1.

It’s crazy, if he thinks about it for too many seconds in a row, staking his future, his life, on something as vague as “I wish you would” and a piece of foil that could pass as garbage to anyone but him. His mind flips back and forth between two images. The first is the shape of Karen’s mouth as she stood outside a trendy café in Manhattan, with all her friends watching through the window, waiting for some kind of explanation besides “I can’t” (and boy, does he regret those words the second they’re past his lips). The second is of Pam’s pale toes, wriggling in lake water by torchlight, fresh from hot coals and courage he can’t even fathom. He still has some catching up to do before he just can say what he’s really feeling out loud. You know, on purpose.

Jim turns up the music, trying to drown out the pounding in his ears, but it only makes him feel slightly ill. He’s making good time on the highway from New York, probably breaking a few traffic laws to make it back to Scranton before five. He needs to catch her at the office, at her desk, in the break room, in the lobby, anywhere but that goddamn parking lot. Some emo band whines on the radio about unrequited love so he plugs his iPod adapter into the stereo and scrolls through to find some Bob Marley. It’s important to keep his spirits up, to avoid the temptation of just picking an exit at random and starting his life over. Again. His foot taps happily with the reggae beat until Waiting in Vain starts up and he shuts off the music altogether with a groan of frustration, hyper-aware of the small camera mounted on the left side of the dashboard.  

He hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast (a too-watery Americano and a revolting fruit and grain bar from the Starbucks next to their hotel) and his stomach is burning from hunger and nervousness as he pulls into his usual spot alongside Dwight’s Trans Am, the pressure still thrumming in his head like an imminent nuclear meltdown. This is absolutely the last time he’s going to ask her. Maybe.

2.

In just a few moments, everything changes. She’s in the middle of explaining to Steph, the documentary producer (and strangely enough, the only person who ever seems to take an interest in her life these days) that she’s okay with how things turned out, somehow keeping her voice steady for “I shot him down.” She’s about to move on to her hopes for the future, when Jim blows the whole farce wide open with “it’s a date.”  Suddenly her cheeks ache from grinning and she hasn’t spoken out loud in several minutes, lost in swirling thoughts of first date shirts and second chances that could be last chances. The smile falls from her lips.

“This is kind of a big deal” she says aloud, to no one in particular. The cameraman shifts closer, eager, and a wave of panic sweeps up her spine.

3.

Before Jim can get his bearings and absorb the implications of “yes”, Michael catches his arm and drags him into his lair, slamming the door and shutting all the blinds. Oh, God. “Michael, this really isn’t a good…Wow. Why is your office black?”

Michael flails his hands at the side wall, and then settles over them over his eyes as he slumps behind the desk.  “Dwight and Andy.” He offers no further explanation, but then, none is needed.

“How did I not guess that?” Jim checks over his shoulder, unable to keep himself from searching out Pam, has to see her again, right this second, just to make sure she’s real.

“You have to help me!” Michael moans the words, still hiding behind his fingers.

Michael’s vehemence takes Jim by surprise and he reluctantly sits down. “Help you with what?”

“Jan. She’s moving in.”

“Oh, you mean since she got fired?”

“She didn’t… she quit, Jim. You saw what happened.”

“Oh, sure.” Pam passes by the window – he can see a flash of pink sweater between hastily closed slats. They’re going on a date. A date. He really said that out loud. “Can we talk about this later, Michael?”

“No, Jim. This is important. Urrggh. You are so useless. I’m going to have to consult my girls.”

“Your…what?” There’s clearly some entertaining story behind this, maybe something he can ask about to break the ice during pre-dinner drinks. His chest contracts painfully as he pictures touching Pam’s hand across a table (without making excuses about palm reading or eight thousand other reasons he’s found over the years to make physical contact without crossing the line).

Michael is still talking, unaware of Jim’s distracted state. “My girls. My bee-otches. My Hos.”

Jim rubs his face, feeling the first traces of salty moisture building across his brow. Hopefully he’ll have time to shower, if he leaves right away. “Great. Can I go now?”

“Fine, just... get Karen and Pam. And Phyllis. They’ll know what to do.”

