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crack_van2013-12-12 11:28 am
stars-inthe-sky.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2013-12-12 11:28 am
Entry tags:
“How to Wake Up Feeling Totally Alert” by Maidenjedi (T)
Fandom: THE OFFICE
Pairing: Pam Beesley/Jim Halpert, Karen Fillipelli/Jim Halpert
Length: 1073
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
maidenjedi
Author Website: uninvited
Why this must be read: This fic is admittedly more gen than it is het, but it's so, so, so worth your time either way. In this short follow-up to "Beach Games" (slightly AU in Jim's reaction but otherwise canon-compliant), Pam considers herself in a new light. The author makes it clear that in spite of all the unrequited love going back and forth between those two crazy kids, Pam could actually be not only okay but happy on her own, or at least more so than Jim might be without her. Though not without pain, "How to Wake Up Feeling Totally Alert" is a beautiful compliment to and realization of the character.
When she gets home, her first instinct is to grab the foot massager that she'd bought with one of the Target gift cards her mother had given her as a "you're gonna make it on your own" present. After all, she'd never had a chance to use it, and her feet do ache.
She tries it, with cold water, and quickly decides that the brushes and pads aren't doing much for her raw, burnt feet. She opts for simply sticking them in cool water in the bathtub, sitting on the closed toilet seat and thumbing through an old copy of Real Simple.
The adrenaline that had fueled her speech earlier is finally wearing off, unless she thinks of the awkward apology and hug from Jim. "I miss our friendship, too, Beesly." No explanation for missing her art show, no acknowledgement that his relationship with Karen might be as painful for Pam as the wedding planning had once been for Jim. Pam dwells on this scene several times, imagining different things she might have said, that he might have said, and twenty minutes have passed before she realizes she has been staring at page 20's "Tips for a Clean Closet (and Cleaner Conscience!)" article the entire time.
Her feet are raw, burnt, and now pruny from the water. She drains the tub and tiptoes to her bed, looking for all the world like a slow-motion version of herself on the coal walk.
Her sketchpad is on her nightstand, open to a half-hearted drawing of what may have been Angela in the Victoria's Secret, scowling at the merchandise. She may have intended it to be herself scowling at Karen's back in the same store, but Pam is a master of denial and rationalization, so it is definitely Angela.
She doesn't even think about it, she just rips the page from the pad and tosses it in the trash. She feels sick, like all of what had been fueling her for so long is now drained and gone, like she's reached that hungry stage where your stomach heaves a little for want of nourishment. She picks up a pencil, sharpens it. She sucks on the eraser, an old habit, indecision threatening. It's nearly midnight, she's had a long day, she is wrestling with the desire to watch Bridget Jones' Diary and drink the bottle of wine she was saving for a special day.
After putting on a pair of chenille lounge socks usually saved for cool rainy days with the windows open, Pam settles down on her bed with the sketchpad open to a new page and her pencil poised.
She draws the coal walk, herself from the thighs down, focusing on her feet and the smoking coal. She keeps flashing on that non-conversation with Jim. "We've been through a lot. And, uh, maybe there are things I should have said, been more honest about. I miss our friendship, too, Beesly." Hug, end scene.
The picture takes her maybe a half-hour to sketch, just the outlines and barest reflection. But tears are threatening and Pam flips the page, starts again. This time it's a whole version of her, face obscured by hair falling from a ponytail. It feels braver. She gets out charcoal, laughing a little (the manic note heard by no one), and fills in the spaces.
She finishes it over an hour later, with a flourish. Staring at it, she realizes the charcoal had smudged where the tears had actually fallen. Just this morning, she might have torn the sheet from the pad in frustration and crumpled it. Now she's just thinking that she's never drawn anything so real before.
She falls asleep in her clothes, the sketchpad on the floor. When she wakes up, her alarm startling her, she debates whether to call in and quit her job right now. What she's feeling is not embarrassment; this adrenaline rush comes from the idea that maybe now she can finally escape. She's wide awake before she's even showered, deciding that if she is going to quit, she'll do it in person.
