AN: Holy crap, you guys. I am so sorry that it's been so long since I've added to this story, but I hope I can bribe you. Here's a new chapter for you! I think there will only be one or two more, and then we'll meet the lovely Bean. I won't promise, but I will try my best to get them to you faster than, well, this. This is a short chapter, but I hope you all like it.

Six Weeks

Chapter 11

"A Cylon attack is not a joke, Jim!" Dwight yelled, drawing the attention of everyone in the office. He waved an octagonal piece of paper around that was apparently the source of his frustration.

"Cylons are fictional, so yes, it most definitely is a joke."

"They are a potential threat to humanity, and are not to be taken lightly!"

Jim looked like he was about to say something but instead bent almost in half to let out a loud sneeze, bringing his hands up to his face to cover it.

"Hey, Dwight, I think my contact fell out. Can you help me find it?"

With a lengthy sigh, the bespectacled man crouched with Jim under the desk to look for his contact lens. Dwight's eyes went wide when they met Jim's, and fleeting look of terror shot across his face. Jim's left iris was bright red.

"Cylon!" Dwight roared.

Jim immediately shushed him. "Dwight, come on, man!" he whisper-shouted. "It's been like that since I was a kid!"

"You did not have a childhood, Jim. You are a machine!" Dwight whisper-shouted back.

"What? No! I distinctly remember my brother poking me in the eye with a twig when I was seven. Help me find my contact, please."

"Jim," Dwight said gravely. "There is a possibility that you have that memory because it was programmed into you. You could be a Cylon without even knowing it. Like Boomer."

Jim snapped his head up and grabbed Dwight's tie, jerking his face close enough to mingle their breaths.

"All of this has happened before. All of this will happen again."

As quickly as he'd grabbed it, Jim let go of Dwight's tie, releasing him. Dwight opened his mouth to speak, but instead could only stare dumbly at Jim.

"Found it!" Jim grinned and held up a finger (with a green circle drawn on the tip courtesy of Pam), rolled his eyes and stood up from under the desk, making a beeline for the bathroom. After a second Dwight attempted to follow, hitting his head under Jim's desk in the process.

Pam giggled at her desk, and the Bean kicked her agreement.

… … …

"Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam," she greeted, more cheerily than usual. She was always happier on belly tracing day, and this was the second to last one. The excitement in the office was palpable.

"Hey, Pam," said a too-cheerful voice on the other end of the line. "It's Mom."

"Hi, Mom! Were you calling to wish me a happy eight months?"

Pam's mother was quiet for a disconcerting moment. "Yes, that's part of it. But I really called to speak to Jim- is he around?"

"Yeah," Pam said cautiously. "I'll transfer you to him."

Pam pressed the necessary buttons and put her receiver back into its cradle, carefully watching Jim as he answered his phone.

"Jim Halpert," he answered. "Hey, Mrs. Beesly!...I'm fine, how are you?...Good, I'm glad to hear that."

Then Jim's wide smile dropped from his face.

"Mrs. Beesly, it's not that I..." Pam couldn't make out the rest of what he said, because Jim had lowered his voice and turned his chair away from her. Pam's eyebrows furrowed in an amalgam of confusion and concern.

"Yeah," Jim said resignedly, turning back to his desk and running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, Mrs. Beesly, I'll tell her… No, I've got it... Yeah, you too. Bye."

His expression was more serious than she'd ever seen as he approached her desk. He opened his mouth to speak, but before Jim could say anything, Michael burst through the office door with the rolled-up piece of butcher paper, sharpie, and a ruler.

"Happy eight-month baby-versary, Grey Pampon!"

Michael taped the large sheet to the wall, and turned to Pam excitedly, motioning for her to take her position in front of the paper.

"Hey, Michael?" she started. "I was thinking we should wait to do this until after lunch."

"Aw, man! Whyyyy?" Michael whined petulantly.

"Because," Jim started, eyebrows raised at Pam in a plea for her to think of something to say. Pam's eyes widened as she scrambled for words, and lit up when she found them.

