ext_36783 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
stars-inthe-sky.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2013-12-17 02:36 pm
stars-inthe-sky.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2013-12-17 02:36 pm
Entry tags:
“Time and Space” by kieyra (Explicit)
Fandom: THE OFFICE
Pairing: Pam Beesley/Jim Halpert
Length: 8,585 words
Authors on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kieyra
Author Website: FFN
Why this must be read: In the first of two parts,kieyra closes the spaces between the two that had been well-established in early Season 3, when this was written, getting them speaking again and in the same place, removing Roy, showing Pam with her newfound backbone that won’t take Jim’s emo-ness for an answer. In the second part, the author gives them time, breaking down by minutes a night of conversation, cold pizza, and, well, the kinds of things that make a fic rated NC-17. The tone overall is just right, and the speed is, too.
He was on his fourth beer of the argument, and as he stood there leaning against the wall, Pam looked at him--really looked at him--for the first time in what seemed like forever. She'd always carried around a certain image of him in her head, and she hadn't noticed how much he'd changed over the last couple of years. He'd been so cute when they met, all tall and muscled and athletic, with a great smile and a confident way of carrying himself. Back then, she couldn't believe a guy like Roy was even paying attention to her. Not many people did, after all. She'd been smitten, utterly. He was funny, and he made her feel safe.
Now? The last forty pounds or so weren't doing him any favors. She'd seen so many guys like that, friends of Roy's; all former high school footballers who'd stopped going outdoors but kept eating like they were seventeen. And he was sweaty and red-faced from the beer and from the effort of stomping around and yelling at her. What she'd once taken for a sense of humor had turned out to be plain thoughtlessness. He'd become a caricature, the guy on the couch with the DirecTV remote in one hand and the phone with Pizza Hut on speeddial in the other; the guy who only helped around the house if she nagged him four or five or times, and then did everything half-assed; the guy who wouldn't close the bathroom door when he was using it.
My life has become a bad sitcom, thought Pam. And I didn't even notice.
"I just want out," she said plaintively. But she hadn't really meant to say it out loud.
Roy seemed taken aback. Like he was finally getting it.
"Okay," he said, after a long moment. "Okay. If that's what you want. If living with me is so damned hard on you, just pack up and go already." He walked into the kitchen, and she heard the clink of more beer bottles. Then the rattle of car keys.
"Just have your shit out by the weekend," he yelled over his shoulder.
The door slammed shut behind him. Pam exhaled a long, shaky breath, a mixture of exhaustion and relief.
What Roy didn't know was that she already had a closet full of packed suitcases in the guest bedroom. She had her laptop in a shoulder bag, and a list of everything that needed to be cancelled for the wedding. She had a reservation at the cheap hotel down near the office.
She looked around the house. It was dull and depressing. How had that happened? She'd been so happy when they got this place. They'd had big plans for painting and fixing it up, for budget decorating. She was going to learn how to sew. They would go to yard sales every weekend and find awesome deals on antiques and quirky knick-knacks. She was going to get cheap canvases and paint her own pictures for the walls.
None of it had ever happened, and she was as much to blame as Roy. The old gross, yellow carpet was still there, clashing with the crappy, overpriced Rooms-To-Go furniture and the big plasma television--both of which they'd be paying off for the next eight years or so. The walls were still a cold beige and mostly bare. The only thing she really cared about were the two cheap bookshelves filled with all her books. She'd have to come back for those later.
When she had her own place.
For now, she didn't even have a car. She hauled out the yellow pages and called herself a taxi. She'd made a little spreadsheet today at work, and she figured she could swing a cheap apartment and basics on her salary. If they split their pathetic savings down the middle, she could buy a used car.
She'd have to figure out everything else one step at a time.
As she sat on the front step and waited for the taxi, she allowed herself a few guilt-free moments to think about Jim.
He'd said he loved her. He'd kissed her. She'd let him. And it had blown open the doors on so many things she'd spent years carefully not thinking about.
