Story Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Chapter Notes:
For DinkinFlicka. Thanks to 69CON for beta. Sequel to No Longer In Service.
She sets her alarm for seven, making sure to call Michael as soon as she gets up. She keeps it vague, telling him she doesn't feel well and clearing her throat softly just when he hesitates. It works like she knows it would, and he offers to bring her soup and cookies twice before she finally manages to hang up. It's too bad, really, that he's Michael and she's Pam (and sick with some unknown -itis that may be female troubles but really is the fact that she had sex with Ryan last night), because Michael always knows where to get the best cookies. Although she's not sure he'd bring her the good ones if he knew exactly why she was calling off. He'd probably get them and then call her with his mouth full, crying a little(or a lot) and asking her why. And she wouldn't know what to say. Either way, she's definitely thinking about it too much.
So instead, she props herself up on one elbow and reaches for her alarm clock again, resetting it. It really is too bad that it doesn't come with a two hour snooze button, for when nine minutes just isn't enough. Or seven, as she discovered the snooze on this particular alarm clock was. She felt so cheated when she found that out, because sometimes those two extra minutes mean everything.
Her pillow isn't cool enough on her cheek, and she thinks she can almost feel a mark on her neck from the night before with her fingertips when she presses hard enough (or maybe she's just making a mark so she'll have a visible reminder). But. She falls asleep nonetheless. It's the kind of sleep that betrays her, the shitty backstabbing nap that she hates; when she wakes up, she feels worse than before, all sweaty with a dull throb in her left temple. So she jumps into the shower, letting the water heat up while she washes her face under the spray. She realizes too late that she's almost out of shampoo and groans, unscrewing the cap and holding the bottle under the water for a moment before closing it up again and shaking it, catching the frothy shampoo-water in her hand. It'll be enough, anyway, to last for now so she can run to the store later without scaring people. Once she's dressed with her hair wet and spread over her shoulders, she sits and stares at her phone.
She knows, just as sure as she knows anything (which isn't much nowadays), that despite the fact Ryan's no longer the temp, Michael will have put him in charge of reception. So she calls.
"Dunder Mifflin." His voice is quiet, discouraged like it was when she left him the night before.
"Hey." She kind of hopes he'll take over the conversation, because other than that, she's at a loss.
"Pam?" His voice breaks a little like he needs to clear his throat, and she starts counting all of the ways that calling was a bad idea.
"Yep."
"Oh."
She can still hear him breathing a little too close to the mouthpiece, like he's holding the handset too tightly. She takes a deep breath. "You know, you're supposed to answer the phone and say your name."
There's a pause, and then his breath comes out in a rush, almost not a word. "What?"
"When you answered, you just said, 'Dunder Mifflin'. You should have added, 'This is Ryan'. Unless you want Michael to come and coach you in the fine art of answering phones."
"Yeah. That I don't want."
"I didn't think you did."
"Listen, Pam-"
"I don't know why I called."
"Last night, it was...I had a bad day."
She holds her breath. "Right."
"But this doesn't have to change anything."
"So we go back to ignoring each other as usual?"
A laugh; it's fast, like he couldn't help it, but she smiles anyway. Then it's quiet and she can hear his breathing again.
She's uncomfortable, and she takes comfort in that. Probably from years of practice. "Oh. So we're starting that now, then."
His laugh sounds almost natural this time. "I'm sorry...I didn't know what to say."
"Well, you can't be an expert like I am, I guess."
"Oh." Dwight's on the phone in the background. She can almost imagine how Ryan is staring at him right now, holding the phone and thinking about how he'll finally quit in a blaze of glory. What he'll say. Which one of Dwight's bobbleheads he'll steal on his way out the door. For today, he's sitting in her chair. For today, he's her. For whatever reason she feels closer to him right now, at this moment, than she did last night.
"That was a joke, Ryan."
"I knew that." But he didn't. He knows her like that, but he doesn't know her like that.
She can hear the faint beep in the background, and she knows it's the other line. She knows that now, now is when he can make an excuse. It's done. They don't have to talk anymore. She waits.
He surprises her. "Pam?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you called."
It comes out before she realizes she's speaking. "Me too."
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Are you...are you going to be here tomorrow?"
