Disclaimer: I don't own the office or the Jim/Pam relationship. If I did, Pam wouldn't be with Jim, I would be. And I would be doing naught- coughs Never mind. I don't own anything.

Rating: It is rated so because of some language and references to abuse.


Jim walked out of the office, headache forming behind his eyes and bad mood more than evident. He pulled his coat tighter around him as a cool gust of wind swung through and he breathed out, watching as his breath spread out before him in a faint smoke.

His day was awful, to say the least. He hated to admit it but his days were always awful when Pam wasn't there. It happened rarely, so rarely that he was never accustomed to it. But those days did happen. She would call in sick, or take a vacation, or just not come in without any call.

Jim sat at his desk all day, strategically putting off all necessary work and sending Pam random e-mails on her work address for her to check when she got back.

Hey Pam. I am really bored. You know how much I hate it when you aren't here. I keep looking up to tell you something and Ryan is there. I think he thinks I like him in that 'special way'. You are to thank for my new homosexual reputation.

He'd drum his fingers on his desk and try to flick things in Dwight's cup but everything got boring in less than five minutes. Without his conspirator he was hopelessly lost.

Pam. I am dying here. Seriously.

I have found seven mosquito bites on my arm. I have no idea where they came from. I looked up on the Internet if they were some indications of flesh eating disease. Good news, they weren't.

Michael came over to his desk and asked him about his progress on the financial reports and his revenue so far this year. He made up some bullshit answer and flipped through papers, never looking him in the eye. Michael always was the easiest to full.

So in office news, my revenue report has now reached an all-new record of lateness. What was it last time? Seven days? Ah, including today, my revenue report is twelve days, seven hours, and fourteen minutes late. Score.

Dwight just picked his nose. Absolutely brilliant.

My leg is twitching. Do you remember when your cheek didn't stop twitching for four hours and we tried all that stuff to try and make it stop? Well I attached clothespins to the infected area but it still won't stop.

Have you heard that song called Wah-Wah? Well, I demand you listen to it because I was just observing the internet and I found it on some site and its twenty kinds of amazing. Now, I know what you're thinking. How can a song with the lyrics 'Wah-Wah' possibly be good? Well, there are other lyrics, better than Wah-Wah, and I have included a music file for your listening pleasure.

After e-mail forty-seven, he looked at the clock and saw he could have left ten minutes ago. He felt a smile reach his tired features and he stood up from his desk, mumbling an incoherent goodbye to Ryan on his way out. Ryan just gave him a strange look and continued with his work.

He walked out of the office, and into his car where he rested his aching head on the wheel for several moments. He had the urge to slam his head against the horn and leave it there, letting the beep echo through the silent parking lot, a physical representation of his horrible mood.

But the noise would further agitate his already painful headache and bring out Dwight to investigate. That also would increase the pounding in his head.

He heaved a sigh and put the keys in the ignition letting the dull roar of the engine interrupt his fantasies of blowing his brains out.

On the drive home, he heard seven songs that were absolutely horrible with only one that was to his liking. He kept the volume to a minimum though, not really caring what was playing.

His couch at home looked even more wonderful than he imagined at the office. He gave a grateful smile and kicked off his shows and shrugged off his jacket, shuffling over to the mass of pillows.

He no sooner collapsed into the couch headfirst when his phone began to ring. He let out a moan in the pillow and lifted up his head giving him the view to glare at it ruefully.

It stopped after several rings.

"Hey it's Jim. Leave a message after the funny little beeping noise."

The machine beeped and silence echoed over the phone followed by someone hastily hanging up. He arched his eyebrow but gave it no more thought.

He turned over in the couch so that he was on his back and facing the ceiling. He traced the cracks in the ceiling back and forth with his eyes until they became too heavy to hold up any longer. He allowed them to droop close and he watched the spots behind his eyelids linger with slight amusement.

His body had finally relaxed and his headache began to subside when a knock at the door caused him to force open his eyes and turn his head. He sighed and slammed his feet down on the couch like a two year old throwing a fit.

