Jim is beginning to rethink his earlier stance – believing this was a prank was obviously insane. It’s perfectly clear, and somehow unsurprising, that the impact of Michael’s car has killed him. This is the afterlife. His utopia. He is being rewarded for his bland, yet mostly wholesome and good life. If this is his version of heaven, he’ll gladly take it.

Although, if this is indeed his reward for a life well lived, the crack in his pelvis is a bit of a slap in the face. Maybe this is his penance for punching Jimmy Wilson in the face in the fifth grade after he’d called Larissa a dummy? But, to be fair, Jimmy definitely had it coming.

The nurse returns and informs him that she needs to prep the area for a cast. Pam cracks a joke about a chastity belt, and yeah, okay it’s back to feeling like heaven.

The remainder of the day passes by quietly. Jim is told that he will need to spend the night in the hospital to monitor his concussion. The adrenaline of the morning wears off and he is hit with a wave of exhaustion. He naps, as Pam sits beside him, content to spend the afternoon with a pencil in her hand and her sketchbook propped up on her lap.

She nudges him awake every hour or so, after a nurse who ducks into the room instructs her to do so. He grins wearily at her each time and answers her questions. He knows his birthday and always gives hers also, and yes, it still feels like January to him.

Phyllis stops by at the end of the work day. She grins a knowing look like the cat who ate the canary to find Pam at Jim’s bedside with no sign of Karen. Pam slips from the room, giving Jim a chance to catch up with Phyllis and taking a much needed bathroom break.

She returns to the tail-end of their conversation. “I was this close to saying something to Karen,” Phyllis is declaring. “Something subtle, like how it was nice to see you moving on after pining after Pam for so long,” she shrugs. “I was sure it would drive her crazy,” Pam can hear the devious glint in her eyes from the doorway.

She leans against the frame to listen. Jim’s still a little dopey from an afternoon spent napping and his reply is softer so she doesn’t quite catch it. She figures it was something to do with her from Phyllis’ response. “I was getting sick of Pam making those huge puppy dog eyes at the back of your neck. We’ve all been worried about her. At first we thought it was about calling off the wedding, but after she the better part of a month staring at your desk it wasn’t hard to figure out.”

Phyllis swings around to wink at her, obviously not missing her entrance. Pam blushes fiercely. “I should probably apologise to Ryan for that,” she shrugs, returning to her chair.

“Ryan sits in your desk now,” Phyllis explains after Jim crinkles his brow at Pam. She glances at her watch. “Bob’s waiting in the car, I’d better go,” she adds. She blows Jim a kiss and throws Pam another loaded wink. She pauses at the door and eyes Pam sharply. “This is great, but when a new client calls, you have to randomly assign them to a salesperson. You can’t give all the clients to Jim based on,” she waves her hand between them, “this.”

“Umm,” Pam replies as Phyllis turns on her heel and drifts away.

“Phyllis Lapin, ladies and gents,” Jim exhales with the shake of his head.

Pam gapes at him, before blinking slowly in an attempt to erase the past twenty seconds from her mind. “Soon to be Vance,” she murmurs, because Jim likely doesn’t recall the invitation that’s probably decorating his refrigerator much like it is hers.   

“No kidding,” Jim replies with an easy smile.

* * * 

Pam spends the night draped across a couple of the finest chairs that Scranton Hospital has on offer. She doesn’t suggest leaving and Jim doesn’t ask her to. She wakes, with a crick in her neck, and a slow bloom of contentedness settling deep in her stomach. Jim’s hand is still flopped over the edge of the bed, reaching towards her. She doesn’t hesitate in reaching out to tether herself to him once again.

She takes him home, to his house, once the doctor gives him the all clear. Their final conversation with him is mostly measured shrugs. His shoulders rise and fall when they ask about memories and timeframes. He responds with phrases like healthy brain, young and should return. Nothing is set in stone. There is no definitive answer.

They drive in circles after leaving the hospital. He doesn’t know where he lives and neither does she. It takes them far too long, and he’s contemplating the awkwardness of suggesting they call Karen to ask, when she finds the address on the drivers license in his wallet with laughter in her voice and the roll of her eyes because maybe they are kind of idiots.

Pam finds bubbles of grief rising to interrupt the carefully constructed pool of serenity that she’s clinging to. She doesn’t miss the subtle ways that Karen fills this space – Jim’s house. A house that she’s never seen before, and up until ten minutes ago, had no idea it was less than two miles from her own.

A wine glass rests beside a beer glass in the sink. If Pam squints just right she can make out the delicate remnants of Karen’s lip gloss, staining the rim of the glass. Jim rubs the back of his neck furiously as he follows her gaze to the sink, where a pile of washing up, clearly from a dinner for two remains.

He sighs. “Ready for the worst house tour of all time,” he attempts weakly, trying to brush past the awkwardness and the shifting energy in the room. Gone is the laughter that filled their car ride. In its place, a buzzing nervousness.

“There better be three kitchens,” Pam states, forcing out a lighter tone than she feels.

Jim shoots her a quizzical tone, “like all the good apartments have?”

