Both not wanting to let on that he had broken at least 4 different traffic laws on the way over, and to collect himself before he entered Pam's house at two-o'clock on a Saturday morning, Jim sat in the driveway for 5 minutes, taking deep breath after deep breath.

"It's not that big of a deal. She needs your help with something. She's not going to get down on her knees and make some big declaration of love," he said into his own dark eyes that were staring back at him from the vanity mirror. "Pam is your friend. Nothing more. Stop sweating like a pig and go help her out."

With one last large intake of cold air, he walked up the steps and gently knocked on the door. She was opening it before he could reach his fourth knock.

He had only ever seen "outside of work" Pam a few times, mostly at Poor Richard's on a Thursday or Friday night when everyone went out for drinks, and then twice more when he had offered to be her ride when Roy had gone to visit his brother for an extended weekend. But those times didn't count, because that Pam was still "office Pam," dressed in pencil skirts and plain cardigans with her hair clipped back behind her head. Of course, this was the Pam that he had fallen in love with. But the Pam standing in front of him was making him fall in love all over again.

This Pam was wearing candy-cane-striped pajama shorts and a Valley View High School Art Club t-shirt. This Pam had her hair in a loose ponytail. This Pam had no makeup and glasses, which did little to cover the redness in her cheeks. This Pam smelled of vanilla. Was it lotion? Body wash?

He could very quickly get used to this Pam.

But he shook his head, quickly warding off those thoughts, regaining his composure. He was not here to fall deeper in love with Pam. He was here to… What was he here for?

"Alright, Beesly. I'm gonna need a hammer, a shoe, and a jar of mayonnaise if we're going to get rid of this monster that's hanging out under your bed."

His halfway grin was returned with a sheepish smile of her own. She stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

"Trust me, the only 'monster' around my bed is otherwise occupied tonight." Her eyes rolled, while his brows knit together. Before he could ask, she said, "So, are you sure I didn't wake you up? I feel so bad."

"Pam, trust me, the only thing you interrupted was my third time through the Boy Meets World series. Stop sayin' you're sorry."

"Oh my god! I was doing the same thing!" She gestured towards the tv where Cory, clad in a diving suit, waved a sign at Topanga that read, "I WILL CHASE YOU FOREVER." The irony was not lost on him, and his giggle was more nervous than he let her realize.

"Well then, I wouldn't want you to miss the epic conclusion; this is a good one. We'd better get to...doing whatever it is you needed my help with. What...what exactly was that again?"

Her cheeks deepened in their already crimson color, and he saw her body tense up, her chin hitting her chest in embarrassment.

"Jim, if I let you help me, you have to promise, PROMISE, you'll just help me out and never speak a word of this ever again." She glanced up at him, worry in her eyes, her small frame making her seem childlike. "Do you promise?"

"I promise."

At his declaration, she relaxed, spun on her toes, and beckoned with her entire arm for him to follow her. He had never been this far into her house. Well, technically, he'd never really been in her house at all. He'd gotten as far as her front porch to pick her up those few times, and all he'd seen was the front entryway. He truly had no idea where she was taking him. They passed the kitchen on one side and the living room on the other, down a dark hallway where they passed several rooms before entering the one with the light on.

Her bedroom.

Their bedroom.

A chill shot down his spine. His entire body tensed. He tried his hardest to put on blinders, to avert his gaze from the place where Roy had, more than likely time and time again, ravaged her naked body. He focused on the floor, which did him no better, because he noticed Roy's boxers shed next to the bed. 20 minutes ago, he had wanted nothing more than to be in her house, in her presence. Now, he was desperate to finish the task she had for him and get the hell out.

Suddenly, she stopped. More specifically, she stopped outside the door to what was presumably the master bathroom. Her head was hung low again, and she she was blocking the door with her tiny body.

Taking a deep breath, she began.

"Okay, so, you have to understand, Roy's a guy, so, sometimes Roy does guy things, and…" Her speech was rushed and random. She had crossed her arms, uncrossed her arms, balled her fists at her sides, and recrossed her arms. Jim was beginning to grow concerned. Roy did "guy things?" Was he hurting her? Was this her way of telling him.

