Jim has no problems finding Pam's apartment. He had debated asking someone to ride with him, just so he'd have someone to show up with, but the more he had thought about it, the more time passed until it had been too late to really call anyone.

He'd bought a new dress shirt for the party. Shiny blue silk. One of those shirts that you can really only wear once, and he'd spent $60 on it, from one of those stores where all of the guys who work there wear pink and call you "sir". At home, he'd put it on and taken it off three times, because it was what they'd called "slim fit", which translated into "really uncomfortable", and because no matter how nice it looked, it wasn't really him.

But he'd ended up wearing it, with a navy blue tie and gray pants, figuring he'd spent the money on it anyway, and he really didn't have that many nice shirts.

He pulls into the street that Pam lives on and it looks as though he's the last to arrive, even though it's only 7:15. He parks and he can see Bob Vance's Yukon, Meredith's van, Ryan's Civic, Andy's Xterra, Karen's Isuzu...he even sees that Oscar had shown up. He counts the rest of the cars as he sits in his Corolla in front of Pam's apartment. He knows he's stalling.

Finally he gets out of his car, smoothing his shirt, and straightening the knot of his tie. He slowly makes his way up the walk. He sees Roy's monstrosity of a truck, hogging up most of the room in the driveway.

There are two front doors, one leading into Pam's place and the other leading upstairs to the other apartment. The invitation states she lives at 415 so he rings the left doorbell.

Karen answers the door, in all black. Her hair is up and Jim realizes this is the first time he's ever seen her dressed up. She looks beautiful, in a city kind of way. Nothing average about her.

He figures a compliment is obligatory.

"Hey!" She says, hugging him. "You look great! You should wear that shirt every day," she jokes.

He hugs back, and when he releases, he smiles at her. "Thanks. You look nice, too. Really nice." He wants to make a joke about her boots, badly, but he holds it in.

Karen takes his arm and leads him inside.

He'd never imagined actually seeing Pam's apartment, but it looks spectacular. They had gone all out decorating it, and there are little white lights everywhere, with blue, silver, black and gold balloons floating at the ceiling.

He looks around the living room with Karen still holding onto his arm. He sees just about everyone. Kelly is putting a party hat on Ryan's head, much to Ryan's chagrin. Meredith is pouring vodka into a glass of something that looks like Tang, while not listening to Creed. Phyllis and Bob Vance are dancing in a corner, near the Christmas tree. Darryl and Roy are in another corner, setting up the beer pong table. So, she hadn't been kidding about the beer pong.

Karen pulls him into the kitchen, where it's small and quiet and empty.

"Here's where the food is. We've got the sub and everything on the table. Beer is in the cooler down here," she points at an ice chest under the table, "and wine is on the counter." She presses a beer bottle into his hand.

Jim looks around the kitchen, and it smells faintly like pears and he wonders how Pam gets it to smell that way. Candles...or one of those plug-in things...?

Karen puts her hand on his face and pulls him down to her, kissing him. "I'm glad you're finally here," she says softly.

He kisses back, and sees Kevin enter the kitchen out of the corner of his eye. Quickly, he lets go of her.

"Hey, Kev," Jim says, waving.

"Hey," Kevin says, looking at Jim, and then Karen, then back at Jim. "This needs more mayonnaise," he says, holding out a piece of sandwich.

"Oh! Here you go," Karen says, opening Pam's refrigerator and pulling out a jar.

"Actually, I'm, uh, going to go back out there," Jim says, pointing into the other room, his beer in one hand.

He walks back into the living room, seeing Ryan standing in the corner watching Kelly as she changes a CD. "Hey, man," he greets, taking a drink out of his beer bottle.

"Hey." Ryan looks at Jim. He's wearing the party hat.

"Hey, have you seen P-Toby?" Jim quickly asks.

"Um, I think he's outside on the patio. They're having trouble getting the fire started."

Jim walks over to the glass sliding door at the far end of the living room and opens it, stepping outside. It's a nice night. Not too cold.

He sees Toby in a suit jacket, bent over the small black enamel outdoor fireplace.  He's holding a flaming fire-starter in his hand, trying to ignite the wood inside.

She's standing next to Toby, looking down at the fire he's trying to start. She has a gray sweater (the same one from that day he came back) over her pink dress, arms folded. He's not able to move from the doorway, because she has her hair down, and her cheeks match her dress. He so desperately wants his feet to move but she looks so beautiful that he's afraid to walk over her, not wanting anything to break the moment.

A smile quirks his lips as he watches her, in her fancy pink dress with a grandmotherly sweater over it.

He feels a firm hand clamp his shoulder. It shakes him a little bit, and aggravates him a lot.

"Tunaaaa..."

Jim looks over at Andy, who puts one arm around Jim's shoulders, holding a cup in his other hand.

"Hey, Andy."

