He reluctantly pulled back when her hands rested lightly on his chest, his hands sliding from her back to span her waist – impossibly tiny beneath his palms – then moving to rest in front of him.

Her hands, too, slid down from his face to his chest, her palms lowering to rest on top of his, his hands engulfing hers. 

It was strangely comforting to let her hands rest in his, to feel the light pressure of his fingers as he gently caressed her palms.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, he gazing down at her with an awed smile, she looking up at him with wide eyes, a slight smile on her face as well.

All he could think was, This is it; this is really it.  She kissed me back; she’s standing here smiling up at me, feelings all over her face. My god, this is actually happening. 

It gave him the courage to say, his voice barely above a whisper, “You have no idea…how long I have wanted to do that.”

She felt like she was caught in a haze, distracted at the way his voice had been raspy, a little rough….intimate, sexy.

Perfectly fitting the occasion.

“Me, too.” The words slipped out before she could stop herself.  All she could do was stand there staring up at him, knowing she had to say something else, that she couldn’t do this.

Like anesthesia slowly wears off, she felt that delicious haze dissipating as her heart began to quicken again, but for entirely different reasons this time.

“I think we’re just drunk.” She said softly, knowing full well that he wasn’t drunk, and neither was she.

It was merely a last ditch effort at trying to move backward, a knee-jerk, panicked reaction to the whirlwind of emotions that were assaulting her – nothing less. 

And she knew that, too.

“I’m not drunk.” He said immediately, his tongue tangling over the words as if he were.  But he was just still reeling. 

“Are you drunk?” He asked, looking suddenly very concerned as he studied her face carefully, fairly certain that she wasn’t.

“No.” She answered, staring up at him, transfixed. 

When a grin slowly spread across his face, she couldn’t keep a smile from pulling at her own lips, even though she knew she had to stop this.

You’ve taken enough from him tonight.   

He was leaning in toward her as she stared at him, frozen, knowing she should stop him; he was moving slowly enough that she could’ve stopped him long before she actually did – at the moment before his lips closed over her own.

“Jim.” She forced herself to say. 

Immediately he stopped, backing up, giving her space even as his heart started to pound in his ears, his chest beginning to tighten.

Please don’t do this to me.

But he knew even before he asked what she was doing….what this meant.

“You’re really going to marry him?” He whispered, the words coming out all at once, a catch in his voice.

All she could do was nod, still unable to move her eyes from his face. 

I’m doing the right thing; this is a crazy moment. We’ll wake up tomorrow, and we’ll regret it.  I know we will.  

She didn’t even believe her own lies at that point, but the fear was stronger than she was.

“Okay.” He said simply, absolutely stunned, taking in her face for another half second before he raised his eyes, looking above her head, just needing to focus on something else to keep it together.

Because he had decided as soon as she’d nodded yes that he wasn’t going to push this any further. 

And he wasn’t going to beg.

He took a few steps back then, slowly letting go of her hands.  She gave his hands one last squeeze, unable to stop herself; the panic was starting to set in.

Because she knew on some deep, instinctive but barely conscious level that she’d just made a horrible, horrible mistake in letting him go. 

There had been something frighteningly still in his response.  Something that told her she’d just blown it….that he was really walking away this time.

And there was something very final in the way he’d slowly let go of her hands, then turned and walked out of the room.

________________________________________________________________________

He felt strangely calm as he waited patiently for the elevator, stepping inside, then watching the doors close, his jaw tensed, eyes straight ahead.

He was startlingly numb – very much aware of this, almost marveling at it, though he didn’t let himself think beyond just taking note of the impression:  

This is weird; I just feel….empty.  

He didn’t let himself picture her face or linger over what it had felt like to have her in his arms – knew instinctively that he couldn’t do that.

He hadn’t realized he’d had his jaw clenched the whole way home until he was in his house, where he mechanically went to the kitchen, took out a bottle of whiskey, and poured himself a glass, not even bothering with ice.

It was only when he raised the glass to his lips that he became aware of the aching in his jaw from where he’d kept it tensed.

He tossed the first glass back in one gulp, eyes stinging, chest burning. 

Immediately he poured another, then sat staring at the glass in revulsion.

And then for some reason, he found himself thinking of the expression on her face at the Christmas party when she’d taken the teapot out from under her desk, placing it on the counter in front of him, her eyes on his face.

