Jim sits across from Dwight in the conference room, a pen clutched in his right hand. He watches Dwight, waiting for him to speak, but Dwight has been completely silent for the past three minutes, with his eyes closed, slowly breathing in and out through his nose. He wonders if he should say something to wake Dwight up, or to knock him out of his trance, but he's still kind of new and he doesn't really want to interrupt whatever it is that Dwight's doing. Instead, he glances down at the notes he'd taken earlier during his sales training session.

He's pretty comfortable with that one. He's been working at Dunder-Mifflin for about a month and a half now, and he's made plenty of cold calls, most of which have actually been successful. So, knowing and understanding. He can handle that.

He knows he can do this one without even thinking twice. Completely. He can recite the questions he needs to ask himself before his pitch, like what can you do for the client to make their job easier? Or, what types of problems is their company facing that you can help them overcome with Dunder-Mifflin's services? Again, simple common sense.

He glances up and Dwight's eyes pop open. "It's time," Dwight says, a solemn expression on his face. "I have no doubt in my mind that you're ready for this, and your grooming is complete.  But more importantly Jim," he continues, folding his hands on top of the conference table, "do you think you're ready to take on this task?  This...duty in which the quality of your perfomance today will henceforth dictate your success in climbing the ranks of this company?"

Jim isn't quite sure what to say.  He thinks there's a question in there somewhere that he's supposed to answer, but what Dwight had just said is more like a demand than a question. The overhead fluorescent lights reflect off of Dwight's glasses and burn in Jim's eyes, and for a second, it's like torture.

Jim swallows. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I think I am." He smiles. He knows he's ready, but he's not sure if coming across as cocky is good for him, and he doesn't want Dwight to think he's being too overconfident. He's grateful to have this job; it's a good job, and he really, really doesn't want to screw it up.

Dwight slaps his palm loudly against the table, and Jim jerks his head up. "Wrong answer." He shakes his head sternly. "Let me ask you again. Are you prepared to take on this task?"

Jim thinks, wondering how he could possibly rephrase the word yes in the way that Dwight's obviously looking for. Maybe he didn't sound assertive enough, and he figures since Dwight has shown him everything he knows so far, he should at least convince him that he's been paying attention to his every word.

He clears his throat. "Yes," he says firmly. "I am absolutely, one-hundred-percent ready for this sales call."

Dwight grins. "All right then, new guy.  Let's go."

In the parking lot, Dwight pauses before unlocking the doors of his old, paint-stripped Datsun. He stands next to Jim, holding out his hand. "You and me, Jim." He smiles proudly. "We're a team now. We're impenetrable. A solid force."

Jim takes Dwight's hand and shakes it, grinning. He's never really been a part of a team that wasn't high school basketball, but he kind of likes the way it sounds now. Even though he's only been working at Dunder-Mifflin for less than two months, he knows that Dwight is one of the best salesmen they have, and the fact that he gets to work with him is exciting and makes him feel like he's doing something right in his life, like maybe applying for this job wouldn't be such a bad thing after all because he might actually become good at it. 

They pull into the parking lot of the distribution center for one of the local supermarkets. Jim's kind of relieved to see that it's not a huge office building. It's pretty big, but not intimidating. If Dwight thinks he can do it, that he's ready, then he's definitely ready. He takes a deep breath before opening the car door.

"Wait."

Jim looks over at Dwight, his hand frozen on the door handle. "Okay," he agrees. "What's up?"

Dwight slides his chair as far back as it will go. "This is very important, Jim. Confidence is key in making any sale." After a moment of digging in the glove compartment, Dwight produces a cassette tape that he pushes into the tape deck. He turns up the volume on the car stereo so loud that Jim's first reaction is to want to cover his ears. Heavy metal comes pouring from the speakers.

He watches, his mouth slightly agape as Dwight begins to bang his head, making motions with his hands that look like a mix between fist pumps and karate chops. He twists his torso and begins strumming wildly on an air guitar.

"Come on!" he yells to Jim over the music. "Confidence is key!"

Jim has no idea what to do. He wonders if he should get out of the car and let Dwight do whatever it is that he's doing, or if he should keep watching. He really wants to look away, because what's going on is ridiculous, but strangely, he's unable to.

So he goes along with it, sort of, figuring it can't hurt. It's completely weird, but he thinks that if this is something that he should get used to (like maybe it's some sort of ritual for Dwight) then he may as well play too. Dwight had said that they were a team, and he really needs to keep this job.

