"I'm really glad you're here."

His eyes met hers, and in spite of herself, she felt a smile pulling at her lips. It frustrated her, the way that she couldn't help but give in to the easy charm of his warm, reassuring smile even though something was gnawing at her gut; her instinct was telling her not to let this go so easily.

She'd rather he have told her that he and Pam had dated for a while than confess that he'd had a crush on her, but Pam hadn't felt the same way, so "nothing ever came of it."

She noticed that he couldn't quite meet her eyes as he said that -- never mind the fact that what he was ultimately telling her was that he'd had feelings for Pam that had gone unrequited...which meant that they likely hadn't just evaporated. She knew from experience that few things quickened desire more than rejection.

She also knew that it had been completely unlike her to say, "Jim, I moved from Connecticut..."

At least she'd stopped herself before she said "for you," but the words hung in the air between them anyway. Something in his expression told her that he knew exactly what she was implying, and when she realized what he was thinking, her pride started to ache a little.

Still, she let herself believe what he was telling her - that maybe it had been just a simple crush, not a big deal. If he said it wasn't a big deal, then who was she to make it one?

So she nodded and gave him a small smile, her voice soft: "Okay."

"Okay." He repeated emphatically, their eyes meeting and holding for a second. Then he was scanning her face, clearly trying to quell the huge grin that broke out anyway.

"So...care to explain the new look?"

"Oh my god." She shook her head, realizing with a sinking feeling that her hair didn't move with her. "Phyllis took me to a beauty shop that apparently specializes in the whole 'bride of Frankenstein' look."

He burst out laughing, and even though she tried to glare at him, she couldn't muster it; instead, she simply chuckled, shaking her head again.

"Why...?"

"Oh, it was actually a pretty smart move on her part; the guy we were meeting is partial to this particular look." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "So we got the sale, at least."

"Good thing." He cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. "Because whoever did that to your hair probably depleted a large portion of the ozone layer in one fell swoop."

She laughed again, the anxiety slipping away. Yeah...it's okay.

But when they'd gone out to dinner that night, he had seemed uncharacteristically quiet and preoccupied, a darkness furrowing his brow.

"Hey."

He glanced up at the sound of her voice, his smile less a spontaneous expression than something that he seemed to feel obligated to offer her.

Still, she swallowed hard and asked: "You okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah." Again that smile with nothing behind it but a haze of confusion, his mind so clearly elsewhere.

In spite of herself, her face fell at the hollow echo of his answer; that he'd responded with an immediate and thoughtless, "What?" seemed proof positive that he was trying to hide what he was thinking.

"Are you sure?" She almost cringed when she asked the question because she really did want to let this go; the absolute last thing she wanted to do was make this an issue and obsess over it. But something was definitely bothering him.

"Yeah, I'm fine - really." His eyes met hers briefly, his large hands cupping the bottom of his glass. "Just...thinking about Dwight quitting."

"Ah." She nodded, wishing she felt reassured - but she just didn't. It wasn't that she didn't believe he was upset about Dwight leaving so abruptly; it's just that there was something evasive in his expression, a reticence there that she'd never seen before today.

She hadn't even realized that she'd fallen silent until she heard his voice.

"Hey." Now it was his turn to look concerned, his hand touching hers across the table. "Are you okay?"

She looked up at him then, searching his expression carefully. What she saw there was genuine concern, those eyes so kind, so attentive; he was clearly ready to do whatever it took to bring a smile back to her face -- much like the time he'd spent an entire day scouring the area for her favorite brand of potato chips.

That had been it for her, really; there had been no looking back after that -- in fact, she hadn't even wanted to look back. All she'd wanted to do was fall.

And so she did.

She smiled softly as she thought of that day, her fingers tightening around his as they rested loosely on the table. "Yeah, I'm okay."

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She was sitting on the sofa when the doorbell rang, her feet curled beneath her as she sipped a glass of pinot grigio. The sound wasn't a surprise; she'd been expecting it for the last forty-five minutes. But still her hands trembled when she stood, silk pajamas rustling as she set the wine glass gingerly on the coffee table, then padded toward the door.

