That evening, she found herself sitting in her underwear on the floor of Jim’s spare/storage/computer room, staring at the three medium-sized boxes she’d found in their garage. She laughed to herself, realizing that it wasn’t ‘their’ garage anymore. It wasn’t ‘their’ anything, except maybe ‘their’ broken engagement. It just seemed so strange.

She picked at the skewed, bent tape that she’d so hastily applied on one of the boxes, and thought that if she wasn’t going to unpack, she should at least put on some pants and go talk to Jim. If she could even find any pants; she didn’t want to wear her crinkled work skirt, especially since her legs were looking a little neglected. She really should have labeled.

She was going through the second box and wondering if she even remembered clothes at all when the door opened unexpectedly behind her.

“Hold on!” She screamed, reaching around blindly for her skirt as whoever opened the door quickly closed it.

“Sorry,” replied a foreign voice. “Uh—is that Pam?”

She zipped up her skirt and told him he could open the door. “Hi, sorry, I just—wait, did, uh… did Jim not tell you I was staying here?” She was incredibly flustered, and attempted to smooth her skirt as he stared rather incredulously at her.

“No, he failed to mention that,” he replied, seemingly hiding a smile. “I just got back."

“Oh, okay,” she mumbled, feeling anxious.

“So, you’re staying here?” He asked, as if mentally putting pieces together in his head. Something about his tone bothered her.

“Yeah, um, I am.” She was silent for a moment, and then realized he was probably expecting a bit more explanation. “Oh, it’s only temporary! Don’t worry, it’s just… well, I don’t know if you remember or know or whatever, but I am—was—engaged and I realized I wanted to end it. So Jim offered—well, I asked him if I could stay with him, and so I’m just here until I can find an apartment or something. It’s just, um, complicated for me right now.” She was embarrassed about making such a poor impression on Mark, but he didn’t seem to care or notice. He still had that weird, sly almost-smile on his face.

“Oh, okay. I was just going to use the computer, but it can wait. I just need to check my email sometime tonight.”

“Oh, yeah, totally fine!” She responded quickly, afraid of imposing. “I’m sorry about all this, I guess I kind of forgot Jim had a roommate. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t think about it when I was trying to figure out a place to stay.”

He smiled warmly at her and just as he walked out the door, proclaimed a bit too cheerily, “Stay as long as you want!”

Pam let out a heavy sigh as soon as he left, wondering if he’d been implying anything. She brushed the notion off as silly, and got back to staring at her boxes. Realizing she didn’t have anywhere to unpack her things to, anyway, she ripped open the third box and pulled on the pair of ill-fitting cords that were lying on top. After taking a few steps, she thought she should probably put on something that didn’t expose her ass whenever she moved. She really needed to just get rid of a lot of her weekend clothes, anyway. She didn’t have much, as it was generally sweats around the house. As a guest, perhaps that wasn’t the best option. She dug through and found her favorite pair of well-worn jeans, and decided to change into a t-shirt, too. She didn’t anticipate her situation getting any more comfortable, so she figured at least her clothes should be.

She walked down the hall to the living room to find Mark watching ESPN in the living room, and she laughed quietly at the familiarity. “Jim’s in the kitchen,” he told her, not looking away from the T.V.

“Hey,” she said timidly, raising her hand for an awkward wave as she walked into the kitchen and found him busy at the stove.

“Hi,” he replied, turning around with a happy grin.

“Nice apron,” she giggled. “Very domestic.”

“Hey, no need to mock, Beesly.” Although he tried to sound severe, they both just ended up laughing. It felt good, even if it was just a temporary break from the stress and tension.

“So, what’s on the menu, chef?”

“This evening we have fried plantains, topped with our finest Western Family sour cream, as well as grilled cheese and Campbell’s tomato soup.”

“Your famous grilled cheese sandwich,” she corrected him. She paused for a moment. “What exactly are plantains?”

He smiled, and then turned back to his frying. “They’re basically bananas. Cooking bananas.”

“Cooking bananas?” She questioned skeptically, walking over to peer over his shoulder.

“Whoa, Pam, patience. They aren’t ready,” he explained, shielding her from his culinary creations.

“You’re frying bananas?” She took a step back, as if the entire notion was ridiculous. “I don’t know, Jim. You’re lucky your grilled cheese is so good.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, you haven’t tried them yet.” He tossed the plantains with impressive ease to punctuate his point.

