Nothing had quite gone to plan today, but Pam has gotten used to that by now. Somehow when it comes to her and Jim, everything still always feels perfect. 

It's their wedding day, and absolutely nothing: not Jim’s slip-up the night before, or Andy’s ill-fated split, or corny recreations of YouTube videos could ever take that away from them. 

After they exit the church hand in hand, he gently pulls on her arm to spin her around and press her against the side of the stone entryway out of view from their guests for a brief, but decidedly non-church-friendly kiss. Her breath catches in her chest and she feels such relief: he is hers now, all hers. She’s instantly reminded of their first date and wonders if he’s done it on purpose, but it’s Jim, so she suspects he probably has. She smiles against his lips, hardly able to contemplate the depth of her own bliss.

The reception goes surprisingly smoothly, and after so many twists and turns and bumps in the road this weekend they figure it’s about time for something to proceed normally. So normally, in fact, that the documentary crew turns in before the night is even over. 

At the end of the evening, just before they say their goodbyes, Pam turns to Jim to take a mental picture of him: click. She wants to remember him exactly like this. 

When they arrive back in their honeymoon suite, they’re exhausted, but exhilarated. He locks the door behind them and turns to face her, his expression etched with yearning she hasn’t seen since the first night they made love. Yet again, something has shifted between them, made them different than they were before, and she appreciates Jim’s small moment of acknowledgment. And just as they had that very first time, when he takes her into his arms tonight they remain wordless; wrapped up in each other and the enormity of this moment where two lives officially merge into one.

She now lies strewn across the bed on her back, naked, the sheets tangled around her body. Her hair, which had been pinned up since the falls, has been let down, and she massages her tender scalp with her eyes closed.  Jim lies next to her, propped up on one elbow, just gazing at her. He takes out his invisible camera and shoots his own mental picture of her with a soft click.

She twists her head on her pillow to look at him. “That photo is inappropriate for the mental scrapbook.”

He shakes his head and holds his hand out, showing her the imaginary photo. “It’s perfect. It’s going on the cover.” He pretends to look at it closely, squinting. “Oh wait, you blinked again.” He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter, I’m not gonna be looking at your face anyway.”

She rolls her eyes and throws a nearby pillow at him, which he catches with a laugh, turning onto his stomach and tucking it underneath. He reaches a hand out, dragging a finger gently along her stomach. 

“We did it, Beesly,” he says softly. 

“Halpert, you mean.” 

“Holy shit,” he laughs. “You’re right. Pam Halpert. Wow.” 

Ever since she’d seen her married name written out on Kevin’s gift check, she hasn’t been able to get it out of her mind, but hearing him call her by that name on their wedding night is next-level. 

“I like when you call me Beesly, though,” she says. “Don’t stop now just because I’m taking your name.”

“You don’t have to, you know. Liberated woman and all that.”

“No, I want to,” she affirms. “I think it’s romantic.”

“Alright, Beesly. Whatever you say.” 

He moves his hand up to stroke her cheek. Jim’s always been incredibly romantic with her, but she can tell it's been turned completely loose today and he’s not quite ready to reel it back in. Luckily, she doesn’t mind at all. 

She turns onto her stomach carefully to better look at him.  “So tell me about your other mental pictures from the day,” she instructs him. 

“Right now?”

“Yes, now,” she prods. “We should tell each other before we forget everything.”

He looks thoughtful. “You go first.”

“You don’t want me to go first, or I’ll start with Andy’s scrotum.”

He makes a face. “That was a high point for you?”

“Well, not as such,” she laughs. “But when the doctor started poking at him he let out this really high-pitched girly scream, and I couldn’t help myself.”

He looks at her wistfully. “I’m really happy you’ll think about Andy’s balls whenever you remember our wedding.” 

“I thought you would have enjoyed it. That’s why I took a picture for you.”

“So thoughtful, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiles and scoots even closer to him. “Now you go.”

“Hmm,” he thinks for a minute. “Kevin’s Kleenex box shoes were pretty great.”

“It was even better when your brother tripped over them,” she adds.

“Meredith and Kelly fighting over the bouquet.”

Tilting her head a bit, she changes the tone of her voice. “Our first dance,” she says, a bit more quietly. 

They’d chosen Here Comes My Girl, which had become their song over the past couple of years. She’d been instantly transported to that night on the rooftop during the Dunder Mifflin Infinity launch party. 

