Hey all! Happy October :) This one came fairly quickly, though it was supposed to be a Sloan piece initially but ended up needing to be a Don piece because of one of the conversations. But the next meet-the-family oneshot will be from her POV, I promise. I think a lot of Don's explanations might be a little evolved (they're what I'm sure he's thinking, I'm just doubtful if he could articulate them), but let me know. They're definitely ahead of the show, due to the simple fact that they're dating.

As a note, I've finally decided to formalize these - I plan on having twenty-four, so we're a third of the way through (I need to pick up the updating pace, I know. Reviews help me write faster). But the rest are also sort-of planned out, and I'm pretty excited.

Nothing belongs to me, except for the little Woody Allen in-joke. Props to those who figure it out :)

February

"Oh, come on," Don yells at the TV. "That was a disgrace!"

"This game aired three nights ago and you know how it ends; why is this so painful to watch?" Sloan asks from the end of the sofa, where she's tucked up into a ball editing someone's economics journal article.

"Because it's like being stabbed in the heart over and over again."

"That sounds pretty close to the definition of insanity."

"Being a sports fan is an exercise in futility."

"Not if you root for the Giants," she sing-songs. Which is not exactly true, and he's about to point that out, when her phone beeps. "Hey Mom," she says, picking it up and jumping up to move into the kitchen. He turns the volume down anyways. "No we're just watching a basketball game that the Sixers lost three days ago. … Yeah, I don't know either." Her voice drifts off as she goes deeper into the apartment, and he turns the volume back up. "Wait, that's this week?" she says, coming back into the living room and handing him a beer, then setting a cold soda in front of her crap. He turns the volume down again. "No, I guess I forgot," she turns and heads for the other room, and he flips the volume back up and cringes. God damn Philadelphia loyalty. "No work's going well, it's busy but it's going really well. I need to talk to dad about projections for fiscal drag." And she's back in. He lowers the volume. But nope. At least she's speaking English — half the time she and her family go on and on in Japanese. She just picks up her crap, mouths 'sorry' and moves toward the other room. Alright then. "Great. Love you too. We'll see you on Thursday, alright? Tell Dad I love him. Alright? Bye," she throws the phone down. "So my parents are in town this weekend."

His eyes widen. "Your dad's UN testimony?"

"Yes. Wait. How did you know that?"

"Your mom mentioned it when we went out to dinner last month. How did you not know that?"

"I did know that; I just, I forgot that I knew that."

"And you mock me for forgetting when Elliot's out."

"That's your job, this is personal."

"Sloan."

"Right. Well, they're flying in on Wednesday night and visiting friends on Thursday. They want to come to the studio that night too, since my dad has never been and my mom liked watching the show. Then Friday Dad is testifying, and Mom has some meetings, and they're going out to dinner with a few friends since they know I have work. But Saturday … they want to do dinner," she worries her bottom lip.

"With both of us?"

"Yes. If you're up to it. But I figured, since you met my mom … My mom thinks you're funny."

"Why do I feel like I'm being set up for failure?"

"Come on. You got along with my mother! She liked you!"

"Yeah, but Sloan, this is your dad."

"So?" she asks, utterly confused.

So? It's Sloan's dad. While Sloan and her mom are close — they seem to talk on the phone at least once every few days, and he's even spent a good three minutes on the phone with Nami — her dad is her idol. They speak on the phone rarely, but when they do it's for hours, and all in Japanese. He knows they Skype each other from her office late at night, when she's waiting for Right Now to wrap up. They email each other economics articles, and she has him review her lesson slides. He texts her photos of ties he's thinking of wearing to trustees' meetings or speaking engagements. Minus the three thousand miles between them, they're basically inseparable.

And, you know, he's a dad. Don still only views children as a very hypothetical thing far in the future, but he still thinks he gets the dad thing. He would punch someone sleeping with his daughter. He's also had this conversation with Charlie, and with Will, and those were terrifying. So he can't imagine what the actual dad will be like.

"So … It's a big deal," he explains lamely.

"Believe me, my mom is much scarier than my dad," she says, flopping down next to him. "There is one more thing, though. And you don't have to do it. You can say no, and I'll tell my mom that I didn't even ask, that I didn't want to ask. For the record. You are under no obligation and for the record, I think it's inappropriate —"

"Sloan. Breathe. What … what are you asking me?"