He bobs his head slightly, checking to make sure that no one is close enough to them in the parking lot to notice him. He drums his fingers against the dashboard. He can't bring himself to do any more than that, but he did play basketball in school, so he understands rituals.

When Dwight turns the car off, Jim opens his door and straightens his tie and his jacket. He recites Rule Number Three in his head:

Dwight had said that was the most important rule of all, and Jim is completely focused on making sure he does it right.

* * * * *

Michael had specifically told Dwight that morning not to scare off the new guy.

What Dwight thinks Michael doesn't understand, however, is that it's not fear that's driving away most of the new employees. It's the feeling of inadequacy that they get when he tells them that, fact: he has been one of the top five salesmen in the company since his third week, and fact: he will be made assistant regional manager by the end of next month, if he has anything to say about it. Dwight had told Jim these things on his second day, and Jim hadn't flinched, so he's almost certain it's a good sign that Jim has the utmost respect for his superiors.

He likes Jim so far. He's intelligent, learns quickly, and follows instruction well. He smiles too much, but they can work on that.

The potential client was the distribution center for the local Foodtown, and Dwight has never dealt with Edwin Jackson (the manager) before. When the manager's secretary leads them into his office, Dwight takes the seat to the right of Jim. His peripheral vision is keener in his left eye, and he knows he'll need to watch Jim as closely as possible without making it too obvious.

Before Jim begins his pitch, Dwight turns to him, his lips pursed, and gives a short nod.

He pays close attention to the Mr. Jackson's face as Jim speaks, because he can usually tell within the first five minutes if the potential client has any interest. He'd warned Jim a hundred times not to use his hands while he talks, and he's holding them in his lap, which is acceptable.

"I know that most of the work done here requires order forms, invoices, and confirmation sheets," Jim says steadily. "So I have a number of products to offer you today that can meet all of those needs. We know that we can provide you with the same level of quality that your customers have come to expect from your company."

It's a bit textbook, Dwight thinks, but so far the manager seems to be taking it all in.

"Let's get to the chase," Mr. Jackson cuts in. "What are we looking at as far as cost?"

Dwight listens as Jim goes over the prices of lightweight bond paper and regular text paper. Mr. Jackson rubs his chin, and glances at his watch.

"Okay," he says. "I'll sign."

Dwight hides his smile as Mr. Jackson signs his name on the contract.

Outside in the parking lot, Dwight raises his hand towards Jim to high-five him. "Way to go, Jim!" he laughs. "I told you this morning that I wouldn't talk unless your pitch started going down the crap-tube, and I didn't even have to say a word. Well done, my friend." He pats Jim on the back.

"Thanks," Jim says, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. "That really wasn't as hard as I thought it would be."

Of course it wasn't. I told you. You and me, we're a team. Tango and Cash."

Jim smirks. "So we're buddy cops, now?"

"Better. We're paper salesmen, working together to destroy the competition." Dwight unlocks the passenger side door of his car.

"Right. Never mind." Jim opens the door, but stops before getting in. "Hey, thanks for everything, Dwight. I really learned a lot today."

He puts his hand on the back of Jim's neck, grinning proudly, and he decides they should try to come up with a name for their team. Or at least a theme song.

He’s already grinning, watching Dwight karate chop the air around their desks, before he hangs up the phone. 

“Great.  No, thank you.  I’ll send the paperwork right away. You have a great day.”

Dwight stands up, already clapping him on the back before he has time to put the phone down.  He starts humming that song, the one that he always seems to break out when they make a sale.  Jim hasn’t decided yet whether it annoys him or not.

“You conquered that sale, just as I predicted.”

“Yeah, thanks for your tips.  I never would have thought I’d make such a big sale so soon,” he adds to himself under his breath as Dwight sits back down, “by myself.”

Dwight’s already pulling out a calculator from his desk drawer, punching the buttons.

“Well, if you keep up your performance under my tutelage, young Jim, then this sale alone could count for almost a quarter of your annual commission.  Now,” he sets the calculator down, folding his hands and regarding Jim levelly, “I should let you know that I made a sale nearly twice as big within 6 weeks, rather than the 6 months it took you, but not everyone has my skill.” 

A part of Jim really, really wants to be annoyed at that moment, tell him off; but at the same time, Dwight is the top salesman and he has learned a lot from him, even had fun a few times, so he decides to just agree with him.

“Well, Dwight, I’m just glad that I get to learn from someone so talented.” 

Dwight beams.  Jim thinks to himself, there, now I can spend the afternoon in relative peace.  But then Dwight speaks again.

