His mother, for all her insistence to meet Pam, doesn’t stay for long. She makes polite small talk with Pam until the pizza arrives and excuses herself, because someone has to feed Jim’s father before he starves to death. She levels Jim with what he hopes is a look of approval as she brushes a kiss to his cheek and heads for the door.

The second the door latches behind him, Pam is in his arms. She hugs him tightly, before leaning back to whisper, “hi,” suddenly shy. He drops the half eaten slice of pizza in his hand back to his plate, before wrapping his arms around her frame and pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth. She tastes like second chances and tomato sauce. His favorite flavour.  

“I missed you,” blurts out when he opens his mouth to murmur his own greeting. She grins and has the decency not to mention that they’ve spent half the day on the phone or texting.

They finish dinner and she fills him in on the latest from the office, which includes Dwight insisting on driving Michael home as his car is in the shop getting the Jim-shaped dent buffered out of it.

“They’re calling it a Jim-dentation,” she shakes her head dismissively, but he sees the grin peaking at the edges.  

“Naturally.”

“Dwight has photos of the damage, sorry Jim-dentations, to Michael’s car. He printed them off and they argued for ten minutes whether one particular dent was from your handlebars or your hips.” Pam eyes his pelvis in a manner he can only describe as suggestive. He feels his body temperature rise by approximately eighteen degrees. “I broke the tie,” she grins, with a slow, deliberate wink.

“Oh,” he manages to choke out.

When he regains his faculties, he asks her to get his painkillers from his bedside table which is a very deliberate ploy to get her into his bedroom. And by in his bedroom, he regretfully means to literally look at his new-old sheets and nothing more.

She returns with a smile that stretches from ear to ear and tells him that the apartment is growing on her, and she can see him in it now.

When he settles in bed after wishing her a lingering goodnight on his doorstep, he finds the polaroid in a slightly different position and knows that she has seen it.

Morning can’t come quickly enough. He relishes in the fact that no one is waking him every couple of hours to check that he’s still lucid. He sleeps deeply despite the awkward cast and general uncomfortableness.

He changes his tune about morning, after he walks – hobbles – into the office to find Meredith at his desk with a twinkle in her eyes. She holds out a sharpie in her hand with a bright, and decidedly creepy smile. “Can I sign your cast?” she croons. “I want to get right in there.”

He glances over to reception to find Pam watching the interaction with wide eyes. She has to bite down on her fist to keep from laughing aloud.

Jim lowers Meredith’s hand with a barely coated grimace. “Uh. No thanks.”

“You can sign the card I got for Jim,” Pam chirps, materialising at his side.

Meredith rolls her eyes and snorts. “Sure,” she yanks the card from Pam’s hand. “I write a mean limerick,” she winks at Jim.

“Five bucks it’s a dirty limerick,” Pam whispers in his ear as Meredith returns to her desk.

He shudders. “Why is Meredith more Meredith than usual?”

“Today’s the Christmas party,” Pam laughs. They turn to watch Meredith take a gulp from her cup.

“Twenty bucks that’s peppermint schnapps.”

“Oh, that’s guaranteed. I’m not throwing twenty bucks away on those odds.”

“Christmas in January,” Jim sighs, rubbing his temples.

Pam snorts. “It’s only January for you.”

“I’m glad we can laugh about it.”

Pam grimaces a little and perhaps they can’t really laugh about it just yet.

Jim starts to manoeuvre his gawky pelvis bulk into his chair, but Pam stops him with a gentle shake of her head and her hand on his shoulder. It takes him a moment before he sighs, remembering Phyllis’ hospital visit. This is supposedly Ryan’s chair.

Dwight eyes him suspiciously. “What are you playing at, Jim?”

He shrugs, winking at Dwight before shuffling over to his actual desk, a desk that Pam is inclining her head at so he knows where he’s supposed to be. There’s nothing to be gained but trouble by informing Dwight that the past few months no longer take up residence in his mind.

Pam’s fingers brush against the nape of his neck as she returns to reception. It’s enough to steel him to face the day in a place that feels all too familiar and completely different all in the same breath.

