**
Toby jogs every evening, when the sun's just setting and the air's starting to cool off. At first, running in the sand was tough, all that shifting, but now it's easy. Even after three months he's still perpetually sunburned and peeling, freckles across his nose so he looks fifteen, except for how his muscles are hardened from the jogging and surfing, and for the smile lines snaking around his eyes. He smiles a lot more here.
**
Pam hasn't pulled a real all-nighter since college. She'd forgotten how that hour between 5 and 6 is the worst, just before the sun comes up, when you're so tired and the night's not even over, and no one's left awake on IM to keep you company. It's even worse when you know you have to be at work in three hours, so you aren't going to get any sleep at all. She shouldn't have let design school overlap with going back to work at Dunder Mifflin, but she's got to pay her rent, so.
She gets one of those giant coffees at Dunkin' Donuts before going into the office, but it just makes her sleepiness jittery instead of actually waking her up, and she's just so tired. It feels like it's been a long few months, ever since she went to New York and things with Jim started going sour. She’s been pretty depressed since the breakup, like her life’s going nowhere, and on top of that she’s really nervous about her final grades, and sometimes she thinks if she has to take notes at another one of Michael's meetings, she just... sometimes everything just seems hard.
Across the room, Andy lets off a blast of airhorn and Pam jumps. She can’t stand it here some mornings. Most mornings.
She pushes the hair out of her eyes and half-heartedly clicks on Outlook to see what horrible things have come into her email overnight, trying to block out the sounds of Angela lecturing Andy. But instead of something horrible, the top message is from Toby -- they've been emailing every once in awhile since he left for Costa Rica. She tells him ridiculous things Michael's done, or what's going on with Dwight and Angela, or how she really misses the Finer Things Club, and he sends her pictures of the ocean, or a starfish he found on the beach, or tells her about how he's reading a lot of Michael Chabon. It seems like it's nice in Costa Rica, not stressful or tiring at all. She hasn't read a book for fun all summer.
The picture attached to Toby's message is of an empty beach, all white sand in the early morning and ridiculously turquoise ocean, and the text of the email just says, "You should come for a visit. It's quiet here." Pam reads it and kind of wants to cry.
She's just tired. She needs to get some sleep. Across the room Andy’s airhorn goes off again.
Jim comes walking in and avoids eye contact with her, as usual. It’s one good reason not to date a coworker, how incredibly awkward it is after you break up, how you’ll lose your best work friend and feel terrible all the time. She gets up to go to the bathroom just so she won’t have to look at him for a few minutes, but there’s only so many times you can do that throughout the course of a work day.
In the bathroom mirror, she looks tired, the dark circles under her eyes pronounced. She tries to do some magic with concealer, but after a minute it just seems like too much effort and she stops. Oh well. Looking like a zombie it is.
When she gets back to her desk, she clicks back over to Toby's picture. It looks warm there, and not in the muggy way Scranton's warm in August. She makes it her desktop background and keeps clicking over to look at it through the course of the day, thinks about learning to surf and how bad she'd be at it. She’s just so tired. It looks like a nice beach to sleep on.
**
None of Ryan's friends are talking to him since the arrest. It's not that surprising -- he knew they weren't friend friends, not the way people on TV are friends, like, where they genuinely care about each other and all that bullshit from Saved by the Bell or whatever, but he thought at least Troy would return his calls. As it is, he's going crazy all alone in his apartment, nowhere to go, not allowed to leave the southern district of New York, and Michael Scott's the only person besides his mother talking to him voluntarily.
No wonder he goes a little insane. No wonder one day he just gets in his car and starts driving south and west, and doesn't really think about what he's doing until he's already crossed the border into Mexico and he's a fucking fugitive from justice. Whoops. You could say 2008 has not really been his year.
**
Toby rents a tiny little cottage a half-mile from the beach. More of a shack than a cottage, maybe, but it's his, and he doesn't keep any paper in the place. It's a pointless adolescent gesture, but it feels good. If he has to write something down someday, he'll write on his hands. But as it is, he hasn't needed a to-do list or to write down a phone message since he got here, and it's a kind of freedom.
He walks into town once a week to call Sasha, and while he's there he'll grab the local paper to check the headlines. His Spanish has gotten pretty good -- well, passable, anyway -- and he'll get a beer and read the paper and talk to the bartender about the fishing and the tourists.
You know how sometimes, after you've left someplace, you'll think you see people you used to know in crowds? Toby figures that's what it is when he thinks he sees Ryan Howard across the square, as Toby's coming walking out of the bar. It's just a quick glance, someone with the right build, in swim trunks and flip-flops and a ragged t-shirt, mussed hair and a light beard. But he's pretty far away, and Toby thinks he sees Pam in crowds like twice a month, so he doesn't think too much of it.
But then he thinks he sees him again at the market, as Toby’s buying mangoes. He looks up and sees the same guy running his hands through his hair, staring at the oranges like he has no idea what he's doing. And it really looks like Ryan. Toby squints, confused, and then the guy looks up and sees him and it is Ryan, and it's so completely bizarre that for a second Toby thinks, wait, where am I, am I in Scranton? And he looks all around to make sure that no, he's still in Costa Rica -- he can see palm trees and smell the ocean, and hear a mother yelling at a kid in Spanish --, and then he looks back at Ryan, and they stare at each other for a few seconds.
"Toby?" Ryan says. His hair is longish and mussed, and his t-shirt has a hole along the neckline, looks like it hasn't been washed for awhile. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here," Toby says automatically. "Didn't you hear?" He blinks and puts down the mango he was holding. "And aren't you supposed to be in jail?"
Ryan looks annoyed, and rubs the back of his neck. "No," he says. "None of your business."
"Okay," Toby says. Ryan has that harassed, stressed-out American look about him like he hasn't been here very long. Toby's gotten so he can spot that look a mile away, the people who talk too loud and too fast and try to fit in as much desperate fun as possible in the few days they have off from work. Americans. It wears off eventually -- Toby hasn't felt that way since the second week he got here -- but most of them don't stay long enough for that to happen, and they go back to their offices to talk too loud and too fast and too stressed there.
Toby doesn't know quite what else to say, and he scratches his arm, where the sunburned skin is peeling off. He's all freckles these days, his hair bleaching lighter in the sunshine. Since he avoids the tourists and other surfers, he hasn't made small talk in English in a long time, and it takes him a second to remember the pleasantries. "Um. So where are you staying?"
For a second Ryan looks like he doesn't know whether to tell him or not. "You in touch with anybody back in the States?" Ryan says.
Toby blinks. "Just my daughter." He has no idea why Ryan would care, until he puts together the arrest with Ryan being secretive in the middle-of-nowhere, Costa Rica, and makes a really dramatic four. Fugitive from justice Ryan Howard. Wow. That's... actually pretty funny. Slash sad.