“We should celebrate your sale.  You’ve graduated to a new level.  You are climbing the ladder within our team. In fact, I feel like you are nearly half my equal.”

“Thanks…Laser tag again?”  The last time he went out with Dwight, he actually had fun; it felt like he was in high school again, shooting shadowy figures in a smoky space while techno music blared in the background. 

“No, better.  I want you to come to my farm, and meet my cousin.  I don’t want to tell you exactly what I have planned, but be prepared to be blown away.  And I hope you like fireworks.”  He raises his hand for a high five, and Jim thinks, maybe it’ll be fun, and meets him in the middle with a satisfying clap.  He’s about to get back to work when Dwight starts talking again.

“Jim.”

“Yeah, Dwight?”

“Question: Do you have a bow staff?”

Jim wonders what he’s gotten himself into.

* * * * *

The night is not going how Dwight had planned. Originally, he'd seen it going as thus:

One, Jim would take a tour of the farm, and would probably even offer to help, come harvest.

Two, They would stop at the archery range and shoot a few arrows, and Dwight would astound Jim with his ability to split a arrow in half with a second arrow.  Like Robin Hood.  Or, even better, Legolas.  Maybe they would talk about Lord of the Rings, for a while.  And then Dwight could show him the one ring replica he keeps around his neck. 

Three, After watching the sun set, they would get out the fireworks and set them off for hours.  And then they would watch Armageddon, because he and Mose have watched it 10 times already and it gets better every time.

He did take Jim on a tour, but Jim didn’t seem too interested, even after Dwight showed him the heap of bones that he can’t identify by the compost heap.  How could that not fascinate him?

Jim didn’t offer to come and help, come harvest.  Not even after he showed him the thresher.

Dwight figured that everything would come together at the archery field, but instead Jim cut his hand trying to shoot.  Dwight took out a pen and drew a map on Jim’s hand, wiping away the blood and showing him how to get back to the farmhouse so that Mose could take care of him. 

Because Dwight can’t leave the range without achieving at least three bullseyes to prove himself.  One could be luck, two is skill, and three is archer.  He watches Jim walk back through the fields and thinks that it’s a good thing he at least can make a sale.

When he returns, it’s already after sunset and Jim and Mose are sitting on the porch, laughing.  Jim’s hand is bandaged, and he’s holding a block of wood as Mose shows him how to whittle.

“Hey, who’s ready for some fireworks?”

Jim looks up.

“Oh, hey, Dwight.  Mose was just showing me a few things.  And telling me some interesting facts about you.  So, you don’t trust the way Jell-o moves?”

Dwight narrows his eyes at Mose, who looks away.

“I like to be able to anticipate an enemy’s movements.  Sometimes, that enemy could be in a gel form.”

Jim shrugs. “That makes sense.” He stands up.  “So, what about those fireworks?”

The fireworks make it better, a little, especially when he gets out the good ones, the ones he ordered specially from Mexico.  Jim seems to have a good time, and they talk about the office afterward, sitting and waiting for Mose to bring in the tea.

“Too bad Michael couldn’t come,” Dwight says.  He had invited him, but he had plans somewhere that he couldn’t remember where or something.  Next time, Dwight, he had said, and Dwight intends to hold him to that.

“He seems like a good boss, so far.”

“Fact: He is the best boss. We can learn a lot from him, Jim.  He has unattainable knowledge.”

“Yep.  Unattainable.  I’ve noticed that.”

 “Jim, just think, in five years we could be his number 2 and number 3.”

“Wow.”

They sit in silence, and Dwight can feel the enormity of the moment overtake him.  But then Jim stands up.

“I should go.”

“Are you sure?  Mose was going to bring out his mouth harp.  He is the best mouth harpist of the family.”

“Yeah…got work tomorrow.”

“Good sleep habits, very important.”

“As you’ve told me, Dwight.”

Jim walks out to his car in the semi-darkness.  Dwight can hear him open his door, then his voice echoing in the night.

“Hey, Dwight?”

“Yes, Jim?”

“Watch out for enemy Jell-O”

Dwight waits until he can hear the car hitting the dirt road, then calls inside for Mose.

“Mose!  Barn, now.  We’re wrestling.” 

Because Mose should know that you never show a sign of weakness, even to someone who is an ally.

Jim knows going into it that the school district is a huge contract, mainly because Dwight's made sure to tell him that exactly fourteen times since he'd walked into work that morning.

"Jim," Dwight says, "this is probably the most important sale of your career and mine. Do you realize," his voice dropping to a whisper, looking around, "what this could do for us? " He smiles.

