, Beesly,” he said softly.

When he parked in her driveway ten minutes later, she had obviously been watching out the window, for she trotted down the snowy steps in her knee-high snow boots, unfashionably paired with her work skirt and her familiar puffy pink coat. She was carrying two to-go cups with her, and Jim caught the smell of chocolate and rose perfume when she came to stand beside him as he got out of his car.

“Thank God you’re here,” she said with a wide smile. 

He couldn’t help smiling back. “Well, let’s reserve judgment on that.  I’m not much of a mechanic.”

Sure, she was obviously having a bad morning, but seeing her outside the office, being alone with her for this extra, unexpected time, was like a gift to Jim.  Plus, she was looking at him like he was her hero.

Her cheeks were still a little blotchy, and he was sad to see he’d been right about the tears. He set her proffered cup on top of his car after taking a quick sip of hot cocoa. It was obviously the powdered variety, but she’d made it with milk, and he detected a hint of cinnamon.

He held out his hands for her keys, and put up with her teasing laughter as he struggled to get inside her little compact, having to push back the seat as far as it would go.  He turned the key, and, sure enough, all he could get out of it was a few sad clicks.

He’d parked right next to her, and after popping the hood of Pam’s car, he extricated himself with exaggerated difficulty and a few groans of feigned discomfort (just to hear her laugh again) and went to his trunk to root around for the jumper cables.

Pam got back in her car to wait for his direction to start it, apparently having done this before with Roy.  After three tries to jump start it and nothing, he turned off his car’s engine and announced: “It’s dead, Jim.”

She chuckled at the old Star Trek reference.

“I’ll take you to work,” he offered, trying not to sound too happy about it. “You’ll have to get a new battery for sure now.”

“Crap,” she said under her breath.  He detached his cables and shut her hood for her, while she grabbed her stuff for work in the passenger seat, got out of her car and locked it.

They sat in his car a moment, sipping their cocoa as he allowed the heater to warm up the car. Pam’s nose was now red with the cold, and she tightened her gloved hands around the warm cup.  Jim was actually sweating from his exertions beneath his suit jacket and his heavy overcoat, but he didn’t mind. It was all worth it just to be next to her in the front seat of his car.

“Sorry you went through all that for nothing,” she said sheepishly.

“No problem. I wasn’t doing anything important.” Just going to work.

She grinned. “Yeah, now we’ll both be late, and you guys have that sales meeting this morning with the new CFO.  Michael’s gonna have a coronary.”

He’d totally forgotten about that. Michael had been hyped up for days, insisting the entire office be cleaned and polished from ceiling to floor, even though David Wallace would probably only see Michael’s office and the conference room.

Jim shrugged nonchalantly, but he dreaded an agitated and irate Michael almost as much as an excited, manic Michael. “No biggie. It can’t be helped.” But with a sigh, he buckled his seatbelt and put his cocoa in a cup holder, then backed down her driveway.

He was pleased when she sang along with the songs on his Indy rock station, and she didn’t say anything when he took the longer way to the office.  He told himself that maybe she was enjoying this time together as much as he was.  They laughed and joked and she teased him about his taste in music, and Jim was thinking what a wonderful morning this was turning out to be.  They were halfway to the office when Pam let out a sudden exclamation.

“Oh my God! Look at that poor old couple! Jim, you gotta go back. Nobody’s stopping to help them.”

Jim had been so enraptured by her laughter and sparkling eyes that he hadn’t noticed the elderly couple trudging through the snow at the side of the interstate. He glanced at his rearview mirror and saw that a stalled car was parked haphazardly some distance behind them. Guess it was a good morning for car trouble. He pulled over, then backed up on the shoulder until he was a short distance from the struggling couple. The passing cars made his Corolla shudder, and he looked over at Pam, not wanting her to risk getting out so close to the dangerous traffic.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

She protested, but at his firm look, she stayed where she was. Jim was a little annoyed with himself for bossing her around, could tell she was too, but she brought out a protective streak in him, and he wouldn’t for the world have put her in harm’s way.  If that made him a male chauvinist pig, sue him.

It turned out, the old woman was trying to support the progress of her husband, who looked sick as death. They had to stop every few steps so he could cough uncontrollably, and Jim was alarmed when he saw the man spit blood into the snow. 

