``
Whenever she looked up, she smiled. She couldn’t help it. It was infectious, the way she felt when she saw him, hers now, and all that bubbled up inside her, made her feel as if she could fly.
Sometimes it seemed too perfect. But they had waited for this, and it really was.
She loved the way they held hands under the table, fingertips tingling, the way she would say something completely pointless and he would smile at her, just because.
The way he put his arms around her shoulders as they walked into bitter cold, as if to keep her warm.
The butterflies that came every time she looked at him.
The way he mindlessly ran fingers through her curls when they talked close.
Whispered pranks in her ear. Laughed for hours.
How he called her before work, just to say good morning. Sometimes left messages, late at night, even if they’d spent the evening together, or maybe talked on the phone.
The little notes left on her desk, in his adorable scrawl.
Inside jokes mostly. Cups of mixed berry yogurt.
The way he cupped a hand under her chin when she wouldn’t meet his eye,
Usually from laughing too hard.
Brushed a hand across her cheek, or flyaway hairs from her eyes.
It was all of these things, and more, and she looked up at him now.
They had perfected the art of
Being one soul.
And nothing like it had ever happened before.
She smiled.
She couldn’t help it.
She was in love.


The morning was wrapped in ice, glinting cellophane, the sky crinkled in a fierce metallic dance as the day slowly began to appear. The coffee was on, running in a clout brown stream to collect in the bottom. Pam took a mug down from the cupboard, the one she always used. The pot was steaming, almost finished. Maybe it would stop this awful ache in her head.
Why had she even come in today?
Because there were early morning faxes, because there were calls to answer, because someone needed to make the coffee. She was always the first one in.
But these weren’t the real reasons; she knew it.
Because every time she looked up, he was there.
Because after all the time they had waited, it sometimes still seemed too good to be true.
Because he was hers now, and she didn’t want to spend one second apart.
That was why she had come in today.
Pam poured herself a cup. The bitter contents turned her stomach. She set the mug untouched on the desk, and sank into her chair. The pounding in her head was building by the minute.
Computer screen flashed, searing.
Just breathe.
As the sky turned a mottled gray and weak sun splayed through the blinds, people began to arrive. Stanley, Meredith, Angela, in her prim white coat and high braided ponytail.
Pam smiled and nodded good morning, as the room slowly filled, trying to pretend like everything was fine.
Truthfully, the everything was hazy around the corners.
She couldn’t think.
She could barely breathe.
Her cup of coffee was full to the brim, whereas three normally would have been drained by eight a.m.
As the last few people began to arrive, she suddenly realized his desk was still empty. Why hadn’t she noticed yet?
Where was he?
He was always the second one there, more or less. They usually made coffee together now, over early morning kisses and master prank plans.
Why hadn’t she noticed? She must be sicker than she thought.
She needed him today.
Especially today.
He would be make everything better. He always made everything better.
Because now, even though she didn’t need saving, he was her knight all the same.
The one who told her she looked beautiful when she was crying.
Who knew her favorite color, favorite song, favorite flavor of yogurt.
the one who loved that, no matter how hard she tried, there would always be a few curls out of place.
Who she felt would hang stars for her, if he could.
So where was he, today, when she needed him?
She couldn’t think.
Oh, her head.
The haziness was there, deeper now. Seemingly pressing into the corners of her mind.
And still his desk was empty.
She stopped wondering.
Her mind was sealed, unworkable.
Still she sat, answering calls and emails through a blur of unaware.
She didn’t even try to respond to Michael’s suggestive remarks.
Didn’t bother to throw away the jellybeans after Dwight picked out all the licorice flavored, at exactly 9 a.m.
His desk was empty.
A reluctant sip of coffee sent her into a spasm of coughing.
And of course, there had to be a meeting at 9:30. Knowing Michael, it was probably some strangely oblivious and racially crude seminar.
She forwarded the phones.
Deep breathes.
She could barely breathe now.
Pam was right about the meeting. Everyone crammed into the conference room, where pictures of the utmost random where plastered onto the walls.
Normally, she and Jim would have made fun of these.
Jim. Her Jim. Where was he?
Oh, but now she couldn’t think.
Her head was suddenly shot with knife sharp pains, making her feel as though she were on fire.
Maybe she was.
She couldn’t be here.
She excused herself, to go to the bathroom.
She stumbled to reception.
Stop the pounding.
The brightness of the lights were making her feel sick,
The voices impossibly deafening.
And suddenly, everything was blurring, dancing
The world was spinning madly
The pain was blinding.
Couldn’t breathe, everything going black.
She was going to drown in this sea of
Endless darkness
That was slowly swallowing her up,
And she wasn’t coming back
The voices were fading
And suddenly.