“Oh, are we getting mushy now?” he grins.

“I think it’s a good day for it.”

“Okay. Can I tell you my favorite part of the day, then? It’s pretty mushy.”

“Go on.”

He sighs contentedly, his eyes softening in that way they do when he gets serious. 

“After the ceremony, when we just stood at the back of the boat watching the falls. The moment I truly knew you were mine forever.”

His words bring up emotions she’s never quite experienced before, her passion for him only growing with time. She leans in to kiss him — her new husband — and even though it’s at least the thousandth time they’ve kissed, it miraculously feels even better than it did when they were just engaged.

She grins against his lips. “I meant to ask you… why’d you kiss me on the cheek on the boat?”

“Well, I wanted to save something for the second ceremony. So it wouldn’t be entirely pointless.”

“Nothing about that was pointless,” she laughs. “I had no idea Oscar could Vogue like that.”

“I guess it’s a good thing we anticipated Michael.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” she admits with a smile. “I think, as much as Michael enjoys making a spectacle of himself, he really did just want to make our wedding special. It’s hard to be mad at him for that.”

Jim shakes his head. “I’m not mad at him for that. Still a little pissed about how that whole co-manager thing went down, though.”

“I told you to be honest with him.” 

“I know, and you were right,” he agrees. “I just can’t believe he undermined me to Wallace.”

Pam thinks for a minute. “Well, look at it this way. You love me, right?” 

Jim raises an eyebrow, confused. “Of course.”

“And if anyone threatened me in any way, what would you do?”

“I’d kill them,” he says. “Or at least write them a very strongly worded letter.”

“Well, Michael’s job at Dunder Mifflin is the love of his life. And if he thought you were threatening the love of his life, he’s going to react proportionately. It doesn’t matter how much he likes you.”

Jim looks at her for a long beat. “It’s weird, how you have this sort of Michael instruction manual in your brain. How do you do that?”

She often wonders the same. But whenever she does, the answer is crystal clear. “It’s not something you can learn from a book, Jim. It’s pure instinct when it comes to Michael Scott.”

He nods, taking this in, seeming to relax a bit. “Anyway, Michael was actually… the best possible version of himself today.”

“He really was. I kept waiting for something awful to happen but it seemed like he was really on his best behavior.”

Jim’s expression suddenly softens. “You know what he said to me last night, when we were down at the bar?”

“No, what?”

“He made me promise to take care of you,” he reveals. “He said, and I quote, you’re like ‘the daughter who’s too hot for him to have.’”

She laughs. “Well, that was sweet of him, I guess.” As usual, she’s touched by Michael’s sentiment, however inappropriately expressed. 

“It’s the best you’re gonna get, I think.”

She lays back onto the pillow, feeling his eyes on her. “So... will you make him proud?” 

“Absolutely I will,” he grins. 

She puts her hand over her slightly protruding belly, a bit self consciously. Jim covers her hand with his. 

“You looked perfect today,” he says, like he’s reading her mind. 

“Before or after the falls completely ruined my hair? And my shoulder strap broke when I sat down?”

“All of the above.” 

“You’re sweet,” she says with a small sigh. “I don’t feel perfect. Far from it.”

“Look at you,” he says, his eyes now roaming every exposed curve he possibly can. He gives her a soft smile. “You’re exquisite. And you’re carrying our baby.”

It’s magical, the way that whenever she looks into his eyes she always believes he means it.

“I don’t think I ever said thank you, Jim.” 

“For what?”

“For today. Everything. For just... being you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. He looks at her for a moment, and the room is quiet, save for the fire crackling across the room. He lays back down and stares at the ceiling, apparently deep in thought. 

She turns her head on her pillow to look at him. “What is it?” 

“I was just thinking. Will said something to me today on the boat. After you left with Delilah.”

Will has always been one of the quieter cameramen, and none of the crew makes a habit of speaking to them at all, really, but he’d been left alone with Jim for a few minutes. Pam hadn’t left Jim’s side for the entire whirlwind boat excursion, but the pregnancy had made avoiding the bathroom impossible, and she’d requested Delilah’s assistance with her dress for a few minutes after the ceremony. It was definitely something she hadn’t wanted Jim taking a mental picture of.

“What did he say?” she asks.

