Jim passed the kitchen, finding it empty. He headed for the living room. Pam was alone on the couch, ice in hand. She sat with her legs tucked under her, facing the wall. He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, then picked up the album and sat on the cushion next to her. She didn't move. "Hey," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You wanna see some really embarrassing baby pictures of me?"

She said nothing.

He opened the album. "Here's one of me in 'Riss's tutu when I was four." He leaned toward her, grinning engagingly.

"I should go," she said softly.

He rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. "Pete's not gonna bother us anymore. Dad and Tom are taking him home."

She glanced over at him. "That's not it." She stood abruptly, looking determined.

"Then what?" he asked, perplexed.

"I ruined the holiday for your entire family."

"Beesly!" He sounded shocked. "You did nothing wrong. Even Tom agrees it was Pete's fault. First time he and I have ever agreed on that topic. And anyway," he said gently, rising to his feet beside her, "nothing is ruined. We still have pudding to eat, and football to watch." He put his hand on her chin, tilting her face up to his. "It's tradition."

Her breath hitched when she saw the love in his eyes. "Yeah, I didn't want you to miss spending time with them. If I could just borrow your c-car." Stop it, she instructed herself firmly, averting her gaze from his. Battling a lump in her throat, she cleared her throat and continued bravely, voice hoarse. "I'll come back later and drive you home."

His brow knit, uneasy with concern. She'd been through so much today. He could hardly blame her for needing a break. "If you want to go, I'll take you home," he said softly.

She couldn't help correcting him, even though it made her eyes well up. "I don't want to." She bit her lip hard, willing herself not to cry.

"I don't want you to, either." He stepped toward her, intending to gather her in his arms.

She slipped back, stepping toward the door, talking earnestly. "It's been a really fun day. Um, mostly," she qualified, twisting her hands together. "I don't want to leave. I just--I really think I should. Before I do something else to embarrass you."

His heart stopped. She didn't really think that, did she? "You could never--"

She hastened on anxiously, words tumbling out of her mouth. "If I was your mother and some girl slapped my son in the face, I would want her to leave and never come back. I'm just gonna m-make it easy for--" She turned abruptly as a tear spilled over onto her cheek. Walking blindly, she hastily wiped it away and stumbled toward the blurry outline of the front door. She wasn't even sure where she was going. Jim had the car keys. She gasped on a sob when she heard his footsteps behind her, but didn't slow down. Suddenly, he was in front of her, wrapping his arms firmly around her. "Just let me go," she sobbed into his chest. Belying her words, her arms went around his waist, balling the hem of his shirt in her fists.

"Never," he said with certainty, heart aching as he stroked her hair. "I'm not embarrassed. I'm so proud of you. And you're not just some girl." He ran his fingers over the chain of her claddagh to remind her. "You're my starshine, and I love you."

She sniffled inelegantly. "I love you t-too, sunshine." She shuddered against him. "I'm so sorry. I was so scared. I never hit anyone in my life," she moaned. "What was I thinking?"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he insisted. "You didn't think. None of us were thinking. You just reacted. You kinda saved my bacon, Beesly," he reminded her.

She shook her head insistently. "I heard your dad. He thinks I'm some kind of… erratic, p-punchy drama queen."

He tried valiantly to stifle a laugh, feeling a strange mix of sympathy, pride, and humor. Betsy came out of the kitchen. "He was proud of you, honey. And grateful. We both are."

Pam started with a hiccup and whipped her head around. "What?" she asked, looking over her shoulder with a bewildered, tearstained expression.

Betsy smiled at her, folding a sheet of paper in half and tucking it into her own pocket. "Sorry for listening in. But I was just telling Jim that you made the best out of an unfortunate situation."

Larissa stepped out from under the stairs, not bothering to apologize for eavesdropping. "There were only two other ways that could have gone down," she said. "One, with Pete in an ambulance. Two, with Jim in an ambulance."

"'Riss," he hissed. Pam clutched at him, burying her face in his chest. He stroked her back soothingly. "We've never put each other in the hospital, she's just being dramatic."

"Sorry," Larissa said unrepentantly. "But really Pam, it's cool. Your solution was far more elegant."

"I didn't mean to," she said, her voice muffled by Jim's shirt. "I'm so sorry."

"For what? Growing up, I popped Pete across the mouth at least once a month. Never quite that good, though. Your wind-up was epic," she said appreciatively.

Betsy said firmly, "You can't leave without having pudding. It's tradition." She disappeared into the kitchen.

Larissa followed. "You're family now, deirfiúr. So stop whining and come have dessert already."

She sniffled into his chest. "What's ‘gee four'?" she mumbled.

"Sister," he translated softly. She pulled back, smiling weakly. With gentle fingers, he stroked her cheek. She leaned into his touch. "Feeling better?" he asked her.

"A little," she nodded. "I don't know if I can eat, though. My stomach hurts." And her throat, and her hand.

He had a stomachache, too. Aftereffects of the adrenaline rush. Even so, he loved pudding enough to eat the whole thing. "Just a bite? I'll finish yours, if you can't."

"Alright." She smiled genuinely at him. "Your family's pretty awesome."