He watched her get dressed from bed. She wasn't really concentrating on the task at hand, just kind of staring down at the pink striped shirt she's laid out in front of her. Slowly, she put it on, her hands working with the familiar buttons.

"I like pink on you," he offered, stretching his arms out behind him, trying to will himself out of bed. For the first time in a few weeks, Pam wasn't the one to wake him up with a kiss or a touch or a whisper. He had opened his eyes to the imprint of her body on his empty mattress, heard the shower running in the bathroom. He'd just stared at the ceiling and waited.

"Don't start," she said shortly. Her tone wasn't cold or playful or angry, just... dead. Like the way she answered the phones at work.

It made his stomach twist in anger and frustration. "So, what? We have to do the whole fight thing now?"

She looked up at him. "Well, we seemed pretty into that idea last night, so why give up on the whole thing?"

"We could talk about it."

"We've talked already." She slipped her cardigan on and reached for her hair clip. "Clearly, it didn't work."

He hated that, hated that whenever they actually tried to talk about something serious, tried to actually make some head-way, they couldn't. Maybe it was because their personalities matched so perfectly that they clashed horribly where it counted. They were both stubborn, set in their ways, never willing to make choices. But then, they were both passive-- the kind that would walk away from a fight before it had been hashed out. The type that would never really say what they felt.

*****************

It hadn't been a good day, the day before. It had been one of those days, where everything seemed wrong and every little thing was just tiresome. The sky was overcast and the wind hit against the windows hard. Pam had tried to straighten her hair all nice for dinner with that night with Jim, but it hadn't worked, (as usual). And just like a 13 year old girl, she got pissed off and trudged around the room angrily, trying to find her shoes that, of course, were missing. She felt incredibly stupid and hated herself for the mood she was in, but she just couldn't help it.

At first, Jim had been really sweet and just sat on her bed pleasantly, making jokes and looking around for her shoes. Pam just rolled her eyes at him when he picked up a pair that seemed to fit the description.

"Those have straps, Jim. I told you, I'm looking for slip-ons." She threw him an exasperated look.

He raised his eyebrows and put the shoes back down. "Okay. Well, I don't think they're in here."

She slammed the closet door shut. "They're here, I just saw them," she mumbled absently.

"Dinner's at 7--"

"I know! I know." She grabbed another pair of shoes and pulled them on. "Which is really inconvieniant anyway, Jim. How am I supposed to get home from work and get ready in time to leave at 6:30? "

"If you--"

"And I don't even like Italian," she threw out, which wasn't fair, because Jim had asked her if she was okay with going to that restaurant a few days before. And she hadn't cared then, not when he had his arms around her at her front door, and she was in her pyjamas, standing up on tip-toes to kiss him goodbye. She'd just nodded and said sure, anything was fine.

He didn't bring that up now, though. He just got really quiet, the way she hated. He got all quiet and closed off, so that she couldn't reach him, not even in anger. Then he just got up and left the bedroom. She swallowed and grabbed the shoes he had picked up, pulling them on. She walked out to the front door, where he was waiting.

"Finally ready?" he asked.

"Uh huh." She nodded, trying to shoot him a sympathetic look to make up for the mood she'd been in, the wait she'd put him through.

But he was looking past her, towards the mail that was lying on the little table in her hallway. "Heard anything yet?"

"No. I only sent in my portfolio two weeks ago." A little shiver of anticipation ran through her body. "But... Jim..." She hesitated. "Remember, nothing's for sure. I just... I'm not sure if I'm up for it this year. If I waited a while--"

"Pam." His eyes flashed. "We talked about this two nights ago. It's only a few weekends a year, if you--"

She clenched her jaw. "We talked about this, and yet you still forget that it's my decision, not yours."

He shook his head, not looking at her. "Why do you get so defensive? I mean, you get angry with me when all I'm doing is supporting you."

