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He’s been a nice guy his whole life. It’s not something he flaunts or thinks too hard about, that’s not what nice guys do. It’s just something he is and always has been. He’s made safe choices, maintained a calm exterior, been respectful of most everyone’s he’s met. Even his most controversial of moves come down to harmless pranks and mostly benign choices that still amount to a nice, safe guy. Jim Halpert. That’s what he is.
And Pam Beesly? She’s pretty much the same. Safe. Nice. She’s done exactly what she’s always been expected to. A secure desk job that will pay the rent rather than art school. Held tight to the relationship that started in the halls of her high school, the same place that her friends would whisper to her “you’re going to be the first to get married.” And when Roy proposes, she thinks she just may be. But then the years slip by, she’s been a bridesmaid, a maid of honour, a wedding guest seven times over but never a bride. Still, she stays. He’s comfortable, mostly reliable and her life will be simple. Even her wardrobe is meek and she wonders if she’ll go her whole life never really being noticed. Maybe there are worse things.
She doesn’t expect that the first time she’ll feel seen, like really understood, will be within the walls of Dunder Mifflin. It’s where she wears her non-descript button downs, moves quietly between the desks to get coffee and deliver messages, where she goes above and beyond to just be perfectly, averagely nice and helpful with her head mostly down. Then suddenly there’s Jim and he’s helpful and he’s nice, just like her. But he’s also charming and funny, things that she can be too and together they’re kind of mischievous. With him she finds things that she was lacking and tells herself it’s just a nice way to get through the day with someone who kind of gets you. As a friend. And reminds herself when she’s home and still thinking of him that that’s all it is, just a friend to get through 8-5 with.
And Jim Halpert? He’s doing the same thing. He allows himself a little more indulgence in the feeling that he is lucky. Lucky to have found Pam in and amongst the Dwight’s and the Meredith’s, the people he doesn’t quite fit with. But she’s engaged and they’re nothing more than friends anyways so why waste his time looking to her while she laughs musically, unaware of him, or crinkles her nose in that adorable way at their gross office coffee? He shouldn’t. When he goes home and the rooms are empty, there’s no fiancé to keep his mind off things, he reminds himself that they’re just friends. Lucky friends. And he’s a nice guy. Needs to keep being that nice guy.
But then one night, they’re drunk. Pam doesn’t really drink, Jim knows that. She’ll nurse a beer or two through an evening, maybe have a glass of wine and enjoy the subtle buzz but she’s never really liked that feeling of losing control so she doesn’t usually let it get too far. Jim, well he’s a little more likely to toss a few back but he’s never been the type to lose his sense of boundaries with one too many pumping through his veins. But on this night, things feel a little different.
He’d decided to throw a small party. He invited a select few from the office but the majority is a mix of his and Marks friends. When he’d extended the invite to Pam, it was mostly a formality. She was like his best friend and though he knew she would politely decline in favour of an evening in with Roy, it felt weirder not to invite her than it did to swallow his pride and just take the rejection. But then she says yes and she’s definite, sure of herself, with no hesitation. He asks what kind of beer she and Roy drink so he can be sure to grab some when they’re stocking up but she quickly tells him, “no Roy.” And he has to wonder if maybe that’s why she’d been quiet all morning?
When she shows up, he happens to be standing near the entrance, shooting the shit with an old classmate who’s just walked in. He notices her hair first, soft loose curls. Then the outfit. Nothing special because she’s Pam and too much attention would make her want to crawl out of her skin but still, enough that he stops mid-sentence and forgets to continue. A tight plain black tank top, stretched over her chest and flat stomach and light jeans. Before he can think of something to say, Pam’s head whips up from where she’s been focused on taking off her shoes at the full entrance and they both realize someone’s yelling her name behind them.
It’s a mildly drunk Kelly who’s trying to entertain a ‘not drunk enough for this bullshit’ Ryan, “Pam! You look SO hot!” She enunciates the words in only a way that she can and when Pam blushes, meets Jim’s eyes, he just nods, gives a vague shoulder shrug in agreement but knows it could mean anything, really.
He thinks he should introduce her to his friend but instead he abandons the conversation altogether and meets her in the doorway, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other wrapped around his beer.
“Beesly,” he says casually, “I can show you to the bathroom if you want, we set up a phone in there for you to answer so you’d be more comfortable.”
“Oh you’ve got jokes tonight, Halpert! I should’ve grabbed one of Michaels 50 joke books from his desk so I could keep up.”
“I’m pretty confident you can handle it,” he goes to lift the bottle to his mouth but stops himself, “speaking of keeping up, we need to get you a drink! We’ve got wine, hard stuff, beer-“
“I’ll just have what you’re having.”