Their eyes had met, and it had just been one of those moments when he’d known: she loved him, too.

There had been a million little moments like that – moments that had kept him hanging on, had led him to this night….to giving her everything he had to give.

It occurred to him then that there would be no more of those little moments, because it didn’t matter anymore. 

No question - she loved him; he believed it more now than he had before, because he’d felt it in the way she’d let go for those amazing moments in his arms.

Yes, she loved him, but she was going to marry Roy anyway. 

She was throwing it all away – what they were, what they could be. 

Could have been.  

And there was not a damned thing he could do about it.

The tears came on quickly, surprising him as much as the sudden emptiness had before.  He didn’t even try to hold them back anymore, just laid his head down on his arms, resting against the kitchen table as he cried.

________________________________________________________________________

She couldn’t stop shaking; it had been almost an instantaneous reaction: As soon as he’d been out the door, the tremors had begun, starting in her hands, moving to her arms, until gradually, her whole body had trembled all over.

She’d gotten a ride home with Kelly that night – Kelly, of all people.

Kelly, who chattered on, oblivious to the way that Pam sat stock still in the passenger’s seat, sitting a little too straight – as if she’d bolt at any moment - her eyes still wide and dark.

“I’ll bet you are so excited about the wedding!” Kelly exclaimed. “Seeing you tonight all dressed up made me think about how beautiful you’re going to be on your wedding day.  Pam, I am seriously going to cry.”

Pam had managed a wan smile, nothing more, shocked somehow that Kelly couldn’t just look at her and see what had happened with Jim.

Because Pam felt as if she were reeling from it, felt raw and exposed, as if anybody now would just look at her and know.

She told herself that the fact that Kelly hadn’t known simply re-affirmed that it really didn’t have to be a big deal.

Kelly had sighed as they’d pulled up in Pam’s driveway. 

“You are so lucky.” She’d said, glancing over at Pam. “I wish Ryan were as committed to me as Roy is to you.”

“I know.” Pam had said, nodding. “I’m really lucky.”

She’d run a bath when she got inside, glancing in the bedroom to see Roy sound asleep in bed, lying on his side.

A shaft of guilt pierced her chest, settled there.

As she slid into the water, closing her eyes, she told herself that tonight didn’t have to change anything.

In fact, it might just solve everything.

So he said it, finally, and he kissed me.  It’s done.  That tension won’t be there anymore, and we can start working our way back from this so that we’re truly just best friends.   No more guilt; no more feeling weird sometimes.  

This is all for the best.  Because I can’t leave Roy; I can’t just call off my wedding because things have gotten intense like this with Jim. 

The fact that she couldn’t get the feel of his lips against hers out of her head frightened her, made that quaking in her begin all over again.

And more than anything else, the pervasive sense that she’d lost Jim tonight somehow absolutely terrified her. 

She didn’t allow herself to think about it anymore, just pressed close against Roy’s back, one arm around his waist, her nose between his shoulder blades, inhaling his scent….familiar. 

Right.

….Not that searing agony that had gripped her when she’d let herself go in Jim’s embrace, feeling his arms circling her carefully, pulling her to him, his mouth pressed on hers.

She shut her eyes tighter, not allowing herself to think about those moments anymore, because they weren’t hers.  

She’d stolen them; they weren’t part of her life.

Roy was her reality, her future. 

________________________________________________________________________

His head was pounding when the alarm went off, and he didn’t even have those few moments of blissful unawareness before reality set in. 

He’d immediately remembered as soon as he was conscious what had happened the night before.

Hard to forget when everything you’ve been hoping for and working toward – believing in -- for over three years is just suddenly gone.

He didn’t let himself entertain the notion of calling in sick.  Couldn’t do that – he was determined to face this head on. 

As he stood in the shower that morning, the water almost hurting his skin on impact, he’d found himself thinking that it was important somehow that he face her today, that he not run away.

It’s like going to a funeral – you know it’s going to be excruciating and gut-wrenching, but you go anyway because you need it somehow.   

What was Aristotle’s rationale for genre of tragedy?  “To purge pity and fear….?” 

That’s what this will be – just leaving it all at the door today, not taking it with me.   