She looks genuinely hesitant to say what she's about to say. "There's this art exhibition-reception thing at the New York Library that he got tickets for, for 5 on Saturday, for him and my mom. But Mom thought that you might want to go with him, but you know? I think it's a terrible idea. Now that I'm saying it out loud. I'm going to call her, and I'm going to tell her that it's a bad idea, and I'm going to tell her that she's presumptuous, and that she's meddlesome —" she's really getting riled up.

"I'll go," he says, semi-surprising himself.

"You'll what?" she says.

He shrugs, feigning casual. He can do casual. "I'll go."

"No. You won't."

"What?"

"We've only been dating for three months. My mother is tiger-momming here. I'm putting my foot down."

"I just say I'll go and meet your dad, and you take it back?"
"It's my dad. He's terrifying."

"You said he wasn't!"

"You're right, he's not; I lied."

"So I can go to this thing with him?"

"Do you want to go with him? You'll have to wear a jacket. On a Saturday!"

"OK, I was freaked out but in a good way about this, and now I'm getting freaked out in a bad way about this."

"OK."

"Do you want me to meet your dad?"

"Yes. No. Yes. I do. I just … don't."

"Don't what?" Because she is confusing.

"I don't want it to be a thing-thing."

"As opposed to a thing."

"OK, this is where your 50 additional IQ points leave me a little lost. Help?"

"I want you to go, and meet him, and have fun, or as much fun as you can have at a weird jazz concert-art exhibition in a library, and not get worked up about it."

"At this point, I don't think I'm the one getting worked up about it."

She tilts her head, as if to say not helpful. "I'm just saying, I want you to go, I do think you'll like him because he's great, and just, you know. Get to know him. But … I don't want this to be a 'thing.'"

"OK."

"OK?"

"I said OK like five minutes ago."

She bites her lip. "OK. I'll let my mom know."

"They're not … staying … at your place right? We don't need to …"

"Leave room for the Holy Ghost? No. They're staying at the Mandarin, they always stay at the Mandarin." Of course.

On Tuesday, after their second rundown, he follows Elliot into his office. "Hi, Don, what can I do for you?" Elliot sighs. "It's a little creepy, you know, when you follow me like that. You don't acknowledge you're doing it, don't mention …"

"I need advice, and I need to know that this request falls under the … producer-talent cone of silence. Journalistic privilege."

"Well, that depends on what you're about to tell me."

"Sloan's parents are coming into town. Her father, who, no big deal, won a Nobel Prize for some research he did in his spare time, wants me to go to a jazz concert-art exhibition thing…."

"You two have been dating for … two months? And you're meeting her dad?"

"Well more like … three months, which is a lot longer than two months. But, yeah. He has some tickets to this thing, and her mom wants us to go to that, and then we'll all go out to dinner together."

"And you said yes?"

"Yup."

"Are you nuts?"

"No?"

"Dude."

"So my question is, as I have never, you know, met the father of anyone that I've dated — what do I do?"

"You've made it to thirty-four without meeting the fathers of anyone you've dated and you decide the first one to meet should be the Nobel Prize-winning dean of Stanford's business school?"

"Is there a book to read?"

"You didn't meet Maggie's?"

"I said hi to them, once. Met two of her cousins. Once I accidentally picked up her phone and it was her mom. We talked."

"You two dated for almost two years, you never actually met her parents, and three months in and you're going to a jazz concert-photo what-the-fuck with Sloan's dad?"

"Are we going to help me or are we going to mock me?"

"Oh, we are going to mock."

Elliot's advice is, unsurprisingly, exceptionally unhelpful, so he decides to just wing it. He knows when they arrive on Wednesday — they text Sloan immediately — and spends all day Thursday jittery. It doesn't help that it's actually kind of an insane news day, the type that keeps him moving and shouting, with Syria and Somalia exploding and everyone on News Night losing their heads since Mac has the flu. Theoretically, Jim should be the one to lead her show, since he's her senior producer and all, but since the whole team is still mad at him for the defection, Don's taking over. He knows Sloan is meeting her parents for an early dinner before bringing them back, but he's so swamped that as he's rushing back from the edit bay to her office to say hello, he runs smack into them on their way to the control room.

"Don!" Sloan says, surprised. "Edit bay?"

"Yeah, a package for 10 fell apart," he says, shaking his head. "Hi. I'm sorry, Nami, it's so good to see you again."

"Hi, Don," Nami says, with a smile he still doesn't trust yet. "You look well. It's good to see you again. This is my husband, Thomas Sabbith."

