Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

In other words, friends, Jim isn't mine. *tear, sniff*

It's a small crime, and I got no excuse

Damien Rice, 9 Crimes

At seventeen, crammed together in the back seat of his dad's extended cab truck, it felt right - exciting and... womanly, even - to say I love you.

Now it just seemed tragic.

And naïve.

And stifling.

***

The woman catches her reflection in the microwave and fights to remember when the girl in the truck stopped showing up. When she disappeared.

Maybe, the woman tells herself, it was just growth. Forward and back. Inescapable.

Maybe.

But she's pretty sure that's a cop-out, because she knows...

It happened after the guy - the one with the goofy grin that hits her square in the knees, and the eyes (yeah, the eyes) that make her blush (just a little) every time he looks at her that way - told her he loved her in a parking lot.

And then he kissed her, no, she kissed him, no... they kissed, in a dimly lit office, pressed up against a desk, while the jiggle of a bobble-head doll danced, no... swayed with the weight of their bodies.

"I can't."

The girl was there - scared and unsure - and she lied to the guy in the parking lot.

And the woman in the blue dress was left behind to fix the broken.

***

The boy in the truck doesn't - never did - notice the loss of the girl.

It's not his fault. Not really.

The woman can't blame him for what's about to happen. But someday he might blame her.

He'd be right.

The score of a football game rattles across the TV screen and she hears him groan in frustration.

"Hey, babe." He calls, "Bring me a beer."

Instead, she slides off the ring, feels the weight fall away, and clenches her fist.

There's a world between them, full of dreams never realized.

A world the guy in the parking lot offered her.

And she wants to grab on.

Once.

"Roy," her voice cracks with the weight of what's coming, and he looks over as she continues, one eye still on the game. "We need to talk."

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

And you move like water, I could drown in you...

Better Than Ezra, A Lifetime

I would never choose death by drowning.

I'd like to get that out in the open.

Dwight would call me a "girl" and explain, in graphic detail, how getting run through with a magical, poison coated, Samurai sword, while being chased by a fire-breathing dragon, is a much worse fate. And, he'd probably have facts and a chart to support his cause.

Still.

I'd pick that over drowning.

Nothing can be as bad as watching life fade away while you sink further down.

Knowing... seeing... what's on dry land - where you want to be - but not being able to reach it...

Yeah, I've got a pretty good idea what that feels like because...

Who am I kidding?

She is dry land.

And I was always drowning.

Now...

Now, I'm sitting in a new apartment, in a town I don't know, staring out a window toward everything I've left behind.

And I'd sort of kill to be drowning again...

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

And your goodbye, that keeps me listening for your voice around each corner...

Copeland, She Changes Your Mind

So she painted and she drew.

And she talked a lot to friends about independence and "being on her own" for the first time in her life.

And part of her meant it.

Part of her needed those things.

The school, the art, the friends... the time.

The other part of her was pretty much useless.

What with being consumed on a daily basis with the idea of driving to Stamford.

Or just picking up the damn phone.

He had to know she was alone, free, now.

So why hadn't he...

Because she had to...

To miss, to long... to take a step.

To hurt.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

She is beautiful, but she don't mean a thing to me.

Death Cab for Cutie, Tiny Vessels

She's cool.

Sophisticated.

Confident.

And she speaks French.

(Which is sexy no matter how you look at it.)

She's beautiful, too.

And sometimes, (every now and then) she does something - like make paperclip explosions from invisible hand grenades or stop her work day to look for potato chips - and he lets himself forget... before.

And it sort of dulls the pain.

Until he thinks about curly hair.

Kitten costumes.

Pink, puffy coats.

And Keds.

She would never wear Keds.

Or come to work with whiskers.

So, yeah, she's beautiful.

But in a totally obvious way.

(He prefers understated.)

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

I'll see you soon
If you'll come back here
I'll see you soon
Just say that you want to see me too

Copeland, California

She's barely had time to process their hour-long (been living off the high for days) phone conversation, or the fact that he never responded to her text message, when she finds out he's coming back.

To Scranton.

To their office.

She thinks about what to wear and taming her curls.

She lists ideas for new ways to torture Dwight - it's been a while and she's thought of several.

She pictures him at his desk, turning her way with that smile.

She decides to put one foot in front of the other - be brave - and ask him out for coffee the day he returns. No excuses.

She never imagines he won't be alone.

You can't pretend we're only friends then walk away

Jimmy Eat World, Jen

He decides it's going to be easy.

Fine.

It will be great.

And then she rushes into his arms, giddy with excitement and... something...

Her hair.

This is fine.

Nevermind the familiar feeling, the warmth, of holding her close.

Push.

Because there's Dwight who wants him to ‘meet my eye line, Jim.'

And he thinks it really will be easy.

Until she asks him for coffee and it sounds like another question he can't bear to answer, but can hardly keep from asking.

Okay.

It's okay.

Because now he's Number Two and can handle... whatever used to be.

Then he says that thing, that stupid thing, about ‘seeing someone' and wonders if he did it just to see the look on her face. The one he wants to forget.

Friends.

This is going to be...

He hangs his head, studies his shoes.

Shit.

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
The very next day you gave it away
This year to save me the tears
I'll give it to someone special.

Jimmy Eat World (or WHAM), Last Christmas

I love Christmas.

Bundling up in coats and scarves.

Watching my breath curl into smoke when I step outside in the snow.

I love the smell of Christmas trees and the glow of lights twinkling warmly through windows all over town.

Hearing cheesy songs on the radio.

Snuggling on my couch to watch George C. Scott (the best Scrooge ever) and reruns of that crazy movie with the kid and the BB gun.

And I love giving gifts...

He called me Fancy New Beesley a couple of months ago and I blushed at the smile in his voice when he said it. But now, I think it might be him.

He's Fancy New Jim, who doesn't drink Grape Soda, or eat ham and cheese.

Fancy New Jim who doesn't take me up on an offer to prank Dwight because... he has to be responsible at work?

Fancy New Jim who I can't read. Who doesn't want to give me an inch.

I get it.

Really, I do.

So, I feel a little stupid, because when I pictured Christmas at Dunder-Mifflin, I sort of saw Jim standing beside me, laughing about our plans for Dwight's CIA mission.

Instead I'm planning a party with the woman who's dating the guy I'm...

I'm planning a party with Karen.

And not because of him.

She's nice.

More importantly, she's normal, which is a rarity around here.

I see why he likes her.

And it's not her fault...

So, that's why I'm printing flyers on paper that will make Angela's skin crawl.

Nevermind the CIA or Fancy New Jim.

I'm Fancy New Beesley.

Whose Christmas tree - in my one kitchen - is only two feet tall.

Who's not engaged or dating or brave enough to be honest.

