He finds himself watching the receptionist.
It aches in a way that he didn’t know it could. How he can feel both relieved and overwhelmed with regret in the same breath is nothing short of a mystery. And yet here he is, glad to glance up a stranger for whom he feels absolutely no affinity because he can get his messages without his heart catching in his throat. But, somehow the sting of missing her burns his eyes and has him blinking back tears.
Considering the emotional rollercoaster it sends him spinning on he really shouldn’t cast his eyes up to the reception desk every twenty-seconds. Yet he does.

She’s nothing like her. If it had to liken this receptionist to anyone, it would be Kelly. She’s shrill and sharp and oh so chatty. She’s nice enough, but she’s a bit much.
Jim has a feeling that she’s rather unimpressed with him too - it’s almost like she’s sized him up based on his knowledge of twenty-first century pop culture icons and found him lacking.
If she catches him staring, which she has, a couple million times, she rolls her eyes at him. It’s not in that shared commiseration over their dull workplace way either. It’s more of a stop looking at me you creep sort of way.
He feels like - well hopes - he’s perfected the blank stare over her shoulder look because she probably hasn’t been too off the mark with finding his staring weird…
Despite regularly mulling this all over, when the phone rings, his gaze immediately shifts back to her.
He watches her uninspired and yet enthusiastic, “Dunder Mifflin, this is Linda,” with as much disinterest as he can muster. Her nose scrunches and she frowns. He hears her mumble something else and then her eyes are zeroing in on his. The distaste on her face intensifies.
“Please hold, I’ll transfer you,” she bites out, sounding decidedly less than impressed.
The phone on his desk screeches to life. He grasps the receiver. “It’s for you,” she states and transfers the call.
Everything he’s missing hangs heavy on his chest. He tries not to imagine the way that Pam’s voice would have floated softly down the line. He tries not to remember the teasing lilt to her tone as she informed him who was calling.
He tries. He fails. Every time he fails. He hates himself all the more for it. He can’t even do the most menial of all tasks like answering the damn phone without thinking of the woman who crushed his heart.

“Jim Halpert,” he paints on a hint of professionalism, his tone far lighter than the black cloud weighing heavy on his soul.
“Jimbo,” Michael trills down the line. He doesn’t have to see him to know he’s bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet.
“Hi Michael,” and tries to infuse some slightly artificial joy into his reply. Things between him and Michael have been strained at best in recent months. It’s only because of their heart to heart at the convention last week that Jim was able to reassure him that the move had not in fact been about Michael and had been about his own personal life being shot to hell. Michael had enthusiastically forgiven him for the slight - which as it turned out had meant a phone call everyday to bro out and catch up (Michael’s words). Jim would describe it as heartfelt procrastination.
“What are you doing this weekend?” Michael’s tone is casual and breezy, but Jim knows him well enough to detect that this is some sort of a trap.
“Stuff. Plans. You know,” he brushes past the question. “What are you doing?”
“I’m throwing a birthday party!”
“Oh?”
Michael’s birthday is March and it’s, he glances at the calendar on his desk to confirm he hasn’t lost his mind, October. “Who for?” he adds.
Michael chuckles at his confusion. “My condo!”
“Your condo?” Jim clarifies with the quirk of his brow.
“Yes! My baby is one whole year old! It’s a day to be celebrated!”
“Oh.” Sure. That seems… on brand for Michael.
“You’re invited,” Michael beams. “I’ll send you the e-vite,” and then he twists the emotional knife. “I’ve never gotten an e-vite. You must have typed my email address wrong when you sent the ones for your barbecue last year.”
It’s all Jim can say to mutter, “oh,” again.
“We really miss you. You have to come. You don’t have any real plans for the weekend.” He just keeps twisting that knife that’s plunged into Jim’s chest.
He’s about to ask the question that he dreads he already knows the answer too. Will Pam be there? He blanches at their horrible almost interaction on the phone last week at the conference, Michael’s have fun on your date rings in his ears.
“Have you invited…” he starts to say, but then he hears Michael’s office door open and another voice hums in the background.
“I’m telling Jim how much we miss him,” Michael bellows excitedly.
“No. Michael. Stop.” There’s a kerfuffle and he can hear what he assumes is Dwight wrestling the phone away from Michael. “He’s lying.”
“What’s that, Dwight? This line is a little patchy. Did you say that you miss me? That’s sweet.” Jim takes an opportunity when he gets one.
“No!” Dwight thunders, “I do not miss you! I didn’t say that.”
“I’m touched, Dwight. I miss you too.” He knows exactly which buttons to press. The sad thing is, based on this interaction alone (which has unintentionally improved his mood as messing with Dwight always does) he actually does miss Dwight. What has he become?
“Michael,” Dwight hisses softly, clearly trying to mute the receiver. “Jim is as insufferable as always.”
He can hear them struggle over the phone. Michael wants to give him reassurances that his absence has indeed been felt by all and Dwight wants to continue putting him in his place.
“Dwight,” Jim calls, pulling his attention back to the phone.
He grunts in response.
“If you didn’t care that I was gone, you wouldn’t be in here talking to me. You’d be out making a sale. Obviously, talking to me is more important than doing a good job. I’m touched, really.” He even places his hand over his heart in jest, as if Dwight is standing before him and can actually see the motion.
“Pfft. Please, no one cares that you’re gone. Only Pam is miserable,” he snorts derisively. “I bet I’ve made more sales than you this month.”
Jim loses focus on the game he’s playing with Dwight. Pam is miserable?
He probably has made more sales than Dwight this month and he’d love to rub it in his face just a little, enough so that he’ll stomp his feet walking from Michael’s office to his desk. But instead he mutters a distracted, “uh, sure,” and ignores Dwight gloating in response.
“Will you come to my party?” Michael has reclaimed the phone.
“I don’t know, Michael,” he answers honestly. “It might be… hard.”
“I know she misses you too.” God he hopes Dwight has left the room. “She’s quiet all the time…” he trails off. “Please say you’ll come?”
“I’ll think about it,” he lies through his teeth. There’s no way he can do that. No way.
“Call me back tomorrow and tell me your answer,” Michael demands, quickly adding, “bye,” and slamming down the receiver.
Jim is left saying, “you can call me back,” to the dial tone. He can’t call Michael back because that would mean calling the, he swallows the lump in this throat, receptionist. Nope. Not happening.

She’s permitting herself eight glances at his desk per day. Enough for one per hour. She keeps a tally on the post-it note next to her monitor.
She leads a sad, sorry existence. It’s pathetic. The only reason she’s put a cap on it at all is because Ryan was starting to get weirded out. A weirded out Ryan was a pretty rude Ryan to be frank. And even if he hadn’t figured out why she was staring at his desk, his comments would have certainly alerted the rest of the office.
She doesn’t need these people knowing any more about her personal life. Calling off the wedding had been awkward enough as it was, and the constant barrage of super inappropriate comments from her coworkers hadn’t helped.
She might have laughed some of them off, had she had someone to laugh about them with.
Kelly was the closest thing she had to a friend in the office these days, and she certainly wasn’t about to have a deep and meaningful conversation with her about the mess of emotions that had taken over her life.
She did not need to be gossiped about even more. And that was that.

She already had a strange feeling that Michael knew far more about her personal life than she’d ever told him. That feeling had multiplied tenfold since his return from that stupid convention last week. He’d gone from talking about Jim only in terms like traitor betrayer Judas to fondly reminiscing about all the good times they’d shared. It felt like he was deliberately dropping his Jim-love in front of her too.
She wasn’t an idiot. She knew that Michael was calling Jim everyday. They’d obviously mended some fences. Good for them.
If Jim wanted to mend fences with her, he knew where to find her. But, clearly he didn’t…
Hell, she could see that Dwight and Michael were in his office on the phone to Jim now. Dwight’s face was brightening to a rosier shade of red with each passing second. A sure sign that Jim was pushing his buttons as only Jim could.
Michael was grinning from ear to ear.
She remembered smiling like that for Jim too. She didn’t need Michael waxing lyrical about the good times to remember them. It was all she thought about.
How was Michael to know that Jim consumed every waking thought she had?