"Call me Tom," he smiles. He's as tall as Nami is short, with an angular, WASPy build and a shock of grayish hair. He looks distinguished, which is unsurprising, but also a bit nerdy. He's wearing a navy suit, and Nami has on a pantsuit and a silk blouse that he suspects costs as much as his mortgage. He suddenly regrets his choice of shirt.

"Don Keefer," he says, holding out a hand that, thankfully, isn't shaking. "It's great to meet you. Sloan's told me some wonderful things about you."

"I've heard some, interesting, shall we say, stories about you as well," Tom says, his eyes sparkling.

"Dad," Sloan says, in a patient, warning tone.

"Right. So you're one of the producers, around here?"

"That's right — our 10 p.m. show, with Elliot Hirsch," he smiles.

"Those are some pretty late nights, not getting off until midnight."

"I get to start a little later and, outside of meetings, my days are pretty flexible," Don says. "It works out."

"It's the same as you starting your day at seven and then bringing stuff home at six, Dad," Sloan says. "Besides, it's not like I stop working at five p.m. either."

"Relax, Sloan, I'm just making conversation," Tom smiles. "Now, I'm assuming that means that right now you're pretty busy, and Sloan, don't you have to go to the people who do your face? We should get out of the way."

"I do need to go to makeup," Sloan laughs.

"And I do need to go — our 8 o'clock producer is out sick, so I'm covering for her today as well."

"Oh, we'll be in the control room together then," Nami smiles.

Fucking A.

"Yeah. It's always a great show."

"Mom, Dad, I'll take you to the control room now, but then I do need to get going," Sloan says.

Twenty minutes later, as his show is cobbled together and it's time for News Night, he heads into the control room. "Hey," he smiles, "I want to apologize in advance — with the two shows tonight it might get a little hectic in here. It's not … It's not how we — I planned it."

"Oh, no," Nami smiles. "We're just here to watch." She's so pleasant, and Don is again unnerved that she seems so nice when Sloan swears she's a tiger mother. "It's certainly exciting, to watch everyone be so productive."

"Right. Well, if you need anything — water, soda, anything — Tess is going to be your best bet. Tess —" he calls.

"Got it. You've got Elspeth on the line in Damascus, there's something wrong with the camera," she holds up the control room phone.

"Sorry, hand her over."

News Night itself actually goes fairly smoothly, thank God, because it would have been supremely embarrassing for it to go poorly. He makes a few quick saves — a dropped phone-in correspondent, a bad factcheck, an interviewee who brings out the worst in Will. But Sloan's segment goes well, thank God, and she's in the control room by 8:30 to distract her parents and generally keep them company.

"Do you guys want to stay back here? We can watch from my office," she asks.

"Oh no, I'm quite enjoying it from here," Nami says. "Don paces considerably less than I expected."

"No, his usual style of getting out nerves is talking and occasional yelling," Sloan says. It's true — producing amps him up.

"I can hear you," he says, thumb over the microphone. "Though that is true."

"He said that he paced, last time," Nami points out.

"He paces when the anchor isn't listening," Sloan says.

"How do you know that? The person least inclined to listen to me on air is you."

"If I'm going to listen to half of a flirty conversation, take me out of your fucking ear. I can manage on my own," Will says snippily, and he flips the switch for the next twenty seconds.

"That one doesn't listen much either," Sloan points to the monitor. "Though I am probably worse. I'm getting better, though."

"Who's in charge, the anchor or the executive producer?" Tom asks.

"The EP," he says as Sloan says, "the anchor." He stares at her, and she says, "Well, the EP, during the show, technically."

He flips his mic back on. "You're back in 10," he says to Will, "Joey, load the graphics for the D Block."

After the show, Tom says, "Well, that was fascinating."

"Why don't I take you to meet Will, then you guys can cab back to your hotel?" Sloan suggests.

"And I have to run to get stuff turned around for 10, but it was great to meet you," Don says, feeling incredibly guilty. But producing two shows in a night while being watched by your girlfriend's parents is not exactly a serene endeavor. "I'll see you both later."

"Great to meet you, Don," Tom says, shaking his hand.

"See you on Saturday," he smiles, "Nami. Good to see you as well."

"Wonderful to see you, Don. It was certainly enlightening to see you produce."

"I'm not sure what that means, but thank you," he admits with a smile, and she opens her arms for a hug. Sloan looks surprised but he accepts it.

After Elliot's show, he's scared shitless by Sloan waiting in his darkened office. "You have to stop doing this," he complains. "I'm beginning to think you like freaking me out."

