“C’mon, Pam,” Jim groaned aloud into the otherwise quiet car. He looked over to her, finding her rigid in her seat, her arms folded and her gaze set ahead determinedly. Gingerly, he reached to tuck her chin, but Pam ducked her head quickly from his touch. “Please, don’t be like that. It’s not like I wanted this to happen.”

“This is your fault,” she accused and allowed him a brief flick of her olive eyes. The narrowed brow, the clenched jaw, the lack of direct eye contact - she wanted to make it clear that this was not a pleased Pam. “We should be at home, Jim. Curled up on the couch with some ice cream and watching Sports Center or Project Runway...”

He nodded firmly, patted the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “I agree on absolutely all those points.” Jim paused, redacted, “Well, definitely not Project Runway, but we’re here now and—“

“It’s all your fault,” Pam repeated as her lower lip stuck out a little farther. She analyzed the lamp post they were parked in front of, hating the little twinge of annoyance she felt race down her spine at his puppy-dog eyes in her peripheral. “I really can’t believe you. First, Michael and now...!“

Jim held up both hands in defense as she turned to him with angry eyes, his mouth half open in surprise off her attack. “Hey, hey! Look, I’m telling you, they tricked me, Pam. It's a conspiracy, I swear.”

Her jaw shut tight and she squinted skeptically. “You’re really slipping, you know that?”

“I am slipping,” he affirmed with his best shame face. “And for that, I am truly, deeply sorry.” Jim watched Pam chew on it, and she squirmed a little when his warm hand settled over her forearm. “Let’s just … go in, get this over with, and I promise you that every night until the end of time we will do all that great stuff you suggested before.” Jim studied her features and as he scrutinized her, she felt her brow and mouth slacken in persuasion. Damn him and his completely adorable eyes. “Okay?”

Finally, Pam heaved a sigh and nodded her head once. “Fine,” she pushed a hand forward to stop his torso from leaning any closer to hers, her palm warmed at once by his chest. She couldn’t deny that familiar flutter as he slowly grinned in that way that made her simultaneously peeved and undeniably attracted to him. He knew, oh, how he knew. Yet that didn’t make her any less ready to put her pout back on as she warned him, “But I’m not going to like it!”

“Honestly, I would be kind of amazed if you did,” Jim hushed and dipped his head in, his smile warm against her lips as he kissed her. She puckered back forgivingly and it was a sweet moment before she drew back, lower lip wet and jutting out. He laughed and released his seat belt, and in a matter of seconds, he was around to her side of the car, helping her out and ushering her into the restaurant.

His hand holding hers did little to calm the storm that leapt to full, thunderous force once she saw that ridiculous man in his too-brightly-colored sweater vest and the drab, grey woman at his side. Pam tensed her fingers around Jim’s hand and he cast her a sympathetic sidelong glance. For a minute, she did feel sorry for him. After all, it’s not like this was his ideal evening.

But then she remembered: this was his fault. So she tensed her fingers even tighter and shot him a glare. Quickly, he folded his lips guiltily and looked toward Andy and Angela with grit teeth.

Andy rose promptly from the table with a giant wave of his arm, beckoning them over. If she weren’t so frustrated with their predicament, Pam might have found humor in Angela’s scowl of recognition and her subsequent snarl up at Andy. Obviously, this hadn’t been Angela’s favorite thing to do on a Friday night either, and Pam found it curious that out of the four congregated there in the marginally fancy restaurant, Andy seemed to be the only one in uplifted spirits.

“Hey, Andy, Angela,” Jim greeted the couple as they reached the table. Gentlemanly, he withdrew Pam’s chair. If he was expecting a thank you, he was sorely mistaken of course, and Pam settled primly and offered not so much as a smile in his direction as he lowered himself beside her. “So, uh, you guys wait long?”

“No, no,” Andy shook his head on a laugh, barely covering Angela’s clipped ‘Yes’ that filtered from his side. Pam shot Angela a challenging arch of her brow, to which Angela merely shrugged. Andy, blissfully ignorant of any malcontent, continued happily, “Only, like, two minutes, seriously. Gave me and the missus time to peruse the wine selection!”