"So tonight is going to be the night I make my move, if you know what I mean," Andy says, watching Pam. He talks really close to Jim's ear.

And...there's never a bad time to mess with Andy.

"No, not really. What do you mean?"

"Heh. You know. Tonight is when the magic will happen."

"Nope, still...no."

"I'm going to seal the deal tonight, man!"

"Wait..." Jim whispers, "are you talking about that rumor that was going around the office on Friday? The drag racing Dwight thing? ‘Cause your car only has, like, what? 265 horsepower? It puts you at a major disadvantage. I mean, I know what everyone else was saying, but I just want you to know that I did stick up for you, and I'll be very disappointed if you lose."

Andy runs off. It's too easy, Jim thinks.

His beer feels light in his palm and he decides to go back inside to get another one.

He turns to walk back through the sliding door but as he does, he hears a small voice behind him.

"Hey, Jim."

He whips back around, and...whoa...there she is, ten inches away from him, her hands clasped in front of her and he hasn't been face to face with her, in this proximity, since that night. And he can see her heartbeat making the skin palpitate in the little notch over her collarbone.

He swallows, forgetting about his empty beer.

Pam notices that Jim's wearing a new shirt and she feels a surge of triumph.

"Hey, Pam," he answers her, a faint smile on his lips.

"Um, so did you just get here?"

"Yeah, a few, uh..." He interrupts himself, his smile fading. "You look...wow."

Pam feels her lips pulling into a smile that she can't control. She feels blood creeping into her face and she doesn't know what to do with her hands so she holds them behind her back.

"Thanks," she says shyly. "You, too. Wow."

They stand there facing each other silently. Pam's vaguely aware of the party going on inside and outside and she's beginning to feel like a bad hostess, but, just...wow.

Jim laughs uncomfortably. "So I may have just convinced Andy that Dwight wants to drag race him," he says, his eyes dancing, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

Pam giggles. "Nice. At least if beer pong and karaoke get old we'll have something to fall back on for entertainment."

Jim goes along with the joke, and Pam can vaguely hear him saying, "Maybe we can get them to have a singing beer pong competition..." but around his left arm she can see Karen walking towards them, pulling open the sliding glass door.

"Oh!" Pam says, interrupting Jim. "Actually, I should probably get back inside and check to see how we're doing on ice. I'll, um, find you later, though!"

Jim has confusion in his eyes. "Okay. Later." Pam brushes past him through the open glass door as Karen passes through.

* * * *

Karen slides her hand into the crook of Jim's arm. "Hey! Everything okay?" she asks, sidling up next to him.

He pulls the corners of his mouth down and nods. "Yeah."

"Good. Because, um, there's something I wanted to talk to you about." I'm going to do this now, Karen thinks. If I ask him about it, I'll know the truth. It's just a picture. But if it's more than that, I need to know.

"Fire away."

"Well, I was in Pam's room earlier, and..." Karen watches as Pam opens the door again, hurrying past them onto the patio to throw more wood in the fireplace. "You know what?" she continues. "Let's go inside. It's not important. Maybe later." She leads him back into Pam's living room.

* * * *
It's getting harder to break away from him every time. Harder to end every conversation, harder and harder to walk away.

Pam hates feeling so vulnerable in her own apartment. And while Karen had handled the whole yearbook photo thing so gracefully, she still can't help but wonder if she's really holding it against her.

I mean, to anyone who doesn't know, it would seem so innocent, Pam thinks as she bends down on the kitchen floor to scoop up pieces of half-melted ice that have fallen from the cooler. But then again, having a high-school picture of your friend's boyfriend hanging on your wall doesn't exactly scream of nothing going on.

"Uh, hey." Pam hears a soft voice from behind her, and half-turns, still bent over the floor.

Roy.

"Hey."

"Need help with anything?" he asks, wobbling slightly, holding an empty beer bottle by the neck. He tosses it into the trashcan.

Jesus, Pam thinks, examining him. It's nine o'clock and he's already drunk.

"No, thanks." She stands up, brushing off her skirt. "I thought you'd sort of stopped drinking."

"Yeah," Roy says, pulling another beer from the cooler. "I figured I'd make an exception for New Year's Eve."

"Roy, promise me." Pam says, looking straight into his blue eyes. "Promise me you'll stop drinking by eleven. There'll be cops out everywhere tonight."

Roy tilts his head, blinking. "I promise."

Pam's face breaks into a smile. "Good. You'll thank me tomorrow morning. Trust me."

Roy laughs. "Yeah, you're right." He looks down at his shoes, and then up again at Pam. "Thanks for inviting me," he says, his voice quiet.

I didn't, Pam thinks, sadly.

But she tells Roy she's glad he could make it and she leaves it at that.

Pam stares past Roy through the archway of the kitchen into the living room, at Karen laughing, beaming up at Jim, who's smiling too. She crushes a stray piece of ice on the linoleum with the toe of her high heels.

