Morning came and went, and Jim lay sleeping beside her.

She shuddered in the dim daylight, the lingering sensation of cold hands tight around her neck, hands that were superhuman with unbridled rage, and she gasped raggedly. Remnants of horror stayed with her, and she sat perfectly still as if her muscles had shut down, as if she was paralyzed. In the floating consciousness that she was moving towards, her eyes closed tightly, because she knew that they weren't alone in the room. If she opened her eyes, she would know, she would see, and in the silence of the room he would be there and then she would be afraid and panic and Jim would wake up and it would all start again as if they were caught in some kind of sadistic rerun.

And yet, the urge was there – a powerful urge to clutch hold of Jim and shake him until he woke up, mad at her or not. To hear his warm voice tell her everything was going to be alright. An almost desperate wanting to crawl against to, to be inside his arms, to not be alone. But, because she was deeply ashamed, she fought herself against her own will, and did not reach out to him. Instead she flexed her toes and limbs and cautiously inched forward, leaning over him and prodding her arm ahead as if she were blind, until her fingers brushed upon soft cotton. Drawing back the curtain, the sense of fear began to turn away from her, and slowly her eyes opened.

Now almost fully awake, she smirked ruefully at the shadowless walls, all terror of dark, formless intruders in the room dissipating rapidly. It was a dream, a trick of her mind. It always was. All she had to do was let the light in.

But she was gradually coming to understand that it, like all things, was not as simple as that. Sometimes she had to look for the light, look really hard. Then, she had to figure out how to hang on to it, grapple it with both hands and hold tight.

Just the thought of having to fight for happiness for the rest of her life brought a lump to her throat, and tears to her eyes.

Turning to her right, she considered the sleeping man next to her. What she was putting him through. As he slept, his face had grown pale and wan. A hot burning pain seared through her chest, and she inhaled sharply. It felt as though her ribs were squeezing shut on her. It was her fault Jim was so tired, so worn out. It was because of her that he didn't laugh the way that he used to, no longer took respite in the planning of pranks, because of her he had missed so many days of work, because of her Roy had attacked him. It was all her fault, all of it.

Above everything, Jim was the innocent one. He simply had the misfortune to fall for her, and she had uprooted his whole world, had pushed him away and yelled at him and just generally made his life miserable. Even asleep, face smashed into the pillow as usual, she could see his eyebrows brought together and the edges of the wrinkles lining his forehead. His chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm that brought a rush of self hatred so thick she wanted to vomit. Her fault. All her fault. She watched him quietly with sad eyes, her mind dull and heavy. Her hand found its way to his hair, and she allowed her fingers to relax and lightly brush through the unkempt strands, the weight of an overwhelming feeling of love towards him swelling up inside her.

It frightened her how strongly the feeling consumed her.

Sometimes just the simple act of Jim walking into the room drove her into an exhilarating sense of giddiness. She had no control over it, no control over herself. A single brush of his hand against hers made her quiver. She was in over her head and she knew it.

In one moment, it could all be swept away. It could all go, the house, the trees, the whole world in a blink. She had long ago lost the fantasies she had cultivated as a child, and now she looked at life with little illusion, her rosy optimism replaced with an absence of hope. They had what they had, for as long as life allowed them to have it, for as long as fate would stay with them.

She could not say any of this to Jim. How frightening it was to be in love, how vulnerable it left them both. He was sleeping so deeply, oblivious of the fear of danger swirling around her and the intense love pulsing through her in contrast. Slowly she fanned her fingers through the softness of his hair. How could she ever hurt him? How could she ever let anyone hurt him - this man who she was now certain that she loved more than anyone else in the world. Her heart raced as she watched him sleeping, the burning in her chest giving way to a soft warmth that was already spreading pleasantly through her trembling body. She wondered if he would ever know how much she loved him, or if she'd ever be able to tell him. Lifting the hair off of his forehead, her hand shook with an explosion of unspoken emotion, a hot, light-headed love so fierce that she could barely stand it.

It was absolutely terrifying.

-TO-

It was mid afternoon and they were both still in bed. Only one of them was sleeping.

Pam lay on her side facing Jim, her eyes wide open, the unpleasant sting from her earlier tears still lingering in her eye sockets. Her face itched and burned. The brushed cotton pillow offered no help, her cheek chafed against the soft bedding as though it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper.

She had lain back down beside him when her eyes grew heavy, and the arm that had been riffling through his hair had begun to throb with a dull ache. But sleep did not come to her. It was almost jealously that she lay watching the rhythm of his chest, now gently floating up and gliding down, rise and fall, fall and rise, gently hypnotic.

She could almost hear his heart beating.

But then into the silence came the tinny, unwelcome sound of tapping at the door. Wearily her head lifted from the pillow and she frowned at the half-curtained bedroom window. Throwing an arm over her face she pulled herself up and leaned over Jim once more, surreptitiously pinching their side of the curtain between her thumb and forefinger, creating a crack only just large enough for her to peek through unseen.

