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S04E04, Money. Pam and Jim spend a night out on Dwight's family beet farm, now a bed and breakfast.

After so much angst, we finally get some much deserved Jam moments on this season! :)

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THE OFFICE 2x15 | 2x21

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Pam & Jim

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Hi, all! This is an independent Pam Beesly RP blog, but I mainly RP on Discord. 27F writer looking for fellow 21+ writers.

I tend to write in third-person present tense, but can easily accommodate third-person past tense. The usual RP guidelines apply. No triggers; open to NSFW. Love angst and slow burn, too.

Also, I adore chatting ooc and plotting. The more threads we have together, the better. I think it's really fun to write Jim x Pam in various situations over the seasons, since there are so many different points during which they could have had more interaction/Casino-Night-like talks.

Currently, I'm only looking to write Pam (or Jim), within the universe of The Office. Feel free to interact with this post and I'd love to get plotting. <3

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JENNA FISCHER AS PAM BEESLY IN THE OFFICE SEASON ONE

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The sight of Jim—slightly flustered from stifling a chuckle—sends a fizzing warmth up Pam’s neck, pooling in her cheeks. The white envelope seems to taunt him from between her delicate fingers, but she’s not sure who’s more affected by its presence: him . . . or her, for getting to watch his reaction.

She bites the inside of her cheek, willing away the telltale blush. Her eyes dart to the stereo in front of them, as if its knobs and buttons might offer some kind of escape from the way Jim is looking at her.

Maybe, just maybe, Jim will be too focused on fumbling with the cassette tape to notice the way her pupils dilate or the way she’s probably grinning like an idiot. But no, she should’ve known better. The moment his lips twitch into that signature smirk, her stomach flips. He’s definitely going to tease her about stealing the stereo.

She clears her throat and sets the envelope on the table in front of them. She perches her elbows on said table and looks at him with a grin: “Well . . . I wouldn’t call it stealing, necessarily. It’s more like borrowing. Duh, Jim.” She rolls her eyes, but her smile lingers for a second too long. “I think everyone here’s so busy buying Dwight’s contraband dolls that they didn’t notice your crime.”

She pops open the grape soda he bought her, takes a sip of the sugary drink, and raises a questioning brow at him.

“Well, are you gonna play me my present, or do I have to do it myself? Let’s have a little office concert.”

Pam feels so thankful when she walks away from Jim and towards accounting, because her cheeks were just beginning to flush, and she can’t risk melting in front of him (as much as she may want to). She’s about one-hundred percent sure that her cheeks are turning as red as her Christmas-red turtleneck.

She takes a quick breath and finds herself next to Angela, who seems to be in her usual perturbed state. Pam awkwardly holds a red plastic cup filled with water with both of her hands and looks around before offering a meek smile to Angela.

“Hey, Angela, you did a great job on the party,” she offers, her voice lined with apology. She still feels bad for having competed with Angela earlier in the evening by trying to host a margarita-themed party.

“Well, you were no help at all,” Angela says matter-of-factly. Pam contorts her mouth into timid frown, but once she sees Jim walk away into the break room, she tells Angela that she needs to get some more water. Angela furrows her brows in suspicion and lets Pam go without another word. Finally, finally, she joins Jim and sees him already all set up: the stereo on the table and two cans of grape soda. She can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. It causes something inside her to stir. Why is Jim making her feel this way? Why doesn’t Roy notice that she likes grape soda? That she still wants mix tapes, too? Pushing those thoughts aside, she takes a seat next to Jim and shakes her head in disbelief. “Wow, Jim… I can’t believe you’re doing this great of a job . . . distracting me from reading that letter,” she smirks.

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Shit, shit, shit.

He answered. What else was Pam expecting? A voicemail, for one. Would she have left a message? Probably not. Either way, she’s trapped: stay on the phone and risk making a fool of herself, or hang up and drown in shame.

But his voice stills her. It’s been too long, and just the sound of it sends warmth curling through her—something she hasn’t felt in far too long. His voice alone seems to calm the nerves that swept across her body upon dialing his number.

