- Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to zerohhero, who long ago sent me some screencaps I requested so I wouldn't have to keep watching this episode.

Standard disclaimers apply. Not my characters, no copyright infringement intended. Just having fun.
There had been a time when Jim liked weddings. Both of his brothers had been married in grand style, in beautifully decked-out churches with receptions full of free booze and pretty, flirtatious girls in colorful silky dresses. And the romantic in him appreciated the optimism of a wedding: the placing of rings, the clasping of hands, the promise to love forever. I take thee.

Then he met Pam, and weddings took on a bleaker significance. He attempted to listen to her vaguely drawn nuptial plans like the supportive friend he was supposed to be, and it got easier as the weeks slid into months and still no date was set; she stopped bringing bridal magazines to the break room, eventually stopped talking about the wedding altogether. He couldn’t lie: he was relieved that her marriage to that dumb ox seemed to be put on hold, and the dim spark of possibility that their burgeoning friendship was becoming something…
more…flamed into something like hope.

A short-lived hope. It made him sick to see her so happy when Roy finally set the date, and she was glowing and beautiful and he had to congratulate her—them—and pretend it wasn’t ripping his heart out.

The second time she was engaged—since the first time apparently didn’t count—he actively tuned her out when she spoke of things like flatware and color schemes and bridesmaid dresses. To her credit, Pam didn’t often speak of the wedding in front of him. He let himself wonder why that might be, let himself believe in possibility (she feels it too), but it turned out he was wrong. Painfully, horribly, wrong.

Weddings sucked.

But Pam didn’t get married. She didn’t want him, but at least she’d saved herself. There was some comfort in that. Not nearly enough, but it was something. The part of him that had truly been her friend, that wasn’t constantly aching and humiliated by her rejection, was proud of her. And he was healing. Determined to heal. Pam had saved herself: he would do the same.

