Pam says "I can't" and Jim's already distancing himself, because really, neither can he, not after this. He feels embarrassed and angry and when she keeps talking, he has to walk away. He doesn't hate Pam, is pretty sure that's impossible. He just needs to remove himself from her presence so he can reassemble the last shreds of his self-respect. He left things too long, and he knows it. He can't stop thinking about how stupid it is that he waited all this time, only to throw their friendship away with an accidental confession.

And now he has to pack. He hates packing.

**********************************************************************

The stereo blares when he starts the car and he slams his hand against it until the noise stops, painfully reminded of how oblivious he had been when he parked his car that morning. Palm stinging from the impact, he throws his car in reverse without looking in his rearview mirror, then peels out of the parking lot.

He's on the main road, headed home, when he spots Jan's car, crawling in the right hand lane. At first, he doesn't recognize her. The silver four-door abruptly pulls over to the curb, and he drives nearly a full block before he realizes it's someone he knows. The streets are empty, so he slams on the brakes and glances over his shoulder, rolling backwards until his rear bumper almost touches her front one. Maybe he nudges it a little; it's hard to be sure through the fog in his head.

Jan's already leaning against the driver's side door, a déjà vu image from earlier in the evening. He sits and watches her in the side mirror for a long time, most of her cigarette, wondering if he really gives a shit about anyone else's pain tonight. Finally he jams his fingers in the door latch and unfolds himself into the quiet street.

***********************************************************************

Jan decides she's the biggest fool in the history of the world. Or the saddest. It's a close call, at this point. She strides back to her car so forcefully that she pulls a muscle in her calf. As she throws her overnight bag into the back seat with a sigh of disgust, the pain in her leg is sort of welcome, like a physical manifestation of her idiocy.

She doesn't pull out of the lot for a few minutes, trying to stuff her anger down into the dark, secret corner where she keeps that kind of useless crap, the things that don't do anything to advance her career or make her better than all her male counterparts or impress her father. This is a tough world, keeping all the boys in line when she knows that they're mostly just trying to see down her shirt. It takes a certain kind of determination that you can only learn from a life of discrimination and disparagement.

Michael had been different though. Not at work; he was just as impossible, if not more so, than the rest. But he'd seen what she was when she wasn't pretending, and instead of laughing, he'd held her while she cried. It was a hard thing to dismiss. In really bleak moments like this one, she even admired his boundless optimism. It gave her hope that if someone as desperate as Michael believed things would turn out okay in the end, maybe they really would.

Except for the part where she is sitting in her stale, smoky car bizarrely disappointed that she'd escaped his clutches. Her pity party is interrupted suddenly by a passing couple that she dimly recognizes as Kelly and the stoic temp Michael is mildly obsessed with. Jan resolutely starts her car, smiling wryly when the radio comes on. It's the musical equivalent of cotton candy and it's exactly the opposite of how she's feeling, so it's perfect. There's only so much a grown woman can take, though, and when the chorus starts to repeat for a second time, she flicks the song off with an unmanicured fingernail.

After driving for several minutes in silence, she realizes she missed a turn somewhere or may be headed in the wrong direction entirely. She's used to navigating Scranton in daylight, but now it's a blank backdrop of unlit signs and illegible street names. She slows down, trying to get her bearings, then just yanks the wheel right and presses her foot hard on the brake pedal as a burgundy sedan flies by in the passing lane. She squints at the digital compass built into the control panel, marveling that she's never once thought about whether the highway on-ramp is east, west, south or north. She's usually already on her phone, steering with the part of her brain she reserves for Josh's sucking up and family dinners.

The idea of just sleeping curb-side, and not driving back to New York and her lonely apartment, is starting to seem appealing, when she notices the car that passed her a few moments earlier is now maneuvering up to the curb in front of her car. She climbs out, her calf burning in protest, and lights a cigarette before the door has even slammed behind her. Oddly, it doesn't shock her at all that Jim Halpert is the one walking toward her (he's always been considerate), his white dress shirt escaping from his gray slacks.

"Are you lost?" he asks, by way of greeting. He sounds tired, like he's had a far more frustrating evening than she has, which is difficult to picture. Even if he's had an absolutely hellish night (a definite possibility, judging by his red-rimmed eyes), getting the brush off from Michael Scott is still the trump card, at least in her world.

A cloud of smoke gushes from her lungs. There's a satisfying burn in her throat as she inhales the next drag. "Yeah. It looks different in the dark." She gestures with her cigarette, but it doesn't really mean anything, just an expression of futility. 

He leans next to her. Instead of hiding his hands in his pocket this time, he accepts her offer of a drag from the butt. It's not him, though, and he chokes right away and tosses the stub to the pavement. "That's disgusting. How do you do that?"

It strikes her how young he is without his suit on, more handsome than she remembers, the pain in his eyes somehow adding to the effect. "I don't know. I do a lot of things I don't really like. Habit, I guess?"

They both smile at the same time, but they're not fooling each other, not by a long shot. Jim nods, thoughtfully, like he's got some habits of his own he wishes he could kick. "Do you, um... do you want me to lead you to the highway?"

She looks over at him, sure he had been about to ask an entirely different question. His eyes are bit crazed, like he's thinking a thousand thoughts at once and isn't sure which one to say out loud. "Thanks," she forces out. He smiles thinly and starts to head back to his car, but she catches his sleeve. "Is it okay if I take a few minutes? It's a long drive back and I could really use the fresh air."

"Sure." He resumes his post at her side with a quiet cough. His voice sounds raspier than it had earlier, roughed up by the smoke. "Are you okay?" He scratches his chin, slowly, gazing at some invisible point in the distance. "Michael can be kind of clueless sometimes."

A humorless laugh bubbles up from inside her. "Sometimes? I think that's a pretty generous understatement." Her index and middle fingers are sticky from smoking too much.

His face is unmistakably nostalgic when he answers. "Well. He has his moments."

A smile steals over her lips. "Yeah. I guess you're right." Those are the moments she hates the most, though, because they're why she has driven all this way and is now parked on a deserted, small-town street without any idea of how to get home. She companionably bumps Jim's shoulder with her own, then immediately regrets it when his head snaps up like she propositioned him or something.

He stares at her for a minute, unreadable. Then: "Are you sure you want to drive all that way by yourself?"

She's dimly aware her mouth is hanging open. "I... what?"

"I, um... I need to get out of here. Would it be okay if I drove you home?" There's that untamed look again, like he's running wild.

Her eyes narrow, searching his for some hint as to where the hell he's going with this. "To New York?"

"Is that okay? I can catch the train home."

It's hard not to smile too widely when she recalls how he told her tonight that she looked great. Maybe he was just being polite, but she still feels a buzz of warmth in the pit of her stomach as she slips into the passenger seat of her own car and watches as his fingers curl around the gear shift.

*******************************************************************

As he turns the key in the ignition, Jan rests her hand on his bare forearm and speaks, without meeting his eye. "You don't have to take the train home, Jim."

He doesn't pretend to misunderstand the lonely twist of her mouth. It reflects his, and he knows that she'll let him into her bed if he asks. When he kisses her, she tastes of ashes, just like he thought she would.

Jim abandons his unlocked car on the side of the road. He half hopes it will be stolen, because Pam's sweater is still in the back seat from the time he drove her home after the Christmas Party, when she hugged him and thanked him for a cheap green teapot filled with their favorite memories.