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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is my very first Jim/Pam fic...playing around, getting to know them. Hope you enjoy. Feeback is appreciated very much.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
He thinks he could count her eyelashes if they weren't so thick and impossibly soft. She's so still as she sleeps that the rise and fall of her chest is nigh imperceptible.

"Pam," he whispers, though he doesn't want her to wake. Not just yet. He's not ready to lose her just yet.

He tears his eyes from the creamy smooth silk of her skin and trains them on the ceiling of his bedroom, willing himself to memorize the cracks in the sinking drywall rather than every tiny imperfection of her face. He's always done this, ever since he was a child and scared he'd wake one day to find his mother or father gone forever. Memorizing their faces, every freckle, every wrinkle, every glint in their eyes, so that he could recall them to his mind should he ever be faced with the reality of death or disappearance.

He isn't a child anymore and it has been a long time since he's been this afraid of losing anyone. But he is terrified of losing her. Not that she is even his to lose, which was what makes his fear all the more real. Surely she'll wake in the morning and regret the night. The kiss in the office after he'd told her he'd loved her for the first time, the way she'd run from him only to turn up at this doorstep an hour later, silently taking his hand and leading him up to his room to undress him. The way she'd cried as they'd made love, mumbling his name over and over again, "Jim, Jim, Jim, oh God, I love you too..."

He doesn't know how this happened. He hadn't meant to tell her he loved her. He'd only meant to tell her he was taking the transfer. To prepare her for goodbye. He hadn't been prepared for what came out of his mouth instead, and he certainly hadn't been prepared for her reaction. And now here he is, unprepared to let her go in the morning, when she'll surely come to her senses and leave him, go home to Roy, leaving him with this one sweet memory to take with him to Stamford. Which is why he needs to memorize her while she is still here with him, sleeping serenely on his shoulder.

Her face has never been this close before, and he revels in this newfound nearness. He's never noticed the freckles before; a small smattering only a shade or two darker than the rest of her skin, peppering her nose in the most adorable way, like a child who's spent too much time in the sun. Her lips are plumper than usual, worn from too much kissing and stained the color of a deep claret wine. He spots a tiny scar atop her upper lip and wonders at its cause. His gaze wanders upward towards her eyes. Tiny blue veins thread her eyelids, making her seem delicate and breakable. He doesn't want to break her. His heart sinks at the thought that maybe he has.

Every freckle, every crease, every soft expanse of pale skin he commits to memory. To treasure now and to miss desperately later. He restrains his strong desire to kiss her, not wishing to disturb her slumber. Better to let her sleep, delay the inevitable panic that will overtake her when she wakes to find herself in his bed. To gather her wrinkled dress from the floor and avoid meeting his eyes as she hastily dresses and makes her excuses as to why she is in such a hurry leave so early on a Saturday morning.

He wants to make love to her once more, knowing this will probably be the last time, but he lets her sleep. He wants to tell her he loves her a million times, once for every time he wanted to say it in the past but let the moment pass by, but he doesn't speak.

He merely watches her, tranquil and dreaming, a small smile on her lips, and dreads the coming dawn.


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