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Story Notes:

I could say that I just wanted to drag out the holidays or I was really embracing the festivities of the season to explain away why this is two months late. But truthfully life just got crazy and my muse was NOT interested in words and I wouldn't just pick a freaking timeline for this fic.

Thank you so very much to my Secret Santa for waiting patiently. I hope you enjoy where I took your creative elements! (Also, it's not just you. I have two Christmas presents that I keep saying I'm going to take over to a friend. Maybe I'll get around to it by Flag Day...)


“This is really how we plan to spend New Year’s Eve? Going to a concert with Dwight?” Jim’s voice became clearer as he rounded the door frame into their bathroom. “And how does Dwight even know that you like Rex Manning?”


Pam swiped the final coat of mascara and cut her eyes momentarily in her fiance’s direction. “We tried to get tickets the last time he came to town.” Pam paused, focusing on finding her eyebrow pencil in the depths of her makeup bag. “When you were in… Stamford.”

That word, and all that went with it, didn’t come up as much anymore. Sometimes it tiptoed in to remind them of a memory missed, not shared as was their norm in the before and, eventually, after. A time when distance was more than miles and the possibility of ending up here was, well, an impossibility. 


“And Roy never wanted to do anything for New Year’s. He was always asleep by 10 so I just…” Pam’s words faded as she surveyed her left eyebrow before leaning closer to the mirror and began meticulously filling in the right as she continued. “I just always kind of resented the way he ignored that I wanted to do something. Just that one night a year. Complained bars were charging double for drinks, too many people. That it was dumb to get dressed up to go to our same places. Even though, you know, I never went out. Those were his places.” She tossed the pencil into her makeup bag, the tiniest shift in her expression as she gave her reflection a final once over. “Sometimes I think it was his way of punishing me or something.” This time, when their eyes caught each others’ in the mirror’s reflection, he saw that insecurity she carried around sometimes. The one he vowed to never allow her to sink into. 


It was Jim’s turn to pause, the beer bottle in his hand stopping midway to his mouth. He didn’t linger too long, unwilling to dip too far into that pool of misery. Instead, he nodded, clearly redirecting his ire at spending the holiday - or any day - with Dwight into a moment to appease her. He closed the space between them, his arm slipping around her waist and offering a reassuring squeeze to her hip. Jim pressed a kiss against her hair, just behind her ear, while gently pulling her backside firmly against him. 


“Well, if you getting to ring in 2009 with Rex Manning means we spend the evening with Dwight, then I’m down for anything.”


From this angle their reflections connected easily, latching onto one another in a playful, flirtatious dance that they separately prayed would never leave them. She smiled first, subtle and shy before spreading into a playful grin that matched his own. 


“Well, then,” Pam turned in his arms, leaning against the bathroom counter so that he had to press toward her, his hands not missing the opportunity to slip underneath her black jacket and linger dangerously close to the flimsy fabric tied around her midback. “You should definitely —”


The faint buzz of an incoming call distracted her from the temptation of a bathroom rendezvous. She couldn’t suppress the groan that escaped as she read the name that appeared on caller ID. 


“Dwight? Wait, Dwight, slow down. Mose is what? Dwight, I can’t hear you. Dwight?” The line disconnected shortly after filling Pam’s ears with a rush of wind and no trace of Dwight’s voice across the line. She repeated his name several times, as one does when miscommunication and panic collide.


“Everything okay?”


“That was Dwight. He said something about Mose going missing on the farm and there’s a snowstorm coming and…I think we have to go check on them.”


***


“But we’re not going to the concert with Dwight, right? We just go help him find Mose, and then we get in this car and he gets in his car and, just like we planned, we separately go to the Kirby theater. Right?”


“Yes, Jim.” Pam couldn’t hide the edge in her tone as Jim asked the same question he had already worded at least three different ways on their drive to Schrute Farms. “Yes, we can — Oh! Dwight?” Pam quickly answered the call from Dwight, no doubt hoping that he was reaching out to say that the situation was resolved and they weren’t needed. However, the longer she stayed on the phone, the more evident it became that was not the case. “Okay, Dwight,” Pam said, glancing at Jim. “Thanks for letting me know. We’re only a couple of minutes away, and we’ll get everything…worked out.”


