December 30th, 2001

The holidays dragged by slowly for Jim. It was good to see his parents and his sister (his brothers were scattered across the country spending Christmas with their own families) but he couldn't deny the ache he felt when he went to bed every night without talking to Pam. He missed her deeply. It was the first time they'd been apart for a long time since they'd become real friends.

Best friends.

She was right, they were indeed best friends. He hadn't had one in a long time, either. He loved that she'd called him that, that he was just as special to her as she was to him. But he still wasn't sure what it meant, or if she could ever be interested in more.

There was a definite conflict within him: between the Jim who loved having Pam for a best friend and the Jim who wanted to press her up against the door of his apartment and kiss every single platonic thought out of her brain. He wondered daily if he'd ever have the courage to tell her how he felt. And the closer they got, the higher the stakes were. If she didn't feel the same way, he wouldn't just be losing just any friend. He would be losing his best friend.

For the most part, he and Pam behaved like regular friends. Occasionally he'd accidentally flirt with her, like a reflex, and she would play along most of the time. But she never initiated those flirtations or let them get too far, and he always felt slightly guilty for putting her in that position. So his strategy thus far had been to try as hard as he could to hide his feelings from her.

That night they spent on the rooftop of his building still stuck in his mind. It was strange talking with Pam about what love was supposed to feel like, when he was pretty damn sure the very elusive feeling they were discussing was exactly what he felt for her. His best friend. And he wasn't confident at all that those feelings were reciprocated.

It disconcerted him that the longer he went without telling her, he was slowly but surely falling into a trap from which there would be no escape. He imagined it in his head like a Far Side cartoon: Jim Halpert wearing a dunce cap, facing the corner of a barren room with a sign on the wall, large block letters spelling out his fate.

Friend Zone.

He didn't want to even think of the phrase. He hated it; it was the Voldemort of his current situation: that which shall not be named. But he couldn't deny the truth of it. He didn't want to be in that corner, but he was fairly certain he already was. And the worst part was he'd put himself there.

It didn't help matters that being away from Pam was apparently taking a toll on his psyche as well; he'd dreamt about her every night, and the dreams had been far from friendly. It was almost as if forbidding his conscious mind to think about her in a certain way had directed all of that pent up sexual energy into his unconscious mind. He'd dreamt of doing things to her he would be ashamed to admit aloud, and waking up every morning in his old bedroom with a hard-on reminded him far too much of his teenage years. He had no desire to revisit those.

When he'd made the decision in November to delay asking her out, he hadn't anticipated everything playing out the way it did. This wasn't getting easier. It was getting more and more complicated.

Upon his return to the city, even though it was far colder and damper than he'd like, he'd headed straight to the local batting cages with Michael. It was an activity they enjoyed anyway, but if Jim was being honest with himself, he desperately needed to work out some sexual frustration as well.

"Hey, you want to come over and watch the game with me tonight?" Michael hit his ball with a loud *thwack* as he asked the question.

"I can't, I'm gonna go see Pam," Jim said, getting into a stance to hit his own ball. "I haven't seen her since I got back in town."

"Pam, Pam," Michael rolled his eyes. "She's all you ever talk about."

"That's not true," Jim said defensively.

"I knew this would happen again. Just like before, with Karen. You'll spend all your time with your girlfriend and then we'll never hang out anymore."

Jim hit his own ball. *Thwack!*

"How many times do I have to tell you?" he said. "Pam's not my girlfriend. We're just friends."

"I don't understand this relationship," Michael said, dumbfounded. "You enjoy being with her?"

*Thwack!* "Yeah."

"You find her attractive?"

"Yeah."

"And you're not dating her." It was a statement, not a question.

"No," Jim said. Michael wasn't exactly the most discreet of his acquaintances, and he wasn't prepared to air his mixed feelings about Pam anyway.

"Why not?"

Jim sighed. "You realize that she has some say in this too, right?"

