-1AN: Hey! So I'm so sorry I feel off the face of the earth and kept y'all hanging. I just wasn't really sure where to take the story and I'm still not positive where I want to go with it, so here's a short little chapter. Hopefully I'll get it rolling more soon! (Thanks to GreenFish for the beta!)
"Pam?" Jim knocked tentatively on the hotel door. "Pam, are you in there?" She hadn't shown up for dinner, which only made him more and more apprehensive. When he'd asked Angela, she simply said that Pam wasn't feeling well. When Jim had tried to question her further, Angela had told him curtly that she was the safety officer, and while his concern was appreciated, Pam just needed her rest. He finally left dinner early, despite Michael's protests, and went upstairs to check on Pam.
"Pam?" He knocked again. "Um, I'm sorry, Angela just said you weren't feeling great, so I was wondering if you like, wanted… chicken soup or something…" As soon as he said it, Jim rolled his eyes at himself. God, could I sound more pathetic? he thought sadly, letting his forehead rest against the door. Pam was probably sleeping or something. He felt like a loser for checking up on her like this… it wasn't like he was her boyfriend.
Just then, Pam opened the door and Jim lurched forward involuntarily, as the door gave way. His face hung dangerously close to hers and she jumped back, startled.
"Oh, crap, Pam – um, I'm sorry," Jim apologized, regaining his balance awkwardly.
"It's fine," Pam said shortly, not opening the door all the way.
Jim cocked his head to the side, confused by her closed-off demeanor.
"I was just taking a nap," she said.
"Oh, I'm uh -- sorry if I, like, woke you up. I was just, um, checking in on you…" Jim wanted to bury his head in his hands. When had this awkwardness come over them? Earlier, they had been having a great time.
"I'm fine," Pam said. "I just had a little too much to drink." She pulled her sweater closer around her shoulders.
She's "fine," Jim thought to himself. God, I hate that word. That's what you say when you just want someone to go away. Is that what she wants?
"Pamela!" A familiar voice rung through the hallway.
"Oh, no," Pam said resignedly, bringing her fingers to pinch the bridge of her nose.
Dwight was jogging down the hallway, a medical kit in his hand. "Pamela, one of my sources has told me that you are feeling unwell. What are your symptoms? It could be West Nile Virus."
"One of your sources? Dwight, what are you even --"
"Pam. We cannot waste time! Have you experienced high fever, headache, neck stiffness, stupor, disorientation, coma, tremors, convulsions, muscle weakness, vision loss, numbness or paralysis?"
"Actually, Dwight, Pam has been combating some serious symptoms of coma," Jim said, raising his eyebrows.
Dwight narrowed his eyes. "You think this is funny, Jim?" he hissed. He scoffed, pushing Jim aside. "I'll deal with you later," he muttered, turning back to Pam. "Now, Pam. Have you been experiencing nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach or diarrhea?"
Pam looked at Dwight in horror.
He looked back at her for a moment before whipping out a notepad and pen. "I'll take that as a yes." He said, scribbling down a note. "Pam, I believe you are suffering from IBS, or, irritable bowel syndrome."
"I can't believe you just recited the Pepto-Bismol song…" Jim said, shaking his head.
"Dwight…just go away," Pam said, evidently torn between amusement and annoyance. Jim glanced at her, hoping to share a look, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. "Actually, just -- both of you, -- I'll just see you guys later. I'm just gonna take some Advil and go back to sleep."
Jim tried to mask the hurt on his face. He couldn't believe he was being dismissed along with Dwight. He didn't even know what to say as Pam shut the door quietly, but quickly.
"I bet it's PMS," Dwight whispered.
AN: Comments are love!