This is over my head
But underneath my feet
Cause by tomorrow morning I'll have this thing beat
And everything will be back to the way that it was
I wish that it was just that easy 

His deep, hearty laugh fills the office, and for a second, Pam allows herself to enjoy it.  The months when he wasn’t here are still fresh in her mind, so she’s able to enjoy the fact that Jim is at least back, and the office feels full and complete.

 But maybe it’s too full, because there’s a laugh that accompanies his, not just right now but always, low but undeniably female.  Pam watches them for as long as she can before turning away.

It’s been several months now, and you’d think Pam would be used to it. 

She isn’t.

She closes her eyes, sighing.  Her cell phone, on her desk next to the office phone, shows the “3 Missed Calls” alert on the screen.  Roy.  He’s been trying to call ever since they’d broken up two nights ago.

Pam isn’t sure what she’d expected to happen.  Maybe that actually being honest for once (because, as Oscar had said, honesty isn’t one of her strong points) would have somehow allow her to move forward.

And Pam really needs to move forward.  She had been, slowly and uncertainly, but still moving, after she’d called off the wedding.  Becoming independent, starting to do something for herself for a change (art classes), even admitting to herself how she really felt about Jim. 

Then Jim had come back, dating Karen, and Pam had began moving in slow motion.  They’d become more open about their relationship at work, and Jim and Pam were almost further apart then they’d been when he was in Stanford, and Pam had found herself standing still, frozen in her shock and distaste with her new reality.

Then she’d gotten back together with Roy, and all of a sudden she was moving backwards.

It’s embarrassed her to think about.  All that clarity she’d experienced after Jim’s confession, the realization that she’d been settling, that Roy couldn’t give her what she needed or deserved…all of that had disappeared.

Well, the clarity had come screaming back two night before, at the bar.  Roy is still Roy, even under the overly cautious manner and uncertain compliments. 

The door to the office swings open, both interrupting and confirming this thought, and suddenly everything’s moving in slow motion again.

Roy steps in, the look on his face murderous, but still rational: it’s determined, purposeful.  His entrance goes unnoticed by everyone but Pam; it only takes her a second to realize why he’s here.

“Roy-“  The warning dies, useless, on her lips, but it’s enough to make Jim turn around just in time to see Roy’s fist rise and come flying at his nose. 

Jim barely has time to shove Karen out of the way; not that it matters; Roy had been aiming at Jim’s face and he connects with a sickening thud of knuckles meeting bone, and Jim crumples to the floor, too taken aback to have prepared himself.

The slow motion stops for a second to move at warp speed, because the next thing Pam knows she’s out from behind her desk and is half crouched in front of Jim, who has pulled himself up slightly and is leaning against his desk, one hand cupping his nose, looking slightly shell shocked.  Roy’s fist is already coming, and it connects with the bottom of Pam’s left cheek, right against the jaw bone, as she moves in front of Jim.

She barely feels the pain.  Instead, Pam fixes Roy with a glare, trying to look forceful and ignore the rapid pounding of her heart and the sudden weight on her back that she’s almost sure is Jim’s hand.

“Pam, get out of the way”, he spats through clenched teeth, his tone commanding.  He’s still standing, towering over them.  The entire office has gone silent.

“No.”  There’s no fear in her voice, even though Pam’s sure she’s shaking.

“PAM!”

“Don’t touch him again.”  This time, it’s her voice that’s commanding.  “He didn’t do anything to you.”

“He kissed you, Pam!”  It occurs to Pam that there’s no hurt there, just anger.  Bruised ego more than anything else.  It’s pathetic.  “He had feelings for you!”

“I did the same thing!  Both of them.”   She doesn’t really hear the phrasing until the words have left her mouth;  she wonders if they were as revealing as she thinks.  “And I’m worse, because I was the one engaged to you.  So if you need to vent this obviously overpowering rage, I’m right here…or maybe you can destroy another bar.”  Her voice is dripping with disgust; it’s unfamiliar to her.   “But you’re not touching Jim again.” 

His voice dangerously quiet, Roy hisses, “Get out of the way.” 

“No.”

They glare at each other, then Roy laughs, a manic, frightening sound and he moves from in front of them to Pam’s desk.  “You want me to vent?! Vent?!”  He sweeps his arms across the front of her desk, sending the In/Out Trays flying, the jellybeans and their jars tumbling to the ground among a sea of paper.  “How’s that for venting, Pam?!”  He moves to the other side of her desk and starts pulling things down.  Then, he laughs again, and holds something up in his hand.

The teapot.

“Oh, hey, I recognize this!  Your Christmas gift from Halpert!  Isn’t that sweet?” 

            It’s like an invisible, ice cold hand has grabbed hold of her insides; Pam can hardly breathe.  “R-Roy…don’t”  Her voice shakes, betraying fear for the first time.

             “Didn’t you, didn’t you trade an iPod for this, Pammy?  Must be a pretty awesome teapot.  Hey!”  He looks away from Jim and Pam for the first time, his eyes scanning the dumbfounded staff.  “Anyone think this is better than an iPod?!”

            Silence.

            “C’mon, I want to know.  Teapot or iPod?  Is this better?”

            After a moment’s hesitation, Michael, who’s been hovering in the door of his office, comments in a small voice, “Well of course not.  Nothing was better than the iPod.”

            Roy points a defiant finger at him.  “Exactly!  Not better.  Well, Pammy, hope it was worth it.  You want me to vent, fine…”  He slams the teapot down, and what was once one of Pam’s most treasured possessions is suddenly just a pile of teal glass.

            The color leaves Pam’s face and Roy shoots her a twisted smile.  “I feel a lot better now.”  He turns, walking toward the door, pausing to tear the framed watercolor of the office building from the wall and slam it on the ground.

            The door slams with a resounding thud, and silence prevails for a moment. 

            Unable to make herself look at Jim, or Karen, who’s still standing somewhere to the side, Pam moves forward a little, kneeling over the remnants of the teapot, and suddenly she gives in to the tightness in her throat and the stinging in her eyes.

            She’s crying, at the worse possible moment; kneeling in the middle of her staring, silent colleagues, Pam covers her face with a hand and sobs.

            Surprisingly, it’s Michael who takes charge.  “Jim, buddy, that nose looks pretty disgusting, to be honest with you.  We’re going to need some ice.”  Phyllis and Kelly dash off toward the break room.  “Someone needs to take care of…that.”  He sweeps his hand at the disaster area in front of Pam’s desk, and Toby and Oscar move forward, bending down to their knees and begin gathering up the fallen items. 

            Phyllis gets back first with a towel wrapped around ice cubes.  She hands it to Jim, but he moves forward a little and tentatively puts a hand on Pam’s back.  “Pam?”  It’s the first time he’s spoken since Roy came in.

            She turns, embarrassed about the torrent of tears making their way down her cheeks.  Jim’s nose is bleeding badly, the effect on the rest of his face frightening.  There’s an odd look in his eyes: a strange combination of shock, detachment, and concern.  She has to fight a new wave of sobs when she sees the damage done, but he doesn’t seem concerned with himself.  He reaches out with one hand and touches the spot on her cheek that’s tender and, suddenly, sore.  Where Roy hit her.  Instinctually, he wipes away the few tears that have hit there, and lets his fingers rest on her cheek.

            Her eyes meet his.

            Time stops moving.

            Then his lips part uncertainly, and he says softly.  “That’s already starting to bruise…here…”  He puts the towel and ice over the bruise.  Pam stares dumbly at him for so long that he takes her hand and guides it up, forcing her to take hold of the homemade icepack. 

            Pam finds her voice again, thankfully, but it’s that horrible thick voice that always comes after crying, and it’s still quavering all over the place as she tries to control her sobs.  “You should…you need it more.” 

            He shakes his head, smiling nervously and slowly backing up, his eyes not tearing from hers.

            “Jim?”

            They both look up quickly, the moment that had stretched for so long broken.  Karen is standing over them, and for a brief second Pam is reminded strikingly of Roy.  For even though Karen is holding another towel full of ice rather than holding up a clenched fist, there’s still a look on her face, and her tone is a bit more accusatory than seems appropriate for an injured boyfriend.

            He smiles, though, and reaches out to take the ice.  “Thanks.” 

            “Are you okay?”  Her tone still hasn’t softened.

            “Yeah, I’m fine.”  His voice is almost dismissive.

            Karen hovers awkwardly, waiting for him to stand up.  Then she just nods her head in the direction of his desk and says.  “Come on…”

            “Sure, okay.  Yeah.  One second.”  He looks back at Pam, who’s clutching a piece of the tea pot in her hand, tears still streaming from her eyes.  Indicating the teapot with his eyes, he tells her, “Don’t…”  Don’t what?  Don’t worry about it?  He can’t tell her it’s not a big deal, because he so wants it be that important to her.

