Jim had been back in the Scranton office for two days before he had a moment to plug in his iPod and import his music onto this computer. Some days putting on headphones was the only way to push Dwight far enough into the background to get any work done.

Importing his own songs, he felt the prickle of Pam’s attention on the back of his neck. Odd that he could still feel it now that he couldn’t meet her eyes. He wondered what she was listening to these days. He used to love sharing new bands and songs with her. Sometimes his first reaction to a song was that Pam would love it.

He clicked over to share his own library and see who else was sharing. Kevin had his usual assortment of comedy CDs and the 80s classics Scrantonicity covered. Kelly’s list was a disturbing collection of boy bands and tarted-up teenaged girls. Andy even shared a selection of 90s girl groups and college a capella. Dwight was password-protected. Well, that wouldn’t be much of a challenge. And Pam.

Huh. Pam’s library was also password-protected. Behind him, the phone rang. “Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam.” The receptionist in Stamford had always sounded wrong to him.

That afternoon, in between sales calls, chummy and completely unnecessary meetings with Michael, and arranging to meet Karen for drinks after work, he tried a few passwords—Roy’s full name, his birthday, Pam’s birthday, the names of all her family members. The dog she had in high school. Her favorite artists and authors. Places she’d been. Once he almost typed in his own name, but he stopped short. That was a certain path to madness.

On Wednesday, he decided to play dirty.

“Hey, Phyllis,” he said as casually as he could manage.

Phyllis was pouring herself a cup of coffee in the break room. “Morning, Jim.”

Jim shoved his hands into his pockets and took another step closer, ducking his head a bit. “Hey, do you know Pam’s iTunes library password?”

Phyllis chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t.” She stirred in a packet of sugar. “Besides, I don’t think she’d want me to tell you.”

He nodded. “You’re probably right.” Sighing, he poured his own cup and returned to his desk.

Pam regarded him with a mixture of amusement and triumph. He thought he saw something else, just behind her smile, but then he heard Karen’s chair move and Pam looked back to her Sudoku.

Jim tried to concentrate on work. That certainly wouldn’t last long, but he might get an idea.

That afternoon’s ideas included her Dundies, favorite snack foods, and a few inside jokes, but nothing worked. Logically, he knew this wasn’t important. He could just get up and ask her, and she’d probably tell him. But that would be giving up. Right now it was a puzzle, a game, something between just the two of them. And given the distance he was trying so hard to maintain between them, this was as close as he could handle being.

This was a fresh start, he was determined, even if it was the same old place. New desk, new title, new suits, new girl. No pranks, no shared looks over Michael’s particular brand of crazy, and definitely no falling back into old patterns with Pam.

Thursday Jim listened to his own music. He only thought about Pam every time she answered the phone. Sadly, that was progress.

Friday he turned to cracking Dwight’s password. This should be a piece of cake.

Frodo. No dice. Starbuck. No. Katee Sackhoff. No. Who knew Dwight could still surprise him.

He didn’t realize he was smiling, just a little, or that Karen saw it from her desk. He didn’t look her way much. That would require looking past Dwight, who generally glared and started looking for evidence that Jim had pranked him again. But this was new Jim—Stamford Jim—who learned after being called into Josh’s office and reminded that this office had higher standards for employee behavior.

Monday morning, he sent Pam an IM.

bigtuna: C’mon, can I have a hint?

He waited, hearing the ping from her computer. She snorted. Almost a laugh.

pbeesly: Big Tuna? Seriously?

He sighed, grumbled, shot a glance at Andy, who was humming again. Today seemed to be Wilson Phillips. “Why do I know that?” he muttered, outraged, and ran a hand through his hair impatiently.

bigtuna: Andy set up my account in Stamford.

bigtuna: He could keep this up all day long. (That’s what she said.) Don’t make me work with Wilson Phillips stuck in my head.

She laughed, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle as Dwight looked up sharply at her.

pbeesly: No hints. Sorry, those are the rules, and they are unflinchingly rigid.

No, those were the rules of jinx. How could he forget forcing himself to cry when Michael asked him to share a story about a drug-addicted relative?

bigtuna: Damn. What about Dwight’s password? Help me out here. I already tried Frodo, Starbuck, and Katee Sackhoff.

pbeesly: I am so disturbed you knew how to spell her name.

bigtuna: iMDB. It’s not Gollum again, is it?

