Author's Note: OH. MY. GOSH! Reviews! I love reviews! They are like crack! (In that I am addicted to them, and they make me write much faster *hint hint*) Well, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, it was amazing to hear from you! Therefor, I give you more Jam goodness:

Chapter Two

Jim awoke to harsh rays of sunshine slicing through his eyelids, and he groaned pitifully. It felt like what was normally the gentle sunlight that drifted through his window was now burning into his brain. Everything was a little fuzzy, and he made a vague assessment of his situation. He was dressed in his work clothes from yesterday, now wrinkled and smelling of alcohol. His alarm clock was bleating hopelessly, as it had been for the past few hours. “Oh God,” he moaned, his memories of the last night dim. He was late enough for work that there was no getting there now. He would have to call in sick, and while he doubted they would accept his excuse, there was no way he was working today. He was now recalling why he didn’t drink much. Hangovers. “Uugh, alcohol is the devil.” Jim decided, burrowing his head beneath his pillow.



Something was poking him painfully in his side, and he rolled over with much effort. Reaching down, he managed to fish his cell phone out from beneath the sheets. “Oh fuck.” he said to no one in particular. Another reason he didn’t drink much: drunk dialing. He had a tendency to become far too truthful when he was drunk. He would suddenly feel the need to clear all secrets from his life, and it usually ended with some awful consequences. Who did I call? He wondered to himself. He was fuzzy on how he even got home last night. He somehow doubted that he had biked.



He flipped open his phone. One missed call from Karen; how had she even thought to call him before 12 AM after a night of heavy drinking? At the same time, he guessed it was kind of sweet, her checking up on him. He finally remembered her giving him a ride home, preventing him from attempting suicide by bicycle. He hoped he hadn’t sang in front of her or anything.



He went to recently dialed numbers, holding his breath. Maybe he has just called his brother, or Mike or something… But when he saw the number that flashed up as number one, he felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. It was the number that he never called, yet he knew it by heart.



Pam. Fuck, what had he said?! Should he call her back? Or did he say something truly awful, something that required he leave her a bit to cool off? Well we’ve had about 3 months of cooling off, he thought as he managed to sit up. His head was positively pounding, and as he let it rest in his hands he felt that his hair had become a shaggy, unmanageable mess. He decided he needed a plan. Sometimes when Jim felt overwhelmed, he just made a plan. He realized it was kind of a nerdy thing to do, but it helped him get organized, and his thoughts were everywhere right now.



Jim Halpert’s Plan for Hangover Recovery:
1. Call in work; try to sound pitifully sick.
2. Advil. Lots of it.
3. Get some kind of food. Preferably pancakes.
4. Shower. Big time.
5. Call Pam.
5. Make a plan regarding the Pam situation.



Plans are good. Just follow the plan, Jim.



)()()()()(



“Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam. Hold please.”



“Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam. Hold please.”



“Luke Skywalker, this is your father. Hold please.”



“What?!” The confused customer exclaimed.



Pam sighed. “Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam. Hold please.” Every time the monotony of her job got to her (and it did more often than she would like to admit), she would remind herself that it at least paid for her art classes. And her art classes would take her somewhere someday, at least that’s what she hoped. Occasionally she wondered if she only believed that because Jim had told her so, but she hoped that a part of her had faith in a different future.



“Miiiiss Pamela Beesley!” Michael proclaimed, emphasizing his entrance with a little drum roll on Pam’s desk. “I need any messages, stat!” he said in a fake doctor voice. Sometimes it almost made Pam sad, the way that Michael felt the need to be constantly entertaining. He was so insecure that everything he did had to be flashy and dramatic. But at the same time, a small part of Pam envied Michael. He always went for what he wanted, full out, damn the consequences. He would never miss an opportunity because he was too reserved, or too scared of the unknown.



“Umm, you have 3 messages.” Pam said, handing Michaels 3 small slips of paper. “Two are actually from Jan, I think it’s pretty urgent.”



