Jim and Pam sit across from each other on separate twin beds in the Irrigation Room at Schrute Farms. It isn’t an ideal location for their first overnight trip, but for some reason it feels weirdly appropriate. Indulging Dwight all day long while simultaneously poking fun at him is, at this point, an odd form of foreplay for them.

The cameras have disappeared (from the room, at least) and they both look around it for the dozenth time, wondering just exactly how they’re expected to sleep comfortably in here. The most glaring problem at the moment, however, especially considering said foreplay, is the Hays Code-esque sleeping arrangement.

Jim gives her a tight smile. “Now are you wishing we’d booked that Hyatt in Manhattan instead?” 

Pam shakes her head. “Next time.”

“But then we won’t know how Harry Potter ends, I suppose.”  

“Maybe we can get him to finish it at work if we lodge a complaint at the front desk?” she suggests. 

Jim narrows his eyes and, before she can prolong their banter, practically leaps across the room towards her. He wraps his arms around her, tickling her as they fall down onto the tiny bed, pulling her into his chest. There’s no room to move away from him even if she wanted to, so she just goes with it, giggling. After a minute he stops, and they lay entwined in each other’s arms, face to face. She can feel herself sliding off the edge of the bed and Jim has to throw one of his legs over her to keep her from falling.

“Well, this isn’t going to work,” he points out, swiping a loose tendril of hair out of her eyes.

“I don’t know, I think it’s kind of cozy.” She leans forward and kisses him softly on the tip of his nose. He smells good; freshly showered but remnants of working a farm all afternoon (or at least pretending to) still persist. It’s weirdly primal and she can hardly wait for whatever might come next. “There are other options, I guess?”

“Lay them on me, Beesly.”

“Um. The floor?”

“Splinters.”

“Against the wall?”

“Too many pipes.”

She thinks for a second. “There’s always the car.”

“Pam, I didn’t agree to this bed and breakfast idea to not have a bed.” 

She laughs, presses a long, lingering kiss to his lips, deciding he’s right. 

She slides off the bed and stands up. “Let’s just move them, then,” she suggests. 

Jim sits up, slightly concerned. “I don’t know… I think Dwight might freak out.”

“And we care why?” she smiles, gently pushing him off the bed. Gripping the railing of the headboard, she starts to pull, but the bed does not budge. She crouches down to investigate.

“What is it?” he asks, craning his neck to look.

“Oh, god. They’re bolted to the floor.”

Jim taps his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Wrench or screwdriver?”

Pam looks closely. “A wrench. Pretty heavy duty one, it looks like.”

He nods. “I’m on it.” Turning to the side of the room where their bags are located, he unzips his and rummages through it, triumphantly retrieving… a wrench. Pam gawks at him, amazed. 

“What? Why on earth do you have that?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, I just sort of had a feeling we’d need it.”

“Jim,” she says, not believing him.

“To be honest, Pam, I thought it far likelier I’d need it to rescue you from one of Dwight’s ceremonial traditions or something.” He holds it up. “I suppose all these years of sitting next to him listening to the stuff that’s gone down here has paid off.”

She nods, impressed. “Well, okay then.” She holds out her hand for the tool, but he shakes his head.

“I got this. You just relax.” He kneels down and begins to loosen the bolts, one by one. Pam notices after a few minutes he’s worked up a bit of a sweat, and she isn’t sure if it’s the manual labor or just being somewhere new with Jim alone but she’s absolutely ravenous for him.

“There,” he says as he removes the final bolt. He puts them all in a little pile next to the wrench on one of the night tables. “We should probably put everything back tomorrow morning, though. God only knows what his damage fees are.”

“Let’s do this then,” she says, impatient. She pulls all the blankets off, gets on one side of her bed, and he gets on the other side of his. There’s a loud creeeeaak as they push them together and she hopes that if Dwight hears, he chalks it up to the wind or something.

Finally they have what could pass for a very small double bed. She stands on one side in her simple pajama pants and a gray tank top, no makeup, nothing, and Jim is looking at her like she’s the most beautiful creature in the world. Her heart beats wildly that he could possibly think so; that after dating the likes of Katy or Karen, he somehow still finds her preferable. She’s never thought herself unattractive, but years with Roy’s indifference hasn’t exactly boosted her self confidence. 

“This is my favorite version of you, I think,” Jim says. “And I like every version, for the record.”

She smirks, not believing him. “Shut up.”

“It’s true. You know why?”

She looks down at herself. “Fewer clothes to take off?”

“No, although that’s an added bonus,” he winks. “Seriously though… because I’m really the only person who gets to see you like this.”

“Lucky you.”

“I am lucky. Incredibly lucky. And now, here we are, at the most romantic beet farm in the state - nay, the country.”

She gestures melodramatically. “Why not the world?”

He smiles, completely serious. “I had a great time today, Pam.”

“Me too.” 