They'd avoided each other at the office after that night. Jim was leaving for his trip soon, and for those last few days at work he wouldn't even look her way. But she was still dazed from Jim's confession, confused about her own misgivings about the wedding, and beyond confused trying to sort through all these new, unearthed feelings. It took till last weekend--another weekend of watching Roy sit on the couch and only move if absolutely necessary--for her to realize she'd made up her mind: she couldn't go through with the wedding. And more--she wanted out of the relationship.
But she hadn't told Jim. She didn't want to tell him until she'd actually done it. And every day she tried to work up the nerve to break things off with Roy, and every day she couldn't do it, while the wedding loomed closer and closer. And finally, yesterday, on his last day of work before his trip, Jim had left the office without even saying goodbye. It hurt like hell; she'd been on the phone and he just slipped out early. But for some reason, once she knew Jim was gone--and safely out of reach?--it had gotten easier. And tonight she'd finally gotten through it.
She was out. She was free. She was also scared as hell.
The taxi pulled up, and Pam loaded her suitcases, gave the driver the address.
It was strange and a little creepy, being all alone in the threadbare hotel room. She'd never spent a night alone in a hotel before. She kept feeling vaguely like the doomed blonde in a bad horror flick. She turned on all the lights and double-checked both locks on the door, then unpacked a few things . Finally, when she'd settled in but was nowhere near sleeping, she sighed and took her wallet out of her purse. She opened it up, and thumbed through it until she found the little snippet of photo she'd hidden behind the credit cards.
It was one of Michael's endless Christmas-party pictures. He'd been trying to take a picture of Ryan--it was weird how many pictures of Ryan he had--but in the background, she and Jim were standing together, laughing. She'd stolen the photo from the stack on Michael's desk, and she'd cut out just the part with the two of them. Then she hid it in the back of her wallet. She never really knew why she'd done that. It just--happened.
Looking at it now, it looked exactly like the kind of stock photo that would already be inserted into a small, heart-shaped picture frame at the store. Or put on a banner ad for an online dating service. Look at us, the picture said. We're young, happy, and...in love. It was something in the way Jim was gazing at her, and the way she had one hand on his shoulder--she'd had to think long and hard lately about how often she'd touched him like that, possessively--and the way their eyes were all...sparkly.
"Okay," Pam said aloud, "so maybe I'm emotionally retarded."
Time and Space
Pairing: Pam Beesley/Jim Halpert
Length: 8,585 words
Authors on LJ:
kieyraAuthor Website: FFN
Why this must be read: In the first of two parts,
kieyra closes the spaces between the two that had been well-established in early Season 3, when this was written, getting them speaking again and in the same place, removing Roy, showing Pam with her newfound backbone that won’t take Jim’s emo-ness for an answer. In the second part, the author gives them time, breaking down by minutes a night of conversation, cold pizza, and, well, the kinds of things that make a fic rated NC-17. The tone overall is just right, and the speed is, too.He was on his fourth beer of the argument, and as he stood there leaning against the wall, Pam looked at him--really looked at him--for the first time in what seemed like forever. She'd always carried around a certain image of him in her head, and she hadn't noticed how much he'd changed over the last couple of years. He'd been so cute when they met, all tall and muscled and athletic, with a great smile and a confident way of carrying himself. Back then, she couldn't believe a guy like Roy was even paying attention to her. Not many people did, after all. She'd been smitten, utterly. He was funny, and he made her feel safe.
Now? The last forty pounds or so weren't doing him any favors. She'd seen so many guys like that, friends of Roy's; all former high school footballers who'd stopped going outdoors but kept eating like they were seventeen. And he was sweaty and red-faced from the beer and from the effort of stomping around and yelling at her. What she'd once taken for a sense of humor had turned out to be plain thoughtlessness. He'd become a caricature, the guy on the couch with the DirecTV remote in one hand and the phone with Pizza Hut on speeddial in the other; the guy who only helped around the house if she nagged him four or five or times, and then did everything half-assed; the guy who wouldn't close the bathroom door when he was using it.
My life has become a bad sitcom, thought Pam. And I didn't even notice.
"I just want out," she said plaintively. But she hadn't really meant to say it out loud.
Roy seemed taken aback. Like he was finally getting it.
