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Author's Chapter Notes:

For this POV, we'll see how Roy is dealing with all of this.

Enjoy! :) 

 

He shouldn’t be here.


Roy Anderson, wearing his best button down and his only tie, down on one knee in front of the most beautiful girl in the world.


Although he was loved by peers and coaches alike, Roy had always internally down on himself. His grades were passable at best, his father’s concern with his youngest son came only when he was donning a jersey, and he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. But of one thing, he was sure.


He was going to marry Pam Beesly.


She’d caught his eye in their sophomore year geometry class. Or, more so, she’d caught his homework assignment. They’d been peer grading, and his mind was drifting from Andrew Johnson’s half-assed paper on his desk to his strategy going into the big game on Friday night. He was visualizing the new play that coach had crafted when her voice, so small, sneaked into his ears from the desk behind him.


“Uhm, I think you’ve got the equation wrong.”


“Huh?”


He’d turned around, still in a daze, its source changing from football and quarterback sneaks to the mass of frizzy curls that his eyes were met with.


“The equation. The Pythagorean Theorem says that a-squared plus b-squared equals c-squared. I think you’re mixing up your b’s and your c’s.”


She smiled at him as his eyes darted from his red-streaked paper to her face, and she tucked a loose curl behind her ear and returned her gaze to the desktop.


“I can show you how to fix it, if you want.”


Slowly, her eyes traced back up, skimming over his letterman jacket to meet his swirling blues. Her smile was all teeth, and in that moment, he promised himself that he would do whatever it took to see that smile forever.


From that point on, the square of the hypotenuse was the center of his world. She had offered to help him catch up, knowing that his current C- in the class was on the verge of probation, as per the terms of the academic sports policy at West Scranton. She wore his jersey to school that Friday, and the rest was history.


Sure, he’d been glared at by many a stuck up female, and given shit by the guys on the team. Pam Beesly? Really? The geeky little art girl? Did he realize that, as quarterback of the back-to-back regional champion football team, he could easily nab any girl on this campus? Of course he did. But those girls didn’t believe in him like Pam. They saw his muscles, his five o’clock shadow, and the trophies that dotted the shelves in the Anderson home. They didn’t see the struggles that happened beneath that surface, the way schoolwork made him nauseous and the thought of college and a future had his stomach in knots with the fear that he would always be that washed up high school jock who never left his hometown. Somehow, in three study sessions, Pam had gotten all of that out of him, had promised him that she saw the potential, and made him believe in himself truly for the very first time.


So she wore his jersey that Friday, and for every Friday after that one. She wore his corsage to prom, and he’d gotten her a plastic crown from the Dollar Tree when Jessica Williams had won the popular vote for prom queen to his king. Her eyes had shined that night, under the moonlight of the secluded park that he’d driven them to once the dance itself had ended. You Were Meant For Me blared out of the truck speakers as he swayed with her under the stars. It was there that they’d made love for the first time, and that same place he’d taken her to tonight, down on one knee on the blanket she’d brought for their picnic. They’d been together for seven years now, both in college with the future on their minds. He saw only one logical step for their future.


And she’d said yes.


As they lay on that blanket, their clothes haphazardly tossed somewhere in the dark grass, he couldn’t believe that his life was going in this direction. Soon, he’d have a wife. This curly-headed, bright-eyed, giggly girl who had changed his world was about to be his entire world. He kissed the top of her head, gathered her in his arms, and drove her to her parent’s house. Soon, he thought, he wouldn’t have to drop her off on the Beesly’s front porch anymore. Soon, they would be home together.

 

** 

 

He shouldn’t be here.


Really, he was the outsider.


Although with the way things were going, he felt more like an outcast.


From the moment he had heard about her accident, Roy had clung to that hospital like a leaf to a tree. She might have called off the wedding, thrown away a decade of being together, but that was only a month ago. He still cared about her. He still loved her. A month was nothing compared to ten years. But in this waiting room, surrounded by all of these people whose disdain for him was heavy and palpable in the chilly hospital air, he did not belong.


