Pam woke to a freshness in the air that she was not familiar with. Blinking back sleep, she lifted her head, slightly disoriented. A dull ache throbbed across her shoulder as her surroundings began to come into focus. Soft silvery light hung over the room, a room that she had not woken up in before. She squinted, a throbbing pain settling behind her temple and attempted to recall the events of the day before. Letting her head fall back again, she burrowed herself into the warm blanket, her cheek resting softly on the snug pillow.

Sleep began to leave her as fragments of the night before came floating back. Her bones ached, her neck muscles stiff and sore. Unyielding images swarmed her mind; rough, callused hands clutching at her neck, glass scattered on the bedroom carpet, drops of blood in the sink, cold, hard, mad eyes. She squeezed her own eyes tightly shut, trying to force the visions away. Already the pangs of fear were growling at her stomach, sending neurons around her body, warning, danger, danger. Yet her head was gently rising up and down of its own volition, a rhythmic movement she was finding strangely comforting. A calm pulse was beneath her; she heard it not through her ears, but through the rising and falling of the heartbeat inside the chest she had been asleep on.

The heartbeat.

A warmth crept through her she hadn't felt in a long time. Jim, she was in Jim's home. There was something sweetly primitive, nostalgic in the rhythm of his chest movements, harking her back to the safety of her parents arms as a child. His heart was strong, vibrant. A long forgotten feeling swelled up through her, she was there, she was real. It was an intimate sensation she had thought she would never feel again. She was alone with Jim's heartbeat.

She was glad she had woken up.

-TO-

She was a mess. The mirror reflected a myriad of bruises, telling fingermarks and swellings. A rather nasty amethyst colored swelling covered the most of her left cheek, she had an open cut on her lower lip and scrape marks mottling around her neck. She looked down at her blood spattered shirt; she didn't want to take her clothes off and see what damages were lurking hidden under them. Not to mention that she had no clothes there to change into. She glared blankly back at the mirror.

She'd left the couch about an hour back. She wanted to do something, anything to keep her mind from stumbling over everything – she wasn't ready to face it - so she busied herself fixing breakfast for Jim. Then, she'd come up to the bathroom and vomited, causing a sharp slash of pain to spread across her side and through her tender shoulder. Jim was still asleep on the couch. She had got up quietly, careful to not wake him – she knew from experience men did not like being woken – before she gently adjusted a seat cushion under his head and pulled the blue blanket over him.

She supposed she could have been embarrassed, having slept on his chest all night – and that he had given her one hundred per cent of the blanket and didn't try to move her for his own comfort – but then she supposed it was just one of a lot of things she should feel embarrassed about in the last twenty four hours.

She shuffled downstairs to the kitchen and busied her shaking hands in making coffee and flipping pancakes. It was as she was setting a plate on the table that Jim strolled into the kitchen, tousle haired and bleary eyed.

"Hey, Beesly." he grinned, rubbing his hands through his hair.

She turned to him sheepishly, and returned a small smile. "Morning."

He studied her a moment, then excused himself. Some minutes later he was back, looking more awake. He had changed his clothes. He quietly looked over the table and at Pam, pouring coffee.

"You didn't have to make breakfast," he gestured to the table.

"I wanted to." she wasn't looking at him. After a moments hesitation, he sat down at the small table. Pam put down a small stack of pancakes in front of him and his coffee, and leaned against the counter, sipping at her own coffee.

"You're not eating?" Jim looked up at her.

She shook her head. "I don't… not hungry." she shrugged. He watched her, hovering over the counter, a heavy awkwardness between them.

"At least come and sit with me," he tried. She hesitated. Jim had the distinct impression she was trying not to get too physically close to him. He suspected her new timidness was just another trait to thank Roy for.

Once she was seated beside him, he asked her how she was doing.

Pam lowered her eyes. "I'm okay. A bit… sore." she confessed.

"I'm not surprised." he said kindly. "So, Beesly. What are we going to do today?"

