Jim heard rapid knocking as he removed the keys from the ignition. My car's never made a sound like that before, he mused with concern, looking over at his passenger. Wait. That's not the car.

She gave him a brief, tight smile, clutching the bag to her chest like a shield, her feet tapping miles a minute against the floorboards.

"I promise, you have nothing to worry about. They'll love you." She made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat. He rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. "Ready?"

"Yep," Pam replied, almost too quickly, with a decisive nod of her head. The longer they waited, the more nervous she would become. Best to just get it over with.

"You're the best," he said encouragingly as he exited the car, coming around to open her door. "Here, I'll take the corn." He reached for the bag.

She grasped it more tightly. "No, I want to carry it," she assured him. Having something to do with her hands always made her feel better. Worst-case scenario, even if there was nothing left to do in the kitchen, at least she could wrap it in tinfoil for the grill. Tinfoil… If she'd had a free arm, she would have smacked her forehead. "I forgot to bring the tinfoil!" she hissed, looking pained.

He opened the rear door and picked up the roll with an easy smile. "You had the corn, so I got it. Not that we need it. My mom probably has miles of the stuff."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "I love you, Jim."

"I love you too," he replied. On any other day he would have teased her, possibly asking When did you become so easy, Beesly? Today, he refrained. He was well-aware just how anxious she was. Grinning contentedly, he walked beside her. Truthfully, he was still just happy she'd agreed to come. As he'd told her more than once, she really didn't have anything to worry about. She'd just shook her head and changed the subject every time he'd mentioned it, though, so he'd stopped. She'll figure it out soon enough.

Struggling with the weight of the bag, she fell behind. "Come on Pam, I got it." He lifted it easily from her arms, handing her the foil with a gentle smile.

She opened her mouth to protest. Thinking better of it, she bit her lip. "Thanks. It was really heavy."

He lifted it above his head with one hand. "Light as a feather."

She giggled. "Show off," she murmured as they arrived at the door.

He grinned victoriously. She'd been uncharacteristically wooden during the drive. He knocked perfunctorily, then pushed open the door. "Hey mom!" he called. "We're here."

"Jim!" The sound of light footsteps preceding her, she rushed around the corner from the kitchen and wrapped him in a brief, tight hug. She was tall and lanky, brown hair gracefully graying, an apron tied over her jeans. She spoke in a lilting voice, with the faintest hint of an accent that was impossible to place. Her eyes—green, large, and friendly—were so like Jim's. Pam liked her immediately. "And Pam, of course. So happy to meet you!"

Unexpectedly, she found herself enveloped in a hug as well. "It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Halpert."

"Call me Betsy," she laughed with a wave of her hand. "Mrs. Halpert is Jim's grandma." Her laugh was downright infectious. She glanced at Pam's necklace, then looked over at Jim and raised her eyebrows approvingly. Pam, looking down shyly as she assented, missed the exchange.

Jim smiled back, thankful for her advice the day before. "So where is everyone?" he asked. "Oh, and we brought corn," he said, indicating the bag in his arms. "Pam's idea."

She smiled at him gratefully as Betsy clapped her hands together. "That's perfect! Your dad just started the grill. Let's see… Tom and Pete were watching football, but they've been on the patio for a while now. I'm not sure what ‘Riss is up to. She said she'd help me in the kitchen, but she scampered off a while ago. Probably looking at photo albums in her old room."

He rolled his eyes. "Sounds about right."

Pam spoke up. "I'd love to help out, Betsy. I just need to wrap the corn in tinfoil. Then I can do whatever you need."

Betsy beamed. "I could certainly use the help. Jim," she said, taking the bag of corn, "why don't you take Pam around and introduce her to everyone first?"

"You got it, Betsy," he answered drolly as she headed back into the kitchen.

"Still ‘mom' to you, smartass."

Pam covered her mouth in shock, grinning. Finding themselves alone in the entryway, Jim briefly put his arm around her shoulder. "Ready to meet everyone else?"

She nodded and looked up at him, eyes sparkling. "Your mom is pretty cool."

"I guess," he shrugged, feigning indifference as he snuck a kiss to her temple.

She twisted away from him. "Not here," she said, glancing toward the kitchen apprehensively.

"I remember." He dropped his arm and zipped his lips, heading toward the back door.

She followed, nervously twisting the box in her hands. "I'll just drop this off real quick." She detoured briefly into the kitchen. "I'll be right back," she promised Betsy.

"Oh, you didn't have to bring foil, sweetie. I have miles of it." She pulled a permanent marker from her apron and wrote something on the corner of the box. "Make sure to take it with you when you leave."

"I will, thank you." Placing the box into the bag of corn, she saw that Betsy had written Jim 7 Pam. Curiously, she wondered what the 7 meant as she followed him out back.

 

Jim waved to his brothers as he stepped through the sliding glass door. "Hey, guys." They were sitting on the patio, drinking beers. He noted with dismay the number of empties in front of Pete. Great, he thought contemptuously. Sober, he was a borderline asshole on a good day. Drunk, he was sure to cross the line sooner than later. He cleared his throat. "This is my girlfriend, Pam. Pam, these are my brothers Tom and Pete."

"Nice to meet you," said Tom, rising to shake her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Tom," she said graciously. He was light-haired, and even taller than Jim.

Pete waved from across the table. "How ya doin'?"

She waved back awkwardly. He had dark hair and an even darker look on his face. He stared at the table, eyes unfocused. "I'm good, Pete. How are you?"

"Been worse." Chugging the remainder of his bottle, he rose to grab another from a nearby cooler. She noted apprehensively that he was more than a little unsteady on his feet. Jim rolled his eyes at her, looking embarrassed. With a sympathetic expression, she nodded imperceptibly, understanding implicit between them. Steer clear.

"Hey man," said Tom. "Why don't you grab a beer and chill with us? Been awhile since we caught up."

He glanced at Pam. She repeated the nod. "Yeah, sounds good," he replied easily. "You guys seen 'Riss?"

Tom pointed a thumb across the backyard. "She went for a walk about half an hour ago."

Pam's eyes roved in the direction he pointed. She'd have to take a walk herself at some point, she reflected. The yard was enormous, dense with bushes and trees. She could just make out a brilliant lilac bush blooming here, a patch of rosebushes there. What a wonderful place this would be to grow up, she thought warmly.

"Alright, thanks," Jim replied. Pam followed him around the corner of the house. "Hey, dad!" said Jim.

"Jim!" He set down the grill brush in his hand. They exchanged a manly hug. "Happy Memorial Day. Really good to see you, it's been too long."

"It has," he admitted with an embarrassed chuckle. "Sorry."

"Nah, just givin' you a hard time." He laughed heartily before turning to Pam. "And this is…?"

She held her hand out and cleared her throat. "I'm Pam Beesly. It's great to meet you, Mister Halpert."

"Just Gerald," he introduced himself to her. He looked impressed when she shook his hand firmly.

"It's great to meet you, Gerald," she corrected smoothly. Unlike Betsy, he didn't have an accent. And, like everyone else in the family, he was incredibly tall. She was starting to feel like a dwarf. "We brought a dozen corn for the grill."

"Thank you!" Gerald resumed scrubbing the grill with gusto.

"I just need to wrap it in tinfoil first. How many ears would you like?"

"Seven will be enough. We're not expecting anyone else to show up."

She nodded. "I'll bring it right out. And thanks for cooking. We really appreciate it."

Jim smiled proudly at her. He had no idea what she'd been so worried about. She was an absolute pro. "You need any help over here, Dad?"

"Do I ever?" he asked with a laugh. "This is a one-man operation. Go have fun."

"Thanks," he said. "See you later." He walked with Pam around the corner of the house. "You sure you'll be okay in the kitchen with my mom?"

"Definitely, she's great. You should catch up with your brothers," she told him sincerely. Although she was planning to avoid spending any more time around Pete than absolutely necessary.

He understood. "Alright," he said gratefully. "If you need anything, let me know. I'm gonna talk to my dad real quick, see if they won't cut Pete off." He rolled his eyes, uncomfortably shifting his weight from foot to foot. "If his wife and kids were here, he'd keep it to a reasonable level. But they're not, so…"

She nodded, giving his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. "You can always come hang out with us girls if he gets to be too much."

He chuckled. "Not really my scene."

"Yeah, yeah." She rolled her eyes fondly at him. "Your sister's name is Larissa, right? Just in case I run into her without you."

"Yeah, but everyone calls her ‘Riss."

"Thanks. See ya ‘round." With a twinkle in her eye, she headed back to the kitchen.

He grinned at her retreating back. She was absolutely perfect.

After expressing his concerns to his father, Jim returned to the patio, grabbing a beer from the cooler along the way. He didn't particularly feel like drinking, but it would be one less for Pete. Pulling up a chair facing the house, he started talking basketball with his brothers. Well, mostly with Tom. Pete was nearly silent, focusing on drinking. The few times he did speak, he slurred his words noticeably. "Hey Pete, you want something to eat?" he offered. He glanced significantly at Tom. Tom looked away, saying nothing.

"Not unless lunch is ready," Pete fired back belligerently. Jim rolled his eyes. Not that he hadn't expected it, but hey. Worth a try.

Soon, Pam stepped out of the house carrying a serving platter of foil-wrapped corn. Jim gave her an easy smile as she passed the table on her way to the grill. She smiled back at him.

At that moment, Larissa began stealing around the shed with an impish grin on her face, one hand behind her back. On the way back from her walk, she had crossed the yard at an angle that, as she was well-aware, would prevent her from being observed. She was close enough now that she could hear the conversation on the patio, while still remaining hidden.

"Hey, what's that?" Tom called out. Larissa froze. He couldn't possibly have seen her approach. No way! Could he?

"Corn for the grill," Pam said with a smile. Larissa breathed a sigh of relief.

"Awesome," Tom replied. To Jim, he said, "You guys brought it?"

He nodded. "Pam's idea."

"Grilled corn," he said appreciatively. "It's been ages."

Pete continued imbibing silently.

With a sincere smile, Gerald thanked Pam for the delivery. As she left, he turned up the radio and rolled the ears onto the grill. She looks Irish to me, he mused approvingly.

Larissa patted the extra ammunition in her pockets, reassured that she wouldn't run out prematurely. The last time she'd seen her favorite brother was at Christmas. She couldn't wait to meet his alleged girlfriend, but that didn't mean she didn't owe him a few good shots first. Or a few dozen. She held in a snicker as she peeked around the corner of the shed, memorizing each of her brother's locations. Fortunately, none were facing in her direction. She counted the number of empty bottles in front of Pete with a disparaging eyeroll. Five, working on six. Total alky, she reflected grimly.

Returning with the empty platter, Pam passed the table with a smile and wave. Larissa ducked back behind the shed just in time. Jim and Tom returned both of Pam's gestures, while Pete took another drink.

Hearing the door close, Larissa poked her head back out and mentally calculated the trajectory.

"So… Pam." Pete leered as he set down number six.

Jim steeled himself, vowing that he wouldn't let Pete get to him. Not today. Not in front of Pam.

With both arms, Larissa took careful aim just above Jim's head as Pete turned to Tom. "Ní raibh sí an soith?" [Wasn't she the bitch?] Larissa's eyes widened into saucers. She ducked back behind the shed to eavesdrop, sinking down on her haunches.

"Feisigh leat," Jim retorted. [Fuck you.] Shortly after his return from Stamford, he had let his brothers take him out drinking. After a few too many Jack and cokes, he'd spilled his guts about the reason he'd left Scranton, and why he'd only grudgingly returned for the merger. He had regretted it the morning after, even moreso now. He was minimally grateful that they weren't having this conversation in a language Pam would understand, if she happened to overhear.

Laughing rudely, Pete replied, "Your accent sucks, gaige." [dude]

Jim rolled his eyes. It was no secret that he'd never kept up on his Irish.

Hesitantly, Tom glanced at Jim. "Shíl mé bhris sí do chroí?" [I thought she broke your heart?]

"That's in the past," he replied firmly. "Tá sí mo chailín now." [She's my girlfriend now.]

"Claddagh álainn." Pete said mockingly. "Opal?" [Beautiful claddagh. Opal?]

He'd told himself he wouldn't let Pete get to him, but his oldest brother had always been a surgeon when it came to finding his weak spots. "Stad labhairt," he hissed, flushing angrily. [Stop talking.]

"Nuair is é an bainise?" Pete replied innocently. [When's the wedding?]

Ominously, Jim retorted, "Dún. É." [Shut. It.]

Pete snickered. "Or what?"

Larissa shook her head furiously. She was going to murder Pete. Why did he have to fucking ruin everything? Jim had been miserable for fucking ever.

In an icy tone, Jim threatened him. "Beidh mé bhuail tú. Is tusa óltach, bod." [I'm gonna hit you. You're intoxicated, prick.]

I'll hold his arms, she cheered him on silently.

Just then, fortunately, the back door opened. Betsy came out first with an enormous smile, carrying a large plate of raw hamburger patties. Laughing, Pam followed her with a bowl of breaded chicken. Jim observed the exchange, admiration replacing the anger coursing coldly through his veins.

In a friendly tone, hoping to smooth things over between his brothers, Tom called to Betsy, "Dia duit, mom. Nuair a bheidh lón a bheith réidh?" [Hey mom. When will lunch be ready?]

Pam stopped in her tracks, eyes like dinner plates. That wasn't English. It wasn't like any language she'd ever heard in her life.

