~~~~~

She's in the passenger seat, hyperconscious of her arms and legs, reminding herself that it's just Jim. She's trying to remember his bad hair, his hand-me-down ties, and the mornings when he has coffee breath. A week ago, a year ago, she would have invited him in. They would have tea and watch The Daily Show. He would take off his shoes and she would get out of her nylons. He would stay too late, they would sit too close, and a fine, tricky shimmer of tension would make everything they said or did shine brighter, mean more. She would lie in bed that night, carefully recalling the way he would have hugged her or touched her hand before he left and the look in his eyes that she wasn't allowed to notice. They would see each other at work the next morning and nothing would be different. Different is so hard, she thinks.

She's staring at the handle of his glove compartment, sitting so her knees touch but her feet don't. It has been quiet for too long. "Are you coming into work tomorrow?" She asks because she knows that he and Karen took Thursday and Friday off. Michael signed off on the forms and she deposited them in their mailboxes, picturing a nice hotel, dinner at a fashionable hour, and Karen's friends, who are probably the the type of women that make Pam feel thick and graceless. She thinks of all of it again, even though he's sitting next to her, in dress pants and a green sweater that brings out the mossy color of his eyes. Karen is somewhere in the city, with those imagined friends, trying to forget Jim. His phone had chimed in his pocket twice before he turned it off. It seems she's not succeeding.

"I might stop in to check my messages, but no, not really. I'm, um, I'm exhausted." She can see his right hand twisting on the bottom of the steering wheel out of the corner of her eye, but she can't quite make her head turn.

She takes a breath and fidgets with the strap of her purse. "I'm so glad you came back." She's said it no less than five times tonight, talking past the way that he faded in and out all through dinner, his effort to pay attention to her sincere but obvious. She knows that he came back and that he's here, but not entirely so. Not yet.

"So am I." She hears his seatbelt pop and his hand is in her lap, touching, but not really holding, hers. He tugs a little on her fingertips and she turns, hugs him without looking into his eyes. They sit there, holding one another, for a long time. She pulls back when she realizes she's going to cry and the reasons why are too numerous to deal with in the front seat of his car. He lets her go, gets out of the car, and comes around to open her door. She's barely gotten to her feet when she looks him in the eye. That's when he kisses her, one hand on the top of the car door and the other on her cheek. It's clumsy and a little rushed and she can feel that he's as nervous as she is. She drops her purse and her hands find his shoulders. He tugs at her bottom lip a little as he pulls just far away enough to speak. "Can I see you tomorrow night?" Another kiss, short and soft, the look on his face suggesting that he couldn't help himself, that same slightly alarmed expression she had seen a year earlier.

"Yeah." To prove to herself that she can do it, she kisses him. When he takes a breath, she tilts her head a little more, the kiss deepens, and their tongues touch. They pull away at the same time and study one another. He is utterly unreadable. He steps back to let her gather her purse.

"I'll email you tomorrow morning."

"Okay." He squeezes her hand and she starts walking up the path to her door. Halfway there, she turns around. He's got the door open, but he's standing next to his car, watching her. She regards him, then says, "I can't believe this is happening." Is this happening?

He smiles. "Me, either."

"G'night."

"G'night."

They stare for a minute before she turns away again. She hears his car start after she closes her door.

~~~~~

~~~~~

The email is from his gmail account. It's time-stamped 6:13 a.m.

Hi -

Come over after work. Let's go someplace casual and go out for a drink. How does that sound?

I'll see you later.

Yours,
Jim

He signed all of her birthday cards and, depending on the kind of day they were having, some emails "love." She notices the "yours," and what it isn't. It either means nothing or everything. When she writes a short response, she spends five minutes contemplating the closing before deciding to steal his choice.

He comes in at 10:30, wearing jeans and a t-shirt printed with the name of a band she's never heard of. He hasn't shaved and he still looks tired, but somehow lighter, more comfortable. She can see it in his shoulders, always the easiest part of him to interpret. She's on the phone when he walks through the door, so he just taps on her desk and smiles as he passes. He's in Michael's office for twenty minutes. When the door opens and he steps out, she says, "Hey," at a volume that sounds too quiet but feels too loud.

"Hi." He comes over to her desk and leans on it, taking a few jellybeans. He smells warm and clean and his hair is a damp at the ends. "So tonight then..." He's being very quiet, speaking under Dwight, who is nattering on the phone. She waits for the whole office to turn and stare at them, for someone to notice a difference. She's felt weird all morning.

"Yeah. I'll change and come pick you up?"

"You're such a gentleman, Pam."

"Well, my mom taught me how to treat a lady." He smiles and lowers his head a little.

"I've got to go. I have some things to take care of."

"Okay."

His voice is quieter still. "You look beautiful this morning."

"Jim," it's a warning, a thank you, a space filler because she doesn't know what to say.

"Tonight."

"Tonight."

He takes a few more jellybeans and leaves. Pam stares at the spot he occupied until the phone rings again.

