Sitting on the couch, her right side barely whispering against Roy's left, Pam's mind was anywhere but on the movie they had rented. Roy had been ecstatic when she hadn't even flinched at his choice of The Fast and the Furious. Truthfully, she couldn't care less what fictitious characters invaded their living room that Friday night. Her body was wholly consumed by something else, someone else, the radiating heat stemming not from the hot box of a man sitting next to her, but from the man not five miles across town and the week she had spent with him.

Hearing about Kevin's impending cancer results had brought out a sympathetic side in him that she selfishly thought was reserved for her. Feeling the sudden inclination to be alone with him, she had suggested "getting something for Kevin," and suddenly she found herself walking down the Rite Aid aisles accompanied by her floppy haired co-worker and sixty-nine Cup of Noodles. The giddiness she felt as they walked side by side with the menial task of shopping at hand faltered in comparison to the way she felt shopping with Roy, who did nothing but grumble and throw unnecessary items into their cart like a toddler. It almost felt like a natural thing that they should be doing together once or twice a week, stocking their cart full of items to try out a new dish. Her mind had then wandered to flirtatious teasing, an accidental burned dinner, giggles as they used the odds and ends that they still had in the fridge to make something completely outrageous, but comical and oddly delicious all the same. Instead, she had empty Chinese take-out boxes for the third time that week, and the repugnant odor of beer breath.

As Vin Diesel whipped around the street on screen, and Roy grunted, slugging back another beer, she distracted herself with thoughts that wandered to immediately taking him up on his offer to drive to the skating rink, to bundling up and buckling herself into his Saab, and being so amazed at just how Jim his car felt. It wasn't just the scent, the spice with a hint of Suave shampoo, that assailed her nostrils, but the basketball tossed haphazardly in the backseat, the stick of deodorant sliding out from under the passenger-side carpet, the empty can of grape soda that stuck to the cup holder, that curled her lips in an upward fashion. His blushing cheeks and muttered, "Sorry for the mess," caused her to stifle a giggle.

She could feel Roy's body growing heavier as blush crept into her own cheeks, reminiscent of expressing to Jim her fear of falling, because she hadn't been ice skating since she was in high school, and Roy had done none more than taunt her each time she'd fallen. Her body grew tense with a sudden heat as she recalled his promise, breath passed heavily between them, that he absolutely would not let her fall.

His slim fingers taking hold of her laces when she'd somehow gotten them tangled around the worn and smelly skates, breath hitching as she somehow squeaked out a joke, "They make this lacing process hard on purpose! If you can't pass this test, you shouldn't be allowed on the ice!" He had affirmed her almost immediately, heart skipping a beat when he uttered in a voice meant only for her, "Don't worry, Beesly. I've got you."

Once she'd gotten the hang of things, and knew she didn't actually need him to hold her hand anymore, she felt a tiny part within herself grow, emerging as bold, and purposely flailing backwards so that his hands could catch her time and time again. It was his gloved hand clasping hers, holding her gently at the small of her back, grasping at her waist when she was truly about to tumble, that she found herself craving. With each passing touch, she wanted more. Eventually, she found herself volunteering her hand rather than waiting for his. Though they each had gloved hands, she could feel a delicious electricity pulsing with each connection.

An immense burning flooded her body, knees tucking underneath, as memories floated of the end to their work day. Roy had gone home of his own accord, not wanting to wait around for her to return. They'd both lingered, passing jokes until they were the only ones left in the office, biding their time until she would get a phone call asking if "dinner would be ready soon," or if he should "just starve tonight." Eventually, they took the elevator together. He walked her to her car. The contagious smiles really had no source, but also couldn't be contained. She chalked it up to enjoying their day together, but he knew that his happiness stemmed from the pure love that was toppling out of him for the tiny woman who walked beside him. She just hadn't quite caught up yet.

As Roy's neck finally lolled against the back of the couch, a deep snore emitting from his throat, her body positively warmed as their current afternoon came back into clear view. They had all been getting ready to leave the office behind for the weekend. She had been showing Jim the latest sketch she had been working on; so far, it was no more than a hand reaching out to an otherwise stark white page, but Jim was positively proud of her all the same. While he marveled at the lines on the page, she radiated elation at the joyful admiration that he presented. As Jim returned to his desk to claim his messenger bag, Roy had approached, and snarkiness ensued, the glow in her cheeks replaced with clear dejection, as he threw an off-handed comment at her about, "that hand making me a sandwich."

Jim had watched the scene unfold from his desk, torn between intervening and letting it go, but he had been surprised, watching Pam stand up for herself.

She wasn't quite sure where the surge had stemmed from, but something within her wouldn't stand for it. He had ridiculed her enough, had torn her down time and time again. Enough was enough.

"You know what, Roy? I worked really hard on this. I don't need your criticisms."

"Woah, baby, calm down, I was just ki-"

"Calm down?" She was standing now, fists clenched at her sides, heat evident behind her eyes. He backed away from the desk slightly, not knowing how to react to this side of her that, in the past 9 years they'd been together, he had never before seen.

"You've ridiculed my art since we were teenagers, Roy. I'm done. You have no right to stand here and make fun of the only thing that I'm passionate about. I'm sick and tired of it."