“That’s what she said!” Michael said automatically. “Wait, that doesn’t really…oh well. Hmm, apparently Jan has Michael fever pret-ty bad!” Michael waggled his eyebrows, grinning lasciviously “You know, if you wanna get a piece of this,” Michael gestured to his ‘goods’, “you better hop on it!”



Pam didn’t even want to address that innuendo. She just gave Michael her patented, dead-eyed stare that usually put him off. Michael chuckled awkwardly. “Alllrighty then…” He retreated back to his office. Pam smiled. Works every time, she thought, returning back to her sketch.



Her class was working on portraits, something that Pam didn’t draw very often. Usually she enjoyed landscapes, or simply sketching her surroundings. But the fact that the majority of her surroundings sketches were of the office depressed her a little bit, so this new work was refreshing. But she wasn’t sure whose portrait to do. She didn’t want to creep out anyone in the office by staring at their head for a prolonged period of time, but she wasn’t sure if there was a face she could hold clearly enough in her mind to draw it. Well, she knew there was one, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for that.



However, her hand had already wrapped itself around the small, charcoal pencil, and it had begun lightly sketching the outline of his face. Her pinky brushed the page with every careful stroke, and she soon became absorbed in her work. He had that effect on her; when she began thinking about him, she found herself getting lost. She quickly became unaware of the passage of time.



“Oh my god, that is like sooo good. You are so talented Pam!” Kelly’s shrill voice gave Pam such a jolt that she almost jumped out of her skin. Her hand jerked, leaving a dark, ugly smear on the drawing. Damn it! Pam cursed inwardly, biting her lip. Her mother hated it when Pam bit her lips, but it was a nervous habit. “Can I look at it?!” Kelly jumped up and down with delight. She was easily delighted sometimes. Pam glanced down at her drawing as if seeing it for the first time. It shocked her with it’s likeness of him.



“Um, it’s really not that good, it’s just kinda a- a general sketch, you know, for practice…” Pam said nervously, almost babbling. She wasn’t one to compliment herself all that much, but the drawing was accurate enough that there was no way Kelly would mistake it for anyone but him.



“Oh, okay…” Kelly’s lower lip jutted out into an unattractive pout.



“But, um, do you want to go shopping Saturday?” Pam said hastily. Kelly was like a child sometimes, if not most of the time. She was annoying but she managed to make you feel horribly guilty for denying her, and the best thing to placate her was shopping.



Kelly’s face quickly brightened. “Oh my god, toootally!” Kelly crooned. “We could get you some really sexy high heels and- Ooh, one of Ryan’s buddies is in town and we could totally double date!-” As Kelly chattered on, Pam felt herself wince a little bit, and she swore that she could see Ryan, sitting at Jim’s desk, do the same.



)()()()()(



Jim sat at the edge of his bed, staring at his cell phone. He had called work; the crotchety old secretary had sounded skeptical of his unconvincing cough, but she had let him go. He had taken lots of Advil and his head had ceased pounding (it now simply throbbed). He had plowed his way through six pancakes drenched with syrup, and now he sat here. Staring at a phone. He had considered everything, and it seemed the only thing he could do was call her and pray that he hadn’t cried or puked on the phone.



He dialed the number for Dunder-Mifflin; she was less likely to pick up her cell phone during the workday. He just knew those kind of things about her; her mundane, daily habits that Roy had never noticed, but that Jim had treasured.

“Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam. Hold please.”



His heart jumped at the sound of her voice (part of him hated that she could still do that to him). For some reason, he hadn‘t expected her to actually pick up. It was hard to believe that life at the Scranton branch continued like it used to, except without him. He hastily called out, “Pam, wait-” before she could put him on hold.



Silence hung heavily in the air for a moment, and Jim worried that he had spoken too late. But then a small voice greeted him (for the second time in 24 hours):



“…Jim?”