Suddenly warm hands were catching her, holding her up, supporting the weight of a disappearing world. Someone was saying her name, softly, stroking her hair.
Pam.
His desk was still empty.
Why hadn’t he come?
Pam.
Nothing was focusing. She opened her eyes, and nothing was there but a blur of colors and hushed sounds. Closed them again, because it was too much.
Someone was still saying her name.
She opened her eyes, again, realized strong arms were around her, the black sleeves of his coat. And right before the picture blurred again, she could see clearly.
Of course it was him.
Of course he had come.
She could see, through her blur, his face creased with worry. She knew every detail of that face.
“Jim.” It barely came out.
He was here now, and it was going to be okay.
She could hear now, could see, even though her head felt as though it was about to explode. Dizziness was hitting her in waves.
“Pam. I’m going to help you sit down, okay?” His voice was soothing, melting butter in her ears.
She nodded, eyes still closed.
Slowly, slowly, she made it to the couch and sank into the cushions. He was beside her.
She was becoming more aware, and the realization that she had just passed out at her desk was becoming more eminent.
He was staring at her, worry etched all over his face, in his eyes.
He wrapped his arms around her, his forehead resting against hers.
“Hey. It’s okay.” He was rubbing her back. “We’re gonna get you home.”
He pulled away, suddenly, laying a hand on her forehead. It felt like ice. It felt so good.
“Pam, you’re burning up.” She nodded weakly, resting her weight against him.
He helped her into her coat, helped her to stand.
She was shaking now, coughing. Her head worse than ever before.
Somehow they made it downstairs, his hands wrapped around her back. She was trying to remember everything he was doing, because it was so immeasurably sweet. Even though he was her boyfriend now, she had to wonder; would Roy have ever done this?
No. It didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was Jim now, who was looking at her with increased worry. She reached a hand behind her back to touch his. There was that smile. Worried, but a smile.
His hand remained in her lap the entire drive home.