As he slid an arm about the petite blonde’s shoulders, Angela made no effort to hide her aggravation as she leaned out of his reach. Andy tilted a crooked grin her way, before he simply folded his hands atop the table, patting both palms boisterously against the cloth in a one-two drum beat. “So! Anyone up for some top-notch vino?”

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” Angela interjected harshly, a wrinkle at the bridge of her nose. “You’re driving.”

“Wellll,” Andy let his tongue settle at the roof of his mouth as he bowed his head in her direction without looking directly at her. Pam wondered if he was thinking of the best way to address Angela without invoking her ire. “Maaaybe Jim and Pam would like something to drink. What say you, Sir and Lady Tuna?” The salesman flourished his hands toward the couple across from him as he (poorly) affected one of his patented British accents.

As the curve of Jim’s shoulder bumped her own in a shrug, the mumbled 'I bet they would' from Angela didn’t slip past Pam’s ever-so-keen hearing. She pressed her lips together and fought the urge to roll her eyes, instead opting to give a quick shake of her head. “I’m fine, but if you want, Jim?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Coolie, coolie, cool,” Andy muttered and lifted the menu as the waitress rounded the table. “Haven’t decided on my own eats yet, but Ange, if you’re—“

“I’m not ready,” she bit out and buried her nose down in the font, the swiftest of glares cast in Pam’s direction.

As the uncomfortable silence drew on, so too did Pam’s indignation toward her boyfriend. More often than not, Jim exhibited pretty stellar judgment. He was a smooth talker most days; Jim could typically get himself out of any bind, he could probably sweet talk any girl he wanted (Pam was living proof, wasn’t she?), and he was more than capable of convincing even the most rigid of businessmen to cave and sign a contract.

So, how someone so dazzlingly brilliant and charming could be duped by the likes of Andy Bernard and Michael Scott within the same month truly escaped her realm of comprehension.

And then there was Angela to contend with. The dirty and unwelcoming lift of her eyes, the backhanded comments, and the none-too-subtle digs were really beginning to grate on Pam’s raw and final nerve. Not to mention that the way Angela was treating the wait staff had Pam fairly concerned that certain “extra ingredients” might be added to her order. When the blonde railed their young waitress for bringing out vegetables with an invisible hair buried somewhere therein, Pam gave Jim her most pleading eyes, which he fully mirrored.

The span of his hand on her back comforted her, and she didn’t have it in her to shrug away from his touch as Angela had done to Andy countless times throughout their meal.

Conversation, when it did come around, proved light and revolved mostly around work. It took a while, but they all managed to find common ground in discussion over the dinner party at Michael and Jan’s. Pam allowed herself to momentarily forget Angela’s encouragement of Jan’s jealousy when the tinier woman began to spout off incensed rallies against their former VP.

“It was just obscene,” the blonde’s voice was tight with distaste, and Pam could sympathize. “I mean, there was a camera by their bed.“

“Oh, they took it down when we went upstairs,” Jim half-laughed and shook his head, looking to Pam with a smirk.

Pam shoved his shoulder with a cluck of her tongue and pierced a steamed baby carrot with her fork. Andy made a noise of disbelief and wonder, and the receptionist waved her vegetable at him with wide eyes. “Ohhhh, no! Believe us, it’s true. It was still the tripod!” She laughed along with Jim over the memory, her nose scrunching up in distaste. “God, it was so …“

“Tacky?” Angela suggested with a slight hitch of her brow. Off Pam’s quick nod of agreement, the accountant huffed and folded her napkin down on the table with a sneer. “This is terrible dinner conversation. I don’t think we should be talking about those two when—“

Something abruptly caught the woman’s eye and she cleared her throat, proffering a suddenly winsome smile to the other three. “I, uhm—-excuse me,” Angela delicately apologized as she began to stand from the table, purse in hand. “I just have to...“

“Oh, are you heading to the bathroom? I’ll go with you," Pam brightened immediately, still riding the high from actually getting along with the usually dour woman. It was rare that they had ever seen eye-to-eye, much less had a conversation that extended beyond passive-aggressive shots at one another. Pam would truly hate to see the effort put into this evening go to such waste now. Yet the sharp look from Angela had her hesitating as she slipped from her place beside Jim. The blonde’s features paled and narrowed in recognizable disdain.

