I don't own the Office or any of its characters.
Warning: mentions of sexual assault, assault and battery, physical and verbal abuse
I wake up anxious, feeling sick to my stomach with my brain racing before I'm even fully conscious. I fling my arm to the other side of the bed, hoping to find Jim still with me, but the sheets are cold. I clench my fists and take some calming breaths, utilizing the technique I used to use quite a lot when fighting off panic attacks brought on by remembering Roy. Clenching every muscle in my body as I inhale to the count of five, and loosening up as I exhale deeply to the count of five again. I think the counting helps more than anything, something to fix my frazzled mind upon, but it's not doing much for me today.
I dress quickly, still counting and breathing deeply, and attempt to arrange my expression into one of peace as I walk out of the room and head toward the kitchen.
Jim and my mom are at the stove, both laughing lightly as he scoops some scrambled eggs onto a plate and she flips some bacon. I stand quietly in the doorway for a moment, just watching them, before my mom turns and sees me. "Good morning, sweetheart!" she exclaims. "You want some breakfast?"
I take in a shaky breath, still trying to fight the feeling of my lungs being crushed by strong, meaty hands, and catch Jim's eye. "In a minute, I just…"
"Hey, Pam," Jim interrupts, thankfully taking my mom's careful eye off of me, "before I forget, your mom was telling me about a photo album in one of the drawers in our room. Do you mind showing me before we eat?"
I nod quickly. "Sure. We'll be right back, Mama."
I think she knows something's wrong, but she seems to realize I just need Jim right now. "Okay, honey."
He takes my hand firmly in his as we walk quickly back to the room, and I wrap my arms around his waist as soon as the door is closed. "Hey," he murmurs, gently running his fingers through my hair, "what's wrong?"
"I just can't calm down," I whisper in a tear-filled voice.
He nods. Jim knows I get anxious easily and have a hard time calming down on my own. "Did you try the thing where you tense up and then breathe out?"
I nod, pressing my forehead against his chest and squeezing him harder. "It helps when you're with me."
He takes my hand and places it over his heart like we have so many times before and starts breathing deeply, nodding when I start breathing with him. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5," he whispers into my ear, pressing his hand over mine.
After a few minutes I finally let out one last deep breath and nod. "'There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart'," I whisper as I press my lips against his chest.
"What?"
"It's just a quote from Jane Austen," I explain with a shrug, resting my chin on his chest so I can look up at him. "It always made me think of you."
He gives me a gentle smile and presses his lips to my forehead. "I like that. It reminds me of you too." He brushes his thumb against my cheek. "Feeling better?"
I nod and snuggle up against him. "You always know what to do."
He grins. "Well, I'm glad you think so. 'Fake it 'til you make it' must be working for me."
I laugh. "We'd better go out. My mom's going to think I dragged you in here to seduce you."
"Hey, if she asks…" He winks at me and pulls me by the hand back to the kitchen.
Once we get there I remember we were supposed to be going to look at a photo album, but thankfully my mom doesn't bring it up. She explains that my dad will be back around lunchtime to see us before we head out, and the three of us eat breakfast in a companionable silence. We spend the morning hanging those pictures my dad never got around to yesterday, watching old home videos from when my sister and I were little, and just hanging out.
My dad spends his lunch hour with us and Jim and I head out at the same time as he does, promising to call and let them know when we're home safely and if we need anything. I drive this time, hoping Jim will try to take a nap because he looks so exhausted, but he doesn't seem too tired.
"So what did you and my mom talk about this morning before I got up?" I ask after we've been driving in companionable silence for about half an hour.
"We really didn't talk about any heavy stuff," he replies, shifting in his seat a little so he can face me. "She was just telling me about the quilting class she's taking and I was telling her about what Michael and Dwight have been getting up to lately."
I glance over at him and he's chewing his lip thoughtfully. Finally he speaks again. "She just told me she's glad you have me."
I smile. "Did she cry?"
He chuckles and nods bashfully. "Yep. But really it was just sweet, I didn't feel uncomfortable."
I want to ask him about what he and my dad talked about last night, but I have a feeling he doesn't want to share it with me because he hasn't brought it up yet. I assume there are things my dad has dealt with since this whole ordeal that he hasn't told me about, or maybe even my mom. It'll probably be the same with Jim. That doesn't mean we don't trust each other, but some of this has to be dealt with on our own. He may choose to talk about it with someone other than me, like I've chosen to do with my best friend from college, Sharon. He'll have his own coping mechanisms, like I have mine. And there will be some things he'll choose not to tell me about; I'll do the same, like how I go to yoga classes to help me relax and learn how to take better control of my body—it's not just about stretching or exercise.