She was looking every which way, avoiding his gaze, grappling for what to say next. He was about to interject when she began again, her face now beet red.

"Roy's kind of gross, Jim. He doesn't flush the toilet half the time, and tonight before he left for the bar, he said he had a stomach ache, and he almost didn't go out, but he did, and he didn't flush the toilet, and I didn't realize it until now, and then when I went to flush it, it wouldn't work, and now the bathroom smells horrendous, and I really have to pee, and we're replacing our other toilet so there isn't even one in the other bathroom and I don't know what to do, and I have a broken toilet and this is just the worst ever and I'm so sorry!"

He wanted to laugh.

He really, really wanted to laugh.

Seeing how stressed and embarrassed and fidgety and thoroughly red she was from her nose to her toes (which, he noticed, were painted pink), he decided not to laugh.

He would do that in the privacy of his own home.

For now, he stuck with shaking his head, smirking, and taking a step towards the bathroom door.

Never in his life did he think he would literally be fixing Roy Anderson's shit.

But for Roy Anderson's fiance, he would do anything.

"I have one condition, and one condition only."

"Anything." Her eyes were pleading, and he noticed that she was a bit jumpy. She was doing a potty dance. He felt that urge to laugh bubble inside him again, but he refrained.

"You owe me the biggest bowl of ice cream when I'm done with this."

"Done!" She was so desperate, it was almost adorable. Okay, it was adorable. But he wasn't here for adorable.

She turned again to walk into the bathroom, looking over her shoulder with the warning, "I'd hold my breath if I were you."

Now growing serious, he took one more breath of fresh air before nearing the culprit of Pam's anxiety. The air he inhaled smelled like her.

He approached the toilet, jiggling the handle to hear a distinct echoing inside the tank. He chuckled, and began moving the items off of the lid: A can of Glade pine-scented spray (dangerously empty, he noticed, as he took a faint whiff of the air around him), and a bottle of Jergen's lotion whose scent he recognized. Removing the toilet tank lid, he noticed her standing behind him and off to the side, shifting on her toes to get a better look at what he was doing. He was finished before she could blink twice.

"Go ahead and give it a shot, Beesly." He stepped to the side, gesturing widely with both arms for her to try flushing again. When the toilet flushed, Jim was entirely taken aback by the thin, warm arms that were suddenly wrapped around him. Seconds later, they were gone, replaced by squealing, jumping, and clapping.

"Oh my god, Jim, you are my hero!"

Wow, was that all I had to do? Shoulda gone into the plumbing business a long time ago, he pondered, watching her finish her celebration, use the last of the pine tree spray, and open up the toilet lid to a now clean bowl.

He crossed his arms, smirking in admiration of his handy work (both the fixed toilet and the smiling Pam), when she turned towards him sheepishly again.

"Uh, Jim, could you… I kinda need to…"

"OH, right, right! My bad."

He backed out of the bathroom, his chuckling only ceased by the sudden realization that he was back in their bedroom. Half of him wanted to stay and absorb every detail. The other half knew better.

Ducking his head, he went back out into the hallway, stopping when he reached safe ground in the living room where he was met by Cory and Topanga embracing in front of the EPCOT Center fountain.

If only it were that easy.

He heard her footsteps before he saw her, the color in her cheeks returning to her normal peach color. Her lips and eyes told a story party of embarrassment but also of gratitude.

"Jim, you have no idea how much I appreciate you right now."

Her glance was more downward than meeting his, and he tried his best to reassure her when he retorted, "Well, I guess you could show me with that bowl of ice cream you promised."

Immediately, her eyes shot up, wide, and she had barely said, "Right!" before she was ducking to the right and into the kitchen. Reluctantly, he followed her, deciding to pause at the breakfast bar rather than stalking her all the way to the freezer. He perched himself atop a circular stool while he watched her get two bowls from a high cabinet, noticing how her t-shirt rose just enough so that a sliver of skin shown. He looked away, desperately craving the ice cream for a much different reason now.

Moments later, she slid a bowl of Rocky Road and a spoon across the bar to him. Holding up her own spoon, with a dollop of ice cream already careening over the sides, she began her toast.