Pam ended the call and dropped her cell phone into her coat pocket. At least thirty seconds of awkward silence passed before Jim finally asked what Dwight called about. 


“Oh, you know,” was Pam’s noncommittal answer as she stared out the passenger window.


“No. I don’t know. Did he find Mose?” Jim tried to hold back the apprehension building in his chest, but Pam’s unwillingness to update him wasn’t helping the situation at all. 


Finally she swung her head in his direction and blurted out, “Dwight said that his date was there and would help us look for Mose. His date, Jim. We’re going on a double date with Dwight.”


Jim nodded slowly, internally debating the merits of a distracted and otherwise engaged Dwight against the disturbing images of the same. He shook his head, desperate to rid his mind of the thought. “Well, Melvina was nice at Michael’s —”


“Jim, it's obviously Angela!”


“I—” Jim started to contradict her, but this was Dwight they were talking about. “Do you think they’re… Still… I mean, it all just came out a couple of weeks ago. Isn’t she still with Andy?”


“I guess this is our chance to find out,” Pam answered flatly as a familiar gray Ford Focus came into view, parked in front of the old farmhouse they were heading toward. She sat in stunned silence as Jim parked, finally turning to him once the engine was dead. “Surely this won’t take too long. And then we can make it to the concert.” 


Jim’s sigh was heavy and loud in the cabin of the car. “On our double date with Angela and Dwight.” They unbuckled and opened their car doors against the bitter cold. Pam was 99% certain she heard Jim say, “And don’t call me Shirley,” into the wind. 


She slipped her hand into his, squeezing tightly against the fabric of his glove. “Did you just say —”


“Yeah,” Jim cut her off, the possibility of her repeating his own juvenile words only heightening his existing embarrassment. He glanced into the woods, a faint smile escaping his lips. “I’ve been around Michael too much lately, I guess.”


“Hmm. Right, that’s it.” She grinned outright, thrilled at this little moment of teasing him in what was shaping up to be an otherwise stressful evening. “As long as there are no other similarities, you get to come home with me.”


“Oh, yeah?” His smile was now all warm and enthusiastic as he leaned down to brush his lips against hers for a quick moment.


“Well, there you two are! It’s about time!”


Well, that was fleeting. They’d barely pulled apart when Angela herself yanked the door open, her mouth and brows pinched in judgment and disgust. 


“Hi, Angela.”


She ignored their matched greetings. Or maybe their tones were as defeated as they imagined; their words a quiet whisper of obligatory social graces as opposed to any happiness at seeing the tiny blond whose ire was enough to take up the entire farmhouse doorway. 


“Making out on the porch? And in this weather? At a time like this? Have either of you any restraint?”


“Where’s Dwight?”


Pam started to unwind her scarf, thankful that it was so warm inside, as Jim followed close behind her through the doorway. Really warm, actually. Okay, it was downright hot. They deposited their coats and hats and gloves into a pile on a nearby wooden bench.


“Angela, is the…is it really hot in here?”


“I have negative three percent body fat, Pam. My body can’t physically get hot.” Pam turned to follow Jim who had disappeared around the corner into what she thought was the dining room. “However, Mose did adjust the furnace and somehow removed the knobs.” She smoothed her already perfectly aligned turtleneck, before continuing. “Dwight is in the basement repairing the issue as we speak.”


Jim’s footsteps traveled to the center of the house, and she listened as a door creaked open, then shut, followed by the sound of his descent into the basement. Pam turned to look at Angela who was busying herself with a tabletop full of flashlights and lanterns. 


That resigned sigh she released must have been louder than she realized, as Angela paused and rose a single brow her direction. “Can I help?” Pam didn’t want to help. She didn’t want to turn on dozens of flashlights to make sure they worked. They worked. Dwight religiously changed all of his batteries every four months as a matter of prudence. No, what Pam wanted to be doing was standing in the sixth row of the Rex Manning concert that was scheduled to start in 19 minutes, holding a beer and singing loudly and off-key. But instead, she was taking a step toward the table and offering her most apologetic smile.