Battlestar Galactica was also Karen’s favorite show. He’d seen a lot of it lately.

Pam logged off, got up and went to deal with Michael’s faxes from corporate. There had been a lot of them since the merger.

When she came back to her desk, Jim was still lost in thought. He tried to work, but he kept thinking about the day of the jinx. Sitting across from her in the break room while she teased him, he’d been so tempted to tell her. She saw it, he knew she did. “Misunderstanding, my ass,” he muttered, glad the cameras weren’t here today.

pbeesly: Jeez, Halpert, don’t mope all day. One hint. Dwight’s password. You’ve got the wrong blonde.

pbeesly: You don’t want to listen to his stuff anyway. It’s mostly score from the Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, and Battlestar Galactica.

bigtuna: I did not know you could buy the BSG score. Wow.

Jim pondered her hint about the wrong blonde. He tried Caprica, Six, D’Anna, Three, and even Legolas, none of which worked. Two days passed before he noticed the way Dwight looked at Angela when he thought no one was looking. He tried Angela, and found himself staring at sci-fi and fantasy scores, along with dozens of podcasts.

He really had changed. That was sobering. There was a time he would have picked up on that vibe much sooner. He thought about burning Karen a CD from Dwight’s playlists, but stopped. Instead he pointed out to Dwight how much they had in common. At first Dwight thought it was a prank, but before long Dwight and Karen spent their Monday breaks together chattering about Jesus imagery and the mechanics of downloading. Angela fumed every time, which made contributing to Dwight’s happiness completely worth it.

Once a week or so, he tried a few more passwords (Michael Scarn, Dwigt, jinx, TWSS), but none worked. Maybe he didn’t know her so well anymore.

Months later, he was lying in bed late at night… well, early in the morning, trying to turn off his brain long enough to fall asleep. He and Karen had talked about their relationship a lot lately, and unfortunately that meant talking about Pam. He spoke in the most general, vague terms, crushing that chapter of his life into something easily dismissed. He wasn’t even sure how he and Pam got boiled down to a crush and a kiss, but that’s what Karen decided to believe. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore, at all, ever. He was glad when she finally slept, her eyes no longer searching his for something she would never find.

The funny thing was that the kiss almost never happened at all. He wasn’t looking for her. Jim just needed to grab his iPod from his desk drawer. And then Pam was standing at his desk, waiting for him, he thought at the time. God, he’d made an ass of himself. Maybe she was just curious, maybe she had cold feet about the wedding… it didn’t matter, because it wasn’t enough reason to stay.

“I’m in love with you.”

He didn’t regret saying it, not really. Even then, when he could hardly see her through his tears, could barely bring himself to breathe, let alone listen to her pushing him away with every word. This was it, this was all he was going to get, and it was hopeless. Everything she said boiled down to, “I can’t.”

And suddenly, lying in the dark eight months later, Jim thought he might know her password after all.

She was looking at him again. He could feel her eyes on his back, and thought he saw her brows knit together with concern from across the office a couple times. But he was still exhausted, and keyed up, and afraid to be wrong. He and Pam weren’t exactly talking, not since he teased her about Ben Franklin. He was just trying to make her laugh, but the fury in her voice stopped him cold. And now she was double-dating with Kelly and Ryan? Kelly stopped by Pam’s desk to chat all the time, making suggestions about her hair and clothes. Jim thought the guy’s name was Matt or Mark or something like that, but he tried not to hear it.

Karen seemed cautiously optimistic. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Kelly and Ryan were waiting for Pam at five. Kelly was trying to make Ryan change ties, and he batted her hand away, wearily but not unkindly. “Are you ready?” Kelly asked. Pam was fidgeting, picking up her message pad, setting it down over and over. She seemed to be gathering her courage. Jim watched from the break room. The office was nearly empty.

The phone rang, and Pam stooped to pick it up automatically. Jim walked quickly back to his desk, and before he could stop himself again, he tried the password that came to him in the night. I can.

Her files popped open, and he heard a soft chime from her computer.

She stopped writing. “I’m sure Michael will get back to you in the morning. Good night,” Pam set down the receiver and started shutting down her computer.

Jim turned, looking at them over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow,” he said to Ryan.

Ryan rolled his eyes as Kelly started fiddling with his tie again.