~~~~~

When he answers the door at 6:15, he's on the phone. He motions her inside as he says, "I can't do this right now" to the person on the other end. She follows him into the living room, where he gestures to the couch. She sits and he holds up an index finger, a pained expression on his face. "Actually, yeah, I do have more important things to do." Pam winces sympathetically and he covers his face with his hand, turns, and walks down the hall to his bedroom. Before the door closes, Pam hears an exasperated, "Karen..."

He's back in three minutes. He's flushed and he leans on the wall at the end of the hall. "I'm sorry that you had to hear that."

"It's totally okay."

"I couldn't just hang up on her and -" he trails off and looks away.

She blurts, "It took six months before Roy stopped calling me to yell at me. His mom used to call me, too."

"Ouch."

"He was drunk most of the time when he did it."

"That's -"

"It was awful." She stands up. "So I understand. And if you need some space -"

He holds up a hand, which eventually makes its way into his hair. "No, please - she's not - she's not allowed to do that."

"Okay." He moves away from the wall and they stand a couple of feet apart. "But, Jim, while we're - I'm still your friend. You can tell me what's going on. Please."

He looks down at his feet. "She called me a manipulative cocksucker." He shrugs.

Pam opens her mouth and closes it. She knows that Jim doesn't maliciously manipulate people, but she's fairly certain that he thinks he does. It's a direct hit, really, and she's kind of impressed with Karen's precision. She tries again, feeling a small stab of envy at the realization that Karen knows him well if she's figured out all of that. "Alright, Halpert, as your friend?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you need a drink. Let's go."

"Really?"

"We'll eat greasy food, get you loaded, and you can tell me what a bitch your ex-girlfriend is."

"She's not a bitch, she's right, she -"

"Jim."

"Yeah?"

"You're not a manipulative cocksucker."

This earns her a raised eyebrow and the very beginning of a smile. "Wow. I don't think I've ever heard you say - all that."

"You're not. You're human and you just dumped someone after not being very honest with her about - well, I don't know, because we've got a lot of catching up to do - and she's allowed to be angry. But you're also allowed to ignore her if you want to. For now."

He leaves his phone sitting on the endtable and she takes him to a bar and grill where they eat baskets of fries and chicken tenders and he drinks the better part of two pitchers of beer. They don't touch each other once. They play darts and he keeps winning until the second pitcher is half-empty and he starts talking about Karen. He doesn't cry and he doesn't get angry, he just tells her that Karen was a mistake, but he doesn't regret it. He's standing with his toes on the masking tape line on the floor, aiming tipsily, saying, "You know what I mean? You do something you probably shouldn't have but it doesn't matter? You're kind of happy you did it, anyway?"

"Yeah. I've done that." The last bits of dead skin from her blisters had fallen off the soles of her feet three days earlier.

He throws his dart and misses so wildly that Pam's not even sure what he was aiming for. He retrieves another from the table next to him, pausing to take a drink. "Like when I told you - like when I kissed you last year. That was really, really stupid. My timing sucked and I didn't have a plan, but I would do it again and again, just like that. All of it." Another throw and he hits the 20. "And I don't - I don't mean to say that I'm happy about how things have been," he points at himself and then at her, "but I don't think it could have gone any other way."

She brings him home at bar time and walks to his front door with him. "Are you okay? Do you need a hand?"

He makes a dismissive gesture that's a little too broad. "I'm not that drunk. I'm not even going to throw up."

"Glad to hear it."