The few remaining office workers had surely pulled their attention to the commotion at the front of the office, standing awkwardly, not quite sure what to do. But as Roy's face fell, his hands spread in surrender as he stumbled over a fruitless apology, the smile on Jim's face was anything but reserved. If he'd been proud of her artwork, the splendor for the way she finally found her voice was uncanny.

Roy grappled with his words all the way to the car, empty promises of making it up to her later that weekend tumbling past lips that were still confused at her sudden defenses. Her refusal to speak the entire car ride home, letting him choose the movie and their dinner for the evening, presented an indifference that stemmed now from her pleads to just shut him up, rather than the old Pammy ways of being a pushover. Something had snapped, and she was honestly just tired of listening to the way his words scratched from his throat. Instead, she busied herself with positivity, the images that had brought light to her week, that all shared one common factor: Jim.

Upon awakening the next morning to Roy's still tentative hands, featherlight kisses being dropped onto her shoulder, that newness of her bold aire still remained. She showered, and was welcomed into the kitchen by the smell of a poor man's attempt at French toast. Albeit slightly undercooked, it was the gesture that mattered. Although this time, the nudge in her brain reminded her that he shouldn't have to make her breakfast to make up for his hurtful words. They ate in contented silence, his from the fear that his words would set him deeper into trouble, hers from the peg of annoyance that knew she truly wouldn't say anything kind.

It was his offer to take over their weekend chores so that she could work on her sketch that pulled her out of the funk. His softened expression, the insistence with which he took the dishes from in front of her and began immediately scrubbing-with soap this time, not just leaving them in the sink to soak-thawed the demeanor towards him that had been building since the previous afternoon.

As hours of their day dwindled by, and fuzzy lines became more distinct on her page, the soft padding of tentative feet entered the spare bedroom where she had taken up residence.

"Hey, baby." His words were shy, uncertain as he approached her doing the very thing he had so often ridiculed. "How's it goin'?"

At first, she had wanted to ignore him, keeping her focus on the task at hand. The hands that were reaching, their target so close but yet so far off the mark. In the end, though, she saw the hesitant look in his eye and gave in. He had, after all, spent the entire afternoon cleaning their apartment.

"Pretty good. I'm feeling kinda good about this one."

"Oh, really? Can I see it?"

Pulling her eyebrows together and pursing her lips upward, she shook her head smally.

"It's not finished yet. Maybe another time."

"Oh. Okay."

He stood awkwardly in the doorway, not quite knowing what to say or do next, his large hands floating at his sides.

"So, uh, Kenny and a couple of his friends were thinking about heading out tonight. You gonna be working on this for awhile?"

He gestured at the sketchbook that lay across her knees, the pencils spread on the bed next to her, as her lips furled into a frown.

"I thought you said we were going to do something special tonight?" She pulled her legs out from their position of being folded up underneath her body. She was no longer in a position of comfort. "Something about 'making it up to me' after that embarrassing little show you put on back at the office?"

His stance was defensive now, hands and arms finally finding a purpose as they spread palm-up in front of his abdomen.

"Well, yeah, I thought I'd made it up to you by cleaning up around here so you could paint or whatever."

"Do you even listen to the words that come out of your mouth sometimes?"

It was all she could think to say, her words riddled with ironic laughter as she stood from the bed, uncaring when her pencils tumbled to the floor.

"I'm not even going to put up with this tonight."

She pushed past him into their bedroom, throwing items haphazardly into a duffel bag.

"Not going to put up with what?"

He was scoffing, watching her scoot annoyedly around their bedroom before angling around him and out the door without a passing glance.

"Babe, I cleaned, like, the whole house. What's with the attitude all of a sudden?"

Finally, he had caught her attention. Finally, she was stopping dead in her tracks, allowing herself to face him so that he could catch the full brunt of the heat riddled in her stare.

"The attitude? You've got to be kidding me, right?" There was a beat of silence, an opportunity for him to defend himself, but as she observed the blatant ignorance in the way his face stupidly searched hers for an answer, she pressed on.

"Do you really think that 'cleaning the house' is what I wanted from you? After you openly mocked me in front of everyone in the office?"

"I'm pretty sure almost everyone was gone by that point."

"That's not the point!" she retorted, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"Then what is?"

It was in this fleeting moment, his barbaric frame standing not five feet away, that she allowed herself the sinking feeling that this was her future. This boorish, obtuse excuse for a man was what she was committing herself to for life. In that moment, it sounded more like a prison sentence than a blissful marriage. In that moment, she was too tired to fight it anymore.

"You know what? Forget it, Roy. Have fun with Kenny. I'm heading to a friend's for the night."

Without another word, she slipped her shoes and coat on, threw her duffel bag into the backseat of her car, and was on Jim's front porch with her fingers pushing in the doorbell.

"Hey." His expression was startled; there wasn't a reason for her to be on his doorstep, yet here she was. After the initial shock, he allowed himself to settle into the comfort that had been ebbing since his eyes had settled on her face.

"Hey. I figured I still owed you a pizza from our little game last week. Care to cash in?"

"Absolutely."