Home. The feeling of safe as he carried blankets to the couch.
Windows were clamped shut against the stiff winter chill, frosting patterns in the glass like spun sugar on a cake.
Her apartment was swimming in cold air. He reached to turn up the thermostat.
He loved knowing where everything was; the coffee to put on in the morning, the button for the garbage disposal, her drawer of art supplies smeared in paint and splatted in the scent of oil.
The simple act of finding his way in the dark, in the place where everything in the world mattered to him. His fingers lingered on the thermostat, eyes wandered to her bedroom.
There were the bright blue walls he woke up to now.
Sometimes he still wondered if he was flying in the clouds, floating in dreams he could not reach. And then he would grasp her fingers in bed, waking her up with kisses that made him realize it really, truly couldn’t be a dream.
He leaned over her now, brushing damp hair from her burning forehead.
He was worried. Her fever was high.
He tucked in the blanket around the corners and knelt, watching her stir in sleep, the cusp of her chin crested in kitchen light, her quiet breathing making him feel safe, complete. To him, she was beautiful.
Silence strung heavily in the air, seeming to weigh it down.
He wanted to soak up the fever swimming in her body, kiss her, make everything better. He realized she hadn’t taken anything yet and though he didn’t want to wake her, there was the realization that he really needed to bring her fever down.
“Pam.” He spoke softly. Even though he said it hundreds, maybe even thousands, of times a day, those three little letters were like magic on his tongue; he could repeat them forever but that one syllable was decidedly the most gorgeous one he would ever hear.
She moaned softly, opened her eyes for a fraction of a second.
“Hey.” He brought delicate fingers to her flushed cheek, light kiss on her forehead, lingering.
She smiled, eyes still closed.
“You need to take something.” She nodded, coughing hard into cupped hands, willingly letting him help to her sit up and swallow an Advil and a hefty dose of Dayquil.
Then there were hours of fitful sleep on the couch, punctuated by coughing fits. Jim never left her side, always there with warm hands on her back, water in a glass, the thermometer bleeping in half hour starts.
At two, he got up to order some flowers from a local shop, find another box of much needed tissues and heat up a can of chicken soup.
He watched his girlfriend curled up in a ball, burning with fever and hair splayed all over the pillow. Those curls were so familiar; he thought of all the time he had waited.
Waited and wished and wanted so badly, more then anything he had ever wanted. There were those brief moments with Karen, those times of someone else when all he’d really done was try to forget. How he’d wished in the silences of winking across the room that he could turn around, permanately, and never look back. All it would take was a swivel of his chair to see the things that truly mattered.
And finally he did, the sand cool between his toes, the tires squeeling away from an interview and a girl. Now it was Pam, his Pam, the waiting over, and the time in between simply no longer important.
The soup bubbled over, steam curling from its’ fumes.
He poured it into a cup hurriedly; she was stirring on the couch.
And as she woke, drowsy from sleep, disoriented from fever, curls everywhere but in place, he couldn’t help it; his hands wrapped around her back in a deep kiss.
“Jim.” She touched his chest. Her voice was hollow. “I’m sick.”
As if to prove his point, he kissed her again, more gently, his lips tingling.
She smiled weakly, surrending; he was grinning from ear to ear, one of those boyish smiles he knew she loved.
“I know. What do you need? Anything? I would do anything for you, Beesly.”
He would do anything for her. He would touch the stars for her if he could. He was so deeply, completely in love.
His lip touched her neck.
Her voice was like laughter, filling up a room.
Anything.
She was the one, sniffles, fever and all.
She was it.
He handed her the cup of soup, their fingers brushing lightly.
It was going to be an interesting evening.

She was blithely unaware and yet she remembered tiny snatches; cold ice on her forehead, the lip of a glass too big to even attempt to drink from, whispers and colors and light.
Her dreams were filled with him, past and present all blending together.
Her favorite smell, of the soap and aftershave and paper that was her boyfriend, were present in the times
between sleep.
Her head felt as if it were weighted by bricks; she was shivering in chills one minute, sweating the next. During awareness, half of her was almost embarrassed to have Jim see her like this. That is, if he was still there. He could have well gone back to the office after tucking her in.
Except that when she finally opened her eyes, when the world was fuzzy, when her nose was endlessly dripping and her cough threatened to tear out her insides, he was there. The man she loved most in the world kissed her forehead and rubbed her back and smiled through all of it. He was the comfort she only could have imagined; in all those lonely months of waiting, she had never pictured it like this. She had painted it in her mind; Jim, with her, snuggling on the couch, but not like this. And the fact that it was like this, so surprising and so incredably sweet, made her love him even more.
She opened her eyes only to find that he was suddenly kissing her. She leaned into it, sick as she was, abandoning all hope of resistance.
“Hey.”
He was grinning, felt her forehead.
“So you think you’re gonna make it?” She coughed weakly and lay a hand on his chest. “For a minute there I thought you were a goner.”
She shot him a look of mock surprise. “You never know. It’s still early.”
Laughing, joking, kissing. Why did it still spread that warmth in her stomach even when it happened almost every waking moment? Even when she felt she could barely lift her head?
She sat up heavily, propping a pillow behind her head, as Jim snuggled in beside her, his tie off, his hands warm in her lap. She leaned against him, his fingers tangled in her hair.
And then she had slowly fallen asleep again, leaning against him, the warmth of his shirt soaked up in her body and adding a dizzying affect to her already fevered state of mind. Somewhere in between that time of holding hands in the dark, a cup of untouched weak tea and those loved fingers in her hair, she had gradually drifted back to blurriness, the haze of a few brief moments with her boyfriend playing in her mind.
Now.
Now she fought the urge to spill her stomach, trying to find the balance between dreamland and the harsh whiteness that was consuming her thoughts. Eyelids heavy, she made out the note on her coffee table, just inches from her face; it was written in those gorgeous messy letters only he could produce.
“Went to get a few things.
Try not to die while I’m gone.
Love, Jim”
She fingered the pen marks, the four tiny letters spewed from a ball-point that meant so much to her, to them. It was the one thing they had always had.
Always.

