"Either I'm getting old," David was panting, giving Jim a wry grin. "Or you play a lot more basketball than I do."

Jim laughed good-naturedly, passing him the ball. "Eh, I used to play."

"You must've played in college, I guess...?" David was dribbling now, circling around him.

"Mmm-hmm - not much, though. I played a lot with my brother when we were kids." He watched as David made a shot, then sent the ball his way. "And before I transferred to Stamford, I had a room mate who was pretty good about getting some guys together on the weekends."

"That explains it, then." David grinned, bending forward at the waist and holding up a hand as if to indicate that he needed a time out. Jim stopped gratefully, balancing the ball beneath his arm as he wiped the sweat from his face with the hem of his shirt.

"Actually," David gave him another affable smile. "I've been meaning to ask you... Why'd you transfer to Stamford? Was it Michael?"

"Oh no." Jim shook his head, averting his eyes. "Not at all - had nothing to do with Michael. I just...needed a change of scenery, I guess you could say."

He realized then that David was watching him closely, searching his expression, so he repeated firmly, meeting David's eyes, "Seriously - Michael's got his quirks, but he's a great boss. And he's really dedicated to this company -- more than anyone."

As if on cue, he heard an exasperated, "Eff!" from somewhere up to his left. He smiled, adding, "Well...Dwight Schrute may love the company just a hair more than Michael."

"Dwight - ah, the roof guy?" David glanced up at Dwight, who had one leg slung precariously over the side of the chimney.

Before Jim could answer, his cell phone suddenly rang, startling them both.

"Go ahead." David nodded, then, "I'll be right back - how about I get us something to drink, then we shoot a little longer?"

"Sounds good to me."

He waited politely until David was out of earshot before flipping open his phone. "Hello?"

"Oh my god, Jim!!!!!" The voice was so shrill that he actually held the phone away from his ear. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dwight pause and peer down at him, as if he'd heard her all the way on the roof.

"Kelly?"

"Jim!"

"What's -- are you okay?" And then he remembered hearing something on the radio on the long drive down. "Let me guess: You can't believe Britney Spears shaved her head."

"Oh my god - can you believe she did that?" She sounded both incredulous and breathless, but before he could answer, she added, "But that's not why I'm calling -- Jim!!!"

"What?" He was starting to get slightly nervous. "What's going on, Kelly...seriously?"

"Roy and Pam broke up! Oh my god, it was so awful!"

"Wait a second." He took a few steps away from the house, pressing his index finger to one ear and pulling the phone closer to the other as he strained to hear her, regretting it instantly as soon as she spoke again.

"Jim, you just wouldn't believe -- and oh my god, you love her! You came on to her!!"

"Kelly - " He was on the verge of telling her she wasn't making sense when he stopped himself. Because it wasn't so much that she wasn't making sense; it's just that she seemed to know more than she should.

"It was like an episode of Melrose Place! I mean, seriously Jim, it was as shocking as when Kimberly pulled her hair off and showed that horrible scar!"

"Kelly, really...tell me what you're talking about." He sucked in a breath, hoping she wouldn't hear. "Please."

"Pam and Roy were talking by themselves, and I don't know what happened -- like, one minute they were staring at each other across the table, all in love - "

He closed his eyes, wondering how in the hell it could still hurt to hear something like that, even after all this time...after all that had happened.

But the truth was that he knew why: It hurt because of all the things that hadn't happened, and probably never would happen.

Kelly went on: "And all of a sudden he was yelling at her! Then he threw something and broke the mirror - Jim, it totally shattered all over the place! And then that brother of his - what's his name? Lenny? Louis? Kenneth? Kenny? Kenny! He started throwing stuff, too!"

"Where's Pam now, Kelly?" His voice was gritty.

"I don't know! She left - Roy was still yelling at her, but she just walked out. Oh my god, Jim!"

"Listen, Kelly...thanks for calling me, but I'm - uh, look, I'm at a party, so I've gotta get going."

"But Jim, you - "

"What?" He raised his voice. "I'm sorry? What? You're fading in and out on me, Kelly, so I'm gonna go. Thanks for…uh, calling; I’ll see you Monday."

He snapped his phone shut, standing stock still for a moment, staring blankly at the covered pool, the air crisp and biting against his sweat-soaked skin. For a long moment he simply stood there, eyes glazed, mind racing - and then he snapped back to himself, turning abruptly and striding purposefully toward the door.

He found Karen engaged in what was evidently an awkward conversation with Jan; as soon as she spotted him, she gave him a look that so clearly said, Help me. He felt strangely guilty as he made his way toward her.

"Hey." He gave her a forced smile, then greeted Jan pleasantly before turning back to Karen; Jan drifted off, presumably in search of Michael – whether to avoid him or join him, Jim couldn’t have said.

"Listen, I'm really beat - would you mind too much if we headed out now? It's a long drive."

Karen looked slightly confused. "You changed your mind about the hotel?"

He'd actually forgotten about it. Completely.

"I, uh...I'm sorry, Karen, but I just... I had some of Michael's potato salad, and ever since, I've been feeling kind of - "

"My god, Jim - did you not hear him say it sat in his car all day?" She widened her eyes slightly.

Yes, he'd heard Michael say that more than once, which was why he hadn't gone near the stuff. But it was a convenient - albeit dishonest - excuse.

"Ughh...." He winced. "Can we just get out of here?"

He didn't let himself consider the fact that he was lying to her; all he could think of was how desperately he needed to get home, needed to be alone, needed to think.

Needed to know if Pam was okay.

---------------------

She sort of held her breath as she drove home, clutching the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles went white; swallowing took too much effort, and after ten minutes, her face started to tighten and burn beneath the tears that had dried there...so when the new ones fell, it was a kind of sick relief. It wasn't until she made it into her apartment and flipped on the lights that she realized she'd been clenching her teeth the whole way home, because her jaws suddenly ached almost as much as her eyes had begun to burn.

The instinctive thing to do had been to flip on her i-pod, setting it on the shuffle mode; Sarah McLachlan’s "Elsewhere" echoing through her bathroom as she sank into a hot bath.

She closed her eyes, slipping down far enough so that the ends of her hair got wet. She hated it when that happened if she wasn't planning on washing her hair, because it was such a pain to dry. But tonight it felt good to scoot a little further until the warm water became a muffled gurgle in her ears, enveloping her chin and cheeks and eyes when she slid further down, deeper and deeper, finally going under.

She lay fully submerged for as long as she could hold her breath, then suddenly pushed herself up, emerging with a gasp, her hair slicked back from her forehead, the water streaming in little rivulets down the sides of her temples, streaking her cheeks like the tears had earlier.

Now it was Death Cab for Cutie’s "Transatlanticism," reminding her of those wrenching months when he may as well have been a continent away instead of mere states…back when she had tried to reconcile herself to a life alone, had struggled to grasp the reality that she would likely never see his face again.

Those nightmarish months were the reason she’d tried so hard for a while to be friends with Karen, reasoning that it would be easier – surely – to see him with someone else than it would have been to be forced to return to trudging through endless days without him. Because at least Karen was a good person; at least Karen seemed to really care for him.

And even though it was a bitter, galling consolation, she had rather quickly come to the understanding that this was what it meant to really love someone: to force yourself to be happy even as you watched someone else step into your dreams.

The phone began to ring as she was drying off; she ignored it, pulling on her favorite robe – made of a deceptively glamorous looking black satin lined with an even more ridiculously comfortable pink flannel lining, the length of it trailing the floor when she walked. Its softness seemed to seal in the warmth of her skin, comforting her; she felt herself slowly beginning to relax as the exhaustion began to press in on her.

She hadn't expected him to get angry for some reason; she'd just wanted to get it off her chest, because it had been eating away at her. And ever since Phyllis’s wedding (he’d been so amazing that night, his tongue hot on her skin as his fingers deftly slid her dress from her body; he’d moved so slowly inside her, their hands locked against the pillow as her back almost involuntarily arched, her name a hoarse whisper on his lips), she had managed to convince herself that it was one of the reasons she'd called off the wedding - she just couldn't marry a man knowing she was keeping such a huge secret from him.

Of course, she'd long since begun to realize that the kiss wasn't the huge secret...and that secret wasn't the real reason she couldn't marry him.

Didn't matter now; as she'd told him, it was over. So over - utterly and completely finished, obliterated. Ugly and just blown to bits, all in front of their co-workers and friends.

Her head lowered to her hands as she gave in to the tears again, her shoulders shaking silently. It wasn't so much that it was over now - really over - so much as it was the way things had gone so horribly wrong. At least before when they'd split up, he'd just barely skidded to the bottom, appearing on her doorstep twice to drunkenly declare his love, eventually getting the D.U.I. that turned it all around.

After that, he'd done nothing but try so hard to win her back, bringing her lunch, sending her flowers a few times; he'd rescued her from that stupid grief counseling session Michael held when Ed Truck died, and he'd even begun to flirt almost sheepishly with her when he picked up on the fact that she was starting to feel that pull toward him again.

Her decision to get back together with him had been a spontaneous one - something about the dancing at Phyllis's wedding - but at least before that, when she'd believed it to be over, she could think wistfully on those ten years with him.

The guilt had torn at her, sure, but it was infinitely better, she was realizing, than the utter emptiness she felt now...a harrowing, almost hollow feeling at the realization that she didn't really know the man she'd almost married. It was devastating, this, the ugly scene at the bar flashing through her memory like some nagging ghost that wouldn't leave her alone.

She was less shaken at the absolute finality of their breakup than she was at the way he'd so suddenly and without warning turned on her; one minute he was smiling at her, all dimples and sparkling eyes and soft lips, thrilled because she'd told him she wanted it to really work.

And before she knew it he was actually yelling at her, throwing things, shattering glass.

Her eyes closed again at the memory, her brow furrowing, lips trembling as the tears began again.

.....

It was the thought that made the tears alchemize from a kind of cathartic, silent crying to sobs that slowly began to wrack her, leaving her throat dry and her head throbbing. She wanted Jim to be there so badly - just wanted to feel his arms around her one more time, to hear that deep voice in her ear, to breathe in his familiar scent...the scent that she caught only when she was very, very close to him -- and it had been far too long since she had been.

Just the memory of how gentle he'd been that night - letting go of her hands reverently, then walking away, his head down, hands in his pockets...

The mistake she'd made hadn't been getting back together with Roy or even confessing to him - finally - what had happened on Casino Night; the moment in which she'd gone so horribly, fundamentally wrong was when she'd looked Jim in the eye and deliberately misled him.

…when all she really wanted to do was just fade into him.

As the tears gradually subsided, she waited for the exhaustion to come, bringing sleep with it - sleep and blissful escape, at least for a little while. Instead, she felt restless and ill at ease, unable to sit still for very long.

She knew she needed to give Jim a heads up, because God only knew what Roy might do - but the thought of contacting him when she was this emotional actually frightened her. Aside from that, it wasn't a phone call she was eager to make: Hey Jim, just wanted to let you know that Roy's probably going to take a swing at you next time he sees you. Why's that? Oh, because I told him about Casino Night - you know, the night you told me you loved me; the night you kissed me, and I kissed you back. ...You do remember that, right?

His palms were sweating as he stepped out of his car, slamming the door behind him. His breath was a crystalline fog in the cold air, the snow drifting down around him as he stared up at her building, counting the windows until he found the one that he was pretty sure belonged to her.

The light was still on.

Even as he'd dropped Karen off at her apartment with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a promise to call her tomorrow when he "felt better," he'd been debating whether or not to call Pam and let her know that he knew. He had also struggled with whether or not to call her from the parking lot at least, to let her know he was there and would be ringing her doorbell in a matter of minutes.

As he pushed the button, his hand shaking slightly, he tried not to analyze why he'd dared to show up at 11:14 on a Friday night without calling first. Hell, he'd never even been to her apartment before, much less this late...this unexpectedly.

But he didn't want to give her the chance to hide from him, not tonight; every instinct he had told him to go to her, to seek her out face-to-face. What he hoped would happen and what he wanted to accomplish, he couldn't have said - just that he felt compelled to - for once - face this head on instead of letting the momentum pass them by.

Beyond that, well...

She was sitting on her couch drinking her third glass of white wine, listening absently to her i-pod - having given up and started the playlist that reminded her of him - her bare feet propped on the coffee table. When she heard the doorbell ring, she jumped, her feet falling to rest on the carpet before she stood, running a hand through her still damp hair.

Feeling slightly panicked, she flicked her eyes to the door, breathing a tiny sigh of relief when she saw that she'd remembered to latch the chain. She had neither the desire nor the energy to have it out with a drunken, enraged Roy. Besides, what was there left to say?

Another knock; she tensed, holding her breath, then releasing it with a gasp when she heard him call out, his voice muffled by the door, "Pam...? It's Jim."

He bowed his head, noticing a crack in the concrete on her stoop, shrugging so that his coat enveloped him a little more closely. The snow was coming down even harder now, gathering on her doorstep and forming a layer of powdered sugar looking dust on his shoulders. In the few seconds of silence that passed, he felt seized with a sudden, irrational fear.

Just as he was contemplating how he could possibly exit gracefully, the door suddenly swung open - and there she was, a miracle in front of him.

"Uh, hey." He tried not to stare or appear even remotely stunned at the vision she was in a black satin floor length robe, her hair slightly damp, face free of make up. Even as she stood there in the doorway staring at him, the faint scent of her shampoo wafted toward him; he took in a deep, steadying breath, struggling to look at anything but her.

"Hey." She wondered if he heard the tremor in her voice...wondered even more if this was just a coincidence, or if he had found out somehow what had happened.

"I, uh..." He forced a nervous chuckle. "Sorry to show up so late...and unannounced."

He searched her expression, tilting his head slightly when she immediately looked away, drawing her robe a little tighter around herself. The gentleness in his voice was too much; she found herself musing yet again how utterly incapable he was of doing something as alarming and immature as what Roy had done tonight.

And then she looked up at him with a wan smile. "No, it's...hey, aren't you supposed to be at that party?"

"Oh, yeah - I was, but I left..." He knew he ought to say something, to tell her that he knew what had happened tonight, and that that was why he was here, but all he could do was stand there and stare at her as a thick, uncomfortable silence fell - both of them hovering awkwardly in the doorway, eyes avoiding one another. And then she started, shaking her head quickly before she stepped back, opening the door a little wider.

"Do you want...?"

He hesitated for a second, their eyes meeting. Yes, he wanted - god, did he want - and that was why he hesitated.

She was caught off guard by the flush that started on her collarbone and swept quickly to color her cheeks as his eyes held hers; she knew suddenly what it was he was thinking - knew it with such a certainty that she felt hot all over, one hand drifting up to pull the edges of her robe closer against her chest. What she really wanted to do was grab him by the lapels of his jacket and pull him inside, kiss him so hard that he wouldn't be able to protest.

Running was becoming too exhausting; she wasn't so sure she could do it anymore.

He followed her inside, his back to her as he surveyed her living room; she closed the door behind him, turning the latch with a sharp click. When he heard her fumbling with the chain, he turned in surprise.

After she'd slid the chain into place, she realized he was watching her, his eyebrows raised. She started to say something about Roy, then thought better of it, nodding toward the couch. He followed her lead and sat down, his eyes falling to rest on a huge bottle of white wine, taking in the almost empty glass that sat next to it on her coffee table. Again their eyes met.

"Rough night?" He just had to crack a joke, had to try to break the tension. Because he didn't know what to say or where to look - he was almost afraid to let his eyes rest directly on her, because she looked somehow vulnerable and seductive all at once: the robe made her look so small, yet at the same time, when she walked, one bare leg peeked out from beneath the slit in the front, and he couldn't help but be aware that she likely wasn't wearing much underneath it.

Chuckling at his joke, she murmured, "Something like that..."

She averted her eyes because she could sense that he was having a hard time not staring at her; suddenly she felt incredibly uncomfortable in the robe - naked, exposed.

"I'm gonna go...put something else on." She held a hand up, gesturing vaguely to the hallway behind her.

"What? Oh, yeah, that's..." He nodded. "Yeah."

But before she turned to go, she made her way to the kitchen, taking another wine glass from the cabinet, then coming back into the living room to hand it to him with a small, shy smile.

He, too, grinned sheepishly. "Thanks."

As she disappeared down the hall, he wondered nervously what the hell he was doing; checking to be sure she was okay was one thing, but sitting here this late, drinking wine, when already the sight of her in that robe had done more to him than it should've...?

He noticed for the first time then that her i-pod was playing softly, the docking station sitting on the bar of her kitchen counter.

