He laughs when she says she wants to talk. She detaches herself from him, and moves to his recliner at the end of the couch.

Her face is serious, her eyes piercing. "No, I’m serious, Jim…We haven’t really talked about…" She sighs deeply. "Well, any of it. And…I think we need to."

He laughs again. "What’s there to talk about? We’re here, aren’t we? What does it matter how we got here?"

And that’s how Jim Halpert lost Pam Beesly.

He wakes up two days later, alone and filthy. He’s eaten nothing, and polished off an entire bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

Still in a bit of a drunken stupor, he dials her number.

"Dunder-Mifflin; this is Pam," she answers. Her voice sounds angelic. She doesn’t sound hurt, and he doesn’t want to put her there.

He hangs up.

Head in hands, he falls back onto his bed.

He hasn’t been to work in two days. He hasn’t seen Pam since Tuesday. He’s dying to know what she’s done, if she’s okay, who she’s been with…

Two days. Does he still even have a job? He can’t remember calling in sick or anything.

Hunched over the toilet five minutes later, he says something he hasn’t in years: "Here’s to hoping."

He prays – something he hadn’t done in nearly ten years – that it isn’t too late.

******************************************************** 

When he wakes up later, on his couch, the first thing he thinks of is her smile.

And it’s so blindingly bright – and pure – that it only worsens his headache.

It doesn’t loosen any of the tightness in his chest, either.

The ringtone on his cell phone is on the final few notes, coming from the kitchen. He makes his way as fast as he can, but misses the call.

He sees five missed calls: Pam, Michael, Michael, Dwight, Pam.

One voicemail: Pam.

When he finally remembers his password, and hears the message, he wishes he had a lake to throw his damned phone to the bottom of.

Done with this.

She thinks he's done with her. Is she done with him? She doesn't sound like she's given up hope, but he can't be sure.

He vomits the last of the nothingness that had settled in his stomach into his kitchen sink and contemplates calling her. He's really hungry suddenly, and he really shouldn't be driving...Or cooking.

It's only eight-thirty. She has to be home, right?

He picks up his cell phone and his her speed-dial button.

It rings once. Twice. Th--

"Hello?" She sounds startled - hopeful, anxious, overjoyed and still like she's fighting something off.

"Pam..." He mumbles.

"Jim! A-are you, are you alright?" She sounds genuinely concerned, and she has every right to be. He wants to tell her he's sorry, that he's not done with "this," and never will be.  He opens his mouth and all he can manage is a groan.

"Oh! Kelly, I'll be back. What? No. No. No, I'm good. I just need some air. Yeah. Thanks. Yeah. Alright, Kel." He hears a door slam. "She just...Doesn't stop sometimes," she laughs. Not a real laugh. Completely forced. His chest tightens.

"I...I'm fine. Well, not...Not fine. Hungover. Hungry."

"So eat something."

"I...Can we go somewhere?" He knows that by doing this, he's opening the door to the talk. He's been avoiding this for six months. He's been avoiding everything. And he still doesn't want to talk about it. Any of it. Honestly, what does it matter how the heck they got here? They're here, aren't they? Well...They were.

"Um. Now? Really? Kelly and I were just about to watch -- yes. Where?"

"Anywhere, as long as you can come pick me up. I really shouldn't be driving." He can't figure out why he chuckled saying 'really.' It's not a laughing matter. Not a time for jokes. He thinks he should be angry with Pam over her little quip, but that's going to get him nowhere. If anything, he feels at the least he should never, ever forgive himself for doing this to her.

"Um. Well, it's gonna be hard to get a place anywhere decent...Fast food?"

"Yeah." He sighs. "I'm really not in any condition to be seen too much in public. When can you be here? I need to change my shirt and..."

"Ten minutes?" She cuts him off.

"Great. I...I'll see you then."

"Okay." She sighs. "Jim?"

He doesn't answer. She looks at her phone and sees he's already hung up.

