Summary: Jim's first real date with Pam is one disaster after another . . . with happy results. Jam fluff! My first "Office" fanfic.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Jim cautiously knocked on Michael's office door, careful not to step too far into the room for fear of his boss trapping him in. "Hey, Michael—"
"Jimmy-boy!" Michael exclaimed, looking up from his desk. "Slim Jim . . . come on in, how are you?"
"Actually I just came in to say I'm leaving for the night." Jim said, pointing over his shoulder. Every word he spoke was carefully chosen as if he were speaking in a bottle, as if one wrong utterance would shatter the glass and mangle him horribly. "And I wanted to say that I'm sorry you didn't get the job."
Michael scrunched his face and waved him off, a gesture Jim recognized as a sign that he was pretending to be okay. "Yeah, whatever, that's . . . totally over with. But hey—glad to be back at my old desk, soon to be my old office . . ." Michael looked over his shoulder at Dwight, who was painting the walls back to gray after changing them to black in his boss' absence.
"I said I was sorry, Michael," Dwight said, painting crookedly while staring at his boss.
"Yeah, well, 'sorry' doesn't get my office back to normal." Michael snapped.
"I told Andy we should paint it white because it represents all colors—"
"Just-shut up already . . . jeez." Michael rolled his eyes and stared back at Jim.
"Uh, anyway," Jim said, "I'll just take off and see you on Monday—"
"Did Karen get the job?" Michael asked.
Damn. He was almost out the door. Jim concluded that he couldn't fight the odds, that briefly visiting Michael was never brief, even on a bad day. Especially not on a bad day. And unfortunately for Jim, it seemed his boss was having a very bad day, indeed.
"No," Jim said, "Karen didn't get the job."
Michael crossed his arms and sat back in his swivel chair. "Huh. Interesting."
"She was too short anyway," Dwight said, focusing on the wall he was painting, "it's a dominance thing, you wouldn't understand—"
"Are you painting or are you talking?" Michael said, turning in his chair to Dwight.
"Can't I do both?"
Michael groaned and turned back to Jim. "This never would have happened if I named you my successor, Jim."
Jim perked and smiled at this, revering only in the fact that Dwight's eyes were fixed solely on him, his face twisted in an annoyed, jealous frown. "How's Jan dealing with everything?"
Jim knew it was the wrong question before he even asked. Michael rolled his eyes and put a hand to his forehead. "She's crazy, I can't deal with it." He sighed heavily and sat back, shrugging. "But what're you gonna do? You stick by them, through thick and thin, right?"
Jim smiled and nodded. He felt like being agreeable. "Right."
"Does she have to take her boobs back now that she doesn't have a job?" Dwight asked.
"Okay, you—" Michael stood and turned to Dwight, placing his hands on his shoulders and leading him out of the office.
"But I haven't finished painting yet—"
Michael slammed the door shut, leaving Dwight to stand outside the door with the paint roller in his hands. Jim watched as he sulked back to his desk.
"Jim, let me ask you a question," Michael said, sitting at his desk.
Oh, no, Jim thought. Trapped trapped trapped—
"How long did it take until Karen became an emotional wreck in the relationship?" Michael asked.
Jim blinked. "I'm sorry—what?
"You know," his boss said, "how long until she cried uncontrollably for no reason or yelled at you on the phone for not putting the toothpaste cap on all the way?"
"Um . . . you know, I couldn't say, Michael. But I should really go, it's getting late—"
"What's the rush, amigo?" Michael's face brightened and he leaned over his desk. "Hey, I have an idea. Why don't you and I leave the old ball-and-chains at home, hop on over to Chile's, have a couple of margaritas, and rip up the town like the old days?"
Jim furrowed his eyebrows, confused. Old days? "Actually," he said, "I kind of have a date tonight."
"Ahh," Michael said, raising his eyebrows and smiling. "Gettin' lucky with Karen tonight, eh?"
"Oh, boy."
"Just remember to wear a rubber," Michael said in all seriousness.
"I'm not actually dating Karen anymore." Jim said.
"Oh," Michael said, sitting back in his chair, "what happened, man, you want to talk about it—?"
"Not really, no."
"Jim," Michael said, doing his best impersonation of a caring friend. "We're buddies. You can tell me anything. So what happened, did she break your heart?"
"She wanted to stay in New York and I wanted to be here in Scranton," Jim said. "End of story."
"Wait, so . . . who's the date with?"
0000000000
Jim to camera:
"Yeah . . . I asked Pam out." Jim stood in his living room that night, hands tucked in the pockets of his freshly-pressed khaki's. He wore a green sweater with a white shirt underneath, the collar folded out and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He didn't mind the camera crew in his house, barely even noticed them unless they asked him questions like now.
"I do plan on telling her what happened to Karen, if that's what you mean," he said. "I mean, hopefully it won't be our only topic of discussion, but I won't blame her for being curious." Jim smiled and stared at the carpet. "And the answer to your other question is yes. I'm freaking out right now."
Pam to camera:
"No, I don't know what's in store tonight," Pam said in the bedroom of her apartment. She stood next to her bed with a pile of clothes laid about the room, her hair straightened with only a few curls and the slightest blush of makeup on her face.
"Kind of makes it more exciting, not knowing what's going to happen. I mean, Jim and I have been friends for a long time, so I know I'll have a good time, but . . . I'm pretty excited."
Pam held up two black dresses in front of the camera, one with a v-neck and the other a square cut. "Okay, biggest decision I've made all night—this one, or this one?" She held up both dresses to the camera, then pulled them back and looked at them herself.
"Yeah, these are funeral dresses."
TBC