She hadn’t been lying when she told Jim she didn’t like graphic design. She doesn’t. And as much as she’d enjoyed New York, the thought of spending three more months away from him while attempting to do better in classes she’s already failed is a difficult prospect enough without the added element of disliking them.

I’m coming back the wrong way.

At least that’s what Jim had called it. But coming home to him had been the only right way, in her estimation. She doesn’t look at it as giving up, she sees it as a choice: her choice to come home the way she wanted to.

She tries to remind herself of that over the subsequent months, as she sits at reception, back at the Dunder Mifflin grind. 

Today is Michael’s last day, and he’s been not-so-quietly attempting to poach her fellow employees to start a brand new company with him. While she predicts his departure will be anything but smooth, she does want to help create as easy a transition as possible. So she decides today will be the day she learns everything there is to know about the brand new copy machine to create some excitement among the troops, and distract them from any impending Michael antics. 

There are hundreds of functions, at least ninety percent of them unnecessary for the office’s purposes, but she’s committed to learning them all. She can’t figure out graphic design, dammit, but she is going to learn everything there is to possibly learn about this copier.

“Hi, Pam,” Kevin says, shuffling over to reception.

“Hi,” she says, looking up from the instruction manual.

“Why aren’t you in New York?” he asks, appearing genuinely confused. She glances over to Jim.

“I’ve been back in Scranton for four months, Kevin.” 

“Oh.” He looks at her for a long, long time. Too long. “I thought you went to art school.”

“She failed art school, Kevin,” Oscar calls from the corner.

“Hey, easy,” Jim pipes up, throwing his arms into a what the fuck, Oscar? gesture. “She wanted to come home.”

“Because she failed,” Angela sneers. “Right, Pam?”

Pam rolls her eyes. There’s not much else to do. She’s been the butt of these jokes ever since she returned from New York, and while they still sting a bit, at least she’s been getting used to them. 

“I guess I just missed you all way too much,” Pam retorts, flipping a page to look up the proper methods of collation with different sizes of paper. “But I appreciate the support.”

“We’re just messing with you, Pam,” Oscar says.

She knows they are, but it still bothers her. She can only imagine everyone has decided to shift the attention away from Michael today and that attention has unfortunately settled upon her. 

Jim glances over to catch her eye, concerned, mouths you okay? She nods to put him at ease.

As the day goes along, the tension in the air remains thick. Dwight attempts to help her with the copier in his own Dwight way, and in a remarkable demonstration of either restraint or compassion, holds back on saying anything about the unpleasantness from before. 

Eventually, with one final push of a button, the machine is completely set up. She feels oddly triumphant, and while this achievement pales in comparison to the feeling she might have gotten from completing her art courses, it’s something; a small success in the shadow of a larger failure.

Phyllis tries out the copier first, and when Pam asks how it’s working, she replies “It’s fine.”

Fine.

It’s exactly the response Pam expects, no more, no less. And while she’s pleased with a job well done, nothing changes the fact that what she does as a receptionist will forever just be... fine.

Fine.

There’s a feeling inside her she can’t quite identify: dissatisfaction, surely, but it’s something else. Like she’s tied to this place somehow, trapped like a caged animal. There’s more inside her than “fine.” She has more to give, and will there ever be a way she can give that here? Will she ever have the opportunity to do so?

Just when she’s certain the topic of conversation surrounding her had been completely forgotten, Toby ambles over from the annex.

“Hey, Pam,” he says in his withdrawn manner, but definitely loudly enough for anyone within earshot to hear. “I heard some people were being disrespectful to you earlier today.”

Pam glares at him. Really? Michael typically says more disrespectful things in an hour than were said to her this morning and Toby felt the need to come over and talk to her about it now?

“It’s fine, Toby,” she says. 

“I just wanted to say if anyone bothers you, you just let me know, okay?”

She nods tightly.

He smiles. “It’s good to have you back. Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be, and that’s okay, you know?”

She appreciates he’s trying, but none of this is actually helping. Especially considering the source. “Thank you,” she says, hoping he takes the hint and leaves her alone. Michael emerges from his office, taking in the conversation.

“You know, Pam, this is probably for the best,” Angela pipes up. “Now you can focus your attention on being a good, responsible wife.”

“To Jim,” Dwight grumbles with an enormous eye roll. 

Jim shrugs. “Zero complaints from me.”

“It takes practice, Pam,” Phyllis says in that backhanded compliment way she’s so good at. “You’ll get there.”

Pam gives her an annoyed look, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thanks, Phyllis. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And hey,” Kevin interjects. “If you fail at that too, there’s always just… being single,” he finishes weakly, having clearly not planned anything to say.

“Hey, hey,” Michael finally calls out. “What’s going on out here?”