            “I’m…”  Pam is hyper aware of Karen’s eyes boring holes in the back of his head, since he’s turned his back to Karen to be able to meet her eyes.  “I’m so sorry.” 

            He nods, a lump appearing suddenly in his throat.  Unlike Pam, he’s completely unaware of his girlfriend’s presence.  Pam moves the ice pack suddenly, and he lifts a finger to touch the bruise again.  “Does it hurt?”  He mutters.

            Her red rimmed eyes widen and lock on his.  “It really does.”  She whispers. 

            He understands.

            Nodding once more, Jim stands up and turns away from her, walking with Karen toward his desk, or maybe hers.

            Pam glances around for the first time.  The office is back to a stir of activity, slightly more subdued than usual, but still closer to normal.  Most everything on her desk is back on it, if not organized, at least off the floor.  Things are moving again.

            Except that she’s still sitting in front of her desk, her left hand numb from holding the ice and her right hand clutching pieces of a broken tea pot.

            “Pam, may I see you in my office for a quick sec?”  She turns and Michael’s looking down at her.

            A few minutes later, Michael’s leaning forward on his elbows, staring at her across his desk.  “That was definitely heroic and, if I may say so, romantical of you.  Well done.” While he shoots her what is meant to be a congratulatory grin, Pam stares down at the teal glass shards in her laps, still clutching the ice pack, trying desperately to pretend that the tears have stopped.

            Michael presses on anyway.  “Sacrifice and all.  I was mucho impressitivo. And…” He lowers his voice conspiratorially and offers her a huge, exaggerated wink.  “…I bet anything Jimbo was, too.”

            Pam swallows a couple of times until she’s confident she can talk.  “I don’t think it matters, Michael.”

            “Sure it does.  You practically just told the entire office you have feelings for him.”  Pam stops studying the shards of glass in her lap and looks up at Michael.  Had she said…  “You know, the sacrifice and everything.  Pretty obvious.”

            “Oh.” She pauses, her fingers absently brushing at her cheeks.  “He’s with Karen, so…”

            “Exactly.  So?”  Michael leans forward, the look on his face making it clear that he knows he’s about to impart wisdom.  “He’s not married.  He’s not even engaged.  He was crazy about you…that doesn’t just go away.”

            She gives a short, bitter laugh, and squeezes her eyes shut against fresh tears.  Right.  Because it took him so long to find someone else.  Because it was so hard for him to leave her behind.

            “You should tell him.”  Michael says.

            She looks up at him, and it’s a mark of her slowly disappearing grip of sanity that she actually confides in Michael.

            “I can’t.”

            “Why?”

            “Because…”  She laughs again.  The sound still surprises her; she was never much for bitter laughter.  Her voice takes on a mocking quality.   “Because honesty and courage are not my strongest qualities.”

            Michael eyes widen; he’s genuinely surprised.  “What are you talking about?  Courage?  What about the heroicness?  All that?  That’s courage?”

            Pam stares at him.  That wasn’t brave.  That had been easy. 

            “I’m going to…I’m going to go, Michael.  I have to get my desk reorganized, so…”

            “Oh, sure, okay.  Gotcha.  Just…think about it, okay?”  He’s nodding, squinting at her in what he clearly believes to be an understanding way.  “Tell him.”

            She forces a smile and leaves his office, but instead of heading back to her desk, Pam just places the glass shards and the towel with the ice on the corner and heads to the bathroom.

            She sighs at her reflection.  Her eyes are red rimmed and puffy, her face streaked with tears.  She looks horrible.  A bitter grimace washes over her features as she thinks of Karen, flawless even with that suspicious, sour glare on her face. 

            Pam glances at her watch.  Jesus.  There’s still several hours to go in the workday.  She just wanted to go home, but it seemed like the day did not just stop with Roy’s confrontation.

            Her mind is suddenly pulled back to the gentleness of Jim’s voice when he’d handed her the ice; full of concern, as if his nose wasn’t pouring blood.  As if he hadn’t been the target.

            As if it hadn’t been her fault.

            The very recent memory is enough to bring another choking wave of sobs into Pam’s throat; she squeezes her eyes shut tight enough to keep them back, even though there’s not really a point.  She’s alone now.  That might have been helpful twenty minutes ago in front of the entire office.

            She’s not ready to go back out there; she’s not ready to see Karen perched on the side of his desk, maybe holding the towel over his face and whispering to him. 

            Though she tries to tell herself it’s the embarrassment, the shaky feeling left over from Roy’s “visit”, that’s making her reluctant to go out, Pam knows that’s not true.

            She’s not ready to return to normal.  Not when her cheek is still tingling, and it’s not so much from the fist impact than the softness of Jim’s careful touch.  Not when she can still almost feel the intensity of his gaze.

            She stands against the door to one of the stalls for almost twenty minutes when the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the break room startles her.  She has a sudden, panicked vision of Karen appearing, ready to confront her on anything that just happened, and the image is enough to make Pam grasp the door handle and swing the door open.

            Jim’s standing there, one arm up, a fist made, ready to knock.  He looks startled to see her, and for a moment they just look at each other.

            He smile awkwardly.  “Hey.”  His arm drops suddenly. 

            Trying to ignore the heat rushing to her cheeks, Pam smiles back, a little flustered.  “Hey.  How’s your nose?”

            He grins.  “Well, I think it’s swollen at least twice its normal size.”  He peers past her at the tiny corner of the mirror that’s visible from the doorway.  “Oh, never mind, it was always like that.  Bummer.”

            She giggles, and it feels good.  “Shut up, there’s nothing wrong with your nose.”

            He looks pleased.  “Thanks.”

            Pam edges forward, closing the door behind her.  “You need something, or were you just stalking the women’s restrooms again?”

            He shrugs.  “What can I say, Pam, I’m a creature of habit.”  She giggles again, then his eyes become serious.  “Actually…you’ve been in there awhile, and I just…I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

            Her heart aches a little, still taken aback by all that concern.  “I’m fine.”  She tries to sound dismissive.  Her face changes and she fixes him with a powerful gaze.  “Jim, I am so so sorry that he did that-“

            “Hey, c’mon.  It’s not your fault.”  His tone really is dismissive.

            “No, it…I never would have told him if I’d known he’d…do that.”

            Jim’s expression changes instantly, curiosity washing over his features.  “Told him…what, exactly?”

            “Um…”  She pauses, chewing nervously on her lips.  Even as she tries to get the phrasing right, come up with the shortest possible version of a long story, something in the back of her mind protests.

            This part repeats voices.  Oscar’s, talking about her lack of honesty and courage.  Michael’s, telling her to just tell him.

            Honesty.

            “Okay, um…maybe we should sit?”

            The way Jim’s eyes dart almost automatically through the blinds at the office does not go unnoticed, but Pam tries to ignore it, especially when he smiles and nods.  “Sure…”

            They sit, unconsciously taking their usual chairs, even though it’s been awhile since they both sat there, just the two of them.  He fixes her with a searching look.  “What is it, Pam?”

            Her eyes move instinctively down to her folded hands, but the word courage echoes in her eardrums, so she forces them upward.  “Well we broke up.  Obviously.  I mean…that was so stupid in the first place…”  She trails off, embarrassed, and is surprised by the momentary change in Jim’s face.  An almost bitter, ‘well, duh’ sort of expression.  It shakes her briefly, but then she’s able to keep going.  “Anyway, I…I told him about us.”  Jim’s eyes widen a little, a million questions on his face.  “Casino Night.  I thought…I thought if I could just be honest I could get past….”  She trails off again, because she can’t see how to get from here to where she ultimately hopes to get: the real truth.

            She just plunges ahead.  “He didn’t take it well.  Obviously.  But I had no idea he’d….”  She winces a little.  “I never meant for you to get hurt.”  He looks away briefly.  “But it was all my fault.  Because…if I’m going to be honest, I shouldn’t have started with him, not when I still haven’t been honest with…with you.”

            That gets his eyes back on her; in fact, he’s almost leaning forward, his eyes darting all over her face in a scrutinizing manner.

            “Jim…”  There’s a catch in her voice suddenly.  Pam closes her eyes briefly; there’s a lot more she could say, keep rambling for awhile, but why bother?  Just say it.  Be honest.  God, nothing would be more honest. 

            Her voice is a whisper, but the impact is strong.  “Jim, I’m in love with you.”

            He leans back, immediately, as if he’d been hit with the weight of the words.  That’s the only change, though; his expression doesn’t waver, his eyes don’t leave hers.

