"It's good to have you back."

He watched, caught off guard, as she walked away, not even looking at him.

That was when he felt the first twinges of rage climbling up from somewhere deep, low. "Yeah...good to be back."

------------------

The words "I can't" had beaten a monotonous, never-ending drum in his head for months, reverberating off the regrets and the grief and the ache that still lingered; he even dreamed regularly about that moment, his subconscious forcing him to re-live it: her ashen face, the slight chill in the air, her eyes dead as she said those words: "I can't."

He'd spent the better part of his first month at Stamford staring into a highball glass, the whiskey a honey-colored swirl of liquid that soon enough didn't burn anymore on the way down. He clung to that - told himself that eventually, hearing that "I can't" in his head wouldn't sting so much either.

After six weeks and no relief, he'd almost decided that it didn't fucking matter whether or not it still stung - he would find ways of shutting it out. He had to.

---------------------

One of the ways that he'd steeled himself for seeing her face again - and god, in that all-too familiar setting - was by telling himself that she'd already done her worst; she'd already uttered words that stung him more than any others possibly could. So nothing she could say would hurt - at least, not that much.

He told himself that he'd lived through the worst, so it didn't matter anymore - none of it really mattered. So much had changed: He had Karen with him; he technically had a "real" career now. He'd hit fucking bottom six months earlier, had climbed back from that. Ought to be fairly immune to her now - or at least, wary enough maintain his defenses in the way that he'd somehow never mastered the year before.

He'd felt a sense of accomplishment that he knew was pathetic after he'd deflected her invitation to coffee; he gave himself bonus points for shutting Michael down in the same breath, then not engaging when she so obviously wanted to giggle about the tension. (That had been the moment when he'd first felt the first rush of blinding rage - The palpable tension was funny to her?) He was in the midst of congratulating himself silently for walking out to the parking lot with Karen after Michael's tire debaucle - not even casting a second glance at Pam's desk - when he'd realized that to even think about the fact that he'd had to force himself not to seek out Pam (never mind that he'd felt something weird in his gut at the way Karen immediately caught up to him on the way out the door) - well, it chipped away at his success, negated it somehow.

And then his thoughts had taken a different turn - one that he rationalized was far more reasonable, adult, and surely an indication that he actually was almost there in terms of moving past it. It had been spurred on by the prickling feeling he felt on the back of his neck out in the parking lot as Karen affectionately rubbed his back, brought on not by her touch, but rather, by the acute awareness that Pam was watching them. He knew it; he could absolutely feel it. When they were a safe distance away, he allowed himself to let his eyes go hazy, unfocused for second, heightening his peripheral vision...and surely enough, he saw the blur of her in her blue sweater, arms crossed, stock still.

He'd realized then that maybe he was going about this all wrong; he didn't really want to hurt her...right? Because to want to hurt her the way she'd hurt him (or maybe, a fraction of the way she'd hurt him; he was convinced she'd never even begin to understand the hell she'd put him through, no matter how much regret seemed to shadow her eyes today) would be to acknowledge defeat somehow. How could he honestly say he was moving on if he was so consciously measuring his successes and failures, stacking one inane moment against another? (Turning down coffee? success; sweeping her into his arms when she leapt into his embrace, closing his eyes for a moment and inhaling the scent of her hair as she exclaimed, "It's really you!"? failure.)

So he did what he figured was the adult thing to do - the honest thing to do. Okay, so maybe he was trying to prove to himself that he could handle it, being friends with her again. All right, that was definitely it. Didn't matter - he was being brave. And attempting to be honest. Maybe testing her a little, too, just to see what she'd say in a moment of candor.

Turned out that she still wasn't able to be honest or brave, even after he'd put himself on the line for her to positively obliterate six months earlier.

"We're friends; we'll always be friends."

Suddenly "I can't" didn't seem so bad.

-----------------

He sat listening to Karen go on and on about the Scranton office, her eyes wide, taking large gulps of her wine in between exclamations. He tried to pay attention, tried to snap out of the funk.

When Karen suddenly fell silent, having asked him a question that he hadn't heard because he frankly wasn't listening, he realized that he'd failed in his attempts at following her...hearing her. The realization that he'd failed again because of Pam made him even angrier.

"I'm sorry." He gave her a wan smile. "You know what? I'm just really tired, and a little...I don't know, freaked out by being back here again. Mind if we call it a night?"

The disappointment on her face told him that she clearly did mind, and as he watched her expression, he was a little surprised to see that she seemed to be consciously debating whether or not to push him a little - ask him for more time - or whether to just let it go, bow out cooly.

The former clearly won out, as she held eye contact with him, her wineglass halfway to her lips in a gesture that made him suddenly very aware that she knew what she was doing. "We could...but would you mind if we called it a night at my place?"

He knew that a look of surprise washed over him - couldn't help it, as her innuendo was clear. They'd not had sex yet, though they'd come close once or twice before the move. For some reason, she'd seemed hesitant, and he'd picked up on her reticence, dutifully backing off immediately. But she'd never looked at him quite like this before - and he was pretty sure he wasn't misreading her.

Or "misinterpreting" things.

His smile was slow, his heart elsewhere. "That actually sounds great to me."

He couldn't have said what the cause of her sudden urgency was - she had his shirt off within ten minutes of their walking into her apartment and was working on his belt buckle before he could do more than shove her shirt up impatiently. Then she was standing there in her bra - still wearing her slacks - when she almost triumphantly slid his belt out of his belt loops, holding it up for a second, her eyes on his as she tossed it to the side. Something about this struck him as strange - sudden? More to it than just lust?

Or maybe he was reading too much into it, because he was so damned used to analyzing her every word, every expression, every move. Not that she'd ever done this - nor would she ever.

He went with the urgency, the impatience, her face a blur beneath him as her chin tilted to the ceiling, her back arching with a throaty moan. He moved faster, frantically, his breath coming in short bursts, his eyes closing when he came; the blackness dropped over him as he fell to rest on the pillow next to her, his eyes still closed. She, too, was breathing heavily, and it took her a few minutes to catch her breath, standing up to disappear into the bathroom with a murmured, "Be right back."

He still hadn't opened his eyes when she slipped back into bed, her finger silkily tracing his cheek, his jaw. "What're you thinking about over there?"

He swallowed hard, couldn't answer.

"We're friends; we'll always be friends."

He realized then with a sinking feeling that he wouldn't be able to escape it - her - that those words would take their place in his psyche, maybe burn his gut just like the other ones had. The helplessness he felt soon gave way to that biting rage.

She slammed her car door, unthinkingly pressing the alarm button, the horn honking, lights flashing, briefly illuminating the front of her apartment building. A few steps later she shoved her key in the lock, throwing open the door and tossing her purse on the sofa before she flipped on a few lights, then made her way to the bathroom. Usually it was her habit to sink into a bath as soon as she got home - particularly if she'd worked a little later, as she had tonight. But now she just washed her face, even took the time to put her eye drops in (which she usually skipped), dutifully slathering on the moisturizer Kelly had insisted she start using.

She flipped on the television as she made her way to the kitchen, struggling to pull open the freezer door before reaching in to take out a frozen dinner. She popped it in the microwave, shifting to wash the dishes in her sink that were left over from the morning. She lit candles, made a cup of Tazo Calm tea, found herself humming a snatch of a tune she couldn't have placed as she actually set her place at the table - folding a paper napkin, placing a knife and fork on top of it.

She usually ate off of a t.v. tray in her living room as she watched television, but tonight she gravitated toward her tiny kitchen table, shoving the bowl of fruit in the center off to the side as she sat down and began to eat, listening absently to CNN. When the anchor mentioned something about a beluga whale being euthanized in an aquarium somewhere in the south, she felt her throat tighten, the rubbery piece of chicken in her mouth suddenly a lead weight.

Stubbornly, she forced herself to swallow it, the action so difficult that she actually felt it in her ears; when the tears stung her eyes, she told herself it was because of that whale - so sad for it to have been taken out of its natural habitat, moved to a place with crystal clear water and windows, steady care...only to contract a bone infection that made it waste away to the point of having to be put down. It just seemed so unfair, so unnecessary.

That's why she couldn't finish her dinner. So sad, that.

She was clearing away her dinner mess when the doorbell rang, her heart jumping. For a second she froze, almost - almost - letting the first honest thought of the night creep into her head. Is it...? Could it really be...?

Her hands trembled as she reached for the door, swinging it open. Roy was standing there with a box under one arm, shifting awkwardly on his feet, his smile hesitant, hope in his eyes.

"Uh, hey." Flash of his dimples, eyes downcast for a second. "I tried to call, but...."

All she could do was stand there and stare at him, blinking slowly, and then she snapped out of it. "Oh - right, I was...I just got home a little while ago."

"Oh." He nodded, an awkward silence falling. Their eyes met; he pressed his lips together uncomfortably. And then she realized they were just standing there in the doorway, his breath an intermittent haze of faint smoke in the cold.

"God, I'm sorry." She shook her head. "Come on in."

"Thanks." Again the dimples.

He'd been to her apartment only twice before - the first time with a pale face and stark eyes, to get her signature on some papers to close their joint account; the second time with slurred words and flushed cheeks, falling drunkenly to his knees to literally beg her back. Both times it had struck her that he seemed oddly out of place here.

She waved a hand at the couch. "Do you want to sit down...?"

He perched on it uncomfortably but gratefully, then gestured gingerly to the box in his hands. "I uh...some of your stuff..."

"Oh." She took it from him, murmuring thanks as she set it down beneath an end table. Silence.

She couldn't look at him, staring at a mark on the carpet just in front of her foot, wondering how it had gotten there. An accident - of a previous tenant, of course - but had anyone tried to treat the mark before it became a stain?

"Pam...?"

She jerked her head up to find Roy staring at her quizzically.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She shook her head, forcing a laugh that sounded too loud even to her own ears. "I was just...that spot on the carpet."

Roy lowered his head, squinting as if he couldn't see it as she went on. "I was just thinking that it's such great carpet - hardly worn at all - and then there's this spot right in the middle. I just wonder why the cleaning crew that came in before I moved in didn't even try to clean it?"

He looked confused, his brows knitting, prompting her to talk even faster. "I mean...it's not that hard to get rid of a spill, right? You wipe it away; usually just water's enough to clean it. But if you don't do it fast enough, then it's a stain - and then there's just nothing you can do about it."

His eyes were slightly wider now. "I guess...?"

She realized that he wasn't following her; then she heard herself saying - again, too loudly, in a voice she almost didn't recognize - "Hey, so did you hear about that beluga whale?"

"What?"

"The...the beluga whale." She stood now, brushing lint off the arm of her sofa before turning her back and heading toward the kitchen, saying casually, "They had to...put it down. I was just... I mean, I thought it was sad; that's all."

He followed her to the kitchen silently, and when she glanced at him over her shoulder, she was a little surprised to see concern coloring his face. "Hey...you okay?"

"What? Me?" Hearing herself say that out loud - me? - was the first chink in her defense. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just been a...crazy day."

He smiled, looking a little relieved. "I guess so. All those new people from Stamford... I heard one of 'em quit already."

She smiled back at him. "Oh yes, he did. With good reason."

"No doubt." His grin struck her as easy, charming; even as she thought that, he added, "But hey, I guess you're glad to have Halpert back, eh?"

She froze, eyes wide as one hand found its way to her clavicle, then to the back of her hair, which she'd taken the time to blowdry smooth before work this morning. "Yeah...sure."

What he'd said scared her at first, then suddenly struck a chord in her, the heat filling her cheeks as she felt the anger build.

"Hey." She smiled brightly at Roy. "You want a drink?"

He looked slightly surprised at first, then something else washed over his face. "A drink? You've got alcohol...?"

It wasn't that hard to laugh easily at what he'd said. He knows me - see, he really knows me well enough to know that I don't usually drink.

She ignored the gut-level realization that if he really knew her, he wouldn't have even mentioned Jim - because he'd have recognized him as the ultimate threat.

Instead of sinking, she smiled again, feeling oddly light. "Yes, I do have alcohol. Well, not hard liquor, but wine."

Roy chuckled, and the look in his eyes was so clearly affectionate - the term enchanted came to mind, then he met her eyes. "Good thing - I was starting to think maybe you'd been holding out on me all this time!"

She couldn't laugh, had to turn her back and busy herself with the task of digging out wine glasses, struggling to uncork the wine. She could feel his eyes drinking in her every movement like a man thirsting, suffering.

