Office Fic: they’re going to name a city after us
they’re going to name a city after us
toby; pam/toby- pg
1047 words
minor spoilers for cocktails and safety training
for croc_rocketfan
So what do you know, Toby Flenderson’s a little braver now.
We sit and we sigh
And nothing gets done
So right, so clued-up
We just get old
bloc party| COMPLIMENTS
-
Poor Richard’s is better almost empty, on Tuesday, somewhere between college kids getting bored and before the last call.
“- I hate these things,” Toby tells her, biting his lip as the claw scatters across and over some bizarre manipulation of Bart Simpson as a toy. He wrinkles his nose. “You win once and you never can do it again.”
Pam laughs quietly, peering over his shoulder curiously. Her eyes dark back and forth from his hands to the glass as he flushes for concentration. So what do you know, Toby Flenderson’s a little braver now- he didn’t intend to stay behind and finished his beer before Kelly could launch into another forty-six commentaries on American Idol and Angelina Jolie’s child neglect. He’s also pretty sure that Pam was trying to sneak out too.
But things happen, right? It’s a narrow idea, but he’d like to think he’s getting better at this whole connecting thing. So he breathes a reassurance of it was a good idea and swears to himself that books on tape are not going to become the stating basis for his new life philosophy.
“The dog’s cute,” she says suddenly.
He blinks, almost losing footing as he watches her fingers smear against the glass. She taps it once, then twice, and he nods, guiding the claw.
“That’s not a dog.”
She snorts. “Yes, it is. Under the doll.”
Pam leans closer, brushing against his side and letting her palm flatten against the glass. He tries not to pay attention, but his thumb brushes over the red button, tipping the joy stick to the side. It misses the stuff animal entirely, but he ends up grabbing one of those strange alternatives to GI Joes.
“Damn,” he mutters.
Pam laughs, digging around for a dollar in her purse. She hands it to him and he laughs quietly, shoving it into the machine.
“I’m funding your habit,” she grins, wisps of curls dusting against her forehead. She bats them away. “But shh don’t tell.”
He grins a little, wrapping his hand around the joystick and turning back to the game. Earlier, he had caught her at the bar, looking around and stilling over a booth in the back corner. It’s funny because he had heard and these are the things that he’s supposed to be good at talking about. The thing is, it’s personal and that level of pushing is something he’s unsure about being comfortable with. He does want to ask her if she’s okay, that’s the greater point, but wanting and sounding like a complete ass is too daunting.
“Still want the dog?” He asks her lightly, turning to face her. Her lips purse and she nods, her gaze glued to the glass.
“Still want the dog.”
After that, it kind of fades. Oh, well, really. But Toby’s working on it- even this isn’t the ideal situation. He likes Pam. No kidding, right? If you really wanted to, he could point out the placement of moments that led him to the conclusion. No, it wasn’t Jim talking about her with that sort of forlorn acceptance, always waiting. He supposes, thought, he really never did get it until they started talking, really talking, and her focus was genuine. It’s still kind of odd to him, having someone else listen, but Pam does it and does well.
It’s almost disorienting too when he wants her to talk back, to know that he’s willing to listen and not attribute it to his job.
“It’s fine.”- she cuts him out of his thoughts and he almost swings the claw down too fast. He stops and she stops, watching him as he cracks his knuckles. There’s a sigh from her, slow. “I’m fine.”
Toby nods. “Okay.”
But he swallows and she shifts closer, stepping around him so that she can see if he gets what she wants or not. Or at least, at least, he hopes.
“Really,” she adds.
He nods again, pressing the red button, and watches as the claw disappears into the mound of obscure dolls and stuffed animals. He sighs when he grabs nothing, looking up at her in defeat.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, hands into pockets- it’s instant coping of this is an awkward situation.
Pam looks at him in surprise, stepping back to him. She touches his wrist slowly, her teeth skimming her lip. Toby’s fascinated, still watching her as she steadies in front of him. It’s the little movements too, with Pam, but don’t ask him how he’s figured it out. It’s just one of those things.
“I’m happy with the GI Joe,” she murmurs, taking it from his pocket. She spins it around between two fingers, grinning up at him. “Really.”
He laughs softly, fumbles, and lets his fingers tighten around the fabric in his pockets. Deep breath- he’s got it together, Toby swears.
He looks down shyly. Then back up, he says: “Liar” as he tries to tease.
She laughs, shaking her head and cradling the toy in her palm. She steps forward and somehow, he follows and they study it together. She might say something about it, but he’s really not listening, relaxing and enjoying this.
“I should go.”
“Okay.”
He nods for added value, watching as she grabs her bag and closes her hand over the plastic toy. It disappears into her pocket and do you need a ride? stumbles out of his mouth before he can attempt any control.
She shakes her head. “Nah,” she says, smiling as she turns. “I’m okay.”
Toby nods again, remembering that it’s his day for ballet practice and dinner tomorrow. His hands rise, one ready for a wave, but she spins on both feet and steps forward into his space. Pam’s hands flatten against his chest and he inhales as she leans up, her mouth brushing against his jaw.
“Thanks.”
He swallow- shouldn’t he be sprouting poetry? “Yeah.”
Stepping back, she turns and moves away. Sneakers shuffle on the floor. Somebody’s wailing Roxanne. And she’s gone when the door hits closed. He waits until she’s gone, fishing a five out of his pocket and heading to the back corner.
“Five ones,” he calls as he shifts between two stools. Trying again, “Five ones- please.”
