(TW: post 9/11)

New York City, September 11th, 2001

When the towers fell, the city went silent.

Jim hadn't been living there long enough to consider himself a true New Yorker, but on that day, he felt like one. It was as if the entire world stopped breathing and he was right in the center of its respiratory system.

The Dunder Mifflin corporate offices were five miles away from the World Trade Center. Since 8:46 AM that morning, he and his co-workers had been glued to either the window or the television, watching as the North Tower smoldered, wondering what on earth had happened. It wasn't clear for several minutes what had hit the building, but when they saw an airplane strike the South Tower right in front of their eyes, a heavy, apocalyptic feeling settled in Jim's bones that their city would never be the same.

In the following days, Jim became increasingly aware that every one of his friends was negotiating the fallout differently. Karen had lost a friend in the North Tower; an investment banker she'd known from college. They hadn't been very close, but she was someone real, and now she was gone forever. Karen was understandably despondent, inconsolable and even bordering on nihilistic at times.

Karen had always been a relatively cheerful person: fun, for sure, but with exactly the amount of no-nonsense attitude Jim needed to balance himself out. They had clicked right off the bat, bonding over a mutual dislike of a particularly misogynistic traveling salesman at Dunder Mifflin. Jim enjoyed playing pranks on certain coworkers, and while Karen rarely participated, she was (mostly) charmed by his playful disposition. While Jim had struggled to nail down exactly how serious their relationship was, exactly what he felt for her, and exactly where it was all headed, he had been enjoying the ride.

September 11th changed all of that.

It was uncharted territory for Jim. What he'd considered to be actual happiness with Karen had been upended overnight by circumstances beyond either of their control. He tried his best to say the right things, do the right things, but a distance formed between them he couldn't ignore. He did whatever he could think of to be there for her, but he wasn't sure how to help her, and he could feel her pulling away from him. He didn't know how to hold on. And he wasn't sure if he even wanted to.

As New York dusted itself off and his relationship crumbled, he imagined what his life would look like if Karen wasn't part of it anymore. If he was honest with himself, he couldn't deny feeling an anticipatory sense of freedom at the thought of ending it, but he knew there would also be an undeniable loneliness. He wasn't looking forward to that part.

One night, a little over a month after the Towers fell, he arrived home from work to find Karen sitting on the couch. She looked at him with a very resigned expression, and said the four words he'd suspected were coming.

"We need to talk."

October 22nd, 2001

"Karen and I broke up."

Michael Scott nearly spat out his slurpee. "What?"

Jim was sitting with Michael and Ryan Howard, another one of their Dunder Mifflin co-workers, inside Giants Stadium, the comforting hum of New Yorkers surrounding them. He felt oddly guilty doing something as ordinary as attending a football game now, but everything had been so crazy he figured it would actually be nice to do something normal for a change.

"Actually, she dumped me."

"Karen's single?" Ryan asked without missing a beat, poking his head around Michael.

"God, Ryan!" Michael snapped at him. "Don't you have any feelings at all? He's obviously distraught."

"I'm actually okay," Jim shrugged. "I think it was time for us."

"When did this happen? How?" Michael asked.

"You SUCK, McNabb!" a spectator screamed loudly from behind them.

"A few days ago," Jim continued, resisting the urge to spin his Eagles hat backwards, forcing the guy behind him to stare at it. "She just blurted it out. 'I don't think I want to be together anymore.'"

"Wow, that's harsh," Ryan remarked.

"Then what?" Michael asked, barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

"I asked her why, and she just said... she didn't love me."

"Ouch!" Ryan piped up again.

"I'm sorry, Jimbo," Michael said, shaking his head.

"Come on, defense! Get your heads out of your asses!" the Giants fan behind them yelled. Jim was starting to realize this was probably not the quietest location to share his news, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

"That's not even the worst part," Jim continued. "Turns out she's seeing someone else."

"Who?!" Michael asked, shocked.

Ryan put both hands up. "It's not me, I swear."

Jim sighed. Karen had told him on the night they broke up she'd reconnected with an ex. He'd read about this sort of thing happening all over the country, something about reevaluating life choices, carpe diem, that sort of thing.

"No one you guys know," Jim said. "Some old boyfriend."

"Oh man, that's rough," Michael said, shaking his head.

"She said it so matter of factly, too, you know? All of it. Like she was discussing cancelling her gym membership."