"Jim! You don't support me!" She ignored the hurt look that came to his face as suddenly as if she'd slapped him. " If you supported me, you'd respect my decision, my feelings. You're just...." She swallowed, her innermost fears slowly coming to surface, and in the heat of the moment she had to say them, they were resting too heavily on her tongue. "You're just not satisfied with me, with the fact that I'm only a receptionist! You've never been happy with just me."

His jaw dropped just slightly, and they stood in silence for a few moments, just looking at each other. Out loud, the words sounded ridiculous. It wasn't true, and they both knew it, but she just hated him at that moment, the way he pushed her towards this.

"I'm just gonna pretend you didn't say that," he said, his voice low.

"Of course you will. Fine." She shrugged. "Let's go eat."

He didn't go around and open the passenger door for her, like he always did. For some reason, that hurt the most.

*****************

It was different from before, when they got into little spats at work. They could just brush it aside, feel regretful at home that night, then greet each other with a smile the next morning and all was forgiven.

Now, it wasn't so easy. Because now, they were lovers. Their bodies knew each other intimately. They shared everything together. They whispered to each other in the dark, felt each other's laughter through the vibration of their skin, knew every secret and hope the other had, knew how to make each other cry out. They had everything together. Now, so much hinged on each other. So much was important, all of a sudden.

Jim rested his cheek against his right hand, so that he could keep from looking at her while at his desk. They'd gone to work seperately; after Pam dressed she'd made an excuse about having to run home for something, and he just shrugged and watched her go.

He knew she was staring at him now; she had never been very subtle with those sorts of things. He was still angry with her, still hurt by her words. He didn't want to speak with her, not for a while. And yet when he looked up and saw a new e-mail from sender Pam Beesly, he clicked on it so fast that Dwight looked up from his desk, blinked suspiciously, and then went back to his work.

He moistened his lips and risked a glance up at her desk. She was sorting through the mail that had just arrived.

He deleted it and went back to work.

Two minutes later, from the corner of his eye, he saw her stand up. And then he saw the look on her face. Devastated. Only for a second, then her face went blank and she looked away, slipping out of the office.

"Pam?" He realized he'd spoken out loud, and several people looked up curiously. Quickly, he stood up and went to follow her out, before something on her desk caught his eye. An opened envelope. He knew in a second what had happened, and his heart broke. But he leaned over to read it.

He closed his eyes. This would kill her. It had taken so much, so much for her to work up the courage to apply. And she had spent hours poring over her paintings and sketches, putting together the works that she would send in. Quickly, he ran out of the office. The door to the stairwell was closing slowly. He opened it and stepped inside, finding Pam leaning against the wall, furiously brushing away tears.

"It's stupid." She blinked quickly a few times.

He swallowed, feeling her pain and disappointment just as deeply as she did. He reached for her and she let him. She buried her face in his chest, her fingers grasping at his shirt. A few warm tears seeped through the white cotton.

"I mean, I probably wouldn't have done it anyway, so it doesn't really matter," she gulped.

"I know."

"But it's just..."

"I know." He pressed his lips to the top of her head, hugged her a bit tighter. He let her cry into his chest for a few minutes, then leaned down and kissed the tip of her ear. "Hey."

She sniffled, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. "I didn't expect it," she whispered, laughing a little, and he smiled down at her. Then, "I wasn't good enough."

He opened his mouth to say something, to tell her that she was more than good enough, that she was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him, that she made his life worthwhile, that to him, she had more talent than anyone in the world and all he wanted was for her to realize how wonderful she was. But he knew they were just useless words, that right now she couldn't believe them.

"I love you," he whispered through a sigh.

"Oh, Jim..." She kissed his neck lightly. "I love you, too. I just want you to be... to be proud of me."

"I am so proud of you, Pam," he whispered, his voice straining. "Just the fact that you sent in an application-- so proud."

His words were so earnest that she had to smile. "Maybe... they said I could reapply in the spring..."

"Whatever you want," he said, rubbing her back soothingly.

She leaned up and kissed him softly, loving him so deeply that it almost hurt. "I'm sorry. About the fight."

He shrugged, talking her hand and squeezing it as they walked back to the office. "Makes things interesting."