"Oh," Ryan says. "Okay. La Paloma. Is where I'm staying." It's a touristy place, but one of the more rundown ones.
"What on earth made you come down here?" Toby says. He just can't get his head around it. Of all the places in the world to run into Ryan Howard.
Ryan shrugs and looks uncomfortable. "I guess you talked about it a lot when I used to sit in the back."
"Oh," Toby says.
"You really live here?" Ryan asks. "You actually quit and moved here?" He looks at Toby appraisingly, like he's thinking maybe he misjudged him, back in Scranton.
Toby shrugs and nods. "I rent a place down at the beach."
"Cool," Ryan says, still looking at him a little funny. Toby imagines how he must look to Ryan, wearing in his cargo shorts and a t-shirt, freckly and sunburnt, his hair getting a little shaggy in the back because he hasn't bothered to get it cut. Not so much like an HR guy, anymore. "Well, it looks like it suits you," Ryan says. "Maybe I'll see you around?"
"Sure," Toby says, and watches Ryan walk off.
When he goes over to the internet cafe, he has an email from Pam with some of her work from design school attached. He looks at the attachments for a long time, the way she uses colors, and wishes the cafe had a printer. Oh well. He hits reply to tell her how much he likes them, and how the surf was today, and at the end asks very casually whatever happened with Ryan's trial.
**
“What are you watching?” Oscar asks, coming up behind her unexpectedly.
Pam starts, glancing at him, then back at the youtube page she’s on. “Um,” she says. Then, when Oscar’s gotten close enough to see that it’s Ryan’s arrest, she says, “Don’t you think he looks just... I don’t know. Like, really sad and lost.” He really does, and it’s depressing -- poor stupid Ryan. Even if he did deserve it and then run away from his trial, like she just got finished telling Toby in email.
Oscar laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “It always cheers me up too.”
Pam didn’t -- well. She gets why everybody except Michael is gleeful about Ryan’s whole deal, but it doesn’t mean she has to be on board with it.
“What?” Oscar says, seeing her expression.
“Nothing,” she says. “Never mind.” She goes back to the mind-numbing filing she’s been putting off, and thinks for the millionth time that if she doesn’t get out of here soon, she’s going to lose her mind. She thinks about Toby running away to Costa Rica, about Ryan running away to wherever, and thinks, not for the first time, that she understands the impulse.
**
The surf’s best early in the morning, so Toby’s always up before the sun rises, heading down to the beach with his surfboard under his arm. He’s getting pretty good. Well, better, anyway. He took the skin off his left forearm the other week, but he hasn’t wiped out badly since then. He thought maybe he’d get tired of surfing after awhile, that the novelty would wear off, but it hasn’t, not at all. The feeling of the wind on his face when he catches a wave just right, the water under his board, that exhilaration of actually doing it, of surfing like he’s always wanted. No, the feeling hasn’t worn off.
Two days after he ran into Ryan in town, after he’s been surfing all morning, someone’s sitting on the beach when he comes out of the water, watching him walk through the sand. He squints against the sun rising over the jungle, and it’s Ryan.
“Hey,” Toby says, stopping in front of him and shading his eyes with his hand.
“I thought that was you,” Ryan says. He’s still sort of scruffy looking, wearing a different, equally battered t-shirt and the same pair of swim trunks. His sunglasses hide his eyes pretty effectively. “Surfing. You’re not bad.”
“Thanks,” Toby says. He rests his board on the sand and scratches his calf with the opposite foot. He’s all sandy and salty and it starts to itch pretty fast. His swim trunks are still dripping ocean water.
Ryan turns his head to look up and down the beach. “It’s nice here,” he says. “I can see why you decided to come.”
With the sunglasses, Toby can’t judge Ryan’s expression at all. But he’s getting tired of standing with the sun in his eyes, so he sets his board carefully down on the beach and sits down next to Ryan, facing the water. “Yeah,” Toby says, settling down cross-legged.
“So I, uh, skipped out on my bail,” Ryan says.
It’s not exactly a big revelation, though the way Ryan’s talking he clearly thinks it is. After being in HR for so many years, Toby has a lot of experience with people telling him personal things, how they always use that voice that signals he needs to be quietly supportive. So he nods and says, “Huh.”
“It was a spur of the moment decision,” Ryan says. Then he shakes his head irritably. “No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t a decision at all.”
“Mmm,” Toby says. It’s getting hotter as the sun rises higher and higher, and the water’s sparkling in the sunlight.
“I just kind of woke up in Mexico,” Ryan says. “Fuck. And now I can never go back home.”
Toby looks at the beach stretching in front of him, at the sand sticking gritty to Ryan’s legs, listens to the birds in the jungle behind them. Finally he glances over at Ryan, whose face is tight behind his sunglasses. “Why would you want to go back?” he says. He means it, too. He’s never going back.
Ryan chokes out a noise that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob. Toby smiles and goes back to looking at the ocean, watching the waves come crashing in. He picks out which ones he’d try to ride if he were out there right now.
Finally Ryan says, “I don’t know, it’s been a really bad year, I guess.” He’s got his feet out of his flip flops and is pushing sand back and forth with his right foot, mounding it up and then smoothing it out again.
“Yeah,” Toby says. “That’s Dunder Mifflin.”
“Yeah,” Ryan says. He takes off his sunglasses and rubs a hand over his face, scraping through his stubble. He looks younger and older with them off. “God. I can’t relax, though. It’s like corporate did something to me.”
That sounds terrible. Toby starts to write his name in the sand with a little stick. “Really?”
Ryan makes a face. “Yeah. I need to get high or something, I don’t know. Do you know where I could get some pot around here?”
The closest place Toby knows of is his house. Turns out Ryan’s surprisingly more likable when they’re both baked.
They hang out every couple of days after that. Ryan’s gotten a job as a dishwasher at the local bar, which doesn’t care too much about passports or work visas, but on Ryan’s days off, or in the mornings, they’ll sit around and smoke up or just have a beer. Ryan got a deck of cards from his hotel gift shop, and they play gin rummy or sometimes war. It’s quiet, but kind of nice to have someone to hang out with. Weird but okay. He figures Ryan’ll be moving on eventually, but in the meantime, it’s not bad.
**
The sun’s not quite up yet, but Toby’s letting himself out the house with a towel draped over his bare shoulders and his surf board under his arm. Morning routine, pretty standard stuff. He cuts across the dirt in front of the cottage, past his hammock -- in which someone is sleeping.
