Fic: Time and Space (The Office)
Title: Time and Space
Fandom: The Office
Rating: Somewhere between hard "R" and NC-17
Summary: A bridge between Casino Night and GWH. Author is spoiler-free.
A/N: The fluff just keeps coming.
***
Part One: Space
"This is because of Halpert, isn't it? You two got something going on?"
"No, Roy, I already told you..."
"Then what was the deal with all those damn rumors? And I still trusted you anyway. With him."
"God, get over it, okay? It's not about Jim."
They'd been going at it for hours. Pam had never tried to break up with anyone before. It looked so much easier on television shows. You just said, I'm sorry, I don't think I love you anymore, and the person would maybe spill a single tear before they started packing up their stuff.
It wasn't working out that way at all, because Roy simply refused to accept it.
"You can't do this to me, Pam. We've already blown so much money on this stupid wedding..."
"I can't stay with you just because of the money." Like the Jim topic, they'd already been over and over and over this.
"Just tell me what you want me to do different," he said, switching tactics again. "I'll change. I love you."
"I don't want you to change. I just need some time to myself. Alone. To figure out what I really want out of life."
She was starting to feel like a broken record. Or an automated voicemail system.
Press 1 for "I Just Need Some Space". Press 2 for "It's Not About Jim".
Jim was a big part of it, and that was a problem. The guilt gnawed at her; the guilt was the only reason she was still here arguing with Roy, hours and hours after she'd tried to break it to him gently. And the guilt made her want to believe her own words: I just want time alone. To find out who I am. I've never really had a chance to be single. A lie wrapped in a convenient package of half-truths, that was all it was, but it still seemed somehow less cruel.
Besides, what would be the alternative? Yes, Roy. I'm in love with Jim. We've been carrying on for months. You caught us. That wouldn't be the truth either. As far as her feelings for Jim went, she'd managed to get so deep into a pit of denial she was still trying to dig her way out.
But she did want a chance to find out for sure. She wanted--God, she just wanted a chance to kiss him one more time, without feeling guilty at all...
As if reading her mind, Roy said, "I know this is about Jim. It's the only thing that makes sense. I can't fucking believe you're leaving me for another guy two days before our wedding."
Pam sighed and dropped her head into her hands. "Jim isn't even in the country right now."
"Yeah? What the hell difference does that make? For all I know you're gonna leave here and hop on a plane to be with him."
He had no idea how tempting that thought had already been.
But she said: "I'm not getting on a plane, Roy."
"Just tell me it's not Jim."
"It's not Jim."
"I don't believe you."
"Oh my God."
He was on his fourth beer of the argument, and as he stood there leaning against the wall, Pam looked at him--really looked at him--for the first time in what seemed like forever. She'd always carried around a certain image of him in her head, and she hadn't noticed how much he'd changed over the last couple of years. He'd been so cute when they met, all tall and muscled and athletic, with a great smile and a confident way of carrying himself. Back then, she couldn't believe a guy like Roy was even paying attention to her. Not many people did, after all. She'd been smitten, utterly. He was funny, and he made her feel safe.
Now? The last forty pounds or so weren't doing him any favors. She'd seen so many guys like that, friends of Roy's; all former high school footballers who'd stopped going outdoors but kept eating like they were seventeen. And he was sweaty and red-faced from the beer and from the effort of stomping around and yelling at her. What she'd once taken for a sense of humor had turned out to be plain thoughtlessness. He'd become a caricature, the guy on the couch with the DirecTV remote in one hand and the phone with Pizza Hut on speeddial in the other; the guy who only helped around the house if she nagged him four or five or times, and then did everything half-assed; the guy who wouldn't close the bathroom door when he was using it.
My life has become a bad sitcom, thought Pam. And I didn't even notice.
"I just want out," she said plaintively. But she hadn't really meant to say it out loud.
Roy seemed taken aback. Like he was finally getting it.
"Okay," he said, after a long moment. "Okay. If that's what you want. If living with me is so damned hard on you, just pack up and go already." He walked into the kitchen, and she heard the clink of more beer bottles. Then the rattle of car keys.
"Just have your shit out by the weekend," he yelled over his shoulder.
The door slammed shut behind him. Pam exhaled a long, shaky breath, a mixture of exhaustion and relief.
What Roy didn't know was that she already had a closet full of packed suitcases in the guest bedroom. She had her laptop in a shoulder bag, and a list of everything that needed to be cancelled for the wedding. She had a reservation at the cheap hotel down near the office.
She looked around the house. It was dull and depressing. How had that happened? She'd been so happy when they got this place. They'd had big plans for painting and fixing it up, for budget decorating. She was going to learn how to sew. They would go to yard sales every weekend and find awesome deals on antiques and quirky knick-knacks. She was going to get cheap canvases and paint her own pictures for the walls.
None of it had ever happened, and she was as much to blame as Roy. The old gross, yellow carpet was still there, clashing with the crappy, overpriced Rooms-To-Go furniture and the big plasma television--both of which they'd be paying off for the next eight years or so. The walls were still a cold beige and mostly bare. The only thing she really cared about were the two cheap bookshelves filled with all her books. She'd have to come back for those later.
When she had her own place.
For now, she didn't even have a car. She hauled out the yellow pages and called herself a taxi. She'd made a little spreadsheet today at work, and she figured she could swing a cheap apartment and basics on her salary. If they split their pathetic savings down the middle, she could buy a used car.
She'd have to figure out everything else one step at a time.
As she sat on the front step and waited for the taxi, she allowed herself a few guilt-free moments to think about Jim.
He'd said he loved her. He'd kissed her. She'd let him. And it had blown open the doors on so many things she'd spent years carefully not thinking about.
They'd avoided each other at the office after that night. Jim was leaving for his trip soon, and for those last few days at work he wouldn't even look her way. But she was still dazed from Jim's confession, confused about her own misgivings about the wedding, and beyond confused trying to sort through all these new, unearthed feelings. It took till last weekend--another weekend of watching Roy sit on the couch and only move if absolutely necessary--for her to realize she'd made up her mind: she couldn't go through with the wedding. And more--she wanted out of the relationship.
But she hadn't told Jim. She didn't want to tell him until she'd actually done it. And every day she tried to work up the nerve to break things off with Roy, and every day she couldn't do it, while the wedding loomed closer and closer. And finally, yesterday, on his last day of work before his trip, Jim had left the office without even saying goodbye. It hurt like hell; she'd been on the phone and he just slipped out early. But for some reason, once she knew Jim was gone--and safely out of reach?--it had gotten easier. And tonight she'd finally gotten through it.
She was out. She was free. She was also scared as hell.
The taxi pulled up, and Pam loaded her suitcases, gave the driver the address.
It was strange and a little creepy, being all alone in the threadbare hotel room. She'd never spent a night alone in a hotel before. She kept feeling vaguely like the doomed blonde in a bad horror flick. She turned on all the lights and double-checked both locks on the door, then unpacked a few things . Finally, when she'd settled in but was nowhere near sleeping, she sighed and took her wallet out of her purse. She opened it up, and thumbed through it until she found the little snippet of photo she'd hidden behind the credit cards.
It was one of Michael's endless Christmas-party pictures. He'd been trying to take a picture of Ryan--it was weird how many pictures of Ryan he had--but in the background, she and Jim were standing together, laughing. She'd stolen the photo from the stack on Michael's desk, and she'd cut out just the part with the two of them. Then she hid it in the back of her wallet. She never really knew why she'd done that. It just--happened.
Looking at it now, it looked exactly like the kind of stock photo that would already be inserted into a small, heart-shaped picture frame at the store. Or put on a banner ad for an online dating service. Look at us, the picture said. We're young, happy, and...in love. It was something in the way Jim was gazing at her, and the way she had one hand on his shoulder--she'd had to think long and hard lately about how often she'd touched him like that, possessively--and the way their eyes were all...sparkly.
"Okay," Pam said aloud, "so maybe I'm emotionally retarded."
It hurt, to think she'd been playing this long, silent game with Jim for so long and had never realized she was doing it at all. It hurt, but she had to laugh to herself, softly, alone in her scary hotel room. It was funny and ridiculous and horrifying. How could a person become so out of touch with their own feelings? How had she gone through the last year convincing herself that reality was something completely different from what staring her in the face?
But looking back, it was the same way she'd always dealt with things that were too stressful, or too far outside her personal comfort zone: she mentally edited around them. She'd done a kickass job of it this time, she had to admit.
She liked being close to Jim. She'd told herself it was because they were such good friends. Or because he was like family. Or because he reminded her of Roy. After all, they were both...tall.
Some nights at home, she'd write down little notes about things she wanted to remember to talk to Jim about the next day. Sometimes by the end of the night she had a list of fifteen or twenty different things. Meanwhile, she would have gone four hours without saying a word to Roy. She'd told herself it was because she and Roy knew each other so well, and they didn't need to talk anymore.
When she and Roy had the really big, really ugly fights--when she'd lock herself in the bathroom and think how she'd be better off without him--she'd often fantasized wistfully about living with Jim. Just as roommates, of course. She'd told herself it was just because he was fun to be around and seemed like the kind of person who picked up after himself.
When Jim missed a day of work, or had to go out for a meeting, she felt sad and lonely and...wrong. She'd told herself it was because work was so boring and Jim was the only one who really understood.
When he dated other people, she'd told herself the angry, possessive, icky feeling in the pit of her stomach was just because the other person was monopolizing all of Jim's time.
When she went to Jim with her problems, she'd told herself it was because she didn't want to bother Roy. He worked so hard, after all.