“Exactly, how are you going to cook every meal of the day in one kitchen?” she teases. Even though Jim is missing the context, he grins at her. She winks. His grin widens. “It’ll make more sense when… you know…” she adds.

He taps the side of his head sagely. “Three kitchens,” he nods, “got it.” He looks around the room, “there’s definitely one.”

She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Things better start improving on this tour, Jim.”

He shuffles to the first door in the hallway and opens it with flourish. “Oh. That’s a cupboard,” he frowns.

“Nice towels,” she drawls very seriously.

She is met with an eyeroll and the door closing. “Next,” Jim murmurs, slowly moving down the hall, not exactly a natural with the crutches that were helping him to manoeuvre his awkward crotch cast around.

He finds a bedroom that strikes him as uncharacteristically neat and adult. His bed is covered in sensible deep blue sheets that have aged him ten years. He can see the person he’s been trying to be in this room, he can see the Jim that Karen described – professional and serious. He hates it. He wants some stripes and spots and abstract patterns. He wants the same quilt he’s had since he was nineteen and moving out and his mom picked it out for her.

Pam assesses the room with wide eyes. She’s grateful for a lack of Karen’s underwear splayed across the floor given the earlier scene in the kitchen. It’s different. “It’s more masculine than I expected,” she admits finally. “Different from your room at Mark’s,” she adds.

“It’s less college dorm and more creepy bachelor pad,” Jim states.

“Exactly,” she crinkles her nose. It’s adorable. “Interesting design choice there.”

“Clearly, I haven’t been in my right mind,” he sighs, shaking his head. What alternate reality has he stumbled into? It’s not the first time that he thinks he could live without the memories returning. This place really doesn’t feel like home. There’s nothing familiar about it.

The only real indication that he actually lives here, is the photo of his family propped up on the dresser. He gazes at it for a moment before his stomach drops. Oh. The blush creeps up his neck as he turns to Pam and hopes she doesn’t think that he is the lamest adult male of all time because he finally has her in his bedroom and – “I really should call my mom,” he winces.

Pam’s smile blooms. “You really should.”

“I, yeah.”

“I should’ve called your parents yesterday. Of course,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry, Jim. I wasn’t really thinking straight.”

He gives her that toothy grin in response. She leaves him in his room as he hits the call button on his cell. She hears the start of the call, “Hi mom. It’s not a big deal, but…” as she wanders back to the kitchen.

The remnants of his night with Karen send a shiver through her soul once again, so she fixes it. She runs the sink and is elbow deep in the dishes when Jim finds her a few minutes later. The crutches click and clack as he makes his way across the room, so she has plenty of warning when he materialises at her side a moment later.

“You didn’t have to do that,” his breath is warm at the side of her neck and goose bumps instantly form in its wake.

She shrugs. “I wanted to,” she mutters around a thick lump in her throat. He leans forward and hesitates for a second, swallowing roughly before pressing a delicate kiss to her collarbone. Her reaction surprises them both.

She drops the plate that had been between her fingers into the sink with a thud and flings herself into his arms. Somehow he manages to turn, so that his back presses to the bench, taking his weight as the crutches crash to the ground. He wraps his arms around her as she winds herself around him. They steady and his lips are dusting her hair.

“Jim,” she sighs.

“I know,” he answers, his tone bright with wonder.

She grips him tighter still and he mirrors her. He rubs his hands over her back and tries not to think too hard about the way her breathing hitches as his hands dip near the base of her spine. He feels her lips press into his throat and his heart just about stops.

And because he is apparently the biggest idiot in the world, he ruins the moment, by stating, “my mom is coming over,” and her shoulders start shaking as she giggles against him.

She slackens her grip ever so slightly and he does the same. As she slips out from him with a wide smile, she ducks to grab his crutches and return them to him. She finishes the washing up, the smile hinting at her lips the entire time. She dries her hands on his tea towel and turns her gaze on him once again. “I should go and let you catch up with your mom,” he likes the reluctance coloring her tone.

She’s already halfway across the room before he stops gazing at her for long enough to form the makings of a response. “Pam, I,” he really doesn’t want to not be in the same room as her. Why is that so difficult to articulate?

Pam seems to understand though, as she returns to stand before him. Her mouth opens and closes before she gives up on words and decides actions will speak better. She kisses him sweetly and soundly. “See you tomorrow,” she breathes as their lips part.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” he echoes as she crosses the room again.

As Pam turns out of the street, she thinks she sees his mother pull into Jim’s drive and a flicker of peace passes through her to know that he’s safe and sound. By the time she’s made it the couple of miles home, the sense of calm has passed and she’s left with impending dread.

Being with Jim and watching the light in his eyes at her very presence has lulled her into a false sense of security. On her own, the doubts consume her and she spends a sleepless night wondering if and when the memories will return and what it will mean for her. Of one thing she is sure, if with memories intact, he decides he wants nothing to do with her, her world will be plunged into an even darker night than the one she has been living in for the past few months.

She wakes, or more accurately gets up, and prepares herself for work as she tries to ignore the blackness looming in the wings.