*Thwack!*

"Well, then can you set her up with me?" Michael asked. "I'm dying here, Jim. Dying of loneliness. And horniness."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

He ignored his friend's request, as putting Pam deliberately in the path of Michael Scott was the last thing he wanted to do. It was difficult enough dealing with his own loneliness (and horniness), which were having a very real effect on his day to day routine. He couldn't stop the images in his dreams from pouring forth in his mind. Pam, leaning in to kiss him. Pam, letting him lift her and spin her around. Pam, wrapping her legs around him.

*Thwack!*

"Anyway, have fun watching the game," Jim said.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Why don't you call Ryan?"

"I did. He said he had a squash game, then he would be busy cleaning his andirons."

Jim was confused. "Ryan has a fireplace?"

"Don't worry about me," Michael eyed him. "Go have fun with your non-girlfriend."

Jim thought about seeing Pam, then again about how he'd been seeing Pam for the past few days. Running her hands all along his body, across his chest, down over his stomach, finally finding his-

*Thwack!*

He had to shake this off. Before he saw her again, he needed to hit a few more balls.

###

Over the past few weeks, he and Pam had naturally fallen into a little routine: he was off work at 5:30 every weekday and she wasn't finished until six. It had made it easy to land on the museum as their typical meeting place, since the walk from Dunder Mifflin usually took about a half an hour anyway.

Jim had flown in from Chicago the night before, and didn't have to return to work for a couple of days, but he knew Pam's schedule. She would be working today, and even though they hadn't spoken since he'd returned, he figured dropping by at the end of her shift would be okay. He was glad he did, because when he saw her making her way towards the entrance to leave for the day, it was as if the past week without her didn't exist.

She was wearing a skirt today, which was a little unusual, and a red sweater underneath her aquamarine overcoat. When she saw him, her face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Hi!" she said, and she ran over, throwing her arms around his neck. He hugged her back, holding her close, trying not to picture the imaginary scenario he'd gone over in his mind; trying to hide how much he was enjoying burying his face in her hair. The last time he'd seen her they'd hugged goodbye, and having her in his arms again made him realize he'd missed her even more than he'd allowed himself to believe.

"Hey," he said when they finally pulled apart. "It's really good to see you."

"You too," she said. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Yeah, it was pretty good. Haven't seen my parents in awhile."

"That's good," she said, shifting a bit between her feet. He looked down and noticed she was wearing her bright white Keds, the shoes she usually changed into to go home.

"I, uh… just came by to say hello, see what you're up to right now. Figured you'd be leaving soon."

Pam smiled.

"I realize now that sounds a little stalkery, doesn't it?"

"Maybe, but luckily for you I've gotten really used to you dropping by." They started walking towards the exit. "Oh, shoot!" she suddenly said, stopping. "I actually have your Christmas present with me today, but I left my bag in one of the back rooms of the gallery."

"I can't lie, that's the real reason I stopped by."

"It's pretty far. Do you want to wait here or come with me?"

"I'll come."

"This is the Met, you know. It's gonna take a minute."

"It's okay. You know, I've never actually been through this place," he admitted.

She looked surprised. "Do you want the nickel tour?"

"Sure, but only if you want to," he said. "Believe me, I understand if you don't. Hanging around my workplace after hours isn't exactly appealing."

"Well, you don't work here," she pointed out. "Do you?"

"No, I do not. Dunder Mifflin is not nearly as cool. But I have to warn you, I know nothing about art."

She grinned. "That's okay. We'll just do the highlights. Otherwise we'd be here for months."

"Roger that."

"Okay, follow me."

She began to walk into the heart of the museum, and he trailed her, walking in and out of various rooms, bypassing hundreds and hundreds of masterpieces. Greek and Roman, European, Medieval. It was a bonafide maze, and as they weaved through the labyrinthine museum he found himself impressed and awed by the place in which Pam immersed herself each day.