"Um," Jim looks up, thinking. "No, what?" he whispers back.

"When Michael finds out that we made this sale, I can almost guarantee that I'll be promoted to his assistant."

"Right." Jim nods. Like you've been saying for the past year. "So what's in it for me?" he jokes.

"Well, you'll get your normal commission, of course. But when I get the promotion, I'll let you be my second in command." Dwight looks at Jim with his chin lowered and his eyebrows raised.  "Technically you'll be third in command, but you'll be second to me."

Jim stares at him, not really sure of what to say, but he's almost positive that if Dwight ever tries to make him his second in command, he'll request a transfer to work in the warehouse. Still, he keeps these thoughts to himself. There's no use getting into it right before the biggest sale he's ever tried to make.

He's been with the company for twelve months now. Twelve months, and he's about twelve times more creeped out by Dwight than he was when he first started.

"I can see it now, Jim," Dwight says.

Jim sighs. "Dwight, I don't want to be a downer, or anything, but don't you think that maybe you're getting a little bit ahead of yourself?" He goes back to reading through the client's file.

Dwight shakes his head. "You new guys are all the same," he huffs, typing loudly on his keyboard.

Jim doesn't point out that he's been employed there for a year, so he doesn't exactly qualify as a new guy anymore. He knows that not making this sale would let Dwight down in a big way, and he figures he's already said enough today to make things weird between them, and that they'll need to be as in synch as possible when they meet with the client.

He tries to pretend that it's okay that Dwight doesn't talk to him for the rest of the morning.

* * * * *

Dwight storms through the parking lot, his trench coat blowing out behind him, doing the best he can to ignore Jim who's not even trying to keep up with him.

Once he gets back upstairs to his desk, he begins making phone calls, not even glancing in Jim's direction when he sits down. Never in Dwight's five years of employment has he come across such a display of vast ineptitude. He slams the handset of his phone down and turns to glare at Jim.

Jim looks up, quickly, and seems to realize that Dwight's trying to stare him down. "Dwight, I really don't know what to say. Okay? I mean, we did everything the way we went over it, and there's no point in being angry with me. I'm not the only one who lost the sale."

This puts Dwight over the edge and he presses his lips into a thin line. "Oh yeah, okay, Jim. That's really easy for you to say when you're not the one who has to go in there and tell Michael." He points towards Michael's office. "You're not going to have to watch the disappointed look on his face when he finds out we've failed him."

Jim does look pretty regretful, but it doesn't matter, because there's nothing he can say right now that could possibly make Dwight feel better. They'd lost the sale, their commission, and Michael will never make him assistant regional manager, and basically it's all Jim's fault. And Jim needs to know that.

"You know what, Jim? This all your fault."

Jim squints his eyes. "Wait. How is this my fault?"

"Uh, maybe because you didn't pay any kind of attention to what I was saying during the entire pitch, and you went off on your own tangent half the time. That is not the mark of the team that we were supposed to be." He's more disappointed than angry at this point, because Jim just doesn't seem to understand the intricacies of being on his team. They were supposed to be unstoppable.

Jim sighs. "Listen, Dwight. It wasn't us. I may not have been here as long as you or sold paper for as long as you have, but I really don't think there was anything we could have done to make that sale. We were fine together. We did great together, and I think you know that." He shrugs. "It was just one failure. It happens sometimes."

Dwight lets himself look at Jim, and while Jim's statement is a typical failure-speech, he is right about the fact that they did work pretty well together. Excellent together, as a matter of fact. Regardless, it's still going take Dwight a while before he begins to trust Jim again.

"Thanks for fitting me in.  Yeah, yeah, thanks.  See you soon."

Jim hangs up the phone, hoping that Dwight heard him; when he looks over, Dwight is bobbing his head to some imaginary beat and arranging his pencils by order of height along his desk.  Sometimes, Jim wishes he would get up enough nerve, or maybe care enough, to steal them all and replace them with crayons or something.  Just to piss Dwight off.  But he'd have to be pretty desperate to do that, right?  He clears his throat.

"So, Dwight, I'm going to the dentist this morning." 

Dwight pauses, and Jim wonders what lame insult is coming at him next.

"I think you're forgetting, uh, forgetful Jim, that we have a sales call this morning."

"I didn't forget."  How could he?  Dwight has called him every night for the past week to remind him.  Jim hates the company roster, hates it with a passion.  He figures that he's doing pretty good, since it's taken him almost two years to really settle into hating his job. 