“Check these.” Angela’s hand waved as dismissively as her tone toward a box of handheld flashlights. 


“My God,” Pam said conversationally after testing the fifth (yep, fully lit and functioning) flashlight. “How many of these do you think he owns?”


“Dwight is always concerned with safety and preparation. We should all be so thorough in our consideration of others.” Angela picked up a box that she silently carried into the kitchen. 


Pam lifted a half-full box, following behind her. “So, are you his date? Dwight’s?” Angela’s silence and unwillingness to turn from the sink where she was washing a cup was all Pam needed to confirm her question. “Are you…” So many questions ran through Pam’s mind, she found it difficult to land on one. “Are you still engaged to Andy?”


The cup landed in the sink with a clatter. Angela’s stare burned into Pam, who didn’t dare drift her own eyes, but shifted her feet at the discomfort of the hostile silence. 


“Many coworkers socialize regardless of relationship status.”


“Oh, Angela.”


“What?” She threw a beige dish towel onto the counter and turned fully toward Pam. “I seem to recall a time in the not too distant past when you were engaged to Roy, but perfectly comfortable taking long lunches and having drinks with Jim.”


“I think we can both agree that was different.” Angela’s crossed arms and defiantly cocked brow said everything but the actual word how. “I wasn’t sleeping with Jim.”


“No, but you wanted to. You think it wasn’t obvious with every look, every laugh, every subtle little touch.” Angela took one step closer, her words continuing with all of the venom she’d apparently been holding onto for this very moment. “The only difference I see between us is that I’m the type of woman who goes after everything I deserve to have.”


Pam’s cheeks burned and she finally had to break Angela’s death glare to regain her mental footing. In the same moment, the door leading to the basement busted open with a grease-covered Dwight, dressed in only slacks and a white under tank shirt, followed by Jim, disheveled and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. 


Dwight was a flurry of movement, washing his hands, sharing each detail of the repair. Clearly he was oblivious to the showdown happening across his kitchen table. Jim, on the other hand, was expectedly more perceptive. 


“Everything okay here?” He looked from one woman to the next and back again. 


“We’re fine.” Angela replied firmly before retreating to the other room.


“You okay?” Jim met her eyes, holding up his smudged hands as a means of explaining why he wasn’t touching her. 


“I’m fine.”


“You sure?” He could read her easily and clearly doubted that they were fine. 


“Yeah, really.” She rolled her eyes and lowered her voice. “Just Angela being Angela.”


“Now we can start the search party for Mose.” Dwight was always precise and enthusiastic in his approach to a crisis and his missing cousin was no exception. He paused briefly while Jim finished washing his hands. “Pam, it’s good that you’re here. Perhaps Mose will reveal himself once he’s aware of your presence.”


“Wh…why would he do that?” Pam’s words came out slow. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know the answer, but she also couldn’t ignore the necessity of the question. 


“He enjoys looking at your skin. He says it is as smooth as our grandmother’s porcelain dolls.” Dwight’s grin at what he clearly felt was the highest of compliments only deepened her discomfort. “In fact,” he continued on, rifling through the box of flashlights she’d carried in, “you should stay behind in case he comes home.”


“Dwight, I thought I’d be the one to stay behind,” Angela said from the doorway. 


“Oh, Monk— Angela, I need your strong maternal tone to summon him if he has gone too far into the woods. He is obedient to your firmness.” Dwight’s tone dropped, not whispering quite as much as he intended, as he reminded her that her warm clothes and boots were still in the closet in his room.


Angela glared at Pam before lifting her chin, stomping from the room and, presumably, toward the stairs. Dwight was only momentarily deterred, pausing to stare in the direction of Angela’s exit, then handing Jim a flashlight and battery-operated lantern, “Follow me outside.” Turning to Pam, he extended a small metal whistle. “If Mose appears, blow this.”


