Office fic: just another love song by the cure
Title: just another love song by the cure
Fandom: the Office
Characters/Pairings: Pam, Jim/Pam
Word Count: 1057
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Initiation. ♥
Summary: She hates waiting because she can’t see him and can’t even attempt to read him. It kind of scares her. It kind of thrills her. It does all sorts of things to her mind, twisting and turning. It’s like high school, but not- reconnecting with that guy that’s always been there. She wrinkles her nose when she starts to think about cheesy eighties movies.
Author's Notes: For kasuchi ♥ Because she’s awesome.
::
we are for eachother: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
e.e. cummings, since feeling is first
::
She answers on the fourth ring, stumbling inside with several bags of groceries. She curses when her purse crashes to the floor, extending her hand and grabbing the cordless phone. It’s probably her mother. The Thursday night check-in.
“Hello?”
She prays for telemarketers, so that maybe she could throw the phone across the room and have a night to ignore it (and an excuse to go shopping during lunch tomorrow) because she’s got some things to do for class.
“Hey there.”
She hears the echoes of an office and thinks- “Jim?”
“Yep.”
Her eyes are wide. And she drops the ice cream, cursing. “How-”
She can almost see him smiling, leaning back in his chair and spinning from side to side. Jim has these motions of routine. She- well, yeah. She watched him. She spent a lot of time with him. “I called Kelly.”
She winces. “But you have my mom’s number. You could’ve called her.”
“I left my address book at the home,” he says with a yawn.
Her laughter bubbles up her throat and spills as she remembers that he does have one. And uses fabric softener. All the quirks that makes him Jim. And makes her miss Jim like crazy.
“You have an address book.”
He’s grinning. She knows he is. “Watch it, Beesly. My mom gave it to me.”
She laughs softly, brushing her hair out of her eyes. She ignores the groceries, stepping around the kitchen to the stairs- she has a loft- and moving to sit on her bed. She cradles the phone on her shoulder as she drops back and just listens. It’s been a while since she’s had the chance.
So she settles and she thinks he’s settling. Because everything starts with a conversation, a good conversation. They deserve one. Because dancing, even if it is all about tentative steps and pushes, gets tiring too.
“So how’s the fancy new apartment?”
She takes a deep breath, biting her lip. She could go with the calm, well, it’s kinda small. The kind of description that you give to people to let them know that you’re okay. But she doesn’t know how to get that past Jim. She’s never been able to- she’s an open book. And he’s always deserved more than a well, it’s kinda small.
So she’s honest. And quiet. “Big. For me- At least, I think so.”
There’s a shift of papers. And a zipper. “Don’t have a roommate?”
“No.”
There’s an edge of concern in his voice. “Beesly-”
She finds herself smiling a little bigger, sitting up and dropping onto her back onto her bed- falling back, it’s about the position. She shifts and finds a comfortable spot. “I’ve got a lot of sharp objects lying around, Jim. I’m sure I’ll be okay.”
“Well, now that’s scary.”
She grins. The ice cream’s probably melted by now. But she makes no move to stand and go back to the kitchen.
“So tell me about the place,” he murmurs.
She smirks, casting her gaze up to her ceilings. A soft white. She’s been thinking about painting a mural or something. But likes the cleanliness of the white inside. Ordered. It’s the prints and the pictures that give the detail to her room. Her room. Not someone else’s. “It’s big.”
He laughs. “You’re really good at this game, smartass.”
“For me,” she shoots back. The truth is shaky and there’s comfort in the slightest of repetition. But she gives it to him regardless. Because it’s Jim. “It’s big for me.”
He’s quiet. And there’s something shifting between the two of them. Most of the time, it’s about what they don’t say to each other. Which is even scarier. Because there’s a lot of things there.
She swallows. And hears something drop.
“How’s the bedroom?” His voice is soft and there’s a tremor. But she says nothing and her fingers curl tightly in the sheets.
“Perv. Is this a ploy for phone sex, Halpert?”
