Story Notes:
So after a season finale like that, what better to start writing than an AU that explores all that glorious season two and three angst? ;)
I claimed I'd NEVER write an AU. There was just no way. And yet, about six months ago this idea popped into my head. I tried to forget it, ignore it, but it kept sneaking back up, and backstories and ideas bloomed with no effort. What I loved most, though, was that it allowed the characters to be at their best, without changing a single aspect of their personalities. (Minus their ages; I took the small liberty of "youngening" everyone to the age they were when the show started.) Plus, it allowed me to revisit that historic time on the show I missed out on in a new way, being a late-comer and all.
The setting for this story is based on a very real place; it's somewhere I spent time every summer for ten years as a kid, then a teenager. Since I've taken some artistic license with it, I've changed the name. I have, however, compiled some pictures, just so you can see the place as clearly as I can. Furthermore, I decided to keep it in its (and my) home state of Michigan, because I just can't imagine it anywhere else, and frankly didn't feel like doing hours of research. :) That means all the characters have relocated as well. Here's a map that highlights anywhere I mention in the story, and I'll update as needed. There's also this playlist, that'll have every song from which I take chapter titles. (The story's title is from Sly and the Family Stone's "Hot Fun in the Summertime.")
Whew. So much explanation from a chick that claims to hate it. ;) Just one last thing - my endless gratitude to Dundie All-Star, an amazing friend, support and sounding board I'm still sure I don't deserve. Also thanks to Cousin Mose, who's encouraging and helpful and all-around kicks ass.
I know it's a bit different, but it'll also prove to be very familiar too, and I really hope you enjoy my offering for this long, episodeless summer!
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with NBC, The Office, or any of its writers or actors. The characters Pam and Jim belong to NBC and the producers and writers of The Office and no money is being made from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
I claimed I'd NEVER write an AU. There was just no way. And yet, about six months ago this idea popped into my head. I tried to forget it, ignore it, but it kept sneaking back up, and backstories and ideas bloomed with no effort. What I loved most, though, was that it allowed the characters to be at their best, without changing a single aspect of their personalities. (Minus their ages; I took the small liberty of "youngening" everyone to the age they were when the show started.) Plus, it allowed me to revisit that historic time on the show I missed out on in a new way, being a late-comer and all.
The setting for this story is based on a very real place; it's somewhere I spent time every summer for ten years as a kid, then a teenager. Since I've taken some artistic license with it, I've changed the name. I have, however, compiled some pictures, just so you can see the place as clearly as I can. Furthermore, I decided to keep it in its (and my) home state of Michigan, because I just can't imagine it anywhere else, and frankly didn't feel like doing hours of research. :) That means all the characters have relocated as well. Here's a map that highlights anywhere I mention in the story, and I'll update as needed. There's also this playlist, that'll have every song from which I take chapter titles. (The story's title is from Sly and the Family Stone's "Hot Fun in the Summertime.")
Whew. So much explanation from a chick that claims to hate it. ;) Just one last thing - my endless gratitude to Dundie All-Star, an amazing friend, support and sounding board I'm still sure I don't deserve. Also thanks to Cousin Mose, who's encouraging and helpful and all-around kicks ass.
I know it's a bit different, but it'll also prove to be very familiar too, and I really hope you enjoy my offering for this long, episodeless summer!
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with NBC, The Office, or any of its writers or actors. The characters Pam and Jim belong to NBC and the producers and writers of The Office and no money is being made from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Some explanation to start us off...y'know, typical AU. ;)
Chapter title from Fountains of Wayne's "Radiation Vibe."
Chapter title from Fountains of Wayne's "Radiation Vibe."
“Aw, Pam, come on.”
“What?” Pam Beesly asked, looking up from inserting her mp3 player’s adapter into the stereo.
“Tigers game starts at one,” Roy Anderson pointed out.
“Then I’ll turn it off in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll miss all the pregame stuff - they talk to Leyland, a couple players. How’ll I know if there’s a different DH?”
“Can you even get the game out here?” she wondered. Roy laughed.
“Of course. What, you think they only broadcast White Caps games on this side of the state?”
Pam shrugged. “I wasn’t sure,” she said, not bothering to add that she didn’t know exactly who or what “White Caps” were. Was that a nickname for the White Sox? They were sort of close to Chicago… “I just figured I’d put some music on quietly and we could talk,” she explained. They’d left her apartment back in Wyandotte, Michigan, almost two hours ago, but hadn’t spoken much on the drive across the state.
“We can still talk with the Tigers on,” Roy assured her.