“I...“ However, it seemed she thought it better and rationalized, as Angela then sighed and nodded her assent. “Fine. Come on.”

With a hurried grin over her shoulder at Jim (he smiled back, clearly pleased to see her not totally miserable, he was so cute like that) Pam followed Angela’s hasty strides into the Ladies’ Room.

The restroom door nearly hit her in the face in Angela’s wake.

To her surprise, however, the other woman whipped around at once, hands wrung tight around the shoulder strap of her purse. If Pam hadn’t seen it before, she might have mistaken Angela’s worried appearance as one of illness instead. It scared her a bit, seeing the accountant suddenly so … human in a single facial contortion.

“Dwight’s here,” the blonde blurted in a curt whisper, a flit of her gaze toward the door behind Pam.

“I’m—I’m sorry, what? Dwight?” Pam repeated, nonplussed. “As in, Schrute comma Dwight?”

Apparently, she was correct, if the flat glare Angela leveled her was any indication. “Yes,” she intoned and took a step nearer, that concern returning again. “I told him I was going out to dinner and then...“

“And then what?” Pam heard her own voice raise a little, saw Angela’s flinching away, and she reeled herself consciously. “Why would he even need to know where you are?”

It was all there, written clearly and plainly on the fragile features of the woman across from her.

Part of Pam seethed violently for some reason. The other part of her faltered, but she caught herself. “Why is he here, Angela?” Her voice was low and even, all meaning and nuance fastening the words together so that there was no mistaking the deeper inquiry buried within.

The blonde ducked her head away from Pam’s gaze, and Angela fidgeted silently on the spot. “It’s not…” She began quietly, but it tapered off into uncertainty.

“Oh, god,” Pam breathed and touched her forehead to try and quell the heat burning there. “Angela, Andy is out there right now,” she hissed, catching the other woman’s stony, defensive eyes with her own. “What about him? What about that?”

“What about him?” Angela echoed and stiffened. “You don’t know—“

“Oh, come on,” Pam groaned, shuffling back a couple paces as her arms protected her heart from such unimaginable callousness radiating off the blonde. “I’m sure the whole office knows, Angela.”

Angela froze, and Pam regretted making such a terrible statement. “I … I don’t mean that,” Pam stammered and bit the corner of her lip when Angela’s eyes hit the tiled ground between their feet. “I just meant—- you can’t be serious, Angela,” she huffed and furrowed her brow, trying to work out the what and the how and the when. How could she have missed this?

It was silent between them as another patron pushed into the restroom and into a stall.

Eventually, Pam drew herself up first with a heavy sigh, avoiding the accountant’s renewed attention. “Fine, whatever. I’m going back to the table,” she resolutely announced and turned for the door. Her hand paused over the veneer and Pam turned at the hip. “And if you don’t come back, I’ll…”

Her voice felt weak when Angela met her gaze. She could see the silent pleading there, the sudden rush of horror that no doubt flooded her. For a moment, Pam kind of felt something akin to empathy for her. Hadn’t she been there before? Not quite the same, but still.

It was probably why Pam turned her head and averted her eyes, inspecting their reflections in the mirror instead of just observing the other woman in reality. “If you don’t come back, I won’t say anything,” she quietly amended as the stall flushed and Angela exhaled and bowed her head in relief.

Before the blonde had lifted her head again, Pam had already maneuvered herself out of the restroom, her gait wide as she returned to Jim’s warm side. She pecked his cheek as she resettled into her spot at the table, earning a bright grin of surprise and a kiss in return.

“Welcome back, milady,” Andy greeted Pam with a half-bow at the table, and she did her best not to make eye contact with him. “Is Ange still-?”

“Oh, yeah,” Pam cut him off a little to quickly and took at once to her salad. A clump of lettuce effectively filled her mouth as she glanced warily toward the restrooms. However, when Andy’s eyes followed suit, she swallowed loudly and attempted to perk up in her chair. “So! Andy! Uhm, you-- have you made any new … uhm, sales?”

