Author's Note: Song featured in this chapter is Stars - "One More Night" ... which is absolutely, positively one of my faaaaavorite songs ever. And it's totally a Jim angsty song. Something I could completely picture him listening to in the wee hours of the night while he counts his woes and daydreams about a life filled with everything Pam.
And, of course, this scene takes place during the episode "The Client" during one of the top favorite PB&J scenes ever.
She pulls the iPod toward her again, and her eyes are shiny when she briefly spares a look up at him. It's these little moments, when he knows they're completely working off that same feeling, their hearts beating that same beat … he honestly lives for them, now. It's what keeps him coming into work. It's what keeps the air pumping into his lungs. It's what makes his eyes open when the sun comes up and it's how he closes every day.
Call him delusional or hopeful or quixotic, whatever. He's looking down at her right now, he just saw her eyes, and he knows she feels it too. There's no way she can't. There's just no way.
Her thumb traces slowly over the center circle, she clicks the button, and he watches it all, captivated. A tinkling laugh falls from her mouth as the next song starts and he blushes at the sound.
"What?" He mumbles almost bashfully as the romantic orchestra dulls down in his left ear to an easy bass line.
"Nothing, nothing," Pam continues smiling easily and swaying to the sweet female vocals that lilt woefully at them. "This is … just really pretty, Jim. Kinda sad," she whispers as an after thought while piano enters. Leading up to the chorus. She squints at the gadget's face. "…'Stars?' What are they?"
"Canadian band," Jim supplies around the lump in his throat. Still hushed as the chorus swoops in. It is sad, he thinks only to himself, finding connection in everything like he almost always does when it comes to her. "Uh, Indie."
She hums a little to herself, head still bobbing along. After a moment, she offers in a dull tone, "Roy would never listen to anything like this. He's all … you know, Springsteen, Mellencamp, Eagles, classic rock, country…"
He can't even pretend to miss the sneer that inches at the corner of her mouth. Jim smirks blatantly, ignoring the race of his heart at Roy's name. "What, no country music on the Beesly iPod?"
Pam might shake her head hard enough to yank the single bud from his ear. "God, no. I hate it. He has horrible taste in music. Always has."
"...Do you hate this?"
Her eyes flicker upward, and he stands still.
Her smile softens. "I really don't."