“Okay,” she agreed, but knew the odds of that happening were slim – with no visual to accompany the audio, her boyfriend’s focus would only be on the game. She carefully wrapped the adapter’s cord around her Prism Duro-Sport and put the bundle in her tote bag, then sat back to watch the unremarkable scenery along I-96 pass them by. “Thanks again for driving me out here,” she offered, giving him a grin.
Roy shrugged. “No big deal. Besides, how were you gonna get out here - your car? I don’t trust that thing for shit. I think you’ve got a bad fuel injector or something.”
“Well, I really appreciate it.”
He just nodded, keeping his eyes on the expressway. A Belle Tire commercial was the only sound in the truck, followed by one for a law firm, then an ad for the radio station. Finally Roy glanced at her. “So what is it that you’re doing at this place again? Teaching weaving or painting or something?”
Pam bristled just a little, but tried to stay positive – at least he was showing interest in something he was none too happy about. “Arts and crafts activity leader. I’ll be a counselor, too, helping out the campers,” she told him.
“The campers are…handicapped kids?”
“And adults, yeah.”
Roy’s eyes narrowed as he pondered that. “What exactly does that mean, ‘helping out campers?’”
“Um…I guess…just providing any help they might need? Getting dressed, eating, that sort of thing?”
“Are you gonna have to help them…” He waved his right hand some and his voice lowered. “Y’know, go to the bathroom or whatever?”
Pam nodded slowly. “I guess so, if they need help with that.”
Roy’s brows furrowed. “And how much are you gonna make working at this place?” he asked.
Pam knew the conversation was about to turn. “It’s about twenty-four hundred for the summer.”
“That’s it? For all that work?”
“Yeah.”
Roy shook his head. “I can’t believe you quit to do this, Pammy,” he sighed. “You would’ve been making, what, thirty two thou this year?”
“I don’t know,” Pam answered, looking down at her hands. “Something like that, I guess.”
“You can’t just give up a great job like that nowadays. Did you talk to Dr. Merchant? Ask him if he’ll hire you back in August?”
Now it was Pam’s turn to shake her head. “He said he’d like to, but he can’t afford to work with a temping agency so he has to hire someone new on his own. He can’t just fire them in two months,” she explained.
“Damn. Who knows if you’ll find anything when you get back.”
“Having this on my resume can’t hurt, though.”
“I know that, babe. And it is really nice of you, but there are no guarantees,” he stressed, then gave her a long look. “Why do you wanna do this so bad?”
“Roy, we’ve already gone through why,” she said quietly, moving her gaze out her window as she worked the small gold charm at her neck along its chain.
The truth was, Pam herself could hardly believe she’d done something so…oh, there were so many adjectives to describe it. Big? Surprising? Irresponsible? (That was a favorite.) She had been working as a receptionist at the small clinic since her third semester at Henry Ford Community College, where she’d spent a year dabbling in different areas, then (after panicking at her rapidly depleting finances) a year finishing the program in office administration. It had been a great job at 19, when most of the people she knew were still plowing through four year degrees and forced to take jobs in retail or restaurant work. Six years later, she was burned out and feeling more stagnant than seemed possible at such a young age. She wanted to try something different, get out there and have a new experience – take a chance on something.
The problem was, she wasn’t quite sure what else she wanted to do. She had always loved art – it was one of the areas in which she’d tried out a few courses - and harbored a secret hope that she was talented enough to do something that put that love to use. She had also considered the idea of working with people somehow, maybe as a teacher; for years she’d been surrounded by people making an actual difference while she simply scheduled appointments, filed and talked to insurance companies. Weeks of perusing Monster’s website had produced little that interested her, and the few positions that did look promising were jobs for which she was unqualified.
On a Saturday night in April, after one too many beers at the bowling alley with Roy, she’d randomly entered several words into a Google search – she remembered “different,” “job,” “art,” and “helping” being a few. The first returned result was a website for Camp Warrior Spirit. Immediately drawn to the photos of the smiling campers and happy staff on the main page, she’d quickly moved on to read the history of the place and their mission statement. Working there seemed like a perfect way for her to explore lots of the fields she was considering, all at once. Without thought as to just what getting a job there might require of her, she had filled out an application and submitted it.
Pam had completely forgotten about it when the camp’s director – a funny character named Michael - called to schedule an interview. He’d mistaken her confusion, then panic, for her holding out, and had instead conducted the interview right then over the phone. When she’d continued to stutter and stall, he had upped the ante and offered her a higher-paying job as the arts and crafts activity leader. Promising to call him back, she had managed to get off the phone before stumbling into accepting the offer.
