After sitting anxiously with Pam pressed against him in the deepening darkness, after fighting his own impatient battle to stay calm as her shaking worsened, Jim was still waiting for the paramedics to arrive. He didn't have a clue what to do to help her. Her breaths were coming in short, jerky gasps of air, her body recoiling into him with every inhale, and, lost for words, he held on to her as if his touch alone could simply calm her down. The minutes stretched out excruciatingly and the seconds swelled with nerve-driven fears of mental breakdowns and hospital admissions and of being apart and a feeling of being utterly adrift and useless. He guiltily tried to think back to when this had started, if he had missed the warning signs of her feeling low enough to end up in such a state.

"C'mon Beesly." he tried again, speaking in a whisper. "Deep breaths. You can do it." he continued, wincing as she flinched back from his fingers, lightly brushing her slightly damp hair away from her now warm, flushed face. There was the whole sort-of fight in the bathroom they had had the other day. The quiet, far away expression she would get, her eyes sinking in sadness, how she had told him, him, time and again that she didn't want to do this any more, couldn't do it any more. Conversations and subtle nuances surrounded him, taunted him.

"Squeeze my hand." he softly implored, moving to seize her fingers in his, listening almost obsessively for any sound that said the paramedics were approaching. For any sign that help was on the way. He looked down at his distraught girlfriend, her shaking shoulders, her red rimmed, haunted eyes. "I'm right here." He willed her to move, to breathe, to react. To be alright.

But would she? he wondered, as his own heart pounded against his chest. She had told him, he realized with sickening reality. She had tried to tell him, in her own way. Up at the lakes during the weekend they spent together she had told him I don't want to do this any more. He could hear her voice clear as glass, in the spare room after their fight. In the kitchen, outside on the porch. She had tried to tell him. I'm scared. I can't do this. Why do I have to go through this again? He'll never stop. It's going to rip us into pieces.

A heavy, suffocating feeling attacked his chest as the warning signs flooded back to him, a tsunami of guilt and shame. He should have been paying better attention. He should have been listening.

"Remember the things we talked about doing? We've got a lot to do, Beesly. Art school, Beesly. I really think you should give it a go." he told her quietly, feeling nauseous. "Whatever you want, whatever makes you happy." A light pressure pushed at the inside of his thumb, then he felt the smallest tug on his hand, a tingling grip of thin fingers tightening around his own.

"That's it." he exclaimed, his spirit lifting slightly. "Everything's okay, Pam. The paramedics are coming. Just keep breathing, nice and slowly. Don't let go of my hand."

It was torturous, in the middle of the night, waiting for the ambulance to arrive while she cried without pause. Dimly, he tried to guess at how long it had been since he had called. He shook his head and sighed at what felt like the sheer length of time it was taking for help to arrive. Blithely he talked in the darkness, trying not only to distract her, but also himself from the well of shame he was at the bottom of. "Art school, that's what I'm thinking. Nothing to stop you doing anything you want now."

Her fingers, in contrast to the warm forehead, were bitingly cold and Jim wished that his other hand, the hand not holding hers, but the one supporting her head, was free so that he could pull the blanket in around her further. Being as vulnerable as she was, it probably wouldn't take much for her to catch a chill and get sick, and that was another hassle she didn't need. "C'mon." he pleaded, squeezing her hand back.

A loud sob heaved from her body. "I can't." she cried breathlessly, her chest rapidly moving up and down.

Jim smiled sadly at the sudden burst of energy. "I know." he said helplessly.

"I can't.." she gasped. "Can't….. hold this in any more.

"Don't." he stroked her hair back. "You don't need to."

"I'm... not…. safe."

Shards of glass hit his heart hard. That tiny, broken voice. That fear in himself that a part of her would never fully trust him. He struggled to swallow the snowball of hurt that rose inside his throat, and forced his words around it.

"I know it feels like that sometimes." he stared down at her sadly. "I swear I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel that way again."

His words had the opposite affect – instead of comforting the woman, she only collapsed into further sobs of such intensity that almost tore him inside out. She was completely inconsolable.

"What? What is it?" he asked, a pang of desperation tinting his words.

"It feels like the whole-" she sobbed the words out in great breaths of air. "World is collapsing on me and I-" she breathed. "-can't escape."

"This will be over soon, and you'll feel much better, I promise. Nothing is going to happen to you." Jim went on, fervently hoping he was giving some comfort to her. Pam shivered violently, a harsh gesture that shook him also.

"I can't – breathe." she forced out. It was as he suspected – she wasn't listening to him, wasn't able to hear him. It was almost as if the despair was so strong it had taken her away from herself, commanding every last ounce of energy and focus that she possessed.

