It's that day again. The day. The Perfect Storm. Michael has just left, finally having given her all the forms.

It's ten past seven and she's still waiting for the Fed-Ex guy to come for the last pick-up.

She taps her fingers on her desk and looks at Jim.

She's not sure why, but he's still there, alternately staring at his computer and examining Dwight's desk chair. She's pretty sure he's working on some elaborate prank, but she's not sure what it is.

He's been back in Scranton a week and they still haven't spoken.

Pam's bored expression becomes a sad one when she remembers that there was a time when she not only would have known what the prank was, but would have been in on it, helping come up with ideas, providing a distraction if necessary.

But those days are over. She and Jim haven't been friends in over six months, haven't spoken since then. She thinks that it's both of their faults, really, neither of them willing or able to break the ice that has formed between them. She's mad at him for letting her find out about his transfer on her own. The day he left she'd gone into work and found his empty desk, Michael sitting behind it, looking heart-broken, Dwight sitting beside it looking jubilant. As soon as he'd seen her, he'd exclaimed the good news.

She'd been shocked, hurt, angry. She'd decided then that if he couldn't share big news with her then she couldn't share big news with him. So she didn't tell him about ending things with Roy, still isn't sure he knew before he came back to Scranton a week ago, his return something else he'd neglected to tell her. Of course, by that time she hadn't really expected to hear from him again.

She knows she should have figured out that something was going on because Michael had been meeting with Jan pretty regularly, which was unusual. Even more unusual was that he'd actually been able to keep the meetings confidential, so much so that Pam hadn't even been allowed in. After the latest meeting, about two weeks ago, Michael had started walking around like a kid on Christmas, and had been winking at Pam like they shared a secret. He'd refused to say anything about it, though, so Pam had figured he was just being Michael.

She'd been wrong.

A week later she'd walked into the office and been met with the sight of Jim, sitting in his usual spot like nothing was different, and a stack of transfer papers on her desk, waiting to be filed.

It turned out that when corporate had said there would be downsizing, what they'd really meant was that they would just be closing an entire branch. Jim's job had only been saved by Michael's pleading and the fact that Ted, the salesman who'd replaced Jim after two months of searching for someone, had quit, citing an unprofessional and inappropriate work environment. Jan had thought that transferring Jim back would be in the best interest for everyone. Jim was a good salesman, and she wasn't sure how long it would take Michael to find someone new.

But he hadn't warned Pam that he would be leaving or coming back and she hadn't told him about Roy and neither of them had called, emailed, or written. Their relationship had effectively been erased and the one they'd shared since his return had been non-existent. In short, they'd been ignoring each other. It's all very third-grade and they're both aware of how ridiculous they're being, but neither of them knows what to do about it, so neither of them has done anything.

So in addition to being bored waiting for the messenger, Pam is surprised. Usually Jim is the first one out the door at the end of the day, not staying one second longer than is absolutely necessary.

He refuses to look at her when he knows she's watching, but she catches him, every now and then, glancing in her direction. She thinks she sees a hint of sadness in his eyes, but can never be sure because he always turns away the second she looks at him.

He does it again now. He glances at reception and, catching her staring at him, turns his eyes back to his computer, turns his body slightly away from her, so that she can see his back.

Usually when someone catches Pam staring at them, she averts her eyes, embarrassed at being caught. Even with Jim, this week, she's turned away, too stubborn to acknowledge that she's actually missed him.

But this time she holds her gaze, dares him to say something, challenges him to acknowledge her presence.

Instead, something akin to fear passes across his face when he realizes she's still watching him.

Fear?

Pam's been having a hard enough time dealing with the idea that looking at her makes him sad, but the thought that she could cause him fear is just too much.

She has to do something. This is getting ridiculous.

A few minutes later, when Jim rises and heads for the supply closet, Pam sees her chance. She scribbles a note for the Fed-Ex guy and hastily draws a map of the office, hoping first that he actually shows up, and second that he follows her instructions. She grabs her cell phone, just in case, figuring she could always call Michael or someone if she has to, and rushes after Jim.

She knows Jim, knows he's not big on confrontation, knows she needs to force him into it.

She also knows something he doesn't: the door to the supply closet it broken. It's been propped open with a box of paper, waiting to be fixed. She'd sent out an email to the entire office when it broke, saying that she'd put in a work order to have it fixed, but to be careful until it was. That was before Jim had come back. Three weeks and four work orders later, it's still broken. If someone moves the box holding the door open, the door swings shut and locks, capable of being opened only from the outside. She really hopes the Fed-Ex guy shows up.

Jim's back is to her when she gets to the closet. He's hunched over and when she says his name he jumps, bumping his head on the shelf above him and dropping the screwdriver he'd been holding.

Pam kicks the box holding the door open, watching it slide across the floor, away from her and the closet, as Jim swears softly and turns towards her, rubbing the back of his head, his eyes wide.

The door slams shut and Pam gives one last, fleeting thought to the messenger who was supposed to be there twenty minutes ago.

"What are you doing?" She's surprised at the sound of her voice. She hadn't known she was going to speak, hadn't known where to start, only that she had to.

Jim bends down and picks up the fallen screwdriver. He gives her one look, one sad stare, before lowering his eyes and shaking his head slightly. Pam walks further into the closet and Jim moves past her, reaching for the doorknob.

"Don't bother. It's locked. We're locked in."

Jim tries the door anyway. He's not sure why, but he has to make sure it's true, has to make sure there's no way to get away from her. He knows that if he spends any time with her, even the smallest amount, he's going to lose it again. And he doesn't want that. Not now. Not when he's almost able to smile again.

