The questions that this nurse was asking here were honestly so dumb.

What is your name?

Pamela Morgan Beesly. Obviously.

When is your birthday?

March 25th. Duh.

Where do you live?

Scranton, Pennsylvania. Unfortunately.

Where are you now?

Chained to a hospital bed. Well, not literally chained. Okay, so you don’t like jokes apparently. We’re at Geisinger Community. But I have no idea why. Regional is closer.

What is the first event you can remember after the injury?

She tensed, her sarcastic relaxation stiffening immediately as she recalled the first time her eyes had fluttered open inside this sterile hell.

Him.

That man.

That tall, gangly, man, the one who needed a haircut.

He’d been here, holding her hands, seated so close that she would have been uncomfortable if she hadn’t been so focused on the soreness in her throat, the stark whiteness of the walls around her, the fact that Roy wasn’t by her side. Why hadn’t Roy been there when she woke up? Why had he been there, practically grovelling at her bedside? It was a little weird, right? And even weirder that he was still here. He’d been lurking outside the door to her room when they had wheeled her out, but by the time Roy had pushed her into the hallway, he was gone.

The nurse snapped her out of the trance, the next question seemingly more frustrating than the last.

Can you describe the last event you can recall before the accident?

“I--uh...huh.”

In between the strangled sobs that had parched her mother’s throat, she had deduced that she’d been in a car accident. A drunk driver ran a red light and plowed right into her. But those were stories that had been told, like bedtime tales from her childhood. The pictures were embodied in the same way that Willy Wonka and Ramona Quimby had manifested into this pseudo-reality in her subconscious. But those were conjurations, movies that she had created in her head when the words on the page gave her just enough details to picture the characters that the authors were describing. In that same way, the stories of her accident were just that: stories. Nothing close to an actual memory was sprouting in her mind. Squeezing her eyes shut tightly, she willed any sort of recollection to form, something that would tell her what had led to this moment, to her being questioned like a prisoner with her arm in plaster and her head riddled with incision lines.

“I..Roy and I were going to bed. In our new house. I set my alarm extra early so I had time to make us breakfast in the morning before work. And...and now I’m...here?”

Her wide eyes searched the face of the stout woman in pink scrubs making tick marks on a clipboard, begging for an answer. Instead, she was offered a sad smile before the nurse’s head fell to the piece of paper that was out of Pam’s line of sight. Foolishly, she made a dense attempt at lifting her body out of the chair to peer over the edge of the clipboard, feeling a blush of embarrassment when the nurse eyed her as if she were a student cheating on a test. When her butt plopped back into her chair, she avoided the woman’s gaze, biting her lip as she focused on the tile pattern of the floor.

The questions ended in simplicity: the time, the date, the month, the year.

Those were easy.

There was a board behind the nurse’s head with that information displayed in blue Expo marker. Although she could have sworn that her starting day at Dunder Mifflin was in April, not August. How long had she been out? She’d have to ask someone when she got back from her CT. Everyone seemed to be tiptoeing around her, and she wanted some answers, damnit.

She let her mind wander in a myriad of directions while the space station like machine spun and whirred annoyingly around her. She reminisced on signing the papers with Roy, being handed matching keys, being carried over the threshold of their new ranch. It wasn’t big by any means, but it suited them. Just enough room to enjoy one another.

She thought of shopping trips for new work clothes, her little sister tagging along and scolding every outfit choice she made. “Just because this is an office job doesn’t mean you have to dress like a shrew, Pam.” But judging from her one interview, the people in that office liked to create an ambience of year round Alaskan temperatures. The cardigans were a necessity. And besides, it wasn’t like she was trying to impress anybody. Roy was right downstairs.

She thought of furniture shopping, when Roy had scoffed at the price tags of some of the nicer items she had marveled at. In the end, their couch came from Kenny’s basement, the kitchen table with the wobbly leg was purchased at a yard sale, and their bed was the one Roy had gotten at ten years old when he outgrew his twin. It wasn’t much, but it was theirs. And besides, he’d promised that in a few years, after they settled in, he’d take her shopping for something better than Kenny’s old couch that still smelled like smoke and liquor, and the table that she had to keep one of her useless college textbooks underneath to still the shaking.

She remembered eating grilled cheese with him on the roof, watching fireworks off in the distance as the candlelight brightened that lopsided grin that she’d come to cherish. She remembered a warmth flowing through her despite the chilly November air and the jackets curled around them, and how its source was distinctly not from the weather.