* * * *

Even though she's been busy co-hosting the party, Karen's had a lot of wine already and she's starting to feel very warm.

She even allows herself to ignore the fact that Jim's paying very little attention to her tonight, because when she says something funny, he still laughs. And, she can allow herself to believe that there's really nothing going on between Jim and Pam, because they've barely spoken to each other since Jim had arrived.

Karen and Jim sit on the couch, laughing, watching Meredith stumble through a rendition of "It's Raining Men" on karaoke, and she allows herself to put her hand on his back, rubbing gently. She feels his muscles relax and watches him take a big sip of his beer.

* * * *

Pam sits on the rickety old picnic table on the patio, next to the fireplace. She wraps her sweater closer around her, even though it's not cold by the fire.

She takes a big gulp of beer, and it's helping immensely. She thinks drinking a lot would be a bad idea, especially for her, especially tonight, but she can't stop herself.

She watches the glass sliding door open slowly, and she looks down but she recognizes the gray pants and lanky legs and she lets her eyes close, for a second.

She feels the table shake as he slides into a seat across from her. His shoe bumps her foot a little, but she doesn't move it. She lets herself look up into his eyes, even though doing that has been dangerous for her lately.

"It's a good party," he says reassuringly, tilting his head.

"Yeah."

"So why are you sitting out here?"

"I don't know. It's quiet?"

"Yeah."

They both look down at the table.

"So, I like your place," Jim says.

"Thanks. It's small, but it's nice having something that's all mine. Now I know what I've missed out on all those years. I've missed out on lots of things." Pam picks on curls of peeling paint on the table.

Jim laughs, hastily. "Like what?"

"Well, I-"

Pam is cut off by Karen rushing through the sliding door, pulling Roy behind her by his sleeve.

"Okay," she says, excitedly. "I just had the greatest idea. A drinking game. Never Have I Ever. We used to play it all the time in college."

Pam looks at Karen. Her cheeks are magenta and her eyes are really shiny. She thinks maybe she should tell Karen to ease up on the wine, too. But who would she be to talk?

Karen slips into the seat next to Pam, and whispers in her ear, "I see the way you guys have been looking at each other."

"What?" Pam blinks, her heart racing.

"You and Roy. I'm determined to have you guys hooked up by the end of the night. You can thank me later." She gives Pam a knowing smile.

Roy sits next to Jim, across from Karen.

"Okay," Karen says. "This is how we play. I say something that starts with never have I ever, and anyone who has done it, drinks. If you've really never done it, then you don't have to drink."

Pam begins to get up from the table.

"Where are you going?" Karen asks. "Sit back down. This'll be fun, I promise."

Pam pauses, looking at Jim. He shrugs at her, with a smile in his eyes, as if to say stay...it can't be too bad.  She sits again.

She'll go along with it, for now.

She could have stood there all night, into the next morning, with him holding her hand like that.

But he lets go. And while being outside of work, away from the cameras, away from where it all happened has opened up a new world of communication between them (even if it was just for that night), the fact of the matter was that there was still too much between them left unsaid. And there was also Karen.

Pam makes her way into the living room and it's as if nothing ever happened. Everyone seems to be having a great time.

Except for Roy, apparently, who Pam can see through the archway into the kitchen, leaning against the counter, thick arms folded across his broad chest, his face expressionless.

She timidly walks into the kitchen, unable to meet Roy's eyes as she enters the room.

He starts to speak before she has a chance to say anything.

"I just want to know, Pam," he says, his voice surprisingly level, "if you cheated on me. Is that why you didn't want to go through with the wedding? Because the thought of that really makes me sick."

"Roy, no," Pam shakes her head. "That wasn't it at all. I never cheated on you. I just-" She looks down at her feet. He wasn't angry, he was sad, and that was worse. And there was a lot she wanted to say. But somehow, she knew it wouldn't help, now wouldn't be the time to get defensive, and maybe there would never be a time to get defensive. Because it's over, really. They were over.

"Roy," she continues quietly. "I never cheated on you. I promise." She leaves the kitchen, that part of her life behind her, once again.

* * * *

"So will you talk to me now?" Karen asks as Jim leaves Pam's bedroom.

"Uh, sure."

He lets Karen lead him back outside where it's quiet, and he's really dreading having this conversation with her, because he knows it's going to be The One, the conversation that he's been having nightmares about since he'd moved back to Scranton.

He lets her begin, because he's really only got one thing to say, and she's not going to like it. But he won't break up with her, not until Pam finally says, with her mouth, what she's been alluding to all night. What she's been alluding to since November.

He silently wishes for a cameraman, someone to be on his side, someone who knows.

"Listen," Karen says, sighing. "I get it, okay? You and Pam have some sort of weird history thing that none of you will admit to. She's got your high school yearbook picture hanging over her desk..."

Jim pulls his lips into a tiny smile, despite the disappointed look on Karen's face.

