~~~~~~

Jan flicks her keys (nervously) as she strides toward his condo. She’s feeling a little bit shaky. Somehow she (still) finds herself torn between her need to grab him by the lapels and her need to run screaming for the hills.

It’s Friday, though, and she has nowhere to be this weekend (has snuck a little bit of vodka in the car), so she’s going to go with grabbing him by the lapels (and maybe also by something else). After all, a satisfying sexual relationship is one sign of a good (happy, normal, fulfilled) life, right? Somebody she knows says so, anyway.

She lets herself in (the door creaks, which makes her jump, just a little) and pushes the door shut behind her. There is a (terrifying) finality that comes with the click of that lock, though she still finds herself alone.

Minutes pass, and she finds she’s perched on the edge of the (his) bed, pondering the patterns made by the moonlight on the carpet, bouncing her right leg up and down in time to the music in her head, when she hears the door creak (open) again. Jan can hear him pushing that door closed, then stepping (the wrong way, damnit) towards the kitchen.

I’m here.

The words are out before she knows what has happened (has time to stop herself). He doesn’t say anything, but Jan can hear his steps tripping closer.

He mutters something (probably ridiculous) as he climbs the stairs, but she’s past the point of caring (that he is crazy). All she can think is that he needs to be here, all of him here (now).

The breeze tickles the hair along her cheek as he opens the door.

He sucks in a breath and asks why she is in here, all alone, in the dark. Jan doesn’t really have a (reasonable) answer, and (because she doesn’t know what else to do) reaches out. Her arm (hand) collides with this thigh and she angles her wrist so that her fingers can curl around (what is hers).

He turns, and, before she knows what is happening (has time to breathe), is heavy against her (all of her).

He shudders. Breathes. Tucks his head right there (right there) between her ear and her shoulder, and sighs.

She shouldn’t be nervous, but the thought (fear) that this is it, really (the rest of her life) makes something in her quake.

I love you, Jan.

She can’t think of anything to say except “okay,” partly because such outward displays of affection make her a little (a lot) bit anxious, and partly because she believes (knows) that she does not deserve for him to love her.

Okay.

The “okay” is echoing in Jan’s ears as she gazes down at Michael. He is not the first man to tell her that he loves her, though somehow part (maybe all) of her hopes that he is the last.

Jan has always thought (known) that she has a talent for making other people feel good. She can make people feel good professionally, or personally, or sexually. What she hasn’t always been able to figure out is what, exactly, makes her feel good (complete). She’s always figured, however, that what would make her happy would be pretty much the opposite of the man whose bed she was currently sprawled across.

The world spins and sheets bunch against her back. This (Michael) is (scary) fun. Her (their) breath hitches as her mind goes blank and her body shudders.

The thing (the fucking thing) about Michael Scott is that he (in all his ridiculous glory) makes her feel wanted, needed, good (complete). Some part of her hints (demands) that this is (more than) enough.

He sighs deeply and she knows that he is asleep (unconscious).

(I think) I love you, too.

~~~~~~