He'd promised his sister that he was going to do it, that he was going to finally buck up and tell Pam that he loved her.

But about five minutes into his fifteen minute drive home, he found the loophole: He hadn't promised Larisa when he'd tell Pam. Of course, the clause of telling her before he made the decision about Stamford still loomed over his head, but as the days of the week ticked by, Jim found his list of excuses growing longer and longer.

Monday was no good. Michael was running a very serious staff meeting that involved salacious characters, an off-key soundtrack, and charts full of typos and grammatical flaws. He surely wasn't about to take Pam's attention from that circus and shift it to a life altering profession of love.

Tuesday he was out with clients all day, and Jim Halpert was a serious employee of Dunder Mifflin, Inc. He wasn't about to divert any of his one-hundred percent attention from the customer (who is always right) to a revelation that could wait at least twenty-four more hours. After all, it had already been stewing for three years; what, truly, was one more day?

Wednesday was taco night. There was at least a fifty percent chance that his declaration evoked a negative response. And, on the chance that it did, he wasn't going to let it ruin taco night.

Thursday he had a pick up game of basketball with some buddies down at the gym. He obviously couldn't let his teammates down, whether it be ditching them to actually have the conversation, or ditching them to appropriately detox and react afterwards. No, Thursday was definitely a no-go.

And Friday? Friday was Casino Night in the warehouse. For as often as Jim complained and tossed eye rolls over to reception at Michael's lewd comments and extraneous ideas, he was actually looking forward to Casino Night. Poker, he could handle. Losing the love of his life in the three seconds it took to unleash the most powerful words in the human language? He couldn't.

So, Casino Night was out.

But on the plus side, Casino Night was far surpassing his expectations. With a few drinks warming his body, his pile of poker chips growing by the table, and a high energy coursing throughout the room, there wasn't much that could bring him down tonight.

It was just that, every time his gaze drifted, it somehow caught the reflection in the sparkles of her dress, and once the sparkle caught his eyes, they were trained there for an impassable amount of time. Every time her laughter filled the air, it seemed to hover on top of the atmosphere, finding his ears as if it was seeking him out specifically. There were the sparkles again; this time, they were twinkling at the spot where her eyes crinkled, where her lips curved upwards, where her tongue poked out between her pearly whites. He lost out, to Ryan of all people, because he'd been so transfixed by the halo of light that seemed to follow her that he hadn't even bothered to look at his cards.

But then, there was Roy, bringing her drinks, watching over her shoulder while her adorable expressions did little to cover any sort of bluff she was trying to pull. There was a reason he was good at cards and she was not: He had been mastering the art of the bluff for years, totally at her expense. If he could put a mask on love for that long, a couple hands of poker were child's play.

But then she was all smiles and fluorescence, her eyes competing with her smile for who could express the most joy. While she had been eyeing her cards, he abashedly allowed his eyes one quick moment to just drink her in, the way her curls were more purposeful, the way her cheeks had a more distinct glow about them, the way her dress dipped low enough to tease the swells of her breasts. He adjusted himself under the table, stifling his groan with the butt of his fist, his teeth flashing behind it when he saw her own smile, the way she rolled her eyes into the corner. She was dorky, but god was she beautiful. The way her laugh escaped her lungs and wrapped itself around him brought him to cloud nine.

But then, she was taking him all in, and his heart was literally fluttering and stopping and fluttering and stopping, his mind racing at her implications, wondering why she'd stared down at the table as she'd made her threat. He'd lost the money, but he'd lose it a thousand times over if he could be rewarded with that smile every time.

God, he'd needed fresh air after that. Of course, freshwas the operative word. Jan was clouded by nicotine, and he purposely gave himself a foot and a half of breathing room as she reminded him of the bull hanging over his head.

She wanted him to take the job. At the interview, she said he'd be a good fit for Stamford. And with the way he had undeniably lost his breath just by watching Pam from across the table, he couldn't take it anymore. He was going back on his word to Larisa. This was his ultimatum. If she heard his words, jumped into his arms, gave him any indication that she felt the same, he would stay. But if she turned him down, he'd be making Connecticut his new place of residence.


"I'm getting married soon, and I'm getting along with everybody at work."

The words had bounced around her head all afternoon.

