Her heart is still beating a frantic staccato rhythm against her breastbone.  She trails a few feet behind him, trying to steady her breathing before she has to talk to the police. 

She can’t forget the look in his eyes right before the knocking started.  There was something hungry and desperate there.  She could swear that she saw him start to lean forward.  Her eyelids almost flutter shut just thinking about it.

However, the spell is broken by the continued banging on the front door.

“POLICE!  OPEN UP!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jim mutters under his breath.  His shoulders are tense, the back of his neck stiff.

Suddenly a new voice can be heard from the other side of the door.

“Jim?!  Jim, are you there?  Let me through!  I know this man!”

Jim looks back at Pam with wide, bewildered eyes and raised eyebrows.

“No way,” he whispers to her.  He pauses with his fingers curled around the doorknob.

“Jim!  If you are gagged and unable to speak, try to knock against a hard surface with the heel of your shoe!  If your legs are tied together and you are bound on the floor, rock your body backward onto your left shoulder and then roll yourself into a wall with as much force as you can!  I will find you, Jim!”

Jim pulls the door open and Pam finds herself witness to a strange and hectic combination of confusion, surprise and disbelief.

“Dwight?”

“Jim!”

“Dwight?”

“Pam?”

Pam blinks a few times, but her eyes are not deceiving her.  Dwight is in fact standing before her looking ready to spring into action.  What type of action he thought would be required in this situation, Pam can’t say, but he’s wearing a tool belt, a canteen, what looks to be his spud gun strapped to his back, and a set of nunchucks slung over his shoulder.  A policeman stands behind him, looking irritated and a little weary, but not surprised.  Pam gets the impression that this isn’t the first time Dwight has come uninvited to the scene of a crime.

“I thought you retired from volunteer duty,” Jim says.

“Being a volunteer sheriff is a way of life.  I will always be a volunteer sheriff.  It’s not an identity that one can just abandon by returning a uniform and a badge,” Dwight replies importantly.

Jim squints at him.

“Pretty sure it is though.”

“Look,” Dwight starts impatiently.  “I have a Ham radio set up beside my bed.  I keep it set to the police frequency and I heard them send a car to your address.”

“You know my address?” Jim asks, frowning.

“You sleep with a Ham radio on?” Pam adds, because that strikes her as the weirder detail.  She almost adds, ‘Doesn’t that bother Angela?’ but manages to catch herself in time.

“All of that is beside the point!” Dwight exclaims.  He tries to peer over Jim’s shoulder into his living room.  Jim tilts to the left and right, wherever Dwight is trying to look, blocking his view.  “I do not see an emergency here.  Need I remind you, Jim, that calling the police under false pretenses is a crime?”

“Did you miss the man passed out on the smashed up car in my driveway?” Jim asks.

Cop pushes Dwight aside.

“Move it, Schrute.  I need to ask these folks a few questions.  I’m Deputy Thompson.  Are you the woman who called us?  Pam Beesley?”

“Um, yes.  Yes, that’s me.”

The deputy scribbles something in his notepad. 

“The gentleman outside, he’s your ex-boyfriend?”

“No.  That’s his brother.”

“His brother?”  Officer Thompson points at Jim.

“No, my ex-boyfriend’s brother.  My ex drove off.  He was drunk.  I gave the officer I spoke to on the phone his plate number.”

More scribbling.

“Right.  Okay.  I’m just going to ask you a couple of simple questions, just so we can start a case file.  We’re going to take sleeping beauty back to the station and hold him for disorderly conduct.  You can come down to the station tomorrow if you choose to press any charges against either him or his brother.”

“Okay.”

Pam fidgets nervously with the edges of her sleeves, tugging them down and grasping at them.  She feels a little overwhelmed.  All this talk of pressing charges and coming “down to the station” is making her realize just how serious everything is.  She feels something brush against her right hand and realizes that it’s Jim.  He laces his fingers through hers and discreetly clasps her hand.  He gives it a squeeze, and she realizes that he sensed her nervousness.  She feels the sudden urge to cry, but pushes it back.  It would be ridiculous to burst into tears now over a simple gesture like this.

“Is this your house, Ma’am?” the deputy asks.

“No.”

