Chapter Title: Mr. Right.

Summary: Ryan treats her well, but he knows she's only human.

Author's Note: I will publish this. I promise. Jim and Pam got married; I need something to lean on. After this, I'm going to finish my zombie story. Yay for gore.

She wakes up with a headache and sticky eyes. She still feels drained from the night before.

She remembers falling asleep wrapped in limbs. But she's alone now.

The bed is empty. Her body hurts.

(he left her)

Maybe she should eat. She hasn't eaten since lunch yesterday.

(but someone else stayed)

Maybe she should take some Aspirin. With water.

(for her)

Damn. She's so dehydrated.

(he stayed. for her)

Getting up seems like too much work, though. And she's still so tired.

(does he love her?)

Maybe she should go back to sleep. Maybe she'll feel better in a few hours.

(that's laughable. Ryan Howard can't fall in love)

Yeah, in a few hours, she'll get up.

(can he?)

xxxxxxx

When she wakes up again, her hand is warm in his.

"Hey," he says and his voice is soft, so soft she wants to melt in it. God, that sounds so cheesy.

"Hi." Her voice is hoarse and her throat hurts. "What time is it?"

He peeks over her shoulder. "12:30 in the afternoon. I thought you were going to sleep all day."

She laughs quietly. "Mm, no I'm awake."

He looks at her and she shivers because his eyes are so electric, she feels like they know just how much she hurts. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know," she tells him, sighing, and rubbing her eyes. "I just can't even begin to think of how I'm supposed to fix this, or even if I should. I just feel like I'm going in circles with him."

He gives a small, sympathetic smile; she knows he's not saying what he wants to say. "I'm sure you'll figure it out." He touches her hair. "Do you need anything?"

"Can you get me some Aspirin and water?" she asks.

And she watches him walk off, feeling a sensation of déjà vu, remembering another time when she wasn't feeling well and someone else was waiting on her.

How is she supposed to figure this out?

It hurts her head to think about.

After forcing herself out of bed, she dresses in capris and a yellow tank top.

He's sitting on the fire escape; she puts up with hanging around out there.

"Got you something," he says, holding up a box of popsicles. She can't help but smile as she takes a seat across from him, reaching into the box.

"Score. Orange." She peels the wrapped away, grinning widely. He laughs, shaking his head.

"S'all about purple," he says, waving his own popsicle around.

"Whatever," she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

They have to finish the popsicles quickly because the heat is pressing down on them.

"Ryan," she says, watching as he stacks their popsicle sticks together. "What happened yesterday? At the hearing?"

He doesn't react and she can't see his eyes because he has his sunglasses on. So she reaches forward, pulling them off his nose.

"Ryan," she says again, placing the glasses on her own face.

He sighs, sitting up, and squinting at her. "They mentioned somewhere between five months to a year, but my lawyer says he can probably get it down to two months. Supposedly Wallace is 'going easy' on me, which I don't get."

"He knows that you're not a bad person, you just… made some bad choices," she says simply.

He laughs. "God, Pam, you're so… I dunno." He looks at her.

She feels her heart speed up.

"What am I supposed to do when you're gone?" she asks, and she can't help that her smile is fading.

"Pam," he warns.

"Ryan," she counters back firmly.

"You'll be fine. I promise."

But she doesn't feel fine. She feels alone and he isn't even gone yet.

"I can't imagine having to stay here with someone else for two months," she says quietly and he blinks, looking surprised.

"You're- you're staying here? You aren't going back to Scranton after school?"

She gives a small smile. "You said you weren't going to leave me. I'm not going to leave you." And God, he looks like he might kiss her.

And then he does.

He's pressing his mouth against hers, and she's leaning back into the wall, pulling him against her. And Jesus Christ, he can kiss. His lips move against hers, gently but with just the right amount of pressure and his hands are holding hers, and God she might pass out. His tongue wets her bottom lip, brushing against her front teeth and she opens her mouth and his tongue is cold. He tastes sweet, like a grape popsicle.

She never liked the flavour of grape until now.

And he pulls back, nibbling her bottom lip for a moment before his red lips curve upward. "Oranges," he mutters, "fuckin' oranges, man."

She doesn't say anything, her fingers are trembling, and wow, she feels dizzy.

"Do you have a cigarette?" she asks, her voice wavering. He smirks slightly, pulling one from his pocket, and lighting it. She takes it, inhaling. Her eyes fall shut.

"Pam," he starts.

"Mm," she says, exhaling and shaking her head. "Just… shush."

He sits quietly next to her.

She soon finishes the cigarette, pressing the filter into the cement.

"Crap, Ryan," she says, clasping her fingers together and placing them neatly in her lap.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"Just give me some warning next time, before you do that, maybe?" And she feels so lightheaded and she thinks her heart might have exploded along with… other things.

"Fine."

"Thanks."

"Can I kiss you again?"

"Ryan!"

"Sorry."

"…Fuck you."

