"Rule number one," Dwight announced. "Thou shalt not steal, from the bunker or one another. Theft is punishable by immediate expulsion. There are cameras in every room except the bathrooms and bedrooms, and I intend to do a daily count of wine bottles." He'd had little choice but to open a few more. He'd come into the Recreation Room to find nearly everyone talking about the deceased and weeping miserably, not receptive in the least to going over ground rules. Even Angela, who redefined the term teetotaler, had a cup. Creed, of course, had wandered around the room, perusing the selection of books and movies with a detached air.

Thanks in no small part to the alcohol, the discussion had eventually meandered from maudlin sobbing to reminiscent, wistful smiles. Finally, although the crying hadn't totally stopped, it had slowed sufficiently to get down to brass tacks.

Michael wrote the rule on a slate chalkboard that was built into the wall. "Man, this stuff sucks," he complained obliviously. "It's totally low-tech. Why didn't you go with Dry-Erase?" He looked down to wipe the yellow dust from his hand onto his jean shorts, missing the daggers suddenly being glared at him from every direction. The impromptu grief session had been somewhat soured by him in a predictable way, with some help from Andy. Although they'd cried along with everyone else, both had simultaneously done their best to make it all about themselves at every turn. Michael had also spoken ill of Toby, leading Oscar to accuse him of being an insensitive ass. At one point, Stanley even threatened to backhand him.

"Rule number two," Dwight continued with a complete lack of deference to Michael. Jim quickly rubbed his mouth, hiding the surprised dropping of his jaw. "All must contribute in a measurable, equitable fashion. Although everyone should endeavor to clean up after themselves as much as possible, there are certain tasks that make more sense to do in a rotation. Duties such as cooking, dishwashing, sweeping and mopping, cleaning the bathrooms, trash incineration, laundry–"

"Speaking of laundry, what are we supposed to wear?" Andy interrupted him, crammed between Angela and Creed on a flower-patterned loveseat. It was clean and comfortable, if relatively hideous and outdated. "'Cause… I took a look around this place and all I see are sheets."

"Toga party!" Pam cried out impulsively with a giddy giggle from where she was wedged between Jim and the arm of a couch. The Recreation Room was spacious, all things considered, but it was a very tight fit in terms of available seating. Fortunately, all nineteen of them managed to squeeze in without anyone having to sit on the concrete floor. If Pam and Jim and Brian hadn't been so slim in comparison to Kevin, it would never have worked out.

"Thank you, Pamela," Dwight replied. "If–"

"That was my idea," Jim objected with a smile.

"If you say so, Jim. Yes, if we're here for longer than a few days, the sheets will suffice while your clothing is being laundered. If it is deemed safe to venture out of doors at some point, perhaps we can investigate the likelihood of shopping at the local Walmart. Or looting it, as appropriate.

"Rule number three: if anyone wishes to leave at any point, you are free to go. I only insist that you tell me or Mose first, so that we can ensure the way is clear and bar the door behind you. Fact: we are over capacity at the moment–"

"How far over?" Oscar asked with concern from Gil's lap.

"There are sufficient supplies on hand to ensure the survival of ten individuals for a roughly three-year period. Given current numbers, twenty months is a reasonable estimate. Perhaps longer, with intense rationing of foodstuffs and medical supplies."

Stanley's wife, Teri, gasped and clutched her chest. "Good lord. Months?"

"We are prepared for the worst-case scenario," Dwight replied with a curt nod. "After that point, it would be necessary to restock on food, soap, medical supplies, toilet paper, et cetera. The ideal setup for genetic diversity would be seven women and three men, of course."

Pam cackled quietly to herself. That explained the massive amount of pads and tampons in the second Bathroom Room.

"Do you mind?" Darryl thundered, covering his daughter's ears with his hands while Teri did the same to hers. "Jada's nine."

"Twelve," Stanley added in his customary drawl.

His daughter rolled her eyes. "I know where babies come from."

Dwight continued implacably. "Capacity is not an immediate concern, however. Air and water supplies are, for all intents and purposes, infinite. The taps are fed from our well, and all are drinkable. If the electrical grid gives out at some point, we have a gas generator on-site."

"Where is that?" Jim asked curiously. He hadn't seen a generator during his and Pam's self-guided tour.

"That information is on a need-to-know basis, to prevent any possibility of vandalism. Yes, little girl?" Dwight said courteously in response to the raised hand of Stanley's daughter.

"Her name is Melissa," Stanley intoned impatiently.

"Can I go to the bathroom?" she asked.

"Yes, Melissa," Dwight replied patiently. "And you did not have to ask."

With an eyeroll, Stanley said, "This is not school, and he is not your teacher."