“Or she could just use her cell phone and call us.” Dwight paused at Jim’s casual suggestion, clearly considering the more obvious option presented to him. 


“Yes, well,” Dwight glanced away before looking at Pam. “Either way. Your choice.”


Silently Pam sent a pleading look in Jim’s direction, but his only response was a shrug that clearly said everything he was thinking. This is exactly what you should have expected from an evening with Dwight. 


“Okay, well, you guys hurry. The concert starts in,” she winced at the numbers on her watch, “twelve minutes.” 


“Maybe he won’t start on time.”


“Nonsense,” Dwight began, clearly offended by Jim possibly insulting his favorite musician. “Rex Manning would never disrespect his fans in such a manner. But Pam makes an excellent point. Time is not on our side.” Without another word, he left the room. 


Pam and Jim watched the doorway as though something there other than Dwight’s fading footsteps and the creaking front door, opening and closing with a determined thud, would magically teleport them out of the Schrute Farms kitchen and… well, anywhere else on the planet. 


“We’ll find Mose, get the tickets, and get you to Rex Manning.” Jim squeezed her shoulders gently, shifting a bulky flashlight into the crook of his elbow. 


“What if he sings, ‘Say No More (Mon Amour)’ first?” Pam didn’t bother hiding the whine in her tone as she crossed her arms tightly across her chest. 


“He won’t.” Jim placatingly kissed her forehead, and leaned back slightly to look down at her. “No one starts with their most famous song first.”


Pam pressed her forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply. “I should have just had him bring the tickets to work,” she muttered against the soft weave of his knit blue sweater.


“Hmm. Seems like your very smart, very handsome fiance had the same suggestion a few days ago.”


Pam tipped her head deeply so that she could look at said smart and handsome and clever and infuriatingly right boyfriend in his eyes. “Is this really when you want to give me an ‘I told you so,’ Jim? Is it?”


Okay, there it is. That look he was giving her. The one that let her know he was amused and hedging his bets and couldn’t believe they were here (maybe literally and figuratively) together and that he definitely was about to kiss her. That whole look made her warm and gooey inside, moreso even as he leaned down to fulfill that last part. His lips met hers, reassuring any part of her that needed it, comforting those open spaces and wanting nothing more than to erase any pain she felt. 


“Well, I hope you’re both proud of yourselves. While Dwight and I freeze outside, looking for Mose, the two of you should certainly continue to publicly fornicate.”


“Seriously, Angela?” Angela’s words broke their kiss, all the more reason that Pam didn’t even attempt to hide her disdain. “Do you think you’re in a position to talk about –”


“This is an emergency!” Angela’s shrill cut off Pam’s words.


“So public fornication is okay when there’s not an emergency?” Pam’s brow arched pointedly, rendering Angela momentarily speechless with every unspoken word of her accusation. 


Angela inhaled sharply, sucking her breath through her teeth before clamping her lips shut. Her nostrils flared slightly and, beneath the layers of clothes and the oversized bomber hat covering much of her face, Angela looked like a child on the verge of a tantrum as opposed to a woman caught having to defend her ongoing infidelity.


Jim finally broke the silence with a kiss to Pam’s temple and a barely enthused, “Let’s go find Mose,” to anyone who was listening. 


Angela made herself busy buttoning a barn coat that hung past her knees and futzing with her gloves until the door closed, indicating Jim’s exit. She looked at Pam squarely, keeping her lips in a stern line while her eyes narrowed slightly. With an exasperated huff, Angela turned and took the same path the two men had before her, slamming the door with a passive aggressive thud. 


Pam watched through the kitchen window as their flashlights bobbed deeper into the woods. Her mind drifted to an episode of 60 Minutes she’d once watched with her grandmother about skilled hikers getting lost in the depths of the mountains. The starvation and hypothermia and delirium. Suddenly a vision of Jim’s impractical shoes trodding deeper and deeper into the icy, snow covered woods popped into her brain. Cold feet and a slowing heart rate and getting separated from Dwight and — Pam shook away those crazy thoughts. 


