Archive of Our Own ^beta

It should be a peaceful time at Dunder Mifflin in Scranton. They have, after all, finally managed to settle on one, single manager — Robert California, who made himself CEO and luckily chose Andy Bernard as his manager of the Scranton branch and so far, it has been all great.

Has been is a good way to put it, however.

The coworkers can’t pinpoint the exact moment their peace is disrupted and, unlike most times, it’s not resolved within a few days. 

It’s a buzzing sort of energy in the office, unfortunately not low enough to ignore and it rises each day. Unsettling. It doesn’t even go unnoticed by Stanley, and that, honestly, is quite a feat. And it has two protagonists of the conflict, their Cold War sharp, fought through snapping remarks and scoffs and occasional refusals to step to the side when crossing the same street or corridor, but not outright aggressive as to cause shouting matches.

It’s passive aggressive in a way that almost feels… active.

And the protagonists? Dwight and Angela.

If it were about a year or two ago, the office would have immediately thought that Dwight was still angry about the cheating, or that they were fucking again regardless of it but it’s been long enough for the two to have buried the hatchet. Long enough for Jim and Pam to know, as well, that they tried fucking each other, through a contract, and it didn’t work.

This is different. Angela is engaged to a gay state senator, Dwight has lost his position as interim manager and… neither of the two things appear correlated, at all, which is driving everyone crazy.

Along with having to keep the secret that her soon-to-be husband is, well, gay.

It gets worse this particular, warm day at Dunder Mifflin, Scranton. 

It’s very early in the day, the kind of time that only the most dedicated would arrive at — and for some strange, inexplicable reason, Oscar finds himself amongst them. 

He exits the car with a humph against the low-set heavy sun of late June and despite the blowing, harsh wind, there is only warmth, heatwaves already making his palms sweat and his throat dry. Grumbling to himself in Spanish and picking up his stuff as carefully as he might, he almost misses it.

Almost is the key word.

Absorbed as he is, he only spots the limousine once Angela walks out of it, looking as sharp and yet somewhat regal as always — and it’s bothered him to no end since forever how powerful this short colleague of his manages to look. It should be illegal. 

Regardless, she does at least pale in comparison to who his eyes lock with.

The state senator himself. Robert Lipton.

Normally, he’d just shrug it all away, save his greeting to Angela for the office, but he locks the car uncharacteristically quickly and catches up to her in no time. “Good morning, Angela! How are you doing?” God, he scolds himself, he sounds almost chipper, and it gets worse when he nods at the man sitting in the limousine. “Good morning, Senator Lipton.”

“Good morning, Oscar, I’m fine ,” Angela rolls her eyes and doesn’t wait for him to say anything further nor does she ask anything back as she bids her fiancé one last adieu and walks towards the office.

Oscar intends to do as much, too. But then, “Call me Robert,” the senator says warmly and he is only human as he smiles.

“Robert,” he repeats. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Oh, I wanted to give my soon-to-be-bride a nice ride.”

Oscar nearly chokes at the innuendo. “Indeed.”

The senator doesn’t relent as he lowers his voice and leans forward, scanning only briefly for prying ears and eyes before murmuring, “Though among ourselves there are other rides I prefer much, much more.” He offers him a personal card that Oscar grabs in a daze. “And if you ever find yourself available—.”

“Oscar!” Angela calls out from the door. “I won’t hold the door much longer for you, it’s letting too much of the heat inside . Come!”

Is it naturally hot? Oscar almost hadn’t noticed. He feels himself burning up from within, torn between running to Angela, feeling bad for her and at least showing some of his interest to the senator. He ends up simply stammering, “Can be. Must go!”

Oscar has never been more mortified to look into Angela’s eyes, nor has he ever believed them to be colder as they are when he finally reaches her and stammers an apology. And though his stern colleague, nay, friend, barely suspects anything, he can’t help but feel exposed to her glare.

To make matters worse, Dwight enters the building right after them, a grumble in his throat and a glare in his eyes when he spots them. “What are you two, beavers?” He stops in his tracks, refusing to simply step to the side. Same old, Oscar thinks. If old refers to the past two or three weeks, that is. “Stop blocking the flow.”

Angela scoffs, stomping her foot as she decides to stand her ground. Oscar tries to helpfully make space for Dwight, but it’s for naught as the two glare into each other’s eyes, completely blind to his embarrassment. 

“I will stand where I please.”

“And I shall move you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

His nostrils flare, fists clenched tightly at his sides. There is a hint of something in his eyes that reaches Angela’s, too, something akin to… lust? remorse? but neither dares move. If he didn’t know any better and hadn’t just seen Angela’s fiancé, Oscar would almost expect them to simply start making out.

Or for Angela to slap him.

He clears his throat before either can occur in such a public space. “There, there, we’ll be late to the office.”

It’s technically not true, but it seems to bring the two back to their relative normal. Their gazes tear and they set off towards the elevator in a swift pace, as though trying to determine which one will be there first. With Dwight having the unfair advantage of a taller stature and longer legs.

Not that Oscar is picking sides. Though if he were, he would choose Angela. She is part of his accounting family, after all and his much closer friend than he could ever imagine Dwight to be.

As they stand in the elevator and the two silently glare at each other to decide who will press the button, hands wavering near each other and breaths hitched, Dwight’s posture towering over Angela’s and yet somehow also looking small, Oscar makes a decision.

Or two.

But they both benefit each other.

He’ll need everyone else’s help for this.

Pam is bored. 

The ambient noise of the copier and the fax machine mingled with the low buzz of the air conditioning lulls her into something akin to sleep, a well-needed nap just waiting… waiting for her. She blinks repeatedly, shaking her head to snap out of it and instantly regrets it, nausea building up in her throat at the abrupt movement.

Ah, the typical nausea of early pregnancy, her old friend. It makes her beyond exhausted all the time and when it doesn’t, there is so little to do that she finds herself simply tilting her chair, teasing a fall that never comes. And though Jim usually supports her in her boredom, or finds ways to diminish it, he is too concerned with her well-being to just offer pranks.

Instead, he leans forward and lays a hand on hers. “Honey, don’t lean backwards.”

Patronizing much? Pam shakes her head with a gentle smile, appreciating his concern much more than the nausea building up once again in her throat. “Of course, mom.”

“You know I just want you to be safe, right?” Jim tilts his head with a smile. She nods, because of course she knows. Doesn’t ease her frustration, but it’s just the hormones, really. This new baby is taking a lot. 

“And I appreciate that.”

Jim pauses briefly, before removing his hand. “Tell you what,” he leans backwards with a grin. “I’ll take over.”

“Take over?”

Jim tilts his chair back harshly in lieu of response, his grin almost manic. “I just wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Oh!” she exclaims with a giddy, albeit slightly ironic, laugh, clapping her hands to encourage him. “My knight in shining armor, bravely tilting his chair backwards!”

“Blegh,” Dwight’s voice cuts through their teasing, “stop flirting in front of me. Just because you’re deskmates and you’ve impregnated her once again doesn’t mean you can do just anything.”

To everyone’s surprise, Dwight most of all, it is Angela who intrudes after laying down some files on Jim’s desk. “I think it’s the least terrible thing they’ve ever done.” Her lips purse as she adds, “Though please be careful with all this flirting. You’re already pregnant your second time. You wouldn’t want to end up with five kids, would you?”

Pam opens her mouth to argue, but it’s once again time for a surprise, Dwight’s head tilting up towards Angela to seethe, “I think they can have as many kids as they wish.”

“Whoa,” Jim raises his eyebrows, “I’m pretty sure two—.”

Angela ignores him as she stares down at her former lover with flared nostrils and a frown. “First you don’t want them to flirt and now you’re suddenly all in favor—.”

“Yes I am, woman. I like kids, and the act of making them.”

The entire office quietens, awaiting Angela’s rebuttal to something as crude as this. No one dares to even flinch or breathe.

Angela straightens her shoulders and grinds her teeth loudly, her eyes set on the man sitting before her with such cold venom, it is sure to spit out. Despite his sitting position, her height does not allow her to tower much over him, but it is enough for her to be looking down and if it unsettles the man, he barely lets it show.

“That’s disgusting,” she finalizes with a sigh and a roll of her eyes and turns her back on him, returning to her own desk as quickly as her legs and pride allow. 

Dwight leaves soon after, stomping towards the corridor angrily.

It is Jim who ends the uncomfortable silence that comes after this show with a weak, “That was intense, huh?”

“Yeah,” Pam sighs deeply, nodding. “Is it just me, or is it getting worse every day?”

“Oh, no, honey,” Phyllis pipes in, her voice hushed as not to alert Angela, “it’s not just you. They’re at each other’s throats like crazy. Just the other day, I saw them stare at the vending machine for ten minutes without either of them making a choice, until Kevin stepped in to buy something for himself. Almost makes you wonder…” She trails off, an eyebrow raised suggestively. 

Pam widens her eyes. “No! Come on,” she locks her gaze with Jim seeking support, “you don’t think…?”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t know, really. They have, in the past… But, I mean, after that whole contract deal…” he shrugs again. “I wouldn’t know. It’s none of my business.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Oscar intrudes, having appeared almost out of nowhere, forearms propped against the copier to listen in more soundly. “Dwight is your deskmate and Angela is mine and I know it’s been hell for me, so if it isn’t for you,” he shakes his head, “I don’t know what could be.”

Jim spreads his hands defensively. “I just don’t think it’s my business to intrude. I’m sure if we let it be, they’ll sort it out among themselves like adults.”

“Jim.”

“Pam.”

“Jim.”

“Yes, Pamela?”

His wife rolls her eyes. “Jim, Jim, Jim, come on,” she nods with a quirky smile. “When have you ever known Angela or Dwight to simply sort things out? They made a,” she lowers her voice, “ sex contract to make a baby in which Angela hoped he’d fall in love.”

“Well, yes, but—.”

“I’m sorry,” Oscar raises a hand. “A what? Actually, never mind. I don’t want to know. Doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right,” Jim nods. “It doesn’t. So why don’t we just go back to work and—.”

“Since when do you care about work, dear?”

Pam can’t help the gasp. Sometimes the old woman sure does understand snark. Must have had practice dealing with Angela. “She’s not wrong, dear. Although I’m not entirely sure how we could end this Cold War of theirs. It’s not like we can exactly intrude, can we?”

“Actually,” Oscar claps his hands proudly. “I have a sort of plan, but it might not be doable in one day. I think not. Or maybe? Depends. And it involves, well,” he cringes inwardly, “first outing Robert to Angela. Possibly to Dwight as well.”

Pam frowns. “Is that the right thing to do? Like, you’re a gay man, is that… that is not correct, is it?”

“Nope,” Jim pops the p loudly. “Pretty sure it isn’t.”

Phyllis shrugs. “I don’t see a problem with it.”

“Eh,” the accountant cringes. “It’s definitely on the problematic side of things. And it hopefully won’t ruin his career if all goes well. But he is her fiancé and I know we decided not to tell her, but if there is at all a chance that my plan will work, she’ll be much happier anyway.”

“I mean,” the old woman looks down slowly, “Do we really care if—.”

“No need to finish that thought.”

“Right,” Jim purses his lips dumbly. “But what’s the plan?”

“I’ll organize a distraction for Angela to leave soon—.”

“I’ve got a great one for you,” Darryl pops in with a grin. “Though she might come back very annoyed at all of us and ready to raise hell.”

Jim raises his eyebrows curiously, staring into the distance with a dumb look. “That seems promising. I’m in.”

“Alright,” Oscar sighs. He had not predicted that so many people would join in, Phyllis being already one too many, but if the man can help, so be it. He nods. “Then when you get to it, we should gather in the kitchen to discuss it better and I’ll tell you my other plan.” He pauses, his index raised in lieu of an oncoming question. “Tell me, though, are you familiar with Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing?”

“What are we planning, then, gay Sherlock?”

Oscar glares at the Cornell graduate with a roll of his eyes. “Why did you have to bring my homosexuality into this, Andy?”

Andy steps aside in shame. “No reason.”

In truth, it’s unclear how Andy ended up in this conversation in the first place. Only the salesmen minus Dwight plus Oscar had actually been invited into the kitchen to discuss this, but Darryl had helped out with causing a distraction for Angela by sending her out to the warehouse on some hopeless goose chase and Erin had decided to join out of curiosity and a desperate need to be included and Andy and Gabe had followed her example swiftly. Creed, Toby and Kevin were already in the kitchen to begin with, so they couldn’t be kicked out. Then Meredith joined, interested in gossip as ever. As did Kelly. And such was Ryan’s luck that just as he decided to step out of his tiny office, he stumbled upon the party.

Now there’s about fifteen of them in a tight space and, quite frankly, it’s stuffed.

But, hey, they all have complaints about Angela and Dwight’s behavior. That’s good enough.

