* * *
“Yeah, I got through about half of it one summer in high school, and I kept meaning to finish, but every time I saw it on my bookshelf I'd think of a million things I'd rather do instead.”
“I’m impressed, Beesly. I don’t think I’ve ever even opened War and Peace.” Jim rolled his shoulders, stiff like the rest of him after a good ninety minutes of driving. The air conditioning was blasting directly on his fingers - he couldn’t feel them anymore - but it was still much too hot to consider turning it down. “No wait, I lied. I flipped through it once when it got in somehow with my weekly supply of Babysitters’ Club books.”
“Oh, you mean the ones you’ve got hidden under your bed?”
“Damn it, you found out about those?”
“Yep, along with your Teen Vogues.”
“I…don’t know what to say.”
“It’s ok, Halpert, I always knew you were a little more in touch with your feminine side than your average guy.”
Jim shook his head incredulously, knowing she couldn’t see him but smiling sheepishly anyway.
“And I personally think it comes in kind of handy,” she launched on, not giving him a chance to defend himself, “because you’re awfully in touch with my feminine side.”
Jim just laughed, refusing to take the bait.
“Oh come on, Jim!” he heard her say, half-laughing and half-pleading, “You have to say it.”
“Nope.”
“Please?”
He sighed. “Fine. That’s what she said. Are you happy now?”
“Is it bad that I am?”
“Just how did we get here from Tolstoy?” he asked over her giggling, checking his rearview mirror before adjusting the earpiece. Traffic had died considerable once he’d crossed the state line into Pennsylvania; now, closer to Scranton, only a handful of bright headlights pierced through the dark behind him.
“Face it, Jim. We’re just not the intellectual types.”
“Sure we are. We work for a paper company. And books are made of paper. Where would the world of academia be without us?”
“I don’t think Dunder-Mifflin was around in Tolstoy’s time, Jim.”
“Whatever, Beesly. I bet we could trace it back.” He heard a clatter, followed by faint, undecipherable swearing. “Pam?”
“Hello?”
“Still here, kiddo.” Jim answered, flicking on his turn signal towards the Scranton exit. Steady clicks filled the car, an oddly comforting song against the relative silence of the road.
“Sorry about that. I dropped my phone.”
“At least it’s still working this time.”
“Be nice. That was the first time.”
“In the last hour, anyway,” he scoffed. “Seriously, Beesly, you give dropped calls a whole new meaning.”
“I don’t even want to know how long you’ve been waiting to use that one.”
“Two weeks.”
“Weak, Halpert.”
Jim tilted his head back and chuckled, wondering how it was that they still weren’t bored of each other. They’d been on the phone for most of his drive back, despite Pam’s repeated concerns about his driving and talking at the same time. Neither of them could quite bring themselves to hang up, though.
“I’m telling you, Pam, this domestic bliss thing is making me soft. Blunting my razor-sharp wit, if you will.”
“Lower-than-projected margins of sarcasm?”
“It’s been a tough quarter.”
“It’s not all bad news, Halpert. I happen to know that customer satisfaction is at an all-time high.”
Her voice was a little throaty, and Jim was hit with a vision of her propped on her elbows against his chest, looking down at him with a teasing grin. Smiling against his mouth as she pressed her lips to their corner. Holding her loosely, arms clasped around her hips, swearing he could taste her smile.
“For a receptionist, you seem to be, uh, pretty up to date on – shit, forget it. I can’t think of anything right now. Can I please just turn around?”
“No!”
“So mean.”
“Where are you?”
“Just pulled up in front of my apartment, as a matter of fact.” He parked the car, locked it, and grabbed his duffel bag from the passenger seat. “Remind me again why it’s still my apartment and not our apartment?”
“Oh, you are not pinning this one on me, Jim. What kind of girl do you think I am?” she shot back, mock-indignant.
“You really want me to answer that?”
“Dork.”
“Hey, now,” he chided gently, fitting the key into the lock and twisting the knob hard before it swung open. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I think you’re a very nice girl.” He felt around blindly for the lights, stepping into the stuffy living room. The quiet had coated every corner; he thought he could feel it seep under his fingernails, behind his ears. He switched the lights back off, striding quickly into the bedroom and tossing the duffel onto his unmade bed.
“A nice girl? Wow, Jim, put a couple miles between us and suddenly the romance dies.”
“If you recall, my exact words were ‘very nice’,” he admonished her as he shrugged off his coat.
“Oh, well then. Took it to a whole new level, didn’t you? Don’t stop on my account, Halpert.”
“You’re the kind of girl a man wants to buy a farm with.”
“Milk cows with?”
“Dare I say it? Grow beets with.”
“I never should have doubted you.”
“See what I mean? Even Dwight couldn’t question my devotion to you.” He grinned as he unzipped the bag, emptying the contents onto the bed. A folded paper bird spilled out with the mess of clothing, stark white against a black T-shirt. There was writing on the wings, Pam’s close, haphazard cursive, and a funny little sketch of a girl waving out her window. He scooped it up, holding it to the light so that he could make out what was written.
Get home safe! I love you! Pam.
“Hey, you know what else?” he asked, sighing as he fell back heavy onto the mattress, heedless of the laundry underneath him.
“What?”
There were crickets outside his window, shrill and sharp and cumbersome. He wouldn’t be fighting for the sink tonight, and he’d be sleeping on the left because it made it easier to pretend she’d be next to him when he woke up the next morning.
“You’re the kind of girl I want to come home to.”
* * *
Author's Chapter Notes:
This one's for Vampiric Blood, who is a fantastic reviewer and an even better writer (and who inspired the early posting)! You should check out Cardiac Care (which also needs to be updated, hint hint).
Chapter End Notes:
Pure, unmitigated fluff. You like?
