"See you around six?" They were standing next to her car, she shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him.

"Yeah, sure." She nodded, trying not to let on that anything was wrong. It could wait; it needed to wait. Now simply was not the time.

As if to punctuate her thought, Pam appeared, bundled up in her puffy pink coat, striped scarf nestled in her collar. Karen's eyes narrowed a little as she noticed the way Pam's gaze immediately rested on Jim - who glanced around, spotting Pam and freezing just a little.

Apparently having admitted that he still had feelings for her had left him on edge whenever Pam was around - at least, whenever Pam was around at the same time that Karen herself was. The damnedest thing was that Pam even seemed ill at ease whenever the three of them were together.

It had been a hellacious morning; she still hadn't made it halfway through Dwight's client list, in spite of the fact that she hadn't even taken the time to get a cup of coffee or go to the bathroom all morning. And Phyllis was wearing the pine perfume again, so Karen had a pounding headache and red eyes before ten o'clock - but she didn't dare complain, though she did contemplate sending Bob Vance a desperate email begging him to buy Phyllis something a little less obtrusive.

Jim was on the phone with a customer when lunch time came, so she gave him a smile, then headed on into the break room. She was leaning against the counter waiting for her Lean Cuisine to finish heating when Pam appeared.

"Hey."

"Hey." She smiled tiredly at Pam, then turned back to staring blankly at the microwave, struggling to ignore the wave of resentment and jealousy that swept over her when Pam walked in the room.

"You okay?" Pam asked, looking over at her as she reached into the fridge for her lunch.

"Yeah." Karen smiled gratefully at her, the guilt biting. "I just feel like I'm going in circles and accomplishing nothing with Dwight's client list."

Pam gave her a sympathetic expression, standing on her toes a bit to open the cupboard, reaching for a napkin. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse." Karen replied dryly, the microwave beeping. "I feel like that guy who was doomed to push the rock up the hill for eternity - what was his name?"

Pam laughed, then followed her to the table and sat down next to her. "Icharus?"

Karen shook her head as sank into a chair. "No, I think he was the one whose wings melted because he tried to fly too close to the sun."

"Ah." Pam nodded, her brows knitting as she thought about it. "Hm...I don't know..."

The door opened then, and Jim walked in. Karen noticed that his jaw tensed for a split second when he saw them sitting together; she watched him as he obviously struggled to shake it off, saying a quick "hello" to them both before getting a soda from the coke machine.

"Hey, who was the guy who had to push the rock up the hill for eternity?" Karen asked him.

"What?"

"You know - in Greek mythology, the guy who was doomed to push the same rock up a steep hill - but it would always roll back down, so he'd have to start all over again." She explained. "The punishment was that he had to do the same thing over and over again - he couldn't escape it - but he never made any progress. What was that guy’s name?"

She watched, baffled, as the strangest expression crossed his face - an amalgam of guilt and fear and pain. Then it hit her: Oh my god, is that what it feels like for you?

She told herself that she was reading too much into it; surely she had to be.

"I, uh...I don't know." He finally answered, not meeting her eyes or Pam's as he sat down at the table.

She tried to sound casual. "Me either…and this is going to drive me crazy all day."

"Too bad Dwight's not here; he'd totally know that guy's name." Pam commented, unwrapping her sandwich - then she started suddenly, as did Jim; their eyes met.

"Oh my god, Pam." He was grinning at her, prompting her to grin, then blush slightly. Karen shifted in her seat.

"What?"

"You miss Dwight!" He laughed when she rolled her eyes, adding, "It's okay, Pam; I think Michael misses him, too."

"Shut up."

"Really - I know you two formed a special bond the day of his concussion, so it's perfectly natural that you'd - "

"Shut up."

Karen watched, bitter gall rising in her throat at the color on Pam's cheeks, at Jim's so obvious delight. The fact that he was teasing Pam this way - right in front of her - spoke volumes about the nature of the feelings he still had for Pam; apparently they were so pronounced that he could seem to momentarily forget that he wasn't alone with Pam - that Karen was sitting right next to him, watching it all unfold.