"...and when I asked her about it, she told me that you guys had just been friends. So what is it, Jim?" Karen puts her hands on her hips.

"That's just it. We were friends. I'll admit, I had a thing for her a few years ago, and yeah, I wanted something to happen, but I'm pretty sure she already told you that she was engaged, and so it didn't work out with us. Is that the big confession you were looking for, or...?

"So where does that put you now? Now that she's not engaged anymore, and now that it's so sickeningly obvious that you can't seem to keep your eyes off of her?"

"Karen, I...I don't know. I don't know where it puts me now. And telling you all of this sooner would have just opened up old wounds that had finally started to close, and I didn't want that. You know? You just don't forget someone who-"

"You don't forget someone who what?"

Jim sighs. "You don't forget someone who you cared about as much as I cared about Pam." He can't bring himself to say the word love, no matter how much he had wanted to.

"So, what, then? Does that make me some sort of shabby replacement? Some rebound chick?"

"Shabby replacement, no. Rebound chick is open to interpretation though."

"Jim, this isn't funny."

"Well, I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"I want you to say that I don't have to worry about you and Pam. I want you to say that the fact that we all work together won't change anything. I want to know that you won't run back to her."

"Karen, I'm not going to make any more advances towards her, if that's what you mean."

"No, that's-" Karen presses into her forehead with her fingers, squeezing her eyes shut. "That's not what I mean. Please just tell me if you still have feelings for her."

Jim takes a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets, and looks up at the sky, and it's clear and full of stars. He's tired of pretending.

"Yes," he simply says.

The word yes resonates through the air and Karen can't stop hearing it as it bounces back and forth inside of her head.

She knows there's a lot she can say here.

Starting with the fact that she'd taken a chance with him, she'd given up a lot of opportunities to follow him, and she'd done everything she could to be whatever he needed. And it turns out that's all she was. Something he needed. Not something he wanted.

She feels the muscles in her cheeks begin to ache, but she refuses to cry. She presses her lips together, and forces herself to look at him in the eyes.

"Okay, then," she says coldly. "I guess I got my answer."

"Karen, come on," Jim gently replies.

"No."

"I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."

"No, Jim, actually I'm really sorry. Really sorry I came here in the first place, really sorry I told myself that whatever was wrong with you would blow over. I'm really sorry about that." Her voice breaks and tears spill out of her eyes. She covers her mouth with her hand.

Jim puts his hands on both of her shoulders. "Please don't cry."

She takes a deep breath and really tries to stop, but it hurts so bad and she wants to kill him and jump in her car and just drive away. His hands on her shoulders are firm and she can't move.

"Karen, I didn't plan this. Any of it. I didn't expect to be back here, ever. And it has to mean something to you that I wasn't willing to give you up just because I had to come back. I wanted this to work. I really did."

"Jim..." Karen swallows, trying to regain composure. "That means nothing to me right now. Sorry."

"I know. Believe me, I know. But you have to understand that I didn't want this, or expect this. You are incredible."

"Stop. Seriously." Her voice is firm.

"No. You deserve so much more than this. And the timing was just, so unbelievably bad, and I...I can't..."

"Jim, stop. I don't want to hear any more." Her eyes meet his, begging him. "Please let me go."

He releases her shoulders, and she walks back inside.

She heads right for Pam's bedroom, because the bathroom is occupied. And she tries to avoid looking that damn yearbook picture hanging up over Pam's desk.

She curls up on Pam's bed, but she's not crying anymore. You've been through worse, she tells herself, trying to stop shaking. You've been through so much worse. This was nothing. Stop. Stop.

She hates that she has nobody to be with her right now.

* * * *

Pam feels like she should really be a better hostess.

The night's drama had caused her to neglect everyone at the party besides Jim, Roy and Karen and there was food to put away, beer to replenish, empty cups and plates to throw out.

At one point, she almost goes outside to put more wood on the fireplace, but she can't help but notice Jim and Karen outside, Jim with his hands on her shoulders. She pretends she doesn't see them together, as she's become used to doing, and turns around, because the fireplace isn't that important.

She tries to mingle, making sure everyone's having a good time. She'd tried to play a round of beer pong with Phyllis against Dwight and Gil, Oscar's boyfriend, but Dwight had ended up forming a barricade around his cups with two layers of beer bottles and she'd had to stop the game to explain the rules to him. This had led Dwight to ramble on about preventing enemy penetration and she'd rolled her eyes, giving up.

She cheers Kevin on as he sings "Born To Be Wild." She talks to Toby for twenty minutes about her art classes. She dances with Kelly.

She's having fun, because it's her party and it's New Year's Eve.

And then she sees Karen rush past her, into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

She starts to follow after her, but she sees Jim standing in the doorway. He shakes his head, the slightest bit. And she knows him well enough to know what that means, and that she should leave Karen alone.

So she tries to go back to mingling.

