She always does what I command while she cries...

Upstairs, in the bedroom, Pam was remembering the words she had rotely repeated over the years – words that were learned, that were lies, excuses. Her silent pleading with hurt eyes at her parents, her sister, doctors, nurses… Jim. Believe me. She had so desperately wanted them to listen to her, even as she heard the flat disbelief in her own voice, the tremoring consonants, the slight stutter she had affected. I was so s-stupid, Mom. I should have switched the light on. I shouldn't have c-closed the bedroom door. I never would have tripped into it if I could see where I was going.

She nervously fiddled with the small pile of clothes strewn out over the bed. Behind her the radio burst into life, a sweet soulful voice arrowing through her consciousness.

Why should we do what we do and sleep at night.

She lifted her head, a quick glimpse of Jim through the window nearly evading her. His car, now stationed at the bottom of the driveway, was closer to the house, the trunk standing up. She watched quietly, unseen, as he carefully laid her small canvas and faux-leather weekender into the left side of the trunk. Her stomach rolled, the muscles tightening almost unbearably, bringing a stream of water to her eyes. The driveway, the connecting street and nearby blocks stood bare in the eye of the brutal wind, a mangled umbrella being bumped along the cracked pavements the only evidence of any recent life. Pam put her hand suddenly over her mouth as her stomach contracted painfully. A deep groan broke free of her. In the frosty air in front of the window she was hot, so hot. She dropped onto the bed, a loud creak of protest escaping. Swallowing back another wave of nausea, she looked around the empty room helplessly, before leaning down to slip her hand under her pillow, her fingers fumbling until they closed on the smooth paper she was looking for and she drew it out carefully.

It never failed to cause a smile to come to her lips. And Betsy had promised her more pictures of Jim. It was something to look forward to. She stared down, photo pressed between her thumb and forefinger, willing her attention away from the growing discomfort in her abdomen.. Jim was so young in the picture. What she loved about it the most was the familiar half smile, the mischievous light of his green eyes. She loved that he had always owned that smile, that streak of playfulness that was so intrinsic to his nature.

It gave her hope.

Hope that one day things would turn around to how they should be, if all had been right from the start. Jim with his smile and his sense of fun and she joining in with him and they would be carefree and laugh and laugh and laugh. And Jim's eyes wouldn't be clouded and troubled and he would be playful and funny and mischievous, just like he was in the picture. He would be himself again and she would be whoever she was meant to be.

It was over. She wasn't going to have to see Roy again, ever. This was it. She would be free of him. She should be happy, relieved. Except, her nerves hadn't gotten the memo. Her hands shook as she resumed placing her small pile of tops and jeans into the travel bag. Something wasn't right. She ran her fingers over the light goosebumps raised all the way up her arm. She didn't understand. The universe was trying to tell her something.

Don't hurt her anymore the radio pleaded, a wounded, haunted voice that galvanized her. She leaned backwards, twisting her head to look out of the window. There was no longer any sign of Jim. Her vision blurred and the world slipped away from her as she fell into indecision. She had to do something.

Pam slowly opened her eyes. Picking up the bag, she dropped it carelessly behind the bed and turned around, a sudden decision made. As she crossed the doorway, the evocative voice of the radio sung at her back, pursuing her out into the hallway.

And she's sick and tired of walking into doors.

She understood perfectly.

- TO -

Jim was lounging against the now closed trunk when she wandered wearily outside into the gloomy daylight. He flashed a small smile which gradually grew bigger as she tentatively stepped up to him and kissed him high up on his cheek. Straightening up, he looked down at her, his eyes narrowing curiously.

"Beesly."

His expression was one she had seen many times, an inexplicable blend of introspect and barely concealed concern. It was that same expression that had her certain he had mastered an ability to look into her head and know exactly what she was thinking.

She stared back at him, unspeaking. Pam wanted to open her mouth and tell him everything, tell him how she felt at that moment but as soon as her tongue began to move the words were no longer there.

"Um…" she mumbled, shifting on her feet anxiously.

"I'll take the bags back inside." he said calmly.

"Wait," Pam inched forward. Jim paused in the motion of unlocking the trunk. She slipped her arms around his hips, turning him to face her and leaned into him. "I'm doing the right thing, aren't I?" she murmured. Her voice fell flat, slipping out into the air in tiny broken pieces.

"Hey. You know what? You're gonna be fine." Jim said reassuringly, circling his own arms around her and hugging her against him. "And for what it's worth, you don't need my approval."

Pam laid her cheek against his chest tiredly. "I know. I want it, though."

An antagonizing silence followed, and she started to raise her head from his chest when she heard the cool exhalation drift by her. "You've got guts, Beesly." Jim said. "No one could blame you if you walked away now."

She thought about that. Walking away would be so easy, so simple. She could freely turn back and ask Jim to leave the bags alone and merely climb in the passenger seat and sleep all the way out of Scranton and to Jim's friends house in New Haven. Leave Roy to whatever fate was waiting for him, leave the jury and the courthouse and the whole messy affair behind. She wanted it.

She wanted it so badly.