“Hey, hold up,” he said when he reached their side. “Let me help you.” The old pair, both encased in heavy coats, hats, gloves, and snow boots, seemed startled to see a stranger suddenly appear before them. He guessed their hearing might not be too great, or was muffled by the sound of traffic and their woolen stocking caps.  They looked up at him with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“Oh! Thank you,” said the woman, gratefully relinquishing her husband to Jim’s strong arms. He held his arm around the old man’s waist, and they continued the slow walk to Jim’s car. He was glad he was wearing his own heavy boots, knowing how the Dunder Mifflin parking lot was like an ice rink on snowy mornings. His dress shoes were in his messenger bag in the car. 

“Car trouble?” he asked the man.

But he could barely reply for his coughing. “No,” the woman answered for him. “We’re stuck. Jerry had a coughing fit and swerved to get off the road but went too far off the shoulder.  I told him he was in no shape to drive. We were on our way to the hospital.  He’s been so sick.”  His heart melted for the second time that morning at the sound of a woman crying.

Jim knew the hospital was a mile down the road, and he was shocked they were trying to make it there in the freezing cold.

“You don’t have a cell phone?” he asked.

“No. Jerry never saw the need to mess with those things.  Time and money wasters, he calls them.”  Jerry coughed irately.

Jim’s lips formed a concerned line. “Don’t worry; you can ride with us.”

“Thank you so much. You’re a godsend!”

Of course, Pam had gotten out of the car anyway, coming quickly to help the old woman. “I’m Pam,” she was telling her, as she took her hand. “This is Jim. I can’t believe no one stopped to help you!”

“I’m Stella. That’s Jerry. People are on their way to work; they don’t have time to stop these days.”

“That’s shameful,” Pam muttered, appalled. “When I think of no one stopping to help my Nana in a situation like this…”  Her anger on behalf of these strangers made Jim fall in love with her a little more.

With Jim and Pam’s help, they soon made it to Jim’s car, and they helped the couple settle into the back seat. Jerry now coughed into a blood-spattered handkerchief. He closed his eyes and lay back weakly against the seat.

Jim pulled into the emergency room drop off area in a matter of minutes, and Pam ran in to ask for help. She brought back two orderlies with two wheelchairs.

“Is there anyone we can call for you?” Pam asked Stella as they waited, Stella shakily filling out forms on a clipboard.

“Our son should just be getting to work.  I’ll call him when we know what’s wrong with Jerry. No sense worrying him yet.” Pam and Jim looked at each other with their own worry, but said no more.

Jerry suddenly erupted into such a violent coughing spasm, that a nurse came running to help him. Suddenly, they were at the front of the line, and the orderly wheeled him back toward a private ER room. Jim followed, pushing Stella in her wheelchair behind them. As they passed the nurse’s station, the nurse told the receptionist to get a doctor quickly.

“You’ll have to wait outside a minute,” the trio was told, as other healthcare workers converged on Jerry’s room, the curtain drawn over the sliding glass door.

“Oh no,” Stella was saying. “I tried to get him to go to the doctor last week, but he wouldn’t. He hates doctors, said it was just a cold. But this morning he was having trouble breathing and that cough won’t let up. Then there’s the blood…” She shook her head mournfully. “Stubborn old man.  I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Jim’s phone rang and he stepped down the hall to answer it.  It was Michael, of course.

“Where the hell are you? Pam’s not here either, and she’s supposed to take notes for the meeting.”

“I’m sorry, Michael. Pam had car trouble, and then—”

“I don’t give a flying rat’s ass. You get back here right now or you’re both fired!”  Before Jim could finish explaining, he’d hung up.

Jim wouldn’t have minded telling Michael to go to hell and take his stupid paper sales job with him, but he knew Pam really needed her job, so he sighed and walked back to where Pam and a visibly distressed Stella waited.

“Michael’s going nuts. We need to get to work before he calls out the National Guard.”

“Jim,” she mouthed, looking down at Stella, her face in her mittened hands.

“Stella,” said Jim gently. “Let me call your son for you. Pam and I have to go, and we’d feel better if someone were here with you.”

She looked up and nodded. Jim took out his phone and punched in the number she gave him. She told him her son’s name was Gerald, after his father. Stella seemed too distraught to talk on the phone, so Jim took care of it, explaining who he was and what had happened to Gerald’s parents.

