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** So, yeah, it's 3:20 a.m. and this story is basically me at the moment - save the fact that I'm not Pam. It took 9 consecutives iTunes listens of the song, Transatlanticism, to finish this story, but I did have the bottle of cabernet, the eyes closed, and the imagination to figure out how Pam might feel when she was alone and free to think of him... That's all my attempt at an apology in case this makes no sense. I plead late night insanity.

I need you so much closer...

Death Cab for Cutie, Transatlanticism

She always put iTunes on "shuffle."

But tonight (like so many others), she poised the mouse; clicked through 37 songs before "shuffling" upon one she wanted to hear.

Before one suited her mood.

She reached for the speaker, turned it up a little louder than her neighbors might like, not caring.

Feeling free.

The Atlantic was born today, and I'll tell you how...

He'd burned this CD for her three years ago.

"Beesley, seriously, you can't not hear this band."

She took a sip of Cabernet and smiled.

Closed her eyes, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

I was standing on the surface of a perforated sphere when the water, filled every hole...

He was always there when she closed her eyes, waiting in the darkness.

Like this, it was easy to find him, to speak.

Like this, she was bold.

Making islands where no island should go...

She went to him, silent.

The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flood lands to your door have been silenced forever more...

Took his hand, noticing how his eyes grew, registered the shock, as she entwined their fingers.

He looked at her, like something old and new; full of the unspoken and unbelievable... yet always, always real.

The distance is quite simply much too far for me to row; it seems farther than ever before...

She told him the truth in these moments.

Stood on her toes, whispered into his ear.

She never knew exactly what she said, only saw his face. The way his mouth became an "O" at her words. Saw the wetness in his eyes, and felt it on her face.

And he looked back, astounded, awed, amazed... sure.

He touched her cheek, thumb wiping away tears, as her hand closed around his wrist.

I need you so much closer...

Moments were eternity waiting for him, no matter where she saw him.

But in darkness (and even in light, when he wanted to hide it), his eyes were full...

Of them.

So she let him kiss her - she kissed him - then.

Slowly.

Softly.

I need you so much closer...

Tentative.

Until she responded.

Slid her arms around his neck, hanging on the only way she knew how.

I need you so much closer...

Letting go was her favorite part.

Feeling his arms circle her waist, pull her close, so close, notcloseenough.

Urgent.

Wanting.

It moved that way, from tender to fervent, and back again.

Over and over.

Bodies.

Hands... fisted in hair; grabbing at waists, shirts; white to the knuckles.

I need you so much closer...

She never pictured the place. Maybe the office. Maybe the parking lot, pressed against her car. The front of his house, somewhere between the porch and the doorway.

She only saw them.

Felt his hands.

Lips.

Hair.

I need you so much closer...

Let him kiss her raw.

Purge the past.

Separations, Silences, Roys, Karens.

All lost, forgotten...

As his body pressed into hers, claimed her (he already owned her, she knew).

I need you so much closer...

She loved feeling this way - covered, engulfed... folded up in him.

Eyes open or closed, that's all she felt.

Him.

Even when he wasn't - didn't mean or try to be there.

So come on, come on...

Her eyes fluttered open, fingers grazed her lips... remembering.

Hoping.

Waiting.

Knowing...

She smiled, flushed.

Determined not to close her eyes again.

So come on, come on...