Pete added, "Yeah, tá mé an-ocras." [Yeah, I'm starving.]

"Béarla, mhac," Betsy chided them. [English, sons.] She said over her shoulder to Pam, "I told them to speak English."

Jim's family can speak not-English? she thought wildly. Does Jim? Mouth open in the shape of an O, her eyes flitted to him. He swallowed nervously, giving her an apologetic smile. He guessed he probably should have mentioned that. Honestly, though, he hadn't expected anyone to speak Irish today. Particularly not in front of her, he thought, frustrated. His family didn't do that.

Betsy turned back to the table. "Lunch'll be ready in half an hour or so. How's it going?"

The cat's out of the bag now. Might as well go with it.  Jim inclined his head at Pete, keeping his voice level with effort. "Pete's ar meisce." [Pete's drunk.]

Pam gawked at him, wonder in her eyes. He does!

"Béarla," Betsy said sternly.

Jim narrowed his eyes at her. "Mom." She knew he never spoke Irish unless he absolutely had to. He stood up and walked over to Pam. Her gaze followed him, dazed with fascination. "First he called mo chailín 'soith.' Agus sé gáire a…" He struggled for the word. He couldn't call it a claddagh without alerting Pam that they were talking about her. And 'opal' was a cognate. What's the word for jewelry? He racked his brain. "…a seodra." [First he called my girlfriend ‘bitch.' And he laughed at her jewelry.]

Betsy's eyes narrowed. She glanced back and forth between Jim and Pete.

"Bréagadóir!" Pete accused him. "Tom, insint di. Jim atá lán de cac." He slammed his fist on the table, knocking over two of the empty bottles. [Liar! Tom, tell her. Jim's full of shit.]

Pam jumped nervously. Even in another language, he was obviously angry and slurring his words. Sternly, Betsy said, "Pete! Féin a iompar." [Behave yourself.]

Tom said nothing, casting his eyes down.

Around the corner of the shed, Larissa smiled grimly, continuing to wait for the perfect moment. Honestly, though, Tom's silence was damning enough in its own right. He never failed to defend his older brother.

Pam tugged shyly on Jim's shirt sleeve. "Um, what language are you speaking?" She left her next question unspoken… And what are you talking about? If they'd wanted to include her, they'd be speaking English, she knew. That they didn't left her feeling unsure of herself.

Betsy turned around with a gracious smile. "It's Irish, sweetie." Her expression cooled slightly as she shifted her gaze to Jim. Sardonically, she said, "Ní raibh a fhios aici." [She didn't know.] It wasn't a question. He flushed uncomfortably, wilting under her glare.

People speak Irish outside of Ireland? she wondered. Promptly, she felt like a terrible person. Obviously. Open your eyes, dork. Your boyfriend speaks Irish! Holy moly. "You speak freakin' Irish?" she whispered to him, looking impressed.

"Just a little," he demurred.

Betsy raised her eyebrows at him before looking back at Pam. "I'm so sorry, we're being terribly rude right now. We don't normally speak it in front of guests. Just a little… sibling rivalry to sort out," she fibbed smoothly. Jim shot her a grateful look.

Relieved, Pam appreciated the reassurance that they weren't talking about her. Anytime she overheard someone speaking in a foreign language, that was always the first thing that came to mind. Stop being silly, she chided herself.

Betsy returned her gaze to Jim, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Sé riamh… came up," he tried to explain. "Ní raibh sé… relevant. Tuigim Gaeilge. But ní dhéanaim labhairt dea." [It never came up. It wasn't relevant. I understand Irish. But I don't speak it well.]

Feeling starstruck, Pam watched his mouth as he spoke, unable to believe the sounds coming out of it. It was so not like English. He'd mentioned his family was "very Irish" when he'd invited her to the barbecue. But she'd had no idea. I mean, okay, she thought. He's kinda speaking… whatever you call the Irish version of Spanglish. Irenglish? Englirish? She bit her lip and smiled, feeling practically giddy. But clearly he can understand what everyone else is saying to him. Wow!

Tilting her head, Betsy replied gently. "Tá a fhios agam, mo leanbh. Thug tú di claddagh. D'fhéadfá a bheith dúirt sé léi ansin." [I know, my son. You gave her a claddagh, though. You could have told her then.]

He shrugged helplessly. He glanced at Pam. Guilt weighed heavily on his chest when he saw the adoring look in her eyes, the admiring smile on her face. He couldn't believe they were having this conversation in front of her while she was none the wiser. "Ní raibh a fhios Tom and Pete a labhairt Gaeilge… or that Pete would be ar na stoic stártha." [I didn't know Tom and Pete would be speaking Irish… or that Pete would be absolutely wasted.]

"Gabh suas ort fhéin," Pete snarled. [Go fuck yourself.]

"Póg mo thóin!" Jim retorted. [Kiss my ass!]

"Pete! Dún é!" Betsy snapped. [Pete! Shut it!] She turned to face Jim and Pam and spoke quietly. "Tóg go bog é. Ní thuigeann sí. Tá sí ag spraoi. Is é do chailín iontach." [Take it easy. She doesn't understand. She's still having fun. Your girlfriend is wonderful.]

"Iontach?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

She leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Wonderful."

With a lopsided smile, he replied, "Tá sí. Go raibh maith agat, mom." [She is. Thanks, mom.]

Smiling back fondly, she suggested, "Now, why don't you two take the meat to your father?"

He nodded, taking the plate of hamburger. "We'd be happy to," Pam said breathlessly, eyes glued to him. Side-by-side, they rounded the corner of the house, whispering feverishly back and forth.

Betsy turned to face the table. "Ceard ata ag tarlu? Is tusa ag caint faoi ár aoi?" [What's going on? Are you talking about our guest?]

"Ní tá mé ag caint faoi ár n-aoi," Tom replied, looking uncomfortable.† [I'm not talking about our guest.]

Shaking his head with an incredulous smile, Pete replied, "Mom... Cad? Níl a fhios agam cad atá sé ag caint faoi. Labhraíonn sé Gaeilge go dona, ní raibh sé a thuiscint." [Mom, what? I don't know what he's talking about. His Irish sucks, he misunderstood.]

Tom glanced over, but said nothing. He might be unwilling to directly implicate Pete, but he wasn't lying to cover his ass. Not for this. As far as he could tell, Pam seemed really nice. Not that a grown man didn't deserve to get blasted every once in awhile, but Pete was pretty shitfaced. Even for him.

Momentarily, Jim and Pam returned to the patio. Betsy eyed the pair appraisingly as they approached. She was talking with her hands, an animated look on her face. He smiled down at her, resembling nothing so much as a lovesick puppy. It was a stark contrast to the darkness he'd seemed to struggle with over the past year, she reflected with maternal pride.

On the heels of Pete's lie, Larissa sensed her moment had finally arrived. Slipping the ersatz weapon into the back of her waistband, she stalked out from around the corner of the shed. "Jim é ag insint na fírinne, mom." [Jim is telling the truth, mom.]

"'Riss!" Jim said enthusiastically, jogging over. "Dia duit, deirfiúr." [Hi, sister.] He hugged her warmly, then turned to Pam and translated what he'd said. She thanked him, eyes shining with delight.

Larissa looked at Pam, then back at him. She cleared her throat expectantly. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Jim had just opened his mouth when Pam walked over and held out her hand. "Hi Larissa," she said. "I'm Pam. It's nice to meet you."

Careful not to turn her back to Pete, Larissa grabbed Pam's hand and pulled her into a hug. Seeing the nerf gun tucked into the back of her shorts, Jim coughed to cover a shout of laughter. He shielded his mouth with a hand, hiding his smile. "Pam! I wish I could say I've heard so many awesome things about you, but Jim hasn't picked up his phone since Christmas." She was willowy and dark-haired. Like her mother, she moved quickly. "Call me 'Riss, by the way. All of Jim's girlfriends do." She smirked, rolling her eyes at him.

He returned the gesture. "Don't listen to a word she says," he warned Pam with a smile. "How long have you been hiding there, 'Riss?"

"Long enough." She glared daggers at Pete. "Chuala mé gach rud. En garde, muc!" [I heard everything. En garde, pig!] She whipped the gun out from behind her back and gave him everything she had.

It had been ages, but her aim was as good as ever. Pete held his hands up to cover his head. "'Riss! Póg mo thóin! Stad, stad!" [Kiss my ass! Stop, stop!]

Pam took an involuntary step back, fingers automatically clutching her necklace. Everyone was laughing, even Betsy. But she couldn't understand what they were saying. She felt, frankly, invisible. Hesitantly, she looked over her shoulder, yearning for the relative safety of the kitchen. Notwithstanding the fact that they were merely nerf darts, she couldn't help but think that Larissa was bound to set Pete off. Simply put, she'd never felt comfortable around angry drunks. Particularly since Roy had gotten violent that night at Poor Richard's. Anxiously, she squeezed the opal of her necklace, worrying it between her fingers. Soundlessly, she mouthed, "Love. Loyalty. Friendship. Love. Loyalty. Friendship. Love…"

Betsy stepped over and nimbly took the gun, just as her daughter started reloading. Larissa reached for it, opening her mouth to object, when she saw Pam. She whispered something into her mom's ear. Betsy whispered something back. Larissa casually walked over and put her arm around Pam's shoulder. Only then did Jim notice something was amiss. His eyebrows knit with concern. She only fidgeted with her jewelry when she was upset. And what on earth was she saying?

"My brothers are animals," Larissa said, rolling her eyes. Letting go of her necklace with a start, Pam smiled at her tentatively. "We don't need to be here while they work this out. Is there anything I can help you with in the kitchen?"

"Yeah," Pam replied gratefully. "Umm… I was gonna make the veggie tray. You wanna slice the watermelon?" She gave Jim a small wave as they turned to walk into the house. Forcing a casualness he didn't feel, he smiled back at her with a strong pang of guilt. It was humbling that 'Riss had done something to help before he'd even realized there was a problem. Resolutely, he vowed to pay more attention.

Seeing that the girls were safely inside, Betsy eyed Pete sternly. "Leithscéal a ghabháil."  [Apologize.] Although out of earshot, she didn't want to risk upsetting Pam any further.

He rolled his eyes. "Cén fáth? Díreach tar éis spraoi, mom." [Why? Just having fun, mom.]

She snapped back, thoroughly sick of the bullshit. "Buachaill! Leithscéal a ghabháil. Nó téigh amach. Ní féidir linn labhairt tinn de aoi." [Boy! Apologize. Or get out. We do not speak ill of a guest.]

Pete glared resentfully at Jim. "Tá brón orm." [I'm sorry.]

He inclined his head and feigned politeness, a skill well-honed after years in a dysfunctional workplace. He would make peace for Pam's sake, not because Pete deserved forgiveness. "Accepted."  

"Now, mhac. Béarla," Betsy finished. [Now, sons. English.] "For the rest of the day, please." She turned toward the house. "Language is not a weapon."

Her words triggering a flash of inspiration, Jim took a few long strides to catch up. "Hey, mom," he began quietly. "Do you really need her help in the kitchen?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. But… she's a helper."

He knew that better than anyone. "Yeah," he replied. "I have an idea, though."

Betsy nodded when he'd finished. "Sounds like a plan." She returned to the house.

"You're the best." He jogged over to the shed and opened the door. Triumphantly, he found his old stash of nerf guns, right in front. 'Riss must have dug it out of some unseen corner earlier in the day. "Hey, Tom?"

"Yeah," he called back.

"How long has it been since we had a nerf war?"

"How old are you?" Pete groused. He stomped into the house, grabbing another beer on his way.

Tom popped around the corner of the shed. "Too long. I'm in."

Grinning, Jim said, "Pick your poison. Since Pete doesn't wanna play, we can do two teams of two."

Tom gave him a skeptical look as he chose a gun. "Pam plays nerf?"

I hope so, thought Jim. "I'm sure she will." He picked out three guns and set one on the table. "That one's mine. Don't touch it!"

"Like I'd want that crappy little thing anyway," Tom retorted.

"Don't even think about a shotgun," Jim warned him as he jogged up to the house. "The fourth one broke ages ago."

"Shit!" Tom cursed, setting it back down. "I totally forgot."

"Hey, Jim!" Pam sounded surprised when he walked into the kitchen. She was chopping celery into neat little stacks. She took a break to grin at him. "I didn't think this was your scene." 

Relief coursed through him. She was relaxed, she was joking. He reminded himself to thank 'Riss later. "Oh, it's totally not." he agreed playfully, hands behind his back. "Not really 'Riss's, either. Actually, I was wondering if I could interest you two in a little mayhem?" He grinned roguishly as he revealed what he held.

Larissa dropped her knife onto the counter and skipped over without a second thought. "Nerf war?" she crowed, taking a gun. "It's been years."

"Too long," he agreed. "Pete's out. Tom's in. If you and Pam both play, we can do two on two." He looked at her hopefully. "Just like old times."

Pam bit her lip with a smile. She'd never so much as touched a nerf gun before. But as long as Pete wasn't playing, she thought it could be fun. She glanced over at Betsy.

"Have fun sweetie," she said, waving her off.

"Are you sure?" she asked. Jim noted with a grin that she had already begun drifting toward him.

"As sure as I am that you should avoid the rosebushes. I really appreciate all your help." She returned to slicing potatoes.

He looked at Pam with his eyebrows raised. "So… you in, Beesly?"

She took the gun, smiling hesitantly. "Can I be on your team?"