“He’s on his way,” Jim said, putting his hand on her frail shoulder. 

Michael was now blowing up both his and Pam’s phones with urgent texts filled with wild threats and desperate pleas. “We’d better go,” Jim said to Pam, who was looking reluctantly at Stella. She took the old woman’s hand.

“Hey, I’m praying for you and Jerry. I’m sure everything’s gonna be all right.”

“Thank you, dear. You and your husband are so wonderful. I don’t know what would have become of us if you hadn’t stopped.” Pam’s face flushed, but she didn’t correct her assumption, and Jim felt a spark of happiness because of it.

To cover his own embarrassment, Jim took out his wallet, fished out a business card, which he offered to Stella.  “Here. Call us if you need anything at all.”

“You are such a kind young man. You two are so blessed to have each other. Like Jerry and me.”  She teared up a little more, worried about her husband on the other side of the door.

“I’ll check on you later,” Pam was saying as she disengaged her hand.

After their goodbyes, Pam stopped at the reception desk, told them Stella’s son was on the way.

They drove the rest of the way to work mostly in silence, contemplating the elderly couple with both worry and envy.  Someday, they each hoped they would have a marriage that had lasted that long, that was filled with as much love and caring as Stella and Jerry’s seemed to share.

They actually were only about thirty minutes late, and David Wallace hadn’t even arrived yet.

“Well, there you are!” roared Michael dramatically.  “Go sit in the conference room and wait.”

Jim’s eyebrows rose. He glanced at the windows of the conference room, saw that no one else was even in there yet. “Are we being put in time out?”

“Sorry, Michael,” Pam began. “My car broke down, then there was this old couple—”

Michael batted his arms in annoyance. “That’s not important right now. And yes, Jim, you are being put in time out, as punishment for your tardiness and so I know where you are until Wallace gets here. Got it?”

Jim shrugged, half amused, half irritated. “Should we sit in a corner, or…?”

But Michael made some unintelligible sound of frustration under his breath and went back into his office.

“Where were you, Halpert?” Dwight asked, inordinately pleased that Michael was mad at the golden boy.

Jim shushed him. “Can’t talk now, Dwight. We’re being punished. You’d better give us the silent treatment.”

Pam grabbed her steno pad and a pen from her desk and followed Jim into the conference room, closing the door behind them. Neither of them had even taken their coats off yet, and so they did so, giving each other looks of amusement and exasperation.

They’d just gotten settled and were discussing their “punishment” and what other excitement the day could bring, when Jim’s cell phone rang. He fished it from his front pants pocket.

“Jim Halpert.”

“Mr. Halpert? This is Jayda Robinson. I’m an RN at Scranton Memorial Hospital. You just brought in a Jerry and Stella Austen to the ER?”

“Yes,” Jim said, meeting Pam’s eyes. She paused doodling on her notepad and looked up, being close enough to him to hear the other side of the conversation.  “Are they okay?”

“Well, that’s the thing. We are sorry to inform you  there’s a chance you and your wife have been exposed to tuberculosis.  They went to the same senior citizens’ center as a recent victim of the disease. There have been a few other cases of the disease in Scranton this winter, and we are anxious that it not become an epidemic.  Tell me, have you been in close contact with anyone else since you left the hospital?”

“Uh, no. Not really. We just walked through our office and into a closed conference room. We were in a common area for about two minutes, tops, I guess, and neither of us touched anyone or stood very close.”

Pam was frowning in concern.

“Good, good,” said the nurse.  “So, what you need to do is isolate yourselves in that room until the rest of your office has evacuated.”

“What?” Jim said, incredulous.

“I’m afraid so. We are testing Mr. and Mrs. Austen, but the results don’t come in for at least seventy-two hours, so you’re going to have to self-quarantine until we find out for sure.”

“We can’t go home and do that?”

“Does your office have a restroom, access to drinking water?  Is it self-contained, separate from other businesses?”

“Yeah, to all of that.”

“Then, that may be the safest option for the rest of your co-workers, and anyone else at home you would come into contact with.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to call my boss directly. He’s not gonna believe this coming from me.”

The nurse agreed to do that and he gave her Michael’s direct number.   “I’ll give him instructions about how to quickly sanitize the doorknobs and other areas you might have touched on your way into your workplace.”