He had been surprised by her bluntness, but Karen had never been one to beat around the bush. And being forced to finally confront the reality of his feelings for her was something he'd actually needed. He knew he cared for her, and they'd been together for over a year, but neither of them had ever uttered the word love. The fact that they still could not, even after they'd both gone through such a life-changing trauma, had spoken volumes he couldn't ignore.

His brain had been on overdrive for the past few weeks, and the day she broke up with him he'd omitted the fact that he'd also been confused about his own feelings. He'd felt no need to muddy the waters even further, especially since a conversation that should have devastated him actually brought him relief. But the implications remained troubling. Why was he feeling relief? Why wasn't he devastated, or even a little bit upset?

He didn't want to tell his friends the truth: that he was afraid something might be terribly wrong with him. Was he emotionally stunted? Incapable of love? Karen had been nearly perfect, a great catch. All of the pieces were there, but he couldn't complete the puzzle.

Michael was looking at Jim with a sadness he hadn't expected. "But you guys were so great together," he said. "You had someone to go places with. Someone hot. Now you're just a single loser like me."

"Thanks, Michael."

Jim rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of his beer. A large groan sounded from the crowd as the Eagles caught a pass, earning a first down.

"Ah, come on! De-fense! De-fense! DE-FENSE!"

"I think you guys are grossly underestimating the single life," Ryan said, leaning back into his seat with a satisfied smirk. "No commitments? It's fantastic. Settling down is a huge mistake."

"Excuse me, 'single life?' What the hell is that?" Jim said, pointing at the gold wedding band on Ryan's finger.

Ryan looked down, as if he'd actually forgotten it existed. "Oh, that. That's just hardware."

"You're disgusting, you know that?" Jim shook his head.

"Look, it's better you guys ended it now rather than three years from now," Ryan replied, shrugging. "Onward and upward, Halpert."

"Sure, Ryan."

Michael shrugged. "Well, I guess now that it's over I can tell you I didn't really like Karen anyway. She wasn't very much fun."

"Well, that's honest," Jim said.

"She never got any of my jokes."

Jim chuckled to himself. Most people didn't "get" Michael's jokes.

"You sound really healthy, Jim," Ryan noted loudly as another roar came from all around them. "Want me to find someone for you in my little black book?"

"Actually," Jim replied, having absolutely no desire to involve Ryan in his love life in any way, "thanks, but I think I'm fine just being single for now. Gonna get my head straight, you know?"

"That's the way to do it," Michael nodded. "Just focus on work." He was quiet for a moment, sipping on his slurpee, then turned to Ryan. "Got anyone in there who would be good for me?"

Ryan looked instantly uncomfortable. "Ah, well… you wouldn't like any of these women. They're probably too young for you."

"I like younger women," Michael said, affronted.

But they don't like you, was Ryan's unspoken reply, and Jim stifled a laugh. Michael was a nice guy with good intentions, but chronically hopeless with women. He tended to come on way too strong way too soon and put them off. Jim's approach was quite different, so it was hard for them to relate on this topic, but he always tried to be as supportive of his friend as possible.

The Eagles scored a touchdown, and the surge of crowd noise allowed Jim to take the opportunity to stand up and cheer, effectively derailing the conversation. He turned around, expecting the loud guy behind them to start posturing or taunting him, but to his great surprise, the guy merely nodded at him.

"It was a good catch," the guy said. Jim glanced down to see that, rather than Giants gear, the man was sporting an FDNY T-shirt and a yellow ribbon.

"It was," Jim replied, smiling back. He knew it may not always be like this, but there was a strange feeling of nationwide camaraderie still blanketing everyone. It was a small positive among all the devastation, but wherever he came across it, Jim clung to it like a precious gem.

They all sat back down, and Ryan leaned over Michael's lap again so Jim could hear him. "I get that you're hurting right now, and that's okay. You're not ready. But we should at least get you laid, Jim."

Jim sighed. "I'm really okay. But I appreciate the gesture."

Michael scoffed next to him, clearly grumpy that he was being left out of all the matchmaking action.

"Pea-nut-pea-nut-pea-nut-pea-nut-pea-nut-pea-nut…" an irritating but effective chant sounded from an aisle near them.

"Hey Michael," Jim attempted to distract him. "Want some peanuts?" He held his hand up and called the peanut vendor over.

"Yeah," Michael grumbled. "Peanuts. That's exactly what I need."

November 9th, 2001

Moving past Karen was easier than Jim expected, and as the days turned into weeks, he found himself enjoying being single again. He began redecorating his apartment, removing all of the signs she'd ever been there, and stayed in a lot more frequently, as opposed to going out all the time as Karen had preferred.