“It’s mine,” Jim says.  He sounds so calm and in control.

“So whose car is serving as a mattress right now?” the deputy asks.

“That’d be mine,” Jim replies.

“Okay sir, same goes for you.  You can come down to the station tomorrow, press charges so that your insurance agency will be able to get some reimbursement from them.”

Jim nods and Pam knows that he’ll have to press charges now.  It makes her stomach turn a little.  Not that she doesn’t think Jim has the right to make sure Roy pays for the damages.  It’s just the thought of messy courtroom battles that makes her cringe.

“Which one did that to you?” Officer Thompson asks, gesturing at Jim’s bandaged cheek.

“The ex,” Jim replies without hesitation. 

Pam sees Officer Thompson glance down at their clasped hands.  She tugs on her right hand a little, but Jim doesn’t budge.  He won’t hide this.  Thompson nods knowingly.

“Mmm-hmm,” he murmurs, and he makes another note in his little book.

Jim turns and looks down at Pam.

“Look, I can handle this.  Why don’t you go back inside?” he suggests.

Before Pam can reply, she feels a hand on her shoulder and realizes that Dwight is guiding her into the house.

“I’ll take care of her, Jim,” he says determinedly.

Jim looks pleadingly at Pam, and she reluctantly nods, allowing Dwight to steer her the rest of the way through the door.  Jim gives her hand one last squeeze before shutting the door behind them.

***

It’s incredibly awkward standing in Jim’s living room with Dwight.  She just keeps staring at all of the trappings he brought.  She’s just noticed that his tool belt includes not one, but two crowbars.

“You should sit down,” Dwight says.

She almost tells him that she’s fine standing, but sitting seems less awkward, so she tentatively moves to the love seat.  He takes a seat in the armchair directly across from her.

It only takes her a second to realize that he’s staring at her.  No, staring is the wrong word.  He’s peering curiously at her, eyes darting here and there with a determined squint.

“Dwight, what are you doing?” Pam asks finally.

Dwight looks surprised that he’s been caught, as if he was being subtle.

“Angela, from accounting, told me what happened at Poor Richards tonight,” he says.

“…And?” Pam prompts.  She wants to ask him why Angela would call him so late, but she decides to be nice.

“I know that you and Roy had a… verbal dispute,” he says slowly.

“Yes.  We did,” Pam replies.  She doesn’t know where this is going.

“I would like to conduct a visual inspection,” Dwight says matter-of-factly.

Pam frowns.

“For what?”

“Bruises,” he says.

He starts reach for her arm.

“No,” Pam says resolutely, pulling her arm pack.

“Pamela, you don’t have to hide it.  Not anymore,” Dwight says sincerely.

He’s being so earnest that Pam almost feels bad to shut him down.  She opens her mouth to tell him that he doesn’t have to worry, but Dwight holds up one hand and places the other gently on her shoulder.

“This is a safe space.  He can’t harm you here.  And if he tries, I will incapacitate him with a series of Goju Ryu Karate moves, and then finish him off with my nunchucks.  If that fails, spud gun.”

Pam’s eyebrows fly up so high that she’s worried they’ve left her forehead.

“Thanks,” is all she can think to say.

Dwight nods, as if to say ‘you're welcome.’

“So let’s see, then.  Please roll up your sleeves.”

“Dwight, no.  I don’t have any bruises,” Pam says stubbornly.

Dwight sighs and looks at Pam like he always does before he’s about to give her a lecture.  Like she’s a confused child.

“Pamela, my encounters with Roy have been mundane, but there lurks in every man a feral instinct.  It is our curse.  Good men have learned to quell that instinct with a respect and appreciation for womankind.  But there are some men, weak men, who have not evolved in this way.”

“Dwight, Roy has never hit me,” Pam insists.

A small voice in the back of her mind adds, ‘but he has left bruises.’  She shushes the voice.  She doesn’t want to remember that.  She doesn’t want to think about the times when Roy would grab her arm or her shoulder with a little too much force.

Dwight just continues to stare determinedly at her and she starts to feel bad.  It’s honestly very sweet that he’s worried about her.

“Fine,” she sighs. 

She rolls up the sleeves of her sweater until they rest above her elbows.

“Satisfied?” she asks, showing him her forearms. 