No person could be seen from the aerial view of the window, but she cast her eye from side to side, taking in the afternoon neighborhood. Then she spotted the sleek sky blue Toyota out front. Sluggishly her feet slumped on to the fading carpet and she stood. She was at the doorway into the hall when the stark vulnerability of answering the door in a tee and the sweatpants she had been sleeping in struck her and she rapidly swung back, grabbing her soft fleecy robe off of the end of the bed.

Pulling the wrap around tie belt firmly around her waist, she cautiously opened the door, half wondering why she hadn't just ignored the knocking and stayed in bed. She fumbled with the catch for a moment before it gave way and a cold burst of air flew through the door. To see Betsy hovering on the doorstep was not completely unexpected, but it was with a small amount of pleasant surprise that she let the woman into the house.

"Hello." Betsy said, smiling. "I hope you don't mind a visitor?"

Pam found herself smiling in return, and hurried to assure her that she did not mind at all. She stepped backwards and motioned to her to come further inside.

"When Jim called and said you weren't feeling well today I thought it would be nice to come and bring you both some soup, in case neither of you felt like cooking." Betsy said, lifting up a brown paper bag towards her.

"This is really nice of you." Pam took the offered bag gratefully, setting it down on the side table. Impulsively she stepped forward and slipped her arms around her in a hug, an uncalculated act that shocked herself as well as Betsy.

And then the woman's own arms lifted and wound around Pam, returning the embrace.

"I'm glad you're here." Pam whispered after a moment, feeling overcome. For some reason her heart had begun to throb painfully and she wondered if Betsy could feel it also.

"Oh, honey." Betsy said kindly, patting her back. She then pulled away, studying Pam's blushing face closely. "You feel very cold." she declared. "Let me make you some coffee."

Immediately Pam tried to object. "No – really – I should –"

"-Let's see if we can't do something to help you feel a bit better, hmm?" Betsy said, walking into the kitchen. Unsure of how to proceed – this was certainly a new experience for her – Pam dutifully plucked up the brown bag containing the soup and followed.

"So, where's that son of mine?" Betsy inquired casually, pulling on the handle of the end kitchen cupboard.

"That one sticks sometimes." Pam said, moving forward to help her. "Jim's asleep." she added.

"Asleep?" Betsy set a cup down on the counter, astounded. "It's early afternoon. Is he unwell too?"

Pam shifted guiltily. "He, uh, hasn't had much sleep lately."

Betsy nodded with understanding and went about making them some coffee. She did not speak, not until they were seated almost face to face in the living room, two steaming cup of coffee on the table between them, seeming to sense the things that Pam didn't want to say.

"So, how are you doing, honey?"

It was the question Pam absolutely despised, feeling it intrusive to say the least and usually left her tongue tied up in knots – but from Jim's mother it didn't feel like an imposition at all, simply a casual remark with none of the usual sympathetic expressions and cautious concern that usually laced such inquires.

"Oh.. well, you know.. It's not easy… but I'm on top of it, mostly." she mumbled, looking down at her hands twisting together in her lap.

"This must be very distressing for you." Betsy said, tilting her head curiously. "I know I shouldn't ask you this, but you are coping alright?"

Pam swallowed heavily. Unlike with her parents, and even Jim sometimes where she would profess that everything was fine, that she was fine, she found she couldn't bring herself to lie to the woman. "It's been hard." she admitted.

"Your ex partner is an awful man. I'm very sorry you met him." Betsy said frankly.

She attempted to agree with her but found her voice was in a lump in her thought and settled for nodding slightly, her lips pursing.

"It will be a relief when he's put away."

"If he's put away." Pam stuttered absently, looking away from her as she spoke.

Betsy took a small sip of her coffee, carefully mulling over her words. "It's hard to find a little faith right now, isn't it?"

Pam didn't know how to answer that. It felt very complicated to her – her faith ran layers deep inside the private parts of herself along with the complete hopelessness that living with Roy had instilled in her. You can't just expect diamonds, Pam. He'd often told her. You have to be good enough for them.

"Roy wants me to feel guilty." she blurted.

"Do you?" Betsy asked. "Feeling guilty is nothing to be ashamed of." she added, watching Pam struggle to answer.

"Sometimes." Pam admitted. "Maybe more."

"That makes sense, given what you've been through." Betsy's voice was kind and gentle. "I'm sure that the abuse that you faced went far beyond physical abuse. It's only normal it will stay with you like this for some time."

Pam eye's flicked upwards sharply, and she stared, slightly open mouthed in wonder at the woman.

Normal. She hadn't felt normal in so long, it felt like a foreign object out of her reach. But hearing someone say it, someone equate her with the term normal, and so casually, genuinely, it felt absolutely wonderful.

"Thank you." she stammered. Unexpectedly she felt the familiar sting of tears pricking at her eyes – but at that moment there were no tears of pain, only of gratitude.

"In court you spoke about how helpless you were." Betsy sad. "But whatever you feel about yourself right now, I think you're remarkable."

Pam stared at Betsy in shock.

"How you survived all of… that… that man… well, I think it's amazing. Oh dear, I didn't mean to upset you." she said, patting her on the arm.