"Pam?" I glance over to see Jim waving at me with a smile. "Where'd you go?"
I shrug. "I was just thinking about how you're going to need to process some of this on your own, like I do, and I need to accept that. It's okay if we're not sharing every feeling we have."
He nods. "I agree, but I don't want you to ever feel like you shouldn't share something with me. If you want to talk to me about something, I want to listen."
I cast him a grateful smile. "Thanks, love of my life."
He grins. "You're welcome, love of my life." We're quiet for a few minutes before he speaks again. "So I was thinking I could drop you off at home and I could go by work to talk to Michael and Dwight. What do you think?"
Seeing as yesterday felt like a week, it's hard to imagine going back to our normal lives, which include work. But getting back into the swing of things is part of what it takes to move on. That includes Jim addressing this issue with our coworkers, and I understand why he may want to do that alone. "Okay," I reply after several moments of contemplation. "That works for me."
Thanks to a traffic accident holding up the freeway, it's already five by the time we make it back to our apartment and Jim has to hurry to make it to Dunder Mifflin by 5:15. He quickly helps me carry our bags inside, presses his lips to mine, and dashes back to the car, leaving me alone.
The apartment is quiet and still as I unpack our things and make myself busy boiling some noodles for a simple dinner of spaghetti. It's hard to believe that it's only been a day since Jim found out about all of this. I feel like I've aged a year.
Yesterday, when those fateful words accidentally slipped out, I felt like it was the end of the world. It's only now that I'm beginning to understand that really, this is the first step into a real, solid relationship with Jim, with all my skeletons out of the closet and laid bare before him.
It's just after 5:15 when I pull into the parking lot of Dunder Mifflin, thankful to see the only cars still there are Michael's and Dwight's. Hank the security guard greets me and I take the stairs two at a time, eager to get this over with and get home to Pam. It's the first time I've been apart from her in two days and I already miss her.
It seems apropos that I find them both in the conference room after yesterday when I spoke to Amy, Keith, and Pam in this room. I'm grateful to see the office is completely empty and the camera crew seems to have gone home for the day.
"Jim!" Michael exclaims, standing and giving me a big smile as I walk in. He walks over and pulls me into a firm hug before releasing me and clapping me on the shoulder. "Good to see you made it back safely."
"Good to see you too, Michael," I reply as he sits down next to Dwight. "Dwight."
"Jim," Dwight greets with a nod as I move to sit across from the two of them.
Now that I'm here I'm unsure of where to start, and neither of them seem to know quite how to begin. I'm surprised when Dwight is the first to speak. "How is Pam?"
"She's doing alright," I reply, settling back in my chair and nodding. "We had a really hard day yesterday but I think we're both doing a lot better now that we've been able to talk about…all this. She wanted me to tell you both hi." I gnaw on my lip for a moment. "I wanted to…thank you both, for taking care of her when I was…not here."
Michael nods solemnly. "I think I speak for both of us when I say that Pam is our friend, and so are you." Dwight raises an eyebrow at this but doesn't prevent Michael from continuing. "We cared for her because we love her, and also because we knew you felt the same." He shakes his head, and I think it may be the first time I've ever seen righteous, true anger in his eyes. "I know I hate Roy about as much as I've ever hated another person before."
I clear my throat roughly, trying to control my own anger so we don't get sidetracked. "Dwight," I say softly, turning to this coworker that I've alternately hated and tolerated over the years, the one who protected the woman I love at a time when I wasn't there, "I've been wracking my brain trying to remember every detail of that day. And I may have been crying from the pepper spray, but I think I remember that your hand was bleeding when Karen and I came out of the bathroom. Did you punch Roy?"
Dwight lets out a weary, exasperated sigh. "No, Jim, I did not punch Roy." He looks a bit uncomfortable and finally holds up his right hand, flexing the fingers experimentally. "If I'm being honest, I would have to admit that I punched the wall instead." He tilts his head to the side. "If I happened to stand with my entire weight upon Roy's hand at the same time, it was wholly coincidental."
I grin, part of me wanting to hug Dwight. Instead I ask another question. "And she told me she went to see you on your beet farm several days later?"
