Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* This chapter was a little tough for me. It's hard to imagine "together" Jim and Pam, and the only real inspiration I had was the two, wonderful, fleeting, seconds of fluffiness in "Gay Witch Hunt." So, eh, who knows... Oh, and also, totally different "feel" than the last chapter, so...

You park in the driveway and sit for a minute, deciding what to say, how to say it... but nothing comes to mind and you think maybe you won't know until you see her.

It's 6:45, but it's May, so light filters through the trees, and you're glad it's not dark because the walk to the door feels like walking the plank and you know... this is it.

In every way.

There's music coming from somewhere inside. It's loud and angsty and sounds like you feel. You think maybe it's Death Cab, but can't take that much credit for her taste. Not after today.

The windows are open, and you peek inside first, before knocking. Just in case she's still mad, still throwing things. But she's nowhere to be seen, so you tap at the door, forgetting the music will cover the sound. When she doesn't answer, you try the knob, aren't surprised it's unlocked, and step inside.

The living room is small, scattered with her... pictures, books, movies. There's an overstuffed couch with a quilt thrown across the arm, and a coffee table littered with Netflix envelopes, a magazine and an empty bottle of wine. You notice an easel in the corner and smile in spite of yourself.

The music grows louder, drifting in from an open door off the side of the kitchen, and you follow the sound.

When you step outside, her back is turned. It hits you then, for as long as you've known her, you've seen Pam exactly three ways: in work clothes (everyday), in jeans (twice), and in a blue dress (once and always)... but never like this.

At home.

She's sitting on a stool. There's another easel in front of her, canvas smeared with an image you can't make out. Her hair is tossed on top of her head, pieces blown out by the breeze. She's wearing a t-shirt, but it's old and small; ratty and covered with paint. She's cut off a pair of old sweats at the calf, and they sit low on her hips, exposing inches of skin you've never seen. She pulls the brush away from the canvas, takes a sip of wine from the glass beside her. Her arm is smeared with paint. You imagine her face is, too.

Suddenly you want to see.

"Hey."

She jumps, the glass falls from her hand, second casualty of the day, and splinters on the concrete.

"Shit!" She murmurs.

"Wait!" You hold up a hand. She's barefoot and trying to dodge the shards. "Sit. I'll get it."

She smiles and you forget a little bit of the morning, the things she said. "Thanks. Wouldn't want to add a hospital visit to this day."

"Broom?"

"Kitchen, in the pantry."

You return a moment later and she's there, cross-legged, on top of the stool. She reminds you of a little girl, anxious and glowing.

"Can you turn that down a little?" She points at the DuroSport, positioned on a speaker.

You press the volume down, but not too low, and focus on the glass.

Neither of you speaks. The breeze tousles your hair and you know she's watching you, listening to the sound of the broom, scraping against the concrete. You smile when a Death Cab song drifts through the speakers.

Everything about this moment makes you think, maybe, she wasn't yelling at you five and a half hours ago. Then you remember, the only reason you're here in the first place, is because she was.

You throw out the remnants of the glass and return to the porch. Unsure, you lean against the doorjamb, stuff your hands into your pockets. She looks at you, cocks her head to the side, and smiles.

"Want some wine?" Her eyes are bright, cheeks red.

There's a bottle beside her, unopened, and you realize the empty one on the coffee table is from earlier today.

You nod, trying not to laugh. "How much have you had today, Beesley?"

"Calm down. The other one was only half full." She giggles, "Ok, three-quarters."

You smile, point a thumb toward the kitchen, "Should I get glasses?"

"You broke my last one."

Your eyes go wide, an apology on your lips, and then she's laughing at you, and you're shaking your head.

"Second drink. More like fourth and fifth." You're teasing her, for the first time in ages, and it feels like you never stopped.

She smirks, "I think we're past glasses at this point."

You know what she means, so you open the bottle. The cork pops and you take a long pull off the top, pass it to her. She's still sitting on the stool, and you're standing in front of her, and suddenly you feel exposed, don't know what to do with your hands. They find your pockets again.

She takes a swig, points to the small, outdoor sofa behind you. "You can sit, you know."

