Chapter Text
Jim was supposed to be working. He had calls to make and sales to push, but as time dragged on, he only became more distracted.
"If you must insist on doing that, at least invest in sticks of celery - much more favourable. I know a guy who can get you a good deal on them... Once he bypasses some pesky health and safety regulations, of course."
Jim had tuned out most of Dwight's scolding from his position at the desk next door, but he (for once) had a point. Jim had unintentionally begun nibbling on his pen, staring at his computer screen as his thoughts had drifted, and once Dwight had pointed it out, Jim immediately put the pen down, annoyed with himself.
A little while later, Michael skipped over to reception, looking disappointed when the area was still empty.
"Where's the Pamster? I was going to get her opinion on which of my lucky socks I should wear to my meeting with corporate next week."
"She's playing hooky," Kevin chuckled to himself, clearly amused at his own joke.
"Maybe she got lucky last night?" Kelly piped up from where she stood at the photocopier.
"More likely that she got wasted and couldn't face the humiliation this morning," Angela muttered disapprovingly.
Oscar frowned at her comment before giving one of the few plausible reasonings from the group. "She hasn't shown up yet. Maybe she's just sick?"
As the others debated their respective theories regarding Pam's tardiness, Jim took the opportunity to get up from his desk to follow Michael - who had wandered back into his office dejected at the lack of concern for his fashion choices - closing the door behind him.
Michael's expression lit up as he saw Jim.
"Jim! I knew I could count on you!"
He yanked open a drawer, pulling out a bag packed full of various pairs of socks. He displayed the socks, one pair at a time, on the desk with great care.
"I was thinking that the monkey at a computer screams 'authority', but the polkadots are just a fun vibe to have o--"
Jim cut him off, not too concerned about hurting Michael's feelings right now.
"Michael, has Pam told you about not being in today? Like, did you get a call or a text from her, or..."
Jim trailed off. Michael was giving him an odd look, and that could mean anything. If Jim was being honest, he wasn't in the mood to play his games - not today.
"Jim, don't worry about it at all - I know that you have a thing for Pam. If she was sending me messages, I wouldn't be getting in the way of you two. I know the bro code."
Jim took a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm himself. Did Michael actually think that he asked because he felt threatened about...?
No, life was too short to try to understand Michael Scott. With quite a bit of exasperation in his voice, Jim ignored the statement in an attempt to get back on topic.
"Look, if she gets in touch, will you just let me know?"
After a lot of haggling, Michael agreed - maybe because he took note of the irritation in Jim's tone - and Jim made a quick escape.
After yet another half-hearted effort to work, Jim ended up making his way to the kitchen. His coffee mug was still half-full of now stone-cold liquid, and he needed something to keep him going, so here he was, deciding to make another cup of coffee that he would probably neglect until it was too late.
Like a lot of things lately.
He entered the kitchen, stopping in his tracks as he met the gaze of the other person in the room.
Karen.
She smiled slightly, gesturing to her own coffee mug on the counter.
"You seem pretty out of it today. Everything alright?"
Jim shrugged, unsure of how to proceed.
"Yeah, I'm just... hungover from last night."
It was the truth, right? Just not the whole truth.
Karen glanced over at him, pausing before she spoke.
"Me too - the champagne was great, but it hit hard. You haven't said a word to me all day, though... Are we good? I didn't do something horrible while buzzed that I can't remember?"
Jim shook his head a little too quickly.
"No, not at all. I just have a few things on my mind, that's all."
Karen's brows furrowed as she turned to face him.
"Is this... about Pam?"
Busted.
Jim sighed.
"I just... This isn't her. She's never late, and if she is or if she's sick, she tells someone. She tells me, because she knows that I'll cover for her."
Karen tilted her head slightly - in confusion, disbelief or a mixture of both, Jim wasn't sure.
"You know she doesn't owe you anything, right? She's not..."
She trailed off, picking up her mug to take a moment to compose herself before continuing.
"If she wants to bunk off work, or if she's sick, hungover or whatever... If she doesn't tell you, then maybe she just doesn't want to tell you."
With that, Karen left the kitchen with her freshly made coffee, leaving Jim stunned.
She was totally right.
The past few hours had felt like his world had been pushed ever so slightly off its axis. Everything was as it should be, but Pam wasn't there. It was just like his time in Stamford, but back then, he knew that there was an element of tension between them. He had been rejected, twice - of course there would be tension.
This, however? It was the uncertainty that was killing him. Yes, he should have followed her last night. Apologised and made sure she got home alright. Now, however, it was complete radio silence on her side, and Jim was beginning to get the hint.
Even though they had tried to return things back to how they were before Stamford, the distance continued to grow, and he was making things worse by acting like he did last night. Not like the best friend that Pam deserved.
As he wandered back to his desk, he was interrupted by Michael just as he placed the mug down. The guy was waving him inside from his doorway, as if on some sort of a secret mission.
So much for the coffee.
Michael was already talking as Jim shut the door.
"So, I didn't get a call or a text, but guess who just got an email from Pam Pam?"
That piqued Jim's interest immediately. Michael was being helpful? He made his way around to stand behind Michael as he opened up an email addressed to him. There wasn't much of interest in the email itself, but rather it was the attachment that was the main focus.
Michael opened it up, mumbling something about spam, and pressed play on the video.
Pam's face lit up the screen, and Jim found himself relaxing slightly for what felt like the first time in an age.
["If you're watching this, I'm sorry."]
Jim's brows furrowed as her voice came through the speakers. She was dressed just as she had been last night, the night sky in the background dotted with the occasional streetlight. It was as if she had taken a stroll through Stranton after she had left with one of the handheld cameras that the documentary crew had gifted to all of them in case of any useful footage that could be taken by the staff in the moment outside of work hours.
["I've decided to get away for a while. Being at Phyllis's wedding has made me want to think about things. Where my life is going, y'know?"]
So, it was about last night. Jim's heart sank. He should have chased after her.
["I've let Toby know, and I'm going to use up my vacation time, so you can get rid of any of my yoghurt in the fridge. I don't want my favourite - vanilla - to expire while I'm gone and stink up the place."]
The video came to an end, the image frozen on Pam's neutral expression, but something made Jim stand up straight, his mind suddenly racing.
It was her eyes.
There was a sadness there, but also something else.
Fear?
Karen's earlier comment echoed in his mind. Maybe he was thinking too much into this, but even so...
Michael gazed up at him expectantly, eager to be rewarded for doing his job.
"Well, now you know! She just wants to go on vacation."
Jim crossed his arms, his gaze firmly on the computer screen. On his best friend who felt so far away.
"Pam hates vanilla - she thinks the flavour's boring. Her favourite is mixed berry. There's something wrong."