"I'm really glad you're here."

His eyes met hers, and in spite of herself, she felt a smile pulling at her lips. It frustrated her, the way that she couldn't help but give in to the easy charm of his warm, reassuring smile even though something was gnawing at her gut; her instinct was telling her not to let this go so easily.

She'd rather he have told her that he and Pam had dated for a while than confess that he'd had a crush on her, but Pam hadn't felt the same way, so "nothing ever came of it."

She noticed that he couldn't quite meet her eyes as he said that -- never mind the fact that what he was ultimately telling her was that he'd had feelings for Pam that had gone unrequited...which meant that they likely hadn't just evaporated. She knew from experience that few things quickened desire more than rejection.

She also knew that it had been completely unlike her to say, "Jim, I moved from Connecticut..."

At least she'd stopped herself before she said "for you," but the words hung in the air between them anyway. Something in his expression told her that he knew exactly what she was implying, and when she realized what he was thinking, her pride started to ache a little.

Still, she let herself believe what he was telling her - that maybe it had been just a simple crush, not a big deal. If he said it wasn't a big deal, then who was she to make it one?

So she nodded and gave him a small smile, her voice soft: "Okay."

"Okay." He repeated emphatically, their eyes meeting and holding for a second. Then he was scanning her face, clearly trying to quell the huge grin that broke out anyway.

"So...care to explain the new look?"

"Oh my god." She shook her head, realizing with a sinking feeling that her hair didn't move with her. "Phyllis took me to a beauty shop that apparently specializes in the whole 'bride of Frankenstein' look."

He burst out laughing, and even though she tried to glare at him, she couldn't muster it; instead, she simply chuckled, shaking her head again.

"Why...?"

"Oh, it was actually a pretty smart move on her part; the guy we were meeting is partial to this particular look." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "So we got the sale, at least."

"Good thing." He cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. "Because whoever did that to your hair probably depleted a large portion of the ozone layer in one fell swoop."

She laughed again, the anxiety slipping away. Yeah...it's okay.

But when they'd gone out to dinner that night, he had seemed uncharacteristically quiet and preoccupied, a darkness furrowing his brow.

"Hey."

He glanced up at the sound of her voice, his smile less a spontaneous expression than something that he seemed to feel obligated to offer her.

Still, she swallowed hard and asked: "You okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah." Again that smile with nothing behind it but a haze of confusion, his mind so clearly elsewhere.

In spite of herself, her face fell at the hollow echo of his answer; that he'd responded with an immediate and thoughtless, "What?" seemed proof positive that he was trying to hide what he was thinking.

"Are you sure?" She almost cringed when she asked the question because she really did want to let this go; the absolute last thing she wanted to do was make this an issue and obsess over it. But something was definitely bothering him.

"Yeah, I'm fine - really." His eyes met hers briefly, his large hands cupping the bottom of his glass. "Just...thinking about Dwight quitting."

"Ah." She nodded, wishing she felt reassured - but she just didn't. It wasn't that she didn't believe he was upset about Dwight leaving so abruptly; it's just that there was something evasive in his expression, a reticence there that she'd never seen before today.

She hadn't even realized that she'd fallen silent until she heard his voice.

"Hey." Now it was his turn to look concerned, his hand touching hers across the table. "Are you okay?"

She looked up at him then, searching his expression carefully. What she saw there was genuine concern, those eyes so kind, so attentive; he was clearly ready to do whatever it took to bring a smile back to her face -- much like the time he'd spent an entire day scouring the area for her favorite brand of potato chips.

That had been it for her, really; there had been no looking back after that -- in fact, she hadn't even wanted to look back. All she'd wanted to do was fall.

And so she did.

She smiled softly as she thought of that day, her fingers tightening around his as they rested loosely on the table. "Yeah, I'm okay."

-----------------------------

She was sitting on the sofa when the doorbell rang, her feet curled beneath her as she sipped a glass of pinot grigio. The sound wasn't a surprise; she'd been expecting it for the last forty-five minutes. But still her hands trembled when she stood, silk pajamas rustling as she set the wine glass gingerly on the coffee table, then padded toward the door.

The chain emitted a heavy scrape that culminated in a sharp clink when she unlatched it, swinging open the door to reveal Jim standing there, his lips pulled back in a sheepish, shy smile, eyes immediately searching her face.

She'd been perched there on the couch attempting to talk herself into being cold to him -- distant, indifferent. Because he'd lied to her. Lied by omission, yes, but lied nonetheless.