* * * *

Jim walks out of the front door of Pam's apartment. He sits on the front step and breathes, for the first time that night.

He puts his face in his hands.

It had been terrible, hurting her. Worse than he'd ever expected. She hadn't deserved it. Any of it. And half of him wants to go in, apologize, tell her that he'd been wrong.

But he hadn't, and he knows it. Because he's learning that honesty is never wrong. It may not always get you where you want to be, but it's never wrong.

He sits for a few minutes, trying to clear his head, wanting to believe that it's all for the best. But he knows those words are so trite, so typical.

He hears the front door creak open behind him, but he doesn't turn to see who it is.

And it's Pam. She sits next to him on the step, putting a plate with a piece of the party sub on it between them, and a bottle of beer. She pulls the skirt of her dress over her knees.

She doesn't say anything for a moment, doesn't move. Neither does he.

"Do you want to share this sandwich with me?" she finally asks. "I'm starving. You must be hungry, too."

The funny thing is that, yeah, he is starving.

But he still doesn't speak. He accepts half of the sandwich that Pam hands to him. He takes a bite, chewing slowly. She does the same.

He eats most of it, throwing the rest down on the plate. He rubs crumbs off of his lap.

* * * *

Pam knows she's maybe stepping outside the lines by going outside to sit with him, but then again, she's really not sure where the lines are anymore.

"So," he says thoughtfully, his voice deep. "I'm pretty sure Karen and I are done."

"Pretty sure?"

"Like, ninety-nine point nine nine nine percent sure."

"Jim, that doesn't sound very sure to me. Are you sure you're sure?"

He turns and looks at her in that way, the way he'd looked at her right after she'd said What are you doing? that night he'd told her he was in love with her. She'd never been able to forget that look and it had haunted her for months.

She knows not to joke around right now.

"Well...what happened?" she asks hesitantly.

Jim sighs.

"I'm sorry," Pam says quickly. "You don't have to tell me." She looks down at her lap.

Jim speaks slowly, putting emphasis on each syllable, the way she knows he does when he's serious about something. "She told me that she knows the way that I had...felt about you, and she asked me if I still felt that way."

Pam takes a deep breath. She watches Jim bite his lower lip.

Oh, God, she thinks. And what did you say what did you say what did you say?

"Jim," she interjects, her better judgment taking over her desire to know. She'd rather never finding out, ever, if it meant him being that uncomfortable over telling her.

Well, maybe not ever, but still, she doesn't want to push it.

"Pam," he says, sliding his hand over her knee, touching her bare skin past the hem of her skirt. "Let's go inside, okay?" He almost-smiles, and she knows that look, too. She's seen it a million times.

She puts her hand over his, squeezing gently, her eyes meeting his.

"Okay," she says.

She knows there's still a whole hour until midnight.

Karen sits on the couch with her arms folded, wondering where Jim's sappy indie music was when she needed it.

She knows she'll get past this, and it's better knowing now than months from now. She scans her memory for some moment, any moment that she'd miss, but she can't come up with one, because they'd never really had any.

She looks around the room, and everyone seems happy, as they should be because it's New Year's Eve. They're keeping their eyes on the clock because it's only about an hour until midnight, almost time to begin 2007. She thinks she'll spend New Year's Day on her laptop scouring Monster.com and Craigslist. Or maybe she'll call corporate on Tuesday and ask for a transfer. She doesn't feel close to anybody in Scranton. And she'd never be able to look at Jim the same way ever again.

She feels the couch cushions next to her move, as someone sits. She turns her head, and it's Roy.

"Hey," she says, giving him a tight smile. "I thought you'd left already."

"No," Roy says, shaking his head. "I'm parked in. And it's almost midnight, anyway."

"Yeah."

"You know..." Roy pauses. "I never really thought it would be over between me and Pam for good. I guess I kind of thought we'd end up back together." He laughs, halfheartedly.

"Roy, I know we don't know each other very well, but I think that hoping for something like that is so unfair to you. I mean, we can't make people feel things, so why bother trying? If it's not there, it's not there."

Roy doesn't say anything and Karen knows she's probably overstepped her boundaries, but she also knows she's talking more about herself than she is about Roy.

She wants desperately to leave and she's torn between making a run for it, and staying behind to help clean up after the party that was, after all, her idea.

She decides to leave.

* * * *

"Pam?"

Pam turns her head from the sink where she's washing wine glasses.

Karen is standing in the doorway.

"Karen, what's up?" she asks, rubbing the back of her forehead with a soapy hand.

"Um, I was going to leave, if that's okay. I know it's kind of messed up, me bailing on you, but I'm really not feeling very good, and with everything..."

Pam nods her head. "Oh. Of course. Totally. I know it's been a crazy night, and I'm really sorry about all of it."

"No, it's...that's okay. I'm just going to go."

"Okay."

Pam watches as Karen turns and leaves.