But running away from Roy physically would not mean she was leaving him behind. He would follow her wherever she went, jail or not. No, she had to stop running. She wanted this to be over with. She needed Roy to know that it was over and that she never, ever wanted to see or hear from him again no matter what the outcome. She needed him to hear it. I can do it, she repeated to herself over and over and over again. She almost believed it.

"I'm sorry." Pam shivered. "For messing you around like this. I didn't know if I could handle seeing the verdict.. if… if he gets off..."

"So we go to New Haven another day. And who cares, it's not like we booked anywhere, right?" He smiled reassuringly. "This is your case, not Roy's. You have the right to see it through to the end. And I'll be right there next to you."

She nodded against his chest, her heart thumping. "Leave the bags in the trunk. Just in case."

Pushing her head further against his chest, she gripped him tightly, not wanting to leave the warmth and safety of his arms.

"Jim?" she whispered after a few moments.

"Yeah?"

"I need to tell you something."

"Okay?" he answered slowly.

"I'm really and truly terrified."

"You know something, Beesly? I am too." The sincerity in his voice brought tears to her eyes.

"It's been hours… surely they should have reached a verdict by now." she said quietly. She had no illusions – she knew what the length of time the jury were taking in coming to a decision meant – it was her. It came down to whether they believed her. That was the cause of the delay; she was positive of it.

"Don't even think it." Jim said smoothly, stepping back and sliding an arm over her shoulders. They began to walk indoors. "It's not you they're doubting. They have a lot of charges to decide on, that's gotta be it."

"Mmmm." Pam hummed noncommittally. Jim pushed open the back door, but before they stepped through, the insistent chiiiiming sound reached the door urgently and they both froze in place, looking at each other knowingly.

Jim was the first to break the moment. "You definitely sure you wanna do this?"

Pam met his eyes determinedly. Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin she nodded firmly.

"Alright Beesly. Let's go get him." he said, and went to retrieve the phone.

- TO -

They made it to the courthouse in good time. The roads were unusually clear, in deference to the unpleasant weather, and they had no trouble getting through. Pam strode into the courtroom like a sleepwalker, unconsciously aware of where she was and what she was doing but not really there. She felt as though she was removed from her person, floating outside herself. She was going to vomit, she was sure of it, sure every head in the room was turned towards her and not Roy, and, pulling her hair down around her face despite the stale heat of the windowless room, she nodded briefly to Murphy and stood by her seat.

Behind her were multiple whispers, voices she knew and loved well, wishing her luck, hoping things go her way, good luck, good luck, good luck.

She didn't need luck, she needed a miracle. Her stomach burned, her cheeks were on fire and she didn't think she'd ever been as scared in her life as she was at that moment.

Except for that night, of course.

This was the pinnacle, the apex… the end. One way or another it all ended right there in the next few moments. The room was hazy and dreamlike, Judge Summers a moving, shifting ghost as she made her way to the bench. The wait was excruciating, the slow pace. Pam's fingers found the table in front of her, taking a comforting grip on the edges. The hard corner of the table was stabilizing and helped quell her fear of falling down; her legs were trembling so badly and her entire body had turned to jello and she was going to be sick, she knew it; she had to keep herself together, just a few more minutes. She grit her teeth together hard and focused determinedly on the judge.

"Please be seated." Judge Summers instructed. Pam sunk into her seat gratefully, gripping on to the sides of the chair. She wasn't going to look at Roy. Not yet.

Then the judge told everyone to rise for the jury.

The tension in the room was palpable, suffocating. Pam squeezed her eyes shut, hearing the amalgam of footsteps sweep into the room and up the steps to the jury box. Then, infuriatingly, the judge bid them all to sit again and Pam almost cried at the sheer cruelty of anticipation being dragged out over and over. What's with all the formalities, she wanted to scream at the room. Just read the damn verdict!

"Members of the jury, I understand you have reached a verdict." Judge Summers addressed them. On her bench was a medium sized yellow envelope which she opened with delicate care, long slender fingers that slid out a couple of sheets of white paper. Pam stared intently at her as she looked them over, trying to discern something, anything from the womans face or demeanor – anything that wouldn't keep her waiting a single second longer.

However, the judge remained impassive as she swiftly pushed her long box braids over her shoulder in a well practised move, shook her head slightly and began to read.

"I will now read the verdicts that the jury have reached." she said, her voice loud and clear.

Pam squeezed her eyes closed even tighter, gripping the sides of the chair so hard her knuckles turned a shocking white. Every muscle in her body had paralyzed, stopped in place painfully. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. What was she doing here? She didn't want to know. She had to know.

She inhaled heavily, a jerky, disjointed intake of breath through her nose that fooled no one. Murphy gently placed a comforting hand on the crook of her elbow as the judge continued to speak.

"...in this case of Beesly vs Anderson…"

Pam felt all of the air leave her body. Whatever happened now was going to change her life forever. One way or another it had to be over. Heart drumming frantically, just a breath away from complete and utter panic, Pam gripped her seat even harder and silently prayed that it would be over, no matter the verdict.