Such was the course of her thoughts as she drank a glass of wine with him, then another; within an hour and a half, her laughter wasn't forced anymore, and the flush on her cheeks was matched by the flush across her collarbone.

There was something about seeing Roy sipping wine - he who had always dismissed wine and champagne as not worth it - sitting a respectable distance away from her on her sofa, veins in his hands prominent, his tight black tee-shirt stretching across a newly buff chest. Even his jaw was more chiseled. And the beard....

As she watched him tip the bottle, pouring the last of it in her glass, a shocking kind of flutter wafted from her low abdoment to her breasts to her chest to her throat. There was something almost reverent in the way he avoided her eyes, as if it were too much for him to look at her straight on. When he glanced up to find her staring at him, he froze - initially guiltily, then with a kind of resigned weariness.

She was captivated at the realization that there was actually a palpable tension between them, when she'd been sure that the raw attraction she'd initially felt for Roy had sputtered out a long time ago - back when she was someone else, before she lost herself in the complacency that had been their relationship and subsequent engagement.

Long before she became a ghost of herself, pretending not to recognize the things she wanted the most - and for reasons she could never articulate, much less justify.

Maybe that's why she leaned toward him suddenly and pressed her lips against his, the tickling of his beard making him seem like a stranger - not Roy. He didn't even hesistate; in an instant his hands were on her face, his tongue hot in her mouth, a moan caught somewhere in his throat. When he would have pulled back to speak, she gave a firm tug on the back of his head, her lips insistent on his own as he groaned, hands moving from her face to her lower back.

Still he murmured against her lips, "I've wanted you like this...god, Pam, I - "

She wouldn't let him finish - feeling strangely choked at the notion that he might continue speaking, for fear he'd break the spell. And it was immensely important suddenly that she follow this through; the fact that she wanted him - genuinely felt a hunger for him - well, it was her lifeline now.

She'd wondered because of the unfamiliarity of the beard against her cheek, her mouth, if it would be different, making love with him now.

It was.

He kissed her everywhere, it seemed - lips trailing from her neck to her breasts to her belly button, his tongue hot on the inside of her thigh, making her whole body tense. She let him do it, let him pull out all the stops, as it were, his tongue and his hands doing things to her she hadn't realized he was capable of - at least, not for as long as she could remember. His chest was harder than she remembered, his waist trim, abs defined as she trailed a hand across them.

And she wanted it - wanted to feel the burn and the pressure of him inside of her.

"God, Pam..." It was a throaty moan in her ear.

She tightened around him. "Don't talk."

He came; she didn't.

--------------------

She lay in the dark beside him, eyes shut tight against the reality of what she'd just done, at the morbid thoughts of that fucking beluga whale, whose plight - while certainly sad - had nothing, she realized, absolutely nothing to do with her mood tonight. Her actions, her regrets.

"Hey..." He moved to prop up on one arm, smiling down at her. "What're you thinking?"

He'd never asked her that before after sex. Ever.

Did Jim ask her what she was fucking thinking after sex?

The thought was random, the images it brought with it unexpected and sharply visceral; she stiffened all over, and Roy noticed it.

"Pam....?"

"I'm thinking that we shouldn't have done this." The words tumbled out of her. "It shouldn't have - "

"Wait a second." He was sitting up now, panic in his eyes. "You're overreacting."

"No." She shook her head, and then heard herself saying, "See, I don't usually react. I don't. So how could I overreact?"

His brows knit, blue eyes narrowing. "You're not making sense."

"I know."

A seemingly interminable pause, then: "I need you to go; I need you to forget this happened."

Now he looked indignant, bordering on angry. "What the...?"

"I'm sorry." She couldn't look at him. "It isn't your fault."

"Then whose goddamned fault is it?" He threw the covers off, standing to swipe his boxers off the floor, yanking on his jeans. "Can you tell me that, Pam? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I don't know."

"You have to know." His jaw was tense, lips thin. "So tell me."

"I can't."

She watched him surreptitously in the days, the weeks that followed, fighting not to flinch whenever she saw Karen touch his arm, give him a soft smile that spoke of an obvious intimacy, or even the one time that Jim casually slung an arm around Karen's shoulders as they walked out to their cars at the end of the day. If he was struggling with any residual feelings for Pam, he didn't show it - and she searched his expressions, the inflection of his voice when he spoke to her, the timbre of his laughter the few times she'd managed to elicit a chuckle from him - looking for the tiniest clue that might reconcile all this for her.

And then she'd come back to herself, shake her head, focus on something else. Because it didn't matter - he'd moved on, period. So what if she'd sort of expected to give things a chance when he came back? So what if the thing that had begun as a flickering hope had fanned into a full on flame by the time he walked through the door that day, smiling quietly as he said, "Hi, my name's Jim..."

So he'd moved on - okay. She could live with that. But it began to tear at her, first just distracting her and then saddening her before finally infuriating her.

Because he'd stood there in front of her that night, looked her in the eye - had fucking cried - as he told her, "I'm in love with you."

He'd turned her entire life upside down that night, left her spinning.

And now this? Leaning over Karen's shoulder looking at spreadsheets; waiting patiently at her desk so they could leave for lunch together - whether that meant going out or sitting side-by-side in the breakroom; slapping a high five with Karen after a particularly good sale or a rousing laugh at Andy's expense. He'd gone from tears and a confession of love to turning his attention and affection to someone else, all in a matter of months?

The doubts brought the sadness - the moments of watching his face soften at something Karen whispered to him and wondering if maybe he'd never really been in love with her at all. Maybe he'd overdramatized it; maybe he'd misinterpreted his own feelings, as opposed to hers, mistaking a desire to have what he couldn't for real love.

Maybe he really loved Karen, who had probably never been unattainable.

With every day that passed and every tiny little moment she witnessed, that knot of fury in her gut burned a little deeper. Soon she was struggling not to hate him for doing this to her, to them.

------------------------

The way that she stared so openly at him all the time now made him want to jump out of his skin. He'd be talking to Karen, and suddenly out of the corner of his eye notice Pam stock still at her desk, her eyes fixed on them. Initially, she'd been quick to turn away, avert her gaze elsewhere; but lately...lately she'd begun to just hold the stare, her eyes meeting his before she turned away in what he could only perceive as disappointment - maybe even disgust.

He ignored her, ignored the twinge of anger, the flash of pain.

But the guilt? The guilt wouldn't leave him alone, and that's what infuriated him the most in this whole pathetic situation. That he could actually find himself feeling guilty for moving on with someone else - and yet it never failed: He couldn't so much as smile at Karen without that imperceptible shift beneath his skin telling him Pam was watching, and immediately the shame would creep up.

He discovered that it was much easier to deal with anger than guilt or sadness or regret - so he let it take over, sort of relished the way it began to almost consume him whenever he really looked at her or caught her looking at him.

When Karen noticed, asking him why he'd been tense lately, he'd brushed her off; when she'd asked a week after that what he wanted out of their relationship, he'd shocked himself by looking her in the eye and saying, "I'm not up for something serious right now, and I'd be lying if I told you I think this will eventually...turn into that. It might, but it just as well might not. And I like you; I want to keep seeing you. But I'm not gonna lie to you."

She'd stared at him in surprise, her eyes wide; he noticed that she didn't blink, and he realized that he'd hurt her, so he forced himself to add gently, "So seriously....if this isn't something you feel like you can handle, then I - I understand if you need to walk away."

"Do you want me to walk away?" Her voice was huskier than usual.

He held her gaze, answered honestly, "No, I don't. ...But I don't want to hurt you either."

It was as if he'd inadvertently issued a challenge; he watched her expression shift slightly, determination sparking in her eyes. He found himself thinking of the day she'd told him that she was not a quitter.

Her smile was slow, enigmatic. "I'll take my chances."

-----------------------

I wasn't jumping

for me it was a fall

It's a long way down

to nothing at all... 

He sounded strange when he answered the phone.

"Are you alone?" She didn't waste any time - was suddenly sick of wasting time. Three weeks he'd been back; three weeks she'd watched him with Karen. Three weeks she'd wondered just what the fuck had exactly happened from May to now. Three weeks she'd bitten back the anger and the regret and the grief and the questions - all of which seemed to be devouring her alive.

In a flash of an instant, she'd decided she'd had enough.

"What..?" His voice was so hoarse that it cracked a little when he asked.

"I asked if you're alone." She repeated impatiently.

"Yeah - hey, what's - "

"I'm coming over." She hung up the phone without even giving him a chance to say anything else - partly because she was afraid he'd talk her out of it, and partly because she feared he might say something that would allow her to talk herself out of it. And since she'd made the decision to just take the leap and ask, suddenly she couldn't think of anything else.

He stared at the phone for a second after the line clicked so abruptly, then snapped it shut before running a weary hand over his face.

He'd had three glasses of Maker's Mark, hadn't shaved in three days, and his apartment was a wreck. It was late on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and Karen had gone back to Conneticut to visit her family, leaving him with just enough time on his hands to realize suddenly that what he wanted more than anything was to get out of it - to be done with the obligation and the guilt and the questions he knew she wanted to ask but didn't.

He padded to the bathroom, splashing water on his face; when he caught his reflection in the mirror - the stubble so thick it qualified as a beard, really, unkempt and shocking even for himself to see - he automatically reached for his electric razor, plugging it in before stopping himself abruptly.

When he heard the knock at the door, he took his time walking over to open it - partly because he'd had just enough to drink that putting one foot in front of another was a precarious endeavor, and partly because he was forcing himself to ignore the knee-jerk impulse to hurry over, not to keep her waiting. He'd long since decided he had to quit going out of his way to accomodate her, because he was convinced that that had been one of the tendencies that had led him into this whole mess in the first place.

She actually gasped out loud when he swung open the door. "Oh my god."

She knew immediately that he was drunk, even though she was fairly certain she'd never seen him that way before. He weaved on his feet just a little, holding tightly to the edge of the door frame; the white button down shirt he wore was untucked, the first few buttons undone, his chest hair making her feel a weird twisting sensation low, deep. Clearly he hadn't shaved in days, scruffy hair covering his jaw and neck; his eyes were bleary, hair disheveled.

Instead of asking her to come in, he simply took a step back, gesturing for her to come inside with a slight wave of his arm. It was less that he was trying to be rude or short with her than it was that he suddenly didn't know what to say, the sight of her standing there like an unexpected blow to the throat.

She was wearing a pair of jeans that were obviously old - well worn and faded, a tiny hole just in the middle of her left thigh, the denim stretching across her hips; the shirt she wore was an old v-neck long sleeved tee-shirt - it, too, faded and clinging, the fabric straining slightly across her breasts, tapering in at her waist.

Her hair was down, and she'd done whatever it was she did that made it look sleek and shiny - the effect assaulting him with both the urge to run his fingers through it, as well as to lean forward, grasp a handful of the honey-colored strands and lift them to his face, inhale deeply. Because her scent... Her scent was still the same, no matter how fucked up and tense things had been lately. Sometimes it transported him to a place of damned near unbearable hope and happiness; sometimes it made the bile almost rise in his throat, the fear taking hold of him.

He felt himself beginning to stiffen just at the sight of her, so he turned away, taking a deep breath and trying to distract himself. When he turned back to her, she was staring up at him expectantly.

He finally asked, "So...what's up?"

"I should ask you the same thing." She retorted, sinking onto the couch when he nodded toward it, himself taking a seat in a beat up old easy chair across from the sofa. He knew better than to sit next to her, not while she looked like that and not while he was this drunk.

And then it occurred to him that he should offer her something to drink. Without responding to the question she'd asked, he said, "You want something to drink?"

She looked surprised at the abrupt shift, the way he ignored her question. "...Okay."

And then, because they were alone and this was Jim and god, she suddenly realized how much she'd missed him, she added with a grin, "Will I regret it if I tell you I'll have what you're having?"

The teasing caught him off guard, made the desire quicken a little, then begin to ache. Fuck me...why now? Why tonight?

He looked away, forcing a smile. "Probably. I've got wine - pinot grigio...?"

"Sure." She started to ask him why he had white wine, then she realized that it was probably what Karen drank.