"But I'm not going to kiss you, either."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Not now. I've been told," He leans against the doorframe and casts his eyes to one side in a fashion that strikes Pam as oddly feminine. He does this when he flirts and she loves that she knows that, "that I'm a lousy kisser when I'm drunk. Why subject you to that?"

She's sure that this has to be a lie, a tease, or a bit of cruelty leftover from an ex, but she wants to find out. "What if I kissed you instead?" She takes a small step toward him.

"Well, that would be taking advantage of me, and if you can live with yourself, then, go ahead." He's leaning into her as he says it, which is how they end up making out on his front step for ten minutes. Pam's using his intoxication as a way to press things forward a little bit. She doesn't want much, really, just to kiss him without hesitating or thinking too much about it, to pretend for a few minutes that he's her drunk, slightly silly boyfriend, some guy she got fixed up with, and that's all. But then he's got her against the front door, his hand is about an inch below her breast, and he really is fantastic at this, all insistence and sloppy charm, when she remembers the joy and surprise on his face two years ago as she showed him the box of paper doves.

She pulls her head back.

He looks as stunned as she feels. She thinks for a bare second of trying again to talk her way into his apartment, of ripping her nervousness off like a band-aid. "Like I said," his voice is too low, too soft. Pam feels some secret part of her writhe at the sound of it and she knows she couldn't handle it - him - tonight. "Shameful," it sounds like a come-on, but he lets her go and she steps away from the door.

"I'd do it again."

"And I'd let you." He unlocks the door. "Thank you so much."

"It was fun."

"Tomorrow night won't be." He sighs. "Karen's coming back and she has some stuff to pick up here. It's probably going to take a while."

"Call me if you need to. I'm home all day."

"I'll call you on Sunday."

"Good."

~~~~~

~~~~~

Pam opens her eyes sometime after nine. She has a small headache festering behind her browline and a dry mouth. The room fades out of focus and makes one quick circle when she gets out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom. She brushes her teeth twice and grabs the aspirin bottle.

In the kitchen, she chases two pills with a long swallow of juice and drops a piece of bread into the toaster. She stands with her forehead resting against the cabinet, staring at the orange coils. Her mind is humming along quietly, unsupervised. She imagines reaching behind herself and turning the key he left hanging in the door when their mouths met, not breaking their kiss, and leading him inside. It's dark, so it saves her the trouble of picturing no more than the broad strokes of a bedroom she's never seen, an imagined rug soft under her feet, the stretch and tug of hastily removed clothing. He's fumbling with the hooks on her bra, making some joke against her mouth about junior high school and second base. He tastes like beer and smells faintly of second-hand smoke and sweat. They're on his bed, half-dressed, and he's on top of her, heavy and correct, searching her face with wide eyes like he wants some confirmation that she's not going to slap or stop him. He's between her knees, and, despite his jeans and the alcohol, she can feel that he's hard, pressing against her and trying not to at the same time. She wants to tell him that it's okay, that she knows, that they can finally admit it.

It would have been wonderful and exciting and stupid.

The toaster pops. She listens to the coils tick as they cool.

She carries her plate and her glass to the overstuffed chair in her living room and turns on the iPod dock, keeping the volume low in deference to her delicately throbbing skull. She rests her chin on her fist on the arm of the chair as she chooses an album.

Because Roy didn't pay attention to such small stakes, Pam could say that she had read about something online or had heard it on television, and that would be enough. He never noticed that the CDs she occasionally brought home didn't fit with the rest of her tiny collection, Pearl Jam stacked on top of Kelly Clarkson, Neko Case next to Christina Aguilera. She rarely listened to them while Roy was home, but, sometimes, when she did, he would nod along and say things like, "I like this one, Pammy. Who is it?"

The National. The Shins. Wilco.

"Never heard of 'em."

Which is where the lie would come in. Sure, she could have just said, "Oh, this was on in Jim's car when he gave me a ride home and I liked it," and Roy wouldn't have thought anything of it. There was no way that he could know that she consciously limited herself to two CDs a month, as anything beyond that seemed like too much somehow, and that her hands would sweat as she stood in the Rock/Pop section at Borders with a list of names on a Post-It note. She always paid cash. It felt vaguely pornographic.

