A/N: I want to thank you all again for your wonderful reviews, it's really given me the gusto to keep this sucker going! Sad to say, this is the last chapter, and it's a shame because I had so much fun writing this fic. Hopefully, I'll find the inspiration to do more Office fics, because these are a blast! Thanks again, guys!
Jim looked at the clock above his mantle in the living room and rubbed his hands together. Seven o'clock. He had planned to leave at seven-fifteen to be at Pam's directly on time, hopefully being no earlier or later than he anticipated, but with the rain and Dwight's spying interfering with his plans, Jim decided to take a chance and leave now. He stood from the couch with a sigh, straightened his shirt, and grabbed the lilies from the sink of the kitchen. As Jim fiddled with his car keys, he opened the door as though it were the gateway to another world—a new, more exciting world with even greater possibilities.
Jim to camera:
"It's kind of a miracle," Jim said, walking down the front pathway of his house. "The second I step out the door, the rain stops. Maybe this is a good sign, I don't know, but . . . I'm optimistic." Jim paused, looking at the camera as he walked to his car on the street. "I still don't know what we're going to do for dinner. Maybe I should ask Dwight—hey, Dwight!"
000
"Angela, I have to go!" Dwight hissed into his phone. He looked out his window to see Jim waving towards him. "My mission is faltering, I have to—"
"Dwight, hey!" Jim continued to call.
"Don't get hysterical," Dwight said into the phone. "Angela, you are interfering with my mission!" Dwight stopped and watched as Jim continued to move towards him. "Don't call it stupid, Michael knows exactly what he's doing! Oh yeah? Well I think you're out of line tonight, Angela!"
Jim knocked on Dwight's window, causing the man to jump and nearly drop his cell phone. Dwight slowly lowered the automatic windows on his car and stared up at Jim with a stern, unwavering face, the phone still attached to his ear. "What's up, dawg?"
Jim had to use every fiber of his being not to laugh at his ridiculous coworker. "Yeah, could you maybe move your car?" Jim asked, his lips itching to crack a grin. "You're blocking me in."
Dwight continued to stare. "Sure thing, I—"
"Dwight? Dwight, answer me . . ." Angela said, loud enough on the other end for Jim to hear.
Jim cocked his head to the side. "Who's on the phone?"
Dwight took the phone away from his ear and clasped it shut, never taking his intense gaze off of Jim. "No one." he said.
Jim nodded. "Great. So, uh . . .?"
"Oh, right." Dwight broke his concentration and turned the ignition of his car.
Jim rapped on the door of Dwight's car. "Thanks, man." He turned and walked towards his car, giving the camera an amused look.
Dwight dialed quickly as he turned his car around, peeling out as he went west down Hanson Street. "Michael!" Dwight cried on the phone. "Jim is out of his house and I am currently perusing him by vehicle. Repeat: Jim has flown the nest, the mongoose is hot on the trail!"
Michael sat on his couch at home, flipping through channels on the TV and cradling the phone between his neck and ear. He had long since grown tired of Dwight's mission, keeping his worker on the assignment only because there wasn't a good movie on TV. Luckily for Michael, Dwight's calls usually came between commercials, providing the regional manager with something else to focus on in between shows.
"How far behind him are you following?" Michale asked Dwight.
"Actually, I'm ahead of him."
Michael sat up on the couch and leaned forward. "If you're ahead of him, how can you possibly be following him?"
Dwight looked in his rear-view mirror and snapped his phone shut. "Damn it!" he cried.
Dwight to camera:
"I work well under pressure. When something isn't going my way, I take a moment inside my head to asses the situation and decide how it can work in my favor. Michael has given me some tough assignments before—stalking Oscar, investigating the illegal substance found in the parking lot—and I've never not gotten to the bottom of these cases." Dwight paused, smiling at the camera. "I'd say I'm pretty good at my job. Don't believe me?" He chuckled. "Just ask Michael."
Michael to camera:
"Dwight's an idiot."
000
As Pam sat in the middle of her couch, knees together and ankles apart, she stared out the window and shuddered, catching a reflection of herself and Kelly's hideous makeover in the glass. Her coworker had since left, offering to help straighten out Pam's room by stuffing her clothes in the closet and smoothing her bed sheets. As Pam had walked by the room while on her way to the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of Kelly spraying perfume on her pillows.