"I was just bein' polite," she demurred as she left the room. Jada trailed out after her.

"Politeness is important," Dwight announced. He heard the scratching of chalk behind him. "No Michael, don't write that down. It is not a rule. But politeness will go a long way to helping all of us get along. We have no idea whether this will be cleared up in a few days or a few months–"

"God help me," said Darryl, rubbing his eyes.

"God help us," Stanley echoed.

"You are free to leave at any time," Dwight emphasized, tacitly reminding everyone whose bunker they were currently occupying.

"God is in this bomb shelter," Pam added belatedly.

Jim shook his head at her with a bemused smile. "Exactly how strong was that wine?"

"Forty proof!" Mose piped up.

"When it was bottled," Dwight added. "It will have gotten stronger after aging for a few years."

"You ok, Beesly?" Jim intoned quietly, for her ears only.

She nodded intently, as pinkish-red as the root of the alcohol coursing through her veins, and replied at full volume. "Soo ok."

"Where can I smoke?" Meredith asked.

Dwight rolled his eyes with a sigh of resignation. "The facility was designed to be non-smoking, although the stove does have a robust exhaust system. Perhaps we can vote to allow an exception–"

"I ain't talkin' about tobacco." She dug a joint out of her bra. "If you won't let us have wine, I need to get messed up on somethin'."

"That's what I'm talkin' about," Creed chimed in, revealing a massive baggie of kine bud.

"Are you kidding me?" Angela all but screeched.

"Guys!" Michael protested. "This is a workplace function."

"Shiiit." Darryl grinned. "Not anymore it ain't. You willin' to share?" he asked Creed.

"Maybe I could be convinced to barter. Darnell, is it?"

"Let's put it to a vote," said Dwight with equanimity, surprising the hell out of Jim. After his reaction to finding a stray joint in the parking lot of Dunder Mifflin, he hadn't expected Dwight to be quite so… democratic about this.

"So wait," Pam whispered a little too loudly, ballot in hand. "Are we voting on whether we want to smoke it? Or whether it's ok for other people to smoke it?"

"The second one," Jim whispered back, sneaking a peek at the slip of paper she was taking no pains to hide. Like him, she wrote down the word yes. Then she added a smiley face after it and signed her name at the bottom. He couldn't hold in a shocked chuckle. "Beesly. It's supposed to be anonymous," he chided her affectionately.

"Whoops!" She tore her name off. "But then, ok, why were you peeking?"

He showed her his slip before folding it up and dropping it into Mose's outstretched straw hat. "Now we're even."

"Even Steven," she said happily.

"Have you done it?" he asked in the quietest of whispers. The last thing he wanted was for this particular interaction to be preserved for posterity, and Mitchell was filming the meeting from a chair in the corner. She shrugged, cutely in his opinion. Admittedly, he was biased. He realized too late that his question probably sounded porny, although that wasn't his intention.

"You?" she mouthed silently. Jim returned the enigmatic gesture. He wasn't telling if she wasn't, although her mischievous smile was more than a little telling in itself. Definitely not what he'd expected.

Dwight took the chalk from Michael and tallied up the votes for all to see. "The ayes have it," he said, looking neither pleased nor displeased. Jim couldn't help thinking that Dwight had been one of the two abstentions, and he couldn't help but wonder why. "Let's set up a chore rotation. Then we will embark on a brief tour of the kitchen. Everyone over the age of eighteen will need to be capable of operating the incinerator." He began drawing up a chart.

"Hey! So," said Creed. "Since I'm the supply guy, I don't gotta do any of that crap. Right?"

"Everyone will be assigned to do everything on a rotating basis. It is, of course, your prerogative to trade chores amongst yourselves for favors or other chores. Simply make a note of it on the board if someone else is covering your shift."

"I'll make wine, if you show me how," Meredith offered. "I'll replace what I drink."

"I would be very interested in that, as well," Oscar supplied. Gil nodded his agreement.

"We can discuss adding additional tasks as needed," Dwight replied. "At present, we lack the necessary materials for winemaking–unless someone is willing to go out and retrieve them."

"Yo," Meredith volunteered, raising her hand. "I'll keep an eye on the news."

"As you like. That reminds me, please do not discard the empty wine bottles. And if you feel that anyone is not pulling their weight–" Dwight tapped a small locked box. "Please submit a written complaint in lieu of a personal attack. All grievances will be addressed at a meeting, to be voted on or adjudicated by an ad-hoc tribunal as appropriate. If we are to get along, we all must endeavor to cooperate and foster an inclusive environment." He started adding names to the chore chart.

"Wow," Kevin said slowly, in awe. "You're like, really good at this apocalypse stuff."