It takes all of two minutes before he decides he hates this desk. He’s facing Dwight, which is something special. But, it’s the only thing about this new position that has potential. He’s sure he can craft a prank that builds on this direct eye contact. Other than that, it’s the worst. He’s kind of facing Karen which is all kinds of uncomfortable, because she keeps glancing up at him and he can’t quite read her expression.

Of course, that all pales in comparison to the biggest downfall of this desk – he has his back to Pam. At two and half minutes, he gives up. He swings his chair around and stares forlornly at Pam. She must take pity on him, because it takes all of one pouty expression and she’s sliding her chair back and crossing the few paces to his desk.

“I hate it,” he murmurs softy, conscious of Dwight’s prying ears. She pats his hand gently and deposits the jelly bean jar from reception onto his desk.

“To help with the pain,” she smiles and they both know they’re not talking about his physical injuries.

Pam stifles a giggle. “Oh boy.” Jim’s raised brows ask the question. “Casually spin your chair around and look at Michael,” she mouths. He complies, and finds Michael at his office window staring deeply at him. As Jim’s gaze catches his, his hand reaches out the twist the blinds closed.

Meredith is nothing compared to Michael.

He alternates between staring at Jim with a frown and staring at Jim with a fond half-smile for over an hour. Just as Jim has found the end of his patience and decides he should go and apologise to Michael for the pain he’s clearly caused him for allowing himself to be hit by Michael’s car, Michael must sense his action. He opens his office door and clears his throat softly, “Jim. Jimothy... Jim, may I see you in my office.”

Jim reaches for his crutches, but a sharp nod from Michael has Dwight swinging to life. They’ve clearly decided that Jim’s desk chair is to be treated as a wheelchair and no sooner has he blinked and Dwight is behind him, shoving his chair towards Michael. His legs are too long and it’s not graceful, but Dwight is Dwight and pushes him with an unmatched persistence for the task.

He finds himself in the office with a contrite Michael. He wrings his hands as he solemnly apologises. Dwight jumps in with a helpful commentary, “you both need to pay more attention to your surroundings. I would never hit someone with my car and I would never be hit by a car. You’re both to blame,” he snorts.

“Thank you, Dwight,” Michael snaps and gestures wildly at him to remove himself from the office. With Dwight’s retreat, Michael closes the door.

“Thank you, Michael.”

His boss eyes him shrewdly at his words.

“You’re not mad? You don’t want to sue me?” he slaps his hand over his mouth, apparently horrified that he would plant that idea in Jim’s mind.

Jim grins. “Nope.”

“Why?”

“It helped me put some things into perspective I guess.”

Michael’s eyeline travels over his shoulder, towards reception where Jim knows that Pam is watching on, without having to turn around. “Never ever, ever give up,” he winks.

Jim has no idea what he is talking about, but nods emphatically. Michael claps him on the shoulder. “It’s good to have you back.”

Jim fixes him with a curious glance – sometimes his boss comes across wiser than he gives him credit for and it seems Michael knows more than he actually knows. “I think I knocked Stamford Jim out of you,” he adds proudly. “You’re Scranton Jim again.”

“I haven’t been myself much lately, have I?”

Michael shakes his head and crinkles his nose. “You’ve been full of that Stamford smudgeness.”

“I’m back now,” Jim promises and swears to himself that it’s true.

“I know.”

“How?”

“You’re talking to Pam again…” and whatever Michael did to Jim’s physical body is nothing compared the way his words crack his heart in two.

* * * 

Jim is still in with Michael when Pam finds herself whisked into the Party Planning Committee’s final meeting in preparation for the Christmas party. Somehow Karen has joined the usual team of Angela and Phyllis.

“Remember, a Christmas drinking game,” Meredith shouts as Pam rounds reception to head into the conference room.

“God help you,” Angela hisses in reply.

This sets the tone for the entire meeting. Karen suggests traditions from the Stamford office which Angela promptly shoots down.

Pam leaves the meeting with a tension headache and genuine sympathy for Karen.