Weddings were about beginnings.


~~~~


Karen had gotten her BlackBerry just the week before, and at first Jim had been amused by her obsession with it, like a kid with a new toy. Amusement flared into irritation when she wouldn’t put it away at dinner last Friday—and he wouldn’t have cared, really, but it was an expensive dinner at Scranton’s fanciest (well, only) French restaurant, a place she’d badgered him into taking her for two weeks. If she was going to text her friends all night, whatever, but he’d just as soon they’d have stayed at his apartment with beer and pizza and a cheesy movie on Sci-Fi while she did it.

When her phone beeped at Phyllis’s reception and she immediately whipped it out, going to town on the keyboard with a slight frown on her face, Jim sighed a little too loudly and she gave him a guilty glance. “I know, I’m sorry…just a few more minutes and I’ll put it away, promise,” she vowed, but her apology fell flat as another text quickly reclaimed her attention.

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair and tried not to look irritated, tried not to be irritated. The camera was on him again, seeking his reaction. He put on a neutral face and set his water glass down on the table. “I’m gonna go to the bar,” he told her. “Want anything?”

“Whatever you’re having,” she said without looking up.

He wound through the maze of tables toward the bar. He hadn’t seen Pam since the ceremony, and he wondered if she’d come to the reception. Not that he was looking for her or anything. She did look pretty in that silky brown dress, though, with her hair pinned back in loose curls and a pair of pearls dangling at her ears and…well. He didn’t want to notice these things; it was simply impossible not to. He’d seen her taking her seat at the church and felt that old familiar ache of longing close off his throat. He’d allowed himself to look at her, really look at her, for one long moment, and the thought came, unbidden, God she’s so beautiful, and then he made a concerted effort not to look in her direction for the rest of the ceremony. Michael made an excellent, if horrifying, distraction.

He came upon Ryan sitting alone, staring blankly out at the empty dance floor, tracing his thumb in circles around the rim of his wine glass. “Hey,” he nodded as Jim turned a hip to avoid bumping into the empty chair next to him.

“Hey.” Jim paused, smiled a little at Ryan’s bored, somewhat glum expression. “Where’s Kelly?”

Ryan shrugged. “In the bathroom, I think.” He rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck from side to side. “How long do you have to stay at one of these things, anyway?” he asked in a low voice.

“Till they cut the cake, at least.” Jim nodded toward the bar. “Get a drink.”

“I’m driving,” Ryan sighed, tilting his empty wine glass. “And I already had two.”

Jim fought the urge to grin. “Bummer.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s Karen?”

Jim’s smile faded as he glanced over at their table. She was still working the BlackBerry, a slight frown on her face.

“Busy,” he said blandly.

Ryan gave him a look with a lifted eyebrow, half challenge, half amused.

Kelly approached with a cocktail full of maraschino cherries in her hand and an excited expression on her face. “Jim!” she said happily, pushing a chair at him. “Where are you sitting? You should be at our table! Stay and talk to us!”

“I, uh,” Jim gestured toward the bar.

“Oh my God I just had the most awful conversation with Pam,” she continued without pause, taking the empty seat next to Ryan and petting his arm possessively. “It’s, like, the worst thing I can imagine, except for getting left at the altar maybe. I feel so, so bad for her, I can’t believe she’s even still here.”

“What happened?” Jim asked, careful to keep his expression blank, nonchalant.

She shook her head. “Well, the wedding of course. Like it’s not bad enough coming to a wedding when hers got called off—”

“She called it off,” Ryan interrupted, his eyes flicking to Jim’s.

“Right, I know, but…” Kelly gestured at the vase in the center of the table. “Those were gonna be her flowers.”

Ryan shrugged. “What’s the big deal? They’re just flowers.”

“Just flowers?” she scoffed, indignant, glancing over at Jim for support. “They’re the same flowers. And they’re totally not my type but—” She glanced around briefly, then continued in a stage-whisper, “remember the invitations were just like Pam’s too? And the cake. And even her dress. Phyllis just, like, copied her whole wedding.” Kelly shook her head. “If someone did that to me, I would totally kill myself.”

Jim fingered a daisy petal. Beside each vase was a little round bowl holding a single fantail goldfish, with little plastic bags for the guests to take them home. He’d noticed them before, thought it a nice touch. Was that Pam’s design too?

Ryan peered skeptically up at Phyllis at the high table. “Pam was going to wear that dress?”

“I know, it’s totally old-fashioned but you just know she picked it out, like, eight years ago.” Kelly smirked a little. “But of course you know she’s broke now that she’s living alone so she couldn’t buy a new dress which is why she had to wear that drab old thing,” she waved a hand toward the bar, where Pam was standing awkwardly in line between two of Bob Vance’s groomsmen.