And every time she woke up from yet another breathless, swoony dream about Jim, she'd told herself that dreams were just that--dreams. You couldn't read anything into them, or you'd drive yourself crazy.
God. The dreams she'd had about Jim...everything she'd pushed out of her conscious, waking mind just came back at her with a vengeance while she slept. She'd wake up before sunrise, sure she'd been moaning in her sleep, and guiltily check to make she hadn't woken up Roy...
It was a long time before she could put the little photo down on the nightstand and finally close her eyes.
She already had vacation time scheduled, and over the next few days she leased a tiny, one-bedroom apartment and bought an aging Cavalier. She did her best to clean up the mess from the cancelled wedding; the guy at the VA actually laughed and said it happened all the time, which didn't exactly make her feel any less stupid. She went back to work earlier than she'd planned, because using up vacation days sitting around an empty apartment seemed like a waste. She put up with the sympathetic, curious (and occasionally mocking) stares and whispers around the office. She avoided Roy and the warehouse as best she could.
She kept hoping to hear from Jim, that he'd call or email her from Australia. But she hadn't really given him a reason to, in the days before he left. It was okay, though. She could wait a little longer, even if every day apart from him was another day she grew more and more aware of how much she'd been lying to herself about a lot of things. And she missed him, now, with an actual physical ache in her chest.
When Jim did come back to town, she'd have some pretty major news to spring on him. She was already planning how to tell him. She'd have to wind him up just a little first, of course, because this was an unbelievably good setup for it; way too good to pass up. Even Jim would have to admit that. And after she told him the truth--who knew what might happen?
For the first time in years, Pam couldn't wait to find out what life might have in store for her.
***
The camera crew went on break for the summer, which was nice.
It meant they hadn't been around for the tense days after the kiss, and there was no endless footage of Jim and Pam not talking to each either. No one watched her watch Jim as he left on his last day before Australia without saying goodbye to her.
It meant they didn't get that money shot of Pam's ringless hand till way after the fact.
It meant that on the Monday morning Jim was scheduled to be back in the office after his trip, the camera guys weren't there to pay special attention to the fact that Pam had on a new outfit on and was wearing her hair in a different way.
It meant they didn't track Pam's line of sight as she looked from the clock to Jim's empty chair and back again in increasing confusion.
It meant that Michael kept his speech short when he came out around ten to announce that Jim had accepted a transfer to Stamford, effective immediately. He'd cleaned out his desk over the weekend. Everybody congratulate Ryan!
It meant that no camera caught the look on Pam's face when Ryan smiled grudgingly and sat down at Jim's desk. Or when Dwight pumped his fist in the air in triumph.
It meant no one noticed when she fled the reception desk, tears already falling.
***
Three months later, Pam and Roy had gotten the bills straightened out, the books and furniture and DVDs divided up, the credit cards and bank accounts unlinked. Roy, after a very bad few weeks, had been going out of his way to be cooperative, which made her feel guilty at first, but which she now mostly ignored.
She had her new place all set up now, and she really liked it. She'd painted the walls a warm gold, and did an aged faux-finished look on them. She put up her artwork everywhere. She had the fold-out sofa and television that had been in the guest bedroom at the old place, a desk and coffee table she'd picked up at a garage sale, her laptop and some cheap speakers for music. Her Mom had brought over boxes of secondhand kitchen stuff from her own kitchen, more than Pam really had room for, but she was so grateful when she saw it all she'd practically burst into tears.
The only really new thing in the apartment was the bed. Roy had offered to let her have their old bed, since he mostly slept on the couch now anyway, but something about starting a new life made her want to get a brand-new bed. It was a little silly, but she wanted something with no memories. The one she picked out was queen-sized, on a low, stylish frame, and it made her feel hip and trendy. It was stupid, but she loved the new bed. Add in the new sheets and comforter, and she was $800 further in debt than she should be, but it was worth it.
She loved living alone, having her own space.
She loved the little apartment, with no one to pick up after but herself. She loved the quiet. She could watch her shows if she wanted, but she could also go for days without ever turning the TV on at all. Roy had seemed to need the constant background racket of television in the house the way other people needed air. She could set the thermostat on the A/C any temperature she wanted. She mostly kept it much warmer than Roy had liked, but some nights she turned it way down and snuggled into her new bed with a book and a cup of tea and pretended it was winter already. He would have just made fun of her for that.
She'd never heard from Jim again. Only rarely did she lie awake late at night and think about it. It was happening less and less, anyway. Not more than once or twice a week. At most. And only occasionally did she feel the cold, dark fear--what if I'm alone forever?--that made her wonder if Roy would be better than nothing. But those thoughts were only fleeting. She had to put herself first, this time around. That was what all the books said, anyway.
She signed up for art courses. It was just continuing-education stuff down at the community college, nothing major, a reason to get out of the apartment a few nights a week. But she loved it, and she loved the way it made her feel about herself.
Life was good. Mostly, it was good.
***
Fall was coming, the cameras were back this week, and tonight was the kind of evening the local weather report would call 'crisp'. Pam was walking to her little car after work and thinking about how she'd need to start bringing her heavier sweater in soon.
She was unlocking the car door when a painfully familiar, joking voice called out, "Pam? Pam Beesly?"
She spun around, startled. And there was Jim.
Jim, walking up behind her, about fifteen feet away now. It was really him. She hadn't seen him since the day before his trip. Three, almost four months now. He looked good; his work clothes were a better fit, his haircut a little more expensive-looking. But he had the same amiable grin on his face as always, and she felt herself grin in return, even as her heart started racing with a huge adrenaline hit.
"Jim? Hey!"
But his smile faltered as she took the first step towards him.
"It is still Pam Beesly, right?" he asked, a weird tone in his voice. "Not Pam Anderson after all?" And his eyes flicked down to her ringless finger, something no one else had done for months.
She shrugged. "Yeah. I guess you heard." Her heart was racing even harder, but she tried to be casual. She had no idea what he was doing here.
"Yeah," he said. "I heard. But the funny thing, the really weird part, is that I didn't hear until today. And that's only because our film crew showed us the new footage from the Scranton office and tried to get me to do a confessional about it." He paused. "I mean...don't you think that's a little strange? That I didn't know you weren't married?"
"You...that's not possible. Michael or Kelly or someone must've--"
"Michael hasn't been able to figure out my new email address yet. I guess everyone else just assumed you'd already told me. Weird, huh?"
Pam swallowed. "Yeah. Weird." He didn't know? But--
"I mean," he continued, "Kelly kept texting me asking if I was okay, but I thought she meant at the new office."
"Oh. How is the new office, anyway?"
He gave her a hurt look. "Come on, Pam," he said. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why didn't you tell me you were transferring out?" she retorted. It was something she'd had too much time to think about. "I mean, you must have been lining that up way before you left for Australia. But you never told me about it, even though you supposedly had these great big feelings for me. Weird, huh?"
Jim started to speak, saw the look on her face, and stopped. Finally he said, "I thought it would be easier for both of us that way."
"Including not saying goodbye?"
"Yes. Including not saying goodbye. How was I supposed to say goodbye to you after everything that happened? I mean, you told me you were marrying another guy. I thought that was goodbye. What was I supposed to do?"
"I don't know," she snapped, "but I think you could have come up with something."
He looked away, sighed. "Don't suppose..." he eyed the camera crew, hovering over near the dumpster.
"Don't suppose what?"
"I don't suppose you wanna go have the rest of this fight somewhere else?" He shrugged. "You could show me your new place."
He grinned at her, his eyes all big and sincere, and it just wasn't possible to say no.
"Come on," she sighed. "You can follow me home."
***
"So," he said, looking at some of her sketches, "art classes, huh? I've always loved your stuff. I think it's really great, that you're doing that."
"Thanks."
Pam sat at the little bar in the kitchen that overlooked the living room, winding her fingers together nervously, watching Jim look around. He turned towards her. He had on a dark blazer over a white dress shirt, tie off now, shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He looked different, she realized now, or maybe it was something about seeing him again for the first time in months: the face she'd first thought of as 'kinda cute' almost four years ago had thinned a little and acquired all sorts of interesting, attractive angles. He'd always had a killer smile, but she'd never realized just how well it played off the intensity of his eyes and the line of his brow.
He walked over and stood on the other side of the bar. It was just like the old days--her in her chair and Jim leaning on the counter, bending way down to talk to her. Just like back in the office, only now it was a little too close--too close for the way things had become, and the time and the distance that had come between them. They both seemed to realize it at the same time; Jim straightened up, giving her more space.
He'd always been so considerate like that. He noticed things.
"Okay, so," he said. "This whole thing. Awkward or what?"
Pam shrugged. Her emotions were a tangle of mixed signals and she had no idea what to say to him.
"You're really mad at me," he concluded. "Gotta admit, I wasn't expecting that. But then again, I thought you were married, too. So I guess all bets are off?"
She shrugged again. It was hard to think straight, now that he was here and he was so close, and everything was different but still somehow the same. Hard to remember that she was mad, and that she couldn't just...run into his arms like none of it mattered.
"I'm happy to see you," she said finally. "I really am. But I can't believe you never told me you about the transfer. Even before--before anything happened. I thought we were friends. I thought we were friends no matter what." She looked down at her hands, and absently rubbed the spot where the engagement ring had been for so many years. "And I really could have used a friend, the last couple of months."