“I guess I’ll have a bite,” she resigned. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

“All day?!” He exclaimed incredulously. “I better hurry up, then. In the meantime there are some grapes on the counter over there.” He pointed her over to them, and smiled to himself when her eyes lit up with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“You better hurry up or I’ll spoil my appetite,” she proclaimed as she picked out a particularly juicy one.

He did hurry up, and surprised her when he insisted on making her plate himself, telling her he was shocked she’d expect anything less at Casa de Halpert. She laughed, genuinely appreciative. She told him she did like the fried plantains.

“Seems like an odd choice to go with grilled cheese and canned tomato soup." She took another oversized bite.

“Yeah, well, I planned on just having the plantains and some Easy Mac; I wasn’t expecting company,” he countered. “I need to go to the grocery store. If I don’t, I think plantains and Easy Mac might be our only option for tomorrow.” The way he said ‘our’ and ‘tomorrow’ gave a weird sort of thrill, and she only managed to nod in response, wondering why that made her anxious.

“Wait, why do you have so many plantains?”

“They were on sale. And I just really like plantains, I guess.” An adequate response, she decided, and quickly finished her food. “Are you still hungry?” He asked, noticing her empty plate.

“I don’t need anything—I mean, I don’t want you to go to any trouble or, like, eat all your food or anything—”

“So that’s a yes?” She giggled and confirmed that indeed it was. “I have some cinnamon ice cream that’s pretty good, if you’d like that. Or I have mixed berry yogurt.”

“You have mixed berry?”

“I picked some up on my way home. I figured I ought to have something you like. I thought maybe Ben & Jerry’s would be a better comfort food, but I couldn’t remember if it was Fish Food or Cherry Garcia that you hated,” he explained, and although his tone was joking, she knew he was serious.

“You went out of your way to get me mixed berry?” The thought made her heart swell up in an uncomfortable sort of way, making her nervous.

“Well, we were out of toilet paper, too.” She laughed then, and when she realized he was done eating, went to pick up both there plates. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Why? I mean, I said I wasn’t going to impose, and here you are making me dinner and going out of your way and—”

“Pam, seriously. You’re going through a lot right now and the least I can do is make it easier on you.” He took the plates from her. “And that’s what friends do, right?” She sensed a hint of remorse in the last bit that she couldn’t quite explain.

“Oh,” she murmured, unable to manage more of a response. As he turned on the sink, she added, “Jim?” He turned the water off and looked at her. “Thanks. Really.” She wanted to elaborate, wanted to tell him that she didn’t know if she could have done it without him, or that nobody else save her mother would have done this much for her, even if he acted like it was nothing. But there was a knot in her stomach and she could barely stand up with the way he was looking at her, and the way she wasn’t used to feeling like this.

“No problem, Pam,” he replied earnestly. “I’ll get the dishes and you can go unpack or watch T.V. or whatever you want.  Mixed berry's in the fridge."

She nodded in response, exiting with a sort of awkward goodbye gesture, thinking it might be nice to lie on the couch for a bit and forego dessert. She saw Mark was on it, though, and took to the chair instead.

“Do you want to watch something else?” He asked as she seated herself. “I’m guessing you’re not to into boxing.” He tossed her the remote, though she failed to catch it, and her cheeks burned red as she scooped it off the floor.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” She asked timidly, not knowing what else he’d want to watch and afraid to subject him to something he wouldn’t like.

“Yeah, I wasn’t really paying attention, anyway.” She nodded and began flipping. She bit her lip when she saw Romy & Michelle’s High School Reunion—one of her favorite guilty pleasure movies—but skipped past it to save her embarrassment. And she figured Mark wouldn’t appreciate it too much, either. She settled on a Simpsons rerun, and hoped that would be an acceptable choice. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen this one,” he told her.

She murmured an awkward ‘yeah’, and settled down into her chair, careful to pay attention to the show and not let her mind slip into the scary, painful kinds of thoughts she had thus far been quite good at avoiding.

Jim came in a few minutes later, commending Pam on her good taste in reruns. When the show was over, Mark excused himself to check his email, telling them he was probably going out after that if Samantha called him back. Jim provided some witty repartee on the subject, which just ended up frustrating Mark because he was never very good at that, and left telling them that he didn’t expect to be back until really, really late, or morning.

Somehow the thought of being alone with Jim all night sat both really well and extremely uncomfortably with Pam. She tried not to think about it.