When she re-appeared wearing a pair of faded jeans, a white tee-shirt, and a cornflower blue hoodie, her hair pulled back in a headband, he felt himself relax - just a little. He hadn't noticed before how red and swollen her eyes were; for some reason, knowing she was upset made the situation seem at least a little less charged.

He just had to try to forget somehow that he'd kissed her so long ago - that she'd kissed him back with an intensity that absolutely shocked him. As he sat there looking at her, he was acutely aware of the possibility that it could happen again - tonight.

She sank onto the couch next to him, tucking her legs beneath her as she reached for her glass of wine. She knew she should put that glass right back down on the table - she'd already had enough to make it seem okay to tilt her head and stare over at him, taking in the five o'clock shadow on his jaw, the way his hair was deliciously tousled, some of the strands glinting, still a little damp from the snow. The utter despair to which she'd fallen prey earlier seemed to slip away as she scanned his profile; in its place was a lovely warmth, a shimmering of desire that left her feeling almost dazed. She wasn't sure whether to attribute the headiness to the wine she'd had or to the nearness of him - but she was suddenly surprised to realize that she wasn't really sure that she wanted it to go away.

He caught her staring and flushed a little, lowering his eyes to the wine glass in his hands. She looked distracted by the sight of him, and he wasn't sure what exactly it was that she was thinking -- or if she'd just had too much to drink.

She cleared her throat then, realizing she'd let her mind wander. "How was the party?"

She reached for a pillow, clutching it in her lap as she shifted slightly so that she was almost facing him. The truth was that she didn't really care how the party had been; it was just something to say to fill the void, a feeble attempt at snapping out of the haze that had fallen over her as she remembered how it had felt when he'd kissed her that night...and how much she wanted him to do it again.

"Mmm...the party." He took a sip of his wine. "It was...well, Jan and Michael made their first public appearance together."

"Really?" She exclaimed, chuckling a little. He nodded, and they spent the next fifteen minutes chatting absently about the party; all the while, he tried to muster the courage to just ask her what had happened with Roy. He found it odd that she hadn't even acknowledged the fact that he'd shown up at her apartment this late, but at the same time, he had to admit that he was pretty content to just sit next to her on her couch and talk about the lighter things.

But when the silence fell, it was immediately discomforting; she shifted nervously as he gazed over at her, wondering if he should broach the subject now.

She noticed then that he was staring at her searchingly, so she quickly stood, smoothing out her sweater as she said hastily, "Are you hungry? I'm hungry. Why don't I make some s'mores?"

"Hm?" It was an awkward, distracted reaction. "S'mores, huh? Kind of...random."

He wasn't sure why he'd said it, other than that to speak was to fill the silence, to drown out the thought of all the things he really wanted to say.

"Yeah, random, I know." Her voice was louder than usual, but she tried to be casual as she led him to the kitchen. He leaned against the bar, toying absently with a dish towel as she took the graham crackers from her cabinet, rifling through her pantry for marshmallows and chocolate.

"So how was Dwight?"

He chuckled, then gave her a play-by-play of Dwight's search of the house, careful not to mention Karen, while she set about gingerly propping a marshmallow atop half the crackers, placing a square of chocolate on the others. As she assembled the s'mores, she told him gleefully of how Stanley's daughter had appeared mysteriously at Poor Richard's, doing her best - again - to seduce poor Ryan.

"Please tell me you're joking." He stopped playing with the towel for a second, thinking that he couldn't remember the last time he'd been this happy...this alive, no matter how on edge he was.

She leaned forward, sliding the cookie sheet into her oven and setting the timer as she answered, "Oh no - I'm not kidding. And neither was Stanley when he gave Ryan, like, the scariest speech in the history of all speeches. He actually chased Ryan into the women's bathroom, and I swear I heard him say something about snatching his spine."

She turned back to face him, reaching for her wine glass; giggling, she took a sip while he watched her and he laughed again. There was a smudge of chocolate on her cheek that he wanted to reach out and wipe away, but he didn't dare. All he could think was how different she looked now than she had when she'd answered the door - how dejected she'd seemed then, in stark contrast to how animated she was now. The realization that he was responsible for the change in her made him smile softly to himself, tilting his head as he gazed over at her warmly, unable to speak for a second.

His sudden silence made her swallow hard, looking away as she reached with her left hand to open a drawer, pulling out an oven mitt. After a few awkward seconds, she dared to look up at him again - taking in the expression on his face as he leaned against the opposite counter, so handsome in his dress pants, white shirt and tie, the sleeves long since rolled up. She wondered if she'd ever be able to tell him how much she loved his hands, his forearms...then couldn't help but think that yes, maybe she could've told him once, but she'd screwed it all up.

She had to turn away again, facing the sink, because she knew if she kept looking at him, she'd start to cry.

"Pam...?" His voice was tenative.

"Yeah?" Her back was still to him, her hands resting loosely on the sink. It was too much, this - him in her apartment so late, that too familiar expression of adoration on his face - one that she hadn't seen in such a long time, the wine having compromised her to the point at which she wouldn't run away anymore. Couldn't have run away anymore.

In her tipsy haze, she wondered if she really could be that drunk - after all, no matter how impulsive she felt, she was still aware of how incredibly reckless this was, being alone with him, letting the ache build and swell when he was standing right behind her.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asked, something so respectful and careful in his tone.

She didn't think twice.

"I told him." Her voice was small; he hadn to lean forward to hear her.

Even though he had known she'd say that, his jaw tensed anyway. "Okay....what did you tell him?"

He spoke as cautiously as he could, because he sensed instinctively that she was skittish - that whatever had happened tonight had left its indelible mark on her, and she was still understandably shell-shocked.

She bowed her head, one hand picking absently at a sponge that rested on the sink. "I told him about....Casino Night."

Strange that just hearing her utter the words - Casino Night - made it difficult for him to breathe. Maybe - certainly - it was because they had never talked about it, had never even hinted at it.

"What about it?" The words were gruff, in spite of his attempt at sounding casual.

She absently reached for the sponge then, wiping the edge of the sink. "I told him..."

It was too much, suddenly - she couldn't just say it, not like this, not so casually - not with Jim standing in her kitchen unexpectedly on a Friday night, having stopped by after attending a party with his girlfriend.

The very thought made her angry, and on some level she was aware that it was the alcohol - little else - that prompted her to drop the sponge and turn suddenly to face him, one hand wearily pushing a stray hair from her eyes as she asked, "Why difference does it make what I told him about that night?"

He was taken aback - stunned, actually. She looked almost angry, bordering on desperation and...something else that he couldn't place. Nothing remotely expected.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them; she waved a hand, saying breathlessly, "Maybe we should just let it go."

"Let it go?" He repeated, one eyebrow raising.

"Yeah." It was a helpless, small response.

"Why would we do that?" His hands were sweating now; he took a gulp of his wine.

She saw him do it, flushing again as she wondered if he was trying to find the courage to work up to something. It was then that she realized with a bit of a shock that she'd have loved nothing more than for him to drink too much wine and tell her what he was really thinking these days. Because damned if she could tell anymore.

And then it struck her: Why am I trying to avoid this?

So she leaned heavily against the counter, taking a deep breath, then: "Do you really think we should get into this?"

He blinked, startled; he hadn't expected her to ask him such a direct question.

"Do you really think we shouldn't?"

She smiled softly at him as the corners of his mouth pulled slightly. "Okay. ...Okay."

"Okay." He repeated with a nod and another small, encouraging smile. "So...you told him, and I gather it didn't go well...?"

"Why would you gather that?" She tilted her head at him, stalling deliberately.

"Why do you think I showed up here at 11:00 on a Friday night?" He retorted, grinning at her.

"I thought you heard about my excellent s'mores, and..." She shrugged innocently, eliciting a rueful chuckle from him.

"Nice try." He made a face at her, then: "Okay, seriously...what exactly did you tell him?"

She dared to stare him pointedly in the eye for a long moment, feeling emboldened by the wine she'd had, and then she blurted, "I didn't tell him it was 'just a kiss,' if that's what you're wondering."

She was blushing again, her cheeks and clavicle a blotchy red, her eyes shining just a little too brightly. "Why did you tell her that?"

"What're you...?"

"Why did you...make it like it wasn't a big deal?" She had to lean against the counter, ever increasingly aware that she'd had too much to drink - far too much - yet unable to stop herself.

Without even realizing it, she'd continued the thought aloud, murmuring, "I don't even know what to do anymore...."

"Pam..." He shifted on his feet, leaning once more against her kitchen counter, struggling to ignore the urge to step forward and put his arms around her. "I don't... I mean, I -- "

Then she just said it all in a rush of words that left her almost breathless: "I told him what happened on Casino Night - told him that you told me how you felt, told him that I kissed you, that I had feelings for you, too."

It was absolutely surreal for him to hear her speak of it out loud; all he managed to do was stammer, his head tilted to the side," 'Had -' had feelings?"

Their eyes held for a long moment; she was finding it harder and harder to breathe. Still she managed: "What are you asking me?"

"What are you telling me?" He countered before he could stop himself.

Yet another silence fell as they stared at one another, each looking more than a little shocked and a touch terrified.

"I don't -- " She began, then stopped, her mouth still open when the oven timer suddenly went off.

They both jumped - he almost knocking over his wine glass, but recovering it through a series of wildly flailing hand motions, which struck her as perversely funny.

She clapped a hand over her mouth in a miserably futile attempt to stifle the laughter, but of course he noticed anyway, cocking an eyebrow at her. "Glad I could amuse you."

Though his inflection implied sarcasm, what he'd said was the truth - he couldn't have possibly articulated the warmth that settled over him at the realization that he'd somehow managed to chase away the darkness that had been lurking behind her expression when she'd first opened the door almost an hour earlier.

His comment made her laugh even harder, and whether it was the kind of hysterical laughter that comes from being emotionally overwrought, or merely the silly giggles that are a symptom of too much alcohol, she couldn't tell. And she didn't really care - simply stood leaning against the counter laughing, just letting go as he watched her with thinly veiled delight.

"Those s'mores are going to burst into flames if you keep this up, you know." He informed her, grateful for the reprieve.

"Oh my god!" She exclaimed, turning suddenly and snatching open the oven door, leaning inside to pull out the s'mores - which had browned almost perfectly.

Holding the cookie sheet out to him, she gave a triumphant, "Hmph!" eliciting a laugh from him, his entire expression once again softening.

When next he spoke, the words were intimate as a caress, sending a wave of deja vu over her: "Very nice."

"Thank you." She gave him a slight nod, turning to rest the tray on the stovetop before facing him again, tucking her bangs behind her ear in a gesture that was so familiar to him...painfully familiar.

The flush of the wine gave her the courage to stare at him boldly, noticing the way his pupils seemed almost to liquefy, the tenderness in his smile suddenly chasing away the light-heartedness she'd felt a few seconds earlier. She'd been dreaming of a moment like this ever since the very night she'd moved into the apartment - back when all she'd had left of him was the memory of his hands slowly letting go of hers. It suddenly hit her then, the magnitude of all they'd been through in the past nine months - the separation that had seemed to just slowly drain the life right out of her, then the shock of seeing his face again after having built her hopes so high - only to have them dashed by the news that he'd moved on.

Standing there staring up at him, she almost couldn't believe that just a few hours earlier, she'd managed to fool herself into believing that she genuinely wanted things to work out with Roy -- because it was all too clear to her now, what she wanted more than anything else in the world: Jim. And the fact that they were standing in her kitchen - having just shared a laugh so like they used to - was nothing short of a miracle, she realized; through the haze of the wine and the emotional upheaval that had constituted much of her evening, the realization of how close they had come to losing it all seemed devastating all of a sudden - absolutely terrifying.

Yet the reality was that things weren't really okay yet; in fact, the tables were so horribly, ironically turned: Now that she was finally free, he wasn't. And she had no idea whether or not he still felt the same way; for all she knew, he might be in love with Karen.

Unexpected tears welled in her eyes; she blinked quickly, struggling to hold them back. I can't cry right now...

He noticed them immediately, a look of alarm shadowing his features as he said softly, "Hey..."

She dared to look up at him, blurred as he was through the two huge tears that had pooled on her lower lashes, threatening to fall at any minute. She watched as his eyes rested on those two tears, his entire expression softening before he swallowed hard, then - the words little more than a whisper - "Please don't cry."

The look on his face told her that he really meant what he'd said; it was a desperate plea, as if to see her cry would devastate him.

And that was her undoing.

He watched, stunned, as her face crumpled before she bowed her head, turning her back, her shoulders beginning to shake silently; he felt almost as if his stomach caved in on itself as he stood there staring at her helplessly, rooted to the spot - very much aware that they were hovering on the precipice of something that might well irrevocably alter the course of their relationship. When he heard the tiny gasps she emitted, he took a cautious step toward her, his heart beginning to pound; all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms, but he knew that to do so would be to risk it all - the steps he'd taken to try to piece his life back together in the wake of how she'd utterly shattered him on Casino Night, however inadvertently she might've done so.

"Pam...?" It was a hoarse whisper, his throat beginning to swell. Is she crying because of Roy, or...?

She knew that it was all over - there was just no turning back now, the sobs coming faster, her fingers trembling as she tried to wipe the tears away before just giving up and lowering her face in her hands. She suddenly felt so exhausted, unable to hide it anymore - and not even sure she wanted to.

When she dropped her head in her hands, tears immediately sprung to his eyes, bringing with them a realization that was so astonishingly clear it left him reeling: She feels it, too; I didn't misinterpret anything.

In that same instant, he knew this wasn't over and never would be - at least, not until they took a chance and gave it an honest try; after all, running away had somehow managed to only pull them closer.

It was something of a conscious acquiescence when he stepped up behind her, taking a deep breath before he put his hands cautiously on her shoulders - hesitating for a moment, giving her time to shake him off if she wanted to - and when she made no move to step away, he gently turned her to face him. At the sight of her face - red, streaked with tears - he tilted his head, his mouth opening as if he'd say something, but he couldn't form the words.

Through the blur of the tears, she saw the expression on his face - saw so clearly just how affected he was by the sight of her sobbing this uncontrollably; the ache seared from her throat all the way to the pit of her stomach. And as she stood there staring up at him, struggling so hard to stop crying, she realized that she just didn't have to fight anymore. If the look on his face told her anything, it was that he still felt it - that he was here tonight because he loved her enough to risk things with Karen just to make sure she was all right.

At about the same time that she started to lower her head to his chest, he stepped forward, pulling her close. It almost didn't seem real to her as she leaned heavily against him, one fist balled against his chest as the tears came even harder; she breathed in his scent, which was both reassuringly comforting and completely devastating.

Even then she'd known better than to cry in front of him...because she'd been well aware of how susceptible he would be, the fact that he was incapable of indifference when it came to her.

Of course she'd been right; the way he was responding to her only confirmed all the reasons why she was so completely in love with him, making her sob that much harder.

"Shhh...please, Pam...." His voice was throaty, his chin resting on top of her head, his hands stroking her back and her hair as he held her close; his jaw tensed with the effort it took not to let go and cry right along with her, because he felt simultaneously helpless and overwhelmed with the need to do something - anything - to make things right again.

As if they ever had been.

She struggled to stop the tears, her breath coming in choked gasps; when she managed to say - her voice throaty and nasal, as if she had a cold - "I'm so sorry - " he immediately shook his head, pulling back to gaze down at her, the anguish on his face so evident that she started to cry even harder, prompting him to pull her close to his chest again as he whispered, "No...just...just let go, Pam; it's okay."

They were precisely the words she needed most to hear, because she'd spent the better part of the last year holding it all in, trying to convince herself that the things she wanted most didn't really matter; struggling to believe that watching him slip right through her fingers wasn't absolutely killing her.

...So she did just that: let go, the release overwhelming her to the point at which she ended up clutching his tie, letting the sobs shake her, her tears leaving wet splotches on the front of his shirt. But he didn't stop caressing her hair or her back, his cheek resting against her temple.

The tears were hovering dangerously in his eyes now, but he struggled not to let them fall. It didn't matter that she'd already seen him cry once - he didn't want this to be about him, because he was acutely aware of how significant it was for her to just let it out this way; he sensed instinctively that she'd needed this for a long, long time.

After close to five minutes, she forced herself to pull back, still sniffling spasmodically as she gazed up at him; when she saw the tears in his eyes, her brows knit, her lips parting as if she'd say something - but she didn't. Because she couldn't.

He shook his head, wanting to tell her that he was okay, but the lump in his throat seemed to steal his ability to breathe normally, much less speak. So he gave her a tight-lipped, twisted little smile, tilting his head ruefully. The gesture was oddly familiar to her; she stared up at him, trying to place exactly when she'd seen that expression from him before. And then she realized it with a vivid flash: I'm sorry I...misinterpreted our friendship.