"I wish."

xxxxxxx

He didn't kiss her again after that. The logical part of her is glad about that because, though she doesn't wear her ring, she's still engaged to Jim. They hadn't talked about where they stood, but she's been on Cloud Nine since Ryan kissed her.

The other part, her heart, wants to fall asleep next to him, tasting his mouth on hers, feeling his warm fingers on her skin.

He does apologise, probably remembering Jim, but she doesn't accept these apologies.

He does, though, show her affection and adoration in his small, Ryan-ish ways. He picks flowers from between the cracks in the sidewalk and puts them in her hair; he makes her bagels; he lets her pick every Friday night movie.

She's falling for him, Jesus she's falling hard. Sometimes she watches him when he sits on the fire escape and wonders how she got here, how someone so wrong for her, makes everything right. Maybe Jim is too right for her. Maybe he's too perfect.

Ryan treats her well, but he knows she's only human.

She feels as anxious about the trial almost as much as he is.

She thinks about putting out ads for a temporary roommate but she doesn't.

When he's out, she buries herself in homework so she doesn't have to think about being alone.

At least she's caught up in all her classes.

She sits outside, sketching away on her notebook, the evening humid. She feels sweat form on her hairline and she clips her bangs back, tying up the rest of her hair. Her skin is warm and freckled and she's been sitting outside for hours while Ryan takes care of business with his lawyer before the trial next week.

She ignores the twisting in her stomach.

"Say cheese."

She looks up, jumping slightly as she comes face to face with a Polaroid camera, Ryan behind it. She hears it click, a pure black slip of paper sliding out the front.

He smiles, placing the photo on the window sill to develop. "Beautiful."

"You can't even see anything!' she laughs, pulling away from the camera. He shrugs.

"I'm positive that it's beautiful." He leans forward, kissing her nose. "Wow, how long have you been out here? You're hot." He wipes away the sweat from her forehead.

"Few hours. I started with some homework then I moved onto some sketching. Where'd you get the camera?" she asks, trying to shield her face as he clicks another picture.

"Thrift store," he says, placing the picture aside and skipping down two steps and sneaking in another one.

"Stop," she giggles, ducking her head down.

"What? I'm going to have to pretty up my cell somehow."

She blinks, looking at him. He takes another photo.

"Ryan, don't do that," she says weakly. He lowers his camera, shrugging.

"Just being realistic," he tells her, crouching down on the step below her.

"I really don't want to hear about it," she says, turning her head away from him.

"I don't either." He pauses. "I'm not scared. Too much." His smile is tight lipped. "But, I mean, you'll be here when I get back, right?"

"You really think I'd leave?" she asks, tilting her head. Her heart hurts at the doubt on his face.

"Sometimes," he says bluntly. "I mean I'm not Jim."

"I know," she says slowly, feeling a pang at the familiar name.

"I'm not," he says again, his tone firm, "no matter how much you think or want me to be."

"I don't want you to be Jim."

"Because I wouldn't leave you. Twice." He seems as if he's talking to himself now.

"Twice?" She lifts an eyebrow.

"Yeah," he says, shaking himself and focusing on her again. "He left you when he went to Stamford, didn't he?"

"Well, I did reject him," she justifies. She almost starts to defend him.

"So." He looks at her exasperatedly, cutting her off. "That doesn't give him a reason to run off like a pussy. Even if he wasn't going to fight for you, he should have stuck around to make sure no other asshole touched you."

He shifts his weight, looking almost awkward.

"That's what I would have done anyway."

She blushes slightly, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. "Really?" she asks him quietly.

"Well, I mean, yeah." He rubs the back of his neck, looking at the ground. "Yeah, I would have."

And she reaches forward, pulling his face to hers, kissing his lips gently, her fingers tugging at his hair. She feels him press into her, and she falls backward on the landing, laughing as he crawls over her.

"I like you," he tells her, biting her earlobe gently. "You know that?"

And she nods, her hair spilling out around her. "Yeah, I do."

He beams, kissing her cheek, her nose, her collarbone. "Do you like me?" he asks, leaning back slightly, and looking down at her.

She feels the warmth spread through her body, her face reddening from the heat and his sparkling gaze.

Laughing, she nods. "I like you. I like you a lot."

"Good." He edges her shirt up slightly, the hem resting just above her navel. He's biting his lip, his fingers spreading across her stomach. Goose bumps erupt around his hand and she feels ease flow through her body.

He sits up, his knees still on either side of her. "You're just… really beautiful." He scrunches his nose. "That sounds lame, doesn't it?"

"At least you aren't trying to kiss me in the rain," she says, grinning.

"Ooh, don't tempt me," he mutters sarcastically, reaching for the camera. "You should model," he tells her, beginning to click away. "Or strip. I am totally cool with either one."

Her ribs ache from his weight and from her laughter. "Shut up!"

"All right," he says sheepishly.

She likes the feeling of his hips against hers.