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Author's Chapter Notes:
Remember this old thing? Singer is back, babyyyy. 

As soon as Roy closes his front door, he heads straight for the stairs, taking two at a time until he reaches the top and enters the second room on the right. He closes the door behind him quickly, keeping the room dark save for the lamp illuminating red in the corner.  

 

He had set this room up first when he moved in. He had covered the windows with tarps and garbage bags using duct tape, replaced all the light bulbs with red bulbs, set up shelves for his cameras and film, a large table in the middle for developing. He usually only keeps the side lamp on, but this time he turns on the overhead light as well after grabbing the small stack of photos he had developed the other day.  

 

Pam stared back at him through the pictures, her eyes bright and her smile wide. She had looked so happy that weekend at the theatre and the beach. She had genuinely thanked him at the end of each day and said she had a good time as well. He couldn’t figure out what had happened between then and now to explain what had happened last night.  

 

But it wasn’t her fault. Roy wouldn’t blame her. She had moved so quickly from anger to empathy, letting him into her home and listening to him ramble when he probably didn’t deserve to. He was lucky to have found someone like Pam. 

 

He’s been learning more and more about Pam lately. She had told him that she grew up in Boone, North Carolina, which led him to do some research. She had told him about growing up with her mother, a drunk who brought home men more than she brought home a paycheck, and he found that she is still living in a trailer on the outskirts of Boone. Roy wasn’t sure if her dad was alive, Pam had never mentioned him, but he found a William Beesly living in a small town in Michigan and after a little more digging, confirmed that it was her father. Found out he’s living with another woman, after having left Pam and her mother about 25 years ago, he doubts they’ve ever spoken since then.

  

From there, Roy went to find out all the places Pam had lived, what schools she had attended, found out that she dropped out of school for a year in middle school before going back and graduating near the top of her class. After graduation, she started working and met Mark shortly after, following him back up to Scranton. He doesn’t understand what it was about Mark that had Pam take such a big risk, as far as he could tell Mark was nice, but bland. Boring. Nothing special. He doesn’t get it.  

 

He has also been learning about Jim. Turns out, buying a couple of rounds at Poor Richard’s can get you whatever information you want, if you ask the right guy. He’s in love with Pam, but Roy had figured that out just minutes after meeting the guy. Decent dude, co-owned the local mechanic shop with his brother, played basketball at the rec center a couple of times a month, got along with anyone he met.  

 

What Roy hadn’t known about was Katy. According to the man he had sat across from in Poor Richard’s the other day, Jim and Katy had been going out for almost two years before she cheated on him with a coworker of hers. The man had said it hurt Jim pretty bad, was pretty sure he even took a few days off of work, which apparently Jim almost never does. And although Roy had found the information about Jim interesting, he didn’t find it very important, until now. But even still, he stores it for later, when the situation is right.  

 

Besides that, Jim seemed very similar to Mark, which is why Roy is thinking Pam is attaching herself to him. Jim is safe, comfortable. She knows Jim, Jim knows her, she doesn’t need to go outside of her comfort zone. She doesn’t need to try to find something different than what she already had, what she had loved, if she stays with Jim. If she stays with Jim, she might as well still be with Mark, as far as Roy can tell. And he gets it. There’s safety in comfort, in the expected.  

 

She was so careful. She kept Singer with her whenever she could. He had noticed the miniature can of mace on her keyring. He was sure she locked the door behind her after she had gone to bed last night, leaving him downstairs on the couch. So careful.  

 

Not that he blamed her. She had probably done the same as a child, with her mother bringing in so many strange men night after night. Probably was always keeping guard and making sure no one could get to her. But she doesn’t need to live like that anymore. She had grown up and left the toxicity of her childhood behind, just like he had.  

 

Really, he found himself and Pam to be very similar. Their unfortunate pasts, their first marriages ending in the worst of ways, how strong they both are now because of it all.