"This sales call is extremely important.  And since the company has been cutting back on the amount of out of office sales calls, you are rusty and therefore a weak link in the team."  Jim wishes that they would cut out sales calls entirely.

"You haven't gone out on one in awhile either, Dwight."

"Doesn't matter.  I am the master and you are not.  My experience crushes yours with one strike."  With this, Dwight slams his hand flat on his desk and Jim doesn't flinch.  He stopped flinching long ago.

"Great.  So, I'm going to the dentist this morning." 

"Great.  So, what about the sales call?"  Dwight has the tone in his voice that Jim has labeled Annoyance Level: Moderate in the back of his mind; it's slightly mocking, slightly condescending, with a thin veneer of nasal affectation. 

"I...will meet you there."

"Well, that's great, Jim.  You obviously want us to fail."

"I do.  You've caught me."

"Now is not the time for sarcasm.  We have a routine.  How can we follow that routine if you are not there, for the routine?" 

"We will...make a new routine?" 

"Fine, Jim, whatever.  But I am letting Michael know in advance that if we fail, it is most definitely your fault." 

"Good idea."  Jim waits a beat for Dwight to storm into Michael's office, then gathers his things to leave. 

Reaching the parking lot, Jim pulls out his phone and dials. 

"Is this regarding the teeth of Jim Halpert?" 

"It is."  Jim laughs.

"Did it work?"

"Yeah.  Thanks Mark.  I owe you one."

"I still don't know why you couldn't just tell the guy you wanted to take separate cars."

"You would have to meet him."

"I'm not sure I want to."

"Yeah, you don't.  See you later."

"Later."

Jim hangs up the phone and gets in his car, figuring he'll drive around for an hour and then head over to the law firm downtown for the sales call. He realized last night that he hasn't had a date in a month and he might work at Dunder Mifflin forever; for some reason, those two things coupled with the fact that he would probably be working under Dwight one day spurred him to think of some ridiculous plan to get out of a car ride filled with Dwight conversation and headbanging.  He figures that after two years, it's just his sense of self-preservation kicking in. 

 
* * * * *
 
Dwight can tell Jim is finally on the road to redemption.  Not only was he there on time, he must have declined novacaine for the good of the team, because Dwight can see no obvious signs of drooling or numbness.  He closes his hand in a fist as he listens to Jim enunciate very clearly and list their services to the client.  Jim must really want this.  Jim wants it for the team.

Dwight is very perceptive; he notices everything, which is why he's so suited for his new job as volunteer sheriff's deputy.  He spends his weekdays conquering sales and his weekends conquering criminals.  And Jim wants to conquer this sale. 

He knows.  He knows because Jim meets his eyes and gives a slight nod at the exact time when the client shows his weakness, a sign of relenting.  They are a tag team, and Jim is tagging him in.

"So, Mr. Brant," Dwight says forcefully, pulling a contract out of the folder in front of him, "let's finalize this deal."  Dwight notices Jim smile slightly as Dwight hands Brant the pen, which is a sign of weakness and he has TOLD Jim that, but he forgives him because Brant is signing and he fights the urge to smile, himself. 

But he doesn't.  Because he's not weak.

Out in the parking lot, Dwight holds up his hand for the high five of success, and Jim doesn't even hesitate before he meets him in the middle.  Redemption.

"We killed that deal, Jim.  Brant was like a lamb during slaughtering season, and we collectively slit his throat."

"Wow, Dwight.  That is quite the image."

"And it fits."

"It does.  Well..."

Dwight can sense that Jim is at a loss for words, and he wants to reassure him, let him know that he is on his way.

"You were excellent up there, you didn't let him refuse anything.  Just as I've taught you."

"Thanks, Dwight...that actually is...thanks."  Jim has paused in front of Dwight's car now, and Dwight can sense that a great moment is approaching.

"Why don't we go to the farm for lunch?  I can heat up some leftover goose.  And we can dissect every detail of our victory."

"Actually, I think I should probably get back to the office.  Since I missed most of the morning."

"Oh, well, I could call Michael..."

"No, it's ok...I have a few cold calls to make, anyway."

Dwight knows, because he knows everything about the team, that Jim has already made all of his cold calls for the week.  He keeps a list, checking off every client Jim is supposed to handle.  For reference purposes.  He thinks for a moment about confronting Jim with this fact, but then changes his mind. 

"Oh, well, a good work ethic is important." 

"Yep.  See you back at work, Dwight."

Dwight gets in his car and turns the music as loud as it can go, rattling the windows, and watches Jim pull out of the parking lot.  Cutting the music off, he has a moment of silence for the team, then drives off in the direction of the farm. 

