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Setting: Season 2
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The twisting, low in her stomach, certainly wasn't making the day go by any faster. Most of the staff was gathered in the conference room, apathetically watching as Michael, clad in what Toby consistently referred to as "inappropriate" yoga attire, demonstrated the downward dog position. The other workers (read: Stanley and Creed) remained comfortably at their desks, working or (more accurately) surfing the web. Pam glanced longingly at her own desk, wanting nothing more than to sip her waiting hot green tea...
"Yoga," Michael explained, "is Buddha for peace." He closed his eyes for emphasis. "Our performance of yoga will bring peace to Dunder Mifflin."
"Michael, none of us are dressed for yoga," Phyllis noted.
"Clothing is but a mere hinder.." Michael began, stumbling over the word. "hindra...hindrance," he finished triumphantly. "Now, sit on the floor. No chairs. There are no chairs in Buddha, and there will be no chairs here."
"Buddha is not the name of a country, or a language," Jim noted, his amused eyes glancing over to the cameras.
"Buddha is all of our countries."
Jim nodded in mock-agreement, before turning to Pam for reaction. On any other day, she'd nod back to him in equal mock-agreement, their mutual sense of humor one of her favorite things, but the pain in her stomach, and gradually progressing to her head, prompted only a small smile, before she turned back to the scene unfolding before her.
She didn't catch Jim's confused, even hurt reaction, didn't know then how he lived for moments when she would, in fact, play along with his bits and pranks. He furrowed his eyebrows, looking down for a moment. When he looked back up, Pam had a hand on her head as she lightly massaged her temples. Oh.
"You okay?" he asked her, attempting to sound casual. Every conversation with her seemed to rest on his seeming casual.
She smiled weakly, just as she had earlier. "Headache."
"I have some Advil in my desk?" It was more a question than a statement.
"Yeah, I took some--" she trailed off, thinking that telling Jim she had just downed as much Midol as the label directed her to (and maybe a teeny, tiny bit more) would be at the very least, awkward. Even Roy hated discussing these things with her. "Pam, we don't have to tell each other everything, okay?" he'd say, disgusted at the topic.
"I took something," Pam finished decidedly.
"Oh. Okay." Jim paused, unsure of what to say next, fighting the intense urge to massage her neck.
"Pam," Michael announced, interrupting his thoughts, "will now demonstrate the downward dog."
"Michael, is the downward dog the only yoga position you know?" Oscar asked.
"No, it was Buddha's favorite position and I'm honoring him," Michael answered quickly, before returning to his original train of thought. "Pam! Come up here, come to the front, and demonstrate the downward dog."
Pam groaned inwardly. "I'm really not feeling well," she ventured.
"Nope, no, no excuses, come on up, Pamela--"
"Why doesn't Dwight demonstrate the downward dog?" Jim interrupted.
Dwight stood up readily. "I will demonstrate, Michael."
Michael sighed, "Fine," as Dwight dropped to the floor, thrusting himself upward.
Jim laughed, delighted, glancing over at Pam out of habit. She was biting her lip, looking deeply uncomfortable, and he felt his heart drop at the sight.
"Hey," he whispered. "Why don't you go home, get some rest?"
"Roy wouldn't want me to do that."
Something almost like anger shot through Jim. Of course.
Jim scoffed, albeit unintentionally, but Pam noticed all the same.
"What?"
"Nothing." He still sounded angry. He was always doing this. God, he was supposed to just stay casual, stay neutral...
"No, what?" she sounded almost angry now, the pain and the cliche hormones making his prior suggestion suddenly annoying to her ears. "We need the money, we do have a wedding to plan," she muttered, looking away from Jim.
Her words were like a slap to his face and he turned away as well, both of them now silently focused on Michael and Dwight's argument over the appropriate way to praise a small golden Buddha statue.
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He took a detour on his way to the office, returning from an afternoon sales call, to pick up a birthday gift for his niece. Exiting the store, a line-up of flowers along the wall caught his eye, and he stopped for a moment. Roses. Pam loved flowers, she even loved gardening, but not many people knew that, including Roy, who probably wouldn't notice the flower garden in their backyard if he camped in it.
Jim reached for a single rose, the image of her slumped over her desk once the ridiculous morning conference session was finally over, displaying tragically in his brain. Still, he wondered briefly if buying a rose for her would be too extreme, too boyfriend-like, too not casual.
He decided he didn't care.
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They normally walked out together, or at least said a proper goodbye, at the end of the day. He watched as she stood at the shredder, feeding documents into it with a tired expression on her face. Quietly, he gathered his coat and messenger bag, walking gently to her desk and laying down the rose before exiting.
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Pam wearily returned to her desk, surprised to see the rose laying brightly atop a stack of papers. Her eyes lit up, truly for the first time all day, as they scanned the writing across the attached note.
Cheer up, Beesly! Tomorrow's another day. (Yeah, that's good or bad, depending on how you look at it...But let's go with good for now, okay?)
Jim
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The problem with attentiveness is that it makes you ache.
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Story Notes:
I don't own The Office or anything related.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I have no idea what this story is--you know how it's sometimes as if the characters are writing the story for you?