It spurs her to action. Their interactions in the hospital aside, which were just all kinds of awkward and soul revealing, she’s been kind of cold to Karen… It’s not really Karen’s fault. She clearly had no idea about Pam’s history – is that even the right word in these circumstances? – with Jim. She thinks there’s nothing to gain by being standoffish with Karen now.

Instead of returning to reception, she stands besides Karen’s desk, waiting just long enough for Angela to be out of earshot before she offers Karen an apology. “It was crazy,” she adds.

“Yeah, right?” Karen replies. “I’m glad you said that. Because, I don’t know how those meetings usually go.”

“Usually like that,” Pam sighs.

Karen frowns. “Does anyone ever stand up to Angela?”

“I think one of her cats did once. She came in with scratches all over her face.”

Karen giggles in response to that and Pam feels if she had arrived in Scranton under any other circumstances they would be friends by now. For the first time, she truly thinks that maybe they still could be…

“I have an idea,” she nods seriously at Karen who returns a somewhat cautious smile.  

It takes Pam all of five minutes to draft up a poster for The Committee to Plan Parties Margarita-Karaoke Christmas. She emails it to Karen and winks exaggeratedly at her from reception. She receives a soft, genuine smile in response.

Of course, what follows is complete and utter chaos as Angela descends into absolute fury and the office is divided into factions over the warring parties. Jim adds fuel to the fire by declaring The Committee to Plan Parties valid.

Pam finds herself fall into an easier than anticipated truce with Karen throughout the afternoon. Her standing in Angela’s eyes has however, drastically diminished. The small blonde glares at her at every available moment, ripping down the posters they display to advertise their competing party.

It’s not until their party starts in the break room and Pam glances around the small space to realise that everyone apart from Dwight and Angela are present at their party that Pam’s conscience gets the best of her.

She tugs Karen to the side and murmurs gently to her. “Angela’s tough to get to know, but underneath the many layers of stern exterior, she does care.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “I think we should ease up on her.”

Karen eyes her for a moment. “You know her best,” she shrugs. “What are you thinking?”

“That we call this a day and merge the parties,” Pam nods as she delivers her point.

Karen tilts her head at her. “You’re nice, Pam.”

“I… thanks.” She thinks if she looks inside for the little part of her that has hated Karen for the past couple of months it may just be gone.

They head to the conference room to find Angela with her arms crossed and deep scowl etched across her face that only intensifies as they approach.

“Angela, we’ve been hearing really great things about, uh, your brownies and we were hoping you’d consider merging the two parties,” Karen smiles politely.

“In the name of Nutcracker Christmas,” Pam adds, and Angela’s scowl droops and begins to rearrange itself into dare she say a courteous straight line. She nods her agreement and Dwight scrambles, grabbing the brownies and another plate and laying them on his desk out in the main office. The ladies, follow suit, each bringing a plate out to the desk. 

After they broker peace with Angela, the two parties merge as one bringing a new level of spirit to the event. As the karaoke blares, Michael dims the office lights and lets the twinkling Christmas lights dance around the room instead. With the dull lights, it’s reminiscent of the aftermath of the casino night. Pam settles against Jim’s desk and closes her eyes to the wave of memories that crescendo and crash over her.

He’s watching her from a corner of the break room and sees her sigh and lean against his old desk. It’s enough to propel him forward, he steps close enough to feel the heat of her body and he sees her in purply-periwinkle, instead of the deep red sweater that’s currently hugging her form.

For a second, he thinks he’s reimagining the sketches she showed to him in the hospital. But his muscle memory kicks in and suddenly he’s filled with that night and the thing that hits him hardest it how much it hurts. She echoes, me too in his memory and the hope floods through him, only to be shattered to pieces moments later with the stubborn nod of her head. The ache is palpable and he feels his hand rise to clutch at his chest.

Pam opens her eyes to find Jim before her. She sees it, the exact moment the light catches his eyes and she knows. This tentative link with the dimly lit office, Jim’s desk and all her memories – she’s no longer the only one carrying these moments. Jim remembers.

She freezes, because she has no idea what this means for her, or more importantly, for them. She watches silently as his gaze flashes with a myriad of emotions.