He laughed, delighted. "Do bears eat beets?"

"Depends. Black bear or brown bear?"

He flashed her a thousand-watt smile.

Larissa had been quietly observing their brief interaction. Jim had it bad. "No way!" she protested, taking one of Pam's elbows in the crook of her arm. "Come on, battle of the sexes. The buttheads versus the babes. We'll totally whoop their asses."

Jim took her other elbow. "Nope. She's mine. Already called it."

"I called it two days ago."

"I called it before you were born!"

Pam giggled as she looked back and forth between them. Nobody ever wanted her to be on their team. "I don't think you wanna play with me, Larissa," she hedged. "One-I've never shot a nerf gun before, so I probably suck. Two-I dunno if I could shoot Jim."

"Alas, the lady has spoken and her words are true." He tucked his free hand into her elbow possessively and bent down to whisper into her ear. "I could never shoot you either."

"I think you would've," she whispered back.

Larissa smiled to herself. Affecting frustration, she let go of Pam with a sigh. They were almost too cute together. Almost. "One-pretty sure I told you to call me ‘Riss. Two-you're going down, sugar."

"Bring it on, sweetheart," she retorted sarcastically. Jim doubled over with laughter.

"That's the spirit! Tom's a good partner. He was always the best marksman, anyway."

"All he ever did was play video games," Jim replied, still chortling. "And he was older than me. How was I supposed to compete?"

"Don't make excuses," she fired back. "And I'm not using this handgun," she declared. "Piece of shit. I want a shotgun."

"No shotguns," he contradicted her. "There are only three. You broke the fourth one, remember?" He shook his head ruefully. "My heart shrank three sizes that day."

"That explains everything," she needled him. Turning to Pam, she explained, "It was completely on accident."

"Accident?" He turned to Pam. "She threw the gun at Pete. From the top of the willow tree."

"Well, I accidentally forgot to bring extra ammo." She grinned. "I just watched Superman. I still maintain it would have been a great idea if he didn't duck out of the way."

"You were thirty feet up in the air!" he rejoined as Tom walked over, stuffing extra darts into his pockets. "A sloth could have moved in time."

They laughed together at the shared memory. Pam couldn't help joining in at the absurdity of the image. "On the plus side," said Tom, "we got really good at using the crappy little guns. At least until Pete moved out. Then it was back to shotguns again."

Jim sighed, putting his hand over his heart. "You don't get to call my prized nerf collection crappy and then play with it. I'm taking my toys and going home."

"See?" Larissa said to Pam. "He's a total buttface. If you knew Jim as well as we did, you'd be dying to put one right between his eyes." Quickly, she took aim and pulled the trigger.

Pam dissolved into peals of laughter as the dart bounced harmlessly off his forehead. Jim sighed, looking disappointed. "Well, Tom. ‘Riss was on your team. But she just forfeited."

"If I'm playing alone, I get two shotguns," he claimed.

"How would that even work?" Jim asked, boggling. "You need both hands to use one."

"I'd find a way."

Larissa scoffed. "Like the rules matter anymore. Definitely expired by now."

"My guns, my rules," he disagreed earnestly. "But I'm in a good mood today, so you're back in. Last chance," he warned her.

Pam spoke up. "I didn't know nerf had rules."

Tom rolled his eyes. "It doesn't. Jim made them up."

"The rules are important," he replied seriously. "May I?"

Pam giggled. Apparently he'd always been a dork about making up rules for made-up games. That was one of the things she loved about him, though.

Larissa waved her hand. "Might as well get it over with. Everyone here knows you won't shut up until you do."

"You're right, I won't," he nodded. "One," he began solemnly. "Once a nerf war has been called, there can be absolutely no firing until the game begins."

Pam turned her gun on herself and shot her own forehead. He glared at her as his siblings laughed. "What?" she asked innocently as she bent to pick up the dart. "I just wanted to see if it would hurt." She tilted her head, grinning smugly. "It didn't."

"I like this girl," Larissa claimed, still chuckling. "Where'd you find her, anyway?"

He took it as a very good sign that she was ganging up against him already. Secretly delighted, he continued as though nothing had happened. "Two: no intentional friendly fire. If the friendly fire is accidental, it wounds or kills just like any other shot. It just means that shooting a teammate on purpose—or yourself," he emphasized. She stuck her tongue out at him. "…is an instant DQ."

"An instant Dairy Queen? That doesn't sound so terrible."

He hid his grin, trying to maintain the gravity of the moment. "Disqualification, Beesly." He cleared his throat and continued. "Although if you shot yourself in the head, you'd be dead anyway, so it's irrelevant. Honor system. Three: each team has a separate dart color. Tom and ‘Riss are blue, so we'll be orange. Four: You can only use fallen darts that are your color. You can take a dead opponent's ammo if it's tactically advantageous, but you can't use it. You can only stash it. Please remember where you stash, darts aren't infinite. Five: headshots and chest shots are immediately fatal. Gut shots are immediately disabling and inevitably fatal—say thirty seconds, be reasonable. Back shots aren't fatal, but paralyze you from the waist down. If you get hit on a limb, that limb is out of commission for the remainder of the game."

"Example?" she requested.

Larissa feigned a yawn, stretching her arms. "Goddamn poindexter, you take the fun out of everything."

He ignored her. "Say ‘Riss gets me in the right wrist. I could only fire with my left hand. If she got me in the shin, I'd be able to crawl on that leg, but I wouldn't be able to walk normally. I'd have to hop on the other leg if I stayed upright."

"Which is a bad idea in general," Larissa contributed. "Stay low and take cover, unless you want to die."

Jim nodded sagely. "And if you die, you're on the ground with eyes shut. Six: the game ends when one team is dead, or if nobody can shoot anymore. And finally, seven: Spare ammo is limited to whatever you can fit into your pants pockets."

Larissa laughed. "He added that one after I started putting darts in my bra."

Pam laughed so hard she snorted. "Question. Can I take some practice shots against the shed?"

Jim tilted his head, considering. "Although it's in direct violation of rule one, it is your first game. So I'm willing to put it to a vote."

"How generous," she said, nodding her head in a parody of his officious manner.

"Let's all practice while we discuss strategy," said Tom. "I'm seriously rusty."

"Seconded," Larissa chimed in.

"Thanks, Jim," she said appreciatively, beaming up at him. He had briefly showed her how to aim, how to shoot, how to reload. To aim slightly high, since the darts would quickly lose height. To lead a moving target. And to stuff a few extra darts into the tiny, otherwise-useless pockets of her jeans. "So what's our strategy?"

"Try to kill them before they kill us," he said confidently.

"That's it?" she asked, astonished.

He shrugged. "It's always served me well in the past."

She tugged the scrunchie off her wrist and started putting her hair into a ponytail. "You make up all these rules and then don't even consider the need for proper strategy? Come on, we can do better than that, Agent Scarn. What are our… starting positions? What about… the strengths and weaknesses of our common enemy? "

"Alright, Catherine Zeta-Jones," he said with a silly grin.

"Zeta," she corrected him.

"Alright, Zeta." God, she's the cutest, he mused. "We'll start on opposite sides of the yard. There's plenty of cover in the middle. Just hide behind trees and bushes as you make your way to the center. Avoid the rosebushes, they hurt." He pointed them out. "They're both fairly fast runners. Or used to be. But they were never as quick as me. I'm in better shape now than either of them, so…" He just realized he'd never seen her run. "How fast are you, Beesly?"

"Zeta," she reminded him. "Speed is not my strong suit, Scarn," she admitted. "I can sprint short distances, but my legs are short and my endurance is mediocre at best. My biggest advantage is that I'm shorter than everyone else by at least six inches. And I'm new, so they won't treat me as a serious target. They'll go after you first. Also, they might be reluctant to take me out, since it's my first game and they want me to have a good time."

He loved how seriously she was taking this. "All very good points," he agreed, impressed.

"What if," she suggested, "I pretend to get hurt and draw them in? Then you could shoot them both? I didn't hear any rules against emotional manipulation."

"Ehh." He shook his head. "‘Riss tried faking injuries all the time when she was a kid. We're immune. Even though you're new, they'd probably see right through it. Plus, it's kind of a bad faith move. Toes the line of the honor system."

She nodded. "Alright, I'll avoid it. Is there any value in staying at the starting point and letting them come to us?"

He smiled proudly at her. "You might think so, but that leads to what's called a 'turtle.' If one side hangs back, so does the other. It's really boring, trust me. All the best nerf wars are 5 minutes or less, unless you're covering a lot more ground than this. We always just started up a new game after the first one ended."

Maybe she could team up with ‘Riss for their next game, she thought with a smile. "Those were all the ideas I had. What about you?"

He thought hard for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Piggyback. Keep your head down. It'll let us discuss strategy on the fly without them overhearing. Try to shoot while I'm moving and call out incomings. As long as they don't hit your head or your shooting hand, you can keep going. They won't be able to land a chest shot on you, and it doesn't matter if you get paralyzed. If I die, use me as a human shield. And don't forget to check my pockets for spare ammo."

"Scarn, you're a genius!" she exclaimed, pulling his mouth down to hers.

He kissed her briefly. "Mmm… save some of that energy, Zeta."

"I don't run with my lips," she murmured, tugging his mouth back to hers. She looped her arms around his neck. This, he realized, was the first measure of privacy they'd been afforded since walking through his parents' front door. With a quiet moan, he indulged her. His hands slid around her waist, up her back.

A few minutes later, Larissa called from the other side of the shed. "We're ready. You guys?"

Jim gently lifted his head, shaking his head as he gazed into her eyes. "In a minute," Pam called back, proud of the way she kept her voice steady. "Just wrapping up our strategy." He nodded with a hazy, delighted smile as he dipped back down to recapture her lips. Her hands slid back into his hair, right where they belonged.

After a minute, Tom sighed. "Lunch will be ready soon. What are they doing?"

"I haven't heard a peep in 5 minutes," she replied, rolling her eyes. "What do you think?"

Momentarily, they came around the corner of the shed. "So Pam, how'd you make out?" Larissa asked innocently, refraining from pointing out the flush on her cheeks or Jim's slightly-rumpled hair.

"He taught me everything he knows," Pam replied with a straight face. Lifting her gun, she continued, "Hope you're prepared to die. Not that it matters how much you prepare. You'll be dead either way."

Larissa grinned. She really liked this girl. "I hope your aim is better than your trash talk, nerf virgin." All four of them began walking. "Three second countdown, Jim?"

"On my mark," he replied easily. They each went to their respective sides. Jim cupped his hands over his mouth and called out loudly. "Hup?"

"Hup!" came Tom's reply.

"Hop on," he muttered to Pam. He bent down as she launched herself onto his back. "Three! Two! One! War!"

He sprinted, moving so quickly it made her dizzy. "Nothing yet," she muttered in his ear, scanning the foliage. "Damn you're quick. Keep moving."

He stopped behind a tree, two-thirds of the way down, only slightly winded. "Stay here," she whispered, holding her gun over his shoulder. "There's no way they had time to get behind us. So whichever direction they come from, we can ambush."

He held his gun in the other direction. "Wrap your legs around my waist when we turret. I'll get better accuracy with both hands." She obeyed, assuming that whatever the hell a turret was, he must be referring to this. "Awesome, Zeta."

"My side. Tom," she hissed in his ear.

Silently, he turned and aimed with her. He saw Tom's legs stalking along the ground, but a dense bush formed an impenetrable wall between them. He noticed her finger was on the trigger, shaking slightly. He pointed at it, then pointed his thumb away in a "get out" gesture.

She nodded and moved her finger. One misfire now could very well cost them the game.

Tom came slowly into view, crouching, both hands on his gun, leading with his arms. Jim took careful aim at his right hand, but waited for a better shot. If he missed with his first, he'd need time for a second.

Pam, wanting to try for a headshot, tapped Jim on the forehead with her left hand. Suddenly, a dart angled from above hit the back of her hand. "I'm hit! Left hand," she hissed, hanging onto him with her elbow, dangling her hand limply. She held on tight with her right as Jim ducked in the other direction, behind the tree. Fortunately, it was wide enough to hide them both from this angle.

"From?" he whispered urgently, holding his gun out in the direction that Tom would surely be coming.

Suddenly, Larissa shouted, "T, 3! Fall back. PJ piggyback. P offhand hit."

"Up!" Pam insisted. "Tree above Tom."

"Got it," he said grimly.

"I see you," Larissa's voice floated down from above. "What an adorable turret you make."

Tom followed instructions and retreated. Jim groaned, "'Riss is a fucking monkey. And a surgeon."

She nodded against his neck. "That would have been a headshot if my hand hadn't been there."

"I know. Thanks. A left hand was a worthwhile sacrifice to find out her position. Get down." As Pam slid off his back, he tried to trace which tree ‘Riss might be in, based on where her voice came from. Unfortunately, she had chosen well. There were a few possible candidates. "Wave your dead hand on that side. If she takes the bait, I'll try to analyze the trajectory from the other side."

His plan worked. One dart bounced off Pam's limp wrist, followed quickly by another. The second dart allowed Jim to trace the source. "Back," he hissed. "I have a shot, but she'll kill me if I take it."

Pam had a flash of inspiration. "Catch me," she warned him. She jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. She wound her arms over his head, allowing her left hand to flop limply. "Worthwhile sacrifice."

He grinned. He wasn't sure whether it was so crazy it just might work, or just plain crazy. "Love you Zeta."