The chain emitted a heavy scrape that culminated in a sharp clink when she unlatched it, swinging open the door to reveal Jim standing there, his lips pulled back in a sheepish, shy smile, eyes immediately searching her face.

She'd been perched there on the couch attempting to talk herself into being cold to him -- distant, indifferent. Because he'd lied to her. Lied by omission, yes, but lied nonetheless.

As she stood there gazing at him warily, she wondered if he detected the faint puffiness around her eyes. She'd spent ten minutes with her head leaned back against the cushions, a ziploc bag full of ice over her eyes to quell the swelling from the tears she'd shed as she drove home from work. She'd been frustrated at herself for crying, wishing desperately for the anger to come and assuage the raw, throbbing ache that had begun in her throat and settled into her chest.

Intellectually she knew that this should be it - that it should be so over after what he'd confessed; she told herself he wasn't worth the tears...but she couldn't shut out the nagging sense that he was worth it. She was just the unlucky one in this scenario.

The snow was still falling behind him, white flakes on his shoulders and in his hair as he pursed his lips, obviously uncomfortable. "Hey."

She averted her eyes, shrugging a little as she crossed her arms over her chest, when what she really wanted to do was step forward and throw her arms around his neck. "Hey."

A long, awkward pause fell; she kept her eyes on the floor, feeling him watching her closely, sensing instinctively that he was waiting for a cue.

When she didn't speak, he shifted on his feet, then said teasingly, "So...yeah, just wanted to stop by and say 'hey.' I'll see you later."

She knew she should stand her ground; she knew he had no right to put this on her, to force her to be the one to break the ice, but she couldn't help herself.

Without even thinking first, she took a step forward, her fingers closing over his arm as she said, "Jim, wait."

She hated herself for it.

A sad smile was pulling at his lips when he turned around to face her, something softening in his eyes when they rested on her face. She gave a slight nod, gesturing for him to come inside. He did, waiting as she shut the door behind him, then following her cautiously into the living room. He sat next to her on the sofa, silent, his eyes on his hands.

She couldn't bring herself to speak, couldn't shake the memory of the utter exhaustion in his voice, on his face, when he'd answered three hours earlier, "Yes."

Finding out that he'd once had feelings for Pam had been shocking enough; hearing him confirm that he was still struggling with them was enough to leave her reeling.

Five hours earlier when she had glanced over just in time to see him surreptitiously lower his hand behind his back, Pam so casually and easily slipping Andy's cell phone into his open palm, it had struck her suddenly that this was clearly bigger than she'd originally realized.

She'd spent the better part of the afternoon talking herself down from the ledge, reasoning that Jim and Pam were just angry at Andy for driving Dwight away; they were just trying to get back at him, nothing more.

But then during Oscar's party, Jim had seemed to forget she was even in the room; at one point, she turned to talk to Kelly, and when she turned back around, he was gone.

She'd searched the crowded room, standing on her tiptoes a little so she could see - and then she'd spotted them standing next to each other, giggling together, their huge sombreros touching. The way Jim laughed - snorting so endearingly as his shoulders hunched toward Pam - well, she'd never heard him laugh that way before. It was the strangest sound, actually -- strangled yet so...uninhibited, as if he hadn't let himself laugh that way in a long, long time.

It was a stupid thing, really, to be such a revelation to her, but the reality it revealed was unmistakable, unavoidable.

She'd known even before she asked why he was sitting alone in the conference room, his profile illuminated in the darkness by the streetlights outside, the snow falling in that mysterious, graceful way that made it seem to defy gravity. Even as she perched in a chair next to him, she knew instinctively that he wasn't hers right now; he was clearly drowning in something bigger than he was...something that eclipsed the near embryonic state that they were still in.

Even though she'd wanted to sound cold, angry - or at least indifferent - her voice was guarded, the strangest kind of awe threaded in there, betraying how utterly shocked she was at the apparent depth of his feelings for Pam. "Do you still have feelings for her?"

She wasn't even sure why she'd asked, because she knew the answer already. But she felt compelled to - hoping that maybe he'd scoff and deny it, make this okay somehow, even though she knew deep down that he wouldn't. He couldn’t.