As she stood there gazing at him warily, she wondered if he detected the faint puffiness around her eyes. She'd spent ten minutes with her head leaned back against the cushions, a ziploc bag full of ice over her eyes to quell the swelling from the tears she'd shed as she drove home from work. She'd been frustrated at herself for crying, wishing desperately for the anger to come and assuage the raw, throbbing ache that had begun in her throat and settled into her chest.

Intellectually she knew that this should be it - that it should be so over after what he'd confessed; she told herself he wasn't worth the tears...but she couldn't shut out the nagging sense that he was worth it. She was just the unlucky one in this scenario.

The snow was still falling behind him, white flakes on his shoulders and in his hair as he pursed his lips, obviously uncomfortable. "Hey."

She averted her eyes, shrugging a little as she crossed her arms over her chest, when what she really wanted to do was step forward and throw her arms around his neck. "Hey."

A long, awkward pause fell; she kept her eyes on the floor, feeling him watching her closely, sensing instinctively that he was waiting for a cue.

When she didn't speak, he shifted on his feet, then said teasingly, "So...yeah, just wanted to stop by and say 'hey.' I'll see you later."

She knew she should stand her ground; she knew he had no right to put this on her, to force her to be the one to break the ice, but she couldn't help herself.

Without even thinking first, she took a step forward, her fingers closing over his arm as she said, "Jim, wait."

She hated herself for it.

A sad smile was pulling at his lips when he turned around to face her, something softening in his eyes when they rested on her face. She gave a slight nod, gesturing for him to come inside. He did, waiting as she shut the door behind him, then following her cautiously into the living room. He sat next to her on the sofa, silent, his eyes on his hands.

She couldn't bring herself to speak, couldn't shake the memory of the utter exhaustion in his voice, on his face, when he'd answered three hours earlier, "Yes."

Finding out that he'd once had feelings for Pam had been shocking enough; hearing him confirm that he was still struggling with them was enough to leave her reeling.

Five hours earlier when she had glanced over just in time to see him surreptitiously lower his hand behind his back, Pam so casually and easily slipping Andy's cell phone into his open palm, it had struck her suddenly that this was clearly bigger than she'd originally realized.

She'd spent the better part of the afternoon talking herself down from the ledge, reasoning that Jim and Pam were just angry at Andy for driving Dwight away; they were just trying to get back at him, nothing more.

But then during Oscar's party, Jim had seemed to forget she was even in the room; at one point, she turned to talk to Kelly, and when she turned back around, he was gone.

She'd searched the crowded room, standing on her tiptoes a little so she could see - and then she'd spotted them standing next to each other, giggling together, their huge sombreros touching. The way Jim laughed - snorting so endearingly as his shoulders hunched toward Pam - well, she'd never heard him laugh that way before. It was the strangest sound, actually -- strangled yet so...uninhibited, as if he hadn't let himself laugh that way in a long, long time.

It was a stupid thing, really, to be such a revelation to her, but the reality it revealed was unmistakable, unavoidable.

She'd known even before she asked why he was sitting alone in the conference room, his profile illuminated in the darkness by the streetlights outside, the snow falling in that mysterious, graceful way that made it seem to defy gravity. Even as she perched in a chair next to him, she knew instinctively that he wasn't hers right now; he was clearly drowning in something bigger than he was...something that eclipsed the near embryonic state that they were still in.

Even though she'd wanted to sound cold, angry - or at least indifferent - her voice was guarded, the strangest kind of awe threaded in there, betraying how utterly shocked she was at the apparent depth of his feelings for Pam. "Do you still have feelings for her?"

She wasn't even sure why she'd asked, because she knew the answer already. But she felt compelled to - hoping that maybe he'd scoff and deny it, make this okay somehow, even though she knew deep down that he wouldn't. He couldn’t.

It didn't seem fair that she could ache for him in that moment - the way his jaw tensed, his eyes fixed unseeingly on the wall across the room. He looked so unbelievably tired - weary and worn, as if he'd been through a war and lost, was left shell shocked, trying to pick up the pieces.

She wanted to touch his cheek, to tell him that there was just no need for him to look so dejected, because god, she'd do anything to make him happy; he deserved happiness...not this - this purgatory he seemed to be caught in.

She knew she was going to cry even before he began to nod absently.

