Pam was coming over.

Pam was coming over.

Drunk Jim was not prepared for this event.

Instead of picking up the haphazardly throw pile of cards and engaging in the next round of poker, he was suddenly everywhere and anywhere, flying all over the house like a chicken with its head cut off.

First, he was at the kitchen sink, running water to clean the pile of assorted dirty dishes that had been collecting. Pam would expect a clean house, right? As he waited for sudsy water to fill the tub, he strode purposefully into the living room, straightening up the blankets that were strewn across the couch, tossing XBox remotes onto the entertainment center, and gathering plates of half-finished meals that he and Mark had left on the coffee table.

But then, he realized, he didn't have time to do the dishes! Stopping the suds at the halfway point, he flung the dripping dishes into the oven, not realizing that his floor was now covered in small puddles.

Suddenly, he was in the bathroom, his actions rotating between tidying the messes and making himself look more presentable.

He was combing his hair, then scrubbing at a toothpaste stain on the counter-toothpaste! His breath probably smelled! But if his breath smelled, why wouldn't the rest of his body? Deodorant!-which he applied with his toothbrush hanging halfway out of his mouth. His eyes darted to the floor where he noticed dirty socks and a wet towel-well that just wouldn't do! They were in the air on their way to the laundry basket when he realized he should probably take a look at his own clothes.

Should he change? Would Pam like his ratty Scranton High Basketball t-shirt? He flung it over his head, sending his toothbrush to the carpet in the hallway, before choosing a clean Scranton High Basketball shirt (this one had his last name on the back-much cooler) before finally returning to the kitchen.

Where he promptly faced three pairs of eyes, all wide, all locked on him.

Paul's beer was paused midway to his pursed lips. Shawn had his hands in a bag of chips, unmoving. Tyler was mid deal, cards only given to two out of four seats at the table.

"Yo, Halpert. You look like a damn deer in headlights, dude," Shawn finally observed.

Paul took a swig of his beer, chuckling before adding, "You've really got it bad for this chick, huh?"

He truly was a stereotypical deer in headlights: with eyes wide, his feet froze to the floor in the void where his kitchen melted into the living room.

He was suddenly aware of just how hard his heart was thumping beneath the fresh cotton of his new t-shirt. His friends were all eying him suspiciously. Pam would be ringing his doorbell any second.

And, he only had one sock on.

He had to sober up enough to not look like a total and complete fool, and he had to do it quickly.

He had just shrugged off his friends and found an extra chair to put around the table when the chimes reverberated through his front entryway.

Pam Beesly was on his front porch.

Taking in as much air as his lungs could hold, he strode-or, more so stumbled-to answer the door.

Any semblance of a "quick sober-up" paled in comparison to how quickly her body, looking so small on his front porch, brought him back to reality.

Her skin glowed in the moonlight, honey curls having a new depth in the darkness of the evening.

He forgot to breathe for a second.

"Hi," she finally spoke. Is she nervous? Why is she whispering? You shithead, let her in! It's cold out there!

"Beesly!" He greeted her warmly, his smile reaching his eyes, backing slightly into the front entryway and extending his arms to either side of him. He was partly offering a warm welcome to his home, but in his state of inebriation, and the way his heart had swelled at her presence, he felt the immediate need to wrap her into a bear hug.

Which he promptly did.

As Pam stepped into the house, and into Jim's strong, lanky arms, the cold air whipping at her back from the still open door disappeared. Her cheek fit immediately to his chest, and fists that balled underneath her chin slowly flattened, extending across his torso and around his back.

She had questioned his intent when he had opened the door, arms opened wide, not even hiding from herself the fact that she had hoped he would offer her a welcome hug. Now, here in his arms, every ounce of worry, dread, fear, anger that had steeped within her that day oozed from her pores, melting away through his touch.

And for the first time, without questioning, she let it.

His heart beat near her cheek, and the overwhelming sense of comfort of having his life source beating underneath her washed her with a calmality she hadn't felt in God only knew how long. In this moment, she was safe. His arms were strong, they protected her. The sensation brewing within her told her that this is where she belonged.

God, she smelled so good. With his cheek resting atop her head, he had let his nose wander, inhaling her scent directly. If he didn't blackout tonight from alcohol poisoning, her intoxicating scent would be the death of him. Was that perfume?

She felt so goddamn right in his arms. Her body, however tiny, fit perfectly as she folded into him, like they had been made from the same mold. He would hold her here forever.

When it was all said and done, the hug only truly lasted about ten seconds before coughs and ahems broke through the thickening air.

Slowly, reluctantly, the hug was broken. They each let their fingers linger, breaking total contact when there was no true reason to still be touching.

But Jim wanted more. He craved more. However heightened his senses had been with the assistance of alcohol, they had only intensified with her presence. They each let out a nervous chuckle, and Jim's eyes drifted to the floor before pulling his gaze upward from her feet.

He hadn't taken the time yet to detract his gaze from anywhere but her mesmerizing green eyes, but now that was given the chance, he wasn't even sure where to begin. So far in his life, he had seen work-Pam and pajama-Pam. But now, casual-Pam was entering his world, and he was never turning back.