Jim wiped his palms on his trousers as he stood up. “I better go get our drinks,” he said.

“Okay, but come back and talk to us!” Kelly said. “And Jim, you totally have to dance with me! Ryan won’t dance,” she said, poking his arm.

“I told you I’d dance later,” Ryan said wearily.

“Yeah okay…later,” Jim nodded, stepping carefully away from the maze of empty chairs that threatened to trip him up. Pam was at the bar now, casting nervous glances over her shoulder. He fought the urge to hurry.

She’d already received her glass of wine by the time he got to the counter, but she lingered nearby while the bartender mixed a pair of drinks for a big man who looked enough like Bob Vance to be a brother. Catching Pam’s eye, Jim was a little surprised when she didn’t immediately look away, as had been her habit of late. Instead, she held his gaze and gave him a small, uncertain smile.

Her smile was kryptonite. It drew one from him, involuntary, a reflex; and he had no desire to resist anyway. “Hey.”

She looked shy, glanced down into her wine. “Hey.”

“Having a good time?” he ventured.

“I guess.” She met his eyes briefly, cast a glance over at Kelly and Ryan. “Not as much as Ryan,” she said in a low voice, her smile widening.

Jim followed her gaze back to the table he’d just escaped. Kelly was in full chatterbox mode, Ryan clearly bored as he played with his empty glass. “Yeah,” he chuckled. “Well, he knew what he was getting into.”

She looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He felt his face grow hot. “Oh, just, you know how Kelly is, with…weddings, and stuff.”

Pam let out a soft sigh, sipping her wine. “Maybe he should just quit pretending and break up with her.”

He looked at her, startled, but she was staring sadly at Kelly. “You think?” he murmured.

“Well… just, I mean, if he knows he doesn’t want it to go anywhere, he shouldn’t… string her along.” She met his eyes briefly before looking down into her Chardonnay.

He licked his lips, uncertain if he should read any subtext into that. “Right,” he said slowly, and cleared his throat. “Um, she was telling us that, that she talked to you? About Phyllis, and how this was all…” He made a gesture toward the tables. Fuck. He felt hopelessly tongue-tied.

“Oh. Yeah.” Pam swirled her wine a little, her cheeks coloring. “It shouldn’t bother me? But, it does, a little.”

Their eyes met. “I guess it must be…weird,” he said carefully.

“To say the least.” She shrugged. “It’s just…I dunno. I guess…I mean, it’s just decorations.”

“Well.” He managed a sympathetic smile with one side of his mouth. “You spent a lot of time on it.”

She sighed. “Wasted a lot of time, you mean.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t dare say anything.

She toyed with her earring, avoiding his eyes. “So are you having a good time?” she asked at last.

“Sure, I guess.” He quirked a rueful smile. “Kelly made me promise I’d dance with her.”

That got a grin from her. “Now that I’d like to see.”

Jim rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop smiling.

“Sir?” the bartender beckoned. “Can I help you?”

He tore his gaze from Pam’s long enough to order two beers and then turned back to give her a grin. “So when are we gonna see some of those famous Beesly dance moves?”

She smiled into her wine glass, shy again. “I’m, um… pacing myself.”

His eyes twinkled. “Come on, give the people what they want.”

“I’m such a dorky dancer,” she sighed.

Was she blushing? “I know.” He smiled. “It’s very cute.”

Her eyes met his, embarrassed but full of warmth, and God, he’d missed teasing her.

Pam glanced past him as the bartender returned with a pair of bottles. Her gaze lingered there briefly as he placed them on the counter, two, and some of the easy friendliness left her face as she stood up a little straighter.

“Well.” She smiled tightly, pulling her wrap around her shoulders with one hand. “I, um…guess I’ll see you out there.”

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but managed only a mute nod, and then she was gone, making her way slowly to Kelly’s table.

“Jim,” he heard his name, and groaned inwardly as Ian waved him over to the camera. Christ, had they caught all that?

Evidently so.

He didn’t like hypothetical questions. But the question, once posed, wouldn’t leave him alone. If she was interested. Hypothetically. If.

No. He’d ruined his life with three years of what if and he wasn’t that guy anymore.

He clenched his jaw and picked his way back to Karen, making a wide berth around Kelly and Ryan’s table, and sat down heavily.

Karen glanced up from her phone, wrinkling her nose. “Beer?”

He took a long pull off his bottle, watching her thumbs move over the keypad. “You said whatever I was having.”

She huffed. “Well, yeah, but I thought you’d get wine.”

“Red or white, then?” he asked shortly, setting his beer down a tad too forcefully and wiping his hands on his pants as he stood up.

“What?” The irritation on her face vanished, surprise and uncertainty taking its place, and she snapped her phone shut. “No, it’s…never mind, sorry. It’s just my friend Dani, she’s got this terrible boyfriend and—you know. Drama.” She dropped the BlackBerry into her tiny purse with a dramatic flourish and reached for his hand. “Come on, let’s dance. I have amazing dance moves,” she grinned.

Somehow he wasn’t surprised.