So many mistakes, so much time wasted.

The tears gradually subsided as they stood facing one another, her breath still catching occasionally with the remnants of her sobs. She stared up at him in a daze; he, too, looked slightly stunned as he gazed down at her. What she wanted most to do was take a step toward him and press her lips on his; in fact, the desire was so mesmerizing that she didn't even look away from him - dared to let her gaze fall pointedly to his mouth. She could tell by the way he blinked a little faster, his pupils dilating, that he knew what she was thinking.

That he wanted it, too.

And he did - standing there in front of her, her tears having already obliterated the last remnants of his defenses, he couldn't bring himself to look away from her - didn't even try. Instead he focused his energy on just being still: I can't kiss her; there's Karen to consider and...

Several minutes passed in that heart-stopping, breathtaking silence, their eyes locked. Then she cast a glance at the stove behind him, saying quietly, "I think the s'mores are cold."

At first all he could do was blink at her, slow to snap out of the intensity of the moment. Finally he managed, "Well that does it; I'm leaving."

She froze for a split second, then shook her head back and forth, giggling as he smiled warmly at her. Soon enough the silence fell again.

There was so much she wanted to say - so much she'd wanted to say for close to a full year now - but she wasn't sure whether or not she should. After all, he was still with Karen.

But as she stood there looking at him - he nothing short of a mirage standing in the middle of her kitchen, when she'd spent countless hours imagining what it'd be like to have him here - she realized that she owed it to him - to herself - to be honest with him. So he was with Karen - well, she'd been with Roy when he'd managed to muster the courage to tell her he was in love with her.

"Jim, I need to..." In spite of her will to be brave, her voice trailed off. Resolving to tell him the truth was one thing; actually saying the words was another.

Instead of confessing, she asked quietly - shocking herself - "Hey, will you stay for a while?"

His eyes widened because he wasn't sure exactly what she was asking him to do - and the reality was that he'd do anything she asked of him at the moment. Even so, his conscience kicked in: Karen.

He opened his mouth to protest, but all he managed was a bewildered, weakened, "I..."

She blushed all the way to her hairline, looking away. "It's not - I mean, I just -"

"Yes." His voice was hoarse, a verbal acknowledgement that he was at her mercy.

Still.

All she could do was nod in response, then she led him back to the living room, where they sat side-by-side on the couch; the s'mores remained on the stovetop, long forgotten.

Once they were settled, a long silence descended, filling the air with a palpable tension. He stared into his wine glass, his hands loosely linked around the base of it; she, too, looked down at the glass in her left hand, occasionally stealing glances at his profile. Something in the set of his jaw told her that he wasn't going to be the one to break the silence and alleviate the tension; it was her turn now.

She wanted to say something profound, something that would leave him as breathless as she'd been when he'd looked her in the eye and literally altered the course of her entire life by telling her, "I'm in love with you."

Instead, she heard herself say softly, "...Know what I really love?"

He had absolutely no idea what to expect; all he could do was ask, "What?"

She paused for the briefest of moments, then: "That you call me by my last name."

Even though he'd had no concrete expectations about what she might say, the comment surprised him, prompting him to cast a glance at her, asking with a shy smile, "Where'd that come from?"

Her expression was distant, far off, her eyes fixed on something imperceptible outside the window. He thought at first that she might not answer him because she didn't respond for such a long time.

Then she murmured, still gazing out the window, "Roy called me 'Pammy,' even though he knew I hated it. ...Made me sound like a four year-old. Made me feel like a four year-old."

She cast him a sideways glance, and he somehow managed a chuckle, murmuring, "I can understand that, I guess."

She nodded, watching him as he took another sip of his wine, all the things that she wanted to say seemingly burning a hole in her stomach. There was another fairly lengthy silence, during which time they took turns stealthily stealing glances at one another.

Then he forced himself to ask, "So why did you..."

When she turned to face him, he almost lost his nerve - but then, somehow knowing that she was tipsy made him feel a little braver, no doubt because he knew that at least her inhibitions were lowered; he knew that she'd be less likely now to try to ignore or deny all the things that were growing more and more obvious by the minute.

He went on: "Why'd you...get back together with him? I mean..." He swallowed hard. "Do you still love him...?"

She knew she ought to be shocked that he'd actually asked her that, but for some reason she wasn't; instead, she sat lost in her thoughts for a long time before answering honestly, "Yeah, I still love him."

He froze, blinking, her words sending a sharp pang right through him.

But then she slowly turned to look at him, her eyes softening as she took in his expression. "...But I'm not in love with him anymore, no."

Their eyes held as he tried not to breathe an audible sigh of relief; instead, he slowly nodded, swallowing hard again before he took another sip of wine.

She went on. "I didn't think he'd react the way he did tonight - I mean, he really went...crazy." She shook her head, and when he saw her shiver just a bit, he wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms again.

He wasn't sure what to say to her comment, so he said nothing, just sat there holding his wine glass in his hands as he stared off at the opposite wall.

"Even his brother started smashing stuff." She shook her head as he looked over at her, her eyes wide, expression baffled.

"He did?" Jim sounded shocked.

"Yeah." She nodded, coming back to herself and smiling over at him.

"Was he there when you...when you told Roy?" What he really wanted to do was ask her to give him every last detail of how it went down - what had led up to the topic? Where were they sitting? What exactly did she say?

"Oh no - god, no." She shook her head. "He didn't really know what was going on; I guess it was just a...show of brotherly solidarity or something."

Jim's eyebrows rose as he nodded, pursing his lips.

She was smiling again, something twinkling in her eyes as she asked him, "So if you started smashing things in a bar, do you think Jonathan would just automatically join in?"

The image was so ridiculous that he laughed out loud, shaking his head. "Ahhh...well first of all, I'm trying to imagine a plausible scenario in which I might actually resort to physically destroying things, and...yeah, I got nothing."

He flashed her a rueful grin, expecting her to smile back, but there was an unexpected tenderness on her face. "I know...that's all I kept thinking when I got home."

"What is?" He didn't dare look away from her, didn't dare move or breathe.

She gave a slight shrug. "How you would never have done something like that."

He wasn't sure how to take what she'd said. "Yeah...not much of a macho man, I guess."

She turned to look at him again, her eyes holding his as the words just slipped out of her: "You're more of a man than Roy ever was."

"...Wow." He couldn't help himself; what she'd said had utterly shocked him. He waited for her to grin, to crack a joke, but she never did - just sat looking at him so sadly.

"So...what have I done that makes me so manly? Or wait - are you sure you're not confusing me with Dwight? Because - lest we forget - in addition to being a volunteer sheriff’s deputy, he's also a purple belt."

She smiled tiredly, shaking her head a bit; the wine was beginning to make her feel drowsy - pleasantly so, a lovely calm settling over that made her want to do nothing more than just relax, let go.

"I'd say Dwight's pretty manly, actually..." She murmured absently.

Again he waited for the punch line - and again, she seemed serious. "Okay, Beesly...I'm confused."

Her smile was small as she looked down at her wine. "I was crying one day and he saw me; he was really, really sweet about it."

She could feel his eyes on her face, knew he was studying her expression carefully. "Wait - when were you crying? At work?"

"Remember that luau thing we had when Michael got back from Jamaica?"

He thought back. "Yeah..."

"It was during that."

She still wasn't looking at him as he stared at her, scanning her face. "Why were you crying?"

She realized then that she'd sort of trapped herself, and for a second, the old familiar panic flamed up - but just for a second. Because more than anything else, she simply felt too tired to muster the energy it would've taken to back track.

So she took in a breath, turning to face him. "Because it was really hard to give you advice about Karen - a lot harder even than I thought it'd be."

"Oh." His head lowered guiltily. Though he wanted to ask why it was so hard for her, all that came out was a slightly throaty, "I'm really sorry, Pam."

She shrugged, again feeling the drowsiness closing in on her, her eyelids growing heavy. He could see that she was fading fast, and he silently debated whether or not to keep sitting there next to her, or to do what he knew was surely the right thing - to leave.

Her eyes slowly, slowly closed, her head resting back against the sofa cushion, face turned slightly toward him.

"Pam...?" He said her name softly, trying to pretend that he wasn't aware of how much he hoped she wouldn't wake up - at least not right away. Because sick as it might be, he just wanted to keep sitting there with her; god knows when they'd ever have another night like this one.

She stirred slightly, shifting to curl her legs more tightly beneath her, one hand reaching out to land on his chest. He stared at her small hand as it rested against his chest, then slowly lifted one of his hands to cover hers, a small, sad smile touching his lips when her fingers tightened around his. Still she didn't open her eyes, and he didn't say her name again - just sat there stock still, eyes closed, wishing that time would just stop...at least for a little while.

He'd drifted off, too, at some point. He wasn't sure how long it had been when her head fell to his shoulder, startling him enough that he jumped a little. She, too, awakened, propping up on one hand as she blinked at him groggily, wondering if she was dreaming for a second.

"Jim...?" Her voice was barely audible.

"Yeah?" It was a hoarse whisper, a thread of anguish behind it.

Their eyes met and held; she blinked in confusion, struggling to get her bearings. The things that had happened over the course of the evening flashed at random in her memory, prompting her to close her eyes again as she murmured, "I'm really sorry; I'm just so sleepy..."

He wanted to touch her cheek, moved by how troubled she looked, even though she was half drunk, half asleep. Instead, he said quietly, "It's okay; I should probably get going -"

Her eyes opened wide. "No -- I mean, I'd really like it if you'd stay...just a little longer. I'm sorry; I know it's dumb, because I'm too tired to talk, but I just... I really don't want to be alone."

That wasn't really the truth; it wasn't that she didn't want to be alone so much as it was that she just didn't want to be without him.

Again their eyes held, and she felt herself slowly regaining a sense of context - enough to realize that the drowsiness that had overcome her earlier was slipping away, the haze of desire settling in its place.

He could've sworn he saw hunger in her eyes and knew he should insist on leaving; instead, he heard himself say, "Okay; I'll stay."

"Thanks." She looked away then, reaching to flip off the lamp on the table next to her - her eyes meeting his before she did so. "Would you mind hitting the light switch...?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." He struggled to look nonchalant, but his hands were starting to sweat, because to be alone with her this late when he was this exhausted...with the lights out? There were limits to the realm of his control, and he was well aware that they were about to be tested.

When he flipped the switch, darkness blanketed the room, the faintest glow from the street lights streaming through the gauzy curtains on her window. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed when he saw the outline of her head as it fell to rest again against the sofa cushion - not on his shoulder. He could faintly discern her profile in the darkness, enough to see that she seemed to be sound asleep again; so he shifted, leaning his head against the back of the couch as his eyes closed. He listened to the rhythm of her breathing, willing himself to sleep...but he couldn't help but be acutely aware of her presence, of the potential repercussions that this night might have.

And then with a jolt, he realized he'd totally forgotten about Karen - Karen, who hadn't done anything other than fall for him and be honest about it; Karen, who was surely sound asleep right now, believing him to be alone in his apartment, too sick to have spent the night at her place.

It was almost as though making the conscious decision to end it with Karen was all he'd needed to let go and finally sleep - because soon enough, he felt the calm settling over him, Pam's breathing lulling him into drifting off.

She tried to ignore the ache in her neck, so exhausted that she didn't even want to move - and then she realized why she felt so uncomfortable: She'd fallen asleep on her couch, her legs curled beneath her while her head rested at an odd angle near where the arm of the sofa met the back of it.

She opened her eyes, blinking as her vision adjusted to the darkness - and then with a shock she realized that Jim was sleeping next to her. Whatever haziness she'd felt from the alcohol seemed to have slipped away; she felt completely sober as she looked over at him - his long legs sprawled in front of him, his head lolled against the other side of the couch. The longer she stared, the clearer she could see him - the truth slowly swelling in her, almost choking her.

She realized fully for the first time just how kind it had been of him to come over after having spent the evening at that corporate party; how much it said that he'd stopped by to make sure she was okay, when he of all people had every reason to tell her she'd deserved whatever she'd gotten from Roy for not being honest in the first place.

With any of them - Roy, Jim...herself.

Still, he'd held her when she cried - and it hadn't just been some obligatory thing; he'd seemed genuinely upset by her tears. And he'd stayed just because she'd asked him to - no matter that she'd put him in the position of glorified baby sitter, given the fact that she'd gone right back to sleep as soon as he'd agreed to stay. She wondered if there would be ramifications for him with Karen - and knew immediately that there would surely have to be.

And still he'd done this, not expecting anything in return. His way was so very, very different from Roy; Jim gave so completely unconditionally - it never felt like a bargain or a blow to her pride like it always had with Roy. Roy kept a consistent measure of all his "good deeds" - going to her art show ("I looked at every one of them"), visiting her grandmother in the nursing home ("Okay, so...can I go meet Kenny now?").

But Jim...Jim avoided her eyes in the wake of his kindness; if anything, Jim tried to deflect attention from the things he did for her.

She thought of that stupid talking head she'd done earlier in the day - bragging about how she was going to start asking for what she wanted. "If you're going to be my boyfriend, you have to do boyfriend things." In her memory, the words she'd initially perceived as assertive sounded nothing short of pathetic...begging for what Roy should've too willingly given her.

...And here Jim was asleep on her sofa - someone else's boyfriend - going above and beyond. Just as he always had.

"It's not over." She murmured the words aloud, staring over at him, feeling almost surreal because for once - for once - she wasn't running away.

She realized then that this was it; now was the time to do what she'd been building toward for months.

He'd been dreaming of walking down long hallways, whitewashed and bleak, Pam just ahead of him - within hearing distance, because he was calling to her, but too far for him to touch. What he was calling out to her wasn't clear; what he felt for her was.

He jumped when he felt someone touch him, lips pressing lightly against his own. His initial response had been to pull back in confusion, disoriented as he struggled to see in the dark, to get his bearings.

"Jim..." Holy Mother of God - is that...? "It's okay; it's me."

"Pam...?" He was half convinced that he was still dreaming even as the details of the night slowly fell into place.

"Yeah." Her voice was steady; she was so close that he felt her breath on his face when she spoke.

Before he could say anything else, her lips were on his again - tentative at first, then bolder when he immediately responded, one of his hands on her face as his tongue touched hers. He felt completely disoriented, confused because what was happening seemed like a continuation of his dream, while at the same time the sensations were all too real.

"Is this...?" He managed to whisper against her mouth.

She didn't stop, merely murmured, "Yes."

And that was all it took to snap him back to reality - to the fact that this was happening; he wasn't dreaming. He knew he should pull back, get out of here - after all, he had a girlfriend, and he wasn't exactly the cheating type.

But instead, he emitted what came out as more of a moan than a warning: "Pam...."

She didn't answer; instead, she pressed closer against him, his arms fully around her now as she hovered over him awkwardly. He was aware on some level that he shouldn't be letting this happen, but it was too late; it was all out of his hands now, and he knew it.

And for once he wanted to just let go of the reins.

So he slid down slightly, pulling her to rest on top of him once he was fully prone, her hands in his hair; his hands skimmed her back, her waist, even as he kissed her with a desperation that was matched by her own. She felt him hard against her, initially shocking her (My god, this is me and Jim), then sending a wave of heat over her. She wanted more than this, more of him.

For reasons she couldn't have articulated, she murmured between kisses, "I'm sorry...."

"For what...?" He didn't stop, his lips trailing from her mouth to her neck, then back again, their hands roaming desperately...dangerously.

"I don't know." That wasn't true; she did know, but she didn't want to pull her mouth from his long enough to fully answer the question.

But what she'd said was just enough to jar him out of the moment -- because he definitely didn't want her to have regrets about this. And given everything that had happened between her and Roy - coupled with the wine she'd been drinking earlier, to say nothing of the fact that it was nearing four in the morning - he knew that she might well regret it if this went any further.

And there was still Karen to consider.

So he forced himself to pull back, his hands on her delicate cheekbones as she propped herself on one hand, gazing down at him; he gently held her back from him for a second, feeling dazed and unreal at the way she was staring at him, both of them breathing heavily.

"Hey..." His voice was hoarse, a sad smile pulling at his lips as he struggled to control his breathing. "Listen, we shouldn't...."

"Oh..." She didn't finish the thought because she wasn't sure what to say - and she wasn't sure exactly what was going on in his head. Is he trying to tell me that it's too late?

She pulled back, shifting so that she was sitting beside him as he sat back up, bleary eyed and disheveled. He could tell from the way she avoided his eyes that she'd mistaken what he'd said for a rejection.

Without giving it a second thought, he reached over to touch her hand, saying gently, "Hey, don't...don't look like that."

She turned to look at him, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Look like what?"