Suddenly the answer had come to her: "Sisyphous."

Jim and Pam turned to stare at her, both looking startled, as if they were just now realizing she was sitting there. She hated the guilt behind Jim's smile, hated that he made her feel like some stupid, jealous teenaged girl - someone who was irrational and needed placating.

The anger had slowly, over the course of their lunch, morphed into that heavy ache that was becoming more and more familiar to her. It stayed with her for the rest of the afternoon, lingering on even when her doorbell rang later that night.

She'd had absolutely no intention of bringing it up, because really, what could she say without sounding like a shrew? She knew better than to push this; frustrating as it might be, the best thing to do was just be cool - not make a big thing of it.

After all, he hadn't really given her any concrete reason to panic. So he and Pam got along well - big deal; Pam had been instrumental in talking him down from the ledge when he'd been freaking out about Karen wanting to rent an apartment a few blocks away.

But she was quiet as they ate their pizza, preparing to settle in and watch a tivo'd episode of Rome. It wasn't that she was trying to pout - god knows she wasn't even remotely interested in playing that game - but the tension that had escalated in the air during lunch hung heavily over her even now.

Of course he noticed. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She nodded and gave him an obligatory, half-hearted smile.

At that, he hit the pause button, then turned to give her his full attention. "Okay, Filapelli: spill it. What's going on?"

She really, really wished he hadn't asked - because the fact that he had, that he'd picked up on her mood right away, was just another reminder that he was an amazing guy; more than that, though, she just didn't want to bring the whole Pam thing up again, no matter how much the suspicion nagged at her gut.

So she gave him what she hoped was a convincing smile. "Nothing, Jim; I'm just tired. Taking on Dwight's workload has been harder than I thought it'd be."

"Okay." Those eyes were scanning her expression; clearly he didn't believe her. "And...?"

"Jim..." She shook her head, sighing tiredly.

"Well now you have to talk to me about this - because obviously something's going on." He shifted, moving to sit a little closer to her. "Seriously, Karen...what is it?"

She paused, blinking slowly as she debated whether or not to answer his question. On one hand, she desperately didn't want to make this more of an issue than it already was; on the other hand, she felt like it had been chipping away at her all afternoon. And maybe, just maybe he could make it okay; maybe he could reassure her.

If nothing else, gauging his reaction would tell her something.

Even as she spoke, she hated what she felt she'd been reduced to - testing him, analyzing his every expression, his every movement. "I just... At lunch today, when we were talking about the guy pushing the rock up the hill - "

Just at the mention of it, that same expression as before flickered across his face; without thinking she pointed. "Yes - that's what it was like. You looked so...struck."

She could see that he was debating whether or not to be honest. "Okay..."

"Don't do that." She shook her head, feeling the frustration starting to mount.

"Don't do what?"

"Pretend you don't know what I'm talking about." The frustration was giving way to anger. "So that's how it feels?"

She'd almost expected him to be baffled by the question - she knew she probably wasn't making much sense - but instead, his eyes lowered guiltily to the carpet.

"Oh my god." Her voice was low; his head jerked up.

"Karen, don't - "

She stood. "Why are you even with me? Seriously, Jim...this is just -- my god."

He, too, stood. "Karen, please...don't turn this into something it's not."

"Then what is it?" She shot back, the words beating in her head: Not me not me not me not me...

He didn't answer right away, then: "There's no reason for us to do this; it doesn't have to be this way, you know."

"Doesn't it?" She whispered, then turned away, pacing a few steps before turning back to him. "I hate this - I hate what it's turning me into. This isn't me, Jim; I'm not the possessive type. I'm not clingy, and I'm not paranoid either. And it makes me so...angry that you're putting this on me."

"Putting what on you?" She could see that he was starting to lose his temper. "I was honest with you because I thought it was the right thing to do, but ever since then, all you've done is freak out and overanalyze. Why can't you just...let it go?"