He frowned, like he'd never really thought about it like that. But he said,"You told me you were marrying Roy. I'm sorry, but you can't put this all on me. Was I really supposed to hang around and watch? If I'd known the truth--"
"I was going to tell you when you came back. But you..." her voice caught in her throat, and she choked back the urge to cry. "You never came back at all. And I didn't even know until you didn't show up for work that day. How do you think that made me feel? And then I never heard from you again? Not a phone call, not an email, not a word?"
"How do you think it made me feel to find out I was the last person to know you didn't marry him? Which brings us to the next question--why did you even change your mind? You seemed pretty sure, you know, the last time I asked you."
She could tell by the look on his face that what he really meant was: Did you leave him because of me? For me?
But she was angry, and didn't want to give him the satisfaction. She crossed her arms and said, carefully, "If you'd actually been around then, I could have told you why. But it's been a while, you know? It's all kind of a blur now."
It was cruel, and she felt bad as soon as she said it, but she didn't take it back. It took a second to sink in, but the look in his eyes told her she'd scored a hit.
Jim just nodded. "Okay," he said, "I get it." He paused. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the transfer. And I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye. But thanks for being honest with me now." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. He looked down at them for a second, fiddling with them, like he was collecting his thoughts. Then he looked back up at her and smiled sadly. "I'm think I'm gonna go now. I'm really sorry."
And before Pam could say anything, he was across the little living room and at her front door.
"Wait, where are you going?" She stood up, had to walk fast to catch up with him as he was opening the door.
He shrugged. "Home. Back to Stamford."
"You're leaving? Just like that?"
He half-grinned at her, still sadly."You're right. I was wrong. Not telling you I was transferring--that was stupid. I was mad because I thought you were marrying Roy. So I took it out on you the only way I could. And then I talked myself into believing it was the right thing to do. I didn't realize 'til now that I was just being an asshole."
"Jim--"
"But the thing is, Pam...the thing is, I'm really happy everything's going good for you now. You're getting some time for yourself, and you're doing your own thing. And I don't want to screw that up. I really don't. I've already screwed this one up enough. So let me go out with some dignity here, okay?"
One hand on the knob of the open door, he turned to leave.
Pam caught hold of his forearm to stop him. Because she had to stop him. This was going all wrong. "Wait--"
He stopped short and turned to face her again. His expression was unreadable.
"That's it?" she asked incredulously. "That's all? I turned my life upside down for you and you're just--giving up?"
He stared at her, frowning hard; he looked down at her hand on his arm. She hadn't let go. She was holding on harder than she really meant to. But she couldn't make herself let go.
He looked back up at her. And they stood like that for a split second, frozen, before Jim moved.
His keys clattered to the tile floor. He had her by both shoulders, and in two steps backwards the wall was behind her. It wasn't a gentle, sweet thing, like the first time had been. It was so fast she didn't have time to think about whether she should push him away or make him stop. And once her looked into her eyes, and touched his lips to hers, the long game was over. This time there wasn't any turning back or hesitation, because it was all there. Everything. All the loneliness and longing either of them had ever felt, all the way back to the beginning of their relationship. It was all there, in that kiss, in a way it just hadn't been the first time.
One of his hands was at the side of her neck, the other low on her hip, pulling her closer. Her own palms found the roughness of his blazer, the softer fabric of his shirt, the warm skin of his throat, the softness of his hair...the faint smell of some aftershave she'd absently mentioned liking, a long time ago...the kiss intensifying; tongue finding tongue; everything moving so fast even though it felt like time was slowing down...feeling that she couldn't get close enough to him...pulling at him, holding him tighter, even as he did the same.
And when the kiss finally broke, it was only because she couldn't get enough air. She felt like her heart might explode.
Jim wasn't much better off. He rested one forearm on the wall above her head, breathing hard.
"Hi," he said softly, grinning down at her.
"Hi," she breathed.
He stroked her cheek. "I really missed you."
"I know. Me too." One hand on the back of his neck, she pulled him down to her, just wanting to feel his lips against her own again.
Another moment, and this time it was Jim pulling away. "Pam..."
"Hmm?"
He had to catch another breath before he could speak. Then:
"You think maybe we should close the door?"
***
Part Two: Time
They sat close together on the sofa, holding hands, where they'd ended up after Jim picked up his keys and closed the door. It was all happening so fast, and her head was spinning; Jim was suddenly back in her life, sitting here in her apartment and holding her hand and looking at her like she was the best present he'd ever gotten.
A strange warmth was spreading through her, like sitting by a fire, only it was from the inside out. Like her body was waking up, coming alive, just by being near him. Just touching his hand. It had never happened before, even when they used to wrestle around at work. Never like this. Maybe never, to her, at all. It wasn't just that he was so close, either--it was that he was here, and neither of them had any entanglements or obligations. Nowhere to be, no one to disapprove, just a whole big, scary, thrilling world of possibilities.
It was just after seven, and Pam realized they'd both glanced at the clock on the wall at the same time.
Pam said, "You still do it too, huh?"
"What's that?"
"Clockwatching. You know, you sit at work all day, and you can't wait for the day to end, so you look at the clock every few minutes? But then when you get home you keep doing it there too?"
"Yeah. I guess I never thought about it, but you're right. And then if you don't have your watch on, and you're in a room with no clock--"
"It drives you crazy," Pam finished.
"Yeah." He was holding one of her hands in both of his own, playing with her fingers. "Hey, I want to ask you something," he said.
She smiled at him. "Go ahead."
"You--you said, earlier? That you turned your life upside down. For me. But, you know, when I found out you weren't married, and you hadn't told me--well, I spent most of the drive here wondering if maybe you really did just want to be alone. And I meant what I said before, about not wanting to screw this up for you. So was it really for me?"
She grinned wider. "Let's say it was...mostly for you."
He nodded, grinned back. "I can live with that."
"You're still a jerk for not saying goodbye."
"I know. But just think how long you'll be able to hold it over my head."
"Oh, I'm going to milk it for all it's worth."
"Of course." He leaned in and kissed her softly. More like their first kiss, this time. Then he looked at her. "You're going to let me try and make up for it, right?"
"We can negotiate."
He got both arms around her and pulled her closer, and any thoughts she'd had of having a calm, quiet conversation about everything that'd happened went out the window.
It was 7:08pm.
***
By 7:33, Jim was kissing her neck. She hissed in air through her teeth, and clutched his arm harder. "Maybe we really should--mmm--talk about things some more," she said, breathlessly.
Jim pulled away, looked at her. He smiled, and his eyes were large and luminous. One arm around her, he rested the other hand on her leg. "Okay," he said, "talk."
She took a deep breath. He looked so good. "Well...just for example, you live so far away now. How are we going to work that out?"
But he just kept smiling at her, with his perfect teeth and his sincere eyes, and before he could answer, she found herself leaning in to kiss him again.
A minute later, she murmured, "I guess we can...talk later," and Jim went back to kissing her neck.
*
At 7:58, Pam got up to change out of her work clothes into jeans and a t-shirt and unclip her hair. When she came back through the kitchen she called out, "Want something to drink?"
But suddenly Jim appeared in the kitchen next to her. He'd taken his jacket off. He looked her up and down appreciatively. "Wow..." he said.
She laughed. "Come on, it's just a pair of old jeans..." But she grinned up at him at him in way that she knew wasn't exactly subtle.
Which was how they ended up making out up against the refrigerator.
*
At 8:11, Pam looked down at all the refrigerator magnets that had gotten knocked onto the floor. One caught her eye. "Hey," she said to Jim, "Are you hungry? I just realized I'm starving."
*
At 8:58, they had to scramble up off the couch to answer the door when the pizza delivery guy got there. He gave them a weird look.
"Do you think he knew?" Pam asked, worriedly, after he left.
"I don't know," Jim whispered. "Maybe we should have him killed, just in case?"
She grinned, but whispered back, "You shouldn't underestimate the pizza-guy information superhighway, Jim."
"Oh?"
"Dwight eats a lot of pizza. Think about it."
"My God, you're right." He put the cardboard box down and pulled Pam towards him.
*
By 9:30pm, the untouched pizza had gone cold on the kitchen counter.
*
At 10:05, Pam was sitting half in Jim's lap, her legs slung over him on the sofa. He held her, wrapped in both arms, against his chest. They'd been sitting like that a little while, soaking up the hazy warmth of the close contact. Pam looked up at Jim and smiled. She unwound her fingers from his and touched his face.
"Hey," she said suddenly, frowning, "isn't Stamford like, three hours away?"
"About, yeah."
"And you said you didn't see the Scranton footage until today?"
"Yep."
"How did you get to the office by the time I was leaving?"
"I left work early. Okay, really early. Like, 1:30ish."
"You just left? Out of nowhere?"
"Yeah. I told them I wasn't feeling well. No one really cares there as long as you pull in your sales quotas."
"Oh. What time did the film crew show you the footage?"
"Hmm...don't remember?" he mumbled.
She eyed him suspiciously.
"Maybe around, say...1:29ish?"
She laughed and kissed him.
*
At 10:44, Jim levered himself up on one elbow, as they half-lay on the sofa together. Which was getting pretty uncomfortable and awkward, and one of Pam's legs was falling asleep, but she didn't want to say anything because she was so happy.
Jim looked at her and said, "Did I mention that that was the worst four months of my life and I never want to go through anything like it again?"
Pam said, "About five times now." And reached up to run her fingers through his hair.
"Okay. Just checking."
*
At 11:04, she showed him the bedroom. Just so he could see her new bed. Because it was so cool.
He agreed that it was, indeed, cool.
Suddenly, Pam started giggling.
"What? What are you laughing at?" Jim asked, smiling.
But it just made her laugh harder.