She suddenly feels a bit shy. The anticipation is maddening; it’s as if the room expects sex, even though everything about it screams otherwise. Nothing about this is necessarily new for them, but being away together like this still feels like a big deal. 

She reaches over to turn the bedside lamp off; the moonlight shining through the window is so bright, it isn’t even necessary. She then crawls onto the makeshift bed on all fours, stopping at the center, and he does the same. When they meet in the middle, they both rise onto their knees and he puts his arms around her, holding her close. It feels so good to be wanted like this, truly wanted the way he always wants her. She’s never felt so loved in her life.

“So… it was a perfect first night away, then?” he asks softly into her ear, his hand drifting slowly down her back.

She grins, narrowing her eyes. “Just about.”

And then he’s upon her, his lips pressed against hers, his hands pulling her in, sliding up beneath the bottom of her top. She’s so turned on by him she can almost put the fact that Dwight is just down the hall out of her mind. 

Almost.

“Wait… are you sure you want to do this?” she asks breathlessly against his lips. “I mean… it always felt a little weird but now we’re here, and Dwight’s just, like…”

“No, no, no,” Jim says, “please don’t say his name while you’re kissing me.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just-”  

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Jim pulls away from her, his hands still on her waist. He glances to the window behind them, and Pam does the same, searching for the source of the noise.

“What was that?” he asks, and he looks a little spooked. Her eyes dart over to him and she gives him a sly grin.

“Are you scared, Jim?”

“No,” he says unconvincingly. 

Bang. Bang. Bang.

He flinches, looks around the room slightly maniacally. 

“You are!” she exclaims, delighted. 

“Okay, well, like I said before, I’ve heard a lot of stories about this place.” he says, his eyes darting around the room suspiciously. “And to be honest, I’m not entirely convinced it isn’t haunted.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“I think it’s coming from outside,” she says.

“Okay, Pam? I need to tell you something really important, and that is that if we die here, just know that I love you.”

She rolls her eyes and unravels herself from his arms, stepping down from the bed. She flips on the light.

“Wait, you’re going out there?” he asks, horrified.

“Yeah. Coward.” She opens their bedroom door quietly, peering out into the hallway. It’s dark and drafty, but she suspects Jim won’t be up for sex or sleep if they don’t get to the bottom of this.

A few moments later, she’s back in their room, closing the door behind her. She looks at Jim with a confused expression.

“Well, what was it?” he asks.

“Oh, just Mose. Outside, going to the bathroom.” She shakes her head, laughing. What is their life?

“You’re kidding.”

“Do you want to go out there and see for yourself?” she offers. “I got quite an eyeful.”

Jim makes a face. “Well, at least it seems to have stopped.”

“Bet that put you right back in the mood though, huh?” she asks. He turns around to switch the light off, then lays down, holding open the blankets. She’s slightly freezing so she jumps into the bed with him, pleased to find that, while the sheets do smell pretty much exactly like Meemaw’s guest sheets, at least they’re clean. She snuggles close to Jim, tangling her legs with his, putting a hand on his chest.

“You really think this is gonna happen?” she asks. 

“Nothing is going to stop us from making this trip perfect, okay?” He leans in again to kiss her, and she threads her fingers through his hair. His hand dips down to the waistband of her pants and starts to untie them, and just as she’s beginning to think they might actually be able to go through with this there’s a strange moaning sound.

“Are you kidding me?” Jim exclaims. Pam shushes him.

“Shh, what is it?”

Silence. Then moaning, again. 

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Your turn.”

Jim begrudgingly throws the blankets off and rolls out of bed. While he’s out in the hallway, the noise comes again, more clearly. And now she’s certain it’s the sound of Dwight crying.

He’s not the likeliest of confidants, especially at this particular moment. But she feels utterly hopeless now, as if the final nail on her and Jim’s coffin has been secured, and worse, she’d hammered it in herself.

“I’ll bet you’re PMSing pretty bad, huh?” Dwight asks.

His comment makes her start crying again, and not because he’s hurt her feelings or been uncharacteristically insensitive, but because she’d normally look for a camera to roll her eyes at and she can’t even bring herself to care. 

“I’m fine, Dwight,” she sniffles.

“You’re not,” he says. “I have an incredibly good sense for female behavior.”

She wants to laugh but can’t. Jim’s girlfriend is here to stay now. All of the hope she’s tried so hard to keep alive seems to be slipping through her rapidly weakening grasp.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he says. 

“Do you really care, Dwight?” she asks, not to be rude or shut him up but because she honestly wants to know. They’ve always been on the edge of friendship and the side she leans across changes day by day.

“I do care, Pam,” he says, and for right now she believes him. “We’re friends, aren't we?”

She looks over at him and can tell he’s actually quite sad. Her mood is affecting him, and she isn’t sure what compels her to disclose but maybe it’s the stark realization she’s hit rock bottom.