When he gets closer, it’s Ryan, an arm flung up over his eyes, swaying gently as his body moves the hammock. He seems pretty sound asleep, and Toby wonders why he’s here instead of back at his hotel, thinks for a second about waking him up. But then he shrugs and leaves him alone, heading down to the beach to surf like usual.
When he gets back, Ryan’s still in the hammock, snoring lightly. It’s still early, Toby guesses, even though the sun has been up for awhile. 7:30, maybe? Toby stopped wearing a watch the second day he got here, so he’s not sure.
He stands over Ryan looking at him for a second, then pokes his arm with a sandy finger. Ryan doesn’t move. Toby pokes him again.
Ryan makes an annoyed, snorty noise, then blinks his red-rimmed eyes open. “What?” he says.
“You’re sleeping in my hammock,” Toby says.
Ryan blinks a few more times, waking up. “No, I was sleeping in your hammock,” he says, his voice rough. “Now I’m awake in your hammock.”
Toby just looks at him, the deep shadows under his eyes, the bruise that’s dark on his bare right shoulder.
Toby’s face must show his question, because Ryan’s face tightens up, and he looks away. “Maybe I got thrown out of the hotel,” he says.
A wind picks up, smelling like the ocean, and ruffles Ryan’s hair across his forehead. It’s gotten long enough so that it shags into his eyes, and Ryan pushes it away irritably.
“You want some breakfast?” Toby asks.
Ryan’s still looking away, like he’s too embarrassed to make eye contact. Finally he shrugs. “Yeah, thanks.”
Inside the house, Toby starts Ryan on cutting up some mangoes, and cracks some eggs into the frying pan. They don’t talk a lot when they hang out together, but it’s comfortable. Toby likes it, the friendly silences. He reaches around Ryan for a piece of fruit, the juice sticky on his fingers.
“Sasha’s room’s probably more comfortable than that hammock,” Toby says, popping the mango in his mouth. Maybe it’s kind of silly to call it Sasha’s room when Sasha’s never even used it, but she’ll be down to visit soon. Probably. Christmas, maybe, anyway.
“Oh yeah?” Ryan says.
“Yeah,” Toby says. “Maybe you should try that, tonight.”
He sees Ryan try to suppress a smile. “Maybe,” he says. “Thanks.”
And after that, Ryan sleeps in Sasha’s room, even though the twin bed’s a little too short and the sheets have pink flowers on them. Toby likes having a roommate more than he expected, even a roommate from Dunder Mifflin. Maybe especially a roommate from Dunder Mifflin -- sometimes it feels a little bit like they came through the war together, even though that’s a stupid way to feel.
**
Ryan brings home a case of beer just as the sun’s setting, and they sit in the kitchen, the one crappy lamp just illuminating the table, and Ryan deals out cards, seven for each of them.
“What are we playing?” Toby asks, taking a sip of beer.
Ryan shrugs and picks up his cards. “No idea. Crazy eights?”
“That’s Sasha’s favorite,” Toby says.
“Mine too,” Ryan says, organizing his hand.
Toby laughs a little and flips over the top card to start the game. They play a few cards without talking, fives on fives, clubs on clubs.
“I checked my email today,” Toby says, as Ryan puts down the king of spades.
“Yeah?” Ryan says.
Toby tries to pretend like he’s giving casual information. “Pam’s coming down here for vacation next week.”
Ryan’s eyebrows go up and he gets a strange look on his face. “I didn’t know you were in touch with Pam.”
Toby shrugs and plays the king of hearts. “Once in awhile.”
Ryan’s watching Toby very closely, like he’s a little suspicious Toby’s not telling him everything. “Enough so that she’s coming to visit,” he says.
Toby takes a sip of beer. “She’s not coming to visit. She just saw the pictures and has some vacation time. She said she hasn’t had a real vacation in years. She’s staying at the Mariott.”
“Uh huh,” Ryan says. He still hasn’t played a card.
“Your turn,” Toby says.
Ryan ignores him. “Is Jim coming with her?”
“No,” Toby says. “They broke up awhile ago.” Ryan’s eyebrows go way up, which Toby ignores. Instead, he says, “It’s your turn.”
After a long moment, Ryan finally looks back at his cards irritably, and after a minute draws from the deck, unable to play. Toby plays the two of hearts.
Ryan takes a long sip of beer, then studies his cards closely. “Does she know I’m here?” he says, not looking at Toby.
“I might’ve mentioned it,” Toby says, and when Ryan’s head jerks up, he says, “Don’t worry, she’s not going to... I don’t know. Rat you out to the feds.” He feels ridiculous just saying things like that.
“Yeah, well,” Ryan says, but his shoulders relax.
Toby tries not to roll his eyes. “You’re not really that important, Howard.”
Ryan scowls at his cards, and finally pulls out the two of diamonds. “I know,” he says. “God.”
Toby can see that a peace offering is in order, so he plays the six of diamonds and gets up to go get the pot.
Twenty minutes later, they’re both in a better mood. “I always kind of had a crush on her,” Ryan says, leaning his chair back on two legs.
“Who?” Toby says.
Ryan giggles. “Pam,” he says. “Obviously.”
“Oh,” Toby says. He takes the joint back from Ryan and inhales deeply. “Yeah, who didn’t?” he says.
Ryan giggles again, and it’s better to talk about it like this. Better than pulling out that picture of him and Pam from his last day and mooning over it, like a ninth grader with a yearbook photo. Have a great summer, stay sweet. Toby laughs again. Ryan takes the joint back from him, his fingers warm against Toby’s.
**
After Ryan’s shift finishes on the day Pam’s arriving, he goes home but the house is empty. There’s a suitcase in the middle of the kitchen with Pam’s jacket lying on top of it, though -- it must be too early for her to have checked into the hotel.
He grabs his towel, changes into swim trunks and walks down to the beach, figuring they’re more likely to be there than not. And when he gets there and scans the few people in the water, he spots Toby’s blond head, and then sees a woman next to him. Pam. She’s got her hair in a ponytail, and they’re both sitting on surfboards, paddling lightly and laughing.
Ryan’s sits on the beach to watch them, the sand hot under his hands. Toby’s clearly teaching Pam how to surf, touching her arm and pointing to the waves. Pam looks the same as she always has, but nicer in the Costa Rica sunshine, her skin without that sickly cast the fluorescent lights of the office gave it. Toby touches her arm again, and Ryan suddenly feels a stupid rush of sadness, himself on the outside. They look like they’re having a really good time. He wonders what they’ve been emailing about, all these months.
He watches them lie down on their stomachs, catch a little wave and ride it into shore still on their stomachs, taking it easy. Pam’s got this big grin on her face. As they get up, collecting their boards at the edge of the surf, Ryan brushes himself off and walks towards them.
