I saw him enter the office with a flourish that I hadn't seen before. I groaned as he stopped in place, standing over my desk with a slight grin on his face. I prepared myself for the torturous jokes that he had thought of while watching HBO last night.

"Pam," Michael spoke clearly, slight grin fading as he saw my depressed features. "Did David Wallace call about two hours ago?"

I sighed. "Michael – remember when you told me to tell any person who calls before you get here – that you're off flying a solo astronaut mission?"

I fully expected his face to break into joyous laughter, crinkles in his mouth stretch as the poor joke made its way into his slow brain.

But this never happened.

"I – I remember that," he let out, words unusually measured and calm. "Pam – for future reference, could you just forward those calls to my personal phone?"

I burst into laughter, unable to contain myself.

"Wha – Wha – Michael! Are you drunk?"

He looked at me with a confused expression. "Something funny?"

It didn't seem so funny anymore. "No – it's just that – Michael – "

My voice was becoming softer now, as he was staring daggers straight at me while he fumbled with suitcase. I felt distinctly uneasy – not the usual unease I experienced when he would interact with me – but a rare form of regret that I never felt when Michael was speaking.

" - that was a serious response," I finished, examining his face with interest. "I – would never expect a serious response from you, Michael."

I smiled – a bit out of nervous anxiety – and he didn't return it. He gave me a stare that inherently made me turn my gaze to Jim, who was already analyzing the entire situation from the safe distance his desk allowed him to be.

Michael only lingered for a second more, shaking his head in frustration before marching slowly back into his office, shutting the doors and drawing the blinds.

I tried to see him a bit more, but Jim flashed the smile he always did when I was upset – and I forgot about it.

Almost.

. . .

It was National Pie-Eating day – a holiday that was entirely invented by Michael.

Not that he had seemed to care. In the past few weeks, he would seldom talk to anyone – and the trademark conferences and parties that he used to mandate for the entire office – were now a thing of the past. Now, he would emerge from his office only to make the most obvious of assertions – that the sales staff needed to pick up their numbers, that restructuring needed to happen, and any human resources issues were promptly dealt with. I of course, always would try to watch him from my new desk as a saleswoman instead of as a receptionist – but I never caught anything about his behavior that seemed Michael-like. In fact – I didn't recognize the man at all, even if he did manage to speak to me.

"Pamera!"

I recognized the voice before I heard the words, so I felt happy rather than angered.

Jim's tall frame shrewdly slid into my view, peeking up from above me while leaning his forearms on my desk.

"So – when is the party?" he asked, biting his lip in a mockingly seductive fashion. "Did you see Dwight preparing for it? Bought a whole truck's worth of pies..."

"Yeah," I agreed, smiling in earnest. "I hear his farm made him so rich..."

A sudden noise. I could tell it who it was from the weight of his footsteps, the gravitas in his approach...

Gravitas. Good God. I actually described Michael Scott as having gravitas...

"Hey Michael," I broke in, asking the approaching, coated figure with interest. "Everyone's asking when the party is for the pies – we haven't had a party in a while..."

He seemed dazed for a moment, appeared to be lost with something else. Jim felt awkward at the silence, breaking it with gusto.

"So! Michael – anything wrong?"

Michael snapped back to reality, adjusting his coat collar to tighten more firmly around his neck. He looked at Jim with utter loathing – a look I had only seen when he had talked to Wallace about Holly.

"I don't understand," Michael announced, bringing his stare down to the ground. "Pam – we don't have the funds for any more office parties. Jim – could you rephrase your question?"

My mouth opened, slack-jawed. Jim stuttered in place.

"I – I – Michael I was just – "

"I have a meeting to go to," Michael cut across, walking swiftly out of the room.

I looked at the clock. Just a couple minutes to five.

Jim didn't smile at me this time.

. . .

Work was becoming less about talking to Jim and more about discharging my duties as a salesperson. I was getting better – but this was only because Michael regularly met with me every two weeks to give me tips on how to better my numbers – Jim always thought it was unnecessary, considering how he was just a bit behind Dwight – still the top salesman in the company.

