Author Notes: Some others of you may think that I no longer exist. You should know better than that by now.
Some more of you may think that being that it's me writing it, it is in no way going to be your average fluffy Jam fic. You're right.
Why the title? Where is this going? Patience. Soon all will be made clear.
Warning: Tense changes are intentional. I'm sure you'll figure it out quickly. Try to keep up.
It's not so much that she hates the house - she does, but it's not so much that as it is that he purchased a house without so much as mentioning it to her beforehand. Of course, she tells him that she loves it because he bought her a house, creepy clown painting and all. Not that she does. She hates that creepy clown painting. And the decor inside. And the paint outside. And the fact that Jim is incapable of using the master bedroom for psychological reasons. And the smell.
But she'll never tell him that.
August 11. New York.
Pam trudged back into her dorm, soggy and soaked from the pouring rain, chilled from the coolish temperature and wetness, and covered to the knees in mud - and she couldn't be happier. She still had the goofy smile on her face, kind of zoned out and barely aware of her surroundings even after driving an hour and a half with poor visibility. Hypothermia could wait.
"Whoa, who smells like drowned rat?" blurted Kay, ever so tactfully with her slightly Irish and probably fake brogue. Pam barely noticed her, just wandering down the hall leaving a trail of puddles. She brushed past her when she realized that something was different with her. "Hold up, little miss RA. What's that on your hand?" She reached out and grabbed her hand, bringing it up to her face. "Hello there... shiny."
"Oh my God, Pam!" screamed Cindy. "Pam, you got engaged!"
Pam shook her head, self-consciously. "Yes. I did." She relived the moment of Jim's proposal for what had to be the 200th time since it happened and just swooned while the entire floor (minus the Chinese guy who didn't talk) came pouring out of their rooms and into the hallway to gawk. The girls all squealed, the boys mostly just came out to see what the commotion was about, found out it was about girly stuff, and left.
"You - you look like a drowned rat," said Alex, simply, as the crowd was dispersing.
"Apparently I smell like one too," replied Pam, a little overwhelmed by the attention that everyone had been giving her. Maybe if her mental faculties were as intact as they normally were, she wouldn't have been so spacey.
Alex gave her a grin. "Just a little bit." He held out a towel to her, which she eagerly accepted and began the long process of drying off. "So," he said, uncertainly. "Engaged, huh?"
"Yep," Pam grinned in return as she wringed out her dripping hair.
"Anyone I know?"
"My boyfriend back in Scranton. Or fiancé," she practically squeaked. Wow. Engaged. (About time.) Her wonderful fiancé, who is thoughtful and funny. Who is in Pennsylvania. With an ulcer.
Alex smirked. "Was he the one who showed- who visited you earlier this summer?" Pam nodded in the affirmative. "Yeah, we all heard that. It's - These rooms don't have all that great of soundproofing."
Not even that revelation could bring Pam down. "Bet you all enjoyed that, didn't you?" Winking, she was expecting some sort of joking from him when she noticed his deep frown. "What's wrong?"
He over-exaggerated his sulking even more. "Now I'll never be able to win your heart," he emoted in Shatner-esque 'acting'. "And make you my bride," he sobbed, sulking mightily.
She shoved him when she gave the towel back. "Oh, shut up! I'm sure you'll score another octogenarian in no time."
"Sweet. Dr. Cyphers is totally a GILF."
End Notes: There actually is a Dr. Cyphers in the art department of the Pratt Institute. I don't know how old she is or if she indeed is a GILF.