Although she was already pressed against him, Karen squeezed herself more tightly against Jim, nearly pushing him sideways before he was able to readjust his weight and use his heavier frame to meet the pressure. Her head was pressed comfortably into the front of his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm all the way around her and relaxed, enjoying the feeling of her gentle breathing. Ever since the night many years ago when Jim, then a gangly, pimple-faced 14 year old, had squeezed into a one-person sleeping bag with his first girlfriend, he had loved the feeling of a woman breathing against him. The most memorable had been Pam, the day she fell asleep on his shoulder in the conference room. That feeling was burnt into his mind forever, taking it's place among the thousands of little moments which had led so inexplicably to this one: sitting under a dark sky, savoring the contented breathing of a diminutive, olive-skinned beauty who a year ago he hadn't even known existed.
The darkness and her position meant all he could see of her was a mass of flowing, moonlit brown hair, but he was sure she was wearing the easy, happy smile that he so loved seeing. He could sense it. He could almost feel her smile through the back of her head. He'd seen this smile before, although often he hadn't deserved it. The first time was at Coopers, the night of the big merger, the night Jim Halpert's brave new world crashed violently into his past.
He had navigated through that day in his mind hundreds of times, but it was worse than anything he had imagined. He knew going into the merger that Pam didn't love him, at least not the way he loved her. He had convinced himself that he had come to accept this painful fact. He had left Scranton broken hearted, only to have his hopes cruelly rekindled when he received word that she had called off her wedding. That second heartbreak had been even worse. Two weeks stretched into three, which stretched into four. More than a full month of slow, burning anguish passed before he resigned himself to the fact that she wasn't going to call, that she wasn't going to reach back into his life and save him. He hated himself for having the audacity to hope that she might have left Roy for him, for thinking she loved him back. The final blow had come at a paper convention shortly thereafter when Michael alluded to Pam dating again... looking for happiness with some stranger, somebody not named Jim Halpert.
As prepared as he was, though, to face her again, her words that night in the parking lot: "We're friends... we'll always be friends," stung him and stung him badly. So badly, in fact, that he surprised himself a bit with the urgency of the easy charm he laid on Karen that night at Coopers. He had almost forced himself to tell her how he saw so much promise for the two of them, how he wanted more. Given his mental state at the time, it wasn't a total lie, but it was close. And Karen had answered his lie with that beautiful smile that he was sure she was wearing now once again.
He turned his thoughts back to his girlfriend, intent on enjoying the few peaceful moments he had remaining alone with her before reality intervened and forced them to face what was sure to be a very awkward week ahead. About ten minutes later, though, the outside world came barreling in on them noisily in the form of Dwight, who shined his flashlight obnoxiously in their eyes and beckoned them back to the bus.
As he approached the bus, with Karen walking beside him, tucked tightly under his arm, Jim could see a blurry mass of co-workers congeal out of the darkness. They were clustered loosely around the door, waiting for the driver to arrive and let them in. As he drew nearer, their hushed conversation faded into complete silence. Jim felt Karen start to slide away from him but he pulled her back in. Over the course of their relationship he had been so strict with her about workplace affection that she had instinctively tried to assume a platonic position as they approached their office mates. He felt guilty for an instant, but quickly turned his attention back to the sea of awkwardness he and Karen were about to wade into.
Jim stopped on the edge of the crowd. It wasn't hatred or anger, but rather shock, that filled the twenty or so eyeballs that now followed his every move. Jim quickly scanned the crowd for Pam. Kelly was wearing a look of horror. Phyllis looked sad. It wasn't until his third visual pass that he found Pam. Underneath the bus, he spotted the back of her Dundee winning white sneakers. She was behind the bus, apparently sitting alone on the back bumper, her feet dangling loosely below. Karen saw Jim's gaze freeze and turned her attention to the object of his focus. She turned to Jim, almost whispering, preferring to keep their business private from the prying eyes that were still tracking them so intently.
"If you need to talk to her, now's as good a time as any..."
Perhaps Karen had laid to rest the jealous, frightened, angry side of herself. Perhaps that side of Karen had died the moment Jim fed it love instead of uncertainty. The moment he picked her. Or maybe she, like Jim, knew that this was a conversation he was going to have to have eventually anyway, and she wanted to make sure he had it while time was constrained and she was safely nearby. Was it a test... a trap?
"It's OK, Jim. I'm all right now..."
He looked into her eyes, and he believed her. They had their whole lives ahead of them. She was happy. She trusted him. He smiled at her and began to move away toward Pam. He had only gotten about a foot away when he caught himself, turned around and gave her the second public kiss of their relationship. She smiled at him and he knew things would be OK.
Jim made for the back corner of the bus, ignoring the eyes that were now darting alternately between him and Karen. He flung his body around the corner of the bus easily.
Pam looked up at him.