It was a Tuesday and she was in his car for what would be the last time before he left for Stamford. They were on an errand, picking up sandwiches for everyone in the office. It was after she found out that he had complained about her, but before they were really okay again. He started the car and, when his iPod blinked to life, he said, "I think you'll like this. It's new." As he was backing out, he added, "I've been listening to it almost every day."

She went out and bought it that night, the second CD of the month. After he left her, she listened to it almost every day, too. She pretended for a while that she didn't understand why he found it so compelling, even though she cried almost every time she played it. It was as if he was speaking to her, finally telling her all of his secrets, not just skirting the edges of them.

Pam listens to the seventh track twice, enjoying the way that it glides against her headache. When she doesn't have a mouthful of toast, she mutters along - Am I losing my cool, overstating my case? - and her heart thuds once, hard.

During the last song, Mrs. Beesly calls, just as she has every Saturday morning since Pam moved out at 18. And, like every Saturday morning phone call, she begins by saying, "Hi! How are you today, honey?"

Pam says, "Good," just as she always does, even if her week was horrible or excellent, even if she has nothing or everything to report. She said "good" the week that Roy proposed and the week that Jim left for Stamford. "How are you?"

She listens to her mother talk for ten minutes about work, Mr. Beesly, and the women in her Bunco club. Laura asks, "And what did you do this week?"

"Well, I finished my landscape class on Wednesday."

"Are you taking another class this summer?"

"Um, I was going to, but," Pam fills her lungs, seeing her opening. It's surprisingly hard to begin, so she doles it out in pieces. "I don't know. I kind of started seeing someone this week, and I think I'm going to need some time for him - for that."

"That's wonderful, dear. How did you meet him?"

Pam's smiling, biting her lip. She waits for just a moment before letting it go. "Mom, it's Jim."

~~~~~

~~~~~

They're at Nay Aug Park, laying on a blanket in the grass near the water park. They've been out of the pool for nearly an hour, so their suits are dry and Pam's hair is curling slowly into a frizzy nimbus. Jim's quiet and she is dozing, the sun glowing red against her eyelids. The cicadas are humming and children scream and splash nearby. Yesterday's hangover is long gone, but she thinks that it would have felt wonderful to lie in the sun and bake the headache out of her skull.

It was one of the first good, hot days of the summer, so she suggested swimming when he called that morning. They got to the pool shortly after it opened and claimed two chairs with their towels. He took off his shirt facing away from her, giving her a chance to stare openly at his bare skin, and, when he turned around, offered to put sunblock on her back. As she spun on her bare heel, she saw his eyes flit down her body. She jumped and squealed when he touched her, scolding him for not warming the lotion between his hands first. When he was done, she took the bottle from him and covered her arms, stomach, chest, and then his back, taking her time. She stood on her toes to make sure she had gotten his shoulders, ignoring the urge to reach around and press the flat of her palm into the hair on his chest. They swam a couple of laps, did handstands, and waited in line for the waterslide together. She dared him off the high-dive and suffered his teasing gladly when she refused to take her turn.

She opens her eyes when something moves between her and the sun. Jim is propped up on one elbow, staring down at her. He pulled his t-shirt back on when she wasn't paying attention and the time spent in the water had messed his hair into something like its regular style. She brings her hand up to shield her face. "Is this the swimsuit you were wearing at Lake Scranton?" She nods. "I like it." He rests his hand lightly on her stomach and she feels a liquid twist below her navel.

"I bought it for that day." She shrugs. "For you, really." It feels incredible to say it out loud. She never wants to deny any part of this again.

"You're really lucky we never went swimming. Michael would have made such a scene if he saw you in this." He shifts until he's lying against her. Pam can feel the tension in his frame, like he's ready to oblige the instant she tells him to move. She wiggles her toes against his calf and he presses a brief kiss to her temple with his chlorine-dry lips. "And Kevin... God, poor Kevin."

"But not you, right? Totally impervious to my charms."

Another kiss, this time on her cheek. "Absolutely." Finally, he finds her mouth, but just for a moment, before smoothing her hair and kissing her forehead. "Back to the pool for a while?"

"I need snack bar nachos first."

