Anti-angsters, read at your own risk. Everyone else, enjoy!

She wasn't talking, and it was making him nervous. That in itself was odd; usually they were capable of those companionable silences that he'd heard somewhere were what separated the intimate relationships from the surface ones. It was the quality of this silence that troubled him, its depth. She'd retreated inside herself. She was hurting—hurting badly—and he couldn't reach her. It was the worst feeling in the world.

When he parked in front of her apartment complex she made no move to get out. Taking his cue from her, he waited.

"Are you coming in?" she asked in a small voice.

You're kidding. The world could implode and I wouldn't leave your side right now. "Do you want me to?" he asked instead.

"If you want to," she said a little too casually. "I mean, I know this isn't how you'd planned to spend your evening, so I'll understand if you—"

"Pam?" He stopped her words with a gentle hand on her knee, smiling what he hoped was a comforting smile with no traces of the nervousness he felt bleeding through. "I want to come in."

She peered down with a pained expression, and he realized the hand resting on her leg was the one he'd used to express his anger at Roy. It was caked with dried blood and glazed with drying blood, the skin over his knuckles split crudely in several places. "Oh, God," she moaned. "Does it hurt?"

He spoke in a husky whisper, surprised at the depth of emotion her question stirred in him. "Yeah, it does," he said. He reached up to brush his thumb against her chin. "But it'll heal, you know."

She took a deep, shuddery breath. "It will?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "Sooner than you think."

She held his gaze for a long time before reaching for the door handle. He killed the engine and got out, too. She was still a little shaky, from the alcohol in her system or the trauma of the evening or both, he wasn't sure. She seemed unsteady on her feet, though, so he followed her up the stairs to her apartment with one hand poised a few inches from her back, just in case.

"Hang on," she told him once they were inside. He waited as she disappeared into the bathroom. He heard her rummaging through a cabinet, and when she returned it was with a tiny, travel-size first-aid kit. He smiled a genuine smile for what might have been the first time that day.

"Wow, Beesly, that is something."

She shot him a look. "Don't mock the kit, Jim, it serves its purpose. Come here, bring your hand into the light."

He obeyed, perching on the edge of her couch in a pool of orange-toned lamplight. She knelt in front of him and gingerly took his injured right hand in hers.

"It's really okay," he said, suddenly embarrassed. "Slap a Band-Aid on the sucker and I'm all set."

She frowned, examining the wound closely. "I don't have any Band-Aids," she muttered.

"You're kidding. The Kit lacks the most basic first-aid staple of kids and klutzes the world over?"

She flipped the microscopic latch on the white plastic case and folded back the lid to reveal a miniature spray bottle of Bactine, a bent safety pin, and two cotton swabs. Jim bit down on his lip to prevent the grin from spreading across his face.

"Damn it! I thought for sure there was at least some gauze and surgical tape, or …" She broke off, selecting the Bactine bottle and prying its plastic cap off. Holding it an inch from his mangled knuckles, she pressed down on the trigger. Jim cringed, waiting for the sting. Nothing happened. The bottle was empty. Pam shook it and tried again. Still nothing. Jim blinked, taken aback, when a sob escaped her and she threw the bottle at the wall. "God, why can't I catch a break tonight?"

Jim retracted his hand from hers and flexed it a few times. "Hey, whoa. Dr. Beesly, look, it's fine. See? I'm fine."

She shook her head. "No. Nothing is fine. Nothing!"

Tears swam in her eyes but didn't fall, and he wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to put an arm around her, to slide down from the couch to sit next to her on the floor, to draw her head against his shoulder and hold her and let her do what she needed to do. But something held him back. Something wasn't right. Well, something beyond the obvious. So he sat there and waited for her to make it clear to him what that something was.

Before that could happen, though, Pam hoisted herself up onto the couch next to him. The intensity in her eyes was breathtaking, unbearable, and he wanted to say something to defuse what suddenly felt like an extremely dangerous situation. Some remark, funny, off-hand, casual, something that would make her blink and come to her senses, because he was going to lose control of his own any second now and then where would they be? Then they'd be here, both senseless and emotionally ravaged, ready and willing to act on animalistic impulse regardless of the cost.

Then she leaned in and kissed him, and anything he might have said was lost in the sweet warmth of her lips. His hands lay limply in his lap even as hers slid around his neck and tangled in his hair, holding him to her with a ferocity that even in his disembodied state he understood to be alarming.

I love you, he wasn't sure he said aloud. God, Pam, I've loved you for so long.

"Jim," she breathed, her breath hot on his skin as her lips continued to graze his neck. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry why?" he asked breathlessly, closing his eyes against the surge of desire.

"I'm sorry I keep hurting you."

"Then don't do it anymore. Just … just stay. Just be with me." His hands slipped down to cup her breasts, gently but surely, and that's when the spell broke.

In fact, it broke twice.

It cracked when her cell phone began to buzz against the glass top of the coffee table. And then it shattered when she caught his hands in hers, fixed her eyes on his, and said, "I can't…"

It was Roy, they both knew it. Jim lay against the sofa cushions, dazed, as she picked the phone up and confirmed it with a glance at the screen. "Please," he said. "Please, Pam, don't."

But he knew she would. And she did.

One more chapter and then perhaps an epilogue. Please, please, pretty please review. (But don't stone me; I warned you of the angst, didn't I?)