The Christmas lights flickering in the office that had been so vivid moments before are now dull. Pam tenses for the darkness to sink in once again. The light that has been filling her consciousness for the past couple of days, illuminating everything in her mind’s eyes begins to flicker and fade.

She feels her eyes prickle with tears and becomes all too aware that this is anything like that night because they’re literally surrounded by their colleagues. She tugs at the last reserves of her strength and tries to hang onto the remainder of the light floating out from under her, she can do this. She grasps Jim’s hand gently and pulls him forward. She pauses to retrieve their coats and nudges him through the door. His face continues cycling through mixed emotions as she leads him to the roof.

Pam eyes the crutches and hesitates, but her concern is short-lived. Upper body strength is not something Jim is lacking in and he pulls himself up the ladder without hesitation. She follows him up in kind – and tries to ignore the way her arms are shaken with anticipation, and not the good kind. At the top of the ladder, she shrugs her coat on and gently pulls his arms into his.

On the roof, she waits him out.

She stares at the horizon, as tears slowly track down her cheeks. The color is almost completely gone. The scene before her plays in monotone. He stares at her. Maybe this is a good sign, she can’t tell because the emotions playing out on his face are still conflicted and everything inside her dulls.

This could be the beginning of the end, or this could be the beginning. She clings to hope in the silence, but feels the thread that binds them swaying dubiously in the wind that whips around them.

As the silence rings in her ears, she brings her gaze firmly back to him. He sinks to his knees and her heart plummets to the floor. This is it.

He hangs his head. “How can you still stand me after the way I’ve been treating you, Pam?” he chokes out. It’s the same voice he used on the casino night. It’s the voice of a broken man.

“I love you,” she whispers into the wind and it floats over to him, the thread between them acting as two tin cans and a ball of twine.

Her words reverberate through him, the first gasp of air to a drowning man.

“I don’t deserve you,” he gasps, shaking his head in protest.

She mirrors him, shivering as her knees bite into the cold concrete surface of the roof. She shakes her head fiercely. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is – “do you still want me?” Her voice breaks as the words fall from her lips.

He answers her by raising his head from his knees and meeting her eyes. His pupils are huge and blackened and Pam knows she will spend hours trying to recreate them in charcoal and it will never match the reality. He stares into her for a moment and she sees the same hunger and desperation beyond the blackness that was there when he first kissed her in the poorly illuminated office. She drifts forward in anticipation and he breathes his yes into her.

Several beats later, when his lips have drifted to her neck, she blurts out her reasoning for holding fast to the possibility of him in a breathy rush. “You waited five years for me, I figured I could wait you out if I had to. I hoped you would really come back.”

“Pam,” escapes his lips, it’s more a moan than a word, but she knows what he means and dips her head gently so that his mouth is flush with hers once again.

* * * 

Jim has decided this rooftop is his favorite place in the whole damn world. He can almost taste his famous grilled cheese in Pam’s breath as his rooftop memories grow and swirl, adding this experience to the catalogue he knows he will draw from to find joy for the rest of time. If he squints just the right way, he can almost see the fiery glow of Dwight being ridiculous in the background. Even better than those memories, is the now. Pam, flush against him, whispering promises of memories to come against his skin.

It feels like December now. With the missing months returned to him, he’s ready to close the book on this year. He’s weary with the weight of it. He’s a fool. Kissing Pam weeks before her wedding with an escape plan already in motion. Not waiting her out. Stupid.

And then Karen. What a mess.

He wasn’t that guy. Except, apparently he was, no longer was it only everyone around him – his mom, Michael, Phyllis, Pam – relaying what a jerk he’d been but his own mind provided the irrefutable truth. He’d been using Karen. There was no way around it. Sure, he did kind of like her, he could remember that now, but it was such a vastly diluted feeling compared to everything he had and does feel for Pam.

Pam. Those were the memories that hurt the most. Now he knew what his hurting self had been so quick to dismiss. He saw her smile on the morning of the merger and the desperation with which she clung to him as she hugged him hello. He could see that when she asked him to grab coffee, she was asking him out. He was a fool. That was the key message from the return of his memories.