And I'm trying not to think about it, because tomorrow morning, I'll wake up alone.

My Christmas lights will twinkle sadly and I'll try not to think about him - or him and her - while I drive to my parents' house for dinner.

I love Christmas.

I do.

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. Not trying to step on the toes of anyone to whom they do belong. Just having a little fun...

I wish you'd make up my bed

So I could make up my mind.

Ryan Adams, Come Pick Me Up

Just one thing you had to do.

NOT give in.

That was it.

But you can't... NOT.

Bastard.

All you had to do was leave it alone.

NOT take the gift.

But you did. And you will.

You always will.

Because you do stupid things - like stare at girls who don't belong to you and confide (again) in Michael.

You breathe a little, knowing he was too engrossed in his "relationship" - nevermind his total lack of reasoning skills - to really hear you (do you hear yourself?) when you told him rebounds are fun...

"...but when it's over, you're left thinking about the girl you really like. The one who broke your heart."

Wow.

Complete idiot.

You pound the steering wheel, trying to forget about her and Roy and Christmas gifts.

And it sort of burns, the way you have to try so hard NOT to think about her.

The way you have to convince yourself you're in a better place now.

The way you want to want someone else.

And yeah...

You should ponder the complete disaster that will (yeah, it will) erupt from the two of them being friends, giggling in corners and forming new party planning committees.

But all you see is the smile on her face and the gleam in her eyes when you walked over to reception and said...

"Oh, you know what? Sorry, I forgot to tell you. I intercepted a transmission earlier and it seems that the CIA's gonna need Dwight down at their headquarters in Langley for training and an ice cream social with the other agents."

You only meant to say goodnight.

But then she's searching for bus tickets (bus tickets! who else would think of that?) and you're pretty sure if she looks at you like that one more time, you're gonna break.

Disclaimer: THE OFFICE and it's characters don't belong to me. Because if they did I'd be rich. And writing episodes, not fanfics. So... no infringement intended.

Tears stream, down your face

When you lose something you cannot replace

When you love someone, but it goes to waste

Coldplay, Fix You

She couldn't breathe.

She thought she might not ever breathe again.

It was becoming physically painful to feign indifference.

To pretend not to care.

To watch him with her.

To offer friendly (when they're SO not friends) advice.

The words, "Not until you're home." ran over and over through her brain like news stories on a CNN ticker, and she blinked hard to make them true.

Unfortunately, home was a bench outside the warehouse and the arm around her belonged to the least comforting person she knew...

God, Jim would have laughed so hard at the PMS comment. A small, "wow," escaping his lips...

So somehow, Dwight being there only made her cry harder.

And when she finally made it home, she hated herself a little for the cliché she created, climbing into the steamy shower and letting the sound of the water drown out her sobs.

There was no one to hear them anyway.

Disclaimer: The Office and it's characters are not my property... I'm just having a little fun with it all.

There's still a little bit of your taste in my mouth

There's still a little bit of you laced with my doubt

It's still a little hard to say what's going on

There's still a little bit of your ghost, your witness

Damien Rice, Cannonball

Should I be concerned, that when my girlfriend sat me down over a cup of coffee and asked if I ever had a "thing" for Pam, the first thought in my head was that Harvey was right, Pam did look hot today?

Followed quickly by, shit.

And a careless, transparent, "no."

So... yeah, I lied. Left out words like love and engaged and kissed.

(I know the lie won't last.)

But it was a "crush."

Because my chest still aches when I think about... that life, that night, her, us.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Office in any way, shape or form - save DVD. No infringement intended.

Don't speak, I know what you're thinking

And I don't need your reasons...

No Doubt, Don't Speak

She pretends she's a psychic.

The reception desk; a spooky, carnival tent from which she dispenses knowledge of the future, past and - whatever's between.

There's a lot to see, sitting by the door. She studies faces and eyes and glances, and even sort of fancies herself a student of body language (save reading her own).

And on certain days, (when Solitaire and Sudoku can't hold her attention) she imagines she can see thoughts, sense moods.

Like today.

Karen comes in from her sales call and looks... weird, troubled.

And not because of the hair and make-up.

Phyllis is... triumphant. Satisfied, even.

And Angela.

She's been... nice.

(Which no amount of psychic power could have foretold.)

She notices when Jim and Karen go out (for coffee she thinks she hears Karen say) and when they return, Jim seems... distant. No, confused.

Or maybe, guilty.

One of those.

All three?

Life is strange.

And Pam feels it shifting.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

And everybody knows where this is heading
Forgive me for forgetting
Our hearts irrevocably combined
Star-crossed souls slow dancing
Retreating and advancing
Across the sky until the end of time

DeVotchKa, ‘Til the End of Time

I'm fairly certain no one has ever used the words irresistible and sombrero in the same sentence before.

But right now, the two seem inextricably intertwined.

I blame Dwight.

Andy.

And "The Universe."

Who knew tossing a cell phone in the ceiling and peering at the receptionist while Andy's voice "tweed lee dee deet-ed" through the office could feel so, damn good?

(I did.)

(Do.)

Seriously, Karen wouldn't help.

Ryan's... Ryan.

And something had to be done about Andy.

He was fishing for me.

Fish. Ing.

(This was not an excuse to be with Pam.)

(Really.)

It's just - no one really gets it, but her.

So, yeah, I could have been more sensitive about covert hand-offs by Karen's desk, or hanging with Pam by hole-punched drywall...

But she had on that hat and her eyes were shining and she thought we "broke his brain."

And I haven't laughed like that in a long time.

So...

(I didn't do it to be with Pam.)

But old habits die hard.

And now there's a sombrero in my trunk.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

The good old days, the honest man;

The restless heart, the Promised Land

A subtle kiss that no one sees;

--

The stars are blazing like rebel diamonds cut out of the sun

When you read my mind

The Killers, Read My Mind

She watched him ask Karen.

Heard his exchange with Ryan.

But never thought...

So when he appeared at her desk, voice low, conspiratorial, she almost squealed a little.

It hadn't been necessary for him to explain; she knew to extract the number from Andy's phone and keep it at her desk for later use.

Her instant messenger chimed at 10:23.

JHalpert: Hand-off. Water fountain fake-out. Cover me.

Instructions. Their own office short-hand.

She smiled, but tried not to, and followed his lead.

While Jim lobbed the "device" into the ceiling, she sipped innocently - and let herself remember the way his fingers had grazed hers, reaching for the phone.

The rest of her day was filled with covert looks, timed calls and numerous hushed giggles.

She'd heard people talk before, about not being able to go back; but all day, it sort of felt like last year.

And the closest to happy she'd been in months.

So, when Oscar's party started, she walked by Jim's desk, plopped a sombrero on his head, and continued to the drink table without a word.

