Everyone knows that Don is in charge of picking out the movies on Christmas Eve when they cuddle together on their couch and relax before all of the excitement and stress of the next day.
That's because Don has class and Sloan still thinks Titanic was the cinematic achievement of the twentieth-century. If he left choosing the movie up to his girlfriend, he'd be stuck watching Elf. Or worse, Santa with Muscles or Jingle All The Way, because for a genius economist and otherwise amazing woman, Sloan has a weird thing for muscled-men in Santa Suits.
Honestly, it scares him a little.
But Sloan, Sloan's in charge of the snacks. And it's not because she's the woman or any sort of sexist bullshit like that.
No, it's because Sloan is a surprisingly awesome hostess and snack-planner. Where Don would be happy with a bag of chips and a jar of salsa, Sloan buys different cheeses and fancy, imported crackers. And there's always fruit, of course, and vegetables and a dip to slather them in.
Plus, cookies. Not homemade, or not by his girlfriend, at least. But sent from Mrs. Sabbith through the magical hands of the United States Postal Service. Sloan can't bake a cookie to save her life, but her mother can, and Don's proposed that they run away together more than once. She can make him cookies and he'll … well, he always says, he'll figure out some way to make it worth her while.
This is where Mrs. Sabbith always sneaks in some not-at-all-subtle hint about rings and babies. But after years of working with Will, Don's pretty damn good at pretending he didn't hear something.
Most of all, though, Sloan is in charge of the snacks because she makes the best damned hot cocoa in Manhattan.
Seriously.
Not that powdered kind you can buy at the store.
Not some fancy imported either.
He's seen the recipe more than once, he's watched her every year, and still, Don can't figure out how she gets chocolate ambrosia from just a few ingredients, a saucepan, and her stove top.
Every time he tries, he burns the chocolate, or scalds the milk, or something goes terribly wrong.
Last spring he tried to make it for his flu-ridden girlfriend. That ended with a screeching smoke alarm and having to go out and replace one of Sloan's very expensive pieces of cookware.
So, yeah, he's on movie duty.
Which is fine.
Because he queues the disc up and then gets himself settled into the couch, thick socks on the feet he props up on the coffee table, a comfy pair of flannel sleep pants, and his favorite college hoodie while Sloan pads in from the kitchen with two big holiday-themed mugs and hands him one.
"Okay, Keefer," she says as she slips into her spot next to him, "what are we watching this year? Please don't say It's a Wonderful Life, again."
Of course it's not It's a Wonderful Life. She hates that movie—see Titanic, above—and he made her watch it again last year, anyway. But he teases her for a moment with a noncommittal "hmmmm."
"No, Moneypenny," he answers with a smirk, a nickname he uses only when he's feeling playful or dangerously close to asking her to move in with him, "I wouldn't do that to you two years in a row. Not after listening to you whine through the whole thing, and through the next movie, about how suicide is not an appropriate topic for a holiday movie."
"It wasn—," she starts, laughing.
"It was. You actually whined for days. I think I had nightmares about it," he answers, wiping away a bit of hot cocoa on the side of her mouth.
The look on her face is adorable, all fire and annoyance and love.
"So," he continues, "I've come up with a theme that is sure to delight you. We're starting with A Miracle on 34th Street, and after that, A Muppet Christmas Carol. And, if you're still awake, we're finishing with How the Grinch Stole Christmas."
Don watches as her face lights up.
"Don, are we having a Christmas-and-economic-theory night? Seriously?"
Sloan laughs again, and it's wonderful.
She won't make it through them all, he knows this from experience. She'll fall asleep sometime between the middle of the second and the start of the third, but that's okay. He'll probably fall asleep soon after, but that's okay too.
Because he'll wake up with her head in his lap in her apartment, the DVD menu glowing across the room, and she'll give a soft sniffle, and smack her lips as he lifts her into his arms to carry her to bed.
And then, once he slides under the covers to join her, she'll curl into him and throw her arm across his chest to hold him close.
And isn't that just a goddamn Christmas miracle all by itself.