She's nodding, but he can't see that. "Yeah."
"Good."
"Uh-huh."
"Because I don't want to answer the phones again."
"Oh. Right." She can hear the beep again. "Well, I guess you should get that, right?"
There's a pause. "Oh. Yeah. I'll do that."
"Remember your name."
He's talking so softly now. "I'll remember."
And then she's saying good-bye to a dial tone.
*
When she ended things with Roy, there were so many loose ends. More than she expected. Somewhere in the back of her mind she had hoped it would be like a movie, where someone calls off a wedding or breaks up with their boyfriend, and one box of things later they're done, alone again. It was the little things she didn't anticipate, like how she didn't think Roy would know what kind of pots and other kitchenware to get, so she left all of that for him and settled for an all inclusive set for $40 at Target. She still misses her favorite spatula. It fit her hand perfectly after all those years.
She had to wait out the end of their cell phone plan, too - it was up on August 27th and she waited until the last minute, finally catching his eye in the parking lot and telling him in a low voice that it was time. He'd looked at her, his blue eyes sad, so sad, and had originally thought she just wanted to renew it. It took her a minute to swallow before she could correct him, somehow keeping her voice steady.
In the end, they went together anyway and switched to individual plans. She even paid the extra $10 to have her phonebook transferred - not that she really needed it, since she knew her Mom's phone number by heart anyway, and more than half of her (short) list was Roy and his family, but...she just didn't want to lose Jim's number. He was gone, and she had updated the office contact list in her documents sometime in mid-July, when she had a fit of boredom. She'd programmed all of her other coworker's numbers in there then as well, just because. She felt a little better, even laughed while trying to think of an emergency that would warrant calling Stanley. Maybe if there was a hard question in her People crossword.
She scrolls through her address book a few times, noticing Ryan's name with increasing awareness. At first she thought it was in bold, but it must have been a trick of the light. She plays with the contrast on her screen before checking the time. It's toward the end of the month, midday. He'd always gone on his sale calls around the same time. Maybe. Just maybe. She dials.
"Dunder Mifflin Stamford, this is Teresa."
She doesn't know how she manages to sound so calm when she feels so much like throwing up. "Yes, I was wondering if I could speak with Jim Halpert?"
A pause. "He's actually out right now, but I can direct you to his voice mail."
"Um, actually, it's kind of...important. Urgent. Could you possibly give me his cell phone number?" She keeps her voice light, with an edge of concern. Friendly.
"He should be back soon."
"Oh. Well, I was just hoping-" She feels stupid. She knows how this goes. She wants to tell her, tell this person that she understands. She wants to explain how she just needs it, she needs to know that it's there, a working number, on her phone. How the fact that he finally changed his number means something, means everything. How she couldn't. Hesitating, she tries to think of where to begin when Teresa speaks up.
"Well, I don't normally do this, but I suppose I could just this once."
Pam knows that she sounds too relieved, too happy about it, but she can't help herself. "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much."
She writes it down, underlining it twice. Once she hangs up she programs it into her phone, erasing the old and replacing it with the new. Then she rips up the paper, tearing it into strips and crumpling it into a messy ball before throwing it away. She feels better.
She feels worse.
*
She was worried about facing Kelly for the first time after the other night, more than seeing Ryan. She knows it isn't fair, but she keeps thinking of the couple times Kelly has called her in the past, whisper shouting about how she accidentally cheated on Ryan. How she told her she knew that Ryan had probably done the same before. Inevitably, she ends up remembering other conversations where Kelly was quiet, talking about how much Ryan means to her, and why doesn't he like her like she likes him?
What she isn't expecting is Kelly standing by her desk when she walks in, asking her to help Ryan get dressed for the Diwali celebration the whole office is going to that night. Dammit, she forgot. Ryan doesn't meet her eyes as she straightens his sleeves, runs her fingers along the back of his neck to fix his collar. He looks good. She wishes he didn't.
Roy stops her in the parking lot on her way out, asking her if she's going. When he catches her sleeve in his hand, tugging a little bit while he waits for her to answer, she wonders if it would be so bad, going back to that. Back to him. Maybe it could be different. Maybe it would be the same, but in the best ways. The ways she misses. When she finally meets his eyes she knows she isn't being fair, knows that he'd drive her back to her apartment and have her packed up and moved back into their old place by the morning. She wants to lie to him. She wants that part of her to not love him, still.