To his surprise, Pam grins even more when she sees him. “The prodigal returns,” she says. Tendrils of hair are escaping from her ponytail and curling messily along her face.
“Returns?” Ryan says. “You’re the one who joined me.” He thinks he’s smiling -- it’s weird to see her here. Weird and good.
“Three prodigals,” Toby says.
To Ryan’s surprise, Pam says, “I’m glad you’re okay. Good to see you, Ryan,” and hugs him. She’s still partly wet from the ocean, and her back under his hands is hot from the sun.
“You too,” he says. His voice comes out quieter than he expects it to. He’s just surprised by how happy he feels, he guesses.
**
Pam makes them all keep smearing on sunscreen, reminding them about Kevin’s skin cancer scare and how they have to be careful. It’s getting so annoying that Ryan pretends to sleep whenever she digs out the tube and looks like she’s about to toss it to him.
“I know you’re not sleeping,” Pam says, looking down at him.
He opens his eyes behind his sunglasses, squinting into the deep blue sky. “So?” he says.
“You need to put on more sunscreen,” she says. She’s only been here three days, but she’s getting a tan, the strip of skin whiter when her bikini strap slips to the side.
“I can’t reach my back,” Ryan says. “I think you need to rub it on me.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
Toby’s watching them both with a weird look on his face. Pam rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she says. “Roll over.”
Ryan tries not to smile and rolls over, shifting so he stays on his towel. The sand’s hot when he puts his hands on it.
Pam’s hands are warm on his back, the slither of the sunscreen hot from sitting out in the sun, and the little bit of sand sticking to his back mixes with the lotion and grits against his skin. He closes his eyes and breathes in.
**
Ridiculously, they all get cleaned up, showered and shaved, just to go down to the local bar on the second Thursday night Pam’s there, the dingy dive with the rough wood floors. Pam’s got her hair down around her shoulders, all smooth and shining instead of in a frizzy ponytail, and Toby can’t stop looking at her. Ryan actually wears a white dress shirt, even though it’s open over a blue t-shirt, and with his hair combed for once he actually looks a little bit like the Ryan they used to know. Only a little, though. This Ryan’s not as twitchy, and he’s got a little bit of a tan.
“It’s so nice not to have the cameras around,” Pam says. “Like we can do whatever we want and no one will know.”
“Hear, hear,” Ryan says. They clink glasses.
Pam’s a lightweight, and is really tipsy after a beer and a half. It’s pretty funny. She’s laughing too hard at everything, and she keeps touching Toby’s hand. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing, but she keeps touching Ryan’s hand too, so he knows it’s not like it means anything. He drinks his beer and tries to keep his head, but her leg is touching his under the table and he can’t focus on too much else.
When Ryan comes back with the next round, he’s got three shots. “Tequila for everyone,” he says, putting them down with a bump. “Non-optional.”
“Oh no,” Pam says. “Me and tequila are not friends.”
“You’ve done tequila shots before?” Ryan says.
Pam shakes her head. “No, but I have a feeling.”
Ryan laughs at her and slides back into the booth on the other side of her. “Non-optional, Pamela,” he says. “Why, what are you afraid of?”
Pam makes a face at him.
“For instance,” Ryan says, and does the shot. Toby watches his adam’s apple swallow. “How many shots is it going to take before you kiss one of us?”
Pam laughs and rolls her eyes. “Many, many, many shots,” she says.
Ryan turns towards the bar. “Camarero!” he says, snapping his fingers. The bartender, Julio, looks at him and rolls his eyes. There aren’t waiters in this bar.
Pam dissolves into giggles. “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” she says, once she can breathe again. “Sexy.”
Toby thinks Ryan gets a little redder under his tan, but it’s hard to say. “Toby’s better at it,” Ryan says.
“Oh yeah?” Pam says, turning towards him. Her skin looks really nice in the dim yellow light, all golden-y and pretty, her tank top leaving her arms bare. “Say something to me in Spanish, Toby.”
Toby’s mouth feels really dry and he really can’t think of anything to say. Finally he mumbles, “Eres hermosa.”
Ryan almost snorts his beer. After a second, once he’s managed to get himself under control he says, “Es verdad.”
“What does that mean?” Pam says.
Ryan just smirks, and Toby looks away. “I’m getting the next round,” Toby says, and heads towards the bar. Behind him, he can hear Pam bugging Ryan to tell her what they said, and Ryan teasing her and refusing to answer.
When Toby gets back to the table with three beers, Pam says, in the whiny voice Sasha uses pretty often, “Tooooby, Ryan won’t tell me what you said.”
“I told her she has to learn Spanish,” Ryan says. “It’s 2008, we live in a global economy.” He’s clearly just kidding around, but after he says it he winces the way he always does now whenever he mentions anything business-related.
“Oh, do we?” Pam says. She bumps Ryan with her shoulder, and Toby watches with a sinking feeling. They are more each other’s age. It makes sense. He gulps at his beer.
“Si,” Ryan says. “Y Costa Rica es una parte de la economia global.”
“You’re an asshole, Ryan Howard,” Pam says, but she’s smiling.
“You want to learn Spanish?” Ryan says, all flirty and challenging. Toby takes another sip of beer.
Pam looks over at Toby, bringing him into the conversation. “Do I?” she says. She... is she flirting with him? With both of them?
“You want us to teach you?” Toby says. He hasn’t flirted in a long time, he feels rusty at it.
“Maybe,” Pam says.
Toby’s started to feel a little light-headed, whether from the alcohol or from Pam, he couldn’t say. “Okay,” he says. He looks at her hands, fingers splayed along the dark wood of the table, and touches the back of one. “Mano,” he says.
Pam nods seriously, but her eyes are alight. “Mano,” she repeats.
“Oh, are we doing this?” Ryan says. He touches Pam’s arm. “Brazo,” he says.
“Brazo,” Pam repeats. She and Ryan look at each other for a long moment, staring each other in the eye like they’re daring each other to do something. Toby almost feels a little uncomfortable, like he’s intruding.
But when they finally look away, Pam turns to Toby and raises her eyebrows, waiting for him to do the next word. Toby lays a finger along Pam’s cheekbone and says, “Cara.”
“We need more shots,” Ryan says, as Toby and Pam look at each other. Toby’s dimly aware of Ryan getting up, but he’s staring at Pam and she’s staring back. Her cheeks are a little flushed, and her eyes look really dark. What are they doing? The alcohol’s rushing through his bloodstream, and he feels lightheaded and happy, like he wants to laugh for no reason.
He and Pam only look away when Ryan puts three shots on the table, shoving one in front of each of them. “Okay, Pam,” Ryan says. “Repeat after me. Uno, dos, tres.”
