Summary: Jim and Pam try to return things to normal after the catastrophe that was the weekened.
Good Guys Finish Last
He just had to be such a good guy, didn't he? He just had to be the kind, caring, sensitive one. He couldn't just have been a jerk. That would have saved him a lot of problems his entire life. Maybe that should be his new policy. Be a jerk and not care at all. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so badly.
She had kissed him. Again. And he had pushed her away. Why did he have to have a conscience? Why couldn't he have just kissed her back, like he wanted to do so desperately? She was engaged; that was what had set the alarm off in his mind the instance their lips had touched. But really, for just one moment in his life could he have not been the good guy?
He had awoken that morning feeling sick to his stomach. It was Monday. The day he had been dreading for the entire weekend. At first he had had no idea what he was going to do when he saw her, but all of Sunday had been spent thinking about it and he had finally decided that he would be indifferent. He would apologize, and then just not interact with her anymore. It was a flawless plan. Besides, it wasn't like they could go back to the way things were before. As he sat up in bed he decided to try a little experiment.
She doesn't love you, he thought. There. That wasn't so bad. He continued. You're nothing more than a friend to her. She doesn't want to be with you. This was working. He decided to say it allowed, and see how he felt.
"She doesn't love you," he said. He felt better already. Really. He did. After all, no one ever died from not being in love. Right?
Convinced he was cured, he got out of bed and went downstairs. Mark was still out of town, and the empty house made him feel unbearably lonesome.
As he got ready for work, he felt like he was someone watching from another room. There he was, putting his shoes on and tying them. Grabbing his coat and heading out the door. He could see himself doing all these things, but he felt nothing. As he drove to work, he almost turned around a number of times. He considered calling in sick. He could stay home, and then he wouldn't have to see her. It seemed like such a great plan, but he knew it would never work. He couldn't avoid her forever, could he? He'd have to face her sooner or later, and though he would have preferred it to be later, there wasn't really anything he could do about it.
Once at work, he tried to subtlety sneak through the door to his desk. He was over half an hour late, and the last thing he felt like doing was dealing with Michael. He went straight to his desk, not even glancing once at Pam.
There. He was through the door. One step down, about a million more to go. The good thing about arriving half an hour late to work was that it meant it was one less half an hour he had to deal with. He looked at the clock. The hour hand seemed to be unbearably far from five.
He felt horrible, and he knew he didn't look any better. He knew his hair was sticking up and that his clothes were wrinkled. He knew he had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep the entire weekend. He knew that he probably should have shaved that morning. He touched his face and could feel a day's worth of rough stubble there. It was not like him to be so unkempt. The thing was, he could really care less how he looked.
And then he looked at Pam. He couldn't help it. Old habits die hard. He looked at her, and suddenly realized just how hard it was going to be to get through the day. He sighed deeply, laying his head on his desk. He closed his eyes and contemplated staying like that the rest of the day. He could almost imagine he was at home, in his bed with the covers pulled around him. This daydream was short-lived however, because he had no sooner pictured himself there when Dwight had brought him crashing back to reality.
"Hey Jim." He groaned inwardly. Dwight must have a death wish. He considered not looking up and just pretending that he wasn't there. But he knew from past experiences that Dwight was like an irritating itch. The more you ignored it, the worse it would become.
"Hmmm?" he replied absently, looking up. A piece of paper was stuck to his forehead, and it took him a moment to realize it was even there. He hit it away, irritated. Dwight proceeded to ask him something about what day it was. Jim had no idea what he was getting at, and Dwight's relentless questioning was beginning to push him over the edge. He took a deep breath before responding.
"You know what Dwight? I'm pretty busy, so I don't really feel like playing twenty questions, okay?"
Jim had never seen a grown man pitch a hissy fit before. Dwight slammed his fist against his desk and crossed his arms before turning back to his computer screen, and typing furiously. What moron. How could he not realize that Jim could see his computer screen and therefore knew that it wasn't even turned on? Jim told him this, which only caused Dwight to become angrier.
Good. Now maybe Jim could go back to sulking in peace. He stared at his own blank computer screen for a good twenty minutes before he heard someone calling his name. He glanced up and saw it was Pam. She was beckoning him to her desk, and against his better judgment, he stood and crossed to her.
"Listen," she said as he approached her, "About the other night—"
"No," he said interrupting her, "I'm sorry." There. Step one of the plan completed.
"Me too, and I just wanted to—"
And now for step two.
"Great. You know what though? I'm really busy, so I should probably get back to…" he motioned to his desk. For a moment she looked taken back, but she was quick to compose herself.
"Right. Right. So I guess…I'll see you—"
"Sure, see you later," he turned quickly and headed back to his desk. He sat down and stared at a blank piece of paper, pretending to be engrossed. Two minutes later he could still feel her eyes on him.
Its amazing just how little work can be accomplished when one tries extraordinarily hard to appear busy. Jim spent the morning staring intermittently at his computer screen and the stack of papers on his desk. By quarter past twelve, he had gotten out a scrap piece of paper and started a game of tic-tac-toe against himself.
There were so many times that Jim wanted to go over to her and tell her something; a joke or an anecdote just to make her smile. When he found out it was Dwight's birthday, and that no one had remembered, it was almost too much for him to remain seated at his desk. He wanted to go to her and plot ways to torture him, like they had done so many times before.