She watches him jiggle to doorknob frantically, watches him throw his shoulder into the door, as if he could knock it open. It saddens her to think that he once would have believed her, no questions asked, and plopped down on the floor, his back against the door, legs outstretched, a big smile on his face. She knows that even if there had been someone out there, he would have sat quietly, happy at the chance to be locked in with her.

Now, he knows there's no one there and still he pounds on the door with both fists, hoping someone will hear and open the door, setting him free.

He finally submits to his fate and leans against the door, sliding down it until he hits the floor with a thud, his knees drawn up to his chest, his head in his hands.

The sound of his voice surprises both of them - he'd made rules for himself when he'd learned of his return to Scranton. The most important one was that he would never speak to her unless absolutely necessary. While the situation certainly is desperate, he's not sure it's entirely crucial that he say anything. When he does, both of their hearts quicken.

"What are we going to do?"

It's a Friday and Jim knows the office is empty, knows the entire building is probably empty. Pam doesn't respond to his question and he considers climbing through the ceiling, not caring that it probably wouldn't support his weight. He looks at the tiles, judging their strength, his thoughts only interrupted when she finally does answer him. He lets his eyes wander towards her, but quickly drops his gaze. He's violating another one of his rules.

"Talk."

He forgets his sadness at losing her, forgets the fear of losing himself in her again, and looks up, his expression quizzical. He's pretty sure talking won't open the door.

She's chosen her words carefully. She's going to tell him that they're being childish, that they need to work this out if only because they have to work together. She's expecting controlled, reasonable words to come out when she opens her mouth. She's not prepared for what she actually says.

Neither is he.

"I lied."

Pam's shocked to hear herself say this. She knows it's true, knows she's been wanting to clear the air between them, but she'd thought she'd be keeping this piece of information to herself. But it's out of her mouth before she realizes it's on the tip of her tongue and she knows she has to keep going, has to move forward. If she doesn't, things will stay the same and she's not sure she can take another week of awkward silences and sad, stolen glances.

"I lied. On Casino Night. When I said you misinterpreted things."

She lets it out slowly, in pieces, thinking it makes it easier for him to hear, easier for her to say.

Once it's out, all Jim can do is watch her face, his own face unmoved, his expression unchanged. He continues to look at her sadly, longingly, unable to formulate words because he's not sure he understands.

Pam is grateful for his silence. She'd expected a deluge of questions, demands for explanations, hurt and anger on his face.

When these things don't come, Pam continues. She explains that she'd been scared, hadn't wanted to change her entire life, hadn't been able to bear the thought of losing their friendship if things didn't work out between them, hadn't thought she could be brave enough. She tells him that in the end she had been brave enough to change her life, and had ended up losing him anyway.

She thinks she should stop there, but she doesn't. She keeps talking, keeps explaining. She tells him how much she's missed him, how hurt she'd been to find out from Dwight, Dwight, that he'd transferred.

He's shocked at this revelation. He hadn't known how he'd expected her to find out, but he knows that Dwight wouldn't have been at all gentle about telling her. He's also a little surprised that it had upset her so much. He'd thought she would have been relieved, considering how awkward things had been after his confession.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, as an explanation, but before he can form a concrete thought, she begins talking again.

She's apologizing for not telling him about calling off her wedding, for not telling her that she and Roy had broken up. She apologizes for the way she's been acting since he's gotten back, tells him she's not really mad at him anymore, that she's only been acting mad because he's been acting mad at her. She tells him how stupid and childish she feels about it and before she knows what she's doing, her face is in her hands and she's crying.

When she starts to cry, Jim knows she's got him, suspects she always has. He can't listen to her apologize any more because he doesn't blame her, he blames himself. He can't stand seeing her so upset at hurting him because the truth is that he stopped hurting the moment he saw her walk into the office his first day back. His behavior since then has been more about self-preservation than anything she's done and he feels like an ass for the way it's made her feel.

He wants to go over to her, to wrap his arms around her, to comfort her. But he's not sure he deserves to, not sure she should let him. So he reaches for her hand, pulls her gently towards him, lets her come if she wants to.

She does. She lets him pull her until she's sitting right next to him.

Tears are still streaming down her face and he knows that it's his fault. He can't watch this anymore. All thought of escape, from her, from the closet, is forgotten as he gently tugs her hand until she's leaning up against him, wraps his arms around her tightly, lets her nestle her head into his neck.

When he feels her hot tears on his skin, he speaks for the first time since she began her apologies and confessions.

"I'm sorry."

He whispers into her ear, his hand making it's way to her hair, his arm tightening around her as he feels tears of his own slide down his face.

He tells her that he's sorry, too, that he's been afraid to let her back in because he's afraid of letting himself love her again, afraid that if he loses her a second time it might actually kill him.

He tells her that he's been trying not to let himself love her and that it hasn't been working.

He looks down at her and she looks up at him, their eyes meeting for the first time in over half a year, everything else slipping away as they return home.

And before he knows what's happening, before he realizes she's moving closer, their lips meet.

His mouth is is just as soft and warm and inviting as she remembers it. He takes a second to respond, but when he does, she feels encouraged, emboldened. She finds herself crawling into his lap, pushing him against the door, eager to inhale him. She feels one warm hand on her waist, just beneath the edge of her sweater, the contact of his skin on hers sending searing heat through her body. His other hand, the one he had brought to her hair in a soothing gesture, presses her closer, his fingers becoming tangled in her curls.

She feels warm and happy and loved and safe. She wants this moment to go on forever. She doesn't care if they ever get out of the supply closet. Who needs food and water and air when they have each other?

But the moment is ended too soon when the sliver of space between the door and it's frame expands, and the force with which Pam is pressing Jim against the door propels him backwards, through the doorway. They tumble out of the closet, Pam sprawled over Jim, a tangle of arms and legs.

They look up at the bewildered messenger and, for the first time in six months, begin to laugh.