“Everyone’s being rude to Pam for flunking out of art school,” Dwight relays, ever the helpful assistant.

“Whoa, what?” Michael says, looking personally offended.

“Michael, it’s really not a big deal,” Jim tries to interrupt, attempting to save Pam from Michael piling on, either purposefully or inadvertently.

“Hey! Pam is a valued employee of this office, and I will not tolerate people saying mean things about her,” he says instead, to Pam’s surprise. Maybe the prospect of leaving this place has made him slightly soft.

“But Michael, you quit,” Kevin reminds him.

“That is true, but for the rest of the day I am still your boss,” Michael points out. “So… shut it.”

“So does that mean… tomorrow, it’s okay for us to talk about Pam again?” Kevin asks, genuinely curious.

“Everyone!” Michael shouts, then looks at Pam directly. He has a sad sort of look in his eye that she’s only noticing for the first time, as if the reality of his situation is only hitting him. “Pam Beesly is a wonderful person, and a gifted artist. She painted that,” he turns around and points at the watercolor of Dunder Mifflin hanging on the wall. “For all of us. So just… stop being dickheads, alright?”

Pam tilts her head and smiles at her boss, her soon to be ex-boss. Her friend. He doesn’t always show up, but when he does, it’s magic.

Pam is subdued, alone in a sea of people who are laughing, chatting. Talking about art. She wants to engage but she doesn’t feel particularly engaging at the moment. She’s felt alone for months now, and the glaring absence of any of her friends has made it even worse.

Looking around the gallery now, she sees no one she knows, but there’s really only one person she wants to see.

She hadn’t told Jim (mostly because he hardly speaks to her anymore) that he’d been the reason she’d finally decided to pursue art. To dream of something else, something better. Something that would help her escape the mundanity she’d become so accustomed to. When she began taking art classes in Scranton, she felt alive again, and it hadn’t just been because she was painting. It was because she felt Jim’s presence, even though he was far away, and she knew that if he were around he’d be rooting her on.

It hadn’t only been his words of encouragement regarding her art that inspired her, however; it had been the confession of his feelings that night. Even though she’d messed that all up, the idea that someone like Jim could be in love with her had spurred her to leave Roy behind as well.

Now she feels as if she’s sliding back into old habits. While a few days ago she’d considered it growth, she isn’t so sure anymore.

Roy finally arrives at the gallery, and she’s glad he came, but he barely looks at what she’d poured her heart and soul into over the past few weeks. He’s too busy congratulating himself for showing up at all, and she’s reminded of what it used to be like with him: always the bare minimum. She’s been wondering if what she’d previously identified as change is actually nothing more than an act, but she's depressed enough already tonight and she doesn’t want to examine what she’s gotten back into with Roy, if she’s just wading back into mundanity once again. He begs off after about fifteen minutes anyway.

“I’ll just drive myself home,” she tells him. His expression changes to one she definitely recognizes as he asks if she’ll spend the night at his place, but she isn’t ready for that step yet, and definitely isn’t in the mood to take it tonight.

Oscar arrives with his boyfriend and at first she’s thrilled to see some friends, but after Gill calls her work “motel art” and Oscar doesn’t necessarily defend her, she’s not feeling very friendly anymore. Oscar’s not wrong, anyway. He’s rarely wrong, and calling her out on her cowardice is no exception. 

The truth hurts, but tonight it hurts worse.

She hasn’t felt this low in a very long time, and just when she thinks things can’t get any more upsetting, Michael walks in, most definitely in a prime position to say something insensitive and hurtful. 

“Pamcasso!” he greets her, with a heartfelt apology for being late. She’s about to tell him not to bother, he can go home, no one showed up anyway, but when he sees her paintings, his face changes. 

There are moments Pam has borne witness to over the years where Michael seems to mysteriously transform into something resembling human, and while these moments are few and far between, they do occur.

“Wow,” he says, and his face is full of such wonder she knows in her soul he isn’t putting her on at all. “You did these freehand? These could be tracings.”

Michael is the first person to care, actually care about something she holds dear, and it touches her. She thinks about Jim, and how interested and engaged and even impressed with her work he’d been over the years. Her heart wants to burst from missing him. While Michael is certainly no art critic, and his opinion on her work doesn’t really matter in the academic sense, she’s so close to breaking down emotionally right now that ‘academic’ is not what she needs. She needs a friend, and that’s exactly who has shown up for her tonight. 

“I am really proud of you,” Michael says, his deep brown eyes full of authenticity. And this is the moment for Pam: the moment when her ridiculous, exasperating, maddening boss becomes an actual, true friend. 

She approaches him slowly, giving him a hug that’s really more for her. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Michael, her friend, has shown up for her. And she’s never been more grateful.

