Office fic: we’ll all have a love affair with punctuation
Title: we’ll all have a love affair with punctuation
Fandom: the Office
Characters/Pairings: Pam, Jim/Pam
Word Count: 1337
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None. ♥
Summary: It’s a routine, close to a tradition, and she likes this, this line of thinking. It’s nothing new, but then again, it is. It’s just that the expectation has become larger and makes better sense. Sequel to just another love song by the cure
Author's Notes: For nousia ♥ Because she’s unbelievably cute. And she requested this.
For a long time, I went to bed early. Marcel Proust, Swann's Way (1913)
So, he doesn’t come back to Scranton for the weekend.
There’s a conference and, as the new guy, he’s expected to show. And it’s okay, she understands, but she’s disappointed as anything. (She cleaned.)
But nothing’s lost.
A phone call a week becomes one call every night, at eight because traffic is terrible (according to him). She could call it an effort to reconnect, but then there’s no point- it takes a call and a half and they’re there. It’s just that things are changing.
Scary. But they are.
At eight, because Jim makes her punctual all of the sudden, she sits on her couch with papers from school all around her and waits for the call. It’s a routine, close to a tradition, and she likes this, this line of thinking. It’s nothing new, but then again, it is. It’s just that the expectation has become larger and makes better sense.
Her phone rings and she grins, stretching for the cordless and cradling it to her shoulder like she does every night. And every night, it begins with a hey and hi as if he’s never left Scranton.
“So Michael put the suggestion box out for Halloween partner costumes,” she tells him, laughing softly.
She can see him, if she closes her eyes, shaking his head with that half-grin of his. She likes his amused smile.
“Partner costume?”
Her lips curl. “Partner costumes. It’s a theme.”
“Oh, god. Pam, that’s what Dwight was-”
Her nose wrinkles, but she can’t help her laughter. Because she knows exactly what he’s thinking- she emailed him the moment the suggestion came to pass.
“Dwight and Michael as Peanut Butter and Jelly.”
He coughs, the edge of laughter creeping into his voice. She hears the sound of a microwave beeping. Kitchen and dinner both cross her mind. But she’s not hungry yet.
“I though you were joking,” he says.
She raises an eyebrow. “Would you joke about that?”
He snorts. And then laughs. “No. But- god. That’s just wrong. But so them.”
“I know.”
She shifts on the couch, leaning back and letting her head rest against the arm. She pulls some papers against her legs. She never pays attention to anything else when they talk. But she likes to humor herself once in awhile.
“What about you?” He asks. “What are you doing for the best holiday ever?”
She shrugs. As if he could see her. “Don’t know.”
“Beesly.”
She can definitely picture him now. With that smirk of his, the one that she knows screams Jim has a plan. And that any involvement in it, she’s not going to be able to avoid.
“What?” She asks innocently.
“It’s Halloween.”
He drops something and curses, causing her to laugh in amusement. She proposed a rule, yesterday, ever since she burned her macaroni (hey, it’s possible) that they couldn’t talk to each other when they were cooking.
“I know. I have a calendar.”
He snorts. And then quiets.
She listens to the silence for the moment and it’s striking how it goes between comfortable and nervous. But she waits because he’s been waiting for her and she’s learned to be patient- she swears, the rationale all makes sense in her head.
“I’ll spend it with you.”
Her breath catches a little and there’s much more of a pile of nerves this time. Because there’s no shelter of a necessity- I’ll spend it with you.
“But-”
He chuckles. “Halloween. Beesly, you can't miss Halloween.”
She’s quiet. And then, “But you’re up there.”
“And you’re down there.” He pauses. He’s not going to let her go. “Take a vacation. Give yourself a couple days- you always said you were going to start spreading them out, you know.”
She’s surprised by her lack of hesitation, but her response falls and falls calmly as she tosses a book to the side. “Fine.”
“Wow. You’re easy.”
There’s a faint blush brushing against her cheeks and the disappointment of missing him the first time starts to fade.
“Am not,” she mutters.
He laughs. “You so are.”
She hears the grin and calms slowly, curling deeper into the corner of her couch. This is new to her. And he’s been more than patient (again, there are things still fitting into the right places)- more than he should, she thinks most of the time. But she falls a little harder even more for it.
“I’ll leave on Thursday.”
His voice is hopeful and much more obvious to her. Because she’s listening. “And stay ‘til Wednesday?”
She licks her lips, nodding and blushing again. “Yeah.”
“Going to have to clean now.”
She laughs. Already, she starts a count in her head.
::
Her nerves hit two red lights before she has to make a left turn.
There’s a flush to her skin, her knuckles whitening as she grips the steering wheel too tight. She’s had one turn back moment because the comfort of certain sensibilities are poison to her. The this is Jim excuse doesn’t work anymore. Because Jim and change and unpredictability all frame each other. And she’s closer to ready than she’s ever been.
