A/N: Hi there. The first "chapter" was sort of a test run, to gauge interest and to see if I'd be able to wring a full-fledged story out of this idea. This is my first fic in The Office fandom (though I'm not new to the show) and I did a little research to make sure this theme hasn't been done to death. I did only come across one other story about Abusive Roy, and I didn't read it because I didn't want to be inadvertently influenced. So, here goes the next part; if you're interested I would love to hear it so I'll know if I should keep posting. I thrive on encouragement! Thanks!

The key, she found, was looking busy. Jim was less apt to wander over to chat if she kept her head down and a studious frown on her face. She felt him looking at her from time to time, and had to force herself, against the almost desperate part of her that longed to glimpse his contagious smile, to absorb his soothing demeanor, not to look up.

It couldn't go on like that forever. Lunchtime rolled around, and he sidled up to the front desk and leaned against it, toward her. "Psst," he hissed. "I'm worried about you Beesly."

Reflexively, she jerked her head up to meet his eyes. "What? Why?" she asked, and the words came out too sharp, too urgent. She nervously tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

He gave her a surprised smile. "Because," he said. "It is ten after noon, Dwight has been on a hilarious rampage all morning over his Rolodex—somehow all the cards got replaced with candy wrappers—and Michael thinks there's a rabid squirrel trapped in the air vents. And in spite of all this entertainment, I don't think I've seen you crack the first smile."

Relieved, she allowed herself a small smile.

He cocked his head to the side, appraising. "Hmm … not a terrible facsimile, but not exactly the patented Pam Beesly grin."

"Candy wrappers, huh?"

"Yeah, it was the damnedest thing."

The phone rang then, and he propped his elbows on the desk to wait. "Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam." A long pause, during which she felt and he saw the color drain from her face. The surrounding pallor made the bruise around her eye stand out sharply, like a silhouette. She was silent for a few long moments, and Jim watched her carefully, his brows knitted together as he tried to make sense of the one-sided conversation. "No. I won't do that. No, you won't do that either. This is a place of business, Roy, this is my job. You may not care about yours but I care about mine. Don't. Don't!" She glanced up at Jim and then twisted her chair away slightly, lowering her voice but still sounding furious. "Okay, listen. If I agree to coffee—just coffee—after work will you stay where you are? Fine. Done."

She hung up and took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. Then she looked at Jim, pierced by the concern in his eyes, and snapped at him because he was there and he was safe. "Privacy, Jim. Ever hear of it?"

He held both hands up apologetically. "Hey, whoa, I didn't even hear anything. Were you on the phone just now?"

She glared at him for a moment, taking in his faux-innocent expression, hands still raised as if she were holding him at gunpoint. She huffed a little laugh. "I'm sorry, it's not you. It's …"

"None of my business," he finished. "Care to join me for lunch? Come on, Pam, don't make me eat with Kelly and Ryan."

There were fewer jokes at her expense than she'd expected. In a place where the boss had once cooked his foot on a George Foreman grill, banging one's eye against the protruding ceramic soap dish while scrubbing out the bathtub didn't seem like such a stretch. She could sense Jim's concern, boiling right under the surface of his thin jokes and bluff bravado. It was in the way he looked at her when she looked away; she could feel that gaze lingering like a caress on her face, could see through the corner of her eye that his smile faded the second he thought she wasn't watching.

He approached her desk again, per usual, a couple of minutes before 5, assuming they'd walk out together as they always did. "Headed out?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm, uh, meeting Roy downstairs. Let me just …" she trailed off. It took her an inordinate amount of time to shut down her computer and gather her things. As she reached for her purse she noticed that her hand was shaking. Unfortunately, so did he.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and understanding passed between them.

"What's going on, Pam?" he asked, but there was no real question in the question.

"Nothing," she lied automatically. "I'm just not feeling so well today."

"That's it?" His tone flat, again.

"That's it."

She started for the door but Jim held his arm out, staying her as Kevin and Oscar passed by with muttered "see ya tomorrow"s all around.

When they were gone, the office was deserted. Jim still had his arm out, not touching her but blocking the path.

"I have to go, Jim. He's waiting."

"Well maybe he can wait a little longer," Jim said, and his tone was something she'd never heard from him before. "What's going on, Pam?"

"I—it's just—we're just having a little disagreement, we're going to go have coffee and try to work it out, okay? I don't know why you're being weird."

"Don't you?" Jim raised a hand toward her and she couldn't help it—she flinched. And they both froze, eyes locked on one another, hers filled with tears, his with something deep and unreadable. The hand he had raised continued, much slower now, and gently brushed against the ugly patch of purple under her eye.

"No," she said, not knowing what she was denying. That Roy hit her? That Jim knew? That she'd let it go this far and had no idea how to find normal again, if that were even possible? "Jim, no."

His jaw worked as he clenched his teeth against whatever emotions were coursing through him.

"Roy did this to you."

She shook her head. Kept shaking it, as if by denying the obvious she could somehow make it not have happened.

"I need you to say it, Pam. I need you to tell me."

"It's not true," she pleaded. "Jim, no."

"Why would you protect him?" he asked, bewildered. "Why would you protect that—"

"I'm protecting you!" she exploded, the tears that had been building bursting through and coursing down her cheeks freely. "I don't want you involved, Jim. I don't want you to go running out there with some knight on a white horse notion of defending my honor! I want—I need you to back off. I need you to be Jim. Please. Please, just be Jim."

He pulled her against him and she sort of collapsed on his chest, crying into his shirt as he held her. His lips pressed roughly into the top of her head, and they stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. Then the phone on the desk rang, and she pulled away with a little gasp that made Jim want to cry. Or, preferably, to beat Roy's face to a bloody pulp.

"That's probably—he probably wonders why I'm not out there yet."

Jim gently but firmly moved Pam out of the way and started for the desk. His hand was on the phone when she grasped his wrist and stopped him with a "Please, Jim! I am begging you."

He closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath before opening them again and taking her chin in his hand, lifting her face up so she had to look at him. "I'm begging you, too," he said. "If you won't let me stop this, then you have to. You have to, Pam."

"I know."

He shook his head. "Not good enough. I don't want you to know; I want you to do."

"I have to go," she said, her voice small. "Can you—do you mind giving us a few minutes' head start?"

"Do I mind?"

"Will you?" she amended. "Please."

"Go," he said. "But Beesly, I swear to God—"

"I know," she said again. Then, impulsively, she stood on tiptoe and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

He watched her walk out and felt as though his heart were being squeezed in a vise. When the door closed behind her he sank into her chair and put his face in his hands.

Is anyone reading? Shall I continue?