He wishes he weren't so acutely aware of the sickeningly familiar heaviness swelling in his chest as he watches Dwight stride purposefully out the door, his head down, eyes averted. It's much like the unexpected jolt he'd felt when Angela had given Andy permission to ask her to dinner -- a visceral reaction that he wanted to laugh off but somehow couldn't.

He still hasn't quite figured it all out when he feels Pam's eyes on his face, silently waiting for him to look at her; when he does, her expression is clear: You should go after Dwight; he needs somebody to talk to.

As he dutifully heads out the door, down past Vance Refrigeration, he's a little baffled at how utterly unnerved he feels. It's as if he's about to walk into a terminally ill patient's hospital room -- the dread overwhelming, the enormity of someone else's agony closer to the bone than it should be.

He has to shake his head, chuckling at his own stupidly vivid imagination as he reaches to open the door to the stairwell. When he sees Dwight sitting on the top step -- a place where he himself has been more than once, with all the scars to prove it -- his breath catches, the knot in his stomach seeming to tighten.

He doesn't even think, just slides down slowly to sit next to Dwight. He's strangely aware that he ought to feel awkward -- should be scrambling for the right words to say -- yet he just isn't. There's a stillness here that transcends the mores of the office, the petty history he and Dwight share; here they're on an even plane...because he's been where Dwight is now.

It's then that he recognizes the source of his dread, his fear.

"Did I ever tell you why I left Scranton?" The question escapes him unbidden, as do the words that follow it. "It was all about Pam."

He pauses, then: "She was with Roy, and...I just couldn't take it; I mean...I lost it, Dwight."

His attempt at a chuckle fails miserably; the fact that Dwight's response ought to be unintelligble but isn't speaks volumes.

*******

It was another nightmarish day, one that he tried unsuccessfully to navigate with his feelings remotely intact, his dynamic with Pam unblemished. It was getting more and more impossible to handle lately.

He’d already been in a bad mood that morning because he was going on so little sleep. The night before he’d felt that same restlessness again, shifting from one side to the other, flipping his pillow, casting off the sheets. And once again, he'd ended up acquiescing to the chaos in his head that whispered of the clock running out...his life spinning farther and farther out of control.

He'd risen, impatiently throwing on sweat pants, lacing up his tennis shoes; shortly after midnight, he was jogging through the darkened streets...something that had become a habit for him. But it wasn’t working as well lately, the running; it was almost as if his body had built up some tolerance, some immunity, so that pushing himself -- his feet pounding against the pavement, breath coming in heaving gasps, sweat glistening on his face, dampening his hair -- no longer brought him any sense of release.

But it felt good anyway to be moving, quickly. Sitting still just hurt too much.

It wasn’t anything new either to wake up feeling exhausted, only he was getting less and less able to shake it off, to ignore the weariness and the resignation and just pretend things were fine. Smile and pretend that the woman he was in love with wasn’t planning her wedding every day while he was forced to sit listening. Sometimes he wondered what the hell he’d done to deserve this. It was bad enough that she was marrying someone else, but to have to just bear witness to the whole process?

Agonizing.

And then it had gone from bad to worse.

**

"I’m the one who complained about you." He forced himself to say it, hating the shock that registered on her face.

"What?"

"I didn’t know Toby was gonna write it down; I was just venting." He was feeling desperate now. "It was one day. And I took it right back….it was just…."

"Okay." She wasn’t looking at him, was just staring straight ahead; clearly he'd hurt her.

He didn’t know what to do or what to say; at times like this it was unbearable, all that they left unsaid. The tension was driving him to be reckless – going running in the middle of the night, downing shots of whiskey occasionally just to try to dull the pain a little.

Talking to Toby in a moment of utter desperation, because he had to say it to someone. And if it hadn't been Toby, it’d have been Pam.

He’d never dreamed Toby would write it all down, didn’t find out until later that apparently, Toby was bound to do so. But it really didn’t matter; he couldn’t take it anymore, and he knew it.

They hadn’t said goodbye the afternoon that he’d admitted to complaining about her. He wanted so much to ask her to come up to the roof with him, to talk about it, make it right, but he just couldn’t bring himself to approach her.

Because he knew what would happen: They’d talk; she’d forgive him. She’d tell him how important he was to her, that he was her best friend in the whole world. Their eyes would meet, and there would be that pull, the tension; all the things still left unsaid would weigh heavily in the air.

And that would be that.

There was no making it better, and while those little moments of connection had once sustained him, they were slowly tearing him apart now.

That night, he’d lain in bed, sweat on his brow as his mind raced. She’s really gonna do it; she’s gonna marry Roy. And there's absolutely nothing I can do but wait for it to happen.

He leapt out of bed, ignoring the wave of nausea that swept over him as he automatically went to his dresser, pulling out a pair of sweatpants. Within minutes, he was outside, breathing in the chilly night air, the sound of his tennis shoes hitting the pavement keeping time with the rhythm of his breathing.

He ran for forty-five minutes, trying to forget the way she'd looked when he'd admitted to being the one to complain -- the way her lips tightened, her eyes straight ahead as she nodded woodenly in response to his explanation.

Even when he knew he was past his limit, he kept running, afraid to stop; if he stopped, he’d have to face the reality that she was slipping right through his fingers -- and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. All these months he’d believed she would be able to face the truth at some point….but now he was stunned to see that she really just wasn’t.