When she'd asked the question, she had still been under the impression that what he felt for Pam was an overblown infatuation - certainly something to be reckoned with - but she wouldn't have called it love.

When she heard his voice - raspy, so tired, as if he had tried desperately hard to run and just couldn't anymore: "Yes" - the truth in its entirety literally knocked the breath out of her.

She'd mechanically stood, walking purposefully out of the room, striding to her desk without looking back. Calmly she'd taken her purse out of her desk drawer, sliding it over her shoulder as her left hand closed over her mouse, shutting down her computer with a few efficient clicks. She didn't look back, nor did she offer any explanation for why she was leaving an hour early.

She'd known he would show up later; it was just what he did, gentleman that he was. Didn't matter if he was in love with someone else, or --

His voice broke through her thoughts: "Hey, I'm really sorry, Karen."

She jerked her head up, eyes meeting his. Indeed he did look sorry -- guilty, regretful, ashamed, and above all else, so weary.

Because she didn't know how to respond to that, she simply shook her head without looking at him, shifting and pulling her legs up on the sofa, arms tightening around her knees. She tried to ignore the acute awareness that he was staring at her closely, silently willing her to meet his eyes.

The bitch of it was that the usual narrative just didn't work in this context: He's not worth it; there are other guys out there who would appreciate you - better guys.

It wasn't true, and she knew it; he wasn't a jerk, wasn't a cold-hearted cad or even a wimpy manipulator just looking for a temporary safe haven.

No, he seemed to be genuinely invested in this; from the slump of his shoulders and the bags under his eyes, he was clearly upset by the whole thing.

So she asked tentatively, looking away, "Will you...I mean, can you...tell me what you - why you - still...?"

She ignored the warning flash in her gut when his eyes immediately fell to the carpet.

"I don't...." His voice was throaty, low. "I can't really...say what it is."

That was all he said; she sat silently, patiently waiting for him to go on. When he didn't, she forced herself to say, "Listen, if you...if you want this to be over, then that's fine; I mean, I can handle it."

"What? No." He was looking at her now, panic lurking behind his eyes. "No, that's not what I want."

Again her pride ached and the self-loathing escalated at how relieved she was to hear him say it; she hadn't let herself really face until that moment just how much she needed him, how much she wanted him.

Loved him, even.

"Then what’s going on?" Her voice was as low and throaty as his had been.

His head remained bowed for a long time, and when he swallowed, it was with an audible gulp.

"I don't..." He shook his head, his hands linked in his lap, jaw muscles tense.

When he didn't finish, she did so for him: "You don't want this..."

"No." He jerked his head up, then stammered quickly, "I mean - yes; yes, I want this; I want...you, us. I do."

She felt her stomach quake, threaten to cave in on itself, but she forced herself to remain calm, eyeing him cooly. "Are you sure? Because I can handle it if -- "

They were words of false bravado, and thank god he cut her off before she could finish. "No - no. I don't want this to end; I don't. Please believe me."

As she stared at him impassively, his eyes green and imploring, she realized that she did believe him, even though she knew better. God, did she know better.

Still she nodded once, swallowing, then: "Okay. So what do you want?"

"You." His answer was immediate, his eyes on hers.

It was too easy - she knew that, and yet she couldn't help herself; when his eyes flicked to her lips, she felt herself leaning toward him, her eyes closing when his hands found her face - palms large against her cheekbones, lips soft beneath her own, his eyelashes tickling beside her nose.

Later as she tilted her head, eyes resting on him as he hovered above her, her hands resting on his bare shoulders, she couldn't quite grasp why it was that she'd felt so threatened before. Because his eyes didn't leave hers as he moved inside her; when he came it was with an agonized moan against her clavicle, her name on his lips, his arms tight around her.

Yes, it was easy to drown in the moment - to get lost in him.

-----------------

"See you around six?" They were standing next to her car, she shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him.

"Yeah, sure." She nodded, trying not to let on that anything was wrong. It could wait; it needed to wait. Now simply was not the time.

As if to punctuate her thought, Pam appeared, bundled up in her puffy pink coat, striped scarf nestled in her collar. Karen's eyes narrowed a little as she noticed the way Pam's gaze immediately rested on Jim - who glanced around, spotting Pam and freezing just a little.

Apparently having admitted that he still had feelings for her had left him on edge whenever Pam was around - at least, whenever Pam was around at the same time that Karen herself was. The damnedest thing was that Pam even seemed ill at ease whenever the three of them were together.