Pam rolls her eyes at him. “I do know that much, Ryan Howard.”
“Okay, then,” Ryan says, and starts banging his shot against the table.
“Uno, dos, tres,” they all say together, then do the shot.
“So you’re practically fluent,” Ryan says, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
“Shut up,” Pam says, and bumps Ryan’s shoulder again.
“You wanna know more body parts?” Ryan says.
Pam’s leg is pressing right up against Toby’s, closer than before. He can’t concentrate at all.
“Hit me,” Pam says.
Toby watches as Ryan puts his hand on Pam’s bare leg where her skirt has ridden up, just above the knee. “Pierna,” Ryan says.
Toby can see Pam swallow, and Ryan’s thumb is stroking her skin, back and forth. God, he’s going to lose it if they keep this up, say something stupid.
Pam looks away from Ryan to stare straight ahead, her breath coming kind of funny. Toby reaches out and touches her bottom lip. “Boca,” he says, feeling impossibly daring.
Pam licks her lips, catching Toby’s finger a little bit. He can’t tell whether it was on purpose or not, but he shivers anyway. Oh God. As he takes his finger away, Pam repeats, “Boca,” her voice low.
Across the table, Ryan’s staring at her too, not looking away. God, she’s beautiful.
“Um, I have to pee,” Pam says suddenly. “Scoot.”
Toby lets her out of the booth and watches her walk away, the sway of her hips, the drunken way she weaves. He and Ryan look at each other, then shrug and go back to their beers. Toby wonders if she likes him or Ryan more, and what exactly is going on here, and thinks she probably won’t do anything with either of them anyway. It’s just Costa Rica. People act weird sometimes when they’re out of the country, and broke up with their boyfriend sort of recently, and feel the delirious delight of being thousands of miles away from Dunder Mifflin.
When Pam comes back from the bathroom, she’s still flushed but bright eyed, her tank top a dark green against her skin.
“Let me back in the middle,” she says, standing next to Ryan.
Toby wasn’t quite expecting that, her wanting to sit back in the middle. He’s pleased.
“You have to pay the toll, first,” Ryan says, not getting up.
“Oh, the toll?” Pam says, putting her hands on her hips.
“Yeah, the toll,” Ryan says.
“What’s the toll?” Pam says.
“Guess,” Ryan says. He’s smiling. Toby’s seen Ryan smile more in the past three days than in the past three years.
“It better not be a kissing toll,” Pam says.
“Why better it not be?” Ryan says, very inarticulately.
“I’m just going to go in Toby’s side,” Pam says.
Toby starts to get up, but Ryan quickly waves him down. “Nope,” Ryan says. “The toll is on that side too.”
Toby stops getting up, and shrugs at Pam. “Sorry, Pam,” he says.
Pam rolls her eyes at both of them. “Whatever, I am not kissing you guys.”
“Why not?” Ryan says. “We’re handsome guys.”
Toby nods. “Ryan was hottest in the office.” He must be drunk. Normally he doesn’t say things like that. It’s true, though, Ryan was the hottest. He thinks about Michael’s diary at Jan’s deposition and starts to giggle.
Pam laughs. Ryan makes a horrible face at Toby.
“Whatever,” Pam says. “I’m not kissing either of you until you kiss each other.” She crosses her arms across her chest definitely.
“Pam Beesly,” Ryan says. “I had no idea you were such a proponent of the gay agenda.”
“I’m waiting,” Pam says.
“Okay,” Ryan says. “So if we kiss each other, you’ll kiss both of us? Is that the deal?”
“Sure,” Pam says.
Ryan looks at Toby and shrugs. Toby shrugs back. Whatever. He’s game. He’s pretty drunk, so.
“I’m waiting,” Pam says again.
Ryan scoots closer to Toby in the booth, until their knees are bumping. Toby glances down at Ryan’s mouth, tries to gauge what the scruff of beard is going to feel like, and then Ryan’s leaning in. His lips press against Toby’s, the scrape of his stubble, the dry warmth of his mouth. It’s over pretty quickly.
“Um, no,” Pam says as they pull away and open their eyes. “I did not see any tongue.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Toby says. “You just said kiss.”
Pam’s shaking her head, her arms still crossed. “It was implicit,” she says. She looks like she’s about to laugh. “Kiss for real or the deal’s off.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ryan says, and then he’s got his hand on the back of Toby’s neck, pulling him in. His mouth feels the same, but this time it opens, and Toby’s pushing his tongue into Ryan’s mouth before he has much time to think about it. Ryan’s hand flexes on the back of Toby’s neck, and Toby tastes tequila and lemon and Ryan, and then they’re pulling back again and Ryan’s looking at Pam with annoyed triumph.
“Good enough, Pamela?” Ryan asks.
Pam nods, biting back a smile. “Good job, boys.”
Toby feels himself blushing, and he tries hard not to think about how Pam’s going to kiss them now. Oh God, oh God.
“Okay, then,” Ryan says. “A deal’s a deal.” He reaches out and grabs Pam’s elbow, pulling her in closer.
“Okay, okay,” Pam says, unfolding her arms and putting her hands on Ryan’s shoulders, where he’s sitting in the booth. She leans down and Toby watches them kiss, one of Ryan’s hands going into her hair, the other one moving around like it wants to go for her breast but finally settling on her shoulder, safely. He should probably look away, like he normally would when people are kissing, but this -- well. The three of them are kind of in this together. Right?
Pam pulls away from Ryan, gasping a little. She steadies herself with a hand against the table. “Okay,” she says, sounding breathless. “Toby, your turn.” She walks around the table, and then she’s kissing him, her hands cradling his face and he feels like his heart might pound out of his chest.
His hands land on her waist, somehow, and she’s opening her mouth, and he thinks he might pass out. It probably doesn’t last long, their kiss, but it feels like an hour. When she pulls away, Ryan’s watching them with his eyes dark and Toby feels a little dizzy.
“Okay,” Toby manages to say. “I guess you paid the toll.”
He gets up to let her in the booth, and she slides in so she’s sitting right up against Ryan. Toby goes to get another round just so he’ll have something to do with his hands. It feels like the room’s lurching around him. They’ve had too much to drink, but why not? No work in the morning. No kid to get to school. No reasons not to, none at all.
Halfway through the next beer, Pam’s got her hand on his leg, under the table, and she’s laughing at the story Ryan’s telling about how drunk he got in Ass Nowhere, Mexico. Ryan’s moved his arm around the back of the booth, so it’s just resting on Pam’s shoulders, his hand scraping the edge of Toby’s arm. They’re just -- they’re really drunk. People get touchy when they’re drunk.
He’s been putting off going to the bathroom all night, not wanting to move while Pam’s touching him all casual like this, but his bladder’s going to explode if he waits much longer.
