November. Scranton.
"Jim, I hate the house," Pam says, her voice full of pent up irritation, strong and angry. "It's old and leaky, everything about it is ugly. And worst of all, you spent hundreds of thousands of dollars without consulting me." She surprises herself, says her complaints with strength and conviction that she has so often struggled for, and is a little giddy.
She takes a deep breath and composes herself. "Jim, I hate this house," she says again to her bedroom mirror. The mirror just hangs there, not offering any sort of support or critique. Her bland features stare out at her and she watches her mouth fall into a frown. She really doesn't think she can do this to Jim, as much as he may deserve it because of what he did. "I know you meant well. You thought you had our best interests in mind but I don't think that you knew what our best interests were. I know you tried, which I love about you - but this was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I mean what the fuck were you thinking?! This house is disaster, Jim. Is this what you think I want? Do you think that I'd be impressed with you buying a fucking house without tellimg me? Are you really so stupid that you can't see that?"
Pam sighs and rests her head in her hands. God, what a disaster. And now she's stuck with it. But really, how much can she complain? She knows that he did what he did out of love. What did she do what she did for? No, she is just being selfish, and she would hurt Jim if she said anything about it. So she wouldn't. She would suck it up and just not say anything about anything to Jim and they could be happy. Or he could be happy. In ignorance. Which, if what she'd been told was correct, is bliss.
"Pam? I'm back," yells Jim from downstairs, shocking her out of her sulking. "Where are you?"
"Up here!" Pam yells back at him. She tries to clear her head and, slowly, visions of New York dissipate from her mind, replaced with shag carpeting and tacky figurines.
"Hey. What are you doing up here? Talking to your magic mirror?," Jim says, sneaking up behind her for a kiss. "Trying to find out who's the fairest one of all? Well, I think I know the answer. It's you."
She rolls her eyes at him. "Shut up." What a goof. "What do you have in the bag?"
"Well, when I was grocery shopping I got a little thirsty, so..." he pulls out a twelve pack of Moosehead Light. "It's imported all the way from Canada," brags Jim.
"So exotic," she says, in a way that effectively communicates that that fact is relatively unimpressive.
"This reminds me," says Jim, changing the subject. "I ran into Roy while you were in New York. Late last month. It was right after you were out drinking until the wee hours of the morning, drunky."
This has Pam confused. Did she ever tell Jim about that? Maybe she drunk dialed him or something. Not like she's totally in control while she's drunk or anything. We all know about that from experience. "Oh, how is he?" she asks.
"He shaved," says Jim, like he's shocked that Roy would do such a thing. "He's working at some bodybuilding store or something. Anyway, I told him about how you were having so much fun with your friends and he was like, 'wasn't I your friend at one time' and insinuating that you were going to 'get it on' with some guy in New York. I think he was just messing with me. But I really wanted to go to visit you and to possibly stalk you and or mark my territory." He puts down the beer and grabs her hands, looking her straight into her eyes. "I just wanted to tell you this because I want us to be open. I didnt do it, and I'm glad I didn't do it. It would be foolish and I trust you implicitly. I know you'd never cheat on me and it's just my damned male insecurities that made me worry."
He notices the slow tears falling from Pam's eyes. "Are you alright?"
She nods quickly. "Yeah." She says, "I love you," pulling herself up on her toes to kiss him.
"Great," he replies, disentangling himself from her arms. "I'm going to go throw these in the fridge," he says, indicating the beer, "and get dinner started." He lugs the case back downstairs.
In the mirror, Pam tries to practice confessing but can't.
----
September 1. New York.
"So it's exciting to finally be doing the art thing," Pam told the camera crew when they visited her in her dorm room at Pratt. "Last time you guys were here, I was all muddled and out of sorts. But things are going great now. I'm all settled in. Getting the hang of the RA gig. Ummm... I know what the area code here is now." She could tell she was being boring and that none of this would make the cut. She fully understood that her life just wasn't interesting without Michael or Dwight or Jim around. Jim. She fiddled with the ring on her finger. It felt just slightly different than the one she used to wear. Or maybe that was because she had gotten used to not wearing one. Wearing it was nice, though, and made her feel like she used to back before her life got complicated. Familiar. Comfortable. Routine.
"And, ummm... oh! I lost two pounds for the weight loss challenge, so for those of you who did the math, you can subtract two from that, thank you very much. So that's good, even though we lost to Utica." Steve didn't say anything, just focused the camera closer on her. And waited. And she started to feel uncomfortable. "I don't mind. We'll let her win one, right?" Yeah, that satisfied them.
"What - why do you have a camera crew following you around?" asked Alex, immediately after the cameras left for the day. She liked Alex. Mostly because he was the only other blatantly over-ager on her floor.
"Oh, they're filming some sort of documentary about the office I work at."
Alex furrowed his brow. "Why?"
"I... don't know... It's a horribly boring subject matter." Alex sat himself down obtrusively on her 'RA empathy' stool. And smirked. "And don't you go around telling everyone how I'm a reality tv star," Pam warned, "Just because I get professional lighting." He still smirked. "Shut up!" He wasn't funny. Okay, maybe a little.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Two timelines slowly converge.