"Oh my God," she said. "I just remembered--I can't believe you fell for that 'it's all just a blur now' line. Sucker."
He looked shocked for just a second, then reached for her, trying to tickle her.
"Oh yeah? Oh yeah? I can't believe you fell for the whole 'let me leave with my dignity' routine. I thought you were going to tackle me to the ground for a minute there..."
They kept tickling each other, and Pam squealed, then realized it was getting late and she had neighbors.
*
At 11:06, the tickle fight somehow ended up on the bed.
After that, it was easier to just stay there.
*
At 11:24, they got back up and microwaved the pizza. Afterwards, by unspoken mutual agreement, they went back to the bedroom. But they just sat next to each other on Pam's bed and talked for a while. She told him the whole Oscar story. He told her about his new psychotic co-workers.
She told him about the five-hour breakup fight with Roy, and Jim looked concerned and slipped his hand over hers. He told her about discovering Australian beer and spending most of his trip in the hotel bar, and Pam leaned her head against his shoulder, and said, "I'm sorry."
*
At 12:02, Pam yawned and stretched, and Jim gave her a smoldering look. And that was the end of the talking for the time being.
*
At 12:15, Pam whispered, "Hey...would you mind turning off the light? It's the switch by the door."
Jim reached up and flicked the switch off without getting up.
But the little beaded lamp on the dresser was still on, casting a low golden glow over everything, and she thought about asking him to turn that one off, too. But she liked being able to see him when they talked, and when they kissed, and to her amazement it was overriding her self-consciousness. So she didn't say anything.
And he didn't turn it off.
*
At 12:37, they were under the blankets together, Jim's shirt was somewhere on the floor, and he was doing things to her neck again that were making her melt. Their legs were entwined as they lay facing each other, and Pam could feel how hard Jim was, the strange solidness pressing against the face of her upper thigh. She swallowed nervously. And reached a hand downwards, just as Jim was sliding his hand up underneath her t-shirt.
*
At 1:05, Pam murmured, breathless, "Um, it's getting really late."
Jim stopped what he was doing, caught his breath, "I can go, if you want."
"I don't," she said. "But I understand if you need to go...it's a long drive, and you have to work in the morning..."
But she couldn't stop herself from continuing to move against him. They were both shirtless now, and up against each other so tightly that she could feel his ribcage expand every time he took a breath. Their legs were still tangled together, and one of Jim's thighs was pinioned way, way up between both of hers. Which was making her a little crazy, making it hard to really think clearly. It also meant that if she shifted her hips, just a little, like this...
He inhaled sharply. "Yeah, I'll get back to you about that whole leaving thing. Later."
"Okay," she whispered, as Jim reached down between them and somehow unbuttoned her jeans with one hand.
*
At 1:28, Pam came, shuddering, against Jim's fingers. She tried to be quiet, because she just wasn't the screamer type, but she cried out anyway, her face slick against his sweaty neck. She held onto him, trembling, for a long time.
"Jesus," he whispered, out of breath.
"Sorry," she said shakily, when she could talk again. "It's been--a long time. A really long time. I mean, you know. Since..."
"With another person in the room?"
"Yeah," she said.
"It's okay. Don't apologize. I was just...I wasn't expecting...it was just--really nice."
She laughed. "Yeah."
As he shifted position to hold her with both arms, she felt his hardness again and thought that it was really kind of cruel to just leave him like that. But things were going so fast...were they going too fast?
Even when it felt like they'd already known each other forever?
What if this was the best possible time? What if they'd never have a night exactly like this one, ever again?
*
At 1:55, Jim said, "I just, uh, need to get something out of my wallet."
"No...look in the nightstand. Bottom drawer, um, under the magazines."
He made a joke about how the box had never been opened--"Hmm, somebody's not getting much action lately..."--and she bit him.
*
At 1:57, Jim murmured, "Are you sure this is okay?", and when Pam bit her lower lip and nodded, he settled in between her thighs. But he hesitated again. "You realize," he said, in a low, hoarse voice, "that we've been, um, building up to this for hours. There's no way it's going to last very long."
"It doesn't matter," she whispered. "God, Jim, it doesn't matter..."
Maybe it was the desperate tone of her voice that convinced him.
The first thrust sent a thrill all the way up her her spine.
When he was inside her, all in, he sighed through clenched teeth, and lowered himself down closer to her, resting his forehead against her neck. Her fingers gripped his shoulder blades, holding on. He started in with a very slow rhythm, but picked up the pace before long; waves of pleasure went up and down her body. She had to work at not making too much noise. It wasn't a size thing, she didn't know what it was, but it had never felt quite like this before, where every stroke felt so good it made her want to cry, where it seemed like her eyes would never focus again and her hips were moving by reflex alone.
He tried to slow down, and she knew why he was trying to slow down, trying to hold back. And in a way she did want it to go on all night, or maybe forever; she remembered some joke about how the only sure thing in life was that good sex didn't last long enough. But she couldn't help herself, or stop herself; she just grabbed onto him with both arms and angled up, against him, wrapping her legs around the backs of his, anything she could do to make it go harder, faster, deeper. Until--
He was better at being quiet about it, but his whole body gave it away, every muscle tensing, tensing more...and then--a low, animal sound through gritted teeth. A few violent shudders.
"Sorry," he said, a few moments later, his voice muffled in the curve of her neck.
She squeezed him tight. "Shut up."
"But you didn't--"
"Um, I got mine earlier."
"I know, but--"
"Oh my God, shut up."
She laughed, and he finally did. And as he was walking away down the hall a few moments later, she called, "Just let me know when you're ready for round two, okay?"
She was just teasing, though.
*
At 2:14, Jim propped his head up on his hand, looked down at her. "What if it was all just fate?"
"Which part?"
"The misunderstandings. The not talking to each other for so long. What if it was better this way?"
"Better this way? How do you figure?"
"Think about it: it would have been much messier with Roy if we'd hooked up right away. And this way, we both got some time to cool off. You got your space. We didn't have to figure everything out all at once."
"We were also both miserable for four months."
"Yeah," he said. "But that meant we got to have tonight."
She thought about it. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it was fate."
*
At 2:33, Pam said, "What are you going to do about work tomorrow?" Her voice was a little hoarse from the lateness and the talking. And other things. She was sprawled across Jim with her head on his chest, which made his voice sound deep and echoey when he spoke.
Jim replied, "Call in sick. You?"
"Yeah. Calling in sick sounds good."
"Pam?"
"Mmm?"
"I really want to say it. It's really hard not to say it. But I don't want to freak you out."
She smiled up at him innocently. "Don't want to say what?"
He gave her a look. "Very funny."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Fine, I'm not saying it now, if you're gonna be that way about it..."
"Hey, that's not fair."
*
At 2:36, Jim said, "I love you. I have for a long time."
Pam touched the side of his face and smiled at him. "I can't, not yet. It's there, I can feel the words in my chest, I'm just...scared, okay? This was all so sudden..." She was afraid that he would be hurt or offended, but it was the best she could do.
Instead he smiled, and put his hand over hers, brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed them. I know," he said. "But I already know anyway. It doesn't matter if you can't say it yet."
She felt like she was going to cry, but in a good way, and then Jim said:
"Besides, I figured out a while back that if a guy wants to be with you, he has to be really freakin' patient..."
She sniffed back tears that hadn't really started. "Oh, you just think you're so hysterical, don't you?"
He grinned in that self-satisfied Jim way. "Pretty much, yeah."
*
At 2:45 they decided to have more pizza.
*
At 3:38, all the lights were out, and Pam was drifting in the dark, mostly asleep. The hazy, warm glow she'd felt all night had just gotten stronger.
Jim was wrapped around her from behind, one hand at her stomach, palming circles against the fabric of her nightshirt. His face was nuzzled against the back of her neck, and the sound of his breathing was lulling her further down.
Every once in a while, he'd squeeze her just a little more tightly, and brush his lips against her neck, not quite a kiss; like he was just making sure she was still there. She sighed happily, snuggled back closer against him.
The third or fourth time he did it, she made a little noise: Mmmm. That was all.
But the next time he did it, his lips brushed a certain spot just below her hairline, and she shivered.
Suddenly, she was much more awake.
Jim seemed to realize it too; she could feel him tense behind her. She shifted a little...
Moving with painstaking slowness, he brushed her hair away from her neck, tugged down the collar of her nightshirt with one finger...and then, still slowly, just using his lips at first, brushing the nape of her neck; back and forth 'til she hissed in a breath and arched back against him. And then, the gentlest touch of his teeth.
And that was how round two started.
It was much slower this time, not so desperate. Maybe it was because it was so late, and they were both so sleep-deprived, but it seemed to go on forever; a long, dreamy time, slowly making love together in the dark.
*
At 4:43, they got out of the shower. All of Pam's muscles were limp, and her legs could barely carry her without buckling. But somehow they got each other dried off and made it back to the bed, where they collapsed together in a heap.
"I don't think I'm ever going to be able to move again," Jim muttered, face-down on a pillow.
"Mmmph," Pam agreed.
*
At 4:48, they'd gotten under the blankets. Sleep was close, sleep was pulling her down and it was impossible to resist this time. Jim had one arm slung loosely over her.
But there was still something she had to say.
"Wasn't just mostly..." she heard herself murmur.
"Hmm?" Jim said, sounding barely conscious himself.
"What I did. It was for you. Not mostly. All..."
"What?"
But Pam was gone, just too tired to explain, couldn't open her eyes or really even make another sound...
It was all right, though, she thought to herself before she went out.
Jim was usually pretty good at knowing what she meant.
