"You don't do it on purpose, but you make me shake."

"What?" Pam gasped, startled. The teapot she'd been filling clattered into the sink, splashing water all down her front. "Oh, shoot!"

Jim grimaced and reached for the paper towels as Pam tugged her blouse flat, inspecting the damage and desperately avoiding his eyes while she willed her pulse to slow down.

"Here," he said, wadding a few sheets together and tearing them off. She heard the faint jingle of coins as his hands returned to his pockets. She imagined his gaze as a physical, tangible force: twin molten beams she could feel burning into the top of her head as she leaned forward to dab at her shirt.

Suddenly the kitchen felt unbearably hot.

Pam laughed nervously, her eyes darting around the room--anywhere but his face--as she straightened up and tossed the damp paper towels in the trash can. "Oh well. It's just water," she said, as if the faint blotch of discoloration on her shirt was all that worried her.

Jim cleared his throat and she almost jumped, glancing accidentally at his face for a brief moment before forcing her gaze back to his shoes. They looked new; she wondered if Karen had picked them out.

"It's from this song I heard last night," he said. "The line. 'You don't do it on purpose, but you make me shake.'" He repeated each word with that odd inflection of his, like there was something funny about it. Someone else might think he was kidding, just making fun of another lame emo band, but Pam knew he wasn't teasing; he sounded... puzzled.

"Yeah?" she prompted, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. This might have been something they would have joked about in the old days, another odd conversation about nothing important that they'd both remember far longer than common sense would dictate. Now it was just... weird.

Jim just shrugged. "I don't know. I mean... it just makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

"I... no," she admitted. "I'm not following." She turned back to the sink to pick up the teapot again and almost laughed out loud when she had to grip the handle tightly to keep her hand from shaking. Maybe she understood better than she'd let on.

"He's talking about a hurricane," he said, and she heard him take a tentative step forward. "This girl's love is like a hurricane. Destructive and powerful. It makes you wonder... how could anyone stand it?" He took another step. "Something so... intense..." Another. "Do you think love really has to be like that?"

He was close enough now that Pam could feel the heat radiating from his chest. She turned the faucet off and set the teapot back down, leaning forward and pressing her eyes shut as her mind raced. She couldn't even hold onto a thought anymore; she was simply grasping desperately at fragments. Somehow, she didn't think they were talking hypothetically anymore, and he was right there behind her, waiting for an answer.

"I... I think..." Her voice wavered uncertainly, and she forced herself to swallow. Pull it together, she told herself sternly. You might never get another chance. She took a deep breath.

"I think love should be like that," she said firmly. "If it isn't powerful, if it doesn't change your life, if it's just easy and safe..." She turned around finally, almost gasping at how close he was, and looked up, straight into his eyes. "If it's just safe, you'd be lucky to wake up and realize you've only wasted ten years of your life."

His eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them, and when they narrowed to study her face, her hand reached up, trembling, to cup his cheek. "If it doesn't make you shake, Jim... what's the point?"

She felt his fingers encircle her wrist, holding her hand there against his cheek for a moment that seemed to stretch on forever. Just when she thought she'd have to shut her eyes against the dizziness consuming her, Jim finally leaned closer and broke the silence.

"Glad we're on the same page, Beesly."

She trembled as his lips finally brushed against hers, and her last coherent thought was to wonder if he'd shut the kitchen door.

Fin.