"Well, duh." He stands and offers her his hand, pulling her up. He puts his arm around her as they cross the grass. Pam grabs the hand that's hanging over her shoulder and holds on tight.

~~~~~

~~~~~

In the candy aisle of the Rite-Aid, Pam is holding a bag of gummi bears, and Jim a box of Mike and Ikes.

"Do we want anything else?"

Pam contemplates the chocolate bars. "How big are your pockets?" She reaches over and stuffs her hand in his sweatshirt pocket, grabbing his side through the fabric to tickle him.

He twists away from her. "Oh sure, make me the patsy. Won't you feel horrible when I'm in movie theatre prison?"

"There's more room in your pockets. I can't help it." She holds up a Cadbury Milk bar.

"That's not going to fit." She narrows her eyes at him and hooks her finger through the belt loop on his hip, pulling his jeans away from his body. She simultaneously waves the candy bar and notices that he's wearing gray boxer shorts. He swats at her hand. "God, Pamela, you're grabby today!" He's clearly trying to sound offended, scandalized, but his cheeks are bright pink and he's leaning into her hand, just a little, so her knuckles touch his bare hip.

"Hey," she lets go, "I didn't touch you all day, James." She didn't hug him when he stopped at her desk to say good morning, his eyes dancing with their shared secret.

He smirks. "Keeping track?" She didn't touch him when they sat next to one another in a meeting, even though letting their shoulders brush would have attracted no notice.

"Oh, shut up." She puts the candy bar back and turns toward the end of the aisle. Her flip-flops click on the linoleum. She didn't press her knee against his or put her hand on his back when he sat down right next to her at lunch, ignoring the way that Phyllis watched them closely. "We should probably discuss movie theatre seat preferences now. I need to know if you're one of those freaks that likes to sit way up front."

He falls into step next to her. "God, no. Those people are monsters. And how am I going to throw Mike and Ikes at the monsters unless I'm near the back?" They decorated for Ryan's going-away party with the conference room door closed. She didn't rest her hand on his shoulder when she hopped down from the chair she was using as a stepstool. He sat on the floor, then in the middle of the table and handed her strips of tape, Angela periodically glaring at both of them through the window. When they left the room, a record-breaking hour later, Dwight went on at considerable length about dereliction of duty, which lead to Jim demanding that, henceforth, Dwight should salute him before addressing him. Michael quashed the suggestion when Dwight stormed into his office. Jim did, however, call Dwight "soldier" for the rest of the day.

"Blending into the shadows. You're very wise." She didn't hold his hand at any point during the six separate occasions that he leaned against her desk over the course of the day, even when he informed her that he was taking her to the movies that night.

"I know." Even though they were alone in the elevator at the end of the day, she didn't kiss him when the doors closed.

They sit in the last row of the near-empty theatre. During the previews, Jim excuses himself and comes back five minutes later with a Cadbury bar. He drops it into her lap and whispers, "Imagine that. They sell them at the concession stand."

They hold hands for two hours and he traces intricate shapes on her palm and wrist with his thumb and index finger. It makes her shiver more than once and his left knee bounces intermittently through the whole movie. They kiss and he tastes like sticky cherry candy and chocolate. She can't stop stealing glances at him. His eyes shine in the dark.

~~~~~

~~~~~

After work, they stand in the parking lot talking for half an hour. When Pam realizes that theirs are the only cars left, she asks if he'd like to grab dinner. She follows him to a cafe where she orders a chicken sandwich with pesto, thinking too late of the garlic.

They justify their continuing use of the table by ordering coffee, tea, and a giant red velvet cupcake from the bakery case that Pam places on the table with a clink of its glass plate and a flourish when she returns from a trip to the ladies' room. They pick it apart while they talk. She averts her eyes when he sucks frosting off his thumb and his smile lets her know that he noticed. They've reduced it to a wrapper and the candy garnish that neither of them wants when the clerk informs them that it's closing time.

Paper coffee cups in hand, they relocate to the park across the street, where the lamps are flickering on. Pam toes off her flats and walks through the sandpit under the playground. She takes the orange metal ladder two steps at a time and settles onto the highest platform on the play structure, curling her legs under her. He joins her, and they sit next to one another in silence. He's leaning his head against the blue metal wall behind him, looking up at the maple tree that extends overhead. The change of venue halts the conversation that was coming so easily when they had things to do with their hands and the clamor of the cafe around them.