***
END
Fandom: The Office
Rating: Somewhere between hard "R" and NC-17
Summary: A bridge between Casino Night and GWH. Author is spoiler-free.
A/N: The fluff just keeps coming.
***
Part One: Space
"This is because of Halpert, isn't it? You two got something going on?"
"No, Roy, I already told you..."
"Then what was the deal with all those damn rumors? And I still trusted you anyway. With him."
"God, get over it, okay? It's not about Jim."
They'd been going at it for hours. Pam had never tried to break up with anyone before. It looked so much easier on television shows. You just said, I'm sorry, I don't think I love you anymore, and the person would maybe spill a single tear before they started packing up their stuff.
It wasn't working out that way at all, because Roy simply refused to accept it.
"You can't do this to me, Pam. We've already blown so much money on this stupid wedding..."
"I can't stay with you just because of the money." Like the Jim topic, they'd already been over and over and over this.
"Just tell me what you want me to do different," he said, switching tactics again. "I'll change. I love you."
"I don't want you to change. I just need some time to myself. Alone. To figure out what I really want out of life."
She was starting to feel like a broken record. Or an automated voicemail system.
Press 1 for "I Just Need Some Space". Press 2 for "It's Not About Jim".
Jim was a big part of it, and that was a problem. The guilt gnawed at her; the guilt was the only reason she was still here arguing with Roy, hours and hours after she'd tried to break it to him gently. And the guilt made her want to believe her own words: I just want time alone. To find out who I am. I've never really had a chance to be single. A lie wrapped in a convenient package of half-truths, that was all it was, but it still seemed somehow less cruel.
Besides, what would be the alternative? Yes, Roy. I'm in love with Jim. We've been carrying on for months. You caught us. That wouldn't be the truth either. As far as her feelings for Jim went, she'd managed to get so deep into a pit of denial she was still trying to dig her way out.
But she did want a chance to find out for sure. She wanted--God, she just wanted a chance to kiss him one more time, without feeling guilty at all...
As if reading her mind, Roy said, "I know this is about Jim. It's the only thing that makes sense. I can't fucking believe you're leaving me for another guy two days before our wedding."
Pam sighed and dropped her head into her hands. "Jim isn't even in the country right now."
"Yeah? What the hell difference does that make? For all I know you're gonna leave here and hop on a plane to be with him."
He had no idea how tempting that thought had already been.
But she said: "I'm not getting on a plane, Roy."
"Just tell me it's not Jim."
"It's not Jim."
"I don't believe you."
"Oh my God."
He was on his fourth beer of the argument, and as he stood there leaning against the wall, Pam looked at him--really looked at him--for the first time in what seemed like forever. She'd always carried around a certain image of him in her head, and she hadn't noticed how much he'd changed over the last couple of years. He'd been so cute when they met, all tall and muscled and athletic, with a great smile and a confident way of carrying himself. Back then, she couldn't believe a guy like Roy was even paying attention to her. Not many people did, after all. She'd been smitten, utterly. He was funny, and he made her feel safe.
Now? The last forty pounds or so weren't doing him any favors. She'd seen so many guys like that, friends of Roy's; all former high school footballers who'd stopped going outdoors but kept eating like they were seventeen. And he was sweaty and red-faced from the beer and from the effort of stomping around and yelling at her. What she'd once taken for a sense of humor had turned out to be plain thoughtlessness. He'd become a caricature, the guy on the couch with the DirecTV remote in one hand and the phone with Pizza Hut on speeddial in the other; the guy who only helped around the house if she nagged him four or five or times, and then did everything half-assed; the guy who wouldn't close the bathroom door when he was using it.
My life has become a bad sitcom, thought Pam. And I didn't even notice.
"I just want out," she said plaintively. But she hadn't really meant to say it out loud.
Roy seemed taken aback. Like he was finally getting it.
"Okay," he said, after a long moment. "Okay. If that's what you want. If living with me is so damned hard on you, just pack up and go already." He walked into the kitchen, and she heard the clink of more beer bottles. Then the rattle of car keys.
"Just have your shit out by the weekend," he yelled over his shoulder.
The door slammed shut behind him. Pam exhaled a long, shaky breath, a mixture of exhaustion and relief.
What Roy didn't know was that she already had a closet full of packed suitcases in the guest bedroom. She had her laptop in a shoulder bag, and a list of everything that needed to be cancelled for the wedding. She had a reservation at the cheap hotel down near the office.
She looked around the house. It was dull and depressing. How had that happened? She'd been so happy when they got this place. They'd had big plans for painting and fixing it up, for budget decorating. She was going to learn how to sew. They would go to yard sales every weekend and find awesome deals on antiques and quirky knick-knacks. She was going to get cheap canvases and paint her own pictures for the walls.
None of it had ever happened, and she was as much to blame as Roy. The old gross, yellow carpet was still there, clashing with the crappy, overpriced Rooms-To-Go furniture and the big plasma television--both of which they'd be paying off for the next eight years or so. The walls were still a cold beige and mostly bare. The only thing she really cared about were the two cheap bookshelves filled with all her books. She'd have to come back for those later.
When she had her own place.
For now, she didn't even have a car. She hauled out the yellow pages and called herself a taxi. She'd made a little spreadsheet today at work, and she figured she could swing a cheap apartment and basics on her salary. If they split their pathetic savings down the middle, she could buy a used car.
She'd have to figure out everything else one step at a time.
As she sat on the front step and waited for the taxi, she allowed herself a few guilt-free moments to think about Jim.
He'd said he loved her. He'd kissed her. She'd let him. And it had blown open the doors on so many things she'd spent years carefully not thinking about.
They'd avoided each other at the office after that night. Jim was leaving for his trip soon, and for those last few days at work he wouldn't even look her way. But she was still dazed from Jim's confession, confused about her own misgivings about the wedding, and beyond confused trying to sort through all these new, unearthed feelings. It took till last weekend--another weekend of watching Roy sit on the couch and only move if absolutely necessary--for her to realize she'd made up her mind: she couldn't go through with the wedding. And more--she wanted out of the relationship.
But she hadn't told Jim. She didn't want to tell him until she'd actually done it. And every day she tried to work up the nerve to break things off with Roy, and every day she couldn't do it, while the wedding loomed closer and closer. And finally, yesterday, on his last day of work before his trip, Jim had left the office without even saying goodbye. It hurt like hell; she'd been on the phone and he just slipped out early. But for some reason, once she knew Jim was gone--and safely out of reach?--it had gotten easier. And tonight she'd finally gotten through it.
She was out. She was free. She was also scared as hell.
The taxi pulled up, and Pam loaded her suitcases, gave the driver the address.
It was strange and a little creepy, being all alone in the threadbare hotel room. She'd never spent a night alone in a hotel before. She kept feeling vaguely like the doomed blonde in a bad horror flick. She turned on all the lights and double-checked both locks on the door, then unpacked a few things . Finally, when she'd settled in but was nowhere near sleeping, she sighed and took her wallet out of her purse. She opened it up, and thumbed through it until she found the little snippet of photo she'd hidden behind the credit cards.
It was one of Michael's endless Christmas-party pictures. He'd been trying to take a picture of Ryan--it was weird how many pictures of Ryan he had--but in the background, she and Jim were standing together, laughing. She'd stolen the photo from the stack on Michael's desk, and she'd cut out just the part with the two of them. Then she hid it in the back of her wallet. She never really knew why she'd done that. It just--happened.
Looking at it now, it looked exactly like the kind of stock photo that would already be inserted into a small, heart-shaped picture frame at the store. Or put on a banner ad for an online dating service. Look at us, the picture said. We're young, happy, and...in love. It was something in the way Jim was gazing at her, and the way she had one hand on his shoulder--she'd had to think long and hard lately about how often she'd touched him like that, possessively--and the way their eyes were all...sparkly.
"Okay," Pam said aloud, "so maybe I'm emotionally retarded."
It hurt, to think she'd been playing this long, silent game with Jim for so long and had never realized she was doing it at all. It hurt, but she had to laugh to herself, softly, alone in her scary hotel room. It was funny and ridiculous and horrifying. How could a person become so out of touch with their own feelings? How had she gone through the last year convincing herself that reality was something completely different from what staring her in the face?
But looking back, it was the same way she'd always dealt with things that were too stressful, or too far outside her personal comfort zone: she mentally edited around them. She'd done a kickass job of it this time, she had to admit.
She liked being close to Jim. She'd told herself it was because they were such good friends. Or because he was like family. Or because he reminded her of Roy. After all, they were both...tall.
Some nights at home, she'd write down little notes about things she wanted to remember to talk to Jim about the next day. Sometimes by the end of the night she had a list of fifteen or twenty different things. Meanwhile, she would have gone four hours without saying a word to Roy. She'd told herself it was because she and Roy knew each other so well, and they didn't need to talk anymore.
When she and Roy had the really big, really ugly fights--when she'd lock herself in the bathroom and think how she'd be better off without him--she'd often fantasized wistfully about living with Jim. Just as roommates, of course. She'd told herself it was just because he was fun to be around and seemed like the kind of person who picked up after himself.
When Jim missed a day of work, or had to go out for a meeting, she felt sad and lonely and...wrong. She'd told herself it was because work was so boring and Jim was the only one who really understood.
When he dated other people, she'd told herself the angry, possessive, icky feeling in the pit of her stomach was just because the other person was monopolizing all of Jim's time.
When she went to Jim with her problems, she'd told herself it was because she didn't want to bother Roy. He worked so hard, after all.