But wait.

That wasn’t Roy.

A message from the loudspeaker told her to remain as still as possible inside the machine, and she realized that she must have jolted upon that realization. That memory hadn’t been with Roy. So who was it? What roof had they been on? Why did she suddenly crave grilled cheese?

Suddenly, she was extremely antsy to get back to that room that she’d been so kindly referring to as The Cell. She wanted answers. She wanted perception. She wanted her mom.

She wanted a damn grilled cheese sandwich.

“You okay, sugar? You look a little pale.”

The nurse who helped resettle her into the wheelchair must have caught on to her rising panic. If it wasn’t the concern in her words, it was the look on her face that said, “You’re going right back to bed.”

When she returned to her room, there was a gathering outside that was becoming quite common. Her parents were huddled together over steaming foam cups of hospital quality coffee. Her sister was back, fingers clacking like lightning across the keyboard of her phone, her brows furrowed in anger. From time to time, she’d glance up, glare at Roy, and divert her attention back to the phone. Roy, who was still standing awkwardly on the outskirts of the circle. Roy, whose hands were in his pockets as he stared at his shoes, scuffling his feet back and forth across the tile.

He was gone, which confirmed her earlier suspicion that he’d taken off before her most recent round of testing. She let out a sigh of relief, but at the same time, it was almost as though her heart hurt, and she was left trying to find out why as all four pairs of eyes trained on her. She made tentative eye contact with each of these people whose lives had been put on hold to come and comfort her. Penny, who had most likely driven in from New York just to be with her, who was probably apologizing to professors and cancelling lavish plans in the city. Mom and dad, whose eyes were hollow and tired. She would send them home as soon as she could. They deserved some time off. Roy, her sweet Roy, who was cast out and still had that same pained look on his face like he didn’t belong here. It had been evident in his eyes since the moment he’d joined her at her bedside. More to add to the puzzle.

As she was helped back into bed, she was overcome with an immense fatigue, those few tests wearing her beyond consciousness. Her answers could wait. And so could the grilled cheese cravings. Her mother, father, and sister shuffled tentatively into her room and surrounded her like a vigil, those sad, sorry eyes all starting to genuinely piss her off. She wasn’t dead, for crying out loud.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” It was mom who spoke first, reaching out to clench Pam’s hands in her own.

“Honestly mom? I’m tired. I think I’m just going to get some rest.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“You and dad should go home. Get some rest in a place that isn’t so depressing.” Her own lips curled up in timid satisfaction as Penny smirked, spurring on the smiles of mom and dad as well. This whole situation was just dragging everybody down. No need for any more of that than there had to be.

“I think we will. You get some rest, love. We’ll see you in the morning.”

Penny hung back as Will and Helene kissed their daughter goodbye, a weight seeming to lift from each of her parents as she watched them exit.

“So? How are you really feeling?”

Penny was never one to beat around the bush. She had always been the more assertive of the Beesly siblings, and for that, Pam was grateful. She let out a sigh, allowing her body to be eaten by the pillows as she sank in defeat.

“I want to get out of here, Pen. Everyone keeps looking at me like I died or something. The sad faces are killing me.”

“Well, to be fair, you did kind of give everyone a scare back there, big sis.”

She was taking a seat now, crossing her designer boot clad ankles as she leaned back in the stiff hospital chair.

“I know. But it obviously wasn’t my fault. And I’m fine. They’ll probably let me out of her a in a few days and then everyone can go back to not staring at me. I hate that everyone keeps staring at me. I just want to go home. And start my new job. And be normal again.”

Penny, once so cool and confident, now had that look of worry in her eyes. Not quite sadness, and not the anger that she’d been harboring in the hallways, but worry. For the first time, she avoided Pam’s eyes, resemblant of every other visitor she’d had that day.

“Oh, come on, not you, too!”

Penny tossed her a look that apologized without words, then swept her eyes across the room while she carefully chose what to say next.

“Pammy… You know that… I… Do you….?”

As she rolled her eyes, she was reminded of her exhaustion. Her over exaggerated yawn clued her sister in to her wishes, and Penny sighed in defeat, pushing herself from the chair.

“I have some things to take care of tomorrow, but I’ll be back for dinner, okay?”

Pam nodded, offering her sister a sad smile.

“Hey, could you tell Roy to come in here on your way out?”

