Jim gulped.

How much of what Michael said was true? Well, as he was already beginning to understand after only a little bit of time working at Dunder Mifflin, Michael was telling the truth—but in a particularly Michael way. And done so, again as was typically Michael, in a way that made it impossible for Jim to say so. Because if he did, he was basically being a dick, right? If he just nodded and said “all of it, except for my being knocked out”? Because while Roy was entirely off base in terms of what had actually happened, at least in terms of what he’d implied (the realization that he’d never specified what he thought Jim had done with his fiancée dawned now, inconveniently enough), he wasn’t wrong about what Jim had wanted to do. And didn’t that mean that he was at least somewhat complicit in what had just happened?

Instead he shrugged and gave Pam a little half-smirk. His hand instinctively came up behind the back of his head and rubbed the long hair rising there. “Uh…”

The air seemed to deflate out of her and she leaned herself up against his car and closed her eyes.

“It’s all true, isn’t it?” Her voice was different than he’d ever heard it before. Defeated. Empty, maybe. She opened her eyes and rolled them towards him without moving her head. “Jim, be honest with me. I don’t know why, but I can tell when you’re trying to lie.”

Bullshit was all he could think, because if Pam Beesly could tell that he was lying about something, she would be able to tell that he was lying every moment of the day. Lying about how he felt about her, lying about being uninterested in her every movement, lying about being OK with her and Roy.

“Like right now, Jim. Right now you’re thinking something like ‘bullshit,’ and you’re about to try to convince yourself and me that I don’t know what you’re thinking.” She closed her eyes again. “And yes, telling someone you can read them and then telling them they’re thinking ‘bullshit’ is the oldest trick in the book, but it’s not that. It’s the way you rub your head when you’re nervous—not rubbing the place where Michael hit you, or your ribs that hit the car and then the pavement, but just rubbing the back of your neck. It’s the stupid little faces you make when you’re reacting and think no one else is looking at you. Did you even realize you smirked at me when you started to lie?”

“Uh…”

“Oh yeah, and it’s the way you pick your words out when you’re around me, like if you say the wrong thing something is going to explode.” She shoved herself up off the car and turned to face him. “So for once, Jim, just once, please, be totally honest with me. How much of what Michael said was true?”

“All of it, except for my being knocked out.” It was like the words were drawn out of him without any intention, any volition. They were a whisper in the wind, but evidently a strong enough one to reach her, because she nodded.

“I thought so.” She grabbed his hand, startling him so much that his hand only curled around hers when it had already pulled away, leaving a weird jumble of items in his hand. He turned his palm up and stared down at a small jar of Vaseline, a single bandaid, a Kleenex, and two ibuprofen. “Get something on that cut, Halpert,” she threw over her shoulder as she turned and walked quickly away in the direction that Michael had headed a moment before.