"I might go. I mean, from what Kelly's told me..."
He rubs his beard with one hand. "Maybe I'll go, too. Unless you don't want me to..."
She can feel herself blushing, frustrated, and her answer comes out in a rush. "Roy, no. You go if you want...don't rely on me..."
His face falls a little, and she wishes she could reach for his hand, squeeze it three times like they used to when they didn't need to say the words out loud. "Oh. Well," he smiles, but doesn't meet her eyes, "I might see you there, then."
"Good. Bye, Roy."
"See you." He steps up into his truck, and she wonders if it still smells the same.
*
She's actually in a good mood when she arrives at the gym. Her hair is miraculously frizz-free, she feels comfortable, and Angela only looks her over with a critical expression once. She even laughs, just a little bit, when Ryan meets her eyes and smiles as she dances with the doctor-whose-name-she-can't-pronounce. And, oh, Michael. It's horrible, but her first thought is of Jim, of what he would say, what his expression would be. She pulls out her phone without thinking. It feels right.
Later, the concrete steps are cold underneath her as she stares at her phone, changing her text notification from vibration back to beep and vice versa three times so she's not just idly staring at it. A voice from behind startles her.
"Hey."
"Hey." She cups her phone in her palm, pressing it against her thigh as she looks up at him. "Needed a break?"
He leans against the railing, looking out at the parking lot. "Yeah."
"So. Michael."
"That was...yeah. It was Michael." He sighs.
She steals a peek at her phone again, and when she looks up he's looking down at her. "I was just...waiting for something."
"Hmmm."
"I texted someone."
He shrugs. "Okay."
He's still looking in her eyes. She can hear herself babbling. "I-I'm so bad at texting, too. It was set to this T9 thing, and it kept writing things for me, it was like talking to Michael when he tries to finish your sentences..."
He laughs. "Maybe Michael was the prototype for T9."
She smiles. It feels good. "So I changed it to...the regular way, I guess, and then I figured out spaces..." He's smiling at her. "It-it was Jim. I figured he would...with Michael..." She looks down.
"So you're waiting for his response?"
"I guess." She looks up, and he looks thoughtful.
"I'm sure it'll be full of wit and sarcasm." He smirks.
She sets her phone next to her, wrapping her arms around her knees. "No."
"No?"
"I think sarcasm is your thing."
"Really?" His voice is sharp, and she watches goosebumps flesh out her forearm where she has her sleeve pulled up.
"See?" She meets his eyes and he's smiling again, a half-smile that makes her stomach hurt.
"Maybe you know me better than I thought, Pam."
She's about to respond when Kelly calls his name, from somewhere inside. He runs his hand over the front of his shirt. "You better go, Ryan."
"Yep."
When he walks past her, she thinks he touches the top of her head. It was probably just the breeze.
*
Later she sits in Michael's driveway and waits for him to collect his things.
"Pam?"
"Yes, Michael?"
"You could come in, if you want."
"Michael, no." Her phone is in her front pocket. It's set back to vibrate.
"Are you sure, Pam?"
"Yes."
"Paaaam? Come on, Pam. I have cookies."
She turns off the car. "You know what? Okay."
"I knew you couldn't say no to cookies." Michael smiles at her, and he looks so...happy. She smiles back. Maybe she'll be happier after a cookie. She won't stay long. She puts her hand in her pocket and thinks of how no one is waiting for her at home, anyway.
*
She thinks about calling him on her way home, after sitting with Michael while he cried over Carol. He asked her to sleep on the floor of his guest room, and even though the carpet looked really nice and new, like it would be comfortable, she said no; he settled for her tucking him in, turning off his light, locking the door behind her as she left.