She observed Penny’s weak attempt to stifle an eye roll, turn her expression into a tight lipped smile, and curtly nod before whispering, “Sure thing. Bye, Pammy.”

Moments later, Roy shuffled through the door, pushing it wider to accommodate his stocky frame. Something about him, the way he carried himself, was just so different. Aside from the way he tiptoed around her. That was just getting annoying.

He glanced around the room a bit before finally settling his petrified eyes on her. She had to speak first, wondering if Roy wouldn’t have turned into a stone statue had she not said something to break the awkward tension that he had palpably brought into the room.

“Hi.” The undercurrent to her lonely syllable was urging, accompanied by a chuckle that said, This is how you communicate, remember?

“Uh, hey. How ya feeling?”

It was as if his mind was wired with only certain phrases, like one of those dolls she’d had as a child that had a preprogrammed loop of things to say. She thought of what Action-Roy’s catch phrases would be. So far, “How ya feeling?” topped the list. Veterinarian Barbie had more to say than that.

“Tired. Exhausted. Sick of people looking at me like I’m one of those ASPCA puppies.”

Again, she tried humor, but much to her dismay, the way his right hand wound around the back of his neck and the awkward way his chuckle stitled in his throat told her that her efforts had been of no avail.

“Yeah, yeah I get that. Why don’t you get some rest then?”

He was still standing across the room, more in the doorway than actually present. It was as if he was looking for the earliest chance to escape.

“I think I will,” she began, adjusting the pillow behind her head, her eyes never wavering from Roy as he eyed the doorway.

“I think I’m gonna head home for the night, let you get sleep."

She allowed her lips and brows to pull down apparently, her feelings clear in her expression. But as she remembered the way her parent’s eyes had told a story of being utterly burned out, she realized that she probably wasn’t the only one who’d had a long day. Nodding, she extended her hand towards him.

“That sounds like a good idea. You could probably use a night in your own bed. And a shower wouldn’t hurt, either.”

She scrunched her nose and smiled, hoping to get a reaction out of him that wasn’t as dispiriting as the rest of the day had been. His half hearted attempt at a chuckle almost made her roll her eyes, but instead she just reminded herself: We’re all tired. Just let everyone sleep on it. They’ll all be less crabby in the morning.

His feet were pointed out the door, seemingly ignoring her outstretched arm, and she waved her hand in protest before he could fully turn his body, scrunching her eyebrows as he glanced around the room, almost looking for an excuse, before shuffling to her bedside.

She noticed, too, how he turned his head slightly as she tried to kiss him goodbye, her lips meeting more so with his cheek, and the rough stubble that had accumulated.

Instead of returning her I love you, he had simply stated, Yeah, you too, before offering her a half-hearted wave and disappearing out the door in what seemed like a rush.

Body language was becoming her specialty, since no one seemed to want to use actual words around her these days. Avoiding eyes and scuffling feet filled her mind as she drifted into a restless sleep.

-----------

Grilled cheese.

She’d had the craving since that weird memory had slid itself unwelcomely into her head earlier that afternoon, and clearly hadn’t gone away, as she awoke to a gross drool dribbling down her chin. She’d been dreaming about it. A grilled cheese sandwich the size of a king bed. In the dream, she’d been doing butter angels atop the toasted bread. It was incredibly weird, but as her eyes blinked into consciousness, she realized that it wasn’t entirely uncalled for: she had slept through dinner.

And here, sitting next to her bed, was the half-eaten food of her dreams, clutched in the hands of that man who was tied for first with her cravings in the category of not knowing when to leave her alone.

She slit her eyes so as to not alert him that she was awake, trying to take in as much of her surroundings as possible. It was definitely later at night; the sun had dropped beyond the horizon. He was still wearing the same clothes as he had been earlier that day: a plain grey t-shirt, jeans, a black zippered hoodie. He still hadn’t washed his hair, clearly. Yet somehow, his smell didn’t bother her. Somehow, despite the fact that she was supposed to be angry at this strange man in her room, she was comforted by the faint hint of spice that drifted to her nostrils. It was when she followed his long legs past the hole at the knee that she noticed something new.

He was wearing two different shoes.

One of his feet bore a black, Nike tennis shoe. The other, a black Oxford.

At this, her head cocked to the side, rustling the stiff pillows loudly. She hadn’t meant to make her awakeness present, but as she shifted to stare at his shoes, he nearly jumped out of the chair, his green eyes bugging out of his head as they darted up to meet hers.