But never had she felt such a deep pounding in her head, such a tightness in her chest.
The sky was frigid black, a creeping chill weighted in the silent apartment.
Clock ticking, the dishwasher running its’ soapy cycle. How long had he been gone?
And how much medicine had she taken today? Instinct told Pam her temperature was significantly higher. And she had to pee. Perfect timing.
With all the collective strength she had left, her pajama pants puddling around her feet and every limb in her body seemingly a million pounds, she crawled to her tiny blue bathroom.
Head spinning deep circles around the room.
Where was the thermometer? The bottle of Advil?
She was having trouble thinking.
Nothing was focusing anymore.
She couldn’t remember now if she’d used the bathroom or not, though it had only been moments before. Or had it been? How long had she been crouching on the floor, the porcelian icy cold against the burning of her head?
She vomited into the toilet what little contents her stomach held, then collapsed, barely breathing. Where was Jim, again?
The world was faster, her thoughts slow, drowning.
She was returning to kisses in the car and Roy’s piercing hand on her thigh. A purple silk dress and the tingling in her toes. Papers clips tossed in a coffeecup. Jim, laughing with her. Jim, turned from her with that smile for someone else. Jim, gone. Jim, with his warmth seeping through her blouse after their first real kiss, heated in the rain.
Jim.
Were they together?
Were they apart? Was he gone forever, again?
She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember anything, anymore.
Her fever playing cruel tricks on her mind, the room a dizzying merry-go-round, a lurching game of colors tossed everywhere but in place.
Only this time, she wasn’t laughing.
She had to make it back to the couch; Jim would be worried. she needed to get off the floor, she needed to get up, needed to drink, needed to stop this awful ache in her head.
Get up. Where was she?
There were flashes of light and dark, splotches of his face, the heat of the strongest fire in every inch of her body and something wet
As she slowly slid onto the carpet
And disappeared, yet again, into the dark.

``
Pink petals and three Blockbuster containers tumbled on the floor
As Jim crossed the welcome mat, wiped his feet,
And suddenly realized that Pam wasn’t on the couch.
He called her name, the rain from his coat soaked through to his skin,
Adding chill to his sudden frenzy.
Pam?
He found her lying on the floor in the bathroom, drenched in sweat, her cheeks set with rosy flush that could only be produced by fever. High fever.
Oh, Pam.
He knelt beside her for the second time that day, saying her name softly, soothingly, gathering her in his arms.
His heart was the hummingbird outside her window, a crazed dog chasing tail. She wasn’t responding and there wasn’t a feeling to describe this; scared wouldn’t do.
With a panic like fire spreading through his body, he tried to clear his mind to figure out what to do.
“Pam!”
His hands were on her cheeks, her forehead.
Burning.
She moaned softly, saying his name.
Just these thoughts;
Pam, with the moon on her cheeks after grilled cheese. The smile after conference calls, the whisper during meetings, the laughing in the break room.
Those green flecks in her eyes,
And the way her hands felt the first time they touched.
He kissed her fingers now, repeating her name.
His favorite letters.
He wasn’t going to let anything happen to her, this girl that had set his heart on fire
The one who could stop the world with a smile
And keep it turning on its’ axis just as madly, for him.
This was the girl he was holding now
The girl he had waited four years for
The girl he had kissed at the wrong time, when nothing had felt so right
The girl who knew everything about him, and more
The girl who completed him.
This was the girl he would never let go of.
He wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.
He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the couch.
Her hand was in his, unconsciously.
It was incredably warm.
Even through the dark, she was with him.

