He's staring down at her, his stomach tightening with every second that passes in this heavy, pregnant silence. He'd followed her out on the deck without a second thought, eager to escape the rowdy din inside that claustrophobic cabin.

And maybe Katy, too, even though he'd rather not admit that, even to himself.

As Pam hesitates near the railing, hunkering deeper into her coat and gazing out at the shimmering water, she's acutely aware of just how different Jim is from Roy. For one thing, she can't even imagine Jim doing snorkel shots -- at least not at this stage of his life. In college? Sure. In his late twenties, surrounded by a boat full of his co-workers? Not so much.

Plus he just seems to get the fact that what Roy's doing right now is bugging her, which is exactly why he'd followed her out here. At times it's uncanny the way he picks up on what she's feeling. And when she really thinks about it, she realizes that Jim has apparently perfected the art of quietly being there to help lift her up when Roy so inevitably lets her down.

She sighs then, admitting without really intending to, "Sometimes I just don't get Roy...."

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she regrets them, quickly adding, "I mean, I don't know...."

It's kind of a lie, because she does know -- or suspects, anyway -- and she's fairly certain that Jim knows, too. It's just easier to reside in a universe wherein blissful ignorance reigns supreme, because there are too many things she doesn't really want to know -- like what it means that Roy's inside doing snorkel shots like a nineteen year-old frat boy while Jim's standing here staring down at her like he's forgotten how to breathe.

Or what it means that Jim's always here when Roy should be, but never is.

He doesn't say anything, just tilts his head, lips parting as if he might comment but knows better, instead choosing to let the silence govern them. She's been living in this situation long enough to be appropriately wary when the pauses last too long or the silences linger, so she smiles up at him teasingly. "So...what's it like dating a cheerleader?"

"Ohhh...." He draws back, chuckling weakly as she, too, giggles; then he tilts his head, struggling to find a witty retort, when all that's coming to mind is the truth, blaring as loud as the pulse pounding in his ears: It sucks, because she's like the polar opposite of you, and it only makes me feel that much more fucking desperate when I realize that I'll never have you...never even have a chance with you.

She's gazing up at him expectantly, so he absently wets his lips with his tongue, taking in a breath and tilting his head as he dares to raise his eyes back up to meet hers.

And then he hears himself say in a voice that falters, "Well...she's not you...."

Her eyes widen, lips parting as her breath catches, because the way he's looking at her right now is almost mesmerizing; it frightens her, the intensity in his eyes, the reaction he's provoking in her. Somehow she manages to say, "So I guess that's a good thing, huh?"

He swallows hard, his eyes holding hers. "What is?"

She gives a little shrug that she hopes comes off as nonchalant. "You know...that she was a cheerleader and not an art geek."

For some reason, what she'd said almost makes him angry. He draws back, steadying himself with one hand against the railing as he lowers his head, then lifts it to meet her eyes before he asks pointedly, "You really think I prefer the cheerleader?"

It occurs to her that this has somehow gotten completely out of hand; she's not even sure when or how...only that they've crossed the threshold she's been unconsciously dancing around for months now. She feels an almost instinctive urge to run, to disappear into the cabin, because the drunken chaos going on in there seems far less threatening than the defeaning silence that's stretching between her and Jim out here.

She lifts her chin slightly, unable to hold eye contact with him for very long, because she's desperately afraid of this moment -- of the expression on his face, of all the things he looks like he might just say right now. Still, she manages to offer up a weak smile. "Well...you are dating her."

He twists his lips to the side, giving a dismissive shake of his head. Without thinking, he says quietly, "Yeah...because I can't have you."

His words send a current of shock through her; all she can do is stare up at him in disbelief, then whisper, "What...?"

He studies her face carefully, taking in her expression with a sinking feeling: her eyes are huge, her face ashen, mouth almost slack. He can't escape from the realization that he may well have gone too far -- because if her immediate reaction is any indication, she's not ready to hear it.

But now that he's started, he can't stop.

So he tilts his head, smiling sadly. "C'mon, Pam...I mean...you've got to know by now that I'm -- "

He stops abruptly, suddenly very much aware of the magnitude of what he's doing, but he swallows hard, moving past the fear and the hesitation, telling himself that he has to do this. "I'm in love with you."

