Her heart’s pounding in her throat as she scans the crowd of people milling around on the sidewalk. What was he wearing? Oh, a black coat. Yeah, nobody in New York has one of those. Then, in the midst of sleepy-eyed early-morning businessmen and women as well as an intrepid runner or two, she spots him, a messy mop of brown hair standing slightly taller than most of the people around him. It’s the hair that does it.

Her brain feels clouded with the heavy words that Mierzwiak's just told both of them; in fact, she hasn’t yet had time to process most of it. But when she sees Jim, walking as if he’s being chased by the devil - almost running - all of those facts and figures fade to the background, and the only thing that matters to her is catching him.

“Jim,” she calls, quickening her pace, still attempting to hold on to their massive folders, which are bulging with stacks of Mierzwiak’s notes. “Jim! JIM!”

He doesn’t look back; instead, his shoulders slide up slightly, and he turns onto a side street. She wonders if he’s ignoring her or if he just doesn’t hear her.

She turns the corner, and, realizing that the side street is much quieter and she has a better chance of being heard, she tries again: “Jim!”

And then, his pace slows, then stops. She can see his shoulders rise even more, and then slump suddenly, as with a sigh. He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns around to face her.

“Hi,” she says, feeling her cheeks burn. “Listen, can you just wait up a second? I know you’re upset… I want to talk.”

Another sigh. He’s not talking. Steeling herself, she takes another step forward. Another one. And one last step. She reaches out and touches his forearm with a mittened hand. “What are you thinking?” she asks with a whisper.

“I… I don’t even know what to say,” he manages, warm air streaming from his nose and mouth. Pam hadn’t even realized how cold it was outside. Hadn’t even felt it.

He looks different. That is, he’s wearing an expression that she hasn’t seen on his face since she’s met him – well, since the last time I met him, she corrects herself. When she remembers them, the first time, when he’d taken her to that college party, when they'd ended up alone in his room - maybe he had looked at her that way.

And maybe when he’d stood in front of her, hands in his pockets, just like this, saying those words.

I’m in love with you. I just needed you to know. Once.

And, looking in his eyes now, she knew that he remembered - that he was only going to say it once.

“I’m not sure what people usually say, in situations like this,” Jim was saying. "I don't know, what’s the appropriate response when part of your brain’s been erased?”

She tries for a half-smile. “I don’t think they’ve finished the book on that yet.” She pauses. “Do you remember… any of the things that the doctor told us about?”

Jim puts his hand to his head, gingerly, as if he’s getting a headache. He is, in a way. “Yes.”

“What parts?”

His eyes meet hers, tearing them apart. “Come on, Pam.”

She sighs. “Jim, I'm doing my best not to sound like an afterschool special here, but I never, ever meant to hurt you. I was afraid.”

“Of what?” he asks, his tone softening a bit.

“I don’t know, everything!” she cries. “Of moving on. Of big cities. Of heights. Of kissing someone for the first time. Of big hairy spiders and Freddy Kruger movies and being alone. What can I say, I made a lot of mistakes. With you, I made a lot.”

He suddenly becomes extremely interested in his shoelaces. He won’t look at her for more than a few seconds, as if he’s afraid she’ll burn him. “Oh.”

“Like I said, I’m sorry. I know they’re just words. But… things could be different this time.”

A gust of wind blows down the street, sending empty Styrofoam containers from McDonald’s and assorted garbage past them. Urban tumbleweed, Pam thinks, for no reason whatsoever. The wind chills her, and she pulls her scarf more tightly around her bare neck. Wish I’d thought to wear a turtleneck instead of a t-shirt, she thinks absently.

“Why would this time be different from the rest?” he asks, a bit petulantly.

“Well… because we know the truth now. We hurt each other so much that we both actually went through… brain surgery, in a way, to get rid of each other. But it didn’t work, Jim, and I feel like… there’s got to be a reason for that.”

He takes a deep breath and looks at her.

“I know you only remember the bad stuff right now, how I hurt you. But that’s all in the past now. I don’t know what I was thinking before.”

“Pam,” he says, meeting her eyes fully now, “I might be thinking of the bad stuff, but you’re only thinking of the good things about me. I’m not perfect. I wear socks that don’t match. I like to fall asleep watching football. I try, but I can’t cook to save my life. I use people – Karen. And I don’t like my job.”