She kissed his cheek as he stepped out. "Kill her, grab my gun, go." The first dart bounced off the back of her head, followed by 4 more in the span of a few seconds. But none hit Jim, and his aim was true. After hitting the tree three times, he squeezed off 2 sequential headshots. ‘Riss had been too busy shooting to try to block.

"Yesss!" he whispered excitedly. He had not expected that to work. "Great plan, Beesly. Godspeed." He kissed her sweetly as he gently settled her onto the ground. She grinned up at him for a moment, then closed her eyes. She stuck her tongue out in a parody of a corpse. Larissa, likewise, quickly climbed down from the tree and sprawled on the ground, playing dead.

Jim grinned as he took her still fully-loaded gun. Not wanting to waste time to reload, he tossed his own. Crouching down, he looked in the direction he'd last seen Tom. There was no point hiding his own location, Tom already knew where they were. And, for all he knew, Pam was still alive. "Might as well give up, Tom," he called tauntingly. "‘Riss is dead. Me and Pam are still kicking."

"Kicking the bucket," Tom parried from behind him.

Jim spun quickly, firing before he'd even spotted Tom, but too little too late. A dart hit him square in the temple. Gamely, he tumbled onto the ground, resting his head gently against Pam's shoulder. She ruffled his hair affectionately. "Kicking the bucket?" he said with a chuckle. "So lame."

Tom whooped victoriously, then said, "I can only work with what you give me, man."

Larissa jumped up and came over. "A thoroughly unprecedented use of reverse piggyback," she complimented them. "Wow."

Pam flushed with pride. "I think the proper term is piggyfront?"

Jim rose and offered Pam a hand up. "Her idea. Literal body armor. In all my years of nerf war, I've never seen a strategy as crazy as that." Pam's creativity had made her a real force to contend with. Not to mention, the way she'd thrown herself into his arms. Jesus, she was cute as hell.

Larissa put her hand over her heart. "And yet… she died."

Jim fired back, "You died in the ugly tree and hit every ugly branch on your way down."

Pam giggled madly at the playground-worthy insult, still holding his hand. "I still can't believe you climbed a tree," she said admiringly.

"Tom boosted me," she said, patting him on the shoulder. "We knew Jim would be the fastest, so I wanted the high ground. But we did not expect you to find a way to travel together. I just started climbing when I saw you guys arrive. I had a shot, but no free hands. And I couldn't warn Tom without giving away my position. I thought he was a goner for sure."

"Oh ye of little faith," Tom said sardonically. He patted her on the back. "But seriously, great instructions. I had plenty of time to circle back while they were distracted killing you."

"Good game," said Jim. They all echoed him.

"What about a rematch?" Pam asked.

"Ordinarily we would, but lunch has gotta be about ready." Tom started toward the house. "And I am starving."

Bending down, Jim picked up all the darts he could find. He explained to Pam, "Losers pick up. It's good motivation not to die."

"Isn't the thrill of victory good enough on its own?" she giggled, reaching for a couple he'd missed.

"Speaking of thrills," he said with a gleam in his eye.

She pushed against his chest, dodging his lips. "Jim!" she hissed. "I want your family to like me."

He chuckled warmly. "It's not family. Just 'Riss. And trust me, she likes you."

"I didn't actually die back there, you know," Larissa intoned. "Still have ears." She looped her arm through Pam's. "Allow me to rescue you from this vile beast, damsel."

Pam looked over her shoulder, eyes sparkling as they walked away. "My hero," she quipped.

Quickly, Jim grabbed the other gun and the remaining darts and jogged to catch up. "I thought we established that you were on my team."

She shrugged, looking up at him with a coy smile. "I thought we could change it up for round two. The babes versus the buttheads, wasn't it?"

"Hell yeah!" Larissa pumped her fist. "Rematch after lunch."

Jim sighed mournfully. "You're dead to me, Zeta." He aimed his gun at her.

"Thought you couldn't shoot me," she taunted him. "Do it, if you can." She smiled, anticipating the empty click as he pulled the trigger. Nudging him with her elbow, she teased, "You're slipping, Scarn. Forgot to reload… shameful display."

He handed back her fully-loaded gun. "I didn't forget," he whispered into her ear. He really wasn't sure he could shoot her. Maybe if she shot first.

She rubbed his shoulder affectionately. "You're adorable," she whispered back.

Larissa cleared her throat conspicuously. "So uh. You guys came up with actual code names?"

Pam laughed gaily. "What do you know about Michael Scott?"

"Who?"

"It would take all night to even begin to describe him," she began.

"The boss from hell," Jim added.

"He's like a trainwreck you can't look away from."

"The most ridiculous person on planet Earth."

"In the solar system."

"Universe! I win!" she declared.

He shook his head. "I've got one even better. He's like a boss… stuffed into a duck… stuffed into a turkey."

She howled with laughter. "A bossducken! Oh my god."

"Turduckboss," he corrected her with a languid grin.

"So," Pam leaned into Larissa conspiratorially. "A long time ago, we found this script..."

After lunch, everyone brought their dishes back inside. Pete stayed inside, watching football with Gerald. The four of them were preparing to traipse back out for a rematch. On their way out the door, Pam called over her shoulder, "Go relax, Betsy. We'll do the dishes when we get back."

She set down the dishtowel and turned off the water. "How generous of you to volunteer! I'll take you up on that."

As she walked out of the kitchen, Larissa quipped, "We who? I don't do dishes."

"Me and Jim, duh."

Behind her back, Larissa pretended to crack an invisible whip. He coughed into his hand to hide his smile. "How generous of me to volunteer."

She looked up at him, eyes sparkling. "Yes, it was literally the least you could do."

He was unable to stifle his grin as he rolled his eyes, reluctantly nodding in agreement. "Alright, I'll dry. But first, dudes versus damsels."

"You sure?" Tom said skeptically, turning to Jim. "They're gonna get creamed. Whose idea was that?"

"My idea," Larissa bristled. "It was babes versus buttheads, get it right. And don't go easy on us because you think we can't take the heat."

Pam added, "That way, when we win, we'll know it's because we're the best."

Tom shrugged. "I suppose we can always re-rematch. After we grind you into the mud thirty seconds in."

In spite of Tom's confidence, Jim figured their odds were pretty close to even. Between ‘Riss's aim and Pam's creativity, it wasn't as lopsided a match as it might appear. Pam hadn't gotten a chance to use her gun in the last game, so her shooting skills were still a wildcard. Her aim on the shed had been better than he'd expected for a novice. There was also the minor problem that he wasn't at all certain he could bring himself to shoot her, even if it was only a nerf dart.

"Hah!" Larissa cackled. "Get ready for the pain, buttheads."

"Strategy time," said Pam. She and ‘Riss ran around the shed, whispering excitedly.

"Try to kill them before they kill us?" Tom asked.

"Great plan." They tapped guns and sat down on the patio, talking basketball while they waited.

A few minutes later, they were headed for the backyard once more. "Good luck! You're gonna need it," Pam called over her shoulder as they separated.

"More walkin', less talkin' Beesly," Jim admonished her.

"Shove it, butthead," Larissa retorted.

"I'm not calling either of you babe," Tom replied sardonically.

"Ew!" they replied simultaneously.

Jim smirked, rolling his eyes. "On my mark."

As they got out of earshot, Pam and Larissa pulled out their phones and silenced them. "Are you sure he won't shoot you?"

"No," Pam said. "But I know he's more likely to hesitate against me than you."

Larissa nodded in agreement. "Sometimes a second is all it takes. There's your spot, by the way. As fast as Jim is, he's not gonna make it there before you. He just ate way too much potato salad."

Pam memorized the location, not feeling quite so confident. So did I, she reflected. "You know he's gonna add a rule against phones after this game."

"Let's make it count." They got into position.

"Hup!" came Jim's voice from across the yard

As planned, they called back simultaneously. "Babes!"

He couldn't keep the laughter out of his voice as he counted down from three. "War!"

As Larissa ran in the opposite direction, Pam made a beeline for the spot she had indicated. It was a short circle of thick bushes with only one, incredibly narrow, gap through which to enter. A gnarled tree stump squatted low in the center. According to Larissa, all of them had been far too tall for far too long to take advantage of it. Neither of her brothers would expect anyone to be hiding there. Cramming herself in with difficulty, she sat cross-legged on the stump and ducked her head down. She was, she realized, almost completely invisible. Of course, she couldn't see anyone coming at this angle, but she could hear perfectly well. If she were lucky, she'd be able to shoot and duck without being detected.

Motionless, she sat for what seemed like ages. Her legs started to hurt. As she began to contemplate leaving her hiding place, she heard two pairs of footsteps approaching slowly from opposite directions. Heart thumping, she listened hard. "Hey," Jim said softly.

"Seen ‘em?" came Tom's reply.

"Nope. But it takes longer to sweep when you gotta look in treetops, too."

"They better not have ditched."

"'Riss might. Pam wouldn't." She grinned at that.

"I hope you're right."

"Could be turtling back at their start. Meet me? I'll take near edge."

"Yep. I got far." Tom snuck away as Jim crept closer. She held her breath as he walked right past her hiding spot, not more than ten feet away. She waited for him to pass. Gripping her gun in both hands, she rose up silently and aimed carefully above the back of his head. Sweeping her hands down, she squeezed off three quick shots in succession, hoping Tom was out of earshot by now. The first sailed wide over his head. The second whistled through the ends of his hair. The third one found its mark squarely in the back of his skull. Gamely, he stopped in his tracks and fell down dead without turning to see who had shot him. With a gleeful grin, she ducked back down and listened carefully. After ten seconds, she hadn't heard anything at all. She picked up her phone and speed-dialed Larissa, exiting her hiding spot as quietly as possible.

"Larceny, this is Pambo," she whispered as she pulled the darts from his front pockets. "Puppy has been put down."

Per the rules, he kept his eyes closed. He was so adding a rule against phones after this game. Still, he couldn't help grinning at the codenames and her choice of words. 

"Your first kill! How was it?" Larissa whispered back enthusiastically.

She giggled, stroking his cheek. "Headshot from behind with my third dart. He never saw it coming. It felt really good."

Jim smiled proudly. He hadn't seen it coming at all, hadn't heard the slightest peep until she began firing. And with the quickness of her shots, he hadn't had a chance to react before he was dead.

"Babes kick ass! Any info on Tomcat?"

"Tomcat is slowly heading to our base along the far edge. He and Puppy were sweeping treetops, thanks to you. What's your position?"

"Near the lilac bush on their side. You're still at the target location?"

"Affirmative. Now known as Puppy's grave."

"Meet you there."

Pam closed her phone and slipped it back into her pocket. She leaned down to whisper into his ear. "Isn't modern technology great?" She rolled him onto his side with no small effort. He remained deadweight, making her work for it. "Nothing personal," she explained as she emptied the ammo from his back pockets. "You're pretty hot for a dead guy, though." She kissed his cheek as she gently rolled him back into his original position.

He shook his head ever-so-slightly, grinning.

"Did that corpse just move?" she asked herself as she pulled the gun from his hand. She unloaded his darts, replacing them with 5 of her own. "Nah, must have been the wind." Unceremoniously, she dumped the pile of enemy darts onto the tree stump.

Momentarily, Larissa joined her. She handed her phone to Pam, who traded it for the spare gun. Carefully, Pam tucked the phone into Jim's pants pocket.

"Stay and watch the fireworks," Larissa said with a grin, nudging him with her shoe. "Not that you have a choice."

Pam giggled. "Wish us luck."

He smiled, silently rooting for her.

They hid nearby, but wisely split up. Pam pulled out her phone and re-dialed Larissa's number. The ringtone blasted at full volume from Jim's pocket. She hung up after one ring and the phone went silent.

Don't fall for it, Jim thought, knowing it was hopeless. What an amazing plan. Probably Pam's.

Shortly, he heard the sound of Tom's creeping footsteps. He opened his eyes a slit. He wouldn't miss Pam's first war-ending killshot for all the rules in the world.

"Oh shit," Tom muttered, seeing him on the ground. He turned to run, but it was too late. Pam leaned out from behind her tree and fired repeatedly at his retreating back. Paralyzed, he fell to the ground. He rolled over and shot back, emptying his clip, but she managed to duck behind the tree in time. As he was reloading, ‘Riss leaned out, firing both guns simultaneously, hitting him squarely in the chest with all 10 shots.

They whooped together, jumping up and down. "We flawlessed them! Holy shit!" said Larissa. "Has that ever happened in the history of the game?"

"Victory dance, go!" Pam declared.

Jim chuckled as he rose, brushing himself off. His eyes were glued to Pam as she danced beside ‘Riss. She looked amazingly dorky, but mostly just amazing. "Good game," he said, admiring her random gyrations, hops, and finger points. He'd rarely seen her dance before, and never quite like this.

"Damn it," Tom said, getting up. "Well-played, girls."

"Babes!" they chimed together with a high-five. Followed by a middle-five, then a low-five.

Tom rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself. "How'd they get you?" he asked as he walked over to Jim.

"Ambush," he admitted, unable to tear his eyes away from her. "Pam got me with a headshot from behind. I still dunno where the hell she was hiding."

"On the stump in the bushes," Pam said breathlessly, pointing. She appeared to be attempting a combination of the twist and the charleston. "I dumped your ammo in there, by the way. Might wanna grab it on your way home, loser." She raised her eyebrows at him, face flushed, eyes glittering.

