He adjusts the headphones and stares at the ceiling.

He's been in this room for months now. Well, not continuously, but nearly. He's beginning to understand why the people he hears (nearly) every day are by turns dull and insane. Gray carpet over a concrete floor. More electrical outlets than windows. Fluorescents whose flicker is just fast enough to mask their maddening effect.

Actually, he's just guessing about the lights. In a year and a half, he's never turned them on.

Getting in here was a cinch. Just flashed the creds to the security guard ("I don't wanna know, man"), used a copied key to enter the empty office, and waited till dark to set up the bugs next door. Phones, desks, bathrooms. Conference room. Michael's office. Then he settled in to listen.

Of course, he'd had to make some adjustments.

He'd disabled the bug on Kelly's phone almost immediately.

He'd had to shift the bug on Dwight's handset when Jim began filling it with nickels.

He'd added a bug to the supply closet.

That last one wasn't really pertinent to his work. But necessary nonetheless.

x x x x x

The tip had come from an anonymous source, who claimed that something very odd was happening here and on a farm nearby. And it wasn't selling paper or raising beets. The details had been intriguing, with enough matches to merit the equipment and his time. He thinks he's worked out some connections, but, as is always the case, every answer has created two more questions, so here he remains. Lying on the hard floor. Staring at the ceiling tiles. Listening intently to the hum of the computers in the dark office next door.

He hears a door open, then whistling. The cameraman. The young one. Ted whistles a lot. The producer is always reminding him not to do it while the other camera is running. He closes his eyes and follows Ted mentally.

Ted leaves the lights off, walks to the kitchen and opens the fridge. Considers his snack options. Issues a quiet apology to Phyllis, then closes the fridge door. He opens something like a Tupperware container, then after rooting around for a utensil, closes a drawer. Pulls back a chair and begins eating.

Then the door opens again. Simultaneously, he hears a screech from Ted's chair and soft footsteps in the main office. Ted shuffles around, muttering to himself. Then a telephone handset is lifted.

He looks at his control panel. Jim's. Calling a cab?

But then it isn't Jim's voice, but a woman's.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Pam? Hi, hon, is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Well, no."

"What is it?"

"Um." She sighs. "Jim told me he loves me. That he's in love with me."

"Pam. When?"

"About ten minutes ago..."

And now he's sitting up.

He believes in only three things these days.

There's the one thing he's always believed.

Then there's her. He believes in her.

Then there's these two. These two people who have a connection so extraordinary, he can't believe that they haven't always been together, reincarnated endlessly throughout time, meeting, loving, always.

He's seen stranger things.

His thoughts are interrupted by the door again. Just a soft click. Pam hasn't heard, is still talking. But then she's hanging up hurriedly.

"Listen, Jim..."

Then nothing. Well, not nothing. His equipment's better than that. Between the slight rustle of fabric, the not-quite-normal breaths, and a light, wet sound, the scene is as vivid to him as it must be to Ted. He hopes, for Ted's sake, that Ted is filming.

There's a long pause, then she whispers.

"Jim."

Silence.

"Oh, Jim."

...

"I think..."

...

"I think I'm in love with you."

...

She begins to cry softly.

Another rustle, a whisper. "Shhhhh, it's okay."

She sobs harder. He's silent. Eventually she quiets to a few sniffles now and then. Deep breaths, in and out.

"Are you cold?"

"A little."

"Here." Rustle.

Rustle. "Thanks." A pause. "I think I need to sit down."

"Come over here."

They're quiet for a while, then she asks, "How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long have you known?"

"That I love you?" Then softly, "Or that you love me?"

She laughs quietly. "Either. Both."

"I don't know."

"Oh, you're not getting off that easily."

He chuckles. "It was gradual. Sneaky." He takes a deep breath and exhales. "I used to scratch marks in my top desk drawer, to mark my days here. Like I was in prison. I don't think I ever showed you."

"No."

"Nah. Too depressing to share. But I can tell you this: I haven't made any new marks for a couple of years."

"Oh." Pause. "And me? When did you -?"

"About five minutes ago."

"Jim!"

"Well, that's when I knew. I've suspected for a long time, but I didn't trust my judgment till tonight."

"Thank goodness one of us does."

Pause. "You can trust yourself, Pam."

"How? I've lied to myself for a long time, I think."

"Pam, look at me...do you love me?"

"Yes."

"Are you in love with me?"

"Yes."  Pause. "But...Roy..."

"Do you love him?"

"Yes."

A pause, then quietly, "Pam, are you in love with him?"

...

"Pam?"

Whispered, "No. Not any more."

...

"Oh, Jim. This is going to be hard."

"I know."

"Could you just...I really need..."

"Sure. Shhhh...it's gonna be okay...I promise."

"Say it again."

"I promise."

"No..."

"I love you."

She sighs. "I love you, too, Jim Halpert."

x x x x x

It's late, but he dials her number anyway. She picks up on the third ring.

Her voice is rough with sleep. "Do you know what time it is?"

"You owe me twenty bucks."

"What?"

"He did it! He confessed. And he kissed her. And she kissed him back, and she's in love with him. She said so. You owe me twenty bucks."

She groans.

He's grinning like an idiot. "Ain't love grand?"

"Yes. Love is grand. So is sleep. I'll talk you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

"Goodnight, Mulder."

He smiles. "Goodnight, Scully."