I could not go one day without wanting to pull Angela's hair if I worked with her (and, y'know, if she wasn't FICTIONAL), but I adore her on The Office and even more in terrific fanfics like this.

But then her gaze wavers and falls, strangely awkward. Fragile. It reminds Angela of the way paper looks when it flutters to the floor. Jan laughs to herself then – dark and rich and hopeless – and takes a sip of the coffee Michael brought to her. The action holds an odd quality, like surrender.

Oh, Jan. A nice little callback to the "Enemy!" sentiment of Dwight's earlier.