It didn't seem fair that she could ache for him in that moment - the way his jaw tensed, his eyes fixed unseeingly on the wall across the room. He looked so unbelievably tired - weary and worn, as if he'd been through a war and lost, was left shell shocked, trying to pick up the pieces.

She wanted to touch his cheek, to tell him that there was just no need for him to look so dejected, because god, she'd do anything to make him happy; he deserved happiness...not this - this purgatory he seemed to be caught in.

She knew she was going to cry even before he began to nod absently.

When she'd asked the question, she had still been under the impression that what he felt for Pam was an overblown infatuation - certainly something to be reckoned with - but she wouldn't have called it love.

When she heard his voice - raspy, so tired, as if he had tried desperately hard to run and just couldn't anymore: "Yes" - the truth in its entirety literally knocked the breath out of her.

She'd mechanically stood, walking purposefully out of the room, striding to her desk without looking back. Calmly she'd taken her purse out of her desk drawer, sliding it over her shoulder as her left hand closed over her mouse, shutting down her computer with a few efficient clicks. She didn't look back, nor did she offer any explanation for why she was leaving an hour early.

She'd known he would show up later; it was just what he did, gentleman that he was. Didn't matter if he was in love with someone else, or --

His voice broke through her thoughts: "Hey, I'm really sorry, Karen."

She jerked her head up, eyes meeting his. Indeed he did look sorry -- guilty, regretful, ashamed, and above all else, so weary.

Because she didn't know how to respond to that, she simply shook her head without looking at him, shifting and pulling her legs up on the sofa, arms tightening around her knees. She tried to ignore the acute awareness that he was staring at her closely, silently willing her to meet his eyes.

The bitch of it was that the usual narrative just didn't work in this context: He's not worth it; there are other guys out there who would appreciate you - better guys.

It wasn't true, and she knew it; he wasn't a jerk, wasn't a cold-hearted cad or even a wimpy manipulator just looking for a temporary safe haven.

No, he seemed to be genuinely invested in this; from the slump of his shoulders and the bags under his eyes, he was clearly upset by the whole thing.

So she asked tentatively, looking away, "Will you...I mean, can you...tell me what you - why you - still...?"

She ignored the warning flash in her gut when his eyes immediately fell to the carpet.

"I don't...." His voice was throaty, low. "I can't really...say what it is."

That was all he said; she sat silently, patiently waiting for him to go on. When he didn't, she forced herself to say, "Listen, if you...if you want this to be over, then that's fine; I mean, I can handle it."

"What? No." He was looking at her now, panic lurking behind his eyes. "No, that's not what I want."

Again her pride ached and the self-loathing escalated at how relieved she was to hear him say it; she hadn't let herself really face until that moment just how much she needed him, how much she wanted him.

Loved him, even.

"Then what’s going on?" Her voice was as low and throaty as his had been.

His head remained bowed for a long time, and when he swallowed, it was with an audible gulp.

"I don't..." He shook his head, his hands linked in his lap, jaw muscles tense.

When he didn't finish, she did so for him: "You don't want this..."

"No." He jerked his head up, then stammered quickly, "I mean - yes; yes, I want this; I want...you, us. I do."

She felt her stomach quake, threaten to cave in on itself, but she forced herself to remain calm, eyeing him cooly. "Are you sure? Because I can handle it if -- "

They were words of false bravado, and thank god he cut her off before she could finish. "No - no. I don't want this to end; I don't. Please believe me."

As she stared at him impassively, his eyes green and imploring, she realized that she did believe him, even though she knew better. God, did she know better.

Still she nodded once, swallowing, then: "Okay. So what do you want?"

"You." His answer was immediate, his eyes on hers.

It was too easy - she knew that, and yet she couldn't help herself; when his eyes flicked to her lips, she felt herself leaning toward him, her eyes closing when his hands found her face - palms large against her cheekbones, lips soft beneath her own, his eyelashes tickling beside her nose.

Later as she tilted her head, eyes resting on him as he hovered above her, her hands resting on his bare shoulders, she couldn't quite grasp why it was that she'd felt so threatened before. Because his eyes didn't leave hers as he moved inside her; when he came it was with an agonized moan against her clavicle, her name on his lips, his arms tight around her.

Yes, it was easy to drown in the moment - to get lost in him.

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