A/N: This has been sitting on my computer forever. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Office. Of course, when I take over the world, The Office is the first thing I will take over. Pam will have octuplets.

June tenth. JunetenthJunetenthJunetenth.

He should've gone to Australia. Took a plane and got sunburn and thrust his problems drunkenly into the sympathetic eyes of a tired bartender.

He didn't go, though. And when he got in his car, he almost drove there. To the church. To see her get married. He still has the invitation, stuck to his fridge, because he wants to kill himself more than he wants to forget her.

He doesn't go to the tiny church. He stops at the local liquor store, on June ninth. Then he goes to Wal-Mart, simply because looking at seven dollar Dora The Explorer backpacks make him feel a little better.

Jim has stopped trying to understand himself.

But he wandered over to the day-old bakery section and picked out a chocolate cake. Cheap, but it had lots of frosting and he doesn't even stop to think that chocolate cake and hard liquor? Not quite the combination he was going for.

But Pam is getting married tomorrow and he can't forget, won't forget, and those words seem to be on repeat in his mind. The cynical side of him, the part of his mind that always said that she'd get married to Roy, keeps whispering those words. Pam is getting married tomorrow.

So he finds himself on June tenth laying on his couch. Stuck halfway between sleeping and awake, with his head pounding and the shades drawn up. Light, light, light, blinds him and he hates himself for being too lazy to roll over or pull the shade down.

His mind rumbles with information, the same stuff that usually rolls around and reaches the surface when he lays down and can't stop his busy mind from sweeping itself over the past.

His head hurts with mixed berry yogurt and whitest sneakers and paper doves and jinx and french onion chips and you have very nice teeth and blow my brains out and black cat costume and you have to take a chance on something, sometime and Edward Scissorhands The Breakfast Club The Princess Bride Dazed and Confused and Fargo and I can't I can't I can't...

He told his mom not to give his new address to anyone in Scranton. Of course, he means mostly Pam, and his mom knows this.

His stomach makes a noise, and it isn't from hunger. He suspects he'll be puking soon, since brandy mixed with nothing, swirling around his stomach with old chocolate cake isn't quite the combination he was going for.

He feels sick.

He should have gone to Australia.

The pounding in his head intensifies, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that it isn't his head, it's the door. Bam, bam, bam, bam. Someone knocking.

Jim stands up, wearing nothing but boxers and covering himself with a ratty afghan. No, afghani. Afghanistananie. Jesus, why is he even getting up to open the door?

If it's his mom, she'll be mad if he doesn't answer. That's why he opens the door. Right?

He yanks it open, trying to make his eyes focus and his head stop hurting and his legs from giving way.

"Hi," he squeaks when he sees her, standing outside in old jeans, a too-large sweatshirt and hair thrown up in a ponytail. Not wedding attire. Not work attire. Visiting a friend attire? He isn't sure.

"You're drunk," she states simply, sounding one part sympathetic and two parts annoyed, disgusted. He wants to slam the door shut in her pretty face, see what she thinks then.

"No! Sorry. I just... sorry. I didn't want to start this like... that."

He sighs. "Why are you here? My mom wasn't supposed to tell anyone where I was." His voice is scratchy and his eyes are red, watering constantly. He's sick, probably.

"Um..." She seems unsure, because he hasn't moved over to give her room to come in. "I told your mom who I was. And why I needed to see you."

He grunts a little. She doesn't get it, but just swallows and gives him a second to talk.

"Wha'd you tell her, exactly?" In that moment, Pam almost thinks he's glad he isn't in Australia.

"I told her my name was Pam Beesly. And it was staying that way. So... yeah."

He looks down, gives a smile he's guilty for having, like the way he smiled when she fell asleep on his shoulder. Pam giggles and walks up to him and hugs him, smelling vodka and brandy and chocolate and she thinks... okay. This isn't exactly the combination I was expecting.

But what was she expecting, exactly?

Reviews? Yeah, they make me feel good. You know, so if you're considering reviewing... I would say you should. *Bites lip and stares off into the distance*.