He nods. "I served her the beet tea my mother used to make for me when I was having a hard day. As Pam had just experienced the most traumatic event of her life, evidenced by her horribly disfigured face, I thought the gesture more than justified. I also thought it would comfort her to know that no one else in the office knew about the events that had occurred, but saying this only served to make her cry more so I don't know that telling her was actually the best course of action."
To my chagrin I'm actually tearing up at his words. "I happen to know she was very grateful to know that, Dwight," I whisper, swiping at my eyes and knowing he'll never let me live this down. He nods silently in response and I think maybe he'll actually let this moment of weakness go.
Michael leans forward expectantly when I turn to him and I can't help but be grateful at how willing and eager he always is to help the people lucky enough to be called his friends. "Michael, can you tell me about when Pam called you after it happened? I just…how did she sound? And what did she say?"
"Well," he begins after taking a moment to gather his thoughts, "of course she sounded very shaken up. She was crying. Our conversation was very brief. She simply told me that Roy had tried to attack you and Dwight had pepper sprayed everyone. She was vague about what led up to Roy actually hitting her, but she said he had and she was on her way to the police station. She was very clear about my not telling anyone else about what had happened, especially you. She did not want you to find out under any circumstances. She asked if she could have the rest of the week off, I agreed, and she told me she would be in contact."
He shakes his head. "I made that sound like it was a really calm, clear conversation, but it wasn't at all. Like I said, she was crying. At one point I thought she was hyperventilating so I had her stop to take some deep breaths. I asked her several questions and she didn't even seem to hear me, she was just wholly focused on telling me the necessary information and getting to the police station. Toward the end of the call I suggested again that maybe it would be good to let you know, and she yelled at me, saying that she would quit if I did that. She started crying even more, so of course I agreed not to tell you." He sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I really wanted to kill the bastard right then."
The three of us are quiet for a minute, the only sound coming from the hum of the air conditioning and the faithful drip of the sink. "Thanks," I finally murmur. "And what about the day you and Toby went to see her? Can you tell me about that?"
"So we went to her apartment on a Thursday," Michael begins, "and, I have to tell you, Jim, it was a shock when she answered the door. I hadn't seen her since the morning before everything happened, when she was fine, and I just don't think I expected her to look that bad. Of course you've seen the video by now so you know what she looked like, but it was a real shock. We had Jan on the phone and Toby just had Pam answer all the questions he needed to file the report. She cried a little more, but at that point she seemed kind of…numb, I guess you could say. Like she'd been dealing with too much over the past few days and was kind of just emotionally overwhelmed. Jan promised her that the only other person who would have to know about this was David Wallace—other than that it would be kept completely confidential—and Pam seemed really relieved to hear that."
That's the last question I have for them, and Michael hurries right out after hugging me again, saying he'd pushed his date to six for this. He presses a small slip of paper into my hand, telling me to read it with Pam.
Dwight and I walk out together and he stands silently by my car for several seconds before finally breaking the silence that's beginning to get awkward. "You know, Jim," he begins, "I have always disapproved of the way you've handled your relationship with Pam. To start off you basically wore your heart on your sleeve for three years, hoping desperately she would look beyond her idiot fiancé and run into your arms without you ever saying a word. Then you ran away from all your problems by transferring to Stamford, where you could have had a fresh start at life if only you hadn't been transferred back, this time with a new girlfriend whom you were only using to try and get over your broken heart while at the same time breaking Pam's by treating her like the two of you had never even been friends."
If he's trying to be encouraging, Dwight definitely needs a couple pointers.
"However," he continues begrudgingly, "now that the two of you have finally had the guts to profess your feelings for each other—which, I must say, is a bonafide miracle because the two of you are idiots when it comes to matters of the heart—you both seem happier than I can recall since I met either of you." He sighs wearily, looking like he'd like to knock me up the side of my idiot head since I don't seem to be grasping the hidden meaning behind his words.
"My point," he finally spits out in a frustrated tone, "is that the travesty of what was done to Pam should not be considered by either of you as a hindrance in your relationship. You seem to make her happy, and from the way you are constantly grinning like a buffoon, she apparently does the same for you. So don't let this incident break you two apart. I find you only barely tolerable now and don't want to have to deal with your broken heart all over again." He turns without another word and stalks away to his car. "I will see you both in the morning!" he yells harshly over his shoulder.
Stunned, I find several minutes have passed before I finally blink and move to unlock my car door. I think Dwight just spoke to me like he would a friend.
Only Dwight could express his affection through insults. Thoughts? Did he end up sounding too much like Spock?