She finishes washing dishes and dries her hands. She begins setting out trays of champagne glasses. She wonders where Jim is.

* * * *

Jim sees Karen rushing past him with her purse as he's coming out of the bathroom.

"Hey," he calls out to her. "Are you leaving, or...?"

"Yeah," she says, turning to face him. "I am."

"Well," he says, twisting his mouth, "Happy New Year." He wants to hit his head against something the minute he says it, because it comes out sounding...just...awful.

But she smiles at him, even though it's a sad smile, and she puts her hand on his arm before walking out the front door.

* * * *

At 11:16, Pam sees Roy go out her front door with his coat on. The headlights of his truck shine through the living room windows.

He finds himself in Pam's bedroom again, alone this time, and it's weird being there after years of wanting to be in a place so intimate, so inherently Pam.

He takes his time looking at pieces of her art, her creations. He stops in front of an easel that she's got set up in the corner by the window, on top of an old paint-stained sheet, and the colors on the canvas are vibrant and he touches the dried paint, running his finger over the paint strokes.

He examines her photographs and true to what Karen had said, she does have his yearbook picture pinned up, which makes him both happy and disappointed.

Would she ever just say it? Whatever it is that she's thinking?

Because now he's lost Karen, and he's got nothing to hide behind, nowhere to run. The part of him that gave up months ago is still there, still alive, and he's got nothing to say to Pam that hasn't been said already.

And the part of him that wanted her, loved her, and would do anything for her is still alive too. He knows that if she tells him he'd never been wrong, he'd take her at her word and leave everything else behind. But if it didn't come from her, in her words, it would mean nothing.

He stops to think that this is the first time that there's nothing tangible to hold her back.

* * * *

She finds herself scanning the room for Jim, looking outside in the back and the front, wanting nothing more to see him and be next to him, in the place she'd always loved being, the place where she always used to feel safe and happy and herself.

The thought occurs to her that she could have felt that way all the time, if only she'd been honest, and she wonders if it's too late. She wonders if he'd never want that with her again.

She feels a sharp pain in her little toe and looks down, sliding her foot out of her shoe and sure enough, there's a huge blister forming. She crosses the living room into her bedroom to change her shoes.

And there he is.

Only the desk light is on and he's bent over her easel, looking at the watercolor she hadn't worked on for weeks, the one she'd given up on finishing.

She closes the door behind her.

I could just ask him now, she thinks, as he looks up at her. I could just ask him, and whatever he says, at least I'll know. I could tell him everything, and if he hates me for it, I won't feel any worse than I already do. What should I say? How should I put it?

"I was thinking about getting rid of that one," she hears herself say, pointing to the painting. "I haven't done anything to it in forever, and it's just not going anywhere." She pulls her sweater around her.

"I think it looks great," Jim says. "You shouldn't get rid of it. You never know when you might get inspired to finish it."

"Yeah."

She's quiet as he begins looking through her sketchbook, watching his eyes move back and forth as he takes in all of her drawings. He puts the book down and looks up at her, hands in his pockets.

Now, she tells herself. Maybe now. Say it.

"Listen, um, Jim. There's something I wanted to tell you." She twists the fingers of her right hand with her left.

He begins to move towards her and she freezes, not sure if she should keep going.

"Okay," he says softly. "Um, hold on to that thought for a minute though, because I want to see something first."

His eyes are burning into hers. She blinks, watching him.

He slides his fingers under the neckline of her sweater, gently pulling it off of her shoulders with both hands, his palms sliding over her skin as the sleeves slip from her arms. As the sweater falls to the ground at her feet, he holds on to her hands with his, and then he brings his hands back up and rests them on her arms, his thumbs lightly stroking the delicate skin on the insides of her elbows.

She feels goosebumps spring up on her forearms, because it's the first time all night her skin's been bare, and well, because.

He's been looking into her eyes but she watches him lower his gaze to both of her shoulders and her collarbone.

She stares at his lips, and knows how easy it would be to kiss him, but she's finally strong enough to say it, and she wants to say it, and she knows she can't kiss him until she says it.

"This," he whispers. "This is what I wanted to see. You...looking like this."

She vaguely hears the music and the laughing and the talking going on outside of her bedroom door. It sounds so far away.

He feels her skin beneath his palms, under his fingertips. She's mere inches from him and she doesn't move, doesn't run, doesn't object.

He looks at the soft curls of hair that spill over her right shoulder and he touches them with his fingers before letting his hands fall to his sides.

It doesn't hurt this time.

Her eyes are fixed on his, watching intently, patiently, almost as if she's waiting to see if he touches her again before she says or does anything.

"So, um, you had something you wanted to tell me?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. His voice is deep and quiet.

He prays silently, waiting for her to speak. He doesn't allow himself to predict what she's going to say.

"Yeah," she whispers. He braces himself, and leans into her a little bit.

He hears her breathe in before she speaks.