~~~~


Pam wasn’t dancing. Hadn’t danced all night. Not that he was watching, or anything. But he couldn’t help noticing how pensive and sad she looked, sitting there with Kelly and Ryan, nor could he do anything about the involuntary clenching in his gut when Roy took the chair next to her and said something that made her smile. A wry kind of smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Don’t look.

Karen was, in fact, a great dancer. Lithe and graceful, loosened up from the glass of wine that he went to get her after their first foray onto the dance floor, she nestled into his chest with a little sigh of contentment as Scrantonicity slowed it down with “Fields of Gold.”

“You’re pretty smooth yourself, Halpert,” she murmured.

He smiled a little. “Liar.”

“Yeah, you suck.” She pulled away enough to look up at him with a grin.

He chuckled, relaxed a little, and glanced over her head. Directly in his line of sight sat Pam, sitting by herself now. Staring at him.

Her expression made his heart fall into his stomach, wiped the smile from his face.

In five years, she had never looked at him the way she was now, longing and pain, heartache and sadness plain to see in her face, in her eyes. She wasn’t watching the other couples or wistfully fingering the flowers (the same flowers) on the table, she was staring at him and oh dear Jesus, he knew that look, he’d worn it himself for years, years…

She looked down when their eyes met, but it was too late, he knew what he’d seen, and she knew he’d seen it. In a moment she was up and moving quickly through the tables, disappearing down the back hallway.