Now it was his turn to smile; he shook his head at her, his chest still rising and falling decidedly faster than usual.

He took in a deep breath, then said carefully, "Look, it's just that...that seemed pretty...I don't know - impulsive. And I know you're tired and have had a pretty intense night - all the stuff with Roy; plus you were drinking earlier, and - "

She cut him off. "I'm not drunk; I knew what I was doing."

His eyes widened, eyebrows raising. "Wow. Okay."

He gave an uncomfortable chuckle, running a hand through his hair and averting his eyes. God, I wish she'd stop looking at me like that; if she keeps this up, I'm not gonna be able to be a gentleman much longer.

"And it had nothing to do with Roy; we're not together now, and we never will be again. It's just...not an issue anymore, believe me." She was starting to feel slightly nervous, unaccustomed to being this straightforward with him. But she kept thinking about that damned talking head she'd done.

So she took a deep breath and pressed on. "I know this is...really awful timing on my part, and I know it might be too late. I'm not even sure that I have the right to be saying this to you right now, but I just can't...not."

He was leaning forward slightly now, his forearms resting against his legs, hands linked loosely between his knees as he stared unseeingly at the carpet.

She went on. "And if you're happy with Karen, then I'll... I mean, if she makes you happy, then I'll - I can respect that."

All he could do was nod, still too astounded to find any words.

Even though his silence damned near petrified her, she forced herself to ask, "Are you in love with her?"

She already knew the answer even as he turned his head slowly, his eyes meeting hers as he answered simply, "No."

She nodded once, then swallowed back yet another mounting wave of fear, the quiver in her voice giving her away: "Is it too late...?"

Their eyes were locked, and she saw his jawline tense at what she'd asked. He looked absolutely stunned, but he was slowly, almost indiscernibly shaking his head, never breaking eye contact, then: "No."

She didn't say anything for a few long moments, then she whispered, "I'm really glad, Jim."

He couldn't take his eyes off of her, still not quite able to believe that this was really happening, even as he whispered back, "Yeah...me, too."

A beat of silence fell; the tension became palpable again, to the point at which he had to look away from her - his head still turned when he said, "There's a lot I need to...sort out."

"Oh." She wasn't sure what to say, feeling a sharp surge of guilt pulling at her when she really considered Karen -- who hadn't done anything wrong...who was kind of her friend.

"Hey." His voice startled her; she looked up to find him watching her closely. "What is it?"

She gave a small shrug, averting her eyes. "Feeling guilty, I guess."

"Tell me about it." She looked up at him then as he went on. "But it's... I really don't think this will come as a surprise to her."

"You don't?" She hadn't expected him to say that. "Why not?"

He shook his head, looking away again. "She asked me point blank a while ago if I still had feelings for you."

She felt her breath catch in her throat, astonished. "What did you say?"

He slowly turned to face her then, his eyes scanning her face - taking her in from eyes to nose to lips, where his gaze lingered long enough for her pulse to quicken a bit. "'Yes.'"

She blinked, feeling that word - yes - resonating in her head, quaking her stomach. All this time, and I had no idea....

When she saw his eyes lower again to her lips, she blurted in a small voice, "I really wanna kiss you again."

His eyes widened a bit, the slightest grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, then fading when he realized in full just how much he wanted the same thing. He didn't respond for a second - sat suffering through his own little psychomachia, trying to convince himself that they had no right to this yet, while at the same time wondering why in the hell they'd had to travel this far to get here.

Because this was where they belonged.

The thought was in his head when his lips found hers, his arms automatically sliding around her waist to pull her closer to him; when her breasts hit his chest, she emitted the slightest sigh, her hands weaving into his hair just as they had on that night so long ago. He wanted to ease her back on the sofa again, just to feel her against him...steal a few more precious hours, no matter how wrong it might be to do so.

As if she could sense that he was debating it, she pulled back a bit, her hands resting on his shoulders as she looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Something wrong?" He murmured, then was immediately struck with what a stupid question it was.

But she only smiled softly, a tenderness in her expression that simply caught him off guard - because, while he'd seen glimpses of it in the past, she'd never gazed full-on at him with such open emotion.

"I just...I don't want to jinx this."

As soon as she said it, she thought of that day when she'd forced him not to talk for several hours; she saw from the warmth behind his eyes that he was thinking the same thing, even before he quipped, "God forbid..."

She laughed - a sort of throaty laugh, her head tilted back slightly. Another startling sign from her that he immediately picked up on - she usually laughed with her shoulders hunched forward, as if she were trying to suppress it. Now she seemed almost to revel in it.

For a split second, he found himself almost blinded at the promise of the future...their future.

It gave him the strength he needed to add quietly, "I know what you mean."

"You do?" Without thinking, she added, "Never mind - duh, of course you do."

Their eyes met again, and the expression on his face almost brought tears to her eyes. He looked simply amazed - amazed and so grateful.

She wanted to kiss him again, but instead, she forced herself to say, "I'm here. And I'll be here. ...I know you need time."

Something in his chest contracted at what she'd said, the guilt spawning an almost visceral reaction in him. "Yeah, and I've been meaning to tell you... God, Pam, I'm so sorry that I didn't give you any time."

She knew immediately what he was referring to - the way he'd confessed so unexpectedly, putting her on the spot and forcing her to make a decision. ...Then leaving when it wasn't the one that he wanted.

"Jim - "

"No." He shook his head, then looked hard at her. "It was...self preservation; that's all. But when I think about what it must've felt like for you to come in the next day..."

She looked down at the floor when he alluded to that day - the worst of her life; she'd come in prepared with a speech about how vital a part of her life he was, only to find his desk empty, Michael in shreds and unable to figure out just why Jim had transferred so suddenly and without any warning.

"Pam..." He was staring at her, struggling not to put his arms around her again. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." She nodded solemnly, then suddenly looked up at him with an earnestness that touched him deeply, tilting her head slightly. "I know we've got some stuff to get through - you know, work out - but...I think the worst is really over...don't you?"

Once again, he intuited what she really meant. It didn't matter that he was facing an ugly confrontation with Karen, and perhaps an even uglier one with Roy - at least he knew that Pam felt it, too; at least there was some concrete reason to hope now that they'd be together - for real.

Perhaps most important of all was the knowledge that they wouldn't have to endure another separation like the one when he was in Stamford unless they chose to do so. And from the way she was staring at him, it was evident that she wasn't likely to ever choose to return to that place.

When the tension mounted again, he forced himself to say throatily, "I really should go."

Her eyes never left his as she nodded. "Yeah..."

"Okay." He whispered, still staring at her because he just couldn't make himself look away.

And then he forced himself to snap out of it, standing suddenly, patting his pockets for his keys and shaking his head a little as if to clear it. She walked him to the door, and once there, he paused, turning to face her.

"Unbelievable." He whispered, thinking of how red-eyed and miserable she'd looked when she had answered the door earlier. And now she was staring up at him, her cheeks flushed, something so incredibly different - alive - in her eyes. He still couldn't believe she'd done it - kissed him, come clean in very much the same way he had the year before.

"It is." She whispered back, struggling not to touch him. But when she thought of the reasons why she shouldn't, they all seemed hollow...pointless.

So she suddenly stood on her toes, pressing her lips to his as her arms stole up around his neck. She loved the way his hands were immediately on her lower back, drawing her closer with a slight, gentle tug; she loved it even more when he moaned against her lips as her fingers slipped through his hair.

She pulled back to gaze up at him, whispering, "Sorry...."

He was absolutely transfixed, the headiness of having held her close - touched her and kissed her in a way that was most decidedly not platonic - it was simply mesmerizing.

"No..." He shook his head slightly. "Don't ever apologize for that."

"Okay." She replied. "I won't."

They exchanged another smile, then he took in a deep breath. "All right...listen, I'm not sure how...what's gonna happen in the next few days."

"I know." She nodded quickly, not wanting to dwell on the fact that he would likely be hurting Karen deeply. Then suddenly she thought of Roy, adding in a slightly panicked voice, "Oh my god, I totally forgot about Roy."

His smile was crooked. "Don't worry about that."

"Jim." Her voice was firm, eyes wide. "You didn't see him at the bar tonight; he was literally destroying the property."

"So I heard." There was a slightly mischievous gleam in his eye.

"Yeah..." She crossed her arms. "Speaking of...exactly how did you end up on my doorstep tonight?"

And then she figured it out, both of them saying simultaneously, "Kelly."

She chuckled, shaking her head, then softening as she looked up at him again. "Well...I can't say I'm sorry that she called you."

"Me either, Beesly." He loved the way her smile widened at the name. "And listen, don't worry about Roy - really. I can handle it."

Her brow was furrowed with worry. "Seriously, though...what if he hits you? Because I'm telling you, Jim, he'd do it."

He pursed his lips, looking at the ceiling as he thought about it, then: "Look, I really don't think he'd do that - at least not at work. And if he did...well...c'mon, he deserves a shot at me; after all, I did kiss you when you were engaged to him."

He grinned, but she was not amused. "Jim, I'm being serious."

His eyes softened as he reached out to rub her arm gently. "I know you are - but really, if it happens, it happens."

He shrugged, then added, "Things are gonna be...volatile for a while, for both of us."

She nodded, her eyes huge as she seemed to hang on every word he said. "But Pam...it'll all work out."

He sounded so certain that she realized all of a sudden how incredibly exhausted she was; for some reason, hearing the definitive inflection in his voice was immensely relaxing - because, given the conviction with which he'd said it, she could finally let go and believe.

"So...what now?" She hated to ask, but she wasn't too keen on the thought of him leaving without their having reached some resolution.

A brief silence fell, then he answered carefully, "I think the best thing to do is for us to take the time we need to...you know, deal with the other...issues. I mean, you're farther along in that area than I am, I guess, but...."

She could see from the expression on his face that there was more that he wanted to say, but he was hesitant to do so for some reason.

"What is it? You look like you want to say something...."

There was something rueful in his smile as he looked down at her, then, squinting - almost as if he were afraid to ask - "Can you just...give me some time? Trust me? What I'm trying to ask is...well, can you...wait for me? I don't mean, like, an inordinate amount of time -- "

She was laughing so hard that he stopped abruptly, cocking his head. "What's so funny?"

She didn't answer right away, then: "Jim, I've been waiting for you for most of the last year; I'm not about to get impatient now."

He looked stunned as she smiled up at him. "Seriously? Wow. I mean, I just - wow."

They didn't speak for another comfortable pause, then he said in a throaty voice, "Please believe me...we'll work this out."

She gave him another of those adoring, open smiles that damned near made him actually fall to his knees, then: "I know. Like I said earlier - I'll be here."

Their eyes met, holding for a long moment, the years of history flashing between them - a history and a friendship and a love that simply transcended their current circumstances. A hundred pranks and a thousand tears and too many days of missing each other to count.

When she stepped forward this time, she simply stood on her toes and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder, just basking in the comfort of him...them. He held her tightly for close to a full minute, his eyes closed, jaw tensed as he realized he was living a miracle in this moment.

And to think that the best was yet to come....

She pulled back, looking up at him, her expression an amalgam of something both sad and shy. "So I guess I'll see you Monday."

"Yeah." He wanted to say more - wanted to tell her that he still loved her; that even though they'd have to play it cool at work on Monday - and maybe for a while - that he'd be dreaming of the day when this would all be behind them, and they could just...be.

His lips parted, head tilted, eyes almost imploring her - but then he realized this wasn't the day, wasn't the time. Not yet.

So he whispered, "We'll be back here soon; I promise."

All she could do was nod, watching him as he slowly made his way out to his car, the snow still cascading down like just another miracle.

He shifted, the sheet tangled in his legs, part of it covering up his bare stomach.

The ringing continued, so he blindly fumbled for his alarm clock, reaching out to slam the top of it impatiently.

Silence. Blissful silence.

Then it rang out again. He opened one eye, looking at the hazy red numbers on his alarm clock: 10:27.

And then it all washed over him, memories of the night before: Pam crying in his arms, asking if it was too late...kissing him while he'd still been asleep, then seemingly dissolving into his embrace, lips pliant, body close.

That damned ringing startled him out of his thoughts, and then he realized: the doorbell. Could it be...?

He almost tripped over the sheets, impatiently pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms, his chest still bare as he made his way to the door and peered through the peep hole. Karen stood bundled against the cold, a brown paper grocery sack in each arm.

He bowed his head, resting his forehead against the door as his eyes closed. Behind his eyes, he saw an image of Pam standing there staring up at him, her expression so open, so...hopeful.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he opened the door, offering Karen a weary smile. She looked gorgeous, as usual - hair flying around in the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes almost gleaming in her eagerness to see him.

Her eyes swept over his bare chest, then back up to his face as she tilted her head and gave him an exaggeratedly sympathetic smile. "Oh, babe, I'm sorry I woke you; I just wanted to bring some stuff over in case you were still feeling sick."

It occurred to him rather randomly then that he'd always wanted to cringe when she called him babe; he much preferred something along the lines of, Suck on that, Halpert.

He opened the door wider, gesturing for her to come inside as she finished, "...Which you obviously are."

Without thinking, he asked, "Why do you say that?"

He followed her to the kitchen, where she set down the bags and began pulling things out. "Well, you look totally out of it, and you were obviously still in bed - you never sleep this late."

Her brow furrowed as she paused, a six pack of ginger ale in one hand. "I hope you're not coming down with the flu. Do you think you might be?"

"Huh?" He blinked, startled - wishing he weren't so damned distracted by memories of the night before. "Oh - I, uh...I don't think so."

"No?" His answer seemed to satisfy her; she went back to unpacking the grocery bags, taking out cans of chicken broth, saltines, and a bottle of Gatorade, chattering all the while. "You're probably right; it's most likely Michael's potato salad - Jim, seriously...why?"

She was looking at him seriously now, and he found himself averting his eyes, feeling panicked. "What?"

Then she grinned. "Why'd you eat it? Even if you didn't know that it sat in his car all day...surely the knowledge that Michael made it would turn you off of it."

For some reason, he felt an almost irrational wave of anger sweep over him at what she'd said. "Hey, c'mon.... Lay off Michael, will you?"

As soon as he'd said it, he regretted it, realizing immediately that he'd overreacted.

"Whoa..." She drew back, knitting her brows. "Look, I know you're sick, but seriously..."

"Karen...." He looked down at the floor. "We need to talk."

He could tell from the way that she seemed to freeze for a second that she knew what was coming, maybe had been dreading it for a long time.

"Okay..." She made a face as she followed him into his living room, sitting down next to him on the sofa, then turning to face him slightly.

He'd known this would be hard; he just hadn't expected it to be quite this hard. Because as he sat there looking over at her, the hope and the fear and the vulnerability all over her face touched him deeply; he recognized that look on her face - knew what it felt like to find yourself completely at someone else's mercy.

And he also knew the excrutiating reality of having those hopes obliterated.

He swallowed, taking a breath. "I haven't....I haven't been entirely honest with you."

"Okay...about what?" He could see that she was struggling to prepare herself, and he wasn't sure whether it was a curse or a blessing that he understood all too well the position she was in.

His head lowered, eyes on the floor. "Pam."

In his peripheral vision, he saw her posture almost deflate; when he dared to look up at her, she already had tears in her eyes. Those tears made him want to gloss over it, make it all better somehow, because he hated making her cry. But he knew that the kindest thing he could do right now was just be honest.

Even as he thought that, she asked, "What about her didn't you....?"

"I told you it was just a crush, that it wasn't a big deal." He was caught off guard at how difficult it was to say this out loud. "But that wasn't the truth."

A long silence ensued, then she asked quietly, "Okay. So what is the truth?"

His head lowered again, because there was something...brutal in talking about this with Karen. Now that he'd touched on it with Pam - now that there was the promise of a real future with her - he almost wanted to insulate them both, just disappear together to the place they'd both been searching for for such a long time.

But he forced himself to answer honestly, his voice failing him a little: "I was in love with her."

There was yet another deafening silence, what he'd said reverberating between them...what he hadn't said all but swallowing them both whole.

Finally, Karen swallowed hard, then, "Are you still - "

Before she could finish, he answered, "Yes."

She didn't even move for close to a full minute - didn't speak, and when he finally mustered the courage to look up at her, she was sitting stock still, her eyes fixed inconsciently on a picture of him and Jonathan that was framed on his coffee table.

He waited for her to respond, to say something...anything; when she didn't, he said hesitantly, "Karen...?"

She tilted her jaw slightly, as if she'd shake her head if she could - and then a single tear trickled down her cheek, another following immediately on the other side of her face. She quickly wiped them away with an impatient hand.

