Chapter Title: Skyline and Cologne.

Chapter Summary: She doesn't have to curl her hair or wear skirts, or tights, or cardigans. She has a feeling that in three months, it's going to be very hard to drive away from New York, even if Jim is still waiting for her back home.

Author's Note: New summer fic. Based on Regina Spektor's wonderful song Summer In The City. I hope you enjoy, my loves.

The city is bigger then she expected. Even more cars and people then the movies manage to depict, if you can believe it. And she feels almost like a tourist, which she almost is, with her wide eyes looking up at the huge buildings, wonder on her face.

Her dorm is nice and her roommate is quiet and clean, which she very much appreciates. She doesn't have to curl her hair or wear skirts, or tights, or cardigans. She has a feeling that in three months, it's going to be very hard to drive away from New York, even if Jim is still waiting for her back home.

She doesn't go to clubs and bars. Instead, she scopes out all the quaint delis and cafes she can find. She meets her friends from class for coffee every Wednesday, mostly discussing books and art. She's reminded briefly of the "Finer Things Club" but the geekiness of it strikes her, and she brushes bowties and Oscar away.

They call her Scranton Pam, which she silently resents. She isn't really from Scranton, she's just spent way too many pointless years there as a receptionist for a failing paper company, working for a whack job boss. And even though she would always verbally abuse Dunder Mifflin and Michael Scott, she never really felt that disgust like she did right then.

She didn't go out to Benelli's that Wednesday.

She feels more free in her shorts and cotton tees then she even has before. She likes the sun shining down on her while she sits on a bench in Central Park with a book, or kicks a soccer ball around in the grass with Tad, a boy she met in the library, before class.

They're just friends, though, she tells herself, but never tells him that, even when his wide grin makes her shiver in the humid heat.

She gets her homework done by eight and reads or watches TV until she goes to bed at ten. She has a simple and organized life within two weeks of moving in. She wouldn't have it any other way.

The first time she sees Ryan, it's a Friday afternoon. She's walking around the Village, a few books pressed to her chest and a backpack slung over her shoulder.

He has his sports coat tucked over his arm and his eyes are hidden behind black Ray Bans. But his strides shorten and his lips are parted and she knows he sees her.

And she walks slowly, blinking her eyes, because even though she knew he was out in New York too, the familiar face leaves her slightly dumbfound.

But as she turns her head to look back at him, he's all ready turned the corner, his expensive cologne barely lingering behind as rivers of people push past her.

xxxxx

The second time she sees him, it's a Sunday morning. She had fallen asleep on Tad's couch the night before after a movie, but you know, that's all that happened. Her hairs messily held up in a clip, her light makeup smudged, and clothes crumpled.

He doesn't look much better. At least she doesn't smell like booze and cigarettes. She'd almost feel disgusted if he didn't look so sad. His usually bright blue eyes are dim, the bags underneath them heavy and dark. God, he smells rank. And he needs to shave.

But she finds herself crouching down next to him, the brick building his back is slumped against jabbing her bare shoulder painfully. She winces, edging forward slightly to be more comfortable.

She says his name. It tastes foreign on her tongue, but warm. "Ryan," she says again. He lifts his head, his eyes red. And she thinks he's still a little drunk.

He lifts a shaking finger and squints, touching the smooth skin of the corner of her eye. "Pam?" he manages, his voice hoarse.

"Hi," she says, fixing a small but sweet smile on her lips.

"Hi." His head falls back and he blinks against the sun that has begun to peer over skyscrapers at them. He pulls his shiny sunglasses from his pocket, clumsily pushing them up the bridge of his nose. "How you likin' New York?" But his voice slurs, New York coming together, sounding like "Nework." Maybe that's just how you start to talk after a while of living here. She hopes it doesn't happen to her.

She nods. "I love it," she says, her voice low, something she's sure he appreciates. She remembers how Roy would react on Monday mornings when she'd talk in a normal voice. And Pam was all ready quiet as it was.

"Mmm." He shifts about, wincing slightly, pulling a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "S'mazing out here," he murmurs, pulling a Marbolo free, sticking it between his lips. She watches as he lights it, inhaling slowly.

It's quiet around them. The air is cool; the humidity hasn't set in yet and she's pleased. It's all ready uncomfortable enough against this brick wall and having to breathe in Ryan's secondhand smoke.

He sighs, holding the cigarette between his long fingers. "Hm?" He makes a noise in his throat, not really forming a question. He holds the cigarette out to her.

She stares at it, her expression blank. "No thanks."

He shrugs, taking another drag.