“It’s just… Jim.”

Dwight’s expression darkens. “I knew it.” He stands up, faces her. “What has he done to you?”

“No,” she says, reaching out to grab his arm. “He didn’t do anything. It’s my fault.” Saying it out loud has an effect on her she hadn’t anticipated and she starts sobbing again.

Dwight sits back down next to her. “Wait, are you…?” She glances over at him, suddenly embarrassed. “You and Jim?”

“It’s nothing,” she adjusts, wiping her eyes. “I’m overreacting.”

As she watches him mull over what she’s said, it occurs to her she hasn’t given Dwight much credit over the years as a functioning human being with actual emotions. Learning he’d begun dating Angela was a fun diversion at first, but as far as she’s aware, they’re still going strong. He has some knowledge on the subject of love, surely. The subject of heartbreak, however, is another story.

“I see,” he says suddenly, having come to his own conclusion. “And he’s with someone else.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to this. There’s really nothing to be done, but for some weird reason having told someone about her pain helps. A little.

“All of it is my fault, I just… I can’t go back. I can’t change anything.”

He scoffs. “You can do so much better than Jim, you know,” he says, and she can’t help but let out a slight chuckle. Thinking he’d be sympathetic to anyone being in love with Jim Halpert is perhaps a bridge too far. “But… I do know that the heart wants what it wants. And yours is clearly suffering.”

She nods. Suffering is the most apt way to put it. She’s missed her chance with Jim, he’s obviously moved on. And to make matters worse, she actually really likes Karen. She can’t even put all of this emotion into hating her, so instead it just sits in her stomach, a persistent ache that gnaws at her daily.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks quietly, and she’s reminded of the time Dwight had a concussion and actually appeared to enjoy her company, actually seemed to care about her. 

Maybe it wasn’t the concussion. Maybe it was always just Dwight.

“Not really, but thank you for listening,” she says. 

Neither of them speak anymore. Dwight sits next to her quietly for several minutes, his hand on her back, and lets her cry. He will not offer any particularly brilliant advice or a helpful solution; but what she will remember is, simply, a friend, sitting quietly in support.

Jim opens the door, shuts it behind him. She waits for an explanation, but he says nothing, trudging over to her, slipping back into bed, and pulling her close into a spooning position.

“Is everything okay?” Pam asks.

“He wouldn’t admit it, but... he’s just not doing well after the whole Angela thing. I feel kind of bad for the guy.”

“I know. So do I.”

He sighs. “I wish he’d snap out of it. I don’t really know how to handle this Dwight.”

For a moment she considers going into Dwight’s bedroom herself, to offer some kind of support the way he had for her. But she has a sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t be as open to her as she’d been with him. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do, really. He’s heartbroken.” 

She’s pretty sure at this point sex is no longer on the table, but she isn’t in the mood anymore anyway, so she snuggles into Jim’s warm cocoon, covering his hands with hers across her chest. She then feels him kiss the back of her neck tenderly.

“Hey,” he whispers in the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

She almost tears up; not only at the sentiment but that, in spite of the perpetually antagonistic nature of Jim’s relationship with Dwight, he truly does care about him. They are friends, whether Jim wants to admit it or not, and the way this is affecting him is evidence of that.

“I love you too.”

They drift off to peaceful sleep in each other’s arms, and she knows they’re both hoping that somehow Dwight will, too.

***

Pam wakes to the crowing of a rooster, which is something she’s never had the opportunity to do before. She’s strangely thrilled about it. Turning around in Jim’s arms, she wants to share the moment with him but she can see he’s still asleep, will probably sleep right through the damn thing unless she wakes him. 

After a minute or so she hears the front door slam and she eases up onto her elbows to look out the window. Dwight and Mose are puttering around in the front yard doing… something. She isn’t quite sure. Whatever it is involves Mose getting on top of a tractor and Dwight yelling at him to get down.

“Jim,” she says softly, nudging him. “Hey, wake up.”

“Mmm.” He doesn’t move. She sits up, crossing her legs beneath her, and drags a fingertip down the bridge of his nose. He twitches a bit, finally opening his eyes. 

“Morning.”

“Good morning,” she replies. Her fingertip continues down his torso, then lower, then lower. “Actually… I was hoping maybe we could make it an even better morning.”

He’s definitely awake now, eyes widening, his body stretching. He reaches out to grab her waist. “Oh yeah?”

“Dwight and Mose are outside. The place is all ours.”

He grins, and she leans down to finish the kiss they’d started last night, but after a moment he stops her, looking at something over her shoulder. “Beesly.”

“Yeah?”

He points behind her and she spins around, remembering the menagerie of taxidermied birds sitting along one of the shelves, at least a dozen beady eyes staring down at them. Somehow they're even more disturbing in the broad light of day.

She grimaces and looks back at Jim.

“Yeah,” he says solemnly. “Those are going to have to go.”