And every time she woke up from yet another breathless, swoony dream about Jim, she'd told herself that dreams were just that--dreams. You couldn't read anything into them, or you'd drive yourself crazy.
God. The dreams she'd had about Jim...everything she'd pushed out of her conscious, waking mind just came back at her with a vengeance while she slept. She'd wake up before sunrise, sure she'd been moaning in her sleep, and guiltily check to make she hadn't woken up Roy...
It was a long time before she could put the little photo down on the nightstand and finally close her eyes.
She already had vacation time scheduled, and over the next few days she leased a tiny, one-bedroom apartment and bought an aging Cavalier. She did her best to clean up the mess from the cancelled wedding; the guy at the VA actually laughed and said it happened all the time, which didn't exactly make her feel any less stupid. She went back to work earlier than she'd planned, because using up vacation days sitting around an empty apartment seemed like a waste. She put up with the sympathetic, curious (and occasionally mocking) stares and whispers around the office. She avoided Roy and the warehouse as best she could.
She kept hoping to hear from Jim, that he'd call or email her from Australia. But she hadn't really given him a reason to, in the days before he left. It was okay, though. She could wait a little longer, even if every day apart from him was another day she grew more and more aware of how much she'd been lying to herself about a lot of things. And she missed him, now, with an actual physical ache in her chest.
When Jim did come back to town, she'd have some pretty major news to spring on him. She was already planning how to tell him. She'd have to wind him up just a little first, of course, because this was an unbelievably good setup for it; way too good to pass up. Even Jim would have to admit that. And after she told him the truth--who knew what might happen?
For the first time in years, Pam couldn't wait to find out what life might have in store for her.
***
The camera crew went on break for the summer, which was nice.
It meant they hadn't been around for the tense days after the kiss, and there was no endless footage of Jim and Pam not talking to each either. No one watched her watch Jim as he left on his last day before Australia without saying goodbye to her.
It meant they didn't get that money shot of Pam's ringless hand till way after the fact.
It meant that on the Monday morning Jim was scheduled to be back in the office after his trip, the camera guys weren't there to pay special attention to the fact that Pam had on a new outfit on and was wearing her hair in a different way.
It meant they didn't track Pam's line of sight as she looked from the clock to Jim's empty chair and back again in increasing confusion.
It meant that Michael kept his speech short when he came out around ten to announce that Jim had accepted a transfer to Stamford, effective immediately. He'd cleaned out his desk over the weekend. Everybody congratulate Ryan!
It meant that no camera caught the look on Pam's face when Ryan smiled grudgingly and sat down at Jim's desk. Or when Dwight pumped his fist in the air in triumph.
It meant no one noticed when she fled the reception desk, tears already falling.
***
Three months later, Pam and Roy had gotten the bills straightened out, the books and furniture and DVDs divided up, the credit cards and bank accounts unlinked. Roy, after a very bad few weeks, had been going out of his way to be cooperative, which made her feel guilty at first, but which she now mostly ignored.
She had her new place all set up now, and she really liked it. She'd painted the walls a warm gold, and did an aged faux-finished look on them. She put up her artwork everywhere. She had the fold-out sofa and television that had been in the guest bedroom at the old place, a desk and coffee table she'd picked up at a garage sale, her laptop and some cheap speakers for music. Her Mom had brought over boxes of secondhand kitchen stuff from her own kitchen, more than Pam really had room for, but she was so grateful when she saw it all she'd practically burst into tears.
The only really new thing in the apartment was the bed. Roy had offered to let her have their old bed, since he mostly slept on the couch now anyway, but something about starting a new life made her want to get a brand-new bed. It was a little silly, but she wanted something with no memories. The one she picked out was queen-sized, on a low, stylish frame, and it made her feel hip and trendy. It was stupid, but she loved the new bed. Add in the new sheets and comforter, and she was $800 further in debt than she should be, but it was worth it.
She loved living alone, having her own space.
She loved the little apartment, with no one to pick up after but herself. She loved the quiet. She could watch her shows if she wanted, but she could also go for days without ever turning the TV on at all. Roy had seemed to need the constant background racket of television in the house the way other people needed air. She could set the thermostat on the A/C any temperature she wanted. She mostly kept it much warmer than Roy had liked, but some nights she turned it way down and snuggled into her new bed with a book and a cup of tea and pretended it was winter already. He would have just made fun of her for that.
She'd never heard from Jim again. Only rarely did she lie awake late at night and think about it. It was happening less and less, anyway. Not more than once or twice a week. At most. And only occasionally did she feel the cold, dark fear--what if I'm alone forever?--that made her wonder if Roy would be better than nothing. But those thoughts were only fleeting. She had to put herself first, this time around. That was what all the books said, anyway.
She signed up for art courses. It was just continuing-education stuff down at the community college, nothing major, a reason to get out of the apartment a few nights a week. But she loved it, and she loved the way it made her feel about herself.
Life was good. Mostly, it was good.
***
Fall was coming, the cameras were back this week, and tonight was the kind of evening the local weather report would call 'crisp'. Pam was walking to her little car after work and thinking about how she'd need to start bringing her heavier sweater in soon.
She was unlocking the car door when a painfully familiar, joking voice called out, "Pam? Pam Beesly?"
She spun around, startled. And there was Jim.
Jim, walking up behind her, about fifteen feet away now. It was really him. She hadn't seen him since the day before his trip. Three, almost four months now. He looked good; his work clothes were a better fit, his haircut a little more expensive-looking. But he had the same amiable grin on his face as always, and she felt herself grin in return, even as her heart started racing with a huge adrenaline hit.
"Jim? Hey!"
But his smile faltered as she took the first step towards him.
"It is still Pam Beesly, right?" he asked, a weird tone in his voice. "Not Pam Anderson after all?" And his eyes flicked down to her ringless finger, something no one else had done for months.
She shrugged. "Yeah. I guess you heard." Her heart was racing even harder, but she tried to be casual. She had no idea what he was doing here.
"Yeah," he said. "I heard. But the funny thing, the really weird part, is that I didn't hear until today. And that's only because our film crew showed us the new footage from the Scranton office and tried to get me to do a confessional about it." He paused. "I mean...don't you think that's a little strange? That I didn't know you weren't married?"
"You...that's not possible. Michael or Kelly or someone must've--"
"Michael hasn't been able to figure out my new email address yet. I guess everyone else just assumed you'd already told me. Weird, huh?"
Pam swallowed. "Yeah. Weird." He didn't know? But--
"I mean," he continued, "Kelly kept texting me asking if I was okay, but I thought she meant at the new office."
"Oh. How is the new office, anyway?"
He gave her a hurt look. "Come on, Pam," he said. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why didn't you tell me you were transferring out?" she retorted. It was something she'd had too much time to think about. "I mean, you must have been lining that up way before you left for Australia. But you never told me about it, even though you supposedly had these great big feelings for me. Weird, huh?"
Jim started to speak, saw the look on her face, and stopped. Finally he said, "I thought it would be easier for both of us that way."
"Including not saying goodbye?"
"Yes. Including not saying goodbye. How was I supposed to say goodbye to you after everything that happened? I mean, you told me you were marrying another guy. I thought that was goodbye. What was I supposed to do?"
"I don't know," she snapped, "but I think you could have come up with something."
He looked away, sighed. "Don't suppose..." he eyed the camera crew, hovering over near the dumpster.
"Don't suppose what?"
"I don't suppose you wanna go have the rest of this fight somewhere else?" He shrugged. "You could show me your new place."
He grinned at her, his eyes all big and sincere, and it just wasn't possible to say no.
"Come on," she sighed. "You can follow me home."
***
"So," he said, looking at some of her sketches, "art classes, huh? I've always loved your stuff. I think it's really great, that you're doing that."
"Thanks."
Pam sat at the little bar in the kitchen that overlooked the living room, winding her fingers together nervously, watching Jim look around. He turned towards her. He had on a dark blazer over a white dress shirt, tie off now, shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He looked different, she realized now, or maybe it was something about seeing him again for the first time in months: the face she'd first thought of as 'kinda cute' almost four years ago had thinned a little and acquired all sorts of interesting, attractive angles. He'd always had a killer smile, but she'd never realized just how well it played off the intensity of his eyes and the line of his brow.
He walked over and stood on the other side of the bar. It was just like the old days--her in her chair and Jim leaning on the counter, bending way down to talk to her. Just like back in the office, only now it was a little too close--too close for the way things had become, and the time and the distance that had come between them. They both seemed to realize it at the same time; Jim straightened up, giving her more space.
He'd always been so considerate like that. He noticed things.
"Okay, so," he said. "This whole thing. Awkward or what?"
Pam shrugged. Her emotions were a tangle of mixed signals and she had no idea what to say to him.
"You're really mad at me," he concluded. "Gotta admit, I wasn't expecting that. But then again, I thought you were married, too. So I guess all bets are off?"
She shrugged again. It was hard to think straight, now that he was here and he was so close, and everything was different but still somehow the same. Hard to remember that she was mad, and that she couldn't just...run into his arms like none of it mattered.
"I'm happy to see you," she said finally. "I really am. But I can't believe you never told me you about the transfer. Even before--before anything happened. I thought we were friends. I thought we were friends no matter what." She looked down at her hands, and absently rubbed the spot where the engagement ring had been for so many years. "And I really could have used a friend, the last couple of months."