Jim smiled, and allowed himself to glance at Pam.

Pam was staring at him, wide-eyed with surprise. When she tried to shut down her computer, iTunes must have told her he was connected.

“Ready now? He’s already at the restaurant.” Kelly was excited, practically bouncing now.

Pam shook her head. “Who? Oh, yeah, let’s go.” As they left, she looked back over her shoulder, shrugging at him. He knew that look. What can you do? Kelly’s a force of nature.

Jim waited five minutes, until Angela left. She’s eyeing him suspiciously, but says nothing. He turned off the office lights and sat down at his desk in the blue glow from his monitor. Time to see what she’d been hiding all these months.

He chuckled, shaking his head a little. A lot of mainstream pop music here. New stuff, old stuff, 53 songs in all. Jim imported them all onto his iPod, shrugged into his coat, picked up his messenger bag, and headed out.

Once in his car, he plugged in his iPod and cranked up the volume.

“Yesterday was hell / But today I'm fine without you / Runaway this time without you / And all I ever thought you would be / That face is tearing holes in me.”

It was harder than he thought it would be to listen to her songs. He kept listening for meaning in every line, secret messages she hoped he would find. It’s not difficult.

“These better be her breaking-up-with-Roy songs,” he muttered, coasting to a stop at a red light. Eyes and hands restless, he drummed his right hand against the steering wheel as he looked around, waiting for the light to change. Ryan’s car was parked in front of a restaurant on the corner. Pam’s was next to it. Her new car was cute, like her.

When the light changed, Jim didn’t notice. The car behind him honked right as the song changed, and Jim tried to focus on his driving. It snowed last night, and the roads were icy.

“This night never happened if it’s all right with you / Another for the collection of things we didn’t do / The private party’s over / Thank god we get new starts…”

So far, Jim was not encouraged. He’s itching to change songs, but that wouldn’t be fair. She wanted him to hear these, right? She wouldn’t have used that password otherwise. He’d listen to her, even if it hurt.

“Hey, remember me / I remember you walking away / From all that you made / That you lost / Or threw away / Traded in for a brand new life / But I can't / Can't let go / Can't turn around / Hold my head high and walk away.”

And that hurt. He didn’t throw this life away. She said she couldn’t be with him. She said she was marrying Roy. She let him walk away, without a call, a letter, nothing. He found out from Michael of all people – months later -- that she hadn’t gotten married. But she can’t let go? That’s… well, he’s not really sure what to think about that. What it’s safe to think about that.

When he arrived home, he left the iPod in the car. He had a Pitt basketball game waiting on Tivo, and a beer in the fridge calling his name. Assuming Karen didn’t show up on his doorstep crying. Again.

By morning, Jim was itching for a pickup game instead of a staff meeting, but it’d have to wait. He tossed his gym bag in the car anyway, hoping he could arrange something for after work.

He couldn’t bail on the staff meeting, although he was not looking forward to seeing Karen today. She’d shown up around midnight, drunk and belligerent, trying to bait him into admitting he was in love with Pam. He put up with it for an hour, then walked her home. As they approached her building, he ended it. She just stood there for a minute, silent and cold, then walked away without a word or a backward glance.

When the car started, his iPod started up again. He wondered how Pam’s date went. Was it wrong to hope the guy was a complete ass?

Jim chuckled a little when he realized today would be starting with another power ballad. He never realized Pam was such a fan.

“I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you / All of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right / I'm tripping on words / You've got my head spinning / I don't know where to go from here…”

At least he wasn’t the only one who was confused.

As Jim walked into the office and shrugged out of his coat, he noticed that Karen’s computer was still off. He hadn’t seen her car in the lot either.

Pam looked over at him, smiling a bit uncertainly and hissed, “Michael’s in rare form today. Do something!” She was wearing her hair loose and wavy, and he was almost certain her lavender top was new. He wondered if she’d notice he was wearing a tie she’d complimented.

He walked over to her desk and leaned against the counter, happy for an excuse to get close to her. “What’s he done this time, Beesly?” He noticed the camera crew then. Of course. Damn it.

“He handed me this to copy for the meeting.” She shoved a sheet of paper into his hand, grazing his fingers with hers for a fraction of a second.

Jim scanned the paper, the agenda for the staff meeting. “Our customers are our friends? That is so very wrong.” He sighed. “Oh yeah, I’ll come up with something.” He tapped the counter and straightened up. “I bet Darryl would pull the fire alarm for five bucks.”