            Pam has to fight the urge to keep talking.  Talk about how she knows it’s the wrong time, how she’s been in love with him for so long, how she’s sorry she was too stupid to realize.  How she wants a second change.  But she does fight it, preferring to just let the words echo around them while she wait for his reaction, overly aware of every resounding beat of her heart.

            Two excruciating minutes of silence pass between as Jim just looks at her expressionless, and finally Pam tentatively ventures, “Jim?”  No change.  “Jim, please…just tell me what you’re thinking.”

            Another minutes passes, and the most eventful occurrence is that Jim folds his arms in front of him and tips his chair back slightly.

            More desperate this time, she says, “Jim, please-“

            The door to the break room swings open and Karen’s there.  “Jim?”

            “Yeah, coming.”  He practically leaps from the chair and doesn’t spare Pam a backward glance as he speed walks from the room.

            Pam sits, stunned, staring after him.  She blinks back tears, sick of crying but unable to stop it.  That’s not how that was supposed to go. 

            Time stands still. 

            And she’s stuck in the most horrifying, dizzying moment.

Chapter Two 

            He doesn’t look at her for the rest of the day.  He goes out of his way to avoid reception, as well as the break room.  He talks to Karen, his smiles too wide and his laughs too loud.

            He pretends not to notice Pam’s hurt, uncertain glances.  He pretends to be engaged in conversation and dinner plans with Karen. 

            He pretends it didn’t happen.

            He begs to take the two sales calls.  Michael insists that they can shove them off on Ryan or Dwight, but Jim’s adamant.  He wants to get out of the office.  Needs to.

            Michael seems to think he’s worried about another attack, because he mentions a few times that security’s been told to look out for Roy.  Jim lets him think it; anything to get out of here.

            But, obviously, it’s not Roy that’s making him want to leave.  It’s the look Pam gave him as he trailed behind Karen into the office that morning.  She’d glanced at him only briefly; not even an angry look, really:  just sort of stunned, almost like Jim had been the one to enter the office waving his fists, and definitely hurt.    The anger had been apparent later, however; he’d caught her gaze for a split second about thirty minutes after his arrival, and the hurt had faded into fury.

            All of this is making Jim suffocate in the guilt he’d done a halfway decent job of suppressing since yesterday. 

             So, he takes the calls.  They’ll keep him out all day, and Michael needed him to do some paperwork at some point.  He assures Michael he’ll stop by after the sales calls “even if it’s after hours”.

            Finally, Michael gives him the okay.

            Jim barely mutters something to Karen about seeing her later that night, and he runs past reception, sarcastically congratulating himself on his subtlety.

            Maybe the sales calls weren’t such a good idea; the first one is a good thirty minute drive from Dunder Mifflin, and it’s way too much time for reflection.

            Jim, I’m in love with you.

            He’d imagined it, before, even since he’d come back.  Always after a happy moment: noticing the barely suppressed glee in her eyes when he’d sent Andy to her with the horrible information, standing next to her, wearing a sombrero, and giggling at a hole in the wall…he’d allowed himself a brief, too-good-to-be-true fantasy in which she told she felt the same.

            There had always been more than just the simple declaration, and even in his fantasies it had always taken coaxing to make her say it. 

            The problem with the simplicity, with the way it seemed to come out of nowhere (ever since the wedding, when he’d seen her leave with Roy, there had been no happy moments, and therefore no fantasizing), was that is was easier for him to push aside.

            Jim isn’t even sure himself why he’s so hell bent on forgetting it: the very thing he’s waited so long to hear.  He just knows that in the moment, the moment that was supposed to be perfect, he hadn’t been able to feel anything but shocked and, eventually, panicked. 

And he hadn’t been able to think of a damn thing to say.

*  *  *  *

“Michael?”  Pam forces casualty into her voice.  “Where did Jim go?”  Her voice is low, so as to keep Karen from spinning around to stare at her, something she had a habit of doing if Pam or Jim ever talked, or if Pam ever said anything related to Jim, even if it was just something about a phone call or a message.

Michael, unfortunately, does not mirror her efforts.  “Jimbo?”  Ah, yes, there’s Karen.  “He went on a couple of sales calls for me.  Was practically begging for ‘em.  Think he’s still a little nervous about being in here, after yesterday.  Better to be a moving target.”

“He’s not scared.”  Karen says suddenly, with a touch more venom than seems necessary.  She’s glaring, for some reason, at Pam instead of Michael.

“Of course not.”  Michael says dismissively, before turning back to Pam, his eyes shining.  “And he shouldn’t be, right?  He’s got plenty of people to defend him, right?”  He winks at her before walking off, but Pam had barely gotten past Michael initial reply.

            A new wave of fury chokes her; so he’d been practically begging to get out of the office?  Michael had been right about calling Jim’s courage into question, but like Karen, Pam knew it wasn’t Roy Jim was afraid of facing.

            Pam had spent yesterday afternoon in stunned disbelief.  She knows by now that things never turn out as great as you expect; still, she could never have imagined that scenario playing out.

            By nightfall, the numbness and shock had faded a little, and raw, intense pain had settled over her.  She’d been up half the night crying (something she’d gotten more and more accustomed to in the recent past), and by this morning, all that pain had been able to manifest itself into a rage that was unequaled by anything Pam had ever felt before.

            Needless to say, she doesn’t get much done today.  And toward the end of the day, when Michael, as he’s leaving, mentions that Jim will be stopping by pretty soon to take care of some work, Pam knows that this kind of anger is not going to be wasted.   She’s in rare form, and that should result in some honesty…she’s not going to let him pretend yesterday didn’t happen, not when it had been so hard for her.

            That’s why, at six fifteen, when Jim opens to door to the office, he freezes; Pam’s sitting at her desk, not even pretending to work.

            Taken aback by her presence, Jim stands frozen for a moment, then moves past reception toward his desk, as though he’s pretending the office is either empty or full; either way, it’s not just the two of them.

            The work Michael had been so insistent that he do takes all of fifteen minutes, and when he’s finished, she’s still there, sitting at her desk, glaring at him. 

            Jim sits awkwardly for a few minutes, ruffling papers, hoping she’ll leave before him, though it’s clear that’s not going to happen; Pam’s stayed for a reason, and she’s not backing down.

            Finally, Jim stands, forces a smile and, carrying to façade as long as he can, waves goodbye.

            “Wait.”  Her voice is quiet, but it’s sharp and commanding, highly reminiscent of her voice yesterday, when she’d told Roy not to touch him.  Jim briefly considers bolting anyway, but is instantly disgusted at himself for the thought.  Self respect finally kicks in.

            He turns to look at her, not speaking.  Pam’s leaning back in her desk chair, arms folded across her chest, the livid expression seeming out of place on her normally calm features.

            She wants him to speak, wants him to ask her what she wants, anything to break his silence.  When he doesn’t, Pam finds she isn’t sure where to start.  She finally stands, leaning forward on her desk, and splutters angrily, “How dare you?”

            He’s taken aback; Jim’s never heard her speak like this.  “Wha…”

            Anxious to remove any sort of boundary between them, both physically and metaphorically, Pam walks around the desk and approaches him.  “How dare you treat me like this?”  Jim stands still, watching her with an irritatingly calm expression.  “I told you I love you, to your face, and you just sit there?  You stare at me for awhile and then walk off with your perfect little girlfriend like nothing happened?” 

Her voice drips venom and Pam savors it; it feels good getting the words that have been in her head all day out in the open.  “How fucking dare you, Jim?!  I’ve wasted so much damn time feeling guilty about how I handled it last May, and I know that I handled it all wrong but at least I said something! At least I wasn’t such a fucking coward that I just ignored it-“

            “Hey!”  Jim finds his voice unexpectedly, and it’s defensive.  “Don’t you dare call me a coward, Pam, because it took a hell of a lot of courage to even tell you that night-“

            “Oh, right, you were so brave, Jim.”  Sarcasm and bitterness are an effective combination, Pam realizes.  “You told me after feeling it for God knows how long, and when you told me you made sure you had an escape plan!  You had an out that assured you that if I didn’t give you the exact answer you wanted at the exact time you chose, you never had to see me again if you didn’t want to!  Bravo.”  She practically growls the last word; she’s held these sentiments for much longer than the past day, and it feels good to release them. 

            Jim gapes at her, dumbfounded and speechless, so Pam presses on.  “Well, guess what?  I told you yesterday, no escape plan, no anything.  I was here today, not in an entirely different state!”

            “Don’t…don’t…”  He splutters incoherently at her, trying to make his words match the anger that’s swelling in him.