“Huh?” She glances at the clock and sees that it's almost eleven. How many glasses of wine had she downed? She puts her hand on her face in embarrassment and shakes her head.

“Oh—sorry. Are you busy? I can call you back…” She winces at the slight slur in her own voice. 

“Or if you don’t wanna talk, that’s okay too. I just—-”

Late-night call

It’s been at least eight minutes of staring at the phone screen, clicking the ‘up’ arrow to keep it from going black.

Pam sits on the edge of her secondhand loveseat in the living room, unmoving except for the rise and fall of her silent breaths. Her flip phone is open in her hand, contact list displayed on the screen.

Jim Halpert in pixelated font taunts her.

She swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry with nerves.

It’s been a long time coming—finally picking up the phone to call Jim. She wonders if he’s still in Australia, probably to avoid her wedding. Did he meet someone there? Did he even end up going? What if he moved there?

Pam would know, had she mustered the courage to update him on what happened since they last spoke. Or, rather, what didn’t happen.

She’s not sure whether he’d even want to speak with her, but the voice inside her head—now that she’s all alone—won’t subside. She no longer has the excuse of talking to Roy to quiet her thoughts, or of watching a football game with him to tune out the memories of her first kiss with Jim.

Without those distractions, she’s consumed by thoughts of Jim, by memories of him. She knows that if she doesn’t break this silence, she may never have the chance to see him again—or to tell him how she feels. He doesn’t deserve that, she thinks.

In a moment of panic, she forcefully presses the green phone icon and hears the ringback tone. She thinks she might’ve made a huge mistake and almost presses the red phone icon to end the call—until she hears the line pick up.

She manages a weak, “Um—hey?”

@haelpert

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Late-night call

It’s been at least eight minutes of staring at the phone screen, clicking the ‘up’ arrow to keep it from going black.

Pam sits on the edge of her secondhand loveseat in the living room, unmoving except for the rise and fall of her silent breaths. Her flip phone is open in her hand, contact list displayed on the screen.

Jim Halpert in pixelated font taunts her.

She swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry with nerves.

It’s been a long time coming—finally picking up the phone to call Jim. She wonders if he’s still in Australia, probably to avoid her wedding. Did he meet someone there? Did he even end up going? What if he moved there?

Pam would know, had she mustered the courage to update him on what happened since they last spoke. Or, rather, what didn’t happen.

She’s not sure whether he’d even want to speak with her, but the voice inside her head—now that she’s all alone—won’t subside. She no longer has the excuse of talking to Roy to quiet her thoughts, or of watching a football game with him to tune out the memories of her first kiss with Jim.

Without those distractions, she’s consumed by thoughts of Jim, by memories of him. She knows that if she doesn’t break this silence, she may never have the chance to see him again—or to tell him how she feels. He doesn’t deserve that, she thinks.

In a moment of panic, she forcefully presses the green phone icon and hears the ringback tone. She thinks she might’ve made a huge mistake and almost presses the red phone icon to end the call—until she hears the line pick up.

She manages a weak, “Um—hey?”

@haelpert

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Pam feels so thankful when she walks away from Jim and towards accounting, because her cheeks were just beginning to flush, and she can’t risk melting in front of him (as much as she may want to). She’s about one-hundred percent sure that her cheeks are turning as red as her Christmas-red turtleneck.

She takes a quick breath and finds herself next to Angela, who seems to be in her usual perturbed state. Pam awkwardly holds a red plastic cup filled with water with both of her hands and looks around before offering a meek smile to Angela.

“Hey, Angela, you did a great job on the party,” she offers, her voice lined with apology. She still feels bad for having competed with Angela earlier in the evening by trying to host a margarita-themed party.