Instead she busied herself with cleaning the few dishes that appeared dirty and wiping the countertops.  Pam wandered through the house, slowly investigating the old photographs in wood carved frames, old farming equipment that hung on the walls, really playing up the agrotourism angle that Dwight was going for. He had made a few changes to his little inn, and Pam noticed how nice it looked. Not as rustic, a bit cleaner, tidier. She noticed the Bible open on a side table in one of the hallways and immediately rolled her eyes. 


Of course. Angela was the reason it was more pulled together and overall better. Pam sighed to herself as she sat down in an armchair. Clearly, Angela was good for Dwight. And he seemed to bring out a side in her that could almost be described as kindness. The complexity of that was…more than Pam’s brain could handle at the moment. She propped her elbow on the chair’s armrest and leaned her temple against her bent knuckles, momentarily closing her eyes. There really is somebody for everybody.


Pam hadn’t fallen asleep. She was sure of it. She’d simply closed her eyes to let the racing thoughts in her brain quiet at the thought of Dwight and Angela bringing out the best in each other. But suddenly there was a sound overhead, like the scrape of furniture being moved against the wooden floor. 


“Mose?” Pam didn’t like the way her voice shook as she called up the blackened staircase. “Mose?” She repeated, only to feel her stomach flip as the immediate response was the same sound and then a door slamming shut. Her hand skated desperately against the wall, a small miracle of joy flooding her as the light illuminated the staircase. 


Still, Pam was no fool. She’d watched enough horror movies to know that this entire setup was perfectly primed for her to be murdered. Momentarily she wished that it was Angela who had stayed behind if anyone had to be murdered. She didn’t mean that. Not really.


“Mose, you can come out if you’re up here? It’s Pam. Do you remember me? I’m Dwight’s friend? I stayed here a couple of years ago?” 


As she crept up the stairs, slowly, calculating each footfall so that no movement could be interpreted as aggressive or threatening, this felt almost silly. Mose was harmless. He was probably just playing some trick on Dwight, hiding their tickets to pull a prank on his cousin. One day they would laugh at this. 


Unless.


Pam paused on the top stair. Unless, Mose was missing because there was someone who had kidnapped him. Her mind immediately went to the episode of Criminal Minds where a serial killer was hiding in peoples’ homes for weeks before brutally murdering them. 


Pam shook her head. New Year’s resolution; watch less television.


Summoning any ounce of courage that existed just beneath her petrifying fear, Pam quickly pushed open the door that stood between her and whoever had kidnapped Mose. The stillness of the Americana Room left her breathing heavily with unchecked adrenaline still pumping through her. 


Pam returned to the hall, opening the next door with less vigor into the Nighttime Room. Again, no Mose. This whole exercise would have been futile, but she knew what was in the next room. And she just wanted a little peek. Just to see if it was different. 


The two beds – not quite a twin, definitely not a full – were in their same chaste, separated state. The grin ticking at the corner of her lips couldn’t be helped, but Pam tried to stop herself. The memory of her and Jim pushing those beds together, and for what purpose, really didn’t seem appropriate while she was in the middle of an active search party. 


But still. It wouldn’t hurt for her to just go sit on the bed, let her mind drift back to those early days. The mattress, a generous description, indeed, was as uncomfortable as she remembered and the room still had an eerie, primitive quality lingering overhead. Nevertheless, Pam couldn’t help herself from smiling and laying back against the bedding, remembering just how amazing that one night had been.


A noise in the closet startled her away from her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. “Mose?” Again the sound, this time very clearly something shifting against the creaking wooden floors. “Mose?” Pam stood, taking a step toward the closet.    

 

“No Mose here.” Mose said from inside the closet. 


Pam sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging with relief and exhaustion and hopefulness because the Rex Manning concert was going to start in, dammit, six minutes ago. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and called Jim. He’d never sounded so relieved as when she said I found Mose and she was certain they were sprinting back toward the house. 


Again, she sighed, pocketing her phone as she moved toward the closet door and opened it slowly. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t Mose sitting on the floor, clutching his knees to his chest, a bag of alfalfa sprouts in his hand. 


