When Your Wheels Stop Turning
Wrote this longhand in a notebook during our two-day power outage that just ended tonight. The notebook is a mess. I have never been more grateful for computers and the backspace button and the copy/paste feature than I am now, looking at that mess of a "first draft."
Title: When Your Wheels Stop Turning
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own them; just borrowing.
Summary: Jim and Pam, post-ep to Goodbye Toby. She is disappointed in this whole night, in the buildup of anticipation that's come to no fruition, in herself for expecting.
Spoilers: Goodbye Toby specifically, with some other episodes referenced, as well.
Notes: Only my second Office fic. I think the promise of new Webisodes soon (!!) jump started my muse. I'm sure that everyone and their brother as written a post-ep to this one, but I hope that this is at least somewhat original. Title comes from “Gravity” by Coldplay.
Disappointed.
Yes, that's the right word for it she decides, as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, watching the lights of the highway go by from the passenger seat of Jim's Saab. Disappointed. She is disappointed in this whole night, in the buildup of anticipation that's come to no fruition, in herself for expecting. Disappointed in Jim.
(Where did that thought come from?)
She cuts her eyes carefully to him without turning her head. He's facing straight ahead, focused perhaps a bit too much on the road in front of them. She can see, in the dim lights of the dash, in the occasional flash of headlights crossing their path, his jaw working. Tense, his muscles moving as he worries his own lip between his teeth.
Her fingers curl involuntarily in her lap, and she looks down to see that the fabric of her skirt is bunched tightly in her fist. She lets out a frustrated puff of breath, smoothing the garment back over her thighs, seeing out of her peripheral vision his quick glance at her at the sound she makes.
“What's wrong?” he ventures, his voice sounding stiff and hesitant to her ears.
She shakes her head; her disappointment in him, at least, is unfair - she'd obviously misread his enthusiastic, over-the-top preparations for Toby's goodbye party, and that's not his fault. Still, her voice comes out higher than usual, strained. She'd just been so sure. “Nothing, Jim.” She sighs again, plucking at her now-wrinkled skirt, frustrated at herself. “I'm just tired. Okay?” And she is. She's understandably tired and irrationally sad and if she didn't think he'd take it the wrong way, she'd ask him to take her home to her own apartment tonight.
The feeling's new and she doesn't like it. At all.
He hums something indiscernible which might be agreement, but his hands are still gripping the steering wheel too tightly, perfectly at ten and two, and that's so unlike him that she's starting to worry. She takes a long breath in through her nose, gathering herself up. Courage, Beesly. “Look, Jim, it's just...” She swallows. “I'm...”
This is no good. There's no coal walk here, but if there were, she wouldn't be crossing it tonight. She shakes her head, the still-bitter disappointment threatening to show itself through maddening tears. “Never mind.”
He finally looks at her now, really looks at her, takes his gaze off the road and everything. His eyes are dark, an emotion she can't quite recognize in the dim light of the car. When he turns back to focus on driving, she's shocked when he's suddenly peeling off the main highway onto a back road that is decidedly not the way home.
“Jim, what are you--”
Just as suddenly as he'd exited the highway, he's pulling off to the shoulder and throwing the car into park, his breathing slightly labored as he sits in the darkness of the quiet car, watching her. Her mouth is open but she can't think of anything to say, and she watches as he runs his hand through his hair, standing it on end. She wants to touch it, to brush it down with her fingers, but she keeps her hands clenched in her lap.
“Jim...”
“God, I love you,” is what he's saying, over her, his voice still strained and agitated, but she doesn't have time to respond before he's unbuckling his seatbelt and practically leaping out of the car, rounding the vehicle to open her door. Somehow she has the presence of mind to unbuckle her own seatbelt, but then he's dropping to his knee in front of her open door and all she can do is stare.
Her throat goes dry.
If this is another fake proposal, she knows with unwavering certainty that she will cry. She will cry and she will hit him and she will get out of the car and walk home. “Jim, please...”
“Pam.”