Pam to camera:
"It really was sweet of Kelly to try and help me like she did. I mean, I know she was just trying to be nice . . ." Pam paused. "Except, it's kind of like I was the mom and Kelly was the little girl playing dress-up with me. It's cute at first, but when the child goes down for a nap and you actually see yourself in the mirror, you kind of want to ground that child for making you look like a hooker." Pam stopped and lowered her head. "But I can't stay mad at her, even if she did take a picture of me to save on her 'makeover wall'." Pam paused again. "I'm actually kind of happy for Ryan."
000
Jim knew Dwight was still following him, even as he pulled up to Pam's apartment building across the street. Looking through his rear view mirror, he saw Dwight park a mere three cars behind him and shook his head.
"Alright," Jim said to himself, sighing triumphantly. "Here we go."
Jim to camera:
"I'm really excited. I've been waiting for this for a long time and now that it's finally here . . ." Jim trailed off, thinking to himself. "But I don't have any expectations or anything." He chuckled and held up his hands. "This is an expectation-free night. We definitely have some talking to do, and I think Pam feels the same way, but . . . this is the first time we can really, truly be together alone, without any other obstacles." Jim paused. "And that feels really good."
000
Jim got out of his car, lilies in hand, with a cautious sense of optimism. This was really happening. He was going to spend an entire evening alone with the one person whose company he enjoyed most—he was going to see what she was like on a first date; her mannerisms, her way of speaking. Would she be nervous? Would this just be an extended experience from the office? Not to mention, would she be expecting a kiss at the end of the night—?
Not a moment before Jim locked his car and closed the door did a minivan cruising by hit a puddle in front of his parking space, sending a wave of recent rain crashing over him. He stood for a moment, pretending the event hadn't happened, ignoring that he was suddenly wet and cold from head-to-toe, the beautiful lilies in his hand now soggy and half gone. He opened his eyes to the harsh reality of the situation and realized that this was, indeed, the worst moment of his life.
Wet from all over, horribly embarrassed at the thought of Pam seeing him this way, Jim trudged on, regardless, and crossed the street with the one remaining lily clutched defiantly in his hand. He had come too far now to just give up and reschedule the night, had worked too hard to gather the courage to ask her out on a real date. He didn't care if his car started on fire, didn't worry about losing all of his money or contracting some horrible disease—he was going to meet Pam Beesley for dinner tonight, even if it killed him.
Jim thought of all these things as he walked up the stairs of the outside terrace to Pam's door. He stopped halfway up and looked over his shoulder, feeling as Dwight stalked him from the bushes below as his odd head popped up from behind the branches. But instead of being annoyed or even angry, Jim saw this as a golden opportunity for his night.
He marched the rest of the way up the stairs, knocking on Pam's door without a moment's hesitation, and stood tall as the luckiest man on earth.
000
Despite Pam's nerves, she did something she felt was unexpected and practically glided to the door as she heard the knock. Pam prayed Jim wouldn't look at her strangely, hoped against all hope that he wouldn't joke or even crack a smile at the ridiculous way Kelly had dressed her. Please, God, let this be normal—
But as she opened the door, Pam found herself stepping back in surprise. It was Jim, alright—same laid-back demeanor, same easy grin that made her want to forget all her worries. Except this Jim, the one standing on the other end of her door, he was a dirtier, sadder version of Jim, one which had to be pitied and questioned at the same time.
After Pam had closed her mouth and gotten over the initial shock, she wondered why Jim was so wet, then smiled and felt her heart melt with happiness as she saw the sad, lonely lily drooping in his hand. Jim smiled back, oblivious to her bold new makeover. He held the lily out to Pam, a puppy dog with pleading, hopeful eyes.
"This was for you," he said.
Pam's smile grew wider and she laughed. "What happened to you?" she asked, taking the flower. Pam watched as Jim paused, staring at her with his mouth in a half-grin and giving her a look she had become familiar with, a look that meant he wanted something from her—to laugh with her, to talk and joke and have fun with. Pam had since called it the "I want" look.
