She starts taking art classes for her birthday. She doesn't tell Roy at first because they fall on the same nights as poker.

They are sitting out on the patio one evening, enjoying the semi-warm weather. Pam is wrapped in a blanket and picks at the fabric pilling up around the edges. She asks Roy if they could push the wedding back. He looks at her for a minute and then glances down, shifts a little bit in his seat.

"You're applying for that program, aren't you? In New York?"

"I have to. I have to find out if there's more than being a receptionist."

He nods, but she knows what he's thinking—that she's not happy here, that things might be on hold while she's in New York, that she could find someone else.

The next day she takes out the brochure that she had filed away back in February. She glances up to make sure no one is watching—Jim's away from his desk and everyone else at least looks busy. Her voice shakes a little bit when someone answers and she speaks too fast as she explains her boss recommended the program. The voice on the other end doesn't seem to notice, though, just asks for her email and in a few minutes she has the application, still warm from the printer. She's glancing over the application, making sure she can meet all the requirements when a shadow falls over her desk.

"What's that?" Pam jumps and slips the paper into a file folder, tucking it away.

She looks up at him, his shoulders hunched as he peers over the desk, his eyebrow cocked. She tries to think of an excuse, "Oh, just something for Michael--"

But his face changes and a small smile appears on his face. "Was that—Are you applying?"

"For what?" She tries to play it cool, but really is dying to tell him, to grin back at him as he tells her how proud he is.

"Pam, come on. For the New York thing."

"Yeah, I think I am." She nods and his whole face brightens.

"That's great! I knew you could do it."

"Yeah, well, I figured it was worth a shot." His hand goes up and it takes her a minute to realize he's high fiving her. When he settles back at his desk, she pulls out the file again. She notices there's a place for three references. Michael and Jan make two, she wonders if it would be weird for him to be her third. It should probably be her art teacher.

An IM pops up on her screen: "JHalpert: Let me know if I can do anything to help." She smiles and starts counting down the minutes to lunch.


At twelve, she goes to the kitchen. Jim wanders in from the break room, flashing her a grin. "I meant it."

"What?" She pauses, pulling her Diet Coke out of the fridge.

"The helping out."

"Oh, I know. I have a project for you." She raises her eyebrows at him.

"Quite the taskmaster, Beesly."

"Are you going to help or not?"

"Go on."

"Good. Grab your lunch and meet me…in the stairwell." She says, trying to think of somewhere quiet. Picking up her small sketchpad from her desk, she goes out to the stairwell to wait on him. Her can of Diet Coke echoes loudly as she opens it, the hiss and then the pop. She likes the way it sounds, almost alone. She takes a sip and stares at the beige wall, the fake sugar taste in the back of her mouth. She still hasn't told her mom about the art classes, or the design program, or that June tenth is just another summer day.

She hears Jim before she sees him, the rustle of the paper bag holding his lunch, his shoes going from carpet to the cement of the stairwell, the swish of his clothes as he sits down next to her. He lets his leg stretch out, going almost two stairs farther than her leg could reach, and he balances his sandwich on his other knee as he takes a sip of his drink.

"So what's the mission?" He asks.

She points to the sketchbook at her elbow. "I need to pick out a couple sketches to send, and then I'll submit a watercolor too."

He wipes his hands on his pants and puts his sandwich back in the brown paper bag. He flips through the book, tilting his head left or right to look at the drawings. He likes most of the ones from the park and the still life of her kitchen that she drew forever ago.

"What made you change your mind?" He asks, closing the sketchbook carefully.

"I just…I thought about it and it didn't make sense not to try." She's surprised that her voice sounds so thin and then she hears herself sniffle. No, no crying. But her chin quivers and she knows it’s a lost cause. "You—you were right. I don't know what I was waiting for." Jim seems to be frozen. She can see him, blurry out of the corner of her eye and he's just looking at her. Then he's there—comforting her, his hands on her shoulder, warm and reassuring as he tries to soothe her. She tucks her face into his shoulder, his hands rubbing circles on her back. His foot moves and she can hear the rustle of the paper bag. Her breath still sounds wheezy and Jim brushes a piece of hair behind her ear.

