I'd like to personally thank almost everyone who read this story... this one took a lot out of me, and if anyone really enjoyed, that makes it all worthwhile.
I'd like to thank one cat in particular for talking me down and helping me get through this one... I'm not going to say your name on the chance that this chapter bombs and you don't want to be linked to it, but... you know who you are.
As always, reviews are greatly appreciated and a splendid time is aimed for (though by no means guaranteed) for all.
Phase SIX: The Queen Is Dead
As Dwight fumed to himself in his place of exile deep within the annex, his thoughts were only of revenge.
Jim had taken away everything he had ever cared loved: the office that had been the site of all his greatest achievements, the only woman he'd ever done... Jim was probably behind the conspiracy that had taken Michael away from him, too.
Jim always turned everything he touched to dog waste.
But Dwight would make it right. He would win Angela back, he would restore the office to its proper order, and... if Michael was still alive... Dwight would find him and bring him home.
All he had to do was find a way to escape from the annex.
Dwight's thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open and Toby walked in. "Hi, Dwight."
"Hi, Toby," Dwight replied, more than a little annoyed to have his train of thought so derailed.
Toby took a file off of his desk and turned back the way he came. "See you later."
"Bye," Dwight snapped as the door closed behind Toby.
Now, how could he possibly get out?
----
Jim, as happy as we've ever seen him: You know, I always thought being a major world leader would be stressful or demanding, but... It's really not so bad.
----
There were probably times that Jim had enjoyed himself more while at work, but he was at a loss to name them at that moment.
He and Pam were fully invested in decorating every corner of the office with flags, banners, and signs in the now familiar white, blue, and green colors of the Sovereign Democratic Republic of New Scranton.
"I know these aren't that good," for Pam, it had become a lifelong habit to provide any occasion with an unnecessary apology, "but I really didn't have a lot of time."
"Are you kidding?" Jim countered. "Pam, these are great!" he said, casting his gaze across his entire domain and finding a piece of her in every part of it. "You did a great job," he beamed at her.
"Well, with the resources of a failing paper company..." she blushed.
Jim nodded regally. "We need to remember this day, Pam," he mused.
"This is our Independence Day," she agreed warmly.
----
Dwight: Jim thinks he's gotten rid of me. He thinks he's locked me up in the annex and I'm no longer a threat to his government.
The smile.
Dwight: But Jim forgot he was dealing with a Lackawanna County Volunteer Sheriff's Deputy.
The nod.
Dwight: I have spent the last hour loosening that ceiling tile.
He gestures to the board in question, right above Toby's desk.
Dwight: Now, I'm going to climb into that crawl-space and make my way back into the main office for one last, brutal assault on Jim's evil empire.
----
As good as his word, Dwight used Toby's chair, desk, and a good number of his personal effects to angle himself into the hole in the ceiling. There followed a frankly shameful period of trying to use the strength and momentum of his upper half to wiggle the lower half of himself up, eventually culminating in something that could generously be dubbed successful.
About two seconds later, he discover the cheap, low-grade pressed cardboard ceiling tiles were not made to carry a grown man of his weight and built as they collapsed unceremoniously underneath him.
----
Angela: "Do I feel guilty for what I did to Dwight?"
She shakes her head with grim certainty.
Angela, with a chilling sense of righteousness: Dwight was going to violate the Law and there can be no sympathy for criminals or insurrectionists of any kind, not ever. Anyone who tries to stand against the Party will be crushed by the Party. It's as simple as that.
Pause.
Angela, considerably less convincing: Besides, I hardly know him.
----
Pam sat at Jim's computer, using this brief respite before the big celebration to settle on a few minor matters. Something earlier that day had stirred a terrible curiosity in her and, as much as she hated to think about what she might end up finding, she knew she wouldn't be able to fully concentrate on the crushing matters if state until she knew the awful truth.
Searching her memory of a few key phrases, she ran a Google search, checked a few promising pages... and finally came upon exactly what she was looking for.
It was worse than she could have dared imagine.
----
Pam: Jim was not going to like this.
----
"Do you remember that story Dwight wrote?" she asked him, her tone was almost tender, though he hesitated to label it such.