He also began spending more time with Michael. It was nice to have more time for a friend, but he and Michael were very different, and he always felt like something was missing from their back-and-forth.

Something that made him start thinking about Pam Beesly again.

He was still surprised by the way she'd made him feel when they'd been together. It was easy to be with her, easy to talk to her. He'd always felt like he could be himself. She was fun. And even though they'd spent all of twenty four hours together, he thought that was what friendship was supposed to be like. That kind of friendship, unfortunately, was missing from his life at the moment.

When he'd begun dating Karen, Pam hadn't crossed his mind nearly as often. But after the Towers went down, he'd found himself worrying about her. He had no idea if she was okay, if she'd lost anyone, how she was dealing with everything. But now he had no way of contacting her, either. She'd never used that dollar bill to call him, not once.

He wasn't surprised by this. Of course she hadn't called. He'd obviously made her uncomfortable by revealing his crush, and despite his efforts to make it clear it was over, she hadn't believed him.

He couldn't blame her. He didn't believe himself at the time.

He still didn't know why he'd been so compelled to tell her the truth at that airport taxi stand. But she looked so upset and confused, and had clearly been blaming herself for his failure to call. Jim hadn't allowed himself to explore the extent of what he felt for her over the past couple of years, but he did know that seeing her hurting must have already become a particular weakness for him, because he felt like he had no choice but to be honest.

Suffice it to say, he still wondered about her from time to time. And now that he was no longer attached to Karen, he found it difficult to stop. There was no dam holding those thoughts back. He knew it was crazy to miss a person he barely knew, but he did. And he found himself feeling incredibly guilty for making her feel devalued by never calling her in the first place, especially considering the fact that, right now, he didn't even know if she was alive.

Regardless of what he tried to tell himself, and even though he couldn't really explain it, he couldn't deny that Pam had always been present, even while he was with Karen- a tiny wound on his heart that had never properly healed.

The terror attacks had irritated that particular injury. And now it was a nagging ache he was desperate to salve.

One rainy Friday afternoon in November, after a particularly mind-numbingly boring day at work, he decided fuck it, and once and for all took a walk over to MoMA to look for her. He felt a bit stalkeresque, but convinced himself he at least needed to know if Pam was alive, or else it would always tug at his heart. He stood outside for several minutes before working up the courage to walk inside, but when he finally did, the woman at the front desk told him Pam hadn't worked there in months.

Discouraged, and still without any verification of her safety, he began to walk north on Fifth Avenue, along the edge of the park. He had no destination in mind, and even though it would be getting dark soon, he knew he didn't want to go home.

Eventually, he came upon the huge staircase of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He'd been in New York for over two years and hadn't once been inside. He wasn't sure why he felt the urge to go in now — maybe he just wanted somewhere to dry off for a while — but he found himself ascending the steps.

As he walked inside, shaking the water off his umbrella, he was amazed at how small he felt. The entrance was grand, with huge vaulted ceilings and enormous red banners. His shoes echoed in the hall with each step, and it wasn't very crowded either, which added to the effect. A distinct scent slapped him in the face, a very potent one that was unequivocally museum smell, and a memory surfaced of when he was a kid: one summer vacation to the city when his dad had taken him to the Natural History Museum. It was a happy childhood memory, and he found himself wrapped up in the warmth of it.

And then suddenly, as if his random wave of happiness had manifested her, there was Pam.

She was talking to a woman beneath an archway, her petite figure dwarfed by an enormous pillar. She hadn't noticed him, absorbed in her conversation, and he contemplated turning around and leaving; she was alive and well. He could walk away, rest assured of that. But he was riveted by her, absolutely unable to take his eyes away.

She was wearing dark cropped pants and a fitted button down shirt with a pink sweater over it. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail but it looked different, softer somehow, with less curl to it. She held a clipboard and wore a name tag.

After a moment, she must have sensed something because she turned slightly and caught his eye. He saw recognition cross her face even from several yards away, and she quietly excused herself from the conversation and began to walk towards him.

He wasn't sure how this was going to go, but his heart beat a bit harder in his chest, as it always had when they made eye contact. He was amazed that after all this time, she still had the power to do that. It was almost as if his soul had recognized her, too.

Soon enough she was standing just a couple of feet away from him.

"Hey," she said.

He smiled warmly. "Hi."

Neither of them said anything else, but after a few moments she broke the silence.

"My shift is almost over," she said. Her eyes sparkled. "You want to grab some coffee?"

###

"I was getting off the subway," Pam recalled, sitting back in her chair with her legs crossed. She fingered the mug in front of her on the table. "I just remember crowds of people stopping in the street and staring, and the smoke. It was everywhere."

They sat in the cafe of the Met, across from one another. Rain pelted the enormous window next to her and every so often she would look outside. A slightly macabre bronze torso sat right behind her, as if it were eavesdropping on their conversation.

"I was trying to call my parents all morning," she continued. "The phone systems were down, you know, and I could not get through. Super ironic since they bought me the cell phone in the first place so they wouldn't worry about me."

Jim gave her a sympathetic smile, just listening.

"Then just seeing that footage over and over again. It never stopped," she shook her head. "I unplugged my television."

"I know what you mean," he said. "Going through it the one time was bad enough."

"Afterwards, I couldn't get back to my apartment," she continued. "They closed off everything below 14th. Luckily Kelly wasn't home either, and she stayed with a friend."

"Where did you go?" he asked.

"My friend Holly — she works here with me — let me stay with her for a few days, until we were allowed to go home. And when we did, nothing looked the same."

Jim nodded, and he felt that ease come over him again that he was used to feeling with Pam. It was like they had this shared experience, even though they went through it separately, and could understand the way each other was feeling without really even having to explain why.

"I mostly remember the moment that second plane hit," Jim said. "My brain ticked down this list of all the people I knew in New York, and I just hoped they were safe." He looked at her with an earnest expression. "That included you."

She looked touched by his sentiment, but the expression in her eyes turned quickly into shame. "I'm really sorry I never called you."

He shrugged. "Life gets in the way, I understand."

"But it's also short," she pointed out. "And I understand that now more than ever before. So I really am sorry."

"Well, I'm sorry I never called you either."

Pam smiled. "We really need to stop apologizing for not calling each other and just start calling each other."

"We really do," he laughed.

"I did mean to call. I wanted to. It's just... been a rough year."

She leaned forward and held her hand against her head, rubbing her temple. As she did, he noticed something he hadn't before now.

There was no more engagement ring.

He breathed in a bit more deeply than he'd meant to, then picked up his mug to mask his shift in demeanor. "Oh... yeah?"

"Yeah, I, um… I called off the wedding. To Roy."

The part of him that still had feelings for her warred with the part of him that never wanted to see her upset. He pushed those feelings aside, deciding to focus on her instead.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "When?"

"Last winter. Just before New Year's."

He did the math. That had only been a few weeks after they'd run into each other. "What happened?"

"I think… it had just run its course, to be honest. It wasn't like, one thing, or some grand epiphany." Her eyes, which had been looking into his, suddenly darted away towards the window. "I can't really explain it, I just had to get out of that relationship."

Jim nodded. He was deciding how to reveal that he too had broken up with his girlfriend, but before he could figure out how to say it, she kept talking.

"I guess at a certain point I noticed we were doing more planning than actual doing. It was always 'as soon as' or 'next time' or 'someday.' And I just got tired of waiting."

"Yeah, I get that," he said. He broached his next question carefully. "Are you…" he tried to ask as casually as he could, "...seeing anyone now?"

She picked up her mug and gave a little chuckle. "No," she said, taking a sip of her tea. "I don't know. Roy and I were together for a really long time. Eight years of my life, just gone. I'm sort of enjoying being single right now, you know?"

"Ah," he said, feeling a bit deflated. "Yeah."

The possibility of asking Pam out on a date, finally, hadn't crossed his mind when he first saw her. He'd assumed she would be married by now. Finding out she was available and that he still couldn't ask her out had happened in such rapid succession, he felt dizzy.

"Kelly has been encouraging me to get out there, though," she continued. "She keeps telling me I need to have my rebound."

"I always suspected she was smarter than advertised," Jim forced a grin, trying to hide his disappointment. Even if he felt ready to ask Pam out, he certainly wouldn't now. He had no desire to be her rebound.

Pam laughed. "She's not so bad."

"Can I ask how you and Roy…" Jim gestured, trying to avoid saying ever got together, because it makes no sense. "…met?"

She looked a little confused at the question, probably because it didn't really matter anymore. But then, for some reason, she obliged him.

"Well, it was in high school, you know. He was on the football team."

"You weren't a cheerleader, were you?" Jim winked.

She screwed up her face in disapproval. "No," she answered. "I was on the volleyball team, actually."

"Got it."

"In the beginning, he was so sweet. I can look back on it now and say it was probably just puppy love, but… I did love him. And I believe he loved me too, I really do. For a while at least."

Jim nodded, fascinated by this window into her world he'd never been allowed to look through before.

"One Christmas break, when we were home from college, he took me to our old high school and proposed to me on the bleachers. He said it was where he fell in love with me," she smiled, fondly remembering. He watched her expression change, as if she were being instantly transported back to that moment; that even now, it was special to her. "He used to tell me he loved me all the time. After a while though, I stopped believing he meant it. Even though he kept saying it." She shook her head. "It just felt like... he thought it was what I wanted to hear."

Jim thought Pam looked remarkably calm and collected for someone recounting a painful breakup. He knew it had been months, but he could also appreciate the fact that ending such a long relationship, no matter what the circumstances, was something he hadn't experienced before. He really had no idea what she was feeling.

"Anyway, after months and months of feeling this way, feeling like I just didn't matter anymore, I'd finally had enough. Last Christmas he said goodbye to me, again, and told me he loved me, and I just said back: 'I don't think you do.'"

"And what did he say?" Jim asked.

She shrugged. "He said of course he did, but I knew that ship had sailed. I didn't feel it anymore. So I told him. I said I didn't love him anymore. I gave him back his ring, and I hugged him, and then I left."

"Wow."

"And the thing is... I feel fine. I really am over him. That was it for him. That was the most that he could give. And every time I think about it I am more and more convinced that I did the right thing."

She sat back in her chair, lifting her mug to her lips again, and he found himself absolutely amazed. This was still Pam, obviously, but she seemed so… grown up. Matured since the first time they met. The Pam on display right now was the part of her who wouldn't let him call Triple A when they'd gotten a flat tire. The part of her who said she never wanted to have to depend on a man for anything, not realizing she was doing just that. Except now, she'd taken control of her life.

He must have not spoken for a while because she looked at him, a bit unsure. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," he said.

"No really, what were you thinking? Just then?"

She smiled, and he shook his head, continuing to be impressed with her strength and frankness.

"It's not really my place to say," he said.

"But I'm asking you."

He sighed. "I guess… you just seem really content. And I'm happy for you, Pam."

She smiled, and her eyes softened. "Well, thanks."

They looked at each other for a minute, then she asked him outright. "So, how about you? How are things with… Karen, was it?"

He blew air between his teeth. "We, ah… actually just broke up."

"Oh, no," she said, looking genuinely upset for him. "When?"

"Just a couple weeks ago."

"I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"She was seeing someone else."

Pam looked horrified. "She cheated on you?"

"Well, yeah. I guess. I mean, I don't know for sure. Emotionally, I suppose."

She looked confused. "And you aren't upset about that? I mean, it's only been a couple of weeks, right?"

He was a bit taken aback. "I guess I wasn't that upset because I think things had been on the rocks with us for a while."

"Oh?"

It was weird, but he felt instantly comfortable opening up to her. He sat up a bit straighter and regarded her closely.

"You know how you said you could just tell Roy didn't mean 'love' when he said it?" he asked, and she nodded. "Well it was sort of like that for me, except... I didn't feel it, so I never said it."

Pam continued to look confused. "But you must have been together for… what, over a year?"

He shrugged.

"And you didn't… feel anything?"

He shrugged again. In any event, it was far too complicated to get into right now.

She closed her mouth, like she wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. "Well, was it amicable then, at least?"

Jim nodded. "I suppose as amicable as it could have been."

"Isn't it weird, like, at work and stuff?"

He was impressed she remembered Karen worked with him. "Not really. She's been easy to avoid. It's a pretty big office. I heard she's actually transferring soon, too."

Pam smiled. "That's a relief, then."

"Yeah."

He watched her across the table, absently playing with the tea tag hanging off the side of her mug. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments until she finally said, "I'm really glad I ran into you."

He smiled. "Me too."

For a brief, horrifying moment he thought maybe they would say goodbye again, awkwardly exchanging phone numbers that they'd never use. But luckily, Pam circumvented that completely.

"Do you... want to hang out sometime? I mean, we could go get lunch, or… something."

Jim knew she didn't mean a date. After everything she'd said, everything she'd told him she felt, he didn't want that to even be on the table. The word "rebound" danced around in his brain, mocking him.

"Are we actually becoming friends now?" he said with a grin.

The corners of her mouth quirked up. "Yeah, I guess so."

Friends. It felt good. He needed a friend right now. And they had plenty of time, after all.

He finished his cup of coffee, setting it back down on the table, and reached for his wallet.

"How about tomorrow?"