Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

-- John Donne, A Valediction Forbidding Mourning

"So. You're staying."

Jim shoved his hands in his pockets. This was not how he'd expected her to answer her door.

"Yeah."

She smiled, a radiant smile that set his heart on fire. "I'm glad."

He smiled back. She looked different. It wasn't the rose colored dress that showed off her cleavage (although he deeply appreciated it). It wasn't the hair falling in curls past her shoulders. It wasn't even the hint of lip gloss that made her mouth so kissable in the light spilling from her apartment. It was something else--a new confidence in the way she stood straight and looked him in the eye. The set of her shoulders, a quiet assurance. She's crossed a threshold, he thought.

So had he. "So, you hungry?"

She nodded and stepped forward, closing the door behind her. He heard the lock click, and felt her hand slip into the crook of his elbow. "I hope you have something more than grilled cheese sandwiches in mind," she said.

He looked down on the top of her head. "There's this new sushi place over on--"

"Yuck!" she said, making a face. Assertive. "Bait? No, thanks."

He led her down the sidewalk to his car, opened the door for her. "Okay, you win. Pizza and beer it is."

He closed the door on her giggle, walked around his car with a light step. There was a feeling in his chest like whipped cream or a rising balloon. Something that threatened to veto the law of gravity and send him rising on a slow arc into the stratosphere.

"Mind if I turn on the heater?" she said as he got in.

"Go ahead."

She reached over, fiddling with the controls as he started the car, turned into the street.

"I thought spring was here, but it looks like we have one more cold night ahead."

So right, so natural. As if they'd been dating forever. Why wasn't he more nervous? He'd prayed for this night for so many years, given up in despair on the thought it would ever happen, but here he was. And when it came, it felt as comfortable as an old shoe.

"Thanks for coming out with me on such short notice," he said.

She laughed. It had an easy note to it he wasn't used to. "Creed's used to me cancelling our dates at short notice."

"Oh, God. Don't even joke about that."

She reached over and patted his hand on the gearshift. "Relax, Jim." She left her hand on his and he decided he didn't really need both hands on the wheel. "What happened in New York?"

"Wallace found out I'm a Phillies fan. That was the last straw."

"So you think Karen will be Michael's boss?"

He shrugged, turning the wheel one-handedly into a left hand turn. "I don't think so." He looked over at Pam. Her profile was serene, quiet. Beautiful. "You haven't asked about Karen."

"Do I need to?"

"No."

"You just ran a stop sign, Jim."

"Oh. Sorry." He put both hands on the wheel. "I think you knew that I wouldn't take the job. Before I did."

She turned her head, looked at him. "I knew you wouldn't go. Or if you did, you'd come back."

"You knew that?"

She nodded. "Deep down, yes. I knew it."

"I should be alarmed that you know me that well, but I'm not." He smiled. Pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. "Here we are."

She looked through the windshield. "Wow. I don't think I've been here before. For a guy who just turned down a raise and a promotion, you're spending big."

He grinned as he pulled into a space and shut off the engine. "Reckless spendthrift, that's me."

In the restaurant's dim foyer, he murmured his name to the host and they were shown to a table overlooking a park. It was quiet, hushed. Candles burned in frosted glass, and a single yellow orchid in a tall crystal vase graced every table. Jim held her chair, looking down at her hair as she sat. So slender, he thought. So graceful.

He sat across from her, looking at her face. He could do that now, without guilt or reservation. Nothing to stop him now, or to stop him letting her see in his eyes what was in his heart. He reached for her hand at the same time she was reaching for his, and they met halfway. Her eyes were warm, her grave smile an admission of the importance of the moment.

"Hello, Pam Beesly," he said.

"Welcome back, Jim Halpert," she replied easily.

The waiter came up with menus. Jim took his and set it down without looking at it. He watched her open the menu, scan the prices, saw her eyes widen. When she looked up to meet his gaze, he shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Pam," he said.

"I knew it. You're blackmailing Michael, aren't you?" she said. "That's why you're rolling in dough."

"Busted," he said cheerfully. "I can recommend the partridge in puff pastry."

"You've been here before?" she asked. And then bit her lip as she realized who he'd have been with.

He reached for her hand again. "Don't let her memory be between us," he said.

"I won't." But she looked down at her menu, avoiding his eyes. "Maybe the crab cakes."

"Good choice."

When the waiter had taken their orders and gone away, Jim leaned forward. "Pam. I don't want to mess this up."

She nodded. "Me, too."

"I don't know what this will be..."

"It'll be new," she said. "Not ... not what it was."

He held his breath. "Maybe ... more than it was?"

A faint pink tinge climbed her cheek, but she looked him in the eye. She was doing that more lately, he thought. "Maybe. I mean...probably. Yes. I think so."

More than he'd ever had, he thought. The law of gravity was definitely being repealed, just for him. His mouth felt very dry. "Good," he said, almost whispering. "Good." It was all he could manage past the tight feeling in his throat and the lightness in his head.

"I'm glad you're back," she said. "All the way back, I mean."

"It took too long to get here," he said.

"Well, I never went anywhere," she pointed out.

"I know."

"I mean, just this morning, you were on your way to a job in New York. So I have to ask, are you going to stick around this time?" Her tone was light but her eyes held a hint of anxiety. "Or do I have to wait for you to go away and come back again?"

Jim ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "I finally remembered your threat to blow your brains out if I left. Can't have that."

She raised an eyebrow. "So this is a selfless act. You're saving my life."

He smiled, but felt it fade as he looked at her, as the rush of feeling in him drowned his instinct to make a joke. "I'm saving mine," he said.

Her eyes in the candlelight were dark, big, solemn. She did not smile. "Don't leave me again, Jim," she whispered.

He lifted her hand to his mouth, felt her fingers against his lips. Felt the tiny tremble in her fingers. He squeezed them, set her hand down on the table again.

"I can't."

THE END