Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
Spoilers: Only if you don't know who Karen is (so general S3).
(Updated 16 September 2007)She had started spending more time in front of the mirror each day. Before work she laboriously fussed with her hair -- experimenting with ways to improve her look, striving for fancy and new. During work she would take a few extra moments in the ladies' room, wetting her fingers to smooth out the frizz. When the hands on the clock crept toward five, she would sneak off once more, preparing herself for... a night at home on the couch. She wondered if anyone out there, anyone besides Michael (and Roy, but only when he wanted something), thought of her as beautiful.
She traded her cherry Chap-Stick for actual lip gloss: strawberry flavored and in a small tin, meant to be applied with one's finger or a delicate brush. She would wait until her monitor turned off, with a clicking sound, from inactivity -- a solitaire game left untouched, an email left unsent -- and would use the screen as a mirror, gliding a glossed finger over lips left chapped by the Scranton winter. She was embarrassed and always careful not to let anyone see her newfound vanity.
He always saw. In the mornings, as she hung her coat on the rack with her back to him, he always noticed the way her hair curled, or the way it fell straight but with a gentle wave. He blushed every time she walked by on the way to the restroom, and held back a smile as she returned, looking more beautiful than before. He always saw, out of the corner of his eye, the way she ducked down to brush her finger across her lips. Strawberry, he'd think. He would wait a moment before finding an excuse to walk over and lean against the reception counter.
He had it down to a science -- go too soon and he might give himself away; wait too long and the smell of fresh strawberries and cream would have dissipated into the air. Sometimes he would spend the six steps over thinking about kissing her. Again. Would it be a new taste? he thought. At 5:03pm he'd stand behind his chair with his bag over his shoulder, waiting for her to return to her desk (more beautiful than before, he thought). He'd ask her to Poor Richard's for a drink. No, he'd ask her to have dinner with him at... anywhere but Chili's. A hand on his shoulder followed by an "Are you ready?" would startle him, pulling him back to the almost empty office. He wondered if she knew what he'd been thinking, wondered if the woman he was about to take home for the night knew he'd been thinking about kissing somebody else's strawberry-glossed lips.
She always knew. Coming out of the kitchenette with her coffee, she'd catch him staring at her. She'd look up from her work, but he wouldn't be looking back at her. She'd get him to crack a smile as they ate lunch together, just the two of them, in the break room; but she could never get him to grin the way she could. It hurt, it hurt and she wouldn't lie to herself about it. This was an unfamiliar predicament for her. She had always been the smart, beautiful, successful woman in every crowd. She got what she wanted because she fought hard for it. Opportunities rarely just fell into her lap, both career-wise and relationship-wise.
She'd spent months, now, trying to make this work. She'd remind herself that she was the one who got to spend nights at his place; she was the one he took for drinks after work. She was the assertive one, and it was hardly her fault if that worked in her favor. She wasn't about to forfeit the game to someone who wouldn't even step up to the plate. No, she'd derail that train of thought, Pam had been nothing but nice to her since the merger. But still, she'd steal her own glances at the reception desk, and her eyes would drift slowly over to him. She wondered if he knew she was growing tired of it all, tired of the silent war they three were fighting. She wondered if he cared.