Her own silent challenge.

He was next to her a few moments later, inspecting Andy's "overreaction."

"Wow."

She loved it when he said that.

"I know."

He reached toward the hole, "Oh my god, that's half inch dry-wall."

"I think we broke his brain."

The laughter that broke out of him was old. Tapped from a place she used to know.

And hers rippled up from somewhere deep to match it.

Disclaimer: If Jim belonged to me, he'd be with Pam. Or me... but that's not the point.

Cause I don't know what to do
When you look at me
There can be no hesitation
There cannot be a close second to you

Copeland, There Cannot Be a Close Second

Yes.

Just a word.

Three letters. One syllable.

Yes, I'll have the chicken, please.

Yes, I do like that movie.

Yes, I'm a fan of The Shins.

Of course, if your name is Jim Halpert and you're sitting alone in a conference room while the rest of your co-workers enjoy a Welcome Back Fiesta (whole other story), "yes" has nothing to do with poultry or music, and instead, could be the most important word you've spoken in months.

Nine of them, actually.

And considering you've spent the waking hours of those nine months trying to convince yourself of NO - the yes comes out smooth as silk.

Inevitable.

An imperceptible nod you only remember afterward.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Miles Away
There's hopeless smiles brighter than mine
And I need for you to come and go
Without the truth falling out

Silverchair, Without You

mortified: v. to experience humiliation, shame or wounded pride

If she were a word of the day calendar, mortified (and a full list of its synonyms) would be stamped on her forehead.

And if the dictionary was a movie, then videos of this day would be used to fully explain the concept of mortification.

It was humiliating.

There was the horrible - god awful - flirting.

Not even flirting.

More like verbal constipation.

What the hell had she been talking about?

REM cycles?

Oh my god.

Yeah... God wasn't going to help her feel less stupid at the moment.

Or erase the memory of her conversation with Karen.

That would be virtual dictionary video, number two.

A swift dose of shame - over what she wasn't sure.

"Oh, no! I- I was confused by your phrasing. You should definitely go out with Jim. I mean, you're going out with Jim. I‘m not going out with Jim. (insert mortified laughter) You're dating him. Which is awesome because you guys are great together."

From verbal constipation to verbal diarrhea.

To her credit, she was taken off guard.

And too distracted by the fact that Jim had apparently watered last May down to, "just a kiss," to really focus on Karen.

So when the day reached its end, she let him know she knew.

Ryan's friends didn't interest her, but if it was "just a kiss," then he wouldn't care.

Ah.

There it was.

Wounded pride.

Disclaimer: I do not have any rights to The Office or its characters. If I did, Pam wouldn't have left the wedding with Roy.

What I want from us

Is empty our minds

We fake a fuss

And fracture the times

We go blind

When we've needed to see

And it leans on me,

Like a rootless...

Damien Rice, Rootless Tree

He watched her, across the aisle, brown silk cascading down her legs.

She looked like Pam (full of secrets and thoughts and things too complicated to say).

But then, she didn't.

And he wasn't sure why.

He knew this had to be hard for her.

And he wondered if she was thinking of Roy.

He wondered if she was thinking of him...

There were moments - always had been - when he was sure she was.

Oh, I'm such a dorky dancer.

I know. It's very cute.

He'd noticed her eyes, mirroring his own.

It felt like hope.

Hypothetically, if I thought Pam was interested, then... no, it's totally hypothetical.

Walking away, out of frame, was the only option.

He wouldn't fall down again.

(Whether he wanted to or not.)

Not unless she fell first.

And he thought maybe she was.

Just a little.

Because he caught her, watching him dance with Karen, and recognized that look...

The one he used to (always will) wear, when she was with Roy.

He willed her to speak, but saw her shrink away.

It felt like defeat.

Hers or his, he wasn't sure.

Until the end of the night.

He felt the brush of someone passing, saw fingers intertwined.

There was red behind his eyes.

Screw her weakness.

And his.

Here's a non-hypothetical. I'm really happy I'm with Karen.

It felt like hell and thrashing.

It felt like desperation.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Or you can brave decisions

Before you crumble up inside

Spend your time asking everyone else's permission

Then run away and hide

Damien Rice, Coconut Skins

Her eyes were open.

Moonlight pierced the darkness.

Sharp.

Unforgiving.

She turned on her side, knees to her chest; felt her body wrench and betray.

Tears blurred and his face appeared, unbidden.

She squinted him away.

Tried to forget how tired she was...

Of fear and silence.

Of being alone.

Being without him.

She wanted words.

A voice.

Courage.

Him.

But all she saw were his arms, wrapped around someone else.

And it felt like dying.

Like giving up without ever fighting.

So she'd found comfort.

In someone else.

In uncomplicated.

In the familiar.

She was vulnerable.

Roy was there.

She sat up in bed and pushed away from the body beside her, just so she could breathe.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

I wanted to see you walking backwards
And get the sensation of you coming home
I wanted to see you walking away from me
Without the sensation you're leaving me alone

Counting Crows, Time and Time Again

Looking at her, thinking about Roy touching her again, made something rise up in his throat; flush his face.

He hated himself for still caring.

For hoping.

But it was ending.

Today.

He wasn't doing this anymore... pining after the unavailable girl.

Misinterpreting.

No one had to know his fist was balled, white, beneath his desk.

(Not that he cared if Pam was back with Roy. He was with Karen.)

Brangelina is with Frangelina. Moving on.

Yeah, that didn't sound bitter at all.

He'd never ignored her before.

Not like this.

Because this was it.

Game over.

Right?

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Excuse me, too busy, you're writing a tragedy
These mess-ups
You bubble-wrap
When you've no idea what you're like
So, let go, let go
Jump in
Oh well, what you waiting for?
It's all right
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown

Frou Frou, Let Go

She wasn't sure how she'd ended up here again.

This place where she was (she knew she was, it was the only explanation) inadequate.

Everything felt like settling.

Roy was trying.

(For now.)

And he was there.

Easy.

Comfortable.

Available.

But moving forward - on - felt like sinking.

And it showed.

Literally.

Five pieces of paper tacked to a wall.

Evidence of what she was missing.

Courage and honesty.

She'd tried to cover her lack of them with maturity and dignity.

It wasn't working

All she saw was self-loathing.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

** The next two chapters are the last before I'm halted by the mini-hiatus! Grrrr...

Hey, you've got a lot of nerve to show your face around here.

Hey, you've got a lot of nerve to dredge up all my fears.

Better Than Ezra, Porcelain

The drive home was quiet, but he didn't mind.

He was actually a little relieved when Karen fell asleep, leaving him alone with his (torturous, conflicted, neverending) thoughts.

They swam and collided.