After her revelation this weekend, after choosing to accept the fate of Roy over a choice that would clearly never be made, the first days of work were honestly difficult. It was difficult to hear him joking with others in the bullpen, to trace the outline of his profile and know what it felt like against her skin, molded to her body in the middle of the night. It was difficult just to see him, to recognize his closeness while knowing that whatever was between them had been sealed away. But then again, what was there to seal away? Nothing had ever truly been liberated between them. With that admission, and a few glasses of wine, she swallowed the cold hard truth of the matter: It wasn't hard to forget something that was never really there in the first place.

So she donned a mask now, settled into comfort and complacency and everything that her body was rejecting, was screaming to be wrong and terrible, was protesting that this was not she wanted nor deserved. But she was marrying Roy. Jim was her best friend. That was that.

She hadn't lied to Brian and Rick; she was getting married soon-less than one month now-and she wasgetting along with everybody at work. Jim had slid nicely back into the best friend role, and with her blinders affixed firmly onto her head, that was all she saw.

Until, of course, that moment in the conference room. Watching those wedding band tapes. The laughing and joking, the ease of it all clawed at the backs of her eyes, bellowing that This is what your fiance should be doing! and Why are you settling?! and This. This is what you deserve. But she shut them out, ignored them as they hammered and screamed and shouted and tried to push her good time to the wayside. She was proud of herself, proud that she stood her ground and buried those feelings, until he was rushing to the door, and she felt the need to wrap her hands around his arm, to tug him back, to feel their skin connected just oncemore. She'd unknowingly pinned him to the door, and the way he stared down at her, the laughter quickly replaced by a staidness that made beads of sweat collect on her collar, quickly reminded her that she had made a choice. She stuffed it down again, shoving him playfully back, selecting another tape that she didn't bother to listen to.

"Jim is great. Being with him just takes away all the stress of planning my wedding."

What a crock of bullshit that was. It stung as it rolled off her tongue. Takes away all the stress of planning your wedding? Shouldn't you be talking about your fiance?

After a week of pretending, she needed whatever this casino thing was about to entail. Knowing Michael, there would be several opportunities to roll her eyes and lose herself in senseless laughter. It was an excuse to pull out that lavender dress that hung in the back of her closet waiting for the right occasion. An excuse to wear her curls a little sexier, her makeup a little edgier. Plus, there would be a bar. And after this particular week, she could definitely use a pick me up or two.

Of course, Roy had complained from the get go.

"Do I have to go?"

"We gotta pay for our own drinks? That's lame!"

"How late is this gonna go?"

"The game starts at 9, Pam! Can we at least be home for that?"

But he was alright. Some of the warehouse guys stuck around, and he knocked back drinks with them. Good, she thought. He's more tolerable when he's drunk and otherwise occupied.

He was actually a good time when he sat back and watched; finally a cheerleader for her, but only because money was concerned.

Eventually they drifted, mingling with other coworkers, which eased the tension that had unknowingly settled deep in her shoulders, a tension that had only begun the moment she had adorned the disguise of moving on with her life. The strain eased more so, melted off her toes, the moment she sat across Jim, cards in hand, smirks mimicking one another from across the felt. As the words slipped past her lips, it was evident that her inner wants were crackling through the mask in a desperate attempt to escape.

It obviously couldn't have been coy, modest little Pam, the one whose mind had been made up to remain complacent with her life choices, leaving the risky business to someone else, who had let I'm gonna take you all in roll off that sharp tongue. The flirtatious eye wiggling, the smile, the tongue between the teeth? All the work of the inner demons, for sure. So much for keeping the mask on tonight.

He just looked so damn sexy. She couldn't help herself. And besides, she had decided that she was getting married in a month. What harm would a little flirting do?

She'd taken his money, but that wasn't what was making the elation course through her veins. It was the innate reaction that her body had to his smile, his smirk, the way his long fingers cradled tiny pieces of numbered cardboard. God, she was really sucking at this pretending thing tonight.

But then they were in the parking lot.

And Roy was leaving.

And she was just feeling so goddamn good.

Because Roy's truck was pulling out of the parking lot.

And she was joking and having a good time with Jim.

And he had his hands in his pockets, standing there in that way that said Everyone else thinks I'm attractive but I'm oblivious myself.

But then the air suddenly changed; she could feel it stiffen in the same way that his body conversely went rigid. His face hardened, eyebrows turning downward as if they were being pulled by his lips which were doing the same.