After she retrieved her tote bag from some mysterious employees-only area, they wandered around some more, Pam taking Jim on some predetermined route, hitting some of the more famous pieces in the museum. Some he even recognized and was appropriately proud of himself, and she was appropriately proud of him. He let her tell him everything she knew, which was a lot, and he marveled at how excited she got when she spoke about art; how, even though it wasn't something he found particularly interesting, she made it so.

Eventually they walked into an enormous room, at least thirty feet high, that contained a huge Egyptian temple. The massive windows stretched from the ceiling to the floor at an angle, illuminating everything and revealing a stunning view of the park.

"The Temple of Dendur," Pam explained, doing an overly enthusiastic gesture like a tour guide. She was so cute he couldn't stand it. "It was a gift from Egypt in the sixties. The reflecting pool is supposed to represent the Nile, and the glass on the ceiling was actually made to diffuse the light in exactly the same way it would have been in Egypt."

"I can't believe you know all this stuff," he said. "I mean… I can believe it, I'm just very impressed."

She beamed at him. "Well, someday you'll have to take me around your office."

"Ha," he said, laughing unenthusiastically to himself. "Over here, we have paper products, and in this room… more paper products."

"I like paper."

"Wanna buy some?" he winked, and she laughed. "No, but seriously, it's really cool that you get to work in a place you love."

She nodded and he looked around the huge, quiet room, sensing a lull in the conversation, giving it room to breathe.

"So... how was your Christmas?" he eventually asked. "Did you get everything you asked for?"

She gave him a mysterious smile. "Not quite, but it was good. Well, mostly."

"Mostly?"

"I, um." She stopped, as if debating whether or not to tell him something.

"You what?"

"I… went on a date, actually."

He felt his stomach lurch. A date? He knew this was possible — hell, unavoidable — but he was completely unprepared. He tried his hardest not to let his face betray his very real revulsion.

"Oh, yeah? When?" He hoped the question had come out as casually as he'd intended.

She looked at the window, the wall, the floor. Anywhere but him. "Couple days ago."

"Ah." He felt stupid. Was he supposed to ask her about it?

"Yeah, I mean… I wasn't really into the idea, but Holly wore me down," she continued. "She set me up with some artist friend of hers."

"How did it go?"

He needed to know. His mind was reeling, thinking there were only two possible outcomes. He braced for impact.

"It wasn't a love connection," she said, but didn't offer much else. His nerves began to settle significantly.

"That's too bad," he lied, trying to sound as sorry as possible.

Regardless of how the date had gone, he found himself insanely jealous of this nameless, faceless guy who had been lucky enough to take Pam out; who hadn't had the misfortune of defining their relationship far too early. Who'd been in the happy position to get to use that word "date" right off the bat and not have to wonder about her intentions.

As much as he hated the idea, he found himself curious as to what happened, how exactly the "date" had gone. What Pam was even like on a date.

He could ask, right? They were friends, weren't they?

"So... what happened?"

She finally looked up at him, a bit surprised. "You want to know?"

He shrugged. "Yeah."

"Oh, well, we just didn't have much in common," she said. "Actually, we did, but he was far more interested in talking about himself."

Jim blew air between his teeth and looked up at the ceiling. "Rookie mistake."

Pam smiled at him. "Right? I haven't been on many first dates but even I know that's not the move." She shook her head. "He kept going on and on about his comic strip. Something about the Clinton blowjob scandal, I don't know."

"What?" Jim asked. He could feel a slight grin spreading across his face.

"He kept saying he was being edgy. And he had this really weird obsession with Linda Tripp," she said, her eyes slightly wide. "Like… he must have mentioned her a half dozen times, Jim. It was wild."

Jim laughed. "And your friend set you up with this guy?"

"She meant well," Pam shrugged. "Anyway, I knew for sure there wasn't going to be a second date when I caught him trying to look down my top."

"Whoops." Jim made a face. "Another rookie mistake. You've got to be subtle if you're gonna check out the goods."

"The goods?"

"You can take the boy out of the frat…" he grinned. "No, I just mean… the imagination is a powerful thing. You look, but you don't look. It's nice to have some mystery, you know?"

