Pam can hear the lounge below filling with people, and with it, the pit of dread in her stomach. 

She’s been hiding in the bathroom. She knows it’s bad. But she’d felt out of her depth almost as soon as she turned up to this party on Danny’s arm. It’s all his work friends downstairs, glamorous couples that she has nothing in common with and never knows what to say or how to act around. She’s starting to think that it’s at parties like these that her shortcomings become most glaring to her fiancé.  It’s inevitably parties like these that she says the wrong thing at, or doesn’t say enough. It’s parties like these that make Danny wince at her the most. 

He always pats her arm afterwards and says it doesn’t matter, but it does. She knows it does. It’s why she can’t stand them. 

She takes a breath and smooths her hair down anyway, in the hope that if she at least looks the part it might get her some of the way there. Although that never really works. She doesn’t understand enough about Houston fashions, and she can’t keep up with them. 

She forces herself to open the bathroom door and head downstairs. People don’t always notice when she’s there, but they’ll definitely notice if she isn’t there. Danny Cordray’s fiancée is not meant to spend all her time hiding in the bathroom. 

She gets off to flying start when she manages to bump into Danny’s boss Robert California and his wife first. It’s their house and their party, of course, so that would make sense. But she tends to avoid the Californias as much as she possibly can. She thinks the feeling may be mutual. She spends an awkward ten minutes pretending to know what Robert’s talking about, until she makes enough of a blunder that he gives her a vaguely patronising look and he and his wife excuse themselves.

Danny has a circle of admirers around him and luckily doesn’t seem to have noticed. 

Pam attempts to ingratiate herself with a group of other wives instead. She doesn’t fare much better there, though, hovering awkwardly on the periphery while they chatter about Houston trends that she doesn’t follow. 

In the end she spies a drinks tray and makes her escape. Moving around the room offering people drinks gives her a good excuse not to have to talk to anyone, and it makes it look like she’s busy. 

There’s one corner of the room that she hasn’t got to, with two men standing with their backs to her, and she’s just thinking that maybe she’s finally figured this out - when Danny catches her waist. He only ever touches her very briefly, if at all. She’d initially taken that as a sign of his good manners, his respect for her. But she’s increasingly starting to wonder if it’s because he just doesn’t want to touch her. She tries to tell herself she’s being paranoid when she has thoughts like that. But she’s not sure. She supposes she’ll find out once they’re married and there are no excuses for him not to. 

His brow is lightly furrowed now. “Hey, sweetheart. What are you doing?”

She follows his perplexed gaze to the drinks tray. “I was - helping?” 

“Right. You don’t need to do that.” He’s smiling, like always, but there’s something in the crease of his forehead that seems to also be wondering whether she’s crazy or stupid or both. 

“Right, of course!” Pam keeps her voice light like she’s joking too. She puts the tray down, feeling foolish. 

Danny drops a brief kiss to her temple and then turns back to his followers. 

And now Pam doesn’t even have the drinks to hand round. 

She debates going back to hiding in the bathroom. The wives have formed an even closer-knit circle, and the Californias look like they’re comparing hors-d’oeuvres (apparently that’s what the snails are, which Danny had taken in his stride and Pam had failed to, again. He’d had to retrieve the piece of shell she’d accidentally flicked across the room. His smile hadn’t quite hidden his second wince of the night). In other words, there doesn’t seem to be a single conversation in this room that she can join in with. 

On the other hand…the patio doors are open. 

And the summer night, and the Californias’ giant empty garden, are looking quite tempting. 

She hesitates. 

She keeps her movement casual as she wanders over towards the doors, as if she’s just heading across the room - and then once she’s sure no one’s looking, she slips out of them and into the night. 

The garden is blissfuly quiet, the chatter fading behind her as she heads down to the trees spreading at the other end. She can’t stop herself from kicking her heels off once she’s alone. The grass is cool and soft beneath her feet. 

Just a moment, she thinks. That’s all she needs. 

She can hear the low hum of crickets out here, the balmy July breeze whispering across her skin. The sky is dark and full of stars. She feels her shoulders loosen, just a little. This far away, she can almost pretend this isn’t the Californias’ house at all, that she’s not here with a fiancé that she’s not always sure likes - let alone loves - her. This far away, it’s like no one else exists at all. Pam thinks she wouldn’t mind that some days. 

“Are you meant to be out here?” 

She jumps at the voice, startled. 

She turns. 

There’s a man. A tall man, she can see, with slightly unruly hair. She didn’t hear him follow her, unless he was out here already. She thinks that should make her nervous, but something about the lilt in his voice gives her reason to pause. 

She squints in the dim light. “Are you?” 

His chuckle is low. “Definitely not.” 

