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She shows up on his dark doorstep one night, wet and shivering in the rain, and the dampness on her cheeks looks more like tears than raindrops in the dim light. 

"Roy found the card," she says flatly, eyes cast down to the floor inside.

"What?" he asks, motioning for her to come in. She doesn't follow.

"That Christmas card you gave me. You know, the one where..." she trails off, unable to say it out loud- that he'd given her a card a week earlier with her Secret Santa gift where he’d confessed his more-than-friends feelings for her. She hasn’t been able to process it, doesn’t know what to do with the way it makes her feel (warm and tingly and happy, and scared to death). She's never said a word about it to Jim.

Her eyes flick to his face before focusing back on the ground again. "Okay," he says, wanting her to continue, to come inside and talk.

"He left me."

"Oh Pam, I'm so sorry." He's always dreamed of the time when Pam and Roy wouldn’t be together anymore so that he, himself, could be with her. But right now, in the reality of it, he feels horrible. He realizes that he's the reason Roy dumped Pam and the tears glistening in her eyes aren't something he's ever considered in his daydreams of this moment. "Please come in..."

She hesitates, and then ducks her head as she crosses the threshold into his house. As she steps into the light, he sees something on the side of her face that makes his blood run cold. He literally hears, in his mind, that sound from horror movies when they reveal something terrible- like a bunch of cellos all bowing a different note at the same time.

"What is that?" his voice comes out like a rush of air as he starts to reach out and turn her face toward him to get a closer look at the bleeding, bruising gash on the side of her left cheek, just below her eye. She flinches away from his touch, and he feels tears behind his eyes.

"It's just- Roy, he- he was so mad. He was drunk. It was an accident." she says weakly, haltingly.

Jim closes his eyes briefly, and then looks directly into hers. "Roy did this to you?"

Her silence and the way her eyes immediately dart to the floor give him his answer, and he starts putting his coat on. He hasn’t punched anyone since eighth grade when Sammy Friedman had decided to pick on him all day, and then top it off with a “your mom” joke. After almost getting his nose broken in return, he’d learned to pick his battles. And this is the first time in over fifteen years that he thinks someone really deserves a punch in the face.

"Wait, Jim, where are you going?" She reaches out and grabs onto his arm.

"I know everyone in the office would put money on it that Roy could beat me up in a fight, but I think right now is a good time to prove them wrong."

"No, Jim, don't!" she begins to pull him away from the door.

"Pam, he hurt you. So I am going to hurt him."

"Don't. Please, just stay with me," she says a little desperately, her voice shaking.

"Pam... I have to at least call the police and report this. He can’t get away with it."

"He won't. I'll call in the morning. It’s the only time he’s ever done something like this anyway. Please, Jim, just... I need to forget about this right now." her eyes are pleading, and as much as he wants Roy to be punished for this, he can tell that any more of this right now could break her.

"Okay," he whispers reluctantly and sighs. After removing his coat, his eyes settle on the cut on her cheek. It hasn’t been cleaned up; she must have come straight to his house afterward; it still looks messy, sticky with drying blood, the skin around it stained reddish brown. He reaches a hand out slowly to cup her chin. She winces slightly in anticipation, but she lets him turn her head so he can see her cheek better. Her eyes close at his touch.

"Let me clean this up?" He asks softly, almost in a whisper. He can’t help but feel that he's partly responsible for this. If he hadn’t given her that card…

She nods almost imperceptibly, and then follows him to the bathroom. As if reading his mind, she hops up onto the sink. She watches him as he moves about the bathroom, gathering a washcloth, disinfectant, and band-aids from the closet and medicine cabinet. She watches him quietly as he runs the washcloth under warm water, and brushes the hair away from her face with his fingers before gently dabbing the washcloth onto the cut to clean up as much of the dried blood as he can. She watches how pained he looks every time she winces in pain, and feels his other hand cup the opposite side of her face as he spreads Neosporin over the wound. She watches in the mirror as his fingers place a couple of band-aids over the gash. Tears begin to well in her eyes for the first time since she's arrived at his door. He must be aware of this, because he cups both of his hands around her face and turns it to face him. A tear slides down her cheek as she moves her eyes up to look into his, and she hears him murmur, "Oh, Pam," his voice almost breaking.

And then she finds herself crying against him- great gulping sobs of release. His arms are around her, and she just feels safe enough to let go of everything she’s holding inside. She cries for long enough that she feels Jim wrap her legs around his waist, and he picks her up, carries her to the living room, and sits down on the couch with her in his lap. He rubs her back and strokes her hair, murmuring comforting words into her ear.

After a few minutes, she pulls back a little, and looks him in the face. And he is shocked at the look in her eyes. It almost looks like desire, need.

He doesn't have to wonder for much longer because she leans forward and captures his lips between hers. At first, it's tentative and tender, slow and sweet, but soon, it feels desperate. Her hands are everywhere, and then twisted in his shirt urgently. He pushes her away gently. This isn't the right time for this. If this is going to happen, it shouldn't be when she's so confused and exhausted- right after her ten-year relationship has just ended, not after she’d just gotten beat up by her ex-fiancé.

"Pam, we can't..." Fresh tears fill her eyes. "I mean, not yet anyway. Not like this."

"But Jim- I need-"

"What?" he whispers, smoothing errant hairs back from her face.

"I need you, Jim." A tear spills over and glistens on her cheek. He wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

"Pam..." he shakes his head a little, doesn't know what to say.

"I need you. Please."

It isn't "I love you," but it's close enough for now. He knows she needs him for comfort, to just forget for a little while, to feel connected to someone, and he is the one she trusts. And he can't refuse her.

So, they climb the stairs together to his bedroom where they make love slowly in the dark. He is careful with her, knowing she needs the extra tenderness. But when she begs for him to speed up his movements, he complies, and he is glad when they both reach their sweet climax together.

And when she begins to cry, he rolls them onto their sides facing each other, wraps his arms more tightly around her, and sprinkles her face with soft kisses. Soon, she falls asleep, and her breaths become deep and even. He breathes her in, unable to sleep, love and doubts and protectiveness and uncertainty circling his mind.
 

To Be Continued...