She glances over him. He drops his head, sighs, and reaches for her hand. He shifts until he's sitting in front of her, her legs resting along one of his calves. "Hi," he says.

"Hi."

"Talking to you is easy. It's one of the things I really like about you."

"You, too."

"This is harder -" he kisses her. When he tries to pull away, she clutches the lapel of his jacket with one hand and squeezes the fingers that are still entwined with hers. He squeezes back. He teases her bottom lip with his teeth and his tongue.

There is an audible pop as she withdraws her mouth from his. "It is. Why is that?" She leans back.

He looks over her head, "Uh, because I'm better at making jokes than I am at kissing."

"No, you aren't."

He tucks his chin and squints a little, finally looking her in the eye. "Wait. Was that a compliment?"

"Depends. Am I better at making jokes or kissing?" They smile.

He takes a breath, playing with her fingertips with his free hand. "I always assumed that this would feel really normal. Like, if I could just kiss you, one time, I'd have made my point. It would be perfect, or something," he trails off, looking embarrassed.

"It's trickier than that, I guess." She doesn't go on, as she still doesn't know how to respond to his candor, and is afraid of making him withdraw. She wants him to talk about this, about them, for hours, to tell her everything he has chosen not to say.

"Did you think about this?" His voice is so quiet.

"Yeah. Of course. Did you?" She isn't sure how else to ask without embarrassing him or assuming too much.

He scoffs, "Now and then." He's looking down at their joined hands. "I think it got a little unhealthy for a while."

She doesn't want to know what he means by that; it's too sad to consider. "I'm sorry, Jim."

He shakes his head. "I'm the one who couldn't get a grip."

"Remember when I kissed you at the Dundies?"

"I wasn't sure that you remembered."

She nods. "I do. I thought about it a lot. I kept thinking that it didn't feel like I thought it would."

He asks, "How did it feel?"

"Weird. I wanted to get you alone and kiss you again when I was sober, kind of like a science experiment? Like I wanted to check if I remembered it right -"

"Or, you know, try it without an audience?"

"That, too. But I couldn't think about it for very long, because then I would realize that I really wanted to kiss you again..." She stops there, because her daydreams about him never do. "How did it feel for you?"

He's quiet for a minute before he says, "Completely overwhelming. As soon as you stopped, I wanted to ask you to do it again."

"And then that spring," she says softly.

"That -" he starts. Neither of them say anything for a moment. "That's kind of hard to talk about. Like I said the other night, though, I don't regret it."

He looks back up and she fidgets with her coffee cup, removing the paper collar and slipping it over her hand. "Pretty amazing kiss, huh?"

"I didn't want to stop. I didn't think it would ever happen again."

"Me, either."

They look at one another and, this time, it's irresistible and easy, just because it can happen again. And again. He pulls her into his lap and wraps his arms around her. She feels a little out of breath, because he's never really held her before. She is fast approaching the same point that made her back down on Friday night, except tonight she realizes that she could handle it, that she could take him home and they wouldn't just collapse under the weight of their own anxiety. She is, for the first time ever, turned on by being close to him without having to feel guilty about it. She could tell him. She could show him.

"It's getting late," he says, resting his forehead against hers.

"I hate school nights."

They return to their cars, parked in front of the cafe. She watches his headlights in her rearview mirror until she turns left when he goes right. She rolls down her windows and drives aimlessly for a half-hour before going home. She passes his apartment once. There's a light on and she chooses to assume that it's his bedroom. Pam sits at the first stoplight beyond his apartment and realizes, again, that she loves him.

~~~~~

~~~~~

She's not sure how to bring it up.

Listen, I was wondering if

I'm really attracted to you, like, physically

It might be nice if we spent some time

She's sitting at her desk, staring at her pencil cup, accumulating possible conversation-starters. None of them sound right. She can't come up with one that does. Maybe I talk too much. Maybe I should just jump him. She smiles at the pencil cup.

The blinds inside Michael's office slap against the windows as he jerks his door open. It snaps Pam out of her reverie. He strides into the room, holding a sheaf of papers in his fist. "I have an announcement to make!" Everyone looks up warily. "As of today, no more love contracts!"