Jim turns his own head on his pillow and reaches out to gently move a strand of hair out of her eyes. “He said... that you and I have something really special. That we should treasure it.”

She’s surprised. It’s a little weird -- she barely knows Will -- but not in an off-putting kind of way. 

“Well, that was nice of him.” 

Jim looks at the ceiling again. “Do you ever wonder how they’re going to edit us? You know, for the documentary?”

His question comes out of the blue. The pillow bristles softly as she cocks her head a bit. 

“I don’t know,” she admits. “How do you mean?” 

She’s become so accustomed to the cameras that she occasionally stops thinking about them altogether, let alone how the crew sees them, or how the finished product will turn out.

“Just… that it seems like they know us. That they know so much about us. It just threw me a bit, that’s all.”

She isn’t quite sure what to think, how to answer Jim’s question, but she’s seen enough reality television to know she and Jim could come across any way the production deems entertaining. 

“I never really thought about how we might look to other people. I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes I sort of forget about the cameras.”

“Me too.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh come on, liar. You’ve shown off for the cameras more than anyone.”

“I never have!” he says, indignant. “I’ve only ever showed off for you. The cameras just happened to be there.”

She grins, not buying his excuse for a second. “Is this something you’re really worried about?” 

“No,” he says, and she isn’t quite sure if he’s being entirely truthful. “I just think about everything that’s happened over the past few years. How much of it they caught on tape, how it might come across. And how, sooner or later, we’re gonna have to watch it. It made me think about how far we’ve come, how different things used to be.” He turns to look at her. “I’ve been so happy to be with you that I almost forgot what it felt like... before.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t do that to yourself, Jim.”

He smiles at her and she’s comforted, even though she presumes it’s mainly for her benefit. But she can tell he’s somewhat distracted, perhaps even slightly unsettled, and the more she thinks about it, she can empathize.

The days at Dunder Mifflin are typically uneventful -- at least, as uneventful as Michael will allow -- but today, there’s enthusiasm in the air. For some reason completely out of the realm of Pam’s comprehension, a PBS documentary crew has decided to film the inner workings of a paper company. While she’s a bit apprehensive about the idea of cameras capturing her every move, she can’t deny there’s something exciting about it; it makes her, and this boring job, feel a little more important. Like she matters.

It’s been awhile since she’s felt that way.

She sits at reception and for the first few hours, she has to remind herself not to behave like the cameras are there. She feels restless and observed, which is a far cry from the way she usually feels for the most part: ignored and unnoticed.

Michael has been doing an interview in his office for at least twenty minutes, and she wonders if all this time spent not working is going to be taken from their pay at some point. But, then again, she thinks of all of the time she spends not working anyway, and it doesn’t seem so strange after all.

Jim wanders over to her desk, leans against it in his usual way, twisting his neck to watch Michael doing his interview through the window. 

“Did they talk to you yet?” he asks, taking a jelly bean. The amount of jelly beans Jim consumes at reception daily makes her amazed he’s as lean as he is.

“Not yet. You?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago.” 

She tries to ignore that fluttery feeling she gets in her stomach whenever Jim pays attention to her. She’s used to it by now, but it still gives her a secret thrill every time.

“What did they ask you about?” 

He shrugs. “What I do here. I talked about paper. I nearly fell asleep doing it.”

She laughs a bit, wondering what on earth they will possibly ask her. How she answers the phone? How she takes messages and sends faxes? How she spends way too much time helping Jim prank Dwight in an effort to curtail the mind-numbing monotony of this place?

“I feel like... this enormous pressure to entertain them or something,” he continues. 

“Oh God, I didn’t even think about that,” she remarks. “I’m just praying I don’t say anything stupid.”

Jim nods, sucking air through his teeth. “Luckily, we have Michael around to do that for us.”

“Good point.” 

Pam casts a glance around the office and her eyes land on the accounting corner, where a camera is set up and pointed directly at them. No one has mic’d her or anything, so she figures their audio is probably not being captured. She leans in closer to him and drops her voice.

“Do you think they’ll follow us home and stuff? Are they allowed to do that?”

“Better check the contract, Beesly,” he says. His hands drape over the ledge of her desk, inches from her face. “Because I think we all pretty much signed our lives away.”

“Maybe I should have read that.”

“Yeah.” 

“It was so long.”

“I didn’t, either.”

“Weird to think that anything we say or do could just… be out there, forever,” she muses. 