"Karen - "

"No." Her voice was choked, halting him instantly. He waited, watching her with a wrenching guilt deep in his gut as she struggled to get the tears in check - but they kept coming, streaming down her cheeks, even as she wiped one after the other away, never giving in - just sitting there so still, so straight, as if she were determined not to cry.

It was absolutely heartbreaking to witness.

Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore, so he stood, striding toward her as he again said her name softly.

"No." She, too, stood, looking around the room quickly, almost as if she were disoriented. Then she made her way to the kitchen, picking her purse up off the counter, her hand trembling as she reached for where she'd left her keys.

"Karen, don't - "

She turned to face him then, shaking all over now, her face wet with tears. "Don't you tell me...."

She stopped, her breath catching on a sob, one hand rising to cover her mouth. He tilted his head as she took a moment, struggling to collect herself, then: "All those nights when we talked, you could've -- all those nights, I was thinking we were..."

Again she paused, her jaw clenching, chin trembling; then she tilted her head as if she were determined to finish. "I was thinking you were committed to making it work in spite of all the stuff with...her. In all that time, you never once even hinted that it was more than - you did nothing but tell me how it wasn't anything for me to worry about, and...."

She couldn't finish, biting her lip. As he watched her, he couldn't help but think of the way that Pam had dissolved in tears the night before - just giving in to it, her head bowed, shoulders hunched forward as she sobbed. He didn't really know which was worse: seeing Pam just let go, or witnessing Karen as she struggled so hard to keep it together.

"I'm really sorry, Karen; I had no idea that.... I mean, I really thought I was over it. That I could...fight it..."

What he'd said only seemed to anger her further, because she scoffed and shook her head, taking another few steps toward the door.

Yet when he reached out to gently take hold of her arm, she stopped, her back still to him, head bowed. She looked so small and utterly devastated that in that moment that all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms, just hold her; the guilt was disturbingly overwhelming - for an insane moment, he almost would've denied all that he felt for Pam, all that he really wanted and lived for -- anything to make it easier for her.

But if there was one thing he'd learned from this relationship, it was that guilt was a dangerous emotion; guilt cloaked itself in the guise of love sometimes, and in that mien could be compelling enough to make you turn away from the things you wanted most...just to make it go away.

When she reached the door and flung it open, she hesitated, still with her back to him; then she turned to face him, still fighting to maintain her composure. "All this time I thought you were a good guy.... God, I was so wrong."

She wasn't sure what exactly to expect as she waited for him to answer the door. It was around four thirty on Sunday; she figured he'd surely have had time to cool off by then.

When he opened the door, she could immediately see that he'd spent most of the weekend on a bender - his eyes were red and slightly swollen, his hair unkempt. But he certainly seemed sober now as he eyed her warily.

"What're you doing here?" His voice sounded a little hoarse, as if he hadn't slept well.

"We need to talk." She looked him in the eye, surprised when he looked away, his lips in a thin line.

Then he turned back to say sarcastically, "I think you've already said enough."

She was surprised that he was still angry - surprised and disconcerted. This was going to be even harder than she'd anticipated.

Ignoring his comment, she gestured to the inside of his apartment, asking, "Can I come in?"

The fact that he didn't hesitate wasn't lost on her; he immediately stepped aside, opening the door a bit wider and gesturing for her to come inside.

He didn't take her coat, didn't offer her something to drink; instead, he sank into an old easy chair across from the couch where she perched nervously, looking down at her lap and playing absently with her keys.

Then she forced herself to look up at him, saying quietly, "I'm sorry that I wasn't honest with you before."

He didn't respond, simply looked away, staring hard at the wall.

She went on. "It's too late; I know that, and I don't want to get into it again."

Slowly he turned to look at her, his eyes flat. "Then what're you doing here?"

She swallowed hard, feeling almost like she might throw up for a moment, then: "I need you to promise me that you're not going to go after Jim."

For a split second, he didn't react - just sat there staring at her in disbelief. And then he slowly started to shake his head before he asked incredulously, "Are you kidding me, Pam? You came over here to protect the guy you cheated on me with? The guy who fucking ruined it all for us?"

"It's not that simple." Her eyes lowered to the carpet because, in spite of her will to be brave, she just couldn't bear to look at him right now. "He didn't ruin it all for us; it wasn't his fault."

"So you're defending him now?" He almost sneered as he said the words, and just as she felt the anger welling, she saw a flicker of fear behind his eyes. For the first time, she realized just how bewildered he was - totally blindsided by what she'd revealed to him, because he'd genuinely had no idea.

The guilt was like a sycthe.

Her voice trembled slightly. "I made mistakes, and so did you - "

When he started to object, she held up a hand, effectively silencing him before she continued. "And it's over now. ...But do you really want to just throw it all away? Do you really want this to be awful and ugly?"

She could see that she'd struck a nerve; something in his jaw twitched slightly as he asked, "What else can it be?"

Shrugging, she took in a deep breath, then shook her head, caught off guard by the tears that choked her throat. "I don't know, but...it's bad enough that all the plans we made fell apart; don't you want to salvage what we can?"

"I don't know what..." He shook his head, clearly exhausted and a little dazed. "What're you trying to say, Pam?"

She looked him square in the eye. "I'm saying that I don't want this to turn into something awful and bitter and -- I'm saying that I don't want us to have to hate each other...because that would just be such a waste."

He looked so weary as he murmured, "Hasn't it all been a waste anyway?"

The question saddened her immensely; when she answered, her voice was soft, grave: "No, it hasn't."

Their eyes met again, and she was certain he was struggling to hold on to the anger, that he was trying not to allow himself to be vulnerable.

So she added, "But it will have been if we keep going in this direction."

He thought about it for a few long seconds, then: "Where else is there for us to go, Pam?"

This was so much harder than she'd thought it would be, because she loved him - still. It didn't matter that she wasn't in love with him anymore; he was her past made tangible, so much of her history entangled with his.

"We can be civil to each other; we can maybe even manage to be friends one day."

"You really believe that?" Though his tone was ostensibly incredulous, she could see a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"Yeah, I do." Their eyes met, holding even as she added, "I don't know...it'll be awkward for a while, sure, but... Roy, we've got too much history to just turn on each other this way."

He couldn't look at her, his voice throaty, almost indiscernible: "You cheated on me, Pam."

"It was a kiss." She tensed when his fists seemed to involuntarily clench. "That's all; it didn't go further than that."

She hated talking about this with him now, because after the night she'd spent with Jim, the details of what they shared between them seemed sacred...something only they could understand.

His eyes closed for a second, his jaw tensed as he muttered between clenched teeth, "I should kick his ass for that."

"And what would that accomplish?" She demanded, beginning to lose patience with him.

He shook his head, not answering, then she added, "Please, Roy...let it go."

Again he paused, staring hard at the floor, then he looked back up at her, studying her expression carefully. "Why should I?"

A wave of sheer rage flashed through her without warning; she stood suddenly, then, in carefully measured tones, she said, "Because if you so much as talk to him about this...."

She didn't finish, because she wasn't sure what she'd do. Swear never to speak to him again? Slap his face?

Roy was still watching her, then he scoffed slightly. "You'll what, Pam? What'll you do?"

As she stood there staring at him, she realized fully for the first time that he was serious - that he really might just go after Jim. As if out of nowhere she caught the flash of an old, old memory - Jim leaning over her shoulder, one arm around her, the other hand holding hers as they laughed together; Roy suddenly appearing, causing a scene, coming too close to exchanging blows with Jim.

She felt suddenly panicked, tears filling her eyes as she looked up at him. "Why would you do this? Why can't you just leave it alone? It's all I'm asking you to - God!"

She turned away then, impatiently wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve as she strode toward the door, aching all over at what a mess this had become and how utterly helpless she was to stop it.

But he surprised her by following her, catching her by her upper arm just as she reached the door. "Pam, wait."

She turned around to face him, surprised at how moved he seemed by her tears. His lips twitched, and his voice was gruff as he said, "Fine."

"...Honestly? You'll let it go?"

He shook his head, his eyes falling to rest on the floor again as he answered, "Yeah."

"Thank you." She whispered, looking at him for a long moment, then turning to walk out the door, very much aware that this was the last time she'd do so.

---------------

She got to work early that Monday morning, secretly hoping that he'd already be there - that maybe they could have a moment alone. She was nervous at the thought of seeing him again for the first time since all that had happened, and was doubly so when she realized that she'd have to face Karen, too. And she had no idea what Jim had told her by this point. Everything? Nothing? Were they still together? Already over?

She had her answer soon enough.

Karen got there before Jim, striding purposefully past Pam's desk without so much as a glance in her direction, her lips drawn in a thin line as she stared straight ahead. Pam felt a fluttering in her stomach when she realized that this could only mean one thing: It's over; he told her.

When he arrived ten minutes later, she felt incredibly conspicuous - having watched the door surreptitiously all morning, snapping her head down to stare blindly at some paperwork on her desk as soon as she saw him in the doorway. He hung up his coat just as he always did, then passed by her desk with a smile, greeting her pleasantly, "'Morning Pam."

"'Morning Jim." She glanced up at him, but had to look away immediately, because all she could think of was what it had been like to feel his lips on hers again, lying on top of him with his hands roaming her back, her hair.

He was certain that he'd never been more uncomfortable in his life; he felt like the entire office was staring at him as he hung his bag over the back of his chair, taking off his jacket before he sat down. When he dared to look over at Karen, he could tell that she was very much aware of his presence but was determined not to acknowledge him. He'd tried to call her a few times after she'd walked out of his apartment - just to smooth things over in the hopes of avoiding this very situation - but she hadn't answered.

He looked down at his desk, an increasingly familiar pang of guilt stinging him at the realization - again - of just how much he'd hurt her. And then he glanced up to find Pam staring at him - their eyes meeting and holding for a split second, just long enough to make his pulse accelerate, because he knew she was remembering the same moments that he was.

She forced herself to look away again, tucking her bangs behind her ear as she reached for her mouse. Just as she'd opened her email, Kelly came through the door.

Astonishingly, it was the first time she remembered that half the office had been privy to Roy's meltdown - that now most of them knew about her and Jim. Before she could say anything, Kelly exclaimed, "Oh my god, Pam! I thought surely you'd call in sick!"

"Kelly..." She struggled to keep her voice down, unsure of which was more humiliating: knowing that Jim was listening, or knowing that Karen was.

"Oh my god!" Kelly repeated, then leaned forward as if she might whisper - but of course, her voice was shrill enough to carry through the office. "Did you warn Jim? Because I think you should warn him; I mean, Roy's totally going to try to beat him up."

Before Pam could respond, Kevin stepped up behind Jim, leaning down to whisper loudly, "Don't worry; we can take him together. ...But dude, seriously - why'd you have to go and kiss Pam when they were still engaged?"

Jim simply stared blankly ahead, having no idea how to respond to this - fairly certain that it couldn't possibly be happening.

And then he realized that Karen had frozen, her eyes focused on the pencil cup on her desk, her lips trembling.

As if to punctuate his realization, she pushed her chair back from her desk and stood, stalking to the kitchen with her head down. He hesitated, unsure of what to do. Should he follow her? Was that still something that he owed her? Or would that just make it all worse?

He heard Pam murmur, "Kelly, thanks, but...seriously, I don't want to talk about any of this."

Kelly stared at her, examining her face closely for a long moment before she nodded gravely. "Okay."

Just as Pam was breathing a sigh of relief, she realized that Kelly had acquiesced so easily because she was headed toward Jim's desk now.

Before Pam could react, Jim murmured - head down, not even looking at Kelly once - "Neither do I, Kelly."

Kelly hesitated, looking as though she wasn't sure what to do, then she simply nodded and made her way back to her desk, leaving both Jim and Pam to breathe a sigh of relief. He dared to glance up at her then, moving just his eyes while carefully keeping his head down, on the off chance that someone might still be watching them. She met his gaze, smiling shyly before she, too, quickly looked away.

And then he stood, making his way to the kitchen, where Karen still was, her back to the door as she waited on the hot water she'd put in the microwave.

"Hey." The door swished shut behind him, but she didn't turn - nor did she initially acknowledge his greeting. He hesitated, unsure of exactly what to do, but then she spoke, resolving the question for him.

"Just leave me alone."

"Karen - "

"No. I mean it. Please." Still she didn't turn around, leaving him with no choice than but to stand there awkwardly.

Then he said quietly, "Okay. If that's what you want."

--------------------

He and Pam didn't find themselves alone until after three o'clock that afternoon, when she came out of the ladies' room to find him standing in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee. He loved the flush that stained her cheeks as soon as she saw him standing there, her head lowering slightly before she said quietly, "Hey."

"Hey." He smiled at her, watching as she made her way to the refrigerator, leaning in to take out a carton of yogurt. "How're you...holding up?"

His question caught her a little bit off guard - or perhaps it was more the circumstances themselves that left her feeling slightly dazed. It was simply surreal to stand there looking at him in light of all that had happened between them - she'd cried in his arms now; she'd admitted that she wanted to give things a try. She'd kissed him; they had, in effect, made out, which was a realization that - however juvenile - somehow shocked her nonetheless.

"I'm okay." She smiled up at him, her eyes taking in his features as she added, "What about you?"

He pursed his lips. "I'm...okay, too, I guess."

He chuckled, then an awkward silence fell, both of them averting their eyes, looking around the room at anything but each other, before they inevitably found themselves making eye contact again.

Just as she opened her mouth to say something, the kitchen door opened, and Creed came wandering in - blissfully oblivious to the tension. With one last glance at Jim, she smiled and headed back to her desk, carefully avoiding Karen's gaze as she did so.

For close to two weeks, the tension continued to build, though neither of them made a move toward one another. Pam knew he had ended things with Karen - that much was evident by the utter silence between Karen and Jim, as well as by Jim's too-obvious discomfort whenever he and Karen were in a position in which they had to actually communicate with one another.

As for herself and Jim, they spoke to each other on a very casual basis - exchanging "good mornings" and occasionally small-talking as they all sat around the break room table. There was something safe in being surrounded by their co-workers; otherwise, Pam wasn't so sure she could've continued to keep her distance, respecting his request for time and space.

Because she was more than ready to take that leap now...now that they were both free.

He couldn't have said why he hadn't approached Pam yet - residual fear, maybe? The truth was that he desperately didn't want to make a single misstep this time; he wanted the timing to be right, wanted the circumstances to be conducive to their starting over...giving it a real chance.

Somehow, the fact that they'd both just gotten out of relationships contributed to his reticience; he didn't want there to be any guilt or ghosts that might end up coming between them.

Not this time.

-----------------

She chatted absently with Phyllis as they waited for the elevator, both on their way out to lunch. Phyllis was headed to the fourth floor, where Bob Vance had an office; Pam, on the other hand, was doing the only thing she knew to do to escape the mounting tension in the office - she'd be having lunch in her car.

Just as the elevator doors opened, she heard the Dunder Mifflin door close with the whoosh of air followed by a sharp click. She turned just in time to see Jim stop short - having clearly been on his way to the elevator, but upon seeing her, he seemed perplexed, as if he wasn't sure what to do.

Then she heard Phyllis call out, "Jim, come on in; I'm holding the doors."

When Pam glanced over at her, Phyllis winked almost imperceptibly; Pam stifled a smile as Jim strode forward, joining them in the elevator.

"Thanks." He sounded a little breathless, glancing quickly at her - their eyes meeting for a beat before he looked away again.

When he realized that Phyllis would be getting off on the fourth floor - thus leaving he and Pam to make it past three more floors alone - he felt as if his throat might close in on itself. As soon as the elevator ground to a halt, the doors opening with a crystalline-sounding ding, his heart began to pound in his ears. He wondered if Pam could hear it.

She was too preoccupied with keeping her breathing under control, her eyes on the doors as they slid open, then on the back of Phyllis's head as she stepped off and walked down the hall to Vance Refrigeration's suite. Her stomach tightened when the doors slid closed again, leaving her alone with Jim.

When she dared to glance over at him, he was already looking at her - staring, in fact, as if he were simply mesmerized. Their eyes held, and she swallowed hard, feeling her heart thudding a bit faster in her chest. She had to lean heavily against the other side of the elevator, one hand absently clutching the chair rail as she felt her knees begin to quiver. Never would she have imagined the effect that just prolonged eye contact with him could have.

He cleared his throat, then: "So...do you have plans for tonight?"

The thumping intensified, and she felt a flush rise from her stomach, staining her collarbone, neck, and face. Knowing she was blushing made her blush all over again, her hands beginning to feel a little damp.

Her voice quivered a little when she answered, "No, I don't."

He gave a slight, distracted nod, his eyes leaving hers only long enough to linger on her lips; she didn't dare breathe, silently willing him to kiss her.

Instead, he asked in a slightly throaty voice, "Would you be willing to let me cook dinner for you?"