Leaving the door open, Pam took a step backwards and sat on the bed closest to the closet where Mose had attempted to hide. He glanced in her direction and just as quickly looked away when he saw that she was peering at him. They sat in silence for a moment until finally Pam spoke.


“Hey, Mose. Do you, um, do you have Dwight’s tickets? The concert tickets?”


Mose sat silently for so long that Pam almost asked her question again. Instead, he spoke before she could open her mouth. “Angela’s back.”


“Mhm.” For a moment she studied him, the way he seemed like he was too nervous to say what was on his mind. “Do you,” Pam paused, considering her words. “What do you think about Angela being back?”


“She hurt Dwight’s feelings.”


“Yeah,” Pam sighed again, entirely uncertain what to say next. 


“What if she does that again?”


“Well,” Pam hesitated, remembering the moment Phyllis shared Dwight and Angela’s affair with everyone at the Christmas party last week. “I think… do you think she makes Dwight happy?”    


Mose grew still, silent even in his breathing. “Everything is different.” He resumed the slight rocking state as when she found him. 


Pam absently circled the ring around her finger. “Yeah.” She heard three pairs of steps making their way up the stairs. “What’s the alfalfa for?”


Mose diverted his eyes quickly away from Pam. “For the llama.”


“Oh, you guys have a llama now?”


Their quiet exchange was interrupted by Dwight, Angela, and Jim pushing past each other into the room, their voices talking over each other, adding a raucous clamor to the formerly quiet peacefulness in the room. Finally, Angela’s voice rang clear above the others. 


“Mose, where have you been?”


Mose cast a quick glance toward Pam before he returned his blank stare toward nothing in particular. “Feeding Dolly.”


“Who’s Dolly?” Jim inquired from behind Dwight as the three of them crowded at the foot of the bed. 


“The llama,” Pam answered confidently in unison with Dwight.


After a brief pause, Jim asked, of no one in particular, “Your llama’s name is Dolly? You named her the –”


“Dolly Llama,” Pam supplied, catching the small but triumphant smile on Mose’s face.


“Well, now that we’ve found Mose, safe and sound in the house where he lives, Pam and I can just take our tickets —”


“Can’t,” Mose said as a single response to the room.


Pam turned slowly, that sinking feeling returning to the pit of her stomach. “Why not?” He looked at his toes, refusing to meet Pam’s eyes. “Mose, why can’t Jim and I get our tickets?”


Mose shifted from one foot to another, refusing to make eye contact with any of them. Finally, he let out a breath and said, “Because I fed them to Dolly.”


Behind her, Pam heard Angela gasp and Dwight bellow and Jim whisper a curse, leaving her crushed even more as the reality settled in that she would not be ringing in the new year with Rex Manning. She smiled weakly in Mose’s direction, squeezing between the footboard and Dwight. 


“Let’s go,” Pam said numbly as she passed Jim. 


He followed her silently down the stairs and through the house. They stepped into the kitchen, bright with overhead light, and then further until they were in the foyer, gathering their things. 


“Maybe we can go to will call –”


“The tickets were in Dwight’s name.” Pam replied defeated.


Her motions felt almost robotic as she shrugged into her coat, wrapping her neck in the warm red scarf her sister had given for Christmas, tugging her knit hat so that her ears were covered. Jim could only be described as despondent as he mirrored her movements, clearly his mind moving in all directions to find a solution that put them at the concert. 


“Pam, Jim,” Dwight’s voice stopped them both just as Jim’s hand wrapped around the doorknob. Dwight glanced away and then back their direction before straightening his back to his full height. “When we return to the office, you can pay me for your portion of the tickets.”


Pam huffed out an exasperated breath just as Jim muttered something unintelligible, but Pam was sure it wasn’t something he would say in front of her MeeMa.


“Or maybe we can work something –”


“Night, Dwight,” Jim muttered, wrenching open the door and pressing his hand against Pam’s back, a comforting gesture even with all of the layers separating them. 


