A/N: Strap on your seatbelts for this one folks, things are about to get bumpy.

Chapter 6

"So, I want details," said Isabel, settling in for a good tale, tucking her legs under her on her overstuffed couch.

On the cushion next to her cousin, Pam blushed, covering her embarrassment with a hasty drink of Moscato.

"Come on, Pam. You can't tell me you and Jim did it without telling me the good stuff. For instance, did he go dow—?"

"Isabel!" Pam exclaimed, mortified. But she only stared at Pam in amusement, waiting expectantly.

"Ok, yes," Pam confessed, wilting under peer pressure.

Isabel grinned. "And was it good?" Her red face was answer enough. "Way to go, Jim," Isabel praised. She knew from previous discussions with Pam that Roy only did that occasionally, and not always with great success.

"Was he big?" Isabel asked, more for Pam's reaction than any real curiosity.

Pam covered her face with her spare hand. "Oh, my God, Isabel."

"Well, was he?"

"A lady wouldn't tell," hedged Pam from under her palm.

"Was he bigger than Roy at least?"

Pam hesitated, then, gave one quick nod. Isabel laughed.

"How many times did you-?"

"Three."

"And did you-?"

"Every time."

"Wow," said Isabel, impressed. "Nice to know he's as good as he looks."

Pam laughed then, dropping her hand. "He is. And you know, he's not just an amazing lover, he's such a good person, Izzy. Just beautiful, inside and out. Funny, smart, patient, kind—"

"Incredibly hot," Isabel finished.

"There's that," Pam agreed. "Definitely that. God, he makes me dizzy just standing next to him, even before we…and now, I don't know how I'm going to function at work with him five feet away. I mean, just the sight of his hands…"

Isabel's eyebrows rose speculatively. "His hands? Oh, really? Please, do tell."

But then Pam's phone rang, and she reached for it on the coffee table to glance at the number, expecting once again for it to be Roy. The last call from him had been about an hour before, followed by an unknown number she'd ignored as likely a sales call. Roy had been calling her on and off all day, and she'd ignored him, letting it add to the voice mails that she hadn't had the stomach to listen to yet. But it wasn't Roy this time; it was his mother's number. Brows knitted, she cautiously pressed the answer button and brought the phone to her ear.

"Gloria?"

"Pam! Are you back from your trip yet? You have to come! Roy's been in an accident!"

"What?" Pam sat up straight on the couch, her eyes wide.

Gloria Anderson's voice was shaky and filled with tears. "I told him he was still too sick to drive, and he'd just had some Nyquil, but he went out anyway. Are you almost home, Pam? We're at the hospital. You have to come right away!"

"How—how bad is he?" she asked, her own eyes filling with tears.

"He wasn't wearing a seatbelt. He ran into a tree with his truck, and his head banged into the windshield. He's all bruised up-what if he has some serious brain injury? He hasn't woken up yet. He's getting a CT scan now. Please come, Pam. I don't know if I can take it if he—"

"I'm on my way," she said, stopping Roy's mother from suggesting the worst. "Don't worry. I'm sure he'll be all right." She hung up, shaken to her core, guilt and fear warring within her for dominance.

Mrs. Anderson had spoken so loudly that Isabel had heard the entire conversation.

"I'll drive you," her cousin said, standing and moving quickly to the door to slip on her tennis shoes and grab her coat and bag. Pam still was sitting numbly on the couch, paralyzed.

"Pam!" said Isabel. "We have to go."

Startled into action, Pam rose and mimicked Isabel's actions: shoes, coat, purse. She was wearing sweats and a t-shirt with her work flats, her dirty travel clothes in Isabel's washing machine so she'd have something to wear to work in the morning.

On the way to the hospital, Pam listened to Roy's voicemail, just to further torture herself. The messages ranged in emotion from anger to pleading, to the last one, where he sounded totally wasted, his voice garbled and slurred. She knew then he'd been operating under the influence of alcohol on top of the nighttime cold medicine.