            “Don’t what?”  Pam snaps impatiently.

            “Don’t act like you’re so brave.”

            Throat raw from shouting, Pam lowers her voice’s volume but not the intensity.  “I’m not.  But the fact is, I’m not the one always running.  You ran last May, and you even ran out today.”

            “I…I had a sales call.”  His protest is somewhat feeble.  The fact is, part of him knows that everything’s she’s saying is dead on, but his pride isn’t letting him admit that, not now, not after so long of ignoring his pride for his heart when it came to her.

            “Please, Michael told me you were begging to get out of here.  It’s pathetic.  So while you were out on your sales call I was right here, with your girlfriend shooting me death glares and everyone else whispering about what happened yesterday.  And last May, while you were in Connecticut, I was still right here, calling off a wedding with my fiancée of nine years and dealing with more change than I’d ever dealt with in my life, and doing all of that without my best friend-“

            Running out of arguments, Jim repeats bitterly, “Best friend…”

            “Yeah!  My best friend, that was you.  Until that day, we’d been great, and you were the only thing that made getting up for work every morning worth it.  And then all of sudden, you change everything in one night, and you expect me to make the biggest decision of my life within a ten minute window of opportunity that you then shut, apparently forever, and then you’re just gone.” 

She pauses, letting the weight of that word sink in, and though the anger has not left her voice, there’s a catch in it to match the stubborn tears clinging onto her eyelashes. “Gone, without a word or…or anything.  As if you didn’t care about any of the rest of it.  As if the past three years meant nothing to you anymore.”  She stops again, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and for the first time her voice is devoid of all anger.  “If you think that didn’t hurt like hell, then you don’t know me at all.”

            They’re quiet for awhile after that, just looking at each other.  Jim has honestly never thought of it like that before; he’d been too wrapped up in his own broken heart to give much consideration to what he was doing to Pam.  She was right, though; no matter how she’d felt or what she’d said, she’d been his best friend for three years.  He’d owed her more than that.

            Finally Pam speaks again, her voice still quiet.  “Look, I…I made a mistake.  But I wasn’t the bad guy there, Jim.  I was confused, and yeah, I wasn’t brave enough to realize what I wanted, and I probably should have figured it out so much earlier but…but, damn it, Jim, I’m trying here.  I’ve been trying since you came back, and it’s like I don’t even know you anymore.  Sometimes we’re fine, like we used to be, but the rest of it, it’s like we were never friends, or like I’m some kind of villain to you and I…I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, and then for you to just ignore it…”  She trails off, her eyes begging him to say the perfect thing, like he had always been able to. 

            Jim jerks his eyes from her and stares at the wall instead.  “Maybe it’s too late.”

            There’s a pause, and then Pam replies, the anger creeping back into her voice, “Then you should have just said that.”

            “Fine.”  He looks at her, trying to make his voice sound sure of himself, confident.  Because he’s (almost) sure now, why he hadn’t been happy when she’d told him yesterday.  He can’t let the past months have been a waste.  Not when he’s been trying so hard to move on, even succeeding at times.  Not when he’d spent so much time changing, trying to better himself.  He didn’t want to admit that it was all a lie.   “I’ve changed.”

            Pam stares at him, waiting in vain for him to take it back.  When he doesn’t say anything else, she sets her jaw and quickly brushes her hand at the first tear to actually fall.  Then she spats, “You told me.  You’re evolving.”  Mocking him, she repeats the word.  “Evolving.  Right.  With your bottled water and tuna sandwiches and your suits.  Big fucking deal, Jim.  Does that make you feel different?  Is that really the secret to moving on so damn fast?”

            “What?”

            Her voice shaking, Pam continues, “You leave the state for a few months and come back eating a new kind of sandwich, drinking a different drink, and suddenly you’re over it?”  There’s no need to clarify what she means.  “Because, you know, I’ve tried a few dietary changes and it hasn’t really done anything for me.  If there are any other tricks you’ve used, I’d sure appreciate them-“

            “Shut up!”   He won’t take this from her.  He won’t let her sit here implying that it wasn’t a big deal to him, that he got over her too fast.

            “I just feel bad for Karen.”  Pam wants him angry.  Those two words, too late, had hurt her far more deeply than she’ll let on to him, and now she wants to make him angry.  “She’s just another prop in your stupid evolution.  Goes right along with bottled water, huh, Jim?”

            “Don’t bring her into this!”  He snaps, the fury contorting his face more from her earlier insinuations than her mention of Karen.  Still, he knows which topic will hurt her more.  “Just because you can’t handle the fact that I’m with someone else-“

            “OH, right, because you were so fine with it-“

            “There’s a difference.”  He shoots back, grinning nastily at her.    “At least when I had feelings for you-“  She winces at the tense on had, but he doesn’t notice.  “-and you were with Roy, I knew he wasn’t right for you.  I knew I was better.”  Pam makes a face like she’s about to protest, but Jim doesn’t give her a chance.  “He treated you like shit, ignoring your feelings and only caring about you when it was convenient for him.  I knew I would have treated you better than that.”  He pauses.  “But you can’t face the face that Karen and I aren’t like that.  You can’t deal with the fact that she’s perfect for me, that you don’t have anything over her, that we might be-“  The words meant to be together die in his throat, never even making it to his lips, when he sees the look on Pam’s face.

            The tears she’d been putting in so much effort to keep back are pouring down her cheeks while Pam seems oblivious to them; the look she’s giving him could not be worse if Jim had pulled out a gun and held it to her temple.  Apologies and assurances that it was all a lie, that he’d give anything to turn Karen into her, anything to wipe that look off her face.

            Her voice is choked with suppressed sobs as she whispers at him, “Get out.”

            Jim doesn’t move, wanting to point out that it’s their office, not her apartment, and so her throwing him out doesn’t mean much.  Instead, he stands stupidly in front of her, lips parted slightly as if prepared for any of the apologies; it’s useless, though…something inside of him won’t let the apologies out.

            “I mean it, Jim, leave.  Now.”  She’s sobbing now, really sobbing.  Jim has a feeling that him being there is making it worse, and for the moment, the last thing he wants is to hurt her anymore.

            “Okay…”  He moves numbly away from her, out the door, but doesn’t make it to the elevator; he falls against the wall opposite the elevator doors and holds his head in his hands.

*  *  *  *

That night, while Karen sleeps next to him, Jim goes over the entire fight in his mind, trying desperately to ease his guilt.  He’d said that deliberately to hurt her, and he hates himself for it; but she’d said things like that, too.  She’d been angry, too, and unfair to him.

By focusing on the moments Pam had made him angry, rather than the ones that made him wallow in self disgust, Jim’s able to regain some of his anger at her, as a way of easing the overwhelming guilt.

He’s getting shockingly good at denial.  Because the logical part of him knows that everything she’d said had been brutally honest; whereas he’d told straight out lies with the intention of hurting her.  However, this isn’t the part he listens to.

Jim turns over on his stomach and groans into his pillow.  He feels as if he’s slowly losing grip on sanity, because none of his actions since yesterday have a logical explanation.  He can’t believe himself that a moment that he’d once envisioned as fairy tale kind of beginning, Pam’s declaration of love, had left him so under whelmed, or turned him into such an asshole.  

He groans again.  The truth is, the romantic in him has been dying a slow and painful death since last May. 

In the fairy tales and chick flicks, a declaration of love weeks before a wedding yields immediate results.  The girl never breaks up her wedding after the hero moves away unless she gets on a plane and immediately tells him about it.  The words “I’m in love with you” are never met with silence and numbness.

*  *  *  *

            Pam sits in the office, her back against her desk, crying for a goof half hour before she finally goes home. 

            It’s not different there; she just cries more.

            Pam hates the very conflicting feelings she’s going through: she both hates Jim, for deliberately hurting her and telling her he’d changed with such apathy, and loves him, because nothing’s changed there.  She thought the two didn’t mix, had always regarded them as opposites, but apparently it is possible to feel them both very strongly for the same person at the same time.

            She’s laying on her couch an hour after getting home when the doorbell rings and her heart lifts slightly. 

            She’s never been much for chick flicks, but right now all she wants is a chick flick moment.  In a good chick flick, Jim would be there, his eyes broken and sorry, and he’d tell her he was wrong, tell her he still loved her.  She’d cry some more, but the good kind of tears, and they’d kiss, and everything would be perfect…

            Pam opens the door and her heart drops into her stomach.  Roy’s there, leaning against the door frame, and instantly he’s slurring drunkenly at her, his eyes holding the same anger she’d seen yesterday in the office, when this whole mess started.

