November. Scranton.
"Jim, I was taking out the garbage," Pam says, a little agitated. Or maybe freaked out. "Putting it by the curb for the collectors like I told you to do three hours ago-"
Jim's eyes fly open. "Oh man. Sorry Pam. I meant to do it, but I got... distracted... by-"
"-And Creed was there," Pam shivers. "Creed. On our front lawn. In the bushes."
Jim scratches his head, obviously wondering what was the right thing to say in this situation. "Well, he did tell me that he lived in the area. I just didn't think he'd bother to find the house. Or could figure out how." He snaps his fingers and splays his hands like he has an explanation and Pam just knows - knows - that he's about to pull some crap out of his ass. "Hey, maybe he was just out for a walk, saw you, and decided to say hi."
And she was right. "Jim. He was just waiting there. Eating a raw potato. And he called me Katy." She's starting to really not like this neighborhood. It's like all the transients pass through here on their way down the big hole. The mine or the quarry or whatever it is. Whatever it is, it's society's toilet, as far as she can tell.
Jim smirks at an imaginary camera over her shoulder. "Wow. Who knew he could remember something from as far back as three years ago?"
She forces a smile and struggles to bite her tongue.
----
October 24. New York.
The clickity clack of keystrokes and mouse clicks reverberated off the spartan walls of Pam's surprisingly spacious dorm room. She and Alex had finally gotten around to working on that Quark project. Or to put it more accurately, Pam had finally gotten around to working on it. Alex had been working on his for about a week now, and he was mostly there for fine tuning and moral support. And heckling. She called him Statler alternating with Waldorf. He called her Fozzie. Instead of a balcony, Alex was sitting against the headboard on her bed with his laptop (appropriately) on his lap, while Pam's stage was her desk, sans limelight and Frank Oz.
Even with the banter, Pam was getting tired. Her eyes had started to get sore and her back was killing her. She had thought that sitting at a computer monitor was her natural posture, but now that there was work that actually included such things as focus and concentration, she painfully realized that all the safety training was right. A bouncy castle sure would have felt good on her back right about then. She couldn't lie down though, because Alex was still in her bed.
"This is making my back hurt," she complained.
"And you're making our ears hurt, oh ho ho ho ho," replied Alex, in character and not looking up from his work.
"I'm serious," said Pam, unFozzieing herself.
Alex looked up at her. "Then take a break," he replied innocently.
"Fine. Scooch," she prodded. He didn't get up, but he did move further toward the wall, giving her space on the bed. Pam didn't know what compelled her to get into the bed with him still there, but her mind was far from empty. Instead, hundreds of thoughts were swimming like a particularly unsynchronized synchronized swimming team inside her head. She sighed slightly when she laid down on the bed, uncurling herself and stretching out her body as her head hit the pillow. Her breath hitched and then sped up a bit more than you might expect from lying down. Oddly disturbing. But she ignored that and looked over at what Alex was doing.
"What's that?" she asked incredulously as his artwork came into focus of her dog-worthy eyes. "You're doing Dr. Petersmith and the growing of his mighty beard for your assignment?"
Alex smirked at her. "Yep. Foner's going to get a kick out of it."
Pam returned the smirk. "Yep. Then Foner is going to show it to Petersmith and Petersmith will fail your ass."
Alex looked at her indignantly, full of pride and hubris. "He can't fail my ass. My ass is magnificent."
And just like that Pam realized that she was in bed with another man. Okay, in a completely non-sexual way, she rationalized to herself. Ass or no ass, it was just Alex, Alex the friend, who was working on a Quark assignment (which was looking quite impressive, she had to admit) and totally not making any serious sexual innuendo toward her. He was just being a goof-ball, like normal. There was nothing worth worrying about.
Of course, the only other men she had ever been in a bed with she ended up having sex with.
Pushing that from her mind, she tried to make friendly, innocent, conversation. "Hey, thanks for getting me out of the house. I needed that. What's the point of coming to New York if I'm stuck in my dorm room all the time, right?" Alex nodded with smug approval. "And helping me study for art history after I didn't get any sleep since you dragged me out of the house." Reminiscing about that conversation suddenly reminded Pam of something that she was curious about but had forgotten to ask Alex earlier amongst all the commotion of drinking and studying. "Hey, how did you know about jinx?"
Alex looked confused. "Everybody knows about jinx, don't they?"
"No. In fact, when most people see me do that, they think I'm some sort of weirdo."
"Well..."
She hit him. "Oh, shut up. You don't know weirdos until you've worked where I've worked. Like Creed. Oh my God, he's like the most hilariously entertaining decrepit old codger. He only has four toes and this one time, Toby replaced his apple with a potato and he didn't notice. Now that's weird. Not little ol' me."
"Sure you're not," he replied in a patronizing way. "You know, there are certain things you said - and did yesterday morning that may show, or cause some to dispute that claim."
"Zip it, mister," Pam warned. "You do not mention any of that to anyone, understood?" She waited for him to nod in the affirmative before she let her resolve soften. For not the first time she decided that she should hire people to make sure that she doesn't get drunk. "Sorry about falling asleep on you. That couldn't have been comfy for you."
Alex shrugged. "It was mostly okay."
"Mostly?"
"There was drool. Lots of drool."
"Oh, shut up!" she shrieked, slapping him in the chest playfully (and repeatedly). "I do not drool!"
"Odie!" he yelled, which only resulted in her slapping him harder and making death threats.
Pam rolled over on her side so she could pummel him with both fists for that comment. She unleashed a flurry of fury against Alex's shoulders and chest, laughing and calling him a dork until he caught one of her wrists in his hand and, as her assault slowed, she came to rest her other hand against his chest. She was slightly on top of him, resting her body against his, quickly becoming intimately aware of the heat radiating from his body, the feeling of him breathing under her.
A jolt of electricity through her body accompanied Alex wrapping his free arm around her waist, and she felt him pulling her down, down toward him, and she brought her lips to meet his. And the thoughts swimming in her head all drowned.
She had always liked bigger men, men with a decent amount of meat around them. It made her feel warm and safe. Alex was broad shouldered, and a bit squishy around the middle. After they struggled to roll over on the cramped dorm room single and Alex began to rain kisses along her neck, Pam felt the warmth that she had been missing this summer. Alex slid his hands down her body and she reached for the hem of his shirt.
The laptop crashed to the floor, forgotten.
----
December. Scranton.
Pam finds Angela eating all alone in the break room. She sits down. "We have a lot in common."
They lock eyes for a moment and understand. "Hussy?" says Angela, quietly, in a completely non-judgemental way - just like she would say 'stapler' or 'file folder' or any other uninteresting noun. Pam doesn't make a reply, but slowly casts her gaze to the floor. She gets her lunch, and they eat separately.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Are the rooms at the Pratt Institute really that big? If they were, I was gypped in my university experience. I had a roommate in a room smaller than Pam's. He listened to rave music. I nearly punched him out.