 

He remembers vividly the day he had gotten his first camera. He was ten years old, and although Christmas was usually filled with more fighting and less money than was usual in the Anderson household, Roy remembers waking up with a gut feeling that today was going to be different. It was going to be good. And when his mother handed him his present, he had cried tears of happiness for the first time in his life.  

 

Photography had been his escape from life. He would borrow books from the school library, would bring them home and study the pictures so closely, his mother would find him with his nose against the pages more than once. He would ask repeatedly for a camera, but birthdays and Christmases passed, and he was lucky to get some candy in his stocking, so he was quickly losing hope.  

But they had gotten him one, finally. He used it constantly, playing with the lenses and the lighting to figure out what he liked best. As soon as the roll of film was filled, he would beg his father to get the pictures developed, and once they returned, he would study them as closely as he did the photos in the books, trying to see how he could improve.  

 

His mother was proud of him, would comment on his pictures, telling him what she liked and even pointing out things he might like to photograph next. His father, on the other hand, quickly grew tired of the seemingly endless rolls of film Roy would request and although at first he would compliment Roy’s pictures, his father’s comments quickly turned sarcastic and then mean.  

 

But Roy didn’t mind as much. He was used to his father’s rude words and uncaring demeanor. He would just wait a little longer between asking for rolls to be developed and would try to take pictures of plenty of different things, so his father couldn’t say that he was wasting film on the same thing every time. And it seemed to work, or at least Roy thought it had. The comments had lessened and his father seemed to grumble a little less when Roy asked him to bring the film to the shop, but Roy hadn’t known that his father was only a few drinks and a lost baseball game away from snapping.  

 

Which is how Roy found himself in his room a few days later, his camera shattered to pieces by the hand of his father. His father had yelled at Roy for wasting away their money on these stupid pictures before taking a hammer to the camera, with no way of fixing it no matter how carefully Roy tried to piece it back together. He had already disliked his father, but that day was the first time Roy felt true hatred toward Neville Anderson. That hatred lasted until his father died later that year, and if he was honest with himself, still to this day. 

 

He remembered that day vividly, as well -- the day his father died. Roy had been just barely eleven years old, and he had been once again trying to fix his camera when he heard his mother’s scream. He ran down to her, found her on her knees in the doorway to the garage, sobbing. He looked up and saw his father sitting in the running car, and although he didn’t get it at first, he then noticed his father’s pale, ashy skin, slacked jaw, and unmoving eyes, and he knew he was dead.  

 

Officers had filled their home for the next few hours. Roy refused to talk, his mother couldn’t talk, her sobs uncontrollable. When she was able to calm down, she wasn’t able to give the police any of the answers they were looking for. She knew he had gone out drinking the night before, but hadn’t heard when he got home. She didn’t know who he was with or where he had gone.

 

The police were suspicious, since the manual garage door had been closed. They couldn’t figure out why Mr. Anderson would keep the car running, get out to close the door, and then go back into the car and stay there. Especially after some digging through Neville’s credit card transactions and finding out where he had been and were able to talk to some of the guys who were with him that night. Everyone they had talked to called Neville Anderson a “fighter,” “he would never give up,” “something must have happened.” But when the autopsy came back and showed such high levels of alcohol in his blood, and with no further evidence, the police ruled the death as an accident; Neville was simply drunk and wasn’t thinking straight.  

 

The funeral was small, although Roy remembers being surprised that more than a dozen people had shown up. He kept his eyes casted downward, nodded solemnly to peoples’ condolences, would occasionally wipe his cheek, as if wiping away a tear. He listened as numerous people called Neville a great man, a wonderful husband, a fantastic father.  

 

Roy did his best to play the role of the devastated son who just lost his loving father, and everyone believed him. But, when the funeral was over, when everyone was driving away and his mother was putting the last of the gifted flowers into the car, Roy returned to his father’s grave.  

 

And then he spat on it.  

 

Now, he looks at Pam smiling back at him in the photo, and he’s determined. Determined to forgive her, determined to show her what she’s missing, determined to take her out of this nothing life she thinks she loves.  

