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

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Twisting the Knife

He had only very recently become able to keep his eyes closed when she kissed him. Karen had never caught him, thank God, but during the numerous times she had flung herself at him and surprised him with a long, tender kiss, Jim had always managed to sneak a peek, to open his eyes long enough to force himself not to imagine her. Pam.

Jim had always been a bit of a softy. Although tall, athletic, and naturally gifted, he had never amounted to half the basketball player his high school coach had envisioned. He just wasn't mean enough. He had great parents and a happy childhood. He didn't have a big brother to beat him up when he was a kid. He could never hate his opponents with the kind of "I want to kill you" rage that raises the game of top athletes when the prospect of defeat is near. Jim could not artificially generate this kind of anger. It had to be genuine, and there was precious little in his life that he could be genuinely angry about. Ironically, the best basketball of his life had been played years after his last competitive game, not in any gym but in a small warehouse with no lines and portable rims. If only he could have generated that kind of anger at will...

Jim headed into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror. He had just scared himself more than a little bit. Where did he find the hate that had allowed him to be so cold, so damn cruel. He had twisted the knife in her, in Pam. Pam. The woman he had loved more than anything in life. The woman who less than a year ago could make him feel weightless with merely a casual glance and a knowing smile. He had cradled her in his arms in so many dreams, carried her off into so many idyllic nocturnal sunsets.

She had been defenseless, sitting alone in the break room, looking so burdened, so very weary. Until recently, he would have instinctively rushed to her side to console her, to comfort her, to ease her pain. The Roy incident had been the final straw. He instead followed his new instincts, and kicked her when she was vulnerable. He had casually blown off her apology, refusing to make eye contact with her at all. He had known exactly what he wanted from the vending machine, but he had intentionally lingered there for a painful moment, enjoying feeling her silent discomfort, before turning to leave, making sure to turn his body to the right to avoid accidental eye contact. She had tried to profess, to confess really, that she had moved past Roy and all the poison that he represented, and his dismissive verbal jab of her confession was the killer. He didn't have to spell it out for her. She knew. I used to love you, and now I don't. It cut even deeper than that. I used to believe in you, Beesly, and now I don't. I've given up on you. He had genuinely enjoyed hurting her like that. This was new. This was not the gentle, sensitive-to-a-fault, Jim he thought he knew. This was scary.

Scary as it was, though, he couldn't stop himself. Three years. He had endured the daily emasculation, the humiliation, the pain. She was everything to him. He was a distant second to her, behind that oafish dimwit that passed for her fiance. Now she was paying the price. She could have had him so very easily at any time, but she had refused to see the better man right in front of her face. She had left him broken, alone, not feeling like a man at all. He rarely showed Karen any affection at the office. Recently, though, whenever Pam was nearby, he made sure to have his hand around her waist or on her back, gently stroking her hair. Karen seemed genuinely flattered, and hadn't yet picked up on the suspicious timing of his new found cuddliness. She was a cool chick. Fun, hot, and most of all, into him. He hoped he could love her someday. He already loved how she made him feel like a man again.

The Tuesday after the Roy incident, he arranged for flowers to be delivered to Karen at the office. No occasion. Just a nice romantic surprise. Un-Halpert-like to say the least, but he was evolving. Best of all, Pam had to sign for them and deliver them. She was humiliated. Karen looked over at Jim, beaming. As he smiled back at her, he was focused more on the image in the corner of his eye... the forlorn, exhausted, thoroughly beaten look on Pam's face as she slinked back to her desk. He had ordered the obnoxious kind of flowers, with the big balloons and everything. He knew they would he hard for her to ignore. Plus Karen seemed to like them. He was trying with her. He really was.

The Wednesday after the Roy incident was shaping up to be another good day. Jim had secretly bought 2 bags of Herr's salt and vinegar chips, and was planning on finding a very romantic (and public) way to rekindle this happy little inside joke with Karen. He felt alive. This was a fun little world to live in, and after being left for dead less than a year ago, he was now king. King Halpert...

Then everything changed. The door opened. A stranger to all but one of them entered. Ironically the last thing on the strangers mind was regicide.