“Okay,” he says, pushing himself up. “I’m going to the bathroom. Don’t do anything I’ll regret.”
Ryan smirks at him, and he staggers off to the grubby bathrooms in the back. There’s Spanish graffiti penciled all above the urinals, and Toby reads them blearily as he pees. Frodo vive. Amazing.
He almost pulls the door into his head as he’s leaving, and has to put a hand on the door jamb to make it through evenly. He just -- he just needs to focus, is all. He wends his way through the tables -- the bar is almost empty -- and when he comes up to theirs, Pam is sitting on Ryan’s lap, her hands mussing up his hair as they kiss, Ryan’s hand up under the thin fabric of her tank top.
Two hours ago, Toby would have probably felt pretty devastated, but the night’s been odd enough and mutual enough that instead of sitting back down in his seat, or leaving the bar altogether, he walks up behind Pam and leans into her back, pushing her hair aside to put his hands on her bare shoulders.
And instead of pulling away or anything, Pam leans into Toby, pushing her neck into his hands and making a little pleased noise. Toby strokes her bare skin with his thumb, the tips of his fingers just sliding under the edge of her tank top strap.
Pam pulls back from kissing Ryan, gasping for breath. Ryan looks up at Toby, his mouth wet and a little swollen, his eyes very dark. Pam leans her head back against Toby’s stomach, so she’s looking at him upside down. “Hi, Toby,” she says, and shifts her position on Ryan’s lap, wiggling a little bit. As she does, Toby sees Ryan close his eyes and swallow.
“Hi,” Toby says. He puts his hand along her upturned face, traces her forehead, down her cheekbone.
Pam says, “Let’s get out of here, okay?” She’s looking up at him, but Ryan’s got his hands on her breasts, so Toby’s a little confused.
Ryan and Toby look at each other. Finally Toby says, “Which one of us are you talking to?”
Pam gets up off Ryan’s lap, grabbing Ryan’s hand in her right and then taking Toby’s in her left. “Come on,” she says, and starts pulling them unsteadily out of the bar.
Oh. Ohhhhh. Toby lets himself be pulled, Pam’s hand hot in his, Ryan bumping along beside them. Before they get to the doorway of the bar, next to the jukebox, Pam stops pulling and stands up on tiptoe to kiss Toby, a long kiss, licking at his lips. Jesus Mary and Joseph. He’s got his hands on her waist, but so does Ryan, Pam sandwiched in between them, and they’re both here and oh God.
Pam pulls away and starts tugging both of them out of the bar again. Behind Pam’s back, Ryan widens his eyes at Toby, a Can you believe this is happening? face. Toby widens his own eyes and shakes his head. This is. He’s still not quite sure he’s not dreaming this.
They fit through the door somehow and then they’re out in the humid night air, moon bright and milky so their shadows stretch out skinny ahead of them, three shadows bumping hips as they stagger along the road. Pam starts weaving and Toby and Ryan eventually have to put their arms around her shoulders, the three of them together walking steady the way none of them can seem to do on their own.
Pam’s laughing. “I love you guys,” she says. Her skin is hot under Toby’s arm, and on her other side, Ryan seems to be nuzzling at Pam’s hair.
“You smell nice,” Ryan murmurs, so Toby barely catches it.
The road runs along the beach, and a wind’s blowing in off the ocean, cool against Toby’s flushed cheeks.
“Let’s walk on the sand,” Pam says, pushing them so they veer off the dirt road and onto the dry sand at the top of the beach, staggering as it gets harder to walk. Ryan’s arm brushes Toby’s as it moves along Pam’s back, and when Toby looks, he sees Ryan moving his hand along her ass. Pam laughs and stumbles, and instead of catching her Ryan uses the momentum to pull them all down into a heap.
Toby probably could’ve stopped that, but he has to admit he was hoping for them to fall too. He doesn’t know if he could make it back to the house before they... do whatever they’re doing here. He’s more turned on than he’s been in years, he feels like. Pam’s giggling, lying on her back in the sand with Ryan half on top of her and Toby next to her, and Toby thinks she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Her hair’s all messy and wisping in her eyes.
“C’mere,” Pam says, reaching for Toby and tugging his head up to kiss him. She starts pulling at his shirt, and he breaks the kiss to help her get it over his head.
When his shirt’s off, he sees that Ryan’s moving down Pam’s body, pushing her tank top up and kissing her bare stomach, his hand on her knee and moving up, under her skirt. “Oh,” Pam says, and Toby moves in to kiss her again, closing his eyes, his hand resting on her breast, brushing her nipple through her shirt.
“Here,” Toby says, and pulls back to get her tank top off, and as he lifts up to do that, he sees that Ryan’s pushed her skirt up and settled between her legs, touching the damp cotton of her underwear. He watches, transfixed, as Ryan puts his mouth on Pam, over the fabric, and Pam bucks against him.
“Oh,” Pam says, and she laughs. “Oh, wow,” she says, and Toby watches Ryan pull her underwear off. It’s like having his own private porno.
As Ryan starts to really go down on her, Toby turns his attention back to getting her bra off. “Toooooooby,” Pam says as he does, friendly and happy and breathless.
“Yeah?” Toby says. He touches her bare breasts gently, circling her nipples, and she puts her hand in his hair, ruffling it.
“C’mere,” she says, and pulls him in to kiss him, her hands on his face, his bare chest resting against hers. Ryan’s shoulder bumps at his leg. There’s sand everywhere, sticking dry and gritty to their skin, Pam’s hair spread across it.
Soon Pam’s gasping too hard to kiss. “Oh,” she says, bucking against Ryan’s mouth and fingers a little bit. “God, Ryan. Please.”
Ryan looks up for a second, his fingers still working. “Pretty please?” he says.
“God,” she says, reaching down for Ryan and starting to pull him up her body. Toby rolls over a little bit to get out of the way. “Please. Ryan, come on.”
“Oh,” Ryan says. He looks a little flustered, like the whole situation is getting a little out of control.
“Have you got a condom?” Pam says. She’s starting to catch her breath.
“Um,” Ryan says. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. One second.” He rolls off Pam and starts fumbling in his pockets, trying to unbutton his jeans at the same time.
“Wait a second,” Pam says, and Ryan pauses. He’s barely got any hair on his chest, Toby notices. He’s so young. They both are. “First you have to kiss Toby,” she says.
“What?” Ryan says.
“Come on,” Pam says. “This is a triangle and you two are the weak side. The hypotenuse.”
