Oh, the angst! I'm sorry, I love angst. Especially if I know it's going to lighten up in the end. And it will. I think. But I'm not sure when. Thank you for the reviews and the encouragement on the last chapter. If you're still reading and enjoying, please let me know.

It was still dark when Jim got to work Monday morning. He hadn't slept well all weekend. Every time he closed his eyes a horribly vivid mental one-act played out in his mind. It changed up slightly from time to time, but always he watched helplessly as Roy's rough hands grasped her arms, fingers digging into delicate flesh, and slung her around like a ragdoll. Jim would lie there with his fists clenched so hard he left deep fingernail impressions in his own palms. Once, during a particularly bad vision, he'd thrown the covers off, stood up, and slammed his own fist into the wall hard enough to make his knuckles bleed. Then he sank back down onto the edge of the bed, ran his hands through his hair, and fought the urge to call her in the middle of the night and tell her to leave him, for God's sake, just tell the bastard to get out of her life once and for all because he would never understand or appreciate what he had in her.

By Monday morning Jim had reached a conclusion. He had made a decision, one that scared the hell out of him, and that's what had pulled him from fitful slumber this morning before the sun had even considered coming up, what had driven him to shower, shave, dress, and drive to the office before anyone else would be there. What had him drinking coffee in the dark at his desk—he hadn't bothered and couldn't bear to turn the harsh fluorescents on—and staring expressionlessly at the space she would occupy in a couple of hours.

He tried to wait there because part of him wanted to put this off as long as possible. But it wasn't long before he found himself on the bench in the little lobby next to the bank of elevators and Hank's security desk. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, he thought, only potentially a hell of a lot more painful. Like dousing a fresh surgical incision with battery acid.

He tried to look casual as coworkers and other building dwellers drifted past him, muttering monotonous Monday "morning"s as they waited for the elevators. He could only hope vaguely that Michael wouldn't get here before Pam did. He didn't have the stomach for Michael, not this early, not today.

Then he glanced out the glass doors and saw what he'd more or less been waiting for, but which nonetheless made his stomach drop and his heart triple its rhythm. Roy's truck had swept into the lot, and she was climbing out of the passenger seat. Jim couldn't look away as Roy came around to her side and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the lips and—no mercy in the world for Jim today—a playful slap on the ass. She smiled, but it didn't touch her eyes. Jim knew. He knew her smiles, the real ones mostly, and the kind that didn't crinkle the corners of her eyes were just for show. Roy walked on by, taking the exterior route around the building to the warehouse. Pam continued through the double doors. She looked startled when she saw him standing there. Something—guilt? embarrassment?—flashed in her eyes and was gone just as quickly.

"Hi," she said, and then she really looked at him. "Jim, what's—?"

"Pam, I need to talk to you," he said, the words tumbling out one on top of another.

There was a pause, and Jim actually saw the wall come up in front of her. "What about?" She was going to be defensive. She was going to make this harder than it had to be.

"Not here," he said. "Outside."

She eyed him solemnly. "I know what you're going to say, Jim."

"Come outside with me," he said. "Please."

She hesitated, noting the edge of desperation in his voice, in his manner. Then she sighed and he took it for relenting. He walked outside with her a few steps behind him. They took a right and moved around the far side of the building, opposite the warehouse entrance. Once out of sight around the corner, Jim leaned against the building and cleared his throat and tried to find the words he'd been practicing all morning.

She beat him to it.

"Yes, I forgave him," she said. "I know you think that's stupid and I know you probably don't understand—I'm not asking you to—but I need you to trust that I know what I'm doing."

His eyes flashed up at her, angry. "Do you?"

"Yes!" She met his gaze unflinchingly for just a moment, then looked away because his stare was just too intense. "I think I do. I mean, as much as anybody does."

There was a long silence, and each of them avoided looking at the other. Pam played with her necklace nervously. Jim kept swallowing, compulsively, as if he could get rid of the lump in his throat that way.

As prepared as he had been to say his piece, to lay it all out there and bare his soul and have it all done, Jim found himself utterly at a loss. He was horrified to realize that he wanted to shake her, in the hopes of shaking sense into her stubborn head, and shit, did that make him no better than Roy?

She broke the silence again. "He's never actually hit me before," she said, as if that made everything okay. "I mean, we fight, sure, couples fight, but he has never really hurt me."

"What's he done?"

"What?"

"He hasn't really hurt you before, Pam, so what has he done to you?"

"I'm not going to talk about this with you."

"I don't want you to," Jim said, his voice oddly flat. "I don't think I can stand to hear it."

Hot tears flooded his eyes, and he had to, had to look away from her. "You hear me, though, okay? Listen to me and understand that I'd rather be doing anything in the world than having this conversation. Right? Do you understand?"

She nodded mutely, and brushed absently at her own tears.

"Pam, I can't do this. I know my role as your best friend is to be there to support you no matter what, and God, I want to, I do, but I can't. Not with this. You're choosing to stay with him, and that's your decision. I never had a say in that, I know that. But the rules changed for me when he put his hands on you. And they changed again this morning, when I realized you'd taken him back. No, let me finish," he said when she opened her mouth to speak. "It's been hard enough to watch—to see you with him day after day and listen to your wedding plans and just pretend that it doesn't feel like a knife twisting around in my gut. Now—knowing for a fact that he's the asshole I've always kind of believed he was—I can't."

"Jim, please don't … What are you saying?" Her voice was soft and ragged. She reached toward him, wanting to fix it somehow, as if she could touch his face and take away the pain etched so deeply there. But he caught her hand in midair before it reached him, and he held it gently and firmly in his own.

"I'm in love with you, Pam," he said, and his gaze was piercing and steady.

"What?" The word was barely a whisper.

"You heard me." He smiled, but there was no humor in it at all. "I love you, and if this is what you're going to do, then … I can't stick around."

He leaned forward slowly and pressed his lips against her mouth, her lips slack and slightly open with shock. Then he turned and walked away.

Ouch, right? Reviews are love.