“I know,” she says, tearing up a bit. “I don’t remember everything yet, but I know that you’re… not a superhero or something. But you’re Jim, and that’s all I really care about.”

"And Pam, I wasn't always a good friend. There were times when I wasn't very nice to you. I wasn't there for you. Maybe you don't remember them yet, but you will."

"Jim, I don't care."

It’s snowing, she realizes suddenly, and she steps into the doorway of a nearby apartment building to get out of the wind. He steps into the doorway with her. She grasps the end of her scarf and unravels it from around her neck, holding eye contact with him. Once unwound, she hands the scarf to him. He takes it without a word.

“Look,” she says, reaching up and pulling the neckline of her t-shirt down, exposing her shoulderblade and her red bra strap.

He looks confused at first; then, his eyes catch on the writing on her skin. His eyes flick over to hers, as if asking permission to touch her. She smiles: yes, and he reaches over and skims his hand across the tattoo in disbelief. His fingertips are so light on her that she’s not quite sure that they're actually there.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Uh, Pam, they spelled my name wrong.”

She gulps out a jagged laugh. “Yeah, I guess I asked them to leave some letters out. Maybe I hoped it would be enough to jog my memory.”

“Did it work?” he asks, a smile creeping across his lips.

“It helped. Jim…”

But he’s looking at her, and it makes her stomach ache and her nerves tingle as if they’re on the end of a stick of dynamite. His hand is warm on her shoulder now, not brushing against her but just there in this comfortable yet restless way. See how easily things are falling back into place again, she thinks, and from the warmth in his eyes she knows he’s thinking the same thing.

His hand creeps from her shoulder up to the hollow of her neck, resting there, and his other hand goes to the side of her face, cradling it. Snow is catching in his hair, his coat, looking like dandruff. He leans down like the hero of an old movie and kisses her, bringing his lips to hers, parting them gently but at the same time impatiently, as if it’s been longer than all the years that he’s been waiting. Wanting. Pam kisses back, working her hands through his hair, feeling the wet snow there. Part of her – no small part – wants to just push him up against the wall of this alley and have her way with him. That mental image quickens her pulse.

He draws back for a moment, as if to check her reaction. When he sees her eyes closed, a dizzy smile on her upturned face, his smile widens and he kisses her again, pulling his coat around her, bringing her flush against him. She doesn’t seem to mind; her body is warm, soft against his. I can’t believe this is happening, he thinks, his heart pounding hard between them.

“Wait,” she says, her cheeks pink. “Let me put these down,” she says, placing their files on the ground.

He takes another step closer to the door, and she giggles beneath his mouth, stumbling a bit. The scent of her hair makes him feel drunk. If I only lived in this apartment building, he thinks, taking another step until he has her backed against the wall, snow settling on the sidewalk around them.

He pulls back again and she smiles at him: don't stop. Part of his brain is filled with snarky comments and jokes left unsaid, but the rest of his brain is yammering shut up shut up not now, so he decides to go with it. Dimly, he thinks of Karen, feels badly, but that is distant, something he’ll deal with later. Right now she feels so good, this is what he’s always wanted, even when he couldn’t remember it. And okay his pants are suddenly a little tight but who cares -

And then, without warning, he thinks of the last time he’d kissed her, her hands resting on his chest, much like they are now.

Resting on his sweater – then, pushing him away.

Trying to get the image out of his head, he takes Pam’s hands and brings them back behind his head. He knows they’re out in the street and he doesn’t care. He kisses her neck, hears her let out a long, harsh sigh; he moves closer, nudging his knee between her legs, and pulls her t-shirt down, kisses the tattoo. He wanted to do that ever since he first saw it, though he’s not quite sure why.

“Jim, I can’t do this.”

She’d said it to him then, and suddenly he feels – no, he knows – that at any second, she’s going to say it again. Just like last time, when everything felt right – the way his arms slipped around her like he’d known her forever, the way she’d had to catch her breath after the kiss. Everything had seemed to be falling into place – and then, she’d shattered him like a lightning bolt. His life had never been the same. How could it be? Just when I thought I was over her… AGAIN… she’s back, and I’m back, and feeling the same way once again, as if nothing’s changed. Just one look at this girl and I’m ready to put myself back in front of a firing squad.

He pulls back as if stunned, and the smile slips off her face. “Are you okay?” she asks, wounded. “What’s wrong?”

He backs away, looking around as if he’s not sure where he is. “I… I can’t do this.”