Jim’s stomach lurches with remorse. “Michael, Karen is still in New York.”

Michael peers out between his fingers, then drops his hands. “Really? Did she get the job?”

“I don’t…I don’t know.” Jim gathers himself up, rising from his chair to make his escape.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? How can you not know? She’s your girlfriend.”

“Not any…it’s complicated.” Jim collapses back into his seat with a sigh, shirt sticking to the damp skin of his back.

Michael’s eyes widen, shocked. “Wow. Trouble in paradise? I thought you guys were having lots of sex.”

“Oh…that’s not…” He considers making a run for it, but there’s a camera positioned outside the door now and he’s not ready to face the inquisition. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay. Hey, we can have lunch tomorrow! Dish all the gossip about our ladies.”

Just as Jim is about to snap under the strain of trying not to jump out the window, the door bursts open. The room is suddenly filled beyond capacity with an emotional Andy Bernard and two members of the film crew, clearly pleased to have gained entrance to Michael’s office.

Before he’s even all the way into full view, Andy is groveling. “Michael, the paint wasn’t my idea. The best color is obviously white. And green, which is the color you chose in the first place. I’ll stay late tonight and put it back.”

“Andy…” Michael sighs.

“You won’t even be able to tell. Except for the smell.” He brandishes a paint roller, stained from the previous attempt at power redecoration, waving it in a faintly threatening manner.

“Andy…” Jim and Michael simultaneously recoil as the roller almost collides with the sound guy’s head. Darren is a professional though, and scarcely flinches as he expertly maneuvers himself and the boom to safety.

Andy continues, undeterred by his alarmed audience. “You know what? When I’m done, I’ll light some candles, and by morning your humble command center will have the pleasant aroma of…”

“Andy! Can you just…shhhh..? Jim and I are having a very important mano a mano and we don’t want to be interrupted.”

Jim interrupts, forgetting for a moment that he’s trying to escape. “I thought you wanted help from the women?”

There is a long silence as Michael glares at Jim. “Not now...just…” He lowers his voice to a hiss, like Andy wouldn’t be able to hear. “Shut it.”

Andy puffs out his chest. “Let me help. I know way more about women than Haircut does.”

“You’re not…no. Just go back to work and leave us alone.” Jim shifts in his chair as Andy’s upper lip twitches dangerously.

Andy blinks his watery eyes a few times, then grins, as though he has just taken a step back from the dark side. “As you wish.” Mercifully, he lowers his roller and returns to the main office without further incident. Jim lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.

After the door closes behind a tearful Andy, Michael looks up at the remaining camera, bewildered. “Why does everybody keep crying today? God.”

There’s a knock at the door and Dwight sticks his head in. “Michael, I just wanted to…” He stops and stares at the cameras suspiciously. “Can we please speak in private?”

“For the love of...no, Dwight. What do you want? An Academy Award for creepiest decorating choice?”

Jim stands, sensing freedom. “I’ll just go get Phyllis and Pam.”

Michael waves him off. “Dwight, you’re staying here overnight with Andy. He has kindly offered to repaint my office, and I think it’s only fair that you assist him.” Dwight begins to object, but Jim is out the door before he can hear any more of their conversation.

Pam is watching as he emerges from Hell, but glances away quickly when he meets her eyes. There’s a trace of happiness on her lips, though. He’s through with the days of avoiding what he feels, so he heads straight for her desk. “Michael needs you.”

“Really? Did he say why?” She’s smiling, but it has nothing to do with being summoned to her deranged boss’s office.

He leans over her, breathing in the scent of her hair, for once feeling like maybe it’s not a stalkerish thing to do. He’s allowed, now. “Maybe because Jan had a nervous breakdown in front of everyone and got fired?”

“Oh my god. Is she okay?” Her face is full of genuine concern. It’s a nice change from…well.

“I don’t think so. It was horrible.”

“Where is she now?”

“Michael’s condo. I guess she’s moving in, or something. Michael is kind of freaking out. He wants you, Phyllis and…” He catches himself a moment too late. “…you and Phyllis to come in and give him advice.” Pam doesn’t immediately respond and he searches for some way to reassure her. He’s not sure how to say I left her for you, without being overly dramatic. He decides to change the subject slightly. “It turns out the job I was interviewing for was Jan’s. They were already going to fire her.”