"Please, Pammy. I'm gonna change, I swear. Gimme a chance. Don't leave me. I couldn't survive—" And then she heard the terrible sound of the crash, and she jumped in her seat, gasping in horror as she heard a wrenching sound she thankfully couldn't identify, before the call was mercifully cut off.

"Oh, my God," she said, the tears coursing down her cheeks. Before she could hang up, the next voice mail played, this time from the unknown number.

"Pam Beesly? This is Officer Hinton of the Scranton Police Department. We have just taken a Roy Anderson to Scranton Memorial Hospital. He's been in a serious accident. This is the last number he called on his cell phone. We're going on to the next number, in case you don't get this message soon. It's 9:45 pm."

"Oh, my God," Pam repeated. They were almost to the hospital when Pam called Jim.

"Hey," said his deep, comforting voice, so happy to hear from her.

"Jim," she breathed, allowing the sound and thought of him to wash over her, soothing her from afar. She closed her eyes, just for a moment.

"Uh, I'm on my way to the hospital. Roy's been in an accident. It's not sound-sounding good." She swallowed over a tight throat, new tears falling unabated.

"Are you okay? You want me to meet you at the hospital?"

She wanted to say yes, but a flash of memory, of her lying in Jim's arms just that morning, hit her with guilt.

"No. No thank you. I—I just wanted to tell you what happened, so you wouldn't worry in case I'm not at work in the morning. So you can tell Michael." And I just needed to hear your voice, she finished to herself.

"Are you okay?" he asked again.

"No. I mean. I don't know yet. I'll let you know later how he is. Oh, God, Jim. This is all my fault," she confessed in a rush.

"How could it be your fault, Pam? You weren't there."

"Yeah, but he's been trying to call me all day and I ignored him. And he was drunk—"

"Don't blame yourself. He chose to drive drunk. And you didn't answer him because you were pissed at him. You deserved to be angry—"

"But I do," she cried. "I do blame myself. Look, I'll call you later, Jim, okay?"

"Okay. I'm here if you need me, or if you want me there. Call anytime, okay? I hate not being there with you."

"Isabel's here," she said, as they pulled up into the ER parking lot. "We're at the hospital now. I gotta go."

"All right. And hey, Pam, I love you."

"I—I'll uh, talk to you later." And she hung up, slipping her phone absently into her coat pocket as Isabel parked and they got out of the car. Pam was both warmed and newly guilt-ridden by his profession of love, especially when she'd almost said it back without thinking.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

From the way Mrs. Anderson sounded and the crash she'd heard in Roy's voicemail, she had expected Roy to look unrecognizable, or maybe wrapped mummy-like in bandages, so she and Isabel entered the ER with considerable dread. Mrs. Anderson immediately pulled Pam in for a hug, then even hugged Isabel, though they'd only met a few times before. Roy lay pale against the white hospital sheets, except for the mottled bruising on his face. There was a bandage over a cut above his right eye. An IV was hooked up to his left arm, while the other arm was in a cast.

"Did he wake up yet?" asked Pam, walking gingerly to stand beside her ex-fiancé. She wondered briefly if he'd told his mother about their breakup over the phone. She kind of doubted it, given her warm welcome.

"No. And we're still waiting for the CT results. His arm is broken, poor dear. But oh, Pam, what if he never wakes up?"

Pam turned back to Roy's mother and hugged her again, rubbing her back to try to comfort her. She had always babied her youngest, and that was probably part of Roy's problem—he'd been spoiled his whole life, first by his mother, then by her. Roy's father had passed from a heart attack a few years before, and had doted on his two sons. To make up for his loss, Gloria gave attention to their sons enough for the both of them. It also didn't help that Gloria Anderson was a little on the melodramatic side, and Pam was kicking herself for overreacting to her hysterics on the phone.

At that moment, the doctor returned with an update and a Scranton police officer. Pam read the last name Hinton on his name plate. The same officer who'd left the message on her phone.

The scrub-clad doctor gave his succinct report: "Roy doesn't seem to have any serious brain injuries, but he has a severe concussion, so he'll feel achy and maybe nauseated for a few days. Some memory loss surrounding the accident can be expected, but shouldn't last long. He also had alcohol and cold medicine in his blood, which is likely what is keeping him from waking up. Once he sleeps it off, he should start to recover quickly. He's going to need some help for a while, given his right arm is broken and he's going to be in some pain from being thrown around in his vehicle. I'd also like to keep him overnight for observation, and so we can keep him hydrated and give him pain meds if he needs them. We'll move him to a private room soon."

"Thank you, Doctor," Mrs. Anderson said in relief, hugging him too. The doctor withstood it stoically, smiled blandly at all of them, and moved on to his next patient. The policeman cleared his throat.

"I'm glad Mr. Anderson is going to be okay, but there is the matter of his driving while intoxicated, and driving without a seatbelt. We also have reason to believe, given the time of his last cell phone call, that he was using his phone while driving. I'm afraid he'll have to go before a judge once he is physically able."

"What? A judge?" Gloria Anderson exclaimed! "I know he had some Nyquil, but, drunk driving? That's not like Roy!"

Pam purposefully remained silent. That was actually exactly like Roy. He'd driven home drunk so many times, she'd lost count, even though she'd always begged him to call her, or even a cab if he'd had more than a couple drinks. One more thing he'd never listened to her about.

"Sorry, ma'am," the officer was saying. "I'll be by in the morning to get him to get his statement, and have him sign the police report and the traffic violation tickets. You might want to consider getting him a lawyer, considering this is his second DUI."

Pam and Gloria looked at each other in shock. "His second?" Pam asked, recovering first from the shock. "He never mentioned the first time."

"He would likely have had to pay a fine and do some community service, as well as attend alcohol education classes," said Hinton.

"He hid it from us," said Pam, feeling the anger of another betrayal.

Officer Hinton didn't show any surprise. He'd likely heard it all. "At any rate, he'll need a lawyer, though the court will appoint him one if he can't afford it. At the very least, his driver's license will probably be suspended, and there could be some short jail time. We take these things seriously in Pennsylvania. He's lucky he didn't kill himself, or someone else. I'll be by in the morning, as I said. Good night."

The three of them stood together in the awkward silence after he left, looking at Roy and avoiding each other's eyes.

"I'll get us some coffee," Isabel finally offered, breaking the silence. Pam envied her escape.

Pam and Mrs. Anderson sat in the hard chairs near his bed, while Gloria cried softly, dabbing her eyes with a Kleenex. Pam, relief at his prognosis of recovery and with renewed annoyance at yet another of Roy's deception, found she had no more tears for her ex.

Once he was put in a private room, Pam got up to leave. She felt no obligation to sit with him all night, especially since his mother was there. Kenny, Roy's brother, they found, was at home sleeping off his own overindulgence—it hadn't been a surprise that he'd been with Roy at the bar before they'd gone their separate ways. Around midnight, Isabel took Pam back to her place, where Pam slept like a log on Isabel's couch until her phone alarm went off at seven the next morning.

She'd slept through Jim's texts.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Pam didn't go by the hospital the next morning, but she did call Mrs. Anderson to check on him. She ignored the note of disapproval in her voice, promising to come by after work—sooner if he was released from the hospital before that. She didn't mention that she hadn't slept in the bed she used to share with Roy.

When Pam came into the office, sleepy eyed, Jim immediately got to his feet and stood beside her desk, watching anxiously as she hung up her coat, put her purse in her desk, and turned on her computer. He ached to touch her, to hold her, to kiss the dark circles beneath her eyes.

"Hey," he said. "Is everything okay?"

She nodded, managed a tired smile. "Yeah. He'll be all right. Just sore for a while, and he broke his arm. Sorry I missed your messages. I was exhausted last night."

He nodded, though when she looked at him closely, she could see the tightness around his mouth and eyes. He'd been worried about her, she realized, and her face softened.

"I'm fine," she said softly, desiring more than anything one of his soothing bear hugs. But by then, more of the staff began coming in for the morning, and Jim followed her to the kitchen where she gratefully poured herself some coffee that Jim had brewed since he'd come in so early. He glanced around, quickly, and seeing no one was watching, caved in and drew her into his arms. Her hands slid to his back, her face on his chest, listening to the comforting beat of his heart.

She felt his kiss on top of her head, closed her eyes and absorbed his love and strength. It was Toby that interrupted them on his way through to the annex.

"Is everything all right here?" he asked, with genuine concern, though Jim recognized a trace of disapproval, or maybe even jealousy in the mild- mannered HR guy.

Pam pulled away immediately in embarrassment. "Sorry. Jim was just comforting me because of Roy. He was in an accident last night. He's in the hospital with a concussion and a broken arm. I don't know when he will be able to come back to work."

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry. I hope he feels better soon. I'll let Corporate know. Have you told Michael?"

"Not yet. He hasn't come in. I should also tell Darryl downstairs, I guess."
"I'll take care of that," Toby offered helpfully. "You have some personal days, Pam, if you need to take them to be with Roy. I'm sure Michael won't have any problems with that."

"It's uh, better if I work," said Pam. "Roy's mother is with him."

Toby looked confused, but he was polite enough not to comment. "Oh. Okay. Well, give Roy my best."

"I will. Thanks, Toby."

Alone again, Jim and Pam looked at each other, the longing and desire humming between them. Any minute the rest of the office would wander in for morning coffee, so they couldn't afford to indulge in another embrace without tipping off that they were…well Jim didn't know what the hell they were.

She'd said on the phone last night that she blamed herself for Roy's accident, and he wondered if that guilt would transfer to her trying to make it work with Roy again, or at the very least, take care of him while he was hurt. Either way, Jim felt distinctly out in the cold. Again.

"I'm here for you," he managed to get out before Dwight came into the kitchen, his eyes boring deep into hers.

"I know," she whispered. "Talk later?"

"Yeah."

"There are other people who need coffee, you know," said Dwight pointedly, since they were blocking the counter.

"Good morning to you too, Dwight," said Jim with mock cheer. Pam grabbed her mug and made her escape, while Jim purposefully turned to the coffee pot, taking his time hunting for his favorite cup, filling it, adding the last of the sugar and most of the cream—which he normally didn't use-so that by the time he'd finished, Dwight was in a gratifying huff.

"Have a good day," Jim said with a wide grin, leaving Dwight mumbling about slackers and wasting company time. The door had just closed when Dwight discovered there was no more sugar.

"Dammit, Jim!"

It felt good to take out a little of his frustration on Dwight; he totally deserved it, in Jim's mind anyway. But as he made his way back to his desk, he noticed through Michael's open office blinds that Pam was in there, no doubt informing him of Roy's condition. His suspicions were confirmed when Michael dramatically opened his door and gave a loud, suffering moan.

"Friends! Romans! Countrymen! Lend me your ears! I'm very sad to inform you of some terrible, terrible news. Roy Anderson was in a horrible, bloody accident last night—"

There was a collective gasp in the bullpen, all eyes going to Pam.

"There wasn't much blood." Pam interrupted, as Kelly, Ryan, and Toby emerged from the Annex at the noise.

"He badly mangled one of his limbs—"Michael continued.

"He has a broken arm," Pam calmly explained to her rapt coworkers.

"And he suffered serious, possibly irreparable head trauma." Michael's face was a study in anguish, though now everyone was mainly paying attention to Pam.

"He has a concussion," she clarified simply. "And a small cut on his forehead."

"Roy may never work again!" Michael exclaimed.

Pam tried really hard not to roll her eyes, and she didn't dare look at Jim, whose own eyes sparkled at her predicament, though his face remained respectfully passive.

"I'm sure he'll be back in a week or two," Pam said, as if Michael hadn't spoken at all. "He is supposed to be released from the hospital today."

There were a few questions of concern and offers of sympathy, and Angela and Phyllis met each other's eyes, preparing to jump into action with requests for money for flowers and a card. Pam answered her friends in turn, before Michael hugged her uncomfortably tightly, and she patted his back as if he were the one needing the condolences.

"You are such a stoic," he said into her hair. She tried not to offend him by cringing. "So brave. I can't believe you're not falling apart under the gigantic weight of your worry."

"I'm fine, Michael. Thank you," she said breathlessly, her lungs straining in his vicelike hold. She met Jim's eyes over Michael's shoulder. He smirked and raised his eyebrows in amusement. Pam had to use all her strength to pull free of Michael's arms, and she nearly stumbled as he abruptly let her go.

"I might need to leave early today to help his mom get him settled at home, if that's okay."

"Of course, Pamela. Take all the time you need. Help our poor boy regain his strength with your sweet, tender love."

"I will, Michael."

When their boss returned to his office, Jim gave her his widest smile.

"Bite me," she mouthed.

"If that's what you're into, Beesly," he replied so only she could hear. "Maybe later." He'd walked to the Reception counter. His eyes were dark with inuendo, and she blushed, as he'd intended.

"Would you like me to take you to the hospital later," he offered, and she realized that yes, she'd need a ride.

"That would be great," she said.

"Cool. Just let me know when."

She smiled her thanks.

Feeling pleased to finally be of use to her, he tapped her desk with his fingertips and returned to his desk to at least try to get some work done. His head was still spinning as to where he stood with her, combining with his wild attraction to her, his remembrance of how she'd felt, her body rising to meet his, the sound of her passionate cries, her sensual moans echoing in his addled brain.

He hoped he didn't go totally crazy before he could be alone with her again.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Where's Pam," Roy asked his mother groggily, upon waking at ten-thirty that morning.

He hurt everywhere, especially his head and his arm, and he was angry to see the white cast on top of his white hospital blanket. He was also wearing a blue hospital gown, which made him feel like he was dressed in one of his mom's muumuus. For a moment, he was disoriented, then he remembered getting drunk with Kenny at Poor Richard's before calling Pam for the millionth time as he drove home in the truck. He'd only taken his eyes off the road a second when he'd felt the impact of his truck plowing into a pole or a tree or something, a sickening jolt, and then everything went black from there.

"She'll be here soon," said his mother. "I'll call her in a minute. Thank God you're awake. I was so worried. I slept here all night beside your bed. The doctor said you might have some memory loss, but that will come back in time. What do you remember?"

In the course of his mother's tearful rambling, it all came back. Everything from two nights ago, when Pam broke up with him over the phone. That night, he'd been too sick to go to her, or to go to a bar, which was what he'd really wanted to do. His mother had been constantly hovering over him, which he normally loved, but he'd just wanted to break out, to break something, definitely to drink something. So, when he'd assured her he was well enough that she could go back home for the night, and after he'd taken the Nyquil she'd forced on him, he'd called Kenny and met him at Poor Richard's. It hadn't been fun. He'd been sick and woozy the whole evening, and when he'd realized he'd had enough, he'd staggered to his truck and gone home.

When he didn't answer his mother right away, she moved on with her monologue. "Pam was so concerned last night. You should have seen her, Roy. But I insisted she go home because she was exhausted from rushing home from her business trip to get here to you."

"Pam was here?"

"Of course she was. Her sweet cousin Isabel even came with her. What a nice girl, to support her cousin like that. But Roy, why'd you get behind the wheel when you'd had too much to drink last night? You should have called me. I oughta beat Kenny's butt for letting you drive in that condition. What got you so upset that you had to drown your troubles in the first place? Do you remember?"

And then, without a second thought, he looked directly at his mother, affecting the wide-eyed innocent expression that had gotten him out of trouble with her his whole life.

"I don't remember, Ma," he lied. "I don't remember anything."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jim drove Pam to the hospital at noon, according to Mrs. Anderson, the expected time when Roy was to be released from the hospital. When they were in the car, all he'd wanted to do was pull her to him and kiss her, but he didn't know what was allowed now, didn't know what she was thinking. It was so hard to believe that they'd been in this same car just yesterday, driving away from the hotel room where he'd made love to her over and over. The silence between them wasn't awkward exactly; it was just…silent.

When they parked outside Scranton Memorial, he turned to her.

"I'm coming up with you," he announced. "I'll stay in the waiting room, but I want to be here for you, in case you need anything, okay?"

He was expecting a fight, or at least being put gently in his place. But she surprised him by reaching for his hand, leaning over the console to press her soft lips to his cheek.

"Thank you. I'd like that."

He smiled. "Good. Okay, then."

"You don't have to wait in the waiting room," she said in the elevator, still holding his hand. "You're a coworker. It wouldn't be that odd for you to be here for moral support."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Roy's gonna just have to deal. You're just one of the reasons I broke up with him." She smiled. "The most important, of course, but there were so many other reasons. Mainly, it was the sneakiness, the lack of trust. I'll always care about him, and I'm here now to make sure he's okay, to help his mother, whose always been good to me. After this, though, I'm done. I'll make that totally clear to him too."

He grinned, proud of her and immeasurably happy for himself, for them. "Okay, Beesly. I believe you."

Just before the elevator stopped on the sixth floor, Jim bent and kissed her, quickly but thoroughly, as if trying to impress upon her that she was his, that he was hers, wanting to leave no doubt where he stood.

He hung back just inside the door to Roy's room, watchful and mindful of the potential awkwardness of the situation. He could see Roy in his hospital bed, and the older woman he assumed was his mother. Kenny was there too, looking haggard and obviously hungover. Roy's family welcomed her with open arms, leaving Jim to realize that they didn't know about her and Roy. He supposed last night, in the middle of a medical crisis, hadn't been the best time to announce their breakup.

Roy, however, lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw Pam, startling him completely, since the last time Pam had spoken to Roy (to his knowledge), he'd been telling her to fuck off.

"Pammy," he exclaimed. "I'm so glad you're here! Look at me. I'm a mess, right? Good thing we haven't set a date yet. You wouldn't want your groom having to be pushed down the aisle in a wheelchair." He laughed good-naturedly. "And I'm real sorry about this, babe. About driving drunk, getting the police involved. I don't know what I was thinking. God, I don't remember anything at all since you left the other day with Michael. I guess I've been so sick with the flu, and then the accident…everything's a big, black blank."

Jim stiffened. The bastard didn't remember? His eyes flew to Pam's back, ramrod straight, and he knew without seeing her face that she was as surprised as he was.

"Seriously?" she managed.

"Remember, the doctor said there could be some memory loss," Gloria Anderson said. "I guess he was right, poor baby." She reached over and patted her son's cheek.

"I guess I'm gonna need some help doing stuff with this bum arm," Roy continued, looking adoringly at Pam. "You'll have to help me bathe and even use the can. Guess you'll have some good practice with the in sickness and health part of your wifely duties." He chuckled, then his hand flew to his head in pain. "Sorry; it hurts when I laugh."

Pam said nothing to that, but she turned and glanced quickly at Jim, her eyes round with shock.

"Oh, hey, Halpert," called Roy. "Thanks for comin', man. Come on in and join the party."

And like a condemned man walking toward his executioner, Jim walked numbly into Roy's hospital room.

A/N: I guess that took a turn, didn't it? More on the way. Thanks as always to those who are out there reading this. I'd love to hear what you think.