He has to remind himself that it's habit - she holds back when she's mad.

When she's really mad, like this, though...That's another story. She tells him exactly what he did and just what he can do with that information. Like his being drunk, nights like these don't happen all too often.

When they do, though, he's just got to smile.

He learned early on that getting angry in response only makes her madder.

She hadn't meant to, but maybe - he thinks now - he deserves the scar he got on his upper left arm (his comment "Well, maybe I should fucking go back to Stamford!" hadn't set well with Pam). She hasn't thrown anything else in his general direction since then, but that's certainly not to say she wouldn't.

Especially when she's this mad.

He knows not to laugh at her. Don't fucking laugh. It's never a laughing matter.

Just smile like an idiot, tell her you're sorry.

Even though she's not nearly big enough to do so, she stretches out and tries to keep the whole sofa for herself in the living room.

Tonight, he figures he'll try something new. Simply smiling at her for two and a half hours doesn't exactly scream "fun." He goes into the kitchen and grabs two beers, then into his bedroom to grab their pillows. On his way out, he considers locking the bedroom from the inside; that way, the only way in is to use the key that's resting on the door ledge only he can reach.

He decides against that when he remembers how it felt to sleep on the floor in the hallway.

"Pillow, beer?" He offers, smiling. She snatches the two from his hands, only to hand the pillow back once realizing she's grabbed his - not her feathery one she's had forever.

She mumbles something, he thinks maybe 'thank you,' but because she does so while sipping her beer, he can't be sure. He eyes the lovely new recliner they just purchased, but he knows she loves to see him struggle with the love sofa, so he settles in there.

She grunts in frustration as she constantly changes the channels. There are a hundred things on Jim would watch if he had the remote, but she's in control (and as long as she's taking her anger out on the remote instead of the dishes or himself, he's happy). He doesn't mind, because he's not watching the television anyway. He's smiling at her.

He smiles at her when she's mad.

(They're both smiling in a couple of hours, anyway, but that's another story.)