“So, you would have been my boss?” She frowns. “Or…did you get the job? Are you moving to New York?”

“No, I didn’t take the job. And I’m already your boss.” He leans on the edge of her desk, peeking at all the new things surrounding her computer. He hasn’t looked back there in a long time. A lot has changed. No picture of a fiancé for one thing.

She watches him with undisguised delight. “Oh, really? Interesting. I thought…” She cuts herself off when she notices a lens zooming in on them from the other side of the room. 

“Pam!” Michael is standing at his door, ushering out a defeated Dwight. “Emergency meeting. Now. Phyllis, you too.” He casts his eyes around the room. “And…Angela.”

Angela doesn’t move from her seat, or even bother raising her head. “No.”

Michael glares at her for a moment, then relents. “Fine. Pam, go get Kelly from the annex.”

Pam grudgingly gets out of her seat and Jim brushes his fingers along her arm to slow her progress. “Hey, I’m gonna get out of here while I still can.  It’s been a long day and I could use a shower.”

Her face falls. “Okay. Bye.”

He realizes she thinks that he’s ducking out on their date, too. “Hey. Pick you up at six?”

“Yeah.” Her smile is back with a vengeance as she quickly jots down her address.

He tucks the pink and blue message slip into his pocket, next to another, somewhat more worn one. They’ve given the camera more than enough footage for one day, so he grabs his bag and heads for the door. “Good luck in there. And don’t be long. Dwight and Andy will definitely need to do a primer coat before they can repaint.”

4.

Pam finds Kelly in the annex, quivering with rage and silent tears. After listening to her side of the story and offering a few half-hearted platitudes (how on earth could Kelly be surprised by this turn of events?), Pam forms a plan, not even bothering to rope Kelly into the emergency summit. She has bigger fish to fry. Rushing back through the kitchen, she lets herself into Michael’s office without knocking. Phyllis is holding his cell phone, frowning in confusion at whatever he is making her listen to.

Michael looks up from his intense examination of Phyllis’ reaction. “Where’s Kelly?”

“She was having some kind of fight with Ryan, so I didn’t want to interrupt.” Pam bites the inside of her cheek to maintain her serious expression. “I guess he got Jan’s job? Or something?”

“Ryan? No. There must be some kind of mistake.” Michael leaps to his feet and races towards the annex, abandoning his panic over Jan’s impending move, cameras in hot pursuit.  

Pam shares a knowing grin with Phyllis and bolts for the exit.

*

She speeds through a red light on the way home, paranoid that a camera crew is following her. They don’t know where her new apartment is yet, and she’s hoping to keep it that way. She doesn’t need them knocking on the door one night when she and Jim are…well, that’s getting ahead of things, isn’t it? Her mic pack “accidentally” got left in the top drawer of her desk and technically, she’s just in the bathroom. Phyllis is maintaining her cover with Steph, at least until it’s too late to do anything about Pam’s AWOL status.

On the way up to her apartment, Pam trips on the second flight of stairs. She barely feels it, lost in plotting out how many minutes she’ll have to take a shower, do her hair and get dressed. Maybe she should allot at least fifteen minutes for freaking out or having a panic attack, depending on how cooperative her curling iron is. The words big deal big deal big deal are hammering her brain to a useless pulp as she drops her keys inside her door and goes straight to her closet. The content presents very few options, grays and pinks and a stack of cardigans chosen to hide her assets. There’s a garnet colored shirt and that stupid violet thing and a brown silk dress that has a catch in it from the seatbelt in Roy’s truck. Finally a scrap of leaf green cotton tucked in the back catches her eye – an impulse buy from her online shopping phase. It needs a good pressing, and the right shoes, but it’s the best she has for now. Pam shakes out the halter dress and takes it with her to the bathroom so the steam will give her a head start on the wrinkles.

In the shower, she blushes and covers her face about four times (even though no one can see her), because now that she’s naked, she can’t stop thinking about Jim, in his own shower, and she kind of wants to skip dinner. After accidentally washing her hair twice, she scrambles for her razor. Just in case the evening plays out like she hopes it will.