Toby pokes his head out of his corner. "Uh, Michael, you can't -"

He wiggles the papers furiously. "Fine. Fine. As of today, I don't want to hear about it until you're engaged."

Toby tries again, "Actually, Michael, it's company policy -"

"Clearly, Toby, the company doesn't understand that you people can't have stable relationships. Kelly and Ryan and Jim and Karen in one week? What's wrong with all of you?"

Dwight chimes in, leaning back. "Immorality, Michael. Immorality." Jim glances at Pam. Red alert. She knows.

"Seriously. I mean, Jim," Pam notes that his chair rolls back an inch, like he's bracing for impact, "Karen's hot and you're hot -"

"Thank you?"

"Why couldn't you make it work? Ryan and Kelly I get, because she's insane -"

"I'm here, you know!"

He plows ahead, "- but you and Karen?" his voice breaks on her name. He looks pained.

"Uh, yeah, I don't think I'm going to talk about that right - ever."

Michael takes a step forward, as if speaking to Jim in confidence, but everyone is still listening. "Was it a physical thing? Because you can work that stuff out. There are things you can take, positions you can try -"

Pam stumbles upon their escape route, "Michael, is this because you don't like doing paperwork?"

He turns and shakes his head as if her suggestion is utterly absurd, "No, Pam, no," another wave of the papers, "I'm just concerned about all of you. I'm your boss so your well-being is important to me. So I worry. Is that so hard to believe?"

It's the paperwork. "No."

"Good. So again - I don't care what you do until there's jewelry involved. Got it?" He crosses to Pam's desk. "Shred these, will you?"

She takes the papers from him and he stalks back into his office. She sends Kelly and Ryan's forms through the shredder first.

I've never been with anyone other than Roy and I'd really like to

How long do you think we should wait before we

I love you and

Do you want to

I want

She's holding Jim and Karen's forms in her hands when he walks up next to her to use the fax machine. They say nothing as she feeds the papers through through the shredder one page at a time. He is stalling, watching her. Once the last page goes through, he whispers, "I'm surprised you didn't go burn those in the parking lot."

She scoops up a handful of the shredded paper and tosses it over his head, like she's throwing confetti. Later, at dinner on the patio of a restaurant across town, she'll find a long, thin piece still tangled in his hair, behind his left ear. He'll laugh when, with a small smile on her face, she drops it into the citronella candle on their table.

~~~~~

~~~~~

"Hi."

"Hi. I'm not calling too late, am I?"

There's no such thing as too late. She glances over at the clock on her nightstand. It's 10:34. "Nope."

"It's not weird not that I just spent the entire day with you and I couldn't stop myself from calling to say good night?"

"No." She sits up and hugs her knees with one arm. Come over. Spend the night.

"What are you doing?"

"I was just reading. Pride and Prejudice."

"I've never read it."

"This is my third time. I should probably branch out."

"Nah, you have to have books that you come back to."

"Do you?" She feels around under her pillow for the grocery receipt that's currently serving as her bookmark.

"Sure. I've read Slaughterhouse Five about six times."

"I've never read that."

"You should. Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time."

"I will." She reaches over and turns off her lamp. As she settles against her pillows, she asks, "So, what did you do tonight?"

"I went over to the JCC and got in on a pick-up game."

Pam imagines his long legs and the way his hair sticks to his forehead when he sweats. She smiles in the dark. "Oh? Did you win?"

"God, no. And I got my ass knocked to the floor twice, so - yeah."

"Are you okay?"

"A little sore, but I'm fine." He pauses. "Evidently, I suck because I'm distracted."

She arches an eyebrow at the ceiling. "Distracted?"

"Yeah. That's what Chris told me as he was pulling me off the floor for the second time, anyway."

"Really? That's weird. I've been kind of distractable lately, too."

"Huh. So what's your problem, Beesly?"

She turns on her side. "I'm dating this guy..."

"One of those nice young men Kelly's been finding for you, I presume?"

"No. They were - um - out of my league? Much, much too good for me."

"C'mon, really? I always thought you were kind of a catch myself."