There’s just a few sips taken from the neck of his bottle and he holds it out to her, “just opened.”
They know that’s not exactly true but she takes it from him anyways and they’re both trying not to think about her lips wrapped around the glass that just touched his. It’s oddly intimate so he excuses himself to get another beer, leads her to Kelly on the way.
When he’s coming back into the room, beer in hand, he hears Kelly say the name that’s made him wince for well over a year now. Roy. Of course she’s not asking directly about him, Kelly could never find it within herself to truly care unless it was for gossips sake but she’s telling Pam that she wishes he were here, how he could be her wingman in the Ryan situation. Pam just quietly nods along until Kelly finally, finally asks “where is Roy anyways?” Suddenly the room seems louder to Jim and he’s straining to hear. He can see Pam, around the wall that mostly covers him, picking at the label of her beer, staring intently at her hands.
“We got into kind of a fight about, well, the wedding… or lack of wedding. So he went camping,” she looks at Kelly, finally giving in a little, “he actually took time off. He’s not coming back until later next week.”
“Wow, really?” Kelly asks in her sort of syrupy, sort of fake, mostly dying for gossip kind of way, “don’t you usually take your days at the same time to do something romantic?”
“Well it’s never really romantic but yeah, we usually do.”
And then Pam is looking at her bottle again and Kelly is pelting her with questions that Jim can see she desperately doesn’t want to answer. He takes a deep breath, trying to push down this feeling that he allows to creep in every once and awhile. Hope. It claws at his heart dangerously at times, fighting to creep out of his chest, into his throat- words tumbling out at any moment. Declarations of feelings he hasn’t really processed yet. But he shoves it away, reminds himself that his best friend is in the next room and she’s hurting. He puts the bottle to his lips, swallows long and hard and goes back to the fridge, grabs two more bottles, one for him and one for her. He’s a good guy. And tonight, he’s going to be a good friend. And what do good friends do when their friends are in pain? Help them forget with a little fun and a lot of booze.
When he sidles up next to her and hands her the second bottle she gives him a look that’s both thankful and a little confused, glancing down to her first bottle that’s mostly full. Kelly is still talking, 100 miles a minute, so Jim takes his free hand and reaches over, gently pushing the bottom of the bottle up toward her. His silent “get to it, Beesly.” She stifles a laugh and takes a long drink, pretending to listen to Kelly, mostly relishing in the feeling of Jim so close. It’s gone in just a moment, she places it on the end table next to her before starting in on the second bottle, hoping that Kelly’s story is going to wrap itself up soon.
The hours tick by quickly and smoothly. She plays beer pong and he chats with friends. They co-exist around each other in a way that is comfortable and always, always aware. They do their own things because, well, they have to. They both make quiet mental reminders to themselves that no, they’re not there together. But it doesn’t stop them from sharing glances, from yelling cheers at her across the room while she surprisingly dominates in beer pong, from calling to him for another as he makes his way to the fridge for a beer. It’s the most fun she’s had in a long time and he can feel it, sees it in her face and the way she looks warm and adoring at everyone around her. He doesn’t think he’s making it up when her eyes shift, just a little happier to be on him.
Before he knows it, it’s clearing out and he’s realizing that he is drunk. Not messy or irrational just sufficiently, relaxingly drunk. When he sees her asking Kelly not to go, he realizes that Pam is drunk too. Drunk and really not wanting this night to end. But Kelly’s closing the door and Jim notices that Pam is not going with her. He’d heard them making plans to take a cab together, as they both hit the other side of tipsy earlier, swapping stories with animated hands about the horrors of Scranton’s taxi services. He’s pretty sure he heard Pam say “us girls have to stick together.” To Kelly Kapoor of all people and he reminds himself to make fun of her for it later.
He’s rinsing an empty beer bottle, about to throw it into the recycling when she shuffles into the kitchen, pink cheeked, smiley and a little fuzzy around the edges. He lets out a whistle before he can stop himself, “Pam Beesly! Life of the party. Who knew?”
She laughs a little too loud, “See, I can be fun! Like, super fun.”
“I can see that! You were having fun tonight.”
“I was. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a while. Thanks for inviting me, Jim.”
When he looks at her finally, he feels the room shift. She’s a little more slowed down, a tad more serious. She makes her way over to where he stands at the sink and pulls herself up to sit on the counter next to him. He tries to look away from where her shirt has ridden up an inch or so above her jeans and clears his throat.
“Of course. Ain’t no party without my best friend,” he raises his hand for a high five and is only a little surprised when she catches his hand in hers and brings it down into her lap, forcing him to stand directly in front of her. Just an inch from where her knees are parted. Where he could easily fit.