“We’re going to need some stuff, like bedding and clothes if we’re stuck here for three days.”

“I’ll instruct your boss on how to do that. Again, I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but this is a matter of public health and safety, so we strongly appreciate your cooperation. Normally we wouldn’t take such extreme measures for an initial exposure, but we’re trying to curtail a more serious situation. I’ll be notifying the Health Department, and they’ll send someone by to see if there is anything we can help you with.  If the Austens test positive, we’ll test you as well.”

“Okay, uh thanks.”

Jim ended the call and looked at Pam in shock.

“Did you get all that?”

She could only nod at first. A minute later, her brain kicked in. “Oh no. I hope Jerry and Stella don’t have it.”

“I hope we don’t have it,” added Jim, remembering how Jerry had coughed very close to him, then in the confines of his car.

Pam stood up nervously, her hand on her mouth, and suddenly began pacing like a caged animal. “So did I hear right? We have to stay here for three whole days?”

“Yeah. But once everyone in the office clears out, we’ll have the run of the place, so it won’t be so bad, I guess.”

Pam gave him a bleak look, and Jim shared her seeming lack of optimism.

Five minutes later, the office exploded with Michael’s panicked reaction. Jim and Pam went to the glass window of the conference room to look out at the hullabaloo.

“Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!” Michael was yelling. “We’ve all been exposed to a deadly disease, and must all evacuate the office immediately!”

The rest of the office workers, used to Michael’s dramatic over-reaction to nearly everything, merely paused in their work and took in the spectacle. All save Dwight, of course, who immediately sprang into action.

“Where, what kind of disease?” Dwight demanded, getting to his feet and eyeing his coworkers speculatively.  “Who brought pestilence into this office?”

At once, Dwight’s gaze rested on Jim and Pam inside the conference.

“You!” he pointed angrily. “Was it them, Michael? Was it them?”

Michael was nodding. “Yes! Jim and Pam have the TP!”

“You’d better not be kidding,” warned Stanley dangerously.

“Tuberculosis?” asked Phyllis, her frightened eyes on the pair behind the window.

Pam nodded sadly at her, mouthed: Sorry.

“What must they have done to bring this plague into our midst,” said Angela, shooting the offenders a speculative glance.

“My grandmother died from tuberculosis,” Meredith said, rising to gather her stuff together.

“Tuberculosis is highly contagious,” Oscar offered helpfully. “I’ve heard there have been five cases in Scranton this winter—all of them have uh, died.”  He gave Jim and Pam an apologetic frown.  “I imagine the Health Department is being overly cautious.”

Drawn from the Annex by the commotion, Toby emerged into the bullpen.

“What’s going on here, Michael?” he asked, a calm foil to Michael’s mania.

He quickly explained to him and the office at large his conversation with the nurse from the hospital.  Toby had no doubt Michael had exaggerated and embellished considerably, so he looked to the actual participants for clarification.  He walked over to the conference room, spoke to Jim and Pam through the glass.

“Is this true, you guys? You were exposed to tuberculosis?”

“Yeah,” said Jim, feeling oddly guilty. “This morning. We’ll know in three days if it’s actually TB.”

“I’ll inform corporate. Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Of course there’s nothing we can do, Toby! We’re all gonna die!”

Toby ignored him, and addressed the rest of his coworkers. “Okay, everyone, gather your stuff together and prepare to go on home for at least three days. Dwight, go get the Chlorox wipes and wipe down all the doorknobs between here and the parking lot, and don’t forget the elevator buttons.  We’ll all follow right behind you.  I’ll call down to Hank to stop anyone else coming in until we can properly sanitize the points of entry.”

“Got it,” Dwight said, filled with importance.

“We’ll call Roy and my roommate Mark to bring us some clothes and toiletries for a few days,” Jim said, “and some food besides stuff in the vending machines.”

Toby looked at Michael. “Did the nurse say what to do about getting them supplies?”

“We just leave it outside the office door,” Michael said, “then run like hell before their cooties get us.”

Toby nodded, and Dwight returned from the supply room with a container of antibacterial wipes, wearing large yellow dishwashing gloves and a frilly Christmas apron from the kitchen. Jim would have laughed if he hadn’t felt like he, himself was the butt of some sick joke.  Everyone followed Dwight like he was a crazy pied piper, as he stopped along the way to clean things and hold the doors open for everyone.  As people filed past Jim and Pam, most alternately gave them a solemn wave or offered condolences, like they’d just been given a death sentence.  A few had some last words of wisdom.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” gushed Kelly, stopping to talk to them. “Pam! I can’t even think about how horrible your hair’s gonna be after three days of no washing.”

