Title: Crossing the Line

Author: I Heart Edward Cullen

Theme: Pinball

Summary: In which much mischief is had, Andy-Drew's record is broken, and Pam ends up actually getting her money's worth out of that crap the paid programming sells. Shocking.

A/N: Don't you hate it when you're washing something, and drop the hose and it falls on the sprayer handle and it absolutely soaks you? And is it just me, or are Otter Pops smaller than when you were a little kid? Everything was bigger when you were a little kid…

- - - - -

Jim was working on consuming his recommended daily ration of jelly beans. Not an easy task, mind you. He had standards to uphold, rigorous ones, a dependency to cater to that had been built up by many cumulative years of pouring refined sugar into his system. Why, if he didn't get his daily allotment of artificial flavors and dye, he might just be sent into a catastrophic downward spiral of wholesome living, including such dastardly items as wheat grass protein shakes and organic shampoo, and that could only lead to many jelly bean workers losing their jobs. Not a pretty picture.

He was in the midst of explaining this concept to Pam (it was supposed to eventually turn into an argument for her buying a larger bowl) when she interrupted him.

"Remember how you said that I owed you for scaring Michael off earlier? You're going to have to call that off, because I have just paid you back," she crowed, obviously very pleased with herself.

Jim cocked an eyebrow. "Really? You're going to one-up the spread of west nile? I'd like to see you try."

She wasn't shaken. "Wait for the clock to strike the hour. Then you'll find out where I went during lunch."

- - - - -

Michael: See, I was down at corporate a few weeks ago, meeting with the Head Honcho, right? I hadn't really seen much of the guy since I walked in on him and his wife doin' the naught-ay in his office, but they didn't see me, and I hadn't really thought about it until when I was checking in for our meeting.

He pauses, thinking about how to go on.

Michael: Me and Jan, we aren't the only office relationship going on around here. Sides Jim and Pam, it's nice to see that the guy actually married his secretary. Lucky dude- she must he half his age, and is just smoking hot.

Michael gestures futilely, somehow trying to convey her hot-ness with hand gestures. He eventually settles on a rough hourglass after much flailing about.

Michael: So I asked him, "How are things going with you and Shirley?" Take note, that's one of my business tips for success there, always ask your boss about their relationships- and he just freaks out. I thought I might have gotten her name wrong or something, cuz I thought it was Barb, but that's what it said on her nametag when she checked me in, so whatever. But the guy goes totally loco on me, I'm tellin' you, totally giving me the sixth degree, asking about how I knew about her, blah blah blah… totally overprotective. Jan must be glad I'm not like that. And out of the blue, he gave me a $6000 bonus!

He gestures to a very large cardboard box in the corner, obviously whatever he spent his money on.

Michael: People can be so nice sometimes.

- - - - -

Oscar: See, me and Kevin have this bet going on why Michael hasn't been fired yet, because it's quite obvious that a trained chimpanzee would probably be more efficient and cost effective.

He glances at Michael from the corner of his eye, as he and Dwight attack the box with razors. Something about his expression suggests that he's hoping that one of their hands slip.

Oscar: Kevin thinks that Michael is sleeping with someone besides Jan up at corporate. I think he just has some dirt on one of them.

He glances thoughtfully at the pair.

Oscar: But I kind of doubt that he's smart enough to blackmail someone like that.

- - - - -

Pam and Jim are now in the break room. He's leaning up against one of the soda machines, and she's sitting on the counter. Suddenly, the fake lighted cover on the soda machine gives into his weight, caving inward with a rather ugly 'pop' and nearly sending him sprawling. She doesn't quite manage to restrain her giggles as he eyes the rather prominent dent, distorting all the fake condensation on the can as tall as he is.

They look at one another. "Dwight did it."

Moving on, Pam points at the ceiling. "Okay, so you know those clocks that make the different bird noises every hour?"

Jim nods. "From the late night insomniac infomercials. Go on."

Pam beams, delighted that he's following her. "Yeah. From the same people who brought us that talking fish plaque. Anyway, so I kind of stole your idea from when you chucked Andy's, excuse me, Drew's, cell phone in the ceiling, and put the bird clock up there. When it goes off, I also have some other props," she says, waving a bag of Big-Bird-Yellow craft feathers.

There's a great deal of love in Jim's eyes. But it's probably from the thought of making Dwight a hypochondriac. He gestures towards Michael's newest present. "Awaiting deployment- just give me the word."

- - - - -

Michael: Arrrrggh. Me mateys. Yo ho. There be me booty! Savvy?

In case that isn't clear enough, Michael makes an expressive gesture towards his Pirates of the Caribbean pinball machine. It looks very large and very expensive, and takes up the space his conspicuously absent desk used to occupy. He snickers and prances around his office in a rather disturbing fashion, in a crude imitation of a Jack Sparrow sashay.

Michael: Seriously, Jack Sparrow is the coolest dude ever. He's got wenches- although you can't call them that around Toby, that loser, always have to say prostitutes- he's got treasure, he's got a ship…

He stares off into the distance, misty-eyed.