She's not sure why she's here with him or why she feels a sudden serenity around her. The last place she'd suspect to find peace was with Ryan fuckin' Howard. New York has really changed her.

He finishes his smoke, sticking it under the toe of his shoe, crushing it. She watches the left over tobacco leaves sink into the cracks of the sidewalk.

She watches him. His breathing has sped up and a groan escapes his lips. "I gotta vomit," he mumbles, almost incoherently, before she can ask.

Instead of standing, her merely leans away from her, moving his face to his other side. She grimaces darkly as she hears the splatter.

She isn't sure what to do. He gasps, falling forward once more. Her hand lifts, touching the middle of his back, feeling his dirty shirt under her skin. He moans. Her fingers rub over his shoulder blades.

Panting, he sits up, falling against her shoulder.

"Oh. Ok," she says uncertainly. His breath smells and his stubble is scratchy against her arm, but she hears his breathing return to normal, his fingers not shaking as much anymore.

They sit in silence and she hears him inhale heavily, slowly sobering up in the fresh air. "I'm sorry," he mutters thickly, and she sees his face flush a deep red.

And she shrugs, slowly standing up, her knees aching.

"Can I buy you breakfast?" he asks, pushing his glasses onto his forehead and looking up into her face. She offers her hand out to him.

"No," she says, carefully pulling him to his feet. He steadies himself against her. "But I can buy you breakfast."

She sees the familiar sparkle in his eye before his Ray Bans hide it from view.

xxxxx

She's sitting in the back of a diner with him, watching as he drinks his black coffee, his pale face slowly regaining colour. "How you doing?" she asks, nibbling the corner of her toast. She brushes the crumbs from her lips.

He nods, setting down the mug. "Better." He hasn't spoken too much to her, just the polite and quiet "thanks" and "yes please". He seems too far gone to be the asshole Pam knew he could be. "My head hurts like shit," he murmurs.

She reaches a hand into her purse, fishing around for the bottle of Excedrin she carried around. Her fingers grasp the bottle, and she pushes the lid off, shaking a few pills into her hand. "Here." She pushes them across the table.

He gives her a small, grateful nod, wincing slightly at the movement. She studies him, her eyes taking in the wrinkles that had lightly lined his tired looking face. She has a feeling that it's not because of the late night before.

"What?"

She blinks, realizing she was staring. His eyebrows are raised, his expression curious.

"Nothing, you just look…" She stops, shaking her head. "How's your job?" she asks.

He sighs, resting his chin on his palm. "Oh, you know." He looks up at her from underneath his dark lashes. "Hard," he admits, offering a shrug. "A lot of paperwork and decision making. Hard decision making. Can't ever mess up." He seems restless, his voice low as if he's telling her a secret.

"I can imagine." She nods, her face thoughtful. "I'm sure you're doing well though."

His eyes drop to his lap and she frowns slightly, but doesn't continue.

She decides to walk him back to his apartment.

His sunglasses are back on, the sun gleaming off them. She doesn't see his faded eyes for longer then the half hour they sat together for breakfast.

He's stumbling, almost falling into a passing taxi. "Ryan," she says, taking his wrist and pulling him back onto the sidewalk.

He falls into her. She lets him use her as a crutch.

"So why are you in New York?" he mumbles to her as they turn the corner, trudging closer to his apartment.

"I'm going to the PRATT School of Design," she tells him. She would have though that supporting a drunk/hung over male would leave her gasping for breath, but Ryan wasn't too much taller then herself, and he was so, so, so effing skinny.

"Halpert with you?" Every word sounds like he's forcing it out of his mouth while he pants, struggling to keep up with her.

She slows down, slipping her arm around his thin waist. "No. Just me for the next few months."

He comes to a stop, catching his breath. "Sure you'll manage to stick it out all alone in the big city?" He looks down at her, his lips twisting into a small grin.

She blinks. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

He reaches a hand toward his face, lowering his glasses and allowing them to rest on the tip of his nose. "If you're ever feeling lonely, doll, just give me a ring." The look in his eyes is playful, but she feels flustered. He's so out of it.

He pushes his glasses up his nose, and she turns, beginning to lead him once more down the sidewalk.

They come to a stop in front of his building. She declines his offer to go upstairs with him.

"You're too good for that, I know." He shrugs, almost in a sad sort of way. "Just 'cos I'm hott shit now doesn't mean I always will be, I guess." A dark shadow crosses his face."

"Er, right. I'll see you, Ryan," she tells him, patting his shoulder. She watches him stumble into the building, disappearing in the elevator.

She's aware that she smells like she's been out all night, his cologne imprinted on her skin.