There wasn't enough leftover goose for two, anyway.

"Yes, I'd like to order a two-ounce bottle of your one-hundred-percent pure 'Doe in Heat' deer urine." 

Jim watches Dwight lean back in his chair, wrapping the phone cord around his finger.

"Question. Is the urine fresh, and is it hand-bottled? Also, does it come from the bladder of a whitetail, or a mule deer?"

He gets up from his chair. The last thing he needs to hear is Dwight ordering deer urine and he doesn't want to stick around to hear about what his plans for the deer urine are.

Jim's not used to feeling self-conscious while getting up, but he has been for the past six months, making sure the back of his shirt stays tucked in and that his tie is semi-straight. He blames it on the new receptionist, although it's not really her fault. He's kind of into her.  He hasn't figured out why yet.  She's kind of quiet, but she's fun, and different.  She doesn't try, and maybe that's what does it for him.

He walks over to her desk, and she looks up from her computer monitor and smiles. "Hey, Jim," she says.

"Hey, Pam." He leans against her desk but glances towards the door over his shoulder. He knows she has a boyfriend that works in the warehouse who comes up to see her once a week, but she never seems to mind when Jim hangs out at her desk.  He figures that if she did, he'd be able to tell, but he knows that she only likes it because he keeps her entertained and distracted from answering phones and whatever else receptionists do.

"What are you up to?" he asks.

"Have you ever gone on the Expedia website, and even though you weren't really planning on going anywhere, put in your, like, ultimate dream vacation? Just to see how much it would cost?" Her eyes dance when she looks at him, and his palms sweat a little. He wipes one hand on the front of his thigh.

"I don't know anyone who's never done that, at least once," he answers, putting his chin in his hand. "So where to today?"

"Right now I'm going to Venice. I've got two round-trip tickets leaving from Newark Airport on September 7th, 2002. I'm staying in a suite at the five-star San Clemente Palace Hotel. And so far, I'm up to..." She clicks her mouse. "Seven thousand, five hundred and eighty-six dollars."

Jim nods slowly. "Guess you'd better start saving up now."

Pam laughs.

"Hey," he whispers. "Do you mind putting your vacation planning on hold for a second? I think I've got something better."

"Better than Venice?"

"Almost. See, Dwight's ordering his seasonal supply of deer urine, and I thought maybe we could have some fun with that."

"Hmm." Pam presses her lips together. "Maybe we could help him out a little. You know, so that he doesn't have to call next month, or possibly the month after that..." She trails off, but Jim gets it.

"You mean, like, call back and change his order for oh, say, a four month supply?"

She nods.  "I think it'll make hunting season a little easier for him."

They look online to find the number of the company where Dwight orders his normal supply, and Pam calls. Luckily they don't need an order number, just a last name, so she adds twenty-four bottles to Dwight's original order. She scribbles something down on a pad of paper, then hangs up the phone. She looks up at him. "It cost three hundred dollars." She winces. "Do you think that was too mean?"

Jim shakes his head. "They'll call to talk to him to confirm the order before they charge anything to his credit card."

Dwight's extension rings, half an hour later, while Jim's going over paperwork for a new client.

"Dunder-Mifflin, Dwight Schrute speaking. What? No, I didn't--yes, I'm sure.  I only ordered..."

Jim catches Pam's eye, and they both smile, unable to hold it in. Dwight seems to notice immediately, and he slams down the telephone.

"Damn it, Jim!" he yells. "Now I have to change my whole order. You know, you're so unprofessional. I should report you to HR."

"We were just trying to help out."

"Well maybe next time you and the receptionist can help yourselves out by doing actual work. I have a huge client calling me in less than an hour and you've ruined everything." He gets up and walks towards the stairwell.

Jim looks over at Pam, and she raises her eyebrows. He shrugs, but inwardly he thinks that maybe it was a bad idea to play a prank on Dwight right before a big sales call. He imagines Dwight in the stairwell, doing twice the headbanging he normally does, and the thought of that alone makes him a little bit guilty.

Still, Pam smiles at him, and it's worth it anyway. 

* * * * *

Once in the stairwell, Dwight decides that from now on he'll order his deer urine online. Buck hunting is useless without it, but come on. The shelf life of urine is not long at all before it loses its effectiveness, and what would he have done with twenty-five bottles? The problem is that ever since the new receptionist started, Jim's been paying less attention to his job and spending more and more time slacking off. Uh, how does he expect to keep up his numbers when all he does is giggle with the new girl all day long? Pathetic.