Ryan rolls his eyes, his fly half undone, and runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up. “That doesn’t even make any sense,” he says. His jeans are slipping down his hips, so Toby can see the waistband of his boxer shorts. Pam just looks at Ryan, her eyebrows raised like she’s not going to give in. “God, fine,” he says, and leans over Pam to reach Toby. Then they’re kissing, and Toby can taste Pam on Ryan’s mouth and God, his cock jumps at the taste, and at Ryan’s tongue and stubble and it’s all one thing, it’s all one.
When Ryan pulls back, Toby takes a deep breath, trying to get himself settled. Ryan starts fumbling in his pockets again, trying to get at the condom that must be in there, moving to kick off his jeans at the same time.
Pam turns to Toby while they’re waiting for Ryan, her hand moving across his bare chest. “Hi,” she says. Her fingers are warm against his skin, and God, he can’t believe this is happening.
Toby smiles at her, kisses her shoulder. “Hi,” he says.
Then she’s undoing his fly and slipping her hand into his boxers. “Oh, God,” Toby says as she slides her hand along his cock. His eyes flutter closed as she starts to stroke him, up and back, and it’s Pam, oh God, it’s Pam.
When his eyes open again, Ryan’s kneeling in the sand next to Pam, the moonlight showing his face pretty clearly. He’s rolling the condom onto his dick and watching Pam and Toby, and when Toby catches his eye, they hold that eye contact for a long second. This is -- well, it’s weird. But Toby’s so happy, he loves Pam and Costa Rica and the beach and right now he loves Ryan too. Ryan looking so unsure of himself, naked and nervous and unguarded like Toby’s never seen him.
Pam’s thumb slides over the tip of Toby’s cock, and oh God.
“Toby,” Pam whispers, and when he looks at her, she’s just watching him as she jerks him off.
“Pam?” Ryan says, and now he’s between Pam’s legs, pushing them farther apart and starting to position himself. “Okay?”
“Oh God, finally,” Pam says, and somehow she manages to keep stroking Toby as Ryan pushes into her. Toby watches with an almost morbid fascination as Ryan’s eyes shut like he can’t take the feeling, being inside Pam. Toby can’t even imagine that, what it must be like. Ryan moves forward as he pushes in, bracing himself with his hands on either side of Pam, so one is squished in between Pam and Toby’s bodies. Ryan matches the rhythm Pam’s set up with her hand on Toby, so the movement goes all together, Ryan’s hips moving, his arm bumping against Toby’s side, Pam’s hand on him. Like they’re one giant animal, all part of one body.
The sand’s awkward under Toby’s back, gritty and still warm from the day’s sun, and then Pam and Ryan are both speeding up.
“Fuck,” Ryan says, his teeth gritted, and Pam’s hand tightens on Toby and he can’t take it anymore, and he comes, finally, closing his eyes as he does.
“Oh,” Pam’s saying beside him, and when he looks over she’s biting her lip, and Ryan’s going harder and faster, and Toby watches as they both come, Pam first. She’s flushed. She’s beautiful.
The three of them lie there on the beach, catching their breath, the ocean moving in its dull roar as it gets farther away, the tide going out.
Pam laughs. “I think maybe we’re drunk,” she says.
On the other side of her, Ryan snorts, and starts to laugh. The absurdity of the understatement is too much for Toby, and he does too, and then they’re all lying side by side on the Costa Rican beach in the middle of the night, their clothes in various stages of disarray, giggling their stupid heads off.
“In Pennsylvania right now,” Ryan says. “It’s almost six am and in an hour Michael Scott is about to get up to go to work.” Ryan’s become the kind of person who always knows what time it is in Pennsylvania.
Thinking about Michael Scott in his bed, about to get up and put on a suit and go manage an office of paper sellers, makes them all laugh harder. The stars are really bright and clear, like they’re larger than they were in Scranton, and the salty air stings in Toby’s lungs. He tries to remember what the air was like back in that office, but he can’t imagine it anymore. It wasn’t like anything, he guesses. Sterile and stagnant clean, like not breathing at all.
“This sand itches,” Ryan says. He’s the one who’s completely naked. “I think it might be getting in places.” Toby sees him getting up and trying drunkenly to get his boxers back on.
“Mmm,” Pam says. That’s the last thing Toby remembers before he falls asleep.
**
Pam wakes up in Toby’s big bed, with Ryan on one side of her and Toby on the other, her legs tangled with Toby’s, Ryan’s arm pressed along her side. She vaguely remembers Toby waking them on the beach when the sun was just coming up, herding them back to his place so they wouldn’t get too sunburned. She was still pretty drunk at the time. She remembers them laughing the whole way, clothes only half on.
Even so, the skin along her right side feels tight and hot, a little burned. Turning her head to look at Ryan she can see he’s ridiculously piebald too, burned in weird places from how he was lying, but white in others. They aren’t too red, though -- it’s just enough sunburn to be irritating, but Toby got them inside before it got too bad.
She’s got sand in her hair, still sticking to her legs and all in the sheets. And God, she slept with Toby and Ryan. She should feel embarrassed, but she mostly feels sort of happy and safe, sandwiched between the two of them. The way they were looking at her, well. It was nice.
Her head aches, but not as badly as she was expecting. She vaguely remembers Toby making them drink water and take aspirin. Now light’s seeping through the blinds, but it’s a dim pearly light like it’s going to rain outside, and Toby’s eyes are blinking open.
He smiles at her, lines crinkling around his eyes.
“Morning,” she says, quiet so they don’t wake Ryan up.
He touches her cheek, smoothes her hair back. “Morning,” he says. He leans in to kiss her, a lazy morning kiss.
“Mmm,” she says, and kisses him back. They’re not drunk anymore, but it’s Costa Rica, right? It’s hard to feel bad about anything here. He touches her breast, just lightly, so she can barely feel his fingertips. They’re both naked; she vaguely remembers them all stripping down before they fell into bed last night. This morning.
She puts her hand on the bare skin of his hip, feels the muscle and bone underneath, then brushes his cock. Toby murmurs a little bit into her mouth, jerks a little as she touches him. She smiles against his skin, kissing down his neck.
Toby’s hands slide down to her waist, then palm her ass, pulling her against him, sure and strong. He touches her between her legs where she’s wet, kisses her forehead, her hair. She inhales sharply against his shoulder, trying to catch her breath.
“Here,” Toby says, and rolls her over so she’s lying on her side, her back pressed to his chest, and pulls her top leg over his hip. “Okay?” he says, his voice still rough and sleepy.
“Yeah,” she says, and sighs as he pushes into her. His sunburned chest is radiating heat against her, and he kisses the back of her neck, her shoulder as he starts to rock, holding onto her waist. It’s languid and slow, and she’s still waking up.
In front of her, Ryan’s eyes blink open, and he focuses on her slowly.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” she says. Ryan smiles a little with just the left side of his mouth. Behind her, Toby rolls his hips and Pam can’t help making a little low noise.