He chuckles. But she continues, her lips curling. “There’s a bed. And a chair. And a window that leads out to the fire escape- mom made me buy curtains for it. There’s a night table with a lamp that Kelly gave me as a house warming gift.”
“Any cool pictures?”
“It’s not a frat house, Jim.”
“Pictures, Pam. You must have cool pictures and posters. It’s a law.”
She laughs, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Just a print. A Degas print. When I went to Philadelphia. Mom and I went to the museum.”
“Is it pretty?”
“It’s beautiful,” she returns quietly.
His voice is low. “I bet.”
There’s a pause. And he sighs. She can feel the question spinning between them. Her eyes close and she waits- maybe it’s time that something sort of spills out. She steels herself and then relaxes.
She takes a step. “You should come see it.”
He’s quiet. And she opens her eyes. She listens, holding her breath and waiting for him to say something. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
She blinks. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” he continues. “I still have some stuff to pick up because Mark’s a lazy idiot and won’t UPS any of it over here.”
He pauses. And she waits. She hates waiting because she can’t see him and can’t even attempt to read him. It kind of scares her. It kind of thrills her. It does all sorts of things to her mind, twisting and turning. It’s like high school, but not- reconnecting with that guy that’s always been there. She wrinkles her nose when she starts to think about cheesy eighties movies.
“I can make a weekend out of it,” breaks her thoughts.
She beams. And tries not to sound too exited. “Okay.”
“Seriously?” There’s a curl of laughter in his voice.
“Now, you’re just mocking me.” She snorts. But she can’t stop smiling. Just the prospect, the motion of talking to him again.
“It’s possible.”
She laughs. “I’ll have to clean now.”
“For me?”
Pushing herself up, she kicks off her shoes. “For you.”
“Could be love, Beesly.”
There’s a coil of warmth inside of her and she shift, the bed squeaking under her. Her lips start to curl and it doesn’t hurt. She’s smiling for him. For this.
Maybe, this is it.
“Could be,” she says softly.
::
end
::
Fandom: the Office
Characters/Pairings: Pam, Jim/Pam
Word Count: 1057
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Initiation. ♥
Summary: She hates waiting because she can’t see him and can’t even attempt to read him. It kind of scares her. It kind of thrills her. It does all sorts of things to her mind, twisting and turning. It’s like high school, but not- reconnecting with that guy that’s always been there. She wrinkles her nose when she starts to think about cheesy eighties movies.
Author's Notes: For kasuchi ♥ Because she’s awesome.
::
we are for eachother: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
e.e. cummings, since feeling is first
::
She answers on the fourth ring, stumbling inside with several bags of groceries. She curses when her purse crashes to the floor, extending her hand and grabbing the cordless phone. It’s probably her mother. The Thursday night check-in.
“Hello?”
She prays for telemarketers, so that maybe she could throw the phone across the room and have a night to ignore it (and an excuse to go shopping during lunch tomorrow) because she’s got some things to do for class.
“Hey there.”
She hears the echoes of an office and thinks- “Jim?”
“Yep.”
Her eyes are wide. And she drops the ice cream, cursing. “How-”
She can almost see him smiling, leaning back in his chair and spinning from side to side. Jim has these motions of routine. She- well, yeah. She watched him. She spent a lot of time with him. “I called Kelly.”
She winces. “But you have my mom’s number. You could’ve called her.”
“I left my address book at the home,” he says with a yawn.
Her laughter bubbles up her throat and spills as she remembers that he does have one. And uses fabric softener. All the quirks that makes him Jim. And makes her miss Jim like crazy.
“You have an address book.”
He’s grinning. She knows he is. “Watch it, Beesly. My mom gave it to me.”
She laughs softly, brushing her hair out of her eyes. She ignores the groceries, stepping around the kitchen to the stairs- she has a loft- and moving to sit on her bed. She cradles the phone on her shoulder as she drops back and just listens. It’s been a while since she’s had the chance.