It had been a hellacious morning; she still hadn't made it halfway through Dwight's client list, in spite of the fact that she hadn't even taken the time to get a cup of coffee or go to the bathroom all morning. And Phyllis was wearing the pine perfume again, so Karen had a pounding headache and red eyes before ten o'clock - but she didn't dare complain, though she did contemplate sending Bob Vance a desperate email begging him to buy Phyllis something a little less obtrusive.

Jim was on the phone with a customer when lunch time came, so she gave him a smile, then headed on into the break room. She was leaning against the counter waiting for her Lean Cuisine to finish heating when Pam appeared.

"Hey."

"Hey." She smiled tiredly at Pam, then turned back to staring blankly at the microwave, struggling to ignore the wave of resentment and jealousy that swept over her when Pam walked in the room.

"You okay?" Pam asked, looking over at her as she reached into the fridge for her lunch.

"Yeah." Karen smiled gratefully at her, the guilt biting. "I just feel like I'm going in circles and accomplishing nothing with Dwight's client list."

Pam gave her a sympathetic expression, standing on her toes a bit to open the cupboard, reaching for a napkin. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse." Karen replied dryly, the microwave beeping. "I feel like that guy who was doomed to push the rock up the hill for eternity - what was his name?"

Pam laughed, then followed her to the table and sat down next to her. "Icharus?"

Karen shook her head as sank into a chair. "No, I think he was the one whose wings melted because he tried to fly too close to the sun."

"Ah." Pam nodded, her brows knitting as she thought about it. "Hm...I don't know..."

The door opened then, and Jim walked in. Karen noticed that his jaw tensed for a split second when he saw them sitting together; she watched him as he obviously struggled to shake it off, saying a quick "hello" to them both before getting a soda from the coke machine.

"Hey, who was the guy who had to push the rock up the hill for eternity?" Karen asked him.

"What?"

"You know - in Greek mythology, the guy who was doomed to push the same rock up a steep hill - but it would always roll back down, so he'd have to start all over again." She explained. "The punishment was that he had to do the same thing over and over again - he couldn't escape it - but he never made any progress. What was that guy’s name?"

She watched, baffled, as the strangest expression crossed his face - an amalgam of guilt and fear and pain. Then it hit her: Oh my god, is that what it feels like for you?

She told herself that she was reading too much into it; surely she had to be.

"I, uh...I don't know." He finally answered, not meeting her eyes or Pam's as he sat down at the table.

She tried to sound casual. "Me either…and this is going to drive me crazy all day."

"Too bad Dwight's not here; he'd totally know that guy's name." Pam commented, unwrapping her sandwich - then she started suddenly, as did Jim; their eyes met.

"Oh my god, Pam." He was grinning at her, prompting her to grin, then blush slightly. Karen shifted in her seat.

"What?"

"You miss Dwight!" He laughed when she rolled her eyes, adding, "It's okay, Pam; I think Michael misses him, too."

"Shut up."

"Really - I know you two formed a special bond the day of his concussion, so it's perfectly natural that you'd - "

"Shut up."

Karen watched, bitter gall rising in her throat at the color on Pam's cheeks, at Jim's so obvious delight. The fact that he was teasing Pam this way - right in front of her - spoke volumes about the nature of the feelings he still had for Pam; apparently they were so pronounced that he could seem to momentarily forget that he wasn't alone with Pam - that Karen was sitting right next to him, watching it all unfold.

Suddenly the answer had come to her: "Sisyphous."

Jim and Pam turned to stare at her, both looking startled, as if they were just now realizing she was sitting there. She hated the guilt behind Jim's smile, hated that he made her feel like some stupid, jealous teenaged girl - someone who was irrational and needed placating.

The anger had slowly, over the course of their lunch, morphed into that heavy ache that was becoming more and more familiar to her. It stayed with her for the rest of the afternoon, lingering on even when her doorbell rang later that night.

She'd had absolutely no intention of bringing it up, because really, what could she say without sounding like a shrew? She knew better than to push this; frustrating as it might be, the best thing to do was just be cool - not make a big thing of it.

After all, he hadn't really given her any concrete reason to panic. So he and Pam got along well - big deal; Pam had been instrumental in talking him down from the ledge when he'd been freaking out about Karen wanting to rent an apartment a few blocks away.

But she was quiet as they ate their pizza, preparing to settle in and watch a tivo'd episode of Rome. It wasn't that she was trying to pout - god knows she wasn't even remotely interested in playing that game - but the tension that had escalated in the air during lunch hung heavily over her even now.