Pam had agonized over the decision for a solid week. There were so many things to consider. She’d known taking the camp position would likely mean losing her job. She would have to find someone to sublet her tiny apartment. And what about Roy? He would hardly be thrilled about her being 200 miles away all summer, and she knew she would miss him too. In their nine years together they had never been that far apart for that long. The practical decision would be to pass.
And yet on the eighth day, with shaking hands and voice, she had called Michael and accepted the job.
“Pammy,” Roy finally said, ending their long conversational draught, “I’m not trying to be a jerk, okay?”
“I know you’re not.”
“I’m just…I worry about you, babe. You’re my girl.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Plus you know I’m gonna miss you.”
Pam found a smile for him. “I know, she repeated, “and I’ll miss you too. But I get breaks most weekends, so we’ll get to see each other then.”
Roy shrugged. “It’s not the same. Plus, y’know, Kenny just got those jet skis…”
“You guys could bring them out here for a weekend, right? We’re really close to Lake Michigan – we could rent a cabin on the beach or something.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he said without much conviction.
Pam knew his reaction was a result of his disappointment and sadness, but it still stung. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”
“Yeah.” It got quiet again, and Roy turned up the game as the first inning began. Pam tipped her head back and focused out the window, reading the nearing road sign.
Grand Rapids 33 mi
****
Jim Halpert smiled as the next song on his playlist began, giving a nod of approval to his iPod. He put his arm out the window for no reason other than to feel the sunshine. As the chorus kicked in he whistled along. Just as it finished he came to the all-too-familiar sign welcoming him to his destination, and his smile widened as he turned his car onto the narrow gravel road.
Welcome to Camp Warrior Spirit!
Proudly providing an enriching camp experience for disabled individuals since 1974.
He cruised the quarter mile or so to the empty parking lot, then got out of his car and stretched as he took an appreciative look around. Camp never looked as good as it did on the first day - before any campers arrived or staff checked in, the old girl practically glowed in anticipation of the summer about to unfold under her watch. The giant oak and smaller beech and elm trees that populated the grounds were a particularly vivid green as they swayed in the gentle June breeze. The faded red clapboard office looked like it had just received a fresh coat of paint, as had the much bigger Ojibway Lodge behind it. The paved paths were swept free of all debris, every window sparkled, and the planter boxes were in full bloom in a rainbow of colors. Jim took a deep breath and sighed, smiling. Even though he’d left his actual apartment twenty minutes ago, he couldn’t help feeling like he’d just returned home.
Jim was jerked out of his reverie by a pair of arms crushing his sternum. “JIMBO!”
He shook his head slightly, trying to stop the nickname from reverberating in his left ear, gave the source of the address a quick pat on the back and attempted to step out of the ambush hug. “Michael! Hey there.”
“If it isn’t our fearless leader!”
“I thought you were our fearless leader,” Jim said, amused. Michael Scott’s smile faltered only a little.
“Yes, obviously…but you’re our fearless…activity leader! Our fearless recreation activity leader! The Eva Peron to my Cesar Chavez.”
Jim chuckled. “That’s me. How are you?”
“I’m great, buddy! I’m so excited you’re here! Back again!” Michael’s face was consumed by his toothy grin, and Jim couldn’t help but mirror his expression. The camp’s director may have been in his forties, but he had an enthusiasm that would put a five-year-old to shame.
“Back again,” Jim repeated, nodding.
“Man, I couldn’t believe it when I got your application…Jim Halpert, back for year five! I thought wow, that is loyalty right there. You’re our longest long-termer, Jimbo. Except me, of course.”
“Don’t forget Dwight,” Jim pointed out.
A flash of annoyance passed over Michael’s face before he nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. Dwight. But I meant…y’know, not…I was referring to the…cooler of us.”
Jim smirked. “Of course.”
Michael glanced at his watch. “You’re here early, too – check-in doesn’t start until two,” he noted.
“Oh, I just thought I’d take a walk around before I unpacked my-”
“Hey, yeah, good idea. I’ve got a few minutes free before I need to get back to work. Let’s walk it – into shape! Shape it up! Get it straight!” Michael tacked on a whip-like wh-psh for good measure, then laughed.
Jim had wanted to take a stroll alone, but he knew Michael had been waiting a long time for today and was no doubt desperate for new company, so he nodded and the two set out along the sidewalk.
“So you ready for another ca-razy summer?” Michael asked as they rounded the corner of the lodge.
“Absolutely.”
“Good, good. Hey,” Michael continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, “you know Karen’s back this summer, right?”
“Yeah, she told me a while ago.”
“Are you two still…?” Michael waved his hands in a vague way.
“Oh, ah, no.”