"Your squeal is pretty endearing," she says, standing up. "You ready to head out?"

"Yeah. I figured you left already?"

"Nope. Put 'em in a cab. My mom really likes you." She stands, stretching. She's in yoga pants and a thin henley and he wants to be home now.

"Yeah. Should I be concerned?"

"I have no idea," she shrugs. "I'm trying not to think about it."

"I could just have won her over with my considerable charms. Back in the day, I had a reputation with the ladies."

"Yeah. No, Romeo," she kisses him lightly. "You ready for the exhibition?"

"Hell no," he laughs, grabbing his bag so they can head out.

But even so, on Saturday, wearing a suit jacket and nice pants and feeling like he desperately needs a shot, he heads to the public library.

"Don!" Tom calls, on the steps. "This way."

"Tom," he smiles. "Good to see you again. Thanks for inviting me."

"Are you a Man Ray fan?"

"I liked him in Midnight in Paris," he says. "But not familiar with the man himself, no."

Tom chucks. "Good pun. Not my favorite Woody Allen movie, but certainly better than Purple Rose of Cairo. I never liked that one."

"Match Point was pretty good."

"I always liked the actress who played the wife in that film," Tom agrees, as they head in. "So, how did you get into journalism?"

He laughs. "A bit of a long story. I was a business and poli-sci major, followed a girl to the newspaper offices, started writing a column about concerts while I was at NYU, ended up minoring in journalism."

"And you dropped the interest in business?"

He shrugs. "Decided to play to my strengths. I got a minor in it, in the end, and it's pretty useful, given where the media is."

"Ah," Tom says appraisingly, as they walk toward the bar. "Drink?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"Don, my daughter has decided that after three months of dating, she likes you enough to send you to a jazz and art exhibition with me. I want to find out why. Have a drink. You'll need it."

"Gin and tonic," he tells the bartender.

"Good man," Tom says. "So you followed a girl into the newspaper offices. How did you end up at ACN?"

"Well the interest in journalism far outlasted the girl. I ended up doing a few internships, a fellowship, got a Master's at Columbia's J-school. Led to a job at Newsweek covering politics in DC for a few years, did the 2004 campaign and met a producer at ACN. He hired me on in DC and I came up to New York in 2006. I was a reporter for a few more months before becoming a producer."

"Ever wanted to be on air?"

"God, no. Wouldn't want to break the camera. I leave that to Sloan and Elliot and Will."

"So when did you meet Sloan?"

"A little after she started at ACN," he says, taking a quick sip of his drink.

"That was three years ago."

"Yup, in November. We got her a cake."

"And so you were friendly but distant colleagues that whole time?"

"No, we were friends," he says truthfully before flagging down the waiter. He'll need another. "Good work friends. Off and on." He decides that honesty is the only way he can possibly be impressive here and get this guy to like him.

"Off and on?"

"I … was dating someone off-and-on for a lot of that time and, in retrospect, it was not a great relationship. And Sloan has no tolerance for idiocy, so she kind of … made herself scarce during that relationship, and I was pretty preoccupied at work, since it was not going well at the time. But she was still a good friend. I trusted her. I … still trust her. I trust her more, now, obviously, but I've always trusted her."

"And you never thought about dating her then?"

"We were friends. It was an important friendship, to me. And …" he hesitates.

"And?"

"And, I … I saw the guys she dated. And I didn't like any of them, frankly. Not in a jealous way, just in an I-think-you-can-do-better way."

"So you're saying you're better?"

"No. I'm in fact trying to get to the opposite point. Look, I'm crazy about your daughter. I think she's brilliant, and she's funny, and she's the first person I want to tell about good news, or bad news, or what I had for dinner," he explains earnestly. "But a lot of the guys that I met, or I heard about, were just not great guys. I didn't really think she had great taste in men, to be honest. Topher? I've wanted to punch him for four years. And when we started working through us …. My thought was, if she likes me, and she liked also liked all of these guys, who treated her like crap and weren't good enough for her, well, why was I any different?"

"You know, I was really liking you — my wife likes you, my daughter really likes you, you seemed to be on your game at work, you only have one tattoo that I've seen and you like the right Woody Allen movies. But now I'm actually confused as to why you're here."

"Sorry," he smiles. "Anyways, what I'm saying, is that it made me take a good hard look at who I was, what I was doing, how I was treating people. And I wasn't a whole lot different from those guys, but I wanted to be. And I thought that made a difference. So I started …. trying to do a little better. And, quite frankly, Sloan told me I was full of shit and didn't get to make decisions for her."