He frowned, like he'd never really thought about it like that. But he said,"You told me you were marrying Roy. I'm sorry, but you can't put this all on me. Was I really supposed to hang around and watch? If I'd known the truth--"
"I was going to tell you when you came back. But you..." her voice caught in her throat, and she choked back the urge to cry. "You never came back at all. And I didn't even know until you didn't show up for work that day. How do you think that made me feel? And then I never heard from you again? Not a phone call, not an email, not a word?"
"How do you think it made me feel to find out I was the last person to know you didn't marry him? Which brings us to the next question--why did you even change your mind? You seemed pretty sure, you know, the last time I asked you."
She could tell by the look on his face that what he really meant was: Did you leave him because of me? For me?
But she was angry, and didn't want to give him the satisfaction. She crossed her arms and said, carefully, "If you'd actually been around then, I could have told you why. But it's been a while, you know? It's all kind of a blur now."
It was cruel, and she felt bad as soon as she said it, but she didn't take it back. It took a second to sink in, but the look in his eyes told her she'd scored a hit.
Jim just nodded. "Okay," he said, "I get it." He paused. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the transfer. And I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye. But thanks for being honest with me now." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. He looked down at them for a second, fiddling with them, like he was collecting his thoughts. Then he looked back up at her and smiled sadly. "I'm think I'm gonna go now. I'm really sorry."
And before Pam could say anything, he was across the little living room and at her front door.
"Wait, where are you going?" She stood up, had to walk fast to catch up with him as he was opening the door.
He shrugged. "Home. Back to Stamford."
"You're leaving? Just like that?"
He half-grinned at her, still sadly."You're right. I was wrong. Not telling you I was transferring--that was stupid. I was mad because I thought you were marrying Roy. So I took it out on you the only way I could. And then I talked myself into believing it was the right thing to do. I didn't realize 'til now that I was just being an asshole."
"Jim--"
"But the thing is, Pam...the thing is, I'm really happy everything's going good for you now. You're getting some time for yourself, and you're doing your own thing. And I don't want to screw that up. I really don't. I've already screwed this one up enough. So let me go out with some dignity here, okay?"
One hand on the knob of the open door, he turned to leave.
Pam caught hold of his forearm to stop him. Because she had to stop him. This was going all wrong. "Wait--"
He stopped short and turned to face her again. His expression was unreadable.
"That's it?" she asked incredulously. "That's all? I turned my life upside down for you and you're just--giving up?"
He stared at her, frowning hard; he looked down at her hand on his arm. She hadn't let go. She was holding on harder than she really meant to. But she couldn't make herself let go.
He looked back up at her. And they stood like that for a split second, frozen, before Jim moved.
His keys clattered to the tile floor. He had her by both shoulders, and in two steps backwards the wall was behind her. It wasn't a gentle, sweet thing, like the first time had been. It was so fast she didn't have time to think about whether she should push him away or make him stop. And once her looked into her eyes, and touched his lips to hers, the long game was over. This time there wasn't any turning back or hesitation, because it was all there. Everything. All the loneliness and longing either of them had ever felt, all the way back to the beginning of their relationship. It was all there, in that kiss, in a way it just hadn't been the first time.
One of his hands was at the side of her neck, the other low on her hip, pulling her closer. Her own palms found the roughness of his blazer, the softer fabric of his shirt, the warm skin of his throat, the softness of his hair...the faint smell of some aftershave she'd absently mentioned liking, a long time ago...the kiss intensifying; tongue finding tongue; everything moving so fast even though it felt like time was slowing down...feeling that she couldn't get close enough to him...pulling at him, holding him tighter, even as he did the same.
And when the kiss finally broke, it was only because she couldn't get enough air. She felt like her heart might explode.
Jim wasn't much better off. He rested one forearm on the wall above her head, breathing hard.
"Hi," he said softly, grinning down at her.
"Hi," she breathed.
He stroked her cheek. "I really missed you."
"I know. Me too." One hand on the back of his neck, she pulled him down to her, just wanting to feel his lips against her own again.
Another moment, and this time it was Jim pulling away. "Pam..."
"Hmm?"
He had to catch another breath before he could speak. Then:
"You think maybe we should close the door?"
***
Part Two: Time
They sat close together on the sofa, holding hands, where they'd ended up after Jim picked up his keys and closed the door. It was all happening so fast, and her head was spinning; Jim was suddenly back in her life, sitting here in her apartment and holding her hand and looking at her like she was the best present he'd ever gotten.
A strange warmth was spreading through her, like sitting by a fire, only it was from the inside out. Like her body was waking up, coming alive, just by being near him. Just touching his hand. It had never happened before, even when they used to wrestle around at work. Never like this. Maybe never, to her, at all. It wasn't just that he was so close, either--it was that he was here, and neither of them had any entanglements or obligations. Nowhere to be, no one to disapprove, just a whole big, scary, thrilling world of possibilities.
It was just after seven, and Pam realized they'd both glanced at the clock on the wall at the same time.
Pam said, "You still do it too, huh?"
"What's that?"
"Clockwatching. You know, you sit at work all day, and you can't wait for the day to end, so you look at the clock every few minutes? But then when you get home you keep doing it there too?"
"Yeah. I guess I never thought about it, but you're right. And then if you don't have your watch on, and you're in a room with no clock--"
"It drives you crazy," Pam finished.
"Yeah." He was holding one of her hands in both of his own, playing with her fingers. "Hey, I want to ask you something," he said.
She smiled at him. "Go ahead."
"You--you said, earlier? That you turned your life upside down. For me. But, you know, when I found out you weren't married, and you hadn't told me--well, I spent most of the drive here wondering if maybe you really did just want to be alone. And I meant what I said before, about not wanting to screw this up for you. So was it really for me?"
She grinned wider. "Let's say it was...mostly for you."
He nodded, grinned back. "I can live with that."
"You're still a jerk for not saying goodbye."
"I know. But just think how long you'll be able to hold it over my head."
"Oh, I'm going to milk it for all it's worth."
"Of course." He leaned in and kissed her softly. More like their first kiss, this time. Then he looked at her. "You're going to let me try and make up for it, right?"
"We can negotiate."
He got both arms around her and pulled her closer, and any thoughts she'd had of having a calm, quiet conversation about everything that'd happened went out the window.
It was 7:08pm.
***
By 7:33, Jim was kissing her neck. She hissed in air through her teeth, and clutched his arm harder. "Maybe we really should--mmm--talk about things some more," she said, breathlessly.
Jim pulled away, looked at her. He smiled, and his eyes were large and luminous. One arm around her, he rested the other hand on her leg. "Okay," he said, "talk."
She took a deep breath. He looked so good. "Well...just for example, you live so far away now. How are we going to work that out?"
But he just kept smiling at her, with his perfect teeth and his sincere eyes, and before he could answer, she found herself leaning in to kiss him again.
A minute later, she murmured, "I guess we can...talk later," and Jim went back to kissing her neck.
*
At 7:58, Pam got up to change out of her work clothes into jeans and a t-shirt and unclip her hair. When she came back through the kitchen she called out, "Want something to drink?"
But suddenly Jim appeared in the kitchen next to her. He'd taken his jacket off. He looked her up and down appreciatively. "Wow..." he said.
She laughed. "Come on, it's just a pair of old jeans..." But she grinned up at him at him in way that she knew wasn't exactly subtle.
Which was how they ended up making out up against the refrigerator.
*
At 8:11, Pam looked down at all the refrigerator magnets that had gotten knocked onto the floor. One caught her eye. "Hey," she said to Jim, "Are you hungry? I just realized I'm starving."
*
At 8:58, they had to scramble up off the couch to answer the door when the pizza delivery guy got there. He gave them a weird look.
"Do you think he knew?" Pam asked, worriedly, after he left.
"I don't know," Jim whispered. "Maybe we should have him killed, just in case?"
She grinned, but whispered back, "You shouldn't underestimate the pizza-guy information superhighway, Jim."
"Oh?"
"Dwight eats a lot of pizza. Think about it."
"My God, you're right." He put the cardboard box down and pulled Pam towards him.
*
By 9:30pm, the untouched pizza had gone cold on the kitchen counter.
*
At 10:05, Pam was sitting half in Jim's lap, her legs slung over him on the sofa. He held her, wrapped in both arms, against his chest. They'd been sitting like that a little while, soaking up the hazy warmth of the close contact. Pam looked up at Jim and smiled. She unwound her fingers from his and touched his face.
"Hey," she said suddenly, frowning, "isn't Stamford like, three hours away?"
"About, yeah."
"And you said you didn't see the Scranton footage until today?"
"Yep."
"How did you get to the office by the time I was leaving?"
"I left work early. Okay, really early. Like, 1:30ish."
"You just left? Out of nowhere?"
"Yeah. I told them I wasn't feeling well. No one really cares there as long as you pull in your sales quotas."
"Oh. What time did the film crew show you the footage?"
"Hmm...don't remember?" he mumbled.
She eyed him suspiciously.
"Maybe around, say...1:29ish?"
She laughed and kissed him.
*
At 10:44, Jim levered himself up on one elbow, as they half-lay on the sofa together. Which was getting pretty uncomfortable and awkward, and one of Pam's legs was falling asleep, but she didn't want to say anything because she was so happy.
Jim looked at her and said, "Did I mention that that was the worst four months of my life and I never want to go through anything like it again?"
Pam said, "About five times now." And reached up to run her fingers through his hair.
"Okay. Just checking."
*
At 11:04, she showed him the bedroom. Just so he could see her new bed. Because it was so cool.
He agreed that it was, indeed, cool.
Suddenly, Pam started giggling.
"What? What are you laughing at?" Jim asked, smiling.
But it just made her laugh harder.