“Is everyone familiar with Much Ado About Nothing?”

“It’s like a novel, isn’t it?” 

Kevin nods. “No, it’s when you… when you—.”

“No, he means the play.” Andy shakes his head disapprovingly. “By Shakespeare.”

“Of course,” Jim confirms. “I know it.”

Sure he does. As much as he knows any other play by Shakespeare. Vaguely and only because he watched a movie of it or read some lines on the internet. He is not, therefore, entirely familiar with Much Ado About Nothing. He does know it, though.

It’s set in Italy, no?

“God.” Oscar audibly sighs at everyone’s continuously perturbed features. He almost resigns to simply speak out, or to let Andy speak as he seems excited enough, but Toby precedes them in a meek tone, mumbling, “It’s, uh, it’s a comedy by Shakespeare about a group of friends… setting their other friends together by… well, by actually, talking about how in love they are, which they aren’t, exactly… by pretending it’s a secret that no one is supposed to know and—.”

“Pretending?”

“Yes,” Toby heaves a deep sigh. “They talk to each other while one of the two—.”

“What’s the other one doing?”

“That’s—well, that’s not how it works. They talk to each other while one is listening, then another group talks while the other is—.”

“That’s confusing.”

“That’s because he’s saying it wrong!” Andy exclaims. Toby’s way of talking truly hurts the Thespian inside him. “It’s a comedy about love and friendship in which the characters hate each other but their friends convince them otherwise—.”

“Thank you, Andy. And thank you… Toby,” Oscar waves his hand dismissively, Kevin’s questions known for being endless when he intends to simply waste time as is. “That sums it up well enough. Now, as we all know, we’re here to end Angela and Dwight’s Cold War, because we can’t deal with it anymore.”

“Amen.”

“And also…” he trails off with a weak smile, “to somewhat help them as well.”

“Yes,” Pam claps her hands together. “I know they both have been difficult for us in the past—.”

Phyllis intrudes with a sad look upon her face. “Just yesterday Angela called me stupid for accidentally messing up a word. I just wanted to say ‘reports’ and slipped and called them ‘imports’ and she made me feel very small for it.”

“And Dwight shoved me against the elevator door to get to it first, then called me a bitch out of nowhere two days ago,” Ryan grumbles.

“Recent past, yes,” Darryl snorts. “They’re made for each other, really.”

“Not to mention that time Angela cheated on me,” Andy points out, his voice low and sour, eyes cast towards the floor grimly, “with Dwight, actually. For like… months. And all of you knew and did nothing—.”

Meredith scoffs. “We only knew briefly. And that’s nothing. Dwight caught my head in a bag with a bat. Basically gave me rabies. Now that’s horrible.”

“Cut it out, Meredith,” Kelly groans, then wags a finger at Andy as well. “And you, too, Andy. I’ve been cheated on by Ryan several times and I’m fine.”

Ryan nods firmly. “Totally.”

A brief silence stretches in the kitchen, everyone staring at each other blankly, until Jim clears his throat. “Okay, so... That does sound like them,” Jim agrees with a dumb smile. “But they’re still our friends—.”

“Colleagues.”

“Nuisances.”

“Enemies.”

Creed cocks his head with wide eyes. “Who are they, exactly?”

Oscar doesn’t even have the energy to reply to that, his hand coming up to his face with a deeply heaved sigh. He really, really did not sign up for this. Why did everyone in this office always have to make things so fucking difficult? Has he not suffered enough, having to be deskmates with Angela and Kevin?

Dwight is not really fond of the cafeteria he set up. Despite its very useful function and despite bringing him quite a fortune thanks to Stanley, Phyllis and Kevin’s purchases, it is a mere distraction. A place to sit and talk and waste company time whenever possible.

Not that anyone’s doing it now. There were some warehouse workers eating when he first sat down, but they scurried away at his sight.

He does like that. People fear him. 

As they should. There’s a thrill to being known as the owner of this building, as someone who, despite not being manager, has enough power to mayhaps shut down things and overall make things difficult for everyone as he pleases. And though he’d tried to also implement more serious measures as manager, just to increase productivity, really, he is still happy to be a simple owner.

No one else can say that, after all. Certainly not stupid Jim who wastes company time and never works and—.

To be fair, right now it is him wasting company time, but he’s got a good reason. Anyone with a brain would see that. After that light snark-match, as he likes to call it, with her he is beyond mortified. So you see, he is avoiding—.

“What are you doing here?”

Angela.

Dwight’s breath hitches at the sight of her, her eyes warmer now that no one’s around — Hank doesn’t really count, the security guard barely ever interested in anything to truly pay them any heed. She looks positively glowing, though that might just be the sweat on her forehead from having been somehow exposed to the heat outside. Surprising as it is, of course, given Angela’s natural ability to shield herself from the sweat as best as possible.

Too much information? Dwight has too much of it about her. It’s like a disease.

He shrugs. “Wasting company time,” he grumbles truthfully, reprimanding himself as well as he can without falling into a pit of hypocrisy.

Angela rolls her eyes. “That’s not like you.”

“I could say the same about you,” Dwight points out, waving at whatever form she’s holding with a half-smirk. “You shouldn’t be here either.” And though normally he wouldn’t mind some time alone with Angela, it feels odd now. Ever since that night… not that he regrets it. He is a Schrute and as a Schrute, he takes pride in everything that he does, even what others might call mistakes.

“Darryl sent me to the warehouse,” she admits, approaching the table carefully, her hands close to her chest along with the form, not daring to take the next step to sit down next to him. Never did even when they were dating, really. “There were some numbers he needed me to “crunch”,” she mimics the quotation marks almost aggressively, her jaw clenched tightly, “and forms to grab.”

She doesn’t say all that’s swimming in her head, complaints suppressed not out of kindness but simply because they’re not at that level of friendship anymore, not close enough to share all she thinks. But Dwight’s always been rather good at reading her and he relishes in it as he props his forearms on the table and leans towards her with a grin. “Makes you wonder why he didn’t send Erin for such a meaningless task, doesn’t it?”

Angela straightens her back with a weak toss of her head. “I doubt Erin can do math.”

Dwight can’t help but chuckle at that. She’s not wrong. He often thinks this company just has a talent for hiring the dumbest receptionists around. Although at least Pam has gained half a brain since becoming a saleswoman slash office… What was her job again? She would gain more if she divorced Jim, but that won’t happen anytime soon, he fears.

“It’s still quite suspicious that they sent you away on something as useless.”

The short former lover scoffs. “I don’t think my job is ever useless.”

Dwight licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry. The proud smile that makes its way upon his lips is hard to suppress, but he’s never been good at ignoring how much her work ethic turns him on. She might be, after him, the only person at this company, after all, to actually care about her job.

“Good,” he murmurs softly. “But don’t you find it suspicious?”

Angela rolls her eyes. “If you’re so curious, you should go upstairs and check it out instead of wondering . I, for one, don’t care that much, but I have done my job and need to get back up, too.”

Dwight really wishes he weren’t as attracted to her attitude as he is. It makes matters hard, in… more than one way and with his adrenaline suddenly running as high as it is, curiosity ringing within him, he really cannot dare take the elevator with her. There are too many things he could do to her there that just—he shakes his head.

Nope.

Not everyone understands their plan, as simple as it is. Kill two birds with one stone, Oscar says — how hard is that to understand? But Kevin has doubts and Toby questions the morality of the situation, retiring to his own office when everyone tells him to shut up, so it becomes really, really difficult to deal with.

“We just need to pepper in the fact that Robert is gay while also doing the entire Much Ado About Nothing routine,” Oscar attempts for the third time, “which will plant seeds of doubt in their minds and make them act the way we need them to.”

It is Erin’s time to question his methods. “Hold up,” she furrows her brows, “but won’t that confuse their priorities?”

 “What?”

“Well, the thing is,” she explains, “if you mention both things at the same time, they will not know which to prioritize, will they? And that will cause confusion and might not actually help them at all.”

Exhaustion creeps from within as Oscar pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do you propose then?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I was just pointing out the confusion.”

Gabe claps his hands for her with a loud whoop. “And very smartly so.”

Pam shakes her head with a frown. “Actually, there might be some truth to that, if you—,” but whatever she meant to say is cut off by the creaking of an opening door, Dwight’s head popping into the kitchen, sweat trickling down from his forehead and his breath heavy from exhaustion as though he’d just run a flight of stairs — which he might have — a suspicious look gleaming upon his features. Pam pauses, holding her breath carefully.

“What are you all doing here,” the tall man inquires, “huddled together? planning?”

Jim parts his mouth for a smart rebuttal, but Kevin cuts him off. “Oh, we’re talking about...” Oscar’s warning glare kills the smile upon Kevin’s lips as he finishes off smartly, “cookies.”

“Cookies.”

Pam nods firmly, quick to the rescue as always. “Absolutely. We were discussing our favorite brands and types.”

Dwight scoffs. “Well, that’s a waste of company time. If I were the manager—.”

“Ah,” Jim tsks, “but you’re not. You burned that bridge, remember?”

“More like shot it, am I right?” Andy grins dumbly.

“Whatever,” Dwight waves his hand. “It still makes no sense to discuss cookies like this. This is clearly fake. You can’t just talk about all the different brands and subcategories without having them in front of you and tasting them. Otherwise it’s just a waste of time.”

Some of the colleagues nod in agreement, Jim included as he makes a point of humming loudly, a glint of understanding shining in Pam’s eyes as their gazes meet. “You’re right,” he wags a finger at Dwight. “I hate to admit it, but you’re right.”

Narrowing his eyes thinly, Dwight smiles. “Thank you.”

“But of course,” Pam continues Jim’s thought smartly, “it should only be the best of the best to pick those cookies up. And I would let Jim do it, but—.”

“No! Jim! ” he scoffs. “Jim’s not the best. I’m the best. It’s me. I will do it. I’ll buy all those brands and we’ll reconvene.”

“Are you sure you’re up to the task?”

Dwight puffs his chest proudly as he says, “Of course I am. Are you doubting me?”

Jim feigns seriousness. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Good,” he nods briskly. “Because I’m up to it. I will buy all the possible cookies.”

“At least two of each.”

“Make it three,” mumbles Stanley. 

“Of course.”

Jim chuckles. “Great. You better get to it then because there’s… uh...” 

“Sixteen of us, though Toby’s now in the annex,” Oscar finishes helpfully. “You are included. And we’re waiting.”

Dwight frowns, searching through the crowd with a tilt of his head, having expected the short woman to have taken the elevator much faster than him. “What about Angela?” 

Oscar hides his smile with great difficulty, the keen look in Dwight’s eyes not lost to his coworkers, as he retorts, “She’s not joining us.”

“Or she is,” Pam counteroffers. “But later. When you bring the cookies. You can invite her yourself, if you want.”

The farmer scoffs. “I don’t—I don’t want to. But I will,” he nods. “It’s only right.”

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief as soon as he steps out the door, his wild goose chase possibly madder than the simple one Darryl had sent Angela on, Pam reflects, furrowing her brows thoughtfully.

“Huh,” she ponders loudly.

Jim leans towards her with a quirk of his eyebrow. “What?”

“I just don’t think we’ve ever… reverse pranked Dwight. Like, in a good way,” she explains. “To help him, lovewise.”

“Guten Prank. For love, or whatever else.”

After a pause, Andy pipes in. “About that… are we really sure there’s love there? I mean, are we sure getting them back together is really the right thing?” Upon seeing everyone’s perturbed glances, he flails weakly to add, “They just had an affair, people! Not some great romance!”

“And a sex contract.”

“Yes, and a—what?” Andy cocks his head in shock, eyes wide with horror. “What the fuck? Okay, that’s not—I mean, that’s not love anyway. An affair and a sex contract don’t equal love. ”

“I mean, you don’t have to help if you don’t—.”

“No, I will! Pft,” he scoffs, laying his hand on his hips and straightening his shoulders proudly. “Of course I will help. I love Shakespeare. I’m a Thespian, people. I just don’t think there was any love there to begin with, that’s all.”

“Oh, honey, I wish that were true.”

Pam nods along with Phyllis’ words. “And they’ve definitely been dating longer. I’d say as far as early 2007. Remember when you… ironically, really, got Dwight fired? They were dating back then.”

“Really?”

“Maybe even as far as Christmas 2006,” Phyllis smiles. “Remember when he held the microphone for her favorite song?” When no one nods along, she elaborates, “The nutcracker Christmas! Did no one see it?”

“Oh, I was—,” Pam begins weakly.

“The other party—.”

“Yeah,” she nods. “There was mine and Karen’s party so we just…”

“Anyway, you’re both wrong,” Ryan says with a smirk. “Try early 2006.”

Jim’s eyebrows arch involuntarily. “Now how do you know that?”