"I think I follow," she grinned, narrowing her eyes.

"Anyway, take it as a compliment. He must have liked what he saw."

"I doubt it," she said, looking down at herself briefly. "I didn't even dress up, we met up for drinks right after work. I was essentially wearing what you're looking at."

He didn't want to tell her that what he was looking at was actually the most beautiful woman he'd ever known.

"I think you look great," he said.

She tilted her head a bit, almost in disbelief. "You do?"

"Well, yeah," he said. "You should wear skirts more. You look really good in skirts."

"I do?"

"Yeah."

She looked at him oddly, but then smiled. "Thanks."

She broke their gaze, silence descending upon them like the darkness outside the window. He wondered if he should ask her to grab a bite, or to go do something.

And if she might actually have plans without him.

"Anyway, forget that guy," Jim said.

"Yeah, it's okay," she shrugged. "I think when I like someone again, I'll just kinda know."

He nodded, and she smiled tightly.

"So."

"So."

She was looking at him expectantly, and on the edge of his brain he considered the distinct possibility that she might mean him; that she was waiting for him to ask her out. But was it just wishful thinking?

She'd had her rebound, technically. The arbitrary excuse he'd made for not asking her out in the first place had expired; nothing was actually holding him back anymore. But he was frozen in fear. Things between them were so different now. He hadn't anticipated their relationship developing quite the way it did over the past several weeks. After so much time spent cultivating that friendship - one that was very important to him - did he want to risk it?

Why did all of this have to be so hard?

In any event, the moment passed, and Pam turned away. She gestured for him to follow her out of the enormous exhibit.

"I have one more area to show you," she said. "Then we can get out of here."

"After you, Beesly."

She took him out of the Egyptian wing, across the Great Hall, up the stairs and into another gallery.

"These are my favorites," she explained. "Saved the best for last."

"My feet thank you," he grinned. He looked around, taking in the works around him.

"This is the Impressionist wing," she said. "The artist uses color and light more than actual shape and contour."

"So why is this place your favorite?"

She looked thoughtful. "I guess I like the paintings in here because… well, impressionists like to take something ordinary and make it beautiful. It's more about how the work makes you feel than about what it represents, if that makes sense."

"No, I think I get it," he said.

She walked up closer to one of the paintings, pulling him gently by his forearm. "If you look closely you can see it's actually a bunch of splotches of color, these tiny brushstrokes. Sort of a trick of the eye."

Jim got closer and squinted at the painting, trying to ignore the heat of her hand against his arm. "What's this one called?"

"This is one of Monet's haystacks. Have you heard of Monet, Jim?" she winked.

"Yes, I'm not a total philistine," Jim grinned. "Why'd he paint a haystack?"

"I think he wanted something really simple, so that you focus more on the environment around the haystack than the haystack itself. He actually painted these several times, during different seasons, at different times during the day. He wanted to capture what it felt like, depending on the light."

She was still touching his arm, and he wanted to absorb what she was saying but it was distracting.

"So, how does this one make you feel?" she asked him.

"Um," he mumbled. He looked at the image, which appeared snowy, and cold. But oddly, he felt the opposite. "Warm, actually."

Pam raised an eyebrow, letting go of his arm. "Well, that's the beauty of impressionism. It can be very personal."

They wandered around, looking at masterpieces by Van Gogh, Pisarro, Degas. It struck Jim how many iconic works were housed in this single cluster of rooms, let alone in this entire building. How many priceless works of art could the tiny island of Manhattan contain? It was almost incomprehensible.

They then walked past a small painting that looked familiar to Jim.

"I've definitely seen this one before," he said. "But I swear it was much bigger."

"That's La Grande Jatte," she explained. "Georges Seurat. This is just a study for it, the final version is really big. It's in Chicago, actually. At the Art Institute. I'll bet you saw it there."

"No, I'm pretty sure I saw it in Ferris Bueller's Day Off," he grinned.

