Jim stared at the expense report that lay over his keyboard. Numbers blurred with his vision; his pen toppled out of his hand--drawn down by the force of his boredom, of his apathy.

His pen clattered and rolled on his desk. He let it roll to the floor and pushed his chair back. Stepping over his pen--a casualty of a lost cause--he headed toward Pam’s desk. A common path. He was surprised he hadn’t worn the carpet down.

She looked up from her monitor when he stopped in front of her.

He had always been absorbed by her eyes, but, for the last year, he had seen a new sparkle. Or perhaps it had been his own sparkle reflected.

It hardly mattered. The left corner of his mouth twitched, tempted with a smile, whenever he saw it.

This time he succumbed to the temptation, and a wide smile stretched across his face. “Hey,” he said.

She returned his smile and leaned toward him. “Hey.”

“Doing anything interesting?”

She spoke before her soft chuckle had subsided, so her answer contained a stutter. “No-o-o.”

“Well,” he said, then rounded her desk. “I think I can help with that.” Without further preamble, he crouched down, tilted his head, and kissed her. He quietly hummed into the kiss as her hand spread across the back of his neck and her lips parted.

His awareness had condensed so narrowly into her kiss that he only partially heard the shout that erupted behind him.

“Sir!”

“Sir!”

The second shout captured his full attention, and he slowly broke away from Pam.

Two police officers stood on the other side of Pam’s desk. One of the officers held his hand flat to the holster on his hip.

“Officers,” Jim said, his voice even and calm. He felt Pam’s hands wrap around his wrist.

“Is there a James Halpert here?”

“Jim? Yeah, that’s me,” he said. “Can I help you?”

Without hesitation, the officers advanced, and the first reached for him, seized him by the arm, and wrenched him away from Pam.

“Officer, I--”

“You’re under arrest.”

“What?”

Pam bolted from her chair. “What? No, officer, there must be a mis--”

“Step back, ma’am.” The second officer obstructed Pam’s path, but not fully.

She leaned around him and reached for Jim, her hand spread wide, fingers splayed.

Jim’s head pounded. His heart raced--a painful drum in his chest. “Pam!” he yelled, extending his arm and--oh, god, thank god--feeling the warm touch of her fingertips. His eyes darted past her to see Angela’s wide, shocked eyes, then Kevin’s gaping mouth. Dwight wore a stony, neutral, but alert expression. Michael threw open the door of his office and stood there, as if he were paralyzed. 

And Pam met his eyes with fear. She frantically sidestepped the police officer. Her face came within inches of Jim’s; her breath blustered across his face when she whispered, “Jim, what--what’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” he said, words tumbling out of him with panic. “I don’t know. I didn’t do anything.”

He had enough time to cup her cheek, brush his thumb across her cheekbone, before the officer jerked him away from her and recited Miranda, evenly and mechanically, into the air.

Jim watched as the other officer blocked Pam completely, restrained her as she attempted to follow him.

He was too shocked to resist.

He was too scared to resist.

By the time Pam’s voice reached his ears, it sounded muffled. Far away. “Jim! Let him go! He didn’t do anything! Jim!”

He heard her screams even after the elevator closed, and he stood frozen in the grip of the officer who acted as if he hadn’t heard a sound.