A shadow falls upon the former temp’s face as he stares forward. Mournful. “You don’t want to know. It mentally scarred me.”

Jim shakes his head with a chuckle, almost tempted to ask anyway. But he has his own scarring memory burned deep within his brain. As does Phyllis. Poor Phyllis. She definitely got the shortest end of the straw in this situation.

“Plus,” Pam suddenly remembers, “Angela is definitely the one who gave Dwight the Dwight bobblehead. You know, the one he was so happy about on Valentine’s Day and, oh!” she exclaims with a gasp. “That’s why he needed my relationship advice! Aw. It’s a shame he threw it away.”

“Oh, true!” Jim sighs. Angela has never really been his closest friend and he had not approved of that entire cheating and dueling ordeal, but even he had felt her pain when Dwight had pushed the bobblehead into the trash can. He briefly wonders if Angela fished it out afterwards, holding onto it. Scratch that, he's sure she did. "And he got it on Valentine's Day 2006. Wow. That’s… a long relationship actually and it definitely ended with Sprinkles’ death so… wow."

Andy suddenly feels out of place, like a fish out of sea. None of this is familiar to him, really. "That long? so they..." he furrows his brows tightly. "She was never in love with me, was she?" 

Erin lays a warm hand upon his shoulder, comforting, a soft, familiar smile upon her face. "No. She pretty much told me as much, actually. But she has no idea what she's missing," she grins up at him warmly. 

"Gross," mumbles Gabe.

"All of this is so romantic," Kelly moons with a bright smile. "I'm in. I want to do that whole Shakespearean comedy play thing. As long as it doesn’t end up with them making out everywhere in the office like Holly and Michael.” Some of the coworkers nod in agreement, a sudden flash of Angela and Dwight kissing on a chair appearing before their eyes. “But if it ends the annoying remarks... I'm double in."

"You can't be ‘ double’ in."

"Try me, Ryan."

The storage unit Dwight walks to is just a few miles off the road from his farm, hidden well away from Mose with a series of careful locks and keys that he keeps upon his person. He approaches it slowly, hiding behind bushes and under protective gear that Mose ought not to spot. Though, knowing his cousin, there’s no way of being entirely safe.

You’re never safe around Mose. He snoops, he scoops and he hardly ever listens.

Looking back and forth, he only unlocks the twelve locks when he’s sure he’s entirely alone and, for good measure, he closes the door in full, letting no sunlight in. Not that he needs any. Schrutes are more biologically advanced, capable of seeing in such unsuitable situations.

Inside, there are the greatest goods a man can imagine, slightly worn off by the passage of time, proudly stacked one upon the other, in such perfect order he is sure Mose could have never come near them. Nor will he ever, ever do that. He is not allowed. This amount of sugar would most likely send him into a sugar-induced craze that would once again ruin their great crops and rip Mose’s favorite scarecrow to shreds. 

Nobody wants that.

Dwight grabs only three packages from these and rips the expiry date as not to alert his coworkers. Silently, he puts the packages into his backpack and steps outside, locking every lock after the other with extreme care and precision, continuously scanning for one, single threat — Mose.

Finally, he retreats to his car and drives to the store.

They gather in the conference room. It’s much spacier than the cafeteria, or so it feels when all the chairs are placed aside and a table is set in the middle. It might actually just be a feeling, really, but this room does allow more light in and it has many more memories attached to it to suddenly replace it with the cafeteria.

They’re all, after all, greatly nostalgic people here.

Dwight arrives after about an hour, rolling a cart into the office with great pride, calling for Angela to come away from her cubicle and join them as well — as promised. It wouldn’t feel right to do this without her, after all.

Kevin is the first one to acknowledge his presence, not jumping to his feet per se, but still showing him his entire attention from the chair he’s sat upon. “What took you so long, man?” 

“I had a lot to pick.”

Jim inspects the cart with great curiosity, an eyebrow arched and a smirk painting upon his lips. “How did you carry all of this all by yourself?”

Dwight glances at him with such offence, it’s as though he had insulted his aunt Shirley. “How do you think I did it, idiot? I had this cart and I rolled it in.”

Jim steps away with a shake of his head, eyebrows reaching his hairline. Pam comforts him only briefly, before joining Dwight’s side and picking at all the packages quickly. 

“Hurry up, people!” she exclaims. “Place them on the table so we can begin the tasting—Angela, do you know where the plates are?”

Angela shrugs from her corner of the room, arms crossed. “There might be some left from the last time the party planning committee had any actual power.” She delivers the last words with a bite to it, glaring at Jim and Dwight in particular, as though they are most at fault for its dissolution.

“Can you bring them?”

She sighs deeply, uncrossing her arms as she begins walking out. “I guess.”

Pam shakes her head, looking into the distance with a quirky smile. 

“Really, Dwight?” Meredith holds up a pack of small, white cookies with pink frosting, a scowl painting upon her face, followed by a series of complaints from almost everyone in the room. “Frosted Sugar Cookies?”

Dwight spreads his arms defensively. “You said to buy all the cookies!”

“These?” Stanley shakes his head. “These aren’t even cookies. All you can do with these is… shove ‘em up your butt!”

“Ha-ha,” he claps his hands slowly, “very funny, as always— not!” Pushing Meredith and Pam aside, he takes care of placing all the packs on the table all by himself, setting them on top of each other when it becomes clear that there’s too many of them and when Angela brings the plates, he rips them from her hands, much to her protests, and gives everyone a serving of one cookie per pack.

“Enjoy.”

Kevin dives into the food without any other invitation and, after a moment, everyone follows suit, shoving cookie after cookie into their mouths with only brief intermissions to comment on them.

“Gross,” Angela mumbles as she takes a small bite of the Frosted Sugar Cookie and spits it out right afterwards, replacing it with a pecan sandy instead. And though she tries to hide it, there is something akin to appreciation upon her lips as she eats it, sharing her commentary with the others.

It becomes clear, after the third or fourth cookie, however, that no one is keeping score nor eating in the same order.

“Oh, I love these!” Erin exclaims, shoving an oreo into her mouth. Her expression of pure joy morphs into confusion when she looks back down at her plate. “Wait, Dwight? Why did you give me two oreos?”

A series of murmurs confirms that she’s not the only one, some noting that one feels sweeter than the other. One tastier, one tougher to bite… Creed even hums happily, saying, “Reminds me of youth!” which somewhat concerns the others.

“Idiots!” Dwight scoffs. “One of them is an oreo. The other is a hydrox.”

Kelly spits the dark cookie. “Ew! What’s that?”

The tall man shakes his head. “It’s just the original oreo. Came to be four years before oreos and doesn’t get soggy in milk. It’s basically the superior oreo.”

“Right,” Jim throws his own cookie at Dwight, “but weren’t these discontinued?”

“Yes! But I bought them all when they were still available and I keep them in a cold storage unit to preserve them perfectly away from Mose, so they’re fine.”

Angela’s gasp tears everyone’s attention from Dwight to her, her small hands grasping at an empty pack of Hydrox tightly. “There’s no expiry date! You ripped it off! Oh, God,” she clasps a hand to her mouth, “I can’t believe I tried it.”

“I’m going to feel sick!” Kelly cringes, fanning her mouth as though that might take away any of the issues involved with eating expired dairy. Some of the other coworkers follow suit, cringing and cursing Dwight to hell and back.

“I like them,” Kevin shrugs, high-fiving Pam who hums along, stealing another Hydrox from the table, then another five to share with Kevin. When Jim raises a concerned eyebrow at her, she mumbles through the food, “It’s the cravings. Shut up!”

Luckily, no one except Jim pays her any heed. If anything, Meredith and Creed nod along, stealing the off-brand oreos for themselves as well. Which is… concerning, in a way, but Dwight seems to appreciate it, he himself eating some on the off-side as well.

Despite the general moaning and complaining, everyone does come to a compromise, the winner turning out to be, after all, Keebler’s Fudge Cookies that no one, except maybe Angela, seems to have a problem with, making it, thus, the only cookie type to have almost no opponents. And even Angela has to admit that she isn’t exactly hating them. She simply thinks they’re too much, and that they would probably be better if they didn’t have the fudge. As if that isn’t, of course, the thing that makes them good.

“I have to say,” she mumbles in the end behind her hand as she swallows her last cookie, glancing at Dwight briefly before averting her gaze, “I appreciate you buying my favorite Keebler’s cookies.”

Dwight arches his eyebrows. “I bought all of them, I had nothing or no one in particular in—.”

“Just accept the compliment, man,” Andy scolds him with a reprehensive wave of his hand.

It is among such playful energy in which everyone eases into their chairs and lulls into something akin to peace, that the plan finally clicks into place, Erin’s concerns thrown to the wind as Oscar decides to, anyway, kill two birds with one stone. If it goes wrong, well, it’s not on him. He thus gathers some of the other men into a group close enough to Dwight to be overhead but not too close as to arouse suspicion, while most of the women gather on the other end of the room, grinning and showing off thumbs of approval.

Well, Erin does that, mostly, while Pam shushes her carefully.

“Poor Angela,” Oscar begins slowly, glimpsing towards the farmer quickly before turning back to Jim, Dwight’s attention already caught in a net by those simple words. Though he attempts to look secretive, he takes a step towards the group, his gaze fixed upon the short woman in question almost aggressively. “I’m not sure what’s worse, you know?”

Jim hums in agreement, feigning pensiveness. “I know. It’s too much to take in.”

“And you’re sure, yes?” Andy butts in with a frown. “Maybe you’re wrong.”

Oscar shakes his head. “Absolutely. I’m sure. He flirted with me! And I just… should I tell her?”

“It’s a gray area, really,” Jim says. “On the one hand, outing someone as gay…” he pauses to hear Dwight’s small gasp before the man straightens himself and looks down at his plate, feigning ignorance, “is wrong, of course. But if I’m correct, a beard—is that what it’s called?”

Oscar nods. “A beard, yes. Ironically, he has none.”

“None of us do,” Jim notices. “Whatever. The beard should know, right?”

“Not to mention that, you know, it’s cheating, ” Andy hisses. “I’ve been a cuckold and I wouldn’t even wish it upon... well, Angela who made me a cuckold. It’s no fun.” Some days, he still feels like he can’t trust anyone, even himself. How could he have been so blind? “But I do agree with you: poor Angela. You know, for that other thing. Not that I’m happy with either of these.”

Other thing? Dwight cranes his neck towards the group with an arched eyebrow, shoulders raised inconspicuously. 

“You need to let it go, Andy,” Ryan groans. “Kelly cheated on Darryl with me because I’m her true love, and Angela cheated on you with Dwight because he is hers.”

“Wouldn’t use that as an example,” Darryl clenches his fists threateningly. “But he’s kinda right. I’m better off anyway.”

Jim can’t help but cringe at the analogy. “Didn’t you, Ryan, also cheat on Kelly, though? What does that make her to you?”

Ryan shrugs, focusing back on the task on hand by saying, “Speaking of Dwight, though,” he pauses to grin at Dwight’s pursed lips and widened eyes, “poor Angela, again.”

“Amen. In love with Dwight, after all he’s done to her?” Dwight nearly drops his plate, a lump growing in his throat. “I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes in a million years. I mean, it’s one thing having her fiancé cheat on her with a man, but to also wish to go back to her former boyfriend?”

“Brutal,” Jim agrees. “Then again, you could be wrong.”

“What is it with you people assuming I’m wrong?” Oscar stares him down seriously. “I saw her watching Dwight from afar and smiling, and you know how rare that is, and I’ve seen how fake her happiness with the state senator is. It’s nothing compared to how at… ease?” Jim nods encouragingly. “How at ease with Dwight she is. It’s a whole nother thing.”

“A whole nother thing.”

“Yes. Not to mention I heard her singing that one song they sang together. Little Drummer Boy, was it? No, no, I’m sure. She’s in love with him again. Probably never stopped.”

“Maybe stopped at least for a while,” Andy mumbles. “I mean, she did date me.”

Oscar can’t even muster the energy to properly glare, his eyebrows knit together into a frown. “Stop bringing that up. As I was saying, though, poor Angela. And she’s hopeless! Isn’t she, Jim?”

Jim hastily nods. “Absolutely. I mean, Dwight’s my deskmate and I’d know if he was in love with her and he’s not.” Dwight’s scoff of disagreement hastily turns into a loud cough when he catches himself in the act, embarrassment washing over him like a bucket of cold water. “She had hoped he would fall in love during that… contract, you know, but… it didn’t work. So he can never know how much she loves him.”

“And she can never know her fiancé is cheating,” Darryl reminds, Dwight’s eyes widening again as he remembers, too. “It would break her to be turned down by not one but two men and I think she’s suffered enough as is.”

“Agreed. So we’re going to keep it among ourselves?”