 

He takes his favorite photo, one of Pam on the boardwalk, her back is to him but she had turned her head when he said her name, a small smile playing on her lips, and tacks it to a bulletin board on the wall. He would save her; he had to. 

 

*** 

 

Pam didn’t plan on telling Jim that Roy had stayed at her house last night. Nothing had happened, and after finding out the real story behind Jim and Katy’s breakup, she wasn’t about to ruin what had just started. She did, however, want to see Jim before going into work. Since she was already dressed once Roy had left this morning, and had left and grabbed two coffees before parking in front of the studio and walking across the street to the garage. Singer ran ahead, alerting Jim of her presence before she could even walk through the door.  

 

She finds Singer on his hind legs, all but tackling Jim to the ground as he licked his face. Jim was in his coveralls again, and she had seen him like this a thousand times, but it was almost like seeing someone new.  

 

She had been a little worried that maybe she had romanticized last night. That she loved Jim so much, cared for him so much, that she was looking through rose colored glasses and was possibly seeing things as greater than they really were. Which is part of the reason she wanted to see him this morning, to see if any of her feelings had changed overnight.  

 

She was glad to see they hadn’t.  

 

Once Jim was able to push Singer off and actually look at Pam, he smiled her favorite smile at her, and her knees went a little weak. She offered him the extra coffee once he got close enough and then leaned back against the car he was working on.  

 

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

 

She takes a sip of her coffee, “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t change your mind about tonight.” 

 

“Never.” 

 

“Good.” She watches him lift his own cup to take a drink and notices band-aids wrapped around his fingertips. “What happened there?” 

 

“What? Oh, nothing. Just a little sore.” 

 

“Why?” 

He shrugs, “I guess I scrubbed them a little too hard last night.”

 

Her eyebrows furrow, “Why would you—is it because of what I said last night?” 

 

“No, no, no.” He looks at her raise her eyebrow and shrugs again, “Well, maybe that was part of it.” 

 

She frowns a little, “Jim, I didn’t mean anything mean by it. I was just teasing you.” 

 

“I know, it’s fine, really.” He smiles and then leans against the car next to her, their shoulders barely touching. “Besides, it kind of worked. They’re now only a dull gray.” 

 

She giggled, “Well, don’t make them too clean. I really do like them.” 

 

He nods, “Deal.” 

 

She glances up at the clock on the wall and stands up, “I should get going, Jo’s going to make comments if I’m late to work and she sees me walking out of here. But I’ll see you tonight?” 

 

“Seven o’clock.” 

 

She reaches down and squeezes his hand, “Bye, Jim.” 

 

*** 

 

“So, what happened with Roy?” 

 

Karen sat across from her at a table in a little diner down the street from the studio. Karen asked if they could meet here instead of Alfredo’s, since it’s closer to the kids’ schools, and although Pam hasn’t been here much, it reminds her too much of the diner she was working in before she met Mark, she agreed, if only to have their fries again.  

 

She pops a fry into her mouth before answering, “It just... wasn’t right.” 

 

“From what I saw at Poor Richard’s, you guys seemed to be getting along great.” 

 

“Yeah, we were. He’s nice, I liked him, but I just didn’t feel anything for him, you know?” 

 

“It’s a shame, I wouldn’t have minded seeing him around a few more times.” 

 

“He is pretty cute, huh?” 

 

Karen steals one of Pam’s fries, “Oh, yeah. I asked Danny why he doesn’t look like that anymore and he said ‘if I didn’t know any better, I would think you just insulted me.’” 

 

Pam laughs, “You two are perfect for each other.” 

 

“I love that guy, but boy, do I want to whack him with a frying pan some days.” 

 

Pam giggles into her tea, spilling a little on herself. She grabs a napkin to clean it up and says, “Did I ever tell you I threw a pan at Mark once?” 

 

“You did?” 