"Oh my God," she said. "I just remembered--I can't believe you fell for that 'it's all just a blur now' line. Sucker."
He looked shocked for just a second, then reached for her, trying to tickle her.
"Oh yeah? Oh yeah? I can't believe you fell for the whole 'let me leave with my dignity' routine. I thought you were going to tackle me to the ground for a minute there..."
They kept tickling each other, and Pam squealed, then realized it was getting late and she had neighbors.
*
At 11:06, the tickle fight somehow ended up on the bed.
After that, it was easier to just stay there.
*
At 11:24, they got back up and microwaved the pizza. Afterwards, by unspoken mutual agreement, they went back to the bedroom. But they just sat next to each other on Pam's bed and talked for a while. She told him the whole Oscar story. He told her about his new psychotic co-workers.
She told him about the five-hour breakup fight with Roy, and Jim looked concerned and slipped his hand over hers. He told her about discovering Australian beer and spending most of his trip in the hotel bar, and Pam leaned her head against his shoulder, and said, "I'm sorry."
*
At 12:02, Pam yawned and stretched, and Jim gave her a smoldering look. And that was the end of the talking for the time being.
*
At 12:15, Pam whispered, "Hey...would you mind turning off the light? It's the switch by the door."
Jim reached up and flicked the switch off without getting up.
But the little beaded lamp on the dresser was still on, casting a low golden glow over everything, and she thought about asking him to turn that one off, too. But she liked being able to see him when they talked, and when they kissed, and to her amazement it was overriding her self-consciousness. So she didn't say anything.
And he didn't turn it off.
*
At 12:37, they were under the blankets together, Jim's shirt was somewhere on the floor, and he was doing things to her neck again that were making her melt. Their legs were entwined as they lay facing each other, and Pam could feel how hard Jim was, the strange solidness pressing against the face of her upper thigh. She swallowed nervously. And reached a hand downwards, just as Jim was sliding his hand up underneath her t-shirt.
*
At 1:05, Pam murmured, breathless, "Um, it's getting really late."
Jim stopped what he was doing, caught his breath, "I can go, if you want."
"I don't," she said. "But I understand if you need to go...it's a long drive, and you have to work in the morning..."
But she couldn't stop herself from continuing to move against him. They were both shirtless now, and up against each other so tightly that she could feel his ribcage expand every time he took a breath. Their legs were still tangled together, and one of Jim's thighs was pinioned way, way up between both of hers. Which was making her a little crazy, making it hard to really think clearly. It also meant that if she shifted her hips, just a little, like this...
He inhaled sharply. "Yeah, I'll get back to you about that whole leaving thing. Later."
"Okay," she whispered, as Jim reached down between them and somehow unbuttoned her jeans with one hand.
*
At 1:28, Pam came, shuddering, against Jim's fingers. She tried to be quiet, because she just wasn't the screamer type, but she cried out anyway, her face slick against his sweaty neck. She held onto him, trembling, for a long time.
"Jesus," he whispered, out of breath.
"Sorry," she said shakily, when she could talk again. "It's been--a long time. A really long time. I mean, you know. Since..."
"With another person in the room?"
"Yeah," she said.
"It's okay. Don't apologize. I was just...I wasn't expecting...it was just--really nice."
She laughed. "Yeah."
As he shifted position to hold her with both arms, she felt his hardness again and thought that it was really kind of cruel to just leave him like that. But things were going so fast...were they going too fast?
Even when it felt like they'd already known each other forever?
What if this was the best possible time? What if they'd never have a night exactly like this one, ever again?
*
At 1:55, Jim said, "I just, uh, need to get something out of my wallet."
"No...look in the nightstand. Bottom drawer, um, under the magazines."
He made a joke about how the box had never been opened--"Hmm, somebody's not getting much action lately..."--and she bit him.
*
At 1:57, Jim murmured, "Are you sure this is okay?", and when Pam bit her lower lip and nodded, he settled in between her thighs. But he hesitated again. "You realize," he said, in a low, hoarse voice, "that we've been, um, building up to this for hours. There's no way it's going to last very long."
"It doesn't matter," she whispered. "God, Jim, it doesn't matter..."
Maybe it was the desperate tone of her voice that convinced him.
The first thrust sent a thrill all the way up her her spine.
When he was inside her, all in, he sighed through clenched teeth, and lowered himself down closer to her, resting his forehead against her neck. Her fingers gripped his shoulder blades, holding on. He started in with a very slow rhythm, but picked up the pace before long; waves of pleasure went up and down her body. She had to work at not making too much noise. It wasn't a size thing, she didn't know what it was, but it had never felt quite like this before, where every stroke felt so good it made her want to cry, where it seemed like her eyes would never focus again and her hips were moving by reflex alone.
He tried to slow down, and she knew why he was trying to slow down, trying to hold back. And in a way she did want it to go on all night, or maybe forever; she remembered some joke about how the only sure thing in life was that good sex didn't last long enough. But she couldn't help herself, or stop herself; she just grabbed onto him with both arms and angled up, against him, wrapping her legs around the backs of his, anything she could do to make it go harder, faster, deeper. Until--
He was better at being quiet about it, but his whole body gave it away, every muscle tensing, tensing more...and then--a low, animal sound through gritted teeth. A few violent shudders.
"Sorry," he said, a few moments later, his voice muffled in the curve of her neck.
She squeezed him tight. "Shut up."
"But you didn't--"
"Um, I got mine earlier."
"I know, but--"
"Oh my God, shut up."
She laughed, and he finally did. And as he was walking away down the hall a few moments later, she called, "Just let me know when you're ready for round two, okay?"
She was just teasing, though.
*
At 2:14, Jim propped his head up on his hand, looked down at her. "What if it was all just fate?"
"Which part?"
"The misunderstandings. The not talking to each other for so long. What if it was better this way?"
"Better this way? How do you figure?"
"Think about it: it would have been much messier with Roy if we'd hooked up right away. And this way, we both got some time to cool off. You got your space. We didn't have to figure everything out all at once."
"We were also both miserable for four months."
"Yeah," he said. "But that meant we got to have tonight."
She thought about it. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it was fate."
*
At 2:33, Pam said, "What are you going to do about work tomorrow?" Her voice was a little hoarse from the lateness and the talking. And other things. She was sprawled across Jim with her head on his chest, which made his voice sound deep and echoey when he spoke.
Jim replied, "Call in sick. You?"
"Yeah. Calling in sick sounds good."
"Pam?"
"Mmm?"
"I really want to say it. It's really hard not to say it. But I don't want to freak you out."
She smiled up at him innocently. "Don't want to say what?"
He gave her a look. "Very funny."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Fine, I'm not saying it now, if you're gonna be that way about it..."
"Hey, that's not fair."
*
At 2:36, Jim said, "I love you. I have for a long time."
Pam touched the side of his face and smiled at him. "I can't, not yet. It's there, I can feel the words in my chest, I'm just...scared, okay? This was all so sudden..." She was afraid that he would be hurt or offended, but it was the best she could do.
Instead he smiled, and put his hand over hers, brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed them. I know," he said. "But I already know anyway. It doesn't matter if you can't say it yet."
She felt like she was going to cry, but in a good way, and then Jim said:
"Besides, I figured out a while back that if a guy wants to be with you, he has to be really freakin' patient..."
She sniffed back tears that hadn't really started. "Oh, you just think you're so hysterical, don't you?"
He grinned in that self-satisfied Jim way. "Pretty much, yeah."
*
At 2:45 they decided to have more pizza.
*
At 3:38, all the lights were out, and Pam was drifting in the dark, mostly asleep. The hazy, warm glow she'd felt all night had just gotten stronger.
Jim was wrapped around her from behind, one hand at her stomach, palming circles against the fabric of her nightshirt. His face was nuzzled against the back of her neck, and the sound of his breathing was lulling her further down.
Every once in a while, he'd squeeze her just a little more tightly, and brush his lips against her neck, not quite a kiss; like he was just making sure she was still there. She sighed happily, snuggled back closer against him.
The third or fourth time he did it, she made a little noise: Mmmm. That was all.
But the next time he did it, his lips brushed a certain spot just below her hairline, and she shivered.
Suddenly, she was much more awake.
Jim seemed to realize it too; she could feel him tense behind her. She shifted a little...
Moving with painstaking slowness, he brushed her hair away from her neck, tugged down the collar of her nightshirt with one finger...and then, still slowly, just using his lips at first, brushing the nape of her neck; back and forth 'til she hissed in a breath and arched back against him. And then, the gentlest touch of his teeth.
And that was how round two started.
It was much slower this time, not so desperate. Maybe it was because it was so late, and they were both so sleep-deprived, but it seemed to go on forever; a long, dreamy time, slowly making love together in the dark.
*
At 4:43, they got out of the shower. All of Pam's muscles were limp, and her legs could barely carry her without buckling. But somehow they got each other dried off and made it back to the bed, where they collapsed together in a heap.
"I don't think I'm ever going to be able to move again," Jim muttered, face-down on a pillow.
"Mmmph," Pam agreed.
*
At 4:48, they'd gotten under the blankets. Sleep was close, sleep was pulling her down and it was impossible to resist this time. Jim had one arm slung loosely over her.
But there was still something she had to say.
"Wasn't just mostly..." she heard herself murmur.
"Hmm?" Jim said, sounding barely conscious himself.
"What I did. It was for you. Not mostly. All..."
"What?"
But Pam was gone, just too tired to explain, couldn't open her eyes or really even make another sound...
It was all right, though, she thought to herself before she went out.
Jim was usually pretty good at knowing what she meant.
***
END