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Story Notes:
A post-finale bit of fluff, probably AU by the time season five premieres.

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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.
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"Hey, you missed the turn."

They're driving in his car to dinner on the way home from work. It's been two weeks since the night of Toby's goodbye party and the air between them is still heavy with the weight of things left unsaid. She's afraid to bring it up, unwilling to revisit the heartbreak of being so close to getting what she's always wanted, only to have it snatched away by Andy at the last minute. Jim hasn't said anything either, and that's what scares her. She's moving to New York in less than a week and time is running out. Her old insecurities linger at the corner of her mind, mocking her, raising doubts about his intentions. She tries not to listen to those familiar voices, but old habits die hard.

"What?" he asks, distracted. "Oh, I need to make a quick stop on the way."

"A quick stop? Where?"

"Just some business I have to take care of. Won't take long."

If she didn't know him so well, she might be fooled. But there's a shiftiness behind his practiced nonchalance. And she's participated in too many of his schemes not to recognize the glint in his eye.

"What are you up to?"

"Nothing," he answers innocently.

She remains unconvinced.

"I know that look. That's the look you get when one of your Dwight pranks is about to pay off."

"Wow. When did you get to be so paranoid, Beesly? Anyway, doesn't matter. We're here."

He pulls the car up to the curb on a residential street and parks in front of a house at the top of a hill. The neighborhood isn't one she's well-acquainted with, and she can't think of anyone she knows who lives around here. The location throws her a bit. It's not what she'd been expecting.

"Here?"

"C'mon," he says with a tilt of his head.

She stays seated and folds her arms defiantly. "Not until I know where we're going."

"Fine. Stay in the car if you want. I'll be right back," he moves to open his car door, calling her bluff.

"Oh, no you don't," she says quickly, and he laughs as he jogs to the other side of the car to open the door for her.

"That's what I thought," he says, offering her a hand as she steps out of the car.

She walks behind him as they tread up the pathway to the house. Judging by the back of his neck--and she's a very good judge, really--she can tell he's smiling. He knocks on the door and looks at her, raising his eyebrows and rocking back on his heels. There's no answer. He shrugs and knocks again. Her eyes narrow.

"Looks like no one's home," he says. He doesn't sound surprised.

"So... now what?" She lets go of her frustration and decides to play along. She trusts Jim, despite the pang in her chest that reminds her of the last time she got her hopes up, only to have them crushed.

"I guess we should just go on inside and wait."

"Uh-huh. And how would we do that?"

"Hmm. Let me think." He touches his chin, the way he does when he's pretending to think something over very carefully. "Oh, here we go."

She follows his eyes to the well-manicured flower bed next to the porch steps. He reaches down and pulls up a fist-sized rock, which turns out not to be a rock after all. He turns it over and retrieves a silver house key.

"A hide-a-key rock? Didn't you have one of those?"

"Did I?" he asks, as if he's genuinely confused by the question.

He uses the key to unlock the door and motions to let her step inside first. The living room is modestly sized, with high ceilings and a brick fireplace against one wall. The windows are bordered with cherry wood, matching the floors and a central staircase that leads upstairs. The house is older, but well maintained. Its charming Victorian style is somewhat lost among the busy, country-cozy decor.

There's a blue checkered sofa opposite the fireplace and an oak and glass coffee table with a hideous silk flower arrangement in the center. Against the wall that faces the street, beneath a large stained-glass window adorned with flower-patterned drapes, there's an upright piano. On top of it rests a gallery of photographs of people she doesn't recognize.

"Seriously, Jim. What's going on? Whose house is this?"

He steps further into the entryway and turns towards her, walking backwards into the living room. "This is currently the home of Ted and Debbie Miller. Of the Scranton Millers. She's a part-time music teacher and he owns a small construction company, which just happens to buy all of its paper from Dunder Mifflin."

"So... this is a sales call?"

"Not a sales call," he says cryptically. She furrows her brow, trying to convey her frustration, but he only laughs softly. He seems to be enjoying himself, and he's adorable when he's up to something, so she doesn't push it.

He sits down on the sofa and pats the spot next to him, inviting her to join him. She goes along with it. They sit there for a few excruciating moments of silence before he finally speaks.

"Nice house," he tosses out casually.

"Not really my taste," she answers.

"I'm not talking about the furniture, Pam."

"Oh, then yeah. The wood is nice. I like the floors."

"I agree. Say, do you want to sneak upstairs and have a look around?"

She smiles conspiratorially. "Absolutely I do."

He leads the way up the stairs, to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Through a pair of double doors awaits the master bedroom. A huge four-poster bed juts out into the middle of the room, covered in a flowered duvet. She's so taken back by the scale of the bed that she almost misses the main attraction. Across from it, there's a set of glass French doors. That's when she finally gets it.

"A terrace!"

"Yup," Jim confirms, relishing the look of pure delight on her face.