A mirage of faces and words and regrets, taunting him to the verge of a migraine.

It was then he'd finally made a list in his head (organized the chaos), now dubbed, Jim Halpert's Guide to A Night of Self-Sabotage (You Dumbass):

1. Go to a work party.
2. Go to a work party where both Michael and Dwight are in attendance.
3. Imagine the looks you and Pam would share every time Dwight (or Michael) made an ass of himself in front of the CFO. So, often.
4. Miss the point of girlfriend's joke.
5. Not feel jealous (annoyed, yes) - or respond in manner expected - at context of said girlfriend's joke.
6. Imagine Pam's face. Then.
7. Wonder why Pam got back with Roy, while shooting hoops with CFO.
8. Wish you were at Poor Richard's - just to see what they're all doing.
9. Spend drive home from work party making lists of ways you are sabotaging yourself, and in doing so, further the destruction.
10. And just to make it an even number: Imagine Pam's face. Even when you wish to God you couldn't.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

So do what you must do
To find yourself...

Damien Rice, Sleep Don't Weep

Hearing Oscar and Gil discuss her art the week before had jolted.

Scarred.

But she decided sometimes truth did that to a person.

And in the end, it was about waking up.

Forgetting the visions in her head - the cloudy ones, filled with someone she was no longer allowed to want - and waking up.

To who she was.

What she deserved.

To the choices she'd made.

She was starting to understand that she could - and should - ask more of Roy.

I can read you like a book. You can't keep anything from me.

She could.

Had.

And it was time to come clean.

Truth tumbled into her head, rested on her lips.

If this second chance was ever going to work (please, God, don't let it), she had to have something different - more - than before.

She'd had a glimpse of more.

Once.

And she wasn't sure Roy could ever live up, but she had to let him try.

"Hey, babe," she motioned toward a corner of the bar, "can I talk to you for a second?"

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

** I'm gonna go ahead and cop to this being a bit of a "filler" chapter. I wanted two POV's from Pam during Cocktails and with my alternating chapters, I had to have another Jim. So... I just imagine, at this point, he has to be exhausted with everything. Just like she is.

Round here she's slipping through my hands

Counting Crows, Round Here

1:03 a.m.

Greenish numbers glowed softly and blurred into the dashboard.

He let out a sigh, put the car in reverse, and drove the two blocks home.

Tomorrow, he'd have to have a discussion with Karen about why he'd dropped her off at the door with a distracted kiss on the cheek, uninterested in staying the night.

Tomorrow, he'd have to deal with this feeling, this lost feeling, again. The one he couldn't explain.

Tomorrow he'd have to think about his life, his relationship, her.

Right now, he wanted sleep.

Right now, he wanted escape.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

 ** Grrr. Dang, freakin' hiatus!

There's no blame for how our love did slowly fade
And now that it's gone, it's like it wasn't there at all
And here I rest, where disappointment and regret collide...

Death Cab for Cutie, Title and Registration

Her whole body was shaking, but all she saw were her hands.

Those couldn't be her hands.

She gripped the steering wheel.

Clenched the dashboard, the gearshift.

Anything to stop the trembling.

She had to get out of the parking lot, but her hands - they couldn't hold a key, let alone, put one in the ignition.

Something bubbled, fought its way out of her, and she laughed, deep and long, rueful, sardonic; dropping her hands to her lap, she imagined turning blue from lack of oxygen and trembling to death from fear and elation.

In her car.

At Poor Richard's.

"Oh my god," she gasped. "What is wrong with me?"

She pursed her lips, vision blurring with a wetness she didn't feel, and rested her forehead against the steering wheel.

A sigh, or maybe a sob, escaped into nothing, swallowed up by a crashing glass.

She hadn't planned on telling him, in that way or moment, but it was there, in her thoughts (always) and on her tongue, and it felt right; seemed... real.

She'd loved Roy for a third of her life, so she could be honest, she could change - and he'd still love her.

Right?

That's what she'd counted on. (But somewhere inside, she'd known - maybe even hoped.)

What she hadn't expected was relief at his anger.

Fear, disappointment, sadness, loss.

Yes, those things, too.

But somewhere, relief.

No more pretending.

I kissed Jim.

Direct.

Look out world, Old Pammy is getting what she wants.

Because, in the end, saying it (admitting, finally, admitting), had been more about being honest with herself - not Roy.

This is over.

Courage and honesty.

She'd truly, desperately, wanted to believe Roy could change. If he could, that might mean...

But he hadn't.

She had.

Now she was alone.

Free. (Of Roy, at least, but not of...)

She wasn't sure where that left her.

And at the moment, didn't really care.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. 

*** Thank GOD the hiatus is over.

Waiting for you

All my sins, I said that I would pay for them,

If I could come back to you

All my innocence is wasted on the dead and dreaming

Counting Crows, Angels of the Silences

He'd hate her.

It couldn't be that hard.

He'd forget her laugh, her smile, her eyes, her hair. He'd push her out of his pores if he had to.

She wasn't going to hold him anymore.

He'd started (wanted) to let her fill him up, take him over.

Again.

But she'd drifted past him, a whisper of brown, and chosen someone else.

Again.

So he'd made up his mind.

Enough.

Done.

Finished.

Then Roy barged in, all fury and arms.

A glance in her direction - perfect little mouth, gaped in an ‘O' - and he'd known.

After ten months, she'd finally done something.

And it burned like only she could; blazed inside his blood.

It's just so stupid. I mean, getting back with Roy and everything. I mean, what was I thinking, right?

He hated her for making him hope. Hoping, waiting, longing, for her had been his demise.

And if Roy was really gone, if she was coming clean... he'd wait for her again.

Unwittingly, unknowingly.

Blindly.

Because it was her.

He had to believe, to convince himself, she wasn't there on the other side, hoping waiting, longing for him. Because if she was, if he went back, and was wrong... again... there'd be nothing left of him.

So he lied.

And it ripped at him; felt like metal on his tongue.

Not anymore. It's um, it's completely over now.

The cynical laugh came easy. Skeptical words felt like truth and helped him ignore the apology on her lips. The one that spoke of something other than last week's incident with Roy.

That made him want to ask, what for, exactly?

He turned around.

Walked away.

He was punishing her a little, and he didn't care.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

*** Lovedrug has a new CD and it's very Jim/Pam appropriate, so forgive the overuse of them in the next few chapters.

Love is spiders on the edge,
and we're hanging by a thread,
connected to the other end of this
twisted frequency I've spun

Lovedrug, Spiders

She closes her eyes, wants, tries, can't forget the look on Jim's face.

Roy's voice.

The sideways glance that told her Jim knew... and he wanted to know why.

Then arms and blurs, a sharp scream - she thinks it must have been Kelly - and a body shoved her way...