"So are you good enough for my daughter?"

"No. But I know that. And I want to be, and I'm trying to be," he shrugs, "I know that I'm lucky to be with her."

Tom does seem to respect that. "When you say that you weren't good enough, what do you mean?"

"I'm … caustic, sometimes. And impatient. I'm pretty career-focused, and that has usually kept things from getting serious with anyone I've dated. You're actually the first dad I've met. And the last relationship … like I said, it didn't go too well. A lot of it was just bad timing and us not being a great match, but I was …. sometimes not the nicest. I think that influenced a lot of my thinking initially."

"You ever cheat?"

"No sir. Just … condescending. Which wouldn't be a problem with Sloan, since she would shut it down. Plus, she's like six times smarter than I."

"That ever bother you?"

"No, why would it? It's one of the things I like most about her."

"You just gave me twenty-six reasons to hate you, you know."

"Yeah, I really did."

"And you still want me to like the fact that you're dating my daughter."

"I mean, it certainly would make things easier, but I plan on dating her for as long as she wants to date me."

"Would you ever cheat on her?"

"God. No. Absolutely not." And he means it.

Tom shakes his head. "Between all my girls I've done the meet-the-boyfriend thing seven times — not counting any high-school dates — and I suspect I have a few more before I'm done with the youngest two. But I don't think I'll ever get one as … interesting as this one."

He squints. "I'm leaning toward taking that as a good thing, but feel free to correct me. I can be wrong about these things."

Tom laughs, then scrutinizes him back. "We'll call it a good thing. For now."

"You know, Sloan swore that her mom was going to be the tough critic, not you."

"On matters of broken curfews, I definitely would call myself the more reasonable parent. And when making economic forecasts at dinner, I was definitely the more engaged parent there, as well. Those were probably Sloan's initial criteria."

"Well, you definitely set the bar here."

"Oh, just wait until you ever see my wife disappointed. Now, what do you think is happening in this picture?"

Two hours and three gin and tonics later, they pile into a cab and head to the restaurant Sloan's reserved. Sloan and her mother are waiting, and Sloan looks a bit anxious but mostly curious. "How did it go," she whispers as he kisses her cheek. He pulls away, raises one eyebrow, and shrugs. Because he does not know.

But dinner goes nicely, and as they're saying their goodbyes — her parents have a 10 a.m. flight, so this is it — Tom says, "Looking forward to seeing you again. Maybe you two should come out to the Bay Area?"

"It'll be tough this year, with the election," Sloan says.

"Well, maybe next year then," Tom smiles. "Don. Good to meet you." He holds out his hand.

"Nice to meet you too, sir," he says, shaking it. Well then.

As they're in the car back to her place, Sloan stares at him. "So he seems to like you."

He shrugs. "I hope so."

"No. He does. When you were in the bathroom, he said … that you were honest to the point of stupid. And he wasn't sure how well that would work for your career, in the long run, but he appreciated it."

"My career will be fine," he says indignantly, purposefully missing the point.

"Eh. I took over management of my college fund when I was in fourth grade. I think we'll be OK. What did you say to him?"

"I told him the truth."

"That … what, the sex is good?"

"Sloan! I have some sense of self-preservation."

"Then what did you tell him?"

He levels with her. "I told him that I didn't think I was good enough for you, but I knew that, and I wasn't going to stop trying."

She kisses him, deeply. "You know, for a journalist you really aren't that great with words. And then sometimes, you really are." She kisses him again.

He kisses her back. "I really mean it, you know."

She looks at him. "You're selling yourself short."

"I think I'm selling myself at exactly the right price."

"You know, he also said that you were 'surprisingly modest,' which didn't really make sense, but now it's beginning to," she ran a thumb down his cheek. "I want to be here. I don't plan on being elsewhere. And I'm really happy that my dad liked you. Did you like him?"

"Well, of all the Nobel Prizewinners I've met? He definitely ranks near the top." She laughs, then pushes his shoulder. "No. I liked him. Your parents … You make more sense, after meeting the two of them."

"Isn't that what's supposed to happen?" she says. "Isn't that the point?"

He gets a picture in his head suddenly, then, of a little kid, with his curls and Sloan's eyes, reciting The Wealth of Nations while wearing untied Converse. Suddenly, the idea of kids isn't so hypothetical anymore. "You're probably right," he smiles.