It scares the hell out of her.
She’s really doing this. And makes the turn.
The neighborhood is quiet. She shoots back to years at home, driving back to her house- it’s the kids running and playing on the sidewalks, the city behind her. She likes how it’s quiet.
She’s nervous enough to forget that it’s the house with black shutters. It’s, erm, brick, he had told her. And then emailed a photograph. Because he’s afraid that she might get lost too.
She thinks about calling her mom for one last pep talk- her mom adores Jim, but never said anything (it’s a decision you make yourself)- but stops herself. She’s thinking too much.
She takes another deep breath. And figures, this is it. She’s come this far. She’s not going back. She’s going to see him. She’s never been a good runner anyways.
She needs to see him.
She makes the next turn, deeper into the neighborhood, and spots the house at the end. She pulls into the driveway, licking her lips.
He’s waiting for her, on the stoop of his porch, fingers curled around a beer and his grin easy when he spots her. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, his oxford wrinkled and brushing against his thighs. She could easily commit to details and minutes, the ones running in her head, but it doesn’t matter.
It’s Jim. And it’s only a couple steps between them.
He raises his beer. “Hey there.”
The car door shuts behind her. And her smile is so wide, it almost hurts. In that good kind of way- it’s all for him.
“Hi,” she says softly.
He points to the area behind him, his lips curling into a teasing smile as she steps forward. “I have a porch.”
“It’s a nice porch.”
She tugs at her sleeves, one of those stupid nervous habits that she’s had since high school. It’s better than biting her nails, she always rationalized. But he puts his bottle down as she steps forward.
“Where’s your porch swing?” She asks.
He smirks. “Workin’ on it.”
And so they fall to silence.
For a moment, it’s him looking at her and her looking at him. Things pass between them, things that have always been there- and maybe, she’s not quite ready to say them yet. But there’s an acknowledgment.
It’s finally her turn to take that extra first step forward, her arms curling around his neck as he, always, meets her (somehow) halfway. But she just pulls him to her. It’s not about the weight on her shoulders, long gone because she’s embraced this new ring of second chances in her life.
But she can breathe a little easier. Laugh a little louder.
“Glad to have you here, Beesly,” he murmurs into her hair, his fingers brushing against the curve of her neck.
Her lips curl. And she’s almost quiet.
“Glad to finally be here.”
::end::
Fandom: the Office
Characters/Pairings: Pam, Jim/Pam
Word Count: 1337
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None. ♥
Summary: It’s a routine, close to a tradition, and she likes this, this line of thinking. It’s nothing new, but then again, it is. It’s just that the expectation has become larger and makes better sense. Sequel to just another love song by the cure
Author's Notes: For nousia ♥ Because she’s unbelievably cute. And she requested this.
For a long time, I went to bed early. Marcel Proust, Swann's Way (1913)
So, he doesn’t come back to Scranton for the weekend.
There’s a conference and, as the new guy, he’s expected to show. And it’s okay, she understands, but she’s disappointed as anything. (She cleaned.)
But nothing’s lost.
A phone call a week becomes one call every night, at eight because traffic is terrible (according to him). She could call it an effort to reconnect, but then there’s no point- it takes a call and a half and they’re there. It’s just that things are changing.
Scary. But they are.
At eight, because Jim makes her punctual all of the sudden, she sits on her couch with papers from school all around her and waits for the call. It’s a routine, close to a tradition, and she likes this, this line of thinking. It’s nothing new, but then again, it is. It’s just that the expectation has become larger and makes better sense.
Her phone rings and she grins, stretching for the cordless and cradling it to her shoulder like she does every night. And every night, it begins with a hey and hi as if he’s never left Scranton.
“So Michael put the suggestion box out for Halloween partner costumes,” she tells him, laughing softly.
She can see him, if she closes her eyes, shaking his head with that half-grin of his. She likes his amused smile.
“Partner costume?”
Her lips curl. “Partner costumes. It’s a theme.”
“Oh, god. Pam, that’s what Dwight was-”
Her nose wrinkles, but she can’t help her laughter. Because she knows exactly what he’s thinking- she emailed him the moment the suggestion came to pass.
“Dwight and Michael as Peanut Butter and Jelly.”
He coughs, the edge of laughter creeping into his voice. She hears the sound of a microwave beeping. Kitchen and dinner both cross her mind. But she’s not hungry yet.
“I though you were joking,” he says.
She raises an eyebrow. “Would you joke about that?”
He snorts. And then laughs. “No. But- god. That’s just wrong. But so them.”
“I know.”
She shifts on the couch, leaning back and letting her head rest against the arm. She pulls some papers against her legs. She never pays attention to anything else when they talk. But she likes to humor herself once in awhile.