“Well,” he shrugs, “I have a terrible memory, so it’ll be great to be able to watch this later and remember every single paper sale I make.”

“Every magic trick Michael does for the office?” she suggests.

“Every useless fact Dwight has to share about Battlestar Galactica.”

“The names of each and every one of Angela’s cats,” Pam giggles.

“See? We’ll want to remember all of that. Important stuff.” Jim grins at her in that special way he has that makes her feel seen.

Their eyes connect for a moment and her mind gets a little hazy at how close he’s standing to her, how comfortable she feels when she and Jim are in their own little bubble. It always feels like Dunder Mifflin is one enormous joke and they’re the only two people who are in on it. 

She’s acutely aware of the camera capturing the tableau of the pair of them, and immediately wonders what they look like together. She can picture it in her mind; that deep dark part of her brain that occasionally goes there, allows herself to wonder what Jim might be like as a boyfriend. 

As her boyfriend.

She knows it’s wrong. She tries to shrug these thoughts away whenever they invade, but sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes she doesn’t even want to. She’s been with Roy for so long the mere idea of someone else is a welcome fantasy, a brief respite from her reality. And it’s not that she doesn’t like her reality, she just occasionally wonders what things might be like on the other side of it. 

Jim is cute, she’s always thought so. She flirts with him quite a bit, and knows he flirts back. But it’s always just harmless. These thoughts are fleeting; she never allows herself to take them too seriously. Jim doesn’t feel that way about her. Obviously neither of them mean anything by it. 

Obviously. 

She hopes it’s as obvious to the cameras.

“Speaking of cats,” she says, trying to distract herself from how good Jim smells today, “I have an important question for you.”

“Yes? 

“Are you going to Angela's cat party on Sunday?” She can barely get the question out without laughing. 

“Yeah, stop. That is ridiculous,” he grins. They chuckle together for a moment, then he suddenly looks somewhat serious. “No, but are you actually going?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh yeah, no. Me neither.” He stands up and takes a step back. She gets the feeling if her answer had been different, his might have been, too.

The head producer walks over to reception just then, almost as if she’d anticipated the awkward break in their conversation. Like she’d been watching them. 

She sticks out her hand for Pam to shake. “Hi, I’m Delilah. You’re Pam, right?”

“Yeah, hi.”

“Can we grab you for a quick interview, if you’re not too busy?”

Pam catches Jim’s eye and she can tell the same thought passes between them: No, I’m not busy. I’m very rarely busy around here. Delilah seems to notice this silent exchange before Pam answers.

“Not too busy.”

Pam sets her phone to voicemail and Delilah leads her into the conference room, which is filled with half a dozen people and various pieces of film equipment. There are a few camera operators and a couple of sound guys. Everyone introduces themselves and Pam promptly forgets every name.

“So, Pam,” the producer says. “Have a seat. We’ll just be checking in with you periodically to see how things are going, get some insight on the office dynamic. Nothing to be nervous about.”

“Okay.” She is nervous, very nervous, actually. But hopefully the nerves will fade with time.

“Tell me how you started working at Dunder Mifflin,” Delilah begins, then sits back expectantly.

“Okay. Well, my fiancé actually works downstairs in the warehouse,” Pam explains. “He heard about an opening, I was looking for a job, and here I am. That was… about three years ago.”

“And how do you like it here?”

She shrugs. “It’s fine, I guess. It’s just a job.”

“Say more about that.”

Pam looks around the room, feeling like she really has nothing to say and yet somehow everyone looks interested. 

“Um. Well, it pays the bills, is what I mean. And it’s pretty nice here. The pay is decent, they have health care. And the people are…” she trails off a bit, unsure of how to finish the sentence. “Interesting.”

Delilah leans forward. “Apparently there have been talks of downsizing the company, can you tell me your thoughts on that?”

“I did hear something about that.” She thinks for a minute. “I don't know. I don't think it would be the worst thing if they let me go, because then I might…” 

It occurs to her she’s never really articulated these thoughts aloud before. Two minutes with a documentary crew and they’ve somehow gotten it out of her. Who knew? 

“I just... I don't think it's many little girls' dream to be a receptionist.” 

She sees a look on Delilah’s face that she identifies as sympathy. She has a sudden urge to elaborate.