Dwight is not satisfied.

“A man is much more likely to grab a woman on the upper arms,” he says, and Pam feels a jolt in her stomach, because that is exactly where Roy would sometimes leave bruises.

Silently, she pushes the sleeves up even further, almost to her shoulders.  Dwight nods in approval.

“Excellent.  Now I just need to check your ribs and back,” he says.

Pam gapes at him.

“I’m not taking off my shirt, Dwight,” she says firmly.

“I assure you that I am a professional,” he says, as if she’s being ridiculous.

“A professional pervert?” she asks.

“Fine,” he says, sighing theatrically.

No one speaks for a moment.  Pam fidgets with her sleeves again before she can work up the courage to ask him what she’s been thinking about since their conversation began.

“So… what did Angela tell you?” she asks, trying to sound casual.

Dwight presses his lips together and straightens up, all business again.

“Just that you and Roy had a lover’s quarrel.  That he became visibly angry and began to shout.  And that immediately after you left he proceeded to destroy most of the glass objects in Poor Richard’s.”

Pam nods.  She knows what he shouted, and that everyone there probably heard it.

“Did she tell you what he was shouting about?” she asks.  She just wants to know.  Quick like a band-aid.

“She might have mentioned something about Jim,” Dwight says hesitantly, trying and failing to look indifferent.

“What about him?” Pam asks, no longer pretending that she isn’t flustered.

“That he made… unseemly sexual advances,” Dwight says cautiously.

Pam feels her stomach flip.

“Awesome,” she says under her breath.

“You could go to Toby,” Dwight suggests.

“What?  Why?”

Dwight gives her his lecture face again.

“Pam, if Jim is sexually harassing you—”

“No!” she cuts him off immediately, eyes wide.  “No, that’s not what happened at all.”

He doesn’t continue his lecture.  Instead he just looks at her, waiting for her to continue, to explain what did happen.  She spends a few seconds struggling to come up with a lie, something plausible and mundane.  But then she remembers that Roy and Karen both know anyway and it’s going to get around work no matter what she tells Dwight now.

“We kissed,” she says finally.  “Last May.”

“But in May you were still with…”

“Exactly.”

“Oh.”

She expects him to say something more.  Maybe condemn her for cheating.  Maybe tell her an old German folktale that relates to her situation.  Something.  But he just sits there, looking contemplative but not shocked or appalled.

“It never went any further. Between us,” she reassures him, although he doesn’t make her feel like she has to.  “I told Roy, and he freaked.”

“And then he came here,” Dwight says.

Pam nods.  Dwight seems to come to some sort of decision.

“Some men know how to treat a woman, and some don’t,” he says matter-of-factly.

Pam just nods again.

“I, for example, worship my girlfriend like the petite goddess she is.”

“That’s… good.”

“Michael is completely devoted to Jan,” he continues.

She can’t help but smile at this.  Despite all of his faults, no one can deny that Michael is a devoted boyfriend.

“Yes, he is,” she says.

“Jim, for all of his professional and personal inadequacies, does seem to be a sufficient mate for Karen.”

Pam blinks, and looks away.

“Um… I don’t really…”

“They’ve been dating for… it must be at least four months,” he continues.

Pam just wishes he would stop.  It’s not her place to tell him anything about Jim and Karen, but she doesn’t like where this conversation is headed.

“Yeah, maybe,” she says distantly.

“That’s two months longer than my granmutter and granvater dated before they were married.”

“Really?  That’s...” She trails off because she’s actually starting to feel sick and she can’t think of anything to say.

“Actually, I don’t think Jim has ever had a relationship last that long.  Probably because he’s such a girl.  Karen must be a very special lady.”

“Yeah.”

She really can’t take this anymore.  It feels like when she has to submit her paintings to an art critique in her class.  The professor and all of the students gather around her artwork and discuss its good points and its faults, and she just has to stand there and pretend like it isn’t killing her to hear it.  They’re just talking about what they see.  It’s not personal.  But it still makes her skin crawl and her stomach churn and she hates every minute of it.

Luckily, Dwight seems content to move on to a new subject.  He sighs awkwardly and examines the nozzle on his canteen.  After a moment, he speaks.

“So, how many males have you consummated relationships with?”