Jim blinked and smiled wider. "That's not really important now," he said in a low whisper, "because right now, Dwight is following me."
"Really?" Pam asked, excited.
"I'm pretty sure Michael set him up on this one . . . and I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm going on a date with Angela."
Pam put a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh as Jim leaned in, amused.
00
Jim to camera:
"Yeah, I know what Pam is wearing tonight. I don't know how it happened or if she did it on her own, but . . . I think it's cute. Reminds me of a cupcake." Jim stopped and smiled. "I happen to love cupcakes."
000
"We have to take advantage of this opportunity," Pam said.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
"Where is he now?" Pam asked, stepping outside the door and looking out over the street.
Jim motioned over his shoulder. "He's hiding in the bushes." Pam laughed and put a hand to her face again. "Okay," Jim said, "follow my lead." He straightened and cleared his throat, his face becoming serious.
"Hey, Pam." Jim said loudly. "Do you think I can come in for a second?"
"Wow, Jim!" Pam said equally as loud and enthusiastic. "You look terrible, what happened to you?"
"Well, I was on my way to Angela's for a date with her tonight, and a car splashed me on the curb!"
"Oh no!" Pam cried, trying her hardest to stifle her laughter. "That's terrible, do you want to dry off really quick?"
"Yeah, that'd be great—oh, hang on! I have to call Angela first and tell her I'll be a little late!" Jim whipped out his cell phone as Pam doubled over in giggles. He dialed Angela's number and waited patiently for her to pick up, leaning on Pam's door frame and looking out at the bushes.
"Hey, Angela," he said, "I was just wondering what our numbers were for the mid-season quarterly this year?"
000
Dwight crouched low in the bushes, craning his neck to see Jim and Pam on the terrace together and drinking in their every word. He thought for a split second he had finally busted him, but upon listening closer to what they were saying, Dwight began to get nervous. Something about Jim being splashed with water and Angela having a date—
Dwight took out his cell phone and began dialing rapidly, missing keys and cursing to himself. When he finally got Angela's number down, Dwight looked up at the terrace where Jim stood, also speaking on his cell phone.
"Angela!" Dwight snapped in a low tone. "Where are—"
"I can't talk now, Dwight," Angela said over the phone. "I've got Jim on the other line."
Dwight's face dropped like a ton of bricks. He slowly stared up at Jim, his mouth slightly open and his heart pumping ice water. He clicked his phone shut and sprang from the ground, sprinting down the lawn towards his car with the speed of a gazelle.
"I'm coming, Angela!" he cried out in the dead of night.
000
Jim flipped his cell phone shut and laughed with Pam as they watched Dwight leap out of the brush and dash to his car. Pam put her hand on Jim's wet sleeve and rested her head on his shoulder, weak from laughter and gasping for breath.
"Did you see the look on his face?" Jim breathed.
"I thought he was going to have a heart attack!" Pam cried, looking up at Jim.
As their laughter tapered off, Pam stepped away from Jim and smiled at him, feeling fluttery as the "I want" look came back on his face.
"Do you always dress like this for a first date, or am I just special?" he asked.
Pam held up a hand. "Do not ask." she said with a laugh.
Jim paused, looking her over. "So, uh . . . are we going to pitch a tent out here, or—"
"Oh, right," Pam said, opening the door to her apartment. "Sorry." She led Jim into her flat and stepped aside to give him a full view of her meager but comfortable place. "This is it," she called.
"I'd hate to get your carpet wet . . ." Jim said, looking down at his wet shoes.
"Oh, that's okay," Pam said as he removed them. She motioned for him to come forward, away from the door. "Come in—oh, wait." Pam disappeared around the corner of the hallway, leaving Jim alone at the entrance.
"So I had dinner reservations tonight," Jim called out. "But they, uh . . . they kinda fell through."
Pam reappeared from the hallway with a towel in her hand and a broad smile on her face. She handed him the towel and laced her hands together behind her back.
"Thanks," Jim said, rubbing the towel over his wet hair. "Are you disappointed about dinner?"
Pam walked to the living room and Jim followed. "Devastated," she said, sitting down on the couch. Jim set the towel over the couch and sat down, smiling. An awkward silence filled the space between them.