“Uh, thanks, Kelly,” said Pam, her hand going self-consciously to her freshly washed hair.  She hadn’t actually thought about that yet.

“And Jim,” she continued, “you’re gonna have to step up and be the man, take care of Pam in this apocalyptic crisis because Roy won’t be there to do it. You think you’re up to it?  Can I trust you with my best friend in the whole entire world?”

Jim barely suppressed his smile at her sincere earnestness. “I think I can handle it,” he said with equal weightiness.

“Good. Have fun!”  Her shift in tone was jarring.

“Thanks for the three days off,” said Ryan in passing, with a mocking salute.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” came Jim’s sarcastic reply. “Douchebag,” he said under his breath when the temp was gone. Pam was in complete agreement.

Creed stopped to offer his unique perspective. “You know, I had TB during the War; that’s how I got sent  home. I’m convinced it was some Nazi bio-weapons experiment, and I said as much to the president.  I wouldn’t put it past those bastards to try again.  But TB’s not so bad, once you get past losing a lung.” He smiled kindly and went on his way.

Speechless, Pam and Jim merely looked at each other with wide eyes.

 Kevin gave them both a big, salacious grin.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he told them.

“Wow,” said Jim. “Thanks, Kev.”

But Jim was blushing in spite of himself, avoided Pam’s eyes. Yeah, his own mind had already gone there, despite his determination to respect the gravity of the situation, the possibility that they could both become very, very sick in a matter of days. But now, Jim couldn’t seem to get beyond the thought of three whole days, alone with Pam.

God.

Even the documentary crew, which had been filming all morning, was forced to leave. Naturally they had to ask Jim and Pam for a final statement.

“So,” said the producer, as the boom operator pushed the mic toward the glass. “how do you two feel about being quarantined?”

“It totally sucks,” said Jim.

“Ditto,” replied Pam.

“Fair enough.  Hope you guys are okay.”

“Thanks,” they replied in unison.

After it seemed that everyone had left the office, Jim tentatively put his hand on the conference room doorknob and turned.

“Hello?” he called into the bullpen.  He waited a few moments, then, hearing no answers, opened the door all the way.  They stepped out into a world that had totally changed in the space of less than fifteen minutes.

“Boy, do we know how to clear a room or what,” Jim said dryly.

Pam stood surveying the abandoned office in a sort of daze. She was mortified then to feel the advent of sudden tears.

“I’m so sorry, Jim. This is all my fault. I made you stop for that old couple—”

Startled by her abrupt change in mood, he turned sharply to her. “Hey, it’s not your fault. You didn’t make me do anything, Pam. We did the right thing, and I would do it again, even knowing Jerry was sick.  Besides, what’s done is done.”

He was surprised further when she threw herself into his arms, weeping brokenly against his suitcoat. He hesitated only a second before wrapping his arms around her, surreptitiously breathing in her scent, feeling once again the usual joy he’d felt on the handful of occasions they’d engaged in a friendly embrace.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered into her hair, his hands caressing her back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.  “Please don’t cry.  I know the idea of being trapped with me is horrifying to you, Beesly, but I swear I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He felt her shake a little when her laughter mixed with her tears. Encouraged, he continued.

“I promise I won’t belch like a pig when I eat, or leave my dirty socks on the floor. I promise to do my share of the dishwashing, and I’ll even clean out the microwave if I make a mess.”

“Will you remember to leave the toilet seat down?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.

“Sorry, Beesly, but I plan to use the men’s room, so I make no promises there.”

She pulled away from him then, a small, embarrassed smile shining through her tears. She reached up to blot at his tearstained shirt. He hoped she didn’t feel him tremble at her touch.

“This really does suck,” she reiterated, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

But as Jim looked at her beautiful face, her eyes a vivid green from her tears, he found it difficult now to agree with her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

Next up, Pam's POV.

I'm a little nervous about the reaction to this one, so I'd be grateful for some feedback. Thanks for reading!

PS: I haven't abandoned "Revenge," I promise. Update for that story soon. 


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