Author's Note: Obviously this chapter takes place before the show begins, but not too much earlier. Part of my almost felt like crossing the line when Jim makes the abuse joke, but I think when Pam's not in a super bitchy mood, she can accept cracks about Roy. I also think Roy would totally accidentally hit her in the eye with a frisbee.

(ANNote: I love me some Roy. No hate here. 3)

"So."

Pam looks up, a little startled, at Jim's low timbre. She realizes her mistake in glancing upward, as she quickly refocus on her paperwork. "Oh, hi."

"What did you do this weekend?"

She hears his fingers working in the jelly bean box and she blushes. "Uhm, nothing much."

"No?"

"Mm-mm."

"Cause … it looks like you might've been…"

Like fish to bait, she bites and Pam peers up under purposely low bangs to meet Jim's eye.

"...Y'know. Boxing."

She groans and lays her head down on her folded arms, instantly defeated, burying her face into the crook of her elbow. A muffled "you're terrible!" makes it up from her cardigan sleeve, and Jim grins just slightly. "So, was that it? Kev's gonna be super excited if he called it—"

"I wasn't boxing!" Pam hisses and rights herself with a look that could cut. "It was a stupid accident—"

"Pam, hey," Jim lets his warm hand fall on her wrist, and Pam blushes for eight different reasons (off the top of her head.) "If something's going on between you and Roy… you know, there's a hotline—"

"You're. Terrible," Pam deadpans and stands abruptly with things that she probably doesn't need to fax, but she will, because the fax machine faces the wall away from the bullpen and everyone's staring enough. "You really think that—"

"I was kidding!" He braces his hands in defense and rounds her counterspace, offering her a protective huddle that she doesn't mind at all. "You know I'm kidding."

Pam nods and sighs, already feeling soothed by Jim's placating and jokes. He always makes her feel better. She doesn't know when that started, he's practically a stranger to her – he's only been here a little under a year, she shouldn't even be letting him make jokes like that about Roy – but she feels so close that it might be okay to let her guard down with him just a little.

"Okay, so… it's nothing. It's so… stupid, like, you know when people freak out over it, even though it's nothing, and they don't believe you when you say it's nothing?" She nods vigorously at her own words, nervous eyes darting toward the bullpen and back to Jim, then to the faxes at her fingertips. "Yeah, it's… it's like that."

Jim's just nodding along, well into when she's finished, and his lips fold up into that look that's becoming almost a trademark. "Okay, so … I didn't understand a single thing you said just now, but sure-"

"Roy… did hit me," Pam admits unsteadily, softly.

She's surprised at how rapidly the air shifts between them. It almost electrifies her, the look that crosses his face at that moment.

"Are you serious? Pam—" He glances at the door, and she watches redness rise and flush in his neck. What's he even thinking?

"Jim, wait," Pam almost laughs at the absurdity of it, at how uncomfortable this should be but it isn't, and at the look of fury winding into Jim's face. "He didn't mean to—"

"Pam, you can't just—"

"It was a Frisbee, Jim!" She hiccups on a quiet laugh and her hand snatches out toward his balled fist. It instantly loosens in her grasp. "He hit me with a Frisbee."

Jim is silent and staring, and Pam thinks maybe she made a wrong choice to lead him down a road like that. But she's reassured when Jim's mouth sneaks up into a smirk and he squints at her blackened eye intently. "A…. Frisbee? A Frisbee, Pam."

"Uh-huh," she lets go of his hand so she can block her eye off from his line of vision. "Please don't ask how. It's so stupid."

"I don't want to know how, I just want to know why," Jim brushes her hand away and peers ever closer into her purpled skin. "…Why on earth were you playing Frisbee?"

"I hate Frisbee, that's the worst part!" Pam exclaims in a hushed tone.

"It's such a pointless game, right?"

"Right! But we were out at the park with his nephew, and Roy tossed it and I—"

"Caught it with your eye?"

"…You're terrible, I hate you." Pam whines and scoops up the stack of papers, returning to her desk. She retrieves a compact mirror from her purse and clicks it open, only to find herself scowling at her reflection. "As if I don't look bad enough…"

"You don't look bad."

"I do! I'm a red-head, Jim! Bruises don't fade easy for us!"

He snorts and leans forward on his elbows. "Yeah, but at least the purple and blue will compliment your eyes."

She blushes and looks up at him, feeling like they're at a line that maybe she should step back from. But she pushes forward with a tiny grin, shaking her head. "It's stupid, isn't it?"

"Frisbee is stupid, Pam. Don't misplace the blame."