All he can do is shake his head, slowly.

The words he chooses to use here need to be perfect and precise. He can risk no more confusion, no more mangled interpretations. So he pauses before he speaks, rehearsing and analyzing grammar and sentence structure, tone and inflection. He has a habit of doing this and it’s cost him far too many missed opportunities. Far too many possibilities no longer possible.

He stares down at her and she looks so small. Her eyes are wide and hazel and full of tears and it’s all he can do not to kiss them and wipe away the sadness with his fingers. So instead he looks away and pretends that the sight of her, here, now, doesn’t affect him in the least.

It’s the biggest lie of his life. And she waits for him to speak.

Which, finally, he does.

"After all this time," he says, his eyes fixated on a point in the distance that creates less pain for him than the sight of her. "After all this time, you’re telling me this now."

It wasn’t a question.

"Jim, look at me," she says, her voice shaking.

But he can’t.

"It’s not even just the amount of time that’s passed, Pam," he says calmly, rubbing his eyes. "It’s what’s happened during that time. It’s everything I’ve done to move on. It’s...I’m with Karen now."

He summons the strength to look down at her again and he watches her sadness morph into...into something else that he doesn’t have a word for. The tears are still in her eyes but her mouth gets tight and her eyebrows are knitted and she looks...jealous? No. Antagonized? Not quite. Confused? Maybe.

"I know, Jim," she says. She actually stamps her foot like a three-year-old and he almost wants to laugh at her. Except it’s not really funny.

"I know you’re with Karen. I know you’ve moved on. And maybe now you know how I felt back when I was with Roy and you said–"

"I know what I said, Pam."

"But did it matter to you back then that I was engaged to Roy? Apparently not. And it doesn’t matter to me that you’re seeing Karen. I had to say it. I had to tell you and you had to know. If I’d had to keep it in one more day I would have died."

It’s here that he gets angry.

"What are you doing?" He hears the words quietly come out of his mouth and they seem to echo throughout the air around them as if he’d shouted them into a bullhorn.

He watches her retreat again and it’s obvious she’s scared. But he keeps going.

"What are you doing? That’s what you said to me. Right? You asked me what I was doing. And now, Pam, I’m asking you the same thing." He shakes his head and suddenly his voice is deep and loud. "Because, as confused as I was back when you said it, it’s all starting to make sense now. It’s totally clear. Because now I know what it feels like to be knee deep into a relationship with someone you only sort of half want to be with. And now I know how shitty the thought of hurting them feels. But it’s been months! You waited months."

"Oh, excuse me," Pam said defensively, her voice going up an octave and a decibel. "Excuse me for not knowing exactly how you’d take what I said if I’d told you right after you moved three states away. Sorry for, like, not taking that as an open invitation to pour my heart out to you."

"So, then what? If I hadn’t moved to Stamford would things have been any different? No. You would have kept pretending and you would have married that...that..." Jim pointed, not really sure at what.

"Roy."

"I know his fucking name, Pam. You would have married Roy and I would have had to see you with him every day, knowing that it wasn’t me. That you weren’t with me. That I told you what I felt and opened myself up to you but it still didn’t matter."

"It did matter, Jim!" Pam’s eyes were blazing. "Of course it mattered! But you waited until weeks before my wedding. What the hell was I supposed to do?"

"Oh, I don’t know. Maybe, um, be honest with yourself for once? Maybe take a chance? Maybe think for a second about what you want to do instead of what you should do?"

"That’s not fair!"

They’re both yelling now. It’s surreal. He wants it to stop. He doesn’t want to be angry anymore. He wants to give up, say that they’d both been wrong, leave it at that, walk away and go home to Karen who’s just a million times easier to understand. But there’s still too much to be said and words are pouring out with nothing left to hold them in. He knows he’s not the same guy who just lets things happen around him anymore. He thinks maybe she’s not the same girl, either.

"NO!" Pam shouts and Jim does a double-take. He’s heard her voice sad before, he’s heard her upset and he knows what she sounds like when she’s being stubborn, but full-on rage? He hadn’t thought he’d ever live to see the day.

"No," she continues loudly, heavy-laden with anger that she can’t control. "I’m trying to tell you that you’ve never been wrong! And I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with you!"

The words come out before she can do anything to stop them. She’s almost glad it happens that way. And she realizes that thinking them and saying them are two different things.

And he’s stunned. He can’t move and he can’t hear the noise of the cars passing by. He hears nothing except for his heart beating loud and fast. At least, he’s pretty sure it’s his heart, it may be hers because now she’s standing, like, two inches away from him but he’s too dumbfounded to do anything.

The words he chooses to use here need to be perfect and precise. So he does what he always does. He thinks about it, practices the words in his head. He watches her while he does, and she’s squirming, waiting for his response. He can’t completely read her but her expression looks something like relief.

"Pam," he starts cautiously.

"I know what I said, Jim," she echoes him indignantly. "And I think you know me well enough by now to know that I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t sure about it."

She’s holding his hands now, he sees as he looks down. He doesn’t remember when she took them, exactly, but they are small and warm and soft and perfect. And so is she.

She searches his face again, for some type of acknowledgment.

He swallows hard. He still doesn’t know what he wants to say but he figures that maybe this time he can sit this one out and let her do the talking.

She speaks again because she’s almost afraid he’s going to walk away. But her voice is quiet this time and it’s more like the Pam he knows.

"Jim, I–I’m sorry."

He shakes his head, with a tiny smirk on his face. "Don’t be sorry, Pam. Apparently the fancy new apartment comes with a fancy new pair of balls, too."

She laughs and as soon as she does he remembers why his cheeks hurt from holding back tears and his throat is sore from yelling. He realizes that her laugh is worth the fight.

"Yeah," Pam says, responding to the joke. "I keep them in my second kitchen."

"Away from the food, I hope."

She laughs again and he takes her face in his hands. Her mouth is so close to his but he wants to savor this moment, this closeness, and how real she is to him right now. Her eyes are on his, and they both look tired and drawn, for the same reasons. But he looks at her and he feels like he just won the Olympics for real and she looks at him and realizes eating frozen chicken and fish for lunch for the past five weeks has been totally worth it.

And he says it again. It feels like the first time because it’s been so long.

"I love you, Beesley. I’ve always loved you."

He holds her. It’s comfortable and it just makes so much sense.

She desperately wants to be the first one to take on the kiss this time so she wraps her arms around his neck and presses her lips against his. They’re soft and warm and it’s just like last time, only so much better. He kisses back gently, his hands around her waist, spreading across her back. Her fingers are threading through his hair and she can feel his eyelashes on her cheeks. He can smell her hair and he doesn’t ever want to let go.

She decides to take it further so she pulls away and asks him over to her apartment.

And, really, what else can he say but yes.  But he begs her not to show him the balls she keeps in her second kitchen.

She grabs his hand, and as they walk through the parking lot to their cars, snow begins to fall, covering the ground like a fresh, cold, white carpet.

Suddenly he can’t remember what she said to initiate the fallout.  He thinks it's got something to with words that include "why" and "called off" and "wedding" and "Roy" and other words that don't exist to him anymore.  

But suddenly it doesn’t even matter.