He disappeared, and when he came back, he was holding two wine glasses, balancing them both between his fingers while he clutched the neck of the wine bottle in the other hand. She watched as he poured, her gaze falling to his forearms - his sleeves pushed up, as always. She let her eyes move back up, up to his shoulders, his neck, his lips firm, eyes lost in concentration. The image he presented struck her then as almost outrageously sexual.

When he set the bottle on the end table, standing to lean across and hand her a glass, their eyes met and held. She looked away before he did - but only after her eyes fell to his lips.

Again he felt himself harden, so he dropped his head for a second, then took a deep breath and looked up at her again.

"You're drunk." She said suddenly, unused to how subuded he was acting.

He stared at her tipsily. "Obviously."

That elicited a small smile from her. "So why?"

"Why what?" There was an odd tone to his voice - gruff, wary.

"Why are you getting drunk alone on a Saturday night?" She was trying to be brave, to work up to what she'd come here to do in the first place.

"I'm not alone." He answered, looking away and shoving a stack of books to the far end of the side table before turning his eyes back to hers. "I'm with you."

What he said sent chills down her spine; the way he unflinchingly held her gaze made her strangely nervous.

He picked up on it, asking, "So what's with you?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm - I don't...."

When her voice trailed off, his eyes narrowed. "You're what? Other than sitting there all fidgety - oh, and showing up on my doorstep this late."

She met his eyes, annoyed that he'd commented on her obvious nerves. "I called first; I didn't just show up."

"You called to inform me that you were coming over, if I recall correctly." He smiled just a little.

"Fine - so I did." She smiled back, shifting in her seat, wishing he'd quit staring at her like that. Because she'd expected to have the upper hand here; she'd imagined him as being nervous, unable to look her in the eye.

She tried to tell herself that the fluttering low in her stomach stemmed from the knowledge that he was drunk; that was all. It had nothing to do with her - just him, his state right now.

"So, Beesly...?"

Her head jerked; it was the first time he'd spoken to her like that - affectionately called her by her last name - in longer than she could remember. It calmed her - a little.

He almost felt sorry for her as she sat there squirming, her hair falling in her eyes, hands wrapped around the base of her wine glass. And then suddenly - without looking at him - she asked, "How can you be with Karen?"

The question came out all wrong.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean..." She shook her head, then glanced up at him, unable to meet his eyes - her own flicking away - as she added, "I'm just wondering how you...you know, moved on that fast."

He felt something in his gut crystallize, felt the dangerous anger creeping in. Surely she doesn't mean that the way it sounds; surely I'm misinterpreting her - for real this time.

"What are you talking about?"

She caught the shift in his voice - something dead and flat woven in the tone now.

"Well it just seems like...I know you were gone for a while, but all that..." She sucked in a breath. "All that stuff happened right before you left, so it's... It seems sudden to me that you're already dating someone else, that's all."

He froze, his head down, voice strained. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that."

What he'd said shocked her - his obvious anger shocked her even more. He raised his head to stare her pointedly in the eye, something forbidding in his expression.

"Why?" She asked, unable to keep from pushing him a little.

"Are you kidding me?" He asked in disbelief. "You have no right - no right - to tell me that you think I moved on too fast."

"I didn't say that you moved on too fast." She was starting to get angry now, too. "I said that it seems to me like you've moved on pretty quickly."

"To you?" He repeated, something challenging in his expression - as if he were daring her to stand her ground on this.

"Yes. To me." She wasn't going to budge. "And I should think that - of all people - I'd be the only one to have the right to tell you that, to feel that way."

His mouth dropped open slightly. "Seriously? You're actually telling me that you have the right to discipline me for moving on?"

"I'm not trying to 'discipline' you."

"Then what the fuck are you doing, Pam?" He asked, shaking his head in disbelief yet again.

She was shocked at the exchange - absolutely stunned at the way he was talking to her, even more aghast at how obviously infuriated he was.

"I'm here because I need some answers from you!" Her voice grew louder, her throat tightening.

"You need answers?" He repeated, again in that slightly mocking, slightly threatening tone. "You need answers?"

"Stop it." She spat. "Stop talking to me like I'm being stupid."

"I'm not talking to you like you're being stupid; I'm talking to you like you're so totally fucking out of line." He was clearly trying to hold his temper now, having realized that he was dangerously close to the point of no return.

"Oh, I'm out of line?" She scoffed, her hands starting to tremble as the anger grew. "You fucking drop a bomb on me before you leave - tell me you're in love with me two weeks before my wedding - then you come back with someone else, and it's like nothing ever happened!"

When she stopped speaking, she was breathing heavily, frightened at what she'd said - and at the look in his eyes. He looked desperate to maintain the control that was steadily slipping away.

When next he spoke, his voice was a little lower, more controlled. "Nothing did happen."

"That's bullshit and you know it!"

"Okay." He nodded once, his lips in a firm line. "I stand corrected: Something did happen - I told you I was in love with you; you told me 'I can't' and then when I kissed you, you kissed me back. And then you said you were marrying him anyway."

He stopped abruptly, swallowing hard, then, "So forgive me for saying that nothing happened; it's just not anything that I'd have labelled as something monumental. Could've been, but you were too fucking scared to face it, so here we are."

His lips twitched when he finished speaking, and for a second he was sorry he'd been so cruel - because he could see how hard his words had hit her.

She leapt to her feet then, snatching up her purse, muttering derisively, "You're too drunk to be reasonable; I didn't come over her so you could insult me."

He held her eyes, looking up at her from where he still sat. "Yeah, I'm drunk; I'm not denying that. But that doesn't make me blind or stupid, Pam. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why it is that you won't just tell me what it is you want from me."

"I told you what I want." Her voice was softer now, choked with the tears that threatened to fall. "I want to know how you just...let it all go so easily."

Now he, too, was on his feet, running a hand through his hair before he repeated incredulously, "How I let it go so easily? Are you just trying to piss me off?"

She shook her head, slinging her purse on her shoulder. "This was a mistake; I should've known better."

"What was a mistake?"

She turned to glare up at him, digging blindly for her keys with one hand. "This! Coming here - thinking I'd get answers from you!"

He didn't have a chance to respond to that before she added bitterly, "I guess I'd forgotten that your thing is to run away instead of seeing things through!"

The rage was hot, coursing through him as he fired out, "What the fuck are you talking about? I don't fucking run away - that's your M.O. - or had you forgotten all last year?"

"Go to hell!" She spat.

"Yeah?" He drew back. "Fucking say it again, Pam, because I don't care anymore. You barge in here demanding answers, accusing me of running away - Jesus Christ, have you forgotten everything that happened last year? Have you fucking forgotten that I laid it all on the line for you on Casino Night? You call that fucking running away?"

He was actually shouting now, which was just another thing that sent a wave of shock and pain down her spine.

Still, she managed to choke out, "No, but I call coming back with a brand new girlfriend running away! Or maybe throwing it away."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them, but she was too stubborn to lose eye contact with him, forcing herself to stand her ground in spite of that gnawing fear in her belly at the utter calm that dropped over him all of a sudden.

And then, between clenched teeth, he said, "Don't push me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He swallowed hard. "It means don't play with me, Pam. I mean it."

"What are you talking about? I'm not trying to 'play' with you - believe me." Another thing she regretted saying, because somewhere behind the mask of anger that was his expression, she saw a tiny flicker of pain; she'd hit a nerve without even really wanting to.

So she quickly added, "I just wanted to get this off my chest, I guess."

With that she strode toward the door, but he was fast on her heels, one of his hands reaching out easily from behind her, well above her head, slamming the door shut just as she started to open it. His palm stayed there flat against the door; she could hear him breathing heavily from behind her.

Even before he spoke, she knew she'd finally done it - pushed him too far.

"Tell me what you want from me."

She wouldn't turn to look at him. "I don't want anything from you."

"Then why are you here?" The words were an agonized whisper just above her ear. Her eyes closed, an agonized wave passing over her; she was glad he was behind her, glad he couldn't see her face.

"I'm trying not to be here."

"Goddamn it, Pam." Then his hands were on her arms, and in a single motion he turned her to face him, his hands still holding her arms, pinning them against the back of the door. She could've jerked away if she'd wanted to, but she was too shocked to react.

His eyes were a deep green, his jaw set as he growled, "Tell me that again; tell me while you look at me."

"Tell you what?" She asked indignantly, squriming a little.

He tightened his grip. "Tell me you don't want anything from me."

He watched as her chest started to heave a little, her breathing growing erratic. "I already told you that."

"Why can't you just say it?" He asked, something heartbroken in his eyes. "Why can't you just...fucking admit that you want me?"

For some reason, what he said made her angry. Was he trying to just fuck around with her? He was with Karen now - was he trying to rub it in her face that she was too late? Was he just trying to make her suffer the way she'd so inadvertently made him suffer the year before?

"You are so fucking...arrogant." The words didn't even ring true to her own ears, but her pride had taken over, smarting at the realization that he was just trying to punish her for the mistakes she'd made...when god knows, she'd already been punished enough. She couldn't resist but add, "...and wrong."

He blinked a few times at what she said, then just when she thought he was about to say something, he caught her off guard by leaning down and pressing his lips to hers, tightening his grip on her arms once more as he stepped closer.

Her responses were visceral, conflicting: How fucking dare he? ...God, Jim, don't stop.

She forced herself to writhe slightly, to make an obviously half-hearted attempt at squirming away from him. The fact that he didn't budge - didn't loosen his grip, didn't move back, just kept moving his lips against hers, his tongue hot - sent a myriad of sensations streaming: a twinge of fear at the realization that he was truly out of control; a shocking, searing desire that ran all the way through her; an amalgam of grief and emotion, heartbreak at where they were now.

Above all else, something just a shade below terror at how desperately she wanted him right now. I can't do this; I won't let this happen.

Still she jerked back slightly to bite out, "Let me go."

He paused, not moving anything but his head, drawing it back slightly to stare her in the eyes, his voice a husky whisper. "I don't think you really want me to."

She glared up at him as his eyes scanned her face, searching...

"Fuck you." She spat.

That did it. His lips were on hers again, his body fully in line with her own; she could feel him hard against her, the sensation immediately hitting her with the desire to feel him inside her, even as he suddenly let go of her arms, sliding his hands up the sides of her waist, skimming the bare flesh around her ribs before moving to her breasts.

"No..." It was a moan from somewhere deep in her throat, even as she let her arms slide from the doorframe to rest on his shoulders, clutching him desperately, his mouth on her breast now as her body arched against the door, straining toward him. She knew she should stop him, but she didn't really want to stop him; at the same time, she couldn't bring herself to let go - to touch him back, her hands heavy and frozen on his shoulders as he trailed his tongue from her breast back up, gliding past her neck, below her ear as he pressed forward again, roughly backing her against the door, her back hitting it, knocking the breath out of her.

The motion seemed to shake her back to herself; she realized suddenly that this was wrong, all wrong.... Not like this; not in anger. Not just to get back at me; I can't let him do this.

She'd intended to sound strong, but when she found her voice, all she managed was a weak whimper: "God, Jim...stop; don't do this."

He obeyed her immediately, backing away - the abrupt halt to that dizzying pleasure so sudden that it seemed almost violent to her. Straightening, he looked back down at her, his eyes glazed, lips swollen.

There was so much she wanted to say but didn't trust herself to say. She'd come here tonight with the intention of getting answers, and instead she'd ended up hurling insults at him, pushing him to the point of actually yelling at her, swearing at her... She still wasn't sure why he'd suddenly started kissing her, touching her; obviously he wanted her, but the way he touched her...it was tinged with an anger and bitterness that made her almost certain he was just doing it to get back at her. To win, maybe.

Once again she failed to do the right thing, her words defeating her true intention as she whispered, "I shouldn't have come here."

His jaw tensed as he tilted his head back, gazing up at the ceiling for a second, then those eyes were boring into hers, his voice painfully brittle: "I'm done with this."

Her hands still hadn't stopped shaking when she reached her front door, fumbling with her keys, then dropping them with a loud clatter on the concrete; the sound alone made her jump.

She felt like she was caught in a daze as pushed open the door, setting her purse on the table just inside the entryway; she mindlessly switched on a lamp, then sank heavily onto the sofa, one hand slowly rising to her mouth. She'd seen a side of him tonight that she'd never even suspected existed before now. She told herself that he'd been out of line - that he'd crossed a line with her that she couldn't forgive or forget. Swearing at her, holding her arms against the door like that.