The next half hour is a blur of polishing, tweezing (Kelly has finally made a dent in her personal grooming habits) and desperate tidying. As she steps into her dress, the intercom buzzes, fifteen minutes early. For the second time that afternoon, Pam comes up with a fool proof scheme.

5.

Jim rearranges a pillow so he can stare at her without getting a crick in his neck. Their first date is going pretty well. “What are you grinning about?”

Pam scoots closer, tucking herself under his arm. “I think we forgot to go for dinner.”

“Well, I’m not the one who answered their door half-dressed.” He can’t help smiling at the mental image.

Her hand swats his naked chest in mock indignation, then remains where it landed. “You were early!”

“And it never occurred to you that asking me to zip up your dress would end this way?” Her smile grows and she ducks her head. He can’t quite tell if she’s kidding. “Hold on. Did you actually plan that?” It’s the most surreal thing, joking about sex with her, sex they just had, when yesterday he was barely speaking to her. They haven’t even talked about…well, anything. Maybe it’s a good sign. Or maybe they’re just in denial, like always.

She shrugs. “I wasn’t really that hungry. I had a big lunch.” She turns away from him nervously, toying with the hem of the sheet, hiding from his eyes. Her insecurity is contagious, sending ripples of uncertainty through his gut. 

The sun is still setting, her messy bedroom warmed by golden light coming through the open window. Open… He blushes, realizing that Pam’s neighbors probably had an unobstructed view of their non-date. A moment later, there’s a stab of terror in his chest at the thought of seeing his own naked ass in a documentary. Those camera guys can be pretty crafty. They’ll have to be more careful in the future.

He tries to salvage the moment, get the ball rolling again. “We can go for dinner. It’s not too late.” As if in agreement, his stomach grumbles loudly, breaking the tension. They both laugh and Jim shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“Okay, but let’s not make a big deal of it. I’m not getting all dressed up for a second time.” She carries on with their conversation, oblivious to his fear of televised nudity.

“Nice. Like you were ever dressed in the first place.”

“Shut up.” She slides out of the bed with a wan smile, taking the sheet with her, shy in front of him (probably a good call, considering the voyeuristic nature of their lives). “Do we have time for a shower?”

He reaches for a pillow to cover himself, glancing nervously at the window. “That depends on what exactly you mean by ‘shower’?” A quick search of her floor reveals no sign of his clothes. Come to think of it, he’s not even sure he took them off in her bedroom.

“I mean, I was freshly scrubbed when you arrived and now I’m all…sweaty and disheveled.” She gasps when she sees herself in the mirror and passes a distressed hand over the left side of her hair. “Yeah, I’m so not going out like this.” She disappears down the hall and he hears the rush of running water.

Risking exposure to the neighbors, he pulls the curtains shut so he can get dressed in peace. Rummaging through the blankets on the floor, he manages to turn up his socks, but little else.  “Pam, have you seen my pants?”

She sticks her head out of the bathroom door, her sheet noticeably absent, much to his delight. “I think they’re in the kitchen. Remember, when we were…?”

“Oh. Right.”

***

They settle on a diner, not far from her apartment, an unspoken agreement that they’re not too interested in straying from…other things. An oldies station plays quietly in the background, serenading bored waitresses with out of date love songs. They’re an odd pair, Jim dressed for a first date in his nicest pants and a collared shirt (a bit wrinkled from being under the kitchen table); Pam has thrown on some jeans and a hoodie, her hair in a messy bun, still wet from the shower.

When the waitress has taken their order, Jim shreds a napkin anxiously between his fingers, trying to find the right words to explain a year’s worth of confusion. Pam watches him for a few minutes expectantly, then begins to examine the ketchup bottle, eyes glassy. His mouth opens and closes several times. Awkward silence prevails until their milkshakes arrive and he greets their server gratefully.

Jim takes a bite of his burger, then sets it down again when he notices Pam isn’t touching her food. The game plan of blissful avoidance, while thoroughly enjoyable for the time being, is probably going to blow up in their faces at some point. Better just to get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid. A huge, extra sticky band-aid. “You look nervous. Are you nervous?”