The evening’s snowstorm, earlier violent and threatening, had softened to gently gliding flakes, landing delicately on their shoulders. Their walk to the car was silent, save for the crunch of gravel under their feet and the faintest gusts of wind in the distant woods. Jim opened Pam’s door for her, crossing immediately to his own, and made quick work of starting the car. He puffed warm air into his fist, shaking his hand once against the cold and quickly adjusted the vents, silently praying the heat to kick into high gear and melt the ice from his windshield with miraculous speed. 


The radio was too loud for the cabin of the car, cocooned in a blanket of snow that - in any other circumstances - would have felt like an ethereal escape from reality. Their own world to get lost in or hide from the world until they were beckoned out. But not tonight. Jim grabbed the ice scraper from his glove compartment and set to work clearing the front and back windshield, just enough that he could safely get them away from Schrute Farms as quickly as possible. 


“I’ve got an idea,” Jim began as he settled back into the driver’s seat. He took a deep breath before continuing, the cold air burning his lungs and then inhaling too much of the dry air in the car. “Let’s drive over to the Kirby and see if they have any tickets for sale. Or maybe they have unclaimed tickets at the box office.”


Pam smiled weakly, so genuinely appreciative, but the disappointment still obviously heavy in her eyes. “Thanks, babe. I’m just really tired. Let’s go home.” She turned from him, letting her gaze settle on the trees passing as he began to drive toward the highway. 


Silence between the two of them didn’t really bother him like it once did. Gone were the days when he had to be sure that he said something to fill in their mutual gaps. The ones that were taken up by other people’s engagement rings and future plans. Silence now meant total and complete comfort and confidence, not the desperation to remind her that he was there, saw her, heard her, would do anything for her. 


Oh.


He must have said it out loud because Pam turned and looked at him quizzically. He shook his head, nothing, and focused on the rest of the drive while he let a plan percolate.


Pam seemed surprised when they arrived home, jostled by the car stopping. She looked around, blinking her eyes heavily from the small nap she’d fallen into on the ride back to their house. 


“What time is it?” Pam asked around a huge yawn as she crossed their driveway to follow his steps toward the front door.


“10:30. Let’s get inside.” Jim smiled warmly over his shoulder.


“10:30?” Pam repeated in disbelief, one more yawn, smaller this time, following the realization. Just inside the door, she kicked off the shoes she’d worn, cursing the impracticality of her entire outfit. “I’m going to take a bath.” She rounded the corner into the kitchen, smiling to herself at the sight of Jim standing in front of the open fridge, already working the buttons on his shirt. “Try not to fall asleep before midnight,” she kissed his cheek breezily and then reached across him to take a bottle of cold water upstairs with her. 


Pam ran the water as hot as she could stand it, letting the peachy-pink bathtub fill with bubbles from the bottle her grandmother had given her at Christmas. Typically she wasn’t a fan of these types of gifts from Meema but as the room filled with the rich scent of sandalwood and magnolia, weaving into the heavy steam, and soft against her skin as she sunk into the warm bath. She closed her eyes, thankful that the inherited bathroom had this huge bathtub, as she let the stress and disappointment of the evening leave her body.


Downstairs, the doorbell rang, startling her forward with alertness and open eyes. She wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed, but the muffled exchange of voices was brief and Pam was certain some sort of food was delivered. Her stomach rumbled, clearly on board with this idea, and Pam remembered the apple she’d eaten just before they drove to Schrute Farms, their dinner reservations long abandoned. Acutely aware of the betrayal of a missed meal, her stomach growled again, leaving her with no option but to drain the tub and step out of the bath. 


She took her time, applying lotion, washing her face. With a heavy sigh, she pulled on the warm, soft pajamas she’d been gifted just a week before. Their coziness was a small consolation for the turn of events the evening had taken, but at least she was comfortable. 


“Hey, there you are,” Jim said as her foot landed on the bottom step. “I hope you’re hungry.” His fingers loosely grabbed hers, tugging her to follow him toward the living room. 


“I am.” Pam smiled at how he clearly knew her (and her stomach) better than she did sometimes. “What did you ord— Whoa.” Pam took in the sight before her, as their living room had been converted into a cozy retreat. “What is all of this?”