Of course he noticed. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She nodded and gave him an obligatory, half-hearted smile.

At that, he hit the pause button, then turned to give her his full attention. "Okay, Filapelli: spill it. What's going on?"

She really, really wished he hadn't asked - because the fact that he had, that he'd picked up on her mood right away, was just another reminder that he was an amazing guy; more than that, though, she just didn't want to bring the whole Pam thing up again, no matter how much the suspicion nagged at her gut.

So she gave him what she hoped was a convincing smile. "Nothing, Jim; I'm just tired. Taking on Dwight's workload has been harder than I thought it'd be."

"Okay." Those eyes were scanning her expression; clearly he didn't believe her. "And...?"

"Jim..." She shook her head, sighing tiredly.

"Well now you have to talk to me about this - because obviously something's going on." He shifted, moving to sit a little closer to her. "Seriously, Karen...what is it?"

She paused, blinking slowly as she debated whether or not to answer his question. On one hand, she desperately didn't want to make this more of an issue than it already was; on the other hand, she felt like it had been chipping away at her all afternoon. And maybe, just maybe he could make it okay; maybe he could reassure her.

If nothing else, gauging his reaction would tell her something.

Even as she spoke, she hated what she felt she'd been reduced to - testing him, analyzing his every expression, his every movement. "I just... At lunch today, when we were talking about the guy pushing the rock up the hill - "

Just at the mention of it, that same expression as before flickered across his face; without thinking she pointed. "Yes - that's what it was like. You looked so...struck."

She could see that he was debating whether or not to be honest. "Okay..."

"Don't do that." She shook her head, feeling the frustration starting to mount.

"Don't do what?"

"Pretend you don't know what I'm talking about." The frustration was giving way to anger. "So that's how it feels?"

She'd almost expected him to be baffled by the question - she knew she probably wasn't making much sense - but instead, his eyes lowered guiltily to the carpet.

"Oh my god." Her voice was low; his head jerked up.

"Karen, don't - "

She stood. "Why are you even with me? Seriously, Jim...this is just -- my god."

He, too, stood. "Karen, please...don't turn this into something it's not."

"Then what is it?" She shot back, the words beating in her head: Not me not me not me not me...

He didn't answer right away, then: "There's no reason for us to do this; it doesn't have to be this way, you know."

"Doesn't it?" She whispered, then turned away, pacing a few steps before turning back to him. "I hate this - I hate what it's turning me into. This isn't me, Jim; I'm not the possessive type. I'm not clingy, and I'm not paranoid either. And it makes me so...angry that you're putting this on me."

"Putting what on you?" She could see that he was starting to lose his temper. "I was honest with you because I thought it was the right thing to do, but ever since then, all you've done is freak out and overanalyze. Why can't you just...let it go?"

She forced herself to look him in the eye - he didn't look away - and even as she stood there, she knew that this was a crossroads for them, for her: She could trust him, believe him when he said it was nothing, and let it go; or she could push him further - risk alienating him and making a fool of herself.

The thing was, she did trust him; he was such a great guy, and really, he'd never given her any reason to doubt him. But at the same time, she couldn't shake that nagging fear -- and she didn't know whether to chalk it up to instinct or insecurity.

So she said: "I think it'd be easier if you'd tell me a little more."

"A little more what?" He sounded so tired, the words almost a sigh.

"A little more about what happened."

"Karen, I already told you: nothing happened." He was closer to anger than she'd ever seen him - or perhaps it was just that the weariness had gotten the best of him.

"You said in the coffee shop that day that you told her." She knew better than this - knew she ought to just drop it. At the same time, something stubborn blazed up inside her: I have a right to ask this, damn it; it doesn't make me a shrew or clingy - it makes me smart.

And so she added, "Jim, it would be...irresponsible of me to just let this go so easily."

" 'Irresponsible'?" His left eyebrow rose.

"Yes, irresponsible." Her pride flared high. "I'm sorry, but you admitted that you still have feelings for someone else - someone you work with every single day. Someone we both work with every day. And you think I'm being unreasonable in questioning you about it? What would you do if the tables were turned?"

She knew from the expression that crossed his face - the way he blinked a little faster, his jaw clenching, lips a firm line - that she'd made her point.

He didn't speak for a long time, but when he did, his voice was raspy: "Okay."