His right eyebrow rose, a grin immediately spreading across his face. Wow - okay, I'm loving the way she flirts now....

"On what?" His smile widened in anticipation of her answer.

"On whether or not you can cook, of course." She retorted, then added quickly, "I mean, I know you make an awesome grilled cheese sandwich, but..."

He tilted his head back, chuckling delightedly, then: "Well, I won't be serving grilled cheese...but yes, I can cook."

"Okay, then - I'm in."

Another silence fell, the tension palpable as they maintained eye contact for several seconds.

Just before the doors opened, he said softly, "Good."

Even though the exchange had been light-hearted, he'd caught her off guard by alluding to the transfer - and truth be told, she'd surprised herself by referencing how she'd reacted when he'd told her he was in love with her. For some reason, she had a fleeting moment of panic after she sent the IM mentioning it, worrying that maybe it might make him feel weird -- but of course he handled it in stride.

Because he was, after all, Jim.

It was an altogether bizarre experience to rush home, scouring her closet for something to wear, then jumping into the shower so she could wash, dry, then straighten her hair. As she carefully applied her mascara, then swept a gleaming gloss across her lips, she caught herself pausing, the lip gloss wand in mid-air, her mind racing. On one hand, the fluttering in her stomach belied just how much she was looking forward to tonight...finally; yet at the same time, it was almost weird to be pulling out all the stops for Jim - her best friend, the guy who'd dug a splinter out of her hand a year and a half ago while she covered her eyes and intermittently squealed, snatching her hand away so many times that he eventually stopped, giving her a long, pointed look.

"Listen, do you want this thing out or not?" He was all business. Even then she'd found it somehow appealing.

"Yes."

"Okay." He gave her a pointed, reverent nod. "And either you trust me to do this and not hurt you, or you don't. So which is it?"

She still remembered close to two years later the way their eyes had met and held - that slow tension rising until she had to look away, her answer betraying her. "I trust you."

"Okay." He repeated, sounding satisfied.

But when she flinched just slightly at the feel of the cold tweezers on her finger, he paused again, still holding her hand as his eyes sought hers. He waited until she made eye contact, then: "Seriously...I'd never hurt you; you know that, right?"

She recalled feeling suddenly confused, certain that somehow they'd wandered beyond the splinter and into far deeper territory.

Still, she'd nodded, answering, "Of course I know that."

And she meant it, too; oh yes...she trusted him.

Just four days earlier, he'd surprised her with a dark red gift bag filled with every kind of chocolate imaginable - because it was the anniversary of the day her beloved, twenty-year old dog had died two years earlier. Once - just once - she'd told him the date, adding that she knew she'd never forget it...wishing aloud that somehow she could turn it into something positive, at least, if she couldn't forget.

And that's what he had done.

He'd also extracted the splinter almost painlessly, talking to her in a low voice the whole time - about stupid things, like whether or not Dwight used any kind of product in his hair, or if Kelly drew hearts around her signature.

In doing so, he'd successfully deflected her attention from the pain - something he'd do again and again in the months to come until he couldn't handle it anymore. And ironically, that was when his pain became hers.

She had to just stop and force herself to be still for a few moments, the excitement looming up so large that she almost couldn't catch her breath.

------------

An hour later she stood nervously on his doorstep - a different house than the one he'd once shared with Mark, but just a few miles down the road from the old one. She balanced a grocery bag precariously on one hip, a bottle of wine clasped in her free hand - actually having to ring the door bell with her elbow.

Within seconds the door swung open, and there he was.

"Oh my god!" He exclaimed upon seeing her struggling with the bag. Immediately he took it from her, stepping back and gesturing for her to come inside, even as he teased, "I told you the salad was a bad idea."

She made a face at him, struggling not to let her nerves show, while at the same time working very hard not to just openly gape at him. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a cream-colored button down shirt - no tie, of course, and the top few buttons were undone, revealing a slight sprinkling of chest hair that actually distracted her for a few seconds. His hair was still a little damp, brushed partially back from his forehead and curling up at his collar.

Silently she mused that it ought to be easier to manage her attraction to him now that she wasn't actively running from it anymore, but somehow, the effect was just the opposite: Now that she'd faced what she felt for him, there was just no going back...no slowing down.

As her eyes flicked to his forearms - his sleeves rolled up in a way that struck her as oddly sexual - she was convinced that maybe there was something wrong with her.

He carried the bag into his kitchen, setting it down on the counter as he glanced into the living room, smiling softly to see her peering at the pictures he had in frames, taking in the things he'd done to make the room look more like home. His living room was fairly spacious, with an open kitchen that was connected, the two spaces separated by a small breakfast nook where he'd placed an old table his mother had given him.

While she was momentarily distracted, he stole the moment to take her in - his eyes roving over her jeans, which were well-worn, clinging to her curves in a way that made him swallow with an almost audible gulp; she wore a white shirt much like his own - loose, button down, tucked into the jeans. Her hair was a mass of honey-colored waves, looking mysteriously smoother and shinier than he'd ever seen it, and her lips gleamed with a wash of color, immediately drawing his gaze - when god knows, he had a hard enough time not staring at her mouth as it was.

It was a strange, intoxicating mix of emotions that he felt - his best friend standing at his book shelf, her eyes roaming over the titles...his dreams so suddenly having come true, embodied in that same girl who stood there drinking in his surroundings because she felt it, too.

For a second, he was caught in a daze, simply staring at her with a small smile, his head tilted. She turned then, as if she might say something, but upon catching his prolonged stare, she flushed, a shy smile pulling at her lips.

"...What?" She wasn't sure why she sounded self-conscious, because she really didn't feel that way. Jim looked at her in a way that Roy never had.

"What? Oh, nothing." He shook his head, a blush staining his cheeks. Then: "So does my living room pass your inspection?"

She grinned, stepping up to join him in the galley-style kitchen.

"It does, actually - though I have to take issue with one of your books."

"Let me guess: The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test." He gave her a knowing look as her eyes widened.

"Yes! Seriously...what is that?" She smiled again as she watched him sling a dish towel over his shoulder (Why is that sexy? Why do I find it erotic that he's flung a dish towel over his shoulder? ...I am so sick and wrong. I should probably be ashamed.)

"I couldn't tell you." He answered, turning his back for a second to grab a cookbook. "It was a required text in a course I took in college - Literary Journalism, I think it was. Anyway, I read about a third of it, then went to the professor and talked my way out of having to read it."

She laughed, the realization that she'd be spending the evening with him - alone, outside the office - sending a shot of giddiness right up her spine. "How'd you manage that?"

He couldn't help but smile warmly at her. God, she's...she's...what is that? She's glowing or something. Radiant. Is it me? Is it us? Holy mother of god...this is happening; it's really happening.

"I went to see him in his office, told him that I'd read fifty pages and still didn't give a damn what the outcome might be." His smile widened when she laughed openly, then he shrugged. "So he said, 'Fair enough,' and let me read something else instead. Why I've still got the book, I couldn't tell you."

"I see." She nodded, a comfortable silence falling as they simply smiled at one another. She wondered fleetingly if he'd always been this good-looking -- seemed she remembered meeting a guy close to five years earlier who had more of a boyish quality to him -- but now when she looked at him, all she saw was a man...a man who was the embodiment of all she'd ever wanted: funny, sensitive, honest...seemingly crazy about her.

"So." She cleared her throat. "Give me a knife, Halpert, and get out of my way; I need to chop the salad."

"Wow." He turned to slide open a drawer, pulling out a knife and handing it to her. "I bet when you were a kid, your teachers used to write 'bossy' on your report cards, didn't they?"

She didn't skip a beat. "I bet yours wrote, 'Talks too much.'"

He wanted to kiss her right then and there, because this was what he'd missed so much: the easy banter, her quick wit...that indescribable connection that was like nothing he'd ever known before, no matter how hard he'd tried to replicate it with Karen.

And he'd tried - really tried.

Pam busied herself with taking out the makings for the salad, washing the vegetables before she started chopping them. As she did so, Jim intermittently pulled things out of the refrigerator or reached to take them effortlessly from the highest cabinets.

And then she noticed that he kept returning to quickly skim the cookbook that was open on the counter -- one that had a strangely familiar red and white checked pattern on the front.

"Oh my god - is that the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook?!" It was more of an exclamation than a question as she dropped the head of lettuce in her hand and scurried over to where he was, laughing out loud at the flush on his cheeks. "Oh - it so is!"

"Shut up." He shook his head, trying to glare at her, but he wasn't pulling it off.

She gently pushed her way past him, placing one hand on the cookbook as he tried to keep her from it; a brief, silly struggle ensued - his hand clutching the book, hers attempting to shove his away.

"Let me see!" She stood on her tiptoes, trying to peer around his shoulder. "What...spinach lasagne? Ooh, is that what you're making?"

He couldn't for the life of himself keep the ridiculous grin from his face, even as he struggled to keep her at bay, retorting, "No. I'm making...gruel."

That stopped her cold. "'Gruel'?"

She stared up at him with an incredulous look; he, in turn, grinned sheepishly, finally conceding, "Okay, so that's the best I could do."

She burst out laughing - the sound for some reason hitting him hard in the gut. Just to see her so happy, knowing that...this is why.

Between muffled giggles, she choked out, "That's not even alphabetically correct - the least you could've done was toss out something that began with an 's.' You're so off your game tonight!"

"Am I?" He wasn't laughing now, instead simply standing there smiling down at her, unable to shake the sudden wave of emotion that had hit him seemingly out of nowhere.

She recognized the look on his face immediately, her laughter slowly dying on her lips as she leaned back against the opposite counter, gazing up at him. The look on his face was so...amazing: completely open adoration with a hint of veiled sadness, speaking of the lengths they'd traveled to get here.

As she stood looking up at him, she was embarrassed at the sudden tears that stung her eyes as if out of nowhere.

Of course he immediately noticed, a look of concern washing over his face. "Hey, what's...?"

She shook her head, laughing as she looked up at the ceiling, then: "Nothing."

His silence prompted her to lower her eyes, looking across at him surreptitiously; the expression on his face almost made her gasp out loud - so vulnerable, so clearly hers.

"Seriously....?" He prodded gently.

"Okay." She took in a deep breath, then - feeling suddenly self-conscious - "Do you really want me to...? I mean, it was a stupid moment - I was just being...overly emotional or something. Seriously, I don't want to ruin the mood here."

When he only tilted his head at her, something in his eyes intensifying, she realized with a shocking certainty that this was it - the end of the road.

"Pam...." His voice was throaty; the fact that he'd called her by her first name sent an odd jolt through her. "I'm not sure that anything could really...ruin this."

Their eyes met, another silence falling. As she stood there gazing up at him, she found herself yet again fighting back the tears, caught very much off guard by the emotion. Because she wasn't upset anymore; it wasn't that.

This was simply overwhelming.

So she let the words just come: "I was thinking about how I wanted to ask you about Stamford - whether you had pictures of the apartment you lived in, or - "

He immediately averted his eyes for a second, and she watched, adding softly, "And I realized that it must've been..."

She longed to reach out and touch his cheek at the flicker of pain she saw in his expression; when she finished, her voice wasn't quite steady: "...pretty hard for you."

His jaw tensed as he struggled not to betray too much - because god, those months in Stamford, now long past, seemed like a distant nightmare; when he thought about the time he'd spent there, he had the distinct impression of moving underwater - struggling always toward the surface, but never able to get there.

Barely able to breathe, the weight of living without her drowning him day by day.

When he looked across at her - she looking so unbelievably gorgeous leaning against his kitchen counter, biting her bottom lip because she was about to cry just at the thought of what it had been like for him - the remembered misery just slipped away, hope suddenly overwhelming him.

"Hey..." His voice was soft, gentle; he didn't finish until her eyes rose to his - still shining a little with the unshed tears - "It's all over, that stuff."

Their eyes held for a moment, and she wasn't sure what she wanted more: to crumple in his arms and just cry until she didn't feel the ache anymore, or to press her lips against his, kissing him until they could no longer discern where one began and the other stopped.

His voice interrupted her thoughts as he said, still speaking softly, as if in reverence to the moment, "So...I think a toast is in order here."

"You do?" It was all she could manage as she struggled to pull herself back together. The unexpected wave of feeling was much like the kind of inexplicable, irrational emotions that out of control hormones could produce...only this wasn't hormonal.

It was simply life: real, a miracle...a blessing, really.

"Absolutely I do." He answered, giving her an encouraging smile. He was ready to pull her into his arms if she gave in to the tears - would've been happy to do so - but what he really wanted to do was just celebrate this: the miracle that was this moment.

"Well okay then." She smiled, then sniffed discreetly when he turned his back, reaching into the refrigerator, then turning back to proudly produce a bottle of champagne. "Ta da!"

"Very nice." Her eyes were warm as she noted his so obvious enthusiasm; it was a mystery to her now just how she'd fought this for so long.

He laughed delightedly at her when she plugged her ears in anticipation of his opening the champagne; when he'd poured it into two glasses, handing her one without breaking eye contact, that headiness overcame her all over again.

For a second they sat with their glasses hoisted in the air, each waiting for the other to speak first, before they both burst out laughing.

"Ladies first." Holding his champagne flute aloft, he nodded in her direction, his eyes never leaving hers.

Her immediate and instinctive response was to deflect it back to him, because the thought of speaking honestly about all the things she felt for him, the things she wanted with him...it was still irrationally terrifying.

As she stared into his eyes, which took on a deeper green hue in their intensity, a thought suddenly struck her: It's time to go all in.

So she simply said, "To the future...to walking toward it instead of trying to run away from it."

Their eyes met over the rims of their champagne glasses, holding as they took their collective sips. She felt that flutter rising again at the way he was staring at her...at the long silence that followed.

Even though she wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth against hers, she heard herself announce suddenly, "So, Chef Halpert...when are you going to start cooking?"

She wasn't sure why she'd felt compelled to break the moment, particularly in light of the things that had transpired between them the night of the cocktail party. But then again, being bold with him in the middle of the night after half a bottle of wine was one thing; standing here in his kitchen, face-to-face in the light of day (so to speak) was an altogether different matter.

He blinked, startled at the sudden shift; but she was, after all, still Pam - hesitance was so much a part of her nature that he sort of understood why she'd need time to work up to the place they'd been that night three weeks ago.

So he forced himself to nod, setting his glass of champagne on the counter as he rubbed his hands together, struggling to muster enthusiasm for preparing the meal when what he wanted most was to turn his attention on her.

"Okay, Beesly...are you willing to be my sous-chef?" He gave her a sly grin as she took another sip of champagne.

"That depends." She eyed him, barely holding back a smile. "What would that entail? Because you should know that I totally suck at chopping things."

His grin widened. "Okay - duly noted. Actually, all it would entail at this point is you reading off the ingredients while I get them out."

"Oh, I see." She nodded enthusiastically, a hint of mischief in her eye. "So it'll be like surgery - I'll be the doctor requesting the stuff, and you'll be the nurse bringing it to me."

He cocked his head, pursing his lips and giving her a crooked grin. "Something like that, yeah."

She nodded, turning back to the cookbook and reading aloud, "Lasagna noodles."

"Okay..." He reached into a high cabinet that would've been impossible for her to get to, producing a box of the pasta. "Next?"

"Frozen spinach."

He nodded, pulling open his freezer door to grab a small box, with which he strode forward and laid down on the counter next to her.

"Roasted red peppers."

"Got 'em." Again he reached into one of the higher cupboards, taking out a small jar with a bright yellow lid, moving to set it down next to the rest of the ingredients. The label caught her eye.

"Um, Jim...those are roasted jalapeno peppers." She tried not to smile.

"What? No, they're - " He picked up the jar again, reading the label; she watched as his entire expression fell, his lips pursing in embarrassment. "Well...that's just...awesome."

She went with the feeling, suddenly taking a step toward him, standing on her toes and throwing her arms around his neck, her chin resting on his shoulder.

He stumbled backward a bit, chuckling because she'd caught him completely off guard. But he put his arms around her, holding her close as he murmured in her hair, "Wow...what's that for?"

She drew back to answer him - fully intending to just tell him he'd looked so damned adorable when he read the label and realized he'd gotten the wrong kind of peppers. But when she went to pull away, things seemed to shift to slow motion - her face was just too close to his as she drew back, his eyes hungry as they drifted to her lips, then back up again.

For a split second, she remained still in his arms, staring up at him; his heart had begun to thump uncontrollably as he held his breath, meeting her gaze steadily.

There was a delicious tightening low in her belly as she watched him through half-closed lids, feeling a flush falling over her as he slowly inclined his head toward her, brushing his lips lightly across hers before pulling back a bit to smile down at her softly. All she could do was stand there staring up at him in wonder, that little spark that had always simmered between them leaping into a full-on flame that threatened to consume her.

