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Author's Chapter Notes:
Jim wakes up.

Jim rolled over—or tried to roll over. He found himself awake but unable to move, flat on his back. His first thought was, absurdly, to recollect that only first-class on Qantas had the lie-flat seats, and to wonder whether he had been upgraded and forgotten about it.

His second thought was to realize he had no memory of getting on the plane in the first place.

His third was pain.

The pain forced his eyes open, and only then did he truly realize the full extent of his situation. He was not just on his back, but strapped in place, with an IV in his arm and bright hospital lights shining down into his face. He turned his head with some difficulty—it felt heavy—and saw the label on the IV stand next to him.

Geisinger.

He hadn’t even gotten out of Scranton. What had happened? His last memory was…getting into the cab, half-asleep, to go to the airport. Well, clearly something had happened, because this wasn’t the airport and it wasn’t Australia. For some reason a line from a movie he’d seen floated into his head—“you must choose between this world, the next world, and Australia.” It was from that silly Colin Firth thing Pam had convinced him to watch after he’d made fun of Pride and Prejudice—what was it called…The Importance of Being Earnest. He felt oddly proud for remembering, and then depressed again. He wasn’t supposed to be remembering obscure things Pam had liked. He was supposed to be on a plane to Australia, and then moving to Stamford, Connecticut, all to get away from Pam. Because she’d shot him down. Twice.

And he’d decided to run.

He didn’t feel nearly as good about that decision now, but he couldn’t be entirely sure that wasn’t a side effect of being, well, flat on his back with an IV tube in him and what he was seriously beginning to think might be broken ribs. And a mind that was apparently in cahoots against him, because it was back on Colin Firth. “The accounts I have received of Australia and the next world are not particularly encouraging.  This world is good enough for me.”

“But are you good enough for it?”

Was this world good enough for him? He thought of Pam, and instantly regretted it. It hurt too much, hurt more than the ribs and the muscles and the rest of him put together. And it wasn’t just the memory of her rejecting him—twice!—that hurt. Somewhere in the night he’d come to the realization that what he was doing was no better than what she had done. She had run from her feelings metaphorically, refusing to see what he knew was there—had to be there—was, please, for the love of god, there—and now he was running literally. He’d called it self-preservation in his head, arguing with himself that no one could expect him to stay and watch her get married, or to come to work every day and work alongside Pam Anderson. Not unless they paid him as well as David Hasselhoff—and even then, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to stomach it. Especially not if she ran in slow motion, he thought. Though that would be something…

No. He couldn’t do it. But he shouldn’t be running away either. There were no good options, but taking extra vacation so he didn’t say goodbye was a worse option than most, even if he’d excused it as self-defense. He’d been a bigger coward than her, since she at least had stood there and talked to him—tried to tell him why and how she couldn’t do what he asked. He’d been the one to walk away, not her, and he hadn’t stopped moving since then.

Well, he certainly wasn’t moving now. And if the pain in his ribs and legs was anything to go by, he probably wouldn’t be for a while. So he’d have plenty of time to realize what a jerk he’d been to the one person he really cared for.

As if to punish him for that unfraternal thought, he saw his sister Larissa come through the doorway to his little room, her head turned to someone outside the room. The one person outside his family he really cared for, he quickly amended, and tried to greet her.

What came out was more of a croak than a greeting, but it seemed to do the job. “Hey, L.”

Her head whipped around, took in his open eyes and pained attempt at a smile, and then she did the one thing he least expected: she ran out of the room.

What was that all about? Who or what could be out there? I don’t know what I expected—it’s not like Larissa is the most emotional person I know—but she could at least have said hi back.

He was vaguely offended, honestly. Here he was, her brother, sitting in a hospital room and waking up for the first time after—hold that thought, but some amount of time—and she didn’t even bother to acknowledge him.

The offense disappeared an instant later when she pulled a teary-eyed Pam Beesly into the room.

“Hey, big bro. I got someone here you might want to see.”

*****

Pam wasn’t sure what to think when Larissa’s head suddenly jerked around, still less when she suddenly closed the three steps between them and yanked on Pam’s arm, hard. She almost stumbled, then did lose her footing when Larissa hissed in her ear “Jim’s awake!”

She felt Larissa help her to her feet and push her in the back, and she went with the motion more out of an inability to do anything else than out of her own volition. Her mind was in turmoil, with “Finally!” warring against “Oh my god what about when he sees the sketch” and “Come on, you’ve been holding his hand when he was unconscious, the least you can do is go in and talk to him when he’s actually there.”

“Finally!” won.

She was aware of Larissa saying something behind her as she was pushed into the room, but beyond that the world had narrowed down to a pair of shining eyes (slightly frowning, she noticed) that were finally, finally open and alive and everything she remembered.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hey.”

His voice was broken and scratchy and pained. It was the most wonderful sound she’d ever heard.

Chapter End Notes:

From here the plot will pick up a little bit, though there will be some focus on Jim's recovery as well as the emotional beats of the JAM plot. And no, I won't forget Larissa's presence.

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