Dwight storms from Michael’s office as she loses herself to her thoughts. There’s steam rising from his ears, or at least there will be when she jots down a quick cartoon sketch version of him on her notepad in a minute…
Her gaze flickers back to Michael’s office, wishing she could so easily pick up the phone and call Jim. Michael’s eyes meet hers and he offers her a sad smile. His lips move as he murmurs something into the phone. She blushes under his sympathy and can’t help feeling like they’re talking about her. God, she hopes they’re not.
She drops her gaze, and sets about drawing grumpy Dwight. Once she’s satisfied with the quick sketch, she opens her bottom draw and shoves it on top of the ever growing pile of notes and doodles that she wants to send to him, but never will. There’s also a pile of email drafts and half-written text messages. No words feel like enough to fix anything though, so they remain unfinished.
Michael quietly makes his way over to her desk. It’s disconcerting. A quiet Michael is a gentle, considerate Michael and she feels a lot less sure of how to handle him. He’s more perceptive than he means to be sometimes, and it curls her gut with too much emotion. She can’t deal with too much Jim talk. Her heart throbs too much already with the awareness of it all.
“Pam?”
“Yes, Michael,” she attempts for normal, but her voice is strained. She let herself fall too deeply into her thoughts just now and now she’s on the precipice. One kind word or mention too many and she may just fall over the edge and begin openly weeping in the workplace. She’d really rather save that for her empty apartment.
He clears his throat and eyes her nervously. This isn’t good. “I clicked on another email from a nice Nigerian prince and IT have locked down my account again. What do they know anyway? I was just trying to do the man a favor, and he was going to pay me for it… Win-win.”
He’s lying. Michael is straight up lying to her. Oscar had finally gotten through to him last month about spam-scam emails and given him a great handbook of examples for reference. Just last week he had successfully avoided a celebrity sex tape scam. Jan had had to threaten him with formal disciplinary action to prevent him from calling Oscar to tell him about the victory. Given the recent circumstances, Jan was slightly concerned that direct contact with Oscar would lead to a lawsuit. But that was a whole other thing… This now. This was Michael lying to her. But why…
She gazes up at him, plastering a carefully neutral expression on her face. “Okay.”
“I need you to send an email for me.” There it is.
It only takes a split second before the penny drops. She can’t school the flash of horror that whips across her face.
“No, Michael,” she whispers. “Can’t Dwight?” It’s a plea.
Michael studies her carefully. “I think it would be better coming from you.”
She wrings her hands. “Please Michael…”
“Pamela,” he murmurs. “I need you to forward my condo birthday party e-vite to Jim.”
His name rings in her ears as Michael confirms what she fears. She closes her eyes. “Please Michael,” she begs. “Just send it yourself.”
She takes a deep breath that does little to settle her. Michael slowly shakes his head. “You’re the receptionist, Pam. It should come from you.”
And she can’t. She can’t explain to Michael why she can’t send it. She can’t send it. She can’t. She —
Michael smiles kindly at her. “You can do it. It’ll be okay.”
And once again, she feels like he knows more than she thinks he should know.
He clumsily leans over the desk and pats one of her hands. “You can do it, Pam,” he repeats and flashes her his most encouraging smile.
No. No, she absolutely cannot do it.

Michael returns to his office and grasps his world’s best boss mug in both hands, gazing down at it affectionately. His condo birthday party will be amazing. All his very dearest colleagues - nay friends - will be there. He’s sure of it.
If there’s one thing he’s learned from years in this position it’s that karaoke is better shared with friends. And that his neighbor Colin is a real party pooper at 2am on a Tuesday night. Stupid thin condo walls. Well, Colin can suck it come Saturday when he hosts the best party of the year. Maybe if he wasn’t such an asshat, he’d be invited. But not this time, no, he’s shouted through Michael’s walls one too many times… He’s going to miss out, and that seems like fair punishment for his less than neighborly behavior.

Dear Jim she types and watches the cursor blink at her disparagingly. Too formal. 

The backspace button calls to her and she presses her finger down on it and starts over. 

Hi Jim and nope. Nope. That’s not it. It’s too blasé. She feels like Goldilocks, but there’s nothing that’s just right. 

It takes another twenty minutes and so many false starts that she loses track before she settles on Jim 

With that single word finalized, she takes a tea break. As the kettle boils, she seriously considers quitting her job. Michael is insisting she send this damn email because she’s the receptionist, right? So, she stops being the receptionist and problem solved. No email. It’s inspired. 

Except her rent is due next week. 

She watches the steam rise and tries to take deeper, steadier breaths. This is stupid. She shouldn’t feel so torn up about emailing Jim. 

He declared his love. She called off her wedding. That puts the ball in his court? Or maybe it’s in her court, because she didn’t tell him she called off her wedding. Kevin did though, she knows Kevin did… She’s sure Kevin told him, mostly because she strongly (and subtly, at least subtly enough to get by Kevin) suggested that he should. 

Oh god. What if he didn’t? No, that’s ridiculous. Of course Jim knows. There’s no way Michael and Dwight didn’t mention at the convention last week regardless of the whole Kevin thing.

Still, does that put the ball in her court? Probably. Definitely… All this thinking of balls and courts is stupid anyway. It didn’t matter where the ball is, because Jim has thrown his racquet in a tantrum-esque huff and stormed off the court.

That was the bottom line. She was stuck on the court by herself and Jim was out of the game. That’s what all this running away to Stamford suggested… That, coupled with him not reaching out when he heard that she called off the wedding more than confirmed that he’d moved onto the sidelines. 

The kettle whistles and she fills her teapot with a grimace. This stupid, beautiful teal teapot that stupid Jim gave her for stupid Christmas back before he derailed her stupid life. 

She leans into her anger. She lets it fuel her. She returns to her desk and lets her fingertips fly across the keyboard. 

The one word already typed mocks her. She glares at it, and finishes her stupid email. 

Jim, 

Michael asked me to forward this invite, sorry e-vite. 

I miss your stupid face.

Pam. 

She mulls it over for a moment, before changing the third line to a simple and slightly less pouty: I miss you. It‘s honest. It’s to the point. It’s doing what Michael asked.

She hits send before she can second guess it. 

Then she second guesses it. 

She forgot to mention the whole wedding thing, because can she really be sure that Kevin understood she wanted him to tell Jim, when she, you know, told him to tell Jim… 

She writes a second email. 

P.S. It’s Pam Beesly, by the way, in case you forgot who I am   

Nope, too passive aggressive. She backspaces. 

P.S. I don’t know if gossip makes it all the way out to Stamford, but I’ve got the good stuff. That Scranton receptionist? I have it on good authority that she called off her wedding. 

She hits send before she can really chicken out. If she’s on the court by herself, she may as well play a good, strong game… 

Jim’s email pings with a new alert. He ignores it, at least for the time being. Michael’s invitation isn’t going anywhere. It’s already the only thing on his mind, he doesn’t need confirmation of it to cement it into his frontal lobe. 

How can he call the office tomorrow? 

He shouldn’t be calling the office. It shouldn’t be on him. 

It’s not fair. He’s played all his cards. He’s held nothing to his chest. His hand has well and truly been revealed. 

And Pam, well, Pam threw her hand. Thinking in poker metaphors is not making this any easier on him. But, that’s where he’s at. 

Thanks to this line of thinking, images flicker through his mind in a distinctive shade of periwinkle. Images that he’s very persistently been working on erasing. 

It seems the tequila has not followed through on the promises it made him. 

He closes his eyes against the assault. Her soft I can’t and the way her gaze dropped to her hands haunt him. 

There’s nothing quite like having all your worst fears confirmed in black and white. There’s no misinterpreting that. 