She forced herself to look him in the eye - he didn't look away - and even as she stood there, she knew that this was a crossroads for them, for her: She could trust him, believe him when he said it was nothing, and let it go; or she could push him further - risk alienating him and making a fool of herself.

The thing was, she did trust him; he was such a great guy, and really, he'd never given her any reason to doubt him. But at the same time, she couldn't shake that nagging fear -- and she didn't know whether to chalk it up to instinct or insecurity.

So she said: "I think it'd be easier if you'd tell me a little more."

"A little more what?" He sounded so tired, the words almost a sigh.

"A little more about what happened."

"Karen, I already told you: nothing happened." He was closer to anger than she'd ever seen him - or perhaps it was just that the weariness had gotten the best of him.

"You said in the coffee shop that day that you told her." She knew better than this - knew she ought to just drop it. At the same time, something stubborn blazed up inside her: I have a right to ask this, damn it; it doesn't make me a shrew or clingy - it makes me smart.

And so she added, "Jim, it would be...irresponsible of me to just let this go so easily."

" 'Irresponsible'?" His left eyebrow rose.

"Yes, irresponsible." Her pride flared high. "I'm sorry, but you admitted that you still have feelings for someone else - someone you work with every single day. Someone we both work with every day. And you think I'm being unreasonable in questioning you about it? What would you do if the tables were turned?"

She knew from the expression that crossed his face - the way he blinked a little faster, his jaw clenching, lips a firm line - that she'd made her point.

He didn't speak for a long time, but when he did, his voice was raspy: "Okay."

Why it terrified her that he'd given her permission to push further, she couldn't have said - maybe it was because she knew he'd be honest. Or perhaps because she was afraid he might not be.

"You said you told her how you felt." She looked down at the floor. "How did it happen?"

"Karen - " Immediately he stiffened, sitting up straighter in a slightly defensive posture.

She didn't respond, just fixed him with a pointed look; it made its mark - he seemed to realize just how much his body language betrayed, and that to remain silent would only further cement the damage.

She watched him take in a deep breath, averting his eyes. "It was after a...an office thing - Casino Night. I ran into her in the parking lot - "

He stopped abruptly, his jaw tensing. For some reason, she glanced down at his hands - only to see that they were clenched into fists on either side of him. She had to look away.

"So I just told her."

The oversimplification of what he'd said - she knew instinctively that it had to have been so much more than that - reverberated between them. She'd seen them together - had witnessed that they were close, even now; they were obviously good friends, so it likely hadn't been as simple as he was portraying it to be.

"You just told her?" She repeated. "No big deal - just said it, and that was that...?"

"Pretty much." He wasn't looking at her now; the bitterness in his voice, the cynicism coloring his expression - they shocked her, for she'd never seen this in him before.

"What did she say?" She pressed on, ignoring her pride, her instinct.

"She didn't feel the same." He answered gruffly, still avoiding her eyes.

"She said that?"

"Not in so many words. But...it was clear." He swallowed hard; clearly this was difficult for him.

"How was it clear?"

He remained stock still for a second, then suddenly turned to her in exasperation, his expression almost distorted as he demanded, "Why are you doing this? Why can't you just let it go?"

"Why can't you just tell me what went down - what really happened?" She wouldn't give in - refused to play the role of the victim, no matter how much she felt like one.

His eyes met hers and held them for a long moment, then: "She told me she was sorry I misinterpreted her friendship, and then she walked away."

It was absolutely bizarre, the mixture of relief and sadness that washed over her -- because she was immensely relieved at what he'd said, but at the same time, she ached for him. Because she certainly understood how he could've misinterpreted Pam's actions; she'd spent enough time around them to find herself wondering if maybe Pam did have feelings for him.

But hearing him say that - that Pam had told him he'd misinterpreted things - set her mind at ease almost immediately.

...So much so that she shifted closer to him, reaching out to touch his cheek. "It's her loss."

He seemed lost in his thoughts for a second, then turned to face her slowly. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah." Her smile was slow - as was his. When their lips met, she found herself pitying Pam just a little.