Jim blinked at her incredulously. If he never saw her do this dance again, he would die a very unhappy man. Wishing he had a video camera, he settled for committing it to memory instead. "No way did you fit in there. No way did I walk right past it without seeing you."

"Way," she assured him smugly, transitioning jerkily into a dance that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike the robot. "'Riss's idea."

"But using the phones was all Pam," Larissa said, robotting as well. "This chick rocks, Jim."

"Affirmative." They exchanged robotic high-fives.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Phones? Seriously?"

"New rule," Jim announced.

Pam danced her way over. Imitating John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever, she put her finger to his lips repeatedly. He couldn't help but laugh.

Larissa spun around, moonwalking toward the house. "Later, dork. Just let us have our moment." 

Jim groaned as they walked to the house. "I'm starting to regret having seconds of mom's potato salad," he said.

"That's a first. Usually you regret not having fourths," Larissa said, making Pam giggle.

"Hey," he retorted. "She only makes it like three times a year."

She made a mental note to ask Betsy for the recipe. "And you don't make it yourself because…?"

He playfully tugged on a lock of hair that had escaped her scrunchie. She smiled up at him, still glowing with the thrill of victory. And the impromptu dancing. "Secret recipe," he murmured. He was dying to kiss her, couldn't wait to get her alone. "'Riss has been trying to get it out of her for years. Me, I just enjoy it when I can."

Pam's face fell. She pursed her lips, looking disappointed. "That's too bad. It was really good."

He rubbed his stomach. "A little too good," he said ruefully, wanting to put the smile back on her face. "That's probably the only reason you won. I was full. Kinda sluggish." He faked a yawn. "Oh no, I think I need a nap."

She grinned at him, nudging him with her shoulder. "You're not getting out of the dishes, Scarn, so don't even try."

He put his hand on his chest, looking offended, feeling delighted. "Would I do that, Zeta?"

Puppy is right, Larissa thought with a smirk. It's like we're not even here. She reached over and grabbed Tom's gun, exchanging eyerolls with him. "Hey, can you guys put our guns in the shed while you're there?"

Pam took them. "No problem. Can you let your mom know we'll be there in a minute?"

"Or five," Jim suggested casually.

"No hurry," Larissa replied with a shrug. "I'll let her know you're working on Pam's marksmanship and it could take a while."

"Ages," Jim agreed. He looked at Pam, a wicked gleam in his eye. "You're such a terrible shot."

She put her gun against the back of his head. "Don't make me murder you again," she threatened him softly.

"Beginner's luck," he taunted her. "Bet you can't do it."

Instantly, she pulled the trigger, point-blank.

He sighed mournfully. "You wound me, Beesly."

"Headshots are fatal," she countered. "You're doing an awful lot of talking for a dead guy."

Tom coughed into his hand to cover his smile as, bickering, they disappeared around the corner of the shed. "Enjoying yourself, cupid?"

"Don't pretend you don't see the way he looks at her," Larissa retorted. "If anyone else had come up with that phone strategy, he would have made them forfeit on the spot." It was the kind of blatantly unfair tactic that they hadn't needed rules against. It was simply understood.

He nodded in agreement. Jim was the ultimate rules lawyer, especially when it mattered the least. "Why'd you go along with it, then?"

"I wanted to see how he'd react. And, welp—" She waved her hand at the shed. "I just think he's earned the right to a little happiness. When's the last time you saw him like this?" she challenged him.

He thought about it. "Never." He wasn't particularly demonstrative by nature, but he wasn't blind either. Jim had been seriously messed up at Christmas. Although he'd never say it aloud, the change was welcome.  "I'll ask Pete to fuck off a little," he responded in a rare display.

Larissa smiled to herself. As a rule, Tom never said a word against Pete. "Someone's gotta. If you don't, I will. But Pete doesn't seem to like my advice, for some reason."

"The term ‘heinous bitch' comes to mind, for some reason."

She clapped him on the back as they headed inside. "You know me too well."

A short while later, Jim and Pam entered the house through the back door. Finding the kitchen empty, she turned the hot water on full blast and filled the sink with soap. He took his place beside her, sliding his arm around her waist. She leaned into him and looked up.

Betsy walked into the kitchen, saw them gazing into each other's eyes. Her heart felt full. It had been so long since her baby boy had been happy. With a clink of porcelain, she set a plate down next to the sink. "You really don't have to do this."

Pam gasped as if she'd been slapped, standing ramrod straight. She picked up the first thing her hands could find and scrubbed it enthusiastically. Jim let go of her reluctantly. "I want to," she insisted, red-faced. "We want to."

Betsy smiled. "It's an old Halpert tradition. Mom washes the dishes."

"Whoever cooked gets to relax," she replied, avoiding Betsy's eyes. "Old Beesly tradition."

"You cooked too," Jim reminded her gently.

"Not as much as I wanted to," she argued, setting the clean dish in the rack. Energetically, she grabbed another.

Conscious of Pam's embarrassment, he ushered Betsy out of the kitchen. "We got it, mom."

"Jim," she said quietly. "You know I don't mind, right?" God knew the rest of her children had done their fair share of canoodling in front of the family. And in Larissa's case, frankly, more than her fair share.

He nodded. "Me neither. But she does." 

For once able to enjoy the football game, Betsy re-crossed her legs on the ottoman with a contented sigh. "Pam says it's tradition in her family that whoever cooked gets to relax."

Gerald, sitting next to her, nodded approvingly. "She looks Irish to me."

"She's awesomesauce," Larissa declared from the floor, hunting through stacks of photo albums. For some reason, she couldn't find Jim's baby pictures. There was a great one of him in a tutu that Pam just had to see.

Pete asked the room, "Does Jim even know how to wash a dish?" He imitated the crack of a whip. Gerald smacked the back of his head. "Jeez dad, just a joke," he whined, wincing.

Larissa glared daggers at him. Although she'd done the same thing earlier, it wasn't the same at all. She'd done it to Jim's face, to make him smile. Pete was doing it behind his back, to tear him down. He was just so… mean-spirited, she reflected. The fact that he was wasted certainly didn't help, but he'd always been a natural asshole. Even as a child, he'd never seemed to understand that there was a line between teasing and tormenting. Or, if he did, he crossed it anyway and failed to give a shit. She decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. "I don't think Jim's been this happy since we pantsed Pete on prom night."

Flushing angrily, he stood up and furiously stomped toward the kitchen.

"Pete," said Gerald warningly, starting after him. He didn't know what his son had in mind, but he had at least 9 beers in him by now. Almost anything could happen, none of it good.

Larissa jumped up impulsively. If Pete did one single thing to wipe that dopey grin from Jim's face, to put that anxiety back in Pam's eyes, she would do much worse than shooting him with foam darts.

Under her breath, Betsy said quickly, "Larissa, sit down. Tom, for god's sake say something. He won't listen to anyone else."

Standing with a resigned sigh, Tom called out, "Pete… leave him alone, man. For once."

Pausing, Pete looked over his shoulder incredulously. After a moment, he strode to the front door, slamming it behind him.

Betsy thanked Tom, then scolded Larissa quietly. "What are you thinking? Damnú air!" [Damn it!]

"I'm thinking I'm gonna slap him in his stupid face!" Larissa retorted, keeping her voice low.

"You instigated that," Tom accused her.

She ignored him, looking earnestly at her mom. "You weren't there. You didn't hear what he said to Jim. You didn't hear the way he said it. Jim is fully within his rights to beat the living shit out of him. And now Pete's trying to fuck with him again?"

Jim poked his head out of the kitchen. "Everything okay?" He'd heard the door slam, although the sound of running water had prevented him from hearing the subsequent discussion.

"Hunt fumbled," Gerald covered smoothly as he sat back down on the couch.

Jim groaned. "Why are they even putting him on the field?"

"He's terrible," Tom agreed, taking his seat. Larissa re-settled herself on the floor, continuing to look for Jim's baby album. It had to be around here somewhere.

"Thank Pam again for washing the dishes, won't you?" Betsy asked, relaxing back against the cushions.

"Hey, I'm helping," he protested good-naturedly, gesturing at his dishcloth.

Pam called from the kitchen. "Jim, I'm getting backed up. You suck at drying."

He grinned and turned around. "How do you wash 'em so fast?" he asked, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Betsy smiled, normalcy restored. Her expression turned into a frown when Larissa turned back to Tom, restarting their argument. "He tortured Jim for years while you stood by and did nothing. Stop being Switzerland for once and do the right thing. Give him a ride home before he ruins this day more than he already has."

"All of you are always welcome under this roof. He's your brother," Betsy argued.

"So is Jim," Larissa countered. "And last I checked, he was the better one."

"Enough," Betsy said warningly.

"Shut up and watch the damn game," Gerald concurred firmly.

--

Pam picked up a large pot and began scrubbing. As Jim took it from her, he planted a kiss on her temple. Quickly, he dried and put it away.

"Aren't your lips getting tired?" she giggled. After making out behind the shed for a good twenty minutes, he'd been giving her a kiss for every dish she washed. And every utensil. And two for every dish with food caked onto it.

"A worthwhile sacrifice," he joked easily. "It's motivational, Beesly. The faster you wash, the faster we'll be done. And the sooner we can watch football and eat pudding."

"What kind of pudding?" she wanted to know, expecting vanilla or chocolate. Maybe banana. She'd always liked banana pudding.

"Carrageen moss," he told her with a smile.

"What." She froze, staring at him blankly. "Moss pudding? Tell me that's an Irish word, and not moss moss."

He chuckled at the horrified look on her face. "Not an Irish word. But it doesn't contain actual moss. You use the moss to make gelatin, which is used to solidify the pudding."

"Gelatin, huh…" She nodded thoughtfully. "That explains… so much about you." His jello pranks had always been among her favorites.

He stepped closer, glancing downward. "I am a fan of all things jiggly."

"Not what I meant. Perv," she whispered, unable to hide her grin. "I'm still not sure I wanna try it."

"Oh, I've tried them," he said seriously. "Trust me, they make the best dessert."

Firmly, she nudged him away with her hip. "My eyes are up here. Don't make me slap you."

"You nerf-murdered me in cold blood, then danced adorkably on my grave," he reminded her. "You can't be scared of an innocent, tasty little dessert."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You established that it doesn't taste like moss, but you haven't told me what it does taste like. And," she protested primly, "I'm not scared. Just deciding."

"It's not as weird as it sounds," he reassured her with an easy smile. "It's basically vanilla pudding with raspberr--"

The front door slammed against the wall as Pete stormed back into the house. "Dad," he shouted angrily.

She dropped the sponge with a nervous start, looking anxiously toward the living room.

Fuck you, Pete, he groused internally. The moment thoroughly ruined, he turned off the water and put his arm protectively over her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. He's enough of an asshole when he's sober. Add alcohol and…" He waved his hand, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

"Gimme my keys!" Pete yelled churlishly.

She worried her lip between her teeth. "He's not planning to drive drunk, is he?" 

Sure sounds that way, he thought contemptuously. Frankly, it didn't surprise him a bit.

"Sleep it off upstairs," Gerald replied brusquely, rising from the couch. "You can have them when you're sober."

Pete grunted just before a loud thwap resounded off the wall. At the sound, Pam whimpered and froze.

Jim put his arm around her shoulders, his stomach twisting miserably. "I'm sorry, god I'm so sorry." And so ashamed. Jesus fucking christ.

"Get. Him. Out of here." Larissa demanded coldly from the living room.

"Love... Loyalty... Friendship... Love. Loyalty. Friendship. Love, loyalty, friendship, love loyalty friendship loveloyaltyfriendship," she whispered over and over, each iteration increasingly more frantic than the one before.

Impossibly, his heart soared as it sank. Soared at the words she chose to comfort herself. Sank at the reason she needed to, and the way she was saying them. She'd told him she used to have panic attacks, but her last one had been months ago. He'd never seen one for himself. His urge to protect her mounted quickly, became all-consuming between one heartbeat and the next. He needed to get her out of this house. Now. "Come on, let's go," he murmured.

Betsy picked up the phone. "I'm calling a cab," she said determinedly.

She didn't move, couldn't think, felt literally paralyzed. Looking like a deer in headlights, she stared at the wet, soapy suds dripping from her hands and repeated the mantra helplessly.

"Come on, man," Tom said firmly. "I'll drive you home in your car. 'Riss can follow us in hers, and we'll ride back together."

Jim pressed his mouth against her temple, worry creasing his brow. "I love you, starshine. Walk for me, okay?"

"Like hell I will," Larissa argued. "He wants to drive so bad, let him get a DUI."

At those words, Pete lumbered heavily toward the kitchen.

"Jim!" Larissa cried out, running after him.

"Pete!" Tom exclaimed simultaneously, close on her heels.

Gerald followed them both. "Son, calm the fuck down!"

With shaking hands, Betsy looked at the phone in her hand and pressed 9-1-1. Her finger hovering on the call button, she hurried after them.

Pete locked eyes with Jim as he stumbled drunkenly over the threshold. Weaving his way over, he cocked back his wrist, intent clear as day.

His appearance shocked Pam into silence. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jim start to duck. Even so, there was no way he wasn't about to get creamed. As automatic as her fear response had been, an even baser instinct was triggered by the direct physical threat—one she was unaware she possessed, having never been so tested. A bolt of adrenaline coursed through her body. Seeing red, she reared back with superhuman reaction time and screeched, "Don't you dare!" With visceral ferocity that would surprise her later, she slapped Pete in the face with every ounce of strength she possessed.