"Um, Jim," she says, her voice and her words so close to his face, "I...love you. I'm in love with you. And I think I've been, for a really, really long time." She hangs her head. "And I know that's probably the last thing you wanted to hear from me, after everything, but...I, um, really just thought I should...tell you."

He'd always wondered what it would feel like if (or when) she said it. Always, like, for years. Now he knows it feels light, like air, kind of like he's had twenty-five phonebooks resting on his head and shoulders for the past five years, then all of a sudden someone came and knocked them all off. It feels like that.

"Jim?" she breathes, bringing him back to earth.

"Oh, sorry," he says. He furrows his brow, focusing his eyes over her head. "Um, no, that's not the last thing I wanted to hear from you. I've been wanting to hear that from you for pretty much forever, actually." He takes her hands and his eyes meet hers. "And, I love you, too." He smiles, really smiles, and he knows he probably looks like a dork, but he doesn't care.

"I hoped you would say that," Pam says, smiling back, moving closer to him. He slides his hands around her waist and she puts hers against his shoulders, steadying herself.

He lowers his face towards hers, and he thinks their third kiss would really be their first.

"Jim," she whispers into his cheek, "it's not midnight yet."

"Oh." He presses his nose and lips into her hair, pulling her into him.

There is no leaving, this time.

The music in the next room suddenly gets quiet, and Pam can hear the counting begin.

Ten...nine...

She holds on to Jim's biceps, her fingers digging in. She wants it to be her, this time. She wants to be the one to kiss him, because holding back is so 2006 and she wants the very first second of this new year to consist of something she's done, a chance she's taken.

She likes that it can finally be that way.

Kelly bursts into the bedroom nine seconds until midnight, grabs Pam's arm and pulls her out into the living room by the hand, shrieking "Pam! It's almost time! Come watch the ball drop!"

As she's being rushed out of the bedroom, she turns and looks at Jim with an exasperated look on her face, but she's smiling, and God, so is he, in a way that she doesn't think she's ever seen.

Eight...seven...

Pam and Jim join everyone standing around the TV in a semicircle, he on one end of the group and she on the other and they start counting, occasionally taking their eyes off of Carson Daly to glance at each other. It still feels like it's just the two of them, even though they're surrounded by people and voices.

Six...five...four...

Pam waits until second four to start crossing towards the other side of the room to where Jim's standing. She calculates that it'll give her exactly enough time. His smile broadens as she makes her way towards him, and she's giddy over the fact that she can make him do that. The idea that she could just kiss him right now, just because she wants to, thrills her to no end.

New Year's is never this exciting.

Three...two...

Pam takes a deep breath and stands as close to Jim as she possibly can, so close that she can smell his new shirt, his shaving cream, the leather of his belt.

If anyone's watching them (which they probably are), Pam doesn't notice. It's okay that she and Jim work together, and that they work with mostly everyone else in the room. They always have. Somehow she doesn't think that the majority of them would be shocked at what's going to happen when the clock turns midnight.

One.

Everyone's clapping and hugging and shouting "Happy New Year!" but Pam doesn't give Jim a chance to say or do anything.  She throws her arms around his neck, pulling herself up and into him, her lips crashing into his. She feels his hands go around her waist, sliding up her lower back. She feels him smile against her lips, and she lets her fingers get lost in the hair on the back of his head.

The anticipation makes it so much better.

* * * *

She completely throws him off guard by kissing him, even though he couldn't have asked for something he wanted more than that.

He doesn't have to think twice about giving into it. Her mouth is soft and warm and she tastes like champagne, and he wishes he could fast-forward to the part when it's just them, alone.

Not that he's expecting anything, but...

* * * *

The party begins to fizzle out by 1:00 and soon it's just Pam, Kelly, Ryan and Jim, picking up plastic plates and cups and glass bottles and throwing them into giant trash bags.

Ryan and Kelly leave around 2:00, and Pam kind of likes that fact that people maybe know what's going on between her and Jim, the fact that not only did she kiss him at midnight, but also that he's the last to leave.

Finally, though, the two of them are alone, in her apartment, and the only light is coming from the Christmas tree, the string of lights around the perimeter of the living room, and the light from outside shining through the window. They can still hear the sound of firecrackers being set off in the street.

"So," Pam says, clasping her hands in front of her. "Are you in a big hurry to get home?"

"Yeah, huge hurry, actually. So, I'm gonna go. Now.  Great party.  See you Tuesday."

Pam swats him. "Yeah, right. You're not going anywhere."

"Is that a demand?"

"Maybe."

He puts his hands on her hips and pulls her close to him, his palms swishing over the pink silk of her dress. He kisses her.

She leads him by the hand into her bedroom, not bothering to shut the door this time, because sometimes things just feel right.

