All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

"Hey," she says shyly, fiddling with something in the sink. "Lunch?"

"Yeah," you tap your watch.

The refrigerator door sounds like a jackhammer, but not louder than the silence between you.

"Gross."

You step closer, look over her shoulder, "Doing dishes?"

The face she makes reminds you of a kid who's been given a plate of green beans when they asked for a hot dog.

It's adorable.

"Yes... ick." She flings water off her hand, "Michael mixed chocolate pudding in with his coffee two days ago, took one sip and left it on his desk. It sort of... congealed. I couldn't take it anymore."

"Wow...that's... disgusting." You smile, "Should I even ask where his motivation came from?"

"The French." She says simply.

"Ah," you reply, somehow knowing exactly what she means.

"Well, I guess..." You step away, pointing stupidly at your lunch bag, like it will finish the sentence for you.

"Oh," She seems flustered, wipes at the cup with a towel, "I'm almost done. You can have the kitchen to yourself."

"No, I wasn't..."

"It's ok. Really. I'm leaving."

You don't know how, but the room's suddenly shifted.

"Pam."

"No, Jim. It's ok. I know you'd rather I not be in here, what with the limits on how often we can speak, and I'm sure Karen wouldn't like it, so..."

You don't know where it's coming from. What you did.

"I didn't say..."

"You didn't have to. Although, you say it pretty much every day. Actions speak louder than words and all that..."

She waves her hand dismissively, and you want to scream. Want to take her shoulders and shake her, ask her what in the hell is wrong with her, why she's acting this way.

But you don't.

Because it's easier to bite back.

"Yeah," you laugh cynically, "they do."

She turns on her heel, purses her lips.

Her cheeks are flushing, eyes on fire, and you know everything's about to go up in smoke.

"I suppose you mean Casino Night?"

It feels like a slap in the face. Like you've been pretending for 11 months and 12 days that she'd forgotten that night, and now she won't let you.

"Among others."

You're bitter, but so is she.

"You don't get to punish me anymore."

Her voice is steady, quiet.

Strong.

And you realize, if she wasn't ripping you inside out... again, you'd be proud of her.

"How am I..."

"How are you not?" She's not going to let you finish. "You started punishing me that night, and you haven't stopped since."

"Pam," you want to warn her. Not here. Not now.

"No!" She throws the coffee cup from her hand, and it shatters at her feet. You jump, but she's unfazed. "No. I'm..." she blows a piece of hair out of her eyes, resolved, "I'm going to talk now."

You look down at your shoes, over to the microwave... neither offers shelter.

"You left."

Your head jerks up, and you finally meet her eyes.

"You left. You told me you loved me and you kissed me and then... you just... left!"

"You know why..."

"No, Jim! I don't know why!" She stomps her foot, indignant. Ceramic shards grind beneath her toes. "When you told me you loved me, I was engaged. En-gaged."

Her voice is louder than it should be, and she says the word ‘engaged' like you've never heard it before, like you should have looked it up in the dictionary before you came into the kitchen.

"I know..."

From the corner of your eye, you see a rush of black hair, a flash of olive skin.

Karen.

You know it's too late, she's heard too much. More than you ever told her, so you close your eyes, let Pam continue, it only seems right.

You deserve the flogging.

"So it never occurred to you that it might be hard for me, too? That I might not be able to say yes to you, to be with you, right then. That moment. I mean, God... I knew there was something between us, but when you said you loved me I... I hadn't even faced how I felt about you. So..." her hand flies up in a fury, "what was I supposed to do? You know me, Jim. At least, you did..."

It dawns on you then; she's breaking your heart again.

"I'm not that person. I can't just walk away from 10 years of promises in one night. Not even for you."

She waits until you meet her eyes, forces you to hear her.

"And you wouldn't have either." She lets it sink in. "If you'd been in my shoes, you'd have done the same thing."

And you know she's right.

"So you don't get to hold it against me. You don't get to be mad because I needed to think. Because I didn't call when I broke it off. And you don't get to give me the silent treatment for getting back with him, not when you made it a point to show me how happy you were with someone else!"

"That's not fair." You finally find your voice. "I get to move on. I get to be happy."

"Then be happy! Stop faulting me for that fact that you're not!"

"I am."

She rolls her eyes at you the way she's always done Michael. "Great. Then you'll excuse me if I ask you, since you're in love with someone else, to stop being angry at me. If you're over this - me - it shouldn't matter anymore."

You think you can see your heart beating in your chest. It's roaring in your ears.

Neither of you speaks for a moment. Reality feels like a theory and you think maybe you've entered one of those movies where the two characters face off, cameras zooming alternately on both their faces, waiting for the charge.

But there isn't one.

Her hands fly to her mouth, she looks at you, tears burning the corners of her eyes, and she's gone.

You stagger backward, grip the counter, knuckles white.

No one speaks when you emerge from the kitchen. Phyllis peeks at you like a mother hen, Kelly's eyes hover above the annex wall, and Angela shakes her head in disgust, but they don't say a word. You take a moment to give thanks that Michael's in New York.

Computers hum, phones go unanswered and someone gets an instant message, the ding punctuating the silence like an alarm.

Karen is nowhere to be seen.

"Jim. The female species is very volatile. It is my suggestion you do not speak with Pam for at least..."

"Dwight." You shake your head, pull the jacket from your chair, "I'm just... I'm gonna go."

For once, he doesn't argue.