Staring right back in the face
A memory can't be erased
I know, because I tried
Start to feel the emptiness
And everything I'm gonna miss
I know, that I can't hide

All this time is passing by
I think it's time to just move on

When you come back down
If you land on your feet
I hope you find a way to make it back to me
When you come around
I'll be there for you
Don't have to be alone with what you're going through

            Roy's eyes blaze with rage; the alcohol he's quite obviously consumed enhances the wild animal quality that had already been present yesterday in the office.

            Pam stands for a second, listening to Roy slur at her. "Ya know they fired me?"

            "Shocking."  She murmurs, her voice dripping with weariness.  Roy shoves past her into the apartment.  Pam tries to recapture the forceful and commanding tone she'd used on him in the office yesterday, but the day's events have left her emotionally drained.  She can barely summon even mild irritation as she asks, "What do you want?"

            Roy, with a tiring predictability,  ignores the question and continues his rant.  "Fired me!  Fired me, Pam!  And all I got was one lousy punch!  Sooooo I figure.. if I gotta lose my job, better make it worth it."

            Though this statement should probably set off some sort of alarm, Pam simply sighs, standing pointedly by the open door, and says, "That still doesn't explain why you're here."  She is in no condition to deal with Roy's train wreck...she's got her own.  With Jim's words still echoing painfully in her mind, all she wants is to get Roy out of here, go to sleep and, hopefully, dream of nothing. 

            "I was on my way to Halperts.  I passed your place.  I figured there'd be just as good of a chance of finding him here..."

            The revelation of Roy's initial destination, coupled with the dawning realization of his purpose, has finally stirred some fear.  She closes the door.  "Jim isn't here."  She's surprised at just how much it hurts to simply say his name.

            "Then I guess I'll go!"  Roy turns on his heel and heads back for the doorway, stumbling slightly in his hurry; the momentary lapse gives Pam time to put her back against the door.

            "You aren't going anywhere like that."  Her voice is flat.  "Go to the kitchen, and I'll give you some coffee.  Just for a few minutes." 

            "No!"

            Her tone firm, she responds, "Yes.  Otherwise I'll call the cops."

            Roy's eyes slide over her face, his gaze strangely unfocused.  Finally he says, "Okay.  But just...minutes.  Then I'm goin'."

            "Fine."  Pam nods, then takes Roy's arm and steers him in the direction of her kitchen.  Watching him walk awkwardly through the living room, Pam lingers in the hallway, uncertain of what to do.

            She almost calls the cops.  But the thing is, Pam's had more experience than she cares to remember with a drunk and angry Roy.  And in the past, he was all talk.  She didn't really want to get him arrested for what most likely were empty threats. 

            Still, she gets out her cell phone and dials Jim, not thrilled about having to talk to him so soon after the fight. 

            After four rings, his voice mail comes on.  After a moment's hesitation, she leaves a message, "Jim, it's me.  Roy's over here, drunk and pissed.  He's talking about coming over to your place to finish what he started or something.  He's probably just talking out of his ass, but...if I were you, I'd take Karen and go somewhere else."  She can't conceal the bitterness in her tone or stop the nauseous feeling that overtakes her when she imagines him and Karen together.  "Anyway, just thought I'd warn you."  She withdraws the phone from her ear, poised to push the End button, but then adds, "If you could just...text me or something to let me know you get this...well, bye."  She hangs up.

            As Pam moves to follow Roy into the kitchen, she can't shake a feeling of uneasiness.  In her experience, Jim almost always has his cell phone close by, and usually checks it habitually every few minutes, even if it's not with him or if it's on silent.  So there shouldn't be a problem. 

            But...

            What if he doesn't listen?  What if he didn't answer because of the fight, and what if he doesn't bother listening to the message?

            Pam shivers involuntarily, and then forces herself to shake the thoughts off.  She remembers Jim's expression of guilt when she'd lost it, after the Karen comments.  He hadn't been angry.  And besides, he'll see that if she's calling him after such a blow out, it must be important. 

            Right?

            Right.

*  *  *   *  *

            Jim's still lying awake, Karen's even breathing next to him becoming more and more unbearable, when his cell phone rings.

            One hand fumbles for the bedside table and closes over his phone.  Holding it in front of his face, he sees "Pam Calling" flash across the screen.

            Several thoughts and emotions run through in mind in the next two seconds, from curiosity (As pissed off as she was, why would she call?) to anger (After that fight she wants to wait a few hours before calling?). 

            He's stuck on the curiosity momentarily.  Pam was much angrier at him, after that last comment about Karen, then he'd been at her.  So why would she break the silence?

            Then the anger resurfaces to answer the question.  She knows I'm probably with Karen now.  She just wants to cause problems.  Why else would she call me?

            Ignoring the uncertainty screaming from some dark corner of his mind, Jim ignores the phone.  Moments later, the words "One New Voicemail" come onto the screen.

            Nice try. His fingers moving clumsily, he deletes the voicemail without listening to it.

            I can be angry, too.

*  *  *  *  *

She steps into the kitchen and lets out a strangled yell of protest.  Roy's removed the three beers she'd had in the fridge since forever, and it's clear from the massive pile of broken glass that he's gone quickly through the first two.  The third bottle is tipped backwards, halfway empty, the remaining liquid being poured quickly into his mouth.

            Pam steps forward and seizes his right arm with both hands.  "You...don't....need....anymore."  She's panting with effort but finally jerks it from his clumsy grasp.  "Now sit down and I'll give you some coffee."   She hates Roy right now, for choosing tonight of all times to do this...

            "NO!  Screw coffee..."  He shoves one of the kitchen chairs out of his way and stalks out of the kitchen.  Pam quickly follows him, pulse racing, and is just able to squeeze between him and the door.

            "Roy, Roy, no...I swear I will call the cops..."  Pam can feel the weight of her cell phone in her jacket pocket, and silently wills it to buzz to alert a text or call from Jim. 

            "So what?  Call the goddamn cops!  Call the whole National Fucking Guard, I don't give a shit!  So move over."

            She keeps shaking her head, and finally Roy seizes her by the arm, his fingers closing easily around her skin and gripping hard. 

            Pam tenses instantly.  After a moment of silence, she spats angrily, "When the hell are you going to stop this shit, Roy, because it's getting really fucking old."

            "What're ya talking about?"

            "You never deal with anything!  You get drunk, and you either go crazy or you ignore it!  You can't even deal with your own problems like an adult.  When are you going to grow the hell up and be-"

            "What?"  Roy's face twists, and it's the angriest his eyes have looked all night.  "Be like Halpert?"  He spits Jim's last name out with disgust and bitterness, and Pam's suddenly frozen, the look in his eyes scaring her.  "Is that what you want, Pammy?  For me to be like your precious, precious Halpert?"  He grabs her other arm as well and puts his face inches from hers, roaring, "TOO BAD FOR YOU CUZ IT AIN'T HAPPENING!!!" 

            Then she's on the floor.

*  *  *  *  *

            Jim barely says two words to Karen from the time they wake up to the moment they enter the office.  She shoots him sideways glances, and often has a look like she's about to speak, but she never does.

            He doesn't care.  It's as if his words last night to Pam, all of them, had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he's unable to stop the grimace that accompanies it.

            Pam isn't there when they walk in, even though they arrive later than she usually does, a fact that makes the painful knot in Jim's stomach tighten.  He'd thought it would be horrible facing her this morning, but her absence hits him as hard as he imagined her presence would have; the fact that she may not have come, and what that meant...

            He must have hurt her more than he'd thought.  No, Jim.  Gritting his teeth, Jim wills himself, once again, to forget the guilt. 

            Michael comes walking out of his office with a solemn look on his face.  Fear seizes Jim unexpectedly; she'd yelled at him for running, said she didn't have an "escape plan" but what if she had?  What if she'd quit, transferred, something?

            He pushes the thought from his mind.  There's no way, not after all the crap she'd given him about the escape plan...

            He attempts to side step Michael and follow Karen to their desks, but Michael puts out a hand to stop him.  "Hold on a sec, Jim."  He raises his voice.  "I have an announcement.  Pam's going to be out for the rest of the week, at least."  In his immense relief, Jim is able to return to his guiltless state.  She calls me a coward for running out yesterday?! 

Then Michael continues with, "She's in the hospital", and suddenly everything's changed.

Michael's voice is dramatic.  "Roy was arrested last night.  He got drunk, showed up at her apartment and apparently beat her up pretty bad, in the middle of the night."  There are gasps.

            Jim's heart drops to his stomach, and the room is suddenly dissolving into blackness, Michael's voice echoing from somewhere above him.  His hands reach forward out of instinct and grip the nearest desk.