She's shaking her head, her breathing shallow, her hands beginning to tremble; for a second all she wants is to shut her eyes tight, with the promise that when she opens them, the moment will have just evaporated. "What're you....?"

She stops cold when he tilts his chin as if to answer her unfinished question: You know damn well what I'm doing. So she shakes her head again, more determined this time. "No, you're -- you're drunk, that's -- "

Cutting her off, he counters emphatically: "I'm not drunk."

The silence that follows is punctuated by chants of "Snorkel shot! Snorkel shot!"

Thinking of Roy, he can't help but repeat, his lips twisted in a dry, wintry smile: "No...I'm not drunk."

He doesn't have to finish; she clearly catches his subtext: Roy's drunk, sure -- so what the hell else is new? And here I am looking out for you, just like I always do. Only I'm not willing to let you run away anymore...because we're wasting so much time.

The irony of what's happening here isn't lost on him -- that he's spent the past three years desperate to hide what he's feeling from her, when all he can think about in this moment is how much he has to make her hear him, make her believe him. So he adds, "I meant what I said; I'm.... I want you; I wanna be with you. I don't -- "

"Stop." It's a hiss as she holds up both hands as if to ward him off, shaking her head and praying the tears burning in her eyes don't trickle down her cheeks. I can't do this; he can't do this. He's gonna ruin everything, and we'll never be able to go back....

She doesn't even allow herself to truly consider what he'd said, just lets the fear of its potential repercussions silence her own feelings.

She's about to go back to the cabin, but the look on his face stops her. His head is tilted, tears standing out in his eyes, his jaw clenched, lips a tight line. She takes in a deep, quivering breath before she forces herself to whisper, "Let's just -- this didn't happen."

Her words only cement the seal of desperation he's been struggling against. "No -- Pam...god, please don't do that. Why can't we just -- "

"Please stop." It's a ragged whisper as she shuts her eyes tightly, then forces herself to add, her words catching, "You have to stop."

"Stop what?" The weight on his chest is making it difficult to breathe, because she's slipping right through his fingers, and he knows it. He's desperate to stop it, but at the same time, the utter helplessness is damn near crushing him -- because he has no idea what to do, what to say to make her let go of the fear and be honest. ...Just once.

She doesn't answer him because she can't; doesn't respond because she knows what her answer should be -- she should tell him he has to stop feeling whatever it is he feels, that he has to stop thinking there's a chance that they could be more than what they are right now.

But when she thinks about the possibility of him doing just that, it's as if she can't breathe. So she turns away, hurrying back toward the cabin with her head down, almost frantic to find Roy -- to reconnect, to regain some semblence of normality.

Because as it stands, she feels almost as if she could slip under with Jim, lose herself in the depths of all the things she's tried to run from for months now.

As luck -- or fate -- would have it, she does find Roy, much in the same position she'd left him: neck craned at an awkward angle as he sucks liquor from a snorkel, Katy clapping at his side and urging him on like the fucking cheerleader she is.

*******

He watches with a sick feeling as Roy clutches the microphone, his words slurred: "Pam...I think enough's enough; let's set a date for the wedding. How 'bout June tenth?"

She hears Katy gasp, knows that all eyes are on her, but strangely enough, it's only Jim's stare that she can feel. It's as if she's drawn in by the pull of his gaze; she finds herself turning, meeting his eyes and seeing the truth there: It'll never be enough.

"Pam....?" Roy's almost weaving on his feet as he waits for her response.

Jim hears Roy's voice as if he's at the far end of a long tunnel, but even still it's not enough to jar him out of the daze he's caught in, holding her gaze steadily with his own as he waits for her answer. The very fact that she's hesitating gives him hope; that she's staring back at him makes him almost certain that he hadn't been mistaken.

She forces herself to look away from Jim, absently licking her lips and swallowing hard, one hand slipping up to rub her neck as she finally manages, "Let's...we'll talk about this later, Roy, when we're alone."

Roy squints in confusion. "But...babe, everybody knows we're gettin' married; what's the big deal?"

A hush falls over the room as she averts her eyes, the spectre of Jim hovering in her peripheral vision. "We'll figure out a date later."

Roy hesitates, but only for a second. "Okay...hey, everybody hear that? She's the one puttin' it off this time, not me!"

