It’s an occupational hazard, of course, working at a paper company.  He realizes that either the curve of her neck or the flush in her cheeks must have been distracting him, because he’s not usually that clumsy.  But for some reason, the fax he’s giving to Pam catches his hand the wrong way and slices him right in the webbing of his thumb and index fingers.  It’s about the worst possible place for a paper cut.

             “Fuck,” he hisses, wincing and immediately bringing the cut up to his mouth to suck it, as if that will somehow magically heal the wound.  It’s some sort of psychosomatic knee-jerk reaction from his childhood that he’s never thought to analyze until now, because he realizes how completely wimpy he must look.

            But she doesn’t miss a beat.  She doesn’t smirk, or laugh, or shake her head.  She jumps up, with such a look of concern that he can’t help but smile, despite his discomfort. 

            “Oh God!  I’m so sorry!  Here, let me help you,” she cries softly, taking him by his uninjured hand and pulling him around the side of her desk.  He realizes that it’s just a paper cut and that he’s completely taking advantage of the situation but he still lets her sit him down in her chair as she bends down to rummage through one of her drawers.

            After a moment, she straightens, triumphantly holding up a tiny first aid kit.  It’s adorable, and she looks so beautiful right now, and she’s taking care of him, and he feels his heart swell. 

            “I think I should ask if you’re qualified to perform this procedure.  Do you have any medical experience?” he grins, gazing at her openly as she kneels next to the chair and pulls his injured hand to rest, palm up, on her desk.

            “I took Paper Cuts 101 at my orientation.  Dunder-Mifflin requires it… apparently you skipped that day,” she says, quirking an eyebrow and tearing open one of those little individual alcohol swab packets.

            He’s speechless.  She does this to him sometimes.  She’ll say something so… perfect, so right, that he is reassured, just for a fleeting second, that they are meant for each other.

            “According to the handbook, now is when I’m supposed to tell you that this might sting a little bit.  Don’t worry Halpert, I won’t tell anyone if you cry.  Well, maybe Dwight, but I’ll make him promise not to tell,” she smirks, glancing up at him.  What she sees in his eyes makes her heart stand still.

            He doesn’t try to hide his adoration.  In fact, he wishes she would see it.

            “Bring it Beesley.  Just bring it.”

            When she swabs the cut with alcohol, it doesn’t hurt, but he winces anyway, because he hopes she’ll do what he thinks she’ll do.  And she does.

            She immediately bends over his hand and gently blows on the cut. 

            He thinks that she’s never looked more beautiful.  There’s one tiny strand of hair caught between her lips at the corner of her mouth and he has to clench his free hand into a fist to stop himself from brushing it away. 

            She’s concentrating so hard on his hand, and the feeling of her cool breath touching his skin sends a tiny, involuntary shiver through his body.  Sensing this, she looks up at him.

            She’s so close.  It would be so easy.  To touch her face and whisper to her that he’s never loved anything as much as he loves her.  That he’s never seen anything more beautiful in all of his life. 

            He wants to scream it from the roof.  He wants to jump on his desk and shout it out to the entire office.  He wants to rent one of those planes that fly the banners behind them – the ones he always sees at the beach.  He wants to write it in the sky.  He wants to hire a marching band and carry a baton and stop traffic in downtown Scranton.  He wants everyone to know that he doesn’t think he can live without this woman.  That she’s the reason he wakes up in the morning.

            But he knows he can’t do that.  So he does the next best thing.  He looks at her.  Really looks at her.  And he hopes she sees.

            She’s staring at him, not looking away, which, in his opinion, is a good start.  And he can almost see it, right there, deep inside her eyes.  He can almost see the moment that something inside her changes.  He’s almost seen it so many times before.  And then she does what he hoped she wouldn’t do.

            She looks away.

            And the moment is over.  It’s yet another one he can add to the growing list of moments when they almost stopped denying each other, when they almost stopped denying it to themselves, when they almost found something so pure and so right and so golden.

            He wants to shake her and kiss her and hold her hand, all at the same time.  But he just smiles at her as she gingerly presses a band-aid over the cut. 

            She turns his hand over and gives it a gentle pat and when she raises her eyes back up to his, he is stunned by how quickly she has recovered.  He can see the wall going back up.  Can see her mentally erasing the moment, and it makes his hand and his heart and his head throb.

            But, you know what?  If she can do it, so can he.

            “Very nice Beesely.  You’re no Safety Officer, but this really isn’t too shabby.  Paper Cuts 101 must have been very informative,” he grins, standing and leaning an elbow on the counter above her desk.

            “Well… I did get an A,” she says, reclaiming her seat and returning the first aid kit to her drawer.

            “Obviously.  And just think - if it weren’t for you, I would have had to turn to Angela.  She probably would have suggested amputation,” he smiles, grabbing an orange jellybean and popping it into his mouth.

            She laughs, but doesn’t reply.  And he figures it’s probably time to go.  So he does.

            “Thanks again Beesely.” 

            He knows it's just a paper cut, but, Jesus, it hurts.