She’s looking down to where their hands are joined and he’s looking at her avoiding his eyes, tries not to notice the cheapness of her engagement ring. She brushes a thumb over the skin of his hand and he’s sure his heart is breaking inside his chest because he can’t do this. And he can’t let her do this. They’re not these people. This, this moment, his hand in hers, this is okay. They can wake up tomorrow, see each other at work on Monday and laugh about too much beer and a dumb moment with a high five that ended poorly. But what goes on beyond that… they are not those people. So he tries to free his hand, takes a step back but she clutches his hand even harder and pulls it into herself with a strength that surprises him and causes him to stumble into her a little, the insides of her knees connecting with the sides of his hips. And God, he doesn’t want to move but he knows he has to.
“Pam.”
“Just-“ she whispers and nothing else comes out, she brings his hand up to her mouth and kisses his knuckles, her head falling forward until their foreheads are touching and neither one of them is looking at each other, their joined hands in the way of anything more.
His free hand finds her hip, slow and so, so unsure. He knows that this is all that can happen but he is afraid, so afraid of ending this moment. He wants to freeze them, to keep them here forever. There has been nothing and will be nothing, he is certain, that feels like this moment with Pam. His thumb strokes slowly, just above her jeans, over her skin and her breath catches. He tries to tell himself that the tears he feels threatening to well are just the beer, that if he were sober, they wouldn’t be here and he certainly wouldn’t be feeling this much. But he knows that’s lie.
She tips her head back from him, their hands falling into her lap again and he’s desperate to grab the back of her head, to bring her back for just a second. But when he opens his eyes, hers are shining and god fucking dammit, she looks so sad. He removes his hand from her hip like a hot stove. She’s still got his hand in hers so he knows its wrong to think that his touch is what’s upsetting her but then it’s all so confusing and it has been from the moment they met. But fuck if he is ever the reason she cries, he thinks he might as well walk off the edge of a mountain.
“Pam, I’m-“ He wants to apologize. For what? He’s not sure. But she’s shushing him with a finger to his lips and he gets it. If they talk about it too much, then it’s real and it’s weird. And nothing’s going to change anyway so what is the point?
He wonders what he would do if he wasn’t a nice guy. Would he grab her by the hips, a hand to her face and take her like his own? Would he tell her she’s making a mistake and if she’s here right now, in his kitchen, then where the fuck is she going to be in 15 years, married to Roy? Would he cry like he wants to, like he’s never wanted to about anything before and beg her to just let him try with her. He doesn’t do any of it. Because she is his best friend and he is finally admitting to himself, right now, that he loves her so damn much and he just wants her to be happy. And who is he to tell her what that means and how she’ll get it? So he just stands there, looks at her, his lost and broken best friend on his countertop and doesn’t touch her.
“We have to get you home.” He says softly after a moment, a hand on the back of his head.
And though she isn’t looking at him, hasn’t been since he stepped away, he knows she’s crying. Because she sniffles loudly, looking at her knees where her hands are rubbing back and forth nervously.
Her voice comes small and crackly, “Why? There’s nothing there.”
Jim can’t help that squeeze at his heart, the small flash of anger that rises in his chest and the words leave his mouth before he can really think about what he’s saying, “Is that what this is about? Roy? Because God, Pam-“
“What?” She asks quickly, her neck snapping up to look at him with focused eyes but he doesn’t let her continue.
“If this is some way at getting back at Roy-“
“No!” She basically yells and she’s jumping from the counter, coming towards him like her hands are going to grab at his sides but they fall lamely by her hips instead, “I would never do that-”
He think her sentence should end with “to Roy” but instead she finishes with “to you.” Why does that break his heart so much more?
“I just-“ He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, “I don’t understand, Pam. Why are you with him?”
She shakes her head sadly, “I don’t know what else I’d do.”
“There is so much out there for you. You sell yourself so short. You have no idea, no idea, how much you have to offer.”
“That’s not tru-“
“It is!” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, “You’ve just never been with someone who made you believe it.”
She looks like she’s been slapped. He can see that she’s about to take off, run away, so he does something that feels wrong, he moves back to block the doorway. He just can’t let her leave like this.
“Listen, I’m sorry. But you have to know I’m right.”
“I have to go.”
“Pam.”
“Stop saying that!”
“Your name?”
“Move.” She says with such strength and her hands go to her hips to prove her point.
“I can’t let you drive like this.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I’ll call a cab.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll call outside.”
“Great. Give me your keys.”
“What? No.”
“Yes. You can call outside, wait outside, I don’t care. But I’m holding your keys until they get here.”
She sighs so long and hard that it’s almost a groan and takes a step back, her shoulders falling slack. Then her eyes look up, large and almost watery again, “Fine. Will you just call for me?”
“Yes,” he says finally and reaches for his phone in his pocket.