Could that possibly have been the same guy who'd so gently pulled her into his arms on Casino Night? How had so much changed from then to now?

Her eyes closed, chest rising, then falling, rising again. The way he'd just let go...the unchecked aggression with which he'd pressed his mouth to hers spoke less of anger than desperation - a man who'd long since lost control of the wheel. And, well....that she understood.

She ran a bath, dropping in some aromatherapy bath salts that her mother had given her last time she'd been down to visit, then slipped out of her clothes and into the water, so hot that steam rose off of her skin when she raised her arm to swipe an errant hair from her eyes. She slid in a little deeper, resting the back of her head against the wall, her eyes closed as she tried to focus on nothing but her center...being still. It was a practice that had gotten her through the worst of the nights after she'd called off the engagement - the nights when the utter silence of what her life had become echoed in her head, making her almost sure that she'd never feel truly alive again.

The trick didn't work for her so well now; in spite of herself, images of what had happened with Jim pervaded her mind - flash of his fingers closing over her wrist, pressing it against the chipped white paint of his front door; his tongue shocking, hot as it trailed her bare skin; his hips in line with hers, erection pressed hard against her thigh, leaving absolutely no doubt as to what he wanted.

This from the man who'd once satisfied himself with giving her teapots, buying her potato chips, and memorizing her favorite flavor of yogurt.

Now she knew: All those things were a facade concealing what bubbled underneath; it wasn't really him. That was the mask she'd made him wear for so many years...and now he just couldn't anymore.

She shut her eyes tight, lifting her hands out of the water to press them against her temples, then smooth them back against her hair, trying so hard to think of something else, anything else...to ignore the hum beneath her skin that whispered to her that she should go back to his apartment...now.

She shifted, squeezing her eyelids even more tightly together, concentrating on thinking about the next assignment she had due for her Figure Drawing course. She had a picture of her grandmother's sister, a girl whose name was Kate (Pam's middle name came from that very sister); Kate had died of rheumatic fever at eighteen, and Pam had always been fascinated by the picture of her - a beautiful girl with curls and such serious eyes.

From out of nowhere, she thought of a picture that she had of Jim - one she'd taken playfully almost a year earlier, the day after Michael had taken a course on photo-shopping and wanted candid pictures of everybody in the office to experiment with. It had been the kind of day she'd lived for back then - time alone with Jim, Michael's latest endeavor providing a subterfuge for her to take pictures of Jim, urging him into different poses despite his protests.

She'd dragged him outside, up on the roof, ordering him to sit in one of the two lawn chairs to which they frequently escaped when things got too much.

"Okay, now take off your tie."

"What?" He'd looked startled.

"Take off your tie." When he simply raised his eyebrows higher, she rolled her eyes. "Please, Halpert - don't be such a baby. I'll turn my back if you want - but this picture will look absolutely stupid if you're sitting in a lawn chair wearing a tie."

"Fair enough." He'd said agreeably, reaching to tug at his tie while she watched, fascinated...mesmerized at the ease with which he undid it. His eyes hadn't left hers as he'd slid it deftly through his collar, handing it to her when she reached out for it.

Silence fell, that ever present tension mounting.

"Um...okay, so fix your shirt." She waved a hand casually as she raised the camera so she could peer through it.

"What's wrong with my shirt?" He'd asked, and she could see that he was having a hard time with this whole scenario. Sometimes she loved it that he was so transparent; other times, she wished for nothing other than to be blissfully oblivious.

"It's buttoned all the way to the top." She answered, hoping she could sound matter of fact. "You're not wearing a tie anymore, so unbutton the first button or two. Or whatever."

"Will do." This time, he couldn't hold eye contact with her, and she could've sworn she saw his hand tremble slightly as he undid the first button, then the second, revealing a white undershirt, dark hair curling over the collar. She'd swallowed hard.

"Okay...smile." He had, and she'd snapped the picture, capturing that moment, and in doing so, somehow managing to preserve the essence of what made him Jim: devastatingly handsome but with a crooked, almost self-deprecating smile; five o'clock shadow such an obvious sign of virility, masculinity - but then his eyes were so warm, clearly evincing feelings he'd never dare speak aloud.

Amazing to realize that this incredible man was at her mercy. Even then she'd known it.

She'd kept the picture in her middle dresser drawer, the one that was a tangle of hairbrushes and ponytail holders, safety pins and scissors.

As she lay in the tub, she couldn't shake the image of that photo: a clean cut, handsome guy with a sort of non-threatening, all-American charm about him...but underneath - now she knew what lay underneath that affable, controlled exterior.

The realization that she'd pushed him too far earlier - that he'd finally just let go and tried to take what he'd so desperately hungered for all these years - it left her feeling weak and alive; charged but at the same time so, so exhausted.

She shifted again, the water gurgling around her as she trailed a hand from her collarbone to her breasts to her low belly, then further, arching her back; she desperately tried to conjure that image of him earlier - the look on his face, the burn behind his eyes. As she writhed beneath her own touch, she imagined it was his hand, then him....flashes of his lips and his hands and his body assaulting her until she gasped out loud, the orgasm streaking through her with a force that left her shaking all over.

-------------------

He was awakened by the ringing of the doorbell, over and over, as if someone were jamming at it impatiently. Immediately the sound grated at his nerves; as he pulled on a pair of jeans, he caught himself remembering snatches of the night before: shoving her up against the door, pinning her arms back, the sound of her voice when she'd pleaded with him to stop...his last words: "I'm done with this."

He knew it wasn't fair that he should remember so clearly, when he'd had too many drinks just so he could forget. The ache rising in him was almost as pronounced as the one he'd felt when he had let go of her hands and trudged toward the elevator that night in May.

And now he swung open the door to find Karen standing there looking gorgeous in a black turtleneck and faded jeans, her hair pinned up, lips gleaming.

"Hey you." She smiled affectionately at him, then stepped forward, standing on her toes and throwing her arms around his neck. "I missed you."

"You did?" His voice was hoarse, the thundering in his head beginning to trickle down into his ears. He shut the door behind her, she walking into his apartment with an ease so unlike Pam's cautious reticence the night before.

"I did, actually - kind of surprised me a little." She gave him a small smile as she sat down on the couch next to him. "So did you have a good time at your Mom's house?"

"Yeah...." He nodded, struggling to focus on the conversation. "Yeah, we...we, uh, had the traditional dinner, you know."

She was nodding, still smiling at him. "Did you get to catch up with your brother?"

"Mmm-hmm." He couldn't look at her now, recalling the pointed look Jonathan had given him when he'd mentioned that he was dating Karen, that she'd moved to Scranton.

"And Pam's single, right?" Jon had asked.

"Yep."

"Hmm." Jon nodded. "Interesting."

"Let it go." Jim's voice was strained.

"Whatever you say." But Jonathan fixed him with a stare that made him fucking think about it later - the potential nightmare situation he was creating in getting involved with Karen when he really wasn't over Pam yet. Not even close.

Karen's voice broke through his thoughts, as she seemed to really see him for the first time: "Whoa, what happened to you? Rough night out with Mark?"

"What?" The question came out automatically, like a built-in stall tactic - because he'd heard her loud and clear. He didn't wait for her to finish, adding, "Nah, I didn't...uh, never managed to hook up with Mark."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She gave him a warm smile, then reached to touch his cheek.

When he flinched, drawing back slightly, it was pure instinct - nothing else. But as soon as he'd done it, he realized that it wasn't something she'd miss.

Her eyes narrowed immediately as she pulled back, too, one eyebrow raised, the warmth replaced by a piercing suspicion. "Okay....is there something you want to tell me?"

"What?" Damn it.

"I'm pretty sure you heard me, Jim." He could see that she was trying to tone it down a notch. "Seriously...what's going on? You're acting weird, and you look like you've seen a ghost or something."

"I don't, uh..." He shook his head, looking at his hands. Just say it say it say it say it. "I don't really know...where to start or...what to say."

"Holy shit, Jim." Suddenly she was standing, staring down at him in shock as if he'd spilled all the details. For a split second, he wondered hazily if he had.

"What...?"

"You tell me." Now her arms were crossed. "What the hell's going on? Obviously something is."

One of the things he'd been attracted to in her had been her ability to read him so well - to pick up on the subtle nuances in a way that told him she really gave a damn - but also her dedication to just speaking her mind; her lack of pretense and hesitation were refreshing, actually. Or had been.

He lowered his head, not speaking for several long moments, worrying briefly that he might actually throw up.

"Jim...?"

"Look, I'm sorry; I just can't -- " He looked up at her, then shook his head, his lips twisted in a wry grin. "I can't do this."

"Can't do what?" He could clearly see that she was struggling to appear cool, but there was something behind her expression - the set of her eyebrows, maybe, or the tremor in her lips - that told him she was truly afraid.

For a split second, his instinct was to stand, to take her in his arms and make it all go away. But he knew he couldn't do it. Just couldn't run anymore, no matter how much he'd likely blown things with Pam by yelling at her and manhandling her like a drunken lout.

"This, Karen...us." He stood up, ignoring the wave of nausea. "I'm sorry - god, I'm so sorry; I should've... Fuck, I don't know.... I mean, I tried to warn you, but I just - "

"I don't believe this." She muttered, shaking her head with a bitter chuckle.

"Please don't do that."

Her eyes were hard as flint. "Don't tell me how to react to this, okay? I'll react however I damned well want to react."

She picked up her purse then, struggling back into her jacket as she made her way to the door. He followed her meekly, thinking again of the night before, how he'd slammed that door shut, grabbed Pam and made her face him...

She paused in the doorway, glaring up at him, her jaw trembling. Then she said in measured tones, "Look, I don't know - I don't know what the fuck your problem is, because you seem like a nice guy. But this...this Jekyll and Hyde thing is too much; I'm just - I give up, man. I'm done."

He didn't even bother to call out after her...kind of admired her for having the guts to call it what it was, to protect herself and walk away.

She'd had something of an epiphany that night after she climbed out of the bathtub, a tremor still in her limbs as she toweled off. It had been the first time she'd ever consciously thought about him like that before, pretending her touch was really his - and it had been such an overwhelming moment, the hunger hitting her out of nowhere, the truth that came with it too cogent to ignore anymore.

Her eyes looked black in the bathroom mirror, her collarbone and cheeks still flushed. She stood stock still, staring unblinkingly at her reflection until her eyes burned, then started to water a little. It was as if standing there and staring until she wasn't even seeing herself anymore enabled her to suspend all conscious thought and just let the realizations come as they would.

It struck her then what a miracle it was that they'd once been such close friends, given all the things that they hid - or tried to hide - from one another. Had they ever really had an honest conversation - one in which they just put it all out there? He'd tried, of course, on Casino Night, but what she remembered of that moment in the parking lot was the constricting feeling in her throat, some weird kind of invisible cloak dropping over her and making her mechanically say so many things that she didn't really mean. Can't. Misinterpreted.

The realization that she'd said those things to him more than six months earlier - that night a catalyst for a total upheaval of her life, breaking away from Roy, moving out on her own - and yet here she still was, saying things she didn't mean, running away from him when it really was the last thing she wanted to do.

She'd almost felt light-headed as the anger slowly slipped away, leaving only a longing that felt achingly raw. And it was raw, because she was facing it now - he was all she wanted; he was what she'd wanted all along. The past didn't matter; the present was yet a continuation of the same useless running. But the future...maybe it could be theirs; maybe it wasn't too late.

And that's when it dawned on her fully for the first time: This doesn't have to be the end; there's got to be some way back...and forward, too.

Those were the words that echoed in her head as she lay down to sleep; that was the mantra she inwardly repeated as she drove to work Monday morning, getting an early start on purpose. She needed time to prepare herself before she had to face him, because the truth was that she had no idea what to expect from him - would he come in still angry, maybe ignore her completely? Would he come in and be nonchalant, pretend that nothing untoward had happened between them?

She spent the next half hour trying to figure out which scenario would be worse.

She still hadn't arrived at a conclusion when he walked in shortly after 8:00, his eyes meeting hers then skipping away guiltily as he hung up his coat. He murmured, "Morning Pam" before making his way to his desk and sitting down with a thud...leaving her to stare at the back of his head for the next fifty-four minutes, holding her breath as she waited for an email, an IM...something.

But there was nothing, no clue as to what the hell he was thinking now - if he even really remembered all that had happened.