The worst part is, his mind’s muscle memory had gotten so used to cataloguing every little detail when it came to her that the night where she crushed all his illusions is imprinted into his brain in perfect detail. 

He tries to blink it back now, all the memories of his lowest point. It’s all too vivid and even now, the faintest waft of her shampoo is sharp under his nose. 

It makes him feel ill. He gets up from his computer, and pours himself a mug of coffee. It’s the same trick department stores use - coffee beans to cleanse the palate between sniffing different varieties of perfume. He inhales his steaming mug deeply and attempts to think about literally anything else. 

It works, almost. And then he checks his emails… 

He almost pours the entire cup of hot coffee into his lap. Two new emails. Two new emails from Pam. 

He — 

What. He rubs his eyes. Still there. He rubs them again. There are still two new emails in his inbox. They’re still from Pam. 

He doesn’t know what to do. 

Obviously he has to open them. But does he want to open them? 

He could throw his computer out the window and quit his job. That’s always an option.

What does he want Pam to say? What could she say that he wants to hear? There’s such a thing as too little, too late, right? 

His heart whispers that no, there is no such thing as too late when it comes to Pam. 

Hell, he’d probably take a deathbed confession if she reached out to him. Oh. Maybe something’s wrong? Maybe? Maybe?

He needs to stop. He’s driving himself crazy. He just needs to open the damn emails. 

What if there are two emails because she didn’t even mean to send one to him, and the second one is a retraction? That’s probably it. 

His pulse continues to race. His spiraling thoughts have done little to assuage his rapidly beating heart. 

He reaches a shaking hand out to his computer mouse and brings the cursor over the first email. 

He takes a deep breath that just feels like he’s choking on air and presses into the email. 

Jim the first line reads and his foolish heart stutters in his aching chest. His eyes trace the remainder of the message. 

Michael asked me to forward this invite, sorry e-vite. 

I miss you.

Pam. 

Michael asked her to send the email. That stings. She misses him? That soothes the sting, but also stings in its own right which is a very confusing mix of emotions. It’s her own fault she misses him - she could have reached out a million times by now. 

But, and it’s an important but, she misses him. His heart thuds clumsily as he considers it. She misses him. 

He doesn’t scroll down to Michael’s e-vite. He’s already clicking into the next message. Oh. Oh… 

P.S. I don’t know if gossip makes it all the way out to Stamford, but I’ve got the good stuff. That Scranton receptionist? I have it on good authority that she called off her wedding. 

She called off her wedding, which he already knew, but that’s not the point. She’s telling him that she called off her wedding. 

She’s playing a card? 

Michael watches as the clock ticks over to 4.45pm and feels confident that he’s given Pam more than enough time. 

“Pam the mam,” he grins at her, coming to stand at reception. 

A tiny grimace plays at her lips, but he has no idea what that’s about. Women. Such a mystery. Lucky, he’s a great detective in his own right. He’s pretty good at figuring that sort of stuff out. 

“Hi Michael,” she replies. She barely glances up from her computer. She’s a great, hardworking receptionist like that. 

He leans in closer and whispers conspiratorially, “how did you go with the super important e-vite task I set for you today?” 

“Fine,” she offers him a quick, tight smile. 

“Any replies yet?” 

She drops her gaze. “Nope,” she murmurs and it’s barely more than a whisper. 

“Huh. Not to worry. I’m sure I’ll get an answer tomorrow.” He taps his fingers on the counter. Jim always used to do that when he was up here. He was such a cool guy, always had the smooth moves. 

Pam startles at the sound, eyes flashing up to him for a moment. He must have given her a small shock. That’s all. 

“Jim wouldn’t miss something important like my condo’s birthday after all.” 

Pam offers him another barely there smile. She’s extra quiet this afternoon. Maybe she’s tired, or maybe… 

“Jim misses you, you know. He told me at the convention. I’m sure he’s dying to see you,” he pauses, thinking it over, “and me, at the party.” 

“Oh,” Pam says and goes back to staring at her computer. 

When he says goodbye to her on his way out the door ten minutes later, he swears her goodbye is a little brighter than earlier and maybe he’s gotten through to her after all. 

He rewards himself with an ice cream cone on his drive home for a job well done. 

It’s only his colleagues filtering out of the building that alerts him to the fact it’s the end of the day. 

“See ya, Big Tuna,” Andy croons and it awakens him from his stupor - somewhat. 

He’s spent the entire afternoon parsing the fifty-two words from Pam in his inbox. He unpacks both the messages one word at a time, giving each word a new inflection every time. 

After several hours of doing this, his mind spins with all the alternate meanings he has assigned to each message. 

He has a headache. And a heartache. 

His coworkers leaving settles something leaden in his chest. He hasn’t replied. The work day has ended, and he hasn’t replied. 

Is Pam disappointed? he wonders. 

He would be.

Is she sitting, all but frozen, at her computer like he is, reluctant to have the day end without some sort of understanding? 

It’s 5.37pm when he makes a decision. It’s probably a stupid decision, and he’s putting far too much weight into it. 

He’s going to call the Scranton office.

Now.

She usually leaves before 5.30pm. So, if she’s still there, he tells himself it will mean something. 

It will mean that she’s sitting staring at her screen waiting for him to reply. 

And if she isn’t? Well, he doesn’t like what that means. She’s just sent an email for Michael. Business as usual. 

It’s such a ridiculous test. She could have an appointment after work for all he knows. There are so many factors that may be out of her control that he can’t even begin to predict. 

Even so… He knows Pam. He knows Pam like the back of his hand. 

Or at least, he thought he did, before she crushed his hopes and dreams. 

Then again, even that fit with his understanding of Pam. She wasn’t a risk taker. She didn’t throw away a ten year relationship on the spur of the moment (although, he thought she’d known and felt the same way, so it shouldn’t have taken her so vastly by surprise). 

That’s why he’d come back the second time, at his desk, to really shoot his shot. 

He’d given her time to process. A whole fifteen minutes, which had felt like a lifetime in the moment. 

But now, he wonders if it was enough time. Clearly something, somewhere had changed things for her, she had after all called off the wedding. He has no idea if he had anything to do with it though. 

Hell. Roy could have gotten cold feet at the thought of actually committing in the two weeks after Jim had thrown himself pitifully at Pam and that’s why the wedding was cancelled. That was just as likely knowing the complete buffoon that was Roy. 

He wretches himself from his thoughts. Any more thinking and he’ll talk himself out of it. 

The clock blinks condescending at him. 5.41pm. You’re setting yourself up to fail his mind whispers. Call during business hours tomorrow. But then he won’t actually know anything will he?  Because she has to be there answering phones tomorrow. 

He reaches for his phone with sweaty palms. 5.42pm. She never stays this late. 

His mind conjures up images of better days. Michael’s movie script. Her telling Roy to go home. Grilled cheese. Dwight. Dwigt. 

Ugh. How is Dwight part of his good memories? 

Okay, so she rarely stays this late. There are exceptions to every rule. 

His fingers key in the number as his thoughts spiral. 

It rings and rings and rings and then rings some more. 

He’s surprised at how fiercely the wave of disappointment crashes over him. 

The rational part of his brain expected this. That she wouldn’t be there. So why is he spinning under the depths of his devastation… 

The ringing stops. 

“Hello,” a timid voice answers. 

His heart stops beating. 

There’s some stupid part of her that thinks that maybe Jim has just been busy with the workday and hasn’t even seen her emails yet. 

Maybe he’ll reply after 5 she tells herself. She’ll stay for ten minutes just in case. 

Ten minutes quickly (and yet also painstakingly - how does that work?) becomes ten more minutes and then ten more and before she knows it, she’s been sitting at her desk for over half an hour. 

He hasn’t replied. 

She doesn’t get it.

Who tells someone that they love them and then disappears and cuts them out of their life? 

She doesn’t regret calling off her wedding. That was definitely the right move. 

She just didn’t expect that the two most important relationships that she’s ever had in her life would end in the same month.

She never expected to lose both of them. 