“I--I’m so sorry. I thought you’d be asleep. I’ll just…”

“You’re wearing two different shoes.”

He paused, an empty paper plate clutched and crumpling in one hand while crumbs drifted from the half eaten grilled cheese sandwich in the other. He was less shocked now, his eyes nodding towards perplexity as he slowly dropped his head to stare at the floor. After what seemed like a full minute, she heard a surprised, “Huh,” escaped his lungs, watching his shoulders heave on the word before he finally lifted his eyes back to hers.

“And here I thought I was the one with the traumatic brain injury.”

His expression told her that he didn’t know what to say, how to respond to the fact that she was making light of this. So she curled her lips, smirking at him as if to say, “Really, dude? Two different shoes?” She was rewarded with a smile that made her belly clench, and as the laughter came from him in relief, she allowed herself that fleeting moment to wonder why her body was reacting like this.

“Huh. I guess I wasn’t really paying attention when I left.”

“Clearly.”

They were sharing this weird sort of awkward we’re-making-jokes-about-brain-injuries-and-I-don’t-know-if-this-is-okay laughter, and it took her a minute to realize that she was laughing and joking with this string bean of a man that was basically stalking her whose name she didn’t even know. If her own flesh and blood wasn’t going to be honest with her, maybe he would.

“Who are you?”

She interrupted his laughter abruptly, and the look on his face went from relief and almost joy to immediate dejection, as if she’d just kicked his puppy or something. In her body language expertness, she watched as his eyes darted immediately to the floor, the way he bit his lip, collected himself, before finding her eyes again. When he did, his were brimming with tears that she noticed he was trying to repress.

“Um, my name is Jim. Jim Halpert.”

“Jim.”

She tasted the word on her tongue, confused by its familiarity and warmth, the way her mouth seemed to know it by heart and know its intricacies. His expression said tentative hope and timid fear. His ears perked up when she’d let the lone syllable drip off her tongue.

“So, Jim, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?”

The sadness was back, but she watched him rebound more quickly than the last time, clearing his throat in an attempt to earn more time to choose his words.

“Well, um…” there was a long pause, and his eyes almost seemed to be begging her to put him out of his misery, to lay off just this one time. But her eyes told the opposite. You got yourself into this mess, pal. Explain.

“I’m sorry, Pam. I honestly thought you’d be asleep and I just….I wanted to…”

She could tell this was hard for him, and her expression softened as his dejected body dropped in defeat.

“I’ll just, I can go, honestly, it’s no big deal.”

But as he began to stretch on his long legs, something in her stomach tightened, told her hand to reach out and stop him.

“No, wait.”

His eyes were questioning, and she answered in a way that didn’t say, You’re very intriguing and I want to keep you around longer to figure out why.

“I’m wide awake now and everybody else left. Would you really leave a poor, sick, recovering brain surgery patient alone to die of boredom?”

He seemed to be weighing his options, staring with his mouth agape from her to the door to the floor, before settling himself tentatively back into the chair, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“That could be considered cruel and unusual punishment, ya know.”

Something inside her was controlling this conversation, creating a banter whose only purpose was to keep making this gangly man smile at her.

“Yeah, yeah I guess it would be.”

He was resituating the grilled cheese onto the plate and adjusting it to balance on his lap when she found her eyes trained once again on the smell that had woken her up in the first place. It was after an elongated period of staring that she realized she’d been eying his crotch, and her cheeks instantly reddened as she popped her head upwards while blurting out, “Thegrilledcheese!”

His eyebrows knit, but his lips held back a smile as he glanced from Pam to the grilled cheese and back to Pam again.

“Sorry, it’s just that...I was dreaming about grilled cheese and then you have a grilled cheese and I just….”

Suddenly, the plate was being thrust gently towards her.

“Do you want the rest? Honestly, I just got this to put something into my system. I haven’t really eaten all day. I’m sure you could use it more than I can, though.”

Hesitantly, she reached for the plate, only taking it when he nudged his head forward as if to say, Really, it’s okay. And then, all too quickly, she was devouring the room temperature sandwich, savoring the sticky American cheese and crunchy bread. It was only half a sandwich, but suddenly she felt as if she had a new strength surging through her.

“A little hungry there, Beesly?”

He was eying her with this comedic admiration, his eyebrows pinched upward as he chuckled. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth to brush away the crumbs that had collected.