They had always been different. In the blank white canvas of the paper world they occupied, they were the splash of color in a lifeless frame; the vibrance of a gorgeous happily ever after, the brushstrokes she painted that rounded out his lips. They held hands in the bitter cold and wrapped themselves in dreams that were too perfect to be true. And yet they were.
They had always be different.
So why wouldn’t he drop everything when a fever inhabited the person he loved most in the world? These were the thoughts that settled themselves in the corners of her mind, obscured by the radiated heat she’d felt all day, the weight of a brick pressing her head to the chilled pillow.
She slept as he took her shockingly high temperature, called her doctor, dug around in the mess of a pill cabinet for all the right medicines.
He was focused, propelled, on one thing; to get her better.
The seconds fell into a rhythm, the drum of ticking minutes, water warming in a glass, his knees aching from kneeling so long. But he didn’t care.
She was awake as he smoothed damp curls from her forehead, kissed her flushed cheek and helped her swallow more pills with a glass much too large. His touch on her skin brought those familiar tingles to her stomach only he could produce.
His arm curled softly around her hair, he was with her.
As the sky darkened, mottled gray against the icy evening, Jim flicked on lamps, tucked in blankets, heated more soup.
“Jim.” She called his name across the darkened room, her voice as weak as the air which separated them. He closed the gap with soft kisses on her forehead, lingering magic that left it’s mark; she smiled.
“Hey.” He leaned close, the smile etched into his face shrouded with worry. His aftershave clung to her fingers; she drank it in. “If you wanted to sleep on the bathroom floor, you should have just said so.”
“Abusing your girlfriend, Halpert?” She sighed weakly and tossled his hair between her fingers.
He could tell she was tired. “Really, how are you feeling? Any better?”
She sniffled. Her head seemed shredded in two, fever permeating every brainwave. She had the chills. And yet she was getting lost in his eyes, that impeccable blue of a drowning ocean. He was the cool she longed to dive into; to surround herself completely, fully, wholely, with him. With him, she could float. She was feeling incredably sick, but all her thoughts were drenched in him. None of it mattered; he was there, taking care of everything. Always the one to dry her tears and quench her thirst for a happiness that only radiated from him; the center of her universe. So, how was she feeling?
“Complete.” Her eyes, glazed with fever, reached deep into his own, pulling out those twisted colors they could only make together. She smiled, the kind that lit up her whole face. He didn’t have to ask what she meant. A thousand unspoken words rushed into the silence. There were things they didn’t need to say anymore. They just knew.
He kissed her, the stars exploding behind her eyelids.
She loved him.
She loved him, and her fever was going down.
They settled in with cups of soup, a movie flashing colors against the couch in the dimly lit room. She leaned against him, head on his shoulder, his arm curled softly around the small of her back.
Just these things; knees touching, stolen kisses, worried smiles and their hands curled into one.

“I love you.” She was surprised how easily it melted off her tongue. How many times had he heard her say it? But it was always with a new passion, a new fire. In the unspoken silence, there couldn’t have been three more beautiful words.
He took her hands.

it was the world in motion,
her eyes the seas of swirling green
brighter than those thousands of stars scattered across the night sky.

it was all the moments wrapped into one, a delicious start to a new day.

he would spend every second with her, even if meant a fever and fitfull sleep.
she was where he wanted to be. she was the definition of his heart.
even now, as her eyes glinted with fever, as the movie credits began to roll, as the evening gnawed on to blackest night, it was what he had always known; she was it.
he held her.
he held her so tightly.
“I love you, Pam.”

and there was a kiss that left them gasping for air,
a thousand promises of what was to come.
the blanket curled around their ankles as the night wore on.
he was her medicine, her cure.

if there was ever such a thing as a perfect sick day,
Pam thought to herself,
this was it.