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Author's Chapter Notes:

After The Merger, there was a general cry for fluffy Jam. This is my contribution. In preparation for warm and fuzzy, I watched Love Actually (because Emma Thompson listening to Joni Mitchell and straightening out her duvet is somehow less heartbreaking than the words “You can do whatever you want. We’re friends.”) More to the point, this was inspired by the scenes between Jaime and Aurelia and how they fell in love without being able to speak the same language. Spoilers up to the end of The Merger. 

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. 

It’s their first talking head together. Pam schools her face into a mask of seriousness to hide how giddy she is about being his accomplice in mischief. She concentrates instead on helping him exhibit each ridiculous sign they have discovered in Dwight’s trash can. Sitting so close to him, she has to be very conscious of not constantly brushing her hands against his arm and carefully accepts each sign from him without touching his fingers. The heat radiates right through his coat sleeve, though, so it’s enough.

As he pulls out the last crumpled piece of paper, she smiles over at him and for one heart-stopping moment, he beams at her so warmly she forgets the camera is there and just shines right back. For the rest of the confessional, she can’t stop staring at him; adoration written across her face, because it’s suddenly occurred to her that no one has ever looked at her like that, ever, and she can’t believe she’s never noticed before how tempting his mouth looks when he knows he’s being funny. Pam has to press her lips together and turn back to the camera so she can regain her composure.

“Dwight Schrute. Privates. Tough to say.” Jim finishes, with a glance at her that makes her breath catch and wish they were alone.

The cameraman finally lowers his equipment and leaves them to their own devices. Her smile escapes again and now he’s looking at her like she’s lost her mind. Maybe she has. His hands graze hers as they reload the garbage can and she leans towards him a bit until the scent of his clothing fills her lungs, overpowering the faint odor of the nearby ashcan.

“What?” His voice cracks under the strain of a smirk that no longer reaches his whole face.

She can’t take her eyes off the curve of his mouth. “Nothing. You’re really great, you know?” She exhales quickly, afraid of how that sounds. “In front of the camera.”

His lips part with a sharp intake of breath, all traces of amusement vanished. “Uh… thanks. You, too. In front of the camera, I mean.” She shivers slightly. “Are you cold?” he asks, covering her icy hands with his own.

She thinks she shakes her head, although it’s possible she just stares instead, roused only when the door to the office bangs open suddenly and a harried looking Michael bursts out, no doubt hiding from the rest of the staff and their health care complaints.

Michael pulls up short, doesn’t fail to notice their proximity. Jim tugs his hands back as Michael tries to form some sort of appropriate comment, offering only: “Heeehhhhhhhaaaahr…” before abruptly dashing back inside.

Jim stands and extends his hand to help her to her feet. “We should get back before Dwight declares Martial Law.”

Her answering laugh is weak, because all she can think about is how his fingers are squeezing hers, before letting go to hold the door wide.


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