"Okay," he said, after a long moment. "Okay. If that's what you want. If living with me is so damned hard on you, just pack up and go already." He walked into the kitchen, and she heard the clink of more beer bottles. Then the rattle of car keys.
"Just have your shit out by the weekend," he yelled over his shoulder.
The door slammed shut behind him. Pam exhaled a long, shaky breath, a mixture of exhaustion and relief.
What Roy didn't know was that she already had a closet full of packed suitcases in the guest bedroom. She had her laptop in a shoulder bag, and a list of everything that needed to be cancelled for the wedding. She had a reservation at the cheap hotel down near the office.
She looked around the house. It was dull and depressing. How had that happened? She'd been so happy when they got this place. They'd had big plans for painting and fixing it up, for budget decorating. She was going to learn how to sew. They would go to yard sales every weekend and find awesome deals on antiques and quirky knick-knacks. She was going to get cheap canvases and paint her own pictures for the walls.
None of it had ever happened, and she was as much to blame as Roy. The old gross, yellow carpet was still there, clashing with the crappy, overpriced Rooms-To-Go furniture and the big plasma television--both of which they'd be paying off for the next eight years or so. The walls were still a cold beige and mostly bare. The only thing she really cared about were the two cheap bookshelves filled with all her books. She'd have to come back for those later.
When she had her own place.
For now, she didn't even have a car. She hauled out the yellow pages and called herself a taxi. She'd made a little spreadsheet today at work, and she figured she could swing a cheap apartment and basics on her salary. If they split their pathetic savings down the middle, she could buy a used car.
She'd have to figure out everything else one step at a time.
As she sat on the front step and waited for the taxi, she allowed herself a few guilt-free moments to think about Jim.
He'd said he loved her. He'd kissed her. She'd let him. And it had blown open the doors on so many things she'd spent years carefully not thinking about.
They'd avoided each other at the office after that night. Jim was leaving for his trip soon, and for those last few days at work he wouldn't even look her way. But she was still dazed from Jim's confession, confused about her own misgivings about the wedding, and beyond confused trying to sort through all these new, unearthed feelings. It took till last weekend--another weekend of watching Roy sit on the couch and only move if absolutely necessary--for her to realize she'd made up her mind: she couldn't go through with the wedding. And more--she wanted out of the relationship.
But she hadn't told Jim. She didn't want to tell him until she'd actually done it. And every day she tried to work up the nerve to break things off with Roy, and every day she couldn't do it, while the wedding loomed closer and closer. And finally, yesterday, on his last day of work before his trip, Jim had left the office without even saying goodbye. It hurt like hell; she'd been on the phone and he just slipped out early. But for some reason, once she knew Jim was gone--and safely out of reach?--it had gotten easier. And tonight she'd finally gotten through it.
She was out. She was free. She was also scared as hell.
The taxi pulled up, and Pam loaded her suitcases, gave the driver the address.
It was strange and a little creepy, being all alone in the threadbare hotel room. She'd never spent a night alone in a hotel before. She kept feeling vaguely like the doomed blonde in a bad horror flick. She turned on all the lights and double-checked both locks on the door, then unpacked a few things . Finally, when she'd settled in but was nowhere near sleeping, she sighed and took her wallet out of her purse. She opened it up, and thumbed through it until she found the little snippet of photo she'd hidden behind the credit cards.
It was one of Michael's endless Christmas-party pictures. He'd been trying to take a picture of Ryan--it was weird how many pictures of Ryan he had--but in the background, she and Jim were standing together, laughing. She'd stolen the photo from the stack on Michael's desk, and she'd cut out just the part with the two of them. Then she hid it in the back of her wallet. She never really knew why she'd done that. It just--happened.
Looking at it now, it looked exactly like the kind of stock photo that would already be inserted into a small, heart-shaped picture frame at the store. Or put on a banner ad for an online dating service. Look at us, the picture said. We're young, happy, and...in love. It was something in the way Jim was gazing at her, and the way she had one hand on his shoulder--she'd had to think long and hard lately about how often she'd touched him like that, possessively--and the way their eyes were all...sparkly.
"Okay," Pam said aloud, "so maybe I'm emotionally retarded."
Time and Space