“I like to do illustrations. Mostly watercolor. A few oil pencil. Um... Jim thinks they're good.” She realizes the familiarity with which she’s uttered his name would not be shared by these strangers. “Jim Halpert, he’s one of the sales guys, you met him, right?”

“Yes, we did this morning. He seems like a nice guy.”

She smiles. “He is. He’s really funny, too. You guys should ask him to do his impressions.”

“You two seem close,” Delilah says.

Pam is taken aback by the observation, even though she realizes it’s a perfectly harmless one to make. She is close with Jim, definitely more so than anyone else in the office. 

“Yeah, he’s probably my best friend here.” 

Jim is probably her best friend, period, but she doesn’t say that.

“Must be nice to have a friend at work you can talk to,” Delilah says. “I don’t think everyone is that lucky.”

Lucky. It feels strange hearing someone to associate that word with her. She’s never felt particularly lucky. Her life feels like it’s moving along the way it's supposed to for the most part, but she can't deny that sometimes it feels as if it’s missing that spark she suspects it should have. Rather than look for that spark, however, it’s easier to just assume it's not for everybody.  

“I guess I am lucky. He’s a really good friend.” 

She feels like it’s important to draw a distinction -- friend -- create a boundary here and now, so that the crew doesn’t necessarily get the wrong idea. The camera can’t look into her brain, thank god.

Delilah suddenly reaches forward to swipe something off Pam's skirt with her finger. “Sorry, that’s been bugging me. You had a tiny spot on your skirt.”

“Oh. That’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not on camera.”

“What is it?” Pam asks, leaning forward to attempt to inspect the mysterious substance.

“Looks like... yogurt.”

“Oh,” Pam laughs. “Sorry. I just had lunch.”

“Mixed berry?” Delilah asks, oddly, as she wipes the goop off on a paper towel one of the assistants hands her.

“Um. Yes, actually. How did you know that?”

Delilah looks a little chastened, as if she’s been caught saying something she shouldn’t have. 

“Oh, your friend Jim mentioned it was your favorite.”

Pam blinks. “Are you serious? He said that?”

It isn't the first time Jim has appeared interested in her yogurts. One time -- and she remembers it vividly -- he'd even warned her about one's impending expiration. She'd thought it strange at the time but also oddly endearing.

Delilah asks another question. “Can you tell us a bit about your fiancé? The one who works downstairs?” 

Oh. Roy. She’s so thrown by the idea Jim had been talking about her at all that she doesn’t really know what to say about her fiancé. Suddenly the idea of having cameras around capturing everyone’s every thought sounds much more complicated than she’d originally anticipated.

“Well, he’s…” she tries to come up with something to say about the man she’s marrying, but for some reason all she can think about is Jim, apparently studying her yogurt habits. She has to know, she has to. “Jim said mixed berries?” 

Delilah nods, and Pam grins, slightly incredulous but weirdly delighted by this news all the same. ”Oh, wow. Yeah, he's on to me,” she laughs.

She lets herself wonder, again, what it would be like to be with a guy that pays such close attention to her. Someone with an easy power to make her feel like she matters. But nothing will ever come of it anyway. Cameras or no cameras, she’s engaged to Roy. That’s just the way things are.

“So… your fiancé?” Delilah asks again.

“Yes. Roy.” 

She tries to refocus, and think of what to share about Roy, but she can’t help but notice a funny look on Delilah’s face; almost as if the producer has clued into something Pam isn’t aware of.

She’s not entirely sure what she’s signed up for, here; what she’s committed to. The trouble she might be walking into every day. But the cameras are here for the foreseeable future. And if she can’t have Jim, she’ll at least have the memories of their time together.

Maybe she will want to remember that, at the very least.

Pam’s memories of the day the cameras first arrived are vivid. She’d always been comfortable with Jim, always behaved the same way around him, but after being so observed, she’d begun to feel more hyper-aware of the way their relationship might be perceived. Especially that night at Jim’s barbecue, when Phyllis had assumed she and Jim were engaged in some kind of illicit love affair.

Now, they lay curled up together in their honeymoon suite. It’s so strange the way things work out, she thinks. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring the mood down,” he grins. “It’s just got me thinking, that’s all. I hope I don’t come across as some asshole who tried to break up a wedding.”

She raises an eyebrow. “It wasn’t just you who broke up a wedding. I played a pretty important part in that too.”