“What?” Jim queried with a questioning stare. Both went unanswered, as Pam remained seemingly riveted by the story that followed suit from Andy. Dinner continued as normally as possible, with the only interruption in the conversation proving to be Andy receiving a regrettable text message from Angela stating she had taken ill and would not be returning to the table.

Funny how quick her fingers must work, considered Pam, as the message had been sent not a moment after she had caught a glimpse of grey and mustard exiting speedily from her right.

“If you guys wanna go ahead, I totally understand,” Andy sobered and repocketed his cell, his tongue lolling inside the lower corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry Ange bailed like that. I really thought she was looking forward to dinner…”

Pam didn’t have the heart to tell him all signs pointed to the obvious contrary to his assumptions. Not when Andy was sitting there, his boisterousness depleted and the light having completely evacuated his being.

Jim cleared his throat after a gulp of his water, and Pam disliked it so much to see that mischievous glee behind his otherwise serious expression. She was going to have to let him down, wasn't she? “Eh, I don’t know. You think it’s getting late?”

Everything in her being told her to agree when Jim's bright eyes landed on her face expectantly. To agree and to get out while the door was still open. To take Jim’s hand and jump up and run to the car and get on with the good evening they were supposed to be enjoying.

And yet, when she turned to face Andy, her heart sank. He was the image of rejection and downtroddeness, and nothing at that moment could’ve pulled her out of the event horizon of his pity party. She sucked in a deep breath and hitched a smile, her fingers stretching out for the lone dessert menu between the three of them.

She felt Jim’s fingers close over her own atop the menu, and she allowed herself to look up into his wide, horrified eyes.

“What? I think I still want some dessert!” Pam laughed and grimaced together as he shook his head just slightly enough for her to catch it. To avoid his further eye-questioning, she looked across to Andy, who observed them curiously. “So, do you have anything to recommend, Andy?”

Jim’s fingers tugged at the menu as she drew it closer. Pam bit her lip and gave another pull, and he released with a hearty puff of a breath. “Really, Pam, you know… we-- we have ice cream at my apartment, we don’t have to—“

“Tunes, man! C’mon!” Andy bellowed and ducked his head to read the back of the dessert menu with squinty eyes. “That Breyer’s stuff is total crap when compared to the real deal. Let your girl pick something out.”

The pretense was just barely hanging on, but Pam ‘hmm’ed absently nevertheless and busied herself with inspecting the offered delights. She paused in her perusal to glance upward again, noticing Andy cocking his head awkwardly to better survey the lettering on the opposite side. Her heartstrings plucked and she swallowed the lump of guilt that had settled in her throat in that instance.

“Here.” She passed the menu over to him with a weak, kind smile on his behalf.

The thankful grin that followed had Pam looking the other way, unable to take the perceptible innocence that managed to pour from a full grown man like that. When she returned her gaze, Pam found Andy leaning back in his chair, menu stuck out in front of him, tongue dipping out of the corner of his mouth thoughtfully in between musings over choices.

He was all Andy again, and Pam couldn’t help it; she giggled.

Immediately, she sensed Jim’s eyes falling upon her once again and the undoubted curiosity that lay therein his gaze. With raised eyebrows in his direction, a laugh still on her words, she offered, “I think I’m getting the cheesecake. You wanna split?”

Much to her chagrin, he did not answer her quickly. Pam sought his eyes out when he turned petulantly to the tabletop. His big fingers plucked agitatedly at the cloth there, while he seemed to mull over his answer. It was Andy who spoke first after the moment had gone on a little too long, a firm pound of his fist given to the table in front of Jim's anxious fingers.

"Dude, for real? When a woman offers to split, you split. It's insulting to her if you don't, duh," Andy advised with a wag of his finger. He tsked and leveled his attention once again upon the menu, his mouth turned sideways in consideration. "Rookie move, Tuna."

When Jim's dumb expression began to soften slowly into a smile and a brief roll of his eyes, Pam’s chest warmed appreciatively. “Yeah, I guess. Sure,” he finally agreed with a sidelong look to Pam.

With a knit of his brow, he scooped her hand up from the table between them. Pam tried not to feel guilty over the gentle squeeze he gave to her fingers as she saw Andy smiling at them from out of the corner of her eye.

“How could I say ‘no’ to the real deal?”