She looks good, but then again she always does. That's the first thing he notices when he sits down.

Orange. Not a color he's used to seeing on her, but it compliments her dark hair and olive skin. He likes it, and immediately he feels like a shithead for liking it. It's not like she got up this morning, wanted to dress up a bit for him, and chose the outfit she's wearing. It's not like she had much say in the matter.

"Hey," he says awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. Why the hell did he come, anyway?

Frowning, she picks up the phone receiver by her head and taps it on the glass that separates them. "Can't hear you," she mouths, and then holds the receiver against her ear.

Right, of course she can't. Picking up the ratty, old as dirt phone on his side of the partition, Don tucks it between his shoulder and his ear, staring across at her. He isn't sure what line of conversation is appropriate here. How could you have been so careless? Why didn't you ask someone for help? Why didn't you ask me for help? He settles on the boring, but safe, "How are you doing?"

Sloan arches an eyebrow and Don can't resist the smile he can feel spreading across his face. He misses this interaction at ACN. He misses her.

"I'm thriving, Don. Thriving."