He says it completely casually, as if they’re discussing a late shipment of paper or the weather forecast.

“Are you really asking me that?” she asks, dumbfounded.

He seems confused by her unease. 

“I’ll tell you my answer.  Four.”

“You’ve consummated relationships with four males?” Pam asks.

“No!  Obviously females,” he sputters.

“Obviously,” Pam repeats, smiling a little.

“So?” he prompts.

Pam shakes her head.

“No.  Absolutely not.”

Dwight gives her an impatient look.

“Pam, it’s the 2000s.  Your number can’t be as high as Meredith’s.  I’m a modern man and I won’t judge you for what fifty years ago would have been deemed ‘promiscuity.’”

Pam rolls her eyes.

“Jeeze.  Dwight.  One, okay?” she says irritably.

“Oh.”

His eyes are wide for a second, but he manages to cover the reaction fairly quickly.  They are both silent again for a moment.

“It was Roy, right?”

“Dwight!” she snaps.

He looks sufficiently reprimanded for a second, but he can’t help himself.

“So, you’re practically a teenager in the dating world,” he says.

She just gives him a seething glare.  She knows he doesn’t mean to make her feel so hopelessly embarrassed, but he’s succeeding nonetheless.  It’s true.  She’s been on only six first dates in her entire life.  There are probably plenty of teenagers who beat her two or three times over.

Dwight seems to notice her discomfort.  He clears his throat loudly and straightens up in his seat.

“Teenagers have sex in my beet field all the time,” he says, eager to change the subject.

“Dwight,” Pam says, disgust showing on her face.

Dwight looks immediately remorseful.

“I apologize if I’ve crossed the line,” he says.

Pam feels guilty for getting so irritated with him.  Really, what has he done tonight but try to help her?

“It’s okay,” she says.

She is saved from any further awkwardness by the opening of the front door.  Jim enters, and she notes that he’s alone, no Officer Thompson.

“Uh, hey, Pam?  We’re all set,” he says.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” she says.  She lets herself relax finally, just a little.

Jim looks at Dwight, waiting for him to say his goodbyes, but Dwight seems clueless.  He’s sharpening the edges of his wire cutters with a Swiss army knife.

“So, Dwight, thanks for the backup man, but I think we can handle it from here,” Jim says.

Dwight looks up from his task.

“Are you sure, Jim?” he asks.

“Yes,” Jim says decisively.

“Because I can stay the night and guard the front door.”

“More than ever, yes, I am sure.”

Dwight stands and puts away his tools.

“Suit yourself.”  He walks next to Jim at the front door.  “I suggest that you run a trip wire along the base of the front doorway and hook it up to your smoke alarm so that you will be alerted if and when an intruder enters.”

Jim nods.

“Excellent.  I will not be doing that, but thank you.”

“Well then.  Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Dwight.”

Dwight is just about to leave, when he seems to think better of it.  He leans in and whispers something to Jim.  Jim’s eyes fly open and he glances back at Pam, but just turns back and nods at Dwight.  Pam frowns as Dwight exits the house.

“What was that?” she asks.

Jim shakes his head.

“That?” he asks.  “Nothing.  Just… Dwight being Dwight.”

Jim lets out an exhausted sort of laugh and stretches his arms out above his head.  His shirt rides up just enough for her to get a glimpse of the skin above his jeans before he lets his arms drop back to his sides.  The image reminds her again just how tall and lanky he is.  She averts her eyes, feeling like a teenager trying not to stare at a boy in school.

“Are they really gone?” she asks.

Jim walks over to the window and peeks out through the blinds.

“They’re gone,” he confirms.

He turns and smiles at her.  When he starts moving toward the couch, she starts to feel panicked.  Everything that Dwight just said is stuck in her head.  She wonders just how serious Jim’s feelings for Karen were and if she even knows how to date anymore.  All of a sudden she’s realizing that it’s just the two of them, and everything is out in the open, and she doesn’t know if she can do this yet.

When he’s about a foot from the couch she stands.

“I think I should go,” she says abruptly.

His eyebrows draw together and his eyes search her face.

“Don’t,” he says quietly.  It’s a plea.

She looks at him apologetically.