After Jim’s declaration, she knew she couldn’t have them both. That wasn’t fair on anyone. 

So, she chose Jim. Well, really she chose herself. 

But, by actively not picking Roy, she thought she’d at least have the chance to choose Jim.

It’s all such a mess.

A mess of her own making. 

And Jim’s. 

Jim’s at least strewn some of the chaos here. He’d tossed a glitter bomb into the calm, clean room that was her life. Sure, she could vacuum up the bulk of the mess, but sure as shit she’s still finding glitter all over the place. 

Everything is a reminder of him. Especially here at the office. 

She glances at the time with a resigned sigh. 

It’s after 5.40pm. 

She needs to get out of here before she loses anymore of her damn mind. 

She hits send/receive on her emails one final time. The no new messages taunt her. 

She powers her computer down. Tomorrow will be hell. She already knows she’s going to spend the entire day glued to her inbox with her hopes rising and falling like a jackhammer with each email that filters through her inbox. 

She rounds the desk and starts to pull on her coat. 

The phone rings. 

Her first thought is that she’s forgotten to switch the thing over to messages. 

Damn it.

She should answer it. 

Maybe. It is after hours.

Most people hang up after a few rings if nothing happens. Especially after hours. 

It keeps ringing. 

She chews at her bottom lip indecisively. 

Another ring. 

She steps back around the desk. 

“Hello,” she answers and then remembers herself. “Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam.” 

She’s answered by a sharp intake of breath. 

There’s a throat clearing and then - 

“Pam?” 

Her heart thuds erratically in her chest, a hummingbird with wings beating faster than the human eye can see. 

She forgets everything. 

The past few months. The hurt. The slap to the face that was him leaving. 

For a second, they’re them again and she loses herself in it. 

“No, I’m Pam,” she teases. 

He doesn’t answer her immediately and it all comes flooding back. They’re not them anymore. 

Her eyes prickle with the sting of incoming tears. 

They’re not even friends. She can’t answer the phone and joke with him. 

She wants a redo. 

She wants to answer and politely say oh because obviously he didn’t mean to call her. He’s calling practically an hour after the office was supposed to close. He’s trying to get an answering machine. 

He’s not trying to talk to her. 

And here she is, being ridiculous and getting caught up in the sound of his voice and forgetting for a second that there isn’t a giant, gaping chasm between them. 

“What are you still doing in the office?” he asks, confirming all her worst fears. He doesn’t want to talk to her. 

She answers the phone and jokes with him and he knows with certainty that he will never get over loving Pam Beesly. 

The whole time he’s been in Stamford, he’s still been on the hook. The line has been loosened and he hasn’t been fighting against the tension, but he’s still been on the hook. Three words from her and she’s started to reel him back in. 

He wants to tease her. He wants to do a whole bit and say hi, I’m Jim, but the hook jerking him back to her catches him off guard for a moment and he just wants confirmation to the meaning he’s placed on her still being at work. 

He wants her to say that she was waiting to hear from him. It’s stupid and a little desperate. But he wants to hear it. He needs to hear it. 

“What are you still doing in the office?” he hears himself ask. 

“Oh,” the humor has drained from her tone. “Just, umm, stuff. You know…” she trails off. “You?” 

“I, uh, working,” he answers like the coward he is. If he can’t be honest, how can he expect honesty from her? “Checking my emails,” he hedges a whole lot closer to the truth. 

“Oh yeah, anything good?” The teasing lilt her tone is back. 

“Just an invite to the event of the season. I’m not sure you would have heard about it.” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s an e-vite. Get with the times, Halpert.” 

The way his name rolls off her tongue sends a shiver coursing through him. 

If a week ago, someone had told him he would be bantering with Pam Beesly, like old times, he would have had them committed. 

“I can’t believe I’m talking to you,” he murmurs, his thoughts spilling unfiltered out of his mouth. 

He wants to catch them and swallow them before they make it to her, but then she answers - 

“I’m glad I’m talking to you,” and any trace of regret dissipates. 

“I, same,” he says and finds he isn’t lying. He really has missed this, despite the fact it always twisted him up in more ways than he could count. 

“So,” she breathes. “What time is it there?” 

“What time is it here?” He almost laughs, but he’s not there yet. “Umm, we’re in the same time zone.” 

“Oh, yeah. Right.” 

If he squints just right, he can conjure up memories of her pink tinged cheeks. That’s how he imagines her now. Her bottom lip worried between her teeth as she smiles that soft, teasing smile. 

He swallows his sentimentally. 

“How far away did you think we were?” 

“I don’t know,” and then her tone shifts. The levity slips and she murmurs, “it feels far.” 

That’s the understatement of the century. 

“It does,” he breathes. 

“Oh,” she brightens. “If you’re in the same time zone, you’re close enough to come to Michael’s condo’s unmissable birthday party?” 

His heart slaps against his chest, beating out renewed hope. Is that an invitation? 

It’s the closest he’s going to get to her saying please come and hope swells. 

It’s a heady rush. 

This is what it is to be an addict and finally get the hit he has been craving for months. 

He clears his throat. 

“Yeah,” he squeaks, a casual million octaves too high. “I guess,” he adds and because he’s a masochist, he tacks on, “I’ll have to cancel my hot date.” 

There’s silence. He thinks he hears her swallow roughly. What reaction was he looking for here? 

Again, he wants to reach through the phone and snatch his stupid words back. 

“...with my sofa,” he amends, but the damage is done. 

She offers him a pitiful giggle and gone is the lighter, happier version of Pam who had answered the phone earlier. 

Hot date he says and the floor opens up and swallows her whole. 

Of course he has a hot date. He’s Jim. He’s gorgeous and funny and clever. There’s no way he’s waiting around for her to get her life in order.

This is why he hasn’t reached out. 

He’s been busy with moving on.

Beautiful women flicker behind her eyelids, peppy cheerleader types, Pam 2.0s.

She doesn’t measure up. 

When he speaks again she realizes that she’s forgotten to give him any sort of response. 

“...with my sofa,” he throws into the widening distance between them. 

She chokes out a strangled laugh. 

She’s not sure she believes him. Jim would have no trouble getting an actual hot date. 

She thinks back on that mess of a blind date that Kelly forced her on last week. Jim would be so much more charming than that on a blind date. 

She closes her eyes for a moment and imagines the excitement that she - or any woman - would feel on finding Jim before them on a blind date. 

There’s no way anyone would be disappointed. 

“I was kidding, Pam,” she can see him run his hand through his hair as she hears the strained whoosh of air that follows his words. 

“I’m not… dating.” 

“Me neither,” she doesn’t know why she’s telling him this, but she feels like it’s important that he knows. 

“I thought…” he trails off. 

“I did,” she sighs. “I let Kelly set me up, because…” I couldn’t have you her mind finishes. “It was terrible.” 

“That’s good,” the relief colors his tone and bouys her hope. He catches himself. “I mean…” 

“Never again.” Unless it’s you. 

They’re both speaking in half sentences and jumbled truths. 

“So, will you come?” That’s the crux of this whole stilted conversation. 

“I think I will,” he decides. Her palms feel clammy. Her stomach somersaults. 

“I’ll see you on Friday night,” she murmurs although she doesn’t quite believe it. 

“Do me a favor?” 

“Anything,” and she means it. 

“Don’t tell Michael.” 

“I’ll do you one better.”

“Yeah?” 

“I won’t tell Dwight either.” 

She feels like he smiles at that. She can’t see him of course, but she thinks she can hear his smile. Surely their years of friendship can grant her that. 

The cleaning crew are at the door and the first one through throws Pam a look that clearly says what the hell are you still doing here. 

Right.

“I, uh, have to go,” she frowns. 

“Oh. Me too,” his tone is tinged with something that harkens all too much of disappointment. 

“See you Friday,” she repeats as her nerves light up like a carnival inside her chest. 

“Yep, Friday. Bye Pam.” 

“Bye Jim.” 

