Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: A million apologies for my extended absence! I've been crazy busy since the start of school (junior year really is a bitch…), and finally found an hour to sit and just write. This chapter's not terribly long, but I guess it's better than nothing. Hopefully I'll get the final chapters up soon. Again, I'm sorry for the ridiculous delay! Thanks to everyone who reviewed; feedback completes me.

Chapter 12: It's Not Over Yet

The sun cast a brilliant glow over the rocky mountainside. The morning air felt warm and clear. Chirping birds perched daintily in the leafy green trees lining the trail. A fluffy bunny hopped daintily across the path. The only thing missing from this vision of wilderness perfection? Dwight K. Schrute.

Duh.

"This one time, at band camp…" Dwight began, walking arm and arm with Angela down the path.

"Yes?" she breathed, clinging to every word of what would undoubtedly be the most intense story ever.

"At band camp, I…" Dwight trailed off, his eyes widening in shock. "GREAT AUNT MARCY'S DIRTY UNDERPANTS!" he screeched in horror.

Angela bumped into him as he came to a sudden halt. She grabbed his arm tightly, looking nervously from his slack-jawed face to the surroundings. "What's wrong, D? What is it? More Nurffles?"

"Nargles," Dwight whispered. "And no…look…." He pointed at the ground. Angela followed his finger with her gaze. Etched into the compact dirt of the path was a message: Dwight K. Schrute completes me. Love, Jim.

"Um. WHAT THE HELL?" Dwight snapped.

Angela simply stared at the ground in shock.

Dwight etched out the writing with a booted toe. "Just a joke…a prank…ew…just a joke," he muttered to himself.

"Yeah, we haven't seen Dwight and Angela for a while," Jim said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "For like an hour, actually. Maybe they got eaten while hunting non-existent Belgian geese?" He crossed his fingers.

"Where is it?" Pam rubbed her cheek gingerly. "Higher?" She moved her fingers to her temple, and swiped at the smudge of dirt there. "Thanks," she smiled, clean now. "Can't imagine where that came from…." She grinned impishly.

Michael sighed wistfully and gazed past the camera into the distance. "I can't believe that we're already a quarter of the way down the mountain. The trip is almost over, and what a long, strange trip it's been!" His voice cracked and he sniffled. A sort of determination came over him. "This trip started off awesome, and it's going to end awesome! THE FUN ISN'T OVER YET!"

"Okay, people, gather round!" Michael cried. The employees picked themselves up from their various resting places along the trail and congregated around the regional manager. "As you all know, the trip is almost over."

He mistook the cheering of his audience as depression.

"I know, I know," he consoled. "We'll all be sad to see it end. But, we still have three quarters of the trail to go! And you know what that means!"

"More bug bites?" Stanley supplied.

"More shin splints?" Toby moaned.

"MORE BONDING GAMES!?" Andy shouted.

"YEAH!" Michael cried.

Andy pumped his fist in jubilation. "What are we going to play, Michael?"

"I was thinking 'Who's In My Mouth.'"

"'Who's In My Mouth,'" Michael informed the camera, "is a game invented by one of the greats, Dane Cook. He's hilarious. When I meet him, though, once I'm famous, too, I'm going to have to give him some tips." Michael leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Some of the things that he says are very racially offensive!"
"No way, Michael!" Karen protested.

"Yeah, that's gross," Toby agreed.

"You're gross," Michael snapped, crossing his arms across his chest angrily.

"What about 'Let's Do This, I'm a Cashew?'" Andy suggested.

"No," Jim said flatly.

"That's not even a game," said Oscar. "Just an…activity."

"You would know," Kevin giggled.

"What are you suggesting?" Oscar said, offended.

Pam cut in. "Anyways, Michael, not everyone could participate in that," she commented sagely.

Michael came to the defense of Andy's idea. "Yeah, girls could do it, too!" he told Pam. "Just find a springy twig or something and stick it in your fly."