The force and speed of her blow caught him utterly off-guard. He staggered sideways, missing Jim entirely. He was still mid-swing when his shoulder hit the wall. Overbalancing, he slid down it, ending up slumped on the floor. A fiery hot, soapy handprint was emblazoned on his cheek. "Jee-sus christ," he muttered, touching it gingerly.

Breathless, Larissa arrived in the doorway just in time for the fireworks. "Damn, Pam!" she exclaimed appreciatively.

Red-faced, Pam raised her hand again. So loud it made her throat hurt, she screamed, "How dare you?"

Quickly, Jim circled her wrist with one hand, wrapping his other arm around her stomach.

Tom poked his head around the door jamb. He had to duck back out, unable to stifle a shout of laughter.

She fought against his hold, getting soapy water on his forearms. "I'm gonna kill him. Jim! Let me go!"

Eyes wide, he hoisted her off her feet, carrying her into the living room. "Let me go," she insisted, wriggling intently.

Gerald laughed, relieved, as they passed. "Now I know she's Irish." He bent to retrieve the photo album that Pete had thrown. Thankfully, there was no damage.

"Not now, dad," Jim muttered. "Mom? Baby pictures?" He carried her over to the couch and sat down beside her, wrapping his arm firmly around her shoulders to prevent her from rising.

Grinning, Betsy pulled out the album she'd hidden behind the bookshelf, as he'd requested the day before. "I'll just go cut the pudding." She set the photos on the coffee table and quickly left the room, ushering Gerald and Tom into the kitchen with her.

Jim leaned back against the cushions, pulling her head onto his chest, stroking her upper arms with warm hands. "Beesly! That was amazing. You're amazing." He could hardly believe it. She'd gone from panic attack to full-on attack mode in just a couple of seconds. "You gonna be okay?"

She was shaking with anger. "He tried to hit you!" she growled. She wrapped her arms around him protectively, rocking fiercely back and forth.

He smiled. "I'm okay. You're okay," he soothed her. "Everything's gonna be okay."

She gritted her teeth. "It's not okay! That… asshole made me hurt my hand!" she bit out angrily.

He bit his lip to stifle a chuckle, not wanting her to think he was laughing at her. Outrageously pissed off, she was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. "Can I see?" he asked her gently. Tenderly, he took her hand between both of his. It was red as Pete's face had been, he noted proudly. "Let me get you some ice."

"I'm coming too," she huffed obstinately. "If he has anything to say to you, he can say it to my face."

He covered his mouth to hide his smile. "Sure." He took her other hand in his and walked with her to the kitchen.

Betsy was cutting the pudding into slices, like a pie. Gerald dished it up onto plates. Pete, sitting at the kitchen table, was holding a bag of frozen peas against his cheek. He and Tom were talking quietly. Larissa stood in the corner, smirking. She nodded warmly at Pam, then smiled proudly at Jim.

He ignored them all, grabbing a baggie and filling it with ice from the freezer. Pete cleared his throat. "Hey, Jim. Pam—"

Pam cut him off. "Nope." Larissa stifled a laugh.

Jim looked over at Pete, shaking his head warningly. Pete shrugged and continued, "I just wanna say--"

"Don't. Wanna. Hear it." She took the baggie from Jim with a murmured thanks. She tilted her head toward the living room, a question in her eyes.

"I'll be there in a few," he said quietly.

She nodded. Cradling the ice in her hand, she returned to the living room. Gerald looked after her retreating back, smiling proudly.

Jim waited until she was back in the living room. He leaned on the table, voice low to prevent her from overhearing. "What you've done today is not something you can ever fucking apologize for," he said coldly.

"A-fucking-men," Tom echoed. Pete's mouth fell open in shock. Larissa grinned. Fucking finally.

Nonplussed, Jim shifted his gaze to Tom. After a moment, he looked back at Pete and continued. "You will never say one word to her about this. Not today. Not fucking ever."

Betsy whispered something to Gerald. He nodded. "I'll take care of it."

Jim stood, turning his back on Pete. "Mom? 'Riss?" he asked, gesturing toward the back door with his head. They followed, exchanging significant glances. Once outside, he turned to face them and spoke in a quiet voice. "Listen," he said intently. "Pam's never hit anyone in her whole life. Never. Not once. Trust me, that was…"

"Amazing," Larissa supplied helpfully.

He inclined his head in silent acknowledgement. "I was gonna say, unbelievably out of character. You have… no idea." He smiled wistfully, a distant look in his eyes.

Yep, Larissa thought with a smirk. Total goner.

Betsy replied, "She really made the best out of... an unfortunate situation." Long ago, she had made it a policy to avoid speaking ill of her children in front of their siblings. That wasn't to say she wouldn't have some choice words for Pete the next time they were alone, of course.

"Yeah," Jim agreed. He pursed his lips thoughtfully and continued. "I know that nobody's upset with her, but she doesn't know our family. She really wanted to make a good impression today. When she stops being mad, she's gonna be really… unhappy with herself." He raked his hand through his hair, looking consternated. "Could we maybe, like... just, I don't know. Get Pete out of here and pretend this never happened?"

Larissa laughed in disbelief. "How do you expect me to do that? I'm gonna give her the highest five she's ever fived."

He crossed his arms and leveled a chilly gaze at her. "Can you be serious for once in your damn life? She's not the type to be... proud of something like that. And she's important to me."

Rolling her eyes at Larissa, Betsy enveloped him in a motherly hug. "I already talked to Dad. He and Tom are taking Pete home. Baby pictures and pudding are a great start."

Larissa sighed, reluctantly putting on a serious face. "You don't have to worry," she reassured him. "She's with you. She's a five star nerf nerd." Well, as serious as she got, anyway. "That makes her family, too."

He hugged her, thanking her warmly. She patted his back, then mimed vomiting. "Since when did you get so soft?" 

"Ha," he intoned, heading back inside. "Thanks."

He always had been, Betsy reminisced fondly. It was why she'd worried so much about him over the past year. Not that he'd shown it through some magnificent gesture. That had never been his way. It was more a series of little memories she'd always treasure from his childhood… the way he'd regularly shed tears over things that her other children, most other children, wouldn't think twice about. An accidentally-crushed lightning bug… when he found out the bee that stung him would die after losing its stinger… the time he'd broken open a nascent chrysalis and found caterpillar soup inside, rather than the green butterfly he'd expected to take wing… the turtle with the broken shell that he'd insisted they stop to pick up, that she'd known couldn't be saved, but didn't have the heart to say no.

Firmly, she wiped away a single tear. She smiled broadly as she re-entered the house, confident that she didn't have to worry about her baby boy anymore. He was in very good hands. Finding a pen, she thought long and hard, then began to write.

Jim passed the kitchen, finding it empty. He headed for the living room. Pam was alone on the couch, ice in hand. She sat with her legs tucked under her, facing the wall. He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, then picked up the album and sat on the cushion next to her. She didn't move. "Hey," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You wanna see some really embarrassing baby pictures of me?"

She said nothing.

He opened the album. "Here's one of me in 'Riss's tutu when I was four." He leaned toward her, grinning engagingly.

"I should go," she said softly.

He rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. "Pete's not gonna bother us anymore. Dad and Tom are taking him home."

She glanced over at him. "That's not it." She stood abruptly, looking determined.

"Then what?" he asked, perplexed.

"I ruined the holiday for your entire family."

"Beesly!" He sounded shocked. "You did nothing wrong. Even Tom agrees it was Pete's fault. First time he and I have ever agreed on that topic. And anyway," he said gently, rising to his feet beside her, "nothing is ruined. We still have pudding to eat, and football to watch." He put his hand on her chin, tilting her face up to his. "It's tradition."

Her breath hitched when she saw the love in his eyes. "Yeah, I didn't want you to miss spending time with them. If I could just borrow your c-car." Stop it, she instructed herself firmly, averting her gaze from his. Battling a lump in her throat, she cleared her throat and continued bravely, voice hoarse. "I'll come back later and drive you home."

His brow knit, uneasy with concern. She'd been through so much today. He could hardly blame her for needing a break. "If you want to go, I'll take you home," he said softly.

She couldn't help correcting him, even though it made her eyes well up. "I don't want to." She bit her lip hard, willing herself not to cry.

"I don't want you to, either." He stepped toward her, intending to gather her in his arms.

She slipped back, stepping toward the door, talking earnestly. "It's been a really fun day. Um, mostly," she qualified, twisting her hands together. "I don't want to leave. I just--I really think I should. Before I do something else to embarrass you."

His heart stopped. She didn't really think that, did she? "You could never--"

She hastened on anxiously, words tumbling out of her mouth. "If I was your mother and some girl slapped my son in the face, I would want her to leave and never come back. I'm just gonna m-make it easy for--" She turned abruptly as a tear spilled over onto her cheek. Walking blindly, she hastily wiped it away and stumbled toward the blurry outline of the front door. She wasn't even sure where she was going. Jim had the car keys. She gasped on a sob when she heard his footsteps behind her, but didn't slow down. Suddenly, he was in front of her, wrapping his arms firmly around her. "Just let me go," she sobbed into his chest. Belying her words, her arms went around his waist, balling the hem of his shirt in her fists.

"Never," he said with certainty, heart aching as he stroked her hair. "I'm not embarrassed. I'm so proud of you. And you're not just some girl." He ran his fingers over the chain of her claddagh to remind her. "You're my starshine, and I love you."

She sniffled inelegantly. "I love you t-too, sunshine." She shuddered against him. "I'm so sorry. I was so scared. I never hit anyone in my life," she moaned. "What was I thinking?"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he insisted. "You didn't think. None of us were thinking. You just reacted. You kinda saved my bacon, Beesly," he reminded her.

She shook her head insistently. "I heard your dad. He thinks I'm some kind of… erratic, p-punchy drama queen."

He tried valiantly to stifle a laugh, feeling a strange mix of sympathy, pride, and humor. Betsy came out of the kitchen. "He was proud of you, honey. And grateful. We both are."

Pam started with a hiccup and whipped her head around. "What?" she asked, looking over her shoulder with a bewildered, tearstained expression.

Betsy smiled at her, folding a sheet of paper in half and tucking it into her own pocket. "Sorry for listening in. But I was just telling Jim that you made the best out of an unfortunate situation."

Larissa stepped out from under the stairs, not bothering to apologize for eavesdropping. "There were only two other ways that could have gone down," she said. "One, with Pete in an ambulance. Two, with Jim in an ambulance."

"'Riss," he hissed. Pam clutched at him, burying her face in his chest. He stroked her back soothingly. "We've never put each other in the hospital, she's just being dramatic."

"Sorry," Larissa said unrepentantly. "But really Pam, it's cool. Your solution was far more elegant."

"I didn't mean to," she said, her voice muffled by Jim's shirt. "I'm so sorry."

"For what? Growing up, I popped Pete across the mouth at least once a month. Never quite that good, though. Your wind-up was epic," she said appreciatively.

Betsy said firmly, "You can't leave without having pudding. It's tradition." She disappeared into the kitchen.

Larissa followed. "You're family now, deirfiúr. So stop whining and come have dessert already."

She sniffled into his chest. "What's ‘gee four'?" she mumbled.

"Sister," he translated softly. She pulled back, smiling weakly. With gentle fingers, he stroked her cheek. She leaned into his touch. "Feeling better?" he asked her.

"A little," she nodded. "I don't know if I can eat, though. My stomach hurts." And her throat, and her hand.

He had a stomachache, too. Aftereffects of the adrenaline rush. Even so, he loved pudding enough to eat the whole thing. "Just a bite? I'll finish yours, if you can't."

"Alright." She smiled genuinely at him. "Your family's pretty awesome."

"They take after me," he grinned, taking her hand. Together, they walked into the kitchen.

"So this one time, we convinced Dwight that Jim had telekinetic powers," Pam enthused.

"Oh man, that was a good one," he reminisced.

"Yes, it was. Let me tell the story."

"We're waiting." He stole a bite of her pudding.

She moved her plate away. "Hey, I'm not done."

"Coulda fooled me."

"Knock it off." Eyes sparkling, she continued. "Anyway. Jim started glaring at the coat rack like he was gonna do the Jedi mind trick or something. So I got out my umbrella--"

He added, "We didn't plan this, mind you. Completely unscripted."

She held up her finger. "So I got out my umbrella and hooked the coat rack--"

"She moved the coat rack!" he interrupted her again. "From behind the reception desk. It totally looked real. And Dwight totally bought it," he said, looking at her adoringly. "Hook, link, and sinker."

"You really need to stop stealing my punchlines," she suggested, grinning at him.

"We really need to do that again," he riposted.

Betsy laughed. "Jim always liked to prank his brothers," she said fondly.

"He liked to prank his sister, too," Larissa pointed out. "Remember the time you told my girlfriend you kept a shotgun under your bed?"

"Oh my god!" he cried, eyes widening. "Not Becky Little?"

"Yes," she glared at him, feigning indignance.

"It was a nerf shotgun!" he crowed. "No way she took that seriously."

"After you cocked it outside my door the next night, she refused to sneak into my bedroom ever again. I had to start sneaking into hers."

Pam let out a surprised laugh. Jim's family was so much more open than her own.

Betsy covered her ears. "I'm not hearing this."

Larissa snorted. "Don't be such a prude, mom. I was 16. Not 6."

"I haven't thought about that in years," Jim grinned. "I was tired of you guys waking me up every Saturday night."