She pushes the phone back into the cradle, closing her eyes for a few moments to soak it all in. He called. Maybe he didn’t mean to speak to her, but he called. 

She lets the moment fill her. The long dark tunnel she’s in suddenly reveals a sliver of light on the horizon. 

There may just be an end in sight after all. 

Pam hangs her coat on the rack as she enters the office the following morning and revels in the way the weight leaves her shoulders with it. 

Jim called her. He really called her. Or he accidentally caught her by dialing the office, but that was semantics. He didn’t seem unhappy to catch her. 

Her desk greets her, the pen lid she’d been nervously fiddling with still front and center. She didn’t dream it. She’d spoken to Jim. 

The looming fear of the first time is no longer hanging over her. 

It had happened. There was no taking it back. There were only more conversations to come. 

He was coming to Michael’s condo’s birthday party tomorrow night. 

She felt a little like Dwight’s phone - of all things. Once Jim had unscrewed it and added a quarter every day. The weight had started to build up. It had become heavier and heavier. Then, one day Jim emptied it, and when Dwight picked it up, he had hit himself in the face with it, because it was just so much lighter than anticipated.

That was Pam today. The quarters had been taken out. She was much, much lighter. 

She hadn’t even realized how much the quarters had been weighing her down until she was free of them. 

They had finally spoken again. 

She brews her tea before sitting at her desk. She lets the sunshine fill her, the black cloud looming over her head has floated to another patch of sky. 

Michael blazes in in all his Michael glory. “Pamela,” he beams. “Receptionist extraordinaire.” 

“Good morning Michael,” she returns his smile and finds she’s faking it a little less than yesterday. 

He eyes her cautiously. “Any important email messages this morning?” 

She shakes her head carefully. “No, sorry.” Technically she’s not lying, there haven’t been any emails. 

He frowns at her momentarily, before schooling his features. “Not to worry. Plenty of time. You’ll let me know?” 

“Of course,” she lies through her teeth by omission. 

“Immediately?” 

“Sure.” 

Michael seems content with that. She’s not sure why she doesn’t tell him that Jim has said he’s not coming - her mind supplies the air quotations. 

It’s not that she’s looking for an excuse to email Jim again today, but maybe she’s looking for an excuse to email Jim again today? 

So, she does. 

Jim she types and this time it only takes her all of one second. She doesn’t like to boast, but her typed words per minute score is actually pretty good - when she isn’t overthinking every word. 

Of course, then the phone rings, well and truly interrupting her flow. She stifles a groan and lets her professionalism take the reins. 

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam,” she answers easily. 

“Hi,” the voice on the other end smiles at her. She knows the sound of a smile in his voice. 

“Hey,” she answers with a smile of her own. A pleasant warmth spreads through her, filling her from head to toe. It’s not the tea. 

“Michael asked me to call him today,” Jim explains. 

“Okay,” she nods, but makes no attempt to transfer him. “I was about to email you,” she blurts out. 

“Really?” and somehow his tone radiates joy. 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you want me to hang up so you can get back to that?” he teases. 

“Hmm,” she pretends to consider it. “No, I might as well just tell you now.” 

“Might as well.” 

This. This is what she was thinking about earlier. The first interaction is over. The worst is over. The awkwardness has lessened. They’re not them again, but they’re a whole hell of a lot closer. 

“So,” Jim prompts. 

“Oh, I was just going to tell you I hadn’t worked up the courage yet to tell Michael that you’re not coming.” And tell you to do your own dirty work her mind jokes, but she’s balancing a careful tightrope between what they had been and what they could be. They’re in a weird middle ground at present. As crazy as it seems, she doesn’t want to come on too strong and scare him away again. 

“Couldn’t face those puppy dog eyes, hey?” 

She loves that Jim gets it. No one else gets the enigma that is Michael Scott quite like the people who have worked with him for years. 

“Exactly,” she deadpans. “If only I were impervious to Michael’s charms.” 

“He’s hard to resist.” 

“The good news is now you get to do it.” 

“Pass?” 

“I’ll transfer you,” she threatens. 

He chuckles. 

It’s the best sound she’s ever heard. She wasn’t sure she’d get this again. His easy laughter. Him. 

“I have an idea,” he says and she almost swears that she can hear the shuffle of his hand rising to rub at the back of his neck in that delightfully awkward way it always does when he’s a little nervous. “You need to tell me if it’s too mean?” 

“Let’s hear it.” 

“I also, umm, needed you to know it was a joke and wasn’t real if Michael said anything about it.” 

“Oookay,” she answers slowly. She’s not sure she likes where this is going. 

“Well, I want to surprise Michael, obviously, like I said last night,” he adds. 

“With you so far.” 

“At the same time, I don’t want to hurt his feelings. He thought I left because he wasn’t a good boss,” Jim sighs. 

Oh Michael. Bless his sweet, completely self-centered heart. 

“Wow. Way to take something not at all about him and well, actually that makes complete sense,” her eyebrows head towards her hairline. “Please continue.” 

“So I need a good reason for not coming. And by good, I mean something that Michael will understand.” Which they both know to mean something that won’t hurt his feelings too dramatically. 

She snorts, “right. You’re in a coma? That’s going to be difficult for you to tell him given your condition.” 

“Ha. Exactly,” he pauses, inhaling a deep breath, the words coming out in almost a jumble.  “I was thinking about telling him I have a date. Again, not true, in the slightest.”

It’s almost like he saw into her mind last night, when he’d made the joke about having a hot date and she’d lost her goddamn mind with unspoken jealously. 

She’s struck with a fleeting thought, an imagine if… and then the words are out of her mouth before she has a chance to really think them through. “What if it was?” 

“Huh?” 

The idea crystalizes a little more in her mind. So much for not coming on too strong. 

There’s something in the back of her head that screams that this is it. This is the way she can ask for what she wants without having the courage to just come out and say it. She’s not as brave as Jim in a poorly lit parking lot. But, she can reach deep within her for a tiny ounce of courage. 

“What if you tell him you have a date, and I ask him if I can bring a plus one… and bring you. Then you’re not really lying and it’s like double jeopardy.” 

She hears a whoosh of air, like Jim’s been holding his breath, cautiously awaiting her response. She hopes he likes her answer. That he’s still open to it, to her. 

“So, I would be… your date?” 

Yes her mind screeches. Thankfully her mouth has a tiny bit more tact to it. “To the condo birthday party, yes.” 

“That sounds like some date, Beesly.” 

“Is that a yes?” she asks lightly, as if the entire world doesn’t hang in the balance. 

“Absolutely.”

She doesn’t realize that she’s forgotten to breathe until she sucks in an unsteady breath at his reply. 

“Okay,” she grins. “Okay.” 

“It’s a date,” he echoes the cacophony bouncing through her mind. 

She clears her throat, but her voice still comes out a little strangled. “I’ll email you my address. You can meet me there?” 

“Yes,” he grins. “Yeah, I can do that.” 

He didn’t expect the moment his life turned around to be 9.26am on a Thursday morning in Stamford. But, here he is. 

Un-engaged Pam Beesly has asked him on a date. It’s everything. 

He doesn’t know what to do with all this frantic, excited energy. 

He wants to jump from his desk. He wants to cheer from the rooftop. And maybe it’s a ruse, maybe it’s a prank on Michael. Yet, he knows Pam and she is anything but cruel and vindictive. 

She wouldn’t string him along like this now. She wouldn’t build his hopes up to send them plummeting back down. She knows how he feels and he knows in his very soul that she wouldn’t be that mean. 

It means something to her. It means everything to him. She suggested the date ruse. It’s not just a prank. 

How often does someone get a second shot at a first chance? He’s not going to screw this up. 

It’s a date and he will treat it accordingly. 

Before he’s had the chance to really rein in his whirling thoughts, Pam giggles. 

The sound snaps him back to some semblance of reality. 

“I’m going to transfer you to Michael now,” she whispers conspiratorially. “You good with the plan?” 

