She clears her throat to break the silence that looms around them. Her throat feels raw; she almost thinks she's said too much, but the weight that's drifted off of her aching bones is too great and precious for her to worry about it now. So Pam smiles halfway and darts her eyes toward her shoes, the door, and then to his face – it hasn't changed in those few seconds. He still looks struck.

"Anyway," Pam wishes she could laugh it off, and she threads her fingers anxiously through her curls at the back of her head. "I just … that's all I wanted to say. So, I just—I'm just gonna—" Her mouth moves in ways to apologize again, but all she winds up doing is biting her teeth together behind a tiny, thin-lipped excuse for a smile as she tries to edge around him.

"Wait, Pam," his voice comes urgently behind her and she whirls on her heel, heart jamming up inside her. Jim's looking a little more 'together' now, a little less deer-in-the-headlights. His brows knit inward as he observes her, and she feels suddenly like she's under a spotlight, her face flushing red and hot as her words begin to catch up to her brain.

She waits for him to say something – anything would do. Another joke to roll it all away, a confrontation, another admission. The silence is dragging that weight back down to her collar again. But finally he looks back up toward her, his eyes so terribly full of that honesty and she hates him a just a bit for wearing his heart on his sleeve so unabashedly.

"You're right," Jim finally nods after a beat, his eyes shifting about her features. He ducks his head, exhales long and slow. "You're right."

About any particular part? Pam wants to query, but she knows, can feel, that she just needs to let him take his time. Of course, as Scrantonicity floats out the window again, she remembers painfully that time is not on her side at this juncture.

But he continues as his hands slip around into his pockets, and he keeps his gaze leveled somewhere at her shoulder. "I've been trying, you know?" He half-wonders of her, looking quickly into her face for a second to spy any agreement. She nods once, and he accepts with an inclination of his head. "It's just … it's been really, really hard. You … have no idea."

"I think I might," Pam dares softly, and she's startled by his sudden glance up. There's that confusion, that scrutiny. Like he's scouring her for the definition of a word that means everything. It's almost intrusive.

"You think?" He counters then, and she sees the walls start to build back up.

She sighs, bows her head to the side as she admits cautiously, "I might have taken the long way, but I got there."

Jim chuckles stiffly, and she can notice out of the corner of his eye as his shoulders tighten. His lips press together tightly – she hates this face. "I didn't know there was a scenic route."

"Don't be like that," Pam chastises him quietly, as her arms protectively wind about her midsection. "Just take it for what it is, okay?"

"And just what is this, Pam?" His hand gestures sharply between the two of them and she ducks her head from him and the edge of his words. "What do you want me to say? I'm telling you, I'm trying."

There's a desperate break in his voice and it kills her a little bit. The shaky way he runs his hand through his tousled hair, before he dips his finger in his collar and tugs at the knot in his tie, as though he's suffocating or something, has her stomach twisting in all kinds of guilty spirals. She swallows and loosens her arms, grudgingly meeting his face again.

"I know," she nods again, low tones being all she knows now.

The heavy quiet filters in again, but it's shattered as Don't Stand So Close to Me and the rest of the world invades their space. Jim's eyes widen and Pam turns, finding Karen hesitating at the door with a curious tightening at her jaw. She arches an eyebrow at them both, her shoulder shrugging for show as she nods toward Jim.

"Was wondering where you were," Karen scoffs. Her expression is guarded; Pam can't make out anything except dwindling surprise as the other woman rakes a cool stare across her. "Hey, Pam. Thought you'd left already."

"Just about to," Pam pipes, a bit too brightly, and she grimaces. "I was just—"

"We were catching up—" Jim intercedes, that smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes drifting up and out of nowhere. "Remembering some good times. Right?"

She doesn't know what to make of it, so Pam just nods along and gulps down around her heart that's lodged up in her throat.

"Cool," is Karen's ultimate, detached opinion on the matter, as she lifts the hand not bracing open the door toward Jim. She's got a single-minded smile on her face, and Pam can only look away at what it likely implies. "You ready to go? I think I've had my fill of wedding cake and cheesy covers."