Her name, gentle and not at all strained anymore, stops her plea, and her eyes widen as he reaches into the pocket of his jacket. He's smiling now, his face void of the tension it'd held only minutes before, and he's tugging at her arm with his free hand. “C'mere, stand up.”
It's happening so quickly and she tells her mind to slow down, to remember this, because there is nothing about this that feels fake or joking. She stands with the help of his fingers encircling her forearm, and then she's looking down at him as he fumbles to open the small black box he's taken from his pocket. She can't help a gasp.
His smile widens a bit, and there's her Jim, looking at the same time sure of himself and nervous, hopeful and afraid, everything she's feeling and more. And oh, God, she loves this man, and if he doesn't say something soon she's going to scream, but she sees him gathering himself, pushing away his goofy nervousness, wanting, she knows, to do this perfectly, the right way - and how does he not know that this is perfect, this is the right way, just him and her and them, together?
“Pam,” he starts, and she has to bite her lip, hard, to not interrupt him with her answer, now. Instead she nods briefly, encouraging, and she sees the gratitude in his eyes. “Pam, I love you.” He trails his fingers down her arm to her hand, joining, palm to palm. “I don't want to do this anymore, this...thing where we're not completely us, you and me, forever. I don't want you to go to New York for three months without knowing...” He cuts himself off and breaks their gaze for the first time since he'd opened her car door. Looks down at the small box in his hand then back up at her, almost sheepishly, but completely sure of himself now. “Marry me.”
And it bubbles out of her finally, her “yes” on a soft burst of laughter, and maybe she shouldn't be laughing at a time like this but it doesn't matter because he's laughing now too, as he slips the ring onto her finger, and she's not sure whose hands are trembling, his or hers. She tugs on his hands and he gets to his feet, and suddenly his hands are cupping her face and he's kissing her, hard and long and deep, like he'd kissed her in the office on the day he'd been in love with Italian food.
When they break from the kiss his forehead is pressed against hers, and as they're catching their breaths she wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “You were right.”
“Oh yeah? About what?” She hears the sure, happy grin in his voice.
So she grins back, lips pressed just beneath his ear. “Totally kicked my ass, Halpert.”
fin
Title: When Your Wheels Stop Turning
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own them; just borrowing.
Summary: Jim and Pam, post-ep to Goodbye Toby. She is disappointed in this whole night, in the buildup of anticipation that's come to no fruition, in herself for expecting.
Spoilers: Goodbye Toby specifically, with some other episodes referenced, as well.
Notes: Only my second Office fic. I think the promise of new Webisodes soon (!!) jump started my muse. I'm sure that everyone and their brother as written a post-ep to this one, but I hope that this is at least somewhat original. Title comes from “Gravity” by Coldplay.
Disappointed.
Yes, that's the right word for it she decides, as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, watching the lights of the highway go by from the passenger seat of Jim's Saab. Disappointed. She is disappointed in this whole night, in the buildup of anticipation that's come to no fruition, in herself for expecting. Disappointed in Jim.
(Where did that thought come from?)
She cuts her eyes carefully to him without turning her head. He's facing straight ahead, focused perhaps a bit too much on the road in front of them. She can see, in the dim lights of the dash, in the occasional flash of headlights crossing their path, his jaw working. Tense, his muscles moving as he worries his own lip between his teeth.
Her fingers curl involuntarily in her lap, and she looks down to see that the fabric of her skirt is bunched tightly in her fist. She lets out a frustrated puff of breath, smoothing the garment back over her thighs, seeing out of her peripheral vision his quick glance at her at the sound she makes.
“What's wrong?” he ventures, his voice sounding stiff and hesitant to her ears.
She shakes her head; her disappointment in him, at least, is unfair - she'd obviously misread his enthusiastic, over-the-top preparations for Toby's goodbye party, and that's not his fault. Still, her voice comes out higher than usual, strained. She'd just been so sure. “Nothing, Jim.” She sighs again, plucking at her now-wrinkled skirt, frustrated at herself. “I'm just tired. Okay?” And she is. She's understandably tired and irrationally sad and if she didn't think he'd take it the wrong way, she'd ask him to take her home to her own apartment tonight.