Her voice comes out a shaky whisper. “Yeah. Aren’t you?”

“Insanely.” He laughs a little, just to release some of the pressure building inside him. “You have no idea.”

“I think I can guess.” She pushes her plate to one side. “Jim, what if we screw this up? I mean, we can’t, right? This is it. No more chances.”

Jim’s heart plummets. “Pam, I only know how to be me. I tried being someone else, and it didn’t work.” He covers her hand with his, squeezing her fingers gently. “We can’t start over. I know that. But we can try not to make so many mistakes from now on.”

One corner of her mouth turns up. “That sounds good.”

He slides her plate back in front of her. “Good. And we don’t have to figure everything out today. We’ve already made some excellent progress.”

“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it? Progress?”

“You bet.” They share a relieved smile and he turns his attention back to dinner and lighter topics of conversation. “So, tell me, what did I miss today?”

Pam hunches over her straw, grinning. “I got promoted.”

“You…what?” Instinctively, he leans across the Formica table so he can be closer to her. “This is gonna be good.”

“Dwight gave me your job. But, you know, in secret. I was Secret Assistant Regional Manager. Well…” she corrects. “To The.”

“Beesly, I’m shocked. I turn my back for a day and you steal my title.”

“Someone had to step in when you left us.” Her teasing tone slips on the last couple of words.

There’s a long, loaded silence until he manages, bluntly: “I turned down the job.”

“I know.” She pauses for only a second or two, before popping a French fry in her mouth. “And Karen?” He has to admire her nonchalance.

He doesn’t hesitate or look away. “Over. Completely.”

Pam nods carefully. “I’m glad you came back.”

***

Jim keeps forgetting to chew his food, because his brain is flashing back over the last couple of hours. It’s disconcerting listening to Pam describing a meeting about soil lectures and the tricky conversion of Schrute Bucks to usable currency while simultaneously picturing her naked. It doesn’t help that she offers him a timid smile every time she notices his attention wandering.

“And then Andy tried to dismiss class, so I had to…” Pam’s trails off mid-sentence with an alarmed look towards the entrance of the diner, the grin dropping off her face.

“What?” He twists in the booth and cranes his neck. “Oh, crap.” Walking in the door is the lead camera crew, David and Darren (Andy calls them The Double DDs, to no one’s amusement but his own).

It’s too late to duck, because Darren inclines his head slightly to acknowledge their presence. “Hey, guys. Fancy meeting you here.” His expression is devoid of surprise as he takes in Pam’s recently washed hair, Jim’s rumpled shirt and their goofy grins.

Jim straightens in his seat, on the defensive. “We’re just having dinner.”

Darren laughs good-naturedly. “Relax. I’m off duty. Didn’t see a thing. You see anything, David?”

Barely pausing as he passes their table, David shrugs. “See what? Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Darren starts to follow his co-worker, then stops. “By the way, we get burgers here all the time. It’s kind of a favourite hangout. And Steph is on her way. You know how observant she is - it won’t take her long to work out what you two were doing before dinner.” With a generous parting smile, he disappears into a booth a few rows down.

Jim turns back to Pam, once they’re out of earshot. “Of course we had to pick the one place the documentary crew hangs out after hours.”

Pam shuffles across the red vinyl bench seat and stands.  “Should we get out of here?”

“Hell, yeah.”

Outside, in the parking lot, he slips his hand around hers, tugging her to his side. “It’s going to be insane at work, isn’t it? They’re never going to leave us alone.” Their shoulders bump together companionably while he imagines interviews that are even more leading than usual, scrutinized lunch breaks and Kevin giggling like a perv every time he catches them speaking. She rests her cheek against his bicep with a sigh, and he adds, encouragingly: “We’ll get through it.”

“How? I mean, Michael…”

“We’ll just be ourselves. And keep the curtains closed when we have sex.”

Pam stops in her tracks so suddenly his arm is almost yanked from the socket, her mouth hanging open in shock. “Earlier, when we…

“Oh, yeah. On full display.” Maybe he should be ashamed for making her blush like that, but…

“So…”

“So…” he amends, with a wink.  “Let’s go home and close the curtains.”