He had just turned 30, but he looked barely older than a college student. A smallish man, about as tall as Ryan but slightly skinnier. He was tan with dark features, as if his father had been a G.I. He had on dress pants and a loose fitting, un-tucked shirt. The stranger stepped in from the doorway, smiled politely at Pam, and started to speak, but was interrupted loudly. Michael had seen him enter and come to his door. Jim turned and watched the exchange.

"Dan! Welcome to my humble little orifice!" Michael made a grand sweeping gesture of the entire room.

"Mike." The stranger, Dan, greeted Michael with a warm familiarity and a 2 handed handshake. Michael responded in a more subdued tone.

"You need to talk? Want to go somewhere?"

"Actually I have a business proposal for you."

Michael snapped back into action. "Aah! Come in sir!" Michael hurried Dan into his office and shut the door. Jim looked back down at his monitor. He didn't look like a huge customer or anything. Things went on as normal for about 10 minutes. Jim frequently glanced over at Karen, enjoying the power he felt when she inevitably smiled back. Even more, he enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing that Pam would see Karen's pretty smiles directed his way. They were both pretty, but he wondered if Pam thought that Karen was prettier than she was. He smiled to himself.

His phone rang. It was Michael calling from his office.

"Jim, could you and Karen come in here with the full-service printing and binding price lists, pronto."

Pronto.

The game had begun. "Pronto" was a signal, a code word that Michael had set up with Jim and Dwight just for moments like this. It meant he was close to making a sale, and numbers were about to be discussed. Jim's job was to come in with the "latest" price list and proceed to quote a very high price. Occasionally the customer bit, but usually he would be taken aback, at which point Michael would intervene on the customer's behalf, even going so far as to berate Jim. Then Michael quoted a new, lower number to the customer, which was usually accepted. Pronto rarely failed. For all his shortcomings as a manager, Michael Scott was as crafty and as gifted a salesman as they came. Michael had asked for Karen too. This almost certainly meant that the potential sale was very large, and he intended to take the buyer out for beers to celebrate. Karen was among the most natural shmoozers in the office, and Michael knew that.

Jim and Karen entered Michael's office. Dan stood, shook their hands before sitting back down, slouching in his chair, looking unnaturally relaxed. Michael filled Jim in and prompted him.

"Jim, Dan here wants to commission us to handle the supply, printing and binding for his company's annual shareholder report. 30000 copies. 30 pages, 12 full color 18 black and white." Whoa. This was a big order. Dunder Mifflin would supply the paper, outsource the printing, and make a lot of money in the process.

Jim commenced Operation Pronto... "Let me run that..." he paused to pretend to ruffle through the price lists. He shuffled the papers a bit, although he knew exactly what he was going to say. $460 per 100 units was his number. After all of the commotion had passed, Michael would come in and offer $380, and they would seal the deal. They could go as low as $320 and still make the deal. That was the beauty of the setup. Jim cleared his throat and began his delivery, only to be interrupted.

"Hold it." The target stiffened up in his chair and turned his gaze on Jim. He looked like a kid, but his voice hit like a sledgehammer.

"You guys can save your stupid game for someone who'll buy that crap. Here's how its going to work. You quote me one number only: your best price. If I believe you, we have a deal. If I smell bullshit, we're done. Oh, and my nose is like a fuckin radar, if you want to try me."

Michael started to speak, but Dan cut him off with a simple hand gesture. He kept his icy stare on Jim. Jim knew immediately what was happening. This little bastard had intentionally sidelined Michael and isolated him because he identified Jim as the weaker of the two. Jim met the icy gaze that was boring into him. Jesus. This fucker's great-great-great-great-great grandfather had probably been glaring at Edgar Allan Poe himself when Poe crafted his timeless line: his eyes had all the seeming, of a demon that is dreaming... Jim knew the score. The stranger had him.

"$320 per 100 units, plus applicable tax on the basic materials."

"Done." As quickly as Dan had morphed into a cold killer, he melted back into his easygoing relaxed presence.

Michael was a little annoyed, but he quickly got over it. 320 was fine. Just barely profitable, but worth it nonetheless.

"Let's go get some beers! Dan?"

"Sure, Mike."


