A/N: Chapter title taken from the song "Blame it on the Tetons", from Modest Mouse's 2004 album Good News For People Who Like Bad News. Enjoy!
Jim (talking head): Nothing happened. It was a pretty uneventful weekend. (pauses to glance out the conference room window. The camera focuses on a bouquet of flowers at reception. Jim turns his head back, his eyes downcast) It left a lot to be desired. (Pause again) It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to go into more detail, so I'll just leave it at that… .
--
Pam (talking head): He said that? (pause. A look of pain crosses her face as she plays with the hem on her flower print skirt) Oh those? Yeah, Roy bought me the flowers. Carnations. (After a brief pause, she looks right at the camera) You know, I hate carnations.
--
When Jim arrived at work on Monday morning, his face looked better than it had on Saturday, but the bruise was yellow and brown and quite noticeable. Dwight had cornered him early on at the photocopier and suddenly began offering advice on self-defense.
"If all else fails," he whispered cautiously, pausing for dramatic effect, "…bear spray." He reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out a can to give to Jim.
Jim looked down at what Dwight was offering him, then up into his face, casually glancing over to the camera before looking back down again at the photocopier. "No Dwight, I don't want your bear spray."
"It's okay. I have two more in my desk and one in my briefcase. You can have it."
Jim rolled his eyes and pocketed the small canister with a quiet thanks. He'd find some use for it. If Roy ever tries to punch me again, he thought, thinking about Friday night as he turned around and walked back to his desk. Pam was looking at him. He nodded and gave a thin smile before averting his gaze and trying his best to fight the overwhelming temptation to stop and tell her about the exchange at the copier. His breaks at her desk had become so regular, they had become unconscious. As he sat there with his back to her, he realized she looked so tired. And yet she still radiated. Jim felt a pit in his stomach and he brushed the thoughts from his head. Quit torturing yourself, Halpert.
He'd been sitting for only a moment when Michael called him into his office. As ranking number two, being called into closed door meeting with Michael had become a regular occurrence, but it was still something Jim hadn't gotten used to. But Michael was leaving for the North American office supply convention, leaving Jim in charge, and Jim figured this would be the topic of this particular meeting. But Michael had been known to throw a curveball Jim's way every now and then. The last time they had a meeting, Jim had only been asked to help Michael decide on what kind of flowers to send to Jan. Jim had no expectations as he walked into the office.
"Close the door." Michael was leaning against the front of his desk.
"What's up?"
Michael finally got his first good look of Jim's face, "Yowza! That's one helluva shiner there, Jimbo."
"Don't call me that," Jim replied flatly.
"I mean, I knew you did some hard drinking the other night," Michael laughed and glanced at the camera. Jim shook his head, knowing that Michael had drank more than anyone that night. "You got into a fight… with the sidewalk. Didn't you?!"
"No Michael. I did not lose a fight with the sidewalk. It was an accident. Thanks for your concern, but I'm fine."
Michael's laugh trailed off and he clasped his hands in front of him, suddenly very serious. He lowered his voice. "Jim, I can't say I know what it's like to be in a gang, but if you ever need anyone to talk to… ."
Jim stood up, "Is that it, Michael? I have a lot of work to do."
Michael walked around to his chair, "Uh… yep, actually… no," he paused, "I need to send someone to the convention."
"I thought you were going."
Michael looked sheepish, and he lowered his voice to a near whisper to avoid being heard by the cameras. "Ryyyyaaaaan requested that I not attend."
"Really."
"He asked me to send you."
"Really."
"Really."
Jim looked at the camera, then back at Michael, "Where is it again?"
"Halifax," Michael shrugged, scratching his forehead, "I think it's somewhere near Albany… ."
"It's actually the capital city of Nova Scotia."
"Really?"
Jim just stared at him.
"Well, whatever, it sounds boring… uh," he looked at the camera and back at Jim, laughing, "And by boring I mean more fun than a barrel o' monkeys!" he laughed at his own joke. "So the convention is tomorrow and Wednesday. You come back Thursday afternoon."
"What have you got for me to bring?"
He shook his head, "Jim, you were there last year, weren't you? You saw how much preparation we did."
Unfortunately, Jim remembered the whole thing.
"You go there, you take some notes, get some great swag," Michael shrugged, "You might even close a deal or two. Bet you can't top getting Staples to break their Hammermill exclusivity contract and sign with us…," Michael looked pleased with himself, "That was me."
Jim nodded, "It sure was." He sighed, "So you didn't prepare anything, but did you at least book a flight?"
Michael guffawed, "Duh! Of course Ryan got tickets for both… you…," Michael coughed, "and Dwight, so that's not a problem… ."
"Dwight?" Jim asked, flashing a grin at the camera. Maybe this could be fun… .
