He had done this on purpose.

Sloan was sure of it.

Don had locked them on the terrace in the freezing cold on purpose. It was only two weeks ago that, as she was escaping yet another of his attempts to corner her and talk to her that he'd said, "I'll get you to talk to me if I have to lock us in a room together!"

Heated indoor room, freezing outdoor terrace. Same difference.

He had done this on purpose.

She was really going to do this.

She was really going to stand out here in the 10 degree weather as far away from him as she could get and ignore him.

Don was pretty sure Sloan was nuts.

The fact that he found that so appealing was exactly the problem.

And it had now been months since she had actually spoken to him outside of brief, monosyllabic, business-related sentences.

It was starting to drive him nuts.

He couldn't believe she was really going to do this.

"It's only November, it's not supposed to be this cold yet," Don said pleasantly. This was his latest tactic: small talk. He had spent two months trying to reassure her that everything was fine, that what she had said to him when she thought she was never going to see him again was no big deal. And Sloan had spent two months masterfully dodging him at every turn.

So he had decided that he was just going to act like it had never happened. He would still try to talk to her every chance he got, but he wouldn't push her by constantly bringing up what she considered to be an incredibly embarrassing moment. He would just talk to her about pointless shit. Like "can you believe this weather?" or "did you see that AP article?". Like she was everyone else.

Even though she wasn't remotely like everyone else.

Predictably, his attempt at small talk fell completely flat. Sloan showed no sign of even having heard him, focus remaining completely on her phone.

Maybe Don was reading this wrong. Maybe she was going deaf.

Talking about the weather? Really? He had gone to the trouble of locking them on the terrace only to talk about the weather? It made Sloan want to scream.

But if she did that, it would be acknowledging his presence. And there was no way she was going to do that. It was bad enough she was doing it in her mind.

It was just… he was always there. Watching her. Cornering her. Breaking her heart every second without even realizing it.

Because he had. He had broken her heart. She hated that he had because it made her feel hurt and weak and stupid. But when she had decided to stay she thought that maybe, just maybe, now that Don knew how she felt, that he'd realize he didn't belong with Maggie and choose her.

Of course he had chosen Maggie over her.

Nobody ever chose her.

Not even when they were supposed to be marrying her.

Sloan realized that it wasn't really Don's fault that he had broken her heart, and that he probably didn't even realize he had done it.

But that didn't fix what was already broken.

The cold shoulder she was giving him was almost as cold as the temperature. Don stood awkwardly on the other side of the terrace. He had left his phone inside, so he had nothing to do but stand there. His choices were between looking out at the city and looking at Sloan. He didn't want to do the latter, but he couldn't help it.

So he watched her as she stared intently at her phone, typing away at the keypad. He wondered who she was texting. He remember when she used to text him. Sometimes it was work-related stuff, but sometimes it would just be something like "I can't wait for this day to be over" or " why doesn't the cafeteria have Fresca?" He would always just smile and go back to what he was doing, sometimes texting back what he thought was a clever response. But now that he wasn't getting them, he really missed it.

If he'd had his phone with him, he would have tried to break the ice with a text. Sure, she would probably ignore it, like she had all the texts he'd sent her over the past few months. Still, it would be better than just standing there.

But his phone was in his office. So he just stood there, watching her.

Sloan could feel his eyes on her. She hated it. The annoyance spread over her and she clenched her jaw against it. But it didn't spread as fast as the heat. She couldn't help it, with him staring so stubbornly at her. God, she wanted him. She really couldn't help that, either. She felt her flush as annoyance, desire, and embarrassment mixed together inside of her. Ducking her head, she let her hair fall forward from behind her ears to cover her face.

Why had she said what she said to him? She'd been asking herself that question for months, kicking herself for it. Even then a part of her knew that she wasn't going to take that job. So why did she say that? She had done such a good job for so long hiding how she felt, just being friends. But a piece of her mind stopped working correctly that day. It had said "blow his mind. You're leaving anyway. Tell him how you feel, completely throw him off. This time you'll be the one that got away." So she had said it. But then she didn't leave. And he didn't come after her.

Wait a second, Don realized. Sloan had a phone.

"You have a phone," he blurted out.

"Yes. Thank you for stating the obvious," Sloan mumbled.

Don took a moment to get over the shock of Sloan actually responding to him before saying, "You have a phone. Why haven't you called for help?"

"I texted Mac," she explained, her eyes staying on her phone. "They can't find the key."

"They can't find the key? Are you serious?"

Sloan only offered a passive shrug.

"What about the janitors?"

"All Mac said was that they couldn't find the key."

"And you didn't think I'd like to know any of this?"

Sloan shot him a withering glare. "Sorry."

"Okay, you know, I'm getting sick of this," Don finally snapped. "It's like you're punishing me, and I don't recall doing anything wrong!"

Finally putting down her phone, Sloan lifted her head. She looked past him for several moments before turning her eyes to his and taking a deep breath. Don thought she was actually going to say something.

And then the door opened.

"Thank god," Sloan mumbled as she turned away from him.

"Hey guys," Jim said, leaning through the doorway. "Sorry it took so long. We could find the key and the janitors-"

"I don't care." Don pushed past him.

"What's his problem?" Jim asked as Don stalked down the hall.

Sloan didn't answer as she, too, pushed past him, walking down the hall in the opposite direction of Don, not even caring that she was walking away from her office.

"I said I was sorry," Jim said to nobody, as confused as ever.