************************


It was the longest client lunch of Jim's career. This stuff was supposed to be what he was good at. Sales. Negotiation. This guy had come into Jim's house and handed him his own butt in front of his boss and his girlfriend, and now he had to play nice. This may have been OK in the past, but now Jim was the one dispensing the pain, damn it. They got themselves a booth at Chili's. Beer was flowing. Michael turned on his easy charm and fired salvo after salvo of his finest jokes. Karen interjected with some more smalltalk, asking how Michael and Dan new each other.

She had unknowingly opened a floodgate. Michael had cleared his throat and started to change the subject but Dan answered anyway. Apparently, in his free time, Michael volunteered at an old-folks home, where he ran a weekly magic show for the retirees. When one of his regular audience members and biggest fans, Mrs. Dorthea Faulkner, had passed on, Michael had attended her funeral. In her honor, he had attempted to perform a bold exploding-hat magic trick that culminated in a live dove-release. Michael was still a little pissed that nobody remembered the three out of four doves that didn't catch fire. It had been a tough crowd.

Dan had been in the cemetery that day as well, visiting his beloved wife and even more beloved young daughter, who had been so painfully ripped form his life by a drunk driver not one month earlier. He was 29 years old, a widower who had outlived his only child, and he was dead inside. A man, Michael, had come up to him, laid his hand on his shoulder, and they had struck up a conversation. They had been friends ever since. As Dan had shared his story, Karen had slowly, almost subconsciously slid closer to him, until she found herself clutching his arm and trying to squeeze the pain from his tortured soul. Her soft green eyes were gazing at him like he was a wounded kitten. She looked like she was going to cry. And she wasn't even the nurturing type. Jesus, Karen. So the guy's a walking chick-flick. Get off it.

It had gotten worse. Turns out the fucker had gone off to Silicon Valley and made himself a couple of mil, and had come back to Scranton to bury his family, and his company was letting him vest out his remaining stock options by doing menial tasks like print the annual reports. Jim wanted to punch him. He glared at Karen, and she shrunk a bit.


**************************


Back at the office, Jim was so pissed off that he had to postpone his potato-chip gambit for a day. He was so riled up that he wouldn't even have enjoyed watching Pam squirm. That evening, he drove back to his place with Karen. She sat in the passenger seat, relaxed, joking with him easily.

"I could use some dinner. Pronto."

"Shut it, Filippelli, before I spank you. And I ought to spank you for siding up to that douche-bag today"

"Promises, promises," Karen smiled. "You know what was so funny about that douche-bag? Its ironic. All his drama has left him so emotionally unavailable, so sexually non-threatening, that he has unknowingly become the ultimate pussy-magnet. He's like that elf in Lord of the Rings..."

Karen paused to picture Legolas, that beautiful elven mass of pure 100% innocent sexual energy. She closed her eyes, started rubbing her thighs together, and let out a slightly exaggerated moan.

"Karen!" Jim interrupted her. Her eyes popped open and she continued.

"So you see it wasn't my fault. Simple physics, Halpert. I was literally pulled into him. If you had one of these, you'd know."

Karen lightly patted her crotch through her slacks. He had no idea how flattered she was that he was a little jealous.

Jim couldn't help but laugh a little bit. What a cool chick.



****************************

The next morning started nicely enough. Jim and Karen had stopped by the central library on the way into work and landed a decent sized sale. Jim had been smooth. Yesterday had been a fluke. Then, as they walked toward the main door of Dunder Mifflin, they both saw him at the same time. About 100 feet away, that little punk was standing in the parking lot, holding some paperwork. Sensing her chance for some good comedy, Karen lurched sideways at the midsection, grabbing the door handle to counteract the imaginary force that was pulling her womanhood back out into the parking lot. Jim chuckled and smacked her on the butt. He started to open the door for her when he saw it out of the corner of his eye. Pam. Talking to him. Smiling. Looking up at him with that shy smile that had so often melted his heart...

Mother...Fucker. Jim tried to contain his rage, but it burnt him in an unimaginably awful way. This couldn't be happening. Why's she smiling? What's he saying? She wasn't supposed to find someone. She just wasn't. Roy was an idiot. Inferior to Jim in every way. Every way that counted, at least. This smarmy little turd was different. The polar opposite of Roy, 1000 times more threatening. You don't deserve to smile, Beesly. Things were about to get complicated.

