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Author's Chapter Notes:

I know this is a little bit skewed from the format that these chapters typically take, but I'd like to view this as a bit of a filler/creative way to time jump :)

Also, adding to the list of things I don't own comes the end of Chapter 14 of Emily Giffen's Something Borrowed (which, might I add, is wonderful and beautiful despite the fact that it totally encourages adultery...) 

It was really hard to navigate through all of the ups and downs of this post accident reality when she just. Wanted. To. Sleep.


The whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours had truly taken its toll, and though her head was swimming with Roy and Jim (literally swimming; they were wearing swimming trunks with cute little fishes on them), and jelly beans and jet skis and half filled margarita glasses, they seemed to lull her into a weird dream state where she was underwater, trying to find the surface but seeming to get farther away the harder she kicked.


She was woken around lunchtime to someone actually having to feed her like a petulant child; all that she remembered was tasteless, amorphous food sliding down her throat like thick slime, and her arm feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds as she lifted it to swat away the person who was spooning food to her lips, the ironic statement, “I’m not a baby, I can do it myself!” sticking in her brain and refusing to manifest past her swollen tongue. As quickly as she was awake, she was plunged back into the weird world of unconsciousness, unwillingly and fitfully so.


It was such a strange world, all drug induced and somnolent, her head heavy and cotton filled. When she slipped back under, the vividness of the road she was now walking along was almost more true than reality. It was vacant, almost post-apocalyptic, and never-ending. When she called out, her voice didn’t echo, but instead refused to exist no matter how much she tried to will her words to be heard. Similarly, her feet would trudge no faster than a walk, and the pain burned in her shins from the effort she gave in trying to haul herself to find the end of this desolate place.


She closed her eyes and counted to ten, fists bunched at her sides, willing this uncomfortable silence to end, to wake up in her bedroom and start over. But as she tried to envision herself in her bedroom with the wishful thinking that she’d suddenly appear there if she imagined it hard enough, flashes of too many different places began to strike her. Her childhood bedroom at mom and dad’s house, and the bed with the dust ruffle that her sister hated. Her bedroom at the house she shared with Roy, with his hand me down bed and the worn, plaid, slightly holey comforter that he’d insisted on keeping because, “Why would we spend money on something we don’t need, Pammy?” even though he’d had this same bedroom set since he was a child. Then, there was a room she couldn’t place, one small and crammed with furniture, a blue and brown and green striped comforter, a guitar, and a funny penguin statue.


Another room, unfamiliar yet comforting, where she could see the new bedspread she’d been longing for. It was clear that only one side of that bed was ever used, one pillow worn by a small head, only one side of the sheets disturbed. Finally, one last room, the bed clearly well slept in on both sides. The comforter was a warm blue, the end tables surrounding it so comically his and hers; one had a candle, a pair of glasses, a romance novel, while the other had a copy of Sports Illustrated and a half empty glass of water.


The contrasting images forced her dreaming eyes open, the overwhelming choices of foreign yet familiar places striking fear in hear heart that popped her lids on alert, realizing that her plot actually kind of worked. The road was finally coming to an end, in one way or another. It was the proverbial two roads diverged in a wood that her toes were now facing, only it wasn’t the woods, it was still this barren, desolate, utterly depressing and grey little strip of a town she’d never seen before that her body was being pulled between. Neither direction actually appeared different. Frankly, there was no appeal to either side of the fork; they both looked as plain as the road behind her. But it was when she leaned into either side that a portal opened upon her senses, overwhelming her nerve endings as she was flooded with convictions.


When she edged towards one direction, it was feelings of comfort, familiarity, family, complacency. But it was also stagnancy and static. And then heartbreak, betrayal, loveless, unmoving. So she leaned quickly and hopefully in the other direction. As the last trip had ended with a sour taste, so this one began. It was uncomfortably new, fear, unfamiliar. And then a burst of joy, friendship, and comfort. It was warm, kind, jelly beans, yes! but then fear, unknown, unstable, can’t, heartbreak, tears, gone, no, no, no. It was too much, this time, this road. Too much all at once, and she wanted to pull away from the edge, to go back to that road that was less intense, that didn’t rock her so much, but all of a sudden it was light, warm, can, and it was stronger, and choices, and love, and it was finally.


With hands spread wide, fingertips touching the filmy space that paved the entrance to both of these roads, her body literally torn, she closed her eyes, willing once again for the landscape to change, to take this ridiculous choice from her, to take her back to that bed with the dust ruffle that Penny hated, where she had no more cares in the world than finishing her math homework in time to watch the latest episode of Full House. But when she opened her eyes, the flood of emotions was gone, replaced with stark white walls that slowly came into focus. The fuzzy lines on the clock read 8:32 PM. The fuzzy man sitting next to her bed, reading a copy of Sports Illustrated, looked like warm and kind and light and jelly beans, and for the first time since she’d opened her eyes and wanted answers, she truly didn’t know what to say.


