"Pam?" Jim dropped to one knee. "Pam, what's wrong?"

"Cramp," she gasped. "Leg--"

"Here," he said, pushing her hands away. "Let me." He wrapped his big hands around the calf of her leg and squeezed.

Pam shut her eyes against the pain, feeling the tears behind her eyelids. The excruciating pain exploding in her leg was her whole universe. She fought back a moan. Then she felt the pressure, the rhythm of Jim's hands on her leg, the heat from his palms as he massaged her calf.

"Is something wrong?" a severe voice asked. Dwight.

Pam kept her lips shut, afraid that if she opened them, she would start crying. She didn't want to cry.

"Charley horse in her calf," Jim said.

"I'll get some ice," Dwight said. "Since Angela is batting, I am temporary Safety Officer."

"No, that's okay," Jim said quickly. "The best treatment is massage and stretching the muscle. Here, Pam. Can you stretch your foot? Like this?"

She felt his hand move to her foot, felt it press against the ball of her foot. The gentle stretch eased the pain a little, and she nodded.

"I can do that," Dwight said primly. "As a volunteer sheriff's deputy, I have extensive training in first aid."

"No," Pam said, gasping. "I want Jim to do it."

"Very well. I will get you some Gatorade, Pam. Muscle cramps are often a result of dehydration."

Dwight walked away, his feet making crunching noises in the gravel.

Pam lay on the ground, her whole attention focused on the pain in her calf, Jim's hands massaging her. She felt an almost electrical contact from his hands. Distantly, she heard the conversation of the other players but tuned it out.

Crunching footsteps. "Here," Dwight said. Something cold and wet was pressed into her hand. "Gatorade."

The pain in her calf was ebbing. She opened her eyes, focused on the green plastic bottle. "Thanks," she said, and drank thirstily.

"You should always drink lots of fluids during exercise," Dwight said.

Pam felt Jim's hands still on her calf, massaging firmly. Big hands. Flexible fingers.  She didn't look at him. "Thanks, Dwight," she said. "I'll remember."

"Do you want some aspirin?"

Pam flexed her foot cautiously. Less pain. "No, I think I'll be all right."

"Next time remember to maintain your electrolytic balance." Dwight walked away.

Pam finally looked at Jim, and found his anxious eyes on her face. "Thanks," she said softly.

"Better?"

She nodded. The pain was swiftly fading. "Guess I should have stretched more."

Jim's hands stopped moving, but stayed on her calf. So warm. "I shouldn't have let you catch the whole game. I'll get Oscar to take over."

She shook her head. "No, I want to finish. There's only one more inning." She hoisted her Gatorade. "This will help. And ... and thanks."

He looked down, saw his hands still on her leg, withdrew them. He nodded and stood, reaching a hand down to her. She grabbed it and he pulled her up, carefully. She hung onto his hand while she tested her weight on her leg. "I'll be all right," she said finally.

"Good."

"I've got some sports cream in my bag," Jim said, nodding towards his equipment. "It won't smell great, but it helps."

She smiled, nodding. "Sure. Thanks."

Without looking at her, he strode over to his equipment bag, came back with a white tube in one hand. Pam hoisted herself onto the picnic table, stretching her leg, rotating her foot, flexing it. The pain was almost gone. She looked up at Jim standing uncertainly with the tube in his hand. She reached for it and he handed it to her. "I appreciate it," she said. She pushed up her pants leg, rubbed cream onto her calf. The warm, tingly glow felt good.

Jim hovered. "I can do that," he said.

"I know," she said. "But I doubt we'd ever get back to the game."

His eyes met hers. Laughter, warmth, and something deeper. A loud chorus of groans from the Dunder-Mifflin crew interrupted them. They looked over to home plate just in time to see Angela stamp her foot, fling a bat down, and stomp off the field.

"Struck out?" Pam asked.

Jim nodded. "Pretty much what you'd expect. Ah, here's Toby."

But Toby popped up an infield fly. And Lonny swung on every pitch the Victors' pitcher threw, and went down on three strikes.

Jim picked up the empty grape soda can and tossed it at the trash can. "Well, that was a short inning." He bent and picked up his glove.

"Let's go, Dunder-Mifflin!" Devon yelled. "This game has to end before five o'clock!"

The next inning was the last of the game. Pam struggled to catch some of Meredith's pitches, which were increasingly off target. Meredith was tiring visibly. She threw a fastball at Vance Refrigeration's top hitter, and the runner was on second base before Toby could field it. The next batter up bunted and Meredith was too slow off the mound, and now there were two men on and only one out, and Meredith waved to Pam. Pam and Jim jogged out to the mound.

Meredith's shoulders slumped. "I'm done," she said. She lifted her glove wearily. "I'm sorry guys. I'm just..."

Jim touched her glove with his. "It's okay. You pitched a hell of a game."

Meredith looked at him. "Jim, we're losing."

He grinned. "Yeah, but we're having fun, right?"

Meredith shook her head, but there was a small smile on her face. "What now? We don't have enough women for you to replace me."

Jim pursed his mouth, looking down. "Yeah."

Pam looked from Jim to Meredith. "Meredith, do you think you could work first base?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess."

"Fine. Jim, can you pitch?"

He looked at her, startled. "Me? Yeah, I guess. Hmm. Okay, Meredith, if you're up to it, we can switch you to first."

"Works for me," the older woman said. She trotted off to first base, looking happier.

"I'll let you tell Devon about the rotation," Jim said. He looked down at Pam. "You still wanna catch?"

"Yeah."

"Your leg okay?"

"Healed by your magic touch," she said, joking.

The look in his eyes was part humor, part something else. Pam felt a shiver go over her. She walked back to home plate with a spring in her step.