“What about you?” He asks. “What are you doing for the best holiday ever?”
She shrugs. As if he could see her. “Don’t know.”
“Beesly.”
She can definitely picture him now. With that smirk of his, the one that she knows screams Jim has a plan. And that any involvement in it, she’s not going to be able to avoid.
“What?” She asks innocently.
“It’s Halloween.”
He drops something and curses, causing her to laugh in amusement. She proposed a rule, yesterday, ever since she burned her macaroni (hey, it’s possible) that they couldn’t talk to each other when they were cooking.
“I know. I have a calendar.”
He snorts. And then quiets.
She listens to the silence for the moment and it’s striking how it goes between comfortable and nervous. But she waits because he’s been waiting for her and she’s learned to be patient- she swears, the rationale all makes sense in her head.
“I’ll spend it with you.”
Her breath catches a little and there’s much more of a pile of nerves this time. Because there’s no shelter of a necessity- I’ll spend it with you.
“But-”
He chuckles. “Halloween. Beesly, you can't miss Halloween.”
She’s quiet. And then, “But you’re up there.”
“And you’re down there.” He pauses. He’s not going to let her go. “Take a vacation. Give yourself a couple days- you always said you were going to start spreading them out, you know.”
She’s surprised by her lack of hesitation, but her response falls and falls calmly as she tosses a book to the side. “Fine.”
“Wow. You’re easy.”
There’s a faint blush brushing against her cheeks and the disappointment of missing him the first time starts to fade.
“Am not,” she mutters.
He laughs. “You so are.”
She hears the grin and calms slowly, curling deeper into the corner of her couch. This is new to her. And he’s been more than patient (again, there are things still fitting into the right places)- more than he should, she thinks most of the time. But she falls a little harder even more for it.
“I’ll leave on Thursday.”
His voice is hopeful and much more obvious to her. Because she’s listening. “And stay ‘til Wednesday?”
She licks her lips, nodding and blushing again. “Yeah.”
“Going to have to clean now.”
She laughs. Already, she starts a count in her head.
::
Her nerves hit two red lights before she has to make a left turn.
There’s a flush to her skin, her knuckles whitening as she grips the steering wheel too tight. She’s had one turn back moment because the comfort of certain sensibilities are poison to her. The this is Jim excuse doesn’t work anymore. Because Jim and change and unpredictability all frame each other. And she’s closer to ready than she’s ever been.
It scares the hell out of her.
She’s really doing this. And makes the turn.
The neighborhood is quiet. She shoots back to years at home, driving back to her house- it’s the kids running and playing on the sidewalks, the city behind her. She likes how it’s quiet.
She’s nervous enough to forget that it’s the house with black shutters. It’s, erm, brick, he had told her. And then emailed a photograph. Because he’s afraid that she might get lost too.
She thinks about calling her mom for one last pep talk- her mom adores Jim, but never said anything (it’s a decision you make yourself)- but stops herself. She’s thinking too much.
She takes another deep breath. And figures, this is it. She’s come this far. She’s not going back. She’s going to see him. She’s never been a good runner anyways.
She needs to see him.
She makes the next turn, deeper into the neighborhood, and spots the house at the end. She pulls into the driveway, licking her lips.
He’s waiting for her, on the stoop of his porch, fingers curled around a beer and his grin easy when he spots her. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, his oxford wrinkled and brushing against his thighs. She could easily commit to details and minutes, the ones running in her head, but it doesn’t matter.
It’s Jim. And it’s only a couple steps between them.
He raises his beer. “Hey there.”
The car door shuts behind her. And her smile is so wide, it almost hurts. In that good kind of way- it’s all for him.
“Hi,” she says softly.
He points to the area behind him, his lips curling into a teasing smile as she steps forward. “I have a porch.”
“It’s a nice porch.”
She tugs at her sleeves, one of those stupid nervous habits that she’s had since high school. It’s better than biting her nails, she always rationalized. But he puts his bottle down as she steps forward.
“Where’s your porch swing?” She asks.
He smirks. “Workin’ on it.”
And so they fall to silence.
For a moment, it’s him looking at her and her looking at him. Things pass between them, things that have always been there- and maybe, she’s not quite ready to say them yet. But there’s an acknowledgment.
It’s finally her turn to take that extra first step forward, her arms curling around his neck as he, always, meets her (somehow) halfway. But she just pulls him to her. It’s not about the weight on her shoulders, long gone because she’s embraced this new ring of second chances in her life.
But she can breathe a little easier. Laugh a little louder.
“Glad to have you here, Beesly,” he murmurs into her hair, his fingers brushing against the curve of her neck.
Her lips curl. And she’s almost quiet.
“Glad to finally be here.”
::end::