Don Keefer downed his fourth glass of scotch with a mournful gusto, as he pretended not to notice Jim and Maggie. The two were seated in a booth across the room from him, laughing heartily, with their heads pressed together, at a shared joke that Don was absolutely positive he wouldn't find the least bit funny. On stage at Hang Chews, a drunken 40-something divorcee was singing, off-key, to Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On." This relentless assault on his ears, coupled with certain recent events, caused Don to wish that he was aboard the real Titanic . . . and that it would soon capsize, putting him out of his misery, once and for all.

"Is this seat taken?" Sloan Sabbith asked grumpily.

She had just had a truly crap day. First, the teleprompter conveniently broke, just as she was trying to read the day's stock report live on air. Then, her mother called to inform her that . . . yes, her younger sister was pregnant with yet another baby girl. And when was Sloan planning on settling down, and fulfilling her required quota of grandkids? Because, lord knows, she wasn't getting any younger!

Actually, I'm working on making them for you, right now, Mom, with this nice homeless man I just met outside the office! Gotta go! Sloan had replied sarcastically, much to her mother's horror. (The woman never did have much of a sense of humor . . .)

Later, to add insult to injury, Sloan made the mistake of logging on to the esteemed economics website on which her "good pal" Neal was purposefully and vigorously lambasting her, in order to gain access to some "elite" club of internet trolls. (As it turns out, not only did she have a big ass, and fake boobs, she also might have once been a man. Good to know!)

With a haphazard flourish, Don motioned for Sloan to sit down next to him. Immediately upon being seated, Sloan grabbed the half-empty bottle of Scotch situated in front of her co-worker, filled the glass he had recently drained, and chugged it down in a single gulp, before slamming it back down on the table. It had just been one of those days . . .

Don glanced at Sloan out of the corner of his eye, secretly glad to find someone on this planet, who looked as unhappy as he felt. Misery did love company, after all . . .

"So, remember how, not too long ago, I asked you if you thought I was losing Maggie to Jim. And you said, 'no.' And then, I asked you, if you were good at knowing these things and you said 'no?'"

"Yes, I do remember," replied Sloan, tonelessly. "I had just been fired. And you wanted to girl talk with me about the sorry state of your love life."

Don managed a guilty smile. "Yeah, well, as it turns out, you are really not good at knowing these things."

Sloan turned her chair slightly, so that she could get a better view of the new couple. "They are quite adorable, aren't they?" She mused, with just a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"They've been here for two hours, and neither of them has had a single drink. They are just getting high off of one another's love. I think, at one point, they actually nuzzled noses. I mean, who does that? It's like watching the last five minutes of every Disney movie you've ever seen on endless repeat. I keep expecting little smiling woodland creatures to crawl out from under their table with a banner that reads, 'And they lived happily ever after.'"

Sloan leaned over and placed her thumb and forefinger on the base of Don's chin, gently pushing it upward, in an exact mimic of the "chin-up" gesture he had done to her on that awful day, when she thought she had lost her job. Don smiled ruefully, realizing for the first time, how gorgeous Sloan's eyes were. How had he never noticed that before?

"Why are you doing this, Don?" Sloan asked solemnly.

"Doing what?" Don asked, his speech slurring ever-so-slightly. "A guy can't drown his sorrows in a few drinks, after he's been dumped? Not all of us can be perfect Princes and Princesses of Newsland, you know," he mused, inclining his head toward Jim and Maggie.

Sloan shook her head. "I'm not talking about the drinking. I fully approve of the drinking," she insisted, pouring herself another glass of scotch as proof of this. "I'm talking about the drinking here. There are plenty of other bars in this city that serve up Scotch and heartbreak."

Don sighed, and slumped backward in his chair. "I guess I've always been a bit of a masochist. Then again, you probably know that better than most people."

Sloan placed her hand protectively on her colleague's shoulder. "Go home, Don," she said pointedly.

Don surprised Sloan then, by grabbing her free hand, from across the table. The warmth of his skin against hers caused a sensation throughout her body that she wasn't quite expecting. And she wondered if, perhaps, she should have had dinner, before downing those two large glasses of Scotch. In fact, she couldn't quite remember the last time she had eaten, but she was sure it had been hours ago.

"I can't go home, Sloan. Not now . . . not to that empty house, where Maggie and I used to . . ."

"I know," Sloan interrupted.

And she did know . . . Sloan knew all about empty apartments, and loneliness, and places where you and the person you thought you loved more than life itself used to . . .

"Come with me," Don said impulsively, his watery eyes gleaming with need and possibility.

"Come where?" Sloan asked skeptically.

"I don't know," replied Don truthfully. "Somewhere . . . anywhere that's not here. I just want to . . . I just need to not feel like this . . . even if it's only for a little while."

Sloan frowned. "I don't think that's a good idea. You're drunk. You're sad. You don't want to be alone. Trust me, I've been there. But I really think you need to go home, and sleep on it. Otherwise, you're going to make a big mistake . . . something you can't take back."

Don grinned charmingly. "That's why I need you to come with me . . . to keep me from making a big mistake."