Five ones and a beer slides across the wood bar.
end.
toby; pam/toby- pg
1047 words
minor spoilers for cocktails and safety training
for croc_rocketfan
So what do you know, Toby Flenderson’s a little braver now.
We sit and we sigh
And nothing gets done
So right, so clued-up
We just get old
bloc party| COMPLIMENTS
-
Poor Richard’s is better almost empty, on Tuesday, somewhere between college kids getting bored and before the last call.
“- I hate these things,” Toby tells her, biting his lip as the claw scatters across and over some bizarre manipulation of Bart Simpson as a toy. He wrinkles his nose. “You win once and you never can do it again.”
Pam laughs quietly, peering over his shoulder curiously. Her eyes dark back and forth from his hands to the glass as he flushes for concentration. So what do you know, Toby Flenderson’s a little braver now- he didn’t intend to stay behind and finished his beer before Kelly could launch into another forty-six commentaries on American Idol and Angelina Jolie’s child neglect. He’s also pretty sure that Pam was trying to sneak out too.
But things happen, right? It’s a narrow idea, but he’d like to think he’s getting better at this whole connecting thing. So he breathes a reassurance of it was a good idea and swears to himself that books on tape are not going to become the stating basis for his new life philosophy.
“The dog’s cute,” she says suddenly.
He blinks, almost losing footing as he watches her fingers smear against the glass. She taps it once, then twice, and he nods, guiding the claw.
“That’s not a dog.”
She snorts. “Yes, it is. Under the doll.”
Pam leans closer, brushing against his side and letting her palm flatten against the glass. He tries not to pay attention, but his thumb brushes over the red button, tipping the joy stick to the side. It misses the stuff animal entirely, but he ends up grabbing one of those strange alternatives to GI Joes.
“Damn,” he mutters.
Pam laughs, digging around for a dollar in her purse. She hands it to him and he laughs quietly, shoving it into the machine.
“I’m funding your habit,” she grins, wisps of curls dusting against her forehead. She bats them away. “But shh don’t tell.”
He grins a little, wrapping his hand around the joystick and turning back to the game. Earlier, he had caught her at the bar, looking around and stilling over a booth in the back corner. It’s funny because he had heard and these are the things that he’s supposed to be good at talking about. The thing is, it’s personal and that level of pushing is something he’s unsure about being comfortable with. He does want to ask her if she’s okay, that’s the greater point, but wanting and sounding like a complete ass is too daunting.
“Still want the dog?” He asks her lightly, turning to face her. Her lips purse and she nods, her gaze glued to the glass.
“Still want the dog.”
After that, it kind of fades. Oh, well, really. But Toby’s working on it- even this isn’t the ideal situation. He likes Pam. No kidding, right? If you really wanted to, he could point out the placement of moments that led him to the conclusion. No, it wasn’t Jim talking about her with that sort of forlorn acceptance, always waiting. He supposes, thought, he really never did get it until they started talking, really talking, and her focus was genuine. It’s still kind of odd to him, having someone else listen, but Pam does it and does well.
It’s almost disorienting too when he wants her to talk back, to know that he’s willing to listen and not attribute it to his job.
“It’s fine.”- she cuts him out of his thoughts and he almost swings the claw down too fast. He stops and she stops, watching him as he cracks his knuckles. There’s a sigh from her, slow. “I’m fine.”
Toby nods. “Okay.”
But he swallows and she shifts closer, stepping around him so that she can see if he gets what she wants or not. Or at least, at least, he hopes.
“Really,” she adds.
He nods again, pressing the red button, and watches as the claw disappears into the mound of obscure dolls and stuffed animals. He sighs when he grabs nothing, looking up at her in defeat.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, hands into pockets- it’s instant coping of this is an awkward situation.
Pam looks at him in surprise, stepping back to him. She touches his wrist slowly, her teeth skimming her lip. Toby’s fascinated, still watching her as she steadies in front of him. It’s the little movements too, with Pam, but don’t ask him how he’s figured it out. It’s just one of those things.
“I’m happy with the GI Joe,” she murmurs, taking it from his pocket. She spins it around between two fingers, grinning up at him. “Really.”
He laughs softly, fumbles, and lets his fingers tighten around the fabric in his pockets. Deep breath- he’s got it together, Toby swears.
He looks down shyly. Then back up, he says: “Liar” as he tries to tease.
She laughs, shaking her head and cradling the toy in her palm. She steps forward and somehow, he follows and they study it together. She might say something about it, but he’s really not listening, relaxing and enjoying this.
“I should go.”
“Okay.”
He nods for added value, watching as she grabs her bag and closes her hand over the plastic toy. It disappears into her pocket and do you need a ride? stumbles out of his mouth before he can attempt any control.
She shakes her head. “Nah,” she says, smiling as she turns. “I’m okay.”
Toby nods again, remembering that it’s his day for ballet practice and dinner tomorrow. His hands rise, one ready for a wave, but she spins on both feet and steps forward into his space. Pam’s hands flatten against his chest and he inhales as she leans up, her mouth brushing against his jaw.
“Thanks.”
He swallow- shouldn’t he be sprouting poetry? “Yeah.”
Stepping back, she turns and moves away. Sneakers shuffle on the floor. Somebody’s wailing Roxanne. And she’s gone when the door hits closed. He waits until she’s gone, fishing a five out of his pocket and heading to the back corner.
“Five ones,” he calls as he shifts between two stools. Trying again, “Five ones- please.”
Five ones and a beer slides across the wood bar.
end.