 

“Mhm. We were fighting over something stupid, I honestly couldn’t even tell you what it was, but I grabbed a pan and threw it right at him. It missed, my aim never was very good, but I definitely had his attention after that.” 

 

“Man, you think you know a girl.” 

 

“He never let me live it down, either. Would sometimes hand me a pan himself if a fight went on for too long, which of course just made us both laugh and realize how stupid we were being. I’m actually surprised you didn’t know.” 

 

“Life behind closed doors is a mysterious thing, isn’t it?” 

 

“I guess so.” 

 

Karen paused, took a sip of her coffee, and then a bite of her sandwich, before asking, “So, what’s this I hear about Jim?” 

 

Pam knew this was coming. If there was one thing that she could count on, it was that secrets never stayed secrets for long in Scranton.  

 

“That depends on what you heard.”

 

“I heard that he asked you out and you went to dinner.” 

 

“Yeah. Well, kind of. I was the one who asked him out.” 

 

Karen smirked, “We knew something was up.” 

 

Pam laughed, “I don’t think he ever would have asked me, honestly. You know how he is.” 

 

Karen nods, “I do. Which is why I’m glad you’re finally taking a chance on him.” 

 

“It was a fun night.” 

 

“So, do you like him?” 

 

“Of course.” 

 

“No, I mean do you like him?” 

 

Pam bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She loved Jim, but until about a week or two ago, would have convinced herself it was the same kind of love she had for Karen or Danny or Jo. But now that she’s allowing herself to look at him as more than just her best friend, she’s not so sure the love is so platonic after all. And although she knows she’s not in love with him yet, she can be honest when she says, “Yeah. I do.” 

 

Karen smiles, leaning back in the booth, “Well, it’s about time.” 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“I’m pretty sure all of Pennsylvania knew it was just a matter of time before you two got together.” 

 

“That’s pretty dramatic.” 

 

“Maybe, but I’m glad it’s finally happening.” 

 

“We’ve only been out on one date, Kare.” 

 

“Danny and I went out on three before we talked futures, so...”

 

Pam laughed, “I like Jim, but I’m not quite there yet.”

 

“Of course. Hey,” Karen reaches across the table and squeezes Pam’s hand, “how are you feeling with all of this? Obviously, I’m excited for you and Jim, but I know it must be hard after Mark.” 

 

Pam sighs, “I’m... okay. Better than I thought I would be, honestly. Jim and I talked about Mark, which helped a lot. We seem to be on the same page when it comes to him. It’s weird, but I’m okay.” 

 

“Good. Jim’s a good guy, but you know that. And he loves you, which is the most important thing. Like mom used to always say, find a guy who loves you more than you love him. We all know Jim does.” 

 

“She did not say that.” 

 

“She did! And it’s true. Like I said, I love Danny. Can’t live with him, but definitely could not live without him. But if I left, or God forbid, something happened to me? He wouldn’t be able to move on, I know it.” 

 

“And you think Jim’s the same way?” 

 

“Pam, that boy would die for you in a heartbeat if you asked him to.” 

 

 

By the time Pam finished work and left the studio, Karen’s comment was still nagging at her.  

 

“He wouldn’t be able to move on, I know it.”

 

She wondered if Mark would have been able to, had their roles been reversed. If he would have ever even thought of trying to find someone new. She would hope that he would have, that he wouldn’t stay alone if the only thing keeping him from finding someone else was the thought of her being upset about it. But she missed him more this afternoon than she had in a long time, so instead of turning right out of the street to head home, she turns left, pulling up in front of Cathedral Cemetery a few minutes later.  

 

She walks the familiar path to his headstone. For months after Mark died, she barely left the house except to visit him almost daily. A half mile walk down the main path, and then twenty-three steps to the right, right under the big oak tree. Singer stops ten steps away, as always. She’s not really sure why he refuses to come any closer, but she thinks he knows that she needs the time alone.  