*******

She has to escape again, but to a different deck this time -- the one on the opposite side of the ship, driven here by Roy's drunken obliviousness, which had panicked her almost as much as Jim's confession had earlier.

It's like there's a ticker tape running on an endless loop in her mind: This isn't what I want my life to be.

She stops just short of allowing herself to acknowledge that there's someone else who could help her create the life she's imagined since she was a girl, terrace flowers and all.

But as relentless as is the pounding in her head, she still can't manage to decipher what any of it means. Leaving Roy isn't an option she's ever allowed herself to consider, any more than letting go with Jim has been. It's like she's stuck in some sort of purgatory where the grey of the walls muddles her thoughts, makes it impossible to think clearly, to figure out what the hell she's --

"Hey." He watches as she jumps, clearly startled, then slowly turns to face him, something wary in her expression that makes his gut constrict. As if on cue, the protective instinct in him kicks in. "You okay?"

She nods, not trusting herself to say anything.

He takes his place beside her, leaning against the railing as he stares out at the same glistening water that's holding her attention rapt. He waits, letting the silence settle around them, punctuated by the gentle lapping waves that swell beneath the boat's hull.

When she doesn't speak, he takes in a sharp breath, then: "So...what happened back there?"

She knows immediately what he's alluding to, but she's not about to answer the question or even engage with him. Because her head's a mess, and none of the threads that had woven the fabric of her life when she'd stepped onto this boat a few hours earlier make sense anymore.

She doesn't answer because she can't afford to answer, and she knows it.

Given the way she'd run from him eariler, he hadn't really expected her to respond to his question -- at least not honestly. He'd known that when he'd followed her out here, but it doesn't matter. Because for fifteen minutes -- give or take -- he'd lived with the hellish knowledge that he'd tried and failed. He'd told her how he feels, and she'd rejected him, run back to her fiance.

...Only she hadn't. When she'd so obviously floundered at Roy's suggestion that they set the date, Jim had known that his instincts were right: she feels it, too.

In the face of that knowledge -- that certainty -- nothing else matters.

He clears his throat, his gaze sweeping her profile before he turns his eyes again to the endless expanse of water in front of them. "So did that have anything to do with me? With what I told you earlier?"

With that simple, direct question, he's managed to completely stun her for the second time in half an hour. She wants to respond with indignation, or failing that, at least some semblence of certainty. But when she speaks, her voice quivers, giving her away: "I don't even know what you're...."

She doesn't bother to finish, because it's a lie, and she's pretty sure he knows it.

He watches her, taking in the way her hair's blowing in the night breeze, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, her lips trembling, eyes a little too bright. And that's what decides it for him.

"I think you do." His voice is rough as he pushes away from the railing, then reaches out and in a single swift motion pulls her close. For a second he pauses, his lips inches from hers; when she doesn't fight -- just stares up at him, wide-eyed with tears hovering on the edges of her lashes -- he lowers his mouth to hers.

The shock that he's actually kissing her is paralyzing; at first all she does is freeze, not responding but not pushing him away either. In her head beats a monotonous warning that rings all too false: Push him away; this isn't right. This is wrong; it's wrong, so wrong....

She goes limp in his arms for a brief second, then her hands are on his face, stealing up to sink into his hair. She's well aware that this is an anomaly, that it can't ever happen again, but the realization isn't enough to make her stop. His shoulders are broad, his chest sturdy beneath her fingers, his body pressed close enough that she can feel how much he wants this...wants her.

And then he suddenly pulls back, breathing heavily as he traces her cheek with fingertips that are no more than a whisper against her skin. When he sees that a tear has run its course down her cheek, he tilts his head, lips twisting to the side wryly as he wipes it away with his thumb.

For a second she thinks he's going to press his mouth to hers again, but instead he takes in a deep breath, meeting her eyes squarely, his voice husky and low: "I know it's complicated."

She starts to shake her head -- habit, not instinct -- but he lifts his chin as if in defiance of her disingenous gesture. "And that's okay. ...I can wait."

Her breath catches on his name: "Jim -- "

He smiles sadly, his eyes roving her face, then: "I meant what I said, Pam."

With that he turns, hands in his pockets, and slowly walks away, leaving her struggling to catch her breath, one hand covering her mouth as the water beneath her just keeps on lapping gently, the stars glistening like diamonds against the velvet backdrop of the sky.