Jim laughs and moves forward to take her hand. How well he plays this game, Pam thinks, watching him slip an arm around her waist and say something corny like, "let's blow this popsicle stand."

Her name brings her out of her momentary reverie, as she looks up to find Jim staring at her with muted intent. "You gonna be okay?" He asks her, unaffected by Karen's attention between them.

She nods and bites her tongue, a helpless roll of her shoulders all she can really muster. "Uh, yeah. I'm probably gonna head out soon, anyway. Getting late."

"Yeah, it is," Karen agrees with a none-too-subtle tug at Jim's lapel. "C'mon, let's go. I'm getting cold out here, Halpert."

"Here," Jim pushes a set of keys into her palm and pats her back in what can only be defined as a congenial manner. "Go start it up. I'll be down in a sec."

Karen's look is clearly suspicious as she glances between the pair, her fingers folding in delicately over the keys as they jingle in her palm. "'Kay. But make it snappy, pal." With a final curt glimpse and smile toward Pam, she's out the door and back into the hall, and it's just Pam and Jim and the miles between them again.

"You should go," she offers hastily as his mouth barely begins to open. Her palm gestures toward the door. "I'll be okay. Really."

Jim is unconvinced. Probably because her voice is so high. He knows her better than anyone, she's well aware, and it's fascinating how he can seemingly dissect everything about her just by the way she talks or sighs or moves. And it's like he's known everything little like that about her for years and years. She's not sure she even has such an intense catalogue of all her conscious and unconscious physical give-aways – but Jim most certainly does.

But he doesn't seem prepared to confront her or contradict, because he's backing up a couple paces with a few slow, weary nods. There's a "goodnight, Beesly" mumbled as he turns from her, and Pam just barely begins to allow her efforts to settle over her chest before he's abruptly pivoting. It takes just three long strides for him to be up to her, and almost by instinct her arms open up. All of a sudden, she's wrapped up in him and her fists are tightening around his back as he gathers her to him in a firm embrace.

There's nothing intimidating or unsettling or even provocative about the way he holds her. She fits just right, with her chin on his shoulder and her arms stretching around his back. He squeezes her in the way a brother might, just enough to make her stomach ache with the force of it. When he draws back from her, there's a pinkness in his cheeks and a light smile grazing his lips.

"For the record," he starts and his arms slip away after lingering just a second more than necessary. "I miss it, too. And … I don't hate you, Pam."

"I know," she tilts her head away, gaze casing the street below, and she spots Karen leaning against Jim's Saab. Her chest seizes for a moment, but it subsides into nothing, as she feels him clutch her bicep tenderly.

"I mean it," Jim continues to affirm as he steps safely away now, his throat working to clear itself of anxiety. "You really do mean a lot to me. And we ought to work on this."

She hates verbalizing for the sake of it, and he must know this and know what her look means, because he simply reciprocates her appreciative smile, the slow bow of her head. "I'll see you on Monday, okay?"

"Yeah," she agrees vaguely, her eyes dancing around his retreating feet. She only hears him make his way toward the hall door again, never once glancing up. The door creaks open, accompanied by the blaring of the music and raucous chatter, before it shuts with a distinct click behind him.

Her lungs fill up to brimming as soon as he's gone, and her eyes begin burning with the sting of her insides as they swell. Pam braces a hand against the left wall as she leans over, watching as Jim's figure eventually jogs outside the church, on a direct and swift line toward his car. He bows his head toward the passenger window, says something, then rounds the car.

The engine hums to life; she can hear it all the way over here, before the car plows off down the street, red taillights glowing under the night.

Pam pats the cold brick and glances downward to find the wedding party escorting the brilliant groom and bride toward their vehicle. She hears Michael crow something happily, sees the confetti and rice sparkle under the lamplights, and a smile stretches into fruition across her face at the rising cheers and fanfare.