Is he good with it? It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. 

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “I am so good with it.” 

“Try not to sound so excited when you talk to Michael,” she says and he can hear his joy echoing in her voice. “You’ll break his heart.” 

“Actually, I think it will help to have him hear how excited I am about this date. Maybe he’ll forgive me for blowing him off.” 

“Good point,” she’s smiling, he loves that he can hear it in her tone. “Okay. I’m going to email you my address. Good luck with Michael.” 

“Thanks Pam,” his throat is momentarily dry, he swallows around it. “I’m looking forward to our date.” 

“I can’t wait,” she replies earnestly. “See you tomorrow Jim,” and then there’s a silence that swallows his me too before the hold music kicks in. 

“Jim. Jimothy. Jim,” Michael greets him enthusiastically. 

“Michael,” he grins. “World’s best boss.” 

He doesn’t have to see Michael to know that his chest puffs up in response. 

“I’m marking you down as definite for my party,” Michael grins. “Don’t tell Dwight, but I think you’re the world’s best employee.” 

Yeah, he’s definitely telling Dwight that sometime. 

“Or maybe it’s a draw with Pamela. She’s also a great employee.” 

Jim can see through the casual name drop. It’s anything but casual. Michael knows what he’s doing. He just has no idea how well it’s working. 

“About that,” Jim says, cycling back to the putting his name down thing. “I’m so sorry Michael. I wish I could make it. Really I do. But something has come up.”

“What?” Michael gasps. “Did someone die?” 

That’s a reach, even for Michael. 

“No, no. It’s not that,” he clears his throat and winces preemptively in anticipation of Michael’s reaction. “I have a date.” 

“Oh,” Michael gasps. The joy seeps from his tone. “Are you sure?” Gone is any hint of humor.

Serious Michael is a thing to behold. He doesn’t come around often, but when he does there’s a weight behind his words. 

“Yeah,” Jim sighs. “It’s time.” 

“You do what you need to,” Michael advises. “Can’t you take her out on Saturday night instead?” 

“She’s busy on Saturday,” he lies. “I’m really sorry Michael. I just… really like her. I need to take this chance, you know?” 

“I get it, Jim. Your date comes first. That’s okay.” 

He does seem to get it, which Jim finds oddly disconcerting. He had expected more theatrics and for Michael to pout and argue with him. 

This is all the more unsettling. Sometimes Michael is far more understanding than people give him credit for. 

“Thanks Michael, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” 

“No worries, Jimbo. I’ll catch you on the flippity flip.” 

“Talk to you later.”

He starts to bring the phone back to the cradle when he hears a frantic - 

“Wait.” 

“Michael?” 

“You have to tell me, about how the date goes,” Michael adds. “Call me Monday?” 

“Deal.” 

He hangs up the phone. Friday night is going to be something else. He’s going on a date Pam… and Michael… and the rest of their, well her, colleagues. 

Michael sets the phone down and frowns in the general direction of the reception desk. Pam looks so happy today and he has to crush her dreams. Ugh. That’s the worst.

At least Jim didn’t email her and tell her he had a date. That means now he can break the news gently… at the end of the day. 

He gets up and closes his blinds. It’s too hard to look at Pam right now, knowing what he has to do. 

He can’t believe Jim has a date. That was quick, considering how devastated he still had seemed at the convention last week. She must be some lady. 

He sighs. Well, that’s that. This whole entire day is a wash. He can’t work now that he’s worried about how Pam will cope with this terrible news. 

He spends the day considering his action and decides a less direct approach may be gentler. If he blurts out that Jim is dating Pam might cry and he doesn’t want that. But, if he hints at it, she might get the message without crushing her too completely. 

He steadfastly avoids Pam until the end of the day, eating lunch in his office and timing his bathroom breaks when she’s on the phone. 

Considering Pam is one of his best friends in the office, it’s easier than he anticipates to spend the entire day ignoring her. She doesn’t even seem that devastated which is a testament to his subtle avoidance skills. He’s pretty impressed with himself to be honest. She doesn’t even notice that he isn’t talking to her. Yeah, he’s that good. 

At 5.01pm, he approaches her desk cautiously. She’s a cornered animal and he doesn’t want to scare her away. 

“Jim can’t make it to my party,” he regards her carefully, with far more solemnity than usual. 

“Pamela. If you were going to do something. Anything. Now is the time. If you don’t, it might,” he pauses, his gaze dropping to the floor, “it might be too late.” He offers her a sad smile that reaches all the way to his eyes. 

It’s completely genuine. 

Her heart catches in her throat. 

He really cares about this. About them. 

It leaves her wondering if this prank is a little harsher than they intended it to be. 

She follows through on her end regardless, and watches the light drain from Michael’s eyes at her words. “It’s okay, Michael. Hey, could I bring a plus one to your party?” 

“Like a date?” He’s far more subdued than normal. She’s tempted to just spill the beans. 

She nods. He regards her quietly for a moment. 

“Sure, Pam. But, only if he’s good enough for you.”

“You’ll love him. Trust me, Michael. It will all be okay.” She really means it, she thinks he can see the sincerity shining in her eyes. 

Michael will be beyond ecstatic when she shows up with Jim tomorrow night, she knows this to be true. She just hopes his enthusiasm is enough to counter balance the worry he’s carrying in this moment. 

“I hope so,” Michael sighs. “Good night, Pam.” 

“Night,” she murmurs to his retreating figure. 

Tomorrow evening can’t come quickly enough. 

His jaw is starting to ache. He’s smiled more today than he has in months. Muscles long forgotten are flexing under the use. 

He’d solemnly asked Josh if he could take a half day early on and maybe implied that there was something wrong with one of his parents so he really shouldn’t be smiling this much, but he can’t help it. 

It’s not like he’s consciously instructing himself to grin every time a phone rings or the receptionist so much as breathes. It’s just that these things remind him so much of how his life has turned around in the past thirty-six or so hours. 

He finds himself watching the receptionist.

It aches in a familiar way. It’s a heady combination of a twinge of hope mixed with everything that brings him joy. 

And, sure, this receptionist is nothing like her. But she’s answering the phone with Dunder Mifflin, this is… and it’s enough for his memory to fill in the blanks. 

Linda, the receptionist here - honestly he forgets her name half the time, looks utterly baffled each and every time he beams at her. He’s gone from blank, brooding staring to unbridled enthusiasm. She’s dumbfounded at his about-face and he doesn’t blame her. 

He can’t see anyway to explain himself that doesn’t seem at least a little insane so he doesn’t. She can live with the mystery. 

All he cares about is getting through the next couple of hours of work so he can hit the road. 

He’s penciled in time for a complete breakdown at about the moment he hits the Scranton city limits. 

He can only remember one other time he’s been this nervous and yeah, that really hadn’t ended well. He’s going to need a minute to pull himself together. The nervousness buzzing through him has him bouncing in his seat, on edge and throwing wide smiles over towards reception. 

The evening can’t come quickly enough. 

Pam has given up on her tally.

She looks at Ryan’s desk every seven seconds with wide, frantic eyes and pinkened cheeks. 

Ryan notices because he’s not a complete idiot and glares at her with raised brows. 

He comes over to reception and hisses, “your staring is starting to get as weird as Michael’s.” 

She blushes, her cheeks warming like the midday sun. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “It’s not… you.”

He rolls his eyes at that and strides back to his desk muttering as he goes about how he needs to get out of this place. 

Michael had been pretty… enthusiastic about Ryan moving to Jim’s desk. There had been a couple of days of Michael beaming at Ryan through the blinds. Pam grins at the memory. At the time, she hadn’t been able to appreciate the humor in it. The ache in her heart too ever present. The loss at Jim’s desk still too raw. There was nothing funny about someone else seated in the place that Jim had once sat. 

But now? Now, it’s hilarious and she finds herself giggling at the memory. 

Ryan continues to glare at her, but his wrath means nothing and she continues to grin in his direction whenever the mood strikes her - which is all kinds of frequently. 