"Thanks." You take the bottle from her and drink deep. Wine already tingling in your blood.

"So..." she begins. "Are you going to yell at me now?"

"I thought about it." You answer honestly, "Realized all the ‘punishment' was close enough. Plus, it's no fun without the floorshow."

She giggles again. "God, did I really yell at you today? In the office?"

"Um... yeah."

She holds out a hand, waves her fingers. You give her the bottle and watch her take a sip, see her eyes go wide as she gasps, "Oh my God! Karen!"

"Yeah."

"Jim, I'm... what did she... how are..." she drops her head to her hands, "I'm SO sorry. What did she say?"

"Not much, actually." You shrug, "Goodbye really covered it all." You're not lying, there's not point now. "She said... it's just... I never told her I was in love with you."

She nods. It reminds you of the Dundies and you're suddenly afraid she might fall off the stool.

In the silence you reach for the wine, turn it upward.

"Jim, I..."

"It's ok. There were a lot of things besides... that." You look up at her, pick away at the bottle's label. Guenoc. "So you don't get to take credit for it."

Her shoulders stiffen. "Okay."

She extends an arm, wanting the bottle back.

"No." You sit up a little, put it on the ground, where neither of you can reach. Her mouth falls open, but she doesn't say anything.

"Pam, I..." You sigh, not sure why this is hard after last year and the year before. And today. So you change topics for a moment. "Can you... can you come sit beside me?"

It's getting dark and you need to see her face.

She bites her lip, nods. You watch her move as she settles in beside you, feet tucked underneath her. It doesn't escape your notice that she's turned completely toward you, right arm resting on the back of the couch.

Her eyes are shining, pools in the corners. There's a smudge of paint on her forehead and cheek.

You pull your leg up onto the sofa so you can face her; let your arm fall across hers, start over.

"Pam, I... are you...?" Your head falls back, the moon's starting to shine, "What's going on with you? You said a lot of stuff today. About me. And I get it, it made sense and I know I was wrong, but... why?"

"Why...?" She's confused. So are you. A tear trails down her cheek. Then another one. You wipe it away, carefully, with your thumb, loving how she leans into your touch.

When your hand falls back to your lap, she sniffles.

"Why did you say it? What does it... mean? Because," you wonder if you should be completely honest; know it's the only way, "I wanted to be over you. Over this. I didn't want it to matter anymore. Decided it didn't."

You pause to check her expression. She's there, hearing every word. "Then you went back to Roy and it felt like last May, all over again. And I was mad. At me, more than you, really. I mean... I just... I needed to let you go. So I stopped talking to you and it helped a little. And there was Karen..."

"Who's really, really, great, Jim. And I..." her chin drops and you know she's feeling guilty.

"This isn't about her. At all."

She nods. "I know."

"So... I guess that's it. I'm not here to yell. I won't punish you anymore, but I need to know why. You said, when I told you... last May... you hadn't faced how you felt about me. That I didn't give you time to think. Is that... what today was about?"

You notice her fingers, tracing your arm at the cuff of your shirt where the sleeves have been rolled. You aren't sure when she started, but silently will her not to stop. You know it's a distraction, so she can focus on something else, but you don't care.

"Kind of." She's fascinated by your arm, you by her.

"Pam..."

Her whole body sighs, her fingers rest, unmoving.

"I don't know what to say."

That's not what you expected. It feels sort of like, I can't, but you let her keep going, try to stay still.

"I'm not... really good at saying things."

"I have very solid evidence, and an office full of witnesses, that will testify otherwise."

She smiles a little, "That was a fluke. I was mad and..."

"So pretend you're mad now... or something."

She knows you need answers, you can tell. Her eyes fix on yours and you watch them change. Wonder what she's thinking. It's like she's contemplating everything about you and you're not sure if that's good or bad.

"Okay."

"Okay...?" You're not sure what it means.

Then she sits up on her knees and you realize she's moving forward, toward you. Her hand is on your cheek, eyes still locked with yours, and no one's really asking anything, but she nods at little, imperceptibly. Her mouth finds yours and it's soft and sweet, and she lingers for a second, like she's remembering, and you know you'll never forget the torture she's inflicting, lips hovering over yours as she whispers, "Okay."