It was nice, almost, taking care of someone again. Or, not taking care of someone - not worrying about herself for a moment. Maybe. She thinks she should be progressive and not wish she still had someone to take care of, look after. But. She liked when Roy needed her. He was sick, once; his fever ran high for three straight days, and he was so hot, hot all over. She helped him in and out of cold baths, smiling when his words slurred as he called her the best. She spent an hour taking ice cubes and running them over his forehead, down his nose, across his lips; her fingertips turned numb and his pillow was wet. When the bowl of ice was empty she moved it aside and changed his pillow, and when she eased his head down again she pressed her cold fingers against the hot skin of his neck. She fell asleep like that, and his fever broke in the next hour.
So she thinks about calling Ryan. She doesn't know why, but she thinks he might understand if she told him how she felt when she stood in Michael's still empty guest room, all echoing white walls and soft carpet. There weren't even any boxes in the corner. Michael made sure to point out how impressive it was that he hadn't vacuumed in two weeks and there were still track lines in the carpet.
She rolls down her window and lets the cool air blow her hair across her cheek. It stings a little when the air hits her eyes, and they're burning every time she blinks. She doesn't call him.
*
Michael's acting weird. Not that that is any different than usual, but Jan left an hour ago and he still hasn't recovered. He keeps telling her to prepare a memo, but then breaks down in tears and says, "never mind" when she asks him what he wants her to say. It's not strange enough to really register until Ryan comes over to her desk. She looks up to see his fingers drumming absently and her stomach drops a little. She feels uncomfortable. Well, more than usual.
"Hey." She tries to keep her voice casual.
"What's up with Michael? He won't meet my eyes." He runs his hand over the front of his tie.
"Um, isn't that a good thing, though?"
The corner of his mouth twitches. "Normally, yes. But things seemed...intense in his office with Jan."
"A lover's quarrel?" It slips out and she laughs at herself, and he pauses, looking down at her with a grimace before answering.
"Thanks for that."
"No problem."
He leans forward, and when she inhales she remembers, remembers how she smelled when she went home from his apartment, how her car smelled like him for a couple of days afterward. His fingers curl over the edge of the desk and she tries not to stare, meeting his eyes when he speaks. "He keeps walking by my desk, and I heard him say that he couldn't deal with 'those baby blues' under his breath."
She struggles to find something to say, because she just wants to touch his hand. "Well, you do have eyes like a baby."
His hand slides back across the desk and away from her, just like everything else. "I'm going to go back to my desk for that." But he doesn't; he stands there for a moment before he speaks again. "I got my business cards yesterday."
"Oh." She lets out the breath she was holding. "Make sure to put them in the fishbowls and baskets all over town."
He smiles. "Good idea."
"I'm a...idea machine."
His phone rings before she can regret sounding stupid (idea machine? really?), and she watches him as he walks to his desk, leaning over as he picks up the extension. He looks up and catches her staring, and in those few seconds before he finally looks away she really, really knows how Michael feels.
*
It's strange how much better she feels once she knows the branch is closing. She tells herself that it's because she won't have to deal with Michael, won't have to deal with...anyone, really, but that's not it. In fact, she knows she'll miss everyone, will wonder random things like how Oscar's trip to Europe was or if Stanley finally finished a Sunday New York Times crossword using a pen. She'll run into Phyllis at the store and want to know how things are going with Bob. If Kevin actually marries Stacey.
She won't have to see Roy every day. But maybe she'll miss that. Either way, she knows that this is a good thing, that it's what she needs, really needs, that she wouldn't quit on her own.
She scans her favorite drawings sometimes, and keeps them in a folder on her desktop labeled "Time Sensitive". She runs out on her lunch and buys a flash drive, coming back early and moving the files, not letting herself delete the ones she hates. When the folder's empty she wants to laugh, she feels so good.
Ryan catches her eye as he walks in, and she immediately thinks of Jim. The office closing, it's a good thing. It's a deadline. She has however many weeks to feel pathetic, to go through the motions and stare at his desk; after that, it's her. Her turn to be...whatever. Something new. A better herself. Ryan comes over, stepping behind her desk to hang up his coat. She has that feeling again, that feeling like maybe he would understand.
"Ryan."
"Hey." He looks over his shoulder and down at her, smiling.
"So we're closing."
He looks like he's about to laugh. "Yeah."
She leans her elbow on the desk and a part of her wishes he would step a little closer so she doesn't have to raise her voice, even though no one else is back yet. "I'm happy."
He raises an eyebrow. "You are?"