Fighting back tears, she scolds herself for getting her hopes up. He's probably going to dump her, anyway. "I love you," she whispers.

Jim wishes he had time to shower, but settles for washing his face and wetting his hair, hopefully rinsing some of the ever-wonderful "lazy bum" cologne out. He changes into another t-shirt, but chills get the better of him once he steps out the door. He jogs back outside, enveloped in an oversized hoodie, just in time to see Pam pull up.

He wants so damn badly for there to be something he can say to take the red from her eyes, to make the streaks where tears had obviously fallen disappear. When she steps into the light of his porch, he stumbles down the stairs and waits for something to happen.

She just stares.

And he just stares.

After nearly a minute's gone by, he decides he's got to make something happen. He holds his arms out, and prays she steps forward.

She runs into him, grabbing her wrists behind his back. He holds her close to him and lifts her into the air, just holding her.

"You smell good." He whispers. He hasn't opened his eyes since she'd run to him, but he wants to see her reaction.

His chest tightens even more when she smiles and scrunches her nose at him, her eyes still clenched shut. "You stink. When'd you last shower?"

"Right after you left." Honesty is the best policy, right?

"Figures." She kicks him, telling him to put her down. She offers her hand and leads them to her car. "C'mon. Let's go eat."

He stares out the window of her car. Why didn't he ask her to drive his?

Right. He didn't want to press his luck.

Why had she agreed so quickly to come get him? He tries to concentrate on the few stars showing in the sky. He really doesn't want to press his luck.

"I'm glad you called," she finally says. Someone had to talk, eventually. "I was kind of...I was starting to worry about you." Her eyes never meet his.

"Look at me," he pleads. Her heart breaks as she shakes her head 'no.'

"I'm driving," is all she can think to say.

He sighs, and goes back to trying to concentrate on the stars. "Star light, star bright..." he mutters. If she heard him, she's not showing it. Why can't he make her laugh?

She doesn't want to laugh. She wants so badly to drive right back to his house, push him out, and go back home. After about three hours of Sex and the City, though, she wants even more to be away from Kelly.

She really shouldn't think of Kelly like that. It's wrong, and she knows it, but Kelly is just so...unstoppable. That's the nicest word she can think of.

She pulls into a Subway restaurant. He thinks he might throw up.

"C'mon," she says, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Something healthy might do you good."

He catches her stare and is determined to make her hold it. He just wants her to look at him.

"Pam," he starts.

"C'mon." She's up and out of the car before he can undo his seatbelt.

He stands at her side, waiting in line. She simply grabs a bag of Baked Lays and a cup for a soft drink. She flops a twenty down on the counter, and says she's paying for him, too. He plays it safe, a ham and cheese on white and a bottled water.

She's sitting, staring at the bag of chips, when he finally sits down and joins her, placing her change infront of her on the table.

"No Sun Chips?" he asks, hoping to coerce even a grin.

"Nope." She crunches down on a chip rather loudly, cutting off any of that conversation. His stomach drops, and he's not sure he's hungry anymore. He takes a bite, anyway.

He doesn't notice her studying his face. Her eyes dart and scan every inch, searching for something he thinks she must not have found, because she asks, "Why'd you call me? Just wanted food?"

He swallows hard. "It's not like that."

"I didn't say it was, but now that you have...Listen. I can't-"

"Don't. Don't do that. Jesus. Don't do that."

"Don't do what? You're the one not doing anything. I called twice. I left a message. I bailed your ass out with Michael. He wanted to go to your place and check on you." She looks angry. 'Angry' doesn't do what she's feeling justice.

"I...Thanks. Really? Wow." She's still waiting. "I'm..." He rubs his forehead. "I'm pretty hungover but...I did get your message. I swear, I had just reached my phone when I guess voicemail picked up. I'm sorry."

She stares into her cup. "I told Toby to um...Have the papers ready to nullify, or whatever he does with them."

He nearly chokes on his sandwich. "Why?"