If Dwight hadn't appeared and taken them out, three for the price of one, with his pepper spray, she might have stored away the look on Karen's face. Tortured herself with its meaning.

She figures it's better this way.

Thank God for Dwight and his psychotic Ninja fetish.

That night, after the police left and Roy was ushered away. After Jim slipped out when she wasn't looking; she'd gone home, opened a bottle of wine and let herself cry.

She'd caused a bar fight, an office attack and a job loss - all in the span of a two days.

"Honest Pam is really something," she imagined Jim saying. Smirking her way with pride in his eyes.

But that Jim no longer existed.

The realization had left her crumpled against the couch, head in her hands, a pizza box on the floor beside her.

She'd let the weekend pass this way.

You have two days to feel sorry for yourself.

Because Monday came, leaving her no choice but to stand inside her mess.

To clean up after herself.

But then he said things...

No, I mean, you guys seem to have a strong connection.

And...

"We'll see. I'm sure you guys'll find your way back to one another someday.

And as he blew off her apology, she tried not to break.

Because she knew, it finally made sense - she'd broken him. Twice. And a million times over.

Images... of fabric softener and ice rinks... doves and jinxes... cruise boat silences and grilled cheese... swaying and teapots...

Of a girl in a blue dress and a boy with a confession...

Of lips and I can't...

Of a friendship...

They all fell around her.

He was gone. No longer in her grasp. She'd felt him there, returning, a few weeks ago, before...

But now, if she'd actually lost him. Really, truly, actually lost him for real...

Well... she had nothing else to lose.

And to Honest Pam, it felt a little bit like freedom.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

But I can't help, like it when we touch,

Oh haven't we reaped enough

To fill this room with sweet love

Lovedrug, Candy

Dwight and Angela.

Angela and Dwight.

He can't get it out of his head.

Especially the way Angela was pressed against...

And how Dwight's hands were...

He shudders.

Imagines they're at home now, piles of religious icons and Japanese weapons surrounding them while they do... whatever it is they do.

Oh, God.

His eyes are still burning.

He's driving home, having waited them out in the bathroom for a good 45 minutes, when it hits him that Pam knows too.

She's known since his cookout last year.

The internal flogging he administers for even thinking her name is outweighed by the memory of how excited she was, Veronica Mars-ing (he has a thing for Kristen Bell) her way around the office, in effort to prove her theory.

Do you think that they're, like...?

No. Yeah.

Right. No. Eww. Ugh. Eww, eww, eww, eww... maybe.

Just another secret they share.

He smiles against his will and knows he won't (can't possibly) punish her forever.

He had to withdraw to survive.

But he can't pretend she isn't there, doesn't matter.

No matter how much easier life would be if she didn't.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

*This is a bit different from the rest of the story. I'm one of those people who has to get things out on a page, sometimes, to get it out of my head. I figure, perhaps Pam does, too.

I want to make you happy

But I've fallen, I'm sorry

So sad now we have become

The children trapped in the mazes

I'd give my soul to the one who has the courage

To find me and free me now

Lovedrug, Down Towards The Healing

Spring 2007

It's been a while, but I'm feeling verbose.

And it's actually not about him this time. Well, it's about a him. But not him him.

It's about Roy. And me.

I think I have a need to capture the beginning and end of things that happen in my life... that's the only time I ever seem to write.

And Roy and me... it's really over.

For good. No more turning back, no more weakness.

Done.

And I feel... indescribable.

How do you process 10 years. A life together? Mistakes or no, it's my life. Part of it... just... gone.

There were always good reasons why I loved Roy.

It was simple, being with him. He liked me how I was, how I always thought I was going to be. He was firm and steady, so I knew what life would look like. And for someone like me, cautious and unsure, there was safety in that.

I've decided, when you fall in love at 17 the world seems endless, open. You talk excitedly about taking life by storm, but 10 years later, you haven't left the place you've always been. And you realize that 17 is too young to know what actually living really does to plans and dreams, but by then, it feels too late to try again.

Until someone changes everything.

That someone should have been Roy.

It wasn't.

It's not Roy's fault. I'm not even sure it's mine. I think it's just life. Some people are ok with life being slow, expected. I thought I was one of them.

I'm not.

I'll miss Roy.

Not achingly, and every day, the way I've missed Jim, but even though he was inattentive; even though he took me for granted and never really tried to understand me, Roy does know me.

Not the way Jim does. The way that weakens my knees (God, I'm being cheesy), that encourages me and makes me laugh, convicts me and drives me to be more than I am. The way that doesn't require words. Or... didn't.

But Roy's been there for 10 years. Every day.

Jim doesn't know what I look like in the morning, or how I really fight. He's never seen the scar on my left hip and wasn't there when I broke my leg. He hasn't discovered all my annoying habits and he's never seen me cry. (You know, the ugly cry.)

And after what I've done, how I've twisted him inside, maybe he never will.

I want Jim there.

I want to try.

I also know what that requires of me.

And I don't feel brave.

Not yet.

The funny thing is, today, Roy gave me a push.

After everything, after what I did to him, and how we said goodbye, Roy still, when it's all peeled away, wants me to be happy. And I want that for him. Really, truly.

I did love Roy. First. Before anyone else.

That's not something you forget.

(P.S. You also don't forget to bury your journal deep, DEEP, inside your dresser where no one can ever find it and read all the stuff you just wrote.)

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

‘Cause I need this now more than I ever did.

Jimmy Eat World, If You Don't Don't

You lean against her desk because Kevin and Oscar are there, too. You have a reason. A purpose. She's counting Jelly Beans and you've all placed bets, so it makes sense... that you'd watch.

Karen's there (it's not like you forgot), and after everything, you think it's good, the way the three of you can occupy the same space without awkwardness and silence.

Forty-nine. Jim wins!

Her voice is light and you smile a little as you count your cash, barely registering Kev's complaint.

That is not fair. He has spent hours up here at reception with you. Hours. And hours.

You feel Karen's eyes, see Pam drop her chin, like she's trying to disappear.

They're both waiting on you to make it stop.

No, constantly, like, for years.

Okay.

Kevin grumbles, and you add the exchange to a list of moments the three of you silently agree to ignore.

Still, you breathe easier when Ryan appears, ready to lay stakes on Kelly.

The day moves quickly from there and you can't remember having this much fun at work since sending Andy to anger management. You know it's a little twisted, how well people in the office know one another, but when you collect $10 because Creed's eating a raw potato, it seems worth it.

By 5:00, you've made $57.

"I think you owe me a ‘thank you' - and dinner - for all the extra cash in your pocket." Karen smiles wearily and leans against your desk (you hate when she does that).