Jim rolled off with a thump, hitting the hardwood flooring with his knees and letting out a moan of pain. He swore to God, if it was another one of his neighbors, drunk and looking for their own apartment, he was going to slam the door on their overly inflated heads.

He sauntered over to the door and pulled back the locks before swinging it open and putting on an agitated face.

"What do you-"

His voice lost all menacing tone and his facial features dropped right along with his stomach.


There she was, standing on his small apartment mat his mother had given him for Christmas, looking ten times worse than he did, or felt for that matter.

Her coat collar was only half up and her shirt was half in, half out of her jeans. Her hair was out of its normal half pony tail and it fell around her shoulders in disarray, frizzy and completely out of place.

And then he looked at her face. It was completely covered in tears. Her eyes were poofy from crying and her mascara ran down her cheeks in think rivets.

Her cheeks. On her left cheek was a bruise forming. Only slightly purple but a bruise nonetheless. She looked up at him with wide eyes, like an innocent child lost at a carnival.

"Jim, I-" She paused and looked at the floor. "I tried to call but-" She swallowed and more tears poured down her cheeks.

He reached for her wrist gently, taking it in his hand and pulling her into his apartment. He closed the door behind her and watched as she silently stood, staring blankly at his wall.

He guided her to his couch by her shoulders and allowed her to sit down. He was going into the kitchen to grab some ice and napkins when he felt her hand on his in a death grip.

"Don't leave me." She whispered, still looking at the ground.

He frowned and squatted down so he was eye level. He tilted her chin up with his fore finger. "I'm just going into the kitchen to get some stuff to clean you up. I'll be right back. I promise."

She nodded slowly and released his hand. He gave her a small smile and stood up, brushing off his pants.

Once in the kitchen, he began to completely freak out. He was upset that his friend was hurt and he was hurting for her emotionally but he was also uncontrollably angry at whoever had did this to her. The anger burrowed in his stomach and flamed up, causing his hands to shake and his face to feel overly hot. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before grabbing the washcloth and ice off the counter.

He walked back in the room to see her much in the same position. She was sitting upright on his couch, hands folded together between her knees. Her shoulders were slumped and tears continued to run down her cheeks accompanied by the occasional sniffle.

He carefully sat down beside her and sat the ice down on the table. He took the washcloth in his hand and turned her face gently so that she faced him. He started wiping her cheeks where her mascara had run carefully, gently going over her bruise. He could feel her eyes concentrated on him and when he went over the bruise she let out a ragged sigh and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Does it hurt?" He whispered softly. His voice sounded loud in the silent apartment.

She opened her eyes. "Yeah."

He nodded and put the washcloth down on the table, reaching for the bad of ice. He took her face with one hand and put the ice on her cheek with the other. She winced at the cold and then opened her eyes again.

They held eye contact before she looked away, looking at the floor. He removed the hand that wasn't holding the ice away from her cheek and let it slip to his lap.

He didn't want to press the issue but he needed to know. "What happened?"

She looked up at him then away again before speaking softly. "I left Roy."

He sat in shocked silence for a minute, noticing that the hand that was holding the ice to her face was now completely numb. "And he-" Jim swallowed. "He hit you?"

He noticed the tears were falling again and she reached up to his hand, taking the ice. He removed his hand and let it fall uselessly by his side. He watched as she stood up carefully and put down the ice and then removed her jacket. He watched her in confusion as she untucked her shirt.

"Pam, what are you-"

She turned to him and lifted up her shirt to just above her belly button. He saw that her stomach was covered in purple, yellow, and blue bruises.

"Let's just say," She spoke forcefully, her tears coming in waves and breathing hitched. "It hasn't been the first time I tried to leave."

Jim stared at the marks in horror before looking at her face. He stood up and walked to her as she let her shirt drop back down to cover her. He wrapped his arms around Pam and she buried her head in his chest, her sobs shaking her body.

He smoothed down her hair and kissed the top of her head, just holding her in the middle of his small apartment.