“This is not Michael Scott talking right now. This is your future. Hello. I am your future.”

The day has been interminable, and she hadn’t been expecting a Jerry Maguire-esque recruitment scenario, but she’s in the middle of one just the same. Michael is folded against the file cabinets, his suit disheveled, his back against the wall, literally and figuratively. As long as she’s known him he’s been lonely, but at this moment he’s never looked so alone.

“Are you doing your best here?” he supplicates, and while he’s addressing the entire office, today of all days, Pam feels as if it’s directed solely at her. 

She isn’t doing her best here, and she knows it. For some reason Phyllis’s “Fine” is bouncing around her mind, in tempo with her beating heart. Fine. Fine. Fine.

“Are you being the best you can be?” Michael adds.

The scene Michael is creating has caught the attention of Charles Miner, who, unaccustomed to the fact that this really is just another normal day with Michael, has reached his limit. For a moment Pam believes he might actually physically escort Michael off the premises but fortunately, Michael gives up and walks out himself. 

Pam sits at her desk at reception, the same desk she’s been in for eight years. She glances over at the copier, that goddamn copier she’s been learning all goddamn afternoon. She didn’t let it beat her. She dominated that copier today. 

Right now, she feels strangely powerful, like she can accomplish anything.

She watches her friend’s retreating back, and for some reason the mere possibility of never seeing Michael Scott again is what tips it. She knows it’s crazy, she knows it, but all she can think about is that damn copier and “Fine” and she knows he’s right. 

Michael Scott is right.

Are you being the best you can be?

She stands up slowly. “Oh, no.” She knows what’s happening, but she cannot stop it. It’s as if her body is moving without her brain’s permission, as if the rational part of her got sent to voicemail.

“What?” Jim asks.

“I’m going with him.” 

Just saying the words aloud helps; she’s making a statement, a declaration, a decision. Maybe this will be a mistake, but if it is, at least it will be hers. And besides… what if it isn’t? What if she gives this a real chance? 

What if she believes in Michael the way he’d believed in her?

She doesn’t grab anything, just runs out, her only goal to stop him, to reach him in time. Jim follows her out, incredulous, but he does not hold her back. He watches her make this life-altering decision, his hands in his pockets. Not convinced yet, perhaps, but still trusting, supporting.

The relief on Michael’s face that someone, anyone, believes in him, makes her feel more accomplished than beating the copier did. 

She bids Jim goodbye and leaves Dunder Mifflin, just like that.

***

“So.”

Pam looks up as Jim enters their house, a questioning look on his face. 

“So,” she replies.

He grins tightly, waiting for some kind of explanation she surely won’t be able to satisfactorily offer. 

“The Michael Scott Paper Company,” he says with a broad gesture, closing the front door. “Pioneers in a dying industry.”

She drops her head into her hands. “I know.”

“What were you thinking?” he asks. He isn’t upset, or even disappointed. Just genuinely curious. She knows part of him gets it, understands why she’d quit to support Michael. But there’s a part of him, perhaps the very same part of her, that cannot comprehend the absolute lunacy of what she’s done.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” she says, “and I just… I think... I just know what it feels like to have no one around believing in you. It sucks.”

Jim nods, and seems to empathize. “I get that,” he says. “But… it’s Michael. Michael,” he adds with emphasis, as if she’s forgotten the hundreds of times he’d made her day a little (or a lot) worse. 

“I know,” she repeats. “But I really want to give him a chance. He was just so great today, you know? Defending me when everyone else was being mean. I felt like it was me hosting the Dundies this time.” 

Jim tilts his head, regards her. “I hear you. He did make a stirring, compelling argument. And it obviously worked on you.”

Pam shrugs. “What can I say? The guy knows how to sell.”

“And I suppose if anyone has enough passion to start a paper business from scratch, it’s Michael Scott,” he concedes. “I gotta be honest though, Pam, I’m a little worried. We have a mortgage now, and I’m on thin ice as it is with Charles.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she really means it. 

He shakes his head, waving it away. “Forget I said that. That was not very supportive of your new endeavor. Besides, it’s not your fault the new boss hates me.”

She grins. “I told you that tux wouldn’t be worth all the trouble, didn’t I?”

He closes his eyes. “I’ve never worked harder at anything in my life than I have been at making this guy like me.”

“You’re really easy to like, babe.”

“You think so, babe?”

She nods. “Mm-hm. When you don’t try so hard.”

He sets his bag down on the dining table, pulls a chair out and sits next to her. “I’ll try to remember that.”

“Do you miss Michael yet?”