Even though I know it’s going to kill me to see her face again, at least the last image I’ll have of her won’t be the way she was staring up at me, holding onto my hands, everything about her telling me she loves me.  

Because it doesn’t matter anymore.  

He’d called Jan on her cell phone on his way to the office that morning, hoping she wouldn’t mind the early call.  After all, it had been a late night for her as well.

But she seemed happy to hear that he wanted the transfer – happier still that he emphasized his desire to go sooner rather than later.

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” She said. “A week, max – we just need to get some of the paperwork taken care of.  What about moving, finding a place in Stamford….?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He answered. “I’ll figure something out.”

She had paused, as if she might ask him something, but then she said decisively: “Okay then. I’ll get in touch with you later today with a definitive answer about how soon we can arrange this.”

“Tomorrow wouldn’t be too soon.” He said. 

She’d laughed; he hadn’t.

________________________________________________________________________

He was already at his desk when she walked in, his head down as he read over some paperwork.  He didn’t glance up when she walked in the way that he usually did – but that really wasn’t a surprise.

She swallowed hard, trying to decide what to do – whether to approach him, ask if he was okay, or whether to give him his space.

It occurred to her suddenly that she knew now what it felt like to run her hands through his hair, knew the feeling of his chest beneath his sweater – surprisingly broad, firm – remembered too well the shock of his lips on hers, the realization that this was a man who knew exactly what he was doing when his mouth was on hers.   Knew that the chemistry that had always been simmering just beneath the surface was no small thing; it was absolutely scorching.

Knew all sorts of things that she shouldn’t know.

That she certainly shouldn’t feel distracted by.

So she kept her distance, left him alone, more out of fear than a respect for his feelings….because she wasn’t even allowing herself to acknowledge the extent of the damage she’d done to him the night before.

Didn’t even let it register.

Her curiosity had certainly been piqued when he’d gone into Michael’s office and closed the door, emerging looking weary a full hour later.  When Michael had come out shortly thereafter, his eyes were red, face flushed as if he were upset.

Was he in there talking about what happened last night….?

She thought. While she could certainly see Michael being overly dramatic about it, she just couldn’t picture Jim confiding in Michael of all people – at least not unless he was forced to.

And even then….what had happened last night?  She suspected he wouldn’t have been willing to share it with anyone, other than his brother.

At lunch, Jim had disappeared, striding out the door without meeting her eyes.

At a little after two that afternoon, Jan had suddenly shown up, disappearing into the conference room with Michael, Toby….and Jim.

Pam’s throat tightened when she saw Jim stand to follow them, a horrible dread welling in her.  She realized at that point that something was very, very wrong, but she wasn’t sure what exactly. 

She did decide, though, that she’d had enough of this silence; they couldn’t go on like this forever – had to make their peace at some point.  There was no sense in dragging this out.

He didn’t emerge from the conference room until close to four thirty, still avoiding her eyes, not even bothering to answer when Dwight questioned him about what had gone on in the meeting. 

She’d never seen him look so….resigned, so blank, as if he’d just disconnected himself from everything around him.

Again she felt the fear: cold, threatening. 

At five, when it was time to go, she watched him closely, standing up as soon as she saw him reach to turn off his computer.

Without another thought, she made her way to his desk, eyes on him.  She could tell from the expression on his face that he could feel her looking at him, but he was still avoiding her gaze.

“Jim.” Her voice was low, serious. 

She cast a glance at Dwight, who was distracted with his phone cord, unwinding it and then shoving it into his drawer, then locking it before he stood, giving her a smug stare before he picked up his briefcase and left.

Jim’s head lowered for a second, as if he had to steel himself, and then he looked up at her. 

She almost gasped at the look in his eyes – couldn’t have articulated exactly what it was, only that she’d never seen it before. 

The intensity was still there, along with the vulnerability, but there was something new there….something so weary and resigned and almost….dead.

“We need to talk.” She said quietly, glancing around as the others made their way toward the door.

His eyes lowered, his hand immediately reaching for a folder on his desk.

It occurred to her then that she’d never once talked to him when he hadn’t given her his full attention.

The fear was gnawing at her again.

Something’s wrong – really wrong.

“No, we don’t.” He said, voice flat, resolute – not sullen, just….resigned.

Finished.

“I think we do.” She was starting to feel a little desperate now; she wasn’t used to this – to his resistance.