She settles back, watches you.

Waiting.

"O...kay." You finally say, not caring how your voice cracks a little.

"I... God, I'm so bad at this." She shakes her head.

"No... I'm gonna disagree..."

She grins and you let out a breath, but don't let her off the hook.

"I know." Her hand moves wildly, "I know I have to... say... something. And I'm trying, it's just..."

You can't really take it, so you pull her toward you, offer a little courage.

It's longer this time and when she opens her mouth, you die, just a little. Her tongue tastes like strawberries and wine and whatever it is that Guenoc throws in their barrels and you make a mental note to keep bottles of it stocked whenever she's around... so always.

She's sprawled across your lap, and you're holding her so, so close you're gripping your own elbows, but it's not really enough. Then your hands are in her hair, fisted like you can't let go and she's tugging on your lip and you think you might go crazy.

"Okay," she says again, breathless.

She pushes against your chest, trying to sit back, but you lean forward, not ready for it to stop.

"Jim," she plants her hands firmly; pushes you away, smiling wickedly.

"Come... on..." It's a groan.

"Don't you want to know what it's taken me all this time to say? What I had to think about?"

Your right hand finds the back of your neck, and you rub absentmindedly. Your left hand rests possessively on her thigh and you don't say anything, just raise your eyebrows expectantly.

She's fingering your sleeve again, so you take her chin in your hands, make her look at you.

"Pam. I lo..."

"No." She shakes her head. "You don't get to say it first this time."

"Okay."

"I... when you told me you loved me last year, I was scared. I was about to get married, but I spent every day thinking about you. I told myself it was because you were my friend and you were there, and it didn't mean anything that I went home at night and got annoyed with Roy for doing things I knew you'd never do."

She tucks a stay hair behind her right ear and you follow behind, on her left side, because you've always wanted to do that.

"I was with him for 10 years. I didn't know... anything else. And I felt like I had no choice, like my life was on this path and there was only one road. You know?"

You nod and she continues.

"So, when you told me, when we kissed... I freaked. I didn't know how to be that girl who left someone for someone else. And it took me a while to realize that's what I wanted. To be with you. And now, looking back, I think it's good. Sort of. I wish I'd called you when I broke it off, made you talk to me somehow, but I needed... time."

You feel a knot in your throat, but manage, "I'm sorry I didn't give you any."

"It's okay."

"No. It's not. You were right. I..."

"Jim." She puts her hand over your mouth. "If it's alright with you, I'd like us both to stop apologizing. If we don't, we'll be doing it forever."

You bob your head in agreement, lips pursed in the palm of her hand.

"And I just want to tell you... I want more than that, too."

"Wow..."

"Shh!" She holds up a finger. "I'm not finished."

You know this is it, you're done. Forever.

"I'm... in love... I love you."

Another tear falls down her cheek

You feel like an idiot, the way you're grinning, and then she's laughing, her arms around your neck, face buried in your shoulder.

"I swear, Beesley, if this is a prank..."

She giggles, slaps your arm, "What a terrible thing to say!"

"Just checking. You and Dwight seemed extra chummy when I got back, and I know he's got it out for me, so..."

She laughs and sits up, everything hanging there between you... like you're waking up, finally living again.

"No." She shakes her head, "It's not a prank. It's real. I promise."

You stare at her for a moment, because you can.

"I love you, Pam."

You run a finger along the line of her nose, kiss her softly, loving how she sinks your chest, but then she pulls away and stands up quickly, scurrying inside.

"What... where...? Pam?"

"Hang on," she calls from the house.

She appears at the door with a t-shirt quilt and a bag of Jelly Beans.

"I was gonna save these for work, but..."

You lift your hand, roll your finger like a little boy, "C'mere."

She squeals and runs toward you.

"How old are you?"

She kisses you then, but it's more like teasing, and she pulls away, grinning triumphantly.

"Wow..." you have a little trouble breathing, "so... old enough."

You hold out your arm and she settles in beside you, head on your chest. You're both quiet for a while. It's all sinking in.

"God," you finally say, and she's looking up at you, eyes glowing in the moonlight, "Michael's going to be SO sad he missed today."