"Yeah...I just think it's...going to be a good thing, you know? Maybe what I need."
He shifts his weight like he might step closer to her at any moment, crossing his arms. "I broke up with Kelly."
She's sitting down, but she feels like she stumbles before she replies. "Oh...okay."
He looks down. "I finally had a good enough reason for her...for it to...stick."
She thinks of Roy. "Sometimes you don't need a big reason."
He's nodding, unfolding his arms and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Either way, this place closing is good, like I can finally stop kicking myself in the ass for not making the decision to leave myself. I can actually do something."
She studies her knees. "Instead of waiting for something to just happen." She looks up and he's staring at her with a curious look on his face.
He finally steps closer, his hand hovering over her shoulder like he might touch her. "Exactly. That's...exactly it."
His fingertips brush her shoulder when Kevin walks in. They never quite connect, and he steps away.
Kevin shuffles up to the desk. "Have you heard from Michael?"
She shakes her head as she watches Ryan cross the room and settle at his desk. "No, not yet."
Kevin frowns, his hand hovering over the candy dish. "Well, that sucks."
She sighs. "Yeah, Kevin, it does."
*
Everything changes and she feels like she should still go through with it, type up a letter of resignation and leave it on Michael's desk so she doesn't have to look him in the face. Maybe the Stamford receptionist wants to transfer. But then she thinks of the phone call and how Jim might come, and she can't help it. She can't help herself.
There's always later, right?
She runs into Ryan in the kitchen and she's almost ashamed to tell him how she's going to wait for something to happen instead of doing. She doesn't even address it, really; she tries to pretend like their conversation earlier never happened, like everything between them never happened. At least he seems to be doing the same.
"I guess some new people might be coming from Stamford. Should be fun. New blood."
When he mentions Jim, she holds her breath and tries to play it off like they both never thought of it. When he says, "I just don't want it to be weird," she stops breathing altogether until he continues, saying something about desks or whatever, and she tries to remember what it was like to kiss him. What it was like to kiss either of them.
When Kelly bursts into the kitchen, colliding with Ryan as he smiles, Pam finds that she has to concentrate to keep a pleasant expression on her face.
*
On the day Jim returns, the day the Stamford people come, all of her anticipation and excitement fizzles out by mid-afternoon and she just wants to turn the heater on underneath her desk, curl up in a ball on the floor and take a nap. She settles for pulling her sweater tighter around herself and leaning on the desk, closing her eyes when she thinks no one is looking. She purposefully lingers at the end of the day, taking her time as she picks up the mess in the conference room. She can hear Ryan and Kelly arguing somewhere in the office when she leaves, and she takes the stairs instead of the elevator. She likes the way her shoes sound as she goes down, echoing in the stairwell. It gives the impression that she walks like she has somewhere definite to go.
When Jim approaches her in the parking lot, she wishes that she could just tell him to stop, that she knows how it is, and how it's been too long. But she can hear her voice coming out of her mouth cheerful instead, and she can't align what she's thinking with what she says. He looks confused. Maybe a little angry. She knows how he feels. She almost calls out after him, "It doesn't have to be weird, let's go somewhere and talk," but he would probably say no, and she doesn't think she could handle that twice in one day.
She gets in her car and sits, holding the keys in her lap and staring at how the street lights make everything look yellow. She jumps when someone knocks on her window. When she looks up through the glass at him he stares down at her, motioning for her to roll down the window. She does.
"You okay?" His coat is long, and it makes him seem taller than she knows he really is.
"Yeah, I just...I didn't want to leave yet. Or something."
He laughs, his breath coming out in a puff of air in front of him. "You didn't want to leave? That's...okay."
She runs her finger over her car key. "It's just been a bad day."
"Tell me about it."
He stands there for a moment in silence, and the breeze blows into her open car window, causing a shiver to run down her spine. "Get in."
He looks at her, incredulous. "Get in?"
"Yeah, just...get in, okay?" She looks down as she says it, and by the time she looks back up, he's gone, already opening her passenger side door.
"So where are we going?" She can feel his eyes on her as she starts the car, backing out carefully.
"I don't know."
He pauses. "Good."
She waits until they've been driving in silence for a few minutes before asking. "So, I heard you and Kelly-"
"Oh."