When he threw up in an alley behind an old abandoned warehouse, he told himself that it was just because he’d pushed too hard, not because his body was reacting as viscerally to her impending wedding as his mind was.

At 3:22 a.m., he’d picked up the phone, dialing the main number for Dunder Mifflin, leaving her a message that he’d be in late, lying about having a doctor’s appointment.

He ignored the nagging voice in his head that told him he should make a doctor’s appointment. Because this was out of hand, and it was slowly becoming clear to him that this was more than he could manage on his own.

**

"Okay, Jan will see you now."

He forced himself to stand, ignoring the fact that he felt dizzy as he followed Jan through the double doors, clutching his messenger’s bag as if it were the one anchor left in his life.

She hadn’t pulled any punches, had told him right then that if he wanted the job at the Stamford branch – which entailed a promotion and pay raise – it was his. He hesitated, knowing he should accept immediately.

"Can I let you know in a week or so?" He heard himself asking. ...Hated himself for asking.

"Sure." Jan nodded, smiling warmly at him.

He'd had to consciously focus on the painted yellow lines at the edge of the pavement on his way home in an effort at staving off the bitter gall in his stomach. The nausea had been with him for months; only now it seemed to be bubbling up uncontrollably.

Just like everything else.

*******

Their first date had, ironically enough, borne very little resemblence to an actual date; they'd sat across from one another, each struggling to find a way to break the awkward silence that had descended as soon as their waiter disappeared from sight. There were too many questions whirling through her head to even articulate one: What had happened between him and Karen? What about the job interview? Did he still plan on moving to New York if he got an offer? Why had he made such a point of saying, "Then it's a date..."?

He'd finally taken a deep breath, staring into his wine glass for a moment before looking up at her. "So...Karen and I aren't together anymore."

Then he'd chuckled nervously, adding, "Obviously."

She smiled, willing away the tightness in the pit of her stomach as she asked hesitantly, "What happened?"

He raised his eyebrows, taking in a breath. "I, uh...I broke up with her."

Pam nodded, her eyes on his face, taken aback by how inscrutable his expression was. She wanted to ask him why he'd broken up with Karen -- if it had to do with all that had happened on the beach -- but for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to do so; somehow it didn't seem right to ask.

So instead she waited for him to offer up more details, feeling a slight stab of disappointment when, instead of elaborating, he raised his eyes back to hers, offering only a halting, "So it's...gonna be...weird for a while; I mean...you know, at the office...."

"I know." Her words were almost inaudible.

Another silence fell, then he inhaled deeply, squinting for a second before he asked, "So...can you give me some time to...I don't know, let things...settle?"

"Of course." She didn't hesitate, their eyes meeting and holding long enough for her to feel that familiar thumping in her chest as she realized all the implications in what he'd said -- that he wanted to be with her; that he wanted to give things a try, finally.

"Okay." His voice was hoarse, a little gravelly, his eyes drifting down to her lips and then back up again. She knew she should probably look away, but she couldn't bring herself to do so -- because god, it had been so long since the last time he'd looked at her this way, since she'd had the chance to really look him in the eye.

...And that had been the extent of their conversation that night; they'd spent the remainder of the evening discussing everything but what was happening between them.

At the end of the evening, he'd walked her to her door, his hands in his pockets. She turned to face him just before fitting her key into the lock, hoping she sounded casual as she asked, "So do you wanna...come in for a while, or...?"

Again their eyes met and held, the expression on his face clearly answering the question for her: Yes.

But he surprised her by quickly looking away, pursing his lips before saying carefully, "I really should...probably just go. I mean, it's just...."

He didn't finish, but he didn't have to; she knew what he was getting at, so she nodded silently, her eyes on his face. As if he could feel her prolonged stare, he glanced back up, their eyes holding for a second that seemed to effectively slow time. Again his gaze strayed to her mouth, then back up to her eyes; the intensity in his expression almost took her breath away as she stood there silently willing him to just do it...make a move, kiss her.

As if he could read her mind, he slowly leaned down toward her, gently brushing his lips across hers before he pulled back, then swallowed hard, averting his eyes as if he knew better than to meet her gaze. She felt a sudden rush of heat, and before she could think twice, she stepped forward, standing on her toes and putting her hands on either side of his face as she drew his mouth back down to hers. She'd been waiting far too long for this to be satisfied with just a gentle peck.

There was something strikingly familiar in the feel of his lips, in the way that he immediately pulled her closer, his arms sliding around her; she actually felt dizzy as she kissed him back, breathless and impatient, wanting so much more than this.

Even as the thought registered, she felt him pull back slightly, so she, too, reluctantly stopped, drawing away as her hands slipped from his shoulders to his chest, then drifted down to find his palms waiting for hers. Their hands tangled between them, touching then clasping as she gazed up at his face hazily. He looked as dazed as she felt, his lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling with his labored breathing.

Then he murmured, "...Wow."

She smiled, laughing softly as she nodded, looking away then quickly gazing back up at him as she whispered, "I know."

A brief silence fell as they stood there staring at one another, awestruck; then he gave her hands a gentle squeeze before he said softly -- with obvious regret, "I really should go...."

She nodded quickly. "Okay."

Their eyes met again, and she could see from his expression that he was contemplating kissing her again. But he didn't; instead, he took a step back, giving her one last smile before he turned and headed toward his car. All she could do was lean heavily against her front door and watch him, silently marveling at the fact that they'd made it...finally.