The feeling's new and she doesn't like it. At all.
He hums something indiscernible which might be agreement, but his hands are still gripping the steering wheel too tightly, perfectly at ten and two, and that's so unlike him that she's starting to worry. She takes a long breath in through her nose, gathering herself up. Courage, Beesly. “Look, Jim, it's just...” She swallows. “I'm...”
This is no good. There's no coal walk here, but if there were, she wouldn't be crossing it tonight. She shakes her head, the still-bitter disappointment threatening to show itself through maddening tears. “Never mind.”
He finally looks at her now, really looks at her, takes his gaze off the road and everything. His eyes are dark, an emotion she can't quite recognize in the dim light of the car. When he turns back to focus on driving, she's shocked when he's suddenly peeling off the main highway onto a back road that is decidedly not the way home.
“Jim, what are you--”
Just as suddenly as he'd exited the highway, he's pulling off to the shoulder and throwing the car into park, his breathing slightly labored as he sits in the darkness of the quiet car, watching her. Her mouth is open but she can't think of anything to say, and she watches as he runs his hand through his hair, standing it on end. She wants to touch it, to brush it down with her fingers, but she keeps her hands clenched in her lap.
“Jim...”
“God, I love you,” is what he's saying, over her, his voice still strained and agitated, but she doesn't have time to respond before he's unbuckling his seatbelt and practically leaping out of the car, rounding the vehicle to open her door. Somehow she has the presence of mind to unbuckle her own seatbelt, but then he's dropping to his knee in front of her open door and all she can do is stare.
Her throat goes dry.
If this is another fake proposal, she knows with unwavering certainty that she will cry. She will cry and she will hit him and she will get out of the car and walk home. “Jim, please...”
“Pam.”
Her name, gentle and not at all strained anymore, stops her plea, and her eyes widen as he reaches into the pocket of his jacket. He's smiling now, his face void of the tension it'd held only minutes before, and he's tugging at her arm with his free hand. “C'mere, stand up.”
It's happening so quickly and she tells her mind to slow down, to remember this, because there is nothing about this that feels fake or joking. She stands with the help of his fingers encircling her forearm, and then she's looking down at him as he fumbles to open the small black box he's taken from his pocket. She can't help a gasp.
His smile widens a bit, and there's her Jim, looking at the same time sure of himself and nervous, hopeful and afraid, everything she's feeling and more. And oh, God, she loves this man, and if he doesn't say something soon she's going to scream, but she sees him gathering himself, pushing away his goofy nervousness, wanting, she knows, to do this perfectly, the right way - and how does he not know that this is perfect, this is the right way, just him and her and them, together?
“Pam,” he starts, and she has to bite her lip, hard, to not interrupt him with her answer, now. Instead she nods briefly, encouraging, and she sees the gratitude in his eyes. “Pam, I love you.” He trails his fingers down her arm to her hand, joining, palm to palm. “I don't want to do this anymore, this...thing where we're not completely us, you and me, forever. I don't want you to go to New York for three months without knowing...” He cuts himself off and breaks their gaze for the first time since he'd opened her car door. Looks down at the small box in his hand then back up at her, almost sheepishly, but completely sure of himself now. “Marry me.”
And it bubbles out of her finally, her “yes” on a soft burst of laughter, and maybe she shouldn't be laughing at a time like this but it doesn't matter because he's laughing now too, as he slips the ring onto her finger, and she's not sure whose hands are trembling, his or hers. She tugs on his hands and he gets to his feet, and suddenly his hands are cupping her face and he's kissing her, hard and long and deep, like he'd kissed her in the office on the day he'd been in love with Italian food.
When they break from the kiss his forehead is pressed against hers, and as they're catching their breaths she wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “You were right.”
“Oh yeah? About what?” She hears the sure, happy grin in his voice.
So she grins back, lips pressed just beneath his ear. “Totally kicked my ass, Halpert.”
fin