“To get out of a staff meeting? Definitely.” Pam giggled. Darryl had no patience for Michael’s antics.

Speaking of people with no patience for Michael, Karen still hadn’t arrived. He really did not want to ask Pam, but he had to. “Hey, did Karen call in?”

Pam’s smile tightened and she nodded. “Yeah. She’s sick.”

Jim took a deep breath, and felt the tension in his shoulders draining away. He lowered his voice, leaning against Pam’s desk again, and said quietly, “We broke up last night. It was … not pretty.” Needing something to do with his hands, he grabbed a jellybean and popped it into his mouth. Buttered popcorn.

Pam tried to frown, but failed. Her eyes were sparkling. “I’m sorry.” A cameraman was still watching them.

“Thanks.” Jim reluctantly walked over to his desk. It was hard to walk away from her today, but the cameras helped.

An IM box popped up on his screen as soon as his computer woke up. At least Michael (and the camera crew) hadn’t figured out how to spy on those yet.

pbeesly: Are you listening to my music?

He smiled, and sat up a little straighter.

bigtuna: So many power ballads, so little time.

bigtuna: How was your “date”?

pbeesly: Are those sarcastic quote marks? Don’t make me sic Mr. Angry Face on you.

bigtuna: I’ll behave. Maybe.

Jim stood up and walked back to the break room as casually as he could. He needed coffee, and maybe she’d follow. He could hope, anyway.

The break room was empty, and so was the coffee pot. He busied himself making a new pot, then sat down, waiting. He could be patient if he had to be. He’d only been waiting four years.

The pot was still brewing when she came in and rinsed out her tea cup. Pam touched the back of the seat next to him, hesitated, and sat down across from him instead. “It was horrible. He was nice enough, I guess,” she shrugged, “but Kelly and Ryan had an argument and left us alone for awhile. We had nothing in common. He watches Big Brother.” Her hands fluttered over her mug nervously, drumming her fingers against its side.

“That good, eh? So, are you going to see him again?” he asked, not teasing her even though it killed him.

“No, absolutely not.” There was an uncomfortable silence. Too many things left unsaid. “Look, Jim, the music, it’s not a big deal. Really.”

That was clearly a load of bullshit. He raised an eyebrow and eyed her skeptically. He could tell from her sudden blush that he didn’t need to say anything.

Pam rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, it was important to me. I was alone a lot, and it … helped.” She smiled and leaned toward him slightly.

She must have no idea how beautiful she looked right now. Even under these terrible fluorescent lights. Jim reached out and squeezed her hand.

“Just do me a favor, okay?” she asked.

“Name it.” She had no clue, the things he’d do for her. And to her, but that was not something to think about here at 9:30 in the morning.

“Skip to the end. The last song.” She looked back over her shoulder into the office, avoiding his eyes. “Oh, Michael’s back.” Pam jumped up, her hand slipping from his, and hurried back to her desk.

Jim could barely pour his coffee. He glanced at his watch. 9:37. Twenty-three minutes was plenty of time to listen to one song. He walked back to his desk, nearly sloshing hot coffee all over his hand, and set down his cup. Dwight was glaring at him suspiciously. This was not at all complicated. Whatever this was.

“Jimbo, hey, can I see you in my office? Pronto.” Michael stood in the doorway of his office, looking a bit panicked. He’d probably said something stupid to Jan again.

Jim set down his coffee and followed Michael in. He very deliberately did not sit down. He’d spent way too much time in Michael’s office lately, listening to Michael dissect every little thing Jan said. “What’s up?”

“Corporate is making me take Andy back.” Michael gestured wildly. “I can’t! That guy is nuts!”

“Because he sucked up to you?” Jim asked, unable to hide a grin.

Michael rolled his eyes. “No, because he punched a wall. And lied to me. Did you know he broke into Dwight’s car?”

“Are you sure? Dwight is very paranoid,” Jim pointed out.

Michael shrugged in acknowledgment. “He found Andy’s fingerprints in his car.”

“How did he get Andy’s fingerprints?”

Michael did not seem to have considered that. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” For once, Michael was not going to be distracted. “Jan’s making me take him back. She said he could sue us or something, and I can’t tell her no after I cheated on her,” Michael babbled, his voice dropping low on the last few words.

