A/N: There will probably be a follow-up... if you like this story, you may want to watch for it in the near future. (And I know the building in The Office probably isn’t as large as I’m portraying it here). The song is “It’s Beginning To Get To Me” by Snow Patrol. I know that songfics aren’t always that easy to read, but I promise, I won’t overload you. I just had to use it... it’s the perfect JAM song... the lyrics are amazing. And, as usual, Karen doesn’t exist. (Oh, if only..)

Of Fountain Pens And Superstitions

The box had been sitting on Pam Beesly’s reception counter for nearly three hours. Brown, relatively large (about a foot tall, a foot wide, and two feet long), and perfectly ordinary. A bit heavy, though, seeing as how the delivery guy struggled with it a bit.

Jim, more than anything else, was a patient man. But staring over at that box, every fifteen minutes since it arrived, was slowly driving him insane. Maybe, if Pam hadn’t reacted so unusually to reading the label, he wouldn’t have cared so much. Now, he hadn’t approached that reception counter since ten that morning, and he was itching for some jellybeans like nobody’s business.

I want something
That's purer than the water

That’s what he would let Pam believe, at least. So it didn’t look like he wanted to read the box’s label before it drove him absolutely crazy.

He stood from his desk, and began the walk to reception. Some would swear that the carpet that lay in the path between Jim’s desk and Pam’s station looked a little bit more worn down than the rest of the carpet. But, of course, Jim had tricked them into believing that it was just a trick of the light.

Or, that’s what Dwight bought, at least.

Like we were

When he reached reception, she smiled briefly, and leaned forward as he took a handful of jellybeans and popped a few in his mouth.

“I’m out of yellow.” She said, mock pouting. “I need to stop at the store tonight and pick up another bag.”

He shrugged, swallowing the candy. “Green’s better, anyway.”

It's not there now

Pam turned her attention back to the computer screen, and Jim leaned slightly to his right, trying to make out the words on the label without seeming too intrusive.

She cracked a small smile, which Jim failed to see in his conquest of finding out who sent the great, mysterious package, and continued to type. “Got a good enough look?”

He jumped back slightly, taken by surprise. “I was just, I...”

Ineloquence and anger
Are all we have

“You’re wondering why I haven’t taken it to them yet, right?”

He shook his head. “No, no, I... well, yeah.”

It was amusing how he didn’t think she’d catch him. As if he was the only one with an acute sense of observation.

“It’s on the thirteenth floor, Jim.”

Smiling genuinely, he slid the box off of the counter and held it out in front of her, inspecting it further. “You’re telling me that you can’t take this box to the fountain pen corporate office upstairs because it’s on the thirteenth floor? In case you haven’t noticed...” he trailed off, inspecting the box’s address, “...there is no thirteenth floor.”

He liked to think that he was a realist. She liked to argue that he simply created his own version of reality.

It's so thrilling but oh so wrong
Don't have to prove that you are so strong

Either way, Jim Halpert was unequivocally incorrect.

“Yes there is. The fourteenth floor doesn’t just hover above the twelfth floor.”

She liked to think that she was reasonable. He liked to argue that she simply refused to bend the rules every now and then.

Either way, Pam Beesly was more irrational than she liked to admit.

“As Dwight would say, that’s an ‘improper assumption’, Beesly. Follow me.” He held the box between the crook of his arm and his side, leading Pam out into the hallway. Once they were in front of the elevator, he pressed the up arrow, and waited.

’Cause I can carry you on my back
After our enemies attack

“Jim, I’m not going to the thirteenth floor.” She stated, and began to turn around.

He grabbed her arm, and they both stood still, Pam facing the office, Jim facing the elevator. He let go, and she turned back around, slowly.

“I know. You’re not.”

She gave him a look of disbelief, narrowing her eyes. “Jim...”

“I promise.”

I tried to tell you before I left
But I was screaming under my breath

The doors slid open, and Pam entered the elevator reluctantly, behind an amused Jim. He had no idea that she was this superstitious.

Wrong, but superstitious.

He pressed the button marked 14, and it lit up, as the elevator began to ascend.

Pam slammed her palm against the red EMERGENCY STOP button, shocked. “You said... you promised... that we wouldn’t go to the thirteenth floor.”

The feeling of letting her down washed over him like a horrible, nauseous wave of guilt. “We’re- we’re not. You know how these buildings work. They don’t... build a thirteenth floor. It’s bad luck.” He tried in vain to smile, and ended up laughing awkwardly- quietly.

Somewhere between taking the package from Jim and setting it on the floor, and feeling extremely embarrassed for snapping at her best friend, she was suddenly aware that they were stranded somewhere between eight and ten.

“Jim, it doesn’t make a difference whether they label it the fourteenth floor or the fortieth, it’s still... it still comes after twelve.”

He smiled, halfway, and realized that they were going to be stuck there for a while before maintenance realized it. He leaned against the elevator wall and stuck his hands in his pocket. “I guess I’m just not a superstitious person.”

You are the only thing that makes sense
Just ignore all this present tense

“Not even today?” She asked, leaning against the opposite wall.

He furrowed his brow. “Why? What’s today?”

Well, now that explained a lot.

“Friday the thirteenth.”

He thought back to Creed’s Dilbert desk calendar and it hit him like a ton of bricks. Friday, April 13. He thought he remembered the comic having something to do with copy machines and pancakes, but he couldn’t quite recollect.

“Nope, not even today.”

It was quiet for a while, until Pam slid the box to the middle of the elevator floor, and used it as a chair.

“What?” She said, incredulously, as Jim stared down at her. “The floor’s dirty. And it’s a sturdy box. Full of pens, probably.”

He didn’t bother arguing, but rather, sat down next to her on the box. “So what other things are you superstitious about?”

Pam laughed, bumping his shoulder with hers. “You’ll make fun of me.”

He held up two fingers, and as he shook his head, his hair shook like a shaggy dog’s.

Cute.

...Wait, what?

Trying to push the thought away, she felt the hairs on her arms stand on end.

She rubbed the pink cotton on the arms of her sweater, and her goosebumps slowly disappeared.

We need to feel breathless with love
And not collapse under its weight

“Scout’s honor. I promise.” Jim said. And this time, he swore to himself that this promise wouldn’t break.

She exhaled loudly, setting her elbow on her knee, and her chin on her hand. “Black cats, ladders, spiders in bathtubs, spilling salt, and the number thirteen... obviously.”

“Spiders in bathtubs? How does that work?”

He had heard of a lot of superstitions, but never spiders in bathtubs.

At least he didn’t laugh, she thought. “If there’s a spider in my bathtub, I can’t take a bath until R- uh, until I kill it.”

She had forgotten that she was now the only one home to kill the spiders.

“Oh.” He turned, smiling at her. “That’s not so bad.”

And just like that, the elevator began to descend.

The maintenance men, Jim thought sadly.

Maybe there was something to this whole bad luck on Friday the thirteenth thing.

“So you’ll admit that at least a few superstitions have some merit?”

Jim frowned. “I didn’t say that.”

As the elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened, they both stood. Jim bent to pick up the box, but stopped as Pam laid a hand on his shoulder. A flood of warm feelings washed over him, and he tried desperately not to blush.

It felt exhilarating. Like the kind of feeling you never want to end.

I'm gasping for the air to fill
My lungs with everything I've lost

“It doesn’t matter what you call it, Jim. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen...” She said, quietly. “It is what it is. It’s just logical.”

Her hand fell from his shoulder, and she turned to walk out the doors into the hallway.

“I guess I don’t rely on logic as much as I used to.” Jim replied, soft laughter evident in his voice. “I just go with what feels right.”