"It'd been two days. I thought you fell off the face of the planet or something. It's not like you to get wasted and skip two days of work."

"And you think that means we're over?" He lowers his voice. "I'm not," he chokes on his words. "I'm not "done with this," Pam."

"And..." She takes a small bite of a chip. "And what if I am?"

"And what if I am?"

His heart stops. His ears pop, any and all sound sounds deflected, hidden. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. "Are you?" He can't figure out how he made himself speak.

"Am I what?" She wants him to say it. She doesn't think she could handle it if one of them were to misinterpret this conversation.

"Are you breaking up with me?" His eyes are trained on hers, which are trained on her drink. She's staring into her cup as though there were some whirlpool inside, sucking the straw and ice and air bubbles down into nothingness. His stomach drops.

"I thought I was," she confesses. "I don't know. I really liked where we were headed, Jim--"

"Me, too," he cuts her off.

"Stop. Let me talk." She sighs. "I liked where we were headed. I thought that...We just never did get the timing right, really, and then there we were, and it was perfect. We were perfect..." She trails off.

"Can I talk now?"

"No."

"Mm." He nods.

"And then you closed up. I'm not the kind of person anymore who can just keep things bottled up. I thought you knew that, since it nearly got you killed. Even if you didn't want to talk, I felt like I needed you to know. I didn't need to know as much as I needed to say, but it would've been nice if you could've at least met me halfway!" She hisses the last sentence. He stares at her for the longest time. "You can talk, now."

"I don't know what to say."

She nods, and steps up to throw her trash away. She takes her keys from her pocket. "Are you cool to walk home?"

Why can't he just tell her? Why does he have to play it so fucking safe? This isn't safe. He's going to lose her. He can't handle losing her again.

"No, no, Pam! Pam, sit down. Please."

She wipes her eyes with the sleves of her jacket. "I don't think that's a good idea, Jim."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry." He stands up, and follows her outside. "Jesus, Pam! Stop!" He grabs her arm, not roughly, but harsh enough to make her jump.

"Let go." She's crying again.

"Don't leave me," he begs.

"Fine. Get in and I'll take you home." She can't look him in the eyes.

He takes his free hand, the one not clasping her arm, and gently touches her chin. He lifts her face up to try to make her look at him. He just wants her to look at him. She closes her eyes and cries. "No. No, don't do that."

"Don't tell me what to do," she yells, wriggling free of his grip. "And don't touch me! God. You're so fucking weird, Jim! How'd I ever think you could be mature enough for this relationship? You don't know what you want, and when you finally think you know, you fuck it up. You make sure you can't ever have it."

"You make sure you can't ever have it!" She screams. She's literally seeing red, but is temporarily blinded by what he says next.

"Wanna go to the park?"

"What?" She spits. The park? What the hell could the park have to do with any of this? "It's like fourty degrees out. Come on. I'll take you home."

He grabs her arm again, harder this time. "I don't wanna go home," he whispers. "And I don't wanna let you go."

She jerks her arm and steps away from him, holding a hand up over her shoulder as if to silently signal an end to this conversation. She stops halfway to her car.

"So, wait. YOU want to go to the park. YOU don't want to go home. YOU don't want to let me go. YOU don't want this relationship to end," she catches herself. She doesn't want it to end, either, but she's come so far and can't admit that, now. "So...I'm supposed to waste more money taking you to the park, and then home, and then probably take your hung-over ass to bed just because it's what YOU want?"

"We could walk?" He laughs softly.

"I don't want to walk. Jim. I don't want to go to the park. When the hell are you ever gonna think about what I might want?"

"No, no, no. You don't get to play that card, Beesly. No. YOU didn't even think about what you wanted until I kissed you --"

"Yeah, you kissed me and ran off. Thanks, Jim, for teaching me to fend for myself. You know what I went through while you were invisible? The fucking HELL I had to endure while you were busy playing the quiet game? Of course not. Because you won't even let me talk about it."

"So tell me," he steps towards her, she backs up.