"Come on, Filipelli, think of all the good you did today." She waits, eyebrows raised, for you to continue. "Because of you, Kevin has fulfilled his lifelong goal of being a bookie - I saw him crying tears of joy in the break room earlier, Meredith went home with a fistful of booze money and Ryan was actually nice to Kelly. You can't put a price on that."

She pops you lightly on the arm and hands you your jacket.

"So, I was just being charitable?"

"Extremely."

She doesn't mention Kelly and Creed. Or the way you stood with Pam in the parking lot. She never asks how the two of you knew Michael's plan, just by looking at a bouncy castle, or what the knowing glances between you meant.

You're thankful, because you don't want to explain. Aren't sure you can.

The elevator door closes, and she's quiet, lips pursed, "I really don't know anything about this place."

And you wonder if she's talking about the office.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Well, I know there's a reason to change.

Well, I know there's a time for us.

You think about the good times,

And you live with all the bad.

You can feel it in the air,

Feeling right this time of year.

Better Than Ezra, This Time of Year

For a little while, it's like it used to be.

He's there with you.

You know he is.

And it's all making you a little giddy because he's at your desk and by your side and it feels like everyone in the office is rallying around the two of you, making this happen.

Kevin spouts off about the hours Jim spent at your desk for years and you duck your head to keep from smiling. You figure it's hard enough for him, with Karen standing there. You shouldn't make it worse.

Not that you could... anymore.

(You drown yourself in reality every now and then, so it won't ache as much tomorrow.)

But it doesn't work because Jim's in strategy mode. You've always loved it when he gets excited and you bite your lip, thinking how much you've missed it...

"Beesley, you work distraction while I pull the switch."

You nod, bounce a little on the balls of your feet.

I don't know how the whole betting thing started, but it's fun.

Creed takes a bite and you all - well almost all (reality is there, in a black suit with flawless skin) - collapse into laughter, and you think someone, somewhere, is betting on you.

You follow Dwight outside and are genuinely, pleasantly, surprised when Jim stops beside you. You hope he doesn't notice how you glance his way, wondering...

But you sort of don't care if he does... is wondering.

Let him.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

And I don't think we'll get out of this hell,

But the time here with you has been nice.

A cold love, bloody knuckle, trigger finger,

Riding on the edge of mind...

A salute to the end of the world,

And a beautiful end for you girl.

Angels with Enemies, Lovedrug

Most days I know I'm over it.

Her.

So my little charade today was nothing.

I knew she would love it, but I didn't do it for her.

It didn't matter that Karen rolled her eyes, asking why I wasted so much time on a person I couldn't stand, because Pam pursed her lips, let her eyes follow me across the room.

I felt her grin on the back of my neck. Knew, if it were a different time... a different place, she'd have appeared at my side with a "Hey, Dwight," and mentioned something about needing karate lessons from an expert like "me."

She didn't.

Because we've made an 11 month career of pretending to forget...

I haven't.

I haven't forgotten the grin on her face when I ran for Michael's office.

(Or the feel of her waist in my hands, lips on mine.)

Still. I didn't do it for her.

God knows what possessed me.

Obviously the glasses. They took hold of my mind and... there was no other option.

I was Dwight K. Schrute.

Okay, not really. Too frightening to think on.

But, God, it was funny. Only slightly trumped by his attempt to be me...

Strange, how she told Dwight he "looked nice today," when I'm fairly certain she's never said that to me.

Not that it matters...

I didn't do it for her.

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Hey, you've got a lot of nerve to show your face around here.

Hey, you've got a lot of nerve to dredge up all my fears.

Well, I wish I could shake some sense into you and walk out the door.

But your skin is like porcelain.

Yeah, your skin is like porcelain.

Just the other day I felt, I had you by a string.

Just the other day I felt, we could be everything.

But now when I see you, you're somebody else.

In somebody's eyes, and your skin...

Better Than Ezra, Porcelain

She wants a dog.

Something small and cute to ball up in her lap while she watches Arrested Development DVDs and reruns of 24. Or maybe a big dog - it could sleep in the bed, take up the extra space that's starting to swallow her whole.

You should have taken that dominant, male kitten when you had the chance.

As it stands, there are no animals, her cable is on the fritz - there's a tech coming tomorrow - and she can't focus on her art school assignment. It's taunting her from the coffee table.

She takes a sip from her glass, looks at the canvas in defiance.

It dawns on her then. She should paint Jim being Dwight. Or... no. Dwight being Jim.

A giggle bubbles up from her throat and she coughs a little, wine mingling in her chest.

Once upon a time, I'd have been part of the prank.

She decides it's easier to think about him with cabernet in her blood. Not hard to imagine that maybe... maybe he stopped by her desk this morning, tapping his fingers on the edge. Her name on his lips.

It wasn't him. She knows...

But it's kind of okay, because when Dwight was Jim, she could tell him he looked nice without blushing, and she didn't have to leave the room when the words Karen, sexual and girlfriend were used in the same sentence.

Don't think about it. Don't. Think. About. It.

Let it never be said that Dwight is useless.

She sighs, lets her head fall against the back of the couch, feels her eyes slide shut.

For a while, she's been comfortable, floating into nowhere, living in limbo. But now there's something growing.

She feels it... working it way to the surface. Her surface.

She wants to put a face, a name, a meaning, on it, but she can't. She's not sure what to expect, what it'll sound or look like... but she knows its coming.

She takes another sip, sets the glass aside, and picks up her paintbrush.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

I think you're crazy how
You run and run around my world
Looking for a reason why I...
Can't walk it off
Can't come clean

Lovedrug, Doomsday & the Echo

It's been six months since he decided to let someone wash her away.

Karen wants to celebrate, but Ryan (damn temp) is sitting across from him on the couch in the women's restroom, laughing because apparently, everyone just thought you guys were just hooking up.

It's their six month anniversary, and he's jealous.

There's a drawing on the refrigerator, a prank he had no part in, and a girl who's becoming something new (but always, always the same), something independent of him. He knows it's what he asked for with his silence, but still... it burns a little.

Six months with Karen, equals eleven without her.

Distraction finds him daily. Today, it's a forehead smudge and a shiny pink bag larger than Karen's. He sits for exactly 42 minutes before heading to the women's restroom with a marker. He's taking a piece of her back - giving a little of himself, even though she didn't ask him to.

It's only been six months. That's nothing compared to...

When she steps inside the elevator, Karen's face goes taut, eyes falling down. Her gaze is strong, unmoving. He realizes six months ago, it would have been the opposite, and a smile appears from somewhere deep inside his chest, one he can't describe to Karen because she's never really seen it.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Because you will finally know that
You were born to make me fight!

Lovedrug, Happy Apple Poison

She feels like she's in a boxing ring, wearing subtext for gloves. Words and glances - shrouded vaguely with another meaning - sit between them, as solid and real as Meredith.