"You don't have to-" She keeps her eyes on the road so she doesn't have to see his face.
"No, it's okay. I tried to break up with her. Again."
"Didn't work?"
He sighs. "No. I wish I could make her understand."
"That you hate her?"
"I don't hate her."
She peeks over at him and he's staring out the window, his hands tightly clasped in his lap. "I'm sorry."
"I know, it seems like I do. The thing with Kelly," he stops for a moment, fiddling with the vent on the dashboard in front of him before continuing, "the thing with Kelly is that it could work, it probably could be something."
"But?"
"But at the same time, it's a part of all of this, and I resent it all. I hate it all, you know? And it's not fair, but she's a part of that."
She makes a left, turning closer to her apartment. "Do you ever tell her that?"
"I try."
"So, no then."
"Well, not so bluntly. Huh."
"Huh what?" She pulls into her parking space, turning off her engine and looking at him. If he's surprised that they aren't driving anymore, he doesn't show it.
"I can't believe I just told you that."
She watches her overhead light fade into darkness. "I think Jim's dating Karen."
"Karen?" He looks puzzled for a moment. "Oh, new Karen."
"Yeah."
"Do you want me to say I'm sorry?" He has a sharp look in his eyes, and she can't quite meet his gaze. She makes a decision. It may not be right, but it's hers.
"No. I want you to come up for some coffee."
*
They're halfway up the stairs to her third floor apartment when she almost stumbles; he wraps his hand around her ankle to steady her, and his hand is warm. He places his thumb at her pulse point and looks up at her.
"I can feel it."
She pulls her leg free and continues. "Feel what?"
His voice echoes when he answers. "You know."
At the end of her hallway he catches up to her, pressing against her back. Somehow she makes it to her door without falling, and when she turns he presses her against the wall, leaning in close and stopping. She leans in the rest of the way and kisses him, and his lips are cold from the air outside. She's almost as aware of his neck straining underneath her fingertips as she is of everything else. When she pulls back for a moment to catch her breath, he speaks.
"Pam, I don't know..."
She reaches into her pocket for her keys. "Come on." When she turns he sweeps the hair off of her neck, and she can feel his breath there, slow and steady and warm, as she tries to open the door.
His lips are moving against her neck now. "Hurry up."
She almost drops the keys. "I'm trying." His hand closes over hers, steadying her enough to open the door. When it's finally open she turns, pulling him in by his lapels and closing the door behind him. They stand for a moment in her living room, close but not touching, before she starts to feel awkward again.
"Do you want something to drink?" She hasn't put a light on, and he stands in half shadow.
"No, thanks." And he puts his hand on her arm, squeezing through her coat.
"Well then...take off your coat and stay awhile."
*
By the time they get to her bedroom she feels more comfortable and he's down to his shirt and pants, tie loosened and crooked. She sits on the bed, leaning back and pulling him with her. Kissing her and fumbling with her sweater, he pulls back.
"Your button is loose."
She reaches to the back of her head for the clip in her hair, taking it out and shaking her head, tossing the clip off the side of the bed. "Oh, is it?" She'd been playing with the button all day long, seeing how far she could twist it one way, then the other.
"Yeah. In fact, here." He gives it a tug, pulling it free and leaning over her, pressing her into the bed as he places it on her nightstand. "So you don't lose it."
For a second she thinks that she might cry as he looks down at her, pulling open her sweater. "Thanks." He doesn't respond, kissing her again.
She pulls off his tie, opening his shirt while his hand slides up her thigh, the static of her tights crackling in her quiet bedroom. He laughs, his mouth curving against hers. She feels like she maybe should be embarrassed, but then his hand is moving up higher, fingers curling under the waistband and tugging, pulling them down her legs. The air feels cool but his hand is hot when it moves up the inside of her thigh. When his fingers finally push her underwear aside, pressing against her, she slips her own fingers into his waistband, behind his belt, and presses her thighs together, trapping his wrist for a split second before running her other hand through his hair and pulling him to her, pulling his lips down to hers again.