“What? You’re not?” Michael asked, looking shocked. “I thought…”
“Nope. I mean, we never actually—” Jim paused, realizing he was about to repeat Michael’s gesture. He shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his cargo shorts instead. “We’re not…we’re just friends. We email. Talk on the phone. That’s it, really,” he told his boss.
“Oh.” Michael sounded disappointed, and Jim could have sworn he looked guilty for a moment, but he immediately brightened. “Well, hey, maybe you’ll meet someone new this year – summer lovin’, right?”
“Maybe.”
“A sweet little piece of—”
“Right,” Jim interrupted, starting to regret accepting company a little more with each step. As if the powers that be could read his mind, a set of footsteps approaching gave him reason to turn away from Michael.
“Michael?” Oscar Martinez, the camp’s accountant and business manager, was hustling over, looking frazzled. He and Jim exchanged a brief greeting before he eyed the director. “Michael, you need to get back to the office. There’s a parent on the phone who needs to speak with you, new staff keep calling with questions, and the MedCo rep is here with the delivery.”
Michael sighed in faux exasperation; if there was one thing Jim knew it was that Michael loved nothing more than being needed. “Duty calls,” he said, then clapped Jim on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later, all right?”
“Sounds good.”
“Oh, and you’re in Mohawk this summer – get the good bed first, amiright?” Michael called over his shoulder as he followed Oscar back to the office. Jim gave him a thumb’s up, then started down the path that led to the man-made lake at the bottom of the hill, affectionately named Lake Cola years ago by some long-forgotten campers thanks to its earthy brown color and frothy wake kicked up by canoes and the old pontoon boat.
Jim took a seat at one of the picnic tables under the pavilion that served as a chapel on Sundays, staring out over the water and into the woods beyond. It still amazed him how isolated he could feel here, considering the bustling metropolis of Grand Rapids was less than ten miles away. But that was why he returned summer after summer; for two months, Jim could step out of the real world, into this rustic hideaway and feel…important. Free. Like he wasn’t just drifting through life, waiting for something – anything – to come along and give him a sense of direction he desperately needed.
Jim had taken a job here as a counselor five years ago more or less on a whim – he was about to graduate from nearby Grand Valley State University with a bachelor of arts in liberal studies, never managing to settle on any other program he actually enjoyed. He’d known it was a useless degree and had put off any real job search for fear of all the rejection he was certain awaited him. He’d seen a posting on the student services job board for camp counselors just a week before he was due to cross the stage and receive said worthless diploma, and had applied online that night. It had seemed like a good fit – he liked the outdoors, he liked people, he was familiar with the camp (at least from the outside, having driven by it on his way into town for years) and deep down he’d hoped doing something as altruistic as working with disabled people for a summer would placate his unhappy parents just a little. Three days before graduation he had interviewed with Michael, and the congratulatory phone call that night had made him happy, but more than that relieved to have employment - for two months, anyway.
Jim had never expected to fall in love with the place.
At the end of that first summer Jim had known, without a doubt, that he wanted nothing more than to do it again the following summer; his only worry was that by then he would have a regular nine-to-five job where he could never get that sort of vacation time. His worrying was in vain - thanks to that old lib studies choice and an ever-slowing economy where employers could afford to be choosy, he’d never managed to find a regular, well-paying job. Stuck working in a myriad of less-than-glamorous professions over the last five years - delivery service, sales, office temping – he had never stayed with anything too long; either he’d get restless or had to quit so he could return to camp each June. At least this year he’d avoided quitting, having found regular work substitute teaching in the area.
Jim was sure many saw him as irresponsible, but he disagreed. He paid his bills. He usually had enough money at the end of the week to put some into savings and spend on incidentals and nights out with friends. Money was nice (and necessary), but it wasn’t everything, and no real, “grown up job” could provide him with the peace of mind Camp Warrior Spirit always did. This place was in his heart and soul. By April he would start thinking of the summer ahead, anticipating it the way he knew his favorite campers did each year. Jim knew it wasn’t arrogant to say that they counted on him being here – he got letters and emails all year from his buddies, all of which made him smile when he saw them waiting in his mail box and inbox - and he needed to be here as much as they wanted him here. That was a responsibility up to which he always lived.
With one last contented sigh Jim got up and headed back to the car for his luggage. He already knew he was in for a great summer, but Michael was right: claiming the “good bed” - a bottom bunk as close to the closet and as far from the bathroom as possible - never hurt to insure an even better one.
Chapter End Notes:
To explain the local references:
-"Leyland:" Jim Leyland, Detroit Tigers skipper
-"White Caps:" The West Michigan White Caps, Grand Rapids' minor league baseball
-"Belle Tire:" the tire chain that supports every freakin' Detroit sports team :)