Pam rubbed at her eyes tiredly and brushed her hair back off her hot forehead. As much as the kindness stirred up all kinds of uncomfortable – undeserving – feelings through her, she found herself wanting desperately to hug the woman once more.

"Do you think Jim will resent me one day?"

She had opened her mouth to say thank you to Betsy, but the worlds had tumbled out of nowhere – exposing a fear that she herself had not been fully aware of.

Betsy put down her cup, looking at her quizzically. "Why?"

"I don't know… maybe he'll resent not having a...a… normal girlfriend.. having been dragged through this nightmare." she shrugged sheepishly.

"Pam." Betsy said softly. "There's a danger in reading in too much into things."

Pam frowned, mulling over the words.

"Besides, I don't believe my son would be dragged into anything if he didn't want to be." Betsy patted her arm once more. "Would it be wrong of me to offer you some advice?"

Pam hesitated a long moment. "Um…. Sure." she finally answered, not sounding the least bit certain.

"I think you have more than enough going for you without Roy." she said calmly. "He made you think that you need him. I understand the way you feel, but it seems to me you're needlessly fighting obstacles you feel are in your way. My son loves you very much, and I'm sure that the feeling is mutual." she smiled kindly. "Maybe you'd feel better if you stopped fighting against the past. You'll have to come to terms with it eventually. Don't let it crucify you." she eyed Pam carefully. "That would be a great loss."

Abruptly Pam leaned forward, pulling Betsy into another hug. Somewhere inside her she heard the soft click of a door closing, leaving the wind howling on the outside. She felt at peace.

- TO -

It had been nearly dusk by the time Jim sheepishly made his way into the kitchen. Pam, alone again, had heard the now familiar creaks and bumps from the floor above and had begun to heat up their soup. They ate in a warm, almost cosy quiet, both content to enjoy their meal.

"Jim…" Pam said plaintively as they were back in the kitchen, this time Pam was washing the dishes and Jim was attempting to dry them properly the way she insisted they be done.

"Mmmm." he hummed, quietly concentrating.

"Yesterday…" she began, sucking in a heavy breath. "When I was in front of Roy in the courtroom… all these thoughts went through my head. Really dark thoughts, about him, about you and me, about me."

"Dark thoughts?" he was puzzled.

She went on. "Yeah… like.." she inhaled again, steadying herself. "Like.. maybe I wished I hadn't got away from him… like… maybe I wished he'd finished what he started. Maybe you'd be better off with someone else."

She didn't dare look at him, focusing on the soapy water in front of her. He had fallen silent. It was excruciating. Just when she was beginning to take it all back, tell him to forget it all, that she didn't mean it, he shushed her with a wave of his hand.

"Get off the cross, Beesly." he said simply. "Don't do that. Not to yourself. You're so much more than that. Don't leave me now, okay?"

She risked a glance up at him. His eyes were shiny, pleading almost – but what she saw filled her heart with warmth. Love, so much love. No matter what.

"I'm sorry about how I yelled at you the other night." she responded. She wanted it all out in the open, she wanted everything to be clean between them, right. She heard him breathe a loud sigh.

"You don't need to feel this badly about it when we fight or you let off steam. Just put your dukes up and fight back, Beesly." he said.

The words sunk through her, into her. She contemplated telling him about her conversation with his mother that afternoon but then decided against it, guarding their time together jealously almost. No, that was between them and she was flooded with gratitude and admiration for her. She would never forget the woman's kindness towards her.

"Fight back…" she murmured, thinking how alike mother and son were. "You mean… like…" she twisted a plate out of the sink, flicking soapy water over the front of Jim's shirt and arms.

He looked at her in amusement. "You did that on purpose!"

"Nah…" she laughed. She repeated the movement a second time, with extra force. Jim looked at her, stunned as fat drops of water fell off his arms and soaked into his shirt.

"That," she said smugly. "Was on purpose."

He stood there in shock, and she watched then as his expression changed from the tired, careful appearance she'd seen far too often recently, to the familiar expression of mischief that she loved so much. Laughing openly now, she plunged both hands into the warm water and sent a stream splashing up over him as high as his face almost.

That set him in motion. "Oh… it's on Beesly." he warned playfully, throwing water back at her. There ensued a battle which left the sink almost empty and the pair of them very wet. Pam, going for the last laugh, snatched a plastic cup from the counter and scooped up a glassful, deftly reaching up and dumping it over Jim's head.

"What the – hey!" he called as she fled out of the room, giggling wildly. Jim shook his head and laid chase around the downstairs, finally cornering her in the living room by the door. Laughing himself, he bent slightly and scooped her up effortlessly, carrying her across the room to the kitchen sink.

"What you gonna do now Beesly?" he challenged playfully, attempting to pick up the glass she had tossed aside after soaking him. "It's pa – "

His words were smothered against a pillow of soft feminine lips, kissing enthusiastically, meaningfully as thin arms circled his neck.

"Hey, no fair.." he laughed incredulously. "Unfair advantage."

"Oh, really?" she smirked. "How so?"

He made no attempt to put her down and she made no move to get down. He spoke softly. "The competitor is in love with the opposition."

"Guilty." she responded cheerfully, and kissed him again.