Ryan reaches out his hand to touch her side, running it down her hip and along the top of her thigh. He leans in and kisses her, both their heads still resting on the pillow. Ryan’s a good kisser, and now she’s pressed between the two of them again, Toby’s arm wrapped around her middle, Ryan’s hand on her hip.
Ryan moves his hand down to her clit, pressing in between their bodies, and Pam can’t catch her breath. Ryan’s just watching her, touching himself with his other hand. It’s all slow and quiet except for their gasping breaths, Toby moving behind her, the sheets gritty with sand from their not brushing themselves off well enough when they were drunk. Ryan’s hair is in his eyes. Outside she hears it start to rain, and the air breezing in through the window smells wild and humid, like things growing. Ryan kisses her again.
**
Toby has an extra toothbrush, and Pam sits on the edge of the tub brushing her teeth, watching Toby shave. He’s not paying any attention to her, just focusing on what he’s doing, and his hands look big and steady. He’s wearing boxer shorts and a white wife beater, and he smells like sex. They all do.
Ryan wanders over to lean in the doorway, an unnaturally green bottle of aloe gel in his hand. His right arm and the right half of his chest are sticky with it, where his skin is pink. He’s just wearing his boxers.
Toby glances over, shaving cream still over the left side of his face and down his neck. “That helping?” he says.
“Yeah, sort of,” Ryan says. “I can’t reach my back, though.” He looks at Pam like this is a problem she should help him solve.
Pam pauses and takes her toothbrush out of her mouth. “That’s too bad,” she says. Toby glances over at her and smiles.
“Paaaaam,” Ryan says.
Pam rolls her eyes. “Oh, fine, one second,” she says, and speeds up to finish brushing. When she gets up, Toby scoots over at the sink to let her spit. He’s carefully gliding his razor over his throat, splashing it around in a cup of water in between strokes to get the shaving cream off it.
“Okay,” Pam says once she’s rinsed. She sits back down on the edge of the tub and Ryan comes over to sit in front of her, his back against her legs. He hands the aloe up over his shoulder, and she takes the bottle from him. The gel’s cool on her hands, soothing, and she starts to rub it on Ryan’s red shoulders. His skin’s hot with sunburn.
“Ow,” he says.
“Suck it up,” Pam says, but she tries to smear it on more gently.
Toby’s still shaving, calm and competent, and Pam hears him start to hum. Oh, what a beautiful morning, he hums.
Ryan leans forward so she can get the rest of his back, Pam’s hands gliding slick over his knobby spine. Oh, what a beautiful day, Toby hums. His razor splashes in the cup. Pam feels Ryan breathing under her hands. His hair’s shaggy and longish over the back of his neck, and Toby’s feet are bare on the dingy tile of the floor. Oh, what a wonderful feeling, he hums.
“Humming is so gay,” Ryan says conversationally. “Don’t you think?”
Toby turns around, using the towel around his shoulders to pat off the last of the shaving cream. “Oh yeah?” he says. He reaches over and puts his hand on Ryan’s head, threading through his hair for a second, and then knuckles Ryan’s skull.
“Ow,” Ryan says, jerking away. “Fag.”
“Okay,” Toby says, rolling his eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he leans down and kisses Ryan. With tongue even. Pam stops rubbing the aloe on Ryan’s shoulder blades so she can stare. Toby’s reddish head next to Ryan’s dark one, Ryan’s scruffy stubble against Toby’s freshly shaved cheeks. Ryan makes a little noise, dark in his throat, and even though he could pull away if he wanted to, he doesn’t.
When Toby finally straightens up again, he runs a thumb along his bottom lip thoughtfully. “That was for Pam,” he says, and smiles at her.
Ryan’s sitting very still, like he’s a little stunned.
“Thank you,” Pam says, with feeling. That was... something.
Ryan clears his throat and shifts a little, leaning back on his hands. “Like I said,” he says.
Toby just laughs and puts his razor back in the medicine cabinet.
**
Pam’s building a sand castle, and Ryan’s pretending not to watch her drip turrets of wet sand carefully along the ramparts. Her tongue’s sticking out of the corner of her mouth, and she’s working very seriously. He’s trying not to think about how her vacation ends tomorrow.
Toby’s not even pretending not to watch her. “The tide’s coming in,” he says instead. He’s right -- the water’s getting close to the castle, starting to fill up the moat.
“I know,” Pam says. She takes a stick and pokes it into the highest tower, then drapes some seaweed on it carefully to make a flag. “I’ll build another one tomorrow.” Then she stops and sighs. “Or I won’t.”
Toby and Ryan look at each other. God, the idea of her leaving is depressing. Ryan needs a distraction.
“You’re still awfully dry,” Ryan says to Pam.
Pam looks up and furrows her forehead. “So?” she says.
Ryan looks at Toby, who looks confused for a second, but then smirks.
“Oh no,” Pam says, but Ryan and Toby are already up and grabbing her, pulling her towards the water. “Stop it!” she tries to say, but she’s laughing, and then Toby has her shoulders and Ryan her feet, and they’re throwing her into the ocean.
“Assholes,” Pam sputters as she finds her feet again, sopping wet, and she chases them down, jumping on Toby’s back with her cold wet limbs everywhere.
When they fall to the sand, Ryan jumps on top of them too, tickling Pam, and they’re all laughing in a heap. Pam kisses Ryan with her salty warm mouth. “I hate you,” she says when she pulls back, and Toby’s kissing her shoulders, his knee bumping Ryan’s leg, all tangled together.
Eventually they’re all breathless and lying on the sand side by side, Pam in the middle, looking up at the hot blue sky. “I don’t want to go home,” Pam says.
Ryan can’t think of anything to say, and apparently neither can Toby, because nobody says anything. They just lie there, catching their breaths.
Finally Ryan says, “Don’t go home.”
Pam sighs. “My flight leaves tomorrow.”
Toby laughs. “Yeah, my flight left a month ago,” he says.
Pam doesn’t say anything to that, and when Ryan props himself up on an elbow so he can see her, she looks thoughtful. Down at the edge of the water, the ocean’s eroding her sand castle away. Ryan watches one of the towers collapse.
“Maybe,” Pam says, but she doesn’t finish the thought.
Ryan watches Toby kiss her shoulder. She breathes in.
**
END
Story Notes:
Spoilers through "Goodbye, Toby." This fic was extremely brainstormed by agate, irishmizzy, miss_bennie and mozarts_friend (all LJ usernames, I'm too lazy to switch over to their MTT aliases) , with some additional itemizing by other awesome people, so they deserve most of the credit.
Annakovsky is the author of 6 other stories.
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