He opens the doors and they step out onto a cement terrace lined by redwood flower boxes. There's a little, round cafe table and chairs in the middle, and a working rock fountain in one corner, next to a pair of canvas lounge chairs. Strings of white lights stretch from the posts in each corner, surrounding the perimeter with a silvery glow. Over the flowers, she can see the rooftops--and below that, the back yards--of the other houses in the neighborhood. In the distance there are mountains, outlined in the golden light of sunset. The sky above is an ever-deepening shade of azure. It's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

"I... I thought they didn't have houses like this in Scranton," she says, when she finally catches her breath.

"They don't. Ted restored it and added on this terrace as an anniversary present for Debbie. Maybe she read the same book you did." He smiles a knowing smile.

"Wait, I never told you about that. How did you...?"

"I have my ways," he says, pressing his lips together in a way that makes her stomach flutter just a little. He knows exactly what he's doing, which is why she doesn't let him get away with it. She just continues looking at him intently, waiting for an answer. Finally he breaks down. "You told a camera crew, Pam. A crew that I've become pretty good friends with over the years."

"Jim Halpert! That is an invasion of privacy!" She hits him in the arm with the flat of her hand, but it's a playful smack. She's not really that angry with him. How can she be, here, now?

"You can yell at me later. For now, just try and live in the moment. I don't think you're fully grasping what's happening here."

He reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a plain white envelope. She thinks she can see his hand shaking, just a little, as he hands it to her. When she opens it, she understands.

"This is an offer," she says, her eyes wide. "You made an offer on this house?"

"Not yet. It's not official until I get that to the realtor. I wanted you to see it first."

"Jim, this is amazing." She hugs him tightly and he catches her lips in a warm, chaste kiss. His eyes are shining, a pure reflection of the joy she's feeling mirrored back at her.

"Pretty great, right? I had a sales call with Ted this week and he told me he was about to put his house up for sale, so I said I'd like to look at it. And when I saw the terrace, I knew. Plus, the escrow is 90 days, so it would close by the time you get back from New York."

"You mean...?"

"All of this could be yours. It's not even on the market yet. I convinced Ted to wait until I could get the offer in. No one's seen this house but us."

"How can you afford this?"

"I've been saving up," he explains, his head lowered, suddenly sheepish. "I lived with a roommate for a long time, and I've gotten two promotions since then. I... uh... didn't know how things would turn out between us, but I always hoped."

The realization of everything they've been through to get to this moment suddenly hits her with a powerful force, like a wave against the shore. It's not the first time this sense of wonder has come upon her unexpectedly since they started dating, but this is the strongest wave yet.

"Jim." Her voice trembles, along with the rest of her. "I don't know what to say."

"Say yes," he pleads. And suddenly he's pulling something else out of his pocket, a black velvet box. This is it, she thinks. And that is her last coherent thought for some time. She's swimming in emotion now. It's almost too much. "Your rules, Beesly. You said you wouldn't move in with me unless we were engaged. And since I found the perfect house, you leave me no choice. Marry me, Pam, and let's make a life here. Together."

He opens the box and holds the ring out for her to examine. Through the blur of moisture in her eyes she can almost make it out, sparkling in the lingering light of day. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him fervently, then puts her hand out, struggling to keep it steady. He hesitates.

"What?" she asks, still breathless from their kiss and nearly blind from her tears.

"You haven't said yes yet."

"Yes," she says impatiently. "Yes, yes, yes, yes."

"To the house or to marrying me?"

"To everything."

"Well, okay then." There's a catch in his voice that reminds her of the first time he asked her out, a halting cadence that masks a deeper emotion. He slips the ring on her finger and she admires the way it just instantly fits, like it's always been there. He shakes his head in disbelief and she knows exactly how he feels.

When he speaks again, his voice is rough with emotion, barely above a whisper. "I love you, Pam."

"I love you, too," she answers back at the same low volume. "Let's go explore our house."

His smile widens and he takes her by the hand. They go through the house together room by room and he points out architectural details along the way. She starts to picture their stuff in place of the ceramic kittens and silk flowers, imagines building up a photo gallery of their own. She can see a future here: a day spent taking down cabbage-rose wallpaper, Jim in an old tattered T-shirt, her in painter's overalls; arguments over wall colors and matching furniture (which she'd win, because she does have an artist's eye for these things); warm summer mornings out on the terrace, eating breakfast and sharing a newspaper; hanging their stockings on the fireplace at Christmas; reading bedtime stories to their kids.

She emerges from her daydreams long enough to hear the last few items on Jim's list of the house's main selling points. "Quiet street. Good schools. Three bedrooms, so you can have an art studio."

"And a home office, which I'll never use," she adds with a wry smile.

"Leaving me with what, exactly?"

"How big is the garage again?"

Their laughter rings out down the hallway and up into the rafters, and it already feels like home.
Chapter End Notes:
I want to thank my fantastic beta readers ISayOye and jinxcoke for helping me to not publicly embarrass myself too much. This is a one-shot at this point, but could possibly lead to more if I can screw up the courage.


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