But now we were in the conference room. Jim was seated next to me, expression grave as he focused on the man in front of the room – unusual, to say the least. Everyone was seated like Jim was – whether it was Stanley or Andy.

Everyone was focused on Michael Scott.

"To be frank, I never see the cause for an electronic upheaval of our current filing system," Michael announced, addressing Oscar. "But if you can present a few solid, logical reasons for it – I'd appreciate that. Budget should also be considered..."

Murmurs and laughter ensued. I laughed a bit too, but was disappointed as Michael closed the door.

"The past few months, you all have been repeatedly laughing at my – words," Michael noted, staring at the ground as his employees tried to meet his eyes. "I'd greatly appreciate any respect you all could give me."

Darryl spoke up quickly, voice low and sarcastic. "For five months you've been all – business-like Mike – all the late nights working, the lack of parties... people are going crazy man."

I saw Michael's face harden with anger. He didn't seem actually angry at Darryl – but it was a kind of self-loathing, maybe even a bit of regret. I wanted to speak to him, but I didn't know what to say.

Michael chuckled a bit. "I know for a fact that none of you respect me."

Gasps ensued. Andy and Dwight tried to sound off any complaints with this but Michael shut them down.

"Don't – please for the sake of God don't lie to my face," Michael forced. "I know you all have a low opinion of my intelligence, management style, and work ethic. I'm not asking for your respect of me personally – but at least, your obedience to me professionally. That's – just the way the corporate hierarchy goes. Please."

This was a long-winded answer – but it wasn't long-winded. It was long, but stern. Jim couldn't say anything beside me. The circle of seats in the room were quiet – quieter than they had ever been in the years that I had worked here.

"Michael!" I sounded off, standing up desperately. "Is this – some kind of joke? What's with you these days?"

He looked at me, buttoning his coat before opening the door leading out of the cramped conference room.

"Pam, I do not want to talk to you about any personal matters," he spoke. "Please do not talk to me in that manner again."

This hurt more than I thought it would. He moved past the open door, walking into his office on the other side.

. . .

Our sales numbers were higher than ever before. Work was miserable – no one laughed anymore. We often tried to make jokes with each other – Jim did at least – but no one really laughed. There were some chuckles – maybe some giggles (mostly from me)...

But never anything past a couple of those.

Dwight resigned a couple weeks ago, saying that Michael had informed him that he could do much better at another paper company. I think it was Staples or something, I never got to hear most of the conversation.

Michael wasn't Michael. Aside from locking himself in that office for practically the beginning of the day till he left the office – there hadn't been a party in a year. A couple of the warehouse guys came up, sometimes making jokes about how Michael was turning into Josh from the Stamford branch – but I disagree.

Michael wasn't becoming Josh. Michael was – becoming everything Michael wasn't supposed to be. He was becoming everything Michael – and the rest of the office, wouldn't want him to be.

Logical.

Cold.

Rational.

Professional.

Away.

He stopped talking to most of us – aside from the occasional, random meet up at the water cooler. Jim and I took a risk yesterday, asking him to come over to dinner – and he shooed us away, telling us not to make fun of him.

I couldn't sleep that night. What was I – or anyone else – doing to him?

Jim tried to comfort me.

"It's just a phase," he cooed, shaking my neatly rolled hair. "Michael goes through these things and goes back into Michael. We'll see Prison Mike in no time."

"It's been a year," I noted. "I haven't seen a single Prison Mike episode. I haven't seen Michael even get out of his office without having some business to announce to everyone. And he turned down our invite..."

"Probably was actually busy... Pam, why do you care so much?" Jim asked, raising an eyebrow smugly. "Do you – love him?"

This brought a laugh to my face. "No – nice one. But no, I mean – don't you see? Something's wrong with him..."

Jim never believed me. But the rest of the office did.

I talked to them often about Michael. Everyone just spent the day talking about Michael.

Actually, Jim did too.