“When did you cheat on her?” The camera in the corner was trained on Jim, who tried to sound sincere, but he couldn’t think of anyone Michael could have been with lately. Besides, sometimes it was hard to keep up with Michael. Half the time Jim wasn’t actually sure they were having the same conversation.

“With the stripper,” he hissed.

“Really? When?” Now this was interesting. Time-consuming, but interesting.

Michael nervously touched all the toys on his desk. “You were there.” Again, that little boy voice he used when he was afraid.

Jim racked his brain, trying to think of anything Michael had done with the stripper. “You mean when she sat in your lap?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Michael nodded vehemently.

“Let’s just get through this staff meeting, and we can talk about it later, okay?” Jim knew he could count on Michael to get distracted and forget his promise in about five minutes.

Michael’s expression of relief almost hurt. As annoying as he could be, on the inside, Michael was about 9 years old.

Jim punched his shoulder gently, smiled reassuringly, and quickly exited Michael’s office before Michael could say anything else. This job had become much easier when he realized that corporate just wanted someone to keep Michael focused on what he did best—sales. While Assistant Regional Manager sounded (and paid) better than babysitting Toby’s daughter, it was essentially the same job.

Since the camera crew was setting up for the meeting, Jim had no trouble grabbing his iPod and slipping out of the office. Pam shot him a questioning look as he left, so he winked at her as the door swung shut behind him.

Inside his cold car, Jim quickly scrolled through to the last song.

“You used to talk to me like / I was the only one around. / You used to lean on me like / The only other choice was falling down.”

Jim smiled, shook his head a little. An American Idol guy, really? Wow. But she wanted him to hear it, so tried to keep an open mind.

“We used to have this figured out; / We used to breathe without a doubt. / When nights were clear, you were the first star that I'd see. / We used to have this under control. / We never thought. / We used to know. / At least there's you, and at least there's me. / Can we get this back? / Can we get this back to how it used to be?”

That’s what she wanted? He missed her, but not enough to pretend to be just friends again. He’d sooner transfer again. Maybe Albany needed a new ARM.

“I look around me, / And I want you to be there / 'Cause I miss the things that we shared. / Look around you. / It's empty, and you're sad / 'Cause you miss the love that we had.”

Jim was so wrapped up in his own dark thoughts that he barely heard “the love that we had.” He had to rewind it to hear that verse again. He yanked his phone out of his pocket and dialed before the song had ended.

“Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam.”

“Beesly, get your ass down here.”

“What?”

“You heard me, get down here.” Jim hung up and glanced at his watch again. Ten minutes. He tossed the iPod into the glove compartment and popped out of his car. He crossed the parking lot and stood just to the right of the door, out of sight of the lobby.

Pam came through the doors a minute later, looking puzzled.

She caught sight of him and approached cautiously, twisting her bare hands together. “Halpert, you do know the meeting’s starting like right now?”

The meeting was the furthest thing from his mind at that moment. “I listened to your song.”

She stopped. “Oh?”

Jim glanced over her shoulder. No cameramen followed her. Excellent. “Really, Beesly, American Idol?” He closed the distance between them. She looked ridiculously cute in her pink coat, her cheeks even pinker from the cold.

She shrugged. “The guy who used to find great bands for me moved away.” He could read the question in her eyes now, plain as day. Is it too late for us? How had he not noticed it sooner? It had been there the entire time he’d been back from Stamford. He just never understood it until now.

“Next you’ll be telling me you like country.” He reached up touch her face, gently, with one hand and pulled her closer with the other hand. She didn’t seem to be breathing, waiting to see where this was going. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “Honestly, what am I going to do with you?” Then he kissed her.

Her cold hands came up to tangle in his hair, and she kissed back, her mouth warm and soft on his.

Jim’s phone rang. Reluctantly, he pulled away and glanced at the caller ID. “Michael.”

“We should go.” She didn’t look like she wanted to go anywhere. In fact, she stretched up to kiss him again.

“Someone has to rescue them from Michael.” He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

Pam’s eyes widened, and as she smiled up at him it struck him just how much he’d missed that smile. “What’s the plan?”

“Have a little faith, Beesly. Just follow my lead, okay?” He smiled and led her back into the building.

Neither saw the cameraman shooting from a second-floor window.