He lies next to her, on his side, his hand cradling the side of her face, his tongue exploring her mouth. She has her hands on his chest, his tie off, and she starts unbuttoning his shirt, fingers sweeping over blue silk. She lets him take his arms out of the sleeves, throwing the shirt on the floor next to the bed. She gives him a minute for his big hands to fumble with the teeny-tiny zipper in the back of her dress before she whispers, "Here. Let me."

She slides out of the soft fabric, pulling the dress down over her hips and down her legs, and she watches him take her all in with his eyes. She can't believe she's gone so many years without someone looking at her the way Jim Halpert is looking at her right now.

* * * *

He unbuckles his belt, unbuttons and unzips his pants, taking them off and throwing them on the floor next to his shirt.

He feels her fingers slip under the waistband of his boxer-briefs, and when she does that a chill goes through him like being outside in a freezing-rain storm. He breathes in sharply.

She's got on a strapless bra which he deftly removes, grateful that he's able to make up for not getting the zipper. His heart stops, for real, when her bra comes off and he's staring at her breasts. For real. He takes his hand and touches one, his thumb stroking her nipple. She makes a little noise and he gets very, very hard.

She rubs over his erection with her hand, over his underwear first, then finally sliding them down, letting him pull them off. She takes him firmly in her hand, and slides it up and down over the tip and up the base. It's more than he can handle.

He presses his lips against her chest, using his tongue to make tiny wet circles, sucking gently.

With both hands, he runs his hands over her hipbones, his fingers grazing her lower stomach. He feels her shiver and he smiles. Her eyes haven't left his.

He uses his fingers to explore her, first the wet outside, then finally the inside. He thinks nothing is as beautiful.

He decides to use a condom because he knows it makes her feel better, even though she's on the pill.

When he's finally inside of her, she moans and she holds on to his chest, her fingernails digging into his skin. The way she closes around him is so perfect and wonderful. He watches her as he moves over her. He loves the way she looks when he pushes up fast and slides out very, very slow.

He does that until she comes, breathlessly, her hair on the back of her neck damp with sweat. He comes right after she does, and he holds her tight, tight, tight as his body quivers.

* * * *

They start to fall asleep around 4:00 am, after talking about New Year's and what they normally do every year.

"Jim," Pam says, her voice groggy, her eyelids heavy. "Did you make any resolutions this year?"

"Besides calling my mom more often, no."

"Me neither. Let's make a resolution."

"Okay."

"You go first."

Jim breathes in through his nose as he pulls her close to him under the comforter.

"I resolve to tell you I love you at least three times a day," he says, his lips on her forehead.

"Wow," Pam says against his neck. "I was just going to resolve to start making my bed every day. You so have me beat."

"As usual, Pam."

She can't remember the last time sleeping was so nice.

They go for breakfast the next morning, at a diner off of the Carbondale Highway, the only place they can find open on New Year's Day.

"Is this our first real date?" She asks, taking his hand as they walk towards the entrance.

"Yes. Our first real date is at a diner in Scranton, I'm still in last night's clothes, you're in your pajamas, and we're both hung-over. It's the way I've always planned it, Pam."

She laughs.

She thinks it's probably the most perfect first date ever.

* * * *

Back at work on Tuesday, Pam sitting behind her desk when Jim walks in, hanging up his coat and scarf. He sees the cameras are already set up, zoning in on Pam's desk.

"Hey, Pam," he says, casually.

"Good morning, Jim," she says, not looking up from her monitor.

"Hey, so, how was your New Year's?" He asks, elbows resting on her desk.

"Pretty good. How about you? Oh, did you end up going to that party you were talking about on Friday?"

Jim tries to hide his smile. "Yeah," he says, nodding. "Actually I did, and I was very impressed with the variety of colored napkins."

"Good to hear. I'm glad you had a good time. Anything else interesting happen?"

"Oh! Yeah, Carson Daly wore white earmuffs. I have to get a pair of those."

"Awesome. Hey, maybe we can get together for lunch today and talk about Carson's earmuffs."

"Sounds good, Pam."

He smiles as he turns to go towards his desk. She beams back at him.

* * * *

He sits in front of the camera in the break room. "So, I got copied on an e-mail from Corporate that said Karen transferred to the office in New York. And, she won't be coming back." His eyes drop to his lap. He shrugs. "I guess she did what she had to do."

His face brightens when they ask him about the party.

"Yes, I did go to Pam's party. And, I had a pretty awesome time. She and I...well, I'm sure you can figure it out." He smiles broadly and looks away. "It was a really good party."

* * * *

She sits in the conference room, facing the camera. "Do I feel bad that Karen's gone?" She repeats. "Well, yeah, of course. But in the long run, it's probably better for her. I mean, it just is."

"But my party was a success, I think. Everyone's been talking to me about it all day, saying what a good time they had. It got off to a little bit of a rocky start, but by the time midnight came, people kind of started coming together."

She smiles at the memory.

"And that's exactly how you want to start a new year."