. . .

Dwight and I managed to track down Toby for a second – meeting him at the annex. I figured that if there was anyone that would know Michael's state – it was the human resources rep.

As it turned out, Michael was now ridiculously guarded about his private life – but he had made more visits to Toby. He spoke to Toby way more than everyone else.

Toby told me that Michael just spent hours talking about how unsatisfied he was with his job. About how many years of his life he has wasted trying to gain respect from people – who clearly didn't respect him.

About how he wished he could leave Scranton – and leave all of us... "arrogant, cruel assholes" behind.

I thought of all the things we had done to Michael. Everything he did to us in the past was in good faith. Everything we did –

Well, I had to agree with him.

. . .

No one saw it coming. Not even Toby – who apparently was talking with Michael even more than what he had thought. One day – Michael Scott stopped coming into work.

Angela was the first one to see the resignation letter. She saw it on his desk when she tried (as everyone had done for months) to just try talking to the man – the man who wasn't recognizable anymore.

But the chair was empty. The coat wasn't there. A single piece of paper was on the desk.

Everyone had left the office by now. It was half past five – but no one felt happy to go back to their lives at home. Everyone was – dead inside, lost without a constant, erratic, spontaneous joyful presence to guide their lives – even if they despised it.

Him.

I stuck around for a while, ignoring the texts Jim were sending me from inside our car in the parking lot.

I had to see the letter.

I walked into the cramped office. I couldn't recognize any of it – all the souvenirs on his desk were long gone, and the walls didn't have any posters or pictures. He had cleaned everything out well.

I picked up the slender paper, reading the words carefully.

To Toby Flenderson, H.R rep of Scranton branch of Dunder Mifflin,

I chuckled. So formal.

I kept reading.

This is my official two weeks notice – although you may notice that when you find this letter, I am already gone. I decided to take my paid vacation days just before my two weeks notice – I really didn't want to sit there in that place any longer. I hate it here.

That's the legal part – me officially telling you it's all over.

Here's the personal part.

Thanks Toby. For everything. Thanks for talking to me – even after all our previous history. You must know – that the way I was before – was just because I – wanted to help people. I wanted to be close to people. I – loved my coworkers more than an entire family. They were my surrogate siblings, relatives, etc. I loved them more than they could have ever seen me.

A tear escapes from my eyes. It's too honest. It's too brutal.

But they never cared for me. They took my misguided innocence for deliberate malice and stupidity. They made fun of me behind my back. They hurt me. They blew off every single invite. They – treated me with more contempt than I ever realized that the world could be capable of giving.

Toby, you know that I'm a loving person. I love people.

But this office is full of arrogant, raging narcissists who are so obsessed with the idea of being a "normal, nice" person that they forget how to deal with people with more – open personalities such as myself.

I used to love them. I don't care what happens to them now.

I'm not telling anyone where or when I start my new job. I don't want any of them to know where I am now.

I'm at peace, away from all the people who hurt me after I loved them.

They don't deserve me.

Your friend,

Michael Scott.

I didn't realize how much I had cried before I focused my eyes and saw the splotches of wetness on each patch of the paper. I put the sheet down, wiping away tears even as they continued to flow.

Nothing would be the same. He just wanted love – we just wanted normalcy.

But he was kind. We were wrong. We were stupid. We messed it all up.

I wished at least – he could have told me before leaving. Then I could cry in front of him, tell him how sorry we all were, about how great of a boss he was, about how much he meant to us – about how we all secretly loved him for everything he had – personality, charming humor, but more than that...

He loved us. He did. More than any boss ever did.

But not anymore. We killed Michael Scott.

He was right. We never deserved him.

A/N

Not sure what made me write this – but I just felt that – there should be an honest discussion into the consequences of what would have happened if Michael Scott became self-aware.

Personally, I always loved Michael Scott. I never liked the snobbishness the other characters had – and I always felt there should have been at least one episode where Michael just shows everyone the truth of how deluded everyone is.

R/R if you want.

~TW