When he'd asked to talk to her about something, she was sure it concerned Roy. Why he was ditching out on her. The part of her farce that was chipped away by alcohol wished and hoped and prayed he'd say something to flirt back, continue the banter that had been mounting since that last hand of cards was dealt. But those desires were quickly stuffed back down, throwing the front back atop her aura. She covered those desires with a joke, a laugh, fidgeting with her fingers as she showed him all her teeth. The irony must have hit him like a truck when she had said I'm feelin' kinda good tonight, because immediately following, her world was flipped on a dime.

It wasn't, I have feelings for you, or I love you, or I think I love you.

I'm in love with you.

Not a question, no hesitation, no doubt.

Just fact.

I'm in love with you.

And her response?

"What?"

She hadn't meant to let the word transfer from thought to reality, but it was all her brain could comprehend at the moment

True to Jim form, he was apologizing almost immediately for the poor timing, his eyes wandering and wavering and brimming with liquid that she was deliberately trying to avoid acknowledging. That would make this real. That would make all of this real. Real wasn't what she needed right now. She'd made her decision, she'd put on the mask, and she was moving on and finally okay with all of that. And here he was, trying to ruin it all.

"What are you doing?"

As if he had any idea of the inner workings of her mind, like he knew that she was trying to move on, to forget their closeness and the way he had made her come alive in the past months, and he was explicitly trying to tear that all down. Of course he didn't. But these moments weren't exactly full of rationality. She was scolding him without cause, could taste the gruff in her own words, but it was her only defense. Without it, she would be reduced to tears in the middle of the Dunder Mifflin parking lot.

It was What do you expect me to say to that? when he came up responseless. Yet, at the same time, he was responding: in the way his eyes pleaded, his head dropped, his shoulders sunk so low. She was breaking him down in order to build her own defenses back up. At the forefront of her mind she knew this was wrong, but she kept going, every intention to tell him no, to make him stop, to turn him down forming sentences in her head. Instead, all that came out was I can't.

Not I won't.

Not I don't want to.

Not I don't want this.

I can't.

Because that mask was crackling again, and beneath it, her true self was pulling at every nerve ending to throw herself into his arms.

I can't.

And he was undeniably shattered.

A strangled Yeah had his head dropping in utter defeat as she plead her case, reminding both him and herself of their friendship, of everything she was trying to convince herself needed protecting. But he was quick to fight back, something he never did. She could tell it was his last ditch effort, his own defenses kicking in, when Don't do that; I don't wanna do that. I wanna be more than that cut in. But she didn't want to do it either. Not anymore. Not after so many nights that began like a dream and ended in a nightmare that left her screaming for the clarity that never came.

Her I can't was decisive this time, less of a question and more of an answer. Inwardly, she was laughing at herself, that strangled apology so insincere and untrue. She wasn't sorry that he misinterpreted things. She was sorry that she was standing here putting up an inner battle with the part of her that had been longing for these things for far longer than she cared to admit. It's probably my fault was the first truth she'd told all night.

His tears were streaking the pavement; she noticed only because she was so focused on following the eyes that refused to meet her, refused to look at the face of the woman who was literally crushing his soul. When he finally succumbed to the final blow, moving swiftly yet heavily past her, her first instinct was to double check that she was still cuffed to a different eternity, swirling the metaphorical chain around her finger both to affirm that she was still promised to another, and as a reminder that she had made her choice.

Many ideas ran through his mind in those following moments. He could get in his car, drive home, and lose it in the bottle. He could get in his car, drive to his parent's house where his sister was home for summer vacation, and let her be his comfort. He could get in his car and drive it to the edge of a cliff.

But as he bolted through the parking lot, not caring whatsoever that his tears were still flowing freely, her words haunted him.

She had said I can't.

Never once had she said she didn't want to, didn't feel the same. Just I can't. And those two words pulled at him until he was squatting on the ground between the building and the hood of his car, hands running through his mop of brown hair. He couldn't just throw this all away on a two minute effort, right? Her heels clacking across the parking lot gave her away, and he glanced up with enough time to see her walk into the building, the back of her hand swiping angrily at her cheeks that were unmistakably red under the hue of the parking lot lights. Taking a deep breath before propping himself against the building, he followed her inside.

The elevator doors closed as the entryway door sealed shut behind him. He'd wait for it to come back, taking his time to choose his words carefully. She'd surely hear him coming up the stairs anyway. He had big feet. They made too much noise.