"Just making out," she said defensively.

"Loudly," he commented under his breath.

"Becky was a nice girl," Betsy said fondly. "Why'd you two break up, anyway?"

"Ugh," Larissa rolled her eyes. "She cheated on me. With some guy from Dunmore High. Backstabber."

"Did she um, change teams?" Pam asked curiously.

"Ehh. She was always on the fence," Larissa said, sounding exasperated. "In retrospect, completely not my type."

"I wish you'd bring a nice girl home sometime," said Betsy. "I want you to be happy."

"I'm seeing a few," she replied confidently. "Trust me, I'm very happy, mom."

Betsy rolled her eyes. "Well, pick one and bring her over sometime."

"I was kinda thinking about introducing you guys to Janet. But she's not really what you'd call 'nice.'" She smiled wistfully to herself.

Jim laughed. "You always did have the weirdest taste in girls."

"Shut up, I'm a fighter. Not a lover."

Pam couldn't help but laugh at how different Jim was in that respect. She glanced over at him, finding his eyes already on her.

Betsy cleared her throat, tactfully rising from the table. "More pudding, anyone?" she inquired.

They chorused in agreement. As Betsy walked away, Pam inhaled quickly and started to say, "J-" She bit her lip hard at the look on his face. "Never mind," she muttered.

After a moment, he murmured, "Thanks. I know that was hard for you."

"That's what she said!" Pam fired back.

"Uh, do I even wanna know what you guys are talking about?" said Larissa with a vaguely disgusted look.

"We play jinx," Pam explained.

"More accurately, she plays jinx," he argued. "I'm merely a victim."

"Ugh," said Larissa. "You guys are disgusting. Why do you even play, Jim? Sounds like some grade A bullshit to me. If some girl tried to jinx me, I'd just kiss her brains out until she begged me to talk dirty to her." She stood up, heading for the bathroom. "Problem solved."

They snickered as she left. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody was within earshot. "Maybe I'll try that next time," he said thoughtfully.

"I've already slapped one Halpert boy today," Pam teased him, her cheeks flushed. "You going for the double play?"

"Are you saying we can be lovers and fighters?" he asked innocently, circling her wrist with his fingers. "'Cause I'll try anything once."

She rolled her eyes with a smile and peeled his fingers off her. "Maybe we can just add a new rule of jinx. Loser pays tribute with a coke, or their lips."

He considered. "Where?"

Betsy returned with the pudding. "Let's work out the details later," she mumbled, blushing furiously.

"Deal," he whispered, grinning roguishly.

Larissa detoured by the living room on her way back to the kitchen. "Time to embarrass the hell out of Jim!" she announced. She took the seat on Pam's other side and slid the baby album onto the table.

Jim reached for it with a groan. "You don't think I've sacrificed enough at the altar of dignity today?" he groused reluctantly.

"You were gonna show it to me yourself not twenty minutes ago, hypocrite," Pam accused him, fending him off with her elbow. Quickly, she opened the album and shouted with laughter. "Oh my god, he's really wearing a tutu!"

Jim quickly covered the picture, feigning an exasperated sigh.

"It was mine," Larissa chuckled. She flicked his knuckles until he let go, rolling his eyes. "I dressed up as a ballerina for Halloween that year. Pete convinced him to put it on. And look, mom's heels."

"Oh no," Pam gasped, shooting him a gleeful gaze. "And are those stick-on earrings? I need to borrow this picture!"

"Over my dead body," he retorted, reaching for the album again.

She snapped it shut and wrapped her arms around it. "I wouldn't show it to anyone."

"Uh huh," he said skeptically. He stood up and, before she knew it, had tugged it out of her hands. Triumphantly, he held it over his head, out of her reach.

She jumped, reaching for it. "Come on. You were so cute," she tried to wheedle him.

"Were?"

She put one foot on her chair, preparing to stand on it.

Betsy observed the exchange silently, smiling into her pudding.

"You guys are adorable, really, but I think I'm gonna puke," Larissa intoned sardonically. "Jim, give it. We've already opened Pandora's box. There's no going back now. Besides, that's the worst one and you know it. It's why I put it right in front."

He relented with a caveat and a resigned sigh. "These pictures never leave this house. Agreed?"

"I promise," said Pam. Not quite trusting the mischievous smile on her face, he grudgingly handed it back. "Thanks!" she said brightly.

"Don't worry," Larissa whispered in Pam's ear as she reopened the album. "I have copies."

Once Gerald and Tom returned, everyone adjourned to the living room to continue watching the game. A few minutes in, Pam noticed Betsy leaning her head on Gerald's shoulder. With a smile, she lowered hers onto Jim's as well. Stuffed from the extra helping of pudding, and bored by the game--frankly, sports had never been her thing--she drifted into a light snooze. The next thing she knew, she was startled awake by loud cheering. "Home run?" she asked blearily.

Everyone laughed. Larissa snorted, "I take it back, this chick's from Mars."

"Game's over," Jim murmured gently into her ear. "Phillies won."

"Yay." She yawned. Looking down, she noticed his arm was around her. Her side was pressed firmly against his. The last thing she remembered was putting her head innocently on his shoulder. Her conscience whispered from a great distance: you should really move. "How long was I asleep?"

He tilted his head sideways, looking into her eyes with quiet confidence. Gently, he squeezed her waist, as if to reassure her that it was okay. "Maybe an hour? We started watching after halftime." 

She glanced surreptitiously around the room. Nobody seemed scandalized when she tucked her legs underneath her. She bestowed him with a lazy, contented smile and told her conscience to suck it. "'Kay," she said simply, snuggling into him, lowering her head to the hollow of his shoulder. She allowed her eyes to drift gently closed… just for a second…

He pressed his lips to her hair. "Do you want some tea?" She didn't answer. He looked down. She had dozed off again. He bit his lip and smiled down at her adoringly.

From across the room, Betsy eyed them. Very good hands, she thought with a secret smile, patting the slip of paper in her pocket. She wasn't ordinarily prone to impulse, but she had no doubt she was making the right decision.

"Speaking of caffeine." Larissa hopped up to start a pot of coffee. Shortly, everyone made their way to the kitchen to grab a cup. Jim stayed on the couch, reveling in the coziness of the moment.

Betsy came out of the kitchen with an extra mug. He accepted it gratefully, starting to feel a little drowsy himself. It wasn't that late, but it had been a long day. "Does Pam take sugar in her tea?" she asked quietly.

"Mom, you don't—"

"I already started the kettle," she cut him off.

"A little cinnamon. No sugar." He smiled gratefully as he took a sip. "Thanks, this is great."

--

Pam sat contentedly, drinking her tea. She participated occasionally, but mostly just listened to the discussion. Between the well-being of various family members and hilarious anecdotes from Jim's childhood, she was far from bored. Betsy had just finished a story about Jim's first Irish curse word when he turned to whisper in her ear. "We can go whenever you're ready. She'll talk all night if you let her."

"In a little while," she replied with a grin. "This is good stuff."

He groaned good-naturedly, rolling his eyes.

Larissa looked at Pam and gestured with her head, her hand in her pocket. She'd been writing busily on a sheet of paper for the past several minutes, participating only half-heartedly in the conversation. Curiously, Pam followed her into the kitchen with a whispered "Be right back" to Jim. He raised an eyebrow as the two of them left the room, but said nothing.

Larissa looked over her shoulder. After making sure they hadn't been followed, she pulled out the picture of Jim in the tutu. Pam giggled together with her at the ridiculously adorable image. "It's yours, if you want it. Use it well."

"I appreciate the offer, 'Riss… but," she said with a hesitant smile, "I can't." She bit her lip.

"I insist." She tucked the picture into Pam's jeans pocket with a conspiratorial grin. "You said you wouldn't show it to anybody. I trust you."

She hated being put into the position of telling anybody no, but this wasn't up for debate. She pressed the picture onto the table, then clutched the opal of her claddagh between her fingers. "He trusts me," she said firmly, with an uncomfortable shrug. "I promised."

Larissa looked at her appraisingly. It was almost a shame she was already Jim's chailín. [girlfriend] "Well, you passed the test, Pambo." She pulled the sheet of paper from her pocket.

"What?" she said in a small voice, looking bewildered.

Larissa waved her hand, smiling broadly. "It's not like that. Don't think too hard about it. It's not like I was gonna hate you if you took the picture. I just wasn't gonna give you this."

Pam crossed her arms. "What is 'this', exactly? And why do I want it?" She couldn't keep the indignance out of her voice.

Larissa sighed. "I'm sorry. I am so not good at this serious shit. Just—listen. Jim's been in a really… bad place for the past year. We were all worried about him. Even I was worried about him, and I never worry about anything. Like he was literally, clinically depressed." Pam nodded cautiously. She'd been there herself. Like there was a gaping, black, Jim-shaped void inside her heart. Larissa continued, "I guess you could say I feel kinda… protective toward him." She rolled her eyes with a smile. "Not that you'd know anything about that."

Pam smiled ruefully. "No, not at all."

Larissa smiled back, looking relieved. Quickly, she added a line at the very bottom of the page, then re-folded it and handed it over. "Look, I'm really not good at this sister shit either. Just read it. And if you ever want any more tips, give me a call." She hugged her warmly, then skedaddled back to the living room.

Feeling simultaneously honored and offended, Pam unfolded the page. It was written in a blocky, almost manly hand. Biting her lip with a smile, she scanned it briefly. Wow, she thought, eyes opening wide. She shut herself in the bathroom for privacy and sat down to read it thoroughly.

Hey Pam,

If Jim sees you reading this, just tell him I gave you my home phone number. At least until you bust out one of these phrases. He'll figure it out after that, Irish virgin.

If you're reading this, then you didn't take the picture and you're probably pretty pissed at me. I just needed to be sure you wouldn't lie to him. Don't be pissed, I knew you wouldn't. Why else would I have spent so much time on this damn letter?

So. Jim gave you a claddagh. With his birthstone. Yes, we all noticed. That means he loves you, like WHOA. He wouldn't want me to tell you this, but Pete made fun of him for it this morning. He didn't want you to know, that's why they kept arguing in Irish when you came outside. Which is why we were all so glad that YOU knocked him on his ass.

Anyway, I thought you would appreciate knowing that. And I think he'd appreciate if you learned how to say a few things in Irish. He never kept up on it like the rest of us, but I was surprised by how much the bonny lad still understands (don't ever call him that, by the way).

Did he tell you he hasn't brought a girl to meet the family since prom? Don't worry, you're cuter. Also, you rock at nerf war. Babes rule, buttheads drool!

'Riss

P.S. Don't tell him what I just told you about last year or he'll kill me. And I'll haunt the SHIT out of you.

P.P.S. Dispose of these two lines immediately.

With a laugh, Pam tore the bottom off the letter and flushed it. Finally knowing the context behind the argument with Pete, she sighed in relief, awash in gratitude. As she splashed cool water on her face, she recalled the afternoon before. She and Jim had been cuddled side-by-side on his couch after making love for the second time that day. He'd just given her a key to his apartment. Her eyes were closed dreamily, recalling the endeavors to which he'd so recently dedicated his hands. And mouth, she grinned impishly to herself.

Jim cleared his throat. "So." Her eyes popped open. He looked nervous, she saw. But determined, as though he'd just made up his mind about something. "Have you ever heard of a claddagh?"

He sounded nervous, too. Curiously, she gazed at him, shifting her thoughts to the present with effort. "No, never." That came out of the blue, she reflected silently. "What is it?"

"Well… I'm Irish," he said awkwardly, by way of introduction. "My family is, like… very Irish," he chuckled self-consciously. "My dad even has a kilt."

The point emerges. "Wow, that's incredibly cool," she said, intrigued. She would be meeting his family for the first time at the barbecue tomorrow, but didn't know much about them yet. She smiled encouragingly at him. "Does he wear it, like out of the house?"

He shrugged with a nod. "Only on special occasions. Weddings, funerals, the Celtic Festival at Montage Mountain."

She was curious at the way he pronounced it, like ‘keltic.' She wanted to ask him why he didn't say ‘seltic,' the way she did, but she suppressed the urge. It sounded like he was going somewhere with this, and she didn't want to derail his train of thought. "I wouldn't have guessed. You don't seem like an Irish guy. Just… a guy," she finished lamely.

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Yeah… I don't really get into it much. At least, not as much as my parents do… Anyway…" He gave her a brief, tentative smile, then took a deep breath. She gazed at him, paying rapt attention. "A claddagh is an Irish symbol made up of three parts. A heart, a crown, and two hands. They represent love, loyalty, and friendship." He looked down, swallowing hard as he picked up a hidden box from between the couch cushion and his boxer-clad thigh.

She gasped. "Oh my god, Jim." Biting her lip, her eyes flitted up to his. He couldn't be proposing. Was he proposing? True, they'd been saying 'I love you' since their third date… they'd only been dating for a couple of weeks, though. True, she granted, they'd been best friends for years, and she felt like they knew each other better than a lot of married couples probably did. Still…

She looked back down at the box. Wait, no, it was far too large for a ring. Shakily, she released the breath she'd been holding. A strange combination of regret, relief, and doubt filled her. Okay, he wasn't proposing today. But what would she say if he had? Certainly not no. Was 'not yet' a valid answer? After all, it wasn't like she hadn't thought about it. She'd even doodled 'Pamela Halpert' on a post-it note Friday. Several, actually, before dropping them in the shredder. At the time, she'd told herself it was strictly hypothetical, just to see what the letters felt like coming out of her pen. And to see how it felt compared to 'Pamela Anderson' (much better, incidentally). She'd really have to stop doing that at work, though. What if Jim ever noticed? she thought uncomfortably. Oh god, how long have I been sitting here with my mouth open? Firmly, she closed it and bookmarked the question to revisit later, saying the first thing that popped into her head. "You got me a present?" She bit her lip, cringing internally. Good one, Beesly.

