Disclaimer: After this year's taxes, I really own nothing.
Notes: Post-Ep to The Fight
Pam sat on the roof of the office building, staring off into nothing. The citronella candle on the ledge wasn't necessary in the chilly October night, but she liked its flickering presence. It made her feel a little less alone.
Toby had run the forms to the FedEx office, muttering something about not having anything else to go home to anyway. Michael could be such an ass sometimes. The others had gone – Michael with his arm around a mysteriously teary Dwight – and the camera crew had disappeared for the night. Roy had left hours ago with Darrel and Pam couldn't face going home to the blaring television, whines for more beer, and the incessant trash talking that came with watching whatever game was on. She just needed a few minutes to regroup.
She was so embarrassed; humiliated. She could feel her face hot and flushed in the darkness. How could she have let things go that far? Sure she and Jim joked and even flirted at times, but he had taken it too far. She guessed that they both had.
Pam couldn't shake that look that Meredith had given her! She would've probably ignored it if it had come from Angela. (Angela didn't approve of anything.) But Meredith was normally so apathetic about almost everything and to see that look of shock and mild disgust on her face…it was a very "mom" look. Pam groaned quietly and hid her face in her hands.
But at the same time, nothing happened, not really. They were just fooling around like they always do. She had been having a great time. But then she snapped at Jim; ignored him for the rest of the day. God he must think that she's such a bitch… but he still remembered to bring her chips.
The cellophane package opened with a slight pop and Pam began to munch on her reward. Lunch was a long time ago.
She knew that by trying to decide which she was more mortified by – Meredith's look or her own treatment of Jim – she was really trying not to think about the honest reason her stomach felt unpleasantly tight...it was guilt of an entirely different kind.
Pam remembered vividly every second of the encounter. How Jim's arms felt hugged tight around her waist. How she was so happy she giggled. How she could feel his laugh in his chest and his breath on her neck as he lifted her so easily.
She couldn't stop thinking of what might have happened if they had been alone there in the dojo…with all of those mats to wrestle on. Jim would have eventually pinned her to the floor, his body pressed tight against hers. One hand would hold both her arms effortlessly above her head as his long fingers tickled down the exposed skin of her side. As her body shook with laughter it would rise up flush against his. Their laughter would stop suddenly as they realized how close their bodies were; their lips. She would see his eyes dart between hers, down to her parted lips and back.
Pam's tongue traveled slowly along her lower lip. She tasted like French Onion chips. But not at the dojo, where she was lost in her fantasy. At the dojo, Jim licked his lips as he brought his free hand up to caress her cheek. She was completely in his power, held by his long body and his arms and his eyes. He lifted her head slightly as he leaned in and his lips pressed firmly against hers. Her body tingled and thrummed in arousal and anticipation.
"Hey, I hate to break it to you, but if you're still waiting for Michael's signature, you are out of luck. His car is gone and it looks like he skipped town."
Pam's whole body jerked as, startled out of her vivid imagination, she jumped up and spun around.
"Jim, you scared the crap outta me!" Her hand pressed against her rapidly beating heart.
He looked worried.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I just…um…" He held up his cell phone. "Forgot my phone. Saw the candle from the parking lot and decided to see if we had our very own hobo camping up here."
Pam took a deep breath and laughed. "Nope, no hobos – they all got cut in the downsizing." She blew out the candle and moved towards the doorway.
"Shame. I've heard they're dynamos selling paper to the railroad circuit."
Pam stood right next to Jim in the dark and stillness of the night. She looked up at him, focusing on the difference between fantasy and reality. She forced herself back into their world of friendship.
"So, um, Pam," Jim began slowly. "About today at the dojo.. I'm really sorr-"
"Knock it off, Halpert. I want a rematch." She grinned mischievously at him… though she was pretty sure it was lost in the darkness. This kind of baiting was familiar and comfortable territory.
He grinned as he held the door open for her.
"Oh, you're on, Beesley. I'll bet you didn't know that I'm a lilac belt – I'll have you pinned in three seconds flat!" Jim gave a wildly exaggerated threatening look.
"Really?" Pam thought. She chuckled aloud as they started down the stairs. "Okay, pretty sure that's wrestling, not karate. And second, "lilac"? No wonder Michael calls you queer."
"You questioning my manhood? 'Cause that's another type of wrestling match all together!"
Now Jim had the wicked grin on his face.
Pam smiled contentedly. Fantasies were enjoyable, but she wouldn't loose this ridiculous kind of conversation for the world. She would save thinking about the knot of guilt and the reasons why for another time.
"C'mon macho man. I'll walk you to your car."
Pam linked her arm through Jim's as they left the office together.