 

She gently runs her fingers across the top of the grave, and then over the etching of his name. She sits cross-legged on the ground in front of it, and she waits for the tears to come, but they don’t. She feels sad, feels the loss that she usually does when she visits him and remembers their life together, but the heaviness in her chest that she had become so accustomed to isn’t there. She wonders what that means.  

 

She stays there for another hour or so, thinking, remembering, sharing. She closes her eyes as she recounts the story of her broken sink, and she can almost pretend he’s right there, laughing with her; can almost hear him. Her breath is shaky as she opens her eyes and just sees stone in front of her, but she feels better now. She hadn’t visited him in almost three weeks, the longest she’s ever gone, and she missed the comfort that he brought her, even if he wasn’t actually there.  

 

As she stands to leave, swatting away a mosquito, she feels a rush of certainty wash over her. Mark would have been okay with this. He told her in his note with Singer that he wanted her to be happy, wanted her to find someone that made her happy. She thinks Jim might be that someone. And the fact that Jim knew Mark, loved Mark, only makes her certainty stronger. Neither one of them will forget him. 

 

*** 

 

Jim had shown up just on time, not wanting to keep her waiting. He almost thought about showing up early, but didn’t want to seem overeager. He gets to her front porch just as she opens the door, quickly closing it behind her so Singer can’t come out.

 

She’s wearing another sundress, though this time it’s accompanied by a loose cardigan to combat the early autumn air. Her hair is curled and falling over her shoulders, he can tell she put more work into it than she usually does. He couldn’t believe that she was dressing up for him. That she had put in that extra work and made sure she looked nice because he was picking her up. He’s not sure he would ever get used to it. 

 

Pam beats him to a compliment, though, saying, “Well, you look nice.” 

 

He glances down at his olive-green button down and khaki pants, “Thank you, but you look... beautiful.” 

 

She does a half curtsey, though he can see a small blush rising on her cheeks. “Thank you.” 

 

He holds out his hand to lead her down the steps and watches her eyebrows furrow. “What happened to your band-aids?” 

 

“I took them off, my fingers are feeling better.” 

 

“Already?” She takes the hand that he’s holding out and he winces a little when she rubs her thumb across the still red skin. She chuckles, “Feeling better, huh? If I had known you were going to scrub your fingerprints off, I wouldn’t have said anything.” 

 

“They’ll be fine, I promise.” 

 

“Hmm. Well,” He watches her pause, still looking at his fingers for a moment before glancing up at him. She raises his hand up and gently kisses his fingertips before sliding her palm into his. “Maybe that will help?” 

 

When he looks back on this moment, he isn’t sure how he didn’t pass out right there on her front lawn. It takes him a minute, but then he’s able to force out, “Yeah, maybe.” 

 

“You ready to go?” 

 

He clears his throat, “Whenever you are.” 

 

 

Brooklyn is quieter than they thought it would be, but neither are complaining. The restaurant Jim picked out was beautiful, especially where they sat on the back patio. They were close enough to the beach to hear the waves crashing in the distance, but far enough away that the ocean breeze wasn’t too cold. They split a bottle of wine, talked easily over dinner, and shared a slice of cake for dessert.  

 

As they walked out of the restaurant, Pam turns to him. “Where to next, Halpert?” 

 

“Not sick of me yet?” 

 

“Mm, I think I can handle you for a little bit longer.” 

 

He grins, “Alright. Just remember the drive back is two hours.” 

 

“Duly noted.” 

 

“Okay, c’mon. There’s a little bar down the road with live music.” 

 

He slips his fingers through hers and they walk along the quiet street until they reach a building with exposed brick walls, hardwood floors, and creaky doors. She had never been here, but remembers Mark telling her about this place, about how before he met her, him and Jim would come down here most weekends and try to pick up women, only to go back home together.  

 

The band that was playing was good, and apparently friends with Jim, as they waved to each other as she and him were sitting down.  

 

She nods towards the stage, “You know him?” 

 

“A little bit. We’ve crossed paths a couple of times while playing at bars like this.” 

 

They order their drinks, both deciding to go with a coke this time, and sip them as they talk and enjoy the music.  

