“Ah yes, Movie Monday.” Michael grinned proudly, Dwight standing behind him, his back against the wall as he toyed absently with a small stuffed donkey that had appeared on Michael’s desk earlier that morning. “Jan tried to shut it down a few months ago, but – I mean, come on, we beat the Stamford branch – so I reinstated it.  But I’ve made it a more democratic process.”

Another proud smile, Dwight nodding along smugly.

“Every Friday afternoon, the staff submits votes via a totally anonymous process – they write down the title of the movie they want to see, then drop it in our trusty old suggestion box. And then I announce the winner at nine thirty on Mondays.” He paused, gazing out his window into the main office. “I think it’s what gets them all up on Monday mornings, actually; it’s why they don’t drag in here all tired anymore.”

“Oh, we have an gigantic library of films – and some particularly good television shows; I finally had Pam bring them up from my car like, a year or so ago, so they choose from that.”  Then, affecting an air of mock sophistication, stiff upper lip and all, he finished, “It’s a most extensive collection…very ec -eccentric.”

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They sat in front of the camera, Cliff having asked them to do their talking head together.

“Let’s see…” Jim glanced over at Pam, then back to the camera. “Last Monday it was Mannequin.”

“And Michael cried at the end.” Pam added, Jim nodding along somberly. 

They fell silent as Cliff asked the next question.

“Before that?” Jim repeated, his eyebrows up. “Dawson’s Creek.”

Cliff asked another question, to which Pam answered, “Oh no, just season three – or maybe four...”

And then she began to giggle, Jim turning to her with a smile. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay.” He turned back to the camera, taking a breath as he started to say something else, but her shoulders were shaking with silent laughter, prompting him to look over at her in mock exasperation. “What’s so funny?”

She removed her hand from her mouth long enough to choke out, “You liked it.”

He dropped his shoulders, rolling his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You so did!”

“Shut up.” He repeated, glancing self-consciously at the camera as he added, “It was – okay, so I liked that Pacey guy.  But what kind of name is Pacey, seriously?”

Pam was still giggling. 

He tried to glare at her, but couldn’t keep the smile from his lips.  “And besides, what are you laughing at?  You got choked up during that one episode.”

“I did not!”

“You did, too.” He looked back at the camera earnestly. “She totally did.”

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“Attention everyone!” Michael stepped outside his office, chin to the ceiling, smile on his lips.  Jim couldn’t help but turn in his seat to exchange an eye roll with Pam.  Movie Monday had become for them both a source of entertainment, as well as a respite – no matter how pathetic at times - from the kind of mind numbing ennui that only working at a mid-range paper supply company in Scranton, Pennsylvania could produce.

When the credits had scrolled on the darkened screen, they’d simultaneously shifted in their seats, leaning away from one another uncomfortably.  She excused herself within the first fifteen minutes, not coming back for close to twenty; Jim had forced himself to wait for what he considered an appropriate length of time before escaping to the break room, standing with one hand on the counter as he stared off into space.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.  

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When he reflected back on his life over the past year, it seemed to be a nightmarish cacophony of seemingly impossible happenings; she’d kissed him back, admitted that she’d wanted it for as long as he had – effectively giving him the happiest ten seconds of his life - only to take it away in the blink of an eye, confirming that yes, she’d be marrying another man in a matter of weeks.

So he’d taken a deep breath, physically removed himself from the equation because he didn’t know what the hell else to do.  Just when he’d started to feel an almost shocking sense of relief – I’m getting over her – fate had forced him to go back there. 

Only she wasn’t engaged anymore…but nothing, absolutely nothing, had changed, except that his feelings were all out there now. 

In his darker moments, he wondered if this weren’t karma – some sort of cosmic payback for all the nights he’d spent brooding the year before, wondering how in the hell his life could possibly be worse – working alongside the woman he was in love with, watching as her engagement progressed, unfolded…choked the life out of him.

Now he knew how it could be worse: He could lay it on the line only to be rejected; he could kiss her ten minutes later, only to feel her dissolve into him before she rejected him again.  He could move to another fucking state, then be transferred back to where it had all began.

He could have to see her face every single day and know that there was nothing holding her back now but her own fear.   

His attempt to move on with Karen had been futile – would’ve been disastrous if Karen hadn’t been the kind of woman she was: self aware enough to know what she wanted, brave enough to pursue it…strong enough to let it go when she realized that it just wasn’t happening.  

He wondered bitterly sometimes how she did it. 

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Pam wondered occasionally if she’d dreamed it all – Casino Night, the kiss.  Because they seemed to have fallen right back into their old dynamic – just friends – only now, his eyes didn’t follow her every move.   As far as Pam could tell, he apparently had managed to put those feelings to rest; she just saw no tangible sign of them anymore.

Sure, there was a warmth between them, just like there always had been; yes, they still spent the bulk of their time at work together, dreaming up elaborate pranks against Dwight or goading Andy into serenading them. 

But that subtle something she’d always sensed in him just didn’t seem to be there anymore.   It didn’t matter what she did to her hair these days – she never saw that transfixed expression on his face that he’d gotten the time she’d taken it down for Kelly so long ago, shaking the tendrils out, not giving a thought to how it would affect him.

His eyes had been glazed, expression transfixed…everything about him communicating that seeing her with her hair down had brought to life a myriad of fantasies he’d been harboring – all centering on her letting go of the pretenses, drowning in the vulnerability, steeping herself – them – in the attraction.

Lately, without realizing it, they’d both started to vehemently wish that the past would just fall away – that they could somehow forget all the staggering moments that had brought them here. 

To sit unawares beside one another, only to see the credits for that movie scroll down the screen – all about erasing memories of the one once loved.  It seemed cruel, unnecessary.

…To him.

To her, it was fate, pure and simple.

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