Why it terrified her that he'd given her permission to push further, she couldn't have said - maybe it was because she knew he'd be honest. Or perhaps because she was afraid he might not be.

"You said you told her how you felt." She looked down at the floor. "How did it happen?"

"Karen - " Immediately he stiffened, sitting up straighter in a slightly defensive posture.

She didn't respond, just fixed him with a pointed look; it made its mark - he seemed to realize just how much his body language betrayed, and that to remain silent would only further cement the damage.

She watched him take in a deep breath, averting his eyes. "It was after a...an office thing - Casino Night. I ran into her in the parking lot - "

He stopped abruptly, his jaw tensing. For some reason, she glanced down at his hands - only to see that they were clenched into fists on either side of him. She had to look away.

"So I just told her."

The oversimplification of what he'd said - she knew instinctively that it had to have been so much more than that - reverberated between them. She'd seen them together - had witnessed that they were close, even now; they were obviously good friends, so it likely hadn't been as simple as he was portraying it to be.

"You just told her?" She repeated. "No big deal - just said it, and that was that...?"

"Pretty much." He wasn't looking at her now; the bitterness in his voice, the cynicism coloring his expression - they shocked her, for she'd never seen this in him before.

"What did she say?" She pressed on, ignoring her pride, her instinct.

"She didn't feel the same." He answered gruffly, still avoiding her eyes.

"She said that?"

"Not in so many words. But...it was clear." He swallowed hard; clearly this was difficult for him.

"How was it clear?"

He remained stock still for a second, then suddenly turned to her in exasperation, his expression almost distorted as he demanded, "Why are you doing this? Why can't you just let it go?"

"Why can't you just tell me what went down - what really happened?" She wouldn't give in - refused to play the role of the victim, no matter how much she felt like one.

His eyes met hers and held them for a long moment, then: "She told me she was sorry I misinterpreted her friendship, and then she walked away."

It was absolutely bizarre, the mixture of relief and sadness that washed over her -- because she was immensely relieved at what he'd said, but at the same time, she ached for him. Because she certainly understood how he could've misinterpreted Pam's actions; she'd spent enough time around them to find herself wondering if maybe Pam did have feelings for him.

But hearing him say that - that Pam had told him he'd misinterpreted things - set her mind at ease almost immediately.

...So much so that she shifted closer to him, reaching out to touch his cheek. "It's her loss."

He seemed lost in his thoughts for a second, then turned to face her slowly. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah." Her smile was slow - as was his. When their lips met, she found herself pitying Pam just a little.

It had gone on for three more nights - round and round they went, she questioning him with narrowed eyes; he offering uncomfortable, seemingly evasive answers. Even when it was happening she knew it was wrong - didn't recognize herself in the woman who pushed him so relentlessly, clinging even though she knew that to do so only drove the wedge between them that much deeper.

On the fifth night, he'd dropped a bombshell on her.

"Do we have to go over this again?" He asked, running a hand wearily over his eyes, his hair tousled, face darkened with stubble.

"Jim, I'm sorry to keep pushing you; it's just that I -- " She shook her head, biting her lip before forcing herself to admit it, knowing she'd probably come off sounding like a paranoid teenager: "I just can't shake the feeling that there's more to this, like there's something I'm missing, or something...I don't know - something you haven't told me."

He lowered his head and groaned quietly, prompting her to add, "I know - listen, it's...it's stupid, and I know that. Just - okay, you told her you had feelings for her, and she turned you down, told you you had misinterpreted her."

"Yes."

"And she walked away then."

"Yes." Just as she was starting to feel relieved, his eyes flicked away from her guiltily, straying to the carpet.

Her stomach sank a little, her voice small: "So that was it...? You didn't talk after that?"

When he didn't answer right away, the panic began to creep in again, slow and nauseating. "Jim...?"

He shook his head slowly, taking in a deep breath before he said, "Karen, seriously..."

"What else happened?" Her voice was a little harder now as she realized that he'd been lying to her - lying by omission, but lying nonetheless. Prince's "The Beautiful Ones" softly permeated the silence between them, suiting her mood all too well.

"I really don't think this is accomplishing anything." He looked her in the eye, but only for a second. "Seriously - it's all...the past, history, not an issue anymore."

"Then why can't you answer my question?"

He didn't reply right away, then: "Because you're not going to like the answer."

"Jim - "

"Fine." He shrugged in frustration, those eyes steadfastly avoiding hers. "I went back into the office, and she was there."