"Well, I didn't get it for me," he teased her fondly, holding it out to her. "Jewelry's not really my thing."

Relief flooded her. She giggled giddily, tension broken. "So you're saying I'll have to return the enormous gold medallion I got you for our two-week anniversary?"

"Little soon for that, don't you think?" he replied with a knowing smile.

He'd always been far too intuitive for his own good. Or am I just that transparent? she wondered sheepishly. But if, as she suspected, he was talking about the same thing she'd been thinking about… well, at least they were on the same page. She looked down, her fingers brushing his as she accepted the box. "Thank you, Jim," she said sincerely. "You didn't have to get me anything."

He shook his head with a languid blink. "I wanted to. And you're welcome."

Grinning, she clamped her teeth over her bottom lip. "Claddagh, right?" He nodded. She repeated, "Love, loyalty, and friendship." She stroked the box with her fingers. "It sounds… really meaningful."

"It is," he agreed.

She hesitated, not sure if he had more to say. "Can I… open it now?"

"Please," he said, a little tensely.

She opened it quickly, finding a necklace inside. She gasped again. "Jim! Oh… my…" she trailed off. Touching it delicately, she whispered, "Wow…" In the center, an opal heart gleamed chaotically, shooting rainbows of color with the subtlest of movements. Two silver hands clasped the heart between them. Connecting the hands was a crown made of sparkling, clear stones. "It's incredible," she said, amazed.

Looking relieved, he lifted the necklace from the box. He held the center in his palm, straightening the chain with his other hand. "The stones are white sapphires. Opal is your favorite, and my birthstone. I knew it was perfect as soon as I saw it."

Her hand drifted up to her cheek. He'd remembered she didn't like diamonds, and that opal was her favorite gemstone. "It is perfect," she agreed quietly, stroking it in his palm. "I didn't realize opal was your birthstone. It really is my favorite." Ruefully, she looked down at her sloppy outfit, her hand wandering to her messy ponytail. "I can't believe you got this for me." She shook her head. "I should be… fancier."

"In case you didn't know, rumpled Beesly is my favorite," he said with a cheeky grin. "Especially when she's wearing my clothes, and I'm the one who rumpled her."

Her eyes twinkled mischievously at him. "You have spent an awful lot of time touching my rumple this weekend."

"I'm a biiig fan of that rumple," he agreed with a roguish grin. He looked down to unclasp the chain, nervousness stealing over his expression again. He cleared his throat. "So, um… there's a traditional saying when giving a claddagh." He shook his head, rolling his eyes. "I wasn't gonna say it. It's so cheesy. You'll laugh."

She reached out, touching his cheek with gentle fingers. "I won't. This is important to you, so it's important to me." She turned to face away. "And you know I like cheesy."

"Okay." He turned to face her. He cleared his throat and brought the chain around her neck. With a heartfelt twinge, she felt his fingers trembling against her skin. As he fastened it, he murmured, "With these hands, I give you my heart, and crown it with my love." He kissed the clasp solemnly, then gently placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. She crossed her arms over her chest, covering his hands with both of hers, devotion shining in her expression. Voice becoming hoarser by the word, he continued. "You'll always be my best friend, Pam. I'll always be loyal to you. And I'll always… always love you."

Her lower lip wobbled precariously, mirroring his. "Always," she echoed emphatically. "I love you so much, Jim." She leaned over and lovingly feathered his lips with hers. He groaned and tugged her into his arms as they kissed sweetly.

After a time, she twisted sideways and nestled into him. She lifted the charm between her fingers, gazing at it intently. With a happy sigh, she tilted it repeatedly, catching the light from different angles. "So pretty," she murmured.

"So glad you like it." He stroked her back, sounding utterly content.

"Love it," she corrected him. "I'll wear it every day."

He kissed the top of her head. "You don't have to wear it tomorrow, if you don't want."

She looked up at him, puzzled. "Why wouldn't I want to?"

He shrugged. "Everyone in my family will know what it means."

"What, that we love, loyalty, and friendship the heck out of each other?"

Grinning, he nodded.

He'd given it to her today. If he didn't want her to wear it tomorrow, she reasoned, he'd have waited to give it to her. "That doesn't bother me. Does it bother you?"

He shook his head. "Not at all. I just didn't wanna presume."

"Even if tomorrow is a holiday, I'm pretty sure every day includes all the days," she said affectionately. "Ooh!" She scrambled off him before he had a chance to reply. "I'm gonna take it onto the balcony. I wanna see it in the sunlight." She dashed over to the sliding-glass door and slipped outside. "Come see!" she called excitedly, squinting toward him in the bright afternoon light. It was brilliant.

He followed her outside, an enigmatic smile playing around the corners of his mouth. He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Beesly," he said simply, softly. Reverently, he pressed his lips to her shoulder.

She snuggled back into his chest, wondering if he would keep calling her that after they were married, or if he'd start calling her Halpert. Watching the opal flash in the sunlight, she wasn't sure which she would prefer. It wasn't until much later that she realized those musings shifted from "if" to "when" at that precise moment.

With a happy sigh, she scanned Larissa's Irish translations. Choosing one, she quickly committed it to memory before re-folding the note and tucking it into her pocket. She was on her way back to the living room when she noticed everyone chatting in the entryway. Larissa and Tom were preparing to leave, from the looks of it. Jim looked over at her. She raised her eyebrows at him as she walked to the living room. Intrigued, he followed her. As he came around the corner, she snaked her arms around his neck and tugged his lips down to hers, kissing him fiercely.

Taken aback by her intensity, he stood stock-still. Momentarily, he responded, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her firmly against him, completely forgetting to ask what she and Larissa had been up to. "Oof," he said appreciatively when she pulled back. He grinned wickedly, eyes roving her face. "What was that for?"

She stroked his cheekbone, so tenderly. "For everything." She couldn't tell him she knew he'd defended their relationship without revealing what Larissa had shared in confidence. "Teach me how to say something in Irish."

He nodded, lips curving up. "Anything. What do you wanna say?"

"I dunno." She shrugged. "I just wanna start learning. I don't know any Irish words yet."

He glanced at her necklace. "You know one."

She touched the opal. He was right, he had taught her one already. "Well… I love, loyalty, and friendship the heck out of you. How does that translate?"

Her words evoked a vivid memory of the previous afternoon. Good choice. He murmured, "Grá. Dílseacht. Cairdeas."

She remembered seeing the first word on Larissa's note. "Graw," she repeated.

"Dílseacht," he prompted her.

"Dill-shocked."

"Cairdeas," he finished.

"Cord-jiss?"

He nodded, smiling proudly. "All together now?"

"Grá. Dílseacht. Cairdeas," she intoned. Larissa rounded the corner. Quickly, she said, "What's goodbye?" It was on the note, but she didn't want him to know about her cheat sheet yet.

"Slán."

"Thanks," she breathed, taking a step back as Larissa approached.

She took Jim's hand and shook it forcibly. "It was so nice to meet you. I want her home by eight, young man." She hugged Pam. "And great to see you again, sis. Don't be strangers."

He laughed sardonically. "Ever the smartass."

"Thank you, 'Riss," Pam said sincerely. "For everything."

"Don't get sappy on me, babe," she said warningly. "I expect a dinner invitation soon. Your place. You cook. I'll bring the tequila. And maybe Janet. I think you'll like her."

"Sounds like a scandal waiting to happen," she replied with a grin. "It's a deal."

Jim coughed conspicuously into his hand. "Yes, we'd love to meet her."

"Who said you were invited?" Larissa retorted. She shook her head at Pam. "This guy's kinda fresh, you sure he's good enough for you?"

"Oh yeah," she said confidently. "He had a chance to shoot me, but he didn't."

Larissa slapped him on the back. "Aim high, I always say."

"You done?" he smirked.

She pursed her lips, as if thinking hard. "Yeah, that was all the material I had. Good night!"

"Night," Jim echoed, waving as she darted away.

"Slán," Pam called after her retreating back.

"Who taught you that?" she called over her shoulder.

"Jim, duh. Who else?" she giggled.

"I told you that boy was a keeper. Call me. Slán!"

He tilted his head with a cocky grin. "What'd I tell you? Literally nothing to worry about."

With a nod, she conceded. "We really should have dinner with her soon."

"I'd like that… if I'm invited."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Uh, yeah. You think I could handle her, her girlfriend, and a bottle of tequila without you? I need some muscle around in case things go south."

He arranged his face into a boyish pout. "Is that all I am to you?"

"Not all. I mean, you're at least 70% water." She grinned, tongue poking out between her teeth.

Damn she was quick. "How dare you," he grinned back, tacitly admitting defeat. "Come on, let's say our goodbyes and get out of here."

--

As they were leaving, Betsy stepped quickly to the kitchen. "Oh Pam, you almost forgot your foil."

"I'll get it," she reassured Jim. "Wanna start the car?" He looked at her silently for a moment, a smile flirting with the corners of his lips, before heading outside.

"Thanks, Betsy!" she exclaimed, gratefully taking the box. "You've all been so welcoming today, I can't thank you enough."

Maybe not all of us, Betsy thought with a rueful smile. "I'm the one who should be thanking you, sweetie."

Pam responded with a genuine smile. "Between the nerf, the food, and the stories, I had the best time ever."

So gracious, she thought fondly. "It doesn't begin to cover what I owe you, but I want you to have this." She handed over a folded slip of paper.

Owe me? Her brow knit in confusion as she opened it. She looked up with a gasp. "But—Jim said it was a secret." One that her own daughter hadn't even been able to get out of her. 

"It is," she said simply. "And now it's yours."

Flustered, she stammered out, "I—wow... Thank you."

"Don't tell him I gave it to you. Make it for him soon, though. He'll figure it out."

She nodded emphatically. "I will."

"Just be ready to make it every week for the rest of your life."

"Okay," she replied with a shy smile. "Thank you so much. It means the world to me that you would…" She gestured at the paper. "I won't share it with anybody."

"I trust you." 

Feeling overwhelmed, Pam couldn't help but ask, "Why?" Why me? 

"Why do you think?" She gestured sideways with her head. "Don't keep him waiting." 

Pam clasped her in an impulsive hug. "Slán, Betsy."

She chuckled, delighted, then waved her off. "Slán, Pam."

"What'd you guys talk about?" he asked as she slid into the car.

"I'm picking up numbers left and right," she fibbed. "Told you I was awesome."

An enigmatic smile tugged the corners of his mouth upward. "Did she say anything about me?"

"Not everything is about you," she pointed out, artfully dodging the question. "Hey, um, do you know what this means?" She held up the box of foil, pointing at Betsy's handwritten Jim 7 Pam.† "I meant to ask her on my way out, but I forgot."

"Lemme see." He glanced at it before pulling away from the curb. "Oh, that's just an Irish ampersand."

Soon, they pulled up outside her apartment. "I'm so glad you came today," he said softly, lifting her hand to his lips. He kissed her palm tenderly, noting that it was starting to bruise. "Sorry again about… you know." He shrugged regretfully.

"You don't need to apologize for losing at nerf," she teased him. "It was bound to happen, what with you not being able to shoot me."

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Oh, absolutely I do," she said seriously. "You don't have to apologize for that, either. I'm sure you have your reasons for not wanting the world to see little Jimmy in a tutu." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. A reluctant smile playing around his lips, he dropped it. She continued, "I had a really great time today. Your family is awesome. And thanks for talking me into the pudding," she said affectionately. "It was the best, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it's my favorite dessert," he said, fondly entwining his fingers with hers. "Almost as good as her potato salad."

"You like her potato salad more than her pudding?" she asked nonchalantly.

He sighed wistfully. "I could eat it every day for the rest of my life."

She kissed him to hide her silly grin. He moaned quietly, sliding a hand into her hair. After a moment, she suggested, "I have a proposition." He tilted his head, all ears. "Could I interest you in a little mayhem, side of mischief? Your place?" She raised her eyebrows seductively.

He beamed, his face lighting up. "On a work night?" She nodded. "Are you sure?" She nodded vigorously. "Mmm." Eyes roving her face, he replied in a voice like molasses. "You're spoiling me. How am I supposed to go back to sleeping alone after three nights in a row with my Beesly?"

Maybe you won't have to, she thought impishly. Her lease was up for renewal soon. "So… I'm yours now?" 

"You will be tomorrow." He captured her lips in a kiss filled with promise, leaving her breathless with anticipation. "Three's the magic number."

"It's a good thing is breá liom tú, Jim," she said softly, hoping she'd gotten it right.

He blinked in shock, his heart beginning to race. "Beesly!" He laughed giddily. "Where'd you learn that?"

She smiled secretively. "I figured it out."

He gazed into her eyes. "Is breá liom tú, too." He'd have to thank 'Riss later.

Hearing him repeat the phrase, she realized with gratitude that the pronunciation was accurate, although she was unable to reproduce the finer points of the accent. Wait, did he just say… "Tutu?" she giggled.

He shook his head with a chuckle, then nuzzled her cheek affectionately. "Tried it once. Didn't like it."