“No, we don’t.” He repeated, still avoiding her eyes as he dropped some folders into his bag, busying himself with hooking the latch.

“Jim….” She tried to keep her voice steady. “We have to talk about what happened last night if we’re going to….move forward.”

He froze at what she’d said, his head dropping for the briefest of moments.

When he raised his head, his eyes boring into hers, they were a brilliant green, the color they seemed to reflect when he was feeling particularly passionate about something.

….The color they’d been the night before when he’d gazed down at her and said, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Pam – “ His voice caught on her name, and he paused for a moment. 

She saw him swallow hard, then he pursed his lips for a moment.

“There isn’t any….moving forward.” His eyes flicked away from hers, then he looked up at her again, scanning her expression, regret and a profound sense of disillusionment darkening his features.

“What are you talking about?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“I’m leaving.” He said, then shrugged slightly, standing suddenly and pulling his bag over his shoulder.

“Jim, don’t leave yet; we’ve got to….figure out a way to make this okay.” She reached out and caught one of his hands, then stared, startled when he didn’t respond, his hand limp in hers.

Then he slowly pulled it away, eyes ever avoiding hers.

“There is no way to make this okay.” His voice was so low that she had to lean forward to hear him.  “And I’m not just leaving right now – I’m transferring.”

Her stomach dropped.

She knew immediately that he was telling the truth, that her premonitions had been absolutely right….that this was so far out of control.

“No.” For some reason that was the word that came out, even though she believed him, knew in her gut that it was true….that it was going to happen.

He paused, and she could see that he was taking deliberate breaths, as if to steady himself.

Then, without looking at her, he said softly, his voice gentle, “I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to be….cruel.  But Pam – “

He stopped, something in his voice catching at her name.  Tears filled her eyes as she stared up at him, knowing somehow what he might say next….praying that she was wrong.

“You have to leave me alone.” She saw the tears in his eyes even though he wouldn’t look at her. “Just – it’s going to be a few days before I can go, and so I really just need….you to give me some space.”

“Why are you doing this?” She whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks.

Ryan suddenly appeared, coming out of the kitchen and stopping cold at the look on her face.

His eyes wandered from her to Jim – Jim, who stood with his bag over his shoulder, head lowered to the floor.

Ryan’s eyes met hers again, and he gave her what seemed to be a very pointed look; he didn’t look away discreetly at her tears, just stared at her for a second, then shook his head once and walked away.

“Don’t do this.” Jim’s voice was low; he continued to staunchly avoid her eyes.

“It doesn’t have to be this way.” She was crying openly now, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.  “Why can’t we still just be friends?”

He looked up at her then, eyes resting on her face, his eyebrows raised helplessly, as if to say, Are you serious?  Do you really have to ask me that?

She saw him take in her tears, could tell he wanted to touch her but refrained.

So she whispered, “Jim….you’re my best friend.”

His lips twisted bitterly for a second, then he said in a caustic tone she didn’t recognize, “Keep telling yourself that, Pam, if that’s what you have to do.”

With that, he shifted his bag, preparing to leave, but she reached out and grabbed his hand.

He turned on her then, pulling his hand away before saying in a low voice, pleading with her, “Please don’t do this.  I mean it, Pam – just….you have no right to do this to me now, okay?  Just….just leave me alone now, please.”

He didn’t look at her again, just turned and walked away, leaving her standing there next to his desk, her hand covering her mouth.

Not twenty-four hours earlier, she’d leaned against his desk this same way.  But it had been his lips covering her mouth.

And now this.

________________________________________________________________________

He wouldn’t have believed that it’d be possible to hurt more than he had the night before when she’d nodded, affirming that yes, she was marrying Roy….despite the fact that she’d just kissed him – more than once.

But being so cold to her, making her cry and ignoring her tears, then walking off and leaving her standing there….  It had damn near killed him.

He’d wanted so desperately to pull her in his arms the way he had the night before, wanted to say, “Don’t you see this….? Why are you so scared?  How could facing this possibly be harder than running from it?”

He knew immediately that he couldn’t allow himself to do that – to consider what could have been, what might have been. 

Because the reality was that he had done everything he could possibly do – had laid himself out there for her in a way that he’d never done with any woman. 

And she’d rejected him, lips on his, hands in his hair, body close to his own.