"I have to say I agree," Andy contributed with his usual pomposity. Jim agreed as well, albeit silently. "What about sleeping arrangements?"

"In shifts, of course," Dwight said absently as he continued to write. "We have six twin beds, seventeen adults, and two children. Anyone who is willing to share can earn credits against chores, as an incentive. There will also be designated periods of quiet time in the Recreation Room to accommodate napping, reading, religious study, and meditation. Are there any objections?"

"I don't have anyone to sleep with," Michael objected whiningly.

"You could always sleep with a friend, to get out of extra chores," Pam said with a sidelong glance at Jim.

"Absolutely," he echoed in a far more whole-hearted way than he actually felt, because why wouldn't she just acknowledge that they were dating already? They'd made out in full view of everyone, for God's sake. Not that he allowed the frustration he felt to color his words. He looked at Michael. "Why don't you see if anyone needs a sleeping partner? Maybe Andy?"

"Gay!" Michael retorted instantly.

"Fuck you," said Oscar and Gil simultaneously.

Dwight cleared his throat and tapped the complaint box with a quelling look. "You may take this time to work sleeping arrangements out amongst yourselves. If the children require specific bedtimes or naps, please inform me now."

As the room broke out in frenzied negotiations, Pam sprang up and hugged Dwight impulsively. "Wow!" she enthused drunkenly. "You thought of everything."

He touched her shoulder for a fleeting instant, glancing briefly at Jim. "I already have a sleeping partner," he said cautiously.

"Me too. Just, we're alive! Because of you! Thank you!" She bounced chipperly back to the couch.

"What about sleeping on the floor?" Andy piped up. "I really hate chores. And it's great for your back."

"Anyone who is willing to sleep on the hallway floor is immediately relieved of all duties," Dwight replied. "Keep in mind that the lights will not be turned off, and there will likely be some level of activity and noise twenty-four hours a day."

Andy pumped the air with his fist. "Yes!"

"Shit, that is tempting," said Meredith longingly.

Brian spoke up. "Anyone need a partner? I think I'm skinny enough to sleep three across, even." A roguish smile crept across his face. "Male, female, I'm not picky. I uh, like to spoon."

At his pronouncement, Oscar and Gil put their heads together. "Do we get extra credits for that?" asked Oscar after a moment.

"Of course," Dwight responded without judgment, causing Jim to eye him keenly. This was decidedly not the deskmate he'd come to know and prank and sort of hate over the years.

Oscar beckoned Brian over. A quiet, intense discussion ensued.

Kevin propositioned every adult in the room, male and female. Unsurprisingly, he found no takers.

Michael asked all of the women to sleep next to him–no sexies, he promised–but ended up alone. Not even Meredith was interested. She came to an alternating-night agreement with Creed and Mitchell, instead.

Amid the chaos, nobody expressed the least bit of surprise when Jim and Pam signed up to sleep together.

At length, Dwight set down the chalk. "These are the sleeping assignments for now. Chore credits will be worked out as soon as possible. Tasks will be reassigned accordingly starting Monday morning, so please make a note of it. Since we have quite a number of mouths to feed, I am assigning two people to prepare each meal. There are–" He eyed the children warily. "Supplies in the nightstands. And please make sure to take your own linens to the Laundry Room."

Pam analyzed the board. She and Jim were assigned to sleep in the Venetian Room every night, from eight PM until five AM. Then she'd be cooking breakfast in the morning with Darryl. Jim was assigned to cook lunch with Stanley. "Hey," she whispered. "Why don't you switch meals with Darryl? Then we can make breakfast together."

"I'll ask him," he whispered back with a smile.

"Don't let him take no for an answer!" she said teasingly. "You can say we're dating."

"Ok," he said simply, sincerely doubting it was still a secret at this point. He looked around. Almost everyone was looking at the board quietly and making notes, except for Meredith and Creed. She nodded as he rolled a joint in a groove of the chalkboard, looking impressed by his technique. "Hey, how about you call your mom while the phone is free?"

"You try yours first. Go quick!" Pam insisted. "I'll write down your assignments and I'll come get you for the tour."

He chucked her under the chin, loving her more than he'd ever thought possible. "Yes ma'am."

She pursed her lips at him. "Don't call me ma'am. You know the rules."

"Yes, Pam," he amended good-naturedly. Taking a risk, he brushed a very brief, very public kiss to her lips. She sighed and melted before his very eyes, totally like a girl, not looking upset in the least. Naturally, he did it again, drawing it out a bit longer this time.

"Oh my God, are you guys doin' it?" Michael asked incredulously.