She laughed. "Well yeah, that too."

"Seriously though, there are two of them? Why is this one so tiny?"

"There are several, actually. This one is his final study, before he painted the one you saw."

Jim nodded. "I see. Sort of like a practice run? A rough draft?"

"You could say that."

He nodded, thinking how strange it was that the final version ended up in Chicago, of all places, where they'd first met. And here they were in New York, looking at something that had served as an inspiration for it. He started to get philosophical, contemplating the sheer odds that brought him and Pam and this painting all together in a single room; that of all the hundreds of thousands of people in the city, they'd somehow continued to find each other over and over until they'd formed a connection, and ended up right here.

Jim got up close to the study. "It's amazing how something can look so simple from a distance, but when you get up close, really look at it, it's like…" he trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Messy," Pam supplied, at the exact moment he said it too.

They looked at each other, and he wondered if she was thinking the same thing; drawing the same comparisons he was. It felt like minutes passed between them but it must have only been a few seconds, because Pam suddenly pointed at him, smiling.

"Jinx!" she said, delighted. "Buy me a Coke."

Jim opened his mouth to speak, but Pam held up a finger. "Uh uh, no talking."

He gave her a playful glare, thinking this was a bit silly, but if Pam wanted to play, he'd commit. He glanced around the gallery, extending his arms helplessly. Where was he supposed to find her a Coke inside an art museum?

"Hmm, I wonder where you're going to track down a soda around here." She tapped her lip thoughtfully.

He looked at her, then looked all around him. There were doors on every side, and he wasn't even sure which way they'd come in. He shrugged very melodramatically and picked one, walking through it, continuing in the same direction, following the exit signs. After a while, he figured they were no closer to an actual exit. He was completely lost.

Pam pushed her bottom lip out in a pout, crossing her arms. "Do you need a map? Do you need me to hold your hand, Jim?"

I wouldn't mind, he thought, but hoped his expression didn't tell her that. She flashed her most dazzling smile at him and giggled, and he screwed up his face, planning his next move.

We definitely haven't come through this section yet, he thought to himself. They were standing in a room full of ancient looking musical instruments.

He looked at Pam pleadingly. Come on.

"Sorry, it's not my problem," she grinned.

"Oh, Pam!"

The voice came from behind her, and Pam spun around to talk to a woman with blond hair who was approaching them. This could be awkward, he thought to himself, and tried to remove himself from the situation by pivoting on his foot to look at a large wooden lute.

"I'm glad I caught you," the woman said. Jim sensed Pam was moving closer to him, and realized there was no way he was going to avoid either looking like an idiot or losing the game.

"I'm sorry, I hope I'm not interrupting," the woman said.

"No, this is my friend Jim," Pam said. "He wanted to take a look at the museum. Jim, this is Holly."

Holly stuck out her hand, smiling broadly. She was pretty, a few years older than they were, and had kind eyes. "So nice to finally meet you, Jim."

Jim, with little other choice, smiled broadly and nodded, shaking her hand, but said nothing. He turned back to the lute and tried to look very absorbed. He hoped he didn't appear rude, but sticking to this jinx and impressing Pam was more important to him at the moment.

Pam stepped over to them. "He gets very focused," she explained to Holly quietly.

Holly stepped up next to him and dropped her voice to a whisper. "I understand, this piece can be very overwhelming."

He nodded again, and squinted his eyes as he looked at the lute, attempting to appear as 'overwhelmed' as possible. He quickly glanced at a very amused Pam, giving her the help me expression.

"Jim can really just lose himself in here," she told Holly. "Sometimes he gets so caught up that it makes me emotional."

Jim's eyes widened, what the hell, Beesly, but she just grinned, enjoying watching him squirm.

"Well, you take all the time you need," Holly said, patting Jim on the shoulder. "I promise that no matter how many hours you spend here, you'll never run out of things to see."

Jim smiled politely, then turned back to the instrument. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Pam covering her mouth, trying not to laugh. Holly turned to her and she straightened up just in time.