"I called the doctor and help is coming. Hang in there, love, okay?" he said, pulling her tight against his chest and wincing as the words brought back a torrent of understanding. Hang in there. The oft-repeated mantra – so often he had said this to her. I can't do this any more. I'm scared. She had told him. Pleaded. Hang in there. That was was his useless advice. He'd been trying so hard to be supportive and caring to her and not Roy and he'd ended up pushing her in the wrong direction, into more stress, more uncertainty – more fear. He felt the icy sensation of the last of the color draining from his cheeks.

"Sorry." his head dropped forward as he gently squeezed her hand back. He could do no more than whisper, as his eyes flooded with water. "I'm sorry."

He didn't know if she heard him or not.

-TO-

The paramedic had been incredibly thorough. More importantly, he had been kind. After successfully calming Pam down – or at least managing to get her breathing under control, the man had given her oxygen and checked her blood pressure and heart rate. He explained that he didn't want to conclude immediately that this is was simply a panic attack, and much to Pam's discomfort he attached a full twelve lead electrocardiogram to her chest and arms, nearly sending her into another full on panic. He checked her vitals, respiration rate and talked both of them through the practice of slowing down the breathing, explaining it was to allow carbon dioxide to build back up to normal levels so they could aim to decrease her heart rate, which had become alarmingly high, and also to decrease the amount of adrenaline she was releasing to help her physically recover quicker.

All the while he talked to her calmly, human-to-human and showed every sign of taking her seriously. Jim was utterly astounded – and further chastened – by the quick reaction the treatment the man was providing was having on Pam.

She was now wrapped around again in the blue blanket he'd carried her down the stairs in. Feeling utterly helpless, Jim stood by awkwardly, arms hanging limply at his sides. The other paramedic – Jim had completely missed their names in all the fuss – asked Pam if she wanted to go to the hospital. She refused flatly, wearily, in the dull monotone of someone who was running on empty. She accepted a sedative gratefully though, drinking it back with a glass of water with surprising agility.

"You're exhausted." the man said kindly. "This will help you get some rest. In the meantime, don't hesitate to call for us should this happen again."

"Thank you." Pam said meekly, her head falling wearily against the armrest.

Jim walked the two men to the door. "Thank you so much."

Both of them nodded and wished him a pleasant rest of the night and left to get back in the ambulance. It seemed a tad anti climactic, all things in consideration. He nervously went back into the living room, biting on his lower lip. She was even paler in the silvery dawn light. Somehow she looked so small and fragile, like a doll that had been toyed with and cast aside carelessly.

"Pam… What-" he began.

"I don't know what happened." she croaked. Jim shook his head, indicating that wasn't what he wanted to say.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he said, eyeing her from the doorway.

"Better." She shuddered, tugging her blanket around herself.

He didn't know what to say. He was still fighting his own claw of panic that wanted to choke him. "Do you want some hot chocolate?" he finally blurted. It came out high pitched, almost shrill.

She shook her head no. "Sleepy." she murmured, sailing calmly on the sedative she had taken. Her eyes half lidded, she lay limply against the armrest.

Jim stood still for a moment, wanting desperately to rid the room of the heavy tension. "Do you want to go back to bed?"

Wordlessly, her eyes fluttered open and she nodded agreement. "Come on then, Beesly." he said, extending a hand to her. She reached up to him, allowing him to help her on to her feet. Noticing how unsteady her legs were – the exhaustion and everything he supposed – he took her arm and walked her out of the room and up the stairs, grateful to be doing something for her.

Once they were both back in bed, Pam immediately turned so she was facing Jim. "We're gonna be alright, aren't we?"

Her voice was thick, her tone cracked and tired. She looked at him pleadingly, looking very small, and very young at that moment. She barely took up any room in the bed.

"We're gonna be fine, Pam." he replied, moving closer to her. "Why don't we skip court tomorrow? It's only going over the evidence anyway."

The weary beginnings of relief dawned over her – he could see it in her eyes, the corners of her mouth lifting, the way her shoulders sagged just a little. "You think that's a good idea?" she asked in a small voice.

"It's not my decision." he responded carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was push her into anything right then. "I'll stay here with you, or go with you. What do you think is best?"

She took a long time to answer. Jim began to think she had fallen asleep when she finally spoke. "I think.. I think I need to sleep. For a long time, lots of hours of sleep."

Jim shifted into a more comfortable position, resting his forehead almost against hers on the pillow. He was absolutely exhausted himself, and more than happy at the prospect of extra rest. He began to float on the hazy beginnings of sleep, becoming drowsy and light-headed when she spoke once more.

"Jim?" she said, half asleep in a sedative-induced calmness. "Stay home with me. You be the dreamcatcher who sleeps at the foot of the bed and keeps away the evil spirits and demons."

In the darkness Jim smiled. Sometimes her faith in him was astonishing.