"So how did—"
"What ha—"
The two smiled and laughed. "You go first," Jim said.
"No, I was just going to ask if that story about the car splashing water on you was true." Pam said.
"Oh yes," Jim said, grinning, "it was a minivan on a mission."
Pam laughed, tilting her head to the side on the couch. "So, um . . . what about dinner?"
Jim paused, his smile faltering only slightly. "I don't know," he said genuinely. He straightened and turned towards Pam. "There was a lot I wanted to talk to you about tonight . . . a lot I kind of wanted to just put out there in the open. But now that I'm here, and you're wearing that crazy outfit—"
Pam laughed.
"—and it's just been one disaster after another tonight . . . I don't really feel like talking about any of those things." Jim looked at Pam, his face neither expectant nor untroubled; that of a man who knew what he wanted but also went with the flow. "I just feel like," he continued, "being here."
Pam's face softened and she blinked, reading Jim's unmistakable gaze and feeling a warm glow radiate from her belly. "I feel the same way," she said.
Jim smiled. "Good," he said. "In that case, I think we should open a bottle of wine—only enough to be slightly romantic—get some food, and talk about bad romantic comedies together."
"Sounds like a plan," Pam said.
"Only," Jim went on, raising a finger, "I can't take you seriously when you look like that."
Pam giggled and stood from the couch, moving to the kitchen for a bottle of wine. "I feel like someone's Barbie doll."
"Care to elaborate?" Jim asked from the couch.
Pam re-entered the living room with the wine and two glasses. "It's a long story," she said.
Jim shrugged slightly, looking up at her. "I've got time." he said.
000
Pizza became the main course of the evening. After Pam had washed her face of Kelly's concoction and changed into some comfortable clothes, the two set up chairs on the balcony of the terrace and put the wine and pizza between them on the table.
Pam felt better now that she was wiped clean of Kelly's makeover, able to be herself in jeans and a light sweater. She was almost grateful they hadn't gone out, feeling as though a stuffy restaurant and dress code would have been too much for their first real date. Instead, she savored the idea of spending an evening at home with Jim, as if sitting with him on that balcony and sipping wine were two of the most natural things in the world.
As for Jim, he couldn't have been happier with the way things turned out—the rain had stopped, Dwight was finally off his case, and even though Pam had at first looked like the second runner-up to the Miss Pennsylvania beauty contest, he was delighted to finally have her in his company. He felt the same surge of longing and delight by being at her side, that feeling of wanting to be close and take it slow at the same time. Pam was, he concluded, like the wine they were sipping—better and sweeter-tasting the longer he waited to indulge in her company. More than three years going and he was finally on a date with her. Those three years, he thought, were a small price to pay.
"So what do you think Dwight is doing right now?" Pam asked, sipping her wine
"You know, I'd really rather not think about him right now," Jim said, looking over at Pam with a smile. She exchanged his expression, and slowly put her hand on his.
Jim to camera:
"Best first date ever. Hands down."
000
Dwight had, in fact, made it over to Angela's just as Pam and Jim had ordered a pizza. He rang her doorbell with a bouquet of daisies in his hand and a sad, pitying frown on his face. Angela had initially opened the door with a stern gaze and tight lips, but as she saw the flowers in Dwight's hand, her face softened as much as possible for someone of her character and the tiniest of smiles played on her lips.
"Permission to engage the enemy?" Dwight asked, holding out the flowers.
Angela took the daisies from his hand. "Permission granted," she said.
The two exchanged smiles.
000
Michael to camera:
"You know, it doesn't even matter who Jim is going out with tonight. When someone is in love, it's there on their face for everyone to read. Did I know Jim was going out with Pam tonight? Of course I did. Did I act naïve just to get confirmation? Maybe—the point is, it's not always who you're in love with that matters, but how they make you feel. With me, I could say I'm in love with Cindy Crawford, but she'll never make me feel the way I do when I'm around Jan. It's as simple as that." Michael paused. "Unless Jan looked like Cindy Crawford. In that case, I'd be on her like white on rice, twenty-four seven, six days a week—except for Sunday, because that's a day of rest." Michael smiled and nodded.
"That's real love."
END