Look, most relationships have their rough patches, you just have to push through it sometimes.

She knows what Karen wants her to hear...

"Pam, you're just a rough patch I'm pushing Jim through."

It's ridiculous, because she's certain Jim's moved on, given up, forgotten her. He's made it clear he wants to, but somehow, Karen's troubled eyes... they give her a little hope.

Maybe. But it sounds like you're just wrong for each other.

She doesn't fall down so easy anymore. Doesn't shy away. She knows Jim, gets him in a way no one else does... or will. She's not a vicious person, not one to step in when unwelcome, but she is someone who's learning to fight.

Still, maybe it's not a boxing match. Maybe it's a duel. There's swaggering and swordplay and before the real fight begins, there's a showdown.

Someone takes a stand.

She catches the elevator on purpose, proving a point to herself... and Jim and Karen, too. No one says a word. She turns her back to them both, as the grin spreads across her face.

It's time to be bold. Really, truly bold.

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

So fall in love while you can,

Still hold your head up high,

And pretend that you're alive... again.

Lovedrug, Pretend You're Alive

Aside from the near death experience, it had been a good day.

In the wake of several strained weeks, Beach Day had worked wonders between him and Karen. They were laughing, talking... hanging out like they used to - no conversations (whatever happened at the mall with Michael had led to more), no angst.

Things were progressing.

Like the job opportunity at corporate.

It came unexpectedly, but the idea of leaving Scranton seemed like a good thing. He didn't dwell on it, think why he still needed a fresh start - he just knew he did. Plus, it was a great career move... not that he'd ever cared about that before... but Karen was right, new place, new outlook, new chances... for both of them.

He glanced toward the edge of the water and saw Pam staring into the distance. She looked infinite there, everything washed out in front of her.

And he fought to swallow over the ache in his chest.

He hated this place they were now - somewhere in the middle of nothing - but it was his only chance for survival. He wondered what she thought of him... if she did. He'd watched her today, set off to the side, forced out of the way, and he'd seen the sadness in her eyes, felt guilty for not taking it away.

But he couldn't do that anymore...

He felt a hand on his shoulder, warm and real... there...

Karen.

"Hey," he smiled as they took a seat in the sand.

She grinned, handed him the phone, "So, let's make the call."

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

If you wanna come in
You'll have to stretch my skin
If you wanna survive with those beautiful eyes
You'll have give in

--

You know I know you know that I need you
I know you know I  know that I want you
You know I know you know that I need you now
Oh now
You got it wrong, this isn't right
There's something beautiful that hasn't yet died...

Lovedrug, Bleed Together

She could, wanted, to be more, but no one was paying attention.

Every insult (unintentional or not) Michael shoved her way, every belittling comment, stacked itself in an increasingly defiant corner of her brain. One she couldn't trust to remain calm. To remain Pam.

It was awful, volatile, being invisible.

It was worse watching Jim with Karen, laughing and joking the way she - they - used to do. There was an excruciating bang in the center of her chest and, all at once, she recognized it as a more intense version of the dull thud she'd been feeling for weeks.

And suddenly, she was tired...

Of tabulating scores and taking notes while everyone else romped in the sand. Of sitting on the sidelines. Of waiting - watching - her chances fall away.

Watching him slip through her fingers.

Why hadn't she spoken up? Why wasn't she fighting harder? Why did she fear words when silence was so much more deadly?

Michael lit the fire and she felt herself begin to burn.

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

** 2nd Pam, Beach Day Chapter tomorrow sometime...

Here we are again, love

Here we go again...

By your side I can't pretend anymore.

Now, everything starts where it ends.

Lovedrug, Everything Starts Where It Ends

He'd seen her, over Ryan's shoulder, as she darted across the coals, and when she flew into the circle, amazed, exhilarated, a glimpse of the girl he knew (wanted) - a smile found its way to his lips.

Later, after it was all said and done, he remembered feeling proud when she began to speak her mind, almost laughing when she told Michael she'd take his job...

Why didn't any of you come to my art show? I invited all of you. That really sucked. It's like sometimes some of you act like I don't even exist...

It's a funny thing, emotion, because even though Pam hadn't looked at him then, he knew those words - all of them - were meant for him. And he realized, all this time, she might have been - might be - hurting, too. He felt dumb and childish and full of so, so much regret.

But then her eyes found his, and the world went white.

Jim, I called off my wedding because of you. And now we're not even friends...

His mind screamed, pleaded: yes, no, why now, why here, you can't, I can't, finally, what in the hell, please...

He didn't know, couldn't think. She wasn't letting up and he only caught glimpses.

I miss you... were my best friend... really miss you...

Her confessions felt like needles, sticking him in places where wounds were still raw, open. He wanted to look away, make sure he was still awake, but he couldn't pull his eyes from hers. Knew this couldn't really be Pam... but she was there and solid and making him hurt in that exquisite way she always did.

There were a lot of reasons to call off my wedding, but the truth is I didn't care about any of those reasons until I met you.

He'd heard of individuals drifting outside their bodies, watching things happen from afar, but he'd always attributed it to people like Dwight who met up in groups and discussed alien encounters or the 10th dimension.

He took it all back in that instant.

She was gone before he ever found thought, dancing in the water like a siren, luring him to his death... or maybe she was just standing there, cooling off her feet, but heat and energy and truth were falling out of her, all over him and it broke him in two a little.

It had been too long, he decided. She was too late. There was... it was... they were... he didn't even know what she was saying, what she wanted, what she meant by doing this now.

But it was her and he was... him. And he wasn't sure it was ever too late. But he wasn't sure it was time.

In the distance, the fire cracked and he finally took a breath, wiped the wetness from his cheek. No one spoke when he walked away, words littered around him like leaves.

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Would you believe me if I told you,

That I'm surfacing for, just one thieving moment,

To steal your heart?

Would you believe me if I told you, that fairy tales come true,

When I'm with you?

I'll free the one, who falls in love... again...

--

A girl, a boy, a hell.

Like thieves we are...

All in love, with stolen hearts.

And we all fall down,

And fall apart... for love.

Thieving, Lovedrug

Her chest rose and fell, just like it had for the last 27 years, but it seemed so much easier to breathe, to be. A grin turned the corners of her mouth and she wasn't sure why, considering...

There was a quote, about cleansing and purification by fire, and she finally understood what it meant. She'd walked through the blaze - literally and figuratively - and didn't see how she couldn't have come out changed. She wondered if it made her crazy, liking the heat.

Jim.

He was hers.

She wasn't sure he knew, whether he understood what it meant to be that person who coaxed another into the flames... and if he was never really, truly hers, in the way she'd always imagined, she had to at least let him know what he'd done.

