A/N: I feel like this should start with an apology. So. Sorry. The idea had been in my head for a while though and it had to come out. The idea of what if Pam and Jim got together and it wasn't as perfect as we all think it would be? So, this happened. And I'm not really sure how in character this is at all, but the more I wrote it, the more I could see this happening maybe. But it ends happily and that's what matters, right? Anyway. Let me know what you think.
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The sun rises at an impossibly slow rate on a Tuesday morning. You stretch your arms out and knock her in the head. She doesn't laugh or tackle you or try to kiss the breath out of you. Not anymore. Now she groans and pushes your arm away from her, saying, "Let me sleep for five more minutes." Anger layers her voice more than ever now and you're not sure when things changed so drastically.
Hadn't this been perfect? Wasn't that the entire point? Why you spent three years of your life aching and dying? Wasn't she supposed to be it? Wasn't this supposed to be-?
You feel sick thinking about it so you don't.
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You married her just a year after you finally had her. You married her and filled her up on promises: A house with a huge yard and that goddamn terrace she wanted so badly. An easy life where she could be an artist, be whatever she wanted. The sort of love that was unconditionally, overwhelmingly forever.
You fed her all of this and you believed, really believed you could give it to her. You were so confident that you could give her more than he had. You were so fucking confident that you would make her happier.
But those promises became too hard to keep when money got tight, when you got laid off because of downsizing. You wanted to laugh at the time. Three years after the initial threat and now you were laid off because of fucking downsizing. But really you were so angry that you almost crashed your car three times on the way home. So angry that you were thinking you wouldn't mind if you did crash your car.
You told her over dinner, sitting across from her at the small kitchen table. She asked about your day and you blurted it out, "They fired me." You didn't look up from your plate. Just heard the clatter of her fork.
She cried because she knew what it meant. No house, no art, no terrace, not any of it. She left the kitchen, her feet tiptoeing around the shattered promises until she made it to the bathroom. You heard the lock click into place and said to your half eaten microwave pot roast, "This isn't my fault." But you couldn't help but feel guilty when you walked by the bathroom door and heard the water in the sink running.
You hated that terrace then.
And she wouldn't kiss you when you crawled into bed that night and touched the elastic of her underwear. She didn't say a word as she turned over and went to sleep.
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You made a desperate call to Jan. Told her that you needed that job, any job. And she'd given you some lower position in New York that paid less money, but you took it because you hadn't seen her smile in four days.
Living in the city was hard and she hated it and you thought she'd love it, but she didn't. No matter how many times you took her to the park to catch fireflies at dusk. No matter how many flowers you planted in the window. No matter how many nights you held her out on the fire escape. She asked you once out there, "Can we go home soon?"
You had lied to her. Said, "Yeah. Soon. I promise." The last word leaving a bitterness in the back of your throat.
You used to make her laugh just by looking at her. She used to smile so wide that you couldn't see her eyes anymore. She used to say "I love you" instead of greeting you. Used to kiss you hard when you walked through the door. You used to lift her small body up and carry her to the couch and dinner would burn in the stove and she'd just giggle and say, "Take out?" But that phone call would never be made.
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She's in the shower as you turn the coffee maker on. She's still a receptionist, but she doesn't work for Dunder Mifflin anymore. She got out of that one back when she thought she would be pursuing her career as an artist. She had started to take art classes at night and worked part time as an office manager for a small, local art gallery.
Then you had gotten fired. Had screwed it all up. She quit school. Looked for a full time job in the city only to find herself answering phones again.
You think she would've been just as well off marrying Roy.
You don't tell her about how your eyes burn in the parking lot some mornings because you have to leave before she gets out of the shower. You don't tell her about crying against the steering wheel because this was not, not, not how anything was ever supposed to be. You don't let her hear the stifled sobs you give into the sleeve of your coat because you were supposed to be good for her, better for her, everything for her.
She doesn't know that this is killing you twice as much as it's killing her.
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You get home from work that day and she's sitting on the couch, reading a magazine. She doesn't turn at the sound of the door, she simply says, "Hey."
"Hey, how was your day?" You sit down next to her and she continues to flip through the magazine without looking up.
