A/N: Due to a sprained ankle and fall break, I'm re-watching S4 on DVD.

I own nothing, not even the DVD's. Thank you Blockbuster.

He wanted to go back as soon as he got home. Instead he makes some grilled cheese, and turns on the Phillies game. When Conan ends he sends her a text, just to make sure she's okay. The reply takes about five minutes.

¾ done.

He smiles to himself and tries to get some sleep. Instead he tosses and turns on a too-big bed, and his right arm keeps reaching out; trying to wrap around cold empty mattress; cuddling nothing. He sends another text at 2:30. Three minutes later, his phone beeps.

Almost done, still have 2 render.

He sits back on the pillow; thinking maybe of driving over to go see her, but then remembers Michael's there. As Michael would put it: kinky. He waits until the neon green clock digits next to him say 3:02 before sending another text.

Ten minutes later and no response. He calls, and after five rings it goes to voicemail. She's probably home, or fell asleep. Hopefully at her desk and not in the car-

He can't stand it and grabs his car keys while pulling on a pair of sweats. He'll check her apartment first, then go back to the office. He's just gotta make sure she's okay, that's all. He can't sleep unless she's okay.

There's no little blue car in her spot when he pull up to her apartment. He still sprints to the door anyway, grabs the extra key and runs in, hoping to find her passed out on the couch. She's not in there, despite the fact that he checks every room, even the damn closets. He bites his lip, and grabs her a pair of pajamas and a change of clothes incase if she's at the office. No- she's definitely at the office.

He drives about sixty through Scranton, and somehow wills himself to not scan the sides of the road, to not look for trees or fences impaled by a little blue car. He feels like vomiting. Instead he bites his lip, ignores the sweat on his forehead and finally, finally pulls into the Scranton Plaza lot.

Right where she parked it this morning is her little blue car. He sighs, and secretly grins, inwardly laughing at his stupidity, how absurd it was to even think that she wasn't going to be okay.

He pulls in next to her and heads up to the unlocked Dunder-Mifflin office to find Dwight on the floor underneath what was once a fort of couch cushions. Her computer's still on, and Dwight is just lying there, sound asleep; dreaming of bears and beets and Battlestar Gallactica.

She's passed out; her face on the keyboard and a yellow pages open to a giant Dunder-Mifflin ad (for the logo) by her hand. He glances over his shoulder to see Michael's face through the blinds, blue from the computer screen, with a look Jim's never seen on his face. He appears to be concentrating.

Jim looks back to Pam to see her sigh; watch her cheek twitch. He looks back to Dwight, and it's too perfect. He leans over and plants a gentle peck on the receptionist's face and carefully moves to the floor, pulls the cushions off Dwight, and gently grabs under his arms. He's careful to not yank or pull as he carefully drags Dwight towards the break room and into the women's room.

He deposits Dwight on the couch, and steps back like any good artist would, admiring his work, before deciding it needs something else, that one little touch that would finish it. He grabs the Christmas issue of Elle, flips to a Stetson ad, and slides it between Dwight's face and the pillow. Voila- fini. He smiles at his finished masterpiece before heading back out to Pam.

He replaces the couch cushions before taking off his Sixers hoodie. He doesn't want her to get cold when he takes her home. He gently eases her chair away from her desk and scooping her limp body in his arms. Her warmth feels good against his bare arms. She whimpers; he feels her shoulders shift before she stirs. He sets her on the couch and watches her blink a few times before smiling. She groans and smiles back up at him.

"Hey." Her voice cracks and her breath reeks but she's still so damn cute.

"Good morning." She smiles up at him before yawning. He can see red waffle marks on her cheek from her keyboard.

"What time is it?" She looks around. "Where's Dwight?"

"Three thirty…" His voice trails off- he watches her stare up at him before she realizes that he knows where Dwight is.

"Jim…" She groans. He puts a finger to his lips and motions to Michael's office. She nods before he helps her sit up and into his hoodie. She immediately squeezes his arm, her head on his shoulder. He gives her head a kiss.

"C'mon, let's go to bed." They walk out, and he helps her into his car. She's asleep before he pulls onto his street.

He carries her inside, sets her on the bed. He hates to wake her up again but she needs to change and take out her contacts. She groans when she finally stirs, but she makes her way into the bathroom and he listens to make sure she doesn't fall asleep with the toothbrush in her mouth and chokes on toothpaste. She walks back out and gives him an exhausted smile before crawling under the covers.

"Love you."

"Love you too."

He gives her a kiss, then changes back into boxers. When he settles back into bed, she's already asleep. The clock says 4:12 and he need to get up again in less than four hours, but it was worth it. He looks over to her, sees the smile on her face as her nostril twitches. Yeah, it was totally worth it. He sighs and closes his eyes. His right arm reaches out, wraps around her, cuddles her, and he smiles.

He thinks of the snooze button and McDonald's in the morning.