Dwight decides to try to focus less on Jim for now and work on amping himself up for his call. He listens to AC/DC (Back in Black always ensures a win for him) for a few minutes, and then goes back upstairs.

He glares over at Jim, who has his phone against his ear, doodling on his desktop calendar. It's his funeral for suddenly deciding to be incompetent, Dwight thinks, watching Jim. The downfall of Jim's existence, probably, is women. It would explain why One: he never has any, and Two: the minute one comes flitting into the office with her curly hair and pink sweaters, Jim turns into a giant mass of worthlessness. He give Jim six more weeks before he becomes completely marginalized.

It takes exactly twelve minutes and thirty-five seconds for Dwight to close his sale. He hangs up his phone and stares at Jim until, finally, Jim looks up. "What?" he asks.

"What?" Dwight mocks back. "Nice try sabotaging my sale, Jim. I'll have you know that my client signed a three-year contract."

"I wasn't trying to sabotage your sale."

"Oh, sure you weren't."

"Dwight, it's just, some people don't like hearing you order that kind of stuff over the phone."

"Uh, and I care why?"

"It's disgusting, and more than we need to know about your personal life."

Dwight backs up his chair, pretending that he's about to get up. "I'm still reporting you."

Jim types, not looking up from his monitor. "Well, I'm reporting you."

"For what?" Dwight pulls his chair back up to his desk. "You know what, this is stupid. How about you do your work, and I'll do mine, and you can be a loser all you want on your own time. Deal? Good."

Jim doesn't answer, but it's probably just as well. Dwight pulls out a piece of paper and begins to write a note to Toby.

Jim can't remember why he decided to come. It might be that he doesn't sleep in anymore, not really; he has an internal Dunder Mifflin alarm clock that wakes him up no matter what day it is.

It might be because she won't be there, and he might actually get some work done.

It might be because he has no other plans, and he knows that if he stayed home he would feel a strange sense of obligation to go to the outlet mall, even though he only said he was going there because he knew it would make her laugh.

It might be because what if she shows up? Wearing jeans and saying the lake sounded lame and I've always wanted to see you on a Saturday and hey, let's blow this off and go somewhere. It's this last thought that takes him out to his car, turns the key in the ignition and presses his foot on the gas to go to wherever she might be.

She's not there. No one showed up except for him and Dwight. He doubts anyone was even paying attention when Michael made his second announcement, the one he was probably forced to make after Jan yelled at him on the phone, saying someone had to be there over the weekend. Michael didn't even show up. Jim feels like he's now officially as sad as Dwight. Maybe even more, since Dwight probably cancelled some stake out or archery competition to be there for the company, and he's here on the off chance that she might show up.

She had already left, anyway, before Michael changed his mind. Let's get you into a tub... Jim just had nothing to do. Maybe he should have stuck with that, with nothing, sitting and counting the hours until he could sleep again.

He's been there for an hour and completely rearranged his desk; by some miracle, Dwight seems to be ignoring him. He lets the silence get to him and finally speaks.

"Dwight."

"Yes?"

"What are we supposed to be doing?" Dwight scoffs, "uh, working."

Jim has a sudden urge to do something, anything, a great prank; that feeling is quickly replaced by the thought, she's not here, what's the point? "Yeah, I get that. But it's the weekend. Most places are closed."

"Fact: There has been a 57% increase in the amount of businesses open on weekends. Fact: Those businesses will be vulnerable and not expecting to buy anything. Fact: I will sell them something. Guerilla sales, Jim."

"Wow." Jim imagines Dwight in full on face paint, attacking a client. The image is too close to reality.

"I'm the top salesman for a reason, Jim."

Jim thinks about his mini bottle of champagne. "This is true."

"You could be number two if you spent more time selling and less time on your immature little pranks."

"Maybe." Jim wishes that Dwight was wrong more often. "So, are we going to just do some cold calling, or..."

Dwight cuts him off. "I think...perhaps a competition is in order."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Maybe you can finally realize your potential."

"Right."

"I had so much hope for you, Jim. Too bad you turned out to be such a disappointment." J

im can't help but agree with him. "Fine. Let's see who can sell the most by the end of the day."

"I will crush you."

"You can try." Maybe the day will go by faster than Jim thought. He watches Dwight dial the phone and for the first time, he doesn't look over to his right before getting to work.

* * * * *

Dwight doesn’t know how, but he is losing. Correction: he is not losing, he is temporarily behind. Biding his time. He watches as Jim hangs up the phone and looks at him, smirking.