 

Pam glances over at Jim. Although it was still a little weird to think that she was now dating him, she couldn’t hide the fact that it was going really well. He had rolled his sleeves up after dinner, which she loved when he did that, and he looked so much more comfortable than last night. So much more like Jim.

 

When he looked over and smiled at her, she had a gut feeling this was going to last.  

 

The music stopped and she watched as the guitarist came over to their table.  

 

“Hey, man, I’m taking a break. You wanna fill in for a few?” 

 

“Hey. Um, I would, but... I’m on a date.” 

 

“Oh, my bad. Sorry to interrupt.” 

 

Pam nudges Jim, “No, go ahead. Play something.” 

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

The fact that she can tell he obviously wants to, but turned it down just for her, has her nudging him forward again. “As long as you play Sweet Home Alabama.” 

 

He grins and stands up. “Your wish is my command, Beesly.” 

 

She watches him walk up to the stage, confidence in his step. He picks up the guitar and plucks a few of the strings, and she can see him switch to music mode. When he finishes tuning the guitar, he looks up at her and winks, and then starts playing the intro. 

 

The nice thing about bars is that most everyone is at least tipsy. So, Jim’s naturally out of tune voice doesn’t bother anyone, in fact, a few people even start cheering for him as he reaches the chorus. Pam watches from the table, unable to wipe the smile off of her face as she watches Jim do what he loves, and seeing everyone around her love him too.  

 

As he made his way back over to her after finishing the song, she watched as some patted his back, some high-fived him, others whooped as he walked by.  

 

“If I’m not careful, someone else is going to steal you from me.”

 

He laughs, “I’d like to see them try. Thank you for letting me do that.” 

 

“I should be thanking you, that was amazing. I didn’t actually think you would play Sweet Home Alabama, though.” 

 

“How could I deny you a show?” He glances up at the clock. “You ready to get out of here? It’s getting late.” 

 

She nods and gathers her things before they make their way to the bar to pay their tab. As Jim is pulling out his wallet, though, the bartender waves them off, telling them they’ve been paid for already. 

 

“One of your many fans, I guess.” 

 

*** 

 

They made it back to Pam’s house a couple of hours later, and though it really was getting late, Jim didn’t want the night to end just yet. He walked her to her door, trying to be near her for as long as possible, and then was surprised that instead of saying goodnight, she invited him in.  

 

“There’s probably an old movie on we can watch or something?” 

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

“I mean, unless you want to go--” 

 

“No, no. I’d love to come in.” 

 

She lets him in, Singer greeting them at the door and making sure to get extra love before pushing past them into the yard. Pam watches him stare into the trees, bark once, and then start sniffing the ground. 

 

“What a strange dog.” 

 

She closes the door as Singer makes his way to the backyard and then goes into the kitchen to grab some water for both her and Jim.  

 

They couldn’t agree on a movie, so they settled on some sitcom that documents an office workplace in the UK. Three episodes in, Pam finally gives in to a yawn and Jim takes that as his cue to leave.  

 

Pam walks him to the door, fighting back another yawn. “Thank you for tonight. I had a lot of fun.” 

 

“Me too.” 

 

He slips on his shoes and grab his keys, and he thinks about trying to kiss her again, but isn’t sure after last night. He wants to take this at her speed, so even though he wants nothing more than to pull her close, he’ll wait until she’s ready. 

 

He turns to her, his hand on the door. “Have a good night, Pam.” 

 

He’s just about to turn the knob when she grabs his hand and pulls him to her. They pause for a second, her looking nervous but wanting, and he looking surprised but hopeful. She stands on her toes and he leans down and when their lips meet, he could swear that they’re the only two people in the world with how much of her instantly consumes him. Her featherlight touch on his arm competes with the electric pulse running through his body, and it’s almost whiplash when she finally pulls away.  

 

“Good night, Jim.” 

Chapter End Notes:
Hopefully the next chapter won't be over a year from now. 

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