            The phone call...somewhere in the dimness of his mind, the memory of the missed phone call and the deleted voice come screaming back to him, and all of sudden he's shoving Michael out of his way in order to stumble into the break room and vomit.

Jim crouches on the floor, sweat dripping from his face, his entire body trembling violently.  He's barely aware that the trash can is right next to the door, which is still propped open, and the entire office has gone silent.

            He'd ignored that phone call.

            Cradling his head in his arms, Jim lets the tears he hadn't realized were gathered in his eyes fall, mingling with the cool sweat.  He beings to hear some sort of half-gasp, half-sob, and it takes a few times before he realizes it's coming from him.

            He doesn't know how long he stays there, but it can't be long; Karen's hand touches his back but instantly withdraws.  "Jim?"

            It's enough to make him stand up.  However, he rebuffs her attempts at questioning to march out into the office, ignoring the fact that his face is now tear-streaked and that, when he approaches Michael, his voice won't stay steady.  "What hospital?"  It's not a request, but a demand. 

            Michael looks a little afraid.  He mumbles the name of the hospital, and then hastens to add,  "Jim, man, they said she's going to be fine, just needs some rest and-"

            But Jim's already on his way to the door.  Karen hesitates for only a minute before following him. 

            He's waiting on the elevator when she catches up.  "Jim, what-"

            "I'm going to see her."  He answers her unfinished question defiantly.

            "Okay..."  Karen pauses.  "Okay, I'll come with you."

            "No."  The word's out too quickly, and a combination of hurt and anger flashes on Karen's face.  "That's not necessary."  He doesn't care that he's being blunt; all he cares about is getting to Pam.

            He steps into the elevator without another word, and watches her disappear as the doors close.

*  *  *  *  *

            He's directed to her room number at the hospital, and when he gets outside of it, Pam's mother is there, hanging up a cell phone, leaning against a wall just outside the closed door.  Her eyes are tired and sad, her face carrying the obviously difficult weight of the night.

            She looks up, takes one look at the terrified expression on Jim's face, and says simply.  "You're Jim." 

            It's not a question, but he nods anyway.  He's never been formally introduced to the woman standing in front of him, but it's not necessary, somehow. 

            "Is she...how...um..."  His words seem to stumble out of his mouth, coherency apparently lost.

            Mrs. Beesly puts a hand on his arm.  "She'll be fine."  She informs him gently.  "The worst of it's some broken ribs and a mild concussion."  Unimaginable rage chokes Jim suddenly, imagining Roy doing this to her.  Then he remembers the phone call and turns his rage on himself.  "But she's doing fine."

            "They...Michael just told us at, at work.  I needed to see her..."  His voice trails off uncertainly; he doesn't even know why he feels the need to explain.

            Pam's mother smiles warmly at him.  "I'm glad you came.  She'll want to see her best friend."

            The last two words hit him with full force; the lump in his throat breaks quickly and, to his intense embarrassment, he gasps quietly, tears stinging his eyes, maybe falling, Jim's not sure.

            He looks away instantly, blinking rapidly.  He mumbles something about being sorry.

            Her hand still on his arm, Mrs. Beesly gives it a quick, reassuring squeeze.  "She's awake, you should go see her."

            Words echo in his mind, words he'd said to her and words she'd said to him.  He wants to see her.  He isn't sure she wants to see him.

            But he nods emphatically, trying to control his raw, uneven gasps for breath.  Pam's mom nods once at the doorway, and Jim walks shakily toward it, grasps the handle and enters.

            Pam's sitting in the bed, the covers unmade but thrown off her; her knees are drawn up, not quite against her chest but close.  The television mounted on the wall is turned on, the chattering of voice low.  She's not looking at it, however; she doesn't seem to be looking at anything.

            Jim feels an instant relief, because her face doesn't look bad.  He knows it doesn't matter, not really, but he had been worried she'd look horribly beaten.  The only indication, really, is the brace on her right hand, and one bruise on her right cheek, in the same place the one she'd gotten defending him two days ago had been.

            As Jim takes a few steps closer, though, there's more that betrays the trauma.  The expression on her face is heartbreakingly lost and fragile; her position in the bed further adds to the child like quality. 

            "Pam..."  He breathes in a voice that doesn't sound like himself.  It's a thanks, a plead, a confession...thousands of interpretations of the way he says her name.

            She glances at him as though she's just realized his entrance.  "Oh." 

            Jim blinks uncertainly.  That's all?  Just ‘oh'?  The dead tone of her voice is somehow worse than if she'd yelled at him.  She has to be thinking about the phone call.

            "Pam..."  This time, his voice is just uncertain.  "Pam, I'm so...God, you have no idea..."

            "It's fine."  Her voice is still flat.

            He can't help it; Jim goes closer to the bed and, because there's no chair close by, kneels next to it, staring at her, desperately trying to convey how horrible he feels.  Something like  flashes briefly in her eyes, but just as quickly as it came, the look is gone...before he could even understand what it meant.

            "Hey..."  Jim reaches out and gently tips her face around to look at him, and she tenses instantly.  Open up to me, Pam.  "How are you."

            Pam's mouth twists a little, but her voice is steady.  "Fine."

            Jim nearly groans in frustration.  "Pam about the phone call...God, if I'd known-"

            "You couldn't have."

            "But...look I feel so-"

            "Well, don't."  Her voice continues to be devoid of all emotion, but her eyes are suddenly fierce.  "I wasn't even calling for help, if that's what you thought.  Roy was planning on going to find you.  I was just going to tell you to go somewhere."  Responding to the stricken, shocked look on Jim's face, she just said.  "It's all in the voicemail."

            "Yeah, I..."  He pauses.  "I kind of deleted that."

            Pam grimaces a little, but then glances at him blankly (for most the conversation, she's stared at the wall beyond Jim).  "Well, it doesn't matter.  You didn't know."

            Continuing babbling, he said, "It's just that after our fight I didn't think...I don't know, I guess I was pissed."  Pam's face changes again, briefly. 

            "It doesn't matter.  You couldn't have done anything...I was just calling to tell you to move somewhere for awhile."

            As if he doesn't feel guilty enough.  Even though she's the one who'd pissed at him last night, she'd tried to call and warn him. 

            "Yeah..."  he said in a quiet voice.  "But if I'd known he was there and drunk I wouldn't..."  He pauses; is there even any point in saying it?  "I wouldn't have let you stay there... I would've done something."

            Pam looks down at the bed sheets, and when she looks up, the blank look is gone, only to be replaced by raw pain, and her eyes have filled with tears.  "Yeah, I know that."

            Jim's sure he hates himself; he hates himself for saying what he had last night, and he hates himself for assuming the worst from her.  He hates himself for letting this happen.

            He closes his eyes for a moment.  He can't see a way to fix this.

            When he opens his eyes, Pam's turned so her back is too him.  He tentatively places a hand on her shoulder, and she shakes him off; however, he has time to notice how violently she was shaking. 

            He wonders if she's crying.

            "Pam."

            "It's fine."  Her voice has gone back to that infuriatingly emotionless tone, although it's barely audible anymore.  He wishes she'd stop using that word.

            The silence is killing him, so he keeps talking, standing up at the same time, trying to explain.  "It's just that I knew how mad you were.  And you should have been, Pam, I never meant...I didn't mean it.  Anyway, I knew how mad you were at me, and I figured if you were calling so soon after that, it was probably just so Karen would see and-"

            "What?"  She whirls to look at him, then winces; the sudden movement was obviously painful.  There are tears on her cheeks, confirming Jim's suspicion that she'd turned because she was crying; but, now, her eyes are devoid of anything except for fury.

            Jim instantly realizes his mistake.  "What I meant-"

            "You didn't answer the phone because you assumed I was calling you out of spite, to get you in trouble with your girlfriend?!  Since when am I that person?  Do you even...my God, Jim!"

            Hearing her say it makes him realize how right she is.  He answers in a choked voice, "Pam, believe me, if I could change it-"

            "What if...what if he'd actually done something to you Jim?"

            "I wish he had!"  He furiously blinks back tears, knowing she can tell and not really caring.  "I wish he had, as long as he hadn't touched you."

            "If he had, I would have had to carry that guilt, that it was because of me.  When really it was because you thought I was just being petty?!"  The volume of her voice increases the more she speaks.  "You mean none of this had to happen at all?!"

            "Pam..."  His voice trembles, and he crouches down again, reaching for her uninjured hand.  "Pam, please...you know I'd never..."

            She jerks her hand back, and for a moment they look at each other, each through a window of tears.  "Except you did."  A tear slips from his eye at her whispered remark. 