Jim was laying on his side in bed, seething. Karen was nestled up against him, her back pressed against his chest. Her neck was resting on his bottom arm. His other arm was draped over her body, resting carelessly against her stomach, drawing her closer to him. It was probably a touching, peacefully intimate moment for Karen, but Jim felt no such warmth. She was sleeping gently. He was laying awake, burning inside as he thought back on his day.

Work had sucked again. Dan had not been seen again after the morning, but his presence loomed large, stabbing Jim repeatedly. At about 11AM, Michael called a "Pronto" on a potential client, but this time he called Dwight instead of Jim. Thirty minutes later they were high-fiving, loudly celebrating their big sale. Worse than that, though, was the hint of a smile that Pam was wearing throughout the day. There was a bounce in her step that Jim had seen exactly once since Casino Night-- during that short moment when he had first returned to the office after the merger, that brief moment before their sad history had caught up to them once again. Pam had jumped out from behind her desk and embraced him. He had almost forgotten how hard he was trying to hate her.

During the afternoon, Phyllis had ambled over to Pam's desk, leaned over, and exchanged hushed but excited dialog with Pam. Jim hadn't heard it all, but he'd heard most of Pam's side, and it had been enough.

"No, he's not really ready to date yet, but I'm not really ready either, so he asked me over to have some coffee and be a friendly ear..."

"Yeah.. his place..."

"No..."

"Yeah..."

"Phyllis! Even if I owned one I wouldn't wear it. Floss is for your teeth!"

Giggling.

Karen had a drawer full of thongs, but the mental image of Pam wearing one burned Jim in more ways than one. If Phyllis had been about a foot to either side, Pam would have seen Jim's neck searing a dark shade of crimson, as his neck veins pulsing with visible anger.


**************

Jim's unpleasant daydream was violently interrupted.

"AUGHHHHH!" Karen threw her elbow back into Jim's ribs as hard as she could. He reacted sharply to the pain, pushing her away. She rolled and turned to face him, sitting up violently, as she drew her knees to her chest and formed a little defensive ball with her body.

"KAREN WHAT THE HELL..."

She looked genuinely frightened.

"Jim. Didn't you hear me? You were choking me."

My God. He had. He had been so riled up that he had unknowingly tightened his left arm around his sleeping girlfriend's neck. He had been too lost in his anger to hear her initial cries. Jim was at a loss for words as she continued.

"I kept telling you to stop, Jim. Didn't you hear me? Why... why didn't you stop?"

She was almost crying. Her voice was cracking. She sounded so scared.

Jim reached out to comfort her but she recoiled. He felt terrible. This just wasn't him. He could never hurt a woman like that. Certainly not his trusting, 110 pound girlfriend who had felt safe enough with him to let herself fall asleep with his arm around her neck. He started lying to her in earnest.

"Oh my God Karen, I was asleep, I must have been dreaming or something. Please tell me you're OK!"

She looked at him like she wanted so badly to believe him. He knew this look. He had seen it a few months ago, in a Scranton coffee shop, after he had assured her that he was "really glad you're here."

Karen nodded cautiously.

"OK."

She slept facing him that night.


***************


The next day was not starting any better. Pam had smiled politely at him when he walked in. Karen was still a little shaken, although she was presenting a brave face for Jim. She had tried to joke with him on the ride in, but the atmosphere was noticeably tense, mostly due to Jim's inability to focus through all the clutter that was running through his head. Now, sitting at his desk, he looked over at Karen again. She was obviously confused, frustrated. They had been together for six months. She had on many occasions grown frustrated with him, with his emotional distance. Usually, she just acted bitchy for a while but would back down eventually. This time was different. That look on her face. Sadness. Resignation. Fear? He couldn't keep fooling her forever.

This had to stop, this consuming rage, or there would be nothing left of him. Over the course of the first 28 years and 2 months of his life, Jim had only ever wanted to hurt one person. Now, over the last 72 hours, he had tried to destroy the love of his life, had given serious thought to messily decapitating a young widower with his fists, and had strangled his sleeping girlfriend. This wasn't who he was, damn it. His gentle, lanky frame couldn't carry the weight of all this anger much longer. He was about to buckle. It was time to make things right again. Well, not "again." Nothing had ever been right, so he had to make things right for the first time. He didn't need Karen's sad gaze to remind him.