“This night has been so crazy.  We’ve both just come out of relationships in less than pleasant ways.  I mean, you and Karen were dating for a really long time, and I’ve only ever been with Roy.”

“Pam—” he interjects, but she keeps right on talking.

“I don’t really think that tonight is the best time to start something.”

He looks at her with a heartbreaking expression of alarm and desperation.

“It’s already started, Pam.  I can’t go back now.”

She nods.  She manages to look at him and smile.

“I know.  Me neither,” she reassures him.

He lets out what she assumes is a sigh of relief and takes a step toward her so that they are mere inches apart.  Before he can lean in, she takes a shaky step backward.

“I just need to go home.  I need to think,” she says hurriedly.  She’s already retrieving her coat from the chair that she threw it over.  She hears Jim speak again.

“We don’t have to do anything Pam.  We can just sit here and talk.  Or not.  We can just pop in a movie and not say anything.  Or, I think Conan is on.  We could…”

He’s panicking.  He thinks that she’s going to undo everything that just happened, walk away.  That’s not what she wants.  It’s just too much to happen all in one night.  They need some time to breathe, both of them.

She walks back over to him and looks bravely into his eyes.

“Hey, I’m not running away from this.  No more weak moments, remember?” she says, and she smiles.

He doesn’t smile back, but he nods.

“Yeah.”

She makes her way to the door and pauses.

“Thanks for everything tonight,” she says.  “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“What?” he says.  He has to think to remember what she just said.  “Oh, yeah.  Definitely.”

She smiles once more, and ducks out the door.

***

She’s been home for almost a half hour now, and she’s kicking herself.  She left?  Did she really just leave him there?  She knows him.  He’ll be pacing and panicking and reliving each moment in his mind to make sure that he didn’t do anything to offend her. 

What was she thinking?  He said they didn’t have to go any further tonight.  She should have taken him at his word.  They could be cuddled up on his couch catching the end of Conan right now.

She keeps alternating between worrying about Jim and worrying about Roy. 

It’s different with Roy.  She’s more worried about who he might hurt.  He didn’t seem too drunk when he left, but with his hand injured and his emotions running high he certainly isn’t stable.  She’s worried about the possibility of him hurting himself too, if she’s being honest with herself. 

She doesn’t know what she’ll do if he hurts himself because she left him again.

There’s a sudden pounding on her front door and she feels her heart leap into her throat.  Immediately her pulse sounds magnified in her ears, a muffled drumbeat reaching a swift crescendo.

She just knows its Roy.  It must be.  Her hands are shaking and she can’t believe how quickly she’s gone from worried to terrified.  She isn’t afraid that he might hurt her, but the thought of having to deal with him again tonight is too much to bear.  She just wants to ignore him and call the police, but she figures that the he’ll only become more belligerent.

She crosses the room with large but wobbly steps and pauses at the door.  The peephole has been cracked since she moved in.  She meant to ask the super to fix it, but it never seemed important enough.  She’s kicking herself now.  She just wants to see how bad he is before she opens the door.

But then she decides, screw it.  She’s been braver today than she’s ever been in her entire life.  She refuses to be scared of him.  She’ll just open the door and tell him to go home or she’ll call the police.

Without another moment’s hesitation, she yanks the door open, poised and ready with her speech.

But it’s not Roy.

It’s Jim. 

Her mouth is still open and words are coming out of it without her knowing what she’s about to say.

“I love you.”

It's out of her mouth before she can even think. It's only then that she really looks at him.  He’s panting a little.  His hair is tousled and his forehead looks a little sweaty.  And then she sees that he has a bike next to him. She starts to ask the obvious.

“Did you ride your b—”

She is cut off by his lips on hers.  She hears his bike clatter to the floor, and her eyes flutter shut, and she can barely register what’s happening.  Then she feels his lips moving against hers and she’s lost.  She brings her arms up around his neck and feels his go around her waist.  He’s practically picking her up, he’s clutching her so close and so tight, but she doesn’t care.  It doesn’t feel like enough contact.  She doesn’t think that too much contact is even possible.

She feels him take a step forward, his leg in between hers.  She is forced to take a step backward to keep from toppling over, and he continues this march for another few steps.  She hears a slam and knows that he’s kicked the door shut behind them.  She’s getting lightheaded but she really doesn’t want to pull away.