She tries to look up and smile, but his face has changed from concern to something else. She feels the flutter in the pit of her stomach as his hand cups her cheek and her eyes close. His lips slide over hers and his mouth is so firm and sure, she just wants to let go, get rid of all the stupid tension and little touches and flirting and knowing smiles. She wants to be able to touch him. She wants to call him just so she can listen to his voice. She wants him to understand what he means to her. She would probably be crying again now if she hadn't just slid her hands into his hair, which is soft and smells a little like coconut. He starts to pull away, just a little, but she pulls him back close, his lips brushing across her cheek. "Pam." His breath is hot on her cheek.

"Don't talk," she whispers, her arms still around his neck. They pick themselves a minute later, Jim balling up the paper bag in his hand, the loud crush startling her. He leans his arm across the door frame, blocking her exit.

"What are--"

"I know." She lowers her eyes. "Just…I'll figure it out. Give me a couple days."


When she sends her application off, she hasn't told Roy. Sometimes Jim meets her after art classes and they talk or stare out the windows and wish things were different. After a couple weeks, Jim stops asking her about things, but she knows that doesn’t make it any better. She doesn't need Jim to remind her that things are fucked up. She knows that on her own.


Michael is making his umpteenth announcement about his birthday dinner, and Pam rolls her eyes, staring at her shoes. Roy's not coming and things with Jim have been strained the last couple days. It doesn't help that she hasn't heard anything from the program. The first weekend class is in May.

Jim catches her on her way outside for lunch. She likes eating on the bench on the far side of the building, away from the warehouse and the parking lot. There's a nice patch of grass there with a few, weak looking flowers. It's pitiful, really, that she has to seek something like this out, but it's such a relief to look outside and see blue sky instead of sleet and sludge and gray. She asks him to eat lunch with her.

They don't talk at work as much anymore, she's noticed. She hopes it's because she sees him during the evenings now, but even then Jim doesn't tease her like he used to. He doesn't smile as easily and she realizes she can't remember the last time they shared a glance across the room. She swallows the lump in her throat and jiggles her foot as she waits by the elevator.

It's cooler today and Pam pulls her sweater around her as she sits, sliding her sandwich and yogurt out of the bag. Jim hesitates before he sits down next to her, placing his empty bag between them. He surveys the little yard. "It's nice."

"Better than upstairs," she shrugs. "It's so…"

"Beige?" He frowns.

This seems an obvious answer, but she agrees, letting out a laugh. It feels nice, like she can breathe again.

"So how many skee ball tokens should I buy?"

"Hmm?"

"For Michael's birthday. There's going to be skee ball. Where have you been all week?"

"Oh. Are you really going to that thing?" The way she spits it out surprises her. In the past, she would have rolled her eyes, but then gone and played too much air hockey with Jim and had a good time. It was something that they could share and would tease each other about for weeks and months. And now here she was, rejecting something that was so them.

Jim sighs. "Well, I'll be there." She nods, not sure what to say. "Unless that's, uh, why you're not coming."

She squeezes her eyes shut, letting the cool wind blow across her face. The ends of her hair tickle her cheeks and she brushes them away. "Things are different now, aren't they?"

"Yeah." She hates him like this, so shut off from her. She wants to tell him she's sorry. She wants to tell him that she knows she promised. She wants to tell him things will change, but she doesn't know if that's true. He wads up his bag and tosses it in the trash. When he starts to get up, she knows she can't let him go. She hates this.

"Hey, wait." She touches his arm and he pauses, looks down at her hand. "I'll be there." He swallows and she pushes up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his. It's different this time, tentative and unsteady. Instead of feeling warm and sure, it makes her feel exhausted and cold. When she steps away, she scrapes her knuckles against the brick wall. Jim disappears around the corner of the building and when he's gone, she slips off her ring.

In the bathroom, she examines her bare fingers, wiggles them a little as she washes them off. It doesn't look weird, not having the gold band there. She leaves it off the rest of the day. She doesn't miss the light pressure on her finger.