"No, Jim, you didn't meet them! They were really something special." She is reaching under the covers, trying to remove her socks as she talks. The phone slips and falls into the blankets. She retrieves it and says, "Sorry. Sock emergency."

"I understand. Those can be serious. What are you doing over there?"

"I'm in bed. My feet got warm and I'm not coordinated enough to take off my clothes and talk to you at the same time." As she balls up the socks and tosses them on the floor, she notices what she said. "Oh! I mean -"

He interrupts. "You're in bed?" His voice is too measured, too casual.

"Yeah."

"So am I." He pauses before he continues. "In the dark."

"Me, too. I'm in my ratty blue nightgown and no socks." She's speaking quietly, letting some of the things she has been feeling but not saying leak into her voice.

He changes his tone, flinches first. "I am not in my ratty blue nightgown."

"Shame. You look good in blue." She clears her throat. "What are you wearing?" She tries to sound cheeky when she says it, but she can't hear if she succeeded over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears.

"Uh, I'm - not?" Her face is burning and he is speaking quickly when he says, "so this guy..."

"Oh, it's a long story."

"Pam, I'm your best friend. Aren't I your best friend?"

"Of course," she replies warmly.

"You're like a sister to me." She groans and he laughs. "So dish. What does he do?"

"He's a paper salesman."

"God, that sounds awful."

"Yeah, he really doesn't like it very much, but, money, you know?"

"I do. How long have you been dating?"

"Um - a week today, actually."

"Happy anniversary," he says softly.

"Thank you," she shifts to her back and returns to the game. "It's very new. But we were friends for years, so it's not new? It's a little strange."

"Yeah, I just started dating someone and it's kind of the same deal." She can hear the rustle of fabric and pictures his bed, his sheets, his skin.

She feigns surprise, bringing her voice up a few steps. "Oh, I didn't know you were dating anyone!"

"I am. You remember that girl I was out of my head over?"

"I seem to recall..." She doesn't smile until she finishes her sentence.

"Yeah. Her."

"That's great!"

"It is. But, yeah, strange. Like I'm still her best friend, but I'm also dating her at the same time?"

"But that's kind of - neat, isn't it?."

"It is. Even if I don't know what the hell I'm doing." She would kiss him if he was lying next to her. She would do so much more if he was lying next to her. "So," he says, in a voice that sounds like a nudge to her ribs, "how's the sex?"

Clearly, he wants her to laugh, change the subject, chastise him. She recognizes his standard attempt to win the game, to avoid and confront at the same time, by abruptly increasing the stakes. Pam wonders if he is conscious of how much of their lives both with and without one another are a direct result of this approach. For a change, she refuses to be flustered. "It's incredible. Best I've ever had." She wiggles a little, settling deeper into the middle of her bed, pleased with herself.

"Oh, it's uh -" she can hear him groping for another move, trying to top her. She's pretty sure that she's got him. He lets out a loud breath. "Jesus, Pam." He sounds almost bashful.

She keeps her voice light. "Don't mess with me, Halpert."

"Yeah. Not something to joke about, I guess."

"I don't mind. We can joke about it, talk about it. It's fine. It's part of this, right?" She makes a gesture between herself and the ceiling, as if he's above her.

"Right."

"Okay." But there's silence on the line. A car passes outside and casts a slow-moving, oblong rectangle of light on her bedroom ceiling.

He speaks first, finally. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have."

"Really, it's okay, Jim. I want to talk about it. I want -" it sounds just as it did in her head, up to and including her total inability to complete the sentence. It's love and it's sex and it's her best friend all crammed into a space that feels very, very tight at the moment. He's everything and she's not sure that saying this, at the end of seven little days, when she's just barely accepted the reality of it herself, is really what she should do. "I want to see you tomorrow night."

"What do you want to do?" The question is innocuous and urgent at the same time. He sounds like he's holding his breath.

"Let's stay in." They haven't really been alone yet. This has not escaped her notice.

She can feel him making quiet calculations, determining the relationship between what they're not saying and her suggestion. "That sounds good to me. Why don't you come over?"

"I will."

"But now we should get some sleep."

"We should."

"I'll see you in the morning."

"You will. Good night."

"Good night."

She lies in the dark, eyes wide, listening to her own breath.

~~~~~