Saturday Morning

Pam awoke feeling slightly chilled and befuddled. Something was not quite right – but she couldn't pinpoint what it was. Just think. She'd been reading in bed, tingling in nervous anticipation for Jim's arrival … He'd been all tense and testy when he told her about his June 10th in Sydney, convinced that she'd married Roy … And he'd been positively delighted to hear that she'd cried over him more than once. What a shit. Thinking about that made her feel pissed off all over again. She didn't think he had that kind of vengefulness in him.

She had a vague recollection of waking up spooning with Jim, more of a sensation, really. As she remembered the warmth of his body against hers, her irritation washed away, replaced by a wave of contentment. Did she dream it, or was it real? It sure felt like she was remembering, not imagining.

Pam rolled over to examine Jim's side of the bed, looking for any evidence that he'd spent the night snuggled on her side of the mattress. The comforter formed a large triangle at the upper edge, where Jim had evidently flung it back as he got out of bed. No help there.

Pam tentatively reached out to touch the sheets. Were they warmer close to her than over on his side? No. They were warm a few feet away from her. Either he'd rolled away from her at some point, or she'd imagined the whole thing. Damn. It felt so real. She wanted so much for it to be real.

Pam glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. The red numbers glowed 6:36. Damn! That was reality. Jim's parents were on the fifth floor of the next building, weakly clinging to life. It was certainly in the realm of possibility that, within the next few days, Jim would lose both of his parents. And here she was worried about whether they'd cuddled the night before. Unbelievable. She was unbelievable. She'd lived through this with her father, so she should know better. Romance was the farthest thing from Jim's mind. He didn't need her imposing that kind of dynamic into their relations now. He just needed a friend.

6:38 – if they didn't hurry, they might miss all the doctors. She tossed the covers back and jumped out of bed to throw on her clothes.

Some people wake up fully aware and ready to meet the day. Pam Beesly wasn't one of them. She always drifted dreamily into consciousness. Even after she was upright, she wasn't fully functional for at least an hour. Since leaving Roy, she'd learned to make accommodations to compensate for her morning sluggishness. Every evening she chose the next day's clothes. She filled the tea kettle with just enough water for one mug and laid the teabag next to it. She set a box of cereal, a bowl and a spoon on her tiny kitchen table. It was quite the nighttime ritual – but, now that she didn't have Roy to prod her along in the morning, it was the only way she made it to work on time.

So, on Friday night while she waited for Jim, Pam had laid out her clothes for Saturday – an outfit that Kelly had talked her into buying. The jeans and soft microfiber top hugged her curves, but weren't so tight that they looked slutty. Kelly'd convinced her that "this outfit accentuates your assets, Pam!" Even though she knew her priorities were horribly askew, she couldn't help hoping that Jim would notice.

She'd laid out her toiletries on the counter in the bathroom: contact lens case, deodorant, brush, barrette, and make-up were all aligned in a neat row, waiting for her. But Jim was in the shower. That was weird now that she thought about it. He'd bathed last night before he came do bed. Didn't he? Pam shook her head hard, trying to wake up, questioning whether anything she remembered of the prior night was true.

Pam put on the jeans, the top and the "adorable little flats" that Kelly insisted were required to "complete the look." She sat fidgeting at the edge of the bed, waiting for Jim to come out of the bathroom, and watched the red digits change on the clock, feeling more anxious each time the minute ticked up again. She crossed and uncrossed her ankles, picked at her nails, cupped her jaw in her right hand, fretting silently. The doctors made rounds in minutes flat. The window of opportunity to meet with them was so brief. What could be taking Jim so long? The water had finally stopped but she didn't hear an exhaust fan, so the mirror would be fogged and the room would surely be steamy and her hair would morph into a frizzy mess. Oh, well. She'd just have to deal. This wasn't a beauty contest and no one would even notice her appearance.

When the clock's red numbers glowed an ominous 6:57, Pam couldn't handle the tension any more and she finally knocked on the door. "Uh – Jim? We'd better get over there in a few minutes. Can I use the bathroom?"

"Oh, sure. Sorry." The door opened and Jim emerged fully clothed. The mirror was crystal clear and there was no hint of steam anywhere. Jim motioned toward the door. "All yours. Sorry I took so long."

"That's OK. I'll only be a minute. Do you want to wait for me or head straight over?"

"I'll wait."

"OK. Great. I'll only be a minute." Good going, Pam. Just said that. She quickly worked her way through the line of toiletries. Contacts in. Deodorant on. Hair beaten into submission and lassoed into a barrette. Just a hint of blush and mascara. She was done in six minutes flat. Did not want to hear they'd "just missed" any doctors because she took too long getting ready.

She opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom. "OK, let's go."

Jim sprang up from his reclining position on the bed. He'd settled in for a few minutes rest, thinking Pam would take at least twenty minutes. "Are you kidding me? You're ready? I've never seen a woman get ready in five minutes before!"

Pam laughed quietly at Jim's awe of her speed-grooming prowess.

"Never?"

"Not once!"

"Well, Halpert, brushing your hair and throwing on some blush is hardly Project Runway."

"I'm telling you it's a new speed record as far as I'm concerned. Andnot only are you the fastest makeup artist east of the Mississippi –" He planted his hands on her shoulders, stepping back to appraise her seriously as his voice dropped to a husky whisper, "– you look beautiful."

Pam felt a shock wave radiate from her chest. Did not expect that tone of voice. At all. She couldn't suppress the tiny smile or the flush that rose to her cheeks as she poked Jim in the chest. "Yeah. Right."

"I'm serious, Pam. You look beautiful. You know, no one's gonna believe our elopement story if you're not careful. No one will believe you'd marry a slob like me."

Pam managed to look up at Jim without lifting her head, bashfully regarding him through her lashes and bangs. "You're so full of it" she murmured, momentarily forgetting her resolve to maintain the just friends dynamic. "What people would find hard to believe is that mousy little me could snag a looker like you."

Jim quirked his eyebrow at Pam. "A looker like me?"

"Yeah, you heard it. Don't go fishing, Mr. Halpert. Now, c'mon – let's get over there before we miss the doctors."

Under the circumstances, it felt sort of inappropriate but, Jim had to admit, it also felt awfully good to flirt a little. "Whatever you say, Mrs. Halpert! Like my Uncle Jim says … The wife is always right."

Thanks to TaioraWarrior and HonoraryDAMember for reviewing every chapter! I appreciate it!