She's afraid Roy will notice, but he doesn't say a word. Once they get home, he asks if she's going to Michael's birthday party and she nods, flipping through the mail. Her stomach drops when she sees the envelope with the program's logo. Roy's in the shower, she can hear the water running, so she slits the envelope open with her nail.

"Dear Ms Beesly, We are pleased to admit you to the Dunder Mifflin graphic design program. Weekend classes start May 11."

She throws the envelope up in the air and maybe dances around a little. She can't stop smiling and she's humming as she pulls out a sweater to wear.
When Roy gets out of the shower, she's sitting on the couch with the letter. "I got in," she says quietly, almost waiting for him to put a damper on her good mood.

"I knew you would."

"Would have been nice to hear."

"What?" Roy pauses, his mouth open in shock. He shakes his head. "I'm not going to stop you if that's what you think. I don't—I don't even know anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She surprises herself sometimes, how she can be so spiteful towards Roy. He's not a bad guy, really, he just doesn't understand her. She almost doesn't expect him to anymore, but seeing Jim act the same way today, so passive and dismissive about how stupid she was acting had shaken her. Jim gets her. He understands her, almost scarily so.

"You've been slipping away from—maybe it's my fault, too. It's not the same anymore."

Pam doesn't say anything. It's so strange to think that Roy has felt the same way about their relationship lately. She's been feeling a little lost when she comes home in the evenings, when she shuts herself in to watch television while he goes out with his buddies. Her art classes had reminded her there was something more. There's a lot more out there. It's odd to think maybe he has these same feelings of living an inadequate, unhappy life. She's had a lot of dreams where she's left him, but she never imagined he would be the one standing here, saying these things.

"If you're going to New York, I know it's only on the weekends, but maybe you should—maybe we shouldn't live together."

"You want me to move out?" She frowns.

"It's just, if you're going to New York, you're going to find some graphic design job and want to stay there, it just doesn't make sense for us to wait."

Pam doesn't try to look sad or worried, because she thinks that the look of shock she's wearing is the perfect reaction. She didn't see this coming. She swallows and she tastes the adrenaline in the back of her throat and thinks that maybe she should tell him. If he's putting himself on the line and being so honest with her, maybe she should admit what she's been feeling these past couple months.

"Roy," she says, surprised at the way her voice wavers. "If I leave, I'm not—it's—if we couldn't get it together before now, it's not going to change."

He sinks down on the couch, his head in his hands. "So is this it, Pam?"

She bites her lip and nods. She feels a little hollow when he leaves a few minutes later, saying he'll stay at his brother's, give her a couple days to move her stuff out. After he leaves, she sits on the couch, frozen, staring at the wall behind the television. It's that ugly off white color that most apartments are decorated in. She had always meant to paint it, but God, that had been five years now. Five years, ten, she wonders how long she has been unhappy, how long it had taken her to fall out of love. She wipes at the tears on her cheek, realizing the apartment is bathed in a dim, grayish light signaling dusk. She wanders into the bedroom, planning on taking a shower before digging out boxes and sorting through her things when she sees her outfit laid out on the bed. Shit. Jim. Her promise. Shit, shit.


Pam curses as she drives across town. Of course the nearest Chuck E. Cheese has to be in Wilkes-Barre. When she pulls up, she spots a red Corolla in the parking lot.

She blinks against the flashing lights and the assault of sound as she enters the restaurant. She spots everyone seated at a long table and she sits down at the end, next to Kelly and Ryan. Kelly flags down their waitress and orders a Cherry Coke for her. "You want anything extra?" Kelly asks.

"What?" Pam frowns, confused. Ryan holds up a flask. She laughs, but shakes her head, taking a sip of her coke. She spots Jim at the other end of the table, laughing about something with Kevin and Toby. "On second thought," she nudges Ryan and he hides her cup under the table, which makes her sort of nervous—she doesn't want it to be too strong—but she smiles when he hands back her cup and she grimaces as she takes a sip. The vodka stings the back of her throat a little, but she likes the bite. She's apparently missed the pizza, guessing from the empty metal trays on the table, but she doesn't care. Michael appears and gives everyone five tokens to start off with.

