"Hey Pam, this is Darryl." Pam knew how close Darryl was with Roy. "Look, you're not my favorite person right now, but that's beside the point. Jim's here at Poor Richard's and he's drunk. I think somebody needs to come and take care of him before something bad happens."

Pam was shocked. She had never seen Jim drunk. "I'll be right there. Thanks for calling me."

"Hey, I just don't want anyone else getting hurt. Make sure he gets home, okay?"

"I'll be there in 10 minutes," Pam promised. As she drove to the bar, Pam wondered what she would see. Was Jim an angry drunk? Somehow that didn't seem like him.

When she arrived, she saw him sitting in a booth, his head bowed. Darryl was at the bar, and she shot him a grateful glance. He nodded, them went back to talking to his friends.

She slid into the booth and asked, "Want to talk about it?"

"Pam?" Jim asked, as if he didn't believe his own eyes.

"Darryl called. He said you might need a ride home."

"Probably," Jim admitted.

"What's wrong?"

Jim looked at her and she could see the utter despair on his face. "You heard Michael."

Pam didn't quite follow. "What, do you think he's going to actually be promoted to New York? Not even our corporate office could be that clueless."

"But it's out there," Jim said sadly. "Now it's Jim Halpert, Top Salesman. Some day it'll be Jim Halpert, Regional Manager, Dunder Mifflin or some other, equally terrible place."

"Shouldn't a promotion be a good thing?" Pam asked.

"No!" Jim said, far more loudly than Pam was anticipating. He quickly regained control of himself. "I don't want to be Dwight Shrute or Michael Scott. I've spent my whole life trying to avoid being them."

"Do you honestly think you'll turn into Dwight or Michael?" Pam asked. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Not nearly enough," Jim said, taking another sip.

"Jim, you're scaring me," Pam said.

Jim wanted to admit that he was scaring himself, too. However, he didn't like seeing Pam upset. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just that I remember back when the film crew first started their interviews. They asked me about my career. I told them that if I advanced any further with this job, I'd have to admit that this is what I do for a living. And if I had to do that, I'd have to throw myself in front of a train."

"So you sell paper," Pam said, a little frustrated. "I answer the phone all day."

"But you are so much more than that," Jim said softly. "You're going to be an artist. You have dreams. I don't want to become some bitter old man who destroys them."

Pam didn't know what to say to that.

Jim looked into her eyes and tried to explain. "What if we get together and I end up keeping you from your art? What if I... (thankfully he caught himself before saying, ‘what if I turn into Roy?') I...I've already hurt Karen and Katie. I'm don't want hurt you. I can't...hurt you any more."

Pam finally understood. She gently reached out and cupped his face in her hands. "Jim, selling paper is just what you do to get paid. It has nothing to do with what you are as a person. Nothing to do with the man I fell in love with."

"I'm scared," Jim admitted, a tear working its way down his cheek.

"So am I," Pam said. "I think that's okay, though." They both smiled. "Can we get out of here?"

"Yeah, I guess we should," Jim agreed.

"You know you're probably going to get sick," Pam said as they got up. Jim was a little unsteady.

"Nope, I'm not that drunk," Jim insisted as he put his arm around her waist.

"Good, because I don't clean up puke."

"Are you saying you'd be willing to stay at my place tonight?" Jim asked, his smile growing.

"No, I'm saying you're coming home with me and sleeping on my couch."

"I love this shiny new Pam," Jim sighed leaning his face into her hair.

"Remember that tomorrow morning when your head's about to explode. And you will not believe what happened after you left today..."

Jim was still shaking his head as they made their way to Pam's car. He was beginning to sober up, and asked Pam to drop by the grocery store on her way home.

"What's wrong, are you out of fabric softener or something?" she teased.

"No, I just want to grab some frozen White Castle hamburgers before I go to sleep."

"Why?"

"Hangover prevention. They have a Krystal Burger in Stamford, which works better, but this is okay."

"You are going to eat balls of grease before going to sleep?" Pam asked, not believing what she was hearing.

"Yeah. I think the burgers and the alcohol pretty much fight each other to a draw and you're not that bad the next morning."

"If you make a mess in my apartment, you are definitely going to clean it up," she declared.

The two of them wound their way through the grocery store. They stopped in the cookie aisle and argued in a teasing way over the merits of molasses versus chocolate chip. Breakfast cereals provoked a similar discussion.

"Okay," Pam said, finally making a decision. "I think that Dwight would be a Cocoa Pebbles person."

"Wrong!" Jim said with a laugh. "Count Chocula. He told me."

"That's right," Pam said as she shook her head. She threw a challenging look to Jim. "Well, since you think you're so smart, pick out my favorite breakfast." She waved her hand over the selection of cereals.

Jim calmly said, "That's a trick question. You aren't a cereal person. I would bet you like English muffins with margarine and strawberry jam. On a day when you're really hungry, you'd probably make an omelet. So, how'd I do?"

"Scary," Pam admitted. "I guess all those months of stalking me finally paid off." They both laughed. "But I prefer butter to margarine. I don't accept substitutes," she said as she leaned into him.

Whatever alcohol that remained in Jim's system was burned out by the images of what he wanted to do to Pam at that moment. Pam noticed the hungry look in his eyes and said, "I think it's time to get out of here."

They were quiet as they drove to Pam's apartment. Neither wanted this to be their first date. Jim made a couple of burgers. Pam made up the couch and put some Advil on the bookcase. She laughed as he tried to fit his long frame into her couch.

She turned off the light and was getting ready to leave when Jim asked, "What, no bedtime story or goodnight kiss?"

"Bad boys don't get stories or kisses," Pam giggled as she retreated to her bedroom.

The next morning, Pam woke up when Jim knocked softly on her door.

"Can I come in?" He asked.

"Yeah," Pam said, stretching as the early morning sun poured into her room.

Jim opened the door carrying a tray that had an omelet, English muffin with butter and strawberry jam, orange juice, and tea.

"You made me breakfast?" Pam asked.

"Well, somebody told me last night that bad boys don't get goodnight kisses, so I'm turning over a new leaf today."

"That's so nice of you," Pam said, touched. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"I was fine," Jim said, having the diplomacy not to answer the question. "Thanks for taking care of me last night."

"All part of the service," Pam said. She looked back at her breakfast and sighed, "The last time somebody did this for me was when I was eighteen and had my wisdom teeth taken out. My mom let me spend the whole day in bed."

"Well it's the least I can do," Jim said. He started blushing. "In fact, if you're up for it, maybe we could spend today together. I'd like to...If it's okay, I mean..."

"Jim, I'd love to. And don't worry. It's just me."

"Pam, It'll never be just you."