----- 

From: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

To: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

Subject: Thank you

Hey Jim,

Thank you for coming to my art show. I couldn't have done ANY of it without you.

Pam

----- 

She composed the email first thing in the morning, saving it as a draft. As she gathered her jacket and purse at the end of the day, she thought hard. On her way out the door for the weekend, she pressed send.

"'Night, Pam," Jim called after her retreating back. He ignored Karen's glare from across the room. He could say goodbye to a friend if he wanted to.

Pam paused mid-step. Saying good night wasn't a thing they did. Not anymore.

She looked over her shoulder, biting her lip. God, he's so beautiful. "Night, Jim," she echoed softly, waving awkwardly.

He smiled back faintly. God, she's so beautiful. 

-----

From: jhalpert@dundermifflin.com

To: pbeesly@dundermifflin.com

Subject: You're welcome

Hey fancy new Beesly,

As much as the universe conspired to keep me away, I wouldn't have missed it for the world. You're so talented. YOU did it. All on your own.

That's a compliment.

-----

"You told me you still have feelings for her!" Karen shrilled harshly. "As long as we're here, she's always going to be between us." Always had been, if she was being honest with herself. Not that she'd been doing enough of that lately. "I'm not okay with you being her friend."

Even as much of an asshole as Roy had been, Jim reflected, he'd never tried to prevent Pam from being friends with him. Whoa, where did that come from? "And I'm not okay with you telling me who I can be friends with, Karen." Wasn't that like, textbook emotional abuse? Because he was pretty sure it was.

She tried another tack. "It wouldn't be that simple, Jim. I know she still has feelings for you."

"No," he denied flatly. "She doesn't." There wasn't much he was sure of right now. But he was sure of that.

"She told me she did." Whoops. She hadn't meant for that to slip out.

He rolled his eyes. "Like she would tell you anything about me."

She stalked away and busied herself making a cup of coffee.

"Karen?" She'd been talking his ear off for goddamn weeks. The silent treatment was not her style at all. It made him think he was onto something now. "Karen."

She whirled. "What?"

He looked at her appraisingly. Oh yeah, he was definitely onto something. She looked guilty as all hell. "When?"

"When what?"

He noticed her hands shaking as she poured sugar into the cup. He wasn't used to taking the offensive in their arguments--normally she was the griller and he was the cheese. But he could not let this slide. He would not. "Don't play dumb, Karen." He refrained from name-calling by the skin of his teeth. "Answer me."

"I don't want to lose you, Jim!" She burst into very real tears. Normally that would be enough to move him, to get him to drop the conversation. Not that she was being manipulative, because she really was crying. But tears were his kryptonite and she knew that and she fully expected him to drop it.

Not tonight, apparently. He kept his distance and replied stone-faced, "If you don't tell me the truth, then you already have." Like the rock of fucking Gibraltar or something.

"Ben Franklin," she sniveled weakly.

He crossed his arms. "Why were you talking about me?"

"Don't make me do this," she sobbed. Probably she was going to lose him either way. But really, had she ever actually had him in the first place? She was coming to realize now that she almost certainly hadn't.

"Don't make you what? Tell the truth?" He couldn't help but wonder what else she'd lied about. "You've been making me tell you the truth for weeks. How is this fair?"

He had a point. Still, she wept. "I told her what you told me about Casino Night. How it was just a kiss. No big deal."

That hadn't been what he'd said at all. He looked at her as though he'd never seen her before. He wondered now whether he ever actually had. "You told her that night was no big deal to me?" She nodded reluctantly. He ground his jaw and bit his lip hard, tasting blood. Even as conflicted as he'd been lately, the betrayal stung. Hard. "And then… what? What did she say?" Specifically, you bitch.

She felt him slipping further away with every word. He sounded almost menacing. No, not almost. Very menacing. Like, venomous. Deadly, even. The way he'd sounded when she was late to dinner the other night. Only much… much worse. "I'm not playing your game. If you're going to break up with me, just do it and get the hell out."

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, considering. Careful. Deliberate. He chose his next words with precision, placing the ball firmly in her court. "If you won't tell me the truth, then this is over. Do you have anything else to say?"

She buried her face in her hands, remaining silent.

God dammit. He needed to know how the rest of that conversation had gone. But he couldn't force her to talk. "Alright," he said quietly. He put his shoes on and picked up his messenger bag. He wiggled her key off his ring and left it on the counter with a clink of finality. "Goodbye, Karen."

He couldn't ignore the small spark of hope in his chest. But he couldn't trust it either. His conscience nagged him. What about the look in her eyes at Phyllis's wedding? What about the drawing? What about what Karen said she said?

No, he argued. He couldn't trust any of that shit because he couldn't trust himself not to misinterpret her. He needed a sign, a real fucking sign, and he needed it to come from her. A few words, a letter, a kiss, anything.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at her name. Just three little letters. Just one little button. Just ask.

Just ask.

He sighed in defeat. He couldn't do it. He couldn't put himself out there again. No, not that he couldn't. He wouldn't. It wasn't cowardice, it was self-preservation. And self-preservation demanded he refrain.

He poured himself a strong drink. Don't think. Then another. Don't think about her. And another. Stop thinking about her. And one more for good measure. Just stop thinking, altogether.

Properly sloshed, he curled up in bed, pleasantly numb. He easily preoccupied himself with happy thoughts about basketball, about puppies, about his nieces and nephews, about the balance in his bank account. Yet he dreaded, with a small corner of his mind, the moment when his dreams would betray him. As anticipated, they did not disappoint.

"Are you gonna marry him?"

She inhaled, met his gaze, her eyes wide as saucers. Wordlessly, she twisted the paltry diamond off her finger and set it on his desk.

His heart soaring, he crushed her lips with his. She melted into him. He'd been right to trust her. He hadn't misinterpreted anything. They shared a giddy laugh.

Suddenly, they were on the roof of the office. Inexplicably, his bed was there, sheets turned down. She was facing away from him, looking back coyly over her shoulder. Slowly, he pulled down the zipper of her dress. His name floated softly from between her lips as he slid the blue fabric over the curve of her hips, revealing a matching red bra and panty set. She turned to face him, all grace and beauty and curves and soft skin, shivering in the cool night air.

He ripped his shirt over his head and lifted her easily, cradling her against his chest for a moment. Gentle as a whisper, he settled her against the sheets. She beckoned him down. He followed, pulling the blanket up snugly around them. She wrapped herself around him with all four limbs. "I love you," she murmured against his lips. "I want you. Kiss me, Jim. Love me."

He awoke with a start. Head pounding, he rubbed his eyes and groaned in a rare moment of honest early-morning weakness. Come on, Pam. I'm begging you. Just one little motherfucking sign outside of my own motherfucking head.

PLEASE.