"To James Duncan Halpert: The greatest toilet repairman there ever was!"

He chuckled, offering his spoon to be clinked before shoveling the ice cream into his mouth. Apparently, half of a family sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and four and a half grape sodas wasn't a substantial dinner.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she broke.

"So, are you going to reveal your secret plumber ways?" She waggled her eyebrows, grinning at him as she put another heaping spoonful past her lips.

"No can do, Beesly. That would put me out of business. And the Booty Call Plumbing Corporation has a hard enough time raking in the dough as it is."

She chuckled, rolling her eyes.

"But in all seriousness, your chain came loose. I just put it back on. Magicccccc." He waved his hands in the air, wiggling his fingers as he did so.

"Seriously? That was it?" Her eyes lidded in annoyance. She was frustrated with herself. But she surely was enjoying his company.

"That was it," he chuckled. "Maybe next time I can show you how to unclog a shower drain."

Her eyerolls were becoming commonplace as she turned to put her now empty ice cream bowl in the sink. Looking down, he noticed that the only remnants in his own bowl were now soup. His ice cream was gone. He was going to have to go soon.

He didn't want to go.

He dragged his spoon around the bowl, making shapes in the melted chocolate.

"You know Jim, I have this magical thing in my freezer called 'a carton of more ice cream' if you want more."

Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. Standing up, he rounded the breakfast bar, and in a few long strides he was standing next to her. With hands clutching the bowl and hovering above the sink, he lowered his voice to a whisper that he didn't realize was as husky as she had noticed.

"See, as enticing as that offer sounds, if I had another bowl, you might end up with another broken toilet on your hands, and no one's going to be around to fix it."

Her eyes bugged out of her head, eliciting a tension-breaking guffaw from Jim before he turned the water on and began to wash his bowl.

"Halpert! You promised never to speak of it again! It's been like, five minutes!"

"To be fair, Beesly, I never mentioned the fact that your disgusting fiance left you with a toilet full of literal shit and then went to the bars all night. I simply declined your second offer of ice cream."

With a championed smirk, she laughed, rolled her eyes for the third time in the past minute, and slapped him in the arm as she walked out of the kitchen.

As she passed him by, her front nudged against his back, and his entire body tensed at the feel of her thin, cotton pajamas rubbing up against him.

Keep your cool here, Halpert.

After taking several deep breaths, and splashing some water from the tap on his face, he joined her in the living room. She was standing in front of the television, remote in her hand, presumably getting ready to shut it all down for the night.

Awkwardly, he approached her, standing more towards the entryway than the actual living room.

She was going to kick him out, right? As much has he had enjoyed the past-how long had he actually been there?-15 minutes, he knew this was just a fluke in the story of Jim and Pam. Soon, she would give her undying gratitude, say her goodbye, and fold back into the life where Roy shared her bed and Jim was the afterthought. Sighing, he gestured towards the television.

"Gettin' ready to call it a night?"

"Absolutely not! We missed the best part of the episode. Wanna finish it with me?" She glanced over, and he realized that she was rewinding the episode to where it had been when he entered.

Had she just invited him to stay? Longer?

He had heard that correctly, right?

We missed the best part.

She was sitting down. She was beckoning him over to the couch. She was patiently waiting for him to sit down before she hit Play.

He stood there, dumbfounded, before deciding that this was a dream.

A deliciously rude, grape-soda-induced, dream.

So he pinched himself.

It hurt.

Pam's eyebrows furrowed.

He was really standing there, pinching himself like an idiot at the moment, while she waited for him to come sit down.

"Sure, absolutely," was all he could muster before joining her on the couch.

She had chosen the middle seat, which was both awesome and terrible at the same time.

Awesome because he would be sitting right next to her. Terrible because he wasn't sure if he would be able to handle sitting so closely without breaking out in a cold sweat. She grinned up at him, eyes twinkling under her glasses, as she pressed play.

It took a full scene before Jim let the tension in his body relax and mold into her couch.

Well, their couch. He wasn't just in Pam's house. He was in Roy's house, too.