Plans of defense swirled around his brain like the eye of a storm. He'd already admitted that he was in love with her. What more could he say, could he do, to convince her to just give in? Ideas battled for dominance, ranging from a repeat performance of You shouldn't be with Roy to the newness of There isn't a thing on this earth I wouldn't do for you. A tiny version of himself grovelling on his knees made a brief appearance, and while it wasn't entirely pushed to the wayside as an option, he made a conscious effort to leave it at the bottom of the list.

The entire office was lit lowly, eerie silhouettes and stilled shadows contrasted by the only movement he saw through the paned glass. She was leaning against his desk, and by the looks of it, on the phone. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but as those five words escaped her breath, all of his former plans for words strung together to make sentences that expressed his feelings flew out the window.

"Yeah, I think I am."

I think I am.

And then the clarity struck him that words were not what this situation warranted. He needed action.

He rounded the reception desk, movements swift and deliberate as he approached her soundlessly. She was hanging up with her mother. He'd decipher that later. Right now, all he saw was her. The way the dim glow of the security lights lit just her eyes, leaving the rest of her to shimmer simply from the sparkles on her dress. He noted the perplexity, the pain, the longing in her eyes, whose disks swelled when he entered her field of vision. His body ached with the need to touch her, hold her just once before he let this go. He was holding on literally and figuratively, needing to give it his all before he lost everything.

Her Listen, Jim barely registered, not because the words came out as a whisper, but because his eyes were already on her lips, hands already spanning her back, before his auditory senses processed the waves in his brain. Her hands were tiny fists, balled against his chest, but no sooner was she defensive than those same hands, the ones that had grasped him this morning and nearly burned a hole in his skin, were weaving their way through his hair, pulling him closer. And in that moment, his entire world blew wide open.

She let out a tiny gasp, air whispering against his lips as she pulled him tighter, her hands gripping at the hair at his nape, leaving a white hot trail as they snaked along his neck, down his chest; he was sure there would be scorch marks in his sweater the next time he bothered to look. But for now, his gaze was transfixed through hooded eyes whose intensity was as black as the sky in the distance; when he glanced up, he found her eyes mirroring in intensity. Their hands hung in the ambiguity between them for only the time that it took their eyes to wander one another's faces, eyes finding eyes, finding lips, and suddenly, she was pulling to him this time.

Those tiny fingers packed quite the power, stippling the front of his sweater as she pressed their mouths together again, more insistent this time, almost hungry. Jim slanted his mouth across hers, his hands wholly enfolding her torso, so much so that the pads of his fingers lightly grazed the sides of her breasts. The moan that crept past her lips transferred into his mouth, and her hands were in his hair again, this time gripping at the back of his head as if she were trying to swallow him whole. He could feel her body melting against his, and was certainly aware of the way his own body was responding as he pulled her up onto her tiptoes so that her body was flush against his, the tenseness of his body bleeding into hers. As he felt her fingertips toying with his ears, and the stirring against her belly, he knew he had to stop before he was knocking photo frames to the floor and hoisting her onto his desk.

But as he released the vice grip that he held, her own clutches were hesitant to let go, lingering on his shoulders, his chest, snaking his abdomen before surrendering to his grasp. He couldn't contain the way his mouth remained agape, a dumbfounded joy emantating in the glow on his cheeks.

She was saying Me too. She'd wanted it, too. She was holding his hands, holding his gaze, decidedly sober, and he was ready to fly. He tugged gently at her wrists, his nose brushing her upturned lips before his name was on her breath, this time taking them in reverse. When he pulled away, the smile was gone, the gleam in her eyes replaced by tears. She didn't have to utter a word. He just knew. It was evident in her eyes, not because of the tears, but by the way her gaze was hesitant, frozen, screaming for help. But he couldn't help her anymore.

"You're really gonna marry him?"

He knew he didn't need to say those words, even as he flicked them into existence, but the only way he was leaving this building was with a clear answer. How ironic that she couldn't even grace him with the decency of words. She nodded her head frantically, keeping her eyes trained on him, and he had to stifle the nervous laughter that threatened in his throat.

"Okay."

He allowed himself one more saving grace, the feel of her shaking hands squeezed between his palms, before he backed slowly away, not permitting a breakdown until the door sealed shut behind him.