Indigo and Crimson
DISCLAIMER – I don’t own anything.
NOTE – SPOILERS for Season 8 Premier – 8.01 – The List.
Post 8.01 – The List
If you don’t stop crying…
“Mr. and Mrs. Halpert, would you like to know the sex of the baby?”
They stared at one another and grinned in agreement.
“Let’s do it,” Jim replied, his lips lingering on his wife’s temple.
With a few moves of what to Jim, looked like a scanner, the doctor pointed to the screen and said, “It’s a boy.”
They were instant, the tears trickling down her cheeks no sooner than the doctor had finished the last syllable. Jim’s arms were around her a moment later as she sniffled against his shirt, laughter mixed with tears and a little bit of fear sprinkled in for good measure.
They were having another baby. This time it’s a boy.
And heaven help him, he just learned what to do with his eighteen month old little girl who was on the move and learning a new word every single day.
What made him more nervous was the sheer emotion coming from his wife at that moment. He figured they were happy tears. His were. The room spun and he clung to her. He was ecstatic the more he thought of baseball and basketball and football games and whatever else he and his son could do together.
That night they shared the news with their parents, decided which bedroom would be their son’s room and made a list of boy’s names. The first time she said Michael Scott he laughed. The second time she said it he smirked and raised his eyebrows. The third time he scowled. He should have known that she would do it on purpose from then on, just to annoy him.
Nothing could really annoy him. His wife was having a boy. That night when they lay in bed curled around one another, he thanked her for giving him everything he could have ever asked for. He felt the tears slide down her cheeks as he kissed her slowly.
The next day he bought his son his first baseball themed onesie.
When he held it up proudly to Pam, the tears surfaced again.
He had no idea the crying was a trend that would continue. And it would get worse.
So much worse.
He stands with his back against the trunk of their car, watching the front door of the office building, waiting for her to appear. The cool air has not really arrived yet, and there was no real need to warm up the car, but it was the only way he could think of for her to find his note.
He could not have been more aggravated with the new CEO when it was implied that the people left back at the office during lunch were “losers.” And if Jim had not taken a breath just long enough to refresh his memory of his pregnant wife and eighteen month old daughter and the mortgage they had to pay, he would have surely told Mr. Robert California where he could shove his holier than thou attitude and the sales job that had enabled he and his family to live and eat and afford basic necessities.
For him, that’s what the game of life is all about. His wife, daughter and son – a little boy on the way that they’re both so excited about that they can barely contain themselves when they talk about him. He wakes up every morning feeling like its Christmas morning, his heart bursting at the seams with excitement and joy.
Everything else could crumble around him; as long as the four of them were left standing his cares in the world would be few.
Before he can imagine an apocalypse, he sees her belly before he sees her. She walks quickly, one hand on her stomach the protective way she always does, the other off to the side as if she’s balancing herself making him smile. He can see her red eyes and pink cheeks and before he can say anything about her crying again, her hands are on his cheeks and she’s pulling him forward and placing a smacking kiss across his lips.
When she pushes her face into his chest, her body at a forty five degree angle, he can feel light kicks against his stomach courtesy of his son and he lets out a small laugh.
“What’s so funny,” she says, her voice uneven and muffled in his work shirt.
“Nothing. Can we go home now?”
She shakes her head, sniffles and pouts as she looks at him, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes again.
“Okay, Pam? Please, stop crying.”
She shakes her head again. “No guy would ever do what you do to cheer up his fat depressed wife,” she squeaks out.
“Would you … okay,” he says with a defeated sigh when she sniffles again and hugs him close, her nose once again pressing into his muscles.
He ushers her into the car, hands her a tissue and helps her buckle in without another word, just his comforting hand across her cheek and a warm smile before he closes her car door. With a deep breath he walks around the car and gets behind the wheel, the silence lingering as he pulls out of the parking lot, his mind trying to come up with something.
An idea forms at a stop light as he watches her read the list he accidentally dropped on purpose.
“Hey,” he says, tilting his head to the right while keeping his eyes on the road. “So, I’m thinking. How much trouble do you think we’d get in if we did something to Robert?”
“What, like, fill the conference room with ballpoint pens,” she suggests, grinning slyly, her cheeks still moist.
He nods. “Something like that, yeah,” he says with a laugh.
She shrugs. “Hmm, or we can somehow get a hold of his iPad and every time he moves the slider, it could say, ‘winning.’”
He tries not to notice the slight hint of bitterness as he nods. “Or that,” he says thoughtfully, navigating their car through tree lined streets to their home. “I like the ballpoint pen thing though. They have a ton of them in the warehouse.”
“I could glue together a little house of them. Like a log cabin, but pens instead,” she says, her voice perking up as she clasps her hands together.
“All right, Mrs. Halpert, sounds like we have something constructive to do tomorrow,” he agrees.
“Go back and get them now, I’ll glue it up tonight,” she says with a grin. “You can do bath time and the duck book with Cece, and I’ll get it ready. We can get in early and put it up on the reception desk.”