The other men nod in agreement and, after allowing Dwight to walk away in a daze, they return to their own devices, seeds of doubt already planted.

And how well planted they are! Dwight can’t keep them from blossoming into fears and concerns. On the one hand, the cheating, homosexual cheating worst of all — and oh, he should have predicted that a state senator would only be interested in Angela for his own selfish reasons. He would never treat her like—except, his coworkers seem to think that he would . That he’s broken her heart — as if she hasn’t broken his! — and that he wouldn’t be a good match for her at all.

That he doesn’t love her.

Which he doesn’t, obviously. Does he? His attraction for her had waned for some time, of course, and now—.

He shakes his head and spares a glance at the small woman, scanning her features more intimately than he has in a long while, observes the way she nibbles at another cookie like the monkey she is — his monkey — and oh, she really does look lovely.

“And she loves me,” he murmurs softly, scanning his clothes with a critical eye perhaps for the first time ever. “Why?”  

On the other side of the room, the women attempt planting their seeds as well.

“Have you heard?” Pam leans towards Kelly, Phyllis and Erin with a serious look upon her face, eyes wide and an air of importance about her as her tone verges unusually towards the loud side of things — loud enough to be overheard by Angela. Not that it works — the small woman seems to be unusually interested in her food enough to tune anything out. 

Kelly furrows her brows, stepping to the side to come as close to the Christian woman as not to arouse suspicions. “Heard what, Pam?”

“Do tell us,” Phyllis hastens her with a whip of her hand.

“It’s just…” Pam feigns a tentative tone as she sighs deeply, stopping abruptly only when she notes Angela’s continued inattention. “Dwight is in love with Angela, again.”

Erin gasps, quite possibly genuinely, clasping a hand to her mouth almost comically. “Dwight?” She repeats, glancing over to Angela’s inattentive person and deciding to speak slightly louder as she says, “Dwight is in love with Angela?”

That finally seems to do the trick. 

It’s barely perceptible, the twitch in Angela’s shoulders and the way she cranes her neck towards the group of women before she catches herself in the act, burrowing deeper into her plate to feign disinterest. But if the tapping of her fingers and the crease between her brows is any indication, she finally begins listening.

“Very much so,” Pam finally breathes a sigh of relief. “It’s almost painful, really.”

“Painful?” Erin frowns, suddenly concerned. “How is it painful? Is it because she’s so mean to him all the time?”

“Honey,” Phyllis murmurs, “you weren’t here for it but Angela really broke Dwight’s heart.” Angela barely contains her scowl at the words, fingertips digging harshly into her lap and her heart tugging at some painful strings as she wills herself to look anywhere but at the subject of the conversation. “But of course, the meanness, too. And now she’s basically doing the same exact thing.”

Pam can’t tell she appreciates Phyllis’ tactic, but she runs along with it as she nods. “Yeah. Dwight suffered a lot the first time Angela was engaged and it’s even worse now that his feelings have, instead of waning, strengthened.”

Kelly tsks with a shake of head. “This is the first I’m hearing of this.”

“Well, Kelly,” Pam insists rather forcibly, her voice thick with desperation. “That’s because I’m not even supposed to know, actually.”

“How do you know, then?” Kelly inquires, narrowing her eyes thinly. “I’m usually the one to know such things and I knew none of it!”

“You don’t—you don’t know everything about matters of love, Kelly. And I, as a pregnant woman, have a sixth sense for this.”

“Oh,” Kelly scoffs, seemingly forgetting her matter at hand. “So what you’re saying is that just because Jim has impregnated you, you’re suddenly an expert in who’s in love with whom? And who’s sleeping with whom?” Seeing Pam’s wide eyes, confusion clouding her judgement, she tilts her head towards Angela pointedly and adds, “Well, I bet you don’t know who the state senator Robert Lipton has a crush on and most of all who he’s sleeping with.”

Pam almost collapses with relief when she spots the widening of Angela’s eyes, the small woman involuntarily shifting in her chair to listen in more closely. Inwardly, she simultaneously curses and blesses Kelly’s tactics. 

“That’s easy,” Erin butts in before Pam can so much as open her mouth. “Angela, no?” Under Pam’s glare, she whispers, “Oscar?”

“Oscar?” Pam repeats more loudly, shoving Erin playfully as a friendly reminder not to whisper when Angela is supposed to be listening in, the confirmation that she’s indeed done as much shown by the munching of yet another cookie, almost aggressively so.

“No,” Kelly waves her hand dismissively, but before Angela can so much as breathe a sigh of relief, she rectifies, “he’s sleeping with that personal trainer of his, of course. That guy who’s always with him, always running etc. etc. That’s why he was crying during the engagement.”

“Dear God,” Phyllis and Angela mumble simultaneously.

“As for the crush, it’s Ryan, of course. Although maybe Oscar, too. He’d at least have a shot with Oscar, you know. But mostly Ryan. He told me all about it. About how he touched his arm and offered him his private phone number and “liked” his Facebook photos at 3am, doing God knows what—.”

It appears to be too much information, or perhaps too many cookies, for Angela, all of it coming out in the worst way possible as she leans forward on her chair and spills all her food upon the carpeted floor. 

Scrambling to her feet as best as she can without tumbling over and mumbling an awkward apology behind her hand, Angela makes herself smaller than she already is and runs towards the women’s bathroom, hastily followed by a procession of concerned coworkers.

A hand halts them mid-walk, Dwight standing before them and announcing, “It shouldn’t be so many of us, so let me.” He doesn’t wait for anyone’s approval, turning back and jogging with such speed, it’s as though he vanishes before their eyes — one moment there and the next, gone.

Angela is accustomed to the scrapes that come from kneeling on the floor — for a Holy reason, thank you very much, except maybe those few times with Dwight— no. And yet, as she drops to the ground and keels over the toilet to retch all the remnants of her food, the sting is like uncommon ground to her, her skin scraping faster and much more harshly than it normally would.

Exhaustion creeps into her and mingles with cold sweat even before she can gag a second time, shoulders sagging and palms digging into the toilet seat uncomfortably, muscles screaming at her for holding herself from falling face and hair first into the toilet, into her own vomit.

The thought spikes another wave of nausea within, sends her reeling over the edge and spitting almost nothing but dark water now. Another sheet of cold sweat washes over her, and for a moment she fears she might be on the verge of passing out. The icy contact localizes on her shoulder, its touch accompanied by some sort of lull or murmur she can’t understand and through the black creeping along the edges of her vision and the ringing of her ears she catches a shape that gently settles against her arm— a hand.  

Without thinking twice, she slaps it, a yelp escaping from her wet lips with a pop before recognition washes over her upon locking her gaze with his in confusion. “Dwight!” she shoves him away without any particular enthusiasm nor precision, succumbing to his cold touch when it returns, insistent. “What the fuck are doing in the women’s bathroom?”

Dwight tilts his head to the side with a befuddled look upon his face. “What does it look like I’m doing, woman? I’m trying to help you with your… excessive vomiting.”

“How kind,” she seethes. A mean string of words dies on her lips when some of the horrible things spewed by her spiteful coworkers resurface in her mind. Opting not to be as mean as she appears to everyone, she smiles at him tightly, bobbing her head with a curt nod. “Thank you.”

If any confusion flashes in Dwight’s eyes, it is but momentary. “Of course,” he murmurs, his calloused hand rough and yet gentle upon her cheek when he helps her remove her hair from her face. She nuzzles into it with a happy sigh. “How much—.”

Another wave of nausea interrupts his words, Angela’s petite frame convulsing as she retches again, and though nothing really comes out, she spends a few moments simply breathing over the toilet, relaxing into the soothing circles that Dwight draws on her head, sighing and leaning into his touch like a purring cat. When she’s certain she won’t puke again, she sits against the toilet and meets his gaze with her watery one.

“Thank you.” She means it this time. Lord knows how surprised she is at his continued kindness, in spite of all the hurt. “I don’t know how this could be happening.”

“Oh, I do,” he arches his eyebrows suggestively. “It was all the cookies you ate. You were unstoppable.”

“Yeah? If any cookie disagreed with me it was most certainly your stupid expired off-brand oreo.” Her glare would be more intimidating if she weren’t biting her lower lip and didn’t have tear-stained cheeks and a red nose. “What were you thinking bringing them over here?”

“Please. Those weren’t expired. If kept in a cool environment, they can survive much longer than the predicted expiry date, anyway. Store owners just have to be careful.”

She tilts her head. “So which is it? Were they not expired or was the expiry date wrong, according to you?”

Dwight falters only briefly. “Both. Trust me, they were good. They didn’t disagree with anyone but you so perhaps you’re puking for overeating, which is unlike you, by the way, not because of my delicious hydrox.”

“I was hungry, and you’re impossible,” she announces, shaking her head firmly. 

“Oh, admit it. You enjoyed them.”

Angela rolls her eyes despite the traitorous smile growing upon her lips. “I’ll have you know, I didn’t hate them. I preferred them to the actual oreos, but that’s—.”

“Aha!” He grins maniacally, pulling her close to him into an embrace that, despite the discomfort of the position, with tiles digging sharply into their knees and calves, Angela melts into with a smile. “Victory for Schrute and for Hydrox! Take that, Lipton and Oreo!”

Angela stiffens in his arms, nausea building up at the mention of her fiancé’s name, the suspicious words of her colleagues ringing louder now, but she doesn’t retch anymore, merely gags. “Yeah,” she whispers softly.

Sensing her sudden sadness, Dwight pulls away to look into her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just…” she glances over at the toilet with a mournful look. “I’m tired. Puking really takes all the energy out of you.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he admits. “I’ve puked maybe twice in my life and I don’t really recall the experiences.” Seeing her disapproving glare, he places a hand upon her cheek and rectifies, “Do you need anything? Some food? Some water?”

“Water would be fine,” she nods weakly.

“Okay, but if you also want some food, to fill your body up once again, I have some beets with me that are great remedies for—.”

“No, Dwight!” she shoves him with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t—I don’t want any food. I can’t even think of it without…” Angela shakes her head. “No. I just need…” 

The truth, she muses, her heart speeding up when she meets his gaze. Craning her neck to stare deep into the warmth of his eyes, feeling his heart beat fast under her palm, she fears there might be some truth to at least half of what her colleagues had said. And though she wishes to relish in it, at least partly, if it is true, there’s another truth she needs to explore, to prove.

“Just bring me some water, please.”

The rapid beating of her heart slightly slows down in his brief absence, but when he brings her the water, it quickens once again, eyes lingering briefly southwards before coming back up to meet his own. 

Traitors, all of them. 

She tastes the water quickly, her chapped lips and thirsty tongue lapping at it greatly but she barely gets through half of it before the nausea returns and sends her over to the toilet.

“Careful,” he whispers softly, cupping her chin to clear away some of the spilled water. “Drinking too fast will make you sick.”

Angela shoots him a glare. “Thanks.”

She returns to her water much slowly afterwards, grasping at Dwight’s hand for support, and when she’s finished, Dwight smiles. “Anything else I can help with? A towel? A blanket?”

Angela can’t help but chuckle, her expression turning sour when she looks down at the ring upon her finger. “Actually, I need you. I need your help.”

“Oh,” his eyes widen comically fast. “Like that—.”

“No! I need you to take me to the mall. I…” she bites her lower lip. “I need to confirm one thing or two and I don’t think I have enough power to drive.”

Dwight doesn’t need to be asked twice.

“Oh, that went amazingly well!” Kelly claps her hands after Dwight and Angela’s departure, her eyes gleaming with joy and excitement. “We did it!”

Oscar doesn’t appear as excited. “She vomited.”

Kelly shrugs. “It’s a small price to pay for true love. And I mean, did you see the way he was holding her close to him when they were walking away? Oh, I wonder where they went! I bet to the warehouse!”

“Actually,” Meredith says from the window, “they’re walking to his car.”

“His car?”

“Yeah,” the woman grins. “I bet they’re going to do it there. So nasty, I love it.”

Realization washes over Jim much quicker than anyone else. “They’re going to investigate the truth about the senator. Or at least Angela is.”

“Crap.”

A frown creases upon Pam’s forehead. “Isn’t that what you wanted? They’ll find out the senator is gay and then get back together, no?”

“Oh, Pam,” Oscar shakes his head. “You’re so naive. She’s going there with Dwight. Dwight who has just been convinced that Angela is in love with him and unhappy as it is with her fiancé and who, as we all know, doesn’t have the best investigative methods. He might as well barge towards the senator and outright ask him.”

“Or seduce him,” Andy proposes with a half-laugh that only Kevin and Ryan share.

Jim turns his attention back to Oscar. “What do you propose we do?”

Oscar sighs. “I’m going to join them wherever they’re going.”

“Better be quick about it,” Meredith announces, “cause unless Dwight just stepped on the gas by accident during sex, they’re driving away.”