"Pam, I wanted to remind you about the New Year's party tomorrow night. Are you planning on coming?"

"Oh," she said, taken off guard. "I, uh… I'm not sure. I was thinking about it. Are you?"

"Nah, my parents are visiting, and they are definitely not into the party scene," she rolled her eyes. "It'll be a shame to miss it. But you should go, last year's was just wonderful."

Pam nodded, smiling tightly. "Okay. Maybe I will."

Holly smiled. "You should bring your friend," Jim heard her say quietly. "Somewhere he can be a little more… social."

Pam nodded. "That's an idea."

"Well, I'd better get back to work," Holly said, then turned to Jim. "It was nice meeting you."

Jim turned briefly enough to give her a wave, then Holly left the room. Pam burst into laughter, but Jim refused to break.

"I'm glad to see you taking this so seriously," she said.

He held his hands out, what can I say, and gave her his most winning smirk.

"What do you think, Jim? You want to go to this New Year's party?"

He smiled, widening his eyes in approval, nodding enthusiastically.

"Oh yeah? Probably a lot of stuffy art patrons," she warned. "You'll have to get all dressed up."

He pantomimed mulling it over.

"But on the other hand, free food and booze."

He grinned and shrugged, if you insist.

Truth was, the idea of an evening with Pam "all dressed up" made him giddy. For a brief moment he imagined the two of them, arriving at a fancy party arm in arm. Even if it wasn't a date, it would feel like one.

He tried to mentally cycle through his closet, contemplating what on earth he could wear. His mind involuntarily turned to images of Pam instead and how she might look wearing some kind of gown or cocktail dress, and soon he noticed she was watching him closely, as if she could see his thought process.

The moment suddenly felt heated, and he tried to shake it off but it sat between them. Pam seemed to notice too, and gestured for him to follow her through a few more rooms until they escaped into the very cafeteria they'd first sat in when they reconnected back in the fall. He walked up to the counter, pointed to a can of Coke, and purchased it, handing it to Pam grandly.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome."

"That was all very impressive."

"Look, when I commit to something, I go all in," he grinned. "Although I hope your friend Holly doesn't think I'm a weirdo."

"She likes weirdos," Pam shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

"Good."

Pam laughed, holding the Coke between her hands, circling the rim with her finger nervously. "So, were you being serious? Do you want to come to this party with me?"

Jim looked at her curiously. "Do you want me to?"

She smiled. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"You're not gonna ask the Linda Tripp guy?"

Pam laughed, shaking her head. "No."

"Well then, absolutely, I do," Jim replied. The only plans he had for ringing in the new year involved his television and a take out menu.

The corners of her mouth quirked up into an appreciative smile, and she tilted her chin up a bit. "Well, alright then."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a wrapped gift, about the size of a brick. "Now the moment you've been waiting for."

"I've hardly thought of anything else." He began to untie the ribbon, and Pam appeared slightly anxious.

"I was actually going to return it, because… well, your gift was so amazing and thoughtful, and I just... but then I realized I wasn't going to top it anyway, so."

He tore back the green paper to reveal Keri Russell's frizzy mop of hair. It was a boxed set of their favorite show.

"Beesly!" he exclaimed. "You know I'm gonna have to hide this under my bed whenever have the guys over, right?"

She laughed. "I assumed. It's the price of admission."

"I love it," he said, and he meant it. Felicity was their thing, it had been since the start. And despite whatever Pam deemed sufficiently thoughtful, he knew this was something special. "Thanks. We can do marathons now."

"You're welcome."

"You wanna get out of here?" he asked, after a few moments.

"Yes, please," she agreed. "I'm starving."

Pam led the way back through the museum, and soon enough they were catching up on the week they'd been apart as they descended the huge stone staircase and continued down Fifth Avenue. Being with her again was as comfortable as ever, but he couldn't deny there was a new sense of urgency now at the back of his mind.

He wondered how much time he had left to make her his girlfriend before someone else did.