He moves his thumb in a slow circle, making her jump, and she reaches for his belt again, this time undoing it before sliding it through the loops slowly, skimming her finger along the skin above his button to hear his breath catch with her own. She's close, and he's pulling back, looking down at her with a look she never wants to forget, not for a long, long time, because of how it makes her feel. And then he's kissing her, his breath hot against her neck, his voice in her ear.
"I don't, I don't have anything."
She pauses, her hands at his zipper. Shit. She doesn't either. She blinks her eyes, ready for the tears to come, but nothing happens. "It doesn't matter."
"It doesn't?" He looks at her.
She slides the zipper down slowly, reaching her hand inside to wrap around him, and he makes a sound between a groan and a hiss. "It doesn't have to be...you know."
He settles alongside her, trailing his fingers along the inside of her thigh again before meeting her eyes and half-smiling. "Oh."
She pushes his pants down, reaching for him again, circling her fingers and stroking once, twice, again. He thrusts up into her hand, his fingers finding her again, his lips on hers, talking against them, "Pam. Pam, I want-"
She pulls away, putting her lips to his ear. "I know. Don't stop."
*
She comes out of the bathroom and laughs; he's sprawled across her bed, pants around his knees, shirt undone.
His voice comes out of the semi-darkness. "Shut up."
"You look comfortable."
"I am." He doesn't move.
She sits on the edge, crawling next to him when he reaches in her direction. "Just let me know when you want to go back to your car."
"Just give me a minute."
She can't help herself, and slides closer to him, snaking a hand across this chest and settling her head on his shoulder. "I should feel horrible about this."
He's quiet for a moment, his breathing even. "No. I should."
"Do you?"
"If I said not really, would you be pissed off?"
She considers, biting her lip. "If I said I wouldn't be, would that make me a bad person?"
He answers right away. "No."
"Then no."
"So. Jim."
She tenses. "Hmmm?"
"How much of this was about him?"
She wishes she knew how he manages to make her feel so honest. "Around...30% him, 60% me."
"Uh, that's only 90."
"10% you." He doesn't answer, and she taps along his collarbone with her finger. "What about you? What's the Kelly, you, me split?"
"Same."
"I see."
"Well, maybe more like 20, 40, 40."
"Ryan?"
"Yeah?"
"I feel horrible."
"You know, if you really want Jim, which, he's a douche, by the way, I could suss Karen out, see about freeing him up for you."
"Ha. Please don't do that."
"I don't know, it seems like we'd both end up with something good in that situation. Well, I would."
"Stop." It comes out louder than she means it to, and she can feel it hanging in the air between them.
His voice lowers. "Do you want to take me back to my car?"
She's not sure she wants to say good-bye yet. "Can you stay?"
"Stay?"
She tries to cover. "...for another hour? Can you stay for another hour?"
His lips find her forehead, and for the first time since the beginning of the evening she actually has something to blink away. "Sure. An hour."
*
A week later she's convinced that maybe it's time, maybe she doesn't need Dunder Mifflin. Maybe she could quit on her own, force herself into something new. She runs into Ryan in the morning when she's making her tea and stands a little too close to him, even though Kelly's probably somewhere nearby and she knows he hasn't managed to work that out. Her hip almost aligns with his as she pours the hot water; he's playing with a packet of Splenda that Stanley left on the counter.
"Maybe I'll quit."
His hands pause. "Really?"
"Maybe. Why not?"
He shakes his head, looking over at her. "If you do..."
"You'll what?"
"I'll...buy you dinner."
She wonders what he's really asking. "Someplace nice?"
"Yeah, you can put on a dress and we'll celebrate your balls."
"I'll have to make sure my dress covers them."
He looks up mid-laugh when Oscar walks in, holding a book and nodding hello. "I should get going."
She watches him walk away. "Okay."
He pauses in the doorway. "Keep me updated though."
"Sure."
As the door closes behind him, Oscar looks up at her from the table. "So how's your day been so far, Pam?"
She turns to him and smiles. "Good. Really good." She stops at the door when she sees Michael in front of her desk, talking to Jim. She sits across from Oscar.
"So," she says, holding her mug with both hands, "what are you reading?"
*
It shouldn't matter to her, but it does. Jim sends Andy in her direction, and she stares at the back of his head all day, waiting for the few times he'll turn around and smile at her. She knows she's settling into an old pattern, but it feels different enough that she goes with it. She can't leave. Maybe this is where she really needs to be. All those years had to be leading to something.