She’d woken up screaming for him, something she hadn’t done since her grandfather died their freshman year of college and she’d had nightmares for weeks. Or, contrarily, since she’d clung to him with her fingernails in his back and her heels digging into his waist. But the last time she’d done that, he was still paying monthly for her engagement ring.


Poor Halpert had been shoved to the wayside, and for as much as he didn’t like the guy--he had, after all, literally ruined Roy’s future--it was just so awkward to watch her call to him as if the past month of their lives hadn’t happened. He’d thrown Jim a look that said, “I’m really sorry, man. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to,” and sat by her bedside, the peril seeping from his fingers to hers, probably unnoticed in her haste to be wrapped up in his arms once again.


He hated that he was so stiff with her, holding her at an arm’s length as if she was a bomb ticking down from ten. His eyes bulged in terror and consternation, fumbling over words whenever she pressed him about his demeanor, trying to heed the doctor’s words that were still making him nauseous.


--


“The good news is that Pam is stable. We’ve weaned her off the sedatives, and her vitals are strong enough to move her out of the ICU in the next couple of days, dependent of course on how the next twenty-four hours go. However, what you’ve already noticed is that Pam is suffering from what we call retrograde amnesia. This means that she has the ability to form new memories, but pieces from before her accident are missing.”


“So that’s why she thinks she’s still...engaged to Roy?” Mrs. B’s words were shaky and timid. The only emotions he’d ever seen from her were tolerance, indifference, and anger. This was new territory.


“Precisely.”


The eyes pinned to him like darts in a bullseye. He hadn’t asked for this, damnit. He let his eyes drop to his shoes, wanting so much to fold up into himself and leave this hell hole circle of judgement.


“You’ll see different symptoms with different patients. Sometimes with amnesia cases, a patient will lose the entirety of his or her past memories, essentially becoming a blank slate. With Pam, we should consider ourselves quite lucky. Although memory loss is evident, she still maintains much of her long-term memory. If we’re going to focus on the positives throughout this process, we should be grateful for this much.”


“So what can we do? I mean, she thinks she’s still engaged to him.”


Penny was jutting her half-empty mocha latte bullshit cup in his direction, her gaze as sharp as her words. He didn’t blame her, though. Couldn’t blame any of them, really.


“Well, unfortunately, there’s truly nothing we can do. Although her forgotten memories can be coaxed back, treatments like therapy and hypnosis often create false memories, and we want Pam to find her truths organically. Pam’s best bet is to be surrounded by her loved ones right now. She’s going to be very confused, and very scared. She needs you to be loving and supporting right now.”


The doc took a pause, watching gazes pass between the members of their weird little circle, trying to decipher the meaning behind the words that Livingston wasn’t exactly letting on to.


“Any tips on what specifically we can do then?”


Penny seemed to be the assertive member of the group, the only one who wasn’t so grappled by emotions that she could actually ask the questions and make the decisions. The remaining patrons seemed relieved by that fact.


The doc twiddled with his pen, tapping it against his clipboard, blowing out a breath as his eyes scanned over the members in the circle. The feeling that they were about to be struck with something blunt and terrible suddenly washed over Roy, and he tugged at his collar as he continued to observe the details of everyone’s shoes. Mr. B’s tennis shoe choice hadn’t changed since 1996. Mrs. B’s loafers were plain and tidy. Penny’s heels matched the personality shift that college in New York had given her. He remembered Pam’s incessant teasing and eye rolling when she’d come home her freshman year with a “new image,” yet she had conversely wanted to borrow all of her sister’s shoes. Halpert’s were what struck him as less odd and more downright sad, because the poor guy had been in such a rush to get back to Pam that he was wearing two different ones. And he probably hadn’t even noticed.


It was the doc’s voice that returned his eyes to an upward position.