How to Wake Up Feeling Totally Alert
Pairing: Pam Beesley/Jim Halpert, Karen Fillipelli/Jim Halpert
Length: 1073
Author on LJ:
maidenjediAuthor Website: uninvited
Why this must be read: This fic is admittedly more gen than it is het, but it's so, so, so worth your time either way. In this short follow-up to "Beach Games" (slightly AU in Jim's reaction but otherwise canon-compliant), Pam considers herself in a new light. The author makes it clear that in spite of all the unrequited love going back and forth between those two crazy kids, Pam could actually be not only okay but happy on her own, or at least more so than Jim might be without her. Though not without pain, "How to Wake Up Feeling Totally Alert" is a beautiful compliment to and realization of the character.
When she gets home, her first instinct is to grab the foot massager that she'd bought with one of the Target gift cards her mother had given her as a "you're gonna make it on your own" present. After all, she'd never had a chance to use it, and her feet do ache.
She tries it, with cold water, and quickly decides that the brushes and pads aren't doing much for her raw, burnt feet. She opts for simply sticking them in cool water in the bathtub, sitting on the closed toilet seat and thumbing through an old copy of Real Simple.
The adrenaline that had fueled her speech earlier is finally wearing off, unless she thinks of the awkward apology and hug from Jim. "I miss our friendship, too, Beesly." No explanation for missing her art show, no acknowledgement that his relationship with Karen might be as painful for Pam as the wedding planning had once been for Jim. Pam dwells on this scene several times, imagining different things she might have said, that he might have said, and twenty minutes have passed before she realizes she has been staring at page 20's "Tips for a Clean Closet (and Cleaner Conscience!)" article the entire time.
Her feet are raw, burnt, and now pruny from the water. She drains the tub and tiptoes to her bed, looking for all the world like a slow-motion version of herself on the coal walk.
Her sketchpad is on her nightstand, open to a half-hearted drawing of what may have been Angela in the Victoria's Secret, scowling at the merchandise. She may have intended it to be herself scowling at Karen's back in the same store, but Pam is a master of denial and rationalization, so it is definitely Angela.
She doesn't even think about it, she just rips the page from the pad and tosses it in the trash. She feels sick, like all of what had been fueling her for so long is now drained and gone, like she's reached that hungry stage where your stomach heaves a little for want of nourishment. She picks up a pencil, sharpens it. She sucks on the eraser, an old habit, indecision threatening. It's nearly midnight, she's had a long day, she is wrestling with the desire to watch Bridget Jones' Diary and drink the bottle of wine she was saving for a special day.
After putting on a pair of chenille lounge socks usually saved for cool rainy days with the windows open, Pam settles down on her bed with the sketchpad open to a new page and her pencil poised.
She draws the coal walk, herself from the thighs down, focusing on her feet and the smoking coal. She keeps flashing on that non-conversation with Jim. "We've been through a lot. And, uh, maybe there are things I should have said, been more honest about. I miss our friendship, too, Beesly." Hug, end scene.
The picture takes her maybe a half-hour to sketch, just the outlines and barest reflection. But tears are threatening and Pam flips the page, starts again. This time it's a whole version of her, face obscured by hair falling from a ponytail. It feels braver. She gets out charcoal, laughing a little (the manic note heard by no one), and fills in the spaces.
She finishes it over an hour later, with a flourish. Staring at it, she realizes the charcoal had smudged where the tears had actually fallen. Just this morning, she might have torn the sheet from the pad in frustration and crumpled it. Now she's just thinking that she's never drawn anything so real before.
She falls asleep in her clothes, the sketchpad on the floor. When she wakes up, her alarm startling her, she debates whether to call in and quit her job right now. What she's feeling is not embarrassment; this adrenaline rush comes from the idea that maybe now she can finally escape. She's wide awake before she's even showered, deciding that if she is going to quit, she'll do it in person.
How to Wake Up Feeling Totally Alert