"Okay. Yours?"
You nod. "Same."
It's like holding your breath and your lungs hurt.
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You find yourself once again leaving a dire sounding message on Jan's voicemail at some ungodly hour that night once she's fallen asleep after a halfhearted attempt at sex that ended with her groaning in frustration and flopping over on her side of the bed.
You're whispering into the receiver. "Jan. Hi, it's Jim. I know you've done a lot of favors for me already and I really appreciate that, but I- I need my Scranton job back. If there's anything, anything I can do…Please."
You don't sleep that night. You hardly sleep at night anymore. It's the only time you can look at her without her looking away or frowning. She looks happy when she's sleeping, content. The way she looked before all of this. She's a deep sleeper and you can get away with kissing her forehead without waking her. So you do. Every night. And you whisper that you love her, love her, love her against her neck before turning over and forcing yourself to fall asleep.
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When you wake up, she's still asleep. You nudge her gently on the shoulder, "Pam. It's 7:30."
She rolls over to face you and squints when the sun from the window hits her eyes. She says, "I'm not feeling so good. I think I'm just going to stay home today."
"Okay."
You start to make your way to the bathroom when you turn around and sit down on the edge of the bed. She squirms a little, but you don't move. You reach out and touch her hair, push it back away from her face.
"I called Jan last night. I asked her, begged her for my old job back."
"Oh." You expected her to be more enthusiastic about this.
"Yeah, well." You stand up, but she grabs your hand before you can get very far.
"Hey." Her voice is soft and it reminds you of before. "I love you."
She smiles at you and you don't know where this sudden shift in her mood is coming from, but you don't question it. You sit back down on the bed and kiss her fully on the mouth and mumble the same words against her mouth.
She keeps her eyes closed when you pull away from her and says, "Thanks for…"
"Things are going to be okay….Right?"
"Yeah." She pulls you down to kiss you again and you feel your heart expand a little. Like the past eleven months could be forgotten and things could go back to the way they should have been all along.
You tell her that you're so, so sorry. You say it over and over as her arms wrap around your neck and your face gets buried in her hair.
She just says, "I know, I know." You aren't sure if she's forgiving you or not.
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You're called into Jan's office before you get the chance to settle in at your desk that morning. When you sit down across from her, her face softens a little ands he smiles at you.
"Jim, are you okay?"
The two of you have formed some sort of strained friendship over the past year, but you still aren't comfortable enough to talk to her about your personal life.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I know my voicemail sounded- uh, a little distraught. It's just Pam doesn't really like it here and I think it would be easier for us to- I mean, if we were back in Scranton."
She nods and looks at you like she knows that isn't even half of the truth. "Well, I can't stress enough how lucky you are. Michael has been given a chance at a promotion that would bring him here to work in the corporate offices." She makes a face at this that makes you nostalgic. "This leaves his position at Scranton open. Originally, the position was going to automatically go to Dwight Schrute, but you are just as qualified and we can put you in the running for it as well, leaving it up to the board to decide which one of you gets it."
You call her at lunch to tell her the news. She sounds distracted, but that's something you've gotten used to as of late. You ask her if she's feeling better and she says, "I don't know." You tell her you'll bring Chinese home for dinner and then go back to work.
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There's a positive pregnancy test on the kitchen counter when you put the take out bags down. You pick it up and look at it. It's one of those ones with the digital read out and it says, "PREGNANT." Your breathing hitches for a second and you start to feel dizzy as mixed reactions flood your entire body.
You call her name down the short hall to the bedroom and there's no response. And then she's running that short distance and jumping into your arms, laughing. Her legs wrap around your waist and you smile into her shoulder.
You let her down and she actually squeals, "We're having a baby!"
Your grinning so widely that it hurts, but you can't stop, don't want to stop. She's always been contagious that way. You try to kiss her, but it's impossible because neither of you can compose yourself long enough. It's just teeth against teeth, but somehow that's more fulfilling than anything else.
And then, as if it had never left in the first place, that sense of wholeness and completeness and perfection comes back to you, sweeping up the pieces of promises left lying next to your feet, making everything seem illuminated and endless.