Yesterday it was too easy
To speak, to love, to listen
To everything you had to say
But I'm not gonna lose you this way
Everything's turning to dust
All around us
But what if our love is enough
To carry us through?
Nothing in sight
No one around
All that remains
Fall in shadow
The last thing she remembered clearly was Jim glancing at her, a half grin on his face.
The rest — the sudden bright light cutting through the night and blinding both Jim and Pam as they sat in the car, driving through the green light, her own horrified scream of, "Jim!", the squeal of tires on wet pavement — it was all a blur.
Her head was pounding, her ears felt clogged, and her eyes were heavy. Her entire body, in fact, was heavy. But as her mind finally began to clear and sense returned to her, all she could think of was Jim and the baby, Oh, God, the baby. She fought to open her eyes, to rejoin the world of the living, to reassure herself that everything was okay.
It had to be.
She heard voices. No one sounded panic. She wasn't uncomfortable, not really, and she didn't feel glass or blood or even rain. Maybe it had all been a bad dream? The fog was gone from her ears, and before she even realised it was possible, her eyes were flickering open.
Everything was blurry. She didn't have her glasses. She tried to sit up and was immediately hit by a wave of exhaustion. She was in a bed, but that was all she could process before the dizziness overcame her and she crashed back against the pillows. She took a gasping breath and her throat burned.
Machines started beeping rapidly around her and she blinked her eyes rapidly, once more trying to push herself into sitting position. "My God," someone muttered, and her head snapped to the voice. She tried to say something, but nothing came out. "Page Dr. Abbott, now," the voice went on. "Tell him Beesley is awake."
Pam trained her eyes on the woman in front of her as she approached. It was a nurse. She was in a hospital. "Hello, Ms. Beesley," the nurse greeted kindly, her eyes trying to catch Pam's. "Can you look at me? Pam?"
"Halpert," Pam rasped. At least her voice was working again. Her head started back in surprise at the flash of light. The screech of tires echoed in her ears. She blinked again, wishing the nurse would put down the flashlight instead of shining it in her eyes. "My name's Halpert now."
"Do you know where you are, Pam?" the nurse asked as her hands reached out and began checking Pam's pulse and then her heartbeat, pulling back to scribble something on a clipboard.
Pam shook her head. She really wished she had better vision. "The hospital?' she guessed.
"That's right," the nurse said, and Pam could just make out the kindly smile on her voice.
"But — but what happened?' Pam asked. It seemed she was okay. Somehow she had made it to the hospital. But she didn't matter. "Jim?" Pam pressed. "Where is he? Is he okay? Did they bring him in, too?"
"Pam —"
"And the baby!" Pam exclaimed, panic rising inside her. Her stomach was flat. She ran her fingers across it, tears welling in her eyes. Her baby. Oh God. She hugged herself. Where was Jim? He had to be okay; he had to be.
"What's going on?" There was a man in the room, one with shockingly bright red hair.
"She's confused, but all her vitals are good," the nurse explained. "Pam," she said, turning away from the man. "This is Dr. Thomas Abbott."
Pam opened her mouth to one more demand about her husband and baby, but the doctor didn't give her a chance. "Follow my finger, Ms. Beesley," he instructed. Pam did as she was told. "How are you feeling? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Pam insisted. "But what about my husband? Where is he? Did they bring him in with me?" She clutched at the man's coat sleeve before he could pull away from her. She wouldn't let him run away without answering.
"Your fiancé is fine, Ms. Beesley," he told her. "He barely had more than a scratch on him, and a nurse has already called him. He should be here any minute."
"My husband," Pam corrected, her voice a whisper. She was growing tired by the second, her arms were still tight around her flat stomach, and her vision was still blurred. The doctor and nurse were talking, were discussing her, but Pam couldn't follow their quick voices. "Dr. — Dr. Abbott?" she asked. "How's my baby?"
The man frowned. "Ms. Beesley —"
"Halpert," she interrupted. She was so proud of that title. How could they not know it? Could this night possibly get any worse? The doctor and nurse glanced at one another.
"PAM!" The nurse nearly went flying as Pam's mothered barrelled into the room. A small wave of comfort and relief washed over Pam at the sight of the older woman, her best friend, the person she loved most in this world, second only to Jim.
Her mother had her arms around her an instant later, and Pam pressed her face into her mother's sweet smelling hair. "Oh, sweet baby girl," her mother whispered, clutching her, "my sweet, sweet Pammy."
"It's okay, Mom," Pam assured, returning her mother's embrace tightly. "I'm okay."
"Oh, I know you are, I know," her mother said, her voice teary as she pulled away from Pam. She stared at her a second, her bottom lip trembled, and she pressed a kiss to Pam's forehead before embracing her again. "Oh, I knew you would be okay," her mother wailed, rocking with Pam.
"Let the girl breath, Helene."
Pam broke away from her mother to see her father standing in the doorway. "Daddy," she greeted. Was her whole family here? How long had she been out of it?
"Hey, baby girl," he greeted. He stepped closer, and to her utter relief, he held out a pair of glasses to her. She grasped them with a grateful smile and put them on to see that he wore a sheepish look. "I thought you might need them."