“Well, you were no help at all,” Angela says matter-of-factly. Pam contorts her mouth into timid frown, but once she sees Jim walk away into the break room, she tells Angela that she needs to get some more water. Angela furrows her brows in suspicion and lets Pam go without another word. Finally, finally, she joins Jim and sees him already all set up: the stereo on the table and two cans of grape soda. She can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. It causes something inside her to stir. Why is Jim making her feel this way? Why doesn’t Roy notice that she likes grape soda? That she still wants mix tapes, too? Pushing those thoughts aside, she takes a seat next to Jim and shakes her head in disbelief. “Wow, Jim… I can’t believe you’re doing this great of a job . . . distracting me from reading that letter,” she smirks.

Going on a secret mission with Jim to get a hold of the office stereo is almost better than his original Christmas present. That, and the fact that his goofy grin is, as usual, directed towards her. It makes her stomach practically do a back flip with how many butterflies it has trapped inside.

“Okay,” she whispers conspiratorially, leaning in even closer to Jim. “I can distract Angela, who’s right next to it. See?” she lifts her head and her gaze towards her blonde coworker. “Then you come up after a few seconds and silently grab it while we talk. But…how we both escape the party, that’s on you, Halpert. The only thing I know is that we can’t do it together, or else it’ll be too obvious.”

She arches her brow in a ‘does-that-work-for-you’ kind of way and slowly stands. She brushes the front of her skirt with her hands and takes a deep breath, as though she’s about to do some momentous task. (In a way, she is — being able to sneak out with Jim and listen to a cassette he made for her is kind of a big deal. She’s trying very hard to not make it seem like that, though.)

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Going on a secret mission with Jim to get a hold of the office stereo is almost better than his original Christmas present. That, and the fact that his goofy grin is, as usual, directed towards her. It makes her stomach practically do a back flip with how many butterflies it has trapped inside.

“Okay,” she whispers conspiratorially, leaning in even closer to Jim. “I can distract Angela, who’s right next to it. See?” she lifts her head and her gaze towards her blonde coworker. “Then you come up after a few seconds and silently grab it while we talk. But…how we both escape the party, that’s on you, Halpert. The only thing I know is that we can’t do it together, or else it’ll be too obvious.”

She arches her brow in a ‘does-that-work-for-you’ kind of way and slowly stands. She brushes the front of her skirt with her hands and takes a deep breath, as though she’s about to do some momentous task. (In a way, she is — being able to sneak out with Jim and listen to a cassette he made for her is kind of a big deal. She’s trying very hard to not make it seem like that, though.)

Pam has rarely seen Jim flustered like this; he’s normally the one that makes her blush. Thankfully, she usually has the reception desk to block him from seeing her flushed cheeks when he looks her way, or when her mom embarrasses her by asking “Which one is Jim?,” but that’s neither here nor there. Right now, she has the power and she’s going to make the most of it.

Unable to stop herself from smiling—a malady that she suffers from when near him—she takes her bottom lip between her teeth and gives him a knowing look. “You know, I’m not letting you live this one down,” she asserts, arching a brow and setting down the envelope to focus her attention to his last gift. Because he indeed diverts her attention with the cassette tape. Suddenly, her memory is flooded with images of her and Roy in high school, when he had made her a mixtape and professed his love for her right before summer break. She remembers going to his football games and having butterflies in her stomach when he’d kiss her after practice. What’s unwanted is the parallel that her mind draws up for Jim and his high school photo: she wonders what it might’ve been like to watch his basketball games from the stands, to invite him to her art class, to ask him to be her study buddy, to find any reason to meet with him after school…what it might’ve been like, in another universe.

She’s stumped for words as she takes the mixtape in her hands and delicately flips it around, examining his handwritten Pam on the label and drawing her finger along it. “All right. We’re gonna need a stereo-stealing plan, stat, because I need to know what tracks you picked.”

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Pam has rarely seen Jim flustered like this; he’s normally the one that makes her blush. Thankfully, she usually has the reception desk to block him from seeing her flushed cheeks when he looks her way, or when her mom embarrasses her by asking “Which one is Jim?,” but that’s neither here nor there. Right now, she has the power and she’s going to make the most of it.