He had thought that ignoring Pam would be easy, but it was proving to be anything but that. It's like when you have a nightmare and you wake up terrified and unable to fall back asleep. Once its light, though, you realize just how ridiculous it was to have felt the way you had the night before. He felt foolish to have ever thought that his plan of not interacting with Pam would have worked. He realized then how awful he had treated her earlier. She had wanted to tell him something, and he hadn't let her speak. So this is how it felt to be a jerk. He didn't like the feeling, and he stood abruptly. He moved to go to her desk, but hesitated. He almost sat back down before shaking his head determinedly and approaching her. She looked up when he reached her, and he smiled weakly.
"Hey," he said quietly, "Listen, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I was being such a jerk, and I'm sorry."
"Its no problem, really," she said. An awkward silence settled between them. He thought about all the things he wanted to tell her, but as was the case lately, words failed him. He was immensely relieved when she was the next to speak.
"Really, I should be the one to apologize to you. Um, I had no right to… you know…and I just—I was angry at Roy and I think on another level I just wanted to…get back at him."
His stomach sank. So it had meant nothing to her. It had all just been a way to spite Roy. He scolded himself for being so upset. What had he been expecting her to say? That even though it was wrong, she had enjoyed it as much as he had? Of course not. Still, a part of him—a very small part—had been hoping that it might have evoked some kind of feeling for him in her. That part of him had stupidly believed that something good could come from the whole mess.
"Right," he said, "No big deal. Just—" Now she was the one to interrupt him.
"Let's just—can we pretend it never happened? Is…is that at all possible? Because I miss…like hanging out and stuff."
"Yeah. Yeah, definitely," he lied, "And hey, about the whole Jeopardy thing…" his voice trailed off as he tried to think of what to say next.
"What Jeopardy thing?" she asked turning to her computer with a small smile on her face.
"You know—oh," he said suddenly realizing what she was doing, "Right." He returned her smile when she looked up at him. He tapped the desk, about to return to his own.
"Hey you want to go get some lunch?" she asked suddenly, "Roy called earlier and told me that a bunch of the guys down in warehouse were going somewhere…so clearly, I'm not welcome."
"Sure," he said, "Let me grab my keys."
As they headed out the door, he grinned and said,
"Hey did you know its Dwight's birthday? I think its really bothering him that no one remembered." She laughed, and he was filled with relief. At least they could pretend things were back to normal.
"Oh that is rich." she replied, as the door swung shut behind them.
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As Pam ate lunch with Jim, she began to feel a little better about the whole mess. They were chatting about the different things they could do to infuriate Dwight about everyone forgetting his birthday.
"How about this," Jim said, "We call the florist and have a bouquet of flowers delivered—"
"Oh!" she interjected, "And one of those huge balloons with happy birthday written across it!"
"Yes! So we have those delivered, and when the guy comes to your desk, you say—in a loud voice, of course—that there must be a mistake, because it's no one's birthday in the office." She laughed, imagining how angry Dwight would be. Jim began to explain another one of his schemes and Pam smiled. She was so relieved that things were looking better for the two of them.
She had been miserable since she had kissed him. She had told him that she had only done it to get back at Roy, which was a blatant lie. But it wasn't like she could tell him the truth. That she had kissed him because she wanted to. That even when he was drunk he was charming and adorable. That by saying she had done it to spite Roy somehow made her feel less guilty.
The guilt was what had consumed her all day Sunday. When she had pulled into the driveway, Roy's truck had been there. She had figured that he would be home, and she had spent the drive there trying to think of any excuse that would explain her absence until almost 6 in the morning.
He was in the living room when she walked through the door.
"Where have you been?" he asked quietly. He was sitting on the couch, with his arms crossed. She thought it strange that he wasn't being more demanding.
"I was at Angela's house. Her boyfriend broke-up with her, and she was a mess." She wasn't even friends with Angela, but Roy did not know this. She had never lied to him about anything, and she was surprised to discover how easy it was. This thought made her feel even worse.
"Oh," he replied. He stood up and crossed to her, "Next time, if you're going to be out so late, leave a note. I was worried about you, baby." He wrapped his arms around her, and her stomach sank even farther. She had wanted him to be angry with her. The fact that he wasn't suddenly made her realize the reality of what had happened.
Roy had kissed her then, and for one brief moment she had imagined it was Jim. But she had immediately pushed all thoughts of him out of her head. She loved Roy. She really did. And she already felt guilty enough.
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Jim felt better as he entered the office. He was surprised at how quickly they had been able to pretend like nothing had happened between them. Pretend, of course, being the key word. But he supposed that pretending was better than ignoring her.
He had no sooner sat down at his desk when he heard a commotion over in the direction of the supply closet. Kevin was saying something. He glanced up, and had to do a double take. He thought he had seen Katy. He looked again. It was Katy. She was with the temp in the supply closet, arms around him. He saw them both look in his direction, and he was sure his jaw was hanging open.
The door finally shut, and he sat there staring at it. His gaze finally fell on Pam. She mouthed something to him, and he went over to her.
"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.
"Hmm? Oh yeah, definitely," he smiled half-heartedly at her.
He was getting really good at this whole 'pretending' thing.