He didn’t feel like dancing anymore.


~~~~


It was two more songs before he could get away. Kelly, having finally gotten Ryan to the dance floor, cornered Jim and forced him to make good on his agreement, impressing him despite himself with her fun-loving agility as the band struck up a fast rendition of “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da.” By the next song, though, she was ready to reclaim Ryan from Karen, and “Wrapped Around Your Finger” hit a little too close to home anyway. He begged off with a gesture toward the bathrooms, and Karen agreed a break would be good, motioning to the bar. “Want another beer?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

He knew exactly what he was really doing but he made himself actually go to the bathroom, as though that might trick his brain into believing he wasn’t, in fact, looking for Pam. Splashing a little water on his face, he glared at his reflection in the warped mirror over the sink and willed his heart to stop pounding. He couldn’t stop seeing her face, stricken and sick and sad. Watching him.

She’s just sad because –the decorations and everything. It’s gotta be weird, that’s all. It’s not about you.

But his heart knew better. His heart was a veteran at watching and wishing, and it knew what he’d seen. She wasn’t missing Roy and she wasn’t sorry it wasn’t her wedding. She was staring at him.

He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped back into the hallway. Scrantonicity was playing a Jewel song. Weird.

And there she was. Pam stood alone in the little room across from the bathrooms, staring out a big picture window, hunched into herself with rounded shoulders and her arms wrapped around her middle. If he just kept going, she wouldn’t see him.

He cleared his throat.

He could see from her expression that she knew it was him even before she turned around. Her eyes went wide and she reached up with one hand to brush discreetly under her right eye. “Hey Jim,” she said, a whisper really, hoarse and cracked.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded, but turned to stare out the window.

He started toward her and she seemed to cringe at the sound of his footsteps, turning her back on him completely and pulling her wrap tightly around her shoulders. “You look like you’re having fun,” she mumbled.

He came to a stop behind her, his hand clenching and unclenching in a losing battle not to touch her. His fingers brushed her shoulder and she shivered, sucked in a breath. Her head dipped even lower as she half-turned toward him.

“Well.” He hesitated. “I was hoping to get a dance with you.”

Her eyes met his for the briefest of instants before falling back down, fixating on his tie. “Jim,” she sighed.

“Come on, Beesly. Dance with me.” He kept his tone light, holding out a suddenly shaky hand.

She swallowed noisily, took his hand. Her fingers were cold; his palm was sweaty.

She stepped closer, her left hand trembling slightly as she brought it up to his shoulder. Slowly, cautiously, he brought his hand to her waist, drew her to him.

Barely moving, barely breathing, he closed his eyes. Her hair smelled of citrus. Oranges, maybe. By increments, he felt her relax, until finally her head came tentatively down to his shoulder. She pulled in a deep breath and slowly released it as she settled into him, her left hand slipping off his shoulder to rest lightly on his chest.

Same old story, not much to say…hearts are broken every day…

“I didn’t think they knew anything but The Police,” he whispered.

Her shoulders shook with silent giggles. “I know, right?”

The soft squeak of shoes in the hallway snapped his eyes open. He caught a brief glimpse of brown jacket, the tall silhouette of a bearded man; but Roy was already rounding the corner, walking quickly back to the ballroom.

He closed his eyes again and gripped her hand a little harder. She responded in kind, with a soft gasp of surprise that made his gut tighten.

The song was too short. They stopped moving as a smattering of polite applause came from the ballroom, but neither of them made any effort to separate until, at last, Pam lifted her head and looked up at him. The longing in her eyes made his breath catch audibly.

She dropped her eyes back to his chest, running her fingertips down his tie. “Thank you for the dance.” But she didn’t let go of his hand, or pull away.

It was impossible to resist, so he didn’t. Sliding his free arm around her shoulders, he drew her against him, resting his chin on her head as she slipped her arms around his waist and buried her face into his shirt. He felt her chest inflate, felt her breathing him in, and tightened his arms around her, ducking down a bit to inhale the sweet scent of her hair. God, her skin, her breath, her softness; her very essence called out to him.

Pulling away didn’t seem possible, but they did, finally. Her hands came around to his front, clutching at his lapels as she stepped back and looked up into his face with glimmering eyes.

“I miss you,” she whispered. “So much.”

He looked down at her hands, still holding on to his suit jacket, and covered them with his own. “I miss you too,” he said thickly.

“It’s just been a really hard year,” her voice cracked a little, and it was too much; he swept her back into a loose, gentle hug. Her hand fisted his shirt as she pressed her forehead into his chest.

That it has. He sighed, moving his palm in slow circles between her shoulder blades. She wasn’t crying, though, just leaning into him, and it was only a moment before she straightened up, pulling away a little to gaze up at him with eyes full of fear and hope.

“Do you think we could maybe just…start over?” she whispered.

His stomach clenched; his throat tightened up. He couldn’t bear to say no, to cause her more pain, but he couldn’t go back. It was hard to think of this lonely, miserable year as progress, but he couldn’t, he could not return to that bleak, black, hopeless place he’d lived for so long. No way he’d survive that again.

“I know you’re with Karen now,” she said quickly, glancing over her shoulder to the empty hallway. “I mean, I know you don’t, want, that, with me, anymore…I just, I wish…” She shook her head in helpless frustration, meeting his gaze imploringly.

He stared at her, uncertain, not daring to hope what she might be trying to say.

Whatever she was seeing in his face made her drop her eyes, her cheeks flushing scarlet. “Oh, God, I’m—never mind,” she mumbled, grabbing at her wrap. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, turning her head and taking a half-step back as if to make a run for it.

“Pam. Wait." His hand shot out to grasp her upper arm, not forcefully, but she gasped and stared up at him with wide, stricken eyes, fear and dread in her face, already certain of his rejection.

“I am with Karen now,” he said, and she glanced away, water filling her eyes as she nodded imperceptibly. “Pam,” his fingers tightened around her arm, just enough to compel her to her look at him again. “I can’t just be your friend. How I feel about…you…that hasn’t changed,” he said in a low voice. His heart was pounding so hard he thought he might pass out.

Somehow she was frowning and smiling at the same time. “It hasn’t?” she whispered.

He shook his head, let out a deep sigh. “Never.”

They stared at each other. He realized he was still gripping her arm, and released it, but she caught his hand before he could pull away and twined her fingers through his, reaching for his other hand to do the same. Her expression slowly changed, sadness and fear slowly replaced by hope and quite possibly the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

“I don’t want to just be your friend,” she said.

He stared at her. She squeezed his hands, still smiling.

He was definitely going to have a heart attack.

He licked his lips, glanced over her head toward the ballroom. “I can’t just… I mean…”

She looked over her shoulder, following his gaze, then back at him with an understanding nod. “I’ll be here,” she promised, giving his fingers another squeeze before letting go.

They stared at each other for a long moment, wearing identical expressions of wonder and relief, until guilt began to prickle at his conscience. “We should probably get back out there,” he said reluctantly.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He couldn’t help himself, reaching for her hand to squeeze it briefly before they emerged once more into the ballroom. His eyes found Karen immediately, sitting at their table with Stanley and Terri. Her gaze was fixed on the hallway where he’d disappeared to the bathroom so long ago, and when she saw him walk in with Pam her eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth narrowing to a thin angry line.

“I probably shouldn’t ask you to dance again,” he said quietly. “But…can I call you later?”

She smiled. “I wish you would.”






-
Chapter End Notes:
As always, thanks for reading. Feedback is appreciated.


callisto is the author of 22 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 28 members. Members who liked I Know Where I Belong also liked 2739 other stories.


You must login (register) to review or leave jellybeans