She met him halfway when he leaned in again, pressing his mouth to hers with more ardor this time, his hands on her face as her arms wound around him, her fingers slipping through his hair. His hands moved from her face to her shoulder blades, sliding further to rest at the small of her back. She moaned softly when he gently pulled her even closer so that her body was flush against his; it seemed she couldn't get close enough - couldn't get enough of him: his hands, his lips, his scent.

She'd begun to nudge him backward without even really realizing it, but when his back hit one of the chairs around the table, she jumped, pulling back for a second. The look on his face sent her stomach quaking again: His lips were darker than usual, slightly swollen; his eyes glazed with an all-too obvious desire.

So she again stood on her toes, her lips moving against his as he fumbled behind him with one hand, grabbing the chair and shifting it toward them so that he could fall into it, pulling her easily down onto his lap. For some reason, the gesture quickened the hunger in her, so she kissed him harder, loving the way he leaned into it, his hands roaming her shoulders and arms and back, his tongue tasting of champagne.

She felt herself growing impatient, wanting to really feel him in a way that she couldn't sitting sideways across his lap; what she really wanted to do was shift so that she was straddling him, pressed close.

The thought sent another flash of heat through her, prompting her to slowly pull back, staring down at him as they both struggled to catch their breath.

He reached up to touch her face, feeling almost overcome for a second; the depth of the emotion he felt for her - the woman who had literally haunted him for so many years - coupled with the sheer hunger was enough to leave him feeling slightly dizzy. He had no idea where this was going tonight - how far - but on some level, he really didn't care, because the way she was responding to him made it clear that it was only a matter of time.

And patience was, fortunately, one of his virtues.

So he smiled at her, taking in the flush on her cheeks, her reddened lips. She, too, smiled, again feeling that rush: Oh my god, I'm in Jim's lap; I'm learning that side of him now.

"Hey." His voice was a little gravelly. "What're you thinking up there?"

Out of habit, she felt a flash of embarrassment, but it was fleeting. I don't have to hide it anymore.

"That this is pretty surreal." She answered honestly, smiling when he sucked in a breath, raising his eyebrows as his hands rested easily on her waist.

"You're telling me." He shook his head as she laughed.

"But hey..." Her voice was soft as he looked back up at her expectantly. "I love it."

All he could do was stare at her for a few seconds, blinking as that flood of emotion and lust and utter amazement took hold of him again.

And then he whispered, "God, so do I...." as he gently drew her back down again, his mouth on hers. The eagerness with which she responded still caught him off guard...drove him closer to the edge.

After another few minutes, she forced herself to pull back again, smiling at how heavily they were both breathing; it was as if they'd raced down a flight of stairs.

"So..." She didn't want this to stop - didn't want him to stop, but she wasn't sure where her limits were. She hadn't had to navigate this kind of new terrain in ten years - and with only one other man. In this case, it just seemed like a good idea to try to exercise some restraint.

"Are you making dinner for me, or what?"

He grinned ruefully at her, surprised at the fact that he was only mildly disappointed. Sure, he'd have loved to just ravage her then and there, but the alternative wasn't so bad either. Spending time with her alone, outside of work and away from the ever present gaze of too many others? Basking in this absolutely mind-boggling openness between them now?

He had no complaints.

"Well...." He cleared his throat. "It seems as though we've got a bit of a crisis on our hands."

"What?" She looked so alarmed that he laughed, rubbing her arm.

"The peppers."

"Oh." She giggled at him.

His eyebrow rose, and there was something mischievous in his eye as he asked, "What'd you think I was talking about?"

She blushed, looking away. "I don't know."

"Oh yes you do. Spill it." His hands drifted back down to her waist - she's so tiny, my god - his fingers tickling her gently for a second.

She shrieked, squirming, then gasped, "Okay, fine! Fine - I thought that you were...you know, referring to...."

He was loving this, because he knew damned well where she was going. "Referring to...?"

She looked completely flustered for a second, then, seeing the gleam in his eye, she realized what he was up to.

So she looked him square in the eye and answered matter-of-factly, "I thought you were alluding to the fact that you were so...turned on that you wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else."

"Wow." She loved it that a faint blush colored his cheeks, even though he'd been goading her. Then he looked up at her again and sighed before he declared, "You, Pam Beesly, have a filthy mind."

The wicked smile she gave him sent a thrill up his spine, sheer exaltation on the heels of it when she answered, "Oh, you don't know the half of it."

"Wow." He repeated, unable to wipe the ridiculous grin off of his face. Seeing this side of her - so unexpected - was just amazing.

"Mmm-hmm." She shifted then, her feet on the floor as she stood on shaky legs, his effect on her all the more obvious now that she was attempting to stand up.

He followed her lead, with much the same realization.

They went back to preparing dinner in spite of the peppers, bantering back and forth gleefully, occasionally turning to mindless office gossip. They'd managed to put the lasagna together, though it took them a full hour to do so, because there were too many opportunities for distraction.

The first time it had been when she'd been chopping tomatoes for the salad, and he'd had to reach over her to get a measuring cup. Something about being within that close a proximity to one another was too much.

They'd ended up in each others' arms again, Pam's back pressed against the kitchen counter as the knife in her hand clattered to the floor, her hands stealing to his hair. The fact that she seemed as hungry for him as he was for her was something that he almost couldn't believe; the impatience in her lips, her hands was enough to drive him to the limits of his control. Even when they pulled apart breathlessly, dishevelved and grinning sheepishly at one another before going back to the task with which they'd been engaged before falling prey to the desire, he found it difficult to focus. Extremely difficult.

She'd never experienced anything quite like this before - of course, all she had to compare it to was her early days with Roy, but those had been tinged with shame and guilt. And much as she'd wanted him back then, there had always been something slightly pushy in the way he came at her; each time things got out of control, she found herself feeling almost irritated at his advances, and as a result, the desire had waned a little. There had been a thrill in exploring the headiness of the forbidden with him, sure, but in her memory, there wasn't the kind of freedom, lack of inhibition, and pure joy that she felt right now with Jim.

She knew a lot of it had to do with the fact that she was an adult now, in contrast to the kid she'd still been when she and Roy had gotten together; that lingering shame she'd always felt when she and Roy pushed things back in high school was nowhere to be found with Jim. In its place was a kind of wonder, the electrifying shock of all that lingered beneath his hands, his lips; there was a palpable assurance there that made her feel almost like she was being swept away by a strong current...reeling because beneath the surface of her best friend's easy charm and affable manner resided a man who clearly seemed to know exactly what he was doing when he applied gentle pressure to one side of her neck with his thumb while at the same time languidly trailing his tongue down the other side.

Or maybe it was because she trusted him completely; even though she was seeing a side of him now that she'd never been privy to before (and god, did she find it absolutely mesmerizing), that same familiar integrity was still there, something in his manner reminding her that he was a gentleman and was more than capable of controlling himself if need be. He seemed to be remarkably attuned to her body language, always giving her space when she felt herself getting overwhelmed and a little hesitant.

And she knew she was pushing him; in fact, she was fairly certain that what she was doing to him was certifiably cruel, but she couldn't help herself.

When she'd glanced over to see him grating mozzarella cheese, the sinewy muscles in his forearms pulsing with the motion, she hadn't given it a second thought - had simply walked to where he stood, taking the grater out of his hand and tossing it aside before she took his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his, her body moving closer to him. But he was so willing - he hadn't even hesitated before snaking his arms around her and drawing her flush against him. Feeling him pressed against her, hard, had been in itself enough to make her feel intoxicated.

It was strangely compelling to know that there was nothing stopping them now. While she and Roy had been teenagers acting under the guilt of the general consensus that sex wasn't something in which they should engage, the context was invariably - intoxicatingly - different now. There was something utterly hypnotizing in the affirmation that he was hers for the taking - that he so clearly wanted her. But more than that was the heady realization that came with the memory of the pained expression on his face that night such a long time ago.

"I'm in love with you."

She'd found herself lost in the memory after they'd eaten dinner and cleared away the dishes. He'd excused himself to the restroom, leaving her alone in his kitchen, her eyes falling to rest on a snapshot of himself with his older brother Jonathan that was stuck on the refrigerator.

"I'm in love with you" he'd said -- not, "I have feelings for you," or "I love you," or even "I want you."

"I'm in love with you." Such an amazing thing to confess; such a brave, completely vulnerable way of putting it, because there was no room for misinterpretation. He'd left himself no viable means of denying it later, laying himself bare in a way that had to have been nothing short of terrifying for him, she realized now.

And the tear....when he'd let it fall, wiping it away with a bitter twist of his lips, she'd recognized it as evidence of just how much a man he was. He wasn't afraid to express himself, no matter that the odds were stacked against him.

She had to lean against his kitchen counter with the weight of the memory and the realization that it brought with it - the sudden certainty that he was it for her; no other man could ever even come close.

He came back from his bedroom to find her leaning heavily against the kitchen counter, clearly lost in thought; there was something in the slant of her eyebrows, the set of her mouth, that startled him - because she looked like she was about to cry.

"Hey..." His steps quickened as he made his way toward her, resting his hands on her shoulders, sliding them down to caress her arms. "You okay?"

She snapped out of it, the vision of him slipping into focus; his brows were knit in concern, his jaw tensed. That vulnerability was back in his eyes.

All she wanted was to make it go away.

She didn't answer, instead leaning closer, kissing him with an intensity that took his breath away; the relief he felt was lost somewhere amid the fervor of her body close to his, her fingers trailing down his back in such a way that immediately conjured images of what it would feel like to be skin to skin, moving inside her.

"Yeah." It was a throaty moan against his lips, impatience in her voice.

When she'd urged him down, farther and farther, he'd been confused, because surely....

But she was pulling him down to the floor, exhaling loudly as he fell to rest on top of her against the lineoleum. She could feel him pressed against her, hard; the hunger was a blinding streak that seemed to erase all rationality, inhibition.

Her fingers found their way to the buttons on his shirt; she heard his breath catch against her lips when he realized what she was doing - but he didn't stop her, instead shifting a bit so that she had easier access, his hands sliding up under her shirt to rest at her waist before inching up toward her ribs.

She deftly undid the last button just as his hands skimmed her breasts; her back arched almost involuntarily at his touch, at the feeling of his bare chest beneath her fingertips. Even as she registered surprise - and another rush of drowsy desire - at the hair on his chest, the staccato drumbeat thumped in her consciousness: This is Jim; this is Jim. All you've wanted for so long...Jim.

When she arched against him, pushing his shirt from his shoulders, he couldn't help but groan against her lips, one hand fumbling for a second with the clasp on her bra. When he felt the tension release, he had to stop for a second, eyes closed as he tried to calm himself...tried not to be aware of the fact that the woman of his dreams was writhing impatiently in his arms, her hands roaming his bare skin restlessly.

He didn't open his eyes until he'd gently pushed the silky fabric of her bra off to either side of her ribs; only then did he dare to gaze down at her, his breath catching in an audible gasp at the sight of her. Her waist was almost inconceivably tiny, a thin line running from between her ribcage to her belly button, her breasts full...perfection.

"Oh my god, Pam...." It was a desperate whisper; all he could do was stare at her, utterly transfixed. He couldn't separate the desire from the emotion; part of the awe stemmed from the fact that this was Pam in his arms, half naked, gazing up at him blurrily, and part of it was a result of just how incredibly beautiful she was - her body somehow more amazing even than he'd pictured it. And god, had he pictured it.

"What....?" It was a distracted whisper, one of her hands on his jaw - feeling it when he tensed slightly, as if the sight of her bare flesh tested the bounds of his sanity - her other hand on his shoulder. His shoulders...which had been shockingly broad, his chest more defined than she'd expected it to be, the thin line of hair from his belly button to the waistband of his jeans tempting her so much that she was actually shocked.

"You're so...." He shook his head - or tried to, unable to tear his eyes away long enough to do so. "...beautiful."

"Jim - "

"No..." Again he shook his head, something pleading in his eyes now. "I mean it. You're....god, Pam, you're just...amazing."

She didn't answer - couldn't answer - instead again pressing her lips to his and pulling him closer. But when he moaned against her lips in response to her arching closer, she realized that she had a decision to make: Clearly, it was now or later - and if it was later, she had no right to keep pushing him.

So she pulled back, in spite of the fact that it was the polar opposite of what she wanted most to do.

When he swallowed hard, she knew he meant it. All she could do was pull his head toward hers, arching her body so that her bare breasts skimmed his chest, the hair there tickling her. Again he was hard against her, evoking a response that struck her as almost primal - because she honestly didn't know what to do here; no matter that she'd been with Roy for ten years, had probably had as much - if not more - sex than Jim had in that time.

She was conflicted because of the newness of it. Should she just give in to the passion, the headiness of his touch? Obviously both of them knew what came next (and somehow, the realization that he'd made love to other women only spurred her on further, made her want him that much more, just to know that side of him completely). But would she regret it if she jumped in with both feet? Shouldn't they wait until they'd explored this new dynamic a little further? After all, it was so, so new...and making the transition from lovers to friends after five years - to say nothing of the utter angst and agony of the past year - was a serious step. Maybe they should wait until they'd settled into this new relationship a bit more...?

The uncertainty drove her to pull back suddenly, ignoring the burn of him pressed against her inner thigh.

"I think...." She struggled to breathe normally as he, too, pulled back, his eyes glazed. "I think I should probably get going before this...gets really out of hand."

Even though she could see that he was obviously having a hard time keeping the desire in check, he immediately nodded with a rueful grin. "Okay..."

He moved back, shifting so that he was on his knees on the kitchen floor; even as she sat up, covering her breasts shyly, the sight of his naked chest sent a wave of desire over her.

Again, she ignored it, one hand clutching her breasts as she fumbled with the other for her bra. The fact that he discreetly looked away wasn't lost on her.

He avoided looking at her as she pulled herself together - snapping the clasp of her bra, putting her shirt back on.

When she was fully dressed, she couldn't help but chuckle softly, saying in a gentle voice, "You can look now."

She couldn't have described the unexpected wave of emotion that washed over her when he cautiously turned his eyes to her - his chest still bare, hair disheveled.

The thought struck her out of nowhere, completely random...shockingly resolute.

He swallowed hard. "You okay?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine, really." She averted her eyes to keep from falling prey to the desire again. The sight of him with his shirt off was enough to drive her to distraction.

He narrowed his eyes, the fear gnawing at his gut - because the shift had seemed awfully sudden, inexplicably so. "Honestly? I mean, I hope I didn't...push you, or -"

"Oh my god, no!" She immediately shook her head. "No way - you didn't.... I mean, I just..."

She could feel his eyes on her face as she struggled to find the words to explain what she was feeling at the moment without coming off as a complete idiot.

"Look, this is probably really stupid, and..." She didn't finish, feeling suddenly very self-conscious. Karen probably didn't hesitate; Karen probably seduced him without a second thought.

"Hey..." He'd been watching her and had recognized the flicker of insecurity that colored her expression. "Seriously, Pam...is it - I mean, are you...are you having second thoughts about - "

She didn't even let him finish - immediately exclaimed, "No! God, no, Jim - it's nothing like that at all. Honestly."

He couldn't help but breathe an audible sigh of relief, because for a second there - despite the amazing night they'd had - he'd let the fear take hold of him.

"Well...I'm glad to hear that." He grinned shyly at her, reaching out to catch her hand in his as he gazed down at her, his expression growing more serious. "But really...what's up? You look kind of...troubled or something."

She smiled gratefully at him, feeling oddly reassured. This is Jim - just say it.

"Okay, here's the thing: I don't really have a whole lot of experience with...this sort of thing."

He blinked at her in confusion, his brows knit because he wasn't following her at all. What...? She was with Roy for ten years, but she's inexperienced? Huh? How could --

Just as it dawned on him, she added quickly, "I mean, Roy was pretty much...it, and it was a long time ago when I had to figure out when to...well, you know...."

"Oh." It was a startled exclamation because he was absolutely confounded by what she'd said. It was just that he'd never really considered her realm of experience before; it had never occurred to him that Roy might have been the only man she'd ever slept with.

"Okay, I feel really dumb right now."

Her words jolted him out of his thoughts, and he immediately stepped forward to put his arms around her (still marveling on some level that he could actually do that now instead of having to suppress the urge), saying gently, "Hey, no... Trust me, there is absolutely no reason for you to feel dumb right now. Believe me."

He found himself remembering Karen's stupid joke at the CFO's party and the momentary panic he'd felt when he'd thought she had slept with half the men in the room. This was really the polar opposite of that moment, and it provoked the strangest feeling of protectiveness in him.