----


He hadn’t left, despite the uncomfortable situations and her promise of Roy showing up that night for dinner, and he could almost attribute Penny’s attitude for the fact that he hadn’t walked out the door on several occasions. She’d fallen asleep shortly after their conversation. That was typical, the nurse had said; she was exhausted from having major surgery, and the various medications being administered were assisting in pulling her even farther under. When she’d awoken initially, they’d only gotten fleeting hours from her as well. He was lucky that she’d sustained more than one conversation.


It was more relaxed today though, this having her awake deal. There wasn’t as much worry, wasn’t as much will she or won’t she? as the past several days had invoked. His only worry was having to leave her to be with Roy again, but that worry had dissipated when dinner time had come and gone without his presence to dampen the room.


It wasn’t the injury necessarily that was keeping her asleep so much as the recovery process, the doctors had mentioned. Recovery was good, he continued to remind himself, as he remained busy in the waiting room and at her bedside. He was used to this pattern of watching her parents and sister travel in and out, shifting from “his” chair to the waiting room respectfully. He’d been sitting here so long that he was becoming familiar with the rotation of nurses, greeting them politely by name as they came and left.


By the time Helene and Will and Penny had all called it a night, with stable results from the doctors and the intent of returning first thing in the morning, they left him with soft pats on the shoulder and sad smiles as he took it upon himself to settle in. It was about fifteen minutes into the comfortable hums and beeps of the machine, and her soft and shallow breathing, that he grew antsy for a change in background noise. And it was then that he began the habit of talking to her.


It was something he’d heard on some medical show, he was sure, and although she wasn’t technically in a coma, he missed talking to her, missed telling her anything and everything about his day and watching her beam and bat her eyelashes and respond so warmly. When she actually had been unconscious, he’d been too in shock himself to actually communicate past the essentials. He recalled the scratchy dryness of his throat on that day when he finally spoke his first full sentence since arriving, surprised by the rasp and unfamiliarity in his own words. Glancing around the room, he realized something important: this was his Pam. He knew Pam. This was easy stuff.


“So, I’ve gotta tell you, Beesly, this hospital room is actually starting to bore me,” he began, chuckling into the stiff air. “Not because of the company, because trust me, you’re the only company I’ve wanted for, like...ever.” He paused again, the thought of God, I’m such a girl bobbing around before he found the words he wanted to say. “I’m talking about the scenery. You’re lucky that you’ve been asleep for most of it, because honestly, these walls are starting to give me a headache.”


His laughter ebbed, stilling in those same white walls that were making his head spin.


“It would just look...so much better with some of your pictures on the wall.”


Aside from the fluttering of her eyes, she continued to sleep. He knew she wouldn’t respond, knew she needed to sleep, but he continued on. She needed to hear it.


“I hope that, out of everything that you can’t remember, that your passion is still there somewhere inside. In fact, I’ve gotta believe it is. You can forget that you love me, but god, Pam, I hope you don’t forget who you are.”


And that was how the next few days played out. She slept. A lot. She was conscious for a few short hours at a time, if that, but her eyes fought to stay open and when they did, she seemed like this doped up version of herself, groggy and in pain, and he couldn’t bare to force her into any type of meaningful conversation. He knew that she needed her rest. So he did the only thing he knew to do. He talked to her about everything and anything under the sun, like her ears were the pages of his diary, while she dreamed the days and nights away.


“I can’t believe that I’m saying this, but I’m pissed at Roy for not showing up yesterday, Pam. I know, I know. You’d hit me if you were awake right now. But god it was just a shitty move. He should be here for you. Because you asked. If for no other reason than because you asked. He should’ve been here for you.”


She was floating in a rowboat. A sea monster trying to flip the boat over. Large, slimy. Scaly and brown. A green fish with a quirky grin trying keep her afloat.


“Alright, so, I hope you don’t hate me for this, because I know you don’t really like people seeing your art until it’s done, but these ones were on the walls, so I figured you wouldn’t mind. I thought you’d want something pretty to see when you opened your eyes for the few hours of the day that you do. And besides. It makes me feel more like you’re here. Makes the room seem like you.”


Fireworks. Everywhere. Entirely surrounding her. She was on a jet ski, and then she wasn’t. She was somewhere else. But the fireworks, they stayed, bursting around her like she was thirty thousand feet up in the atmosphere.


“I went back to work today. Well, kind of. It was only for a half day. I figured it was about time. I know you’d be yelling at me if you knew I’d taken off almost two weeks just to sit here with you. You’d probably say something like ‘Jim, seriously, stop watching me sleep. It’s creepy.’ Plus, your parents were starting to give me more sad puppy dog looks than they were to you.”


Two older people, a man and a woman, sliding across the floor on...boxes of paper? Crossing the finish line. What finish line?


“It’s not the same without you. It’s...well, it’s totally boring, Beesly. It’s like, selling paper isn’t as fun without your pretty face right across the way.”


She was a contestant on Jeopardy, wedged between her fourth grade teacher and Ellen DeGeneres. The categories were “Potent Potables,” “World History,” and “That’s What She Said!”


“I had the best idea for a prank today to pull on Dwight. It would have been so great. But I needed my partner in crime. And Ryan wasn’t too interested in helping out.”