There’s something about his chuckle, and she’s almost sure - 

“Do I know you?” 

“Ouch, Beesley. Are you that fancy now?” 

His grin is almost familiar, even in the dark, but it’s his teasing tone that does it. He’d been a gawky boy the last time she’d heard it, not the full-grown man looming in front of her now. And she’d been a shy girl with thick-rimmed glasses and frizzy hair. She doesn’t have the glasses any more, she guesses. She also loses the frizz when she spends hours ironing her hair, like she has tonight. 

“Jim Halpert.” She laughs up at him in disbelief. 

His eyes gleam at her. “Hey, you do remember.” 

She shakes her head. “What are you doing here? Do you live in Houston now?” She can’t help the sudden spring of delight at the thought that he might, that she might have someone - 

“No, I’m just here for a few weeks to do a story.”

She manages to swallow her disappointment. “That’s great.” It is, really, because he says it so casually that he must have made it. She remembers people in their tiny hometown sneering that he never would, Jim Halpert and his crackpot journalism dreams, before he left for Austin. She’d always believed he would. “What’s the story on?”

He spreads his hands. “Oil.” 

“Ah.” Well, that explains what he’s doing at this party. “I didn’t think Robert California liked talking to journalists,” she tests.  

“Oh, he doesn’t mind the charming ones.” Jim’s tone is serious as he regards her, and it makes her grin despite herself. 

“How did you get in, then?” 

Jim sucks in a breath. “Yikes. Barely five minutes in.” He sounds amused, and she’s missed that. Feeling like she knows how to make someone laugh. “Do people just forget about Southern hospitality here?”

Pam thinks about the groups of people inside the house and has to wonder. “Welcome to Houston,” is all she says. Almost a joke. Not quite.  

“Is that why you’re out here by yourself?” 

She can feel him gazing down at her. Her eyes have adjusted to the light a little, but she wishes there was more so that she could take him in properly. It’s been so long. And she has no idea, in the half darkness, how different Jim the hotshot reporter - Jim the man - is to Jim her childhood friend, the boy. She still can’t believe he’s standing in front of her. 

“I needed some air,” she lies lamely. 

He always used to know when she was lying. She thinks he might have spotted her bare feet, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“So,” he ventures instead. "I heard you got engaged.” 

“Uh, yeah.” She thinks she should maybe sounds more enthusiastic and tries again. “Yeah, to Danny Cordray. He works for the Californias. He’s great.” 

She wonders if she’s meant to feel like she’s reading from a script. 

“He was the contractor for your parents’ land, right?” 

He doesn’t ask her when the date for the wedding is, she notes, which is what most people ask. 

“You’ve done your research.”

“I’m a good journalist,” he grins. His tone softens, slightly. “I also heard about your father.  I’m really sorry.”  

“Oh, it’s…you know.” 

“Still.” 

She gives him a faint smile. “Thanks.” She takes a breath. “So, how about you? Are you still living in Austin?” (Engaged, she doesn’t ask? Married?) “Must be exciting.” 

“Oh, yeah. I’m living the dream.” He’s wry. “Renting a single room, working for a regional paper no one’s ever heard of.”

He’s still doing it though, she thinks. (And maybe not married, if he’s only renting a single room). 

“Sounds pretty exciting to me.” 

“Yeah, well.” His mouth curves as he regards her. “I don’t normally get invited to parties like this one.” 

She gestures round the empty garden. “You’re missing out.” 

“No,” he laughs, still gazing down at her. “I am.” 

She’s suddenly aware of how close they’re standing, of that fact that she’s let herself stay out here alone in the dark with a man who isn’t her fiancé. (But also, she thinks, it’s Jim). So maybe that’s why she lets it linger a little longer. She should go back up to the house, she knows. 

She’s just steeling herself to say she should when someone hisses from the doors on the other side of the garden - “Halpert!” 

There’s a figure making its way down from the house, striding across the grass at an alarming rate. 

“Are you out here? Where are you, you idiot?” 

Pam raises a brow at Jim. She thinks he might have rolled his eyes, but it’s harder to see in the dark. 

“I’m here, Dwight.” 

“What on earth are you - oh.” Dwight comes to an abrupt stop when he arrives in front of them and notices Pam. “Is this-?” 

“Dwight, this is Pam Beesley. Pam, this is Dwight Schrute. My assistant.” 

The other man bristles instantly. “Partner, not assistant.” 

“Sure.” 

Pam thinks Jim might be smirking. 

“Pleased to meet you,” she offers.  

“Yes,” Dwight manages in the end. Which she’s not sure is quite the same. He looks between her and Jim. “Well. I’ll leave you two alone, then.”