"Gross," said Kelly.

"We can't even play that," Phyllis said, "because we don't have any cashews."

Creed ferreted through his jacket pocket and withdrew a jam jar. "We could just use some beans as substitutes," he generously offered.

Creed told the camera matter-of-factly, "I'd offer my mushrooms, but I might need those later."

"Okay…ew." Michael blanched at the jar of discolored beans, which Creed shook only a few inches from his nose. "Never mind. Let's play a different game."

"Candy Land?" suggested Jim.

"No," Michael replied thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "That won't work…there isn't a gum drop forest around here…Dwight, do you have any ideas?"

Silence.

"Dwight?"

"He and Angela haven't been with us for like an hour, Michael," Pam said, a little awkwardly.

"Where'd they go?"

"Dwight said something about teaching Angela about hunting Belgian geese."

"But we're not in Belgium…we're in Pennsylvania."

Pam just shrugged.

Michael's shoulders slumped a little, and his mouth turned down with disappointment. "Fine," he sighed. "We'll just play something with out them…."

"Oh. My. God!" Andy crowed. He jumped up and down excitedly. "I have a game! Michael! I have a game!"

Michael perked up immediately at the excitement in his voice. "What is it!?" he demanded.

"AMERICAN IDOL!" Andy screamed.

Kelly squealed and clapped her hands together happily.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod!" Kelly gushed at the camera. "American Idol is the best game show ever! Ryan Seacrest is soooooo cute! Ohmygod! And Kelly Clarkson is ah-maaaaay-zing! I'm totally going to rock at this game!"

Stanley crossed himself and gazed heavenwards, mouth moving in silent prayer.

"Yeah, I would totally audition for the next American Idol," Pam joked, "but who would answer the phones when I'm famous?"

Michael hopped on board immediately. "Yes! Andy! Amazing! Why didn't I think of that sooner?"

"You were too busy thinking up countless other…awesome…games?" Andy said weakly.

"This is true," Michael agreed. "Well, let's snap to it! Karen, you can be Paula, 'cause you're pretty."

Karen rolled her eyes at the camera.

Michael continued, "Um, Oscar! You can be Simon."

"Why me?" whined Oscar.

Michael ignored him. "And…Stanley! You'll be Randy, obviously."

"Why 'obviously'?" Stanley demanded.

Feeling that there was no way that Michael could yank his foot out of his mouth after that one, Jim mercifully distracted everyone. "Michael, how about I go look for Dwight and Angela? So that they don't miss out on all the fun?"

"Good idea," Michael enthused. "And why don't you take someone with you? Respect the buddy system and all that."

"Smart move," Jim said seriously. He took Pam's hand, and together they set off up the trail in the direction they had come.

In backtracking for half an hour, Jim and Pam took the opportunity to make three stops along the trail, writing more messages in the dirt. Content with their work, they walked toward the rest of the employees again, pausing a couple hundred yards away from the others. They settled down on a large boulder to wait.

Karen looked meaningfully at the camera. "Never – and I mean never – let Meredith sing. Ever." She shuddered. "Ever."

"When Michael sings," Oscar began, "it's kind of like listening to Cher; at first, you can't really tell if it's a boy or a girl…."

Kelly sang to the camera: "You are. My fiiii-re. The one. Deeee-zye-errr!"

"Yeah. So I sang, 'Wow, I Can Get Sexual, Too.'" Andy sighed contentedly. "Nailed it."

"Fact: tubas do fit there!"

Angela giggled a very un-Angela-esque giggled and leaned into Dwight, clinging to his arm. "Oh, D!" she laughed. "That's terrible!"

Suddenly, her laughter died out. "Dwight…."

He followed her gaze to the ground, then gulped.

Dwight, I want to procreate with you. Love, Pam.

"Dwight!" Angela said more firmly. "What is that all about?!"

Dwight, for the first time in his life, was lost for words.