He’s about to dial the number when she reaches out and covers the phone gently, “wait.”
He sighs, “what?”
Just a moment ago he wanted to be in this moment forever but now, he just wants it all to be over. He wants his best friend to go home, he doesn’t want this all to be ruined. They’ve been playing it safe for so long just to throw it all away in his dirty kitchen with beer drenched breath and a moment they’ll have to forget because she’s already deep in a life that she’s not willing to give up anyway.
“Could I maybe just stay here?”
His eyebrows lift. She must be drunker than he thought, this, this is not his Pam.
“Do you think thats a good idea?”
“I just-“ she takes a deep breath, “I just want to hang out with my best friend. I’m sad and” she giggles small and sad, “a little drunk. I don’t want to go home, Jim.”
He knows this is stupid. But thats their problem, through it all and over all, they are best friends. Just two people who want to be together and have done it, innocently, for years. They can do this, they can spend the night together and nothing will happen and they’ll wake up and feel embarrassed but they’ll be fine. And that is their problem. So he sighs and he agrees.
She won’t let him sleep on the couch and insists that she’s used to it anyway. Roy snores and when it’s just too much, she sleeps on the couch, its comfortable. He’s too tired and his heart is just a little too sore to be arguing with her about something that doesn’t really matter. So he gives her a cloth to wash her face, a pair of sweats that she can sort of pretend to fit into and sends her into the bathroom. He brings out the extra blankets, the fluffiest ones and begins to assemble them on the couch and knows it looks like he tried just a little too hard but who really cares? They both know that they’re going to keep trying just a little too hard in the areas that don’t matter and ignore the areas that do. He brings out two glasses of water and sets them on the coffee table, folds himself into the corner of the couch that doesn’t have the pillows she’ll be using and flips on the TV.
When she shuffles into the room, wearing his sweat pants and no makeup, he doesn’t look at her. He can’t. Doesn’t want to have to know, late at night, what she looks like like this, all vulnerable and raw and heartbreakingly beautiful. And thats okay because she’s had enough time alone in the bathroom to start feeling embarrassed and would rather he didn’t anyway. She pulls herself into the corner completely opposite of him and doesn’t even ask what they’re going to be watching when he presses play. The movie plays silently and they don’t say much. At some point, she pulls the blankets over herself and stretches just enough that her toes aren’t quite touching him and in a blink, she’s asleep. He turns the TV off and avoids looking at her as he forces himself, with every ounce of strength, into his dark bedroom, alone.
When he wakes up the next morning, the couch is empty, the blankets are folded to one end and the pillows lay on top. The cups are gone and he wanders into the kitchen where things are much cleaner than they were just a few hours ago. Mark is still in bed, he’ll be sleeping this one off for hours and the way the recycling is neatly tucked into one corner has Pam written all over it. His stomach aches in a way that makes him feel empty and confused and hurt. He’s fucking hurt. The kind that comes up and sits on the surface after you’ve pushed it down, ignored it, denied it- for so long. But in the same breath, staring at that spot on the counter he is so, so relieved.
They are not those people. And for just a moment, they were going to be. He thanks a God he’s not sure he believes in that they walked away from this, their “almost” moment, as the same people. Mostly safe, mostly nice. Best friends who barely, just barely slipped up. He sighs and brings his phone out of his sweat pant pocket. He’s surprised to see her name on his screen and is even more surprised that it doesn’t make him want to throw up instantly. In fact, it fills something in that hollow aching and makes him feel just a little more settled, a little more sure that things are okay.
When he opens it, the message reads “I made it home, just so you know. Your couch was comfortable Halpert but when you only have one hangover a year, you want to spend it dying in the comfort of your own bed.”
He laughs, maybe a little too much, filled with relief and maybe a bit, just a bit of twisted up bitterness that he swallows as he snaps a picture of the stacked up cans. He sends it to her and taps out a reply.
“The Pam Beesly special? You should be charging for these services, you know? Supplement the incredible income of a Dunder Mifflin receptionist.”
He’s mulling over eggs, toast or cereal when his phone pings.
“But what would I do with all the extra cash? Guess I’ll just have to keep working on a volunteer basis. It was the least I could do after all the free beer. Thanks again.”
“Anytime. Don’t die too hard, okay? Those phones won’t answer themselves.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
And he’s only a little sad that the conversation is simple and easy and just like it was 4 days ago when they didn’t know for sure that they could easily fall into each others arms and want to stay there. Mostly he’s happy, relieved that he has this, a best friend. A woman he’ll continue not to touch and only occasionally admit to himself that he’s in love with because he thinks just maybe that’s how she’ll be happy. And thats okay because he’s a good guy and God, she’s a good woman. And really, that’s all they know how to be.