He waited until she was alone in the break room. He entered slowly. The raw anger that had nearly consumed him had morphed into a heavy, venomous shame that was 100 times worse.

"I'm so sorry... For everything."

Pam looked up at him slowly.

10 months. About 300 days. Not a long time in the grand scheme of things. But now, looking across the break room at the woman who had 300 days ago given Jim his only glimpse at the purest form of true happiness, it felt like 1000 years. He had finally, if only for half a minute, managed to wrap his arms around everything in the world that he held dear. He had been holding not just Pam, but their future, their unborn children, a lifetime of happy memories together all so tangible in his arms. And she had kissed him back.

He had convinced himself a hundred times that he had put it all behind him and moved on. He forced himself to stop re-living that beautiful moment because even in his head, he could not freeze time well enough to isolate that moment of pure bliss with the blunt, lingering pain that came afterwards. The worst times were when he was lying in bed with Karen. She always slept so peacefully, usually nestled up to him or draped over him in some way. It was so tempting, so damn easy to close his eyes and drift back to that moment, to draw Karen's sleeping body closer to him and be holding Pam again. He usually would catch himself, and try to assuage his guilt by whispering her name, "Karen," and running his fingers through her hair or giving her a little forehead kiss. He was always careful not to wake her, though, because when he did she would inevitably look up and smile at him with such a naive hope in her eyes, hope that his affectionate gesture was real, hope that he would finally tell her that he loved her. She had no idea.

Yes, Beesly, my world starts and ends with you. You win again.

Pam took about 5 seconds to respond, but it seemed like forever. Her response was maddeningly vague and was delivered with a solemness that Jim was still not used to hearing.

"I'm sorry too, Jim."

Sorry for what, Pam? Sorry you told Roy? Sorry I acted like an idiot and tried to hurt you? Sorry that you went out with that guy and it's to late to ever make things right? My God. How far they had fallen. Jim knew what he had to do, though, and he intended on getting it done. He approached and sat down at the chair across from her.

"I have to be completely honest with you, Pam, so please just hear me out."

She met his gaze. She looked a little scared now. The last time she'd seen this sincere a look on his face he'd dropped a bomb on her that had changed both their lives. Maybe not for the better.

"I can't do this anymore. Any of it. It's killing me trying to move past everything when you're right here everyday reminding me what could've or should've happened."

She opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out. Jim continued quickly, trying to say what he wanted to say and get it over with.

"Pam, I've decided to leave again."

She froze. Her mouth was still slightly open. She looked miffed... hurt? He continued, picking up the pace even more.

"Karen hates this place, and it's driving us apart. I don't want to lose her, Pam, and I can't make it work with her when I'm wasting my time on stupid pipe dreams about you."

She interrupted him sharply. Stupid pipe dreams had apparently hit her pretty hard.

"I just wanted my friend back! Jim, what did I ever do to you but support you and your fancy new girlfriend? You think that's easy for me?"

He fought the instinct to bring up Roy. He was here to make peace. To bury the past.

"Pam, I'm really sorry. I want my friend back too but I don't think I can ever be friends with you without hurting us both. I'm so sorry."

10 seconds of painful, painful silence. Pam finally spoke. Her words hurt.

"I don't want to be your friend anymore, Jim."

He knew. This was life. This was supposed to happen. This had to happen. It hurt to hear anyway. Pam reached across the table and grabbed his hand.

"I want to be more than that."

What? Jesus. Unlike Jim, though, Pam followed her confession with a little dose of practicality.

"But I'm willing to settle for having my best friend back while he sorts everything out."

She was smiling at him. Hoping. Pleading.

Jim squeezed her hand back.

"You won't have to wait long, Beesly."

They left the break room separately, each sporting a goofy grin. Jim's faded a bit when, as he made his way back to his desk, Karen looked up at him and flashed a warm smile. He forced a smile back. The poor thing. She had no idea what was coming next.