-1AN: Originally I was gonna have this be the beach party chapter, but then I felt like I had to get some stuff wrapped up before then. So next chapter, I promise: Dwight in a Speedo, Pam in a bikini and the limbo will be done by all!
And thanks again to GreenFish for the beta, and for the Jim/Pam convo! She understood how important it is to work this sarong for all it's worth.
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The truth was, Dwight Schrute had never seen the sea. Well, he had seen it on TV, obviously, just never in person. His father had hated to travel and his mother had left when he was very young. His father had always told him that his mother had left because she had "no respect for authority". Ever since then, he had held authority above everything else. Dwight couldn't imagine that he would have liked such a flighty woman anyway.
That was beside the point. The key thing was that Dwight Schrute had never seen the sea, much less left the Northeast until now. He had just never felt the need to; he loved Scranton, and besides, he could hardly leave the beet farm and Mose. However, when the opportunity had arisen to take this trip, he was excited. It had taken all his willpower to not go straight to the beach as soon as the Dunder-Mifflin team had landed in Florida. He wanted Michael to be there for his first time.
Now that he was finally here, the expanse of the water spread out before him, he felt overwhelmed. Dwight knew from television that the sea was big -- that it went on as far as the eye could see. There was something to actually seeing it though, and smelling it. Schrutes had incredibly keen senses of smell, and the salty tang was almost overpowering. It was noisy too, the waves grinding against the shore.
"What -- what is it?" Michael asked, looking at Dwight curiously. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Nothing," Dwight said, his voice stiff. "I just…" Dwight trailed off, tightly gripping the knot of his beach sarong in his right hand. His breath came in short puffs.
Michael eyed him critically, and Dwight winced. Michael could read him like a book sometimes, and Dwight despised lying to him. He could be a master liar if he wanted to, but it was dishonorable. Especially to Michael.
"Wait a minute -- you don't have, like, um – thatassaphobia, you know– fear of the ocean, do you?" Michael's face was a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
"It's Thalassophobia, Michael, and no… no," Dwight said, suddenly relieved. He glanced between Michael and the camera crew that had followed them to the beach.
"Well, whatever, Dwight," Michael rolled his eyes, "just stop being such a loser and help me set up the luau."
"But we're not in Hawaii, and luaus are traditionally Hawaiian celebrations --"
"I know that!" Michael cut him off. "But we're still on a beach, and this is my thing, so just -- just do it, okay?"
Dwight nodded his head; if Michael thought it was appropriate, then it obviously was.
"Okay," Michael said, "let's have the limbo over here. Did you bring the boom box?"
Dwight shook his head. "The hotel said that they didn't have one they could lend us. They said it could get broken on the beach."
Michael sighed, frustrated. "How could it get broken?!"
"Water damage, sand damage, heat damage…" Dwight began counting off on his fingers.
"Okay, just -- shut it and set up the limbo. You'll have to sing the limbo song, then"
"What's the limbo song --?" Dwight began to ask, but Michael walked away to go set up the beach relay race. Dwight hitched up his sarong and proceeded to saw off the end of a broomstick he had found in a closet.
He knew that one should always be vigilant when working with sharp instruments, but he just couldn't stop staring at the sea.
xxxx
Pam was in the hotel gift shop, and she was desperate. "Are you positive that you don't have any cheaper bathing suits?" she begged the girl behind the counter.
The girl blew a bubble with her gum and snapped it, loudly. She was obviously bored with this customer. "Ma'am, I'm positive. If there's anything else I can help you with, though, be sure to let me know," she said without any conviction. She went back to examining the horrendously long, red nails of her right hand.
Pam turned away and walked out of the gift shop, dejected. Ma'am? she thought. That girl wasn't much younger than me at all! I don't look old enough to be called 'ma'am!' She looked down at her feet as she walked towards the elevators. Caught up in her distress about the bathing suit, she ran straight into Jim.
"Whoa, Beesly!" he chuckled nervously. "You gotta stop charging into people like that."
"Oh, hey, I'm -- I'm sorry," she stuttered, flushing. She cursed herself mentally. God, I sound like a fourteen year old girl.
Jim looked behind himself at the elevator and jabbed towards it with his thumb. "Are you, uh, headed back up? You aren't going to the beach par-tay?"
Pam smiled slightly. "Yeah, yeah, I think so. I mean, I think I will. I'm just, uh, trying to figure out where I can get a bathing suit. You know, that's not Kelly's." She made a face.
"What?" Jim said, smirking. "Pink polka dots and ruffles aren't your thing?"
"Oh, well," Pam said, a slow smile spreading across her face, "maybe, but I caught a glimpse of Dwight's sarong, and I wouldn't want people to think we were trying to match."
Jim snorted. "Yeah, that was – wow. Can you believe he actually bought that thing?"
"No… I can't believe it's got polka dots on it, either."
"Well, it's very stylish, you know, in certain areas of the male community." Jim smirked, starting to break again.
"I'm sure he'll be the belle of the beach," Pam said with mock seriousness, trying to hide her smile.
"Yes, I'm sure," Jim said, smiling back at her. A long pause hung between them. Jim shifted on his feet. "I should probably get down to the beach, you know -- Michael…" He trailed off.
"Yeah – I guess I need to go find a suit, then."
"Yeah," Jim said. "Well, good luck with that. I guess I'll see you down there later, then?"