They giggled at the, "What's a Topanga?" crack, Pam commenting, "Ya know, that was always my only issue with this show: the name Topanga. Seriously? They couldn't have gone with something a bit more normal?"

Jim just chuckled, revelling in how easy this was. Sitting on the couch, Pam next to him, both of them full of ice cream and watching a show from their childhood. Being relaxed. Laughing. It felt like home.

He was thrown back into reality when Cory made his speech to the dolphin, echoing his own day-in and day-out thoughts.

So, Amber, you're separated from your mate, huh? I know how you feel. Not that Topanga's my...mate or anything, I just.. believe she is. It's funny though, ya know, people tell you to get on with your life, go date, there's plenty of other fish in the sea… You see, we know that once you've met that special person, it's hard to live knowing they're out there and they're the only one you care about.

He was grateful that Pam seemed to be as nomadic as him when it came to television watching habits and that all of the lights were off, or she might have seen how red his face had grown. Instead, she was sighing and doing all of those things that girls did when guys on tv made big declarations of love. As the episode rolled on, and the guy got the girl, Jim's thoughts were consumed by two things: 1) By how much he empathized with the words still echoing in his brain. Plenty of people close to him had told him to move on, to "get back out there" and "forget about her" like it was the easiest thing in the world to do. That hurt. It hurt to be sitting next to her right now, knowing that playing house would soon be over, that he would leave and Roy would come home and that would be the end of it. He got it.

Secondly, he was upset with himself for empathizing with a teenaged boy from a Disney Channel show. His eyes rolled right along with the credits.

"Ugh, I love that episode," Pam gushed, throwing her head back into the cushion of the couch.

Jim chuckled. "Oh really? I hadn't noticed by the way that you insisted we rewind it."

She playfully slapped him across his chest, his body running hot as her fingers grazed him.

"Oh stop it, Halpert. You said you were up watching it, too. Is Boy Meets World your guilty pleasure show?"

She was now turned towards him, sitting cross-legged on the couch, her knees breathing against his thigh. He turned slightly, both so that he could see her better and to break the contact of a touch that was no doubt going to drive him crazy.

"No, my guilty pleasure show is definitely Desperate Housewives, but don't tell Dwight."

When she giggled, she rocked forward, and her knees pressed right into his left thigh. Did she realize the power that she held over him?

"But in all seriousness, my brothers and I used to watch Boy Meets World growing up. It had a lot of good lessons. Plus, we loved Topanga, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows, receiving another eyeroll, which he smirked at.

"You boys and your Topanga," she retorted. "So, what were you doing up so late anyway? You're sure I didn't wake you up?"

He tensed, for what seemed like the hundredth time since he'd entered her home. What was he supposed to say?

I pretty much spend every night sleepless because I'm thinking about how I almost told you that I'm in love with you when we were on that boat?

I spend countless hours imagining the life we could have together and that usually takes up most of my sleep time?

None of these options seemed ideal.

"I guess I couldn't sleep," he shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "Hasn't really been coming for me lately, I don't know. What were you doing up so late, Beesly?"

At this, she bit her lip and looked away. Was she hiding something? She chewed on her lip for a moment before answering.

"Roy and his friends went out tonight. I don't usually sleep much while he's out."

His heart dropped. Of course she couldn't sleep while Roy was out. She couldn't sleep without him beside her. She was waiting for him to come home.

A whispered, "Oh," was all he could muster, before she spoke again, not even hearing his reply.

"It's just so much easier to stay up until he gets home, honestly. He comes barreling in, making a fuck ton of noise, and I'd rather just wait until he comes barreling through the door than be woken up by it."

Oh.

That was not the answer he had been expecting. As his thoughts continued to wrap around her words, she added more.

"Or he'll call, at like, three AM to tell me he's spending the night at Darryl's. Like, thanks for waking me up just to tell me I can go to bed! Honestly."

She was annoyed. She was actually sitting there expressing her annoyances about her fiance with Jim. The only words he could pull out of the tangled mess in his brain was, "Wow, that sucks."