His eyebrows lift. “I do, actually, believe it or not. But I have to be honest, I miss the receptionist a little bit more.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“Just a little bit, though. It’s neck-and-neck.” They give each other easy smiles as he leans forward a bit, his elbows propped up on his knees. “Charles put Kevin at reception, so that was the adventure of the afternoon.”

Pam makes a face. “Kevin? He couldn’t have asked Meredith? Or even Andy?”

“He doesn’t know anything about any of us,” Jim sighs. “It’s... sad. Even Michael would have made a better decision.”

“Oh god,” she suddenly laments, the reality of this venture continuing to hit her in waves. “What have I done?”

“Maybe he’ll be easier to manage when there’s only one person around for him to impress.”

Pam looks at him, slightly horrified. “Or maybe I’ll just have to take the weight of the entire office onto my own shoulders.”

“If anyone can handle Michael, it’s you,” Jim points out. “Nice work, by the way, parlaying this job switch into a higher position.”

 “I didn’t plan it. It just sort of came out of my mouth.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, we’re gonna be okay, all right?” He puts a comforting hand on her knee. “And I don’t necessarily believe in Michael Scott the way you seem to, but I do believe in you.” 

She smiles. “Oh yeah?” 

“Absolutely I do.”

She leans over to give him a hug. She isn’t really sure she wants to be a paper salesman, but it’s a step up from receptionist. Maybe she’ll even be good at it. But she knew when she stood up and followed Michael out of Dunder Mifflin that the real reason she’s doing this is to gain control of her path, to seize her own narrative. And if it all goes to shit, at least she can still throw her arms around Jim at the end of the day. 

“Thank you,” she says against his shoulder. “Thank you for being so great. And I really do have a good feeling about Michael, you know? It’s hard to explain.”

“You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, Beesly,” he says into her ear. “It’s just one of the many reasons I can’t wait to marry you.”

She smiles as he cups her face with one hand, drawing her into a kiss. It begins slowly at first, but soon she’s standing and he’s backing her up against the dining table. She hops up onto it, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“You don’t want to get some dinner first?” she grins, knowing the answer. He shakes his head, and just as he lays her back down onto the table there’s a loud rap at the window. Jim groans as they both turn their heads to see Michael fucking Scott on the porch, peering through the blinds at them with an insane smile plastered across his face.

“Oh, god,” Pam exclaims, pushing Jim off her.

“You gave him our new address?” he hisses, slightly horrified. 

Pam looks helplessly at him. “I had to, he made me fill out start forms!” 

“Already?”

“He said he wanted to hit the ground strumming. Then he imitated Bob Dylan.”

“That tracks.” 

Jim peers through the blinds and waves awkwardly. 

“Maybe it’s work related,” she suggests hopefully. “Maybe he just needs to give me something, or ask me which tie he should wear tomorrow.”

“He is… holding a bottle of wine,” Jim points out. “And four DVDs.”

Pam closes her eyes and lets out a heavy sigh, exhausted. Her time with Michael was already at a barely tolerable level. She isn’t sure she’ll be able to handle house calls.

“I guess let’s just see what he wants,” she relents, gesturing at the door. 

Jim points at the dining table with a wink. “Hold that thought, by the way." 

“Hi, Michael,” Jim opens the door and greets his old boss. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“Hey guys, I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by,” he holds up the bottle, “...brought a little celebration vino for the new company.”

“Oh, well…” Pam gestures between herself and Jim. “We were sort of, you know. In the middle of something.”

Michael looks at them blankly. “What?” 

“You know.” Pam widens her eyes, silently imploring him to remember what he’d witnessed through their front window a mere ten seconds ago.

After far too many awkward moments pass, his own eyes bulge in understanding. “Oh!” He holds up the wine, looking anywhere but directly at Pam. “Gotcha, that’s cool, that’s cool. Why don’t you just take this, and we can do it another night? Yeah?”

Pam smiles in relief, taking the wine as Michael begins to mercifully back out of the entryway. “Sure.”

“Unless you want to change your mind, I mean, I brought The Scorpion King. ” He holds up his DVDs.

“Michael.” Jim shakes his head, unamused.

Pam raises an eyebrow at Jim. “Well, actually, I kind of-“

“Pam.”

“-like the-“

“Pam.”

“-Scorpion King. Sorry, Michael,” she says apologetically. 

He holds a hand up. “No problem. Just… do her good, Jim. She needs her rest.”

Pam is so used to Michael’s inappropriate sexual commentary she barely flinches. “He will.”

“Night, lovebirds,” he says, walking away and waving. “Bright and early tomorrow, Pam!” 

They say goodbye to his departing figure and Jim closes the door. He turns to Pam with a very serious expression. “Guess I have to do you good now.”

“I guess so,” she grins. “He is still my boss, after all.”