There really isn’t anything she hadn’t told Jim about how she’d broken off the engagement. It’s a strange feeling to know they have no secrets anymore, and at the same time be unsure of what the documentary will display, what new light they could be cast in. He still looks a bit sad about it, though, and she really just wants to make him feel better.

“For the record, you’re not the only one who has to worry about how you come across.”

Jim looks at her. “What do you mean?”

She sighs. “Just… I don’t know... the way we flirted all the time. Since we can admit it now.”  

“Pamela Morgan Halpert,” he says with feigned horror on his face.

She laughs, still riding the high of hearing him say her name with his. “It was always just for fun, I thought. I mean, I liked it, I liked you, but I never thought it would turn into anything real.”

“And yet here we are,” he says softly.

“Here we are.”

She reaches out to run her fingers through his hair. “So… does any of that other stuff really matter now?”

“Yeah, well,” he muses. “Whatever it is, once this documentary airs, it’ll be out there forever.”

Forever.

She looks at him: her husband. No matter what comes their way, everything has worked out for the best.

“I guess the difference is, if we don’t want to see it, we can always turn it off,” she reasons, snuggling in close to him. She then extends her hand in front of their faces, snaps a mental picture of them, and holds the ‘picture’ up. “See? That’s a good one. That’s forever.”

He tangles his hand in her hair, playing with it a bit. “I love you.”

She closes her eyes, feeling her entire body get warm, as he twists his body to kiss her properly. That spark she’d been missing all her life always crackles inside her when his lips touch hers, and it’s still hard to believe that after so many years of waiting for her dreams to come true, she is exactly where she wants to be. If this documentary is the price of admission for her to be able to feel this way, she’d gladly pay it all over again.

“And eventually the cameras will be gone, right?”

“Well, yeah,” he says suggestively against her lips, his hand starting to wander. “But they aren’t here now.”

“No, they aren’t.” 

“Hmm. What should we do with that information?”

She knows he’s tired -- hell, she is, too -- but she’s game for another round. After a minute or so of kissing, however, she stops, eyeing something over his shoulder.

“Jim.” 

“What?”

“The painting is looking at us.”

He turns his head around to see Michael’s gift for the two of them sitting across their honeymoon suite, propped up against the wall behind all of the other gifts: a crudely painted Pam and Jim, in their work clothes, holding hands in front of a sunset.

“It really is something special,” he says, and she knows he, at the very least, half-means it.

“I never saw anything more beautiful.”

“He really captured your eyes.” 

“And your hair,” she chuckles. 

“I think we should hang it at home right next to the clown,” he suggests.

“Good plan.” She pushes him gently. “But can you do something about it for now, please?”

He rolls off the bed and pads over, stark naked, to the enormous pile of gifts to turn Michael’s painting around the other way. Then he slides back into bed, pulling her into his arms again.

“Thanks for that,” she says, snuggling into his neck.

“No problem. Thanks for marrying me.”

She smiles, and as he leans in to kiss her again, she feels a sharp jolt in her belly. She pulls away from his lips with a loud smack.

“Jim! I think the baby just kicked!”

He opens his eyes, his lips still slightly puckered. “What?”

“Here!” She sits up, takes his hand and places it on her belly, sliding it around until it’s directly over where she’d just felt a flutter. “Wait.”

They wait in breathless silence, the fire crackling across from them, the sheets quietly rustling beneath her. His eyes meet hers and they just look at each other, as if the electricity thrumming between them can somehow coax the baby into moving again. Time seems to slow down, somehow aware this is an important moment for them. And eventually, another kick comes. 

Jim’s eyes light up with pure delight.

“Oh my god,” he says, with wonder in his voice. “Tonight. Of all nights.”

“Interrupting sex.”

“Well, the baby definitely inherited our timing.” 

“Sure did,” she says with a dramatic sigh. “Little Michael Scott Halpert.”

“I do not think that is funny,” Jim says, complete with Stanley inflection.

She laughs and they lay back down, his hand gently rubbing her abdomen, waiting for more kicks. 

“I can’t believe it’s only going to be you and me for a few more months,” he says. “I’m excited, but I’ll miss this, you know? Just us.”

She pulls out her mental camera again, points it down at his hand across her belly. Click. Jim mimes taking the picture from her and looks at it, then holds it to his heart. 

“Well then,” she says, leaning in closely. “I guess we’d better make every moment count.”