Finally it’s Jim who draws back, but only for a split second.

“Car,” he says.

She’s about to ask what about his car, when his lips are back on hers.  It’s a quick, frenzied kiss and it ends almost as soon as it began.

“Broken,” he says, as soon as his lips leave hers.

He hasn’t stopped marching her backward and his lips are on hers again.  She realizes that he’s actually trying to form complete thoughts between kisses.

“Couldn’t wait.”

Another kiss.  His hands travel down to her lower back.

“For cab.”

Another kiss.  His fingers tease the waistband of her jeans.  This time when he pulls pack she tries to ask a question.

“How did you—” she starts.

“Mapquest,” he interrupts, and then he’s kissing her again.

Somehow the kisses remain gentle even though his pace is desperate and wild.  He’s tenderly exploring her lips.  Now his fingers are running up her back.  Their lips separate for another moment.

“But how did you—” she starts.

“Get your address?” he finishes.

He’s kissing her again, so she says, “Mmm-hmm,” into his lips.  It causes small vibrations between their lips and the feeling gives her shivers.  His hands are in her hair now, gently massaging the back of her scalp, and they’ve made it all the way past her kitchen.

“Called Dwight,” he says when they come up for air again.

“What?!” she exclaims, but when they resume their kissing, she forgets about how much gossip that could spark in the office on Monday.

They don’t talk again until they’re in front of her bedroom door.

Suddenly his hands aren’t cradling her face anymore and he’s pulling away.  She looks at him in a daze, unable to focus on him at first.  He is bracing himself in her doorway, hands on the doorframe, and he suddenly looks hesitant.

“Pam, I know you wanted to take things slow.  I’m sorry, I just couldn’t not be with you after everything that we said in my kitchen.  We don’t have to go any further tonight.  I can leave if you want.  Or I can stay but sleep out on the couch.  Or I can sleep in here and keep my hands to myself, I promise.  I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

She can’t help smiling.  He’s so adorable, standing there, rambling.

“Are you really that dense?” she asks.

“Nice, Beesley,” he says, half laughing.

“Get over here,” she says, taking his hand and pulling him into her room.

He moves in again to kiss her again, but she stops him gently.  She looks into his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I love you,” she says.

He gets the biggest, goofiest grin on his face and she can’t help but reciprocate. 

“I just wanted to reiterate,” she adds. 

“I appreciate that,” he says, grinning even more than before.  “Ditto.”

“Ditto?” she teases.  “Who are you, Patrick Swayze?”

He laughs.

”I love you too,” he says.  “Better?”

“Much,” she replies.  She puts her arms around his neck and pulls him close for another kiss.  Just before their lips meet she says, “I was just nervous before.  Sometimes I think too much.”

This kiss is much slower than all of the others.  He backs her up until the undersides of her knees hit her mattress.  She lets her legs bend and she falls backwards onto the bed, pulling him with her.  He tugs at the edge of her sweater, and she helps him pull it off.  She thinks it lands on the lamp because the room suddenly looks dimmer.

He pulls back and looks down at her and she doesn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable under his gaze. 

Until he starts laughing.

It’s not raucous laughter, but soft chuckles working their way involuntarily from his mouth.

“What?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Nothing it’s just…” his voice trails off and he gets that goofy smile on his face.

“This had better be good,” she says dangerously.  She does not appreciate being laughed at in bed.

“Oh, it is,” he assures her.  “Do you remember when Dwight whispered something to me right before he left?”

“Yeah,” she says warily.

“He told me that I should find a way to get you to take your shirt off for a ‘visual inspection,’” he says.

Pam brings her hands up and covers her face.

“Oh my god,” she says, and her voice is muffled by her palms.

“Yeah.  So… mission accomplished,” Jim says cheerfully.

Pam brings her hands down and shoots him a pouting look.

“Well, as long as your mission is accomplished, then I guess I can just go do the dishes,” Pam quips, starting to sit up.

“Not so fast,” Jim says, trapping her with his arms on either side of her shoulders, leaning down so that his face is only inches from hers.

“I’m not done with my inspection,” he says mischievously.

He leans in for another kiss and she can’t help smiling against his lips.