---------------------------------

He remembered everything with a clarity that seemed unnecessarily cruel to him, given the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. It was as if he just couldn't escape it anymore - her, them, the wreck that was his life these days. As he'd stood in front of the mirror and shaved that morning, he wondered if he'd ever dreaded something as much as he dreaded walking in that office in an hour. Karen might want to talk about things - usually she did after she had time to calm down - and he just didn't have it in him; he actually felt guilty for how little emotional energy the end of that relationship had taken from him, but he was too panicked about facing Pam to concentrate on anything else.

He winced as he accidentally nicked himself, the miniscule dot of blood quickly becoming a tiny rivulet and running down his jaw; it was then that he realized his hand was shaking a little. He let go of the razor, watching numbly as it fell into the sink with a clatter, then he dropped his head, leaning heavily on his arms, one hand on either side of the sink.

It didn't matter that she'd kissed him back; it didn't matter that her body had seemed to betray her, arching against his even as she struggled to resist. He'd pushed her and he knew it; he knew, too, that timidity was an inherent part of Pam's nature. She'd never responded well to pressure, even when he'd been doing it for her own good, like the time he'd tried to convince her to take the internship Jan offered. So surely if what he remembered of that night shocked him - slamming the door and pushing her against it, tightening his grip and ignoring her the first time she said "no" - then he knew she must be absolutely revolted by him now, completely livid. All this time he'd struggled so hard, tried to be so careful with her, so patient...and now this. He'd never been that aggressive with a woman - any woman; yet he'd done it to Pam. At the time, it had made sense - the only way to force her to face things, to stop looking him in the eye and saying words that were hollow and so untrue. But it hadn't been his right to take that tactic, and he knew it.

When he walked into the office forty-five minutes later, he was shocked to see that she was watching him almost expectantly - and from the brief glance he allowed himself, she didn't look angry at all. Still, though, he couldn't meet her eyes, could manage nothing more than a mumbled greeting.

-----------------------------------

She felt guilty when Karen came in, giving Pam the usual smile and a pleasant "Good morning." But this time, Karen didn't ask Pam how her weekend was; instead, she smiled without really smiling - grimacing, almost - before she walked to her desk and sat down, never even glancing toward Jim.

Jim glanced up when Karen came in, his eyes following her to her desk, but when she sat down, shoving her purse in the bottom drawer then turning on her monitor - all without looking his way - he turned back to the paperwork in front of him. The guilt he felt for what he'd done to her just didn't compare to what he was feeling right now about what had happened with Pam.

He'd started an email to her:

....then it had struck him as cowardly to send an email. Well, that and the fact that he desperately needed to see her face, to gauge just how much damage he'd done.

She'd tried to distract herself with Soduku, then solitaire, then actual work. When all of those tactics failed, she decided to go to the vending machine and get something so sugary and chocolatey that her problems would all fall away - at least for a little while.

He waited, one leg shaking involuntarily, for her to leave her desk so that he'd have a chance to approach her away from the eyes of everyone else in the office. When she rose and disappeared into the break room, he didn't bother to wait a respectable amount of time so that it wouldn't be as obvious that he was following her; instead, he leapt to his feet, taking a deep breath and running his damp palms down the front of his pants before he strode toward the door.

Just as she was leaning forward to pull the Mr. Goodbar out of the impossibly small slot, she'd heard his voice behind her - hesitant, a little throaty: "Hey."

She straightened too abruptly, then turned to face him, reaching to impatiently push her hair out of her eyes. "Hey."

It came out more as a guarded sigh than a greeting; still, though, he'd not really been expecting her to be civil to him. She wasn't glaring at him - was just standing there looking up at him, waiting for him to say something. An awkward pause fell, then he squinted at her a little, the way that he did when he had something important - or uncomfortable - to say.

It was strange to look at him now - clean shaven, wearing the same cream colored shirt and basket weave tie she'd seen so many times before, his smile nervous - in light of all that had happened between them. She still felt bruised and dazed; she wondered if he did, too. Their eyes met for a split second, and she thought of being in the bathtub, conjuring his face and his touch and his lips.... She had to look away, afraid for one irrational second that he'd be able to read her mind.

"Listen, about the other night..." The words seemed to tangle on his tongue, and her expression wasn't making things any easier for him. She looked hopeful but simultaneously so sad, the faintest trace of fear lurking behind her eyes before she quickly looked away from him. The fact that she couldn't even look at him sent a sharp pain straight to his stomach.

He forced himself to go on: "I, uh...Well I just wanted to apologize for...everything. I was pretty drunk."

"No, it's cool." She nodded, her eyes lowering to the cheap carpet beneath her feet, disappointment crashing against her chest like waves to the shore. She didn't want him to be sorry; she wanted to talk about it - really talk about all that had happened. Angry as they'd both been, they'd edged closer to the truth then than they ever really had.

He was absolutely shocked at what she'd said. It's cool? Are you kidding me? You said no, and I kept going.

"It's really not, actually." He chuckled awkwardly, reminding her for a second of the old Jim - the one who'd struggled to hide his emotions, even as she registered them all. But the dry little laugh caught in his throat, his smile wavering, then fading altogether.

He had to take in a deep breath of air before he went on: "I mean...a lot of the details are fuzzy, but some of them...well, some of them just aren't."

His voice failed him at "aren't."

She met his eyes, the ache in her chest and stomach like an internal noose ready to choke the life out of her. He looked as if he were fighting to keep it together; the guilt all over his face made her want to touch his jaw, tell him that his instincts had been right - that she'd wanted it, too. That she was so sorry for all the awful things she'd said, was even sorrier that she'd still been unable to face it, lying and telling him she didn't want anything from him, when all she really wanted was him.

Instead she said in a small voice, "No - I mean..."

Her voice trailed off at the expression on his face - earnest and struggling; god, struggling so hard to figure out a way to make this right, when she'd have done anything for him at that moment. Nothing else mattered. The realization brought on a fresh wave of fear, making it that much harder to breathe as he stared down at her so intently.

He didn't know how to react in the face of her dismissing the whole thing as "okay," when he knew damned well that it hadn't been.

"Seriously, Pam." He looked down at the bottle of water in his hands, then very pointedly met her eyes. "I remember enough to know that I was...way out of line."

He stopped abruptly, shaking his head, and she realized in full for the first time how much emotional currency he'd had to spend to compensate for losing control that night - when it was long overdue, and certainly could have been worse. So much worse. She wanted to tell him that it didn't matter - that he was Jim, so not once had she ever worried that he really wouldn't stop; she wanted to remind him that he'd backed off before things got entirely out of hand, that even though she'd murmured that weak "No," she hadn't done anything to physically stop him.

It killed her to see how seriously he was taking this - and it reminded her of one of the many reasons she'd fallen in love with him in the first place. So good, so much integrity.

"You weren't - " She began, but he interrupted her.

"But I was." It was a haunted whisper.

Their eyes held for a long time, both their lips slightly parted as if to say something - and then suddenly Creed came through the door, heading to the vending machine with a smile.

"Hey guys."

"Hey." They responded simultaneously, Jim looking away from Pam to rub the back of his neck, Pam shifting from one foot to the other, fingers toying with her necklace.

Soon enough, Creed had gotten what he wanted from the machine, then was headed out the door, stopping to point the candy bar in his hand at Jim. "Excellent shepherd's pie, my brother."

Pam looked up at him quizzically; Jim's brows knit, his lips pursing, then he answered, his head tilted slightly, his words slow and uncertain: "Thanks, Creed; I...put a lot a work into it."

As soon as the door closed behind Creed, they looked at one another - that Saturday night slipping away for a second, their old rapport returning.

"Did you make a shepherd's pie?" She asked incredulously.

He laughed. "Pam, I don't even know what shepherd's pie is. I mean, I know it's like meat and potatoes and peas, or something, but..."

He shrugged then, making one of his patented faces. She shook her head, laughing with him, working hard to ignore the throbbing in her throat that made it hard to swallow, challenging to breathe, even. The next silence began as a comfortable one, then soon enough morphed into something more intense.

There was something familiar lingering in his eyes that she couldn't place, though she was certain she'd seen it before. His voice was hoarse as he said, "Seriously, though, Pam... I'm - I'm really sorry; I didn't mean to --."

He couldn't finish, his eyes on the floor; his head jerked up again when she spoke.

"I know." It was barely a whisper, her head bowed because she couldn't bear to look at him right now.

"You do?" His whisper was as tremulous as hers had been. Nothing frightened him more than to consider that she might not trust him now.

She didn't answer right away, then slowly raised her head to meet his eyes squarely, bravely. "Yeah, I do. ...And I'm sorry, too."

Again their eyes held, and then he nodded cautiously, thoughtfully. Then: "Okay."

Tiny white lights lined the perimeter of the large room, reflecting beautifully off the carefully polished hardwood floors. At every table was a shallow bowl of water with white candles floating on top, wicks alight, emitting the heady scent of jasmine. Phyllis and Bob stood on the stage in the front of the room, their cheeks flushed, smiles bright.

They'd gotten married an hour and a half earlier in an adjacent room of the hotel, having decided on "neutral" ground because Bob was Jewish and Phyllis was Methodist; representatives from both their faiths had spoken, leading them through the vows as everyone watched tearily - or at least, most of them had watched with tears. Jim had only felt anxious, uncomfortable as he made sure not to let his eyes drift to where Pam sat just three people down from him, her profile in his peripheral vision.

One after another, the guests now stood and held aloft glasses of champagne, waxing rhapsodic about love - how it was so difficult to find, how it was a gift, how it changed your life, how it made everything that had gone grey and dull slide sharply into colorful relief...

She couldn't sit still in her chair as she listened, wishing the toasts would just stop, because it was fucking miserable to have to sit there at the same table with him in such a setting. Jim was across from her, Toby on one side of him, Stanley and Terri on the other; Lonnie and Darryl were at the farther end, then Ryan and Kelly next to Pam, Roy having taken a seat on the other side of her.

He'd been hesitant, shy, their eyes meeting as he gestured with the plate in his hand: "Mind if I sit here...?"

The night she'd ended up back in bed with him was little more than a distant memory to her now (strange how just making out with Jim - more or less - seemed somehow far more significant than the backsliding sex with Roy had been). Though Roy had stormed out angrily that night, he'd shown up the next morning with flowers, blue eyes searching her face as he said hoarsely, "It had to mean something, Pam. After all this time...?"

His vulnerability, his devotion - his utter innocence in the face of what was really going on (he has no idea at all about Jim) - touched her deeply, enough to let him in and make breakfast for him. She'd tried to explain it to him - leaving Jim's name out of it, obviously - and while he'd listened attentively, when she stopped speaking he was still shaking his head, desperation clouding his features.

"I just can't...." He sucked in a breath. "I can't believe that it's just...gone. Ten years, Pam. Ten years."

"I know." She looked down at her half empty plate. "You have to believe me - it's just.... I can't go back. Ever. And what happened last night can’t happen again either."

She raised her eyes, looking across at him as he swallowed hard, then she added softly, "I want to really try to be friends because...you're family to me - you always will be, no matter what. But I don't want to make it worse; I need to be able to trust that you won't...misinterpret things."

Flash of Jim's stricken face under the streetlights - he who hadn't misinterpreted anything, always picking up on everything. A stinging pain shot through her chest.

When he didn't answer, she prodded gently, "I need you to be honest, Roy...otherwise, I can't just - "

"I want to be friends." He raised his head. "I do; I can't imagine not talking to you or knowing how you're doing."

Silence fell; she waited expectantly.

"As far as the other stuff goes..." He shook his head. "What do you want me to say, Pam? I still love you - you know that; I mean...I guess I don't really know how not to."

She hesitated, then asked cautiously, "Then maybe I should leave you alone for a while...?"

"No." He answered resolutely. "No. I'll...it'll be okay."

When she looked at him skeptically, he smiled suddenly, dimples brightening his face. "Quit worrying about it, okay? I'll..."

His voice trailed off as he looked at the table, then he raised his head to meet her eyes squarely, finishing, "I'll figure out how to...move on."

He seemed to be making progress, at least as far as she could tell; they'd run into each other a few times since, and he had always been affable, cracking a joke or two but leaving it at that. Yet something in the inflection of his voice when he'd asked her if she minded him sitting next to her made her wonder.