“Well, Dwight, it looks like I have made another sale. And you are…”

“I am pacing myself.” It is not Dwight’s fault that every place he has called run by lazy people who don’t know what’s good for them. Jim’s probably calling places run by little old ladies who get excited over the voice of a nice young man. Dwight does not play into charm, because that is a weak trait to have. He prefers being forceful, like a jackhammer.

“Sure, Dwight. Pacing yourself.”

“Whatever, Jim. I am just giving you a head start. It’s called pity.” New plan: Dwight it going to lull Jim into a false sense of security, and then overtake him.

“Wow, what would I do without you?”

“You would fail.”

“Well then I suppose I should thank you, Dwight.”

“You can thank me later, after I win.” Dwight picks up his phone and starts dialing before Jim can distract him again with this…trash talk. Doesn’t Jim know by now that he cannot be fazed by childish antics?

It’s an hour before they’re supposed to leave and Dwight still hasn’t caught up. He’s trying to keep his frustration in check, drumming his fingers forcefully on his desk and debating whether or not to call back and see if any of his future clients have changed their mind. He’s checking his notes when Jim speaks.

“Hey Dwight.”

“What do you want? I am in sell mode. You know not to speak to me.”

“Yeah, I’m making an exception. Do you think you can take these last two businesses on my list?”

“Why?”

“Just…take them.”

“I don’t want pity, Jim. I don’t need pity to win.”

“It’s not pity, Dwight. I’m…feeling kind of burnt out.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, in fact, I think I’m heading home.” He stretches. “You can finish up here, right?”

“I should have known. I’m showing signs of resurgence and you decide to run away. Like a little…running away…girl.”

“Ouch, Dwight, ouch.”

Dwight grabs the piece of paper from Jim’s desk. “Just leave. You’ll need your beauty sleep so you can make it in on Monday.”

Jim gathers up his things and turns to leave. As he passes reception he pauses for a minute, and then turns around.

“Dwight.”

“What?”

“Thanks.”

“Well, I was probably going to have to clean up after you, anyway. It’s part of my job description.”

Jim looks down, stuffs his hands deep in his pockets. “No…I mean, thanks for today, I…had fun. Kind of.”

Dwight doesn’t know what to say.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jim shrugs. “I guess I have fun when I’m losing.”

“You must have fun around me all the time, then.”

Jim laughs. “See you, Dwight.”

Dwight watches him leave, and feels slightly disappointed. Jim was almost impressive today in his valiant effort to win a losing battle. Maybe he’s not a lost cause, after all. For a moment Dwight thinks that on Monday, despite everyone being there, things will be different.

After all, they were an unstoppable team, once.

Jim sits next to Dwight in the conference room.  A Sales Call.  Their first together in 2 years.  In spite of himself, he feels a little excited.

They don’t talk about what approach they’re going to use on the way over.  Leaning against the car while Dwight headbangs inside, Jim taps his foot and feels five years younger.  He’s glad he’s on the outside of the car, this time.

The minute Dwight asks to use the phone, Jim knows which way they’re going, and that they would close the deal.  It works every time (except for the time Kelly put them on hold), and is Dwight’s favorite; it’s one of the first “tricks” he taught Jim after he first started.

They’re on their way back when Jim can feel drumming on his headrest, can hear familiar humming.  They’re alone, and Jim thinks, what the hell.

“Dwight, I’ve got to ask you.”

The drumming stops.

“What?”

“What song is that?”

“What song is what?”

“You always used to hum that song after we closed a sale, and now you’re doing it again.  I’ve always…I just wondered what song it was.”

The backseat becomes quiet, and Jim takes an opportunity at the next light to look back.  Dwight is looking out the window.  “Dwight.  Is it some Motley Crue song?  Iron Maiden?”

“I made it up.”

“Wow, I had no idea you were in a band.”

“It’s not..just stop, Jim.  It’s just a song I made up for us.”

“For us.”

“Like a theme song.  Every team needs a theme song.”

“Oh.”  Jim doesn’t quite know what else to say, and he’s relieved when Dwight changes the subject to Karen.

He’s returning from coffee, moving from one awkward situation to another as Dwight approaches him slowly, pulling him into a hug.  They stand there for a moment, and Dwight doesn’t speak after he releases him and walks away.  Jim feels like something just ended.

He and Karen get on the elevator, and when as the doors close she finally speaks.

“So, that was weird.”

Jim almost smiles to himself for a moment, thinking, until Karen nudges him with her elbow.

“No, that was Dwight.”