"How could I forget it?" he squinted back at her. "I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep again."
She nodded softly. "Well... I did some research and..." she paused, ostensibly because this was difficult for her to say to him, but he could tell there was also some level to her that enjoyed watching him suffer "...he's been posting it online under the name 'iamjimhalpert.'"
Gravity switched polarity and Jim found himself having a hard time keeping up with it.
"I know you're flattered, but..." The fact that she was keeping her tone comforting was hindered by the fact that she was straining not to laugh.
"What are my options here, Pam?" he asked her blankly, all his attention focused on retaining his organs.
"Well..." Pam mused "...you could give him a bad review, but... that's about it."
"No," he replied seriously, "can I have him excommunicated or something?" Never before had he been this happy to have polluted someone's front yard with twenty-seven plastic lawn flamingos.
"No," Pam insisted, "because you aren't the Pope, you're the President."
Jim nodded, he wished he could remember that. You'd think the sash would help, but... "So, what can the President do to Dwight?"
"More than what you've already done to his front lawn?" Pam reminded him, smiling.
"Now, Pam," he smiled, "you know that didn't count."
"Because it was a preemptive strike," she noted dutifully.
"Precisely," he replied. Somehow it was always harder to nurse a bad mood when she was in the room.
"You can refuse to issue a Pardon," she offered.
Jim quite liked this suggestion. "Excellent. Madam Executive Magistrate, please note that Dwight K Schrute is pre-refused for all Presidential Pardons."
"So noted."
----
Dwight: With this rope...
He lifts up a makeshift string he's pieced together of mostly paperclips and rubber bands.
Dwight: I intend to climb out the window, drop down into the parking lot, then force my way back into the office. And if I have to take down a few coworkers along the way, then so help me...
Toby walks into frame and grabs Dwight's rope right out of his hands.
Toby: No.
Dwight looks at him in silent shock.
Toby: Just... no.
----
Toby: If Dwight killed himself on the job, it would only make thing hard on everyone.
Toby shakes his head in preemptive remorse.
Toby: I mean, there are all these forms I'd have to fill out and every employee has to go through a mandatory grief consoling sessions...
Pause.
Toby: It's just more trouble than its worth...
----
Jim turned down the music blasting out his iPod stereo and tapped his spoon to bring his arrayed citizens to attention. "Hi." He looked across the room and realized that for the first time nearly a full half of his people were as close to almost actually listening him. He was so touched by the whole scene that he was very nearly moved to tears. "I just wanted to say that this revolution has succeeded beyond my wildest hopes and that's because of each and every one of you." He smiled directly at Pam. "I mean, we've got our own flag, money, stamps..." he shook his head in sheer amazement "...I think we can all be proud to call ourselves Flönkertonians on this, our Independence Day."
Meredith was the first feel a groundswell of patriotism. "I think we should drink to the Republic."
"Alcohol is forbidden by strict Party Law," Angela sniped stoically.
"Uh... The Party never voted on that," Kelly pointed out cautiously.
"Thought crime!" Angela screamed, pointing furiously at Kelly. "Thought crime! Get the rat mask!"
"No," Jim rushed in, placing himself between the Angela and the other women, "I don't think we're going to do that."
"If we don't crack down on dissidents now..." Angela cautioned.
However, whatever point she was about to make was preempted by a much more crushing emergency from Defense Secretary (Retired) Kevin Malone. "Guys, Michael just pulled into the parking lot."
----
Kevin: It's like when you're a kid and your mom comes into your room even though you told her not to...
He nods knowingly.
----
By the time Michael walked into the office, every one of his employees (except Dwight, who was still locked in the annex) had ran for the nearest desk and suddenly become very busy. It was if the whole of the office had engaged in a simultaneous game of Musical Chairs.
The fact that the room looked like it had been decorated for a four year-old's birthday party only added to the affect.
"Hey, Michael," Jim mumbled slowly, trying to think of how he could explain what had happened to the room.
Michael, however, didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. "Tiny Jim," he whispered in sad acknowledgment, taking a slow swig of his Snapple.