She continues, "Jim, last night you were so mad at me you said...you said things you knew would hurt me, for the specific purpose of hurting me, and I've never done anything to hurt you on purpose."  She pauses, as though expecting him to deny either of the statements, but he doesn't.  "And all I did to make you that mad was tell you that I love you.  And if you were that mad, it shouldn't change because I got hurt.  So I don't want you guilt or your pity I just...I just want you to leave."  He doesn't move.  "I mean it, get out.  Go back to Karen.  Yesterday you were hell bent on avoiding me, so I'm going to help you out."

Jim shakily gets to his feet, turns and walks stiffly to the door.  He turns before exiting and starts to say something, only to find his voice isn't working properly.

So he leaves.

He walks swiftly through the waiting room, fully aware his face is wet with tears, barely mumbling a goodbye to Pam's mother.

Bewildered, Mrs. Beesly watches Jim go, and then quickly enters her daughter's room.  Pam's hands are covering her face, and her shoulders are shaking with sobs.  Even in her concern for her daughter, it strikes Mrs. Beesly that this is the most emotion Pam's shown since they'd gotten to the hospital.  "Baby, what happened..."

Pam just shakes her head; her mother closes the door to the hospital room and moves next to her daughter on the bed, wrapping her arms around Pam, who cries into her shoulder like she was four years old again.

After about five minutes of this, Pam's calmed down enough for her mother to gently ask, "Pam?  What happened?"

Struggling to breathe, Pam draws back slightly to look at her mother.  "Mom, how come every thing he says hurts so much worse than anything Roy did to me last night?"

Her heart breaking for her daughter, Mrs. Bessly simply strokes Pam's hair and says, "Oh, sweetie..."  She doesn't tell her the answer, although she knows it.

Because you love him. And sometimes that hurts more than anything in the world.

*  *  *  *  *  *

For the next week, Jim moves on autopilot.  Karen wants to have another "talk" with him in response to his reaction to Michael's announcement, but luckily for Jim, the talk barely gets started...apparently, even Karen can't find a delicate way to accuse him of "caring too much" that Pam was in the hospital.

So all week long, he's numb to every thing around him.  Instead, Jim's stuck in several moments: Pam's initial confession, the fight, the phone call he'd ignored, and finally, the hospital.  All of it plays repetitively in his mind.

Monday, Pam comes back to work.  Everyone in the office crowds around her with hugs and ‘welcome backs', though Jim lingers at his desk.  He can't help but notice that Karen stays back, too.

When the fuss around reception dies down, Jim stands uncertainly and walks over to her desk, pressing his palms down next to the jellybean container habitually, and tries to smile.  She stares through him.

"Hey, Pam."

"Hi."  Her voice is clipped, dismissive.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine."  Her fingers fly across the keyboard, her gaze now locked on the screen.  Never before has he seen her so engrossed in her work.

"Well..."  The heat is rising to his cheeks now and, unable to think of anything else to say, he steps back.  "Good."  He walks to his desk, noting that the rhythm of her typing breaks as soon as he's a few feet away.

Jim's irritatingly aware of her presence throughout the day, and he's not getting anything done.  Guilt is eating away his insides, and soon he'll properly drowning in self-loathing.

A few times, Pam glances at him, and almost every time, he's staring at her. At the end of the day, he can't take it anymore, and opens his e-mail account, selects New Message and selects Pam as the recipient.  He's typed two lines (Can we please talk after work sometime?  It's really important to me.  Jim) and is about to click send when he sees a new e-mail appear in his inbox from Pam.

Temporarily minimizing his unsent e-mail, he eagerly opens the new on.  It contains three words.

Roof after work.

It's not a question.  It's not friendly.  Yet it fills Jim with hope; maybe she won't hate him forever.  Maybe they can move past this.

He doesn't flinch later when he tells Karen he's going to stay a little late and then head home early.  He can see her suspicion, and she hangs around a little longer than necessary.  However, when Pam grabs her coat and leaves the office, Karen seems to relax; she leaves two minutes later.

Jim doesn't wait long after her departure before heading out himself, though instead of the parking lot, he goes for the roof.

Pam's there, standing on the far side of the roof, staring off into nothingness.  Jim half-smiles awkwardly; she doesn't return it.

He takes a few steps closer, looking around.  To fill the silence, he observes, "Guess they moved the lawn chairs."

Pam gives no indication of hearing him; she stares over the edge of the roof, out into the distance where they'd once watched Dwight and Kevin jump over pathetic little fireworks.    Jim shoves his hands in his pockets; she obviously didn't call him up here for light conversation.

Finally, Pam speaks, "I don't want you to feel guilty anymore.  About what happened."  Jim starts to speak, apologize again or explain how he didn't mean it, but something makes him wait.  "I know I made you feel even more guilty about it at the hospital last week, but...I don't blame you for that.  You had no way of knowing.  It's just that I was...I am mad about the stuff you said that night, and the way you'd been that day..."  She trails off, looking almost embarrassed.  "Anyway, what Roy did was all him.  Him and alcohol.  And I didn't take it seriously enough to call the police, so...it's not your fault."

"Yeah, but...Pam, you have no idea how many times this week I've wished I picked up the phone.  I would have done something, I would have-"

"It's not your job to save me."  She says softly.  "So you can't blame yourself.  You were being stupid, yes.  But it's not like it was on purpose."

A lump has formed in Jim's throat's that's making it difficult to talk.  "Thanks."

She nods a little, once again tearing her gaze from his. 

He hesitates, then says, "You...you're right to be mad, though.  About the other stuff."

"I know."  There's no trace of humor in her agreement; it's simply matter-of-fact.

"I guess...you were just being honest and I'd never...some of the stuff you said."  His cheeks redden, but he keeps going.  "I guess I never thought about it from your side.  Last summer and everything after...I'm sorry.  That I didn't think about you more than I did.  I was your best friend and...I owed you more than...than taking off without a word."

She nods, looking up at him, waiting, sensing he has more to say.

"And...and when you told me..."  He pauses, swallowing hard and then starting over.  "Last week, I owed you more of an explanation than it's too late."

Pam's face falls.  She realizes for the first time that she'd expected him to take that back.  He'd said at the hospital that he'd said things he didn't mean.  She'd hoped the ‘it's too late' had been part of it.

Her eyes are instantly wet with tears; Pam's become an expert, recently, of keeping them back, so though they cling stubbornly onto her eyelashes, none fall.  She can't make herself look at him anymore, though, so she focuses on a point somewhere over her shoulder.

Jim's voice falters, but he keeps going.  "So...so here's the better explanation.  Pam, I've never...never felt about anyone the way I felt about you.  But...but when I left, I thought you were getting married.  I thought I had to get over you, so everything became about that."  She's staring at the ground now, and he can't see her face at all.  "Pam, I still love you.  But I'm not sure...I don't know if I'm still in love with you."

There's a moment of silence, and then Pam asks in a thick voice, "You don't know?"

"I honestly don't."

She nods for too long, trying discreetly to reach her hands up to wipe her eyes.

An ache fills Jim's chest.  He hates hurting her.  "And a lot of that's on me.  I know that...if I hadn't run away, maybe...things would have been different.  If I'd given you more than...more than a few minutes..."  He closes his eyes, sighing.

Pam suddenly feels as if she can't be here for another moment.  She mutters something inaudible about seeing him later, and she's heading toward the door of the roof when his voice stops her.

"Pam?"

She presses her lips together, wanting to break down and cry, beg him to give her another chance.  She swallows, and answers him without turning.  "What?"

He pauses.  "Could you look at me, please?"

She turns reluctantly and locks eyes with him; hers are desperate, pleading; he doesn't know if she's begging him to say he was lying or just begging him to let her go.  Her face is streaked with tears, her mascara smudged around broken eyes.

She looks beautiful.

Jim finds his voice has suddenly gone low and rough.  "Listen I do...I really do miss you.  We haven't been...us lately, and I was just hoping...maybe we could try to be friends again?"

She makes a sound like a half-laugh, half-sob, smiles sadly and says, her voice full of tears, "Come on...I don't want to do that.  I wanna be more than that."  Her voice breaks in the middle of her last sentence, and she presses one hand to her mouth, trying to choke back sobs.

Jim's heart breaks a little as she repeats his words from almost a year ago, and in that moment he might be in love with her.  The problem is, Jim doesn't trust himself or his feelings.  He just trusts the facts now; and the facts say that he's grown too much, come too far, to go right back to who he was.

"I guess I can't say I don't understand that."

Pam nods, and takes the last few steps to the door of the roof.  Just before leaving though, she makes herself look at him one more time.  "Jim?  Just so you know, I'm still going to be here.  For as long as...well, I'm going to be here."

