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.