He was done with being an oblivious idiot. He’d certainly done enough of it over the past few months. He tightened his grip around Pam and rubbed his hands up and down her back. He could feel her smile against her neck.

“Hey,” she beams, leaning back to look at him.

“Hi,” he smiles in response.

“I’m glad you’re back and you’re still you,” she breathes.

“Me too.”

Her face changes as he watches, a twinkle forms and he knows she’s up to mischief. “I still haven’t shown you my present,” she whispers with the lilt of her brow. He grins at her questioningly and she presses her cold lips to his cheek once again before tugging him back down into the office.

She leads him to reception. He leans over the desk, fingers deftly plucking a green jellybean to nibble on as he waits her out. The party is in full swing around them still, but no one really seems to notice, all eyes are on Angela’s, umm, rousing rendition of Little Drummer Boy.

“Sorry I haven’t wrapped it,” she laughs, handing over a manila folder. He arches a brow at her. “For the past few months I’ve been sending Dwight letters from the CIA.”

His jaw drops.

“They’re considering him for a top secret mission. There’s his application. Oh, and this is where I made him list every secret he promised he’d never ever tell.”

Jim attempts to pick his jaw up off the floor. He glances down to the note Pam is talking about. “Last year, my boss, Michael Scott, took a day off because he said he had pneumonia, but really, he was leaving early to go to magic camp. W-o-w,” he enunciates.

She giggles. “Here’s the gift. You get to decide what his top secret mission is.”

Jim’s jaw returns to the floor. “I love you,” he gasps. “You did all this for me, after the way I’ve been acting?”

“I love you,” she shrugs. “The hard part was figuring that out, but once I knew, there was no changing it. No matter how you were acting,” she adds.

He doesn’t think he will ever pick his jaw up after that.

He tugs his chair from his desk and plants it beside Pam’s at reception. He sits, awkwardly as the trend for this day continues. Together they continue skimming through Pam’s Dwight file, tossing ideas back and forth until one sticks. He suggests a transmission from the CIA stating that they need Dwight for an ice-cream social to meet the other agents.

Pam grins. “We should buy him a bus ticket,” her hands rise to her computer. “To make his trip easier.”

“Oh no, that would be great.”

She furrows her brow and gestures at the screen before them. “It costs seventy-five dollars.”

“Hmm… Well, maybe the CIA could send a helicopter.”

“Oh,” Pam giggles and types out a text to that effect. He beams at her, cataloguing the way the Christmas lights catch her eyes and storing it securely in his memory. He never wants to lose another thing.

* * * 

Pam spends Saturday morning, the week after they start officially dating – which is a contested subject because they can’t decide if it should count as the hospital or the Christmas party – at the mall. She’s in a rush, because she promised Jim they’d meet for lunch, which is likely to extend into dinner and then inevitably dessert, followed by uh, second dessert.

She only has one errand to run. It doesn’t take long before she’s in her favorite store, a place that’s become all too familiar over the past few months. This time though, she weaves an untravelled – by her anyway – path through the aisles, bypassing the charcoals and the many gradients of lead. She stops in front of the tubes of acrylic paint and fills her basket with just about every shade on the color wheel. She finds herself gravitating towards the brightest and most vibrant colors laid out before her.

She’s ready to embrace the color again, in art and life. It fills her with an unrivalled joy. 

* * * 

Jim spends Saturday morning the week after they officially start dating – which for the record he insists counts as the hospital, but Pam has decided should count at the rooftop, given that whole memory loss thing and the uncertainty that followed – downtown in the small row of shopfronts. He glances down at the map he printed out earlier that morning and continues pacing down the street. After another thirty paces he pauses and pushes into the store now before him.

Satin lined jewellery boxes fill the display cabinets. He browses slowly, eyes painstakingly searching each row. On the third cabinet, he grounds to a halt. The store assistant rushes to his side as he taps his long finger over a brilliant diamond solitaire that he just knows is the one. He swallows down a mess of emotions as the teller rings up his purchase.

He’s ready to embrace the future that he’s long dreamed off, that seemed impossible. It fills him with an unmatched contentedness.