Pam fought the butterflies in her stomach that she felt when she heard the hopefulness in his voice. "Yeah, definitely."
xxxx
Pam knocked on Kelly's door hesitantly. It swung open immediately to reveal Kelly's wide, grinning face.
"Pam!" she squealed. "I am like, so totally excited for this party! I mean, it's Michael, so it'll be lame, but me and Meredith were going to sneak in some booze." She looked critically at Pam's t-shirt and jeans, her eyes wide. "Ohmigod, do you need a bathing suit? Cause I have like five and there's this adorable pink one that I'm not wearing, and I'm positive that it would look totally hot on you. Come in, come in, we're just getting ready!"
Pam paused. "Uh, okay." She wondered at how she and Kelly had managed to have a 30 second conversation in which she hadn't spoken at all. Well, calling it a conversation would have been generous, she thought as Kelly ushered her in.
"Hey, Pam! Want a drink?" Meredith greeted her, not looking away from the mirror where she was applying mascara. Pam could tell that Meredith had already indulged in a few "pre-party" drinks herself. "Are you ready to go meet some hunks down at the beach?" Meredith winked suggestively.
"Meredith!" Kelly squealed, "Pam totally has a fiancé! They've been engaged for like, three years!"
Pam flinched a little at the mention of her engagement. "I don't know if you're likely to meet any 'hunks' at the beach, Meredith," she said, trying to change the subject. "Unless you're talking about Kevin and Creed."
Meredith shuddered, accidentally poking herself in the eye with the mascara brush. "Damn it!" she cursed, holding a Kleenex to her watering eye.
Kelly rolled her eyes and began rummaging through her bag while Pam waited, playing with her engagement ring. "So," Pam said, "are you guys gonna go swimming?"
Kelly and Meredith both broke out into laughter. "Are you kidding?!" Kelly screeched. "And ruin my makeup and hair that took me two hours?"
Pam's eyes widened. "You spent two hours getting ready?"
Pam gaped at her, her mouth slightly ajar. Pam wondered if Kelly really knew what she was saying sometimes. Her lack of self-awareness was almost bad enough to rival Michael's -- almost.
"Here we go!" Kelly cried, pulling a hot pink bikini out of her over-stuffed suitcase. "Ohmigod, you're gonna look totally hot in this. I mean, you're a little bit pale for the color, but we can totally spend some of the week working on that."
Pam stared in horror at the bright pink contraption that was more string than cloth. Pam weighed the options in her head; she really wanted go swimming, but going swimming meant wearing that… thing. Pam looked at the bikini, then at the flask that sat on the counter next to Meredith. She swallowed. "Hey, Meredith," she called. "I think I will have a drink before we go."
"Yeah, Pam!" Meredith cried.
xxxx
Mike hated shooting on beaches. Sand had a way of fucking up the cameras like nothing else could. He was sitting next to Creed on a salt-encrusted piece of driftwood, smoking a cigarette. Only he and Creed smoked, so they had started to take their smoking breaks together. Creed was a pretty interesting guy when it came down to it, but seeing him on the beach… he just wished that Creed wouldn't wear those flip-flops that showed off the toes he didn't have.
Mike took a deep drag off his cigarette, then closed his eyes as he exhaled through his nose. The repetitive action soothed him, which he needed right now considering how conflicted he was. He was contractually obligated to give any film he shot over to the editors, and he couldn't talk to the office workers about the documentary. If he erased the footage he'd shot in the hallway that morning, he could get fired from one of the best jobs he'd had in a while. He also knew that the viewers of the documentary would just eat up the Jim/Pam storyline. Their modern day "unrequited love" might even make or break the documentary, in terms of success.
Then he thought about Pam's face when she had awoken to his camera staring at her, and her look of horror. He thought about how she and Phyllis had indulged him by cooing over pictures of his new baby girl, agreeing that she was the cutest thing they had ever seen. Even Jim had managed to withstand Mike's barrage of baby stories, and he had had the good grace to agree with Mike that his baby was probably the smartest baby ever born. And then how Pam had given him such great advice when he got in a huge fight with his wife -- God, my head just hurts from thinking about all this, he thought. When did things get so personal?
"Yo, Mike," Joe called, walking towards him, his feet slipping in the sand. "Shit, it's hot," he said under his breath. "Anyway, they're gonna start now. You and Creed should probably head on over."
Creed took a final pull on his cigarette and flicked in into the sand. "Thanks, Ace," he said to Joe before wandering back towards the growing group of Dunder-Mifflinites.
Joe glanced at Mike. "Hey, so did you know that Creed had so many tattoos…?"
Mike shook his head. "Don't -- just, don't even go there, man."
"It looks like they melted or something!" Joe said in wonder.
Mike put his own cigarette out in the sand and stood. "It's called getting old."
They could hear Michael's voice loud and clear, despite the fact that they were a few yards down the beach. "Dunder-Mifflin employees!" he called out. "Welcome to your exotic, group-building luau!"
"And so it begins," Joe sighed.
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AN: So I hope that Dwight sounded genuine, I was actually kinda nervous about writing his POV, since he's one of the most complex characters on the show (I think so anyway). It's interesting to think why Dwight ended up the way he is; how much of it is just his personality, and how much is how he was raised. Nature vs. nurture! Alright!
…or maybe he's just a tool. A lovable tool.
Oh, and, um… review review review pleasepleaseplease. Fo' serious. Reviews are magical things.