Pete locked eyes with Jim as he stumbled drunkenly over the threshold. Weaving his way over, he cocked back his wrist, intent clear as day.

His appearance shocked Pam into silence. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jim start to duck. Even so, there was no way he wasn't about to get creamed. As automatic as her fear response had been, an even baser instinct was triggered by the direct physical threat—one she was unaware she possessed, having never been so tested. A bolt of adrenaline coursed through her body. Seeing red, she reared back with superhuman reaction time and screeched, "Don't you dare!" With visceral ferocity that would surprise her later, she slapped Pete in the face with every ounce of strength she possessed.

The force and speed of her blow caught him utterly off-guard. He staggered sideways, missing Jim entirely. He was still mid-swing when his shoulder hit the wall. Overbalancing, he slid down it, ending up slumped on the floor. A fiery hot, soapy handprint was emblazoned on his cheek. "Jee-sus christ," he muttered, touching it gingerly.

Breathless, Larissa arrived in the doorway just in time for the fireworks. "Damn, Pam!" she exclaimed appreciatively.

Red-faced, Pam raised her hand again. So loud it made her throat hurt, she screamed, "How dare you?"

Quickly, Jim circled her wrist with one hand, wrapping his other arm around her stomach.

Tom poked his head around the door jamb. He had to duck back out, unable to stifle a shout of laughter.

She fought against his hold, getting soapy water on his forearms. "I'm gonna kill him. Jim! Let me go!"

Eyes wide, he hoisted her off her feet, carrying her into the living room. "Let me go," she insisted, wriggling intently.

Gerald laughed, relieved, as they passed. "Now I know she's Irish." He bent to retrieve the photo album that Pete had thrown. Thankfully, there was no damage.

"Not now, dad," Jim muttered. "Mom? Baby pictures?" He carried her over to the couch and sat down beside her, wrapping his arm firmly around her shoulders to prevent her from rising.

Grinning, Betsy pulled out the album she'd hidden behind the bookshelf, as he'd requested the day before. "I'll just go cut the pudding." She set the photos on the coffee table and quickly left the room, ushering Gerald and Tom into the kitchen with her.

Jim leaned back against the cushions, pulling her head onto his chest, stroking her upper arms with warm hands. "Beesly! That was amazing. You're amazing." He could hardly believe it. She'd gone from panic attack to full-on attack mode in just a couple of seconds. "You gonna be okay?"

She was shaking with anger. "He tried to hit you!" she growled. She wrapped her arms around him protectively, rocking fiercely back and forth.

He smiled. "I'm okay. You're okay," he soothed her. "Everything's gonna be okay."

She gritted her teeth. "It's not okay! That… asshole made me hurt my hand!" she bit out angrily.

He bit his lip to stifle a chuckle, not wanting her to think he was laughing at her. Outrageously pissed off, she was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. "Can I see?" he asked her gently. Tenderly, he took her hand between both of his. It was red as Pete's face had been, he noted proudly. "Let me get you some ice."

"I'm coming too," she huffed obstinately. "If he has anything to say to you, he can say it to my face."

He covered his mouth to hide his smile. "Sure." He took her other hand in his and walked with her to the kitchen.

Betsy was cutting the pudding into slices, like a pie. Gerald dished it up onto plates. Pete, sitting at the kitchen table, was holding a bag of frozen peas against his cheek. He and Tom were talking quietly. Larissa stood in the corner, smirking. She nodded warmly at Pam, then smiled proudly at Jim.

He ignored them all, grabbing a baggie and filling it with ice from the freezer. Pete cleared his throat. "Hey, Jim. Pam—"

Pam cut him off. "Nope." Larissa stifled a laugh.

Jim looked over at Pete, shaking his head warningly. Pete shrugged and continued, "I just wanna say--"

"Don't. Wanna. Hear it." She took the baggie from Jim with a murmured thanks. She tilted her head toward the living room, a question in her eyes.

"I'll be there in a few," he said quietly.

She nodded. Cradling the ice in her hand, she returned to the living room. Gerald looked after her retreating back, smiling proudly.

Jim waited until she was back in the living room. He leaned on the table, voice low to prevent her from overhearing. "What you've done today is not something you can ever fucking apologize for," he said coldly.

"A-fucking-men," Tom echoed. Pete's mouth fell open in shock. Larissa grinned. Fucking finally.

Nonplussed, Jim shifted his gaze to Tom. After a moment, he looked back at Pete and continued. "You will never say one word to her about this. Not today. Not fucking ever."

Betsy whispered something to Gerald. He nodded. "I'll take care of it."

Jim stood, turning his back on Pete. "Mom? 'Riss?" he asked, gesturing toward the back door with his head. They followed, exchanging significant glances. Once outside, he turned to face them and spoke in a quiet voice. "Listen," he said intently. "Pam's never hit anyone in her whole life. Never. Not once. Trust me, that was…"

"Amazing," Larissa supplied helpfully.

He inclined his head in silent acknowledgement. "I was gonna say, unbelievably out of character. You have… no idea." He smiled wistfully, a distant look in his eyes.

Yep, Larissa thought with a smirk. Total goner.

Betsy replied, "She really made the best out of... an unfortunate situation." Long ago, she had made it a policy to avoid speaking ill of her children in front of their siblings. That wasn't to say she wouldn't have some choice words for Pete the next time they were alone, of course.

"Yeah," Jim agreed. He pursed his lips thoughtfully and continued. "I know that nobody's upset with her, but she doesn't know our family. She really wanted to make a good impression today. When she stops being mad, she's gonna be really… unhappy with herself." He raked his hand through his hair, looking consternated. "Could we maybe, like... just, I don't know. Get Pete out of here and pretend this never happened?"

Larissa laughed in disbelief. "How do you expect me to do that? I'm gonna give her the highest five she's ever fived."

He crossed his arms and leveled a chilly gaze at her. "Can you be serious for once in your damn life? She's not the type to be... proud of something like that. And she's important to me."

Rolling her eyes at Larissa, Betsy enveloped him in a motherly hug. "I already talked to Dad. He and Tom are taking Pete home. Baby pictures and pudding are a great start."

Larissa sighed, reluctantly putting on a serious face. "You don't have to worry," she reassured him. "She's with you. She's a five star nerf nerd." Well, as serious as she got, anyway. "That makes her family, too."

He hugged her, thanking her warmly. She patted his back, then mimed vomiting. "Since when did you get so soft?" 

"Ha," he intoned, heading back inside. "Thanks."

He always had been, Betsy reminisced fondly. It was why she'd worried so much about him over the past year. Not that he'd shown it through some magnificent gesture. That had never been his way. It was more a series of little memories she'd always treasure from his childhood… the way he'd regularly shed tears over things that her other children, most other children, wouldn't think twice about. An accidentally-crushed lightning bug… when he found out the bee that stung him would die after losing its stinger… the time he'd broken open a nascent chrysalis and found caterpillar soup inside, rather than the green butterfly he'd expected to take wing… the turtle with the broken shell that he'd insisted they stop to pick up, that she'd known couldn't be saved, but didn't have the heart to say no.