So she settles and she thinks he’s settling. Because everything starts with a conversation, a good conversation. They deserve one. Because dancing, even if it is all about tentative steps and pushes, gets tiring too.
“So how’s the fancy new apartment?”
She takes a deep breath, biting her lip. She could go with the calm, well, it’s kinda small. The kind of description that you give to people to let them know that you’re okay. But she doesn’t know how to get that past Jim. She’s never been able to- she’s an open book. And he’s always deserved more than a well, it’s kinda small.
So she’s honest. And quiet. “Big. For me- At least, I think so.”
There’s a shift of papers. And a zipper. “Don’t have a roommate?”
“No.”
There’s an edge of concern in his voice. “Beesly-”
She finds herself smiling a little bigger, sitting up and dropping onto her back onto her bed- falling back, it’s about the position. She shifts and finds a comfortable spot. “I’ve got a lot of sharp objects lying around, Jim. I’m sure I’ll be okay.”
“Well, now that’s scary.”
She grins. The ice cream’s probably melted by now. But she makes no move to stand and go back to the kitchen.
“So tell me about the place,” he murmurs.
She smirks, casting her gaze up to her ceilings. A soft white. She’s been thinking about painting a mural or something. But likes the cleanliness of the white inside. Ordered. It’s the prints and the pictures that give the detail to her room. Her room. Not someone else’s. “It’s big.”
He laughs. “You’re really good at this game, smartass.”
“For me,” she shoots back. The truth is shaky and there’s comfort in the slightest of repetition. But she gives it to him regardless. Because it’s Jim. “It’s big for me.”
He’s quiet. And there’s something shifting between the two of them. Most of the time, it’s about what they don’t say to each other. Which is even scarier. Because there’s a lot of things there.
She swallows. And hears something drop.
“How’s the bedroom?” His voice is soft and there’s a tremor. But she says nothing and her fingers curl tightly in the sheets.
“Perv. Is this a ploy for phone sex, Halpert?”
He chuckles. But she continues, her lips curling. “There’s a bed. And a chair. And a window that leads out to the fire escape- mom made me buy curtains for it. There’s a night table with a lamp that Kelly gave me as a house warming gift.”
“Any cool pictures?”
“It’s not a frat house, Jim.”
“Pictures, Pam. You must have cool pictures and posters. It’s a law.”
She laughs, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Just a print. A Degas print. When I went to Philadelphia. Mom and I went to the museum.”
“Is it pretty?”
“It’s beautiful,” she returns quietly.
His voice is low. “I bet.”
There’s a pause. And he sighs. She can feel the question spinning between them. Her eyes close and she waits- maybe it’s time that something sort of spills out. She steels herself and then relaxes.
She takes a step. “You should come see it.”
He’s quiet. And she opens her eyes. She listens, holding her breath and waiting for him to say something. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
She blinks. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” he continues. “I still have some stuff to pick up because Mark’s a lazy idiot and won’t UPS any of it over here.”
He pauses. And she waits. She hates waiting because she can’t see him and can’t even attempt to read him. It kind of scares her. It kind of thrills her. It does all sorts of things to her mind, twisting and turning. It’s like high school, but not- reconnecting with that guy that’s always been there. She wrinkles her nose when she starts to think about cheesy eighties movies.
“I can make a weekend out of it,” breaks her thoughts.
She beams. And tries not to sound too exited. “Okay.”
“Seriously?” There’s a curl of laughter in his voice.
“Now, you’re just mocking me.” She snorts. But she can’t stop smiling. Just the prospect, the motion of talking to him again.
“It’s possible.”
She laughs. “I’ll have to clean now.”
“For me?”
Pushing herself up, she kicks off her shoes. “For you.”
“Could be love, Beesly.”
There’s a coil of warmth inside of her and she shift, the bed squeaking under her. Her lips start to curl and it doesn’t hurt. She’s smiling for him. For this.
Maybe, this is it.
“Could be,” she says softly.
::
end
::