Pam feels her face heat at the implication. “Oh, no. We were just, um, catching up. I should go in.” She probably should have done that a while ago. 

She gives Jim a quick nod and goes to slip her feet back into her shoes - only she nearly stumbles in her haste, and Jim ends up catching her arm to steady her. His fingers are warm against her bare skin, his thumb against the inside of her elbow, and she feels her heart jolt. 

Maybe it’s just because she’s so used to Danny’s perfunctory touch, and Jim isn’t - 

He’s not that. 

She hastily disentangles herself. “Thank you. Sorry.” She half pauses and throws him one last smile before she goes, unable to help herself. “It’s really good to see you.” 

His mouth crooks back. “You too.” 

She turns and hurries inside. 

“So?” Dwight demands once Pam is out of earshot. “Progress?” 

Jim is still distracted by her figure disappearing into the house, by the image of her quiet smile in the dark. “What?” 

“With the girl,” Dwight snaps. “Are you in or not?” 

“Oh. Uh…maybe. She didn’t really remember me.” 

Dwight squints at him. “What? It seemed like she did. You got her out here alone.” 

Jim shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t know. We barely spoke. Maybe she’s not the best way in.” 

“Jim!” Dwight is almost hopping. “That is not an option. You said you knew her. And Michael agreed she’s the best way to get to Cordray. You’re just going to have to try harder. You should go in after her now-”

“Back off, Dwight.” Jim gathers himself. “What are you even doing out here? I thought we agreed you were working the Californias’ accountant.” 

Dwight stiffens, at that. “Yes. Well. There’s been a complication.” 

“What?” Jim sighs. “He’s even more boring than you-” 

“He is a woman. Apparently Henry Martin died last year. His daughter’s been managing the financials.” 

Jim lifts a brow. “So what’s the problem?” 

“I don’t,” Dwight splutters, “Work with women! That’s your job. You handle the females.”

“She’s an accountant, Dwight. I’m sure you’ll find something in common.”  

“That’s not-”

“Do you want me to tell Michael you’re not up to the story?” 

Dwight goes rigid. “That’s - you - I’ll tell Michael you’re not up to the story!” 

They glare at each other for a few beats. 

“Fine,” Dwight mutters at last. “I’ll see what I can do. But you need to get back to seducing the girl.” 

Jim grits his teeth. “Dwight. No one’s seducing anyone.” Michael was obsessed with the idea. No matter how many times Jim had told him that was not what he was going to do. 

“Yes, yes. Fine. Just do whatever it is you need to with her to get the dirt.” 

Jim considers. “I think we might have a better shot if we go straight for Cordray. I don’t think she knows anything.”

“How would you know that?” Dwight scoffs. “You said you barely spoke to her.”

“I…” 

“You need to get to her first!” Dwight says, impatient. “Cordray is impossible. No one has ever been able to pin him down. And you’re certainly not going to succeed where everyone else has failed.” 

Jim pulls a face. 

“Just get the girl. And I’ll…talk to this accountant. If she’s even a real accountant.” 

Dwight turns on his heel, huffing under his breath as he goes. 

Jim stands in the dark for a moment. He’d never wanted to do this in the first place. Well, he’d wanted to nail Danny Cordray and the Californias. He’d wanted a big story. But that was before he’d found out who the guy just got engaged to. Dwight had been the one to spot that she was from the same backwater town as Jim, and Michael had leapt on it. 

Jim had tried to refuse at first. But maybe his attempts had been a little half-hearted, because there’d also been a part of him that had woken up, at the idea of seeing Pam Beesley again. Now that he’s here, though, he knows it was a mistake. He should have just sent her a goddamn letter if he’d wanted to catch up. 

He doesn’t want to drag her into this. He’s not going to use her for a story. He’d known within seconds of seeing her sneak to that garden door like a lifeline, within seconds of slipping out after her, that he wasn’t going to do that. Engaged, he thinks again. To Danny Cordray. Of all people. If this is the universe’s idea of a joke, it’s not very funny. 

Unhappy. She’d looked older, of course, and just as pretty, even in a dress and hairstyle that he didn’t recognise - and unhappy. She’d looked unhappy.

It had just been a quiet glimmer, but he doesn’t ever remember her unhappy when they were kids. Not like that. 

And the problem is, that is now the only thing he wants to get to the bottom of. 

He thinks of her standing barefoot in the grass, inches from where he is now, her head craned to the sky before he disturbed her.  It’s really good to see you. 

So, he decides. New plan. He’s going to investigate the source of her unhappiness first. And then he’s going to succeed where everyone else has failed, and work out how to go after Danny Cordray without going through her.  

It’s a solid plan. He’s just not going to tell Dwight or Michael about it. 

And with that decided, he heads back into the house to rejoin the party.