They don’t go directly to the mall, as it appears, taking an unexpected turn towards a small kiosk right next to it that Angela rushes into hastily, pushing Dwight away when he attempts to follow her and shying away from the crew’s view with a raised hand and a mumbled apology.

“Women,” Dwight grumbles to no one in particular, hands shoved into his pockets to prevent them from fidgeting, his jacket resting over his forearm lightly, almost tipping over the edge but not enough to fall, his eyes narrowed to avoid the bright sunlight.

Despite his naturally superior body, Dwight truly detests the sun. He can look at it directly if he so wishes — which he doesn’t — and he can farm even under its most horrendous heat, but he doesn’t particularly enjoy it. It makes him somewhat sweaty and while sweat during procreation can be a sign of good exertion, it is not exactly an aphrodisiac for women. Unless it is after sport.

Not that he’s trying to… seduce anyone, of course.

“Okay, we can go,” Angela pokes through his thoughts weakly, walking up to him with a secretive air about her that he allows to slide, leaning close to her to feel her scent— no, to investigate something else instead.

“Tell me,” he says slowly, “do women enjoy seeing sweaty men?”

A smirk spreads upon his lips upon the sight of the disgusted look she sends him, her mouth agape to underline her unease. “Gross. Unless it is from proper exertion, such as… working in the fields,” like Dwight, “or going to the gym, a man should never be sweaty. Nor a woman.”

“Indeed,” he nods. “I have superior sweat glands so I barely ever sweat anyway. As do you, I’m aware, although I can’t help but notice that they seem to be malfunctioning.”

Angela looks like a deer caught in the headlight at the wake of his words, pausing to cling her purse tighter to her person. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re getting quite ahead of yourself. And why were you inquiring about my opinion on sweating?”

Dwight shrugs, a playful light shimmering in his eyes as they step into the mall. “Just wondering. The sun was really harsh while I waited for you.”

He doesn’t mean for it to sound as accusatory, but Angela does hasten to apologize. “I’m sorry I left you waiting outside. It was for a personal, female matter that I had to attend to.”

“That’s okay,” he says with a quirk of his lips, poking at her side playfully. “I won’t ask, to respect your privacy.”

She arches an eyebrow, hardly suppressing a smirk. “How kind of you.”

Dwight doesn’t pry any further, nodding firmly, allowing her to lead him wherever she needs to without inquiring too intimately. She’s a fragile creature, after all, and if what his colleagues — subordinates — have been talking about is true, he ought not to treat her unkindly. To respect her feelings, that is. 

Which he doesn’t share, does he?

His heart beats traitorously fast when she inconspicuously grabs his hand among the crowd and laces their fingers together. Saying nothing. Which Dwight appreciates. It allows him to make up reasons in his head that she cannot refute as long as he doesn’t voice them and if one of those possible reasons is that he makes her feel safe , it would be a rational reason after all.

Even without speaking, her company is great. Warmer than when she’s at the office. It’s like an energy she only reserves for him. And he’s always enjoyed that about her — how well it felt to simply be , to exist near her. Nothing more. Blessed he who gets to—he shakes the thought away, blinking repeatedly and focusing on the scenery around him.

What a horrid place, filled with noisy people .

Disgustingly, Angela settles on the noisiest of places: a chatty cafeteria, filled with customers and annoyed employees that Dwight feels an instant distaste towards who ask too many questions when Angela simply chooses to order a water. He briefly questions Angela’s sanity, too, but then a pilates gym meets his eye and it all clicks. 

This drive, this secrecy, the disappointment in Angela’s eyes.

She knows. 

And as her closest friend, perhaps, and her on-and-off lover, he can’t let her handle her sadness alone, so he covers her hand with his and upon her questioning gaze, he speaks up loudly, “I’m here for you, for all. And I’ve figured out your plan.”

“What?” 

“I’ve figured out your plan!”

Angela rolls her eyes. “I heard you the first time you said it. I was asking you what the plan was, according to you.”

“Oh,” he furrows his brows pensively. “Well, I’m not 100% sure but I’ve heard some rumors today, rumors that… that concern you. And I have a feeling you’ve heard them, too. Now, if those rumors are true, a pilates gym like the one you have a perfect sight for here, is exactly the place a… homosexual man would go to, I wager. I wouldn’t know.” Of course he wouldn’t, thank you very much. “Am I correct?”

She tilts her head. “That’s not a plan.”

“No, but spying on Robert is. Is this usually the time he goes here?” Caught in his net, Angela merely nods, embarrassment washing over for having such a silly, inconsiderate plan. “Oh, Monkey. I’m glad you’ve brought me along.”

Her smile is tight-lipped, accompanied by the lacing of her fingers with his when she whispers, “I needed you with me. Either to prove them all wrong or to…” she trails off, the lump in her throat thick. “I wanted you not to judge me regardless of the result.”

“Of course. But spying from a cafeteria like this might turn out to be inconclusive for the wrong reasons.” Seeing the lack of understanding in her eyes, he elaborates. “I think I should go undercover for this. Investigate first-hand.”

“Investigate? But he’s met you.”

Dwight shrugs. “I doubt he remembers me. But if he does, it’s not a problem for me. I can do it,” he squeezes her hand. “I can help. If you’ll allow it.”

Squeezing back, Angela heaves a resolute sigh. “How would you go about it?”

“I’ll go to the gym, do some pilates with him… seduce him, if possible.”

“Gross.”

“I know.” I would only do it for you, is implicit but it hangs in the air as though it had been shouted from a rooftop, Angela’s thumb stroking the palm of his hand softly. “But if all goes well, my seduction will have been inconclusive.”

“And if it isn’t?”

Dwight doesn’t hesitate to say, “Leave him. You would deserve better.” 

“Do you have…” she glances down purposely,  “anyone in particular in mind?”

Gulping, he nods, as deliberate and slow as her. “Indeed, I do.” With that, he drops her hand and stands, smoothing his pants with a frown. “I hope they offer a change of clothes at that gym. I’ll report back in an hour or less. Don’t move.”

Angela can’t help the dumb smile that paints upon her lips. “Go.”

No sooner does he walk away from their table, flaunting his tight ass to her with an air of seduction about him, than Oscar plops in his seat, eyes wide with concern. “Where the hell is Dwight?”

Shaking her head, Angela blinks at her coworker. “Oscar? What are you doing here?”

“I heard the horrible news about Robert—.”

“It’s not certain yet!”

He nods hastily. “Of course. But… Yet? What’s Dwight doing?”

Angela doesn’t deign to answer that. “It’s none of your business.”

“Angela! What is Dwight doing, please? ”

A nod towards the pilates gym is enough to make Oscar collapse in his seat, a hand to his face and an exasperated sigh heaving out of his mouth. 

“I would like to purchase a lesson,” he announces proudly to the meek male receptionist at the Pilates Club, puffing his chest with an exaggerated smile and squinting at the smaller man, or perhaps boy, through his blurred vision. 

“One lesson, sir?”

“Did I stutter?” He taps impatiently on the counter, craning his neck to see through the glass door that separates the reception from the rest of the establishment where Robert is already well settled in with his instructor, probably having done half his lesson already. “I only wish to be here once, today, and I will never come back, so, yes, one lesson would be sufficient.”

“I understand, sir,” the kid frowns as though he doesn’t understand at all — pathetic, “but we don’t do single lessons. We have monthly and yearly plans that we can offer, but nothing less is available.”

Dwight fishes his wallet out his pocket with a groan. “How much would a monthly subscription to your crappy pilates sessions cost?”

After a pregnant pause, the kid stammers, “A hundred-and-nine dollars, sir.”

“A hundred— Fine.” For Angela, he grabs a one hundred dollar bill coupled with a ten and slides it on the counter. “Fine, I’ll get your stupid monthly subscription then.”

“I will need your ID and your—.”

Dwight shoves his entire wallet towards the kid. “Just get everything you need out of here and let me in.”

The kid grabs the wallet with a frown. “Would you like me to return it to you at the end of your session, then?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dwight groans. “Yes, yes. Just let me in. And tell me,” he leans over the counter to bluntly ask, “do I look seductive enough?”

“I’m a minor—.”

“Get your head out of the gutter, kid. I’m not trying to seduce you ,” he scoffs. “Just... just someone else.”

“Uh…” he trails off, eyebrows arched in confusion and horror, “I think so?”

“Thank you,” Dwight nods firmly. “Now, does your Club offer some comfier pants for its members? I feel like I’m not at my strongest self with these loose, office pants and while my undershirt will suffice, I need…” the kid shakily points at a small shop set up inside the establishment. “That will do, thank you. Perhaps you will grow to be a strong man someday.”

The kid can’t even decide between a frown and a confused smile as he watches Dwight pick the tightest pants, sauntering towards the changing room in a completely different way than he had initially walked in, as though he were suddenly playing a role.

“What were you thinking?”

Angela is really not in the mood for a lecture from Oscar, of all people. As if he doesn’t have enough issues of his own to take care of, his own skeletons in the closet, rather than scolding her for trusting someone she—a friend. And trusting Dwight, being kind to him—isn’t that what everyone wants of her?

She doesn’t tell him exactly as much. “It’s none of your business, Oscar.”

“None of my—Angela, you just sent Dwight, your ex-boyfriend, to talk to Senator Lipton, your fiancé.” He underlines his point by waving his hand and blinking repeatedly. “In private, without even any supervision. Do you have any idea how badly this could go, if the rumors are wrong?”

Angela hates the implication that she hasn’t foreseen everything. Although, in fairness, she hadn’t. Oscar doesn’t need to know that. “I trust Dwight, more than anyone.”

Alright. 

“I’m telling you this as a friend…” Oscar pauses, expecting Angela to argue with his words, to fight him on calling them friends, but none of that comes, her silent endorsement greater than he can truly admit. “This is not a sales call. Robert is not a client Dwight needs to buy and Dwight is many things but he is not a good conversationalist. Not when it comes to private matters.”

Her scoff is almost involuntary, instant as soon as he starts speaking. “I really don’t see the problem here. Dwight is capable of talking to people pleasantly… when he wants to.”

“Exactly,” he tilts his head thoughtfully. “And when does he want to?” 

“Well,” she huffs, “it’s done anyway.”

Sensing Angela’s indignation at all the questioning, shown mostly by the proud tossing of her head, her pursed lips and her crossed arms, Oscar can’t help but give in with a sigh and a resigned nod. “Alright, you’re right. All we can do now is wait.”

“Thank you! Finally.”

Oscar suppresses his need to roll his eyes, tapping his fingers against the table with an impatient sigh that turns even more impatient as a few minutes go by and nothing happens. After a quick scan of the room, he offers, “Should I call a waiter to order something, at least? I see that you’ve gotten yourself a water bottle, but—.”

“I’m fine, but you can order something for yourself if you want.”

Oscar hesitates, shifting closer to Angela to say, “Actually, you should eat something. All that puking must’ve been horrible and I’m very sorry that you fell ill, but you’ve surely lost fluids and nutrients—.”

“I said I’m fine,” she crosses her arms more firmly. “Drop it.”

“I just want you to feel alright, and you look paler than usual.”

“I said to drop it. But…” she averts his gaze, biting her lower lip, “I do appreciate your concern, I guess. If you want something, you can get it on me.” Seeing his jaw drop, she hisses, “Don’t mention it.”

“Angela, that—.”

“Don’t mention it. Just…” heaving a sigh, she shakes her head, “take my wallet and buy yourself something at the counter.” It is only when, after a moment’s hesitation that does nothing to serve her memory until the last split second, Oscar reaches into her purse, a frown upon his face that can only deepen, that Angela widens her eyes. “Wait—.”

It’s too late. Out of all the things that Oscar could see first in that bag, he spots that first, shock splitting upon his features in an instant. He puts it right back into the bag as though he’d been scorched, pushing it away as far as possible to avoid further inflammation, and gulps, meeting Angela’s gaze only briefly.

“It’s not what you think,” she weakly attempts.

“Sure,” he says slowly, laying his hands on the table for support and staring off into the distance as though it holds all the answers. “It’s just a thermometer. Because you didn’t own one before.”

Angela bobs her head in agreement. “Exactly. Lumpy ate it.”

“Is he alright?”

“Oh,” she waves his concern away with an awkward chuckle. “I had to take him—.”

“Wow, you could go really far with this.”

Averting his gaze, she shrugs. “I’ve had practice.”

Oscar doesn’t need to ask when and where. Angela dislikes lies almost as much as cheating — only when others do it. “So…” he says. “You’re pregnant, huh?” he scratches his head thoughtfully. “With the senator?”

Angela cringes. “I think so.”

“That you’re pregnant or that it’s with the senator?”

The hesitation is brief but noted by Oscar. “Who else would it be with?”

“Angela. Who else did you sleep with?”