"If fricken' does, Jim. It really fricken does." He felt her body sink into the couch as she turned to dangle her legs off the couch. She looked so defeated, and he could hear that in her voice when she whispered, "Sometimes, I just don't get Roy."

All of a sudden, he was back on the deck of the Lake Wallenpaupack Princess. She was staring up at him, longingly, desperately, begging him to speak. His words were caught in his throat. Was he being given a second chance? His eyes shifted from left to right, breath growing rapid, heart threatening to beat through his skin, when she spoke again.

"Oh well. You wanna watch the next episode? I think this is the last one until the weird cartoons come on."

He'd blown it. Again.

"Sure. Gotta find out if Cory and Topanga can survive another episode!"

But it wasn't the worst failure in the world. She smiled, hit play, and settled back down, her body molded relaxedly into the couch, her right side whispering against his left. This time, out of spite, he let himself enjoy this.

At some point, she began to yawn. At another, she reached back to take the ponytail out of her hair, shaking out her curls before sinking lower into the couch. As Eric receives the letter stating that he hadn't gotten into college, he felt her head drop onto his shoulder, her breathing slow, and her body relax against his own.

He almost cries.

Instead, he lets himself relax, not wanting to wake her. He closes his eyes, taking in every part of this.

She smells faintly of vanilla, Rocky Road ice cream, and some kind of lavender body wash.

Her curls are soft, not scratchy.

Her glasses are pressing into his shoulder. While the pressure gives him comfort, he wonders if it is hurting her.

Her legs have goosebumps where her shorts end.

The fingers on her right hand are curled, brushing his thigh as if she were trying to grasp for him when she fell asleep.

Her lips are parted, breath escaping every few seconds as she exhales.

He has never experienced a greater state of euphoria in his life.

Not realizing how much he truly needed it, his body begins to relax, and his eyes close, his head tilting to rest atop hers. The last thing that he sees before he slips into slumber is her cheek, mere centimeters from his lips. His last thought is of how much he wants to kiss her goodnight.

Suddenly, a cell phone is ringing, limbs are flailing.

Suddenly, his body is cold from where hers had been pressed against him.

She ran across the room in search of her phone. He realized that she had been right: the Disney Channel had some strange, middle of the night cartoons. It was 3:47 AM.

Mumbles resound from the kitchen, her phone clicks shut, and she returns, clearly exhausted, as if she was sleepwalking.

"Roy?" he asks, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

"Mhm," she manages back, barely able to keep her eyes open. "'s staying at Darryl's. Very drunk. Good riddance," she continues. "Told you. Better to just stay awake."

She rolls her eyes again. He gives her a sympathetic grin, standing up and stretching his limbs.

"Ugh, tell me about it. When my Roy calls and wakes me from a dead sleep, you do not wanna mess with me."

She giggles, sighs, and yawns hugely.

Standing awkwardly as he had been 2 hours ago, he shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Well, Beesly, as much as I'd like to make fun of these weirdo cartoons with you, I should probably let you get some sleep."

Suddenly, her eyes open wide. She looks at him, around the room, and back at him. Searching for what, exactly, he can't tell. She sighs, looks at her feet, and nods twice in agreement.

"Yeah, I suppose I should let you do the same."

She approaches him, suddenly only a foot away, her eyes wide, staring into his. Wrapping her arms around him, she buries her head in his chest.

"Thank you so much for coming over and helping me out. You have no idea how much I appreciate it."

He hesitates, tensing once again, but quickly gives in and envelops her with his own arms. Although her hug is one filled with thanks, he pretends otherwise. He rests his chin atop her head, and takes another mental photograph. He breathes in the scent of her shampoo, muttering, "Anytime, Beesly," before she lets go.

"Just make sure you start taking beans out of Roy's diet."

She drops her chin, shoulders heaving up and down as she laughs, embarrassed once again, at his comment.

"Never gonna let me live this down, are ya?"

"Nope, never."

He is at the door, going back out into the cold that affects him this time around.

He offers one more, "Bye, Beesly," before starting his car and making the trip to his house.

Not his home.

He left his home on Monroe Avenue.

Tonight, with her scent still lingering, and her touch still warming his skin, he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.