Is it possible to literally die from heartbreak? he mused for the hundredth time in a week. He gazed toward the bay with a wistful sigh, head propped on his chin.

Probably not, he guessed. If so, Jim would have died a thousand times over by now. Maybe you could die of secondary starvation though, because he was having an awfully hard time with food these days. It might as well have been dirt he was shoveling into his mouth, rather than his trusty old ham and cheese.

A real sand-wich, he chuckled humorlessly to himself. With effort, he swallowed a mouthful over the lump in his throat. It seemed to have taken up permanent residence. Maybe he should get that checked out. Could be a goiter.

His nearest deskmate nosily jarred him from his reverie. "What's so funny, Big Tuna?"

Your face, he thought dispassionately.

Just then, his desk phone jangled, thoroughly the lesser of two evils when compared to a conversation with Andy Bernard. He cleared his throat successfully, his mind not so much. "Dunder Mifflin, this is Jim."

"Hello, is this Jim Halpert?"

He reached for a pen and clicked it repeatedly, an unconscious habit which never failed to draw annoyed glances from his co-workers. Not that he was on bad terms per se with anyone in particular, but to say he wasn't precisely fitting in at Stamford was a modest understatement. His jello prank had gone over like a lead balloon. Fortunately, Andy had never traced it back to him, because Andy was an idiot. "Yes, may I ask who's calling?"

"This is Helene Beesly, Pam's mother."

He blanched, eyebrows soaring stratospherically. It was the first time he'd heard that name outside of his own head since that night. Just a few weeks ago, but already it felt like a whole other lifetime.

You know, The Night. The one that would forever be capitalized, italicized, laminated in a sheen of despair, tinted auburn and periwinkle blue, scented like honeysuckle. Jim would have sworn he caught the faintest whiff of it for the splittest of a second. He wondered whether he was simply going crazy, or if he was already there.

"I'm so sorry to bother you at work," Helene continued.

Jim had no earthly idea why the hell Pam's mother, of all people, would be calling him, of all people. Still, he recovered quickly, tucking the handset into the crook of his neck. It must be important, or she wouldn't be calling, so he made an effort to marshal his wits. "No, no, not at all Mrs. Beesly. What, uh… what can I do for you?"

"Please, call me Helene. There's… there's been an accident. Pam's in the hospital."

Jim's heart leapt into his throat, competing for space with the goiter. He coughed convulsively, hastily slugging from his soda can.

Once he regained the ability to form words and sentences, he barked louder than intended, drawing curious glances. "What happened? Is she okay?"

His hands shook unrestrainedly, matching the unsteadiness of his voice. Entirely unsure what to do with them, yet unable to remain still, he shoved away the half-eaten sandwich and began mindlessly tearing a sheet of memo paper into thin strips.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry to be the one telling you this. And in a phone call, no less." She took a deep, quavering breath, sounding as wrecked as Jim felt.

No… more wrecked, way more wrecked actually. Filled with dread, jaw clenched tight, he continued tearing quickly, silently, determinedly.

She took a brief moment to collect herself. It felt like an eternity before she spoke back up, but really it wasn't more than a few seconds. "Jim, honey… Pam called off the wedding yesterday."

His hands clutched convulsively at his tie, inadvertently scattering the yellow strips. They floated down into his lap, tumbling cheerfully this way and that like so much confetti. Preoccupied as Jim was with his thoughts and the racing of his heart, he completely failed to notice the ersatz celebration. 

Pam isn't getting married. Am I having a heart attack? Okay, unlike heartbreak, people actually die from heart attacks. I think I might be dying.

Wait. 

What does calling off her wedding have to do with Pam being in the hospital?

Holy shit, Pam is in the hospital.

PAM is in the HOSPITAL. 

Why IS she in the hospital? Is SHE dying?

"Roy–" Helene's voice broke. "He didn't take the news well. Pam told the paramedics he… made her get into the truck. He'd been drinking, and he–he rolled it. She's alive, but she's in–" She sniffled. "Just, not in great shape."

Jim's preoccupation with his own well-being vanished immediately, as though it'd never existed. "Oh my god," he breathed, grief-stricken. He couldn't believe it.

Well, that wasn't precisely true. It was Roy, so he believed it immediately. All the same… "I'm so sorry."

"So are we. And I'm sorry to be telling you this on the phone."

"No, no. I'm so glad you called." On autopilot, Jim waved his hands placatingly, as if she could see them. But there was no room to feel foolish at a time like this, so he didn't. He didn't even consider it. "How… how's she doing?"

"She's in the ICU. They have her in a medically-induced coma."

Jim thudded backward in his chair, jolted by an audible gasp as the words echoed rudely through his skull. 

Pam's in a coma.

A coma.

Pam Beesly... is in... a FUCKING coma. 

He opened his mouth. Unsure what to say or even think at this point, he closed it. He focused on keeping it together, which wasn't easy at all. What were the chances that she might die? Jim couldn't help but wonder, not that he could bring himself to ask the question aloud. How do you ask a question like that without sounding horribly insensitive? Especially of somebody's mother.

You don't, he decided. So he didn't.

He thanked every god that had ever existed when Helene's next words answered the question anyway.

"The doctors are pretty sure she's out of the woods, but there's still a concern about swelling in her brain. There's a potential for brain damage. They said it's small, but we won't know for sure until they bring her out of it. Hopefully within the next day or two."