"Seriously, Pam." He pulled back to smile down at her; her eyes seemed enormous as they raked over his expression. "I mean...it's not a big deal; it's kind of...cool, actually."

"It is?" She gave him a skeptical expression, wondering if he was just trying to make her feel better.

"Absolutely it is." He didn't hesitate. "And hey, I can be patient, you know."

There was something simultaneously sad and mischievous in her eyes as she remarked, "I know."

Their eyes met and held for a second, then they both burst out laughing as he added, "Okay, so yeah, I guess you do know."

A comfortable silence fell, he gazing down at her with that small, adoring smile that didn't make her ache anymore - instead filled her with a warmth that coursed all the way through her.

So she whispered shyly, "I just don't want to do anything to screw this up; I want this to...work."

She could've cried at the way his entire expression seemed to melt, a kind of wonder and emotion in his eyes that revealed just how much what she'd said meant to him.

The same sentiment was echoed in his voice, hoarse, as he said, "So do I... God, so do I."

She wanted to kiss him again, but she knew that if she did, she wouldn't make it out of here any time soon. Instead, she gave him another shy smile, asking, "So...?"

"So." He repeated, still looking slightly dazed.

"...It'd be really rude if I didn't properly thank you for dinner tonight." Her eyes seemed to dance as she looked up at him.

"Oh?" His left eyebrow shot up. "Wait...I thought you said you wanted to take it slow..."

He laughed out loud when she smacked him on the arm, exclaiming, "Yeah, you wish!"

She was giggling and shaking her head as he retorted, "Well hey - I'm making no secret of that."

When her mouth dropped open slightly, he threw his head back and pulled her close to him for a second. "Sorry - couldn't resist."

Then he cleared his throat. "So...what were you saying?"

She gave him a mock glare. "I was going to invite you to dinner at my place tomorrow night - that is, if it's not...you know, too much...."

"Why would it be too much?"

She felt shy all of a sudden and averted her eyes. "Well, I mean...you know, if it's too much to ask you to spend both nights of the weekend with me..."

Now it was his turn to look stunned. "Seriously? Are you actually worried about that? Because let me tell you, I would gladly spend every night of the freaking week with you if you'd have me."

And then he abruptly corrected himself. "I mean - not 'have' have me, but, you know..."

"Shut up." She retorted, prompting him to laugh again. Try as she might, she couldn't maintain the dirty look she tried to muster, so she gave up, laughing along with him and shaking her head.

When their laughter subsided, he smiled again. "I would love to come to your place for dinner tomorrow night. Seriously."

He found himself longing to kiss her when her eyes softened, that shy smile pulling at her lips as she nodded.

"Okay, then." She nodded again, then: "So...I'm gonna...go."

"Okay." The gravelly quality had crept back into his voice, simply because he hated to see her go; what he really wanted was for her to just stay the night so he could hold her, sleep next to her, ensure that this was really happening.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow night." She was almost whispering now, because she knew she wasn't walking out of here without kissing him good night...and it was a heady thought.

"Absolutely." His eyes didn't leave hers as she nodded, then leaned slightly toward him; he, in turn, pulled her close, lowering his lips to hers.

The kiss lasted long enough to tax their breathing when they finally pulled apart, his finger trailing her cheek, his head tilted slightly. She had to force herself to give him a last smile, then turn away and head out toward her car, ducking amid the lightly falling snow.

He didn't close his door until the tail lights of her car were out of sight.

---------------------

As he sank down onto his sofa, still in something of a daze, he found himself marveling at how incredibly natural this all seemed. In the span of a few hours, so many of his dreams -- dreams he'd had for years -- had come true, and while it was slightly surreal, at the same time, it seemed like such a remarkably normal progression of events.

He didn't question it; he didn't worry that she'd wake up tomorrow and change her mind, didn't question that this was simply right - it wasn't a case of having her on a pedastal because she was unattainable, nor was there even a remote possibility of finding himself disenchanted with her now that he finally had her.

It all just seemed so astonishingly right.

Her mind raced as she drove through the darkened streets. It was after midnight, edging closer to one in the morning.

She'd half expected the insecurity and self-doubt to begin biting at her as soon as she was out of his driveway; she'd braced herself for regrets or doubts...something. What she hadn't expected was this feeling of utter calm, complete certainty such as she'd never felt before.

If she had been less amazed, she might've felt a twinge of sadness at the realization that she'd spent ten years with a man who had never once left her with this conviction.

As it was, all she could think about were the days and months and years that stretched out in front of her and Jim; she envisioned Christmases that didn't involve gifts that ostensibly paid homage to the friendship, while in reality barely concealing the depth of all that lay between them. She saw Valentine's Days that weren't marred by disappointment, darker days that weren't so bad because Jim always found a way to make everything seem so much better somehow.

More than that, she saw ordinary days that were made extraordinary because she'd stopped running.

The more she thought about it, the more she felt that pull toward him; it seemed wrong somehow to end this evening now. She felt so incredibly close to him, and she knew - just knew - that he was sitting in his apartment in much the same daze that she was: silent, marveling at all that had happened...giddy with the promise of the future.

She found herself thinking that time didn't matter so much anymore; manners and mores and convention weren't tools with which she could navigate this new territory with Jim. In fact, she realized with a sudden start that what she wanted most to do was not to navigate the terrain so much as explore it...revel in it.

With him.

She was more than halfway to her apartment when she made a u-turn.

------------

He was sitting on his sofa in his jeans, his shirt still crumpled on the floor where she'd pushed it off his shoulders, staring blankly into space when he heard a knock at his door.

He knew it was her before he even stood up; he knew before he swung open the door why she was back...what this meant.

His hand trembled as he reached for the doorknob, twisting it and opening the door to reveal her standing there shaking all over, her eyes on his, an intensity in her expression that made his breath catch.

She didn't say a word, simply stepped forward and put her arms around him, her lips finding his as he immediately pulled her close, not breaking the kiss even as he stepped back, taking her with him into the apartment and kicking the door closed behind them. He didn't ask why she was back, nor did she offer an explanation; instead, they stood in the middle of the floor, lips parting and meeting again, hands roaming, bodies straining toward one another.

Then suddenly, between kisses, she whispered, "I'm so sorry."

He stopped, pulling back and looking at her with concern, surprised at the emotion he saw in her eyes.

"Why...?" He tilted his head slightly.

The look on his face was so open, so obviously in love that all she could do was press her lips to his again, wanting so much more than that...wanting too much to even really handle.

The kiss lasted and lasted before she'd finally pulled back, gasping before she answered, "You deserved more than that."

Even though the words were cryptic and seemingly out of context, he intuited immediately what she was referring to: Casino Night.

All that they still hadn't talked about.

"Pam..." It was a hoarse whisper. He couldn't separate the desire from the ache - maybe because they stemmed from the same source - and he knew there was only one real solution, one way to assuage the angst and drown in the bliss.

He ignored the hunger that addled his mind, adding, "It's okay..."

The fact that he could say that shook her to her core, because she understood now how much she'd hurt him that night. He'd moved to another state because of what she'd done to him -- what if the merger had never happened? What if he'd remained in Stamford? If all the feelings and the connection and the lifeline that they had once been to one another had simply washed away, wasted?

The thought terrified her...made her realize why it was ridiculous to wait any longer.

So she whispered, "I want this."

Their eyes met, and he realized immediately what she was saying; the desire was hot, blinding, but he forced himself to remain steady as he asked in a hoarse voice, "What're you...?"

She looked him square in the eye - no hesitation, no shyness - her voice steady. "I'm saying that I want you; I want you to...please."

He didn't move at first, just stared hard at her, his eyes searching hers to be sure that she really meant it; she could see from the bulge in his jaw, the way his lips twitched slightly, that he was barely hanging on to his control...and still he stood there waiting, giving her a chance to think about it, to be sure.

She shook her head slightly, eyes never leaving his as she whispered, "You're so amazing...you just..."

And then he watched, feeling a swelling ache in the midst of the hazy desire as her brow furrowed; for a second he worried that she might cry.

Then she asked in a sharp whisper, tears creeping into her eyes, "Do you know that I'm in love with you?"

He almost reeled backward - both at the tears in her eyes and at the words she'd said. Because even though he'd suspected, hoped...hearing her say it was an altogether different thing.

Swallowing hard over the lump in his throat, he paused, opening his mouth to answer her - then tilting his jaw slightly, because his voice failed him.

She took a step toward him, raising trembling hands to either side of his face, making him look at her as she stared hard at him, then: "Because I am. I really am."

Their eyes held for a long moment, and then without warning he leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers and pulling her roughly to him. When he felt the warmth of her hands on his bare back, he knew that this was just it.

There was nothing else to do but slide his arm beneath her legs, lifting her and carrying her toward his bedroom as she giggled softly against his naked chest, her fingers curled in his hair.

"What...?" His voice was hoarse as he made his way down the dark hallway.

"Just...." She shook her head, almost delirious at the realization of all that was happening. "This. You."

His profile was illuminated by the streetlight as he deposited her gently onto his bed, leaning over her and resting on his forearms, looking like some sort of vision she'd conjured - his chest bare, jeans resting loosely on his hips.

"Okay...." He murmured, feeling slightly weak when she impatiently drew his head down toward hers, her lips on his as her hands roamed his back. He kissed her slowly, languidly, as his fingers slipped beneath her shirt, caressing her belly, her ribs, then covering her breasts; she exhaled heavily against his lips when he once again unhooked her bra.

She sat up then, sliding her shirt over her head and tossing her bra impatiently aside as he watched, dazed; his arms wound around her, his hands on her shoulderblades as he guided her to rest against the pillows, his lips trailing her neck, her clavicle, her breasts. He smiled when her breath caught, one of her hands clutching his hair impatiently as her back arched; the smile faded into a groan when he felt her fingers glide over his chest to the snap on his jeans, pausing before she put gentle pressure on the button, sliding it free.

"Mmmm, Beesly...." It was a growl against her lips; he felt her smile a little.

"...Yes?" She was all innocence as she slowly, purposefully unzipped his jeans, pulling back to hold eye contact with him while she did so.

He couldn't speak for a moment, and she loved it - felt intoxicated by the power she had over him....by the effect of his lips, his touch. This was better, far better, than she'd ever imagined it would be.

Because somehow, even though they'd crossed an entirely new threshold, they were still so them.

As if he could read her mind, he cocked an eyebrow, one hand trailing down from her waist to her jeans, his eyes holding hers as he deftly unbuttoned the snap, his fingers poised at the elastic of her underwear. "You're asking for trouble."

She loved the way his voice was rough, loved the glaze over his eyes...loved the feel of his fingers on her lower belly, the way his chest hair tickled her breasts.

Loved the anticipation of what was about to happen.

Just the thought of it - the sudden awareness that Jim was about to make love to her - made her eyes close, her chin tilting toward the ceiling as she whispered, "I know....and I want it."

"Wow..." The word slipped out of him at her reaction; he impatiently pushed her jeans lower, sliding them down even as he felt her hands shoving his own jeans past his hips. Within seconds, she was lying beneath him wearing nothing but a pair of pink satin bikini panties, he in light blue boxers.

She was staring at him, her eyes roving over his body in the same way that he was hungrily staring at her own; their eyes met and held for a second, both of them silently registering the gravity of the moment.

Then he whispered, "Okay...are you sure you're...that this is what you want?"

That he could ask in such a moment - that he would've surely pulled back if she'd said no - was enough to make her eyes close for a second.

Then she opened them, holding his gaze steady as she answered, her voice unwavering, "Yes."

His breath caught, his eyes closing, too, for a split second as she watched in what felt like a drunken daze. Then his lips were on hers again, his body pressed close; she could feel him poking against her through the thin satin of her underwear, filling her with a heady, rushed impatience that made her arch against him.

Still he didn't move his lips from hers, instead sliding one hand down to catch hers, guiding it gently over her head, their hands clutched tightly against the pillow. He didn't break the kiss until her other hand was over her head, fingers entwined with his; only then did he move his lips from hers to trail over her collarbone, her breasts, her belly...moving lower, smiling against her skin when she gasped out loud. His smile faded into a gasp much like hers when her hand slipped beneath his boxers, gripping him, then sliding slowly over him in time with the throbbing pulse she felt against her palm.

She felt almost drunk when he deftly hooked his fingers in her underwear, sliding them down past her hips to her knees and beyond, even as she followed suit. Feeling him pressed against her, so shockingly there, caused her to again gasp as he propped himself on his arms, staring down at her, breathing heavily.

"Do I need to...?"

She shook her head, knowing what he was asking before he even said it. "The pill."

He nodded, closing his eyes for a second, then opening them to stare down at her with an intensity that left absolutely no doubt in her mind: This is it.

Their eyes held as he moved, sliding forward and pressing into her; she gasped in spite of herself - more at the awareness that this was Jim than anything else.

"You okay?" He asked, hesitating, though it took more control than he was fully confident that he had to do so.

She nodded quickly, her hands on either side of his waist, willing him not to stop.

When he pushed forward again, filling her completely, she gasped again, shifting impatiently beneath him, her lips against the rough stubble on his neck. He was still for a second, breathing heavily as he closed his eyes, struggling for control.

And then he heard her whisper, her words muffled against his skin, "I love you..."

He shut his eyes even tighter for a second, frozen even as he could feel her pulsing beneath him, hot; then he leaned close to her ear, whispering, "God, I love you..."

She cried out when he began to move slowly, so he fumbled for one of her hands, clutching it tightly in his own as he felt himself slipping under; she felt so good, so warm and wet and endless....

It was shocking to her how utterly different this was than the way it had been with Roy; there was no disconnect here, just a startling, almost awe-inspiring intimacy about it. He'd drawn back to hold eye contact with her even as he moved inside her, their hands pressing tighter and tighter as the intensity mounted.

"Jim..." There was nothing she could say; she just wanted to hear his name on her lips.

At the sound of it, his eyes closed for a second; then he opened them, not breaking his rhythm - driving her out of her mind - as he gasped, "Yeah...?"

"This..." She couldn't finish the thought at first, her head turning to the side, teeth clenched at the feel of him driving into her...shocking, hot. Then she'd forced herself to turn back to look up at him, taking in the glistening sweat on his brow as she finished, "This is really it."

When his eyes closed - as if he couldn't handle the magnitude of what she'd said - she realized she was close, dangerously close to the edge; the sensation was like a thread pulled taut, a heady promise in the realization that she was going to break soon.

"Jim." It was an urgent gasp; he seemed to recogize immediately the implication behind her inflection, moving faster as he murmured against her ear, "Come...."

Strange that him uttering the words was so completely stunning at such a moment - but it was the thing that drove her over the edge, the realization that Jim - her partner in crime, best friend, the guy who made her feel kind of weak when he leaned against her desk - that Jim was moving inside her, lips grazing her as he whispered, "Come...."

The realization was still hitting her even as she felt the spasms beginning low, deep, tightening around him; his name was a gasp as she shuddered all over, aware that the pulsing in him seemed to intensify as he pressed closer, deeper, his voice hoarse when he called her name.

And then there was stillness as she felt herself spinning back from the heat and the intensity, steadied by his hands, his arms.

---------------------------

For close to ten minutes, neither of them spoke; she lay with her head resting against his chest, his fingers winding into her hair as their breathing slowly returned to normal.

Then he said, his voice rough, "You would not believe how many times I've...dreamed of this happening."

She propped up on one arm with a grin. "You mean actually dreamed about it?"

He, too, grinned. "Well, maybe once or twice."

"Ah, I see." She nodded. "So what you're telling me is that you've just pictured this happening so many times."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You haven't?"

She blushed immediately, prompting him to throw his head back with a loud laugh. "Oh my god, Beesly -- if you could see your face! You're totally blushing."

"Shut up."

"So..." He shifted so that he, too, was propped up on one arm, gazing across at her with a naughty gleam in his eye. "What exactly were you picturing to make you blush like that?"

"Shut up."

"Well now, that's not nice." He gave her a mockingly pointed stare. "If you keep telling me to shut up, I'm going to have no choice than but to assume that you just used me for the sex."

Though she tried to look annoyed, she couldn't keep from laughing, at him, her shoulders shaking as she clutched the sheet beneath her breasts.

Then she sobered suddenly, looking at him with a serious expression. "Oh my god - was that not obvious? Wow, I thought you knew the score; this is pretty awkward..."

He burst out laughing again, shaking his head as his face softened. "Very nice."

Another silence fell, then he reached to brush a stray lock of hair from her cheek, his voice soft as he murmured, "So...this is really it, huh?"

Their eyes held steady; her hand closed over his. "Yeah...this is really it."