Jim closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling of calm that surrounded him. It wasn’t that the world around him was actually calm, mind you: his family were Halperts, for god’s sake, so of course there was a constant sense of bustle and fidget in the air—not to any specific end, they weren’t Schrutes, but just a general energy, a vibe, a buzz, like the one that made him tap his fingers or bounce his knee or plan a prank on Dwight. But within that maelstrom of Halpertiness, he was at peace. The eye of the hurricane, or perhaps one of those mighty seabirds that road the winds at their own pace, floating motionless relative to the air even as it stormed and thundered around them. So for him, this was calm; the kind of brittle artificial quiet that Angela liked to impose on the office was not calm but tense, while this was a beautifully calm form of chaos for him.

And at the center of it was not him, but Pam. Pam, who had apparently become so comfortable with his parents over dinner (or simply by extension from Larissa—it still amazed him how quickly those two got along) that she had simply declared herself exhausted and flopped down in the chair by the side of his bed, her head on his shoulder. He knew she’d be horribly embarrassed when she woke up, if past behavior was any indicator—though now that he, and not Roy, was her boyfriend, perhaps not—but for the moment he simply reveled in her presence and the touch of her cheek on his shoulder. He hadn’t even had the heart to slip an arm around her shoulder for the fear that it would interrupt the rest she so clearly needed.

He wondered how much sleep she’d gotten the week before his accident, let alone after. She must have had a hard time of it: breaking up with Roy, moving out, and canceling a wedding, all on her own. Part of him wished he had been there for her; part of him wondered if she’d even have done it if he had still been there, supporting her through Roy’s inadequacies; the first part told him to be ashamed of himself and give her more credit. But most of all, all of him was proud of her. She had done a lot, done it so independently, and when he was suddenly in crisis she had not hesitated to hurry to his side even after he’d abandoned her to her own fate that evening in May. The pain of that night was water under the bridge now for him, and he hoped for her, but the pain of having abandoned her was still fresh. He gloried in the fact that he would now have the chance to make it up to her—and vowed to buy a commuter rail pass between Stamford and New York as soon as he moved.

Moving to Stamford had been simultaneously the impulse of a moment and the pent up explosion of years of frustration: Stamford itself was merely the target Jan provided him for that explosion, the instant opportunity he chose to take, but the stress of being oh so close to Pam had been building up as long as he’d known her. Or at least as long as he’d known she was engaged: he still had fond memories of that lunch at Cugino’s when he’d thought she was single, and spent the entire meal wondering how to avoid blurting out a proposal over calzones and Caesar salad. But now Stamford seemed like divine providence: only in Stamford would he be close enough to date Pam when she was at her internship (setting aside corporate, which he was in no way ready for). Forty-five minutes was a much smaller distance apart than one Roy, he reflected, and he was pretty sure that when the time came to propose in his own turn, he would find it easy enough to shrink forty-five minutes down to zero. He mentally added to his to-buy list (after “commuter rail pass” and “whatever Larissa wants as a thank you present”) “engagement ring,” and couldn’t even bring himself to worry about the addition. This was Pam. Unlike Roy, he knew what he had in Pam, and there was no way in the world he was going to let her slip away. Not after getting such a spectacular second chance. He should find out the name of the person whose car his cab hit—as well as of the cab driver, both of whom he had learned from Larissa had walked away with minimal injuries—and send them a gift basket too. It was like God had looked down and said “This is a mistake, James Duncan Halpert. What will it take to get that through your thick head? Oh, an entire Chevy Impala, right in the ribs? Then consider it done.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He looked down at Pam’s left hand, draped across his arm, and smiled. The bare patch of skin on her left ring finger was still not the same color as the rest of the hand—he idly wondered if he had enough patience to let it become so—and he smiled. “Good job, Pam,” he whispered. “And thank God for you.”

Larissa was sitting on his other side, chatting away with their parents, and she must have heard him, because suddenly her head was on his shoulder, just a brief touch, and she was whispering in his ear. “You fuck this up, Jim, and I’ll finish the job the Impala couldn’t do.”

He grinned at her, and then at their parents, who looked a question between him and his sister. “L was just telling me that if I mess this up with Pam she’ll kill me herself.”

Betsy sighed. “I don’t know, honey. I’m not sure she’ll get a chance. Look what happened the last time you tried to leave her.”

“Mom!” He hadn’t expected an attack from that quarter. He looked to his dad, who shook his head gently.

“Jim, I think I raised you right. And son, I’m telling you right now, if you treat that woman like you’ve treated any of your other girlfriends, I’ll…” his father seemed at a loss for an idea for a moment before brightening and continuing. “I’ll tell your sister.”

“Such faith you have in me.” He mimed being shot in the heart. “I’ll have you know—and this goes for all three of you—“ he mock-glared at his whole family. “Pam isn’t like anyone else. She’s it. So L, if you think I’m going down that road? You tell me before it gets to the point where you’d kill me. OK?”

She kissed him on the cheek. “OK.”

His dad smiled at them both. “We just want you to be happy, son.”

“I am.” He kissed Pam lightly on the head, and the motion apparently shifted her just enough that she woke up groggily.

“What’s going on?”

He grinned down at her. “Larissa was just telling me that if I mess this up with you, she’ll kill me, and my parents agreed. You’ve robbed me of my family, Beesly—they’re all on your side.”

She sleepily smiled up at him (and the fact that he’d get to see that smile for the rest of his life just killed him—but in a good way, not in the way it had been killing him for years to think that he wouldn’t get to see it) and murmured softly: “’Course they are. Cuz you’re mine.” She lifted her head enough to look over at Larissa on his other side. “An’ Larissa’s the best.” She stopped for a moment, considering, then whispered in his ear before putting her head down and falling back asleep. “Don’ tell Penny I said that. Love you.”

“I love you too.” He kissed her head again, but this time she was down and out.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” said Betsy, rising. “We’ll be back tomorrow, honey, but for tonight I think we’ll let you two get some sleep. We’re glad you’re doing OK.”

“When she wakes up make her go to bed—this one or home, doesn’t matter, but don’t let her sleep with a crick in her neck,” added Larissa, before miming punching his arm. “Love you, big bro.”

“And who knows,” chimed in Gerald as he waited for his wife by the door. “Maybe we’ll get you a trip to Australia for the honeymoon.”

“Getting a little ahead of yourself, Dad,” Jim chuckled,  but he couldn’t find it in him to object too strongly. “Love you three. See you tomorrow.”

“Love you, Jim,” replied Betsy as Larissa and Gerald walked out the door. “And Jim, honey?”

“Yeah, mom?”

“Enjoy it. We’re so happy for you.”

“Thanks, mom.” He put his head down on Pam’s. He was already enjoying it. And he intended to continue to do so as long as she’d let him. Hopefully, he thought, “until death do us part.”

And with that, Jim and Pam slept.