Brain damage? Jim's eyes clenched shut convulsively at the thought. If Pam was a vegetable, he'd tend to her for the rest of his life.

Helene went on in the face of Jim's continued silence. "She was awake and talking in the ambulance. They said it's very encouraging."

Jim found his voice, if not the right words to say. Sympathetically, he mm-hmmd, trying his hardest to feel encouraged by that very encouraging fact. Terrified, he trembled.

"Once we got to the hospital, the nurses told us that she was asking for you."

"Me?" he murmured dumbly, disbelieving. Although the cat had his tongue, Jim's thoughts took off like a flash. Terrified yet hopeful, he prayed, suddenly sure of exactly and only one thing. The only thing, really, that mattered. Live, Pam. Don't die. You CAN'T die. Not before I get there. 

He thought it fiercely, as though he could will it, because who knows what's really out there? Maybe he could will it. Maybe not. Either way, there was no harm in trying.

"Yes," Helene affirmed softly. "I know it's asking a lot, with you being out of state now."

Jim didn't stop to wonder why Pam's mom knew he had moved to Stamford. Pam and her mother had always been extremely close.

"But if there's any chance you can stop by for a visit at some point, I know it would mean the world to her."

Was there even a question? Taking a deep breath, Jim flexed his fingers. His protective instincts kicked in, at last conveying a sense of purpose. With it, an almost ethereal calmness descended over him.

Sitting up ramrod straight, he reached for a pen. "I'll be there this afternoon." He asked questions, wrote down the pertinent details, and he gave her his cell number.

"I can't thank you enough Mrs. Bees--sorry, Helene. I'll be there in a few hours. If Pam wakes up, tell her…" I love you, I'd do anything for you, please for the love of god don't die. "Tell her I'm on my way."

She sighed, sounding relieved. "Thank you, hon. You've always been so good to her."

Not so much lately. Jim swallowed hard, closing his eyes tight, warding off the sting of impending tears. There would be time to fall apart later. Right now, he had other priorities. "Thank you. See you soon," he promised earnestly as he hung up.

He lifted the handset back up immediately and dialed corporate, communicating Pam's need for a medical leave of absence. Ignoring Andy's intrusive questions, he slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and printed off the necessary paperwork before packing up for the day.

On his way out the door, he swung by Josh's office to make arrangements for time off. Fortunately, Jim's seniority had carried over with the transfer, so he had plenty of paid leave saved up. His new position had come with an additional week, as well. Not that he would have hesitated for a moment if Josh had said no, or even threatened to fire him. 

After a quick stop at his apartment to change and pack a suitcase, he began the trip. Guilt assailed him as he sped down the highway.

He'd slunk out of Scranton with his tail between his legs, without so much as a goodbye. Not exactly the actions of a man in love. Not even an acquaintance would do such a thing, much less a friend.

Yet here she was, asking for him after… after…

Jim gripped the wheel tightly and gritted his jaw. He'd be unable to function if he followed that train of thought any further, so he stopped it in its tracks. Pam needed him to function right now, so that's what he was going to do.

He refocused on happier thoughts. She'd canceled her wedding at the eleventh hour. What had happened to change her mind? Jim couldn't help feeling like he'd dodged the hangman's noose, yet he didn't dare think the decision had anything to do with him.

Not that he didn't hope so, of course. But if it had, wouldn't she have called?

Maybe she was going to call, but she didn't have the chance because of… Roy. 

He squeezed the steering wheel within an inch of its life as a grimace of hatred contorted his face. With any luck, that drunken asshole would be going to jail for a long time. Not just for DUI, which would have been bad enough on its own. But he'd forced Pam into the truck and ended up seriously injuring her.

Oh god. For a moment, his control slipped. Terrified, overwhelmed, his eyes drowned in tears of regret. The road swam eerily before him. Gritting his teeth, Jim dashed them away. "Later," he insisted audibly.

In need of a distraction–or several–he cranked the stereo and stepped on the accelerator. He pushed the needle up past eighty, thanking god for the radar detector he'd purchased the weekend before. He kept it there for the majority of the trip.

Along the way he sang loudly, drowning out his inner monologue with classic rock and crummy local commercials.

Hey, maybe he really could use guitar lessons at Connecticut Music, helping you make music since 1945!

He seriously considered the merits of a new or gently-used automobile from Stamford Subaru, now at record-low prices because our inventory must go go GO!

A mid-size SUV would certainly handle the snow better than Jim's 5-year-old Corolla, and he could definitely afford it on his new salary.

What felt like a hundred years later, but was really just a couple hours, he pulled off the highway. The trip had gone by in record time, but Jim was mentally drained by the effort it took to avoid thinking about… you know, stuff.

On his way to the hospital, he made a quick stop at Walgreens. He picked out a few magazines, a couple books, a book of various puzzles including (but not limited to) sudoku, and a rainbow-colored teddy bear. With a lopsided grin, he wrote Bearsly on the tag.

Lastly, he selected a hilarious get-well-soon card and signed it Love always, Jim. Because, well... he was in love with Pam and she knew it, because he'd said so. There was no way he could have fallen out of love in the paltry weeks that had gone by. He supposed she knew that, too. He found he didn't much care whether her answer might possibly have changed, or what it might have changed into. He could worry about her feelings for him later.

Whatever they were. Could be "Let's boogie," "Maybe later," or still "I can't." Well, so what? Roy was out of the picture for good now, and wasn't that something?