“I’m sorry, because this is going to be incredibly difficult for you all to comprehend, but in Pam’s current state...you have to understand, we want her to be as comfortable as possible. It would be best to allow her to...choose who she seeks comfort in.”


Eyes flapped around the circle, concern and anger and fear emanating between everybody.


“Wait, so let me get this straight, just so I’m not mistaken.” Penny’s hands were waving in front of her face in a way that reminded him of her time spent with Pam gossiping after school. “We’re just supposed to let her think that it’s 2003 and she’s freshly handcuffed to him?”


She was jutting that stupid cup at him again, and he was beginning to associate the Starbucks brand with negativity.


“No, not at all. I’m glad you brought that up.”


Perplexity picked at the eyes that were trained on the doc as he continued his explanation.


“We’re not here to comply with Pam’s falsities; we want to lead her back into the reality of what her life is. But right now, it also wouldn’t exactly be appropriate to just feed her with a stream of the past three years of her life. It would overwhelm her, add to the confusion and the frustration that she’s lost so much. We’ll give her revelations slowly and as they come. But right now, she seems to be gravitating to Mr. Anderson. For the time being, I’d like to at least offer her this sense of comfort.”


“So we’re just supposed to let her cuddle up to him like they’re about to walk down the aisle?”


The doc sighed, choosing his words carefully.


“For right now, yes. You have to understand the gravity of the situation--”


But Penny was already storming away, the clacking of her heels striking fear into Roy’s already stuffed up heart.


“I’m sorry. This is a strange situation. I want to make sure that you all understand what I expect going forward.”


He was essentially being addressed directly while everyone else listened in. The doc was saying that he should let Pam use him as her crutch, but that he shouldn’t directly give in to her claims about the past. He shouldn’t pretend it was 2003 again. Shouldn’t let her believe that her reality was the truth. He was only there as her person of support. Unless, of course, things with her memory changed. Right now, she appeared to trust him, so they were giving her what she wanted. That was how he had found himself perched on the edge of the hospital chair that had molded to Halpert’s body by this point in the week. It wasn’t before he could toss his apologies around the circle, his shoulders shrugging while his mouth hung open, not quite knowing what to say.


She’d been asleep for about an hour now, and he’d been doing nothing but alternating between sitting with his head in his hands and sneaking glances at her sleeping frame, feeling guilty and gross every time he did so. He knew Halpert was sitting right outside the room, and his heavy conscious was eating at him from the inside. Everyone on the other side of that door hated him. What was worse was that he didn’t know who hated him the most. Penny was definitely the most hostile. Hell, she’d stormed out in the middle of the doc’s speech for Christ’s sake. Mr. and Mrs. B had never really liked him to begin with. But Halpert? He’d worked with the guy for three years, fought with him over the sleeping girl by his side, and he still couldn’t get a read on the guy.


Pam was beginning to wake, the rustling of the stiff hospital sheets pulling his gaze to the bed while simultaneously pulling his body away. He hoped she hadn’t heard the scratching of the wood as he backed several inches from the bed.


As he watched her, slow to wake as she struggled against sleeping for just five more minutes, he was thrust into a world of has beens and would’ve beens and should’ve beens. Memories of her waking up beside him that first full night in their first home together, her curls tousled and slightly frizzy, her nose scrunching as she clenched her eyes closed in a desperate attempt to stay asleep. He had to bite his lip, physically turn his head, to stop the assault.


Maybe, when her eyes opened, she’d remember. Maybe, when her eyes opened, her eyebrows would crunch together, her lips would twist into a pout, and she’d kick him out the door, screaming for Halpert like she’d done for him just hours ago. Maybe he’d finally be freed from this misery, from the misery that was literally forcing him to look into the eyes of the woman his heart still tugged for, but who had walked out his door and left him with a crushed heart and nothing left to strive for.