Still she'd shaken her head, knowing Jim was watching, wondering what he was thinking. They hadn't had a real conversation in the twelve days that had elapsed since they'd talked in the break room. She couldn't really have described what their dynamic had become in that time - perhaps tentative, careful, like two old friends who'd had a massive falling out and were taking baby steps back to where they once had been.

Only they both knew they'd never be able to make it back there.

She had quickly figured out that it was over between him and Karen - it hadn't been hard to recognize, since Karen had stopped speaking to him altogether, with the exception of work-related communication. Pam watched her from behind her monitor whenever she interacted with Jim, sort of admiring the way she managed to be cool to him without coming off as childish. It was as if she'd simply let it go and moved on.

Pam marveled at the concept, wondering how in the hell Karen had managed it.

Tonight Karen sat at a table adjacent to theirs, surrounded by Michael, Jan, Dwight, Angela, Meredith, Kevin, Stacy, and Andy. She never even so much as glanced in Jim's direction, though Pam saw him cast a nervous look at her once or twice. Yet his face had seemed decidedly more anxious when he'd smiled at Pam.

It didn't matter that they had struck a tenuous truce, a tacit agreement between them to forget all about that night; all he could think about was that night, wondering whether or not she really had let it go, or whether - like himself - she was mired in replaying the things they'd said...and done.

She had to work hard not to stare at him; when Toby offered her an endearingly stumbling invitation to dance, she'd gladly accepted. Following that, she'd danced with Michael, Stanley, Darryl, and even Andy. Each time a dance was over, she drifted back to the table, vacillating between praying that Jim would ask her to dance and being terrified of the same. As if he could sense her eyes on him, he glanced over at her occasionally, giving her a small, slightly uncomfortable smile before turning his eyes back to the dance floor.

Eventually Kelly dragged him to his feet and into the mix of couples swaying beneath the glittering lights. Pam smiled as she watched them together, Kelly's hands intermittently patting his shoulders as she effusively talked on and on, Jim occasionally nodding at her indulgently. Later she watched him dance with Meredith, then he even shared a dance with the bride herself, Phyllis.

Devastating to watch him out there, such a gentleman, the way he lightly held Phyllis's hand, his other hand resting loosely on her waist, occasionally leaning down to listen to what she said, pulling back to laugh good-naturedly.

She was startled then to look up and realize that Roy was standing next to her, holding out a hand as he asked sheepishly, "Wanna dance?"

She hesitated, but then he gave her a look as if to say, It's okay...

So she stood and let him lead her onto the dance floor, gingerly resting her hands on his shoulders, appreciating that he maintained a respectful distance, as if they didn't know every inch of each other's bodies.

As if he could read her mind, he teased lightly, "See...? I can do this."

She smiled up at him, not sure what to say, then: "I'm glad, Roy. I really am."

"Yeah, me too." He nodded, his gaze traveling over her head for a second before he looked down at her again. "It's not what I hoped for - you know that - but...I don't know; I hear Darryl talk about how he can't stand to be in the same room with his ex-girlfriend, and it makes me kinda proud that we're...okay."

Their eyes met, a warmth passing between them that made her want to stand on her toes and kiss him on the cheek. Instead she nodded, murmuring, "Yeah..."

He didn't move his eyes from hers as he smiled again, then said quietly, "Family, huh?"

All she could do was nod, for fear she'd cry if she tried to say anything.

He seemed to understand, nodding again, the small smile on his lips genuine. "I'll take it."

His lips trembled just a little as he gazed down at her, but something in her gut told her that it was okay - that he was okay. That they'd managed to make it through this whole mess without losing everything entirely. She hadn't realized until that moment just how much it meant to her to have salvaged their friendship.

No matter that he didn't know the truth about Jim - better for him not to know, because it would only hurt him. And he'd never understand.

Still, the thought made her feel guilty enough to beam up at him, teasing, "Glad to hear it."

They exchanged another warm smile before he threw his head back and laughed - really laughed in the way he hadn't in so long.

Jim watched them together over Phyllis's shoulder, struggling to listen to what she was saying while at the same time keenly focused on Pam and Roy, his eyes raking over them both, searching their body language for clues that would indicate that maybe she was slipping back into it. He had to admit that Roy had been pretty damned impressive lately, with the lean physique and the beard and the suddenly sensitive demeanor; in the few times that Jim had seen him interact with Pam, he was caught off guard by the transformation in Roy's treatment of her. He was respectful now, cautious - having clearly learned the hard way why he should never have taken her for granted.

As for Pam, he couldn't really gauge what her feelings were for Roy now. She was always polite to him, sometimes even seemed genuinely happy to see him. But now this...? To Jim's trained eye, they definitely seemed to be sharing a moment. He was laughing as he looked down at her, and the way she was gazing up at him reminded Jim of the dance they'd shared after he'd set the date on the Booze Cruise.

He forced himself to look away then, working hard at distracting himself.

He made it back to their table before she did, and when she finally returned, sitting down with a tired sigh, she tried to meet his eyes, but he wouldn't look at her. She wasn’t sure what to make of that – was he upset that she’d danced with Roy? Because he really had no right to be….

Jan had approached the table then, laying a hand on Jim's shoulder as she asked playfully, "Care to dance with me?"

When he turned in surprise, her smile softened. "Okay, so it's not...just for the dance; I really want to talk about how things are progressing with Hammermill."

Pam marveled at the change in her since she and Michael had been together (though Jan still hadn't publicly acknowledged it, in spite of the email); she was softer now, more human...and clearly happy. Pam glanced over at the other table to see Michael watching Jan, adoration all over his face. He realized then that Pam was watching him and flushed, looking away and then looking right back at her, snorting and chuckling to himself when Pam gave him a sly smile and a wink.

"Seriously, Jan..." Jim was teasing her as he rose, taking her arm and leading her away. "Do you ever leave the work at the office?"

Jan laughed then, turning to face him, her hands stealing up around his neck. For a split second, Pam was seized with an irrational jealousy - Jan was so gorgeous and together and so...not her. But as she watched Jim talk to her, she recognized the subtlest difference in his demeanor - he was still warm, his smile every bit as wide, but his expression was markedly different than the way it was when he was looking down at her. Very, very different.

And there was definitely a reason he’d avoided asking her to dance – had danced with every other female from work but Pam.

It occurred to her then that this - tonight - was her chance to just step up and do it. She stared harder at Jim and Jan as they danced, hearing the song in the background and feeling a lump in her throat, wondering if he was paying attention to the lyrics.

He was glad when Jan fell silent, shifting a little closer to him, her cheek just barely resting against his shoulder. They'd been talking business when he'd suddenly become very much aware of the song in the background - one he'd heard a million times, though it had never given him pause before. But in the silence that subsequently fell, the lyrics felt intensely personal, particularly in light of the fact that he knew Pam was in this very room, hearing that same song. Had it affected her the same way? Probably not.

And then he dared to steal a glance over to their table, seeing Toby and Darryl chatting animatedly about something as Kelly leaned across Ryan to talk to Meredith. ...And there was Pam, her eyes on him - huge, watery; her face was the same ashen color it had been on Casino Night.

The fact that she didn't look away when their eyes met told him that yes, she was hearing it and yes, she was feeling it.

He couldn't help but feel relieved when the dance was over - when the song was over - though by the time he made it back to their table, Pam was nowhere to be seen.

------------------------------

As the night wore on, waiters in dressed in black and white drifted among the crowd, offering champagne to those who mingled; the open bar was a magnet for those who did not.

He'd been at the bar waiting for his second gin and tonic when he'd heard her voice behind him, small, hesitant: "Jim...?"

He turned abruptly, surprised to see her standing there clutching the shredded remains of a cream colored napkin with the date and Phyllis and Bob's names on it.

"Hey." He smiled, then turned back to the bartender to accept his gin and tonic with a murmured, "Thanks."

Then he glanced back at Pam. "Do you want something to drink...?"

"Yes." She answered quickly - a little too quickly.

His smile was crooked. "What’ll it be?"

She wasn't much of a drinker, so she didn't know a lot about mixed drinks. "Anything. I don't know."

Again he grinned at her, their eyes meeting; she smiled impishly at him, and he could've sworn his insides were caving in on him.

He hesitated, then: "So how stiff of a drink do you want? Are we talking mild, or - "

"Strong." She blurted, knowing he'd see right through her - would understand why - but she just didn't care.

He chuckled, but it was a troubled laugh. "Okay."

He turned back to the bartender, smiling. "Long Island iced tea."

When he turned to face her again, she was looking up at him quizzically; she tried to ignore the width of his shoulders in the black jacket he wore, the faint five o'clock shadow that darkened his face now.

"So...what's a Long Island iced tea?"

"You really want to know?" He asked, more to stall than anything else.

Her eyes didn't waver; there was something flirtatious in her smile that was vaguely familiar. "Yeah. So...? Spill it, Halpert; what poison did you order for me?"

He laughed nervously, wishing she hadn't worn a dress that barely skimmed her shoulders, molding her small waist and accentuating her breasts in such a way that he felt fifteen years old again, having to consciously remind himself not to stare at her cleavage.

"Well....it's got a little of everything: tequila, rum, vodka, gin, triple sec, and a little bit of coke." As he ran down the list, he felt strangely guilty; after all, it was a drink that would knock anyone out, much less a girl who probably weighed little more than a hundred pounds and wasn't much of a drinker.

She laughed at all the ingredients he rattled off, laughing harder when the bartender re-appeared, handing Jim the drink; Jim, in turn, held it out to her gingerly as she giggled.

"I think I'm actually afraid of this." She teased, taking a sip from the straw and then immediately drawing back, making a face. "Holy god."

"Hey, you said you wanted it strong." He couldn't tear his eyes from her face, absolutely enchanted with her. "Seriously, though - do you want me to get you something else? Honestly, that's a pretty...heavy drink."

"Nope." She grinned happily up at him. "I can handle it."

He gave her a skeptical look, one eyebrow cocked. She resisted the urge to hug him.

Instead, without thinking she said, "Besides, if I get drunk off my ass, I trust you to keep an eye on me."

She'd been alluding to the Dundies, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them, instantly thinking of that night a few weeks ago. Her eyes skipped to his; he looked away guiltily.

It was the moment that made the decision for her.

"Hey..." She failed in her attempt at sounding nonchalant. "I actually wanted to, um, to talk to you."

"Oh?" He tried not to appear panicked, knowing he probably looked exactly that.

"Yeah, I..." She glanced around as Andy sidled up to the bar, giving them both the once over.

"Tuna." He nodded at Jim, then pointed at Pam. "You owe me another dance, my little cabbage."

Jim's eyes met hers, his eyebrows raised. My little cabbage?

She gave him a slight shrug, then smiled at Andy. "Sure...in a little while."

Andy pointed at her again, giving her his best sexy face before saying seductively, "I’ll be waiting…"

"I’m sure you will." She smiled uncomfortably at him as Jim watched, bemused.

She waited for him to walk away, then gestured with her head for Jim to follow her out of the room as she headed toward the nearest hallway, unsure of exactly where she was going.

Once they'd made their way deeply enough into the hall to be obstructed from the view of the main reception area, she turned to face him.

"'My little cabbage?' ...Beesly, is there something you'd like to share with me?" He was struggling to ignore the fact that she'd led him into a dark and secluded alcove.

The way she was giggling up at him, taking a sip of her drink, made him feel a little better.

"If I weren't so tired, I'd have come up with an awesome backstory for the whole 'cabbage' thing." She grinned. "But honestly? I have no idea where that came from."

He laughed, but his nerves were getting the best of him. Okay, so why did you lead me in here, Pam?

She was trying not to let the trembling take over her, so afraid he'd see... But she knew she couldn't leave this hotel without coming clean to him; the outcome didn't matter - whether he told her to go to hell or just sadly told her it was too late - she had to do this. Had to do it.

And here they were in a darkened, shallow hallway that was relatively secluded - just a swinging door to the kitchen at one end, a ladies' room on the left wall, a men's on the opposite one, and two unmarked, closed doors on either side of them.

She shifted on her feet, took in a deep breath, then another; she held her drink in one hand, the tattered napkin clutched in the other. For a moment she was absolutely terrified at what she felt when she looked up at him - so handsome in his suit, his eyes as soft and slightly uncertain as they'd always been when he looked at her.

Staring into those eyes had initially made her freeze, but the longer she held his gaze, the more she began to relax in subtle degrees. It's okay; even if he doesn't feel it anymore, he won't be cruel about it. You have to tell him.