Two puppies, a goldendoodle and a chocolate lab playfully taunting a boxer. Why was he wearing glasses? Dogs don’t wear glasses.


“God, I know I sound like such a baby, but I hate sleeping in my own bed. Without you, anyway. It sucks, Pam. It really does.”


She was the quarterback for the Eagles, throwing the ball downfield, watching the receiver--was that, was that her new boss? The guy who had interviewed her?--draw the ball to his chest and run in for the touchdown. They were Super Bowl Champions. Jim would be so proud.


“I found this on your nightstand--well, my nightstand, but you left it there the last time you spent the night, and I know I was teasing you for reading it a few weeks ago, but I’m sure you’re dying to find out how the guy gets the girl in the end, aren’t you?”


A man’s voice, rich and soothing, almost silky in its timbre, painted her eardrums. Her eyes cracked open only slightly, as they had been doing all week, struggling to stay conscious for more than five minutes. He was stroking the five o’clock shadow that outlined his typically slack, strong jaw with his right hand, as the book sat perched in his left. He was adopting voices for each character, pausing between paragraphs to comment, to wonder aloud about plot points--because he’d picked up in the middle where she had left off, after all.


“Wait, how long have these two actually known each other for?” she heard him mutter under his breath, more than likely to himself.


“They met in law school,” she mumbled, through words so sluggish and sleepy, she wasn’t even sure they’d come out coherently. But he paused his reading, chuckled, breathed out a Thanks, Beesly, and continued on. With eyes closed and the words on his lips manifesting into images in her head, she smiled sleepily, and he continued reading. Sometimes he would pause to ask questions or make comments, and somehow, in her state of fatigue, she’d always have a response.


“Wait a minute--she let him ask her best friend out on a date when she clearly had feelings for him?”


“Mmm, yup.”


“Why didn’t she just, like...tell him she had feelings for him instead of waiting until he was engaged to her best friend and planning a wedding?”


“I don’t know, Halpert. I could ask you the same question.”


Her eyes were closed, but the expression in her eyes suggested something like the playful banter they’d been entertaining themselves with before her accident. Suddenly he was back on her couch in her new apartment. Her knees were folded under her body, a bowl of popcorn between them, and she was tossing pieces in an arc towards his mouth, trying to break the record of seventeen caught pieces in a row.


“Hey, why’d you stop reading?”


Jarred from his memories, he noticed that her eyes were still closed, her words still sluggish and dreamy. But the way her eyebrows bunched and her lips scrunched, his pouty, adorable little Pam Beesly was trying to squeeze through.


“Just thinkin’,” he admitted, shrugging even though he knew she couldn’t see him.


“Well, less thinking, more reading.”


“Yes, ma’am.”


His words are like the sound of a needle dragging across a record. A sinking, sickening feeling washes over me. This is why you should never, ever get your hopes up. This is why you should see the glass as half empty. So when the whole thing spills, you aren’t as devastated. I want to cry, but I keep my face placid, give myself a psychological shot of Botox. I can’t cry, for several reasons, not the least of which is that if he asks why I’m crying, I won’t be able to articulate an answer.


As the words to her silly romance novel poured past his lips, he couldn’t help but empathize just the smallest big with Dex and Rachel. Sure, he was no longer in the position of trying to steal her away from her fiance, but the way that these two people who wanted to be together were fighting obstacles for so long tugged at the aching strings of his heart. The way that the chapter ended, with the protagonist agonizing over the future with a man she’d just sent home to his fiance: Will he kiss Darcy hello? hit too close to home, to a past that wasn’t that far distant. Maybe it wasn’t so silly after all.


Marking the page, he glanced up, noticing that her cheeks were more relaxed, her eyes no longer following along underneath closed lids as they had been minutes ago. His lips curled up, tracing her angelic features with his eyes.


“Alright, Beesly. I think you might be wimping out on me, so I’m gonna take that as my cue to head out for the night. And, according to my watch, Brenda should be starting her shift any minute, and we all know that her first order on rounds is to kick my sad, sorry butt out of here anyway.”


“Screw the nurse. Stay five more minutes.”


He knew this was her subconscious playing at her lips, that the next time she was truly awake, she’d be engaged to Roy again, no working memory of his existence at all. Still, her words froze him to the spot. She’d been muttering oddities all week, some that he understood and some that sounded like a toddler’s sleep talk. He’d indulged with little to no reaction when she was actually awake, no recollection of what she’d said. But for now, as he stared down at her sleeping figure with her casted hand had flung over the side of the bed, her eyebrows scrunched over pinched eyes, he was right back under that spell that had encapsulated him for so many years.


He’d expected her to fall asleep as soon as he’d sat back down, had secretly wanted to sneak out to quell the pain he’d no doubt face once she awoke absent again. But when he lightly grasper her fingers and felt her sleepy pull, he hoped and prayed that she’d remember this in the morning, that she’d remember any of these past few days where her sluggish words had actually responded to his meaningless conversation. It was only five minutes, five minutes of having her cradled to his chest before Brenda the night nurse came and kicked his sorry ass out, but in those five minutes, his heart was whole again.

Chapter End Notes:
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