Unable to stop herself from smiling—a malady that she suffers from when near him—she takes her bottom lip between her teeth and gives him a knowing look. “You know, I’m not letting you live this one down,” she asserts, arching a brow and setting down the envelope to focus her attention to his last gift. Because he indeed diverts her attention with the cassette tape. Suddenly, her memory is flooded with images of her and Roy in high school, when he had made her a mixtape and professed his love for her right before summer break. She remembers going to his football games and having butterflies in her stomach when he’d kiss her after practice. What’s unwanted is the parallel that her mind draws up for Jim and his high school photo: she wonders what it might’ve been like to watch his basketball games from the stands, to invite him to her art class, to ask him to be her study buddy, to find any reason to meet with him after school…what it might’ve been like, in another universe.

She’s stumped for words as she takes the mixtape in her hands and delicately flips it around, examining his handwritten Pam on the label and drawing her finger along it. “All right. We’re gonna need a stereo-stealing plan, stat, because I need to know what tracks you picked.”

Teapot Musings

Seeing Jim look so happily surprised once Pam reveals that she indeed traded the highly-sought-after iPod for his teapot makes her smile widen even further. As she pulls each individual item out from the teapot—from the hot sauce packet to the copy of Jim’s high school photo—she’s sure to mention each memory that those items hold, and she can’t seem to contain her giddiness.

“Oh my gosh, and you kept the mini golf pencil! Jim, no way,” she remarks, reaching the bottom of the teapot. As she goes to retrieve said pencil, though, Jim reaches over her left shoulder into the box that the teapot came in, retrieving what looks like a white envelope with her name on it.

“Wait,” she gasps incredulously (the gasp being slightly dramatic for effect) and grabs the letter before he can do . . . well, whatever he was planning to do with it.

“This says 'Pam,' Halpert,” she explains as though speaking to a five-year-old kid, pointing to her hand-written name. “Are you trying to take away part of my present?”

She shakes her head and separates the sealing flap of the envelope from the bottom fold, clearly eager, then decides to pause before continuing. Maybe she’s going too far; maybe there’s a reason for which Jim tried to take it away. It wouldn't make any sense, in her mind, but she feels momentarily guilty.

“Um…can I read my card now? Or, do I have to wait?” @haelpert

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And in the blink of a crinklin' eye I'm sinkin', our fingers entwined Cheeks pink in the twinklin' lights Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me I'll drink what you think and I'm high From smokin' your jokes all damn night The brink of a wrinkle in time Bittersweet sixteen suddenly I'm watching American Pie with you on a Saturday night Your friends are around, so be quiet I'm tryin' to stifle my sighs 'Cause I feel so high school Every time I look at you

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Teapot Musings

Seeing Jim look so happily surprised once Pam reveals that she indeed traded the highly-sought-after iPod for his teapot makes her smile widen even further. As she pulls each individual item out from the teapot—from the hot sauce packet to the copy of Jim’s high school photo—she’s sure to mention each memory that those items hold, and she can’t seem to contain her giddiness.

“Oh my gosh, and you kept the mini golf pencil! Jim, no way,” she remarks, reaching the bottom of the teapot. As she goes to retrieve said pencil, though, Jim reaches over her left shoulder into the box that the teapot came in, retrieving what looks like a white envelope with her name on it.

“Wait,” she gasps incredulously (the gasp being slightly dramatic for effect) and grabs the letter before he can do . . . well, whatever he was planning to do with it.

“This says 'Pam,' Halpert,” she explains as though speaking to a five-year-old kid, pointing to her hand-written name. “Are you trying to take away part of my present?”

She shakes her head and separates the sealing flap of the envelope from the bottom fold, clearly eager, then decides to pause before continuing. Maybe she’s going too far; maybe there’s a reason for which Jim tried to take it away. It wouldn't make any sense, in her mind, but she feels momentarily guilty.

“Um…can I read my card now? Or, do I have to wait?” @haelpert

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@pscentral​ event 30: friendship ↳"Oh God no, Dwight isn't my friend."

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Pam & Jim