He stopped abruptly, his jaw tensing.

"And...?" There was actually a tremor in her hands now as she tried to steel herself for whatever it was he'd say. Maybe he'd told her again? Begged her to give him a chance?

"I kissed her."

His words prompted an immediate ache in her throat that crept up and stung her eyes, her head beginning to throb a little.

She knew the answer even before he said it. "She kissed me back."

"Oh my god."

"No - it wasn't - she said no anyway, okay? Nothing else happened."

Now she couldn't look him in the eye, and she could feel his gaze on her face, knew he wanted her to look at him. When she didn't, he took a step toward her, putting a gentle hand on her face, tilting her chin so that she had to face him. "It didn't go further than that; I left a few minutes later."

"Did she say anything to you before she left?" It was humiliating to stand there asking him these questions, yet she just couldn't not.

"She...she said something about us being drunk."

Karen held her breath, barely daring to hope. "Were you?"

He lowered his head again, looking away for a second before meeting her eyes again. "No."

"So how did you leave it?"

"I walked away." His voice was a little gruff.

She stared at him for a long time, the tears hovering heavily on her lashes, blurring the image of him. She desperately didn't want to cry; what she really wanted right now was to be alone, to have some time to process what he'd told her...to just think.

When a tear rolled down her cheek anyway, his eyes closed for a second, then he said quietly, "This is why I didn't want to do this - get into it all. So you know about it now - it doesn't change anything; there's nothing going on with me and Pam."

Again she felt herself slipping, sliding back into it - warmth, headiness...an ache. "So it was just a kiss...?"

"Just a kiss."

"....Okay."

---------------

Questioning Pam the next day only intensified her suspicions that there had to be more to that night than either of them was admitting - and Pam's evasive, fumbling answers did nothing to ease her worries. If anything, she walked out of the kitchen almost certain that Pam had feelings for him.

But it just didn't make sense to her. Why would Pam have turned him down if she felt the same way? Even if she'd changed her mind, why wouldn't she have spoken up and told Jim so? And why would she have intervened on Karen's behalf when Jim was being such a spazz about her moving a few blocks away?

No matter what either of them said, on an almost guttural level, she knew she was right to worry.

Yet she felt helpless, because whenever she considered the possibility of losing him, her throat seemed to close up. So she shoved the doubts further down, ignoring the nagging instinct that warned she'd regret this.

It worked for a while - quite a while, in fact.

And then they'd had a birthday party for Meredith, one that all the warehouse guys attended. She noticed - not for the first time - the way one of the guys from the warehouse, Roy, spent most of his time hovering near Pam, cracking jokes at her in an attempt to make her laugh; offering shy, awkward smiles in the pauses of the conversation.

When Pam walked away to get a glass of punch, Karen watched him as his eyes followed her; something about the desperation in his expression really struck her for some reason -- maybe because she could relate to it.

She'd been standing with Kelly, chatting casually; Jim was off in a corner talking to Oscar and Kevin. Without thinking, she murmured absently, "That Roy guy looks like he's really got it bad for Pam; I wonder if she knows...?"

Kelly snorted, then drew back, retorting incredulously, "Well...yeah; they were engaged for forever, and he's been trying to win her back ever since she broke it off."

Karen froze, feeling almost dizzy as the pieces suddenly slid sharply into focus; now she knew.

Now it all made sense.

"When was that?" Her voice was hoarse, but she had to ask - had to confirm her suspicions.

"Oh...not that long ago. Let's see..." Kelly's eyebrows knit as she thought back. "It was a few weeks after Jim transferred - when did he start at Stamford, do you remember? I know it was some time in the summer, but...."

Worse yet was the realization - the knowledge - that Jim wanted her, too.

Still.

---------------

She left the party early, slipping out the door furtively without saying anything to Jim - or anyone else for that matter. Once she got back to her apartment, she sank down onto her couch, assailed by a series of images, incomplete, one after the other.

He wasn't hers - never had been and apparently never would be. She'd always - always - been aware of the reticence there, but it hadn't jelled with the rest of him (so open and affable, a lovely tinge of vulnerability hovering beneath the surface). So she'd let it go, blaming it on paranoia or self-doubt, sometimes just sheer petulance.

But now she knew: It wasn't paranoia or petulance; it was her gut instinct, right as always.

She let the words reverberate in her mind over and over, a mantra of sorts that she hoped would lend her the strength to do what she had to do: