They'd spent the day reining everything in. Not just that flickery, fiery feeling he got at the base of his stomach when he looked at Pam. It was the laughter that threatened to bubble free when Dwight checked them into the "bed and breakfast", in a "lobby" that looked like Norman Bates' bedroom.

And the food. Good God, the food. Jim figured Dwight's cooking must be some kind of affirmation of his support of Darwinism--survival of the fittest and/or those with cast-iron stomachs. He'd seen Pam go pale when presented with the undercooked beets, the limp green beans, the mystery meat that Dwight boasted of having skinned himself. When Dwight left to bring in their soup (chicken flavored water), Jim had quickly swapped his plate for hers. Since he'd already managed to dump most of his food into the closest bureau drawer in the overcrowded "dining room", that meant he'd only had to eat one helping of food--hers. It had been worth it for the grateful look she shot him.

And then there was the hot water problem.

"Hey, Dwight, do you know that the hot water's off in our bathroom?" Jim had said. The floorboards were cold against his bare feet. He'd come downstairs in his pajamas, to find Dwight in long johns, locking the windows and doors.

Dwight looked at him sternly. "We only turn on the hot water heater in December."

Jim closed his eyes. "Can you heat some up on the stove or something? If not for me, then for Pam. She wants a bath."

Dwight frowned. "Pam needs hot water even less than you do. Being female, she is more than adequately equipped with an extra layer of subcutaneous fat."

"Dwight. You had us shoveling manure all afternoon, but there's no hot water for a shower?"

"A little honest sweat would do you good, Jim," Dwight said.

Jim fought the urge to laugh in Dwight's face. "Okay, how about some heat in our bedroom?"

"You have a fireplace."

"Yeah. With a blocked chimney. Our room is full of smoke. We had to open the window. Which made it even colder."

"Your chimney is blocked?" Dwight scowled. "Mose!" He stomped off into the dim interior beyond the kitchen. Jim had no desire to follow him.

Jim climbed the stairs to the second floor. What had he been thinking of, bringing Pam on this excursion? It was too soon to be testing the strength of their relationship like this. Besides, he was tired. Shoveling shit was harder than it looked.

In the "Irrigation Room", Pam had already changed into her tank top and pajama bottoms and slid into bed. He looked from his single bed to hers and back again, and cocked an eyebrow. "Twin beds? Seriously?"

"I think Dwight thinks these are two double beds," Pam said, straight faced.

"For him and Angela, maybe," Jim said dubiously.

Pam put her hands over her eyes, shutting out the mental image. "Jim, don't. I'll never sleep again."

He stepped over to her, sat down on the edge of her bed and took her hands in his. He tugged them gently down, and leaned over to kiss her. It still took his breath away that he could do that, that no one was going to yell at him to stop. He'd never made love to Pam except in her bed or his. His head had been filled with erotic images of her ever since they arrived at the farm, anticipating making love to her in the woods or the barn or somewhere, anywhere they hadn't done it before.

Pam smiled under his mouth and pulled away, shivering. "If I can't get a hot shower, can I get a foot warmer?"

Jim grinned. "You bet. Stay where you are."

It should have been easy to shove the beds together, but Jim quickly discovered that they were made of very solid wood. After five minutes, he'd only managed to shove his bed a few feet closer to hers.

"Are you sure they aren't nailed in place?" Pam giggled.

Jim wiped his forearm across his face. "You could help, you know."

She grinned. "Okay, but you have to do something for me."

He grinned back.

"Not that," she said immediately.

"No?"

"Eww. Jim Halpert, we both smell like...you know."

"I don't care."

"I do!"

Exasperated, he shoved at the bed again. It scraped across the floor--one whole inch closer to Pam's bed. "If you come help me, I'll tell you a bedtime story."

"We already got a bedtime story," she said.

"This one doesn't include Cousin Mose rocking on the end of the bed."

Pam brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. "How about a lullaby?"

"A lullaby?" Jim straightened. His head banged into one of the pipes overhead. "Ow! Son of a--"

Pam was out of bed in a flash, reaching up to his head. "Ooo. Looks painful."

Jim bent lower. "Kiss it and make it well?"

She brushed her lips across his forehead. "Better?"

His hand slipped down her back to cup her bottom, feeling her warmth through the thin cotton of her pajamas. She chuckled softly and pushed him away. "First things first."

"That is a first thing...oh, all right." He turned back to the bed-shoving job, crouching low to avoid the pipes above him. "Who uses sewer piping for decoration?"

"Same guy who thinks inviting guests to spread manure is a treat," Pam said.

Jim shoved at the bed again. "You gonna give me a hand with this or what?"

"What do I get out of it?"

"You get to sleep with me."

"That's your best offer?"

Jim sighed. "Okay. A lullaby." His eyes roamed over her bare shoulders, the gleam of the low light off her collarbones, the tousle of hair slipping down her back. Jim suddenly felt very warm indeed. He swallowed. "You push from that side."

Soon they had the two beds aligned in the middle of the room. A few practiced flicks of her wrist, and Pam had re-made them into one large, if lumpy, bed. "Which side do you want?" she asked.

Jim grinned. "Top?"

"Hah. And hah. Get in, mister." She lifted the gray sheets and slid in. "I need you to warm my feet."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. Eagerly he slid in next to her. His feet thumped painfully against the foot board. "Ow!"

They both looked woefully at his feet for a moment. Jim half-sat, half-lay in the bed, his shoulders scrunched up against the headboard and his feet firmly against the foot.

"Would you say this bed is too short, or that you're about a foot too tall?" Pam asked innocently.

"Not a problem," Jim said resolutely. He turned sideways, drawing his knees up and sliding down. He caught Pam in his arms and tucked her against him. "See? I'm very adaptable."

"Positively bendy," she agreed. She squirmed against him in a very nice girl-way, and he wriggled back at her, and soon they were nicely entwined, heating up. Jim began to think about ways to wriggle her out of that tank top.

Someone knocked on the door.

"What now?" Jim groused, and threw the blankets off his freezing feet.

Dwight stood at the door, his arms full of colored rags. "You said you were cold," he said, almost accusingly. "What have you been doing to those beds?"

"Oh, are they beds? I thought they were tombstones."

Dwight handed Jim his load. "I brought you some extra quilts. My grandmother made them herself, out of her own underwear."

Jim heard a muffled giggle behind him and bit his tongue to keep a straight face. "Wow. That is so ... Schrute of you."

"Thank you," Dwight said proudly. "Are you ready for your tea?"

"Tea?"

"All guests are provided with complimentary beet tea, to ensure a good night's rest."

Jim felt a warm hand on his back. Pam stepped up beside him. "Beet tea?" she said. "Is this part of the turndown service?" Jim hoped Dwight couldn't hear the ripple of amusement under that simple statement. Then he didn't care if he did.

"From our best beets," Dwight said.

"I think we'll pass," Jim said firmly, and shut the door in his host's face.

Pam looked at Jim, then at the quilts in his arms, and put her hand over her mouth.

"Shh!" Jim said. He jerked his head. "He's right outside the door."

Pam winked at him. "Gosh, those sure are nice quilts," she said loudly.

"Yeah, they'll make great fire starters as soon as I clear the chimney," Jim said just as loudly.

Pam pressed her face into his upper arm, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

In the end, they decided to pile all their clothing onto the bed, and used Grandma Schrute's lingerie quilt to block the draft from the window, which didn't quite fit its frame. They climbed back into bed, and she curled into his arms again, and Jim concentrated on finding some way to fit between the headboard and the foot board without actually tying himself into knots.

A gurgling noise sounded overhead.

Pam shifted. "What's that?"

The gurgling noise repeated itself.

"I know what it isn't," he said. "It's not hot water." They lay quietly for a moment, contemplating the pipes crossing the ceiling overhead. "Beet juice?"

"Some day we'll look back on this and laugh," Pam said.

"Not me," Jim said. "I plan to erase it from memory at the earliest opportunity." He reached over to turn off the light.

Now they could get cozy, he thought. The thought of sex with Pam, right under Dwight's own roof, made him feel just a little bit dirty. And very horny. Maybe it was all the years when he'd had to hide the way he felt about her, maybe it was in-your-face to Dwight, whatever. All he knew was that her body curved against his was going to keep him awake all night, unless he did something about it.

And he knew just what he wanted to do. Jim lifted the hair from the nape of Pam's neck and placed a kiss there. She squirmed nicely against him. He kissed her neck again, and started working his way down her shoulder--

A banging noise sounded from outside.

"What's that?" Pam whispered, tensing.

"Nothing," Jim said, and kissed her just under her ear. He slid one hand up her side, curving it around to cup her--

The banging noise continued. Louder.

Pam sat up and reached for the light. Jim blinked. Frustrated, he watched her swing her legs out of the bed, searching for shoes. "You're going out there?"

"Coward."

He bit back his response as she tiptoed out the door. The banging noise continued. Jim wondered if this was Dwight's revenge on him and Pam for years of pranks. It was, he realized, exactly the kind of thing he would do to Dwight if he'd ever had the chance--invite him to spend the night someplace weird and then keep him from sleeping. Jim had just about convinced himself he wasn't being paranoid, when Pam slipped back into the room, eyes wide.

"You won't believe this," she said, climbing in.

"Wow. I don't believe how cold your feet are," Jim said. "Here, put them up on my legs."


Pam slid her feet next to his as he tugged the thin, burlap-textured sheet up to her chin. "That banging sound? Was the door to the outhouse."

"What?"

"Mose."

"And the door was--"

"Open. Banging in the wind."

"Oh my God."

"Yeah. I'm scarred for life."

"Hey, you know there's nothing keeping us here," Jim said. "We can sneak down to the car, we'll be outta here in ten minutes. We can go to a real hotel."

"What, and miss out on our all-you-can-eat beet breakfast? Where's your sense of adventure?" she laughed.

It was her laughter that undid him, every time. Feeling her whole body laughing against him was more erotic than just about anything he could imagine. Swept by sudden passion for this wonderful woman, he turned her in his arms and planted a long, lingering kiss on her mouth. "Pam..."

She stopped him with a kiss of her own. He loved it best of all when she kissed him. It was like a gift from the universe.

A long, low moan sounded through the room. Jim and Pam froze in mid-caress.

"Um. Was that you?" Pam whispered.

"No." Jim lifted his head and scanned the small room. It looked empty, but the moan had sounded so close. "Is it one of the pipes again?"

"I don't think so. It sounds like a person."

"Probably someone who ate Dwight's cooking," Jim said.

"Could it be from outside?" Pam cocked her head, listening.

"Maybe Mose fell down the outhouse."

"Eww, Jim."

"He can stay there for all I care," he said.

The moaning sound came again.

Pam sat halfway up in the bed. "It sounds like someone in trouble."

"We're the only guests, Pam." He traced a finger down her neck, down her collarbone, heading for her cleavage.

Pam was paying no attention. "Could it be an animal? Maybe something got out of the barn?"

Jim sighed, realizing that Pam was not going to be distracted back into his arms. "I suppose one of us has to go find out?"

"Your turn," she said.

Jim closed the door behind him and listened. The long, low keening sound was very close. So close that he stepped across the landing and listened. It was definitely coming from inside the room. Could Dwight be ill? An uneasy thought crossed Jim's mind: Dwight was obviously missing Angela. Could he have done something ... violent ... to himself? He knocked again.

The keening sound stopped. "Come in."

Jim turned the handle and went in.

"Did you have another nightmare?" Dwight asked. He was sitting hunched on the side of a narrow bed under a sloping ceiling. He seemed to be caressing a small cherub figurine. "Oh. I thought you were Mose."

"Does Mose have nightmares?"

"Since the storm," Dwight said. "What do you want?"

"We heard a noise." Jim stared. Were those tear tracks on Dwight's face? What the hell?

"Oh." The embarrassment in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. "Thank you for bringing it to the attention of the management," Dwight said with dignity. "We'll look into it in the morning."

For one tiny moment, Jim thought about offering Dwight his sympathy, or some advice, or even asking him if he needed to talk. Then, horrified, he recoiled from that thought and closed the door.

As soon as the door was closed, the mournful sound started up again.

Jim paused, a familiar feeling washing over him. Despair. Yeah. He may never have made that actual sound that Dwight was making now. Not out loud, anyway. But he'd heard it in his mind more than once.

With a firm step, Jim crossed the landing, went through the door to the Irrigation Room, and closed it firmly behind him. He turned the old fashioned key in the lock and dropped it into the antique basin and pitcher sitting beside the door. Pam was sitting up against the headboard, her expression curious.

"What was it? Did you--"

In two strides he was across the room, his mouth on hers. She gasped, then instantly returned his kiss. He climbed into the bed, fumbling his way under the pile of sheets and clothes. He kissed her mouth, her neck, her mouth again, drowning the memory of all those lonely nights without her.

When he came up for air, Pam laughed breathlessly. "Jim? What--"

"I love you, Pam," he said passionately. "Don't ever leave me."

"What? Why would I? What was that noise?"

"Dwight."

"Oh, my God." Pam looked at him, stricken. "Crying? About..."

"Yeah." He didn't wait for her answer, but gathered her up in his arms, kissing her mouth, her hair, anything he could reach.

She pushed him away, very gently. "Jim. Oh, Jim, I'm so sorry. All those years..."

"Yeah." His mouth sought hers. "Let's not talk about it." The moonlight caught her hair and highlighted it and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in it, in her, and forget the pain of all those nights, the nights when his heart had howled the way Dwight was howling now. "Pam...."

She came into his arms, her head under his chin, holding him close. They lay silently together in the darkness, his head stroking her hair over and over. They listened to the moaning sounds, saying nothing. The cocoon of sheets began to warm a little.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey?"

"I can't sleep," Pam said.

Jim shifted his bent knees, still trying to find a comfortable position in the too-short bed. "I know," he said.

"This place spooks me," she said.

"I can't imagine why," he said. "What with Dwight moaning like a ghost down the hall, Mose sitting in the outhouse with the door banging--"

"Let's just not mention Mose," Pam said firmly.

"Yeah," Jim said. He shifted again.

"Ow. Your elbow--"

"Oh, sorry," Jim said. He kinked his knees up behind hers. "I think this bed was made for munchkins."

"Thanks for shoving them together, though," she said.

He hugged her more tightly against his chest. "I spent enough nights without you in my bed," he murmured against her neck. Her face was turned away, but he could feel her smile anyway.

Another faint moan from Dwight's room drifted through the room.

"You still owe me a lullaby." She didn't say, but he knew, she wanted something to counteract the sound of agony down the hall.

"I don't know any."

"Tell me you haven't wasted all those years listening to your iPod and didn't once sing along."

"You're serious about this."

"You promised me a lullaby," she said. Her voice held that teasing note she reserved for him, and him alone, private and alone and the two of them naked. It promised secret, wonderful things.

Jim cleared his throat. Lullaby. Lullaby. Jesus, what could he...oh. Oh yeah. "Okay," he said. "But no going all Simon Cowell on me."

She giggled, and squirmed against him, and Jim drew a deep breath. Here goes.

"Everything's gonna be all right," he sang softly. "Rockabye, rockabye..."

"Ooh! Shawn Mullins. Good choice," Pam murmured.

"Hush. Everything's gonna be all right. Rockabye, rockabye, rockabye--"

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

"What now?" Pam said grumpily.

Jim closed his eyes. "Sounds like a fire alarm."

"No way we're that lucky."

Banging sounds from down the hall. Footsteps.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

"Could be someone breaking into Dwight's barn," Jim said.

"Rustlers after the goats?"

"Werewolves?" Jim said. "Beet pirates?"

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

"One of us should go check into this," Pam said.

"By one of us, you mean me," Jim said. Resignedly, he pulled the covers off his feet. He figured by morning they'd be frozen anyway.

Pam snuggled down further into the covers. "Watch out for booby traps."

"If I wander into the crossbow range, tell Mother I loved her," Jim said, shrugging into his jacket and jamming his feet into his sneakers.

"You did remember to change your will in my favor, right?" Pam said as he went out the door.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

The sound got louder as Jim went down the stairs, two at a time. By the time he reached the front of the house, it was clear what was making the noise--his own car.

"Halt! Who goes there!" A voice in the darkened living room. A shadow against the half-drawn curtain. "Stop or I'll shoot!"

Thinking of pepper spray and throwing stars, Jim halted and raised his hands. "It's me, Dwight."

"How do I know you're not a pod person pretending to be Jim?"

Banging sounds from the front yard.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

"Your Second Life avatar is named Dwight Shelford. You can raise and lower your cholesterol at will. You have a purple belt in karate. Your favorite movie is The Crow. You know how to skin a deer. It is so, so scary that I know these things. Maybe you had better shoot me after all."

The shadow moved. "You would know all those things if you had taken over Jim's body."

"Dwight--"

BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

"Oh, hell," Jim said. He walked to the door and tried to open it. "Dwight, come unlock this."

"I have you covered."

Jim pulled on the knob. "Dammit, Dwight!"

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEE EEE BEEEEEEEEEEE

Jim peered out of the peephole set in the front door. "Dwight, what is your cousin doing to my car?"

Dwight moved into the light, lowering his paintball gun. He wore a World War II GI helmet on his head; a gas mask hung around his neck. "Mose is out there? He's supposed to be manning the water cannon on the roof."

"That's my car alarm, Dwight," Jim said. "I think Mose is doing something--"

BEEEE--BAM BAM BAM ....

In the sudden silence, they looked at one another.

"Open the door, Dwight," Jim said grimly.

It took Dwight five minutes to undo the several locks and chains. As soon as it swung open, Jim was loping down the front steps. Sure enough, Mose was standing over Jim's car holding a baseball bat. There were several large dents in the hood of the car.

"Oh, for crying out..." Jim let out his breath in a rush. "Oh...kay. Just...did you really have to hit my car?"

"It was loud," Mose said solemnly.

"Yeah. But I could have ... you know what, never mind."

"Your car alarm was triggered by the cold weather," Dwight said sharply. "You should have adjusted for that. I reset my car alarm every night."

Jim rubbed his eyes. "Yeah. Sorry. What was I thinking?"

There were faint noises from the barn. "You woke up the chickens," Mose said accusingly.

Jim climbed the stairs back to the Irrigation Room, which he now thought of as the Irritation Room. His feet were cold, and he had the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes. Downstairs, he heard the sound of locks and chains going back on the front door. All he wanted now was some sleep.

Which was a good thing, he decided as he locked his bedroom door and leaned a chair against it. Pam's quiet, steady breathing told him she was asleep. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking his shoes off quietly. He wondered what her life with Roy had been like, to teach her to sleep through car alarms in the middle of the night. Groaning, he slid his icy feet back under the thin covers.

Sounds from below--bumping, a crash like breaking glass. From the barn, a low mooing sound and some squawking.

Overhead, the irrigation pipe gurgled mysteriously.

From the woods beyond the field, a weird hooting noise.

The wind whistled in the window, and Jim heard a stealthy creeping sound out in the hallway.

Something thumped heavily onto the roof over his head.

The laughter that had been simmering under the surface all day bubbled up into a soft chuckle. Jim wrapped his arms around Pam and grinned into the darkness. Bring on your beets, your werewolves, your rabid pygmy ninja cousins. It doesn't matter. Everything I need is right here. He buried his face in Pam's hair and sighed.

Everything's going to be all right...

THE END