"Um, I thought you weren't going to be back for a few days," Pam said, as though reminding him of his promise might somehow cause him to puff back out of existence.
Michael sighed painfully and let his shoulders slump down. It took he a few moments to find his voice. Every one of his employees cherished those moments. "If I could have everyone's attention please," Michael began, emotionally overwrought. Then, he said aside to Pam "Pampers, you should know that sweater has a one-boobing effect on you." Pam attempted to cover herself up more effectively while Michael pressed on. "Someone we all care about very much... Todd Packer..." Michael nearly sobbed as he said the name, "...needs all of our help right now." Michael took one last, meaningful swig from his Snapple before clattering it loudly onto Pam's counter. "This bottle is now the place to leave all donations to pay Packer's bail," he explained, indicating the bottle currently leaving sweat circles on Pam's desk, "I expect all of you to contribute and I don't want to see anything smaller than a fifty!" he roared optimistically.
----
Michael: What did I learn from my adventure with Packer?
Pause.
Michael: Plenty.
Pause.
Michael, seriously: From now on, I'm not going abandon my post every time Packer calls me from Atlantic City asking me to bring him two hundred dollars.
Pause.
Michael: I had a good time, but... no more. For now on, I promise to make my job my first priority, and to always be honest, dedicated, and hard-working, just like my hero... Tina Fey.
He holds up picture, which does indeed seem to be of Tina Fey.
Michael: She signed this herself, you know... It's true, I got it on eBay, so...
Pause.
Michael: You know it's real.
----
It surprised no one that the bottle was still empty half an hour later when everyone started to go home. Jim was still at Pam's desk, writing the history of their once great nation even as the population feel into sharp decline. It had been Pam's idea that Jim should have a grandfather who was a folk hero of some kind, leading to the creation of Tin-pan Halpert, a man who was equal parts Johnny Appleseed and Daniel Boone, and who seemed to have been active throughout the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania at roughly every point in its history.
It was at that point that Roy entered. Unlike Michael, he immediately noticed the decorations festooned throughout the office and, like most of Pam's attempts to express herself, Roy's reaction was confused hostility. "Hey."
Jim and Pam turned to greet the latter's fiancée.
On some level Jim must have known that this day would end like any other day since Pam had come to work at Dunder-Mifflin, with her going home with Roy and himself going home to watch bad, bad television programs... but he'd forced it from his mind.
Too busy running a major world power, he reasoned. "Hi, Roy."
"What's all this?" Roy asked, gesturing dismissively towards Pam's hard work.
"Oh, Jim started his own country," she explained. There was something in her tone that made Jim want leap in front of a fire truck.
Roy had the confused, slightly out-of-focus expression of a dog trying to decipher exactly where a particular tennis ball has been thrown. It was a familiar look for him. "You ready to go?" he asked Pam.
Jim noted (or maybe he simply needed to note) a hint of reluctance in her voice, but Pam still gave her consent. She retrieved her personal affects and gave a gave her goodbyes to everyone present, which now consisted solely of Jim, Roy staring at her impatiently the whole time.
Jim was prepared to explain that he would hanging around for a bit to clean up some of the mess they'd made, but it didn't seem to be an issue. Pam and Roy disappeared together without another word to him, while his hand hung lamely in the air, in a mute, motionless, and entirely unreciprocated wave goodbye.
When he heard the door click back into place, he gave himself over to complete surrender, unceremoniously fulumping back into his chair. Reaching across his desk to his iPod, he carefully scrolled the single wheel down until he came to the song he was looking for. He pressed down gently on the slightly distended center of the iPod, letting the music envelope him. After a moment's thought, he picked up his jacket and began rifle through his pockets. After a short struggle and many false leads, he finally uncovered the treasure he'd been trying to excavate: the dollar bill Pam had drawn earlier. The one with his face on it.
He sat there, all alone in his ruined empire, and he looked at himself as she saw him.
----
Dwight is sitting on the floor of the annex, angrily examining his watch.
Dwight: When are they going to let me out of here?
He looks at the camera.
Dwight: You don't have a key, do you?
The camera shakes back and forth.
Dwight: Eff.