"You're the two best salesmen here, Jim," Michael said, slapping his number 2 on the back and clearly misinterpreting Jim's reaction. "Come on, Jim. Take one for the team! Be a trooper. Be a Koopa Troopaaaa!" He looked at the camera, "Super Mario Brothers."
Jim stood up to leave, "When do we fly out?"
"Three hours," Michael replied, "And you should tell Dwight."
"Why can't you?"
Michael ignored his last comment. Jim rolled his eyes again and left Michael's office. He walked around to his desk and began logging off and shutting down his computer. "Dwight?"
"What is it?" Dwight didn't even look up from the computer screen.
"You have an hour to go home and pack. We're going to Halifax."
Dwight looked at Michael's office, but Michael had drawn the blinds. Then he looked back at Jim.
"What's in Halifax?"
"The paper supply convention."
Jim tried not to notice Pam's eyes boring into the back of his skull. He knew she was listening. Intently. Instead, he watched the look of self-importance almost literally inflate Dwight's head to twice its original size.
"Driving?"
"Flying."
"How long?"
"Till Thursday."
"Why isn't Michael going?"
"Ryan won't let him go." Jim stood up and retrieved his briefcase from under his desk.
Dwight, who had been sitting perfectly still for the entire exchange, stood up slowly and grabbed his briefcase, addressing Jim with an air of casual indifference that Jim knew must have been torture for him. "I will drive to the airport. You can leave your car here at the office until Thursday."
Jim was already halfway out of the office, jangling his keys in his hand. "No. Not gonna happen, Dwight. We're leaving your car."
"Why?" Dwight asked.
"Because nobody is going to try and steal an '87 Trans Am from a locked parking lot, Dwight."
Indignant, Dwight grabbed his coat and followed Jim out of the office.
--
Dwight (talking head): Three days with Jim? (he shrugs) How bad can it be? I am a little worried about being in Halifax though. I don't know much about the city, and I didn't have time to check before Jim dragged me away. (Pause) It's near Albany, isn't it?
--
Jim felt his pocket vibrate as he boarded the plane. Dwight heard it and looked down at Jim's pant leg.
"I sincerely hope that's your phone."
"Funny, Dwight." Jim pulled the cell out of his pocket to check who was calling. It was the office. "I need to take this. Save me a seat, buddy!" He waved Dwight on.
Dwight feigned excitement and then boarded the plane. Jim flipped open his phone and pressed it to his ear. "Halpert."
"Jim?"
He nearly dropped the phone. "Hi. Pam."
"Hi." Silence. "Are you on the plane?"
"No. Well, almost. We're boarding."
"Oh. Well I just wanted to say… ." She trailed off. The last in the line of passengers to board the plane were just about at the gate.
"Pam, I can't talk long. They're just about finished boarding."
"About the other night," she started saying at the same time. The reception was awful. His phone began to cut off what she was saying.
The woman at the gate looked at Jim. He nodded and held up one finger as he began to walk around until he found a spot with decent reception. "Pam? Can you hear me?"
She had just continued talking. "Maybe I was… I don't know… but I have to… ."
"Pam…," Jim said, increasingly frustrated with the lack of mobile service. "Pam, the reception is terrible." He suddenly found himself in a spotlight of good reception.
"…and I just wanted to say… ."
"I'm sorry Pam, the reception here is horrible and I have to get on this plane or it's going to leave without me."
He could tell from the sound of her voice that she was disappointed, that the perk in her voice was put-on. "Oh. That's fine. I'll let you go."
"I'll call you from Halifax."
"Sure." She didn't sound convinced.
Jim handed his ticket to the lady at the gate for her to scan, the phone still pressed to his ear. He mouthed 'Just about finished' to her and she nodded and waved him on. Pam still hadn't said anything.
"Um, all right then, I'll talk to you soon, Beesly."
"Jim, I--." She had started talking so quietly right as he hung up the phone, cutting her off in mid-sentence. He stopped dead in his tracks and flipped his phone open again once he'd realized what he'd done. The screen was blank. The call had disconnected. His heart sank. The doors behind him clanked shut and he was alone in the corridor. So he sadly powered down his phone and trudged up the walkway and into the cabin. Dwight was sitting in the aisle seat. Jim threw his carry-on bag into the overhead bin and then squeezed by, dropping into his seat with the grace of a ragdoll.
"Why the long face?" Dwight asked.
Jim brought a hand up to his eyes and rubbed them hard with his thumb and index finger. What was she going to say? He wondered if he'd ever know now. Without looking at his seatmate, Jim mindlessly closed the shutter on the window, leaned his head back against the headrest, and closed his eyes. "Goodnight, Dwight."