The day can’t pass quickly enough. 

Jim is practically electric by the time he leaves the office. The steady hum of nerves has him generating enough frantic energy to power a small city. 

The drive disappears far too quickly and not quickly enough. He hasn’t had time to gather himself and his hand threads through his hair again and again, leaving him looking as if he’s just crawled out of bed. At the same time, he doesn’t want to put this off any longer. He just wants to be where Pam is. 

It’s strange, this new energy he has, and sure, it’s mostly nerves. It takes him a while to realize that this undercurrent bubbling deep in his gut that leaves him feeling like a soda can on the brink of explosion is renewed hope. 

Huh. After that pummeling rejection and all this time, it’s amazing how quickly the word date spilling from Pam’s lips has turned him hopeful. 

Another mile ticks by and he inches his foot further down the accelerator, his anticipation taking the wheel. What’s a speeding ticket or two on the way to everything he’s ever wanted? 

Pam leaves the office in a flurry. Her hair is a frizzy mess and she wants to gentle its chaos ever so slightly. She assesses herself in her mirror critically. She doesn’t need blush, her frayed nerves have painted her cheeks a frantic shade of splotchy red. She wills herself to calm down, with no success. 

Nerves are supposed to be quiet, delicate things that twist your stomach on the wings of butterflies, soft and persistent. A careful fluttering that evokes gentle anxiousness. Pam’s are nothing like this. Her nerves are stray cats fighting, spitting and hissing and darting all over the place. Her stomach is up and down and across the room, never stilling for a moment. 

She might throw up. 

After she’d called it off with Roy and Jim had disappeared, she’d considered how strange it would be to date. She couldn’t see herself with anyone who wasn’t her fiance… with one exception, but he had left and it had seemed final at the time. 

This feels different. It takes her a moment to realize the extra chaos she’s feeling is excitement. The cats continue tying her insides in knots. She lets her upside down stomach remind her of how important this is. It’s her shot and she’s not going to miss. 

There’s a knock on her door. She gives up on doing anything with her hair. 

It’s Jim she reminds herself, in an attempt to settle her annoyance at her slightly less refined than ideal appearance. It’s Jim her heart trills and any sense of control she thought she had exits stage left. 

He stands on her doorstep. His heart is pounding so loudly he’s afraid she’ll come and answer the door from the rhythm it beats before his hand has the chance to formally knock. 

He needs a moment. He steadies himself, instructing the frantic beating to settle down. It does, as he raises his knuckles to rap against the door. After the first knock, his chest stills so much that he’s terrified he may pass out. He can see his heart in his mind, a bright cartoon approximation that’s shying away from the interaction that’s about to take place, nervous and scared and trying to hide behind his ribs and pretend it doesn’t exist. He’d laugh if it wasn’t so painfully accurate. The poor little guy is terrified of being hurt again, he’s all huge beads of sweat and averted eyes. 

She answers the door and smiles like she’s never smiled at him before. It’s almost as if anytime she’s ever smiled at him before a tiny part of her brain had whispered Roy-Roy-Roy and she’d held a part of herself back. 

Her smile now is unrestrained. Free. 

She smiles at him and his heart is clawing through his ribs in an attempt to get to her. Gone is the reluctance and fear. 

There is only her. 

She answers her door and there he is.

She has to fight herself from rubbing at her eyes and confirming the reality before her. The eyeshadow she’d just hastily scraped on the only thing steadying her hands.

Somehow, he’s even more handsome than she remembers. She smiles at him in greeting, wearing her heart on her sleeve and smiling like she’s always wanted to smile at him and never quite been able to under the spectre of Roy and loyalty and pretending she didn’t see what was right in front of her.

“Jim,” she breathes and he steps tentatively towards her, like she’s a skittish creature that he expects to recoil in fear. When she doesn’t flinch away, it must buoy him and he crosses some invisible line and softly brushes his lips to her cheek. 

Her flesh flames under his touch and she rises her cool fingers to trace where his lips have touched. 

“Hi,” he rumbles, his voice rough with emotion or nerves or something she’s not quite sure how to name. 

“Do you want to,” she jerks a thumb over her shoulder. 

He nods and she steps back. He mirrors her, their steps in sync, and he’s over the threshold and in her apartment. 

She chews her lip nervously as his eyes dart around the room before flicking back to her, bright and appraisingly. 

It’s only then she notices the delicate bouquet cradled in one of his hands. He notices her noticing it and it seems to remind him that he’s holding them. 

He blushes slightly and the cats in her stomach purr in delight. He stretches the flowers towards her. “I, umm, got these for you,” he offers softly. 

She raises a brow and reaches for them, carefully and deliberately letting her fingers brush against his. There’s current humming at the points where they connect. 

How has she been able to push this from her mind for the past few years? She’s been blind, stuck in the dark behind a blindfold of her own making. Ridiculous. 

“Thank you,” she manages to murmur, with one last brush of her fingertips against his. His forearms are bare, his sleeves rolled up the way they always are and she catches a sheen of goosebumps flittering across his skin. 

“It’s been so long since someone has brought me flowers,” she muses somewhat unthinkingly as she feels tension float through the air. 

Right, note to self, don’t talk about ex-fiancé on first date. 

But, it’s Jim and he’s always known how to make her feel better. He smiles gently at her and shrugs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve bought flowers for someone on a first date.” 

“Pulling out all the stops?” she teases. 

“You bet,” and his gaze burns with an intensity that has her heart drumming in her chest. 

She forces an unsteady smile to her lips. “Do you want to stop and get some dinner somewhere? Before we descend on the insanity that’s sure to come?” 

She invites him to dinner. He knows that’s supposed to happen, because this is a date after all, and food is usually a part of that equation. But, she asks him to dinner and he wonders if he’ll ever get used to this, her saying yes to him. 

He nods and tries to clear some of the joy from his mind to form coherent words. “Dinner sounds great. Where would you like to go?” 

She glances at her watch and he takes in her slightly furrowed brow. “It’ll have to be somewhere quick,” and she sounds slightly disappointed which sends his spirits soaring. She wants more time with him, and just him. 

She’s saying yes to him. 

Is this happiness? It’s been so long and this is so unlike anything he’s felt before - everything else pales in comparison, it’s almost unrecognizable. 

“Do you want to split a pizza?” he suggests. It’s quick and not quite as unsophisticated as drive thru burgers. He wants some sort of elevation to this evening. It needs to be special. 

“Alfredo’s?” she agrees. 

He knows exactly which buttons to push and he pulls away from her curb in the direction of Pizza by Alfredo. This elicits a practiced glare. 

“Really, Jim? You’ve been gone from Scranton for so long you can’t even remember where the good pizza it at. Seriously,” she huffs. “What are we going to do with you?” 

He laughs, shaking the last vestiges of nerves from his body. It’s Pam. He knows how to be with Pam. This is easy. It’s as natural as he always told himself it would be. 

He presses his blinker down and turns into the next street, towards Alfredo’s Pizza Cafe. He grins at her as she shakes her head at him, without a shred of actual annoyance. 

“You can take the boy out of Scranton,” she murmurs. 

“This isn’t amateur hour, Beesly. Nothing but the best pizza Scranton has to offer.” 

She hums her agreement. “I should hope so.” 

Jim’s joking with her and it takes her a moment to remember that this is a date, and not just them hanging out like they have so many times before. 

The awareness races through her and Jim’s car feels a whole lot smaller than it actually is. 

Their shoulders are nowhere near touching, but she swears she can feel the warmth radiating from his in the little confined space. 

It’s a date her mind gloats over and over again. A date! She decides she may as well act accordingly. 

Jim’s right hand is settled on the center console. His car is an automatic, so it’s not like his hand has anything important to do. 

She steels herself, and tries to tell her heart that there’s no chance of rejection and then she plunges. 

She reaches out her hand and winds her fingers into Jim’s. He sucks in a ragged breath and then tightens his fingers around hers. 