“Jim…please, it’s okay,” she says, trying to get him to smile. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I… I just can’t go through this again. I need to get back to my hotel. We have to check out tomorrow. Me and Karen.” Pam flinches at the mention of her name. “I have to get back to Scranton. Michael’s going to kill me if I miss another day of work.”

“Jim…”

“Look, Pam, I need to get back to my life, okay?” His tone came out harsher than he’d intended, and tears form in her eyes. “I just can’t go back to before.”

“I…”

“Pam, I just… those folders… if you can’t remember all of the bad stuff, then all you have to do is read them. Because I definitely remember, and even if you can’t, the truth’s in there.”

“I don’t care about that,” she says, trying desperately to think of a way to convince him. A taxicab suddenly stops at the light at the corner, and Jim leaps forward, hailing it before Pam has a chance to speak. “Here,” he says, ushering her into it. Sputtering for words, tears spilling across her lashes, she stumbles to pick up the folders – who even cares about these fucking things, they’re only filled with the things that hurt us. The things that still hurt us. She nearly falls into the backseat of the cab, the leather cold against the backs of her thighs. The light turns green, and the cars in front of the cab start to move.

“Jim!” she cries, frantically rolling down the window. He’s standing there, hands in his pockets, squinting a bit, watching her go. She doesn’t know what to say, she wants to scream, scream everything at once, how what they had is too good to give up on, how she loves him, she’s always loved him, and she’s never forgotten him, but the words crowd up in her throat and nothing escapes except a frustrated cry. Not sure what else to do, she grabs the folders, leans out the window and lets Mierzwiak’s files fall as the cab pulls away with a metallic screech. They fly up, back, some fly into the puddles left by melting snow, and still others fly into the alleyway where Jim’s standing.

After the cab’s pulled away, he bends over to pick up one of the pages that’s fallen at his feet. He recognizes the writing as his own, and after he reads it, he tucks the paper into his coat pocket. Then he goes home.

* * *

Pam tosses and turns in a fitful half-sleep until nearly noon with the vague hope that maybe when she wakes up, the old memory erase will have returned, and she won’t remember anything about the night before. Kissing Jim, unable to catch her breath. And then him shoving me into a cab and basically telling me he never wants to see me again.

The second her eyes open she remembers everything. She’s too tired to cry – at least, at first. She lies on the mattress on the floor, her makeshift bed, and doesn't move for a few minutes, the morning sunlight streaming through the window and across her face.

Then she decides, for the first time in a long time, that she wants tea with her toast instead of coffee, and she sees pieces of the little teapot that she’d broken a few days ago.

And she remembers.

* * *

“Jim? You want to stop for lunch or something? Jim?” It’s Karen’s voice, calling him. She’s only in the passenger’s seat, but he feels as though she’s a million miles away.

“Nah, I’m okay. Are you hungry?” he asks. It’s been snowing steadily now for two hours, with the radio predicting six inches of slush accumulating before dark. The sky’s spitting snow against the windshield of Jim’s car; pretty much an all-around depressing day, he thinks as he drives.

“I’m okay,” Karen replies, her hands closing around the 3 Musketeers bar at the bottom of her purse. She hates eating junk food – it makes her feel guilty as well as fat – but this was an emergency. Just one look at his face told her that he was desperate to put as many miles between him and New York as possible, as quickly as possible. “Are you okay?” she asks, concern evident in her voice. “You want me to drive for a little while?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” he says. He throws a smile at her without actually looking at her, his knuckles white on the steering while.

“Looking forward to being back in Scranton, I guess?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

They drive in silence, until Karen can’t take it anymore. Her hand shoots out and finds an eerily perky radio DJ that sounds a lot like their co-worker, Kelly.

No sooner than her hand has returned to her candy bar, Jim reaches over and turns the radio back to the news channel. “I just kinda want to hear about the weather, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

Something’s… very wrong with him, Karen thinks, nervously throwing a chunk of the chocolate into her mouth. I don’t know what happened on this trip, but he looks like… like he’s seen a ghost. Her lips crease into a single thin line. I think I might know who that ghost is.

More silence.

“Jim, what are you thinking about?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

They get home about an hour or two later. All in all, they make good time, even with the snow. Yet it seems like an awfully long drive for someone with nothing to think about.

* * *

One more chapter, folks. Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for sticking with it! As always, please review.