Not entirely allowing him time to answer, Pam settled on the couch and tucked her legs beneath her, pulling one of the soft blankets Jim had brought from their room over her lap. There were no less than ten candles burning around the room, their Christmas tree the only other illumination. She couldn’t even be mad that he’d dipped into her Bath & Body Works candle stash to create this whole mood. Her eyes drifted over the coffee table before looking at him, finally ready to let him answer. 


“Well,” he began, picking up his laptop perched on a small table tucked beside the couch. “I figure if I can’t take you to see Rex Manning for New Year’s Eve, I can bring Rex Manning to you.” He swiped the touchpad and began reciting all of the past concerts he had queued on YouTube. “I recommend we start with his concert in Shanghai in 2001, but that’s mostly because the Chinese food is hot. Of course, there’s also the 1999 concert in Munich.” Pam glanced at the table, smiling at the small bowl of pretzels and melted cheese desperate to represent Germany. Jim’s head tipped side to side, making obvious the way he was mentally weighing the next options. “I have a frozen pizza in the oven, but we also have leftover tacos from Tuesday ready to go into the microwave. So it’s a toss up between Milan and —”


“I know what you’re doing.” To his credit, Jim looked a little sheepish, glancing at the keyboard and then gathering his determination to look at her fully. “Thank you.” Pam knew he was about to offer something about wanting to make the night special for her, and likely preparing an explanation about how it wasn’t much or how, with a little more time he would have made it even bigger and better. “This is perfect.”


And it was. Really. 


Pam glanced at the culinary spread before her, momentarily thinking about the pizza in the oven - their oven - and smiled to herself at Jim’s genuine earnestness in making this special for her. She peeled the paper from a set of chopsticks on the table, bolding spearing something unexpected from one of the white containers with red writing on the side. 


“Look for New York City, 2001,” she mumbled around a delicious bite of Mongolian chicken as she simultaneously tucked against her fiance. She couldn’t see his face, of course, but she had to smile as he paused and then furiously typed her request into the search bar. 


****


They almost missed midnight. 


On the laptop, Rex Manning was performing an emotional version of “America the Beautiful” at a post-9/11 memorial. Ryan Seacrest was (faintly; Jim had turned on the television in preparation for the midnight hour) counting down the seconds and soon throngs of people were enthusiastically ringing in the New Year.


None of that mattered really. During the Rex Manning Christmas Special, Live from Orlando!, Pam ended up in Jim’s lap, his hands on her hips, her hands in his hair, and their intentions clearly already focused on the traditional method of ringing in a new year. 


“Jim,” Pam whispered, a little breathless as she exhaled his name and pressed her forehead against his before pulling away slightly so that they looked at one another fully.


He wanted to keep this image of her in his mind forever. The lighting, soft from the Christmas tree lights and screens in the darkened room, backlit her figure so that a glow radiated around her. His hands smoothed over her head, slipping into her soft hair and gently gripping the back of her neck. He desperately wanted to pull her mouth back to his, showing restraint instead to answer her.


“Yeah?”


“This has been the best New Year’s Eve, like, ever.” Clearly as impatient as him, Pam’s lips returned to his own, and he didn’t even have to use words for her to know that he felt exactly the same way. 


Chapter End Notes:

My Secret Santa requested a New Year's fic and these seven elements:

Double date with Jim/Pam & Dwight/Angela

New Year's celebration

Schrute Farms

Jim & Pam's House

New Year's kiss

Bad weather

Someone is embarrassed 

 I *think* I managed to get all of these in there. 

I just really hope that my Secret Santa has seen Empire Records and appreciates the Rex Manning love. If you haven't seen Empire Records, that is my real gift to you. Go see it. Now. Go. Now.

Thank you again for waiting so patiently while I got my act together. 




Duchess Cupcake is the author of 11 other stories.

This story is part of the series, Secret Santa Fic Exchange 2021. The previous story in the series is i don't know about you, but i'm feeling 2022.

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