Those jeans were painted onto her body, hugging every curve and smoothing along every dip in her lower half. As his eyes continued upward, her sweater seemed to do the same, fitting her frame as if it were made solely to hug her body. The neckline dipped lower than anything she'd ever worn, but was still modest enough to only show the slightest hint of cleavage. He had to stop staring before his tongue rolled out of his throat.

"Welcome to the official Fuck Valentine's Day Essstravaganza!" He guided her to the kitchen, hands seeming to magnetize to the small of her back, as her helped her find her seat. She didn't dare pull away. She wanted this tonight.

"Pamela Morgan Beesly, meet, the guys." He pointed to each of his friends, who exchanged introductions. "Gentlemen. It is my very pleasure to introduce to you the wonderful Pam Beesly.

Shyly, Pam waved, her head low, as she giggled at Jim's clear state of intoxication.

"Woul- you like a drink, Ms. Beesly?"

"Absolutely." She responded immediately with a single, curt nod. When Jim reached for the beers, she signaled for the bottle of whiskey instead.

"Girl wants to party with the big boys tonight, alright!" Paul offered a high five across the table, and suddenly Pam's nerves quelled dramatically. As Jim slid the lowball glass to her, she mirrored his earlier habits of knocking back the amber liquid more so than sipping at it, which only earned her more approval from Jim's friends.

"Alright, gentlemen-and lady. The game is Texas hold 'em…"

And the night of card playing continued. Being the most sober at the table, Pam quickly began winning hand after hand, money transfers piling her way. As they drank and talked and laughed, Jim found small opportunities for closeness, his body craving her touch like an addict craved a high. His fingers skimmed hers whenever cards were dealt. His right knee brushed her left with a warmth that pooled in his belly. Whenever he wanted to share a private comment, his nose teased at her ear as his whispers breathed hot on her neck.

With her second glass of whiskey coursing through her veins, she was thriving on his contact. Her body ran warm when he had laughed so hard that he reached his hand out to cover hers. She found herself adjusting the way that she perched on the chair, so that the friction between their knees happened every time either one of them moved. When he bent to whisper in her ear, her body was chilled to the bone; the tip of his nose tickled her ear, running up and down as he spoke in low, throaty words.

Of course, when the night had begun, she realized that Jim was drunk, and that drunk people often lost sense of a personal bubble. But as her body was loosened by the assistance of alcohol, she gave in, deciding that inherently, they both might have needed the extra courage.

But courage to do what, exactly?

That, she still refused to admit to.

"So guyssss, why are we having a 'fuck Valentine's Day party?" Pam asked, the question lingering on her tongue since Jim had made his proclamation to begin the night.

"Well, ya see, Pam," Shawn began, pointing with his beer at the men around the table. "We here are all, what you might call nature's most pathetic creature: the single man. And when Valentine's Day rolls around, we are forced to face our singleness head on. So rather than do that, we say 'fuck it,' and get drunk instead."

Eyes wide, focused intently on Shawn's words, Pam nodded over-enthusiastically.

"And young Jimmy Halpert here is the most pathetic of 'em all," Paul chided, grabbing Jim's head in his elbow and roughing up his cranium.

Pam's giggles choroused over the men. "Oh my god, he called you Jimmy."

Her body folded, arms clenched around her middle as she giggled, catching on the laughter of the other four men.

"Jimmy here was so excited for you to join us," Tyler added, waggling his eyebrows.

"Really?" Pam's eyes widened again, concentrating on Tyler's words.

"Definitely," he continued. "He was damn near in tears before he called you. But I'm glad he did. You're cool, Pam. You can join us for cards anytime."

Pam mulled over his words, watching them chase each other around the table, as Tyler silently signaled to the other two men.

"But I think, for now, we're gonna call it quits. You two kids have a good rest of your night."

Suddenly, Pam was panicking.

If the others were leaving, would she have to as well?

She crossed her arms, wrung at them nervously as Ty, Paul, and Shawn tossed garbage into receptacles, collected their cash, and headed to the door with their coats. Each of the three men gave her a quick hug goodbye, nowhere close to the hug Jim had given her.

Then, all too quickly, the door was shut.

They were alone.

Pam's face was burning. What should she do? She was way too drunk to drive. But she didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay. With him. She didn't want to go back home to Roy, not tonight. But Roy wasn't even home. She'd be returning to emptiness. At that point, she couldn't decide which was worse.

The party was over. Surely Jim wanted her to leave, right? Anxiety was drawn in the furrow of her brows and the fidgeting of her fingers when suddenly, Jim was facing her, his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.

If her mind was racing, his had rocketed into space. Should he call her a cab? She obviously wanted to go home, right? They were both absolutely drunk. He couldn't drive her home. Should he call Roy?

And then it hit him for the first time that night.

Roy.

It was Valentine's Day, for crying out loud.

But she was here.

Where was Roy?

They were standing awkwardly in his foyer, catching each other's gazes only to pull away, when finally, something broke the silence.

"Oh my god, Pam! Was that your stomach?"

It was then that she remembered: she hadn't eaten anything since lunch.

Her giggles erupted like a shot from a cannon, following the laughter that Jim had begun.

"Oh my god," she chorused, clutching her stomach. "It was so loud Jim!"

"I know, I know," he cackled, grabbing onto the railing of the stairs for support as his intoxicated laughter threatened to knock him over.

"Pam, do you know what this means?"

Doe-eyed, she searched his face for an answer.

"We need to order a pizza, like right now."