"There's a lot that I want to say." Her voice quivered.

He blinked. "Okay."

"So I'm just going to start talking."

He nodded once, giving her a small, slightly bewildered smile as he repeated cautiously, "Okay..."

She took a deep breath. "I didn't mean for the other night to happen."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back and start all over; what she'd meant to say was that she regretted the stupid things she'd said to him, the way she’d pushed him away when all she’d really wanted to do was just give in, let go.

Suddenly an older woman wearing a leopard print dress and far too much perfume appeared, flashing Jim a smile before she murmured, "Excuse me," then disappearing into the ladies' room. They paused in the face of the interruption, waiting until the door closed behind her before their eyes met again.

"That didn't come out right." She said, prompting him to look a little surprised. "What I meant was that I just - "

Before she could finish, another middle aged woman appeared, brushing past them to the restroom, the door swishing behind her.

"It's not that I regret coming over." She was trying to be brave, struggling to be blunt - to just say it. "It's not that; I just regret the way - "

This time it was a guy who interrupted them, giving them both an apologetic smile with an almost unintelligible, "Pardon me."

They smiled at him dutifully, waiting for the door to close behind him; then their eyes met, Jim waiting expectantly.

"You regret...?" He prodded gently.

"Right. I regret that I couldn't be - "

The lady in the leopard print dress re-appeared, emerging from the rest room to brush past them both again. Pam sighed deeply, tilting her head to the ceiling. ....Then her eyes rested on one of the unmarked doors just to the left of where she stood.

Without a word to Jim, she headed toward it, trying the doorknob - startled when it readily opened, revealing a small supply closet.

As soon as she saw the confined space, she felt her breath catch in her throat. I can't go in there with him; there's no way I could handle that.

And then it occurred to her that maybe this was just what they needed: a claustrophobic kind of privacy that forced them to be honest, to sort through this.

When he realized she was leading him into the closet, his first instinct was to freeze - as he was well aware of his limits, and being locked in a tiny room with her would most definitely test them.

But when he hesitated, she surprised him by turning back and whispering, "What...?"

He cleared his throat. "Do you really think this is a good idea?"

"What?" She repeated.

He gestured toward the closet. It was a tiny, cramped space, the scent of laundry detergent and ammonia wafting into the hallway, shelves on all four walls stacked with neatly folded white towels. "That - going in there. I mean, seriously...?"

Their eyes met and held, and she hoped he was picking up on what she was trying to convey to him: Anything is fine where you and I are concerned; I'm done with denying.

Instead, she simply nodded impatiently. "Yes - it's fine, Jim."

With a last inhalation of breath - as though he were entering a space with limited oxygen - he walked into the small closet, turning to face her as she stepped inside and shut the door behind her, leaving them in complete, unexpected darkness. It was, in fact, pitch black but for a tiny sliver of light beneath the door; she waited until her eyes adjusted enough to see his face - or at least the outline of it, which was all she needed.

Side by side they stood, and she was very much aware of the sound of her breathing - which suddenly seemed labored. And then she heard his as well - louder, heavier than normal - her stomach dropping.

For a few seconds she didn't speak, then: "I'm sorry."

"For what?" His voice sounded strained, as if hope had long since become a stranger to him. He was thinking of the way she'd smiled up at Roy on the dance floor.

"I’ve been so awful to you." She whispered, remembering his face that night, the way his whisper had been choked, as if he didn’t dare exhale: You're really going to marry him?

When she so much as thought about Jim marrying Karen, the pain was so sharp and deep that she almost couldn't swallow. He'd been living with this for too long.

"Pam, listen - "

It was clear from the inflection of just those two words that he was fully prepared to swallow back the things that really mattered, all in an effort to save her, make everything okay.

"No...you listen." Her voice was strained, choked. "I didn't..."

She shook her head, stopping with her jaw tilted slightly up to the left; she could feel her brows meeting in the middle of her forehead, tears stinging her eyes, the need to make him understand so desperate that she couldn't speak at first.

"He's all I ever knew." Her voice was strained. "I mean, he sort of informally asked me to marry him when we were seventeen years old - right after the prom. Do you know how..."

She didn't finish. Jim swallowed, tilting his head all the way back to look unseeingly at the ceiling, breathing heavily through his nose. Because he'd have given anything to have been in Roy's shoes - to have known her in high school, to have been the one to come first...the one who hung on her mind by virtue of the fact that he'd been at the right place at the right time.

Even as the thought crossed his mind he knew it wasn't fair to simplify the situation that way, but he was bracing himself for another rejection. Because she seemed to be headed in that direction.

Again.

God, he could handle anything other than this. He was beginning to realize, stuck in the confines of that room, that he couldn't breathe when he considered that this might well be the end of it all - what if she was heading toward gently nudging him to drop all the other stuff and just be her friend? It didn't make a damned bit of difference that her eyes followed him everywhere; they always had, but she'd not yet been able to face it, to just be honest.

...But then, she'd let go in his arms on Casino Night, and again a few days ago - even when he'd been drunk and brutal and cold to her, still she'd seemed to go limp at his touch.

He suddenly caught the scent of her hair, first sending him to another place before abruptly bringing him crashing back to reality. When had she ever really let go? When had she ever really given him a clear indication that she wanted this - one that wasn't followed by some sort of vehement denial?

Her choked, strained voice brought him out of his thoughts. "He was all I wanted; I didn't even....want anybody else, ever. Not in all those years. Do you know how...rare that is?"

She was thinking of her high school friends, who had fallen in and out of infatuations - dating this guy, cheating with that one, silently obsessing about yet another. All the while she'd been with Roy, who had fulfilled her muted needs back then; they'd never been one of those on-again, off-again couples. In fact, the first time they'd broken up had been the last, but for that single, desperate indiscretion that had really been all about Jim.

He didn't know why the hell she was asking him that - "Do you know how rare that is?"

Of course it made sense, what she was trying to communicate - that they'd made it all those years without distraction or interruption - but he couldn't understand why she fucking felt compelled to re-iterate it to him of all people. He'd heard it before, the afternoon when they'd come back from Cugino's. She'd not even hinted at a boyfriend - much less a fiance - throughout lunch, so he'd mustered the courage later that afternoon in the office to strike up a conversation with her about their uncanny, startlingly immediate connection.

He'd walked up to lean on her desk for the very first time, toying nervously with the messages filed on the edge of the counter.

"It's weird - like, I just met you, but you're so...." He smiled down at her. "...easy to talk to. It's like I've known you forever."

Her eyes were so...open, her smile genuine. "I know, right? Like... I don't know how to describe it. I can't wait for you to meet Roy."

He'd never forget that moment, the pinkish hue of her cheeks, the stupid motivational poster on the wall behind her - something about perseverance paying off. He'd always wondered if that trite message had somehow crept into his consciousness.

Those were the reasons that he stubbornly refused to answer her now, as if to do so would validate the statement about how rare her connection with Roy had been. Because he didn't fucking want to think about it.

She waited a few seconds, then went on: "You were my best friend. Like, right from the start. That first day when I met you, I kept thinking you seemed so familiar to me, and I couldn't place where or how I knew you before; I just felt like I'd known you for a long time. And I still feel sometimes like...like I can't remember a time when you weren't in my life."

She stopped with a quiet gasp, her breath catching. She desperately didn't want to cry; it was important to her that she get through this, no matter what.

His head was bowed now; he couldn't swallow, couldn't blink because if he did the tears would fall. She wasn't entirely making sense, which meant she was finally working through this.

The thread she picked up was oddly out of context, but he followed it nonetheless.

"And I was okay, you know? I was okay with the pranks and the joking and the - " Her voice broke off abruptly, and when she spoke again, the words were choked, cracked. His eyes closed at the sound. "And then all of a sudden it wasn't enough. I don't know how - and that's what isn't fair. Because I honestly just wanted to be your friend; I swear, that's all I wanted."

She couldn't go on for a second, a vision of Roy's face behind her eyes. "I wasn't trying to...to screw him over. God, he's so kind and loyal; I know you don't - ....He still wants me back, even after all this time."

He couldn't stand it anymore. "Pam - "

"No - no. It's okay now with us - me and Roy; we talked. He can handle it, and it's.... He's family, always will be, no matter - " She pressed both her hands to her forehead, a sharp burst of hysterical laughter coming from her gut. "My god, Jim - he has no idea. No idea. And that fucking scares me to death for some reason - I mean, I'd almost rather he know, or at least suspect, so that maybe this wouldn't seem so...."

She didn't finish.

"So what?" His voice was husky, the tears hovering on his lower lashes.

"So...us...alone, like it has been from that first day." She sounded so small, so scared - but a shade calmer. "Just you and me. Nobody else."

She began to cry without warning, alarming him; he groped in the dark, touching her hands, but she pulled away from him. "No, Jim – I need -"

Her voice broke off, and he knew instinctively that her head was resting against her hand, the way it always was when she really let herself cry. He'd only seen her do that a few times, and it never lost its potency - always a sharp blow to the stomach.

He stood there miserably listening to her cry, thinking he'd shave ten years off of his life if she'd just let him hold her right now.

She suddenly asked, sniffling loudly, "Did you see this coming? I mean, last year and then when you transferred - did you know from the beginning that it'd turn into this?"

The directness of her question - all that it acknowledged - should've made him ecstatic; instead, all he could think about was the state she was in: dismantled, devastated. And he still had no idea how this would end.

He could only be honest: "No."

She choked on a sob; his eyes closed again, one fist clenched at his side, the other gripping his almost forgotten drink tightly. He simply stood stock still, not opening his eyes, wishing for indifference...something, anything that would give him some relief from this raw pain.

And then she whispered in a small, choked voice: "I'm really scared..."

He didn’t open his eyes, feeling a wry smile pulling at his lips; his voice was grainy when he whispered back, "Yeah…me, too."

She had heard people say before that when you met the one, you would just know it; she'd always listened with a healthy skepticism to more than one of her friends who claimed love at first sight. She'd never believed in it herself, because one thing she had learned from Roy was that love was an investment, not an impulse.

But when she'd heard his voice - gravelly, struggling - when he'd admitted simply, honestly, "Yeah…me, too"…

It had been one of those cataclysmic moments she'd heard people talk about. For some reason, knowing that he was as afraid as she was made that very fear dissipate, in its place a hope that loomed so large she actually felt dizzy.

Without another thought, she leaned down until she was closed to the floor, carefully setting her glass down with a light clink. Then she stood back to her full height, reaching in the direction of his breathing, fumbling for his hands. He was confused at first, unsure of what she was doing when she gently took his drink from his hand. For one inane moment he wondered if she suddenly had a yen to try a gin and tonic, but just as quickly as he’d thought that, he’d realized with a quaking feeling in his gut that she was putting it on the floor next to her glass…freeing up her hands – and his.

He stood stock still in the dark, holding his breath, waiting. She groped blindly for a moment before she found his shoulders, then reached up to put a hand on either side of his head, hesitating with her hands in his hair. She could hear his breathing as it grew a little louder, sensed the tension in his entire body.

That was the moment at which she let go - the action not at all impulsive, but rather, driven by the fully conscious realization that this would change everything.

He heard the rustle of fabric, and before he could even respond, her mouth was on his. She'd almost expected him to hesitate, but he just didn't. Instead, he pulled her closer to him, pressed his body against hers, his hands skimming her back, resting at her waist. Each time their lips parted, he halfway expected her to push him away, tell him that this was wrong, that it couldn’t happen – and each time he felt the same jolt when she impatiently pressed her mouth back to his, her hands in his hair, on his face, his jaw. Her breathing was erratic; her lips as hungry as his own.

It was then that he realized with a shocking clarity that this was it; she wasn't running anymore.

It made his lips that much more urgent, his hands sliding again across her back, itching to explore further, but he forced himself not to. They stood there kissing like teenagers for an indiscernible length of time – ten minutes? Forty-five? An hour?

It didn't matter; she just knew she didn't want this to end - felt the strongest instinct to follow this through - to cross a threshold they couldn't come back from. So she lowered her head, drawing back from his lips to kiss his jaw like she'd wanted to do so many times before, his stubble rough against her lips, his skin salty, delicious. When her lips touched his neck, he immediately leaned his head all the way back as if to give her better access...or perhaps to surrender completely. Didn't matter - she was almost dizzy at all the things she wanted to do to him – more so at the realization that she was about to do them, and she knew he wouldn’t stop her.