“Beesly?

“Oh, yeah, uh, sorry. I call you that a lot, just a habit. I can call you Pam, if you’d like.”

She considered this for a moment, trying to envision the strange puzzle she had fit together in her head.

She knew that there had been an accident, one that had landed her on the operating table with her head cut open. This afternoon, when they’d taken her for those tests, the board had said August, when she had clearly been slated to start her job at Dunder Mifflin in April. Maybe she had lost more time than she had originally been aware of. So, where then, did she know this, this Jim from? The one with the goofy smile and the grilled cheese and the Beesly-calling?

She needed time to process all of this. But at the same time, she didn’t want him--Jim--to leave. He provided her with an odd sense of comfort that she wanted to hold onto. While she fidgeted with the edges of her cast, her eyes drifting towards her lap, his silky voice pulled her attention back towards him.

“Did you say that you were dreaming about grilled cheese?”

She was startled by the question, but a blush quickly flushed her cheeks, and she found herself bringing her hands to cover her face as his chuckles filled her ears once more.

“Oh my god, this is so embarrassing.”

“No, no it’s very cute. Way better than dreaming about, I don’t know, salad, right? I mean, who wants to dream about salad?”

Amazing.

He’d taken her moment of weakness and spun it straight into ease and relief. She still wasn’t quite sure who this Jim was or how he fit into her the life that was still missing pieces, but she hoped they were friends.

Their chuckles quickly filled the room, and soon, she was clutching her stomach as she lay her head against the pillow.

“God, this is so weird. I mean, I was sitting inside this CT machine earlier, and all of a sudden I had this flash of eating grilled cheese on a roof. Now, it’s all I can think about. I suppose there could be worse problems in the world.”

She’d expected him to chuckle, maybe offer her a list of worse problems in the world, but suddenly he was tensing again, those tears returning to glass over his eyes, swallowing a knot in his throat as he glanced around the room. The look he finally gave her screamed something panic laced, like he was asking her a question. She didn’t like it. It was almost frightening, that intensity. She was glad when a nurse barged through the door, presumably to check her vitals and adjust her medications.

“Mr. Halpert, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to ask you to head home for the night. Miss Beesly needs her rest.”

He seemed grateful yet hesitant, and almost scared. She sensed worry in his eyes, his body clearly unmoving as the nurse fiddled with machines and worked around him.

“Yeah, yeah you’re right. You should, uh, you should get some sleep. Just keep me updated on what kind of food you’re dreaming about so I can be prepared. We got lucky this time.”

She was smiling a nervous smile, wanting so badly to laugh at his jokes and keep the banter alive, but feeling a heat and tensity overpower her instead.

He seemed to be stalling, waiting for the nurse to finish her round, and she was grateful for that

“Um, are you gonna come back? Tomorrow? Like after work?” She was avoiding his eyes, but she didn’t know why. Why was she afraid that he would say no? A familiar pang of rejection awashed her body, and she felt the urge to reach to him, cling to him, to make sure she’d see him again.

“You don’t have to, though. If you don’t want to.”

He was smiling that goofy way that she was growing oh so accustomed to.

“Absolutely. We don’t want you to die of boredom, right?”

She smiled, keeping her teeth inside her lips with eyes wide. She watched as his long arm snaked around his neck, rubbing there with his large hand. Did he do this often? Had she seen it happen before? He seemed to be mulling over an idea in his head, but ultimately choosing not to as he sighed and inched towards the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Pam.”

“Beesly.”

She wasn’t sure what had prompted her to make the request, but she liked the name. It seemed to suit her. Him. Whatever. And as his lips pursed into a smile, she realized that it pleased him, too. And for whatever reason, she like that thought, pleasing this Jim.

He smiled, his grin mimicking hers in the way only his lips told his emotions.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Beesly.”

As he was edging out the door, his body obviously protesting his movement, she stopped him one last time.

“Jim? Check your shoes before you leave this time.”

His head dropped to the floor, but this time in laughter.

“God, Beesly, always lookin’ out for people, even hours after major brain surgery.”

“It’s what I do,” she quipped, cocking her head to the side, lips curling upward.

His fingers trailed the frame of the door, eyes following for a moment, before they caught hers.

“Bye Pam.”

“Bye Jim.”

Her new dose of meds had kicked in, and she wasn’t sure if they were to blame or not for the dreams she had of grilled cheese and jellybeans.