This might be the strangest "Office" fan fiction ever written. Let me know if I should keep going.
"I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday"
Michael: I am a man. It's true. And sometimes, men need help. I used to go to "Ask A Gay Man," but I just felt like I could probably find a better gay man on my own. And then I thought I have a whole office full of people who would love to help me, and I don't care if they're gay or straight or bisexual or in-breeders... It doesn't matter to me, because we're family.
----
"So," Jim was hanging from his usual spot, "how was your weekend Beesly?"
"Okay," Pam was deeply immersed in getting Michael's work done (somebody had to) and barely seemed to register his presence, "Roy was out of town."
"Oh, sorry," Jim felt genuinely sorry for just how sorry he didn't genuinely feel.
"It's all right," Pam replied, still too distracted by her job to pay much attention to her distraction, "I had multiple sleep-gasms."
Jim perked up. "'Sleep-gasms?'"
Now Pam realized what she had said and finally set down her boss's work. "You know when you wake up and you realize that you're still tired and don't have to be anywhere, so you just roll over and go back to sleep?"
The wider Jim smiled, the more Pam blushed. He found that fascinating and had to experiment with that later. "Yeah."
"Well," she finished, "that's a sleep-gasm."
"Oh, 'cos it's like..."
"Right."
"I like that," Jim agreed, nodding. "Although... wouldn't snore-gasm work better?"
"No," Pam made a face at him, "because I don't snore."
"Well, how would I know that?" Jim asked, trying his best to keep the regret out of his voice. "I've never seen you sleep."
He must have been successful, because Pam didn't call him on it. She did, however, call him on the inaccuracy of his statement. "That's a lie and you know it."
Jim nodded. She had him there.
----
Jim, extremely pleased with himself: This is where you're going to show that little clip where she falls asleep on my shoulder, right? Go ahead, it's cool...
----
"Hey, Jimbo, could I see you in here for a minute," Michael called over from his office door.
Temporarily unable to think of a reason why not, Jim shrugged. "Absolutely," he replied. To Pam he whispered, "have a nice sleep, Beesly."
Once in the office and the door safely closed behind him, Michael gestured for Jim to have a seat.
"What's up?" Jim asked. This was clearly important, at least in Michael's mind; Jim could tell from how unnaturally quiet Michael was being.
"I need your help," Michael said softly.
Jim was careful not make any movements of any kind. He obviously didn't want Michael to think he was committing to help until he knew exactly what he was agreeing to help with. "What's the problem, Michael?"
Michael looked around, making sure the cameras weren't watching. They were, of course, but he didn't know that. "I need you..." he paused, trying to get the words out in the exact opposite way one tries to force a large piece of food down, "... to teach me how to dance."
Jim blinked hard enough to rupture time and space. "Wow."
Michael nodded. "Yeah."
Jim cocked his head to the side, hoping that things made a little more sense from a slightly different angle. "And you thought I would be the person to ask about this?"
"Well, the ladies do love Jim Halpert," Michael laughed and punched Jim in the shoulder, probably harder than he intended.
Jim had been to dinner with three women in the last two months, one of whom was his mother. "That they do," he agreed.
Michael grinned like a Cheshire cat.
"Still," Jim added pointedly, "don't you think you need a woman?"
Michael's smile fell. "Um... I... hadn't..."
"I mean, I can show you fast dances, but..." Jim knew his boss well enough to know that being turned gay by slow-dancing with a man probably seemed like a real possibility to Michael Scott. Jim wondered if this would win out over his crippling fear of women.
Apparently it could, but just barely. "Well, that's true, but..."
"I'll tell you what," if Jim couldn't get out of this one, he was at least going to make the most of it, "why don't we get Pam to help us?"
Michael's head perked up.
----
Jim: She is not going to forgive me for this one any time soon.
----
As he past her desk on the way back to his, Jim murmured "I'm sorry."
Pam looked up at him. "For what?"
"You'll see," he replied, moving back to his desk.
----
Jim: Hey, if this documentary does really good, can I have a spin-off? 'Cos I've got this idea where I'm stuck in space and Dwight and Michael start sending me these really bad movies...
Pam: Can I be in it, too?
Jim: Well, it would be the robot-you...
Pam: I could...
Jim: PamBot...
----
Whenever Jim wondered how Corporate managed to let Michael Scott run a branch, he got a little glimpse into the inner workings of the company a suddenly it all made sense. "I just got an email from someone at the main office telling me that Spider-Man was changing his costume." How did he even get on these lists anyway?
"I could beat Spider-Man," Dwight said, completely serious.
"Really?"
"Easily," he laughed.
"How would you do that?" Jim encouraged him. It was a pretty slow day and he was bored. "You do know he can do anything a spider can, right?"
"Simple," Dwight puffed, "take away his Mary Jane."
"Well, sure," Jim agreed, "he can't get high without that."
Dwight looked at him with frank hatred. "Have you always been a criminal?"
Jim nodded darkly. "For as long as I can remember."
----
Jim, thoughtfully reflective: You see, it all goes back to my wasted youth...
Pam: Of course.
Jim: Back then, I used to run guns for the Christian Science Monitor and...
He stops, suddenly emotionally overwrought.
Jim: I'm sorry, can you... Can we just turn the cameras off?
Pam puts an arm on his shoulder in sympathy.
Pam: Is this getting too real for you, Jim?
Jim: Yeah, I... Can we be less real?
Pam: Okay...
JAM: Let's be Laguna Beach.
Jim: Jinx!
Pam looks at him with wide-eyed shock.
Jim, to the camera: I cannot tell you how long I have waited for this day.
----
"The point is," Dwight continued, "Spider-Man allowed himself to be compromised when he made an emotional attachment to another human being."
"Of course." Jim was frightened by the ability he was slowly getting to understand Dwight's own brand of logic. Maybe it was time to request another desk.
Dwight nodded. "Any personal attachment can ultimately be used against you in battle. That is why I permit myself no such attachments."
"Oh, so... that's why." He could move his desk an inch closer to reception every day, and no one would notice anything until it was too late.
"I have much to teach you," Dwight said, disturbingly Yoda-like.
----
Jim, poignantly: I felt like a child born of two fathers, Elias... and Dwight Schrute.