She slowly, slowly lowered herself to the floor, her hands sliding down the sides of his legs, then gliding up to deftly unfasten his belt, the snap on his pants. His head fell back, his eyes closed as he realized what she was about to do.

"Pam..." It was a throaty moan.

"Don't." She murmured, pushing his belt aside, the weakness in her belly quickening as she leaned forward to take him into her mouth, his guttural groan enough to send a chill straight down her spine. His hands were in her hair; she was lost in him, loving the taste of him, the feel...the inescapable honesty of the act itself. No more pretending; no more hiding.

Then his hands were passing over her hair, moving to rest on her shoulders, then gently easing her to her feet, his palms briefly under her arms. When she stood in front of him, he hesitated, and she could hear him breathing heavily, then he took a few steps forward, knees bumping hers until her back was against the door. He paused in front of her, his breath warm on her face, then leaned toward her, his lips covering hers as his hands skimmed her thighs, pushing her airy chiffon skirt up to her waist. He ran his fingers lightly down her thighs, smiling against her lips when he felt a tremor run through her. Then he finally dared to lower his hand, fingers slipping into her and prompting her to jerk suddenly with a deep gasp.

He paused, giving her a chance to calm down, then he was touching her in such a way that she was writhing, alternately straining toward him then almost going limp, feeling her back hit the door behind her. She fumbled in the darkness, hands finding the sides of his face again and pulling him toward her impatiently, her lips on his, his hand driving her out of her mind.

He couldn’t believe the way she was responding to him – the heat in her lips, the impatience with which she writhed beneath his hand – but he knew his own limits, and he was a heartbeat away from the point of no return.

He forced himself to stop, to pull back, both of them gasping for breath. He tried to focus, to breathe enough to actually form words, but she spoke before he could.

"Please...." She whispered, her hands lowering, sliding down his chest to his waist, again seeking him, caressing him in a long stroke that elicited a moan from his throat. "Don't stop; I don’t want to stop."

Though her words sent an indescribable hunger straight through him, he steadied himself, pulling back to ask in a hoarse voice, "This is what you want...?"

Her answer was immediate, unwavering: "Yes."

It was all he needed to hear.

He kissed her again, then once more before he slid an arm beneath her skirt to lift one of her legs, wrapping it around his waist even as she guided him toward her, her fingers wrapped around him in such a way that he wondered if he'd even make it. When he'd pushed inside of her, both of them gasped.

" Jim..." His name was a breath, her hands on his shoulders.

"Yeah." It was a gruff moan as he fought not to let go too quickly. She moved with him, following his lead until she'd begun to set her own pace, their breathing loud and erratic. Somewhere, a part of her consciousness was hovering above, utterly shocked at was happening; but then it somehow seemed so right, so natural.

Then suddenly an unfamiliar voice close outside the door caused them to pause: "Yeah, I know. I know, man; I swear, I took care of it already."

They both froze, Jim still inside her, her back against the wall; she felt a throbbing deep down, a pulsing that she couldn't control - one that caused him to suck in a breath, eliciting a moan from her. He gently put one hand over her mouth then, something so insanely intimate about the moment - he inside her still, their eyes holding in the darkness to which they'd both grown accustomed.

The voice on the other side of the door grew fainter but still audible; though his hand was still over her mouth cautiously, she couldn't stay still for another second. She shifted, pulling back slightly then pressing forward again, tightening around him, prompting him to gasp, "Jesus..."

His hand dropped.

"Please..."

Then he was pushing closer, deeper, their eyes locked in the darkness. The orgasm slammed through her with such a force that her legs trembled; she'd have fallen if he weren't bracing them both, holding her tightly. Not long after, he, too, was shaking all over, her name a throaty gasp.

And then there was stillness - she resting her cheek against his shirt, leaning heavily against him while his head was bowed into her hair, his eyes closed.

When her legs still hadn't stopped shaking after a few seconds, she murmured, "I think I need.....I need to sit down."

"Sure...." His response immediately sent home to her the realization that they'd crossed a threshold now; things would never - could never - be the same again.

For the first time ever, the thought brought a small smile to her lips, hope looming so large she felt the need to open her mouth and attempt to articulate it somehow. Instead she let him help her slide down to the floor, smoothing out her dress when she sat down, while he at the same time adjusted his boxers, fumbling with the zipper on his pants before he sank to the floor beside her.

They sat next to each other on the floor in stunned silence for a long time, their breathing gradually returning to normal, the distant voices and music from the reception wafting outside the door. His head was spinning as what had just happened fully sunk in; she, too, was finding it hard to breathe, shocked at how quickly things had escalated.

He couldn’t help but worry that she’d regret it – maybe try to run away to some place less intense, less overwhelming. He wanted to ask her what she was thinking, if she was okay, but before he could do so, he heard a muffled giggle.

He cocked his head, wondering if he’d misheard it. "Pam…?"

And then she was full-on laughing, her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking next to his. Relief flooded over him, a slow grin spreading across his face.

"Care to share what’s so funny, Beelsy?"

She abruptly stopped laughing then – aware all of a sudden that things didn’t have to completely change; he could still call her Beesly, they could still banter, and they could even continue to play pranks on Dwight if they wanted to.

Only it would be so much sweeter now that the walls were down, that they were finally here.

"Hey." His voice broke through her thoughts; he frowned at her sudden silence, the worry creeping in. "You okay?"

"Oh yes." She answered, and he could hear her smiling. "I’m…perfect."

Without thinking, he blurted, "I’ll say."

The comment sent her into laughter once again, he laughing with her, asking, "What? I was just being agreeable…"

She laughed even harder, then took a deep breath, sighing before she said, "I’ve never done this before."

She’d expected some response from him, but he was suddenly silent. Just when she was about to ask him what was going on, he said, "Wow, Pam…if I’d have known this was your first time, I would’ve…you know, not had sex with you in a closet."

He loved it when she smacked him on the arm, laughter shaking her body once again. "You are really just…impossible – you know that, right?"

The tone of her voice erased whatever lingering doubts he’d had, as it was laced with such an obvious affection – even more than that.

Before he could say anything else, she suddenly giggled again, then murmured, "I can't believe we just did that."

He didn't respond at first, and then he suddenly burst out laughing. "Neither can I, actually... Wow."

She started laughing even harder at that, then sobered long enough to say, "I always pictured our first time to be this big...staged, romantic moment, but I've gotta tell you - this more than exceeded my expectations."

"Wait..." His hand sought hers. "You mean you pictured this? ...Often?"

She blushed, grateful that he couldn't see her face. "Maybe."

He drew her closer to him as he chuckled, awe in his voice as he repeated, "Wow."

"Oh, what, you never thought about it?" She pulled back a little, struggling to make out his face in the darkness.

"Maybe once or twice." It didn't matter that she couldn't see him; she could clearly envision the tight-lipped smile, the way his eyes would roam the room before settling on her as if to cement the joke.

Before she could respond, they heard voices nearing the door yet again; they waited them out, then she asked suddenly, "Hey...do you want to get out of here? Maybe go to my place?"

She could sense his smile in the dark. "Beesly, you already took advantage of me; there's no need for the whole going-back-to-my-place routine."

He loved the way her laughter shook her whole body, moving his by proximity.

He waited for her laughter to subside, then: "Absolutely I want to go back to your place. Like you would not believe."

She laughed at him as he stood up; she instinctively groped blindly, extending her hand in the darkness until it linked with his. He helped her to her feet, then pulled her close against his chest, his breath warm on her face for a second as he hesitated, seeming as if he wanted to say something.

When he didn't speak, she reached up to touch his cheek. "No regrets - just so you know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She squeezed his hand tightly, a girlish thrill searing through her when he, too, tightened his grip.

"Good." His voice was hoarse.

But there was something else she needed to say.

"And Jim…?"

"Yeah?"

"I lied when I said you misinterpreted things – you didn’t misinterpret anything."

She heard him swallow hard. "Oh?"

"No." She took in a deep breath, wondering how in the hell she could be so nervous in light of all that had just happened. "And…you should know that I’ve been in love with you for a long time; I was just too scared to admit it. But I’m not anymore - afraid, that is."

His eyes closed, his lips almost aching from smiling so much. This is really happening; it’s happening.

The most astonishing thing was that he felt no fear – none at all – just a resolute kind of certainty that they’d finally gotten here. And there would be no going back.

"Jim…?"

He hadn’t realized he’d gone silent. "Yeah, I’m…just thinking."

"About what?" For a second she felt a twinge of insecurity.

"About how…fucking amazing this is – you are." And then his hands were on her face, his lips covering hers as it occurred to her with a sudden thrill that she could kiss him now any time she wanted.

And the sex….

Then he murmured against her lips, "And by the way – you should know that I’ve been in love with you since the day we had lunch at Cugino’s."

She drew back. "Seriously?"

He smiled. "Seriously."

"Oh my god."

"Tell me about it."

She paused, then repeated, a girlish thrill in her voice, "Oh my god, Jim!"

He laughed, his head tilted back, then he asked, his thumbs rubbing her upper arms, "So...exit strategy?"

She paused, thinking about it, then: "We'll go back out – separately, of course."

"Of course."

"And then I’ll leave first – I’ll say I’ve got an art class early in the morning."

"On a Sunday?"

She paused, biting her lip. "Good point."

Silence fell, then, "I know! I can tell Phyllis I have cramps."

He was silent for a long moment, and then she realized what he was thinking, so she laughed, exclaiming, "I don’t – it’s just an excuse, Halpert, geez."

He, too, laughed. "What? I wasn’t going to object; I was just thinking that…"

"Shut up. I know what you were thinking." She laughed again, then: "What about you?"

"Hmm?" There was something mischievous in his voice. "Nope, no cramps tonight, thank god; they can be a real bitch."

Even as she shook her head, laughing at him, it occurred to her that this was why she’d fell in love with him – the quick wit; the ability to just go with anything…and the fact that he was just…Jim.

Without thinking, she blurted, "My god, I love you so fucking much."

"Wow." Suddenly he was dying to get out of that dark closet, just so he could see her face when she said it – not that the catch in her voice wasn’t enough. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that – much less how long I’ve wanted to...say it to you again."

He hesitated, then: "Turns out once wasn’t enough."

Her eyes closed, his breath warm against her ear as he leaned down, whispering, "I love you, too – always have."

A long silence fell as she let herself drown in the moment, then: "Okay, we have got to get out of here."

"Oh? Do you have plans?"

She reached up in the dark, not speaking until her hand made contact with his face, then she ran a finger slowly down his jaw. "Oh yes…I have big plans…"

"Holy mother of god." It was a cross between a moan and an exclamation.

"Mmm-hmm." She sighed.

"Yeah, so let’s get the hell out of here – now." He listened to her laugh. "So yeah, you go with the whole cramps excuse, and I’ll…. I’ll say my great aunt is sick."

"Do you even have a great aunt?"

"Well, no…."

"Jim!"

"Okay, okay." He laughed, holding up his hands even though she couldn’t see him. "What, should I say Jonathan’s sick?"

"Is he?"

"What? No, he’s fine – at least, as far as I know; I didn’t talk to him today…."

"No." She shook her head. "Don’t do that – bad karma."

"What?"

"He might really get sick; we don’t want to put that on him."

He smiled, then chuckled. Yeah…totally gone here.

"I know!" She snapped her fingers. "You’ve got an early morning basketball game!"

"Beesly…guys don’t get together to play basketball early in the morning."

"Do you think Phyllis will even be in her head enough to know that? It’s her freaking wedding, Jim!"

"Then why the hell have we wasted fifteen good minutes plotting plausible excuses?"

She was silent, then: "I don’t know."

He gave an exaggerated groan, then, "C’mon – let’s get out of here."

She followed him out into the hallway, cringing away from the bright lights, her eyes accustomed to the dark. He led her to the doorway of the reception room, then turned to look down at her, his expression saying so much.

It was strange to meet his eyes – looking up at him with a different kind of connection now, one that she sensed was instinctively was permanent. Their eyes held for a long moment, neither of them speaking, Stevie Wonder’s *"As" echoing in the silence.

He gave her hand one last squeeze before she turned toward the entrance, then she startled him by turning back, her eyes on his as she whispered, "Hey –"

She waited until he raised his chin in recognition, then she simply said, "I can. And I will."

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