"Because if we wait until after I've eaten lunch, my belly will be even bigger!" Pam exclaimed. "It's almost the last belly tracing day. We want it to count, don't we?"

"Fine," Michael reluctantly agreed. "But you make sure to eat a big lunch, okay?"

Pam nodded, and Jim met her eyes and jerked his head toward the door.

… … …

"I can't believe you!" Pam yelled. Her voice echoed in the stairwell, and Jim flinched at the volume. There was no way they couldn't hear this in the office. Oh well, he thought. So much for privacy.

"Pam, calm down," Jim said in a low voice. "It's not what you think."

"Really, Jim? Really? Would you be able to calm down if- if I did this to you?" Pam's voice was still raised, but now there were tears filling her eyes. She looked utterly heartbroken. "You didn't… I mean, it's been almost six months since you proposed, and I'm due in a month and I…" Pam shook her head slowly, walking backwards towards the door. Jim started to move forward, but Pam put her hands up to stop him, her chin trembling from the sobs she was trying so hard to suppress.

"Is that why your mom didn't come to my baby shower?" she demanded. Jim didn't meet her eyes.

"Did you even mail her invitation?!" She was yelling again, her emotions ranging from blind rage to deep, profound sadness and back again.

"No, I didn't," he admitted quietly, hands shoved in his pockets.

"All this time, I thought she hated me! I thought maybe she didn't approve of our situation or something- God, Jim, I agonized over it! How could you?"

"Pam, please," Jim pleaded, reaching a hand out to grasp one of hers.

"Don't!" she yelped, ripping her hand away and clutching it to her chest as if she'd been burned. "Just- find somewhere to stay tonight, okay? Probably for a lot of nights."

"Pam, come on. Don't do this," he begged, his voice shaking, eyes wide and tear-filled and desperate. "Please. I love you."

Pam's face was pained when she replied, as if what she would say physically wound her. "Then why are you so ashamed of me?"

The unadulterated hurt in her eyes was enough to send a fat tear rolling down Jim's cheek. He stepped forward, and Pam stepped back, leaning against the door.

"Pam, look at me," he started gently. "I could never be ashamed of you. Never. Look, it's just- Okay, my mother isn't like your mom. For one thing, she wouldn't even let us call her 'mom'. But she's not supportive or caring or anything like that and I just- the farther away from her you are, the better. You have to believe that I didn't tell my mother about you and the baby because I don't ever want to see you hurt, and the things she'd say…she'd try to destroy you, Pam. You have to believe that."

She twisted the ring on her finger, pulling it off and sliding it on again, her old nervous gesture making its triumphant return.

"Please, Pam. I love you. I'll call my mother right now if you want me to, if that's what it takes to make this okay."

"Were you ever going to tell her?"

Her question was met with a sigh. "Honestly? I don't know. I haven't spoken to her since my college graduation, which she didn't attend or pay for because I majored in journalism instead of international business."

"How did I not know about this?"

"Because I don't think about it on a regular basis. I mean, it's been over five years. I used to think about it all the time, but after a while… I just got over it I guess."

Pam was floored. In an instant, her arms were around him, anger and hurt replaced by overwhelming sympathy and a hug made awkward by Pam's belly. Pam would be glad when the Bean was out of her and she could finally stop feeling every emotion tenfold.

"Jim, I'm so sorry. My mom called and asked for your mom's number, and I found it in your address book. I didn't think-"

"Hey," he said sternly, lifting her chin up to meet her eyes. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, okay? None of this has anything to do with you. And, uh, now she knows, because I'm pretty sure your mom told her." Jim half-smiled at her, and Pam returned it.

"Problem solved?" she asked hopefully.

"Problem solved," he assured her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Lunch?"

"Cugino's!"

Jim groaned. "Again?"

"It's not my fault," she protested.

"I know, I know," Jim said, defeated. Pam grinned and placed Jim's hand on her belly, where the Bean had been kicking earlier. The Bean immediately responded with a flurry of movement, eliciting a wide smile from Jim. "I think she just high-fived me!"

"Yeah, well, Bean loves that garlic bread."