“Okay, so I know you probably want to watch some lame action movie or Law and Order or something, but Romy & Michele’s High School Reunion is on, and since you already know my affinity for Legally Blonde, I hope you won’t be too offended if I tell you I love that movie and want to watch the end of it.”

“Why weren’t you already watching it?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“I was embarrassed,” she sheepishly replied. “But now I’m not, so we’re watching it.” She felt a little silly, being so determined on such a stupid issue, especially since it was Jim’s house, but he didn’t object and they sat down the last hour or so of the movie.

“I heard that snicker, Halpert, I know you’re enjoying this,” she scoffed halfway through.

“I was laughing at how lame it is.”

“Right. And you know next time it'll be You've Got Mail or something."

"So I should be thankful that this time it's only Romy and Michele?" He asked with that just-barely-teasing tone he sometimes took with her when they were really getting along.

"Count your blessings, Halpert," she replied with much less moxie than she'd intended, leading them into a brief awkward silence.

“You know you can join me on the couch if you like; that chair is going to give you a killer backache if you sit there too long.” There was something a bit off in his voice, like he was afraid she’d be offended or something.

“You’re taking up the whole couch,” she pointed out. He let out an exaggerated groan and swung his legs off. “Hey, you’re the one who offered! Don’t give me that.” She playfully kicked him over to make room for herself, and found her shoulder just barely brushing him, making her painfully aware of the heat he was radiating. It made it hard to watch the movie, and she was reminded of that barbeque he’d had a few months ago, and the way she’d been surprised at how conscious she was of him next to her, even then. How she’d wanted to lean into him, and how she’d resisted and then so strongly felt his absence when he’d gotten up to do that stupid duet with Michael. The memory made her want to laugh, and she struggled not to show it.

“Is this movie almost over?”

She shook her head, giving him a teasing grin. “Don’t even pretend you’re not loving this. C’mon, we’re almost to the best part.” She leaned into him just a little when she saw the helicopter arrive, thinking Jim might appreciate the coming choreography. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen this before.” But it was hard to focus when she felt him lean in just-maybe-ever-so-slightly, too. Her breath caught, and she couldn’t tell exactly why such minimal contact was getting her so worked up. Maybe she didn’t want to think about it.

“Oh God, is this ‘Time After Time’?”

“You know it!” She leaned into him a little more then. Strange that no matter how close they were, they shared very minimal contact. She hoped this was okay, that she wasn’t being rude or clingy or weird or something.

They stayed like that past the end of the credits, and into an infomercial. “I guess it’s getting late,” Jim said.

“Yeah.” She crumpled further into the couch, and maybe a little into him. “Hey, um, I know you set up that blow-up mattress for me, but I was wondering if I could stay on the couch tonight?”

“Sure.”

She sensed an unasked ‘why’ behind his acquiescence. “I think the T.V. will be a nice distraction. I’m worried about thinking too much.”

He smiled down at her. “If you sleep on the couch, you’re going to have to sleep with the obligatory couch blanket.”

“Obligatory couch blanket?” He got up and pulled a well-loved quilt from under the coffee table, and presented it to her. “That’s a quilt,” she corrected. “And an impressive one at that—are those pirates?”

“First of all, I know it is a quilt—it is a blanket in name only. Second, yes, Pam, those are pirates. And the giant green thing? That’s a dragon.”

She narrowed her eyes at it. “Are they supposed to be fighting it?”

“Yup. It’s from a picture I drew when I was eight. My mom kept it up on the wall and then one day it wasn’t up anymore and I thought she didn’t like it, but then four months later she presented me with this for my birthday.”

Pam snuggled it up around her. “I’ll take good care of it, then.”

“Do you want the lights off?” He was already at the switch.

“Oh, I should brush my teeth and stuff first… probably not good guest manners to just crash on the couch in my jeans.” She made to get up, but he stopped her, assuring her it could wait and that she looked far too exhausted.

“You want me to change the channel or do you want to learn more about the Gazelle?”

“Tony Little’s a fox,” she mumbled into the couch. She heard a laugh from across the room.

“G’night Pam.” He flicked off the lights.

“Night, Jim.”

She pressed her face further into the pillows and fought back that aching what-the-fuck-am-I-doing feeling, and eventually willed herself into an almost peaceful slumber, dreaming of dragons and plantains.