These weren't things she thought as she spent days, weeks, months, years... wanting him. She didn't consider them as she darted across the coals. They lived in her moments, her thoughts and finally, when they had nowhere else to be, her words.

Jim, I called off my wedding because of you.

She hadn't been able to say that to Roy, to herself, and here she was, in front of a group of people she loved and hated all at the same time. Dwight, Creed, Phyllis. Karen. But everywhere she looked, she saw Jim.

You were my best friend before you went to Stamford. And I really miss you.

It was more than that. Always.

I shouldn't have been with Roy. And there were a lot of reasons to call off my wedding, but the truth is I didn't care about any of those reasons until I met you.

He'd made a final plea once.

This was hers.

It wasn't I love you. To her, it was bigger, wilder, stronger.

She heard someone coming toward her, shoes crunching the sand. She knew it was him, knew she'd say more. Truth was a drug and she kept digging in, loving how it felt leaving her lips.

He stood beside her, silent, watching like he'd never seen her before.

The water lapped over her toes and she squenched them in the sand, not feeling anything but free.

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

** Reflective Jim...

 And my god how did we survive,

The paper scars?

Oh, bless the stars.

You said you're sorry...

Lovedrug, Paper Scars

I won't pretend it didn't affect me.

Can't pretend.

She said the things I trusted, believed, acted on... brought back the life I knew I'd never misinterpreted.

And God, I wanted...

But, I'm somewhere else now, like she was then, and I understand a little bit of why she couldn't. Why she had to cling to what she knew of me before that moment in the parking lot...

Because there's Karen, and a life looming out in front of me that's not here. Not this. And why wouldn't I jump at the chance? Why wouldn't I go forward, instead of back? (Is it really going back if you're starting all over?)

Karen's good for me. The haircut, the job, the expanded horizons... sometimes it feels like she's smoking me out, but that's what we do in life, right? We grow. We change. This feeling I have, this not me feeling... it won't - it can't go on - lasting forever.

She's right. There's one too many people in Scranton, but I couldn't just say I'd move here with her. It felt thick on my tongue, like a lie.

And I can't explain why this morning, when Pam smiled my way, when I turned in my chair to crack jokes about Jan, when I waved as I walked out the door... I felt like I was leaving something behind. Something familiar, something necessary, something I couldn't move on without.

I'm on the 34th floor of a hotel in New York, looking out on a place that's alive and real and waiting for me. So, why can't I stop thinking about a tiny office in Scranton, with fluorescent lights and a desk facing the receptionist?

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Pools of sorrow, waves of joy
Are drifting through my opened mind,
Possessing and caressing me

The Beatles, Across the Universe

And it only took me three years to summon the courage. So ... thank you.

She wakes up on Wednesday and takes a deep breath, tries to forget it could be the last day (again) they share the same space, because she's finally told him the truth... and that's really all that matters.

She reminds herself of those things when he walks in with a new haircut and leaves early with his girlfriend, because before he goes, he smiles that way (for the first time in months), turns in his chair, a joke in his eyes, and makes her feel real.

After that, she sits in front of the camera and talks about happiness. It really is all she wants for him, so she doesn't say what it means for her if he leaves... how it makes her grasp out and touch things to remind herself she's still there, breathing.

Oh no, it's not that. I've actually been thinking that for a long time. And I'm glad I said it. I just, I'm sorry if it made you feel weird.

It feels good when she stands up to Karen, because backing down is no longer an option. You don't spill your guts to an audience, then pretend it was a fluke. And she knows, even if nothing ever goes her way again, she has something to be proud of.

Karen strikes back, makes her feel sort of small and insignificant by asking for copies, throwing things in her face. She doesn't fault her... feeling sympathetic. If she had Jim, she'd fight for him, too. Still, she can't help reminding her...

I really hope you get the job.

Once the copies are made, she stuffs them in folders and lets her finger skim across the plastic of his, like she's somehow touching him that way. Her eyes fall on a piece of foil, nestled amongst the treasures on her desk. She scribbles a note and tapes the medal to the top... willing him to remember. Reminding him she does. She slides it carefully between the pages of his sales reports and lays it on his desk.

When he waves goodbye a few hours later, her eyes linger over the place he last was.

 Thursday comes, like she knew it would. Nothing has changed and everything's different. The phone makes her anxious, a bearer of bad news.

I literally cannot wait until I see what Dwight has planned. And I wish Jim were here.

Dwight's every move mocks her, begs for Jim's presence. She imagines the look on his face and the plan they'd concoct. She wonders what he's doing, right then, that minute. If he's thanking David Wallace for the job.

I haven't heard anything. But I bet Jim got the job. I mean, why wouldn't he? He's totally qualified, and smart, everyone loves him. And if he never comes back again, that's okay. We're friends. And I'm sure we'll stay friends.

As long as Jim's in Scranton - even if he's not hers - she can make it, but there's something in the way, something always between them, blocking the road. It's easier to imagine Jim taking the job... because what does it mean if Karen is hired and he goes to New York with her?

She puts on a brave face and talks about friendship, but she knows if Jim leaves, if he chooses Karen - not like he's already done, but for real and for good - it's over. And she wants to believe she can make it. Knows eventually she would, but her insides feel hollow, full of tears she can't shed... and words still unspoken.

When she talks about timing, she lies, because she's sure they should have had more. She wonders what it means that they never got a chance, thinks about what it could have been if they did... and knows it would have been...

More.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* It's been a while. Sorry. I hate when stories I'm reading aren't updated, but I have an excuse - life. Got into a school program, have to move cross country with less than 3 weeks notice. It's been a little crazy.

** I expected to have more to say in this chapter, but somehow, it works for me in simplicity. Sorry if you wanted a bigger release.

*** I think maybe this is the last chapter. It just dawned on me it should be...

It was my turn to decide

I knew this was our time

No one else will have me like you do

No one else will have me, only you

Jimmy Eat World, 23

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

It's of those times. One of those rare times in life when he knows the answer without thinking.

Pam.

He walks out onto the sidewalk, New York closing in around him, and thinks maybe she's driven him crazy - crawled inside his brain like one of those parasites House would find and cure him of, so he could go on living like he did before...

Thing is, he can't remember much of what it was like before he knew her.

And he hates himself for even thinking that, because it's honestly the most clichéd thing he's ever thought (well, close anyway) in his life.

I just... I feel like I've never really... come back.

Well, I wish you would.

There's an office in New York and a job he knows he deserved, but there's a yogurt lid (no, it's a gold medal) in his bag and a girl he can't shake - doesn't want to.

What he wants to do is come back... so he opens the door.

Pam? Sorry... Um... are you free for dinner tonight?

Yes.