He’s still watching the road, but she swears the edges of his eyes are brighter. 

She lets her thumb rub soothingly over the edge of his hand. Her always cold fingers gradually warming in his grip. She wonders if he can hear the steady hum of her cat-nerves purring and kneading deep in her chest. 

She takes a moment to catalogue the differences. This hand is more slender than the one she’s used to. His fingers longer and somehow more graceful. And then she stomps down on her thoughts. No more comparisons. There is no comparing. She’s never felt quite like this before. This first date matters in a different way to the few others she’s been on. She focuses on that. 

“The usual,” Jim asks a little gruffly as they pull up at the cafe. 

“Please.” 

He glances down at their intertwined hands and she has to stifle a giggle at the tortured expression that flashes over his face, like he can’t decide between dropping her hand and going in to order their dinner. 

She can’t laugh though, because she gets it. She doesn’t want to let him go either. 

She squeezes his hand gently and reluctantly untangles her fingers. She misses the warmth of his hand immediately. 

He offers her bashful smile and darts from the car. “Be back in a second,” he tells her, like she doesn’t know where he’s going. 

She watches him enter the cafe, leaving her with her swirling emotions. 

This is… good, she settles on. She’s happy. Happier than she’s been in months. Years even, if she really examines herself. 

He swears pizza has never taken so long to bake. His leg bounces uncontrollably. He gives in after what has probably been all of sixty seconds and returns to his car to wait with Pam. 

She’s a balm which calms him instantly and the pizza can take as long as it wants. 

He feels heat rises up his neck at the thought that it’s being away from her that makes him antsy and not his impatience over reasonable pizza preparation time. 

“What?” she murmurs, eyes tracking the blush spreading up his neck. 

“Nothing,” he lies weakly. 

“It’s so nice to be here with you,” she breathes and settles her hand on his console, an invitation he can’t refuse. 

He’s spent years feeling like he knows her best, like he understands her in a way that no one else does. For a while recently, he was sure he was wrong. He had misinterpreted. He’s struck with the knowledge that she knows him best too. She can read him, better than anyone. She gets him. Her words, her actions, everything declares that she can answer his unspoken thoughts. 

He loves her. He never stopped. He never will stop. As long as the sun rises and sets, this is it for him. 

She fills him in on her day as they wait. “I wanted Dwight in the right mood for your return,” she starts and he grins in response. 

“Gently agitated? So that my appearance will push him over the edge?” 

“Exactly,” she deadpans. “Toby ran in a half marathon last weekend and he was telling me about it. Dwight butted in about how he could crush Toby’s time.” 

“Of course he did…” 

“So I challenged Dwight to run around the office and said I’d compare the time to Toby’s.” 

Jim chuckles at the image that paints. “Lovely.” 

“Maybe it was a little mean, but I didn’t actually time him. I didn’t even have a stopwatch. I had a digital thermometer,” she shrugs. “He was pretty annoyed when I told him that Toby had beaten him by an entire minute.” 

“I bet he’s been grumbling about that all day,” he grins. 

“He sure has. He’s primed and ready to be reunited with his favorite coworker of all time,” she rubs his hand to punctuate her point. He could get used to this. 

He hears the faint call of their number and leaves the car a little less reluctantly. He can just take her hand again when he returns. It’s that easy. 

He drives to the nearest park and leads her to a picnic table. 

She sits across from him and leaves one hand casually splayed on the table whilst grasping a slice of pizza in the other. He’d be an idiot to refuse an opening like that. It doesn’t go unnoticed, that she keeps offering her hand to him. His heart blooms in his chest. She wants him too. 

He slides his hand over hers, tethering himself to his reality once again. This is really happening. 

They eat in comfortable silence. 

“This is going to be great,” she beams at him. “Michael is going to be ecstatic. He was genuinely devastated at the thought you weren’t coming.” 

“I only saw him last week,” Jim shakes his head. “I thought that would have cushioned the blow somewhat.” 

“I think he was sad on my behalf,” she smiles seriously. “He’s a good man.” 

“Oh. That’s…” 

“If I had to guess, I’d say half the reason for this party was to play matchmaker,” she furrows her brow. “He’s more perceptive than I give him credit for sometimes.” 

He shakes his head. “That’s my fault, probably. Like I said on the phone, he was sure I had left because he wasn’t a good enough boss. I felt it would be kinder to tell him the truth. So, I told him I left because you were getting married.” 

“Well,” she sighs. “That explains his enthusiasm to get us back in the same room.” 

“You’re not annoyed about him knowing far more than he should?” 

“You did what you had to do,” she shrugs. “Although, Michael? Of all confidants. You really expected him to just sit on that knowledge?” 

“He’s harmless, mostly…” 

She grins widely at him. “Uh-huh. You keep telling yourself that.” 

He wipes his greasy fingers on a napkin. “You ready to do this?” 

“Umm,” she hedges, mirth sparkling in her gaze. “How could anyone be truly ready for whatever it is that’s about to greet us?” 

“Good point,” he chuckles. “Let’s do it.” 

“Let’s,” her eyes light up and she rises gracefully from her bench. 

The ignition settles into silence as they pull up at just down the street from Michael’s condo. 

A single, slightly deflated balloon hangs from his mailbox. He turns to grin at Pam and they breach the entry together. 

“Oh this is…”

“Perfect,” Pam breathes and then clasps a hand over her mouth to keep the giggles from spilling out. 

Beige half inflated balloons hang precariously from the ceiling. Taped to the dining room wall in plain typeface, the words it is your condo’s birthday are declared. 

That’s it. That’s the extent of the decorations. 

He’s so delighted with how absolutely perfect it all is, that it takes a moment to register. They’re looking at the decor. Everyone else is looking at them. 

He catches Michael’s gaze first and watches him process their arrival. 

Michael’s jaw drops. He rubs his eyes in comical exaggerated movements, as if he expects them to disappear when his hands drop. They’re still there. 

“Oh. My. God.” Michael erupts. Eyes wide and flicking between them. “I did this,” he gasps. 

He’s overflowing with exuberance. 

His thoughts are racing a mile a minute. He very nearly chokes when Jim gently threads his fingers through Pam’s. He can’t stay silent any longer. He, Michael Scott, has saved the freaking day. 

“Pam was going to bring a date. Jim was going to go on a date. I told Pam to do something and look at this,” he gestures wildly towards Pam and Jim. “I made this happen!” 

He rushes towards them and bundles Jim into a frantic hug. 

Jim huffs out a warm breath and pats him on the back. 

“My heart soars with the eagle’s nest!” he exclaims and turns to Pam. 

“No Michael,” she murmurs gently and he finds Jim stepping between them to wrap an arm over his shoulder. He gets it. He sees Pam everyday. Jim wants his attention. It’s only natural. 

“The place looks…” Jim trails off, sharing one of those looks with Pam and he feels so damn smug that he’s made this happen. They’re looking at each other again like that because of him. 

He’s never been more proud. Or annoyed at Dwight. 

He shakes his head and glances around the condo. “The Party Planning Committee,” he pouts, “refused to decorate because someone,” he glares at Angela who is across the room glaring right back, “said that this party wasn’t an office event.” He sighs. “And then, Dwight,” his name is a curse, “said he would decorate and this,” he waves his hand dismissively, “is all he managed.” 

He shakes his head sadly. “That’s why he’s been banished.” His gaze flickers to the patio and Pam and Jim follow the incline of his head. 

Pam gasps. Dwight is pressed to the sliding glass door. 

“Can I come in now, Michael? It’s been,” he glances at his watch, “seven and a half minutes and you said I had to stay out here for five?” 

“Fine,” he grimaces. “But, no snacks.” 

Jim’s arm around him shakes with silent laughter. He loves that he’s the kind of boss, no… the kind of friend who makes people laugh. He’s not quite sure what the joke is, but it doesn’t matter. 

His best friends are happy. He’s happy. This is the best party of all time.