She gets the courage to approach Ryan late one day when everyone's left but them and Toby, somewhere in the back. She takes an extra minute to put on her coat while he sits at his computer, waiting for it to shut down. Playing with the end of her scarf, she finally goes over to stand next to him.
"Ryan."
"Yep." He doesn't look up.
"Ready to leave?"
He sighs. "Yeah."
In the elevator, he's quiet, shrugging on his coat while she watches him out of the corner of her eye. "How was your day?"
"The same. No sales, studied for an exam, ignored everything."
"Oh."
The doors open and he strides out, looking back over his shoulder, his face softening. "I'm sorry. I just, I know."
"I'm not quitting."
"Neither am I." He looks like he's about to smile, but his face falls and he sighs instead.
When they reach the parking lot, she stands by her car awkwardly. "Ryan?"
"Hmmm?"
"It can't happen again."
He's nodding, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, totally."
"It's just, I don't think-"
"I know."
"I don't want you to think that-"
"Pam," his voice coming out louder than she anticipated, "I understand. I guess I'll just, uh, see you around."
She stares at her reflection in the car window and listens to him walk away.
* * * * *
When he walks into the coffee shop she doesn't recognize him at first, even though she's seen him constantly over the past two days. It's the beard, maybe. Or because he's so engrossed in his phone that she can't see his eyes.
"Ryan."
He looks up, smiling for a moment before walking up to her table, sitting down when she moves her purse. "Hey."
"You got my email."
He holds up his Blackberry. "Never leave home without it."
"I noticed."
"So did you want to talk about the logo? Because I haven't quite decided which one yet-"
"No, nothing like that."
"Oh." For a second his face seems to crack and she remembers how he used to look. He seems so much older. Or younger. She can't decide.
"I'm sorry...about earlier."
"You really don't have to-"
He looks so uncomfortable that she decides to change the subject. "How's New York going?"
"Oh, it's fantastic. I mean, I'm in charge of all these people, and they totally look up to me and are constantly asking for my ideas, and I'm implementing new systems pretty much every week, so...yeah."
"That sounds great."
"It is."
"Well, it sounds like it."
"A couple of them still call me 'the kid', though."
"That'll stop eventually, I'm sure."
"It pretty much has." He rubs the back of his head, smoothing back his hair. He still won't meet her eyes.
"Do you have a nice place?"
"Oh, yeah. It's small, but it's really clean. Kind of. Centrally located."
"Wow. If I ever come to New York, I'll have to see it."
He clears his throat. "I don't know if you heard, I ran into Vince Vaughn the other night."
"Really?"
"Yep."
She shakes her head. "I don't really...like Vince Vaughn."
He leans forward, his mouth opening, then closing up again. "Me neither."
She laughs. "Good."
"I pretty much literally ran into him. He called me a 'short fuck'."
"That...doesn't surprise me."
"You think I'm a short fuck?"
"Well..."
"So you're with Halpert." It's a fast change of subject, but the shadows under his eyes are barely balanced by his beard and she doesn't want to make him talk about himself any more.
"I am."
"And you're doing graphics?"
She smiles. "Well, I'm taking a few more classes."
His smile looks real, looks like she remembers, for the first time. "You're good, that's so great."
"Thank you."
"I mean it."
"Ryan?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you happy? With where you are, I mean."
He looks like he's about to nod, but then slowly shakes his head. "No," he says, meeting her eyes, "but...I'm getting there. I'm trying. I mean, I made the big change. It has to happen sometime, right?"
She notices his hand on the table, unable to stay still. She reaches for it. "I think so."
"What about you?" His fingers curl around hers, slowly.
"You mean, am I happy?" She looks at their hands on the table, at the darkness outside, peppered by street lights.
"Yeah. And I'm not talking about Jim. I'm talking about, you know, you." He squeezes her fingers.
"You know what, Ryan?" she smiles, looking into his face, so sad and hopeful, "I think I am."
He smiles, looking away. "Good." He only hesitates for a second before pulling his hand away.
She watches it go.
Bennie is the author of 28 other stories.
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