Pam's mother sat beside her, stroking her hair, and Pam almost felt like a little girl again, like she was seven and had just had a cast put on her broken arm. She smiled in between her parents, but her mind was still whirling and her baby was still gone and she needed Jim.
"Mom," she asked hesitantly, "what happened to the baby? Is it —?"
Her Mom tilted her head at her in confusion. "Sweetheart, what are you . . . what baby? Your cousin Lacey's? He's fine, Pammy. Why would you be worried about —?"
"No, no," Pam shook her head.
As if he knew how overwhelmed she was, the doctor interrupted the conversation. "You need to take it easy, Ms. Beesley. Your body has been through a great deal, and you'll need a few days to adjust and a few weeks before you're back on your feet again. Don't rush, alright? You're going to be fine, but you need to give your body the rest it needs."
Pam nodded numbly. "But Jim?" she asked the doctor. "You said he was fine, right?"
He looked at Pam's parents, and her eyes were drawn to them, too. "Baby," her mom began. "Do you mean Jim Halpert?" Who the hell else would she mean? "I'm sure that Jim's fine, Pam. He's even visited you a few times. But I don't understand why —?"
Pam's heart was racing. "How long have I been in here?" she asked.
Her parents glanced at one another. "Two months," her mother finally replied. Pam's jaw dropped. "We've been so worried about you," her mother went on, her voice wet once again as she tucked a lock of Pam's hair behind her ear. "You were in that accident and then you had all those surgeries and you pulled through but you've been comatose and. . . . But I knew you would pull through. I knew it."
"But Jim's okay?"
"Why are so concerned about Jim, honey?" her father asked. He glanced at the doctor.
"She's probably disoriented," the doctor explained. "Give it time." Pam had already had enough of the man. How was her asking after her husband a complicated, disoriented thing? She wished her head wasn't still so muddled, so heavy and painful. She wished her whole body didn't ache so much.
"I'm concerned because he was in the car with me," Pam snapped, "and he's my husband."
It was silent, and Pam didn't miss the way her mother's eyes went wide. Something hadn't happened to Jim, right? Of course not — they were confused for no reason. The only thing that should be shocking about this whole situation was the fact that Jim wasn't already by her bedside.
"Sweetheart," Pam's mom said. She couldn't seem to come up with anything else. Her father looked at the doctor again. Before anyone could say another word, however, yet another person entered the scene.
"Pam," he breathed. He rushed toward her only to come up short, as if unsure how to act. His face was panicked and white with disbelief. "You're okay," he said, and relief and happiness danced in his eyes. He swallowed thickly, and she was still staring when he swooped over her, pressed a quick wet kiss to her lips, and hugged her.
It was Roy.
It was then that Pam realised something much, much worse than anything she could have ever imagined was happening. Roy released her, but she didn't look at him. She looked at her hand, at the diamond ring that sat on her left ring finger.
It was the wrong ring.
The alarmed shouts of her parents filled her ears as blackness swept over her.
Pam didn't know how much time passed as she flittered in and out of consciousness and the days bled into one another.
She would wake up and feel her mom stroking her hair.
At one point, her father held a glass of water to her lips.
She would stay awake for a few hours at a time and hear the doctor talking with her parents, and phrases like "slow recovery" and "scans show normal activity" and "just be patient" floated through her head as she drifted back to sleep. She couldn't believe this.
The nurse checked her vitals often, and it was from her that Pam slowly managed to gather all the pieces: she was still Pam Beesley, she was engaged to Roy Anderson, and it was July 2006. She was three and a half years in the past. Or, at least, she had dreamed up the last three and a half years in the two months she had been comatose in a hospital.
Roy came to visit once in a while, but if she wasn't sleeping, she pretended to be.
She couldn't deal with him.
She felt herself growing stronger, though; she slept less and sat up in bed when no one was around. She couldn't face everyone. It wasn't just Roy. It was her parents, too. They had tried to talk to her about Jim and her confusion when she'd mistakenly called him her husband, but she'd brushed off their words, and they hadn't pressed her.
She couldn't talk about it with them.
It had all been a dream.
Being with Jim, marrying him and having his child inside of her . . . it was all a dream.
Pam sat up in her bed, distractedly fingering the spoon that sat in her uneaten Jell-O on her dinner tray. The nurse had brought it in a few minutes, smiling at the sight of Pam awake and aware in her bed. "It's only been a week and you're doing great," the woman had said happily, placing the tray on the bed.
So that's how much time had passed: a week. Only a week.
There was a knock on the door frame.
Pam glanced up and felt her mouth go dry.
Jim stood there, looking a little unsure of himself. His hair was as messy as always, the shirt sleeves of his button up blue shirt rolled to his elbows and his tie a little loose around his neck. He looked as if he'd come from work, and her heart banged against her chest. Finally. "Hey, Beesley," he said hesitantly. She could see the relief on his face.
This must have been so hard for him, having her in the hospital.
Because even if he wasn't her husband in this universe, even if her life with him had all been a dream, Jim was still her best friend, wasn't he? And he still loved her, didn't he?