Feigning ignorance, Angela tosses her head back with a light chuckle. “I don’t know what you’re implying. Senator Lipton is the only man I’ve ever been with and—.”

“Who?” A traitorous glance towards the Pilates Club sees the horror spread upon Oscar’s face. “Really? When?”

“That’s none of your—ugh.” Her sigh is heavy, resolute. Resigned, she admits, “About two or three weeks ago. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I guess it was a moment of weakness.”

Nothing more. She feels nothing else. Right?

“Oh, crap.”

It all makes sense now to Oscar. The tension, the stolen glances. How easily they believed all the rumors—and what rumors they were, how small compared to the truth. And yet, he realizes, it is a truth that makes everything so, so much easier. So, Oscar decides not to scoff loudly at Angela, nor criticize her as he normally would, opting instead for a simple yet charged question. “Do you think he could be the father?”

Angela appears even smaller than she usually is, looking down with something akin to trepidation rather than fear. Hope, a little? “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“So you’ve…” He’s not sure how to articulate it without fully outing Robert to Angela. Which, he supposes, wouldn’t change much but he is curious enough of Dwight’s abilities to wait just long enough for their results. “You’ve slept with the senator?”

Angela catches her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m not entirely sure he…” she trails off, looking away to avoid seeing Oscar’s judgment. Judgment she knows Dwight would not hold, that he’d only direct towards the senator. In a small whisper, she finishes, “Came.”

And certainly, she did not. Much like with Andy.

“You don’t—.”

“Don’t.”  

In truth, she hadn’t been enjoying herself enough with the man to even notice or care. It was just a duty, almost, performing just to satisfy some perverted need to be a senator’s fiancé and later wife. But she definitely won’t tell Oscar this. She can very well picture his judgment, his sneer. The self-satisfactory glee.

“Who would you rather be the father?”

If only it were that simple. It has never been about what she truly wants, desires. Desires must be hidden, dirty little secrets that she dares not expose to the world. Only respectable things can be shown to her family like little trinkets or decorations. It’s always been like that. It certainly isn’t the time, now, to change things just for the sake of her, or his, feelings.  

“Does it really matter?”

“It matters if you... love him.”

Pursing her lips and swallowing a lump, Angela can’t help but disagree. “It doesn’t matter what I want nor whom I love.” If it did, she would’ve been long married to the right man. “My husband will be the father of my child.”

“Angela…”

Angela straightens her back, feigning pride. “It’s how things must be.”

If Dwight didn't know Robert, hadn’t seen him clinging to Angela's side like a parasite, he wouldn't be able to spot him among all the other Pilates attendees, or whatever they like to be called. It's not even an insult on Angela's tastes — somewhat — but the man, albeit handsome, is bland. If he's as gay as his coworkers claim, where's the flash? The feminine clothes? The sauntering, the swaying hips? Even for a heterosexual man he would boring. 

Like a Jim.

Now, Dwight considers himself to be a great seducer and an even better sportsman and upon entering the session nearly thirty or more minutes late, having caught everyone’s attention like a proper drama queen, he stops right next to Robert’s spot.

The most important part of a seduction is eye contact and showing off one’s best body parts in an attempt to hide the least attractive ones. Dwight thus meets Robert’s gaze right off the bat as he purposely drinks water in front of the man, making sure to let some droplets fall to his chest, large and wide as it is — an attractive feature, he reckons — with a conscious ‘oops’ that makes Robert frown at him with a confused smile. 

Dwight then spreads his legs, stretching his arms along with the instructor with a smirk.

After showing off body parts comes the conversation. One must always show curiosity, interest. He takes his chance only after a few exercises, so as to appear more subtle but not too late to lose Robert’s attention.

“You an old timer here?” he asks, craning his neck to look at the senator with a keen look upon his face.

“Sure,” Robert shrugs. “It’s a relaxing exercise. It helps me loosen up a few knots after a tiring day, you know?”

Show appreciation, possibly in elusive tones.

“I can see it paying it off,” he murmurs, leaning forward when his instructor forces him to. 

“Oh,” Robert arches his eyebrows. “Thank you. You seem to be in need of some proper relaxation yourself.”

Rude. “I’m a farmer, so I exercise quite a lot. Guess that’s where all the knots come from. Though…” he licks his lips suggestively, “there are other things I enjoy. Red Vining,” he winks, mimicking the intertwining of two snakes with his hands, “if you know what I mean.”

Robert blanches, a crease between his brows. “Sure,” he mutters and turns away to whisper something to his private instructor — and why does he even get one? Dwight has to make do with the general one, a woman standing in the middle.

He scoffs, muttering unintelligibly to no one in particular, “The privileges of being a state senator.”

“Huh?” Robert cocks his head to the side. “Did you say something?”

“No. Nothing.”

“No, no you said—wait, do I know you?” he tilts his head to scan Dwight’s face more closely. “I don’t forget memorable faces easily and I’m sure I’ve seen yours before.”

Memorable. Dwight fights off a scoff. “You must have me confused with some other guy who’s also very new to pilates as I am.”

“No,” the senator shakes his head. “You’re—you’re Angela’s coworker, aren’t you? I remember seeing you once or twice, though I don’t think we’ve really interacted. You organized that strange Hay Maze,” strange! “ which made me meet Angela! Dwayne, was it?”

“Dwight,” he corrects, kicking himself upon realizing his faux pas. And when things go astray, a seducer must always be quick to his feet. “You got me. I am—I’m Angela’s coworker Dwight. The one from the Hay Maze, and the Hay King himself. That’s how you know me.”

Robert doesn’t seem to be caught off guard for too long. “Nice to meet you,” he says, actually shaking Dwight’s hand when it is offered, only showing discomfort when Dwight holds onto it for far too long, stroking the back of his hand with his thumb suggestively. Finally, he rips it away from Dwight’s grip and dries it off his pants. “It’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he says slowly, enunciating each word properly. “I’m sure Angela’s told all about me, but—.”

“I don’t think Angela’s ever mentioned you, actually.”

Dwight barely contains his glare. “Oh,” he tosses his head with an exaggerated giggle, “must be because she’s not the biggest fan of homosexuals.”

The widening of Robert’s eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by Dwight. He hides it by ducking low for his exercise, spreading his arm inattentively enough to hit Dwight. “I…” he clears his throat. “I did not know that. But she—she doesn’t really mention her coworkers at all.”

“It’s truly a shame.”

“That she doesn’t—.”

“That she’s homophobic. Makes you almost wish to make her pay for it. Doesn’t it?”

Robert frowns, hastily saying, “I’m not sure what you’re implying. Excuse me.” When he turns his back on Dwight, attempting to step away, the farmer takes his chance, slapping his ass firmly with a whoot.

“Great buttocks you’ve got there!” he exclaims, much to Robert’s horror, the senator’s eyes wide and his mouth agape. “Very firm. I like firm buttocks. Butts in general.”

After a moment’s hesitation in which the instructor announces the end of the session — what a waste of money! — Robert sighs. Laying a hand on Dwight’s bare arm, he leans in, “Listen—Dwight, was it?”

Batting his eyelashes suggestively, Dwight offers him a smile. “Yes, Robert?”

“Dwight,” he squeezes Dwight’s arm firmly, “I…I am flattered by your attention and your… your interest. I really am. And I’m sure you’ll find a man who will appreciate you, but… I’m taken.”

“Oh.” By Angela. “Are you sure?”

Robert shares a secretive look with his instructor. “Very sure. But,” stroking Dwight’s arm with a strange look upon his face, he murmurs, “don’t let this discourage you. Plenty of men will like you.”

With that, he departs, followed suit by that sleazy instructor of his, leaving Dwight dumbfounded, blinking in the middle of the floor.

“Guess they were wrong,” he mutters, unsure if he should feel happy or discouraged by it. 

I mean, it is great that Angela’s fiancé is not gay, isn’t it? It is. Of course it is.

A hand on his shoulder drives him away from his thoughts. “Hey,” a tall, burly man leans in, “That guy has no idea what he’s missing.” Out of his pocket, he fishes out a card and slides it into Dwight’s hand with a wide smile and a wink. “Call me.”

Dwight can’t help but nod. “Will do. Are you in need of paper?”

“What?” he tilts his head. “Is that an euphemism?”

Dwight waves his hand. “We can discuss it later over the phone.”

He falls behind the others, walking slowly, mournfully almost. With disappointment that he doesn’t wish to even claim. He’s a Schrute and Schrute's get over things easily. Why can’t he move on from her as easily as all other things?

Pouting, Dwight looks over to the only other occupant of the room, the female instructor whom he’d barely followed in his few exercises. “What would you do if your ex was engaged to a straight man?”

The woman blinks, unhelpful.

But as soon as he enters the men’s changing room, he realizes, horrified and yet slightly relieved, that she is not, after all, engaged to a straight man. He exits as quickly as he came, the thud of the closing door tearing the two kissing men apart, Robert’s eyes wide as he recognizes, just slightly, the escaping man.

“Fuck.”

“Are you enjoying your iced coffee?”

Oscar meets Angela’s cold stare with a hum. “Yes, I am, Angela. Thank you very much for buying this for me.”

“Does it keep you from… thinking about other things?”

Oscar arches a suggestive eyebrow. His colleague can sometimes be oh-so transparent. “Absolutely.”

And sure, it doesn’t count as buying his silence if she made the offer before any silence was needed, but both the accountants know each other well enough to know that this is not a simple act of good grace, of Christian charity. 

Looking down at his wristwatch, Oscar opts for small talk. You know, Angela’s greatest enemy. Right up with Phyllis, Pam and anyone with a sense of humor—Oscar is not cruel, but he does like tugging at the woman’s strings. “It’s been a good half hour, hasn’t it?” he questions with a nod. “They must be sweating their butts off in there.”

“I bet you’d like to know all about their butts.”

Oscar snorts. “That—Okay. Touché. But I was mostly wondering about Dwight—Oh, and there he is. Speak of the devil.”

A devil who, it turns out, has forgone his shirt and is now only wearing his white tank top. Angela gulps, jumping up to her feet even before Dwight recognizes their table and running up to him to grab forcefully at his wrist. “Dwight! What’s the verdict?”

Dwight’s surprise at her greeting swiftly morphs into a warm, keen look that reaches his eyes and tugs at her heartstrings. “Angela. Yes, I have—Hi, Oscar.” He raises a hand to stop the man from speaking up. “Save the explanation for someone who cares. Now, Angela, I do have a verdict.”

She tilts her head, heart beating so fast it might burst out of her chest, a bubbling anxiety rising in her throat along with a well-known nausea. What verdict does she even want? Or need? The two rarely ever agree within her. “And what is it, D?”

Dwight appears perturbed, his face not schooled as well as it usually might be as he clears his throat and shares a mournful, knowing look with Oscar. “Monkey, I—I’m not going to lie to you but you have to be certain you want to know.”

“He’s gay, isn’t he?” Dwight is hesitant in his nod, slow. Angela shakes her head, ignoring the relief that somehow spreads in her chest. Because it shouldn’t. Why is she so relieved? “But how can you be so sure?”

“Well,” Dwight sighs, averting his gaze briefly to avoid seeing the disappointment and anger swirling in Angela’s gaze. “My seduction, albeit perfectly planned and executed, if I say so myself,” Oscar’s snicker goes unnoticed by the pair, “was actually pretty inconclusive—.”

“See?” Angela grasps at mirrors to seek some kind of salvation from all the sneers that will befall her when her family finds out, but falls short when she sees the resignation in Dwight’s beautiful— no— eyes. “But… if your seduction failed, then surely…”

“I saw it. I saw him kissing his instructor in the men’s changing room.”

Angela pouts. “Maybe you saw something wrong.”

“It was pretty clear, Monkey, I’m sorry,” he insists, cupping Angela’s chin to stop her from worrying on her lower lip too much. “They were much making out, clearly thinking they were going to be alone. I’m really sorry. I wish I could’ve—.”

“No, you did everything right, as always,” she breathes, a lump growing in her throat at the intimate, larger meaning of the words. Terrified by it and horrified by her current, second fiancé disaster, she drops Dwight’s wrist to hug herself instead, shoulders hunched sadly, a sudden flash of anger glimmering in her eyes when realization finally settles in. “God, I knew he was gay.”

Butting in as always, Oscar frowns. “You did? Because you just—.”

“No, of course I didn’t!” she hisses, tugging at her lower lip so sharply as to draw blood. “I feel so stupid . I just wanted to move on from—,” Dwight doesn’t need to know this. “But I should have known a senator —.”

“State senator!”

“Shut up, Oscar,” Dwight and Angela simultaneously say. Worrying her lower lip even more so, Angela scoffs, “I feel dumber than Kevin! Even he wouldn’t fall for a scam like this. This is—this is so embarrassing. I saw him almost everyday and I didn’t even suspect and everyone probably knew and was laughing at me. I should just—.”

