"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.