She had already calculated that his confession on Casino Night had been a dream, too. In fact, it was Casino Night that she'd had the accident — when pretending to sleep, she had heard Roy tell the nurse that if only they had stayed at the stupid Casino Night a few more minutes, the other driver wouldn't have slammed into Roy's truck when the drunk run the red light.
In this world, she had gone home with Roy that night. In this world, she hadn't stayed and Jim hadn't told her with wide, longing eyes that he loved her, that he wanted more than friendship. In this world, her life had changed on Casino Night for completely different reasons.
And worst of all was the fact that this world was the real world. And her world, well, that was all a dream. A dream that had slipped through her fingers, and she wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep.
"You okay?" Jim asked, concerned. He still hadn't entered her room. "Do you want me to get Dr. Abbott or —?"
"No," she said. Tears welled in her eyes against her will. She shook her head quickly, before tilting forward slightly, bowing her head and pressing her hands to her wet eyes in a failed attempt to stem the tears.
"Hey, hey," Jim said softly, and before she knew it, he was kneeling beside her bed, pulling her hands from her face and holding them softly in his larger, warmer ones. He quickly captured her gaze. "Hey," he murmured, smiling at her in that way only he possessed. "Aren't you happy to see me, Beesley?"
"Of course!" she exclaimed tearfully, and she threw her arms around his neck before he could stand up and away from her. He seemed startled by the actions, but she couldn't care less. She needed this. She pressed her face into his neck and took a deep breath. He still smelled like the Jim of her world, like her lover and husband and father of her unborn child.
Slowly, Jim returned the hug, and his hand ran reassuringly up and down her back. "Sorry it took me so long to come see you," he said. "I was a little nervous, actually."
"S'okay," she murmured into his neck. "You're here now. That's all that matters."
"Yeah," he replied. She waited for him to try and pull away, and she knew she wouldn't let him. She clutched him close, afraid to release him, but he didn't even try. He hugged her, and she tried to imagine her stomach was large and her name was Pam Halpert.
What if she told him of her dream? Would he think she was crazy? It had all seemed so real that a part of her wondered if this hell was the dream . . . or a nightmare. But how could it be? "Jim," she whispered.
"You're awake."
Jim tore away from her instantly, and Pam could barely process the sudden wave of coldness that swept across her and through her as she looked up to see Roy walking into the room. "You're awake," he repeated. He was grinning. "Jeez, Pammy," he said. "I thought you'd be spending the rest of your days sleeping!"
He kissed her again, his lips wrong against hers, and then hugged her. Over his shoulder, Pam looked back at Jim, who had shoved his hands into his pockets and was staring at the ground. It was because he loved her. She knew it. In this world, he still loved her. He just hadn't had time to make his confession, right?
"I, ah, guess I should get out of here," Jim said, looking at her with a tight smile. Roy finally let go of Pam. He looked at Jim. "Let you two have some privacy."
Pam wanted to scream at him that privacy with Roy was the last thing she wanted. What she wanted was privacy with Jim. She had barely gotten a moment with him, and now he was leaving again.
But how could she say that?
"Yeah, thanks, Halpert," Roy said, sincerely kind. "And thanks for keeping her company until I got here." He squeezed her shoulder. She resisted the urge to shrink away from him. A part of her would always care for Roy, for the nine years of her life he had been a part of, and he really wasn't a bad person, just bad for her.
Yet she was absolutely repulsed by him at that moment.
She wanted her husband.
Jim nodded. "Sure." He turned to leave.
"Jim," Pam said, not sure what she could possibly say. He paused at the door, glancing back at her. He smiled, and she tried to read his gaze but came up short. She thought she saw love and longing and everything that her Jim felt for her in her world, but what if she simply saw what she wanted to see?
"I'm glad you're okay, Pam," he said.
Then he was gone.
"He's a good guy," Roy noted, dragging a chair to her bedside. Pam could only nod, not looking at him. "He's come to see you a couple times. That office probably sucks without you. 'Course, now that you're awake, Scott and that whole batshit crazy bunch'll probably be storming the place and —"
Pam couldn't stop herself.
She started crying.
"Pam?" Roy asked. She still couldn't look at him. Once again, she pressed her hands to her face. He pulled them away, just as Jim had done, and his face was as concerned as Jim's, if not a little more helpless, and she cried harder, wanting her Jim back, please, Oh, God, please.
"It's okay, babe, it's okay," he comforted. He pressed a kiss to one swift tear on her cheek, and it was a moment of greater sensitivity for him, but she couldn't take it. She couldn't take this. She couldn't. Before long, she would be expected to get out of bed and go home to Roy and live a life she had cast off a long time ago, had cast off with so much work and strain and — and — and —
It couldn't have all been a dream, it couldn't have all been a dream, it couldn't have. . . .
She tore herself from Roy, leaned over the bed, and retched until her stomach was empty and her throat burned. Roy ran off to find the doctor and Pam cried even harder, and her glasses fell off her face and skittered across the ground, but it didn't matter, because her vision was already swaying.
She wanted to go back to sleep.
She wanted to go back to her dream.
It had been a good dream. A perfect dream. And real life?
Real life sucked.
To Be Continued . . .