“Hey,” Catching her lip with his thumb and letting it loose again, Dwight brings her in for a side hug that she melts into as though she was always meant to, sighing heavily into this intimacy that she’s missed for so long. That she’s craved for ever since that fateful duel and that was sadly amiss during their contract and that she barely saw a glimpse of that night. This intimacy that is only reserved for Dwight. “You’re not stupid. Jazz is stupid.”

“Jazz is stupid. I mean,” she exclaims, burrowing into his chest with a sniffle, “just play the right notes!”

“Yeah,” he nods firmly. “And if it makes you feel any better, I was convinced until the very end that he wasn’t gay. He didn’t look like he had it in him.”

“That’s what he—never mind,” Oscar waves the lame joke away, hiding behind his iced coffee when he senses the pair’s glares.

“I want him to pay for lying to me,” she mumbles against Dwight’s chest, looking up to meet his keen, fond gaze to add, “I want him dead. Killed.”

“What the—.” 

Dwight’s raised hand stops Oscar’s exclamation. “You can’t have someone murdered, Monkey. God knows the amount of people who would not be among us anymore if that were possible.” A pause. “Robert among them, actually.” And Andy, and anyone who has ever dared look at Angela the way only he ever wished to look. And of course, Jim, for other reasons. Oscar? Definitely. Kevin, Meredith, Creed...

The list is long, it’s no use dwelling upon it. 

“You’re right, not dead. That would be too much. But he embarrassed me,” she pouts. “Made me doubt some of my feelings, too.” Still does. “And he used me for his own gain. If I hadn’t found out—I would’ve married him and never known.”

“What a dick.”

“Language! But yes,” she grins dumbly, “he’s a major dick.”

“He doesn’t deserve you. He never did. You should leave him.” And be with me. After all, doesn’t she love him? “That will make him pay.”

“Well, yes, that would be enough, although I’m not sure—”

Oscar has had enough of this. “For God’s sake, Angela, respect yourself.” God knows that for a person who so often behaves selfishly, Angela rarely actually does it in her own favor.  “Would you really willingly stay with a gay man, just to cover him, as his beard? Is that what you want in your life?”

“No! That’s not what I meant,” she scoffs. A part of her might accept a life like that, but God knows she has other desires. “He deserves to pay and I will leave him. But…” lowering her voice to a whisper that only Dwight and Oscar might hear, she hisses, “what do I do if he’s the father of my child?”

Oh.

It’s as though a brick has been thrown at Dwight’s chest, knocking him apart from Angela to stare at the small woman with a horrified look upon his face, opportunities and locked doors all presenting themselves before his eyes as though he’s a dying man with flashes of lives he’s never managed to live. Lives he’s missed. “You’re pregnant? With… with the senator?”

“I…” she sighs, swallowing the thick lump in her throat. “Maybe. I’m not sure, neither if I’m pregnant nor if…” she locks her gaze with Dwight’s, a meaningful look in her eyes that she hopes to convey as fully as possible, “if it’s his.”

Hope returns in a surge of a feeling he has known oh-so well with Angela for so many years now. “You mean…” Dwight grabs her hands in his slowly, a hesitant, small smile spreading upon his lips that reaches his shimmering eyes. Angela can’t help but share it, a strange sort of joy spreading in her chest at the thought of him being the one. “I could be a dad?”

“Yes!” she smiles.

“I could be a dad!” he exclaims, louder. “To your child!”

“Yes!” But then, despite the fulfillment spreading in her chest, the feelings she’s so long suppressed, she realizes she shouldn’t give him, or herself, false hopes, so she rectifies. “Maybe.”

Puffing his chest proudly, Dwight questions, “When was the child conceived?”

“Dwight!” she shakes her head with a roll of her eyes, a small smile blossoming upon her lips at the prospect that this question paints. The relief that builds up. “Two or three weeks ago, I think. But I’m not even sure I’m pregnant yet—.”

“Oh, if it was my semen, and if your date is correct, then that child is surely conceived,” he confirms, all but sure of his own physique. Sure, he may not have impregnated her during their contract, but he had most certainly exceeded his physical prowess that night. With all the pent-up passion that he’d been trying to suppress during the contract, it was bound to happen. So yes, he’s sure he hit the mark. Totally sure. And it would explain a lot. “That’s why you were vomiting and eating strange, strange amounts. I mean, not even Phyllis and Kevin combined were eating as much as you. And that’s why you appear to be sweating more than—.”

With a light slap to his arm, she shushes him. “Stop mentioning my sweat glands. How do you know so much about mine, anyway?”

Dwight barely suppresses his smirk. “I’ve had practice getting to know them intimately.”

“Gross.”

“And they’re malfunctioning now.”

“You’re malfunctioning,” she scoffs despite the smirk upon her lips. “Now, if I’m pregnant, then yes. It could have been conceived… that night, yes. There is that chance. A very high chance. And I would not object to that prospect—.”

Dwight has never been great at subduing his joy, nor does he wish to do so now that his heart is nearly bursting out of his chest, capturing the woman’s small frame and clutching her to his chest for a tight embrace that lifts her off her feet. Groaning with joy, he squeezes her until it’s hard to breathe and it is only when she crumbles his shirt within his fists and lightly pushes at his chest with a muffled giggle and protest that he lays her down and steps back, hands resting on her shoulders for support, for reassurance, as though he can’t believe that she’s real. 

But she is. She must be. And it suddenly makes sense what he needs to do. Not just because his colleagues claim she loves him. 

“Be with me, Monkey,” he says warmly when they part, no hesitation on his part. “We belong together.”

And God, Angela has never been more keen to just jump into his arms, the prospect of sharing a love and a family with him. But she hesitates, partly because she fears his motifs, partly because it feels as though there’s something still amiss, something unaccomplished. “If you’re just proposing this to make him pay—.”

“No, of course not. I would make him pay by egging his car or his house—.”

“Let’s not get petty, guys!”

“Shut up, Oscar.”

Returning his attention to Angela, Dwight murmurs, “This is not about that.” Cupping her cheek, Dwight leans in as close as she allows it, breathing in her scent. “We’ve both been pretending for far too long that we’re not meant for each other, but we are. I love you, Angela. In truth,” he sighs at her lovely shocked gasp, at the unexpected joy that shimmers in her eyes, “I love nothing in the world as well as I love you, except maybe—no, definitely you.” And after all they’ve been through, “isn’t that strange?”

With a mind of its own, her heart speaks before she can catch up with it. “I love you with so much of my heart sometimes it feels like there’s not a part left that can protest!” she says and gasps, clasping a hand to her mouth in shock. “That—.”

“You love me.”

More hesitantly this time, Angela nods. “It appears so.” It’s all the confirmation Dwight needs to nearly close the gap between them, staring intently at her lips much as he did that fateful night. Oh, what a blessed night! However, as soon as his breath tickles her face and mingles with her own, she pushes him away lightly. “No, I—I want to exact my revenge first.”

“Is us kissing in this horrible, horrible establishment that he might see us in not enough?”

“This establishment is horrible,” she admits, looking around herself with a sneer. “But no, I liked your idea. Do you have any eggs?”

A malicious grin spreads upon Dwight’s lips as realization hits him. “I hope you know how much this vengeful streak within you really turns me on. Always has. And quite frankly does nothing to diminish my hunger to be with you, right now.”

“Ugh,” Oscar mimics puking. “That’s disgusting. Get a room.”

“I wouldn’t object—.”

“No,” she slaps his chest, fighting the blush that begins to blossom on her cheeks with a cough. “Dwight! The eggs!”

“Right! Do you need chicken, goose, emu, quail, guinea fowl—.”

Angela shrugs. “Chicken eggs will do.”

“Are you sure? Emu eggs are much bigger and much more effective.” He would know. Mose has thrown them at him several times when he was angry about being separated from his scarecrow lady. They stain and leave deep cuts. Not recommended if you’re at the receiving end. But if you’re planning on throwing them yourself, you’re in luck. “And I could just pop back to my farm very quickly and grab—.”

“No, I’ll take the chicken eggs.”

“Your loss.”

“I finally received a text from Oscar!”

Pam’s exclamation is like a bucket of fresh water over the office, tearing everyone away from their meaningless tasks to turn towards the saleswoman with wide eyes and curious glances. It even manages to wake Stanley from his afternoon nap and sends Andy running through the doors of his manager’s office like an alerted prey, ears open to listen to the awaited results.

Jim nudges his wife with a smirk. “So? What does it say?”

“Yeah, Pam,” Kelly lays her hands on her hips, “what is he saying?”

“Well, I haven’t read it yet. I was just announcing—.”

“Then get to it!” Meredith chastises her with a roll of her eyes. “We don’t have all day. It’s nearly 5pm and you know that—.”

“It’s nearly 5pm?” Stanley turns to glance at the clock joyfully, a bright smile spreading upon his lips. “Ah, just eleven more minutes. Get to it, then, Pam.”

Pam nods hastily. “Okay, so the message reads as follows: ‘Hello, Pam, you will not believe—.”

“Hey, actually,” Andy intrudes with a frown. “Why is he texting you and not all of us? Or like me, since I’m the manager?”

“Oh, yeah, or me!” Kevin exclaims.

Jim arches an eyebrow. “Now why would he text you, Kevin?”

“I’m part of the… of the accounting family and…” he huffs, “he’s a fake friend!”

“Right,” the young salesman nods slowly. “Maybe he texted Pam because she was the most involved in the planning of this whole thing? I mean, it basically started from the two of them—.”

“Of course you’d say that,” scoffs Kelly. “You’ve impregnated her. A second time.”

“Uh,” Pam tilts her head to the side with a deep frown. “I really don’t understand why you keep bringing that up, but… regardless of the reason, people, he’s saying they…” looking down at the message, her eyes widen. “Oh, wow.”

Running up to her desk, Kelly leans over her shoulder. “What is it?” With narrowed eyes, she gasps. “Oh, I want to see this.”

Andy spreads his arms with an exasperated scoff. “Can someone explain, please?”

“They’re going to throw eggs at the senator’s limo for cheating on her with that instructor slash personal assistant of his,” Kelly explains with a barely suppressed giggle. “Also, Angela might be pregnant with Dwight’s baby because they hooked up like two or three weeks ago.”

“Say that again?”

Angela’s prowess at throwing eggs at Robert’s limousine — that they have to drive to his mansion for, unfortunately — is not at all surprising. It is the smallest of people that must be feared the most. Their anger has little space to simply waft inside so it erupts, like a volcano, and when it does, it is best to be on the right side of the conflict.

Which Robert, of course, finds himself on the wrong side of.

Which matters little, perhaps, as he does not show himself except for a glimpse. Upon seeing the fury of his ex-fiancée and hearing the joyful, “She’s dumping you, you gay slut!” by Dwight, he returns to his mansion and locks the doors.

Oscar does not participate, staying on the offside with an egg in his hand that was shoved into it by Dwight, forcibly, and a scowl that he prays that the senator might see and understand — he is not complicit.

Dwight is. Dwight aids Angela in her purpose, active and cheerful, nudging her and grinning whenever her eggs smash particularly hard across the senator’s limo, spraying on the sides and slightly scratching the windows.

“Nice throw, Angela,” he tells her with a proud smile. “Your form could use some more tweaking, but it’s very, very good.” For a pregnant woman, he avoids adding lest she might send an egg the wrong way. “Use more core strength and you’ll achieve perfection.”

“Core strength, really?”

“It’s what makes the difference between a mediocre and a great throw.” Rolling her eyes, Angela mimics his own posture and with a seemingly gentle flick of her hand sends an egg right between the windshields. “Whoo!” he claps his hands proudly, a large smile brightening his features. “Now that is magnificent.”

Stifling a genuine smile, Angela steels her expression as best as she can, her own excitement only showing through the crinkling of her eyes. “Thank you. Although…” she looks down, licking her lips purposely, “I might need some more… instructions. Some private lessons, maybe?”

Oscar snorts. “Private egg-throwing lessons?”

Dwight, nor Angela for that matter, pays him no heed. “I would be available for that, on the weekends.”

“What? You can’t practice egg-throwing on week-days?”

Dwight scoffs. “Of course not.”

“Week-days are for work, Oscar,” adds Angela with a roll of her eyes. “I won’t be tainting my work days with egg-throwing practice. Although I would rather not taint my Sundays either.”

“Right.”

Ignoring, once again, Oscar, Dwight murmurs, “Will there be any… leftover eggs?”

Biting her lower lip, Angela feigns pensiveness. “If you behave yourself.”

Oscar doesn’t even bother to hide his discontentment upon his face at the sudden turn of the situation. Which would matter, really, only if they bothered looking away from each other and cared about their surroundings. Which they don’t.

Straight people.

