Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor can I compete with the brilliance of their creators.
This is the beginning of a story suggested by a fellow TWoPer. I don't quite know where I'm going with it yet.
He remembers how it started. Pam asked him if they could talk about what happened between them, and he agreed.
They go to Starbucks, because the last thing either of them needs is to be overheard by Dwight or one of the warehouse guys while they're rehashing the previous Friday's events.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" He asks evenly, pretending that this thing between them is something that can actually be solved.
"You know, " She says, and widens her eyes at him. He sits back and says nothing, but tilts his head at her to let her know that he's not going to help her. "This thing...this thing we haven't talked about. You won't talk about it. You won't talk to me at all."
That's not true, he thinks. He distinctly remembers saying good morning just this very morning. And he remembers that he asked her if she wanted anything from the convenience store when he ran out earlier. Even as he points this out to her, he knows what she means. He also remembers her trying to talk to him in the break room, right before Angela came in to get a soda and gave them both the 'get back to work' evil eye. But he's not going to make this any easier for her.
"You know what I mean, Jim. You're not talking to me."
He shifts and leans into the table. He gets his face close enough to hers that she has no choice but to accept him looking directly into her eyes and she can feel the intensity so strongly that she's a little scared.
"I don't have anything more to say, Pam. I meant what I said. I'm sorry if it makes things hard for you. "
"Jim, come on. We're friends. You're my best friend! Can't we go back?" The look on her face and the begging tone in her voice causes heat and anger to rise up in his throat.
"You're not that stupid, Pam, " He says, surprising himself with the venom in his statement. "Go back to what? Putting Dwight's stuff in the vending machine and passing notes in the hall? Watching you leave every day with that idiot? Don't you get it? I haven't been just your friend in so long I wouldn't even know how."
She sits, stunned, unable to respond. She had really thought that once the alcohol and the night and the craziness of the casino event had worn off, Jim would come to his senses and realize they were just friends and everything would go back to normal after a little awkwardness. Forget the fact that his kiss had caused a rush of heat from her head to her toes. Forget the fact that she'd gone home and cried herself to sleep. And forget the dreams that had plagued her since that night, dreams so vivid that when she awoke in the morning she was afraid Roy would smell Jim all over her. Thinking about it now makes her face flush, something that Jim mistakes for anger.
"Roy's not an idiot," She says, quietly.
"No, I'm the idiot," Jim snarls. "Oh, you're mad? That's just great. This is all my fault, is it? I misinterpreted? I don't think so, Pam."
He starts to get up from the table. He's had enough. For her it might be only a blip on her radar, but for him it's the culmination of three years of waiting and hoping. As he pushes his chair back, she puts her hand on top of his.
"No, Jim, wait." She looks up at him, fear shining in her eyes. He doesn't know if she's afraid he's going to yell at her again or if she's afraid of something else, but he jerks his hand out from under hers.
"Nope. Done waiting. What I meant to tell you on Friday was that I was offered a transfer. I don't know why I spilled my guts, but that's all I meant to say. I guess I was hoping you'd stop me."
For the second time in less than a half hour, Pam doesn't know what to say.
"You're leaving?" She asks. Then she gets angry. "When were you going to tell me? I thought we were friends! You didn't even tell me you were interviewing!"
She digs her nails into her coffee cup hard enough to leave a set of half moon shaped dents down the side. She thinks maybe if she digs them in far enough the dam will break and soak her hand with hot coffee. She digs harder, and doesn't realize she's set her jaw and her teeth are clenched.
"Well, gee, Pam. Let's see…you've been a little preoccupied with planning your wedding at work, and I don't really get to talk to you much and oh yeah, didn't I already mention I was going to tell you on Friday?"
Again, he's surprised by the anger that's coming out of him. This isn't the way this was supposed to go. He had planned to just listen, and go along with whatever she wanted, and just quietly take his transfer and leave without telling her he was going. He had hoped that at least he could have this, one last memory of being happy and laughing with her.
But that's not what's happening. Her eyes are shining with tears that she won't let fall, and her face is red with frustration. She's been holding her breath, but now she lets it all out in a rush. She stands up and looks down at him, keeping her seething anger barely in check.
"So, which part did you want to talk about?" he asks. "The part where you tell me you can't love me? Or the part where you pretend that you didn't kiss me back?"
"You were supposed to be my friend," She says quietly.
One corner of Jim's mouth quirks up, and as he tilts his head he makes a clicking noise. He regards her from his chair, where his casual lean belies the turmoil under his skin.
"I think we both know that's not true."
She holds his gaze for a long moment and gives an almost imperceptible nod. "That's how it is? All right then. Good luck."
She walks past him. He silently curses himself for sitting with his back to the door, because although he can hear the bell when she opens it, he can't watch her storm off into the sunset.