"Jim totally beat Ryan at air hockey earlier. But Ryan is soo good at skee ball. He said he would teach me how to play. He said he's won like a thousand tickets before. You should come play with us."

"Oh, thanks, Kelly, but I think I'm going to wait on Jim." She watches as everyone clears away from the tables, and she notices Angela and Dwight sneaking off together. Pretty soon, it's just her and Jim, sitting at opposite ends of the table. She finally catches Jim's eye and he nods at her. She picks up her drink and moves down to his end of the table.

"Hey," she says softly, perching on the table beside him.

"You made it." He sounds strange.

"Uh, yeah, I was running a little late. I forgot it was all the way across town."

The condensation from her cup is making her hand cold, so she sets her cup down. Jim makes a face at the smell. "What is in that thing?"

She blushes. "Ryan had a flask. I think it's vodka."

"I thought you looked a little flushed," he teases. "Well, it's not a Dunder Mifflin party if you're not imbibing."

"I felt like I deserved it, I guess. Roy and I, uh, got in a fight." She swings her foot and it hits his chair.

"Oh." Jim looks down. "Are you okay? Is that why you were late?"

"I'm sorry, I wanted to be here sooner--" She bites her lip.

"Hey, it's okay." He shakes his head, shooting her a smile. "I'm just glad you're here."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He squeezes her hand. It's still cool from the drink and he starts gently rubbing her hand between his palms to warm it up. "What happened with Roy?" Pam blinks, trying to concentrate with him touching her hand like that.

"I don't think I'm going to be living there anymore." She says it all in one breath and then looks down, watching Jim's hands go still. He tugs at her wrist and she looks back up at him.

"What—what are you saying?" He frowns, and she wants to reach out and trace the faint lines in his forehead.

"I got into the program, Jim."

"You what? Pam," he chuckles, his face breaking into a broad grin. "That's amazing!"

She smiles, suddenly giddy and relieved. "Yeah, yeah it is." She lets out a laugh as Jim pulls her towards him and she lands in his lap, tipping his chair back dangerously. Jim kisses her neck and Pam lets her nose rest in his hair, breathing in his shampoo and cologne and Jim.

He tilts back after a minute, his chin thrust forward as he looks up at her. "Are you really okay? About Roy?" he clarifies.

"We're not going to get married. He didn't want us—he didn't want me to go to New York, or if he let me go, he wanted me to move out, I don't know. I just knew I didn't want to be with him anymore."

"You're—you don't?"

Her fingers stroke his cheek. "I'm sure." Jim eyes go wide, his face relaxes, and for a minute, he is the Jim she remembered, the one who looked at her like that in the stairwell and the one who had encouraged her to apply for the program in the first place. And then he is kissing her. It's different than the day behind the office, different than the stairwell. It's loving and needy all at once, his breath hot in her ear, her grip on his shoulders. She wants to keep kissing him like that, but she hears Kelly's voice squeal, and she pulls away suddenly, remembering where they are. "Sorry," she blushes. "I just—"

"No, I know," he nods, but he's smiling. "We could, um, go outside."

"Yeah," she nods quickly. Jim steers her by the elbow out the door and into the parking lot, ending up by his car. She's leaning against him, his hip flush against her side, and his hand dangling inches from hers. "I'm sorry it took me so long," she apologizes, threading her fingers through his.

"Don't even," he murmurs, smiling over at her. She leans into him, planting a series of kisses down his jaw and neck as her fingers play with his collar.

"You know this means I'll be in New York."

"Only on the weekends, Beesly."

"Fridays too."

"Can't get rid of me that easy," he grins. She wrinkles up her nose, shrugging, and he cups her face in his hands, pulling her in for a sweet, slow kiss. She smiles against his mouth, remembering now what it's like to have something new.

"I think it's time for me to kick your ass in skee ball, Halpert," she teases when they pull apart.

Jim raises his eyebrows. "You think so, huh? What do you wanna bet?"

tbc...