“Ah,” Dwight muses, ignorant of all around him, inching closer to her with a knowing smirk and grabbing her hand in his, “but you know I can hardly do that when you’re around.” He ducks his head to whisper in her ear. “I’d say we call for a compromise.”

She doesn’t step away from him, letting him guide her hand for another hit. “I think we can work with that, if we make the proper arrangements and don’t let ourselves—.”

A shrill voice tears through their intimate trance. “So that’s what egg-throwing is code for,” says Kelly, of all people, a sort of miffed expression upon her face. Something between baffled, horrified and yet amused enough to actually laugh about it later. “Yuck.”

“What are you—?”

The question dies on Angela’s lips. It’s not just Kelly standing there. It’s the entire office, minus Stanley who must’ve dipped as soon as the clock struck five. And though all of them look almost keen and bemused, they do at least have the decency to appear somewhat mortified at having been spotted by Kelly’s unnecessary commentary.

An uncomfortable silence stretches between the group, broken by Jim’s awkward laugh. “Great egg-throwing job there,” he exclaims. “How many eggs is that now?”

“About two cartons.”

“Of how many eggs each?”

“Twelve. I proposed emu eggs initially, but Angela here preferred smaller eggs.”

“I’m not an animal.” Upon seeing the smirk that draws upon Dwight’s lips, Angela sighs, slapping his arm for good measure. “Now, all of you, how did you know to come here and why did— Oscar?”

Grinning widely in fear and walking away from Angela’s flaring glare, Oscar stretches his arms open in defence. “I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry, Angela, but you throwing eggs at a state senator’s limousine is too funny to miss.”

Dwight scoffs. “Then why weren’t you laughing, imbecile?”

“I was—wow. I just didn’t want to be complicit.” Sensing a rebuttal, he adds, “Also I did not approve of this.”

“But you find it funny.”

Flailing, he points at the rest of the office. “Actually, I thought they would find it funny.”

Angela lays her hands on her hips, her lips pursed tightly. “What else did you tell them? Did you tell them about—.”

“No, he didn’t!” Erin exclaims with a smile. “He absolutely did not.”

“Nope,” Andy confirms. “Nothing.”

“Thank you, Erin, Andy.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Oscar heaves a deep sigh, the glare flaring from Dwight and Angela so bright he doesn’t even dare look up. “That absolutely convinced them that I didn’t— Ow .” Angela’s sudden slap to his arm forces him to jump away with a frown. “I’m sorry!”

“I entrusted you with that information and you just—.”

That is not entirely true. “Technically, you talked about it freely in a mall for all to hear. Dwight practically screamed it and—.”

Surprisingly, Pam butts in. “Oh, drop it, you two.” She smiles, touching Angela’s forearm carefully. “It’s wonderful news, but you are right, Angela. Oscar should not have shared that with us.” Chatter erupts among the group, mutterings of discontentment spreading like a disease. Pam raises a hand in warning. “However, I think what we all just want to say, regardless of whether he should’ve sent me that text or not is—congratulations!”

“Yeah! Congratulations, Angela.”

“Congrats!” Kelly squeals. “Can I be the godmother?”

Sensing Angela’s discomfort, Dwight steps in, laying a comforting hand upon her shoulder with a knowing nod. “Come on, idiots, it’s not certain yet. She hasn’t… checked it yet.”

“What are you waiting for, then?” Darryl asks, crossing his arms smugly. “Oscar got us all involved now—.”

“This isn’t…” Angela begins softly, speaking up again, louder, when she notes the overwhelming chatter that builds up. “This isn’t a public occasion, everyone, so I’m going to take the pregnancy test alone and no one should be involved in my private matters except Dwight and I.” She focuses her glare directly on Oscar. “And I’m not sharing any intimate details with you anymore.”

“Come on, Angela.”

“No.”

When no one makes the first step to disperse and leave, Dwight huffs and shouts, “Leave now, it’s an order!”

“You can’t give out orders,” Andy attempts with a cheeky smirk, but when Dwight inches towards him with a scowl, he rectifies, “But I can. Let’s disperse, everyone. This is not the theatre, however much the drama might resemble it. Come on, drinks are on me at the bar while they settle this!” Upon Dwight and Angela’s questioning looks, he lays a hand on Dwight’s shoulder and murmurs, “Now we’re even, for shooting that stupid gun off at the office and giving me the manager position by proxy.”

Despite the clenching of his jaw, Dwight cannot help but nod firmly at Andy, having gained but an ounce of respect for the musical freak.

As for everything else, with grave objections, everyone does obey Andy, shuffling their feet towards their respective cars as though they are children whose mother has just decided they must take their time off the TV. Pathetic little things, all of them. Dwight makes sure to let them know what he thinks by flaring his nostrils and frowning so deeply, his nose scrunches up and his forehead creases.

Jim is among the last to leave, patting Dwight’s arm and saying, “Good luck, man.”

Dwight doesn’t deign to answer that, nor does he mean to simply accept the pat without feigning a shudder and a complaint, but he does, secretly, appreciate it. 

“Hope we become pregnancy buddies,” says Pam with a smile that Angela does not share.

“That would be amazing,” she retorts flatly. 

It is only when these two leave as well, their car doors locked and their tires screeching as they drive away, that Dwight turns to Angela and, cupping her cheek, murmurs, “Where would you like to pee on that stick?”

“What—.”

“In my car?”

Angela cranes her neck to frown at him, baffled. “What—in your car?”

He shrugs. “I’ve done it plenty of times. I think you might manage to as well.”

“No, I—,” she shakes her head. “I’m not going to pee in your car, D.” Placing her hand on Dwight’s chest, feeling the quickening of his heartbeat at her touch, she announces, “I’m going to go to that public restroom I saw around the corner.”

Dwight nods. “Smart,” he leans in, eyelashes low as he hovers above her lips to whisper, “Good luck. I love you.”

Breath hitching and hands curling at Dwight’s chest, Angela uses the last bits of her self-restraint to push him away lightly, barely with any conviction. “I love you, too.” She kisses his cheek. “I’ll see you when there’s a result.”

She tears away from him before she can close the gap between them and throw all of her self-appointed caution to the wind. And if she spots something akin to disappointment flashing in Dwight’s eyes, she has had years of practice to ignore it as she turns her back to Dwight’s hunched shoulders.

And she certainly does not see as Dwight touches his cheek and smiles, shuffling to his car ever so slowly just to waste more time between now and… the future.

Whatever it may hold.

Angela returns to the car after ten minutes, plopping to her seat with a huff and a frown that makes Dwight’s heart skip. But before he can even open his mouth, she smiles weakly and says, “It’s positive. I’m pregnant.”

A smile brightens Dwight’s face. “Oh my God!” He pulls her close, placing a wet kiss on her forehead. “I’m going to be a dad!”

Angela relinquishes his hold, stifling a gleeful giggle. “You don’t know that! I’ve slept—I’ve slept with the senator. A few times. I think—I think maybe, though very unlikely, to completion.”

“I don’t care,” he breathes, cupping her face gently to force her gaze to meet his. “I don’t care if I’m the actual father or if it’s Robert, or Andy somehow—,” she scoffs but he presses on, “all I care about is being with you. I would raise a stray child off the street if it meant I get to do it with you.”

Tears well up in her eyes, an unexpected sob wracking through her. “But, D, that isn’t how I pictured us having a child together—.”

“Silence, woman,” he breathes, finally closing the gap between them into a searing kiss. “We can have more kids, you know? And with the way you turn me on right now, I think I’ll need you to be pregnant more often.”

“Dwight!” she slaps his chest playfully, a silly laugh bubbling in her throat. “Didn’t you once say women were at their most unattractive stage when pregnant?”

Dwight fixes his gaze firmly upon her face. “Other women. Not you.”

“It’s hardly right to change your morals just—hmph.” Kissing seems to be an effective way to shut her up and Dwight would be a fool not to lean into her soft, steady hand against his cheek and press his lips against hers as firmly as possible. 

“You’re so sexy. Not more than ever perhaps, that would be debatable, but—.”

Angela’s playful slap to his cheek ceases his words. “You’re impossible.”

Dwight shrugs, playing with her hair. “So…” he smirks, “you’ve thought about having a child with me?”

“No.” Sensing his impish scowl, she resigns with a heavy sigh and a peck to his lips. “Yes—we made a sex contract, Dwight, to procreate. So yes.”

“Was that the only time you thought about it?” Seeing a blush spread crimson upon her cheeks, he leans into her ear and whispers, “Because I’ve wanted to make you the mother of my children ever since I met you.” Taking pride in the way she closes her eyes and curls her hands in his shirt, he kisses her again and uses the distraction to recover a prized possession from his pocket. “Was there anything else you imagined with me?”

Angela rolls her eyes, parting from him just slightly to look into his gaze. “What is all this questioning ab—D?” Dwight takes that moment to attempt at kneeling in the cramped car. “What are you—are you ?”

“Oh yes,” he nods, bumping against the steering wheel with a loud ‘ow’ and a groan. Between his index and his thumb he holds out a ring. “I’ve been holding this ring in my pocket ever since we hooked up, for some strange reason. It is a ring that was extracted from the buttocks of my late grandmother and—.”

“Okay,” she bobs her head excitedly. “Yes! I’ll marry you!”

Tears shine in his eyes as he returns to his seat with her aid. “You will?”

“Yes! I will, I will!” Angela exclaims, removing the senator’s ring from her finger with a relief so deep she’s surprised she didn’t leave him earlier just for this freedom that she suddenly feels. In its stead, Dwight slides his own ring, less shiny and yet much more fitting. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kisses her again, his fiancée. “So loudly.”

Looking down at the former ring, she frowns. “I wonder what I could do with this—Dwight!”

Dwight, impulsive as ever, doesn’t let her finish her thought, throwing the ring out of the window and off the side of the road with a vigor she expects him to translate into the bedroom. “There. Done.”

“I actually—I actually sort of wanted to sell it for a large fortune.”

“That’s so smart. You’re right.” With a last quick loud, firm peck to her lips, he jumps out of the car. “Help me look for it!”

Angela groans into the palm of her hand, a traitorous smile upon her lips that she cannot suppress.

The next day is a good, peaceful day at Dunder Mifflin, Scranton. Andy Bernard is manager, as happy as a man can be and though he fears an insurrection and insubordination from his colleague slash subordinate Dwight Schrute, he has at least now gained a grain of respect from the man.

Which he was sure he already had, but he must’ve lost it somehow along the way of songs sung everyday and the Erin ordeal. Or perhaps this is the first grain of rice.

None of this matters.

It doesn’t matter, because everything is finally good and though he can’t take all the credit, there is only one man who can feel good about himself and it is Oscar, who can’t help but grin when Angela and Dwight walk into the office hand in hand and announce their engagement as well the pregnancy, a knowing look shared between the accountant and the married office couple Jim and Pam.

“Not that it concerns any of you morons, but—.”

“I’ve sold Robert’s ring for a great fortune to use for our child’s future—.”

“And when possible, Angela will take a paternity test.” He smiles down at his fiancée, kissing her forehead softly. “Not that it’s needed. Nor did any of you deserve to know that so consider yourself lucky for getting this much intel about our private lives. This will never happen again.”

Angela hums in agreement, laying her head against her fiancé’s arm. “Never.”

“We’re still on the fence about inviting any of you to our wedding for sure.”

“Yes. As of now only Dwight and I are invited.”

“And the man who has been fermenting my cheese ever since the day of my birth,” Dwight reminds her seriously. “Don’t forget him.”

“Can’t imagine how or why she would ever forget that,” Jim admits flatly, his typical dumb smile spreading upon his lips as he looks into the distance.

Dwight frowns. “You’re on thin ice, Halpert. As is Oscar.”

The accountant stands to ask, “When is the wedding exactly?”

“Oh, we’re not rushing it. I’d rather not do it pregnant,” she explains, glancing pointedly at the other pregnant woman in the room. “No offence, Pam.”

“None taken,” chuckles Pam, silencing the string of curses that wishes to free itself through her mouth. Best not to. Best to smile and nod. 

Smile and nod.

They don’t waste much more time on announcements, their way of things as always curt and strange. When it’s done, therefore, Dwight parts with one last kiss to Angela’s forehead, and, sitting at her desk, the petite, strict accountant leans in towards Oscar and, stifling a smile, she whispers, “Thank you, for getting somewhat involved. But don’t do it again.”

Oscar counts this as a win. And when his phone tings and a well-known name appears on the screen, a message that reads ‘Meet me tonight at my mansion’ lighting up on the screen, Oscar shrugs.

“I’m not proud of this,” he looks down at the message with a barely suppressed smirk. “But I’m also not not proud of this. I mean, I landed a senator.”

Everything has worked out according to plan.

A plan that Dwight and Angela can never find out, he realizes.