But her stifled Baby? in that same sleepy voice that once brought a stirring in his belly--that now made him want to reach for the bedpan and toss his own cookies--reminded him of his place in this life. Her casted hand lifted from the bed, seeking his before her eyes fully opened, and he swallowed his breath and his pride as he wrapped his large digits around it, thankful for the layers of cotton that separated most of their skin.


“Hey.” His own voice sound alien, the words garbled and distant. “How, how ya feelin’ Pam?”


Her eyebrows were downcast, eyes still slowly blinking open. He hated this. Hated seeing her in pain, hated that her small fingers were brushing against his palm again, hated himself for how much he wanted to tell that doc to fuck himself and take Pam home with him and pretend it was still 2003. But he knew he couldn’t do that.


“Mmm, my head hurts.” She was trying to mask the pain through a smile, but it wasn’t working very well. Brushing his thumb across her fingers, trying to quell the burning sensation, he offered her a sad, teary eyed smile.


“I’m sure it’ll be that way for awhile. Do you want me to call the doctor in? Maybe he can get you some more meds or something.”


She shook her head, those big green eyes blinking up at him.


“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I did just have brain surgery, after all.”


His Pammy, always finding a way to crack a joke. And here she was, in his arms again.


“I just can’t wait to be home with you again.” Her words were whispered, swirling with the choking back of tears.


He couldn’t help it.


This was Pam, his Pammy. She was sad. She was hurt. She was crying. His job was to comfort her. So he did the only thing he knew to do, the only thing she expected of him. He reached his free hand up and brushed her tears away, letting his large hand palm her cheek as the pain in her eyes seemed to subside, replaced by a grateful grin.


For just a moment, his world was whole again.


***


Jim had refused to look inside, refused to let his eyes find the frost paned glass that would reveal a mess of curls that should be tucked under his chest right now, a pair of green eyes that should be a more intense shade of forest while they searched his lovingly, those rosy cheeks that should be cradled in his hands as he wiped away her tears and reassured her that everything would be okay, that he would never let anything bad happen to her ever again.


The soft soles of a nurse’s tennis shoes met the gaze that he had fixed appropriately on the crack between the bottom of her door and the floor, and as the door swung open, he realized what was about to happen. The nurse would prep her, help her into a wheelchair, and take her to some other part of the hospital for some kind of test that would help them to further understand the severity of her memory loss. But ranking on the same level of importance, he was about to see her for the first time since she’d given him those vacant eyes.


His knees were bouncing now, reverberating through the elbows that sat perched there, causing his teeth to clack together. He stood, pushing his hands through his hair, and paced back and forth between the her room and the two who sandwiched it. Mr. and Mrs. Beesly had gone home, to freshen up and make phone calls and grab a bite to eat. Penny had disappeared during the middle of their conversation with the doctor and hadn’t returned since. He was alone.


And as he swiveled around to change the direction of his paces, he caught a glimpse of an image he thought was long in his past.


The arm that held her shattered wrist was engulfed by a meaty hand that was tracing circles on the soft cotton. Her other arm was snaked across her body and through the crook of his, clinging on as if he were anchoring her to the floor. Their eyes were trained on the plump nurse whose hands were gesturing as she explained whatever was about to happen. As he fought to breathe, to keep his body upright, her eyes suddenly snapped up, clicking with his in a way that both saved and killed him all at once. It was when she shook her head, breaking their trance and furling her eyebrows, that he couldn’t take it anymore.


He needed fresh air, a new source of oxygen that wasn’t riddled with the medicinal fumes that these hospital walls had been pumping into his respiratory system. In ten long strides, he was out the door, hands on his knees, letting the warm August air fill his lungs to capacity. No matter how much his chest hurt as the air stretched his tissue, the satiety was never enough.


 

Chapter End Notes:

I know, I know. "But you hate Roy! Why are you painting him like this sad guy who deserves our sympathy?" I do. You're right. But, at the same time, having Roy be more than a punching bag works with this story. Plus, it'll come full circle to your regularly scheduled Roy-hating program later on... :)


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