Pam was true to her word. She spent the afternoon flipping between game shows and old movies, indulging in both ice cream and chocolate. Even so, it didn't distract her half as much as she hoped it would. She still found her mind wandering to yesterday, reliving her moments with Jim, hearing him say “I'm with Karen” like a skipping record. It was picking at a still open wound she knew, but she just couldn't stop.

As the day wore on she also wondered where House had gone. She'd never admit it to him of course, but she enjoyed his company – most of the time. She wasn't certain if she'd even see him again, but deep down she kind of hoped she would.

Pam also worried over House's earlier comments about stepping into people's dreams. It didn't take any effort to guess who he was referring to. The real question was: what if he was serious? Could he really do that? And more importantly, did he?

Given his sudden appearance in her life, she certainly couldn't rule it out. He'd already pulled more than one rabbit out of his hat so far. How much harder could it be to walk into someone's dream?

By evening Pam was feeling restless. She was tired of television, sick of sweets, and stuck on what she should do next. She still was concerned over what House might be up to, and thought it would be convenient if she could summon him like a genie with just a snap of her fingers, or perhaps by reciting a magic word.

She laughed at her silliness but still attempted to figure out what sort of magic word a man like House would be conjured up with, but the only things that seemed appropriate were sexual innuendos. She did consider saying Betelgeuse three times fast, but figured he would find that too cliched. She snapped her fingers as if that would work, and when it didn't (of course) she decided what she really needed was to get out of her apartment. She jumped into the shower and was in her car by seven.

Being January, it was clear and cold, and the sun had set over two hours ago. Pam found the chill invigorating. She rolled down her driver's side window and directed the hot air of the heater to her feet. She didn't know where she was heading, but it felt liberating to just be out.

She zipped around Interstate 81, letting the wind whip her hair around her face and redden her cheeks. She followed it north well passed Dickson City, going as far as the exit for Lackawanna State Park. Then Pam headed back on smaller roads until she found herself on Route 6 heading south back toward Scranton. She got off the highway near Dunmore, winding her way through the neighborhoods she knew as a child, amused at the number of homes that still had their Christmas decorations up. The multicolored lights cheered her, though, and she decided to take the long way back to her apartment, looking out for more festive displays.

She would always swear that it was entirely accidental, but in her maze of travel she found herself at the intersection that would take her to Jim's apartment. She hesitated only a moment, then turned left toward where she knew he lived. She had no intention of stopping; she absolutely knew she wouldn't, but she felt compelled to drive past.

It wasn't the first time she'd been down this particular road, and if she was being honest it was a path she'd taken probably at least once a week since he'd returned. She couldn't help it. Early morning, late at night, random weekend afternoons – if she was nearby she worked his street into her route. It was a compulsion she would be horribly embarrassed to admit to anyone, but she did it anyway. She found a strange satisfaction in seeing his car in the driveway of his condo-styled two story townhouse. She imagined which windows belonged to his living room, which ones might be to his bedroom, all based on whatever lights happened to be on.

One time she drove past moments after he'd just arrived home. She watched his familiar gait take him up the porch steps and pull the mail out of the box next to the front door. He never turned around so he couldn't have seen her, but she almost wished he would have. Maybe if he had seen everything so much sooner – saw how she felt, saw what she wanted from him. Maybe if he had seen it before it became too late.

She automatically slowed as she recognized the houses of his neighbors. When she reached his, all she saw was an empty drive and darkened windows. Of course he's not home, she thought bitterly. It's Friday night. He's out with her. She couldn't even bear to think, much less say, that name. Going to dinner or a movie or sitting around laughing over a what a fool I am.

She was ready to go home, but the masochist in her pushed for one more stop. She usually ignored the urge – there was only so much she could bear, after all. But tonight she seemed determined to punish herself.

As the Dunder Mifflin receptionist she had easy access to everyone's home address. So she knew exactly where Karen lived. A couple of blocks and a turn to the right, and there it was. And parked in front of Karen's apartment building was a very familiar silver Saab.

She knew she should have expected it, she absolutely knew that. But it didn't stop the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, or the way her throat felt like it was closing up. She was grateful for the open window as she turned her car for home, for the cold wind blew the tears off her cheeks and made her skin feel as numb as her heart.

Pam felt completely worn out and deflated as she pulled back into her apartment complex, and as soon as she could headed straight back to the cocoon of her bedroom. There she slept a fitful, dreamless sleep, only to wake up for good well before dawn. She slipped an oversized old sweatshirt on top of her cotton nightdress, slipped her feet into her ratty fuzzy slippers and padded slowly to the kitchen. If she couldn't sleep at least she could make some hot tea to warm up.

She turned on the small lamp that sat on the table near the stuffed chair House had seemed to favor, and brought her steaming mug of English Breakfast with her as she curled up in the chair. She let the warmth of the cup rest between her two hands. She took slow, tentative sips until her insides were feeling as warm as her hands. When she finally finished it, she placed it on the table next to the lamp, and rested her head back along the cushions of the chair.

She started to feel slightly sleepy again and had practically dozed off where she was when she heard a sound. It was so quiet and tentative she thought she'd imagined it. But then it happened again. With the light of day only barely breaking the horizon, someone was at Pam's front door.