“Okay,” he laughs, eyeing her as he approaches their street. His shoulders loosen as he watches her smile.
“Oh, we need glue and some cardboard too,” she says, ticking off the short list on her fingers.
“Sounds good, I’ll get some,” he agrees as he pulls their car into the driveway. Placing the car in park, he quickly gets out of from behind the wheel and walks to her side and helps her out.
She pauses and holds his hand, leaning against the car door. “You are the best, most one of a kind husband I’ve ever had.”
“Pam,” he says, quirking a smile, “I’m the only husband you’ve ever had.”
“I know,” she says, her eyes glistening again. “You’re still the best one.”
“Aw,” he says, kissing her nose. “Your flattery will, in fact, get you anything you want.”
“Pickles and marshmallows,” she says, bouncing on her feet slightly. “No, wait. No. I want Doritos and salsa. No… wait… chocolate ice cream.”
“No guacamole with the ice cream?”
“Ew, Jim, that’s gross,” she grimaces, wrinkling her nose.
He winks at her and kisses her cheek quickly before he leads her to their front door, stopping short of opening it. “Okay, go in. I’ll get out of here so Cece doesn’t see me,” he says, knowing that once the baby catches him in her sight, he won’t be able to leave the house without taking her with him.
He watches her walk inside their home, the door closing quickly as she greets their baby and her mother. He sighs to himself and smiles as he pulls out of the driveway. “My wife is brilliant. You’re a moron, Mr. California,” he says aloud to himself, silently wishing he didn’t need the job as much as he did so he could say it to his face.
An hour and a half later he’s in their kitchen, putting ice cream in the freezer and boxes of ball point pens in the corner next to a cabinet, and then whisking his daughter into his arms as her shrieks and giggles fill the air.
He watches Pam fill plates with chicken and mashed potatoes and notices traces of tears under the rim of her glasses. He squints and steps behind her, the baby in one arm, his other arm easing around the front of her shoulders, across her neck. He leans over and places a kiss underneath her earlobe.
“Why exactly are you crying again,” he asks in a whisper as the baby taps her hand on his bicep.
Pam shakes her head and sniffles, taking a deep breath. “I’m just a fat loser,” she sobs, her voice uneven.
“Pam. You’re pregnant, you are not fat. You’re pregnant. With my son,” he says emphatically. “And don’t you ever say you’re a loser ever again.”
She shrugs her shoulders and sniffles. “I am, though.”
“Would you stop it? Please? You’re beautiful, you’re smart and your personality is off the charts amazing. In two months we are going to have two amazing kids who are exactly like you. She already is. And if you’re calling yourself a loser, you’re calling my daughter a loser too. And I won’t allow you to do that,” he says, motioning his head toward their babbling daughter. “I love you so much, and all of this crying you’re doing is literally killing me,” he finishes, kissing her cheek.
She takes a shaky breath and nods, picking up their dinner plates and kissing his chin as he puts his arm down.
“You’ve been crying since we found out about him. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but I don’t like it and you have to calm down,” he continues pleading as they walk toward the table. Cece causes a fuss, arching her back and crying the second Jim attempts to put her back in her highchair. Pam quickly lifts a toy in her hand and the squeaking of the blue rubber car magically erases the child’s tears.
He silently wishes that he could do that with his wife, just dangle something in front of her and mesmerize her long enough to make her forget why she had been so upset.
The only thing she says is, “You’re right,” as she sits at the dinner table.
“I know. I am. So stop,” he says, waving his fork in the air, pursing his lips as he chews.
She smiles and it turns into a grin as she turns the conversation to what they’ll be accomplishing during the upcoming weekend – painting the baby’s room a light blue and going to register at Babies R Us for boy specific items.
Later, when the baby is bathed, read to and tucked inside her crib, he slinks down the stairs and quietly walks toward the kitchen. He dreads seeing tears once again, and swears that if she is in tears once more, he won’t leave her side for the next two months or so of her pregnancy.
What he sees is her, seated at the table, her glasses halfway down her nose, her hair in a messy bun, wearing the t-shirt he bought her that reads, “Hands Off,” across her belly. Before her on the table is the creation she’s apparently very pleased about, her smile wide and her eyes focused, concentrating on a bunch of ball point pens glued together, resembling a house – four walls and a roof, really.
He wants to ask her how she managed to get the pens to stand on the angle she has them placed on. Instead, he walks quietly back upstairs and slips into bed. It isn’t much longer until he feels her arm winding around his waist and her lips on his jaw line.
She whispers, “I love you. I love you, for that list you left and for giving me something to do tonight and for giving me a purpose. I don’t know where I would be without you.”
He smiles, leaving his eyes closed as his hand finds its way across her dry cheek and into her hair, his lips warm on hers, identical contented sighs resonating through the moonlit bedroom as he deepens the kiss.
SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8!
Chapter End Notes:
Any thoughts, feelings, comments, good or bad, are welcome. I hope you enjoy these. And I promise, I will complete the other story. I'm kind of stuck with it and unhappy with the way everything I'm writing for it is coming out.