"I'm done with this," she whispers..

He asks why she can't just tell him now, and is afraid to touch her and stop her walking away a third - fourth? - time, but he can't chance her really leaving. He runs, and steps infront of her, blocking her car door. "Why?" he demands.

She touches her stomach, and tears fill her eyes. She looks up at him, and through blurred vision, sobs. He doesn't reach out to her, hold her, console her. He just stares. That fucking stare.

"This," she looks at her stomach. "This can't happen with us like this."

"This," he asks carefully, reaching out and touching her hand.

She winces. "Move. I'm going home."

Chapter Six: I Am Heaven Sent, Don't You Dare Forget.

"This can't happen with us like this."

She doesn't realize until he touches her that she's placed a hand over her stomach. She doesn't mean to wince, but sort of sickly enjoys the obvious pain it brings him when he sees her reaction to his gentlest of gestures. She knows she should move both arms, and grab her waist on either side. She knows she should. Instead, she just lets her hands drop to her sides.

Her old, ratty jeans aren't holding up like she'd hoped they would. Of course, it's not helping that the wind is blowing in from the north, and her face feels like it might freeze off. Her jacket (Jim's jacket) is keeping her warm, and she thinks for the most part, sane.

"I don't," he starts. He really can't find anything to say that could fix this, so he lies. "I don't think I should be alone tonight." He's cast the line, prays she bites.

"What does that have to do with me?"

He sighs. Don't make him say it. "Stay with me. Please." He means forever, but if she takes it as just for tonight, it'd be fine. One step at a time.

"There's no room at your place for me."

"You can take my bed and I'll --"

"No, I'm not gonna put you out like that."

He thinks. "Can I borrow your couch?"

She hates him. In this moment, she hates him so badly. How dare he do this. How dare he invite her over, and then himself to her place. On top of that, how dare he turn it into something that makes her smile.

Still fighting a smile, she nods. Why can't she shake her head? "I don't think that's a good idea, either."

"Do you have like a blanket in the car or something?"

She grunts in frustration. "Fine. Get in the back. And...Lie down. I don't want to look at you right now."

The drive to her house is short. He's glad she gave in so easily, and he knows he's going to pay for that, too. He knows how he can make it up to her, she just has to let him. "We need to --"

"I don't want to hear you, either."

**************************************************************************

She stares at the clock on her stove. For the longest time, he just watches her stare. Nothing comes to mind except...He's just really glad to see her. Her. At 3:37 AM. In her kitchen. Drinking coffee. Knowing he has to go to work the next day. HAS to. She doesn't want to go, more than anything she'd like to just spend all day in bed. She really can't handle the gossip, though.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, still staring.

"No, you're not."

She glares at him.

"You're not, I won't allow it." He leans back and rests the back of his head in his palms, his long arms sticking up. "I am, though. I fucked up." He whispers.

"Yeah, you did."

"Six hours of talk won't fix it. I know. Just...This is a start, right?"

"Yeah." She goes back to staring at the clock. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Listening to me. Finally." She wills herself to look at him. Just look. She can't. "Everything I said...I just needed you to know."

"I can't say I'm glad I know all of it," he confesses. "You were right, though. Feels good to have that out there." Pause. Too long of a pause. Too damned long.

"I'm so sorry."

"Why do you keep apologizing? You didn't almost fuck up our --" Dare he say it? "Family...?"

"What?" She snaps her head towards him. Whiplash? Not this time. She stares at him.

Oooh. The stomach touching thing.

"Oh. Um...No." She shakes her head. "Family?" She stares in disbelief.

"Yeah, I thought you...? You said "this" and like, touched your stomach like...No?" Say yes. He prays again.

"No," she shakes her head and stares into her coffee cup.

He leans across the table and kisses her gently on the lips. Pulling back, he takes her hand as he stands up and walks to her side, helping her stand up. "Come on," he says. "We need to fix that."

"Not tonight," she whispers, kissing his cheek. "My bed's mine. You're on the couch."