Pam coughed loudly, turning to the side, wincing. "Well, you have to go get dressed for work." she said in a hoarse voice.

Jim shook his head, fixing a solemn gaze towards her. "I'm not leaving you here alone."

"Jim…."

He waved her off. "Forget it. We'll both call in." Jim leaned back. "Do you think Roy will be in today?"

She hung her head and shrugged again.

"You need to call the police." Jim watched as she stiffened at the suggestion. Feeling lost over his head, he wasn't sure what to do. "Will you at least let me take you to the hospital?"

No answer, except a deepening frown. Jim reached forward towards her.

"You know you can't go back to him, right?"

Pam finally raised her head. She nodded. "I know." she agreed, her voice small and sad.

This was progress, as far as Jim was concerned, at least. At least she wasn't attempting to defend Roy's actions. Truthfully he was very worried over the extremely real likelihood that Roy would show up here, and the last thing Jim wanted to was see her assaulted by him again.

"What do you think you should do?" he asked.

She felt foolish now, it seemed so easy, in a way, because she had already done it, taken the first step, the biggest step. She had walked. Roy must be furious, and probably hurt as well. She thought about him finding her engagement ring that she so harshly left on the pillow for him. He would be mad about that.

"I… still care about him." she admitted, blinking hard.

Jim stared at her with disbelief playing over his features. She bit her cheek, and then winced.

"I was with him for 5 years, Jim." she offered as a way of explanation. Still, even to her it sounded weak, under the circumstances. "But….now I'm here.. something has changed." she fidgeted. "I can't go back anymore."

They both fell quiet for a moment, before Pam stood up stiffly, shaking her head. "I don't want to talk about Roy right now." Tears stung her eyes.

Jim was overwhelmed with pity for her, what her life must have been like the last few years with Roy. He couldn't bear to think about it himself. "I know it's really, really difficult for you," he began.

"Do you? Do you really?" she snapped at him. A look of remorse fell over her face and she apologized quickly. Jim waved it off, knowing it wasn't him she was angry with.

"Do you want to see Roy again?"

She looked pensive. "No." she replied after a pause. "No, I don't."

"Are you worried about him coming here?" he persisted. She was pacing anxiously behind the chair she had just vacated.

She held her breath. "I…" exhaling she said, "I think he'll find me here, yes."

Jim stood up carefully at his side of the table. "Then let's go to the police. Get a restraining order. We'll call Toby. He can get protections in place for you at the office."

"I don't want Roy to lose his job." she protested weakly.

"Stuff his job!" Jim said with no small degree of outrage coating his words. Pam went rigid, shocked at his outburst. Jim mentally flayed himself; Pam was quivering – of course she would be jumpy and on edge. He felt like an ass. "Hey," he spoke with a much softer tone of voice, wandering over to her. "I'm sorry."

Pam looked away from him, the familiar tears building up again.

"It's gonna take some time, huh?"

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed, giving him a quick nod. Jim rubbed her shoulder kindly and stepped away. "I'll go call Toby." he said. He started his way into the living room.

"Jim?"

He turned back, looking at the black and blue woman. Somehow from afar the damage to her face, skin, body looked even worse.

She looked directly at him. "I want to go to the police."

He nodded, not wanting to do anything to change her mind. "Okay, Pam."

"Jim?" Pam moved forward a few steps. "Thanks… for everything. I mean it… you're the best friend I could ever ask for."

With that, her tears were falling again and before she knew it Jim was hugging her, holding her up in the middle of the kitchen, as she buried her face into his shoulder. He rubbed her back as she sobbed into him, and uttered kind words to soothe her. He felt Pam lean into the hug, her arms gripping tightly around his back. They stood there, entwined together for a long time, until Pam's breathing slowed down and her crying had tapered off.

Friend, it was a double edged word, he thought. Best friend. He mulled over her characterisation of their friendship as he comforted her. Maybe later… he felt guilty for having the thought. But there was always a later.

Right now, she was right. He understood. Right now she needed a friend.