She doesn't say anymore, but she doesn't need to.  Jim gets what she means: she won't be in another state, she won't be jumping into a rebound relationship anytime soon.

He gets it.

And as he watches her go, he doesn't know what to think about that.

Chapter Four: Days Go By

So all the memories fade
And the days go by
Forget the lonely yesterdays in mind
I know it's never gonna be the way you like
I know you don't wanna think about the endlessness you find
You wait forever blind

~Lifehouse, Days Go By

            Jim remembers when time moved like this.  Back in his first few years, before Pam started.  When each day passed with agonizing slowness, when every day in the office was a burden, when no change or future was visible.  When there was nothing to look forward to.

            It's so stupid.  He has a girlfriend; there's future there.  He's rising in the company, so there's future there.  Yet none of these futures have much appeal to Jim.

            The difference, really, isn't so much of the lack of future; it's the lack of hope.  There is nothing he desires, nothing to strive for.  No longing. 

            Instead, Jim's left with a horribly constant feeling of numbness, as if every energetic, vibrant part of his body has died, and he's slowly discovering that neutrality is a shitty place to be.

            Well congratulations, dumbass.  Jim thinks bitterly.  You wanted to fall out of love with Pam...you got it.

            The problem is, that loving Pam had become such a part of Jim that, when it was gone, he'd lost a big part of himself.  He'd had to completely change every thing to get over her.

            He loses track of how many days it's been since that day on the roof, how many days since Pam stopped trying to make him smile in the office.  Part of this new way that time moves seems to be that every day is unconnected to the days past or coming.  He has nothing to remember fondly or to look forward to.  Each day is simply one of those days, where nothing goes especially wrong but nothing goes right, either.

            It can't be more than a week since the conversation, though, when he begins to realize how much he's missing. 

He misses the guy who'd spent his days in the office cheerfully mocking the dullness of his job (this was back when it was just a job, back when he would have thrown himself in front of train rather than make it a career) or trying to think of complicated pranks to amuse himself, when all the while he really just wanted to see Pam laugh, maybe even look at him like she thought he was the greatest thing ever.

He misses the unbelievably light feeling he'd gotten when she smiled at him, or hugged him, or gave her one of the looks only the two of them would understand.  He misses the special moments that kept him going, like on Diversity Day when she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder, or the way he'd held her hand at the ice rink, or the kiss at the Dundies.

He misses falling in love with her during thousands of moments, special or commonplace.  The sly look in her eyes when she came up with an aspect of a prank, or the half-amused, half-gentle expression she'd use with Michael during one of his moments of crisis, or the nervous pride that had been evident in her face when she spoke about her work.

And though he'd have thought it was impossible, he slowly begins to miss the stabs of pain that overtook him when he'd see her with Roy, whether the two were sharing a genuinely happy moment or if Roy was putting her down, as was more often the case.  He misses the sick feeling that would overtake him when a wedding was mentioned.

As crazy as it sounds, he really does miss it all.  Because that had been better than being numb.  Now, he barely feels alive in the real sense of the word. 

He tries to recapture parts of himself that have died.  He impulsively presses the button for grape soda one day from a vending machine, and ever since drinks them exclusively again. 

A few days after that (a few weeks?)  he begins making ham and cheese sandwiches in the mornings again, and on the few times Karen persuades him to leave the office for lunch, he orders the familiar meal.

He begins pushing up his shirt sleeves a few days after that.  His next step, however, is unsuccessful; he spends two consecutive days trying to mastermind a new prank on Dwight, or even Andy, but nothing comes to mind that hasn't been done.

One thing that infuriates Jim, however, is the way Karen doesn't seem to notice the change.  She seems happy about the fact that she no longer feels "obligated" to throw him suspicious looks whenever he nears reception.  She doesn't notice the desperate attempts he makes to return to old habits; nor does she seem to mind that he's no longer bothered to make her laugh, or that he doesn't respond to her own prank ideas or one liners. All she seems to care about is that he no longer shoots not-so-subtle gazes toward the reception desk, or that Pam no longer gives him a different sort of smile than everyone else.

Karen doesn't notice what he's lost so that all of that can happen.

*  *  *  *  *

            Pam remembers when time moved like this.  Back several months ago, when Jim was in Connecticut.  When each day passed with agonizing slowness, when every day in the office was a burden, when no change or future was visible.  When there was nothing to look forward to.

             It's so stupid.  He always had a girlfriend, even when he came back.  Nothing's really changed except for that her greatest fear-him being over it-has been verbalized.  Twice.

            The difference, really, isn't so much the sudden clarity; it's the last severing of any strand of hope.  There is no longer even a tiny part of her that believes in change.  Nothing with which to fool herself with. 

            Instead, Pam's left with a horribly constant feeling of despair and agony, as if every happy, optimistic part of her body has died, and she's quickly discovering that heartbroken is a lonely state to be in.

Well congratulations, genius.  Pam thinks miserably.  You wanted to be honest and tell Jim the truth...you got it.

The problem is, that loving Jim has become such a part of Pam that, when he came back, she'd convinced herself that things would be okay.  She'd had to believe that a happy ending was coming, that every thing would work out perfectly.

She knows exactly how long it's been since that day on the roof, how many days since she'd given up trying to coax a smile out of Jim.  Part of this new way that time moves seems to be that, every day, the days past are painfully present in her mind, so that every day the loss becomes heavier.  She has to remember every painful, empty second and is aware of every painful, empty second that's coming.  Each day will be just like the others, when nothing will change, no earth shattering event will take place to spin things around.

It barely takes a day after the conversation when she begins to realize how much she's missing.

She misses the girl who'd spent her mornings (especially right after he'd come back) eagerly waking up or painstakingly picking out an outfit that looked good but not like she was trying too hard to be different from usual, when all the while she really just wanted to see Jim give her an approving smile, maybe even lean on her desk and look at her like he though she was the greatest thing ever.

She misses the unbelievably light feeling she'd gotten when he smiled at her, or hugged her, or gave her one of the Jim looks that she secretly hoped Karen didn't understand.  She misses the special moments that made her think that maybe he hadn't changed as much as he said, like during his first week when he'd sent Andy to her on a prank that proved how knowledgeable he still was about her, or the way he'd slipped back into his conspiring ways at the end of the Christmas Part, or the laughs they'd shared the day of Oscar's welcome back party.

She misses letting herself fall in love with him during thousands of moments, special or commonplace, back when it didn't hurt and she didn't try to guard herself.  The sly look in his eyes when he came up with even a tiny prank, or the fondly amused expression he'd use with Michael during one of his moments of "brilliance".

And though she'd have thought it was impossible, she slowly begins to miss the lingering emptiness that overtook her when he had been in Connecticut, whether she'd heard something of him from Michael or heard nothing of or from him from weeks, as was more often the case.  She misses the sickening regret that would overtake her when she thought of a prank he'd love, or when she'd glance over at his desk to see Ryan there.

            As crazy as it sounds, she really does miss it all.  Because that had been better than this raw, all consuming pain that would never go away.  Now, it's always worsened by just the sight of him, or whenever she sees him with Karen.

She can't help but watch him though, even though she'd love to go back to when she could at least go five minutes of a time without thinking of him.  But she watches him, and soon she begins to notice things, things that once, just a week or two ago, would have filled her with hope but now are only passing observations, that occasionally allow her to feel a small, bittersweet stab of regret and nostalgia for the way it was.

            She notices when he starts drinking grape soda again, and at first she's sure it won't last, but it seems to be exclusive.

            Two days after the first grape soda, she notices as he unwraps ham and cheese sandwiches in the breakroom again.

            Three days after that, she notices his shirt sleeves are pushed up again.  She tries, unsuccessfully, to let herself feel some flicker of hope.  Maybe this signals the end of his evolution.  But she can't even convince herself; he'd been pretty clear.  Because for all the ways he's going back to normal, something else is off.  He no longer pranks Dwight or Andy; even his dry comments and amused glances at the camera are few and far between.  He doesn't seem like himself.

One thing that doesn't escape Pam's notice is the way Karen, at least, is one step of his "evolution" that Jim doesn't go back.  Karen is obviously happier in the relationship now that she no longer has to watch for Jim going over to reception.  Their relationship does not seem changed as Jim returns to old habits; nor does she seem any unhappier with him as he stops making the office a fun place to be.  It would make sense, of course, that their relationship would stay strong now that Jim no longer wants to shoot gazes at Pam's desk, or that Pam now puts all her energy into not giving him a different sort of smile than everyone else.

            It would make sense, but Pam notices it, and it serves as a constant reminder of every thing she's lost.