Jim released her chin and stood up. He looked around the room. Based on the number of sympathetic eyerolls directed his way, Kevin's knowing and salacious nod, and the resigned disapproval on Angela's face, it was clear that Michael was the only one who hadn't figured that out by now. Jim silently made his way toward the door, resisting the temptation to flip his boss the bird.

"We're dating, so what?" Pam fired back, emboldened by the way Jim had just kissed her in front of everybody. The alcohol currently influencing her also contributed in a fairly major way. "Did you not see him kissing me earlier?"

No, Jim amended internally as his grin broke free. Now he loved her more than he'd ever thought possible.

"Anyway, it's not like you can't share a bed with anyone you want," she continued over Michael's shocked splutters. "Even a relative stranger."

"Or strangers," Brian added from between Oscar and Gil, looking very pleased with himself.

In the Observation Room, Jim picked up the handset of the satellite phone and punched in the number of his childhood home. It was one of the few he'd never forget, although he made a mental note to copy over the rest of his address book before his phone could die.

He had to redial several times before he got a ringtone rather than a busy signal. Either she was on the phone with someone else, or the network was overloaded. "Mom, it's Jim, I'm alright," he said in response to her frantic and harried greeting. "How are you guys? Do you know what's going on?"

"Oh! Jim," she said with tearful relief. "Thank God! I tried to call you! It keeps going straight to voicemail. We're at home. Me, your dad, and Larissa. Pete and Tom are doing ok at their houses, last I heard."

"Thank God," he echoed fervently. "I'm not at home. I was at a barbecue, for a work thing. My cell isn't working. If you can believe it, my co-worker has an actual underground fallout shelter."

"Wow," she said, sounding fairly amazed.

"Yeah. We saw one of those…" He shrugged, not sure what to call it. "It attacked us. But we made it, me and Pam and most of our co-workers. And we're ok, we're good. There's tons of food and a generator and everything, so we're all set until this sh-uh, stuff blows over."

"Thank God. Pam who? Is that someone I should know?"

"She's my girlfriend," he said proudly. "Pam Beesly. Did you get a call from her mom earlier? Her name is Helene."

"Oh yes, I did. That's how I knew to turn on the news. She just said you worked with her daughter." She sighed wistfully. "I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

Jim heard his sister screeching in the background. "Is he dating Pam?"

"Yes, sweetie," his mom said tolerantly. "Goodness, am I the last to know?" she chided Jim gently.

Suddenly, Larissa came on the line. She spoke so quickly the words ran together. "Holyshityou'redatingPam? The Pam?"

"Hi, Larissa. It's so great to talk to you." He checked over his shoulder to make sure nobody else was in the room. Then he reminded himself he didn't have to do that anymore. "Yes, it's the Pam," he reassured her.

"Since when? Since when? Ohmigod!" she squealed, happy for him.

At any other time, Jim might have rolled his eyes. But his younger sister was the only person in his family who knew what he'd felt for Pam, and how long he'd felt it. She understood, and he was glad to have the chance to tell her. "Not that long," he demurred. "Just a couple of months."

"Just! I can't believe you didn't tell me sooner. I'm going to beat your ass, you freakin' turd." Their mother said something indistinct in the background. "Oh chillax, mom." She returned her attention to Jim. "The next time I see you, better believe your ass is grass."

He chuckled genuinely. "I'd like to see you try, shortstuff."

"Tell her I said hi. Ok, here's mom. Later."

"Well," said his mom, sounding a little winded. "Are you happy, sweetie?"

"I'm so happy," he reassured her. "She's the love of my life." And even though they were fresh on the heels of an unspeakably horrible tragedy, he couldn't stop himself from grinning. They wouldn't have to hide anything anymore, from anybody at all. Not their co-workers, not their families… and especially not from each other.

His mom let out a quiet, paradoxically happy sob. "Oh, I'm so glad. I wish you were both here. Don't go outside, though, not if one of those–"

"Don't worry, we won't," Jim promised, wishing they were here. They'd be so much safer, but… He tried not to think about it, instead giving her the number on the phone. "It's a satellite phone, but there's just the one. I can't guarantee anyone will answer it. I don't even know if there's voicemail set up. And there's almost twenty of us down here, so it might be busy."

"That's ok, I understand. I'm so glad you're safe. I love you. Always," she said tearfully.

"I know. I love you too. And be safe yourselves," he said urgently. "They can… climb, break windows… I saw–"

"We saw it too," she said in a voice laden with emotion. "What happened at your barbecue?"

"It… killed people," he said, holding onto his composure, but only just. "Seven people. Including a little girl I used to babysit, and her dad. He's… he was our HR person. Toby… and Sasha. She… she was only six."

At that, she broke down.

So did he.