Michael: I've always wanted to do that, just sail off for adventure, get rich, kiss Keira Knightley… maybe that's what I'll do when I retire. This is where I'm needed. For now. He went down with his ship, and as captain of Dunder Mifflin I think that's my responsibility too.

- - - - -

Pam subtlety nods towards the clock, and Jim takes that as his cue, setting down his work and eyeing Dwight, his froggish eyes obscured behind the glare on his glasses.

Jim makes a show of throwing his pencil to his desk, whipping from side to side in a poorly done show of paranoia. Dwight glares at him. "Halpert. I still do not trust you. Your pathetic attempt to instill fright in me will do no good."

Jim jims, the very incarnation of innocence. "Dwight, what are you accusing me of? I haven't done anything. I just thought I heard a bird chirping somewhere in here." He shrugs, motioning towards the ceiling.

Dwight narrows his eyes. "I know very well that birds are most active during the early morning and evening periods during the summer. I'm not a fool, Halpert."

Pam chooses that moment to chime in. "Oh, Dwight, I forgot to tell you- I think I saw another one of those cups of water in the break room. I would have gotten rid of it myself, but I'm deathly afraid of mosquitoes and thought that I should just leave it up to a professional Volunteer Sheriff, like you." She gives a maidenly sigh, holding the back of her hand up to her forehead.

Dwight stalks off, suspicious, muttering about womenfolk, clearly trying to restrain himself from mentioning how he is, in fact, an ex-Volunteer Sheriff.

GymHowlPert: Lovely acting there, Beesley.

FanSeeKnewBeesLee: I'd like to thank the academy, my mom, my 3rd grade music teacher…

GymHowlPert: Now all you have to do is hit the mission targets to select mission.

FanSeeKnewBeesLee: No more pinball for you.

- - - - -

Jim is leaning casually on Michael's door frame, watching, bemused, as his boss cheers about breaking 100,000 points. He waits a few more minutes, for him to wind down his victory dance, then announces his presence. "Michael? Toby wanted me to ask you how those personnel reports are coming."

Michael narrows his eyes, something like bloodlust passing over his face. "I'll get them to him. Eventually. Can't you see I'm a little busy?"

"Okay…" Jim's a bit confused, but he's used to it. He restrains a grin. "I see you're a bit of a Johnny Depp fan."

Michael gapes at him. "A bit? C'mon. Look at this baby!" The look in his eyes is startlingly similar to someone looking at the Porsche they restored by hand.

Jim takes a deep breath, composing himself, then makes an effort to make his words even. "You see, I have this cousin down in San Francisco, Jon, and his partner's in this band. Jon sent me this CD last Christmas, but since the only thing they sing about in Johnny Depp, I thought you might enjoy it more than I do." He hands Michael the unmarked CD in a grand gesture, then whispers conspiratorially. "I guess I'm just more of a John Travolta person myself."

His boss snorts. "Whatever. Guess there's no accounting for taste." He snatches the CD greedily.

Jim scoffs. "C'mon! I'd like to see you dance like Vincent Vega-"

They're interrupted by an ear-splitting crash and some rather creative (if not technically swearing) cussing from the general direction of the break room.

- - - - -

The carnage is terrific, but the look on Dwight's plaster covered face is better. He's clutching the bird clock like a life preserver, looking on in horror at the large hole he just tore in the break room ceiling. Pam darts up to Jim's side, eyes wide, mouth running in an undertone.

"I saw the whole thing from reception! Dwight heard the clock go off when he was looking for another cup like I planned, so he climbed up on the counter looking for the bird and slipped. He was holding onto one of those thin little beams though, and the whole thing came crashing down around him… I think I might have gone too far this time." The look in her eyes is terrible, guilt-stricken and disgusted by her own elation at a prank gone all too right.

Jim's at a loss. As much as he hates Dwight and Dunder Mifflin, this is a bit extreme… and not to mention they won't have use of the break room while the ceiling is fixed. Providing Pam doesn't get found out and subsequently fired.

Oh dear.

He seizes upon the first thing that comes to mind. "I gave Michael a CD from some band named Gay for Johnny Depp." It comes out in a bit of a rush, and he wonders if she even understood what he said.

It isn't helped by fact that it takes her a good long time to respond. Pam stares at him, then at the ceiling, back to Jim, then the still-catatonic Dwight, Michael's shocked expression, and back to Jim again. Eventually she cracks a smile, a small snort.

"Now that's just mean."

- - - - -

A/N II: There is such a thing as a Pirates of the Caribbean pinball machine. I played on one while I was waiting for my flight at the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport. And Gay for Johnny Depp is an actual band too, although I haven't actually listened to any of their music… I found them on Wikipedia. Apparently they are heavy screamo. –shrugs- Might be fun to have on hand though, to blast from speakers to deter in-laws, parents, general unwanted authority figures… providing they could understand the lyrics.

And was Dwight a Volunteer Sheriff or Volunteer Sheriff's Deputy? Hmm. Eh, who cares…

Karen went Ka-Poof! this chapter.